[Event] Welcoming the Falcon

"Are you absolutely sure about this?"  Luke was having second thoughts.  Actually, more like sixth or seventh thoughts.

"Do you not trust me, my brave little hunter?"  Mistress Taylor was dressed exquisitely for the feast.

"Yes."  he replied, even if his voice lacked any conviction.  Luke was not exquisitely dressed.  I could be argued he wasn't dressed at all.  His only piece of clothing was nude tights.  At a glance, he looked completely naked.

"You will be fine.  You are a natural.  The fact you mastered the maneuvers in less than a week is uncanny.  I guarantee that none here has seen the like of this before.  It's time those of the Vale learned what those of Dorne have known for centuries, that true beauty lies in the mind, the soul, and yes, even the body.  Besides, it will irritate Septon to no end."

The young hunter was obviously uncomfortable when he entered to perform.  Conversation dwindled except for a murmur of chuckles and a few rude comments made behind their hands.  Luke did his best to ignore them as two long crimson scarves were released and cascaded to the floor.  Using the scarves, Luke began to rise above the feast hall to people's amazement, wrapping the fabric around his arms or legs to allow him to elegantly climb.

For the next ten minutes the guests of Hartshorn were gifted with witnessing one of the most spectacular aerial acrobatic performances many had ever seen.  Indeed, for all but a few, it was the only aerial acrobatic performance they had ever seen.  It was not just impressive, it was beautiful.  The music of the quartet complimented Luke's maneuvers perfectly.  Some seemed impossible, others seemed sensual.  All of them were indisputably graceful.

When Luke finally unwrapped himself and lowered to the ground, he again looked uncomfortable.  There was absolute dead silence in the room.  It was not until Lady Jeyne began to clap in appreciation of the performance that the spell was broken and others joined in.

With a bow to the Lady of the Vale and Lady Marsten, he returned to the side room and Mistress Taylor who had been watching.  "That was probably the best I have ever seen."

"I'm never doing that again."  replied Luke.

"Why?  You were brilliant."

"I felt too... exposed."

"All the most truly beautiful things are by their very nature vulnerable.  It is only when we peel away our inhibitions that true beauty is born.  Given your relationship with Daeryus, you of all people should understand this."

Luke did not reply.  He simply looked frustrated.

"People think beauty is in looks or clothes or buildings or art, but true beauty lies in moments.  That moment with the one you find more beautiful and love more than any other.  That moment when you are moved by a vista or piece of art.    That moment that is so special it ingrains itself in your life.  People think beauty is a thing.  It isn't.  Beauty is the manifestation of momentary joy.  I think it would be a shame if I never got to experience the joy of seeing that ever again."

Katriana kissed Luke on the forehead and returned to the feast leaving the hunter to ponder her words.


Agility (Acrobatics): 8d6k6 28
*Spend 1 Glory for a Bonus Die: 1d6 4
30  4DoSvs15.  5DoSvs9.  20 Specialty Xp to Acrobatics,  5TDP

OOC:

Regyn sits behind the curtain as Lady Corrine sings, playing lute with the rest of the band. My sister is right about one thing. My friends are incredibly talented. Lady Corrine sure does seem to attract very talented individuals, From Luke seeming to glide like a ball-flower on the wind, and the horsemanship of her knights. Regyn smiles as he hears the smooth melodic rising and falling of her song. As she finishes the song there are some enthusiastic clapping for the Lady of Marsten hall.

Regyn puts away the Lute into its protective case. Then goes back to where the Violin was was waiting. As he retrieves the violin he feels the warmth and comfort radiating through his hands. It feels like years are removed from his joints as Regyn picks up the bow and strides confidently onto the stage. Regyn strikes up his pose, he draws the bow slowly across the silver strings, causing them to sing, sweet and melodic. Regyn had tuned the Violin before dinner, and the violin was still in perfect alignment.

Regyn starts playing slowly, the song is like a fledgling learning to take flight. It goes up, then down then chases the wind. Regyn plays, his pace quickening as the bird learns to dive. Then finally the crescendo occurs and people can nearly see in their minds eye the Falcon, fully grown by the end of the song, having snatched the fish from the placid lake.

Regyn stands, as another round of polite clapping congratulates a job well done Regyn feels pride warming in his chest. He bows deeply towards Lady Arryn and Lady Corrine. Then acquits himself from the stage. That is strange. I normally feel nervous and like I made a mistake. But now? I only feel pride in my accomplishment.

Corrine fell back on what she knew she could do well - singing. She had only narrowly lost to her cousin Gwyneth at the Riverrun tourney singing competition, and had been highly praised on later occasions where she sang for a gathering. She expected it would not be a great spectacle for Lady Arryn, but there was no time to prepare anything more elaborate, and so she had to hope her voice and expression of the song would be enough to at least be pleasing.

While she loved traditional ballads and sang them well, Corrine had, in recent years, been one for choosing more modern compositions, with lyrical colour that got people speculating what the real meaning was behind the song. This one was no exception, giving rise to theories among some of the more gossipy members of the audience that it was meant to be a challenging song about female leadership. Some said it must be about the enduring strength of the Vale. Others thought it was about her late father.

ooc:

Ronnel looks at the paper with a mixture of pride and sadness.  Even as modest as he is, he knows it is both a very well researched paper and one that he knows he cannot use.  Not now with the Lady Corrine having been told her desire for Bethany to succeed her mother so recently crushed.’
He stands at the fireplace, but cannot bring himself to burn the documents.  Instead he places them in a drawer and ponders what to do.
Finally he decides that he will simply give a history lesson in the form of prose.

**********

“Let us do it once more please.”  Ronnel, satisfied finally dismisses the servants.  “Make yourselves available tomorrow, please.  I should not like to train new people during the event, yes?”

The young couple, recently become new parents had sworn to grant the Maester a favour for the healthy delivery of their son.  He decided that this was a good way to allow them to pay that debt back without making the task terribly difficult.
They smile and head off, taking with them their infant n his little basket.

**********

Torches and lanterns are moved about and the whole of the great hall dimmed though not made dark.  A large piece of wood with a hole cut in it.  Through the hole a cone of light shines out into the dim heights of the great hall.

Ronnel, dressed in his simple, brown robe, slippers and Maester’s chain steps out so that just his round, bald head gleams in the bottom curve of the cone.
He cannot see the nobles on the dais with the light in his face, which exactly how he planned this.  His voice, usually moderate in range, deepens a little for effect.  The Maester smiles inwardly, thinking how much he has learnt listening to his friend Regyn and to Lady Corrine sing.
Without preamble he begins to recite his poem.  While his voice is well-modulated and his manner somewhat entertaining, it is the subject matter that stands out.

As he speaks a great banner slowly unfurls from the ceiling, illuminated by the cone of yellow-white light.  
The banner is white, but soon colours appear.  In the centre of this great flag, for really that is what it seems, is embroidered the sky blue shield and House Arryn’s falcon flying again a full, white moon.    Once the Arryn sigil is full visible, a smaller square of cloth falls away to reveal above it the slightly smaller is Marsten’s greens and black with the silver bolt of lightning.  To each side of the Arryn sigil in two curving brackets, are the sigils of every noble house of the Vale, whether represented here today or not.  These symbols are sized to match the Marsten symbol, a bit more than half the size Arryn’s.
Ronnel is certainly no mummer, but he acquits himself well, vocally ((Haverstmonth Welcoming Falcon Persuasion 3: 3d6 12)).

“Many a Lord did sit in his tower, o’erlooking the mountains and out ‘cross his valley.  Yet all of these men ar no greater I say, so hear you now the Lay of the Lady of the Vale.”

Ronnel recites in poetic fashion the deeds and highlights of High Lady Arryn including notable events in her life prior to her ascension to the high seat of the Eyrie.  He speaks for some twenty minutes in a clear voice and even gives inflection in key places.  Finally torches are re-lit and lanterns uncovered, bringing light gradually back to the room.  

“Ladies and Lords; gentlefolk; girls and boys; thank you all for your kind attention.”  Ronnel bows again and awaits reaction.

((((harvestmonth Welcoming Falcon Knowledge 4D (education +3B) Maester +5; Focus History / legends B=D: 7d6+5 29 plus: Harvestmonth Welcoming Falcon 1 gp for +1B: 1d6 6 replace a 3 with 6 for total of 32.
TN 9: 5Dos = 5 TDP
Tn 15 = 20 Spec xp))

Aerion wasn't up to it. Abed for days, having worked himself to exhaustion in the cold and height of Marsten lands, he felt as sick as he'd ever been. As sick as when he'd seen bone through the wound in his leg, as sick as when he'd let Corne wear a crown of horseshoes and nails, as sick as when he'd first gotten a bellyful of the air left behind at smoldering Tumbleton. A different type of sick, for sure -- just raw exhaustion, a wracking cough, and weariness to the bone -- but sick. Plenty sick. Aerion wasn't up to it.

Luckily, his horse felt fine. Hell, she'd barely been bothered during his three days in bed, so she was eager for a good run!

Half-dead, Storm leaned low in the saddle and just trusted in his mare. Valaena'd been running horsemanship courses most of her life. She knew how to weave through barrels and leap ribbons and posts almost as well as she knew to charge down a lane in a joust, run down a spearman in a battle, or trample archers in a rout. Aerion might've been nigh dead in the saddle, but Valaena still knew how to handle herself, and Aerion was still able to lean just so, guide with his knees, only barely tug on the reins, and just let the courser fly.

ooc: