Chapter 3: The Faendryl's Gala
The rain came down in heavy sheets, flooding the cobbles and simultaneously conjuring a thick curtain of fog. It enveloped the city in its damp embrace, blotting out light from the heavens while stifling streetlamps and torches alike.
This was the evening of Lady Gylaume’s great gala, a yearly celebration held at her manor. It also was to be the Bard’s formal debut into society. A more than willing teacher, she had primped and primed her companion until he was the epitome of a Faendryl male. Truly his attitude had needed little in the way of grooming, but our Dhe’nar had never been one to show every card, or roll his dice all at once. He allowed her the upper hand, patiently tutoring her fingers on the harp as she lectured on the intricacies of formal dance and conversation.
She had determined that his social graces were acceptable and finally felt that her compatriots had waited long enough to meet the infamous guest. Before now, only brief and tantalizing glimpses had been allowed, coupled with the rumor of Korthyr’s line. She nearly squealed with giddiness and anticipation, exalting in the thought that she would be on his arm to greet her guests with style.
The bard bore the role of a fashionable accessory with stoic amusement, allowing the Lady to coordinate silks to his skin tone and accompanying her on arduous shopping excursions. Her excitement grew more tangible as time moved forward. She selected silverware and linens with such pleasure that even the merchants looked at her askance, assuming the use of some strange euphoric drug.
The Dhe’nar would have found such ridiculous activities absolutely mortifying under different circumstances, but endured them, given his goals.
All was prepared, lush banners and table coverings of white and gold contrasted the polished black marble of the hall. She dressed i violet satin to compliment the dusky undertones of her skin and sent her own *personal* maid to the Bard’s quarters in order to comb and style his long dark hair.
“Lady Gylaume.” He greeted her with the slightest nod of his head and offfered his arm as she had schooled him to do.
“*My* Lord,” she simpered with unnecessary emphasis on the word ‘my’. Her skirts rustled with the depth of her curtsy and she gazed through her lashes with a decidedly girlish air. “You look positively...luscious!”
The Dhe’nar concealed his expression when he noticed the pink of Lady Gylaume’s tongue flash across her teeth. Coupled with her stare, it was nearly enough to make him snicker, but his careful culturing won out and he merely assumed a smile.
“Only through the virtue of your excellent taste, ” he replied with feigned appreciation and another subtle twist of his lips.
The list of guests was long, though staggered in arrival. Four couples, seven singles and three who had chosen to leave their spouses at home came; yet there was still ample room to mingle dance, eat and drink. The long and heavy oak table spanned one length of the hall, leaving the rest open to more relaxed activities beside its lavish spread. Jostling for position near the head of the table, the nobles settled into their seats. They sat upon carved chairs upholstered with cloth of gold and as they supped, six liveried slaves stood stiffly, poised to attend any of the guest’s needs – the lustrous gold of their collars gleamed faintly under the lanterns and mage-light.
A sallow, unpleasant-looking fellow had managed to seat himself directly beside Lady Gylaume. He nodded to the much younger man across from him with an expression of contempt, his uncharacteristically large jowls quivering. His face melted as he reached for the woman beside him, lifting pudgy fingers to place them over her slender ones.
Her hand jerked back, but she swiftly concealed the gesture. Leaving it flat on the tabletop and allowing him to take it within his sweaty palm. Her face contorted into something that may have been a smile, but her distaste was extremely apparent to the Dhe’nar.
Now political games of the Faendryl are quite the test for a young Dhe’nar, and the Lady intended to use the Bard for just such a purpose. She had been thwarted in her efforts for a position in the Palestra by this snobbish, portly sorcerer. However, what truly irritated her was that he was vying for her attention romantically. He knew her ambition and thought himself rather clever, knowing that the only way she would gain the position she craved was through his influence (or his lack of thwarting it). A friend of her cousin, the man was suave in political machinations – but quite obviously, lacked a certain social grace.
She had considered it long ago, before the years became unkind to him. But, the man was an irritant now and his presence constantly reminded her of the obstacle he represented.
The sorcerer continued his pursuit throughout the meal and into the evening, kissing her fingers as often as opportunity arose. When her attention was otherwise engaged, he would stand behind her and lift locks of her hair – inhaling her scented perfume.
She endured, but her eyes often wandered to the Bard in a silent plea.
The Dhe’nar finally acquiesced and sauntered to her side with the intent of drawing her away for a dance.
omentarily separated from the object of his affection, the sorcerer winked in Lady Gylaume’s direction. His sagging face made the gesture nauseating to her and even the Bard had to wrinkle his nose. She hid her face against her new companion’s shoulder, but it was too late for the Dhe’nar to conceal his distaste.
The sorcerer paused, lips warping into a malicious sneer that nearly concealed his piggish eyes amidst the shifting flesh. The Bard bent to whisper in the Lady’s ear, though his gaze remained focused on his corpulent opponent as he began to grin. Also, less than subtle, the fingers of the older man began to twitch in the incantation of a spell.
Lady Gylaume gathered her skirts in a quick curtsy and hastily stepped back from her partner, losing herself in the crowd. As the sorcerer’s attention was momentarily distracted by her departure, something blew into his eyes, stinging them fiercely. Through his blurred vision, he attempted to find his nemesis again, but the Bard was no where in sight. He had disappeared into the crowd, while the hostess merely smiled from a distance at such a simple trick.
As the evening wound to a close, Lady Gylaume suggested that her fellows not brave the tortuous weather and make use of her guest quarters instead. Her invitation was accepted by most and as they dispersed for the evening, she covertly approached the Bard with a proposition.
“Kill the sorcerer.”
She impressed that the man’s demise would better instill her amongst her peers. No longer would she have to worry about propositions of marriage to such an obtuse creature, even if he was Faendryl. Besides, she claimed – he likely had intentions of insulting, if not outright injuring the Bard with that spell. After such a confrontation, it could only escalate.
The Dhe’nar glanced at her and displayed a wolfish grin. He truly needed no convincing.