Thread: Two Households, Both Alike in Dignity (Findarato and Lemon)

The hall was dark, and musty. The stone walls showed its ancient age. It seemed like a long forgotten place, in the depths of the earth. There was some effort to conceal the unfriendly, cold walls with a decoration of tapestries. All along the walls they hung, one after the next, all having different symbols and colors, different animals and plants. They were not recognized as flags of nations, but something else. Groups, clans, factions, possibly families. They were the only thing that gave color to the room, at least far more than those inhabiting it. There was a long table placed in the middle of the room, made of wood. While there was a great abundance of food and drink upon it, those seated around the table seemed to not be feasting, but rather mourning. It was deathly silent. Occasionally there was a murmur, a forced smile across the table. For the most part, only the sound of the silverware could be heard, the cutting of food. A large man in the middle of the table did not have good manners, naturally his belching and chewing out loud without his mouth closed echoed in the hall way. There was a distinct difference in those dining at the table. On one end, those occupying the table were pale, tall, and slender. Their faces looked elegant with high cheek bones, and calculating eyes that seemed to speak more than their actual mouths. The opposite end of the table, had a different sort. They seemed more hairy. The women wore their hair in a different manner, assorted with beads, and in general, it seemed more wild than the other side. Nearly all the men had facial hair of some sort. They were more broad of shoulder, more burly, louder. Their faces were textured differently, hard lines and freckles. A majority of them had tanned skin. The large man in the middle, who seemed to be of the more hairy sort, considering that his shirt was opened up near the top, and exposed dark hair on his chest, broke the silence. So when's the wedding? he asked, a chicken leg in his hand. He promptly tore a portion of it using his teeth. The question had seemed to change the atmosphere in the room. Several stopped eating. Almost everyone looked up, exchanging glances. One male, seemed thoroughly annoyed by the question. He kept eating, but his eyes had shot up, casting a glare on the opposite end of the table, towards a female who seemed of similar age. His eyes looked menacing- a layer of green on the outside, and directly surrounding his pupil, brown. He was on the more wild, hairy side of the table, but he himself mildly out of place amongst them. His face, lacked any facial hair, and instead of appearing textured by ages and long periods in the sun, it was fair. He was not pale, no, but his skin seemed perfect, without marks. His hair was golden, an abundance of it that fell past his ears, nearly reaching his neck. It was not as long as some of the other males, who had pony tails that reached far and long down their back. It was still in between a medium, and long length. It came down in waves, and when he moved, it swayed with his motions. Unlike his blonde hair and fair face, his attire was black. It was a one piece robe that fell down to his ankles, with large buttons running down the middle. The material itself seemed like it was sleek and leathery. Even seated, one could tell that he was a tall man, his shoulders pressing out against the constraints of his robe. His large hands near his plate, only seemed to speak further of his masculinity. Despite the obvious anger, he remained silent. A man, directly to his right, who seemed older, with a similar color of hair, spoke. Zlatan and Venessa will wed in two weeks. It shall be here, at the castle, where both of our people have sworn not to shed blood against one another for centuries. It is here that we shall seal our alliance. Whatever alliance he spoke of seemed poorly received. Downcast eyes, some grumbles. There was no open complaints, but the tension could be felt in the air. It will be an honor for Zlatan, and our family. His hand rose up, and promptly touched the golden haired male seating on his left on the shoulder with a firm smack to the shoulder. Zlatan, who had been staring across the table at a certain female, had been steadily shaking his head in a no motion, until he was touched. He sat up straight, his body going rigid, a grimace on his face, but he made no objection.