Thread: Masks [Lagertha x Ryees]

It had been some time since Anmillaen had had the opportunity to meet someone where his reputation did not precede him. His name had spread through the central kingdoms quickly when he rose to lordship, an up-and-comer from nothing that suddenly had power and holdings and influence in the world. That had made him a curiosity, and he saw several very busy months where every day was a meeting with some or other nobleman and his lady for introductions over honey wine. Those months did nothing to quell the populaces curiosity of him, as meeting him had a tendency to raise more questions than it ever answered. Eventually, his cunning, provocative nature got around, and a reputation settled in. One he was very happy with, by and large, except when it predisposed some lady to assuming he was going to assail her or some lord that Anmillaen was going to brutalize and kill him for his holdings. Not that those things were always untrue. But it was inconvenient when they assumed it ahead of time. Luckily for him, Anmillaen had always had something going for him that many lords did not Simply put, he was attractive. Nearly six and a half feet in height and broad in shoulder, he was born with a strong figure that was only molded for the better by his path in life. Years spent as a soldier saw him training in armor and kit most days of the week for the duration, toning and hardening his body. His face was a mix of pleasant curves of the jaw that angled into prominent cheekbones, framing blue-nearly-silver eyes that had a natural sharpness to them even before he opened his mouth and revealed his refinement. In bright light, his red-brown hair seemed to ignite, pulled back away from his face in a tight braid down the center of his skull. His face took well to animation and expression, smiles appearing more jovial, glares more menacing, smirks more patronizing. He took the natural charms born into him and crafted them into a tool, another edge of his angular personality that he could use to create friction in the courts, as well as a route to ensuring he never slept in an empty bed. Anmillaen let the girl ask her questions, giving a polite shake of his head to most of them before answering her all at once. A friend of your fathers indeed, but he did not send me. He spoke a great deal of you, to his guests, he explained, his eyebrows flicking exasperatedly, as seems to be his way, but some of what he said rang with truth, and made me want to meet you face to face. His right arm swept out from under his cloak, folding it up and back over his shoulder. A tiny sprite of crimson light coalesced at the tip of his outstretched fingers and held there as he swept that hand inward to his heart. The light orbited around the back of his shoulders as he bent forward at the waist, and just as his hand crossed over his heart and balled into a fist, that light snuck in between his fingers his hand closing down on it saw it burst into tiny pixels of light that rained down from his hand like diamond dust, tinkling into the sand and seeking out the micro-shells laid there within. He held his bow for a short moment, and as he straightened, those lights rose with him, a cloud of incandescent, red-glowing shells helixing up around him before fading into ethereal mist. Anmillaen Xetrix Elminaratorae, he cooed warmly, offering her his best smile. A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Lady Theriko.