Thread: Noblesse Obligé [Ghostwolf and Thaedael]

It was one of the most important days in the Vorlancian social calendar. The day the elite and nobles of Vorlancia celebrated the passing out of the Officers of the newly raised regiments as part of the Imperial tithe, the return of the young nobles who had completed their tour with the PDF, and this years graduation of Schola students. Not only this, it was the day those who had survived many years of service in the Emperors name and had seen their Regiment retired returned to their homeworld or were sent to Vorlancia to train the new recruits and teach at the Schola. They would be celebrated, applauded, introduced and welcomed into the fold of the planets elite the powerful, the important, the rich. Those who fell into such categories were currently crowded onto a large viewing platform open to the air, overlooking an expansive landing pad. Both were situated two thirds of the way up a titanic, smooth, cylindrical white spire which stretched far into the sky from the sea below, on the highest of several levels which encircled the tower at differing heights, getting larger the lower they were situated. This was Omon, the capital spire and the tallest of five, encircled by the others. Together they made up Vandire, the largest population centre on the planet. This topmost level was home of only the most important members of Vorlancia society, including housing the grand and expansive estate of the Planetary Governor which the viewing platform and landing pad were part of. Fortunately, the weather was pleasant for the occasion. The bright mid-afternoon sun beamed down from a pale blue sky spotted with fluffy patches of white. A refreshing breeze blew in from across the currently calm ocean that covered the majority of Vorlancia, the background salt mixing with the soft floral scents from the spire's many varied gardens. A flight of birds soared high above, using their large wingspans to ride on the thermals. The Vorlancian nobles were waiting, their eyes watching both the sky and the horizon. They wore only the finest and most expensive clothing, not a thing out of fashion. The women in fine dresses, of suitable style and fabric for the weather and time of day, some languorously wielding fans while others wore wide brimmed hats. The men in dress uniforms, medals pinned to chests, or finely tailored suits shielded their eyes with their hands. They had already watched the parade. The newly raised regiments had marched through the streets lined by cheering citizens in their thousands, pictcasters broadcasting the event across the planet for those who were unable to attend. Cavalry followed by infantry followed by armour, the officers riding in open topped Salamander command vehicles. They had sat through the Schola and Academy graduations, applauding at each name. They had congratulated brothers, cousins, and nephews, full of bravado after their brief military service ready to boast about their fantastical exploits. The regiments senior officers and graduates were already waiting within the Governors palace socialising with each other in one of the smaller halls while they waited, those who had served in the PDF had joined their families on the balcony. But the best was yet to come, and that was what the people of Vorlancia were waiting for. The return of the Imperiums finest, Vorlancias heroes, those who had served in one of the innumerable Imperial Guard regiments, had done their duty, had fought in the Emperors name to protect His subjects, and had lived to return. They would be celebrated, adored, like they deserved. There! A small bright flash of light high in the sky. Another. And Another! Again, and again. A series of seven in all, each flash signalling a shuttle entering Vorlancias atmosphere, each shuttle holding one of the Imperiums finest. The gathering let out a collective gasp at the sight, a collective gentle surge forward towards the walled edges of the viewing platform to better witness the spectacle they knew was coming. They didnt have to wait long. There, flying low over the surface of the water, leaving large trails of frothy waves in their wake, were the seven Aquila landers arranged in an arrowhead formation. They sped quickly towards Vandire, the image being broadcast to screens around the city by highflying pictcasters, before sharply banking up. They soared past each level of the spire, displaying the shape and pattern of their wings, which resembled their namesake. Another collective gasp as they were buffeted by wind in the flyby, women reaching up to hold onto their hats, the birds high above scattering. The landers began to level out, circling the great expanse of the Omon spire, showing Vandire to their passengers as much as showing the shuttles to the Vorlancians. Slowly they began to descend, merging into a single line as they neared the landing pads. At odds with the aerial manoeuvres they had just demonstrated, the seven landers gently touched down. The Vorlancian elite watched with hushed voices, waiting to see who would emerge. Seven pairs of aides ran forth from within the palace towards the shuttles, waiting to attend. They were followed by a portly man, walking with the aid of a cane, dressed in blue finery with a white sash about his waist. The Governors Seneschal. Once they had disembarked from their shuttles, he would be the first to greet the returning heroes. He would guide them into the palace, to wait inside one of the many drawing rooms where they could take refreshment and socialise, until the Vorlancian elite had moved from the viewing platform to the great hall and were ready to receive them. Here, they would be officially greeted and thanked by the Planetary Governor on the behalf of Vorlancia before the celebrations would begin in the ballroom.