Thread: Vitreous (Lyonene)

This is a roleplay based in the Final Fantasy Tactics world, and is likely to incorporate a number of extreme fetishes. The gilded hilt of the equally ornate golden blade turned over in Delita's palm again, and again a time after that, brown eyes going on several minutes now of staring over its features. The observation wasn't one of admiration, though the craftsmanship alone was worth such a thing, but rather it was an observation laced heavily with disdain. With sighs that commonly accompanied every other breath. Golden hilt, slight grooves for one's fingers, a flat-headed pommel with perfect balance and a large emerald embedded at its base. Numerous small rubies circled around the larger jewel at the pommel, then continued to trickle up the handle of the sword like raindrops, fancy, expensive raindrops, until spilling onto the blade and disappearing halfway up its length. And the blade itself was gorgeous, a marriage of steel and gold, the soft hue shimmering from any light which would dare look upon such an extravagant masterpiece. How long has this thing been around? All of it? All of what? There's more. ... The blade was crafted roughly fifty years ago. Fifty...three, I believe? But the suit of armor was only commissioned about a decade ago, when King Damatchka thought the war had been won. A congratulatory gift for himself? Yes, sire, I believe so. Had he actually used that gil to buy a few more soldiers, or maybe even pay the ones he had, he might've won that war a few years earlier. Maybe when he was alive to see it. The attendant cocked his head. Such extravagance isn't out of the question for men of your rank, sire. If anything, if you'll pardon me for saying, it's quite expected. Sighing, shaking his head, Delita sheathed the royal blade in its equally bejeweled scabbard and tossed it on his bed, tossed it as if it were a toy, as if it were trifle. This caused a wide-eyed gasp and an almost lunge from the attendant to catch it, but the voice of the king held him in his place, Expected... It's also expected of kings to pay their soldiers and to make sure their people have food. But I'm glad that if Damatchka could only concentrate on one of the three, at least he had his priorities in the right place. That came with another sigh, a roll of his eyes, and a turn of his shoulders to the door. knock knock knock. Delita's head perked up and his steps halted, having half-stepped toward the door out of his personal chambers in Lesalia's royal castle. The king blinked once, then again, and tilted his head in curiosity, Yes? Enter. ...Gregor? No, Danielson. Delita recognized the eldest of the royal servants immediately, though he hadn't much time to speak to the man yet since his coronation late last week. And as much as he wanted to speak to him by his first name, he'd had enough lately with being told of 'how kings should act'. The old servant, late into his sixties and having seen a total of four kings now, entered in his time and gave his king a deep, respectful nod before speaking. He paused a moment, as if collecting his thoughts before beginning, hands at his sides and ever proper, Sire, a woman has arrived at the castle and wishes to see you. A Lady Oaks I believe. Delita's head tilted in curiosity. His eyes narrowed and he regarded the man solemnly for a moment. Sire? the elder messenger questioned. Oaks? Yes, sire. Agrias Oaks. Young woman, though perhaps a few years ahead of you. Long blonde hair. I believe she was assigned to Queen Ovelia in some manner, though before she was Queen that is. Yes, yes. I'm familiar with her, if only in name. And she's here? Yes, sire. She just arrived recently I believe. In the throne room yet? I don't believe so. Shall I have her sent in? Yes - No, no, hold on that. I'll take my seat first. ...Are you certain it's her? As certain as the name she gave me. ... Shall I doublecheck? No, that will be fine. I'll be seated first. I'd like the opportunity to measure her as she approaches the throne. Delita took a quick glance over his chambers, adjusting the cloak that hung from his shoulders as he took a moment for thought. He glanced toward the messenger again and spoke while his booted feet took him toward the doorway, Give me a moment to take the throne. You may send her in after that.