2 - Elderly Arrival Part 1 and 3 to arrive at some point. Hopefully along with some thread decoration. Himalia is handed over to the Dominion White and blue sails flap in the bay as the Cressidan galley sits in port, the sounds of the bustling city drown out the rustling cloth. The Deldrimor city guard stands watch, arms at the ready as an ancient Qadir man stumbles from the gangplank, impatiently waving his nervous aides aside, a Qadir girl awaits him on the docks. “Grand Suzerain, It’s an honour to be receiving you.” She speaks up, projecting her voice over the din. “Allow me to help.” stepping forward she holds an arm out for the elderly man which he graciously takes, tapping his walking cane on the stone, an expression of relief as he finds himself back on solid land. “Samirah, please.” His voice hoarse, still doing what he can to keep his balance, “You of all people needn’t stand at attention for these old bones. You remember my name don’t you?” His voice is weaker than it used to be but his words don’t falter for a moment. “Of course-” she begins to say, uncertainty painting her words. “Then use it.” The old man retorts, bluntly, but with a smirk on his lips. “My apologies.” There’s a hint of mirth to her tone upon seeing his expression, a comfort setting in, “How was your trip, Azhar?” emphasising his name, seemingly more relaxed after his reprimand, visibly relaxing further as he fully steadies on his feet. “Awful.” Not a moment's hesitation once again, “Sailing isn’t what it used to be when I was a younger man. Cresseid bless solid land.” He chuckles to himself, the grin widening behind his beard. “King Robert awaits you in the keep and a room has been set aside for your rest before the journey to the Monastery tomorrow.” She deftly sidesteps the blunt complaints entirely, gesturing up to the city, away from the docks. “I’m sure King Robert can wait just a moment longer, how long has it been since I saw you last? How far you have come.” He holds still, pressing on his cane to straighten up slightly so as to better look her in the face as he speaks. “-Oh! and I’m to deliver your parents best wishes! Along with a gift from them. It is stowed with my belongings.” He gestures with his cane to the boxes the dock hands unload from the ship. “You’re too kind, I owe much of it to you.” Her words are serious, genuine, but a badly concealed joyous smile lifts at the corner of her lips. “Please. The ramblings of an old man do not a person make, your accomplishments are your own-'' He is cut off before he can say any more by an envoy, stood at the head of the line of city guard, decked out in Deldrimorian red with the Claythorne axe sigil sewn on his doublet. “Honoured guests, the King is in attendance in the council chamber and is ready to receive you.” The man stands rigid after his interjection, statuesque as he waits for them to follow. Azhar shoots the man a sullen glare with clouded eyes which does little to shift his rigid posture before the Qadir sighs and gives in. “Come on then, dear, this too shall be continued at a later date.” A sass to his tone as he gestures his cane forward and starts to move. The envoy travels at the front with metered step to lead them to the keep, a row of guards on each side and two gold armoured Cressidan Xanthous Moon honour guard follow behind as Samirah aids Azhar through the busy, winding streets of the Dominion capital to the steps of the keep. _____________________________ The great doors swing open as the small party arrives, the city guard peeling off at the base of the stairs. The large red and gold banners hung either side of the door flutter in the wind as the old oak creaks open, stopping with a thud. The sounds of the city dull as they step inside, the few nobles milling around stop to stare for a moment before resuming their hushed conversations. The sounds of their footsteps, the armoured Xanthous moon especially, echo in the hall punctuated by the thud of Azhar’s cane. “This way my Lord.” The envoy gestures to the back, his voice hushed, foot falls softening. He takes a deep breath before opening a side door and stepping inside, holding the door open as Samirah helps Azhar through. “Presenting his Grand Eminence-” He looks down at his papers, a distinct look of horror crossing his features before they return to their stoic normality and he continues, “- Kabīr musamim, Malik, nabīl ibn Salil, Raʾīs ad-Dawla, Azhar al-Farid wa Aziz aal Krisida.” making his way almost flawlessly through the moniker before breathing a sigh of relief, a very subtle hint of pride painting his features before he gestures to the King, “Great King of the Dominion, Lord and Paramount of Deldrimor, envoy of the Divine Brace, sword of the realm and will of the people. His Majesty, Robert Claythorne the first.” “Leave us.” Robert’s voice is calm and collected as he gestures to those gathered around him, a number of lords and two of the Kingsguard, red and gold ornate armour shining even in the somewhat dimly lit side room. The Lords filter out first, followed by the Knights, terse glances are shared with the Xanthous Moon who stand at attention outside the door before they continue their walk out of sight. “You too, dear, you needn’t be bored by political formalities, I’ll call for you when we’re done.” Azhar nodding at Samirah as he speaks, the girl nodding back as she too filters from the room. _____________________________ “Please, take a seat.” King Robert gestures to the table before him, a thick ornate mahogany piece surrounded by chairs on all sides, light filtering in from the latticed window above paints intricate patterns over the woodwork. The King slides a chair out to aid the infirm, waiting for the Qadir in question to shuffle over to it before taking a seat of his own at the head. “Grand Architect and Noble King, was it?” Robert speaks first, breaking the silence. “Oh gods. Azhar, please.” The Qadir says with a sigh, the King blinking for a moment, taken aback by the bluntness. “You speak Faraddi though, your Majesty?” “Robert.” He holds up his hand, replying in kind, “and, only a little.” wavering the same hand in the air with a slight shrug. “A useful trait if you’re to be governing some of my people.” Azhar wastes no time cutting to the chase. “A Monastery, I am told.” The King notably pauses for a moment, taking stock of the old man. There’s something sharp behind those faded, ageing eyes and he can’t say the bluntness isn’t refreshing after a year of dealing with his lesser Lords. “You hear correctly.” His answer is measured, careful as to not give too much away. “A Monastery, falling under Dominion protection.” “How did this come to pass? Not by the sword, I hope?” a smirk suggests it’s little more than a jest from Azhar. “Not a drop of blood.” Robert replies. “One of your own, Miss Kimura, Emissary, I believe she said?” “Humble as always.” Azhar mutters at the simple title, quiet enough for Robert to continue speaking over him. “She reached out to us after they had a little difficulty in the desert. Invoking old alliances.” Robert ignored the interjection, instead finishing his sentence before reaching for a bottle on the table, “Wine?” He speaks as he pours out a glass, filling a second at Azhar’s nodded confirmation. “Old alliances…” Azhar mutters back before taking a sip of his wine. “What do you know of these old alliances?” Speaking louder as he directs his question, an odd diversion in an inquisitive tone. Robert pauses for a moment to think before deciding to play along, “I know my father offered your budding nation some level of protection, often by the sword. I know your Nation used to be in alliance under him.” His answer is once again measured and careful. “You’re well read. What of your other talents?” Azhar pokes further, a vague question, his tone still somewhat searching. Robert takes a swig of his wine before placing the goblet down on the tablet, “Why did you come here?” It was the King’s turn to be blunt, his voice rising in volume, a small smile passing across Azhar’s lips as it did, leaning back in his chair and running a hand down his lengthy beard. “I hear of a son, no, a Phoenix, born to the great Brandyn Claythorne.” Taking note as the King's features shift into discomfort at the title, “I hear rumours of the incredible ability of this new King, a great envoy of the gods, gifted in statesmanship, an artist with the sword seen soaring above battlefields with a blade of flame.” Azhar’s tone is a barely veiled mocking jest at the last, more ridiculous notion. The King’s features continue to grow in discomfort. “Have I heard wrong?” His eyes lock with the Kings as he reaches his point, “No ruler is perfect, though I must insist on a certain level of ability for those who may end up governing my people.” Robert sighs, leaning back himself, allowing his Kingly countenance to melt away, a hand rubbing over the bridge of his nose. “I am no Phoenix.” He begins, “I am a man, no closer to the Gods than the citizens you passed on the way here.” A strange emphasis on the word ‘Gods’, a fatigued sort of utterance. “I am certainly no artist with a sword and I am far from a perfect leader.” he peers up at the slatted window, the sun setting beyond the patterned glass. “I fear I cannot protect your people alone, as much as I wish that I could. I cannot fly to the monastery, burn down our enemies and deliver your kin to safety.” He seems almost fed up with his reputation, staring into the middle distance before sitting back up and meeting Azhar’s gaze, a facial expression suggesting a sort of conjunction. “I can, however, send my armies to their gates, Soldiers of Deldrimor and Lumina, under the banner of the Phoenix, who are more than capable of a powerful defence.” His face lighting up again as he speaks, “I can send carriages, with bushels of wheat and barrels of fruit from Ellesmere to feed your people in a cold winter, or a protracted siege.” The Kingly countenance naturally returns as he speaks. “Azurian lumber and Torsmir herbs can be on Dominion ships to Cressidan shores within the week.” Azhar smiles as the King gets into his stride, “I cannot promise to die defending your people and I am no immortal warrior as my father was. Though my sword, aflame as it shall be, belongs to the Dominion and its people.” There is a moment or two of silence as the King holds his pose, staring down the Qadir who is now smiling as he takes another sip from his wine, leaning comfortably back. “I knew your father rather well. He was a warrior, through and through.” Azhar starts with another seemingly unusual tangent. “You’re correct. You will likely never be the warrior your father was. A beast on the battlefield, in the vanguard, laying waste to countless foes. A true sight to behold” Azhar seems almost lost in memory for a moment before returning to the present. “But you have his presence.” Looking upon Robert’s face now it looks more like his father to Azhar than he thought possible. “Only a fool would believe half the rumours around you, no man can fly and no man I have met claiming to be privy to the Gods has even been more than a charlatan or a madman. I do believe the other rumours, however.” He takes another short drink from his wine, the conversation wearing on his aged body, “That you are an impressive ruler. You have your fathers charisma, with more the mind for statesmanship. It is true, you aren’t an unstoppable soldier of the Gods. You are a good man, and a formidable leader.” He finishes his wine, beginning to stand as he does. “My people are safe under your protection, I have no doubt about it. You have my trust as the monastery has yours.” His legs shaking as he pushes to his feet, “We shall donate funds and warriors, my people shall have representation on your Council. We shall discuss the tiresome details tomorrow, for now my bones ache and I wish for nothing more than a soft bed.” He taps his cane on the floor as he fully gets to his feet, “Samirah!” He calls to the door. Awaiting the girls return as he slowly turns back around. “-and with a cask of that Wine, King Robert, It shall make the deliberation at least somewhat more enjoyable.” The King looks on in uncertain disbelief as he stands, staring at the strange, blunt old man. He makes a note to order a cask of the Wine, and another two for the Cressidan’s boat for the return trip. It’s going to be a strange week. _____________________________ Part of the Dominion 'Chronicles' 'Roleplay' scene. Addendum Azhar al-Farid belongs to @RazeII Samirah abd al-asim belongs to @Jareth King Robert Claythorne belongs to @Sevak Sayuri Kimura belongs to @Shoyru
