Pantera
25-05-2005, 12:48
The imposing architecture of the Seastone Palace loomed, black and imposing, atop the quartz crag on which it sat. The icy bite of the northern Panteran wind sliced up and over the great wall of the Cliffs of Toke, and screamed through the massive curtain-wall of the Palace, blowing at the clothes of the foreign delegates as they emerged from their motorcade.
Dayne watched them arrive from atop the great drum of his Seadragon Tower, and he grunted. These Islanders were a thorn in his side, and now that he got to size them up, they were most unimpressive. Elves. The thought irritated him.
Elves and diplomats. That thought irritated him even more. He dreaded sitting down to discuss matters with these soft little things. But he needed the possibilities of Western Hebridia if there was to be any hope of surviving the British situation. Already his shipyards were turning out as many vessels as they could, but the fact was that they would not be back to strength for years, at the current speed.
Yet, the northern plains of Western Hebridia were the perfect place to move into. Already the small island had a half-dozen shipyards in operation, and a dozen other prime locations for more to be built. It would be expensive, the construction, but it would be worth it.
What would be far more expensive would be the acquisition of the Isle itself. That was the thought on Dayne's mind as he hurried to the Great Hall and slumped into the massive, grey-green cradle of the Seastone Chair. Throwing a leg over one longship-carved arm, he leans casually to one side and takes up his crown, an unadorned, slim iron band.
As the great doors are thrown wide and the Islander delegation led into the Hall, Dayne allowed his face to tighten into a scowl. The massive warrior seemed completely at his ease as he watched them approach, one hand toying with the end of one of his wrist-thick, golden braids, the only sign of tension the scowl on his face.
"The Lord Reaver, and by the Grace of all the Gods, old and new, Protector of the Free Lands of Pantera, Dayne the Evenstar." Cried the herald, which displeased the Evenstar. Of course they knew who he was, so why tell them again? Matters of the court never ceased to irritate him.
As his scowl deepened, he allowed his eyes to touch on a few of the delegation before him. In particular, he looked over the number of elves. He had at least hoped the more decent human's would have forced their elven companions to remain outside. Still, there was nothing for it. He simply watched and waited for the inevitable introductions.
Dayne watched them arrive from atop the great drum of his Seadragon Tower, and he grunted. These Islanders were a thorn in his side, and now that he got to size them up, they were most unimpressive. Elves. The thought irritated him.
Elves and diplomats. That thought irritated him even more. He dreaded sitting down to discuss matters with these soft little things. But he needed the possibilities of Western Hebridia if there was to be any hope of surviving the British situation. Already his shipyards were turning out as many vessels as they could, but the fact was that they would not be back to strength for years, at the current speed.
Yet, the northern plains of Western Hebridia were the perfect place to move into. Already the small island had a half-dozen shipyards in operation, and a dozen other prime locations for more to be built. It would be expensive, the construction, but it would be worth it.
What would be far more expensive would be the acquisition of the Isle itself. That was the thought on Dayne's mind as he hurried to the Great Hall and slumped into the massive, grey-green cradle of the Seastone Chair. Throwing a leg over one longship-carved arm, he leans casually to one side and takes up his crown, an unadorned, slim iron band.
As the great doors are thrown wide and the Islander delegation led into the Hall, Dayne allowed his face to tighten into a scowl. The massive warrior seemed completely at his ease as he watched them approach, one hand toying with the end of one of his wrist-thick, golden braids, the only sign of tension the scowl on his face.
"The Lord Reaver, and by the Grace of all the Gods, old and new, Protector of the Free Lands of Pantera, Dayne the Evenstar." Cried the herald, which displeased the Evenstar. Of course they knew who he was, so why tell them again? Matters of the court never ceased to irritate him.
As his scowl deepened, he allowed his eyes to touch on a few of the delegation before him. In particular, he looked over the number of elves. He had at least hoped the more decent human's would have forced their elven companions to remain outside. Still, there was nothing for it. He simply watched and waited for the inevitable introductions.