( Dragonhead, so named for the severed thing its hilly outcrops resemble, stretches more than half the road known as Haldrath's March. Ishgardians, a people most often elezen than human, travel such path to walk the Steps of Faith and enter the Holy See of Ishgard. for many merchants, foreigners, and smallfolk that call the central Coerthas Highlands home, Haldrath's March ends at the fortress sitting atop Dragonhead: the position of its curtain walls, built to shield Ishgard from any eastward foot attack.
it is here Aymeric Borel, the young lord commander of Ishgard's Temple Knights, receives dignitaries in hopes of returning Ishgard to a fold long forgotten.
formally, the Holy See seeks an alliance that can monitor Mor Dhona, the land immediately south of Coerthas, and the great wyrm that claims Mor Dhona's Silvertear Lake for its grave. dragons do not die easy, and though the Fury's faithful would be hard pressed to admit so, Ishgard's forces have begun to spread thin, not yet prepared for the attack her astrologians foretell in Dragonstar's movement. one does not gain anything for nothing, however, most especially in matters of nation and war, and the Holy See must answer for every call to arms scorned since the decades following the Autumn War.
for his part, Adelard Vauquelin— Ul'dahn in Ishgard, Ishgardian in Ul'dah, and obscenely wealthy in either —is a relatively silent participant. he had proved vital in joining Ul'dah to the table, an ambassador in all but name, but among true dignitaries of state, Adelard has not the power to promise on the archbishop's behalf or even the Ishgardian high house to which he belongs. he represents only one man, his once Ul'dahn merchant prince of a father, and the goods his name therein promises: to be discussed at another table, far later in the night, where wine is plentiful.
for Ul'dahns, for whom coin is more king than the sultanate, it is perhaps the only reason for their coming.
until such time, further discussion is tabled that all might return to matters refreshed. many do not retire immediately, convening in even smaller conference, that Adelard is only alone upon returning to his quarters. he is surprised, then, to find an equally alone dignitary atop Dragonhead's centermost battlement, a bridge staircased on either side which connects one half of the fortress to the other. from it, one can view the whole of the fort, its portcullis, snow for at least a malm, and with some effort, the foreboding outline of Ishgard and her Gates of Judgement.
on the final few steps, a faint laughter in his voice: ) Oh, dear. Has it gone so terribly the cold is your only respite?
( if the generous fur about his shoulders— and the drape of wool about the rest of him, a dark silk velvet gown beneath it —is any indication, the Ul'dahn in Adelard was never meant for Ishgardian winters. the tips of his ears, peeking through a lovely but intricate styling of silver hair, have already begun to flush pink. )
[ Though it may be unfitting for one in his position, McGillis finds extended formal gatherings to be a tiresome affair. Roundtable discussions such as this are the lesser offense compared to lavish galas that mask as social events and hide their true intentions behind empty smiles and finger-foods, but whenever representatives of different authorities come together, there is bound to be a suffocating level of pleasantries to dish out and endure. McGillis much prefers military gatherings, strict and not pretending at being personal. He wears the skin of the dignitary perfectly nevertheless, but is just as glad to be able to shed it for a moment of quiet. Especially when that quiet comes with a view. Ishgard rises in the far distant like a far-off sentinel, elegant and lonely.
McGillis is lost deep enough in thought that he registers the arrival of a newcomer only moments before he is spoken to. He should have known that there are few places in the fort where he can expect to stay truly alone for long. ]
I can't deny that this is respite, but I would consider neither my reasons nor the temperatures to be quite so dramatic.
[ He's certainly wearing a thick coat himself, but his work sees him traveling more than the average man. If he weren't adaptable to a variety of climates, he'd soon suffer for it.
He turns so he can face the newcomer, who seems quite miserable up here. ]
( Adelard places one gloved hand in the other. so he is intruding. he supposes he won't press long. )
'Tis a lovely sight... ( a tip of his head: ) But I am hardly partial.
( Adelard's smile remains playful; the set of his eyes, what many call kind. in a few steps, boot audible against stone, he joins McGillis on the man's left: Adelard, ever leading with his right. an artful curtain of hair conceals the reason, long and ugly on the left side of his face, but even the gentlest wind will surely grant glimpses of the scar. that the elezen is half a head shorter grants him even less favor in that regard. Adelard's eyes fix on Ishgard. )
If you have cause to go as far as Providence Point— ( that is, the area north of Dragonhead ) —you can see all of Ishgard and the Steps of Faith. At night, even the tallest spires glow with lantern light... The Holy See shines as though a beacon. ( he may not enjoy the Coerthan winter, but the love for his nation is plain; his voice, warm; the pitch, high.
his gaze turns to McGillis. ) I am glad at least someone does not mind the weather. I fear our companions from the south will freeze to death in the night.
one (1) not so generic mcfantasy setting
it is here Aymeric Borel, the young lord commander of Ishgard's Temple Knights, receives dignitaries in hopes of returning Ishgard to a fold long forgotten.
formally, the Holy See seeks an alliance that can monitor Mor Dhona, the land immediately south of Coerthas, and the great wyrm that claims Mor Dhona's Silvertear Lake for its grave. dragons do not die easy, and though the Fury's faithful would be hard pressed to admit so, Ishgard's forces have begun to spread thin, not yet prepared for the attack her astrologians foretell in Dragonstar's movement. one does not gain anything for nothing, however, most especially in matters of nation and war, and the Holy See must answer for every call to arms scorned since the decades following the Autumn War.
for his part, Adelard Vauquelin— Ul'dahn in Ishgard, Ishgardian in Ul'dah, and obscenely wealthy in either —is a relatively silent participant. he had proved vital in joining Ul'dah to the table, an ambassador in all but name, but among true dignitaries of state, Adelard has not the power to promise on the archbishop's behalf or even the Ishgardian high house to which he belongs. he represents only one man, his once Ul'dahn merchant prince of a father, and the goods his name therein promises: to be discussed at another table, far later in the night, where wine is plentiful.
for Ul'dahns, for whom coin is more king than the sultanate, it is perhaps the only reason for their coming.
until such time, further discussion is tabled that all might return to matters refreshed. many do not retire immediately, convening in even smaller conference, that Adelard is only alone upon returning to his quarters. he is surprised, then, to find an equally alone dignitary atop Dragonhead's centermost battlement, a bridge staircased on either side which connects one half of the fortress to the other. from it, one can view the whole of the fort, its portcullis, snow for at least a malm, and with some effort, the foreboding outline of Ishgard and her Gates of Judgement.
on the final few steps, a faint laughter in his voice: ) Oh, dear. Has it gone so terribly the cold is your only respite?
( if the generous fur about his shoulders— and the drape of wool about the rest of him, a dark silk velvet gown beneath it —is any indication, the Ul'dahn in Adelard was never meant for Ishgardian winters. the tips of his ears, peeking through a lovely but intricate styling of silver hair, have already begun to flush pink. )
no subject
McGillis is lost deep enough in thought that he registers the arrival of a newcomer only moments before he is spoken to. He should have known that there are few places in the fort where he can expect to stay truly alone for long. ]
I can't deny that this is respite, but I would consider neither my reasons nor the temperatures to be quite so dramatic.
[ He's certainly wearing a thick coat himself, but his work sees him traveling more than the average man. If he weren't adaptable to a variety of climates, he'd soon suffer for it.
He turns so he can face the newcomer, who seems quite miserable up here. ]
I was simply studying the scenery.
no subject
'Tis a lovely sight... ( a tip of his head: ) But I am hardly partial.
( Adelard's smile remains playful; the set of his eyes, what many call kind. in a few steps, boot audible against stone, he joins McGillis on the man's left: Adelard, ever leading with his right. an artful curtain of hair conceals the reason, long and ugly on the left side of his face, but even the gentlest wind will surely grant glimpses of the scar. that the elezen is half a head shorter grants him even less favor in that regard. Adelard's eyes fix on Ishgard. )
If you have cause to go as far as Providence Point— ( that is, the area north of Dragonhead ) —you can see all of Ishgard and the Steps of Faith. At night, even the tallest spires glow with lantern light... The Holy See shines as though a beacon. ( he may not enjoy the Coerthan winter, but the love for his nation is plain; his voice, warm; the pitch, high.
his gaze turns to McGillis. ) I am glad at least someone does not mind the weather. I fear our companions from the south will freeze to death in the night.
( at least one Ul'dahn has complained so. )