I S O R A T H
The sun crested low upon the horizon when the summons are sent, servants disappearing into the halls like smoke over stone. Isorath has spent much of the day locked within the stone tower, preparing, deliberating. He is here with a purpose, and the Kirin is thorough when his mind is set to a task. Slowly, diligently, he transformed the room into a work of art. Plush throws and rugs have been tenderly laid out upon the swept stones, banners of silk and velvet have been reverently strung upon the ceiling and bunched to the center — circling a gilded canopy of lanterns of varying different sizes, some emit light, while others emit smoke scented heavily with perfume. Sweet, inviting, relaxing. Pillows embroidered with dancers under constellations litter each and every inviting throw, dragons dancing above fires, gypsies exalting in the freedom of the night. Each is stitched with care and skill that would take an equine a life time to master. It is extravagant decadence. All for them, masterfully crafted and executed. It is smoky, inviting and it awaits as though it is a lover's embrace, ready to welcome a soul home. It is black and gold, a mouth watering display of lavish indulgence, and Isorath wanted nothing more than to indulge already. In the center, beneath the canopy of hanging lights and pouring smoke is a table. Carved in the likeness of Novus herself, etched with names and locations, grooves to mark water and bumps to announce forests. Upon it rests a selection of tea, the dragon shaped tea pot spouts steam of it's own as it boiled upon a carefully stoked burner. Platters of sweets are dotted here and there on golden trays, pastries from the kitchens and bakers who line the market. Isorath himself is also part of the master piece, this artwork he has worked so tirelessly to weave. Wrapped in luxurious robes of silk velvet layered upon each other, they pool and trail behind him like a river of midnight pulled from Calligo's hide herself. Black emblezoned with gold, speckled with gilded stars and denoctian patterns around the hem and scattered across his back. A motto is carefully sewn into the back of the train, where the cloak began it's descent toward the ground. Oderint Dum Metuant Let them hate, so long as they fear The motto of his family, worn proudly. His hair is left down for a change, it falls and falls and falls, in touseled curls until it sighs against the plushness beneath ivory hooves. Peers out from the outrageous train of silk velvet that followed his step. Spun starlight and the moon's pearly tears, it caught in the dull light and shimmered serenely. He looked every inch the paramour of the King of Stars and Smoke, and the Kirin cannot help the preen which snaked along his spine and fed his vanity. Ah, but this is not to feed his already overflowing vanity. It is a night to celebrate, a night to come together and toast their success, lay the foundations for a future that will see them be glorious. To escape from prying eyes that would see them stumble and fall. Let them see instead this, let them see how the Night exalted instead of worried of matters a mountain away. So he settled, upon his self-made throne of pillows and expensive throws to wait for his beloved, and his best friend. TAG: @Reichenbach @Aislinn over extravagant tea party and meeting is a go NOTES: "sunshine dasies butter mellow!" |
