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Snippet #807785

located in Anastor, a part of Retha: Machines and Magic, one of the many universes on RPG.

Anastor

Anastor is the "capitol" of the Anastorian Kingdom, you could say, and home to the King himself. It's a mixture of Victorian and French architecture with steampunk elements. Airships soar over head as people of all types traverse the dizzying pathways leading throughout the city.

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The King beamed at his Daughter’s excited response and stood, bowing to her as respect demanded. It would’ve been unfortunate for the King of the Kingdom to be absent at his own festival, but he would’ve done it for his Daughter.

“Well, my dear girl, I’m more than happy to have you at my side. Between you and me, I’ve invited the gypsies to dance and perform for us today and the circus tomorrow, so it should be full of excitement. The ringmaster assures me that we’ll not want for entertainment when he brings out his crew.”

Marcas himself was practically bouncing in place from youthful energy. If only his Kingdom could see him now, confiding secrets like a hyperactive little boy. His manner abruptly became more sober and King-like, however, when his Daughter’s maid Ysabel entered the garden with scowl in his direction. He was well aware that the maid did not approve of him or his fascination with machinery and was strictly faithful to her Queen and religion. Well, he wouldn’t fault her for that, but he wouldn’t show himself to be anything less than regal in her presence, either.

It was all about respect, regardless of one’s feelings towards another.

“She’s right, you know, Estelle,” The King said after clearing his throat. “It’s only a scant two hours until the festival starts and you should have time to rest, relax, and prepare for it. I myself am running a bit behind on schedule. I’ll never hear the end of it from Luxon.”

The King smiled and nodded to the maid and brushed past her to enter the castle. However, he paused, feeling the need to reassure Estelle about her healing magic.

“By the way, Estelle. Keep in mind that your Mother has been practicing magic for at least twice as long as you have. Naturally, hers would be stronger. It takes practice, experience, and time to perfect the art. I’m looking forward to escorting you to the festival.”

With that and a small wave, he headed back inside.

___________________________________________________________________________

Jarvest Aldridge, third Earl of the Aldridge Estate and the offspring of countless blue-blooded Noblemen dating centuries back, sat in Harpy’s Bar and waited for his… companions to arrive. One would think that this rowdy, crowded bar would not be the place for such a shifty rendezvous, but it was actually perfect, as no one would be paying attention to the Nobleman, who was disguised as a mechanic, sitting in the corner by himself.

Yes, he was taking great pains to hide himself and his identity. The assassin he had hired would know him only as Jared Borkin, a man who supported the Druid’s cause. The bottle of magic-strengthened poison was tucked safely into his back pocket. The poison was one of the most common and most obvious sleeping draughts, but it would be immune to the effects of a normal antidote.

It would take a skilled healer to recognize the clever enchantment and overcome it. Jarvest had done his research and was confident that no such healer existed within the Kingdom. If they were, they were going to great lengths to hide themselves.