Duke Olivion of Kasleone

"...And that's the green room, there; named such for both its color and, well, what gets consumed there", the Duke said, with a mischievous gleam in their eye and a pinching gesture raised to their pursed lips to imitate smoking. They giggled, somehow both informally and dignifiedly, and waved their attendant onward. Roria smiled at their joke, and followed behind them nervously. She had just met the duke today, and already quite liked them - despite having just come to know them. It was difficult to understand why they were so appealing; they seemed to have a certain way with people - a certain understanding of the world that expressed a comfort beyond reason. They had been touring their palatial manor for almost 3 hours now. She had been blown away time and time again by the enormity and grandeur of their home. They passed through a middle hallway into a fourth enormous ballroom, decorated with beauteous statuary and filigree. Everything was dressed in freshly-polished wood paneling, dozens of paintings of scenes from folk legend, and gorgeous sconces which held bright, somehow multi-colored flames. The floor was an enormous mural-like illustration of shifting, shimmering, bold shapes, and flows, and humanoid faces crossing one another; like how a dance would look if viewed from all angles at once. Roria stepped into the very center of the floor, and the duke, in all their flowing robes and silken hair, spun around the edges - almost like they were hovering across the room. "I know what you're thinking, I do, and yes; we really need to renovate this one, it's so absurdly out of fashion". Roria had no idea what they were talking about, but feigned humble agreement so as not to come off as ignorant of the fashions of ballroom design. "It's just that I have such fond memories of this space - and were I to change it's design, I wouldn't be able to come back here to reminisce", said the Duke, with a flourishing grasp and toss of the tail end of their cape on the word 'reminisce'. "I think it remains a lovely design, your grace. Yet if you'd like me to see about new designs than I would be mo-", "No, no, no!", the duke stammered out, "you just joined, I'm not going to have you jump into things like this so early. The time for that will come, I'm sure, but, thank you for the -uh...initiative". The Duke stared at her for a moment, but with an expression that betrayed absolutely no emotion beyond their general bemusement. Roria felt a pang, somehow, of both panicked nervousness and comforting confidence - as if the Duke was both judging her and telling her it was okay. "Anyway", the noble said, with another flourish of their coattail, "We'll move on from this room, there's far more to see - far, far too many more really". They walked out of the ballroom and into a servant's hall just past. The duke waved, and shook hands with some other footmen and servants that were walking in - Roria was particularly confused and intrigued by certain slapping and bumping motions they made with palms and fists. The duke was making pace, walking exceptionally fast to the point where poor Roria was having difficulty keeping up, until they suddenly stopped and looked out to their left. Roria shadowed their shoulder and peered out. An enormous pair of glass and silverwork doors looked out unto a sprawling garden. "On second though, I think the weather's nice enough...and you'll probably have to do something with the garden at some point", they said, whilst pushing open the doors. Roria followed behind them, her mouth hanging slightly agape at the huge magnificence of the gardens. They seemed to go on for miles, adorned in the brightest colored leaves and flowers one could imagine. trees that had been grafted and shaped to grow in ornate, twisting shapes made a symmetrical gateway overhead. A flock of trained birds flew acrossed the sky above - bright orange, red, and gold. The Duke meandered down the stairway to the green beneath, held their hands in their pockets, and stared off into the way. "Roria, dearie, what do you think of my home", they said, their voice dropping almost a whole octave. This was the first time that she had heard the Duke act in any way verging on seriousness. Knowing her place, she answered, "it is by far the most beautiful home I have ever had the opportunity of serving within", without the hint of a lie. "I'm glad to hear it, thank you. Still, you, I'm sorry to say, aren't the one I have to impress". Roria didn't flinch at this line; she knew that at the end of the day, her opinion - new and lowly chamberlain of the castle that she was - didn't matter. She was about to say something when the Duke spoke again, "we'll head further in, you should get familiar with the grounds - guests tend to get lost in here". The two of them wandered into the greenery, through winding gates and beautiful arrangements. They came to what seemed like the center of the gardens and paused underneath an enormous gold statue. It was of a stern figure that looked quite like the Duke, dressed in a similar outfit - yet more formally and tightly dressed. The Duke seemed to be buried in a weaving yet careful dance of cloth - the statue looked as if it had been starched and pressed and tailored to minute specifications. "That's my father, up there; he's the one who built this section of the garden. He was Half-Angel, and he lived for almost 4 centuries - he had me when he was 360; when he looked even worse than that if you can believe it. I sometimes worry I'll end up looking like that - all wrinkly and angry. Now, there's a map of the garden in the library if you think you'll need it; there's plenty of people here that know this by heart, so don't worry about memorizing it or anything. Follow me, we'll head back to my office". They did just that, back up 6 floors, through a dozen halls - crossing through servant's passages and hidden staircases, until they entered into the velvet room. Almost every surface was red, silken, and shining. The Duke sat across from Roria on the other side of a colossal desk stained blood-red, and waved for her to sit down. "So, you've seen the house, and you know the position", the Duke said. Roria didn't move, just waiting for the next point. The Duke raised their eyebrows, and it occured to Roria that this was some form of rhetorical question. "Oh, yes, yes your grace. I'd like to sincerely thank you once again for the chan-" "Wrong!...Wrong!...you have no idea what the job entails", the Duke said, a mischievous grin bursting on their face. Roria felt a sudden surge of panic and offense rise up within her.
"Your grace, as I've told you before - I've read the warrant of employment multiple times over, and I have served as the chamberlain of several manorhouses before I sought emplo-"
"Two..."
"...Pardon me, your grace?"
"You've served as chamberlain of two establishments before this one. The first was the mayoral manor of Neriton, a small mining city in the heart of Wouther, and the second was the vacation lodge of Baron Darv Luffen on Jerodon. Those buildings can't possibly be more than...12,000 square tics? 14,000? Since you've read the description of your duties here, how many square tics are you standing in now?" "...1,103,544 square tics" "Exactly correct", and the Duke lay back in their chair for a moment, that same bemusingly comforting expression on their face. Roria wasn't about to tell them that those homes she'd served in had been 9,000 tics at most, and her faced flushed with worried blood. She had no idea if this had all been an elaborate joke, or why they would have invited her here only to then become all angry and pompous with her. "But that's a good thing", the Duke says, only confusing her further. "All that means is that you'll have some to learn, and you'll experience something so grandiose that you'll become trapped here...you'll have no choice but to stick around; a perfect prisoner". Roria was about to object in even further offense until they added a final comment; "much as I have become as well". Roria went silent. "Now, I mentioned in that letter of employment that a very important celebration was coming up". Roria nodded. "Can you guess what that might be?" "Of course, your grace; the nights of the bloodlet are coming in a weeks time, and I- I presumed that that - that that was why you- yo-" "Yes, yes, I was getting a tad desperate. Which is why I'm glad someone like you came along - I didn't have to settle". Roria didn't say anything, simply looked down at the edge of the desk in front of her. "See, dearie, the nights of the bloodlet are pretty big deals down here at Ban-Kasleone. I'll show you why", and here they stood up and walked over to the last bookshelf in the room, almost hidden in plain sight by clever movement of the windows and furniture. Roria noticed, only after having her attention brought to it, that the shelf was lined with identical red leather cases. They pulled one out from the center of the case, peered through the pages for a moment, chuckled, and put it back. They did this a few more times until they found one they were satisfied with, and tossed it onto the desk for Roria to see. She stared at the book for a few second, and opened it. Her mouth flew open, her eyes widened, and she began ruthlessly leafing through the pages. The Duke went back over to the chair, picked it up and shifted it so that they could peer out into the cold white light of the window. Roria was looking at a collection of hundreds of photoloses of scenes around the manor, every room of the castle shown in detail, every corner and crevice taken and filled with memory. Each one was a raucous sight - a debauched partying scene was every single one of them. And in each one, every single picture - were gods. There, that was Sylvan, drinking his heart out side by side with Mannock. In the corner of that one was Gabriel, taking a drag of some cigar filled with some intoxicant or other. There, that looked like Oberon, happy for once somehow, arm in arm with - Titania?! When was that taken? And there! Willayn was chatting up some nymph wearing next to nothing in the corner, whilst the demon princes did a flight of various luminescent spirits. And was that Waacgh making out with some celestial? Some celestial...wait...that's Eos themself! And there's Mephistopheles and Cyndiran, dancing with one another as a crowd of ranger captains poke fun at them. The Olympians are chatting and flirting with centaurs and elves, there are a hundred human emperors meandering through the halls; laughing and joking like there was no tomorrow. And sprinkled throughout was the Duke - fearless as they walked about a whole crowd of divine creatures and warmongering kings. The last picture shocked her more than anything she had ever seen. There was the Light and the Malice - arm over shoulder, right next to one another, with the Duke in the middle! The Two - the grandest enemies of the Isles, friends for a night draped over the Duke. Roria sat there in silence for a moment, simply taking in whatever this what that she had just discovered. She looked up at the Duke, still staring off into the window. She breathed in for a moment, and then asked, "...how long...how long have you...have you". "Since before I was born, I didn't start it. Neither did my father, grandfather, or great grandfather or any that I know of before them", the Duke said, finishing her question for her. "And they all...all of them..." "Yes, yes, they all pretend like nothing's happening - like the war is a myth, like their subjects don't hate the others', like all is naught for three nights. It's wonderful, and harrowing. And you will get to see it..." they knelt down aside the seat, and held her face in their hands for a moment. "Roria, this will be the most challenging experience for you, but once you see all the wondrous gods gathered about in this palace, trust me, you will never want to leave this building. Everyone who's ever captained this home stays. My father did, and his father, and his father before him, and over and over throughout my family line. For some reason, the nature of which I have never been able to comprehend, the gods seemed pulled here during those nights, and they disappear from their various cults and kingdoms to hide within these walls. No one knows who built this castle, I think it never was built. You're bargaining for a very dangerous commitment - one that I will grant to you should you still want it". Roria stared at the Duke's face for for a moment, feeling their hand still resting on her cheek. She was shocked at how caring this person was, how kind they were for a noble who had spent their years in company with the gods themselves. "I will...", she said, "if you answer a question". The Duke stood and sat gently on the edge of the desk, the light of the window behind them breaking on their back to cast their face in shadow. "Shoot", they said, in a gentle and genuine tone. "Why do you say you didn't have to settle...with me, I mean? Why hire me for this if you knew my employment history?". She saw the faintest echo of a smile show through the Duke's face. They stood up, opened their desk to pull out some bulletin, some announcement you would have seen in a poor town square. They spoke, "Roria Helence, chamberlain at the mayor's manor, is accused of impertinence and insubordination by her majesty the goddess aphrodite of Olympia, ambassador to his Majesty the king of Loreina, our sovereign. Whilst a guest of Helence's master, the goddess reports two incidences in which she was forbidden and blocked from entering certain chambers of the home by the chamberlain. When she attempted to resist Helence's orders, the chamberlain ordered her to leave, and threatened to report her to the authorities. All citizens who are able are requested to attend a public hearing on Tarvy the 1st, at noon, in order to decide guilt. Long live the King". They paused for a moment, smiling down at Roria from behind the parchment. "See, that's what I need dearie...I need someone brave enough to scream at a god" ______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________"Move this tray set into the west garden foyer, I'm anticipating that Waacgh and the other orks will want to be near some outdoor area, and we want enough meats at each...That drink set, who's minding it? No, Kalian doesn't do well with Sirian-style spirits, switch him out with someone running a more native-style bar....Is it too late for us to switch the hors d'oeuvres for the first hour?...well I just think that it's better to present the finer materials earlier, you know, when everyone's memories are still fresh...yes, switch the 4th rotation out with the first, and the last one out with the second - just for ease...No I don't know where pietro's team is, I think they're out dressing that statues, but has anyone seen the Duke!?". Roria was met with a tide of sorry glances and shrugged shoulders. She was in a frenzy to get this party in order two days before guests arrived. While she fled around the palace like a woman possessed, her master was nowhere to be found. She climbed up the west servant's spiral staircase to the second floor, and looked around at the crowd of workers rushing about to finish the key touches. Three dozen bedrooms, freshly made up to accomodate the guests, stood off to her right. A grand hall leading to a sitting room set up with small tableaus covered in various drugs and foodstuffs was off to her right. Directly ahead of her was a sun-room, filled with a hundred different strains of red, velvety flowers. She had come to realize that the Duke had a theme to their sense of beauty. She had only been in the home for 5 days, and already had garnered the respect and fear of everyone in her charge. Roria had never been one to be trifled with and not much changed when it came to Ban-Kasleone. The staff had taken to her watch like fish to a cool stream - guided along by a swift and irresistible force. Roria was only 27 years of age, which was not old for a human, and certainly young for those of longer-lived species. This made it strange to her why the Duke, in all of their wealth and power, had chosen her, youth that she was, to manage their home. She wondered how old the duke was, for she was as of yet unsure. They seemed young, but they were a quarter-angel, were his comments about his father's parentage to be believed. It would not surprise her if they had been 80 or 100 years old, for age was an easy thing to hide in the Isles. She creeped through the garden, as quiet as she could be, assuming she would find the Duke there. She was unsure of why they were hiding away in the gardens - though she had a few guesses. The Duke was somewhat afraid of work, the reason of which was not difficult to decipher. They almost certainly felt as if they could not possibly do much of anything properly; paralyzed by a fear of failure when it came to practical skills. The Duke would surely have been a fair cook, cleaner, designer, or other worker of some kind - but they didn't believe they could possibly do it better than their staff, which they almost certainly couldn't. The staff was excellent, and could have bested the Duke in every service of the home - except one. The Duke was the grandest host and chat that had ever graced the Isles. This, almost surely, was the explanation behind their unprecedented success with the multitudes of gods and kings that filled their home every festival-tide. They could make one forget themselves; their charm, laughter, strength of joy, and comfort with all was second to none. Yet if one spent enough time with their excellency, they would bear witness to a profound sadness hidden away within their mind; imprisoned, these thoughts, for the sake of themself or their guests it was never clear. Roria passed an enormous twisted shrub that billowed up a dozen tics into the air, curling around into a hundred little vines that seemed to cut the sky. Dressed in a vast array of gradient color, shifting in tone as the sun caught it at different angles, the assemblages of thousands of flowers dazzled her eyes. Passing the great shrub in the center, a sudden ray of light flashed into her view. She could barely make out what was ahead of her, and for it she was almost glad. For though obscured, she was almost certain that the duke was lying, sprawled on a small sofa, lightbathing nude. Roria turned around, some noise of shock and embarassment escaping her lips. She heard the shuffling of cloth, as the Duke tossed on some form of robe. "Forgive me, dearie, I forget we have some not used to my habits in the home now. I hope it wasn't too traumatic to see me bare; but, knowing my body all too, I'm sure it might be", they said, with a nervous, quite obviously fake laugh. Clearing their throat and placing a fully-extended hand upon her shoulder, they said, "It won't happen again, Roria, my apologies. How goes the final touches". Roria, taking a deep breath and looking down, said, "Fine, your grace, fine. We are precisely on schedule", lying to their face. "Good to hear", said the Duke, smiling as they walked back over to the lounging couch, "I hope you haven't been stressing yourself too much, dearie. Is there anything I can do?" Normally, Roria would have secretly resented a comment such as this. This was, of course, not the first time that an employer had offered to help with preparations. Every time before she had dismissed each of them with flattering phrases to dispel any pretense of guilt or virtue on their behalf. Yet the Duke appeared so genuine when they asked she was half-tempted to let them know the truth about delays. Yet a moment later she had snapped back to her disciplined training and said, "Of course not, your grace; you are far too tired already from the strains of nobility. We your faithful sta-". "The strains of what? Too much light and wine?", said the duke, cutting Roria off with a rhythmic chuckle, and leaning down to pick up a glass that rested on the stonework floor. Roria said nothing, knowing it was best to do so. "I'm simply playing with you, forgive me. Still, is there nothing you could have me do?", the duke asked. They smiled at her with a reassuring glow, seeming so genuine. Roria stammered for a moment, as she pondered the best thing to say. "Perhaps the footmen would appreciate your advice on the terms of address for introductions". The Duke stood up straight, struck their heels together, put up a comical salute, and left to instruct such servants. Roria sighed as she saw them go. She looked back at the bed on which the Duke had been lying, and the devices surrounding it. An assemblage of mirrors and reflective panels surrounded the windows, which bayed out into the light, concentrating the day into a single rectangle as large as the sofa. Roria paused a moment to wonder whom had devised such a mechanism before departing back to her work. She left down the same staircase from which she had come. She heard laughter echoing throughout the home as the Duke surely disturbed the laborers at their tasks with their incessant joking and over-eager greetings. This was another thing she had to get used to as she came to manage this home. It was Pritheal the 28th, and when night would fall she would have one final day to ready the manor - to prepare a house worthy of gods. _______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ Roria awoke sometime after daybreak, the light of morning already beginning to pass into the full sheen of midday. An enormous window on her left was cracked open, allowing a chill draft to seep into the bedchamber. A silken canopy above, deep crimson red cast her in a vague, bloody haze. The impossibly soft red cloth of the blankets made her flesh feel like it was melting into oblivion, lulling her back almost into sleep. She caught herself beginning to drift off again until she heard the rifling of pages to her right. She opened her eyes just a slight bit further. Making out a figure past the canopy silk, she started for a moment. She shot up in bed, which, as soon as she was fully conscious, realized it was not hers. The figure turned their head from their reading for a moment, then went back to their book beneath. "Yes, it's my room. You fell asleep here going over the plans with me last night, and I set you in bed. It's around 4 hours past daybreak. Almost everything is in place." Roria breathed heavily, and threw open the canopy. She was in an incredibly furious frenzy to continue on with her present task - the fullness of which she was as of yet not fully aware. It was in her nature not to ask questions nor ponder beyond her station - her strains of inquisitiveness had been beaten out of her long ago.

Current Residence

Castle Ban-Kasleone, Duchy of Kasleone, Dalaltus

Pronouns

They/Them

Sex

Female

Gender

Non-binary

Presentation

Androgynous

Eyes

Bright Brown

Hair

Sleek, Oily Black - long as top of chin

Skin Tone/Pigmentation

Pale Brown, Olive-like

Height

6 tics, 32 Centics

Weight

176 Dentors

Belief/Deity

N/A