Board Thread:Roleplaying/@comment-5543592-20170331011949/@comment-5543592-20170402223014



(Recommend listening to song, mood setting and it's  a very good song)

Once the Outsiders had piled into the carriage, the driver cracked the whip, and it was off.

Leading from the bridge was an immaculately kept dirt road. Bushes lined it, and all they could see in either direction was trimmed, neat grass. They began to pass houses, squat, pleasant homes that looked like they were designed by architects in the 1600s, but constructed yesterdays. They passed hamlets and small communities which were set up on the outskirts of farms. People in clean, washed clothes came outside their homes or stood up in their fields to watch the carriage as it drove past.

Eventually the communities ended, and the rolling plains of green grass began again. They could see gardeners in blue, denin overalls wearing bright yellow canvas gloves tending to it in the distance, either mowing or trimming it. Caps were pulled low over their faces to protect them from the sun, which shown beautifully through the clouds here beneath a blue sky. The gardeners did not look away from their work, and the carriage rode by.

They passed estates of beautiful Elizabethean design, massive houses. Men and women in clothing that likely hadn't been in style for the last six hundred years stood out front, perhaps eating a meal, or tending to household business. Children in little doublets ran through rose gardens and around marble fountains. A couple strolled through a hedge maze, the woman carrying a dainty parasol. Men rode side beside on the Sled-Horses, touring the grounds of their estates. Servants in black&white outfits roamed the grounds on various duties, whehter a governeress watching over the children, or a servant carrying a meal from the kitchen to his lord's quarters. It was a Charles Dicken's novel come to life.

The carriage paused at a rode that bisected the one they were on. The sound of horses and marching boots reached their ears as a battalion of the Red Hand marched by. Officers on the back of Unicorns came first, their uniforms decorated, polished, and wonderful. Heads held high with helmets or hats that were decorated by feathers or other plumes. Behind them marched the soldiers. Rifles held in the crook of their arms, the battalion marched in rows ten men across, their discipline perfect, every movement coordinated. They looked only forwards as they proceeded on their march. There must've been no less than five hundred men there as they passed the carriage in a column, marching single file.

The battalion passed, and carriage started again, hooves of it's horse clip-clopping on the raked dirt of the road. Their destination became clear.

A massive palace rose in the distance. Surrounded by a wall that would've made East Germany blush, a keep of undoubtedly European design towered over them. When the sun set behind it could cast a shadow that would be capable of reaching down the road to them. Composed of cut and polished stone, it consisted of beautiful spires, fortifactions, bastions, towers-- anything a monarch would want for his palace. It was a combination of all the beautiful aspects of a castle, and it worked. There was, perhaps, nothing comparable to it in existence.

The sheer size of the palace became only clearer as they road up to the iron gate which was set into the wall. It swung open as they approached, likely automated, and the carriage drove into the courtyard of the palace, no less beautiful than the structure built around it. There was a small carriage house nearby the gate, and path that lead up to a gratuitous set of stairs, which when climbed led to the keep's broad set of doors. On either side of that path were two large, identical marble fountains, in the center of each stood the statue of Bacchus as Michelangelo had sculped him, although it was unlikely anyone recognized the work. Even here, nobles milled about, some sitting by the fountains, others coming and going from parts of the courtyard not visible from the Outsiders' location.

The driver hopped down from his seat, and began to unharness his horse.

"The King’s servant shall be with you shortly." He called over his shoulder to the group.

Even as the man spoke, someone approached then. An interesting individual, he was a stooped, short man, with a thin face. He wore tight, yellow outfit, which gave him a slim appearance, and had a jester's hat, with bells that jangled when ever he turned his head. A permenant grin was plaster on his face, and it was one of joy, judging by the wrinkles around his eyes. Wide silk cuffs hung around his wrists, making his hands look small and dainty, which he held out in front of his waist, as if he was preparing to catch something.

"Greetings, welcome guests." The Yellow Jester said, bowing deeply to them once he came to a stop in front of their carriage. "The House of Devane, and the Crimson King, appreciate your attendance."