As Errol stood under the vigilant eyes of the castle guards, his mischievous grin remained unfaltering, a bold dash of color against the austere backdrop of security measures. “Is this a customary welcome for all your guests, or am I just special?” He chuckled, injecting an affable tone into the charged atmosphere. His well-tailored suit, an intriguing blend of foreign sophistication and trend, seemed slightly out of place amidst the stern seriousness of the guard’s uniforms. Yet, Errol carried it with an uncanny ease, as if to challenge the norm.
Each item he possessed was scrutinized with relentless precision, from the antique silver pocket watch – scarred by time, yet persevering in its rhythmic ticks – to the Queen’s summons, sealed with the royal insignia. The guards’ stone-like expressions were unmoved, their staunch vigilance unwavering. Their caution, while excessive to a casual observer, spoke volumes of the unpredictability Errol was known for. His hands, held aloft during the inspection, began to tremble subtly under the weight of their watchful gaze.
The grand entrance of Dawnspire, a testament to the opulence of royalty, buzzed with activity as chariots of nobility glided past. Errol, despite his incongruous circumstances, caught the attention of some. Their glances, filled with curiosity or dismissiveness, skittered off him like water on heated stone. Yet it was not the spectacle of passing nobility, nor the hubbub of spinning wheels against cobblestone that held his attention, but the distinct sound of approaching footsteps, standing out in the symphony of castle life.
“Why subject the Queen’s guest to such a harsh welcome?” An authoritative voice resonated through the scene, its biting chill reminiscent of the frost-kissed mountain peaks. The guards immediately ceased their inspection, standing at attention as a new figure entered the arena.
Errol took a moment to compose himself, brushing off invisible dust from his impeccably tailored suit. He lifted his gaze to meet the eyes of the newcomer. His eyes were as deep and warm as aged oak, and his skin bore the color of a night sky draped in stars, black and captivating. He was decked in the pristine white uniform of high stature, adorned with gold accents on his robe and shoulders. A sword hung gracefully by his side, its sheen as brilliant as the pistol holstered nearby. Errol chuckled at the memory of once being at the receiving end of that sword and pistol, with remnants of those encounters etched in scars on his skin.
“Ah, the Tower’s Warden, Mr. Dick,” Errol greeted, a glint of mischief in his eyes.
The man responded, an underlying sternness to his voice, “Errol.” A brief pause, then he corrected, “And it’s Julius—”
“I know what I called you.” Errol retorted, his grin stretching wider, an echo of past camaraderie mixed with rivalry etched in their verbal spar.
With a resigned sigh, Julius ordered, “Resume your posts, I will escort our guest.”
Like clockwork, the guards returned to their stations, their unified steps echoing a rhythm of order and discipline as they reassumed their sentinel duties by the grand gates. Julius watched them attentively, ensuring they fell into formation accurately.
In the meantime, Errol, always one for his own path, proceeded to stride through the gate, disregarding Julius’s directive to wait. He stepped onto the cobblestone pathway that wove its way through the most majestic garden ever conceived, a living tapestry of color and fragrance that was a feast for the senses. Ahead, the formidable silhouette of the Dawnspire loomed, its two mighty wings flanking the central structure, an architectural marvel that dominated the landscape.
Above the grand entrance, the royal balcony sat ominously vacant. Its usual function as a stage for declarations, be they of war, emergencies, or executions, felt eerily absent. A certain reminiscence washed over Errol as he looked at it, taking him back to his last visit. An encounter that hadn’t exactly concluded favorably for the Dawnspire, or so he mused.
The echo of footsteps behind him interrupted the silent interlude he was reveling in, and not for the better. The tacit urgency in the pace annoyed him, but he deliberately chose to ignore it. Let Julius match his unhurried stride if he so wished. Errol strolled through the garden, savoring the intoxicating perfume of blooming flowers, marveling at the artistry of the flowing fountains, and attempting to engage the reticent servants in casual banter. His leisurely demeanor was driving Julius to the brink of frustration.
“The Queen awaits,” Julius would interject.
“Yeah, yeah… she can wait a bit longer,” Errol would respond, waving him off nonchalantly.
Errol’s devil-may-care demeanor was the thorn in Julius’ side, a blatant disrespect towards the Queen herself and her valuable time. Errol’s lollygagging was running down the clock—a figurative one, but nevertheless, a constraint meticulously added as a failsafe for the flamboyant pirate’s rampant frolicking around the town. Impressively, he’d managed to keep a low profile, as low as a man of his notoriety could keep. Julius followed, maintaining a respectful distance, muttering only necessary pleasantries to the attentive gardeners and stone-still guards who watched their peculiar interaction, as did the palace’s guests who paid him no mind, instead expressing their disapproval of Errol’s antics.
Errol found the grandeur of the gardens lacking in some indescribable way. His gaze wandered over the sentinels standing their stoic watch, gardeners and servants bustling around the labyrinthine garden pathways, tending to the verdant expanse as if their livelihoods were tied to it—and indeed, they might have been.
Halting before the elaborate fountain, Errol let his eyes trace the sculpted figures dancing amidst the gentle cascades of water. The fountain, a harmony of artistry and grandeur, flawlessly matched the palace’s opulence. And yet, a few discordant details gnawed at him.
Julius, trying to grasp his fixation, broke the silence. “What is it?”
Errol held his gaze on the fountain for another beat, “This fountain…”
Julius, eager to share his knowledge, jumped in. “What about it? It was designed by Donatello de Canio and commissioned by King Antonof the First—”
“Didn’t ask,” Errol interrupted curtly.
“How-“
“The fountain, does fit the aesthetic of the palace, yet it feels out of place.”
“It was here before me and it will be after me, please make your way towards the Throne Room, the Queen is waiting”
While he carried himself with a semblance of decorum, Errol’s actions were an affront to the queen. Everything he had done since stepping foot into the Dawnspire was an implicit insult, albeit a refreshing one in the stifling atmosphere of the court. Still, there was an inherent danger in his audacity. If he dared to offend the wrong person, not even the Queen’s pardon could save him.
Julius, growing increasingly exasperated, finally sighed. “Must I plead, Errol?” he asked, a note of desperation creeping into his voice. “Must I get on my knees to persuade you to accompany me to Her Majesty?”
Errol’s eyes lit up with amusement at Julius’s near-pleading tone. He knew Julius wasn’t serious, but the thought was entertaining nonetheless.
“I wouldn’t dream of subjecting you to such indignity,” Errol responded, his voice laced with the lofty inflection commoners often imagined of the royals. A playful smile danced across his features as he strode towards the looming Dawnspire. A slight grin threatened to disrupt Julius’s stern visage as he trailed closely behind his unpredictable companion.
Julius studied Errol’s attire, a bemused eyebrow arched in question. “Errol,” he began, earning a prompt, albeit detached, “Yes?” from Errol.
“Where did you procure this ensemble?” Julius probed, suspicion lining his words. “I find it hard to believe that such a garment was part of your usual wardrobe.”
“Indeed, it was not,” Errol confirmed nonchalantly. “I purchased it.”
“Acquired, or… legitimately purchased?” Julius clarified, his tone implying the notorious ambiguity of Errol’s actions.
“What’s the difference,” Errol retorted, an air of faux innocence surrounding his words.
“You know precisely what I mean.”
“Alright,” Errol surrendered, a sigh of exaggerated exasperation escaping him. “How uncouth of you, Julius. For your information, I bought it, legally, from Avenura Atellier near the castle gates.”
Julius thought for a moment, Avenura was known for their excquisite choice of clientele and their works, they wouldn’t just let anyone buy their clothes. Yet alone not something like this. Truly it was a miracle he hasn’t come to the gates still wearing the captains uniform. He sighed for a moment, silent enough not to break Errol’s peace as he observed the looming towers of Dawnspire and looked at the beautiful statues that lined the space outside the gates.
As they approached the doors, the Guard at the doors halted them before entering.
“Please wait a moment, Sir Julius.”
“This is a Queen’s Guest,”
“I know sir, there’s been some…”
“What?”
“Is it because I’m too charming, and so handsome that the Queen decided to take longer to prepare to greet me?” Errol asked, only for his answer to be replied with the Guards spear almost piercing him if it wasn’t for Julius to order him to stop.
“Really now?” Errol responded, a cheeky grin lighting up his face.
“What’s the situation?” Julius probed the guard, whose discomfort was plainly visible.
“May I speak candidly, sir?”
“By all means,” both Errol and Julius chorused simultaneously, their unified response prompting a surprised glance shared between them. Julius swiftly reconfirmed his consent, this time without Errol chiming in.
“It seems Her Majesty is handing Sir Peron yet another tongue-lashing,” the guard confessed, his voice laced with an undertone of weary resignation. “Rumors have surfaced of Sir Peron being unfaithful to his wife again. The Queen is far from pleased.”
“And why should our glorious Queen Isolde care about the sordid bedroom antics of some knight?” Errol posed, his features animated as he spoke of the queen. The guard, offended by Errol’s flippancy, moved to strike, only to be stayed by Julius, who was visibly struggling with his patience.
“Her Majesty takes the welfare of all her subjects to heart, especially those in the court who have been entrusted with the responsibilities of leadership due to their birthright.”
“Huh.” Errol retorted dismissively. “Wait, you’re actually serious?” he burst out laughing at the sincerity of the guard’s assertion.
Bathed in the soft glow of intricate chandeliers, the Dawnspire’s regal corridors whispered of countless tales and secrets. The gentle rustle of tapestries and the distant sound of water fountains played with the senses, while a faint floral aroma drifted in the air, signaling the presence of the palace gardens nearby. In this ambiance, the mere thought of their revered Queen being indifferent to her subjects was a sacrilege to both the Guard and Julius. Their belief in her altruism was unwavering, a sentiment rooted deeply in their souls.
But for Errol, detached and ever the outsider, these shared convictions held no weight. The room was thick with tension when Julius, attempting to defuse the situation, shifted his attention from Errol to the knight by the grand doors. This knight stood tall and proud, his every stance reflecting years of disciplined training.
The grandeur of Dawnspire was undeniable. Even Errol, the roguish pirate known for his audacity, felt a tug of reverence upon entering the heart of the palace. Beneath the glittering veneer of the palace, though, lay veiled intricacies. As he stepped inside, servants, with evident hesitation, bowed slightly in recognition. Following closely, Julius silently shut the doors behind him, his eyes tracing Errol’s fascinated glances over the glittering artifacts displayed with pomp.
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“Just for show, not for sale,” a chilly voice echoed from a distance, laced with authority.
Turning sharply towards the voice, Errol found its source to be uninviting and stern. The last thing he wanted was to be lectured. Emerging from the shadows was a figure, the very image of aristocracy, draped in elaborate attire. A cravat graced his neck, and his immaculate white gloves seemed to hide more than just his hands.
“I wasn’t exactly browsing with a mind to buy,” Errol retorted, resting his hands on his hips, his smirk playful yet defiant. “Besides, this style is a tad… Lumerian for my taste,” he added, the hint of a grin playing on his lips.
Recognizing the impending storm, Julius stepped in, “Sir Ozwald, I hadn’t expected to find you in Dawnspire,” he remarked, his tone both respectful and cautious, keen to steer the conversation away from any brewing confrontations.
Amid the shadowed alcoves of the palace, the muted clinks of distant silverware and the intoxicating scent of blooming roses, Sir Ozwald’s gaze locked onto Julius. His voice, although cool, had an undercurrent of curiosity, “Where exactly did you think you’d find me?”
Julius, drawing a slow breath that hinted at their shared past, replied, “By the Queen’s side, naturally. Where else?”
Sir Ozwald’s eyes, deep pools of knowledge and intrigue, narrowed slightly. “I’m not a mere trinket for the Queen’s collection, Sir Julius. Now, tell me, who have you ushered into this sanctuary?”
Before Errol could offer his introduction, Julius interjected, a protective edge to his tone, “He’s Errol of The Sea Serpent. The Queen herself summoned him.” A brief, cautionary glance toward Errol was enough to silently convey that now was not the time for his characteristic bravado.
Errol bristled momentarily, the slight an affront to his pride. But his instinct for self-preservation, coupled with the awareness of being a guest in this regal setting, prompted restraint. Julius, ever attuned to the pirate’s temperament, could almost hear the gears of calculation whirring inside Errol’s mind.
“Hm,” was all Ozwald murmured, but behind that sound lay a labyrinth of unspoken thoughts.
Sir Ozwald paused for a moment, studying Errol closely. The gentle, diffuse light from the chandeliers above bathed the corridor, casting intricate patterns on the floor and highlighting the sharp, contrasting features of Ozwald’s face. The scent of old parchment and the delicate fragrance of lilies wafted through the air, lending an almost surreal quality to the scene.
“Of course. The infamous pirate of The Sea Serpent,” Sir Ozwald mused, circling Errol slowly, like a hawk sizing up its prey. His footfalls echoed softly on the polished marble floors, reverberating in the grandeur of the corridor. “But why would our illustrious Queen require the presence of such a man?”
Errol’s eyes followed Sir Ozwald as he moved. Although the pirate’s posture was relaxed, there was a certain alertness in his gaze, a trait honed by years on the treacherous sea.
Julius, feeling the weight of the moment, cleared his throat. “That is a matter between the Queen and Errol, Sir Ozwald. Our duty is to ensure her orders are executed, not to question them.”
Sir Ozwald stopped, facing Julius. Their gazes locked, a silent exchange passing between them — an intricate dance of power, duty, and respect. After what felt like an eternity, Ozwald finally nodded, albeit begrudgingly.
Errol, feeling the need to break the tension, flashed his signature roguish grin. “I must say, this palace is quite… inviting. The hospitality, though? Still up for debate.”
Julius hid a smile, appreciating Errol’s knack for lightening the mood, while Sir Ozwald merely huffed, masking his amusement. The dynamics in the hall were ever-changing, a delicate balance of respect, intrigue, and silent power plays.
In the dimly lit corridor, the warm glow of torches casting flickering shadows across ornate tapestries, Sir Ozwald’s words hung heavy in the air. “If the Queen beckons, it would be unwise to keep her waiting. Moreover, that insufferable lout remains in her company, testing the patience of all around him.” With grace that belied his age, Ozwald offered a slight bow, his gray head dipping momentarily. Without waiting for a formal farewell, he continued on his path, the soft rustle of his robes the only sound marking his departure.
Errol, watching the retreating figure, muttered under his breath, “Man… what an insufferable chap.”
Julius, always the more composed of the two, gave a reproving glance. “Mind your words,” he cautioned, already taking steps toward the grand doors leading to the Throne room.
“Just speaking my truth, mate.” tinging the hallway with his signature mix of mischief and candor.
The opulence of the hallway was staggering. Everywhere the eye turned, there were testaments to wealth and power: ancient vases that spoke of centuries past, oil paintings that captured the essence of beauty and time, intricate embroideries woven with threads of gold and silver, and courtiers draped in the finest silks and velvets, their jewelry glinting in the muted torchlight. Yet, for all the grandeur, it was Julius and his companion who became the cynosure of all eyes.
Subdued murmurs spread like wildfire among the courtiers as they watched the pair walk by. “Who is that with Sir Julius?” “Is that the pirate?” The whispered questions swirled, fanning the flames of intrigue.
As they reached the grand entrance of the Throne Room, a pair of guards, armored in polished metal and standing as still as statues, raised their halberds, signaling them to halt. The corridor filled with a tense anticipation, the air thick with the mingling scents of incense, wax, and the underlying note of apprehension.
Although it felt much longer, they waited for just a heartbeat before there came a resonant click from the other side. The mammoth doors, carved with intricate scenes of past battles and mythical creatures, began to slowly part. Each inch revealed more of the grandeur that lay within, while the creaking groan of the hinges sounded like a beast waking from a long slumber. As the doors opened wide, Julius and Errol prepared themselves to step into the very heart of the palace.
As the doors swung open, a man announced their presence,
“Sir Julius of the Seventh Arm, accompanying him…” there was a short silence, “Errol of The Sea Serpent.”
Inside, the Throne Room was a testament to regal magnificence. Vast marble columns soared upwards, culminating in an intricate web of golden arches and mosaics. The ceilings displayed scenes of celestial grandeur, with stars, moons, and mythical beings shining down. Candle chandeliers cast a soft, golden glow over the room, creating an inviting ambiance amidst the otherwise imposing setting.
At the far end, on a raised platform, sat the Queen. Her eyes, sharp and discerning, immediately locked onto the newcomers, her face inscrutable. Flanking her throne were her most trusted advisors and generals, their expressions equally unreadable.
Courtiers lined the sides of the room, their curious eyes darting between Julius, Errol, and the Queen. Their earlier whispers had transformed into a hushed silence, thick with anticipation.
The crier’s voice echoed in the vast chamber, imbuing the names he announced with a weighty significance. Julius walked with an air of confidence and respect, his gaze focused on the Queen. Beside him, Errol felt a tad out of his element amidst such splendor and formality. Yet, there was a subtle defiance in his stride, a testament to his unyielding spirit.
As their names resonated, it was clear that this meeting was more than a mere formality. It was a confluence of two worlds, and the court waited with bated breath to witness the unfolding drama.
Julius, like a noble citizen he is, quickly bowed to his knee, “My Queen.”
“Your Majesty.” Errol mimicked.
The Queen eyed the two, she asked for one but got two, her eyes gleamed with interest as her fiery hair tied into a neat bun underneath the gem filled crown, she looked like a goddess amongst men.
“Rise.” she spoke, and the chamber was quiet. “You clean up nicely,” she spoke, her voice filling the room with some kind of amusement as she stood from her throne.
Julius straightened up, a small, relieved smile forming on his lips. “Your kindness shines, Your Majesty,” he said, his voice filled with genuine warmth and appreciation.
Beside him, Errol slowly rose, brushing invisible dust off his attire. Though his posture was relaxed, there was an undercurrent of tension evident in the way he held himself. The Queen’s statement had not gone unnoticed by him.
He cast a sidelong glance at Julius, a smirk playing at the corner of his lips. “I do try,” he replied, the twinkle in his eye revealing his playful bravado.
The Queen’s lips curved into a subtle smile. Her regal presence was undeniable, but there was something more to her – a depth and sharpness that could pierce through any facade. She gracefully descended the few steps from her dais, her gown flowing like liquid gold, shimmering in the candlelight. Each step was measured and deliberate, asserting her dominance in the room without a word.
She paused in front of the two men, her gaze shifting from Julius to Errol, analyzing, assessing. Julius maintained a stoic facade, while Errol’s eyes danced with mischief, hinting at tales of daring escapades.
“Sir Julius,” she began, her voice gentle yet authoritative, “I summoned Errol of The Sea Serpent, but I see you have accompanied him.” Her eyes fixed on Julius’, awaiting an explanation.
Julius nodded. “It seemed prudent, Your Majesty. Given the gravity of the situation and the… unpredictability of my companion.” He shot Errol a pointed look, who simply raised an eyebrow in mock surprise.
The Queen chuckled softly, her laughter melodic and unexpected in the tension-laden room. “Very well. Let’s proceed.” She gestured towards a grand table, set with ornate chairs and a map of the realm spread out across it. “Gentlemen, we have much to discuss.”
The dim glow of chandeliers above bathed the room in a soft, amber light. Queen Isolde turned gracefully, acknowledging the man stationed beside the throne with a silent nod. Draped in a dark attire that seemed to consume every hint of light, he shared a momentary, unspoken exchange with the queen. To an observer, it would appear as if entire conversations transpired between them in the span of a heartbeat, their bond evident in the unsaid.
Errol, eyes sharp with curiosity, watched in quiet fascination as the man unfurled a fresh map on the table. The ink, still glistening wetly in places, sketched the lands of Thule in intricate detail. From where he stood, Errol’s gaze flitted to Julius, sensing an unsaid tension. Something was being kept from him, or perhaps, there were words Julius dared not voice in the regal surroundings.
Before them, Thule’s vast landscapes unraveled: the majestic eastern mountains, gateways to Terny and Pirmond, and the expansive, golden sands of the Cilicia desert. Yet, an anomaly beckoned Errol’s attention—a curious question mark at the uncharted western bounds of Alcyone, where nothing but untraveled waters were known to be.
With a commanding presence, Queen Isolde broke the lingering silence. “Gentlemen,” she began, her voice resonating with an authority that demanded every ear in the room, “I have a task for you.” She gracefully pointed to the enigmatic mark on the map. “This unknown realm,” she said, her voice dripping with intrigue, “I want you to explore its mysteries.”
The chandeliers above swayed ever so slightly, casting shifting patterns of light and shadow across the room. “But there is nothing there, Your Highness,” Julius responded, a touch of unease evident in his voice.
“Clear the room. All except him,” Queen Isolde’s voice held an icy edge, pointing at Errol, “And Julius, you stay as well.”
Her command resonated throughout the vast hall, and like leaves before the wind, courtiers, guards, and servants began their exodus. The opulence of the throne room seemed to grow heavier with each passing second. The quiet murmurings and stifled whispers of the retreating crowd told tales of dread and speculation, the weight of unsaid words palpable.
The massive doors groaned shut, sealing the trio in an almost suffocating silence. Leftovers from the feast, still rich and fragrant, sat untouched, painting an eerie tableau in the expansive chamber. Julius, the ever-composed advisor, betrayed a hint of nervousness, a slight tremor in his hands. But he stood tall, unwilling to let his unease show.
The queen’s authority was undeniable, her aura formidable even in this intimate setting.
Breaking the thick silence, Errol’s voice rang out, challenging, “What’s this about?”
Julius seemed lost for words, his usually eloquent self strangely muted.
“I want you to unveil the mystery of that place,” the Queen reiterated, her gaze unwavering.
Errol laughed, a hint of mockery in his tone. “That place? There’s nothing there. Trust me, I know.” He smirked, confidence oozing from his stance. “I’ve used those waters to give your guards the slip more than once, ‘My Queen’,” he added, his voice dripping with sarcasm.
In the dimly lit chamber, flickers of light from candles and lanterns danced across Queen Isolde’s features, revealing a visage of both power and patience. “Your audacity is impressive,” she noted coolly. “However, you seem to mistake my invitation for naivety.”
Julius, in his silent contemplation, felt the tension rise with every exchanged word. The weighty curtains seemed to absorb the hushed tones, the room laden with unseen currents of power and defiance. Every little sound, from the soft crackle of the candles to the rustling of the parchment, felt amplified in the silence.
Errol’s eyes glittered with a mix of amusement and challenge. “You’ve got a lot of land, a lot of power. Why bother with an uncharted region?”
Queen Isolde leaned forward, the ruby-studded crown reflecting the ambient glow. “Because, Captain Errol, while you see nothing, I see potential. An opportunity.”
“I’ve danced around that stretch of water,” Errol smirked, “I’ve seen its secrets. Just waves and empty horizons.”
Softly, almost whispering, Julius interrupted, his focus still on the map, “But what lies beyond those horizons, Your Majesty? What drives this quest?”
The Queen straightened, her gaze moving from Errol to Julius. “Curiosity, Lord Julius. And the promise of a legacy. Every great ruler has an uncharted territory, a mystery. This is mine.”
“So you’re sending me to the middle of nowhere for a vanity trip?” Errol mocked her, he mocked the Queen who united the Lumerian islands under one banner and defended her reign through a Revolution, she was not someone to be mocked at.
The atmosphere in the room grew palpable, thick with the tension of a brewing storm. The distant murmur of the crowd outside filtered through the room, seemingly far removed from the power struggle unfolding within the chamber. Shadows flitted across the marble walls, their erratic dance mirroring the unpredictability of the conversation.
Queen Isolde’s face remained stern, her green eyes, as sharp as emeralds, piercing through Errol’s defiant demeanor. Her voice was cold but steady, “You underestimate the weight of whispers, Captain. One fisherman’s account could signify nothing, or it could herald the beginning of something monumental. I will not leave that to chance.”
Errol, always the gambler, couldn’t help but smirk, sensing the game of stakes being played. He took a moment, savoring the weight of the offer. “Clear my name and ensure safe harbor for my crew, and I might just play scout for you, Your Majesty.”
Queen Isolde nodded, a hint of respect flashing in her gaze. “You have my word. You’ll sail with the kingdom’s protection. But remember, Captain Errol, if you deceive me or return with nothing, you will find that I am not as forgiving as the open sea.”
Errol’s chuckle was rich and confident, “Let’s hope for both our sakes, then, that there’s more than just waves and wind out there.”
Her eyes darted towards Julius who was silent as a churches mouse, eyeing the map, avoiding her gaze, “And you, Sir Julius, you’ll join him.”
“What?!” Errol asked, “No way, he’s not coming with me.”
“He is, or the deal is off.” she spoke, “You’re going to be my eyes and ears on this expedition, don’t let that baboon find this out.”
“Yes, your Majesty.” Julius saluted