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Only the sheer excess of today's festivities and the most important date in modern Tezoth — Deus's birthday — could rival Kalamention in beauty and grandeur. Nominally, it was a tribute to the ruler and a symbol of the kingdom's unity, but in reality, it was so only for the capital's residents. While the invited lords and their retinues basked in luxury and the pleased Kanamiites gave themselves over to solemn celebrations, life in the other regions continued to flow as before — the noble warriors of Swordgard and Lamente still stood their watch, guarding the kingdom's peace from encroachments out of the crater, but few cared about that. On the contrary — some of the defenders had been summoned here, as unwilling participants in today's farce. That said, Alaria felt no ill will toward Mariarnelia — she herself was bound by the constraints of her status and, in a sense, was a hostage of the situation.
Having become a Knight of Catharsis relatively recently, the warrior had not participated in such events before — seeing the most influential people of Tezoth gathered under one roof was a first for her. Most of them she had never even seen in person. This was one of the reasons she favored her suzerain's approach — the position of a quiet observer who attracted no undue attention suited her just fine.
There goes Karneya Keykunia Iretiret, fully living up to her notorious reputation. And there is Lord Adalard — likely the second most powerful man in the empire, after Deus himself — in the company of his son. Whether he is preparing his heir for high society or scheming to betroth him to the guest of honor in an effort to expand his influence. A predictable and logical move — from the standpoint of political marriages, there aren't many better candidates. Clearly not something to be dismissed out of hand.
For the Tanarsian herself, the one who stood out most among them all was the local fanatic — Man of Sanbornia — but hardly in a positive light. There was something repulsive about that procession, as if even today's visit was used solely as an opportunity to praise his idol. At the same time, the absence of the Knight from his retinue looked exceptionally suspicious. Given the opportunistic nature of the Lord of Sanbornia, this boded nothing good, especially for his neighbors.
One after another, the guests came and went, and for each of them the Knight of Catharsis made various notes in her mental journal, trying to remember their faces, habits, and bearing, not neglecting to observe even the escorts of the distinguished figures. You never know whom your lord might decide to do business with in the future, or who might acquire a new domain in a year or two.
That said, she did not forget to keep an eye on her own surroundings, staying close to Lord Cartridge like a vigilant guardian. Protecting the suzerain was still one of her direct duties, and Alaria had no intention of neglecting it.
While Alaria observed and pondered the proceedings, one of the guests approached her — a man who, it seemed, was not very literate and, due to Lord Cartridge's simple attire, failed to recognize him as the ruler of the region.
- Knight of the Golden Coin, "Milord" Galaharadron! - He introduced himself, thumping his hairy chest. - I came up with this name myself, pretty awesome, right? Decided a plain name wouldn't have enough prestige.
- Perhaps. - Cartridge agreed without noticeable interest. - The ability to present oneself properly is a valuable resource.
- You bet you bet! You get it, buddy!
- Speaking of balls, I'd recommend not overindulging in the dishes, lest difficulties of a survival nature arise should the need present itself.
- Ahahah! - The interlocutor shows a scar on his stomach. - This belly has seen a lot, surviving dangers is nothing new to me!
Protecting one's lord from bandits is a vassal's duty. But Alaria would never in her life have thought that this would happen at an important event, and that the villain pressing in would come not with weapons in hand, but with bad manners and poor jokes. One could have hinted that he had mistaken his man, the fool, and was speaking to a lord. But there were reasons why Cartridge himself did not do so — likely, he did not want to draw undue attention to himself or stir up a polemic. And so it was not her place to remind him of it either, when a more elegant solution existed — she could simply divert the Knight of Farejia's attention to herself, so that the suzerain could indulge in his deep thoughts without such annoying buzzing under his nose.
— Always a pleasure to meet someone with such a refined name, — the Tanarsian said with a wide smile, pressing her fist to her chest and giving a welcoming nod, — allow me to introduce myself, Alaria Doran, Knight of Catharsis.
She looked with interest at the scar that the Knight of the Golden Coin so proudly thrust forward. In Alaria's opinion, if one compared a person to a book, then scars were its text. Each of them carries some story, albeit sometimes an insignificant one. Sometimes they are tied to victories. Sometimes to defeats. But a fact was a fact to her — they truly were nothing to be ashamed of.
— Impressive, — the warrior nodded with a knowing look, — I'm certain the foe who left that scar was truly mighty and dangerous. Would you care to tell me how you got it?
- Oh, that was my boss, I mean lord, who cut it open with his sasalpel. And without anesthesia, or whatever it's called, can you imagine? It hurt, I was squealing like a little girl! AAA PLEASE NO MERCY MERCY BOSS I BEG YOU... JUST NOT INSIDE... Yeah, something like that. Terrifying even to recall. So yeah, the "foe" was plain mighty and plain dangerous. What about you, got any interesting scar stories too? I'd listen.
However comical this story sounded, it too lifted the veil of mystery over the character of both Stratos Genburry himself and his subordinate. Though the latter hardly suffered from an excess of mystery anyway — the title of Knight of Sincerity suited him no less than that of a servant of Teneressa. Honest and straightforward as a plank, Galaharadron, if he ever had any filter on his speech, it had long since malfunctioned. It was entirely possible that this was why the Lord of Farejia kept him around. Though the anesthesia bit did suggest that the overly candid Knight of the Golden Coin sometimes got on his nerves.
All the while smiling, Alaria gradually steered the noisy interlocutor away from Lord Cartridge, while making sure the latter remained within her field of view, in case he should need her for anything.
— You ask! I could publish a whole book about them — or even several — it's just that I don't think there'd be any readers.
The warrior carefully removed her right gauntlet and showed her interlocutor her forearm, on both sides of which large scars, left by equally large chelicerae, were on display.
— I got these back when I was a mercenary, during a night shift. It happened in Lamente, and I was tasked with guarding the wall. You'd think, standing on a height, what could be worse than some flying beast? As it turns out, plenty. There are these arachnids there, as cunning as they are vile, that climb the walls ever so quietly. And under cover of darkness, no less. And they're the size of a full-grown horse. So there I am on duty, glancing now down, now at the sky. And I feel something grab my arm. At first I didn't even feel any pain. I turn around — several pairs of eyes are staring at me. Studying me. And my arm, as it turns out, is clamped between its chelicerae. And then it goes and — would you believe it — tries to toss me off the wall. My arm nearly got twisted out of its socket that time. At the last moment, I manage to grab hold of a merlon, but my halberd had long since vanished into the midnight darkness below the fortifications. My entire right arm is covered in blood. Below — certain death from merciless gravity. Above — the eight-legged abomination. It looks at me again. I figure, if it could smile, it surely would. What choice do I have? With my good arm — I hold on for dear life. With my wounded one, I reach for my boot and, grabbing the knife, hurl it at its face. I hit it right in the eyes — lucky for me it has plenty — and quickly climb back up while it writhes in pain and thrashes side to side. By then the other patrolmen had arrived, and together we shoved that monstrosity off the wall. I don't know what it was thinking — or if it was thinking at all — as it fell, but that experience stayed with me for life. My advice to you: if you don't yet have a backup weapon, by all means get one. One day, it might just save your life.