A Courier for a Page

Lower Markets, Noon

A sunny, cloudless day blankets the markets in a cool, warm light. Spring in full step, with many of the showers it brings in the afterthought of rogue puddles strewn about the cobbled roads. It's busy, with many new shipments coming in as the weather has given a window to move goods.

Amongst the crates moving about is that of a disheveled young man, arm in a sling, standing atop one of the wooden boxes as his hand clutches a shaking scroll. His other hand rests in the pocket of his jacket. Well made and tailored, but a ragged jacket is slung over his shoulder, one arm of it ripped and torn to shreds. He surveys the crowd with a nervous tick. "Where is he....?" he whines.

Spring! Spring in one's step, as no longer one is forced to endure the elements of the snow, storms and other acclimations that force one in the hiding of warmth and shelter, and worse, clothing. A ruddy sith-makar was balancing a comparably large crate over one shoulder, stepping across the street with his scales proudly in show.

Except he was still wearing his cloak. It was still pretty chill.

Pointed horns with red ribbons flared as Aelwyn steadily made his way across, but the sight of the young man atop one of the scrolls was odd enough to make him momentarily pause. "The temples are that way Stranger!" The draconian calls out with his free hand gesturing.

The slinged figure looks down at Aelwyn, frowns. "I already went to the-"

He blinks. Rubs his eyes, and gives Aelwyn a good look. "Are you Dragoon Aelwyn? You're not as... red, as I thought you would be-" he shakes his head. "I have a message for you."

The scroll in hand is unraveled awkwardly in his slung arm. And his other hand pulls free a simple device from his jacket pocket, almost looking like a Dragonspitter, but far less elaborate.

Aelwyn was about to comment about the quality of the work - the man looked like he was in even worse shape - but then he pauses as his name is mentioned. And instantly straightens up. "More than enough red. It is simply the weather and lack of oil and polish." His mane of quills seemed to flex upwards just a touch.

But then a message is mentioned, and the ruddy sith-makar _tiiilts his head_ before he slowly lowers the box onto the ground. "And what sort of message is Courier delivering, to look so haggard?" He asks - and his hand moves to idly lay upon his shoulder pad.

"If- uh- you say so sir," the young man concedes, hopping off the crate to get down to the same level as Aelwyn. "It's a long story, I had to deliver a package to... someplace, and there was a large monster-" he shakes his head. "Not my place. But, regardless, uh. I was told to read this aloud to you."

The courier shifts his slinged arm some to look down at the unraveled parchment. It barely is three lines of written words despite the filigree lining all over the page. He clears his throat, "Give word to Dragoon Aelwyn that the Page is arriving. Deliver unto him this signal. Instruct him to blot out the sun when he receives it."

The courier lowers the writ. "I, uh. I'm supposed to give this to you-" he offers the simple looking firearm. "I... think it's a flare? I don't know why in Ea someone from Rosalia would send a courier for a page."

Aelwyn opens his mouth in a quiet 'ah', then crosses his arms as he looks at the courier with an understanding look on his face. "They truly do not pay one that delivers enough in this day and age." The sometimes-courier draconian replies with a brief nod of his head.

The sith-makar then waits patiently for the message to be delivered - and then it was obvious that he was very, very confused. "A Page? This one does not understand, what is a page?." Reaching into his satchel around his backside, he pulls out a gold coin that he offers in trade for the gun. "It is from Rosalia?" His teeth widen into a macabre grin. "Then this one's letter must have reached the Order!" Or someone, at the very least.

Holding the flare gun by the barrel, he examines it. "... though this one has no idea what one is supposed to do with this. Blot out the sun?" He moves to look over towards the letter. "There was nothing else?"

The courier gives a slight bow, taking the coin graciously and handing the simple weapon over. "Thank you. They don't. Though, those that hired me did make sure I was well set for my troubles," he sighs, tugging at his nicer jacket as way of explanation. He shifts on his feet. "A page is like a... uh. Like a courier. A messenger. But for nobility? I was told the Page would come after me. I don't really know, they were very... particular on their way of things."

He looks at the weapon as Aelwyn inspects it. "Oh, uh. You uh, hold your hand there and that thing there is like a crossbow trigger," the courier points out. "You aim the hollow part into the sky and pull it. Some courier guilds give one out if you're going someplace into the wilds so people can find you."

He looks up and down the busy roads, then shakes his head. "Nothing else, sir. I... guess if you want to summon the Page. Then..." he gestures to the gun. "I'm probably going to make myself scarce. They were... something."

Aelwyn twists his lips, holding the gun and pointing it momentarily at his face. "Hmmh." He then rolls his shoulders, flashing his teeth at the courier. "This one has never understood the ways of the nobility - surely this must be a commonplace tradition for them." He cheerfully says and pats the courier on the shoulder. "This one shall be working later at the TarRaCe, perhaps one should go there and enjoy a long soak and a hot meal?" He offers with a flicker of his tongue and squinted, amused eyes. "This one's special treatment on the house."

Leaning back, he eyes the gun once more. It was an odd sensation in a sense - to hold the gun to summon a page? A page from the order! Ah, it was enough to make one feel touch tension. "This one shall fire the gun," He warns the young courier, "If one must leave." He flicks his tail. "The letter said when one receives it."

Giving himself one last look to make sure he wasn't covered in mud, his cloak was appropriately straighte, and his loincloth was in place, he gives the other man ample time to make his escape - and then points the gun at the sun, and pulls the trigger.

The Courier takes a half step towards Aelwyn, a minor look of panic crossing his visage as the barrel passes by Aelwyn's snout, but he exhales deeply. Blinks, and gives a light smile. "Oh, really? Alright! I'll take you up on that- oh hells I ain't staying around for that!" The courier absconds.

The hammer falls. Usually, there is a loud bang that follows most of the firearms used in the field of battle. But not this one. Instead, it fires with sound like a sealed lid being popped open. THUNK!

A white trail of smoke follows the path into the sky, several bystanders gasping from the sudden noise, and staggering back.

But aloft in the sky is a bright pink light. Slooowly floating down. Down. Down-

"Oh my gods, there's a carriage coming! Move!" someone shouts, not long after the sound of a half dozen pairs of hooves clopping along the ground echoes down the streets. The crowd scatters to get out of the way, as a two pairs of horses pulling an ornate and white wooded carriage, some crest emblazoned on its side but moving to quick to spy comes galloping down. Only to come to a screeching halt into the midst of the crowd.

The door is booted open by a small foot.

A young gnomish woman wearing a red beret and a pink dress steps out of the carriage. But just short of leaving the steps, keeping her height towering above others despite her stature, and the wind whipping jade locks that obscure her green eyes, as the sun catches a pin stuck to her dress, depicting a lion clutching a pink rose in its maw.

"Dragoon Aelwyn of the Golden Sands!" Despite her stature, her voice booms out into the public. "Hither and hark!"

Aelwyn offers a grin towards the young man. "Worry shan't, TarRaCe shall keep one well." The draconian reassures, before the other just... flees. The draconian shrugs. Surely it cannot be that bad?

The ruddy sith-makar watches the signal flare raise up into the sky for a moment, before stuffing the gun away into his satchel. Oh, wait, where was his glaive? He grits his teeth with a click - was this not one of the more important moments in his life?

The Dragoon did not have -much- time to ruminate the fact, before the carriage comes roaring down and he stares at its approach - not sure what to expect, the sith just puts his hand down on his hip and puts one weight on one foot.

And then -she- appears. A moment of looking about, the draconian then clambers on top of the box he was carrying and offers a very macabre grin at the gnome. "Yes, Jade Page!"

Jade Page's attention snaps over to Aelwyn- and her gaze looks him over with critical appraisal. "Dragoon Aelwyn, you are dressed appropriately for this missive. Excelsior."

The crowd is confused as all else, looking between the gaudy carriage and the makari on the box.

The fancy gnome continues to speak. "I am Page Karlia Quillsnips, presenting on behalf of House La'vie of Rosalia, for the Lord Knight Varen.

She produces a tube from within the carriage, a fancy, gold leafed thing with several ornate tassels. With a brisk thwack of a hand, a lid pops off, and she sticks a hand into the tube. "Are you ready to receive this missive?" she states, holding a professional, if over the top, poise.

For the Lord Knight Warren- Aelwyn struggled to keep up with the spew of names, titles and stationery, but he was more than bristling with contentment as his outfit was getting praised. Adjusting his leather cloak's lapel just a touch - he then proudly swings his arms open and widen.

"Yet, but naturally - for if one's body was not primed, whyfor would it dare to presume to do so?" He replies with a wide toothy grin on his face. "Let this one take upon this mission, Jade Page, for this one is ready."

There's a brief pause, and then he corrects himself, "To receive the missive, this one meant."

Noble talk was so difficult.

"There are no presumptions here, only decadence," Page Quillsnips most assuredly declares. "Very well! From the Lord Knight Varen of House La'vie, Chevalier of the Cockatrice, I deliver unto you his words:"

She pulls out the scroll with a flair. There is a wheezy -paff- as the tube shoots out pink petals and confetti, wafting over the crowd. Even more is caught in the wind as the scroll unravels down to her feet, bounces onto the ground, and continues rolling until it ends against Aelwyn's standing soapbox. The Page takes a deep breath.

"Good tidings, good wealth, and good glory upon you, Dragoon Aelwyn.

The letter of your exploits had landed in my house after a squire in training rescued a courier from a wild dire tortoise. Your method of sending word raised my interest, as one should not have to sully themselves with common words when pages can do the same job, as well as your choice of presentation. The use of ribbons and feathers is new and vogue.

My associates have looked into your exploits, and I am found satisfied. From daring rescues of people and mythical creatures in far, foreign jungles, to returning home and quelling a disturbed pharaoh, to a plethora of works in your Explorer's Guild, your achievements are merely not listed and penned, but painted and held high above the others.

I have received your message, and I have heard your request and declaration loud and clear.

I am to be visiting nobility in Alexandros in the coming days, and will have some time to spare to appraise you for induction into the Order of the Cockatrice. My page Karlia Quillsnips can answer any questions you may have.

Prepare yourself for presentation."

With a slight clearing of her throat, Karlia expertly rolls the missive back into its tube, and she stands at attention.

"Decadence? But naturally," Aelwyn flashes his teeth, hand pulling open his leather cloak. He briefly glances down as the scroll hits his box. That _must_ be a noble thing.

Then the message begins in earnest and the ruddy sith-makar starts to listen, then stare, then momentarily open his mouth, then close his mouth, then stare again. He should give the courier another coin or ten. Though what was that about his deeds being painted?

"It pleases this one that this one's deeds have reached the ear of such esteem and taste!" The Dragoon calls out to the Page. "And obviously, this one is nothing but prepared and ready to be praised at any moment of notice - though this one must ask." He hops off the soapbox and then makes the short trip to look up at the very prim and proper gnome page. "How does one prepare, where shall Knight Lord Varen of Lavie Valier of Cock-a-thrice reside and were Jade Page hiding around the corner for the flare?" He asks, hand on his hip and with a curious tilt on his head; red ribbon and the green one tilting off his horns.

As the show grows to more nuanced questions and less decorative affairs, the crowd- slowly- resumes normalcy, though they watch with a weary eye, unsure when the carriage would speed off again.

Karlia gives a slight narrow of her eyes, hands folded behind her back. "It would behoove you to learn how to pronounce my lord's name correctly. As have I and he for you. Glory must aptly recognize glory."

She looks up to the mountains to the east. "Within the noble district of this city, we will arrange a space within the embassies here for you to meet. From us we require: where can you be found that an invitation can be sent?"

The page looks back down to him. "Prepare yourself as if you were to be on display. Show your best. Be your best. Express your glory. Embrace the edicts of the Cockatrice; take every chance to advance yourself, your glory, your power. Keep your goals above others. And accept payment for your sweat."

She eyes the fluttering ribbons. "One does not reveal the preparations for grandeur, merely revel in its show," she evenly answers his last question.

The Dragoon Aelwyn twists his lips. How could he remember Lord Knight Varen of... House... Vasilia...? The draconian decides then to sent someone to spy on the nobles to relearn that name. Without skipping a beat, he does a grand bow, without breaking eye contact. "Of course, this one would not shine away one bit of their glory, Jade Page." A wide grin. "For a name holds a great pride, ever duly deserved."

Straightening, Aelwyn considers the question. He did not actually have a permanent residence in the city - but he then quickly says, "TarRaCe. One should make certain it is addressed to this one and this one only." He lifts his finger. "Very important." Lest certain staff and owner get their hands on it first.

For a moment, Aelwyn briefly entertained the notion of going in his scales to display - was he not the epitome of himself? - but reconsidered. "Hmmh. That would be a given." Hand on his hip, he leans on one foot. "Then this one shall appear as one does - always his best." He flashes his teeth.

And finally, he clicks his teeth and opens his mouth in a quiet 'ah'. The flare made so much sense now. "... perhaps Jade Page should consider a bard for the next show to accentuate the beating of the arrival." He suggests. "This one can suggest names."

Jade Page seems pleased at the bow, her settling into a more relaxed poise upon her still elevated position. "As it is. House La'vie is full of names that hail from different orders, names that are quite important. But Lord Knight Varen will be your sponsor should you earn his approval."

She gives a curt nod. Not bothering writing the information down. Perhaps she is just that good at her job? "Very well. Addressed to you and you alone."

There is a faint smirk that crests her lips. "If you appear as you are and that is your best, then show it. This Order is for one's personal glory. What you find resplendent may be dull to another. It matters little, as long it matters to /you/."

At that, she snorts. "Perhaps it can be considered. For now, catch-" she tosses something she's been holding behind her back towards him. A small, glossy ceramic emblem of a lion, holding a pink rose in its maw. "-and hark. Present this to the courier upon receiving your invitation, and bring it with you to presentation. It is our house crest, and will prove validity of our meeting."

She bows deeply, green hair bobbing as she does so. "I must take my leave, as I have other matters to attend to. Good tidings, good wealth, and good glory upon you, Dragoon Aelwyn."

She snaps a finger, and the reins are whipped, as the carriage tears out of the crowd, dodging people as the Page hangs out the open door, checking the position of the sun for the time.

Aelwyn snatches the crest off the air with a flick of his wrist. He glances at the crest - not his style - but he bows again as he receives it. "Then let Jade Page leave with the blessing of sky and may her journey be glorious," The draconian replies. "This one has plenty to prepare as well." Another flash of his teeth.

And as the gnome and her carriage carts off with apparent lethal indifference, Aelwyn looks at the crest. It was a good thing that he had it, as nobody would believe this encounter other wise. A toothy grin started to appear on his maw.

Though before his other preparations, he must acquire the spy to learn the noble's name. "Tch. How can anyone remember half of their titles?" He rumbles as he moves to pick up the box off the ground with a heavy, and starts to carry on his less glorious day job of carting nondescript boxes about.

-End Scene-