Roleplay from Kyryn Kye JeVondair
Message sent to all nobles in Port Raviel (6 recipients) - 11 hours, 32 minutes ago
"TO DINNER!!" The child-like creature bellowed and Kryrn felt his heart nearly stop...this disconcertingly mismatched dichotmoy of such a big, terrible roar coming from the clearly alien, but definitely more girlish, formerly wyvern-sized daimoness.
Kylio, evidently, had forgotten to adjust her daimonic voice to match the less imposing figure she'd conjured.
"Wha..? Wh-..." Kyryn began, stammering. After he'd knocked, he'd already had his hand out in the wrote, courtly manner of a gentleman same as before. Kyryn was a mentally flexible man with a reasonably, at least in his opwn opinion, powerful mind. He'd use the ride to come to terms with the fact that he had a monstrous daimoness all-but on his back. He'd ready himself, prepared, but nothing could have sufficiently insulated him against the entirely unexpected, and so he stood their, rooted in place as Kylio recognized her...tell, and seemed to swallow deeply. A lump the size of a frog expanded her throat as it went down, and then she burped lightly. When she spoke again, her voice matched her appearance.
"To dinner!" She repeated, her voice matching the exuberant of children she'd no-doubt seen in the streets as they drove by. This time she took his hand, and the shock of contact shook him from the spell.
"I...erm...of course, Lady Kylio." Kyryn began, at a loss of what to do with the claimed appendage. He looked around, thankful for the noise of a trafficked castle and the fact that his guards, and everyone else for that matter, had granted the Kings guest a damned lot of elbow room. Which, of course, left Kyryn rather stranded. With no convenient options presenting themselves, he sighed, squared his shoulders, and turned into the keep with the little "girl" in tow.
Port Raviel was a mighty city, and had served as D'Hara's capital on more than one occasion, like back in his father's day. As such, it was more palace than keep. Oh, the bones of the old fortress was still there, beneath the new marble sheathing and ornamental gardens. The elegant gates still bore strong portcullises and artful arrow slits, and for every silk-bedecked courtier (many of whom Kyryn had come to know), for every one of them their was at least two soldiers out about the duties befitting defenders of a nation at war. Since his return to D'Hara, Kyryn had kept largely out of the public spotlight, preferring his work to the intrigues near the throne or the fires of war at the front. As such, he'd rarely every ventured to the "keep." Nevertheless, old memories died hard, and his sure feet took him to where he was certain the King would be. Where every Ravalian Duke had been to greet guests of import.
The Throne Room.
