The air was thick with pageantry and egotism as I walked through the gilded halls of House Corin’thalla. Almost every room had some form of icon or work of art that served only to satisfy the pride of the nobles who commissioned it, proud, haughty faces staring out from canvas as though they carried some honor that not even their kidnapping of their own daughter could assail. To say nothing of the statues they had of themselves in their main hall, towering sculptures of stone carved to showcase the family with all the imperiousness and callousness that could be worked into marble, their icy glares seeming to indicate that even as mere objects, all others were beneath them.
I resisted the urge to scratch my neck beneath the ostentatious collar of the coat I had chosen to wear, the risk of potentially tampering with the holo-mask covering my face and the makeup that covered my tattoos too great in comparison to the temporary relief dealing with that itch would bring. In front of me, one of the many manservants of House Corin’thalla continued to drone on and on about the honor and glory of the house he served. If it weren’t for the fact that both he and I knew he would be punished for showing anything less than the most ardent of admiration for his masters, I would’ve thought that he was just as bored and annoyed as I was going through this spiel. But we continued our walk, on and on, past the house guards rotating out which of them got to stand around waiting for foes that seemingly would never come, and pick up bits and pieces of gossip that could be woven into a stronger noose with which to string up their masters.
I had managed to gain an audience with Odessa’s father, the honorable Lord Corin’thalla, under the guise of a son of some lesser house who’d come to offer gifts and tribute to their benefactor. I sat through hours of record keeping, business transactions, and talk of this summer’s harvest for the sake of being able to offer my gracious superiors a token of appreciation: A group of artists, of all races and backgrounds, who desired an opportunity to be sponsored by house Corin’thalla. Painters, dancers, and poets, all who would undoubtedly stroke the ego of these pampered spirelings. The Lord quite readily agreed, and mentioned how his house was soon to have a wedding in just a short time, between his sweet and lovely little daughter and one Nero Fenni, and that he would love to have performers and artists to immortalize this grand event. After our discussion, he had one of his servants give me the tour I now suffered through.
There was no sign of my vod, Odessa, and even rumor and gossip had made no mention of her current status, but I knew in my bones that she was here somewhere; Just barely out of reach of her real family. But I was doing all I could, memorizing entrances and exits, examining defenses, and taking a small moment to study the training drills of the House Guard. The Guard, while highly trained, were trained in the poncy, dueling fashion of most Echani; better suited for a spat between nobles rather than the bloody grit of real warfare, and of course, this is because they were trained by the great duelist Lord Corin’thalla himself, who had no -actual- combat experience beyond his pampered lifestyle among the other poisoned vipers of his caste. It called to mind my own childhood, before the burning of Ord Radama, and gave me the sickening realization that I could’ve ended up just like these gold-trimmed wretches.
We would bring Odessa back from the sharp, controlling talons of these gaudy creatures of sloth and arrogance. And then we will make sure that the bloodline of House Corin’thalla stains these white marble halls the deepest crimson.