49 Zi'da 717
Sixty-four bits of sleep. Yawning, Oliver did the maths in his head, and he came to the solution: Sixty-four bits. A man could not live on that kind of sleep, not for very long. Sighing, he looked at the plans laid out before him, the large parlour in front of him devoid of any clutter. Nodding, he turned to both Gustauv and Lennard, holding his arms out wide.
"You have seen the plans. Let's get to work." Lennard and Gustauv sprung into motion, each man going through a separate door to gather the materials. Oliver rolled up the sleevs on his pristine white shirt, allowing the chill of the early morning Zi'da air to cause the hairs on his forearms to stand on end. Moving languidly through the parlour, he stepped through double doors to a stone patio that was loaded with banquet tables and chairs. Nodding again, this time to himself, Oliver grabbed a chair in each hand and hefted them back through the doors, standing them against one wall. It took nearly fifteen bits to gather all the chairs and bring them into the parlour, but that was the easy part. The hardest part was going to be getting the heavy banquet tables in through the doors.
As he strode into the estate, the smell of honeyed bread filled his nose, causing his empty stomach to rumble. Lennard appeared from the left, a sweet pastry in his hand and his mouth chewing furiously. Stopping as he saw Oliver, he offered a sheepish grin. Gustauv entered from the other side, a sweet pastry also in his hand, but whole and intact. Glaring at Lennard, Gustauv offered the breakfast tart to Oliver, who graciously accepted.
"For you, my Lord. Some of us remember our manners, even when told we do not have to." Gustauv shot a pointed glance at Lennard, who shrugged and happily consumed another bite of flaky crust. Oliver took a bite, allowing the sweetness of the honey and apples to fill his mouth before smiling awkwardly and chewing. It was delicious, and though he knew it would not be served at the party, he wished it would. Jirelle had done a spectacular job with them, and Oliver wanted to commend her. As if reading his mind, Gustauv nodded and turned.
"I'll tell her, my Lord." Oliver nodded appreciatively, mouth still full of delicious sweet goodness. Swallowing, he pointed out the open doors, through the cold breeze that caused both remaining men to shiver. Lennard eyes followed Oliver's finger, and his countenance slumped as he saw the size and heft of the banquet tables. Oliver could only chuckle.
"You thought this would be easy, Lennard?" He grinned at the man as the guard raised his eyebrows. "Do you know me?" The question came light-heartedly, and Lennard just laughed. They walked towards the table, each taking a side. Oliver opted to walk backwards into the house, choosing to shoulder the most responsibility. Fingers gripped the thin lip underneath the table's edge, offering a small but useable area with which to carry the table. Looking at Lennard, Oliver nodded. "On three."
He counted down, both men grunting with effort as they lifted the long, heavywood table from the ground and over the threshold of the estate. Muscles taut and corded from the weight, Oliver passed through the doorway and carried the table, half-step by half-step to where it was going. Looking to his right, Oliver looked directly into Gustauv's face, a smirk planted on the older man's visage. Chuckling, he half-bowed.
"Have you got it, my Lord?" He grinned cheekily, and Oliver almost dropped the table in laughter. However, he maintained his composure until they had placed the table, and then laughter overtook him. The three men shared a laugh, and then went further about setting up the party. Stopping every now and then to examine the layout he'd cobbled together, Oliver both pulled his weight and directed Lennard Gustauv. In just a few breaks, most of the parlour had been set up, and Oliver smiled. There were still ten breaks until the gala, and he was starting to feel less unprepared. The speed with which they'd set up the main area was heartening, and Oliver clapped both men on the shoulder.
"Feel free to eat, my friends. I'm going to check in with Jirelle," the Lord offered, nodding and slipping off through a hallway towards the kitchens. When he left the two servants, they were joking between. The thought brought a smile to his face, and as he entered the kitchen, the rich smells of butter and raw beef entered his nostrils. Examining the setup, Oliver nodded approvingly, and a sharp voice behind him alerted him to the head chef's presence.
"Everything is satisfactory so far, my Lord?" Jirelle asked, perking an eyebrow. Turning, Oliver smiled and leaned in, kissing the aging chef on the cheek. Warmly, he gripped her forearm, and she smiled in return.
"It looks great, Jirelle. Truly. I trust that you'll deliver exactly as you always do. I just wanted to ensure that I was fulfilling my end of the deal. So, I have come with a list. Let's see." He looked down at the paper in his hand, nodding. We're expecting around three hundred bodies in attendance. I sent for one hundred and fifty pounds of beef, thirty ducks, thirty chickens and thirty geese, along with vegetables and cheese. I can smell the bread baking, and after that delicious pastry this morning, my heart accelerates with excitement."
Jiselle was a wonderful cook, but she was a legend in the duchies for her ability to bake artisanal breads. She could make them sweet, savory, spicy... Whatever she wanted, and the bread always turned out immaculately. She smiled at the lord's compliment, offering a tight curtsy that was more formality than desire.
"Yes, my Lord. And the wines are all in their appropriate places. Have faith, Oliver. The Seven smile on the house today." Jiselle smiled, finally referring to Oliver by his given name. She often did, but only when reassuring the boy. Squeezing her forearm again, Oliver nodded and turned, just in time for Lennard to pop his head back through.
"My Lord. Ser Jericho Rose is here for you." Lennard's face was alit, and Oliver grinned. For nearly a cycle, the budding knight and the Venora house guard had been building a secret relationship. Ser Jericho was a common-born citizen of Venora who was plucked by Oliver's now-exiled cousin Alistair from an orphange in Rynmere and offered a squireship. The young red-head had been one of the most successful squires in recent years, excelling to knighthood quickly. Even more impressive was the fact that he was partially Aukari, which often would hinder lesser forces of nature.
Kissing Jirelle on the cheek, Oliver swooped from the room, Ser Jericho being his last stop before he could allow the house servants to finish setting up the gala so that he could get ready. Smiling as he entered the parlour, Ser Jericho's armour glinted in the growing sunslight. He turned to see Oliver and immediately dropped into a bow.
"My Lord." He greeted Oliver with his face pointed downward, a sign of respect. Oliver slapped his armour on pauldron and caused Jericho to rise.
"Ser Jericho. It is great to see you again. It's a shame about Alistair, isn't it?" Oliver nodded solemnly, and Jericho's cheeks flushed.
"It's a shame that being what one is is a crime that overshadows all the good you've done. Lord Alistair is a good man. Being a mage does not change that." Jericho shrugged, quelling the rising emotions in his stomach. Oliver could feel the heat beginning to radiate from his skin, and he smiled.
"A shame indeed, Ser. Thank you for coming, Jericho. I trust you've been granted the proper contingent--" Oliver began, but Ser Jericho cut him off.
"Actually, my Lord. That is why I am here. With the recent events, and the attacks of the RCA, the Crown could not spare as many men as I had asked for. Rather than thirty well trained soldiers, we have sixteen of us, and four squires. However, I can guarantee the safety of your guests, even if it means my life, my Lord." The knight nodded seriously, always willing to lay down his life for the Rose. Oliver smiled and shook his head.
"I'm sure it will be fine, Jericho. Please, you and your knights are welcome to food and drink. Jirelle in the kitchens will direct you in the right direction. The baths are in the fourth and seventh rooms, on the left and right respectively, when you travel down the main hallway. If you need anything, I am sure Lennard is begging for a chance to help." The Lord Venora winked and allowed Lennard to step forward, blushing furiously under blonde hair and whiskers. Ser Jericho smiled and Oliver headed back up to his room, hoping to sleep a few more breaks before he had to get ready.
Refreshed and clean, Oliver stared at himself in the mirror, his form clad in a white suit, snow-pure and clean. His hair was coifed perfectly, and he smelled of pine needles and rose petals, an intoxicating combination made for the Venora by a local perfumery. Nodding, Oliver traipsed downstair, getting ready to welcome the first guests. He knew Darcy and Caius were already in the estate, but he'd not yet seen them. As he eclipsed the stairs, the scents of roasted beef and fowl greeting him, eliciting a grin. Lennard and Gustauv stood together, staring at the table of food as Jirelle finished setting the dishes on it. Garlic mashed potatoes, roast beef, fire-roasted chicken, duck and goose. There were whole cranberries simmered in sugar and natural juice, and the wine was presented and opened. More than a few kegs stood ready to be opened, and Oliver found himself wholly happy.
"It'll feed over three hundred, Oliver." Jirelle said, the first to see him approaching. Oliver paused and looked at the three Venora houseworkers before him. He hugged each in turn, smiling at the trio when he released them.
"It's perfect. It will be a massive success. Shall we?" He nodded as to affirm his own question, then sauntered off to the door to monitor the arrivals. It would soon be time. The gala was to begin in half a break.
"You have seen the plans. Let's get to work." Lennard and Gustauv sprung into motion, each man going through a separate door to gather the materials. Oliver rolled up the sleevs on his pristine white shirt, allowing the chill of the early morning Zi'da air to cause the hairs on his forearms to stand on end. Moving languidly through the parlour, he stepped through double doors to a stone patio that was loaded with banquet tables and chairs. Nodding again, this time to himself, Oliver grabbed a chair in each hand and hefted them back through the doors, standing them against one wall. It took nearly fifteen bits to gather all the chairs and bring them into the parlour, but that was the easy part. The hardest part was going to be getting the heavy banquet tables in through the doors.
As he strode into the estate, the smell of honeyed bread filled his nose, causing his empty stomach to rumble. Lennard appeared from the left, a sweet pastry in his hand and his mouth chewing furiously. Stopping as he saw Oliver, he offered a sheepish grin. Gustauv entered from the other side, a sweet pastry also in his hand, but whole and intact. Glaring at Lennard, Gustauv offered the breakfast tart to Oliver, who graciously accepted.
"For you, my Lord. Some of us remember our manners, even when told we do not have to." Gustauv shot a pointed glance at Lennard, who shrugged and happily consumed another bite of flaky crust. Oliver took a bite, allowing the sweetness of the honey and apples to fill his mouth before smiling awkwardly and chewing. It was delicious, and though he knew it would not be served at the party, he wished it would. Jirelle had done a spectacular job with them, and Oliver wanted to commend her. As if reading his mind, Gustauv nodded and turned.
"I'll tell her, my Lord." Oliver nodded appreciatively, mouth still full of delicious sweet goodness. Swallowing, he pointed out the open doors, through the cold breeze that caused both remaining men to shiver. Lennard eyes followed Oliver's finger, and his countenance slumped as he saw the size and heft of the banquet tables. Oliver could only chuckle.
"You thought this would be easy, Lennard?" He grinned at the man as the guard raised his eyebrows. "Do you know me?" The question came light-heartedly, and Lennard just laughed. They walked towards the table, each taking a side. Oliver opted to walk backwards into the house, choosing to shoulder the most responsibility. Fingers gripped the thin lip underneath the table's edge, offering a small but useable area with which to carry the table. Looking at Lennard, Oliver nodded. "On three."
He counted down, both men grunting with effort as they lifted the long, heavywood table from the ground and over the threshold of the estate. Muscles taut and corded from the weight, Oliver passed through the doorway and carried the table, half-step by half-step to where it was going. Looking to his right, Oliver looked directly into Gustauv's face, a smirk planted on the older man's visage. Chuckling, he half-bowed.
"Have you got it, my Lord?" He grinned cheekily, and Oliver almost dropped the table in laughter. However, he maintained his composure until they had placed the table, and then laughter overtook him. The three men shared a laugh, and then went further about setting up the party. Stopping every now and then to examine the layout he'd cobbled together, Oliver both pulled his weight and directed Lennard Gustauv. In just a few breaks, most of the parlour had been set up, and Oliver smiled. There were still ten breaks until the gala, and he was starting to feel less unprepared. The speed with which they'd set up the main area was heartening, and Oliver clapped both men on the shoulder.
"Feel free to eat, my friends. I'm going to check in with Jirelle," the Lord offered, nodding and slipping off through a hallway towards the kitchens. When he left the two servants, they were joking between. The thought brought a smile to his face, and as he entered the kitchen, the rich smells of butter and raw beef entered his nostrils. Examining the setup, Oliver nodded approvingly, and a sharp voice behind him alerted him to the head chef's presence.
"Everything is satisfactory so far, my Lord?" Jirelle asked, perking an eyebrow. Turning, Oliver smiled and leaned in, kissing the aging chef on the cheek. Warmly, he gripped her forearm, and she smiled in return.
"It looks great, Jirelle. Truly. I trust that you'll deliver exactly as you always do. I just wanted to ensure that I was fulfilling my end of the deal. So, I have come with a list. Let's see." He looked down at the paper in his hand, nodding. We're expecting around three hundred bodies in attendance. I sent for one hundred and fifty pounds of beef, thirty ducks, thirty chickens and thirty geese, along with vegetables and cheese. I can smell the bread baking, and after that delicious pastry this morning, my heart accelerates with excitement."
Jiselle was a wonderful cook, but she was a legend in the duchies for her ability to bake artisanal breads. She could make them sweet, savory, spicy... Whatever she wanted, and the bread always turned out immaculately. She smiled at the lord's compliment, offering a tight curtsy that was more formality than desire.
"Yes, my Lord. And the wines are all in their appropriate places. Have faith, Oliver. The Seven smile on the house today." Jiselle smiled, finally referring to Oliver by his given name. She often did, but only when reassuring the boy. Squeezing her forearm again, Oliver nodded and turned, just in time for Lennard to pop his head back through.
"My Lord. Ser Jericho Rose is here for you." Lennard's face was alit, and Oliver grinned. For nearly a cycle, the budding knight and the Venora house guard had been building a secret relationship. Ser Jericho was a common-born citizen of Venora who was plucked by Oliver's now-exiled cousin Alistair from an orphange in Rynmere and offered a squireship. The young red-head had been one of the most successful squires in recent years, excelling to knighthood quickly. Even more impressive was the fact that he was partially Aukari, which often would hinder lesser forces of nature.
Kissing Jirelle on the cheek, Oliver swooped from the room, Ser Jericho being his last stop before he could allow the house servants to finish setting up the gala so that he could get ready. Smiling as he entered the parlour, Ser Jericho's armour glinted in the growing sunslight. He turned to see Oliver and immediately dropped into a bow.
"My Lord." He greeted Oliver with his face pointed downward, a sign of respect. Oliver slapped his armour on pauldron and caused Jericho to rise.
"Ser Jericho. It is great to see you again. It's a shame about Alistair, isn't it?" Oliver nodded solemnly, and Jericho's cheeks flushed.
"It's a shame that being what one is is a crime that overshadows all the good you've done. Lord Alistair is a good man. Being a mage does not change that." Jericho shrugged, quelling the rising emotions in his stomach. Oliver could feel the heat beginning to radiate from his skin, and he smiled.
"A shame indeed, Ser. Thank you for coming, Jericho. I trust you've been granted the proper contingent--" Oliver began, but Ser Jericho cut him off.
"Actually, my Lord. That is why I am here. With the recent events, and the attacks of the RCA, the Crown could not spare as many men as I had asked for. Rather than thirty well trained soldiers, we have sixteen of us, and four squires. However, I can guarantee the safety of your guests, even if it means my life, my Lord." The knight nodded seriously, always willing to lay down his life for the Rose. Oliver smiled and shook his head.
"I'm sure it will be fine, Jericho. Please, you and your knights are welcome to food and drink. Jirelle in the kitchens will direct you in the right direction. The baths are in the fourth and seventh rooms, on the left and right respectively, when you travel down the main hallway. If you need anything, I am sure Lennard is begging for a chance to help." The Lord Venora winked and allowed Lennard to step forward, blushing furiously under blonde hair and whiskers. Ser Jericho smiled and Oliver headed back up to his room, hoping to sleep a few more breaks before he had to get ready.
Refreshed and clean, Oliver stared at himself in the mirror, his form clad in a white suit, snow-pure and clean. His hair was coifed perfectly, and he smelled of pine needles and rose petals, an intoxicating combination made for the Venora by a local perfumery. Nodding, Oliver traipsed downstair, getting ready to welcome the first guests. He knew Darcy and Caius were already in the estate, but he'd not yet seen them. As he eclipsed the stairs, the scents of roasted beef and fowl greeting him, eliciting a grin. Lennard and Gustauv stood together, staring at the table of food as Jirelle finished setting the dishes on it. Garlic mashed potatoes, roast beef, fire-roasted chicken, duck and goose. There were whole cranberries simmered in sugar and natural juice, and the wine was presented and opened. More than a few kegs stood ready to be opened, and Oliver found himself wholly happy.
"It'll feed over three hundred, Oliver." Jirelle said, the first to see him approaching. Oliver paused and looked at the three Venora houseworkers before him. He hugged each in turn, smiling at the trio when he released them.
"It's perfect. It will be a massive success. Shall we?" He nodded as to affirm his own question, then sauntered off to the door to monitor the arrivals. It would soon be time. The gala was to begin in half a break.
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