It's Time for the Hunt! (FT, Closed)

[Alathania]

"Are you sure it's going to be enough? Wouldn't want to make a bad show of it now, and running out halfway to the treeline would certainly be a damned terrible showing!"

Racks of fowling pieces, rifles, revolvers, and elephant guns stretched across the room, enough to outfit an army. There were also innumerable knives for the finishing, cutting, carving, and gutting of all sorts of creatures, a collection of lances for those with an older taste, and even an old crossbow. Piled high in crates towards the back of the room were hundreds of pounds worth of ammunition and supplies.

"Might I inquire, sir...just how many do you plan to bag on this excursion?" The forester asked.

"...How many do you think we'll come across?"

Before any answer could be given, a boy appeared in the doorway to the warehouse, casting a long shadow over the armaments on display.

"Pardon, sir," The boy wore the same black cap and red jacket as all the other men in their party, though they were just ill-fitting enough to accentuate the boy's pudginess. This annoyed the gentleman to no end.

"What is it, can't you see I'm busy?"

"P-pardon, Mister Sullivan sir, but Mister Hounslow's been having a problem with one of the horses, sir. Yours, sir."

"Damn it all!" Sullivan intended the swear to be quieter than it was. Already far too many things seemed to be turning against him. "Right," he turned to the forester, "It'll have to do. I want everything loaded up in the wagons and ready to go within the hour, understand?" He purposefully checked his pocketwatch to make the point clear before making for the door, thwicking the fat boy aside with his crop to clear the way.

He exited the building- more of a glorified barn, really- into a bustling scene. Before his estate, a tall building which looked more like a cake than a home and surrounded by rich gardens in the old country style, throngs of men rushed to and fro making final arrangements for their departure. Many of them wore the classic coats and caps of a 'Thanian gentleman at the hunt, though many others wore strange and alien clothing of cuts and colours which dazzled their hosts. Foreign nobles, diplomats, and business leaders with their plentiful entourages, all invited to this the largest hunting expedition yet to travel across Alathania. Already drink was flowing heartily through the crowds, and bandsmen from the West Callens Regiment were providing entertainment for the foreigners before the large doors of Sullivan's estate. The smell of hounds and horses was fresh on the air as large masses of the beasts were herded between the homes and tents which served to house the guests.

It didn't take long for Sullivan to find Hounslow, who was directing a mass of stable-boys and servants to saddling and otherwise preparing horses for the upcoming sally into the wilderness. He was a tall man, as lean and muscular as the beasts which he led.

"Ah, Edmund old chap!" He bellowed to Sullivan, "How are you?"

"I could be far better," Sullivan replied, "I've been tasked with the work of ten men, you know! Now what's this problem that required my attention so immediately?"

"Oh, well," Hounslow was clearly put off by Sullivan's stressed tones, especially when so much of the day seemed to be going so genuinely well, by his mark! "It's your 'Georgie,' I warrant he's not feeling to well, old boy. Been acting up all morning. You may want to ride-"

"Georgie is the healthiest and strongest looking one I've got, Hounslow, I'll be taking him regardless if he's a bit under the weather. Come now, this is far too important an affair for you to trouble me with such trifling issues! Now hurry it up, I want our party ready to depart within the hour," he said, moving to leave before any resistance could be mustered. "And make sure to polish those buckles, I want them shining!" he added, despite every bit of brass present on that field was already shining to an almost painful degree in the sun.

With that everything should have been set for the morning's later departure. Assuming all ammunition was loaded properly, the horses harnessed and dogs gathered, the weather stayed as warm and sunny as it had, and nobody went off on any drunken rampages, this first Alathanian foray into intergalactic diplomacy would begin on the highest of possible notes. Now, it was just time to check on the chief foreigner, on whom most of these efforts had been directed...

He and his party of fellow nobles had been waited on hand and foot by Sullivan's personal servants, granted the most luxurious accommodations in his manor, and were now seated under a fine and ornate gazebo surrounded by tulips and the finest fruits, wines, and cheeses. Making sure to slow his pace and catch his breath before approaching the party, whose seating faced opposite towards the band, Sullivan mounted the steps and gave a bow to the foreigner.

"My Lord, I trust that everything is to your satisfaction thusfar? We shall be ready to depart soon enough, if it please you." He spoke in the gentlest manner he could. He wasn't used to dealing with nobility, let alone foreigners whose ways seemed so utterly different from Alathanian custom.

[Ivor De Prie]

Comte Feuan Escavre couldn’t help but relish in the events of recent times, he could barely maintain the proper composure when he was hand picked by La Cour Des Affaires Etrangères for an illustrious assignment as a representative to a new nations. The House of Escavres was no Great Family that could place itself among the vaulted halls of power on Palaisdor, indeed the Escavres had only in the past century won its own sigil and seat on the Noble Assembly. Feuans grandfather had often recounted how the defunct House of Cavalan was broken into three lesser estates at the will of the Church, for Duke Cavalan transgressed often against the Church and a man of such willful disrespect has no place as a Duke. Feuan took such lessons to heart as any good grandson did, and when it came time to lead his Estate and House at the death of his dear father he strode to keep the balance.

Ammelia, his wife, was at first skeptical of this assignment. After all, how could there be any honor in the presence of foreigners. However, when the political and cultural peculiarities of this sovereignty became evident her doubts quickly faded. Many of the great Star-States had long since succumb to the violence of democracy or insidious amorality of technocracy, it was a rare gift from the Saints to find a fellow people of gentle persuasion. As details continued to emerge it became clear why Feuan and his retinue had been chosen, there were few estates in the Empire that still dabbled in the hunt, and even fewer that took it seriously. The Escavre men and sometimes women had long found simple solace in the primeval act of killing prey.

So here they were, seated in a shady gazebo coddled in the sweet scent of tulips and wine with but a tinge of horse and hound to dilute the aromas. Music and conversation competed as the local band met the Ivorian retinue in a battle of volumes. Ammelia was at present seated next to Feuan on his left, with his oldest son Paule to his right, a young man of 18 who was eager to earn his fathers approval. On either side of his immediate family stood two monolith-like guards, clad in shimmering gold armor and adorned with flowing white robes. These were no house guards, instead as this was a mission of Foreign diplomacy a dozen Imperial Sentinels had accompanied the group. The Sentinels towered over everyone around them, their faces hidden behind golden masks that were appropriately adorned with a pair of golden stags horns. Feuan had to admit to himself that he couldn’t be entirely sure the Sentinels were entirely human, no skin exposed itself and their massive height combined with their unflinching stoicism left any conclusion impossible.

Nevertheless, he felt safer in the presence of such intimidating protectors. At the edges of the Gazebo, his master of Horse and master of Hound both squabbled over whether one should eat their cheese before they drink the wine for the pairing to work best or if one should let the aromas of the wine settle and then eat the cheese to best accentuate the flavors of both. Also in the Gazebo were a number of Eruditiques, Scholars sent to study the customs and ways of this new people.

One of the most striking differances in culture was the choice of dress, where the locals wore the same austere cap and jacket the Ivorians were dressed in flowing, overlapping and heavily adorned robes of White, Blue and Purple with no shortage of gilded chains and silver couplets. All the Ivorian women wore tight fitting white cowls while the men had their hair in long ponytails or tight curls along the side of the head, all dyed white.
The Horse Master and Hound Master finished their squabbling as one of the Alathanians approached, in fact it was the first one they had spoken to upon their arrival. Feuan rose as the man bowed, the Sentinels turning to face the foriegner, staring at him silently.

“My good man you’ve exceeded all my dreams and wishes for such an occasion, the wine is no Palaisin vintage, but yet it tickles the tongue all the same! Thusly, with our drink imbibed we should dally no more!”

Ivorians did have a penchant for the dramatic, to say the least.

[Dimoniquid]

Odak Tetsu sat on the dark mahogany chair, feasting on a plate of various berries, meats, and other fruits. The tent he was sat in wasn't lavish; he was rather strict when it came to money, and would rather have function over form when it came down to it. He looked over a small holographic interface tinted blue, that covered the area of the four by six foot table. Scans of the current system he was in were showing a wealth of untapped resources; something that made him and his older siblings very happy. He was unsure of how the current occupants of the system had managed to miss such a bounty, but he could play for the land in his favour. A few tricks here and there, and he could have mining rights, a military base and a few scientific research stations set all over the system.

Odak could also see several messages updating him on the wellbeing of his estate. He was the small Lord of an arcology operating a mining station on top of a large deposit of Pleisirum, a critical fuel in the process of faster-than-light travel. He also operated a small freighter business, specialising in the transport of hazardous materials. It was a small, niche, market, but his experience as a hazardous materials handler in the Imperial Armed Forces gave him an edge over most freighters that were handling the same cargo. It was only a small arcology; two million people lived in it, with a large percentage working at the mining station and the freighter agency and a small percentage working as a personal security force. His older siblings had been making arrangements with the crown and various mining groups over who to send on the crucial task of securing a foothold in the system, and Odak was eventually chosen, due to his gentler manner in talking to people.

Waving his hand over the table, the display flickered slightly and phased itself off. Odak himself had never been hunting before, with the desert planet he was born and raised on not lending itself to a diverse range of wildlife. He had been to other planets that did have a much more varied range of life on then, but hunting was strictly regulated to specific seasons for conservation efforts; however, if you had the contacts or the coin, you could easily bypass such laws and go hunting all year round. Odak was surprised to learn about the occupants of this system; from the looks of things, they acquired a much more classical taste, similar to the Dimonicist Empire, however something did feel slightly off to Odak. He wasn't quite sure what it was, but something about the lack of heavy technology felt slightly out of place.

Odak watched as the curtain to the tent fluttered open, revealing a slender young man, no more than twenty years of age, clad in a leather shirt with five buckles going up to the short collar, along with a servants apron, made of a thicker leather material with three buckles going up each side of his ribcage. The pale complexion of his sharp face was met with some dark curly hair, tied neatly into a bun. "My Lord, I've investigated around, and it seems the hunt is about to begin." He announced.

"Thank you, steward. Have my guards ready our group for the hunt." He commanded, waving his hand at the steward. The steward bowed before exiting, adjusting the curtain to let himself out. Odak finished off another berry, and moved from his seat, wandering to a mirror in the corner. He swept his wavy hair back, admiring the grey streaks that were starting to settle in at the sides. He ran his fingers along the curled ends that reached the top of his neck, neatening the back of his head slightly. He also admired the fine craftsmanship of his jacket; a subtle orange linen, with a gold lining along the edges and a simple yellow diamond pattern covering the area of the fabric, woven to be breathable for the deserts but stylish in more metropolitan settings. He adjusted his yellow undershirt, tucking it in slightly and undoing one of the buttons to reveal his chest slightly. The ensemble, along with a few bejewelled rings on his hands, went nicely with his darker skin tone.

Odak finished checking himself in the mirror, picked up his scimitar and scabbard that was leaning next to it, and tied it around his waist. It was just a few inches shorter than a long sword, the tapered end allowing a good flexibility between thrusting and slicing, whereas the rest of the blade was firmly made for slicing. The cross guard was silver engraved gold, compared to the silver blade, and had one bar pointing upwards along the neck of the blade for a few inches, and the other covering the hand down to the last finger. The scabbard fit flush with the cross guard, the engraved triangle of said guard fitting in nicely with its matching cap. The black and gold patterned fabric that wrapped the bottom half of the scabbard, compared to the dark, marbling wood that made the top, also lined the handle for a comfortable fit.

Walking from the tent, he saw the range of people that made up his group. There were some soldiers, including his own group of five personal guard, a small group of scientists of various degrees that were here to study the culture of each of the nobles that were joining them, and his own family; most notably, his wife and youngest twins, along with several of his nieces and nephews that had not been arranged marriages or wanted to visit a new planet. "Elia, my moon and stars." He flattered to his wife. Elia was clearly from the same planet, having the same darker skin tone and curly shoulder length hair, but also had slightly rounder features compared to his square features. He kissed her hand, and then kissed her on the lips, running his hand over her cheek, looking over the diamond, lines, and dots that were tattooed across her face, neck and upper chest. The nobles that had invited them would find that she was wearing a possibly provocative number, being long and sheer orange silk, but revealing her arms and chest. "I hope I didn't keep you waiting too long. I had some business to attend to with my estate." He apologized.

"No need to worry, my sky and stars. I was just preparing our daughter for meeting the others." She replied, gesturing to their daughter. She was wearing the silk and coloured dress, but was slightly more conservative with her chest being covered up. "She may only be seventeen, but she wants to talk about everything she can with whoever she can." Their daughter, Mara, had never been off planet before, and had only seen so much green plant life in books and paintings and holograms. Their son, her twin, had only been off a handful of times when they were younger to try and sort a marriage for him. The spitting image of a younger Odak was currently sparring with one his cousins, unfortunately with a fully sharpened blade.

"Merrick!" Odak called sternly, almost flinging the blade into the air from fright. "Need I remind you, we are guests? Do not make me put a leash on you." He ordered, his son and nephew sheathing their blades. He sighed slightly, and took both his daughters' and wife's arms in his own. "Lets join the others."

They travelled through the estate to the gazebo, being led by two of Odaks' personal guards carrying holding banners, with a dark red sun surrounding a wrestling lion and snake on it. The guards were second generation Centurions, purchased from a military company for rather cheap whilst negotiating some trading for a large amount of Pleisirum. Second generation were not as lucrative as first generation Centurions, being made from adult soldiers and using cheaper produced armour compared to the first generation, who were made from birth and were given substantial amounts of technology in their armour and weaponry. They stood half a foot taller than the six foot tall Odak, but a few of those inches were provided by their suits. The armour had seen some battles, scuffs and scratches covering the chests and arms of the guards. The dark grey armour, with a gold cape wrapped around the shoulders and leading down to the floor, made them look akin to the knights of old, only with ammunition pouches lining their abdomens and waists, along with a plasma saber attached to their back and a pistol holstered on their thigh. Odak's steward approached the gazebo as the guards separated, clasping his hands and bowing towards the nobles. "May I introduce Lord Odak Tetsu, Lord of the Byrick Estates." He introduced, standing off to the side before Odak and his group approached.

"It is a pleasure to properly meet you. I had some urgent business to attend to about my estate, so I hope you can understand if I am late, or if I am interrupting something." He spoke, roughly in whatever language Sullivan and Escavre were speaking in. "I hope my accent isn't too thick; I tried to learn as much as I could before I arrived, however my steward can happily translate if things are too difficult to understand."

[Alathania]

In a sea of blue blooded families and dignitaries it seemed that Mr Edmund Sullivan was very distinctly red, and not just in his attire. His father had been lord of nothing more than a series of coal mines back home before he was elected to represent a small constituency in government. While his family had been solidly comfortable back home, they were certainly unable to be classed with the industrial moguls and purebred nobility which had been invited to this hunt. Thankfully modest wealth in the mother country had translated to immense power in a mere colony, and this, alongside well placed connections with the Alathanian Trading Company and government grants, was enough to secure Sullivan his estate. Sullivan had quite been enjoying carving out his own little empire in Alathania, free from the influence of a chokingly rigid class system, and was making a pretty penny while doing it.

At least, he had been enjoying it, until word arrived from some Company administrator that Sullivan was to be the man who organized the colony's first diplomatic foray. That was when he understood the generous government support he had received, and regretted the amount of schmoozing and wooing he had done to win his position.

This pit of anxiety at holding such a massive responsibility had been consistently expanding as issue after issue was brought to Sullivan's attention, and while in actuality these were all minor problems which cast little shadow over the occasion, they certainly never seemed so at the time. Sullivan's worry only increased as he mounted the steps of his gazebo, trying to keep a steady gaze while two behemoths of men- presumably so at least- turned to stare down at him from behind brilliantly shining coats of golden armour. There were a dozen such figures surrounding the visiting party, and they attracted many a gawk from the Alathanian gentlemen. Compared to the bandsmen, not far away in their simple cloth uniforms, the foreign 'Sentinels' were a mightily imposing sight.

“My good man you’ve exceeded all my dreams and wishes for such an occasion, the wine is no Palaisin vintage, but yet it tickles the tongue all the same! Thusly, with our drink imbibed we should dally no more!”

The foreign nobleman's words, tone, and the way he held himself all bespoke an airy sophistication. The man had probably never worked a day in his life. His hair was long and coloured in an old style whilst his limbs were clad in flowing robes of crisp, clean colours. He was hardly dressed for the task at hand.

"Yes, ah, of course my lord," Sullivan was painfully aware of being under the guards' gaze as he spoke, as well as the trained and courtly eyes of his guests. "Then if it please your lordship I would be honoured to escort you and," He looked to the small crowd arrayed before him. All of them wore similarly lavish clothing, and while some clearly held the bearing of country gentlemen, many others held the more inquisitive gazes of men of learning as they studied the 'Thanian's every move. There was also the question of Escavre's wife- it was yet unclear how far she intended to partake in the event. Sullivan was vaguely aware that many alien civilizations held the fairer sex in lower light, having them employed in every masculine occupation from soldiering to mining. "...and your party, to our assembly area. We have your horses ready there and some gentlemen to wait upon you."

It was as Sullivan was waiting at the bottom of the gazebo, smiling and offering pleasantries to the endless stream of foreigners who followed his request, that he heard the tramping of boots behind him on the pathway through his gardens. Thick and heavyset they were clearly not the paces of a 'Thanian officer but of some armoured leviathan, the sort which seemed so popular amongst these strange stars. Turning from his whitehaired charges Sullivan saw that the other party of honoured guests had finally decided to make themselves known.

If the good Comte Escavre could hardly speak without taking in thrice the air of a normal man, the honoured guests of Dimoniquid brought oddity to a new level. Like the Ivorians they had brought a significant party led by one of noble blood, though alongside the expected cadre of officials and scholars it seemed that the good Lord Tetsu had made international diplomacy a family affair. At the head of this motley train of nobility, scholars and wide-eyed young people was the strangest sight offered as two soldiers, leviathans of men standing over a foot taller than Sullivan himself, bore magnificent standards as though they were on parade before a sovereign. Like the Ivorian Sentinels, these men- Centurions, as Sullivan had been informed they were known- were clad in an armour which made them look both ancient and alien at once. Unlike the Ivorian troops they were clearly rugged and utilitarian, their armour showing signs of long wear. Whether this was a sign of veterancy and pride, or of ruggedness and indiscipline, Sullivan was unsure. But it was clear they were fighting men by the ammunition they carried, and those fantastical looking weapons carried at their sides. As if to add to their confused appearance, they wore capes of gold, lest any other soldier consider them too efficient.

"It is a pleasure to properly meet you. I had some urgent business to attend to about my estate, so I hope you can understand if I am late, or if I am interrupting something. I hope my accent isn't too thick; I tried to learn as much as I could before I arrived, however my steward can happily translate if things are too difficult to understand."

"Ah, not at all, Your Lordship," Sullivan offered the same awkward bow he had given Escavre, attempting to position himself in such a way to not show his back to either honoured guest. "I am honoured and, ah, delighted by your lordship's arrival in any time. And, might I introduce your lordship to Comte Feuan of House Escavre?"

Sullivan took a step back as the two men came forward to exchange pleasantries. Each party would have been informed of the other guest of honour's presence, and their rights to advance with the column's head. Both masters were the charge of Sullivan's own hospitality and wit, God help him! It was as the two parties advanced closer to each other, each being eyed by armour-clad escorts, that Sullivan noted the particular clothing choices of Tetsu's band. While perhaps less flowing and, in some cases, more suited towards the task and hand than their counterparts, they were still lavish with decorative blades and exotic cuts- particularly that of Tetsu's noble wife...were all of these women planning to partake in the events, or merely observe their men at work? There was one younger girl in particular who seemed particularly amazed by the sights and sounds which surrounded her, as Sullivan noted her gawking at the foreigner's mannerisms and the band's martial tunes.

"If it please both Your Lordships," Sullivan tentatively addressed the two men conversing, clearly with difficulty given the thickness of both their accents, "Shall we proceed to the assembly? There we might all become more properly acquainted with eachother during our sport, what?- I mean, if such pleases Your Lordships." Sullivan was as yet unsure just how friendly he could get with these men...he had already met many foreigners who were far too pretentious for such things, when assigning their Alathanian escorts and guides.

The party eventually proceeded onwards by taking a path to the assembly through Sullivan's gardens, that they might avoid the hustle and noise of the camp. As they passed by the bandsmen of the West Callens, with the brilliant black pith helmets of home-service and garish red coats with purple facings, their drum major offered a salute, cracking his mace across the chest with a gloved hand to his head. Wheeling around to the front of Sullivan's estate, the final preparations could be seen being made for their departure.

Hundreds of horses stood in a long column where Alathanian gentlemen and foreign officials alike idled by them, chatting and drinking together. Each pairing of foreigner and Alathanian was specifically chosen by the diplomatic service- Sullivan just prayed they had been more aptly matched than he himself was! Behind the horses were wagons full of supplies, tentage, victuals, and ammunition for the various weapons which were now well in the hands or saddlebags of every 'Thanian gentleman and foreigner. Foxhounds crowded patiently around their masters waiting for the sport to begin.

As the sounds of the band coming up from behind became slowly louder, Sullivan urged his charges to follow him to the column's head, as the band would be seeing them off to the affair alongside a gun salute. They were greeted there by Mr Hounslow, who was looking after the animals as usual, and a crowd of other Alathanian gentlemen who would provide the many guests of both Escavre and Tetsu's parties company and camaraderie. Though, given the look of many of the guests, it seemed that some of these unfortunate gentlemen's sport would be interrupted with incessant questions of national importance.

After being identified to the two masters, Hounslow seemed to have taken his introduction in the friendliest and perhaps equally less politic of manners, offering a heavy and sweated palm to the men.

"A pleasure to meet you both, M'lords!" He spoke loudly, an honest grin spread over his face, "It'll be good sport, this one wi-!" He was interrupted by a clearing of the throat from Sullivan, who provided an angry glare to match. "Ah, well, what I mean is..." Hounslow trailed a bit off, clearly set aback in how he was meant to speak to men of such massive importance, "I hope you gentlemen find them satisfactory," He turned and gave a pat to one of the horses nearest, "I got us some of the healthiest ones o' the bunch! If it, ah, please your lords. Sirs."

Soon enough everyone was either mounted or, for those of gentler persuasion, helped into a carriage. This head section of the column was a frighteningly large thing, with an Alathanian accompanying near enough every foreigner in attendance, be they a scholar or noble child. Every man would find his own, and his personal attendant's, saddlebags filled with boxes of ammunition and some weapons for the expedition, while the women would be tentatively offered a firearm if they chose to participate in the hunt- something which some men were clearly unsure of, as their even riding with the men was something of an oddity given the violent nature of their journey.

The expedition would last a few days overall, taking them through the sparse and well kept woods immediately to the north of Sullivan's property, and from there split into a few groups that better game might be had. Sullivan's own group, of such great importance, was given the most fertile grounds. They would ford the River Sall into the deeper forest which ranged beyond, and even further to lands still yet unseen by Sullivan himself, though well mapped by military geographers should any trouble actually arise, and shooting anything that happened to move along the way!

Shortly after everyone was mounted and ready, the West Callens Regimental Band again marched into view. As wives and sweethearts, Sullivan's servants and local townsfolk all gathered around cheering the expedition, the band sounded an upbeat tune to accompany and swell the rancour. To the right of the column, artillerymen could be seen with a small cannon, one with a lanyard in hand. As the shot rang out a ring of smoke circled towards the forest, and Sullivan brought his Georgie to a walk. He let out a sigh of relief- finally he was in something of a comfort. He may not have known much about diplomatic dealings, but he knew his sport, and so long they were on such level terms, he felt he could converse with any man.

The hunt had finally begun!