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Šilvis Palace
Morning sunbeams graced the glimmering Laglegur lake, its murky depths illuminated by warm winter skies of blue and white, a light dusting of frost clinging to dew-speckled grass and snow covered shrubbery. The lake was surrounded by clumps of worn, weathered pine trees, the ground slowly rising into mountains and knolls which moulded the landscape into rocky outcrops and jagged-clay cliffs. Standing tall above it all was the great Šilvis Palace, truly a sight to behold, it’s gleaming white marble columns and fine granite stonework proudly overlooking the acres upon acres of woodland below.
The building was designed with no shortage of luxury, ornate gold features - polished to a blindingly shiny finish - decorating the exterior of the great palace, a towering crystal glass dome sitting atop it all, whilst the four-storey structure was supported with carved and chiselled columns. It was all a symbol of the opulent excess established by the Leader, the sheer contrast between the building’s architecture and that of the slums dominating some of their largest cities palpable.
Servants and other staff members, decked out in their usual black suited uniforms - except now with a small rose pinned to their lapels as a sign of the special day - bustled about, setting out platters of crystal glasses and fine, embossed porcelain plates adorning each surface. Some platters carried traditional British Arzelentaxmaconean snacks and canapés, little crackers and dips organised neatly upon plates, whilst enormous pots and bowls contained thick, steaming portions of leek and onion soup, served with a rye bread carried in a separate container.
Flags of British Arzelentaxmacone were draped over each tall, ceiling to floor window, tinting the morning sunlight streaming through a slightly crimson shade which illuminated the hall with a comforting warmth. A happy, solidarity-driven atmosphere hung heavily both in the building and beyond as people all across the country began organising their own celebrations, some attending national services and activity events, whilst others held street parties and garden barbecues in and around their homes.
For the first time in what felt like forever, almost everybody seemed to be enjoying themselves and, well, simply having a good time; in the war-torn empire, such was rare to see. But the biggest, most nationally important event of them all was the famous Gigantipithicus Day Party, always held at one of the island country’s many ornate palaces, this year being the idyllic Šilvis Palace, nestled amid Skellian mountains and the official residence of President Olaf Kurtii.
Speaking of which, the man himself paced steadily around the room, admiring the good work of the staff there and congratulating individual employees as he went around, smiling cheerfully. He had been in high spirits and good mood as of late, thrilled by the upcoming birth of his first child and, as always, simply taking delight in the time he spent with his beloved wife, Vana. A black rose was affixed carefully to his suit lapel, whilst his hair bounced as he strode across the room, awaiting the arrival of international delegates with a somewhat anxious attitude, despite his cheerfulness. It was of course his first ceremony of this sort, and he would be lying if he were to say he wasn’t nervous, although he did well at hiding it. Besides, Olaf was still happy, proud to be hosting the national day and excitedly anticipating the onset of the delegations’ arrival. With a smile on his face, he took a seat in one of the cosy armchairs situated in various areas around the great hall, and sat back, taking out a leatherbound book and beginning to flip through the pages.