RP Logs, Paying Respects, Part 7: Dis-Embarkment

((Continued from Part VI.  And sorry for the formatting, and the lateness.  I genuinely could not get this thing to work in any reasonable manner.))

ser Noche

As Salamah made his last comment, the hovershuttle made the last descent towards a dark-grey stone surface, the courtyard of a rock-carved fortress with occasional purplish-hued bands tracing through it in steep diagonal layers. The courtyard was surrounded by a traditional crenellated wall, now topped not by guards but by the occasional sensor array for security. Banners draped over the wall both inside and out, long black strips with the silver crescent over a purpur and ebony diagonal band. The craft descended between the walls, reducing the view of the sky a little. On the other side of the courtyard was the first tier of the fortress, rising steeply along with the original rock surface it was carved from, with tall forbidding walls with slitted windows on the first tier, and ever loftier structures going up. At some point in the distance it shifted to new construction with tiled roofs and plastered walls. The entire thing breathed an air of old knighthood - though it got contrasted a bit with several more modern installations sticking out of the tiers every now and then: occasional antennae, a large greenhouse a few tiers above, and even a large steel and glass skyscraper peeking out above a ridge in the rock.

The craft set down in the courtyard, which was paved with irregular slabs of white marble, without a sound except a light puff of displaced air. The guide stepped out of the vehicle, and bowed to the guests.

"Please, we have arrived. If you would disembark?" Behind her the main gates opened, large filigreed steel doors darkened with (recreated) age, and a small retinue of the Shadowknight guard stepped out, long lances held at their sides. Their black cloaks billowed around them, but instead of combat armour underneath they wore loose clothes in purple with a sparkling silver sash that negated all of their advantage in dark environments. 

The guard stepped to the sides of the entrance, and center stage stood Nora ser Noche, Lady of the House, dressed in a simple grey dress with a deep purple overcoat falling loosely around her. She greeted the guests with a smile.


Laurent

This was the excellence of power, Salamah thought, his mind harkening back to essays he had once read in dusty rooms. That someone could make something like this and, when war and fire destroyed it, simply remake it, that a family could survive so much…that was what it was to be a House. Power, power that Salamah had only begun to taste. Though he had spent his youth doing far more worrying than eating, if this was what power could bring…he allowed none of these thoughts, which slid in and out of each other. The marbling, Salamah observed with the eye of someone who had once studied the topic, was lovely. His eyes lingered over the Shadowknights. Deadly, no doubt, but he had no need for violence, not now. In the past he had been driven to violence, or even chosen it as a first reaction, but he was a different man now. His smile widened a bit. Even their knights were as much a display of power and beauty as anything. Salamah Laurent stepped out of the craft and looked upon Lady Nora ser Noche. Old, yes, but long ago the Patriarch had learned that ambition had no expiration date. It was quite a tasteful attire, but there was grace in her every movement, grace to match, and maybe even surpass, him. He returned her smile and bowed. Not so low as to be subservient, nor so shallow as to be disrespectful. A perfect bow that smoothly flowed into standing. He wished to address her, but he wanted to wait to see what the protocol was in that respect. Sternseher Selina took Salamah's lead somewhat graciously, for while she was no slouch when it came to the mental department, nor was she lacking in ambition. It was obvious to her at least that Salamah was the sort who relished his power and position, and being seen as a leader among his peers filled him with pride. The Duchess of House Sternseher was in no position to change that viewpoint. Nodding one last time to the wife of the little group's charismatic 'leader', she stood and exited the wagon. Chikanaga was quick to follow her lead, flashing one last dazzling smile to their tour guide before tugging his jacket once and slipping up along behind his sister-in-law, holding back roughly half a pace. She came to a halt beside Salamah, giving some distance for his family to join him, and dropped into a well-practiced curtsey. She had no such confusion about what came next, because someone was bound to introduce them. They were Nobles, after all. al Saffah Bundar steps out behind Salamah and Selina, moving up to stand level with the Duke, but off to the side, to make room for those members of his family that the man has brought. Qaribah follows quietly in his wake- saying nothing, watching and listening for now. The Emir bows to Lady Nora, somewhat less gracefully than Salamah- not low enough so as to be abasing himself, but certainly enough to be respectful. This is, after all, one of the most powerful individuals in the galaxy- head of house that has weathered a terrible storm in the past, and not only survived, but thrived. He smiles, but says nothing, waiting either for the Lady to speak, or for the three of them to be announced- whichever happens first. The formalities must be attended to, after all. Laurent One of the most successful--if overlooked--part of social genius, part of understanding how to interact well in social situations, is modeling. If everyone is wearing white all of a sudden, and crying, and you don't know why, you don't loudly ask why everyone is dressing like ghosts. In other words, Salamah spared a glance out of the corner of his eye to the woman whose family had been minor nobility, and noted her silence, thus judging it appropiate and allowing herself to relax as Jamilla inserted herself next to, but a bit behind him--not actually a statement of sexism, for in most courtier cultures, that was the rule, spouses next to but ever-so-slightly behind, by at least 1/10th of a centimeter. There were courtiers who could judge that distance exactly by length, and mark a person as a boor or not based on that. somewhat behind her was Marcus who was looking around in search of one thing. That thing being bottles which might hold booze. He was a recovering alcoholic in the same sense that a fire-starter locked against his will in a house without matches or anything to cause fire was a "Recovering Pyromaniac." ser Noche As the last of her guests disembarked from the shuttle, Lady Nora stepped forward towards the group. "Welcome, Emir as-Saffah and miss as-Saffah, good Duke and duchess Laurent, and ser Laurent, Duchess Sternseher and ser Sternseher, to Taishijan. I am truly overjoyed to see such young clans setting foot on the stage of Capricornian politics. I'm afraid it's a rather dusty lot, but maybe we'll see some change. Be welcome in our home. Please, come inside. I've had a reception prepared." With a soft smile she gestured behind her, turning slightly aside, and nodded in a friendly manner to the group. "I do hope you've enjoyed the flight around Taishijan and Saberai? I pray it wasn't too long." The invitation to come in was fairly simple, no musical accords, no further military parading. Whoever looked well at her would see her greying hair, the lines in her face, and a tired look in her eyes. She didn't look that much of a strong leader, but certainly a wise one.