Anira Verseheart

Anira Verseheart

Lady Lark of the Lanes
Weaver
Character Profile
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A letter, delivered sealed in green wax, pressed with the mark of an antler and a broken key:

To the artisan named herein, greetings and goodwill.

His Grace, Misael Tallymark, Duke of the Weeping Antler, Warden of the Long Dusk Vale

requests the honor of your presence at a banquet held in celebration of the turning season, the Revel of Unspun Threads, to be attended by persons of distinction and artistic merit, at his residence within the Vale.

Regarding the Occasion
His Grace has long held that true artistry, song, wit, image, or other, elevates any gathering beyond the ordinary, and it is in this spirit that select practitioners of note have been invited to share their craft before his household and guests. The Duke desires an evening of uncommon entertainment and has therefore extended this invitation to artists of exceptional talent, whose names and works have travelled farther than they themselves may know.

Regarding Accommodations
Guests shall be provided with food, drink, and lodging for the duration of the evening, at no cost and under the full protection of the house. All hospitality extended is offered freely and in good faith, in keeping with the oldest customs of courtesy between host and guest. Guests are kindly asked to refrain from bringing iron, salt, or rowan into the hall, as these are considered a discourtesy under the old customs of the Vale.

Regarding Terms of Attendance
As is traditional for performances given within the Vale, His Grace requests that each artisan provide, in addition to their performance, a small token of their craft as a gesture of goodwill, a song unsung, a sketch incomplete, a jest held back. This is customary, expected of all who perform, and shall be collected at the close of the evening by a member of the household staff.

The road to the Long Dusk Vale opens where two blue jay quarrel over nothing.

No summons of mine has ever gone unanswered, nor shall yours be the first. You are awaited.
You are welcome, as all things are welcome, that come home at last.

Misael Tallymark
Duke of the Weeping Antler

 
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Red toed, red legged, and red eared, the long limbed jester, behorned and pale masked, lounged atop a tree branch without a care in the whole wide world. One leg crossed atop the other. Toe pointing in one direction, flexed away the next. Fingers picking at his lyre whilst he rest his head there against the plump of a well rounded thigh.

"Tell me again, Othelo, who is it that sent this, dastardly provocation?"
1789866531895.webp"Uh, well boss, it looks like it was sent by one, Misael Tallymark, Duke of the Weeping Antler," said Othelo.Little curled booties kicking off the edge of the great bough upon which his plump bum did rest.

"Weeping Antler," he said behind the frozen twist of his painted smile and frown. "A name that strike a fancy chord upon any song dreamt there after heaering it," he thought aloud as his fingers plucked the bright strings of his ancient instrument.

"So, I take it we are going then?"

A laugh from behind the wall of porcelain plate. Bright silver eyes squinting with glee. "You take it all in stride, don't you, fair Othelo?" the big clown curled up. Every bit a pill bug. He tumbled and rolled and popped right up. Brass bells bright chimed and jingle jangle. The branch beneath him swayed with the shift of weight, and Othelo waved his arms, out to catch his balance as the bough creaked, and the leaves rustled. "We are going then!" The tall red clown, like a scar against the surrounding canopy, called out with his arm raised high.

"Well, you see, Mildred, it is as I said, the sun will set, in but the next passing of the hour."

"You said that not two hours ago, Jacobin,"

"Two hours ago? Surely, you are mistaken,"

"If only I were so mistaken, Mildred, then might be, that this Dusk would have come to an end, and no more of these... oh look, here come another one,"

"Another one?" the Red Jester asked the two Jays. "Surely, I am the only one,"

One of the birds laughed. "Only one? You here that, Mildred?"

The one named Mildred shook their head. "Suppose its always the case isn't it Jacobin?"

"The case of what?"

"The case with these types I mean?"

"And by these types, which types do you mean exactly?"

"I mean, the types that. Are you having a go with me?"

"A go? Where would I be going?"

Zakarias blinked. Cleared his throat. "My, these two sure are the beakering sort,"

"Was that a pun?"

"An observation surely,"

"Well, what's the punchline then funny man?"

"A pun has no punchline, Milred,"

"A pun is the puncline, Jacobin,"

Othelo smoked his pipe. "Wasn't there supposed to be a... door or some such?"

"Where the two Jays quarrel over nothing, yes," Zakarias adds.

"Sounds like a whole lot of nothing to me" Othelo gives back.

Zakarias nods. A small, bell jiggling nod. "I would be inclined to agree yes,"
 
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