Private Cultural Appreciation

[Achilleon Utraen]

ACHILLEON UTRAEN

KNIGHT OF VANDEMAR · HOUSE UTRAEN

Heavenheim. His ship had brought him here, a next stop on his journey around the coreworlds. A similar feeling overcame of what he had felt on Onderon, a strange familiarity. Here it was less the atmosphere of the people and more the actual smell. It smelled almost as pure as Vandemar did, untouched, natural, clean. Not clinical, not washed and scrubbed, but untouched. It was almost exciting to set foot on this world and walk among the people of it.

They were tall, strong, reminding him of some of the people on his homeworld, in the provinces of the North. They felt almost like he knew and understood them. It was remarkable. There was still the struggle of Basic and their rather specific accent of it, but Achilleon got around. He had been to the market, purchased some local produce, tasted some local food while walking the streets of the city, bathing in the cold sunlight.

The Vandemarian Knight had pulled back his red-clothed hood, revealing his white hair and face, though keep the cloak around him, both as insulative layer and obscure some of his armour from vision. Not to deceive, but because he believed that he needed not to be seen as a proud warrior prancing about here, he was a visitor, a guest from a land far away and not wishing to offend or disrupt anyone local.

Achilleon's purple gaze looked upon the home of the local ruler, the High King, apparently an elder warrior-prince who was renowned among the coreworlds, both for his battle-prowess and for his wisdom. It drove some amusement to his eyes to see that his liege and this royal shared the coat of arms of a gryph, he wondered if they had heard about each other. Achilleon walked down the cobbled streets until he found a place to seat himself outside, ordering local beverage and desiring to observe and study the local populace. Leaning back in the chair, the Knight crossed his legs, draped his cloak to protect him and sipped from the ale a waitress brought to him.

LOCATION // MIDVINTER: HEAVENHEIM

PARTICIPANTS // Thurion Heavenshield

 

[Thurion Heavenshield]

HEAVENHEIM
CAPITAL of MIDVINTER​

"Grampa," shouted the boy as he ran across the marketplace, golden hair bobbing up and down with each hurried step. The awaiting arms of his grandfather eagerly embraced the half-zeltron, his pink skin standing out in any crowd, and laughed as he was nearly knocked back by the pounce. "Tulan, my dear lad," exclaimed the High King joyously and hoisted him up in the air briefly. "How was today's studies at your auntie's?"

"Good," he replied with a bright smile, holding his grandfather by the hand as they walked down the rows of merchant stalls. "I got to watch her use the Force to heal a sick man, and sew shut a sword cut on another. I even got to cut the thread when she was done," he was proud to report. "Auntie Valae is a really nice doctor."

Thurion nodded in agreement, smiling fondly. "That she is."

As a reward for being a good student, he took his youngest grandson to the local ice cream shop and let him pick three whole scoops! When they re-emerged, they came across a troop of performers dressed up in colourful costumes quickly drawing a crowd with their silly antics. Thurion's eye was drawn elsewhere, however, to a lone stranger sat enjoying a beverage. Only when Tulan tugged at his sleeve was he alerted to their presence, and told him to go check it out. In the meantime, Thurion would approach the stranger in the red cloak.

"Ho there, friend," he drew near with a raised hand in greeting. "I must congratulate you on your choice of venue, as well as your bravery! Not many would dare attempt the stronger stuff on their first visit." He did not presume to take a seat without invite, but merely remained standing at the opposite end of the table. "Before you ask, I know the face of each and every citizen in Heavenheim, and yours is not familiar to me. Mind if I rest these old bones awhile?"

Achilleon Utraen ​

 

[Achilleon Utraen]

ACHILLEON UTRAEN

KNIGHT OF VANDEMAR · HOUSE UTRAEN

The brew was strong indeed, but his Nórrmen physiology dealt with it quite efficiently, keeping the taste and strength in balance without intoxication. He enjoyed it. Vandemar was more built around the wine industry in terms of alcoholics, but this could be an import good of high demand, especially for the hardier people of the North.

Achilleon's gaze was firmly focused on the busy streets and the people walking. He was curious, intrigued by them and their casual sternness or stern casualness. Cold made many civilisations dour and grim, these were not different but they were happy. Almost jovial he felt. A just rule. Another reminder of his very own home.

The violet eyes then spotted a large figure with a child that was eagerly and excitedly devouring what looked like a mountain of ice cream. The child was clearly some half-breed of some sort, the two by their bearing related. But it was the elder who caught his attention.

Before entering a system or world, Achilleon did his research on who and what ruled, how they did so, who they were and what their policies were. And how they looked. He recognised the High King the moment he laid eyes on him and was surprised to see neither guards nor equerries prancing about. That level of confidence and understanding of the own people was rare. It would make it even more unique when the royal approached him.

The Knight was initially not sure if he was the target of the High King's attention, but every step carried the gold-maned warrior closer until he addressed the foreigner in his city. By now Achilleon had risen from his seat, calmly and offered a gentle bow with his palm resting on his chest.

"Your Grace." He said in respectful greeting. His voice was almost youthful but carried a certain confidence and even sternness. He listened with curiosity, genuine intrigue and some minor amusement written on his face. "I would be honoured." He gestured to the unoccupied chairs and would only seat himself after the royal had done so.

Achilleon kept his purple eyes on the man, neither wary nor relaxed as he seated himself and would wait for an opportunity to signal the waitress to bring another jug of the homebrew. Ever so slightly he adjusted the small oxygen tube that was leading directly into his nose before he took another sip from the beverage. "You are taking your grandchild, I assume, for a stride through your city?"

LOCATION // MIDVINTER: HEAVENHEIM

PARTICIPANTS // Thurion Heavenshield

 

[Thurion Heavenshield]

"Ah, splendid," he thanked the stranger as he pulled out a chair. An elderly groan escaped his lips as he sat, knee joints popping audibly. He forwent any sort of dignified posture and instead leaned against the back of the chair, putting one foot up on another chair. At his advanced age, one had earned the right to comfort before majesty.

"More and more, I feel that I'm either on my feet all day and never find the time to sit, or that all I do is sit around," he said in jest. "You'll get there on day, don't you worry." At the same time that the waitress was asked to bring another drink for the visitor, the High King pointed at himself and nodded, signalling for his usual choice of drink to be brought. Idly did he sweep a few leftover crumbs from the last patron off the table.

"Ah, yes," he looked back at Tulan thoroughly enjoying the troop of jugglers, jesters, and fire-breathers. "Tulan, my youngest grandson. I've been blessed with many grandchildren, and all of them seem to grow up much too fast to my liking. There'd be but a ghost sitting across from you were I without little ones to dote on," he chuckled, only half-kidding.

The waitress returned with a tankard in one hand and a frosted glass of blue milk in the other, passing the former to the stranger and the latter to Thurion, who gingerly cupped the glass in both hands and immediately took a first sip in a childlike manner. He relished the taste, taking him back to an evermore elusive childhood. He'd never developed a taste for alcohol, preferring milk, soda, or lemonade to the likes of ale, mead, or wine. A sweet tooth was only proper for a doting grandparent.

"I fear you have me at a disadvantage, my friend. Might I entreat thee of thine name, good sir knight? What brings thee to the edge of the known galaxy, so far from the fineries of civilisation?"

Achilleon Utraen ​

 

[Achilleon Utraen]

ACHILLEON UTRAEN

KNIGHT OF VANDEMAR · HOUSE UTRAEN

Achilleon listened intently, his gaze resting on the old king as he seated and made himself comfortable, luring a subtle look of surprise on the face of the Vandemarian. He accepted the new jug with a nod of gratitude, though swiftly emptied the first one just to offer it to the waitress in exchange. There was not sensation of tingling of the strong brew yet and would not for some time.

But with great interest he observed how his host attacked milk with such jovial and juvenile ferocity.

"Continuing the family line is an honourable undertaking, though pleasure through the next generations is not the most common where I am from. There is more of obligation." Achilleon offered thoughtfully.

"I am Achilleon of House Utraen, my Lord, hailing from Vandemar and exploring the coreworlds. One could say that I am an adventurer, seeking to experience this strange Galaxy with its unique approaches to life and living."

"And I would argue that from what I have witnessed so far - civilisation here is worth more than elsewhere."

LOCATION // MIDVINTER: HEAVENHEIM

PARTICIPANTS // Thurion Heavenshield

 

[Thurion Heavenshield]

"Then, Sir Achilleon of House Utraen," said the High King and reached across the table for a formal handshake, "in truth, I cannot say I subscribe this aspect of your culture, though its merits are not lost on me; the lives of my children and grandchildren are sacro-sanct to me, and we are all but mortal men doomed to die. We ought to find what enjoyment we can before the inevitable, lest duty rid us of our humanity. Regardless, I am honoured to be the first to receive a man of such integrity, of a world hitherto unknown to us. Vandemar is not a name I am familiar with."

Taking another sip from his glass of milk and using his sleeve to wipe his moustache in a rather unkempt way, he smiled at watching his grandson make his way back from the street performance. "You give us more credit than most, my friend. This world breeds hard folk to withstand weather and wildlife, and some have their hearts hardened in the process. It was my father's dream to unite the realm under one banner and usher in a new age of discovery and prosperity. That task passed to my brother, and now rests with me."

As Tulan returned to his grandfather's side, Thurion put his arm around the lad and held him close. "Did you see, Grandpa? They breathed fire, and juggled, and hit apples off of one guy's head with an axe!" Grandpa laughed. "Did they now? Don't let your sister know or you'll be her test subject!"

Thurion gestured to the man sitting across from him. "This good man is Achilleon of Vandemar, and has come from very far away." He nudged Tulan towards the seated knight, who fidgeted a bit before greeting the stranger. "H-hello, sir. My name is Tulan..."

Achilleon Utraen ​

 

[Achilleon Utraen]

Thurion Heavenshield

Achilleon nodded in acknowledgement and maybe even understanding. Vandemarian culture did value life and personal relations, but never as much as the common and therefore greater good. It was ingrained in his life, his thoughts, it was even in his genes.

"I can understand that. Watching you with your grandchild is almost unique to what I am used to. Love is a bond that can translate time and space. I feel my mother's strength here and now, her wisdom and her care as well, even if it was never expressed in the same way do to your kin."

He caught on to something which he got used to by now but needed mentioning. "In Vandemar, it's Azir, not Sir. Your Grace." The white haired man offered with a gentle smile.

"Our cultures share that trait then, though we were born in unity due to the harshness of our home. It's manifold beasts are a threat just as the Force and it's offspring are. Hard conditions breed hard people. Though we never turned the wheel further, we co-exist with the threats to remain sharp, remain hard." It was as if the words coming out of his mouth were equal sharing and revelation to himself. He spoke with sincere thoughts laid bare on his tongue.

His words drifted off a bit when his violet eyes caught the appearing kingling with some intrigued anticipation. Achilleon followed the boy making his way to his grandsire to tell his tale. Utraen chuckled. A sound which gave away the relative youth in his voice.

The Knight leaned forward, the sound of plates moving beneath his coat and cape accompanying the motion and offered the boy a deep nod with his hand over his chest. "Well met Tulan, I am Achilleon. How old are you?"