- Trump Description:
-
It is the night, and a dark one at that, judging by the fulgin sky. The
viewer is looking or walking through an iron grid door inset with square
panes of glass that opens out to a terrace balcony. Warm soft light, like
firelight, pours out the door with the viewers perspective, and the frame of
the door reveals that your stepping out of a room with stone walls. The edge
of a tapestry lines the wall next to the doorway, obviously you're leaving a
room that serves as a den, or perhaps someone's private living chamber,
complete with outside view. The door opens outward and you can almost feel
the slight chill of an early harvest time breeze. So hypnotic the scene is
that you can almost hear the chirping of insects in the background and the
thrumming of soft music.
In the corner of the doorway high in the night sky, a large silver moon waxes large over this Castle and it's surrounding grounds. It's pale silver luminescence illuminates the dark night sky turning the night from a black to an almost deep velvet blue. A field of stars are strewn about the sky, a celestial corona of distant points of light crowning the moon in a halo very much like the sun. The celebration of light contines across the horizon like a immense sheet of dark satin generously dusted with silver dust.
Over and through the balcony stonework, the Castle grounds can be seen, a carpet of grass with paved paths leading around and away from from several close groups of large trees. The trees, perhaps oak mixed with some ash seem strangely prominant, depicted almost in silhouette, casting long shadows from the light of the moon. Far below some distant figure walks a path towards the trees, holding aloft a tiny lantern shedding firefly light to hold back the night.
The balcony itself is not uninhabited, and in fact holds the centerpiece of the whole trump. A man half sits, half leans, against the balcony. He strikes a pose with his right leg casually bent dangling off the floor, as if he had just looked out over the balcony to the grounds below, and has just turned to see whose walked outside to join him.
He is lighted by the light streaming from within. A strong masculine frame dressed in a dark royal blue doublet of rich velvet, trimmed in gold. Snug pants of jet black lined with a strip of gold down the seams, are tucked in polished black riding boots. A wide black leather belt with an intertwining weave pattern is held around his waist by a green metal belt buckle with looping celtic design. Two kidskin gloves are tucked under the belt. A sword scabbard of tooled black leather hangs from the belt as well, a hilt with a small etched curving crosspiece fills it. Around his neck is a torc of gold, etched with strange celtic designs. He wears a sweeping cloak of a similar dark azure of his doublet, likewise touched here and there with gold.
His hands hold a small harp of a soft delicate blonde wood, and wrought with gold, and inset with three red stars along it's bow. Those hands, graceful with long deft agile looking fingers, are strumming the strings lightly. Somehow, you can tell their they hold a deceptive strength to them, for they are graceful but not feminine. Tiny motes of light dance about his fingers and the strings, as if the music itself were giving off light and sound, and the whole harp glows softly from the power. It's light radiates out to light the man's face from two sources, the harp's and the light from the room leaving no shadows on his features.
At his throat just above the torc, a large crystaline stone with a soft white pearly color to it, serves as a clasp to hold his cloak around his broad shoulders. His face is fair, with a golden tint from the soft yellow light that shines on it. Fine dark blonde hair, thick with a tendency to wave and curl, is parted carelessly to the side. His jaw is strong and his mouth wide, showing perfect white teeth in a confident smile. A perfect nose, neither bent nor too prominant compliments the rest of his features. Large and strangely compelling green eyes regard the viewer with a pleasant expression. They are knowing those eyes, and they have an ageless expression, despite his youthful features. A thin gold circlet covers his brow and disappears in his hair.
His clothes are of fine quality, expensive but not excessively opulent. His bearing marks him to be either some nobility or even royalty. His expression is one of greeting, he seems to be regarding someone he knows well and is very fond of. There is a self-assurance about him, and while he doesn't appear imperious, you can tell he could easily if he wanted to. The way his lips curl slightly at the ends, and the casually raised eyebrows bespeak of a sensuality, a seductive confidence, his gaze might remind one of a lion: sleepy, powerful, and absolutely confident in that power. And yet, the viewer is someone close to him.
Is this man a Prince of a distant land? A well placed and powerful bard whose very music is magic, or a magician of unknown strength? Is he your enemy, or is he the one you've chosen to be your next lover?
You avert your gaze for a moment because judging from the coldness of the trump and the slight stirring at your fingertips you could tell it was coming alive.
- Name:
- Prince Jayson of Corilaine
- Lineage:
- Sand, Princess of Amber and Duke Jordan of Tirgaine
- Crest:
- On a field dark azure, a tower argent, a forest verdant in the fore. Above, a constellation of stars bright numbered seven, in a circle section.
- Age:
- 162 years
- Birthdate:
- -147
- Colors:
- Azure and Gold, with Black
