Scenario:Percival - Homecoming
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Homecoming
Percival, (Captain), and company return to Wales, where it is determined that they all shall attend a ceremony in honor of Aglovale's coronation. New regalia is made for Percival under the direction of Tor, the king's new retainer.
It is a fair day, and Percival stands quiet on the deck of the Grandcypher. In his hand is a letter, come from the royal House of Wales.
Aglovale not in crew
The message is written in a clear and graceful script. Percival recognizes it as the hand of his brother Aglovale, King of Wales.
Percival: Hm...
As he pores over its contents, (Captain), Lyria, and Vyrn pass before him.
Vyrn: Hey, Sir Burnsalot. Why the long face?
Percival: I have here a letter from Aglovale. He calls for my return.
Lyria: Oh no. Do you think something's happened?
Percival: It's hard to say—the letter is brief. In any case, it seems we must part ways for a while.
Percival: What? I don't think it necessary, but should you insist...
Vyrn: Yeah, come on! We haven't been getting any missions, and I'm bored outta my mind! Take us sightseeing, won't you?
Lyria: Vyrn! You can't say you want to go just because you're bored. That's rude!
Percival: Hah. Very well. It's your time—do with it what you will.
Percival: Of course. And I trust you'll look after the crew in my absence.
Lyria: Um... I don't think (Captain)'s being very honest...
Vyrn: Heh! You wanna go, don't you, (Captain)? It's written all over your face!
Percival: Hm? Then why the ruse? Come, if you so wish.
(Captain) accepts the invitation gratefully.
Continue 1
Thus, the crew journeys to the land of Wales.
The sun is high overhead when they enter Percival's ancestral home. Passing through a high and glimmering hall, they come into the throne room.
Percival: I've returned, Aglovale.
Aglovale: Percival. Well met. Ah, I see you are accompanied by (Captain) and company.
Vyrn: Yep! We're here on vacation!
Lyria: I hope you don't mind, Aglovale!
Aglovale: Hah. I bid you welcome. Rest here in Wales for as long as your heart desires.
(Captain) bows before Aglovale, then offers a few words of gratitude.
Percival: Now tell me, why have you called me home?
Aglovale: In a few days, we shall hold a ceremony to honor the anniversary of my coronation. It will be a magnificent affair, and by it we mean to enhance the prestige of our land.
Aglovale: It is my wish that my brother attend. Percival, what say you?
At these last words, a soft light comes into Percival's keen eyes.
Percival: Yes. Of course I will attend.
Percival: It is a joyous occasion. How could I refuse?
Aglovale: Good! Truly your answer gladdens me.
Smiling, Aglovale then looks upon (Captain) and the others.
Aglovale: And (Captain). Surely it was good fortune that brought you here. Would it please you and your companions to join the celebrations?
Lyria: What? We wouldn't be intruding?
Aglovale: No. Is there not great friendship between us? Come now. Throw away your courtesy.
Vyrn: Well, then don't mind if I do!
Lyria: Um, I'd like to take part as well! (I wonder if there'll be delicious food...)
Percival: Well, (Captain)? My brother is eager that you attend. If time allows, won't you rest awhile in Wales?
The captain, seeing how the others wish to go, assents at last.
Aglovale: It is decided then. You all shall come.
Aglovale smiles again, seeming much pleased. Then, visited by a sudden realization, he turns and looks sharply at Percival.
Aglovale: Ah, yes. Percival. Have you raiment for the ceremony?
Percival: In my wardrobe, there is regalia I wore in the past. Will it suffice?
Aglovale: Hm... Perhaps. But it is long indeed since we had such merrymaking. I should feel happier to see you in clothes freshly tailored.
Aglovale: Tor!
Tor: Here, my lord.
From the shadows, a retainer steps forth.
Aglovale: My brother is in need of attire for the ceremony. See to it that preparations are made.
Tor: I will, my lord.
Tor bows low, first to Aglovale, next to the crew. Then quietly, he passes from the room.
Percival: Who was that? I've never seen him before.
Aglovale: He is called Tor. The man is of humble birth; yet I brought him into my retinue, for he showed great promise.
Aglovale: He is but recently come to this castle, and already I can attest to his skill.
At length, Tor returns and behind him is a large and motley crowd.
Tor: I have returned. And I beg pardon, my lord—I didn't mean to take so long.
Overwhelmed Tailor: Can you believe it? Me! Tailoring for the king's brother! Oh, it's truly an honor, sir.
Ecstatic Tailor: Now, what shall we dress you in? Do take a look, sir—we've only the best textiles.
Aglovale: He has brought with him every tailor for miles round! Hah. What an interesting fellow.
Aglovale: Come, Percival. Let us find stuff fit for a lord.
Percival: As you wish.
Percival holds before him bolts of many hues—and woven of various threads, so that some have the glimmer of rippling lakes and others the richness of living bark.
Percival: Brother. What do you think?
Aglovale: Hm... The colors are simple and pleasing to the eye. But they are more suited to discussing grave matters of state, I think, and not to feasting and merrymaking.
Percival: Yes... The pattern may indeed be plain.
Percival: Then, perhaps one more bold...
Aglovale: Hm... The pattern is intricate and the hue festive. But it is garish. Such attire is often worn by men given much to pretention—and not enough to taste.
Percival: Then it would reflect poorly on Wales, were I to wear this.
Percival: Aglovale! What do you say now?
Aglovale: Ah. You have paired together cloths crimson and white... a hue noble and fearless on the one hand, and pure and gentle on the other.
Aglovale: It is a kingly union. Shall we proceed with these colors?
Percival: Yes. I, too, thought they were fair.
Tor: Tailors! The cloth has been chosen. Now take up your pens and draft your designs.
Tailors: At once!
The tailors bend over their parchment, and the hall is filled with a great scratching of nibs.
The finished sketches are brought to Tor, who unveils the best before the king. Aglovale sits impassive on his throne, until one at last kindles a light in his eye.
Aglovale: Ah, here is a most noble design. On the cloth, there will be set a tracery of gold.
Aglovale: About the shoulders, a cloak will hang and rise like wings on the breeze. Whoever wears this shall cut a striking figure indeed.
Aglovale: Yes... Percival, you must don this at the ceremony!
Percival: I will wear it with pride. Thank you, Brother.
Tor: Then I shall have the tailors prepare their needles.
(Captain), Lyria, and Vyrn, who stand nearby, look at each other and laugh.
Vyrn: Man... I thought he wasn't ever gonna decide.
Lyria: Hehe. But didn't it look like they were having fun?
(Captain) smiles, glad that Percival can once again share with his brother warmth and joy.
So it is that the first day of Percival's homecoming is crowned with a gift.