This was not the first place Mercuxio Rastognlir expected himself to be. His furlough had been extended for a few months longer, and the priest had used that time to revisit the Rastognlir manor, the house that had been in his home for generations and generations. The welcome had been lukewarm at best, with his mother, brother and Severine giving him proper welcomes. Darian was less enthusiastic, but he expected no less of her.
Merric had settled into his chambers, that his mother had preserved for her son despite his father's best efforts. Dardanus had greeted him coldly, with little more than one or two words. He informed him of the upcoming ball, and his expectation to attend. Mercuxio had surprised him by agreeing that he would and when at last the time came, the priest had traded in his robes for the leather, hide, and fur armor of Banorim, the legendary bandit king of ages past. He filled it out well, for he was broad-shouldered and powerfully built, and held the fur cloak over his shoulders and donned the lynx-faced mask of his costume.
Balls never were really his thing, but he was a Rastognlir and his family had always been staunch supporters of their nation, the crown, and the traditions it stood for. So he went to the Grand Duke's palace and once there, had spoke respectfully to the faces that paraded before him. Women leered at him, men saw him as a threat, but they knew not of his true vocation. He was a priest and touched neither drink nor flesh, not in the years since his oaths.
But he was growing bored and sought refuge from the crowds, from the face, of the nobles who knew him by nothing more than his surname. So Merric wandered the palace, where he was allowed to go and soon found his way to the stargazing tower, a lone section of the palace that, thankfully, most of the guests seemed most disinterested in.
Merric wandered near the railing and stopped short of it, but not before craning his head up and peering at the stars, wondering what they read for him this night.
