Ash. The Legends of the Nameless World. Progression Gamelit Story, Kirill Klevanski [great reads .TXT] 📗

the old-fashioned bell-shaped gowns and corsets to the more modern silhouettes that clung to the skin, with long sleeves, the edges of which oftentimes touched the ground. Men wore traditional coats, so dull and alike that it was hard to tell them apart.

His gaze stopped at the main table, placed on an elevated platform so that it stood out from all the rest. The people sitting there seemed in their own world, one separate from the reality that was happening around them.

There was the marquis, a tall, young man with a strong chin and pitch-black hair. Next to him was the baroness, a young woman with thick, wavy hair the color of chestnut, framing her high cheekbones and emphasizing the whiteness of her lovely skin. Under the slightly arched, thin brows were lively brown eyes in the depths of which one could easily get lost. Full lips were smiling lovely, and their beauty was only made more obvious by the dimples on her cheeks. There was no doubt that many poems had been written to honor her beauty, and that her lovely smile stole many a heart.

Even now, many of the gentlemen from the crowd looked at the happy couple with envy. Their drunken eyes were too focused on the baroness for them to notice the girl sitting to the right of the couple. The marquis’s sister, beautiful in her own right, was laughing along with the other guests, chattering merrily and restlessly, mesmerizing all those who’d listen to her with her velvety voice.

“Ash, wanna try a chicken leg in cheese sauce?” Blackbeard asked, shoving a plate of meat and vegetables under the mage’s nose. Feeling that it wasn’t becoming any lighter, he tore his gaze off his plate and stared at the empty chair next to him. “This... can’t be good,” he muttered to himself and turned to the others. “Guys, he wandered off again.”

“There he is!” Alice burst out laughing, pointing toward the crowd of dancers.

“I’ll kill him, I swear I will,” Mary whined in frustration, hiding her face in her hands.

Ash was having fun dancing with the crowd, his staff seemingly floating behind his back, as if it was being held there by some sort of an invisible hand.

To say that Ash was a decent dancer would be an overstatement. Holding a bottle of rum in his hand and absolutely deaf to the melody being played, he flailed his arms and legs like a puppet on very loose strings. Laughing merrily, he shamelessly grabbed a lady who had been unlucky enough to be near him. Her drunken suitors tried to catch up with the ill-mannered mage, but whenever they’d approach him, he’d mysteriously appear on the other side of the hall. Dressed in his torn pants, sandals, and a plain shirt, he looked more like a jester than anything else.

“To think that we accepted him into our squad,” Mary wailed, hoping that there was no one they knew present in the hall.

They were already subject of four ballads, each of which would be a source of pride for any group leader, but not for Mary, who preferred to keep a low profile. Ash, the idiot, didn’t bother to keep their coat of arms out of sight as he danced and made a fool out of himself.

Unfortunately for Mary, her suffering didn’t end there. When the musicians finally took a break, and the dancers started retreating to their tables to catch their breath, a drunken voice shook the hall.

“A toast!”

Mary was about to get up and leap at Ash, but Tul and Lari held her back. When the mage, waving the bottle, jumped on a table, she almost fainted from horror. She would remember this, and she would make Ash pay the price for making an ass out of her entire squad.

“A toast!” the mage exclaimed, raising his bottle. “For the newlyweds!”

“Toast, toast, toast!” repeated the drunken crowd, banging with their fists and feet.

Smiling, Ash caught the stern gaze of the marquis’s mother. He couldn’t help wonder where the duke was. Probably in a dark corner, having fun with some lovely lady...

The duchess smiled tightly and nodded.

“Tonight,” Ash began, walking with his arms outstretched, casually stepping over dishes and heads laid upon the table. “We’ve gathered here to honor this lovely couple! I’ve no doubt that everyone knows about the courage of the Marquis of Soya!”

The crowd cheered and clapped, some even mentioned stories about hunts and balls, at which the marquis demonstrated his other “skills.” The young man blushed and looked anxiously at his wife, but she pretended not to hear these remarks.

“There’s no one, and I mean no one, as beautiful as the baroness... Pardon, the Marquise D’Lamani! No, hold on... The Marchioness of Soya!”

The crowd roared and clapped louder, while Ash observed as the duchess’s face grew gloomier with every word. Each kingdom had a handful of dukes, and about a dozen marquises. She didn’t like it that her daughter-in-law was getting close to snatching her title.

“I have visited many countries,” he continued, addressing the crowd. “On the hills of Amarian I found a fairy imprisoned in a tower! Lost in the Crystal Forest, I danced with the elven princess! On the Amadeus Mountains, I shared a bottle of wine with the Lamia of the Air. And let me tell you, none of those fine ladies can compare to any of you! Oh, gentlemen, you don’t know how lucky you are to be sitting next to these wingless angels...”

The guests burst out laughing loud; some even wiped tears from the corners of their eyes as they held onto their bellies, which, full of laughter and fine food, threatened to burst through their vests and shirts.

“To beauty!” Ash said, raising his bottle, and turned back to the newlyweds. “So that when our friend the marquis grows old and forgets what tightness in