TWO's Mythic Kingmaker: Fey Winds Blowing (Inactive)

Game Master The Wyrm Ouroboros

Azrael watches Lyda leave and gives a little shrug... Perhaps her heritage makes her uncomfortable around me. No need for that, but she doesn't know I'm not the sort to make assumptions based on an accident of birth. He considers scanning her for alignment, and decides against it in the spirit of the gathering.

He listens quietly as the other converse for a bit... nods as others arrive acknowledging each of them, and introducing himself with a friendly smile. "I'm Azrael of the Gilded Dawn. I am so pleased to meet you," or some semblance of that greeting is how he speaks to each person as they arrive.

He listens intently to the ebb and flow of conversations around him, not contributing much but showing avid interest, especially when the talk turns to weapons and styles.

To Darvan's arrival and 'challenge', he greets his fellow holy warrior with a smile and nods. "Well met. I don't know that I would be able to offer much of a challenge to one of your probable skill, but I will be glad to spar with you, when time allows."

Overhearing some parts of the conversation, Tomas can't help get a bit closer and adress the group he's focused on.

-Excuse me, mesdames et messieurs... My name is Tomas Dusek, at your service.- He bows gently. -I... couldn't help but to hear by chance a bit of what you were saying, and I was amazed at the fact of finding someone using two swords at a time.

Tomas looks at everyone involved, but focuses his attention on Theodric and Darvan.

-Are you by chance looking forward to be accepted in the march? If so, and we both get to be at it, I would be very pleased to witness such a feat.- Tomas smiles, and is about to go on but hesitates at the very last moment.

-Na, let's not mention testing or anything related. There'll be time for that.

Sadly, his sense of competition is too high to avoid replying to Danvar's proposition, a fact that he uses to somewhat make-up his interruption in speech.

-Sir, it would be a pleasure to spar with you. If we're going to settle a new nation together, we should by any means be close to each other and, in my humble opinion, nothing strengthens ties better than a good sparring, don't you agree?

Cassandra looks over her shoulder again and notices the paladin has not pursued. Good. Chalm's subordinates that did the interview knew both her heritage and unique ability to change alignment and remained professional. Might have been too cautious here but she didn't want another paladin to loose their powers because she wasn't good enough at diplomacy. And a scene right before the revelation of the groups might have spelled disaster. Better to be too careful in this case.

"Well, he didn't follow. That's a good sign. Feel free to go chat," she says to Kyras. "But all the same I think I will stay away from him and his group for now."

"Aw." Deneb pouts.

"You can go. Just stay on the opposite of them or make up an excuse."

"No. No. Can't very well abandon a friend. Getting close anyway. I think."

Darvan blinks for a moment, as though unable to believe what Tomas has said, but soon a smile splits his lips. "Truly, for how else can we know who among our companions can stand unaided against the might of those arrayed against us, while others need our strength as a bulwark." Face bearing an expression of mingled hope and barely suppressed excitement, he waits for Tomas' response to this. Behind Darvan, Theodric's voice can be heard making an impassioned plea.

***Theodric***
"Gods above and below, please, not this. Not two of them in the same damn city, I beg it of you," Theodric implores to any power whom he thinks can--and hopefully will--answer his desperate prayer. He's had years of exposure to Darvan, and knows full well just how intense the Vudrani can get about his challenges and tests. And the prospect of someone else with a similar mindset is enough to make Theodric despair. Hands pressed firmly against his mask, he can be heard to mutter. "I've had nightmares about moments like this, but I never thought for an instant that it could actually happen."

Nakir pops up beside and behind Aolis.

"Well isn't this a grand party. If I may interject as I know my friend here never would."

He pats Aolis on the shoulder.

"Swords around here are like grains of sand in the desert. You want to stand out or get considered, better bring something else to the table. If swords could tame the stolen lands, well they wouldn't be called stolen now would they."

They were in a land of sword obsessed warriors, blade craft could get you far here. But out in the wild, all that dueling stuff was dead weight. You have to have raw power or cunning to make it, best to have a bit of both. You don't see wolves playing at hunting, at least not unless their pups. They didn't need pups on their journey.

Tomas smiles at Darvan's response.

"Yes, exactly. When two men are going into the wild together, they should know what to expect from each other."

Turning his head to Theodric and with a genuine gesture of ignorance, he asks quitely.

"I beg your pardon?"

Azrael turns to the newcomer who just popped up and gives him a wry smile. "One sword alone, perhaps not, but against an array of united blades, who knows. And I'm sure we are going to bring to bear much beyond just steel. Sparring is a way of learning and judging each other's abilities so we know best how to fight together against a common foe later, so it serves a purpose. It isn't just for fun, you know. Dueling however is another topic entirely. Dueling is to settle things - grudges and to rank superiority, little more. I have no use for dueling, personally, though I'm sure proponents would have a different opinion."

As he finishes speaking, a tanned half-elf looking fellow with pale hair and brilliant green eyes walks up to Azrael's side and greets Corwin, the large dog with a familiar scratch behind the ears. Closer observation reveals he is not exactly a half-elf, despite the similar appearance. "Hello Corwin, I hope you're treating this youngster well today." he says, nodding in Azrael's direction.

The newcomer, Hareth, looks to the gathered folk and gives a little smile to all. "Hello Amavin, you're looking especially pretty today. Aolis, good to see you again."

"Well, my father used to say, if you can't win with swords, you haven't used enough. Of course, I agree there are quicker and more effective methods, but one should use the resources at hand. And here in Restov, swords are a plentiful resource. One just needs to use it."

At Darvan's challenge, Aramil says, "Perhaps we'll have the opportunity, although I am unsure if I will have the time. No doubt some of my time will be spent in training my job who are traveling with me."

Aramil shakes his head at Nakir's entrance. "I see you still enjoy popping up out of nowhere, Nakir. Some day, that might actually get you into trouble."

At Hareth's arrival, he nods in greeting. "Well,met, Hareth."

"Ah, Aramil, well met again indeed. Today should be exciting, yes? What, no Porablum today? or is your little friend out exploring the town?"

Nearby, a feminine, musical voice inquires of someone near her, "Sparring?"

A cat's-tongue-rough masculine voice responds. "Martial-speak for 'Let me try to kick your ass,' or so Tirov always said."

The woman laughs. "Tirov never said that to me."

"He knew you weren't serious about fighting, and he never used the word himself; always said that someone serious about the arts used 'work out' or 'practice'. What's that?"

"That" is a disturbance in the crowd, along the route that would be taken by someone coming from the Citadel to the table that is the center of Red Table Square. A couple of minutes later, the roar of a cheer swells amongst the four-thousand-strong crowd as onto the platform itself mounts a handful of people. One is clearly a Swordlord - The Swordlord, Master of the Aldori School Rytier Kanimir Khavortorov himself, looking as lemon-drop sour as he ever has. The second is someone you've all met in person, His Majesty's Captain of the Guard, Sir Nikita Alexeyevich, looking grim and tense. The third is either an elf or a very slender human, who walks to each of the four directions and makes mystic passes while the last individual, a herald wearing the livery of the Mayor of the Free City of Restov, waits patiently for the wizard to finish.

Once the wizard concludes his work and gives the herald a bow, that worthy extracts from under his arm a scroll. "All pay heed," he calls out, and no matter your distance from the Red Table, you can hear him clearly, as though he were calling out in his expertly-trained voice an introduction from the door to the twenty-foot-long room you were waiting in. "All pay heed to the declaration of the Mayor of the Free City of Restov, given support and succor by the Swordlords of Restov ..."

Well, it's entertaining for about two seconds. And then he blathers on for about two hours (okay, okay, five minutes) with a repetition of the Declaration issued by King Noleski, followed by something annoyingly elaborate that boils down to 'King Chalm Kowalskiy has decided the following companies shall accompany him to the Stolen Lands.'

And yours is one of them.

• The Auram Chain
• The Black Company
• The Brilliant Sword School
• The Bronze Seal
• The Cenobitic Order of the Silver River
• Dashing Harvesters
• Forgedawn
• The Frozen Flame
• The Gilded Dawn
• The Golden Alliance
• High Bounty
• Mageford
• Nighthammers
• The Reckless
• Requiem of Wolves
• Shivering Exiles
• The Silver Star
• The Steel Fist
• Swords of the Legion
• Voice of Mountains
• Voice of Trees

Another several will be permitted entry to and residence in the Stolen Lands should they care to advance into the territory at this time, but will not be granted the aegis of being under Chalm's banner. In essence, they can help build the place, but they won't be considered 'founding fathers' the way the others will.

• Companions of Armgaard
• The Grey Torch
• The Jade Legion
• Swords of the Legion

The remainder - about 25 groups - are thanked for their proposals, but have been turned down.

Once done reading the declaration, the herald rolls the scroll back up, gives a respectful bow to both Rytier Khavortorov and Sir Alexeyevich (who each give a courteous nod back), and the four of them head back to the Citadel.

When he hears the name of his company, Tomas can't help showing a sign of relief. "Yes!"

Immediatly after it, he tries to discern who of the ones around him show that same sign, and thus relate their faces to their groups.

Theodric is readying a response for Tomas when a sudden stirring in the crowd, along with Lillana's painfull tight grip on on his arm, bring him to a stop. It seems that the time for which everyone has been waiting is finally arrived, and Theodric turns to fully face the center of the Square, with a bit of aid from Lillana. Listening to the opening portion of the herald's announcement is somewhat tedious, but Theodric manages to keep his impatience in check until that part is finally done with, and the list of names belonging to those accepted is begun.

When he hears the name of the group he is representing, Theodric keeps his visible response restricted to a simple nod, his expression well-hidden by his mask. Darvan manages a similarly-restrained "Excellent," accompanied by a broad grin, though Lillana's own reaction amply makes up for the both of them as she jumps in place while excitedly squealing "We're in, we're in, the Harvesters are in," until Theodric finally claps a hand over her mouth. Flushing, the young noblewoman stops her enthusiastic display while peeling the hand away, letting Theodric catch the remaining names as the herald reads them off.

Something about the wording of the declaration sounds off to Theodric's ear, but he can't quite figure out what it is. And before he really has any chance at all to thoroughly think it over, a stout clap on the shoulder from Darvan rocks him on his feet. A moment later, a surprisingly powerful hug from Lillana catches Theodric from the other direction, and further thought of the declaration's words are washed away by her excited babble, of which he can't hear single word clearly under the swell of chatter from the crowd. After letting her do her best to pulverize his ribcage for several moments, he pries Lillana loose long enough to substitute himself for Darvan, who endures the assault with a laugh. Turning to face the others, Theodric then bows and, with voice raised to be heard above the crowd, says, "Well, I believe we are all to be companions on this great venture, as I'm quite certain representatives from a number of those named by the herald are to be found in this little gathering. May our association be long, successful, and bring us what we desire out it."

Amavin inwardly smiles to herself at her groups inclusion, before also being pleased some of her old friends were also selected. Interestingly enough, the Jade Legion had also managed to sneak in (in a fashion), which Amavin considered interesting on its own merit. One thing Amavin immediately wanted to do was sit around, analyse and talk with the people who HAD been selected, but she knew she had little time, she had to ensure she and Ishana were ready, and besides, if she wanted a little background information, her fiends could help out. Ishana was also giving her a significant look, so Amavin nodded her head at each individual member of the impromptu group that had formed, before flashing a harried smile and stepping through the crowd, into a quieter area.

Ishana tugged lightly on Amavin's shoulder to get the other women's attention.

"The Jade Legion? Isn't that the group that you met with days ago while I was roaming the city?" Ishana asks curiously, knowing the name but not remembering much of the specifics.

Amavin frowns slightly before replying, happy that her friend was showing a healthy interest into the political movements that must have gone into the decision, but also irritation - it wasn't as if the Jade Legion were horrible people - but Amavin knew that at least 25 applications had application's fully turned down - So what did the Jade Legion have in that application that the others didn't. Quickly, she relayed her (minor) interaction with Ishana.

"Amavin darling, I think Aolis was right, if it was just the old man with the eye on you - then you clearly need to be drinking some of those heavy red wines that he mentioned more often - surely you would be having much more of an impact with your discussions" Ishana remarks with a grin, amusement showing as she teased - always willing to push the boundaries.

"Ishana dear, leaving the diplomatic events and how they get approached to the professionals, a la me. I'll leave the seduction tactics to someone else more qualified - and don't think you are getting off easy either, I'll be ensuring that your outfit is every bit as gorgeous as mine, I want you at the dinner with me, and already there is so much to do and so little time to do it in." Amavin retorts quickly, taking Isahana by the arm and strolling back to the lodging.

Aolis watches carefully and pays attention to everything that is said and how they say it. When the time comes for the group announcements. He merely inclines his head in acknowledgement of his groups admittance. After all their were very few that had what they could offer in this land of swords. Even if he would not have phrased it as Nakir had. Again with little surprise he notes his old comrades admittance as well.

"It seems congratulations to all of us is in order. Except for Aramil, my condolences on having that name made so public."

He says with a smirk towards the other elf. He catches the tail end of the declaration and does not miss the subtle threat. He grows more serious as he could see where this would lead or at least possible lead. Sometimes he wondered if humans had no foresight or simply let their ego come before their head more times then not. Perhaps it was more a symptom of positions of power, he would philosophize later. He whispers to his old comrades before any can disperse.

"We need to talk, all of us. Privately as soon as we can."

He had nothing against the new comers and other groups that were accepted. But it was a simple fact that he did not know them, as such he could trust them anymore then a stranger.

Aramil shakes his head at Nakir's entrance. "I see you still enjoy popping up out of nowhere, Nakir. Some day, that might actually get you into trouble."

Without missing a beat he replies with a smile.

"Oh it does, plenty of times. Like just now, but really sometimes isn't that the point. We could all use a little trouble in our lives. If mine is all you have then you should be thankful."

His black eyes take a slight unnerving quality with his smile if not his words. As the center stage starts he winks and blanks his face. At the declaration of the groups he rolls his eyes but says nothing.

Azrael smiles when the Gilded Dawn are included in the list of those headed to the Stolen Lands. He turns to Hareth and says softly "Seems we are taking a little trip. We'll have much to prepare.. and more supplies to buy as well... Good thing we already bought most of them, because prices on anything to do with such travel will skyrocket after this announcement... wagons, feed, adventuring equipment, I'm sure all we be more expensive now. I wonder what a third wagon will actually go for."

"I do feel honored to have been selected. Did you hear the herald's words though? I mean really heard... about those who didn't make the cut? It seems rather harsh to me, but I guess it makes some sense to keep the area from becoming even more lawless."

When Aolis mentions the need to meet privately, he lofts a brow curiously, wondering what he might have to say, but nods. "Alright, Aolis... when and where would you suggest? I have a small townhouse in the city, we could meet there, if you have no other private place to suggest."

Aramil groans softly as the name is read. Though pleased to know they made it in, he was most displeased the name was public.

Rolling his eyes at Aolis's teasing comment, he says, "Yes, well, with luck everyone will forget it."

Growing more serious at Aolis's request, he says, "My parents' house is secure, and not in neighborhoods frequented by the adventuring sort. My mother will most definitely ensure servants don't listen in."

Upon hearing the announcement, Darivan and Sylvia turn to one another joyously and share a huge hug.
"We did it!" they exclaim as one.

"Oh, Aballon will be so happy! I'll send a message immediately!" Sylvia whistles, and a hawk swoops down from the sky. Sylvia quickly scribbles a note and ties it to Gwaihir's leg. She gives the bird a small piece of meat, winces as the hawk "playfully" nibbles her ear, and sends her familiar off.

Darivan, in the meantime, ponders the words carefully. There's something special in the wording, but he just can't figure out what.

Darg nods upon hearing the proclamation. He then turns to Marlovaur and smiles. "The Steel Fists are in! Look's like we're returning to the frontier, my friend. This will be a grand expedition indeed. With the elite companies of Rostland accompanying King Kowalskiy, the stolen lands will surely be returned to the rule of law and virtue. This is a truly historic event and, I believe, the dawn of a new era for Rostland. I thank Erastil for the opportunity to serve our King in this noble endeavor - let us pray to him for strength in colonizing the trackless lands of the Green Belt."

Darg then lowers his head and leads the others in prayer.

"May Erastil empower his soldiers to smite those who would oppose us. May Old Deadeye protect our families during the long months of the coming expedition. May Erastil protect and guide King Kowalskiy on this noble mission and may he grant our liege everlasting glory in His eternal domain."

Marlovaur studies the herald without emotion. He carefully notes the nuanced meaning within the proclamation. The King is correct to be leery of foreign interference. He would also be wise to beware internal treachery. Can these people all be trusted? He warily sweeps his eyes over the gathered mass and looks for any sign of danger.

He then sighs and joins Dargaryen in prayer.

"Praise be to Erastil! The Steel Fists are ready and eagerly await the expedition. I will finalize our preparations. The men will be ready to depart at first light."

"Yes! We're in!" Sylvara exclaims, doing a little hop. Kaellin has to shift to avoid tumbling.

Done cheering, Sylvara turns to Kaellin. "By the way, did you catch the herald's subtle meaning on that last part?"

Kaellin raises an eyebrow. "That... latecomers get the scraps?"

Sylvara rolls her eyes. "No, silly..." She explains to Kaellin what the herald really meant. Kaellin was taken aback.

"Wow, latecomers really get the scraps."

"I thought you had a nose to pick up on these things?"

"Yeah, but not the brains to figure out all this legal backtalk. Why can't folks just please plainly? See, this is why you should be the face, this is more your arena."

"Nonsense, you're perfectly capable of surviving this," Sylvara reassures him, before muttering under her breath, "...you just have to listen everything I tell you to do."

"What?"

"Nothing! Besides, *I* am the chronicler. Can't record history if I'm the one making it!"

"Riiight. Anyways, better let the others know to get ready. But stay around, so I can 'listen to everything you tell me to do.'"

"Eep!" Sylvara has the good grace to blush.

Kaellin taps his ear, while giving the girl a smirk. "My nose might not pick up legalese bull, but these ain't just for show."

"Your mother's house is fine with me, Aramil... as long as it can accommodate all of us in one room, it sounds perfect and private. Whenever everyone is ready to convene?" Azrael ends with a statement that is as much question.

Hareth takes note of the Erastil worshipers of the Steel Fist and nods in approval, half closing his eyes in prayer along with them.

"Ray, do you want me to see about last minute supplies while you meet with the rest of the veterans, or shall I come to the meeting as well?"

Despite having remained confident and optimistic throughout the application process, Acaciano breathed a sigh of relief as they announced his band, Voice of Trees, last in the list of accepted parties. He and Tai shared a jubilant look and grasped each others forearm in a mostly silent celebration.

Acaciano noted that they'd guessed correctly in talking to the colorful and busy group. As they made plans to retire, he politely bid them farewell.
"Well I suppose we'll be seeing you lot quite a bit more. Congratulations to you all. Enjoy your reunion, perhaps we'll see you later this evening."

While Amavin tries to look around and locate whomever it was, by that point the crowds have made certain that everyone is on quite friendly (or, in a couple of places, unfriendly) terms with each other, making spotting all but impossible.

The herald's reading (only 5 minutes, really) does not include any information in regards to the specifics of The Party, nor would it; that sort of courtesy is relayed in a far more personal manner - though the herald does state that fact during that time, that 'invitations to the Mayor's Merrymead Gala shall be delivered within the hour to the significant members of such groups ...' Which means the invitation for tomorrow night's soirée will be arriving at whatever location you informed the chamberlain and the captain of the guard was your residence-of-moment. Of course, later on there is a statement that the Mayor's Merrymead Munificence (i.e. his alcohol giveaway) will still take place in the Citadel courtyard almost as usual, an announcement that received quite a generous cheer; specifics as to that giveaway can undoubtedly be had in any tavern, public house, inn, grog den, or restaurant in town.

The announcement having been made, and copies of it undoubtedly going up on message-posts and -boards all over town, the crowd begins to break up as people return to their jobs, or their training, or their plans, or whatever it is they happen to be doing - though a few specific instances might be worth mentioning ...

:: Dargaryen ::
There are five in the Steel Fist that, at least in the opinion of four of the five, are the only ones who matter: yourself, Vitez Dargaryen Blanc, House Khavotorov; Vitez Ksawery Munaich, House Garess; Żonka Roksana Garess, House Garess; Vitez Gregorz Tuniztia, House Medvyed; and Barunet Bartok Kendfila, House Medvyed. The other four, extremely well-dressed and with their own personal assistants and toadies (only Bartok doesn't have a batman and assorted hangers-on) by their sides, came with Darg to Red Table Square to 'enjoy the experience' - which, to be entirely honest, seems to be exactly how they're approaching the entire situation.

The four of them - actually about twelve of them, counting 'amusement of the hour' and such - send up a boisterous cheer when the name of their group is called out; after, they watch Dargaryen and Marlovaur bow their heads and pray. Gregorz turns to Bartok and says, with a touch of acid inside the humorous attitude of his voice, "You didn't tell me he was a temple's man."

Bartok, title-rich but somewhat impoverished and an old childhood acquaintance of Darg's (which connection is how he got invited into the group), nibbles a roasted chestnut that some sharp food-cart proprietor has been selling by the handful (well, bagful, but that's about the size of the bag) on the fring of the crowd. "He has his moments," replies the baronet, watching Darg with the same sort of amusement that the others have.

When Marlovaur promises that 'the men' will be ready to leave at first light, all four of the other primary members of the Steel Fist burst into laughter to one degree or another - Roksana grinning and laughing mildly, Gregorz laughing so hard he almost falls over. "Dargaryen, my love," calls Roksana - she calls every male friend of hers 'my love' - "best disabuse your man there of such delusions!! Tomorrow is Merrymead - we should be lucky to be out of bed by this time on Fireday!!"

"I plan to be nursing an absolutely towering hangover," agrees Bartok.

:: Tomáš ::

The reactions are various, but for the most part there are cheers here and there (such as the shout thrown up by the members of the Steel Fist) as particular group's names are called. Due to the, err, betting pools, though, it certainly can be tough to say with absolute certitude who is a part of which group ...

:: Azrael, Aolis, Aramil, Amavin ::

By Azrael's side, Corwin continues to intermittently give a low growl that just barely stays on the polite side of a snarl.

Amavin's conversation with her old comrades is interrupted by two of the would-be merchant-princes who, pushing through the crowd with the able assistance of four burly bludgeon-armed bodyguards, greet her with hearty approval. "Żonka" - the female counterpart to 'Vitez', basically a way of being very socially polite to someone of relatively unclear rank but clear power - "Zephyra!! Excellent, excellent, well done indeed!!"

One of the two stout merchants claps Amavin on the shoulder, grinning just as widely as his equally-bundled-up compatriot. "Quite pleased with your work so far!! We'll be having a working lunch, so please make sure we can get a hold of you sometime around, mmm ... fourth bell?" The second nods his head judiciously. "Yes, very good, sometime after the fourth bell after noon. We'll send a runner to summon you so that we can give you your instructions for the party. Yes, very well done indeed, plans to be made, people to be influenced. Ha! Ha! Ha!"

And with that jolly declaration, the two continue onwards, their quartet of mooks making sure they aren't molested by anything so grimy as a crowdsperson.

After the people start going back to their chores, Tomas starts doing all the preparations. Taking care of the expedition's materials, telling Laszlo all the details and getting ready for the dinner.

Darivan and Sylvia spend most of the early afternoon asleep, exhausted from the sheer stress of waiting. Before, they were too tense to relax, but now they find themselves barely able to stand. Darivan wakes when the courier arrives however, and gratefully accepts the letter given to him. He looks over it, mildly concerned. His headband, while it appeared to be a simple braided leather cord, had cost a fortune, and sharpened his intellect. What made matters worse was that if he ever took it off, it would take a whole day before his mind fully recovered.
"Well, my dagger is hardly 'primary gear,' and it's absolutely not my primary weapon-

You bet it isn't. A voice said in his head. It was Ardafax, naturally. His Black Blade could be amazing, but sometimes the bastard sword really lived up to his name.
I can tear you, you know.

No. End of discussion. Now where was I?

"So, my dagger I might be able to get away with. That's good. I hate going unarmed. But my headband is an issue. Maybe I should just send a note, explaining the situation? Or just not send it in for inspection, and hope nobody notices? Chalm does seem to be assuaging our fears in his invitation, not making us worry, so perhaps a note? And, of course, I need to be ready for The Party tomorrow. What were the Surtovas' house colors again? I feel like I should remember this.... Ah well, it'll come to me. No real rush, after all. I'll just ask Sylvia when she wakes up. She remembers everything, after all."

Lyda breathed a sigh of relief as a great weight lifted off her shoulders. At her side Deneb was a lot less concerned. "Ha. Never doubted. I mean the only other group that sounded like they had our kind of experience was the Voice of the Trees. And maybe the Wolves. But that isn't a lot. Time for new wilds, new trees, new skies." He looks up into the air wistfully.

"Let's head back and give the others the good news then. I am sure Garuda and Kasha would like to stretch their prospective limbs," she says smiling down at him. As much as he enjoyed people, Deneb's first love was the sky.

Together, the duo pick up Charlotte, who has gotten quite lost in the crowd, before heading back. They manage to beat the crowd and do not get stuck at the west gate when leaving. An hour later and they are back at camp. The normally reserved group of survivalists, loners, hunters and druids explode in cheer at the good news. Several animals are frightened by the sudden noise but with so many nature oriented individuals, they are calmed quickly. And with the news, another party is well underway. This one is a little more subdued than the last though. A lot of friendly banter turns into planning as most experts at survival are wont to do. Much information is shared and lot a of ink is used.

Deneb disappears at some point in the day and Lyda sees two forms flying about in the sky in very unnatural but amusing loops, dives, and barrel rolls. Lyda, having responsibilities now, sticks around to mediate some minor arguments and learn some as well. Before the festivities get to rambunctious, Winnie surprises Lyda with a sudden departure. "Charlotte and I would are going into to town to get a few things and maybe find a temple to pray at for a safe journey. I think we might need some more supplies after a second big meal." Lyda nods in understanding and the two depart.

:: Theodric ::
Finding ready-made clothing appropriate to the mayor's gala is ... well, difficult. Half the places Lilliana escorts Theodric into are pits of chaos that sound like they're attempting to prove rivals to the Abyssal Courts, so busy they are in engaging in last-minute alterations for recent purchasers and otherwise-favored clients; the other half are quiet and contained, but equally preoccupied and unwilling to take on a new client who has so clearly had the lack of foresight when it's come to preparing for the possibility of successfully joining the new king.

Eventually, however, he can track down a somewhat-less-than-scrupulous tailor who will put something together for him for only three times the worth of what he's getting, including the needlework necessary to make it fit with some amount of competence, or only twice as much if he foregoes the fitting - though Lilliana will warn Theodric that an ill-fitting outfit can be almost as bad as not having one at all ...

:: Ishana ::
While the Jade Legion is courteous to Ishana stopping by, and the halberd-wielding female (Aimai) requests that she pass along a thank-you to Amavin for thinking of them, they ask to leave it at that, and perhaps speak with her at the dinner; the five of them apparently have a lot to discuss.

:: Azrael, Amavin, Aramil, Aolis ::
The hip-height heavy blond mastiff with the winter coat gives a shiver, the weird sort of sub-dermal ripple of muscle that animals give to spike up their fur and trap some air within, to be warmed and held as a barrier against the cold - but then Corwin gives a very canine snorting sneeze before shaking himself all over, as if having just emerged from water. "No, let's go with," the dog says under his breath, looking up at Porablum and giving her a friendly sniff before looking at each of the old members of the White Blade with as much caninicity as he can manage.

Aramils' parents' sizeable townhome is indeed comfortable; it takes fifteen or twenty minutes to work your way out of the crowd and travel there, but once the servant goes to fetch Aramil's mother and she comes to greet her son and his old compatriots in the library, she nods acknowledgement to Aramil's request and ensures that the four (five) of you are left alone.

:: Dargaryen ::
Figuring out where one specific Southern school is amidst the thirty-plus that make their home in the buildings on the island called 'Riverside' is like tracking down one particular stink in a fish market - it can be done, it just isn't particularly pleasant. You'll eventually wind up in a cul-de-sac that has about fifteen townhomes in it, three of them (technically four) housing sword-schools in them; all three of these are in a massive uproar, as the largest (occupying two townhomes) is busy frantically packing up, deciding what has to come with, and having a 'fire sale' for what gets to stay right there on the cobblestones. The other two schools are going back and forth between scrounging up enough money to cover the 'outrageous' prices being hawked by the surprisingly adept con-man selling the furnishings and other items, and nearly coming to blows trying to determine which of them is going to be moving into larger quarters in the next few days.

Pushing past the auctioneer and his double-brace of student bodyguards, you and your cohort manage to grab a swordless older man in the hallway and state the reason for your visit. He looks at you blankly for a minute, as if the entire idea of visiting someone to converse with them isn't something that should be taking place now, but eventually leads you up a dangerously narrow and steep flight of stairs and into a still-mostly-intact social room of some sort - a couple of couches, a trio of seats. "I'll let Zámoždom Duchovný know you're here," the man says as he scratches the back of his neck, then walks out.

A few minutes later, in sweeps a man you can only presume is Zámoždom Duchovný, sans duelling sword, backed up by a lean, amused sword-bearing man who steps inside the door, then to one side to free up room for his weapon arm. Zámoždom pauses for a moment, entirely aware of the figure he cuts in the warm, fur-lined scarlet cloak over his breastplate, to examine his two visitors with a swift but meticulous eye. "Well," he says in an aristocratic drawl, "I suppose someone had to come interrupt me before the Gala." Stepping across to one of the chairs, he settles himself down like a king assuming a throne. "And you are ... ??"

:: Lyda (Winnie and Charlotte) ::
The Gilded Dawn are wide mix of paladins - Sarenite, Iomedaean, Toragdan, Adabaran, Erastilian, and (in Azrael's case) Ragathielan. It is said, not without justice, that they are relentless in exposing evil, but the generous mix of gods in the group's makeup has, according to rumor, resulted in a fair number of 'those on the wrong path' being redeemed - or, for several others, destroyed utterly, when they spat the offer back into the group's face. Amongst the group, theological debate is almost as lively as their weapon-work, and in the past number of months they have learned to blend their various techniques together into a very powerful machine.

Specifically in Azrael's case, however, he is a firm believer in Ragathiel's paladin code, and despite some severe temptation with his prior group (the White Blade), has not swayed from it. One old man says that if he's like other followers of the General of Vengeance, his ideal would be to never have a reason to draw his sword again.

Corwin changes form, since as a dog he can only speak with Azrael... and he transforms into a tiny flying planetary system. In Celestial, which Azrael will translate for the uninitiated, he explains what he saw and felt in greater detail.

"Unsurprising," said Yuri, as the results were announced, "It would have been illogical to have not chosen us. Let us return to camp, I believe I can still get some work done today. Then perhaps tonight I will try calling on the Frozen Flame or the Mageford, and maybe I will find the right elves this time. Come Tarna, come Volken."

"I think I might explore the town a bit, brother. I wish to see if there is a shrine to our lord Torag in this town," said Tarna.

"Very well, sister," replied Yuri, reaching for his coin purse and pulling out three gold coins, "If they do, give them these, and pray for Golushkin."

Yuri and Volken made their way back to camp. For a dwarven camp, it was surprisingly quiet, at least at the moment. Ingra looked up from her work brushing down one of family's many mouse-gray ponies and smiled at them as they passed. Elga was standing guard with her waraxe and shield in hand but relaxed, while Melken and Azala stood watching at other corners of the roughly triangular camp.

"Elga, you are relieved, Volken will take your place. We will speak more when the entire family is together tonight, but we have been accepted into the charter." said Yuri as they came up to her, "Why don't you go and see what's biting in the Shrike? Those catfish you caught a few days ago were a nice change of pace. Volken, you'll stand watch with Melken and Azala, I'll be working but if we get any visitors inform me immediately."

With that, Yuri headed into his tent, pulled out his spellbook and supplies, and began to work on a scroll.

Darg nods his respect to Zámoždom Duchovný. "Greetings, I am Dargaryen Blanc of the Steel Fists."

He gestures to the armored half-elf at his side. "And this is my lieutenant, Marlovaur. I apologize for the interruption, but we wanted to congratulate you on the selection of The Brilliant Sword School to accompany King Kowalskiy. The King is lucky to have such skilled swordsmen at his side. As it turns out, the Steel Fists have also been selected."

He pauses and smiles. "This will be a most glorious expedition to the Stolen Lands, no doubt, but the green belt is full of danger and treachery. In battle, it is always reassuring to know that your flank is secure. I would offer that both our organizations would mutually benefit if we work together in the field. For now, I would simply like the opportunity to drink with you and your men at the Gala tomorrow night to learn more about the Brilliant Sword School. What say you, sir?"

Diplomacy: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (4) + 8 = 12

Marlovaur respectfully joins the conversation and tries to put Duchovný at ease. "It would be an honor to drink with such renown swordsmen."

Diplomacy: 1d20 + 15 ⇒ (10) + 15 = 25

”Heartwood: Down. Come on, follow me. There you go.”

As Acaciano and Heartwood made their way across the field, interspersed with tents, campfires, and carts, Acaciano made sure to keep his companion close. Out here in the fields he was certainly less likely to be provoked than he was in the city, but that wasn’t saying much. Not that they’d let Heartwood in the city in the first place. Out here at least they could move around a bit more. And he wasn’t particularly concerned with Heartwood would do- he was quite well trained. No, what worried him more was what other people would say and do.

They stopped briefly at a recently-abandoned camp site. ’One of the bands that didn’t get selected? That was fast…’ Acaciano thought to himself. Still, he took advantage of an area cleared of snow and let Heartwood spend a few minutes working his roots into the ground. Fresh soil was hard to come by this time of year. They stayed for a few minutes, then moved on.

After a good bit more walking they passed what had to be the penultimate camp. A ways out further almost up against the treeline, Acaciano spotted the camp. Glancing around, without losing pace, he continued, waving every so often, and hoping to catch someone’s attention. He expected Lyda and Deneb’s camp to be more welcoming than most of the others, but you never could tell. ”Heartwood, Heel!”

Just as he got close, he caught someone’s attention, ”Ho there! It’s Acaciano, from the square! The Voice of Trees!” he called.

:: Theodric ::
'Money for goods and services' is an arrangement that makes the clothier happy, and with persuasion from both the seeing-eye noble and the swordsman-leader himself, he becomes exceptionally willing to work for Theodric at the price of angering other, longer-historied and longer-termed clients; apparently he believes that aiding to dress one of the leaders of the expedition will go far not only in assuaging their irritation, but bringing new business to his shop. 'Borrowing', he points out, isn't something you can do with tailored clothes, because, well, they're tailored. Whether you want them for one night or for a lifetime, it doesn't matter - they're made to fit you. He does, however, point out - quite delicately and politely - that, as Theodric shall be taking an oath, and considering the wording of the declaration and the exalted rank that Theodric might well see, he might ... need the clothing again?

:: Dargaryen ::
Zámoždom Duchovný - 'Zámoždom the Clergyman', as 'Duchovný' is simply a term for a priest of some sort (this is something you'd know automatically) - shifts in his chair, lifting one leg to cross over the other, one hand rearranging the fall of the clerical robe with Sarenrae's symbol on it, while the other gestures towards the fireplace - one that Marlovaur vaguely recognizes as being that of a simple clerical orison, which sets the logs assembled there ablaze. "I do despise being cold," he explains suavely as the fire's heat slowly begins to radiate into the room, "but the opportunities presented by this expedition were ... far too significant to pass by. The Steel Fists, you say?"

He pauses for a moment, head tilting back as he looks up at the ceiling in thought, and then gives what can only be described as a creamy smile - as in 'cat got into the cream'. "Ah, yes, I recall you and your fellows. Tell me, will they be sober enough to ride on whatever day we leave? And will the lot of you have food enough to last through until we can harvest - or afford resupply? I confess that it took some significant browbeating to make my boys realize that this would be a bit more than just an afternoon's ride in the country. Have you met Kacper Lisko? One of the foremost blades of the Brilliant Sword School, and a very good friend of mine."

Lisko gives a swordsman's bow - all shoulders, but neither his hands nor his eyes move from their current positions.

"I imagine," continues Zámoždom, "we shall all be raising a glass tomorrow, shall we not? But by all means, you and all your noble compatriots simply must make sure we take a glass or two together tomorrow night; as you say, it would be ... reassuring to know that your flank is secure."