Congratulations to everyone. As soon as we are ready, this will host the game. Make a post to add yourself to everything, and lets move the conversation to the Discussion Thread to talk about things. I am a first time PbP DM, so tell me any conventions, info to bring me + others up to speed! Lets get this noble-ball Roland (Rolling, I am sorry) !!!
Dot.
I am here
Dot!
9:45 PM, Emile de Beaux Manor.
The entree is taken from the dinner tables and the fifth course of the meal is brought in to replace it. Four servants for each of the three tables, all with slight smiles, two to take away the dishes, another two bring in the wines, meats and cheeses on the adorned silver platters. The twelve servants enter and leave quietly, returning to the kitchen.
The dining room foyer returns to lively chatter. Large columns on the sides of the room ascend thirty or so feet into the air towards a decorated ceiling. A man rises from his seat, leaving his table, walking his way up one of the two staircases leading up to the second story overlooking the room. He reaches halfway up the stairs, grins, and taps a spoon to his glass. The room quiets down and he begins to speak.
“A moment everyone.” Emile ceases tapping his glass, and rests the spoon between his fingers, placing his hand on the mahogany staircase railing. “Everyone, thank you kindly for attending. There is no celebration that I enjoy more than New Year’s Eve. A day to look forward to the next year, and all that it may bring.” He takes a sip of his wine, and takes a couple of steps down the staircase towards the party. “My family has been hosting New Year’s festivities for generations, and I am happy to continue the tradition of inviting such wonderful guests to the de Beaux manor.”
He raises his glass to the crowd. “A toast,” he starts, “to everyone in this room, and everyone in this beautiful nation. To Durendal! May the next year be wonderful for all.” Most of the crowd begins to clap, a couple cheers erupt from the more intoxicated guests. Everyone takes a sip. He raises his glass once more, gently tipping it in the direction of a few blonde members at the table he came from. “And to Galatine, long may we prosper in peace and may your stay in our nation be wonderful and lasting.” This toast gathers a few less claps than before. A short-haired Galatian woman returns the gesture, pointing her glass towards Emile.
Three circular tables lie in a triangular shape. The front table pointing between the stairs, the right table in the direction of the kitchen, and the left table towards the coat room. Emile De Beaux returns to his seat at the front table. At that circle is Emile de Beaux, his two sisters, three Galatians, a somewhat armored man, and two silver haired individuals. The rightmost circle is a mixed bag: an Officer of the Guard, a dwarf, several well-dressed human nobles from young to old of varying genders, a half-elf in glasses, two arcane-looking types, a Tizonian and a Galatian.
At your table, the leftmost circle, a similar grab-bag of eight noble individuals. The all-seeing but nigh blind fortune teller, Halycon d’Orcay. The respected trader but feared Lawyer, Raphael Montefiore. The charismatic owner of a booming bar business, Marcus Tamarin, and his sly sister, the cunning Nishara Tamarin. The crafter of constructs and Clockwork Queen, Valentina Silverstone. The vigilant leader of mercenary men, Seth Varianna, and his lovely wife Lucia. And lastly and most certainly least, the self-proclaimed “Prince of Property,” slumlord Francis Lyon.
Were these individuals to walk into a bar together, surely a joke could be made. With such a charismatic, crafty and witty bunch, surely one of them could make the joke itself, and better yet make it funny. Alas, the fifth course of a New Year’s Eve dinner is not the time for such jokes (and if it was, you are certain Emile would have had a jester performing a splendid routine). Wine and cheese pair much better with gossip and politics, and while the first four courses have let you learn about those you sit around, it is the fifth course (and seemingly always the fifth course) that reveals true character. And the first to reveal their character was none other than the most insignificant member of this story, Francis Lyon.
“Can you believe it?, Francis asks, lowering his glass after Emile’s toast. “To even dignify those golden-haired bastards as they hold our nation by the balls?” He takes a sip of his wine, nearly gone already, and raises his glass. “Here is my toast to the Galatians.” He says the last word with disgust, almost as if it pained him to say it out loud. “Take your blasted magic, take your ‘royal bloodline,’ and leave our country, before we kick you out.” Intentional or not, Francis made his toast rather loudly, and the “golden-haired bastard” at the rightmost table gives him a glance and a sigh. A brunette woman next to him attempts to place an empathetic hand on his shoulder, but the Galatian erratically avoids her hand, and assures her he is fine. Francis continues with a smile, and despite the empty nature of his glass of red wine, his teeth are still pearl white: “I swear, we should push to regulate magic even more just so they feel victimized here and take their leave."
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The disguised kitsune holds back the look of disgust that threatens to form replacing it instead with a small frown. He looks to the man and begins speaking in a conversational tone as though the topic didn't truly interest him, but speaking in such a way that he believed would carry at least as far as the slumlord. "The regulation of magic as it stands serves a purpose it keeps those who would practice their arts without fear of consequence in check, if we were to restrict it further we would be without the means to counter their potential counterattack, as most of our mages would be incapable of using the magics required, and those who remained would be unwilling after we constricted them so harshly, and that even assumes an attack would be coming, as it stands we are at peace, and at peace I would like to remain.... It's good for business after all"
, exempt.
, god I love hating Francis.
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Raphael listens with interest to Emile's toast, a smile quirking the corner of his mouth as the man compliments his guests. He nods approvingly and a true smile blossoms as their host commends Durendal. Raphael claps enthusiastically with the rest of the crowd, but slows the pace of his clapping as Emile goes on to toast Galatine as well. His smile remains, however, and he trails off with the majority of the other guests.
A slight tightening about Raphael's smile and a sudden fierce gleam in his eyes indicates that he isn't as enthusiastic about the toast for Galatine as he seems to be feigning.
Francis's mocking toast earns him a cocked eyebrow from the Abadaran lawyer. Marcus's retort, in turn, is sufficient to earn a quiet chuckle from Raphael. "I dare say there are many Durendalan who might not be swayed by that argument. Magic is a tool that we are equally equipped to take advantage of, should we have the desire." Raphael pauses a moment to let his words sink in a moment before continuing in a more jovial tone, "There's little love to be lost between our nations, but we are at peace for now. If nothing else, we should show the hospitality our nation is renowned for regardless of our personal feelings on the matter."
Studying the man's reaction a moment, Raphael shrugs and eyes the Galatine and his companion at the other table, mind running over what he knows of them. He studies the Galatine, in particular, with a practiced eye.
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Seth listens to Emile's short speech and claps along with the rest of the people at the party. As Francis began talking Seth took a sip of his wine, not paying much attention to what the "Prince of Property" was saying. Seth never much cared for the talk of magic regulation. Seth and his mercenaries preferred steel over fancy tricks. As he put down his wine he looked over to his wife who looked more interested in the conversation than he was. He looked back towards the conversation going on and payed a little more attention to the words being spoken in hopes the topic of conversation would change.
See spoiler at the bottom of Halcyon's profile for the key that links the result to a particular card.
The card is The Trumpet, of the suit of Constitution. So she can add the bonus to any skill to a Fortitude save or a Constitution roll, such as to stabilize wounds.
She considers the card's meaning: It probably means I should watch what I eat and drink. Someone powerful will be throwing his weight around. Perhaps their will be a fist fight. She snickers at the thought.
Halcyon will not resist the attempt to spot her mystery, since he's had opportunities to check her out and she assumes he already knows.
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Halcyon wears a beautiful gown of black velvet with tiny crystals that glint like stars. The gown accentuates her figure and with some cleavage showing off her ample bust. Her shoulders are bare but tastefully half-concealed with a diaphanous shawl that glimmers with silver and gold thread. Around her neck is a necklace of small diamonds offset by obsidian beads. On her head is a black velvet turban from which dangles an impressively large sapphire that rests in the center of her forehead. Beneath this is a gauze of black that obscures the top half of her face somewhat. Under the gauze, her eyes are further obscured by a set of tinted glasses. What can be seen of her face reveals a fair countenance. Raven black hair flows down to her shoulder-blades. She is shorter than average by a few inches, with a delicate physique.
She carries a walking stick that she uses as a probe when she walks, tapping it in front of her to make sure she does not run into anyone or anything. She generally does not turn her head to look at things, but when someone is speaking to her, she inclines her face in that general direction. At her waist is a black velvet sash with a rectangular pouch mostly hidden behind the sash that contains her Harrow deck, which she is never without.
As the start of the meal approaches, when she is close to her table, she uses the general commotion and noise to disguise the casting of a Detect Magic spell and maintains it long enough to get a look at the guests at her table to see what trinkets glow.
After that, she enjoys her meal. After each course is set in front of her, she politely asks someone beside what is is, even though she can see it well. She eats carefully, tasting the dish, but rarely eating it all. She sips her wine, but is careful not to drink enough to affect her abilities.
During the host's toasts, Halcyon raises her glass and sips at the appropriate points, but claps in a perfunctory way only when the majority of the room does. She listens to the conversations and makes what observations she can. She does not initiate any new topics of conversation and only says anything if someone draws her out.
Francis turns to Marcus, and sizes him up for a few seconds. “Ah,” he proclaims with a smile, “I suppose I found the table’s spellcaster. I suppose a few of you on our side is fine. I digress, the issue isn’t with the magic so much as it is with them.” He takes a toothpick from the cheese plate, and begins to skewer the meats and cheeses. “And Raphael was it?” He looks over to Raphael, sounding less playful than before, and more hushed than for his 'toast.' “Little love is all too true, but ‘Durendal’s hospitality’ couldn’t be more far off. If we could ask our ancestors about our ‘hospitality,’ we would be met with laughter. We were conquerors once, we forged our own destiny. Now we have to ask permission to mine in the mountains, and have a Galatian in our own Council.” He puts the toothpick shish-kebob into his mouth, removing it clean of food. "War might not be the answer, but neither is what little we are doing now."
The woman beside him has long dark hair, and sharp eyebrows, and proudly wears a pin of a dove on her chest. She looks familiar and must at least have some renown, but you cannot put your finger on who she is. They do not look like they are together, merely that she is friendly, perhaps sympathetic to his situation.
When Francis Lyon makes his remarks about Galatians, Halcyon's first action is to observe the reactions of the others in earshot.
Seated next to the 'Prince of Property,' Halcyon took the opportunity to lean to him during a subsequent lull in the conversation, after the topic appeared talked out and quietly ask a question, trying to make it so only he hears her initial question.
"Monsieur Lyon, while we are fantasizing about expelling the Galatians, wouldn't you agree that we should also expel those wretched ratfolk?" She tries to say this like she means it, giving a little shudder as she says 'ratfolk,' as if it put a bad taste in her mouth.
Francis looks delighted for a moment, but regains his composure as he starts talking. He is needlessly expressive with his hands as he talks. "A voice of reason at the table! As much as it pains me to say it, the Ratfolk are here to stay. Elves managed to help expand the country, Halflings did good with the northern border, and Dwarves..." he trails off for a moment, glancing upward in thought, rolling his hand as he does so. "Do their Dwarf thing with mining and smelting I suppose." He begins to pour himself another glass of wine, still more than able to function, just louder than most at the party. "The rats need to bring something to the table to be treated as equals, though that mouse at the coliseum does nicely I suppose. Didn't think they had it in them to be honest."
At other tables you hear snippets of lively banter. One of the silver haired individuals at Emile's table seems to be telling a wonderfully funny story, Emile's sister Beatrice seems like she is possibly choking on laughter. At the other table, everyone seems to be watching something in the center of the table. Small cheers erupt every so often, most noticeably from a Dwarf.
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Valentina eats slowly and carefully, placing one small bite into her mouth with her fork every few moments, always making sure to watch and listen the other partygoers.
She is clad in a glittering silver dress that goes from neck to ankles but is sleeveless. A "V" cut on the front indicates that the dress is actually not there, and learned men will recognize the change from glittering decoration to actual mithril armor on the chest area. The armor is thin, though, and covers only her torso so it fits snugly under the dress, and is the exact same colour as it so it doesn't stand out. Valentina herself is about five foot eleven and very slender, with a flat chest and long legs. Her hair is nearly silver and reaches down to her bottom. She wears no jewellery and no makeup save for black mascara. Her cheeks are bright and flushed, but she is otherwise quite pale. Her facial features are all quite small and currently very non-expressive. She carries a small black leather clutch that fits into her hand nicely.
Standing several feet away from the table, arms at its side and completely motionless is her clockwork servant. Five feet tall, it's made mostly out of brass and is mostly square. It's humanoid-shaped, but it has a square head with nothing but a grille for a mouth and a pair of glass "eyes". Its forearms are more rounded, and it has clamps instead of full hands. It has three legs that act like a camera's tripod.
She remains silent for the majority of the dinner, turning to respond politely but shortly to everything said to her or to comment on anything regarding her business acumen but otherwise just listening. When Francis Lyon speaks up, though, she just has to intervene. "Sir Lyon, we no longer live in a time when violent expansion and pure conquest are viable." she says, looking him directly in the eyes and turning her chest to face him - sort of a power stance. "Have you ever heard the term, 'Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer'? Perhaps it is more practical, even when one regards the Galatians as hostiles, to remain gracious and friendly to them until it is no longer possible or beneficial to do so. Hostility when friendliness is expected rarely does you any services." Her face remains impassive but it's fairly clear that she's passionate about this particular subject.
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As the discussion shifts more towards the relations between Greater Galatine and Durendal Seth sits up more in his chair and pays closer attention. After Valetina finished speaking Seth reached towards the meats and cheeses and takes a small piece of meat. "The Galatians have graced us with their presence and we should show some respect. They came to a party filled with people who might not like them, it is only fair for us at least show them some respect" Seth pauses and eats the meat he took a moment ago. "In the end though, I agree with you Francis Lyon. We are not the nation we once were and we have softened in the past few decades. We have gone from a nation full of pride and military might to the nation we are today."
EDIT:
Forgot to put magic item stuff in
"The rats need to bring something to the table to be treated as equals, though that mouse at the coliseum does nicely I suppose. Didn't think they had it in them to be honest."
Halcyon makes a wry smile as she hears this. Before anyone else can comment, she says, "As the only jobs they are afforded are in the sewers, I doubt that anything the ratfolk might bring to the table would be very appetizing." She moves her hand closest to him and touches the table here and there until it alits on his hand, at which point she gives it an affectionate squeeze as she finishes her last sentence. Then she frowns slightly.
"And as no one else wants to do what they do, it seems that we have managed to at least tolerate their presence. And if you can find it in your heart to tolerate elves and dwarves, make profitable use of their talents, what profits might we not enjoy befriending a nation who are normal people like ourselves, and excellent sorcerers too?"She says all this with a slightly naïve tone, as if she's genuinely confused that at his selective prejudice.
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Resplendent in a maroon jacket threaded through with gold thread and carefully polished golden buttons, Raphael continues to sample lightly from the various courses put before him, savoring the quality of the meal. His fine white silk shirt and neckerchief are tucked neatly into a dark velvet sash belt. He responds neutrally to Francis, his tone cool and even, "Yes. I'm Raphael Montefiore, attorney." He listens to Francis, feigning interest in what the man had to say while studying the Galatian at the head table from the corner of his eye. Finished thinking through what he knows of the man, he turns his full attention back to Francis and the conversation around the table.
Caught off guard, Raphael blinks in surprise at Halcyon's question, seemingly out of character for his acquaintance and he looks at her with an eyebrow cocked. The shudder she added gives away her intentions and he merely continues to listen, interest growing. Raphael's face remains politely neutral as the Prince of Property continues to regale the table with his philosophy.
A hand gently brushing a handle through his jacket and a clenched fist partially obscured by a napkin both indicate that Raphael intensely dislikes Francis Lyon and he's merely being polite at the moment.
"As ever, Mademoiselle Silverstone seems to have a fantastically fine grasp of the situation. The Galatines are guests and it only reflects poorly on us when we are snide when we are in a position of power. It may be easy to be so now, but I don't doubt you'd find it more prickly were our positions reversed." Raphael flashes a quick grin to the young woman and nods his approval. Yes, she has a head on her shoulders. Pity the same can't be said for this fool noble. He looks slightly perplexed by Seth's speech and replies, "You and I both know, Monsieur Varianna, that Durendale is not without teeth. There is not another nation in the world with as proud a martial history as ours. Our military is in fine shape and any 'softening', seems to me to be a mere illusion. Tensions are still rife and our council, in their wisdom, will not let us slide into a torpor."
Happy for the change of subject, lest the conversation grow heated, Raphael nods his agreement with Marcus, "Indeed so. I served alongside dwarf, elf, halfling and human in my time in the military and it was clear we are all Durendalans to the bone. No doubt the rat folk will prove the same given the opportunity." Having weighed in where he felt appropriate, Raphael subsides into silence, listening to Halcyon's question with the hint of a smile ghosting his lips.
When studying Raphael, a heavy golden wristband, patterned with keys and gavels, glows with a bright and persistent magical aura. A much weaker and thinner aura crosses his torso in an X. You can't see any visible clothing that would be causing the aura, so you can only guess he has something worn under his tunic. Last there is a flickering aura like a candle viewed from afar that seems to be circling his head. At times it seems to vanish completely, only to return an instant later.
"I am not denying our nations great martial history, but that our nation has not had a large scale conflict in quite some time. Peace tends to dull an army's capabilities." Seth takes another sip of his wine. "When you fight for a living, you know that real combat is different from any mock battle you have had. As someone who was once in the military I think you should understand that. I have lost some friends protecting merchant caravans, some have died in my arms. It is dangerous, but it has its benefits." Seth puts his hand on top of Lucia's.
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Except for the well-dressed turd next to her, Halcyon begins to warm to this bunch.
After touching Lyon, when his head is turned away from Halcyon, she wipes her hand with a napkin and drops the napkin to the floor.
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Nishara wears a buccaneer's outfit adorned with various jewelry and a rather fine cloak.
The conversation begins with that lout Francis Lyon rambling on about his feelings in regards to the nation of Galatine. Her eyes focused on him and listened to everything he was saying, though not all was paid attention to.
Nishara's eyes flit back and forth to each one that is speaking, keeping an ear to each topic as it progresses. Her attention is kept light on each topic to ensure she listens for anything of import.
When Marcus teases Lyon about his ring, she gives her brother a wry smile.
She seems content to watch the happenings of the dinner for the moment, choosing to remain silent.
9:51PM, Emile de Beaux Manor.
A couple guests from Emile’s table rise from their seats. A silver haired young man says something to Beatrice de Beaux, though the whisper is lost amongst the conversation at your table, and the subsiding cheers at the rightmost one. Beatrice and the man ascend the left staircase, and several others take notice. Young Caroline de Beaux walks upstairs without a word, now leaving three open seats at the table. Two arcane looking folk (one looking more dignified than the other) walk over to Emile from their table, chat with him for a few seconds, and leave towards a room left of the center table. Emile rises now, making his way to the rightmost table, and begins to chat there.
To be continued, hold posting at the moment...
“Careful with being too friendly with those sorcerers. Otherwise your heirs will be just like them. Royal blonde brats.” He finishes this courses' second glass of wine in an almost astonishingly short amount of time. “And as for our military, sure we have firearms, but we have a bunch of green psuedo-soldiers wielding them. You are most correct Mister Montefiore, our nation has its teeth, but the teeth belong to lazy dogs.” A young man at the rightmost table, evidently part of the Guard, clears his throat. He walks up your table, placing a hand on Francis’ shoulder.
The man is rather short at 5'6'', but nonetheless moves with assertiveness and proud power. His uniform is decorated, and is lavish, and the musket on his back is engraved with gold leaf. His face conveys little emotion, and his voice is dry, almost monotonous. I can assure you that we dogs will be ready for any need of Durendal” He looks over the group, offering a salute and a gaze over the table. “Monsieur Lyon, next time you get another threat from the outcasts that live below you,” he smirks, patting Francis’ shoulder, “perhaps us lazy dogs will be sleeping somewhere far away.” He laughs, but Francis looks wide-eyed, angry. Helmuth walks out of the foyer through the top exit between the stairs, whistling the national anthem as he leaves.
Valentina, mid-sip-of-wine, has to hold the drink in her mouth for a few moments while she holds back laughter at Lyon's prompt telling-to by the member of the military that immediately marched up.
His ramblings, though aggressive, drunken, and slightly mad, did give her an idea. Surely an idea that she'd have to wait to implement, but one that could be very promising.
She smiles while her face is still in her wineglass - the first smile of the night. She sets her wineglass down and turns to Raphael, who sits beside her. "I have to visit the powder room. This food is so filling and the company wonderful but I need a small break from this invigorating group conversation."
Valentina stands from the table, a relatively imposing figure - four-inch heels on top of her already very tall figure lead to her being one of the tallest people at the party. Then, with a twinkle in her eye, she walks away to find the restroom. However, she very purposefully strides by the room that she saw the Galatians go into as she walks, regardless of whether its in the correct direction. She slows down as she passes it an attempts to listen for conversation-snippets inside.
Then, of course, she actually goes to the restroom.
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"A fair point, Monsieur Varianna. That said, there are few foes to be fought at the moment so I suppose we will have to make do with drilling and mock battles for the time being. Perhaps there is something to be done for that though." Raphael acknowledges the mercenary lord's wisdom with a gracious nod.
Raphael continues to half-listen idly to Francis Lyon's ranting, but his thoughts are truly focused on the events transpiring at the main table. Raphael, having recently worked with the Society, studies the mages with curiosity and runs through who they might be in his mind. He does the same as he notices a young gentlemen escorting the middle de Beaux sister upstairs. It might or might not be innocent, but I care little either way. Still, it's good to know who's who.
The lawyer's rumination is turned over by the arrival of the member of the guard. Raphael is forced to try (and largely fail) to suppress a guffaw as the man takes the 'Prince' to task. Still smiling, he acknowledge's Valentina's announcement distractedly as he watches the retreating back of the guard.
Raphael is listening intently to what Valentina has to say and is merely feigning total interest in the guard.
After a few tense moments, Raphael clears his throat and excuses himself, "You'll forgive me, I wished to pass my congratulations on to Monsieur von Moltke but he left rather abruptly just a moment ago. I should be back shortly."
He pursues the man a short distance and bows, extending a hand, "Captain von Moltke, I bid you greetings and a prosperous New Year. I find that I'm sad we didn't have the opportunity to serve together. Please bid your father a joyous New Year as well. Councilman von Moltke is held in high esteem by the entirety of the Montefiore family and we wish your entire family well. If I may ask, how have you found Guardsman Estelle to be doing? I believe we spoke some time ago after she returned to the city and she's a dear friend."
His business with von Moltke concluded, Raphael makes as if to return to the table, but detours towards the restroom on the way back.
"My apologies for taking so long, I was hoping to arrive somewhat unnoticed. What did you wish to speak of, Valentina?" Raphael listens intently to the woman, leaning back against a wall slightly to reduce the strain on his neck as he peers up at the taller woman.
Helmuth von Moltke IV, Musketeer Cavalier. Often goes out of his way to conduct raids on suspected criminal or gang activity, an activity unusual for Captain. He heavily involves himself in the recruitment process of the Guard, and often personally oversees the training and placement of his recruits. He has personally worked in negotiating defense contracts to improve the arms and armor of the Guard, sometimes using his family wealth to do so.
You know the man with Beatrice to be Darius Agnes. A beautiful individual by all accounts, he is the crush of many young men and women in the noble circles. His hair is long, straight and silver, and his outfits are extravagant. The Agnes family has always been involved in the trade of raw materials from mines, the Agnes Mining Company being one of the largest ventures in Flamberge. The family has had a penchant for finding silver. The parents of Agatha and Darius died in a cave-in during a visit to one of their mining operations, some say the event was orchestrated by bitter workers of the mine. At 14, the Agnes twins took the head of the family.
It isn't quite rumor so much fact that Darius has as many enemies as he does driends. While his drive to pursue the family's mining legacy makes his a friend to stockholders, the miners who have lost friends and family to dangerous operations are bitter towards him. While he has many suitors and mistresses who love him, and equal amount of past lovers hold grudges against him.
You do not recognize the less dignified mage, but his clothing give the appearance of perhaps an alchemist, witch or druid. A wealthy one at that.
The other mage you recognize as Bertrand Travere. His hair is red and unkempt, contrasting his mellow and elegant robes. You believe he visited your client while Estelle protected him. He is an activist trying to repeal the regulation of magic, and repeal the ban on certain school and spells. While making the argument to repeal Necromancy would be social suicide, he mainly focuses on changing the laws on compulsion based magic. Elitist, believes the magically inclined are superior.
Helmuth shakes your hand, and says it is a pleasure. He tells you that Estelle has been rising the ranks at an alarming rate, one that he hasn’t seen since his own rise to captain.
Five people at what was Emile’s table. A slightly armored Durendal man talks to a Galatian woman. A heavily armored and armed Galatian man stands next to the woman, looking alert or wary perhaps, and speak calmly to a slim Galatian man beside him. Lastly, a young silver haired woman hums to herself, occasionally taking large, healthy sips of wine.
Snippits you pick up:
- A man’s voice: “...Surely those are just folk tales though…”
- Another man’s voice: “ …They are nothing like Galatian cigars, you will love them Eduard!”
- A woman’s voice: “...Are your witches not like this?”
A few members from the rightmost table leave their seats after Valentina and Raphael leave the room. The Tizonian walks up the stairs with the Galatian man, while a Durendale noble heads to the room where the the mages previously went. The dwarf looks behind himself towards your table, and his eyes begin to sparkle in delight. He lets out a high pitched squeal (a sound no one should ever hear a dwarf make), pushes himself from his seat, and waddles towards the party. Emile watches him, and trails behind with a human woman. The rest of the rightmost table scatters.
The dwarf is short and wide, his bald head reflecting the many lights of the chandelier above, while his beard spirals and braids down to his belt. His eyebrows are wild. The dwarf tries to compose himself, but his whispers of glee are more hushed shouts of enthusiasm. He reaches the table, but then goes past it, stopping at Valentina’s clockwork construct. He begins to dance around it, inspecting it playfully. “Aye! A Silverstone model! Such great shape!” He drops to the ground and crawls underneath it, inspecting the device’s tripod-like legs, and the base of the clockwork construct. “Servant model… Good production line… Beards of the gods, even engraved with the Silverstone crest.” He gets back up on his feet, now lifting the arms of the construct, checking how they move. Emile now stands by the table, watching with a chuckle. "Aye, didn’t think they sold the intelligent models… so then…” He trails off. scratching at his face, turning to the party. “None of ye look like the wee Silverstone… and none of ye look like crafters either. Whose Clockwork is this?”
Stoneheart stops looking at the construct and instead gives his attention to Emile and your group, his shoulders just level with table. “Bold sitting all yer new friends with ol’ Francis. Coulda’ least put them with Bellerose, or Durant.” Francis gives him a glare, which Stoneheart meets with a laugh. “Settle down Francie, a joke. Yer not exactly the most agreeable person.” He turns to Emile. “Take it yer opening the house up for us?”
Emile gives a smile and replies playfully. “You are just asking if the bar is open, aren’t you?” The dwarf laughs and shrugs, a sort of ‘you got me’ gesture. “Fifth course ended quicker than expected, and desert is taking longer. Go drink Ernest, I’ll have the servants bring you cake when it is ready.” Emile goes over to Francis, whispering something into his ear.
Francis gets up, says his salutation to Halcyon (and only Halcyon), and makes his way through the door between the staircases.
Well, might as well wait with an ale in me hand. Tell the Silverstone girl, ah, Valentine I think? Tell her there is a dwarf in the bar room waiting on her. Ernest departs into the top-left room exit, winking at the construct as he passes it, and begins singing some dwarven drinking song. You hear a couple of cheers when he walks into the room.
“I suppose you are the last table to hear it, but feel free to look around the house. There is a bar and a smoking room on the first floor, a lounge and green room on the second. Not much on the third floor, but the view on the deck is fabulous.” He turns to the woman behind him, a beautiful brunette with a dove pin on her chest. “Estelle could you take Agatha upstairs to the lounge and get a servant to play something mellow for her? I am afraid she has had too much again.” Estelle nods, and goes to the silver haired woman. An older gentleman from the right table offers to help her up the stairs. Most of the room has scattered now, save for the three Galatians, all three of whom still are sitting at their table. “How was the food everyone? I take it everything was well? I apologize if Francis was… overzealous. He is getting better.”
After Helmuth says his piece to Lyon, Halcyon leans toward Raphael and whispers, "Who said that?" Her clouded eyes do not following the military man as he exits, although in turning her head, she does get a glimpse of him.
Re: Valentina
Re: Raphael
Once Halcyon has a reply from Raphael about the identity of Helmuth, she will lean toward Lyon and say, "Well that was certainly rude! Was that a threat? Mes dieux, and airing dirty laundry at such an occasion as this! If you've had trouble with ratfolk, it's not his business to announce it to everyone!"
Halcyon is trying to sound more indignant than she really is.
Before he leaves, she slips a business card into his hand and says, "If you ever find yourself needing advice or just someone to listen, please make an appointment and I'll do what I can to help you through the wisdom of the harrow and my spirit guides. I am also sometimes able to help people make connections with others who can offer solutions to your problems."
"The meals were quite good. Before I forget I would like to thank you for the invitation to your lovely mansion. I'm sure every room is as beautiful as this one." Seth finishes off his wine. "I would eat more but I would like to save some room for the best course." Seth stands up and takes Lucia's hand to help her stand up. "Since you say the view from your third floor deck is fabulous, I will have to see it before the night's end." Seth and Lucia head up the left side stairs, onto the second floor.
Francis gladly accepts the card, and makes sure to carefully place it in his coat pocket. "The blasted captain. I'll have to make sure to remember this next time they ask for a donation again. Thank you Halcyon, I will be sure to see you at your offices. Until then, I will see you around at the party.
Nishara fidgets (something she never does) until she gets Marcus' attention.
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Marcus is about to indicate that he was going to have a look around when he looked over at his sister, and notice her uncharacteristic behavior, he then coughed slightly but in doing so gave a short nod, he then guest urged with his eyes at himself followed by the door, followed by a quirking upward of one side of his mouth
Marcus looks over at his sister curious as to what was going on with his sister and gestures with his shoulder to the door indicating to her he wants her to follow him so that she can actually tell him what she wanted, but first he bids his companions goodby and thanks them for a wonderful conversation.
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“I will be upstairs shortly Seth, I must make certain our Galatian guests feel welcome first. I am glad you have enjoyed it thus far, but the night is far from over.” Emile sits down for a moment, and pours himself a glass of wine. “The other two, Valentina and Raphael, they were off rather quick,” Emile starts, gently whirling the wine, breathing it in. “Are they together?” he asks whimsically, taking a sip afterward. He breathes in the wine once more, this time closing his eyes and tilting his head backwards, seemingly in appreciation. "There is no wine quite like a Langlais wine. I am sure Cayden Cailean himself is envious. I will have to ask Augustine for another barrel of it."
Raphael and his wife arrive upstairs, in the vestibule of the second floor. On the right you hear the sound of a harp playing something that mellows the soul. The vestibule overlooks both the balcony patio and the foyer of the floor below. Augustine is quite right, it is a beautiful view. The manor overlooks Durendal Park, where you see lovers spending evening walks under the star filled sky.
She leans up against the wall beside him, jutting her hips out jauntily. "I just wanted to discuss a few ideas with you in private. I suppose it could have waited until the end of the party, but...gatherings like this aren't an everyday occurrence and many of my ideas are possible to act upon while we're still here."
"That man...Francis Lyon. He runs a mining business? Perhaps he would be open to a profitable business arrangement regarding the products of his labor and the products of mine - namely, his ores being purchased by my company. That is, however, of secondary importance of what I wanted to speak with you about. His mention of the ratfolk piqued my interest. They are an oppressed minority, an unfortunate but easily manipulated subclass of people. We have many means in between the two of us, and many needs that active hands and minds might fill. Perhaps we can take advantage of these corresponding holes and fill them with ratfolk."