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

Game Master The Wyrm Ouroboros

:: William, Tomáš ::

Kaellin hears Tomáš' words. He glances at William. "Man does have a point. Would be pretty rude to start a fight in another man's home without at least letting him know." Which reminds Kaellin that he had yet to introduce himself and Sylvara to the King. The excitement at some action gives way to a cold feeling of dread. Welp, she's really gonna let me have it after this...

"They let me bring in my divine symbol provided I swore an oath to my deity that I would cast no unapproved spell at the party - which I did", Ishana responds to Darivan in a slight undertone, before shrugging slightly and returning to the topic of the duel.

Ishana shrugs "If you recklessly challenge someone to a duel and refuse alternative ways at resolving a conflict, then you must take into account the possibility of getting seriously hurt, instead of relying on a divine safety net as a catch all defense against a high ego".

:: The Duel ::
The third swordpact duelist looks over at Tomáš with a mild sort of contempt before saying in as neutral a voice as he can, "Dušek, isn't it? Well, Master Swordsman, the Aldori School teaches more than just the physical techniques; of course we'll be asking permission. And if it's not forthcoming, well, the Irrisen's satisfaction will just have to wait until after the party, eh?" He eyes the pair of Lawsrick and Greenleaf, then asides, with a much more commiserating, even rueful, tone of voice - it may be 'me against my brother,' but it's also 'my brother and I against my cousin', and though Tomáš has been spending seemingly half his life trying (and sometimes succeeding) in provoking and beating members of the Aldori Swordpact, he's still a Restov native - "That's probably going to be my job. Any idea where the Lord Mayor might be?"

After a few moments talking with his principle, the second duelist steps back over just in time to encounter Kaellin calling for someone to retrieve his weapon. "What are you, daft? Place like this, seconds don't get weapons, only the Judge. Or are you declaring challenge too? Weapons must wait; now is when you and I come to terms." He shakes his head in disgust, then waggles his fingers at William to gesture him to go away. "Go on, the seconds have to come to an agreement." He waits until William is out of easy earshot (and easy interference) before turning to Kaellin. "My principle offers, in light of the festivities, a duel to first blood or disarming, no spellcasting or ally interference, and a healer present in case of accident."

Ishana's offer of on-the-spot healing receives an approving nod from not only the second (and the third), but also several of the people in the nearby crowd, about a score of which have turned to watch the proceedings.

:: Lyda / Sylvia ::
The grey-skinned half-orc nods his appreciation, giving the two elegantly-clad ladies a grateful (if awkward) bow, then looks up into the galleries for a moment before grunting and heading once more into the crowd.

:: Theodric ::
"Stolen Land is mostly monster wildnerness," Teodor Čierny states stoutly. "Very few humans there are peacelike - just brutes with no desire but blood and tyrrany."

"He's not wrong, though," counters Dáma Sobecki, "in saying that this move of the Surtova's has made blood run a little hot against this expedition - even if," she adds, "it seems practically doomed to fail from the start, considering the time of year."

"Politics," says Rytier Kanamir Khavortorov in a voice that's somewhere between a rasp and gargling gravel. "More dangerous than any dueling table. Perhaps young Kowalskiy will reveal what induced him to take on this fool's errand - though that it's him doesn't heat up my blood."

Listening to Valtrava's offer, then, the blind man's old dueling master trades a quick glance with both his colleagues, and there is a moment of silence among the four while he considers how to respond to the offer. "That ... might be useful," he finally (and very tentatively) agrees, though Sobecki, unseen, gives one of the 'not from my school/on your head be it' expressions. "If you go down to Mivon, perhaps you suggest same to them, eh? Maybe your school becomes place that all the Swordpact can meet and learn."

:: Darvan ::
During Darvan's speech about meeting life and squandering opportunities, the swordswoman looks at and listens to Darvan with a distinct lack of enthusiasm, as well as a mild bit of wonder as she listens to him trundle to the end of his thoughts. "Wow," she says with a certain admiration. "That really did go over your head, didn't it."

"Well, if you won't, Teresa, I will," says one of her companions - and it is not the other swordswoman, though that worthy grins as the closest swordsman gives Darvan an appreciative looking-over, accompanied by a creamy smile. "And here's to hoping it's a long night of dancing." The lean, elegant swordsman lifts his cup in a salute to the Iroran before sipping at it. "Your name -- Darvan ... Singra, was it? Intriguing, and skin of such a delicious color. I'm Vierziger - Joachim Vierziger." He offers his hand to Darvan, a wicked humor alive in his eyes.

:: Chalm ::

It is good to be serving this man again

Nodding his head in agreement, Bartek decides to press forward with a question, "Yes, without the proper ideals bandit hunting is just vengeance. Though the ideals may only need to be held by those in command. Do you think this undertaking will have an added... burden initially until those who are here only for their own fame come around to your point of view?" Bartek states his question in an academic manner and with as much deference as he can, wanting to learn what he can about leadership from Chalm without making the king think he is critical of the groups chosen.

:: The Duel ::

Tomas looks at the swordman who just adressed him.

"You'll have to do better than that."

He immediatly turns his attention to the conversation between the seconds.

:: Bartek ::
"If you can't find any better, perhaps," replies the king, "but ideals should be held by those in a position to do something about it - for good or for ill, and at all levels. If the officer commanding a bunch of thugs is killed, then you just have a bunch of thugs." He listens to Bartek's question, then gives a twist of a smile. "Very few in this group are purely seeking fame, and even those who are ... have a purpose." He nods towards the 'drinking corner', where several people dressed in black seem to be holding up their end of a contest with a half-dozen others. "Tale-tellers need people to tell tales about, after all, and extravagent flamboyance can cover a multitude of blunders - if you're not killed by them, of course."

.

:: The Duel / Tomáš ::
The swordsman rolls his eyes, then shakes his head. "Don't have the need to challenge you to prove something, Dušek. You'll be leaving soon enough, and once you're gone, well - you're gone, and you can put your skills to the test against bandit raiders, goblins, orcs, kobolds, minotaurs, the fey, whatever the hell else you find out in the howling wilderness. I doubt they'll be as impressed as my swordpact brethren by your need to prove you're better than us." He, on the other hand, is doing the proper thing - giving the seconds some space (and thus privacy) to talk things over. They'll undoubtedly announce the terms of the duel once they've concluded their negotiation.

:: The Duel ::

Kaellin bites back a grumble at being called out about the sword. He was eager to get back to being armed, and had hoped they would not pick up on his action. The half-elf would feel a lot more comfortable having Tahlathria within arm's reach.

Addressing the other second, he tells him "Agreed on the healer's presence, as well as regarding ally interference. Also agreed on the 'no spellcasting' rule, with the exception of any permanent enchantments already present on the weapon itself. Only one weapon to be used, and must be a sword, but can be of any type."

Kaellin glances back at William, then back to the other second. "We also agree to duel until one is disarmed, but my... principal is willing to go further beyond first blood. What say you to first to three hits? Unless you think your principal wouldn't be able to last that long."

"And for the record, just who exactly will he be beating? You've already got our names."

After her meeting with Coalhouse, Amavin decides to check out the drinking area. Not really having a heavy taste for alcohol, Amavin understood how easily it could be turned into someones advantage in a negotiation setting, and besides, it was always nice to know who the heavy drinkers at the party were, free information was good information.

:: The Duel ::

Tomas knows this moment - the gala - is so important to him that he cannot afford to spoil it by some young brat's malicious words. He needs to be better than that. He tries not to turn his head and answer, and instead keeps focusing on trying to overhear some of what the seconds are negotiating - from a proper distance, of course.

:: The Duel ::
The swordsman speaking with Kaellin considers the modification of the offer. "Spellcasting does not include prior enchantments, of course," he agrees. "Excluding the capacity for multiple weapons and requiring that weapon to be a sword is ... gauche, though; is this not a proof of skill as well as honor? As he'll use but one weapon anyhow, and that weapon a sword, I have no objection to it, but it isn't the sort of thing that one typically requires. I once saw a man enter a duel with naught but a toothpick." He glances back at his primary, making a hand-signal - one finger up, then three - at which the offending Aldori considers for several moments, then nods; the swordsman turns back. "Third touch is acceptable.

"And I am Damian Wozniacki; the man who will be causing your friend such anguish at no cost to his own skin is Cvetko Shevchenko; and our friend," he nods towards the third, standing next to Tomáš Dušek - "is Skender Lazar; we are all of the Aldori swordpact. And no, I'd not been paying attention - your name was? And that of your principle?"

:: Amavin ::
The 'drinking contest' seems to be ten or so individuals - it's difficult to figure out if the couple-dozen others standing around are taking part, watching, or some strange combination of the two. At a fast look, there are two groups and a few extras - two human males (one Mwangan, one perhaps Taldan or Chelaxian) in nearly-identical black, possibly uniforms; four humans, three males and a female, in various finery, though they're clearly together; two half-elven females with the looks of twins and swordsmen about them; a dwarf male with that same sort of 'quiet power' look that Porter had, but with a much higher level of wealth; and a human female bearing an amused sort of arrogance.

::Sylvia Calrian::
Lyda huffed and assumed wrongly that it had something to do with her heritage. She had to reveal it of course so the most important people knew. She was dragging her feet with the rest. Maybe she could go the whole venture without anyone knowing. She'd be spending a lot of time in the wilderness and likely using Deneb or Winnie as the go between. No, better to be transparent. Late reveal would be worse. She drops her hood, revealing the small, vestigial horns. And with a sigh of relief, unwraps her tail from beneath the belt she was wearing. She draws no attention to either and keeps talking as if it was perfectly normal to have horns and a tail. "I can remember. I just can't find much to do here. It's too...loud and writing would help me focus. But I have to do this," she says, referring to more than being at the party.

:: Chalm ::

"Your thoughts on this are enlightening", Bartek says while nodding at the King's wisdom. "I do hope we needn't cover to up too many blunders on the way to forging the kingdom though", the look on Bartek's face as he says this is resigned however, knowing that much will not go as planned.

"Granted, when things do go awry there appear to be plenty of others to call on for aid."

:: The Duel ::

"Well, not to be any more gauche about the obvious, I'd like to just make it clear that this won't be to the death, since this is party and all. Both parties should refrain from delivering a lethal blow at any of the three touches."

"The name's Kaellin Greenleaf of the Reckless. the man who'll be teaching your friend some lessons in respect is William Laswrick of the Shivering Exiles," the half-elf declares, pointing a thumb towards William.

::Azaneth Nymaah::

Aramil shakes the other's hand, noting its similarity to paper. He listens to the other's explanation of Bleaching, and how she sees it. He understands some of what she is talking about, but he also wonders at what the other has lost - apart from obsession. "I understand what you say about maturing and giving up obsession, but from what I understand of the Bleaching, it is also a lack of passion. Take the Swordlords, for instance." Aramil gestures around the room, filled as it is with them. "Many of them have reached maturity and put aside obsession, but they remain passionate about dueling and perfecting their fighting style. Are they still as children? Maturing does not mean putting aside all passions. Tell me, Azaneth, what is it you are passionate about?"

::Lyda::

Sylvia blinks when Lyda pulls her hood back and pulls out her tail.
"You're a tiefling? I didn't realize there were any of you kind coming along. What was your fiendish taint? Are there more of you coming along? How does it impact people's perception of you? Do you want to go see what all that cheering is about?" Sylvia asks, rapid-fire

::Sylvia Calrian::
Lyda leans back the same way she did when she first met Charlotte. She got the same instinctual feeling as well. That only social protocol prevented her from getting touched or poked. It was difficult handling open interest rather than fear or disgust. "Yes, I don't know, not that I know of, badly and yes." She answers each question in order with no elaboration as she moves a small step back. She didn't really care what the commotion was but if it distracted the silver-haired woman a little then she was fine with that.

::Lyda::

Sylvia moves through the crowd, headed towards the drinking contest. Then, almost as an afterthought, she turns back to Lyda, "I'm sorry," Then turns away again, continuing through the mass of people.

::Sylvia Calrian::
Lyda just nods at the apology. If ever she had to guide the woman through dangerous terrain she would have to be extra careful. The easily distracted were prone to wander. The crowd was getting thick the closer they got to whatever was causing an uproar but the silver and blue hair was easy to follow.

::Amavin Zephyra::
Two women slip through the crowd, obviously drawn towards the ruckus caused by the drinking contest. They stand out from the masses as one has silver and blue hair and the other, red hair with an adorable pair of horns peeking out. The first looks excited while the other more reserved.

I read that Amavin is over here so I put in a hook if she wants to join. Hopefully, being more well informed and observant, she can shed some light on the who and maybe way. Sylvia is pulling off the 8 Wis pretty well.

:: Bartek ::
"'Cover up'?" Chalm's expression becomes like a sky with storm clouds on the horizon, storm clouds which quickly roll in. "We do not 'cover up' blunders. We discover them. We admit to them. We deal with them. We learn from them. And with the gods' grace, we do not make them again. But we do not cover them up; that way lies venality, greed, corruption, and in the end, self-destruction. It is the covering up of blunders that has made ... " He clearly has to make an effort, but he also manages to not make a colossal faux pas in a most socially- and politically-critical place. "Situations," he finally says after a moment, "go from good to bad, and bad to worse. My apologies, Master Yaroslav; I have something of a reflexive reaction on the subject. Perhaps later we can discuss it in a ... less public setting. If you will pardon me for a moment ..."

And with that, he begins to make his way through the crowd, Kawaler Alexeyevich nearly materializing out of it to lend an ear and then cut a path (not literally) towards the side of the hall, thence to one of the smaller side doors.

:: The Duel ::
Frankly, the Aldori swordsman Wozniacki laughs in Kaellin's face. Not right up in his face, no, but his sharp bark of laughter penetrates for some distance through the crowd. "If your man is afraid of what the fates have decreed for him, then he should apologize, declare no offense was taken, and trundle on his sad little way. To wield the sword is to sow death; every cut is heart's-blood sought, every parry is heart's-blood preserved. The touch and the blood are near-misses, a defense not quite fully accomplished - a death avoided, yet not with complete cleanliness.

"No Aldori would slay a man who is already beaten, merely because there have been only two touches made, and not a third; that would weaken the Art. But it is a fool's errand to step onto a dueling table and not know that your death may await you there, or to expect your opponent to not use the best of his skill. The best I can offer you there is that there will be no coup de grace."

:: Aramil ::
Nymaah looks beyond at the Aldori present that you and she can see. "A poor example, I think," she replies; "they wear their obsession on their sleeve, and keep their honor and temper in the same scabbard as their sword. For all that, it is not a poor question.

"But alas, passion suggests foolishness, focus without greater awareness. Awareness of the elements that press upon your concern, that influence your decisions; awareness of the flow of life, of the consequences of a decision, both near and far. My few kindred and I ... because of this suggestion, this implication of foolishness, I cannot confess to having anything that we - I - am passionate about. But there is a concept shared from ancient times by both dwarves and elves, though I am certain that if you asked them about it, they would deny it to their deaths; it may have its roots in the concern for the world that in time became the druid's pursuit - passion, if you will. In Taldan, I think it would best translate as 'necessary balancing'."

The bleachling gnome takes her hands out of her sleeves and, holding them palm upwards, imitates scales. "The world has balance, I am certain you would agree; too much of one thing, whether that is of structure or of chaos, of idealism or of selfishness, and inevitably death follows - death of living beings, yes, but soon the death of the very world on we stand. The Worldwound is an excellent example of this imbalance - and one which must be corrected. Others of my kind address the balance through the druidic philosophy and art; I, through patient education of those around me." She gives a slight smile in which the echoes of the winsomeness of her gnomish youth still flit. "Such as through our conversation.

"But what does this mean for me? And you? And them?" Her pale grey hand gestures towards the mayhem of her gnomish brethren. "Only that I seek, along with the others of the Silver River, to create a place of contemplation, of philosophic debate, of education and meditation - and mediation," she adds, once again with a hint of whimsey. "They seek to cast me out; I seek to be 'cast out', into the monastery we hope to found. Behind its walls, I would be out of their sight and, should they manage it, out of their minds." She looks towards their group, and adds, "I doubt many would manage it, but the condition is not, after all, catching - only inevitable, the way all age is."

She looks up at you, then asks, "Think you that I can persuade your compatriot Porablum of this, should you bring her over?"

:: The Duel ::

Gods, a simple 'yes' or 'no' would be enough, Kaellin thinks. It takes every every ounce of self-control not to belt the man in the face right then and there. Putting up with a pompous ass for a minute was less trouble than getting lecture for gross etiquette breaching afterwards from a certain elf.

"We're in agreement, then" he manages to growl out of his gritting teeth. "We done here?"

As Sylvia makes her way through the crowd, Gwaihir nudges her, prompting her to look around. She sees something that catches her eye.
"Oh, Princess Sara!" She quickly turns aside, changing direction in the blink of an eye, heading towards the princess.
Unless she is bodily and physically stopped, she extends a hand of greeting to the young girl, "Excellent to meet you. I'm Sylvia. Are you enjoying The Party?" The bird on her shoulder squawked, and Sylvia grins, ruffling the feathers on the falcon's head, "And this is Gwaihir. He's happy to meet you as well."
If Sara seems interested in Gwaihir, Sylvia lets her familiar hop onto her hand (after putting a leather glove on), and holds him out to the princess.

:: The Duel ::
"Excellent," replies Wozniacki, then turns halfway away; at the movement, Skender Lazar steps forward.

"The terms?" asks Lazar.

"To third blood or disarming, single sword only, no spellcasting or ally interference save enchantments already on the weapon, no coup de grace, and a healer present in case of accident," states Wozniacki.

Lazar nods and turns towards Kaellin. "You are in agreement with these terms as stated, sir?"

:: The Duel ::

Kaellin turns half way to look back at William to see if he has any objections, cocking his head towards Lazar.

::The Duel::

William chortles at the rules as stated. Wiping a tear from his eye he puts on a mock impression of his opponent's.

"Oh! I'm afraid of getting beat on so you can't hit me to much!" William coughs and regains composure. "No... We fight till submission, or till one of us aughta die on the next strike. Just like back in Irresin, takes more to be a warrior than a fancy trick what let's you land some cheeky blows. Less your scared that is... Oh, and about disarming.

William cracks his knuckles and grins like a mad man. "You can try, but I beat a few surprised fools to death who thought I was defenseless without ol'reliable there.

So to revise, No spell casting, no ally interference, we duel until submission and no killing. Nothing more, nothing less."

::The Duel::

"Oh dear. This is getting out of hand." Darivan says to another spectator.

:: The Duel ::
Cvetko Shevchenko - the first, insulting Aldori duelist - groans. "Do you really have to be --"

"Cvetko!!" roars Lazar, for the first time looking irritated. "It is enough you incited him into challenging you in the first place - be still or I'll challenge you myself!!" As the other duelist falls silent, the third man looks over at William. "Foreigner," he explains, his voice returned to its previous calmness, "I regret to say that you do not have a voice - not a direct one - in the terms of the duel. You give your terms to your second," and here Lazar gestures at Kaellin, "and the seconds negotiate their way to something between the two preferments - yours for bloody mayhem, and Cvetko's (if I don't miss my guess) for first blood. Nor," he adds, "did he say the terms were for general combat of the physical type. 'Single sword only', so no fisticuffs or however it was you beat your opponents to death, no drawing a dagger after being disarmed, nothing like that."

Here Skender Lazar pauses to study William. "Your only option, if you refuse the terms of the duel your second negotiated, is to withdraw your challenge, and accept the offense offered. But you may not demand the duel go ahead on your own terms. That is why you have seconds, you see."

He then looks at Kaellin again, and once more precisely annunciates his question. "You are in agreement with these terms as stated, sir?" He pauses, then clarifies, "This is a correct representation of what you negotiated with your opposite?"

Off to the side, the expression on Winnie's face (and the arms-crossed body language) promises that even if he survives the duel unscathed, William is not going to survive the night untouched.

.
:: Sylvia / Lyda ::
There is no thought to keeping people away from the princess; while the bodyguard for the girl seems a little tense (and wouldn't you be?) with her hand on her sword, the girl seems almost giddy at meeting new people - and such important new people!! "Oh, yes, this is amazing!!" she gushes, and smiles beautifully at the falcon who, standing on Sylvia's reinforced shoulder, and after her introduction, gives a vocalization somewhere between a squawk and a mutter.

"Are you a part of Father's expedition? Will you be coming with us? My, he's a handsome one, isn't he? Oh, I'm so sorry, this is Zámoždom Duchovný." She turns to introduce Sylvia to the Sarenite priest, then adds, "And this is Alysandra Janus," indicating the red-haired half-elf.

Amavin nods slightly in the direction of the two women, vaguely knowing them from the Voice of Mountains, and The Auram Chain respectively. Her eyes roam casually over the party, taking note of the Black Company, Nighthammers, and the Steel Fist - but not particularly having much interest in any of them. She does notice however, the rather enthusiastic welcome the blue haired woman gave to Princess Sara, and decides to join into the introductions as well. Heading a little closer, Amavin takes care to keep her movements relaxed and open, fully aware that bodyguards would be jumpy as she makes her way over. "Greetings do you as well Princess, and to you as well Sylvia", she remarks, before also giving a respectful and polite nod in the direction of Alysandra, being largely aware of who the half elf is.

::The Duel::

William sighs and simply waves his hand in a dismissive manner. Rubbing his face with his other hand William says in a disconcerted tone.

"Fine... Fine, fine, fine. Let's just get this done with. This talk is giving me a head ache, I must clear it with battle."

With that William begins to stretch with somewhat of a frown on his face. Typically he can somewhat rely on his great fortitude to give him the edge in a fight, but here he needs to be better with a blade than a swordlord with his, no easy feat to be sure. Ah, but glory keeps him to this path, To give up now would be to show cowardice... Can't have that can we.

::Alysandra/Sylvia/Amavin::
"Is that..." Lyda begins. She looks at the spot her temporary companion was and realizes she has fluttered away. She spots the shock of blue hair already headed in the direction of the princess. "Butterfly." That is what she'd call the woman from now on no matter what her name. She seemed to flutter from one thought to the other. And now that her attention was elsewhere, Lyda felt little interest in the drinking game. To her, alcohol was a useful survival substance, not something to be consumed in large quantities to test fortitude. She also felt little need to speak to the princess. But a flash of red hair grabbed her attention and she heads over anyway.

"Zhonka Alysandra," she says just a little too formally. The title still felt weird to say. "I forgot how casters can be," she says, indicating Sylvia. She'd met more than one caster with a low attention span. They sometimes put too much faith in there magic to be careful and got too close to dangerous things because they were interesting. "I hope there are enough level-headed people to watch over them."

:: The Duel ::

Kaellin's eye shift back and forth between William and Lazar during the exchange. Nine bloody Hells is this complicated, he thinks to himself. He glances at Sylvara questioningly, but her only response is a wordless expression of exasperation with a slight shrug. Kaellin understood what she meant. You got into this mess, you deal with it.

Turning to Lazar, he says somewhat warily, "Uh... yeah, that's about right."

∷Lyda/Amavin/Alysandra∷

Sylvia gives the excited girl her biggest smile of the evening.
Looking at her familiar, Sylvia says something incomprehensible to the bird, who seems to be pouting. The falcon then does an awkward hop the few inches from his shoulder perch onto Sylvia's hand.
"Would you like to pet him? He doesn't bite." Sylvia says the last statement pointedly, and as much to Gwaihir as the princess, [b]"But yes, we're going on the Expedition. Should be an adventure. We're with the Auram Chain, though I didn't realize that you'd be coming along. Are you looking forward to adventuring through the wilderness? Do you have any skill with spell or blade?" Sylvia looks as though she wants to keep asking questions, but cuts herself off suddenly, turning to Zámoždom and Alysandra, and nodding at each of them in turn, "Pleasure to meet you both" She doesn't extend her hand in greeting, but this seems to be more that she's forgotten her courtesies rather than being intentionally rude, then turns to the newcomer (Amavin), "And you are? I'm- wait. You already know me? Huh. Okay. This is Lyda, and what's wrong with casters?"

:: Rytier Teodor Čierny ::
Before responding to his former master's words, Theodric takes a moment to address a point raised by Dáma Sobecki. "With all respect, Dáma, this time of year is actually a very good time to launch this expedition. Nobody will reasonably expect a grouping of this size to move out en masse before the spring. So when we do show up, with snow still hip-deep in many places, most potential enemies shouldn't be prepared to offer much in the way of effective resistance. Especially since supplies will be low, people will be worn out from being stuck in close quarters for much of a season, and any prospective seige will certainly cause damage that will result in exposure to the weather. The necessary maneuvering itself will be a lot easier through snow than the thick, clinging glue that passes for mud after the spring thaw hits." Theodric ticks off a few more points on his fingers as he speaks, his nerves calming at the prospect of explaining something he actually has some experience with.

"The fields around our initial point of settlement should be firmly in King Kowalskiy's possession before first planting, if all goes well, and without having suffered through the sort of damage that military action inevitably causes. And finally, the King will then have a year in which to put his will into effect, instead having to wait through a winter which gives his enemies safe time to make plans." Coming to a stop, Theodric blushes under his mask and shrinks inward just a bit as he realizes that he may have run off at the mouth just a bit. "Ah, begging your pardon, Masters, but I've been required to learn quite a bit more about military matters than I'd ever intended upon joining with the Harvesters. And I occasionally find myself gripped by enthusiasm when I have a chance to actually use that knowledge."

Clearing his throat nervously, he turns to face the direction from which Rytier Čierny's voice came from. "And your suggestion is quite helpful, Master. I honestly hadn't consider Mivon's swordlords when I offered my idea, though I can see that having a hopefully neutral point in which to meet and associate with their peers from Brevoy would very useful." Cocking his head in Darvan's direction briefly, Theodric then continues with a rueful chuckle. "I would take my leave, and allow you to resume whatever I undoubtedly interrupted with my presence, but it seems my friend, and eyes for the evening, has found some entertainment. So I'll just stand awkwardly off to the side and make like a post, hearing and saying nothing, until he's done." Casting his unseeing gaze about slowly at the crowd around them, the swordsman makes a sodt noise that carries clear tones of frustration. "Odd as it is, but I'm actually less hindered in a fight. Something about impending violence sharpens my senses and I find myself moving nearly as easily as anyone with working eyes."

***Darvan***
Darvan gives the swordswoman's words a cheerful nod of agreement. "Quite, yes. I am a frightfully plain-spoken sort of person, and Theodric would claim that I've taken far too many shots to the head on top of that. So this sort of verbal fencing where one says a thing, but means something else in truth? Not my strong suite in the least." He's about to say something else when the interjection from the swordsman--Joachim--brings Darvan's thoughts to a messy halt, and he's reduced to blinking in transparent, open-mouthed surprise for a few moments.

However, Darvan does manage to recover his wits before the conversational pause after Joachim's introduction grows to the point of rudeness. "Ah, yes, well, charmed to make your acquaintance," Darvan manages after taking the offered hand and bowing politely over it. Eyeing the hand's owner with a thoughtful expression, the paladin finally shrugs and offers his brightest smile while releasing the appendage. "Not quite what I had in mind, I'll admit. But I won't quibble over the details when someone accepts my offer to actually have a bit a fun." Pausing again, he cocks an eyebrow at Joachim and continues with an amused tone of voice. "Just to be utterly clear here, though, since I did just mention that I am a bit oblivious to certain things. We are talking about dancing, and not a euphamism for other things, yes? While I'll acknowledge that you are quite attrative, it's not the sort of attractiveness that I find attractive," Darvan concludes with a laugh.

:: Chalm ::

As his King becomes angered, Bartek regrets his use of the kings own words. "Yes of course your Highness", Bartek says while bowing slightly as the King walks away.

Maybe he is less accepting of those here for glory than he originally came across as. After all, it was he that said their flamboyance could used to cover them up

Kliment then walks up to Bartek after having hung back during his conversation with the king, concern written over his face. "Well that doesn't look like it went well" Kliment mutters to Bartek.

"We will talk about it later", Bartek replies, his voice tight and dismayed. "Let us go look for the Lord Mayor to give him our compliments on the gathering."

Bartek and Kliment will go look around until they find Lord Mayor Ioseph Sellemius.

:: Lord Mayor Ioseph Sellemius ::

Upon finding the Lord Mayor, Bartek will wait until there is an opening to speak with him, not wanting to cause offense to others.

"Lord Mayor, I am Bartek Yaroslav. I just wished to come over and both thank you for and compliment you on the evening thus far. It has been most enjoyable", Bartek will say when he manages to speak with the Mayor.

∷Lyda/Amavin/Alysandra∷
"Nothing Butterfly," Lyda says unconvincingly. Of course it would be this exact moment the butterfly would flutter over and give her its full attention. Lyda waited for either the princess or Alysandra to comment.

::Deneb, Acaciano, Tai::

Acaciano wears half a smile even as he shakes his head at the exchanging of terms. Feelign torn between two worlds is nothing new for Acaciano as he contemplates the stark differences the practical, pragmatic life he's been living, and the one he flashy society into which he was born.
And the terms are set...How long has it been since I've seen a duel, anyway?

"Heh," he grunts softly, but loud enough that Debeb can hear.

Amavin gives a polite smile to Sylvia. "Of course I tend to know who you are, I made it my business to learn who was going on this journey...although that said, while I know who you are, I don't know much about you outside of that...is it true that butterfly is your nickname?" she asks curiously, as Lyda cuts in.

"As for me, I'm Amavin Zephyra of the Golden Company - I also happen to be a caster just like you" she finishes simply, before giving Lyda a curious look after her "casters" comment.

::Deneb, Acaciano, Tai::
Deneb smiles at the joke. It seems part of it is lost on him though. Otherwise he'd realize the colorful posturing of the peacock would be incredibly apt.

The last comment is directed at Acaciano's friend Tai.

Acaciano's half-smile briefly flourishes into the full thing, as Deneb replies, proving his suspicions to be correct.

Tai, for his part, sees Acaciano and Deneb talking in a language he can't understand, and breaks away wordlessly, to walk around the party.

::Lyda/Amavin::

"It would seem so. Not entirely sure how, though." Sylvia furrows her brow in puzzlement, "But I suppose that's not terribly important. I'm a wizard, I specialize in teleportation, am working on wind magic, and love a challenge. Attention is always fun, as well, I suppose." Her focus seems to drift for a second, but she snaps back into reality as soon as somebody says something to her.

:: The Duel ::
Skender Lazar nods in acknowledgement, and turns to the thirtyish people pressing 'round in a great arc. "The terms," he says in a projecting voice that reaches a moderate distance into the crowd*, but not enough to really bellow out over the entire hall, "are to third blood or disarming, single sword only, no spellcasting or ally interference save enchantments already on the weapon, no coup de grace, and a healer present in case of serious accident. This lady," he nods towards Ishana Tamanna, "is a declared healer." He turns to Ishana and asks, "Mistress, will you provide healing should significant injury threaten?" Clearly he believes that the typical minor cuts and slashes that occur in a duel are the look-out of the combatant.

Presuming Ishana declares her agreement to do so, Lazar gives her a swordsman's bow, his left hand on his heart, right hand palm up and extended forward and to the side, his eyes upon her. The same bow is given to her with near-simultaniety by a good dozen others amongst the crowd, including Shevchenko and Wozniacki - all of them members of the Aldori Swordpact. Danger they may court, and life they may risk for the sake of honor, but honor they give to those who will preserve their lives.

Turning to Wozniacki and Kaellin, Lazar tells just the two of them in a private tone of voice, "Keep your principals close but seperate; let's not allow them to bait each other into an open brawl. I'll go find the Lord Mayor to get permission." And with that, the man heads off into the scrum.

Wozniacki nods courteously to Kaellin then, and steps back to chat with Shevchenko; a couple of those in the crowd who bowed come over to talk with the two of them.

.

:: Theodric and Darvan ::
Alas, much conversation may be had via body language - lifted brows, wordless glances, pursed or curled lips, all that sort of thing. Silence follows Theodric's declamations - Darvan being busy off to the side, after all - for a moment or so, until Dáma Sobecki speaks again. "It is certainly an interesting viewpoint," she says, "though I do wonder if your farmers and hirelings and animals are going to share that enthusiasm for heading out in the worst of the winter. Well, time will tell."

"Indeed," agrees the gravel-rasp of The Rytier. He is, subsequently, distracted by a duelist speaking in low tones to someone on the far side of the group from Theodric and Darvan; Khavortorov doesn't say any more, though Darvan will see him gesture towards the far side of the room, and the duelist who intruded gives him an abbreviated swordsman's bow.

"You will send word to us at once, when your school is built?" asks Rytier Čierny; the big man moves forward to reach out and clasp Theodric's hand. "This will be good. Ah," he adds as he sees his old student's issue. "There is not a problem. Come, we will find ourselves the table with the drinks, take up something worth the drinking for the toast, yes?" And he begins to slowly move through the crowd, uncertain of how Theodric normally allows himself to be so guided, but willing to be shown.

In Darvan's case, though, the swordwoman's lips quirk upwards again, even as Joachim the Swordman's lips part in a grin. "The musicians are not playing a reigen or a bransles, a pavane or a galliard; this is music to help conceal conversation. Nor do I see anyone else dancing, or even room for them to dance. So yes, both my and Teresa's words were euphemisms - hers for combat, mine for ... an equally intimate meeting of swords, though not of the same type." Teresa is polite enough to hide her laughter behind her hand; one of the other swordsmen, likely used to Joachim's viperishly playful nature, laughs more-or-less openly, though his head does turn as he looks over the rest of the party nearby.

.

:: Bartek Yaroslav ::
This is, after all, the Lord Mayor's party; in this second hour, he has the leisure to have some more significant conversation with a number of Swordlords and nobles, but Bartek's approach does mean he becomes one of the slow eddy around the (theoretically) most influential man in Restov. The fact that he's not noble-born makes that potential for familiarity much easier.

Ioseph Sellemius listens to and smiles at Bartek's compliment quite readily. "Thank you, my good man," he says with a certain joviality. "Merrymead is one of those events that is a wonderful time - get a chance to meet people you wouldn't normally, be able to put your finger on the pulse of the city, talk to the common man. You are ...?" Bartek's subsequent introduction as the leader of (or, well, front man for) the Swords of the Legion makes the Lord Mayor 'ah', and give his hand a firmer clasp. "Excellent, excellent. A wonderful thing, this expedition, and I hope that your willingness to come over and speak with an old Restov hand shows your openness to future friendship between King Chalm's country-to-be and the Free City."

"Lord Mayor?" comes a voice. Ioseph turns (as, presumably, does Bartek) to see a duelist there, who gives a swordman's courtesy, a bow with his eyes on the Lord Mayor, his left hand on his heart, right hand palm up and extended forward and to the side. At the Mayor's indication that he may continue, the man straightens up. "Skender Lazar, student of the Diving Claw School of the Northern Schools; Dáma Tetyana Medvyed is our Swordmaster. A challenge has been declared against one of my compatriots by Lord William Lawsrick of the Shivering Exiles, and we request permission to use the dueling table in the Council Chambers."

Mayor Sellemius frowns in thought. "Have terms been negotiated?"

"Yes, Your Honor," replies the swordsman. "To third blood or disarming, single sword only, no spellcasting or ally interference save enchantments already on the weapon, no coup de grace, and a healer present in case of serious accident. A healer," he adds before the Mayor can ask, "has already volunteered."

The Mayor grunts at the information, pondering the issue for a few seconds. "Judge?" The swordsman indicates himself. With another grunt, the Lord Mayor considers the situation, then nods. "Very well, I'll allow it, should the King give his permission. Master Yaroslav, will you go to the King with Lazar as witness for my permission?"

Oh, great - back into the mouth of the dragon.