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

Game Master The Wyrm Ouroboros

Anton does his best to show up neither early or late, though he spends much of the afternoon preparing, taking long baths and memorizing what names he can. This, of course, is an occasion for his finest silks—the cold weather gives an excuse to combine sashes and cloaks, and his outfit combines the colors of both House Surtova and the swordlords; while he's joined the expedition at his own prerogative, and not either of the two groups he associates with, he'd very much like to give the opposite impression without too much discussion. On his left hand, he wears five golden rings; his right hand carries rings of the more magical sort, while heavy jewels dangle from both cuffs, at his neck, and on his hat.

His twisted gold bracelet hangs empty, a secret compartment at the ready for any delightful small snack he might wish to save for later. A half-pocket displays his Alken pocketwatch, a marvel of gold-coated clockwork purchased off some proselytizing priest of Brigh. In short, everything expensive he could wear, Anton has on his person. It is, of course, a bit disconcerting to see his armor worn by a mannequin—since he typically keeps it polished enough to wear with this same outfit at formal events—but as long as it will show up in the portrait, he's not especially upset.

Anton has few titles—yet—and isn't too interested in being publicly associated with the men following him, at least until they can build better reputations. So he simply instructs the herald to announce "Sir Anton Rabinoff, Swordlord, of New Stetven."

"Just... keep an eye on them, all right?"

"You got it, mister Kaellin!" the youth enthusiastically acknowledges.

Kaellin watches Caleb drive the small cart away with pretty much all of his adventuring gear on it. The half-elf is not a materialistic person, but he had spent blood and sweat to get that gear, and they gave him the edge more than once to avoid certain death. He was going to feel naked heading into tonight's gala.

Before entering the Great Hall, Kaellin checks in Tahlathria with a grimace, the only weapon he was allowed to bring. The guard has to tug at the curveblade several times from his reluctant hand before Sylvara jabs him in the side to make him let it go.

"Don't worry, we'll be fine in here," she tells him. As she checks in her own rapier, she whispers "Please don't make a scene. Please don't make a scene." under her breath.

"Introducing Vitez Kaellin Greenleaf, adventurer and leader of the Reckless! Accompanying him is the Żonka Sylvara Amalur of Kyonin!"

The half-elf and the elf enter the hall, with Kaellin holding Sylvara's hand and escorting her just as she taught him. He is wearing a set of well-tailored clothing, if somewhat simple in style. It was the fanciest clothing he can tolerate to wear, and even then he looks awkward in it. She, on the other hand, is a vision of elegant nobility, dressed in an exquisite white gown. Her golden hair is tied in a decorative bun, allowing her to display the elven jewelry she wore.

Kaellin puts in every effort to not cringe at the stares. Thinking back to all the times he faces hordes of ghouls or staring down the open maw of a dragon helps him somewhat. Sylvara, on the other, basks in the attention.

While she was enjoying herself, Kaellin remembered her advice, "This is the time to mingle and make allies!" Gulping, the ranger steps forth.

"Vitez Tomáš Dušek!"

Tomas enters the room at the very same time his name is announced.

"With him, Vitez László Nagy, Priest Servant of Seramaydiel."

Laszlo enters just after Tomas. They both salute the crowd with a gesture half way between a nod and a reverence. Tomas' one is slightly colder and more mechanic when directed towards the Aldori, though he performs a special, deeper one to King Chalm Surtova.

"Your Majesty."

Being aware that there are many other people waiting to get in and others who have not even arrived yet, all of them probably more important than him, Tomas walks gracefully to the place where he is supposed to wait patiently until the King declares the event started. Laszlo follows closely behind, though his attention is focused on trying to find out about the attendants' religious believes.

There was indeed a lot of poking and prodding but when all was said and done, Lyda couldn't deny that it looked good and didn't feel uncomfortable. The heels were a little more than she was used to but she was almost always on the balls of her feet anyway. She wanted to complain but could reasonably justify it. It was overpriced but she could put part or all of it to use again at a later date. She thanks the noble lady and promises to mention the young maid who did the alterations at any given opportunity. Charlotte is nearly giddy at how it looks and Winnie gives her a reserved smile. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad.

Then Deneb ruined it by whistling from the door as they left. She'd asked him to meet them there that way they would show up at the party at the same time. He was dressed plainly in furs but, considering he was a druid, it would not seem out of place. She had some druidic magic but but she was also the leader. As Winnie said, she had to show she was willing to compromise, to understand their side of things.

She arrived almost exactly at 6 and handed over her bow and arrows to the man at the door. Deneb handed over a pouch of strange items he used for his spells. He also talked to the Herald before they entered. Uh oh. "I present to you Zonka Lyda. Finder of Paths. Tamer of Beats. Leader of the Voice of the Mountains. And accompanying her is her Lieutenant Deneb Flynvias. Roc Rider. Druid of Gronzi Forest and the Icerime peaks." Well that wasn't so bad, Lyda thought before her mind shut down.

People. So many People.

A woman that spent most of her life in solitude and secrecy now stood before nearly four hundred people. And almost all of them were looking at her. She thanked the gods her outfit had a skirt to hide her tail and the hood was pulled up just far enough to hide her horns. It didn't cover the deer in torchlight look at all though. Only a nudge from Deneb get her moving forward.

"Oh look a gnome." She thanked the gods again for his outgoing personality and confidence. His voice and derailing comment actually brought her thought processes back to somewhere near full capacity. She was still frazzled by the enormous number of people. Important people.

"King first," she says before he can wander off. A small part of her remembered that she should greet the most important person first. They head for the king and wait patiently for a moment to speak.

"Your majesty," she says, greeting him with the Medvyed House's typical salute to someone of a higher station. She was never going to curtsy. Their duty done, she could now follow Deneb's whimsy.

::Axhammer Rocknose::
Deneb weaves a path through the crowd to some of the only short people in the crowd. Spotting them was a feat in and of itself but Deneb had terrific eyesight. "Greetings. I'm Deneb Flynvias," he says, nodding to Axhammer and Alexander.

"Lyda," is all she manages.

"Good to see House Medvyed make a strong showing here," he says, eyeing their crests. Then his attention shifts to the holy symbol of Adabar and he looks confused. "Huh. Don't normally see someone from House Medvyed associated with Adabar. Mostly Erastil."

Aramil starts the morning by having Kennet take the majority of his equipment over to the Citadel, escorted by Kartok and Bolys, to ensure that the equipment arrives safely. Kartok will wait with the equipment as well, until he is finally shooed away for the armor to be revealed to the party guests, checking his weapons with the guards and regaining them when he is shooed to leave.

The rest of the day is spent comparing notes with Porablum about what they had learned from their fellow leaders (although Porbablum did not have much, as neither Anton Rabinoff nor Kaellin Greenleaf had met with her). Neither had gotten to those who camped outside the city, and would have to meet with them during the gathering.

Finally, Aramil bathes and allows Kennet to help prepare him for the party (although the Elf is incredibly uncomfortable having a valet assist him), and, when ready, he adjusts his sleeves of many garments to set up his attire. On his feet are well-made, comfortable, form-fitting boots that go halfway up the calf, polished till they shone. He wears brown breeches of soft leather, and a white silk shirt with a dark green vest with silver embroidery. His coat is finely made wool, knee length, also in a dark green, with black trim at the lapels, cuffs, and hem. It is buttoned by silver buttons and has silver embroidered scrollwork up the sleeves and across the shoulders. His hair is held back by his headband of vast intellect. He wears his ring of protection on his right hand, with another, mundane ring on the left. HIs amulet of natural armor is about his neck, along with a couple of silver chains. He is not a man given to ostentation, and this should be suitable attire for the Party without being ostentatious. Throwing a black fur cloak around his shoulders, he headed down to leave.

Porablum had chosen to modify her sleeves to a bright blue dress that perfectly matched her hair, as well as her boots of the cat which she styled to look like slippers. Earrings, bracelet, necklace, and rings of gold adorned her, and the look was only slightly spoiled by her rapier. Kennet and Bolys accompanied them to the Citadel, where they and Kartok would wait in a nearby tavern until the end of the party to ensure Aramil's equipment made it back to their inn.

Arriving only a couple of minutes late, Aramil smiled as he checked his dueling sword, and Porablum cared little about having to do so with her rapier. Neither put up a fuss about it, for both were capable of surviving long enough to reacquire them before it would be needed.

Sighing, Aramil steels himself and nods to the Herald, who announces, "Vitez Aramil Wellys, leader of Mageford, former member of the White Blade, and his lieutenant, Zonka Porablum Flapzit." Where the title meshed perfectly with Aramil's name and flowed, the title on Porablum just sounded odd and discordant. The gnome smiled in delight, and privately decided she would introduce herself that way more often. Aramil managed to hide his grimace at the name, although he still didn't like it.

They made sure to pay their respects to the Aldori, with bows and curtsies, as well as to King Kowalskiy and the Lord-Mayor. Their bows to the King were perhaps slightly deeper than to the Lord-Mayor, as they would be accompanying him on the expedition, but not by much.

After paying their respects to the correct notables, Aramil looked about and noted who was in attendance - with Amavin and Ishana's gold dresses stealing the show, as always. After a brief moment of discussion, Aramil moves towards Kaellin Greenleaf, the leader of the Reckless, and Porablum decides she is going to learn about the Companions of Armgaard.

::Kaellin Greenleaf::

"Pardon the interruption, but might you be Kaellin Greenleaf, leader of the Reckless?"

The Party
Currently Speaking to Lyda and Deneb

Axhammer saw the approaching people and smiled at them politely until he heard the reference to House Medvyed at which point the smile was genuine.

"Most assuredly Old Dead Eye is worshiped there, but that doesn't mean that none of us have had visions of civilization that could be brought home. I don't speak of deforestation, but of guards and homes in trees. Roads beneath tree canopy or through mountains and hills, where no traveler would fear of being attacked by bandits."
Axhammer spoke adamantly because this was something close to his heart and he was very ecstatic about it before he was nudged in the ribs by Alexander. Grinning he slowed down his speech and looked up at the woman who was with the halfling.

"Its been awhile since last I was at any House Medvyed gathering, still I ride in the lists under the banner, so how did you come to be with Mevyed?"

::Axhammer Rocknose::
"That is good to hear. I don't go to gatherings often either," Lyda says, growing more comfortable now that she had something to distract her from numbers here.

"She means ever," Deneb interjects. She ignores it.

"I live in the forest. And since Gronzi is part of their domain I answer to their house."

"It's a lot less formal for me," Deneb adds. "I help out but I'm part of the druidic order." He then looks up at Lyda. "You think it will take them thirty years to figure out we're gone?"

"I sent word. So maybe ten."

"Yeah. They're slow."

"Have you met master Nelson?" Lyda says, turning back to Axhammer. "He's a carpenter with some great designs for treehouses. Ones that require no nails to be hammered into the tree themselves. Supposed to last just as long as a normal house too."

Evening - Restov/Citadel of Restov's Great Hall

:: Gala Start ::

The day of the Gala sees a whirlwind of activity in the Dashing Harvesters' camp area. While most of the company is making final preparations to move out as soon as possible, Theodric is off to the care of Albin Cankar, leaving Darvan to see to matters in camp following his daily rites in honor of Irori. At the same time, Seria departs for the Citadel leading a horse carefully laden with wrapped bundles containing the equipment to be used be used by Darvan and Theodric during their sojourn to the Southlands. When the fitting at Master Cankar's is finally over with, Darvan gathers up Theodric and their formalwear and returns to camp for a bit of much-needed relaxation before the Gala begins. Though relaxation is the goal, some time is nonetheless spent going over what Theodric, Darvan, and Lillana managed to learn the previous day.

Roughly half a candlemark before the Gala's appointed start time, Theodric and Darvan dress carefully, mount up, and ride toward Restov in an effort to avoid wasting time or risking their finery by attempting the crowded streets on foot. The choice of conveyance proves fortuitous, for even on horseback it takes longer than usual to reach the Citadel of Restov and the Great Hall. As the pair dismount, Seria approaches--having spent the afternoon keeping a watchful eye on their belongings before being politely but firmly ejected from the building--and gathers up the reins. Before leading the horses away, she pauses and speaks just loud enough to be heard by them alone. "You two watch your steps in there," she warns with a look around at some of the other arrivals. "Lots of importan' folk in there as likely wouldn' think twice about crushing the both of you, any way they coul' do so." With that said, Seria departs for the stables, leaving Darvan and a very nervous Theodric to make their way inside.

After checking in Theodric's weapon and going through the inspection process that follows--which requires the momentary removal of Theodric's mask to ensure that nothing dangerous is concealed behind it--the pair find themselves announced by the Herald's booming voice. "Announcing the arrival of Vitez Theodric Valtrava, the Blind Blade of the Dashing Harvesters, and Kawaler Darvan Singra, Champion of the Master of Masters!" As the duo make way for the next in line by stepping further into the swirling crowd of attendees, Theodric can't help but wonder where in the Nine Hells that 'Blind Blade' business came from. A barely audible chuckling from his companion tells the blind swordsman that Darvan didn't miss that appellation, and will likely be using it to poke at Theodric in the near future. There is little time to spare on the matter, however, for now Theodric must make his courtesies to King Kowalskiy, and any other notables that choose to take note of his existence.

Afterward, Theodric can remember not one single moment of that nerve-wracking time, though Darvan calmly assures him that he didn't do too badly at it. Regardless, it takes Theodric some time to calm his nerves from his momentary position in a corner of the Hall. Leaning toward Darvan, he remarks with slight laugh. "This was the one part of my training that I was, frankly, no good at. The bladework was easy enough, and I had little trouble with things like horsemanship or that fancy movement stuff they taught. But the social stuff, the verbal fencing and battles of wit? Nope, no good at all, no matter how much effort I put into it." His voice takes on a somewhat bitter tone, and he unconsciously runs a hand over his mask. "Maybe if I'd wasted less time on that folderol and being impressed with my own trifling reputation, I might have learned something that could have prevented this," Theodric concludes with a light tap against the mask covering his burned features.

Darvan remains silent, but Theodric knows well enough that his mentor and friend sympathizes, and that knowledge helps him shake off his funk before it can get a proper hold on his mind. With it goes the last of his nervouseness, and Theodric's next laugh is considerably brighter. "Right, enough of that then. Time for us to go forth into the fray, to see and be seen--in a manner of speaking--and make sure that the Dashing Harvesters are properly represented to the high and the mighty. Find us someone to speak with, my friend," he says with a wave toward the unseen crowd. "And it's someone that we have a passing familiarity with, so much the better. Means less work and less risk of stepping on my flapping mouth."

Upon waking in his camp, Bartek set about preparations for the evening. Their attire was to be simple, but appropriate, Bartek in a noble's out fit with assorted jewelery and Kliment in his courtiers outfit with the necessary accountrements. Bartek had all of his and Kliments gear gathered and sent a head of them, with Radovan in charge of its delivery. The two had agreed on to bring no magical gear at all to better put everyone at ease since as Bartek could not be reasonably disarmed of his powers.

Upon arrival at the Great Hall, the Herald announces Bartek's and Kliments arrival. "Introducing Vitez Bartek Yaroslav one of the leaders of the Swords of the Legion. With him is his second in command, Vitez Kliment Yaroslav"

Before entering, Kliment will check his longsword. Bartek will wait for Kliment while being searched but he has no main weapon with him to turn in.

Entering the hall and seeing the crowd of people there, Kliment mutters to Bartek "I feel like we might be out of place
amongst this level of society."

"Better get used to it", Bartek mutters back. Speaking normally Bartek continues, "How about we find people more our speed for now? There are a few representatives of other miltant groups here as well." The two go looking for some of the militant group leaders.

On the morning of the party, Kyras awoke early and began to prepare. He sent Cendo on ahead with most of his and Milo's normal adventuring gear; Kyras keeps only his longbow and efficient quiver, which make up his primary weapon, while Milo retains his trusty pair of short swords. Kyras retrieves his courtier's outfit and jewelry from the small chest where they are normally kept, and spends the morning preparing himself. Even though he doesn't use his courtier's outfit terribly often, he keeps it well, so it is in good condition for today's party. The outfit is designed to emphasize his noble standing in House Medvyed, tastefully tailored in the red and black of his house's primary colors, together with just enough jewelry to make him seem fashionable without being over done.

Milo also prepares as the morning passes, though he doesn't have the same level of finery as Kyras does. He wears his explorer's outfit, cleaned as well as Sabros' prestidigitation spell can make it. Luckily, Milo has become accustomed to having to deal with social situations on behalf of Kyras, so his normal outfit is usually well kept enough to at least not be embarrassing.

Before the two set out, Kyras gets Turgek to cast Endure Elements on the both of them, so that they won't have to mess their outfits too much with layers of cold weather gear. They then set out, Kyras riding on his elk Bron, while Milo rides on one of the group's light horses. The foot traffic is pretty thick, though most people make way for the rather unusual sight of the massive elk that Kyras is riding. They make their way to the citadel, and arrive to the party on time. After making sure both Bron and Milo's horse are cared for, they make their way in.

After handing their weapons over to the guards, they enter the main hall as the herald announces their arrival. "Announcing Vitez Kyras Medvyed, leader of the Bronze Seal, and his lieutenant Milo Orgulas." After their brief announcement, Kyras and Milo make their way among the crowd.

When the king becomes available, they make their way over to pay their respects to the man. "Your Majesty, I am Kyras Medvyed. Thank you for granting my group the honor of being selected for this journey." As this is his first time meeting the king, Kyras will try to make a good impression, hoping to make the king more favorable to their group in the future.

After spending the appropriate amount of time paying their respects to the king and his family, they will move on, trying to find others in the crowd. Kyras eventually spots Lyda, speaking with a gnome who wore his houses symbol on his breast. He looked faintly familiar, but he wasn't sure.

:: Lyda/Axhammer ::

"Good to see you again, Lyda. Quite the crowd here, isn't it?"

::Aramil::

Turning to Aramil, Kaellin extended his arm. "That I am! And you must be Aramil of the Mageford. It's a pleasure to meet you!"

Kaellin feels a nudge to his side. "Oh! May I introduce my companion-in-arms, Sylvara Amalur."

Sylvara curtsies before the other elf. "An honor to make your acquaintance, Vitez Wellys."

"Quite the gathering, eh?" Kaellin remarks. "This expedition is going to be quite the something, don't you think?"

Dargaryen, accompanied by Marlovaur, discretely enters the Gala when his name is called. He nods with some embarrassment when the herald announces his modest title. "Captain Dargaryen Blanc, Officer of the Brevoy Frontier Guard."

Darg will then walk to the king and will bow deeply. "My Lord, thank you for the opportunity to serve in your expedition. I look forward to leading the Steel Fists under your banner!"

He then salutes and moves on to introduce himself and Marlovaur to the king's family and to the other dignitaries.

Diplomacy: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (12) + 8 = 20

It's a casual morning at The Voice of Trees camp, much to the chagrin of the more inexperienced members of the group.

Acaciano and Tai have both spent enough time in Restov to understand the way of things, and they move through their daily morning routines without much deviation from the usual. Acaciano does opt out of using all of the spells he usually starts his day with, preferring not to covered in a mass of auras if the guards at the dinner go around asking. Instead he and Tai simply cast their daily 'Endure Elements' and carry on with their share of the camp chores.

As the morning rolls on, they themselves prepare their possessions per the request in the invitation and move in to deliver it to be stored. If the King's Men can't be trusted to watch over them now, they'll have larger problems during the trip Acaciano reasons, in response to the Sai's request to watch over the gear during the interim time. He and Tai stay in the city, killing time at an inn running through strategies for the evening, and going back over the people they'd met the night before.

Just before entering the secured area, Acaciano does cast one more spell on himself, a Ward of the Season. Channeling spring, Acaciano's tunic becomes covered in a series of flowering vines-- an effect he expects to draw him the right kind of attention at the dinner. Tai laughs at the effect, himself content with his simple skins. As they enter the party area and move into the entrance line, Acaciano takes a moment with the herald's assistant, before rejoining Tai in line. They move when they're called.

"Vitez Acaciano Karbashewsky, The Verdant Scion of Restov and The Voice of Trees is accompanied by Tai Reen, Friend of Fey and Warden of the Woods."

Acaciano and Tai conduct themselves politely as they enter the party, stopping to pay apropos homage the King before moving in to mingle with the rest of the guests.

Tai lightly jabs an unseen elbow into Acaciano's ribs after they move far enough past the King's dais to be unseen.
"Nice job with the titles, but do you really need to bring up that Fey thing every time? It was one Dryad, and I swear I was Charmed..."

Acaciano laughs out loud brazenly, and claps his friend on the back.
"I'm sure you were, Friend. Now let's see who else is here so far."
'...and how they feel about my name. That's sure to have surprised a few of the folks we met yesterday...'

"And don't forget to enjoy yourself!" he adds.

At the appointed hour, Yuri causes his and Tarna's adventuring equipment to be moved to the Great Hall of the Citadel of Restov. He sends his blue, scholarly robes for the mannequin, and dresses himself in his gold-trimmed, black velvet noble's outfit, along with a good deal of fine jewelry to round out the outfit. He holds onto his crossbow, which serves as his arcane bond, and straps on his spell component pouch, but he sends over his adamantine heavy pick and his alchemical silver battleaxe, along with a quiver full of crossbow bolts. In fact he sends over all of his adventuring and magical equipment, with the sole exception of his magical headband. He hopes that they will allow him to wear that into the party, but will not argue overmuch if they prefer to move it to his mannequin.

Tarna similarly dresses herself in noble finery and jewelry, and sends over everything else. She holds onto only her magic longspear, and her simple wooden holy symbol. She is actually looking forward to having her masterwork full plate, an item of her own crafting, on display for all and sundry to see. She is a bit apprehensive about being around so many people once more, but she prays a silent prayer to Torag for calm.

The dwarves arrive a while after the appointed time, turn over whatever is required of them, and proceed into the party.

“Elder Yuri Magrar of Clan Golushkin, speaker for the Forgedawn, accompanied by his sister, Tarna Magrar, priestess of Torag.”

Yuri and Tarna make their way into the room. Noticing a band of gnomes nearby, Yuri walks in that direction. He had adventured with several gnomes in his time, and while he would never behave like them, or truly understand them, they were some of the interesting and humanoids he'd ever met, and they always had a story.

“Ho there, what's the word my friends? I am Yuri Magrar, of the Forgedawn. What brings such a merry band to Restov? Are we going to be traveling together soon?”

::Kyras and Axhammer::
"Don't remind me," Lyda says, mildly perturbed that Kyras had reminded her. New outfit, no weapon, no Kasha. It was enough to frazzle anyone's nerves. But she smiles genuinely a moment later. "It is good see a familiar face though. Kyras Medvyed..." she is about to introduce him to the gnome before them but pauses. "Actually, we came after the announcement. What is your name?" she asks the gnome.

::Kyras and Axhammer::
"Another Medvyed. And defiantly Erastilian. Adabar better watch out," Deneb says jokingly to Axhammer.

::Kaellin Greenleaf::

"A pleasure to meet both of you. This does indeed appear to be a most incredible expedition. There are many different personalities involved in this - although I don't believe I've met even half of them. It is a most varied gathering. Tell me, what do the Reckless hope to accomplish in this expedition?"

::Companions of Armgaard/Yuri Magrar::

Porablum makes her way over to the Companions of Armgaard, and introduces herself, "Good evening. I'm Porablum Flapzit, second to Aramil Wellys of Mageford. What brings you on this expedition? Do you think the rumors of the barrier between this world and the First World being thinner in the Stolen Lands are true? Where are you from? Do you think this expedition will be full of all sorts of new and exciting opportunities?"

::Acaciano::

Hapening to be nearby when Acaciano takes his place, and intrigued by the anouncement, Laszlo decides to break the ice. His round and heavy figure displaces a bit to his right, just enough for him to be a bit closer and talk without disturbing the others.

"Good evening, good sir. My name is Laszlo. I'm a faithful follower of the Empyreal Lords." He bows slightly in salute. "Please forrgive my boldness, but I have just heard your introduction and was quite intrigued... are you a servant of the Green Faith?"

:: General ::
The party starts, essentially, as soon as people start showing up; it will officially begin a little earlier than the originally-planned time, as the host the Lord Mayor of Restov Ioseph Sellemius will arrive, give a short speech welcoming everyone (everyone who's already arrived, that is), and then wave for the Herald to continue to announce arrivals. There is nowhere anyone has to wait nor is there anyone can really hide.

Later on, it is difficult to speak with the new king for most people; you are not, however, most people, and so you can each claim a minute of his time in order to introduce yourselves. Unfortunately, it isn't enough time to really sway him if that's your intent; a polite introduction, a bit of a courtesy, being introduced to his daughter (if she's there) or renewing the acquaintance of one of his two top aides, either the halfling Vorwilde or the knight Alexeyevich.

Kyras Medvyed, who'd renewed his slight acquaintance with Vorwilde, comes away with a slight certainty that he'd made a very good impression indeed.

:: Certain Animals ::
While Gwaihir grumbles and picks at the thick leather cord attaching his left ankle to Sylvia Calrian's left wrist - .o(I don't like it. It's like jesses. I don't like jesses. You know I don't like jesses, right? They're like little leashes for your feet. I don't like them.) he mutters to her - neither Kasha nor Heartwood are really acceptable inside the town walls, and Greyfang ... well, two-leggers can't usually smell it, but horses know the difference between 'shaggy dog' and 'wolf'. And then there's Stormbeak, but that worthy axebeak seems to understand that its presence in, or at, or near the city makes people extremely wary, and tends to stay away. Of course, Garuda isn't really allowed inside town either, but how do you stop a six-foot-plus eagle-like bird from stopping on the Red Table? On the other hand, the roc isn't one to stay 'inside' the town - but a large predatory bird that big even just flying low over the town tends to make the prey-critters and two-leggers a wee bit nervous!!

Only Bron and Ashara are really able to enter the city with few (on the former part) or no (on the latter) complications; Bron will certainly draw attention, because let's face it - riding-elks are Not A Thing. Unfortunately, there is no stabling for them, and so they must be led away.

:: Amavin ::
Of the five members of the Jade Legion - Möngke, Gan, Eun-Suk, Aimai, and Waralee - only the silver-haired last looks entirely at her ease in these surroundings. The others are wearing minor variations on the formal robe, typically with a two-handspan-wide band about the waist to act as a belt; Aimai has a sort of vest of finely-tooled leather, while Möngke's possesses a wide fringe of sleek, expensive-looking spotted fur. On her part, Waralee wears an entirely suitable emerald-green gown that, were it not for her long silver hair in its myriad tiny braids, would cause her to be entirely lost in the crowd. "Ah, Amavin, a delight to see you! Yes, the invitation to join - no, I am sorry, there is subtlety there. The permission to accompany the expedition is, perhaps, less than we hoped for, but more than we expected. Perhaps, come midsummer, we will be able to send to the east to tell our families and friends of the good news, and they will be able to make the journey in safety."

Eun-Suk, who is actually clad in almost exactly what she was wearing back at the Jade Legion's quarters, says something - or, going by the look on her face, offers a well-known quotation from Tian literature, for all of the other four nod with various expressions - rueful for Möngke, slightly disgruntled for Gan, philosophical for Aimai, and on Waralee's face is a subtle eagerness.

Amavin smiles politely at all members. "So, have you all been enjoying the party? Any neat interactions so far? I only just arrived - they made Ishana swear so oath that she wasn't going to do anything unseemly with her magic - and that slowed us down as well. I have a business meeting to take care of at some stage tonight - but other than this, I have a free schedule. Did you wish to discuss anything together as individuals now that we appear to at least be included in the expedition together."

:: Porablum Flapzit / Yuri Magrar ::
The Companions of Armgaard, at least for this party, decided on a unified color scheme, a red field with gold trim. If nothing else, it does what two-thirds of the entire race want - to really stick out, to be noticeable and seen and identifiable. (Really, if there were an anti-halfling, gnomes would be it, wouldn't they?) However, the original cluster of five have been joined by at least a dozen other gnomes from other groups - the addition of Porablum means that virtually every gnome in the expedition is Right Here, Right Now. As she approaches, she can hear rapid discussion in Gnomish, a half-dozen of her fellows throwing thoughts back and forth in search of consensus.

"... duk’ ch’yek’ kartsum, vor yes gitem, t’ye inch’ e da nshanakum?"
"Da nshanakum e, vor menk’ datapartvats!!"
"Nerkayut’yuny spitakets’nellum vstah e --"
"-- vor karogh e arrajats’nel amen tesak kortsanum --" ts’amak’yets’nel yurak’anch’yur kat’il kyank’i u hetak’rk’rut’yun --"
"-- e durs gal ays amboghj arshavakhmbi!!"
"Aynpes vor, ayn, inch’ menk’ anum yenk’ hima?"
"Menk’ petk’ e spanel nran?"
"Menk’ ch’yenk’ karogh da anel, voch’ t’ye yev --"
"-- mnal gitarshavi het."
"Mets. Hrashali. Aynpes vor, norits’ yem krknum, inch’ menk’ anum yenk’ hima?"

A dwarf showing up - Yuri - gets three or four heads to turn in his direction, and a new spate of gnomish chatter.

"Na karogh e anel mi ban."
"Da ch’i karogh linel mez ..."
"Bayts’ ardyok’ na."
"Menk’ karogh yenk’ boghok’um."
"Hrazharvum yen gnal. Ayzhm??"

From a dwarfish standpoint, they're clearly in a low-key uproar about something. From a gnomish standpoint ... it's very clear what they're in an uproar about. Perhaps, in Porablum's case, the question that needs to be answered is 'who?'

:: Dargaryen Blanc ::
Chalm Kowalskiy returns the bow from the Steel Fist leader with a bow of his own, at least of sorts - an inclination of his head, more acknowledgement than anything. He, too, has the luck to encounter the King while the halfling chamberlain is at his side; as Dargaryen steps away, he hears Chalm ask Vorwilde, "Steel Fists ..."

"The carousers, sire."

A chorus of cheering shouts rises from one section of the hall just about then. "Ah, right. Well, I hope they do the job we picked them for ..."

:: Bartek ::
Finding the black-clad officers of the Black Company - or at least, the commander and his second - is only a matter of a few minutes, a couple of polite questions, and some easing through the crowd. When you arrive, a copper-haired half-elf in an elegant emerald gown is taking her leave of the stunning ebon-haired Lady Senjak and the blocky Captain of the Company.

Croaker notices you before the Lady, but doesn't say anything, merely, looking at you for a long few moments.

:: Amavin ::
Waralee glances around, translating for Amavin, "'The journey is not to the purpose; the purpose is the journey.' And no, not a great deal of interaction; we are sort of ... what is the term, 'also-rans.' Our interest, truly, is to find some decent place at which we can establish a town. That we will not be high officers of the king is not a concern, so long as he allows our people to make a new home here, far from the persecution in Tian. And because we have nothing to offer ..." Waralee gives a graceful shrug, and a somewhat vulpine smile.

Amavin frowns slightly, a little disappointed, but also inwardly a little skeptical. Privately, she found the Jade Legion's attempt to go into further detail about what circumstances brought them here rather irritating - but she had no right to ask or pry.

"Oh, I know you have modest goals, but I was hoping we could still be friendly to one another, I could help you with anything you had difficulty with for instance - that sort of thing. Just because some people might not believe you have anything tangible to offer, doesn't mean I wouldn't be willing to lend a hand if you needed it".

Amavin shrugs for a moment, before half turning. "I'll leave it up to you, no pressure."

Theodric carefully wends his way through the crowd, Darvan guiding his steps. Periodically, the pair stop to engage in a bit of small talk with someone interested in the former's mask and its reason for being worn. Though Theodric is initially somewhat annoyed by this sort of attention--especially when it is accompanied by requests to show what is underneath the covering--Darvan talks him around into seeing it as a personal challenge to overcome; how can he spin that delicate thread of interest into something advantageous?

Though the swordsman doesn't have his friend's enthusiasm for such pursuits, he's not entirely immune to them either, and he decides to follow the proffered advice, which serves in the process to ease his mood considerably. For a start, Theodric works the conversation regarding his formal mask around to a point where he can drop--as he swore to do--Albin Cankar's name, lamenting that his mask's design doesn't match the clothier's excellent work. He expresses a bit of entirely unfeigned pride at being able to wear such excellently-fitted clothing, particularly since it was put together as a rush job only hours before the Gala. As he praises Master Cankar's efforts as tactfully as he can manage, Theodric privately hopes that the man finds his consideration well-rewarded after tonight with a flood of eager clients.

After seeing to his obligation, Theodric then tells a very abbreviated version of the events that led to his needing a mask to hide his ruined features. Though he is careful not to speak ill of his former school--knowing full well that some members are sure to be attending this affair--Theodric is unabashedly blunt in discussing how his training was not at all suited to the sort of conflict that ended with his maiming. He then uses this as a way to bring up the ultimate goal of the Dashing Harvesters, a school where the fundamentals of warfare can be taught in an organized way. Though his listeners seem interested in what he has to say, Theodric is well aware that such an outward expression need not march in step with inner thoughts on the subject being discussed, so he is careful not to invest any weight in verbal expressions of support for the Harvesters' intentions.

::The Black Company::

Aolis scans the room before choosing to approach those in charge of the Black Company. Mercenaries could be a boon or bane depending on a number of things. Best get a feel for them early to see which side of things they fell on. As he comes up to Captain J. Croaker and Lady Dorothy Senjak he gives a slight bow before introducing himself.

"Greetings, if you will allow it. Could I have a word with you. I am Aolis Greenborn. Representative of the Frozen Flame. This is my associate Nakir Lalish."

"Oh, shush. Just be glad they let you in at all. If you really hate it, I'll go out on a balcony or something and let you fly off into the cold, snowy winterland out there. Of course, in here, there's all kinds of tasty meat for you to have." Sylvia tells Gwaihir. She steps into the hall, away from the wall that she had been standing by, watching the influx of notable adventurers from across Brevoy.
Sylvia is wearing robes fit for an Archmage, which reach almost to her feet and have long, trailing sleeves that nearly hide her hands, and is a dark blue-gray in color, with silver trimming.
Around her neck, she's wearing a necklace, the center piece being an icon of swirling winds. Around it are several beads that appear to be various jewels at first glance, but are merely glass upon inspection.
While the outfit has a hood, it is currently thrown back, as per custom, to reveal her hair, which is silver with blue stripes (the exact same color as most of the guards are wearing, having adjusted the color since arriving).
Underneath her flowing robes, she has on a simple gray woolen underclothing, warm but allowing for good mobility. Occasionally, a glimpse of them might be caught as she walks and her robes flow and flutter.
An irate peregrine falcon perches on her shoulder, with a leather cord attaching the bird to her left hand, which she currently has held against her chest, to compensate for the short tether.

::Aramil Wellys::

"Well, we've beenadventuring around the regions for several years now until this came along. We thought this might be a good opportunity to try something new, to build a more permanent legacy. It's certainly going to be a challenge I'm eager to take on!" A slight smirk appears on Kaellin's lips.

"How about yourself and the Mageford?"

Darivan watched as Sylvia conversed with her familiar. He feels strangely alone, without the almost-constant (if subconscious) telepathic banter he shared with Ardafax. His fingers drum restlessly against his leg, unconsciously looking for a place to rest. Of course, with his sword currently 'checked in,' they were unlikely to find a good resting place any time soon. He followed his friend as she entered the crowd, hoping she wouldn't get into trouble.

Ah. We're in the middle of a merry celebration, with incredibly tight security, surrounded by master swordsmen. What's the worst that could happen?

....

Darivan realized he was waiting for a telepathic response from Ardafax before realizing that one wouldn't be coming. He sighed and stepped into the light from the relatively shaded area where the two of them were watching guests arrive.

He's wearing a fine outfit, suitable for a knight (though he doesn't have any dress armor, his normal gear on display somewhere else), in the house colors of House Orlovsky. Darivan might not particularly care for his heritage, but there still were times that it paid to show off connections.
Darivan wears a dramatic cape, and a necklace bearing his heraldry, a fist grasping a lightning bolt, inscribed in gold on a lapis lazuli amulet.
His hair is somewhat combed, still quite messy, and distinctly half white and half brown.
Darivan's right arm is proudly displayed, a symbol of his magical might, and a reminder that even his failures made him stronger.
His left arm has a loose-fitting sleeve, a small icon of his heraldry on the shoulder, under which hangs a golden chain with five links.
On his finger rests a ring, primarily black adamantine, but detailed with silver filigree and inset with a small sapphire.

::Father László::

"Well met, László," Acaciano replies, "I'm Acaciano, and this is Tai."

After a polite pause and the exchanging of handshakes and pleasantries, he continues:

"And yes, we do practice the Faith, and it's a good thing we've come to join the expedition, I think. Not counting our number, I've only the pleasure of meeting one other practitioner thus far- and she a novice. Good potential, and very willing to learn, of course, but quite 'green' if you can pardon the pun. Plenty of Erastil's followers here, which is nice, but someone need represent the Green Faith, and thus, we find ourselves here." Acaciano gestures around the party, and smiles.

"Have you met many of our faith in your travels, László? Oh, and which of the lords do you yourself follow? I don't think you mentioned it..."

:: Acaciano (and whoever close) ::

"Oh" he answers with a smile, "I didn't mention it, you're right. I am a faithful servant of Seramaydiel."

After the initial conversation, he turns his head left and right before going on.

"Quite the party hear tonight, uh? So I presume you're here because you were selected, am I right? I accompany that man over there" he says while pointing at Tomas. "Our group is called the Requiem of Wolves, I don't know if you've ever heard about them. I'm with them to spread Seramaydiel's faith under the new realm."

Before his interlocutor grows bored, he dares to ask something a bit more personal.

"And what is your aim under King Chalm, if I may ask? To my knowledge, the Green Faith cares not about boundaries..."

Anton spends his first few minutes at the party looking around for anything out of place—as well as keeping a side-eye on his brother, who's under orders to talk to as few people as possible.

::Kaellin Greenleaf::

Smiling at Kaellin's response, Aramil says, "I can understand that. I myself was a member of a group called the White Blade up until a little less than a year ago. The constant moving around does get tiring. As to Mageford's aim, the bulk of the group's aim is to gain experience for a future venture. We are predominantly Elven, and many are originally from Kyonin, though I myself am not. I am simply along for the ride, as it were. They asked me to serve as the face of their group. The fact I've personally trained most of them may have played into it."

::Companions of Armgaard/Yuri Magrar::

"Spitakets’nellum mnal gitarshavi!? Pikl? Jjuignieksl'vmerkjg fomvjioe gnok voijl ciejkpbvn!?"

Porablum immediately joins in the agitation of her fellow gnomes. She'd done as much adventuring as she had to avoid the Bleaching. Having one nearby filled her with a certain amount of dread.

::Aramil Wellys::

Sylvara's expression perks up. "Ooh! Fellow countrymen! I'd love to hear more about them. I'd love to help out if we can. But I'm equally interested in hearing about you, Vitez Wellys, and how you came to join and train them. Sounds like there's a good story there!"

::Companions of Armgaard/Porablum::

Yuri glances at the gnomes with a bit of confusion, and chuckles a bit.

"My apologies, good gnomes, but I do not speak your noble language. You seem concerned, what is the problem?"

He glances around for a serving person, to order a round of drinks if possible.

:: Amavin ::
Aimai gives a very restrained smile at Amavin's statement. "We appreciate it, Onna," she says quietly, while Waralee gives her a quick, surprised glance before clearly choosing to stay silent and let Aimai respond. "We need all the friends we may find. With great good fortune, your friendship and the friendship of people like you, and with allowance by His Majesty for our people to settle, we'll be able to live in peace."

The group will let you go, if you desire to; they are in truth something of the 'fish out of water' sorts here, though they do not seem to mind so much.

:: Theodric / Darvan::
While there are many present who have not heard the tale of Theodric's injuries and recovery (all of the Swordpact present have, of course, done so), there are a some who are interested in doing so. Very few are so gauche as to wonder what is under the mask; only the very old (who don't care) and the very young (who don't know) do so. Perhaps the most significant is the young Tobias Jared Kowalskiy, the newly created Prince and, presumably, heir to his father the new King.

Regarding Theodric with a thoughtfulness that Darvan will undoubtedly find either amusing or encouraging, Tobias watches the swordsman replace his mask after having revealed the terrible scarring beneath; the boy had gone pale and wide-eyed for a moment, but it's clear that as his father's son he's seen the results of battle - perhaps even immediately after it's taken place, before it's had time to heal. "Is that when you stopped being a swordlord?" he asks with perspicacity unusual for his age. "Do you blame them for not training you better? How did you learn to not have to use your eyes?" That unassuming intelligence darts to Darvan. "Did you teach him?"

:: Nakir ::
At the keep's gate 'security checkpoint', while Aolis is trying (and failing) to convince a polite young man not to take his cane from him, Nakir is tapped on the shoulder by a fortyish-looking man in brown working leathers who, with a disgusted expression on his face, gives the bronze-skinned half-elf a 'follow me' gesture. The presence of a truncheon-bearing half-orc in silver-trimmed blue standing behind him suggests that discretion, in this case, might be the better part of valor.

The destination of the three is up a tightly-winding staircase designed for defense, and into the room above the entryway; several people armed with heavy crossbows are watching the process below through murder holes in the floor, while a couple others are not so armed - though still watching intently. The middle-aged man takes a long glance down through one of the holes, then turns to Nakir. "I don't have a lot of time for this, because there's a thousand fvcking people coming to this thing, and I don't know what you're up to - but you're up to something. So do me a favor and give up whatever you're trying to pull. You do it quickly, you can join your boss down there again; you don't do it quickly, you'll have to follow him up. You waste my time and don't do it at all, we all see how well you can fly thrown off the battlements with your hands broken. Your choice." He doesn't seem to be making an effort to be very intimidating - he seems more distracted than anything - but he definitely seems ... sincere.

:: Aolis and Nakir ::
As Aolis pulls Nakir along after him (presuming Nakir gets back in time), the Mwangan spots another from the Expanse, a pitch-black ancient-looking Bekyar half-elf with an eyepatch and an entirely disreputable-looking hat that has no business in a place like this. He is wearing the uniform of the Black Company and arguing vociferously with some Restov noble or another - sounds like something about the best way to scare the hell out of a bunch of peasants, or some such.

Cpt. Croaker has the look of someone who would rather be wading hip-deep through a freezing swamp or leading a frontal assault on the walls of a castle than be at the party; Lady Senjak, on the other hand, seems to be right in her element. "Master Greenborn, of course you may. What can we do for you?" Croaker glances sideways at the raven-haired woman for a brief moment, then manages to work a grim sort of smile onto his face. "Always good to make contact with the friendlies," he agrees, though it's obvious to both Aolis and Nakir that the only 'friendlies' he really recognizes are those who wear Black Company uniforms.

:: Companions of Armgaard / Porablum / Yuri ::
Oh, there are plenty of servants (both tallfolk and smallfolk) circulating through the crowd bearing trays of generally-only-mildly-alcoholic beers and wines; they aren't watered down at all, but the portions are a bit (okay, quite a bit) less than what you'd find in even your cheapest tavern. On the other hand, it's free, right?

At the question Porablum asks, a couple of the gnomes gesture off to one section of the hall; about the only thing that can really be said about it is that it looks like all of the Cenobitic Order are there. But then comes her next line, and --

"Ayo!"
"Chisht!"
"Da ayn e, inch’i masin yes khosum yem!!"
"Ayspisov, inch’pes yenk’ gnal mot dardznelov da patahel?"
"Karogh e menk’ p’vordzum yenk’ khosel e ayn, khndrek’ ayn herranal?"

One of the gnomes on the outside fringe of the circle, a scholastic-looking sort with the crest of the Frozen Flame on a neatly-embroidered patch turns to aside to Yuri. "It's ... a gnomish thing. There's a bleachling that's been accepted into the expedition, and that's ... not a good thing. Not for us, anyhow."

:: General, esp. Darivan and Sylvia ::
At about three-quarters of an hour past the intended start time, the last of the guests are announced.

"Vikontesse Elena Comăneci of House Minor Comăneci, Keeper of the Seven Wands of Károlyi, Order of the Sapphire Star!!" A proud, statuesque woman, the black hair tumbling down to mid-back held back only by a thin silvery circlet, strides into the room. Darivan and Sylvia will recognize her as being one of, if not the, premier mages of Restov for not quite the last decade.

"Coalhouse Porter of the International Businessmen. Alysandra Janus of the International Businessmen." The herald's face has the sort of expression you get when you take a sip of milk only to discover that it's spoiled. A dark-haired half-orc with green-tinged skin wearing somber, restrained courtier's garb, and a copper-haired half-elf in an elegant emerald gown pause at the entrance, give a courtesy towards the Lord Mayor, then a deeper one towards the king (though the half-orc keeps his head and eyes up and wary), and enter the scrum; they are the last, and the Herald retires. (Or at least can stop yallering out names.)

Approaching Croaker and Lady Senjak, Bartek notices the captains gaze falls upon him. As Bartek moves to speak with Croaker another pair, Aolis Greenborn and Nakir, beat him to it.

Well I've been meaning to introduce myself to those two anyway, might as well do it all at once

Walking up to the four of them, "Hello, if it is not too much of an imposition, I am Bartek Yaroslav, and this is my second in command, Kliment Yaroslav.", Bartek says while extending his hand to Lady Senjak. "We represent the Swords of the Legion. If you have a minute, I would like to speak with you about the expedition"

::Kaellin Greenleaf/Sylvara Amalur::

The smile fades a bit as Sylvara talks about possibly helping the rest of Mageford with their fool plan. Great, another Elven patriot. "Not as interesting a story as you might think. My father, Dorifan, left Kyonin to study the ancient ruins that dot the landscape in the River Kingdoms and Brevoy. My mother was a Forlorn elf who was traveling to Kyonin when she came here, to Restov, and found the land peaceful enough that she decided to stay. She met my father, and they were married. I grew up here in the city, learning both my father's traditional Elven magical arts and skill at arms from my mother. I eventually began blending the two together to create a style where I use magic to enhance my martial prowess, allowing for greater versatility than either style alone. Eventually, I studied at the Aldori dueling academy, although my teachers disliked my blending of magic and sword. Eventually, I left and began adventuring, fighting against bandits and the like. After several years of doing so, I came to Restov for some downtime. Shortly after, some of my younger kin and their friends came up to Restov, seeking to learn from my father. However, as he was already training my cousin Calaida, he suggested I take the down time to teach them my style, although they favor a different blade than I do. More 'traditionally Elven' is how they put it. When word of this expedition came through, they thought it would be a wonderful opportunity to gain some experience, and convinced me to serve as the representative for the group, since I'm from the city."

Darivan and Sylvia are gently chatting by a table laden with food, casually listening to the guests being announced. When the second-to-last guest is announced, they nearly choke over their snacks.

They looked at each other, their expressions of shock saying a lot to the other.
What? Really? She's here? Darivan comments incredulously.

Wha... Bu... How... Ca... I... Nee...

How are you stuttering? I didn't even realize it was possible to stutter through body language.

Once they recover, Darivan and Sylvia go over to where Elena is standing, and, after a minute of gathering courage, timidly walk up to her and introduce themselves.

"Um, hello, Vikontesse Comăneci. My name is Darivan Orlovsky, former squire of Sir Aethelred Waincroft." Darivan timidly introduces himself. He glances over at Sylvia, who seems slightly awestruck and speechless. He raises an eyebrow.
Wow. You're never speechless.

"And my friend is Mistress Sylvia Calrian, former apprentice of Master Cragjumper. It is truly an honor to meet you. What brings you to this fine event?"

:: Tobias Kowalskiy ::
Momentarily taken aback by the barrage of questions from--going by the voice--a relatively young child, Theodric chuckles softly before answering them. As he does so, he idly wonders which family claims this curious scion; strangely, though he recognizes the youngster instantly, Darvan decides against informing his friend of Tobias' identity for reasons known only to himself and Irori. "Yes, it is. The style I followed requires considerable footwork, and my teachers were unable and, quite rightly, unwilling to modify things merely for the sake of a single student." The second question takes a bit more thought on Theodric's part, as he wants to ensure that his words aren't misunderstood by anyone, least of all his former school's members, who will undoubtly find some way of learning what he said if they choose to make the effort--or if someone runs to them bearing tales. "It isn't that their training was at fault, by no means. It was actually quite excellent, and had I been in the sort of fight for which it was meant, I have no doubt that I would have done very well. But that's the problem right there, it wasn't the right sort of training needed for that fight, not at all. We fought as individuals by preference and in close quarters by necessity, with a great deal of ultimately pointless flourishes and posturing. The bandits, on the other hand, fought in coordinated groups, from a distance whenever possible, and kept the displays of ego to minimum." Theodric pauses to shake his head as he remember what a fool he was back then, and so misses the chance to address the third question before the child shifts to questioning Darvan.

Darvan, for his part, is quite impressed by the perception displayed by the young royal, and more than a little entertained by how those piercing questions were delivered with absolutely no fear or hesitation. Finding himself the subject of that keen attention, he bows his head politely before replying. "A very accurate surmise on your part. I am indeed the one who taught him, though I was guided in my efforts by the Enlightened One, who occasionally saw fit to use my humble self as a conduit to deliver certain knowledge. Not sharing my friend's impairment, there were some things I simply could not help him with, and it was at those moments that Master of Masters would briefly intervene with the required instruction." Frowning in thought, Darvan decides that a bit of clarification is warranted, lest anyone perhaps get the mistaken impression that Irori was taking special interest in Theodric's teaching.

"I do not know how familiar you are with the teachings of Irori, and this is no place or time for what Theodric assures me is my usual habit of long-winded explanations. So I will be very brief and state that it a core aspect of our shared faith that the limitations of the body and mind, whether imposed on us by ourselves or by outside elements, are to be overcome whenever possible. Though this is an intensely personal effort, the Enlightned One does offer guidance when it is needed, typically when one has reached an obstacle that simply cannot be passed without assistance from another." Having hopefully answered the prince's last question satisfactorily, and unintentionally answered the third in the process, Darvan casually moves to refocuse the attention on Theodric, whom he feels would benefit from the opportunity--both for himself and as the Dashing Harvesters' chosen representative--to gain a bit of direct, and hopefully favorable, attention from a member of the new royal family. Particularly since Darvan has taken pains to keep his friend unaware of the boy's status, which would certainly alter how the swordsman speaks and acts in an effort to avoid offending the presumed heir.

Theodric, meanwhile, is quite strongly reminded of his own childhood, and how he shamelessly approached hard-bitten adventurers, travelers, or anyone else who looked interesting while they patronized his parents' little inn, and talked them into educating or entertaining him. Moved by nostalgia, he makes a spur-of-the-moment decision to repay what he now recognizes as incredible forbearance on their part by doing the same for his unseen interrogator. Until the boy is finally pulled away by his minder, Theodric regales him with stories of his time with the Dashing Harvesters, with occasional interjections from Darvan, who amusedly offers what he claims is the truth to several of Theodric's anecdotes. Only when Tobias is well out of earshot does Darvan quietly mention his identity to Theodric, who takes the revelation with little more than thoughtful silence.

Nakir cocks an eyebrow at the man.

"What makes me so special exactly?"

He says that as if his appearance was not enough but still it is a valid point. He continues before any answer is forth coming.

"That aside I have been searched. If you wish a more pointed search I have no problem stripping if required."

Among fey being naked was nothing new or strange. Still he was looking forward to spreading that little tid bit along with the threat if things went that way. Things were getting fun already, how deep were they going to dig themselves with their paranoia.

::The Black Company::

Aolis spies some other members of the black company before answering.

"I was just curious as to the Black Company's plans and intentions during this journey we are all embarking on together. Perhaps your thoughts on it or ambitions. We may be able to aid one another or at least stay out of your way."

He gives a small chuckle at the end. Shifting his head ever so slightly as if to give a nod of acknowledgement.

::Aramil Wellys::

Sylvara hangs onto Aramil's every word, her eyes brimming with excitement. She bobs her head every now and then. A stupid smile is plastered on her face.

::Aramil Wellys::

Kaellin glances at his companion, then back to Aramil. "Don't mind her when she gets like this. She's just memorizing everything to write it down later," he says. "She's kinda obsessed like that. Urk!" The half-elf grimaces after being poked in the ribs by an annoyed Sylvara.

Re-composing himself, he addresses Aramil. "In any case, I think it's great that we'll be working with a fellow adventurer on this. I was worried we'd be out of place if everyone was a bunch of nobles. I'd be interested in swapping stories, especially about fighting bandits. I used to do a lot of that growing up in Hymbria, and during the early years of our adventuring in the River Kingdoms."

::László::

"Ha! Not so much, no," Acaciano quips back, confirming what László knew of the Green Faith's appreciation for man-made boundaries.

"But I'm still enough of a patriot --you heard my introduction, as you said-- to want this mission to succeed. It'd happen with or without The Voice of Trees, but I truly believe we'll all be better off with Nature as our ally. So I suppose you could say my aim is the same as everyone elses: the help our new King be best positioned to succeed."

Acaciano plucks a handful of drinks from a passing server's tray, and doles them out to those interested.

"So tell me László, how many of my Green brothers have you met? A fair few?" Acaciano appears genuinely interested.