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

Game Master The Wyrm Ouroboros

::Grey Flame::
Lyda nods along with what Rennick says and makes a few more mental notes to add to her actual notes. She really wished she had kept them instead of... Lyda turns towards the stands with the group leader's gear and wondered if it was alright to take back one of her items. "I have the one name," she says turning back. She also does not care to elaborate on that. "Once we reach our destination, I will be sure to forward any sightings of undead or suspicious villages to your group. Deneb," she says pointing out her diminutive friend, "rides a Roc and has magic to send messages." Lyda stays a few more minutes to work on specifics then heads over to her stand to find her notebook.

"Looks like I won the pot," Deneb says, joining her at her gear.

"Pot?" she asks?

"Yep. Some of us made a bet on how long it would take for you to take something from the stand and what. I got the time right but Winnie got the item," he says, smiling up at her. She ignores it as best she can. If she didn't, she couldn't remain annoyed with him.

:: Rytier Teodor Čierny ::
Guiding Theodric along, Darvan speaks up once he notices that the attention of his intended target is fixed upon the approaching duo. "Greetings to you, Rytier Čierny. A pleasure to be in your presence once more, after so many years, and you seem to have passed those years in excellent health as well. As we met only a short time, and so long ago, allow me to reintroduce myself. I am Darvan Singra. You quite likely already know who my companion here is." At Darvan's side, Theodric stiffens and seems, for just a moment, as though he's going to duck back into the crowd in an effort to avoid this conversation. However, he checks the motion before it truly begins and instead draws closer to his former teacher, reluctance plain to see in his posture.

As he draws even with the smiling paladin who led him here, Theodric's decorated mask turns toward him, and there is a palpable sensation of a glare being directed at Darvan by the blind swordsman; Theodric is definitely not happy about this. Whatever his thoughts on the matter, Theodric isn't one to back down from a challenge, a personality trait he had long before he met Darvan or took Irori as his patron. Straightening up and squaring his shoulders, he takes a short step forward with his right hand extended in greeting. "Hello Master Čierny," the swordsman offers politely.

:: Amavin ::

"She's no slouch, that's for certain, but don't tell her I actually told you that; she'd be insufferable for a month." Porter takes another brief sip of what's in his cup, mulls it over, then finally swallows. "No, I expect Romanov will get her in the technicals; she's a bit weak on paperwork wordage, or so I'm told. Scads better than me, of course, but ..." The half-orc regards Amavin for a moment, then gives a tusked half-grin. "I'll let her know. Thanks for stopping me; a lot of these people wouldn't've made the first move, so now they know I'm, you know ..." The half-grin goes to full-grin. "Housebroken. I'll let you go." And with that, and unless Amavin makes a point of pinning him down, he'll ease on away.

:: Black Company ::

Eyeing the Croaker's outfit as he speaks, Kliment replies "We will do our best to get as much information to you as possible, and then get out of your way."

Well I have what I needed here Bartek thinks best move on and leave these two alone

"Yes we shall do our utmost to help you, and thank you for the warning about getting out of your way", Bartek says to Croaker and the Lady once Kliment is finished.

"Also, thank you for your time, we will not take any more of it as I am sure there are more interesting people you'd rather talk to at the moment." Bartek says while giving them a polite bow.

To Kliment, Bartek says, "Come, we should pay our respects to the new King for accepting us into the expedition."

Kliment bows to the two members of the Black company as well and follows after Bartek.

Once they are away from the Black Company's officers, Kliment will say to Bartek, "We should get uniforms as unique as theirs are, it would help the group stand out as a cohesive whole. And given our numbers we would do well to come off as a single group."

Bartek replies, "Lets think about it tomorrow. For now we go pay our respects to the new King and the Lord Mayor."

:: King Chalm ::

Bartek and Kliment head over to where King Chalm is located and wait until he is free to speak for a moment. When he is free, Bartek addresses him, "Your highness, I just wanted to take a moment to thank you for your acceptance into the expedition. I consider it an honor to serve under you again. Myself and my brother will do our utmost to further your cause in the River Kingdoms."

:: Dargaryen ::

Laszlo doubts for a second before answering. "I am here with the Requiem Wolves."

Then he goes on. "Well, I myself am a follower and representative of Our Lady Seramaydiel. I... was the only one in Restov, and hope to spread the cult in the glorious new nation." When he realises he is in front of a member of the Erastil clergy, he adds "Of course, that doesn't mean I want to monopolise the congregations. I... we... just believe in freedom of choosing. And what better chance for that than a brand new country?"

Not sure if he's talked too much, Laszlo tries to turn things a bit. "It is in our best interest, and that's for granted, that King Chalm succeeds in his endeavour, and is nice to see our comrades in other faiths are of the same ideas. I was a bit... cautious... about which of those faiths we would encounter."

Despite Sylvara's urgings, Kaellin mostly kept to himself after speaking with Amavin. While Sylvara handle the polite greetings, the half-elf forced himself not to look bored or uncomfortable, no matter how much he actually was. He noticed that they had meandered near the mannequins displaying the possessions of each of the expedition leaders. At least here was something he could appreciate. That was when he heard a nearby man speaking about his sword.

:: William Lawsrick ::

"That's a really nice blade," Kaellin said, nodding in appreciation. "You must have a lot of good stories with it. My own is checked in, but that's my bow over there. Hymbrian-made, and a gift from my mother for when I embarked on my own adventure."

Kaellin turned to the other man, and offered his hand. "Kaellin Greenleaf, of the the Reckless. Nice to meet you."

Staring at the man whom had just backhandedly insulted him William crosses his arms and responds.

"Bit rude of you don't you think. Man comes over tryin to be friendly and yea insult his history. Guess kindness is a rare comodety with swordsman round your parts."

::Kaellin Greenleaf::

William turns his head to Kaellin and smiles at his kind words. William responds while stroking his beard.

"Sure has seen some use, meet my wife with that blade in my hand. Damn near died that day... Still, one of the best of my life. Oh, And the names William Lawsrick." William locks eyes with the rude swordsman. "Leader, of the shivering exiles."

::Father László::

Darg nods at Lazlo, "There is room in this world for all faiths of goodness and light. I look forward to learning more about Lady Seramaydiel. I also look forward to working with the Requiem Wolves during the coming expedition. Please let me know if there is anything I can do to assist you or your company." Dargaryen then sighs and looks around at the careening socialites. "I grow tired of this tedious formality. A soldier's place is in the field and not the ballroom. I am eager for us to finally begin the campaign to retake the Stolen Lands."

:: Ishana ::
"Duty is a harsh mistress," Chalm agrees, "but I'm certain I'll take you up on your offer; most things are helped by having new eyes take a look at it, a new voice asking questions that make the ones who plan explain everything - and in explaining, actually think things completely through. And then there are other reasons." He gives a quick upward twitch of the corner of his mouth closest to Ishana, then gives her a slight bow. "Mistress Tamanna," he says in farewell before he turns to a comparatively unexpected courtier, his mildly-bookish young son Tobias, with whom he begins discussing the boy's latest encounter - in this case with a couple of swordsmen.

:: Lyda ::
Though there are no ropes or anything keeping people off the dais upon which the pedestals are set (the mannequins bearing the leaders' gear being on top of those), it seems to be a common courtesy to not get up amongst the weapons and armor - in part because there are watchdogs with bows and crossbows and spears and other nicely sharp items watching the crowd, a handful of them , and making a move towards such items might be a bad idea, but also in part because in the five or ten feet between the dais and the crowd's general ebb and flow there are at least three dozen artisans (a host of apprentices or, possibly, journeymen gathered for the evening to get as much as possible of the detail of the leaders' gear down on paper for inclusion into the painting.

Lyda's crossing into the unstated 'no-man's land' of the gear itself causes a bit of a disturbance. "No, no, step away, step away!!" comes the self-important exclamations of Mssr. Kurian Hasselicht, the Galtian painter who has been commissioned by the Dragonscale Throne to create a grand painting commemorating the day. "Stop that, young woman --" Hasselicht himself is probably in his late 30's, early 40's "-- you're getting in the way and ruining the light!!"

Of perhaps more (or greater) concern is the shifting of a couple of crossbows up on the balcony nearest where Lyda's gear is, and the movement of one of the closest spear-carriers towards her; the way he's carrying his weapon, he seems to have some idea what to do with it. "Ma'am," says the guard, "please step away from the equipment."

:: Kaellin, William ::
Behind the line of sketching artists, the trio of swordsmen pause at William's statement in order to look at him, then the one who'd spoken replies with a certain snotty amusement, "Well, here in Restov we have a way of settling accounts when someone takes offense at the work of someone else's tongue. Are you trying to indicate, in your clearly backwoods manner, that you take offense at my words and my tone? Do you call challenge, sir, or are you craven?"

"Difficult without a blade," asides one of the others to the third, his tone dry.

"This is Restov," the third replies with a certain irony. "We'll manage. If the Lord Mayor permits, and if the King's security returns our swords, we can use the table in the Council Chambers and never have to leave the party." He looks at Kaellin and says, "Will you stand second for him?"

:: Bartek ::
Captain Croaker nods a farewell, though Lady Senjak gives a smile and murmurs a platitude about new-found friends which, though pleasant, seems to perhaps fall a little short of her earlier sparkle.

Chalm is somewhat more interested, especially when Bartek reveals that he's previously served under the then-commander. "Good to have someone experienced with my way of doing things," he agrees. "When and where did you serve?"

:: Aramil ::
The monk leads the magus past the cluster of monks (here, six or seven of them, most with their hoods drawn back to expose their faces) and further through the crowd to where a pair of monks stand, one tallfolk and one smallfolk, both of them with their hoods concealing their faces, their hands in their sleeves. As Aramil arrives, the shorter one exposes pale hands and lifts them to its hood, drawing the grey cloth back to expose a gnome's visage - gnome, but leached of color and liveliness, the things that make Porablum such a vivacious companion. Not quite white, the middle-aged gnome - female, you are fairly certain - has more of a faintly grey skin tone and hair color, the latter of which looks to be long and simply kept, perhaps in a basic braid.

"Master Aramil," says the bleachling with a dispassionate distance to her voice, as if she were reading a particularly boring tax list. "Thank you for agreeing to come see me. And thank you for your attempt at defending me." She nods to the monk who led you here, who bows and withdraws back into the crowd. The other monk, still hidden in the deep hood, hands within sleeves, remains silently at her shoulder. "While my presence, my existence, is something that makes most gnomes upset, I hope to convince you, and with you convince your compatriot, that The Inevitable" -- and you can almost hear the capitalization -- "is not actually a contagion."

:: William Lawsrick ::

Kaellin narrows his eyes at offending swordsman. It's not the first time that these types in Restov. Although he has only just introduced himself to Lawsrick, his annoyance at these preening idiots and Lawsrick's straight-forward talk makes the half-elf instantly want to side with him.

"Damn straight I will," he growls out. Turning to William, "If you'll have me."

Williams eyes light up at the suggestion of a duel. A grin crossing his face William says with a low voice.

"Restov aughta be ashamed of you. Warrior's only good as his manners, and clearly whoever raised you didn't teach ya any. It'd be a pleasure to do their job for them."

::Kaellin Greenleaf::

William flicks his gaze twords Kaellin, his smirk widening.

"I won't make you be my second, but if if you do choose to be... You've nothin to worry about." With that William chuckles and returns his attention to the swordsmen.

"Well? Have your cronies go get permission for the duel then. I've little need of false friends at party's so I'm a might understaffed."

Just a few feet away making pleasantries with various attendees, Sylvara whips her head around upon hearing her companion's words, jaw dropping, and in a rare moment, speechless. Excusing herself, it takes her every ounce of willpower not to frantically rush in. Instead, she forces herself to remain calm as she seemingly glides in to stand between the pair of leaders and the trio of swordsmen.

"Gentlemen, the party has only just started, we should be enjoying ourselves," the elf says in a light tone with a smile. "Let us make peace an auspicious start to this great endeavor."

Darivan and Sylvia were examining some of the mannequins of gear when a pair of commotions caught their attention. The first was a group of men who seemed intent on dueling in the middle of the party. The second was a woman who seemed to be trying to retrieve an item from her belongings, and was drawing the attention of the massive number of bowmen watching the gear. They share a sideways glance.
And here I hoped this evening would go without incident. I knew we should have tried to sneak in something, Sylvia sighs.

Oh, be realistic. It's not that bad. Besides, you saw security. We couldn't have gotten anything through. In any case, there's a very simple solution available to us: we don't get involved, Darivan replies with a smug grin.

At this, Sylvia has to bite back a quick laugh, You think you're so funny, don't you?

What do you mean? I'm hilarious. You want to help the lady, and I'll try to intervene with the potential duel? Darivan chuckles, inclining his head in turn to Lyda and the gathering of men.

Ugh. You know I hate arrows. On her shoulder, Gwaihir squawks his agreement.

Look, it won't come to that, okay? Just… try to intervene peacefully.

Right, because I'm so diplomatic Sylvia raises an eyebrow.

I'm ignoring you. Darivan strides off, heading towards the tense situation by the painters.

∷Kaellin, William ∷

A young man strides up to you with a cocky smile. His right arm is bare, and is black, as though it had once been burned and never healed. On his left sleeve, you spot a symbol of a fist grasping a lightning bolt. "Gentlemen, please. As much as I would love to watch a good duel, now really isn't the time. We have two hours before the Oath-Taking. Must we resort to drawing steel? If it's a matter of insult, that can hardly be excused." A wide grin spreads across his face, and he turns to William, "But let the punishment fit the crime. Humiliate him without drawing steel. A well-planned remark can cut far deeper than any blade. Use your wit and cunning to strike him down. Any fool can swing a sword. It is the sign of a true master swordsman to exchange words like a parry and riposte. Unless, I suppose, you're afraid you might lose? Is all of your skill spent sharpening a blade, leaving none for a sharp mind?"

Sylvia sighs and tentatively approaches the woman as she is warned to step away from the mannequins. Taking a deep breath, she puts a hand on Lyda's shoulder to get her attention, "I don't think this is the wisest idea at the moment. What do you need from your gear? I might be able to help you somehow. I'm Sylvia, by the way. What's your name?"

Sylvia is shaking with borderline social terror, though she's doing her best to not let it show and hopes her robes hide the rest.

:: Theodric / Darvan ::
Darvan's got big brass ones, the size of singing temple bowls and then some, that's for sure and for certain. Teodor is not the only swordlord there; seven others, three women and four men, are gathered together to talk with Čierny, he and two others (one man, one woman) being the three main conversationalists; the other five are, likely, students to some degree or another. Darvan's interruption - and introduction of Theodric - brings silence to the trio for a couple long moments while, at a guess, several of the students try to decide if it's worthwhile challenging Darvan for interrupting their masters, and those masters consider whether or not they should ignore the pair.

"Teodoric," comes Teodor's basso growl in his typical mispronunciation of Theodric's given name (he isn't actually from around here, being a Mivon transplant) and the Misty Wave Master takes a step forward as couple of students in his way quickly ease aside, perhaps encouraged by a gesture made by the black-haired woman who'd been taking part in the conversation. She and the other man look on as Čierny hesitates, then takes Valtrava's hand in his own thick grip; shaking hands is something swordlords are vigorously trained out of doing, saving it for only a very, very few very, very very trusted compatriots, and Čierny's doing so causes the eyebrows of the woman to lift ever so slightly. "It is good to know that you are doing so well. You will be knowing Dáma Dashen’ka Sobecki, of the Liquid Cloud School?" Sobecki, the black-haired woman, gives the pair a courteous, if somewhat restrained, nod of greeting. "And of course you are knowing the Aldori."

Ah. Yes. Darvan's only exposure to The Swordlord had been the distant vision of him at Red Table Square, and he'd been paying attention to other things at the time, and the exquisite dueling sword on his hip had been concealed by the students gathered about the trio, but if he'd seen the last, Darvan would undoubtedly have known ... and perhaps could have warned Theodric. As it is, Rytier Kanimir Khavortorov's nod of acknowledgement is even less effusive than Sobecki's, but to be fair to the sixty-year-old man his sour expression doesn't look like it's substantially changed. (At any time in the last twenty years.)

William crosses his arms as Sylvia steps between him and the swordsmen, his face steels even more as Darivan suggests a duel of the verbal sort.

"I don't take challenges lightly, We're going to do this just like we did back in Irisen. Metal to metal, blade to blade, I will not have some pompous swordsman insult my history and equipment without getting a taste of how good both of em are."

As ripples of the challenge work their way out from the center, where William, Kaellin, and their opposition stand trading barbs, eventually Acaciano and Tai take notice. Slinking towards the action, they silently take note of the goings-on from a front row seat.

"Keep an eye out, how this is handled will be a good sign of the rest of the trip, I think..." Acaciano whispers to Tai in a hushed voice.

::The Bleachling Monk::

Aramil greets the gnome monk, finding the complete lack of color to her somewhat disconcerting. Perhaps it was because he'd spent so much time around Porablum and her love of vibrancy, but he could feel the difference between this monk and the chattering gnomes a bit away.

"I must confess to not knowing much about your...condition. Is it alright to call it that? Porablum almost never speaks of it, and I've never encountered one such as yourself. What can you tell me about it?"

::Gear::
Lyda ignores the artist, waving a hand at his words and commenting, "I am much older than you." While she did look like a "young woman", she'd likely seen three times the years he had. Still, that much experience did not warn her of the faux pas she was about to commit. The embarrassing part being getting stuck by lots of arrows. As a guard comes up she looks right at him and states, "But it's mine," as if that should have been obvious. A hiss from the gathered artists draws attention to them and downward. Deneb nervously points out the snipers. Lyda takes note of one, then two, then three, all looking at her intently. She looks at them confused. It still hadn't clicked that they thought she might steal something from the other stands. Her gear was her's and the rest was not. It was all just objects. Why were they so protective of it? It could be replaced.

::Sylvia Calrian::
She turns as a hand touches her shoulder. "I need my notebook," she says answering the question. She turns back to the guard. "Why can I not have what is mine?"

:: Chalm ::

Standing up a bit straighter, Bartek tells the king, "I served under you in a unit on the Numerian Border during your first year of command there as a squad leader, though I had been there for four years already. I would have served longer but familial duties led me away." Bartek's face becomes more of a frown as he mentions his familial duties. "Regardless, the year I spent in your service was remarkable. The change that came over the conflict due to your influence doubtlessly saved many lives on both sides of the border."

During this exchange, Kliment stands back and lets Bartek take all of the Kings attention. While he is a Cavalier of the Order of the Dragon he has never become comfortable around those of importance.

"Sorry, Sylvie, but I think enough words have been sparred already," Kaellin says, without breaking his gaze away from the swordsmen.

He ignores the glare of frustration Sylvara shoots at him. Or is it exasperation? The two sort have blended together these days...

:: Rytier Teodor Čierny ::
Theodric blanches behind his mask as he realizes the social quagmire into which Darvan has dragged him, and only the sure knowledge that a retreat from this situation, however graciously made, would reflect ill on both himself and his former master keeps him in place. Still, he can't stop another unseen glare aimed at his friend as he replies. "I have heard of the Dama, though I have not had the pleasure of an introduction before this evening. And everyone knows of the Aldori, of course, though this is another introduction I've never had the privilege of. I do humbly beg your pardon, Master Čierny, for I would waited on a better moment to engage you, had I but known that you were already occupied with such noteworthy personages." The last few words are spoken in a biting tone, as his masked face turns for a third time toward Darvan, making it clear from whom he expected such a warning. Darvan, however, is quite obviously unfazed by the displeasure aimed his way, simply smiling broadly as he examines what must be students of some special merit, perhaps even chosen apprentices, to be at this party in the company of such worthies.

Strangling his irritation--and quite wishing it were a certain paladin's thick neck instead right now--the swordsman decides that boldness is the only course available to him; he might come to ruin, but the effort will surely count for more than a withdrawal will. And who knows, he might even get through intact! "Though you are quite likely already aware, I'm here tonight as a representative of one the groups pledging fealty to the new king before joining his expedition. It promises to be quite an interesting venture for everyone involved, and I can't help but wonder at your thoughts on the matter." As he finishes, Darvan speaks up behind him, and Theodric only barely holds on to his temper as the paladin cheerfully digs his friend in deeper. He dearly wishes he knew just what in all the Hells Darvan was up to right now, because he's only seeing the possible disaster this conversation can become.

***Darvan***
"Indeed, having one of your own, however former that relationship might be, in such a potentially influential position must be of some passing interest to you. While there are undoubtedly a few other schools that claim such a distinction this evening, the numbers are small enough that each such occurence merits at least some attention. And, of course, none of those swordlords are from your school." As the paladin speaks, that smile never leaves his face, and he doesn't cease his open appraisal of the junior swordlords in this gathering; he's very obviously having a good time right now. Finally, he points to one of the unnamed women and quite unexpectedly asks of her. "You look like you're reasonably light on your feet. Would you like to dance? I'm not very good at it myself, but I think you'll be worth the effort. We can wait until something suitable is played, if you want a particular style to dance to." Hearing Darvan's attempt at a pickup, now of all the times he could have chosen, Theodric can't stop the facepalm--or maskpalm rather--and the softly muttered "Why me," that accompanies it.

Azrael and Hareth are drawn to the impending duel by the gathering crowd and watch from the edges, curious, but seeing no need to intervene as others have already done so with varying degrees of success.

"So, do you think it will escalate to an actual sword duel?" Azrael whispers to Hareth.

"I don't know... it appears they may end up verbally sparring instead... no one's actually drawn steel yet." Hareth replies back in a whisper.

"The Aldori are rarely placated easily, and once challenged even more rarely back down. Shall we place bets on the method and winner of the duel?" Azrael chuckles at the idea. "Surely someone is taking bets among the crowd already, or should we keep this just between ourselves?" Azrael looks about among those watching to determine if anyone is taking bets on the outcome of this little disagreement.

"You forget a third outcome, which is the king himself or one of his envoys or guards puts a stop to this before a duel actually begins." Hareth brings up.

"In such a case, all bets are off? Or they just finish it after the party, though the Swordlords are not easily put off once insulted or challenged. I just hope no one dies or is too seriously injured.. it would put a damper on the night's festivities. Good thing so many healers are present."

Tomas notices something is happening near the gear mannequins, and walks casually in that direction. Seeing someone facing three local nobles, he fears the worst. Which is confirmed when he hears the conversation at hand.

Not knowing what has happened, he dares not interrupt. He looks left and right, though, to see if he can find anyone with authority enough besides the king.

::Lyda::
"Other than all the soldiers ready to spear us? That would be the most compelling reason for me. Other than that, well, we did have to give up practically everything at the door that might be usable as a weapon, or could be considered dangerous. They haven't searched our possessions, so far as I know, so they have no idea if you have a sword in there, or what you're trying to get. If you really need your notebook, as the head of security to retrieve it- also, could we move? I'm not terribly comfortable with all these pointy things aimed at me. Thanks- or just wait a couple of hours until after the oath-taking. Why do you need it right now so much?" Sylvia says calmly, though there is a bit of nervousness in her voice that can't be hidden.

::William, Kaellin::
Darivan sighs at William's insistence, then shrugs.
"Very well. I've done my part. Are you sure this can't wait for later, at the very least? Perhaps after the Oaths? And are you certain this can't be resolved peacefully? Words can cut deeper than any steel, and are far more refined. I realize that things may be different in Irrisen, but in Brevoy, we pride ourselves just as much on a quick wit as we do a quick blade, and this is a civilized function."

:: Kaellin, William, Sylvara Amalur, Darivan Orlovsky, Acaciano, Azrael, Tomáš ::
:: Hereafter, The Duel ::
The swordpact duelist who so casually offended William looks at Sylvara with more than a little scornful contempt - as if any swordlord ever would back down from a duel! - but looks mildly interested in the suggestion given by Darivan, lifting an upwards palm towards William - but the Irrisen has the bit between his teeth, and nothing but steel will answer for the insult, and by the expression on the swordsman's face, that's just fine by him. He takes a step back to talk in a low tone with the second of his friends, the dry one; the ironic third shifts to screen the two, then mentions casually to Kaellin, "You might consult with your principle as to the desired format of the duel - what's allowed, to what point, that sort of thing."

The eyes of the nearby guardsman move rapidly over the participants and the growing attraction - there are fifteen or twenty people (including the PCs) paying attention at this point - and then shift beyond, wary enough to understand that this might be a distraction, just like the problem his cohort is having down at the other end might be. But that's what the bowmen are for, right?

:: Lyda, Sylvia Calrian ::
When Lyda clarifies what she needs, the guard nods, his gaze flicking smoothly from Lyda to Sylvia, pausing for a moment, then to Deneb and another pause to take in the details of the halfling, then towards others nearby, in case this is a distraction. "Just have to ask, ma'am," says the young man, giving a slight gesture of his head to indicate the area behind the artists, "and we'll arrange for it to be gotten for you." Lifting one hand, he makes a quick couple of gestures - perhaps towards the archers in the gallery - and continues. "Please step back, and when, ah, whomever it is arrives, you can let them know where the item is, so that they can get it for you?" He doesn't think it's even necessary to mention that carried on the twenty or so mannequins up there are enough weapons to equip half the crowd.

After a couple of minutes, (and presuming Lyda isn't insistent on getting her notebook herself), a harried-looking half-orc in well-made but bland clothing in shades of brown wearing a patch of the silver-phoenix-on-royal-blue (clearly some sort of second assistant to the third undersecretary of the paranoiac orchestrating security) shows up. "Hey," he says to the eyes-always-active guard in the rough tones of someone who has too many things to do at once. "What's up?"

"Lady wants her notebook," concisely explains the guard, nodding towards Lyda.

"Oh. Um. I dunno, I guess that's okay. Where is it?" asks the half-orc.

"Her stuff," says the guard, gesturing over his shoulder towards the stand Lyda was heading for.

"Oh. Well, crap. Um ..." He eyes the stand, then looks over at Lyda. "D'you really need it, ma'am?" he asks, clearly hoping the answer will be 'no'.

:: Bartek ::
The king nods at Bartek's response, and winnows out details of his service - unit name and number, location along the border, that sort of thing. He'll talk - for several minutes, which is about several minutes more than he's given to most of the locals - about events in which Bartek took part however peripherally, goings-on along his portion of the border with Numeria. "Such things are unfortunate," he agrees after hearing of the Yaroslav's problems with the raids and whatnot. "That sort of violence is one of the main things I'm concerned about - and it's why I've selected so many individuals like yourself, individuals with experience, drive, and just as importantly, a sense of justice, balance, and restraint. Without those, bandit hunting is just vengeance."

:: Azrael ::
There are, in fact, five or six people in the group of roughly twenty to thirty near the challenge that are placing wagers on which of the one or the other will win.

:: Theodric ::
A most unladylike snort comes from Sobecki, while the Aldori - rather as expected - remains entirely self-controlled and silent, although both of them do murmur courteous greetings to Theodric. After a glance at Darvan, Čierny states to his former student, "It is good thing that is being done. The lands between Restov and Mivon are very messy, having them cleaned up and under good, mmm, management" - Theodric, though not Darvan, will know this to be something of a class-based insult coming from a Swordlord, 'cowering merchants' and all - "can only improve things between Restov, Mivon, this new king. So it is good thing. I am glad you are willing to do this. Gets the heart pounding again, eh?" Teodor otherwise utterly ignores Darvan's sally.

The nearest swordswoman looks at Darvan and gives him a smile - though a rather insincere one. "I'd take you up on that, but they took my dancing shoes away for the evening. Besides," and she gestures around at the room in which the gathering is packed, "while it's amazing that this place fits this many people, it doesn't leave much room for ... dancing." She turns to address one of her compatriots, saying in a not-murmur, "I thought Irorans were all about balance and self-control, not manic insanity. Or am I thinking of someone else?"

:: Everyone ::
A cheer rises from the back end of the room, a continuation of the intermittent hoots and hollars of whatever drinking game or contest whomever it is has going.

:: Aramil ::
"It is as much a condition as any maturation is, Master Wellys," the monk says with serenity. "And forgive me, I did not introduce myself. Azaneth Nymaah of the Silver River Monasteries." She holds out a gnome-small but almost paper-like hand (in color and, should you shake it, a certain amount of dryness and texture, too), afterwards tucking them back into her sleeves. "There are few who do know much about it, Master Wellys," she continues. "I used to think as they did. Bleaching was death, and to stave it off - the way the fore-kin of the gnomes forever do in the First World - is to remain alive. And the truth bears some similarity to that thought, but their idea is a glistening puddle left after a spring rain, while the truth is a deepwater lake fed by both snowmelt and hot springs - so much more complex, and yet in perfectly attuned balance."

She seems a little sad as she looks past you, towards the agglomeration of gnomes hidden by the dozens of people (and, yes, monks) between the three of you and them. "But the belief that bleaching is death is the belief of a child who thinks that growing up is their death. Alas, for most it is, for this belief is set so deep in my kind that they give up the will to live as they reach the very cusp of maturity." First her eyes, then her face shifts to face your own. "Do not all children have their obsessions, Master Wellys? I have seen it in humans and elves, in orcs and goblins, in puppies and cats. Do not all adolescents crave adventure and new experiences? Even the dwarfs and the dragons, the giants and kobolds, the pony and the horse seek to explore and discover their world. But only gnomes feel that to give up their obsession, to become mature is to have that world end. And so ..." Her hand emerges to make a gesture of offering, silently proferring the end result: that nearly all Bleaching gnomes die.

Returning the hand to its concealment once more, she states, "I cannot perfectly describe to you how I felt; perhaps if I could, I might help other gnomes through the process. For me, though, there was a moment of ... silence, perhaps. Or clarity. Balance might be a word that nears the mark. There was such vast sorrow for all that I felt I had lost, my fascination for the knowledge of the universe. And yet, at that moment ..." She pauses as a cheer goes up across the room, a continuation of the intermittent hoots and hollars of whatever drinking game or contest whomever it is has going. "At that moment," she says in a voice almost too hard to hear, "I knew that such focus was blinding me to so many other things."

William thinks for a moment, pondering the rules that should be in place. After some consideration he pulls his second aside a relays the rules to him.

"So here's my thoughts. First, full blade, first to succumb to their injurys or to give up loses.

Third, no killing, an accident may happen, but if one of us gives or receives an obviously lethal blow we'll be tried as if we had stabbed the other on the street in cold blood. Sound good? This way we won't be handicapped and we will be able to fully express our skill."

William then awaits the response from Kaellin

"Do we have any clerics nearby, or anyone with access to a healing spell?" Darivan calls out to the assembled crowd, casting around for anyone wearing priestly garb.

::Sylvia::
This was becoming difficult. Why was this so difficult? Lyda looks at the guard, the artists, the half-orc, and the many other people currently observing with varying degrees of annoyance and intrigue. Eventually she turns to the half-orc and says "No," holding back her exasperation. "Sorry," she throws in half-halfheartedly after a moment. She walks back into the crowd, ignoring the pompous artist's protests.

She stands next to Sylvia for a long moment saying nothing. Just before she comments on Lyda's silence, she speaks. "I am going to a new place with new animals, plants, dangers and other things. I keep notes on all that so I will be prepared. I learned of a possible necromancer in the area and wished note the things I learned to look for. I don't understand why can't do that." She fumes silently for a moment then turns a confused look to Sylvia. "Why would there be a sword in my notebook?"

::Acaciano::
Deneb let's out a sigh of relief as Lyda wisely retreats. He decides now is a good time for a drink. On his way to the refreshments he notices another commotion near the mannequins. He thought he heard the word "duel" too. Grabbing a quick drink he wanders over. He also sees a familiar face. "Mr. Tree? What's a ll the hub-bub?" Deneb does the halfling equivalent of tiptoeing and ducks low to look between people's legs to see who might be at odds over here.

"Deneb! Nice to see a friendly face." Acaciano calls back, as the Halfling pops up, saying hello.
"It appears a future colleague of ours has gotten himself into a bit of hot water. Though to be honest, I'm almost surprised it took this long for a duel to be challenged."

Tai chimes in, caught up in the excitement and novelty of the evening's affairs. He's spent the last few years of his life bonding with the wilderness, but he did still grow up in Brevoy, admiring the fancy, upper-crust lives of the the dueling elite.
"And that's not the half of it! Some folks are saying they booted a group from the trip already!"

:: William Lawsrick ::

Kaellin listens to William intently. He nods. "Agreed, no objections here. Let's knock the smug out of them." he says with a grin.

He calls for a guard or servant to retrieve his sword from where it was checked in.

:: Darivan Orlovsky ::

Letting out an exasperated sigh, Sylvara restrained herself from adding to the scene by throwing up her hands in frustration. Instead, she rolled her eyes, and stepped back. Kaellin was too stubborn to budge from this now.

"I can help with some healing," she says to Darivan. "Believe me, this wouldn't be the first time. Thank you, though, for trying to help diffuse the situation. It's good to know there some with cooler heads in this party."

Trying to find a way to stop the duel in a polite way, Tomas steps in and tries a wild shot.

"Well, sires, if you allow me just one word..." he starts, and quickly adds before he's interrupted or dismissed "I find myself in the need to remind you that you are in Lord Mayor Ioseph Sellemius' property, and that he's hosting a gala for King Chalm the First. Maybe you would find adequate to inform either of the two that some blood spilling is about to happen before them, in case they feel it improper."

Hoping these words to be enough, he nevermind adds "Also, if I were you I'd try not to injure myself much or else I could be impeded to participate in the imminent expedition. You can always set the matter in a future time, or elsewhere."

::Acaciano::
Deneb Doesn't seem the slightest bit surprised. He nods sagely. "We're in Restov. There was a duel a day the first few days we were here. They are pretty fun to watch but over so quickly most times." His focus switches abruptly to Tai after stating someone was booted. "Really? That's what that was?" He looks in the direction of the commotion almost expecting to see a man, or several men, in chains. "Wonder what they did?" He turns back to the standoff, listening for changes in tone. "I knew this was a good idea. That's always the fun part after coming back from the forest after a few months. Finding all the things that changed. Sometimes it's good. Sometimes it's bad. But that's life. No point running away."

::Lyda

"A sword? Maybe not. But maybe a spell, or a scroll of some sort. The fact is, they don't really know, nor do they care. All they know is that books can be so, so dangerous. They took away basically everything I tried to bring in- even my healing potions. Fortunately-" She's interrupted by a loud cheer coming from the back of the room, "What is that, anyway? You want to check it out? Anyway, you could just tell me. I remember everything, and you can then write it down later if you're worried about forgetting anything."

Darivan shrugs, "I like a good duel just as much as the next person, but I don't want things getting out of control. Besides, I dislike being unarmed when those around me have weapons. I may be impulsive, but even I recognize a bad idea when I see one. This whole setup is just waiting to go wrong." He chuckles, "And I've learned to spot potential trouble coming from a mile away. I've had to keep an eye out for my friend- oh, darn. Where did she go? Just a second, sorry."

The young man slips away into the crowd, but returns after just a minute, "Sorry about that. I didn't see Sylvia, and you would not believe how fast she can get into trouble. What's your name, by the way? I don't think I caught it. I'm Darivan." he extends a blackened hand out to you.

:: Darivan Orlovsky ::

"Oh! That's a coincidence. My name is Sylvara Amalur, a pleasure to make your acquaintance," Sylvara says with a smile, placing her hand into Darivan's. Her eyebrows perk up as she notices the man's distinct appendage.

"You probably get this a lot, but I couldn't help but notice how unique your hand is," she says. "If you are willing, I would love to learn more about it. Once things calm down, of course," she adds, throwing a withering glare at Kaellin, who was much to engrossed in the upcoming duel to notice it.

::Sylvara::

"Sylvara and Sylvia, Darvan and Darivan..." He sighs, "This is going to be a very confusing trip, I can already tell."

When Sylvara mentions Darivan's arm, he smiles, and he holds it up to his face, showing a small blue light on the back of his hand. "The short answer is that a few years ago, I had an accident casting a spell, and it blew half of me halfway to Axis. It turned out quite beneficial, though, as I haven't had to use a torch since." He chuckles to himself quietly.

Darivan notices Sylvara's glance towards the men about to duel, "Let me guess, your second is always getting into trouble as well? Which one is he?"

:: Rytier Teodor Čierny ::
Behind his mask, Theodric smiles, though outwardly, he only nods his agreement with his former master's words. "Indeed Master Čierny, though I'll be honest here and admit that some of that pounding is due more to worry than to excitement. There are a lot of reputations riding on this venture, so much room for failure. And even a blind man can plainly see that not everyone here in Brevoy looks favorably upon this, to say nothing of the Riverfolk and their objections to the whole matter." Theodric snorts with something close to amusement as he speaks. "Right now, I find myself sorely missing those social lessons offered at the school, even if I never was all that good at putting them into actual use. Because, and I know this as surely as I know that winter is cold, I'm certain I'll have need of them at some point in the future."

Theodric is silent for a brief time after saying this, getting his thoughts into order before speaking up again. "Master Čierny, a thought occurs to me here, and with it an opportunity for the school that you may find worth considering. There is no prize for guessing that this expedition will face serious armed opposition. Bandits, monsters, and the Riverfolk themselves, all will have reason to oppose us. And this opposition, I believe, would offer an excellent way for the school's students to gain valuable combat experience outside of duels." Raising a hand, he taps his mask lightly to draw attention to it. "I'm living evidence of what can happen when someone goes into a fight with the wrong ideas in their head, after all. And that's no fault of yours, Master," Theodric hastens to add, lest another sort of wrong idea take root. "But it something often on my mind, I'll admit, and I'd rather nobody else have to experience it. Once the Harvesters get properly established, I would be both willing and honored to briefly host a small number of your current or future students while they get a taste of what battle is like away from the tables." Nervously fiddling with the cuff of his right sleeve, Theodric awaits his former master's verdict on his proposal. Though the swordsman hasn't been a member--or even so much as set a foot within the premises--of the Misty Wave School for some years now, his time there has left its mark on him, and he still feels a measure of loyalty to the institution and those who are members of it. So he doesn't mention, though he's quite certain that he's not fooling anyone here, how this proposal would also offer his former school a chance to increase its reputation back here in Brevoy when the seasoned students return.

***Darvan***
Though the smile on his face doesn't leave entirely, it does shrink a bit as Darvan responds in a more serious tone to the swordswoman's words. "If you recognize the sign of my patron, then you should know enough of his creed to understand that each journey to enlightenment is a personal one. My journey involves actually living the life I have been granted, not gazing into my navel on a mountaintop somewhere as it passes me by." After looking at the crowded hall in silent thought for a moment, the paladin continues speaking, softly and with no hint of a smile now. "I am no stranger to conflict, and I'm well aware that my life could end suddenly and violently. I refuse to see its end with a burden of squandered opportunities weighing me down." Turning his serious eyes back to the swordswoman, Darvan shrugs and smiles once again. "So I take the opportunity presented by a party, and a prospective partner who looks like she won't flatten out my feet, to see if I can get a dance. It's not as though I'm asking for a lifelong commitment and children here. However, it appears that you'd rather dance attendance to these worthies," he adds with a nod toward the trio of the Aldori, Dama Sobecki, and Rytier Čierny. "So be it. It is your journey to make, and your opportunity to waste. Perhaps your friend here is more amenable to unbending for an evening and having a bit of actual, honest fun with a handsome stranger," Darvan concludes with a smile and a waggle of his brows directed at the second swordswoman.

Winnie, having only just noticed the crowd gathering around the maniquines (the cheese and wine is just TOO good!) Remembers that William was headed that way last he saw him.

That man's the only person at this party who would start a fight! She thinks beginning to move twords the hotspot of the hour.

Winnie, sauntering over to the gathering crowd manages a peak at William squaring off against three men. She nudges her way to the front of the crowd and stands out in front of it a bit. Crossing her arms and tapping her foot she says in both Hallit and an acusitory tone.

"Kak vy dumayete, chto vy delayete Uil'yam?"

Being the big, strong, courageous Irrisinian that William is... He promptly pretentds to not have heard or seen his wife. A bead of sweat does form a moment after Winnie enters the scene however.

With a gloomy frown, Winnie retreats back into the front row and snatches a glass of wine from a server, despritly trying to serve the crowd without incident.

:: Darivan Orlovsky ::

Sylvara's eyes light up at the story. "Quite a useful feature! And I must say, it certainly does add style to your look." She lets out a polite giggle.

Glancing back at troublemakers, her look changes to mild annoyance. "It's good to know that I am not alone in my experiences. Mine's that one, the half-elf," she says, nodding toward Kaellin. Odd, when did she start thinking of Kaellin as hers? "Believe it or not, he's actually the leader of our little group. His tendency at getting into trouble actually makes him a good fit to leading the 'Reckless'."

Sylvara becomes more pensive. "Then again, he always manages to lead us out of trouble. And I can't say it hasn't been exciting each time..."

The wistfulness evaporates as she glances back to Darivan with a wry look. "Of course, I could stand for a lot less anxiety. I gather your Sylvia is quite similar?"

::Sylvara::

Darivan grins a wide and cocky grin with the compliment about his arm, "Why thank you. It is quite the eye-catcher, isn't it?" He briefly illuminates his arm, allowing the back of his hand to glow and several lines begin to glow blue, running the length of his arm and mostly connecting to his hand. As soon as it glows, however, it fades again, coming down to its normal state. "Great for drama. It's also really interesting from a arcane standpoint, as well. So far as I know, its unique."

"The Reckless? Sounds like an accurate name. I'm with the Auram Chain, myself." He says with a grin.

Darivan sighs when asked about Sylvia's habits, "She's brilliant, no question about that. The only problem is that none of that intellect transfers over to common sense. She'll go chasing some random trail in the pursuit of knowledge, but doesn't know when to stop. Plus, she loves attention, regardless of what form it comes in, and that can lead to all kinds of problems on its own. She also has a tendency to speak before she thinks, and I've had to smooth over more than one situation where her tongue ran faster than her mind." He rubs his forehead absently, "Really, me checking up on her is usually more for my peace of mind. She's quite capable of holding her own in a fight, or at the very least running away. At a social function? The last thing I need is for her to accidentally insult the king."

Ishana steps forward at Darivan's question, having arrived on the scene after noticing the sudden crowd gathering.

"I'm a priestess with access to healing magic - although I'd need to know why I'd be patching someone up hellbent on causing injury to himself. I might be many things, but a portable band-aid isn't one of them."

::Ishana::

"Oh, by all means, leave him with a few cuts and bloody. I just don't want anybody dying here. I've seen far too many duels where a lucky-or, rather, unlucky- strike left someone bleeding out and nearly dead. Whenever I duel, I always like to have a healer on hand, just to keep things safe. Same reason we give wooden swords to beginners- it's safer and you're less likely to die." Darivan says as a quick aside to Ishana, then furrows his brow as a thought strikes him, "Err... Did they let you bring your holy symbol into The Party? Security made my companion leave her component pouch at the door and dispel all magic we had active."