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Sheliantha slides in and pulls out a chair for herself. "Mind if we join you?" Her smile is a radiant thing, and her skirt flows around the seat.
"I do so enjoy a good song, and I have friends with a like mind. Shelyn be praised that there is music in the world, and beauty for the eye to behold. Not all is as dark and ugly as can be found in some corners of Golarion in which the Society sends us." Her hand goes up in a signal for an attendant to bring some drinks.
"Have you found yourself a venue or a troupe?" comes with a nod to the flute gleaming in the lamplight. "You seem unlike me, a true professional to my own haphazard amateurishness." A golden trill of laughter fills the room. "I'm told I can sing well, but that's not due to perseverence or study, merely letting out a little of what's inside."
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"I don't mind at all." A warm smile crosses over Saetria's face. "My foster parents were clerics of Shelyn. When it was determined I had leanings towards music they made sure I could get the best education that they could find, considering where we lived." She moves her chair slightly, so the other woman can have a bit of legroom.
"As for performing with others-I've had experiences with both, but I find that I prefer working on my own for the time being. Working with a venue or a troupe, you can run into the danger of not being permitted to play certain pieces of music or be forced to please the crowds with the same old thing over and over again."
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Sheliantha smiles and tilts her head to the newcomer. "Hello, Arania. I have some experience in speaking, myself, but inciting fervor? I'm not sure I have heard of such a thing. I do have to prepare, as I may have to give a speech in front of the People's Council in the upcoming months. I'd rather not have to, but there have been troubles."
She frowns a little, tattoos on her face rippling with the expression. "But, that is not what you are gathering for. I am afraid that I am imposing on the party, what with my allegiance and all. I do hope you can find more to bring in for discourse? I'll be happy to give up my chair, needs be."
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"Nonsense, all who would further the cause of good are welcome allies to the Silver Crusade." Leaning in, she drops her voice, "Though I am not as certain of the purity of the Society as I once was. With events in Golarion as they are, the number of members with... tainted blood... disturbs me."
Whoops, posted as the wrong avatar.
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The room silences as a tall, fearsome woman with a hoarse voice booms across the room as she looks up from the book she was reading: "Tainted blood!? I hope you're not talking about my heritage, lady, for I have a special chapter on the likes of you in the book I'm writing!"
Carla stands up, grabs a chair and plants it at the table facing backwards. She sits down with a sigh, her facial jewelry glistening in the light of the fireplace. "Look, I'm not here to insult anyone and neither are you. I'm not in the crusade, but if you're looking to make a living as an aspiring poet I know just the guy to talk to..." She says with a wink.
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"Why, I did not expect to find myself the only man amongst all these most lovely ladies. I fear that I have not been so dreadfully outmatched since I visited my cousins in Lastwall!"
You see a man with a long face seemingly made longer by his neck-length ashy brown hair. He sports a tastefully close-trimmed beard. All this merely draws your eyes to his expressive, ocean blue eyes. He wears a royal blue surcoat with the emblem of a open silver gauntlent surround led by a wreath of golden daffodils. Underneath, he wears a loose forest green shirt with wide sleeves, revealing a chain shirt when he moves his arms.
He bows with a practiced grace, his arms open. His hand follows and flows with his speech, much as a conductor leading a soothing legato.
"Hail and well met, Kind Ladies. My name is Sir Tristan Elsid Calidore Tilernos, of the Cassomir Tilernos's. I am a servant of two mistresses: The Eternal Rose, My Lady Above--" He motions up to the sky with a flowing, dramatic movement, gazing into the distance. "--and The Glorious One, My Lady Love." He places his hand over his heart, closing his eyes with a contented smile.
"I do hope the movements and practices of chivalry do not cloy at your patience. They are sacred to me, so I obey them with a certain--one might say religious--fervor." With a flourish, he produces four yellow daffodils from his sleeves. He offers one to each of the gathered ladies.
"My apologies for my lengthy interruption. I heard something about poetry?"
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Annoyed at being interrupted by a man, Carla sighs heavily once more and turns towards Arania. "The man I am referring to is the most glorious keeper of enterprises in all of Golarion." Her eyes reveal a slight twinkle of nostalgia. "He has rescued me from a life of unemployment and poverty with but a mere flick of a finger. He sits upon a throne of gold, ever-watching, always one step ahead. He can be found in Absalom, in the docks district. No-one has ever gazed on his fair features and not feel their hearts stopped by his alluring charisma. This man's name is Guaril Karela, protector of the poor and saint of beggars." For a moment, you see a slight blush on Carla's cheeks, but this goes away just as fast once she turns her attention towards the newcomer.
"The last time someone called me a lovely lady I insulted him so dearly he took his own life in misery a few days later. And yes, 'Sir', your practises do cloy my patience. What do you want?" Her stern gaze betrays a certain jealousy, though it is unclear for what.
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The smile that plays on her face is a bit wry this time as Sheliantha inclines her head slowly to the blue-and-green clad minstrel. She remains quiet, however, as the discussion grows somewhat fierce, and sits back in her chair to see what will become of the patron-inspired newcomers. She reaches up to touch one of the tattoos on her shoulder, as if noticing it again.
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His eyes widen a bit, a look of genuine surprise, and he waves his hands in protest. "My apologies; I meant no offense! I assure you that I meant those two words with utmost sincerity. The Eternal Rose teaches us that all things have a unique loveliness." He collects himself, adopting a more formal posture, and nods his head in deference. "Nevertheless, I shall abstain from using such words if it pleases you. What shall you like me to call you?"
He pauses for a moment, as one is wont to do when a train of thought switches tracks."As for what I want, I heard of a gathering of bards of the Silver Crusade. A soft, playful smile returns to his lips. Even though I am not a member 'officially,' I would surely be so if I was not eternally sworn to serve my Peerless Peeress."
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She rolls her eyes and says: "Call me Lady Barrenspeak. I am a self-proclaimed emissary of Sczarni, here to make deals and sink'em before they set sail. I though'd be a good idea to come to this meeting to see if Sczarni could find allies in the Silver Crusade. After all, we're all here to do good and noone minds helping the economy."
"That, and I hope that crazy dwarf Harsk hows up to teach me som' new insults. Those Irrisen Goblin 's nothin' but trouble. I didn't expect to see taldoreans here, though." She aggresively waves at the bartender to get her a new tankard of ale.
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Sheliantha raises a brow to the half-orc, but smiles in return. "Why, I would love to hear it. I know a gnome or two that is quite enamored of such tributes."
With a wink to the bartender, Carla may notice that her tankard is filled in a manner much like she waved it, so that it might never empty. The sorceress sits back, both elbows on the counter and her own tumbler of whiskey in hand. Her attention focuses like a physical thing, giving some an idea of what other diplomats might face in her presence.
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She gives her tankard a quick, astounded look before clearing her throat and taking a large gulp, leaving foam hanging in her nose jewelry. She glances around to the adventurers sitting at the table and starts reciting:
"My friend, the Gnome
I one met a gnome of great stature
His hair was greasy and he smelled of manure
Alas, he was my friend.
He pursued the hero's call
But sure was so small
That for him, walkin' was wobblin'.
For we might be tall,
Surely that is not all
At least we don't look like a goblin."
She starts laughing wildly at her own joke, choking on another gulp of ale.
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Aurum enters the room, sniffs, and curls his lips in disgust.
"A quick cantrip should take care of this." He says to the empty room while waggling his fingers about. Once the cantrip is complete Aurum inhales deeply, and exhales with a smile. "I feel like i missed something exciting. Best be on my way though." The satisfied half-orc exits the room.