Serafine is swinging her blades and bouncing around, cheeks pink from the cold, a crown of dried jasmine and honeysuckle on her head. She looks pretty cheerful. Waiting. Wondering where her almost-brother-in-law is.

Merek comes into the Reflection Square, and pulls his cloak to him, while he tries to find a place in a shady corner to watch. His gaze looks to those that are gathering about, while he relaxes a small bit.

Isolde makes her way into the square, wearing a plain, thick black robe, her half mirrored mask, carrying a large bottle of whiskey.

Ferrando has arrived bright and early to get a good seat, ready to use his powers of attedance to reverse his cousin's recent losing streak.

attendance, even

The black-and-red wearing medics bow as their Duke enters, Eirene herself raising a hand in greeting to Hadrian to join them.

Sparte is here to watch and clap and stay far far in the back.

The pelt of a big brown bear draped around herself, Asha breathes out a misty cloud as she snakes her way into the square for the spectacle. Stepping on light feet to make her way closer to the center of things, finding a Serafine busy swinging swords. "Done this before?" she calls out with an easy smile.

Sybilla, the Lenosian courtesan, Hiss, the Lenosian viper arrive, following Talen.

"You have a monkey following you, m'Lord," Acacia murmurs as she steps around Hadrian, words lowered as if it were a exquisitely taboo topic. "Very brightly attired. I heard those are the most deadly." There's a while-moving bow performed, a backpeddle made in order to almost pull it off and the mere wisp of a roguish grin when she paces over closer towards Isolde to impart greetings.

Niccolo arrives to the square along with Deva, her armed linked with his. Seeing the gathering, he studies those present already and immediately starts on his way to Eleyna. Spotting Isolde and Serafine, he offers faint smiles in their direction. Once he reaches Eleyna, he comes to a stop. "He's not here yet?" He asks her and then there is just the smallest of lifts of his brow. "Arriving at the last minute, I take it," he doesn't sound surprised.

Serafine grins at Asha. "In the sparring ring, often! A duel for my sister's honor? Nope, not once. I'm glad to be here for this one!" She stretches. "He's gonna have to remind me of his bloody terms, however. I mean, I remember the poison bit." She eyes Eleyna. "You didn't give him that idea, so I'm sure that's all Talen's ... specialness. He's gonna make one hell of a husband. And a terrifying father." Her dark eyes bat at her sister, coy and silly.

Driskell steps into the square and moves to stand near the sparring ring for a good view of the event.

With one arm in Niccolo's, Deva's other hand is tucked into the pocket of her jacket as they make their way in. She smiles brightly as they approach the assembly of Velenosans, and her fingers wiggle in a quick greeting. "Is showing up late the Lycene dueling fashion?" she wonders, and it would seem that question is directed toward Eleyna with a grin.

Already there long before the crowds had begun, Blacktongue sits on a railing near the fighting grounds marked off. The Harlequin has donned his motley face paint, one eye a mercurial silver and the other framed by black. Shading has been added to accentuate his smile lines, the cheekbones of a smile far too cheshire and wide. He sits indian-style with a hand on each knee. There are no bells on his person, the older man having color in his monochromatic ensemble save for the piercing blue eyes and the neatly trimmed beard - dyed a deep purple today. He tells one liner jokes as people pass, cackling with impish glee whether the target shows amusement or not.

Eleyna glances at Niccolo and Deva, smiling as she lifts her brows and murmurs, "Or not arriving at all. Maybe he's decided I'm not worth the trouble." Past them, the blonde catches sight of Isolde and the strained smile shifts to a smirk as she spots the enormous bottle of whiskey. Her pale blue eyes cut to Serafine and she just smirks before refocusing her attention on Isolde. "At least we'll be warm, eh?" She gives Isolde a grin as she moves loser to her.

Hadrian lofts a softball of his calculating gaze toward Acacia as she speaks, before it slides toward the topic in reference, "Quite fearsome," he jokes, without grin or lightness.

As pale as death themselves, and with the stark gothic clothing of House Thrax to match, there's Duke Dagon Tyde, standing aside the dueling ring with his hands clasped behind his back. He looks worn down, and his face is definitely a shade towards the unhealthy side; clues to sleepless nights, or some illness. But he looks happy enough to be here, and happier still when one of the servers come over and bestows a cup of red into his hands. He watches Serafine, his eyes sharp upon her blade. "Poison, in a duel," he comments lowly to one of his guards. "Velenosian indeed."

After inspecting Isolde's features for a moment, Acacia imparts a slim smile and then steps back after a few quiet murmurs. Although Niccolo's entrance with Deva is greeted with a characteristic bow of greeting, she remains standing somewhat near the Princess. Hadrian receives a short-lived grin regardless.

Blacktongue slides his gaze over to Dagon. He makes a show, holding up an invisible map and this scratching at his scalp, tapping his chin as if in thought. He mutters to himself, "Could've sworn this -was- the Lyceum ward..."

"There's a first for everything." Asha muses to Serafine, settling up close "The terms are part of the show, it sounds like a good one. - Atleast it's in a square, I once did one on a drawbridge. I fell off." she just grins, tugging a hand through her hair before looking to watch the people gather.

Serafine winces at Asha. For several reasons.

Leta arrives at the square from other parts, bundled comfortably in her cloak as she struts towards the apparent gathering about the dueling ring. She looks curiously about until her eyes alight on Serafine and the corners of her mouth are subtly tugged upwards into a thin smile. The colorful sellsword lets her footsteps carry her to the nearest side of the ring, but not much further, sharing a smile with the princess and a polite bow of her head with the rest of her family, from a slight distance.

"Are you ever not sarcastic, sir?" Dagon wonders of Blacktongue idly, while he sips at his wine. He doesn't even sniff it first -- bless his soul. Those midnight blues sparkle with some humor at the jester, but he tries to keep his face as straight and stern as possible; which, hello, Thraxian. He does that pretty admirably.


     Ophelia arrives dressed in layers of suede with a fox capelet around her shoulders and Jaromir on her arm. "There we are. I think the duel will be over there, we'll be over here." She lets go and smiles, nodding amicably to those around her.

Isolde murmurs quietly to Acacia, nodding a touch, pulling out two shot glasses in her other hand, offering one to Eleyna. "Ready?"


Leta catches Serafine's eye, and the knight, in her leathers and coat, trots over to the blonde sellsword, speaking to her quietly.

"No, sometimes I am charming, endearing, awe-inspiring, fear inducing, and not to say the least - amusing." Blacktongue holds out the invisible map for Dagon to take. "As for your sense of humor, you seem to have misplaced yours. Here, I think you need this more than I."


Jaromir arrives with the Princess Ophelia on his arm, escorting her through the crowd. He is dressed in a white silken tunic and fine black leather breeches, a cloak lined and trimmed in dark bear fur clings to his massive shoulder. "Ah yes, Hopefully it will be quiet the entertaining duel."


325When the dark prince arrives he's covered by the entourage of his Mirroguard and a lonely squire, a young individual barely seen since the early days of the man's arrival in Arx. In a few exotic pieces, he's nevertheless without the usual rubicund and even his boots are unpresent. "Princess Dame Serafine Velenosa, you requested we be without boots. You're a strange individual, yet I'll concede." As he steps towards the edge of the lake, his hand curls around his blade.

When the dark prince arrives he's covered by the entourage of his Mirroguard and a lonely squire, a young individual barely seen since the early days of the man's arrival in Arx. In a few exotic pieces, he's nevertheless without the usual rubicund and even his boots are unpresent. "Princess Dame Serafine Velenosa, you requested we be without boots. You're a strange individual, yet I'll concede." As he steps towards the edge of the lake, his hand curls around his blade.

Hadrian meanders a slow path toward the proximity of Eirene, his entourage in tow but at a non-intrusive distance.

"The day Blacktounge stops sarcasm is the day I stop drinking," Eirene quips to Dagon. She folds her arms over her chest, leather creaking, and waits for this to get over with. She produces a flask and waits...

Eirene gets a standard steel flask decorated with black kid leather from a black leather belt with a silver falcon buckle.

Blacktongue quips to Eirene, "I pray they never invite me to your intervention - I am rather fond of my occupation."

"I also heard that he's very serious about apples, your Highness. Very serious," Acacia intones towards Dagon, already rifling through her cloak once she departed Isolde's side and partaking in a sideways glance at Blacktongue. "Perhaps he's also serious about duels?" She pauses only long enough to sip upon it briefly and adds towards Dagon, "It's been a long time, your Highness. I hope you enjoy the traditional display." She squints over towards Talen and Serafine both, "I expect it'll be a show."

Eleyna nods to Acacia and then glances at the shot glass that Isolde holds out to her. She shrugs and says with a little laugh. "As ready as I'll ever be." She reaches out to take the shot glass and also takes a deep breath. The only thing that distracts her from the task at hand is the entrance of Talen. She lifts a brow, almost grinning, before she looks at Isolde. "Let's do this."

"If he knows what's good for him, he will show up," Niccolo assures Eleyna, his expression confident and firm. The features do soften when he faintly smiles at his niece, however. "More a Talen tradition than a Lycene dueling fashion," he shares with Deva, allowing a small grin. Hadrian catches his eyes, and he respectfully dips his head to the man. Then, spotting Acacia, he inclines his head to her as well. He smiles in Ophelia's direction and dips his head to Blacktongue. And then, Talen arrives. "Finally," he observes, with a disapproving glance his son's way.


     Upon seeing her most favorite uncle over there, she beams and waves, though if he seems busy and preoccupied - and he may, Ophelia keeps her distance, happy to accost him later with congratulations on his betrothal. She looks to Jaromir, indicating with a nod of the head to Niccolo, "That's my Uncle, ArchDuke Niccolo Velanosa. If we get a chance later, perhaps I can introduce you."

"Aberford, take the map from the good jester," Dagon bids one of his guards -- and he can't help it; there's a flicker of a smile that escapes his lips. Aberford, for his part, takes it all in stride. He handles the jester's imaginary map very carefully -- even folding it up into thirds... and then he mimes tossing it out into the pond. "Well done, Aberford. Wine, Blacktongue?" He gestures to the server, who's still sticking around. "Or an apple, maybe?" He concedes this latest point of interest, at Acacia's interjection. "I didn't know this was a traditional display. Truly? You don't use poison at all your duels, do you?"

A sly nod is given to Eirene's comment, and a grin.


Pleased as all pie and punch that Talen has opted to accept her tiny little term, the Knight-Princess promptly shucks her boots to reveal woolen socks. "Aye, Dark Princeling, I am an odd one. You, I think, are fair stranger than I." She approaches, sword drawn. "Who's administering that wretched nettle-milk?" she grumps with good humor.

Leta arches an eyebrow as she sees Serafine walk over, though her smile crooks further to the side and sharpens up. She blinks at whatever it is the Princess says to her, and her brow creases sharply for a second as she glances down at herself, hands coming up to reinforce her shrug. Then she reaches up, carefully plucks the bright yellow feather from her beret, and hands it over. "No boots? Mind you don't freeze your toes off... Highness." she adds after a moment.

Hadrian sifts sight slyly 'save swiftly in a stare at Dagon, servicing salutations sans speaking with a subtle sink of his chin.

Blacktongue gestures with a flick of his wrist to an apple in the middle of the field, totally innocent. "What perfect timing, Mistress Culler! Feel free to claim it, Prince Dagon!" At the offer of wine, he tilts his head. "Depends, what vintage?"

"Red," Dagon tells Blacktongue blandly, inspecting his own wine with a squint. "Unpoisoned, so far."

"I challenged you, what are your terms. Every miss we drink? Every hit we drink too? What's it going to be?" Isolde smirks, tilting her head, glancing to Eleyna, definitely more focused on the drink that the fight.


Serafine grins at Leta, takes the feather and tucks it in the high, secure bun at the back of her head. She takes the woman's hand and brings those scarred knuckles to her lips, and then, with a wink, leaving her boots near the blonde and outside the ring, approaches Talen.

Acacia's curled hand scarcely conceals the amused twitch of her mouth as she watches Dagon's entire pantomime with an almost fascinated watchfulness. "... You just littered in one of the ponds, your Highness," she remarks towards the Thraxian Prince with false dismay, a grin soon to follow thereafter, "But you did fold it up very neatly first. Besides. If all the poison had duels, witht he number Talen's done already-- it'd be a huge mess, right? Maybe just the fun ones, aye?" But her dark eyes had followed the arc of that apple and the receiving bounce, before she idly informs Blacktongue, "You should've waited until the start. Like-- they could fight when the apple bounced." Aside, she performs a formal bow towards Eleyna in greeting at the Princess' nod.

Merek watches on with an idle curiosity. He pulls his cloak to him in the chill.

"If all the duels had poison," Acacia corrects in a quick mumble.

With a glance at her sister and her betrothed, as if considering, Eleyna turns toward Isolde and says with a shrug, "Let's drink on every miss. How do we determine who wins? The first one to get drunk or the first one to give up?"

Asha lowers her eyes a bit with a twitch of her nose, tugging her heavy cloak around herself before she steps away, taking up position a bits away to watch.

Talen does spare a look up toward the Velneosa benches, his expression one of unapologetic amusement, dark eyes flashing. "I must face that which would be my sister in law, or I am a coward," the reply comes, as he calls. With a rag procured from his hip, tucked in a belt, he wipes down his blade, the drips of nettle extract not entirely invisible. "I will poison your blade, if I must, Princess Serafine. I will suffer what it takes to prove to you that her highness is worth my attentions. Even if it means I toss, turn and writhe in view of all."

"That's basically what I'm thinking. Honesstly? I don't care. I'm just going to get shit faced drunk and likely pass out." Isolde nods to Eleyna, filling each of their shots. "One to start us off?"

"I wouldn't rely on me to be the judge of that." Blacktongue sagely advises Dagon, a hand placed over his heart at that solemn advice. "Nonense, Mistress Culler. I aim to confuse and befuddle them from the start. It isn't like there is -nettle- anywhere on this field...never. Red! A fine vintage, I'll take a glass." he directs towards Dagon.

Deva flashes Isolde a grin, and then Acacia in turn. Her hand grips her jacket a little tighter, and she slides a look Talen's way as he arrives. "I see," she looks to Niccolo, a glimmer of amusement in her eyes. She keeps quiet otherwise, looking to the upcoming duelists with a curious expression.

"Old friend," Niccolo calls out to Blacktongue and gestures him over. "You issued me a challenge, didn't you?"


Serafine offers Talen her blade then, looking amused, dark eyes glittering with a feral, Velenosan joy as he loads her weapon. "How potent is it? Will it keep me up all night? I have guard duty on the morrow."

Eleyna watches Isolde pour and makes a little face. "Yeah. Why not? Bottoms up." Before she can think too hard about it or anticipate the burn, Eleyna knocks back the shot. She hisses as it burns down her throat and pools into a well of fire in the pit of her stomach. After taking a deep breath, she holds the glass out to Isolde.


Jaromir looks to Ophelia and asks "You mentioned having some kind of stake in the match no? A family connection was it?"

"Red is the best, I heard," Acacia calmly informs Dagon, before providing him a formal bow and then beginning to step off. "Thank you for letting me entertain myself in your company, your Highness." Another small grin is flashed towards Blacktongue, before she idly begins to pad a bit closer to attempt to catch a better view. "Princess Deva, love. You look amazing," she genuinely praises.

Hadrian turns his calculating gaze briefly toward Acacia with the faintest hint of a smile, before it puts toward Eirene, "We have to speak later, dearest aunt."

Isolde knocks back herr own shot, calling out. "Less talking, more sword swinging. We have a challenge to settle." She refills both her and Eleyna's glasses, smirking a little.

Leta flushes a touch redder when Serafine kisses her hand, and scowls briefly as the princess departs from her side to attend to the duel. With a shake of her head, the sellsword leans down to pick up the princess's boots, then gives them a critical once over look, turning the boots from side to side as if suddenly interested in Serafine's leather care habits. She sets the boots back down, closer to herself, then turns to watch the proceedings with a look that is partly interested, partly apprehensive.

Eirene calls to the combatants, "I have aloe salve for you both if you like." She hrms at Hadrian and flashes a smile. "Course! Sounds like we have shit to catch up on, eh?"

"I have an apple for that, if you wish to be up all night and rigid for the post." Blacktongue calls to the field, though whether it is aimed at Serafine or Talen remains unclear, entendre and all. "Alas, I am being summoned." he bemoans with a feigned groan to Dagon before the Harlequin rises with a flourished bow to the Thraxian to head towards Niccolo. "Older friend." he greets, flashing pearly whites in a wide grin that allows a glimpse of his namesake. "Name your poiso."

poison.

The Lycean server promptly fills Blacktongue a glass, while Dagon considers the two on the field about to sting each other with their swords. "Yes, well, my guard folded it very neatly. He's very neat," he explains sidelong to Acacia. "I don't agree with the use of poison. Or with friendly duels." He probably has a lot to say about non-friendly duels, this one. "But... it does allow one a brief excuse for breath." His midnight blues tick towards the pond, thoughtful in a moment, as his company's attention dissipates.

Sparte slips in through the crowd to stand near Leta. He has his helmet at his belt, showing off that cowlicked hair. He glances over to Leta, before looking after Serafine. Clearly here to support, just... Not banter.


     Ophelia nods to Jaromir, "That's right - Talen is my Uncle's adopted son." She looks around a bit, chewing the inside of her lip, "I don't see Luca yet. I wonder if he'll be making it." She wonders out loud...

Deva wrangles a hand out of her pocket to wave at Acacia, grinning perhaps a bit sheepishly at Culler. "Thank you, Acacia. I'll always be more of a 'leather' girl, you know?" she muses, fingers dropping to smooth down her jacket. "Who are you betting on?" she asks, her voice not quite a whisper as she jerks a chin toward Talen and Serafine.

"If the Mercies are merciful, it will burn for mere minutes rather than hours. If they're kind, it'll hurt rather than agonise," Talen replies, soft bass low, his eyes on Serafine's face. Taking her blade, he runs his hand down the length of it, lips quirked in half form as the rag coats her blade. "One must suffer, to love, do you not agree? I am the least likely to have ever been able, yet here I am. Good luck, Princess Serafine. Let Gloria decide. Either way, I will marry your sister. If it is with your blessing, that is for you to decide." As he steps close, his right hand lifts lifts and lays to her shoulder, his mouth pressing by her ear. The whispered words seem dark, taumting, then he steps backwards and draws his blade.

"We should start with the strongest wine our vineyards have produced," Niccolo says to Blacktongue, and looks over at Acacia when she approaches Deva. Letting the Redrain princess and his protege converse, his attention goes back to his old friend. "From there, I don't think it matters as long as it's liquor, does it?"

Hadrian nods sternly toward his aunt, "Yes. Of importance," he relays, "Shav business," is the reference to its topic. His attention calculatingly pushes toward the duel.


"Then considering i have no stake in the battle beyond my own interest in a good fight between skilled combatants, i'll cede to your stake in the matter and throw my proverbial hat in the ring for him as well." Jaromir replies with the hint of a smile on his lips. "I expect it to atleast be a thrilling match, its been to long since i've seen a proper duel..a noble one that is."

"ANYONE DEAD YET?" Yes, it really was that obnoxiously loud. Words rolling out with particular slurred Lycene accent, belonging to a certain Lycene prince duelist staggering into the square, bottle of Farhaven White Gold single malt in hand. He's dressed as if he just rolled out of the remains of his bed, dirty white linen shirt stained with drink and probably other things, half-untucked from the tight supple calfskin of his pants. The only thing clean of the man frankly is the twin blades on his back, pristinely cared for despite his state. In short, keeping it classy, Luca. Keeping it classy.


     Ophelia squeals hearing her brother's voice over the crowd and spins, face lighting up, "There he is!" She waves, beaming at Luca. She glances to Jaromir, "The shit face Prince of hot mess is my brother, alright. Hard to miss."

"If you supply it, I shall drink it." Blacktongue's smile never wanes as he allows his eyes to shift to the field momentarily and then back to the Duke. "That has always been the requirements of my post, however. Do we have stakes or simply until the other is too far gone in his cups?"

Joboo flings an olive at Luca, receiving a stern warning glance from Hadrian thereafter.

After quietly imparting a few more words to Dagon, Acacia's ceases her bantering while Talen speaks towards Serafine, momentarily distracted by his words. It's only after that she amiably tilts her head towards Deva and confesses, "I lost three pocket-emptying bets in a row to Princess Sylvie at the last fight. I imagine this will be more show than bet-quality, but I'm expecting lots from both of them before the whole emotional bout. I'm kind of expecting that too." She's unable to cease her grin, before she wonders, "Perhaps you should bet the Duke something? Something small. Like. Oh, I don't know. A ship. That you can then gift to me."

Luca has rolled a critical success!
Luca checked dexterity + athletics against difficulty 20, resulting in 74, 54 higher than the difficulty.

Isolde nods to Eleyna, taking her shot glass, and carrying both over toward Luca. "You. Me. Walk. Now." She puts a shot glass full of whiskey in Luca's hand, taking his arm.


Serafine snorts at Talen. "You better marry here, Prince Talen. I would be incredibly disappointed if you don't." As he steps close to whisper, she listens, her smile softening. She turns her head and kisses his cheek, lingering, grips his opposite shoulder to squeeze in wordless response. "Good luck to you, brother," she says to him quietly. "I hope it is known that I challenge you on tradition only."

And then that bright, wicked grin. "And for the fun."

Talen wields a wicked, sanguine schiavona-style rubicund broadsword with an elaborately wrought basket-hilt.


Jaromir silently raises an eyebrow to Ophelia and then back to Luca in time to watch him elegantly dodge the proffered olive, and then back to Ophelia. "Well...I cannot claim that i am unfamiliar with his sort of company at the least" He lets out a grin and shrugs his massive shoulders "You should introduce me sometime."

Serafine inflicts moderate damage to Talen.

"I'm not sure which duel I'm most looking forward to now," Deva admits, gaze sliding to both Eleyna and Isolde, and then Niccolo and Blacktongue. "Entertainment all around," she decides with a wry grin. "Good luck," she pats the Archduke's arm before relinquishing it. "Three bets? Ouch." Hiding a smile behind her fingers, one shoulder lifts high, casually so. "If that's small, I'm worried about what a big bet would be. A castle, maybe?"

Mumble. "...up all night..." mumble mumble. Leta mumbles. One eye on the boots, lest some noble run off with them, another eye on the dueling pair, Leta's missing a third eye to spare for Sparte at her side, so she has to turn her head and nod, "Master Guardsman." she says simply, with a broad smile, which fades as she returns her gaze to the match. But her lips do twitch at the first hit.

"Only that it is an old punishment," Dagon tells Acacia, his previous whisper turning into regular conversation, "And that there are more honorable ways to deal with your enemies. Some enemies, perhaps." When the duel starts, his attention is canted that way, and a bright grin lights to his features at Serafine scores the first hit. "I thought this might be rather one sided," he tells Acacia -- and Deva, too, since she's there. It's unclear who he favored, but by the grin on his face, things just got a little more exciting.


     She beams again at Luca's dodge and chuckles to herself, "Momentarily. The duel has begun. I can't wait to see how this turns out..." She looks toward the dueling ring apprehensively, biting a nail.

Eirene has a drink. And look- the one person with less class and fashion than her! She raises the flask to toast Luca and shoots the monkey a look, blue eyes narrow.

Sparte gives Leta a smile in return, before risking raising his voice and shouting. "We believe in you, Princess Sir!"

Driskell watches in silence, the golden eyes with a lifted brow showing interest in the duel, perhaps a bit more at those gathered watching.

"... If you want to bet the ArchDuke a castle and then gift /that/ to me, your Highness, I'm certainly not going to complain, but aye. My betting prowess isn't quite all there, I'm afraid. That's why I'm counting so hard upon you to handle it for me, you see?" Acacia decides towards Deva with a hint of a roguish grin, her dark eyes hooking intently upon both Talen and Serafine. She imbibes a bit more from her flask, exhaling the potency with a satisfied air and slides a look towards Dagon in time to watch the appearance of his grin. "It seems like you're liking it already, Duke Dagon." And then in general, she queries, "... How long does it take for that stuff to kick in anyhow?"

Despite being clearly deep into his cups and unsteady on his feet, Luca moved still with that terrible speed he's famed for, seeming at first to be just falling, but apparently ducking his body down to line up the olive throw to go right into his mouth, making it look like it was all arranged as part of the floor show or something. REALLY good thing it didn't fling poo instead. That might have been unpleasant.

Either way, the drunken Champion is staggering along after it whilst chewing up his prize, making way towards his sister and whoever she's singing his praises to, cinnamon eyes out on the fight about to take place. He's grimacing when first he sees how it's going to go, and so calling out to Talen. "I'm starting to think you have some curse when it comes to beating women in duels, Tal! Keep your guard up!"

Moving up then to Ophelia, he's leaning in to give her a quick, sloppy kiss on the cheek, bottle-waving hand swinging around her shoulders as he uses her to prop him up, murmuring things jovially drunkenly to her and Jaromir nearby.

Hadrian hands a note to Joboo, who promptly darts away with it as the Duke scolds Eirene, "Don't get mad at Joboo."

"A bigger ship," Niccolo muses, throwing his two silvers in about what would be a big bet for Acacia, responding to Deva. He offers a faint smile to Acacia, and then lets his gaze find Luca. His features show very little, but there is a narrowing of his eyes as he studies the prince and then those eyes find Isolde in an intercept course already. "Until you pass out, I suppose," he gestures to one of his guards, who steps forward with a bottle and two glasses.

"I'm unsure," Dagon admits to Acacia. "I've never felt the need to use poison, and never had that particular one administered."

Talen darts forward, his step quick. The Sword of Lenosia is known to be a mix of speed and strength, yet when he closes in there's deep groove to his armour. Those closest to the ring not only see, but hear the rake of steel upon leather when he tilts their way. The lake is not far, yet his hiss is clear. "Fuck," he admits, when the run of steel runs up his middle, dragging against him clear. The mist of crimson that speaks of first blood does not come so soon, yet he's on the backfoot. "Sister," he vows, "if you best me this day I will owe you one favour. A claim you may make of me, in honour of your love for your sister," he promises. It may be a single stroke of the next sword swing that decides it, yet there he is, offering.

Ophelia giggles at the sloppy, wet kiss, "Whooo that is definitely four different kinds of the strongest liquor available in the whole of Arx." She wraps an arm around his waist to steady him. "Luca, meet Prince Jaromir Redrain. Jaromir, this is my brother Prince Luca Velanosa. It seems as if you two may be soul mates." And she is distracted by the first blow to Talen, wincing quite visibly and turning her eyes for a moment, breath halting in her lungs.

"Already setting the bet. I look forward to you looking at the underside of the proverbial table we are drinking at." Blacktongue remarks to Niccolo. He takes the glass when the guard offers it, raising it in a single silent toast and then tossing it back. "To whatever whims have seized you this week, older friend."

Eirene rolls her eyes as she looks away from the clashing swords. "Sera kicks some ass, certainly." The older Malvici harrumphs at her nephew. "He is a silly thing, but where does he always get the fruit from? Hides it under his tunic?"

Bereft of both drink and cousin, as Isolde moves in to intercept Luca, Eleyna's gaze is pulled toward Luca for a moment before judging that it would be perhaps better if the man didn't feel ganged up on by his female relatives at once. So, her pale blue eyes shift to the duel itself. She winces as Serafine catches Talen with a good stroke and clasps her hands behind her back to keep from fidgeting about it. For those familiar with the two, the pose is almost identical to one often adopted by the Archduke himself.


Serafine has only dueled Talen once and as she lost then, it surprises her that all those hours of practice, her excursions through the forest, her duties as an Iron Guard, have actually brought about a notable improvement. At least, enough so that she scores an immediate hit on the dark prince after dodging his first attempt to cut her down. "Brother," she proclaims in kind, "I would accept such an offer, but I may have to take your word on it only after I've given my winning demands." That grin again, playful, enjoying herself. Whatever vow to means to claim from him with the favor can't be too terrible. Her only terms to duel was a removal of boots, how bad can it be?

"Being a simple woman of the mountains, boats come in approximately three sizes to me: small, medium, and large," Deva says, sliding a thoughtful look between Niccolo and Acacia. "I don't have any size boat to bet, but I'll do my best," she pats the other redhead's arm with a smile. There's a polite nod for Dagon, and then a thin smile in Ophelia and Luca's general vicinity.

Serafine inflicts very serious damage to Talen.

Hadrian smirks subtly, his attention returning to the duel as he remarks to Eirene, "I haven't the foggiest." A pause, then, "Well, I think I should take my leave."

"Me either," Acacia responds towards Dagon, though her dark eyes are retained upon the fight with an almost avid fascination and she grins to emphasize a jest of some sort. Leaning towards Deva, she assures her in a lower voice, "... Well, I was hoping that you could get the boat from him, your Highnes-- Ow." She straightened considerably, words cutting off as she eyes Talen and then remarks aside, "... Perhaps Prince Luca was right. Maybe Talen is bad at fighting women. I remember when he lost to Lady Viviana too."

Eirene remarks to Hadrian. "We'll catch up at home." She looks over as the blades ring out and the two continue.

Hadrian turns to press his lips to Eirene's temple, the only halt in his rotation before it resumes to put him striding toward Southport Square, entourage of retainers and guards several long paces in his wake.


     Ophelia's arm held Luca closer as she winced harder, her heart stopping for a moment. She glanced to Jaromir, then to Luca for answers. She paled... " What... exactly does this mean?" Her eyes were wide, almost in disbelief.


Jaromir Keeps one eye on the duel and extends an arm to Luca in greeting "Pleasure to meet you Prince Luca, Jaromir Redrain, Knight and Mercenary." He responds until the last barrage of swordplay commences and he widens his eyes to turn almost his entire attention to the result.

Niccolo returns Blacktongue's toast. "If only I could let simple whim seize me," he offers to the harlequin, wryly. "But to wherever our paths decide to take us this week," he offers as a return toast, before he drinks. Lowering the glass, he lightly winces at the blow Serafine lands. "I think you're right," he agrees with Acacia about Talen and women. "It's something to keep in mind going forward."

"Pleasure." Luca muttered to Jaromir distractedly at introduction, then going on to look decidedly stubborn at something Isolde says, shaking his head (and his bottle of liquor) at her, shitfaced half-grin unphased at first. Though something she goes on to say brings furrow-browed frown and a sigh. "Fine fine. But not til end of the fight. It'll be just a..." He started to say to her, watching the form of the conflict, frowning deeper and then wincing as he sees the blow about to land before it does. "Well...shit. I was just joking, Tal! You weren't supposed to actually get beat! Go Sera though!" Then, to Phil's paled question, a languid shrug of answer. "No clue. Bragging rights probably."

A messenger arrives, delivering a message to Luca before departing.

"I do, and quite often, to hide the more dire items that hold sway at all times." Blacktongue opines, fool turned sage before the smile flares into caricature brilliance once more. "Talen's path is taking him to pained steps, it would appear."

Isolde rubs her bare cheek and closes her eyes, shaking her head. She scowls and stalks off. "Find me after, Luca." She snatches her glass back from him, drinks them both, and stalks off.

Jaxon, Champion of the Reflection, Tails, the arctic fox, 5 Velenosa House Guards, The Mirrormasked Woman leave, following Isolde.

When the blade cuts true to Talen, his hiss is audible. When the steel ripely runs through the leather, his face is clear. There's pain and in it, there's defeat. A hand springs autonomously to his wound, holding and clutching, his face an expression of awareness. Soon, that poison will set in. Soon, he'll feel agony. As Talen lifts his next sword swing, he feels the seizure of pain. As his arm locks, against torture, he holds it there and swings weekly. The deft aside that the princess-knight delivers knocks his wepaon ablunder, sending it hurtling against the wall of the pit. When the nettle burns, his muscles clamp up and he falls, a clear demonstration of victory for the Shav'arvani dame. "God... fucking... damnt it!"

Deva whistles lowly as she watches Serafine strike hard. Her shoulders lift, a wince scrunching up her face. "Ahh, I see," her fingers snap, and she nods to Acacia. "It may take some time, but I'll see what I can do." A slight frown curls her lips as she watches Isolde leave, and she glances around as if trying to catch up on what she may have missed.

Driskell doesn't seem very impressed with the going ons, there's a small downturn of his lips underneath the goatee before his hands clasp behind his back and he turns to head off.

Sparte watches with big saucer-like eyes. "Oh wow, is that poison? I wonder what that feels like." Said the hapless guard, in front of a bunch of people with poison.

"Her highness is a soldier," Dagon tells Acacia; as if that might explain everything. His voice low but his eyes sparkling with mirth, and maybe even a little relief at the outcome the duel. His amusement falls as Talen collapses with the onset of the poison. "That doesn't look pleasant at all. I don't think I'll ever understand Velenosian tradition."

Merek moves off after the battle has finished.

The kiss at her forehead leaves Eirene surprised but the crouds' reaction to Serafine's strike draws her away. "Be... well Hadri," she calls, taking her eyes away to study him a moment. But Talen succumbs to the poison and her medics tense and ready for any requests of service.

Sarvi, Joboo the tunic'd capuchin, 6 Malvici Guards, Delfi leave, following Hadrian.


Jaromir looks back to the group standing near him and shrugs "Well that was alot quicker than I expected it to be." He shakes his head and continues in a something of a half conciliatory and half amused tone "Very sorry for your losses I suppose, though from what it sounds like "Ladylost" seems like a name that should perhaps stick around longer than the wound recieved."

The Mirrormasked Woman arrives, delivering a message to Deva before departing.

Blacktongue takes the bottle of spirits and toasts to Niccolo before moving to leave, "I have to check on the nettles and the apples." He waves vaguely, some internal timer for the poison tester turned jester, turne apothecary going off. He asides something to Isolde as he makes his way through.


     She smiles softly at that, though it also causes her to wince. "Does that mean he doesn't get to marry her? Like ever at all?" Ophelia's brow furrows as she looks between the two.

"... I think the pain was part of it. Sacrifice or his ability to handle all that life brings him-- or something." Acacia pauses substantially, before glancing between Dagon and Deva both and admitting with a hapless upwards hitch of her shoulders, "I'm not terribly good at poetry. But I'm pretty sure whatever it was must've been really pretty and full of feelings." At the return of the Mirrormasked Woman, Acacia's gaze checks against Deva's expression and then she looks back towards the scene.

Blacktongue picks up a wholly inconspicuous apple.

Eleyna frowns as she sees Serafine's poisoned blade strike true. The moment that the princess sees the well of blood between the Sword's fingers, she is sweeping past the crowd toward the pit. Then, Talen drops to the ground and Eleyna begins to move a little bit faster.


"Fuck!" Serafine yelps in surprise when she strikes true, watching the blade cut leather and flesh. As Talen's weapon falls, as he begins to stiffen in pain, Serafine drops her blade as well and reaches for the collar of his armor, her legging sweeping out behind him to land him on his back with a grunt.

The dark, stocky, short woman settles on his chest, her hands still gripping him, hauling his face closer to hers. Her joyful expression is gone, her expression dark, intense, but there isn't a bit of malice behind it. She looks ... determined.

"Talen of House Velenosa, do you fucking promise to take care of my sister, Eleyna, to the best of your ability, to love her above all others, to care for her and protect her, to be the villain when she needs you to be, to be her saviour when she cannot save herself, and to give her the chaos she seeks as well as pain she needs to feel peace?" Her voice carries, husky, the identical tone to her paler sister. "SWEAR IT, Talen. Swear it and I promise to the gods above and below that I will find you worthy of my sister's hand. Swear it with force, brother," she growls, urgent.

Deva yanks a pour courier by the sleeve to go send off a message, and before long there's a reply. She looks from the Mirrormask to Acacia, a frown on her lips and an uncomfortable, stiff shrug for the Culler woman.

Eirene says, "At this rate, I should fucking challenge Anze to a drinking contest to prove him worthy of Caly." She pauses as the more formal oaths are asked and announced, dark eyebrows raised. "Well, I wouldn't be so dramatic..."

Niccolo nods his approval to Blacktongue, remaining where he is. He clasps his hands behind his back and those dark brown eyes of the archduke study Talen for a very long time. There is something stern in the High Lord's usually schooled features. Those eyes looked from the ward turned adopted son to Serafine, and they linger on her for a few moments. That is, until activity close to him catches his attention. He lifts a brow at Deva, leaning over and whispering something.

Even Leta has to wince slightly at that blow, and then wince a whole lot more at Talen's apparent reaction to the poison, face scrunching up sharply. Nonetheless, she has a broad smile ready for feathered Serafine, and reaches over to clap a hand solidly against Sparte's shoulder, "Reckon it hurts a lot." she comments with a glance aside to the Iron Guard, and draws in a deep breath. Hearing the demand for Talen's oath, however, her eyes widen slightly and she looks confused for a moment or three.

Luca was frowning off to where Isolde went right up until he got caught hearing Jaromir's comment, to which he burst out with deep appreciative laughter and a cackling. "Ladylost! That's fantastic new title to add to his slew of them!" He reaches out hand to thump the much larger Redrain on the back jovially (and hard enough to stagger most men), then is leaning in to kiss Ophelia on the cheek again. "I've got to go chase Issy and find out what's up. Tease Talen mercilessly for me. He'll be fine though."

The Mirrormasked Woman arrives, delivering a message to Deva before departing.

Eirene cusses as duel 2 starts. "See to the prince, if he wants it," she orders her medics. "I gotta run."

"Mmph. I don't think I'll be entirely that forceful when Donella is married," Dagon murmurs to Acacia, watching the display between Serafine and Talen with pursed lips. "Although, that will probably entirely depend on who she is married to. Good day, Miss Culler." He's departing, with his entourage forming a group of three behind and before him. The Duke's movements are stiff, and without his usual grace, as if trying not to agitate some wound.

6 Thrax Guards leaves, following Dagon.

6 Thrax Guards arrives, following Dagon.


     Ophelia smirks at the kiss again, reeking now of liquor from his breath. "Come see me later, then. Whenever you're done. You know where to find me. We should talk. Be well, Brother." And she genuinely, warmly smiles as she returns the kiss and turns to Jaromir with a half smile, "See? Soul mates."

Acacia provides that formal bow towards Dagon, "Thank you for your company, your Highness." Straightening immediately after, she looks after him for a time and then returns to eyeing Talen again.

6 Thrax Guards leaves, following Dagon.


Jaromir responds to the staggering thump with a half smile, with the kind of aplumb that speaks to him being undoubtedly used to such antics in spades. "Pleasure to meet you Prince, Hopefully we'll meet again soon." He looks over to Ophelia "I hope Talen will be alright atleast, though yes, Luca would fit right in with my brother Vallen...." He trails off for a moment and then shakes his head "The symbolism is uncanny indeed."

Despite Luca's commentary, Talen doesn't -look- fine. There's a twitch, a jerk, a convulsion. The prince's eyes shut tight and his brow screws shut as he lays there, seizing in agony, barely able to manage a reply. That Serafine grips him, demands a reply, he glares at her. There's a rough punch to her chest, then his arm falls back, unable to summon the strength. He might hold back under normal circumstances, but being shook in such pain? Talen snarls, "I, swear, it," with effort.

Deva replies to Niccolo quietly in turn, a frown still decidedly on her lips. Both hands slide into the pockets of her jacket, fingers twisting within. "Is there anything left to drink?" she sighs, exasperated, glancing around and rising up for a moment on her toes to better look over the crowd.


This pleases Serafine, that he powered through the agony enough to punch her (which she grunts at but doesn't budge), and it's with a grin that she leans down and plants a very wet, very quick kiss to that snarling mouth, scrambling off of him and moving to help him up. "Excellent. And I will take that favor and keep it for now." She beams at him. "I am proud to call you brother, Talen."
n

Luca staggers off, bottle still in hand, still cackling about 'ladylost' to himself. In passing Asha, he gives her the bottle of expensive single malt (what's left of it) with a wink and then he's off cheerfully whistling to look for his cousin.

Ophelia gives Jaromir a sidelong glance and a smile, "Symbolism?" Her attention goes to Talen again on the battlefiend and she bites her lower lip, hearing Talen's words, how he meant them even though each one meant pain and blood - that. That was true love. She smiles softly to herself and stands, beginning to head out, giving Talen the space and dignity he needed to get his wounds seen to. Of course she means for Jaromir to follow, if he wished to keep up the conversation!

"Okay, oaths fucking sworn. Let the healers have him." Eleyna barely glances at her sister before crouching next to Talen, the crimson of her skirts pooling around her as she leans in to whisper something to the Sword before nodding at the Mercies as they step in to examine him.

There's a blink from Asha, as that bottle is pressed into her hand. "Getting your leftovers?" she muses with a bit of a grin, but otherwise gives no complaints.

Sparte glances around, patting Leta on the shoulder before moving to follow Luca. He can be heard muttering as he heads away, "This is why I don't date..."

Jaromir leaves, following Ophelia.

Talen kicks violently, pettily, when Serafien tries to help him up. Sadly for him, he's in no fit state to deny anything, beinng forced up. "Fuck you," he tells her bitterly, while gripping her for support in contrast, body wracked with pain. The Mercies, those apprentices under Lady Eirene's tutorship, they're the ones that help the Sword of Lenosia and seem to gain credit for it. That doesn't stop him reaching for Eleyna, for pulling her close, for tightening his hands in her hair and about her back as he goes through the moments of torture he himself indicated were part of the duel.

Talen is overheard praising Serafine for: Fuck you.

Serafine is overheard praising Talen for: A big glorious fucking baby. YOU PUNCHED ME IN THE TIT, YOU ASS!

Niccolo passes his glass of wine, half full as it is to Deva. "Here you go," he says to her and reaches to touch her arm. His eyes turn back to the exchange between Talen and Serafine, and he watches in silence. He looks between Talen and Serafine both and clears his throat.

Hadrian offers a nod to Niccolo as he passes through along the outskirts of the square.

"Well." Breaking her own silence, Acacia straightens up a bit, toasts in general towards the pit and then swings that over towards Niccolo and Deva. "You can't say that these things are ever boring." She idly commits to her bow with a flourished air and then seeks to extract herself deftly from the gathered crowds.


Serafine stands a little straighter, beaming with obscene pride at Talen and Serafine, and turns to look at her uncle, the yellow feather in her hair flicking as she moves. "Uncle!" she says cheerfully. "Oh, forgive me. Uncle Archduke!"

Deva's eyes narrow at the wine she is handed, and she gives Niccolo a pointed look. But she's sipping it quickly just a beat later, briefly leaning her shoulder against his. "Good to see you," she beams at Acacia, fingers wiggling as the woman withdraws. "Congratulations," she tells Serafine, chin lifting in her direction.

An Unremarkable Associate leaves, following Acacia.