Speaking of blond, pale-eyed children. Or Child, in this case, capital-C, Children of the Sun and the Moon, Cybele steps through the door, the tall and lanky shaman straightening the kirtle and gown worn, taking in the room, and shifting just a bit uncomfortably. Until the familiar staff is spotted, and the prodigal all but beelines for it. Glancing around, giving a nod of greeting to the hostess.


Serafine enters, garbed in a dark blue, well-made coat of wool. Her dark hair is intricately braided and styled as a crown at the back of her head, with several stray braids artfully allowed to drip down her back and shoulders and arms. Silver snakes dangle at her ears and her dark eyes cast about as inked fingers undo the latches of her coat.

Exposed now, the outerwear hung with care and out of sight, Serafine is in a telling dress that exposes her arms and her back to just below the dimples at the base of her spine. Dark blue, thick silk is embroidered with paler threads, clasped behind the neck. The skin exposed reveals her many inked designs, the tattoos done in the tradition of the Shav'arvani tribe she lived with for more than a decade, but many of the images are Lycene inspired. The silver bangle at her wrist glitters mutely as she runs a hand over her wide hip, smoothing out the fabric as she enters the Gallery proper.

Willen arrives, following Aislin.

Merek has decided to come to the culture event, because he has a deep interest in such things. His cloak is shifted to flit about him, while he steps in. He seems to be curious about what he might find here, while he moves off to the side, and listens to the start, if there's to be a speech or talk first.

As the hour strikes, about half a dozen children standing near the entrance wearing the clothing of a Prodigal tribe from the northern mountains of Arvum begin to sing. Their sweet, piping voices have a surprisingly otherworldly air, the song in their particular tribal dialect. But despite that, it seems to be a song of welcome, as they gesture emphatically to the lyrics only they understand, waving motions and mimicking hugs and over-emphasizing smiles of delight in well practiced motions. When they are finished, Samantha steps forward.

"Ladies and gentlemen, thank you so much for coming. This event is offered in the continuing effort to maintain the morale of the city, reflecting that we are united in our hope and determination to be victorious. We have recently had the great fortune of welcoming many tribes of the Shav'arvani into the Compact, and tonight we honor Prodigal culture. There are so many tribes from all of the regions of Arvum, and we could not possibly have something to represent every one, but we hope that one can be offered, you will enjoy. Please feel free to look at the pieces, and throughout the evening there will also be performances of storytelling, song, and dance. We are even honored to have the great art of tribal tattoos for your regard, courtesy of Princess Serafine. Now please, enjoy the exhibit. Do not be afraid to learn, to ask questions, and to allow yourself to be carried away by the beauty to be found in the works of our brothers and sisters."

Dauntless arrives, following Rymarr.

Dauntless have been dismissed.

"Ah -" Simone gasps, as is quite distracted by the gaggle of gathered children with their minder. To be expected, one supposes, that she would be taken by them. She clasps her hands over her muddle and drifts toward a place to sit, pausing to offer others an open and friendly smile. Toward Cybele, Serafine. "Good evening." A pause, "Your dress is lovely, Princess-Knight Serafine."

Zhayla races in maybe a touch belated, clasping a stone in her hands. She looks around, trying to figure out where she is supposed to put it, then just drops it with what looks like hopefully a pile of other things in what might be the right place. She has no idea. She looks tremendously flustered, and hastily tries to make herself look more like a presentable Good Shav. Her eyes widen as she takes in Serafine's tattooed display, and she gives her a quick, wide grin and an unsubtle thumbs up.

Zhayla drops a worry stone of jade carved in the shape of a storm.

Esoka makes her way into the gallery. For a moment, she lingers on the outskirts of the crowd. Surveying the faces of those who've come, blue eyes sharp and considering. There is, perhaps, a set of tension about her shoulders. But a smile comes to her lips as she leans against the wall and listens to the children singing. Following the tune and feeling of it, if not the words.

The lord courtier's arrival is sedate, but far from perfunctory, hands at his sides and chin held high. The Minister of Coin's interest in the interior of the Jayus' Art Gallery is mild, indicating he's been here prior, yet there's a renewed interest with the atmosphere of the upcoming event. As Samantha introduces the exhibit he smiles politely, bobs his head and meanders toward a place to settle; the coat he wears unbuttoned a touch, the coat tails swept out from under him to ensure not trappings are sat upon. "Oh, splendid, how exciting."

Merek lifts up his hands, and claps them together after the speech, and also having seemed to be satisfied with hearing the music. He has a small smile, his helmet held in a small backpack that Meeka wears. She moves to do her usual rounds, while the man takes his time to look around at the place. First thing he needs? A drink, something simple, water more than like, just to take before he does any observing of culture.


Serafine looks to Simone with a bright smile. "Hello, Marquessa," the knight greets the gravid woman. Serafine gestures on her own body, referencing the swell of Simone's belly, grinning. "How much longer do you have? I remember with my children, the first was over too quickly and the second and third went far too long. At least to me," she says with a chuckle.

The knight looks to Zhayla and winks at the adorable short-stack.

The lord courtier's arrival is sedate, but far from perfunctory, hands at his sides and chin held high. The Minister of Coin's interest in the interior of the Jayus' Art Gallery is mild, indicating he's been here prior, yet there's a renewed interest with the atmosphere of the upcoming event. As Samantha introduces the exhibit he smiles politely, bobs his head and meanders toward a place to settle; the coat he wears unbuttoned a touch, the coat tails swept out from under him to ensure not trappings are sat upon. "Oh, splendid, how exciting," says Rook. (Now wif a name!)

Rook has joined the a small circular table draped in snowy linen.

Cybele gives a small nod to Simone, and listens intently to the children, a hint of a smile on the tall prodigal's lips. Serafine's revelation earns the woman an admiring gaze, as Cybele's stormy sapphire eyes flicker across the body art, and there's a few nods of appreciation. Glancing over to the rushing Zhayla, offering the fellow prodigal an encouraging smile.

In the last few moments before the annnouncement of the beginning of the event, Yasmine slips into the gallery and begins preparing for her performance. She stretches slowly, warming up the limbs required for her performance. Her shoulders roll languidly as she gazes around, her face set into friendly, almost bemused lines as she prepares herself. A few of the 'exhibits' catch Yasmine's attention, especially Serafine's rather impressive display of tattooed skin, but otherwise, she remains focused on preparations.

Thesarin arrives in his more formal attire, though they are not flashy by any measuare as they are in more earthy tones. He is actively trying to be approachable, but the normally sour count is not exactly an expert at it. He nods to the marquessa and gives a polite smile before getting some refreshment for himself..

Aislin makes her way in just before the opening statements. The pale-haired Ashford explorer seems far more focused on examining the /art/ than actually socializing, however. Having been stuck within the city walls for far too long, seeing hints of other cultures -- perhaps even some she's encountered in her own travels -- is perhaps the best she can do for now. But some of the familiar faces -- Serafine, Cybele, Samantha herself -- are offered pleasant nods in greeting as she makes her way over to look over the feathered banner.

1 Grayson Guardsmen arrives, following Aiden.

The encouragement in Cybele's smile causes Zhayla to straighten and settle, and she returns their smile with a wider grin. She gives a single, last exhale and sets herself more or less to default -- which is still pretty exuberant, mind you. She turns in wide-eyed curiosity to see what else is present, and falls in with Esoka and Thesarin to tug their arms. Literally. (Sorry.) "Hey, did you bring anything? What kind of art do you guys do?"

"Mistress Rovashani," calls Rook, his tone rich but gentle, an attempt not to overburden the air with noise, "is it customary to say 'break a leg' for a dancer?" he asks with feigned ignorance, laughter occupying both his emerald eyes and the tone which carries the words. With a curious consideration for the Ravashari woman, there's an inclination of his head, a pleasant expression upon his face. "Regardless, you'll do splendidly." Waving over one of the servitors, a forefinger and thumb plucks one of the flutes of champagne on offer, from which he sips quietly thereafter.

Merek's cloak is pulled to him, and once the drink is set aside, he moves to look at some of the exhibits, examining them in detail, while he sees Yasmine, and watches her a moment. She does have the look of an entertainer, so his gaze moves to the front, but until such a time as anything happens, he continues making his rounds of viewing culture with excitement.

1 Grayson Guardsmen leaves, following Aiden.

Meanwhile, a dark brown skinned islander in a black robe steps inside, a little bit late. Halsim sweeps his gaze over those already involved, before he starts to look over the exibits. Halsim keeps to himself for now, mainly here for the actual showing.

Lord Rymarr Lyonesse enters the Jayus gallery, even if he sticks out like quite the sore thumb. As ever, much to the annoyance of some, he's decorated in plates of heavy steel and considerably well armed. An armored palm perched over the pommel which rests high at his left side, while a red steel morning star sways with his movements at his right side. He doesn't intrude too far into the gallery however, perhaps fearful of his own presence among such stylish works of art - whether in crafted material or written onto flesh. Only a short distance beyond the entrance is where he comes to a halt, surveying both the people present and the works of art from afar for the moment. Though the presence of a few familiar faces does at least draw his attention and as a result his free gauntlet rises up from his side to gesture a vague greeting toward the more recognizable faces.

Esoka has shined her armor for the occassion, and found a new Riven surcoat that shows her colors clearly and free of bloodstains. It's minus armguards this evening, though, and displays the twining lines of ink that cover her arms (and beyond them down). Thesarin is spotted, and flashed a grin. A tighter one than usual. Is she nervous? Cybele's tug is greeted with surprise, and she turns to look them over. "Good eve. Have we met? I'm Dame Esoka Greenblood, sworn to House Riven." As for art, she replies, a little abashed, "I asked the Marquessa about sharing a story. One of my grandfather's. Later. I think I am finding a drink first." She is //very// interested in the available drinks.

Food and drink continue to circulate, the children are herded off with the promise of food (a sure way to get a gaggle of children to go in the direction you want them to), and while there are indeed many objects on display, it is announced, "We are honored to hav Yasmine Rovashani displaying a traditional dance of her people." The space that has been cleared for her is sizable, but people are still free to move about as they wish.

"Oh. That's lovely." Simone steps away from her study of the staff, and moves onto the feathered banner. To herself, she notes: "So intricate. The feathers," with a certain nod. Before she blinks out of her reverie and glances over at Serafine, smiling bright. "Oh. By mid-summer, I think, and I shall have more to show for all of this work other than a full belly." She laughs lightly, and hums. "I cannot say if there will be more after the first. Gods willing, I hope so."

Yasmine looks up from her 'stretching' and offers Rook a dazzling grin as she calls out in turn, "I've heard such a thing said before. Sounds more like a curse than a wishing of success, but I suppose I'll take what I can get, Lord Grayward." One of those gold-flecked green eyes closes in a brief wink before she turns her attention to Samantha and bows her head in acknowledgement as she sets herself up to begin her performance.

Samantha is for a brief moment, distracted by the worry stone. "Zhayla," she calls out, "Is this yours? From your people? It's beautiful. Does it serve some purpose, or is it simply to be beautiful?" She longs to touch it, but she must be an example to others and keeps her hands to herself.

Cybele remains by the staff, arms crossed against the slight rise of the kirtle at breast height, and a hand idly crawling upwards to toy with the raven-themed pendant of the choker around the shaman's neck.

"I've never understood it myself," Rook confesses in short-lived retort as he smiles around the edge of his glass, spine straight and head tilting just a slight amount as his attention drifts. In the lead up to Yasmine's performance he spots Esoka and her penchant for free drinks, his laughter tumbling from his throat.

Merek takes his time to look towards the announcement, and then finds a place to take a seat, after some exhibit watching. He relaxes a bit, cozy in his cloak, sword on his back across his shield, as he seems to observe in idle interest.


Serafine grins at Simone. "It's easier if there's more than one little person to entertain themselves, I found. So I wish you all the luck," the Knight adds with a grin, moving to display her ink to others, and to look at the various items here. "I wonder if I can learn more Shav' dialects," she muses to herself.

Aislin finally tears her attention from the feather banner, making space for Simone and Serafine with a nod. "Princess Serafine, it's been quite a while. Marquessa Greenmarch." The latter receives a thoughtful look, in addition to the greeting; Greenmarches, after all, figure increasingly largely into Aislin's own life of late.

Fixing a dazzling smile on the audience, Yasmine starts a slow, lazy twitch of her hips to create a slow sway of the wisps of fluttering skirts. Shoulders move in a sinuous motion as her hands lift slightly and even her hair is part of the act as it sways down the length of her spine to her hips. She begins to speak, her voice a sonorous chant with nothing but a drum beat to accompany her sinuous motions, "One of the stories of the Ravashari is the tale of Mosscloak. There was once a young woman, the daughter of a widow, who had beguiled a travelling peddler. The traveler saw her great beauty and was moved to possess her, to own her as a possession for he so loved beautiful things. So, he proposed to make the widow's daughter his bride."

Simone takes a glass of something decidedly (un)alcoholic, lifts it toward Serafine to acknowledge her point. "Lady Aislin. We're expecting you to attend a dinner at the Lodge soon. Very soon. In fact, we are looking forward to it." The Greenmarch Marquessa grins, and drops her voice low "Oh. Excuse me. I would very much like to watch the dance." Soon finding her seat again in order to settle and quiet down in order to enjoy the dance. After a sip, she stills.

Thesarin nods to Esoka and returns the expression. He straightens his posture and looks around the room a bit and then says to Esoka, "It certainly is proving to be a success. I am glad to see so many people here." His attention is caught by some art nearby, but soon it returnst to the others near him.

Upon hearing about the dance going on at the space given, Halsim works his way over to watch the show. His gaze stays neutral, but his attention is definitely on Yasmine as she starts. His hands move to fold at the front of his waist as he listens.


Serafine looks to Aislin with a bright smile, as if an idea has just occurred to her. As the dancing begins, Serafine gets closer to Aislin and murmurs something, the Knight's eyes on the sinuous, swaying dancer.

"Oh! A story, that sounds wonderful. What--." Zhayla is distracted by further questioning by her name on Samantha's lips, and she gives a quick grin to Esoka and Thesarin as she says, "Scuse me," and goes to answer her liege lady. "Yes, Marquessa! I don't think it really does anything useful, but -- I don't have a lot of other art, and...." She trails off, not quite saying the rest. "Anyway, it might not be a big thing, but even a little thing can still be art. There are so many kinds of art! It's amazing!"

"What a presumptious peddler," Rook murmurs to nobody in particular, though he shares a glance to those nearby, tables close. Cybele is given a light wriggle of his fingers, a pleasant and friendly greeting, recognition for them. When he overhears the discussion regarding the lodge, his attention drift momentarily, curious-- yet the act steals focus once more, the whisper of fabric and tinkle of metal.

The dancer's lips form into a coquettish smirk and Yasmine's hips roll lazily before twitching from side to side in a flurry of skirts. The motion slows as she continues to speak. "Yet, the widow's daughter had no desire to marry the peddler, so she begged her widowed mother to help her. She agreed, but told her daughter that she would need time to work out her plan. To stall the peddler, she told her daughter to ask him for a bow made of the wood of the ebon wood tree, darker than a starless night."

Samantha grins broadly over at Rymarr; with just a little bit of a rueful shake of her head and a teasing smile. Him and his armor, man! Lowering her voice, she attempts to briefly clasp Zhayla's and says, "Art can be purposeful simply for being beautiful. It can soothe the soul, or stir passions." She keeps an eye on the performance, even as she wanders about, pausing once close to Cybele and offering the woman a nod full of respect.

Esoka gets herself that drink, in the form of a glass of wine. "It seems so. I was wondering who all would come for it, I'll admit. With matters in the city as they are." Her eyes scan over the gathered pieces of art. "I've never seen so many different tribes gathered for something like this. It is good, I think." Zhayla gets a laugh and a little wave as she dashes off, and her attention fixes on Yasmine. And finishing some of her wine at a quick clip. Rook's laugh gets a little toast. For free drinks.

Merek listens and looks over to Zhayla and the stone, but then his gaze is on Yasmine, while he listens to the performance and watches on with his curious gaze. He seems thoughtful, while he runs his clawed glove across the bottom of his chin in thought.

Cybele smiles at Rook's little wave, and wiggles their fingers at him in turn. Drawing a breath, and letting that stormy-blue gaze drift over the gathered crowd. Attention quickly going to the dancer and her story - and her motions. Giving Samantha a smile, too, when the hostess draws near, and bobbing her head to the hostess.

Rymarr finally decides to make his way closer still, carefully plucking his way along with an armor hand that refuses to depart from the pommel of the blade slung high at his left side. Lady Aislin's presence is met by an armored hand which rises up to greet her in passing with an open palm and a polite bow of his head, though Rymarr does not pause in his steps to draw in to speak with the Ashford. Instead he continues on and beyond Samantha, whom he does stop for. He offers a bow at the waist to her, then rises up to his full height once again. Both armored hands rise up to scoop his helmet free, a wink is cast toward the Marquessa, and then he swiftly turns and begins to march away once again. Bound in the direction of both Esoka, Thesarin, and Zhayla while the armored knight seems bound to fall into their perimeter. As he travels he shifts his helmet around to rest pinned between his arm and breastplate.

"Of course, marquessa," Aislin remarks politely to Simone, with perhaps only a /touch/ of the dread she feels at the prospect of Meeting the Girlfriend's Family. But as the Greenmarcher moves to settle in, Aislin turns her attention back to Serafine and murmurs a quiet reply to the other woman's query.

A silent toast is responded to with the bubbling champagne to the wine of Esoka's, salutation mouthed: 'Cheers'. With a lift of his soft doeskin boot upon his dominant side, it's slung over the opposing knee and lightly clasped with the cup of a palm, thumb tapping to the beat of the steady drum in the background. The Bastion-born gentleman knits his brow, daring mar his own fair face, as he listens to the embellished narrative.

Rook^

"The peddler agreed and went away to procure this gift for the widow's daughter while the widow began to spin a cloak for her daughter made from moss. The peddler returned and offered the widow's daughter his gift; a bow made of the wood of the ebon wood tree, darker than a starless night." Yasmine spins twice, the diaphanous skirts twirling around her thighs before she stops with her back to the audience, glancing over her shoulder as she continues with a grin, "By this time, the widow had finished the cloak. A cloak of moss woven with the magic of a mother's love and desire to protect her child that, once worn, would allow the wearer to disappear into the forests, unable to be seen by human eyes. The widow's daughter, armed with her bow and arrows, said to the peddler that she would be possessed by no man, especially a greedy man such as himself. She donned her cloak and slipped off in to the forest to become a legendary huntress called Mosscloak, emerging from the trees to kill all manner of strange and wild beasts, yet allowing herself to be touched by no man." The story and the dance end in yet another slow rocking of hips before Yasmine finally stills, head bowed slightly though she peeks up through the curtain of her dark hair with a beguiling grin.


Thesarin gives Zhayla and the approaching Rymarr a nod as well, "Glad to see you both here." He gives a rare smile and tries to relax his posture, "I hope you are all enjoying yourselves? I do take some comfort in that people can realize that we are not just a giant monolithic society, just as diverse as their own."

Whisper the Snowy Owl, Frostbite the Wolf arrive, following Killian.

Zhayla considers what Samantha says and then smiles again: a bit more muted, less wide, but maybe deeper. "Yeah. That's true." Her words are hushed, not carrying far: she doesn't want to interrupt the story, and she's listening to it, all too easily caught by the lure of a new tale. When she spots Rymarr, her gaze brightens, and she gives him a wave that's just a little short of ridiculous, even though she tries to pull it in against her side. She looks from Rymarr to Samantha and back again, and looks pretty transparently pleased to see them together, even if for a moment. As the story ends, Zhayla says -- quiet but fierce and certain, "I /like/ that story." She pauses with her hands a span apart. Wait. Are they clapping. Is that the right thing to do. She looks for someone else's lead to follow.

Samantha applauds the story as she stands next to Cybele, remarking to her, "It was incredibly kind of you to share your staff. I can only imagine it has a rather sacred purpose. I appreciate you trusting me with it."

Small wolf pup arrives, following Shadow.

Merek seems to be thoughtful about the tale, while he notices it seems to end, and he applauds a small little bit. Afterwards, he smiles all the same, and then shifts his cloak, while he continues his examination of exhibits once he stands up. Seems every bit of culture he can find is taken in.

Cybele applauds quietly as well. "It is a good staff," The melliflous voice softer than usual, perhaps out of respect for the performance. "It helps me get to where I want to go."

Killian is late..actually, he was late ages ago, now he's just silly. But he's out of his armor for once, as he walks into the art gallery, looking around curiously after having heard that this was -the- social event of the siege. He hangs near the back, trying to figure out what's going on mostly, looking around curiously in the process.

Frostbite the Wolf have been dismissed.

Whisper the Snowy Owl have been dismissed.

At the conclusion of the tale and dance, Simone claps - lightly, carefully - around the stem of the glass she has in her hands. "Wonderful," she compliments Yasmine. Hesitates, rises, and she finishes off the contents of the glass with a sigh. Stepping forward to set it on a tray of a passing server. "Ah. Yes, yes. I hear you," Simone murmurs, seemingly speaking to ... her belly. "You are an impatient little secret, aren't you." Eyes up, around the room. Apologetically, "It was so nice to be out for once. Ah, I hope everyone has a fine evening."

There's a strange expression that flits across the courtier's face and then, after a moment the glass of champagne is set down and he seems to gauge the room before standing to offer his light applause, drawing a smile up at the corners of his mouth. "Bravo. Intriuging," he voices, echoing praise of others in a slightly different flavour. "It does make me wonder, however," he admits, "how long that peddler roamed the woods looking or if he simply moved on."

Rook is overheard praising Yasmine for: Simple, yet intriguing. Some of the best stories are thus. Beautifully danced.

As applause for Yasmine is offered and begins to die down, a trilling flute and drum can be heard from one corner of the gallery. A sextet of teenage girls from a tribe that resides in the Oathlands begin to dance to the music - their makeup is very bold, hair tied into braids, fringe swinging from the hems of their dresses. They form intricate in-and-out patterns with each other, creating curious shapes with their bodies.

Merek is overheard praising Yasmine for: Beautiful dance and tale.

Serafine is overheard praising Yasmine for: Lovely rendition of a beautiful tale.

Georgette leaves, following Simone.

Serafine applauds Yasmine with a bright smile, well-done.

Esoka applauds, loud and spirited, for Yasmine as her story winds its way to an end. She finishes her wine, considering another glass, but she does not claim another. Her focus goes to the dancers, trying to follow the swirling motions of their bodies. Rymarr earns a smile, and a short bow of her shoulders. "Lord Rymarr. A good eve. The Marquessa has done grand work putting this all together. Even I sometimes forget how many tribes exist in the lands outside the Compact."

Samantha grins. "I suppose that's purpose enough." she concedes to Cybele. "All the same, thank you." She's drifting again, this time toward the Goldfeather war banner. "Aislin!" she calls out in greeting, stepping over in the hopes of exchanging cheek kisses. "Isn't it beautiful? Peregrine donated it for the evening."

After a while, Merek takes his time to stand up, and leaves from the event. It seems he looks a bit tired, but perhaps a bit better after seeing culture.

1 Iron Guard, Meeka leave, following Merek.

"And often enough, a sacred one." Cybele replies, to Samantha, shooting the hostess a smile before she wanders off. Then the shaman looks to the staff again, and reaches out to brush two-three fingertips along the carvings.

Once the applause dies down, Yasmine saunters away from the space provided for her dance and reaches for a glass of champagne that's being passed around. As the next group steps up to dance, Yasmine watches them with a critical eye, studying their movements with a tilt of her head as she sips from the champagne flute.

Rymarr passes a shallow nod of the head from himself to Esoka, Thesarin, and Zhayla. He hits the collective whole with a single, stern nod in an apparent attempt to limit the number of times which he may be required to bob his head about like a confused chicken in search of food. Once the dance and the corresponding tale come to an end, Rymarr's attention drifts back to consider Yasmine for a moment. Stoically he watches on with his usual dour stare. After his blue eyes tear themselves away and return to the gathered trio he offers another dip of his chin before a rather uncharacteristic grin drifts very briefly across his mouth, "You know that many grand things come of the Marquessa efforts," though after the words his grin fades to a smile and gradually his smile fades away to his usual stern demeanor. Though he does toss a nod toward Thesarin before Rymarr shifts around in order to watch the Marquessa while his free hand drops from the pommel of his blade to rest atop the buckle of his sword belt, "So far it's been a rather interesting exhibit. I can honestly say I'd have never saw myself in this moment half a decade ago.."

Okay. Clapping it is. Zhayla's swift enough to follow the others that it's hard to tell she paused. Turning back to Esoka, she says, "That's going to be a hard story to follow." Her smile slips, encouraging and just a little teasing as she asks, "Are you gonna dance, too? Because that might be even harder to follow." As Yasmine steps away, she calls over to her: "You had a really good story!"

A young man from a tribe in the Lyceum has set up a display of toys and games - not just for childish pleasure, but they seem to be for teaching their children logic and patterns and manual dexterity. As the young women finish their dance and the flautist and drummer retire, once more there's a headlining performer anouncement. "Ladies and gentlemen, tonight Dame Esoka Greenblood will share a story of her tribe, from which both she and Count Thesarin hail from."

It was an event to showcase the cultures, stories and craftsmanship of the Prodigal cultures and so it was rather fitting that Shadow should show up. The large man from the mountains far in the north moving along with quick taken steps that guide the man along the fringes. Shadow's movements and those of the wolf pup that trails the man guiding him closer to the gathering of Northlands culture. The man's movements relaxing the closer he gets to the showcase of the Northlands. The man slipping back into his native tongue begining to sing under his breath as he works his way along seeking out some form of greater comfort and social safety.

Aislin pauses in her conversation with Serafine, offering the Deepwood marquessa one of her infrequent smiles in greeting. "Samantha! Yes, the banner is lovely... very striking. And the whole event..." She gestures around. "A reminder that we're all /human/, regardless of how our cultures may differ. Still brothers and sisters, whether we were separated a thousand years ago, or five hundred years ago, or just fifty."

ansi(fy, Esoka gives Zhayla a //very// wry smile before she marches to the front of the crowd with a heavy step, shoulders squared. There might be a tension about her spine. She's a confident creature, but not given to //this// sort of display. She powers through, though, and her voice is clear and loud when she projects it outward. "I was born a daughter of the rivers of the Greenwood tribe, in the Gray Forest. Our lore was kept in song and stories. My grandfather kept a thousand in his mind, and wove them for us around the fireside. We knew ourselves as formed by the river, by the land. I do not have my grandfather's gifts. Many of us fight for new lands like this city, and new peoples and bounds we have made when we bent the knee. In these times, I think more and more of the stories of strength from my tribe. I wish to share one, a tale of one of our warriors, with you tonight. It is the tale of Colistrah of the Greenwoods, warrior and medicine woman and elder of her people, whose wisdom and strength saved her people in a time of darkness." She pauses, both for dramatics and to breathe, before going on.)

Oh look, people he knows. Killian drifts around the small crowd, skirting and making his way in search of familiar faces, trying not to block anyones view of any of the events going on. As he slips close to Aislin he gets a slightly wicked look, since she's speaking to Samantha at the moment and he reaches out to poke her in the ribs as he passes, trying to slip away before she can spot him. He ends up wandering over towards Rook, giving the man a polite nod as he says, "Lord Minister," in a polite greeting, looking towards the latest performer as he lowers his voice significantly.

Yasmine grins at Zhayla and bobs her head, moving to approach the woman as she murmurs in a sonorous tone, "Thank you. It's one of my favorite stories." A bob of her head is offeres to Samantha and Rymarr as well, dark lashes lowering over her kohl-lined eyes before she lifts her gaze and murmurs, "This is a lovely event. Thank you for giving me a chance to perform." She quiets to shift her attention to Esoka, her green-and-gold eyes focused in their attention.

"My lord," Rook replies fluidly, turning a touch to consider his new companion at the table, indicating a seat should he wish to take it. "How do you do?" is asked politely. "Did you only just arrive? So far we've had one performer and I believe there are a handful to come, plus a half dozen exhibits." Lifting the champagne, his eyes gleam with an idle interest-- seemingly at the quiet words offered. A gentle table talk is given to the man, whispered and low, while he continues to watch the transition.

Serafine looks to Samantha as she greets Aislin, chuckling softly at the admiration in both. "Yes, I'm glad this can showcase the rich cultures in our world. I do appreciate the invitation," she adds.

Shadow finally nears the collection of Northlands crafts and displays, The man himself moving to settle in beside one display sitting down on the ground cross legged. The large man motioning the wolf pup over who is quick to join the large man. Shadow's right hand lowering slowly and carefully down to rest atop the pups head giving soft scritches as his left moves into one of his pouches pulling out a bit of parchment the man carefully unfolding it before setting it on the ground infront of him. The paper holding words written in Northlands Shav with an arrow pointed towards the man.

There's no way Sam could possibly miss such a big man. Grinning at Aislin, she admits, "That's my hope. But we'll talk more later. Enjoy the night." With that, keeping an ear to Esoka's story, she approaches Cybele once more. "Could I lure you away for a moment? There's someone I'd like you to meet."

"It was hundreds of years ago, the memory already distant in the mists of time when my grandfather was a child," Esoka goes on, voice gaining strength as she gets into it. "A sickness had come to the river tribes. The people were dying, and the cause could not be found. The very water and land that gave us life seemed to have become a poison. The people turned to Colistrah, and day and night she searched for some way to cure this malady. Exhausted, sleep took her one night, and a dream came. In that dream, she saw a creature, a beast black and noxious, crouched by the source of the twin rivers. Somehow, Colistrah new that it was this beast, this presence that should not be, that was making the people sick. And she resolved that she would end it. With her own blood, if her wisdom were not enough. And so she gathered her strongest hunters with her, and journeyed to the river's source, determined to find the cause of what threatened her tribe."

Killian settles in at the table with the Rook, because it's safer than sticking around to see what dastardly revenge Aislin might deploy against him..he sinks into quiet conversation with Rook at the table so as not to detract from the story being told, paying attention there as well.

"I think it's one of my favorites now, too," Zhayla says, giving Yasmine a wide smile. Her words are soft as she listens to Esoka begin her story next, and she's braced, ready to applaud the moment it ends, this time. "Are you a storyteller?"

Aislin watches Samantha head over to Cybele -- to whom Aislin also offers a warm nod in greeting -- but then a messenger approaches the Ashford woman, and she sighs. Work, it seems, is never wholly done. Scrubbing a hand over her face, she murmurs to Serafine, "We'll talk again soon. I'll have to show you the Society's map room; I think you might enjoy it." Killian, too, receives a nod in farewell, as she moves to depart.

While most of her attention is focused on Esoka's tale, Yasmine does glance away long enough to murmur to Zhayla, "I suppose you could say that. I like to tell stories. I'm mostly a dancer, but I use whatever means are at my disposal to tell a tale. Sometimes, I even sing if I've had enough to drink." She winks at Zhayla and bites back a laugh as she returns her gaze to Esoka.

Killian has joined the a small circular table draped in snowy linen.

Serafine nods to Aislin. "I will seek you out, for certain," she agrees.

And there he sits the man known as Shadow, His hetrochromatic gaze drifting slowly over the gathering and those present as well as those foods and drinks laid out. Though the man remains unmoving instead remaining near the small sign on parchment before him in his native tongue with the arrow. The man seeming to be rather proud of himself on the sign given for once he was able to write something for himself rather than have it dictated. Spotting Sam moving along the man's head dips slightly to the Noblewoman, A small smile offered before he is leaning down to whisper something in his native tongue to the wolf pup.

In the midst of the budding conversation with the Ashford lord, the courtly patrician extends a hand across the table carefully-- mindful of his cuffs lest they knock aside some drink-- as if to shake hands. The conversation ensues though his eyes drift, studying Esoka as she takes the stage and speaks.

Cybele gives a little wiggle of their fingers to Aislin, then blinks and looks to Samantha. "Yes, certainly." A bob of the head from the prodigal, and then the shaman can be lead quietly off to wherever Sam wishes.

Rymarr seems to be free of the immediate attention of others for the moment so naturally he fades off and approaches the nearby benches. A hand drifts down to casually brush aside the pommel of his blade, sending the sheathed blade itself at an angle which permits the armored knight to seat himself comfortable. Legs spread out and spurred sabatons firmly planted, his helmet soon finds a place on the bench at his side while his armored hands come to rest atop thigh and knee, respectively. Ever watchful, Rymarr's unblinking blue eyes turn over the art gallery and those gathered within it while he studies some familiar faces, scrutinizes some unfamiliar faces, but inevitably his attention is drawn back to Samantha and the immediate vicinity surrounding her.

Rymarr has joined the Benches.

Willen leaves, following Aislin.

Killian shakes Rook's hand, and it doesn't at all look like they're making shady deals under the cover of the very public social event. Nope. Especially since Killian is also nodding at a figure ducking out of the event..what are they up to. Mostly just listening to Esoka's tale though, it seems.

Samantha guides Cybele over to Shadow. "Shadow? I'm not sure if you remember me, but there's someone I'd like you to meet." She keeps her voice low, not wanting to disrupt the performance. "This is Cybele. She's a shaman...and Cybele, this is Shadow, of one of the far north tribes. I think you two might have a great deal to talk about. I know Shadow has been eager to speak to as many shamans as he can." With that, she offrs the pair a warm smile and slips away, heading for the benches.

Rook looks around suspiciously though. Maybe for the Inquisition. Maybe for humour.

Samantha has joined the Benches.

After the initial dances are over, Halsim looks around briefly, before he heads back to the exhibits.

Esoka takes another deep breath, modulating her voice to try and create some suspense as she winds her way toward a climax. "Her hunters fell sick as they journeyed up the river, and one by one they fell. Colistrah herself felt her health draining. But, filled with a strength and resolve from something deep within her, that she did not entirely understand, she pressed on. And when she reached the river's source, she found the creature. It was no mere animal of flesh and blood, but a monster imbued with the spirit of sickness and destruction. But on that ground she faced it, and fought it, for a whole day and a night she waged against it. Not only with her spear, but with the power of her spirit and what strength the gods had granted her. And in the end, the beast was banished from the rivers. Forever. The price was high. It cost Colistrah her life to do it. But after that day the rivers were again a place of giving life. And always her sacrifice was remembered." She pauses, clearing her throat. "I know not how much of this is true,and how much is exaggerated by time. But we have always fought for our peoples, all in our own way, and we remember our sacrifices. So I remember these stories, and the many others like it, and I pray they shall never be forgotten. Thank you."

When Samantha comes over leading another with her Shadow blinks, The words from Samantha though have Shadow smiling as he nods. The man switching back to Arvani, "Shadow remember Lady of Wood. Words gave much help, Was able meet with Dark blood because of. Would not known without words." The man dipping his head briefly to Esoka as he mentions Dark Blood before he is turning his focus to Cybele. When Samantha mentions the woman being a fellow Shaman the man blinks before a warmth spreads over his features albeit slowly. "Ah yes yes yes, Shadow need other shamans.. Many shamans.. All shamans." The man speaking quickly as he motions for Cybele to join him before he is looking after Samantha almost in confusion. With a shrug though the man is brought to return focus to Cybele, Shadow's left hand pulling the paper back from the ground and into his lap before the man is motioning infront of him. "Join Shadow?" The man speaking in the halted manner of someone not native to Arvani and still new to speaking it and likely learning.

Watching Samantha as she circulates, Zhayla grins -- mostly to herself, really -- as she watches her go and take a seat. She gives Rymarr a quick, amused look, and then looks back at Esoka. She'd distracted only briefly by Yasmine's words, her eyes widening on her way to Esoka, and there's a laugh trembling in her voice when she says, "Oh, that kind of singer, huh? Me too." She pauses to give Esoka a firm burst of applause -- but one maybe touched with unease, that causes her to scatter into silence. "I bet there's more truth in that one than we knew."

Cyebel is a little distracted, trying to catch Esoka's story, but the shaman offers a nod of greeting to Shadow. "Hello," is offered softly, as the tall blonde settles next to the huge man. "I am Cybele, Walker Inbetween to the Children of the Sun and the Moon, and House Halfshav, and House Redrain." A whispered introduction. "Nice to meet you." Switching to the Northern Shav dialects to murmur quietly with the man.

Rymarr speaks up even before Samantha seats herself, while the threat of a smile seems on the cusp of bearing fruit across his lips, "Let me guess 'did you really come to an art exhibit in your armor, Rymarr'?", he asks of the Marquessa with a sidelong glance. He nods stoically while his attention drifts away from Samantha and toward Esoka while she continues to weave her tale. Though he does nod absently aside to Samantha before he mutters softly toward her without breaking his watchful stare on Esoka, "The answer is 'yes'. I did," he says with only a brief flash of teeth as a smile sweeps over his normally grave features for a brief moment, before it's summarily placed on the chopping block and given a proper execution. The smile fades away while his armored hand drifts aside to gently pat at the Marquessa's knee before he looks pointedly in the direction of Zhayla and her amused smile. In response Rymarr's free hand rises up from his side to gesture well above his own head, indicating something tall. Then holds his hand before himself in a fist, as if holding a horse's reins, and then that extended hand points a long finger toward Zhayla, then a thumb back at Rymarr himself. The message was clear. Laugh it up - horseback riding soon.

"Mistress Yasmine," Rook calls after a moment more speaking to Killian, lifting a hand and wriggling his fingers, "won't you come over here a moment. Have you met Lord Killian Ashford? A self-professed troublesome young knight, you see. A profession you may or may not have heard of," says the courtier, his laughter following.

Once Esoke's tale comes to a conclusion, Yasmine lifts her hands in applause, smiling slightly. She watches at Zhayla walks away, sipping at her champagne. She appears about to wander amongst the exhibits when Rook's call catches her attention. She inclines her head and approaches the table, offering a dazzling smile to Killian as she takes a seat, "Troublesome young knight? Does trouble find you or do you seek it, Lord Ashford?" The dancer's words are lightly accented, lending Yasmine even more of an exotic air as she fixes her kohl-lined eyes on Killian with interest.

Rymarr is overheard praising Esoka for: A fine tale of determination and ruggedness. Something to lift the spirit during rough times.

Killian looks up and gives the woman a slight bow of his head, offering a small smile. "Ah, a little bit of both I suppose?" he admits, "trouble seems to have a startling penchant for finding me of its own, but then from time to time it seems to get lost, so I have to go hunt it down and reacquaint the pair of us.."

Cybele continues conversing quietly with Shadow, the rest of the world forgotten for the moment.

"Is one troublesome if it simply comes to them? I would say they're troubled," Rook argues over the semantics, looking between Killian and Yasmine thoughtfully. "I must ask a great favour of you, Lord Killian, if you might. Whenever you sense any trouble, you must dash in and save me from it, won't you? I must ask you now, with Mistress Rovashani as our witness, to be my Champion against Trouble."

When Cybele joins him Shadow begins to speak in softer tones with the woman as he looks on watchful of the others, The man only occasionally pausing to growl at some who get too close for his comfort.

Esoka looks //vastly// relieved when her time is done, but she's smiling and as well. Pleased to have done it. "I think every day more and more that there is truth in the old stories. More than we wish to see," she says to Samantha. She goes to claim another drink, approaching Yasmine. "I had meant to say, your dance was lovely. I wish I could move like that. I am not made for softer arts, I think, but I love seeing them done."

Zhayla's face falls a little at the reminder of her imminent death, aka, riding lesson, but she waves an acknowledgement at Rymarr that's almost a proper sort of acknowledgement, and follows it with a grin. Message received. She catches up to Esoka as she steps back, and says, "You had a tough act to follow, but I think you did a pretty good job! I bet there's a lot of stories like that, stories we should've listened to more."

Yasmine laughs in delight at Killian's answer, brows lifting as she regards the man with amusement. "How brave of you to go after Trouble when it runs away from you. I'm sure you'll make a perfectly good Champion for Lord Grayward, should you choose to accept the position. I'm sure that my lord will give you plenty of opportunities to seek out and entertain trouble." If Yasmine looks vaguely confused at Rook's attempt at playing word games, it's covered up with a bright smile and a flick of her dark hair. Perhaps there are still aspects of the Arvani language that elude her.

"Some of the old stories are probably planted falsehoods. I wouldn't treat them as gospel." Halsim remarks as Zhayla speaks, the islanders eyes glancing in her direction briefly before he moves off to another exhibit.

Samantha applauds Esoka, beaming with pleasure. "That was very well done." she says, visibly pleased. "Thank you, Esoka." She briefly pats the arm on her knee, looking around to see if anyone else needs her attention or requires assistance.

Killian considers the request from Rook, lifting a white brow curiously. The extent to which he looks like Aislin really is striking, and his voice is mischievous as he responds, "Alas, I fear that the number of people I would have to gain permission from before agreeing to such is, at the moment, slightly longer than you would likely be willing to go through the effort for someone such as I. The world has become overcomplicated of recent months and, in truth, a part of me longs heartily for the days when I owed no such debts of pledge or loyalty...when I wandered as effective exile, it was a much simpler sort of existence." He grins, "but I hope mi'lord realizes that, Champion or no, he has but to call upon aid if he should ever need it and dozens would gladly and eagerly stand forth to assist him, myself included."

Esoka nods to Zhayla, finding a convenient table to lean against. "That was why I wanted to tell it. My grandfather //did// know a thousand of them, none of them written down. Each year I fear I am forgetting them." It's an admission made with a hint of sadness. Halsim is //eyed//, as he passes Zhayla with that remark. But she just snorts. Killian catches her eye, if briefly, and she shares a slight smile with him. Before turning her attention back to Zhayla. "I think I was better made for fighting than the stage, but I'm glad I did it. Tell me of what you brought. I saw the stone, but haven't had a chance to look at it yet." She approaches it to do this, as she says it.

There's a brief moment where one of Samantha's assistants converses with her and then there is another anouncement. "We have been informed that Princess Serafine has a tale to share."

With a playful, insincere gasp, Rook asks of Yasmine, "What are you trying to say? I, my good woman, am a paragon of utmost wholesome and good behaviour," insists the Bastion gentleman then. As to Killian, he is chuckling already, "In truth, Master Quiet over the is my honest to the gods formal Champion, it was a matter of jest-- I assure you." Even as he speaks, he inserts a hand into the inside of his coat pocket, the finely woven fabric of the linen jacket parted easily with the undone buttons down his front. As he fishes out a sealed envelope, it's extended, offered to the Ravashari woman. While he's speaking not particularly quiet, he's also cautious not to be too loud amongst the trio, as the event ticks on. "Mistress Yasmine, I was thoroughly impressed with your performance and up until now, so if you'd do me the pleasure this is a formal offer of patronage. Take it, read over it and sign it if you like. Otherwise no matter your choices, I am certain you will be an excellent candidate for whichever patron you inevitably choose to be protege to."

Zhayla looks a touch taken aback by Halsim's address, and looks over at Esoka to see how she responds. Following her example, she contents herself to a skeptical look. She's quickly distracted by Esoka's interest, and she brightens as she picks up the small carving to show her: "Here. It's -- not anything fancy. Just a simple carving. I always liked it, though. I don't have a story that goes with it or anything like that. It was just -- nice."


Serafine is clad in such a way to expose her back from neck to just below the dimples at the base of her spine, arms bare, revealing her tattoos extensively; the woman is clearly inked from jaw to toes. Or. Probably. It seems so. She strides over, the Knight copper-skinned, her ink predominantly dark blue, and turns to show the images on her skin, rotating as she speaks:

"The People made their skin a testament of their dreams and memories, accomplishments, and even their failures. My husband inked the symbolism of his first failed forged blade along his left arm, to remind himself of how far he'd come, and his favorite tool, the hammer, was inked in energetic lines and repetition along his dominant arm: his right." She offers both her arms to people to see, with the red bands around the wrists and fore-arms, and sure enough, on the inside of both her elbows are images of blades pointing to her hands. "I took the idea, my swords my tools." Her smile is bright. She points to the one on her left arm. "This is my wife's name. Etali, in the tongue of her people." She points to the blade inked on the right. "This is my husband's name, Ularan."

"Of course, you are the utmost in gentlemanly behavior, but, as Lord Killian has indicated, sometimes trouble just finds people, even those who are wholesome." Yasmine's laugh ripples out from between her lips, deep and almost musical before the offering of the envelope still the laughter. She lifts her ink dark brows and glances over the document, a bemused smile playing on her lips. After a few moments spent reading, she glances up and says, "I left my quill and ink in my other dancing skirt, so unless you happen to carry such an implement on your person, Lord Grayward." She turns that dazzling smile on Killian. "Or perhaps Lord Killian might be hiding some ink?" She almost winks before murmuring to Rook. "I accept and will sign as soon as I have the ability to." Her gold-flecked gaze drifts to Serafine as she begins to speak, though the expression on the dancer's face is still a touch distracted.

Samantha gives Rymarr a little frown, though the corner of her mouth quirks upward. Leaning against him, she murmurs a reply.

Killian gives Rook a smile, "I had assumed it might be, but wouldn't want to give offense by simply dismissing the offer," he admits before he flashes a warm look towards Yasmine. "As it happens, I get myself into enough trouble with just my mouth, it is generally considered unwise to allow me to write messages as well and send them off even farther afield..however, I will stand witness as to your verbal agreement to the offer, and testify to such should the matter ever arise and need witness," he assures. Then he looks between the pair and admits, "I'm not sure which of you deserves the congratulations more, so I shall say to both of you congratulations and I hope you both benefit greatly from the arrangement..if you'll excuse me, I should go check and see if all was well with Aislin, she snuck out as though there might be trouble.." he grins, "and I so hate missing trouble."

Esoka gazes at Zhayla's stone, eyes tracing the faint carvings in it, the suggestion of the waves. "It is beautiful. It reminds me of the rocks that had layed on the riverbed for generations. But we did not have this material. It seems to shimmer, and speak of a place far away. I thank you for sharing it." Her attention move away from the stone, broad smile coming to her lips as Serafine steps up. Eyes tracing those tattoos now, trying to read the story in them, even if the language is very different from that which marks her own skin.

Rymarr sends a small frown right back at Samantha, though he keeps his gaze focused ahead while he leans to one side to quietly murmur back at the Marquessa.

"There's no rush, Mistress Rovashani," Rook insists, "take it away and read it over again, maybe twice, or even three times. Then sign it and return it to me, perhaps in a day or two, where we can speak more-- over brunch?" To Killian he spares a glance before there's a smile, his coat pinched closer as he begins to rebutton it and make all the motions one expects from somebody steadily preparing a departure. Serafine's discussion regarding a commemoration to a wife and husband draws his genuine interest, attention then sliding toward Killian as he makes his excuses to depart. "Of course, my lord and thank you. Enjoy your trouble."

Samantha patpats Rymarr on the arm, rising to her feet. "Everyone, thank you so much for coming. Continue to enjoy the exhibit until the gallery is closed for the evening. "

"It was a pleasure to meet you, Lord Killian. I do hope you find whatever trouble you are looking for." Yasmine's smile remains in place as she glances over to Rook and nods, murmuring with a grin as she teases, "Hm. Yes, I suppose I might have my lawyer in the boroughs look over the arrangement to make sure I'm getting a fair deal. Luckily, I can pay him in whiskey. He gives out great legal advice if you can get over the slurred words. I'll meet you for brunch in a couple of days with a signed document in tow."


"Marking your loved ones," Serafine continues, "on their skin, especially your children, is a common theme among the People. Upon marriage, many add bands to symbolize the spouse." She points to the two bands on her upper forearms, mirrored on each. "Etali was prickly but protective, so her symbol on my skin was a briar. The hammer, of course was, Ularan." She points to the three bands closer to her wrists. "These are my children, each dash is a year they lived."

"I cannot condone drunken lawyering," Rook admits, "but I won't begrudge you whatever you like, of course. Until then, Mistress Rovashani-- I must take my leave." As he eases to his feet, he draws by Samantha to offer his fellow minister a few quiet words, then he too slinks away.

Killian gives a last parting smile before slipping out the way he came, back out to look for mischief.

Rook has left the a small circular table draped in snowy linen.