The long tables of the Hall have been pushed to the sides of the room to make way for dancing and merriment. Carved mutton is plentiful, drinks and flowing, and musicians are playing jigs and reels. It's a party, Eswynd-style.

Marquessa Norah sits far enough away from the musicians to sit and chat amiably with those who come by. She's not dancing today, but she looks in good health and good spirits.

A tall old man with a scruffy snow-white beard and plume of the same color hair on his head walks in. If it's not his height that catches the eye, it might be the scar that cuts from above his right eye across the bridge of his nose to under his left eye; long since healed, though still prominent in the middle of his face. Wearing a collection of leather armor, with his hands tucked into the top of his chest armor as if there's pockets behind it, and chewing on a cigar that emits a light blue smoke.

Ian has his attention on his feet as he comes into the hall, marking his own footsteps with care. He gets out of the way of the doorway before stopping and looking up.

With a flare of nostrils, Svoli trepidatiously wanders into the hall as keen blue-violet eyes scan about for any familiar faces. She's not particularly dressed up, clad in funtional leather, though her hair seems to be freshly washed, the twists and braids tidier, her little crown of antler pieces just so and even the beads and feathers look like they've been refreshed. Hovering near the door, she has a look of an animal deciding whether or not to bolt.

Branwen enters the hall from the street, walking with a staff in one hand and a raven perched on her shoulder. Her brows are furrowed thoughtfully as she steps into the hall, dressed largely in pelts and feathers. At spotting Svoli, or more specifically her crown of antlers, the furrowed brows soften and she starts making her way in her direction.

Haakon is seated at the long table that's been pushed up against one wall, his back resting on the table edge and facing the larger hall and door. He drinks from a large flagon that is raised along with his voice to greet those entering. "Hail and fair met, new faces and old. Put a drink in your empty hands and be welcome or I'll take it as an insult!" A sharp sniff as he greets, "Sword," Ian, "Centaur," Svoli, and "Whitebeard," in turn.

Medeia is a swirl of gold and black with accents of purple, carrying a trident, as she exits the study and closes the door. "Ah, I'm just on time!" Her eyes skim over to Svoli. "Hello! You're the horse racer who got stuck in the tree, right? I was the medic on hand. Harlequin Medeia Eswynd, welcome to Eswyndol, make yourself comfortable." She starts to head for the long table, dipping her chin, "Lord Ian, welcome, whiskey?" She signals for a servant to get the Kennex lord a drink before setting the trident against the wall. Another look around and she nods to Zakhar and Branwen, then settles next to Haakon, drink less.

Ian bows his head to Haakon. "Lord Haakon. Lady Medeia. Yes, if you have it." He paces with care over to a table and settles into a seat before accepting the glass from a servant.

Octavian, a silken spaniel, Ruslana Stormshead, an aide in Kennex livery, 2 Kennex corsairs arrive, following Zoey.

Norah looks like she's about to rise and greet the guests, but Haakon is on the job. "Why don't I have a whimsical nickname?" she asks him over the rim of her cup of regular, non-alcoholic cider. "Marquessa Norah Eswynd," she introduces herself to the unfamiliar faces, with a smile to the familiar ones.

'Whitebeard' nods to Haakon, "''eard dat dere twas plents ta drinks, 'nd mutts-in. pointsmes til da drinks, 'nd Ay'll obliges."

Branwen pauses in her approach towards Svoli when the man at the table demands the guests take a drink. She turns, stepping up to the table and casting an eye over the drinks. "Branwen Stormfeather," she replies simply to Norah, her brow furrowing again as she takes her time surveying the selection.

"Of /course/ we have whiskey," Medeia says to Ian, adopting a horrified expression at the thought of not having it. A quick smile replaces it as the servant promptly attends to him. Norah's question draws a laugh. "'Consort' hardly seems whimsical. I don't have one either, and I'd prefer not to be referred just 'wife.'" Zakhar gets a nod, and the motion of a hand toward the arrangements. "Help yourself or feel free to ask a servant if there is anything else you need. Welcome." The petite Eswynd glances at Branwen, a look of recognition on her face. "Branwen Stormfeather, well met. I recall seeing you at my uncle's funeral."

When she's recognized, Svoli freezes for a moment before blinking large eyes in Haakon, then Medeia's direction. "Aye, I am. But I go by Svoli, not Centaur. Lady Svoli Volkov." She adds her full name almost as an afterthought. "I heard there was some kind of party and thought I might check it out." She says a little stiffly though she moves further into the Hall when invited. "Good to meet ya officially Harlequin. Yeah, that race was a whole lot of fun." She slowly moves closer to the table with the food, her nostrils flaring some more.

Haakon eyes Norah deadpan at her question after a nickname. "Suit yourself, Killjoy," he answers in a level voice. A sharp sniff follows, before his eye is drawn back to Zakhar. "What's your favor, Whitebeard? Whiskey, wine, spirits or stouts? You're in the stronghold of the East Wind, we don't drink light." he points to an iron banded oak barrel. Svoli's proper came earns a shirt nod and grunt. "Svoli Volkov, the Centaur."

A twitching around Ian's mouth might have been a smile when Haakon gives Norah a nickname. He takes a sip of his drink.

3 Black Fleet Reavers, Moonsilver, the pale-feathered raven, 1 Iron Guardsmen arrive, following Raven.

Zakhar snorts a small old grin with a gruff end, "'Da strenger de betrs. 'ust mix dem alls tegethers."

Branwen clenches her jaw subtly at having been recognized at the funeral. "Aye, I attended. It was clear your uncle touched many people's lives. May we all be remembered as he was." She settles for a tankard of ale, picking it up with her free hand, which earns a low croak from the raven on her shoulder. "Shush," she lightly scolds the raven, who ruffles her feathers in protest but doesn't make another sound. She steps away from the table to make room for the other guests, casting her eyes around the room to try to spot the woman with the antler crown again.

Haakon gets Water of Life from iron banded oak barrel.

Haakon drops Water of Life.

Raven drops A Sparkling Semi-Sweet Honey Mead.

Haakon's scarred lip twists into a near-smile as he sets down his flagon and recovers a bottle of clear spirits, holding it toward Zakhar. "Sip if you want folk to understand you for the rest of the eve. Swallow of you're feeling bold, gulp only if you have folk to carry you home, after."

Medeia says, "Or gulp if it's your first time meeting Haakon and then you feel almost immediately after."

Norah at least had the good sense to give Haakon an offended glare for his choice of nickname before breaking into a grin and punching him softly in the arm. "I see how it is. Ingrate," she ribs him right back. This isn't proper Isles time. This is Eswynd time. "A pleasure to meet you, Branwen Stormfeather. Make yourself at home." She winces as Haakon offers the Water of Life around. "Please tell me you're not /starting/ the evening with that stuff."

The party is already in swing when Zoey arrives, and she smiles around at those gathered before making the rounds and making her greetings. When she gets to the Baroness she whispers something to her with an excited twinkle in her eyes.

Haakon barks a sharp, abrupt laugh and eyes Medeia sidelong. "It were funny."

Ian peers at Medeia. He's not drinking his whiskey fast, tonight. Here to socialize rather than get drunk. "Why would someone want to do that?" He takes note of Zoey coming in, but doesn't say anything while she's whispering to Norah.

When the nickname seems to be sticking, at least with Haakon, Svoli just shrugs as she moves over to the table of drinks to make her selection. She also choose an ale and isn't too far from Branwen when her raven croaks, the sound snapping her attention to it immediately. "Oh hello." She says unironically to the raven with a dip of her head.

Medeia dips her chin to Branwen. "Thank you," Then, "I'm sure it was," she murmurs to Haakon, and amused smile on her face. She waves when Zoey comes in and looks aside to Ian. "Do what? Gulp or flee?"

Zakhar checks stamina at hard. Zakhar fails.

Zoey finishes her whispered exchange with Norah, giving her a friendly squeeze on the shoulder before going to Ian's side. Medeia gets a friendly wave as she goes. "Gulp or Flee? Is that a new drinking game?"

"Flee." Ian's gaze flickers from Medeia to Haakon, who seems to be laughing. "Oh. It was a joke." That clearly flew WAY over his head. He touches Zoey's waist as she joins him.

Norah is whispering with Zoey, then gets distracted by people getting initiated into the ways of Water of Life. Welp.

Zakhar smiles with the cigar in his mouth, a thin roll of blue haze smoke rolling out of his mouth to which he sniffs back in through his nose. He then takes a the water of life and slams it down. There's a moment of where the holds back a tear, clenching of his jaw, then there's a gasp. "Eeeee. 'dats gud."

Raven strides in, absent are her guards and her feathered messenger, present is a bottle of mead nestled in the crook of a slender arm. Jade green eyes sweep across the rearranged furntiure and the current occupants. Long and unhurried strides take her to one of the tables where the spirits are settled and she sets down her contribution. She notices the interest the Water of Life has gained and she too becomes snared, ambling closer to inspect it, "Your face and your words seem to hold some disagreement on that, Old Timer."

A chuckle stirs in Haakon's throat as Zakhar tried to down the bottle. "Stout lad. If'n you feel a Warhammer land on the back of your head in a few, dread naught: just the water catching up to you." Raven is regarded in turn as the unfamiliar guest approaches. He moves a free hand to Medeia's back where she sits beside him, watching the developing revel with comfortable ease. He takes a small drink of the faceted bottle, after.

Haakon checks stamina at easy. Haakon is successful.

Branwen looks up in surprise at Svoli's greeting, noting she's actually greeting the raven. She grins and offers, "Thankfully she can't talk, but hello. Your crown reminded me of home. What tribe do you hail from?" She tilts her head curiously, a motion her raven somehow mimics.

"Oh, no, I definitely fled." Medeia laughs softly, before answering Zoey, "No, but it could be! Let's invent it... someday." Back to Ian, she notes, "He was keeping /score/ and made me incredibly nervous." Her attention falls to Zahkar as he slams the Water of Life. "Oh my. Ah, Raven! Welcome," her gaze settles on the woman with a smile. "I did follow up with Princess Allegra, as you suggested." Clearly, whatever amount of nervous her husband made her on that first meeting has long since passed as she settles against his hand, and lightly drums her own fingertips on one of his armored thighs.

"Did you flee? I recall a long soak in our grotto, or was that another time early on?" Norah asks Medeia. "Either way, you came back, and that's what counts."

Zoey mutters, "... ... like Truth or ... but with alcohol"

Branwen pricks her ears up at the name of Raven, looking in the direction Medeia is speaking with a confused expression for a moment before shaking her head as if to clear it, turning her attention back to Svoli.

Haakon supplies to Norah, "Aye, she fled right into the hot waters. Truth be told, I *am* bloody wretched," he states with dry amusement.

Zoey reaches out to touch Ian's arm in return, then makes a side comment to Medeia.

It's pretty clear from Ian's expression that nothing Medeia or Haakon is saying is making anything more understandable to him. But at the same time, he doesn't keep asking questions, and takes a sip of his drink, instead.

Zakher turns to Raven, still a small tear in his eye, "Aye, dis 'appens." He then is starting to feel that warhammer in the back of his skull, wincing a little. He takes a hard swallow, then puffs hard on the cigar. smoke rolling out of his mouth, with a gruff strong laugh, looking towards Haakon. "'ery gud stuffs!"

Raven gestures, "I brought a bottle snagged from Amadeo's stock over on the table there if you want something easier on the gut, Zakhar." Her gaze falls to Haakon in turn but her features alight into a smile when Medeia speaks, "Ahh! It is good to see you again, my lady. I hope Her Highness was able to assist you?" She inclines her head to Haakon, "Wellmet, Lord Haakon. I don't recall if we've been introduced on previous occasion, forgive me if we have. I'm Raven, Blackheart of Pravus." She eyes the bottle of water of life "Do I want to know how that spirit is produced or is something better kept a mystery?"

"Oh, you're lucky then." Svoli replies with a snort when Branwen addresses her. "Alban would've followed me in here had I let him. But horses don't usually mix with parties." Shrugging this idea off, she clears her throat a bit. "Volkov is my House's name...was..." She shakes her head with a huff of frustration as she keeps getting that wrong.

"That was the second visit," Medeia clarifies for Norah, "With a visit by him to the Tower between..." She stops talking, deciding that remembering that much out loud is unnecessary. "Completely and thoroughly," comes her agreement with Haakon. Whatever Zoey said to her gets a smile and a thoughtful nod, then a return comment. Raven's question gets a shrug. "We were neither helpful or unhelpful to one another, though a friendship may come of it."

Haakon offers the Water of Life around to any others who wish to partake after his own little swallow goes down simply enough. Zakhar earns a brief half-smile, "It is, at that." Raven draws his eye next. "If we had, I've forgotten, Raven of Pravus. Fair met. As for the Water? It's made, then drank. Simple process really," he quips, dryly.

Raven checks stamina at hard. Raven marginally fails.

"Is," Norah says to Svoli, her voice gentle and firm. "So long as you draw breath, your House yet lives." And she should know. She looks up with interest at Medeia's story. "Oh, /did/ he?" she asks, looking quite pleased. "Killjoy I may be, but I am quite a matchmaker." No, they will never hear the end of it. Ever. She looks over at Zoey. "Did I hear something of a proposed game, Lady Kennex?"

Ian shakes his head and holds up a hand when the water of life is passed his way, more proof that he's not interested in getting drunk tonight.

"Oh, I was just musing," Zoey tells Norah with a smile. "Something along the lines of 'gulp or flee' being an alcoholic version of truth or dare." She stops when she sees a messenger cross the room to hand her a note.

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

Branwen furrows her brow again when Svoli mentions her house. "Volkov. That's a southern house, isn't it? My apologies. I'd mistaken you for a northerner from your crown and beads." She takes a long, slow sip from the tankard as she tries to work out where to take the conversation from there.

Raven accepts the bottle and like a woman who has not spent the day on the water in the summer sun running boarding drills, she lifts the bottle and takes a gulp. She lowers it quickly and sputters, coughing a bit and her eyes water, her wheezed exclamation is incoherent but as she finds breath there's a wheezing chortle at her own expense.

Zoey whispers an exchange with Medeia, who giggles, as Zoey reads the missive. The Kennex lady sighs. "It seems I do not have time for a party now." She gives Ian's arm a gentle squeeze, then says her goodbyes as she politely excuses herself.

Octavian, a silken spaniel, Ruslana Stormshead, an aide in Kennex livery, 2 Kennex corsairs leave, following Zoey.

Zakhar checks stamina at hard. Zakhar fails.

"The name may live, but the House is gone." Svoli replies solemnly, shaking her head a bit in Norah's direction. "Volkov woods are no more, it's now the Roseward. But that's ok. I don't mind. The DiFidantes have been good to me since...I came back." She says a little oddly with a wrinkle of her brow. Looking over at Branwen, she smiles a crooked smile. "Southern, aye, but you're not the first one to make that mistake." She replies to Branwen.

Raven fans herself and clears her throat, refocusing on Medeia, "I don't won't to sour the frivolity with matters of business but send me a message soon reminding me what it was you were seeking, I could refer it to one of the social butterflies I know who may know someone who might be of more use to you."

Learn a lesson from drinking something unknown and strong. NOPE. Zakhar grabs at another glass of the water of life and slams it. He doesn't wince as much this time, though there are visible tears, and a gruff laugh as the drink hits him. "Ach! t'wsillsy brangsy de Belks up sumday." if his speech wasn't confusing before, it's only going to get worse, the man is drunk and loving it.

Ian watches Zoey take off as quickly as she came, his demeanor placid. He turns his attention back to the party, taking a sip of whiskey.

Medeia looks up startled from her brief exchange with Zoey before she leaves. "Volkov?" Yes, she's finally hearing the name. "You're related to Countess Aahana?" Her eyes flick to Raven. "I don't even remember, honestly."

"Aye, Harlequin Medeia, she's my twin sister, I was born first." Svoli replies, her expression growing a bit distant that the mention of Aahana.

Branwen settles for, "Hm, long shot, but a shaman, then? Though I can't imagine that a southerner would adopt shamanis-" she overhears Medeia's comment and raises her brow in surprise. "Countess Aahana? I helped her train her bird. We were to meet after that, though we've not yet. I hope she's well."

Another chuckle stirs in Haakon's throat as Raven has her bout with the white spirit. "You kept most of it down, fair done." He looks back at Zakhar with a wry look of amusement. "Aye, no fucking idea what you're saying, Whitebeard. I did warn," he recalls with a sharp, shirt lived grunt of good humor.

Zakhar looks around the room, "yas seds 'ats dis is Esw-- inds?"

Raven Grins crookedly, "For now." She wheezes "I won't be making that mistake twice." She assures, cheeks still flushed though with the slight sunburn she's sporting it looks like she's just splatted her face into a pile of rougue. She belatedly noted the names murmured admist the conversation and the departure of Zoey and her gaze finds the quiet, reserved figure of Ian, "Did I hear there was a Lord or Lady Kennex here?"

Zakhar looks to Haakon, then through a strained and slowed but calm voice tries a different dialect.

Zakhar says in Isles shav, "dis makesy mere sense?""

"Lord Ian Kennex." Ian introducing himself could, by his tone, just be him saying some words. There's no intonation to set it aside as an introduction. "My wife just left, Lady Zoey."

Haakon nods to Zakhar, "Aye, that's better. What the fuck were you saying, afore?"

Medeia looks at Svoli and Branwen carefully. "Aahana came back, too, did you know?" She starts to stand, leaning to kiss Haakon's cheek before moving toward the women. She opens her mouth to introduce Raven to Ian, but the Kennex lord is on top of it. Zakhar speaking another language catches her ear, and draws a small smile, but she's focused on Svoli.

Svoli doesn't know how she ended up the topic of conversation and the way she fidgets, shifting her weight from one foot to the other then back gain, shows she might not be fully comfortable with the attention. "I'm not a shaman no, though I do follow the spirits, yes." She answers Branwen's question before frowning at the woman's question. "No, she's not very well at the moment actually from what Domonico tells me, I've not seen her. It's been hard on her... coming back." She clears her throat as it's suddenly dry and quaffs some ale to fix that.

Raven ahhhs and inclines her head politely, "Well met, My lord. Raven, Blackheart of Pravus. I should let you know that somehow a curious rumor has started, about me besting you in a sparring match." She allows a lopsided and somewhat chagrined grin, "I couldn't tell you how or why it sprouted but given the reaction of such a claim, it feels prudent to reassure you I have at least tried to put it to rest."

Zakhar smiles, hard to tell through the beard, though wrinkles at his eyes give it away.

Zakhar says in Isles shav, "Aye hed said that I culd bring ya sumthing celled Belk. Tis a drink frum me mums. Wine gones bad, vinegars. den darks beers, 'nd de meldiest of cheeses.""

Branwen turns to regard Medeia when she approaches. "I remember her saying something about that. But what do mean, 'too'? Who else came back?" She brightens at hearing that Svoli follows the spirits, but it's quickly replaced by a soft frown at Svoli's discomfort and she nods simply. "I'm sorry to hear that. Should you have need of a spare medic, please consider me at your service."

Ian quirks an eyebrow to Raven; if he reacts to the word of this rumor, that reaction is understated amusement. "I don't remember you having beaten me, but you might have." He takes a sip of his drink. "I used to lose a lot."

Haakon tells Zakhar, "That sounds foul as a bad fuck. Still, waste not," he muses with a small shrug.

Raven shakes her head, "I don't recall ever having the honor, my lord. I think, somehow, someone must have overheard a conversation concerning a match with Sir Amund and been confused. Though it bears noting I did not win /that/ match either so who can say. I can only say the reactions this rumor has left me hoping I would have the honor of your acquaintence someday. I hadn't dare hope it'd be so soon."

Gently, Medeia rests her fingertips on Svoli's upper arm, a comforting gesture. "My apologies for putting you on the spot, Lady Volkov. I was Saik before I married him," she tilts her head toward Haakon. "Magnotta and Malvici are close houses." With that, she lets the subject drop, pulling her hand back and smiling at Branwen. "Are you? A medic? I'm a Physician. Started as a midwife nearly ten years ago - still am a midwife, primarily. And I teach at the Apothecary College." Briefly, her attention passes to Zakhar. "Vinegar isn't wine that's gone /bad/."

A mix of puzzled and amused, now, Ian quirks an eyebrow with a whiff of a smile around the corners of his mouth. "It's good to meet you, then. If you catch me in the Training Center or the Hart one of these days, I'd be happy to spar."

"Myself, my sister and her infant daughter." Svoli replies stiffly to Branwen's question before taking another hearty swig of her ale. She shakes her head at Branwen's offer of help. "She's not really seeing anyone. And from what Dom's told me, it's not like an illness, she's just... lost. Unresponsive. Thankfully my niece seems not to be too affected by... everything. But.. Aahana... She's not herself, at all." She practically mumbles her last against the lip of her glass before taking some more ale.

'Whitebeard' turns to look to Medeia, and then seeks a side of the table to hold himself upright. "Tis 'twhen ittsa reals elds vine."

Branwen coughs softly at having just dug herself deeper into the hole, shutting up and focusing on finishing her ale as she looks over at Medeia, perhaps hoping the presumably more socially adept Lady can help smooth over the awkwardness or at least provide an escape.

Medeia checks perception and empathy at normal. Medeia is successful.

Branwen nods to Lady Medeia. "I've been training with the Physicians for a while. I may be a little out of practice now after having spent so long communing with the spirits of late, but I like to think my skills will return in short order once I get working again. Perhaps I should attend your classes. I've been meaning to improve my knowledge as an apothecary.

Raven's eyebrows lift "Likewise. I always enjoy testing myself against skilled swordsmen and swordswomen. Perhaps some day I will learn how this bizarre rumor got started." she shakes her head and indicates his choice in drink, "Ah, wiser soul than I. This should surprise no one." She looks over towards Branwen's gentle cough, and then Svoli and the tale she tells. There's a grimace but she doesn't pass commentary.

"I would be happy to help if I can..." Medeia's warm hazel eyes meet Branwen's, kindness and understanding in them. She looks around the group. "How about a game?" Her voice lofts a bit over the other conversations. "Something... Yes, a game."

"A game of truths? A game of chance?" Norah asks, perking up at the idea of a game.

Svoli finishes her drink in awkward silence when the subject of a game gets brought up, her eyes furtively looking towards the exits as if she is pondering bolting again. "My apologies, I think I hear Alban, I should probably go check on him. Thanks so much for the drink, and it was nice to meet y'all, it really was... Nice place ya got here and everything." She says as she walks slowly backwards towards the door, bowing a bit stiffly in the hosts direction before she turns to flee.

Bird leaves, following Svoli.

Medeia frowns slightly as Svoli bolts, murmuring, "Well, that's one for the 'flee' column." She looks over to Norah. "I'm thinking a game of truths, so we can all get to know one another better, the classic tell us three things about you but one is not true and we must guess. Everyone who guesses wrong must drink." She motions to a specific servant and gives them a look, they head into the kitchen and return, handing her a glass of red wine.

Zakhar has taken a seat and is trying to hold his head upright. Still puffing away on the cigar that seems to never really get smaller.

Zakhar checks stamina at normal. Critical Success! Zakhar is spectacularly successful.

Ian gives Medeia a dubious look when she suggests the game of truths. He takes a long drink of his whiskey.

Raven liiiiiiiiiifts an eyebrow dubiously but she finds herself a seat, still flushed from her gulp of water of life. Dubious but not objecting which must mean she's aboard with this plan!

"Or take numbers and draw lots, and if one's number gets chosen, the lucky person must answer any one question thrown their way," Norah suggests. A daring choice for the Marquessa. "I'm amenable to either."

Branwen gives a sorrowful frown as she watches Svoli leave under such circumstances, but decides better than to go after her and try to patch things up after how well her early attempts went, instead staying for the game. "Mm, truths... I suppose there can't be any harm in that." She looks over the selection of drinks for something a bit stronger than the ale.

"I like Norah's idea, too." Medeia looks around, moving to take her seat beside Haakon again. "Any preferences?"

Haakon returns his arm around Medeia's back, and quips deadpan, "Truths? Don't be rude to the Pravus," punctuating the jest with a smile smile and sidelong wink at Raven.

Raven waves a hand dismissively Hakon, "We don't have a problem with Truth, just no concept of Shame." She retorts with a crooked grin.

Branwen shakes her head simply at Medeia. "No, I've no preference." She watches the bantering among the southerners thoughtfully, but without much expression. Lilith meanwhile preens her feathers with her beak.

Ian pushes a hand through his hair. "Just give us the option to take a drink if we don't want to answer," he puts in.

Zakhar has a moment of clear sobriety. Or whatever is considered sobriety for him. He then just stares at the wall. Doesn't nod to anyone or their suggestions.

Norah points to Ian. "There we are. There are the rules to the game." She pulls out a small pouch and an old letter and tears it into seven pieces. "All right. I am one, Haakon is two, Medeia is three, Branwen is four, Ian is five, Zakhar is six, and Raven is seven." She passes the pouch to Medeia. "Care to draw first? I suppose it doesn't matter who asks the question of the one who gets drawn, but just one."

Medeia has rolled 1 7-sided dice: 1

"Alright," Medeia agrees to Ian's request and watches as Norah makes the slips. "Sure." Once the pouch is in hand, she pulls out a slip. "One, Norah."

Norah winces.

Haakon sniffs in sharp amusement at Raven's retort. "Well played." To Norah, he nods idly, and awaits the draw. A sharp laugh,brief and loud greets the first result.

Ian settles into a comfortable slouch, his eyes moving but the rest of him still, that suggests that he's not going to be doing a lot of asking of questions. But he's listening to the answers.

Raven tugs out a flask out of habit but stops, rolls her eyes at herself, and tucks it away. Her gaze is attentive as she settles in to watch the game unfolding.

Medeia hands the pouch back to Norah, deciding whoever gets pulled gets to pull next. When no one else seems to be asking a question, she lobs an easy one to start, "If you could be anywhere else right now, where would you choose to be?"

Branwen settles on a glass of the spiced rum and pours herself a glass. She's about to say something when Medeia speaks up, eliciting a visible look of relief from the shaman.

At Medeia's question, a small, distant look crosses Norah's face. "Sanctum," she says simply. She does not offer any elaboration or context. She takes the bag from Medeia and draws.

Norah has rolled 1 7-sided dice: 2

"What the fuck is Sanctum?" Haakon wonders, before muttering, "Oh, aye: only one question. Fine," mumble grumble. A snicker and swallow of stout as Norah draws his number. "Cheater. Fine, ask what you like."

One of Medeia's eyebrows starts to raise before her expression settles into a look of understanding, offering Norah a small, caring smile. And then she draws, and it is Haakon's turn to answer a question. She looks around, curious who might ask him what.

Raven's eyebrows furrow and her mouth opens but Haakon beats her to asking and she closes it shooting a grin sidelong though her attention remains mostly on the game as it unfolds.

Zakhar shakes his head a little back into a concious-ish level. Looking around to Haakon with a quizical look included towards Sanctum. "Rightys. Whuts dis games den?"

Norah meant Bastion but her player is an idiot.

Haakon is prompt in answering Zakhar, "Folk draw numbers then ask another folk a query. They answer or drink. Least that's what I heard."

Since no one else is asking Haakon anything, Norah asks, "What is your most irrational fear?"

"Wes keptys askings quests? er, onlys onesies per?" Zakhar asks two questions, then looks to Norah in case he violated the rules.

Medeia says, "One question asked of whoever is drawn to answer."

Ian clears his throat. "Technically, he already answered a question," he remarks to Norah. "About the game."

Haakon smiles at Norah when Deia interjects with the rules. "Already answered Whitebeard." A tip of his head to Isn

Norah huffs and concedes. "Fair," she relents. Rules are rules, after all.

Haakon has rolled 1 7-sided dice: 4

Branwen breaks into her first grin of the evening at Haakon's wily evasion, then her brows raise in alarm when her number is drawn.

Raven crosses one leg over the otherm fingers laced over one knee as she waits to see what questions might come up.

Having spoken up to back Haakon like the rules pedant that he is, Ian slips back into silence once again. He takes a sip of his drink.

Norah turns to Branwen. "Then my question goes to you. What is your most irrational fear?"

Zakahr nods for once showing some sign of life other than a glassy eyed stare at a wall. Reaching into the oak barrel and pulling out a bottle at random. It's a bottle that is tall and slender with a green wax at the top, which the man bites into and rips the cork out of the top. Spitting the wax across the room in front of him, then starts to drink the liquid as if it is water. (It might be after the two slugs of the previous drink,) he comes up for air from the chug to only look at the room and the very quiet nobles and their game.

Branwen frowns as she considers that. "Hm, I spend so much time dwelling on the rational fears I'm not sure where I'd have room to fit the irrational ones. But I guess if I had to pick one, I'd say..." she ponders and then looks to the raven on her shoulder, giving her a soft smile and stroking her head with a finger. "Losing Lilith." The raven ruffles her feathers and preens while Branwen takes a slip from the bag.

Branwen has rolled 1 7-sided dice: 4

Spirit, the Sleepy Brown Fox arrives, delivering a message to Zakhar before departing.

Branwen plants her face in her hands and shakes her head with a low chuckle at her luck.

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

Medeia takes a sip from her glass, drumming her fingers lightly on Haakon's thigh. She listens as Branwen answers Norah's question and then smiles with a huff of laughter when she picks herself.

Ian watches Branwen over the rim of his glass. "Where'd you get the bird?"

Raven gives in to temptation ignoring betting judgement and sneaking out her flask, unscrewing the cap while her eyes track the conversation.

Branwen smiles over at Ian. "She picked me. One day when I was much younger she just appeared in my life and I haven't been able to get rid of her since." Lilith ruffles her feathers again, indignantly this time, and Branwen pats her head. "It's a joke!" She explains, then reluctantly places her slip back in the bag, swishing her hand around within it more vigorously this time before drawing a new number.

Branwen has rolled 1 7-sided dice: 3

"Oh," Medeia suddenly looks nervous. "That's me." She kind of looks like she wishes she were a non-speaking bird right now.

Haakon mutters something under his breath to the lady sitting beside him as Deia's number is drawn. Leaning back, he glanced around to see if any others are ready with a question, before voicing his own.

Ian settles back into a slouch, watching, but with no obvious intention of asking a question.

2 Eswynd shieldbearers have been dismissed.

Quilliam Forthwind, a stalwart valet have been dismissed.

Alariss, an angry fluffy grey cat have been dismissed.

Branwen looks visibly relieved she didn't draw herself a second time, and instead leans back against a table. As a stranger in this gathering, perhaps she doesn't feel comfortable asking questions of the others.

Haakon shrugs and prompts of Medeia, "You tired of Norah, yet?" The question is asked utterly deadpan.

Norah looks unamused.

Ian gives a soft snort into his drink.

2 Eswynd shieldbearers have been dismissed.

Quilliam Forthwind, a stalwart valet have been dismissed.

Alariss, an angry fluffy grey cat have been dismissed.

Medeia's eyes widen. "What?! No!" She looks right at Norah, promising, "I'm not." She takes the bag to pull the next number.

Medeia has rolled 1 7-sided dice: 4

Medeia has rolled 1 7-sided dice: 5

The bag is passed to Ian, so he can pick after his question is asked and answered.

Norah grins mischievously when Ian's number gets drawn. "Was the new baby your idea or Zoey's?" she asks.

Raven's eyebrows liiiift and she sips from her flask, gaze on Ian with great interest.

Ian takes the bag, giving it a dubious look. "It was Lady Eirene's," he answers Norah in a dry tone. Then he pulls a number from the bag.

Ian has rolled 1 7-sided dice: 4

Ian has rolled 1 7-sided dice: 1

Ian draws Norah's number and, without hesitation, fires off a question in return that may or may not be a little bit of revenge: "When are you planning on having kids?"

Norah gestures to her very round midsection. "Three or four weeks," she says dryly. She rolls her eyes.

Raven chortles softly, not even bothering to hide her amused grin at how quickly Ian lobs his own question.

Branwen's eyes sparkle at Ian's rapid question and Norah's dry reply.

"Right, time to work on that preparation..." Medeia glances at Norah's belly before taking another sip of her wine and settling her gaze in her lap.

Ian slides the bag across the table to Norah.

Norah has rolled 1 7-sided dice: 7

Raven watches Norah select her number and grins, "Don't think I've had the pleasure." She salutes with her flask but doesn't offer introduction just yet.

"Marquessa Norah Eswynd," Norah introduces herself. "But I'm not going to ask your name, because that's a nice try to avoid getting asked a proper question."

Raven grins crookedly and spreads her hands in a wordless shrugs as if ceding this, "Raven. Lovely to meet you, My lady."

Given his introduction to Raven, a lot of people might have Questions about the rumor she alluded to, but Ian doesn't. Instead, he slouches at the table, mostly ignoring his drink.

Medeia looks around, then asks Raven, "What is something you want to learn?"

Branwen grins at Norah's quick thinking, then furrows her brow thoughtfully at hearing Raven's name said again, this time with less of the party hubbub from earlier. She watches Raven closely with a look of confusion before Medeia asks her question and Branwen turns her attention to the Lady instead.

Raven hrrms and considers thoughtfully, "There are a few subjects I've considered learning. Most recently it would have to be the matter of tactics." She decides finally after a pause which spans better part of a minute.

Raven has rolled 1 7-sided dice: 1

Norah settles back in her chair. "All right, let's have it."

Raven considers Norah thoughtfully and hrrrms, "IF you could only be remembered by one thing, what would you wish for that one thing to be?"

Medeia nods, looking thoughtful at Raven's answer, then she quirks a brow, interested to hear Norah's response.

Norah looks uncomfortable at Raven's question. "That I became more than I was," comes her answer.

Norah has rolled 1 7-sided dice: 7

Norah slides a sly grin over to Raven. "What is one thing about you that you wish everyone would forget?"

Raven rolls her eyes and crosses her arms, sulking a bit and CLEARLY considering lying before grumbling, "I revenge-kissed a irritating wastrel bard. Would be nice if people would forget that." she grumbles. Clearly whoever this person was there's little love lost on them.

Raven has rolled 1 7-sided dice: 7

Raven has rolled 1 7-sided dice: 1

Raven has rolled 1 7-sided dice: 3

Hearing the words 'irritating wastrel bard' has Medeia snickering. She can can think a few.

Raven chews her bottom lip thoughtfully and hmmms, "A bad Habit you'd most like to break."

Medeia reaches out to take the pouch, thinking about her answer. "Well, I don't chew my nails or talk with my mouth full..." She falls quiet, thinking. Finally, she says quietly, "Breaking my own heart." A new slip is pulled quickly.

Medeia has rolled 1 7-sided dice: 7

Ian looks up at Raven. His expression is as hard to read as ever, but there's definitely a flicker of mischief in his electric blue eyes. "Who'd you revenge-kiss?"

Raven squints at IAn and points a calloused at finger at him signaling she'll remember this though the corner of her lips are quirked upwards. She looks to MEdeia there, letting her ask the question before siiighing, "Savio Ponte-something-OR-Other. AKA. Wastrel."

Ian's eyes get a little bit wider at the name, and he expels a sharp huff of air that might pass for a laugh. "Oh really. He's one of my students." Something in his tone suggests Savio might wind up regretting Ian having this information.

Medeia falls to giggles at the mention of Savio.

Branwen has been quietly watching the game unfold, looking more concerned as some more negative emotions have been dug up, but she seems to relax once the mood lifts again.

Raven has rolled 1 7-sided dice: 3

Raven considers Medeia and considers thoughtfully, "The /tangible/ thing, a worldly possession, you'd most like to possess that currently belongs to a close friend or family member."

Medeia blinks several times, looking for all the world as if the question is unanswerable. "I..." She shakes her head. "I don't know. I'm not really motivated by material possessions." Her teeth pull at her lower lip, thinking hard. "Something of my brother's, or my uncle's. But, I gave my brother's compass to Haakon. I always know where it is."

Medeia has rolled 1 7-sided dice: 2

Medeia has rolled 1 7-sided dice: 5