Until now, Count Leonid Silvercrest had refused all emissaries from Prince Victus Thrax, but neither had the powerful nobleman committed his strength to the cause of Ivan Helianthus. Rumors abound of Eurusi ships in his harbor and all manners of treachery at work. It was an appeal through the Knights of Solace which was ultimately accepted by the old Count, and which secured this embassy an audience. The diplomats were promised safe passage, and assured that Count Leonid would honor guest right.

The island domain of House Silvercrest lay a day's sail from Sungreet, a day of gray clouds and sharp winds that promised a bitter Autumn. The sea remained rough and choppy even when the white cliffs of Silvermeet rose into view; not until the Compact vessel entered the fortified harbor did the waters settle. Of the harbor itself, flinty promontories hold stone winch-houses which could raise or lower a vast and ancient chain across the mouth of the harbor. The rocky arms of the port's breakwater sport a line of thirteen stone crosses, one of which is currently occupied. A signal tower gives a single dolorous toll of its great bronze bell to signal the approach of the Compact ship. What light filters through the clouds brings no warmth.

The harbor is filled with all manner of ships, from fishing boats and large ore-hauling cargo holks, to the longships, galleys, and mighty dromonds of the massed Silvercrest war fleet. The Count's strength had been gathered, even if it had not yet been committed. Still, the most notable vessel in the harbor by far is an exotic foreign craft, whose mainmast hangs a number of elaborate ornaments which shine even in the dull light of a grey day. There is truth to rumors of Eurusi presence, at least, as the Compact ship is guided to a mooring and the passengers set foot on the Silvermeet docks.

Despite the undoubtedly stressful nature of their destination, Porter has been in high spirits for pretty much the entirety of the trip. The perhaps overwhelmingly upbeat and chipper nature of his disposition is either endearing or... annoying. But he strives to give people done with his aggressive optimism their personal space. Such that it is. When they finally arrive in the island domain of House Silvercrest, he'll disembark the ship, speak with the captain and then join up with the rest of the diplomatic envoy so that they can get this experience underway. He spends a bit of time on the walk looking over at that exotic foreign craft, taking a good long eyeball at it while plans are possibly being made. He's definitely not in charge here.

Porter checks intellect and sailing at normal. Porter is successful.

The recent time spent among the new ships of the Solace fleet has given Bree quite the sea legs, so there is very little wobble to her step when the team sent for diplomacy finds the dock. She steps aside, offering a hand to any who needs assistance with the last step from ship to 'land,' but her attention drifts to the Eurusi ship so brilliantly on display in the harbor. A small crease of her brow, a look of worry, that doesn't last more than a second and she's searching for Porter. To him, or to any other moving near her, she remarks, "Someone beat us here. I wonder where the Eurusi forces are housed, or if we'll be seeing them with the Count." And so she spends a moment scanning the crowds they pass for any sign of soldiers, martial types, enemies, because she's totally here as the muscle.

Bree checks perception and survival at normal. Bree is successful.

There are times when someone just gives the impression of being hired muscle. Not that Reve has a particularly goonish look about him, but still, he stands tall and proud and hovers a bit protectively over a particular Lady Darkwater. He is quiet, allowing others to partake in the initial conversation (which may or may not be the best) should someone be present to greet them, but when he does smile it is a quicksilver thing, sharp and full of perfect pearly whites. He is even smiling to the great number of amassed ships, his eyes flicking across them and taking stock. He may or may not be actually counting at this point. Eventually he strides up next to Porter, takes a place next to him and mimics him with an additional blatant eyeballing of that foreign craft. Bree's addition has him exhale a breath of a sigh before he comments to the party, "And here I thought it was simply pretty." The foreign ship, that is.

As they all disembark onto the docks, Azova gives a good stretch of limbs. No matter how large a ship it is, there's still nothing like the feeling of open space in unconfined quarters. "Well, at least we know it doesn't seem as if the Count has committed to either of us yet despite the Eurusi ship having arrived first." she comments towards bree, as she takes stock of the people milling around the docks, and those guarding or watching all of the ships. Their expressions, posture, tension - the Mercy tries to get a bead on all of it. "Well, it /is/ pretty." she'll add, for Reve's benefit.

Azova checks perception and empathy at normal. Azova is marginally successful.

Reve checks perception and war at normal. Reve is marginally successful.

Berenice Velenosa is known for her predilection for aggressively Lycene fashions, but today she has...adapted. Likely the gown she wears was commissioned specifically for the occasion, for it holds a particular blend of Thrax fashion amid that Lycene: the dark coloring, the thicker silk, the structured and collared neckline (even if it //does// cut low in front). Her hair has been twisted and braided into an elaborate updo that sets off her features, the arch of her brows particularly accented -- but still with a dark red tint to her lips. She is not pretending to be an Islander, but she has clearly chosen her attire carefully to neither set herself off more strongly than she needs to as an outsider. She takes Bree's hand when offered to help her onto dry land, having been rather well-adjusted on the voyage over. There is a sharp curiosity to her eyes as she takes in matters, a reflexive smile ghosting her lips, as she keeps a particular eye on the standards and sigils at hand; if there is anything unexpected, she will hopefully notice it.

Berenice checks perception and etiquette at normal. Berenice is marginally successful.

"Hm. Looks like a ship out of Suj'abbati. Check out the sails," Porter says in a low rumble to the party, gesturing toward the ship. "Being closely watched by the Silvercrest warriors too. Maybe they don't trust them. Or don't trust them yet." He turns his head to Reve and his smile curls, "I mean, it is a very pretty ship too. They have great shipwrights." He crosses his arms over his chest, his eyes sliding in Bree's direction for a beat before he scuffs his toe against the docks. "Should get walking," he indicates and starts doing that.

Azova seems to be more focused on the guards as Porter points out the details about the ship, head tilting to the side like a curious bird as she gauges the group that are watching the Eurusi vessel. "And just that ship." she adds on to what he says. "They're not really paying attention to anything else; but, it must be nearing time for a change of guard." is murmured for everyone in their party to hear. In agreement that they should get going, though, and adjusts the pack slung over her shoulders and keeps herself near the middle of the group.

Bree's hand lingers for as long as Berenice requires as the princess joins them, and the Knight offers a respectful, "Your highness." She turns, however, when Porter speaks, her gaze lifting to eye the ship with some sense of understanding after his many lessons given in shipcraft. Still, she wonders playfully, "Are you sure it isn't a boat?" She smiles quickly, but perhaps realizing this is no time for teasing, nods to his advice. "We should get moving, yes. Looks like our hosts have kept to their promise of safety. Gild will be pleased." And as if speaking the god's name was some sort of reminder to her, a hand lifts, fingers brushing over a Gild-charm she wears. Her lips move, but no words come forth - a silent prayer sent to her Goddess. She moves to join the group, ever alert.

Reve pitches his voices low, meant to carry only toward those that are in his immediate party even if the words themselves are most LIKELY meant to Azova given his general attention toward her throughout the journey. "If we die, know that I was fond of you." Then again this could also be directed to Bree, or Porter, or even Berenice there. This grand declaration is made as he assesses the area as a whole once more. He even takes a moment to look at the ocean with a look of distaste for whatever reason. Shaking his head, he falls into line and begins on the journey. "Have you been to Fortezza di Iriscal?" he asks too conversationally of Berenice as they travel.

There's a low sigh when Bree asks if he isn't sure it's a boat, but Porter doesn't fight it. The groan of it dies out and he directs one less glance in the ship's direction before they're moving. "Maybe just introduce me as Sir Porter when we meet these people, and not 'Sir Porter Kennex, related to a bunch of people you may or may not like'," he offers to the group as they move along. "May not like a whole. Whole. Whole. Lot." He looks at Reve and shakes his head, "We're not going to die!" Aggressive optimism.

At the base of the docks where timber turns to earth, thirteen warriors in steel maille and fine silver created helms await the Compact diplomats and their retinue-goon. The foremost of the thirteen Silvercrest men is a nobleman by his austere manner and the richness of his silvered armor. A brown beard peppered with grey falls in braids to his sternum, and stern brown eyes regard each of the guests in turn. His voice is stony and level in inflection when he speaks.

"Ye of Solace, who hath journeyed far, if ye come in peace, partake and be welcome." It's a ritual welcome, but not a warm one. He gestures aside without looking away from the newcomers. In answer, a retainer steps forward, holding an iron rimmed round shield flat in both hands. Ceramic cups equal to the number of the Count's guests stand on the warlike serving platter.

"You know, while I am long-acquainted with the Marquessa from childhood, and my cousin is now her Marquis Consort, I have never had the pleasure myself," Berenice replies to Reve with an amused and curious smile. "Do you have a relation to the family?" It is idle conversation as they travel down the dock, only to taper off when they are presented with those thirteen warriors. The smile fades, and she lifts her chin with a more austere expression. She steps forward to take one of those cups between both hands with a solemnity to her manner and grace to her movements; it is a practiced dance of tradition. "In peace, my lord, and with the grace of Gild lighting our path and our meeting this day." She inclines her chin and then drinks of the cup she has taken.

"Sir Porter it is," Bree agrees quite easily, tucking the family name away for the time just in case. She walks along, and while Berenice idly converses with Reve, she observes to her fellow Knight of Solace quietly, "I do not imagine they will break guest rights. To do so would be an affront to the gods." A pause, her gaze flitting over the Mercy, the princess, the Lord. "But we must not let our guard down." It is clear that she has made the safety of the group her priority. When they come to the cups, she waits, allowing the Lycene to be the first in the show of trust, the gesture perhaps more meaningful from her, and then she follows suit. A cup is taken, she lifts it in salute, "With the grace of Gild." Words stolen from the one more practiced in etiquette, she takes a drink.

"Are you?" asks Reve with a lift of his brows and a more curious look to Berenice. "I was fostered there. I grew up with the Marquessa and her siblings." He squints a bit more at Berenice, as though seeking to place her, but eventually the idle conversation must be placed aside. Not, however, to be dismissed entirely given the sidelong look he offers Berenice every so often. He may even loom protectively her way too.

Now, the actual matters of importance. You know that sharp, bright smile of Reve's? It is definitely being flashed toward the man that welcomes them so. It is a smile that more properly might be bestowed to someone that was providing a warm greeting but he has no difficulty in delivering it here. Maybe though there is a hint of an edge to it. Despite this, or perhaps because of it, he steps forward with a flourish of a bow and snares a cup from the retainer. It is brought high, as if by toast, and he drinks the contents in one go without any hint of hesitation. He might even be hoping to beat others in the party to the punch.

Azova tries to keep a general demeanor of warmth and approachability as they all make their way towards the thirteen who provide them with a formal welcome. The flinty formality of their greeter is not lost on her, but still each of them are favored with a benign smile and a tip of her head; the apparent leader given a deeper and respectful nod. "In Faith and Service." she offers, picking up another of the cups so that she can drink of it without any hesitation. The sharp eyes of a healer do take the time to glance briefly at each of the others in the party to ensure nobody is suffering any ill effects from that drink though; and with an extra glance towards Reve of the sharp smile and flourish as he drinks.

When they reach the man that's offering them greeting, Porter nods once but doesn't smile, affecting a more somber expression for him. He accepts the cup, "With Gild." Then he brings the drink to his lips and quickly downs whatever the contents are. He doesn't spend a lot of time investigating what that might be, for better or for worst. He leans his body just slightly in Bree's direction after, head cocked slightly as if listening to something. A small smile breaks on his expression, but he's otherwise quiet as they get through this ritual.

Their stern greeter names himself, "I am Lord Aleksander, son of Sir Leonid. His Excellency awaits you in the Silver Keep. Come." A short nod aside and the dozen other warriors divide to escort the visitors, six going ahead and calling for the road to clear, six trailing behind. It is a slight uphill walk away from the shore. The smells of the waterfront mix saltwater, tar, and fish before giving way to the acrid bite of smoke rising from any of the numerous smelting stacks as they move deeper into the city.

The walls of the Old City still stand: towering bulwarks of shaped stone punctuated by crenellated towers and iron banded gates. But the city had grown beyond those barriers generations ago, with the new city sprawling along the waterfront. Fisher folk, traders, foreign merchants, and dock workers rarely ventured up hill through the gates into the Old City. Outsiders were rare here, among the houses and markets of the nobility and their chosen households.

At the very center of the Old City was an ancient crossroad, where in ages past seafarers would gather with the inlanders to trade in silver coin and goods: the meet that gave the county its name. Facing each other at the crossroad are the two greatest buildings of the island: first, the cathedral of the Pantheon, resplendent with statuary and spires; second, the Silver Keep, a blocky old castle from which the Counts of Silvercrest have ruled for centuries.

"The Silver Keep," Bree echoes the title of their destination, a smile curving her lips. "Not a bad name," she finds the positive (the silver lining, if you will) of this all quite easily in her brain, taking some weaving path from Silver Keep to Silver to Gild. No one is privy to her thoughts, however, so her appreciation of the name seems a bit out of place. Her cup is returned to shield. "Dame Bree Harthall, Knight Lieutenant of Solace." The time for introductions is brief, however, as they party is marching along so she allows the others to handle their own names! The sights of their new surroundings certainly win her attention as they move, blue eyes darting this way and that to take in the crossroads, the people, the cathedral.

"Princess Berenice Velenosa. It is an honor to meet you, Lord Aleksander." Berenice inclines her head more formally for the introduction, although there is precision to this as well: respect without submission. She is his social superior, yes, but she treats with him as a peer. Her step is measured and sure as they are led through the streets, the shift of her gaze subtle in its study of their escort and the city that surrounds them. Her eyes linger on the Silver Keep, and then they linger longer on the cathedral.

"It is an honor to be welcomed to a city so steeped in history, my lord," she says to Aleksander on their journey. "So many centuries of steadfast rule and protection."

"Well met, Lord Aleksander. I am Lord Reve Halfshav." Now, as simple as he keeps his introduction, there is nevertheless a certain amount of grandiose tone that it must be delivered in. At least Reve is refraining from actually bowing down with a flourish afterward again. He simply spins that empty cup in hand and hands it back to the retainer with a grin before he follows along. He is watchful on the trip, though his focus perhaps lingers a little too long on that cathedral.

"Sir Porter, Knight Commander of Solace," he offers to the man before they begin their trip through the city. He looks around the city with avid interest as they move, it's possible that maybe he's been here before. Though probably not very far past the docks, truth be told. Having definitely given that cup back (he didn't steal it, SWEAR), he drifts once more to Bree. When she makes her remark about it not being a bad name, he laughs quietly. "Not that you're biased at all." He seems to want to linger by that cathedral, but this is not a tour of cathedrals! It's a diplomatic mission.

"Thank you, Lord Aleksander. I am Lady Azova Darkwater, a Mercy of Lagoma." The flame haired islander introduces herself, placing the ceramic cup neatly and carefully back onto the shield platter before they make their walk towards the Old City. "Truly a gorgeous cathedral." She too seems to want to stop and stare at it, hand resting briefly on Reve's arm to direct his attention that way. But, they must be onward. And so a lingering glance is all she can spare before her steps take her forward.

"Just a little," Bree admits to Porter's assessment of her character, a grin for him, and then a small nudge so that they keep moving along when he starts to get distracted by the cathedrals. "Maybe on the way out," she suggests quietly, although it is one of those promises that depends very much on how the events between now and then go. Berenice, Reve, and Azova all seem more prepared to converse with Lord Aleksander than she is, so she keeps her communication to her fellow knight (for now).

Bree and Porter are just very good Faith people, covered in a lot of armor. He looks over his shoulder once at the guards that are trailing them, his expression curious as to how close they are. But then it's back around to his partner in crime, but really crime because Solace knights are not criminals, "Maybe we should go on a tour someday. Not of here exactly, but places!" The idea seems to bring more of that optimism to his features, even if he's sweeping his eyes over the city.

There is little silver about the Silver Keep as the diplomats are shown inside. Servants and retainers bow as the party passes through stone corridors warmed only by rugs on the floors and tapestries on the walls. As they pass, Aleksander answers his charges, beginning with Berenice, "The Princess speaks well, but owes the thanks for her presence to the Knights of Solace. If Sir Leonid did not esteem that Order so highly, I doubt an audience would have been granted, and we would not have met." Two guards open two double doors into a great hall, and the guests walk face first into a wall of warmth as large hearths burn on opposite ends of the large, well lit chamber. Here alone, in the otherwise grey city, light is abundant, causing the silver threads in rich blue banners to sparkle, and shining bright from the silver plated throne at the head of the hall. Upon it sits a lordly figure, aged but not infirm. Long beard and hair are both snow white, and to his left side stands a middle aged woman in a midnight blue gown. To his right stands a spearbearer, who raps the iron shod weapon on the floor three resounding times. Aleksander voices loud and steady, "Sir Leonid, son of Clemens, by right of blood and law Count of Silvermeet: into you hall now come Knights Porter and Hartshall; Princess Berenice Velenosa, Lord Reve Halfshav-" a hint of distaste slips his composure at that last before stoicism is restored, "And Lady Azova Darkwater." The introductions made, he bows to the throne.

Reve is behaving. Relatively so. Even when that hint of distaste breaks through. He smiles, again, a bold and bright thing but it tempers soon enough and his eyes hold a hint of something tight. Irritation potentially, though the young man has a firm handle on it. His lips part as though he was on the cusp of offering forth some commentary, but wisely he manages to refrain. Reve bows instead.

"And what a great loss that would have been." Here Berenice allows herself the ghost of a smile as she replies to Aleksander, but it's a small thing. Contained. "I am not surprised to hear that your father holds such a devout and historical order in such high regard." Every detail she is offered is one that is carefully examined and stored away, a collection of threads woven into a tapestry of planned attack. That is -- planned //diplomacy//. She notes the order of their introductions, the slight distaste to the one. She notes the strength that still lingers in the Count's frame, and she notes the woman who stands at his side. No detail is too small in moments such as these. She steps forward, dipping gracefully in a curtsy when she is introduced to Leonid. "It is an honor to be welcomed to your hallowed halls, Sir Leonid," she says, taking her cue from Aleksander in her use of the knightly title, rather than his title of rule. "Although I know I owe my own welcome to my most honorable compatriots." Her gaze shifts to Bree and Porter as the Knights of Solace in attendance.

Azova offers a polite but brief curtsy towards the man on the throne and the lady that stands beside him. Perhaps deliberately, she places herself beside Reve once the niceties are dispensed with. And, she offers no words to accompany her actions as Berenice is the diplomat here. Instead, she will allow herself the luxury of studying their surroundings and the people that are in the hall. Details may come in handy after all, at some point.

Porter's plans for their future touring the world's cathedrals are not answered, because Bree catches the words of Aleksander quite clearly. "The Knights of Solace are honored that Sir Leonid holds us in such esteem. We are, and ever will be, protectors of the people and servants of Gild." She smiles through her momentary flash of pride of her order, following along with the group. As they near the Keep, she exhales a small snort of a laugh, some amusement or thought in the sight of it, but there is an accusatory glance cast Porter-ward, as if he might be the cause of her small outburst. She gets herself under control in enough time to bring up the rear of the party entering the hall. Like Berenice, Reve, and Azova, she follows in the show of respect, but her hand comes to her chest, a satisfying clank of gauntlet to chest piece, and she bows. "Sir Leonid, thank you for allowing us safe entry into your holdings. The Knights of Solace are honored, and with us we have voices we trust, those who have always shown support for our Order." She casts a glance toward Berenice, then Reve, then Azova, infusing them, she hopes, with the same respect Leonid might offer her and Porter.

As the various bits and pieces of the keep are observed, Porter murmurs something in a low tone to his fellow knight while keeping a stoic expression on his face. As they step into the hall and the silver threads are hit by the light, his eyes lift up and widen, then he says a bit louder to his fellow knight, "I retract that statement." Then he rocks back on his heels to be politely quiet for the introductions. When his name is announced, Porter bows with all the training of 'how to NOT be an embarrassment in front of important people' that was drilled into his head growing up in the Mourning Isles. He waits to speak however until the more senior member his order make her reply. "Thank you for your audience, Sir Leonid. We had the opportunity to look upon your cathedral on the way in, it's beautiful. I would very much like to see the inside before we depart." As Bree speaks on those that show support for the Knights of Solace, he dips his head once in Azova's direction. "We have with us a Mercy of Lagoma as well."

Count Leonid gestures toward his son, and Aleksander moves to stand near the throne, facing the guests. The placement is deliberate, he is now his father's advisor, rather than guardian to the diplomats. It is the Count who speaks now, addressing each in turn: "The light of the Gods is for all, Sir.. Porter," the white bearded nobleman answers the request to visit the cathedral before leaving. A nod to Axova as she is identified as a Mercy. Another slow nod to Berenice as she speaks her eloquent greeting. "Though regard for the Silver Knights has brought you all before me, I daresay be it is a less sacred and more mortal motive you have come. I am Silvercrest: you have my ear," he states, with a 'say your piece' gesture of both hands to his guests.

"Is it less sacred, my lord?" The challenge in Berenice's voice is the lightest of touches. She takes a moment, her gaze leveling with Leonid; she has a steadiness to her bearing that is unwavering. "The bonds of fealty are enshrined in the Faith and woven into the honor of the peerage; though you hold the Knights of Solace in high regard, it is clear you are a man of faith, and I know you also keep Limerance sacred in your halls, for the only building that could compare to the Silver Keep as we approached was the cathedral. I come before you today to speak of duty, of where fealty is owed and where fealty is abused. I come before you today, Sir Leonid, to urge you to commit your forces to honor and faith and duty. There is a fracture within the Mourning Isles, and I will not pretend otherwise. I am no servant of Prince Victus, but House Velenosa has long been a traditional ally of House Thrax. I know that the steps he has taken are not ones that have been looked upon with approval in your lands. But today I ask you to consider that against an even greater risk to the foundations of our faith and tradition. The fleet that sails from Skal'daja comes from a land that rejects our gods, our virtues and our faith, in worship of the inverse. Each of their kingdoms stands as a mockery of the beliefs that have knit together the Compact for a thousand years. I come before you today, Sir Leonid, to ask you to stand with us to defend not only the Compact, but the Faith."

Berenice checks charm and diplomacy at normal. Berenice is marginally successful.

That particular Halfshav continues to behave. He takes a deep breath, his eyes moving from one individual to the next, and eventually he is focusing back on his own party. Berenice is of course regarding with no small amount of appreciation for her silver tongue, the young man dipping his head slightly, as though by way of emphasis, with her mention of the Faith. Speaking of, those particular individuals that are more entwined with the Faith (the other members of his party really) also summon forth his focus, as though he expected further emphasis or rally from them.

Bree listens before she speaks, which is something she's had to learn, to hone, to practice again and again, but the ease at which Berenice begins the negotiations gives her reason to pause. The small jut of her chest forward like her body was ready to carry her forward without her mind was just a coincidence. A little twitch. She looks at the Velenosa princess with bald admiration as she speaks of the Faith, of the connection between Sir Leonid and those in Arvum. Her chin dips and raises several times, her agreement shown. "Princess Berenice speaks true, Sir Leonid. The forces that gather are no friend to the Faith, to the Silver Order."

"I wonder, Sir Leonid, if I may? I noticed that there was a Eurusi vessel docked in your harbor," Porter begins, lifting his voice to a quiet rumble that carries across the space between between them. "You have your guards watching it. Are they here to treat with you as well, in some fashion?"

Azova bows her head as Berenice finishes speaking; a prayer on her lips that she murmurs. She is obviously very devout in her faith, and has a deep appreciation for the argument that the Velenosan princess has made. At least she has the presence of mind not to be 'yay great speech!' out loud though. And to the chorus, she adds. "Those other forces that seek to sway your righteous path have already once broken sanctuary, Sir Leonid. They attacked the injured, and the Mercies trying to heal them."

Bree checks charm and empathy at normal. Bree is successful.

Azova checks perception and empathy at normal. Azova is marginally successful.

Porter checks charm and leadership at normal. Porter is marginally successful.

Leonid gives slight nods at several points in Berenice's speech, though his countenance does not warm. "There is much truth in your words. One of these.. foreigners defiled guest right within my domain, and his remains now greet every ship in my harbor. I cannot abide.. dishonest men." That answer serves as a segue to turn his eye upon Porter. "They came to make demands, and doubted my resolve when they were refused, Sir.. Porter." Scorn briefly colors his solemnity as Azova details further violations of sanctuary. "Shameful," he judges aloud. His eye and attention return to Berenice. "Yet I will not believe there are only two courses. I reject utterly the lesser of evils. The wickedness of one does not strike from memory the sins of the other. In the strictest reading of divine duty, I am bound to obey my sworn overlord, and in that obedience I am forgiven. If I am to break that duty, it will be for certainty of a righteous cause. And I worry greatly for the righteousness of the Church. I worry for the justice of Thrax, Helianthus, Dredcall, and Silvercrest. I see the Compact going astray and worry that it loses itself, even as my strongest oaths bind me to it."

Azova checks perception and theology at normal. Azova marginally fails.

Bree checks charm and theology at normal. Botch! Bree catastrophically fails.

Azova is quite unable to find the words for how wrong she feels Sir Leonid is of his assessment. She can tip her head in agreement for that first part of his argument. That his oaths bind his loyalty to his direct liege. But, she cannot agree of his assessment of the Compact or the Church. And so she just raises a brow instead and looks to Berenice.

There's something that moves Bree from Leonid's words, and that restraint she showed before vanishes. She becomes all words, little sense, in her attempt to persuade him using her knowledge of the Faith. She /does/ know it, she does understand her own vows, but the passion she feels for Gild and for the Compact and for the Church blends into a really unfortunately undiscernible jumble. "Gild!" and "Knights!" and "Honor!" all get tossed around, but whatever her speech is? This is one that she'll surely have nightmares about years from now. "Sir Leonid, when I became a Knight..." she starts to try a different path, shakes her head. "When someone takes their vows..." another false start. "You must see that the Gods are..." she tries, the words evading her. Her cheeks are flushed by the end of it, and she really did /try/, but this is certainly what failure looks like. So she leaves her knowledge of the Faith behind and asks, "What do you need, Sir Leonid?" There's a hint of desperation to her tone, more that someone stops her from talking than anything else, really.

Porter is listening to Bree as she speaks and there's admiration in his expression, affection, even as she goes flush. He'll wait until the end, without interrupting her. When it's done, he takes in a deep breath toward the end and turns to the man. "Sir Leonid, I was there the day that heretics came to the city of Arx. I watched as Templars of the Faith were cut down on the steps of the Great Cathedral. As these people incited violence and chaos, I bled on its steps to protect one of our holiest places. I saw it catch flame, I saw the roof collapse. I've removed the rubble with my own hands. As has Dame Harthall, Lord Reve, Lady Azova. House Velenosa has been very generous in assisting with its rebuilding." When he says that, Porter nods once gravely to Berenice. "There is still righteousness in the Church. There are those who serve the Gods with body and soul. From disciples to godsworn. If the Eurusi linger in your ports, hoping to press you, let the Knights of Solace linger in your ports as well. Show that your loyalty to the Faith is strong, that we'll assist you in resisting heretics and those who would turn you against the Faith otherwise."

Porter checks charm and propaganda at normal. Botch! Porter is simply outclassed. This is monumentally beyond them and the result is ruinous.

Reve checks charm and diplomacy at normal. Reve is marginally successful.

While Reve remains quiet yet, he is not simply a stoic bystander. He is animated in his expression, his responses. When Leonid remarks that one of the foreigners defiled guest right? He scowls, his upper lip curling in a sneer. He looks in fact like he could spit, that thought offends him so. Luckily however the man does not actually do so. "We make no demands, we seek a simple audience as you have granted. We ask that you listen and you consider, which you do. We are hopeful, of course, but I do not think that any might argue the honor of keeping to your vassal oaths. Yet is there not a responsibility to the Compact? You say that you worry about the righteousness. Is it not better to argue with tradition within, as ally, as part of it? We are unique, we Compact, with our individual views and yet despite that, how many times have we stood as one?" He tries, at least, in a rather heartfelt way.

"There can only be swift and final judgment for those who would defile our most sacred rites," Berenice says, her jaw firming with a steely sort of approval. "I would not be Lycene if I could not acknowledge that few crossroads only have two choices. There is little we in the Compact hold more sacred than the bonds of fealty, and you are right that there is ever honor in embracing that duty. Sometimes our duty is the most important in those very moments when it is most difficult to uphold; I will not deny this. I was not born to rule as you were, but I stand as Voice of Velenosa, trusted by our Archduchess, and I know some small part of the weight that falls upon the shoulders of those entrusted with rule. You are faced with an impossible choice." She pauses then, for a moment, allowing the weight of those words to linger. And then even longer, because Bree has stepped forth with that...unfortunate jumble. It is only her composure that keeps her eyes from widening too much. Another silence follows the end of it, and then she carefully clears her throat. "I believe that what Dame Bree means to express is that -- the bonds of fealty flow not only from vassal to liege, but from liege to vassal. It is not only what you owe your liege, but what your liege owes to you. You are owed to not be asked to take action that would impugn the honor of your house, your person, or the tenets of your faith. The Compact is built upon a tradition of fealty, but it also comes with a tradition of the Faith holding authority over the truth and purity of those bonds. When a vassal is being pressed by their liege to commit evil, the Faith is there for them to turn to. To petition. To cast a grave and holy judgment, and, if necessary, name those bonds as forfeit. It is a terrible responsibility, to hold the authority to stand in judgment of such a thing, but that is the place of the Faith in the Compact: to stand as authority as the voice of the gods, of those virtues we hold most dear, to lift us up when we better ourselves in aspiration of those sacred gods, and to censure us when we reject and deny them. The Faith has stood against Duke Ivan's embrace of an army dedicated to the antithesis of all we hold sacred. It has stood against his unforgivable acts in spilling blood on holy ground and cutting down those protected by guest right. In this, do you truly feel the Faith has strayed?"

Bree looks for a moment at Berenice when she is roped into this eloquent speech, the expression on her face surprised and certainly asking the question 'is that what I meant to say?' Thankfully she's not so dim as to miss this chance to hitch her wagon to a much more skilled horse (not that Berenice is a horse, by any means). She nods. Then she nods more confidently, looking back to Leonid.

Azova is just going to stare in awe a moment, and fangirl a little over Berenice. And Reve, she hasn't forgotten you Reve. The combined eloquence (and they're both so pretty) prompts a sigh and a content smile.

Boots thump heavy against the floors of the hall as the massive form of the Grandmaster of Solace finally appears. Gauntlets rise up to remove the Bull helm as the Bull of Solace thump-thump-thumps his way towards the small diplomatic detatchment and the duke. When he arrives, Jeffeth bows deeply, alaricite fist pounding against his breastplate. "Apologies for my tardiness." He had to make sure he got everyone's order right. Also, maintain order. Something.

Leonid, white of beard, turns a solemn eye to Bree, whose empassioned and chaotic plea is cut off with a stern, "Sir." It is the tone known to drillmasters the world over. Porter receives his eye next. "The desecration of the Great Cathedral was anathema. Yet I do not believe Waldo Bellerive guilty of such, nor will hear the pleas for faith from a man who hides his own name. I know who you are, *sir*." That last honorific is spoken with a subtle bite. Reve commands his attention next, earning a subtle nod. "Silvercrest will not abandon the Compact. You may tell your masters that much, with truth."

Whrn his aged eye returns to Berenice, he states first, "You are wrong, Princess. I was not born to rule. It was only with the death of my elder brother that my own vows to the Order were forgiven, in order to return here, and rule in his stead." A slow breath drawn. "For all our piety, I know the Faith loves is little. Yet such matters not. I will not break with the Compact, for this is the Oath upon which all other Oaths are founded. Waldo Bellerive was dear to me for many years. I will not go to war against at my kith and kin, without better proof than your fine speech, Princess." His regard falls on Jeffeth. "Grandmaster. The knights of your Order are bold without doubt, yet their etiquette may require burnishing."

"Sir Leonid." Azova ventures. "Might there be a way that those of us here who serve the Faith can prove our own good intent and adherence to the Faith. I find that there are many times where action speaks louder than words. And as a Mercy it would be my honor to tend to any of the wounded, injured, ill, or infirm while we are here. I have no doubt your domain boasts many fine healers of its own, but I have also never known a healer's work to actually be done at the end of a day. Allow me to be of service in some small way. There have ..." She pauses here a moment and glances at the others. "... been rumors of Eurusi slaves who may have found refuge here. And I am familiar with their language if this is true and any of them need the services of a healer as well."

"You're right, I didn't speak the name of my family when I came to you. The Kennex family has caused no few ripples and waves and /storms/ across the Mourning Isles in the last decade. Controversy. Death. Chaos. I am Sir Porter Kennex. My brother is the Duke-Regent. But today I'm a Knight of Solace. I'm a Godsworn brother of the Faith. And I didn't wish for my connections before my oaths to the Faith to color anything." Porter ducks his head low the count. "I realize now that was a mistake and I should have treated with you more openly. You have my apologies, for what they're worth."

When Porter's name is brought to attention, Bree takes a step to support him in his apology, just short of reaching out a hand to squeeze him. "And I apologize for my outburst. You were a Godsworn, and you surely know the passion of devoting your life to the Gods above all else." She turns to nod to Jeffeth, as if hoping that will be enough of a 'scolding' for the both of them. Azova's request has her looking on in hopeful encouragement.

Reve's head bows in a manner that is near humble (not quite so, but close) when Leonid speaks to him. He falls back to silence, stepping a half step back, to allow the attention to more easily fall to others. Take for example the princess of Velenosa that requires no maneuvering on his part to shine, for she does all on her own. When Azova speaks, makes such an offer, his brows lift and he exhales a puff. It's a rueful sigh, that, touched with a hint of something fond. Yet Porter's words have the Halfshav deftly maneuver a step closer to him, supportive in positioning rather than vocally.

"Forgive me, Sir Leonid; I did not know you once took vows the Faith saw fit to release you from for the sake of your family." Berenice inclines her head, her gaze shifting but briefly to Jeffeth upon his entry. "But I know that those who take those vows leave their families behind to enter the family of the Faith; Sir Porter is here as a Godsworn priest. An anointed Knight of Solace. He is far from the first to leave his family name behind." There's a moment, almost the slightest hint of softening, and she says, "Were circumstances different, he would have been your brother within the Faith, despite your differences."

There's a moment that she considers him and the weight of his words. "The Faith released you because it is the place of the Faith to hold dominion over such matters -- just as they do when dissolving bonds one side has failed its duty in honoring. What proof do you require, Sir Leonid? If you do not believe Waldo Bellerive to be ally to Duke Ivan's heresies and atrocities, or Skal'daja's anathema, then your place in this war would not be standing against him. What good is there, what honor, what /faith/ -- in standing and fighting alongside foreigners whose belief and worship is the antithesis of our own? Who came to your own halls and disregarded our most sacred custom? If you cannot stand against them, my lord, what can you stand against?"

"Ah. Thank you." Jeffeth rumbles inclining his head at the compliment, his scarred countenance curling somewhat with a soft smile. Though then his smile falters. "Ah?" He looks over to Bree and Porter as if his eyes could pick up what exactly needed burnishing in that moment. "I will take that under advisement, Sir Leonid." He rumbles, falling quiet to listen to Porter's words. "I too, I fear, am not the most seasoned in courtly etiquette. I'm sure I have stepped on a toe here, spoken too much there. But fortunately it is not our etiquette that we defend the faithful and the roads with. It is the ferocity of our hearts that guides us to protect your people. And in that, these two have no equal. So if you could see it to forgive us our missteps, Sir, you will have my deepest gratitude." The scarred knight raises his hand to pat-pat at his heart.

He glances over to Berenice, the horribly scarred knight watching her for a few moments before his gaze returns to Leonid. "May I ask where you served, Sir?"

"It is a healer's duty to heal the infirm," Leonid answers Azova. "I will not be swayed that you do your duty, but I shall permit it. You.. have heard truly," he adds to her talk of rumors. "The foreigners came demanding them of me, but though the slaves used deception to gain entry, they were within my domain, and cannot be compelled." Guest right. To Porter and Bree, he nods, once. "I was a Knight. Never a full Godsworn, though once I had hoped for such. I'll not claim any dignity that was not mine." Bree and Porter are given a single short nod. "Your apologies are heard and had." Jeffeth is regarded next. "There were many wars, Sir. I fought among the Knights of Solace in Alaric the Third's campaigns against the Shav'arvani. Order was preserved, though it was a bloody business." To Berenice he voices, "There are two men called Dominus, Princess. Each has denounced the other, each claiming just election. One I have known longer than any of you have lived, though now Helianthus trucks with barbarians.. The other a rough tongued Harlequin, elected by those who despise us. Were my loyalty to the Compact less strong, the choice would be simply made. I say to you all:" his eye passed over each, "Silvercrest will not betray the Compact, but until the Church in Arx can prove itself legitimate, I will not turn against my overlord."

"Of course it is, Sir Leonid. My only intent is to prove that I am what I say I am, and that I adhere to the Faith as surely as you do." Azova replies in a reasonable tone, inclining her head marginally at his agreement that there are slaves from Eurus there. "I look forward to meeting and working with the healers here to tend to those who need it." Indeed, she appears quite sincere about that. And a smile is cast towards he who sighs when she volunteers too much of her time. A hand reaches up to clasp the pendant around her neck, as she steps back to wait for the others and prepare to depart the hall.

"Then I have no doubt you will be joining our side soon," Bree offers with more confidence than her entire speech about theology could muster. "Thank you, Sir Leonid." Her fist comes to her chest, a knock against her armor, and it rattles the charm she's connected to the steel. A thought strikes, and she unlatches the charm. "If I may?" she requests, taking a step forward and extending her hand, the charm of Gild presented in her armored palm. "A gift from one Knight of Solace to another. May Gild guide you, and continue to guide you, in your rule." She doesn't go so far as to step in front of him to hand it over, a glance to Lord Aleksander as if he might be the delivery boy. "And if you would allow us to continue to protect those who find their way to Silvercrest, we can remind you of the Church we serve, and the honor of our intentions."

"Thank you," Porter replies to Leonid with sincerity. He does not risk possibly annoying this man any further than he already has and sloooowly steps back. Is he going to that cathedral after this is over? Yes.

"We all do our duties," Berenice replies. "Most importantly when they are the most difficult." There's a moment she studies him, weighing that answer she has received, but in the end she seems to recognize that she has come against a wall, and she draws in a slow breath. "I understand, Sir Leonid. I might posit that a man can be rough-tongued, common born, with opinions that divide from your own -- and still be just. It is our hearts, and our actions, that speak to who we are. It is what we do, and it is what we fail to do. You said as much when you required more of me than eloquence. Sometimes you must look beyond that. And sometimes, we may dislike a person, we may disagree with them, but we will find a core of faith and devotion beneath that nevertheless. As uncomfortable as it may be. And that, if nothing else, can still bridge divides." And she offers a final curtsy, precise and graceful. "Thank you, my lord, for your grace and honor in receiving us. Perhaps someday we might meet again, under less grave circumstances." And there she offers a smile, still restrained, but with a soft warmth before it is time for them to withdraw.

"Mm. One Dominus that allies himself with the Abandoned and the other that is supported by the Templars, and by the Order you once served. I have been betrayed by close friends as well, Sir Leonid. I recognize and empathize the difficult situation you have been put in. But the comparison between these two, is not as equal as you'd like to pretend. You know this. Which I imagine is why you have not stood with your long time friend already. You understand the situation. You know there is only one true Dominus. I honor your service, Sir, to the Compact, to the Order, and respect you have a difficult decision to make. I pray you find the courage to make it sooner, rather than later." Jeffeth rumbles before he glances over to Berenice, then back to Leonid. He bows once more, fist pressed to his chest. "Thank you, Sir Leonid. For your time."

Aleksander does step forward to act as his father's intermediary, when Bree offers a gift. When Jeffeth speaks, the aged Lord's eyes harden. "If I knew such, the choice would already be made. Sir." The final appeals and words of parting are heard, before Count Leonid voices, "You all have come in peace. Go with the same." The spearbearer to his right raps his staff three more times, and the audience before Leonid son of Clemens, Count of Silvermeet is concluded.