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Mourning Isles Civil: House Windfire Hosts a Ball

Despite the bloodshed sweeping through the Mourning Isles, high society continues to attempt to function. House Windfire, a march under House Helianthus hosts a ball in their keep at Scorched Rock. They've drawn ire from both traditionalists and progressives as they refuse to pick either side in the civil war. Marquis Windfire is a staunch traditionalist, but his wife, the Marquessa is something more of a liberal. There's been whispers over the years that he indulges her too much and their marriage may not be *gasp* fully one born of politics. In any event, on the fence they've remained sitting. Both will be at the ball, along with the Marquis' other voice and minister.

But progressives won't be the only ones there trying to sway them.

OOC: This is a political maneuvering event or the civil war. It will be high risk in terms of gaining or losing a war asset, but low stakes in terms of physical danger. This event is not meant to be physical combat and those attempting to engage in such will be ICly shown the door.

Date

Aug. 4, 2022, 8:30 p.m.

Hosted By

Scraps

GM'd By

Scraps Anders

Participants

Anders Tyrus Catalana Quenia Enyo Medeia Narcissa Wash Jaenelle Sylvie Natasha Caspian Sorrel Denica Tesha Berenice Ember Zoey Scylla Vittorio Temira Jasher Mirk Aedric Scythia Alarissa

Organizations

Location

Outside Arx - Mourning Isles near Sungreet - Grand Ballroom

Largesse Level

Small

Comments and Log


Aedric has joined the a long banquet table.

Giorgio has left the a dance floor.

House Windfire of Scorched Rock is an old Mourning Isles family, staunchly traditionalist with the exception of the Marquessa Consort. While there's a large difference in personality between the two, they operate as a team and aren't so easy to divide and conquer. They're in attendance tonight, sitting on a pair of chairs near the front of the room where they're receiving their guests. Other members of the Windfire family circulate through the crowds.

The political temperature is not ideal. With the loss of the battle of Redreef Shores and an impending, definite siege situation there, there's some major electricity in the air. There are other houses present, but Nightcove and Dredcall are among the most notable of the Dagonites.

Marquis Mikhail Nightcove has made a rare appearance outside of Eastcrest and can be spotted speaking with the Marquis Windfire as greetings are exchanged. Lord Waylan Nightcove has already begun to circulate, a rakishly handsome younger brother to his much older sibling. He's making the rounds, accepting congratulations for his recent military win over Redreef.

Anders Nightcove makes a delayed entrance, having arrived somewhat after the festivities have begun. 'Escorting' is probably too friendly a word, but he stands next to Lady Medeia Eswynd and neither seem to be in any sort of physical pain. She's healthy and uninjured, even dressed for the occasion. Once they're beyond the threshold, he nods his head and begins to move off in the opposite direction with his guard. She's free to go.

Prince Tyrus Thrax hasn't been back to Arx for long before he sails away on the Queen Genevieve, his personal caravel. He leaves on a mission that may differ somewhat from the others present: To secure the return of Lady Medeia Eswynd and, more importantly... ensure she has something appropriate to wear for the ball.

It is essential for the war effort.

Once that most important mission accomplished and Medeia left to enter with Anders, the prince found himself with time to kill as he waited for the event to begin and proceeded to claim a spot in the (very discreet) alcove of the Grand Ballroom for himself. While dressed appropriately for the ball in Thrax colours, he does not seem all that eager to head to the dance floor, instead preferring to watch the proceedings... for now. He's certainly watching Anders' own entrance with Medeia, but nods satisfied when she's allowed to go free.

Catalana has entered on the arm of Wash, any ill-ease at being in a possible hostage exchange situation not playing out on her face. There are polite nods, drinks gathered, genteel smiles. After circling the room and making the necessary introductions, she leads Wash over to the couches to mingle with the other guess. It's only the smallest flash of relief in her eyes when she sees Medeia hasn't been harmed before she returns to talking to the others about her.

Quenia makes an appearance as a representative for House Igniseri, having involved herself in the war since the time it began with the first battle. While her ships have likely seen better days, Quenia is hale and hearty herself, and proudly displaying her usual fiery ensemble, though this time she's draped in a fiery sleeveless honeysilk gown rising into a phoenix, completely with matching slippers and a pair of ruby and citrine phoenix earrings to match. She steps into the room with an elegant ease and her black-eyed gaze drinks in her surroundings hungrily as she takes in every detail of the decor of the celebration that House Windfire has put together. She waits her turn in line to greet the Marquis and Marquessa, offering a bottle of fine Igniseri wine. It would be one from her spring harvest, with a lush peach flavor. She thanks them each, offering them resplendent smiles, and then goes to join the rest of the gathering, so as not to hold up the line. Her eyes fall on those gathered as she tries to sort out with whom she might gravitate torward.

There's very little actual reason for Enyo to have made the decision to be here, and it was, in fact, a very conscious choice. It took planning, and time, and effort to show up. But she did it, for reasons all her very own. She arrives alone, dressed mostly for the occassion, looking far too cheerful for the events, honestly. It's the sort of painfully upbeat manner of someone that is never going to not be cheerful when there is the possibility of free booze.

Medeia is, in fact, in better condition than when Lord Waylan Nightcove took her from Redreef Shores. That doesn't contribute to any warmth in her unsmiling expression - it's one of well-trained neutrality. At Anders's side is an odd place to be. Still, she looks resplendent in the deep green velvet and honeysilk ensemble Tyrus brought her. Before surveying the room, Medeia watches Anders move away from her. It's then that she allows herself to smile and move in the direction of friendly faces - notably the Thrax prince sent to collect her.

That the Lady Narcissa of House Fidante is a hermit, a recluse, is no mystery to those that know of her. It has been quite some time since she has been seen really at all - blame it on house business if one must blame it on something. When Prine Tyrus sails away on his caravel, on that deck is the poetess on whatever unspoken mission she has recruited for herself among his contingent. At the fringe she enters, golden eyes scanning those already gathered as one meticulously manicured brow quirks in curiosity. In the colors Fidante's duskweave, thorns and scorched petals, she is not covered in ink-stains and charcoal for once.

Caspian has left the an elegant arrangement of couches near the window.

Griffin has left the an elegant arrangement of couches near the window.

Wash is content to decorate Catalana's arm at this event and keeps the shop talk about sailing ships to a quiet murmur if at all.

The Archduchess of the Lyceum enters the ballroom, and it is no surprise considering her history with the Mourning Isles and where shes from, even if it has been a lifetime since she was called Thrax. The rich Velenosa violet of her fireweave outfit clearly indicates such. She offers polite smiles to those she passes as her hand rests gently within the crook of Lord Vittorio Gilden's elbow. "I know you have not been back in the city for some time, so there is bound to be many to reintroduce you to."

Narcissa has joined the a discrete alcove.

Duchess Sylvie Zaffria is a quiet, elegant presence at the edges of the party. She seems half caught in thought, her head tipped and her gaze sliding through the crowd. She does approach the chairs that their hosts sit on, lowering herself into a small curtsy that ends with a little smile. "Your ballroom is lovely, Marquis, Marquessa," she offers, simply, before she slides another look quietly around it, in thought.

Having arrived with the rest of the Thrax party aboard Tyrus' ship, the Princess Natasha arrives in the gala dressed in a fashion easily overshadowed by the brighter lights and more colorful flare of her family's more fashionable members; high-collared, fitted, structured lines stitched in steelsilk dyed as black as the evening skies outside, and covering nearly ever inch of skin from down the jaw and up the wrists. Flanked by two of her proteges, the Lady Zoey Kennex and the Countess Ember Redreef, she lifts a hand to briefly press it into the back of Tyrus' shoulder once he is within reach, dropping to whisper a word or two to him. With the Lady Medeia approaching the prince, she steps away, and while dark eyes also follow Anders Nightcove's wake, she doesn't follow. Instead, she starts to move further within, brisk, long-legged strides taking her through and scanning the rest of the gathering.

Caspian is sitting quietly to the side, a bit of an oddity in the room full of powerful figures. still he offers a bright smile, bowing and moving to find somewhere quiet to stand. his gaze is shifted to medeia as she enters. a smile spreads over his face and he moves toward her

Having accompanied Prince Tyrus Thrax here aboard his ship, Princess Sorrel Thrax is wearing a dress designed for dancing and a smile designed for diplomacy. Her lovely silver dress glints beautifully with drops of red, and it swirls about her feet as if to make even walking look all the more graceful. She looks elegant and almost playful, a finely decorated swordbelt calling to her Oathlander heritage.

Two more from the Maelstrom contingent arrive in the way of princess Denica and prince Jasher Thrax. The young woman is wearing a well rehearsed smile on her lips, it's bright enough to light up her features even if it's practiced. Still, there is a flicker in her eyes that betrays and ever wonder for the situations and places she finds herself in. Dressed in a celestial gown that glitters and sparkles gold and silver, it matches nicely with Jasher's dark and red hues, no doubt. No smocks or armour tonight for either respectively. The pair of cousins are whispering about something, or at least Denica is and there's a little twist in the princess's smile as though she knows her comment might not be well received. Thick islander eyebrows waggle, but then they are in the room proper and the young woman is greeting those in her path with a comfortable warmth that is friendly, unassuming and full of possibility. Surely professional, but with her own unique flare.

Oathlanders are probably rare to see here, but, Lady Tesha Telmar has personal reasons to be here. She'd been keeping a closer track on the Mourning Isles war because she was definitely thinking it was going to effect a bigger portion of people. She'd have to see if it was right. The auburn haired woman is not escorted by anyone as this was not something she would have asked anyone to accompany her to. The Redmarcher hands off the crimson cloak that she was wearing, revealing a black ballgown underneath. Which was not a normal color for the woman to wear. The mirrorsilver and epiphanite star necklace and simple mirror silver moon ring are the only flashy accessories that she wears this evening. She greets the Marquis and Marquessa Windfire with a smile and a few words before she's moving beyond the hosts and trying to figure out exactly where to go.

Enyo has joined the a discrete alcove.

It /may/ be a surprise when the Velenosa /Voice/ also arrives with her Archduchess; Berenice has no such formal tie to the Mourning Isles, and House Velenosa certainly has not made any official entry into the current conflict. But here she is, nevertheless, looking as perfectly prepared as she always does for such occasions; her gown is a varience of rich hues of turquoise and teal, baring a good deal of skin despite the season. Never tell a Lycene that it's too cold for silk. Her dark curls have been pinned back from her face, and the lengths arranged artfully to tumble down in front of one shoulder. She steps in nearer Jaenelle, offering Vittorio a warm smile before she murmurs something to the Archduchess.

Caspian has joined the a discrete alcove.

Countess Ember Redreef walks alongside Natasha. She's been talked out of wearing her skull-faced war helmet -- but she still holds it under one arm. The other hand is on her stomach. It's a strategic calculation by Ember, to show up to this gala eight months pregnant and ready to burst. Her shadowmeld gown -- armored and sleek and stylish, no doubt stimulating new thoughts about what can be done with the leather -- makes no secret that she's pregnant with, to judge by the size of her stomach, a caravel. Her expression is its usual grim and unsmiling thing. Then again, she doesn't have a lot to smile about right now.

Zoey stays close to Natasha, following her patron into the party and pausing just long enough to give a proper introduction to her own ensemble, rather than simple being a sparkling blur of plumb and gold. She too spots Medeia as she catches up to the princess, and there's is a slight raise and lower of her chest as she sighs in relief.

The Blackshore pair make themselves known without flourishing flare and glide into the space with features controlled but all the while openly congenial. Scylla's guiding hand rests on Aedric's forearm, leaning in to let a whisper brush against the shell of his ear. Whatever is muttered seems to have sparked a glitter in the silvery limn of gaze, casting it out like a fishing line towards the crowd as posture straightens. Those to whom she is familiar are greeted with a dip of umber hued head, causing sapphire hairpins to flash with the gesture and those yet to meet the Omen provoke an easy enough smile for the moment. The Marquis and Marquessa of the event are thanked as is proper before finding themselves comfortable near the banquet table.

Allowing his gaze to dance across all of the finely garbed and done up lords and ladies of the ball, Vittorio seems relaxed as he makes his way along with her, matching her pace. As one after enough showcases the finest fashions throughout the land, the Gilden lord allows his smile to broaden all the more easily. "That would indeed be the case, although I find myself regretting that I have not done more to stand in such distinguished company. I fear that I have only charms and my hair to elevate myself to such levels as they, and my hair can only carry so much weight." He turns to favor Jaenelle with a brilliant smile as he allows her to set their path. "So I shall have to tax my charms to their max to overcome my distinctive lack of distinctive attire." He lets loose a demonstrative sigh. "That shall require so much additional effort."

As Temira makes her way into the ball, she looks around and spies her near-sister Medeia. She made her way over towards her at a slow enough pace so as to not let the new dress trip her on the way over. It's never happened before, but then again, with the tension so thick in the air you could cut it with a knife. Anything is possible.

"Welcome back among the freed, Milady." Tyrus greets Medeia with a quiet smile as she travels to the alcove. "I trust your stay was, if not altogether pleasant, somewhat tolerable." His gaze shifts as Natasha makes her entrance, escorted by both Ember and Zoey. Whatever whispered words are shared between cousins goes unknown, but it seems that the prince is content with leaving things as they are. "Lady Medeia Eswynd, had you perchance made the acquaintance of Lady Narcissa Fidante? A good friend and often collaborator of mine, though we haven't met in the last... three or four years." he says as the lady in question joins their area. The entrance of Sorrel is also noted, with the Velenosan entourage being something of a surprise, though not an unwelcome one. "Cousin." he greets Jaenelle whenever she happens to come near the alcove. "And your Highness, a pleasure to see you both on this evening." he adds to Berenice. Vittorio being unknown to him, he nonetheless inclines his head politely. "Milord, I don't believe we've met before. I am Prince Tyrus Thrax, a pleasure."

Marquis and Marquess Windfire continue to greet their guests. They're both serious, with an eye being kept on their guests for the first scene of any trouble. That this is a tense evening is not lost on them. Quenia is thanked for her bottle of wine.

Lord Waylan continues to make his rounds, stopping by group of Dredcall nobles and making small talk. Marquis Nightcove has broken away from the Windfires and has joined his own wife, mingling with the crowds by the drink table.

Lord Anders almost certainly feels the pull of eyes on him, but the man is composed as he strides through the ball. His sword is peace-tied at his belt, and his first stop is to his cousin, the Marquis. Then to Waylan. After those brief greetings, he'll move to the hosts of the party, bowing deeply and engaging in the necessary small talk before moving on. It's notable perhaps that the tone of their conversation seems warm with the man.

Foregoing the typical funereal black attire, at least in totality, Prince Jasher enters the ballroom on the arm of his cousin clad in a crimson brocaded doublet obscured in part by a fitted longcoat of sleek, structured design in black leather. He is neither frowning nor smiling, expression set in a mask of unwavering neutrality, even while listening to Denica's murmured comment at his right ear. The only hint of his having heard it at all manifests in an almost imperceptible squint of his eyelids as light blue irises shift to fall upon her smirking profile. He allows himself to be led wherever the princess desires to go, with /some/ exceptions. Resistance to nearing the dance floor may only be felt by the forceful tug of his arm in the other direction.

"Freed and dare I say fantastically fashionable." Narcissa remarks but a few seconds after Tyrus' own greeting to Medeia. The pale Lady dips her chin in a polite greeting to the other, her black-painted lips blooming into a slow smile. "We have had the honor of meeting one another quite some time ago, though I fear I have been remiss in keeping up on my correspondances and social duties. A crime of the greatest offense, no?" To the others at the alcove there is a respectful nod for faces both familiar and foreign to her.

Mirk is late, still adjusting the copper pin on his cloak, as if he had been delayed in preparing. He's unarmed, and seemingly recovered from any injuries sustained in the recent battles, enough to keep a brisk pace as he arrives. He looks very much out of place here, between the direwolf fur and tattoos and assorted accoutrements that scream 'Northlander,' but he walks confidently despite everything, offering nods of his head aside to familiar faces as he passes. "It's practically a who's who of diplomats. I hope another isn't unwelcome, even if I'm not local." The latter comment is directed towards Sorrel, as the nearest member of House Thrax he sees.

The hosts are given the approriate greetings, but Enyo doesn't linger for too long, and didn't bring a gift either. So she passes through with the very barest minimum of polite perfunctory actions. The most important part is in retrieving a drink before she scans the crowd, looking to see if she spots any familiar faces that might be the sorts with a social orbit she can gravitate towards. Then, and only then, does she start to move towards the alcove where the Velenosa have seemed to gather.

Catalana checks charm and diplomacy at daunting. Catalana is successful.

Denica checks charm and diplomacy at daunting. Denica marginally fails.

Sorrel checks charm and diplomacy at daunting. Sorrel marginally fails.

Ember checks command and intimidation at daunting. Ember fails.

"Thank you, Your Highness," Medeia says to Tyrus with a deeply formal curtsy. Narcissa is given a bright smile. "Of course, Lady Narcissa is my favorite." One hand is lifted and allowed to rest briefly on the Fidante woman's arm in quiet exchange of an old bit between them. Then she's looking around and offering reassurances to Catalana, Natasha, Ember, and Zoey before giving Jaenelle and Berenice a surprised-but-welcome look. "Archduchess, Princess, how lovely to see you both here. Excuse me, I should greet the hosts." With that, The Eswynd lady moves toward the Marquis and Marquessa Windfire. "A pleasure to meet you both, I am Lady Medeia Eswynd. Thank you for opening your home to us for such a beautiful event."

Zoey checks charm and diplomacy at daunting. Zoey fails.

Medeia checks charm and manipulation at daunting. Medeia marginally fails.

Temira checks charm and diplomacy at daunting. Temira fails.

Scylla checks intellect and diplomacy at daunting. Scylla fails.

After exchanging pleasantries with the host and hostess, Aedric Blackshore accompanies the Baroness of New Hope to the long dining table situated at the far end of the chamber. Here, he draws a seat away, motions for the woman to sit, and then takes his place at her side. They exchange words, but their conversation is muted, perhaps because the subject matter is sensitive -- or they simply desire to remain mindful and polite in the presence of such good company.

Natasha checks composure and manipulation at daunting. Natasha is successful.

"Duchess Sylvie," Quenia sees her liege among the guests. A warm smile graces her lips as she regards the Lycene Zaffrian woman. "I had not expected to see you here or I would have planned better," she remarks. "Are you here with the Archduchess or have you come alone? Would you like to sit together? I've been part of the war for some time and can give you some of the gossip," Quenia assures Sylvie. Her eyes follow where the major players are going, taking note of who Anders and Waylan seem to be speaking to. This is not unlike the work she did for her brothers, long, long ago.

Sylvie has awkwardly settled near the hosts; well, awkward for others. She seems rather blaise about it. As Medeia approaches, she tips a chin in greeting, but it's Quenia that has the elegant Lycene speaking to greet, "Darling Quenia! So far from home, I had not expected to find myself in many places, and yet, I have been there," she answers thoughtfully, tipping her head. She shakes it a moment later, looking towards Jaenelle and Berenice before she answers, "No. Are you?"

Scylla has joined the a long banquet table.

Mirk has joined the a discrete alcove.

Jaenelle tilts her head as Berenice moves closer to speak softly, and she can't help the smile which replaces the more diplomatic facing one as it lights her eyes. A nod is given in understanding to whatever might have been shares before she replies with her own softer reply. As her attention is pulled towards the alcove, her brows lift in surprise as she notes Tyrus and offers him a familiar smile reserved for family. "It seems many people I have missed are returning to Arx." She then takes the time to make introductions, "this is Lord Vittorio Gilden. He has since returned from his time away on Lyceum matters and I thought that he might enjoy an evening of drinks and dancing. Lord Vittorio Gilden, this is Prince Tyrus Thrax. I am his favorite cousin as it should be," and there is a stare at Tyrus as if to challenge him to state otherwise, though it fades with amusement. "Lady Medeia, it is wonderful to see you looking as if you were not suddenly taken as a special guest." Obviously she isnt going to say kidnapped, how rude. "Lord Vittorio," she says as she turns towards her date, a grin touching her lips now, "I think there is no finer man in the entire room than yourself, and know without a doubt that any challenges you seem to believe you are facing will turn out to be enjoyable obstacles you will share with any who ask once we've returned to Arx. Though your hair is amazing," she teases.

Berenice laughs low and warm for the quiet reply Jaenelle offers in turn, her dark eyes brightened with mirth. And that brightness grows even more when Tyrus addresses them. "Prince Tyrus! Honestly, I ought to be /most/ put out with you for keeping one of my favorites away for so long." From the way she steps in to offer him a familiar kiss to his cheek, she presumably means himself. "Lady Medeia, so wonderful to see you in good health." And her gaze does seem to take her in swiftly just to note that she /does/, indeed, seem to be in good health. To Jaenelle's words, she adds to Vittorio, "Whomever the Archduchess chooses as her escort for a given evening must perforce be the finest man in the room." It's unclear if this is because of Jaenelle's influence, or if it's a threat to perform his role adequately.

Tesha's stormy gaze does flit about the room, alighting on Anders and a few others. She's not here to be a diplomat on anyones behalf, but she is definitely keeping her own tabs on people. The black that she wears is a stark contrast against her pale skin and brighter hair. She gives a smile to someone that greets her and returns the pleasantries, but for the moment she's trying to see where the best spot to people watch is. Then her favorite Cousin-In-Law arrives and she gives a brighter smile, making a mental note to get over and see him before he disappears back to Halfshav Hall.

Quenia has joined the a long banquet table.

Soft laughter escapes Narcissa as Media shares there old exchange. A quick riposte in good humor follows from the Fidante. "But do I remain your -first- favorite? It was always such a contest to contend with." The fond touch to the arm is returned, albeit briefly so as to not keep the other woman before she turns to greet the hosts more proper. "See, I am not an entire disaster." She remarks in a failed whisper staged behind her hand to Tyrus. The rest of the exchanges around her cause no lack of amusement and the ghost of a smile playing at the edge of her lips she makes no attempt to hide for once.

"Of course not, Lord Mirk. I've only been an Islander for a decade, just now," Sorrel replies to Mirk as she moves to hook her arm into his so that she'll have an escort for the moment. Not that she intends to let him lead. "Still, we all appreciate the influence of our friends and allies. And I hear you had quite a time at sea. Perhaps we shall go make new friends? Is there anyone we should introduce ourselves to?"

Sylvie has joined the a long banquet table.

Quenia settles down close to Sylvie and shakes her head. "No, I am not." She tucks herself into a chair and neatly arrangers her skirts around her, content to accept a glass of wine for the moment while she watches the room. She lowers her voice to the table to continue her conversation.

Temira, having checked in with her near-sister, walked over to greet the hosts. Others flocked over to greet them once the greeting was over. Standing off to the side, waiting for a turn to speak to them, it seemed like it wouldn't come as whenever she tried to speak, someone cut her off, cut in front of her, or just blocked her from getting any closer. Feeling a bit odd, Temira decided to make her way toward others in hopes of eventually having an audience with the hosts. Better to start lower and work your way up. =

Mirk is late. But the people of the ball all spot the man near instantly when he arrives. He's basically swarmed by Mourning Isles nobility and high ranking military folk who begin asking him numerous questions about his battle expertise and leadership skills. One exceptionally attractive young woman makes it very clear that she's looking for a 'political' marriage arrangement. There's too much eyelash batting going on there.

As the traditionalists and progressive begin to really mingle, the heat in the room goes up. The Marquis and Marquessa look a little tense when they greet Medeia, but she's complimented on her lovely gown with true sincerity. Anders who is already up there, turns a sidelong gaze to Medeia and says, "It's been too long, Lady Eswynd." His joke is dry but then he's stepping down from the hosts and inserting himself into conversation. "I hear that Lord Mirk Halfshav is here. My cousin Lord Waylan tells me that you were the most competent military commander at sea that day. I wasn't aware that House Halfshav was so skilled in naval engagements." His tone is crisp and polite, and those around the Northlands lord are given a friendly enough smile.

The requirement to keep an arm out for Jaenelle prevents Vittorio from bowing deeply upon introduction to Tyrus, but he does make his best effort. "A pleasure to make your acquaintance, your highness," he says as his arm extends out in a flourish, and then it rolls back up as he resumes his standard height. "As the Archduchess is far too kind, I can only claim to be my best to weather such storms as this ball in the ship that is afforded me, and hope that my skills at navigation exceed the petty limitations of my vessel." He chuckles softly, and runs his fingers through his straight blond locks. "The hair, of course, was never in doubt." His gaze shifting towards Berenice, he inclines his head to her as well, attempting a similar bow as before Tyrus. "It is a unique gift that she has to speak things into reality, is it not?" Clearly, he has chosen the influence, perhaps to spare himself the pressure to perform. He does turn his gaze over towards Medeia as she is clearly the object of much focus, although he says nothing. It is all well and good to pretend to be carefree, he at least knows enough to avoid saying anything incendiary. So he sticks to discussing his hair.

Countess Ember does cast eyes toward Medeia, but only long enough to make eye contact and offer a discreet nod. She keeps her thoughts to herself, as always. (Except for when those thoughts are about violence or being violent to people or their personal property.) She continues to move with Natasha and Zoey, but she's not really making any concessions toward the 'diplomacy' aspect of things. Those with whom she speaks are met with steely, withering glares and the distinct impression that Ember may wish to strangle them. It might be /understandable/ but it's hardly /becoming/, and really, Ember often seems to go out of her way to keep from being understandable.

Wash salutes Mirk with a wineglass he has acquired. It's the first time he's had a chance to greet the man since the naval engagement.

Caspian gives a smile to the familiar faces, but any tension that was there before, seemed to be drained as Medeia walked free. From what he could she, she seemed unscathed from her stay, and that seemed to be what has been worrying him. With that done, he turned to head out, slipping past the confused servants who were likely wondering how he got in to begin with. maybe he was the entertainment?

Caspian has left the a discrete alcove.

"You are my favourite cousin who's made her home on the other side of the city, at the very least." Tyrus replies to Jaenelle, his lips curved into an amused smirk. "Arx had to lure me back eventually, the sea holds many appeals, but not everything can be shoved into a ship's hold." He nods to Vittorio when the man is introduced. "Lord Vittorio Gilden, a pleasure. Be careful of the ship you cling to, however. Some have the tendency to willingly seek the most violent storms and highest waves, purely for their enjoyment." he warns the man, though there's laughter in his dark eyes. Surely he's not implying anything about Jaenelle. Surely! Though his attention soon shifts as Berenice greets him. "Chasing islands and stars makes one lose track of their time, I'm afraid. As I've no intention to further risk your wrath, I shall make every effort to not be gone for quite so long next time." he assures, still smiling. To Narcissa, he remarks. "I would never deem you a disaster. Lest one be so unfortunate as to find your wit aimed at them as so many throwing knives. Such verbal violence at a ball would be unseemly."

Catalana gently disentangles herself from Wash as Mirk makes his way through, she dips her head welcomingly to the man and tries to conceal a little laugh at all his attention. Coming to greet the others from the Thrax family, she murmurs aside to Zoey, "Didn't Jan have a thing for Lord Mirk? Or was it Lord Arik. Must be something about the beard." Her attention on the small group, she similarly shares with Medeia, "That is an exceptional gown and I am glad you're hale. When Wash told me the news, he made it sound like you had perished."

Gilded golden gloves cover her hands, hiding the realities of the day-to-day and one clutches the tulle of her skirt. Giving the layers enough lift, so not to risk the chance of tripping on her skirt, she was most certainly trying to lead her cousin to the dance floor. Noticing his resistance, the princess has a flicker of determination in her eyes, but the night is young. There is a consorted effort to look around the room and pick up those who are in attendance in all regards. Despite the banter she is having with her cousin, she is watching everything, almost a little intensely at times. Catching sight of some of their cousins in the direction of the alcove, she lets her gaze linger there a moment. Then she looks at Jasher, constantly checking in his direction. Despite the glitzy gown, Denica seems tense, feeling the tension in the room perhaps. There is something worn in the creases of her eyes, masked by the kohl she wears.

Once within polite speaking distance, and when there is as good a break in conversation as she might get, Enyo slips in to provide her greeting to those gathered at the alcove. Starting with Jaenelle and working her way down the list, "Your Grace." That gets accompanied by a curtsey, before Enyo shifts to greeting the rest, "Your Highness, Your Highness, Your Highnesses..." There's a lot of those. Then Enyo finishes her greeting with Vittorio, the luckiest, "Lord."

Ember checks command and intimidation at daunting. Ember fails.

Wash strokes his chin and nods politely. He's got nothing to add to any of this and knows when to keep his mouth shut.

Zoey confers quietly with Natasha and Ember, glancing around and greeting others with smiles and nods. When Catalana passes close enough to give her aside her smile widens and she shrugs.

To the marquis and marquessa, Medeia offers a warm smile and curtsy before excusing herself so that others may speak with them. Her eyes flick to Anders at his joke, but she says nothing in response to it. Instead, she sets about mingling, specifically seeking out the nearest Dredcall she can find. After introducing herself, she notes, "It has been such a pleasure to work with your cousin, now-Baron Darant, in restoring order to Crown's Reach. He is a fine man, an exemplar of Isles nobility." Aside to Catalana, Medeia confirms, "I am well, yes. Lord Anders Nightcove was kind enough to ensure Lord Waylan Nightcove removed me from danger. It was incredibly kind to be protected so." Her eyesbrows raise slightly.

Scylla checks perception and diplomacy at daunting. Scylla fails.

Sorrel checks charm and diplomacy at daunting. Sorrel is successful.

Denica checks charm and empathy at daunting. Denica is successful.

Medeia checks charm and manipulation at daunting. Medeia is successful.

Zoey checks charm and diplomacy at daunting. Zoey is successful.

Mirk opens his mouth to say something to Sorrel, and then the crowd notices his presence. For once, he seems at a loss for words, looking to Sorrel and then to the crowd as if completely bewildered by what's happening. Then he composes himself, clears his throat, and says to Sorrel, "It seems there's a great many people who think they should be on that list. But I trust you to introduce me around to anyone in the Mourning Isles. Believe it or not, I have more connections to every fealty besides this one. Even the Lyceum and the Oathlands." He helps himself to a glass and returns Wash's salute, and starts mingling, trying his best to answer some of the questions, pointedly ignores any seeming marriage interest, though he never quite loses that 'deer in the headlights' look of someone not accustomed to his treatment.

However, there's a dip of his head towards Anders. "We've been building up, and I can safely say that the crew of our caravel, the North Wind, has seen some interesting situations and grown all the more seasoned for it. Skilled subordinates are what make a leader, after all. And what can I say? A Northern fleet couldn't have asked for better conditions that day."

Temira looks around, feeling a little out of place. It seemed she wouldn't be able to get the answer that she was hoping for and quietly excused herself.

Temira has left the an elegant arrangement of couches near the window.

Whatever she may be looking for while scanning the crowd seems to have been located, for Natasha shifts from her place within the crowd - with Marquis Nightcove rejoining his coterie on the other side of the room, the princess takes her steps towards the Marquis and Marquessa Windfire, and while not the most expressive of the Thraxian coterie this evening, a smile manages to tease the corners of her mouth. Faint, much like ghost flitting past the periphery, barely seen and mostly felt. "Marquis, Marquessa, it's been a long time since my last visit to Scorched Rock - when I was younger, and in the midst of an extensive tour of traditionalist territories I had taken at my brother's behest. However long it has been, however, I still remember it, and wanted to thank you both for the opportunity to return here."

Catalana checks charm and diplomacy at daunting. Catalana is successful.

Jasher dexterously plucks a glass of /something/ from a passing waiter's dish laden with them. The simple fact of it being a hue of amber and poured into a vessel fit for liquor is enough to tempt him. The rim of the glass is brought to his lips without hesitation, its contents taste tested at first, then gulped. It is only after this that he realize his cousin is sneaking glances up at him, and he's aware at last that they've done everything but mingle with allies and enemies both. The prince leans down to murmur something privately to her, his eyes searching the room with intent to locate something or someone in particular.

Natasha checks composure and manipulation at daunting. Natasha is successful.

"You know, perhaps one of the greatest compliments a man has ever paid me was in comparing me to a hurricane he couldn't resist the challenge of sailing through," Berenice says with sly humor when Tyrus warns Vittorio about safe sailing. "Some of us simply enjoy the thrill of chasing something more likely to destroy us than not." More fully to Tyrus, she says, "I will hold you do that, your highness. It sounded /very/ much like a promise, after all." It definitely did not. "Lady Narcissa, a pleasure to see you. And Baroness -- no, my apologies, it's Lady Malvici once again, isn't it?" That last, of course, to Enyo. She plucks up a glass of wine from a passing servant and sips gracefully.

Quenia glances up from the table as Mirk's arrival is noted by all. It's hard to miss his entrance. She gives him a consoling look as he's nearly swarmed by eligible young women seeking marriage alliances. She motions to a place next to her, as a way for him to escape if he might wish to do so, provided he can get around Anders questioning. "Lord Mirk! I saved a spot for you," she interjects when the moment seems most right, giving him her warmest smile, while easing a brow upwards in a delicate fashion at those swarming after him. She politely returns to her conversation at the table, allowing him to decide what he wishes to do.

"And this is my first time here, an opportunity for which I thank you," Zoey adds, showing proper curtesy for the hosts at Natasha's side. "I hope that there will be more opportunities in the future, as this is a wonderful event."

Tesha decides that sitting in one place was going to be no help. So she moves about the edges of the dance floor and makes her way towards where Mirk and others are. She hears the talk of political marriage offers towards the Halfshav. "You're going to get a lot of marriage offers. I'm sure you're thrilled." she tells Mirk from a conversational distance. Then she looks to the rest of those that are around, offering a dip of her head in greeting.

Enyo's arrival is noted, and thus Tyrus turns to greet her next. "I don't believe we've met before, Lady...?" Malvici is supplied by Berenice. The prince arches a brow, though the name still eludes him. "Having gone through a hurricane before, I can appreciate the imagery, though I'm not sure I would be able to see it quite through those eyes." he remarks to Berenice. "Though I've seen it in the eyes of others often enough."

"One's favorite cousin should always be voiced to be the one in the nearest vicinity, at your immediate attention. Silver tongues know best what audience to which they hope to please. The Archduchess does make it an easy favorite to choose, however. The scales may be unfairly tipped." Narcissa opines. As for herself being a disaster -or not-, to Tyrus she counters, "You have never balked at whetting our wits against one another. You have managed to strike your blows against me with notable prowess, Prince. There must be some sport to be had, lest we all become a bore and talk about the weather." Enyo is given a polite smile as she approaches, the snark for the Thraxian prince put aside for propriety's sake. "Lady Narcissa of House Fidante. I'll spare you any honorifics and assure you I am no highness." Her burnished gaze travels then to Berenice as she is addressed. "A pleasure as always. I fear it has been quite too long. The last I saw of you was at some..dinner I believe your House hosted quite graciously."

Ember continues to herald Natasha, with Zoey on the other side. When the trio approach the hosts, Ember is still glaring daggers, making no attempt to soften her expression or her tone. "Marquis. Marquessa." She doesn't curtsy. Her hand is on her stomach, and her stomach is the reason why.

"The North Wind is an appropriate name for a ship that you command, Lord Mirk. I believe that the Marquis is interested in meeting you, as well. Lord Anders, would you be so kind as to make introductions?" Sorrel inquires with the sort of charming smile that suggests that she is unperturbed that some of these people were actively trying to kill one another the last time they met. After all, that was war, and this is a different sort of battle. Her regard of Anders Nightcove is comfortable, easy, and almost friendly. "You do seem quite well acquainted after all. I would much appreciate it."

"You know I was a proper Mourning Isles Princess," Jaenelle says with a side eye towards Tyrus. "I went where Grandfather thought best, and remained there because he he clearly was correct." She says this with a completely straight face. "It does not matter if other decisions made where not, you are bound to do something correct if you throw all the darts at the board." Here she smiles again as she collect a glass of some sort of cider for both she and Vittorio, handing her date one before she can't help the laugh that escapes, "the ship that sails through the storm is often better for it, because without such experience one never knows what one can handle. After all, ships are meant to survive a little banging every once in awhile." She takes a sip of her cider before turning towards a new voice, "Lady Enyo, I was just mentioning how many favored faces have returned to Arx, yours certainly included. What are your thoughts on breaking wood by blowing? Ships in storms."

Wash has joined the an elegant arrangement of couches near the window.

While the mood of the party remains tense, naturally, there seems to be a general shift in favor of the Victus loyalists in attendance. They're greeted somewhat more warmly than they were before, and the mood lightens, even if it doesn't lift entirely. The Marquis and Marquessa appear somewhat less tense. "Thank you for coming, Princess Natasha. Please send along our greetings to your brother, it's a shame that he couldn't be here," the Marquessa says to Natasha with a thin smile.

Mirk is handed many slips of paper that appear to be informational in nature, telling him where he can send letters if he's so inclined. Letters about what? Anything really.

"The weather did seem to have a Northern influence that day, from the reports that I read. I wish I could have been there to see you in action." At Sorrel's question, his head tips to the side. "The Marquis? Which? My cousin Marquis Mikhail is right there." Is that the one she meant? It might not be. But that's the one that Anders signals for. "Yes, my cousin was a skilled sailor when he was younger. But he had an unfortunate accident, he doesn't leave Eastcrest often." He smiles charmingly in Sorrel's direction, "We're cousins. Oh- did you mean Marquis Windfire? I fostered here as a boy."

Something that Jasher whispers to her makes the young woman look a little sheepish for a moment, though not apologetically so. Rather, she is murmuring something to him as she lets her eyes glance also. There is some sort of decision making happening, a thoughtful expression and then her smile tempers to something more empathetic. Spotting someone she thinks is from House Windfire nearby, they are entirely unfamiliar to her, but rather than interject with their hosts who are busy with conversation. Denica approaches someone on the periphery, walking with Jasher and plucking her own drink on the way. "It's nice to get the opportunity to traveller here, the hospitality is appreciated. Especially during times like this, the chance to be together, to talk and to connect are so important." Denica is most comfortable just talking to people and showing her genuine interest in others and their stories. There is a smile that forms there, small but genuine at the stranger, trying to find any sort of commonality. Then she looks at her cousin, "this is my cousin, prince Jasher. I am Princess Denica Thrax, Minister of Diplomatic Affairs." A sip of wine, letting others speak then.

"Yet surely a cousin of such refined taste as the Archduchess would not desire such fair-weather adoration, so easily received and mundane." Tyrus replies to Narcissa, his smile turning into a smirk. The precious, the rare, the truly heartfelt, now that is a far more desirable victory, is it not, cousin?" he asks, turning to Jaenelle. "I do not forget, either the decisions made nor the triumphs that are, in your case, well earned." There's a more serious look in his eyes as he speaks so to the Velenosa nee Thrax, though it is gone by the time his gaze shifts to Enyo. "Lady Enyo?" he arches a brow. "It seems I am not the only one to have returned after a long absence."

Wash settles in at a couch with a captain or other to recount the recent events. He's enthusiastic about it, but keeps his volume low so as not to draw attention.

Sylvie's gaze lifts to Mirk as Quenia calls out to him, narrowing in a weighted study of him and the marriage minded around him thoughtfully. But she murmurs her next words quietly to Quenia, her fingers adjusting the amber stone against her throat.

Once any talk with the hosts is over, Ember looks toward Natasha and Zoey. "Your Highness, Lady Zoey. This little demon inside me is attempting to kick its way directly through my navel." She sounds less than thrilled about it. "I'll be finding a couch to which I'll retire. Please come and find me if you require anything." Ember then does exactly what she promises -- goes and seeks out an out-of-the-way couch to sit and be miserable upon.

There's an amused twist of her lips, then Enyo inclines her head, "Indeed. Simply Lady once more, Your Highness." She then turns her attention back towards Narcissa, laughing, "Are you certain? You certainly could have fooled me, however, my apologies for the mistake Lady Narcissa." She lifts a hand up to place briefly over her heart for a moment before she drops it to begin providing the rest of her name for Tyrus' benefit, only to stop half way through with just an, "En." The abrupt stop comes when Jaenella both supplies the name and asks her question, her brows lifting a bit before she gives it a moment of very 'serious' thought before answering, "My thoughts are quite complicated, I'm afraid. I think that breaking wood by blowing to be a very effective way of breaking that wood. Of ships in storms. But you can't forget that there is a very important factor to be considered in addition to the blowing. The water. You truly do want there to be enough to soften the wood." The second mention of her prolonged absence gets an easy shrug from her, "Indeed, I've heard that there is quite a trend of returning faces, these days. I was crushed to hear that I wasn't setting a trend. But one must soldier on, Your Highness."

All of the talk of storms and ships and weathering has left Vittorio appearing rather dazed with the mixing of metaphors. As such, he resorts to the ever popular smile and nod. If one says nothing, one cannot misspeak, no? He accepts the glass of cider offered by Jaenelle to his free hand, and samples it, nodding slowly in appreciation. The sense that, despite his usual cockiness, he is way over his head in this particular dialogue is palpable, and he makes the rare choice on the side of discretion.

Catalana is easily moving between the groups of people, especially as they warm to the loyalists. Catalana finally finds herself near the Marquessa and she remarks with an easy brightness, "I have to say, this is one of the most beautiful ballrooms I have ever visited. It's so wonderful so many could make it here tonight, don't you think?" She glances aside, clearly hopeful. "Perhaps some peace won't be far off. It would be just lovely to be here regularly."

"Spirits, and I'd gone almost a year without anyone offering," Mirk says with a longsuffering sigh at Tesha. He shakes his head slowly, as if to say, What can you do? "Though maybe you'll dissuade them, at least for the moment. You are, after all, rather intimidating with a sword," he comments to Sorrel. "I can't say I've met the Marquis or Marquessa, no." He offers a dip of his head towards Quenia and Sylvia. "You have my appreciation, and I will certainly take you up on that. Perhaps in a few minutes, depending on the Princess's plans," a nod to Sorrel, "but I suspect I'll want to retreat to a quieter seat sooner rather than later."

"He would have attended himself, if he could," Natasha replies to the Marquessa Windfire, dark eyes settling on the woman's features. "And was doubly encouraging of my attendance when I offered to extend his well wishes to you for him, and I'm looking forward to spending the gala getting reacquainted with House Windfire. Which reminds me - I had wanted to ask, while I have your time, whether there were any new appointments in Scorched Rock: New ministers and the like, so that I may introduce myself and my company to them if they aren't known to me already?" There's a nod to Ember, however, when she excuses herself. "Of course, Countess."

Quenia inclines her head in Mirk's direction when she hears his words even while having her quiet conversation at the table. "You are always welcome, dear friend," she assures him with another warm smile. Unlike others, there's no seeming expectation on her part other than the companionship of a friend. She's turning to Sylvie and Scylla once more at the table.

Where Ember steps back, Lady Scythia takes her cousin's place and seems to have come dressed and prepped to stand out - wearing her house's color in nothing else but pyreweave and stygian jewelry with glittering rubies, her features schooled into proper and appropriate neutrality as darkly glittering amber-flecked eyes survey the crowd. Polished and poised, she offers a dip of her chin to Zoey and Natasha in a mild moment of recognition and respect, her fingers raised to draw her hair over one shoulder, content to listen for the moment.

Berenice has joined the a discrete alcove.

"One must, whether in unexpected returns or metaphors growing more and more... evocative." Tyrus remarks wryly after Enyo's taken up from Jaenelle. His gaze shifts to Vittorio and smiles in sympathy. "Let me assure you, my Lord, that should you feel on uneven footing right now, it is perfectly natural." He pauses. "And that your doom is certain." Tyrus keeps his face straight.

Ember has left the a discrete alcove.

"You'll be fine I'm sure, Lord Mirk. Just let them down gently and not like an anchor over the side of a ship." Tesha tells him with a bit of a chuckle and a dip of her head to him. She then retreats towards the alcove, that has a surprising amount of people hanging around. This was fine. "I hopefully am not interrupting anything." she tells those present with a smile.

Jasher politely bends at the waist as he is introduced to a gaggle of individuals he presumes belong to House Windfire, the glass in his right hand remaining perfectly upright throughout. When he straightens, settles back into his strict posture, lips part to murmur greetings with the most amiable expression he's able to conjure for this particular company. In fact, he's actually smiling. With his teeth and everything. "A pleasure, though I fear we have not yet been acquainted," he says to those who have seen fit mind their introduction.

"At least the Archduchess Jaenelle makes it easy for you, Tyrus. The Fidante cousins have as many thorns as they do blooms." Narcissa's lips are sealed as to where they may all fall into either category. Enyo gets a curious look. "Words weave wonders and wind whimsically to willing ears; there was nothing to fool. It was my speaking honestly and for once, not in riddles." A beat. "A blessing for all here, rest assured." She suddenly finds her unattended wine very interesting amid the talk of ships.

As she continues to mingle among the more traditional attendees of the party, Medeia can be heard explaining some details of her capture by Nightcove. "Oh! I was allowed to walk through the keep, a fine place. A guard kept me safe as I explored." To another, she nods while looking in Anders's direction. "He was unfailingly polite. We shared tea... Would you believe he asked no ransom for my return?!" Her expression is wide-eyed as she leans into her natural Lycene accent. "Truly, if not for his intervention and offer of safe harbor, I may well have perished at Redreef Shores." With those conversations wrapping, she respectfully bows her head to her conversational companions before departing to find herself back among friendly faces. "Lord Gilden," She address Vittorio, "I have not seen you in many years. Your hair remains fabulous." Then she joins the crowd fawning over Mirk. "Lord Halfshav, you are remarkable. Which I already knew. I would be proud to take my medical skills into battle at your side any time, friend."

There is a dip of Jaenelle's head to respond to Tyrus' words, nothing needing to be expanded upon beyond the sincerity of his words and her thanks. She lifts her glass towards Enyo's response, "if sailing through a storm does not take you at least a week to find your ability to walk on dry land once more, was it even really worth mentioning?" She looks towards her silent date, grinning once more as she sets her glass down, "I feel as if I should save him from himself, perhaps with a dance. Before the doom." At least she isnt denying the poor man's fate. She turns towards Narcissa before slipping off for a moment, "you have been missed as well Lady Narcissa. I know for a fact that the Lyceum ward was less vibrant without you there. I am glad to see your return and know your house, and the Capital, is all the better for it. Lord Vittorio, would you like to dazzle upon the dance floor with me?"

"Lady Tesha Telmar, an unexpected pleasure to meet you in person today." Tyrus tells Tesha upon her arrival in the alcove area. "I am Prince Tyrus Thrax, we've written on the subject of stars. Have you already met everyone here?" he asks. To Narcissa, he arches a brow. "I am mildly offended at the idea that my dear cousin Jaenelle has ever made anything easy for anyone, if only for poor Lord Vittorio's sake."

"We haven't needed to replace any of our ministers in some time, your highness," Marquis Windfire answers Natasha, gesturing to the crowd. "Unlike some of the people here tonight, none of our leaders have been killed, fall down cliffs, or suddenly wound up dead. It's been a most convenient time for us." There are some benefits to neutrality, like less murdering of your friends and associations, for example.

At Catalana's greeting, the Marquessa smiles for her. "Lady Catalana, we're so lucky to have diplomat of your renown here with us tonight. Thank you for attending."

The group of Windfire nobles near Denica and Jasher are more than happy to engage in polite conversation. "Good to meet you, Princess Denica." Though one does lean forward and ask, "Prince Jasher? Do you have /the/ sword with you?" DOES HE? Who knows, only Jasher does.

The traditionalists Medeia speaks with seem welcoming of her tale, nodding approvingly both in her depiction of the Nightcove lord as well as her grace about the entire situation. There are some platitudes given about honor during war and being merciful etc...

Scylla checks perception and diplomacy at daunting. Scylla fails.

Catalana checks charm and diplomacy at daunting. Catalana is successful.

Denica checks charm and empathy at daunting. Botch! Denica fails completely.

Medeia checks charm and manipulation at daunting. Medeia fails.

Sorrel checks charm and diplomacy at daunting. Sorrel fails.

Zoey checks charm and diplomacy at daunting. Zoey is successful.

Natasha checks composure and manipulation at daunting. Natasha fails.

"Doom is a little dark, don't you think? I'd prefer to say that what waits it far more...vigorous?" Enyo muses thoughtfully, then she shrugs with a smile, inclining her head towards Jaenelle, "Indeed, Your Grace. One must be able to feel it, otherwise it is far too easily forgotten." But with the Archduchess moving to save Lord Vittorio from doom, she winks in his direction before swinging her attention back to the others. "I'm afraid that I'm going to have to disagree, Lady Narcissa. I quite like riddles, myself. So I will have to quite forcefully reject this blessing, and instead ask for your very best riddle instead." Then she glances at Tyrus, flashing a bright smile at him, "Wouldn't you agree, Your Highness? Are not riddles the very best of things?"

Scythia checks command and seduction at daunting. Critical Success! Scythia is spectacularly successful.

"It /is/ rather entertaining watching the sort of mingling that goes on at parties like this in times like these, is it not?" Berenice remarks, her gaze lingering on those gathered in the vicinity of the hosts, distracted from the conversation in her /own/ vicinity by the various hubbubs and murmurs traveling through the crowd in reaction to the presence of both sides of the war. She finally looks back to her companions, her smile undeterred. "It /does/ seem like there's not nearly enough dancing yet," she says in clear approval of Jaenelle's plan. "They should be so lucky to have you set the standard for the evening, your grace."

"Ah, your highness, what man could possibly feel as if he has both feet on the ground with such a fine escort at his arm?" Vittorio bows his head to Tyrus once again before turning a smiling gaze upon Jaenelle. "And if such things are to bring about doom, well then perhaps it is worth the ending if the journey itself remains sweet." His attention drifting back to Medeia, Vittorio offers her the brightest of smiles. "As it always has, and always shall, milady." He bows his head once more to Medeia, but then as he rises also favors her with a flip of blond locks, for her appreciation. As Jaenelle expresses her desire for a dance, Vittorio inclines his head in answer. "I would rush headlong into any such doom for the chance to grace the dance floor with one such as yourself," he replies before casting his glances out to the rest of the doomsayers, or doom-warners. "If you do not hear from me again, do please let my family know that I honored them in my passing." He glances towards Enyo as he begins to whisk Jaenelle away, returning her wink, before his gaze returns to his escort. "It seems that I shall have to up my game, then, if I am to not hold you back from setting a high standard." An inclination of the head to Berenice along with a smile. It is good thing he thrives on pressure.

Tesha gives a look up when someone addresses her that's not Mirk or another. She offers a respectful dip of her head to Tyrus as she curtseys, "It's a pleasure to meet you in person, your highness." she tells him. "I even wore a star this evening, how fortuitous." she comments. "I think I know most everyone, though some I have not seen in some time." she gives a polite dip of her head to others. "I trust that everyone is doing alright so far this evening?" she asks. Then her gaze goes to where people are asking if Jasher has the sword and she frowns, they'd definitely not try to take it from him. Hopefully. She turns her gaze back to Tyrus and others, trying not to look too tense for the moment.

"Take all the offense you may wish, but you are welcome to borrow my cousins any time you wish and I will borrow yours." Narcissa so -generously- offers to Tyrus after imbibing her red wine deeply. Speak of the devil, Jaenelle turns to her and the words make the poetess place her free hand over her heart. "Life has felt a touch too pallid, a palette laden in pallor and gilded in grim, without the Lyceum ward and its inhabitants. I find myself jovial to be home and ever more so to have been received so by you. Thank you for your kind words; we must share one another's company some time soon if our stars align." She can't help but comment off of Enyo though, "Doom is dark, that is the beauty of it. There is so much beauty to be found in a myriad of night and its shades..." She's one to talk - and probably missed the greater part of the ship puns sailing about her while humoring her wine. "My very best? Well, what a way to put me on the spot and I do hate a performance. As Princess Berenice has stated, there is already so -much- entertainment about us. There is so much to discern in what is said and what isn't."

Catalana delights at the Marquessa's words. Her smile a genuine beam. "Honestly, it's me who is so grateful to be here." She offers in return, "Next time you're in the city, you must call on the kay. It's not as beautiful as here." She shrugs with a little laugh, "It's more practical than anything. But with Lady Zoey's help we've been slowly making it much nicer." They continue to talk for sometime but she shifts back to make sure the Marquessa gets to speak to others and that she can go chit chat to all the other houses in attendance.

Empathy is a double edged sword. In this case, there's a woman asking about Jasher's sword. The short Thrax princess tenses and Denica reacts before she can catch herself. Tighten her arm around Jasher's, there is a narrow of her dark blue eyes and they go icy cold, protective. It's unlike the princess to glare or glower, but for a moment there is a crack in her polite facade. Then she catches herself and tries to calm down a little, no doubt realizing she just overreacted. Looking a little sheepish, it causes her to sort of fumble there, too. Then she choses to just say nothing and take a sip of her drink. Emotions.

Scylla has left the a long banquet table.

"Stable governance is certainly a necessity for any domain that wants to thrive," Natasha agrees to the Marquis. "And more easily maintained in a vaccuum, but the world is larger, and more than a little wild. I think ultimately there'll be challenges there when surrounded by a volatile environment." Perhaps she would have said more, but Catalana's arrival, and Scythia replacing the Countess Redreef at her side, causes the princess to dip her head in greeting to both. "Lady Scythia, Lady Catalana, it's good to see you both."

"The man makes an admirable recovery, I doubt I'd have been able to do the same were I in his shoes." Tyrus remarks after listening to Vittorio, nodding with undeniable amusement. He glances to the dance floor as it becomes more popular, though makes no move to join it, himself. Stubbornly so, in fact. "I admittedly favour my cousins over any other, so I must refuse such a deal." he informs Narcissa. "As to riddles... It depends on how much is waged on them." he answers Enyo. "Failure is never pleasant when it is important, but what thrill when one's mind proves successful." To Tesha's words, Tyrus' gaze sharpens upon the Telmar, though his lips curve in a very particular kind of amusement. Almost like gallows' humour. "How interesting, I've also arrived wearing a star." An odd thing to say, given none are visible on him. "Jasher knows how to handle himself." he remarks as he notices the tension rising. But still he keeps an eye on his cousin. Just in case.

For being a Redreef Lady and Voice, Scythia is being oddly quiet. But all the while, she oozes a quiet air of look-at-me that is rife with her Whisper-trained poise and the way she just oozes self confidence and self-awareness. But when eyes are inevitably drawn her way, she meets that eye contact with a enigmatic mystery within those glittering depths that begs to be solved. When she finally speaks, it releases her velvety, purring voice, with just the touch of her home's accent to color it truly Thraxian, "Such concerns do you credit, Marquis." She dips into a proper and polite curtsey in acknowledgement of Natasha's greeting, the edges of her lips twitching up very slightly. "Your Highness, always a pleasure." Her gaze finds someone on the opposite side (so to speak) to lock eyes with with the final word. It might be a bit much. But one takes the cards they are dealt in life.

Zoey smiles to Catalana. "I say we make an excellent team," she tells her fellow Voice before she moves on to mingle. Zoey looks to Natasha a moment before adding to the Windfires, "But no challenge is so great that the right allies cannot make stability attainable. I know our own house had its struggles within the past decade, and as much as I might like to take full credit, a friend who steps in when you need them most is worth their weight in gold."

Jasher instinctively raises his left hand to the height of his blade pommel, or where it is /supposed/ to be. The awareness of its absence is like a phantom pain; he allows his effortless smile to buckle under an involuntary wince, but Denica's decision to glare pointedly at the Windfire noble, either too boozed up or too careless to realize the question they asked aloud is quite bold, grants him a moment to regain his wits and composure before anyone notices. He gets out ahead of the potential damage and quickly answers, "No, I did not bring the sword. I felt that doing so in the immediate aftermath of the proclamation would only serve to divide us further during this difficult time. Tonight was meant to foster a moment's peace, and it is House Windfire's moment to shine. Not my own." These words are delivered with as much grace as he can muster for the terribly uncomfortable subject.

"Please," Mirk says to Medeia with a wince, as if all the compliments had begun to cause physical pain. He doesn't elaborate on that thought, though he does claim a second glass. "Truth be told, I'm starting to wonder if I made a mistake at the battle. If I was really that clever, I'd have found a way to hand someone else the credit. I'm used to being more in the background of these sorts of occasions. Someone that people come to for a private chat but never the center of attention at parties."

Quenia has a few more quiet words at her table before she glances to both Sylvie and Scylla, mentioning outloud, "Speaking of support, I do hope you attend the Wine and Elegance Ball House Igniseri is throwing. I had to delay it just a bit because some matters came up, but I do still intend to hold it to support my patron and the friends Igniseri has made with members of the Thrax fealty." She glances up when she says this, her eyes alighting on the many, many friends she sees within the Ball already.

Sylvie nods, before asking, "Would it be acceptable to bring a plus one? I did promise Lady Sonnet that I would escort her to more human events. There may not be a better ball than yours." A pause, before she adds, "At least I need not fear offending the host."

"There is always much to learn by watching, Your Highness." Enyo agrees with Berenice, shifting a bit so that she can let her attention sweep outwards over the crowd, and note who has moved to new locations since the last time she looked. There is then a soft laugh for Narcissa, glancing at her for a moment, "I would not disagree, about there being beauty in the night. There is quite a many thing to be said for the way shadows can play with the dim light of stars, however...I do not know that I would strictly say that night, the shadows, and all those sorts of things are what springs to mind when I think of doom. I rather find those come to mind when I think of other things, myself." There is a shrug of one shoulder at Tyrus' comment, "I, myself, have a very complicated relationship with failure. I don't fear it as so many do, I've failed half my life at things. Instead, I feel that if I fail, and survive, that just means I get a second chance to do it right. That said, I like both wagers and stars. So there we go. And those that make admirable recoveries. Or even those that don't. I'm quite equal opportunity, I believe."

"I suppose that you cannot be brilliant at everything, Lord Mirk. Still, your quick thinking and tactical skills at sea were appreciated, and I am glad that House Halfshav is aligned with House Thrax through marriage," Sorrel points out mildly, still offering pleasant smiles to absolutely everyone who wants one, regardless of their affiliation. "There are some very pleasant perks to political marriages, though I doubt Duchess Khanne would be willing to let you leave the North."

Tesha gives a bit of a playful squint to Tyrus, but she doesn't question it, "I'd say that you yourself are the star, but wearing yourself might be a little odd." the auburn haired woman muses to that. She then shakes her head, "Ignore that. I get rambly when things are like this." she motions around with a pale hand. "Hopefully everything will keep to this level of civility and no one will do anything they might regret in the morning." she states quietly. She listens to Enyo and there is a nod of agreement on the surviving, "That is a good way to look at things, my Lady." she tells her.

Tesha has joined the a discrete alcove.

Quenia raises a curious brow in Sylvie's direction, but then a dawning forms on her features. "Lady Sonnet would be welcomed and an esteemed guest. I was introduced to Lady Saccharine by Cesare Whisper," she tells the Zaffria duchess. "It'll be interesting to see how the two differ from one another." She gives Mirk another consoling look as people keep talking about marriage. Her eyes alight on Tyrus a moment and she gives him a considering look, perhaps making plans to write a missive later.

The music begins, finally, for the dancing. While there may have been a few tense moments across the party, everything still seems to be going /well/ for some people. Maybe a little less for some of the others, but it's overall positive if you're a friend of Victus. The Marquis and Marquessa finish their polite conversation at the front of the room, then they stand and the Marquis leads his wife out to the dance floor. It's traditional Mourning Isles number, one that they're quite good at themselves.

Anders has extricated himself from whatever conversation he was in and heads in the general direction of the various guests from the Lyceum. "Archduchess Velenosa, do you feel at home in the Mourning Isles this day?" he asks, his voice is politely inquisitive. "I've had the pleasure of meeting Princess Berenice before. I'm surprised to see her here today, but it's a pleasant surprise. Of course." A hand is extended to the princess, "If she wouldn't mind dancing with me during the Windfires favorite number?"

"They are both quite different, yes," murmurs Sylvie, tipping her head slightly. Her gaze follows Quenia's to Tyrus, flicking over him in a moment's study and then dismissal, before she turns back to Quenia. She murmurs to her companion quietly.

"A wise decision, your highness." Narcissa concedes to Tyrus on the matter of trading cousins. "Must a riddle always be a wager - well other than wit? Something is always wagered, always bartered, no matter the exchange and who sits at the table. Riddles just have a pretty way of dressing it up as play when utilized correctly." To Enyo she lifts her brows and nods briefly in agreement. "Doom can come in golden raiment, as bright as any dawn or splendor. A subjective noose; what spells joy for one soul may be a cage for another."

Medeia's gloved hand comes to rest on Mirk's should for a comforting squeeze. "I will see to it that we return to our usual quiet chats, then." For a moment, the lady's good spirits appear to crack as she talks to the Halfshav lord. She blinks and pulls herself back together as the music starts. The room is scanned, but rather than ask anyone for a dance, she takes a few steps back to fall into the background.

At some point, Alarissa has made her way in the gathering, there not representing Victus, that was Natasha's job today. But she has taken the time to sail none the less and has made her way into the ball and talking quietly, dressed stately and appropriate for the wife of the High Lord complete with that alaricite false arm and engaging with a friendly smile and soft words even to those who may not be such in return.

Berenice's gaze lingers a few moments on the /moment/ happening around Jasher and Denica, taking note of the details and the reactions. And then her gaze shifts, catching on something else for a moment, before she returns her attention to her party with a very particular note of pleasure to the curve of her smile. And then Anders is approaching this little contingent of Lycenes, and her brows sweep up with every evidence of surprise. "Lord Anders, what a pleasure to see you here; I hadn't realized you'd be in attendance." Humor sparkles in her eyes, and though she does look aside to Jaenelle with a moment's curiosity for her response to that particular question, it does not stop her from giving Anders' request the respect it deserves. She sets her glass of wine aside -- on a surface, on a servant, it doesn't matter -- and then reaches gracefully to take that offered hand. "But of course. What use is a ball without dancing? It would be my most particular pleasure, my lord."

"Definitely not," Mirk confirms for Sorrel with a sharp look at anyone else bringing up the topic of marriage. "It seems like you're popular here, though, Your Highness, or at least your side is. The crowd seems very open to making friends, hm?" He raises an eyebrow at that, glancing around at the crowd as if to capture the atmosphere of it. He sits down, firmly announcing his intentions to forego any dancing, and says to Quenia, "I saw your fleet at the battle. I hope you and yours came home intact?"

Wash knows how to dance, and does it well. He takes Catalana onto the floor and leads her close enough that she they can switch partners for the second number, if the Windfires desire. At the very least, they'll be able to exchange a few pleasantries. If not, there are other partners, perhaps Lady Nightcove feels neglected.

Sylvie's brows lift as she studies Quenia, but then the dancing has started. She sighs, a soft thing, before she asides to her companion, "I suppose I must see about finding an eligible bachelor to dance with so that I might one day continue my uninterrupted line of heritage since the Reckoning." She nods to her Marquessa, before sweeping away gracefully.

With the conversation with the Marquis and Marquessa drawing to a natural conclusion, Natasha's gaze tracks the couple to the dance floor, noting the touches exchanged and how they position themselves with one another - perhaps to verify certain rumors with quiet observation of the degree of physicality present. After a quick whisper to Zoey, she addresses the Kennex and Redreef ladies with her, another faint smile manifesting though it vanishes once again in a heartbeat - as if such expressions operate on a timer, never to last long and disappears so quickly they're practically imagined. "Thank you both," she murmurs softly, though for what, she doesn't explain - at least not yet. "I see a few of House Windfire's ministers thereabouts." A gesture with her pale hand in the intended direction, and within earshot of where House Dredcall has gathered.

When the music starts, Catalana ooohs, "I haven't danced to this in so long." The Windfire lord she is speaking with gets one of Catalana's throaty smokey laughs and a teasing murmur, "The only bad about marrying a Grayson is that they can never dance these ones properly." However, Wash has led her to the floor and she dances with him before swapping between the different lords seeking dances.

"While an argument could be made that one always wears themselves, no, that is not what I meant." Tyrus answers Tesha. "I will elaborate another time, rest assured. A ball is unfortunately limiting in discussing matters in depth, not to mention bereft of the night sky above." he adds before his focus shifts to Enyo. "To not know the taste of failure would be unnatural. To survive it, even when it cuts deep, speaks more of strength than an endless series of successes. Still, for one to truly embrace it is... rare." Not to say unheard of. It's as he watches Anders ask Berenice for a dance that he notices first Quenia's and shortly after Sylvie's look. He does not say anything, though black eyes observe the two women in turn. Whatever his thoughts, they remain obscured.

"The Mourning Isles will always hold a place in my heart and I am always honored to be able to return to the shores of my childhood. I feel at home anywhere I go," Jaenelle then answers Anders with a polite dip of her head afterwards. "I learned from an early age that home is not about the location of where you might find yourself, or those you surround yourself with. Home is whereever you find you are able to make a difference, where your heart is strong and your passions are ignited, and my soul is settled. Do you feel at home?" she wonders then of the man, empathy in her words. Then she looks towards Berenice and offers a warm smile at the woman, "why are you surprised? Princess Berenice does as she does with no need to explain herself. If she were /not/ here I would find it even more surprising. And I feel as if you would find her absence to be felt deeply, as we all do when she isnt here."

Quenia glances up from her conversation with Sylvie, which had grown a tad bit quieter than the table chatter, and flashes Mirk a winsome smile. "Ah, Lord Mirk. Finally," she greets him. "The Igniseri fleet, I'm afraid, whimpered home. We'll rebound, of that I'm sure, it'll just take some time. We lost four longships, four galleys, and a dromond. While that was not the largest part of our fleet, of what we sent it was a significant portion we lost. It'll take time to rebuild and recruit more people who might be willing to fight. Also, we're giving families time to grieve before the rest decide if they wish to continue on. Everyone we've brought are those who have volunteered."

"Quite true, Lady Narcissa. Quite true. I've seen my fair share of gilded and shadowed doom, as I'm sure we all have over the years." Enyo does fall silent for a moment as Anders arrives, giving the man a once over before she glances between the archduchess and Berenice, then back to Anders for a moment. But that is a conversation not involving her, so she only pays it half attention as she smiles at Tesha, "Quite...I would love to say that I arrived at this particular choice of looking at it easily, but I got knocked down a lot growing up, so took my lumps to get here." There's just the faintest of barely suppressed laughs at Jaenelle's words before she clears her throat, blinking a moment at Tyrus, "I believe the word you are struggling for, Your Highness, is perhaps madness? I'm sure many would argue embracing failure is a bit mad, and not just rare."

Scythia's chin gives a single dip of acknowledgement to Natasha, though no verbal response as she turns towards the indicated direction, and approaches the presumed target of her diplomacy - each movement graceful and much like a dance as the glimmering pyreweave she wears glitters around her. It's no smile that she offers, no - that would be telling, and in this Redreef Lady, the surface deceives. She does not extend an invitation so much as command one for a dance with one of the ministers as her small graceful hand raises, only begging to be swept away for the dance. Where better to enact diplomacy, after all?

Jasher politely excuses himself and Denica from the gathering of Windfire nobles he managed to navigate fairly well, all things considered. The grin he flashes is almost too quick to dissipate as he pivots away and leads his cousin by the hand to the dance floor. The traditional Mourning Isles dance has surely been ruthlessly beaten into his memory from an early age, and so he manages to move to the music with all the agility a practiced combatant can boast, lacking the fluidity and grace of a performance artist, but passable in polite, judgmental company.

It's toward the dance floor that Alarissa makes her way, to watch the Windfires and others take to the floor to dance. There's a glance to Jaenelle, Berenice and the Lycene contingent as Anders looks to dance with the Voice. She doesn't dip onto the dance floor herself, opting to stand and watch from the sides, dark eyes flitting over those present that take to the floor and those that don't. There's a dip of her head to the Marquise Windfire and wife should eyes meet. Otherwise there's a serene smile on her face.

"There is much that is gilded and much that is plain, a wealth of shallow meaning and depth for the vain." Narcissa deadpans, her eyes dancing between the conversations going around all of the Lycenes in their alcove and now the newly joined Anders and others. "It may be best I keep my words measured and to my own heart, spare you my riddles."

Tesha gives a look to Tyrus and there is a bit of a smile, "I guess that you could say that, yes." she tells him with a nod of her head. "And of course, I'd love to speak on the stars when we can actually see them and not freeze while doing it. Or I have furs, I can manage in the cold." she chuckles to that. She looks to Anders asking Berenice for a dance and there is a bit of a look around to the others on the dance floor. Her gaze quickly returns to the Thraxian she was speaking with though. "I could talk on survival, but I don't want to darken the mood anymore than it already is in some places." she states with a soft smile.

"Understandable, I'm often traveling lately." Anders replies to Berenice with a nod of his head, a small lift of his shoulders. Traveling is certainly one word for what he's been doing the last year. As Jaenelle answers his question, there's an openness to his expression, words taken in and processed in what seems to be genuine way. "In the Mourning Isles, I'm always at home. Even if other people in the house aren't thrilled to see me." There's a twist of humor in his voice. It's one that translates to the curve of his mouth as she goes on further to speak. It earns a laugh from him, one that's hard won most days. "You're an astute woman, Archduchess. But if Princess Berenice will allow me to take her away from you?" And here, he'll incline his head to the dance floor.

The Marquis and Marquessa are well within their dance, performing it well. Others have joined them on the floor.

Catalana checks charm and diplomacy at daunting. Catalana fails.

Zoey checks charm and diplomacy at daunting. Zoey fails.

Medeia checks charm and manipulation at daunting. Medeia fails.

Sorrel checks charm and diplomacy at daunting. Sorrel is successful.

Denica checks charm and performance at daunting. Botch! Denica fails completely.

Natasha checks composure and manipulation at daunting. Natasha is successful.

Scythia checks composure and performance at daunting. Scythia is successful.

Alarissa checks charm and diplomacy at daunting. Alarissa fails.

Sylvie has left the a long banquet table.

Dancing begins and as others make for that floor, Narcissa seems inclined for an exit. "Prince Tyrus, do forgive me but I believe I will be finding my way back to your ship." To the others she extends fond farewells and promises to write and insists on wine shared at a later date. "Words find you and gods keep you all."

"I am certain the Archduchess is quite used to receiving requests to steal me away from her," Berenice says with a warm laugh, eyes glinting with mirth. She turns an amused glance on Jaenelle before allowing Anders to lead her onto the dance floor with a clasp of her hand. She moves with fluid, natural grace, as if a ball -- and, most specifically, a dance floor -- is the natural habitat she was born and bred to. She may not be a Mourning Islander herself, but there cannot be a single dance in the Compact she does not know every subtlety of.

"I suppose, though I will require something in return for our kindness," Jaenelle tells him, her smile matching his own as if they had known one another for quite some time. "I will survive the coldness of her departure in exchange for something in return, for we all know how hard it is to go a moment without her presence. What you shall give for a dance...I have been told you are a clever man with a sharp wit, so I am sure we can come up with something appropriate. I believe in us to overcome differences," she says before they slip from the dance floor. "Princess Berenice, I am sure during your dance negotiations can be made, who could say no to you?" Then back to Anders she says a bit more seriously, "change is something that happens. Whether we wish them to or not. Some are small and some are terrifying, but they happen never the less and we must bend or we will break beneath the weight. Do not break, Lord Nightcove. Do not allow yourself to cling to things who do not care if you are destroyed or not. If my grandfather taught me anything, it is others do not wish to see your best interest, and you need to make sure you do. You are not right now."

Narcissa has left the a discrete alcove.

With Scythia moving towards the dance floor and Zoey remaining by her side, Natasha catches a glimpse of golden hair somewhere across the way when Alarissa makes her appearance. Not much of a dancer - or a charmer - it isn't surprising that she foregoes the activity altogether and contents herself with watching the exchange of invitations to the floor. Anders, himself, garners plenty of interest; infamy will do that, but after a brief moment or two, she absently tucks Zoey's hand within her elbow and steers the shorter lady towards the other side of the room to engage others in House Windfire, to do what she has promised; to reacquaint herself with House Windfire, and refresh her memories with the changes painted upon familiar faces.

The fact that she's within earshot of a few of House Dredcall's members is simply a coincidence.

One hand holding her skirt so she might navigate with Jasher towards the dance floor, there was no doubt some look to try to orchestrate their direction there. Maybe the wine hit her. Maybe her emotions slipped up. Maybe it's just one of those days. The princess lacks grace even in the familiar dance and she undoubtedly bumps into someone or maybe even steps on someone's foot, it lacks form and she just looks at her cousin. Eyes wide, like she's tripped up by her thoughts, lost in the confines of her mind, rather than focus on the situation as it unfolds. Denica ends up uttering 'excuse me, pardon me' more than actually chatting people up as she navigates through the dance floor.

Having slipped to the background, Medeia finds herself failing to maintain her neutral, never mind pleasant, disposition. A deep crease settles between her brows as she considers her next step. Or steps. They find her coming alongside Tyrus and speaking softly.

Zoey happily moves along with Natasha, ready to take a moment to recover and listen from her position as the princess's date for the ball.

As it has been made abundantly clear that Lord Mirk Halfshav does not dance, Sorrel opts to find herself another partner when he goes to sit down. She flits up behind Anders and Berenice as the two take off for their dancing to offer a bow to the Archduchess. "Beloved sister, might I have this dance? The host and hostess are so charming that I am quite eager to take to the dancefloor myself," she says with a broad smile, holding out her hand to Jaenelle.

"I don't find survival to be such a dark topic." Enyo offers her unsolicited opinion to what Tesha says, half her attention still seeming to shift towards Anders, Jaenella and Berenice for the time being. But it doesn't linger for too long before she glances at Tyrus, the motion quick like she suddenly remembered something, "Perhaps we can speak again, soon, Your Highness?"

"Of course, the crew will see to whatever you might require." Tyrus assures when Narcissa takes her leave. "Few topics are likely to darken my mood, much less notions of survival." he remarks to Tesha, nodding as Enyo adds her own piece. "Of course, my Lady." he nods to the latter. "I myself should soon take my leave, if only to ensure the ship is ready to sail when required." Yet he lingers a moment longer, answering Medeia with quiet words.

Tesha offers a smile to the departing Narcissa and then she looks back to the others and she gives a nod of her head, "We'll have other chances to speak on it I am sure." she tells them. She then gives a dip of her head to Tyrus, "Again, it was a pleasure to meet you in person and be safe in your travels back home." she tells him. "I am going to go see how someone is after so much attention." she chuckles to that. Then she's heading off to see how Mirk is. Poor guy.

Eventually the dance will conclude. The party will go on. No one gets stabbed, poisoned or beaten. By the end of the night some discrete inquiries will lend the news that while House Windfire hasn't decided to join in the war on the side of House Thrax, it hasn't decided to join in on the Dagonites. It seems they're at a stalemate. House Windfire maintains its 'neutrality'. Some might call that a positive development, it's one less enemy to fight for now.

Tyrus has left the a discrete alcove.

Mirk winces at Quenia's reply. "I'm sorry," is all he says before pausing. "I didn't mean to drag up painful memories." He sighs, and then starts to rise to his feet. "I should mingle a little more, but in truth my endurance for parties is short." There's a quick nod to Tesha, and a, "Good to see you around again. It's been too long." Then he's off.

Mirk has left the a discrete alcove.

Tesha watches those that she knows start to drift off and there's a look to the dance floor with a bit of a listless look. She then turns to collect her cloak and head back out into the cold night air. Maybe a walk back to the ships would brace her against all the tension that was leaving her and she could think on what to add to the journal on war proceedings.

Tesha has left the a discrete alcove.

Catalana has left the an elegant arrangement of couches near the window.

Denica has left the a dance floor.

Wash has left the an elegant arrangement of couches near the window.



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