Captain Curls, an attentive, ebony guard poodle, Aspira arrive, following Quenia.

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

Magaen breaks from the gathering crowd long enough to return to it with a steaming cup in one hand and a steaming serving of bazaar food - on a stick! - in another.

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

2 Blackwood trained guards, Haldir, a Rottweiler arrive, following Cillian.

Comedenti, the Calderan Bearded Vulture arrives, following Someone wearing A porcelain white sand phoenix skull mask with softly glowing eyes.

Someone wearing A porcelain white sand phoenix skull mask with softly glowing eyes drops saffron shadow play stage.

Philippe, Savio arrive, following Orland.

In the heart of the bustling Setarcan city, where vibrant colors and eclectic influences merge, lies the enchanting Setarcan Bazaar. Even in the depths of winter, when a delicate blanket of snow lightly falls from the heavens, the bazaar remains alive and thriving. The sky is dark as no moon is visible, and yet snow continues to slip down from that darkness to places like your nose, melting easily. Still, the delicious scents from the Bazaaar waft on the light breeze.

This section of the bazaar however has been roped off, where a large shadow stage has been set. There are blankets passed around to keep folks warm, and on those blankets are geometric repeating patterns almost serpentine on the edge while an owl holding a great sword is embroidered in the middle.

From behind the stage walks a black painted tall and gaunt figure with a large owl on his chest and serpents winding around and all across his body. The phoenix's eyes glow blue as he looks at those gathered here tonight. "Good evening, my friends." the decayed voice says to them as it reaches into a small pouch at its side, letting pale sand with golden flecks be flung across the floor in a wide arc to scatter on the ground as it glitters from the light of the stage and mixes with the light snowfall on the ground.

Snow. It had to be snow. It's not like it never snows in Setara, but the occurrence of it in the Setarcan Ward is a different matter entirely. Despite the fall of the unholy white, Patrizio is present, seated off to the side where he can be comfortable, the gaze of those jade eyes towards the stage while the introduction is made, the touch of a smile that is warm enough despite the clear chill he's suffering beneath his cloak and the blanket. His soldiers, not far off, are not faring much better, but all are sitting in rapt attention when preparation for the story begins.

Mattheu settles in with a pull at seatouched wools, curling legs up to his chest as he finds a spot to sit upon the floor and watch

It's a beautiful winter's night and Cassiopeia is probably wearing a lovely gown, but she arrives wrapped in a thick blanket. The blanket is over-top of a cloak and a thick velvet winter dress, but it's pulled around her and she looks like she's quite alright with that. There's not much that could take her from the warmth of the Palais, but this does. Bundled up and keeping close to her companion Nazmir, she braves the cold for a story. Eyes bright with wonder, her smile is warm and it greets everyone if most of her face is probably hidden. Having settled in well enough before the story started, her attention can snap quickly into place and focus on the arrival of the masked story-teller. There's the occasional movement of her head in lieu of waves at people she knows.

Ann finds her seat next to Mattheu. Her gaze falls to the performance before her. A smile to her lips. She has always enjoyed the story telling that happens when she can make them. Drawing her cloak around her as a blanket and keeping the hood of said cloak on her head for warmth. she had finger waved and nodded to those that she knew as she settled in her seat.

Blankets? Medeia happily takes one. She is wrapped in warm materials already, but she's nit going to turn away more warmth. She gives a (gloved) finger wave to Patrizio, Mattheu, and Cassiopeia before finding some spot to settle in for the event.

Gianna has arranged herself here, swaddled in furs and being very quiet. She may have her furs and her hat and her gloves but she'll take a blanket. It's right there.

The figure looks at each of you, and the dead sounding voice speaks as it moves black long fingers with gold sandy dust which sparkles in the low light, weaving a web. "We recognise those who came before us, to those from the lands we are on this evening and we honour them, for their history is ours to guard and protect. And together, we step across the dunes of time, across the sands of the past and look back with our hearts to what once was and the stories and people are remembered. Of moments split apart but connected in spirit. May we learn a lesson from the mothers and daughters that whisper from the southern stars above by being here tonight. For when we fail to remember, when we fail to choose to share the stories of events and hold strong to promises kept, we not only lose our history but those actions of forgetting help those who desire to see us weak and beaten."

The shadow stage illuminates brightly with gold light with beautiful colours of the rainbow as light passes through a kaleidoscope. Odd forms can be seen, not fully human but they have perhaps strangeness as they are serpentine. It appears to be a city palace but not like Arx or cities here, instead this seems to be built below the ground, and the Bazaar's scents seem to almost transport viewers there.

"In the grand city of Inder'danush, nestled near the communal residences of the Queens of the Coast, where the air was thick with the scent of exotic spices and the melodies of distant sea waves, a skilled weaponsmith honed their craft. This weaponsmith, known for their unparalleled artistry, possessed a spirit as vibrant as the Empire of Serpents itself."

There's the sound of metal being struck on an anvil, as a serpentine figure is working hard at a forge building weapon after weapon. But soon the weaponsmith is called and the scene changes to inside the chambers of the Queen.

"Within the opulent chambers of the Queen who wore the Crown of a Thousand Jewels, there arose a need for a weapon befitting the prowess and honor of her first knight. The Queen, a vision of regal grace and unwavering strength, sought a blade that would embody the spirit of the Empire and the valour of her first knight."



The Lords Amadeo have not retreated to the heat of the Saffron this winter, which means they're out and .. at least one of them makes an appearance of not being happy about it. Orland has slung his arm around the big PINK FUR bundled Savio, keeping him more or less wrangled in step so he doesn't turn and flee. Orland's expression reads fairly amused, which is off base for the usually stoic man, but after six years of being together, his husband, can still keep him entertained.

"See, there are blankets! And I bet there's hot cider around here too," Orland points at the blankets being passed around, moving to secure them one and wrap it tightly around Savio, almost childishly to the point that Savio gets an extra blanketed hood on top of it and a tight nestled folding of blankets, "Give me another one-" he says to the attendants and secures as second one and wraps them promptly about both of them. "Now, smile-" he makes a little pointed gesture to his mouth, and draws an upward smile, "Like you told me to at the wedding. Oh look, speaking of..." He waves his arm, "Cassi, Naz!" Wave wave.

Unlike most of the others, Nazmir looks /pleased/ by the fall of the snow, even as those stinging flakes strike his skin on the way in. He's certainly not dressed for it to be winter, aside from that 'overcoat' that most people would relegate to spring and fall. But it seems to be enough for him as he trundles in along side of Cassi, smile on his lips, broken only when he murmurs, "For the record, we're going to roll in the snow when we get back." A bob of his head and then he's moving along with her to find a seat, settling in before story time started. Those that he knows get a smile and a little waggle of fingers, though his attention is easily drawn in the direction of story time as it begins.

Styx finds a quiet spot to watch the performance. Despite her lack of suitable clothing and lack of connections, she remains her elegant composure.


Filshiar makes his way through the snow in leathers and fur, a pleasant smile on his face as if he's been waiting for weather like this for a while. He finds a blanket next to where Ann and Mattheu sit, mouthing a greeting to both as he does a sweep of the area, gaze eventually settling on the stage to take in the performance.

Savio looks like he is about to turn and flee. You might think Orland's arm around Savio is affectionate. No, it is JAIL, a preventative measure to keep Savio from turning around and walking away. Blankets cannot win him over. Cider cannot win him over. "There is SNOW," his weirdly accented voice complains. "We are OUTSIDE in the SNOW, Orland. SNOW. OUTSIDE." What a way to treat your tropical orchid person, Orland, for real. Savio retreats further into his coat like a poked anemone and radiates sympathy at Cassiopeia.

Cillian finds himself very happy out in the winter weather, he is dressed in his leathers. Sword at him and bow on his back, when he finds himself in the square he finds a spot to lean on and look over to the Stage, spotting those he knows and does not know not saying anything for the moment remaining quiet.

Orland cannot help but chuckle under his breath at Savio's dramatic protests, "Not so loud. People want to listen to this story... telling, thing." But he continues to JAIL Savio there, for the meantime. ARM BLANKET wrap.

Savio complains, "How will they hear anything over the chattering of my teeth as I freeze to death Orland."

In a stage whisper, Cassiopeia informs her cousin Savio, "it's too cold, Savio."

Orland exhales dramatically, "You will not freeze to death." Bickering married couples, am I rite? "Savio, guess what, I happen to know how best to keep a body warm." He winks at Savio, terrible line ORLAND, but then he smiles at Cassiopeia and Nazmir, all too chipper like "Hello!" People would think he's absolutely enjoying the suffering of his spouse - they'd be right! He is.

Styx knows she's going to freeze over by the end of this, but she'd never show her complaints in public.

Cassiopeia looks aghast when Nazmir suggests rolling in the snow, she looks very seriously at him and also whispers. "I will die." Cassi is certain of this.

Mattheu pulls at his cloak and wools to wrap himself further, a look to Ann, "I don't know how you do this."

The Nazmir looks over in the direction of Orland & Savio, to flash a smile to them, only to then offering up a little whisper (or not so little, really) of, "I'm sending you lot up North for a month. Then you can complain about the cold." A beaming little grin accompanies the tease as he leans a bit closer to offer it, so as not to disrupt the others all around. To Cassi, he's offering a rather firm, "You will not." But there is a smile.

Medeia casts an amused look in Savio and Orland's direction, but the lady doesn't interject in their squabble. A similarly amused look is sent toward Cassiopeia and Nazmir. Eventually, she slips toward Patrizio and exchanges a quiet word.

Magaen's gaze cuts to the direction of the chatter as she bites around a chunk of meat and eases it off its skewer. She looks back to the stage as she chews.

Patrizio's attention might well be upon the stage and whatnot, as he's not paying too much heed to those fellow denizens of the Summer Seas who feel as he does about the weather, but he is paying enough attention to notice Medeia's approach, and his brow lifts as she's drawing in to speak softly beneath the cover of what's being put on, upon the stage. Though there's a faint smile that can be found upon his features when his lips clearly move to respond.

Ann draws a blanket close to her but she does not wrap herself in it. Instead she drapes it over on Matti. "Here, this might help." Having heard her cousin Nazmir's remark there's a small laugh, "My dear cousin has the right idea you know in what to do with snow." If Nazmir sees her he gets a wink from her.

Savio responds to Nazmir with the same dramatic thing Cassi just said. "I will die!" Poor, poor Saffron Islanders. Here every winter and still not growing accustomed to it. He is resigned to his fate enough to lean against Orland now, but he isn't having any of this cheesy pickup line. No, he is not. Nope. "The best way to keep a body warm is to move somewhere that is not a frozen hellscape." And a reminder, "I will die." Just in case he missed it, "I am actually dying right now, as we speak."

This is kind of cozy though. "Where is the cider?"

Cillian remains where he is leaning on a stall/wall in the back of the bazar his Hazel eyes bouncing around as he listens to people talk around him, the cold is like a fine summer to this man. But he nods to those who look his way in a silent greeting as his eyes go back up to the stage.

Medeia grins, which she attempts to hide behind a velvet-gloved hand. "I would support that," She murmurs to Patrizio before giving Titus her attention again.

"See," Cassiopeia looks at Nazmir when Savio has a similar reaction. Strength in numbers. Catching Medeia's wave she gives a little head bob and smile in her direction. Patrizio, too. Then she turns her attention back to the stage.

Orland seems content when Savio starts to lean against him, his arm slacking off a bit from the JAIL hold he had on the other man. Although the response to his cheesy line has him snort, "As Nazmir said, do we need to take you up north again to remind you of what a true frozen hellscape is!? I think this is mild in comparison." He laughs a little at the sentiment that his husband is dying, "I'm here to revive you," his hand rubs vigorously against Savio's upper arm, against all the layers of blanket and fur, "I don't know..." he states of the cider, but then is looking around for anyone who has something more than a blanket to offer.


Filshiar stretches and watches the stage, lifting his face once briefly to the snow and chuckling at some of the chatter he hears going through the crowd, especially what's coming from Savio. "A bit of alcohol would warm everyone right up," he says, though he has none on him and is actually content enough to continue watching.

The look on Patrizio's face is particularly satisfied at the moment with Medeia's rejoinder to his clear quip, even as he's shifting, to gladly it seems take from one of his soldiers a nearly covered cup from which steamy vapour issues. And a sip's taken, a dip of his head to Cassiopeia at her nod in his direction, and the jade eyes turn back towards the stage.

"The Queen required a weapon so that her first knight could hunt down the great adversary that spawned from the Font of Venom. She knew that the challenge would test the resolve, honour and ability of her knight and that they may not be successful. And that the knight required a weapon so special for this hunt that would match their great foe's power."

The shadow stage turns green for a moment, as a large monstrous black shadow slips out but the green fades away and the Queen can be seen instructing her serpentine knight and the weaponsmith. Soon, many other queens, smaller in form, arrive and give gifts to the weaponsmith who then makes their way to a forge.

"The weaponsmith, driven by their passion and fueled by the desire to create a weapon of extraordinary brilliance, took upon themselves the daunting task. With each stroke of the hammer and every meticulous detail, they poured their heart and soul into the creation, infusing the steel with the essence of the Empire's power and the Queens of the Coast supplied special gems, each representing their peoples and lands, to go into the blade's pommel."

"But the weaponsmith one night had heard a whisper as they were forging. Their curiosity aflame, they yearned to unlock a secret they had heard about within the steel and so they spoke with the Serpent who gave them just a name and place. The Serpent shared that only great Owl, Keeper of Tales, could help them unlock the secret. But Owl was difficult to find and not within the Empire, and could only be found at the next full moon."

The shadow stage shows the weaponsmith on a small ship sailing away to other lands, some landmarks might be recognised. A solitary mountain with a river below it with heavy woods.

"Venturing behyond the mystical forests that surrounded Inder'danush, the weaponsmith embarked on a quest for wisdom and the secret of steel to a distant and foreign land. Guided by the whispers of the Serpent, the weaponsmith ventured deep into the heart of an untouched wilderness until they reached an ancient grove hidden from mortal eyes. For thirteen nights the weaponsmith waited until finally the full moon rose highest in the night sky, casting its ethereal glow upon the land, a celestial moonbeam illuminated a solitary branch of an ancient oak. It was there, in that hallowed moment, that the weaponsmith beheld the majestic form of Owl, the Keeper of Tales, perched upon the sacred branch."

Styx enjoys hearing the conversations of others. The natural bonding between others is different from her artifical conversations created in her work. It makes her smile a bit.

That comment and wink from Ann is caught and there's a grin flashed towards her, the wink returned before Nazmir is looking over in the direction of Savio, "Pfft. You are not dying. I assure you." Then, to Orland, he's nodding his head, "It's settled. We're going North, soon." But then Cassi is getting a nudge of an elbow for her 'See' comment, along with a murmur that's coupled with a grin before he's quiet once more, gaze settling back on the story teller so that he can once more listen.

The shared blanket wrapped around Mattheu has him smiling as the story continues, snuggling closer to Ann with a soft word for the princess as he turns to look over towards Orland and Savio pointing in the direction of the cider cart.

Medeia's smile eases slowly, her expression settling into something still warm and open to those around her. Even so, her hands grip the blanket somewhat tighter, though she refuses to allow a single shiver shake her composure. Perhaps her smile is warm enough to fend off the cold. She takes a couple of steps away from Patrizio to stand on her own, listening attentively to Titus.

"As long as we don't have to like... run from that bastard dragon again..." Orland mutters over to Nazmir, "I would rather not be iced that way." He pops a quick kiss to his husband's cheek, murmuring that he'll be right back. QUICK SAVIO. Jail break! With a helpful point, Orland discovers the cider! Woo.

"Everyone knows that dragons are not real," Savio dryly informs Orland. As his husband departs toward cider cart as directed by Mattheu, Savio takes a moment to bundle all the Amadeos' blankets around himself, personally, until he is a slightly more contented lump. In this state, he listens to Titus, attention to his fellow-Saffron chosen-brother. Both brows lift at the familiar name of Inder'danush, but he does not interrupt.

Gianna has been listening quietly; she, too, must answer the siren song of the hot drink. The self-styled Nightingale (she made it up) eases from her seat and collects a mug, nodding to those she recognizes on the way. Which is mostly everyone!

"Not everyone thinks fairy tales are just stories" Styx says under her breath, continuing to eavesdrop on the others.

A quick glance is given in the direction of Orland as Nazmir lofts a brow upwards, "What part of you knowing me thinks I'm going to be near anything that I need to run away from?" But there's a grin on his lips and he's then casting a look to Savio, a little laugh given before looking to Styx, to give a quick little nod, "True." But then it's back over towards storytime. Because he really is listening.

Ann's attention strays from the stage and her quiet conversation with Mattheu when she hears Styx and there's a nod. It seems this Princess is in agreement with Styx's comment about fairy tales just being stories. Her blue eyes fall back to the story teller after doing that movement.

Mattheu is left to stare at Savio in his quip about dragons not being real. A squint at the man as he's pulled back into conversation with Ann.

Orland gives a flat stare to Savio, upon returning with the cider because he didn't get to do it with his back turned. OBF. Stare. He meets Nazmir's gaze then, with that same resting bitch face, "You were on the bird spotting trip, weren't you? Trust nothing. Trust nowhere. There's always something to run from." He hands Savio one of the mugs of cider.

The muttering about fairy tales catches Medeia's attention, and she sends a curious look in Styx' direction. Her lips part, but she decides not to say anything to the stranger at the moment. The lady begins to slowly drift toward where she had collected the blanket from initially.

Most certainly does Cassiopeia have cider, it's the only reason to take a hand out from under the blanket. She's probably got more blankets, not just the one she brought. Cassiopeia is somewhere building a little cocoon out of blankets, and drinking the hot cider. The story brings a bright smile to her face, she is ignoring talk about snow because it only makes her more cold.

The shadow stage transforms so that only a shadow shape of a great owl can be seen, their eyes looking almost like two golden moons as the phoenix storyteller speaks.

"The weaponsmith knelt before great Owl but before the weaponsmith could ask their question, great Owl spoke. In a voice that carried the weight of centuries, Owl spoke to the weaponsmith, their words weaving a tapestry of wisdom. "Who is before me? A little serpent child comes with a question? But do you know what you ask? Within the steel resides the power of the tales, the stories that weave through the fabric of the very dream itself that the mothers have given us all, little serpent child. The strength of your blade is not merely forged in fire and hammer but in the narratives it carries, the legends of courage, honour, and unyielding loyalty."

"The steel is a vessel, receptive to the echoes of history. Each battle fought, each victory celebrated, and each noble act becomes an indelible mark upon the blade," Owl continued. "As you craft, infuse the steel with the spirit of the Empire, the unwavering resolve of its people, and the stories that shall be passed down through generations. For within the story of the blade lies its true power." The moon shifted and the light slipped away as Owl disappeared to other places.

"Enlightened by Owl's ancient wisdom, the weaponsmith returned to their forge, imbued with newfound purpose. With each strike of the hammer, they channeled the spirit of the Empire and wove the threads of its legendary tales into the steel."

"When the day of presentation arrived, the weaponsmith unveiled their creation before the Queen, a testament to the Empire's resplendent spirit. The blade shimmered with an ethereal glow, radiating the echoes of past battles and the unwavering loyalty of the Empire's queens and their knights. As the Queen clasped the hilt, she felt the resounding stories coursing through her veins, connecting her to the legendary heroes who came before her and to those who will one day come after her. She awarded the sword to her knight and the knight became the champion of the Serpents."

"For generations did the knight who served the Queen fight great battles and wars and to hunt their adversary, and every battle shaped the Empire as the sword shaped its wielder. As each knight who were entrusted with the sword gave their oaths and promises, they each left a mark on the blade and the blade left a mark on the Empire. And other Empires and other beings also learned the secret of steel and the story in steel continued to weave itself, connecting the past, present, and future, as each weapon carved its own path through history. As battles were fought, victories celebrated, and legends recounted, the blade became a testament to the indomitable spirit and unwavering resolve of the Empire of Serpents up to the very last day of their Reckoning when the Empire was shattered to a thousand pieces and shards were flung to darker places."


Filshiar finds himself drawn in by this tale, pushing some of the conversations around him aside in favor of hearing about this weapon and the knight who wielded it. He idly plucks at the blanket he sits on, looking for a moment thoughtful and introspective.

Another sip's taken from the mostly-covered mug, but Patrizio's attention is fully riveted on the stage, with little sign that the falling snow seems to be bothering him at this point. While he's listening to the resolution of the tale, his brows lift, and he's settling back a bit, as if to consider.

"Creating weapons infused with history and willpower?" Styx thinks aloud, without realizing. Wither this story is true, or if it's just a case of collective hysteria, stranger weapons have existed.

Trying to create as little disruption as possible, Medeia returns her borrowed blanket and casts one last look at Titus and his storytelling before she departs quietly back toward the city.

Celina, a dutiful physician's assistant, Giancarlo, a cooper and prize-fighter leave, following Medeia.

A quick snerk is given in the direction of Orland at the mention of bird watching and it's accompanied by a shake of Nazmir's head. But, he doesn't respond. Rather, he's leaning in against Cassiopeia, slipping an arm around her blanket wrapped form as he continues to listen to the story at hand, smile on his lips.

Here, the phoenix storyteller pauses. He looks at those who are here and the shadow stage looks like a golden serpent until it shifts to become white geometric patterns with sharp edges. Here, a white knight is fighting many battles until they depart. The weapon they used looks almost to be refashioned into a plough as a garden and crops are grown from nothing. A larger figure, more imposing with sharp edges is seen with the knight.

"And so the world began to change as the secret of steel was learned. In a far distant land, ruled by an emperor, there once dwelled a renowned knight who had pledged his allegiance as the emperor's champion. Yet, the call of a different path beckoned to the swordsman's heart, and he chose to retire from the emperor's service, seeking solace in the gentle embrace of nature as a humble gardener."

"It was within the hidden sanctuary of the gardener's realm that the emperor sought his champion, for the world still was not shaped to the dreams of the emperor and his enemies were all around. So the emperor found his champion and spoke openly. For who would pay heed to the robed figures that graced the presence of a simple gardener? Thus, they shared their thoughts, engaging in an age-old argument about memory and obligation."

"The emperor's heart brimmed with contempt for the city in which the gardener resided. Long ago, the city had made a solemn promise?an oath to eternally honor the sacrifices made to secure its survival. Indeed, the survivors even had great monuments erected, huge gates even rebuilt. However, time had cast a shroud upon its collective memory, and the city had forgotten. The emperor, consumed by resentment as his heart was lost deep below, found it impossible to forgive the city and its people for this grievous lapse."


Orland is quieting down and keeping his conversation a little more whisper tone as the story gains even his interest, "Oh so ..." he wonders, "I think that's maybe why my one dagger is weird..." he hmms softly, "The Queen..." he nudges Savio, "Well she was a false one, but whatever, I wonder..." His speculation draws to quiet murmurs.

Gianna frowns at the tale, for whatever reason, a faint line appearing between her brows. She has a long sip of cider, still keeping to herself.

Savio has quieted his fussing now that he stole a lot of blankets and Orland brought him something warm. Or maybe it is the content of the story itself, the Empire of Serpents, that holds his attention. A glance or two passes to his cousin, but the looks are inscrutable, and it's possible he is just seeing if she is frozen.

He does shake his head a little at Orland. "Different things. Maybe a different kind of connection, elsewhere. A thought for another time."

Spotting Gianna at last, a kiss is blown her way, fond despite her keeping to herself. Mwah.

Gianna inclines her head to Savio, the frown easing for a moment. She raises her mug in a sort of toast.

Leaning against Nazmir and sipping her cider, Cassiopeia listens to the story unfold. Her reactions are best set in her features, bright expression and curious eyes. The story seems to trigger a deeper response, reading bites and pieces into the tale. Cassiopeia is expressive, vividly and she is fully emersed into it. Cider steam plumes into the cold air, dissipating there. She's settled in, comfortable and quiet as she takes it all in.

Patrizio's handing his mug back to one of his soldiers, as if to make sure that his hands are free when he's drawing his cloak closed about him, even as he cocks his head, listening to the tale being given forth from the stage. Though for a moment, he does turn his head, as if to contemplate the expressions upon those he knows amongst the crowd, to see how the tale has touched them.

Cillian pushes off to go over to the cider cart to grab one, he moves back over to his perching spot as he listens to the story sipping from his cup. Its hard to tell what the Northern Lord is thinking right now, he seems to just be off in his own space taking in the warmth of his drink and the story that is being told.

|"Yet, the gardener, a vessel of profound insight, spoke eloquently, championing the city's defense. Like the resolute flowers that bloomed upon rocky ground, the city had flourished through adversity, even if the roots of its origin had faded from the consciousness of its inhabitants. The gardener illuminated the beauty that had emerged from the city's trials, reminding all who listened of its enduring spirit."

|"But the gardener, guided by the whispers of ancient spirits, unveiled a startling truth?it was not solely the city's fault that it had forgotten its past. Dark forces had conspired to cloak the city's memories, orchestrating a great erasure that cast the realm into darkness."

|"With a sorrowful sigh, the emperor confided, revealing the depths of his understanding. "I have known this truth for many years," he lamented. "Yet, you fail to comprehend the profound weight of remembrance. It is a burden that sears the soul. Remembering is an arduous journey, fraught with pain. And the truth, my dear friend, is that they could never have been made to forget if they had truly wished to preserve their memories. Deep within their hearts, they harbored a secret desire to abandon the past, even if they refused to acknowledge it."

The stage goes dark and the snow falls lightly down, silence.

But then a sound can be heard, a crackle and pop as a golden light sparks with a candle held by a black painted hand and the blue glowing eyes of the phoenix is illuminated as sparks like stars fall to the ground, gold until they fade.

"We are reminded of the power of memory, the complexities of duty and the consequences of forgetfulness whether chosen or not. Of how ignorance slips in and can drastically change the dream. But where darkness exists, we can intertwine flickering hope. May we remember Owl's wisdom who shared the secret of steel. If we desire to aspire for greatness it requires us to do great things repeatedly. May you remember the promises, the challenges, the victories and failures as you look upon the Swords you see in the Compact and those houses and people they represent. Keep their stories in your hearts and share them, so that they stay alive."

"At this time, if you are a Sword of a house or a wielder of a named weapon, share a story about that weapon. Whether it's in the past before you, or during your time as the wielder, share with us so we can remember with you."

Even in this setting Ann is ever the scholar and picking apart the story in her head. A slight nod to Patrizio when he takes that look to those he knows and she gives him a smile.

Could this method be recreated, Styx thinks to herself. Perhaps combined with another? Nonetheless she pulls out a notepad, writing down the important bits.

Cillian has joined the line.

There's no cider for Nazmir and he doesn't seem to be all that cold. Instead, he's attempting to help keep Cassiopeia warm with an arm wrapped around her, his body pressed in against her own. When the story shifts to named weapons, his gaze shifts about, looking to the others that have gathered to see if there are any takers.

Orland has joined the line.

Turn in line: Cillian

Quenia has been sitting in the background this whole time, listening to the stories being told about a particular weapon. When there's a call to say something about a House Sword, she rises from her seat and joins the line.

Quenia has joined the line.

Ann knows of at least two House of Swords here. A smile for Mattheu and then a nod to Cillian. Looking to see who it is that will speak of their House Weapon. Finally getting around to pulling some of that blanket around her and helping herself to Matti's cider.

Patrizio briefly inclines his head to Ann when he's noticing her smile to him, though he does turn his attention to those coming forward to speak of their treasured blades, as if taking the last words spoken by Titus to heart.

Savio is overheard praising Titus: Unparalleled, every time.

Cillian downs the rest of his cider and hands the cup back, he moves to take steps up to near the stage, deep breath in and let it out! Turning to face the crown he hazel eyes look to everyone and nods his head, "I am Lord Cillian Blackwood, sword of the Storm March." he introduces himself and he speaks with a heavy thick Northern Accent, "The house weapon for Blackwood is not well a Sword." his hand moves to his back, leather creaking as he pulls the bow off his back, "It is Stormpiercer, the Longbow of House Blackwood." he holds it so all can see. "We are one of the youngest houses in the compact, but Stormpiercer points back to a very old, ancient history. Fashioned by the Lady Talareesa Redire six hundred years ago as a gift to Aeronwen Blackwood, the Archer of Frozen Pines." he looks around as he speaks, "It is said that Aeronwen helped fight on Redire's side against the wood elven hordes that fell prey to." he closes his eyes and opens them.."And later days fought once against the Maw of the Blizzard, and drove it off from what would become Blackwood lands, and it is said that is the furthest extent of the Everwinter in the Northeast, and why it encroaches no further south." He lets that settle for a moment then moves to slip the bow back onto his back and moves back to where he was holding up the wall.

Ann is overheard praising Titus.

Ann is overheard praising Cillian.

Cassiopeia is overheard praising Titus: Brilliant Story-teller! Such imagination.

Magaen has joined the line.

Someone wearing A porcelain white sand phoenix skull mask with softly glowing eyes listens to Cillian's tale. "We remember the deeds of Aeronwen Blackwood who inspired lady Talareesa Redire to forge a weapon to mark such a powerful moment. As you are a Sword, may the choices you do be the ones which make your house and people stronger, and may your enemies find the Sword of the Storm March unyielding in honour. Thank you, lord Cillian."

Turn in line: Orland

Orland checks dexterity and legerdemain at daunting. Botch! Orland fails completely.

Orland makes sure that Savio is secured and bundled up before he approaches the stage and he approaches with a jubilant gait, all but leaping up on the stage. It's like it's been a while since he was on stage but remembers exactly how to be theatrical! He is brimming with confidence and does a flourishing bow that even the TRUE nobles should be impressed with - look how much the neo noble has learned! When he straightens up his hands are not EMPTY. There are daggers being palmed by him, numerous ones! THREE to be exact. The 'Amazing' Amadeo flips one up into the air first, to make a show of the red blade, "My name is Lord Orland Amadeo. House Amadeo is still working on it's ...heirloom weapon," literally they're so undecided what it is, "BUT this is Red Feast," he spins it in his finger to show off the crimson rubicund steel, "I don't know where I got it. I think it just found me one day." CODE FOR I THINK I STOLE IT. SHADY Mod. "I made my first kill with her at Pieros, during the conflict there. I had to silence someone who was threatening a friend of mine. This blade also feasted on the blood of a false Queen who had attempted to use me in a blood sacrifice, during the war of Two Queens in Qadaath - but that's a long story. SO you know, this one," he flings it upward again, "Has stories of my own making."

Orland's hand snatches it hard in his palm. Orland then hefts up a perfectly shaped Alaricite blade, "This is Stalker's Claw. Hm, I had it made and it's helped me evade some pretty sticky situations, especially out there on the ocean tide with the Order of East Light." The last is a thrusting dagger, "This one hasn't earned it's name yet, but... I needed three blades and I don't have the one Duarte gave me on me..." SHOCK FACED. The Cupridium dagger is whirled up into the air and with the other two, the blades start spinning and moving very quickly through his hands.... OH BUT IT GOES AWRY. It was so beautiful at first, such an artform of nimble fingers and ... then... THEN... one lands square into his HAND and while the other two are in the air he has to spin to avoid a second through the head or something and his ELBOW makes it glance in a spinning wheel of doom toward the audience ... (probably Savio)... You win some, you lose some. Instant Karma for the EGO.

Ann is overheard praising Orland.

Nazmir is overheard praising Orland: The blade is greater then the hand that wields it .. or tries to wield it.

SPINNING BLADES OF DEATH. Savio bundle is not able to dodge out of the way, only go "aaaa!" and scrunch away from it. One of Orland's knives FLINGGGSSS itself toward him and embeds itself at the edge of his blanket, pinning it to the ground. Close call! "What are you like?!" Savio demands, shocked and offended at being assaulted in the cold. Assaulted in the warm is probably fine. "What are you going to call it now, 'Stabspouse'?!"

He erupts in a flail of blanket extrication, glares (unnamed) daggers at his husband, musters his dignity, and slips off.

Someone wearing A porcelain white sand phoenix skull mask with softly glowing eyes says "May your blades be the needles that knit and weave a powerful story of house Amadeo in the dream. You've fought and helped so many others before yourself, we will do our part to remember the journey you are taking. Thank you, lord Orland."

Turn in line: Quenia

Quenia steps forward from the line, taking a moment to look at all of those who stand before her, particularly Orland and Savio for a moment. Finally, she introduces, "I am Marquessa Quenia Igniseri. There's only a few pieces of history that House Igniseri has any information on, and our house sword is one of those bits we know a little something about," she begins. "I don't know anything about how it was made," she cautions. "But, I do know that it was used during the Elven War. It was said that Hounds of the Swarm brought fifty thousand howing warriors to the gates of Granato, where Lady Maria Igniseri was leading the defense of the city while her father laid infirm in bed." Quenia takes a moment there to take a breath before continuing on with the story.

"It was said that she held the city walls for three months, braving constant fires set by burning pitch and earning the title the 'Red Phoneix of Granato'. This was all done while she wielded our house sword, Flame Bringer. With that sword in hand, vastly outnumbered by the enemy forces, she and her small team of warriors fought street by street once the walls had come down. When the battle reached the castle itself, she made one last stand, breaking the ranks in a mounted charge and saved our fair city." That said, she goes back to her obscure seat in the back.

Violeta Emili, tall and shadowed rivenshari have been dismissed.

2 Rivenshari Clan Guardsman have been dismissed.

Tregva Emili, a colorful ravashari performer have been dismissed.

AS HIS HAND IS STABBED, Orland spots his spouse fleeing and he collects his daggers of doom and fail, before scrambling after Savio, "Hee--y--wait!" And then there's a lot of swearing as he has a DAGGER in his hand - the perfectly formed Claw of all daggers. Clean cut at least!

Ann is overheard praising Quenia.

As Orland gets up there and begins to speak, Nazmir is lofting a brow upwards, only to then watch the little dance of daggers that follows. There's a sudden blink when Orland takes a blade through the hand and promptly sends one spinning off in the direction of Savio, to try and pin the man to his seat and it takes a moment for that to all be processed, as there's another blink that's given. But then he's calling over to Orland, "That looks like hurts. Stick it in the snow." Because the snow fixes everything! Then, he's back to listening to the tale from Quenia.

Someone wearing A porcelain white sand phoenix skull mask with softly glowing eyes listens to Quenia. The phoenix mask tilts a little, the blue glowing eyes unblinking. "May we remember the last stand of Lady Maria Igniseri where she stood by her convictions and would not back down when an easier way could have been found. But may we also remember the life she gave up, and perhaps by learning more about her life we learn a little more about ourselves. What she liked to eat, what books she enjoyed the most, what her favourite colour was. Her life was given but that one life reminds me the lesson of the Blaze to her children: grow, reach out to one another and spark the light of hope as the cold of ice desires to snuff it out. May we remember your deeds as you wield that weapon, lady Quenia."

Turn in line: Magaen


Filshiar listens with a keen interest to those able to share about their weapons. He offers a smile to Cillian, winces at Orland's accidental stabbing, and gives Quenia an impressed look at the story she shares. Then, he leans back to hear the next tale.

Magaen's hands are free of the food and drink she enjoyed during the phoenix's storytelling, so she approaches the stage empty-handed. "Countess Magaen Charon, of Glacial Grove," she states. She tilts her head, then adds, "So, I am not the Sword of my house. But I do have a weapon that bears a name, and it carries a meaning with that name."

"Some of you know that the land my family serves is not the land to which we were born. Charon's holding hosts thickets of brambles, dense and forbidding, in lands that have long seen dwindling use and the decay that comes with neglect. But they are ours now, and we will not turn away from the need to cultivate a home from that land and see it thrive. The weapon I carry to face that challenge is our scythe, named Falx." Magaen turns her empty hands palms upward. "I do not typically carry it around Arx." Probably for obvious reasons, but that is left unsaid as she returns to her former place in the crowd.

Ann hands Mattheu back his cider. She didn't drink all of it. She has been listening to each speaker. This is things that she had no knowledge of so she is learning something new when each speaker comes to talk about their House Sword. A smile to Filshiar when he took takes on with interest in what is going on here. Attention to Magaen now as she speaks.

Ann is overheard praising Magaen.

"It is Lord Luis Igniseri who wields it, for the nonce. He has the shaping of the stories for now," Quenia quips back to Titus. "But, I have every confidence he will shape them well." She then quiets to hear the next story, eyes turning expectantly to Magaen. She nods once to the woman after she tells her story.

Each story of their blades and where they have been and who has held them keeps Mattheu in awe. "I know very little of the Siren's song." More muttered under his breath as he looks to Ann and then his cider cup with a grin.

Someone wearing A porcelain white sand phoenix skull mask with softly glowing eyes listens to Magaen's story. "Petrichor gives us domain of the land, but that comes with duty and responsibility. Your challenge of Charon's Holding is something we all can help with, for when you're in the Compact you are not alone. We will help so that your stories bring inspiration to others in the future who face similar struggles so they know there is hope."

Magaen dips her head in acceptance of the phoenix's invocation.