Close on the heels of the arrival of a few others is Darren himself, looking quit dapper in black leathers and silk with gold and gemstone accents, along with a leather satchel that's slung over his shoulder. He fiddles with a cufflink on his shirt as he steps along the path, as though he were having trouble getting it to connect, though he achieves doing just that after a touch of struggle, about the time that he steps to take his place beside Dawn. The Voice of Grayson is given a wide grin, before he casts his eyes around those that have gathered. "This is a healthy group," he utters to Dawn in particular, although the voice is sort of cast outward. "Hopefully there'll be many a story."

Lydia's taken to wearing linen in an attempt to be more comfortable despite the city's heat. In deference to tonight though, she has donned a gown of bright blue silk. Over one shoulder is slung a plaid sash that contains hints of similar blues. As always, the young noblewoman seems to find herself in a crowd of her peers and the gaggle is talking amongst themselves excitedly.

Nebulosa seats herself beside Sylphie, her head inclined toward the lady while her eyes track Lady Dawn. "I see. Now, you need me to hold the sword, right? No need to speak just yet?" Her heel shifts against the other. "May need a little time to get my bearings."

Once Ianthe spots Samantha entering with her servants, she gives the Marquessa a friendly wave, recalling her company from the Gala not too long ago. She glances at Saedrus and says with a smile, "That is Marquessa Samantha Deepwood. She owes me a pastry." She spots some cushions that have been set up by the Grayson servants and leads Saedrus in that direction. "There seems a good place."

Valkieri doesn't really do -- ground. He's arrived with Sylphie, and he takes a seat next to her in a quiet display of partnership. He's dressed as he often is: sleek, simple, well-tailored. Expensive but unadorned. His gaze catches to Dawn when she speaks to greet the arriving crowd, lingering to take in the difference in her apparel before pulling away. He doesn't add to Sylphie's explanation for Nebulosa.

Natalia arrives with all the stride of Grayson that can be mustered. Her chin is raised with the confidence born of her name and a lack of shame in showing it off. The Princess moves with an ease of grace and elegance into the plaza. For a moment, she pauses to take note of Dawn and then the others. Her blue eyes sliding over the area thoughtfully; with a skillful judgment of proper etiquette on sitting and placement. For now, she stands in the background, as much as a Grayson Princess can, to see how the event transpires. Her lips curved into a polite and warm smile.

The bonfire has been built up in the center of the plaza and with night now staking its claim to the sky, it crackles merrily under a starswept sky. Torches are arranged at even intervals to push the shadows back further, and there are chairs and cushions arranged on the ground to provide seating. It doesn't quite strike a cozy or merry atmosphere but only because beyond the firelight, there is a host of statues. An army really, some of ancient marble, some of newer, but all of them of Grayson, all of them heroes, all of them frozen and staring eternally at nothing.

An odd place, to be sure. But just the right place for there to be stories about heroes... perhaps.

Dawn casts a grin back at Darren when he arrives, but otherwise her greeting is limited to nods and smaller smiles offered to those gathering. "Welcome!" she says, when the crowd seems large enough. Macdon sits at her side, grinning his doggy grin. "Tonight's a night for stories the likes of which are meant to give us light in the darkness. We come together for hope, and hope you'll all enjoy yourselves. If everyone can take their seat... a special thank you goes to our own Samantha Deepwood for seeing to the refreshments. We'll begin in just a moment."

"Yes, just stand up there with me and hold the sword," murmurs Sylphie in answer, offering her cousin a soft smile for her presence. Her gaze slides briefly to Valkieri as he takes the seat next to her, inclining her head in a nod, but saying nothing.

Saedrus catches sight of Sylphie amongst the growing crowd, and should the Lady see him, he bows his head with a bright smile and follows Ianthe off towards the cushions she's spotted. Taking a seat amongst the pillows with all the required grace of his vocation. Lovely place to people watch.


Samantha seems relieved that chairs and pillows are being offered, and she takes a seat on one of the pillows. Her own dress is one of simple, modest cut, but the fabric is of excellent quality. It seems she is simply not a fashion plate unless occasion calls for it. A dark hand is lifted in delighted greeting toward Dawn as she settles in and she flutters her hands at the two girls in Deepwood livery, each one bearing a tray. "Go, circulate." she says. "Accept no payment, but if someone cares to tip you, it's yours to keep." Enthused, the two servants begin to offer the contents of their trays to the crowd - pasties and cups of mulled cider, respectively. Ianthe then spotted, is waved to, and beckoned encouragingly if she and her companion would care to join the Marquessa. And then a smile back at Dawn, complete with playfully blown kiss.

Vincere stands -- or leans, really, but only lightly, scarcely disturbing Sylphie's chair as he stands behind the Rubino and Zaffrias. He bookends on the right, dressed to compliment his brother's choices in dark, well-tailored black. He lowers his voice to little more than a whisper as he tips his lean toward Nebulosa: "And pretend you had your bearings all along." He is unsmiling, but a glint of humor brightens his dark eyes. As others begin to settle, he takes a last look before joining them. He is attentive, even eager in an understated way.

There are some who wonder if the Valardins just don't enjoy whiskey and fighting, or eating dinner and drinking wine, which is why the Dragons of the West are so anti-social in Arx. It would seem, though, that Valardins enjoy tales of heroism, for at least the Princesses Sophie and Isabeau are in attendance, companionably arriving arm in arm. After murmuring something to her dearest sister, Sophie pauses to fully take in the splendor and vibrancy that comes from so many excited people in one place.

The Inqusition arrives, and its likely no one was expecting them. They arrive though in rather plain clothes, no black hoods to shroud their features, though the face of the Sentinel is clear on their shoulder, marking their order. Alistair leads two Confessors, both of his lackeys carrying either a book or a scroll and a set of writing tools. The trio of Crown agents keeps to the back, seeming intent on recording what stories are shared today. Probably to later examine and pull apart to identify seditious thoughts or the like. Or maybe Alistair is looking to get into the business of writing story books. The blank face of the man doesn't betray what his intentions are.

Kima arrives amidst the hustle and bustle of those who have come to entertain and be entertained! She spies Saedrus, already saving her a seat upon those plush and comfy pillows - the generous devil! Kima quickly takes up residence beside him, smiling cheerily as she does so.


    Darren inclines his head to Dawn, allowing her first speech to greet those who have gathered. But he'll raise his voice after her, his deep intones booming among the statues of heroes. "A light in the darkness, surely, but I also hope the stories are full of adventure and excitement," he chuckles, his eyes shining as he looks among the crowd. "A special thank you goes to Mistress Joscelin, as well. For the gift that will go to the winner," he presents a drinking horn out of his pouch, holding it for everyone to marvel at, and sets it aside in a prominent place, for the bonfire light to flicker over it and make the brass and stones that adorn it gleam. "A drinking horn fit for an adventurer. Or a hero. Or both, perhaps," he shrugs.

Dafne arrives a little after the rest of the Gemecitta group, draped in blue black silk, her dark curls piled up lazily, a few tumbling down her neck. She glances about the crowd, and heads toward her cousins, looking for a chair near Sylphie. "Nebulosa!" she exclaims in mild surprise.

Darren drops an ornate brass-clad drinking horn.

Margot folds her hands behind herself watching the fire dance, her head turning to listen to one of her guards whisper.

Nebulosa's smile is swift, one edge of her lips pulled high. "Of course. Instant bearings. Already expert of all." Her eyes dart brightly to Dafne. "Ahah! Look at that. It's Dafne."

The Telmar black sheep turned Lord General arrives from somewhere, dressed in a Crimson silk tunic with the Crimson Blades sigil on his chest, with a sword scabbard at his waist. He's flanked by a couple similarly dressed men who go and start mingling with the crowd as Tobias Telmar moves to sit at a bench, watching and listening for now.

A Redrain by blood, Iona cannot pass up a good opportunity to tell a story. What else is one supposed to do when the winters get cold and the nights get long? Choosing a story has been the hardest, and she is still looking over several sheafs of parchment as she joins the plaza, her husband just an elbow away. "You realize that I've chosen all the stories I used to tell them as children... I'm not sure if they will find them as fanciful in their adulthoods." She casts her husband a dubious look, and then she smiles all the same. The Duchess is still waiting for her newest attire from the clothiers, so she is back in that warm golden dress that plays well with her dark gold hair, green eyes, and tawny complexion -- like a burst of summer sunshine. She finally folds the parchments together until the thin material is just a thick square, and tucks it into the hidden pocket of her gown. She spots Samantha first, and then Dawn who is nearest her nephew Darren. She touches Gabe's arm before she departs, heading toward Dawn and Darren with purpose.

"Lady Kima!" Saedrus greets happily, shifting himself on the cushions for Kima to join he and Ianthe, "will you be sharing a tale of heroic valour tonight, my Lady?" he asks first, then glances to Ianthe with a smile. "Are you two acquainted yet?"


Pietro bookends on the left, with only a splash of turquoise silk to relieve the black of his neat sartorial lines. He's currently standing straight, although there's no telling how long that will last. Next to Vincere, he stands behind the Rubino and the Zaffrias. His smile is wide, and he's watching the assembled with bright curiosity in his dark eyes. "I'm excited to hear what everyone has to tell," he says. "Lady Dafne, are you telling a story?" he asks as she turns up.

Sylphie certainly doesn't seem to mind Vincere's closeness, only breathing out a laugh for his humor. She does catch Saedrus' nod, returning it in a respectful gesture of her own. Her gaze turns to Dafne, though, with curiosity for Pietro's question.

Dawn's hand drops to absent-mindedly ruffle the ears of the deerhound sitting so patiently beside her. Her grin flashes out again as Darren holds high the prize for tonight's event. "The winner will be determined according to the preferences of your dear and beloved hosts. Which is to say, there is no score cards, no tally to keep. Complaints of bias or unfairness in judging may be delivered to Prince Augustus, and much luck to you if you do," she calls out once the horn has been displayed. That's a joke. Really.
    After a last glance around, gauging the mood of the crowd, she spies a woman in the crowds. "Ah! And here we have our first competitor!" cries Grayson's bastard. "Everyone, please welcome Duchess Iona Bisland, our first storyteller!"

Lydia is pretty caught up with her group of gossips, but it seems that she's paying at least some attention, because they all seem to shuffle towards some seats, and then, surprisingly quiet for the beginning of the storytelling.

"I will not, alas," Kima says, frowning prettily. "I was unable to devote enough time in order to prepare a stirring tale this time, though I do hope such will be hosted again in the future." She smiles brightly towards Ianthe. "We were briefly acquainted at the Smoke and Shadows gala. I was told she is Joscelin's sister, though I suspect otherwise. How are you, Ianthe?" However, Kima cuts conversation short in order to clap for Iona as she makes her debut!

Aislin enters, clad in her adventurer's gear as usual, and glances around for a particular face. Whoever she was looking for, however, she doesn't find them; a momentary shadow of disappointment darkens her expression, and then she takes up a seat as well.

Lazarus, a fashion-conscious young man is stopped at the entrance of the plaza by another merchant who eagerly shakes his hand and lures him into conversation as Lazarus motions for him to talk and walk. As Lazarus approaches the gathering, he excuses himself from the merchant who thanks him and walks off with a little hop on his step. There is a subtle study of his surroundings like a cat coming into a new place. After a moment he joins the rest of the people with a surgical precision, slipping through with a smile until settling in a comfortable spot among the commoners, mostly labor union bosses.

Blacktongue arrives alongside Esera, the Harlequin and the Grand Duchess beside one another surely enough to inspire some terrible joking about walking into a tavern somewhere. Either way, the gait of the lithe man betrays a polished bearing as he quietly converses with Esera at their languid pace of arrival.

Natalia hears Iona's name as the first to be given of the tales and there is a flash of a warmer smile. For now, the Princess is just watching the others mill about and take stock of who goes where and who talks to whom. However, she does raise her hands in a clap for Iona when her name is called to begin for the evening. A cider is glanced at and then tentatively picked up to sip upon.


    "Hopefully it's hard to choose among you. Though I'm willing to bet there's none of you in the crowd that can tell a story quite like I can," Darren chuckles with a wide, proud sort of grin, before he steps aside to find himself a seat. After all, Iona has been called up to take the stage, the woman given a broad smile and a wave as she approaches. Darren will settle after, stretching out onto a chair rather heavily, and taking his flask off his hip. Leave it to a Redrain to bring his own refreshments.

Saedrus looks off towards the stage, as it were, or focal point. Applauding along for Iona's entry.

Whenever Gabriel is in Triumph Plaza, he takes a moment to stop by the statue of his old friend. He brushes a finger over the marble, sweeping a little cluster of moss off Alaric III's toes, and then moves toward the center of attention with his wife, "I suppose it'll have to be in the telling then, my dear." He nods to Iona, then leans in to press a little kiss to her cheek, "Go go... set the standard." And then he moves through the mass of youngsters, nodding here and there to those he recognizes as he wends his way toward a place where he can lean against the plinth supporting one of the first Grayson Regnants.

"I have to imagine our hosts would not enjoy the kind of story Lady Dafne would choose to tell," Valkieri says with a hint of dryness in his voice as he eyes the approach of his quasi-cousin. When Dawn announces the first competitor, his gaze shifts swiftly to study Iona with particular attention.

Dafne glances at Sylphie and then back to Pietro. "I was going to," she tells Pietro. "But it was suggested to me that my favourite topics might not be...suitable for such an audience." Despite her words, she briefly glowers at Valkieri.

Esera smiles edgewise to Blacktongue, as they enter the plaza at one another's side. Her gown is seasilk, swirled into roses that flow in a sunlit whorl behind her. Her hair, gathered into a waterfall braid, falls dark as shadow over her shoulders, and though there is command in the way she walks, and in the line of her shoulders, her smile is rather more mysterious.

Luckily, Ianthe's path had already been headed for Samantha. So, she and Saedrus are seated near enough for conversation with the Marquessa as well. She smiles at Kima, murmuring, "I am well. Master Saedrus has just been singing your praises to me." She grows quiet as the first storyteller is announced. Her eyes briefly flicker to note the entrance of Esera and the House Velenosa Harlequin before looking away to applaud for Iona.

When Salazar Argento shows up, it's clear that he's been properly (but not overly) lubricated for the event. The spirits speak through him, by him drinking rather high proof spirits. Not only a poet, but a wine-peddler, the pirate prince lingers at the edge. City Bard. A title to be won and worn with a kind of backwards pride. He comes to a stop at the entrants' table and submits his name as someone who will indeed tell a story, before finding himself inevitably drawn to the Lycene vortex, a whirlpool of political energies that ebb and flow around its archduchess. A slight bow, and a half-smile, as he sidles up to Blacktongue and offers this: "... My father would -kill- me if I wore the title of City Bard," he notes.

"Oh, please. A harrowing tale is good for a bonfire," Pietro says. Apparently having completely forgotten his discomfort the last time he talked to her, he demands: "Tell me one later, if you don't have one tonight!" He raps his hands politely for the announcement of the first story of the night, and shifts his weight between his feet, bumping against Vincere's shoulder for once accidentally rather than on purpose. "Oh, are we supposed to be quiet? I'll do that."

Dawn drops into the chair beside Darren and stretches out her long legs, booted feet crossed at the ankles. A rather casual posture for a woman so beholden to dignity but tonight seems to be the night for it. A hand is lifted, a wave intended to mark and recognize Esera's appearance in the crowd. But with Iona to take the stage, her own godmother opening the festivities, she soon shifts focus back to the older woman. The curl of her smile is small and soft, while anticipation whets the steely hue of her eyes.
    Macdon is less impressed. The hound shuffles into a spinxlike posture... and yawns a toothy yawn.

A glance of piercing blue is given to Salazar out of the corner of Blacktongue's eye when he approaches. The Harlequin pauses in whatever quiet words he had for the Grand Duchess long enough to impart to the Lord, "Is that your solitary reason for seeking it, or do you mean to insult those that do?" A flash of genuine smile is given to Ianthe and Samantha when they pass, but it would appear the the former poison-tester is a bit occupied at the moment.

Esera lingers at the fringe of the crowd -- lingers at Blacktongue's side -- but at Dawn's wave of greeting, she blows a kiss across the crowd.


Darren notes Esera's appearance too, and lifts a hand to catch her attention with a quick wave before he settles back into his chair, folding his arms over his chest. He makes quiet conversation with Dawn as his attention focuses up to Iona, patiently awaiting her story.

At the sound of Iona's name, Samantha visibly perks, and claps over-enthusiastically. Cuz you know. It's Almost-Mom. She summons her pastry bearing servant, murmurs briefly, and the young woman takes her tray over to Ianthe to offer a choice from the selections of sweet and savory. She leans over from her pillow, offering cheerfully, "Mistress Ianthe, Lady Kima! Good evening...I'm afraid I don't know your companion." She's taken up a lazy, feline like sprawl on one of the pillows, her feet tucked against her side.

Esera blows a kiss to Darren, too, and her already fiery eyes flash to see him.

Nebulosa wields Truce - the Sword of Gemecitta.

"Then allow me to introduce Saedrus, courtier in the service of my House," Kima says to Samantha. "Saed, this lovely lady here is Marquessa Samantha Deepwood."

As well as one can applaud while holding a precious object in one hand, Sophie does so, jury-rigging the gesture by repeatedly patting her right forearm with her left. With a small smile, anticipation threading serenity, she awaits to hear the Duchess of Bisland's tale.

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

Salazar picks up silver from a black velvet pouch with orange-pink initials of JA.

Salazar gets an ornate silver sigil ring from a black velvet pouch with orange-pink initials of JA.


Darren reaches up into the air, feigning catching the kiss that Esera blows. He'll put it to his cheek with a chuckle though, winking to Esera in a teasing, playful sort of way, before he lifts his flask up to his lips for a long, slow pull of the contents.

Saedrus bows delicately to Samantha on introductions, "Lady Samantha a pleasure to make your acquaintance." He greets, peering shortly over the offered pastries. Eventually he takes up some small savoury piece but keeps it in hand rather than nibble on it just yet. Looking happy as he could be amongst the cushions and beautiful ladies.


Tobias surveys the crowd with green eyes, before he turns them to Iona. the Crimson tunic ruffling just a bit as he leans forward on the bench. He seems interested in the gossip, but less than interested in going about for it. "Drawn all kinds..." His gravelly baritone comments, before he looks to Iona.

Viktarkim arrives, the tattooed and scarred Pridigal archer dressed in his usual woodland leathers of golden browns and greens. Tonight his long black hair is loose down his back rather than tied off with a scrap of leather and his new rubicund bow is slung over his back in his bowcase with quiver. Dark eyes in his sharply planed face look over those who are already gathered here, seeing many he knows. But the first he spots is Salazar of all people and the Shav makes his way towards the other with a hint of a smile, "Who let you in, my friend?"

Isabeau steps lightly through the crowd, a ceremonious smile crossing her lips; the kind one maintains for the sake of appearances whether she was truly happy or not. In her free hand is a notebook that remains sealed with a dark blue ribbon, "Dearest Sophie, I fear, we may not hear your favorite kind of tales in such a public forum."

Esera watches Darren long enough to see him catch that kiss. She lifts her hand to her lips, to muffle the sound of laughter.

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

Salazar gets an ornate gold sigil ring from a black velvet pouch with orange-pink initials of JA.

Salazar gets a small gold loop earring from a black velvet pouch with orange-pink initials of JA.

"There are harrowing tales, and then there are-- tales that are not suited," replies Sylphie in a murmur. "In any case, I am glad not to compete against my cousin." She then falls silent to listen as well.

Saedrus turns his head, attention distracted by something, or one, in the crowd.

Nebulosa smiles her crooked smile at Dafne. "I'd love to hear your tales another time."

Valkieri just lifts his brows at Dafne's glower, but offers no further comment. Iona has his attention for the time being.

Pietro muses acknowledgingly "I suppose that it's true we won't have to split our moral support between the ladies Zaffria." Did anyone believe Pietro when he said he was about to be quiet?

"Well met, Master Saedrus." Samantha offers in return, before taking a moment to gaze at the crowd. "What a marvelous turn-out." she observes happily, pleased at the success of the event on her friend's behalf. The sight of the most recently arrived Prodigal causes her expression to freeze, and then she carefully curves a smile to her lips, and if Viktarkim's eyes are caught, offers him a small smile and nod.


     Joscelin Arterius looks a bit worse for wear, shoulders sagging, her white wrap-around tunic smudged here and there with soot, her bouncy curls loose from their customary bun to fall around her shoulders and down her back. She hasn't been to the plaza in a while, looking up at the statues as she wanders through, following the activity to the people gathered. Despite her less-than-clean attire, her hands are clean, as is her face, and it's this freshly-scrubbed, tired-yet-attentive expression that peers through the people. She wonders who will win the prize she made?



A smile, Salazar offers, in response to Blacktongue. "Well, it is as they say - a professional fool might take pride in being city bard, but a merchant prince might consider it an overwrought honor best left for others. Cupbearer is a position of high honor, so say the lords who have their drinks tested. Certainly not one to be the one drinking possible poison, hm? We seek our honors where we can find them, and where you'd like 'em." Salazar reaches into his pocket to procure a whiskey flask which he takes a minute sip from - a refresher, to remind him what exactly is in store the rest of the night - when two people approach him at once.

Between a messenger who discreetly hands him a pouch with orange-pink initials and the savage mien of Viktarkim, Man-at-Arms of House Grayson, Salazar knows not how to respond. So first things first: he hands his flask to Viktarkim and then accepts the pouch with a gracious nod, before emptying the items out into his palm. Two signet rings and a small gold loop earring. The silver signet ring, bearing the lighthouse of Argento, he slides onto his left hand's ring finger, while he trades his previously bright but cheap copper earring for the gold loop one. This he does all while Viktarkim waits. Finally, he puts the gold sigil ring into his own side pocket and sends the pouch back to the messenger. "You were saying, Vik? They searched me, but found no ill intent. Except, of course, what was in my pants, but one can't fault a man that."

"Professional? Who has been slandering my name saying that I am professional? If anything, I am outright and downright an amateur." Blacktongue pretends to be insulted by Salazar, glaring at the man before ignoring him completely. Slights to his honor or no, he turns back to the Esera and their quiet words to one another that draw a laugh from the Harlequin, loud and boisterous.

Esera leans in and murmurs to Blacktongue, a conversation lost in the crowd and the noise. She smiles, a close-lipped smile, mesmerizing, and her gaze searches the crowd. "He is honored, I'm sure," she reassures Salazar, in aside.


Samantha's nod is caught only because Viktarkim gets handed Salazar's flask, which he doesn't mind to dutifully hold for the other while he receives his parcels. Viktarkim inclines his head politely back to her, "Marquessa, good evening." The Prodigal archer doesn't even open the flask to drink from it but waits, watching Salazar before one side of his mouth twists into almost a smile to the Lord, his baritone low, "I bet they were very impressed. Had to shield their eyes, I'm sure. I see you have your pretties. Very nice." The flask is offered back when Salazar's ready for it.

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

Viktarkim doesn't know the man Salazar's been speaking with so he looks Blacktongue over but doesn't say anything to the man as yet.

Gabriel looks over at the loud laughter, frowning darkly for a moment before he looks back to where Iona is preparing to speak, crossing his arms over his chest as he waits.

Blacktongue catches Viktarkim's glance at him and makes his introduction quietly as the performances begin. "Blacktongue, Harlequin in service of Velenosa. Charmed."

At her sister's comment, Sophie does, indeed, seem the tiniest bit melancholy. "It is a shame that Sir Locksley has not recovered from his laryngitis. We so were looking forward to his recitation." Gently, and returning to her usual good cheer, she smiles at the armor clad squirrel (?!?!?) that she lovingly holds betwixt her hands. "We we not, Sir Nutwel." The littlest knight of the Oathlands is too modest to reply.

Another nod for Viktarkim, but then there's Blacktongue, and the stiffness in Samantha's smile relaxes somewhat. Her hand is once more lifted, waved to the Harlequin in greeting, and then catches her foster father's expression. She takes her hand down sheepishly, turning her attention more fully to Iona. In the meantime, Deepwood servants continue to circulate, offering pastries and mulled cider to the attendees.

Iona takes the stage, striding with that formidable grace of a woman who is always keeping careful control of her own strength, turning it into grace. She turns to the audience, her golden skirts moving gently. She offers a gentle bow to Dawn and Darren, thanking them for the event. She offers Dawn a gentle wink, and then she turns to regard the audience again. They settle, and her hands lift, bringing forth the command she has in the Assembly.

"Once," her voice booms, deep and smooth, "long ago, there were two sisters."

She lifts one hand, palm open. "One was bright and golden and lovely, and she had the power of life. A mere touch, and she could make a seedling sprout and grow, and her presence was so warm that it made the summers themselves. They called her Sister Sun."

Then she lifted her other hand, again palm open. "The other was equally bright and lovely, but she shone like silver. Unlike her sister, she could not bring forth life, or make the plants grow, but she had something about her that none could explain, but everyone cherished. They called her Sister Moon.

Sun was always trying to outdo Moon, but Moon kept so many enthralled, that Sun's jealousy grew. Why should she have to share the sky with her sister, when she was the one who warmed the earth, warmed the oceans, and kept the fields full with rich foods. Did the people not see that she was just as worthy as Moon -- worthier, in fact!"

Pietro mostly keeps his mouth occupied as he listens by claiming one of the mugs of mulled cider going around, bouncing a little on his feet with the restlessness of his never-bounded energy. He does lean in to nudge his brother as Iona tells the story of the sisters.

Natalia listens to the tale as Iona speaks so eloquently. She's totally a Grayson, not a Redrain, nope Grayson. There is a look over the audience to see how people are responding to the beginning of the story. Her lips kept in that same sort of Mona Lisa smile as she observes.

The story begins, and Sylphie leans forward to listen, while her chin rests on her fingers. Her lips twitch a bit at that last bit about the worthiness of the sun.

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

Kima, with Saedrus at her side - not to mention Samantha and Ianthe, and who knows how many others! - listens as Iona begins her tale, looking more than pleased that things have finally begun.

Blacktongue offers his characteristic cheshire smile to Samantha when he catches her look and smile, but his words remain soft to Esera. An ear is turned to the story at hand, his gaze glancing that way to watch the performance.

Valkieri studies the command with which Iona holds herself, her easy grace and strength. His arms crossed over his chest, the index finger of one hand starts to tap lightly on the opposite bicep as he listens.

As her godmother begins to speak, Dawn sends out an elbow to nudge at Darren's arm and casts the man a grin. It's a sort of look that speaks with a glance and is easily translated: check it out, isn't this great?

A side-glance at the Blacktongue. Salazar throws some serious faux-shade at the amateur harlequin. And then he turns back to Viktarkim. "Well, here's the plan: Southern wine up from the Lycene coast, Northern Everwinter whiskey back down. At least that's what I've got so far. Take a sip, hm?" Salazar gestures for Viktarkim to take a sip from the flask. "I'm not sure how I feel about it. Sure, there's merit in getting roaring drunk very quickly, aye. But you know, there's no... no finesse to this. There's a roughness to this whiskey. The slight pale shade, like soft sunshine to it?" He gestures to the flask. "A brewer offered it to me as a sample." The Stormborn Voice falls silent again, fidgeting with the ring on his left hand as he listens thoughtfully to Iona's story. Half-way through, his honey-glazed eyes start to wander and he finds himself watching none other than Princess Natalia Grayson, on the far side of the crowd. Again, his attention wanders and this time, it's Lady Kima Saik -- a look of intense scrutiny (or intense bother) envelops his features and Salazar looks as if he just remembered something important, which he then instantly forgot. The travesties of being a butterfly poet.


Darren needed that nudge, considering he was indulging a messenger that /never seems to go away/. He sits up a little straighter, clearing his throat and taking another sip of his flask, eyes refocusing right on Iona with a sheepish grin.

Ianthe sits with her legs crosses and her elbows propped upon her thighs, slightly leaning forward to watch and listen to Iona's story. Upon one knee, a pastry, something with honey and apples, is balanced, which she picks at from time to time.


Blacktongue gets a raised brow at the name from the tattooed and scarres savage but Viktarkim still remains silent. Iona has begun to tell her story and the archer folds his arms to lean against one of the Grayson statues to listen, watching her. His dark eyes study her as she speaks and her bow draws his attention to where Dawn and Darren are both located. Now the story telling has begun, he remains silent and for the moment, doesn't move around the statues to converse with anyone else. The Shav's dark eyes roam over the many gathered as he listens.

Gabriel looks back to the harlequin's companions, winking briefly at Samantha, and then turns his attention back to Iona as she starts speaking. An easy smile slowly fades onto his dark face as he listens, nodding his head in familiar appreciation.

Saedrus' attention is unwavering from Iona, smiling brightly with a subtle lean to Kima. Offering that little savoury pastry he'd picked earlier to her.


Pietro leans forward against the chairs of his liege lord and lady, clutching his mug and grinning to himself as he straightens up after swaying forward in a close lean.

Iona continues the tale, speaking of the Sun's rage and seeking her own revenge against her sister. There's tales of hunters capturing the Moon, and throwing her into the darkest parts of the sky, chainging her to stars. Then she gets to Moon's revenge. "The Moon then found the Sun's greatest champion, and cast a curse upon him that turned him -- when the Moon's power was its fullest -- into a wolf-beast that hunted the Sun. His attacks made the Moon turn red, and the Sun's power wane." Iona bows her head slightly as she gets to the end of her tale, stepping a bit aside, gesturing to the skies above. "Now, this is the cycle we see each year? a bloody harvest moon as Fall arrives, the Sun weakened by a warrior that had once been her own, and the Moon gaining power throughout the Winter days until Sun is strong enough once more to bring back the Summer once more."

Aislin seems mildly amused as she watches Salazar's attention bounce around the crowd, though she soon enough turns her attention back to Iona, leaning forward to listen. She may be an Ashford through and through, but her love of storytelling may well have come from her Nightgold mother.

Esera snaps her fingers, and a servant in the purple of House Velenosa steps forth from the crowd, with a bottle of wine and two glasses. A white, honeyed amber. He pours one for her, another for Blacktongue. He summons up another glass, and hands this to Salazar, in passing.

Kima loves pastries! She accepts this happily so that she might have something snack upon while she listens.

It is a tale to keep the attention, and Sylphie's attention is certainly kept. As it ends, she straightens again, clapping her hands softly in appreciation.

Sylphie is overheard praising Iona for: A wonderful story-teller with the bravery to face the crowd.

The only indication Valkieri gives of hearing whatever Pietro has whispered in his ear is a downward twitch of his lips. He does cease his tapping, but only so that he can uncross his arms and clap politely for Iona's story.

Lazarus and the merchants settle down from a joke as the night moves forward. They quiet down to listen to the stories. With their attention turn elsewhere, Lazarus' gaze is free to look for familiar faces. He quickly discovered that everyone was here. A young merchant, now representing his family's wealth begins feeling a little bit intimidated.

Isabeau for her part did her best to ignore the presence of the tiny squirrel Knight that Sophie carried, "It seems there is quite a showing regardless, I've no doubt we'll be regaled by fantastic tales of amazing wonderment." Her tone was meant to be soothing to assuage her younger sister's melancholy even as she whispered something softly to her.

Gabriel is overheard praising Iona for: Bravery in facing a knight and a crowd expecting storytelling excellence all in one day.


Darren claps his hands together as Iona's story comes to an end, lifting himself out of the seat to address her. "A very good tale, Duchess," he flashes her a wide grin. "Something I think I've heard before, actually. Though, I think I appreciate it all the more now," he chuckles, and then motions to the stage. "Lady Sylphie Zaffria, the stage is yours," he calls out, then retakes his seat, now tat duty is done.

Natalia claps her hands for Iona as she finishes the tale. Her eyes slide to Salazar for a moment. It is just to let him know that she knows he knows that she knows he was watching her. Now they are both in the know. She inclines her head towards him, but her blue eyes slide over the others as she claps.

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

Sylphie stands, murmuring something to her cousin Nebulosa next to her before she starts for the stage.

Saedrus applauds Iona, speaking back to the ladies about him on the cushions. All praise of course.

Pietro applauds for Iona as well, although he has to clap one hand against his cider mug instead of the more traditional applause of hands together. His smile widens as Sylphie begins to head toward the stage.

Nebulosa rises at Sylphie's whisper. She lopes after her cousin, her gait long-legged and confident, her hand braced on the hilt of the Gemecitta sword.

Gabriel uncrosses his arms as Iona finishes her story, clapping with a slow, steady beat. "And that is how it is done in Bisland. Taking punches and telling stories."

Whatever Isabeau whispers to her, Sophie only serenely smiles with an undeniable sense of conviction.


Ah! Viktarkim opens the flask and smelling of it, he takes a drink. He'd seen Salazar drinking from it when he'd walked up. The savage savours the taste, rolling it around his tongue before he swallows a little of it, feeling the burn. Then the flask is offered back to Salazar, "It's not bad." He keeps his baritone very low indeed, not wishing to interrupt. His attention has settled upon someone else who's arrived, watching as Joscelin slips nearer. He say something low to her by way of greeting. Oh boy, for some reason he /really/ likes that story and applauds Iona's efforts! "Nice."

Iona accepts the applause, bowing her head once. Then she looks to Darren and Dawn, grinning a little at both her goddaughter and nephew. She then steps off the stage, yielding it to the next storyteller. As she passes a bit of fire, she tosses the parchment in her pocket into the burning blaze, like she is burning a secret. Then she goes to find her husband, but is sidetracked whens he spots Joscelin. Brightening, she detours to the crafter, indicating where she is going to Gabriel across the way.

Dawn's applause is some of the most fervent as the Duchess completes her tale. "Well done!" she calls out to Iona. Her smile could rival the torches, as brightly as it shines. With Darren calling for the next round, she keeps her seat and casts an idle glance out over the crowd.

Ianthe offers her own applause in appreciation of the story, careful not to dump the pastry off her knee and on to the ground. Once finished clapping, she idly licks honey off her fingers while she waits for the next storyteller to begin.

The Lady Sylphie Zaffria does not approach the bonfire and stage alone, followed instead by a woman only slightly older with a slight familial resemblance who bears a diamondplate sword. That diamondplate sword bears both an falco and feather engraved in the hilt, and perhaps this gives some warning to the tale that the lady is about to tell. Her gold gown and her black diamond wedding ring catch the light of the fire as she softly clears her throat. She then begins in her usual warm, honeyed tones, "During the Age of Songs, it is said that there were two formidable men in the South, men who had nothing but their own will and belief in their family. In this age, as other lords set out to reclaim their lands from the Abandoned, these men decided to make a claim of their own and build a future for their offspring and theirs and theirs after."

Her lips quirk into a hint of a smile for these men, before she continues: "One of these men found a hill unlike any other, a pillar of silvery-white quartz rising high into the air from the ground itself. Taking this as a sign from the gods, he set it in his mind that this land was meant for him, climbing to the top of the hill to survey what would be his."

"The other man found a lush hill, and from his approach, he saw the shape of a crown in broken granite blocks that encircled the top of the hill. Such a thing could not be ignored, and he determined that he should claim the land here and build his home at the top of the hill, so thus he set to climb it." Her smoky eyes sweep over the crowd, lingering here then there, studying the audience even as she speaks.

"Except that when both men reached the top of their respective hills, they found that they were not alone." She pauses, dramatically. "Across the depth of the valley between the hills, they could clearly see the other where they stood. In a scurry of messengers and words, both men claimed that /they/ were there first, and they would not move."

Blacktongue takes the wine that Esera's servant had brought, not really pausing to savor or swish it. No aerating here, he just drinks it like one would water. It makes one wonder if the black tongue he possesses can even taste anymore.

As Sylphie begins her story, the barest hint of a sardonic smirk touches Valkieri's lips. Recognition is clear in his gaze.

Pietro abandons his mostly finished drink to a passing tray and leans forward as Sylphie speaks, bracing the palms of his hands on the back of her abandoned chair. He slants a sidelong look towards Valkieri as Sylphie speaks, but mostly his attention is aimed towards her and the stage.


    Darren's focus falls on Sylphie as she begins to speak, leaning forward on the chair. He listens with rapt attention, his fingers steepling under his chin as he does so.

Quiet as Iona speaks, Vincere joins the others in applauding as she concludes. He straightens as his brother leans, maintaining some sort of cosmic equilibrium as he watches Sylphie step forward. Recognition lights his eyes with her first words, and his gaze narrows in the only hint of humor he'll show. It's obviously not an unfamiliar tale for the Gemecittans.

With Sylphie taking center-stage, or center-plaza, as the case may be, Dawn's eyes shift back to the young widow. Like her co-host, she is soon drawn into the story being told, the gesture that secures her a glass from a passing tray distracted. Bless the diligent servant who shifts the wine to allow the Lady to take it without looking.

Nebulosa stands poised behind Sylphie as she speaks, her hand still clasped on the hilt of the diamondplate sword, her body taut as if reflecting the tension of the story, reflecting a certain anticipation.

Gabriel follows Iona's glance, spotting the crafter and nods in response to her across the way. He remains where he is, leaning back beneath the feet of one of the early Grayson rulers to listen to the next storyteller. The addition of the retainer with the blazing sword causes his brows to raise, but he listens in silence.

Natalia turns her attention to the stage with a bit of interest to the story. Her eyes slide over the various people still, but she is focused upon the words coming from the storyteller.

Sylphie continues her story with a touch of patience in the way she speaks about these legendary men, admitting, "And they did not. For years and years, each man stood on his hill, turning a pitched tent into a stone hut, and from there, turning their huts into impressive castles even as cities grew slowly around them and their families did as well. Each man also insisted on building a wall across the valley, sending supplies of quartz, granite, and marble from their own mines, cobbling together a wall made by each that separated the land definitively."

"So they remained for decades, centuries, with neither family budging even as their cities grew crowded right up to that wall of mixed stone. Each would insist that the other abandon the valley, as /they/ had been given signs from the gods that this land should be theirs." A soft, subtle shake of her head follows the words.

Her pace picks up, building the tension as she presses on, "It wasn't until the Time of Red Fields, as other cities in the Lyceum fell to sylv'alfar destruction, that the Duchess Vedette Zaffria and the Duke Raphael Rubino met on either side of the valley wall, speaking to each other through it and coming to a compromise; They would both continue to rule their cities as one, but to prevent their paired destruction, they must protect themselves from without rather than within."

Her fingers make a gesture, lifting and then pulling downwards. "Down came the wall, torn piece by piece and diverted to shore up the surrounding walls of the new city of Gemecitta. Lucky, it would seem, as the next sweep of sylv'alfar destruction reached their walls but could not pierce it. Instead, they held, together, for year after year, against wave and wave of the sylv'alfar's forces until even their walls gave out. Together, however, the forces of Rubino and Zaffria pushed their enemies back."

As her gaze sweeps the audience, it comes to linger now on Lord Valkieri Rubino, even as she sums, "And now they still stand, paired. The wall between never rebuilt, even as they repaired their cities. The debt never forgotten."

"Well told, my lady!" That from Dawn, with a glance that cuts between the woman herself and Lord Valkieri. With a glass of wine in hand she cannot applaud but she does rise to call out this praise, voice carrying above the clapping. A salute follows to see Sylphie back to her seat and then Grayson's Lady turns to face the crowd again. Pale eyes seek out the event's next vict-- storyteller. Ah, there. "Blacktongue the Harlequin!" she cries, beckoning the Lycene forward. "Will you do us the honor of a tale?"

Pietro applauds for Sylphie and cheers her conclusion with a call of, "Unity!" as he straightens up again. "She told that well," he says lightly, possibly to Vincere, possibly to the back of Valkieri's frowny head.

Upon "the forces of Rubino and Zaffria pushed their enemies back," Nebulosa unsheathes her sword with a half-turn of her wrists, giving the blade a restrained sweep of a flourish before holding the point upward. She holds it for the brief span of the story remaining and a few heartbeats longer before lowering the Gemecitta blade with grave respect, sheathing it, departing the stage with Sylphie.

Sylphie curtsies in once graceful gesture towards both Prince Darren and Lady Dawn while she still claims the stage, the movement smooth and practiced but her smile warm as she offers it to her hosts. But then she does see herself off the stage at that salute, moving through the crowd to reclaim her chair. If, hopefully, Pietro will stop leaning against it.

Viktarkim has Salazar on one side and Joscelin standing close. They speak low until Iona comes over and he bows his head with respect to her, "Duchess." At least half of the Prodigal's attention is on the story telling, one of his calloused long fingered hands on Joscelin's back.

Joscelin grins at Sylphie and applauds heartily from her place by Salazar and Viktarkim.

Ianthe puts down her half-eaten pastry and claps in appreciation of Sylphie's story.

Valkieri's gaze is steady on Sylphie when she meets his; it lingers there until Dawn rises to exclaim her praises. There's a moment where he seems to forget to react to the story, and then he startles back into action to offer his applause. "Yes," he says, whether or not Pietro's comment was intended for him.


"Excellent tale, my lady!" Darren finds a solution to the problem of inability to applaud with a flask in hand - he sticks it under his chin, to hold it secure while he brings his hands together in hearty applause. Then, he takes the flask back into his hand, and drinks another gulp from it. His eyes briefly flicker when he hears the unsheathing of a sword though, eyeing Nebulosa briefly before he just shrugs his shoulders and awaits the next victim that is to take the stage.

Kima claps politely as well, though by now she's already finished her pastry.

Pietro totally cedes Sylphie's chair back to her, don't worry.

Saedrus sits forward from his lounging in the cushions to applaud Sylphie and Nebulosa with raised hands. "Very impressive performance," he praises back towards Samantha, Ianthe and Kima beside him. Eyes cast to Blacktongue for his tale.

Ianthe clearly chose the largest pastry of the bunch.

King Pastry.

Blacktongue is deep in coversation with Esera from where they stand at the fringe of the crowds gathered. The Harlequin had been keeping an eye on the festivities and the performers, applauding softly with black gloved hands where appropriate. Now, he finishes up some comment to his employer and then makes his way to the center to perform.

Gabriel stirs at the unsheathing of the blade, but does not roust himself, instead clapping politely in response to the well-told tale.

The Duchess slides up beside Joscelin and Viktarkim, and she is gently hugging the former like an old friend. She settles back in beside them, and claps when the storyteller ends her story. Her gaze slides over toward Gabriel at the distance, but then she is back to the other pair.

Dawn takes her seat again as Blacktongue moves to take his place before the congregation. A swallow of wine is had, another brief glace cast over the throng, and then she focuses on this round's chosen storyteller. At her feet, Macdon yawns again and flops over onto his side, prompting the lady to rest one heel against the deerhound's scruffy barrel: instant footrest.

"Miss Joscelin Arterius," Salazar accedes with a dip of his head, as he drops one leg to bow. He falters as he rises again from this bow, before holding the pouch bag - the one that had come with the rings she'd made. "You should take your bag back. A fine bag, no doubt, to be used for other things." And then he turns to watch Blacktongue ready his speech, a glance at the Duchess when she embraces Joscelin. He falls silent, taking back the whiskey flask to take another medicinal sip.

Joscelin grumbles at Salazar for not bloody listening.

"I hope you do not mind that I took the chance to share our city's story," Sylphie murmurs quietly to Valkieri as she claims her seat, not an /apology/, mind, for it but rather a simple, polite statement.

Alistair has been here, he and his henchman (and likely a henchwoman because the Inquisition does not discriminate) have been in the back lurking about, whispering amongst themselves as the stories are told. Taking notes... plotting. Perhaps they figure they can craft some good blackmail material out of these stories. Alistair sits with a passive expression, one leg crossed over his knee as he looks from one contestant to the next.

"Certainly not," Valkieri murmurs in quiet response to Sylphie. Look how well they're getting along. Their vassals will be so pleased.

"It was great!" Pietro carols from behind them. See? Pleased vassal.

Vincere does, in fact, look super pleased, or at least moderately content. This may be because Valkieri and Sylphie are not murdering each other, OR it may be because there are a bunch of people telling awesome stories. "Well spoken," he says rather more quietly than Pietro.

With hands clasped behind his back, the Blacktongue of Velenosa takes his sweet and languid time to pace the about the edges of the performance ground set aside from the crowds. His piercing gaze goes deeper than most like to admit, though the cheshire smile is quick to reverse any unsettling feelings it may create - that is until the inky hues of his namesake are seen against the bottom row of teeth.
    Turning sharply on his heels he claps his gloved hand together and turns to the noble pair hosting the event. "And here...we...go." He bows foward at the waist, doffing an imaginary hat and taking his time to set it right on his head.
    "There are tales of bravery, of heroics that win wars, hearts, riches, and kingdoms. It inspires the common man, the wealthy man, and the coward to feats that they may otherwise deem impossible. But what of the man whose tale is unsung, the glory he seeks not for the lyre? The bravery in a single moment that is extinguished alongside him on the final, emcompassing flames of the burial pyre? I have to share such a tale, not to repeat histories you know, but histories you don't."

His sharp features soften with the somber gravitas of the performance, a hand placed demurely over his heart. "There existed in a land, long since forgotten, its name etched in the memories of those that passed seasons before our time, a lowly commoner enamored of his liege. She was as fair as the Northern snows, her eyes as warm as the Southern sun. In her smile she held secrets and answers all sought, but all were afraid to ask."

Viktarkim removes his hand from Joscelin's back when the Duchess cares to hug the jeweler. The tattoed tribesman reaches into his belt and pulls out his own flask, which he opens and takes a taste of before it's offered to Salazar, "Grayson's whiskey is better, but you should try Redrain's as well. Peaty." Yum. Perhaps this will be to Salazar's liking. Most of the Prodigal's attention is upon the Blacktongue and his story.

Sylphie's lips twitch in their smile, and she murmurs, "Thank you, Lord Pietro. I hope you will think so when I steal a story from Granato next time." But then she falls silent, her attention turning to Blacktongue as he begins to speak.


     Joscelin turns her attention to the storyteller, Blacktongue.

Lazarus sits among a group of merchants from the crafter's guild. They seem to be socializing between stories. When a lull appears in their conversation, the young merchant allows his attention to again drift among the participants.

Esera watches Blacktongue with bright eyed interest as he begins his story. That interest brightens all the more at mention of a beautiful liege.

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

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

Ianthe watches and listens thoughtfully when Blacktongue begins to speak. Consciously or not, Ianthe's dark eyes drift to Esera as the jester describes such a lovely and charming lady. It's only a moment before her attention is back upon the storyteller, though.

Saedrus takes up a sweet pastry as another platter passes him, this too is passed towards Kima, broken in half, but he keeps his attention on the Harlequin.

Dawn's eyebrows twitch a little higher as she listens to Blacktongue. As Darren had for the last storyteller, she leans forward-- foot coming down off of Macdon-- and rests her elbows on her knees, attending closely to what the Harliquin says as his tale is woven for the crowd.

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


    Darren's own attention is focused wholly on Blacktongue, wearing a far more curious expression as the tale begins. He leans forward himself, arms folding there on his knees as he listens, quite interested it would seem.

Sharing is caring! Kima enjoys her half of the pastry. She politely receives a messenger during that time.

"There came a whim of this liege, to host a festival like none had seen before. Riches from all lands were sought and brought, fruits lost to time and wines we only can dream of fabricating now. It was a din of decadence, the lush and luxrious indulgence a cacophony on the sense. It was only the company that made it bearable and she had intended it that way. In the confusion all had forgotten themselves, but one had found himself and the courage to approach."

As he says so, Blacktongue approaches Dawn and sinks to one knee, his usually raspy voice with syllables singed by years of poison testing, lifts in tone and assumes that of a male youth at his prime. "A love that even time will stand still for, I see reflected in youwhole. A second of love, for which I would sacrifice my soul." He rises and turns back to the audience. "It was simple, that saying, that request he had made. It took mere seconds to utter but a lifetime to summon. To save face she ignored him, chided him as he had feared. He was sent away with the shame written hotly in his reddened cheeks, the marks on his arms from where things were thrown at him cruelly for his brazen approach.

He holds up a single hand to silence any commentary, his eyes lowered to his feet. "She came to him later that evening, dropped her facade and they shared one night where all else melted away, leaving her sated but him with ache for he knew the dawn would bring about the end of her embrace. He later died for her, and she wore his favor on her heart always."

He turns to the noble pair hosting again. "You see, heroics are easy when one thinks they will be seen. I call the man who does such without ever being seen the true brave soul, for he carries it for what is right and not for the pride. But, love makes fools of us all? But perhaps, it is only a fool that can speak of love's foolish follies and the unsung heroes it makes of us all." He bows at the waist again and returns back to Esera's side.

Esera smiles, as Blacktongue sinks to one knee before Dawn. At the story's end, she applauds him, not a lady's delicate applause but something wholehearted and impassioned.

Pietro tilts sideways to whisper something to his brother even as he renders up polite applause for the story's close.

Sylphie is overheard praising Blacktongue for: Does love make fools of us all, indeed. Well told.


     Joscelin is a bit weepy and applauds as loud as anyone.

Sylphie applauds as well, her gaze lingering on Dawn for the fool's antics.

Kima applauds, and if she's snickering a bit at Joscelin, well...who can blame her?


Darren tracks Blacktongue as he moves to sink beside Dawn, his brows arching as the man continues to tell his story. And then, at the end, he starts to applaud heartily, getting to his feet. "A truer story, I've yet to hear," he chuckles, inclining his head to Blacktongue. "Very, very well done." He gives Blacktongue his moment in the spotlight, but then he'll raise his voice again, to summon the next storyteller, "Lady Lydia Nightgold, I bid you to come and take the stage. Show 'em how those of House Redrain tell a tale, shall you?"

Valkieri's mouth twists into the hint of a frown as his gaze tracks Blacktongue. He lifts his hands at the end to applaud politely, but the frown lingers on his lips.

Salazar claps his hands together before extricating himself from the party he's with to make his way over to the pastry stand that Kima Saik seems to be monopolizing. He picks a single fruit tart from the pile and tries to push back, pausing to clap absentmindedly when all the others clap for the Blacktongue of Velenosa. "Cheers!" he shouts, and then meanders his way back to the tattooed Viktarkim and Joscelin's side.

Ianthe applauds as well, with great alacrity, as she murmurs something to her companions.

Saedrus looks down thoughtfully to his hands in his lap as Blacktongue draws his performance to an end. Along with the crowd the Courtesan applauds the Harlequin leaving the stage, then off to the next story teller.

Dawn had not been expecting this aspect of audience participation. She straightens when Blacktongue approaches, brows lifting truly now in surprise and then more when the jester sings his song. The smile that comes after is small but deep as she watches him rise and turn away. Her applause joins loud with the rest when he's finished but she makes no cry, doesn't call out. Thoughtful, maybe, watching the man return to his place-- and then brightening again as hostess when Lydia's name is called.

Natalia claps for Blacktongue with a thoughtful knit of her brows. It is as if she is pondering something great that she has not pondered before. Then she smiles more when Lydia's name is mentioned and claps for her as well.

Pietro is forced by circumstance to control a brief coughing fit.

Viktarkim has tensed a little, watching that Blacktongue fellow very closely when he approaches the Lady Dawn closely. The Prodigal archer's dark eyes are upon that fellow and watches him closely to make certain he means no secret ill towards the Voice.

Vincere is tricked in a brief exchange with Pietro, soft and without voice, but despite that his applause is clear and firm. Even if he looks a little too pleased with himself.

Pensively, Sophie listens to the jester's tale of not-even-dark-comedy, her expression soft yet inscrutable. Gently, she squeezes her sister's forearm.

Lydia rises to the front of the group to speak while giving Darren a brief smile and an inclination of her head. Much of her typical exuberance is gone. Instead she folds hands in front of her, replacing it with somberness. Her voice is a light one, but she infuses it with a singsong rhythm as she begins. "A long time ago, in a land far, far away, no grass grew and rain did not fall, yet still man toiled in the dirt as they had always done. In this land was a farm boy, Luukas, who would wander the deserts and rail against the heavens that he was cursed to live in such a place, far from the wars and glory that we know in the north. One day as he wandered, a voice called out to him, "Help us! Help us! For our princess is held in a castle in a land where all is dark and no thing exists except the stars. We seek the Master Ben who is her only hope!"

Luukas turned and saw two servants one fat and one tall, and he saw in them his chance for glory. "I know this Master Ben, come with me and we will save your Princess."

So the fat servant, the tall servant, and Luukas went to find Master Ben, but when they found him, he all but shook his head. "This will not do." Master Ben said, "to get to the Land of Only Stars, we will need a ship that can sail the black seas." So Master Ben, the fat servant, the tall servant, and Luukas went to the port where they found a northman, Captain Solo and his fighting bear who agreed to sail them to the land of stars.

Captain Solo and his bear, Master Ben, the tall servant, the fat servant and Luukas then sailed through the Dark Seas to the Land of Only Stars where they faced many trials until they came to the castle, which was large and round and was the moon. The fat servant and the tall servant showed them the sneakiest ways through the halls to the tower where the Princess was being held. There, with the help of Captain Solo and the bear, Luukas fought with a skill he did not know he had and killed the guards who kept her there and then the Princess, Captain Solo and his bear, Master Ben, the tall servant, the fat servant and Luukas all headed back to the ship."

As Blacktongue's tale ends, Alistair leans over to one of his Confessors and whispers something to the man, all the while his eyes are locked upon the Jester, staring at him with his normal gaze.

Sylphie's brow lifts a little; this is clearly a story she has never heard, which is rare for the well-read noblewoman. Her attention is certainly held as Lydia continues to speak.

Pietro finishes coughing, clears his throat, and inhales a long breath, drawing his eyebrows up, and then letting them drop. He gives his attention to Lydia.

Darren retakes his seat as Lydia takes the stage. Once more, a story draws him in, a spark of amusement in his eyes. He listens, surely, but this story earns a soft chuckle at the mention of a Captain and his dancing bear.

Lydia pauses just long enough at this point that one could be forgiven for thinking her story ended here, but just when the audience is tempted to burst into applause, she continues, making her best attempt at sounding ominous, "But when they got to the ship, the King of the Land of Only Stars was there, blocking their way. "You will not take the Princess from here!" He thundered, and it was Master Ben who stepped forward to dual. The two fought, but Master Ben, stayed his sword, and said, "As you strike me down, I become more powerful than you can ever imagine!" And the King did strike him down and the Princess, Captain Solo and His Bear, the fat servant, the tall servant, and Luukas all fled to the ship and sailed away.

The Princess then said to them, "What, will we cower in fear? I know how to destroy the castle for all times!" And she opened her palm and there was a crystal. "Put this in the portcullis and the castle will stand no more. Many champions have tried, but none have succeeded." She then gave the crystal to Luukas and the ship returned to the castle. Luukas got off the ship and was gone some time before the explosion was heard, and the castle was no more.

There was much rejoicing when Luukas returned to the ship, but he said, "It was not me, the voice of Master Ben came to me and guided me." And the princess smiled, "For him to guide you, you must be a champion indeed! Well done. You will need this for your battles to come" And then she handed him his family sword and all who were in the ship, sailed off to fight another day."

At that point, Lydia finally bows her head and makes her way quietly back to her seat...where she promptly drops all pretense of somberness and begins to talk excitedly with her friends again.

Sylphie is overheard praising Lydia for: An interesting story, and well-told.

Sylphie's lips twitch at Lydia's excited talking, even as she brings her hands together clapping.

Alistair is overheard praising Lydia for: Interesting tale. We might have to put aside a room in the Hall of Questions for your stay regarding these magic crystals.

Saedrus is overheard praising Lydia for: Such a unique fable, one I have never heard told before. Delightful!

Dawn recovers from that more pensive mood through wine and the tale next to come. Lydia's story-spinning proves unfamiliar to the Lady as well and she perks to listen intently, smile growing through its telling. With its conclusion, the glass is handed off to a servant so that she might applaud with the rest of the crown. And it's her turn again to stand, to call out praise. "Not one I've seen or heard before, Lady Lydia. Thank you for sharing it with us!" Then her pale gaze casts out over the crowd. Who next, who next... and there he is.
    "Redrain has issued a challenge, will Valardin answer? Lord Tobias Telmar! To the stage please, my lord!"

Valkieri lifts his hands again to applaud, even as he tips his head slightly towards Sylphie to murmur something in a low voice.


Darren will jump to his feet after Lydia's story is done, whooping and cheering loudly for the girl in an unabashed sort of manner. "Wonderful job, Lady Lydia! I expect no less from you!" he says to her, his grin bright and proud for his vassal. He does take his seat afterward though, taking another pull from his flask.

It's his turn, is it? Tobias stands, his feet carrying him over to the stage and bonfire. It's a few moments before the Lord General takes a formal military stance, and begins in that gravelly baritone of his as his eyes sweep the crowd. His crimson sulk tunic shines with the light, and the Crimson Blades sigil is front and center on his chest. "A few years back, there was a minor war in the northlands. Barbarian tribes were raiding their neighors for sacrifices to their dark gods. The local Lord? He didn't have enough people to deal with it... so me and my comrades at the time were hired as mercenaries, along with hundreds of others."

Tobias purses his lips as he looks down and away. "It was a dark day when the assault began. As it turns out, after the fighting stopped, the Lord wanted nothing said of the whole affair... and was not content to let his hirelings go. Instead, he drove us into the far north. Then, the barbarians started to attack his men with renewed vigor. We had no choice; we had to flee into the Everwinter further north than they were willing to go." Tobias looks back up, "we were stuck, and playing cat and mouse with two small armies trying to kill what was left of us in the middle of an approaching snowstorm."

Sylphie murmurs something back to Valkieri, seemingly actually /getting along/ for the moment.

But then Tobias has taken the stage, and she falls silent to listen intently.

Ianthe applauds the storyteller and tries to finish up that damned pastry between stories.

Joscelin applauds!

The slightest hint of a smirk touches Valkieri's lips at whatever Sylphie says to him, but his gaze is on Tobias.

Saedrus applauds, both Lydia's tale and the arrival of Tobias. Chuckling a touch for Ianthe-- he still hasn't touched his half of the pastry. Should just give it to Kima too.

Saedrus wants someone to get fat.

Saedrus would never!

Dawn sinks back into her chair and settles back. Tilting, she murmurs a few words to Darren, without her eyes leaving Tobias. Then it is silence from the Lady, the attention given to /this/ story rather more intense than past ones, perhaps.

Blacktongue is drinking deeply from his wine, no amusement written anywhere on his usually so enigmatically expressive face. He speaks softly with Esera all the while.

After a few brief whispers exchanged with her friends, Lydia once again quiet and turns her attention back to the front to listen attentively to Tobias, a small concerned frown forming on her lips.

Salazar claps merrily to the last few entries, taking yet another sip of whiskey. He was to go up soon, and he needed to be good and hammered. He turns to look at Viktarkim, raising both eyebrows, before returning his attention to the general on the stage - the Blackmarch.

Joscelin is still leaning against the statue and partially against Viktarkim, the story... interesting. Her eyes flicker as she listens.

Listening, Sophie's gaze casts around, lingering upon those she recognizes from the North, perhaps attempting to assess their reactions to Tobias' tale.


The storyteller has once again caught Darren's attention. He leans forward once more, steepling his fingers underneath his chin as he listens attentively, Tobias kept wholly in his focus.

Viktarkim too sips whiskey, having shared his flask with Salazar. Having it back now, he takes a light drink and offers it to Joscelin to see if she wants a taste of the potent alcohol as they stand close together, listening to the stories unfolding.

Gabriel applauds each storyteller as they finish, although the military story draws his lips into a frown again, looking as intently at the teller as does his goddaughter.

Pietro looks around for his drink and then remembers he already got rid of it. Leaning to bump shoulders with Vincere again, he drops a sotto comment in his ear and then straightens up, returning his temporarily distractible attention to Tobias and his story.

Joscelin murmurs a soft gratitude and accepts the flask from the Shav, taking a sip, feeling it warm her throat before handing it back.

He starts to pace, and Tobias continues the grim tale, "we were the mouse for a week. They would attack one another, then break off and go further north to try and catch us. Then, finally-" A hand comes up and *snaps*, "-they poke a group of bears we ourselves were able to dodge around, being the smaller group. Two of our number died as unintentional bait for the enraged family, but their deaths and the chaos the rest of the bears caused? They let us get away." Tobias gives a nod to one of the others in the same dress tunic, "With both their armies losing sight of us and a snowstorm upon us, they turned back.... while we were stuck, lost and aimless in the Everwinter." Tobias turns back to the crowd, that formal stance coming back, "it was a small miracle that we manage to find a cave that was deep enough to rest in, and had just enough ventilation for a fire. We would spend the next two months in that cave, hunting and forgaging what little we could while we hid from the locals."

Tobias smiles, then, "it would be one of those locals that would be our salvation, ironically. As it turns out, there was a sheet ofi ce covering what was a massive tunnel system. The caves? Found and carved by the locals for thousands of years to get around below snowstorms. We spent the next two months being guided by that traveler, defending ourselves from raiders, and hunting when we dared to leave the caves." Tobias smiles, then. "In the end, we came out near Whitehold, and managed to survive a winter in the Everwinter, with fourty of us all that was left of two hundred." Tobias gives a nod, "I know many have asked me... so I give you this tale: that fellowship is how the Crimson Blades were born. A tale not of grim war, but of survival and friendship outlasting even a Lords Anger." Tobias gives a formal bow as he walks off the stage.

Sylphie is overheard praising Tobias for: For being a brave man in many ways and for sharing part of his life with us.

Saedrus applauds Tobias, sitting up fully amongst the cushions to do so.

Sylphie claps, perhaps a touch louder than she did for the other storytellers, but certainly not by much. Even handed in her praise, but she offers a smile towards Tobias as he walks off the stage, for all that he likely won't see her in the crowd.

"They say not to mix it, yeah?" Salazar reaches over to pluck Viktarkim's flask and pours a good measure into his own flask, before sloshing the two together. Redrain Everwinter whiskey mixed with the local Grayson stuff. He hands Viktarkim's flask back and takes a long sip, letting out a hic. With a look of damned determination - to Abyss and back - Salazar starts to trudge his way to the front of the crowd. He'd seen himself to be next.

Natalia listens to the tale and claps her hands to the story. HEr eyes flick over to see how the stories have been received.

Joscelin applauds Tobias, contemplative.

Lydia is overheard praising Tobias for: A story of true bravery!

Ianthe has spent more time with this pastry than she has in most of her relationships. At this point, shame suggests she marry it and give it children. But, finally, the pastry is gone, leaving only slightly sticky hands, which Ianthe brings together in applause for Tobias' story, in its wake.

Saedrus tilts his head a touch watching Salazar approach the stage.


Darren takes a minute to consider the story, but then he's putting his hands together once more for Tobias, getting to his feet to incline his head to the man. "I've not heard very many stories about Everwinter. Very good job," he calls to the man, before raising his voice once more, "Lord Salazar Argento, you're next up to the stage." He flourishes a summoning hand to the steps, and retakes his seat.

There's a story with some tension to it! Dawn lets out a slow breath when Tobias comes to the conclusion. She shakes her bright head and then begins a deep, sharp round of clapping to match the somber cast now in her eyes. "Forty of two hundred, and you've made something from it, my lord. Thank you," she calls to him after he's had his bow.

Pietro applauds Tobias's tale with a grave nod -- approving as he is generally of derring do -- and then leans in close to the others as Salazar's name is called, dropping one hand to the back of Sylphie's chair and one hand to the back of Valkieri's. "I bet this will be good," he says. "I met that fellow with Lady Aislin the other night."

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

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

"Yes, he's certainly -- energetic," Valkieri replies to Pietro as he offers polite applause for Tobias's story and Salazar's approach to the stage.

Gabriel claps as well at the end of the tale of ice and fellowship, a slow, thoughtful sound that dies out again so that he can cross his arms once more.

Viktarkim laughs softly at Salazar's antics, "Like mixing blood. You never know what you might get. Sometimes it's good." Most of his attention has been on Tobias's story and he joins the others to clap when it's done, giving a slow nod in recognition for it being a story about the birth of his mercenary units. There's a sideways glance to check on how Joscelin is doing with the Duchess.

"He is certainly a man of many words," Sylphie says even as Valkieri replies, words tumbling over each other. A sound that might be a laugh escapes, and her smile does /not/ exclude Valkieri where it touches her lips, except her attention is quickly back on the stage.

"Is that the word you use for me, too?" Pietro asks Valkieri with a laugh on his breath.

By the time Salazar Argento takes the stage with a smile of amusement, his eyes are round and wide, the color of a hawk's - bright, golden, possibly feral. Pupils dilated. Drunk? Check. He has been greatly lubricated by a combination of Everwinter Redrain whiskey adulterated by a healthy dose (everything's healthy, as long as it ends up in the mouth!) of the Grayson variety. "G'evening, m'Lady Dawn. Your Grace, Prince Redrain," Salazar says with a wide smile. He holds out his flask to the Redrain prince. Drink?, he seems to say. Deep breath. Liquid courage. With another sip, he breathes in, puffs his chest out, and then... And then he lifts his gaze to encompass the crowd, basking in the warm glow of attention. His face feels just a few degrees too hot, his smile a little too brilliant. Salazar begins: "People tell stories of myth, of legend. They tell stories tonight of why the moon turns red, why one family kills another, why we do the very same things we always come back to doing."

There's a break here, as Salazar paces the stage, before holding up a hand, a single finger extended to make a point. "Allow me to go back into legend, into stories long dead men tell to their sons, stories that were told to them by their fathers - even deader men in the annals of history. My home island of Nilanza is buffeted by hurricane winds every season, like clockwork. On the southern side, only the toughest grasses and trees grew, standing firm and stout against the southern storms. On the northern side, behind tall cliffs, the most beautiful and most fragile of flora predominated, including the fine black grapes that make up the beverage of choice in Nilanza - the Nilanzan red." He glances at the crowd and holds up a finger. "Now -- the people of Nilanza grew to be like the seasons of the island. Some were the sturdy, rock-peoples of the southern hills, resilient in the face of great danger. And others grew to have light, airy dispositions, blown away in a single gust. Then again, on the very hillock of my ancestors, north facing the Lycene coast and the south facing the wide ocean, House Argento forged their castle where both stone-hearted and air-spirited would conjoin."

"And on those cliffs, House Argento saw sons and daughters with the most tumultuous of dispositions. Sometimes stony and distant, paragons of stoicism, and at other times, like the coastal terrors, uprooting entire hamlets." The pirate prince stops here, glancing about.

"The reason," Salazar explains, "that I bring all this up is, we are nothing without context, nothing without the traditions that guide the way we tell stories. Given the inherent rebelliousness in our blood - Stormborn, we are called - Clan Argento went on to develop a tradition we call the 'salt sojourn'." He smiles and glances around, seeing whether anyone has had any personal experience with this. Young Nilanzan scions on their salt sojourn blasted across the Southern coast, leaving empty jugs of wine and dizzying destruction in their wake. The excesses of the soul.

"It would be, typically, for a year or two -- or three, four in my case -- where a young man or woman would discover their heart on a journey across the Arvani continent, staying -- sojourning -- at various inns along the way to enjoy the pleasures of life."

"I knew a cousin --" Salazar winks at the crowd roguishly, before holding both hands in denial, shaking his head - not him, not him, "-- who made their salt sojourn with scions of some of the prominent houses in the pleasure district of Setarco. Velenosa, Pravus, the odd son from House Malvici came along there. He had made the mistake of bringing a cask of fine Nilanzan wine to a party that can only be considered epic -- dancing bears - like the sort Captain Solo had, but far lovelie - bearded women, harlequins who juggled fire and wine, you name it. He sang the praises of his home's fine wine to these other Lycenes, who had never heard of it. The chant he sang was this:"

Salazar clears his throat and belts out the lines:
"Nilanzan red! Oh sweet Nilanzan red.
It goes with all meats and all bread.
Blameless, we are, on sweet Nilanzan red;
What we do or say, blame on wine instead!"


Salazar takes a deep breath after reciting this little jingle. "Of course that night, another important scion from a prominent family from his liegelords - Velenosa, Pravus, we shan't name names - went and streaked naked across the rooftops of Setarco, singing that infernal jingle. The next night, when the city guard went about looking for the young man who had flew naked and drunk across the roofs of Setarco, they found my cousin, clothed but worse for wear. Who else would be advertising Nilanzan wine but the lone Argento scion? He protested his innocence, swore he would never stray far from home again. That effectively ended his salt sojourn there and then." A pause. "His father came to retrieve him from the gaol at Setarco, disappointment heavy in his eyes. My uncle." He reflects back to that fateful day. "My cousin still sees the lord who laid the blame on him. On wine, really. Now, when he meets that fine fellow who he'd taken the blame for, there's the inevitable laugh, a smile, a wink and the quiet mouthing of those damning words:"

Salazar pauses for effect and then lifts his voice, high and clear, to finish the story's refrain:
"Nilanzan red! Oh sweet Nilanzan red.
It goes with all meats and all bread.
Blameless, we are, on sweet Nilanzan red;
What we do or say, blame on wine instead!"

Growling, Salazar makes a stern face and mouths a dirty word ("That bastard!"), evidently at the man who'd run off without the blame, before laughing, his voice a barking call into the night. With a deep bow, Salazar rises and steps off the stage.

Whatever it is that Princess Sophie Valardin may glean from the reactions of the Redrains and their vassals, it does not appear to set her at ill-ease. Momentarily pensive, she affords a small smile for Tobias' tale, and faintly nods, as though vaguely pleased (or maybe relieved) for whatever reason.

Sylphie is overheard praising Salazar for: I believe the man took an opportunity to promote his wine when he saw it. Nicely done.


Darren will lift his flask to Salazar as the man finishes his tale, his chuckle warm and hearty. "Good job, Lord Salazar," he calls out, and then takes a gulp of the flask in salute, before tipping his head to Dawn for her to itnroduce the next contender for the prize.

Sylphie claps for Salazar, her lips twisting into a soft, amused smile as amusement dances in her grey eyes.

Natalia claps her hands for Salazar too. She seems to be content to be on the outside fringe of this social gathering.

Valkieri looks faintly baffled as he claps, leaning over to murmur to Sylphie again.

Dawn returns Salazar's acknowledgement with a grin and a salute tipped two fingers away from her temple. A nautical gesture, or so she must imagine it, and then she sets herself to listen. What comes of that tale leaves the Lady chuckling as she stands, mouthing the words of that song briefly while her hands clap out applause. "Thank you, Lord Argento. As colourful as your reputation, my lord, I'd expect nothing less." She turns then to mark the crowd and her grin grows deeper. "Mistress Joscelin! Will you do me the honour of stepping up to share something with us?"

Joscelin is confused but applauds for Salazar. That... yey?

Ianthe snorts faintly and barely managed to refrain from rolling her eyes. She offers a bit of polite applause.

The Duchess of Bisland has been standing apart, her ear bent toward an old friend. When the exchange is done, she laughs and turns back toward Joscelin. She steps back toward the woman and her company, folding her arms lightly together as she regards the stage once more. She finishes listening to Salazar's tale, and she offers a series of claps before she returns her attention to the crafter and her company.

Sylphie leans to murmur back to Valkieri with a little shake of her head.

Saedrus chuckles quietly to himself, glancing about the women he is company of, clapping one of those tennis claps for Salazar.

Kima claps like they say Queen Alarice claps. It is the height of dignity.

Lazarus is overheard condemning Salazar for: Does he even know what is in his wine? Has he ever spend a day in the field?


     Joscelin Artierus approaches the stage, her hair loose and long instead of her usual pile at the back of her head, her clothes a little dusty like she may have run here straight from the atelier. She murmurs a gratitude to Lady Dawn and Prince Darren. She clears her throat.

Sylphie straightens to pay close attention, flashing a bright smile towards Joscelin in encouragement from where she sits amongst the Gemecittan contingent.

Sheepishly, Salazar descends the stage and heads back to his place by Viktarkim - in overloud whispers, inebriated, he tries to explain how he usually gets a few laughs from that story, but it's likely that he usually tells that story while imbibing far less, lest he not heed the moral of his own story. But as he walks past Joscelin on her way up (and on his way down), he murmurs something into her ear.




Joscelin steps forward, nervous, chewing on her bottom lip as she approaches the apex of all the attention. She looks out over the crowd, searching for familiar eyes, and finally, takes a deep breath.

And sings.

"Deep into the stony hills, miles from town or hold, a troop of guards comes riding with a lady and her gold. She rides bemused among them, shrouded in her cloak of fur, companioned by a maiden and a toothless sated cur." Her tone is mellow, the song paced like the stalwart gallop of a cantering horse.

"One among the guardsmen has a shifting restless eye, and as they ride he scans the hills that rise against the skies. He wears both sword and jewels worth more than he could afford, and hidden in his baggage is a heavy secret horde.

"Little does the lady care what all the guardsmen know that bandits ambush caravans that on these trade roads go. In spite of tricks and clever traps and all that men can do, the brigands seem to always sense which trains are false or true."

Joscelin's eyes widen in dramatized fear, her hand sweeping, looking out at a shadowed landscape in her imagination.

"From ambush bandits screaming, charge the pack train and its prize, and all but four within the train are taken by surprise. And all but four are cut down, as a woodsman fells a log: the guardsmen and the lady and the maiden and the dog."

Valkieri blinks in clear surprise as Joscelin takes to the stage, almost forgetting his applause entirely. It's distinctly belated as he murmurs something else to Sylphie.

Ianthe sits up a little straighter when Joscelin takes the stage. She smiles with pride as her sister begins to sing. Ah, yes. This song is familiar.

Sylphie's attention to the song is only briefly interrupted by Valkieri's words, and she takes a moment to murmur to the lord in turn.




With her hair loose instead of its customary bun, the curls flick down the back of her hips, and she sweeps them aside dramatically as she continues the ballad, her low, mellow voice raising in volume as the story approaches its climax.

"Then off! the lady pulls her cloak, in armor she is clad. Her sword is out and ready, and her eyes are fierce and glad. The maiden makes a gesture, and the dog's a cur no more. A wolf, sword-maid and sorceress now face the bandit horde!

"The lady and her sister by a single trader lone were hired out to try to lay a trap all of their own, and no one knew their plan except the two who rode that day, for what you do not know, you cannot ever give away.

"The bandits growl a challenge, and the lady only grins.The sorceress bows mockingly, and them the fight begins. When it ends there's only four left standing from the horde: the witch, the wolf, the traitor, and the women with the sword

"They strip the traitor naked, and then whip him on his way into the barren hill-sides like the folk he used to slay. But what of all the maidens that this bandit raped and slew?"

Joscelin pauses, standing straight and declaring with a sly, wicked, satisfied expression on her face, crooning the last line of the ballad:

"So as revenge, the sorceress makes him a woman too."

The final note trails off, and the jeweler gives a courtier's bow.

Samantha perks visibly as well. She too, seems to recognize this song, and as she doesn't want to distract from the singer making her presentation, mouths along with the words, laughing in delight when the 'punchline' so to speak, is sung.

Lazarus shakes his head after hearing Salazar's story. He scoffs and turns to the merchants in his social circle, "Some foreigners never get accustomed to our ways but that was a disrespect toward the host." Lazarus says, condeming the man.

Sylphie /does/ clap louder for Joscelin that the other contestants as she takes her bow.

Joscelin is secretly delighted that there are a few in the crowd who know the song, and steps from the stage breathless, cheeks pink, and a grin at Ianthe.

Singing! Dawn brightens as her protege takes the stage and while she keeps her silence throughout the song-- just barely-- when it ends, she tucks her fingers in the corners of her lips and whistles out sharp praise.

Saedrus smiles brightly for Joscelin's performance, applauding loudly when the song settles off. The courtesan leans close to Ianthe in his company, smiling all the while.

Iona turns her gaze toward the crafter as she gets to the stage. She stands quietly, watching the young woman with a slight tilt of her head. She glances slightly aside to Viktarkim, and then to Salazar when he rejoins the small group. She nods to the pirate, but says nothing while she listens to the crafter's song. She starts to laugh, clapping her hands as she does.

Thunderous, loud applause from the Stormborn prince -- Salazar Argento may be in his cups, but even a beast kens the sweet sound of sweet honeyed voice. He turns to look about, to see whether he's the only one clapping - and it's clear that he's not. Oh gods, thank goodness. He's not that drunk.

Ianthe offers Joscelin a bright smile and a salute, nodding her approval. She manages to not wolf-whistle or woo, only because Josie wants to be Guild Master and told Ianthe not to embarrass her. But there is definitely applause.

Alistair sits there still passive, glancing over to one of the confessors as they make detailed notes about Joscelin's story... and the focus on wicked magic that is used to mete out justice to those who deserve it. Alistair simply laces his hands together, his thumbs idly tapping against each other as he watches and listens.


Darren's attention is given to Joscelin as her song filters through the Plaza, and when she is done, he'll rise to clap for her. "Beautiful, Mistress Joscelin," he says to her, before turning to Dawn and conferring with her in a quiet tone. It is then that he'll step forward, and take the drinking horn off its prominent place, clearing his throat to get the attention of the crowd.

"Choosing a winner was a hard decision. Those that stepped upon this stage were very brave indeed. Thank you all, for sharing your stories," Darren announces, nodding to those who told stories in turn. "But I have only one horn, and I'm proud to present it to Lady Lydia Nightgold, for her thrilling story of Luukas and the Land of Only Stars!" he wears a proud grin as he steps over to Lydia, to present her with the horn, murmuring something to her alone.

Viktarkim clapped for Salasar though somewhat muted for Joscelin was already heading up and he'd said something low and encouraging to her. Then watched her and listened, not having heard this tune before. The tribesman doesn't catch Iona's glance for his attention is upon Joscelin up on the stage. When she finishes, he claps all the louder, one side of his mouth quirking at Lady Dawn's whistling.

Blacktongue applauds Joscelin, one hand careful of the wine glass there.

Darren is overheard praising Lydia for: Our newest City Bard! Leave it to one of House Redrain to tell such a thrilling tale of adventure.

Kima does not applaud, this time, but instead looks thoughtful. She leans towards Saedrus in order to murmur something, and then gets to her feet in order to discreetly disappear into the crowd.

Darren picks up an ornate brass-clad drinking horn.

Joscelin cheers for Lydia! Well done! The jeweler didn't expect to win, between crafting the prize and so many amazing stories! She's just happy to have been brave enough.

Lydia seems surprised indeed when Darren comes towards her with the horn. She rises to her feet and gives a curtsey, before reaching out to take the horn and hold it close to her chest. "Thank you, your highness. You do me great honor that I am glad to give in total to the North!"

Sylphie applauds, though she rises as she does so. A murmur is given to those around her with a soft smile.

Lazarus claps along the other merchants after Joscelin's story. He stands up to give her a standing ovation but when he sees Alistair, he takes back his seat.

Blacktongue is caught up in murmurs with Esera, missing the winner announced almost entirely. When it is announced he simply arches one his brows, piercing eyes going to the winner with detached curiosity before turning back to the Grand Duchess.

After the conference, Dawn joins Darren in rising. She grins as he makes the first announcement and claps again, applauding Lydia as the winner of the competition. Then she clears her throat and adds, "But you know it wouldn't be a Grayson co-hosted event if there weren't also a little silver being tossed around. To our City Bard goes the drinking horn, but to our runner up, a purse of silver. Again, I wish we could recognize all of our storytellers, our singers, our dancers. But I have one purse and it goes to Blacktongue the Harlequin, for his tale of the quiet hero."
    The pouch at her belt, a heavy thing of green velvet, is taken from its tie and lifted before the Lady carries it herself to the man in second place.

As the winner is announced Alistair slowly rises from his seat, giving a small little clap of congratulations and even looking at his two Confessor lackeys, staring at them until they too catch on and start clapping in appreciation.

Darren is overheard praising Blacktongue for: A well told story that spoke a great deal of truth.

Esera is caught up in murmurs with Blacktongue, but as the winner is announced, she applauds her politely. Applauds Blacktongue, too, for his win of silver.

Blacktongue bends to a single knee in front of Dawn again as he is presented the purse of silver, tying it off at his belt before taking the lady's hand to place a chaste kiss on it. When he rises he speaks truly, his typically impish smile replaced with one of warmth. "You are too kind, fair Lady. Thank you for your generosity and kind words."

Lydia is overheard praising Blacktongue for: A truly moving story!

Sylphie is distracted as Blacktongue is named the runner up, but she does clap distractedly. But then she murmurs her farewells to those near her before drawing away before the wave of the crowd.

Esera is overheard praising Blacktongue for: A tongue fairer than it appears.

Joscelin praises Blacktongue for an original tale, told well and with style. And no bells.

Valkieri's applause is -- polite. As it's been all evening. His gaze slides to Sylphie as she stands, and there's a moment where his hand reaches to touch her forearm lightly. His words are quiet amid the crowd.

Valkieri's applause is -- polite. As it's been all evening. His gaze slides to Sylphie as she stands, and there's a moment where his hand reaches to touch her forearm lightly. His words are quiet amid the crowd.


Darren flashes a grin to Lydia, wagging his brows about something that was whispered between the two of them before he pulls away and raises up a cheer for Blacktongue as well. "Well done!" he shouts to the man, before he returns to Dawn's side and flourishes a hand to the group. "Thank you all for coming. Feel free to stay, and trade all the more stories beneath the statue heros tonight," he announces.