Kingsley Family/Alyssa/Wintergreen Festival

A long awaited roleplaying chain, the nobles of Perdan gathered together to celebrate the Winter Holidays and the new year of 2020. Below is one of Perdan's largest and most inclusive RP chains running from January 4, 2020 to January 20, 2020, including over 70 messages by 12 players. The sequence is slightly edited to be placed in chronological order. The idea for the festival came from the player of Vorn Family, though they did not participate in the event. The majority of planning was done by Fontaine, Everlight and Kingsley Family.

Characters involved (in order of appearance):

Smiddich Fontaine
Dustiria Noire
Salem Belmont
Isana Everlight
Kenneth MacArbin
Ulric Hawk
Beatrix Aldebrand
Daeron Vurkow
Alyssa Kingsley
Christopher Stewart
Nemean JeVondair Renodin
Elinor Hensley

Fontaine

(1/4/2020)

Snow had recently fallen around the city, and everything was generously covered. Fires were stoked in every fireplace, and the militia tasked with not only street cleaning but firefighting duties as well. The Duke had ordered the town - her streets, boroughs and backwater alleys - pristinely sanitised for the upcoming event. Guards were being thorough and discerning, but wore crowns of holly or other festive garb along with their arms and armaments.

Smiddich had ordained this festival, Wintergreen; the combination of an annual yule slash new years celebration, and was overjoyed to have his knights returning in time for it. He hoped their homecoming to such simple pleasures as a clean and prosperous town were the start of his thanks to them for their pledge of service. With small successes in Brive, and the new knights finding their place among two armies, he hoped they would continue to go from strength to strength. He was pleased to see several knights start to specialise their careers and take on new and useful roles.

Garlands and banners were hung about the town, and decorative strings were roped around topiarised trees. Lanterns and candlelights shone in every leaded window and the cobbles (gritty with salt) were clean and clear. What few homeless or helpless refugees in the city were similarly swept up off the street, to serve or convalesce in several hospices, shelters and asylums, plied with food and care during the cities coldest months.

Street vendors were invited out for the Festival, to take place in the main thoroughfare, that broad cobbled strip of stores and shops that went all the way from the front gate and alighting in front of the castle. Already they staked out their spots on the street, setting out their cooking paraphernalia and rubbing their hands together over portable stoves fueled by dry firewood, plucky determination and profit.

Some fried nuts or grilled meat, others handed out bowls of stew or broth, yet others sold pastries, pies and foldovers savory or sweet. Jovial, red nosed men or ladies doled out generous cups of warmed cider, spiced wine or mead from a barrel, while cloth merchants took this last minute opportunity to divest themselves of the last of seasonal garments; scarves, hats, mittens and even jackets were flying off the rack so that the festival could be enjoyed for longer. Those without warm winter gear simply clutched their warm food or drink for as long as they could bear it.

Most of the city minstrels had deigned not to perform in public, yet their voices and instruments could be heard inside fine establishments, prompting people inside to escape the cool and enjoy the patronage inside for a time. Practically every business was running a special tonight, and the mood among the city was high.

Smiddich, the black bladed duke of this city, girded himself in uncharacteristically ducal attire; woolen hose, jackboots and a short padded jacket over which a steel breastplate was intricately patterned. Around his shoulders was a long and regal cloak ruffed with fur, and at his hip, a straight-bladed rapier finest. His hair and beard was freshly and immaculately groomed, and for the occasion, a silver circlet set atop his brow; it being illegal for any apart from the King to wear a crown.

"Come, lads", he growled to his personal retinue of brigandined special forces, "Into the city, and celebrate!"

Noire

(1/4/2020)

Dustiria sat at her favorite table with her back to the wall. Her face happy as she watched the patrons of the bloody stump laugh and enjoy themselves. Some wore crowns of Holly, others bright red berries, and some wore pine wreaths around their head. Her smile grew even wider as Kenneth strolled in. She looked appreciatively at his new store and barbered face. One hand picked at the faded, brown, ruffled skirt as Kenneth made his way over. Her cheeks flooded with color as she let him steal a kiss.

"Kenneth it is so good to see you! I was about to get checked one last time and hopefully get cleared for duty and get rid of this itchy bandage. "her hand scratches at her skirt ,"I fear Sir Salem got the best of me in a training match. He seemed like he needed to let off steam through battle. I just didn't realize how much. " Dustiria laughs softly," Bruce as been quite the attentive nursemaid. " She waves at the barkeep telling Bruce not to bring her mug over," i see you are looking very fancy. What happened here while I was afield? Do you have any idea what the Wintergreen Festival gas to offer? " She asks Kenneth curious

MacArbin

(1/5/2020)

Kenneth grinned back at Dustiria, looking around at the merrymaking, waving a cheery hello to Lady Elinor in one of the other corners, making it clear that she was welcome to come over if she wished.

"These are a gift from the Duke, along with the barbering, and a lecture about making sure I treated you well thrown in for good measure. Given that, and several of the comments from Nemean and a few others, I decided discretion was clearly pointless, hence the public kiss."

Which, having been a successful and quite enjoyable experiment, he repeated, though aiming for the tip of her ear this time.

"As for the festival...I have not the faintest idea, but am looking forward to exploring! Now, do we need to get you into your armour to attend the Imperatrix? If so, we should do so quickly, as I have hopes for entertaining you after your duties, assuming the Imperatrix retires relatively early."

Noire

(1/5/2020)

Dustiria blushes as Kenneth kisses her ear and she gently pushes him away. "What do you mean Sir Nemean and others have been talking? Am I a scandal?" she looks worried at Kenneth," As for the Imperatrix I haven't heard from her ever since I was wounded. I did send her a letter that I am all right. Last I saw her she said I was to enjoy the festivities that she is safe here so I guess i have no need of my new armor just yet. So if what I have on is all right," she indicates her purple fighting shirt and faded brown ruffled borrowed skirt,"We could explore. My cloak is hanging by the door. That's if it won't drag my name through the mud so to speak. What have they been saying?"

MacArbin

(1/5/2020)

Kenneth blinked, then smiled broadly.

"Not on duty then, fantastic! And we can find something for you, I saw several stalls filled with festive overwear designed to go on top of whatever you have, easy enough to solve! And your name is fine, mine appears to be the one with some problems. I'll spare you the details, but the gist was that I am possibly good enough for you, so I should watch my step. From the Duke, anyway, Nemean was merely taunting. I take it his efforts with the Imperatrix have not improved since the last I heard, which says good things about her judgment. In any case, nothing for you to be concerned about, besides the fact that our relationship is known, so no point in further discretion."

He rubbed his hands together in anticipation.

"Shall we?"

Noire

(1/5/2020)

"Good enough for me, relationship....Does the Duke think we are courting? Are we courting? its ok if we are just.... what on earth did you two discuss?" she moves to take his offered hand while looking at Kenneth a tad confused and very happy.

MacArbin

(1/5/2020)

Kenneth cocked his head to the side. "In order, yes, the Duke thinks we're courting; yes, I certainly think we're courting; and we discussed much of little import, but as for us...We talked about how he feels somewhat paternal to all of his knights, but particularly to you as you remind him...Of someone he once cared for very much." He looked a little worried. "Do...you think we're courting? I had thought that was fairly clear, but..."

she blushes and looks at Kenneth, "I had hoped we were but I have never even thought about courting and my father never discussed it with me. So i wasn't sure. I can tell you all about horses and fighting, really anything military but you nothing has ever prepared me for you." she changes the subject quick."That is very sweet of his grace. I should ask him more about that. sounds like an interesting tale."

Kenneth's face was back to his smile in a flash. "Well, I am happy to be your resident expert in courting! I'll trade you for knowledge of horses, we'll call it a deal. And yes, I think it would be good for you to discuss with him. It was a fascinating tale, but...Not mine to tell. Now, shall we get you some festive wear, find some warm food and drink, and explore the city?"

she slides her arm into his,"Of course my lord please escort me." she laughs and is all smiles so unlike her usual,"never been to a festival so I guess you must be my expert for that too."

Kenneth holds her arm rather tightly against his side. "Well...I have been to a few minor celebrations, but this is a festival in one of the crown jewels of the ancient East. I think we will be able to learn together."

As they start to leave the Bloody stump Sally comes running after them,"Wait! Here My lady and my lord." she plops holly crowns on both their heads, bows and goes back inside.

"well that was sweet of her. She helped when i was healing. Where should we go first my dear Kenneth?"

Kenneth grins, and flips Sally a silver as she leaves. "Sweet indeed! First, festive wear! I saw a stall this way..."

she looks curious around at the evergreen decorated stalls and the crowds of people, "I feel naked without my sword. Healers made me not have it near me while i recovered. oh look that stall is selling lanterns!" the duty first emotionless warrior has been replaced with a woman eyes full of wonder like a kid in a candy shop.

Kenneth grinned. "Well, I assure you, you are not naked..." He leaned over and murmured into her ear. "yet, anyway..."

"And let us look at the lanterns, by all means! And I see over here we have a wintergreen overdress, thoughts?"

Stewart

(1/5/2020)

Christopher looked forward to the grand festival following the night of heavy drink dockside as one would following the day after a heavy drunk.

He stepped onto the street looking about and was, surprisingly, cheered by the sights. Vendors, entertainers and peasants abound here, there and everywhere. All moving about and smiling, laughing and talking. The sights were almost as grand as the smells of different foods and drink. The crisp air tugged at him, but he pulled the fox fir coat closer to battle the coldness.

His blade hung at his right, with the sheath bound to his knee. It felt uncomfortable, but nothing he couldn't become accustomed to, at least for the time being. Among those he first noticed was the Imperatix and, arm in arm, Sir MacArbin. Nodding to the couple, along with a slight smile of admiration, he moved on and entered one of the taverns along the main street.

Once inside the establishment, he took a small table in the back of the room, facing the door as always, and began to watch and listen. Lady Dustiria and Sir MacArbin. Arm in arm. It was a good thing to see. If they needed anyone's blessing, they had Christopher's. He was sure that others would feel the same.

Noire

(1/6/2020)

Dustiria blushes head to toe,"I may not know much about courting but I don't think that's supposed to be part of it,"she gets distracted by the lanterns. Exspecially a brass one with etched horses running on the base. At the mention of the over dress she looks over at the selection. "How does one choose?"

Kenneth laughs.

"Now, now, who is the expert here? Admittedly, that is for the advanced stages, but I will happily tutor you to hurry along your education."

He quickly makes note of the lantern that caught her eye, then looks over the rapidly dwindling selection of clothing, and snags an overdress of heavy white wool with designs of red berries mixed with evergreen trees.

"I'd say this one. We will find you something better for the next time you are off duty, but this is festive and, more importantly, warm! Warmer than mine, at that, the suffering of fashion I suppose..."

She punches Kenneth as he suggested advanced tutoring,"somehow I think that's not how this works, but you are the expert."

Dustiria takes the white over dress in her hands. One hand traces the designs of berries and evergreen trees. "I can't remember ever wearing a dress. We were so poor father thought it best to train me with my brother. To prepare me for military life. After all who wants a female with no dowery? I guess he expected me to never .... nevermind." She puts it down and removes her belt and Holly crown. Dustiria takes the dress and wiggles into it so it fits snugg to her torso showing curves that her fighting shirts and attire never even hint at. It falls loosely from her waist and covers the borrowed skirt completely. Her hair falls out of its braid so her long deft fingers work it out. Soon her reddish orange hair is a wavy mane falling to her butt.

Kenneth's eyes are quite approving as Dustiria turns back. "Oh, yes, it definitely works...And I took care of it while you were so enchantingly wiggling into it. As well as this!"

He holds up the brass lantern with horses that she had been eyeing, now cheerily lit.

"Which I rather think will be useful, as I think I see House Everlight's colours on the guards by that cart over there, but the market lights are blocked by all the stalls, shall we see what curiosity Lady Isana might have arranged."

Dustiria's eyes light up when he hands her the horse lantern,"oh Kenneth you spoil me." For any who know the calm, cold , sworn sword they might not recognize at first glance this long wavy hair woman in a thick, wool, dress smiling.

She looks where he indicated,"that is a good idea. I haven't spoken to her in awhile. Maybe we will run into others. Be interesting to see how people are off duty. I have only seen two or three that way. Duty always calls."

Dustiria impulsely kisses Kenneth's cheek,"thank you" adjusts his Holly crown and her own, then slips her arm through his. Arm and arm they stroll through the crowd looking for others on their way to the house Everlight banners.

Belmont

(1/4/2020)

Salem and his right hand, Nat stood around a firepit that was surrounded by some benches, some stumps, and some chairs. "Festivals are simple, Nat. We sit here, drink, and watch everyone else pretend how great they are...What with their dresses and shiny things that they've been saving for this one day." Salem was in his armor, beaten and battered. Covered in dirt, some caked blood, and a little sweat. "So..." Nat starts, "We don't mingle?"

"I don't mingle. You're free to do as you please. But this festival nonsense gives me headaches. Every year in Bisciye, we'd have something similar, albeit, much smaller and much more cliqué. My bones are rattling just hearing the constant bustling sound of people talking about whatever. So instead, I sit here, I drink, and I don't move unless I need to break up a fight...Or better yet, join one."

Nat states at him with a furrowed brow. "We should probably have some soup if we're going to drunken people watch."

"That...Is an excellent idea, Nat."

Everlight

(1/5/2020)

Isana stood by the grand doors to Greenstone Tower, supervising as her staff rolled carts bowing under the weight of great golden cauldrons of hot spiced wine out into the snowy, bustling streets. It smelled divine. She had her hammered tin travel teacup tied to her belt to enjoy the drink on the move.

"Alright now, you all know your locations. One to each corner of the central parade ground, keep yourselves well clear of the taverns open tonight. Give carved wooden cups to any who don't have their own. And have fun!" Isana smiled at each crew, making sure several lantern bearers went with each, and the carollers with the last group heading to the Ducal Garden entrance.

Moments later the bustle had quieted and she was left with one strange cart, her captain, page, master healer, and two young soldiers, all dressed in formal green and whites. The market cart was decorated grandly, its sides dressed with thick boughs of evergreens and strings of red berries. A wide brazier of smouldering coals sat atop one end, and numerous pans of a dark and sweet-smelling liquid waited around the sides of the cart. Most strangely, one end of the cart top was packed with a strip of clean white snow. Isana's eyes glittered with excitement in the light of the many lanterns adorning the street.

"Let's bring the sweets of the Far North to our fine friends, shall we?"

Hensley

(1/11/2020)

Elinor was enjoying people watching from the safety of her corner: everyone decked out in their finest, good cheer and grins, high and common mixing rather freely; it was delightful. She glanced down at her own finery in approval. If it wasn’t as costly as some, she had nothing to be ashamed of. Her overdress was new and red and as fine a wool as she’d ever seen. Something heavier and plainer (and not embroidered at the neck with cunning little flowers in white silk and silver wire) might have been more practical, but for the first time in her life, practicality wasn’t really the point.

When an almost familiar gentleman gave her a friendly grin and a wave, Elinor didn’t have a chance to remember his name before Meraud murmured, “Sir Kenneth,” into her ear.

“Yes, yes, I knew that one,” Elinor chanced a small smile back, “Does he want me to go over there, do you think?” she murmured back before his attention was captured by an attractive red-headed woman.

“Lady Dustiria.”

“Oh no, he definitely does not want our company,” she laughed as the couple embraced and leaned into each other.

“They’re courting,” Meraud added.

“Yes, I believe that everyone can see that,” Elinor grinned at her companion, “You’re supposed to get me useful information. Insights. Things I can’t easily suss out for myself. Worthless; why do I pay you?”

Meraud laughed, “There’s a question for the ages! Now, come on and finish your mead and let’s get out of here; it’s too close and all the fun is in the streets!”

Moments later they had thrown on their capes and slipped out of the warm pub into the frosty evening.

Aldebrand

(1/5/2020)

Beatrix leaned back on her stool until she felt the cool wall of the tavern behind her. She had paid a little extra for their specialty spiced drink, but she could not enjoy it inside the building with everyone else's drinks, and food, and gifts, adding to the haze of smells in the air. Outside was better. Here it was slightly noisier with the crowds of people selling their meats and hot drinks, but it still felt clearer. Every so often a cool wind blew down the road, bringing with it the scents of roasting fowl and fresh-baked bread.

If she wasn't careful, she'd have to be rolled home.

Still, it gave her a wonderful feeling to simply sit and watch people enjoy themselves. On occasion she would catch a glimpse of a familiar face; sometimes just one of her own troops, sometimes fellow nobles exchanging pleasantries to one another. She supposed she could be a tad more sociable to her peers (oh heavens they were her peers) but then another breeze would distract her with its tantalizing scents, or a new cart would come trundling down the street with small intriguing gifts, and the thought of getting up and inserting herself into an actual conversation could hardly stand up to all that.

Well, she was hardly being unsociable. She was sitting out in the open, not tucked away in some corner, which was a step in the right direction. She inhaled the steam wafting from her mug and gave a contented sigh. What would happen would happen. For now, there was hot spiced mead.

Vurkow

(1/5/2020)

A lot of organisation goes into a festival. To witness one is to be exposed to all the labour needed to organise something. Getting people through and off the streets, guard postings, entertainment and the like are all transferable skills for administration in the holdings of a realm.

All that Daeron could witness however was the bald spot of his mentor, delicacies he was not allowed to indulge in and crowds of people that if he was less sober he would think they were mocking him with their frivolity. Then again being too sober was the crux of this travesty. Too much study, not enough alcoholic oblivion. So when he saw The Captain laughing with a gaggle of nobles his frustration began to reach a boiling point. The Captain took notice. Wearing his patented moronic grin, he waved at the pair. "Do you know that man, Daeron?" The mentor turned to face him, light from the lanterns above glistening off his scalp. Returning the wave. Daeron joined him with a strained grin. "No. They are deranged for certain, no idea where they even are." After a moment the mentor turned to follow the road down a ways into the crowd. Unfortunately it was then that Daeron had been paralyzed by "mysterious forces" and was forced to watch them walk slowly out of sight expressing to the phantom Daeron behind him. Grin growing ever more genuine.

Vurkow

(1/5/2020)

When he recovered from his "paralysis" he made for The Captain, pointing at the mug in his hand. "Is that yours?" "Well of co-" "Cheers." He snatched it out of his hand and gulped down its contents that caused quite the head-rush. "Wow that's lusty *cough*! I'll have another thank you." Handing back the mug to the ever cheery Captain before moving towards his plate on a nearby table. He started to pick through the bits he recognized with his fingers before he noticed a noble woman on a stool giving him strange looks, a mug of spiced mead in her hand. Not the first time this has happened. Not the first time in circumstances like these overseen by Smiddich either.

"Sorry is this yours? I'm not a thief, thought it belonged to my friend." Dawning on him how this must have looked, he thought perhaps with an explanation she wouldn't think him the worlds worst beggar. "I'm Daeron Vurkow, you may have read one of my works? A Tale of Mountain Adventure? Glory of the Tournament? I'm here on research for my next book." He searched her face for any sign of recognition. "Might I know your name before I apologise for..." He poked at something charred. "Eating whatever this is?"

Hawk

(1/5/2020)

Ulric Hawk walked among the streets of Perdan, taking in the sights and sounds of the Wintergreen festival. He wore a black fur coat, which was worn over plain leather armor. It was stripped down, and not the armor he wore into battle, but it was clean, though plain, and fit in for what he normally wore to events. Black pants and fur boots finished his wardrobe. He felt the chill of the air, and watched the many vendors hawking their wares, the streets filled with people.

He heard music in the distance, and Ulric let himself relax and take in the festival. Ever since the Golden Lions returned from their campaign, he had been busy getting the army ready for the next movement, whenever or wherever that would be. He had been so preoccupied with getting the rations ordered, making sure all the units had what they needed, repairing equipment, he hadn't even had time to think of the Wintergreen festival. Though now that he was here, among the people of Perdan, he was happy. He smiled, pulling his coat closer to him, watching the smiles of everyone out.

He was proud to be apart of this great realm. He thought of Az Zarqua, he missed his home. A sudden pain of homesickness hit him. The forests would be beautiful this time of year, the ground covered in snow. He imagined sitting by the fire. His thoughts then drifted even further, to his childhood home of Valldir. He thought of his older brother, Edward. He was a Lord on Dwilight himself. He hadn't spoken to him in years though, the letters slowed over time and eventually stopped as both brothers became engulfed in their personal wars.

He snapped back to the present, and walked up to a vendor selling something that smelled delicious. It was a hot soup with chicken in it. Ulric smiled and paid the man and purchased a bowl, and slowly ate it as he walked through the festival. The contents warmed his stomach.

He looked around, wondering if he would see anybody he recognized among the crowd.

Kingsley

(1/5/2020)

Alyssa took a deep breath as she stepped out into the winter air from the ducal palace. She grimaced somewhat uncomfortably as she pulled the blue half-cape around her for warmth. The dress she wore was unusual, her aunt had sent it to her as a gift when Alyssa informed her of the festivities in the capital. Upon seeing it, Alyssa immediately questioned whether the item was truly intended for her for she knew her Aunt was familiar enough with her dressing habits to know that Alyssa would never pick such a dress on her own.

It was not gaudy in and of itself, but for Alyssa it might as well have been. She only occasionally wore a dress and when she did they were modest and conservative. This was something else entirely.

The gown clung much tighter to her than she was used to, full-length and the fabric a soft gray silk with fanciful silver embroidery and fastenings, gave the dress a hint of a sparkle in the soft winter moonlight. Long matching gloves of wool were a godsend in the cold and the deep blue cape over her shoulders kept her safe from the cold. A simple gold sash around her waist was tied behind her, holding the ceremonial Blade of the Imperator to her hip. Her shoes were loaned from a cobbler, simple silver slippers to match the dress. She could not afford to spend to buy them outright for one occasion, but they were surprisingly comfortable

She held the sword in place with one hand as she stepped down the stairs of the Ducal Palace, the other checking for the dozenth time that her hairpin was still in place, a little silver wolf dangling from an inch-long chain at the top of the simple pin that held her golden locks into the tight weave of braids that her hired handmaiden had tied them in. Two simple braids on either side crowned her head.

She felt a bit of a fool in many ways. Such fanciful dress was unusual for her. Indeed this was perhaps the most formal she had ever dressed in traditional ladies clothes. She was used to looser dresses or breeches and shirts, more practical, easier to move around in or fight in if needed. But her aunt had gone out of her way, and Alyssa promised she would wear the gown. An oath undertaken. Alyssa would never break an oath.

She began to feel better when she found herself in the city streets. Lanterns lit and warmed the city as vendors sold toys and treats to small children, couples strolling through the cobbled streets, lost in each others eyes, friends and fellows drank and hollered as the evening's festivities began, people bustling back and forth through the streets under evergreen boughs, red and silver bows, strings of wreaths and garlands linking buildings together. The warm breaths of the people were visible in the winter cold, the breath of the city itself filled the air, Alyssa could feel its warmth.

It was a short walk to the main square where most of the festivities were taking place. The smell of warm food from all over filled her nostrils and warmed her right there. She could feel her stomach rumble slightly at the smells of chicken and duck, fine cheese, spiced wine. She paid a vendor for a cup of spice wine and a serving of roasted duck on a simple wooden skewer and ate slowly (and gracefully as she was taught), savoring each bite, especially careful not to touch her dress. Returning the skewer, she glanced around and saw a familiar sight yet, slightly different. Dressed in black formalwear was not how she typically thought of Lord Ulric, yet there he was. His clothes were well tailored and he seemed to be in quiet contemplation. She decided to approach him anyway. The man had been a rock for her throughout the past year and she was blessed to have his guidance and support. She hid a slight smile at the reflection behind her cup of warm wine as she approached before giving a stiff curtsy to the lord before her.

"Lord-Marshal." she said, trying much too hard to be casual. "A fine night for a festival" She noted unsure really of what to talk about. "I had hoped for a little snow for atmosphere, but it is lovely enough without it, I think" she said, looking out again among the wreaths and holly, and evergreen garlands that framed the picturesque view of the teeming humanity of Perdan.

Hawk

(1/6/2020)

"Lord-Marshal"

Ulric heard the familiar voice, as he turned and saw Alyssa. He was almost shocked at first sight of her. Ulric had only known the Imperatrix to wear modest clothing, so to see her in such a formal dress, it was not what he was expecting. It was truly a fine dress, and Alyssa didn't look like the Imperatrix he had grown to know. She looked different, yet he could still her determined gaze. No matter what outfit she wore, she would still be the general he and Perdan knew.

"A fine night for a festival. I had hoped for a little snow for atmosphere, but it is lovely enough without it, I think"

Ulric nodded and said, "I do miss the snow. This cold without the snow feels, incomplete. Though you are right, even without the snow this is a wonderful festival."

Ulric took a sip of his soup, finishing it, and looked at Alyssa.

"Imperatrix, I am sure the people are happy to have your presence here tonight. With the war, I think it is good for the people of Perdan, especially her knights and warriors, to have a night like tonight."

He almost wanted to add This is why we fight. This is what all the pain and suffering has been for. So the people of Perdan can still celebrate things like this festival. So the people aren't living in terror.

Though, he held back. He knew the Imperatrix already knew all this, and to point it out would be borderline rude, not inclusive to the atmosphere of the event.

"Imperatrix, have you seen any of the other nobles so far tonight? I just arrived and have not had a chance to greet anyone yet. I was hoping to buy a drink to any of the Golden Lions I run into tonight. They deserve it for all we put them through."

He felt stiff around her, the festival didn't make him uncomfortable per se, but when he was around those of higher status than him, he always felt rigid. He had been involved in the military service since a young age, and it was instilled in him to respect rank, chain of command, those in charge. To him, there was never a true off duty. Even though this was not the military council chambers, he still felt compelled to respect every decorum he could with his Imperatrix.

Kingsley

(1/6/2020)

"No my Lord." She replied politely to Ulric as she finished her cup of wine. "I hope to see Lady Isana here. She planned much of this at the Duke's request. I think she did wonderfully." Pausing somewhat suddenly and glancing out at the crowd, she didn't see anyone she recognized. "Ah... Lady Isabel also wrote that she wished to meet with me at some point this evening. The whole city is celebrating, I am certain we should find others to meet as well. Though I suspect we will not find many sitting alone." She stood at ease, somewhat awkwardly in her dress, the empty cup behind her back. "I trust you will have a fine night my lord?"

He nodded back to her with what she thought might be a smile from the gentleman she had come to trust and respect so well. She decided she should find him later. As closely as they had worked she still knew little of the man, a few bits about his home and little else. He had looked surprised to see her, interrupting his reflective introspection. Perhaps he simply needed some time and a cup of wine to settle in. She was due to meet others in any case. "I hope to meet you again this evening my lord. It was lovely to see you in less serious circumstances "

As they parted, Alyssa turned toward the square, fixing her dress as she walked through the warmly lit square listening to the jaunty tunes and seeing the smiles of people of all sorts, united in their love for the season, love for each other and for their ancient culture which has stood strong as a pillar of all of their lives for so long. She couldn't help but feel light and warm, both from the cup of wine in her belly and the strength of the holiday spirit around her. She sighed wistfully as she walked.

Belmont

(1/5/2020)

Now *THAT* was a sight to behold. The Imperatrix looked stunning, like some princess out of a magical tale. At least, that's what she looked like to Nat. Salem was picking the lad's jaw from the floor.

Nat: Who is that hot piece of- Salem: Nat, I going to need you to tug the reigns a bit there. N: She's immaculate. S: She's the general of Perdan's armies. N: A title like that has you wondering if she's going from being only a good bed breaker to being worthy of the picket fence life. S: Don't make me hit you. N: What? I-

Salem hits Nat anyway

Salem: Women aren't like swords, Nat. You can't just window shop them with fantastical ideals and promises of using it to make you look like better man. Women are the correction of men...The reason we haven't all killed each other. And *that* woman in particular isn't the kind you want to disrespect like how you're doing. Nat: Well she doesn't know the saucy images in my head. She can't be offended. S: I'm offended just looking at you. N: Well now that's just rude. S: Nat, listen. These folks aren't like us. They're adjusted to this lifestyle of fancy dinner plates and earrings that have no business dangling around that much. You and I wore our bloody armor to a party. It's like having your cow be your best man. N: Didn't Chuck Frontstead have his dog as his best man? S: Dogs are loyal and won't make embarassing speeches about how you thought leeches were just good huggers. N: Now you're just making unnecessary fun. S: Point being; As men, we shouldn't feel like it's an obligation to make women feel uncomfortable just cause they make our pants tight. And we shouldn't use someone's title as they only thing they have to offer as a person. N: So you're saying I should polish off this bottle and stare absently into the fire? S: I'm saying that you should feel as if you need to make written apologies for every time you oggle a poor lass who's just minding her own business.

Nat stares at the little amount of liquid that's left in his bottle of mead. He sloshes it around as he twirls the bottle.

Nat: You're right. I'm sorry. Salem: You owe me some soup.

Belmont

(1/5/2020)

Salem and Nat continue their idle chatter as they sit by the fire and watch people and drink mead. Slowly, they get deeper and deeper into their cups.

Nat: So why is the unit called "Patience and Time"? Salem: It's what you need to win a war. N: War just seems like something nations will do to stir up the peace. Why war against each other when we know that there are legitimate monsters out there, tearing up innocent people? S: Selfish reasons, mainly. Kings gain renown through winning wars. N: Much like your fame as a knight? S: Calling me famous is like trying to convince a worm that he's a snake. N: I disagree. You've lead some great victories. S: Which go unnoticed when everyone is busy worried about how many men are stationed in places like Bescanon, of which is literally a few hours walk from this festival. N: You sound like a vying military leader. S: Or just someone trying to be alive, Nat. N: You ever win any prizes for such drama? S: Bah! Piss yourself. You'll be warmer.

They take a few moments to drink.

Nat: You ever wonder if there's an alternate reason behind these festivals? Salem: Nope. N: Well...Forget that conversation I guess.

They continue drinking.

Belmont

(1/6/2020)

Nat: You think there's something else out there?

Salem: Ugh. Here we go...

N: Well, hear me out. There's no way that there aren't Gods. You can't convince me otherwise.

S: Fate's an ideology, not a God...But if I had to worship, it'd be to Fate.

N: So...Like Destiny?

S: Destiny implies greatness. If you had a destiny, it would mean you have potential to be great.

N: Ow. Okay...So...There's a difference?

S: Anything that lives will meet their fate through death. Death is the answer to life, which makes life a question.

N: So you're admitting to a creator.

S: I don't know how the first person was made, but I can probably have a good guess at how the last one will die.

N: You're such a downer. You know that?

Salem huffs and pops open a new bottle of mead. He eyes some of the other nobles that he knows. Kenneth, Dustiria, The Imperatrix, Smiddich. Why isn't he approaching them? Perhaps he's shy? Or perhaps he's avoiding apologizing to Dame Dustiria? Whatever the case may be, he seems to be enjoying this back-and-forth with Nat. That is, until Nat catches him off guard.

Nat: You like the General, don't you?

Salem: Hm?

N: Imperatrix? The lady you told me to respect.

S: I don't know her.

N: Yeah. But you want to.

S: Hm..

Nat Raises a brow and displays a cheeky grin.

Salem: Yes.

Nat: Then up and at em.

S: No.

N: No? What, "no" as in you're scared?

S: No as in we're a Kingdom at War and I've got too many things to deal with that don't involve trying to woo someone. Professionally, I prefer to keep the people who I'm going to shed blood with out of my sheets.

N: That's not stopping folks like Dame Dustiria and Sir Kenneth.

S: Their affairs aren't any of my damn business either.

N: So what? You just sit around, brood, train your men, and anticipate a glorifying death on the field?

S: For now.

N: Wow, you are boring.

Salem shrugs.

Belmont

(1/6/2020)

There's been a long silence between Salem and Nat. They drank, glared at people, and huffed through their noses. The silence was nice while it lasted. But Nat exists. Silence doesn't last long with him.

Nat: Breasts or butts?

Salem: No.

N: I'm a breast guy. I love ti-

S: Nat, if you fell into a barrel of tits you'd come out sucking your own thumb.

N: -ts...

There is an awkward silence as Nat tries to think of a comeback. Salem simply glares at him.

Nat: You know...You're an excellent conversationalist. Why haven't you gone to mingle with some of the other Nobles? Ya know? *Your* people.

Salem: They're hardly my people. They are probably taking great joy in this kind of stuff.

N: What, and you simply can't?

S: No. I'm not a people person, and I especially loathe people who not only have to purposely be fake just to get through stuff like this, but actually bloody do it. I'd rather be here with my mouth shut, minding my own business, than try to pass off that I'm more than just someone who wants to take the field with his soldiers.

N: There has got to be so much you could learn from these people...Your peers. I mean seriously, you directly take orders from the king. Doesn't that make you feel powerful?

S: I feel a responsibility to be the man my king needs me to be, and not someone who can make small talk about why they wish there was more snow for a festival about winter.

N: Oh, come on! Go out there...Talk to someone.

Salem takes a while to stare out into the festival. He silently stands up and leaves the fire, mead bottle in hand. The young knight, clad in his worn armor, with dried blood caked to his face makes way to Alyssa and says to her.

"Yo know, Lady Imperatrix, You'd hope there was more snow for a festival about winter, huh?"

Salem is in his cups. This couldn't go wrong. Right?

Kingsley

(1/7/2020)

Alyssa looked through the crowd, hoping to spot someone. Music and laughter rang in her ears the big square lit by the soft moonlight and the glow of the dozens of lanterns. It reminded her of the Festival of Lights she witnessed upon her first visit to the ancient city. That seemed so long ago now, and the city felt like home. Still, it felt a little less as she did not see who she was looking for.

She did however see a somewhat concerning sight, as a scraggly looking man stumbled towards her. She took a step back, a confused look on her face as the man stumbled into her space, blood on his cheek, his armour looking almost as bad as Graham's. She straightened her back, and instinctively pulled her cape tighter around her.

"You know, Lady Imperatrix, You'd hope there was more snow for a festival about winter, huh?"

She stared him a mix of concern and surprise on her face. She held her hand on the Blade of the Imperator at her hip, the other behind her back, though she knew the ceremonial sword would not do against real steel. He scratched his scraggy beard and looked at her expectantly.

"I do not know you..." She began, her eyes looking down to the real sword at his own hip. "Sir..?" She finished unsure. Either he was a knight or the worst bravado of all time. "I am disarmed." she said skeptically.

He smelled of dirt and wine and looked like he had crawled out of a gutter or a battlefield into the joyous festival. Still she held her head with dignity, but watched him carefully with cool sapphire eyes. What did just he say?

Belmont

(1/7/2020)

"I'm going to have to ask that you forgive me, Dame Alyssa. I haven't had a decent night's sleep in a few weeks now." Salem stepped away from her, allowing a comfortable gap between them. This allowed him to display his colors of purple and black, along with the Golden bird on his tabard. "My name is Sir Salem Belmont. Youngest of Tristan and Carina Belmont. Knight of Bisciye. I thought I'd do the courtesy of putting a face to the letters you've received from me. I can only beg you forgive my...Appearance. Hygiene I'm good with...But it was always the inability to groom properly that got me yelled at."

He motioned as if to extend a hand to shake, but then stopped and returned his hand to his side. "I....Shouldn't bother you further. I just thought I'd introduce myself...Albeit rather poorly. Er...Rather not spoil your night."

Vurkow

(1/7/2020)

The silence was deafening. Apparently claiming to be a world travelled author that steals the food off peoples plates did not work as intended. Slowly, Daeron began to back away from this social travesty when The Captain came speeding towards him. At least as quick as two mugs of that strong brew and a belt full of forks could allow. "Daeron! Daeron! Look what I discovered!" He handed him one of the mugs and presented forks with various forms of well wishes, blessings from a Yngarr and some overly happy gnomes. "There are a few stalls in the parade grounds that have everything one could ask for. Even some items from home." "What is this?" "A fork, sir." Daeron let out a long sigh. "I mean why have you decided to get these, a noble can't use this tat. What is a Yngarr even?" "I would imagine tat is more noble than our fingers. You say we have not had the opportunities to get new ones and now we have these, at least for a little while."

"Well. Fine. We could palm it off as a joke if anyone sees us." He took the other mug from The Captain and took a loud sip. "Obviously you can't carry everything with this in your hand."

Fontaine

(1/8/2020)

Quickly it grows dark in the streets and the most precious vendors pack up and stow their wares. Those with fires or safely under an awning stay out longer, doling out warmed drinks and festival delicacies. Slowly, a pyre heaped with timber is constructed and set alight in the central courtyard, a crossroads between the storefronts and the highway that leads all the way to the ducal palace.

There is music played at first, as a throng builds around the Margravine house, an officious building that fronts the courtyard. This stone mansion of steps and archways serves as an office for the town officials but as a stepping stone to the palace itself; some dignitaries never make it even this deep into Perdnese bureaucracy. The walls and stairways are hung with lion banners and armed guards in full regalia stand ready with fancy polearms.

Duke Smiddich in his embossed breastplate and fur cloak, alight the platform at the top of the stairs, joined by those councillors and Marshalls in attendance. As his gloves hands grip the railing, it takes only a few moments for the throng to simmer down until only the crackle and popping of the fire can be heard.

"Knights! Nobles! And the people of Perdan! I shall take but a few scant moments of your time!", says the Duke in his booming voice.

He clears his throat; from here he can over the mass of cheerful faces and all the way to the castle silhouetted in the flame.

"This year has been one we can all take pride in! Our ranks have swelled, and our people are prosperous and well. No longer are we content to be hemmed in by the cowardice of our enemies! We deny them with every step; they can only tremble in awe of our freedom, our fierce pride!"

The black bladed Duke waits until a small cheer has subsided.

"One such enemy has already bowed out; it is only time and our committed resolve until the North finally sunders and we find ourselves in an era of unparalleled peace and prosperity!" A larger cheer this time, and the Duke eventually has to placate the crowd. "I said I would keep this quick and I shall", he admits,

"Ah, the bitterness of length!", a loud voice cries, belonging to Sir Kenneth, surrounded by a tittering throng. Duke Smiddich does not respond, but a curl forms at the edge of his mouth and an eyebrow raised.

"This Wintergreen festival is my thanks to you for your hard work and dedication throughout the year. Please use this time to think on your friends and family with fondness and your resolutions for the new year. Clasp the hands of your neighbour, or embrace them if you will, and wish them a brave new year for Perdan! Á Perdana!", he cries!

From somewhere a band strikes up the Perdan national anthem in brass, as commoners and nobles alike turn to each other in celebration. Hats and gloves are thrown into the air (and hurriedly retrieved) and the Duke descends into the crowd to shake hands and wish his nobles good tidings. Slowly the air turns especially chilly and it slowly begins to pelt with soft, fluffy snow.

Kingsley

(1/9/2020)

The strange, battered knight stammered, looking confused as to what he should say and how he should stand. Alyssa considered him quizzically. An odd knight to be sure. He had little for manners and looked as if he had just been in a fight. Yet he was of Bisciye, her home. She wondered if he had ever been to the Hollow, certainly he didn't look familiar, and Whitewater was somewhat remote, but she considered the possibility.

"Ah I shouldn't bother you further. I just thought I'd introduce myself... Albeit rather poorly. Er... rather not spoil your night..." Sir Salem mumbled, somewhat slurred.

"Ah... my night is well enough, Sir. You needn't worry on my account." She stood at ease and watched him sway slightly to one side, obviously drunk. They stood in silence for a moment as Alyssa waited for the knight to say something, and he seemingly did the same. Fortunately she was rescued from the awkward moment by a cheer erupting from the crowd. She looked up to the stairs of the Ducal Palace to see Duke Smiddich himself dressed finely a smile across his face waving at the throng of citizens and nobles in the square.

Oh dammit. Alyssa thought, realizing where she was supposed to be. The Duke had apparently decided to give his speech much earlier than she expected.

Just as Salem made a move as if to speak, Alyssa gave him a sorrowful look and pre-empted him. "My apologies Sir, I have a duty I must attend to." She gave a respectful bow and started off "It was err... pleasant to meet you... Sir." She said as she left.

An odd man, she thought. But a knight's heart is more important than her appearance. Perhaps he is a true knight despite? She wondered as she made her way quickly through the crowd. The shoemaker had tried to convince her that higher soled shoes would be more fashionable, given her brisk pace as she rushed to the steps of the she was glad she decided on the simpler pair of slippers.

Finally she made it as the crowd died down, quietly taking her place with the rest of the military command, past Sir Nemean and in place on the other side of Lord Ulric on the palace steps. She gave Ulric a pleasant nod when he looked at her and stood at attention as she watched out among the crowd while the Duke gave his speech. As the Duke spoke, she spotted strange Sir Salem a drink in his hand, quietly by himself. A man she did not know clanged two forks together the delight on his face clear; he was also probably drunk. She spotted dear Isana, her usual smile on her face, taking note of where she was, to better find her after the ceremony. Many of the other nobles were there as well drinking and nodding, raising their cups while the Duke spoke of fellowship and resolve. At one point someone called out to the duke from the crowd, but she could not hear who it was. The corners of her mouth twitched slightly at the interruption but she did not move. As the duke began to wind down and the band further back began to wind up, a serving girl rushed to her handing her a goblet of wine, and to the others as well.

"And wish them a brave new year for Perdan! À Perdana!" The Duke cried as the crowd rejoiced in celebration and unity.

À Perdana They all cried in response as the wave of fellowship washed over the palace steps. Alyssa sighed fondly. My people. she thought. The children of the Lion. I will protect them, I promise. Alyssa took a drink of wine as she stood next to the marshals and the various honoured lords of the city. She looked out into the crowd again, with hope. "À Perdana." she muttered to herself.

Belmont

(1/9/2020)

As Alyssa takes her leave from whatever that conversation was, Salem's reaction was to shrug and return to Nat.

Nat: Way to kill it out there, Sir. Salem grunts as he sits back down. Nat: I've seen some horse pies prettier than that. Again, Salem doesn't respond. He just looks at Nat, waiting for the captain to get this barrage of insults out of the way. Nat: Don't need to remind me twice why you're not a social being. Makes me happy you aren't the face for your family's mead business. That'd kill the coin flow faster than a fireball in the apiary. Salem: Hm. Nat: I'm glad you're so prepared to die for country, because you're probably feeling like getting that out of the way as soon as possible. Salem: Her eyes are blue. Nat: It speaks! Salem: Like a precious stone kind of blue...Never seen eyes like that. Nat: Oh, this is exciting. I can't wait to hear all about your divorce. Salem: Nat, I'm not sweet on her, don't be daft. Nat: You can't seriously tell me that the only person you picked out of the crowd to speak to isn't someone that's you're sweet on? You smell that? That's horse pies. Salem: I don't lie. Nat: I...I will give you that. You've never even fibbed. But that doesn't explain why you chose her of everyone else.

Salem looks up to where Smiddich gave his speach and scanned the area until his eyes landed on Alyssa. He was then quick to return his gaze to the fire pit, watching the wood turn white as a choreographed ballet of orange and yellow dances upon his morose features.

Nat: Well? Salem: Take the reigns for a bit Nat. I'm calling it a night.

Salem stands up and looks over to the inn he usually stays in while he's in the city.

Nat: Do Nobles usually pay good money to sleep in such terrible places? Salem: This one does. Nat: Reminds you of home. Salem: Reminds me of home.

"Those eyes have no business being that blue."

Everlight

(1/9/2020)

The festivities were a blur of sparkling lanterns, rosy smiling faces, and the steam rising from her bubbling pots of sweet taffy syrup. Isana lost track of time as her small crew made their way through the streets, calling one and all to enjoy the treats they brought and hollering well wishes to everyone.

The main parade square was alive with revellers in the crisp evening. Isana was in her element, calling and coaxing all to try the sweet taffy poured and rolled on snow, though most were much more involved with booze or roast meats.

She caught sight of Dame Dustiria and Sir Kenneth arm in arm, both flushed and smiling, eyes wide but seeming to enjoy each other’s company very much. She waved to them, hoping they would come by the cart.

There were so many folks about, it was difficult to catch sight of those she knew best. At one point she thought she saw Imperatrix Alyssa in shining silver and felt a short thrill of excitement to see her friend, though the garb seemed uncharacteristic and she didn't have time to look closer.

Then the pirate Duke was calling out a speech over the crowd. All paused in their revels to hear the triumphant and celebratory words, and Isana felt a swelling warmth of pride in her new realm and its people. The Duke closed off the speech with a cheer, and Isana felt the voice leaping from her throat to join the chorus as snow began to glitter down from the dark skies above.

"A Perdana!"

Hawk

(1/9/2020)

Ulric stood on the stage next to the Imperatrix as Duke Smiddich gave his rousing speech. The Pirate Duke was a gifted orator, and Ulric admired the man. He was of course known for being one of the best swordfighters on the continent, something that Ulric had seen first hand. He also had a way about him, so much charisma, Ulric truly admired him. The Duke was opposite in a quite many ways from Ulric, but Ulric liked him all the same. He thought back to the Dukes birthday party on his ship, and then on their journey Avamar for the tournament. They were able to get to know each other on that trip, and Ulric was glad to know the man.

As the Duke finished his speech, Ulric surveyed the crowd spotting several familiar faces. Once he was relieved from his duties on the stage with the other elected positions, he moved into the crowd, ready to enjoy the nightly festivities.

Renodin

(1/9/2020)

Snow slicked the steps of the Ducal palace almost permanently in winter. No matter how much or how hard the servants toiled, they never managed to keep them clean for long, fresh snow quickly turning to slippery black slush as visitors and workers trekked in and out of the grand residence. A prince and a noble made their way from the labyrinthine halls of Duke Smiddich’s fortress home and stopped just short of the courtyard, checking each other’s attire for a final time before they showed their faces to the smallfolk, and more importantly, their peers.

What remained of winter’s grasp slithering along the floor and didn’t bother Nemean. Soft leather boots lined with mink fur made sure of that. So dark brown they could as well have been black in the early evening light. In the familial colors of black and gold he wore a Lansquenet shirt with its signature puffy upper arm design. It in turn was tucked in a belted waist clad in Brocade trousers of sable. Bondage on the outer flanks to add style but fortunately insulated with darkly dyed cashmere. Checking carefully if his fingertips reached all the way into his gloves. Coaxing the rabbit skin over the backs of his hands.

Pinned upon his chest was the Marshal’s badge. Proudly displayed but regularly hidden by the motions of the half cape he wore. The collar of which was made plush with the tails of minks. Of course his attire wasn’t complete without a matching set of sword and dagger. Both of which hung on opposite sides of his belt. The Lion of House Renodin prominent on either hilt.

“The pin is still crooked. Is your cape straight?” Ser Rogos adjusted the Marshal’s pin on the Prince, unsatisfied with the angle it sat at. “Eh, that’ll be fine.” Surely that’s straight. I think.

He stepped back, “What about me?” he spun slowly on his heels, new calfskin boots almost frictionless on the granite of the palace floor. Rogos wore a thick quilted doublet of midnight blue, accented by silver fittings and a black and white circular half-cloak emblazoned with his coat of arms. An electrum pin crafted in the shape of a lion’s head held the cloak together. As always, his bastard sword was strapped to his hip, though he hoped it was to remain a symbol of status than a useful tool tonight. Looking the bald and bearded man over Nemean couldn’t help but smirk,

“You should’ve become a ballerina. Such poise, immaculate turn.’’ Right after the jest he stepped in close and brushed the shoulder of the brobdingnagian man.

“I don’t think ballets hire dancing bears, though with your figure and grace your highness, I do not doubt a tutu would suit you.” Rogos fired back with a grin. Not content with his initial work Nemean plucked at the exposed fabric until at some point he nodded and seemed reasonably content. Roaming the complete picture of Rogos it dawned on him that something was yet missing. A swift pull from his pocket produced a creme linen handkerchief which swiftly found itself buried in Rogos’s left sleeve, a move that the larger man observed with confusion, but did not protest.

Renodin

(1/9/2020)

“So your Highness, where should we go first? I’ve heard the Bloody Stump attracts a disproportionate amount of nobles,” Ser Rogos teased, nudging the Prince with a smile. The cobbled road from the Palace was fairly deserted as most people had already reached the festive grounds and Nemean was glad they had. Sighing he responded,

‘’Doubt we’ll have time though, judging by the amount of people gathered. That and the Duke standing on stage.’’ He gestured as he guided the pair towards their new destination. Rogos glanced up towards their destination, more concerned with the details of the street before his friend’s comment.

“Ah, I suppose the Duke’s speech is… more important…” The giant knight conceded with a slight frown. “Surely he won’t speak for that long, will he?”

Without answering Nemean shrugged and proceeded up the steps of the platform at which the Black Bladed Duke stood. Glancing back before joining the main group on stage, he addressed the bearded Vice Marshal. ‘’You coming you big hunk of muscle?’’

Ser Rogos glanced at dry wooden stairs, the small crowd of nobles and dignitaries on stage, and shook his head. “I’ll have a better view in the crowd your Highness, no need to make me any taller than I am.”

He bowed his head and stepped back. Nemean grinned at the trepidation he assumed in the otherwise audacious man. Flicking some derelict snow that had gathered on the railing, aiming for the center of the center of his head. ‘’Fine, stay back if you must.’’ He turned and proceeded to blend into the modest congregation of prominents. Adjusting his Marshal’s badge as he did so.

Rogos backed up, but still within sprinting distance of the stage, hand on his hilt as he watched the Duke get the attention of the thousands of people crowded together into the city square.

"Knights! Nobles! And the people of Perdan! I shall take but a few scant moments of your time!", He declared, his voice booming over the din of the crowd.

Renodin

(1/9/2020)

Thousands of eyes beheld those arranged on the platform. Coming up from the back and somewhat late, Nemean scanned those already present. Not having noticed in the slightest when Alyssa had passed him by before. Now however, her oceanic blue cape and sliver adornments made it impossible for him to miss her. Slowly he began to make his way into the center of the small gathering. Feeling much the same tension as when treading on a momentous battlefield. Steel was replaced however with the perhaps even more dangerous armaments of public opinion and prejudice.

The eye of the proverbial storm. Drinking in the sight of the bustling square before them. The great multitude of people, the warm glowing lights and of course all those nobles in attendance filled with him pride. Thinking on it for a moment he had to concede he even relished it. Looking over at Marshal Ulric he wasn't so sure the man shared his predilection. He looked rather stiff even.

Not exploring it any further Nemean raised an eyebrow momentarily and proceeded. He passed by some important city official, offering a polite and minor nod. Just a distraction as he continued. Despite the limited space and situation, it wasn't easy to maneuver without causing a scene and he took his time to be careful. The Duke's words echoed out over the square. The people were enraptured. And so was Nemeans intended target.

"..We deny them with every step; they can only tremble in awe of our freedom, our fierce pride!" The words came from the Duke which incited inspiration and animated the crowds. They cheered and the people on the platform modestly joined in. Not wanting to seem unrestrained. Coming up from behind Nemean softly squeezed Alyssa's lower arm. "Sounds familiar." He said to her as he smiled to the crowds. Turning to her he inclined his head respectfully in a much more public display going all the way to a half bow.

"One such enemy has already bowed out; it is only time and our committed.." The duke's words continued but Nemean offered his own in semi privacy. "You're making it hard not to stare. That is a beautiful dress though. Kinda glad you didn't change much about you hair. It's much better the way it is." A very brief pause and a careful glance later he added: "I can forgive the wolf. Probably the best of animals."

Continuing to smile, occasionally wave and generally supporting the Duke's efforts Nemean spotted several nobles he recognized. Most prominent might've been Sir Kenneth. "Interesting." Noting how the Knight stood arm in arm with Dame Dustiria. The sight transformed his stage smile into a genuine one, even venturing a wink he was entirely unsure could even be seen.

As the speech came to an end the magnificent Duke's voice bounced off the walls of the buildings that surrounded the square one last and final time. "Clasp the hands of your neighbor, or embrace them if you will, and wish them a brave new year for Perdan! Á Perdana!" Not wanting to ignore the Duke's warm and heartfelt suggestion Nemean turned to Alyssa and spread his arms. Canting his head with the tiniest of shrugs and only traces of expectation.

Kingsley

(1/10/2020)

Alyssa watched the crowd cheer and embrace, part of her wished she were among them instead of watching from the steps, but as the band played it was hard not to appreciate the moment anyway. As the light snow began to fall, she took a sip of her wine to warm her. Something caught her eye against the soft white flurry, a black crow taking off from an eave flying away into the the night. He should be north this time of year... She pondered. It was then she felt the pressure on her arm. An assault from behind. The same tactic Sirion had used in Brive. The realization of her mistake that day was a feeling she would never forget. The searing pain of the spear in her abdomen, the shouts of men dying and the heat blood on her face from the men she had killed, the rush of battle as she fought for her very life and the survival of her country.

Alyssa whipped around instinctively, nearly spilling the wine she had been given as she turned around to see her fellow knight and marshal under command standing by her with a warm smile. Nemean began speaking about something but Alyssa did not hear him, watching his eyes closely, his words drowned out by the sound of her heartbeat in her head. She squeezed the pommel of The Blade of the Imperator rhythmically as he extended his arms, his eyes meeting hers with hope.

She gulped and looked away. "I told you never to touch me again." She muttered quietly turning back down towards the steps. Taking a deep breath she escaped down the steps as the crowd began to disperse into the square. The crowd was not much better. It was cramped and loud, but fortunately her dress, her poise, her swift gait, and the sword at her hip were enough to make people part. As well most of the crowd seemed more interested in the Duke than her. A few soldiers saluted her as she made her way, she returned them politely, finishing her wine, her glass taken by a party servant as she vanished beyond the square. The wine helped her collect herself, rolling her shoulders back and straightening again as she looked around. The street was just off the palace square, lined with lanterns and garlands and red ribbons, as well as vendor carts, some of which were closing up. The gentle snowfall answered her prayers from earlier in the evening. She held her hands out and caught a snowflake in her palm as it melted into her woolen glove

Why does he have to be this way. She thought sighing. She felt her arm where he touched her. He should not love me. She felt shame, cowardly, running away. A knight should stand her ground. She should not have allowed him to touch her. But her heart had been beating quickly and her mind was racing; she was gone before she realized she had left. But Nemean was no enemy, no real threat. She rubbed her temple, confused at the contradictions. Perhaps the wine... she considered looking back up at the lanterns and ribbons strung across buildings in the street. A black crow perched on a string of garland looking down at her. They stared at each other for a moment as people passed around her. Finally he squawked and took flight leaving her alone.

Renodin

(1/13/2020)

Standing ready to embrace Alyssa he felt increasingly awkward as she mumbled first and then started to turn away. He righted himself and took a step into her direction before she fully began to move off and towards the steps of the platform. "Are you..?" Before he could finish his question she vanished down the steps. Leaving him entirely stumped and abandoned. The lines on his face that appeared made his eyebrows all but merge. He glanced about to see who noticed the scene but realized he didn't care that much regardless. Down in the square the crowds of people were congratulating each other and exchanging good wishes, as the Duke had suggested. Some even hugged. It didn't make sense to him. What had he done wrong this time? He shook his head.

As he did so Nemean noticed Marshal Ulric standing nearby. The finely shaven head and formidable raven-black beard outlined the man's powerful face. "Has anyone ever told you that you look like a smaller version of Rogos?" He straightened his back and offered the man his hand. "Best wishes Marshal Ulric. We haven't spoken much and hardly met face to face. Perhaps we should make a pact to remedy that going forwards into the new year." Fresh hope emerged upon the trappings of his face. "There is much I could learn from a man such as yourself. A growing legend of Perdan."

Fine snow had begun to fall from the dark heavens above. Sprinkling the world in a thin layer of white that made every brazier and bonfire an even more coveted location than before.

Hawk

(1/16/2020)

"Has anyone ever told you that you look like a smaller version of Rogos?"

Ulric looked at Nemean and smiled at the Marshal.

"Well, if that is the case then I feel sorry for Sir Rogos."

Ulric listened to Nemean and nodded.

"You are right Marshal. We haven't spoken much. With this new year I would like to get to know you more as well. I do not know if there truly is much you can learn from me, but maybe we can both learn things from each other. After all, you are Marshal of the Paladins, and I look forward to serving with you in the future."

Ulric paused and then said, "Next campaign, find my quarters. I do not know much, but I do want to share something with you."

MacArbin

(1/10/2020)

Kenneth's head was whirling a bit. There had been food, there had been drink, there were friends and companions, the laughs and jests...And, of course, there was Dustiria. It had been a simple joy to embrace her at the end of the Duke's speech, but...It touched him deeply. And seeing her delight in the little touches, free for just one night from her care and duty, was a wonder.

So when Isana waved, and they headed toward her curious cart, his smile was bright, and his path weaved, just a bit.

"Lady Isana! Good to see you again, and with such an interesting offering! I have not seen such before, but it smells intriguing, and you are...Mixing it with snow?"

Everlight

(1/10/2020)

Isana laughed and put down the long wooden spoon to offer warm armclasp-hugs to the approaching knights, Kenneth and Dustiria.

“Good to see you as well! Happy Wintergreen Festival, you two,” she replied warmly. “And yes, it is an interesting sort of cart for Perdan, I'm told. This unusual concoction is a treat we often enjoyed in the north. You tap the sap from certain trees and boil it down. When cooled it becomes an enchantingly sweet and chewy taffy! The snow is just to cool it from boiling so you can eat. Watch...”

With a flourish, pride evident in her movements, Isana stirred then scooped a generous portion of the bubbling liquid and slowly poured it out in two lines along the packed snow. It shone a darkening caramel-brown in the lantern light as the green-and-white-garbed knight surveyed it with an expert eye. She handed Kenneth a short wooden stick. He watched intently, swaying the slightest bit.

“Just start at one end and roll it onto the stick, and it’s good to eat!” Isana said, demonstrating as she spoke. In a few seconds she held aloft a golden-brown and glossy lollipop. “Like so! Here, Dame Dustiria, this one is for you if you'd like to try one? Go ahead and try rolling the other portion, Sir Kenneth.”

Noire

(1/10/2020)

Dustiria smiles wide as she strolls arm and arm with Kenneth up to Isana and her strange cart. Her eyes sparkle and her cheeks pink, either from the cold, or the mead, or both. She lets go of Kenneth and watches in fascination as Isana explains and makes the candy. She carefully takes the stick with its swirled lollypop end from the kind woman. Dustiria's tongue licks the confection.

"Oh! This is wonderful! " She licks it again as the wind plays with her long loose flowing hair. With a grin she places the lollypop in her mouth and sucks on it. Gone is the emotionaless knight in male clothing with a long tight braid of hair. Standing with isana and Kenneth wearing a long white overdress that barely hides her usually purple fighting shirt and the borrowed barmaid brown skirt. Her reddish orange hair loose and flowing crowned with Holly was a whole other creature never seen before. A happy impish woman maybe a little tipsy but not drunk. "This is the most amazing birthday I have ever had. Thank you" she says softly and impulsely reaches to squeeze isana hand then moves to kiss Kenneth's cheek if he doesn't move.

Belmont

(1/10/2020)

The first person he sees on his return is Isana at her stand. Taking a leap of faith, he approaches her, squinting at the candy.

"Dame Isana, it's good to see you. Would you please be willing to explain...Er...What you have here?"

Everlight

(1/10/2020)

Isana looks up from a conversation with her page (poor young Cedric covering a jaw-cracking yawn as he sees another knight approaching), and smiles to see Sir Salem.

“You’re looking fine this evening, Sir Salem! And thank you.” She offers a more official but still warm handshake in greeting, remembering his shyness in previous meetings. Isana then gestures at the evergreen- and lantern-bedecked cart with its packed strip of snow and boiling pots, “This here is arbor taffy. A traditional late winter treat back home in the northern wilds of Beluaterra. Tree sap, boiled to thicken and cooled to a candy. Care to try? It’s quite sweet...”

Belmont

(1/10/2020)

"How incredibly interesting. Maple sap frozen with the snow to be made into a sort of hard candy...If only distilling were that easy. Although I'm afraid to try such a treat if it's to threaten to be sweeter than the fine knight that is serving it."

Salem reaches for a candy, but it's obvious that he is hesitant.

"How much do I owe you?"

Kingsley

(1/10/2020)

A few people littered about in the street, but most had returned to the palace square. The street was quiet but she could hear the muffled sounds from the square beyond and the music from the band. Then she heard a familiar voice.

She turned to see a collection of knights. Her eyes found Isana first. She gave Alyssa that smile she always gave her, it put her at ease. It was the genuineness of it, she thought. The simple joy Isana brought to everything she did. It was comforting, a constant in a troubled and tumultuous time. She looked at the others, Dustiria, dressed femininely. She had found a dress after all and it suited her well. She looked happy with her Sir in hand. She deserved it, Alyssa thought. To be happy, have a night for herself, as a woman, not as the Imperatrix's guard. Kenneth gave her a knowing smirk, one she was uncertain of. She met his gaze curiously, trying to figure out what his eyes were saying. It was then she spotted the final member of the party. The strange scraggly looking Sir she had met earlier. Something about the way he looked at her made her uncertain. She looked to Isana's bubbly smile instead

"Ah..." She began standing somewhat awkwardly at ease in her dress. "Is the... evening suitable?" She asked perhaps stiffly, looking at Isana as she addressed the company.

Belmont

(1/11/2020)

Salem sees Alyssa approach. He tries not to look, but fails against the urge and focuses on her blue eyes. For him, this brief moment felt like hours, despite being only a split- second. He gingerly nods his head in a silent form of greeting her before his attention is once again turned to Dame Isana.

MacArbin

(1/11/2020)

Kenneth was fascinated with this nigh-magical transformation, liquid to candy. And he was focused on making his own, straightening up to show Dustiria as she leaned in to kiss him. That was...The first time she had kissed him, and he was enjoying that, as her words finally made it through the pleasantly fuzzy wool in his head.

"Your birthday! Happy birthday! Why didn't you mention anything? I would have...We could have...Well, I suppose this is more or less exactly what we would have done...Happy birthday!"

He smiled at Isana, waving his candy in her direction before remembering to actually try it, and it was quite delightful.

"This is wonderful, thank you for showing us!"

As Salem came up to join them, he waved, though the fellow seemed as intent as Kenneth had been on the candy, or possibly Isana. He was turning back to Dustiria to mention that they should thank him for the mead again, when he spotted the Imperatrix, and he gave her an oddly stretched grin, the candy having caused his lips to stick a bit. Given the curious look she gave him, it must have looked...Something. He was feeling quite charitable towards her for releasing Dustiria for what he now knew was her birthday, so that had to be rectified.

"Vm-ahem, very suitable, Your Strategicalness! Come, enjoy some of this 'taffy'! And excellent outfit, if I may say so, I quite like the gloves."

Everlight

(1/11/2020)

Smiles all around, rosy cheeks and high emotion, snow drifting softly from the dark sky, and here Isana was in the thick of it. She glowed with enjoyment, feeling camaraderie and connection and ease with these fine people who were her fellow Perdanites.

Sir Salem’s quiet compliment caught her ear, and she grinned and ducked a quick curtsey to the shy knight. “You are too kind! And nothing is owed for this Wintergreen gift! Please enjoy... Birthday?” She turned to Kenneth and Dustiria. “What an auspicious day for your birthday! Happiest of birthdays to you, Dame Dustiria! And you’re very welcome, Sir Kenneth.”

The courting couple was all eyes for each other, so Isana stepped aside for a few moments to help Captain Heinz lift the last jug of syrup and pour it carefully into the hot pot. Over the steaming hiss she heard a very familiar voice.

“Is the... evening suitable?”

Isana glanced up to see Alyssa’s bright blue eyes looking directly into her own. She felt her friend’s presence like the sunrise, her mouth dropping open in a delighted grin. Kenneth was saying something, and Isana missed it all, caught in the moment. She remembered words were maybe a good idea. “Dame Alyssa! Welcome! Happy Wintergreen!” She looked to Heinz to make sure he had control of the emptying jug, then hurried over to offer the stunningly-attired new arrival a handclasp-hug in greeting.

Kingsley

(1/12/2020)

Alyssa tensed up as the other stepped into her space and embraced her. As she felt Isana's hand on hers, and her arm around her she relaxed slightly. She put her arm around her in return, looking up at the rafters of the nearby building for the crow. She took a deep breath as Isana broke the hug, her eyes moving from the rooftops to the woman across from her. Alyssa's hand slipped from hers and she returned to her at ease position. She pushed her recent thoughts from her mind, looking over the others. "Happy Wintergreen, Isana." Alyssa said, hoping she did not sound too stiff.

"Your gown is stunning, you look so lovely!" Dustiria noted "Indeed, an excellent outfit, if I may say so, I quite like the gloves." Kenneth added.

"Ah, Sir, My Lady, thank you." Alyssa mustered, trying to focus on the moment. "My aunt sent it to me. I... don't typically wear dresses like this, but I did promise her I would wear it." She tilted her chin slightly in a noble pose. "A knight honours her word, always." She said with a confidant nod.

She glanced over at the quiet knight who merely gave her a nod, his eyes avoiding her own after they met. Alyssa turned her gaze over at the main square where she came from, seeing no one, she instead focused on Isana.

"Ah... Isana, my lady, I was hoping to find you. I just wanted to tell you how lovely your decor is and compliment you on how well it has been running. I know how much work you put into helping make this event a success and it most certainly is I believe." She gave a quick, weary smile before quickly glancing back over at the crowd.

Belmont

(1/12/2020)

"I agree. And I can only apologize for not having any more mead from my family come in. My back stock is depleted, and the next shipment is now over twenty-four hours late."

Salem bows his head to Isana and then turns to Alyssa.

"Dame Alyssa. I'm sure you've tired from hearing this, but you look incredible. There was a moment where I wondered why you say that you don't often wear dresses, but I'm confidant in my theory; you don't need a dress to be stunning. In fact, this seems to be a pattern with all three of the lady knights here and it's something worth appreciating."

Salem looks back to the taffy for a moment before returning his gaze to Alyssa and Isana. He uncharacteristically says something silly. "I'm starting to think it's high time to begin a quest to discover the price of this wonderful looking treat, and I've no choice but to begin recruiting a questing party. I would like volunteers."

Vurkow

(1/13/2020)

Apparently you can't steal food from another persons plate while acting deranged. Perdan does not take too kindly on such a thing as Daeron found out after that "dame on the stool", when she called the guards that have been pursing him. Not ideal circumstances to be in when you have a companion hauling a tower of plates; while several mugs of strong brew start kicking in, making you misplace every other step as the world spins. They both had to find an escape, somewhere discreet and most of all, unexpected. That is when he spotted salvation.

"There! Behind the cart!" Is what he meant to say but sounded more slurred in the ears. The Captain got the message though, placing all the cutlery and plates onto the cart before ducking out of sight. As the guards bolted past Daeron observed his surroundings. There were three women. One was in a rather flamboyant dress, with a blue sash and cape the thing practically sparkled. The other two he mistook as a father and son combo but despite the blur it was clear the "father" was a burly woman with a big stick. The "child", some poor tavern wench judging by the weather-worn shirt and ruffled skirt. Their males companions were easier to associate with. One was dressed in a similar manor to Daeron, aside from the absence of stains from food and drink. Not to mention sweat from the jaunt a moment ago. At least he could be thankful he doesn't look nearly the wreak as his scruffy manservant, but that wasn't saying much.

When the guards passed out of sight he took his hands off the cart, turning to his full attention to the group. Enunciating to the best of his ability in his inebriated state. "Good evening gentle people! My name is Daeron-" A loud creaking sound interrupted the greeting before he could launch into his titles. Followed by the crashing of cheaply produced ceramics as the cart flipped, attracting the attention from everyone in the immediate vicinity, stopping the lame introduction for an awkwardly long amount of time. "Vurkow."

Kingsley

(1/13/2020)

Alyssa saw it first, the strange men stumbling through the alleyway nearby beyond the taffy cart. One of them carried a load of dishes (for... some reason) which he tossed onto the cart and hid behind, looking up at collection of knights who now wondered why he was crouching in front of them out of sight of the alley. The other vaulted over the cart and joined him, as a cadre of guards turned into the alleyway, peering down before continuing down the street beyond. The poor delinquents had however jumped from the pan to the flame as knights of Perdan were no less honourable than the good watchmen.

Alyssa placed a hand on the Blade of the Imperator ready to apprehend the men, when one of them stood up, leaning on the cart, the weight he placed on it, lifting it up above the brakes that kept the cart in place. Aly's eyes widened as she saw this, but before she could say anything the man began to introduce himself.

"Good evening gentle people! My name is Daeron-"

It was then that he took his weight of the cart, which, now unaligned with the brakes, began to roll out of place, knocking off everything on the cart. Dishes crashed and shattered with a large clatter, snow dusted up around them. Then the large pot of hot syrup slipped from its place, crashing violently to the ground.

As she was nearest, Alyssa grabbed Isana by the waist and swung her gently out of the way of the boiling taffy syrup which splashed up in the center of the group of knights. The others quickly stepped back as well to avoid the boiling goop which now puddled on the ground, steam rising as the snow melted from bubbling syrup.

Without thinking, and before he could finish his introduction she let go of Isana and drew the Blade of the Imperator, stepping forward and pointing the ornate dulled blade at his chest. He held his hands up in surprise.

"-Vurkow."

Alyssa stopped and raised an eyebrow, lowering the sword an inch or two, giving him a quizzical look.

"The scholar?"

MacArbin

(1/13/2020)

Kenneth blinked as he looked down at the mess, then over at...Daeron. Then his eyes widened a moment, his somewhat befuddled wits slower than usual on the uptake.

"Lady Isana, your page!"

He dove forward, frantically pushing aside the wreckage, trying to find where the boy had ended up. Hopefully he'd been out of the way, but he couldn't see him, and that hot syrup would be a lot like boiling oil in a siege...

Belmont

(1/13/2020)

Salem steps away from the falling pot of burning sucrose. He pulls his hand-and-a-half sword and holds it towards Alyssa. "If you need this, use it."

He turns, nonchalantly to Isana. "I'll begin working on getting donations to reimburse how much you've lost here. Fret not. Perhaps we can figure out a number to reach for?"

Noire

1/13/2020)

Shocked by the events unfolding sobriety hits Dustiria with an unwelcome force. Uncaring of the splatters on her new overdress she strides forward her face back to the exspessionless mask as normal. Not caring she had no blade she puts herself infront of the man on the ground and infront of the Imperatrix. Dustiria snatches to bastard sword from Sir Salem's outstreched hand.

With a growl she brings the sharp sword forward,"you step back from the Imperatrix before I run you through."

Belmont

(1/13/2020)

Dustiria snatches the Bastard out if Salem's hand despite his reaction of shrugging it off and letting the fierce woman take control. The timing is perfect for Salem's captain, Nat to show up to the sound of such noise. Nat stands himself next to Salem as he watches the scene unfold.

Nat: You're looking good for someone who's asleep. Salem: Couldn't sleep bearing the thought that I handed you the reigns. Nat: Who's the bull in this ceramic shop? Salem: Daeron. Scholar. Nat: Looks like he sits to leak it. Salem: Don't be daft. Clearly a full moon leak. Nat: Trousers hugging the ankles? Salem: Awoo. Nat: Awoo...So? I see you're fond of having someone else handle your sword. Salem: Beats the previously discussed scenarios. Nat: Touché. We're painting quite a picture here. Is that candy? Salem: I mean, it's floor candy now, so... Nat: is there a price on it? Salem: Funny you should mention. I'm on a quest for the missing taffy sale price. Nat: How's that going? Salem: Like eating potato crisps at a sermon. Nat: Tasty yet tasteless....And you know you'll just be hungry later. Good analogy. Salem: Hand me your weapon.

Nat does so. Salem then immediately, gently hands the weapon towards Alyssa.

Vurkow

(1/13/2020)

One must be fearless in the face of danger. That is the sort of thing Daeron would have believed in his books, and now was the ideal time to put that to the test. Daeron intended to give a coy smile that formed into a sort of leer instead. He placed two fingers on the blade to slyly move it out the way. This didn't go as intended either. Instead of hitting the blunt end he put them on the blade and dragged across it. At least the alcohol took the sting out of the equation. After examining the cut for a few seconds he noticed the group was shocked. They must be just as stunned to meet a legend as the sparkly woman. Heh. One is even offering me his sword, who knew I could appear so dashing.

"Thank you but I have no need, my hairy friend! All I need is the call of adventure." He said to the manservant before turning to the sparkly woman. "As for you my shiny treasure. Indeed I am but a mere scholar among my many talents, of which many... are many." Lazily he looked around at the mess The Captain must have made. Of course they were more concerned with putting the plates back together in the street. Daeron's nostrils had only just taken notice of the sickly sweetness emanating from cart and the street. Not to mention from himself now which was starting to make him queasy.

"On that note. I must be off." He dribbled out before slowly falling into the syrup on his hand and knees. Just staring at the cobblestone floor.

Kingsley

(1/15/2020)

Alyssa lowered her sword as the man fell to the ground looking at him with a mix of curiosity, concern, and pity. She put her hand on the big sword Dustira had both hands around. It was almost funny seeing her with such an oversized blade, were her eyes not narrowed and her scowl not fixed on the drunk before them. She gently touched the sword gesturing for it to be put away.

She hiked up her dress slightly to take knee before the man staring at the ground in front of her. She spoke to him gently but sternly.

"Sir Daeron, your carelessness put several people in great danger. You have dishonoured yourself in front of your peers, and inadvertently vandalized a city street. Still if you are hurt you must be seen to. No one was harmed, but this is not the way a knight of Perdan behaves. We are knights, and our honour matters. We have to be better."

She tried to stand him up but he was mostly limp as he laid on the ground staring flatly. "Sir Salem, help me stand him."

Together they lifted him onto his feet, his arm around Salem as he weakly took a step. Seeing that the knight had Sir Daeron in hand, she slipped out from under his other arm.

"Take him to the Duke, inform him of what happened, and see what he wants done, Sir." She said with a curt nod.

She turned to Isana, grimacing as she took a step forward, her hands behind her back. She gave a short respectful bow to the other.

"I am sorry Isana, to have handled you as such. I reacted without thinking when the syrup spilled, concerned for your safety. I hope I did not cause you distress."

Everlight

(1/16/2020)

Torn between trying to catch the toppling taffy and backing away from the danger of hot coals, Isana felt Alyssa’s strong hands around her waist, lifting her easily out of harmful sugar's way. In a moment she was awash in a confused flurry of amazement, anger and profound sadness. All that effort, and everyone was so enjoying things... and one careless gent destroyed it! And now her last bit of treats from home were gone, splashed and cooling in the road. And Alyssa’s first thought had been for her wellbeing.

Sir Kenneth’s voice cut through her muddle. "Lady Isana, your page!"

Cedric had been by her side! Where was he? She dropped to her knees beside Sir Kenneth, rummaging in the wreckage looking for the boy thinking he must have gone under the cart. Several urgent moments passed.

“Er, milady ‘sana?” came a timid voice cracking with puberty behind them. Isana straightened abruptly, cracking the back of her head on the cart’s wheel.

“Oww,” she scrunched her face and cradled the forming bump with one hand, then twisted around to see the sheepish page, holding an empty pot and covered in snow, otherwise unharmed. “You’re alright then?” she asked softly, her words mostly lost in the kerfuffle of the intruder being dragged off.

“Yea, sorry for th’worry, fell into that snowbank…” the page’s words trailed off with embarrassment and he looked over to the very fresh and fluffy nearby pile, “Couldna get out…”

Isana nodded and stood, dusting the snow off her green and white winter dress. "Good thing it was towards the end of the night, and not when the cart was full. I'm glad you're alright." As she tidied herself and looked around at the now much more sober company, Alyssa approached.

"I am sorry Isana, to have handled you as such. I reacted without thinking when the syrup spilled, concerned for your safety. I hope I did not cause you distress." The Imperatrix's words were somber and formal.

Dark-haired Isana smiled, her head dropped forward and then she looked up from under raised eyebrows with a wry grin. "Distress? My dear, you saved me from my own delicious ruin. The only thing due for your quick action is my thanks, and I'm sorry not to have another treat to share with you! Perhaps we all can find a little more of that mulled wine and a quieter corner to finish off this lovely and eventful evening...?" she posed the question and looked around to the rosy-cheeked and rapidly-sobering group. "I've been so busy peddling this taffy I haven't had a drop yet!"

Belmont

(1/15/2020)

"Nathaniel. Get his left side."

Salem's captain helps support the drunk knight under his other arm.

"We'll get him to Duke Smiddich right away, General." Salem says to Alyssa. "I was hoping you'd at least get one night off from duty."

Noire

(1/18/2020)

She listens to Isana speak and nods.

"It grows cold and late why don't we all head to the Bloody Stump? Some fine Belmont mead is stocked just for this festival thanks to Sir Salem. It's just what we all need I think. " Dustiria looks at Isana, Alyssa, and Kenneth,"let's all get warm and enjoy more of the evening."

Kingsley

(1/18/2020)

Alyssa nodded hesitantly at Isana and Dustiria. In truth, she did not care much for Dustiria's pub. She did not like the way the common folk ogled and laughed at her, and she had a poor first impression of the place. Still, Dustiria was her friend, and she did wish to get out of the cold, so it would do for the evening. The four knights walked together down the street the snow beginning to come down a bit heavier. Alyssa pulled her half-cape tighter around her shoulders as a cool breeze past them by while they journeyed towards the West Quarter.

Kenneth and Dustiria walked arm in arm, making eyes at each other. Alyssa watched the rooftops instead. A cat scurried across a balcony a few buildings down the street but the streets were otherwise empty. Most of the people must be out celebrating. She saw no sign of the crow, letting out a a soft sigh as they continued down the street towards the Bloody Stump.

Noire

(1/19/2020)

Dustiria leads the way to the bloody stump still arm and arm with Kenneth. Above the doors hang garlands of conifer and red bows. Inside the walls are decorated with yet more garlands and bows along with the hanging laterns and simple brass chandileirs. Every table has candles in log bases with sprigs off bright red berries. The room is filled with people from all walks of life dressed in what they can afford to be festival clothing. The noise thunders over them like a cresting wave as the four enter. A man jumps up on a table with a lite and starts to play a song about Perdan in the winter time. The crowd joins in singing this familiar song and raises their mugs at the end. The bard hops down and leads a majority of the crowd into the stump room where singing more familiar Wintergreen songs starts once more. The remaining people sit back at their tables and normal pub level conversation returns. The pretty blonde server Sally leads the four to Dustiria's normal table. As the others sit dustiria nods to the burly tattooed barkeep and motions one hand to indicate everyone at the table. He smiles and gives her a thumbs up and a wink. As he pours four mugs with a clear bright yellow liquid Sally goes to the bar to collect the mugs. She weaves her way back to the table. As she places each mug infront of each noble she says "happy Wintergreen! Happy birthday Dame Dustiria!" She leaves a wood platter with a block of cheese, black loaf of bread, and a knife on the table before heading off to see to the other patrons.

Dustiria smiles and raises her mug to the others,"I hope you all enjoy the finest mead made by family Belmont. Happy Wintergreen!"

Kingsley

(1/19/2020)

Alyssa could feel the warmth of the taproom as they stepped into it. She admired the green garlands which gave a homier feel to the dingy dive. It was not enough however to overcome the raucous atmosphere of the place. Common people laughed and shouted as lively music played. A thousand sounds rung in her ears, smells of warm food and wine combined with the welcoming stench of the masses. She had been in this place before, and made much of a fool of herself. The bar did not sit well with her but it had been agreed upon. She had little choice but to accept it. As Dustiria led them through the crowd, Alyssa glanced around, one hand nobly behind her back the other, resting reflexively on the Blade of the Imperator. Kenneth walked arm in arm with Dustiria, his grin as enigmatic to her as ever. She wanted to know what was behind the man's smile, something about it felt off to her, but suspected she may never find out. Glancing at Isana, she wore a very different smile. This one she could read. A genuine happiness and wonder at the energy in the room, the sounds, the greens and reds of the decor. Alyssa kept close to her trying to maintain her own space as they maneuvered through the crowded floor.

Alyssa smoothed the skirt of her dress as she sat down next to Isana and across from the others who sat arm in arm smiling at one another. Sitting up straight, she kept as noble a demeanor as possible, but it did not deter the gazes from many of the bar's patrons who sat or stood nearby their own. Her silver slipper tapped lightly under the table as she tried to ignore them.

A pretty young serving girl sat some bread and mugs of some yellow liquid in front of them. Alyssa leaned in to inspect the mug, which she suspected was not entirely clean, while the waitress said something Alyssa did not catch over the noise. She looked up at her but she was already leaving. Alyssa wondered what the etiquette was in a place like this. Her aunt had always taught her manners for nobles, and she had spent much of her recent life with the army. Beset on all sides by the common folk, Alyssa felt out of place, especially dressed so finely as she was.

Dustiria raised her glass and toasted: "I hope you all enjoy the finest mead made by family Belmont. Happy Wintergreen!"

Belmont... The knight who had stared at her most of the evening. She wondered how he was handling Sir Daeron. She would need to speak with the scholar about his conduct. They were knights, above such destructive and dishonourable behaviour.

"Ah... here here." she said quietly, looking first at Isana before glancing again out at the throng of happy citizens cheering and dancing.

MacArbin

(1/20/2020)

Kenneth was happy. Aside from the brief scare with the page, all was well with the day and evening. He was with friends, he was with Dustiria, there was mead, there was music, there was dancing...Yesterday there had been horrors, tomorrow there would be horrors again, but today had been...Rather magical.

He did grin a little at Alyssa. This was clearly not her venue, but she was making the best of it, and was doing what she could to build a rapport with her followers. That was worthy, even if he did have to restrain an impulse toward a number of different jokes at her situation. Though he rather belatedly realized (from how studiously she looked away from them) that some of the problem was from the rather open staring she was getting. There might be something he could do about that...

He wrapped an arm as tightly as he could manage around Dustiria, raising his glass to her toast, before murmuring (well, half-shouting, but that was about the level of a murmur given the din) to Sally as she swung by.

"See what you can do about getting everyone to stop eyeing the Imperatrix, would you? You can tell them there's a round of mead on me every night for a week if they do, and a round of drilling with the militia every day if they don't. She needs a chance to unwind just like the rest of us do, and she can't do that like this."

Belmont

(1/15/2020) He clicks his tongue with a "Tisk tisk tisk" and with the help of Nat, he carries the man to the direction of the last place Duke Smiddich was seen...The stage. They stop every now and again to ask anyone if they had seen the Duke, being pointed into many different directions, before finally happening upon him.

"Ahoy your Grace." Salem calls out. "Have you a moment to share for a drunken scholar?"

Fontaine

(1/16/2020)

Duke Smiddich had been enjoying a hot mug of spiced cider and a gaggle of wealthy merchants, who hung off his every tale; the swarthy pirate towered over them in height and breadth but not a hair nor whisker was out of place. The Black-bladed Duke let out a frost huff as his knights dragged the unconscious scholar towards him.

"You will excuse me, your Excellencies!", said the Duke, neatly dismissing them to alternate entertainment.

"Sir Salem, what have we here?", enquired the pirate Lord.

A brief explanation of the fracas ensued, and by the by, Sir Daeron found himself coming to consciousness to the sound of surging water and saltwater spray.

His face was wet and his tongue lolled thickly in his throat. An immense pressure was pounding in his head and legs, surely not simply the lingering effects of the night before.

Blinking his eyes groggily, the scholar came to realise he was suspended by the legs and two grunting bodies, knees bent over the high battlements of the Ducal Palace, staring out into the dawning light and the surging sea beneath. Backwards, upside down, and with a generous distance to fall. The saltwater spray was cold, and relentless.

"Sir Daeron!", he felt the gentle booming voice of the Duke somewhere behind him. Nat and Salem had ahold of a leg each, more or less securely, "Do entertain me with your escapades, and quickly!"

Belmont

(1/17/2020)

Salem and his captain hold the scholar by his legs and watch the man dangle high above the salty sea below. Both of them grin through the struggle of keeping the man from falling. While waiting for Daeron to regain consciousness, Nat starts up his usual banter.

Nat: You know, for a wet noodle, this guy's pretty heavy. Salem: Al dente. Nat: Oh, you're right. My bad. He's Al dente...Instead of wet noodle. Wow. Just...Thank you so much for being such a cesspool of noodle trivia. Salem: Don't make me al dente your face. Nat: You know, we should start referring to Daeron as "Sir Al." Salem: Sir al dente, the wet noodle scholar. I love it. Beats Sir sits-to-piddle. Nat: Wait, wait. No. Sir sits-to-piddle is lovely. Salem: I think he'll be dangling for his next piss. Good for him...Switching it up every now and again.

Nat grunts as he keeps his grip on Daeron's leg.

Salem: Oh, Nat. Remember those coins I showed you. Nat: The ones from the academy? Salem: Yeah. The ones with some other guy on em. Nat: Yeah, yeah. Ya know, I always thought a bloke had to be six feet under 'fore they'd mint his mug. Salem: Need to be dead to be on a coin..? Nat: ... Salem: ... Nat: ... Salem: Two. Nat: Four! Salem: Four?! No way you got four jokes for that one. Gimme one.. Nat: Okay, uh...I wonder why his majesty's face is depicted as a profile on the coin...Perhaps They just wanted his good side? Salem: That was decent. Mine were just two-sided jokes. Nat: I'll take that volley.

Nat shakes Daeron's leg.

Nat: I want this memory to last a lifetime, yeah. But I've also got other things to do. So wakey-wakey have a leg-shakey. Salem: I worry about you sometimes.

Vurkow

(1/18/2020)

When Daeron came to he was greeted with the sight of crashing waves below him. Above was the bearded manservant with what he assumed to be his master. Standing defiant in the face of danger did not appear to be such a good idea anymore. At least the salty air had clear his mind, relatively.

"Oh! Yes! You are just the person I wanted to see Smiddich! I would like to report a disturbance!" Spirits this is really high."My apologies to your manservant for witnessing the aftermath of a great chase." How did I end up here anyway? What am I going to tell him if I can't even remember!? "A man by the name..." Something menacing to plant the seed. "Baron Von Malevolent, the black knight! He planted the seed in a young woman's mind that I was a beggar for his plan to disrupt the festival, causing the guards to chase me!" Okay. "Then he poisoned me with some sort of amaz-, evil concoction that threw my mind into disarray. Because of that my right hand, the dullard that he is, destroyed a cart in the process and I was unable to give this explanation. Now my mind is clearer I can tell you now this is all part of an evil plot to distract us all from the real thing we should all be worried about! Saving WinterGreen!"

Meanwhile...

The Captain finished putting the broken pieces of plate back together with this sticky substance, as it served as a botch adhesive. Unfortunately the people would not have their sweet, taffy, treats. This would not do. He gathered everything he had on hand and offered it to the group. "Please accept these offerings as compensation for this great tragedy." He set them down on the street with a note for Dareron's estate. "If these great works are unsatisfactory, then compensation is available at this address."

Belmont

(1/18/2020)

Wintergreen Festival-Pirate Duke edition

Nat: MANSERVANT! Salem: ... Nat: BwHaahahaHaHahaha! Salem: Would you like to see how well you hold this excellent storyteller on your own? Nat: Oh no you don't. Manservants have to wait on the beck and call of their masters. Oh, who was that again? ME! Salmaneous Orpheus Belmont, I order thee to hold this man from certain death by his dangly bits. Salem: Only my personal healer is allowed to use my full name. Nat: And not your MASTER? How dare you set the standards of this great new relationship? Salem: Note to self; Fire Nat. Also, unrelated, plan the usurping of Baron Von Malevolent post-haste. Nat: You'd miss me, you know.

Salem rolls his eyes.

Fontaine

(1/18/2020)

A few critical moments in contemplation, before, "Haul him up, lads!", uttered Smiddich with a growl.

The black bladed Duke himself approached the roughly held scholar-Knight, his own short cape blustering in the wind and whip of the ducal battlements.

"Let me see if I understand you, Sir Daeron. You're expecting us to believe that you were poisoned, befuddled, and taken advantage of by a rogue Baron - of whom noone has ever heard?", he glanced at Nat and Salem, wondering if either could corroborate this wild tale, "Which somehow lead to _your man_ causing a destructive scene on today, the night of our most festive celebration? Something stinks, Sir Daeron, and I'm not just talking about your breath!"

The Duke signalled his men, a staunch collection of rough corsairs come personal guard, "Pick up the good scholars Captain at once, and have him interred for questioning overnight. Sir Daeron here is done for the night, and shall be escorted to his lodgings and kept there."

The Duke turned to address Knights and freemen all, "I trust this will be the end of tonight's shenanigans. Sleep off whatever potions linger in your poisoned brain and think carefully about whether you dare to lie to me again. Gird yourselves well, for we move out on campaign shortly, and I expect to see you all there. And, my Captain Hadred will be pleased to educate you, Sir Daeron, on the correct honorifics to address a Duke, on your way home!".

With that, he turned and stalked away into his office.

Belmont

(1/8/2020)

Salem wakes up, he face still firmly planted in the pillow. He groans and rolls out of the bed. "No hangover..." He leaves his gear in the room and goes to wash up, cleaning the dried blood and dirt from his body and hair. Donned in his winter garb, sans the field plate, he pays the inn keeper for another week and goes off to town eventually finding himself at a barbershop.

Barber: Good evening Sir, have a seat. What can I help you with. Salem: Need a clean face and few centimeters off the mane. The barber smiles and goes to work transforming the young teen knight into a new man as he exposes his squared jaw with a soft dimple on his chin. With a new shave and cut, Salem pays the man and looks around for his troops, eventually having Nat stumble upon him with a crooked brow and a letter in his hand.

Nat: This came for you, Sir. You um. You look like a... Salem: Like a..? Nat: ...Like a noble. What uhh...What does the letter say? It's from home. Salem takes the letter and reads through it, showing little to no emotion as he does, and leaving Nat nothing to work with as the captain tried to figure out what Salem's family had to say. Nat: Well? Salem: "We're excited to tell you that we have found a beautiful, young woman for you to marry, that we may join families. This will help us spread our name and extend the Belmont Meadery into regions beyond Biscyie..." Nat is silent as Salem reads on. Salem: "...Though this wonderful news comes hand-in-hand with great regret. Your sister, Reno....Your sister.." Nat: No...No. Salem: Sickness took her. They said even the best medicine they could find didn't work. They had finished making the arrangements to bring her here to the capitol before she died. Nat: Sir..I um...I-I'm so sorry. Salem shakes his head. Salem: Don't be sorry, Nat. I'm getting married.

Nat: I refuse! There is absolutely NO WAY I'm letting you get married. Salem, I've been your friend for nine years, and in all that time that I've been misfortunate enough to know you, you have never been so quick to bow down to your folks like that. Salem: I was being dramatic, Nat. Don't be dumb. There's no way I'm getting married, and there's no way Reno's six feet under. Nat: Wh...What? Now you're just leg pullin. Salem: Think about it. My folks decide to write me some nonchalant letter about my sister keeling over at the same time they plan on shipping me off to some nameless whore? Reno isn't dead. They're just using a scare tactic to force me to come home. Nat: But what if she is dead? Salem: Doubtful. First off, Jonathan is the eldest male and still single. He also holds the title of "heir to the meadery". Nat: Kay. Salem: What my parents are actually doing is trying to cut me off of their funds from the estate since I decided to die for country over scooping bee vomit. They plan on having me deny this claim of marriage and use it as an excuse to drop me as a son. Nat: Bunch of... Salem: This means no more free shipments til I use the formulae I snatched from home to start up my own honey wine distillery here in the capitol. Nat: So...You're not getting married..? Salem: They say that in the time it takes a man to get hitched, his sword arm looses fifty percent of it's chopping strength.

Nat is silent for a bit.

Nat: Three. I have three dirty jokes in response to that. Salem: Furthermore, a man that's too busy dying for country is too busy to put a ring on it. I've got a royal pardon from Perdan's golden lions saying that I'm property of Kay Peregrine as far as I'm concerned. Nat: I'll "À Perdana" that. Salem: Here, here. Now if you'll excuse me, I need to talk to a duke about a vacant plot of land.