Emma
Carac the Butcher
Sixteen Rings, Tonate Proper

Steel clashed against steel, warriors screamed in pain and yelled in fury as their weapons met flesh, it was chaos, and Carac felt right at home. Let Ferdinand have his balls and feasts, the only dance that Carac knew was that of the battlefield, and the only finery he wore was his plate mail. The closest he would ever get to true peace was in the middle of a fight, and he wouldn't have it any other way. 

He strode into the fray, towering over the other combatants. They all gave him a wide berth, none wished to fight the Butcher of Feyshore, and at the moment, he had no wish to fight them either. He had a target in mind, and until he had dealt with that, then the rest of these maggots were safe, at least from him. 
He saw a man wearing the colors of one of the local isle clans go down to a blow from a warrior from Terresol wielding two swords at once, and one worthless maggot who looked to be from Northwind was taken out from behind by a knight wearing the flag of Astoria stitched onto his gambeson. Truly, nothing brought people together like a good fight. 

From the corner of his eye he heard a yell, and turned to see a boy running at him with a sword held over his head. Fucking amatuers, he wasn't even wearing a full helmet. 
He swung his shield arm in a backhand motion, smashing the youth across the face with the massive metal sheet. He heard a satisfying *Crunch* As the blow connected, and a handful of teeth came loose, and his opponent staggered. He didn't even have time to process the blow before Carac brought the shield back around, swinging it like a fist directly into his newfound victim's face. 
The boy went flying back, skidding across the deck with a bloody mess for a face. Carac assumed he was alive, he hadn't hit him that hard.

A few meters away from Carac, another battle was reaching its apex. Two warriors were locked in combat, one dressed in gilded armor that spoke to its owner's wealth, if not his skill, while the other was dressed in an almost equally expensive set of plate, painted shining silver. Their blades flashed through the air, striking shield and plate, but neither driving home a blow that would end the battle. They had carved out a space for their duel, the other warriors not daring to interfere until one of them had fallen. 
The golden warrior feinted an attack from the side, and when his silvery opponent moved to block, he rushed forwards, striking his opponent on the side of his helm before shoving him to the ground with his shield. Before his opponent could rise again, he put his blade to his throat. 
"Do you yield?" He spoke, as the silver warrior held his hands up in defeat. 
"I do, m'lord. It was well fought."

The gilded warrior chuckled, and lifted up his faceplate to reveal himself. 
"Let that be a lesson to you, never challenge Sir Wesel of Korkou!" He reached down to help his fallen opponent rise before he was distracted by a noise from behind, heavy footfalls, approaching fast. 
Wesel turned just in time to see the towering warrior approaching from behind. He raised an eyebrow, confused. 
"Oh, it's you-"

Carac swung his mace with all the force he could muster, and the world seemed to fade into slow motion. The weapon made its way through the air so fast as to be a blur, but Carac could see every detail, he could see the sweat on Wesel's plump face, watch as his confused expression turned to one of surprise, and then terror, all in the fraction of a second. He saw his mace make contact with his gilded helm, watching as all that expensive metal, forged by some pompous ass in terresol for this worthless little shit of a lordling, crumpled like so much tin beneath his blow. 
He watched as crimson swelled in Wesel's left eye as the pressure from the mace slamming into his head caused blood vessels to pop like a thousand sacks of red paint. He watched as the eye bulged out of the crumpling skull that no longer had the space to put it, launching out of the socket and into the air, connected only by a thin red membrane. 
Carac found joy in few things, but as he watched his mace crush deeper into the malformed chunk of metal that had once been a helmet, he couldn't help but grin. And as Sir Wesel's neck made a sickening snap, and turned at a grotesque angle as his limp form began to fall to the deck, Carac smiled.

And then, he was back in the battle, returned from his trance to the deck of the Sixteen Rings. 
It took a moment for people to scream. 
The spectators closest to Carac pointed and yelled, one woman fainted once she noticed that Sir Wesel's jaw had come loose from the blow. It had detached at the leftmost side, and just now had slipped out, previously held in place by the helm, but now dangling freely. The silver armored warrior who Wesel had just bested looked up helplessly at Carac, lost in a mixture of shock and terror. 
Carac noticed none of them, he simply gave the body a single look, then turned and walked back into the fray. 
More blood would be spilled before the day was through.
Dean
Fleur De Lysse
The Ball, Maith Mansion

After breaking away from her father, the girl made her way across the floor, trying to glance over the taller bodies for her brother's regognizably light hair. He was a tall person, but Fleur couldn't seem to locate him within the crowd of people. 

"Lost, little girl?" A man had questioned from behind Fleur. The girl turned, her violet eyes landing on him. He was an older man, the hunch in his back quite apparent, and Fleur noted that he was missing quite a few teeth. She couldn't really place a finger on his ethnicity, though she assumed by his darker tone of skin he lived on the Isles. 

"I am not lost. I know precisely where I am. Are you lost?" Fleur quipped back. "I am merely looking for my brother. You may know him as the man who won the joust. He's a little bit of a local celebrity right now." Fleur grinned with pride, placing her hands on her hips. The girl obviously had no qualms with praising her brother. 

"Ah- a De Lysse, eh? I've met your ma. What a woman." The man blushed, causing Fleur to furrow her eyebrows, but she did not question his statement. 

"Maybe." Fleur answered, her eyes narrowing. "Who's askin?" 

"Jus' an old man. Woul' ya like a lolly?" He asked, procuring a sticky looking lollipop from the inside of his vest. Fleur slowly reached to grab it, when she was spun around on her heels by a frantic sounding Calypso.

"Oh- Hello Lady Calypso." Fleur sounded much more calm than the other woman, the interaction with the other man allowing her some control over her boiling anger. "I must speak to my brother. It is urgent, have you seen him?" She asked, before shaking her head at all of her questions. "I excused myself. My father was paying me no mind, let alone that insolent creature he was speaking to. Not Lady Peraz. The other one." Fleur furrowed her eyebrows again, before turning her head to see if she could locate the man with the candy again. Though, it seemed as if he disappeared into the crowd with Calypso's arrival.

"Do you think they have more candy somewhere?"
Christina
Cecilia Lyannah
Maith Mansion, Tonate

Was there a point to being here? The shifter questioned herself silently as her judgmental gaze hovered over the crowd who had paired themselves with another on the dance floor. Initially she had come for the entertainment and to make an attempt at socialising, however whenever someone made their way towards the shifter to make conversation, Cecilia would respond each time in a snarky manner. Her body language didn't help her either when she kept her distance or gave them the cold shoulder as they grew closer. As for the entertainment, Cecilia preferred something more sinister to provide her any chance of being entertained rather than a dancing bear and fire breathers. 

A deep sigh left her lips before tearing her gaze from the dance floor and towards the rest of the guests, looking for one last person to make an attempt at. She avoided looking in the direction of those who were crowded together and focused more towards the humans who were on their own like she was. It was then when a particular person caught her interest. 

Raising from her seat, Cecilia began to wander towards the familiar face. As she approached his table, she decided in a spur of the moment to make a quick detour before finally reaching him. She collected a couple of mugs which had been filled separately with ale and rum and then once her hands were full, the shifter continued towards Valkrin and placed both of the cups in front of him before sitting herself down. 

"A peace offering" She began before giving the two drinks a soft nudge with a sly smirk. "Since I can't get drunk, you can drink for me."