Rosa
The Pirate King Bradai Maith and Retinue
On Candlehearth Quay, Sturm

Before Sturm was the primary port city in the Gulf of Pannaise, it was Candlehearth Hall. A group of candlemakers, a soybean farm, a head of wild hogs, and a lighthouse. A small group of artisans that figured out how to make wax from soybeans, and wicks from the hair of wild hogs. This was where the prophet of his people was killed. Bradai covered his nose as he stepped from the side of the Windshear, pretending to scratch his cheek. 

"Vhis is tha cleanest place on tha Mainland?" He watched a pregnant woman throw herself up against the candlestick sigil of a town guard's tower shield. She was screaming about his red hair. Gitten placed a hand on her brother's shoulder, leaning up to spit on the raving woman. 

"AYYE!" She shook her fist in the air, "YER FUCKING CROWN PRINCE 'AS RED FUCKING 'AIR AND YOU ALL SEEM TO FINK 'E'S SO FUCKING 'ANDSOME!" 

Bradai had let Gitten come along to Sturm. In any other place, for any other diplomatic mission, he would have never brought her along. But this was Sturm, and someone was going to have to watch the Fleet. It was bound to be a terrible idea, and by all accounts a diplomatic nightmare. Bradai pursed his lips and hid a smile.

House Kersenwach, at one point a candlemakers guild, and today a wealthy group of inbred Purebloods, had come a long way in their considerably small history. When the Tides Barer came with his Livyatan Fleet, the small candlemakers of Sturm didn't know what to do. Someone, allegedly, thought that the best way to signal for help was to round up all the candles, throw them on the top of their tallest tower and light it on fire. This house of light, or "Lighthouse" As it was later named, was responsible for signaling the Trenten Fleet, who blindsided it and killed the Tides Barer. This, Bradai believed, was complete buillshit. The concept of a lighthouse being used as a tactical instrument had existed long before the Tides Barer, and was supposedly used in similar towns in the gulf. These Candlemakers were not special. The Great Houses of Taemar, however, must have felt differently, and granted them Great House status. All of the Candlemakers got married to the oldest candlemaker, and Bradai assumed that they just kept in all in the family since then, because the reports his men gave him all had remarkings saying that they had trouble telling the family portraits apart through the generations. They had managed to reach Kingsblood status thirty years ago when they married the late Matilda off to the Hog King Gregor. But then she was murdered with a hogs tusk. Bradai reasoned that if there was any real sense of justice in the world, it was in that moment 

He placed a hand over his eyes and looked up at the burning mass of fire atop the Candlehearth Hall, and rain began to fall from the sky. Little pinpricks of cold lined his exposed face, and he was told that the way was now clear for him to walk through. Bradai walked down the dock, accepted his BMTC ambassador guide, and began his walk to Candlehearth Hall.
Cecilia
Roach
Candlehearth Quay, Storm

His life's work is bridging on this moment, hanging before him like an heirloom dangling precariously on a string. Inside, deep in his core, Roach is petrified. Beside him is Bradai Maith, *King* Bradai, owner of the BMTC, merciful and ruthless and fair and cruel. He's *Everything* That Roach has looked up to and wanted to be, he's living the *Dream* That has kept Roach surviving for this long. It's difficult to keep his composure, he's hardly containing his excitement as he stands. Inside the castle, he turns on his heel, faces the king, and he gives a very proper bow. "My liege!" He begins, excitement leaking into his tone ever so slightly, "It is an honour to meet you here today. Your story has inspired me to become the man I am today, your resilience and your courage have never once failed to fill me with determination to follow humbly in your footsteps." Is he being too much here, in his one chance to make an impression? It's too late, if he is. He's begun this journey, and he will have to continue it to see where it leads.

"You see, from my days as a slave, I've looked up to your leadership— I still do, of course. To have this opportunity to speak with you is an incredible, *Incredible* Honour, I'm humbled to be humoured by you today." He doesn't falter, doesn't stutter. Roach is trying desperately to not blind off the walls, but *Lord* It is difficult for him to organise the vast amount of thoughts that are tumbling through his mind. Thankfully he has experience in *Not panicking*, ergo he's able to keep his external facade to merely one of admiration and not immense internal thought. "I have been working for your company for a while now, and if I may say so myself, I am a devoted and loyal ambassador. I seek to further my work with the company as well as yourself, if you'd find me to be capable in my leadership." His hands clasp behind his back, and he cannot help it— Roach bounces up subtly onto his toes to offset his excitable energy. His proposition is far from done, but he's interested to know if hes said too much, too little, a good amount. Is his tone alright, are his clothes fitted enough, are his calloused hands offputting? Is the distance between them enough? He's very anxious internally, but his gaze is unwaveringly friendly and determined.
Robert
Lord Duffy Glundler
Candlehearth Quay, Sturm

"We will have guests for dinner tonight. *Royal* Guests," Lord Duffy announced to his family over their candlelit breakfast. His green eyes gleamed with excitement and his yellow teeth were barred into a semblance of a smile. His wife, Lady Hilde, sighed heavily, letting her spoon clatter noisily into her porridge. 

"Now you tell me? The manor is a mess. We have only leftover goose meat. Is that what you intend to serve a royal guest? Old goose meat? *You foolish man*," She snapped, heaving her round body up from her chair and stomping off to her chambers. His son, Bledhund, quivered in fear at his mother's fury. 

"Bledhund, please, now is not the time," Lord Duffy growled, massaging the protruding vein at his temple. Bledhund sucked his trembling lip into his mouth and sank down in his chair. 

***
Daylight waned as the finishing touches were put on dinner. Hilde prepared a lovely nettle soup and roasted the old goose meat until it was scorched enough that the grey bits were effectively hidden. She gathered her ashen hair up into a stylish knot atop her head and greased down the flyaways with lard. Bledhund was put into a tight, blue dress that pushed his neck rolls up into his chin. His blond hair fell past his shoulders in two, tight plaits. Lord Duffy wore a grey suit and slicked back his own hair with ink. He felt that black hair made for a more distinguished look. 

Lord Duffy nodded in approval at his family's appearance. "I do hope that the king comes dressed as smartly as us," He chuckled deeply, lighting his pipe. Hilde pursed her lips and Bledhund struggled to breathe. "Come, let us welcome our guests at the gates. We will show them a proper Taemarian evening."

The family lined up at the gates and looked down the road in fierce anticipation.