Cedric
Bastien de Lysse
The Ball, Maith Mansion

Bastien had arrived a few minutes before the ball commenced, his face still stoic but the expression seemed more relaxed, his pale cheeks ever so slightly flushed with a soft healthy glow. He was tipsy, and needed to be. Otherwise, socializing at an event as large as this would go horribly.

Bastien rarely drank spirits, and he rarely went to large gathering. Often, the two went hand and hand. If there was one, then there was the other. He saw that his family as well as Lady Kolgrim had already arrived and presumably presented their gifts. Now it was his turn.

"My gift for you, King Bradai," He had said with an elegant bow. Claude placed the medium-sized oak chest he had been carrying, gleamingly polished, down and opened its lid. It filled with various texts Bastien had gathered from his travels. Some were scrolls of various poem signed by their, others were notes about the location's foraging and the wildlife, certain abnormalities that were documented with sketches or drawings and witness accounts. A few artists' leather-bound sketchbooks were complied, with beautiful drawings of unknown individuals or animals or scenes as if stills from a play. Others were novels, with various themes such as a bard and his companion's unlikely adventures with mentions of monsters and magic, and a village's account of myths and dark crimes. Every book unique and with different handwriting, never having a copy. All of these had been purchased from various trips of Bastien's over the years, kept with great care and in mint condition. And all of them Bastien, with his refined and particular tastes, found to be beautiful and powerful works. Bastien could only hope that the Pirate King would agree.

"These are some of my most prized possessions I have gained from my travels, intimate creations from artists far and wide. I hope that they may suit your taste and be fit to add to your collection."

** **
After exchanging words of respect and a bow with Caderyn, he had went over to his table and sat down beside his father. The eyes, oh the eyes that stared at him. The whole room, it seemed. A vague shiver of discomfort ran through his body.

"Nah ah ah~"Claude said quietly as Bastien reached for his wineglass. The Ibbish mercenary knight casually grabbed Bastien's glass and drew it towards himself, away from Bastien. "You've had enough to drink as of right now, my lord," He said, his voice still lowered so no one else could easily hear. "Eat something."

Bastien stared at him for a few moments, then a small smile appeared on his lips as he glanced over at the Kings and his family. He leaned forward in his chair, still smiling, and it seemed to the onlooker that it was going to be a pleasant comment or joke he was about to tell his second-in-command. But as his lips were beside Claude's ear, what he actually whispered was, ***"Try that again and I'll break your fucking fingers off."***

Bastien leaned back, still smiling, his eyes staring into Claude's as he took back his wineglass and drank. Claude shivered slightly as he stared with wide eyes, a wobbly nervous grin breaking out on his face as he cleared his throat. Bastien de Lysse was often quite friendly when drunk, more cheerful and sociable.

Except to him.
Rhonda
The Pirate King Bradai Maith
The Royal Table, the Water Gardens

The Pirate King watched as the Terreme lords began to congregate around his left arm, muttering to each other in high, lilting tones. Over to clangor of the drums, animals, and servants, it was hard to make out, but he could catch a few familiar words. Pleasantries and titles, the caste soaked in pantheist perfume. It was slipping into his very hall, even now. And soon, his guests of honor were begin pulled from their chairs to kiss rings, and the fat one began to flap and squawk so loudly the King was afraid his servants might mistake him for a great, pink waddling bird. He turned to Gitten, to see if she had noticed, but she was obsessing herself with her own Terreme. It had been one thing when the Islanders were loud, but the Terreme, in his own home? He had discussed the problems with a ball with Silas, but the Seneschal's voice still rang in his head. _"The ball is best,"_ he had kept repeating. "_Let everyone get to know each other."_

There was something in his stomach telling him not to let the Mainlanders inspect his crews and his captains. He knew what they had to say about them. After all, it had not been his own people that gave him the title of the Pirate King in Tonate Proper. But they _were_ allies, whether they liked it or not. And by the looks on their faces, they did not like it half so much as him. He could not think of two groups more different then the Terreme and the Islanders. When he reached into the left breast pocket of his overcoat, he removed the journal he kept for the heir.

_Kelwynd._ was all he was able to write. It was all they had in common. Both had been aggrieved. A complete history would go in the ships with his sister, and he would compile them. _Time is on your side._ he penned beneath it.

And then, sure enough, the light was in his eyes, reflecting from that bronze skull. The Princess had set it upon her lap, and as consequence every so often he was blinded by a ray of torch light or firespitter's spout, reflected off of the smooth, round surface of the Amorothi Usurper. It was as if Kelwynd was speaking to him from the dead, harrying him with annoyance after annoyance, just as he had in life. Then one set upon her, like a fly to honey, asking to hold the skull himself. When she passed it across the table, he was there upon them, placing a hand on the back of the little Queen's chair.

"Kel_wynd,_" The King corrected, his tone warm and forgiving. "We 'ave much to teach you about the 'istories and names uff vha people vhat are a part uff your great Kingdom, your Grace. None so infamous as the skull vhat young Lord 'olds in 'is arms." The Pirate King paused, inspected the young man, and tightened a fist, inclining his head. "My mistake, Ser Samsom. I—" He was all warm smiles and eye crinkles, then. A forgetful Shitblood king. "It appears we all make mistakes, your Grace." The Pirate King knelt down to place a folded cloth in front of the little girl. "I did not fink it fair vhat I get tha lion's share uff tha gifts, eh?" He tapped his ringed hand against the wooden arm of the chair and watched as the bottoms of the rings left dents. "For you, your Grace." When the napkin was unfurled, an assortment of candied oranges, sweet yellow cherries and chilled blood plums were revealed. 

He shot the boy a hard look, not provocative or mean, simply honest. He made sure to do it away from the eyes of the Princess. "You _are_ uff mixed blood, vhough. From an Outcaste, no less. Azaryans worship the moon, and mirrors, and gemstones, and smoke and blood. Dastardly dangerous stuff, I promise you. Even wiff your lordly looks. Yours Wisdoms often told the men in Stormalong to stay away from Outcaste women, and women from men. Looks deceive, vhey said, and vhey preached upon the supposed wickedness in our souls. Outcastes, vhey said, are inherently corrupt." And then he was back to smiling, and a laugh rose from his throat. "But your Queen and King _deigned_ to sup wiff me, a simple merchant. Even if your Caste 'as no love for you, our little Queen 'as a very large 'eart."

As he stood, he shot him an appraising glance. " 'er Grace will need skilled men around 'er, Ser Samsom. Per'aps you will follow in young Bastien's lead. We are pleased to 'ear vhat Falsa will join our alliance against tha false Kings and Queens vhat are soon to plague your land, but my Azaryan 'as been asking after you since 'e 'eard a report you 'ad left your port wiff your 'alf-siblings. I regret vhat we cannot speak uff war tonight. Just skulls and candies and 'omelands. I 'ope to see you in my 'alls, to discuss tha matters uff landing ships on vhat norvhern coastline, aye?" His golden teeth glimmered in the firelight.
Joseph
Lady Anna Barrmount
Maith Mansion

Anna stood there for a second, staring at him, not being able to believe how it flew over his head.

"For the love of-" She left her facade as fhe felt a sting of annoyance and anger in her chest "*Skagerllys* Kirk. There's damned Skagerllys in here!" She whisper-shouted "As in the ones affiliated with Vivayn, *The rat at home*."

She took a deep breath, clenching her jaw as she pinched the bridge of her nose.

What was she going to do? She couldn't keep hiding from them; running away to seek help had only given her humiliation, and a husband she didn't want—under the promise of fighters being sent to the north, that she still had not heard much about. And a fight with Lord Marshall himself.

Father had always been brave, going into battle for his family, his land, and his loyalty. Sibyl had always been brave, handling every situation no matter how hard.

Anna had always hated war, her knees got shaky even thinking about conflict. But there was no one else to help her right now, she had to do something about the Skagerllys and she had to do it fast.

"Kirk, I need your help." She said as she looked at him, determination in her eyes "Get me to Bradai."

The maid costume was probably going to bring her humiliation once again, but there was no time. It was either facing those bastards now or risking not finding them later.
Edith
**Lord Kirk Pinewood
The Ball, Maith Mansion**

*Skagerlly.* The name made Kirk recall the familial blood feud of which Anna had enlightened Kirk about her homeland in the early days of their marriage. He'd hoped most of the conflict would be resolved by the time he was inevitably forced by Lucrezia to go North, and yet here they were, as far South as most mainlanders would ever venture. His heart began to crave the solitary peace of his antique shop, but it would do him no good to dwell on it.

"To get to Bradai..." Kirk looked to where the pirate king was resuming the reception after the play. "You need a gift." He realized neither of them had much to present, so he improvised. "Or at least something that looks like a gift until you get to him." He downed his drink and pulled out a handkerchief from his pocket, wrapping the glass with it.

"What do you need me to do?" Kirk asked, holding the glass out reluctantly as he was unsure if it would be sufficient.
Marguerite
Catarina Tanner
The Ball, Maith Mansion

"Give me your palm," Catarina replied with a smile, holding out her own hand. "I have a longstanding... Connection, to the gods. I'm not as skilled as my great aunt and mother were, but they still taught me how to read the signs that are all around us. Sometimes it's interpreting a dream, sometimes it's tea leaves, and in this case, I can read your palm."

Unfortunately, Catarina had not yet noticed the burns on Alva's hands, mostly because she had been so focused on the party and her conversation with Alva. The alcohol probably didn't help either...
Phyllis
Alva Ivanova
The Ball, Maith Mansion

"Signs from the gods? Color me intrigued." Alva extended her right hand, setting it palm up in front of Catarina. Skepticism aside, she really was intrigued. She'd never had her fortune told before. 

Alva guessed she was about to hear the drunken ramblings of an intoxicated woman, but she seemed so certain about what she was saying. Alva would be lying to herself if she claimed she wasn't at least interested.
Tom
Calypso Kolgrim 
The Ball, Maith Mansuo

Calypso should be used to the stares by now. She had spent her whole life under examination. 

It was a calculated risk. Unexpectedly taking part in the gift-giving ceremony had given her quite the notoriety, more so as The First Admiral seemed to have taken her in sympathy, After offering her gifts the older woman had called her over trying to convince her to sit closer. And so she did, not wanting to waste such an occasion and definitely had no intention in potentially offending her and her royal brother. Calypso had heard stories of the fearsome Gitten, bloody ones. Her anger was the last thing she wanted to encounter.

Calypso had expected to be met with a course attitude, maybe some mocking or general distasteful behavior. But instead, she found herself having a pleasant conversation with the military woman. She was rough around the edges, definitely not a high blood lady, but still enjoyable. 

Gitten asked her many questions, about where her idea for the gift had come, about her life with the De Lysse, and how was growing up in Terresolian land, revealing that she wished to have, one day, her own castle on the territory. At that Calypso had laughed, not out of mockery, but the idea of someone like Gitten to move in a city like Sol sounded so contrasting it was comical. The dark-haired woman imagined the admiral walking around the busy streets, with her flaming red hair and the worn-out overcoat. Without a doubt, people were going to exchange her from one of the doc workers, maybe even for a man.

 Nonetheless, Gitten talk of the possibility as if it was already a fact, and Calypso found herself fascinated by the passion with which she talked about it, the light that twinkled behind her ocean blue eyes, and in a moment of complicity, Calypso had promised that when ("Not If. When." Had said the islander) she was going to build that castle, then Calypso would have taken it on to herself to show The Admiral the city she had grown up in witch the woman welcomed with a thundering laugh. 

The temmere lady got distracted for a second by the arrival of new guests, Namely Peraz Doumange and Bastian... Of course he was late. Well, almost late, but still. Lady Kolgrim did her best to not roll her eyes at the arrival of the De Lysse heir and instead offered a smile and an elegant nod at the Dagon of Farsa. For a moment Calypso contemplated the idea of introducing the two military women but feared that instead of kinship in their experience the dragon and the admiral may find competition between their accomplishments.
Ora
Arin Cragton
Mizzen Market

Arin tilted his head up, looking at the darkened wood that held up the roof. As he inhaled, he thought about Vik's question. Everything that had happened the past few days flowed through his mind as he meditated on the simple question that was presented to him. 

"It's not that I want to teach them a lesson, I'm just angry. Angry at the world. Angry at something. I don't know exactly what it is. But that anger is just eating at me, and the only thing I've ever done is fight to clear it, but it's still there, boiling under the surfa-" He said, before noticing his hands balling up and the veins in his arms becoming prominent. He relaxed slowly, before looking at Vik and taking a deep breath. 

"What would you do if you were me? Because every choice I've made has led to this moment, to us meeting. That has to mean something, so if nothing else I would appreciate your thoughts." He said, before calming his breathing down a bit.

"Back to your other question, though. I do believe he is out there. I've heard rumors, whispers of what happened years ago. It's why I've never made it to captain of my own ship. I'm... Some say I've been tainted, others say cursed, and others still say blessed by the sea. The most... Told story I've heard is that the ship I was on crashed, and I was the only survivor, ranting about lost souls and a brother who deserted me. It wasn't until recently that I had a dream of someone who looked like me, but different enough that I knew it wasn't me. I recognized him in my dream, but now I cannot say his name. I do remember I was his brother, and I remember our ship was..." He said, before losing the memory. "I can't remember." He said, before sipping the ale in front of him. 

"That's my biggest problem. I can't remember anything before being dragged onto that fishing boat. They said I was half dead, with cuts and bruises all over me as if I was beaten repeatedly." He said, before taking another spoonful of the stew sitting in front of him. 

"In a way, I've lost my family. Though, I don't remember knowing them. I've always been alone, as long as I can remember." He said, rolling the small golden coin across his fingers. 

"I guess money is my only family." He said softly.
Ashley
Lord Eric Stafford
Maith's Feast, Tonate Proper

If Eric was not bound to service in Feyshore, he would have considered a life in the Southern Isles. The food, the rum, and the weather were all something he was enjoying. Even as day turned to dusk, the weather stayed beautiful and the people seemed as friendly as they could be toward Eric, though, they were likely paid to be as friendly as possible to guests. From the distance Eric watched as gift after gift be brought to King Maith, Eric wanted to see how they were presented and what the king's reaction was to them. He seemed to appreciate most anything that was brought to him, which relieved Eric's anxiety about giving him a gift. 

Taking a deep sigh, Eric drained his glass of rum before rising from his seat, for a moment, the world spun. _A cup too many, I think.__Eric thought, but he remained steady. It was only a buzz; he wasn't quite drunk yet. Picking up his gift, he leaned toward Angelica, "I'm going to present our gift." He informed her before stepping off toward the king, waiting behind the curious company that had passed in front of Eric. He eyed the group and watched as they presented two scantily clad women and a chest of jewels to the king. 
There was an element of revulsion in Eric at the amount of wealth that was exchanged as a gift to one person. Eric understood the horse, the swords, even the skull to some extent thought Eric was too far off and was busy eating to really know what that was all about. But the amount of wealth that some people had to simply _give_ to another individual was still shocking for him. The part of him that was still a peasant boy was disgusted, but he had to be practical. _This is what ruling is then,_ Eric reflected, as the king inspected the jewels before him, _this how the world we live in is ruled._

For a moment, Eric questioned everything, the goal he had in place. The likelihood of Eric marching his people to a war in Terresol, some foreign war that if anyone thought too long about, they'd wonder why a Taemarian was leading Feyshorians to place Terresolian king in Terresol. Was this absurd? 
_No,_ he resolved, _as distasteful as it is, it is imperative for long lasting security._ A world without friends is a difficult one, a lesson the Old Kingdom of Feyshore paid for dearly, Eric would not make the same mistakes. His last several years of lordship and being an advisor for Anyanka had been spent looking internally. It was time to address the threats externally, the threats that kept Eric up at night during his time as Lord Protector. 
A servant bumped into Eric's shoulder, pulling him out of his thoughts. The servant apologized, or at least he assumed she was apologizing in her native tongue. Eric just smiled and reassured her that he was not offended, and she moved on after an awkward moment where neither really knew what the other was saying. She eventually scurried off. 

In this delay, the room was filled by foreign knights bringing in some Sea-King Eric had never heard of. Eric watched the intereaction between the two, and the knights get removed as the play started. _Fuck, am I too late?_ Eric thought, watching the play in its entirety respectfully, even giving a few laughs, though he'd never been a huge theatre fan himself. 

Once the play ended and some light returned Eric zeroed in on King Maith as he was once again available. It was then that Eric finally stepped up infront of the king holding a finely carved wooden box with a hinge. Eric was dressed modestly in a dark green tunic with gold trimmings and dark earthy brown undershirt and trousers, ending in black shoes and a black belt with a humble gold-colored belt buckle. His dark black hair was freshly cut and groomed for the ball.

Eric approached with a friendly smile that seemed to bring out his youth in comparison to many of the more important figures in attendance. 
"Your grace." Eric regarded, giving a respectful bow, before handing over the gift.

The wooden box had a surprising amount of weight when passed over.

"I hope the gift find you well. I've found there are few better gifts than knowledge, in my experience." 

Once the box was opened, Bradai would find the box to be lined with velvet cushioning. The book itself bore no title on the front, but instead bore a map of South Feyshore and Astoria, filled in with a dark purple. The rest of the book was bound in a dark black leather with silver trimmed pages. 

"This is a book I had commissioned. Only two of them exist currently, and this is the original. It is a complete recent history of South Feyshore and Astoria. It details as much as possible from the day of Ramsalot's death, to the beginning of Queen Anyanka's reign. It is filled with stories, accounts, and firsthand experiences of everything that followed the Feyshore's Fall."
Terence
Tiny Vik
The Mizzer Market, Tonate Proper 

Vik curiously looked over at Arin.  Pondering the answer himself.

"If I were you, and I was just thrown in the trash..." He began, tapping his golden chin in thought, "I would find these men and boil their heads in brass, then I'd bring them back to Akno so they could tend my garden."

Vik giggled.  It was the same giggle he always did, which only made it creepier.

"And then I'd find my brother.  If there was even a chance they exist, I would pursue every lead I had.  If I didn't, the curiosity of 'what if,' would always linger and eat at the back of my mind."  Vik placed one of the bowls of stew on the floor, and Tiddlywinks leapt down to start eating.  Vik also grabbed a wooden spoon, scooping chunks of meat into his "Mouth."