Emma
Carac the Butcher
Maith Mansion, The Ball

Carac had never liked balls, he was keenly aware of how out of place he was there. He was a soldier, not a lord of noble birth. He could not carry a conversation, dance a tune, or woo a lady's heart with his charm. The only women he wooed he paid for with gold beforehand, and the only dance he knew was one of steel and blood. However, there was one part of balls that Carac enjoyed, the copious amounts of alcohol. 

He strode through the doors to the ballroom still in full plate armor, his right gauntlet coated in blood nearly up his entire forearm from his duel with Skaggerly, dripping crimson droplets on the ballroom floor. Behind him came Varn, who cowered in his shadow, hoping no noble would take offense to his presence once they noticed him. The rest of the retinue had elected him to follow Carac, as to ensure he had someone on hand to sort out verbal disputes. Varn hoped it wouldn't come to that, though Carac seemed to be trying his damndest to cause an incident. 

He pushed through the crowd of multicolored dresses and silk doublets, sending a servant carrying a tray of something that looked like small reddish bugs falling to the floor. The man didn't have time to take offense before Carac had pushed himself deeper into the throng of party goers.

A poor young woman, some minor lady from the isles, by her dress and accent, had the singular misfortune to be standing between Carac and the refreshments table. She had been chatting with another woman who ran as soon as she saw what was heading their way, leaving her friend to stand in Carac's shadow. Varn saw her looking up in what could only be described as a mixture of terror and... Excitement, it seemed. She began to open her mouth before Carac gently, for him at least, pushed her aside so he could get to his true goal. Interestingly, being shoved to the side only seemed to increase her interest in the armored figure. 
Dozens of glasses of wine littered the table, some a dark crimson, others a far lighter. Carac ignored the glasses, instead reaching past the glasses to grab an entire bottle. Removing the cork with one swift motion, he didn't even bother to remove his helm, pouring the dark red liquid through the small holes of the helmet, the wine running down his armor and creating a small pool at his feet. Only once the bottle was empty did he stop to look at those around him. 

The guests were aghast, well except for the woman Carac had shoved earlier, but the rest of the noble lords and ladies looked at Carac and Varn with a mixture of disgust and shock. Varn quickly grabbed a glass of wine and downed it in a single gulp before turning to address the crowd. 
"My Ladies 'an gents, may I present THE VICTOR OF THE GRAND MELEE, THE ONE WHO FELL THE BRUTAL LORD SKAGGERLY!" He said proudly, gesturing to Carac with great enthusiasm. The nobles now seemed more confused than disgusted, which was a good sign in Varn's mind. Carac seemed unconcerned, instead reaching for another bottle of wine.
Alice
Katholou Drase
Maith Mansion, The Ball

Katholou also entered the Ball, followed by the few members of his retinue that wanted to formally get in. He saluted the members of Bradai's Shield currently on duty inside the ballroom and headed towards the buffet in order to get a drink himself. Suddenly the massive shape of Godswill, whom had been a bit influenced by the recent influx of alcohol, stirred up and he began to shout.

"My ladies and gents, may i direct your attention to the winner of the melee, the one who captured Lord Skaggerly and felled a dozen men!"

He shouted proudly, causing the general confusion to increase dramatically as the nobles began to shoot glances towards both Katholou's and Carac's group trying to understand what in Bradai's name was going on.

"Please... It was a group effort and the melee hasn't even finished"

Katholou said in a much lower tone, embarrassed at the attention he had just received.

"The whole point of participating was to remind everyone of the might of Clan Drase and Bradai's Guard. You won't do that without some public... Recognition"

The second in command sent a glance towards the mercenary.

"Besides there's no way you'd lose against some honour-less bear who fights for none but himself"

 He added, this time in a lower tone as well, perhaps realising he had gone too far and wanting to justify himself. Katholou sighed but still smiled at the confidence that everyone seemed to have in his skills. 

"Oh well. Damage is done. Keep a low profile and relax a bit, everyone"

He said before chugging an entire cup of ale in one swoop.
Matthew
|Fabian Ambrose|

|Maith Mansion, the Ball|

Fabian- well Fabian was confused more than perhaps he should be. He followed behind the two- victors, head low and rolling his shoulders in general discomfort. He gave a two fingered salute to Katholou as that sign of duelists respect, before heading to a place he could quietly enjoy a drink.

Fabian had the luxury of being able to change into his- albeit plain- but fancy garb rather than parade around in his armour half bloodied, even if the sweat and exhaustion had more or less stayed, he wouldn't look like a complete maniac. That is, if people here even counted that as being a maniac. Carac, he hoped, was textbook mercenary and he made a mental note to avoid him fully, seeing as he felled at least a dozen or so men in that melee. And Katholou, the mysterious benefactor that had offered him a job in the middle of battle, something he found quite humourous, before the entire skaggerdly fiasco happened. So, he quietly sipped his drink and pondered, a lowly mercenary at a lords ball, at least, he supposed the food would be good.
Emma
Carac the Butcher
Maith Mansion, The Ball

"Listen, he's drunk, he doesn't know what he's saying!" Varn started, trying to calm Carac as the members of Bradai's shield filled the hall with their lies. It was already too late, the massive warrior was plowing through the crowd towards the fool who had just tried to discredit his victory.
Carac took threats to his reputation seriously, and someone claiming to have defeated Skaggerly, something he did on his own, and winning the melee, the melee *He* Won, was something that wouldn't escape his wrath.

Offending a king was a dangerous thing, they had people's heads off for far less than simply barging into a ball and drinking wine, but Carac doubted the king of the Isles would care all that much. After all, what was a party in the isles without at least one drunken brawl? 
Carac grabbed Katholou by the shoulder, much like he had before on the Sixteen rings, but far more forceful this time. For a moment it seemed like he would attack right there and then, but suddenly Varn spoke. 

"The Honorable Carac of Feyshore 'as taken offense to your claims, m'lord. You 'ad about as much to do with capturing Skaggerly as a takin' a shit 'as to do with makin wine." 
Varn was far smaller than Carac and Katholou, but he spoke with the confidence of several glasses of wine and an ally in the Butcher. 
" 'Owever, if you wish to call yerrself the Victor of the Melee, then by all means, you can." 
Carac gripped Katholou's shoulder harder, rage coming off of the larger man in waves. 
"Provided of course, you step outside with Carac to finish the melee an prove yer claim."

Varn gestured to a door leading to a balcony. It was a smaller arena than the sixteen rings, but it had enough room for the two to comfortably fight, and gave all the guests a good seat to watch from. 
Carac looked at the balcony, then back at Katholou. The choice was his, yield his claim to victory, or prove it in combat.
Alice
**Katholou of Clan Drase,
The Ball, House Maith**

Katholou snapped around and looked up at Carac. For but a second, fear flashed through his eyes as his gaze met the mercenary's. Soon after though he recovered, swatting away the other warrior's hand and telling his retinue to lower their weapons in order to prevent any escalation. He sent a quick glance around, seeing that the eyes of many nobles were now aimed at him and his opponent. For but a second he considered accepting this challenge, even if to simply teach this impudent commoner a lesson in front of the whole court. But then he remembered of exactly where he stood: a ballroom inside the mansion possessed by the very king which he worshipped during a party dedicated to that same individual. He would not taint his name over some petty honour-less dispute.

"Forgive my friend here and his careless words... Not "

He started, sending a glance towards Godswill

"...For he does not know what he is saying. You have fought with honour and due to the fact that i brought in guards to catch the criminal you are in fact the official winner of the melee. If being recognised as such is so important to you then i will not take that away from you."

He said as he turned around and grabbed his cup, rising it high into the air.

"To Carac The Butcher, winner of the melee and hero of the realm!"

He cheered, staring at Carac through the whole process. Everyone else stayed silent, holding their breath and awaiting a response as none knew how the massive mercenary would react
Emma
Carac the Butcher
Maith Mansion, The Ball

Carac released his grip on Katholou's shoulder. The Butcher smelled of alcohol and rage, the crimson streaks on his armor from the wine mixing with the blood on his gauntlet, creating a putrid mixture that dribbled to the floor. 
For a moment, it seemed as if Carac would attack Katholou for his half-hearted concession, even Varn held his breath in anticipation. Even some of the nobles around them looked as if they would enjoy watching these two duel her on the ballroom floor. 

Then, Carac simply nodded and turned away, walking back into the throng of guests towards the ale and wine. The Butcher of Feyshore was a violent man, to be sure, but now was not the time or the place, and Katholou had conceded victory. He might have been less than enthusiastic about it, but he had admitted to his lies and given Carac the title of victor. 

As he passed Godswill, Carac swiftly slammed his knuckles into the man's face, sending him to the floor with a bloodied and broken nose. As the man lay groaning in a small puddle of his own blood and ale, Varn laughed and followed the Butcher as he returned to his rightful place, the refreshments table.
Alice
**Katholou of Clan Drase,
Maith Mansion, The Ball.**

Katholou saw the whole thing unfold and immediately turned to stop his retinue from... Retaliating which would surely end badly for anyone present. He then helped Godswill get up.

"I think we all learned something haven't we?"

He said with a laugh as he looked at a completely destroyed Godswill.

"Yeah... Mercenaries are best kept payed"

The second in command answered with a half-made smile, a few teeth missing and a pained cackle. He too raised his cup into the air.

"To Carac!"

He shouted, this time being joined by most nobles present in the ball as the tension fell away and Katholou sighed with relief thinking of the brawl he had just averted.
Matthew
| Fabian Ambrose |

| Maith Mansion |

Fabian looked at Carac from his secluded spot with barely contained disgust, although he quickly reeled it back in. So that was the champion of such a melee, he probably should have expected such a man would be uncouth enough to almost provoke a brawl outside of the ring. He sighed and rubbed his head, nursing his drink and furthermore his thoughts. Perhaps he should have stayed in that melee, seen how he faired against-

Fabian shook such thoughts from his head, and when a toast was called to the butcher, Fabian gladly, and silently joined in, before preparing to leave. His short time in the Ball already being much too much for the usually quiet and reserved mercenary, thanking the servant whom took his glass and proceeding back to the door.
Harvey
Captain Valkrin Farensun
The Ball, Maith Mansion 

"My only duty is to be here, everything else is pleasure." Valkrin said, still looking directly at Lutur. "You say the word, and I can have the girl removed from the mansion, you've a look of contempt about you." 

He'd noticed the group of people that entered, specifically the one attempting to drink with his helmet still on. 

"But don't worry, milady, I'll refrain from mentioning the Dragon in the face of the newt." He grinned, "Wouldn't want to embarrass the lad in front of his new conquest."
Elissa
Peraz Dumagne 
The Ball, Maith Mansion

"I fear that *Look of contempt* Is just my face, Captain," Said Peraz amusedly, putting on a momentary face of offence, only for it to break way for another smile,"But any contempt I have would not be targeted at a girl whose name I don't even know, I assure you."

"That *Newt* Is my brother and lord still. Do keep some watch of that tongue-" It was then Peraz tripped over a step and had to tighten her grasp on the man's arms for a moment.

The lady of Falsa barked out a laugh at herself and covered her mouth.