Dustin
Somewhere in the southern isles

*Day would wash the islands in orange light, and drifting through the seas was the remains of an unfortunate rowboat. The current carried it an island over from where it had departed from.

The boat was lined with arrows from bow to stern like an acupuncture job. There had to have been two-to-three hundred arrows in the hull and its inhabitants, the boat showed evidence of being on fire as well. 

Back on the island, the Ismodri had moved on. The jungle had already begun swallowing up former building sites, if only slightly. The force had moved in the night, carried rapidly by their sharp and shallow hulled Drakkar, at around 15 knots. They could be anywhere in the sea by now.

One group of ships however had split off, three. A group of women stood at the bow of the largest ship and stared over the sea, they were headed back to Sol on the account of business.*
Emma
Pleasure Barge of Bradai Maith

The *Sixteen Rings* Was created to be a display of the power and wealth of House Maith, and in that it succeeded in every measure. A massive barge, built to carry whole precessions of nobility in comfort and luxury, it was fitted with everything it's guests could ask for at the expense of functionality, but that rarely concerned those who traveled on the *Sixteen Rings*. 
Now, the great barge was docked, like the bloated carcass of a great sea beast tied to the pier, only the largest of the waves that slapped the shore managing to force it's bulk to bob up and down in the slightest. The great beast had been beached, and now it would serve a new purpose. 
Moments ago, the barge had been filled with nobles, drinking and laughing at their own jests, dancing on the great deck that had been made with the wood of over a hundred of the strongest trees in the isles, and painted as black as night, with a great purple poppy at the center. The barge was like a great brick, so heavy and cumbersome one might think she would sink at any moment, but the *Sixteen Rings* Floated onwards, it's gold-trimmed rails sprayed with seawater whenever a strong wave crashed against the windward side. The deck could hold a dozen and a half tables, filled with all manner of delights, and still have ample room for a whole party of nobles to dance and make merry. The grand observatory that sat on the end of the ship could hold even more, if they were want to gaze at the stars, and the hold had room for a hundred feasts to be stored it seemed. 
Yet where once perfumed nobles danced in striking colors, now sat armored warriors, the only colors being the standards they flew above their "Camps" And the livery on their armor.

Over two dozen warriors sat around the edge of the deck, their squires and servants tending to them, or if they had none of those, then standing alone with their standard. Golden Dragons, black lions, and a whole menagerie's worth of animals decorated the flags, each one representing some noble house who thought they could produce a champion here. Few notable families competed, however, the true honor was found in the jousts, melees were for the lesser lords. Yet if one were to check the crowds, one might find those same nobles who spurned the melee watching from the sidelines, if only to ensure their bannermen presented themselves well, of course. 
The grand observatory on the barge was now packed with trays of food, a humble feast compared to the majesty of the manor house, only seventeen plates of roasted fowl, and a mere dozen separate dishes of fish from the isles, a poor selection to be sure, but one hoped it would be enough to hold over the spectators until the melee started. 
The fighters themselves were a curious lot, second sons from great families and first sons from lesser houses, free riders in service to lords too old or too cowardly to fight themselves, and warriors sworn to no lord at all, seeking glory for themselves alone. Each one could feel the gaze upon them now, not just the looks from the lords staring above, but from their competitors. Each one sized the other up, wondering who would be the first to fall, and who would be the biggest threat. The weapons might have been blunted, but the combatants were all on edge. Death was not unheard of in melees, no matter what precautions were taken, one could not prevent accidents, or impede malice. Yet every contestant still donned their armor and took up their blade the same. All craved the glory of victory, yet only one could walk away the champion.
Phyllis
Alva Ivanova
The Ball, Maith Mansion

Alva's hand reflexively twitched as she laid it over Catarina's. Even after all those years, the feeling of skin-to-skin contact with her scars still sent a tingling sensation up her arm. She watched Cat gently run her finger down her palm, analyzing the ridges and creases that would ostensibly determine her future.

As Catarina concluded telling her fortune, Alva mentally kicked herself for believing it, even a little. It seemed more like advice to her than a fortune, albeit a very well spoken one.

She paused to remind herself that it was only a party trick and she was being too critical before replying, "Seeking after something? I wonder what that could be... Maybe I'll find out today." 

Alva smiled and the moment the words left her mouth, realization suddenly hit. Her mother's cure. If she were to heed Catarina's advice, at the very least her mother's fate was in her own hands, and not in those of some otherworldly deity. Although she was still skeptically inclined towards Catarina's "Abilities", it was strangely comforting.

She retracted her hand and took a sip of the drink Catarina had slid to her. She set the glass down and asked, "Now, enough about me. You mentioned you were a guest of a guest. Who are you with, if you don't mind my asking? I hope I'm not interrupting anything."
Felicia
```Cyprien de Lysse
Maith Mansion``` 

The lord remained quiet. He still bore the same mask of politeness, but his expression had turned cold and rigid. He waited until Peraz and his daughter had left before adressing Lutur again. 

"Sire, with all due respect, you are not the only person to whom I owe my allegiance to. I still have to answer to my House, and to the kingdom of Terresol. An Exarch's duty is to ward the frontier of our land and assure it's security. Now, a threat to that security has emerged. You seemed unwilling to take this threat for what it was, so I relayed it's importance to someone who did, as it is demanded of me... Sire." 

Cyprien paused and raised his chin ever so slightly. His eyes fixed on his Lutur, the reddish tint of his irises subdued by the ambient light. 

"I will reprimand Bastien for his... Offense," Promised the lord, unsure of if he would actually do it. "Now, I believe you mentionned an urgent conversation for _men of import_, Sire?"