Rhonda
The Pirate King Bradai Maith
The Royal Balcony, The Mizzen

When he stood, they all grew silent, brought to a hush as the royal guard of Tonate Proper placed themselves on either side of him. To his left, a little behind, was his seneschal and head advisor. To his right was his sister and his Master Admiral, chief commander of the royal fleet. Standing there, he truly did look his age. The sun beat down harshly on the three of them, but the Pirate King was addressing his people. 

"Today!" The Pirate King tapped his cane against the stone of the balcony, "Today is a day of celebration. Many from across "Tha world 'ave come to our city, to see our architecture and marvel at our power. Vhey look upon our fleet and grow envious! Vhey look upon our growff and feel small! Vhey offer us vheir gifts and we accept vhem, because it was us, for very long, for too long, vhat fed vhem and kept vhem brave! We 'ave fed vhem for one fhousand years! And now, only now, do vhey realize tha debt! Lords and Kings 'ave come to fank us for our gracious deeds, as slaves and as sailors all!" 

From around the outer ring of the Mizzen, the wardrums began to sound. They came like thunder and caught the air alight with a deep booming that shook the very core of the audience. They broke the silence with a raucous cheer, a shouting, a waving of banners and hands. When the Pirate King tapped his cane again, they fell to a murmur.

""But today will not last for all time! For as long as we 'ave been sailors and slaves, we 'ave been wagers of great wars! Wars of great import! When I became your King and united our Islands, we required a period of intense and prolonged peace. Of rest, of work, of building and of growing. I 'ave given to you, and fhough I 'ave toiled to build vhis great empire, it 'as been a period of great rest for us all. Now, as was the case wiff our genesis, we are strong. When I look upon vhis city today I can say it is tha case. We 'ave grown strong! As when our original Uniter, tha Barer uff tha Tides, tamed Nar'Shyreth and tha sea, 'e commanded wiff 'im tha power to wage war tha likes of which 'ad never been seen before! Tha Araedians will say 'e fought for gold! For fear! For power! But vhat, vhat is far from fact. 'e fought the endless battle uff our people, a battle vhat when we were shackled, ripped from our lands and displaced in our new home, swore to undertake by blood and sweat and grief a great and honorable war! Whatever the cost may be! A war against tha might of UNJUST TYRANNY!"

He did not need to hear above the clamour. Bradai Maith was clad in a thick black overcoat, much too dark and too heavy to be wearing in the sweltering heat of the Islander sun. His face was golden, flecked with the redbrown freckles that betrayed any sense of royal purity. The teal sapphires in his dark brass crown flickered wildly in the immense white sun that hovered over them all. His beard grew thick and bushy around his face and down to his collarbones. His eyes, the color of the storm, flickered back and forth to his left and right. They were with him.

"It is today vhat we continue tha fight against vhis ultimate evil!" He exhaled, pursed his lips tightly, and continued. "It was today, that tha corrupt crown uff Terresol, puppeteered by an company of malicious and dishonorable forces, sent its first blades against me! Tha Bluebelles! Known sympafhivers to tha Scallywags and to tha Mainland, send my own wife against me! She came at me, in an attempt to neutralize our empire so that we may be defeated in our aims! She was struck down by my sister, an honorable servant to tha empire and to our common goal!"

Gitten stepped forwards. She looked like him. She had the same long nose, the same golden skin, the grey eyes, but her hair sprouted from her hair in thick red tufts, like spouts of wriey red fire. "Yes!" She shouted, "Yes Ay Did! I strock tha bitch doen! A trayter trou and trou! 'er family is trayters to us all! Even now! Even now! We've got vhem! Sailin' to vheir 'omes to clean us uff 'em!" She gripped at the railing and shuck it wildly, which sent the people into a deep fervor. They were screaming now, pounding at their railings and stomping their feet. The banners above the Mizzen flew taught, their worn tails whipping loudly against the clear blue sky. Above it all, the wardrums pounded with a harsh insistence.

Again, the cain was tapped and the crowd fell silent. "Wisdom Magistrate Serafina, alfough tha name previously meant nuffink to our Empire, is a tyrant. She and 'er order allowed for Vronti Kelwynd to perpetrate great atrocities against our people! She now plans to place a false King on tha frone uff Terresol, to plunge the Kingdom into unjust and subjugated rule! She vows to continue tha legacy of tyranny against us, and against our bruvhers in arms! But I 'ave, in our possession, tha true King uff Terresol. 'e, like tha rest uff our Kings and Lords, 'ave come to us to beg uff our fleet and services, so vhat we may continue our great fight."

From behind him, in the depths of the royal balcony, the door opened. His men filled the room and made way for the former First Knight of Sol and the crown Princess of Terresol to join him at the balcony. Although they were a foreign sight for the people of the Isles, there was a cheer for them. The Pirate King took a step away from the balcony and motioned for the Terresi to take his place.
Ashley
Lord Eric Stafford
The Mizzen

The Lord of Stormalong watched the speech with great interest, his green eyes glued to the King of The Islanders. He was in awe at the command he had over his people. The way Bradai could work his people into a stomping fury, then bid them to be silent was something Eric doubted he could even do in Feyshore. It was difficult not to be inspired by a man Eric himself had little love for. What impressed Eric even more, was the not that Bradai had the command over his people, but that the people were receptive to this command. The fury at the thought of an attempt on their kings life was palpable.

Eric had his reservations about Bradai, but this speech and the people's response reassured that he was the best choice. If this speech means what Eric thought it meant, then what Eric came here for was entirely possible. His gaze shifted to the Terresolians. If Bradai is seating them, then it is likely to kill two birds with a single stone. Eric committed the faces of every person in the box to memory,making it a priority to meet every person their. Especially finally making acquiantence with King Maith as well as this Terresolian princess. 

Eric leaned toward his companion, the newly knighted Sir Gerwold Westen of Southmark, "Commit those people to memory. They are who I will be meeting with above anyone else, if you receive a message summoning me to see King Maith or any of those Terresolians, no matter what I'm doing, you may interrupt. No one else is as important."

"Of course, my lord. I'll ensure you are notified." The young knight replied.
Felicia
**Cyprien de Lysse - The Mizzen**

Though initially surprised by the Pirate King's speech impediment, Cyprien let himself be carried by the strenght and emotion of the words. It was awe inspiring at first, but then... It was horror. Bradai Maith began to rant against the Crown of Terresol and the Magistrates of the Southern Pantheon with fiery rethoric. Also his wife for some reason. _'I've have thrown my lot with a madman'_ thought Cyprien. How could've he been so naive to think the isles would lend him troops to fight against John de Burgh? The paved roads, the buildings, the colors... All the prosperity the Pirate King spoke of... It was all an illusion!The islanders cared only for themselves: they had been a nation of thieves before, and they sure were not going to change that now! And now he was trapped! Trapped in hostile land that didn't share his values, or 

Yet, before he could sink into despair, enlightnenment was bestowed upon him. Like a revelation from Emin herself. Cyprien felt himself lose breath at the mention of the One True Heir. Could it be true? His eyes fell over the figure that stood now in place of Bradai, scrutinizing it for the faintest of clues about his origin. If the Pirate King spoke truth, then his purpose was now clear. Saris had guided him to isles not because of Bradai Maith, or the isles, but because of something greater...

Cyprien had once heard his men call John de Burgh "The scourge of Saris". It all made sense now. It had to. Why else would've Saris submitted Terresol to such trubulation, if not to send a divine message? Who else could be fated to save the kingdom, if not the heir of the rightful Vortigern line?
Edith
**King Dennon Bigsby and Kirk Pinewood
The Mizzen**

Dennon leaned over and whispered during a lull in the speech. "Hey Kirk, during your wedding, was the name of the wisdom that performed the ceremony-"

"Yes, it's her!" Kirk hissed, stressfully sweating away the clean brow provided by the bath he had taken earlier.

"Right..." Dennon leaned back in place, glancing around to see if anyone was looking at them in a conspicuous way. He leaned over again after several seconds. "Should we be worried?"

"Just keep an eye on the exits." Kirk's voice cracked.

Dennon thought about how one might go about escaping a crowded arena like this. They were in the royal box. It would obviously be well-guarded, but would the guards be focused on outward threats enough that they could get by if they ran away quickly enough from within? Bradai probably planned this speech. He knew the Ibbish would be there. Would his men be aware of a possible attempt to flee? Did he think they would sit by idly until it was too late? He hadn't mentioned the Ibbish explicitly, so there was no obvious threat, but the longer they waited, the harder it would be to leave if the walls began to close in.

Even if they got lucky and were able to liberate themselves from the Mizzen, the city would soon be looking for them. They were on an island, they would not be able to slip away back to Ibethiel through the wilderness. Any ship back to the mainland would surely be searched.

Dennon wondered if grilled tuna was also served in the dungeons.
Elissa
Mouse
The Mizzen, Tonate Proper

Mouse sat upon her cart quiet as a... Well, a mouse, as King Bradai shouted over the crowd. When the war drums kicked in, she tapped her hands against the wood of the cart below her in time with them.

When the king spoke her mind followed as best it good. Poor Cecily-Edith had not had much of an education with her parents dying young and much of her youth spent helping her aunts look after their various broods - so she wasn't so good with her words. Things like "*Genesis*" And "*Unjust tyranny*" Left her rather in the dark - though she cheered on with the crowd anyway.

King Bradai's wife tried to kill him? An audible gasp left Mouse's throat. Though... Which wife was it again? 

Oh there was Gitten! Mouse liked Gitten as much as a slum dweller could like a noble they'd only ever heard stories of - adoration and awe surely were part of that.

One of the rats in the cage beside Mouse began to claw and bite at the metal bars, surely restless and anxiety ridden with all the loud noise around it and Mouse swatted it away with her finger,"Stahp 'at!" She scolded it.

*Oh, we're cheering again*? She thought, looking above to the balcony at a man and a young girl. *Who's that*?

Regardless, Mouse clapped and cheered and roared with the crowd.
Emma
Ferdinand Chapoisson and Carac the Butcher
The Mizzen, Tonate Proper

Ferdinand looked over to the man sitting next to him. Cyprien's reaction to the king's speech made this whole damn trip worth it, no matter what else happened. But what truly interested him was the reveal of the princess. That Bradai was taking active interest in the succession of Terresol was certainly something, and perhaps something he could use to his advantage.
Of course, he was sitting in a box alongside several nobles who might not make it through the rest of the festival. He hoped Carac would be enough to protect him if swords and arrows flew. 

Carac didn't understand much of what Bradai said. Not just because of the lisp, but because his knowledge of nobility and succession began and ended with the knowledge that anyone involved was a prick. However he had to hand it to the Pirate King, despite not understanding most of what he said, he felt energized by his words. The man had a presence to him that few could boast. He was a living legend, a man who could do the impossible and make it look easy. 
Judging by the reaction some of the others in the booth had, however, not everyone was as excited as Carac. Well, if swords were drawn, then perhaps he could impress King Maith by taking care of these fools for him.
Michael
Caderyn Vortigern
The Mizzen

For most who had come to arrive at the southern isles, it seemed a time to celebrate and to partake in a friendly joust. For Caderyn, however, it was a time of anxiety. Stress and doubt had made themselves known as he pondered the future and its implications. The guards that flanked his sides at near all times served as a reminder of this, as did the celebratory decorations that found themselves littering the Mizzen. Despite his feelings, Caderyn walked with a head held high. He was good at keeping a face of composure under times of stress, an effect war could have on people when they're forced out of their home under the threat of death. 

His hair was pulled back into a simple bun, he wore a tight, thin vest made of fancy leather over a simple yet clean silken shirt, with loose pants that tightened around his shins, ending in leather shoes. The former knight looked down from the balcony to the guests cheering below. He studied each and every one with an observant, judgemental eye. Maybe it was the realization of the trust he would have to put in these people, maybe it was the nerves choking up in his throat. One thing was certain through all the uncertainty, however;  he would need to convince an entire nation of people to accompany him to war.

Raising a hand, the former knight beckons the crowd to silence their cheer so he may speak. "My dear Islandslers, Mainland Knights and fair people of the just, I stand here in request that the one true ruler and heir to the Terresolian throne, Fleur Vortigern, be respected as the rightful and absolute truth." He lowers his hand to Fleur's shoulder, his other out and open as he talks to those who listen, "The wisdoms of Sol sow their seeds of deceit amongst those poor people, their nefarious schemes serve only to better themselves and their religion. Their meddling will lead to naught but trouble for everyone who denies their dogma and the right to freedom may very well be stripped from their citizens. I say this, not to make petty claims against the southern pantheon, but because those same southern pantheon leaders plan to place a false king on the throne."

Caderyn's brow sterns as his face washes with an air of seriousness, "It is no secret that the southern pantheon despises these beautiful islands, if they get their way, it will spell no end to trouble for the southern isles, all the hard work you've all put into fighting against the pantheon and slavery, will all be in vain. It is my request, today, that you would lend me your flags to travel the seas, and that you would lend me your swords should the wisdoms of sol wrongfully rise in arms against our cause. Success would spell the end to fear of attacks from the mainland, a time of peace against the tyranny of the Wisdoms of Sol and open trades to one of the biggest cities on the mainland." 

"It is my wish, in light of their atrocities, to restore the Vortigern bloodline to its rightful glory. I will rule for the years to come until Fleur, the one true queen of Terresol, comes of age to take my place. Together, with the help of the southern isles, we will reform the southern pantheon and restore Terresol to its former glory!"

The Islanders, upon the crescendo of his speech, return to chaotic cheer, raising their arms and stomping their feet once more.
Rhonda
The Pirate King Bradai Maith
The Mizzen's Royal Balcony

"Forffright wiff Foresight!" Bradai shouted, thrusting his cane into the air. "Forffright wiff Foresight!" 

His people began to scream back at him, and he brought his cane down onto the railing with one hand. Once, twice, pounding, pounding. "LOUDER!" He commanded, "LOUDER!" Spit flew from the King's mouth as he commanded his people, holding the cane aloft. The silver pommel shone like a brilliant royal star.

He let it go on as the show continued. A group of naked people were brought out, paraded in a straight line by men in long black trench coats. The father, Marai Bluebelle, was decrepit, dark, and tired, with a rounded belly, scraggly grey beard, and a chest that hung like an old woman's breasts. Behind him was his wife and his two older sons. Even from this distance, he could see how they resembled his late wife. Their hands were bound, but they were pushed along to the center of the Mizzen with sharpened sticks. The drums continued to pound and the people continued to scream. Despite his bondage, the younger of the boy's swung an elbow around, hooking one of the men in the chest. He found a crossbow bolt lodged in his stomach. When he fell to his knees and the crimson tide trickled from his stomach, the cheering only grew louder. Just as his began family grew frantic, they were put on their knees, their legs kicked in and their backs made straight. 

In a single motion, The Pirate King swung his cane, and the Bluebelles were perforated with the bolts of twenty crossbows. Their groans and deathknells could not be heard over the screaming of his people, but when they slumped over into a traitorous pile, the Pirate King tapped his cane against the stone, and they all grew silent in time with the drums. The crossbowmen began to cart the bodies away and throw white sand on top of the red, leaving no trace of the execution.

"START THA JOUST!" Gitten shouted. "YOUR KING COMMANDS IT!"

He turned, sat down in his tournament seat, set the accordion on his lap, and took a long draw from his goblet.