Rhonda
The Pirate King Bradai Maith
The Southern Isles

The Pirate King had remained silent for the entire round. The boy had certainly put on a show. 

When Ollie came to the side of his chair, Bradai waved him in with two fingers. His secretary knelt down just long enough for something to be whispered into his ear. 

"I will notify the Captain and his men, your Grace." Ollie began, pulling out his wooden board, untacking a sheet of parchment from it, and scrawling on a quick note, with a series of hatch marks and symbols with a thin piece of charcoal. The symbology did not resemble anything remotely similar to the Commontongue. Then the boy paused, remembering something, and rattled it off quickly in the foreign tongue. To the untrained it, it sounded like garbled speech, words slung together hastily, some words from the Old Grand, some Commoned, some Petaled, and some entirely unique. When the Pirate King nodded, a slow smile crossed his face. 

"Well, I _will_ be damned." He said, sitting back in his chair. "It would appear vhat tha Duchess uff Astoria is not dead uff infection." His tone was wry. "She's 'ere wiff 'er court and 'er royal son." That was what had interested him. If Anya had really not wanted the boy to go to war with Caderyn, then why would she bring him? Angelica, most likely. He would have to talk with her. Loyalty was rewarded.

_Perhaps he's here to see the show._ he thought, sitting up in his chair to look upon the lists. The broken saddle was still there.

"GIT THAT SHITE AFF THE DAMN FIELD! A MAITH COMMANDS IT! IF 'AV TAE GO DOWN THERE MASELF A' SWEAR TO THA _TIIIIDES_ A'LL AV YEAR EARS FOR IT!" 


Bradai watched as his sister bounded from her chair, gripping the railing and shouting down at the squires below. Frothy spit shot from her mouth as a mane of wild red curls shook around her head like an angry ball of flame. The crowd erupted in raucous cheering. Just as soon as she mentioned it, it was gone, the lists raked, the horses drawn to the stables within the ground layer of the arena. 

"Gitten." Bradai said softly, "You've made your point. Sit down and relax. Vhis is no time for—" 

"For a pompous, cocksure, Feyshoreman Mainlander prick tae come tae our Isles n knock the smallest welp from 'is 'orse? 'oo let that boy oot on the field? Wis it ye?"

Although she was making a fool of herself in front of some of his most prestigious guests, even though she had interrupted him, even though she had more or less just insulted one of their greatest allies, there was something about his sister he had come to enjoy. Even if a million Islande were made fools of today, he would have his sister to whip them into shape. Arin Cragton would be pulling an oar soon enough. He hid his smile behind the dense thicket of his dark red beard. "Do I look like tha kind uff man to be arranging lists, Gitten? Does it seem fit vhat a King should arrange 'is own tourney?" 

"Well, whatever ae yer men that did should be shot n' paraded around this city as a warning to any future festival arrangers. Mutinous scum that they are." 

Bradai watched as the Eclipse banner unfurled over the edge of the arena, to signal the win of Ser Jax Brightwater of Zahrada. 

"Aye." _That,_ Bradai thought, _I can not argue with._ 

She spit on the ground, crossed her arms, and fell back into the high backed chair placed a foot and a half behind the row of Kings. 

"Dennon, Caderyn, 'ave you 'ad tha pleasure uff meeting my sister, First Admiral Gitten Maith, uff my royal navy? She 'as a knack for mistaking treason with mutiny, but ovher vhan vhat, I assure you she's as sweet as a peach." The Pirate King shook his head and looked out onto the crowd, idly lifting a hand as a lit cigar was deposited into his hand. He stuck it in the side of his mouth and puffed at it.
Edith
**King Dennon Bigsby
The Royal Balcony, The Mizzen**

Dennon watched quietly as the duel for which he had signaled his approval resulted in an absolutely pathetic loss for the Islander boy. Part of him wished he hadn't said yes for the embarrassment it might have saved, but then he might have seemed like stick in the mud. He thought he saw Bradai lean over a couple times to whisper things, but had no certainty as to what it could be for. The king only hoped that it wouldn't be another public execution.

The tension was broken by the shouted orders of a brash woman nearby on the balcony and a subsequent exchange with their host. The king recalled her unmistakeable presence from the council dinner at Castle Grunewald. She seemed like would be fun to have at a party, though perhaps observed from a distance. The Pirate King then introduced her as his sister. Dennon stood up from his seat to greet the esteemed woman with a smile. "I don't think we have met officially until now. It's a pleasure, first admiral. I'm Dennon- or rather, King Dennon of Ibethiel."
Marguerite
Catarina Tanner
The Mizzen Market, Tonate Proper

It was a familiar smell that had lured her in, her stomach growling. The lingering smell of fried cooking oil, along with the smell of spiced cider and fresh fruit pastries. The smell of cinnamon and sugar, though it was somewhat stifled by the pungent smell of beer. 

She stepped aside as the men lumbered past her. Truth be told, she was happy to see them leave, both because they were disgusting brutes and because she was now further ahead in the line. 

Her dark eyes lit up at the sight of Noma, giving a warm smile to the man that had saved her life. She still didn't have much to smile about these days, but around Noma, it was virtually impossible not to smile! His laughter was infectious!

"Anyone that doesn't return to try some of your cooking is a fool," She replied with a grin. 'I haven't had any cooking as good as yours in a *Long* Time. And this time, I can actually pay!" 

She rummaged through the purse that was tucked into the folds of her skirts and produced a handful of coins, sliding them across the counter to Noma with a proud look on her face. "I'll take slice of bowl of stew in one of those bread trenchers and a slice of pie."
Harvey
Valkrin Farensun
The Mizzen 

Valkrin scoffed as the boy gurgled out his words, blood dripping from his mouth. "Did what you could? It was no man?" He squatted down in front of Arin, grabbing the boy's surely broken jaw. 

"If your opponent is still breathing, then you haven't done all you can. Especially if you're still breathing afterwards, then you're a coward." 

He took a puff of his cigar, blowing it in Arin's face. "I've never left a man breathing, lost plenty of fights, but the other man always died." If he thought hard enough, Valkrin could probably remember the faces of every man he'd killed, though the fact they'd died meant their faces weren't worth remembering. 

"Now, we're gonna fuck you up a bit more, to make sure the lesson sticks. You'll go the rest of your days thanking Ol' Captain Farensun for sorting you out." He motioned with his hand for his guards to continue beating Arin. Not to death, but as close as any mortal man could go without crossing.