<br/><br/>Cicuta squealed as she was lifted to her feet. "Gagged by my own dress? How fascinating a fate would it be. I shan't force anything, good sir...I shall leave any such displays of dominance to the stronger and better-armed lords such as thee." She curtsied, backed to the railing of the staircase, and began to slide down it with her green-gowned butt perched upon the banister and her legs crossed neatly over the edge. As she descended into the great sea of revelers below, which quickly swept her up amongst the taller heads and more ornate masks, she cocked her ears to the conversation of Mordred and Kineas, for they seemed to be speaking of power and gods and hatching some plan...and she'd heard floating rumors of some mysterious power held by the manor, and whom others seemed to hold, and could never help but wonder at such things.