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Iron Guard Extravaganza

The Iron Guard is throwing a party for the Iron Guard. There will be lots of beer and absolutely no law breaking allowed. Definitely don't even try!


Nov. 4, 2018, 7 p.m.

Hosted By



Riagnon Esoka Rymarr Sparte Thena Kenna Silas



Arx - Ward of the Compact - Traders Tavern

Largesse Level


Comments and Log


I spent a very fine evening in the company of the Iron Guard of Arx. They're as solid a lot of people to drink and talk with as one could want, and I often think they don't get enough credit for the work they do on the streets of the city each day. I'm biased, of course, but it's true all the same. I hope some of the citizenry will say thank you the next time they see one of the guards. Or at least, don't throw rotten cabbage. It smells awful.

Tiny Tom, Wilhelm the Iron Messenger arrive, following Sparte.

Extravaganza might have been an overstatement. There aren't even decorations put up around the place, but that's pretty much what you get when Calaudrin is allowed to organize any sort of social activity. However there is an open bar for members of the guard, endless stew and unlimited hunks of freshly baked bread. Things are nice and peaceful, probably because the building is packed with off-duty guards and officers. Calaudrin has situated himself at a table by the hearth, eating his bowl of complimentary stew and enjoying being surrounded by lots of people who haven't broken any laws recently. This all probably seems pretty great to him.

Already at hand and sitting across from Calaudrin, Riagnon is chattering away mindlessly. Mostly inaccurate facts about turtles. His hands keep busy, dabbing up the darkened fabric on his gown where he's spilled stew on it. Don't worry! They're bringing him another portion.

Esoka has put on a dress, and left her sword at home, so she considers this an extravaganza. Decorations or no. She comes in a little after it's all started, getting herself a bowl of stew and an ale. "Hello!" she booms at Calaudrin, heading over to kiss his stubble-y cheek. "This looks...well, there is food and drink." Good job? Ish? "Hello, Lord Riagnon. I was at the Shrine of the Thirteenth earlier, but I did not see your turtle." She says it apologetically. And as if it made sense as a statement.

A huge hideously ugly mastiff, a Solace acolyte named Pyotr, 1 Templar Knight guards arrive, following Thena.

Rymarr has a patrol at some point later; which could mean an hour from now, the next day, or next week! He's claimed a seat near both Calaudrin and Riagnon and seems content to indulge in two of life's greatest gifts - bread and stew - in relative silence. Likely when questioned about whether he'd like something to drink with his stew and great chunk of bread, Rymarr can be heard muttering, 'I came to eat, not to drink'. He watches though as he so regularly does. Blue eyes move throughout the tavern while he's busy chewing at one thing or another. He nods toward Calaudrin while he uses his spoon to point off toward Calaudrin, "This was a grand idea, Calbert. You should plan these more often, at least once a month". Then he's head-down once again in order to return his attention to his hearty stew.

Sparte has come to sit and watch the festivities, while getting a bit of work done. He managed to find a table out of the way and has himself flanked by Wilhelm, the two working on going over a small stack of paperwork while occasionally smiling at the people actually here to enjoy themselves.

Sparte has joined the Quiet Booth.

A non-extra extravaganza is about Thena's speed in terms of things she attends voluntarily, and her arrival is typically quiet. Afte a stop for stew and whiskey, she drops gracefully into one of the chairs at the cool Iron Guard kids table. "Evenin'."

"I don't think turtles can switch shells like that," Calaudrin tells Riagnon dubiously, poking his stew with a spoon. "I mean, I'm not an expert in them but..." When Esoka arrives and kisses him on the cheek, he starts to stand so he can kiss her back. But he's distracted because, "My name is /not/ Calbert. Why is my name so hard for everyone to understand?" Which prompts him to begin looking around for /someone/. With a snort, he just flops into his chair and sprawls there.

"Well, now you know," Riagnon chirps happily to Cal, offering a stupidly crooked smile to the server delivering new drinks and orders of stew to the table. "You have my sincerest gratitude for checking," the knightling bemoans in response to Esoka, his thick eyebrows tilting pathetically, "The turtle, believe it or not, wasn't ever terribly self-reflective. He was however quite vain." Thus, the mirror worship.

Esoka gets a snorted laugh when Calaudrin's name is mangled. "It's better than Cauldron. That one makes you sound like a pot. Hello, Lord Rymarr." She beams the Marquis of Deepwood brightly, as she takes a seat next to her husband. "How are matters with the Deepwoods? Of the things I miss about being Riven's Sword, speaking to you and the Marquessa often is high among them." She sort-of explains, "I am helping Lord Riagnon find his turtle. He said it liked mirrors, so I thought it might have found its way to the Shrine of the Thirteenth. It hadn't, though."

"My mistake," Rymarr answers with an apologetic dip of his chin. He glances back to his stew, scoops up a chunk of potato in his spoon, but before he can eat it he turns his attention back to Calaudrin in order to offer a suggestion, "Have you considered asking Lord Commander Sniles to put out a memo to the Iron Guard with a primer that would provide a step-by-step breakdown?" The Marquis watches Calaudrin for a moment, but soon enough his blue eyes shift slowly up and aside to regard Esoka. He turns his head away and returns his attention to his stew. He pauses however so that his attention may return to Esoka and he offers a stern nod of his head in acknowledgment of Esoka's questions, "Dame Esoka, ever an honor to be in your presence. I was just talking about you with someone a few days ago... or more mentioning you, really. Waxing on about the number of times we've fought together and so on". Rymarr leans back from his bowl of stew, perhaps with some small measure of reluctance. Likely to assure that he wasn't tempted to dive into his stew while he was carrying on a conversation with Esoka, "The family is well, the House is doing very well, I've more children than what I know what to do with at this point - Lara and Layne, along with two wards. Nor do you have to be the Sword of a House to speak with myself or the Marquessa".

Thena offers, "There are some crabs that change their shells." This followed with a sip of whiskey, food thus far untouched.

"The turtle was /vain/? Are you sure you didn't just put him in front of a mirror and it was taking him a long time to turn around?" Calaudrin is now looking at Riagnon intently while spooning large helpings of stew into his mouth. When Thena sits down, he reaches into his pocket for his smokes and slides it across the table to her, lifting an eyebrow when she brings up crabs changing their shells. "I refuse to believe that you don't know the Lord Commander's name, Officer Rymarr. You've gone too far for the joke to be believable," he huffs. "Unless you're going senile. Maybe we should write your wife..." Why does he sound serious?! He glances at Esoka and starts muttering something about pots and cauldrons.

Riagnon's expression contorts upon the young man being called to do any critical thinking. Leaning back from his stew and allowing the spoon to drift out of hand, he offers a pregnant pause. "Well, no. I'm not sure," he offers finally in a deliberate mumble, suppressing his lopsided smile for only a beat or two before it returns with a vengeance.

Esoka snorts something that sounds suspiciously laugh-like. She clears her throat and spends a moment dabbing her bread in her stew, while her nose clears. "Aye, I should visit," she says to Rymarr. "It's not as if I've left the city, after all, and the Templars don't keep me so busy as all that. Your children must be so big now! I remember when your first girl was born. The years've passed so quick." The talk of shells just makes her blink and Riagnon, and she makes a non-commital sound. And booms, "Good eve, Thena!" at the other woman.

It's a brief moment, but Rymarr does look aside to regard Riagnon, Thena, and the general talk of turtles. He lifts a gloved hand as though to gather the attention of Riagnon as Rymarr offers his own helpful advice, "Reach out to Jyri. For all we know he has some hidden Prodigal talent passed down through generation after generation as some sort of skilled turtle-caller. Maybe he knows the... nesting? Habits of turtles and knows exactly where to search". Then Rymarr's attention drifts back to Calaudrin. He fixes the Deputy Commander with a plain, blank stare. Expression unmoving and his mouth pressed into a flat line, while his brow furrows itself. Finally he shrugs once in answer, "Maybe that I am. Wouldn't be the worst I've been labeled. You're not wrong though, Calaudrin". Then Rymarr's attention drifts away in a bid to return to Esoka. "They grow quickly," Rymarr agrees before he adds, "I imagine I'll take a nap one day, then wake up to discover she's gone off to begin her work with Prince Edain. Let alone the others. They'll age me quickly enough, I suspect". Distractedly though, Rymarr lifts a leather gloved hand to clap a wave toward Dame Thena.

Thena silently takes up the case, taps a cigarette out of it and lights it deftly before sliding the case back to Calaudrin with a murmur of thanks. "The turtle's still missing? Have you considered putting up posters?" Then her attention is caught by Esoka's greeting snd she flickers a grin at the woman, and a brief upnod to Rymarr.

Ted is around, being his usual sulky self off in a corner. He doesn't even join them, Ted is the worst. Calaudrin gestures over to the young man, who reluctantly gets up. "I want you to go down to the barracks," And leave the party? "Yes, Ted, go to the barracks," Right now? "Yes, right now. And I want you to," Can't this wait until tomorrow? "Damnit Ted, just put a notice up for people to start looking for the turtle and come BACK. I /pay/ you to assist me." Apparently not enough money for him to not sigh at length before leaving. He's also probably not going to come back.

"Do they /nest/? It's only... well, ours are DOMESTIC turtles and they live in a miniature castle. I don't know if he'd KNOW how to build a nest," Riagnon leans forward, shoveling a spoonful of stew into his mouth. Of course, he's thinking of birds nests. "We're probably going to use some of the hunting dogs to track him down. Not Jyri's, though. He's a turtle, not a criminal." As the thought of his turtle having turned to a live of crime, Riagnon briefly looks aghast.

Thena checked composure at difficulty 15, rolling 4 higher.

Esoka pats Calaudrin on the shoulder. Good man. "We will find it," she promises Riagnon, all of somberness. And then she eats more stew. "We didn't learn much of tracking turtles in my tribe. Save for hunting. They're grand in stews." Pause. "Not that I'd eat yours, of course, my lord. And I'm sure no one else will either." She stops talking for awhile, doing some serious eating.

"He's a turtle-on-the-run. All that we know he has turned to a life of crime," Rymarr answers with a slow rise and fall of his shoulders. A soft shake of his head is given up before he sighs, "A tragedy. Watching good turtles go bad. It's all the dancing and smoking and drinking, gives them loose morals". Rymarr goes silent again and turns his attention toward Calaudrin and Ted. He watches the interaction for a moment, but inevitably turns his attention back to Esoka. That conversation exhausted it seems, Rymarr returns his attention to his stew and bread. The latter of which he dunks into the former. Yeah. Get in there, you dirty piece of bread you.

Thena makes the faintest little throat-clearing noise that is suspiciously hard on the heels of a sip of whiskey when Riagnon reveals the existence of a turtle-castle. But she takes the opportunity Rymarr gives her to inhale from her cigarette and let a cloud of smoke float in front of her face, not nearly hiding a crooked grin.

Turtle stew? Calaudrin looks down into his bowl and then across at Riagnon. "I swear this is beef. It's beef, right? Does everyone taste it? I taste it." He eats up more of it very quickly. "Have you talked to everyone that the turtle knows? Did you see him hanging out with any suspicious types lately? Any girlfriends? Boyfriends?"

"It's going to be extra hard to track him if he's gone and switched his shell," Riagnon says, his voice lifting an octave. He shovels more into his mouth, chewing and swallowing while extending a look of honest worry at the thought of anybody having eaten Responsibility. ...the turtle, not the intangible idea. "Tastes like beef to me. -- He DID always enjoy getting lost in his cups..." Riagnon mutters helplessly of the animal's drinking habits. "Well... cup."

"It is beef," Esoka says firmly. Eating some more. To prove its beefy consistency. A blink at Riagnon. "Do you give the things alcohol?" She shakes her head. Maybe it's best not to ask such questions. " are things with the Iron Guard, you lot? Sometimes I hear Calaudrin's stories but other times he just mutters and isn't very entertaining."

"He could look like anything now," Thena says helpfully and completely inaccurately, then shrugs and pokes at her stew with a hunk of bread. "I'm here for the stories myself."

"I'm not a stage performer," Calaudrin mutters into his bowl of stew that's definitely not turtle. "Would you say that Responsibility has trouble holding his alcohol?" He'll wait for him to answer that question before responding and looking around and making a face. "I don't know, my stories are all like 'someone copied me on a missive and I didn't like what it said so I waited to see what Silas would say before I strangled them with the written word'. I don't patrol nearly as often as I used to. Back then people would throw rotten cabbage at me all the time!"

"It's not as though he's got thumbs, Calaudrin, really," Riagnon glances around to the others, his birdlike chest heaving with a quiet flutter of laughter. "Sometimes only half-rotten," he tacks on to the end of Cal's anecdote helpfully, "Makes them a bit grittier on impact if you ask me."

Princess Muffin, the fluffiest white puppy arrives, following Kenna.

The talk of the turtle goes ignored on Rymarr's part, for the time being. He's far too busy with his stew and his freshly baked bread. Moments before he finishes his stew, a fresh steaming bowl is set before him and the Marquis of House Deepwood offers a thankful bow of his head in acknowledgment of the server. Once he's finished with the first bowl, he slides the second bowl in front of himself. He keeps his eyes down while he eats; you're less likely to draw the attention of the upper echelons or even those beneath oneself in rank when not making eye contact.

"Yes. I remember the smell," Esoka says, of rotten cabbage. "I think I prefer paperwork. It is less...rotting. Maybe Lord Silas wouldn't mind if you strangled some of them. A lot of people need it." She finishes her ale, heading over to the bar to pour another.

"We're strangling people over paperwork?" Kenna enters hearing that phrase. She's walking briskly before settling herself on a nearby stool. "I hope it's not me."

"No one ever threw anything at me," Thena drops into the conversation befoe nibbling at the edge of her bread. Her eyebrows quirk upward in response to Esoka's remark, agreement. "Evening, Kenna."

Sparte pipes up from where he is sitting with Wilhelm, doing paperwork instead of joining in the gathering. "I can understand the temptation."

Dash the Guard Corgi, 2 Iron Guardsmen arrive, following Silas.

"No, no. We're not going to actually strangle anyone over paperwork. It was just a creative turn of phrase!" Riagnon's remark on the sort of cabbage you should throw at people gets a look. "That's probably because they liked you better. I don't have the same kind of appeal for most people... I'm not sure why..." It definitely has nothing to do with him being the world's grouchiest human being.

"People do tend to like me, at least if the getting-punched to not-getting-punched ratio is at all indicative," Riagnon tells everybody in a helpful, informative tone of voice. He punctuates with a nod of his head. He continues, moving his spoon in the air whimsically, "Many people also like being strangled to some degree."

Silas arrives! Late, and not exactly fashionable, but he is nevertheless there. Dash is at his heels, and promptly gets the attention of the barmaids before he does. "Who isn't being liked enough?" His gaze goes to Calaudrin expectantly.

"That's too bad. It would have been fun to watch." Kenna says with a half-disappointed sigh. Thena gets a beaming smile for her greeting, "It's good to see you Dame Thena." Her eyes move across the gathered people and settle on Sparte and Rymarr. Looking back and forth with so many thoughts....

Esoka blinks at Riagnon, when he talks of the people who like being strangled. "You lot encounter some very interesting things on patrol, I'm sure." She doesn't ask for anymore stories, and drinks her ale. "Hello, Lord Silas. Lady Kenna. We were talking about paperwork. And also cabbage."

"I do not get punched on a regular basis," Calaudrin informs Riagnon with a hint of exasperation as he rolls his eyes up to the ceiling. Thankfully this isn't a fashionable event! Stew, fresh bread and unlimited beers are basically the menu. Welcome to Iron Guard extravagance. "We're talking about how when I was a patrol guard people used to throw cabbages at me more often... where are you finding people that want to be strangled? No, nevermind. I don't want to know."

Thena blinks at Riagnon too, then laughs, a quick sharp sound. Then, "Hello Silas. I was just pointing out that I've never had the pleasure of having rotten vegetables flung at me."

"Since I was a kid," she tacks on hastily

Rymarr's attention lifts from his stew and finds Kenna looking back at him. She watches him, he watches her. It would seem that Marquis Rymarr Deepwood quickly came to the determination that a staring contest had been challenged and accepted. He stares back. That doesn't delay him from lifting his spoon to his mouth, as he continues to maintain the eye contact. The talk of rotten vegetables though earns a firmly spoken addition, though Rymarr's attention remains fixed on Kenna, "Little harm will come from a rotten vegetable. Reacting to it would only serve to prove right whomever whispers things in their ears. Ignore it and do our jobs. Best we can do". Then he falls silent in the interest of his staring contest and his stew-spooning.

Kenna checked composure at difficulty 15, rolling 4 higher.

Rymarr checked composure at difficulty 15, rolling 5 lower.

Rymarr has silently thrown down a challenge, and Kenna accepts it without words. She props her head up on the bar near her and just stares. She didn't MEAN to get into a contest, but hey. Things happen. "Hey Silas~" Greeting for her cousin while not losing Rymarr's gaze.

Silas smiles at Esoka and closes the distance between him and whichever table they were occupying. "Hello, Dame Esoka and Dame Thena. How have our favorite dames been?" He helps himself the stew and the generous amount of beer. "Cabbage is better than tomatoes, honestly. If they go for the squishy fruit, you've really done bad. Gets all over your armor." His lip twitches at Rymarr's remark, but he nods. "The Marquis is correct. Though I think it would be wiser to save their produce, honestly." He peers back at the other Whitehawk now, noting her intense stare-off with said Marquis. "Hey Kenna. Do us proud, cousin." Team Kenna all the way.

"Most well," Esoka replies to Silas. "Busy. The Templars keep me occupied, and there's no shortage of knightly work to do right now. I'm enjoying the time I have to study the Faith proper with the disciples, though. I'd like to make a pilgrimage to the Oathlands when things are more settled in the city, though I think that's a ways off yet." She settles into her food and drink after that, fallling quiet and enjoying the company. Eventually, she'll find her way home. She will to strangle anyone tonight.

"Busy," echoes Thena after Esoka, but no further details are forthcoming. "Tomatoes smell better than cabbage, at least at first. Also, much more satifying to throw, to my mind."

Rymarr checked composure at difficulty 15, rolling 4 higher.

Kenna checked composure at difficulty 15, rolling 4 lower.

"Are they cousins?" Riagnon asides to the others in a quiet conspiratory voice, eyes bugging out of his head, "I thought they were father and daughter."

"You thought Silas and Kenna were..." Calaudrin squints at Riagnon before he gets up from the table and wanders over to the bar. He's clearly had enough! Of stew and will be switching to beer for the remainder of the evening. Ted still hasn't come back, who knows what he's doing out there.

Silas checked perception at difficulty 15, rolling 7 lower.

Silas doesn't overhear the entirety of Riagnon's whisper, too distracted by the staring contest, but he does notice that he's whispering and squints back at him suspiciously. "You thought I was what?"

The spoon is put down, because Rymarr has something of dire importance to see to. That is the continued observation of one Lady Kenna Whitehawk of the Iron Guard. The talk of the specifics behind Silas and Kenna's familial connection goes ignored for the moment, all in favor of seeing through this current endeavor. Rymarr's left eye begins to twitch; whether under threat of blinking or something else entirely, is difficult to determine. It stops after a few seconds and the Marquis remains to his usual stern, distant stare that seems to look beyond Lady Kenna her left shoulder, rather than directly at her. Idly one free hand rises up and he begins to stroke at his silver peppered beard, his settles on Kenna, and his words extended to Silas, "If Calbert asks, I don't know your name either, Lord Commander."

Riagnon has rolled a critical success!
Riagnon checked charm + manipulation at difficulty 15, rolling 21 higher.

Kenna was doing //really// well until Riagnon opens his mouth (which seems like something that happens about Riagnon fairly often.) Her surprise almost makes her jerk her gaze away from the Marquis to stare at Riagnon again. But NO. Silas has expressed his support and she can't betray that. "No wonder you like being strangled Riganon." One last try, back to the Marquis.

Kenna checked composure at difficulty 15, rolling 5 lower.

Rymarr has rolled a critical success!
Rymarr checked composure at difficulty 15, rolling 20 higher.

"Just admiring your level of maturity," Riagnon blinks his eyelashes just the once, his lopsided smile growing all the more toothy as it flashes for Silas's benefit. "For somebody so..." Searching, searching, searching... "Young."

There's a faint shift in Rymarr's stare as it adjusts to bore into Kenna's own stare. He watches her with his usual stern expression etched rigidly into place, his spoon held in one gloved hand, and mouth fixed with a faint grimace. The staring contest continues onward, trudging through the seconds... or had it been minutes? The Marquis does a fine job holding still throughout the duration of it however. His beard shifts about, wigglings a touch, and then a faint smile begins to twitch to lift at the left corner of the Marquis' mouth. It's beaten into submission before it can properly come to fruition however and fades away easily.

Nope. Kenna doesn't have this. Nope nope nope. A peal of laughter rings from the Whitehawk before she pulls her gaze away and drops her head down onto the bar. Rymarr wins. Just excuse Kenna for a bit, she's going to sit here and die laughing for a bit. It's actually a little hard to breathe right now.

Thena watches the stare-down blithely until it ends, quietly nursing her whiskey. And she watches as Kenna dissolve into a pile of guffaws, finally nudging her glass in the woman's direction in case she needs a little something to open up her airways at some point.

Silas cocks a brow at Rymarr, but the temptation to interfere with his impromptu contest was now gone. Poor Kenna never had a chance. He continues to squint at Riagnon, but seems to accept his explanation. "Thanks. I think." He looks back to Kenna when she loses the contest. "We'll train for the next bout. You will be able to persist even when your eyeballs dry out." Because that was totally worth it.

Kenna mutters, "He AIR KISSED ..."

"Training never stops," Rymarr reminds Kenna on the tail of Silas' own comments about the Whitehawk lady's future agenda. He dips his chin and returns again to his stew. He glances back toward Thena though, considers her for a moment, and follows up with a question as he lifts a spoon of his stew up, "How have the Knights of Solace been, Grandmaster?" He glances back toward Kenna's muttering and an eyebrow twitches upward. Then down again it goes and Rymarr returns to his bowl of stew, which he dabs at with his chunk of bread. Once it has ever so nicely absorbed some of the moisture, he takes a bite from it, careful not have it spill out into his beard.

Sparte stacks up the papers he'd been working on, setting them in front of Wilhelm. The messenger dutifully picks them up and makes his way off, to deposit them elsewhere. The now less duty-restricted Sparte looks over the people gathered, suddenly not seeming to know what he should be doing. Remaining sitting seems safe.

Wilhelm the Iron Messenger have been dismissed.

Kenna is trying to pull it together, but the giggles are //hard// to come back from. So so so very hard. She manages to say something strangled to Silas before looking up. There's a drink there. Yes. That's EXACTLY what she needs. EXACTLY. So much nodding to Thena in thanks.

Thena tilts her head slightly at Rymarr. "Fine, thank you. Working hard out at the Lodge. Sir Daemon's been baking cookies like a mad thing;I don't know where he finds the time." She cuts a sidelong look at Kenna and offers a curve of a smile in acknowledgement of all those thank you nods.

Mischief managed, Riagnon stuffs his mouth with stew and falls quiet for a time. So well behaved!

Silas smirks back at Rymarr. "I should challenge you, sometime. My knight was a disciplined Oathlander... though admittedly I never practiced staring intensely at something." He blinks at the pile of papers Sparte shovels onto his messenger. "Busy, Sparte? Anything I should be concerned about?" He looks to Thena and raises his brows. "Are the cookies... for the Lodge? Interesting strategy."

"I never stood a chance." Said as Kenna wipes away a laughter tears. She rises just long enough to bow to Rymarr before sitting again and shaking her head slowly. "What would it take to get a Daemon cookie?"

Sparte looks over to Silas, rising briefly to salute before retaking his seat. "I doubt it, Lord Commander, sir. I've got my duties for the Iron Guard well in hand. It is just all the additional duties for the Faith, the Order of East Light, the Society of Explorers, and Thrax that I'm having a time of." Sparte gives a small smile. "Plus all the other stuff that comes up, as it will. I'm still glad to be here tonight, thanks to Lieutenant Calaudrin for organizing this."

"Pies. Pies are the proper yesterday-was-terrible treat. Have pie the morning after a bad day? Your new day has already started out better," Rymarr answers with a solemn nod of his head in answer to Thena's response. "I'll say a dozen or so prayers for the Knights of Solace then. Just one more group to add to my list". Then Rymarr goes silent and returns to his stew. He glances up and aside to Silas, nods once, and then returns to his stew. He chews and swallows before dabbing at one corner of his mouth with a napkin, "Fancy that, my knight is also an Oathlander. He was disciplined in his youth... these days he's old enough that he just sorts of says whatever he wants... because," Rymarr's eyes dance upward as though trying to recall some exact memory, "... 'what are you going to do to me for speaking my mind? Kill me? I have to get up at least seven times a night to pee, please do me the favor'..." Rymarr sighs quietly, suddenly distracted by memories. "I miss Sir Jak," and then he turns his attention back to Silas and he gestures toward the Lord Commander, "Any time that you'd like, please just let me know. I'll have you over for dinner some night and we can make with the competitive bedroom eyes". Kenna's bow is met by a solemn bow of his head, even if his attention seems largely focused on Silas.

"In theory the cookies are for the members of Solace working out there. In practice, and according to the miller's bills I've been getting, they're for everyone out there who wants a cookie." Thena crinkles her nose a little, but sighs lightly. "It's good though. He's my second mainly because he's good at that sort of thing and I've never been particularly adept with things like morale. Just ask him for a cookie." That last bit is for Kenna, then, "I'll ask him if he knows how to do pies. And thank you."

Ask Daemon for a cookie. This is put on the very top of Kenna's list of things to-do in the very near future. Taking up her drink she grins at Thena before slipping off to go and harass another Guardsman for a bit.

"You're quite the workhorse, Sparte. I'm genuinely surprised you don't get more recognition." It was something he pondered over, in his spare time. "You keep in the know, too." Silas looks back to Rymarr. "Sounds about right. One day, we will be too old to care, too." He then chortles. "Now I have plenty of -bedroom- eye practice, and I'll never say no to dinner." He smiles when Thena elaborates. "Cookies and pies are indeed wonderful for morale. You chose your second wisely."

Silas is overheard praising Calaudrin.

Silas is overheard praising Rymarr.

Silas is overheard praising Riagnon.

Silas is overheard praising Sparte.

Riagnon is overheard praising Calaudrin: The calaudrinest!

Silas is overheard praising Thena.

Silas is overheard praising Kenna.

Silas is overheard praising Aiden.

"We'll have dinner soon then," Rymarr practically vows aloud with a stern nod of his head. He begins to rise up from his seat and offers a firm nod around, "Everyone? Thank you for a fine evening, but I'm fairly certain I shouldn't consume anymore of this stew if I want to be able to move. I've a patrol to attend to soon. Someone alllllways wants to talk to an officer, even if they get the exact same answer, they still want one". Rymarr exhales a breath and gathers up his helm under an arm, "Do stay safe and may you walk the Pantheon's path".

"He's also good at telling me when to rein it in," Thena adds, before pushing her chair back and unfolding from it. "But that reminds me I should probably head back to the office." And Rymarr's getting up as well. "We could see who can leave the most quietly," she offers the Marquis with a glimmer of a grin.

Silas offers Rymarr a lazy salute. "Be well, Marquis Deepwood. Good luck dodging the cabbages." Thena then announces her depature, and she's offered the same. "Be well, Dame Thena. And my money is on you."

Rymarr checked dexterity + stealth at difficulty 30, rolling 15 lower.

Thena checked dexterity + stealth at difficulty 30, rolling 3 higher.

"Dodge? What's that?" Rymarr asks with a thumb of an armored fist against his cuirass. He nods once and then turns back to Thena. He takes in a deep breath, holds it for a moment, and then exhales it with a firm nod of his head, "Let us do it, Dame Thena. May the silentest knight win". Then Rymarr adjusts the way which his pauldron sits, pulls his helm on, and ensures that all sat right and proper. He takes a moment to collect himself, lifts his arms, and then begins to trundle from one foot to the other in a bid to move as quietly as the plates that he wears may allow. The key was, of course, to keep the plates from tapping against one another as he moves. The rattle, scrape, and clatter of plates though most certainly does not permit him a quiet departure. He at least looks fantastic attempting it.

Thena laughs, a surprising bright cascade of sound, and slips out.

Sparte shrugs at what Silas says. "The work needs to be done, I suppose that it gets done is what matters." Sparte rises up, taking a moment to stretch before flagging down one of the staff and giving them a friendly smile. "Milk, please. Hot if it isn't a trouble." Sparte glances over as people start to head out with some amusement.

All this talk of cookies gives Riagnon a hankering. Unfortunately, the batch he's got in mind are back at the residence. The human one, not the turtle one. After a time of background conversation with another of the guards, makes his polite excuses and takes his leave... again, to go eat cookies at home.

3 Iron Guardsmen, Patsy leave, following Rymarr.

Silas fixates his attention on Sparte, now that everyone else was gone. Save Calaudrin, who was there... somewhere. He takes a large bite from his bread before he continues. "Hm. After the Lodge business is done, I intend on handing out a few promotions. Are you interested in yet more responsibility, or do you have enough of it already?"

Sparte blinks a few times at Silas at that, taking a moment to glance around the room before making his way over to Silas and lowering his voice. "I don't shirk responsibility, and I'll do what you need done, Lord Commander. Yet I'm not sure I am a capable enough leader to do a higher position justice. The Lodge will be my first time commanding more than a handful of troops in the field."

Silas levels a stare on Sparte for a long moment, but ends it with a smile. "That is the correct answer." Evidently it was a test of sorts. "You'll do the position justice, when you're ready. I suppose we can give you some more battlefield experience, first." He sighs. "Though I hope we get a few more years of no sieges."

Sparte rubs at the back of his neck, giving a nervous smile to Silas. "I-I see." Sparte is distracted a moment, giving a brief nod and a thank you to the staff as his drink comes. Turning back to Silas, Sparte's expression is a bit distant. "Three wars, now, since I came to Arx. In a handful of years. I can't help but believe a fourth is on the horizon as well, and a fifth after that."

"Perhaps. The next war will be in the woods." Silas wrinkles his nose distastefully. "We will be training scouts as a precaution, but I doubt they'll be ready in time. But I'd rather defeat the Horned God and his forces before they get anywhere near the city walls."

There is a quick affirmative nod to that. "I don't know he'd come to the city, but I agree. Best to have this battle be decisive." Sparte shakes his head. "The patrol reports are consolidated as best as I can, for those mounted troops we've had patrolling the roads and fields in the region. The maps arn't going to tell us anything we don't already know, but at least they'll be consistent."

"We'll do what we can. And adapt and improvise when we have to. I just hope everyone keeps everyone else informed of any new developments." Silas finishes his bread and slurps down the remainder of his beer. He wipes his mouth with a napkin and stands from his seat. "It's about time for me to return to the barracks and bark at some people. See you soon?"

Sparte lifts his milk to Silas in salute, taking a sip before responding. "I'll be back to the barracks within the hour. I need to do a few errands. See you soon, Lord Commander."

Sparte has left the Quiet Booth.

Tiny Tom leaves, following Sparte.

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