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Snow Sculpture Freeze-for-All

A (hopefully) fun contest in building snowpersons of all shapes and sizes, with prizes for the most artistic, most creative, and most funny! Make sure you wear gloves and hats, it's COLD OUT HERE.


Dec. 9, 2018, 2 p.m.

Hosted By

Tikva Delilah


Cirroch Oswyn Malcolm Bedivere Scythia Vincenzo Cedric Iseulet Andry




Arx - Ward of House Grayson - Grayson Mansion - Courtyard Gardens

Largesse Level


Comments and Log

Lump, the long and short badgerhound arrives, following Malcolm.

Did someone say snow sculpters? Who better to make one then someone who's lands are covered in snow year round?! Cirrcoh walks into the courtyard with a confident stride, board shoulders swaying as he looks over to the elfblight orchirds curiously, having never seen the famed flowers until today. The fact that they bloom even in the snow seems to amaze the man.

Drysi, a young shaman apprentice, 2 Redrain Guards arrive, following Khanne.

Oswyn trots into the Courtyard, his satchel slung over his shoulder. There are more people than he expected, and the Scholar squints. "...There's a thing, isn't there?"

2 Novice Keaton Huntsmen arrives, following Amari.

1 Redreef Warden arrives, following Scythia.

Sebastian, an adorable gray and white tabby, Jacinthe, Arindais, a dour-looking Scholar, 1 Templar Knight guards leave, following Sina.

Frolicking through the snow at his heels is a sausage-shaped pup, and with his owner's rangy and relaxed strides, the poor Lump gets buried down beneath any further snow that Malcolm's boots bring up. It's a disgustingly adorable sight. The perpetuating cycle ends once the man and his canine compatriot stop in a likely place in which to construct their snow sculpture. "Good day, all. While I've had so many other things to do, getting work done and all, I have been diligently procrastinating - practicing for today out in our manor courtyard." He turns a cheery look over the others, rubbing gloved hands together. "Bring it!" Contest or not, he is going to build /something/.

Deliverance, an albino falcon arrives, delivering a message to Malcolm before departing.

2 Novice Keaton Huntsmen leaves, following Amari.

Lord Bedivere Whitehawk was the first one here, already 'rocking chair sitting' with a patchwork quilt over his lap and chest whilst slowly rocking in that wooden chair at the porch level under the protective awnings to peek out with his hazel eyes to those who show up.

"Um. Practicing what?" Oswyn inquires of Malcom, peering in the man's direction with a mighty squint. He offers Bedivere a brief wave, too, because that's the friendly thing to do.

"Making snow sculpters, presumably," Answers Cirroch to Oswyn as he hears word that the event has been postponed. "Awww, here I was hoping to show you southerners how us in the Evertwiner make snow scuplters. Oh well," he says with a finger snap.

"Building a snow-person, obviously." Malcolm's dropping down into a crouch in the snow, gathering up snow into a loose pile before packing down into some kind of oblong shape that looks like a log. Or something else. It's not art - that's for sure. It's suspiciously Lump-shaped, but thrice the size. "Mm, I am thinking still that I'm going to build something that I can leave to welcome my Grayson lieges wwith."

Perhaps she is dreadfully, dreadfully early. This is perhaps the new 'fashionably late' it seems. Lady Scythia Redreef arrives in the courtyard with her cloak drawn in close about her and a wary eye offered up to the heavens as though waiting for another downpour of snow. She does not precisely cut the image of an active participant, but nonetheless she is present and looking toward those that have assembled with a friendly, curious eye. "Sculptures?" she asks, coming up behind Cirroch, brow arched and a puzzled tone in her voice. Upon catching sight of Malcolm, she delivers a curtsy to the Duke.

"You're from the Everwinter?" Oswyn asks, his brows arching at Cirroch and partly disappearing under the edge of his warm hat. "Or just very far up north?" His head bobs in Malcolm's direction, too, acknowledging the answer. "Er. I'm Scholar Oswyn, by the way."

Bedivere waves back to Oswyn, doing so with his left/remaining hand before simply resting it down on the patchwork quilt and rocking back in the chair on its double curved rails. He mostly observes for the time being.

"The Everwinter, Giant's Reach, my holdings, is situtated in the western mountain range up in the Evertwiner," Cirroch reveals to Oswyn with a proud smile his way. "Tough lands to live in, but my people are strong, hardy people."

"Malcolm Shepherd, Duke of Graypeak. Er, that is - the new one. The one that was a commoner. That guy. Not the dead one that was honorable and did the ennobling before he died. That was my uncle. That former Duke was the Butcher, aaaaand not a sob - sobr -- a nickname that I'm planning to stick with. Not for one second." He pauses in his construction of his snow-dog in order to listen to Cirroch speak about his holdings and people, "With pride in your voice." Malcolm grins. "I need to learn how to do that too. Thanks for the reminder, m'lord."

Malcolm notices the curtsy, and he grins. Stopping to offer a warm smile and an enthusiastic wave toward Scythia. "Hello again, Lady Scythia."

"Er. Sobriquet," Oswyn offers, though a little quietly. "Um! Well met, my lord." The scholar dips in a little bow, holding the strap of his satchel so it doesn't swing too awkwardly. He also tips a little bow in Scythia's direction, squinting at her briefly before turning his attention back to Cirroch. "Oh, I'm familiar. I've been there, and up further north - right to the edge of the uninhabitable part. Where I stopped. Because... far too much snow. And, um, frostbite."

As if to spite the cold, Vincenzo arrives with his cloak held open, his sleeves rolled up and hands bare as if ready to sculpt some snow. He's also got a bottle of liquor in one hand, as if to counter the cold. He ambles in and starts looking around. Spying Scythia he heads in her direction. Sneakily. As sneakily as someone dressed head-to-toe in black and purple can be. In the snow.

Scythia regards the little ensemble of nobles with a curious eye still, her head tilting when Malcolm is declaring his humble origins. "Good day, my lord," she greets. She takes a deft step back from those assembled so she is out of most's views, albeit likely not Bedivere there, and certainly placing herself so that Malcolm can see her. She bows her head in a small, humble sort of way and the gesture has a pointed quality to it. Followed with a flash of a reassuring smile to him. That, however, is all. At this point she is turning to regard the others present, stepping back to the social circle and nodding to Oswyn's curious look, "Lady Scythia Redreef. A pleasure to make your acquaintance." This, to all near. Except for Vincenzo, as she does not notice him.

"That's quite far, but good of you to turn back, who knows how far The Everwinter extends, says Cirroch back to Oswyn with a bright smile his way. "For all we know, it could go on till the edge of the world. Though, I would not be surpised if there were shavs even furter north. At least along the coast." He looks to Malcom as he builds his snow dog, smiling his way, "I'm sure as you do your job, you will come to love your lands. It's hard not to love something you work so hard to build up." He turns to Scythia, greeting her with, "Good day, Marquis Cirroch Sanna, pleasre to meet you, Lady Scythia."

Bedivere does indeed spot Scynthia from his rocking chair on the manor veranda whilst people watching. He listens in to all the introductions as well as the various talk about noble lands and scholarly adventures far north.

Malcolm's looking up, again, and sweeping his gaze around for a moment. Lump, being smarter than the average Malcolm, has sought out warmer places away from the snow. Likely curling up for a well-deserved nap after playing. Then, back around. Taking a mental note, the edge of his smile turns higher. He offers Cirroch a bow of his head, "That's true, Marquis. Thank you for the words - they make for excellent advice." And back, "Sobriquet. Got it."

Vincenzo drops a bottle of Setarco Fire.

Vincenzo checked dexterity + athletics at difficulty 15, rolling 5 lower.

Vincenzo scoops up a handful of snow on his way, plunking his bottle down so that he can form the snow ball properly in both hands, angling himself to the back of Scythia as he caaaarefully takes aim. Hauls his arm back and throws said perfectly formed snowball, missing Scythia by a wide margin. Given the velocity of the throw it could possibly hit someone, or someone's snow creation instead. Byt Scythia escapes, unmussed. "Damn."

"Lady Scythia," Oswyn greets. And a nod to Cirroch. He gives Malcolm a thoughtful squint and remarks, "I wouldn't want to be in your shoes. Um. Boots. Perhaps the Whisper House could help you with..." Oswyn waves his arm vaguely, "Noble... things." And PAF! Vincenzo's snowball hits his back, and the scholar blinks and turns about to squint.

Vincenzo checked charm + manipulation at difficulty 25, rolling 2 higher.

e Thwap. The snowball hits Caspian, and he turns towards the direction it came from, Vincenzo. "Oh, so you want it to be like that," he says, reaching down to scoop up some snow, pack it, and hurl it towards Vincenzo!

Cirroch checked dexterity + athletics at difficulty 15, rolling 1 higher.

It is the thud of snowball impact that has Scythia deftly turning around and though she is amidst the nobility, her eyes are instinctively moving toward her guard to seek his presence out. He is there, yonder, and seeing that look in her gaze he advances a step before she actually identifies the source and shakes her head. Subtly. "Master Villenzo," she says toward the tailor, a brow arching. "Was that you?" She moves as though to wipe some snow from Oswyn's back, but this too is halted before begun.

"The co-Radiant, Lumen Whisper, she reached out to me by a messenger - and - and --" Malcolm's tone lifts and speeds up, growing a little more animated, "An actual Whisper. Wrote me. Offering help. I didn't know what to do, still don't, and I just shoved the damn note in my pocket. Although, seriously. HOW do you respond to a courtier like a co-Radiant. It'd be like, uhm, like writing to the king. Just different." He settles back onto his heels and watches snow fly, keeping an amused eye on his terrible snow sculpture of a wiener dog. "Not the dog," he laughs!

Vincenzo tries to look innocent. Sure he's the only one in the general vicinity that the snow ball could have come from, but that doesn't make his look of feigned innocence a compelling one. "Me?" Innocent blink at Scythia. "I have nothing against the er... who is that that got --" and just like that, Cirroch's snowball lands on Vincenzo's face, halting his words and making him sputter, "Not my face!"

Oswyn stills when Scythia approaches - he's kind of skittish, it seems. Like a deer caught in... sparklegas lamps? "It's fine, I'm good, at least there wasn't a rock in it," he says hurriedly. He kind of... not flails, but tries to reach around awkwardly to brush himself off even as he answers Malcolm. "Have you met the king yet? He's actually really, um, quite nice. Easy-going. Conversational, even." He pauses, then says, "Radiant Lumen once made fun of me at a party, but in a pleasant way that made me feel, um, slightly special? Because she noticed me?"

Cedric appears behind Malcolm, looking interested. "You wish to correspond with the co-Radiant, my lord? Shall I write her on your behalf?" His offer is delivered in a dry, unassuming manner, and the offer is also delivered with a glass of whiskey settled in to the new Duke's hand.

Although, quietly, Malcolm is packing a snowball from loose snow between his hands. Humming out-of-tune. He lines up his aim, focusing on Cirroch. And -- he lets it fly. Afterward, he has whiskey in his hand. Whiskey, and the Grayson's extremely capable steward beside him. "Ah, yeah." Answering Cedric, "I do. I would like to accept her offer to help me. I can give you a copy of the letter, perhaps?"

Malcolm checked dexterity + athletics at difficulty 15, rolling 17 higher.

Scythia nods to Oswyn and, with the addition if flying snow, Lady Redreef is bringing her cloak closer about her and raising her hood. Perhaps she believes that this shall afford her protection, just in case, or perhaps just make her less of a target. So it is that she is moving outside of the line of fire and going off to the side which takes her vaguely near Bedivere.

"Come on! You started it! I think, grab a snowball and-" But then he's cut off when a snowball hits him square in the chest, spraying snow all over the place. He turns over towards Malcolm, giving him a grin. "That's it! I'm not going easy on any of you!" And he grabs some more snow and hurls a snowball at Malcolm this time! "Eat snow!"

Cirroch checked dexterity + athletics at difficulty 15, rolling 26 higher.

Cedric places his hands behind his back and leans slightly forward in a stiff bow. "Yes, Duke Malcolm. A brilliant idea. A copy of the letter and allow me to do this menial bit of task for you. That is excellent delegation." He lauds.

Courvoisier, a fluffy golden cat with a flat face arrives, following Iseulet.

Malcolm catches Cirroch's snow in the crux between his head and shoulders, spattering snow everywhere, "Nnf." The Duke of Graypeak responds to Cedric ever-so-eloquently once snow starts to melt down the collar of his coat, with freezing droplets of water. Which causes him to wiggle, "Holy - ffff -- that's so SO SO COLD. Good form, Marquis." Then, he drinks down the whiskey. Following this - he offers the crumpled up missive to Cedric. "Please?"

Bedivere lightly napped under the patchwork quilt whilst in the rocking chair. Well, he did until the sudden slap of colliding snowballs-and-people, and then he opened up his hazel eyes and slightly wiggled for further coziness underneath the colorful blanket. He peeks up toward Scynthia, "Greetings."

Snow sculptures are not so much happening, but snow is flying. Oswyn eases back out of the line of fire, moving over toward Bedivere in his rocking chair after giving Cedric a polite, if squinty, nod. And once he's closer, he says, "Oh! Sir Bedivere. I hope you're well. Er. Are you feeling alright?"

Fashionably late as ever, and dressed as a shambling mound of fur, Iseulet moves to the Grayson Manor Courtyard. With what might be a hand clad in all that fur, she pulls back the swath over her face and takes a better look around. "I should have worn my thermal underwear." Then, a beat as she waves. "Afternoon everyone."

Cedric takes the missive and flattens it out nicely, then neatly folds it into his vest pocket with a nod. He produces his handkerchief and proceeds to wipe the moisture off Malcolm's hand. "Snow does that, my lord." and then he wanders away from the newly established Duke, presumably to write to Lumen.

Scythia's lowering her voice a touch and daring to lower the hood of her cloak so that she can offer forth to Bedivere, "Good day," she supplies, taking a sidestep to bring herself closer to his rocking chair. "Lady Scythia Redreef," she introduces before she brings her head in closer and murmurs, "Is this *typical* here within Arx?" As though to further illustrate that which she is indicating, she straightens and waves toward the flying snowballs with a flourish.

Watch out, Iseulet. Malcolm's throwing the next snowball that way.

Lump, the long and short badgerhound arrives, delivering a message to Cedric before departing.

Malcolm has rolled a critical success!
Malcolm checked dexterity + athletics at difficulty 15, rolling 42 higher.

Scooping the snow off his face, Vincenzo laughs and moves to Scythia's side. "Shall I defend you, my lady?" He glances towards Bedivere and nods his head, "Greetings." He looks over at the chaos he has inspired and grins to Scythia, "Well, it seems my work here is done."

Iseulet checked dexterity at difficulty 57, rolling 52 lower.

"Nice throw, Lord Malcom!" Cirroch calls to Malcolm as his next snowball goes flying at Iseulet, the man grinning as he packs up another snowball and lobs it at Malcolm again, "Dodge this!" He calls out to him as he hurls a snowball his way.

Cirroch checked dexterity + athletics at difficulty 15, rolling 2 higher.

Iseulet down! Iseulet is DOWN. The woman flies backward and into the snow with a loud yelp and flails. And also fails miserably at getting up. It's funny and pathetic and may be due to all that fur she's wearing.

Sir Andry Bayweather arrives to the Freeze-for-all in a heavy winter coat layered ontop of his Gilden colours marking him as a member of the Knights of Solace. The snowball fight makes him stop in his tracks near the edge of the garden, circling it cautiously in order to avoid snowy munitions coming his way. "What happened to the building?"

Malcolm's well-prepared this time, turning in to take the thrown snowball against his shoulder, and he watches the pile of jewels and furs yelp and go down. He laughs - loud and enthusiastic, before he slaps the snow from his hands and presses to his feet. "Hold a moment, my lady." With the quiet advice whispered to him by Cedric, he nods firmly and moves immediately to help.

Bedivere looks up toward Oswyn with a slight nod, "I am. Thank you so much, Scholar Oswyn. What is the story about rocks in the snowballs? Have you had someone so cruel as to throw one at you?" He sits up a bit more, letting the quilt roll down into his lap as he reaches forth toward Scynthia with his left/remaining hand, "Lord Bedivere Whitehawk, Marshal of Hawkhold as well as Knight of Solace. It is good to meet you, Lady Redreef." He nods to Vincenzo, too. "Good to meet you, too."

Bedivere says, "I would say snowball fights are pretty typical in Arx, yes. This is not the first one I have seen break out this winter."

Iseulet checked dexterity + athletics at difficulty 15, rolling 7 higher.

Malcolm checked strength + athletics at difficulty 15, rolling 24 higher.

"Vincenzo Villente, tailor extraordinaire and proprietor of Pins and Needles in case you require any exquisite additions to your wardrobe, my lord Whitehawk," Scythia supplies to Bedivere, evidently feeling compelled to introduce the tailor. Perhaps due to the following, "And evidently my champion within the snow toss." This latter is punctuated with a little crinkle of her nose and brightness of her gaze in delight. "So he can be pummeled and not I." She flashes a grin, reaching out to take Bedivere's good hand, and while there is a glance to the nub of his right, that is her sole reaction. A squeeze, before she withdraws. She is on the cusp of saying more when a messenger dressed in Redreef colors appears to murmur to her with an apologetic glance to the others. "My apologies," she says, though she does not seem sorry at all. "It appears that my cousin has returned. If you both will excuse me?" Yes, she is absolutely delighted.

"Er. Things sometimes got a little rough down in the Lowers," Oswyn explains to Bedivere, turning about when Iseulet THUMPS into the snow. "Oh. Um. Is someone going to help her...?" Oswyn adjusts his satchel and starts slogging his way over toward Iseulet. "Hullo, Sir Andry. The sculptures will be another time."

Lying (flailing) in wait, she waits until Malcolm is within view from her pile of furs and tosses a handfull of snow up at him, suddenly barking out in laughter as she realizes how ridiculous she looks. "My Lord you'll rue the day!" Comes a threat at the top of her lungs, still muffled by fur and now, quite a bit of snow.

Bedivere strongly-yet-gently squeezes Scynthia's hand but then lets go when the noble woman begins moving away. He looks up toward Vincenzo after all the introductory information. "I have this cat flap of pristine aeterna which... could probably use a little beading, but that will be another day." Because. Bedivere does not feel like getting up and just rocks in the wooden chair whilst hearing out Oswyn's story. "I see. I-" He pauses there then looks over toward the yelping Iseulet and pipes up, "Are you ok-" but then she seems to actually be just fine. He lets out a singular guffaw.

"Tailor Vincenzo Villente, yes, that's you. Of course it's you - your clothes are fabulous, even in the snow. Hey - hi there. I wrote you about a patronage." That's Malcolm, again, waving with his free hand while he hauls Iseulet to her feet with his other arm. He bends, literally sweeping the noble off her feet before setting her upright. "My apologies, m'lady." A hint of that rough-around-the-edges shows when he stops trying so hard, the accent is all Crownlands. "I didn't mean to hit you so hard." He confesses.

Cedric seems to float over the snow in deft, confident movements. It's almost magical how he does that. But pretty soon the bottles no one realized were near empty are replaced with full ones. Where did the trash bottles go? Only Cedric knows the answer. Either way, they are out of sight.

"Master Spencer, it's good to see you're doing well." Andry smiles at the scholar and makes his way through the snowy battlefield towards him, a glance of his grey eyes offered the flailing Iseulet. "It looks to me like she's still in the fight."

"Thank you for that stunning introduction, Lady Redreef." Vincenzo gris at the Thraxian Lady and gives Bedievere a courtly bow fit for a Prince. As he is addressed by Malcolm, he turns to look to the Grayson Duke and gives another of those elegant bows. This one is simpler, but no less pleasing to the eye -- and easily replicated. "Greetings and hello my Lord, Duke Shepherd. And might I say, excellent, if unfortunate throw." He gestures to Iseulet.

And just like that she's picked up and set back down on her feet, still laughing. "I asked for that. I'm a walking target. I'm fine.. I think. If the Duke had aimed any better I think Arx would have had its first fatality via snowballs, however. Don't worry everyone, I won't let him live it down any time soon." She says this as she's scooping snow off of her face and hair. "Thank you, my Lord." She lowers her voice, "Next time I'm on your team, however." There's caution in her voice as she waves to the others - look she does have control of her limbs. "Iseulet Blackshore." She introduces herself a moment later since there are so many unfamiliar faces.

Andry is overheard praising Macda: To adventure

Cedric comments as he makes his way past Iseulet and Malcolm, "Such a romantic setting, the snow." Iseulet's empty hand finds a glass of whiskey appear inside of it and Cedric is.... Where did he go?

Cedric checked dexterity + stealth at difficulty 15, rolling 20 higher.

Oswyn nods to Andry. And it appears the Scholar need not help Iseulet, which is fortunate, because he is not nearly so strong as Malcolm. Probably. Iseulet rescued by another, Oswyn squints at his surroundings and turns toward the mansion with a little wave, heading inside.

Scythia's glancing back toward Malcolm when she overhears him speaking toward patronage, offers Vincenzo a look with a tap of his upper arm before turning and performing a portrait-perfect curtsy for Bedivere. With that, she is off, a sashay in her step that has everything to do with her delight. Her guard falls in line and she offers forth to him, "Ember has returned!" in a voice that is almost sing-song. Only she would be so happy about the Bloody Baroness' arrival.

1 Redreef Warden leaves, following Scythia.

Flopsy, an innocuous white rabbit arrives, delivering a message to Cedric before departing.

Since it looks like the snowball fight has quiet down after Malcolm's near lethal throw, Cirroch laughs as he looks around, eyeing the rabbit as he bounds over to Cedric, smiling it's way. Cute bunnah!

"That was an excellent introduction, wasn't it? Also, an excellent departure. So floaty and graceful and - huh. Where'd whot-his-face go? That guy? With the whiskey. Cedric, yes, I think that was it. Need to write him a thank-you note. Praise him in front of the Ashfords or something." Malcolm's side-eyeing Iseulet, trying to look remorseful, but the grin spoils it. "That would've been the worst, m'lady. Honestly. And Jenny? Oh gods, she'd kill me for it. Letting her mentor go down by a snowball." He scrubs a hand over his face, "Nah. Don't let me live it down. Even if you're gonna be on my team." Just like that, he realizes, "I did kill the snowball fight. Sorry 'bout that."

"Don't be sorry, it was really only me and you fighting anyway!" Cirroch calls out over to Malcolm, giving him a playful grin. "Shame the event was canceled. Oh well, this was still pretty fun."

"Oh! Whiskey, my favorite. May the gods light the path of whoever thought to bring this!" Iseulet lifts it in cheers before taking her first quaff. Then he's all gone. She sees Oswyn and Scythia slip away and she waves, "Wasn't that the Scholar that owns the scribing supplies store? I meant to tell him what a fan I was of his new ink set..." She looks to Malcolm and takes another sip. "Don't worry, I plot my revenge for when the time is right. Oh it was canceled? Well that's like me, showing up to something that's cancelled - we can still practice right? So that when the event /does/ happen we can obviously be the best."

There is a widening grin on Vincenzo's face as he approaches Malcolm and wags his brows. "She does that. Goes all floaty. Yes, you had sent me the letter about patronage. But, ah, that would be a discussion best had in another setting. Do feel free to stop by my shop at any time, Duke Shepherd. And we can discuss, ah... whatever you'd like to speak about." Vague enough? Vincenzo grins, puts up his hood and goes to grab his bottle of liquor, "I'll see you around!"

Vincenzo picks up a bottle of Setarco Fire.

"There was," Malcolm agrees, although he's not real sure as to which part he agrees to. Either about someone being there - or not. Suddenly, Vincenzo's getting ready to take his leave and Malcolm points his way. "Agreed. That's serious business talk. Another time. Soon."

Bedivere nods once to Vincenzo, "I do have a cat flap of pristine aeterna which might need proper beading one day. Would you be able to take on such work, mayhaps?" He offers out a hand shake his way, just like the one which was previously given to Scynthia. "Farewell, Lady Scynthia.

Bedivere waves goodbye to all those who leave. He settles back into the cozy chair on its dual rockers and hugs his blanket back up to be tucked under his chin.

As the crowd things out, Cedric becomes once again visible. Cool hazel eyes ever watchful. Just waiting to be useful. Ready to cease opportunities.

Malcolm watches Ceddric levelly for a moment of so, then his expressive eyebrows lift. He grins. "You're brilliant," he's decided.

Cedric raises an eyebrow and responds dryly, "Would you like to invite Lady Iseulet to the warmth of your manor and grow acquainted." The missing question mark at the end is not a mistake. The words formed a question; the lilt of his voice did not.

"It would probably be a good idea, sir, considering that I have requested that the lady decorate quite a few rooms in the manor that she's never seen before." Malcolm admits, ducking his head with a sheepish grin. Cheeks ruddy from the cold. He certainly wouldn't blush. He folds his hands before him, squares out his shoulders, and he offers a grateful bow of his head to Cedric. "Thank you." Then, he clears his throat, offering Iseulet the bend of his arm. "If that suggestion is acceptable, m'lady?"

Bedivere hangs out on the Grayson veranda. He waves goodbye to them all, "Farewell until next time!" Then, he is laying back to just rock-and-nap.

Cedric takes his leave, giving a final whisper to Malcolm on his way.

Malcolm gives Cedric a look, curious, with his head tilted just slightly. "Hrm." He responds back.

Bedivere has left the a simple yet sophisticated rocking chair.

Courvoisier, a fluffy golden cat with a flat face leaves, following Iseulet.

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