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Wake for Vincere and Pietro Igniseri

The Palazzo Gemecitta's windows have all been hung with heavy, black velvet curtains. Mourning banners have been hung over the marbled exterior. And everyone's heart inside is broken. Yet still, respect must be paid. Duchess Sylvie Zaffria has arranged for a wake to be held at the Palazzo in honor of their vassals, as close as family.


Feb. 17, 2017, 8 p.m.

Hosted By

Valkieri(RIP) Sylvie


Deva Niccolo(RIP) Ainsley Lark Serafine(RIP) Calypso Cara Halsim Lailah Dafne Leta



Arx - Ward of the Lyceum - Plaza Unita

Largesse Level


Comments and Log

Griza arrives, following Serafine.

There are no bodies. Vincere and Pietro Igniseri's corpses were never recovered, with the Bringer army still standing between them and the rest of the world. There are no bodies, but that does not mean that there is no likeness. A small, circular grotto in the middle of the statuary gardens bears two statues made of Gemecittan marble, polished and bright with the sheen of newness, unworn by weather or age. Each depicts the same face in a different pose.

It is in this grotto that Duke Valkieri Rubino, dressed in ebony black wools and silks, and the Duchess Sylvie Zaffria, draped in black velvet, stand to receive guests. It seems there will be no formal speeches tonight, no great ode to the lost lords. Words have been poured out in other ways, and no. Tonight is just painful, silent grief in the shadows cast by the depicted twins.

Helpful servants circulate through the gardens and the square itself, bearing trays of wine and rum and whisky, bearing trays of a carefully curated menu of food that is able to be picked up and eaten whole.

Arriving in dark silks and bearing a somber expression, Deva arrives quietly to pay her respects. She seeks the the edge of the grotto, looking toward the statues first. It is there that she offers the Duke and Duchess a respectful bow, leaving any sentiments yet unspoken.

Serafine lingers just outside the range of things, waiting patiently. She's in a dress for once, black from neck to toes, dark hair let loose. Her eyes glitter but there are no tears yet.

In a black silk gown, dramatically adorned with jet-black raven's feathers, Cara is pale and serenely composed; her height and the elaborate coronet of her hair, as black as the feathers of her dress, make for a stark, high contrast picture. She is not alone, though, for all that she arrives with solemn, quiet grace.

Valkieri stands in the grotto with Sylvie looking more like he's been forcibly placed here than anything else. His expression is distantly stony, and he stands with the sort of stiffness that suggests he's keeping himself up by sheer willpower. He is not gracious. He, perhaps, notices those who arrive, but mostly he's almost like a statue himself where he stands with his hands folded at his back.

Lark wears a simple black-gray gown with long bell sleeves and a high neckline. Somber-faced with her dark gentle eyes cast downward, she stands dutifully by Lady Cara's side. Her small hands lace together in front of her.

Ever the polite host, Sylvie's smile touches at the corners of her lips as Deva arrives, dipping into a graceful curtsy. She greets the woman warmly, offering to her, "Your highness, you honor us with your presence. Thank you for coming." She nods to a servant, who immediately moves to Deva to offer her a choice from a tray of drinks. Her gaze draws to Cara and Lark as they arrive, lingering on the former before she drags a look to Lark and offers first, respectfully, "Your grace, thank you." It holds a depth for more than just arriving. She says nothing to Cara, tipping her chin to her sister-in-law, before murmuring to Valkieri.

Calypso arrives to the Plaza with a stoic, but respectful air about her. No guards in tow, nothing flashy. Spotting the statues she takes a moment to gaze at each of them. Their unique features, the perfect way the shape of the marble captures the memories. Taking a deep breath she approaches Sylvie and Valkieri. Rather than saying anything of importance, she simply removes her blade and places it at their feet. A symbol, perhaps, of understanding in the loss of a fallen warrior.

Calypso drops Falcon's Fury, Rubicund Rapier of the Raptor.

Niccolo arrives to the plaza. He walks with hands clasped behind his back, his cape billowing some with each steps he takes. He has no guards with him, as he approaches on his own. He he reaches the gathering, his eyes fall on Valkieri and Sylvie. He inclines his head to them respectfully. Spotting Deva, he inclines his head to her as well and then looks to the others that arrive, offering polite nods as needed.

After a moment, Serafine looks around, eyes lingering on Pietro's visage more than once. "...where's Glory?" she murmurs to herself. Surely Pietro's dog would be here. That man -loved- his dog.

"It was an honor to have known them however briefly I did, Duchess," Deva tells Sylvie simply, while offering a smile of her own in return. "My heart goes out to those graced by their strength and honor." As the line forms, she offers one more bow and sweeps off with that servant offering her a drink. She clutches hers with only the occasional sip as she steps out of the way. Spying Calypso first, she gives the General a respectful nod, and then repeats the gesture for Niccolo.

Lailah wears her own simple black gown, in a subdued style. Looking around at all those gathered about, she inclines her head to all the familiar faces. Approaching Lark, she inclines her head, quietly standing by her side and looking out to the rest.

Alejandra, a snowy white hound, 3 Grayson Guardsmen arrive, following Ainsley.

"Glory is inside," Valkieri says in a flat, quiet voice when he hears Serafine's nearby murmur. He swallows and forces himself to nod in return to any gesture he receives: Deva, Calypso, Niccolo. He inhales slowly.

Alejandra, a snowy white hound have been dismissed.

3 Grayson Guardsmen have been dismissed.

Cara checked composure against difficulty 15, resulting in 15, 0 higher than the difficulty.

Leta arrives, carefully, looking around with a slightly wary, uncomfortable expression, though she is wearing a black doublet and relatively subdued hues, at least by her standards. After some fidgety hesitation, looking around, the blonde woman spots Serafine and walks over in that direction, keeping the strutting to a minimum.

Cara gives nods to Sylvie and Valkieri, as hosts, but doesn't approach them -- instead she goes toward the statues. First, to Pietro, where she kisses her fingers and touches his boot, looking down at the ground to hide the expression she is struggling to maintain.

Ainsley checked composure against difficulty 15, resulting in 14, 1 lower than the difficulty.

"We have known them since they were children, and it wasn't long enough. I wish everyone had the chance to know them more," Sylvie answers back warmly, tipping her chin in agreement. As Calypso approaches, her attention drags to the woman, watching. Tears prick at the corners of the duchess's eyes for the gesture she makes, before she reaches out to squeeze the woman's upper arm softly. "Thank you, my lady. Pick up your sword; we are all going to need you to bear it for us in the coming months. Lord Pietro and Marquis Vincere always spoke so highly of your skills. The marquis had much faith in you replacing him as Minister."

Ainsley slips into the plaza silently; sans dog or guards. He's dressed in black linen; pants and simple tunic. He doesn't approach Valkieri or Sylvie, his steps carrying him close to where Cara is-- and when he too reaches the statues, he simply drops to his knees; like a puppet with its strings cut, before the likness of Pietro. His head bowing silently.

Halsim comes in wearing his usual black robe. The hood down for now as the Darkwater native sticks to the outskirts of the event, watching the guests and staring at the statues silently.

When Leta arrives, Serafine looks to her and nods, then gestures for the woman to stay abreast of her, murmuring to her quietly as she heads towards Sylvie. Before Sylvie, Serafine gives a respectful bow, the Knight's face sad, the grief in every part of her. When she straightens, the woman tries to speak. She really does, but... "...words are not my strong suit," she confides to the Duchess. "And I don't think I'd give the right ones anyway."

Lark responds to Sylvie with a soft, sad half-smile. It is the pitiful kind that does not portray any sort of happiness. She holds out a hand to Lailah, silently inviting her to come along as she steps away to dutifully accompany Cara over to the statues. There, joined by her cousin, she stares up at Vincere and Pietro with little change in her expression but a great emotion in her eyes.

Calypso remains keeled before the hosts until Sylvie touches her shoulder. She lifts her frosted gaze to the Duchess and nods. "They are both irreplaceable." She says simply before retaking her sword and standing. A nod if given to Valkieri as well. Another moment passes and she turns to join the others. Spotting Deva's nod she returns one of her own to the Redrain Princess.

Calypso picks up Falcon's Fury, Rubicund Rapier of the Raptor.

Cara notices Ainsley -- it's hard not to, really, given proximity and the fact that she has eyes -- but instead of saying anything instead reaches out to grasp ahold of his shoulder, holding him up as much as offering comfort. She squeezes, once, hard.

"I know," agrees Sylvie quietly, but she smiles in reassurance to the Lady General. Her attention turns, again, as Serafine approaches. She shakes her head, offering, "Lord Pietro liked you for just that reason, your highness. That you were not a woman of politics and fancy words, and spoke your mind truthfully. I can honestly say, that breakfast, he was delighted by your presence."

Niccolo waits patiently, and seeing the nod from Valkieri lets his attention turn to Sylvie. He steps forward, but remains with his hands clasped behind his back, not wanting to intrude in whatever words she's exchanged with others. "Duchess Sylvie," he finally speaks, his voice his usual deep and gravelly. "I'm sorry for yours and Duke Valkieri's loss. Your vassals, your family, will not be forgotten," he offers respectfully.

Lailah takes the offered hand, giving a bit of a squeeze, her own words not quite found in that moment. She looks to Lark, and Cara both, moving to stand before the statues. Her eyes filled with sadness as she looks around, especially as Ainsley falls to his knees, and she bites her lip, drawing a deep intake of breath

"Lady General," Deva murmurs to Calypso once the woman is within close enough proximity. "It's good to see you. Your words bear truth," there's a nod toward the statues, her expression still a reserved one. Glass in hand, she sinks to settle upon one of the benches, watching the wake assemble with a grim look in her eyes.

Deva has joined the bench bearing the Zaffria crest.

Leta nods and keeps up at Serafine's side, though she looks visibly uneasy, and adopts a respectfully quiet facade, pushing aside the frown that threatened to marr her brow at the Knight's murmured words. She looks up as Serafine speaks to Sylvie, just for a look, before respectfully bowing her head. She then remains silent, eyes on the ground, lifted only to glance briefly in Niccolo's direction as he speaks.

Valkieri turns his gaze slowly to watch Ainsley with the sort of distantly numb expression that can't get close enough to touch. He pulls it back to Niccolo when he approaches. For a moment he just looks at him, and then he manages to find the two words that might get him through the wake: "Thank you." They are quiet and a bit toneless, but they are an appropriate response.

The reference to which Sylvie speaks to has Serafine's mouth twitching, and it's -almost- a smile. "Ah, Duchess. You would remember that." She bows her head to Sylvie again, and then turns to Valkieri. She doesn't say anything, doesn't reach for him, the inked Knight simply looking at him. She gives a small nod to him a moment later, her attention shifting to her uncle as he speaks. Her eyes move then to Ainsley, and Cara. And the likenesses in stone.

Serafine checked composure against difficulty 10, resulting in 9, 1 lower than the difficulty.

"Princess Deva." Calypso inclines her head as she approaches closer. "Thank you. Every life is sacred and special. A light in its own way." She moves to take a seat as well, lifting a glass of whiskey from a passing server as she spots it.

Calypso has joined the bench bearing the Zaffria crest.

Ainsley does not move nor speak; if he even notices Cara's ahdn on his shoulder is anyone's guess. For his broad shoulders begin to shake, the prince silently reaching out touch his fingertips to the boots of the statue.

Sylvie's smile catches, only briefly, as Serafine almost smiles. She nods simply. Then her attention drags to Niccolo next and she draws in a long, slow breath. But when she speaks, it is with more words than Valkieri. She offers Niccolo, "A family that by rights should be growing, but now is not." Her gaze slides briefly towards Cara, even Ainsley, before it returns to the man. "But at least in loss, the Lyceum stands united. We have all lost so much over the last few months. Too many."

Niccolo acknowledges Valkieri's words with a small dip of his head, before his eyes turn to Sylvie when she addresses him. He holds her gaze, even as his usually schooled features soften. Off her words, he looks in the direction of Cara and Ainsley, before he turns back to Sylvie. "We have lost too many," he agrees, "All of us. We have our differences, but that is something we certainly have in common," he exhales and adds, "They will be remembered," he assures once more, and then inclines his head respectfully, before retreating to allow others access to the pair and makes his way to claim a spot by Deva and Calypso.

Niccolo has joined the bench bearing the Zaffria crest.

Cara hasn't quite managed to look toward Vincere's statue yet, but with a final gentle squeeze of Ainsley's shoulder, she turns -- giving the young valet tailing her a quick nod that he should stay and watch over Ainsley instead. Planchet swallows hard and gives an awkward bow; the youth looks almost as broken up as Ainsley does, as he stands beneath the statue of his teacher and employer. By then, though, Cara has stepped over to the statue of Vincere, looking up. She's tall enough that with her face tilted toward the sky, it's almost impossible to see the spill of tears in her eyes. They do not escape her, but her hand, gripping the statue's foot, seems almost more to steady herself than as a gesture of loss.

Breaking away to give Ainsley and Cara a moment of privacy, Lark keeps her neck craned so that she might consistently watch her feet as she migrates gradually in the direction of the Duke and Duchess. She settles before Valkieri, drawing her head gradually upward and upward to properly face him. The blonde blinks slowly and allows for pregnant pause before she produces her hand. Reaching out with it, she presses the tips of her index, middle, and ring fingers to the very center of his chest in both affection and familiarity.

Valkieri checked composure against difficulty 15, resulting in 21, 6 higher than the difficulty.

Well. Sylvie is certainly going to watch Lark's approach and gesture curiously, though she offers a respectful curtsy towards the Highlord of Grayson. She greets, again, "Your grace," simply.

Valkieri tips his head down to Lark's face when she stands before him. He watches her expression as she reaches to press her fingers to his chest. The next breath he draws is ragged, and there's a moment when his shoulders tremble before he can contain it. The rise of his chest stills entirely for a moment, and the next breath he takes is steadier. He reaches for her hand to take it in his, and then he lifts her knuckles to his lips.

Serafine's face contorts, briefly, at the sight of Cara and Ainsley, and any idea she had of approaching the two disappears as she struggles to compose herself, the usually-jovial Knight threatened by the grief of her friends. She moves to sit at a bench, choking her sobs to silence, eyes downcast, focused on her inked, brown fingers as they tangle into each other.

Serafine has joined the bench bearing the Igniseri crest.

He doesn't seem to notice Cara's final squeeze or her stepping away. So caught up in his own grief, Ainsley is beyond the world around him. His fingers curl around the ankle of the statue, and he begins to rock back and forth. His voice is hoarse when he finally speaks, only one word: "Pietro..."

Leta tenses and, with only a brief look to Ainsley and the statue he kneels in front of, she turns with another nod, and moves to walk along Serafine's side, a hand resting lightly on a shoulder for a fleeting moment as she leans down to whisper something. A moment later she catches herself and draws her hand away, tucking it back against her belt before taking a seat next to the Knight.

Serafine doesn't care how many eyes on her, doesn't even look up from her lap; her hand darts out after Leta's murmured remark and grabs the blonde woman's hand, gripping it tightly. She lifts her eyes to Leta's blue and says softly, "Thank you." Her head turns and she looks at the statues, her chin lifting as tears continue to fall down her cheeks from over-flowing eyes.

Lark checked perception + empathy against difficulty 25, resulting in 56, 31 higher than the difficulty.

Lark parts her lips to respond to Sylvie, "Duchess Sylvie-" ...something very appropriate was likely soon to follow, but Valkieri reclaims her attention before she can utter another word of it. Lark makes no move to conceal her tender surprise at even that small expression of feeling from the man. It isn't a /surprise/ that it was there ...only that any of it might bubble up to the surface. As her hand is brought to his mouth and Ainsley's pathetic voice reaches her, the princess's features quake in a ready display of what will soon become the onset of tears.

Nightshade, a tiny black kitten, 3 Rubino and Zaffria guards arrive, following Dafne.

Cara bows her head, murmuring something quiet to the statue. She stays that way for a goodly long while, almost as if she were praying, before lifting her head and stepping away. There is a quick dab at her eyes with her fingers, the motion trying to be discreet, and she walks over toward Valkieri and Sylvie.

Sylvie's gaze lingers, but she smiles. Then the duchess steps away, her gaze catching on Lailah. Ever the perfect hostess, etiquette coming to the fore. And certainly no tears or anything of the like breaking into the woman's expression. She moves to greet the woman, offering her, "My lady, I am afraid I do not recognize you but for that-- I can only be moved. That the death of our friends, our loved ones, has affected more people than I know." A pause, before she introduces herself politely, "Duchess Sylvie Zaffria."

Valkieri checked composure against difficulty 20, resulting in 8, 12 lower than the difficulty.

Dafne wears black velvet. Not that that's unusual, but now she's pulled her black wrap over her head, shadowing her features, face wan in the darkness. She hesitates, quiet, her kitten at her feet.

Some people can stand forever, can hold the pieces of themselves together, if you simply don't touch them. Valkieri has been holding himself forcefully together for every expression of condolence. But when he looks down at Lark's face and the threat of tears that gathers in her eyes, something catches in his throat. His shoulders tremble, and then they slump. The next breath he draws is utterly ragged, and the tears are in his eyes and wetting his face before he can stop them. He doesn't draw his gaze from Lark's face. His hand just squeezes hers like an anchor.

Lailah inclines her head towards Sylvie, offering a sympathetic smile. She has a softer face than her normal serious stoicism, she manages to keep herself respectful. "I'm Lady Lailah Bisland," she greets the Duchess. "I am terribly sorry for your loss. I only knew Lord Peitro, and then only met him a handful of times, but he seemed a good man, full of energy and spirit. The world is a poorer place for his loss. I pray that we are worthy of his sacrifice."

Calypso rises from her seat at the bench with Niccolo and Deva. She gives the statues one more glance and then, just as quietly and solemnly as she arrived, she departs.

Calypso has left the bench bearing the Zaffria crest.

"That he protected the woman his brother loved-- That would have been enough for Pietro," answers Sylvie quietly, nodding simply to Lailah. Then she offers the woman a smile, catching briefly. She goes on to add, "Lord Michael Bisland's sister, yes. He has mentioned you before. Your brother is a very handsome and charming companion, I must say."

"Valkieri --" Cara is just close enough to see her brother break down. Her words are a whisper, but her pace picks up, a quick scurry of black silk skirts as she comes to his side.

Lark does not not look away, even as tears begin to overtake her bottom lashes or as she sweetly hiccups for a breath. She does say something to Valkieri but it is perhaps only mouthed.

Deva exchanges goodbyes with Calypso, and then Niccolo, her words soft at the bench. Her expression is mournful as she gives the wake one last look, before her fingers grab at the sides of her skirts as she sweeps away to take her leave.

Deva has left the bench bearing the Zaffria crest.

Lailah nods again. "Which is a worthy sacrifice I'm sure," she says, sparing a smile then for the mention of her brother. "My dear brother does speak highly of me, often I am told. He is certainly a lot of things, handsome, charming and always seeming to be everywhere at once. I know not how he manages."

Valkieri checked composure against difficulty 20, resulting in 11, 9 lower than the difficulty.

Serafine shakes her head and moves to stand, her free hand brushing away her tears as fast as they fall, eyes drifting to the statues again. She looks at Leta the Knight's face threatens to crumple again.

"The energy of youth," says Sylvie, as if she is already a hundred, which given the edged, sleepless tautness to her sharp beauty-- she may be near there. But she smiles to Lailah, offering, "Thank you again for coming. I look forward to getting to know you, Lady Lailah, under less sorrowful circumstances." But then the duchess moves away, her gaze catching on the next guest. Silvered eyes slide sharply over Halsim's clothes, marking his Thraxian style easily. She greets him with, "This must be quite different from those wakes you attend, sir. Never tears at your wake."

"/No/." Valkieri's gaze finally tears away from Lark's face at the sound of his sister's voice, and then he sees Cara, and then he sees everyone else who is here. Something about the crowd has him almost panicking as he struggles to grasp his composure again. "I can't," he says in a bare rasp, to Cara, to Lark, it's not clear.

Once Deva and Calypso depart, Niccolo is left at his bench on his own. Rather than leave right away, he remains seated where he's at. At least for a few more moments, while he watches the exchanges of those gathered. His eyes are drawn to Valkieri as he reacts to whatever Cara tells him.

Dafne is quiet. Very, very quiet. It's not the quiet of someone not speaking; it's the quiet of _absence_. She ducks her dark-shrouded head, and moves toward her family, without a word.

Serafine nods to Leta, features strained but grateful. She looks out over the others, at Valkieri crumbling like sandstone before the insistent sea, at Sylvie receiving the others, the quiet, thoughtful others on the benches.

"You don't have to. Come with me, a little ways." Cara takes her brother's arm, ignoring Niccolo and everyone, in fact, in favor of her brother. Her dark gaze is attentively locked on Valkieri.

Lailah inclines her head once more to Sylvie. "Until our paths cross again, Duchess," she offers as she moves away then to sit down in a silent reverie.

Leta stands as Serafine does, nodding. She takes another look to the mourners, an expression of sympathetic worry on her face, then moves her hand to rest on Serafine's arm, nods, and starts walking the other woman out.

Ainsley bends himself forward just a little bit more, leaning so that he can press his lips to the boots of the statue of Pietro Igniseri, first the left and then the right. His fingers brief running over the stone, and then he pushes himself upward. His gaze goes to the statue's face and then toward Vincere's statue as well. Tears run freely and he manages in a choked voice, "I'll bring you home, my love."

Then he turns; spine straight, chin raised, he heads for the exit of the plaza.

Serafine has left the bench bearing the Igniseri crest.

Griza leaves, following Serafine.

Serafine leaves, following Leta.

As Sylvie heads over to the outskirts of the wake towards Halsim, the dark brown skinned islander native looks over from his seat, where as before he was simply observing in general. Wearing a black robe, Halsim folds his hands at his waist as he replies. "It's about what I expected. My childhood was on Darkwater Watch, not the Mourning Isles. I was not exposed to Thrax culture daily as such." Halsims Darkwater accent is easy to identify, at least. "My talents are in investigation, more than sailing or fighting as it is."

"Alright," Lark answers softly to Valkieri's response to her. She nods successively, letting her hand fall away to rub the side of his arm as if to guide him closer to Cara. Breaking away from the siblings to return to her cousin, the blonde kneels, she snakes hand over the back expanse of Ainsley's shoulders. She rubs there.

"Are there large differences of culture between islands? I would have thought that your liege's culture would infuse your own, but--. Isolation must be more prevalent," murmurs Sylvie simply, the words given a thoughtful attention that belies anything else. The perfect hostess does not break, even as her gaze slides briefly towards Valkieri, as he says that /no/. She doesn't move towards the duke, however. "If you will excuse me--. I hope that you find what you are looking for, then, sir. And give my best to Count Darkwater." Then she moves away, as Ainsley starts to leave the plaza. She moves only to intercept him, to murmur words to the prince.

Ainsley pauses so that both Lark and Sylvie can catch up to him (he's not running away, this time, really). His chin angles down toward Lark and he reaches out to curl his fingers briefly on hers if allowed. His gaze shifts toward Sylvie and he blinks toward her a moment and his lips twist and a fresh wave of tears in his eyes. "Duchess, I..." His head simply bows.

When Cara takes his arm, Valkieri reaches to clutch her hand tightly, although his gaze lingers for a long moment on Lark's face before he finally pulls away. He lets her lead her. Pretty much anywhere.

Slowly Niccolo rises to his feet. He watches what's going on in silence, without interrupting. His hands clasp behind his back. His eyes find the two statues. There his gaze lingers, for a moment or two. Then those eyes move to find Sylvie and with her they linger, before he turns and starts on his way towards Reflection Square.

Even faced with the crying prince, Sylvie only smile quietly to him and reaches out to squeeze his arm, briefly. She inclines her own head in turn, before drawing away and leaving the man to his sister. She moves to mingle still, giving kind words and smiles where she can and thanking those who attend.

Ariadne have been dismissed.

3 Rubino and Zaffria guards have been dismissed.

Lailah rises than from her seat, moving to leave as quietly as she'd arrived.

"She knows," Lark tells Ainsley sweetly, holding his hand in hers. She only frees it to insert herself beneath his arm to give him warmth, wrapping her own around the back of his waist. "She knows." If he wants to leave, she goes with him.

Nightshade, a tiny black kitten have been dismissed.

3 Rubino and Zaffria guards have been dismissed.

Niccolo has left the bench bearing the Zaffria crest.

Merril, an Assistant Page leaves, following Lailah.

Cara looks to Ainsley and says quietly, "You are family, Ainsley. His family is ours." She takes Valkieri's arm, then, and with a bow of a head towards Sylvie and Lark and the others, escorts her brother toward the Palazzo Gemecitta.

Ainsley smiles weakly toward Cara, giving a small dip of his chin toward the woman. He lifts an arm to place it quietly over Lark's shoulder, though he shifts a moment to look toward the young man who is probably hovering-- lost --nearby. "Planchet..." His free hand gestures as if to say 'come with me', and the young man follows suit. Then to Lark he says quietly, "Let's go..."

As Sylvie departs... "My Liege is Count Darkwater, if fealty is being considered." Halsim informs her.

Planchet, a young valet have been dismissed.

5 Grayson Guardsmen leaves, following Lark.

Lark leaves, following Ainsley.

The wake will continue, until all have had their chance to pay their respects who want to. Sylvie remains, sure to thank and greet everyone that she can. Making sure that food remains circulating, that everyone can have a drink, but eventually they will all leave. Servants will clean up. But those statues? Those statues will forever remain.

Penelope leaves, following Valkieri.

Buchanan, a Champion, Lady Teldra, a Lycene noblewoman, Valkieri leave, following Cara.

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