Skip to main content.

Storyteller's Bonfire

A roaring bonfire has been planned for the summer season, over which all of Arx is invited to come and enjoy good company, good drink and a chance to tell a good story to all those present.

Date

Sept. 10, 2016, 9 p.m.

Hosted By

Sina

Participants

Viktarkim Joscelin Cesare Ophelia Amber Reese Luca(RIP) Lou Niccolo(RIP) Fergus(RIP) Dawn Silas Deva Rook Laric

Organizations

Location

Outside Arx - Eastern Approach - Beaches

Largesse Level

Refined

Comments and Log

Luca

I went to the bonfire. It was sandy. Heard a story that Ophelia liked. Yeah.


Viktarkim arrives.
Joscelin arrives.
Silas doesn't frequently get the time to visit the beach. Today, however, was clearly different. He trudges into the sand, towards the bonfire, but stops a few yards into his journey when he feets the sand beginning to fill his shoes. The guardsman opts to slip them off and tucks them underneath his arm; thankfully the seabreeze ushers away the stench of smelly knight feet. He walks slower now - mindful of stepping on any broken shells - but with no less purpose.
A scruffy-looking sailor getting on in his years gives a hacking cough and rings a brass bell, attempting to get the attention of those who have come to join in on the beach festivities. "Here, y'beached beasties, over here." It's true it isn't the most friendly greeting, but he seems neither drunk nor surly as he scratches at his beard, planting his rump on a rock that allows him to sit. Some of the merchants look up, though most remain with the wares they've brought, trying to tempt those mulling around. "We're gonna have ourselves a li'l fun; competition, if'n y'will. Creative folks, th' imaginitive ones, y'gonna tell us here some stories, that y'are." He smiles, some of his teeth broken and missing, and most yellowed. "Who'd like t'go first, 'ey?"
Dawn comes with a lovely on her arm, escorted by Master Rook of the Whispers. Other Graysons trail, notable gentlemen of the guardian variety, though the beach will be no comfort to them in their armor. The Lady herself is dressed down this evening, adorned with pretty color in her cheeks and a gleam in her eyes that could be read as anticipation of the event. The hand she doesn't have tucked into the crook of Rook's arm is lifted to those she knows as they're recognized, Silas foremost, while their hostess receives the full brunt of Dawn's smile.

And perhaps a dash of curiousity for the burden she carries, though from this angle, she can't quite make out what it's meant to be.
A messenger arrives, delivering a message to Dawn before departing.
Sina adjusts how her framed vellum sits within the sand before leaving it to gather dust while on display, turning her head toward the sailor and putting on a smile that dazzles - a rare appearance when faced with public. A series of drums begin to beat as the man announces the stories to be told, a steady rhythm to mimic the beating heart of a human being during moments of peace; it prompts some women to begin dancing, moving with the grace of foreign belly-dancers and bawdy commoner steps, amusing themselves as they wait.


Joscelin is walking along the sand, looking for the event she has heard might happen this evening, smiling at the sound of waves and the murmur of people, and eventually, the thumb of drums.
(OOC) Joscelin says: thump*


A man arrives from the city wearing rather plain clothing typical to a Shav, for clearly he is one. Viktarkim comes warily, everything here so unfamiliar to him. The bronze skinned man who's face and arms are marked with tattoos walks out onto the beach but does not immediately mix in the gathering crowd. HIs dark eyes roam over others here as he remains aloof. The sea breeze coming in from the ocean lightly blows his long black hair pulled back and tied with a piece of leather. Not knowing anyone in the city yet, this shav stays apart until he has a better sense of what is going on.
Lou arrives.
A blend of green, white and black, Rook is a dichotomy of bright and muted shades. Arm in arm with Dawn, the courtier walks with tall, straight-backed posture of one either born or trained to be in the elite class; or perhaps even both. "I wonder, do you have any stories to tell, Lady Dawn? I will have to consider what ones spring to my own mind." Careful steps of kid leather boots bring him and his esteemed company down toward the fire and when he unlinks himself, he eases off his coat. The two-tailed piece is then slung onto the floor, to serve as a blanket for Dawn and himself. "My lady," he encourages, offering an arm to help her down politely if she desires it, while he looks to the hustle and bustle of people calling across the beach, dancing and playing music.
Amber arrives.
Amber wanders down onto the beach, thick coppery hair braided over one shoulder. She pauses by a painting of a drowning woman. "That's morbid," she declares cheerfully to herself.
Deva arrives.


Down to the beaches she ventures. Not Lou's first such visit since her return to the city, but the Grayson does cast a look towards the camp nearby. Her hair is, as it often is, left loose to fall about her shoulders; sun-bleached ends easily catching the firelight as she nears the center of the gathering. The woman is in a dark gray dress layered with a black bodice. Very understated, but well-made. Her strides across the beach do hold a measure of grace as she pays mind to how her feet land. It's the shav that draws her attention after a look over those with tables of wares. She falls into place beside him. Her voice is quiet, but should be heard easily by those near. "How are you finding the city?"
Dawn doesn't immediately take advantage of Rook's chivalry. There is Jocelin to wave to, Viktarkim to study and-- after a slight turn-- Sina's painting to study. The sailor's patter is lost the moment she lays eyes on the canvas. For an instant, Grayson's Lady stands frozen.

And then she folds herself onto the makeshift blanket fashioned of a Whisper's coat and drapes her arms over updrawn knees. The most casual of postures, this, a world away from the courtly graces required of her in mansion and palace. "Plenty of stories, but I'm no performer, Master Rook. Will you oblige us tonight?" she asks him quietly, gaze shifting between Sina and the painting again.
A somber young woman approaches the fire, the light casting shadows across her fair skin and the strands of copper hair that crown her head. She winks at the sailor, erasing the moment of stoicism that she had previously displayed. "I 'ave a story for y', old man," she quips, beginning to use her hands to form shadow shapes upon the sand underfoot.



"It was a long time ago, before Alarice the Great brought together the splintered houses left behind in the Reckoning; longer even than the Reckoning itself, when magic spread across Arvum and corrupted the minds of men." The redheaded performer puts a hush into her voice as her fingers shift, creating a beast with horns and thick legs. "A time when demon and elf harried those good peoples who would come someday to support the Crown."
(OOC) Amber says: Who was that?
(OOC) Amber says: Unclaimed emits. :(
Silas plops himself down by the bonfire, opposite of the burly man with the scruffy beard. The Iron Guardsman beholds the man in front of him for a long contemplative moment, before shrugging. "What about you? You look like a man who has quite a few tales to tell," Silas muses outloud. He is alerted to movement nearby as others approach and his blue eyes light up when he recognizes Dawn among them. He lifts his own hand to give the woman a friendly wave. "Hello, m'lady." His eyes curiously flicker to the man on her arm, then to the prodigal who ambles forth. This was certainly a colorful group. Sina was noted last, but that was merely a symptom of being the furthest away from him. He gives her a respectful nod, before letting his gaze rove over her painting. Then someone is already going into a story! Silas blinks.
(OOC) Sina is really slow, so hopes people will post at will! Feel free to puppet NPCs on the beach, too, at whim. Good if you wanna storytell but don't think your character would.
(OOC) Sina is lagging really hard, but that was her pretending to be an NPC because Sina's not talking yet. She's just standing by her painting.
Ophelia arrives.
(OOC) Silas lags hard, too. x_x
Reserved and currently unarmed with any alcohol in hand, Deva slinks onto the beach with slow, careful steps. She seems to be in grim spirits, at best, arms crossed and tucked against her stomach. As she spies a few familiar faces in the crowd, she offers a small and fleeting smile while searching for a spot to sit near the fire.
"Mm, perhaps, Lady Dawn -- I will think of what stories I know that are fitting," Rook replies to Dawn with a slight twist of his mouth-- an offer of a budding smile. When Silas approaches to greet Dawn he bows his head pleasantly, politely. "I am Rook Grayward, goodman...?" he introduces himself at the curious glance, extending a hand upward and in a lean forward. "We haven't ever had the good fortune to meet, I'm sure. Still, I trust you have an absolutely wonderful time tonight." Distracted by the start of a story he then idly reaches to swipe some sand off his legs, seeking the comfort of his spot beside the Grayson noblewoman he's arrived with. A mild comment is given aside, to her.
Ophelia's presence would serve as counterpart to Deva's somber spirits with the bounce of her curls matching the pep in her step when she near skips down to the beach with the sluggish steps of her guard somewhere behind. It was all timely, as she's given leave to no longer be hounded by the gray-haired man in the Velenosan livery. She leans over the Princess' shoulders with her voice hushed to not disturb with the sweet-sweet offering of, "If you're going to vomit, I'll hold back your hair."
Silas has left the game.
Viktarkim has left the game.
Viktarkim has entered the game.


Lou is the only person here whom he knows. Viktarkim watches her when she approaches him and he inclines his head politely to her, then stands quietly as she speaks to him. The Shav takes a moment to think about it before he gives her answer, his baritone kept low in volume, "It is ... a very large city, my Lady." An attempt is made to keep his expression unreadable though there may be the faint thinning of his mouth. "It will take me time to learn my way around." Dawn's look in his direction isn't noted, for he does not yet know who she may be.
(OOC) Dawn says: Man. Evil internet. :(
Laric arrives.
Joscelin has left the game.
Joscelin has entered the game.
Silas has entered the game.
"Sir Silas Mercier," Dawn supplies, distracted from her hostess staring. She tilts her head, finds a smile for both men. "He is gods-blessed in any competition, Master Rook, your work is cut out for you if you enter." In a different tone that might have been a challenge but her voice is mild tonight. It suits the air about her, that inner turn which makes her returning murmur to Rook come at a delay. Her eyes have already drifted back to painting, to handmaiden, to the bright-haired woman who gave her opinion on the artwork.
"During this time of hardship and vile magics, there was a tribe, a tribe of great warriors and little love for the magic folk," continues the red-haired storyteller, her hands once more forming an image to accompany the words. They continue like this, shadow-casting pictures for those able to see the shadows on the sand. "Within this tribe lived a woman - a powerful, fearsome woman by the name of Shen. Shen led many of the warriors that this tribe possessed into battles against the civilized peoples, those who practiced their magics and profited with such a life."



She tosses her coppery hair back while she speaks, seeking to continue without a true pause: "It was in one such battle that Shen was faced with a great beast, bigger than even Hammar down in the Boroughs. This beast was black of skin and red of eye, with great tusks protruding from his mouth."
Amber catches Dawn's gaze, and smiles - a simple, friendly affair. She turns from the painting and moves towards the fire, settling herself into the sand and removing her boots to place them behind her. Arms are folded on her knees, and her chin propped atop them as she listens to the storyteller.
Sina seems to feel the eyes of Dawn on both her personage and the painting she's brought with her, casting her mercurial gaze to the side to study the Lady in turn. She takes a step to the side, obscuring the face of the best within the image behind the gossamer material of her dress.


"Yes, it is." Lou doesn't disagree, offering a smile for the man. She looks over those gathered and tilts her head in the direction of Dawn and those she is with. Silas and Rook. Familiar in face, but not known well to the Grayson. "Come. You should meet my cousin, Lady Dawn. She is the Voice of Grayson." The words are offered quietly, as the storytelling has begun, but the woman will reach out to place a hand at Viktarkim's elbow with intent to lead him gently in that direction.


Joscelin does her best to be quiet, walking along in sandals instead of her usual boots, picking her way through the crowd. She sees Dawn and waves to her Patron, smiling brightly but doing her best to remain silent; the stories have already begun! Her eyes wander of the crowd, the folks she knows getting a smile and a wave, the ones she doesn't getting a nod if they meet her eyes.

Closer to the storyteller now, the sound of the waves a counterpoint to the words told to the hushed gathering. Joscelin stands on her toes, the plump, brown-skinned woman looking for a place to sit.
Startled, Deva moves forward suddenly, as if fleeing the sudden terror that is Ophelia over her shoulder. Once she realizes just who it is, she lets out an airy laugh and lets the tension drop from her limbs. "I'll probably need your help with that, thank you. Perhaps I'll put it up and out of the way just in case," she muses, and gestures with a hand toward the empty space at her side. "What are you up to these days, Ophelia? I hope you've used up the entire Velenosa apple supply." She seems more at ease now, smiling even at the vivacious princess. Her volume lowers appropriately as the storytelling takes place.
Viktarkim has left the game.
Viktarkim has entered the game.
Silas's attention finally rests on Dawn and Rook, given he was currently the topic of conversation! He looks sheepish. "I don't know. Storytelling is quite different from swordplay. But now I feel compelled to at least try, so I don't disappoint," he asides to Dawn and Rook as he passively listens to the tale. He audibly gasps. "Bigger than Hammar?"
Silas has left the game.
Silas has entered the game.
Viktarkim had turned his head to look in the storyteller's direction at mention of a tribe and magic, but Lou's touch to his arm snaps his attention back to her. An involuntary tensing at being touched, an instinctive resistance to being guided. It only lasts a breath, and then he walks with her but prefers to fall at least a pace behind the noble woman. His dark eyes are watchful, acutely aware that he has not come here armed. Lou has no verbal reply from him. Viktarkim goes where she leads, alert but silent.
Showing up late in the middle of the tale, Laric Grayson appears wearing the colors of the inquisition, the slight breeze blowing across the beach making his half-cape flutter. He neglected to leave the city gate without his sword on his hip, which clatters just a little, and he puts his hand on his hat to keep it from blowing away. Escorted by a small retinue of agents, he dismisses them before they get too close to the gathering, and arrives wordlessly amidst the throng. He neglects to interrupt or say hi for fear of spoiling the story, but he does make eye contact with those he's affiliated with or close to.
"Now, Shen was a woman of common sense, and this creature was a horrifying thing, so different from man and spitting liquid fire when it formed words with its strange, tusked mouth. She feared it, as she should have, but she never allowed the warriors to know that she trembled within her leathers. The wielders of magic who had brought this beast into being had fought with spell to defend their home from the weapons of the warrior tribe, but had fallen as men often fall when faced with blade and axe.



"So now her men were faced with a monstrosity, unlike any they had seen before.



"Shen, in spite of her common sense, ordered the band of future-Shavs forward, seeking a weak point in this great creature. It would be quite a trophy when it was dead, and if they progressed carefully, she was certain it would die like any other mortal thing."
Rook listens to the story but his deep green eyes switch between Dawn and Sina from time to time before he indicates the artist, his own words for the Grayson woman soft and reserved. When Lou seems to be marching in their direction with the shav, he indicates the pair next. "It seems we have company," he utters louder, "so let's look that way rather than gawp, hm?" With a short, mild laugh, his eyes flick around to inspect the area before he bows his head deeply for Lou and her companion. "Your highness," he greets, "good sir."
With the tale begun, Dawn's greeting for the Graysons that begin to gather 'round is limited to smiles. They are very good smiles though, reaching her eyes and softening some of that air of distraction. Laric, Lou, her looming shadow Viktarkim too, they're all acknowledged. Then its eyes forwatd or at least trained upon the woman telling the storm. And when Rook gives that laugh? The most dignified Lady turns out her arm to nudge his with an elbow, then lifts her hand palm up in clear expectation of /something/ being placed therein.
Ophelia frowns just so at Deva's reaction, but the hand which reaches supportively to her shoulder issues a warmer squeeze. Nesting down to the given seat with completely irreverence of her silken skirts, she pries off her slippers one by one until she can dig her little toes fully within the sand. The shadows have her pulling straight on occasion, with a sway to her posture to achieve the best possible view. A quick dimpled smile of recognition is shared towards Lady Dawn. She searches over those set up collections whilst nibbling on her lip and then lowers her voice to reply to the Redrain Princess, trying to lean against her.


Upon spotting Laric in her path towards Dawn and Company, Lou lifts a hand to catch his attention and mouths something. Something about talking later? Who knows. She smiles, at least! There's even a hint of dimple! She's being quiet now as the story gets into the thick of things, tilting her head in a nod for Rook once they're within distance. "This is Viktarkim," she offers by way of introduction, voice pitched low. "He joined with my... entourage," party? band? At least no bard has yet given their gathering a name. "and has come back to the city with Mason and myself." And then with a turn to look towards Viktarkim -- encouraging, perhaps? -- she continues. "This is Lady Dawn Grayson. She is Our Voice." Grayson, one can assume. For Rook, there is a mildly apologetic look as the woman settles down to sit as well, fussing at the skirts of her dress as she does. "I am afraid we have not been properly introduced... Or if we have been, I have forgotten and I surely owe you a drink in recompense."
Joscelin has left the game.
Joscelin has entered the game.
Luca arrives.
Silas continues to listen intently to the story as the people around him mill about and make their introductions. It had a monster in it, and he was interested in how it was going to end! Laric was recognized and waved to, but he was having difficulty trying to divide his listening attention.
"Many of them died, while others lie in half-life upon the ground before the battle was over. It was then, when only Shen and the beast were left standing, that it spoke to her. 'Your kin are cold, woman of the sword, and they will taste fine when I feast upon them,' it said, its burning spittle leaving divots and craters within the ground wherever it fell. Shen looked upon her fallen comrades with guilt, guilt that transformed into cold resolve, for she wouldn't let them fall in vain.



"'You cannot feast without a head, monster!' claimed the warrior woman, sparking laughter from the creature as she charged. It sought to sweep her aside with a great hand, knocking her to the earth and rending her with its mighty claws. Blood splattered against the earth and Shen thought she might be dying - but it was then a voice came to her, speaking in her ear in faceless form: 'You will kill the beast,' it said, 'And many of them after it.'
"Remind me to bring less difficult footwear next time," Deva murmurs to Ophelia, gesturing toward a boot as the other woman slips her shoes off. She watches with some level of envy in her eyes. The lean is welcomed, and she slides an arm around to gently squeeze Ophelia's shoulder in return while replying in a softer, lower voice.
Reese arrives.
Rook is nudged and suitably cowed-- but it doesn't last long at all; all feigned, it seems. Reaching into a pocket of the jacket they yet sit upon, the courtier retrieves a flash and presents it to Dawn without so much as a single word uttered. For Lou he bows his head a second time, this one in acknowledgement of her apology. "Think nothing of it," he reassures, "I will not take offense to someone not knowing my name unless I have gone out of my way to ensure they should. We've never met, not directly anyway. I am Master Rook Grayward of Bastion," he explains, "an associate of Whisper House and cortier extraordinaire. That's the really rather pompous way of putting it, though." With a devestatingly handsome offering of a smile, he waves it all away. "Tonight, however, I am the supplier of the drinks, it seems." This, half-way offered to Dawn as much as it is Lou.


Rook is studied as Viktarkim comes up. The Shav stops when Lou does, his gaze to slip to studying Dawn when she is introduced. To her the tribesman bows his head, not really certain about protocols among these people and their nobility. To Rook he faintly inclines his dark head. He does not seem to be inclined to speak, as yet. He seems to be taking his cues from the others and when Lou moves to settle herself to the sand, he takes a seat as well. Viktarkim watches the others around him closely, listening.
Luca slogs through the sand, kicking it up around his boots. He spies his sister and a redheaded princess and ambles over to fall into the sand just behind them with a thump. "Hey," he greets, then looks toward the woman telling the wild story.
It isn't precisely gloating, but Ophelia's toes wiggle a bit unnecessarily beneath the sandy grains and the illumination of the bonfire might've spotlighted a flash of an impish smile or two. She might be unable to keep her hands at bay with one of her hair-bound ribbons being twisted again and again around the same finger. The exclamation from the warrior woman in the story forced her bright eyes to dart that way, but she tucks lightly against Deva. A handful of sand is scooped up, with her lean arm angled with some difficulty to try to bypass her princess companion to throw it in greeting towards Luca. It's done into a passing breeze, which has some of it filtering back much to her immense woe and quiet sputtering.
Laric nods his head a couple of times in Lou's direction, acknowledging her with a smile of his own. Those Graysons and their catchy, infectuous smiles! And to Silas, he gives his own muted wave, a single draw across the air with his gloved hand. His lip is quirked by the continuance of the story, which amuses him greatly.
Dawn's eyes lift up-- and up and and up-- to find the man that Lou puts a name to. The markings on his face are studied, gaze ticking between those and his eyes. "Master... Viktarkim? I hope I pronounced that correctly," she says, voice pitched below the stronger tones of the storyteller. "Welcome to Arx, sir. It's always a pleasure to meet one of Princess Lou's adventuring companions. She tends to find the most interesting people." That last is said with a switch that leads her to smile at the Princess in question, that quirk of expression both amused and fond to match the way she toasts the woman with the flask Rook provides. Then it's back to the storyteller, the flask tipped high against her lips for a significant swallow. "Drinks and better cheer," is her edit of Rook's self-assessment.
"She found strength enough to push back to her feet, supporting herself on her sword before gaining her bearings enough to wield it properly again. Both hands were placed upon its hilt, and the creature laughed at this display of stubbornness. It reached its clawed hand out to sweep her back once more, and howled in pain as the appendage was cleaved off by the edge of Shen's sword.



"This displeased the beast, forced now to look upon this mortal woman as an enemy and not a plaything. Shen's confidence was bolstered; she could kill it, as the voice had told her. She would kill it, and her tribe's warriors would be avenged in their deaths.



"The battle lasted well until Shen's exhaustion, but in the end, the beast was dead. And it was then that a figure emerged from the trees that lined what was once the home of those working magic, and summoning monsters such as this. The figure, cloaked in gray and possessing no face, was silent - but the air was not.



"The voice once more came to Shen, who kneeled as she realized what she gazed upon. The Sentinel gazed without eyes upon the woman who had destroyed the vessel of the magicians, and gazed upon her with approval, for she had restored order where it had been corrupted. 'I see you, and I watch you, and know, woman, that I give you my favor in the battles to come.'



"And so Shen, once a woman of a tribe and now favored by justice itself, progressed across the continent to slay the creatures summoned by those corrupted with the magics of the world before, righting the order of the world where chaos would be left to run rampant." The storyteller ends there, giving a dramatic bow before flashing a smile and claiming her seat, allowing another to take her place in entertaining the growing masses.
Sand is blown, a few grains stuck in Deva's hair. She laughs, anyway, glancing over her shoulder as Luca joins them. With one last envious look at Ophelia's so free feet, she tucks her legs in to start pulling her boots off. She does, however, pause to applaud for the storyteller. "Wonderful. What a badass," she says admiringly.
Laric himself claps his hands together raucously. "What a phenomenal story of justice and order! I am obligated to cheer."


"Well, Master Rook. I am Lou Grayson," she's perfectly happy to leave off the title if it lessens the risk of her full name being uttered, "though I imagine a Whisper would already be aware of this." Dawn's amusement is reflected back to her. "Mason," if Lou ever bothered to learn to properly pronounce her husband's name, she has never admitted to it, "sends his regrets. I believe he got himself so tied up in something he was working on that he didn't want to lose the momentum." Her voice has stayed pitched low, one eye on the storyteller.
Cesare arrives.


Luca gets a sharp look from the Shav seated with Lou. Viktarkim didn't like someone coming up and settling so close behind them. The tattooed man gives Lucas a looking over and slightly shifts his position so no one is directly behind him, close by, if he can help it. His eyes shift to Laric briefly again before his attention returns to Dawn. The Shav looks at her with the slighest furrowing of his brows at being addressed as 'master' but he listens. "Thank you for your welcome, Lady Grayson. I hope to serve your House well." A quick glance to Lou to see if he's doing all right - or did he screw anything up?
Reese is late in arriving -- no doubt there's some reason, whether or not it might be a good one -- but she's well-mannered enough to dismount well before she gets /too/ close to the bonfire, and to approach the rest of the way quietly and without excess haste. She's just in time to hear the end of the tale, and to add her own polite applause to that of the rest of those already present, before looking round in search of persons she might already know.
Ophelia applauds enthusiastically alongside Luca and Deva with her knees tucked up a bit in seated position. She's interrupted only by the manner her tongue occasionally rolls around in her mouth and she discreetly turns her head aside to spit down in as ladylike a manner possible towards the ground. "It's much better that way," she comments with a peek towards Deva's feet and then leans forward to spark encouragement to Luca past them by way of command, "Take your boots off and stick your toes in the sand."
Silas's eyebrows jump up his forehead at the conclusion of the story. Was he expecting something else? It's hard to tell from his expression. He raises his hands to applaud alongside Laric, but perhaps not quite as energetically. "A fine tale. I approve of the slaughter of bewitched, evil beasts." He glances aside at Laric. "Have you bested any yourself, Prince Inquisitor?"
Ophelia has left the game.
Ophelia has entered the game.
Deva has left the game.
Cesare arrived and found a place to sit, perchance to meet eyes with anyone an affable regard is offered across the flickering expanse.
Deva has entered the game.
Viktarkim's attention is slightly divided, distracted by the story.
Luca notices no sharp looks. He barely seems to register the sand Ophelia throws at him, lifting his hands to clap a few beats behind everyone else. "Bloody stories, always a crowd pleaser." His sister's command gets a dubious look, but Luca is nothing but not agreeable and so he tugs off his boots.
"Thankfully I have not had the misfortune and sadly, never the honor," Laric says smarmily to Silas.
The scruffy sailor who rang the bell earlier calls for another to continue the stories, not seeming to care for rhyme or reason or who it is that steps forward.
Princess Lou is perhaps not the best one to ask when it comes to matters of propriety. Some folk are lucky she remembers titles at all. But Viktarkim's look earns a small nod and a -- hopefully encouraging -- smile. When the tale is finished, she offers a polite few claps of her own. If one were being honest, she'd not paid close enough attention. "Dawn," she offers quietly, leaning towards her cousin, "I had wanted to ask you to introduce me to a good tailor." Reese's arrival has not yet been noticed, so Lou is utterly unaware that her sister has opted to come to the bonfire as well.
Fergus arrives.
"Please, call me Lady Dawn." She's said that so often it's achieved a graceful flow, easy and natural. Dawn will not correct trueborn Graysons in public but with a smile, she's happy to guide a Prodigal to the right path. A brief detour though, before the story ends and she wedges the flask between her leg and Rook's in order to applaud for the storyteller. "And Prince Mason owes no apology, Lou. It might be my fault, I wrote him a pass for the Archives and told him to tell the Scholars he was my assistant."
Sina finally collects her painting and moves from the rock that she had set it upon, approaching the Grayson collective - and Rook - with the graceful steps of one familiar with the art of dance. Her eyes, catching the light of the fire and burning golden rather than pale gray, skim over the nobility that resides around the Whisper, becoming timid and a touch uncomfortable.
It's a struggle, but Deva unlaces her shoes and drops them into the sand. Success. "You're so right," she sighs happily at Ophelia, sinking her feet in and smiling so brightly now. Something said quietly by the two siblings makes her arch a brow, glancing slowly between them both. She lightly bumps Luca's shoulder with a fist before responding quietly.
Amber tries to catch the attention of the Storyteller of Shen. "Where did you hear that tale? It was fantastic."
Silas seems to accept Laric's answer with a hint of disappointment. "Have you managed to get any fantasical stories out of the people you interrogate, at the very least?" It sounds like the guard is trying to coax a tale out of the inquisitor, now that the sailor was asking for another story.
Amber's inquiry is answered with a roll of the redhead's shoulder. "Mum likes all that sort of folksy stuff - prolly heard it from some pirate somewhere, or some Shav; y'never know," she quips pleasantly, unafraid to demean those outside of the mainlands.
"Mistress Sina," Rook calls, "your event thus far has been somewhat of a hustle and bustle but you're on the fringe of the bulk of it. Come closer, let me introduce you to the royal, esteemed House Grayson and many of their kind, hm?" The courtier lifts his finely cut chin proudly and then says to Dawn and her family, "I have only barely had the opportunity to meet but I have much looked forward to this fine woman here. An artist, she is, as you can see. As a patron of the arts, it delights me to know of these talented folk. Might I inquire for the group here what your inspiration was for that painting, Mistress Sina?"
(OOC) Laric says: Lordy.
Ophelia contendly returns to her occupation of repetitious ribbon-twisting once Luca's boots are removed, occupying herself then on digging circles in the sand near her feet. This produces an uncomfortable angle and imparts more weight upon Deva, her knees now. "Maybe monsters like stories too," she adds in a hushed whisper.
(OOC) Joscelin says: RL has jumped up and bit me, I can't stay guys. Looking forward to drooling over the log. <3
Joscelin is leaving Outside Arx - Eastern Approach - Beaches, heading for Arx - Ward of the Compact - The Atelier - Living Quarter.
Niccolo arrives.


"If it has distracted him from his intent to write tales of our adventures, I may have need to thank you." Lou does flash a broader smile at Dawn before tilting her head in a nod to the offered names. "Thank you." She settles back into her seat, looking towards Sina as Rook calls out to her. There is a small nod for the woman even as the Grayson's eyes drift towards the mentioned painting.
Amber folds her hands intricately and bows to the storyteller for the answer. "Oh. Of course. Pirates do love a good story to pass a calm night." She pauses, looking away from the bonfire, and then pushes herself to her feet.
Much like the last time he was at the beaches, Fergus is clad in full armor, other than his helmet tucked under an arm. He has a bottle of whiskey held in his right hand and looks to be about 1 1/2 sheets to the wind. Fergus glances around the beach slowly, ever so slowly, grunting. "No one's dancing naked."
There; family. Although Reese pauses for a moment, frowning faintly, to look round those circled around the bonfire, her expression clears into a smile a moment later, and she picks her way around the outside of the circle to where there are other Graysons gathered. "I knew I ought to've left earlier," she says, with a sigh, and settles down onto the sand comfortably. "I hope I haven't missed all the best stories."
Cesare looked across the faces, giving each its moment, seen speaking or listening; with eyes unfocused or darting. Laughs drew his attention, but also sarcasm, humour. When people spoke over each other, in context and even seperate threads of disparate conversations; he begin to bloom a small but glassy-eyed smile.
Amber changes her mind, and her course, and moves around the fire to sit near Cesare. She offers the man a small smile of greeting if his gaze should turn her way.
Silas gets a hand clapped on his shoulder and says blithely, after a little tiny breath. "I should think that sort of business is unbecoming of a warm gathering between friends, don't you? Interrogations. I will tell you I have been called to inspect magic dice and it has been suggested to me that, when faced with the accusation of adultery, the idea of demonic possession has a part to play in such acts, but of true interrogations I am afraid I must stay mum."
"I don't think is that kind of party, Prince Fergus," Niccolo says, as he approaches the beach and happens to catch up with Fergus. The duke takes a moment to consider the gathering, studying each face for a few moments. Slowly, he moves closer in with a cursory glance to the are, looking for a place to settle at.


"As you wish, Lady Dawn." Viktarkim slightly inclines his head unto her once more from where he's seated on the sand. Now that story was over, he quietly goes back to watching and listening to the others around them and how Lou is interacting with them. Rook also draws his interest, vaguely curious maybe.
Deva stares at Luca, glances at Ophelia, and then starts bursting with laughter at something said. She even clutches both sides of her face. "Right. And I'm the most refined scholar of etiquette you'll ever meet. Please," she scoffs.
"My painting?" inquires the Thraxian maid, Sina's catty eyes drifting to the vellum that her fingers clutch, framed in wood painted in a fine color resembling the Mourning Sea. Her eyes lift after a time, and she gives a simple explaination: "Dreaming." Though 'dream' and 'nightmare' are not synonymous to most others, she seems satisfied with such an answer. "I also paint flowers, and landscapes. People. Pretty things."
(OOC) Laric says: LARIC says blithely...
(OOC) Laric says: Oops.
Ophelia was quite intent on her whispering towards Luca and calf-slapping of Deva, but her hand shoots upwards as she interrupts to chime in, "I think business about interrogations isn't unbecoming! I'll listen to a story about it." She pauses and leans towards her companions, adopting a hushed voice once more, "... Someone said something about interrogations, right?"
Cesare welcomed Amber to his side, though he did not intimate with his expression that he knew her, she was welcome all the same. "Good evening to you." he offered quietly so as not to disturb the other conversations already boiling around them.
Dawn's hand slips down beside her lag, the esteemed Lady of Grayson intent on plucking up that flask again to take another nip. "It is most fine work," she says quietly after the whiskey's burn has faded. A nod conveys that compliment to Sina before she turns her head to mark Reese's arrival with a smile. But further greetings are prevented by the arrival of an attendant in grey and green. The page bends to whisper in the woman's ear and with that, she rises-- but not before the flask is passed back to Rook to share as he prefers. "I beg your pardon," she tells those grouped around the coat turned blanket. "Duty calls." Then she's off, stride remarkably crisp for a whiskey-drinker traversing sand.
Luca reaches out, the epitome of lazy grace, and gives Deva a friendly shove. A firm, friendly shove.
Dawn is leaving Outside Arx - Eastern Approach - Beaches, heading for Outside Arx - Eastern Approach - Path Outside the Walls.
Rook is leaving Outside Arx - Eastern Approach - Beaches, heading for Outside Arx - Eastern Approach - Path Outside the Walls.
Rook arrives.
"By the Gods man..." Fergus nearly has a stroke when Niccolo is suddenly there. His half-lidded gaze moves to Niccolo. "There is a bonfire, and I brought whiskey..." He says in his growly tone. "Seems like a good start." Fergus watches people move off and leave. "Was it me?" He queries, as if to himself before heading a step or two closer toward the bonfire.
Deva waves at Fergus when she spies his arrival, even through all Ophelia's calf-slapping and her own laughter. "Did they? Probably. That could be interesting in the most terrifying of ways." Eyes narrowing at Luca, but with a small smile on her lips, she shoves him back.
Rook inclines his head somewhat at Sina's reply, thumbing his chin and chuckling somewhat. "We all get inspiration from the strangest places," he confesses, "for more than just art." As Dawn excuses herself, Rook's sly gleam in his eye is sent Sina's way. "Might I ask if I could acquire that painting for a sum of silver and perhaps the promise that everyone who will ever see it will be pointed your way. More than just exposure, in that, I assure you. I'd pay a full thousand silver knights, unless someone else wishes to outbid me." Viktarkim's eyes on him are returned and a full-fledged smile is granted in offered reply.
Ophelia rocks to the side when Deva is shoved as a consequence of proximity. Her lips purse with fierce determination for a heartbeat and then she goads Deva pleasantly, "Shove him for me too. But harder. Because sisters can do that."
Reese has left the game.


There's Reese, even as Lou finds herself being murmured to by a messenger. Not a moment after Dawn. Those damn nobles. She takes a slow breath and offers an apologetic smile to others. "Vik," she offers, quietly, to the large man. There's a nod towards Reese. "Princess Reese. My younger sister. She'd be vastly better to inquire as to matters of propriety." Because she's standing and gesturing to the messenger to lead the way. A final look to the shav, apologetic. "We will speak soon."
(OOC) Lou says: My wrist is beginning to ache, so I'm gonna duck out. Have a good one!
Silas rolls his eyes softly at Laric. "How droll. I'm beginning to think I may have went for the more exciting profession, after all." His lip tugs downward into a slight frown as Dawn departs, but it fades when Ophelia chimes in with her desire to hear a story begotten via interrogation. "Alas... perhaps Prince Gareth gets all the interesting heretics?"
(OOC) Cesare says: Feel better
"Doubtful, this also seems to be the kind of thing, where people are going to come and go," Niccolo tells Fergus, with some amusement. "And I suppose bonfires at the beach are conducive to what you were expecting, Your Highness," he glances over and spots Ophelia and Luca, sharing a smile and a bit of wave in their direction.
The absence of Lady Dawn causes the dark-haired maid to watch her departure, until Rook speaks of acquiring the piece of artwork. A full thousand silver pieces, at that. She allows her lips to purse, eyes falling down to observe the face of the vellum work. "You want the image of a drowning woman hanging on one of your walls?" Sina queries, turning the painting to face Rook's gaze better. "And a sea demon? You are a strange man, you know."
Luca lifts a hand to Niccolo.
Lou is leaving Outside Arx - Eastern Approach - Beaches, heading for Outside Arx - Eastern Approach - Path Outside the Walls.


All these people sure smile a lot. Now Rook is smiling at him. Viktarkim on the other hand, hasn't smiled even once yet. His tattooed face remains mostly without expression, surrounded as he is by strangers. The Shav shows no reaction as thousands of silver are mentioned. Instead, he goes to watching Fergus over there in his armour with helm tucked beneath his arm. Aye, that one he watches. Lou's voice draws his attention back, "Reese."\\

All these people sure smile a lot. Now Rook is smiling at him. Viktarkim on the other hand, hasn't smiled even once yet. His tattooed face remains mostly without expression, surrounded as he is by strangers. The Shav shows no reaction as thousands of silver are mentioned. Instead, he goes to watching Fergus over there in his armour with helm tucked beneath his arm. Aye, that one he watches. Lou's voice draws his attention back, "Reese." A name, even if he knows not what face goes with it yet, "Yes, my Lady."
(OOC) Viktarkim says: Ah crap. I hate this keyboard. Pardon.
Luca then narrows his eyes where he sits in the sand, and reaches out to tug Ophelia close, hooking an arm around her in brotherly affection? Or maybe to trap her.
Deva is, or was, next to Ophelia, She scoots away a few inches to watch with mild amusement. "I'm going to go grab us some whiskey," she decides, rising and dusting herself off a little to trudge barefoot in search of alcohol. Her boots remain where they are, in the sand, with the bottoms of her leggings rolled and shoved up to her calves.
"Oh, I'm remarkably strange... but I'm not sure I'd hang it over my bed or anything," Rook replies with a short laugh, a hand to his mouth to stifle it only just, "but I'd like to secure it from you nevertheless. Art is meant to be shared, don't you think? Share it with me," he urges. "The silver is neither here nor there in my mind, it's just meant to grease the wheels a bit." Clasping his hands together in his lap, he asks far more smoothly then, "What do you think?"
Ophelia turns at Luca's wave, her own unnecessarily animated towards Niccolo when she pairs a dimpled smile. "Favorite Grace Duke," she greets from her sand-encased position. She'd just pointed off in the distance prior, but then she's hooked by Luca's arm and her eyes widen with fleeting alarm. It leads to some extra squirming, before it settles with her toes inching across the sand to prod at Deva's toes before they slip away. "She found the drinks," she breathes with a bit of awe.
Amber murmurs something to Cesare, and then turns her head to watch the dancing flames for a moment, a soft smile dying upon her lips.
Gaze stopping on Viktarkim, the sour and scowling Prince eyes the man, his gaze seemingly taking in the tattoos and scars. There is a moment as if he's uncertain as to where he is as that haunted gaze seems to grow vacant as if he was remembering something from years past. Finishing off his bottle of whiskey in two long charges, the Prince grunts and turns away from the beach. "Shav..." He mutters to himself as he begins heading in the direction of the city from where he had come.
Luca releases Ophelia at the squirming, unable to summon up enough motivation to keep her captured.
Silas watches the flames dance for several minutes in silence, before he clears his throat and eyes the crowd gathered around. He makes no attempt to really amplify his voice to grab their attention, content to let them continue conversing in spite of what he's decided to do. "I suppose I could tell the tale of how I got knighted..."
Cesare explains to Amber somewhat more audibly, "Today I heard two women, sisters, whom had a great love for one another; swearing affirmations of love and loyalty to each other. It was a moment I was not meant to see, or I was priveleged to see. In it, I heard the voices of inspiration; that of a soprano and mezzo soprano in duet." he paused to wet his lips, "And now here, with the reparte, the din of life, the swell of a choir behind their voices." he chuckled, "I do not believe I will sleep tonight, but I will scratch paper with quill until it begs for mercy."
(OOC) Silas rattles the neck of the lag beast.
Ophelia rights herself with only a tiny taming of her skirts, but keeps leaning against Luca. This progresses into a latched capture of his arm and the intent of her brown eyes sent skywards.


Oh aye, Fergus has been marked as one to keep an eye on, whomever he might be. Viktarkim sees the other study himself in turn and he does not turn his own gaze aside a second time. He watches that man turn to depart, still seated upon the sand himself.
(OOC) Laric says: I cannot keep up with this. :<
The duke watches the antics of Ophelia and Luca with some amusement, and he dips his head to the young woman. "My Deatest Princess Niece," he greets her. Something catches his attention, a word, and another departure. Niccolo glances in that direction with some curiosity. But the Silas speaks, the duke's attention goes that way.
Ophelia has left the game.
Fergus is leaving Outside Arx - Eastern Approach - Beaches, heading for Outside Arx - Eastern Approach - Path Outside the Walls.
Ophelia has entered the game.
It's a party, so it doesn't take long for Deva to hunt down refreshments. She brings back a few glasses and most of a bottle. "Would you like some too?" she asks of Niccolo, her smile wide and curiosity in her eyes as she drops back down onto the sand near Ophelia and Luca.
There is a long pause, a skip in conversation where Sina considers deeply the words spoken by Rook as he seeks to relieve her of the piece of artwork. "Yes. Fine. One thousand," she finally agrees, stretching her arms out to pass it over to the Whisper. "And perhaps I'll send you periodic gifts."
Laric has left the game.
Ophelia straightens a bit, staring wide-eyed at Luca and then betraying him to tattle to Deva, "Luca wants to name his child Prince Deathicus."
Laric has entered the game.
(OOC) Laric clings to his connection here.
(OOC) Luca says: i'm confident TWC is working on it, even if they won't admit it.
"Aye! There we have it, another story!" cries the scruffy sailor, gesturing to Silas with one scarred hand.
Luca just shrugs at Ophelia and Deva, not bothering to argue with Ophelia's accusation. At the announcement of another story, he applauds.
"I might as well. I have to leave shortly, but I probably could use a drink for the road," Niccolo says to Deva, with a dip of his head. "Thank you," he adds and is about to say something else, when he catches Ophelia's words to Deva. The duke turns his dark brown eyes to Luca, lifting a brow. It is that look that elders give those younger.
Luca returns Niccolo's look with his own rather blank regard. After a beat, he ventures, "You can't seriously believe her. You know her."
Rook has a cheshire grin, almost as though he'd just been told he'd won himself a duchy. "Splendid!" he chirps, "but I'm a filthy, horrible liar..." he quickly says, "I've only gold pieces for you." The jest is given as he passes across the required funds for the painting and as it's set down nearby he wedges it against him as best he can due to its size. "Periodic gifts? I could never say no, Mistress Sina. Thank you for letting me play patron to the arts this day. I very much appreciate it!" After all, where else is all his money going to go, as a courtier? Probably clothes.


With Lou departed and Lady Dawn also, the Shav seated among Graysons knows the rest of them not. Viktarkim gets to his feet and dusts sand off of his plain clothes, mindful not to dust it off onto those nearest to himself. A faint inclination of his head to Rook should that man look his way and then he's easing off to escape the close confines of so many people about without saying a word.
Deva was mid-drink. Now she's sputtering and -not- looking anywhere near or Ophelia or Luca or anyone at all. This may be a flustered first. Instead, she looks to Silas and holds a glass of whiskey out for Niccolo. "You're welcome," she replies in the most formal, non-choking voice she can muster.
Sina picks up a framed sheet of bleached vellum depicting the fate of a woman in the darkwater deeps.
Amber glances at Cesare. "Have mercy on the parchment," she suggests. "It wants to love you again and again." Smiling as if at a joke, once more she stands and pads off through the sand, barefoot, towards the city.
Amber is leaving Outside Arx - Eastern Approach - Beaches, heading for Outside Arx - Eastern Approach - Path Outside the Walls.
Viktarkim has left the game.
"... It should be more dignified like that. At least like... Prince Edward Deathicus the First," Ophelia is deciding soon after. Her mouth drops open at Luca's pronouncement to Niccolo, looking between them stunned between breaking out into laughter. "But at least he will slay monsters!" The outlandish summary has her dimples breaking free on her cheeks as she curls her fingers inwards, "Drinks! Deva! I'm relying on you. I couldn't find anything, but if you tell me where the drinks are, I will hunt them mercilessly."


Silas pauses to consider the cleverness of Luca's choice of name, but continues unabated regardless of whether or not he attracts any attention. The sailor all but announces the start of his story and the knight gives a short nod. "It was two years ago. I was accompanying my knight on a patrol through the Telmarch - regarded as one of the more dangerous vacation spots for squires. There was two other squires beyond me, and we had the brilliant idea to leave camp to go hunting on our own, believing we weren't likely to run into anything other than a particularly irate rabbit."
The exchange of coin ends with what was once Rook's disappearing into a fold on Sina's dress, hidden behind a belt to keep it in place and make it more difficult for rogue pick-pockets to claim it from her. "We'll see," she confirms of the gifts, her gaze one of suspicion now, and then observation. "They won't all be of dreams, of course." Her head turns, allowing her to listen to Silas speak of his Knighting.
Niccolo takes the glass of whiskey from Deva, with another incline of his head in gratitude. He brings it to his lips, and studies Luca. "I do know her, that's why I know she wouldn't lie about this. Would you, dearest of nieces?" He side glances at Ophelia and can't help the single chuckle, waving a hand in her direction. "There, that is a more dignified name," he says, with a touch of approval in his voice. When Silas begins his story, starts to listen, nursing his drink.
"Irate rabbits are the worst," Ophelia quietly comments as her bright eyes return towards Silas with solemn empathy.
Laric has left the game.
Rook picks himself from the sand after his collection of companions are gone and his transaction is made. Silas' story gets a slight chuckle from the Whisper and then, still chuffed to bits, he carries his new acquisition away. A brief detour is given toward Sina where he speaks in brief before he marches up the sand-strewn path back to the city. "Thank you for your lovely event, as well, of course," he does remember call, ever polite as can be.
Laric has entered the game.
Rook is leaving Outside Arx - Eastern Approach - Beaches, heading for Arx - Ward of the Crown - Whisper House - Suite 7.
The fire-catching eyes of Sina watch as Rook departs, ruminating over whatever it happened to be that he whispered to her. A wry smile slips onto her lips, before she turns to face the bonfire and listen more acutely to Silas' story.
"They are! The ones in the Telmarch have a mean streak a mile wide! Pretty big, too. Don't let their cute fluffiness decieve you," he advises Ophelia with a humorous amount of seriousness in his tone. "Anyway, our hunt didn't go as well as we hoped. It turns out we were all terrible with bows. The rabbits were having none of it. Unfortunately, on our way back to camp it began to snow hard. We found ourselves in the middle of a freak blizzard and couldn't see ten feet in front of us."
Deva pours and holds out a glass for Ophelia, while also not looking at her. "Right here," she offers, still focused on Silas and smiling through it. "Not as bad as doves though, right?" she points out, one brow raised. "Good stories always begin with not a care in the world."
Luca repeats slowly, "Snow?" Luca has yet to winter in Arx, poor thing.
"You're the best," Ophelia cheerfully says towards Deva, accepting the glass with a cradle of both hands. All the talk of bows and rabbits has her intent upon Silas, though she helpfully delivers towards Luca, "It's white."
Laric has left the game.
Laric has entered the game.
Laric has left the game.
Laric has entered the game.
"That sounds like it would make hunting pretty difficult," Niccolo muses in Silas direction, continuing to sip from his glass of whiskey. There's a glance spared the two fellow members of House Velenosa and their exchange, before he turns back to Silas.
There's a mischievous smile on Deva's face, as she looks at the poor innocent Velenosa pair. "Snow," she confirms, voice low enough to not interrupt the tale. "You'll survive, don't worry. I hope this is a story about the Ice Monster of the North," she sounds wistful.
"... Do you have to fight the Ice Monster of the North in order to become a Knight?" It's little more than an uncertain murmur towards Deva, but Ophelia is quick to show dimples to Niccolo as she warms herself on the tiny-tiny sips of whiskey.
Silas doesn't seem too surprised that there was at least one among their number who had no idea what snow was. "It's white, cold, and annoying. I'm sure you'll experience it one day, if you travel far enough. Hopefully not for as long as I did." He looks to Niccolo and nods again. "Aye. We stumbled around for a good hour or so - likely going in the wrong direction and getting ourselves lost even further - but I had good enough luck to find ourselves a cave before we succumbed to a wintery grave."
(OOC) Laric says: I am vamoosing unceremoniously since I keep getting disconned. Sorry.
Laric is leaving Outside Arx - Eastern Approach - Beaches, heading for Arx - Ward of House Grayson - Grayson Mansion - Valor Bedroom #3.
"Or at least, I initially -thought- it was a cave. It turned out to be an ancient tomb. There was a stone chamber beyond the entrance. Three massive stone doors one each to the left and right, and one directly across from the entrance lead deeper into the tomb. Guess what we decided to do, instead of just staying where we were?"
Luca suggests, "Kick in the doors?" He's pretty into this story, if one can judge by his expression. What little expression there is.
"Draw straws to see who went into each door?" Ophelia guesses herself, glass clutched in anticipation.
Casting a glance at the bonfire once more, Sina steps away from the beach, returning to the city and leaving others to tell their stories.
Sina is leaving Outside Arx - Eastern Approach - Beaches, heading for Arx - Ward of House Thrax - Thrax Estate - Suite #7.
Niccolo has left the game.
Luca also clutches his cup in..wait. He turns suddenly to Deva, accusing and hurt.
"I mean, you -have- to go look. How could you not find out what's inside?" Deva asks, lifting her glass in Silas' direction.
Niccolo has entered the game.
Deva smiles, well-- it's not an innocent smile, but she smiles at Luca with brows raised.
Niccolo has left the game.
Niccolo has entered the game.
Niccolo glances at Ophelia, when she presents her possible outcome. "Did you knock on each door? And asked who's there?" A pause and the duke narrows his eyes at Silas. "Tell me that's not what you did." He says, a little more deadpan.
Silas points to Luca. "Right." His eyes dart to Deva when she quips. "Well, yeah, that was our line of thinking. If we didn't try to go through the doors, our curiosity would never be sated. We tried the middle door first. It didn't budge. Then, suddenly..." The guard suddenly claps his hands together. "A loud boom came from out of nowhere, and all three doors broke open at once, falling from their doorways into the room with a great cacophony. Seconds later, the sounds of squeaking filled the air as a pack of rats swarms in from the middle doorway."
Cesare has left the game.
With a sigh and dramatic roll of her eyes, Deva pours one last whiskey and hands it to Luca while pressing a kiss to his cheek. "Simultaneous barrage of rats? Eugh," her nose wrinkles.
Ophelia flinches back a bit at the noise emitted by the clapping hands, but she's leaning right back in soon after, "Did you kill them all?" Niccolo's comment had a quizzical look cast upwards towards him with a slow blink, "I suppose that would be polite." Her glass is toasted towards Luca at his achieved correct guess with an admiring smile, but not shared when she keeps sipping on it with contentment.
Cesare has entered the game.
Luca finally gets a drink, and a kiss. So, making out like a bandit. "Kill all the rats?" He looks dubiously at her sister. "How time consuming."
"... Some of the rats?" Ophelia quietly compromises towards Luca, "They only had irate rabbits and no archers."
"Polite, but not very practical," Niccolo muses to Ophelia, drinking from his whiskey. "It depends on how you decide to kill them," he observes off Luca's commentary, but turns back to Silas, gesturing for him to continue. "So what happened next?" he asks.
Cesare sipped some of the available whiskey, keeping his eyes upon the speakers, offering all of his attention.
"I probably killed a few in my fright, but I didn't really notice. I was almost willing to go back and take my chances with the blizzard rather than venture forward." He clears his throat again when Niccolo asks him to continue. "But venture forward we did. We entered a long hall which ended in a stone chamber which had little else besides moldy tables and rusted iron tools... and two burly creatures which stood at least eight feet tall each. They were not friendly. I want to say they were shavs who had entered the tomb shortly before our arrival and had also decided to explore the tomb."
"You killed them, right?" Ophelia speaks up with a bit less certainty this time.
Luca pats Ophelia's back comfortingly, his hand a warm and protective presence to guard her against the fear of thinking otherwise. "Of course he did," he assures.
"And you killed--" Niccolo begins, but then gestures to Ophelia, when she speaks first.
Deva has left the game.
Silas smiles reassuringly back at Ophelia and nods. "It was tough, but... well... that was my first kill." His eyes dim briefly, but it is fleeting. "On the corpses we found what appeared to be artifacts swiped from the tomb, deeper inside. One such artifact was a particularly ornate sword..."
Deva has entered the game.
(OOC) Deva says: Oh god pls let me stay on, game, pls.
(OOC) Silas is concluding it soon, thankfully!
"Burly shavs," Deva summarizes, frowning and crossing her arms. "I'm sure," she agrees, nodding to Luca and Ophelia before focusing all her attention once more on Silas and his tale. "Ooh, a SWORD?" She sounds so thrilled, sitting up straighter and grinning suddenly.
The combination of Luca's pat on her back and Silas' smile has Ophelia breathing easily, her legs extended languidly towards the fire. "I bet it was really pretty," she comments, towards no one in particular this time.
Niccolo finishes his drink, his attention mostly on Silas. There's a side glance to the others present, before he turns back to the one telling the story.
Luca ducks his head suddenly, rubbing a hand across the back of his neck. Luckily, not the hand holding the whiskey.
Cesare took a sip from his whiskey, looking from Niccolo to Silas.
Ophelia's brow pinched the tiniest bit in the middle, but she rabidly whispered something intent towards Luca and then leaned back with a serene smile towards Silas.
Silas says, "Aye, crafted of diamondplate I believe. It would have fetched a pretty penny," he reveals to Ophelia. "Upon the table located in the middle of the last chamber lied the well-preserved corpse of a man wearing the tabard and belts of a knight. It belonged to him, judging from the sheathe he was buried with. We returned the sword to it's rightful place.""
(OOC) Silas derps but doesn't even care.
"You inspire a huntress to be a treasure hunter, Sir Mercier," Ophelia relays with an impish grin, brushing off her feet a bit of the sand which once encased them.
Glancing occasionally between the others still gathered, Deva smiles slightly at her whiskey companions before looking back to Silas. "What a find! I think we've all got the urge to go exploring now," she admits, looking to Ophelia.
Luca screws his whiskey glass securely into the sand so he can clap for Silas. "Good man. Fancy swords are harder to clean."
Ophelia looks down at the whiskey glass and begins sipping in tiny bits to try to finish hers off quickly in the most inefficient way possible. Dabbing at her lips with her thumb, she reluctantly puts her own glass down to applaud alongside Luca, near to a pout, "Is it over? He didn't even get to his Knighthood."
Silas smiles nervously back at Ophelia and Deva. "I wouldn't recommend stealing from the dead. Or from the living, to be honest. We were found by a search party the morning following, after the blizzard had finally subsided. The scholar who had accompanied our party was thrilled at the discovery of a previously unknown tomb and our knights decided to reward us for our bravery in preventing grave theft. I was knighted when I returned to Arx. One of the other squires opted to become a tailor instead." He pauses and shrugs. " Each to their own, I guess. Though I do hope they managed to secure the tomb..."
"Even if you don't take anything, it's still cool to -see-," Deva acknowledges, giving Silas a slight bow of her head. "Great story, Sir Silas." She pours herself a little more whiskey, and holds the bottle out in offering to refill the glasses of the others. "I hope so too."
Ophelia whispered intently towards Luca, but leaned forward at Silas' words. She fumbled for her cup to extend it to Deva with an appreciative smile and a glow to her cheeks, but questioned, "... You don't know if the tomb was secured yet? How long ago was this? ... Can we go?"
Cesare seemed to take amusement in Ophelia's excitement, but he neither laughed audibly nor smiled broadly. He did wonder at Silas, to see if he would say yes.
Silas fidgets awkwardly from where he was seated in the sand. "Two years. I have not been a knight for long." Silas was only two decades old. Which meant he hasn't been an Iron Guardsman for very long, either! "The Telmarch is some ways and I can't say it's a leisurely trip. Prince Luca might finally see snow if he goes, though... so there's that."
Niccolo tilts his head as he continues to listen to the storytelling. "Thank you for sharing your story, Sir Silas," the duke speaks up. "But for now, I must return back to the city," he adds a dip of his head. "Your Highness, Prince Nephew, Princess Niece, Master Cesare," the man offers his farewells to the others, from Deva to Cesare. He turns to Silas again. "Gods be with you all." And with that, the man starts off toward the city.
(OOC) Niccolo has to skeedaddle. Thanks for the RP!
(OOC) Silas waves. Goodnight! :D
(OOC) Deva says: Night!
Luca blows Niccolo a kiss.
(OOC) Cesare says: Good night
Luca is the most unselfconscious man in the world.
Cesare heard once that Luca is the most unselfconscious man in the world.
"Wouldn't it be nice to be hunting explorers though?" Ophelia wistfully proclaims with a exhaling leaving her. One by one, she brushes off her feet and begins to wedge them back into her slippers. "And we'd have bows aplenty for all the irate rats." She beams a dimpled smile towards Silas, commending him, "Thank you so much for story. It was so very-very good, Sir Silas. It made coming here worth it."
Niccolo is leaving Outside Arx - Eastern Approach - Beaches, heading for Outside Arx - Eastern Approach - Path Outside the Walls.
Ophelia is overheard praising Luca for: The most un-selfconscious man in the world!
Ophelia is overheard praising Silas for: The very-very best storytelling Knight.
Luca lifts his cup to his sister, offering no argument. "You can go exploring, why not? You might see a lot of birds, though, on the way to a tomb."
Luca is overheard praising Silas for: That was a good story, even if my sister is going to be obsessed with tomb raiding for a week.
There's a nonsensical gestures between Ophelia and her guard, undecipherable aside from a fair bit of gesturing towards Silas. In the end, the weary looking man delivers a pouch towards Silas, "I don't know if there was a reward tonight, but here's silver for..." She pauses. "I'm not sure. But yay! Rewards!"
"Thank you for sharing," Deva dips her head toward Silas one more time, then refills Ophelia's glass. Peering into what's left of the bottle, she laguhs a little. "Good night," she waves as Niccolo departs. "But that means there are more birds for her to shoot, nothing wrong with that."
Silas visibly brightens at both Niccolo's and Ophelia's praises, his confidence renewed. "Thank you, Princess Ophelia. I will tell a more dramatic story next time, I believe. Be well, until we meet again." A beat, before he adds. "We should go exploring one day, even if we don't find anything. It can be enlightening in it's own way."
"I'm going to go research tombs," Ophelia tells the remaining group, with an extra dimpled smile provided Cesare. "Or maybe think about researching tombs..." She whispers, "Books are kind of boring."
"What you should do is go talk to one of the scholars about it. They love talking about the things they read. So you can listen, and don't have to read the books yourself," Deva suggests, like she's speaking from personal experience.
Silas also gets money? He blinks owlishly at the pouch. "W-why thank you, Princess Ophelia." He really didn't expect such a gift and looks a -little- bewildered.
Cesare nodded to Ophelia, acknowledging the brief glance his direction, or perhaps encouraging her that she was making the right decision.
"Sir Silas, you stood when no one else would. When Inquisitors shunned the opportunity to stand before the fire and recount tales of greatness. You alone gathered yourself up before the fire to tell a tale of... irate rabbits, dusty tombs, eight-foot-tall things... that I really have to kill at some point in my life too. You deserved a reward for such a feat." Ophelia explains to Silas with a dimpled smile as she gathers herself to a standing position. When that expression deepens, she adds, "Please don't ask me to say more though, because that is the very limits of my serious talk on such a night."
(OOC) Cesare laughs
"And rats... bigger quivers..." The two additional phrases are mumbled some beneath Ophelia's breath, before she smiles to the gathered group and gestures with the whiskey glass she seems intent on taking with her. "Princess Deva, you're the best, please don't drown my brother. Luca, I already told you everything. Let's not be weirder. Courtier. I don't know you, but you should be praised for your interest in stories. And well, Sir Silas, I don't have any more money and shiny things and I direly want to climb a tree. I will settle for the stairwell up to my room though. The Gods bless everyone!"
Cesare replied in return to Ophelia, "And also you."
Silas can't help but laugh at Ophelia's words. "You have a talent of making the mundane sound spectacular, Princess Ophelia. You do me a great honor. I hope you have fun climbing the formidible stairwell." He nods sagely to the departing princess.
Luca snorts. He is used to this.
Ophelia is leaving Outside Arx - Eastern Approach - Beaches, heading for Outside Arx - Eastern Approach - Path Outside the Walls.
"I won't drown him, don't worry. Good night, Ophelia," Deva smiles warmly, lifting a hand to wiggle fingers in a friendly goodbye as the other womang gathers up to leave. She looks at her boots, then her own bare feet, eyes narrowing in thought. "What?" she bumps Luca with an elbow after his snort. "Isn't she just the happiest?" Stating the obvious, she grins at Cesare.
Luca says, with sincerity if not enthusiasm, "She is a delight, my sister." He drains his whiskey at a draught and wonders, "Who is going to put this fire out?" He looks at the few faces remaining around it. "Not me, clearly."
Cesare offered a polite smile in return to Deva, cautious to not draw ire of any onlooking men. The delicate balance of coutier life was real.
(OOC) Cesare says: courtier, typos plague me, I am rusty
Silas says, "I suspect it is difficult to remain sad in her presence," Silas replies to Deva as he turns his attention to the other three gathered around the bonfire. He wrinkles his nose. "Whoever leaves last should put it out.""
"If we leave now, we don't have to," Deva points out to Luca. "Then it's all on them." She grins widely at Cesare and Silas. "If there's anything I know how to do, it's shirking responsibiltiy."
Silas is overheard praising Ophelia for: The nicest princess!
Cesare replied to Silas, "Lest we wake tomorrow to a beach of glass." a little playful snark, good naturedly delivered.
"That would be kind of interesting to see," Silas replies to Cesare, arching one brow. "The tide could always do the work for us, if we're feeling exceptionally lazy."
Luca notes, "I am always feeling lazy, my friend, but in this instance..perhaps we best not leave it to chance." Resigned, Luca puts a hand in the sand and uses it to push himself upright. He gestures with his fingers for Cesare to come to their side of the fire more fully so he can begin stomping the remaining logs over, spreading them to sputter out on the beach.
"Mmm, that would be a sight," Deva muses at Cesare's words, lips pressing together thoughtfully as she mulls it over. Still, she gets up and dusts herself off, trudging around still barefoot to help put the fire out. "Looks like there's plenty of whiskey left, at least. A prize for work."
Silas has left the game.
Cesare moves to assist, kicking sand into some of the embers, and generally proving himself a useful mamal on at least this one occasion.
Silas has entered the game.
Perhaps just to prove his laziness can compete with Luca's, Silas throws a handful of sand onto the bonfire in a futile effort to douse it. It does little more than arouse some sizzling from the sizeable flames. "Meh." He climbs to his feet and dusts the sand off his black trousers.
Luca makes reasonably sure nothing will blow back towards the city before he nods amiably to the others.
(OOC) Luca says: oh, stupid pinky finger
(OOC) Silas says: Heh.
Luca also says, "You all take it easy." He starts to amble off, then thinks better of it and nonchalantly offers Deva an arm. "Staying? Going?'
Cesare offered parenthetically, "Shame nights like these have to end at all." as the fire entered its final throws. "But hard work and suffering create the necessary contrast."
Deva stands there and watches as Luca starts, a hand on her hip and a wry smile on her face. "Mmhmm," she confirms with a laugh, quickly stuffing her feet into her boots so she can head off too. "Good night," she bids the others with a jaunty wave.
Luca tries to avoid suffering whenever he can. "I try to avoid suffering whenever I can - and hard work at all costs," he tosses over his shoulder.
(OOC) Luca says: Thanks for the rp, all!
Silas offers a salute to Luca, Deva, and Cesare as he begins his trek back home. "Be well, Prince Luca and Princess Deva." He pauses, struggling to recall Cesare's name. Partly because this was the first time he's seen the man! "And Master Whisper."
(OOC) Luca walks off, promise.
Luca is leaving Outside Arx - Eastern Approach - Beaches, heading for Arx - Ward of the Lyceum - Velenosa Estate - Chastity Bedroom.
(OOC) Silas says: Goodnight all. :)
(OOC) Deva says: Night!
Deva is leaving Outside Arx - Eastern Approach - Beaches, heading for Arx - Ward of House Redrain - Redrain Villa - Gyrfalcon Bedroom.
(OOC) Silas skips off!
(OOC) Silas lags off.
Silas has left the game.
Cesare has left the game.
Cesare has entered the game.
Cesare is leaving Outside Arx - Eastern Approach - Beaches, heading for Outside Arx - Eastern Approach - Path Outside the Walls.



Back to list