A messenger arrives, delivering a message to Darren before departing.

There are servants in Grayson livery at the entrance to greet guests, with the crafters being directed to the high table-- and escorted there with the sort of ceremony usually reserved for peers of the realm-- while everyone else, noble and not alike, are shown to the smaller tables. A group of Whispers musicians are arranged to one side, all of them equipped with string instruments to create a soft, pleasant musical backdrop. And gliding through the growing crowds is Lady Dawn, reseplendant in gold and midnight, the bright copper of her hair mostly hidden beneath the silky drape of a veil.
    "Welcome!" she greets those newly arrived, smile almost as bright as the golden embroidery sparkling on her gown. "Come in, come in... the dais is for Jayus' chosen but there should be seats elsewhere for everyone else."

Arriving with his as a tandem are, the Prince Edain and Princess Sophie, here to show support from the Valardin. After all one of the crafters that is being honored here is the one of the Oathland's Favorite, Goodwoman Ida Ferron, who in the short time she has been here in Arx has opened a thriving shoppe that is currently staffed by a healthy number of apprentices and even journeymen that have come to work under her.

Of course Edain is dressed with his always modest sensibility and seems to be continuing a conversation that's been going for a while now as he enters the Gallery, "I don't know what you are talking, this is my dress tabard and completely different from my usual every day tabard." he points to his chest, "See, the white dragon has a piercing blue eye, instead of just being a stark white sillouhette." Edain protests as he explains how this is an entirely different garment.

A messenger arrives, delivering a message to Morrighan before departing.

A messenger arrives, delivering a message to Darren before departing.

Myrinda has no use for ceremony; the older woman swats at a servant's hand even as he tries to put them on her, querying imperiously, "Do I look /that/ old to you, young boy? I'm not some feeble-minded idiot; go away. /Go away/." Her gaze narrows in annoyance at the servant before she turns away from the high table to start assembly and dressing a mannequin in obsidian black, taking her time to tweak the drape of the fabric /just/ so.

    Ida enters the familiar gallery and pauses after just a few steps once she's out of the main traffic area, likely to take in the majestry of the place. And majestic it is! Or so the expression on the smith's face seems to betray. "Thank you, my lady Dawn," is offered when the Grayson offers the cheerful greeting. Edain and Sophie are offered a deep inclination of her head. "Your Grace, your highness. So glad to have House Valardin here," is noted as she steps further into the room, admiring this and that.

A messenger arrives, delivering a message to Morrighan before departing.

Among those who have arrived at the Gallery is an old man whose hair and beard are the same pristine white as his woolen robes. He moves through this world with a stoop to his back, the result of either a life bent over a desk or the weight of the Archives born by his shoulders for a generation. Aldwin moves through the space with a slow pace, a simple wooden staff being leaned against with each step. He's moving slow enough that he keeps to the side, letting the more spry traffic pass around him with nary a look of consternation for it. Just the same, gentle smile he gives to any that looks his way.

Niccolo enters the gallery and takes a moment to study the surroundings. The duke lifts his head, with a hint of a smile playing on his lips. He's currently dressed in fine silks. His eyes fall on Dawn at her general greeting, and he inclines his head to her. The greeting is silent, but that hint of a smile remains on the man's lips. He turns his attention to the tables available to general public and walks over to find a place to settle at.

Niccolo has joined the a larger circular table draped in snowy linen.


    Arriving a few minutes behind a few of the others, Prince Darren comes striding into the gallery after shooing off some messengers that grabbed him on the way in. Dressed in a classic mix of leathers and silk, he glances to the servant that points him off to one of the smaller tables. But instead of heading to where he's pointed, he will go to Edain first, the Prince given a warm pat from Darren's heavy hand on the shoulder. "Prince Edain, good to see you," he announces cheerfully, and then will incline his head to Sophie as well, the woman given a brief but unabashed study of his blue eyes. And after that greeting, he'll nod over to Dawn, a warm smile for the host flashed.

A messenger arrives, delivering a message to Darren before departing.

Although Acacia might've marginally dressed up for the event, that characteristic slink and shadow-favored prowl remains in effect. Loitering near the entrance and certainly not in the colors of the guard, she'd merely inclined her head to those entering as if she were somehow part of the greeting crowd and then detached herself with the same presence the instant that Niccolo might've entered to fall in with those behind him. "The outfit adorning the mannequin is worthy of attention, your Grace," she murmurs, in a lower tone.

Silas arrives in something other than his armor. Not necessarily silk: a simple tunic, pants, boots, and the sword gifted to him that matches better than the other. He carries a rack full of bottles out in front of him as he's awkwardly ushered to the higher table by the Grayson attendants. "Ah, well, if you insist," he replies with a shrug. He carefully places the rack alongside the dais and offers Dawn a warm smile in greeting. "Thank you, Lady Dawn. The wine is a gift to everyone, from my family." He slips into a seat nearer to the end of the table so he may easily stumble out of his seat if need be.

Silas has joined the a formal banquet table raised on a dais for guests of honor.

Ida has joined the a formal banquet table raised on a dais for guests of honor.

"I don't ever trust a man giving out free wine, little mister," Myrinda dismisses even as Silas makes that offer, waggling fingers at him for a moment. Her gaze turns consideringly at the table on the dais, but she instead lingers protectively near her mannequin.

Dawn is not so bold as to meddle with Myrinda's fussing but she does pause on her circuit to give the woman's craft a look of admiration. "So very elegant... and how clever, to bring a date who can't complain about the food," she remarks, sotto voce. "Ah, Mistress Ida, Sir Silas! I told you not to bring anything but as it's spirits, I won't complain. Thank you, sir." She has smiles and nods for everyone, of course, not just the crafters. Acacia, Niccolo, Darren and Edain, they're all subject to the lady's pale grey study and warm attention. But she doesn't stop to socialize, ushering everyone towards seats instead and then moving towards the center of the room.
    There, the praisin' podium stands, facing the dais.

Valkieri arrives -- not by himself, for once, and also not with Sylphie as his partner. It's Vincere at his shoulder, instead, who probably looks a bit more approachable than Valkieri does. Probably. The Rubino lord is dressed simply but expensively, hands folded at the small of his back, his gaze sweeping the crowd. Gah. People.

Silas blinks owlishly at Myrinda's chastisement, but it's soon followed by a shrug. "Suit yourself." And this is why he's terrible at making sales pitches.

"Acacia," Niccolo greets Acacia the moment he hears the familiar voice, in a murmur as it is. He studies her for a scant of a moment, and turns his gaze towards the mannequin. The man lifts his brow and rubs his chin. "It certainly is," he remarks with interest. "Do you know how made it?" He wonders, glancing around the area, and letting his eyes fall on the table saved for the guests of honor.


     Joscelin Arterius is late, and she intensely dislikes being late. She's got on this gorgeous silk dress made by Morrighan, dyed to mimic the colors of the dawn. Her mass of dark curls are piled on her head and held in place with Ida's beautiful cobalt hairpins. She is representing at least two other crafters; her bracelet is the only thing she herself has made. She's through the hall and trying not to call too much attention to herself, even as the short, plump jeweler stands on her toes now and then, peering around, looking for Morrighan, or Ida, or anyone, really.

In comparison to his priestess cousin, Prince Edain is positively high fashion. As for the Princess Sophie, she is demurely dressed in a pristine robe of white that befits a Mercy of Lagoma, her sole accessories being the moderate leather bag with the cross-body strap and the silk ribbon tying her elegantly braided hair, both dyed Valdarin blue. A bright, gentle smile is offered to Ida, followed by a succession of appropriately displays of greeting to those who greet her and her High Lord kinsman.

"Don't you take that tone with me. I don't need you placating me, young boy; I will bend you over my knee," threatens Myrinda even in the midst of a crowd, pointing still directly at Silas. If the crow's feet at the corners of her eyes seem to crinkle slightly with humor? Well, what of it. She laughs at Dawn's comment. "Exactly, little lady. Exactly. The best date I've ever had."

"Of coures Goodwoman Ida, I would not dream of not being here to show our support of your hard work and the work of all t he other fine craftsmen of the Compact." he smiles then and says, "But you are one of the honorees, you should find a seat at the Banquet table." He bows to Ida before turning to bow to Darren, "Prince Darren, It is good to see you your Grace. May I present my cousing, Princess Sophie Valardin. Would you want to grab a table so we can enjoy the banquet?"

A messenger arrives, delivering a message to Morrighan before departing.


    "A pleasure, Princess Sophie," Darren will intone in a friendly, cheerful manner to the Valardin as she's introduced to him, a wide grin spreading over his features. To Edain, he simply nods. "Sure. Let's find a place closest to the dias? That way we can see all the action," he chuckles. His eyes will briefly float around the room, studying those who have come and those just entering, his attention momentarily lingering upon Niccolo when he spots the Duke in the crowd. He'll nod his way, before thumbing to one of the nearest tables, looking back to Edain and Sophie. "Does that work for the both of you?" he'll ask, already stepping over to the table. And then he pulls out one of the chairs for Sophie, offering it to her first.

Acacia's gaze flitted over towards Myrinda and Silas, but she ends up answering towards Niccolo, "I imagine, I'd hope, the Grayhope attending it. But really, at this point it could be anyone she's fond of too." There's an amused twist of her mouth, before she seals the seat beside him, a bit boldly, to claim it, while ushering a quiet word aside. There's a distinct distance there, but if, and it certainly is if, she's able to catch the focus of Ida or Joscelin along the way, she'd deliver a warmer and more familiar wink.

There are no kitchens attached to the gallery. This means that Grayson's kitchens must be churning out a feast's worth of food, while their servants cart it through city streets to here. It's a marvel that-- when the parade of servers begins-- steam still rises from the hot dishes. And it is a feast, make no mistake. Here are immense savory pies with gold-brushed crusts and huge loaves, served with little tubs of whipped butter, and a cold soup of cream and seafood. There is broth with bacon, slabs of nut-crusted salmon, capons and lampreys in hot sauce (for the braver guests). All of this food and it's set on the tables, more and more of it, to entice people to their seats.
    But it's the roasted pig on a platter which takes pride of place and is carried in like Prince Donrai on his litter, except this litter is a huge tray covered with greens and fruits candied violets, and Prince Donrai is a massive boar glistening and prime for carving. The head cook stands in the doorway, beaming, as this prize is carried to the high table, reserved for the guests of honors alone.
    "If everyone will take their seats please!" This is Dawn, echoing the quieter invitation of dishes being served and drinks being poured.

Around the edge of the room goes Aldwin, until he comes to one of the tables as yet unoccupied. A chair is pulled back, one choen to let him view the dispayed works, and settles himelf there. The staff he's been leaning against as he walks is tucked into the crook of one arm and angled so mostly disappears beneath the table.

A redheaded teen loiters outside the gallery for a short amount of time, leaned against the wall near the entrance while numerous messengers skitters back and forth. They press a few rolled sheets of parchment into her hand, earning them a irritable look. They're waved off an the contents perused before they're shoved into her satchel bag, traded for a golden flask. She twists off the silver cap and partakes of the contents, drinking down some of that good old liquid courage. Eventually Morrighan skirts around the crowd, weaving in and about to bring her close to Dawn and Darren - both who receive a polite dip of her head in greeting, then off the goes to the table reserved for the artisans.

    Even in a crowd, it is hard to miss Joscelin's curly head and it would be just those exact curls that tug Ida's attention to the jeweler, though the hues of the dress don't hurt to call attention. "Mistress Joscelin," is said, rather than called out, though the tall smith lifts an arm to draw the other woman's notice. That done, she can't help but beam a smile at her patron. "Your Grace, Prince Edain, again I am so grateful, but indeed. I should find a seat." Again, she dips her head and moves to make herself comfortable at the table. Espying Morrighan on her way, she grins. "Come sit, hmm? I think Joscelin should be along in a moment." Acacia, too, is hard to miss, even in a crowd. Before actually sitting, Ida gives the lovely Culler a warm smile.

Morrighan has joined the Benches.

Morrighan has left the Benches.

Morrighan has joined the a formal banquet table raised on a dais for guests of honor.

Silas inclines his head towards Myrinda again, as she continues. "What do you suggest I do?" He asks with genuine curiosity. If Myrinda was attempting to annoy him she was failing, but that might have something to do with the fact that he's not certain she's genuinely angry at him! His eyes do find the mannequin and he squints. It looks familiar...

Next to Valkieri, Vincere has the warmth of a late spring afternoon, sunny and golden. (Next to anyone else, he might look a little reserved; it's all about context.) He's dressed ... less expensively, but he's still /Lycene/. Where Valkieri stalls, Vincere urges him on, drawn by a curiosity that turns his dark eyes gleaming up at the room and the artwork on display. "Come, have you ever seen something so fine? Look at this-- oh," he says, breaking off and pausing as the food comes out. "No, look at /that/."

Aldwin has joined the a small circular table draped in snowy linen.

Edain gives Prince Darren a quick 'thumbs up' unversal sign of, 'Yes I approve of these seating arrangements.' as he follows Prince Darren to the table he's scoped out.

Darren has joined the a small dining table draped in snowy linen.


     Joscelin peers over her shoulder and spots Morrighan, the flame-haired clothier who's only true love is whiskey and Joscelin herself. At least, this is what should would say. She grins at Acacia and takes a few steps back the way she came, snagging Morrighan's hand and squeezing the pale-woman's fingers. 'C'mon, sharp-sweet, we'll find a place to sit."
     She greets Ida and follows her through the people, the jeweler made the braver for Morrighan's distress.

Sophie has joined the a small dining table draped in snowy linen.

Edain has joined the a small dining table draped in snowy linen.

Valkieri has joined the a larger circular table draped in snowy linen.

Vincere has joined the a larger circular table draped in snowy linen.

Acacia has joined the a larger circular table draped in snowy linen.

"You respect your elders, you silly rascal," replies Myrinda, her voice still raised as she speaks from beside her mannequin towards the dais. A grumble of annoyance leaves her as she sweeps her gaze between the food coming out and her work, but she eventually draws herself away reluctantly to take a seat at that high dais. "Good gods, these silly nobles. Why is this /raised/? Does someone hate my knees?"

Myrinda has joined the a formal banquet table raised on a dais for guests of honor.

Not a lot of progress is made in regards to Morrighan's journey towards the table - but a short distance in she's found herself snagged. Her eyes narrowly slant aside to the individual who's taken it upon themselves to drag her around, though when she notes it's Joscelin, there's a small look of relief on her face. "Oh, jus' you. I was afraid I was goin' tae have tae get unruly there for a minute," she mumbles, not seeming to mind that the jeweler hauls her off to find seating. "I ain't even drunk yet tae manage this, I hope there's enough whiskey."

Niccolo lets his gaze rest on Myrinda and Silas and slowly nods to Acacia. "If you do find out before I do, let me know," he says to his protege. "I'm glad you were able to join me," he offers to the young woman, after she sits down. "Isolde couldn't make it, and neither did Esera. And of course, Talen, well," he offers a little wave at that. Seeing Valkieri and Vincere sit down, he dips his head in their direction. "My Lord, Marquis," he offers in greeting. "How are you both today, have you had a chance to meet my protege yet?" he looks at Acacia, then at the two men.

Deva shows up. She could look a little less disheveled, maybe a little more formal, and probably not so dour. Her hair is half-pulled up very loosely, and she's all dressed in leathers. Hands on her hips, she wordlessly wanders over to Darren's table.

Valkieri murmurs something to Vincere, even as his gaze continues scanning the room. He offers a few polite smiles to those he recognizes before he moves to take a seat at the same table as Niccolo and Acacia, clearly expecting Vincere to follow. "Duke Niccolo. Yes, I've had the pleasure of meeting Mistress Acacia on several occasions, I believe," he murmurs, inclining his head to the woman. His gaze flits to Vincere as if to check if he needs an introduction.


     "The guests of honor are us, I think?" Joscelin murmurs to Morrighan. She stands on her toes now and again to look for her sister, who is technically her 'date' to this thing. In the mean time, she follows along towards the seats set aside for the crafters and their guests. "And-" she says, digging into ... her ... skirts? Oh my. She produces a small dusty bottle. "Look what I found. Two more, just like the one I gave you, but don't tell Ianthe-" Joscelin grins. "We hid these as kids."

Silas' wine rack is being raided, bottles pulled out on demand to pour glasses of the various spirits for those that want to sample them. Lady Dawn herself receives a glass of the riesling. If there is grumbling behind her at the dais, she appears oblivious. Too busy smiling, wearing her best hostess face. And it's a very practiced face, to be sure. "Welcome, my lords, my ladies," she says-- and it's clear someone knows the acoustics of this chamber well, as she hardly needs to raise her voice. A fine orator, she.
    "It does my heart good to see so many come and join me in celebrating those who make our city the finest in the world. Not just Arvum, no, but beyond it too, we've been blessed by Jayus with such minds and hearts and talent as these." She turns, and lifts her glass towards those arranged above everyone else. "I hope you'll forgive me for turning the spotlight on you, friends. But each and every one of you has earned this. Tonight, you are our lords and our ladies, and tonight, we celebrate the color and creativity you bring into our lives. Thank you, from the bottom of our hearts. To you!"

Ianthe slips in quietly, dressed up substantially from her usual simple garb. Her dark curls are free of their usual knot at the nape of her neck and brush against her shoulders, swaying with every movement of her head. She stands near the entrance, but out of the path of those entering behind her as she takes it all in for a moment. She pats her hair nervously and glances over the crowd to familiarize herself with it.

Silas can't help but smile at Myrinda now. He nods demurely once the woman arrives at the table she's assigned to. "My apologies, ma'am." He shares a few whispers with the other crafters now joining the heightened table, but he does compliment Myrinda's handiwork outloud. "Those are some very strapping outfits. Usually I see many more glittery gowns in the shops."

Joscelin has joined the a formal banquet table raised on a dais for guests of honor.

"A pleasure happily received in return, Prince Darren," Sophie intones, her fresh face bright and smiling kindly. It takes a more appreciative turn when the Redrain Prince sees to that she and her High Lord cousin are suitably seated. "Thank you, Your Grace." Gently, she then reaches over to fondly squeeze Edain's forearm in the manner she is wont to do when he is in particular need of the soothing balm that is her temperament.

"Except when someone decides to hold an all-black gala. Then what color do we bring," Myrinda likely speaks a /little/ louder than she intends. Please excuse her; she's old and prone to saying what she wants.

Acacia tears her focus away from the silverware and her lower key introductions in time to catch Dawn's welcoming announcement. At the end of it, she brings her hands together, applauding warmly as her focus sweeps those seated at the table of honor.

Silas also toasts with Dawn, when he gets himself a poured glass of the brandy. "You are ever generous and kind, Lady Dawn."


    "Of course, Princess," Darren murmurs to Sophie before seating himself himself, though only after he waves over to Morrighan, having spotted the red-headed teen entering and then getting pulled away by Joscelin. He settles heavily into the chair, twisting to watch the boar as it's brought on by servants, and then his eyes go up to Deva. "Ah, there you are," he grins, not getting up, but motioning to Edain and Sophie in turn. "Princess Sophie, Prince Edain. May I introduce my beautiful sister, Princess Deva," he chuckles, leaning to murmur something to Deva as she comes to sit with them.

Deva has joined the a small dining table draped in snowy linen.

    Raising the glass that has just been filled with one of the raided wines, Ida dips her head in Dawn's direction respectfully. "As always, my lady, you are too kind with both words and deed."


     Joscelin follows Ida's example, raising her glass to Lady Dawn and giving a courtier's curtsy. "Indeed, my lady. You are as generous and thoughtful as ever. Thank you."

The servants know what is what: once Dawn finishes the first toast, and begin to carve the roast pig, it is Myrinda's plate that receives the first slice. After that they go down the line, Silas and Ida, Morrighan and Joscelin, all being offered choice cuts in turn.
    With her back to the room, Dawn allows a grin to replace her smile. "Don't you turn it about on me," she threatens the worthies up at the high table. She punctuates this warning by uncurling her forefinger from her glass of wine and pointing at the panel up t here. "You will take your adoration and you will like it. And if there's anything you want or need, you have only to ask. Thank you all, for the work you do, the hours you put in, to make our lives brighter and more comfortable."
    The other tables aren't negelected either, to be sure. Those huge steaming pies are being cut and served, the more delicate dishes carried around for people to point at and select.

Edain looks up from the table he shares with Prince Darren and Princess Sophie to smile at Princess Deva, "It is good to see you Princess Deva. You are joining us I hope?"


    There is a toast? Darren will find his drink and hoist it up, just long enough to support whatever was spoken. Then, he'll tip his glass to each of his tablemates in turn and take a long and heavy drink. "The food looks good, eh?" he says to Sophie, Edain and Deva, "Too bad we don't get any of that boar up there. I wonder if one of the Graysons hunted it themselves?" he shrugs, and then continues his conversation in a lower voice to his tablemates.


     Joscelin sits down again and gives Ida The Eye; "Take our adoration and like it?" she 'whispers', arching an eyebrow and trying not to laugh. "Well then."

The interplay between the Dawn and the various crafters brings a larger smile to Aldwin's features than the feast itself. More than he collections forming at the other tables, it is that interaction between crafters and Hostess that the old priest watches. The toast is joined in when it's offered, the acclaim for Jaysus's chosen easily echoed.

    "I'm going to go stuff myself with a pile of food," he casually announces, fully intending to stack plate laid in front of him with roasted pig and pie. The servants may move to help him, but it's clear he's intending to procure himself much larger servings than what they're used scooping out. It quickly becomes a futile exercise and the Grayson knight returns to his spot at the table with a miniature feast.

Having walked in mid-toast and just as everyone is being served, Ianthe takes a seat at the table that looks the emptiest. She fidgets a bit, still trying to get used to sitting and moving in the dress, but finally settles with a half-sigh.

Ianthe has joined the a small circular table draped in snowy linen.


     Spotting her sister out of the corner of her eye, Joscelin turns her head to grin and wave emphatically at Ianthe.


    Ida can't help but laugh and take a few more sips of her wine. "Indeed, Mistress Joscelin. We should do as told, really." The corners of her lips tug up a touch, betraying her obvious mirth.

Niccolo gestures a server over and that said sever, after a small exchange, steps over toward Aldwin, whispering to the man.

No proper feast would be complete without entertainment. The Whispers there in the corner (such as it is, in a round room) begin to strike up a livelier tune to accompany the eating, and through the doors comes a troup of dancers and acrobats to take their place before the high table-- they get the best view, of course. There's a tumbler and a juggler, and a trio of acrobats who take turns tossing each other high and locking limbs with each other to make shapes of their bodies: a peacock's fan, a lumbering bear, a stag, and others.
    Dawn withdraws then and, as a proper hostess should, begins to circulate. She intends to visit every table but she ventures to the nearest first, sliding into a seat beside Deva to exchange a few quiet words with those seated there.

Dawn has joined the a small dining table draped in snowy linen.

Ianthe waves at Joscelin and then gives her a smile, just to let her know that she can manage socially by herself just fine, thank you very much.


    Darren's attention will momentarily drift away from his tablemates in favor of the entertainment that has come out, watching the acrobats with keen interest. It is only when they form the shape of a bear though, that he starts to laugh. "Do you see that? I wonder what else they can do with their bodies," Darren jokes to no one in particular, wagging his brows as he turns back to his table. It was then that Dawn comes around, and he offers the lady a bright smile, standing for just a moment out of respect, and then retaking his chair once she's seated beside Deva.


     Joscelin rolls her eyes at Ianthe but can't stop smiling; sisters.

Aldwin has left the a small circular table draped in snowy linen.

At the head table, Myrinda makes a soft squeak that doesn't become her age and slaps at Joscelin's arm lightly in response to /something/, scowling at the younger woman.

Ianthe has left the a small circular table draped in snowy linen.

The poor servants! It seems they will have to move some of the previously served food. After a few words exchanged with Ianthe, Aldwin takes up his staff again and slowly levers himself to standing. "Shall we?" he asks of the woman at his table before turning and making his way towards the table where Niccolo sits.

Aldwin has joined the a larger circular table draped in snowy linen.

Silas watches the impressive acrobatics at display with some wonder, but he's distracted by the conversation at the table. The expression he wears seems to be faux-crestfallen, if there is such a thing. "If I move like that, maybe I won't get hit at the next Melee..."


     "You wouldn't suffer a dateless night ever, for that matter," Joscelin muses to Silas.

Ianthe rises from the table she has initially joined, taking great care to make sure she's not going to muss her dress. She offers the servants an apologetic smile and follows Aldwin to the other table. She takes a deep breath, almost as if trying to reassure herself.

Ianthe has joined the a larger circular table draped in snowy linen.

At the head table, Myrinda only looks smug and self-satisfied as Joscelin glares at her.

As befits a Valardin Princess, Sophie's gentle presence isn't wont to draw attention save that of those drawn to the quality of her presence that many find soothing. Nonetheless, she notices Aldwin, and she bestows upon him a fond smile before returning her attention to her tablemates.

As she sits down, Ianthe happens to catch Joscelin's remark and bites her tongue to keep from bursting into laughter.

Before seating himself at the table full of Lycenes, Aldwin catches the look from Sophie and inclines his head. His own smile is that of familial warmth. Really, it's the same smile most people get from the aged priest.

Dawn has left the a small dining table draped in snowy linen.

Dawn is all smiles and warm words for the table filled with Valardin and Redrain. But soon enough she pushes back her seat and rises. "I'll try to come back around," she might be heard promising before she sets off for the next collection of guests-- this one rather more diverse. "My lords, my ladies, Archscholar and mistresses! Did I miss anyone?"

Dawn has joined the a larger circular table draped in snowy linen.

"Lady Dawn," Aldwin greets the hostess, turning that same warm smile to her as he had shared with Sophie moments before. "You have assembled the best of Petrichor's bounty to celebrate the Jayus's crafters," he compliments.

A messenger arrives, delivering a message to Morrighan before departing.

Who does not enjoy one of Aldwin's warm smiles? Sophie certainly isn't one to be covetous. Besides, she seems quite taken with her conversation with the Redrains at her table.


     It sounds like, from the commotion at the Honored table, that there's a mixture of laughter, snorting, and ... choking? Goodness.

Myrinda has left the a formal banquet table raised on a dais for guests of honor.


     At the Honored table, Joscelin raises a hand for a servant, her face pink but laughing, coughing a little still, shooting mock-glares at her tablemates.

Dawn's eyes light with some shared amusement-- though she's hardly been seated at the table long enough to have heard all the jokes-- but her smile is proper as she looks to Vincere. "It's an honor, Marquis Igniseri, especially if you're sworn to Lord Valkieri, whom I greatly admire. I hope you've been finding Arx to your taste. Some have told me it doesn't -quite- compare with some of the Lyceum's cities, which I've been unable to confirm for myself. One day, perhaps. Ah!" Here she brightens. "Mistress Artusio. Joscelin's sister, truly? What a pleasure it is to meet you, I had no idea. Please... you owe me no thanks, she's earned every bit of the praise tonight. Speaking of..." Her gaze strays towards the dais. "Ah... if you would all excuse me...?"
    And then she's up, moving towards the guests of honor. And that choking sound.

Dawn has left the a larger circular table draped in snowy linen.

Dawn has joined the a formal banquet table raised on a dais for guests of honor.

Dawn steps up. She does not put her hands on her hips because she is addressing adults, but her eyes are sharp in a way that balances the warmth of her smile. "Whatever -are- you all doing up here? Is someone dying?"

Darren's eyes will lift upward to the Dias, squinting over there for a moment. Then he just shakes his head, chuckling as he returns his attention back to his table, looking more than a little amused about something.

A messenger arrives, delivering a message to Morrighan before departing.

Dawn raises her hand and a line of pages dash in, each bearing a green velvet pouch-- the sort that clink and jingle. One for each of the attending crafters, given while the Lady exchanges quieter words with the recipients.

A messenger arrives, delivering a message to Morrighan before departing.

    Ida's mouth works; open, shut, glancing up at Dawn and then back at the pouch a few times. "Truly, Lady Dawn. In deed and word, your generosity is boundless. Thank you," is offered with one of those head-dips she always offers those above her station.

Joscelin doesn't even know what to stay. "My lady, truly-" she begins, only to choke. Dammit.

Dawn is, in the meantime, busily waving off all the thanks. No no no, no thank yous! But her smile is pleased.

Aldwin has left the a larger circular table draped in snowy linen.

Myrinda frowns, her gaze narrowing. She waggles her fingers dismissively and gives the coins back. "I won't be taking anything I didn't earn with my own two hands. You can come by and see me for something to wear later, young missy," she says simply.


     Joscelin gapes at Myrinda, quickly, only to snap her mouth shut.

Silas smoothly rises from his seat, velvet pouch resting in the hand at his side, and bows at the wait to Dawn. "Thank you, Lady Dawn, for this evening and your generosity." He turns his head towards the fellow crafters still seated at the table, sporting a wry grin. "And thank you, my splendid company, for making the night joyous. I regret having to take my leave before the festivities conclude, but alas..." He moves to depart, but now with a bounce in his step.

Dawn can narrow her eyes as well, but in a stare-off with Myrdina, age will always win. The lady's sharper look softens into a more appropriate smile as she takes back the purse. "Of course, Mistress Grayhope." Her head tilts as she listens to something said by Joscelin and a small, solemn nod is given. "This was to recognize the work your hands have already done, it needn't be for me. But I'll donate to Jayus' shrine in your name instead," she says before she took rises to mark Silas' departure. "Of course, Sir Mercier.

A messenger arrives, delivering a message to Morrighan before departing.


     Sad sounds and clucking of shame and regret as Silas Mercier takes his leave. Joscelin waves g'night to the young man.

Silas has left the a formal banquet table raised on a dais for guests of honor.

"Sure, sure. I doubt Jayus will give a shit about my name, but the priests will enjoy it," Myrinda agrees, humor sharp in her words. This is why commoners shouldn't be invited to noble things. There is a hint of a smile on her lips and in the crinkle of her crow's feet, however.


     Joscelin quietly loves Myrinda and is thankful that she herself has said far worse things within Lady Dawn's hearing.

    Ida can't help but smirk just a little at the famed fashion maven's cheekiness. "I hope I am half as spry and witty when I'm your age, Mistress Myrinda. I'm glad we finally got to meet in person," she tells the woman fussing near her mannequin. Turning back to the table, she smiles and appears to be making her departure speech, of sorts.

Dawn inclines her head to Myrinda, as gracious as if she were addressing a princess of the blood. "That is the hope, Mistress Grayhope. But I'll still be dropping by your shop." A glance flicks at the mannequin. "How could I not?" is a subtler sort of compliment. Then she turns to face the room at large, drawing a breath to project. "My lord and ladies, thank you all again! Your company here today has meant a great deal to me, and more to our crafters, I know. Please, linger, enjoy the feast, enjoy the art and performers." And Dawn? Well, Dawn will step down from the dais and continue her mingling-- after she finds another glass of wine to fortify herself with.

Ida has left the a formal banquet table raised on a dais for guests of honor.

Myrinda nods her approval for Dawn's promise and her words, reaching out to boldly squeeze the woman's upper arm lightly before she moves on and addresses the rest of the room. The tailor will remain by her mannequin, at least for now, though likely at some point she will pack up and head home before she steps /too far/ over any line.

Darren turns away from his dinner companions for a brief minute as Dawn's voice is overheard. He'll lift his glass to her as she makes her announcement. "Wonderful event, Lady Dawn. And to the crafters, thank you all for your hard work," he'll say aloud, his glass tipped to those at the dias as well.


     Joscelin stands and raises her glass to Lady Dawn, the Crafters, and the rest of the attendees. "We live for what we do," she jeweler projects, her voice clear, her smile playful. "But we would die without all of you," she addresses the many other tables.

A messenger arrives, delivering a message to Ianthe before departing.

Joscelin gets a vibrant pink rose wine with a citrus scent from a unique wine rack with removable serving tray.

Edain raises his glass in a show of respect, but Lady Dawn and Prince Darren have already said anything he might only more eloquently. Still he proudly looks to those being honored at the main banquet table before drinking the last of his currently glass.

Acacia turned to watch both Dawn and Joscelin for an extra measure or two, grinning a bit, before stepping free of her chair. "I never knew olives were so sobering," she murmurs, with an inkling of mirth as she deposits her folded napkin next to her plate. Free of her constraints, she presents a formal-esque type bow towards those still seated and remarks, "Thank you for letting me all join you. And well met. Until next time then." The head table is given a warmer wave, comprehensively, before she turns to slink out.

Acacia has left the a larger circular table draped in snowy linen.

As Joscelin takes the first bottle of wine, Myrinda comes over to investigate while adding loudly, not modulating, "I hope you're planning on sharing that with my son, eh?" She looks over the wines thoughtfully.

Myrinda gets a sweet honey gold wine with buttery overtones from a unique wine rack with removable serving tray.

"You all work very hard, every day. It is very generous of Lady Dawn to be hosting this for you, but you certainly are deserving of it," Niccolo speaks up after Darren, having come to stand by his table. "Thank you all, gods be with you and continue to guide your hands." He dips his head to the table at the dais first, then repeats the gesture towards Dawn. "I must be going for now. Enjoy the rest of your evening."


     Joscelin almost trips on her way back to the table, shooting Myrinda a Look. Woman.