Iskiela: Unity

[Falcon]

As Loros moved through the assembly the Jade Quinate kept there ring around him. Oh they moved where he willed to go, the circle opened and closed as needed to allow conversation, but the ring stayed place. One ahead, one to each side, and two behind. Always. Isie took the position at his right hand, her eyes watching the crowd from her vantage point, just as the other four watched from each of theirs. "Keep your back straight," She hissed quietly and they moved towards a quiet corner or the room. "Chin up! remember you are their equal. It is they who should be honored to meet your eyes."

The ring spun around him as Loros found the location he wanted, a place where he could watch the room without seeming too distant from the others, but also where any wishing to converse would be seen as they approached. Isie moved effortless around him as he turned, keeping her position at his right hand, her green over vest flowing around her waist just briefly revealing the leggings worn underneath through a slit in each side, and tall laced boots. The chain shirt she wore between her shift and the over vest was visible at the sleeves under a decorative pauldron stamped with her family crest.

The others' outfits were similar although each Quinate had their own personal touch, the vests varied in length (although the color was the same) each bore a different family crest, But they were one in their duty, honor bound to protect Loros and his future intended.

"It is good that you make them come to you," She whispered and a calming tone, "It will give you a chance to make note of their actions. Pay close attention to any who seem too eager to get to know you, and similarly to those who show you no interest at all."

Her green eyes darted around the room, making note of each entourages' guards, their numbers, and any apparent skills. There were a few that jumped out. The exceptionally tall woman who had only the two men with her. To bring only two showed astounding trust, both her with them and them with each other. There was probably a bond there of some kind. That kind of trust usually took years to build up, to learn to team together so smoothly you might as well be one being. At least that was the only condition Isie herself could imagine bringing only one other person to care for a charge.

The mercenary group worried her too. They were with... was his name Nero? Solders had training, yes. Drilled to perfection in many cases, but also in many cases Mercenaries only got paid when a job was complete. That made them reckless, willing to take shortcuts and risks a trained solder wouldn't even think about. True many times it paid off, but it was often more dangerous for everyone involved... at least she shouldn't have to worry about someone buying them off though. A mercenary band who played both sides usually went very quickly out of work. No, if they were contracted then they'd stick to their contract until they were released, the job was done, or the patron did something to break it.

Light but she hoped she was right about that!

Isie took a moment to whisper a brief recap of her thoughts to Loros before following up with, "There's another thing that worries me." Keeping her voice low to avoid being overheard. "The stewardess, when she mentioned Sor Kal sending a letter, she hesitated. That means one of two things. Either something major has happened of which she does not want us to know, or... there was no letter at all."

 

[fatalrendezvous]

Helene's green eyes focused in on the frail heir from Matžem Dag as she approached. A part of her wanted to reach out, to help the poor girl stay upright, especially since it might free her only two guards to actually... keep an eye out and protect her. Though, she supposed that helping her walk was protection in itself, in a way.

"The pleasure is all mine, Druid Caoileann," she responded with a smile, and a practiced, flowing curtsy. "No need to make apologies for your health. We'll do our best to ensure you and your guards are well cared for."

As she straightened, though, the heir from Amberholm had to search her memory for the "debts" Caoileann spoke of. Something from long before either of the two of them were alive, if her memory of her history lessons served her right. Helene's lips parted, though she balked for a moment as she wondered whether she had the right understanding. "You honor us with your gratitude, but I believe those debts have long been repaid," Helene remarked. While certainly Matžem Dag may have owed some of their formation as a sovereign nation to Amberholm, the Matžem owed themselves that gratitude far more than they liked to admit. "The people of Amberholm merely assisted, as any nation would have done."

Though, truthfully, the other nations hadn't. Helene sometimes wondered how that story was told in the histories in other nations outside of Matžem Dag and Amberholm.

Half a crowd away from them were Holden and Gyrard, standing watch. "If only she could curtsy as well as she can riposte," Holden remarked snidely under his breath at Gyrard. "It was a fine curtsy, my lord." They were in a formal setting now; much as he would've liked, referring to Holden as "boy" in this environment wasn't likely to do him any favors. "And your sister's defense is better than yours."

Holden scoffed, his ceremonial armor rustling as he turned at the waist to shoot his mentor a look. "I did imply her defense was good, didn't I? Lot of good it's done her, in any case. Wasn't enough to keep her from getting that scar over her eye."

Ser Gyrard shrugged, not once returning the eye contact his pupil was looking for. "She wears the scar well. If her defense hadn't been as good as it is, you might have cost her that eye."

Further away, Helene had wrapped up her conversation with Druid Caoileann, and was approaching Nero and his delegation from Bocaccia.

Gyrard straightened and cleared his throat, his gauntleted hand coming to rest on the pommel of his sword. "Eyes open, lad."

 

[Karo]

Still standing in Apollonia's place, Valora noticed one of the heirs heading towards the two. Quickly, she shot a concerned look at Apollonia, uncertain of what she wanted her to do. Should she keep up the ruse and continue to pretend to be her mistress, or acquiesce and return to her rightful role? Yet the Heir of Bocaccia was bearing down upon the Ramorant delegation with all the restraint and hesitation of a stray dog that had just managed to break into the pantry. Professionals to their core, several of the Black Company mercenaries had already clocked the errant figure with the oversized sword strapped to his side as he strode across the room, and had moved to subtle but pointed positions on either side of their 'mistress'. Undeterred, Nero came to a stop just a few steps too close for everyone's liking.

His eyes traced across the woman standing at the head of the Black Company soldiers, expressions dancing across his face like a ballroom floor. Surprise. Confusion. Irritation. But as he caught the glance that the ostensible head of the Ramorant delegation threw behind her, irritation gave ground rapidly to amusement. Throwing one leg forward Nero dropped into a bow that was entirely too elaborate, his right hand brushing his hair from his face as he came up.

"Serenissima. You are looking well." The grin he threw the woman in front of him was a particular blend of 'knowing' and 'shit-eating self-satisfaction'.

Valora examined the man in front of her, quickly matching his appearance to the portrait of Nero Di Acuto, heir of Bocaccia. She was grateful now for all the time Apollonia had her spend studying the portraits of the heirs.

She curtsied politely, smiling to hide her panic. She knew little about Nero or what he knew about Apollonia. Did he see through their ruse, as his grin suggested? Either way, Valora was determined to carry out the trick until Apollonia called her off.

"Likewise," she replied. "How was your journey? Not too tiresome, I hope."

"Uneventful, sadly." Nero's smile lingered on his face like an unwelcome house guest. "Can you believe we rode the entire length of the road between Dekamanche and the Amberholm border without anyone trying to kill, rob or maim us? Ti dico, Bocaccia has gone to the dogs since your last visit."

As though trying to goad the Black Company guards, the Heir took a few more impetuous steps closer to his ostensible counterpart. His voice dropped lower, pantomiming conspiratorial whispers. "They tell me that you have command of the Black Company now. My congratulations. How far we have come since we last met. The Battle of Spezzalante, was it not?"

One of the guards stepped forward. A woman in full harness, with a closed helm to match. Her gauntleted hands kept well clear of her sword and dagger, but she had moved so that Nero was just out of arm's reach of her ward. A clear voice sounded from within the helm, low but carrying - the voice of one used to giving orders, and having them carried out.

"Watch yourself, Heir of Bocaccia. If your land has descended even further since the last visit of the Serenissima of Kulvulcan it must have fallen low indeed. You may wish to consider how your circumstances have improved since you last set eyes on the Serenissima - and how much of that you owe to her consideration."

The words were stern, but did Nero detect a hint of laughter in their tone?

"If I recall aright, Spezzalante was something of a rout, hardly worth the name of a battle in the chronicles of the Black Company. But you did perhaps redeem yourself doing justice to the Serenissima's hospitality. The bills for the wine you and your blackguards drank almost put the Company's accounts in the red for that commission."

The hands rose - slowly and steadily, so as not to give alarm - and lifted the helm, revealing tousled chestnut-brown hair and gleaming green eyes above a familiar half-smile.

"You're a poor excuse for a soldier, di Acuto, but I'll grant you're no fool. Well met!" said Apollonia, and extended a hand for Nero to clasp.
"Ha!" Nero's grin widened as his arm snapped out, gripping the guard's. Wrist to wrist. A soldier's handshake. "You will be pleased to know that I have brought an even bigger mob of blackguards to this little gathering. And we mean to impose on the Ambers' hospitality even more than we did upon yours." He released the woman's arm, eyeing her appraisingly. "Looks good on you. But then you were always better at playing soldier than I was."

Leaning past the guard, Nero shot the 'Serenissima' a quick wink. "And not to worry, signorina. Your secret is safe with me. I love secrets." The heir of Bocaccia waggled his eyebrows. "Makes me feel all smug and superior. If I might offer some… constructive criticism, however? You should stand more like a fighter. Wider stance. Eyes appraising the room. Concocting plans to kill anyone approaching you."

Valora gave the Bocaccian heir a slight smile, relieved to end the dance. "I'll keep that in mind."

"See that you do. I would like to spend as much of this ceremony as possible feeling smug and superior." Nero's attention was immediately back on the guard. He opened his mouth to speak, then seemed to reconsider. Glancing around the reception hall, at the assembled guests still milling about, he turned back and gave a rather rueful smile. "I would speak with you, but not here. Too many eyes and ears. But I will say that others may try to speak to you before then. About Bocaccia. About the services of the Black Company."

Nero leaned in towards the guard, a brief conspiratorial gesture. "We are sellers of swords, you and I, so I am not quite arrogant enough to expect special treatment purely for old time's sake. But know that whatever they might offer you, I am willing to do better." Leaning back and stepping away to a slightly more respectful distance, his grin expanded further still. "And unlike them, I can actually deliver." Turning his attention back onto the figurehead of the Ramorant delegation, Bocaccia's heir offered yet another bow. "I fear I must go and keep an eye on the aforementioned blackguards, Serenissima, before they find things to steal or curtains to set on fire. But I hope we shall have a chance to speak properly, before long." With a final smile at the pair of them, he turned and started back towards his own delegation.

 

[Lesbingus]

Caoileann made pleasantries with Helene for as long as courtesy would permit. She enjoyed the Amber's company, and was loathe to move on. But, as was the nature of such things, eventually they were pulled away from one another; and the Druid was once more cast adrift into the sea of humanity.

But her eyes were not the only ones scanning the crowd.

Throughout her conversation with Helene, Blazh had remained by her side. But Dalibor... he was loathe to stay still, and Caoileann trusted his judgement implicitly. The Helhan Viper was his own creature, and he followed his own whims. Those instincts had kept Matžem Dag safe ever since he rose to his position.

It was Holden and Ser Gyrard who found themselves under the Matžem's cyclopean gaze. With an intensity that could have melted stone, and an accuracy that unsettled the mind, his head had swiveled to the two of them as they discussed Helene. It had not left either of them, until the Druid and the Amber had parted ways-- and even then, they could see Dalibor circling the room like a predator closing in for the kill. He wove between parties in discussion, flitting from shadow to shadow, from cover to cover, hands never straying far from the hilts of the longknives sheathed upon his lower back. The conversation between Nero and the Bocaccian delegation did not go unnoticed by Dalibor, either, and his gaze briefly fell upon them, as unerring as an arrow.

"What do you make of things thus far?"

Caoileann asked, as she and Blazh made their way to a bench. She sat wearily, limbs shaking, and the massive man rubbed her back slowly. Caoileann fell against him, head resting on his broad chest, and Blazh's arm fell delicately around her shoulders like something equal parts blanket and shield. Some might find such a display between lady and servant crass, almost scandalous. But Blazh was her dearest friend, her closest confidant-- and also plenty plush to serve as a pillow for a weary Druid.

"Cannae say much now. Seems well enough, s'far as noble pleasantries go. Lots of dirty looks from the fancy types."

The two of them snorted, looking down at their vestments. Blazh was dressed like a farmer, at least from the waist up. A ragged tunic of off-white cloth and little else. A heavy belt secured his heavy gambeson breeches, over which was the long kilt all men of Clan Mac Giolla Rus wore. Caoileann wore a mantle of furs over a long green and brown robe of office. Not to mention the fact she smelled of sweat, and dirt, and sickness.

Dalibor only wore pants. His thin, whip-like torso painted with war paint.

"Eyes off your husband, Mac Giolla Rus," Caoileann chided playfully, without ever opening her eyes. Blazh snorted, his eye returning to roving over the crowd.

"I think we should wait a while longer before finding the next person, Druid," Blazh said, but Caoileann shook her head. Slowly, leaning on her staff, she heaved herself up. She faltered, falling to one knee, but held up a hand as Blazh rushed to help her up.

Caoileann grit her teeth, limbs quaking. Sweat beaded her brow, running along her beak of a nose. Her lips worked in a silent prayer as she agonizingly pulled herself from the floor, until she took her first shaky, lonesome step without Blazh's hand upon her back. After that step, she took another, stooping to lean on her staff. She waved Blazh over, and once more he supported her.

"Right... Let's get going."

 

[unanun]

"I did not know Matzem Dag simpered for Amberholm so," Miah observed with cupped ears, like a deer.

"Don't be rude! And don't be obvious!"

"You're missing out on the politics. Aren't you the one that loves this kind of stuff? What do you call it again—social dynamics?"

"I already know these things. It is easy to infer from the recorded histories and treaties, if you ever bothered to look at them."

"We both had to, Gilead. I just keep them in the back because there are more interesting things to learn."

"Like your timetables?"

"They're more than just timetables, but I wouldn't expect you to understand. They're instructions, ways to turn groups of people into machines, for every person to become part of a perfect whole. Through organization people can move mountains."

"Mountains of arrows, you mean." Gilead looked around. "Moira still has not arrived ..."

"Not going to mention that her parents died? You got the letter."

"There's protocol. She should have sent an emissary ahead, a fast rider. I am not in any position to speak for Sor Kal." The hem of the scholarly robes twisted in Gilead's fingers. "But maybe I can mention this to Helene after we finish exchanging pleasantries here."

"Better hurry." Miah's deer ears focused on Bocaccia and Romorant. "There might be a time when I become the most desirable first class."

 

[Falcon]

It was strange, this dance that called itself a political function. Everyone guarding their heir while appearing not to guard them, or going out of their way to make it known just how good their guard actually was depending on the country. Laurie wanted nothing more than to find a quite corner, take out his notebook, and begin work on projects that had nothing to do with place or moment. But there were the jade robed figures moving around him, keeping him at their center much as a group of shepherd dogs might project their herd....

Wait, was he comparing himself to a sheep? No, he would not be seen to be so meek. Isie was right, he mused to himself as she hissed instructions at him. He was an heir, there for a purpose, regardless of whether he wanted to get married or not. He didn't, but maybe he'd get lucky enough to be assigned a partner that wouldn't mind leaving him to his studies.

He was there for a purpose. He needed to at least try to analyze the room and situation the way he might attempt to analyze the latest bit of the craft he was working on. So he located his quiet corner, and lead the way there. But instead of pulling out his notebook as he so badly wanted Laurie turned to face the room, and began to take in all the faces and make the attempt to memorize who had arrived with which delegation.

"Will you relax?" He hissed back at Isie as she tried to assign to him more cunning than he could reasonably take credit for. "You yourself have already said that no one is going to start a battle. At least not here and now."

He didn't think she heard him though. Isie seemed to busy running an analysis of her own. A moment later she was musing about the possibility of no one knowing what was really going on with Sol Kal.

"Relax," He whispered again, and he slowly reach out a hand to tap her elbow. "Everything will be revealed in time."
He didn't know what was going on, but years of study had taught him something he knew Isie had trouble with. Patience.
"If you feel the need," he continued quietly, "I give you permission to go mingle and see what you can learn."

Laurie watched as the silver haired woman's mouth opened and closed for a moment, making her look rather like a hooked fish. He thought she was going to argue. But instead, after a long pause, she looked at the other four of the Jade Quinate.
"Guard him well." Isie ordered before stepping away and disappearing into the crowd.

There. Perhaps now she'd be out of his hair for a bit.

 

[Fiona]

Collab with @fatalrendezvous ​

"Ether, do you think we should have given the host heir a present before the other heirs?" Echo's whispering was not especially subtle, but at least the room was crowded.

"I think Elendi deserved his first since he brought us here, right? But yeah, maybe we shoulda… Let's go fix it now?"

"Hurry, before she gets too close to the scary people!" Those were, generally, the nations who came with weapon-wielding escorts, and Helene was definitely making her way towards some of them.

Ether bounded off ahead, apparently unconcerned with the skirt that kept flouncing up around him, leaving Echo to hurry to catch up, both her shorter legs and her general desire not to expose her underclothes making her slower.

"Heyo, host lady, my dude!"

"Ether, wait!"

Helene paused, blinking as she was waylaid by what could only be the Fairlea delegation based on their... less-than-conventional use of honorifics. Hearing one shout the other's name helped solidify that suspicion, along with their notably pointed ears.

"Ah," she greeted them both with a chuckle. "You must be Princess Echo and Prince Ether, from Fairlea. Welcome to Amberhall." A polite curtsy followed. "It's a pleasure to finally meet both of you! I'm Lady Helene Meriva. I trust that your travels in were uneventful?" She gave a slight tilt of the head off in the direction of the guests from Praxus. "Trouble tends to keep itself far away from Praxian riders, so I've heard."

"Nobody bothered us but man, do they got some sticks up where the sun don't shine," was Ether's rather conversational response. Echo caught up a few moments later and immediately started tugging on her brother's dress.

"You're gonna show the world your undies if you're not careful!"

"Don't be such a puff, I'm fine. People don't care about guy undies. Right?" The end of that seemed to be directed at Helene. Echo huffed at him, then managed a smile for their host.

"We thought we should come say hi, since you're holding the party! How do you feel about sleepovers?"

Helene elected not to comment on the perception of undergarments, a touch of confusion - and possibly concern - wrinkling its way into her brow.

"I... yes, well, that's very thoughtful of you. I suppose I do enjoy sleepovers, though I've not had one in a long while." She treaded carefully with her words here, unsure of whether she was about to unwittingly invite herself to one such sleepover. "I've... outgrown them, I think."

"Oh… that's a shame. We didn't get to have many of them back home, so we wanted to collect some people and do one while we were here. Uncle Gregor didn't like the farm lads sleeping over, he said they were–"

"Unrelated question," interrupted Ether. "Can I take over the kitchen while I'm here, Helene? I don't let anyone else feed my sister, and we're definitely here long enough she's gonna need to eat a couple of times."

The surprised glance Echo shot her brother was fair indication that she wasn't used to hearing him being serious.

"You sound like mama."

"Right, well–" Helene cut her way into the conversation lest they leave her behind. The onslaught of questions and tangential comments left her with little time to think, much less respond. As their gazes turned to her, she took the few precious moments of silence to organize her thoughts.

"I've heard stories of your cooking prowess, Prince Astraea. While I don't think we can allow a takeover of the kitchens, I'll speak with Nan and make arrangements so you can prepare meals for yourself, the Princess, and anyone else who prefers your cooking to ours."

"Fantastic! You're the best, Helene, my man. Lady. Bro." Ether gave her a wide grin, then promptly started delving into one of the pockets he carried. The pocket croaked gently as his fingers probed within.

"Ether's brought presents," Echo explained to Helene as her brother's arm disappeared almost up to the elbow in the folds of the clothing. "Our papa says that's good manners."

As if on cue, Ether popped yet another of his live frogs out and offered it to Helene, still with that same bright expression.

Presents. Normally that was ornately-designed jewelry, artifacts. Scrolls. Textbooks. Decorations. But frogs? Even animals weren't unheard of. A majestic bird of prey, or the cub of some ferocious wildcat.

But a frog???

Helene, unsure if this was a practical joke or a genuine gesture of goodwill, let her gaze bounce back and forth between the little green creature and Prince Ether's face, her lips firmly stuck in a petrified smile. Best to assume it was an actual gesture of goodwill than to risk offense, she calculated. If it was indeed a joke, they could share a laugh over it later about how she fell for it. So she reached out to accept the frog, gasping slightly as it wriggled about in her hands before settling in and letting out a croak in what Helene could only hope was contentment.

"...Thank you, Prince Ether," she managed, examining it within her hands. "I'll have to catch up with you on, er, how to… care for it after the ceremony is over."

Out of instinct she glanced over to her own brother standing next to Ser Gyrard, the two of them visibly holding back laughter - Gyrard doing so more successfully than Holden.

"In fact…" A smile returned to Helene's lips. "I know just who to charge with its care."

"Just make sure you don't lick his back," Ether told her, completely oblivious to the consternation he'd caused their host. "You can get a contact high from these lil guys." They were somewhat of an exotic pet sort back in Fairlea, though it didn't take too much to keep them happy.

"Oooh!" Echo suddenly piped up as she saw Helene's gaze slip to the side. "You're going to do a mischief on someone!" She broke down in giggles, which prompted Ether to begin snickering, too.

"Good luck," he grinned at Helene, before taking back off at a high-energy skip that made the dress flounce up around his knees yet again.

"Ether! Slow down!"