(1866-06-01) Alphard's Peace
Alphard's Peace
Summary: The Peace Ball … brings nothing but war and death.
Date: 1866-06-01
Related: There will be some.
NPCs: {$npc}
Players:
Angelique  Clara  Cynthia  Dario  Eisen  Emilia  Graham  Henric  Elaine  Jaelynn  Mattias  Melisande  Myrana  Ramius  Sonya  Sylvain  Tavi  Thomas  Heather  

Galenthia - Murias - Bellmoore Castle
Once past the courtyard and through the large, wooden double-doors one will find themselves inside the grand foyer. Expansive, the walls tower, placing the ceiling fifty feet above the floor, the supports of which are made by perfectly-formed timbers made of a local wood. Windows are spaced evenly along the walls that face the exterior grounds, each paned with a clear glass that affords quite a bit of light as well as a lovely view of the gardens. When the sun sets numerous candles are lit, each waxy pillar set in sconces, giving off a glow that is golden and warm. Tapestries and paintings have been hung, each depicting historical events and people, all serving as good reminders of times of hardship as well as those of great victory.
The stone floor has a long, well-made runner rug that runs along its center, perhaps guiding one to the throne room, the entryway from which the castle proper was entered. Corridors, stairways and other doors also lead to other locations within the building.
1866-06-01

House Arkanin's capital city is full to the brim with visiting nobles form all over the west. Every nation on the continent is present, with only the Kingdom of Navali unable to attend the event. People walk around in their finest clothing, jewels and silk glittering by lantern light. Music plays almost everywhere as the celebration of the Peace Ball takes place in more than just Bellmore Castle. Inns full near to bursting have bards singing and playing instruments while Merchants come to make themselves rich off the event continue their own celebration.

Inside Bellmore guests of noble lineage and importance mingle. Laughter, singing, dancing and feasting. Speaking echoes off the walls as torches and lanterns create enough light that it appears to be nearly noon instead of the sunset it actually is. Tonight Summer Moon, largest of the two moons hangs low in the sky, with Winter Moon high in the air.

The ballroom is hung with banners from all of the nations attending. The dignitaries from the nations and their immediate guests sit at the high table. While the other tables are below them, they are of no less extravagance, and servants move from table to table, person to person pouring wine, mead or ale as the individual requests.

A well dressed man moves through the ball room. A wine glass held elegantly in his hands. He moves freely, and nobody impedes his progress. He stops near one person and brushes the man's hair off his ear, whispering in his ear before he moves on. The man who was whispered too makes no notice that he has been spoken too except for a brief moment of confusion that he shakes off. The Well Dressed man sips his wine and scans the room. His eyes falling on somebody before he moves off toward them.

House Arkanin's capital city is full to the brim with visiting nobles form all over the west. Every nation on the continent is present, with only the Kingdom of Navali unable to attend the event. People walk around in their finest clothing, jewels and silk glittering by lantern light. Music plays almost everywhere as the celebration of the Peace Ball takes place in more than just Bellmore Castle. Inns full near to bursting have bards singing and playing instruments while Merchants come to make themselves rich off the event continue their own celebration.

Inside Bellmore guests of noble lineage and importance mingle. Laughter, singing, dancing and feasting. Speaking echoes off the walls as torches and lanterns create enough light that it appears to be nearly noon instead of the sunset it actually is. Tonight Summer Moon, largest of the two moons hangs low in the sky, with Winter Moon high in the air.

The ballroom is hung with banners from all of the nations attending. The dignitaries from the nations and their immediate guests sit at the high table. While the other tables are below them, they are of no less extravagance, and servants move from table to table, person to person pouring wine, mead or ale as the individual requests.

A well dressed man moves through the ball room. A wine glass held elegantly in his hands. He moves freely, and nobody impedes his progress. He stops near one person and brushes the man's hair off his ear, whispering in his ear before he moves on. The man who was whispered too makes no notice that he has been spoken too except for a brief moment of confusion that he shakes off. The Well Dressed man sips his wine and scans the room. His eyes falling on somebody before he moves off toward them.

Jaelynn was scared to death, to come, she the youngest Arkanin - has not been seen by her house since the skirmishes started. The youngest daughter is wearing today an elaborate dress which was hand embroidered with her house colors. her hair is tied back slightly with a hairpiece twined in intricate silver and twinkling jewels which match her blue eyes. She nervous that her father would sweep her away enters with one of her personal guards. Slowly looking like a lost duckling along the sea of nobles still that fear is swallowed and she licks her lips, for she was willing to risk this day, this time to be seen by her family should any of them notice her.

The tiny girl slips through crowd, moving with softness and silence of a cloud. She is in wine red gown, very low cut, sleeves tight, skirts full. She has a dolls face, huge tilted black eyes, cupids bow mouth, skin like ivory save for faint dusting of freckles. Her black hair fa)ls straight to her waist, sleeky shining. Her expression calm, distant as the Sphinx.

Mattias may not be of noble blood, but he is attired as only the wealthiest can be. Simply and yet strikingly. The black clad male, the Black Banker, notably adorned with a heavy golden chain bearing the crest of Four Corners that rests easily upon his shoulders as a stark contrast to the black silk and velvet it rests upon. The only oddity being a black leather glove covering his right hand, while the left remains bare. Announced earlier upon his arrival as Councillor Mattias Thynne of Four Corners, known to a good many and indeed alongside his neutral gaze there's a dead smile that faintly flits across his lips as perhaps some of the more noble debtors seek to avoid his gaze and his very presence. A nod here, a gentle inclination of the head there and a glass of wine claimed with his ungloved hand as he sweeps past a servant laden with such a tray. For now though, he watches. Curious and distant.

In the main hall of Murias's Bellmoore Castle is the very recently raised Thomas, Baron Chandus, a rather unimpressive looking man when in a tunic and breeches. However, on a day like today he is clad in his finest set of ceremonial leather armour, a cuirass and pauldrons painted in cobalt blue and bordered by grey on the flanks. The eyes on the his house's main sigil, a sun in splendor centred on his cuirass, are made from gold, which contrats with silvery white of the rest of the sun's face and the braided silver cord running from his shoulder. A highly polished brass helmet with cobalt crest ties the rest of it together with a ceremonial leather swordbelt.

He looks most dashing indeed, but not enough to outshine the rest of his companions. He arrived earlier today with a party from Ironhold, jumping from one ceremony in the south - the wedding of Sir Henric Cassomir with Lady Elaine Volstak - to another. Now, he slips away from them for a quick moment to stride over towards Jaelynn, stopping a respectful distance from her. He smiles. "M'lady, while I'm sure that tonight will be filled with petitioning and manoevering, just remember; if this doesn't feel like home, you're welcome to eat and drink with us." He motions at the group he just came from.

Dressed in the colors of her house with custom silver jewelry the Viscountess of House Kaedon is lingering near the corner of the ballroom. Sonya's dark gaze scans the room assessing people and calculating who she ought to speak with this evening. A glass of wine is present in one hand and she takes a slow sip from it as she slips away from the wall. The Viscountess wanders the room with grace and poise watching those around her with a calm gaze. Her layered skirts of black and white silk swirl around her as she moves making it look as if she is gliding through the room as she moves about looking for someone she might like to speak with.

Dario Tevino is here as well, present at the side of his half-sister Myrana. The Bishop of House D'Armaz is dressed in fine black clothing trimmed and accented in gold. He shadows Myrana silently glancing around calmly and sipping generously from a wine glass. His gaze is curious as it slips around the room. He is not a true noble but he at least knows how to blend in with them for the most part.

House Cassomir, represented well today! There were many who had travelled from the most recent wedding in Roseguard. As it is, the happy … well, the arranged couple makes an appearance at the ball. Henric wasn't necessarily sporting Cassomir colours. It was a ball, it didn't mean you had to wear your god damn house colours! To his comfort, he was wearing a black threaded surcoat with gold embroidery, not unlike the very same outfit he had worn last year during the Tournaments that he had swept, taking the Senatorial championship in Four Corners. It was probably the same one. But whose really counting, right? It looked good on him. High stiff collar, long sleeves, very lordly. Some black pants and boots to go with. An ornate sword at his hip, the eagle wings hitched and secured at the hilt, as the fact that it was a -peace- ball meant someone to those with honour. The gold work on his surcoat was along the hemlines and ran the length of the buttons and cuffs. It suited him and the woman beside him, his wife, Elaine Cassomir, who was just as elaborate in her choice of dress, a golden dress with more colourful embellishments. The pair newly married, made the attendance together.

Tables groan beneath a huge and tempting plethora of dishes from the many cuisines of the Civilized West, and most especially of the Ball's host of the Arkanin lands: Summer salads of mixed bitter greens tossed with fingerling radishes sliced paper thin with the first strawberries and violets. Loaves of fresh oat bread studded with dried fruits and pots of honey and clotted cream. Golden squash blossoms stuffed with walnuts and savory sausage. A soup of pureed turnips and cream. Sauteed mushrooms and bacon. Glaized carrots of purple and orange hue. Candied oranges and cryspes, and crowning it all a tremendous roast covered in a flakey pastry shell decorated by formed leaves and berries brushed with butter and honey and golden red under the chandeliers, mustardy and hot and running perfectly with jus when slices are served forth by liveried servants. Pitchers of cool peach wine and pale beer are brought around rapidly, and no-one's plate stays empty for long.

One woman in blue stands slightly apart from the tables and celebrations, standing rather than sitting and not taking a glass for herself. She stands in fine, if simple, blue tunic and darker pants, a knight's sword the most jewelry she requires. …The only concession other than the particularly fresh uniform to 'party' is the fact that her hair is braided back with red ribbon.

Heather (for that is her name) might as well be wearing a real version of the embroidered helmet on her tabard; her expression is quite appropriately neutral.

The lost look in the Lady's eyes clears at the sight or the dashing Baron, she smiles slightly and she looked right up to Thomas as he greeted, a smile tuged on Jaelynn's lips and she moves lightly to him. The distance was closed but she dose not reach for his arm - waiting for such a thing to be offered if it were. The lady draws a shaken breath and nods her head "I would like that." she says as she looks to the group he indicated, turning to follow his lead.

It was beyond her why her eldest brother insisted on her coming to this events, especiallly with how the noblity as a whole tended to view the 'touched' Cassomir. But Emilia was here, duty bound to do as bidden. The youngest of the Cassomir siblings dressed as finely as one would expect, colors of silver and teal with added embellishments of black. Finely tailored to show of the young woman's form. Her steps gliding with the ethereal grace of hers, and as was her want, content to linger upon the edges. She was not one to bee seen, certainly not heard amongst this crowd of political movers and dealers of the Kindgoms. Emilia gave Graham one over her ever solemn and stoic Cassomir looks,"AM not of sure just of why I had to be of coming, unless was of conspiracy amongst mine of siblings to get me into of a dress of again so of soon."

Standing in a corner, a Hedge Knight in Aequoran colors leans casually against a wall. A Glass of red wine in his hand that he swirls casually. His hat, that magificent hat of his, shades his eyes, and the drink, though swirled is obviously ignored. From beheanth the shade of his hat, Tavi, former Blue Cavalier until they were disbanded, watches the crowd carefully.

Myrana D'Armaz has been here for some time in the presence of her half-brother the Bishop Dario Tevino and her good friend Sir Ramius D'Arran, dressed resplendently and to all appearances quite pleased to have a chance to relax away from the Warfront. She fiddles a candied orange peel between her fingers and smiles to an aqquaintence of her father's who has come by to chat, though her dark eyes slip past his shoulder toward where Tavi might be espied. A sly smile tugs at her lips as if she's caught a secret in her teeth before she remembers what she was doing and attends to the questioning of the older gentleman; a merchant out of Kentaire. At her throat on a slender chain is a delicate lightsilver bell fashioned like a hanging blossom, and when she cants her head to the side while conversing it tinkles merrily under the sound of nobles from every corner of the map talking all at once.

The Well Dressed man stops near the two youngest Cassomir's. And why not? Both are well dressed and known in the kingdom, and possibly beyond. He stands and sips his glass appraising them. When he speaks, his voice carries like a whisper to their ears, causing them both to be transfixed on only his voice.

"Henry, Henry, Henry. The Black Lancer. The only man to have been removed from the Lancers and not because of his death, usually forced." He tsks. "And newly married. Congratulations. If only you knew what the world had in store for you. What, /we/ have in store for you."

Another well dressed man steps in front of the first. This one in a White Cloak and suit. "These are not yours. You break the rules."

The Well Dressed man merely sips his drink. "I do not interfere. I merely speak. They listen and soon forget. There is no harm." He plants a kiss on Emilia's cheek.

The lips brushing her skin are like fire, ice, life and death. They are sweet and wondrous and for the briefest of moments all is clear for Emilia. "Besides. This one belongs to you and your Vigil, and look what you've done to her. Poor dear." He tsks at the man in white. "Have no fear my dear. We have plans for you too. If you'll like them are another matter, but I promise, we have plans."

The Well Dressed man moves off toward another quarry. His counterpart doesn't sneer. He lost the ability to show emotion eons ago when he died for the third time. But he was One with himself, and all. He knew the Well Dressed man was right. Still he followed.

Watching.

(Henric and Emilia will forget this happened to them almost after it happens. Nobody in the room can see these two.)

It's not his first day out at the races, so to speak, even if it is his first turn at an event such as this, an event that the West has likely not seen for quite some time. Thomas, given his obligation here, offers an arm to Jaelynn and walks her back towards the Cassomir party, slowing as he spots Matthias. The portly banker gets a smile and a dip of head. "Councillor Thynne, greetings. I hope the day favours you and your business, as I'm sure peace is a desireable state for your House. May I introduce to you Lady Jaelynn Arkanin, daughter of the Archduchess. M'lady, Councillor Mattias Thynne, Councillor of Four Corners and guildmaster of the Bankers' Guild."

Graham has dressed up as finely as he's able though paling in comparison to many of the nobles no doubt. He has done his best to look presentable, the knight will chuckle as he leans slightly to hear his charges words. "Them along with myself. Well now that our secret society is found out. It will be much more difficult to continue such trickery." He looks to her grinning at his joke trying to lighten her mood even among the crowd "I'll stick close by." he promises.

Jaelynn smiles a little taking the ease off her nerves as she lets her fingers play on the Barrons arm. She tries her best not to fall on her face or make him look bad. The young daughter introduced to the guildmaster curtsies with her free hand nice and slow. "It is a pleasure Councillor Thynne". She speaks the words softly and confidently.

This may very well be the first event in which appearing like the wife to a Viscount is nigh important. Attired in shades of comfortable blues, Countess Claire Romante has left her Elementi hound behind in their shared quarters. In exchange, there is the presence of her husband at times when not pulled away by other courtiers. Presently, she is without the taller and more imposing of the two as she moves through the crowds with seeming ease. Or, people tend to give her space on visual recognition. A useful tool only when she's in search of familiar faces in such a gathering.

Stepping in a bit hesitantly, Sylvain al'Ramar looks around rather carefully, taking one moment to move some hair away from his forehead, before he moves further into the room. He's dressed up finely today, although there's something a bit distant in his eyes, as if he had wanted to be somewhere else entirely. But then again, he tends to prefer the wilderness for long periods of time. Looking around, as if looking for someone in particular. When he doesn't seem to find the person he was looking for, he shrugs momentarily. "Weight of duty, I suppose."

Having entered a few moments earlier, and all dressed in relatively dull clothing, compared to most here, all black, nothing fancy, Jarret Sokar is staying near the wall for now, shaking his head a little as he mutters something under his breath. Not looking for anyone in the crowd, he seems to be content with where he is now.

Mattias looks to Thomas and inclines his head, a gentle bow as respectful as it is elegant completes the greeting, "My Lord and my lady. It is good to see that you've both come to this wondrous event." His glass lifted once he has rised in a gentle salute to the noble soldier and the noble lady upon his arm, "Be it peace or war, it matters little providing you are prepared. It would be a cold and unbeating heart that claims to prefer war, but there are benefits to both states if one speaks purely in terms of business." A faint twitch catches Mattias' lips as his cold eyes regard both Jaelynn and Thomas, "But though there are many who would claim otherwise, I do perhaps have a heart. The wars are a blight. An opportunity to some. But a blight upon those who would give anything for but a glimpse of all this food."

Henric probably looked at that guy right in the face, the Well Dressed one as he spoke. While the words were spoken, even if he forgot them in the next instant, it didn't take much more than that mocking tone while it happened to ignite the anger in him. That's all that lingered, the anger. His arms were drawn with tension and his eyes narrowed, his teeth gnashed and his hand was on his blade. For those around him, including his wife on his arm, they'd see the transformation from cool, calm, and collected… to this sudden rage filled angsting young man. He looked as if he would murder someone right there on the spot. Elaine looked pensive and worried her bottom lip, trying to tug on his arm to get his attention. He was furious and glared at her. Then the confusion as his neck swelled red with his anger. If Thomas was close enough, which he most certainly was, and perceptive enough, he'd witness the unsettled wrath destroying that Cassomir stoic look.

Sonya wanders the room a moment longer before coming to a stop near the wall. She turns standing out of the way and watching everyone carefully with a thoughtful and calm expression. Her wine is given another small sip and she waits watching the crowds for an opening to approch those she needs to speak with. Her eyes follow Thomas and Jaelynn breifly and the Councillor they are speaking with is studied for a moment as well before her gaze sweeps over the others here content to watch for now.
Dario remains standing behind Myrana like a large black shadow. Having finished off his wine and aquired another glass he seems to be taking full advantage of the generous refill policy. He scans the room but then draws his gaze back to his half-sister and her company. Ramius is given a side long glance and then the Bishop lifts his glass for another drink.

Ramius is not accustomed to being at court. For the last few months, he has lived in rough and tumble encampaments in the foothills of his ancestral lands. Being in an actual building for a change is… Odd. Awkward, even. Still, he seems to have made an effort to look presentable, even if his beard is still squatting on his face like some kind of lazy, blonde cat.

He's wearing his house's colors, accented by the addition of what appears to be a wolf-skin cloak wrapped about his shoulders. A small, twinkling talisman dangles from his sash, glinting in the light as he follows one lady D'Armaz around the room. Tavi's presence is acknowledged with a slight narrowing of the eyes.
THAT GUY. Gosh.

Of course not everyone at this grand function was an attendee. Some were needed to serve and tend to the guests. A number of servants hustled about the hall, ensuring everyone had their drinks topped off and plates piled high with food.

While the servants were not in rags they were in markedly much more plain dress, which suited the broad shouldered man shuffling between guests just fine. Just over six feet tall his long hair was tied back into a ponytail to keep it somewhat manageable, although it has taken on a somewhat frazzled look as the night's festivities carried on and he rushed to attend to the various guests. Much of his features were hidden by the thick beard he sported, but it could do little to conceal his eyes, dark brown and piercing, they watched everyone as if he were sizing them up.

Still despite the near predatory gaze he sported, Geoffrey was a dutiful servant and that sharp gaze seemed to be mere attentiveness to the needs of the people he was waiting on, in particular those seated at the high table.

There are those lips upon her cheek, the touch of fire in the moment and in the next that ice. The dicatomy in it all, such a swing, not an unknown in the life of Emilia. It brought a shiver to Emilia, a faint flicker of her eyes with the brief turn of clarity that came in just a turn of a moment. And then passing as she did within the shadows. A moment forgotten. The men them themselves lost upon her as often as her own movements where upon others. But was it all really lost upon the being that harboured within her mind? It having diverted EMilia's attention briefly from Graham, but she did not miss that bit about trickey. "Sir of Graham, such of trickery is not of nice. I told Henric I would of try to be of finding way to wear of dress of now and of again."

"Indeed, Councillor, they are and they do. I owe my new station to the wars, but as you say, it would be a cruel and heartless fellow who would not give up such titles for prosperity among his people, their bellies full of food and drink. Presently, they are short on these things, even as we feast, but God will provide. Of that, I am certain." Thomas pauses, his mouth slightly agape, before continuing. "I suspect, Councillor, that we might have some things to talk about. While I cannot say that I have much more for depositing right now, I may require assistance that you are the best to provide once this accursed war is over." Something catches Thomas's watery blue eyed gaze, and it snaps over to Henric. He tilts his head, quizically. A questioning look is aimed at the Cassomir knight.

Tavi waggles his fingers to Ramius by way of regognition and then continues to look about the room. So once his eys fall upon Myrana he grins evilly to Ramius and strides toward his friend. He bows placing the Wine cup ona passing server and whispers into Myrana's ear. "Laugh as if I told a joke, then dance with me. We're here on business." He states quietly for the young d'Armazs ear. He holds his hands out for Myrana to take as if to lead the young woman to the dance floor where others are twirling about.

"Of course not," Myrana soothes the somewhat worse-for-the-wine merchant lord. "Our lord father would never do such a thing apurpose. I'm sure that your shipments will arrive despite the storm. If they haven't, well…" She totally misses the ping-pong game of glares going (literally) over her head and reaches out to playfully tap a laquered nail at the merchant's surcoat just under his wobbly chin. "You've paid your insurances, haven't you?"

Jaelynn noticed her companions gaze, and she allows her eyes to look over to Henric. She was too polite to say anything about it but her eyes show concern as she watches in empathy the knights mood shift. Her own blue gaze turns to the Councillor and she gives him a quiet nod of her head. She tilts her head slightly "the food is good, and the drink is better.." with that, the Lady turns, and whispers to a servant who rushes off to get Thomas and herself something to drink.

"W-well of course, I-I'm sure I did." The merchant coughs, paling. Oh god, DID he pay the D'Armaz their dues this year? Oh oh oh no.

Graham looks odd perhaps seeing the confusion on her face a moment but not the reason. He doesnt know what to make of it though she answers his words and he nods. "I suppose that in itself is a start though much to ask for you to not be in the garb of a huntress." He comments though he looks around at the place and back to Emilia leaning over to speak "I dont belive that I know many of those here." he comments though he's still got his brave face on she of all can probably see through it to the fret.

oh no you don't

Tavi would suddenly find his hand taken. But not by a sly-yet-bashful D'Armaz girl. No, the hand that grips his is rough with callouses and thick with muscle and it doesn't follow him out. It pulls him back to stand by the table. Another hand pushes a fresh glass of red wine into the Once Cavalier's chest. "Tavi," Ramius says with all the cheer of summer and all the tension of a drawn bowstring, "You should join us for drinks. We are observing lady D'Armaz's negotiations."

Dario follows the looks Ramius and Tavi are shooting each other and raises a brow. The Bishop lets out a little sigh. So its going to be one of those nights? He downs the rest of his wine and places the glass on a servants tray. Then another glass is taken and he looks at Tavi as he approches Myrana, now its his turn to glower. The man and his fancy hat are eyed sternly and the amount of intimidation in the Bishop's eyes is growing by the second. Get away from my sister. Thats what that gaze says.

Henric saw Thomas giving him a quizical stare, as the Cassomir twisted his head about himself as if trying to make sense of the anger he felt. He shook his head at Thomas, in a way that would suggest 'its nothing' before he takes his wife toward Thomas, Jaelynn, and Mattias. "Your Lordship, my Lady, Councillor…" greeting them in order as he tried to regain some composure, his eyes flicking to Mattias, "How are you all this evening? Councillor Mattias, this is my wife, Lady Elaine." And she'll curtsey just enough to make a proper introduction and quietly offer a 'how do you do' … They both still look unsure of themselves, mostly because Elaine was sending curious looks over toward him. Loose canon? She was likely worried about that and being in such a large atmosphere as this.

It is with a twitch of a smile, emotionless and cold and yet a smile nevertheless that Mattias responds to Thomas' words, "Yes." There's a momentary pause and that cold smile broadens a hint as he tilts his head slightly, "God." The Councillor tilts his head lightly and says little else on the subject of the One providing. His face a mask and for a moment occupied with taking a sip from the his glass, "As for the other thing, you need only send word and I shall come and discuss such matters. But Lady Jaelynn." The Councillor's smile actually warms, his eyes adopting a brief spark of light, "You are truely a most beautiful sight, Baron Chandus is truely in your shadow."

"My. But you ARE a bit of a warrior aren't you?" The Well Dressed man says as he flippantly swats at Ramius' wolf skin cloak. "You even look the Barbarian." He follows Ramius's gaze and smiles. "Ah. Love. You can see it if you look hard enough. But does she love you back?" He trails a finger along Ramius' cheek. "I know the answer. You do too if you look deep in yourself." He smiles darkly. "Take care of that Sword Stormson. It's blade is darker than the light it emits, and it's history is longer than you know. It's edge has cut things that gibber in the darkness and drive your kind mad, and it's gems are brighter than any of the stars in the heavens." He gives Ramius a little shove. A light one on the shoulder. "Learn to stand firm Stormson." Then he leans in really close to the Norther's ear and whispers seductively, "Else somebody will push you over into ruin."

(Like Henric and Emilia, Ramius will register this occured. He will even be pushed. Nobody sees the Well Dressed man, and Ramius will forget all but the emotions caused by this.)

If Thomas hears or sees Mattias's glib response to his invocation of the One, he does not register it. However, being that both crowds are now coliding together, he steps back to make room in the circle for the arrival of two. "Lady Elaine, Sir Henric, good eve." It doesn't matter that they travelled together - such things are simple courtesies in polite company. A smile pushes up Thomas's lips at the Councillor's compliments. "She is, and I am indeed."

Sonya remains near the wall still working on her first glass of wine and observing. That dark gaze wanders from person to person the Viscountess listening and watching carefully as people around her talk and dance. She is still and silent as a shadow, a snake layng in wait.

When Ramius pulls Tavi away from Myrana Dario looks to the man with a faint smile of approval and sends another stern look at Tavi before resuming his silent watch over his half-sister. Drinking and watching…the evening could certainly be worse.

The Gentleman appears. Ramius stares at him like the man- whoever that man is- somehow grew a second head. And then… Everything that follows. Is this is some kind of punishment for interfering in Tavi's terrible plots? Ramius shudders, then staggers as he's shoved. He opens his mouth to answer, but—

Gone.

What was he doing?

Ramius stares at his own cup of wine incredulously. Did someone put something in there while he wasn't looking?

Jaelynn blushes deeply and her fingers shift a little on the Baron's arm - she smiles slightly to him but the healer within her has her eyes on Henric "Do you need a tonic Ser?" she asks him her blue gaze shifting slightly over his features. "I have some outside." a pause and then her attention shifts to the servant she sent for drinks.. Taking one, she offers it to the Councillor, while the other is being offererd to Thomas. It would seem she is not partaking of the wine tonight.

Tavi looks Rmaius up and down then looks to his hand. "You must be drunk if you think I'd dance with a barbarian like you Ramius." he says with a smirking grin. "Given you stumbling, I think you hit more than wine eh?" He chuckles and takes his arm back and holds up his hands in mock surrender to Ramius. "Peace Stormson. Merely having a bit of fun eh?" He looks around and sighs. "I find myself mostly bored since the Cavaliers where sent home. Need a Knight up north in that mess of yours?"

Mattias inclines his head to Henric and also Elaine as she is introduced, "My Lord and Lady Cassomir, an honour." The words coupled with a smile that does infact linger for longer than they often do, "I do believe my congratulations are in order regarding your wonderful union." The measured words offered readily and with a hint of warmth. And glib? The Councillor? Oh no. Just ever so slightly cold and as yet to witness the One ploughing a field and reaping a harvest of anything but coin for the cardinals. Well perhaps a touch glib. A smidgeon of glib! But such glibness vanishes as the glass of wine offered by Jaelynn is accepted with a gentle tilt of his head, "Most kind."

Trumpets blare, and a trained baritone booms out across the gathering, cutting through the buzz of conversation like a hot knife through butter.

"Her Royal Highness, Queen Cynthia al'Ramar of the Jeweled Crown of Aequor, and Daughter of the Faithful of the North!"

"Her Royal Highness, The Rose Queen of Galenthia, Melisande Romante, High Seat of Her House!"

Never was a herald's announcement less necessary. The Queens take a single step into the room and the atmosphere electrifies.

In a show of nonpartisanship, Melisande has eschewed Galenthia's colors for the evening; instead of her iconic green and black, she burns in scarlet and gold, more brightly than any fire could dare to dream. The cut of her dress is elegant in its simplicity, and her jewelry is less than ostentatious; she doesn't need the well-wrought circlet in her hair — the curls of which are also gently tousled with fresh roses — to herald her as royal. She is Queen as plain as the nose on her face, and wears command like a cloak. She probably has the very concept of composure incarnated and imported once a year, just so she can grind it into dust with a level gaze, then paint it onto her toenails.
Which look fantastic, by the way; she's in wickedly pretty, strappy leather sandals, embossed with little ivory gryphons, the symbol of her land. Galenthia remains her foundation, what she stands for and embodies, however else her fashion may stray for to make a peaceful statement.

On her arm is Viscount Jaren Cassomir, her fiance, but her attention, and appreciation, is reserved for her peer, Queen Cynthia. There's the unmistakable light of good humor dancing behind her dark eyes, as though the two of them have just shared a marvelous joke. Maybe she's simply enjoying being in the presence of someone neither above or below her — someone who's earned her respect with actions rather than rank. There's not a hint of condescension in her smile, just pure pleasure and a very real gratitude, as she clasps Cynthia's hand and warmly welcomes her to this summit of peace. Amid the din of the room, her mezzo soprano is a throaty viola, a melodious clarity of tone that pours ruddy golden from the strings of her throat.

She disentangles herself from Jaren, and takes Cynthia's other hand as well, wrist to wrist, palm to palm. Her eyes twinkle; the rest of her does too somehow, from head to toe. "Your Highness, would you do me the unparalleled honor of a dance?"

The musicians playing together tonight won contests held separately in Galenthia and Aequor for the honor. Their director is worth his feed, and promptly strikes up a reel from Kentaire.

Emilia cants her head a little, for there was something. Maybe. Listening. A shake of her head as she tries to focus on Graham, not the Voices in her head. "It can be of much, after of all a dress is not of practical to be of going of about in of the forest. WOuld get of torn of everything. " Dark eyes flicker about the room, landing on a few faces here and there,"Know of faces, more than of knowing of really. Familiar from of seeing at of tournaments of here and of there. " Of course falling silent when the Queen's are announced, her eyes flickering along towrds her brother who escorts along the Rose Queen…acting as her arm candy this evening.

The Herald steps forth and calls out, "His Eminence, the Prince of Kentaire, Mikel Viscarian. Lord Defender of the Central Ocean, and Princeps Commander of the Crown Legion."

The Prince of Kentaire steps into the room and eyes it. His sharp intelligent eyes take in the room at a glance. Noting every person, and every banner. He bows to the Cardinals present, and makes the sign of the One before he stops before the two queens. "Your Majesties. It is an honor to be in the presence of such beauties. Thank you for inviting me as witness to this historic occasion." He bows to them once more then takes his seat. Allowing a server to pour him fine wine.

"Councillor," Elaine greets, her tone a touch breathless as she offers… the hint of a curtsey in a sort of reflex. Jaelynn and Thomas are being offered a warm smile. "Baron. Lady Jaelynn." Her gaze shifts to Henric once again, studying him with a bit of concern for a moment. Her attention soon distracted by the entrance of the Queen and her betrothed, Elaine's brother-in-law Viscount Jaren.

Sylvain shakes his head once more, as he looks around the room, his steps taking him further into the room. Getting hold of a glass of wine, he takes a sip, a bit thoughtfully. Watching the people around him, he blinks a few time at the trumpets and the heralds, turning to watch the entrance, smiling momentarily.
As for Jarret, he's simply following the walls, before making his way over to where he can get hold of something to drink. Nt much more use for these events than that, is there? His expression turns quite neutral at the arrival of royalty, and he steps back towards the wall, muttering something under his breath.

There will likely be very little wine imbibed tonight for Thomas's sake, too, though he does take this cup. The festivities at the Cassomir-Volstak wedding were where he could relax and enjoy himself; this is more business, and besides, too many powerful people to know who one might meet. He nods at Elaine. "My lady, might I say that you look quite happily beautiful on the arm of your husband, my most esteemed friend. It is a pleasure to see you here." And just on time, the two Queens of the two Great Realms enter the room. Whatever attention Baron Thomas Chandus had for his peers is now focused on the two women in admiration, in respect. As his own Queen asks the other for a dance, his smile broadens until it hits the sides of his eyes. The smile fades back to normal as the Prince of Kentaire makes his entrance. This is the first time that Thomas has seen him and he wishes to take in as many details as he can.

The knight nods to her words on both accounts "It would indeed, perhaps it would make for a swooshy huntress instead of a squeaky knight?" Graham offers though he listens about those here in the room before but remains silents when the Queen's speak he knows enough to know who they are of course and doesn't wish to interrupt.

"I'm fine," Ramius grunts in reply, straightening himself as if nothing had ever wandered up and shoved him off balance. At least, he can't remember something doing that. But he was clearly pushed. Maybe a careless servant? Troubling. "We always need more knights in the North," he says, then, giving a bit of a shrug, "There is still much business to be done there, if you are willing to assist us."
Ah. Trumpets.

The heir of D'Arran turns to bow his head in respectful salute towards the two queens. At least everything else seems to be going well today, phantom back-shovers aside.

Henric tilts his head to Mattias, "We appreciate your words, Councillor. Thank you." As for Jaelynn's offer he lifts his hand in a gesture, shaking it, "I should be fine Lady Jaelynn." It might have been a good idea to take a tonic from her, the way his anger resided in the undercurrents of his gestures and his tone. It was like he couldn't exactly get rid of it since he had no outlet to understand what caused it. "Maybe some wine perhaps," his gaze turning to Elaine, then gesturing to Mattias, "The good Councillor and I do business. I must admit I haven't been to Four Corners for a time, but that is something I mean to rectify when the conflicts come to an end." His eyes flicker to Elaine, seeing her distraction toward the announcements of the Queen's trodding in. His hard gaze flickers toward the Rose Queen, not necessarily a -happy- expression that was. He did well to dodge the woman during his wedding, not that she stayed overly long as it were. Then to witness his brother, such a proud sight at her side. More tension races through him. It was just… a thing. He said underneath his breath, close enough to Elaine's ear she might hear, "I need a fucking drink."

Queen Cynthia al'Ramar takes Queen Melisande's youthful hand into her own warm, dry one, a smile lighting in her pale blue eyes and curving at her lips. Real warmth is there, and it glows from her like a roseate lantern; the thought of peace between their nations has made her young in her heart as she looks down at her peer.

"I would be delighted, dear." she says, and with a gesture of her free hand she motions for her attendants to stand at ease.

The stiff and glittering brocade of the Aequoran monarch's ornate gown rustles as she leads Melisande out onto the polished dance floor. Aequorans, Galenthians, men of Kentaire and the Church alike step aside respectfully as the proceede to a place directly beneath one of the expansive chandeliers.

Letting go of Melisande's hand, Cynthia steps back with a click of her quartz-heeled slippers and bows only very slightly stiffly with a slender hand to her middle and the other sweeping out to one side across her skirts. A coil of golden hair falls forward from her magnificent coiffure and then she straightens again, waiting for the music to shift for them. As it does.

Heather watches the entrances as a guard ought; the appearance of the resplendent Queens marks her looking up towards them, and keeping that gaze for a moment before she performs her proper diligence to turn her gaze beside, around.

She only turns her head after that, to watch another in the helmet-crested Casomir tabard holding up a wineglass. She points her finger towards the floor expectantly.

The titan known as Eisen d'Geroux had arrived some time ago, attempting to make himself as inconspicuous as possible…and doing surprisingly well for being such a big man. He is dressed in his usual ebon finery, a heavy silver signet ring adorning a hand the size of a ham. He keeps to the outskirts of the gathering, offering polite nods to those who he might know or those who try to engage him in conversation. He does seem to be making his way towards the group of Cardinals at present, though he doesn't seem to be in any real haste to get there.

The Viscountess of Kaedon looks toward the doors as the two Queens enter. Sonya watches them thoughtfully a faint smile upon her lips as they greet each other and move onto the dance floor. Then those dark eyes go to the Prince of Kentaire as he enters. She watches him a moment taking everything in and then her gaze wanders over the others here once again watching quietly.

Dario is now almost past his fourth glass of wine when the Queens enter. He watches them a moment but the Prince making the sign of the One draws his attention afterwards. He figures he ought to go speak with a Cardinals himself but he doesn't think he is drunk enough for that yet. Or maybe he ought to speak with them before he gets too drunk? Decisions are such a pain.

The Well Dressed man artfully takes Sonya into his arms and swirls her through the dance floor. The Dance is majestic and all who witness see a gentleman that they can't really remember. All Sonya can remember is being taken by a handsome gentleman and twirled and swirled through complex and beautiful dance moves. Each step graceful, and each step guided. "Ah. The Many. Your gods. Their Gods. Do you fear being the Heathen among the One Fearing? Do you wonder: Which one of them, the Templar, the devoted Duke or Duchess, or perhaps the Lawkeeper, will put blade, arrow and axe in your heart?" He chuckles as he dances, the laughter like ringing music in time with the music being played. "In the end, will you prevail, or will your faith." He ends right where she begun. And he kisses her hand lightly. "The many were great once. Will you be?"

(Like the others, nobody will see the Well Dressed Man for who he is. If they see Sonya dance it was simple a gentleman of court, with no distinguishing features. She will forget this occurred, other than dancing with that Gentleman, and the emotiosn that come from the words spoken.)

Elaine inclines her head to the rather blunt remark of her husband, her lips pressing momentarily together. She gestures for a servant to hand them two goblets of wine, the half-smile that had occurred on her face about watching the dance of two Queens quickly fading when she notices Henric's hard glance towards the Romante Queen.

Having sent the slightly drunk and now more than a little anxious merchant lord scurrying back to another table without a single drop of sympathy for his poorly vieled threats of a moment ago, Myrana turns with a swish of skirts and plucks a glass of the cold mint tea from the table. "Try to intimidate me, will he? Hrmph— I know that man's accounts, and he's not missing a thimble." Trying not to look too triumphant.

Smiling up at Ramius, she catches at the edge of his sleeve, just shy of putting her hand into his. "I know he's looking for timber, so you'd better not let him try to corner you after the banquet. Dario, did you— Oh! Hello Sir Tavi," she smiles, and gestures to her half brother. "Have you met my brother?"

Jaelynn keeps one arm on the arm of her companion, even when the announcements come of the queens and the Prince. She smiles slightly as her eyes, along with many look to the royals. The young Arkanin happily content to be where she is for now keeps her attention on her companions more then the royals whom have begun to dance together.

With a gentle bow to the nobility he finds himself grouped with, Mattias smiles that dead smile of his, coupled as it is with a twitch of his be-gloved hand as he laces his thumb within his belt and that act alone warrants a twitch of measured pain that is soon covered with a sip of wine. The arrival of royalty is noted with little more than a glance between Queens and a Prince and with a polite, "If you'll excuse me." The black clad banker steps back and bows his head once more, before leaving the nobles be and moving towards the food to survey the finer pastries and sweets.

Emilia gives a slight nod,"And of lots of ruined of dresses. LIkely not of being able to of be worn more than once, maybe of twice." How deadpan she says it too! Her eyes turning to watht the Queens dance, a faint rise of the brow, well guess she and Raelyn started a trend afterall.

Elaine's gaze follows Mattias as he steps away from them, trailing him involuntarily to… pastries and sweets? A flicker in her grey-blue eyes, showing delight and… a sweet tooth obviously, when she tugs at Henric's arm. Just in the moment the goblets of wine are handed to them. "Let us… move over there and see what they have… I am…", she pauses, shooting her husband a glance, one corner of her lips twisting into a faint wry grin. "…starving."

Eventually, Thomas shakes off his enthralment with the sight of two Queens dancing only yards away from him. He fixes his gaze on the Arkanin lady on his arm, saying, "My lady Jaelynn. There is someone that I promised to to talk to about some rather touchy matters - soldiery. If we could conclude something, we might be able to push back into County Windholme with more men and resources and, in terrain that they would be effective. Would you excuse me while I talk to her, if you'd please?"

"Quite, and that would be a shame to say the least." Graham comments to his charge with a small smile at the way she speaks of things so deadpan. He's grown to appreciate that indeed. The knight however looks and watches around of course as well he's not entirely forgotten he's on duty as it were if only in his mind watching after his charge and fretting up a storm no doubt in such a packed room.

"Well he's not getting any of mine," Ramius huffs in reply to the little D'Armaz before taking another sip of his wineglass. Ramius D'Arran does not handle trade negotiations for reasons up to and including 'being god-awful at trade negotiations.' Or maybe he misread her meaning? Curiouser and curiouser.

Henric is grateful that Elaine is on it and that the servant is on his game! The goblets are passed to them both, eagerly accepted by the Cassomir Lord as he scowls into it - his arm tugged just as he was going to take a gulp. Some of it actually sloshes over from the tug, barely, but he grunts, "Hey watch it…" The mood for him seemed to be soured from the outset, some unknown cause striking that ire into him that he can't shake. Once he's sure she's not going to jostle him again, he downs a couple copious gulps, drawn off to look away from the dance floor where the two Queens dance. Nope. Not watching. Not watching -them- … but the crowd around, in the natural way he was once charged to do. Keeping aware of people's movements, their gestures, anyone that caused more effort to hide themselves than to draw attention to themselves - the very opposite of what they're supposed to do here. "Excuse us," he says to the group they were standing with, getting towed along to the sweet table, content to be dragged if his wine isn't bumped again.

Sonya twirls gracefully through the dance as she is led across the floor. But when the music stops and the mysterious man leaves her behind on the floor she is trembling lightly. A sense of worry and dread filling her very being along with a sense of firey determination. She blinks slowly making her way off the floor and towards the drinks. She has no idea where these feelings came from the words that her dance partner said forgotten along with his features. A slight frown forms on her otherwise calmly masked features. Is this Night playing some trick on her? She does not know and this troubles her. She takes in a deep breath and vacates the floor in search of a second glass of wine her steps slow and measured as she walks keeping her expression perfectly calm. The worry she felt fades into pure determination she does not know why she thinks this but she knows she cannot afford weakness this night.

Dario offers Myrana a smile as she looks to him and then gets distracted. When Myrana introduces him he offers a polite bow to Tavi. "Dario Tevino, Bishop of the One faith. It very nice to make your aquaintance." He is perfectly polite but his gaze is wary as he watches the Hedge Knight. Somehow he feels that this one will be trouble of some kind.

Jaelynn nods her head slightly to the Baron and her fingers lightly release his arm "As you wish." she says quietly as she lets her newest friend go to the call of duty.. Well there were others to speak with as Thomas himself attended his business. Releasing his arm, she curtsies to him and slowly turns to the pastry table herself, following Henric and Emi's lead to such a good looking table.

Melisande returns Cynthia's bow at precisely the same depth, then glances over her shoulder at the Prince of Kentaire. "But of course," she rejoins with an earthy chuckle. "A party really isn't a party without you."

She matches the elder Queen's pace for the dance with the exquisite skill of someone who seems to be doing the opposite; there's a vivacity to her movements that implies that she's dancing with abandon, making it all the more impressive that Cynthia is keeping up. Not that the Aequoran queen needs /her/ help to look good in a dance, but due diligence on the dancefloor is the duty of the young, and she executes it with a charming lack of patronization.

She's not too busy, while doing so, to get a good look around the room, much as she'd love to lose herself wholly in her fellow Queen's eyes. They toured it earlier, of course, long before anyone had arrived. But now it's filled with a labyrinth of faces and motivations — one that seems to part before her incisive gaze as it pierces on contact.

Or perhaps that's just a trick of the light; how can someone so full of laughter — /regal/ gladness, but still — have space in her head for more practical matters?
"Your reputation does not do your dance steps justice," she pants as the dance draws to a close. "Would that my usual partner had half your grace."

Brows are raised in an "oops" fashion, when the blonde Cassomir lady perceives what she had caused - almost stains to Henric's elaborate attire! His irritation is noted and commented on with a soft sigh. Making sure not to cause further disruptions to her husband's drinking, Elaine leads the way to the sweets table, a warm smile offered to Mattias if he still lingers there. Before a plate is grabbed and piled with sweet delicacies!

With a bow of his head at Jaelynn, Thomas is off. He manages to snag a second goblet of wine, his barely touched, and proceeds to meet a particular noble fresh off of the dancefloor herself. No, not the royals - Viscountess Sonya Kaedon. He dips again, this time more deeply than the last in greeting to her. "Your excellency. A touch of wine?" The untouched goblet is presented forward.

The instincts of a Lancer dies hard. Of course there were guards and various sorts hired to keep the peace, wasn't there? But Henric has that alertness that was usual for him when he attended these courtly balls as a Lancer once. Maybe because of his mood, he really seems on edge. Poor Elaine. She suffers his mood as he leaves her to approach the table by herself, with Lady Jaelynn actually, as he says over his shoulder, "Don't go far Elaine… I'll be back." The wine? He actually hands it to her to hold, "Hold this." Something was up. He wouldn't just -hand- over the wine after he -requested- it in a huff. Before he gave her a chance to refute him, he's moving his way around the room, not directly across the dance floor, but weaving through the crowd, eyes on something.

As the Queens dance, Sylvain turns to watch the crowd, smiling as he nods to a few people every now and then. He seems a bit lost in thought as he watches the crowds, muttering something under his breath as he does.

While he's walking and drinking, Jarret's steps takeshim over in the general direction of that sweets table too, although he may not be quite aware of that, since he's busy on making sure this wine gets to a better home. Which means, he's draining it as fast as he can.

Sonya pauses her journey to find wine and turns slowly to face Thomas. The Viscountess offers the faintest of smiles and a polite dip of her head. "Thank you very much Baron Chandus." She will accept the wine in a delicate hand and lift it in a silent toast. "Now I do believe we had planned to speak of the possibility of my House aiding yours and your leige?" Her tone is polite and completely calm. She regards him carefully and takes a small sip of her wine.

Least it helped that Emilia was not trying to sneak off, inthis packed room, Graham would have more then his usual problems keeping track of the shadowy Cassomir if she wanted to make a break for it. Which well…it was only a matter of time before that did happen. Really.

Mattias' glass is raised to Elaine and sipped from lightly, for the Honourable Councillor remains perusing the sweeter pastries, "You know." One such pastry is regarded briefly and Mattias casts a glance to both Elaine and the departing Henric, "These might even begin to rival the pastries baked in the warmest of climes to the south, they have these tiny bundles of pastry stuffed with the sweetest fruits and stickiest juices, the explode upon being bitten into the taste is utterly divine." The smile almost too true at such a memory drifting to the fore and for a moment the Councillor gazes off into the distance, "Astounding how much skill and wonder can be packed into so brief a culinary experience." A small treat is plucked from the table and held within his gloved hand.

"You're of course perfectly safe in trading lumber to us," says Myrana, blithely missing any possible innuendo while Dario and Tavi make their introductions. "I'm sure its something I'd be glad to arrange for; our ships are the best, and I'd like to keep it that way." While it might be in doubt with Ramius, Myrana wouldn't know an innuendo if it bit her on the nose. Looking to her brother, she notices, rather belatedly, his glancing at the other members of the Cloth across the room. "…Dario, do you know them?" she asks, in a less carrying tone. "Or were you looking at his holiness?"

Jaelynn watches Henric, and she shakes her head slightly her eyes move to the wife whom she has been left with and she smiles to Emi - though her eyes are concerned. "I really think he needs a tonic, he dose not look so good, and far from his usual self." she says softly to the other, a pastry in hand. "do you know anyone else here?" she asks the woman.

Thomas mirrors Sonya's toast, taking the smallest of sips. A fine vintage indeed, though it is too bad he will not be enjoying it all that much. "Precisely, your Excellency. I am admittedly terrible at small talk; I wasn't quite groomed to suceed my brother as Lord, let alone to my station now. You'll have to excuse the uncoutheness, then." He smiles briefly and then lets his face return to a neutral expression. "While the Thorns remain in our realm, they are a bleeding wound."

Elaine frowns slightly when Henric hands her his goblet, her eyes lowering to the plate piled with pastries and sweets, and the TWO goblets in her hands. Now how is she supposed to carry all this about? "You there." Her head tilts to the side in a come hither fashion, her eyes locking with that of the servant from before. "Won't you help me and…Carry this for me?" She hands him Henric's goblet, the heavy heavy plate, whilst holding onto her own goblet. Smiling triumphantly. It's all about delegating! Her gaze shifts to Mattias. "The pastries do look delicious, Councillor." One can almost see her appetite welling up at his plastic description of the sweet delicacies. A sigh. Of anticipation. Then that of delight as she picks a pastry from her plate, held by the attentive servant.

"I've no objections with keeping milady's harbor well stocked with Arrani wood," Ramius says with a tone that is paradoxically relaxed and dead serious all at once. He lifts his glass to his lips and takes another long draw. "I'm certain the merchants would not object. We're rather land-locked after all- and with a vast surplus of the stuff. Selling cords of it to serve in the defense of the realm is not a difficult decision to make."

Cynthia does indeed keep up with her younger peer, step for step with the sort of refined control of a lifelong dancer. When it comes to an end she laughs, delighted. "I'm sure he will improve in time," she replies sotto voce. Her majesty is nothing if not masterfully diplomatic, though something touches her voice as she says this; perhaps wistfulness, thinking of bygone days. Dabbing at her brow and cheeks with a delicate scented handkerchief, she gestures toward their seats at the head table and puts whatever it is from her mind, smiling warmly. "Shall we, my dear?"

With that the two queens proceede to the head table, where vases of flowers are set before the drape of the fine linen tablecloth so that the high seats seem to be esconced in sprays of fragrant lillies in a wild froth of colour. Settings of lightsilver and gold set with pearls and intricate cloissonne flowers and leaping stags are at each place, and cut crystal goblets with stems of twisting gold. It all glitters beneath the lights fabulously, and liveried servants wait behind the comfortable chairs to pull them out for the guests of honor.

There was a methodical way that Henric made his way over to the other side of the dance floor. He relied on his peripheral vision to keep aware of where the Queen's were on the dance floor, satisifed that somewhere near by Jaren was also keeping attentive. It allowed him to keep focus on what he had seen. For those who have fought in battles with him, who had watched him at work being a Lancer, those who -knew- him well enough, would sense this wasn't just a leisurely stroll through the crowd to ditch his wife on the other side of the room. Each step had purpose. His eyes darting between the faces, squeezing through a few clustered groups in such a way that it might have caused murmurs of annoyance and 'how rudes' to follow in his wake, with his own weak 'excuses' as he carried on. He finally came upon the individual wearing a particular style of cuff, a man, that finally brought the Cassomir to a halt. Though so as not to be sighted as doing so, he side stepped assume a semi-forward face toward the dance floor, letting his attention drift here and there, as if he lost track of someone - so he didn't spook the other man.

Jaelynn moves along the table getting her own food and stopping to watch the other nobles, and speak when they came to her, she finds a place to sit and peacefully enjoy her meal for the moment.

Elaine's attention shifts to Jaelynn, and she takes care to swallow that bite of pastry down before addressing her. "He is a bit… tense," she admits, in regards to Henric, offering a faint shrug of her shoulders. "And no, I don't know anyone here, besides… Baron Thomas, Viscountess Sonya Kaedon…" Her gaze shifts to her brother-in-law. "Jaren. My other new relatives…" Her gaze shifting to Emilia and Graham whom she spots somewhere. "To be honest, I feel a bit lost here." A low giggle follows, before Elaine takes another sip of wine from her goblet.

Sonya lips curl up into an amused smile. "I can be direct if need be Baron Chandus and I don't find you uncouth in the slightest. You seem to be doing the best you can with what you have been given." Her smile fades into a more business like expression and she nods in agreement. "Yes they are. While the country is divided so it is weak to other threats. We need to take care of these Thorns as promptly as possible." She eyes Thomas a moment before continuing. "House Kaedon's most elite forces are the Shadow Snakes and the Serpents Fangs. Scouts are what we specilize in but the Fangs are good solid infantry and spearmen. I have two hundred Shadow Snakes and four hundred infantry under my command. The other hundred men are calvary both heavy and light. My levies could be used as well but no matter what I cannot give you all of my men. I need some men left to defend my lands as I'm sure you understand." Sonya watches Thomas carefully for his reaction.

Dario glances from Myrana back to the cardinals and raises a brow. "Yes I know them and I was looking at both dear sister." He offers a faint smile and sips his wine. "I was considering whether or not I have had enough wine to approch them yet." He looks at his fellow members of the Faith thoughtfully. "That one to the left does not like me much." He eyes one of the Cardinals thoughtfully and then looks back to Myrana. "Give me a few more drinks and then I will decide…"

Mattias' own claimed pastry is bitten into as that black gloved hand lifts the treat to his lips, "Quite delicious." A bite and the treat is gone, "Something to be said for those Parthian delicacies being cooked in small stone ovens, though these do come quite close… to barter and haggle for such treats in their villages and towns adds a certain enjoyment to the taste." With the single treat devoured, Mattias' glass is drained and set down alongside a few others before his cold gaze sweeps across those gathered. A smile given to those who meet his gaze, albeit the smile could well be mistaken for the faintest of twitches.

The knight turns back after looking over the room. He looks finding Henric moving away but he's back to his charge a moment "Your too quiet m'lady, starting to worry me. The next thing is where you disapear right through the floor." Graham says though he grins leaning lightly over to speaking in a lowered voice "What if you just said, hey Graham i'd like to leave and I help escort you out? You know for change of pace?" he asks though looking back he nods to Elaine catching her glance throught he crowd smiling.

Myrana starts to get a sharkish look in her eye— but she's not the Heir to D'Armaz and of course she can't actually make contracts at all. So she sighs and smirks a little bit. "Well." And very casually, because very possibly that is not really mint tea in her glass and it is quite warm in the grand room after all, she lets slyly go of Ramius' cuff and puts her cool little hand in his. Very stealthy. Basically the most stealthy.

"You should, brother," she says, egging Dario on. That is also the duty of the little sister. "How scary could it be? They only, you know," and she drops her voice dramatically. "Burn people at the stake." SPOOKY! So she has had some wine after all, definitely. Her cheeks are flush and she gives her brother a villainous smile that is startlingly like their father's. "I mean no big deal."

Elaine smiles and nods to Mattias' remark, sipping happily from her goblet. When Jaelynn moves to a place to sit, Elaine will tag along, the servant in tow who does not look really happy to be used as a mule for the lady. Relief flickering in his mien, when Elaine motions for him to set down Henric's goblet and the pastry-filled plate before her on the table. "Thank you so much," the blonde Cassomir intones, before her gaze shifts to Jaelynn. "I assume you don't mind me joining you here, do you?"

"I do understand that. Leaving soldiers back to defend the Valley of Scales meant the difference between a ravaged land and a conquered, ravaged land. They held out against near five times their own number until we were able to sweep through from the west and relieve them." Thomas pauses for effect, taking a sip of his wine and considering. "Scouts and infantry will be what win the battle for County Windholme. Much like your fief, County Windholme is rocky, montainous and covered in hard, broken ground. The marches, that is, the mountain valleys that we his vassals hold for Viscount Varian, are the easiest going, but it is not the marches which are invested by enemy, now. We don't know precisely how many men the Fitzroy and their allies have. All I know is that… they somehow managed to muster far, far more than they ought to have been able to in the taking of a fief like mine. If we may have use of some of your Shadow Snakes, combined with my Rangers and some of Sir Wulfred's Spurs we could paint a much more accurate picture. Then, it's up to the regular troops. The Fangs, for instance."

Henric uses his scoping sweep of a gaze to not heighten any senses of the man near to him. He heard something however that makes him move. It's a timed move really. Someone was walking and he started too. He used the other person to help him TRIP into the man he was aiming for, stumbling INTO the man with a sort of attempt to pat him down in the meantime but it fails as he really does fucking trip. Almost onto his knees. He catches himself and draws himself up, a huge fucking look of embarrassment coming over him as he smirks lightly to the man he was suspicious off. "Sorry about that chap. My feet are a little clumsy after all that wine-" an excuse as he tilts his head and extends his arm in greeting, "Might I make it up to you? I'm Lord Beylor." LIAR.

There's a moment in which Geoffrey can't help but take a moment to admire the two queens dancing. Such a perfect moment. The two ruling houses locked in a dance with one another. A grin tugged at his lips as he realized just how interesting this dance would soon become. Making his way through the crowd, Geoffrey courteously dispensed drinks, including to Melisande's fiance. Not a word spoken at first save a courteous "My lord," as Geoffrey continued on to provide refreshment for several other people in the crowd, pausing as the Duchess Anca brazenly snatches one of the drinks he was bringing to someone else. A deep frown creases his face before he simply moves on. There was little point fretting over it, nobels will do as they will after all.

His drinks handed out, Geoffrey had time now for a little pleasure before business would return. Shuffling back through the crowd he returned to Jerren's side, "My lord, a question if I may,"

Jaren's gaze flicked to the peasant, cocking his head curiously, strangely forward of a servant, but no matter. He gave a nod of consent.

Geoffrey stepped closer to speak to Jaren over the din of the crowd, "I've had something of a riddle that has vexed me for many nights now: How does one kill the greatest swordsman in Galenthea?"

Jaren's eyes widened, his hand quickly reaching for his sword and then he felt the strength fleeing from his arms, so weak now that Geoffrey could simply rest a hand on the hilt of Winterthorn in an almost friendly manner as he leaned in to speak in the king to be's ear, "I lost so much sleep over it. How to bring a suitable end to you. What fitting way to silence you, and then it came to me!" A sneer tugged at Geoffrey's lips, "Ghelda Root is such a fine poison. Tastless and odorless, on its own it would only cause mild numbing and weakness which you should be feeling now, but when mixed with the right drink, oh it is such /fun/"

Jaren started to open his mouth to try and speak only to gag, his throat swelling shut on him, breathing turning to feeble wheezing.

"However you'll be spared its full effects, King to Be." Geoffrey assured Jaren, "For you I decided a more personal touch was in order. I wanted to see the light leave your eyes up close. To see your despair as your sister was brought low in a most vicious fashion. Her smaller frame, the poison will be swift for her indeed."

At her seat in the table, Raelyn had gone into a full on panic. The woman's mouth agape as she gagged an wheezed loudly. Several attendants were quickly to her aid, but it was far too late. Pupils dialated she fell into her chair, body going into a fit of violent spasms, foam forming at her mouth as she thrashed in her seat, body being ravaged by the poison. Muscles convulsed, nerves firing without commands as she started to collapse in on herself, a vicious gurgling, wretching sound followed as people tried desperately to get her stable even as her body contorted itself into a wickedly unnatural shape. A horrid wet crack followed as her body broke several of its own bones in the effects of the poison until finally one last long wheezing breath escaped her, eyes glazed and very dead now on the floor by her seat.

As if this weren't enough the Duchess Anca had fallen into a similar fit, prompting a disappointed sigh from Geoffrey, "So disappointing. That had been meant for someone else, but no matter," His attention returned to Jaren as he too was about to go into those convulsions. Before that could happen, however, Geoffrey quickly produced a dagger, plunging it several times into Jaren's side, piercing his lungs numerous times with the most wicked of sneers on his face. "It is time you made way," he hisses into Jaren's ear, "Made way for the rightful rulers of Aequor and Galenthea. The Black Prince Jean-Luc al'Ramar and the Grey Prince Victor Romante send their regards,"

There is nowhere near as much pomp and fanfare of Jaren's fall compared to that of his sister and the Duchess Anca, whose convulsive fits have likely drawn the attention of many by now. As Jaren falls, Geoffrey's hand quickly takes firm hold of the hilt of Winterthorn, letting the king to be's fall draw the sword from its scabbard for him, the blade held discreetly to his side as Geoffrey starts to make his way to the kitchen.

Meanwhile Ramius might find himself recalling his earlier thought of his drink being drugged as the two noble ladies are killed in a most horrific fashion. A distinct tightness in his throat and shortness of breath could very well set in upon him as well.

Myrana's hand finds its way into his. Ramius' tightens gently around hers, a warm glow blooming across his face. This wine is a lot stronger than he had given it credit for. Making an Arrani turn red like this after only a few cups. How dreadful. Did they get it from White Hall? Must be. It's the only explanation.

"Yes," he says to Dario, raising his glass to the elder D'Armaz. "There's very little they can do to harm your immortal soul. You'll do fine," he shrugs, taking another long draw. "Besides, you can probably outdrink them. So go over there and make a contest of it."

Gentlemen and Ladies in the Audience throw off cloaks and put on half cloaks in one smooth motion. The Half Cloaks are the Blue of Cavaliers. One of them shouts, "FOR THE BLACK PRINCE!" and draws a sword, plunging it into a man near him.

The Well Dressed mans tands near the Man in the White. "Well. This got exciting. I bet you a Gemstone that a Queen dies tonight."

The Man in White merely looks at the Well Dressed Man sighs. "You are so ignorant Jareth."

Cardinal Lucien Ramius stands and gawks in utter shock and dismay at what is occurring. "GUARDS! Get Her Majesty out of here!" He jabs a finger toward Ramius d'Armaz. "YOU! Knight! Grab the Prince, and get him out of here!" The Cardinal doesn't wait to see if his orders are followed. He runs for a door.

Queen Cynthia is grabbed by the Cardinal's Guards and led quickly toward an exit, with intent on getting her to safety. One of them parries a Cavalier and is killed. Somewhere a Hand Cannon goes off. Lancer's make a run for their Queen but are fully engaged with Cavaliers. Swords are ringing off swords. Raymund Langer calls out, "DEFEND THE ROSE QUE - "

And is cut off as a Hand Cannon erupts, and shoots the old Langer in the throat. He falls to his knees. His eyes going to his longtime charge, and his dead pupil. Blood sprays outward, and he falls forward to land in his own growing pool of blood.

Jaelynn shakes her head slightly "oh no not at all." she smiles slightly as her eyes move up and across the room, her gaze flickers to Thomas then back to Elaine. She whispers something to the woman softly with a smile, and it is /then/ which Jae allows herself to get a wine goblet. She drinks lightly and she smiles slightly looking from face to face, her mothers face catches her attention and she nibbles on her lips "Excuse me" she tells Elaine "I must go say hello to my mother… I will be right back." A pause.

The lady raises and her eyes move to Jaren, her eyes then move to Henric..and mid way standing, the healer in her kicks in and she moves instead to Raelyn.. as quick as her heels could carry her, the healer is on the woman almost as soon as the servants and others are looking over her "Let me in.." she says as she tries to treat whatever befell the woman.

Sonya turns from Thomas abruptly and looks toward the high table just in time to see Jaren fall. She looks to Thomas and hisses much like the snake that resembles her house. "Assassins! We can continue this talk later…if we live." The she sweeps her hands downward drawing two daggers from the boots underneath her skirts. Never let it be known that Kaedons go around without thier fangs.

All delight drains from Elaine's expression when she perceives the coughing fit of her sister-in-law, Raelyn Cassomir. A coughing fit that ends in the worst way imaginable. Rosy cheeks turns suddenly very pale, when Elaine's gaze shifts to the pastry in her hand and she puts in back down onto the plate, looking indeed very startled. Then Jaren collapses. Elaine jumps to her feet, goblets and plates for once disregarded, her gaze darting through the crowd to glimpse Henric. A nod is given to Jaelynn as she moves off, Elaine for her part withdraws to a corner, eyes wide with terror.

Emilia had been about to respond to Graham when things went down hill fast and Emilia saw her brother and sister convulsing and the Cassomir blade being taken up by a nonCassomir hand…and well that had Emilia bolting towards them, without thought or word otherwise. Unharmed, unaromored. And eyes darkening. Aiming straight for the man who had picked up winterthorn.

The sudden disturbance from Raelyn, the panic, the discarding of cloaks and the sudden shouts for one regnant or another has Mattias quirk a brow. Instinctively his good hand, the ungloved hand reaches for the spot where his hand cannons would normally be braced. But then when in ones finery, there is little to do but keep ones weapons a touch more discreet. From the folds of his black robes, the great gold chain about his shoulders glinting in the light as it shifts, Mattias draws an ornate hand cannon and holds it ready and primed within his good hand. There's just something about a black robed banker, clad in finery and the occasional gemstone wielding such a weapon. Debtors within the room take note. As Elaine backs away, the banker steps to the side to cover her retreat. A husband in mourning tends to pay little heed to mounting interest.

Too late. Too fucking late! HENRIC! God damnit! LATE! Before he realizes it, the world has erupted in chaos around him. He turns just in time to notice his eldest sister's terrible ending. His heart all about stops in his fucking chest. The horror that is written on his face as it pales. His eyes widen. Too fucking late! There's someone over at his brother and the Champion goes down. His brother goes down. It's like he's frozen in that horrific moment, for the second time in his life, he was too late to save his family. Then it hit him. A delayed reaction. He shoved himself into the throng of bodies, freeing up his ornate light silver blade to charge the man that was near Jaren. It's done with that last ditch effort… God please don't be dead! But the blood! So much blood. He could only hear himself yelling in that anguished way that a man might, failing to save his family from the slaughter. He can only hope Emilia has slipped away and that Sir Graham was with her. Sword drawn he charges the bastard near his brother…

Things go from pleasant to combat in a very short order. Any pretense that Thomas had about talking politely go by the wayside. His goblet drops out of his hand and he kicks it away as it hits the ground, spraying red wine towards the Cavaliers. His sword, highly polished and ready for display, will work well enough for the strife in front of him but his armour? Well, the leather was soft so that it could be decorated nicely. It's not going to do him much good in battle. He draws said weapon and shuffles over towards the friendly forces, holding the weapon with a two handed grip. "Galenthians - fight as one. Form up!" Doing his best command voice, Thomas attempts to rally troops dressed for a ball, not battle.

The line of Melisande's throat is gilded in candlelight as she laughs at Cynthia's jest. "Please, after you," she agrees, and takes her seat at the table, sweeping her skirts neatly out of her way—

—just as everything absolutely goes to shit all at once.

Her fiance, dead. His /sister/, dead. The head of a major house, dead.

An apparent Aequoran play for power.

All of this on Galenthian soil.

For the time being, her priority cannot be her heart.

"SOLDIERS OF GALENTHIA, KEEP QUEEN CYNTHIA SAFE AT ALL COSTS," she roars at battlefield pitch. Her people can manage their own tactics, but it's vital that the overall strategy of the evening be made known to one and all as quicly as possible.

In the same moment, she reaches under the table and grabs her share of the weapons she and Cynthia had previously agreed to secret there. They had both received very sound advice to not go through with this event; each of them makes a spectacular individual target. Together, this was all but inevitable.

The very air sings as it's parted by the shorter of the twin blades of House Romante, lifted by a steady wrist into a defensive position — then it screams as the pistol in her other hand expels its deathly payload towards the retreating 'Geoffrey'.

"Alphard Orion Tarris," she addresses him by his proper name, his full name, somehow a scathingly disappointed elder sister and vividly ferocious war-queen all at once, "This might be your finest-orchestrated butchery ever — but I swear to you that it will be your last!"

Jaelynn blinks as she moves from Rae to Jaren, then to her mother.. her eyes fill with tears, she knew there was nothing she could do.. "Mother.." she says softly, she was still young and seeing her mother fall was disheartening. Her Father would never forgive this, never. She looks up as Thomas sends his cavaliers out to form up and her eyes flickering slightly with tears swelling in her young eyes.

Dual daggers drawn Sonya circles back eyeing the men who are obviously the enemy. Thier leader is eyed as well and Sonya moves quitely through the room intending to strike down whoever gets close enough for her to attack. She is silent her eyes narrowed in feirce determination. A soft prayer is muttered to Death that he will accept these souls and spare hers. Then she lunges at Alphard Tarris.

Elaine's eyes flicker towards Henric rushing to Jaren, watching his distress in wide-eyed despair. But she is unable to move, paralyzed by the mayhem, the death, the terror. Crouching low in her corner, hoping noone will notice her as her arms wrap about her own form, her eyes closing, lips moving fervently in one long desperate prayer to the One…

Graham doesnt have time to react or even process what's happend to Jaren and Raelyn as his mind goes zaaaaap bad stuff is happening really bad stuff.. The knight draws his sword though he looks back "M'lady, stay behind." but she is already charging "Emilia. No!" oops oh well she's fast no doubt but he's no slouch sprinting after her his sword reaised "Stop please!" his best hope is to get infront of her or… he's lost his mind stop her by force trying to restrain her.

The Cavalier's press in on the Galenthian defenders and try to press their advantage of arms and armor against the unarmored Galenthians. Blood is drawn. A Cavalier stands over Thoams as his balde rips into the Baron's shoulder and neck area. "Pathetic Soutehrn scum. You Dare draw weapon against a Blue Cavalier. You are Beneath me." He raises the balde, about to drive it home into Thomas' chest….

The rest continue to fight. the room is filled with carnage and screaming.

Of course, Emilia was gone before the words were out of Graham's mouth. Her family was falling and in danger. And they were all she had left. Emilia had seen enough family die already, she was not going to just retreat and not do /something/. She dodged easily around the attack of the cavalier clad attacker after her. And obviously the girl was trained with a bow, not fists, for the wild swings towards Alphard met nothing but air. The young Cassomir crying out to see the strikes against Henric,"Henric!"

Mattias fires off that first shot and it misses, but given not a single cavalier seems to be paying attention to the Black clad banker, Mattias moves with a quiet determination. Swift and with a rustle of silk and velvet robes, the Black Banker grabs a flagon of potent liquor from the table and a flickering candle from the display… a few steps into the panic and the flagon is smashed against the nearest cavalier with little but a very damp cavalier to show for those efforts. At least until Mattias' twitch of a smile greets the annoyed cavalier and the candle's flame is applied. A sudden whoosh erupts as those flames take in spectacular fashion, the banker stepping back and away from the conflagrating cavalier.

The Cavalier standing over Thomas is suddenly aflame, his broadsword falling to clatter beside the woudned Baron. THe man falls to the ground screaming and thrashing on teh ground not a foot from Thomas.

To say that he was unprepared for the blow that fell on him would have been a severe understatment. Uncharacteristically, perhaps trying to make up for the lack of armour and shield, Thomas took the offense, charging at the cavalier who squared off with him. Perhaps this was his undoing. Reaching up for a swordblow, his foe's blade was quicker, cutting deeply into his neck and sending the new Baron tumbling to the floor. All of a sudden, he feels no pain. His hearing becomes muffled. His eyes become glassy. He's aware of what's going on, but barely. Still, as his assailant lights on fire, he smiles thinly, wanly.

Jaelynn moves from her fallen mother to Thomas, perhaps he would still be able to be saved, no sooner as she reaches him - Henric falls.. and she takes a deep shaken breath as she tries to stablise the Baron. "Come on, you can not die on me…"

Sonya is silent and focused. She is aware of the battle and her movements show this but she is focused on Alphard Tarris even as she dodges blows from another. The Viscountess of Kaedon strikes harmlessly agianst the Butchers gauntlet and then switches her stance a bit going directly for his throat now.

Henric's blade sweeps in a deadly arcs to parry and push at the cavaliers, racing to the attacker on Jaren. He was enraged. To see his brother down, the anguish that caused him, the utter darkness in him bursting out when winterthorn is taken. He tries in vain to drive his blade at Alphard, caught up in a deady dance with the four of them. It's not a good thing. They're in armor. They've planned this. He's lost his mind, raging, unable to see straight. There's got to be tears in there somewhere as he gets impaled and hacked at, nearly cleaved in two by Winterthorn itself. The blow is so fierce that he flies toward the motionless body of his brother, sprawling nearby, feeling the blood gushing and filling up his tunic, his blade skittering as he lands hard. His eyes hear his sister somewhere echoing his name. He looks up toward her, trying to stop her with his gaze. He knew he was done for. The four cavaliers and Alphard would end the last of the Cassomir brothers, wouldn't they? He failed them. God he failed them.

Fortunately with the crowd in as much disarray as it was, Alphard was able to evade Melisande's opening shot with the convenient placing of a poor hapless servant. His true name called out, Alphard can only let out a laugh at Melisande's cries. "Shooting a man in the back, I must commend your ruthlessness your highness!" he barks, the boasting useful at hiding his own surprise as regent joins the fray. So much for her being a pushover. No matter.

The arrival of so many others desiring his head, quite literally, it seems, puts a damper on his plans to slip out amidst the ensuing chaos. Oh well.

Blows are rapidly parried and dodged, one swatted away his arm, the torn fabric of his tunic revealing the heavy chain he wore underneath.

"HENRIC!" he greets with a laugh, the vicious swipe with sword of the man's now fallen brother, "Oh my! That MUST hurt! I mean, this was your brother's sword and to have your guts spilled by it! Oh the irony is /delicious/. Now if you'll excuse me, I MUST speak with her majesty, she's being quite rude in spurning my invitaiton," his eyes narrow on the other people still coming his way, "I intend to insist,"

Graham snarls throwing himself into the combat as his grab for the lady misses or she turns to mist or something. He dodges strikes "Emilia.. Please get behind me." his voice for once hard and cold. The knight is determined though he will push forward and will indeed see her safe.

"Chandus," Melisande chokes out regretfully as Thomas falls; in the same moment, a cavalier closes the distance between them. She's a skilled swordswoman, and the civil war did not leave her unblooded, but this is not her preferred arena by any means — her blade comes up just in time to turn a fatal blow into a lesser wound, one that raises sparks against the armor hidden beneath her gown's bodice, and raises severe but invisible bruising below.

She doesn't rush after Alphard, instead trading strikes more carefully with the 'cavalier' in her face. She takes the offense but rarely, focusing instead on keeping herself alive, which, while a lesser goal of the evening, is still a valuable one.

Nobody seems to be giving orders — her guards are distracted, or possibly turned, or possibly following her directive to defend Cynthia.

"Form up," she shouts, allowing the line of combat to draw her towards the others. "Backs to each other — we stand together!"

'Or we'll surely all die separately,' the wry little voice in her head chimes in. She elects not to give that thought voice.

Henric pushes himself beyond what his limit should be. He should be dead, sprawled out beside his brother, the example of his failure. He struggles to get a hold of his blade again, as there's one cavalier who is likely tasked with sticking him in the back with a blade to end him. He follows the laughter with his eyes though, of Alphard… of his intent on the Queen next. "Come back here…" he feels the words gurgle in his throat, wincing as he resolutely finds his feet under him again, following the swathe of death that Alphard cuts around him. Unfortunately, his rise has attracted the attention of a cavalier.

Having set one of the cavalier's aflame, the roasting scent of human flesh joining with the delights of the buffet, Mattias tosses the candle aside and moves to begin re-loading and preparing his hand cannon. Though even as he begins this task, his grating gloved hand clutching the weapon as the agile left rams the shot and powder home, Mattias notes that his simple act has drawn some measure of attention. If anything, there's a cold look cast to one assailant and then the other, assessing their worth and no doubt finding them wanting, "Perhaps the One will preserve me." Oh how glib!

As Melisande finishes her orders, a formerly hidden female figure steps up, forming up on the Queen's left-hand side. Almost overlooked over the chaos of the melee, the young lady Clara Romante steps up, with what appears to be some sort of staff. A second look betrays it to be a broken tapestry rod, the ends splintered to bring the makeshift weapon more to size for Clara. She is frightened, of that much is certained..but she isn't running away, either. And that is something speaking to her determination…that…and the fact she stands by Melisande.

Jaelynn applies the salves and things as she can, her dress bloodied.. tears were in her eyes, having watched her mother die. Her last breaths tie a bandage round Thomas tightly securing his wounds.. she mutters softly before she too is hit. Poor girl did not see it coming.

Henric's imploring look to have her stay back really has little impact upon Emilia, least in the way he wants, After watching two more of her family die…and likely the last remaining one, Henirc near going that way? Graham's words don't much impact Emilia either…the youngest Cassomir is near on her way to becoming fully unhinged by alright. That slice to her hand by the one cavalier has her growling and turning upon him!

The One doesn't do much, rather proving Mattias' belief that he is an utter wanker. The two cavalier's sweep against him as he rams the shot home, stumbles back against the table as the blade catches his good hand, Mattias' collision dislodging and sending pastries scattering over the floor. The second blow sends Mattias over the table, his robes torn asunder and blood staining the black fabric rather liberally. Hooray for black. Falling from the table to the floor with a thud, the wind is knocked from the dazed and bloodied banker and yet even with a trembling hand, he lifts that hand cannon towards the nearest of the bastards that just tried to finish him.

The butcher. The butcher has Henric's attention. He's weezing from the pain that is rending his body almost impossible to move. But his brother lying cold behind him, his older sister.. his tears start to flow down his cheeks. They are free flowing. They are of his internal torment, his most deepest despair. He never got to make amends with his brother, not fully. They talked at least, at the wedding. He never smiled back to Jaren's advice. He resented every moment that Jaren had claimed the spotlight, the fame… but such a thing was a ticking timebomb, wasn't it? He wanted to take it all back, but it was too late, wasn't it? His agony for his loss was on his sleeve. Someone just cut his heart out, piece by piece. Emilia… He saw her flashing before his eyes, as she moved despite his will to send her off. Such would have it. The last two of Aric's children would die this day, revenging their brother, their sister… their family. The most heart breaking scream charges the air, it's one of mourning and grief, of righteous anger… Henric doesn't even care that the cavalier tried to block him, taking another hit and barreling right through it. He's seeing only Alphard and attacks the man from behind. His strike was decisive… just not strong enough, not strong enough because of his own injuries… but he felt his light silver blade punch a wallop to the bastard… And that would be good enough. Some hint of blood would be all he needed to see.

A bandage is thus wrapped around his neck, a salve rubbed in it. A tonic of some sort from Jaelynn's pouch poured in his mouth. Life flows through him again, and the Baron Chandus of Repton March oncemore feels pain. He screams up in such volume as to wake the dead, were it that this room was silent. But it is not, and another two swords come by him, this time, plunging into the woman who had treated him. He rises now, stepping in front of her, now behind. Somehow, he manages a cry, despite the rapidly reddening bandage which indicates the effort. "Retreat, retreat! Pull back, around the Queen!" One hand raising the sword in defence, his free hand, usually grasped around a shield, grabs Jaelynn by the nape of her dress and begins to drag her backwards, striking at he who struck at her - a sneering, Aequorian cavalier. The thrust is weakly aimed and thrown, but it goes forth none the less.

An Arkanin Knight bursts into the fight shouting, "COME ON LADS! DEFEND THE QUEEN!" Arkanin House troops pour in, nad the fight intensifies. The Arkanin troops slam into the combat, weappons slashing, and faces determined. The Knight pauses by the Queen. "Your Majesty. I can take you to safety." He says calmly locking eyes with his Queen, genuine concern on his face.

Among these troops rushing in, a loan Sokar Squire can be seen. Adding her own forceful entrance to the scene.

"I see there are no manners in Galenthea these days," Alphard sneers as it seemed the entire royal court was in the mood to attack him. Skirting away from Emilia's attack he lets out a pained grunt when Graham's blade meets his right side, causing his body to lurch. He was still in the midst of regaining himself when Henric's blade came down at him, carving his left ear clean off. The man lets out a howl of shock and agony before his gaze locks on Henric.

"No." he snarls, "You will NOT be the one to bring me down!" he roars as he lunges at Henric, Winterhtorn brought up and to the ready before he brings the weapon down in a vicious cleave at Henric, "I DID NOT CLAW MY WAY BACK FROM DEATH'S GRIP TO BE FELLED BY THE WEAK BROTHER OF A FALSE KING TO A FALSE QUEEN!"

"Clara," Melisande greets her kin warmly, if in that 'I have a lot going on right now, not least of which trying not to think too much about my slaughtered fiance over there, so forgive me if I'm a bit brisk' voice, "Thank you. Please take a weapon from the fallen, that stick won't last you long."

She and her cavalier exchange another series of blows, this time with parries that ring out across the room.

Then she raises her voice again. "Viscountess Kaedon, prevent Tarris from retreating for as long as you can! Everyone else, guard gainst the cavaliers, they're taking advantage of your distraction!"

Relief arrives, and she smiles grimly. "Have your men flank the cavaliers from the other side, while you remain with me, Sir Knight."

Sonya misses her strike at the Tarris's neck but she lands another glancing blow to his arm all the same. She takes a light hit to her leg and dances out of reach of another strike. Still it doesn't slow her down hardly at all and when she hears the Queen's orders her eyes narrow in determination. She circles Alphard looking for openings and taking them striking swift and without a hint of mercy in her dark eyes.

Henric responded to Alphard, his tone dead, ash in his mouth, "You should've stayed dead…" He prepared himself to parry winterthorn, bracing…

Henric just stays out of reach of Winterthorn, caught up in an epic duel with Alphard Tarris. Another knight pokes a cheap shot at Alphard, but Henric stays on the Tarris while he's distracted. After a panted breath, he growls out at Alphard, "We will fight you to the last of us. You will never win this. You can kill as many as you want, but you will never win…"

Sonya swings a dagger visciously at Alphards head. She doesn't cut but she likely cuases a bit of ringing in whats left of his ears all the same. The knight gets a strike in at the Tarris and the Viscountess continues to advance and circle not caring if the man goes down. Her job is to keep him distracted and hopefully enable someone to kill him if she can't manage it herself.

Thomas continues to drag back Jaelynn, not getting a chance to breath, not getting a chance to reform. His neck, staunched before by the dressing that the now fallen lady placed on him, begins to seep blood. Another sword blow, this one much lighter, cuts his arm, but he does not falter. "Yield, you Cavalier, and you will be spared!"

Clara replies back, as calmly as she can, to her cousin. Which…is barely calm at all. "With all due respect, Your Majesty…I know how to use this better than a blade." As if on cue, a cavalier gets into swinging range. Clara's attack goes wide, but only because the target managed to evade at the last moment. Clara pulls herself back quickly, prepped to lash out once more.

The squire, Klaudea, had managed to beg her way out of more court formalities, by way of being assigned to guard rather than dance. She thought it was going to be a long and boring night for her, but then the call came, and the sound of the clash heard, and she turned to join the reinforcements. She scanned the room, and made her way towards the people she knows, trying to take away the threat to Sir Henric's back when she notices a former comrade in arms being double teamed. However, at the last moment, the man attacked Sir Graham instead, and so her strike almost misses, only catching the arm. She turns slightly to follow up, but keeps her back somewhat towards the Cassomir so that she knows her back is covered, as well.

It was bad enough with henric still coming at him his attacks narrowly evaded but with Sonya and the Galenthean knight deciding to join the fray it was getting all the more annoying. Henric is badly wounded and not in much better shape for a fight. Time to deal with that little stinging gnat.

"What's to say I haven't already won, Henric?" Alphard asks with a dark chuckle. His own dagger at the ready to help him parry Henric's inevitable attack, Alphard makes a nasty swipe at Sonya with Winterthorn as he snarls out, "Begone. The adults are talking."

Jaelynn is out, she can not help, infact her dead weight in Thomas's hands is most likely slowing him down. Her dress a deep red and her body limp and unmoving.

The Cavaliers continue to fight, swinging their blades and pressing the attack on their unarmored opponants. The Cavalier facing Thomas sneers. "Yield? To a Chandus? I think not Eastern Vitch!" He snarls and presses in on Thomas.

Sonya doesn't respond to the taunting and she doesn't speak at all when the Tarris turns to face her. She prepares to dodge Alphard's attacks with wordless calm completely unfazed, her expression a blank mask her eyes narrowed calmly at her opponet.

"Clara, Sir Knight, let us join Sir Chandus in defending the fallen Lady Arkanin," Melisande orders, arranging for her next series of strikes against the remarkably competent cavalier to carry her around to the left, in that direction. "Enough Arkanin blood has been shed in their own halls for one night."

She doesn't bother arguing with her cousin, though there are arguments to be made. Right now, it would be a waste of air. Switching targets with a shift of her weight, she tries to slide her blade into one of the cavaliers mobbing Thomas.

Slouched against the edge of the table, Mattias rests his one arm across the gash that near enough opened him up and levels the hand cannon once more for all that such a gesture is worth. The bloodied banker grits his teeth, a faint twitch catching the corner of his mouth as he narrows his left eye and down the barrel of the ornate hand cannon. There are almost certainly regrets, but Mattias isn't about to voice or show a single one to the enemies that abound as he sits within a pool of his own blood surrounded by fallen pastries and the lingering aroma of burning human flesh.

If nothing else Sonya's attack did a good job of drawing Alphard's attention as Henric made that swing for his head. Henric would be rewarded with the most satisfying of wet cracking sounds as his blade finds the top of Alphard's skull, cleaving a wretched splut into it. The man's eyes had begun to grow cold and lifeless when in his final moments he caught sight of Varian. Yes! Him! It was him! The one who cut his life short was here! Now another had stood in his way, however and threatened to lay him low. His will was slipping, his mind all but literally of two places now.

"Vari…an…" he wheezed as he stumbled, dropping to his knees. "Var…ian…" the name repeated. What was left of the once genius tactician being replaced with an unquenchable rage. The fury of the dead coursing through him. The pure, unmitigated hate that filled him at the mere SIGHT of him. Alphard started to rise to his feet. The entire hall beginning to shake, a powerful wind blasting through, born of the most unholy powers. The fires doused, their life sucked from them only to burst into unearthly green flame. "Varian…" the name repeated once again as Alphard's eyes began to glow with the very same unearthly green. The light wreathing him like an aura of pure hatred as those burning eyes locked on the only person who mattered now.

"VARIAN!" Alphard roared out, his cries not only of his own but echoing of a thousand tortured souls howling in anguish as he broke into a charge, spurred by inhuman strength as he became obsessed with only one person now, and that person he planned to take his head clean off with a single blow.

The Cavaliers witness this and turn to flee. The demonic light pouring off Alphard is bright and fearful. They may have been dedicated, but none of them want to hang around a man incased in Demonic power who might jsut EAT them. They turn to flee, but Melisande had ordered the Knight to Flank, and when teh Cavlaiers do so, they find the Knight House Arkanin troops there. Where the Cavalier's are killed to a man in their thirst for vengence over the death of their Archduchess.

Mattias' previous shot is fired over the heads of the crowd as one of the cavalier's approaches and hacks at the banker's chest, the simple swipe sending the banker sprawling amidst the pool of his own blood. The bloodied gold chain that hangs heavy about his shoulders splattered with blood, one of the links even severed by that final attack that appears to have ended the life of the Four Corners' financier. Mattias' gloved hand twitches faintly and slowly, the jerking movements soon still as Mattias moves no more. Those fine black robes glossy with the man's blood, clinging and glistening as the blood pumps from the two grievous wounds he took. Perhaps a blessing given what is going on. But for now, Mattias merely adds to the obstacles on the floor. Oblivious to the fleeing cavaliers and the resulting troubles.

To complement the oozing, covered wound on his neck, Thomas gets a nice, deep slash of a Cavalier sword in his belly, knocking him to the ground. Whatever Jaelynn had given him in tonic, though, means that he's able to get back up. He manages to deflect enough of the blow that he isn't disemboweled and steps in front of the Arkanin. Melisande gets a wan smile, though Thomas barely looks over. "Your Majesty I… we must fight our way through this." Whether he means defeat the enemy or conduct a fighting retreat, he's not clear about. His face has turned a pale shade of white. "Your Majesty." He repeats, his eyes going wide at the sight of Alphard. The men run. Somehow, the wounded, bleeding Baron Chandus does not - again, maybe the tonic. "Your Majesty. We must attack it. We must!" Lifting his sword weakly, he steps towards Alphard, even though every piece of him says not to, and thrusts his sword.

Sonya takes a hit to the chest but she keeps on her feet and allows Henric to strike Alphard down once again. Then something happens and the air in the room is filled with something the Countess has only read about. Magic. Evil Magic. Thats what it must be….thats the only explaination for it. "May the Many Gods save me…" Sonya freezes and her daggers trembles in her hands. She backs away from Alphard the fear cuasing her to shiver and back against the wall shaking like a leaf. She mutters prayers to her gods, all of them praying for the strength to fight this battle. But she can't seem to muster the courage to continue fighting just yet.
Mattias has disconnected.

The eerie demonic wind knocks Henric back, the power of the demon unleashed actually TOSSING him back. He crashes against someone else, maybe Klaudea… in the ordeal. In the wretched chaos that follows, he can only look toward his brother… "Jaren…" he worked out as he looked over toward the darkness drawing around them. Spitting up a gob of blood, he drags himself, due to his injuries, to get out of the range of … whatever the fuck Alphard was now. His light silver blade was still clutched in his hand as he urged himself back, trying to get to Jaren. Where'd his sister go? His thoughts then on Emilia. Not her too. His eyes flashed with the despair, covering his ears from the howling of all those tormented souls!!

As she's working her way over to Thomas, the original cavalier on Queen Melisande finally scores another blow — this one to her arm. She promptly drops the hand cannon — there was nothing in it anymore anyway, and only a lifetime of composure as a life-or-death ally keeps her from wincing as blood trickles down her wrist, flowing between her fingers.

Yanking her blade out of one of Thomas' cavalier's chests with a sharp twist (it wasn't a deadly blow, but certainly an unfriendly one), she gives it a flick, and the sidhe-steel blade sheds its blood in a straight line against the wall.

And then everything goes completely to hell a second time.

Blood drains from Melisande's face as the twice-dead bane of the War of the Rose and Thorn turns out to be some kind of demon. People plow past her, leaving Thomas and Jaelynn in no further immediate danger — she is in no state of mind to order Arkanin to take prisoners for questioning, her inner advisor is a gibbering wreck — but she makes no move to run.

For the longest moment, she makes no move at all.

And then in a single, beautiful moment, with the kind of perfect technique that coined the term poetry in motion, she dives with Thomas towards the charging demon, her blade sweeping forward towards the hand that wields her lost love's sword, tears of terror pouring down her cheeks.

"NO! NO MORE GALENTHIANS WILL DIE BY YOUR WHIM, BUTCHER!"

As the cavalier Clara was targetting runs off, the young Romante's eyes swivel…and lock upon the glowing green facade of Alphard. That….is some seriously scary presense. People just seem to fall away, trembling from the dread that just rolls off of his form. And…yet…Clara remains. Scared half to death herself, she sees her Queen…her cousin…charging in. And, somehow, Clara finds herself running in as well. Her, with a tapestry rod running in to beat on a demon.

The doorway to the room echoes with a bang as it is launched inward, rattling on its hinges while splinters rain down in the wake of Varian's aggressive entry. Coated from head to toe in blood, it drips visibly from his sword as well as his form. Though to judge by the spring in his step and the force with which he'd shouldered the door inward, none of it belongs to him. From the necks and hearts of more ill-fated assassins that sought to keep the viscount away from the fight. The instant he is within the room, his eyes fall upon Alphard; the man who should be dead. In a heart-beat he is moving, racing through the room and directly between fighters already engaged to assault the erstwhile Tarris. Ashwind swings in, slicing cleanly through the sword of a cavalier that moved to intercept it before carrying on and notching the armour in Alphard's leg. The poor showing prompts an instantaneous but eminently passing look of hate before Varian jumps backward, readying Ashwind for another blow.

Then, Alphard is dead. Except, he does not remain so.

The battered corpse clambering up to its feet prompts a strained look of disbelief, before the outright showing of demonic power sets the viscount's icy blue eyes wide as saucers. The black wind that whips through the room stings the skin, blowing his hair back as he stares at the impossibility before him; it is impossible to tell if the already pale viscount has gone bloodless in the face or not. His grip around Ashwind, however, does not slacken. "Come, monster. This time, you will not survive me," he hisses. "There will be no corpse left for whatever devil's magic brought you from the grave once. Not this time."

There was no stopping that mad charge fueled by demonic aether. Alphard simply will not stop. Even Clara's staff hits him square in the chest he's only briefly phased.

Melisande and Thomas's blades bury themselves in his torso, his tattered armor no longer able to stop them and yet he still presses forwards. Varian's own strike seems to do little to stop him. His mouth open and screaming with hellish fury as wisps of green smoke pour from his mouth, and then Winterthorn finds its mark, the blade corrupted with demonic energy burns as if it had been heated in a forge.

For a moment, Aphard had a pleased smirk tug at the corners of his mouth at the hit, and in that moment came his downfall. Just as he was readying for another strike, the hand holding Winterthron suddenly seized in mid air, his expression becoming one of confusion.

"N-no!" he cried out, the echo fading from his voice, "It wasn't enough! It'll never be enough!" he pleaded, the unholy aura starting to fade from him, gradually being exchanged for one of pure white light eminating from the hilt of Winterthorn.

"I cannot go yet! I'm not fini-I'm not finished!" he croared out, his battered and broken body staggering before he once again locked eyes on Varian. "Varian! I swear to you this is not over!" Alphard cries out in one final act of defiance before his body suddenly locks up , back arched, head thrown back, eyes and mouth to the heavens as that white light overtakes him, now erupting from his eyes and mouth. The hall shakes and rumbles once again, cracks forming along Alphard's body as if he were made of clay. They flake abnd break off, revealing more white light underneath.

With a final scream, Alphard's body erupts into an explosion of light. The blast immediately dousing the green flames within the hall, snuffing the light out as the shockwave would immediately knock anyone close to Alphard back. Several knights and caveliers are less fortunate as some of the pieces of Alphard's tainted remains strike them. Unholy demonic shrapnel that disintigrates the men until only their clothes remain.

As for Winterthorn, the blade is sent hurtling from Alphard's hand, spinning through the air only to bury in the ground mere inches in front of Henric, the blade's pristine surface reflectic Henric's face to him, as if bidding him to take up his brother's sword as an unsettling silence falls on the now darkened hall.

Melisande takes a deep breath, the kind of breath that heaves a little on the way in, that catches in her throat in a bubble of horror and despair and pain. She is leaking blood from one arm and she won't be able to sleep on her belly for at least a month. Her dead fiance is at her feet, his sword, still grasped by his demonic murderer, a few feet away.

But she was taught to think of everyone but herself at a time like this. That is what it is to be Queen.

It is her voice that breaks the silence, and it does not shake with the tears in her eyes.

"Establish a perimeter, and then begin securing the rest of the castle," she orders the surviving knights. "Get healers up here /immediately/ to tend Lady Arkanin and the other survivors. Get priests up here to attend to the dead. Someone find out what happened to Queen Cynthia, and let /no/ member of the Galenthian armed forces approach her without her consent. Tonight someone tried to start a new war, not just continue an old one."

Her eyes are black as a starless sky as she declares, "We will /not/ allow them to succeed."

Somewhere in the chaos, the darkness that the demon created, the fighting that came after it, Henric had found his brother. Henric had pulled himself through the wreckage of man and woman alike to get back to his brother's side, where he should have been all along. He struggled to his knees, his sword making a clattering as it fell from his hand, discarded at his side - the light silver blade bloodied from hilt to sword tip. In the wake of all the fighting (and screaming), Henric had grabbed his brother up in his arms and clutched him to his chest. His head was bowed and he was actually hugging the lifeless form of Jaren hard, in that fierce hope he wasn't dead, that he was just resting. There was a pool of blood around the both of them, as he hunched over Jaren… his knight, his mentor, his idol…His blood, their blood… His hands grabbed and clung to Jaren. He knew Emilia was around (she just had to be- ONE make it so), perhaps at Raelyn's side.. Raelyn! He lost track of Emilia in his rage, in his anguish. "Jaren…" he moaned out, "You can't leave us… you can't leave me…" His body was racked with grief, his shoulders shaking as he pressed his head against Jaren's shoulder. The reality of it was sinking in.

And then that HUGE explosion of light, the shockwave hitting him, though Henric was braced as best as he could be with a lifeless body in his arms and no demonic shrapnel hit him and … possibly if it did right then, he wouldn't even notice. His head was burried against Jaren's shoulder from the impact of the air hitting him, so when that weapon 'thudded' into the ground, it caused him to lift his attention and stare back at his own reflection. It laughed at him, swaying as it burried into the polished floor.

Somehow, Thomas had managed to muster the strength to give one last charge, one last hurrah against this unholy, this demonic, this terrible foe. As he buried his blade in him, though weakly, he closed his eyes - just in time. He's knocked back by the explosion of Alphard's body, sent head over heels, losing a grip on his sword as he tumbles. It takes him a solid minute to raise his head, now uncovered as his brass helmet had likewise gone flying off. He blinks, uncomprehendingly, before rising first to his knees and then to his feet. "Your Majesty… are you… well?" He drags himself over to her, one hand holding reflexively on his bleeding abdomen.

Varian exchanges a blow for a blow with the hell-spawned creature, the tip of Ashwind thrust through Alphard's armour and into the unholy body beneath it even as the weapon in the fallen Tarris's hand strikes the viscount in the same position. The searing heat of it prompts a pained yell from Varian, nearly jerking back yet persisting. A hand goes to the pommel of Ashwind, pushing it in deeper with a hateful hiss erupting from his lips that mimics the sound of Winterthorn cauterizing his own.

The sudden arch of Alphard's spine, however, draws both blades away from their respective targets. At the outpouring of light from the hellish creature, the viscount whips a hand up before his face and stares through bloodied, gloved fingers at the sight before him. He holds no quip for the passing Tarris, only stares at the man-turned-monster with a fierce, ice-cold stare as Alphard erupts into a shower of demonic shrapnel and shrouds the hall with his remains. When the dust - and the gore - settles, Varian is standing with Ashwind held loosely at his side while his opposite hand is lowered slowly downward from his face.

Pure madness. That was how Varian would describe that night. His hand moves to his chest, pushing against the torn leather of his coat and against the burned and cut skin beneath it. It is a painful wound, but it is far from fatal; Alphard's last gasp failed to do more than inconvenience. His eyes are upon his gloved hand, staring at the mixture of his blood and that of others upon it before he remembers himself, pulling upright. "Your Majesty," he announces, turning about to face Melisande and dipping into a low bow. "I.. Apologize, that I could not come sooner. To stop this earlier. Alphard's assassin's found me."

Well, that wasn't as well planned as Klaudea thought. Her strike and sudden appearance /did/ distract the men trying to attach Henric's back. But, she's not wearing her armor this time, so the blows hurt a lot more when they connect. A. Lot. She doubles over in pain, and presses a hand to the floor, but she knows better than to leave herself in such a vulnerable position, so she braces against that palm, and pushes up, just in time to see the two who hit her turn and flee. It takes a moment for her pain-wracked brain to note the changes around the room, and then she hears Alphard and turns to look. The squire's eyes open wide, and that sound she hears is actually herself screaming as she stumbles backwards and falls to the ground. As the white light builds, she rolls over and covers her head, praying to the One to take her at this final moment. Then… there's a whooshing of air over her head, and silence. From the hall for a moment, and from her. The pain and fear have taken Klaudea out of this world for now, as she passes out.

"I don't think any of us can be called well after all this, Baron Chandus," Melisande murmurs, allowing at last the barest hint of bleakness to enter her voice. It lasts less than a heartbeat; then she sets her chin and steels her heart. "Please, sit down before you fall down. Galenthia has lost enough good men and women for one evening."
Without further ado, she turns to face Varian, her blood-drenched hand the mirror of his, though the blood is wholly her own. "Yes — this evening has been marvelously well orchestrated. A number of my best guardians have been rendered mysteriously absent. Your arrival was extremely timely, regardless. You have my thanks, Viscount Reine."
Her voice, calm and elegant now, strong not like an oak but like the mountain bones of this place, which can be worn by rivers and ravaged by storms but still stand proudly, majestically, continues, throughout the room. "As do you all. The honors due the fallen will never return them to us… but we will get to the root of this evil, and tear it out of this world, that it may never again wreck such cruelty. On that you have my oath."

She's still holding her shortsword before her in a guarded stance — only now does she seem to register that, but it's just as well that it's still here, to hear not just her threat but her promise.

Then, at last, she lowers it, and begins to clean it on a nearby tablecloth. "Tonight didn't end anything. This feels much more like a beginning."

Thomas doesn't need to be told twice; in earneast, it's likely that sheer willpower was holding Thomas to his feet. That lacking, he crumples to the ground, though he's aware enough that he can at least sit. "Councillor Mattias Thynne, Your Majesty. He… saved my life. He saved our lives. The hand cannon. I … would seek to reward him, somehow." Maybe it's the blood loss. Is he talking about rewarding a banker, a commoner from Four Corners? And with what?

Henric lifted his gaze and it was full of anger, as he held the corpse of his brother. The anger was flashed over at Melisande. It would root deep that anger, when she ignored the corpse of her beloved. He loved her. Gave everything for her… and she couldn't even … Such was, the loss of a brother… and sister both.

"Allow me to assure you that everyone involved will get their due reward," the Queen replies /so/ calmly to Thomas that it is exceedingly obvious that she definitely means that in a double-edged way.

There is definitely much reparation to be made for this; some in titles, some in gold, some in favors — and some in blood.

Her gaze seems to be not only failing to linger sympathetically on Henric and Jaren but /actively avoiding them/. That's a door that she can't open right now; must not allow herself to even consider.

She will attend to her own needs last of all.

Sonya remains trembling against the wall unable to look away as Alphard explodes in a flash of light. She braces herself but is left unharmed and then she watches as the room returns to some semblance of order. Regaining her wits she slips off the wall quitely making her way over to the Queen standing silently for a moment before she speaks. "My sincerest apologies Your Majesty. I did my best but it was not enough…but I must ask, is there anything more I can do to assist?" She bows her head a look of true regret and shame upon her features along with steely determination.

The viscount nods his head in quiet acceptance of the queen's praise, though his absence during the real battle that took place will stick in his mind for some time to come. "Yes, Your Majesty," he agrees. Varian turns then, registering Thomas's presence in the wake of Melisande's acknowledgement of him with a directed stare. "Baron Chandus," he remarks, looking his vassal over once before lightly pointing Ashwind in his direction. "You're looking a bit worse for wear. We should find you a surgeon sooner rather than later, lest you bleed out all over the floor and finish the job of whomever you have been fighting this evening. It seems," he adds, pausing faintly to glance around the charnel house that was the ballroom, "we have lost too many good men and women this evening." Ashwind is swept across a loose bit of cloth swept into Varian's opposite hand, cleaning the blood free from it before it is slipped noiselessly into its sheathe.

Thomas watches his Queen with a detached manner. The tonic given to him earlier in the night by Jaelynn Arkanin, that which rose him from nearly dead, is beginning to wear off. His stare remains fixed on the point where Melisande had been even after she's left, only to snap to at his liege's razzing. "No wonder he sent so many to kill you, your Excellency." Chandus even manages a thin smile.

Sonya watches the Queen take her leave rather calmly. The trembling in her hands easing as she slides her daggers back into thier sheaths in her boots. Then she notices the cut across her midsection and the blood seeping through the silk. "Well…it could certainly be worse." She mutters and smiles bitterly and her eyes narrow slightly at the thought of what happened. She glances to the Viscount Reine breifly as he looks over the Baron. Deciding not to interupt she will attempt to slip unnoticed from the room favoring her left leg and going in search of a place to sit and wait for a healer to be availible. She is hardly the worst of the injuries.

"Well, he won't be doing it again," Varian remarks with a touch of amusement, glancing backward to the point in the room which Alphard had… Exploded. "Or much of anything, I hope. Seems he had a knack for rising from the dead. After tonight, his surviving our first encounter makes both more and less sense to me." Some might have remarked that Alphard's return was not an in-appropriate analogy for the Viscount's past sins coming home to haunt him. But it mattered little after all, Alphard was dead. Again. And this time, in considerably more pieces than he was before. "Come, let us get you seen to. You, and everyone else who fought bravely tonight."

It's good that other people can smile. It's good that other people can just write it off as 'good men and women'… Henric wasn't one of those. This wasn't a victory. For the Cassomir who had just celebrated not too many days ago in song during his wedding, the stark comparison now was clear. People seemed to avoid them both, as the Queen was doing. Maybe it was for the best. Eventually those who respected the Champion, would assemble around the pair. Henric would be convinced to rise (after much despairing protest) and let go of his brother so that they could carry him. Those that did, a mix of Cassomir House guards, Royal Lancers, and respected friends… and the two strained faces belonging to the last of Aric's children… Raelyn's body would follow suit. House Cassomir would mourn.

((OOC: please add if there were further poses after))

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