The moon sat high in the starry sky above the city of Highmont, the capitol jewel in Ecen, the streets still busy despite the darkness that filled the land, torches lit up the city throughout it as people lived their lives. The talk of the city was the meeting that was going to take place within the castle, Dragonstead, a place few that were not nobles or worked within it's massive walls had been inside before. But for tonight it had opened it's tall doors for those that had witnessed the Sounding, an event even King Ethan Tirius saw firsthand, the vision plaguing his dreams the night it occurred.

At the main entrance of the castle a small line had formed, an old bearded man right in front of the doors, armor clad guards at each side of them as well. The geezer was the court mage, an experienced man that the King had chosen due to his magic prowess, which included an ability to see other person's pasts. While there was opposition to magic throughout the Kingdom, the man was someone the king's father had trusted enough to keep in his circle, so in other words he was perfect as the gate guardian for those that came, he able to read through their memories to see if the people were truthful of witnessing the Sounding. Some had already been 'checked' and allowed in, these people directed towards the main dining hall where the meeting would take place once the King emerged into the room.

---

The man of the King's Guard stood in the back, away from the long table filled with foods and beverages of all kinds, he stared into the fire burning in the fireplace, a hand rubbing his chin as he tried to calm his nerves. He was in armor like always, but a less noticeable kind than he would usual wear, if he was going to be traveling with a group like the King vaguely mentioned to him, then he did not want to stand out, the last thing he needed was to wear his armor which displayed that he was a member of the King's Guard, and thus a connection to the king, then have trouble caused because of that.

He let out a sigh, then turned towards the table and moved to pour himself a glass of red wine, as he took a sip of it he noticed that another person had entered the room, he figured he was the only one in it, but this person had strolled in while he had his back turned, now she was seated eating a plate of food, she was a black haired woman clad in a long dark robe, the hood down, revealing her face.

"You're the first one here other than me." Elden said to her as she looked up him, the glass in his hand.

---

Riya had entered the room quietly, as she usually did, she was surprised to find only one other person in the dining room, a long haired, armor clad man staring into the fire. She thought she was late, but she must have been early, so Riya moved towards the table and took a seat. She thought about saying a word to the man, but he seemed to be deep in thought. She composed herself a plate of food, her eyes brightening up as she glanced over the selection on the table. All kinds of wines, alcohols, meats, wheats, vegetables and deserts. A practical feast, she hadn't eaten since the morning and was practically starving as she took a bite of bread. The man by the fire turning towards the table, and her, as he poured himself a glass of wine.

"It appears that way, doesn't it?" Riya said before she took another bite.

"Did you travel far to get here?" The man said back.

"Just from one of the villages to the north. I'm guessing you say the Sounding? I did, that's why I'm here."

"I did. But I was already in the capitol. The name's Elden, Elden Fryar."

"Riya. I'm a bard." She said, not fully lying.

"So we'll have song on our journey?"

"Journey?"

"I heard whispers of it, but I'm not entirely sure. We'll see if it is true." Elden said, then took a seat at the table, right near the end nearest the fireplace, the glass in his hand as he took a drink. Riya didn't reply, she just continued eating.

“Are you sure this is a good idea?”

Amy, the teaching assistant for “Magic 102: Introduction to Elemental Theory”, stood in the doorway of Klaus’s faculty quarters as he tripped about the room, stuffing various belongings into a travelling bag.

“Yes. Have you seen my spectacles?”

“In the sock pile.”

“Of course.” Klaus picked them up, wiped at the lenses, and put them on. He blinked owlishly at Amy. “Why are you still here?”

Amy sighed. “I just- well, I’m not sure if it’s a good idea for you to travel alone.”

“Why not?”

“Oh, come on, Professor Banning.”

In many ways, Amy was Klaus’s caretaker as well as teaching assistant. She extinguished his wardrobe when he set it on fire, led him patiently back to his quarters when he got lost sleepwalking, and gently coaxed him down from rooftops whenever he got the urge to walk the railing.

(The faculty at Ironwood had drawn straws for that task. Amy lost.)

Klaus was not ungrateful. He was well aware of Amy’s utility and personal sacrifice. This, however, was not a conversation he wanted to be having.

“Don’t you have papers to grade?”

Amy heaved a sigh. “Professor Banning, nobody wrote their final papers. You failed them all mid-semester.”

This was news to Klaus. “Did I”

“You said none of them had a healthy respect for, uh, chaos theory.”

Klaus stiffened. “No, they did not. Good riddance. Kids these days, Amy, I swear. Where’s my butt plug?”

“Your what? No- you know what, never mind. Professor, I really don’t think-”

“That concerns me, Amy. You’re a degree candidate. That requires thought.”

“You’re not even allowed in the capitol!” Amy spread her hands in exasperation.

Klaus lifted a finger. “I’m not allowed on university grounds. The city itself is fine. I checked the laws.”

“See, the fact that you’ve done something- something so egregiously awful that the country’s best university won’t let you step foot on campus-”

“No, Amy, I will not tell you what happened at Highmont. Stop asking.” Klaus

“I wasn’t-” Amy was visibly struggling for words. “Sir, you’ve been perfectly happy in your lab the last few years. I just don’t understand why you think you have to go.”

Klaus paused. Amy watched him expectantly; eyes wide, questioning, innocent.

She hadn’t seen what he’d seen. She hadn’t heard the echoing roar; she hadn’t seen the flames and carnage, the horrifying vision of things to come.

He’d thought it was happening again. He’d thought it was just like five years ago at Highmont, when they found him shrieking in his lab.

But no- the King had seen it, and others had seen it, which meant that Klaus was not going mad.

Or maybe they were all going mad.

“No,” he told Amy, “I wouldn’t expect you to.”

~

“Please stop poking me.” The gatekeeper was visibly annoyed.

“I’m not poking you.” Klaus poked the gatekeeper. “Wow. What an art. You can see my past? You can see everything?”

“Professor Banning, you are holding up the line.”

Klaus glanced perfunctorily at those waiting behind him. “How much detail? Does it intesify when I touch you?” he demanded.

“Sir-”

“Why haven’t I met you? Were you at the university? I can’t believe this is the first time I’ve- you have to let me study you, this is incredible-”

“Sir, either get in the castle or get out of line.”

Klaus tripped hastily through the gate.

His self-directed tour of the grounds was sadly cut short by the aggressively polite wait staff, who directed him to a large dining hall. He strode in just as Elden and Riya introduced themselves to each other, and slid into the chair next to Riya.

“Klaus,” he added by way of introduction, “although I’m sure I’ll be repeating that throughout the evening. We should just assign ourselves numbers. I do that to my students. Makes everyone’s lives easier.”

He surveyed the table with glee. “Sprouts!” he said, pleased. “Helps you pass stool. The King’s a wise, wise man.”

Ople Hendric

As Ople waited in the line, she looked at the front and back of the line. Seeing many strange looking characters, she nervously wondered what she doing at the line.
The court mage stood in front of her. The people in front of her were already either inside, or were removed for lying. She looked nervously into the mage's eyes, as he looked backed with confidence. This overwhelming feeling was not new to her, but it was the first time she felt this much pressure.
The mage spoke, "You will be directed to the main dining hall. The King will be there shortly."

As Ople was guided to the dining hall, she was awed by the inside of the castle. She never thought she would ever lived to set foot into the castle. Once in the room, she sat quietly next to Amy. She looked at everyone at the table, which included Elden; Riya; Klaus; and Amy.
"Um...Hello." She said it nervously, with a gentle smile.

A dense mist had rolled over the carnival ground, shrouding the brightly coloured tents in a thick blanket of pale wispy fog. From the spacious interior of her own fairly large tent, Ghisronia could faintly make out the performance of “The Society of Vagabonds” from up on the makeshift wooden stage.



Ghis blocked the performance from her head, having heard each individual scene countless times before, and continue loading the last of her possessions into the sturdy oak trunk that lay in front of her. Placing her waterskin on top of the neatly folded pile of leather armour, the young girl heaved the heavy wooden trunk closed, wiping a bead of sweat off of her forehead.

Somewhere behind her, the flimsy patchwork flaps of her tent were gently pushed aside with a delicate flutter, and a lean figure wordlessly slipped into her living space.

“For all you known I might not have been decent.” She called back over her shoulder.

“I’ve endured all manner of horrors in my day; the prospect of a small naked girl doesn’t scare me” A slimy voice whispered out of the darkness.

“I’ve been called a lot of things,” Ghisronia remarked as she slowly got up off of her knees, causing their joints to pop loudly “but small is seldom one of them.”

Despite her slight height, Ghisronia was undeniably a larger girl; with a stocky build, and a corpulent body. Her vast belly pressed firmly against the tight material of her simple woollen blouse, and her ankles often ached from supporting her hefty frame.

“I don’t remember saying that you were excused from the performance.” Hissed the figure from behind her, taking a few soft steps to close the distance between the pair.

“Oh, was that today? The young girl asked drily, turning to face the figure.

The troupe master was tall and frail, with sickly grey skin and large yellowish eyes. He wore an extravagant silk outfit, fashioned from fabric swathes of many different colours, and had a long scarf pulled over his mangled lower-jaw.

“Choose your words carefully, girl” he oozed in his usual oily manner “if you think that you can just walk all over me then you haven’t been paying attention.”

Ghisronia sighed theatrically, folding her arms across her wide chest “I know you’ve got a mighty inflated opinion of yourself, but when it comes down to following your instructions and prancing about on stage with the new meat, whom calling actors is being insufferably optimistic, or answering a royal decree from the bloody king, I’m going to go with the latter every time.”

The troupe master shot forwards, placing one wiry white hand under her double-chin, and forcibly tilting her head upwards. “Off so soon?” He jeered, his putrid yellow eyes fixing on the wooden trunk. “You’re breaking my heart, girl.”

“I’ll send you a letter from Highmont.” She said plainly, her gaze never falling from his sickly features, her demeanour unflinching.

“You’re not going anywhere, you little cu-“ before he could finish, Ghisronia’s left fist shot forwards, barrelling into his frail chest with considerable force. The Troupe master released his grip, stumbling backwards and coughing hoarsely as he clutched at his rib cage.

“I’ll cut you for that.” He snapped through coughs, staring daggers at her.

“Come and have a go, if you think you’re hard enough.” She snapped back, motioning to herself with one great sweeping gestures.
The Troupe master said nothing for some time, glaring at her from behind his scarf. When he finally spoke, his voice was dripping with poorly-repressed malice.

“Don’t bother coming back. You don’t have a home here anymore.”

And with that, he turned and walked out of the tent, and back into the foggy carnival ground.



Ghisronia waited impatiently in the line, heavily tapping her foot on the cobbled floor. Having initially amused herself by observing all the exotic looking characters who’d banded together at the gates, Ghis had quickly grown bored, and was anxious to get somewhere warm.

When it was her turn to stand before the Court Mage, Ghisronia forced the look of pent-up irritation from her face, adopting a much more agreeable demeanour. She was by no means happy, but knew better than to squander the opportunity she’d been presented with by throwing and angsty fit.

She smiled politely as she came before the mage, fluttering her eyelids ever-so-slightly. The mage regarded her with a blank expression.

“Please follow the others through into the dining hall.”

Skipping along curtly, Ghisronia navigated her way through the castle, until she arrived in the dining hall.

Her eyes fixing immediately on the food that was scattered across the long table, Ghisronia snatched up what looked like a bowl full of black mushrooms cooked in garlic, probably intended to feed more than one person, before grabbing a leg of mutton with her one free hand. Slumping down heavily in one of the chairs, which creaked and moaned beneath her weight, the young woman begun to tuck into her meal, taking occasional swigs from a large metal jug that was filled with honeyed mead.

“Pleasure to meet you all.” She said to no one in particular, gesturing to the other occupants of the room with one grease-covered hand, before letting out a throaty belch.

Jobe Robson, son of Rob, walked the cobbled road with an air of one completely oblivious to his surroundings. Fortunately, such a terrible habit on the roads had yet to cost him, as bandits were rarely seen on the King’s road and those that were about had obviously deemed him unworthy of their time. He looked every inch the peasant he was, with the fair hair and tanned skin of a western farmer, with a noticeably bulky build, and a bag over one shoulder and a lumber-axe resting on the other. Inside his mind bubbled with excitement at his chance to go on an adventure and escape his boring existence, but it was mingled with an ever-growing thorn of fear. Like any thorn it caused discomfort when he moved too fast, so he forced himself to slow down, until he was hardly moving at all.

His incredibly slow steps were drawing some ire from a carriage driver behind him, but he ignored the man’s yells as he plodded up a slight incline. As he drew close to the top an immense sight greeted his weary and travel-stained body, causing his mouth to drop open in amazement.

Highmont, and within the great castle of Dragonstead, the scale of which he could never have even imagined coming from his small farming town west of the Truesh peaks. The carriage driver had skirted around him now, taking the time to throw something that missed him by some distance, and trundled down the hill towards the city. Jobe ignored him again, because honestly he couldn’t understand a word he was saying.

The Guard stood before the castle gates looked up at Jobe in irritation, obviously weighing up his own stature against that of the farm-boy. The Guard had found himself lacking, and was clearly compensating for it, though Jobe just assumed being rude was the norm around those parts.

“Look, shove off peasant be’fore I cut you.” The Guard warned finally, resorting to petty threats to dissuade Jobe, who had requested entrance under the Sounding. Eventually a particularly tired and bored looking individual interjected with a wave of his hand, gesturing Jobe through. He looked at the man, deciding he looked exactly what he expected a mage should look like which was immensely re-assuring for the farm-hand, and then he walked on in.

---------------------------------------

There were perhaps six assorted individuals in the dining room when Jobe arrived, his axe taken from him at the entrance with promise of return. He looked around nervously, his past position making him incredibly uncomfortable in the presence of anything but locals. Everything to do with this quest was starting to feel like a very bad idea to him right there, with no guidance and only his own scant wits to lead himself. After a nervous moment chewing bread in the corner of the room he took a deep breath, as if steeling himself for battle, and walked over to the larger group.

Introductions were flying around left right and centre, and until everyone arrived he doubted it would be all that useful for everyone to say their names. Still, it would have been impolite not to throw his into the mix, at least he thought so.

“Name’s Jobe.” He mumbled a little as a result of his trying for nonchalance and cool confidence, then repeated himself to ensure everyone had heard him, coughing awkwardly. No one was paying much attention, then again, with his thick country accent it was altogether possible they also couldn’t understand him.

He took a seat with a space in between himself and a larger woman and began eating earnestly, like a peasant, because he had built up quite an appetite on the road.

That was awkward, he thought to himself.

The crew of the galley gave the longship hard, angry glares as they sailed past one another.

Seothrunn could hardly care about what the king's men on board the galley felt, he was just happy to have managed to sail into Highmont's harbour without having to kill anyone. His ship of forty oars was barely a threat to all but the smallest hamlets, but the city had sounded the alarm almost as soon as the tip of the longship's mast crested the horizon. Seothrunn had expected as much - the north-western coast was being raided by his own sister even as he intended to meet with the king - but he had hoped against hope that news of the raids had yet to filter down to Highmont. Were it not for the long, streaming white banner that flew from the top of his ship's mast, Seothrunn was quite sure that the king's fleet would have sunk him without a second thought.

"I do not like this, Fjallthrim." The old man standing next to Seothrunn said in a low voice as they passed the rear of the galley and approached the opening between the two large breakwaters that encircled the harbour.

"Nor I you, Maeryck." Seothrunn replied in a whisper.

Maeryck coughed into his fist and kept his eyes on the turrets that lined the tops of the breakwaters. Tall, barrel-chested and with a long, wispy beard that tickled his chest, Maeryck had been the captain of the first ship Seothrunn had set foot onto, and now that he was too old to captain his own vessel, served under the latter as the second-in-command. "They may very well trap us within the harbour and sink us there." He said even as the longship passed the two imposing towers that guarded the entrance to the harbour.

"We have the captain's word," Seothrunn said, more to reassure himself than anything else. The captain of the galley that had sallied forth to question the Bonemen's intentions had given Seothrunn his word that no harm would befall him, his crew or his ship as long as the white banner flew from the mast. Words made for weak shields, as the Bonemen often said, but in this instance, Seothrunn had little choice but to place his faith in the captain's sense of honour.

"The captain, not the king." Maeryck pointed out.

Seothrunn clenched his jaw and kept his eyes looking forward, towards the harbour. It was easily the largest he had ever seen, with close to two dozen ships moored at the various docks, piers and jetties. The ships ranged from small, single-masted fishing skiffs to massive war galleys of close to two hundred oars and boasting large, square sails hanging from three masts. A few galleys rowed past the longship, but otherwise they did nothing. "If he wanted us sunk, he would have done so by now." Seothrunn said.

Maeryck grimaced, but then nodded in agreement. "So what do you intend to find out with this meeting?"

"Answers," Seothrunn replied with a shrug. Just over a month ago, he had experienced a nightmare unlike any other. They usually involved drowning and the smashing of ships, but this particular nightmare showed him settlements in flames, fields covered in a carpet of corpses and once snow-capped peaks dyed red with blood. When he awoke, he had heard a loud, roaring sound. No one else had heard it, and for a while Seothrunn had tried to put the whole event out of his mind, but as more and more north-bound ships disappeared, he could not help but feel as if his vision had something to do with it. Thus, he had sailed southwards, asking questions wherever he stopped until he heard rumours of the king calling for a meeting of all those who had seen the visions and heard the roar.

"And if you do not get any?" Maeryck asked.

"Then I hope to find adventure."

Maeryck nodded, satisfied with the answer. "Kings and adventures always go hand-in-hand. You will find at least one of what you seek."

Did he really, however? Seothrunn was a capable warrior - the bone sword he wielded was testament to that, as well as the numerous scratches on his shield. However, he had no experience of the southern lands, and he could barely speak their tongue. His own father would call him a fool for venturing into strange lands while being so ill-prepared, and Seothrunn would be inclined to agree. However, what else could he do? A leader would risk everything for the safety of his people, and Seothrunn knew that he would not find rest until he found out what had happened to the vanished ships.

"I do hope so," Seothrunn said as the longship approached an empty pier. "Maeryck, you have my ship until I return. Do with it what you will, but try not to sink her."

"She will be safe in my hands, boy, have no worries about that."

Seothrunn turned his attention back to the approaching waterfront. He never liked spending long periods of time on land, but now he had no choice. This could be his one chance to get the answers he sought, and he was not about to let something as minor as an aversion of land to get in his way. He had come to far to just turn around because of a few butterflies in his stomach. The longship came to a stop, and with just a nod to Maeryck and his crew, Seothrunn jumped over the side of the ship and onto the pier.

He knew that it was rude to just leave as he did, but he knew that Maeryck would understand. Had he delayed anymore, his nerves would have overcome his determination. It pained him to leave the ship he had called home for so long, but Seothrunn pushed all thoughts of the past into a corner of his mind and walked deeper into the city, never once looking back.

---

The walk towards Dragonstead had been less troublesome than Seothrunn had expected. It appeared as if only the upper echelons of society and the military knew about the raids along the north-western coast. The common folk were friendly enough, even though their gazes upon his face and armour lingered beyond what was comfortable. For the latter, there was not much he could do - taking it off was troublesome, and he did not relish the idea of carrying the cuirass in his hands - but at the very least Seothrunn could cover most of his face by pulling up his hood. With just a few questions, he managed to find his way to Dragonstead castle, and when he reached it, he wondered just why he even needed directions.

It was massive, or at least it was massive to him. The people around him seemed more interested in the open gates than the actual size of the building. Castles on the north-western isles were usually built low to the ground and wide. Tall buildings were easy prey for the gale-force winds that occasionally ravaged the isles. Dragonstead Castle would not last a year on the isles, that much Seothrunn was certain of.

The queue moved at a snail's pace, but eventually he made it to the gate. An old man stood in the way, and Seothrunn was about to ask him to move when the old man suddenly jerked, as if he had just woken up from a bad dream. The two armed guards by his side reached for their swords, but thankfully the old man recovered and stopped them from escalating the situation. He gestured for Seothrunn to enter the castle and stepped aside. Still, as Seothrunn walked past, he noticed the old man looking at him with a look that was a combination of fear and hatred.

With a shrug, Seothrunn dismissed that as just an oddity and continued on his way. Servants guided him to the main dining hall, where he found several people already seated at the long table. Some of them were eating, others chatting but most sat in silence. Deciding to join the last group, Seothrunn quietly walked over to an empty seat away from the others and sat down. If the others wished to talk to him, they were free to do so, but until then, he was content with just sitting and listening.

Leo looked at Agnatus carefully.

"Sir, I still don't get why you should leave, if you go the whole guild could be found out."

"And no lord to save us this time" Chia chimed in.

"Guys, if I don't go the punishment could be worse, I could be criminalized or be split in two parts, one rolling away gently to the foot of the executioner."

"Agy, please...please stay"

"Aurelia, don't."

"Agnatus, think about what you are doing, it doesn't sound like the Agnatus I met." The first thing Agnatus noticed was that Leo called him his full name. He can't remember the last time that happened. He thought about what he was doing like Leo asked.

"Leo, I give you the leadership of the guild." Everyone was quiet. "I feel... I won't be coming back...no debates..." Agnatus walked away.

-

Agnatus walked into Highmont and witnesses all of the stories he had heard. The city was dazzling, just like his father had told him. The next thing he noticed was how large the pockets of the citizens in the city were, he almost tried to steal some but caught himself. This isn't a little village, this is Highmont, I can't do anything stupid, he thought to himself. He saw the castle, Dragonstead was it? The line that was next and it was HUGE. Did all of these people witness the Sounding as well? Surely not.

The line took about a half an hour, but he was finally reached. The court mage motioned him forward. He stepped up and looked at the ground. He felt the wrinkled hand grab his chin and lift it.

"You may pass, but you... you watch it." Not knowing what the wizard was meaning walked into the colossus. He was directed into a dining hall where he saw many other guests conversing. He walked over to the table and took a piece of bread, took a bite, then walked next to the fireplace and leaned against the wall. Ready for the night to pass.

Korvo took a deep breath a drew back his bow, he took a deep breath and released. The arrow whistled through the air as it flew along its path and Korvo watched as the poacher, who'd had no business in the forest, took it straight to the pupil, skirting down the tree he had climbed the man turned to his companion when he had reached the bottom of the tree

"That'll teach him eh?" the smile apparent on the faces of both creatures they began to stride over to the corpse and go through his pockets, finding a few coins, and various other trinkets the two sat down for a nice lunch.

"I can feel your stare on me Menina" the large black dog would have shrugged her shoulders innocently if she could have

"You think I should go" The half-naked man looked back at his companion "Well I already said I wouldn't, besides I haven't left since...."

A few minutes later, after eating, the two lay under some trees in the hot sun.

"Although, It might lead to some adventure, which could be fun" Korvo could swear that Menina raised an eyebrow

"Don't get smug.....Yes I know......Alright Fine" Korvo got up and began to head for the castle

...

...

"Shut up Menina I knew it was that way"

---

Upon reaching the Castle the two saw the line and were a bit taken aback, what was everybody in the whole kingdom here, I mean that was very possible, of course it didn't make sense that the king would invite the entire kingdom in that fashion, Of course kings did strange things, though on the other hand this one seemed to have a pretty tight grasp of things hmmmm

"Reeaaallly?" said an old man at the front of the line who seemed to be some kind of guard, if guards looked like ancient owls who had taken human shape, with unbelief and just the slightest touch of

"Really...?" Korvo replied, meeting the old man's gaze a little confused.

"Please leave your weapons and continue inside" The wizened man said after a long moment of stare downs. Korvo did so, feeling naked and having Menina growling at the old man the entire time but shutting up after getting a taste of the delicious food on the inside.

They arrived at the city when the sun had already set, and Lilianna was wobbly in the saddle. She lazily pressed the back of her hand against her lips, stifling a yawn. The soft woollen hood of her mantle pleasantly concealed most of her features and for the better part of the past hour she had happily dozed off as the mare who carried her dutifully plodded on along the main road, following in the wake of her uncle Claas. The steed he rode was a proud one and the leader of the pack back at the horse farm, way up north in their home town Sinegi. Behind him trailed another three animals; horses for the royal army that would be delivered unusually early by grace of the vision Lilianna had witnessed, not so many days ago. When the vision found her, the sounds so intense and overwhelming that it had given her nightmares, Lilly had tried her best to conceal it had ever happened. It would have been but another strange event to make her stand out like so many things before had done, and she really could do with a bit of blending in. But when travellers brought word of the king's summon it wasn't long before her aunt and uncle, whom she had lived with for the past thirteen years, managed to draw the truth from her - she was an open book to most people, really - and now here she was, on Highmont's doorstep looking a lot less impressed than the city deserved.

She startled into a state of abrupt awareness when Claas Beaufort brought the procession of horses to a sudden halt. They had reached the gatehouse without her even noticing, and whilst the city had steadily been drawing nearer the girl had been blissfully oblivious of getting so very close to her destination; she would have spent a lot more time being nervous if she'd known how close they were to the palace. The castle towered over the city with imposing grandeur, and that was a sight she wasn't quite so accustomed to; Griffinmont, the city she had spent the early years of her childhood in, had been vast and beautiful, but lacked the tall spires Highmont had to offer. Lilly found herself gazing up rather slack-jawed, and it wasn't until her uncle addressed her, probably for the third or fourth time, that she managed to tear her eyes away from the sight and focus on the grey-haired and likewise bearded man instead.

“This is where we part ways, child,” he informed her after she'd dismounted and carefully guided her horse to the front of the line. The gatekeeper was leafing through the paperwork and not paying them much attention. “Are you sure you'll be all right on your own?”

Lilly nodded enthusiastically, bravely countering that awkward feeling of a stone settling in her stomach. “It's not like I haven't been on my own before,” she replied. “Besides, I'll be in the king's castle, I don't think there's a safer place for me to be than there!”

Claas cast her a warm smile, one mixed with feelings of a far more sentimental nature. He may not be her true father, but Lilly loved him like she did her own parents... and perhaps even more. When he reached out and cupped his hand under her chin she had to keep from getting emotional. “Just mind yourself, pumpkin,” he said, “People here aren't as accepting as they are up north.”

It was all she could do to wrap her arms about the – considerably larger – man and find herself disappearing in a bear hug instead. “Don't worry about me!” she chimed confidently. “I'll be back home with you and aunt Margaret before you know it!” With that, she handed the reins over to her uncle and quickly padded off, worried that if she stayed any longer she'd lose the courage to leave altogether. As cheerful as she had sounded, truth was that Lilly was feeling considerably anxious about this whole endeavour. It wasn't every day that you got summoned to the royal palace and although as a noble-born she wasn't entirely unfamiliar with life at court, it had been a long time since she'd attended any upper class event. She sure hoped she could fit in.

As she approached the castle, Lilly soon discovered that her concerns were perhaps unfounded. People of all walks of life were queued up in front of the gates, patiently or impatiently awaiting their turn to be examined by this stoic and enigmatic looking man who stood by the doorway. Lilly worried what he was doing; she also worried what he would think of her. Then she mostly worried about being warm; her clothes were more suited for the much colder climate of the north and had it not been past sunset, then she probably would have been sweating uncomfortably by now. She had little option other than to join the others in the weaving line and she timidly got in line behind a rather tall and somewhat exotic looking man. Before him stood a simple peasant-woman, probably twice Lilly's age. There were warriors and farmers, learned men and simpletons – all sorts had lined up in the hopes of making their way beyond the castle doors. Plenty of them were being sent away, but just as many seemed to be allowed inside, although Lilly did not know on what conditions they were permitted entrance. It made her rather fearful of this mysterious man positioned near the entryway and when eventually it was her turn to be inspected, she was just about ready to bolt off. He peered down at her with an intense gaze and she shrank back a bit, but didn't dare to seem impolite by averting her eyes.

“I'm Lilly,” she squeaked uneasily. No answer. “Are you here to- to-”

”Proceed to the dining hall,” the man spoke curtly, and Lilly, her cheeks flushed with misplaced embarrassment wasn't sure whether to feel relieved or upset that he had dismissed her so easily. And without even introducing himself!

Still a little overwhelmed, the girl daintily made her way to the room like so many before her. The dining hall had filled up significantly when she arrived; the buffet had been feasted upon and a lot of seats were already taken. Like outside, people of all classes and from all sorts of places were gathered, making it a rather unique and colourful ensemble. She eyed the abundance of food with wonder, approvingly admiring the many cakes and buns and slices of fresh bread that hid in the many baskets before grabbing a cinnamon roll and a drink she didn't recognize with a sweet and spicy fragrance. Carrying the two to the table, Lilly found a seat inbetween a fair-haired girl and a peasant boy, who both seemed to be particularly appreciative of the food they had chosen. Glad to be amongst friendlier folk, she cast them both a warm smile, letting her eyes wander the faces of her current company. “Hello!” she greeted merrily. Lilly took the mug of mead between her fingers, cradling the drink absently. Her curiosity soon got the better of her, anxiety had rapidly dwindled the moment the mage had allowed her into the castle, and she studied the people inside the hall uninhibitedly. “So many different people,” she observed out loud, “Aren't you curious what the king wants us he-- Oh, are those black trumpets?”

Without thinking, the girl reached over and picked up one of the dark mushrooms from the bowl on the table and popped it in her mouth. “Hmmm—Mwai wove dese”, she commented with great approval. Sucking the garlicky oil from her fingertips, she offered her neighbours some of the cinnamon bread as well, happy to share, even if the food was free for the taking anyway. This didn't seem so bad, she decided. Perhaps being off on her own wasn't half as scary as she'd envisioned.

“Hey, did you hear me?”
Jarin looked down wordlessly at the young woman speaking to him and noticed that she was rather plain in appearance. She was dressed in a cream blouse and brown skirt that just barely brushed the wooden floor. Her mousy brown hair was pulled back, accentuating her wide ears and narrow jaw. He hadn’t really been listening to the farmer sitting in front of him. He had been in fact trying his best to drone her out, but she went on regardless.

“You’re lucky you found me, you know. A nasty cut like this could have gotten infected.” She removed her hands from Jarin’s right forearm and revealed that the gash had almost completely closed. After wrapping the wound in cloth, she asked, “How did you know I was a healer anyways?”

“Lucky guess,” Jarin replied curtly as he pulled his robe’s sleeve back down and stood.

“Oh, so it speaks!” she said with a lopsided grin and crossed arms.
He narrowed his eyes in response and then pulled a small bag of coins from his robe and placed it on the cupboard to his left. “That should cover your services.”

“Well, I was going to ask you to clean the horse’s stall out back, but you don’t exactly look like the...manual labor type.”

Jarin paused and glared at her for another moment. He didn’t know whether to thank the woman or smack her. No commoner had ever been brave enough to insult him, let alone gotten away with it. Jarin opened his mouth to respond when the door behind the healer was smashed open. She jumped in surprise as three disheveled and armed men stormed into the house. One of them wielding a sword grabbed the healer by the hair as she tried to run. She shrieked as he pulled her into his arms and held the edge of his blade against her throat. The second man stood by the door and the third pushed forward to Jarin.

“Where is it!?” The man pointed a dagger at Jarin forcefully. “That key belonged to us, thief!”
The key happened to be in his pocket, and that’s exactly where it was going to stay as far as Jarin was concerned.
The man looked back at his friend holding the healer and nodded. She cried as the blade began to draw blood just above her collarbone. “Please…” she whimpered.

“I’ll ask one more time. Where is it?! Tell me, or we slit her throat!”

Jarin remained mute for a moment and then replied without a trace of falter in his voice, “Do it.”

The room fell silent in shock and Jarin glanced coldly back at the healer. She looked at him with nothing but confusion and betrayal in her eyes as the man’s sword sliced across her throat. Jarin watched her slump to the ground in a pool of blood. He then watched the other three eventually fall to the ground, choking and gasping at the air around them.
As he left the farmhouse and stepped out under the high sun, Jarin heard the sound. It stopped him in his tracks, as he had never heard such a noise. He then climbed onto the farmer’s horse and rode away, his dark robe fluttering behind him.

After hearing the Sounding, Jarin arrived in Highmont where he sold his horse and bought new supplies. After standing in line to pass through the gate for what seemed like ages he finally made his way to the front. The guard held up a hand and scanned Jarin with suspicious eyes. Jarin had to force himself not to roll his eyes or simply push the imbecile out of his way. Eventually he was let through to the castle and into the dining room.
Jarin surveyed the other people already sitting at the table for a moment before making his way over. He took long and brisk, yet quiet strides, his robe just barely brushing the floor. Jarin took a seat far from the door he had entered through, giving himself a clear view of everyone else. He leaned back in his chair and adjusted his robe accordingly.

While the King’s summons had only just began for the travelers in the dining hall, for Mytchel it had been running since the darkness of the morning that day. He, among the other servants, had spent all day preparing, from food to accommodations and everything in between. However, Mytchel’s own nervousness hadn’t subsided since the Sounding first took place. If anything, it had only grown, twisting his gut and shaking his fingers if ever he sat idle long enough to think about it. Luckily, there was little time for that; even in times of monotony, a servant’s work was nothing if not occupying.

Now, however, the anxiety was creeping up on him. Soon, he would go out into the dining hall himself and serve the newcomers. Of course it wasn’t this that bothered him, he’d served more feasts than he could even try to remember. No, it was the prospect of who sat out there, what their gathering meant.

Breathing deeply, he straightened his uniform with trembling fingers, willing them to still. For a moment, he simply stared at the cuffs on his wrists, his tired mind entranced by the contrast between the gold of the bracelets and the bronze of his skin. Other, identically dressed servants already made their rounds in the dining hall, but the main course would be going out soon, and they would need more help. He had to pull himself together, damn it all, and quickly.

Drawing most of his strength, Mytchel emerged from the small room he’d changed in, from his regular, plain clothing to his more impressive uniform, and out into the kitchens. It was chaos, to be generous. Cooks and serving girls dashed to and fro, bringing out wine and fruit preparing the main course. The sound was an incredible cacophony of sizzling, banging, scraping, and about ten different languages. If the palace walls weren’t made of two-foot-thick stone (to support the massive structure) it would be easily heard in the dining hall.

A few other servants dashed past him, elegantly dodging him without faltering or spilling a drop of the pitchers they toted. Everything behind the walls of a palace was akin to a well-oiled machine, where everyone knew their job and their place. In the middle of it all, Mytchel would be proud to say that he thrived.
As one girl passed him, her uniform similar to his in every way save for the fact that it was a dress, she stopped a moment and looked him over. He did the same to her, somewhat of a ritual.

After a second, she smiled. “Good?” She spoke in Mytchel’s native tongue.

Mytchel returned the smile, replying with the same diction. “Not a hair out of place. And I?” He extended his hands in presentation.

The girl laughed, brown eyes shining, framed by similar skin to his. “There’s flour on your face, Mytchel.”

She only laughed louder as his eyes flew wide and he rushed to the nearest reflective surface, turning back to scowl good-naturedly at her for her joke as she brushed past him and out the door with her large platter of fruit. A few of the many other kitchen occupants also giggled, and he just laughed along. One girl was distracted by the spectacle, tripped and dropped her (thankfully empty) pitcher. The kitchen, of course, erupted in applause, and Mytchel and another unoccupied servant helped her to her feet. The girl, known to be a good sport, got up, dusted herself off and curtsied to her audience. With that, the hustle and bustle resumed and all was normal again.

Mytchel sighed, but smiled, a bit calmer now. Falling into routine, he took two pitchers from a shelf and crossed the room to where several enormous casks lay, filling the pitchers with fine Western wine that he’d only ever have the privilege of smelling. He took a deep breath as he approached the door, steeling himself before he pushed it open. You’ve done this a thousand times, he told himself, this feast is no different.

Silently, he slipped out, walking with his head slightly dipped, mirroring the posture of every other servant in the steadily-filling room. He crossed to an area of the hall with fewer servants and arrived at a table where several very different-looking people sat. Then again, the entire hall was a similar mixture of people from all walks of life, many of them gawking at the castle.

“Wine, my lords?” He offered, referring to the ladies as well as the men. Normally he wouldn’t have to say a word - the highborns he was used to serving knew what a servant with a pitcher meant, and expected the servants to be seen and not heard - but he knew that many of the guests present weren’t familiar with court customs. He’d also been instructed to treat each guest with the respect of a noble, regardless of their status.

As more and more people entered the hall and took their seats, Seothrunn felt more at ease. No one had accused him of any wrongdoing yet, and that was always good considering his people's reputation. Although that eased his mind somewhat, he still worried about how the king would take to his presence, especially considering that it was highly likely that his sister was still raiding the coast even as he sat in the dining hall. Seothrunn had politely asked, then reluctantly begged her to cease her activities before he left for the capitol, but she had just brushed him off by reasoning that the raids were no longer just out of tradition, but out of necessity. The closure of the northern seas also meant the closure of their main fishing grounds.

His stomach rumbled at the thought of fish, and for a split-second he considered taking some salted fish from his knapsack, but then quickly decided against it. He was a complete stranger to the customs of the southern court, but he knew enough of courtesy to know that eating your own food when the host has provided their own was considered to be very rude. Looking over at the vast selection offered on the table, he searched for something which he had not seen before on his home islands. He did not sail halfway across the known world to simply eat fish - he could have done that easily enough at home - but perhaps because of the way they were cooked or the elaborate preparation, everything looked alien to him.

Southerners are odd. He thought to himself. Even the nobles on the north-western isles had their foods prepared simply. No efforts were wasted on decoration or making them look neat. No one cared about how the food was presented, only that it was safe to eat. Shrugging mentally, Seothrunn reached out and picked up a some kind of bun. It looked plain enough, and was at least something he was pretty sure he could eat without making a fool of himself. He took a bite...

...And promptly burned his tongue when the sweet, but scalding hot filling burst into his mouth. He choked and let out a garbled sound of surprise, but forced himself to swallow anyway. He placed the bun on the table, then looked at the other guests, or those who had noticed his little incident. "Hvarsk." He said as an explanation, but then quickly translated, "I mean, hot. It was hot."

Never once had he been so thankful for the hood which prevented others from seeing the sheepish look on his face. It made him feel even more ashamed that he was actually fearful of what others thought of him. He was a warrior, the veteran of a hundred raids and a scourge on the north-western sea. Why did he fear what was on these southerners minds? He took a deep breath and calmed himself. It was normal to want to make a good first impression, especially if that impression had already been marred by a family member of his. You are being a fool, just be as you would, and all will be fine. He told himself.

A serving boy asked if anyone wanted wine, and Seothrunn lifted his cup to catch his attention. "Here, please." He said in a hesitant voice. Saying those two words already required plenty of mental power; he had only just learned the southern language during his journey south, and he found it to be incredibly complicated when compared to his native tongue. His eyes glanced to his sides to see if anyone had taken note of his accent, and for a moment wished that he had turned around when he had the chance, to be out on the open seas and listening to his oars churning the water and sail catching the salty, sea breeze.

Just then, the candles wavered as a gentle breeze wafted in from the windows high above.

It had been about a month at sea but Vala could never really tell anymore. The sun had just escaped behind the horizon and Vala's destination was just coming in sight. Ecen's Capitol looked magnificent at such a distance as the city's various torches and lanterns sparked life into the view. But it was all an illusion of magnificence. Being downwind, Vala had already begun smelling the filth that came with such large settlements.

The brief moment of excitement that Vala had felt when the city first came into view now faded away as feelings of regret and nervousness crept in. Whatever the Sounding was, Vala had come to accept that she might never see Marstal again. It was a huge price to pay but Vala wasn't in any position to refuse a King's summons. Perhaps if she just kept her mouth shut, she could live out her life without ever leaving the icy coasts of the Northern Seas... but where would those tales of brave, exciting adventure if she stayed behind?

Vala spent her last moments on her ship, fiddling with tangled rope as there was no need for the Master-at-Arms in such friendly seas. It wasn't until they had to dock that Vala was sprung into action by her captain. The crew were in high spirits as they scurried about the deck, preparing to jump ship for simpler pleasures. Vala hadn't know these men for very long but they were all at least kind enough to give her a nod or a handshake before scrambling for the nearest tavern. With a nod from her captain, she was relieved from duty. She gathered her belongings, which all fit in a rather large potato sack, and began her long climb up the gradual slope that lead to Dragonstead.

--

An awestruck crowd of people had gathered at the entrance, being held back by the threat armed guards. It took a bit of some aggression on her part, but Vala managed to navigate the crowd and find a spot at the end of a shortening line. Most were being turned away and suddenly, Vala felt like this was a big mistake. The possibility of being screened and turned away for whatever reason suddenly crept into her mind. If that was the case, she'd at least have a chance to rejoin her ship but after word had spread that she was some type of "Chosen", it would be such an embarrassing affair if all she brought back was, "They turned me away..."

Finally it was her turn and the moment she took her step forward, she was immediately nodded at. "Please step inside!" The older man said as he stepped aside. Shocked, Vala only mouthed a 'thank you' before stepping inside. A nicely dressed man approached her and offered to take her belongings. There was a bit of hesitation but she willing gave him the sack, containing all her weaponry and armor. Her shield was tossed over her shoulder and another man came and take that.

Unburdened by her equipment, she was lead to a large dining hall where several people had already gathered. All of them looked the part of being from all corners of Ecen but Vala had expected more. Surely there were others but a growing sense of Vala being the last one to arrive felt like a real possibility. In any case, she was most relieved to see a pale man with light brown hair but blue eyes sitting in silence. She took the seat next to him and gave him a nod. "Frændi." (Kinsman) She said sternly as she pulled out the seat and sat next to the man, who probably hailed from the same region as her.

A servant arrived just a moment later and offered wine. "Something harder..." She said, looking at the servant, shortly after her kinsmen had asked for something. The accent was something familiar and suddenly Vala was feeling better. Her accent mirrored his. "Erm.. Please." She added quickly. The prospect of a heavy drink felt like it would be soothing to Vala's growing nerves. Thankfully she knew the Southern language well enough.

"Frændi."

That word caught Seothrunn off-guard as he had not been expecting anyone from his region, and for a moment he stared at the woman who had taken her seat beside him with a look of surprise and relief. It was nice to hear a familiar word and accent, even if the person who said it came from a person whose people the Bonemen considered to be their only equals and rivals at sea. Now, however, they were on land, and Seothrunn was in neither the mood nor the mindset to start a fight. "Skællmagde." (Shieldmaiden) He returned the greeting with a nod, noting the shield she carried on her back, and the bulky sack that had to contain her belongings.

Seothrunn had never personally faced the ships of these southern islanders, but from what he had heard, they were excellent sailors and fierce warriors. Worthy of respect, but ultimately the Gods saw fit to pit them and the Bonemen against one another. "Kjalleta Seothrunn" (I am called Seothrunn) He introduced himself with a respectful bow of the head. "Mär isk fjetta vasa dej Kjalle, varmlanda-tvester?" (May I know what you are called, southern sister?) He asked, wondering if she had any trouble getting her ship into port. Her people looked strikingly similar to the Bonemen, even though their actions were as different as night and day. Her people worked well with the kingdom, while the Bonemen raided their settlements.

"Isk hvapp vårakjalleset som mäk isvokk kasa-nejat rulvårr hir dej." (I hope the reputation of my people caused no trouble for you) He said. To these southerners, they might have looked close enough for the guards to treat her as they treated him. He reached out and took two more of the same buns he had taken earlier. Despite his earlier mishap with one, they tasted wonderful. Not too sweet, but not too tasteless either, and there was a hint of butter flavouring the pastry itself. He handed one to the woman beside him and took a bite out of the other.

There was a time when Klaus frequented- no, expected- banquets like this. Not so long ago he’d been hailed as the prodigy of Ecen, the brilliant young scholar of magic making great headway in...well, whatever it was that Klaus published. (He’d been fond of issuing such complicated dissertations on the physics and discrete mathematics of magic that half the time nobody knew what they were applauding.) He’d dined regularly at the homes of nobility, basking in the praise of aristocrats who were dilettantes in the sciences.

He wouldn’t have had to ask for more wine. His glass would have been filled the moment he took a sip.

But that was all in the past. Klaus didn’t like to dwell on the shards of his once-promising academic career. Instead he lifted his cup, deciding that this evening would pass more nicely once he was well and buzzed.

“Wine, my lords?”

Klaus turned towards the servant, and found himself pleasantly surprised. There was no mistaking it. The boy was magical. Shape-shifter, if Klaus had to guess, although elemental magic was not out of the question.

Klaus perked up. “So even the King’s got one, eh?” he said delightedly, looking Mytchel up and down. “You, the gatekeeper...damn, but I wish I were still at Highmont University. The magical to mundane ratio in this city is simply-” Klaus broke off, remembering why he’d lost tenure at Highmont in the first place. He lifted his cup. “Say, chap, do me a solid and make sure this is always full?”

“Something harder...erm, please,” said a woman a few seats away, whose accent was tinged with Northern overtones.

Klaus brightened. “Scratch that, I want what she’s having.”

Filled up on sprouds and radishes, Klaus turned his attention to observing- well, staring not so discretely- at the strangers around the table. As he gazed at the motley assortment, Klaus was briefly reminded of Novina, his first- and to date, only- girlfriend. They’d met at Highmont shortly after he’d graduated- she a second-year medical student, he a newly minted professor. They’d gone to only two dinners together before she ended things on the second.

“Klaus, darling, listen to me,” she’d said, moments before she crushed his young heart. “Stop sticking strangers with butter knives. It’s embarrassing.”

But what were butter knives for, if not to investigate fascinating characters like these?

The strangers sparked with magic. Klaus was used to the presence of magic. He had, after all, spent his life studying the stuff. He lived and breathed magic. He worked every day in labs where elements were being manipulated, the fabric of the world itself warped and reshaped into the will of the mage.

But that was University magic. That was safe, contained, and standardized- as much as magic could get, anyhow.

The magic here was raw, untamed- and infinitely more interesting.

Say, for instance, the green-eyed girl sitting opposite him. She looked nothing like his bespectacled teaching assistant, but there was a sweet, open quality to her face that reminded Klaus disconcertingly of Amy. Klaus’s first hunch was that she was a healer- but no, her magic had a wild touch to it, something exotic. She had to be shape-shifter. Some kind of bird, or a fox, Klaus imagined as he studied her coppery locks.

Klaus realized he was staring.

“Try the sprouts,” he offered by way of explanation.

He blinked owlishly and turned his attention towards the was the lean, bearded man sitting far from the door. Black magic, Klaus thought, eying the stranger warily. Has to be. He’d dabbled enough in Black magic himself to recognize a user when he saw one. Not that Klaus was in any respect capable of wielding black magic- but there had been experiments, collaborations, and unfortunate events that had turned Klaus off the idea of black magic forever.

Then there were the Northerners, who had taken to conversing in their own tongue. Klaus tried vaguely to follow along, but he’d paid too little attention in Northern Dialects 102 and got lost after “shieldmaiden.” Klaus doubted the woman had any magical ability, but the man had some air about him, something he couldn’t quite pinpoint.

Klaus strongly doubted that any of them had ever taken Intro to Elemental Theory.

They were fascinating. Klaus wanted to abduct everyone and put them in a lab. Pity kidnapping was against the law.

“Put ‘em all in a cage and document the magical fallout,” he mumbled before realizing he was speaking out loud.

A knock could be heard on the thick wooden door which lead to the king's chambers. The old mage from before was there, the one that chose those that witnessed the Sounding to be let inside the privileged gates of the castle. Footsteps came from inside the room, then the lock coming undone as the door creaked open, the King in the doorway, blinking his eyes like he had just woken up from a long nap, his clothing more comfort than regal.

"All of those that were affected by the Sounding are present and awaiting your presence in the dining hall as you instructed." The old man said, bowing his head towards the king.

"How many are there? Is it a large group?" He asked, generally curious.

"I believe there are twelve. Though I may not be entirely correct, and for that I apologize if I am."

"No need to, you did just as I asked. Have someone inform them that I shall be there shortly, I have to get ready."

"Sir, if I may say so, you don't look like you slept very well, I can see the bags underneath your eyes. Something is troubling you, your father would display the same signs."

"You are correct, I haven't slept much since the Sounding, that coupled with some events before that have no set me in the greatest frame of mind. But I shall be fine, no need to worry." King Ethan said with a smile.

"As you wish, I shall send word to our guests of your upcoming appearance."

---

Elden watched all of the people as they entered, occasionally smiling or nodding at those that glanced his way. He didn't say a word to any of them, just took the occasional sip of red wine. He scratched his chin, partly bored, partly nervous. The people in the room were making small talk, from what he could tell they were from all over, far North, the east, it didn't really matter to him, they all hailed from Ecen from his guessing. He mostly phased out everyone in the room, and just waited for the King, a messenger, the old mage or just anyone that would give them word on this assembly of people.

"I'll take some more in this glass, boy. The finest red you can find on this mess of a table." Elden muttered to Mytchel, as the servant did his job. He knew the boy decently well, he served the king personally, a huge figure, someone that Elden always thought could be a good soldier if he knew how to swing a sword, maybe after some weight was put on his bones. Though he never recalled having a conversation with Mytchel beyond the standard greetings or orders he gave the servant.

---

"Maybe they've brought us all here to be executed. Hung by our necks and tossed over the side of the castle, right in view for any pirates to see." Riya said to Lilianna after the girl had entered the room and muttered a question about the group's purpose, before she had gotten interrupted by the sight of food. A smile on her face as she said the words.

"I wouldn't put it past those royals to something crazy like that." She added with another grin, taking a bite of food, listening to the conversations the group was having, Northerners speaking in their strange native tongue, Riya had forgotten people actually lived that far up, right by those blisteringly cold mountains.

"I'll also take some ale if you have any, friend. Goes great with chicken." She said to Mytchel, the other people having given their drink orders already.

Skællmagde

A swell of pride swept through Vala as she heard the term left his lips. Despite her elation, Vala noted a difference in how he talked, placing him somewhere farther North, presumably, as he talked like one and addressed Vala as a 'southern sister'. There were a few isles to the North that she could recall visiting but usually the ice made it difficult for the bulkier longships that the navies used.

"Heiketa Vala." (I am called Vala) And after she introduced herself, returned the Seothrunn's bow. She was warming up quite nicely to the man she had only met a few minutes ago. Kinship played a big part in that.

Seothrunn's next words, however, caught her off guard. At first she didn't understand it. Reputation? Why would I care? But it didn't take long for Vala to catch on. By that time she had taken the pastry from Seothrunn's hands but once she made the connection, she dropped it and shoved it away as if it were some pile of shit. A Boneman was sitting right next to her...

"Oú ert Bienmǫgr?" (You are a Son/Kindred of Bones?) She asked curtly, raising her voice slightly. "ótrúlegt..." (Unbelievable) She added without considering Seothrunn's defense. She felt her right hip burn as if reliving an old wound. "Ég skulda einn af mǫgrfólks þíns fyrir særa mig." (I owe one your kind for wounding me). As she said this, she leaned back in her chair, glowering ahead, and rubbed her right hip. "Hann stakk mig í bak." (He got me in the back). With that she leaned forward again and glared back at her dining companion. Taking up a different pastry, she took a bite out of it. Chewing, she took the opportunity to think on her situation. She didn't outright hate the guy because Bonemen never went that far South and her ships never went that far North. But the snag was that they were on separate sides until now.

"Anzvíti..." (Damn) Vala said aloud as she thought about it longer. She was probably stuck with this man for the foreseeable future and petty squabbles weren't something to have going on a ship, or whatever was in store for them. "Gleymdu því, Það mun vera langt ferðalag, ef við erum í hár saman." (Forget it, it will be a long journey if we are at each other's throats). She couldn't be 100% sure that it was a Boneman who had stabbed her, after all. There were a lot of folks who turned to brigands and Vala wasn't petty enough to assume all folks were brigands. No matter where they came from.

As a peace offering, she reached across the table and grabbed a plate of smoked meats slices, making it easier for both of them to enjoy something a little hardier. Taking one she shoved it down after taking another bite of her pastry. It was kind of a hazy area and Vala wasn't really sure how she felt, so she kept quiet and stuffed her mouth to prevent something petty from leaving her lips.

Seothrunn was not too surprised by Vala's reaction when she worked out who, or more accurately, what, he was. Still, he could not help but feel disappointment filling his heart as her indifference turned to slight hostility. His eyes were drawn to her hip as she rubbed it and made it known that it was one of his people that had injured her. "Isk år hvågur." (I am sorry) Seothrunn said rather stupidly, though in all honesty he had no idea how he was supposed to feel. On one hand, he did feel sorry for her; the bone weapons were impossible to make smooth, and so more often than not their blades had unintended hooks or snags that tore at skin and muscle with every swing. It must have hurt intensely when she received the wound.

On the other hand, he did not like how she acted as if he had any part to do with her wounding. As far as he was concerned, she engaged a Boneman in combat and came away with a wound. That was how fighting worked. You fought, you bled and at the end of the day, you rejoiced at simply having been given the chance to live another day while your opponent became food for carrion. Maybe that was one difference between the Bonemen and Vala's people. Seothrunn found himself wondering, much to his own amusement, just how she would react if she found out that the Bonemen actually respected her people by no small amount. The ships of her people were strictly off-limits to younger, less-experienced captains and at times some were even to be left untouched.

Still, Seothrunn knew that there was little he could do now; he could not speak for the future, but he was being carefully optimistic. Vala was a northerner, despite their differences, and he would have preferred it if they had not gotten off on the wrong foot. Now all he could do was just hope that their next step did not make things worse. He gave her a little, almost undetectable smile and said, "Isk hårt stjälunin-nejat et vesa sætt dejan sämnta." (I have no intention of being at your throat) She was a person of the sea - or at the very least she had the look of one - and Seothrunn felt confident that regardless of her misgivings, she would be willing to set aside her personal grudges endanger their mission.

If they were going to have one, at least. The king was certainly taking his own sweet time.

Seothrunn reached forward and picked up a slice of smoked meat from the plate and took a small bite out of it. Now that was something that reminded him of home, of the smokehouses filled with the scent of smouldering charcoal and raw fish, of his mother chiding him for eating too much of the stuff and his sister and him sneaking off a few slices for their own consumption later on. He glanced sideways at Vala and noticed her stuffing her mouth. She must be very hungry. Seothrunn noted. That, or she could just be eating to prevent any conversations from taking place. His own sister did the same, and once ate herself into sickness.

"Mäk isvokk fæthet dejarin." (My people respects yours) He said, not even noticing the words leaving his mouth until he heard them for himself. Quickly, he added, "Isk båri väskett dej skeld vasa." (I just thought you should know.)

Ghisronia watched the peasant boy sit down next to her out of the corner of her eye, grinning ever-so-slightly, and giving her eyelashes the faintest flutter.

“Nice to meet you, Jobe.” She said softly “My friends call me Ghis.”

Ghisronia took a voracious bite from her mutton, letting out a little squeal of pleasure as she savoured the taste. Lamb wasn’t her usual choice, but she very much doubted they’d be serving her preferred recipe at this feast, and she was more than happy to scoff down most kinds of meat.

“Hello!”

The merry greeting pulled Ghis back into the real world. Turning her neck slightly, she saw a girl about her height, with bright green eyes and coppery hair sit down next to her. She grimaced slightly when the girl began picking at the mushrooms, which Ghis had intended to eat herself, but decided it was best not to make a scene. Adopting her most authentic fake smile, Ghisronia greeted the girl in an overly-pleasant manner, channelling her best ditz blonde.

“Nice to meet you! I’m Ghisronia.” She said, with a great big cheesy grin.

This one seemed sweet and innocent. She’d have some fun with her.

“Wine, my lords?” called out a serving boy from over the other side of the room.

“Over here, please.” She shouted back, gesturing to the empty flagon in front of her.

Polishing off her mutton, and swallowing a deep burp, Ghisronia picked a few cuts of roast swan off of a nearby serving tray, placing them down on her own plate. Not quite satisfied, she cut herself a chunk of bread and a generous slice of cheese, snatched up two fried squirrels, and scooped up a rack of board ribs.

Nosily tucking into her second plate, Ghisronia turned to address the pair who were seated on either side of her.

“So where have you both come from?” She asked with just the right amount of feigned sweetness, licking a few crumbs off of her dark red lips.

She gave the peasant boy’s bulky form a quick look over, smiling just enough to not seem to keen.

“I’m guessing you do a lot of heavy lifting?” she asked coyly.

The young woman was quick to make a considerable dent in her meal, breaking it up with occasional sips of mead from the large metal mug. She picked a few sweet rolls off of the pastry tray, absent mindidly popping them into her mouth before leaning heavily back on her chair, causing it to moan rather worryingly loudly as it strained beneath her.

Her eyes drifting over the other guests, Ghisronia found them settling on the white haired fellow, who seemed to have an air of something other about him. Her interest adequately peaked, she called out to him.

“I can’t help but shake the feeling there’s something more to you, sir.” She declared rather suddenly, with a sugary, honey-like quality to her voice, which held an undertone of something a little murkier and more ambiguous; like the sing-song voice of the handsome cut-throat who lurks about in dingy bake alleys, calling out to unsuspecting young girls, before drawing them in and robbing them blind.

Biting the head off of one of her fried squirrels, Ghisronia undid the bronze-clasped belt she wore around her vast waist, giving her a little more room to breathe as her large stomach oozed outwards.

Jobe looked up from his single-minded campaign to consume every edible object in reach when his name was mentioned. He couldn’t help but start a little, hardly expecting anyone to have heard his introduction, but the hefty woman sat a space away from him had engaged him in conversation. He turned, bread dropping out of his mouth as he looked at her quizzically.

“Uh, hey Ghis.” He replied, acknowledging her pleasantries with a half-smile. His confidence was returning as he realised she was not all that unlike any farm-girl he had met in the past, and because she was a little on the round size her looks were not overwhelming his simple sensibilities. All of that changed rather quickly however when a demure, but undeniably pretty, young woman made herself known and sat down next to him. He quickly averted his eyes and returned to his food, replying with a half-hearted greeting, letting the two women talk.

Someone was walking around with wine, which Jobe refused out of principle, though when ale was called he was more than willing to call for a cup if Mytchel was making the rounds. After a few moments of quiet eating it became clear that the woman known as Ghis was not quite done with the small talk, drawing Jobe away from eating once again.

“I’m from Terh, west of the Truesh peaks, small farming town.” He replied quickly, trying to sound like he was too good for his humble origins. It probably hadn’t come out quite as he planned. He was about to get back to work when his eyes caught Ghis staring at him in that way he had noticed the older women tended to. It might have been his imagination, but it looked almost predatory, nothing like the coy eyed maidens of stories, he coughed a little as his nerves jangled.

“Some.” He replied, resisting the urge to answer Ghis’ seemingly layered question with a full account of his working life on the farm. He decided that probably wouldn’t be appropriate, and he wanted to leave that life behind him anyway. The natural break in conversation and his progressively full belly had opened up an opportunity for Jobe to look around at the assorted individuals that had been gathered in the hall. Though Jobe was not what one would consider a shrewd or talented observer, he couldn’t help but pick up the foreign look of Northerners talking together with no small amount of hostility. There was also a dangerous looking man watching over the table, and a flimsy bookish type gawking and conversing wildly with everyone around him. It seemed like a strange bunch of people had gathered to answer the call of the King, but when the call comes who wouldn’t answer?