"I... you... that's..." the elf replied, struggling for words for some reason... although from the embarrassed look on their face, that was more to do with Cecilia's flirtatious comment than hero worship.

"My name is Ithainne," said the spider lady, a slight blush gracing her cheeks as she returned a polite smile, "I do not think we can dance? I do not... know how?" Frowning, she turned to the elf and exchanged a few sentences in an extremely unfamiliar language. "How to dance with humanoids. You are too small. We move differently."

The sudden name outburst got the other elf looking over her shoulder curiously, although it was the uniform-wearing one that responded first, pointing a finger at their own face. "Me? Not quite, that's Mum. I'm Lilia."

Well, at least that answered the question; that was a girl's name.

Gerard Segremors

In lockstep, two dozen figures marched down the polished walkways of marble beneath the evening sun, the tawny hues of orange, pink, and gold each a parting gift from Lady Reon. At their head was, of course, the diminutive but nevertheless tightly controlled frame of Knight-Captain Fanilly Danbalion. She had hand-picked them each, representing knights veteran and newfound alike for the festivities that had been all but foisted onto them. With only a day's preparation they had done well to assort themselves in this dignified, orderly manner.

Halfway down the right flank, one such knight's eyes wandered high in a familiar path for a moment, casting their gilded gaze up to the high Spikes that loomed above Thaln's Crown. Their grey and white masonry looked as though cast from ruddy copper or brass, the sunlight caught against their western faces— But when they passed from view, his neck did not crane to trace them as it had in the past.

Instead his posture kept itself to the steady march, chin and shoulders keeping their rightly place. Their approach carried them through the interior keep's verdant, bountiful gardens, bursting with enough natural beauty that not even the throng scattered throughout, guests each as eager and honored as they, could choke. Much like the parade the day prior, his eyes slid over those that caught their arrival with cheers or hushed whispers.

They entered shortly, herald crowing the name and status of each pair that entered. Hearing his own, however briefly and bereft of titles... It was unreal. Quietly, he found himself thankful to be flanked by one of his fellows, someone he could match step with as the knights began to disperse and mingle after their entry. The awe of the moment one's dreams were realized, no matter how much they might prepare themselves for it, may have overwhelmed him otherwise.

Luckily enough, the blur of the hours preceding had left him prepared well enough. As he breathed slowly, regaining control as his long strides guided him towards a nearby arrangement of tables, glasses of burgundy wine festooning them as though rubies. His attire was, at the mercy of one of his seniors, acceptable enough for the occasion. A prompt dragging to the tailor had placed him in a modest black doublet with amber trimming above a white tunic, and tapered black trousers. His hands were gloved rather than gauntleted, an argument that he'd been whittled down from and lost. His boots, however polished they may have been, were the armored pair that he'd worn to battle— an argument he'd whittled his peer down from and won.

The Princess, after all, was expecting to see the arms and armor that had felled the scourge.

Keeping his reserved exterior, he plucked a glass from the table by its narrow stem, swirled it thoughtfully, and took a drink. Social lubricant was here in spades— the tension he felt was likely to break soon as it passed. Sweeping his gaze over the large expanse of the hall, he could see that several of his peers were already well ahead of him on the endeavor.

Dame Cecilia there, looking sharp in a suit akin to his, chatting up a pair of other attendees— one elven, with hair a pale green, and... a lady atop a large spider. Definitely an unheard-of choice of mount, but if the Royal Guards had let it through, he decided he'd not question it any more than politely keeping his distance. If Dame Cecilia wasn't perturbed, then surely he needn't be.

A blink, and a shift of the longsword in his other hand, held safely within its humble scabbard of treated leather. It being somewhere on the longer end of the "hand-and-a-half" scale, wearing it upon the hip would have taken a little much space at the angle he'd need. No skin off his back. It was a comforting weight in his grip like this. Centering. It, too, had seen its blade, guard, and pommel shined.

His eyes panned over to a trinity of his fellow men of the blade— Sirs Renar, Fleuri, and some as-yet-unnamed Crown Knight. The new person aside, for all he respected the pair of his fellow knights in the equation... That was far from a likely mix. Sir Renar, at the very least, made no illusions regarding his opinion of Sir Fleuri, pointedly reminding him of the tournament title he'd relegated to an old shame. How the hell did that one happen?

And yet, they seemed to already be in the midst of swapping stories, heedless of the usual friction.

... This was court, then. Above all, making impressions and connections was paramount here— regardless of who you were on the field, or in the quarters. It was as Dame Serenity said, only a night before. Were he not aware of how deep her knowledge of these affairs went... he'd have considered the young woman prescient; her youth be damned. She was here somewhere too, mingling as either Iron Rose or Arcedeen Scion— and her expectations were still very fresh in his mind.

He took another sip, catching his reflection in the glass for a moment.

His hair was getting long.

As a drying warmth fell down the back of his throat from the dark, tawny red, Gerard allowed himself a smile as a shock of vibrant, blazing scarlet appeared in his peripheral. Of all the things knightly he'd forced himself to absorb, it seemed only fitting that now was when its wild tendency to curl, wave, and spike be tamed. Brushed straight and slicked back, it certainly looked cleaner than normal— for a moment, he hadn't been sure if he recognized himself.

He wondered if the Knight of the Harvest Moon ever felt the same moment, in letting his fall like a wave of fire.

"Sir Sergio."

The glass rose slightly in greeting.

@VahkiDane

---

---

It was fortuitous that Fionn, in his early days after being raised to knighthood and with a rare spark of common sense, had chosen to obtain clothing that would be fitting for social events he might be obligated to attend. As much as the idea of mingling with the non-martial nobility filled him with dread, it would at some point prove an inevitability; when it came to pass, it wouldn't do well for him to embarrass either himself or the order showing up in nothing more than his nicest regular wear. A decision he came to find was absolutely the most correct one he could make, the more he got to know the likes of Renar, Fleuri, and Serenity.

Once the initial shock of being invited to accompany the captain to the ball passed, he'd quickly set his fine clothes out. Inspecting them for any possible damage from moths or their ilk, in the event that he needed to pester one of the true spellcasters of the group for some impromptu seamless mending should they prove capable of such; but also, ensuring that when the moment came to actually prepare to leave, he wouldn't be nervously rumpling and creasing them in a mad, time-pressed dash to find all his proper clothes.

Once he joined his fellows in the courtyard of Candaeln, before making their way to the Crown of Thaln, it became clear to everybody else that despite his attempts to be prepared for such eventualities, he would be at least as out-of-place as he always was. Even though he'd left it voluntarily, to seek out challenge and honour elsewhere, Fionn remained fiercely proud of his home and heritage, and his concept of fine dress reflected as much. Soft leather shoes, grey linen trousers with wraps around the calves, a short, off-white tunic; and over the top of it, a short blue woolen coat, trimmed with a slightly lighter grey than his trousers, and held closed with the same belt that he hung his dagger and utility knife from. Rather than relying on show of heraldry or extravagance of decoration, the garments showed their worth in simple quality—of both the fabric used and in the immaculate cut.

But quality aside, the figure struck by the knight from the far north of Velt unsurprisingly had more in common with the fashions of provincial Estival, perhaps even Barukstead, than with anything that was popular among Thaln's high society. Not that Fionn, proud of his home as he was, would have it any other way. Other than the colouration, and the fact that he also wore his sword belt, he had one final marker of his allegiance and invitation—a small silver rose badge, pinned to the left breast of the coat, as he'd foregone any show of the personal coat of arms that had been granted to him.

As they all marched to the royal ball, any disapproving glances he might have earned from some of the knights that didn't know him well or how he worked went entirely unnoticed; Fionn had far more important things to be concerned about. Things such as how to behave around the nobility he'd likely have to interact with, who he might need to watch, who he might need to stick by for his own sake, and second most concerning of all: How best to avoid too much attention even with a herald announcing his presence.

Most concerning, however, was the way that many of his fellows seemed to scatter throughout the ball nearly as soon as they'd arrived. "Wait—" he said to none of them in particular, as by the time he'd really noticed they'd all spread far thinner than he'd have liked, his own feet unconsciously carrying him deeper into the room just so that he didn't end up standing by the entrance looking like a fool.

Off in one direction, Renar and Fleuri standing together amidst a group of young nobles, Gerard and Sergio not too far apart from them. In another, Cecilia interacting with—

Fionn blinked. Spider-centaurs were not something he'd ever expected to see in his life.

Off in another direction, Tyaethe and Lucas seemed to be talking. And in the last, the captain, being accosted by...a Hundi noblewoman, apparently. He resisted the urge to start grasping at one of his blades; the captain, at least, had combat training herself, multiple of the knights came bearing weaponry, and there were crown knights and others guarding the grounds—and whoever the noblewoman was, she seemed to be wrapped so tight in a corset and Mayon-only-knew what other layers of clothes that she'd struggle to have enough mobility to find any quick way to attack Fanilly if she was some sort of assassin.

This was not the sort of battlefield, at least, where he had to worry so much about the safety of his fellows, and to imagine it as such wouldn't do him any good. He could save his dread for more important things, like when the mingling inevitably reached him, or when he'd be incapable of politely excusing himself from any dancing or the like that was sure to happen. A relatively young knight in prime health couldn't really claim any sort of exemption from such social niceties without giving insult, he figured.

"Would that the parade had been enough, eh?" he muttered to himself, ceasing his ambling next to one of the empty tables. He grabbed one of the glasses of wine from it, swirling the deep red drink around as he concentrated for a moment, trying to make his fingertips glow through the liquid. Partially just to assure himself that he hadn't imagined the events of yesterday in a light-headed, blood-deprived haze, and partially as a way to make himself think of anything other than the event he was attending. When the soft viridian glow started to shine through the wine, he nodded to himself, relaxing his focus and taking a sip as the nimbus of light faded away.

At least he had something to look forward to once he was free from the social obligation.

Gerard.

Well, he’d certainly put some effort in, to Sergio’s surprise - although he suspected much of that was due to urging from his companions.

He couldn’t fault him too much, Lein on the other hand seemed to have put precisely too much effort in.

It was an unfortunate reality that Gerard simply did not suit a doublet. He wasn’t a noble - not that it mattered - and wasn’t a talker either. He was clad in a disguise, essentially, dressed like someone that he wasn’t. Were Sergio to have been the one to be confided in, he’d have chosen perhaps a jacket not too dissimilar to the one Lein had besmirched days prior - pure black. The amber was tacky.

The Knight of the Harvest Moon, all the while, was draped in a black doublet of his own, relatively tight to his frame and flanked by a short cloak, the inside of which had been stitched with a fiery red fabric. A few frills came out from the wrists, and his trousers had been tapered, oddly similar to Gerard’s choice in that aspect.

Most importantly, though, the Knight had taken ample care in accentuating his complexion for the night - as he always did when he had an excuse - his skin glowed ever so slightly and his eyes had been painstakingly given leeway to stand out. His ruby irises looked in their element here. Sergio’s hair, despite usually being tied up, had been allowed to flow down to his shoulders finally, brushed and pampered to the point of softness.

He sipped ever gently from a glass of the same red wine Gerard had - meeting the man’s glance with a grin of his own. He had been waiting for an opportunity to speak to him at leisure.

“Buonasera, Ser Gerard. This ball, is it to be your first, eh?”

@HereComesTheSnow

When someone is nervous, they may want to take comfort in food. Especially when there is such a wealth of excellent cooking on display. It was said that the two greatest of chefs in all of Thaln resided in Aimlenn: One in Candaeln, and one in the Royal Castle itself. The array of edibles on display ranged from piping hot pot pies, to golden-brown fresh roast duck, to honey-glazed pork, to a lovely-looking rack of lamb. The scent that emanated from the food table was one that indicated quality, the savory flavors of seared and roasted meats, vegetables cooked to perfection serving as sides... And of course, there was the impressive-looking multi-tiered cake, decorated with some manner of dark purple and gold frosting, resting on the most distant table closest to the opposite end of the hall to the entrance.

The fact that Fanilly was as nervous as she was and that there was so much lovely food on display made her reaction only natural. The young Knight-Captain found herself taking a plate from the table and approaching the food even as the herald continued to announce the knights as they entered. The blonde girl was only a few steps away from the roast duck when someone approached her.

It wasn't unexpected. Fanilly knew that she was likely to be approached across the whole knight, and had done her best to steel herself for that outcome. Undoubtedly some of the nobles who were among the guests knew her from before her ascension as the Knight-Captain of the Iron Rose Knights, and others would desire to meet her. On top of all that, she had to anticipate being spoken to by the Princess herself given the nature of the invitation.

What she hadn't expected in the least was the presence of a hundi noblelady. She supposed it wasn't impossible, given that the dog-like race lived only just across the border in the South of Ithillin, and that one of the knights she had selected to attend the ball was himself one as well. But she didn't remember ever speaking to a hundi noblelady, at least not recently. Was this someone she had met when she was very young?

Smiling sheepishly, Fanilly fidgeted a little before responding.

"F-forgive me, but if we met before it must have been very long ago," she began, head bobbing apologetically, "Your name is...?"

---

Fanilly was not the only one who had been approached for conversation.

In perhaps what was possibly Sir Gerard Segremors's worst nightmare given the situation, it was not long at all before some of the nobility noticed him and Sir Sergio and approached them.

In what may have been a source of relief for him they were not seeming to look for a way to use a conversation with him politically.

Three young noble girls had approached the men, two of which had eyes sparkling with excitement while the third looked more or less bored with the entire situation.

"Aaaah, good Sir Knights!" called the first girl, who had trailing blonde hair in refined curls and a red and white dress. She looked towards her two companions at her sides with a somewhat smug smile on her face, "See? Didn't I tell you they would be here?!"

"Ah, how exciting!" cried a second, this one seeming to be the eldest of the three. She was clad in a blue and white dress, her blonde hair paler and worn loose. "Yoohoo, Sir Knights!"

She waved towards Sir Gerald and Sir Sergio.

The third girl, who appeared to be the youngest of the three and had black, neatly-cut hair and a black dress, looked rather less enthusiastic.

"It's not as if it was a secret or anything..." she half-murmured in a rather flat tone with a sigh. Still, she followed the other two girls as they eagerly crowded around the man.

"Tell us of your adventurers, Sirs!" said the first girl, "We wish oh so much to hear of them!"

"Yes, tell us, tell us!" declared the second.

The third simply sighed.

---

Of course, the knights were not the only guests of particular interest tonight.

To the left of the hall their stood a girl in a blue dress, no older then thirteen. Her gray hair was up in wavy pigtails, already distinct before being coupled with her almost golden eyes. Her slight features contrasted with a rather sharp gaze, and her slender figure contrasted with the one who stood beside her.

A towering knight, pitch black plate armor completely obscuring their features, obsidian surface gleaming in the light of the party. While the one they presumably guarded was quite petite, the opposite could be said of the knight. They stood at least a head taller then even the next tallest partygoer. Perhaps more.

There was no mistaking the girl for anyone else.

Veilena Cazt.

The daughter of the traitorous Anzel Cazt.

At only eight years old, she had demanded that her father be buried in disgrace, in an unmarked grave. And yet, that did not clear her of suspicion in the eyes of some of the other nobility. Her magical talent was that of a prodigy, having entered the College when she was only ten years old.

For the moment, she was drinking some manner of crimson, non-alcoholic drink, seated close to the window, as her guardian stood wordlessly beside her.

@Raineh Daze@Rune_Alchemist@Psyker Landshark@HereComesTheSnow@Saiyan@The Otter@Crimson Paladin@ERode@Psychic Loser@Richard Horthy@VahkiDane

Gerard’s response had been cut short by a trio of teenagers, 2/3 over enthusiastic.

A shame. Sergio made a mental note to take Gerard aside properly later in the night, perhaps after more of the wine had been consumed. For now, though, the Knight greeted the girls with an extra charming smile - playing the part up. His arms spread as he bowed dramatically for them.

“Signore, would it not be rude to not ask of your names before we regale you of our stories?” He glanced to Gerard. “Like that of the mighty bandit lord, eh?”

@HereComesTheSnow

Lein

---

Location: The Royal Ball
Interactions: Fanilly @VitaVitaAR

---

The reaction was far better than Lein had expected. He had thought the Knight-Captain would see right through the disguise and call it. Or perhaps Fanilly was too anxious to draw the connection so brazenly. Most definitely a fruitful venture... but it stirred an unsatisfying feeling in the Hundi 'noblelady'. Of course, Lein had seen her in the storming of the Bandit King, and dismissed her rashness in battle for childish headiness and a thirst to claim glory at the cost of restraint. But indeed here she was, standing before him with a frightful politeness. There was a practiced cordiality to her mannerisms, no doubt a result of countless practice, the slight unsure delays in her responses confided a core of unsteadiness to anyone who could recognize it. He remembered wearing the exact same expression a countless times, guts wrenched up and wanting desperately to hold the weight of his name before the unshakeable eyes of scrutiny. Every single one of these people in the gilded halls out to measure just how much they could exploit each other under the veneer of civilization.

It was a moment where Lein released what he was actually looking at before him: A Keen-less girl wearing a dress full of nails, facing down a room full of so called 'honorable nobles' who would eat her alive given half a chance.

Lein gave a dramatic sigh, holding his fan to the chest and tail drooping in a sign of dejected indignation. "Ah, you wound me ever so deeply my dear, I thought I had made quite the impression on you as we met. Very well. Though it may be improper of my stature to introduce myself, my name is Lenivicus Cteline ves Estouls, Baroness of Chateau les Roseaux". (A title that was half-true, just enough to still any questions to 'her' claim). With a shift of his gloves he displayed the glint of silver hidden under his dress' right shoulder. "Though specially for you, my dear, you may simply refer to me as 'Lein'".

It was far from Lein to drop the game so early - he had set a whole show up, dazzling both colleges and guests alike with a confusing sequence of guess the difference. It was all even going to end in a spectacular scene of a knight-Lein being chased out the ballroom by a baroness-Lein. Well, he still had plenty of chances to pull one up on someone with less to lose and a stiffer spine spine like that grouch Renar or even Tyaethe. The Knight-Captain was the wrong target for the 'Baroness's' affections.

Lein leaned in a little, voice dropping just enough to make sure others won't notice the shift into the decidedly un-ladylike candor and the lofty rolling accent of the north Ithillin becoming the usual brusque western Veltian. "Just checking up on you, Cap'n. Nerves getting you?"

As he spoke, he kept an eye on the new entrances to the scene. Veilena Cazt. The Traitor-Apparent, as he had learned her described by a couple of drunk Thaln 'patriots'. Lein had tried to study for the ball just to perfect his act - but the exact details of why she was the Traitor-Apparent escaped him. Judging by the way she captured the subjects of murmurs around them, it was clear she was a figure of controversy. Best be on guard. This ball may prove to be more than a playground for Baroness Cteline.

@Raineh Daze

---

"Ahem, apologies, your mom just has an unforgettable face." Cecillia glanced towards the Lillette with her usual roguish smile, consequences be dammed. "A pleasure to meet the both of you, Lilia, Ithainne." She'd turn her attention back towards the spider lady. "To small huh? Try me, miss. I'm sure we could figure something out? I've been told I'm fairly good with my footwork."

"Are you just going to ignore one of the original knights standing right in front of us!?"

"...yes?"

"You do realize she could probably kill you with that glare of hers alone?"

"Yeeeees? Your point?"

"I don't imagine anyone here would be so flippant as you...haa, just don't do anything dumb-"

"A-ahem, anyways," Cecil offered the both of them a smile. "Or maybe I could take the both of you for a dance or some such?"


@Crimson Paladin@Psyker Landshark

---

And the day had been going so well for him, too. He was here at the ball, like expected. No way he wouldn't have been, obviously. This was only a ball for the best knights in the realm, after all which he just so happened to be an esteemed member of. In all, it was a fairly good day, and nothing at all could possibly ruin it - Mood crashed almost instantly upon his eyes falling on someone he absolutely did not wish to see. Why on earth was Renar here? As his younger brother shuffled past, breathing an irritable greeting under his breath he couldn't help but to respond in kind.

"Indeed, it was little brother." He'd quietly snap back, watching Renar walk away towards another member of the Iron roses. There was no need to get worked up about this, was there? None at all -

He visibly felt one of his eyebrows twitch as Renar and Sir Fleuri speaking.

"Ah yes, I suppose congratulations are in order. The Iron Roses certainly did do well cleaning up that whole mess. Sir Renar was taking them out like weeds, eh? Quite the feat, though I must say it rather pales in comparison to singlehandly slaying a troll. It was quite a difficult fight, but nothing I couldn't handle."

Lucas pursed his lips satisfactorily when Tyaethe accepted his thanks. Good. She needed no further explanation and they could forget about the whole thing. Her response to his jokes made, at first, think she was devoid of humour, (as if he would actually try anything at such an event!) but with a moment to think on it, the 'decades long ban' gag was actually pretty funny.

"Not sure this would be the crowd my kinda dancing's suited for, to be perfectly fair," he told her. "I'd look like a right daft-arse... more than usual." He laughed at his own quip, a lot louder than he'd meant to. He made to grab a glass of wine, then hesitated. Then shrugged, threw caution to the wind and took one anyway. He held it like any other cup, his hand gripping the bowl rather than what might be 'proper.' "Still though, I might give it a go. Maybe throw an invite at that ravishing noble lady over there."

He nodded pointedly at Lein, who was with the Knight-Captain. He hadn't had a real chance to speak with the archer since they'd joined up in the Iron Rose procession. Lucas could barely contain his laughter, at first, but now he stood at the side of Tyaethe with a mere smirk. Lein was a hoot.

Elsewhere around the room, everyone seemed to be mingling well. Cecil had made a beeline for the spider-lady and they seemed to be getting on smashingly. Lucas just assumed that they already knew eachother. What was surprising to see was Fionn alone, stood rather awkwardly at a table. The barrel-chested man with a big heart was usually the lively sort. He was of regular folk (or common birth, as it usually referred to) like himself and Gerard, but Lucas would've guessed that he, of the three, amiable as he was, would be best suited to this kind of shin-dig. Lucas mentally shrugged. Shows what you know.

After enjoying watching the different guests for a bit, Lucas peeked a glance at the vampire. It finally occurred to him that she wasn't in the mood for talking (at least, not to him anyway,) so he dropped his resistance to the enticing smell and visage of the foods on the nearest table. "Time to eat!" he declared.

It wasn't long before he'd helped himself to plate full of food. He told himself not to let loose - to try and be polite with his eating manners - still he kept his back to the room and munched away joyfully. Suddenly he paused, his head lifting as he realised the implications of something Tyaethe had said before.

Decades long ban for attacking guests? How would she know that?

"Crikey," he muttered to himself.

Yet another question on the long list he had for the Paladin.

"..."

"..."

"..."

Many questions flowed through Fanilly's mind at that moment. Exactly why one of her knights had chosen to come to the ball crossdressing was one of them. Certainly, there wasn't really anything stopping them from choosing their own manner of dress, even if it wasn't usually associated with their gender, but at the same time that didn't mean it was expected, nor that Fanilly could comprehend such a decision. Did Lein have some sort of... unusual tastes... that resulted in his choice to masquerade as a woman at the ball? Was it really a good decision to invite him? He'd performed admirably at the raid on the bandit camp, but now he stood before her dressed... like this.

It wasn't as if crossdressing among knights was unheard of. Mirror Knight Florian had dressed as a woman to deceive the depraved Lord Dorian Walstrek. In Ithillin, Dame Anette Vioverge had preferred men's wear.

But still... this felt very odd.

"... I... see," said the blonde knight-girl, "That's... I hope you... enjoy yourself..."

The look of confusion, concern, and dismay on Fanilly's face most certainly said it all.

@PigeonOfAstora

Gerard Segremors

@VahkiDane@VitaVitaAR

Sir Sergio, of course, was right on the money.

To begin with, Gerard knew he wasn't going to be able to hide that fact from his fellows, most of whom already were privy to his story— and as such, he knew it to be a waste of energy to be disquieted over it. With a wan, almost wry smirk, he nodded, breathing in to speak—

"Aaaah, good Sir Knights!"

"Ah, how exciting!"

A pair of high, shrill voices killed the words before they could leave his throat, as a trio of girls that seemed younger than the Captain, younger than even his littlest sister, surged forth from the dispersed spread of partygoers as though a bolt from the blue. In a rush, they were upon he and his companion, eagerly crowding around and pelting them with questions that were every bit emblematic of their ages...

Yet in the crisp, posh tenor of their voices as they did so, he could hear their true nature. Were he surrounded like this on the field of battle, he would most likely die, even if he took two or all three with him by way of viciously earned experience and strength. Surrounded as he was now, by these non-threatening children of clearly noble stock...

He leaned back at the sudden rush for a mere moment, eyebrows high, as though recoiling away from the words.

It took nearly the same steel to level his all-too-meager preparation for this moment to the task at hand. It was ironic, a man of the sword who walked the line between life and death in as cavalier a manner as he feeling a pang of worry now, of all times. In some respects, he preferred the odds of a veteran soldier against death than a newly-bloomed Rose against their expectations of gallantry.

He glanced to Sir Sergio, hiding a plea for help beneath his moment of surprise, but found in the Knight of the Harvest Moon's stead a stranger. His body had all at once changed, as though a new role in courtly manner had filled it where reservation once stood guard. He was open, smiling bright, brimming with dramatism, playful cheek. A new side of his fellow, who had always seemed enigmatic... no, not quite right. There was something else there, something he couldn't place.

Gerard then caught the glance sent his way, and completed the breath that had been interrupted.

However briefly, he had been prepared for this.

I am a mercenary no longer. I'm a knight. A greenhorn in the Roses, but no longer am I trudging through dust and smoke without even a face to call my own— How lucky I am that we've only just ridden in from an adventure that's worth retelling.

Time to put it to use.

"Indeed," he breathed, slipping into an invitingly warm smile as he shoved aside rebellious, doubtful thoughts. He cast his free hand, gloved palm skyward, in the other knight's direction. "Forgive me, young misses. As I was just telling my brother in arms, this ball is my first— to whom might I have the pleasure of meeting?"

To hell with it. He initially had worried he'd trip over himself and overdo an introduction, but with Sergio here, he was sure he'd pale in comparison. The blonde pair's exuberance and whimsy was palpable, he doubted anything short of actively insulting them would make a necessarily bad impression— but their companion, the girl in black, seemed to want little to do with any of this.

Familiar, that. He had to agree.

Still, he wouldn't find himself troubled by a little youthful exasperation. Even if he did, he knew not to let it show upon his face. To make them feel a burden was unacceptable, so for all his trepidation at being here, at doing this, he would weather it for all their sakes. To answer their pleas was a knight's duty.

So, with a smile that was far less saccharine but no less polite, he spoke again, eyes casting themselves over the group as a whole.

"And my friend, that was but one enemy, however he may have towered over us before the Captain and I struck him down. I'm told you slaughtered a dozen."

That all said—

Sergio, you're not getting out of this either.

The downside to Fleuri actually playing along and helping him was how well the man was doing so: Renar actually owed him a significant debt at this point for how effective Fleuri was at it. He hadn't been anticipating that Fleuri's word actually had the gathered nobility believing he played such a significant role.

"Our victory that day was thanks to knights like Sir Renar here cutting the bandits down like weeds." And there was his cue. Taking a sip of wine to fortify himself, Renar offered the gathered crowd a winning smile, inclining his head briefly towards Fleuri.

"Sir Fleuri is too kind. Of course, those men were actually a significant threat one wouldn't usually expect of bandits. Veterans from the war, still with good weapons and armor one wouldn't see on a brigand. Dangerous men, all. I must have held the line against several before reinforcements finally came to relieve me. In fact-" Renar started to continue on, before someone else decided to cut in.

"Ah yes, I suppose congratulations are in order. The Iron Roses certainly did do well cleaning up that whole mess. Sir Renar was taking them out like weeds, eh? Quite the feat, though I must say it rather pales in comparison to singlehandly slaying a troll. It was quite a difficult fight, but nothing I couldn't handle."

The goddesses help him, if Renar hadn't known Felix was going to try something like this, he'd be furious. A troll? Singlehandedly? A naked lie. If Felix had managed to do so with what barely passable sword skills he had, the gossip chain would have long been telling the tale. To say nothing of the fact that the idiot wouldn't have had the opportunity to do so, what with the Crown Knights being stationed in the capital and all. Idiot.

"Felix!" Renar raised his cup towards the blonde Crown Knight, his smile not quite reaching his eyes now. "My half-brother, in case any of you are wondering. And evidently, the spinner of quite a yarn." He chortled, reaching over with his free hand to wrap it around his brother's shoulder and bring him in. "A troll? Do tell, brother. And here I thought the Crown Knights were stationed in the capital at all times, to defend our royals? When exactly did this occur, pray tell?"

A slightly smarmy grin crossed Renar's face. Overly friendly to the uninitiated, but to Felix? He'd know the bastard was mocking him. "One would think our esteemed lord father," May he rot in the darkness when it took him. "Would know of this and have told the rest of our family accordingly. He did so when I slew that orc warchief, as you recall. The one that earned myself admission into the Iron Rose?" Widen the smile just a bit. Aggravate him further. Just as planned. Then a thought crossed his mind. Right.

Renar shifted his gaze over towards Fleuri for a moment, inclining his head away from the crowd. Hopefully the man took the hint. His role in this was over, and he was free to leave if he so chose. Or to stay and watch the show. Either was fine by him, but Renar would have no accusations of keeping Fleuri longer than was polite, and thus expanding what he owned to the man.

Ithainne's pleasant smile grew only more confused, the dressmaker not-so-subtly comparing their relative heights. Of course, if one were only factoring in the torso, they weren't badly matched for size at all--but she was consistently quite high off the ground. Perhaps not insurmountable... if the blonde had professed any knowledge of dancing that would allow accounting for the completely different range of motion. "I must thank you most graciously for your offer but I cannot accept."

Lilia, on the other hand, seemed to have paused, expression going very even. Perhaps, on first glance, it might seem that the elf was offended in some way by the request, but the rising blush was unmistakeable as the thoughts ticked over inside her head. A knight was asking her to dance. A knight of the Iron Roses was asking if she wanted to dance.

"Y-Yes please!" Turned out you could make an elf squeak.

Lein

---

Location: The Royal Ball
Interactions: Fanilly @VitaVitaAR Fionn @The Otter

---

Lein's expression contained multitudes. It was a combination of a polite smile, a faint trace of the disappointed indignation, and a mask of that ever-present obtuseness; though his eyes seemed to look too distantly for him to be looking at anyone within the ball. Any chances to interpret his expression however, would be swept away as he launched into another lilting address. "Ah, what a shame. I thought to pick the grand dress especially for a delightful occasion such as this, but it seems my efforts were misplaced in the eyes of our dear leader." He crooked his head, as if Fanilly had outright insulted his dress and the 'Baroness' was barely keeping a sense of polite dignity.

This expression crystallized into a more defined fanged smile, a tell-tale sign to anyone familiar with his antics that very little of what he had just said was genuine. If Fanilly couldn't catch on, though, little would help her discern which sentiments of the strange Hundi 'noble' was dramatized. "Don't worry, mein kapitan, we are all estranged in this little ball, and a bit of nervousness is only natural. Regardless of dress or title, we're all the same fools in gilded clothes, so please do remember to enjoy yourself. But my, look at us, letting this banquet go to the cold!"

Would that be an assurance that Lein intended it to be, or add to the list of worries on Fanilly's mind? Who knew. Lein didn't bother to check and simply flitted away. He stepped through the strings of conversation, taking account of all those who stepped through. Cecilia was flirting with some elves and an arachni. Sergio and Gerard was already tied down by a thong of overexcited ladies. Renar and Fleuri was having some sort of amicable confrontation. Hmm. He was down to a couple of options. Lein did toy with the idea of haunting the old hag Ty the entire time and spooking her company the entire night - but Lein would definitely be pushing his luck there. Besides, he was getting awful hungry. There was probably no way Lein could fit anything down his throat while he was still in this stranglehold of a corset, so a few more people to accost, then he'll change into something more comfortable.

The first of these would be Fionn, the Veltan swordsman. Lein had avoided this Knight the same way he avoided Sergio - never fond of the churchy types. Besides, between Lein's regular patrols keeping tabs on his compatriots always simply noted Fionn down as being at either the training yard or the chapel, and such a simplicity signaled to Lein that Fionn was either very good at hiding a scam or just a very straight cutter. Lein leaned into the latter interpretation; the man looked thoroughly out of focus in the glitz of the ball, seemingly more concerned about the glass in his hand than the dresses and suits that milled about him. Perhaps it should be up to Lein to make him feel more welcome.

Lein strutted up, fan in hand and approached Fionn from the back, lightly tapping him on the shoulder. His tail swayed gently behind him, with an expression of excited curiosity (and should one catch on, a touch of malice) as he addressed Fionn. "Guten tag, Herr Fionn! I heard from the gossip of the vines that you must simply the man to talk to! I confess - your sense of fashion is quite remarkable! Pray tell, are these blades the very same you used to dispatch those horrid Bandit King crooks?"

---

@PigeonOfAstora

---

It didn't seem to take long after he'd found his little observation post that the conversation fully started to erupt around him. For a moment, he nearly went over to where he saw Sergio and Gerard, willing to give the latter, at least, some back-up when being accosted by three noble girls—but between the two of them, they seemed to have it handled well enough. He let his eyes drift over to Renar and Fleuri's group, where the former was now fully caught in conversation with some smirking crown knight.

He squinted; the hair colour was entirely wrong, of course, but parts of the face, the similar build, the richness of the voice...he might have to keep a closer eye on that pair than he'd originally planned. It wouldn't be good if any familial resentment started to bubble out too much between them. A quick glance at the captain showed that she was still fine, albeit looking thoroughly confused for some reason; Lucas and Tyaethe were—

"—however he may have towered over us before the Captain and I struck him down."

The muscle just under Fionn's eye twitched. In years past, he might have immediately made a move over to where Gerard was talking and joined in the fray; not to correct him, but as a not-so-subtle reminder not to leave out important details like Fionn's own contribution. Eventually, however, he'd learned some level of patience, and Gerard came from a similar background as he did. The younger man was likely just as uncomfortable surrounded by nobles as he was. Whether a slip of the tongue, or a purposeful omission for some purpose he couldn't divine, Fionn was willing to forgive it.

He turned back in Renar's direction, hearing his suspicion as to the relation between himself and the crown knight confirmed as the younger dove headfirst into picking some sort of verbal fight with his sibling. That, he resolved, was something that would have to be watched more closely. Before he could take a step, though, something else moved in the corner of his eye. The captain was...alone?

So quickly?

"What—"

His eyes slid over the small girl off by one of the windows and her hulking guardian, as he quickly scanned the crowd for the woman who had been speaking with Fanilly, only to find himself quickly accosted by the very same.

"Pray tell, are these blades the very same you used to dispatch those horrid Bandit King crooks?"

Fionn blinked.

"You were there, lad."

From a distance, the disguise had been convincing enough; Lein's slight form and not-overly-masculine looks made it a very achievable effect. Up close, though, it wasn't hard to see through. "You're looking a bit too red in the face, might loosen up the corset. Why go for the hourglass shape, anyways? There's plenty of noblewomen here who have more of a runner's build like your own and aren't trying to hide or augment it."

The second glass of wine disappeared almost as quickly as the first, being replaced by an identical looking glass as the vampire gave a vague comment about that particular ball having been particularly bad. Instead, her attention seemed to have drifted over the various guests--lingering a little longer on her former companion than any other with a frown--before having alighted on Fionn and his glowing fingers.

She knew these were boring, but doing magic tricks in a corner was a sure way to get awkward questions. While you were very unlikely to be accused of improper training and being a potential threat to the public, what was more likely was getting some sheltered noble who only knew about magic in the abstract asking too many questions... which Fionn had absolutely no knowledge to answer.

And speaking with him... her eyesight wasn't perfect, even with correction, but even with an effort made, the voice was definitely...

Strolling over with a fourth glass in hand, for when the third was inevitably emptied, the vampire proved just how stealthily one could move when dressed for a ball if desired... provided the trail of hair fluttering behind her wasn't a giveaway. Mostly, of course, it relied on everyone else being taller than you are.

"You really should have had a proper tailor look at that dress before the ball," the vampire said without preamble, looking Lein up and down now that she was closer, "Being ashamed of your choices to the point you show up to an event in ill-fitting clothes is a mistake."

He did sort of deserve that, really.

Sergio smiled politely, reluctantly nodding in confirmation. He’d tell his tale, he didn’t quite have the heart to disappoint the girls.

“Well…eh, my side of the skirmish was bloody in itself.” He closed his eyes, for dramatic effect. “Many men had gathered in an attempt to protect the giant that Ser Gerard and the Captain were preoccupied with - I…was unlikely to let that happen. Amateurs though they were - it was perilous!”

His eyes were open again, gesticulating his arms as he told his story.

“But me and the others held the line. As is our duty, eh?” That signature shine in his pupils.

@HereComesTheSnow

On a battlefield, it was courage and a steadfast advance that defined a knight, unbowed as they were by adversity and multiplicity.

In a ballroom though, surrounded by those of high society, their armaments removed and their status as protectors of the realm granted to Royal Guards instead? A knight remained as such, but required too the finesse and grace of a noble, whilst remaining unashamed of the badges of honor earned, the body they had forged in flame, against anvil.

What else could Dame Serenity of House Arcedeen be expected to arrive in then, if not in her finest dress? Indigo fabrics hugged her frames, layered upon each other like ocean waves, flowing upwards to wrap around her neck. For the occasion, she had allowed her hair to flow loosely, draping over her shoulders whilst adorning herself with a few tasteful accessories that complemented her eyes. A few accessories to complement the scars that marked her body, to juxtapose with the broadness of her shoulders, the flatness of her bosom. It was a time to enjoy herself, after all. To see who remained in the third princess's favor, and who invited themselves in whilst disregarding such favors. Lein certainly seemed to be enjoying himself, the Hundi archer wearing his dress splendidly. She had not marked him the type to have such predilections, but if that was what he enjoyed, then so be it.

Gerard too, seemed to already be doing her proud. Serenity was right, as always. A bathing, a set of fine-enough clothing, and a couple pointers on posture and etiquette, and just like that, the handsome mercenary had earned himself more attention from the ladies that Dame Cecilia, and he had done so without even trying! Though, of course, those three ladies were still but children, and perhaps the flame-haired Sir Sergio had something to say about that as well.

Regardless, it was better than whatever Sir Fleuri and Sir Renar found themselves in, the latter having the absolute pleasure of catching the attention of the Crown Knight. The half-brother one. Serenity's smile remained, fixed like glass, and then, briskly, she turned away from whatever that scene was going to cause. As fascinating as the drama between the legitimate and illegitimate may be, there was no merit to be derived from watching two grown men trade snide remarks or step on each others' toes. If they were going to fight, she hoped they did so outside and put on a proper show for the guests.

One that hopefully didn't involve pocket sand.

Instead, she settled her gaze on the one space of silence in the ballroom. A space occupied by a black knight and his petite charge. A duo iconic enough now, to make them unmistakable no matter the distance. Veilena Cazt, the traitor's spawn. Eyes that glittered with the gold of prodigious intelligence. Hair that belonged on the head of a woman thrice her age. A child that either possessed an inner steel even at the age of eight, or could act the part at the behest of an experienced advisor. It was a shame, then, that such merciless decisions only made her more of a figure of suspicion amongst the upper caste.

After all, most nobles weren't fools enough to believe that a child could understand the gravity of treason, sheltered as she was from the worst of the rebellion. There were wives amongst the traitor-nobles who acted less severely than she did. To do so then, at the age she had been...t'was uncanny. Intentions, however noble, were subject still to interpretation. And association, too? A poisonous thing indeed.

That did not, however, stop Serenity's advance. Whether as a Knight or as a Scion.

"Good evening, Lady Veilena Cazt," the flaxen-haired knight spoke, favoring the younger lady with a slight smile. "Have you tired of this occasion already? Or is Her Royal Highness, Princess Elisandre Tanetha Falisse, the only one to have drawn your presence tonight?"

---

@PigeonOfAstora@Raineh Daze

---

"Well, now, Lein may not have had much of a chance. Could've been a spur of the moment decision, right?" Fionn patted Lein on the shoulder with a smile. "Really, though, the corset and trying to stuff the bust, that's where I think the wrong choices were made. Need help loosening the laces so you can breathe better?"

“Many men had gathered in an attempt to protect the giant that Ser Gerard and the Captain were preoccupied with—"

Fionn's smile faltered slightly.

"I should have brought that bardiche, or walked in carrying Jeremiah's blade."

"Oh, forgive me, Sir Knights," the eldest of the three girls began, curtsying as she did, "I am Angenese Tulburn, and this is Tenessa Heinlein and Violette Scarnsbek."

She gestured to each of her companions in turn, Tenessa curtsying and Violette looking rather disinterested as she followed suit, holding a drink in one hand.

"My, these bandits sound positively dreadful," she continued, excitedly. It was only obvious that these girls had been raised on tales of chivalric romance, hardly uncommon when it came to children of their age, and thus there excitement to meet Iron Rose Knights should not have been unexpected. Indeed, if one were to look across the room, Sir Gerard and Sir Sergio were hardly alone. For example, Sir Dunnelt was being spoken to by a noblewoman and her young son, who was excitedly asking him questions, and Dame Thalia appeared to have caught the attention of a pair of twins.

"I heard they were terrors! Ah, both of you are ever so brave, facing them for the sake of the common folk!" declared Tenessa, brightly, "Coming to the defense of those who cannot defend themselves..."

Violette was the only one who had yet to comment, simply quietly sipping her drink and looking away.

"A giant... was he really a giant? My friend Erezebet said the bandits were led by a monstrous man, eight meters tall," Angenese looked between the knights eagerly. Removed from the realities of battle was they were, all they knew was the tales of heroism.

"I heard he was almost like a fallen divine," commented Tenessa, "Like the Witch-Queen of old! Did you know they say she's still out there?"

"A fallen divine? Tenessa, that's a bit much, isn't it?" Angenese replied, with a slightly apologetic chuckle, "There's no-one like that roaming the countryside, let alone with a bunch of brigands."

"Don't be stupid," came Violette's flat and rather blunt opinion of her own, "He was just a bad man with too many muscles."

@HereComesTheSnow@VahkiDane

---

It was the impossible-to-read, hidden features of the knight in black that first turned to face Serenity as she approached, the subtle clanking of their armor only barely audible over the sounds of the party. Then the silvery head of the Cazt heir followed, golden eyes falling upon the approaching knight's form.

The blue dress she wore shimmered slightly as she moved, the Cazt family sigil displayed proudly upon her breast in red in contrast. It was a many-pointed star that bore a sword upon it. It was said Veilena did not see her own father as a member of her family. Perhaps this display of pride in her lineage was meant to be a symbol of that fact. After all, there was no shame in your bloodline if the traitor was no longer considered a part of it, was there?

Perhaps that was how the Cazt heir felt about it.

"Dame Arcedeen," she acknowledged the other young noble before curtsying, "Good evening."

She paused a moment, glancing briefly at her bodyguard before continuing to speak.

"You can't possibly be surprised that you're the first of my fellow guests who wanted to approach me, can you?" she asked as she cocked her head to the side, "Not that I mind, of course. The mere fact the Princess invited me here when so many others would rather not have seen me is satisfying enough."

A smirk crossed her lips, likely at the thought of how irritable the nobles who did not trust her, hardly few in number, were at her mere presence.

"In any case, I was hoping for a chance to speak to the Princess herself tonight, so I've been waiting for her to arrive," added Veilena, "In the meantime I'd rather not be privy to whatever idiocy some blowhard decides to spew at me, so I decided to enjoy the sunset through this window instead."

@ERode