[IC] 🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

[princess]

Time is now 3pm

@Helo@Tae @Mole @ReusableSword @Rodiak @JJ Doe @Aerandir @Conscripts @Infinite Cosmos @Potter @13org @Heartfillia @Tpartywithzombi @samreaper @Silverpaw @Inertia @mantou @Terrance420 @Potter @FunnyGuy @SausagePat @Lava Alckon @CitrusArms @Blizz @PapaOso @Prosaic @Apex Sunburn @Ojo chan 42

Events

Sword Competition

Swordsmanship Competition

Location: Athletic Arena

The Athletic Arena had been prepared with the most excitement of the day. Seating was allowed in the stands and gave attendees a bird's eye view of the event. The swords were freshly polished and kept in protective casings to prevent any tampering or damage before the competition began. However, everyone was welcome to bring any bladed weapon they were skilled with. Helmets and protective wear were allowed, but not mandatory.

The air buzzed with excitement as the competition drew a crowd in. Fortunately, the sun was shining on the Arena.

The middle of the arena held a stage for each participant. It gave them enough room to battle, but if their feet stepped over the edge where a red line had been painted more than twice they would be disqualified. There were benches placed on either side of the stage for those waiting to be allowed in. Once someone was out, they would join the attendees in the stands.

The competition would start with a preliminary round, where all contestants would face off against each other in one-on-one battles. One battle would be hosted at a time. The winner of each match will be able to proceed to the next round of the competition which will be hosted in a few days' time. The contestants will engage in a battle of skill, speed, and precision, trying to land hits on their opponent while avoiding being hit themselves. In order to win, there must be a clear view of someone being able to strike their opponent or evidence of a rip or mark in their armor.

RULES:
1. Anyone who seriously injures or stabs their opponent will be disqualified.
2. Anyone trying to throw weapons will be disqualified.
3. No ranged weapons allowed.
4. Cross the red line through the middle of the stage more than twice and you are out.
5. No grappling or dragging people past the red line.

Anyone watching may post commentary whenever they wish during the next week or so.

I will post the battles and their order in discord once I have a better list of players.

How to Play

In an attempt to keep things as fair as a non-combat-oriented roleplay can be, we will be using the dice bot in the discord server to play this game. Please navigate to the channel called: #dice-for-games under the roleplay category. Please see below:

Then type /roll. You should see a little window open up. See below. Please select /roll
On the next prompt, please select d10 and then press enter.

Once the rolls are in the channel, it will be clear who won the battle and the two of you are welcome to either collaborate on your response or write posts. The GMs will help to create an agreed-upon scenario that makes both players happy. For time’s sake, please respond after your roll is completed before the week’s end. Please advise everyone if you need more time early on.

Any characters with no background in melee weaponry will receive a negative modifier of -2 to the roll they receive.

Poetry Event

Poetry Reading

Location: Sorian Library

The library had shifted to elaborate detail for the poetry reading. Due to the fact there were visitors, the library had become spotless. Plants were hanging around the library, and the sunshine bathed the poetry reading in its glory. The desks around the library were adorned with colorful tablecloths and the books were organized neatly. The library was immaculate and ready to host its doors for the poetry event. The library buzzed like a hoard of bees in anticipation of the event and the excitement it would bring. A sign near the door warned the participants that there was no laughing, judging, or disrespect allowed at the event and to be judgment free.

There was an area near the back of the library adorned with plush pillows for those who wanted to sit on the floor. Set up beside it was tea, notebooks, and pens. Beyond them were chairs with extra-comfortable pillows. A stage had been against the wall where the poet could be seen and heard. A speaker was there in case anyone was too quiet to be heard. A table near the event had pastries and a mix of beverages, such as water, tea, and coffee.

As the poetry reading began, a burly man with a thick, twirled mustache in an orange shirt walked upon the stage. He cleared his throat before speaking, "My name is Vincent. You may recognize me from the training center over here. ...I..."He nervously adjusted his collar and put on a stoic face. "I wrote this in hopes of inspiring those with sensitive hearts."

"I am a man of strength and might,
But deep within my chest so tight,
A tender heart beats soft and light.

My eyes have seen the harsh world,
Where terrible forces have unfurled.
My tears have flowed and my fears have swirled,
In a soul that's soft and pretty like a pearl.

The weight of life bears me down,
But I still wear my crown.
For someday, I will be unbound.

So let me not be judged by might,
A gentleman who values light."

Tears brimmed in the man's eyes as the crowd erupted in snaps immediately. His lips quivered under his stache.
As the sounds died down, everyone wondered who would take the stage after Vincent.

The Blacksmith and Bookworm play

"The Blacksmith and the Bookworm” play

Location: The Edin Theater

As theater-goers begin to trickle in, the lobby of the Edin theater exudes an air of elegance and overindulgence akin to the King himself. The walls are adorned with ornate moldings painted in soft light golden colors that complement the plush, deep red carpeting that stretches beneath their feet. Soft, warm lighting bathes the space in a cozy glow, inviting guests to settle in and enjoy the pre-show ambiance.

To the right of the entrance, a grand staircase curves gracefully up to the mezzanine level, offering a sweeping view of the room below. On the mezzanine level, several small bars offer refreshments, from expertly-crafted cocktails to decadent chocolates and gourmet appetizers.

To the left of the entrance, a grand hallway leads guests toward the theater itself. Here, towering marble columns and plush velvet curtains create a sense of grandiosity, while glittering chandeliers overhead catch the eyes of the theatergoers, their necks craning as they made their way down the hall. The walls are adorned with paintings and sculptures of King Edin quite obsessively.

As the audience makes their way into the theater itself, they're greeted by velvet seats, arranged in a sloping amphitheater-style layout that ensures everyone has a view of the stage. The ceiling above is painted with stunning art depicting religious scenes of the battle of the Gods. As the lights dim and the curtain rises, the atmosphere of the theater sets the stage for a magical performance.

[princess]

The Blacksmith and the Bookworm

Location: The Edin Theater

ACT 1

@SausagePat@FunnyGuy

As the curtains opened, the audience was greeted with a breathtaking view of a painted backdrop. A starry night covered the top of the backdrop, with real lights illuminating some of the stars, brightening the theater as the other lights dimmed. The doors to the ballroom could be seen in the backdrop, with glass panels showing the silhouettes of ballroom dancers. A mock balcony fencing wrapped around the front of the stage as two actors leaned against it. A rugged and handsome man with over-exaggerated facial hair stood with a beautiful dark-haired woman in a dark lacy dress. The two were lost in conversation, gazing up at the stars.

“The stars are beautiful tonight, aren't they?” the male actor began.

The female actress leaned in close, saying with a smile, “Yes, they are…But not as beautiful as your muscles.”

“Uh, what muscles?” Adam was taken aback, staring at her in confusion. A head popped up from a prop bush in the corner of the stage, acknowledging the audience as if sharing a dirty secret. “Adam is from the Varian Kingdom. That’s why he doesn’t get it,” the person in the bush said, eliciting howls of laughter from the crowd. A man nearby held up a sign that read “LAUGH,” perhaps cueing the laughter.

“Adam! Those ones right there! They're so big and strong.” The female actress grabbed his bicep.

“Oh yeaaahh. I use these bad boys to create all kinds of weapons…I am a blacksmith.”

“Ugh, that’s so hot!” Raven then lifted her skirt up and pulled a huge book out from underneath. She started fanning herself with the book. Adam’s eyes dramatically shot from her face to the skirt to the book and then circled through the same route.

“I read books, okay. I bring them everywhere. I’m such a bookworm! All I do is ignore everyone and hide in the corner with my books.”

“Books?” Adam echoed.

“Yes.” Raven lifted her skirt up again. Adam shielded his eyes, afraid to see her legs, but instead, a tsunami of dozens of books loudly plopped on the stage, accompanied by a saucy trumpet tune.

“Uhhhh…” Adam stared at the books on the floor. The laughter sign went up again, and people started to laugh.

“I got more where that came from!” Raven started to slowly and seductively unbutton the top of her dress.

Adam grabbed his head in disbelief, and a huge smile crossed his face, his tongue hanging out of his mouth. The smile slowly dissipated as more books fell out of her dress.

“You’re a library!” Adam accused.

“I’m a library that’s in love with you, Adam! I don’t care what they say about us!” Raven’s voice grew with passion as she buttoned her dress once again, “They can write whatever they want in that paper! Please court me this summer!”

“Be my library, Raven!”

The two lovers start to passionately kiss, lost in the moment. Suddenly, a well-dressed man bursts out from the doors. He has long black hair and unsheathes a sword dramatically as he yells, his head hanging back as he bellows in a deep voice, "What is the meaning of this?!"

The couple gasps and stares at the man in shock.

"Father!" Raven cries in surprise, recognizing the man.

"The Count!" Adam cries out, recognizing Raven's father.

"DADDY'S HERE!" Raven's father yells with maniacal laughter, swinging the sword around in the air. The curtain begins to close as the two lovers try to process what's happening. As the curtain falls, the theater erupts into applause and excited chatter as the audience members eagerly await the continuation of the story.

"END OF ACT 1! ACT 2 shall begin shortly."

[Apex Sunburn]

Interactions:
Time: Around 3 pm

The Sada Kurau was, by Viserjantan maritime standards, an odd ship. Granted, her keel hadn’t been laid in any of the Commonwealth’s many shipyards, and she surely wasn’t an indigenous design by any stretch of the imagination. Even so, most captains who chose captured vessels as their commands usually did their utmost to crew and equip them according to conventional naval practices. As much as one could, in any case.

Not Sjan-dehk, however. Of course, he didn’t have much choice in the matter; overly-long for her narrow beam and with a sail plan that exuded speed and agility, the Sada Kurau brooked no argument over the manner in which she took to the seas. She was a ship that accepted no masters, only patient equals who understood that she was a ship one learned to work with, rather than controlled. Sjan-dehk, for the most part, was perfectly happy with that arrangement. It had brought him from victory to victory, and she had saved his crew and himself from violent and premature ends more times than he could count.

Still, the relationship wasn’t perfect. There were a few quirks here and there that Sjan-dehk wasn’t sure he would ever get used to. As he stood on the quarterdeck, looking out over his assembled crew, one such unfavourable trait made itself painfully obvious.

To work the Sada Kurau’s complicated system of ropes and sails required a significantly larger crew of riggers than was necessary for a ship of her size. Coupled with her odd proportions, it meant that when all of the crew were assembled on deck – such as now – she looked almost comically overcrowded. Not only was her main deck choked with men standing shoulder-to-shoulder, those who had no place to stand had to either stand precariously on her gunwale or even cling to her stays and ratlines.

Sjan-dehk wasn’t too worried about the men in such positions – most of them were experienced riggers who knew how to keep themselves safe. Besides, they were in the calm waters of a harbour. More than anything, it was the apparent disorganisation that irked him.

All the more reason for him to get through this bit of formality quickly.

He drew in a deep breath and leaned forward, resting his hands on the guardrail. “All of you should know what I’m about to say. We are, however, the first of our people to make tracks through a city that’s not part of our islands, so I’d advise every one of you to listen up and listen close. We don’t want to be the reason why these fine people–” he jerked a thumb towards the city “–think of us Viserjantans as lousy guests, now do we?”

A murmur of assent rippled through the crowd, accompanied by nodding heads and a scattering of light chuckles. “So,” Sjan-dehk continued and stood up straight, hands behind his back. “It is my duty as your captain to remind you of naval regulations regarding going ashore.” He had said these same words so many times that they didn’t roll off his tongue as much as they burst forth in a droning torrent. “Most, if not all of you, would likely spend much of your time away from your ship. However, bear in mind that you are still bound by Viserjantan law. More importantly, you are still subject to the naval code of conduct. It is thus requested of you that you act as you would in any Viserjantan city. If myself, or any of my officers find out that you’ve been misbehaving, we will not hesitate to take all necessary actions to enforce discipline.”

The implication in his words were clear, but looking at the crew, he may as well have been giving them an update about the weather. Sjan-dehk didn’t blame them; this was a spiel – albeit with some adjustments here and there to fit their current situation – he had to go through every time they pulled into harbour. He didn’t doubt that the older members of his crew could likely recite everything by heart. Still, Sjan-dehk was bound by duty to give them timely reminders.

“Start no conflicts. Be honest in trade. Return what is borrowed. Compensate what you damage. Touch neither thread nor grain. So long as you abide by these five points of attention, all will be in harmony and all will be well.” It was a very brief summary of the code of conduct – one not endorsed by the navy – but it served Sjan-dehk’s purpose well enough. Much as Sjan-dehk wanted to, he couldn’t take the credit for it; his old captain had been the one who first used it, according to naval rumours.

Now, he could move on to what he really wanted to say. “I don’t think I’m lying when I say that I doubt most of us can speak a damn in the local tongue.” He deliberately paused, as if waiting for someone to prove him wrong. Nobody did. “It’s also too late for me to order you all to start learning, so this is how things are going to work. I’ll leave how you want to talk to the locals up to you. You want to use gestures, draw them a picture, or even a whole damn smoke signal, I don’t care.”

That got a few more chuckles from the crew, but they quickly silenced themselves when Sjan-dehk gazed at them with a steely glare. “But if you get into trouble with the law, I expect all of you to cooperate. Even if they insist that you must sit behind bars. I want no trouble while we’re here. Moreso if their laws and their courts get involved. For my part, I will do my best to come quickly to get you out. Of course, if you really did break a law, then there’s not much I can do, so use your reason and think before you act.”

Sjan-dehk thought back to the king. It was often said that the ruler of a land was a reflection of the values held dear by the people. He had found it to be true more often than not, but he hoped that Sorian would be an exception. Then again, the one person who seemed genuinely pleasant had been Saiya, and she could hardly be called a local of these lands. The women who harassed her, however…

He shook his head slightly. It was unbecoming of him to judge an entire people based on just one brief interaction. “These people have ways different to ours,” he said simply. Then, he turned around. Most of his senior crew were standing behind him, with the exception of Hai-shuun. The carpenter had insisted on staying aboard the Celestine for a little while longer with a handful of his men to ensure that every tool and material they had brought with them was accounted for and properly returned. “Any of you have anything to tell the men?”

“No, captain,” Azwan replied on behalf of the others.

Sjan-dehk nodded and turned back to the crew. “Alright, I suppose we’re done here. Just one more thing before you all leave. We’ll be going on a fishing trip tomorrow morning. I expect us to leave before sunrise, so make sure you’re back aboard before then. Make sure you get enough sleep, too. I don’t want to see anyone sleeping tomorrow morning.” He stood back and grinned. “I catch anyone napping while we’re out, I’m making you bait.”

He turned around to the sound of his men’s laughter. “Azwan,” he called out. The first officer replied with a crisp and smart salute. “You may dismiss the crew, then you may dismiss yourself.” Sjan-dehk chewed on his lip for a moment as he considered his next words. Or more accurately, as he worked himself up to say them. “I’m going to take a look around the city. Sada Kurau is…Yours.” He nodded to each of his senior officers, even to the diminutive Sohn-dahn. “I will let you all settle the rostering out yourselves, but I want at least one of you to be on board and in charge at any given time.”

“Understood, captain,” Azwan replied. “First watch will be mine. I understand the rest have duties that will take them ashore.”

Dai-sehk pushed his glasses further up his nose. Dressed in an immaculate blue coat over white clothes, he looked as if he was trying to match the clear skies overhead. “I need to move some of the wounded to somewhere suitable ashore. That may take me all day if my fates do not align.”

“Do they ever, master Dai-sehk?” came Sahm-tehn’s dry response. That earned him a mischievous smirk from Avek, and even a sliver of a smile from Mursi. “Fortune, as I recall from your own words, takes joy in pissing on you.”

Sjan-dehk quickly interjected. “Like I said, how you want to split watch duties amongst yourselves is up to you. As long as I have a Sada Kurau to come back to and nothing bad happens to her while I’m away, I’ll be more than satisfied.” He paused and regarded each man – and boy – with a stern look. “Please, don’t disappoint me.” Though he intended to sound serious, it didn’t escape him that his words may have came out sounding a lot more pleading than he would have liked.

Azwan offered him a smile. Likely, he meant it to be reassuring, but Sjan-dehk didn’t feel it. “We won’t let you down, captain. Sada Kurau is home to us as well. We’ll be sure to keep her safe.”

“I’ll take your word for it, first officer.” Sjan-dehk saluted his men, and they replied in kind. As per tradition, he then turned and quickly jogged down the steps onto the main deck. Only when both his feet were upon the wooden planks of the dock did he hear Azwan loudly dismiss the crew. Normally, Sjan-dehk would’ve been the one to give the order. And normally, Sjan-dehk would’ve been amongst the buzz of activity that now wafted from the deck, wandering across and between decks to supervise work. That, or spend time planning their next course of action.

Sjan-dehk let out a long sigh as he walked towards the city. Though not as well-armed as before, he still had his two swords and a pair of pistols at his hip. It was enough to attract some curious and concerned stares, but he paid them no heed. He barely noticed them. Part of his mind was still ruminating on what he would be doing now were he aboard his Sada Kurau. The rest of it was trying to think of something useful he could do whilst ashore. Exploring aimlessly wasn’t going to do him – or anyone – any favours.

He looked up at the castle in the distance, peeking over tiled roofs. Well, he was here now. On land, in a strange city, and every step bringing him further away from the familiarity of his ship without even the hint of a plan. Sjan-dehk picked a direction, and started walking. With luck, he would find something that would keep his ship and crew occupied over the coming days. If not, then he just hoped he would find something interesting.

[Ojo chan 42]

Yosri Dali Kadir

Time:13:00
Location: :Bazaar
mentions: @Lava Alckon

---

Farim stood in the park, watching his dear friend run off in a moment of excitement, shock, and bewilderment. Most of the crowd had wondered what just happened, and Farim felt a slight concern creep in the back of his mind. Perhaps I went too far. It was the proper way to end the dance, but I forget I am not home amongst my people. He couldn’t help but feel a little embarrassed, but he quickly shrugged it off and walked over to his brother. He made sure to grab his saber from the ground where it had been stuck earlier and inspected its blade. A quick wipe along its edge had removed any dirt or debris, followed by a flick of his wrist to sheath the blade.

”My brother, that was a lovely tune you just played. I hope that Saiya’s rapid departure does not discourage you. I think I may have…. ‘given her the willies’ as they may say here.” He paused for a moment before seeing an armor-clad woman rapidly approach him. He prepared himself for the worst but the woman stopped just a foot short of Farim as he turned to face her. The woman gave a quick bow before speaking abruptly. “Pardon me, Shehzadi, I mean you no harm or offense. I wish to relay a message from Her Highness Princess Anastasia!” A brief pause would follow as Farim gently nodded towards the woman. “She simply wishes to inform you that she is going to be attending to an important matter and wishes to ‘hang out with you and your family later’!” The woman gave a strong salute before running off in the direction she came from.

Farim turned towards his brother with a coy smile. “So…looks like I have a date for the family dinner tonight! What have you been up to brother?”

Dali still gazed at the direction Saiye had just disappeared into. He had not the slightest of clues what had gone wrong for her to be running as quick as she had. The music had taken him into his own headspace. One where no one and nothing could pull him out of, once he got the vibe in his soul.

He turned to his brother, who received an invitation of some sort from the princess. Dali could not help but grin' that grin' at his brother. You know the one, when a brother has a teasing thought about the other, and their gazes are enough to convey the words, without speaking. His brother worked fast as always.
"Inshallahs, brother. A princess of the green shores. She must be a great beauty to have caught your eye" Dali said as the messenger was far out of sight.
" I have been up to my usual Shtick my brother. The wind blew me there and here, seeking those who need my help without knowing it. Life has been blessed my brother, Inshallahs, Inshallahs. The gods are good" Dali clapped his hands together before touching the center of his head in quick prayer.
" and now I am here. Maybe I am here to seek out new lands and learn more about the world. Or maybe I am here to flee from fathers sight. Either way, both reasons are good reasons to sail half a world away" Dali spoke and patted his brother on the back.
"and perhaps on my travels, the gods will reveal the other half of me they created. I am searching for that person still. And I trust the gods will guide me to them. So if you know of any one suitable, that can handle the way I am, do let me know" Dali said with a wink. He twirled his flute in his hands for a bit, before putting it away
"Inshallahs, brother, can you show me around? This place is as strange a place as it can get"

Farim took a few moments to think about the few faces he had seen. He compared that with what he remembered of his brother and had little luck finding someone immediately that came to mind. But he kept that same smile as he addressed Dali. “Brother, as for want of women, you will find plenty here who may pique your interest. Though if you are looking to avoid father’s gaze well….keep walking because that man is very much up everyone’s ass at the moment.” He stifled a chuckle before bringing an arm over Dali’s shoulder and walking off with him in tow.

Farim took the time to show his brother around the park, stopping at various stalls to see if his interest would rise to the various games and food displayed. “Good to know you are well. Right now the festival here in the park seems to be closing up, lots of food and stalls to visit really quick if you would like. I personally was looking to run by the bazaar over to the south to find a pretty piece of jewelry for that same friend of mine you just heard me talk about. Maybe the gods will bring someone close to you and grant you this chance to find your other half!” He optimistically spoke as they began to make their way towards the bazaar.

"At least father is not breathing in my neck to behave myself. His idea how a spiritual man should live, is so very different from my free spirited one" Dali joked with much delight. It always felt so good to poke his father behind his back. It was a sin, yes. But he was human, and no one was fully without sin.

"Inshallas brother. If my other half is here, I will find them for sure." Dali did not specify on gender here. For all it was worth, he did keep it on a low profile he did not care whom he met. Male or female. Perhaps Farim knew, perhaps not. But Dali rather not stir the sand dunes without a good reason to do so.

"Dear friend" Dali raised an eyebrow and grinned at his brother. " I never knew you to be one to spend money on frivolous gifts for lady friends " Dali hummed and tilted his head to the side. Now he had gotten really curious about this princess. "Let us head to the bazaar then. Perhaps the wind will guide me towards a neat trinket or two."

Farim couldn’t help but become slightly bashful at Dali’s remark. He was being rather forward with someone he had just met. Maybe it was something in the air, or perhaps Farim was looking for some adventure. He could hardly say at the moment, but for now he did what he wanted…which was to find some fine jewelry for his new friend. As they approached the bazaar, there was plenty of noise and hustle amidst the ever-shifting crowd of merchants, peddlers, con artists, and bystanders. He took a moment to size up the folks, the stalls, their wares, and quickly let a grin creep along his cheeks.

“Come brother, let us find a few baubles, trinkets, and whatever else these folks may try to swindle us with. I trust you will find something for your…partner.” He spoke with a slight inflection at the end, knowing full well the meaning behind it. His brother wasn’t exactly open about his affairs but Farim could tell when someone was “shopping in multiple booths” as he would put it. Not that he minded. Quite the opposite, he had all the care in the world for his brother so he opted to keep it to himself aside from the rare tease here and there.

Farim and Dali walked together from shop to shop, stopping at a few places, and letting Dali pick out whatever he may desire for himself or for another. It wasn’t until their third stall that he saw many interesting items for sale. This particular shopkeep seemed to have an air of honesty to her, and she watched with interest as each person came to her with questions about her wares. Farim took the time to look over the various items she had, nothing really catching his eye immediately. Then he spotted an enchanting necklace in the shape of a crescent moon with a bright aquamarine inspired gem resembling a full moon nested against it. He let loose a slowly building whistle before beckoning his brother over.

“What do you think of this, eh? Pretty good for some random shop in the middle of Caessonia!” He carefully lifted the necklace from its resting spot to show it off to Dali.

"It shimmers like the moon itself. Its craftsmanship is obvious to even my untrained eye." Dali complimented the price of jewelry. He had no real need for more precious jewelry. His golden headband with a fluorite droplet was all he needed. That one was special to him. A gift from his teacher.

"Will this be your gift to your new dear friend, my brother?" he asked as he pulled his bag back up his shoulder. The only thing he had bought here had been spices and dried foods. He was curious to try them out. And lowkey, he was looking out for any ' nose spices' and tobacco. Just to pass the time.

He was not too sure how many people would be blown upon his path these coming days. But he wanted to be able to get as high as a kite if no one here wished to hang out with him. Seeing the gods and their many colors was one way to pass the time pleasantly.

"Inshallas brother. If this is for your dear friend, her beauty must be unmatched." Dali teased his brother again. It had been too long since they were able to playfully jab at one another like this. To tease one another when a pretty girl waved at them, back when they were young. How flustered they would get before one of them eventually teased the other for staring too long.

Farim could feel a slight warmth in his face as his brother teased him. The one person who he would act so sheepish around would be Dali, as he batted his hand and laughed. “Brother, you flatter me! She is a princess mind you! I doubt she will find that much fancy in a trader like myself…” He would trail off and motion towards the woman who owned the small tent they were in. He gave the woman the price upfront, no questions asked, and even threw in a few extra pieces of gold for good measure. He watched Dali do the same with a few ingredients and “special” spices of his, smirking as they exited the tent.

“Dali, it was wonderful seeing you and getting a few moments together. I truly have missed you. Sadly, I must run off for now, as I have quite a few small things to take care of before dinner tonight. And of course, I hope to see you there! I hear they invited some lovely woman who will likely be preyed on by our sisters and get this…a man who made our father look like a fool in front of the entire royal court! Oh what I would pay to see that man fall from his little throne of his.” Farim couldn’t help but smile at the image now in his mind.

However he did have a few things to see. He had heard of a “Lover’s Lake” that sounds like the perfect solitary spot to have some peace and quiet, as well as a swordplay competition should he feel the need to watch some captivating performances. He thought for a moment, looked to Dali, and extended a hug before speaking into his ear. “Inshallah, my brother. I have some….new imports from the West. I will set up my hookah one of these days and perhaps we can really catch up on our adventures. But for now, may the winds guide you.” Farim chuckled and with a final wave began walking off towards the arena, where in that split second he figured he could watch some fun swordplay.

[princess]

Charlotte & Delilah

Location: Vikena Household
Time:2pm!

Mentions: @Silverpaw Wulfric

---

”Lottie.”

Charlotte paused at the knob of her door, her hand hovering uncertainly. She had been about to retire with her books for a moment of solitude when the voice of her devoted maid, Delilah, called out to her. There was concern etched on the maid’s face that made Charlotte straighten her posture.

Delilah came closer, her gaze searching, assessing. Her eyes narrowed ever so slightly as she took in Charlotte's countenance, her hand reaching out to gently touch her cheek.
” What’s going on?”

Charlotte placed her hand on top of Delilah's, grateful for the comforting touch. With a sad smile, she answered wearily, "I don't know where to begin to answer that."

"You're worrying me, Lottie," she said, her voice soft but firm. "Though I had hoped for you to make friends and find a stunning hunk to share our company, I fear…This situation may be beyond such trifles."

Charlotte’s brows lifted in surprise. She had never characterized Delilah as much of a worrywart; that had usually been Charlotte herself in most cases.

"This man is speaking of witchcraft," Delilah continued, her voice now tinged with concern. "I even overheard him discussing it with the doctor. Please, my dear, do not involve yourself with such foolishness."

Charlotte closed her eyes briefly, attempting to assimilate Delilah's words. The weight of her concern pressed down on her, causing her discomfort.

"I... There's no need to worry, Delilah. What precisely did the doctor say?"

Delilah's expression grew grave as she responded, "He inquired if there was a way to detect if someone had been under the influence of magic. He believes that is why no one can recollect the events of last night, as you had discussed with him earlier. But, Charlotte, I implore you to heed my words."

She grasped Charlotte's hands, her tone urgent as she continued, "Magic is real, and it is dangerous. You must steer clear of it, Charlotte. Avoid anyone who speaks of it and even the mere notion of it."

Charlotte creased her forehead, taken aback by Delilah's sudden seriousness. The maid had always been upbeat and bubbly. This behavior was entirely out of character.

As Charlotte considered Delilah's warning, she felt a sense of unease settle in her chest. She had been playing with the idea of magic earlier that day, but she hadn't had time to fully process everything that had been happening.

Lady Violet Damien could be dead, and Calbert Damien could be involved in her mother's death. Then there were two fugitives she was harboring in her basement… And what about Lorenzo? Was he hiding something from her? Even if the curiosity and intrigue towards the idea of magic did remain under all that, she knew she had enough problems to deal with already without adding magic to the mix.

With a reassuring smile, she replied, "I understand Delilah. I'll do my best to avoid anything connected to magic… Please don't concern yourself with me."

Delilah nodded, but Charlotte detected the worry in her eyes. “... Is anything else going on that you want to talk about?”

“....Delilah, perhaps later we can talk more. I need a moment to rest. I’m sorry…”

"No need to apologize, but before I forget, a letter came in for you." Delilah handed her a sealed envelope.

Charlotte accepted it then tore open the envelope and pulled out the folded piece of paper inside. Holding it in her hands, she began to read the words written on it, her eyes scanning the page quickly. Delilah scooted behind her to read over her shoulder, as she often did

Wulfric's Letter

---

The First Prince to the Lady Vikena
Sorian, Sola 21.^st 1739

---

Madam,

as I was enjoying a very early afternoon cup of excellently prepared tea, I happened to recall our conversation at the ball. Last night, I issued your Ladyship an invitation to tea, which to my delight, you accepted. We did not yet discuss the details for a potential meeting, which I wish to rectify. If you have no other obligations, and so desire, you may find me at The Oasis Tea Cafe, Today, at 4 pm. I realize I am notifying you of this on discourteously short notice, so I will understand if you are unable to send a return letter, or if you cannot join me. In the latter case, I am confident we will be able to arrange another, better time to meet.

If we do not see each other for the rest of today by happenstance or otherwise: I wish you a good day. My blessings, too, for the challenging evening I expect you may have. Do recall, you can rely on Auguste. Nor should you forget your own valour; you have shown it in an exceedingly difficult situation. Believe that you will be able to face future demands, whether today or any other day – I do – and hold yourself with confidence.

Respectfully,

Prince Wulfric A. Danrose

Delilah's demeanor changed and she let out a squeal. "Lottie! The crown prince? Wow . Can you imagine it now?" She poked Charlotte arm repeatedly,"Can you imagine it? Queen Charlotte! I can!"

Charlotte did smile, comforted to see Delilah back to her usual self. "It's not like that, Delilah."

"Oh come now. Of course, it is! It's barely been a day since the ball and he's already inviting you. He's smitten!"

On the contrary, Charlotte felt quite certain that wasn't the case, especially considering past interactions with Wulfric. Nonetheless, she'd let Delilah enjoy the fantasy. " I suppose we'll just have to see then, won't we?" She gave the maid a smile and nod. Then without further adieu, Charlotte retreated into her bedroom.

She stared at the door after the young woman before her gaze wandered over to a nearby portrait on the wall. Delilah stepped over to the painting of Duke Walter Vikena and gently ran her fingers near it, just barely touching it. Her eyes seemed to meet that of the late Duke. ” …It won’t be in vain, Walter.”

[princess]

Time: 2:30pm
Location: On Alibeth Ave
Attire:Dress
Interaction:@Rodiak Zarai @mantou Wystan

---

Anastasia, Zarai, Wystan, and Ser Barrios had enjoyed some afternoon brunch of eggs and baked goods after their conversation with Wulfric had finished. It was coming on 2:30pm when Anastasia suddenly paused in her tracks as they had left the restaurant. Through the crowd was the unmistakable form of Darryn as he stood off to the side in the grass, meeting her eyes with unnerving intensity, his messy brown hair just barely clouding them.

She needed to talk to him, but she felt awful ditching her friends especially since Zarai had gone through all the effort to spend time with her today, even coming back from the castle. “I’ll… You know. I’ve absolutely loved hanging out with you guys.” Anastasia turned to her friends, holding Zarai's hand and looking into her eyes with earnest determination, “ Zarai, you’re beautiful and so sweet and I promise I am going to find whoever hurt you and I am going to kick them really, really hard. I love every minute I spend with you…Ser Barrios, your cool factor is unmatched and you’re high on my list for protecting Zarai all the time.”

She then turned to Wystan, “And Wystan… I remember you said that my safety mattered to you last night, as more than a job thing, and I want you to know it’s the same for me. I don’t view you as some bodyguard doing your duty.” Anastasia smiled at him and touched his arm gently, “You’re one of my best friends. I cherish my time with you as well…. But… I know my brothers are going to be in that sword competition. They’re gonna need you right now and I have a mess I have to clean up. It’s something I need to do on my own. ” Her eyes moved to Zarai and Ser Barrios, hoping they’d understand as well. “I will let the guards Wulfric bestowed me continue to tail me so I promise I’ll stay safe and I really want to see you all later and spend more time. Please don’t be mad- Okay, sorry, bye!”

The princess had gathered the skirt of her dress and then ran off before they could object, disappearing into the crowd.

She came to a staggering halt before Darryn, who was standing under a tree. "Darryn!" She leaned on her knees and panted. Anastasia didn't even have a chance to look up and meet his eyes as the words tumbled out. "I was afraid you'd run away! I'm so sorry. I didn't know you'd get in trouble and it would all happen that way. I really didn't think ahead on that one. I was going to crawl out my window to come free you, but then Callum told me you were safe and-"

"Stop," he interrupted.

Anastasia felt her throat close up. She picked up her head to meet a gaze brimming with tears and anger. “Everyone else might fall for your act… Even I did so…” His gaze averted as his last words fell into a murmur. “ But…” His brown eyes met hers once again. ” Not anymore.”

“I’m-... I’m not acting! I really am sorry. I never meant for you to get hurt.”

Darryn nodded slowly and thoughtfully, his expression still heavy with anger and mistrust. “I believe that part…” His gaze flickered to where Zarai and Wystan had been standing before they left. Anastasia followed his gaze, feeling a pang of guilt in her chest.
”...Do they know the real Princess Anastasia? Do you…?”

“....What do you mean?”

He let out a frustrated sigh. ” You put on this fake persona, this ditzy and happy act. All you care about is how people perceive you and what you’re going through. You didn't even consider how your actions would affect me. You're still only thinking about yourself, even now.” His brows furrowed in anger. “Do you think they'll still like you once they realize how fake you are?”

“I mean every word I say!” Anastasia cried defensively. She gestured towards where Zarai and Wystan had been standing. “Especially to them! And to you!” She gestured at Darryn next, but his expression remained cold.

Taking a deep breath, Anastasia tried to control her emotions and speak more clearly. ” Darryn, you don't sound like yourself at all. I know you've been through a lot, but I put myself on the line for you this morning. I messed up, but I'm trying to fix it and apologize to you. I'm willing to do whatever it takes to make things right… I care about you.”

Darryn's expression softened slightly, but he still looked skeptical.

“...Tell me you love me then.”

The words came out through gritted teeth. He watched the color drain from her skin.

“Tell me that every time you flirted with me, you kissed me… That you asked for my help taking you and Callum everywhere… That this is all because you felt something for me.” he demanded, his piercing gaze locked onto hers. But still, Anastasia remained silent. He knew there was some blame he could not entirely leave on her. After all, he had been taking them to the party on someone else’s orders rather than to appease her. In his anger, he did not find that to be worth mentioning.
“Tell me that Riona is wrong and that you’re not like your father…” His voice grew more brutal, each word feeling like a sharp knife stabbing into her heart. “A selfish, terrible person who uses people like tools.”

Anastasia was stunned. Had Darryn really fallen in love with her? She had never considered that possibility before. To her, flirting was just a bit of harmless fun. She enjoyed the momentary affection and attention she could receive from it. It had never dawned on her that someone could actually…

Did you think I really loved you? Do you really think anyone would? That anyone would want you for anything other than to take you to bed?

The words echoed again in her head, just as they had the night prior.

Right now, she wanted to defend herself. Anastasia wanted to yell and scream and tell him how she’d never use anybody like that.

But then there was the urge to defend her father under all that. That was the very thought that made her realize he was right.

“You’ll never be really loved, Anastasia.” Darryn's words were cold and cutting, and his eyes bore into her, searching for a reaction. “Maybe you've been surrounded by people who only value you for your looks, and that's made you believe that's all you're worth…Maybe that’s why you've been living your life like a whore instead of a princess… But the truth is, Annie, the reason you'll never be loved is that you're ugly on the inside.” His eyes glinted with a cruel satisfaction as Anastasia's eyes filled with tears. His eyes glowed red for that moment, his face inches from hers. In fear, she had stumbled back a step.

” Oh, poor princess,” he mocked, his voice dripping with disdain. He pulled out a few small colored pellets from his pocket and held them out to her.

“Remember these? Consider them a parting gift.” He placed the pellets in her palm and let go of her wrist. “We're done here,” he said before turning on his heel and walking away.

Anastasia remained rooted to her spot, her eyes bearing an emptiness unusual for her. After some time, she raised her palm to her lips and threw her head back.

[Mole]

^{O U T F I T}

_{^{L O C A T I O N : Library
I N T E R A C T I O N S : N/A
M E N T I O N S : Lady Thea Smithwood @Tae}}

Sometime during the Archery completion, Prince Felix had taken his leave for the library. It was sometime right after Lady Thea made her dreadful appearance. As much as he felt a dread when he thought of her, he did care about her. It was a troubling feeling, but it existed inside himself nonetheless.

The time was now already three in the afternoon, and the Prince felt as if he had uncovered nothing. The sword competition was about to start, and it appeared that he would be missing it.

He wanted to research all possible scenarios that could have lead to what Lady Thea had mentioned. Obviously, it meant spending time away from the festivities. It was no matter in the long run but a simple show of vanity.

His dinner with the Lady would be in several hours, and he was trapped inside some sort of rabbit hole of information. It was frustrating and confusing, more so than the Lady herself. He had to begin wrapping things up shortly or he would be here all night. Standing Lady Thea up would be completely careless, and he for some reason felt an embarrassing eagerness to give the present to her.

Prince Felix closed the book on the Varian Kingdom. He looked at the papers that were scattered about the wood table. It was a mess. He was normally much tidier, but his chase into the situation left him seeming reckless (much like Lady Thea), but there was little he could do to stop himself.

Whether that was a good or bad thing, he still had yet to decide.

[Conscripts]

---

[+]

"John? John."

The doctor's attention snapped to the noice all of a sudden. Before him was his desk office in the Institute main headquarter. The oak wooden desk, a small lamp, several ornaments and a ton of paperwork. Yes, he was back in Varian.

And in front of him once again was his favorite mentor, Dr. Hunter.

"Yes?" John replied, clearing his throats.

"You alright?" Hunter asked followed by John's nod. "There's a commission formed right now in Alestal village, and they need an Institute representative. The council was wondering if you want to take over that? For some field experience?"

"What's it about?"

"There's apparently an outbreak of some sort there. We don't know what it is yet, but from what the lords there said, they seem to already have it under control."

"Already? Wow." John listened with a little tint of curiosity and apathy. "Where even is Alestal village?"

"It's up north in Krasivana, but it's in the other end." Meaning north west of Varian. It's probably the most isolated place in the entire kingdom. At least Kolonivka had the shared border area with Caesonia, and thus people tended to go over there from time to time, most often not in a good way.

Hunter handed the report over to John, crossing his arms afterwards as his mentee was taking a look over. "I wouldn't take this report at face value though. It has been rather slow and has quite a sloppy presentation."

"I'd imagine that's how it should be..." John's words trailed off as he was distracted by the report. Indeed, it was quite tardy. Multiple clerical errors, vague and unhelpful description. What he could cobble up from the mess was that this was some sort of respiratory disease, but with black dots on people and weird moodswing? Needless to say, discrepancies were definitely there.

"Sure, I'll take a look." John closed the report.

"It's probably nothing serious, but I'd advise caution regardless." Hunter said. "The train departs the day after tomorrow."

It's probably nothing serious. He, at the time, thought that as well.

A cold breeze blew across his face...

"John."

He heard someone calling out for his name. The next thing he knew, he was slumped against his arm. His eyes opened to the concerned look of Alina.

"You fell asleep again?" She asked. "Did you take your medication?"

About that medication. John scratched the back of his head, wondering what to say. After a bit, he decided to whisper it to her.

"Oh alright. Well, I will get you a refill then. Next time don't do that out of nowhere, ok?" She said, as John stood up from his chair. "Are you finished? Feel free to go back to your quarter for some rest."

John rubbed his eyes and temple a bit. "I'm fine Alina." He said. "I'll go take a walk. You can leave the meds in my room."

He didn't want to screw up his sleep schedule by trying to nap further and not being able to sleep later. He'd have to take it through the day. Wandering around the streets of Sorian, he hoped to find something or someone interesting enough to keep him company for a bit.

[ReusableSword]

Time: 1500hrs
Location: blacksmith To the warehouse then towards the arena
Interactions: Wasun Sjan-dehk @Apex Sunburn
Mentions in order:Princess Sadie @Potter

Time: 1300hrs

---

---

Sounds from the blacksmith were more prevalent than usual, the swinging of more than a few hammers against metal filled the air. Not as many as he thought joined up for the free lessons, a few locals he met in passing on the streets, the two young lads that were tasked with taking care of his things during his stay were there as he did ask them to, and a few odd servants from some of the other nobility were there as well. He was certain they were told to come to this to try and gleam some secrets from his forging techniques for their house as most were a little apprehensive to try in the beginning. Even the two boys were a little unsure when they first arrived, by the way they talked to him or interacted with him Roman could only assume they were abused in some way in their past for getting something wrong.

Roman just offered an encouraging hand, explaining every swing in detail, every color, every spark, every common injury, and even the right heat to keep the forge. It took him the better part of half an hour before they really started to put some effort into their work, correcting where needed but in a way where they would find the correct path on their own. This was the way he was taught, how his elders lead him through the process of working with your hands and figuring out the problem on your own with limited guidance. Even while forging in his leather apron with sweat dripping down him he did not forget about his friend.

Hoping that Sadie didn’t get caught up with something and would make her very original energetic entrance into the shop. That thought made him think back to a past memory one of sadness and anger. A night he remembered one of the few times he almost decided to toss his title and position aside, the night that he was informed of Sadie’s ‘husband’ and what he did. Erik had to physically stop him from disappearing into the night knowing all too well that the lord only had slaughter on his mind. That man was lucky that Erik knows when and when not to listen to his orders, in fact it’s likely the only reason that man was still alive.

Roman grew up learning everything about the royal family as was part of his training, Sadie was and has always been his favorite out of the three royal children. At times seeing her as a younger sister helping guide her and her invention ideas carefully. Pulling himself from those memories as the end of the first lesson drew to an end.

“Thank you everyone for coming, you all did an amazing job for your first day.” Pausing and bringing his hands together with a smile. “Now I will be doing these classes here for the duration of my stay and I’ll keep a schedule posted out front on class times and dates. If you all preserver and complete these lessons you should have enough skill to start your own career here as an apprentice or even set up your own shop.” Pulling off his apron and folding it to set it down next to him. “for those of you who show the best work and put in all your effort to learn and work will be invited to come back to Emberstone with me to train with the other masters, you will be paid during your stay and can bring along your family as well. The only stipulation is that everyone works.” Finishing with a nod to everyone and letting the forge start to cool, “I will see you all here tomorrow, enjoy your day.”

---

Time: 1445 Hrs.

With that the class was over and they began to walk out, some with small injuries, others a bit sore, and all of them leaving with a much better idea and respect for the trade. Most had finished a rough outline of their blade, it will be honed further, tempered, sharpened, than given a handle and a pouch for it. Effectively teaching them a little bit of leather working and wood working in the process. Roman on the other hand needed to clean himself and get ready for the swordsmanship competition. Deciding to cool off on the way to his storage, Roman walked back to the warehouse shirtless and a bit dirty gathering some interesting looks from the people enjoying their day.

It didn’t take to long for the giant to wash up and apply some perfume smelling of flowers, it was enough to hold him over for the rest of the day. He had already sent a missive ahead of schedule to the organizers of the dueling competition. This time he decided to change it up a little from the archery contest as that one was more of a random act. No this time he grabbed a claymore and a domed round shield with a bronze covering and wood reinforcement. Both were crafted with care for combat efficiency and to look good as well, both were sturdy, well balanced, and resilient for their given purpose. But these two were for second and third place, this time first place would get a free commission from him for one weapon or shield.

He honestly preferred the flat round shields most used by his people but this one was not bad either, again both items were commissioned for other people who could not pay the bill for them. With the shield on his arm and the sword strapped to his shoulder Roman set out once again towards the sword competition.

It was hard not to miss the athletic arena, once you cleared the corner of the caste walls it was easy to see. What wasn’t easy for him to see either blocked by the shield or he just got lost in thought was the man dressed in blue that he had to sidestep to miss running into almost tripping himself while doing so.

“My apologies friend I didn’t see you there.” Roman stopped and took a better look at the person before him. They looked and wore things that was refreshing to see in the sea of people who at times almost looked the same. This one seemed average in height and build but his clothes and look were foreign to the giant. Yet it was familiar, from the look of the man to how he was dressed and his weapons he was sure he heard stories of some far off land with strange speaking people.

He took another moment to look over the man, “those are some beautiful weapons you have there, where are you from?” Roman already knew he was running a bit late but figured he could stop to talk for a moment to this interesting individual.

[Apex Sunburn]

Interactions: Roman @ReusableSword
Time: Around 3 pm

Had the man not spoken, Sjan-dehk would’ve likely never noticed him. So dense was the shuffling crowd and so distracted was his mind that the near-collision had gone utterly unnoticed. Even the man’s offered apology almost went unanswered had Sjan-dehk not picked it out – and only just – amongst the thrum of a myriad of simultaneous conversations. He turned, ready and with the intention to politely dismiss what was really a non-issue.

The first thought that crossed Sjan-dehk’s mind upon laying eyes on the man was that this was a person ill-suited for life aboard a ship. His considerable height and build would’ve likely made navigating the short and cramped lower decks torturous. That said nothing of the space he’d need for his berth, or the troubles he would have with low-hanging tackles that would surely come loose during rough winds.

The second thought through Sjan-dehk’s mind was directed more towards himself. Just how could he not notice such a man? He towered above the milling crowd, with few standing up to his shoulders. Sjan-dehk berated himself mentally. To allow his mind to wander off so simply because he was away from his ship was unbecoming of a Viserjantan sailor, let alone a captain. An unfocused mind, after all, was of little use to anyone, least of all himself.

Granted, it didn’t help that he didn’t have anything upon which to focus his mind, but that sounded like an excuse concocted by his mind for himself. It probably was.

He was just about to tell the man that he really didn’t need to apologise – they hadn’t even bumped into each other, after all – when his weapons and his origin were brought up. Sjan-dehk couldn’t help the little grin that crept onto his face. If there was one thing he took particular pride in, it was keeping his arms properly maintained and always ready to impress. Functionally and materially speaking, they were nothing special. No prestigious smith or carpenters had worked on them. No rare metals or woods were used in their construction. They were simply very well cared for. Sjan-dehk had always believed that that would be reflected in their appearance, and this man’s brief comment felt like vindication.

With a quick flick of a thumb, he pushed one sword out of its sheath just enough to show a gleaming sliver of its blade. Single-edged and backed by a heavy and solid spine, the straight sabre was a weapon built to cleave and slash. In Sjan-dehk’s hands, it performed both with magnificent viciousness, much to the woe of his enemies. “Yes, beautiful,” he agreed, voice carrying with the sort of proudness of a parent boasting about their child. “Used them a lot. Many battles They ah…have been on me? With me for very long time.”

The man’s own weapons didn’t escape Sjan-dehk’s notice. A person’s choice of arms often reflected their nature, and Sjan-dehk could see that adage in action with this man. There was little doubt in his mind that the sword the man carried would be a heavy, two-handed weapon in the hands of anyone else. Even the shield he carried looked like it could be a small roof. That he could carry both as if they were just regular arms was impressive. Very much so.

Sjan-dehk pressed a hand to his chest and dipped his head in a shallow bow. “Wasun Sjan-dehk. Fourth Lesser Marquis of Jafi, of the Viserjantan Commonwealth.” He introduced himself. How many times had he repeated those very words today? He’d lost count. He nodded towards the man’s arms. “You? You are going to ah…A fight? Think you would win.”

[Potter]

The One Where a Foreign Noble and & a Retired General Have a Homoerotic Sword Fight

Attire: Layla’s Outfit & Hair
Weapons: Layla's Swords

---

After wowing a crowd with her fancy hat, the General made her way to the nearby stadium where a duel was to take place. She was a part of such a duel, and her presence was expected. She walked in through the gates, down to the front desk and gave the receptionist her name. She was then led to the official arena where she would face her opponent.

Eyeing the red line and the small crowd beginning to form, Lyra wondered who her opponent might be. In all honesty, she didn’t care about putting in any substantial effort. This duel was a matter of sport, not life or death. If she wanted to kill someone then they would be dead before they could draw their weapon. She could stand to be bested in a sporty duel such as this.

After resting from seeing her sister, Layla examined the newspaper. There had been a clip about a sword competition. A smirk crossed her face. At least this country had something decent worth doing. She wondered if they used fake swords and cried if they were struck. This would be too entertaining to miss. She quickly fixed up and pulled her hair into a bun with a few strands framing her face. Layla grinned and snatched up a box from under her bed and quickly left the bedroom. With haste, she summoned her servants and was hastened into her palanquin. Shortly after, she was brought to the competition and registered. Her swords were sheathed on her back and waiting to be used.

While Layla waited, she gazed around and examined the participants. There were some people she didn’t recognize and made a mental note to examine them further. She waited with her arms crossed and a scowl on her face which thankfully, caused her to be left alone. While she watched people moving in the stands like ants, she wondered if these people were going to die of a heat stroke because they were dressed so stuffy. She only hoped they stayed away from her as far as possible.

Finally, these dimwitted creatures began the event. The name “Lyra” was called and she looked over with curiosity at who it may have been. She tilted her head to one side with interest and a smirk graced her lips. Then, her name was called, and it was announced that this “Lyra” and her would be the first to duel. Layla waltzed onto the stage and awaited her competitor.

General Carris climbed to the stage, walking with her head up high and focused solely on… Oh, gods have mercy on her. It seemed her opponent would be an unreasonably beautiful lady this fine day. For a brief second, Lyra fought the urge to smirk. On her hip rested a sheathed sword, but from what was visibly, Layla could easily guess that this was no ordinary woman. The sword’s guard consisted of several roses wrapping around the hilt to form a basket-like shape, tempered in such a way that they appeared red against the argent gray of steel. Perhaps, she thought, that losing wouldn’t be off the table indeed.

The Shehzadi watched Lyra like a hawk, not allowing her gaze to divert for even a second. The woman before her was refined, not like a royal, but regal in other ways. She carried herself proudly, and Layla could surmise this sport was a past time for her. The smirk on her face became a sneer instead, masking her expression. She then eyed the sword on her hip. The intricate design was beautiful enough that Layla didn’t have any snide remark. Allowing her gaze to return to the woman, she unsheathed her swords and grinned.

The General stood still, studying every inch of Layla with her arms folded behind her back.

”You must be Lyra. Pleasure,” Layla teased as she gazed at the woman. ”If I am correct, this is a pastime for you. You must be deft with the sword,” She nodded towards her sword and continued. The haughty smirk returned as usual. ”Shan’t keep these peasants waiting. Would be rude. Don’t you agree?” Her voice was light and teasing, as she ignored the crowd cheering them on to begin.

”Indeed. Though, anything is possible when two masters of the sword meet. Do not count yourself out just yet, my lady.” Lyra retorted, with a similarly teasing voice. She withdrew her blade, and the edge was no less sophisticated than the hilt. It was a straight blade that came to a fine point, almost like a rapier, and bore a nearly mirror-fine polish.

Layla’s smirk turned from haughty to genuine amusement. Nobody in this pitiful country had amused her this much. She unsheathed her swords and grinned. Did this woman think she had counted herself out? What a misguided connotation. Nonetheless, she grinned and retorted, “My lady, I never count myself out.”

”Shall we?”

Then she took a deep breath and moved into an offensive stance. ”We shall,” Layla took a few steps forward, then with lightning speed, spun around her opponent to strike her thigh.

Truly, this woman seemed like a cut above the rest. Dual-wielding swords was unconventional, but could potentially be very deadly when wielded properly. Having spent quite a lot of time in Alidahst before, Lyra saw the strike coming. She thrusted her sword downward towards the point of contact, deflecting the sword sideways. Lyra then used that motion to swipe horizontally at Layla, which left her guard open.

Layla’s smirk formed into a look of glee when the woman deflected her. However, Lyra’s next swipe was far too novice for a woman of her stature. She frowned at the open guard and met Lyra’s gaze. Rage burned in her eyes as she struck her hip. Then, she used her other sword to knock Lyra’s blade out of her hand, which she watched clatter to the ground. In fury, she then swiped Lyra’s feet from out under her and bent down as if it were an accident to pick up Lyra’s blade.

”Can’t face me? I didn’t take you for a coward.” She hissed as she stepped back with a glower that would send shivers down her servant’s spines. ”My high hopes for you have been dashed. But I suppose I should thank you.” She stood up without helping Lyra up and kept an eye on the woman to make sure she didn’t try anything cheap. Her swords were gripped in her hands as she went back to her haughty, now deadly, smirk.

”Are you going to wait all day to announce the winner or get on with it?” Her voice was directed at the speaker as she became impassive, contemplating the woman’s unpredictable move.

Lyra promptly fell backwards. Unsurprisingly so. Rather than spit out a string of expletives in response to Layla’s sudden change in demeanor, Lyra giggled. Her hair was scattered across the ground, and her hairs were over her head in such a dainty way, it was like she was a delicate princess and not a hardened veteran. ”Ah… It seems you’ve bested me, my lady. Clearly, you are the better fighter between us.” There was a look of flighty mirth spread across Lyra’s face. She wouldn’t say it out loud, but it was not a victory for Layla. No, Lyra allowed this to happen. After all, she could never forgive herself for hurting such a pretty face.

Layla sneered at Lyra and turned to face her. The way the woman fell was princess-like, and it only further caused her blood to boil. She scowled at her and shook her head with disgust. ”You belong on the ground to walk amongst the filthy insects that call it home.” She ignored the rest of the woman’s words as the crowd cheered and clapped, despite the confusion.

”You are, truly, the champion. I don’t believe I caught your name?” General Carris said, standing up, brushing her hair clean with a hand and collecting her sword. ”I think I might’ve remembered had I heard the name of such a cunning warrior before.” That smile was still there, only less untamed and more… Subtle.

”Oh shut up.” Layla snapped and strode away from the woman without another glance backwards. Her expression was steel and her gaze could turn one to stone.

Finally, the dimwitted announcer stood up and waved to the crowd. ”Our winner is…. Shehzadi Layla Kadir!” The woman rolled her eyes and took her seat back on the bench. She did not look back at the woman and ignored her completely, and instead turned her attention to the next fight.

Lyra simply smirked as “Layla” left. In her opinion, it was okay for that woman to be angry with such an easy loss. It would’ve been unfair for Lyra to use her full breadth of skills against a Shehzadi- A princess. Surely she had her own skills in her own right, Lyra didn’t doubt that. But a cub doesn’t become a lion without mercy from time to time. Royalty and generals were simply different people.

”She’ll be fine.” Lyra said to herself, out loud, and left the stadium, taking her forfeiture with dignity.

[ReusableSword]

Time: 1505hrs
Location: blacksmith To the warehouse then towards the arena
Interactions: Wasun Sjan-dehk @Apex Sunburn
Mentions in order:

---

---

Roman watched the man grin and almost puff out his chest at the mention of his weapons. Obviously he took great pride in the condition of his weapons and now that he could get a good look at the man before him he looked to him to be the combination of ship captain and trader. The introduction the man gave also concreated Roma’s earlier thought of him being a foreigner. Rare but not unheard of, this was the capitol after all. The name of his country did not ring any bells perhaps he was from the Far East across the sea.

It would seem the man was still getting used to the common dialect but was coping rather well. Roman was well aware of what that felt like, having learned their own language first then the common tongue was difficult to work around at times but now even his accent barley showed. Returning the man’s bow with one of his own, at least he still had manners or at least was familiar with the customs of this land.

“Lord Roman Ravenwood, Heir to the Ravenwood name of the Northern Territories of Varian and Master Smith of all things metal, wooden, leather, and stone.” Straightening with a toothy grin and a welcoming attitude. “I am headed to the dueling competition to deliver these weapons that were made by the Ravenwood master Smiths. I’m actually running a little late but you are welcome to join me as my guest.” He moved his hand to motion towards the athletic arena. “But I would win in the fight, yet I am not here to flaunt my strength just the generosity and craftsmanship of our industry.”

“Come friend” he spoke with a smile continuing on his way to the arena and motioning for the man to join him. “Tell me of your home? I have only heard of the commonwealth in passing stories from our traders, what brings you all the way out here?” Roman had many questions, information was key in figuring out if this man’s or his nation’s intentions were hostile or a possible ally to win over to Varian.

[Apex Sunburn]

Interactions: Roman @ReusableSword
Time: Around 3 pm

By now, Sjan-dehk had grown accustomed to how his conversations in Sorian went. He would manage at least one or two smooth exchanges. Three, if his luck persisted, but eventually his limited command of the local tongue would rear its ugly head and bite hard.

Unresourceful men made poor captains, however, and Sjan-dehk was no poor captain. There was no real need for him to parse every word of every spoken phrase; so long as he could pick out the important parts like a marksman picking off targets, he’d know enough to just get by. It was not a perfect situation by any stretch of the imagination, but it was good enough for now.

With this stranger, Sjan-dehk understood enough to know that the man’s name was Roman, that he was a craftsman of some sort – a trademark of his important-sounding lineage, it seemed – and most noticeably of all to Sjan-dehk, that he wasn’t Caesonian. Or at least, he didn’t sound like one. It was entirely possible that his accent was just one of many that existed within the city, but after – quite literally – running into Alidashti royalty at the castle, Sjan-dehk allowed himself a modicum of hope. Making contact and perhaps even deals with three different lands would surely more than satisfy the trade delegation still aboard the Sudah. It could even mean a quick return to familiar waters and familiar duties for Sjan-dehk.

That thought sat strangely in his head. It should’ve pleased him, and yet it didn’t. Not as much as he had expected, at least.

“Come friend.” Roman beckoned him to follow with both words and gesture. Seeing as he had nowhere to be and no idea where to go, Sjan-dehk saw no reason not to fall in half-a-step behind the giant. “Tell me of your land? I have only heard of the Commonwealth in passing stories from our traders. What brings you all the way out here?”

Sjan-dehk’s brows climbed higher up his forehead. Even in the years leading up to the attempted coup by the absolute royalists, Viserjanta had been in enough simmering turmoil and unrest to keep all but the most dogged and intrepid merchants away. Perhaps the ones Roman spoke of had only reached the very peripheries of the Commonwealth. Far enough away from the major seats of power and thus more-or-less insulated from political and courtly intrigues, these provincial regions – Jafi amongst them – had been the safest places to be. Ironic, considering that most of them grew out of military outposts and settlements to pacify said regions.

Not that it mattered in the end. Like a wildfire, the following civil war burned its way to every corner of the Commonwealth. Sjan-dehk had been present to witness enough of its excesses to last at least a handful of lifetimes. War had a strange way of turning even the mildest person into wanton monsters relishing in their own depravity.

“To explore. To trade.” Sjan-dehk kept his answer simple. Even if he knew the words to describe the recent history of the Commonwealth, he wouldn’t have used them. It wasn’t a topic for casual talk. Or any sort of talk, the more he thought about it. “We had war for many years. Fought…Our own in many battles.” There wasn’t much emotion in Sjan-dehk’s voice. He may as well have been describing the weather. It was all in the past. Whatever grief and sorrow he felt had been expressed all those years ago. Now he was simply talking about a fact of life.

He shrugged. A man standing under an awning loudly hawked skewers of some unknown meat from his little stall. The solid, generous chunks dripped with a sauce that sizzled as they touched the coal-fired grill underneath. “But now we have peace. Less fighting, so ships can do other things.” Sjan-dehk continued as they walked past the stall. He’d have to remember to tell Avek about it later; the smell alone was tasty enough to warrant asking the steward to try his hand at a facsimile. “The High Queen, she ah…Decided that I am more useful here.”

As they continued on their way, the clamouring noise of a distant crowd grew louder, accompanied by the vague sounds of combat. Roman had mentioned an arena, and Sjan-dehk had already roughly guessed what it was that happened there. His ears simply confirmed his suspicions. “Ah, duels,” he said with a nod and a grin. Even in Viserjanta, he had always been keen to observe how others fought in the field of honour. Taking part, however, wasn't something he did. Winning battles was one thing, a duel with all sorts of rules and whatnot was another. “Will be interesting to see, yes? Who competes?”

[FunnyGuy]

Derby-King Outfit

Time:1 p.m.
Location: Race Track
Interaction: Hat Contest Contestants!
Mention:

---

Ruby Davis, Crystal Damien, General Lyra Carris
1 p.m.

Lorenzo had scanned the crowd in front of him, giving every single bombastic hat a few seconds of his attention. Unlike the horse race, this competition would be judged by him and only him. Considering the duke's judgment, especially under the influence of the contents of his flask, this would surely be interesting. Size, color, style, and creativity were all players in this game, and by the gods did nearly every hat have combinations of all.

“Psst. Kier, I think I may have narrowed it down to a few,” Lorenzo chuckled as he scratched his chin. “Our beloved Crystal. She is simply flaunting her favorite color in a hat that is both large and beautiful. Ooh, I can't be biased Kier. I can't. Then there's General Carris almost clashing against Crystal's. Passionate crimson flowers nested in black feathers and matching ribbons. This woman is someone who likes to win it all. And finally… that girl from the park. I… I don't know what to think of her, however, her hat is a prime candidate. The flowers and feathers decorated on top overshadow the hat itself. No one and I mean no one can scan this crowd without laying eyes on it. This is difficult indeed. Maybe I can have three winners? No, I have to choose one. I have to-”

Lorenzo abruptly paused as his eyes widened. We're his eyes deceiving him? They could have been because how did he miss such an intricate detail?! Simple in color with a dash of vibrance! The shape and style were unmatched and unique! He clutched the megaphone and brought it up to announce the winner.

“Contestants of the hat competition! You have clearly brought your best and finest hats! Yes, yes, yes! But there can only be one winner, and I have finally found them!” Lorenzo made a dramatic pause while keeping his face stern. The man appeared as if he was announcing the next heir to the throne with how seriously he took this.

“The winner of the hat contest is… YOUUUU!” He pointed toward Crystal Damien but his finger was slightly off as it aimed at someone sitting in her vicinity. “I do not know your name young woman but you with the hat depicting a regal steed on your head! YOU HAVE WON THE HAT CONTEST! Your hat shall be recorded and displayed for all to see for years to come!”

---

Time: 3 p.m.
Location: Edin Theater
Interaction:
Mention:

---

3 p.m.

Lorenzo choosing to attend the afternoon play had been planned since this morning, yet he almost felt like he should have simply gone home. The hosting of the horse race and hat competition had been unbelievably draining, and then there was his run-in with Prince Wulfric Danrose that took more out of him than he expected.

Easily taking a front-row seat due to his status, Lorenzo sat with his arms crossed in front of him while Kier rested on his lap. He heard word this play would be a comedy, so he hoped it would get a good laugh out of him. Perhaps this is exactly what he needed. Surely, it would distract him from remembering Wulfric's sharp words.

As he watched the play, he did find it quite funny. Chuckling as books erupted from Violet's dress, and surprisingly even when the Duke character arrived. Now this is what I needed!

[Helo]

Time: 3:00 pm
Location: Sorian Library
Interactions:


Callum’s first thought when he entered Sorian’s public library was that it was too bright. Too much sunlight filled the space, and it was going to harm the books. It also smelled more like cleaner than it did books and now the library felt less like a library and just like another place he didn’t quite belong. He didn’t get it, dark, dusty, and smelling like old books seemed like the already perfect atmosphere for a poetry reading but apparently, that was not a universal opinion.

Cal added his list to the names of those willing to stand up on a stage and speak. He wondered if this was the wrong move, and tried to imagine a scenario where his reading some terrible poetry could possibly wind up going wrong. All he could come up with was that he should do this, show whoever was here, as much of Sorian as he could, that he was not some grand descendant of a line chosen by the gods for the perfection of their souls. No Danrose belonged up on a pedestal, least of all him.

So he felt good about the idea of him getting up on a stage and embarrassing himself, almost like he had with the onion, but at least this would be more fun. Cal took a seat, with a cup of coffee in hand, on one of the floor cushions. The coffee was fine, or as good as it could be without a couple of pours of whiskey added to it, but the library seemed to think that only cream and sugar were appropriate for coffee and tea. The lack of alcohol didn’t stifle any of his enthusiasm for Vincent’s reading and Cal snapped in appreciation of the man’s words and sentiment along with the rest of the crowd.

[Inertia]

	Attire: Light armour with an insignia of Caesonia. Interaction(s): Mention(s): Edin Danrose @princess, Wulfric Danrose @SilverPaw

A robed, armoured figure sighed as his own fight approached. Altare Remulus, a veteran knight who participated in numerous wars and skirmishes. Recently he had been promoted to a Lieutenant for his distinguished efforts in the military. Altare had heard rumours of Auguste's penchant for the blade. He was of two minds, it was considered taboo to fight royalty and potentially tarnish their honour but Prince Auguste also disdained others losing matches due to his status.

As Altare ruminated these thoughts the Prince called to him from outside the arena. Auguste Danrose, a warm and gleeful smile crossed the prince's face. "Lieutenant Altare. Congratulations on your promotion." Altare paused, taken a-back at the Prince knowing of his promotion. He had forgotten how uncannily well-versed the Prince was in matters of the military. "My thanks, Prince Auguste." Altare saluted in the traditional military-style, which the Prince returned respectfully. A few members of the crowd clapped and whistled at this exchange. Truth be told, Altare had not observed the prince in combat personally, only hearing of his prowess through tales and whispers. It would be fun to test his skill against a master of the blade.

The Prince's atmosphere changed with each step strode into the arena. His ever-present smile faded into unnerving neutrality as his emotions dripped away from his countenance. The aristocratic air and dignity surrounding him had all but vanished. His eyes, usually filled with a merry luster, turned sharp and focused; similar to how a predator would look upon its hapless prey. Is this.. really Prince Auguste? He thought, a bead of sweat ran down the Knight's neck. The hiss of the Prince's blade being unsheathed was almost deafening to Altare.

With a gulp, Altare did the same. The atmosphere was choking, the pressure he felt was almost akin to what he has felt in a battlefield. Where one's life was truly at stake. How was it possible that he was feeling this way in-front of the Prince? Auguste dashed towards him, "Focus." He heard the Prince let out with a stony voice. Altare barely had time to place his blade up to block the blow, sparks flying as his blade chipped away at the heavy strike. Unconsciously, Altare lifted his blade and stabbed towards Auguste's midpoint with deft precision; a response built up by years of battlefield warfare. He didn't mean to attack like that.

The Prince's blade met his own as his attack was deflected away with relative ease. Altare noticed the Prince's dark smirk. The two now exchanged a flurry of strikes. He knew that he was at the disadvantage. It took all of his effort to barely deflect or block each sword stroke from Auguste. Altare had noticed that the Prince was now more passive than before. The Prince attacked, sure, but with considerably less aggression and force compared to his initial attack- it was as if the Prince was simply just observing him and responding in kind. Altare struggled to meet Auguste's gaze; the cold, golden hue of the Danrose's eyes looked terrifying.

Perhaps it was due to nerves or how tired this short exchange of strikes had made him, Altare fell for a simplistic feint. He slashed at at a perceived opening after an 'opening' after one of Auguste's attack. The next thing Altare knew, however, was his blade leaving his grasp and careening into the air and then digging into the stone to his right. Auguste had hit Altare's gauntlet with the flat side of his blade and disarmed the knight. The force of The Prince's counterattack pushed him backwards as he fell on his rear.

The sun cast shadows overhead, blanketing Auguste's face in shadow. His dull, golden eyes seemed to glow as they bore down on Altare. It took everything in him to not run away in fear. Auguste's eyes flicked towards Altare's blade then back onto him, as if goading him to pick it back up. Altare dared not move. Auguste strode towards him, each step in his direction caused his heart to palpitate. The sounds of his heart beating drowned out the noise from the crowd. The Prince was now over him. His hand reached towards Altare. The Knight shut his eyes in fear.

"That was well fought." Auguste said, causing Altare to open his eyes. A hand was outstretched towards him. Augsute's cheeks and smile rose in equal measures. His eyes regained its usual luster. His presence was once more pleasant and inviting, a sharp contrast to his earlier presence. The foreboding atmosphere lifted and Altare felt like he could breathe again.

Altare took the outstretched hand and he was hoisted up. He took a few breaths to compose himself after that fight. "My- my thanks, Prince Auguste. The rumours do not do you justice." He finally said. August simply chuckled mirthfully as he pat Altare's shoulder.

Altare noted to himself to avoid sparring with Prince Auguste and to keep good relations with the Prince in the future. He truly did feel like his life was about to end. He hadn't felt as much fear as when he was in the depths of the battlefield or even in the presence of King Edin and Prince Wulfric.

---

---

Auguste bid Altare goodbye. The man was a skilled swordsman. Able to perform and respond under stressful conditions. Altare almost had him with the initial riposte. Truly, the knight lived up to his reputation of surviving numerous wars. Auguste wondered he looked petrified.

[Mole]

_{^{L O C A T I O N : Kitchen
I N T E R A C T I O N S : N/A
M E N T I O N S : Lady Smithwood @Tae, Riona @JJ Doe, Prince Felix @Mole}}

Mathilda found herself bustled into the kitchen. Delicate snacks for the afternoon festivities were an expectation. The whole day seemed to be a whirlwind, and Mathilda was having trouble catching her breath.

In fact, she still had yet to deliver Prince Felix’s letter to Lady Thea. This was not the biggest problem, however. The biggest problem was that she had misplaced the letter somewhere between the morning and lunch. She knew her father and mother were turning in their graves. May the gods rest their souls.

She thought to find Prince Felix and explain as politely as possible about the situation. She prayed he would have some sort of mercy on her. Mathilda had witnessed several of the reprimands that Riona had to endure, and she was sure this was something worthy of such a punishment.

Fortunately or Unfortunately, Mathilda could not find the Prince anywhere. She checked his itinerary, and he made no appearance at any of the events. He was no where to be seen.

Perhaps, he is not well.

Mathilda checked the infirmary and his bedroom, but alas, there was no trace of him. It was as if he had simply vanished, until rumor came through the kitchen that he had left the kingdom. He had broken his engagement with Lady Thea Smithwood. For what seemed like forever, Mathilda could finally breathe.

All that worrying was for nothing! But, serves me right for not fulfilling my obligation, anyhow.

[princess]

Time: 2:40pm --> 3pm
Location: Walking --> Outside the Prince Callum Tavern
Attire:Dress
Mentions: @Rodiak Zarai

---

Anastasia had barely managed to take a few steps before the guards had caught up to her. They were taken aback to find her initially in a state of melancholy, her face downcast and her body language closed off. Concern was etched on their faces as they asked her what had happened, hoping to offer some form of comfort or assistance. But Anastasia simply shook her head and put on a brave smile, determined to keep up appearances.

Without missing a beat, she launched into a light-hearted conversation, determined to act as if nothing had happened. They had taken a moment to find Zarai once more and let her know she could use the carriage for the day with Ser Barrios. She also had let her know she'd be going to the tavern for a while and would catch up with her soon.

Her guards subsequently escorted her on a walk without much clue of her destination. Finally, at around 3pm, the trio had found themselves at the front of the Prince Callum tavern, to the guards' dismay. "Anastasia. It's a little early for ...-"

"Oh my gosh! Don't even worry. I appreciate the concern but I'll be fine! ... I can buy you two drinks if you want?"

The two had simply looked at each other in disbelief.

[FunnyGuy]

---

Wulfric arrived at the race track just in time to catch the finale. While the crowd was busy being enthralled by the last, intense segment of the race, he casually ascended the stands to the top row. There, he observed the galloping horses with interest. It was an exciting ending.

Curious about the victor, he took out the spyglass to observe her more easily.

Might as well use the item for its mundane function as well.

But while he was at it, he did a few sweeps of the crowd, taking note of anything intriguing.

After the conclusion of the race, some time was wasted for the hat contest. Bored, he watched those gathered with his little trinket.

When the event concluded, Lorenzo Vikena – the man he’d been wanting to speak to – took his leave from the announcer’s box. Wulfric followed, stopping the man once he was close enough.

He ensured the location they spoke in was, if not entirely private, at least less exposed compared to where Lorenzo had done his announcing from.

“Duke Vikena,” he greeted, cooly polite. “I see that at the very least, you can manage some entertainment,” he commented. It was mildly sarcastic, and backhanded, but a compliment nonetheless. However, Wulfric didn’t bother acting as if he liked the other man. He was sure the duke already knew he wasn’t particularly fond of him. Even so, he could certainly act with the required professionality.

Unfortunately, the duke hadn't returned the same professionalism to the prince. Lorenzo had nearly finished his flask filled with the milk of the poppy and a sweet rum he had enjoyed mixing it with. If his slightly flushed face wasn't an indicator, the stupid pie-eating grin on his face surely was. To add to Lorenzo's disposition was the silent Kier clinging comfortably on his shoulder, staring at Wulfric with his blank beady eyes.

“Prince Wulfric! A pleasure to have you here, your grace. I didn't take you as a fan of such an event but then again, who can resist something so grand?” Lorenzo simply bowed his head, minding the ferret as he didn't wish to topple the small creature from his shoulder as he did the Alidasht royals.

Oh, this was such a mistake. How the hell was he supposed to have anything approaching a serious conversation with Lorenzo, now? Apparently, the duke was not only drunk, but - if his dilated pupils were to go by - under the influence of some other drugs, too.

Wonderful…Just wonderful.

“If it is so grand, then why are you acting like a common alleyway addict?” Wulfric couldn’t resist snarking. It was questionable just how much the supposed nobleman could comprehend in his state, however. “Is this how you think a man in your position should act?” He didn’t mean only because of his status. “You realize just how precarious your situation is, I hope,” he added, but Lorenzo kept up his stupid smile despite the verbal daggers.

“Dear prince, dear prince… Don't you see? My… hmm… My state! My state is not the product of this grand event. Rather, this grand event is the product of my state!” Lorenzo chuckled before motioning his hand toward the race track, the air filled with joyous laughter and jolly voices. “I think our kingdom has accomplished something exceptional this afternoon, all thanks to our king's choice of making me the host of such an event. I don't think even you can deny that, my splendid prince!” He took a step closer to Wulfric, the stench of rum from his breath striking the prince's senses. “Yessss?”

The prince shook his head, as much in denial as it was in disbelief. That this drunkard thought he could argue with him… “Stand back,” Wulfric ordered frostily, because Lorenzo was much too comfortable about getting into his personal space. He stared at the duke with the full expectation that he would move. Fortunately, the duke had, which might have been the wisest decision he had made since engaging with Wulfric. However, the stupid smile remained securely pasted on Lorenzo's expression.

Wulfric then set to reproving the older man. “I don’t know if you honestly believe what you are saying or if you are fooling yourself,” he sneered. Quite possibly, the duke was simply drugged out of his wits. “Events like this are popular in and of themselves. As for your contributions,” Wulfric exhaled sharply. “What you did under influence, you can do just as well if not better while sober.” He let that sink in.

“Don’t try to use the race as an excuse or justification for your habit of overindulgence,” Wulfric said sternly. “If you are a drunken mess, that is because you can’t pull yourself together,” he accused. “Yess?” he mimicked mockingly. A fitting final blow to whatever ego the duke had managed to save after so many embarrassments.

The stupid smile had died in that moment as Lorenzo absorbed Wulfric's informal reprimand. It was the truth in his words that struck him deeper than expected. The duke was used to ridicule from the likes of Count Damien, Duchess Victoria, and King Danrose, and even his late wife, yet this was different… yet familiar. In the span of two days, two young royals had addressed him with fierce criticism that was unlike the raving insults from his peers. First, Mayet Kadir and now Wulfric Danrose. Failing because you are simply awful is one thing, but failing knowing you were capable of doing better was a wound of regret that lingered and festered in the confines of one's mind.

It was also a good way to sober Lorenzo, if only a tad. He clasped his hands in front of him with the look of a boy who had disappointed his parents.

“Y-you're right… prince. My apologies. I-I could have presented myself better,” he slightly bowed his head once again.

Wulfric’s irritation dissipated as he observed the duke’s contrite reaction. “Yes, you could have,” he stated. His tone was still cold, but matter-of-fact, and much more neutral than it had been at any prior point in their meeting. “And you can,” he stressed intently. His piercing gaze was affixed on Lorenzo as he studied the older man. The silent observation was a tad over-long and perhaps unsettling. He took in the man’s posture and expression, judging his sincerity. Eventually, he must have deemed it satisfactory, as he gave a curt nod. However, his next words revealed that the duke was not yet off the hook.

“So? What will you do differently?” Wulfric prompted expectantly.

Lorenzo peered up whilst still bowing slightly, not expecting such a question.

“Um…” He cleared his throat as he adjusted his posture to properly face Wulfric. It also afforded him an additional fraction of a second to think up what to say. “Well, I guess it's as simple as not indulging in my recreational substances before an event like this one… But- I…I just find it difficult.” Lorenzo's gaze dropped as he took a deliberate breath. “No one can begin to understand what I feel and why I choose to numb that feeling… I can only promise that I will try, your highness.”

“Understand?” Wulfric hissed as anger sparked in his gaze. But he grit his teeth against it, and smoothed out his expression. Calm, he thought, warning himself. There was absolutely no need to let this become personal.

Besides, it would be hypocritical for him to preach on proper conduct if he couldn’t even control himself, now, wouldn’t it?

“Trying is nothing without the determination to succeed,” he warned. “You should make a promise to yourself that you will, then do that. No matter how difficult.”

A promise… to myself?

“And no, of course the world will not cater to you,” he scoffed. “I don’t know why you expect anyone else to care about your suffering. No one will. Nay-” he tossed his head to the side in sharp negation as something occurred to him.

“There is someone who does. Your daughter,” Wulfric emphasized, sharpened gaze boring into the duke’s. “You haven’t forgotten her, have you?” he challenged. “While you’re drowning yourself in - what, alcohol and opium?” He’d had a lurking suspicion regarding the ‘substances’ ever since he’d been exposed to Vikena’s stench. “While you are doing that, what about her?” He’d told himself he wouldn’t let this affect him personally, but it did rub him the wrong way.

“Lottie…Heavens… I-” There was a crack in his voice as the realization hit him. He gulped hard in an attempt to hold back the overwhelming urge to burst into tears. Not here. Not now. His jaw clenched as he felt his throat tighten. To know his actions were destroying the only person he loved. For Lorenzo it was like Emina all over again. No, it was worse! Charlotte did not choose him and his embarrassments. His shame. Charlotte had simply inherited the nightmare that had ended her mother's life.

“I didn't-” He choked up once more, this time with a familiar tingling in his eyes. Lorenzo was on the verge. Another wave of pain or perhaps a simple wincing of the eyes would break him. I can't! I mustn't! I WON'T!

“I didn't think of anyone but myself. Perhaps… I'll kill her too as the selfish creature that I am. No one deserves this. Me. The girl would be better off if I…” His eyes were still low as he sighed.

“Kill…” Wulfric repeated, bewildered at Lorenzo’s wild mood swings. “Is that what this is all about? You believe your late wife committed suicide because of you,” he surmised. The prince shook his head, disbelieving. “What utter nonsense.” He looked at the duke sternly, voice firm.

“If she had thought you the source of all her misfortune, she might as well have killed you rather than herself. She had the means, no doubt,” he huffed. Lorenzo finally met his gaze upon hearing his logical argument. “That she chose to end her life was her own decision. I don’t know why she did that-” he had a guess, however. He’d always thought his father’s careless public diatribe had affected the late duchess terribly. Then, in a moment of great desperation, she’d done something that couldn’t be undone. “But she was responsible for her own actions,” he stated.

“And, do you know what is truly selfish?” he stared down at Lorenzo. This time, Wulfric was the one to voluntarily take a step forward. He extended his arm, and his index finger forcefully poked at the duke’s chest. “Thinking that killing yourself is the solution. And that you would justify this as ‘for’ her…But your true reason would be to escape your own pain.” The prince shook his head. “When I asked if you have forgotten your daughter, what I meant was this: Just as you have lost your wife, she has lost her mother,” there was another poke to emphasize his point. Lorenzo's mouth was agape. The continuous poking at his chest was… unexpected.

“Yet now you believe you ought to abandon her too? Just what are you thinking, man?” There was a third, final poke before Wulfric retracted his arm. He waved it a bit wildly, because he didn’t know how the hell they’d come to this point in the conversation. “For Gods’ sakes, did you not see how desperate she was to protect you last evening?” He still did not think she should have been the one protecting her father rather than the other way around. But at the very least, he would not deny her the agency to do so.

“Are you so absorbed in your self-pity that you cannot recognize your importance to her?” He’d thought the man dysfunctional as a duke, not as a father. “If she is precious to you, then live, and strive to do better. For her sake, if not for your own.”

“B-but…” The duke gulped down the imaginary frog in his throat. “But don't you think I've been doing just that?!” He cried out as the tears finally burst free from his eyes. “Everything I do is simply wrong! Always wrong! I never wanted to topple the Alidasht royals! I didn't choose violence this morning at the park! And I just thought if I could come here to this damned horse race without feeling the grand embarrassments of these past two days, that I could pull it off! And if I didn't, I'd just be the intoxicated fool of a duke that ruined yet another of your father's events! There's something wrong with me…” His voice lowered. “And I just don't know what's right anymore. All I can do is try… Try and pray I'm doing right…” Lorenzo wiped his tears on his sleeve. “But you're not wrong, and I apologize for shouting like that. I-I just find it frustrating that I fail to simply do good for those I care for.”

The park? Wulfric sighed because there was apparently a recent incident of Lorenzo’s he was yet unaware of. He merely waved off the apology, because he felt that they were finally getting somewhere. That, and he was frankly tired; he ignored the unbecoming crying outright.

“Did I not say that you do fine when it comes to entertainment?” he questioned rhetorically. “You did ‘pull it off’, so to say…but you were also dangerously intoxicated. Why is it either all or nothing with you?” Was it a mental illness? Sheer ineptitude? A magical affliction? The causes could be multifaceted for all he knew. It also struck him that Lorenzo was acting rather like a child seeking parental guidance, or a faithful beseeching the gods, or just a man looking for some kind of a ‘master’. No wonder the likes of Calbert Damien were drawn to him.

“You should assess yourself honestly, and as objectively as possible. You cannot do this by running away from your issues.” He decided to offer some advice the duke was so obviously desperate for. “Whenever something goes wrong, you need to identify the causes. Face your weaknesses, then overcome them. Identify your strengths, and use them.” Why did something so obvious need to be said? And was Lorenzo truly expecting someone else to break it down for him? If so– “Hell, hire an advisor,” he interjected. “Or rely on your daughter; she’s much more socially sensible.”

“Advisor?” Lorenzo frowned at the suggestion as he felt adding more to his failed equation of a life could complicate things. I don't think I need that- Wait?! Edin… has an advisor. Yes, Arnold. Arnold Plannington! With his eyes slightly reddened from the crying, he raised an eyebrow at Wulfric. “That could work. However, it would need to be someone I actually listen to but I think you may be onto something... In fact, I think I already have an idea on a great selection pool.” Lorenzo's eyes were wide with realization as if experiencing a grand epiphany. “Many thanks, your highness. Your genius truly precedes you. To experience it firsthand is remarkable. You'll be a fine king, I think.” And just like that, Lorenzo was all smiles again.

Wulfric simply stared for one long moment as Lorenzo went from crying and wanting to kill himself back to grinning foolishly. Something wrong indeed. The prince felt that he’d been merely wasting time and words with the duke. Thus, his demeanour also shifted; he seemed stony and unimpressed, a denigrating tilt to his expression.

“Yet an advisor will be all the more disastrous if you cannot learn to think for yourself,” Wulfric warned frostily. Out of all the things he’d said to Lorenzo, this was the one he latched onto? To have someone else do it all for him. Just who was he so eager to let influence him and his duchy?

“In fact, since you are so confident in your selection,” he sneered, “you will present your final candidate to me. If I deem your judgement poor, I shall assign someone instead.” However, he was thinking that he might not set someone to Lorenzo, but instead of him. An official regent? An ‘advisor’? A new duke? Maybe, with the help of his daughter, something sensible could be done. Either way, Wulfric was now even more firm in his opinion that Lorenzo was ill-fitting for his position, and that any future inadvertent damage he could cause should be prevented somehow.

Finally, he moved onto a different matter; the one he’d come to address in the first place. “In a few hours, you will be attending dinner with His Majesty The Sultan, and his family. Make yourself presentable, arrive on time, and be mindful of your conduct. If - and only if - you can procure appropriate gifts, bring them. Apologize to each and every one of them for your actions. Promise that it will not happen again, and ensure that it does not.” Wulfric paused for a moment to judge if Lorenzo was even taking this in. It was especially difficult to tell given his fixed unblinking state and that smile that was just uneasy to look at from him.

“I doubt they will care if you make a fool of yourself. But if they think even for a moment that you are making a fool out of them- Well, I do not have to tell you that this should be avoided, I hope.”

“Oh, of course!” Lorenzo gave several animated nods. “I was already planning to do every bit of that. After attending the theater, I'll make all the preparations needed to ensure I undo my past transgressions to the Alidasht peoples. Great minds really do think alike, huh?” Lorenzo scratched his chin for effect.

Wulfric grimaced at that proverb. “Do not think to compare yourself to me.” The very notion was repulsive. “Ensure that you act as a duke should, and do not cause further offence.” With that parting comment, the prince took his leave.

[Rodiak]

_{W U L F R I C A D E L A R D D A N R O S E
W U L F R I C A D E L A R D D A N R O S E}

_VS
VS

_{M A T H I A S L A R S E N
M A T H I A S L A R S E N}

_{collab between @SilverPaw and @Rodiak}

“Laaaadies and gentlemen, it is TIME! On one side, we have!! Our world-known and well-beloved -- Priiincee WUFLRIIIC!!!”

Wulfric stood up from the bench on the sidelines where he’d been waiting, and made his way onto the stage. He was outfitted in athletic apparel; simple, yet quality made tunic and breeches. However, he did have a few pieces of armour over it, mainly leather. It offered some protection, yet still permitted him great maneuverability. Of course, he had his own sabre. His steps were sure as he made his way onto the battling arena.

The crowd’s cheers drowned out the stadium; their fervour grew as the prince raised his hand in acknowledgment. It took a bit to calm them down. Wulfric hoped they’d get it over with soon, because all he wanted was to face his opponent.

“On the other side --- ON THE OTHER – People, PEOPLE! We can’t get to the good part if we don’t let the other man on!” the announcer joked with a hearty laugh. Thankfully, the Caesonian segment of the audience (who were the greatest culprits of the noise) calmed down.

“On the other side! We have a renowned knight from Varian, and the CAPTAIN of their Royal guard!! SIR MATHIAS LARSEN!” Finally, Sir Larsen was introduced, and cued onto the fighting arena. There was significant cheering for him as well, especially from the Varians.

The rules of engagement were reiterated. Then, two combatants were given leave to start.

“To a good match,” was all Wulfric stated before withdrawing his sabre.

”Your Highness.” Mathias nodded once, unsheathing his own falchion. Its heaviness felt familiar in the knight’s hand.

The prince took his stance, his eyes meeting the knight’s own; he was intensely focused on his opponent and their upcoming match. He kept the red line in mind, but it was obvious enough not to require his active attention. Though, it did mean that the space he had available to move was essentially limited to ‘his’ half of the stage.

Wulfric did what he usually did against an unknown opponent. He went for a measuring swing, one whose aim was not so much to hit but more so to observe Larsen’s response.

It was an easy dodge from the knight as he stepped to the side, eyebrow arched as he returned to his stance quickly. Wulfric didn’t attack blindly. Mathias smiled as he brought his sword up and swung down towards the prince with force.

Wulfric’s gaze tracked the knight as the taller men sidestepped. As expected, his form, reaction, and economy of movement were excellent. As the other man lifted his arm, raising his weapon, the prince was already responding. He brought his sabre closer, then up into a guard. The downwards swing met his weapon. Steel clashed against steel. The powerful hit sent reverberations into his very bones, but Wulfric held steady. The falchion began sliding off against the angled edge of his sabre. The heaviness of the knight’s attack was forcing his weapon off-course; down and away from the prince. Swift as a striking serpent, Wulfric brought his sabre from its guard into a quick slashing counter against his opponent.

As expected from the heir to the Sorian throne, Wulfric was quick and precise with his reaction. The strength to guard against the heavier blade and maintain said guard impressed the knight. Mathias pulled back quickly, falchion swiftly parried the slashing swing. The clash of their steel rang throughout the arena, muffled only by the excited roars of the crowd. Mathias could feel the audience’s excitement surge through him as he stepped forward, his foot over to the red line, and arced a swing down on the prince again. Once, twice, three times their swords clashed with each powerful strike from the knight. He was trying to push the prince back to the borders of his own half, seeing as Mathias had the advantage of height and reach.

Their blades met several times as each of them tried to hit the other, but was then parried, deflected or blocked. It was an intense exchange; they matched skills and wits in equal measure.

Sweat beaded upon Wulfric’s brow, and he was feeling the warmth of exertion with each breath. He was thoroughly beginning to enjoy this, now. Unknowingly, a small vicious smile emerged.

Oh, but he’s good. It was no surprise. This was a military man he was facing, after all. Like any sensible combatant, the knight was using his advantages to their utmost.

Larsen wanted to crowd him in, limit his options for spacing even more. However, Wulfric didn’t simply let himself be pushed around. He did briefly consider the strategy of baiting the knight over the red line. It was a valid method of attaining victory, one he might employ in different circumstances. But he was in the mood for something…simpler, more honest.

Instead of retreating to the back, Wulfric led them in a little half circle, until they were both lateral to the red line running through the middle of the stage. One move to the wrong side too many – it would be a quick way to be disqualified if either of them was too careless.

For a moment, they were both fighting right on the edge. A thrilling sensation - almost like no other.

His chest moved fast and heavy as Mathias swung again. His fingers felt numb with every clash of steel, but he only gripped the hilt tighter as he swung again. For the past few seconds the knight had gained a momentum, his movements quick and heavy as he swung, slashed, and jabbed. The line just a breath away.

Adrenaline rushed through him as his heart hammered so hard in his chest he could hear it. It had been years since Mathias felt something this intoxicating. The possibility of real danger– one wrong attack– brought the sensation of thrill to course through his bones, only amplified by his opponent.

The knight attacked again, he went for Wulfric’s left but the prince was quick to react with a parry and a slash. Mathias was slower to block as the sabre cut through the blue fabric of his blouse and into his flesh. The knight didn’t react to the cut on his arm as he pushed back the block and swung from above.

Wulfric almost didn’t register the minor injury he’d caused his opponent. There was the slightest glint of red on the edge of his blade as he retracted his sabre. But there had barely been any resistance when his weapon had come into contact with Larsen’s body. The prince knew full well just how effective his sword was; it could sever a limb with frightening ease. If it hadn’t been a glancing blow, if he weren’t going at this with the mindset of a friendly match, if the knight wasn’t so proficient–

Briefly, a bloodthirsty grin flashed across Wulfric’s features. Yes, even though this was a tournament, and neither was aiming to kill - nor to injure - there was danger aplenty. Naturally, the risk existed for the both of them.

The crowd roared its approval, growing even louder. It was but a background noise for Wulfric; a cacophony that reached him as a vague thrumming hum. Yet, his heart beat in rhythm with it, as if it sought to synchronize with the vibrations as they coursed through him. Small rivulets of sweat ran down his back; his hands were damp beneath his protective gloves. His muscles strained with each movement. It was the kind of burn that let you know you were being challenged; the knowledge that you could still push more, go further.

Larsen went for one of his favoured moves; a slash from above. Wulfric avoided the attack by a hair’s breadth. He stepped back, distancing just out of reach. A flash of steel; the very tip of the falchion managed to catch on his leather-clad shoulder. The material was damaged, but that was all. Though, if it’d gone a tad deeper, he’d have a slice to match the knight’s.

If he weren’t so intently controlling his breathing, Wulfric might have barked a laugh. Joy and fierceness surged through him in equal measure. This was expression in its purest form; the song their blades weaved as each sought victory by overcoming the other.

Not as base as the simple desire to survive, to be the one to come out alive in real combat; yet a crystalized manner of being that came very close to that.

One moment, the knight was beginning to raise his weapon again, the very next, Wulfric was lunging into a calculated strike.

The attack was quick, precise and unexpected. It came from the knight’s blindspot as the sabre made it past his guard and stopped just as the sharp blade met the flesh of his neck. Right on the jugular. His chest rose and fell as Mathias froze, falchion in mid air high above his head ready to deliver another blow down to the prince.

He’d been too slow, too greedy, too focused on securing the momentum he had gained only for the prince to slash it right under his nose.

Mathias could not help the smile spreading over his features as he lowered the sword to his side. It had felt exhilarating and borderline addicting. So long it had been since he had faced an opponent so evenly matched, to have each attack predicted. Blocked. Parried. To be challenged this close.

The crowd around them exploded in cheers, almost drowning the announcement of Wulfric’s victory over the Varian knight. But all Mathias could hear was the beating of his own heart hammering hard against his chest and all he could seem to focus on was the victorious opponent before him.

Wulfric panted, pupils dilated from sheer excitement. This was almost like–

It. Isn’t. And that…was fine. There’d been a flash of a very distant ghost of past, but he’d dismissed it easily.

He stared almost transfixed at the blood beading on Larsen’s neck. The ferocity which had painted his features gradually lost its intensity. Slowly, he retracted his sabre. The mark he’d inadvertently left on the knight was– distracting.

However, any strange notions he might have had were dismissed just as swiftly. With one quick yet elegant motion, Wulfric finally sheathed his weapon. So did the knight. He looked up at the known-unknown man, really taking him in as his breathing normalized. Perhaps prompted by the knight’s expression, a faint but genuine smile formed upon the prince’s lips.

“This was an excellent match,” he remarked. “I should like to spar with you again.” Saying so, Wulfric offered his palm for a hand shake.

Mathias felt a sudden rush of pride wash through him when he heard those words. “It would be an honor, Your Majesty.” He shook the other man’s hand and shook it firmly, adding a slight bow when he remembered that it was in fact the prince standing in front of him and not just any man. There was a renewed round of clapping and cheers as the two shook hands.

Before the match Mathias had been unable to take a close look at the prince. Now, being so close, he could see the softness of the prince’s face, a stark contrast to the face he’d seen during their duel.

He pulled back and waited for Wulfric to step down the stage first before following suit. “I’ll be at your service all summer.” Mathias said when they were under the tarp that had been set up, providing some shade to the duelists.

“If I may, your skill and precision is amazing.” The knight did not want to sound too excited. “And the speed in which you guard– it truly was an excellent match. I am most gracious to have been your opponent.”

Wulfric inclined his head, courteously accepting the compliment. “I appreciated your rhythm; a lesser man would have been overwhelmed from the outset.” A tiny smirk pulled at the corners of his lips. “Your movements were very smooth and clearly well practiced,” he reciprocated the knight’s assessment with one of his own. “Not to mention the force behind your strikes,” he added. He still felt their echo, but it was a good feeling.

“Indeed, I shall be looking forward to our next match,” the prince concluded.