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[#] The time has finally come. Many are already at the square, with more constantly arriving. Animal furs cover the cold floor, two bards tune their instruments, and a few mugs are already full. As always, a few Inquisitors are about in their distinctive robes, including one at a desk, where offerings to the Titans will be taken. A few merchants have also set up shop around the square, but they don't peddle their wares - all, from the fat lady displaying tanned furs to the skinny mustached man with a cap selling fish caught in the river, make no more noise than the next attendant. Worthy of note is the fact that most figures of importance have yet to arrive - there is not yet sign of General, Overseer, High Priestess or Regent; then again, people by now know better than to expect the last one to show up.

Draconus arrives with a lady friend on his arm--actually far more than a lady friend, but that's not important. What is important is that the lieutenant is dressed a little more extravegantly than normal, even if it isn't by much. The pair approach whichever pleasant inquisitor is taking offerings. Drac' sets down a tightly bound bundle of arrows with the faintest inklings of having been blessed. He introduces the lass on his arm as his wife and then sets about signing both their names--not that she can't, but why cause more time to pass by with having with both do it?

Lauren Bassnium is dressed far better than her husband-- or so she likes to think! The strange looking 'cheetahfaun' (for how else could one describe her?) looks about the festival square with a sense of wonderment. At least, until they reach where the Inquisitator is takin' offerings. Next to the arrows she sets down a small pile of silver and gold coins-- more silver than gold, but it's a nice sum regardless.

[#] The Inquisitor mumbles two prayers, one for the Paladin and the other for his lovely wife, and nods at them. A few more individuals of little importance make their donations as well, and after them, someone a little more remarkable. Why it's the serene, proud, and slightly unsettling individual known as the Duke of Wavestrider, finally appearing in public. He stands before the Inquisitor and, out of a pocket in his toga, takes a pearl necklace, which he places upon the table. Signing his name with a flourish (though to be fair, his calligraphy leaves much to be desired), he nods idly at the Inquisitor's prayer and moves out of the way, surveying the square and those in it with vague interest.

Further down the line, not late but rather assertively on time, behind a noble family bringing aged wine and gold, and a merchant with a gift of a wreath of what could have been moon lilies, was the red-skinned abjurer. He would present to the inquisitor something wrapped in embroidered cloth, make his mark, and move on. Nor'veilara came to stand at the edge of the handful that had gathered, keeping his distance but keeping a watchful eye. Within the wrap was a wind-smoothed stone, completely round and white in color.

Sullivan Key would arrive accompanying the tax collector Rufio Delgado. The delicate noble was finely dressed in black and white, but simultaneously rather simple in comparison to his social kin without sign of embroidering or sigil to be found. Those that didn't know him would have a difficult time placing his role in society (if his age and gender being unclear weren't enough) and have no clue at all to his family name. Those that did know him might note that his hair was being allowed to grow longer and that gradually his interest in fine clothing was dwindling. While still in line for tribute, he would scan the crowds with a sharp and nervous eye. Such worrying was not without cause, for a certain wizard by the name of Lord Corbin Key was also somewhere among the crowd after having left a tribute of a rather substantial amount of gold. Instead of gold, like his brother had opted for, an intricately carved flute of rosewood would be gently set on the table before Sullivan leaned down to sign his name.

Three figures marched their way through Rayneth toward the area where the festivities had made their home for the day. As the formation passed through the streets, there was a certain turning of heads and gawking about some of the locals and even one person was so bold as to exclaim that the three sort of brutish figures looked like overgrown rats. This was not an exaggeration however, as A. Michael Moskowitz and the two men accompanying him were indeed humanoid rats. What made them stand out the most were the crisp blue and white uniforms they wore, adorned with shiny brass buttons and gold thread details. The white haired rat made his way through the crowd, eyes intent on his goal, over toward the inquisitor taking offerings. He spoke pleasantries with the Inquisition while he signed each of their names and handed over a pouch of coin and gems "courtesy of the Alliance." He bowed and made his way into the square to mingle.

Lauren Bassnium seems more entranced with the crowd than Draconus is, and after a couple of minutes of looking about herself, she lays her eyes on a certain blonde. She tugs on the paladin's sleeve and motions towards Sullivan, and one hushed exchange later has her pulling out of Drac's arms and wandering over to the beautician by herself. "Hi~," the faunlady chirps at him, grinning from ear to ear (quite a feat, given the placement of her ears), "Ya must b' Master Key! Uh, Sullivan, aye?" There's a lack of social grace here, even if she's entirely well meaning. Maybe she's just not use to these social rigamaroos.

Draconus watches her go and, upon catching her lack of eloquence, turns a little red and sheepishly grins to himself. He should've known... ah well. The paladin busies himself with getting a drink--she'll want one eventually, and he'll probably need it before the festival is through.

[#] By now, the bards are ready - and soon enough the jolly music of the hurdy gurdy fills the air; now the festival has officially started. In the middle of the square, the Duke leans against the fountain, seemingly very bored, while around people sit on the furs, talking and socializing, as the Titan of Wind wishes. With all this fun, few notice the armored General leaving a decorative helmet at the Inquisitor's table, and beelining straight for the podium that has been set up on the street's corner.

Abibi is among the gathered bards, joining the buzzing hurdy gurdy with an unpreposessing-looking zink who lends itself surprisingly well to being played as a background beat bleat. Abibi Plays Well With Others.

Rufio Delgado was dressed to strut. The usually very deeply dressed cock had gone for a brighter look, almost as if he planned to stand out like a sore thumb. He wore a bright white waistcoat, shirt and pants, even the boots were white, most of the outfit had grand golden embroidery on it and his hair was tied back into a tight ponytail. "Your offering is a little more thoughtful than mine" he said to Sullivan as he set down an unimaginative bottle of perfume. His hand passed close to a blessed gift and he jerked his hand away as if he'd touched a fire (not that that would have bothered him) "Shit" he hissed and clenched his hand into a fist, tucking it away into his pocket. He grimaced as if in pain as he quickly bent down to sign his name on the parchment and step away a few paces "If there are any competitions Sullivan, please stop me."

"Yeah. You know, I believe perfume was one of the first gifts you ever got me," the blond teased under his breath. The humor was short lived, however. It faded from his face at the reaction to a certain set of weaponry that had been left on the table. Sullivan recovered smoothly and bowed them away into the crowd with a smile the instant the rooster finished signing his name. Rufio would find himself being shooed towards the fountain so Sullivan could inspect his hand and fuss, but they were stopped before he could get them there. The beautician looked over to the unusual lady addressing him with genuine surprise as he took in her appearance, hands still clinging to the arm of his white washed cock. A bright interest took over as he could not help himself from admiring her unique and unidentifiable build from ear tips to tail. "Oh, hello! I'm quite sure we've not met before," he points out with a grin of his own. "I'd remember you. Yes, I'm Sullivan."

Morgue had heard the sounds of music from outside the city and as reluctant as he was to pass the walls and return he could not stay away from it, the music was so beautiful, perhaps the most beautiful thing he had heard in a very long time. He weaved around the backs of the buildings and through the narrow back alleys until he came to the square. He quickly stepped back into the shadows when he came upon the crowd and placed a clawed hand on the edge of the building to slowly 'peek' around and watch the aura's of the bards as they played with a distant smile.

The Phoenix reluctantly graced the festival with her presence from the direction of the Tower. Dressed in a simple white dress with a sheer flowing cloak and a matching headdress as allways. The official easily cut the line in front of some peasants to place her offering on the table. It looked to be a simple curved dagger, sheathed. "Be careful when handling the blade." She warned the priest accepting the offerings as she leant down to sign her name. "If it can cut through the air like butter, imagine what it'd do to your hand."

Lauren Bassnium beams pleasantly enough at the gents and curtsies. She's fairly certain that's how these fancy customs work, right? "Oh wonderful, I thought yer description sounded familiar, Master Key. Oh, ah, right, I prolly should introduce m'self, mm?" There's the briefest flush to her face, but she rambles right on along for Sullivan and Rufio's benefit, "Name's Lauren, Lauren Forest. Lady Lauren Forest," her voice lowers, "though t' b' 'onest, I can't realy say I like t' b' addressed quite s' formally. Just Lauren'll d'!" She looks about for a second relocate Drac' and adds, "Bethrothed or wha'ever th' term is t' tha' lovely red'ead over there. Lovely festival an' all--glad I finally got t' attend one o' 'em!"

General Moskowitz had aquired drinks for himself and his companions and had situated himself near one of the tables near the podium. As he sipped he scanned the crowd, taking in the faces he had met previously and those he knew he should make aquaintance with. Connections are good things to have in his line of work, after all. Two figures stood out to him more than any, the well dressed individual who had appeared behind the podium and out of the corner of his eye he spotted the Overseer of Magic for Rayneth. "Keep an eye on the both of them, I'll be amongst the crowd," The rat muttered to his escorts as he plunged into the crowd toward the fountain.

Abibi is in her element, wind notwithstanding, and though most of her face is busy making music instead of torture out of the zink, her eyes smile. She keeps watch on the crowd, but she does it discreetly, with only half an ear tuned to its mood, and the other ear and a half concentrating on her fellow players.

[#] Joining the entertainers was a local noble recognizable as the fearsome yet charismatic Viscount Martinus, who was manipulating aromatic smoke to trickle in whatever way he fancied, almost like magic- and atop a barrel was the court jester, out from the castle to work his own magic with colorful wisps that artfully spun about the gathering.

[#] Meanwhile, the Inquisitor takes the blade by the hilt, holding it with only the tips of his fingers, as if frightened of it, and places it far away from him, on the table. He is taking the Overseer's words very seriously. As for other individuals of note, there is the blue Duke who almost literally hasn't moved since he arrived, and the General who has taken a spot on the podium, but has yet to address the people or even request silence from the performers.

Rufio Delgado followed Sullivan over to the fountain and dipped his hand quickly into the water, but only briefly before hiding it back in his pocket again. It had a very nasty looking patch of red skin on it with black specks and blisters that seemed mild but very uncomfortable to look at. "Hm?" he glanced over, realizing an introduction was taking place. "Oh ...ah..." the woman spoke like a commoner in his books, and thus he felt far less inclined to speak to her. Though her husband was enough to encourage him to respond. He gave a stiff bow "It's a pleasure." he said with little enthusiasm.

Aloran turned his head to nod curtly to the General and the Overseer as they entered, whether or not they would see him. Though he did not partake in chatter, it seemed a few lower-class individuals- who had entered by means of offering a few silver each- had flocked to his side and sort of stood there. Odd, to be certain, but Aloran did not mind.

The Phoenix moved away from the table, pausing to stand on the edge of the crowd. Scanning it with a calculating gaze before stepping in. From her expression she was in no real mood for such frevolity today. Noting her mage on the stage, she returned the silent greeting that prompted her to swing towards the podium. "Have you seen my apprentice in the crowd by chance? I dare say you have a better view then I."

Jaspur limping his way along the path, the wizard had been intentionally a little late. Dressed in a lighter set of summer robes he gradually made his way over to the table where the offerings were being taken. At his side his faithful, feathery bull terrier trotted and pranced along with a wagging tail, watching the bards with great interest. From beneath a rag, Jaspur produced an offering that was certainly a shade of his own interests, a white, marble ornament on a wooden stand of a long dragon with what seemed to be clouds billowing from its mane, elbows and tail. He set it down and signed his name with the usual grumpy expression before slowly turning to observe the crowd. A nod was passed towards Aloran, whom he recognised before his eyes would scan the rest of the crowd with mild interest.

"Please, call me Sullivan," he briefly corrects. The blond behaves ever blind to appearance and demeanor, paying Lauren polite attention. Rufio is given an apologetic glance which turns into an affectionate arm hug as Lauren mentions her relationship. "It seems we have a couple things in common, then! I'm delighted to meet you," he said honestly, but trailed off - an alarmed look passed over his face as he thought he spotted a familiar black and green hat among the crowd. "But, haha, we really gotta, uh, go." Sullivan laughed weakly and tugged the unenthusiastic rooster towards the shadows of the buildings - perhaps they could find somewhere secluded for a moment. Sullivan was suddenly quite nerve wracked.

Lauren Bassnium wisely bites her tongue at Rufio's lackluster (to her anyway) greeting; fortunately Sullivan is the complete opposite, and that's enough to keep a grin on her face. "Hah, aye, so we d'. Anyway, it's quite a pleasure t' meet ya both as well." The smile fades away into open, honest confusion, and the lady takes a quick glance over her shoulder to try to spot what's suddenly got Sully in a tizzy. "Oh, ahm..." She fails to see anything, so she looks back to the blonde and the rooster. "O'course, aye, take care, gents. Again, 'twas a pleasure meetin' ya."

General Moskowitz skirted his way through the throng, sipping his drink along the way . He was still actively scanning the crowd and for what ever reason, came upon the redhead Draconus. His memory sparked briefly as he addressed the spellrender. "A good day to you sir," he said with a smile and a sip of his drink. "I believe we met in passing but I don't believe we formally introduced. A. Michael Moskowitz.," he said, offering a clawed hand to shake.

Aloran blinked his one good eye, the other 'wincing' rather than making the full complete wink. His voice was low enough so that no more than Phaeo and the nearby general and squire would be able to hear- "She is not here, mistress."

Draconus has found himself a drink-- two, actually, but he's patiently awaiting one hand to be emptied--and is minding his own business not too far from a merchant's stall, eyeing the officials all gathered about the stage. He's about two seconds away from walking off in that direction, but that's when he's face to face with Moskowitz. "Oh, yes, so we have... oh goodness, just one moment, sir." Draconus carefully manuvers the two wooden cups into his left hand and then uses the other to properly shake the general's. "A pleasure to make your accqaintance, Master Moskowitz. I am Sir Draconus Alexander of House Forest, lieutenant of the Spellrenders." He's mercifully short with his title this time.

[#] Up on the podium, Arak speaks a few choice words. Given the General's current placement, the noise, and the music, only one person - the trusted squire - can hear them.

Abibi learns all kinds of new things about the hurdy-gurdy, alternating glimpses of shining officials with long stares at the player's fingers. The fine gleam of sweat at her brow says her own instrument is harder than it looks, particularly when she tires of being a back beat and starts sliding herself into the harmonies. Lauren's look 'round catches her eye briefly, and two notes in a row trill thoughtfully, intrigued.

Rufio Delgado grunted as he was ushered away "What? What is it now?" he asked in a bit of a mood due to the pain in his hand. He slowed towards the shadows and glanced back at the crowd, furrowing his brow "Something or someone bothering you? It's not him is it?" he asked under his breath.

The Phoenix scanned the crowd herself again before seeming to conceed to the reply with no small measure of relief. "It is for the best. Thank you. If you need this rabble quieted so you can make your announcement, you need just catch my eye again." She offered, adding a polite nod in greeting to the General before moving off in to the crowd to look for someone else.

Morgue didn't notice Sullivan and Rufio approaching until the auras caught the corner of his 'third eye' as it were. He suddenly bared his teeth at the approaching Sullivan and hissed sharply, backing up before slowly relaxing upon seeing who it was "Am i in your way?" he asked with that same old odd smile.

General Moskowitz could tell the lieutenant was on his way with the two drinks, so he turned and dropped in by his aquaintance's side. While walking he followed the red head's gaze toward the podium where he could also see officials beginning to gather. "Ah, the pleasure is mine Lieutenant Alexander." Fyren Rodlan, the trusty squire nodded to the General and one could make out 'Certainly' if one were to watch closely. He left the podium and found Aloran, where he bowed shortly and whispered into his ear, then crossed the crowd toward Draconus as well to whisper in his ear.

Draconus doesn't mind in the least he's been referred to by his middle name. He takes a detour through the crowd when he spots a bit of sky blue, and which turns out to be Lauren's tail. He gives her a gentle nudge in the shoulder and passes off one of the drinks as Fyren approaches. The lieutenant bends down a little to hear the whisper better; he gives a nod of his head, deposites the other drink in Lauren's hand, and quietly excuses himself from her and Moskowitz' presences. He heads off towards the podium and its present occupant, Arak.

Sullivan Key ignored any attitude he was given, step hurried and determined for a change, posture defensive as he glanced back at the festival. "Yes," he whispered back, releasing Rufio once they were away from the main of the throng. Then, immediately seizing him again as he jumped back in surprise at the hissing of the banshee. Shit! A new alarm registered in him - an uncomfortable mingle of pity and fear tensed every muscle in his body. Sullivan glanced back towards the crowd where he knew Corbin was, then back with wide eyes towards Morgue. The hair on the back of Sullivan's neck stood up as his eyes glanced towards the scars. "No - Morgue, was it? - it's fine...uuh, Rufio, maybe this was a bad idea..." he cringed towards the festivities.

Aloran nodded but once and was quick to rise to the podium, closer now to the other military officials. Though he moved stiffly, his bearded chin was lifted ever-so-slightly.
[#] Suddenly, the General takes two steps forth and raises a palm in the direction of the performers, quietly ordering silence.

Fyren Rodlan accompanied Draconus Forest back to the podium where he once again took to the General's side, awaiting any further orders. He looked over the bustling crowd of happy festival goers as things seemed to be getting underway. Moskowitz, though disappointed to have Draconus step away, set his eyes on the podium.

Abibi tootles into silence, leaning over to discreetly empty out the zink.

Corbin Key strode purposefully among the gathered, easily forging a path with help of the spider perched on his shoulder, eyes passing over the lower class as if they were next to invisible. He was looking for potential individuals of interest and the pickings seemed dreadfully slim. Those there were of interest seemed in the company of elves or strange mix breed abominations. What a zoo! In all honestly he could not be more disinterested in his little freak of a brother and his fop of a lover. Jaspur was given a look of interest from a distance, but the Lord's eyes travel now to give attention to the podium like most of the crowd.

Rufio Delgado looked over quickly at the hiss and narrowed his eyes at the banshee "Morgue? what kind of name is that?" he said dangerously and pulled Sullivan back but then heard silence in the crowd. He gave Morgue one last look before he turned his head to watch the podium, speaking in a whisper "we'll deal with this in a minute."

Morgue tilted his head "Sullivan" he whispered to mirror the recognition that Sullivan had shown him "Don't worry, i will remove myself." and with that, Morgue slowly turned on his heel and walked gradually back down the alleyway and out of sight.

Jaspur was silent watching the proceedings, but he did catch Corbin's eye at the moment it looked towards him. He peered at the younger man questioningly before turning his head away and looking boredly upon the podium, hushing Symeon as the dog whined and wagged its tail in uncontrollable excitement.

General Moskowitz made his way slowly through the hushed crowd where he joined again with his two comrades who also were watching the podium intensely for General Arak Mazanai to address the crowd.

[#] "Men and women of Rayneth, hear my words! This is a blessed day. The Titan of Wind looks upon us with favor.", speaks the General, not bothering to remove the sallet while addressing the people. The voice is booming and full of authority, direct and lacking in subtlety, as would be expected. There isn't even gesturing - the purpose of this announcement is very obviously to inform and not to convince. Incidentally, this is the first public announcement the General has made in Rayneth! "The Empire brings peace to the land, but the Empire does not forget those who assist it, either! One among us has done his job well, and as such, it is time to reward such flawless diligence. I speak of Sir Forest of the Spellrenders - step forth, Lieutenant."

The beast-faced noble seemed to have impeccable timing - just as it seemed about the moment for complete and total attention to the general, his showy story flashed to a close. How he could perform such convincing magic using only incense and mirrors to illustrate his morals was a mystery and that was how the Viscount liked it. Indeed he was able to close his entire little setup down into a fold-up kit before the announcement began. At the right points he'd cheer with the rest, and turned brightly grinning eyes to stare at the Lieutenant.

Draconus steps forward at Arak's bidding, straight-backed and square-shouldered with proper military finesse. There is, of course, a wee bit of humility too--just enough to not make him look like a pompous army officer jerkface.

Jaspur had been casting a few sharp looks Emmerich's way after only moments ago noticing he was here and performing. The grumpy expression only deepened further until the announcement for Sir. Forest. his gaze lightened and the ghost of an almost-smile appeared on his lips, hands with missing fingers lifted to start clapping gently. -- Symeon started baying and barking, spinning and wagging his tail before charging forwards "Congratulations Lieutenant! I always thought you were wonderful!" he panted happily before turning and running back to Jaspur who had disolved into a stifled scowl of embarassment "Symeon." he hissed.

Abibi is sorely tempted to help the General out with a little fanfare or two- just a little one- where it seems appropriate, but though her fingers absently place the notes, she keeps the zink in her lap where the mischief in her smile can't get to it. She bides her time, studying Draconus' face as he steps forward. What she finds there makes a fanfare even more tempting.

[#] The General turns to face the Lieutenant. Emotions hidden by the helmet, of course - then again, knowing the General, even without the helmet there wouldn't be any. "Sir Forest, you are now Commander of Rayneth's Spellrender corps, replacing Master Nor'veilara. May you honor both position and your predecessor. Do you wish to say anything?"

Sullivan Key watches Morgue go with an almost emotionless look of disturbance on his face. A brief and wide-eyed glance was given towards the festivities, perhaps as though he expected to see the gleam of clustered lenses there. With a heavy swallow once the minion of the alchemist was gone, he pulled them behind a stack of crates to take advantage of the distracted crowd. There was a small part of his mind registering events up on stage and glad for Draconus, but unfortunately there was far too much else on his mind. The blond pulled a white handkerchief out of an interior coat pocket and reached for Rufio's injured hand. "Here, let me see - are you all right?"

Draconus smiles proudly, throwing that humility right out into the street. He nods in indication to the General and then turns to the crowd. "Thank you, General Mazanai," he begins, raising his voice appropriately to let it carry out to the masses gathered. "I am most honored and greatly humbled in being acknowledged as a successor to the great and wise Master Aloran Nor'veilara. Although I had only returned to Rayneth a few months ago, I stove my hardest to honor and serve the Titans, Commander Nor'veilara, and the Ovkan Empire in that short amount of time; from here on out, as the Spellrender's new commander, I will uphold those standards to the entire corps— from its newest recruit to myself at its helm, to protect and serve Rayneth and her people." By the Titans that man can belt out a lot of words.

[#] The General says no more, stepping back. Now standing next to Aloran, Arak nods at him. The meaning of that gesture is probably a mystery to all but the former Commander himself.

Rufio Delgado glanced sideways at Sullivan and frowned, he felt uneasy about the man on stage and it perhaps showed to Sulli in how tense he was acting. "What?-oh..." he glanced around to see that no one was near the back of the crowd and he slid his hand out of his pocket a short way to show Sullivan, the whole patch that had been red before was now black but didn't look as serious as one would expect "Nothing you can do for it, best to leave it alone." he whispered and turned his eyes back to the stage.

Abibi appreciates a good drama as much as a good speech, and she transfers her attention to Aloran to see whether this is one or both of those things, even as she cheers politely. Cheering seems the only fit response. Followed, hopefully, by drinking. But not yet.

General Moskowitz finishes his drink and claps along with the new Commander's audience. A great speech indeed. "I'll definitely be chatting with him as soon as I can," he said to his two escorts. "Him and General Mazanai, of course." He stood there a moment or two to see if any other words would be spoken, and if not would endevor to gain a refill.

Aloran steps forward, and for all images and sakes, while he did not pat the new commander on the back, he did shake his hand (with his own fleshy arm, thankfully, and not his bone-crushing-on-accident golem limb). "Citizens!" boomed the artificial voice of the one-eyed elf, "The Empire has given us peace, by giving us the highly trained guards that protect us day by day. They give us security with the sharp eyes of the archers, and with the Spellrenders, ensure our survival against even the dangers of magic-users." He raised his arms. "Tonight, my fellows, the Empire grants us further protection, in the skies! I introduce to you.. The Cloudbreakers!"

[#] On cue, no fewer than two-dozen peryton flew overhead: great winged, armored deer with spear-carrying riders. A cheer burst from the crowd.

Abibi can resist no longer. Aloran's announcement is followed by an appropriately celebratory two-note blast from the zink. Political implications are generally lost on trumpets, even if the trumpets are shaped like your little brother's favorite obnoxious toy.

Jaspur looked up in shock as the announcement was made, eyes widened broadly as the regal beasts flew over the townspeople. He was stunned into silence, perhaps by his admiration for the beasts and shock that there were men riding them. He looked towards Aloran with an impressed raise of his eyebrows, a curious one at that.

Sullivan Key inspected the patch with a concerned frown, but nodded his reluctant agreement to leave it alone. "Well, let me bind it at least. It'll look less questionable that way," he said quietly. If allowed he'd do so quickly, splitting his attention between Rufio and the stage. When the new fleet of peryton riders were announced and filled with skies, he watched with a mixture of awe and wariness. A most curious and impressive display, indeed. "This city has a really impressive show of force built up," the blond man muttered to Rufio. "You don't think they're expecting an attack, do you?"

[#] "The Cloudbreakers required a captain, one who knew the intimate structure of the city. I was asked by our good regent to do just that- and I stand before you today, an assurance to you that the city of Rayneth will now and FOREVER be safe! With General Mazanai on the ground, Commander Forest in the ether, and myself, Aloran Nor'veilara, Captain of the Cloudbreakers, you have nothing to fear!" Aloran lowers his arms as the crowd continues their excitement.

[#] The graceful beasts and their riders fly in circles around the square, like vultures; their riders raise their spears and shout. A mighty force indeed. The display doesn't last for long, though, as after a few loops they break formation. One of them just happens to fly just above Rufio, and, o rotten luck, it just happens to defecate just at the right spot, speed and angle for a fist-sized, gooey sphere to hit the poor guy right in the face. The peryton-riders complete their flyover and continue to patrol the city, half the unit breaking formation in order to land on their roost- on top of the castle.

Rufio Delgado opened his mouth to retaliate "Sullivan it's quite alright, we'd best leave it until we grughghrffpt!!!" there was a horrible gurgle as the rooster was struck in the face with the glob of shit. He stood there for a moment with it all over his hair, his face, and in his mouth and not to mention splattered all over his white clothes. He was still for a moment with his shit filled mouth hanging open, slowly going pale before he turned around and started violently projectile vomiting onto the grass, spitting and spluttering and letting out a few distressed sounds of disgust.

Lauren Bassnium has downed both cups of wine by this point, grinning broading from ear to ear at all the wonderful promotions and military additions and... oh. In her rather buzzed state, she gets to witness that poosphere strike poor Rufio. The 'faun begins giggling uncontrollably into her empty cup.

[#] The few in the audience that understand what just happen burst into laughter; it starts with a single gruff and obnoxiously loud laugh by a single guy, and many soon follow the lead.

Lauren Bassnium's laughter picks up a little, 'encouraged' by the burst of it going on around her. Some lady this Lady is! If she were a bit more sober, she'd probably be aware of Draconus' mild, disapproving stare in her direction.

[#] However, the General takes a couple steps forth again, and even before Arak's voice needs to be raised... the laughter slowly dies down.

Aloran, once the announcement has been made, has made his exit- off in the direction of the castle, likely in order to get to business. Luca, being the jester, on the other hand, stirs his illusionry wisps back up, to distract the festival goers: "This is supposed to be a giddy-gap celebration!" he laughs, wisely shooing onlookers towards the booze and food collection.

Abibi, her eyes wide with the novelty of winged deer, leans over to the nearest player before she puts her zink to her lips again. "What don't we need to fear?" she wants, quietly, to know, but the answer is probably lost in the crowd's response to Luca. Or at least the hurdy-gurdy's response.

There are simply no words to express such a moment. It was certainly a stunning one. Sullivan appeared shocked into temporary silence, frozen in place where he stood a couple feet away with his hands over his mouth. It was probably for the best that he had been standing just out of range at that unfortunate moment. When he recovered enough to hesitantly approach the rooster (understand this took him quite some effort) he appeared a downtrodden level of unsurprised. There was after all a rather clear pattern developing. There had even been considerations of not going due to their luck streak thus far. "I - oh, Rufio..." When the crowd started up he flushed a deep red of rage and embarrassment, biting his lip. Corbin was, of course, among those in the crowd laughing. With a fierce little glower sent in the direction of the festival now moving in towards the food and drink, Sullivan removed a second handkerchief from his coat - thank goodness for certain neuroticisms - and handed it to his love once he had recovered enough to take it. A hand was rested gently on Rufio's back. "I think we should go get really drunk now," he stated flatly for lack of anything better to say. If there was any one of The Titans looking out for them it was most certainly not that of Snow, Water, or Wind. At least they were narrowing it down.

Rufio Delgado was enraged and embarassed by the laughter, he flushed and glared as he vomited until the last of it was out. Hankerchief was grabbed and wiped across his face and his eyes burned a much brighter gold than usual. In fact his teeth seemed maybe a little sharper at a close look. He stood and shook a fist at the sky. To anyone else it'd look like he was angry at the deer, but in realitiy he was furious with the Titans "Yes" he said hoarsely and turned away "Drink with me or drink here, but i am not staying" he huffed furiously and started off with sharp footsteps back towards his manor, giving a peasant that was still chuckling at him a murderous look "Know your place." he snapped as he walked past.

Sullivan Key paused for a moment as he felt a cold gaze on him and turned to see Corbin sneering unpleasantly from the crowd. With a gulp he jogged after his fiancee to return to the Delgado mansion.

Once the announcements were over and the pleasantries begun, the noble who'd made so much spectacle of himself before was suddenly... not where he'd been? While heads were turned he'd slipped away as completely as he did every day he was not plying his silver tongue in the square or tavern. Though for those looking he wouldn't be too hard to find again; the ruddy tint of his skin and his chalk-white wig stood out against the bordered greys of his tights and doublet, and his smoke-black cloak. Emmerich was either hiding, or cold, as he had bundled himself in the fabric of his cape while he leaned over a certain musician's shoulder. "What would you call this, dear?" he rumbled quietly to Abibi's ear alone.

Abibi lifts the zink to her lips, head nodding faintly as she picks up the hurdy-gurdy's song, preparing to add her support. The zink gives the tiniest little bleating whistle as the voice at her shoulder startles her, and she lowers it once more. She pushes back the blonde curtain of hair that hid Emmerich's approach, and blinks owlishly at the nobleman. Several times, in fact, before she can meet his black eyes anything like squarely. "Heavens," she murmurs. "Call what?" She recognizes the smoke artist behind the nightmare only belatedly, and a delayed welcome rises warily behind her eyes.

Jaspur watched the crowds dispersing a little, though many still stayed to enjoy themselves, Jaspur took the opportunity to limp his way over to the stage and sit down on the edge of it, letting the weight off of his sore leg. "Well what do you make of that then Symeon? Airborn guardsmen." he said and reached down to scratch behind the ears of his faithful companion "Perhaps you should be careful if you go flying, Jaspur. They might think you're dangerous."
Emmerich chuckled. It could have been a chuckle. It sounded like someone had fed gravel to a lion, but the way his lips crinkled and creased his face back supported that it was meant as a positive sound, even if it revealed more of his snaggle-toothed grin than normally visible. The pseudodemonic noble released his cape and flourished with one large set of talons toward Abibi's instrument, showing off the dragon's head seal of the ring on his hand. "Cette belle petite chose." His exotic accent rolled with a timbre deeper than could be assumed by his height, that better fitted his build. "Tell me about it."

Abibi listens better than she watches, and as Emmerich's hand is waving fluidly at her instrument, her own is lifting to rub absently at the short hairs along the back of her neck, which are prickling uncomfortably. She slips back, further from the hurdy-gurdy's buzzing racket, to offer a slow smile and a quick answer. "It's a zink. It's the bastard son of a trumpet- just as good, but not as pretty, and three times harder to get to sing." The move takes her closer, all unintentionally, to Jaspur and his companion.

There was the slightest flicker in his expression as his inscrutable pitch eyes glanced in the direction of a very certain mage. A rather beatific smile remained solidly on the snake's face as though just speaking to a fellow song-lover was a pleasure, and he circled about to get a better view of the zink from all angles. That it separated Abibi from someone he had no intentions of approaching at the moment had to have been coincidence, and his cloak followed his movements as he swept his arm behind her - not quite touching - and directed her quietly the other way. "Can you show me? I have not had the blessing of seeing one of these as yet. I sing - if you have not heard of me yet - and I try to familiarise myself with as many tools of song as I can. But, ah, I neglect to ask your own name. With whom do I have the fortune of sharing the festival?"

Jaspur looked at Symeon who was starting to look a little bored and sighed lightly, was he honestly disapointed that he'd not had a chance to speak to anyone on this occasion? Perhaps living with an apprentice and ...that Helen woman had been rubbing off on him. He grumbled and stood up "Come on, Symeon" he muttered and slowly started limping off for the gates.

Abibi's shoulders straighten as Emmerich gathers her away from the crowd, a toss of her head chasing her hair down her back like a banner hung from a window. "I would be pleased to show you," she answers, without guile, and moves automatically as she is herded, unconsciously fleeing the thought of that cloak folding around her. "I am Abibi. My lord, what are you called? Perhaps you will return the favor with a song of your own."

There was the slightest, serpentine ripple as the snake-skinned man followed the ripple of her hair. He was sure not to make it /too/ obvious, just noticeable enough. The noble smiled and nodded before he slithered back around in front of her to gesture grandly towards himself and give a short bow. It wasn't respect so much as it was showing off. "Je suis le vicomte d'Asile, and you may call me Lord Martinus." In one smooth flow his claws - these ones bearing an almost boring ring with a bright blue stone - reached to take her free hand in his. They wouldn't be as rough as they looked. While his iron nails seemed to be in a constant state of flaking and decaying bone, the pads of his fingers were soft as a cat's and much too warm. "Et vous?"

Abibi's French is dicey, but her people skills are fairly advanced. Emmerich bows, and she curtseys instantly, reaching one hand to spread her skirt in a flourish. When she rises, he is reaching for her hand, and she offers it, but reluctantly. A good musician is ferociously protective of their hands. Emmerich's claws make her skin crawl. "Just Abibi, my lord" she smiles, watching his face to avoid watching her hand in his. "I am Abibi no matter who asks."

It would seem that he was overly aware of her hesitation to put her livelihood in harm's way. The tips of his talons arched just so as to keep his curved daggers from her wrist, even as the pad of his thumb absently stroked the back of her hand. Only then would his eye contact break with a blink and he tilted his quilled head. "'Just Abibi', dear? No stage name? Something magnificent, like the Breathtaking Abibi, or The Lady of A Thousand Songs. Selling yourself the proper way does wonders to increase renown... but, ah!" The imposing noble released her hand to clap and clasp his own pair with a great grin. "I want to hear you play! I could not focus so well from across the square..."

Abibi's grin twists, claiming familiar trenches across her face, as though the bright, wry laughter in her expression is a default Emmerich's scolding has reset. She pulls her hand back, and tips her head, acquiesing, then moves further back, putting distance between herself and the hurdy gurdy. Unless Emmerich's look forbids it, she tips her head, following the peculiar instrument's whining melody with a few cockeyed nods, and then raises the zink and joins in. She was playing for the crowd, before; now she plays for Emmerich, and for herself, and doesn't hesitate to give the music its head, teasing the notes into trills and nightbird ripples.

The Viscount's cloud-white wig might have looked almost possessed for an instant; at the same moment he was caught up in the skilled personal show, he straightened up, almost dancing on the balls of his highheeled feet and neck almost stretched unnaturally high. While the quills flattened by his doublet couldn't rise under his cape, the rust-coloured spines of his scalp almost displaced his wig. Emmerich's black eyes flattened and focused like she were the only thing worth his notice as he looked about to start dancing.

Abibi plays for longer than a person ought, with something like that happening in front of her. When her eyes finally pick out something besides the phantom colors of her own music, her breath gives out on her, and the zink's silence leaves a space in the crowd noise like a room without a door. It isn't polite to stare, so she doesn't. She peers in any direction but at Emmerich, nerving herself. If he settles down, she lowers the zink a little further, raises the edges of her smile. "Will you sing for me, my lord? You have the most intruiging voice."

If anything, avoiding staring was taken to be as /more/ offensive as the noble promptly frowned and tilted his head as though to put himself squarely in her vision again. He obviously enjoyed being looked at. As much as he flattered others he was genuinely pleased to have it returned and his toothy smile split his face from one pointed ear to the other. "Of course, love! Though I hope you understand if I take us somewhere with a better environment for the sound. I do not wish to draw a crowd about myself just now, heh, it makes getting drinks difficult."

Abibi meets Emmerich's eye- at least as much as this is possible, in the dark, without white or pupil to show where his gaze lies. Innumerable questions rise to the surface of her silence, but can't break it. They slip back under without ever being given voice. Instead, she lifts the zink, holding it out, and summons a smile like a small dawn. "I cannot go- I have been paid for the evening, and I will play until the crowd disperses. I beg you to save a song for me later, though, Lord Martinus. Now that I know your name, I can ask for you, and hopefully I will find you singing."

It must be odd to see one's own expression mirrored on such a misshapen visage. A watcher would think her smile just made his day and, entitlement or no, he just couldn't keep from touching his fingers to her wrist again. "Just the evening? A pity, I would pay to listen to you every noon. You may consider that a serious offer, love. If you had not heard of me then you might not have heard of my reputation for helping the community seek meaningful employment and standards of living. As a man of the Fire Titan it is in all of our interests to help each other, you see, in any way we can."

Abibi is startled by the smile, and startled again by the offer. Her lips purse, and for lack of a better response, she drops another extravagant curtsey, only to rise laughing. "Every noon! I am not sure I have that much music in me." That is a lie, and she delivers it so glibly that it is impossible to take seriously. This, despite his fingers on her wrist. Maybe it is the fingers still clasping her instrument that give her more courage this time, or maybe it is the very pointy sincerity in his smile. "I look forward to finding out." Her polite evasion does not quite go so far as to pull her hand back, but she does glance- guiltily- at the hurdy-gurdy.

He returned with another bow, and if he could flaunt his form and fashion more flamboyantly he succeeded with a sweep of his cloak. The noble wasn't quite so quick to rise again, or let go of the musician's hand. He managed to peck a kiss around his jutting buckteeth on the soft of her skin before rearing back up with a more settled smile and a knowing sparkle to the blacks of his eyes. "When you do, it will be my pleasure. If you need anything - any service or item at all - I will be glad to provide it just to be in your grace again." His hand was remembered and he bundled his talons inside his cape as though to protect himself against a chill. Considering his unusual warmth, he probably did consider the outdoor air too cold for his comfort. "Au revoir, mademoiselle Abibi."
Abibi abandons him with a trill of music as her farewell, sashaying back to the other players on a path of melody.

Emmerich would, on his own time, mingle with other notable faces in the crowd before ultimately disappearing as suddenly and completely as one of his magic tricks before all festivities wound down entirely and the evening became too cold.

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