507-12-15 Ancestor's Day

Ancestor's Day
RL Date	September 3, 2009
Players	Lots and lots.
Location	Beach - Village - Gateway Isle
Crossroads Time and Weather
IC Date	December 15, 507
Season	Winter

Beach - Village

A long stretch of sandy beach protrudes suddenly from a natural rock wall. The water laps up to the shore, often making its way all the way to the rocks beyond during high tide. The golden sand stretches out a long way to the east and west, providing a vast expanse for entertainment. As one gets closer to the piers on west end of the beach, it could be noted that the location that used to be such a popular place under the pier is no longer accessible. Near the eastern end, the rocks form a tide pool, currently covered with water.

The remains of a large cargo ship, buried in the sand, have become a permanent part of the surroundings. At a skewed angle, part of of the prow and the deck stick out of the beach. There is a hole in the side to the shade within.

Out in the water around three hundred paces from shore, a small sandy cay can be seen between the waves. In winter, it is far too cold to swim to, but in other seasons citizens can brave the chill or the waves to cross to its tiny expanse.

The beach this evening hosts a large bonfire, built high -- easily the height of two men -- and wide around the bottom. The flames lick at the sky, orange and bright against midnight be-speckled with stars and the bright light of Diuturnal's glow. Five smaller fires have been built around its perimeter, just outside the haze of its warmth, to provide a little extra heat and light on this winter's evening.

There are here, also, a few canvas tents, closed on three sides and open on the fourth: inside, they boast food and drink, though mostly drink, ranging from ale to warrior's milk to simple cider and juices.

And that's it. The setup? Simple. The execution? In the stories to be told.

The evening is just settling toward night, the sun finally finding its last resting place below the horizon; and the bonfire here on the beach has long since been lit, tended, prepared for the occasion. There is no crowd yet, no great mass, but there are a handful of people -- Guardians, mostly -- getting an early jump on the evening.

And on the booze.

Leon Barca is among them, a mug in one hand -- though his smells remarkably of apples, not malted barley -- and he's in quiet conversation with a handful of other men: soldiers.

Rourke glances to Addison as he descends the steps to the beach, drawling dryly, "This might be the occasion of the other side always looking better."

"That could very well be true," Addison admits with a little laugh as she moves alongside the Keeper. "I've heard many people talk about the advantages of my situation."

Quite a few steps behind the Keeper's entourage comes a solitary figure with a measured gait. Oksana is not what you call a shy young woman, as her gaze moves around quite openly and unabashed. There is little to her expression other than study as she walks onto the sands of the beach, stopping near the ring of fires to curtsey toward the Emperor and various nobles already gathered.

Linette Barca is present too, and upholding her duties as hostess - she has a mug of ale in one hand and a cluster of other Guardian nobles around her as they chat away about their ancestors. Now and then a laugh rises up - this is an evening for happy memories, even if there's a slight shadow over Linette's gaze during the moments when silence falls. The evening is mild enough and the bonfire warm enough that some descendants can be present too: six-month-old Justine is wrapped snugly in layers of blankets and burbles happily away as she lies cradled against her mother in a shawl that doubles as a sling.

Even with their footsteps muffled by sand, the Emperor's party is loud enough to be easily heard when they approach, and Linette looks over at the sound, eyes widening for a moment. "Forgive me," she murmurs to the other nobles, and turns to limp quickly towards the Imperial entourage. She shoots a look over towards her husband on the way, trying to catch his eye.

"Your Majesty," Linette says when she draws near, bending in a deep bow - if a slightly awkward one, with the baby at her side. "Thank you for coming. We're honored by your presence."

Rourke takes a moment to scan the beach and the people who are already present. It is the hostess that draws his attention first, although there's a quirky side-comment to Addison before he heads in her direction. "Baroness," he says with the political politeness and a dip of his head. "Our gratitude to you for arranging this. It is a very appropriate thing to do, to remember those who have come before us."

To say that Linette could catch Leon's eye without so much as a glance from her would be truth; that a look draws his attention toward where she directs it, likewise. He offers a few more words and a shaken hand or two to the others, then turns to trudge polished boots through the sand to follow his wife.

"Your Majesty," he offers his own greeting, on the heels of a steady bow of his own. "We -- they're never far from our hearts. It -- it's only right to -- to honor them. From time to time. With friends. Miss Addison," he adds a greeting for her, speaking of friends, and a glance catches Oksana -- a glance and the firstling of a smile.

Amusement lights Addison's features at the quiet comment from the Keeper, offering quiet words in return. Linette's approach draws her attention away though the amusement still lingers, "Excellency." She dips in a very quick curtsy for both the Baroness and the now approaching Baron. "How are you both today?"

"Thank you," Linette says again, a small smile lifting as she straightens up. Some of the light of that smile goes to Addison, as well, and now that the Imperial greetings are over, she adds, "Mistress Addison - thank you for coming. I'm doing well, and glad that you could be with us" And then a tilt of her head up to her husband, when he approaches. She nods in concert with his words. "It's true," Linette says quietly, eyes more sober now. "And right to share their memories with others, so that they can be passed on, and kept alight." She glances towards the bonfire for a moment, then turns back to the others.

Oksana does look toward Leon at that bit of a smile aimed in her direction from him, lifting a hand in a subtle wave in his direction. She makes no move to approach the small group with the Keeper in the middle of it, instead staying near the peripheral of the group, and starts looking over people in her scientific manner. She didn't think it polite to take notes on Ancestor's Day, else she absolutely would be.

Rourke's nod to Linette is solemn, and for Leon he offers a greeting of, "Baron Barca." He looks about the beach. "We will refrain from monopolizing the hosts, certainly. Is there some sort of central place that people should go to, if they wish to speak and share a memory with those gathered?"

"Quite well," Leon answers Addison, smile quirking a touch more -- and though it's a narrow thing on this night, it lacks nothing in sincerity. And to the Keeper? He pauses, glances back over his shoulder toward the bonfire and the people there. It's a simple set-up, at best; and there's nothing remotely approximating a stage. But there is a slightly raised wooden platform on the shore-side of the fire, toward which he tilts his head. "Most -- most tales are -- are shared among friends, Your Majesty," he explains the tradition, "But sometimes there's -- I mean, if someone wants -- over there."

It's not the most coherent explanation, but it gets most of the point across, and he adds with a slight clearing of his throat, "At least, until the brawling starts. Then -- then no one much listens, anyway."

Addison's smile warms for both Leon and Linette, "I am glad to be here." Her gaze roams the area, the bonfire, the platform, it's not until she hears the word 'brawling' that her gaze quickly returns to Leon. "Brawling? People are going to fight?"

"It's not often very formally organized, Your Majesty. Even before the brawling." Linette's lips quirk wryly up as she adds that. She is standing next to her husband, with Justine slung around her in a shawl, and a mug in one hand - most people are holding drinks by this point, as they mill around the bonfires big and small. "But there are always people willing to listen to every tale," she adds, her voice softening again. Her manner is more sober than usual, too, her eyes muted and quiet. "Oh - the brawling isn't mandatory!" Linette says quickly, when Addison asks that startled question. "And it's easy to stay out of the way. But, well, inevitably someone tells a story about someone's ancestor that insults another one, and someone has to settle the dispute with a fist, and..." She tilts a shoulder up in a shrug to finish the statement. "Most Guardian occasions end in brawls one way or another. Weddings, funerals, everything."

Oksana seems to have found a middle-aged legionnaire to interrogate, watching the poor man (who doesn't seem to mind chatting with the young woman) with a keen and sterile way. For a moment, she looks as if she reaches out of habit for her satchel, which is conspicuously missing this evening. When she remembers she does not have it, it brings a small frown to her features.

Duchess Shayne makes her way down to the beach, her usual cadre of guards still around her as she descends the stairs. For all her usual, impeccable appearance, velvet skirts held lightly above the sand, she doesn't seem to intend to take any leadership of the event, more than content to take her time along the periphery of those gathered, speaking to a legionnaire here or there.

Rourke gives a slight nod to Leon's observation, and then focuses upon Linette's detailing about the matter. "I suspect that we'll be away before the brawling begins. Somehow, I don't think my faithful knights will let me remain." Speaking of knights, one of them leans near the Keeper for a moment to murmur to him, and Rourke's attention is claimed by that.

"I -- but you can join in, if you like, Mis Addison," Leon assures her with a growing smile that quirks a little more to one side than the other. Linette's explanation serves quite well, and draws a supporting nod from her husband; and after it's given, he offers another short bow in the Keeper's direction: "If you -- I pray you'll pardon me," he offers, before drawing off a step, two, and there's another bow -- a little shorter -- before he raises a hand toward Shayne: "Your Grace! I -- I didn't think you'd be able join us!" he calls brightly, clearly trying to be delighted that she's arrived.

He's been here for a while, honest. Big as he is, it's still sometimes easy to overlook Bastien Arx, seated at the edge of the fire on the sand with his arms wrapped casually around his updrawn knees and his hands linked loosely together by the index fingers, eyes the color of sunlight resting on the leaping and faltering of the blaze. It defines his expression in highlights and shadows, passive and reflective, his stillness obviously owing more to introspection than aught else. On the sand beside him is a tankard of something that seems to be almost empty.

There is a laugh that comes from the man Oksana talks to, which just draws more of the plain staring of the young alchemist in training. With a few words murmured from her, the soldier goes from laughing to looking at her as if she just sprouted another head. In the end, he takes his mug and finds someone else to talk to. Oksana watches the man walk off without even the slightest change in expression before she scans the crowd again. More nobles have arrived, and so she performs another curtsey in the general direction of the gathering.

"Whyever wouldn't I?" Shayne arches a brow to Leon with a small, polite smile as she glides across the beach toward him, effortlessly sweeping her skirts free of the sand. "I've ancestors as well, and close friends from my time in the legions whose lives I'd like to remember. Besides, you've done such an excellent job of bringing the culture of Guardian to Gateway. I could hardly choose not to support it."

Ysora has an Asha along with her, the little girl having a hard time with the idea of grownups and maybe having to hold still. Especially with the WATER there. It's where octopuses come from, you know

Linette gives a bow to the Keeper as well, her hand moving up to hold Justine steady in her sling as she dips. "Thank you very much for coming. It's an honor to have you as our guest, Your Majesty." She glances up at Leon - now it's his turn to direct her gaze towards a new arrival, and when she sees the Duchess, Linette's smile rises up, perfectly polite, and not quite chasing the sober look from her eyes. She moves to intercept Shayne too, bending in a courteous bow as she echoes smoothly, "Thank you for coming, Your Grace." And then for the first time, Linette's swift stream of words falters, before she says, "Will...my brother be joining you?"

Ysora has an Asha along with her, the little girl having a hard time with the idea of grownups and maybe having to hold still. Especially with the WATER there. It's where octopuses come from, you know. The baroness hands the little one into her nanny's care to go and play where there's a bit less chaos to get up to, or at least to wear herself out so story time can be joined. It is a bittersweet holiday for Ys, memories of love so strong and overlaid with absence. She looks around and bows - to the Keeper and then to the Duke and Duchess. In a few minutes, she'll no doubt make her way over to join her family.

Indeed, whyever wouldn't Shayne? Leon's shoulder rise in an easy roll of a shrug, and those pointed words don't draw the smile from his features. No, it remains. "What -- whatever keeps you indoors so often, I -- I should think," comes his answer, perhaps not having noted any 'whatevers' sitting next to the fire with near-empty mugs, yet. "But I -- I--" He pauses, selects the right word, and finishes, "Well. It's good you've come."

Right.

And then there's an Ysora on the sand, and /she/ may wait a few minutes to join her family, but if she does, she'll have to endure Leon's swift steps through the shifting sands and a healthy embrace on the edge of the crowd. "Ysora," he greets her, with a smile not at all dimmed, and a few quieter, murmured words.

"He'll be here soon," Shayne assures Linette with a small smile, glancing over her shoulder toward the castle. "Just a few things for him to finish up before he continued anywhere. It is good to see you, your excellency," she adds a little more warmly. "I trust preparations for our journey are proceding apace?" If there's some amusement in her features when she looks after Leon, well...Those two aren't known for being close.

Ysora looks up just in time to get an armful of Leon. Her eyes widen in surprise before she lets her head drop to her brother's shoulder. Comfort given, comfort received. She steps back after a moment, smiling softly. "Of course, Leon. So many to remember. Those we love and miss, those we honor and remember, those who taught us about justice, and at times injustice."

Linette's smile doesn't waver - but neither does it rise in its usual brightness at the thought that her brother is on his way. "Good," she says. "It's very fitting for you both to be here."

And then she's left alone with one sister-in-law, while Leon goes off to give that exuberant greeting to another. Linette's eyes slide away from Shayne to follow her husband, and they catch the firelight for a wistful moment when she sees that affectionate embrace. But she is here with the Duchess, and Linette does her duty. She takes a drink of her ale, squares her shoulders, and puts that smile back onto her face. "Absolutely," Linette says, just as smoothly as before. "I'm looking forward to the journey very much. I've already started studying the language."

Oksana makes her way toward the tent with the drinks held within. Here she just stands for the time being, watching people come and go, watching to see how much booze these Guardians can put away.

It's a fierce embrace the young Baron Caerdach gives his big sister, and a bright smile, too, for her presence. "Yes," he agrees, plain and simple, without any ornamentation. "C'mon," he says, "Let's get you a -- a drink, and we -- we'll raise a toast to Father."

As he turns back toward those tents where beverages are served, his eyes pass over Shayne and Linette -- and there's mild apology, there -- and find, too, Oksana, who he greets now with a lift of his chin. "Miss Oksana. Have a -- a drink, and we -- I dare say, we've some stories to tell tonight."

"Thank you, Excellency," Oksana says to Leon with a succinct nod. "I look forward to hearing these stories and seeing what this holiday is all about." Which is why she's here!

Shadowed by a pair of guards in Codex livery, Karyleine descends the steps to the beach, her cobalt eyes scanning the gathered for those she knows - and finding aplenty. With a small smile, the Draughten lady begins drifting towards her kin.

"Excellent," Shayne approves, nodding once to Linette before turning her attention to the rest of the gathering. "A very nice showing, your excellency," she murmurs. "Better still that there's been less death this last year than in previous years. It gives me hope for next year as well."

Ysora leans on Leon and limps at his side towards those beverages. She tries to catch Lintte's eye over the glow of firelight. Ys's head is lifted, posture about as good as can be expected with her injuries. The smile is gentle and supportive. She looks away when Leon mentions Oksana. She turns to the other woman. "So many we love. If there are any you would like to hear more of, please let us know."

Kenneth moves to the gathering of people, watching all those who have come together here with the intent of remembering people who have passed the veil. He walks into the refreshment tent and gets a mug of warrior's milk, then moves to contemplate the ambitious flames as they lick higher into the night sky.

"There are still a few new stories to tell," Linette says quietly to Shayne. Her eyes drift off towards the fire again, that polite smile dimming into shadows for a moment. She stands near the edge of the group, her baby daughter at her side in a shawl-sling and a mug in one hand. Linette takes another sip, longer than the last, and catches Ysora's eye over the rim. When the mug comes down, Linette's smile is higher, offering a warm look back to her other sister-in-law before she turns back up to the Duchess. "But I'm glad that we've had peace this year, too. Please - have something to drink, Your Grace," Linette offers, smile pushing up in polite hospitality.

At the beverage tent, Leon pursues a refill of his own mug -- cider still, for the Purist baron, and there's inevitably some murmuring about it; but he fetches, too, a mug of ale for his sister. "It's about telling stories, Miss Oksana," he explains to the girl, easily enough. "About -- about people we knew and -- and who aren't with us anymore."

His eyes follow Kenneth as the man fetches his drink and moves on, thoughtfully, but he doesn't greet the fellow -- not yet.

Cael makes his way into the area, first to the tent for a mug of warrior's milk. Then back to the outside area, looking around before heading over to where Shayne, Ysora, Leon and Linette are. "Your grace," he murmurs. "Your excellencies. Good evening," he adds, taking another sip as he settles at the edge of the group. His eyes flick to the fire, looking meditative.

Karyleine draws closer at last to Ysora, settling a hand on her cousin's shoulder from behind. "Cousin. And baby cousin!" She greets Ysora and Asha with a smile. "How fare you?"

A fair crowd has begun to gather around the bonfire on the beach. There's food, beverage, and many small knots of people drinking, talking, often laughing, sometimes sharing less bright tales.

Oksana nods to Ysora's words. "I will be unafraid to ask questions as they arise, Baroness. Thank you," she assures, then looks back to Leon. "I see. I imagine it can be quite the emotional gathering," she observes, looking quite the opposite of emotional.

Kenneth just +fingered you.

"Oh, I'll get over there eventually," Shayne promises Linette with a small smile, nodding politely as Cael approaches. "Your excellency, what a pleasant surprise," she murmurs, pausing to scan the crowd once more, thoughtful. "It really is a very good turn out," she muses, mostly to herself. "If a bit on the morose side. Though no doubt as the night wears on, things will...evolve."

"It can be," Leon answers Oksana with a rueful twist to his smile. "When the brawling starts, I -- I suggest you stand out of the way, though." A pause, and then he raises a hand to his mouth to carry his voice across a quarter of the occupied space to where Linette stands yet with Shayne: "Linette!" he calls. "I -- I think it's time for some tales! Will you -- will you share one!"

Ysora accepts the ale, but looks at her brother in amusement. "Trade you. Baby prefers apples to ale." Yes, the baroness is starting to show a little. Not too far along, though. "I so wish father had met Justine and Asha."

She turns at the hand on her shoulder, the smile on her face for Karyleine touched with sadness. "How lovely of you to come and enjoy one of our Guardian traditions. Perhaps you will have a tale to tell of one you love." She'd wave to Cael, but, hand full. She just calls, "Baron Smithfield."

Wearing a heavier cloak for the evening, Innocentia makes her way down to the beach, those sky blue eyes of hers, several shades darker in this light, roam for familiar faces. Spotting a more than a few, she makes her way over to the tent promising beverages and waves shyly to her family members, remaining quiet so as not to interrupt. She offers a curtsey when proper.

Entering the assembly and celebration, such as it is, is one Duke Mists. He glances quietly over those who have gathered, inclining his head respectfully to other nobles, deeper for the Keeper as he gathers the mood for the event. As he has little idea of what to expect, just yet, he seems to be more observing, than anything else.

Leon casts a rueful smile to his sister, and quietly changes mugs with her: apples for ale. He peers down into the ale mug with a moment's uncertainty, and doesn't /quite/ begin drinking. Yet.

Kenneth lifts his head slightly as someone is greeted with the words, "Your Grace." Shaking his mind out of the path of his thoughts, he moves to walk and meet the Duchess of the Isle of Guardians, his gait proclaiming him this night that he was and still is a warrior of that land. Bowing to Shayne, he says softly. "Good eve, your Grace. Thank you for hosting this gathering.. it is needed more than you know by some."

"I will be sure to do so," Oksana assures Leon with a quirk of her lips. "Thank you for the sage advice. Do enjoy your festivities, Baron, and thank you for taking the time out to say hello."

Cael smiles and bows to Shayne, taking another sip. "I missed this last year. I'd rather not miss it this year, your grace," he says. "You know, on the way over here, I was thinking about my memories of my father - Finn Kilgannon, and how he shaped my growing up - both my brother and I, in different ways," he says.

Oksana turns her attention more fully upon Ysora. "You are expecting again, Excellency?"

Karyleine leans close enough to brush a kiss to Ysora's cheek and then another to Asha's head before offering, "I find myself more intrigued by your Isle all the time, cousin." And then, with a last smile, she turns away, nodding to Leon and curtseying to others as she goes to find something to drink.

"Ah, Kenneth," Shayne smiles swiftly to the smith, dipping her chin in a polite nod. "A pleasure to see you again. Though I must confess, it was actually Baron Leon who suggested hosting this event. I've always celebrated it a bit more privately. Still, it is good to see Guardian turning out for it." At Cael's words, a small smile tugs at one corner of her lips. "Finn Kilgannon was an impressive man, your excellency. His time came too early."

"Your Excellency, welcome," Linette echoes, dipping a polite bow to Cael. Whatever she was going to say next, though, is cut off by her husband's shout. "I've got one!" Linette calls back, her voice carrying just as easily across the gathering. "On my way!" Her bow is one of farewell now, polite to both Cael and Shayne, and starts to make her way across the sand. Now she has her chance to give quick embraces to the other side of her family - one for Ysora, tight and warm, and another for Karyleine soon after. "I'm so glad that you could be here. And you too, Little Asha," she adds, smiling down at her niece. "Karyleine, could you take Justine for a moment?" Linette is already starting to lift the little girl out of the sling to hand over to her cousin. Once the baby is passed, she reaches out to take hold of her husband's arm, hanging on for support as she climbs up onto the platform.

"Now hear a story of our ancestors!" Linette shouts, getting ready to begin.

Asha flings her arms around Karyleine's legs in greeting. This involves wet hands on a skirt, and a starfish patting against her cousin. Ysora nods to Oksana as the baroness's arm slides around Karyl's waist. "I am," she says peacefully. "Oh, Karyl. Let's sit down to listen." Once she's settled in, she murmurs something to Oksana.

Karyleine doesn't get too far before she finds herself holding wee Justine and with Ysora's arm around her. Looking more than content with it, she, too, settles beside her kin, cradling Leon and Linette's daughter to her as she lifts her chin to listen.

Elinora quietly enters from Keeper North, trudging down toward the other people with a curious expression. She shyly keeps back, but gets close enough to listen.

From his position near the bonfire, seated on the ground and leaning forward with his arms loosely linked about his updrawn knees while he keeps his own counsel and ruminates on his own memories, Bastien finally shifts his gaze upward and away from the heart of the conflagration, toward Linette's ringing call. It stirs him enough that he remembers to finish his drink, setting the empty flagon aside afterward with a glance spared to the beverage table, but no immediate move to rise and refill it.

the Duke of Mists moves over towards Shayne, and greets in mild fashion, "Your Grace." A small sincere smile, if not mild, is shown to her. Raziel remarks quietly, "I've never seen one of these traditions upheld. We have our own ways on Mists," so as not to disturb any others, inespecial Linette.

There's a satisfied look to Leon's features as Linette comes prepared with a story: satisfied, probably, because it means /she/ gets to talk to everyone, and /he/ doesn't have to. He gives his daughter a brief smile, and one to Karyleine, too, as the girl's passed off her way. An arm is offered Linette as she steps up onto the platform, and then? He stands complacently on the sand beside her, his arms folding over his chest as a Barca leads off the tale-telling.

It isn't as cold yesterday, thankfully, though given her recent weight loss, it affects her a little more than usual. Golden eyes peer from the top of a deep-green scarf, wrapped around her neck and burying most of the lower half of her face from view. Arms crossed over her chest, the light of nearby fires glint off the metallic sheen of gold interspersed with scarlet, Cynara remains in the fringes of the gathering, clearly waiting for someone as she hasn't moved to greet people she knows yet. An absent, contemplative glance cast over the proceedings, the word 'story' perks up her ears, her attention turning towards where Linette has announced it. If there is a smile, it goes unseen behind the scarf.

Kenneth nods and moves to listen to the story that is to be told. Guardians is a land of tradition, her people bonded together with tales of valor and glories of old. He takes a deep drink of his milk, then moves to get some more before the storytelling begins in earnest.

"Ah, your grace," Shayne murmurs as Raziel approaches, though she lowers her voice respectfully, only just above a whisper as attention turns to Linette's call. "I am glad you could come. It's...a simple tradition, really. We gather to remember together those who we've lost. Especially those we've lost in the last year, but those we've lost further in the past as well. A chance to remember their lives, and not their deaths. Or, if we must, what was gained by their death."

Oksana actually smiles at Ysora at her murmured words. "Thank you, and congratulations to you, Baroness. Do enjoy your evening." Despite the smile, the tone of voice does remain the same.

Cael falls silent as Linette speaks, taking a sip from his mug and turning to face Linette, listening silently.

Joshua tries to slip in with no big fanfare. He's got that kind of personality that can be lost in the crowd after all. But he spies a cousin that is also on the outskirts and moves some to join Cynara. Not wishing to startle her but he just stands next to her until she notices him.

Her cider collected, Innocentia makes her way to find a seat for herself, bottom lip bitten as she searches. Deciding on standing instead, she moves to the back of the crowd to remain out of the way.

He's late! This time he's not even fashionably late, he's just plain late, and that's the worst kind of late there is. Iain has fairly sprinted down from the castle, long legs and an agile build rendering him briefly gazelle-like as he whips his way through town and bounds lightly down the stairs, skipping every other one as he rolls to an easier pace on the sand, dark eyes flicked about the periphery of the firelit gathering in search of...

"Nara," he greets as he draws up beside her, still breathing a little bit quickly, a hand lifted for Josh along with a breathless smile. "Evenin'."

Amongst the growing crowd, another figure is seen weaving through the outskirts: a chandler with distinctive, heavy plaits down to her waist. It's rather anyone's guess what Sage would want here; at least, until it becomes clear she's headed for the drinks tent. Then it's clear as the stars glittering in the sky overhead. The local chandler never turns down a drink.

"This is a story of Duke Damien Barca!" Linette's voice rises high, carrying with easy strength across the beach from where she stands on a platform near the bonfire. "How he won the Tel Girade tournament, but how someone else carried the day."

"This is a story from before I was born. My father was still Marquis, barely finished with his training in arms, but he entered the Tel Girade tournament.

"And he had a _glorious_ fight!" Linette's eyes catch the firelight with an eager gleam. "Unhorsed two opponents in the first pass, and then in the final round, he and his opponent were both unhorsed and went at it with swords for nearly an hour before the other one yielded. And so my father was declared the victor. He got back on his horse and rode forward to accept the prize from _his_ father, Duke Antony - but instead of speaking, as was customary, he rode straight off the field in full armor.

"People started to follow him, not sure what he could be doing or where he was going. Was he ill? Hurt?

"When they caught up with him, my father was at the nearest blacksmith's shop, with his head down on the anvil. The last fight had been so furious, and dented his helm so much, that it couldn't be taken off! And so there was a _very_ nervous blacksmith pounding away at the Marquis's helm.

"And that is how my father won the Tel Girade tournament, but in the best tradition of Guardian, a blacksmith saved _him_!" Linette finishes triumphantly. She lifts her mug in the air. "To Damien Barca, gone to join the ancestors this year!" Only then does her voice waver for the first time. But she lifts her chin, and finishes just as loud as before. "Providence rest his soul, and may we remember him well!"

Though Linette stands to speak, that doesn't stop many in the gathered crowd from continuing their own private conversations or tales or discussions. It hardly draws silence across the beach, anyhow. Not at first. The subject-matter, however, draws no little interest, and many pause to listen -- and some, of other political persuasions, to frown. It meets with a cheer from many, and there's many a mug raised to echo the Baroness's final words.

"Providence rest his soul, and may he remember him well," Cael echoes with his shout, and takes a sip from his mug after a salute with it.

With no cup to raise, Karyleine merely lifts her voice in a cheer at the end of her cousin's story.

Kenneth lifts his glass and takes a swallow to the Duke.. though his mind is not much on the story as told, he is here and listening.

She doesn't even hear Josh slink up near her, more than just a little bit preoccupied - odd enough in itself, considering she tends to gravitate towards her cousin just to embarrass him with an overly affectionate greeting, usually. However, when his shadow intertwines with her own, she looks up... and smiles when she sees him. "Joshua," Cynara murmurs, lifting an arm to hug him around the shoulders and press a kiss to his temple. "What have you been up to?" she asks conversationally, keeping her voice low as Linette begins to spin a yarn. And when the person she's waiting for arrives, at the call of her name, her head angles towards Iain. "You're late," she chides, her arm moving to curl around his in a companionable fashion, and almost like how she greeted her cousin, she pecks Iain's cheek lightly. "Have you met my cousin? Lord Joshua Dhaval, Lord Iain Arx." She would gesture between the two, except... well, she can't, with one arm around Josh's shoulder and the other around the Guardian's arm.

A smile plays across Leon's features through the story, and there's a soft laugh, too, at the turn to the tale. "Rest with Providence," he murmurs as he lifts his mug in salute -- and drinks, ale or not. And to Linette? As he offers his arm, murmured: "Thank you."

Blue eyes roam the crowd, then, and those gathered -- and before long they fall on Cael. "Baron Smithfield!" he calls, lifting his voice over the crowd, "Cael! Will you spare us a tale?"

Josh leans in a little at Nara's affection. With his free arm he sort of waves in the direction of Iain. Telling the female between them, "I'm not certain but well met, milord." His smile is brief and his tone is low as he wouldn't want to talk over when Linette gives her story. As he says those pleasantries he looks around the crowd to see who else is all here. But his attention is also focused on the two that are near him.

The Duke Mists inclines his head, "Well spoken," he offers to Linette, "Excellency." He says no more than this, however, perhaps feeling the part of the outside observer, and not wishing to disrupt ceremony otherwise. Still, the man remains attentive, curious as to other stories or people that might be remembered.

Linette drains the last of her mug, and her breath lets out in a puff as she lowers it. Her smile isn't quite steady anymore, but it holds. She reaches down to take her husband's arm again as she climbs down from the platform. "You're welcome," she murmurs back. "I'm...glad I could start." She keeps her hand on Leon's arm for a long moment, even after she is securely down on the sand.

Only when the Duke Mists approaches does Linette straighten up, squaring her shoulders once more before she dips in a neat bow. "Thank you very much, Your Grace," she says, voice nearly smooth. "We're honored to have you here."

Elinora feels an outsider, too, as a Green Fields girl. Still, she works her way closer, pulling her simple cloak about her body against the cold. She gravitates toward Raziel without consciously doing so.

Having secured herself a cup of Warrior's Milk, Sage turns about, polished agate skipping across the sand in an idle, perusing fashion. Don't mind her. She's just here for the alcohol.

Aaric's entry may be late, but he is in time to hear Linette's recounting. A man not normally given to displays of ostentatious emotion (aside, perhaps, from anger), the Duke nevertheless regards his sister with a mix of solemn and rueful regard as she tells the tale of the father who they lost only this year -- even if it seemed as though he had left long ago. He does crack a smile at the end, nodding with brief approval before he takes the opportunity of transition to steal beside his wife. "My lady wife, Duke Devonshire," he says, laying a hand on the back of the former and giving the latter a respectful incline of the head.

Raziel's words to Linette draw a glance from Leon, and a bow, and a smile; and the arrival of a second Duke in short order draws another bow, though the smile -- it falters, just a touch. "Your Graces," he says, words smooth as ever the young baron speaks them, "Be welcome. I -- I'm glad you could join us."

Shayne looks up as Aaric arrives, a small smile touching her features. "Did you catch it?" she murmurs, her glance to Linette making it clear that she's talking about the story of his father. She doesn't have a drink just yet, though she seems comfortable enough surrounded by her guards. "Linette was hoping you would make it here."

Cael takes another sip, and clears his throat, coughing. He eyes the stage before he moves to it, stepping up onto it. "This is a tale of two people - Finn Kilgannon, the baron of Crucible. And his wife, Ardelia Barca Kilgannon." He pauses, and his voice takes on a military cadence and boom, like a man trained to speak in a battle field. "I was seventeen. Seems like twenty years ago, but it wasn't. I was young, you see, and I had about a year in the Legions. Even time to learn the basics, to get trained as a young - very young - noble officer. I saw the way the non-officers looked at me. I knew they thought I was pampered, weak, coddled."

He pauses and takes a sip. "I wrote my father a long letter. Telling him about my troubles, and my trials and how frustrated I was. How I was worried I would disappoint him, and that he wouldn't love me because I had failed." His eyes look out over the crowd. "I'll never forget the day. Fifteen May, four ninety seven. Mail call came, and I had had a horrible day. A sergeant had shown me how I had directed the troops wrong, a higher ranking officer had suggested I wouldn't make it in the cavalry - and another suggested I might be better as a barkeep, and my feet were blistered, I was exhausted, and I was in my tent working on my gear and my studies into tactics." His eyes search out Leon and he smiles, "I suspect the good baron knows how that feels."

He pauses to take another sip. "I was at the end of my rope. And a letter came from my father. I'll never forget what he said: Cael, he said. I'm your father. I love you, and I will always love you, but I will not let you fail because you didn't try hard enough. Today, my son, I buried your mother. You will respect her and work your hardest. You may not be the best officer the Legions cavalry has ever seen, but you will return to me the hardest working. Your mother's memory and our family deserve no less." Cael smiles and blinks once or twice. "Anyway. That was my father. And here's to you, father and mother. You're with our ancestors now, and I can only hope our family and my brothers and sisters can make you proud. To Finn Kilgannon and Ardelia Barca Kilgannon. Long live their memory!" he says, his voice a touch shaky.

Harqen, Aodren Corentin's bodyguard, is a mountain of raw muscle forced into clothing that looks perpetually undersized. It is his silhouette that first graces the crest of the hills leading down into the beach. He stops there, however, while his master continues down. Fluid grace and the swirl of a long black coat. Frost-rimmed onyx takes survey of the gathering, and he inclines his head respectfully toward the Duke of Mists before he approaches Cynara. "My Lady Venator." he says, offering his hand with palm turned up.

Innocentia makes her way towards Bastien, clearing her throat she bends down to speak softly with the ex-Knight, her eyes roaming the crowd as she does. The cider in her hands is balanced carefully so as not to spill.

Elinora finally comes to a stop nearby Raziel. She doesn't really take a close look at him as she huddles in her cloak and looks toward Cael as he finishes his story. The young woman simply, companionably stands there as if she belongs.

When Aodren approaches her, the redhead seems accompanied by two people, a younger man barely out of his teens, and an older man that's somewhere, mentally, in his teens. Cynara watches Joshua and Iain exchange greetings with a small smile, lowering her arms from the both of them so she could readjust her gloves and pay more attention to what's going on, the expression hidden behind her scarf growing at every word that Cael spins out into his willing audience. When addressed, however, amber eyes fall on Aodren as he approaches and offers a hand. "...Master Corentin, twice in one day," she greets with a smile, a glance to his hand before extending her own politely. "Are you hear to listen in? You're just in time."

"I dinnae know as we have," Iain tells Josh with a quicksilver curl of a half-smile, tipping his chin upward. "It's good tae meet you. Josh was it? I think I knew that Nara had cousins about, but I've nae met any of her family until now." Astonishingly, the prospect of meeting the young woman's family doesn't seem to be sending him screaming and running for the hills, good humor hung on his expression and his posture like a well-fitted garment, eyes like lapis glittering, reflecting twists and rills of the bonfire light in their depths.

Aodren's approach brings blue eyes up -- first to the man's face -- and then down, to the hand he extends -- and then up again, his smile taking on a faintly feline cast, close-lipped, eyes lidded.

Linette leaves her mug behind and bends to retrieve Justine from Karyleine's arms, gathering her tiny daughter close for a moment. "Thank you," she murmurs to Karyleine. And then, louder, echoes, "Long live their memory," along with the rest of the crowd.

Linette's breath catches a little when she sees Aaric approaching - her smile had barely managed to climb up again, but now it is entirely gone. Still, her manner is quiet, subdued under the aftermath of telling the story of her father so recently lost...and so when she sees her brother, she steps forward to meet him. "I'm glad you could come," Linette says, lifting her eyes to meet Aaric's. "I hope you heard the story about Father? If you have one to share, too, we'd be happy to hear it."

Leon lifts his mug at Cael's mention of him, and his look is sympathetic -- oh so /very/ sympathetic -- but he holds his tongue until the story's done. "May they rest with Providence," he intones, quietly, on the heels of the story, and lifts his mug once more to his lips. He offers a hand, then, to Cael for a proper Guardian's grip. "Thank you," he says, and there's sincerity in that gratitude.

Bastien's head tips enough to catch Innocentia's hushed words, his gaze lifted and his head turned enough to look up at her when she finishes saying whatever it is that she says. Dark brows draw into a gentle knit, simultaneous to a very slight upward turn at the corner of his mouth, concern and welcome all in one. He extends a hand to pat the stretch of sand beside where he's sitting as his answer, and once she's seated he tilts enough to ask her a quiet question of his own, volume kept below that of the stories being exchanged.

Cael steps off the platform and smiles at Leon, shaking the hand firmly. "You're welcome. Thank you for pushing me to do it," he says as he steps away from the platform, taking a gulp or two from his mug. "A good turn out here," he adds, turning to dip his head in a bow to Aaric. "Your grace," he murmurs, smiling at the others around.

A light kiss upon the back of her hand, and a congenial inclination of his head. "Of course. Though I daresay you are not lost for company on this auspicious day." he replies. His eyes flick briefly toward Iaian's, which he inspects with a careless sort of cool. A shallow lilt of his head once more, and he slants the barest of smiles toward Cynara. "Good eve." He turns, and begins to move to a place just a little way removed from the rest of the crowd, clasping one bare hand in a velvet gloved opposite.

Karyleine cuddles Justine to her, cooing quietly. She listens respectfully to each story, adding a wish for Providence's blessing. Once Linette has reclaimed her daughter, she offers a quiet smile to the Baroness and another kiss to Ysora's cheek before she dusts herself off and rises. "I should be going. I need to check on my own children." She bids her kin and then heads for the stairs.

"Oh, I caught it," Aaric says through a brief but true smile to his wife. "She did well." He turns his attention to Leon's greeting. "Good evening, Excellency. I'm glad to be here, and even more still that you were thoughtful enough to host such an event. Thank you." And then she's there herself. "I heard it," he says to Linette quietly. "He... would have appreciated it." A crease forms between his raven brows as he offers after a beat: "I could say some brief words about a passage, I suppose."

Oksana does listen to the stories being told, watching the speaker, watching the other people watching the speaker, counting the amount of drinks that one soldier over there already drank. However, there is something just out of place with the young woman, and before things start getting to a level of higher emotion in the group, she does start slipping toward the edges of the crowd.

"Excuse me," Shayne murmurs as others arrive to greet Aaric, giving her husband's hand a squeeze before she moves to slip through the crowd. It's Aodren to whom her steps lead, a rare, genuine smile touching her features as she reaches the man's side. "Aodren," she greets, tone low appropriate for the setting. "I didn't expect to see you here. Not that you aren't welcome, of course."

Mug in hand, Sage wanders down towards the bonfire, boots scuffing in the sand, drifting from group to group, half-listening.

Leon is there, yet beside Linette, and gives a deep nod at Aaric's words. "If you -- we -- we'd be glad to hear it, Your Grace," he prompts likewise, an arm resting itself around Linette's shoulder as he says it. And then there's another sip of his drink -- ale still! -- and a glance around the crowd as he draws a step back to make room.

Watching Shayne's interaction with Aodren, Raziel's brows raise in thought, and he gives a silent nod towards the merchant-mage thoughtfully, slowly in unspoken greeting. However, most of his attention remains upon those speaking, remembering.

"Indeed, your grace,' Cael echoes, smiling as he takes a sip and he looks around, takinga sip or two before he turns to take everyone in, taking another sip or two before he discovers that his mug is getting periliously close to empty.

Aodren's expression noticeably relaxes at Shayne's approach, and the arch of his brow seems vaguely bemused by her greeting. He inclines his head in silent respect. "I am glad of that."

"Careful lad. Your lips seem tae accidentally have fallen ontae my lass," Iain cautions the figure who departs, his tone nothing less than obstinately cheerful, the close-lipped smile growing by several degrees. To look at him would be to assume that his good humor knew literally no bounds; that he's relaxed enough to roll his weight forward onto the balls of his booted feet, another flash of pearled teeth evident as he drops his gaze to the scarlet-tressed sylph of a girl beside him, brows jumping momentarily in that universal expression for, 'isn't this a hoot?'

Linette's smile lifts a little. Whatever other tension is keeping her back from giving her brother the full-on grin and hug that she usually has for his greeting - for she stands slightly back, eyes flickering even in their muted warmth - she can give Aaric a genuine smile for that compliment. "Thank you," she says softly. "Go tell yours, then." She unwinds one hand from around her daughter, reaching out to give Aaric's arm a light touch. Linette's eyes dart up, then, when her husband's arm goes around her shoulders - grateful at first, and then oddly curious.

Elinora grows very still after a few moments as other sounds besides the stories filter into her mind. Very slowly, she turns her head up to look at the dark-haired man nearby and her brown eyes widen as realization dawns upon her features. Darkly blushing beneath her freckles, she begins to ease away from the Duke of Mists just as quietly as she moved to stand near to him, but with more of a slinking away movement of embarassment.

Oksana curtsies to the crowd once she reaches her point of escape, then does turn and make her way back toward the stairs that lead to the city.

Innocentia's smile is a warm one as she takes the offered seat next to Bastien, relief evident on the Purist woman's face as she does. She keeps her voice low, a handkerchief raised to cover her mouth a moment before her eyes drift towards the fire. Her hands pull the cloak about her more tightly.

Josh is a bit overwhelmed by the crowd that he misses Iain's words to him at first. He gives a quick nod in hearing the other lord telling him, "Yes, Nara and I are cousins. Our fathers are brothers actually." Woo that's a lot of words for the young man to say in public. Or maybe he's just comfortable being in Cynara's presence.

"Good evening, please enjoy yourself, I know you've not been here long in Gateway," Cynara tells Aodren amicably, withdrawing her hand once it's released. She watches the mage as he leaves, her head canting slightly to the side, and watches as the Duchess Guardian moves to intercept him. The bent of her mouth is contemplative, softened at the corners upon her perusal, a glance to Joshua when he listens to more stories, and then to Iain while the change between storytellers takes place after his comment, a resigned expression cast his way. Perhaps to anchor him to where he is, she preemptively re-loops her arm back around Iain's. To Joshua's words, she nods, clarifying. "Younger brother, but I'm older than Josh," she tells him, a mischievous glint scoring over her visible irises. "Papa worked a little faster than Uncle - then again, Uncle was a very extremely busy man back in the day." There's an absent tone there, a foggy memory unearthed, her other hand finding Joshua's and giving it a squeeze.

Duchess Shayne casts a brief flicker of a smile toward Iain as she catches the tail end of his observation, an upward twitch of her brow falling...a little short of a threat. Whoever the mage is, he seems to have some connection with the duchess. "How have you been settling in here?" she asks the mage in a low tone, watching the podium for the next speaker.

Elinora murmurs, "Pardon. Excuse me. I'm so sorry," as she makes her way back to the outskirts of the crowd as unobtrusively as possible. Her face is still flaming when she pauses to gather her nerves and orient herself again. She simply closes her eyes to listen now.

Standing near Elinora, Sage gives the other woman a moment's perusal before adding, "Look unsettled. Drink's good for undoin' that."

Cael makes his way through the crowd, making his way to the tent to get a refill. On the way back he smiles at Elinora. "No one here will bite or insult. You should feel free to be comfortable. This is a time for our ancestors - all of our's, not relegated to station or position," he tells her.

Elinora blushes all over again at Cael's words and nods in frazzled agreement with Sage. "Thank you, sir. I.. I should just pay more attention where I'm standing." Looking hopefully to Sage and that woman's drink, she asks, "What's best?"

That's a curious look from Linette that Leon does not answer, nor even meet; his eyes remain steady, and his arm around her shoulders, even if it sets him a step behind her. He sips again at his ale: first mug, still, and it seems plenty full yet.

Aaric at some point has managed to wrangle (or more likely, has been offered) a mug of ale, and with it he takes his place at the center -- a lean, dark figure in the firelight. He dips his chin in moment's collection before he speaks. "Friends, thank you for coming. I lost a father this year, and like so many of my fellow Guardians and citizens of the Empire, have lost many more dear to my heart in years past. I do not come to speak of them. I come to speak of a young man I met but a handfull of times in my life. I doubt I will be the last to mention his name -- which is only right and proper."

The duke's cheeks hollow before he speaks out again: "In the tragedy of Rayder Pass, when a mountain fell, when a village was destroyed, when hundreds of Guardians were killed and more injured or displaced -- there was an unprecedented swell of support from even beyond the confines of our Empire. Indeed, it is safe to say that none were more devoted to the relief efforts than a man not even of our isle. Master Tiege Soranus walked among the injured, the dying, and those already fallen giving aid and comfort where he could. They were people he'd never met, people to whom he owed nothing, and yet he spent days, weeks amongst the people there -- undertaking sometimes dangerous missions to help those still trapped."

"And although he was a charitable and giving soul, he was by no means a naive one," the duke continues, the hard line of his lips tugging briefly at their edges. "As a product of those dangerous missions, it was Tiege that uncovered information which revealed the source and author of Rayder's fall and the death of so many. It was young Master Soranus who brought the information to my attention, and though I would hope otherwise -- it may well be that were it /not/ for that young man, the treachery that lay at the heart of that tragedy might never have been uncovered. It is a credit he has never been properly given, and so here let it be corrected. But even as diligent as he wast in his pursuit of justice, when it was nigh? It was Tiege Soranus who visited Arcadius Athelstan in his final hours, to offer what consolation he could to an unjust man facing death."

Aaric lifts his mug a touch, short of a cheer but prelude to it. "I did not know Tiege Soranus well, and I have less right to speak of him than others around this fire. But I hope doing so honors the spirit of a man whose sense of justice and compassion were broader than the confines of his family and friends, his sect, and his island. Guardian owes him a debt, and I doubt we are alone. Let us drink to him." And so he does.

Emuishere slips discreetly down onto the beach and moves to stand in silence at the edges of the crowd, watching with a small smile, much more impenetrable than any neutral expression. Two guards bearing the colors and crest of Miller's Isle keep an eye on her at a decent distance. Hand in her pockets and cloaked against the cold, Emuishere merely stands and listens in silence, not attempting to make eye contact with anyone.

"I'd offer to get a drink for you -- it helps -- but..." There doesn't need to be any explanation offered for the 'but', the corner of Bastien's mouth maintaining that mellow, very subtle twist as he unlinks his hands and straightens enough to tug his sleeves up toward his elbows, exposing sinewed forearms, the left of which is branded toward its upper half with a skirl of shadowed ink in the skin. Innocentia receives a brief look of assessment before he returns his gaze to the bonfire dominating the space in front of him, words still quiet enough to carry on beneath the more important stories that wing through the air over his head. "It's a chilly evening to be out with a cold. How long have you had it?"

The answer may be postponed, however, by the relation of Aaric's toast, and to it he offers a lift of his own flagon, empty though it is.

Eamonn arrives quietly, not that it's difficult to slip relatively unmarked through such a large crowd. A mug of ale is collected on his way, and he moves to stand behind his wife, touching his daughter's hair and shooting her a smile before his hand settles on Ysora's shoulder and he listens silently to the end of his duke's story.

Sage, too, lifts her cup, thought it's to a Purist, and she no reported fan of them. Glancing aside to Elinora then, the chandler smiles. "Well, depends. Do you like alcohol or not? And how rough do you like it?"

Ysora knew one of the Tiege stories was coming. She sniffles a bit and hugs her daughter even closer. She lifts her head to look at Aaric and inclines her head. "Thank you, Your Grace." The little one looks up at her father, nose crinkling. The grownups are being SERIOUS. Which is very silly. At least in her little brain. Her hands reach up towards the ale and she implores, "Cocoa?"

There are many fallen -- in long years past, and recently -- to commemorate. Many Guardians. Many closer to the Barca line than Tiege Soranus.

And so, it's with no little surprise that Leon registers a step back, eyes turning sharp to the Duke and jaw tensing a touch at the mention of that name from that man. To say he listens would be a stark understatement; he hangs on those words, and when they're spoken and done, he raises his mug and says with words kept steady by force of will: "Mray he rest with Providence."

A glance over the crowd, then, sees firelight glittering in his blue eyes before he looks bback to Aaric with solemn words: "Your Grace. Thank you."

Cael echoes others at the end of the toast, lifting his mug with a smile for his toast, and a sip a moment after.

Linette turns to watch her brother make his way to the platform, that small crooked smile still on her face. And then Aaric starts speaking - and Linette's breath catches, and holds itself suspended while she stares. She shifts Justine up onto her shoulder, supporting the baby with one arm while the other creeps around Leon's waist, holding him close while they listen. Linette doesn't have a drink in her hand, but she joins the toast at the end all the same, "To Tiege," she says softly. "Providence rest his soul. May we remember him well."

Aodren's survey of the event is largely kept to the studied neutrality that so often holds his features still. His gaze occasionally strays toward Cynara, seeming to carry a passing interest in her observance of the whole affair. Iaian receives notice too, though whatever draws the merchant's eyes to him is less discernable. A few others are picked by his frosty eyed inspection, but the density of the crowd makes it difficult to tell who, even for one who might pay attention to such things. He listens to the orations of each speaker with a marble cut visage unmoved, but still deferential.

"Tiege Soranus," Shayne says in a soft voice at Aaric's speech, the faint curve of her smile approving. "He did a great thing for Guardian," she adds in a low tone to Aodren. "He was...a good man." From anyone else, it would be damning with faint praise. From the notoriously cool duchess? It's as much as making a saint of the man.

Elinora quietly says, "I don't know. The Master used to reserve the wine for guests. To be honest, as the cook's daughter, I drank a lot of milk to keep from being wasteful when it wasn't going to use. I'm still learning about wine, but... uhm... Is there something sweet, mayhap?"

Iain's expression just gathers momentum, enough good cheer and humor there to practically sparkle in the dark air on the beach. He slides his hands into his trouser pockets while he listens to the conversation unroll around him. The duchess' perked brow receives a wink from the young lordling of Soaring Skies, the corner of his mouth curling just that little bit more into something that seems practically cheshire, irises like crushed cobalt gleaming in the shadows cast by the dark lashes awning his lidded gaze.

He listens to the brief history of Josh's relationship to Cynara with nothing less than attentive curiosity, though some of that is derailed to focus on the duke's story when he lifts his voice to give it. It's toward the end that he realizes he's not able to toast the memory of the fallen, and blue eyes slant back toward the pair of Dhavals. "Were you going tae stay around long enough tae have a drink?" If he's aware of being the focus of anyone else, then he's playing at being willfully oblivious, dutiful Guardians citizen that he is. Someone owes him for this. Someone owes him /big/.

Without a word, Emuishere turns and heads off back towards the Keeper North, having only stood for a few moments at the gathering before departing once more. She seems rather affected by the cold. The guards silently follow.

"I think I saw some juice and cider." Sage glances down at her own mug of Warrior's Milk, and then back at Elinora. "Want me to fetch you a cup?" She offers hesitantly.

Elinora's freckled visage brightens. "Cider? Oh, that sounds good!" She offers Sage a warm and friendly smile. "No, I shall get it. Goodness - no need to wait on *me*," she laughs.

"I...uh..." Josh tries to answer Iain but is taken aback by the Duke's story. His eyes get bigger behind his glasses and he just doesn't answer Iain. Silent is he. The arm about Nara just tightens.

Cael takes another sip from his cup and smiles at Sage and Elinora, "The cider is probably pretty good." he says.

Emuishere's entrance is noticed from the corner of her eye, and Innocentia offers a small wave as she continues to converse with Bastien, though as the healer leaves she lets her hand fall. "For a little while, .. and you're right I should likely not be out, but here I am anyway." Stubborn, stubborn, stubborn. She raises her cider, "I have a drink." She says lamely. The fire before her seems to have entranced her, though, and she falls quiet again.

"Oh, you're not one of the nobles? Figured I was the only citizen rattlin' 'round here." Sage replies to Elinora with a note of surprise in her contralto. As Cael offers his advice, the chandler inclines her head respectfully. "There you go, a second opinion, wot? Drink tent's there, m'girl." She points with an encouraging grin.

Aaric takes his leave of the firelight after giving his toast, his nod to Leon is slight even if his gaze is sure as he walks by and murmurs something quietly to the young man.

Tiege.

The look on Cynara's face at Aaric's story is... something else entirely, listening to the details and the re-telling, of sorts, of the tragedy of Rayder Pass. Her hand squeezes Joshua's just a little bit, when the name of his best and dearly departed friend is invoked. "I still have his papers," she tells her cousin softly. "Before he returned to Guardians, he... sent them to me. Sent everything for safekeeping." She doesn't go into detail, but these words are imparted quietly to Joshua when his arm tightens around her. Glancing over at Iain, she inclines her head. "Would it be alright if we stayed for at least one drink?" she asks, loathe to leave her cousin -now- at all times, her look taking on a more imploring cast. "Or at least one more story?"

A slow turn, and Aodren is gone as suddenly as he arrived, a dwindling shadow flanked by the bulky silhouette of the guard that takes his side.

Eamonn grins at his daughter surreptitiously. He reaches down to pat her on the head, bending down to whisper a promise of cocoa later. If she's good. Good means being cute, so she pulls her little stuffed octopus up towards her chin and gives him big eyes.

Ysora rises and moves forward towards the storytellers now that her daughter is in good hands. She smiles at Leon, but waits her turn.

There's long silence, then, from Leon Barca: long, long silence, his hand wrapped tight around his mug. He hears Aaric's murmured words with head bowed,and meets them with a short shake of his head. "No," he says, quiet but not inaudible, "No. It was -- it was well said, Your Grace."

And then, blue eyes turn sharp back to the crowd, searching it, following, until they land on...

"Josh!" he calls, voice perhaps a little sharper than intended. "Lord Joshua! Will you -- will you spare us a few words? A tale?"

Kenneth moves to get yet another cup of warrior's milk. He seems to be drinking them slowly one after the next, keeping his own company in the flames and in his own mind.

Rourke finishes his conversation with the knight, looking about the beach again when he is done. It takes a few moments to get his bearing in crowd, and see who is where, what is being said. Addison is the figure that he seeks out in the festivities.

"Thank you," Linette says softly to Aaric, lifting her eyes to meet her brother's again as he passes. She stays close to Leon, her arm steadily around him through that long silence, and tightening a little more when he finally breaks it. And then Leon calls out again, and Linette blinks up in surprise. "Josh is here?" Linette cranes her neck up to peer over the heads of the taller people in the crowd. "I hadn't seen him. I'm glad he's here," she adds, more softly. "Glad that he could hear Aaric's story. Have you had a chance to speak to him properly?" Linette asks, loosening her arm a little so that her husband can go off to give that greeting.

"We can stay however long you like, lass," is the answering murmur from Iain, something in her expression drawing one dark and angled brow upward in a subtle loft. It takes him only a moment to uncurl his arm from the twine of her own, hand lifted to pass gently over the tumble of her hair above the scarf that she's wearing across most of her face in a brief but affectionate touch. "I'll get sommat for you and your cousin tae drink. Cider for him? And you?" The question is asked as he turns to backpedal toward the tent containing the beverages, brow arched in clear query. When he receives an answer for certain either way, he pivots and makes his way across the gathering toward the tent with the drinks in it, tracking the merchant-mage's departure and tacking a smirk onto it once he's gone. The smirk is notably less pleasant than all of the smiles he was wearing earlier, but at least it's brief.

There is a bit of a shock seen in his features when Josh is called upon by Leon. As well as raw grief. He pulls away from Nara to move. And than he's stammering, "You...what...huh..." Yes, he's intelligent sounding tonight. But ah a story. In front of all these people. Providence help him. He'll need it. Especially after the words from the Duke of Guardians. It takes him a few minutes to gather his courage and to find a story. As he gets his thoughts together he moves to grab for something to drink. He might not have taken Iain's offer earlier but he seems to help himself now. Nothing hard as it is not his way but still its suppose to a toast of sorts, right? Once he gets his drink he moves onwards to the stage. Finding his way there.

"I want to talk about Tiege Soranus. I know he's already been talked about but I want to talk about him again. He was one of my best friends." Eyes drift in the direction of Leon, evident who his other one is. A glance is also spared for Cynara. His voice sort of wavers when he says that. The man not use to talking to an audience but he does it. "I have lots of things that I can say about him and lots of stories I can share. But the one that I remember the most..." He smiles a bit as he looks over at Leon, "Was a few days before Leon was to get married." Chuckling a bit and perhaps he's embarrassed. Hard to tell in the flickering light. Perhaps the young lord looks for humor on such a sombering subject. Such a loss. "We had our version of a party between the three of us. We were the best friends that nothing could touch...and I will not lie that there's a hole now with Tiege gone." He can't look at the audience now and studies his hands, "I guess its not so much of a story but Tiege's willingness to go anywhere he felt needed or willing to give his support. I had this idea that we should go visit House of Blushing Petals." Yep,a Purist just admitted he has been in there. Will Providence strike him down? Dun dun dun. "Anyways, Tiege wholeheartly agreed we should go. You know..." He looks up and over at Leon, "Because, you just can't learn everything by books." Now there's a smile seen. Perhaps a private joke between the two. "So I just want to say Tiege Soranus was a fine man and a fine friend. He truly is with our ancestors now."

There indeed is quite a bit Josh could have talked about since a lot of people knew about Tiege but perhaps he just wanted to show others a part of Tiege that others may not see as much. What close friends will do for another even in a uncomfortable situation. When Josh is done he tries to quickly leave the stage. He obviously does not like the spotlight.

Addison is off to the side, trying to remain well out of the way should fights break out while listening to what she can hear of the stories. The approach of the Keeper draws a little smile, stepping closer to him so she can whisper a few soft words.

Rourke tips his head toward Addison's soft words, a half-smile tugging at his lips. "One would hope," he answers her in an undertone. He gestures for a drink and lifts his in honor of the person being toasted, absently.

Cael listens, and hefts his mug again, a silent salute before echoeing the 'With our ancestors' along with others, taking a long sip before he turns to watch the others around him, offering an easy and relaxed smile.

When one of her guards approaches with a mug, Shayne takes it gratefully. "Thank you," she murmurs with a small smile, sipping at the ale contained within.

"Cider would be great for the both of us, thank you," Cynara tells Iain, whatever expression melting away at the affectionate touch on her hair, and while he can't see it, amber irises reflect her hidden smile. She tracks the Guardian towards where he's getting the mugs, though when Joshua's name is called, her attention gravitates back to her cousin... slipping her arm away and taking a step to the side to give him room to speak, to shadow herself in the sidelines away from the spotlight on Joshua. She waits at the fringes, listening.... and at what is said, her jaw actually -drops-, gaping at her cousin as he drops down from his soap box and moves towards her. "You went -where-?!"

Pause.

Beat.

She lifts a hand, curls a knuckle, and fistbumps her cousin. "That's my boy." Coupled with a sage nod.

Aaric has made his way back to Shayne by the time Josh gives his toast, a subtle smile and slight nod given to his wife as he listens to the tale -- a tale which is likely responsible for that subtle smile holding far longer than any of the Duke's normally do. He lifts his mug to Tiege once more, and takes a drink.

Josh's words meet with a smile from Leon -- a quiet smile, a soft smile, and he nods more than once when that story is told. A bit of color touches his ears when Josh cites their visit to the Petals, but he can only roll his shoulders in an easy shrug at the surprised looks passed his way. He lifts his mug and, silent this time, salutes his passed friend. And he lets Josh fleet the spotlight without further words than a few murmured in passing. He allows a moment's silence to pass, and then, more gently now, he calls out: "Who -- who else will -- will give us a story?" As he asks, his eyes follow around and he lifts his chin at Kenneth. "You, sir -- will you share a tale?"

As Iain passes nearby on his way to the drinks tent, Sage tosses him a grin in greeting and a brief, "Hey, Arx."

Addison's smile quirks a little at the Keeper's reply, "It's possible." She offers softer words after that, her gaze roaming the beach again, falling on Aaric and then Joshua, and finally back to Rourke.

Once more, Linette steps close to Leon when Tiege's name is mentioned - no surprise now, though, for Joshua is on the stage. A small smile plays about the corners of her lips, wistful and quiet as she listens. And then...Leon's wedding. _Her_ wedding?

Linette gasps. And _stares_ at her husband. She was already caught between a dozen other emotions on this night of stories and remembrance of people so recently lost - and now comes _this_? For a second, it looks as if hysterical laughter is about to burst free.

But mostly, Linette just stares.

"You went _where_?" Linette gasps.

And then Linette shakes her head, and lets it go, and tightens her arm around Leon again. "To Tiege," she echoes softly, toasting even though she still has no drink, and gives her husband a smile.

Emperor Rourke watches the crowd over the rim of his cup as he takes a small sip. He mutters to Addison, "... you... I... this... you'd... to... about."

Josh is quick to look embarrassed when Nara fistbumps him. But he looks, what is that? Proud almost. Funny, Purist. Funny, Draught Lord. As he tries to flee back into the crowd he does spy the look that Leon gives him and that smile that is placed there. Perhaps that makes Josh feel a little better for speaking. A fun memory to remember that Soranus by. When he reaches Nara he tells her, "I should go. I only wanted to stop by. I have some things to take care of before I can call it a night." He tips his chin towards where Iain went, "Besides, looks like you have good company. I'll be alright. But lets talk soon."

Ysora lifts her mug, moving to stand with Linette and Leon as others are called forward to speak. She watches Eamonn and Asha, smiling tenderly at the present and future as the past is honored.

Leon's shoulders rise particularly high at the disbelieving look from Linette. "What?" he asks, the firelight shining particularly bright on his strawberry-colored ears. "It was -- it was Josh's idea. And it was -- it was -- educational. Very. Quite. Lots." Naturally.

Addison mutters to Emperor Rourke, "... trying... alright. I hope... talking... though, as wonderful... may... start throwing... Purists... that's... not the best thing... from where... can..."

Shayne tips her chin to Aaric's arrival, reaching out to slip her arm through his. "That was lovely, Aaric," she murmurs, leaning up on her toes to murmur something in the Duke's ear. She, for one, doesn't seem surprised by the boys going to the House of Blushing Petals. Everyone should, if they can afford it, after all.

Duchess Shayne mutters to Duke Aaric, "... here... like you... meet.... of mine."

Something about what Josh's says causes the levity to fade from her face. "Dinner, tomorrow?" she offers. "I'll cook your favorite. There's... we have a lot to talk about." Cynara reaches out, to hug Joshua warmly. "I'll drink your cider for you. I need to get something in me anyway. I'll see you soon, be good." She winks at the younger Dhaval, before extricating her limbs from around him.

"_Very_ educational, I'm sure," Linette tosses back. Her grin finally comes all the way out, even if the laugh that follows is still a little shaky from all that has gone before. She gives Leon a quick squeeze, shaking her head. And her smile lingers when Ysora comes over, warming her eyes as she says, "Have you got a story, Ysora?" She unwinds her arm from Leon's waist to reach out and give Ysora another quick hug - her other arm is still full of Justine, now drowsing on her shoulder.

Josh gives his cousin a hug back. He shys away from affection but this is Nara. He always finds it in himself to give her what he may not give to others. Leaning to kiss her cheek. "Yes, let's. Dinner tomorrow. Or perhaps a late lunch. Something." Taking in her expression he doesn't question it now as he pulls away from her cheek. He tries to get Leon's attention and waves in that direction to let his best friend know he's leaving. Informal waves are given to any other family members before he makes his departure.

Kenneth moves to the place where those who have been speaking stood. Turning, he lifts his head and begins to speak in a booming voice that carries easily over the area. "Lest we forget that Guardians is made up of more than just warriors, I will tell a tale of honor that has nothing to do with warriors. It is of the unsung heroes of our isle, those who make each day possible. Those who mend our clothes, keep our homes, bring our children into the world and raise them. Those who send us into battle with brave faces, who weep in the night when they think no one hears. To the mothers, the daughters, the wives of us all"

He takes a deep swallow of his drink then continues "... and to the blue eyed lass who I was fortunate enough to marry when all I had to offer her was the sword arm of a soldier and the hammer and anvil when we were done serving the legion. Elorae followed us when she could, stayed alone with our home when I had time to build her one. Every time I left her I could see her smile bravely, but I knew that she would pray Providence to keep my arse safe and in one piece so we could be together again. We were never blessed with children, but she didn't mind. She took care of everyone else's. And so she did last spring when the rivers ran deep and fast. They say she jumped into the current to save a bairn who had fallen in. They never found the child, but she washed to shore a mile or so down river." His voice trembles and he lifts his glass high. "To Elorae and all those of her ilk, the true treasures of Guardians."

Cael finishes his mug, handing it off and stepping to the edge of the crowd and out, talking to a messenger that came to him and moving to follow the messenger out and away.

Returning from the drinks tent with three tankards, Iain draws to a halt beside Cynara and the soon-to-depart Josh, attempting to hand off some of the drinks even as he's turning to lift his own in Kenneth's direction with a following cheer for the sentiment of the story. "Tae the lasses!" Well, you knew he had to be signed on for that toast, didn't you?

Leon does catch Josh's wave, and meets it with one of his own -- and an approving nod -- and a mouthed, 'See you in the morning. Bright and /early/!' He listens, then, to Kenneth's story -- listens with an approving look, and appreciative look, and with an arm tightening a little more around Linette's shoulder. "Those of Guardians' true treasures," he agrees sincerely with a lift of his mug -- the same one, yet. And then: "Thank you. Pray, I -- I don't think we've met. Leon Barca," he offers Kenneth his name and, after a moment, a hand to clasp in greeting. And after he does, his eyes skim the crowd once more, and they land on Iain and his loud agreement: "Hey Arx!" he calls. "You -- surely you've something to give us?"

Eamonn lifts his mug to each toast, this latest one in particular, shooting a smile to Ysora across the crowd and taking a drink of ale before trying to coax Asha into waving her arms a little at the cheer.

Ysora's eyes well with tears when she hears Kenneth's tale. She releases Linette so she can touch her own chest, murmuring a quiet prayer for the departed woman. "To Elorae. To all our mothers, and those who give us the honor and wonder of something to fight for and defend, and the means to wage those wars." She looks towards Kenneth as Leon introduces himself, but then - well, torn. Iain story time as well. And smiling at her husband. Oh, these large gatherings!

Sage lifts her mug to that last one, despite its emptiness, and then makes her way back to the drinks tent to secure another.

Kenneth looks to Leon and clasps hands with him. "Kenneth Hendon," he replies, his voice still a bit shaky "Well met, Master Barca."

Rourke reaches toward Addison and brushes a hand across her arm in just a momentary touch. "Your restraint is laudable," he says gravely, and offers his cup to her.

To the lasses indeed, as he lifts to take a drink, Cynara hip-bumps Iain to the side mid-sip. It was an accident, honest! She curls her lips around the lip of her mug to hide a faint grin, watching Josh run off with his cider... and when her companion is called, her brows lift, an amused cast of her gaze apparent and angled towards him.

"...baron, actually," Leon corrects the greeting with a rueful twist to his lips, though it's not a censure: not /really/. "Baron Caerdach. It's a -- a pleasure, Master Hendon. Quite. I -- an excellent tale. I -- I wish your wife peace with Providence."

"To Elorae," Linette says softly, bending to rest her cheek on her daughter's head. Her eyes are quiet and shadowed once more after Kenneth's story, those last few bits of laughter dying down to embers that warm the look she gives to her husband when his arm tightens around her. She swallows, and straightens up a bit as she says quietly, "Thank you for that, Master Hendon. I'm Linette Barca. Baroness of Caerdach. May your wife rest easily."

Iain cuts a grin at Leon, is hip-bumped and duly shuffles, and then wastes no time getting right to the story: "This is a story about my grandfather, Gwilim, who was bigger than my father and twice as fearsome. A monster of a man, I never knew him tae wear less than the whole skin of a bear in the winter months, and Bear is what I called him as a wee lad, because it's a shite sight easier for a wee lad tae say than 'Gwilim'."

"Those of you who know Bane know that the man is harder than a coffin nail, stingy with his speaking and generous with his sword in moments when the latter was due, with a temper that time has taught him tae train...but growing up he dinnae know how tae keep his temper tae himself. When he was a lad about my age and coming intae his own as a warrior of no mean skill, he tells me he finally grew sick and tired of my grandfather being overbearing -- making him muck out the stalls and tha' when he would rather have been hefting a warhammer than a pitchfork -- and challenged him tae a duel tae prove himself a grown man and nae longer beholden tae the menial duties of a son...as we were nae then nobility. It was a solemn warrior's life he yearned for, nae a stablehand's, and he felt he was ready."

"T'was a frightfully cold winter that year, I hear tell. They were tae meet in the open of a paddock beside the barn while the wind shrieked and howled out of the mountains. My father appeared with his warhammer, decked in skins from game he'd slain himself, armed and armored, the very picture of martial masculine glory, you ken, and he waited with eyes narrowed behind the slits of his leather helm, a ring of nervous bystanders near tae watch the battle of wills. It was then Gwilim Arx came sprinting out of the barn with a bucket of water, naked as the day he was born, dousing his son and making short work of him with the handle of one of those hated pitchforks while he stood there in abject horror over being assaulted with a farming implement in front of his lads by his howling naked da. When my da tells the story, he tells me it was nae until that day that he learned the value of the element of surprise, and that all of the stoic swordsmanship in the Empire is sometimes nae any match for a cunning man with a trick up his sleeve."

"Sae I drink tae my grandfather Gwilim, and all Guardians who know the value of cleverness in how they use their steel."

"Thank you, Majesty," Addison says with a tone that's just as grave as his, accepting the cup from him before she leans in to murmur something else softly. The corners of her mouth twitch and threaten to curve into a smile as she straightens and looks around the beach again.

Kenneth bows to the baroness and offers a courteous "Thank you for your sentiments, Your Excellency. I know that where ever my Elorae is, she's smiling and waiting, as always, until we can be together once more." He seems to be damping down his emotions a bit.

Sage returns with a fresh mug of Warrior's Milk in time to hear most of Iain's story, and it brings a wide grin to her face, even as she raises her cup at the end of it, echoing the words and cheer of others for the tale.

There are solemn words, such as those spoken by the Duke; there are gentle words, like Kenneth's tale; and then there are those that call for laughter, and on a night such as this, even Leon can't keep a grin down at Iain's tale. "Our clever kinsmen!" he echoes the tale, lifting his mug high before taking a sip.

He casts, then, a glance beside him, and he arches his brows at Ysora, smile twisting a bit, "You -- you want to tell us one, Ys?" he prompts.

Ysora smiles at Iain's story, lifting her cup of cider again. To Leon? She nods. "Aye. And then you after me. The one I tell is for you. I'd like you to tell one for me."

She gestures for little Asha to be brought over. She wraps an arm around the little girl and smiles down at her. "It's funny how the last couple of years have made me remember mother so much. Of course I didn't know her when she came to Guardians, but I remember the looks she used to get from some of the maids in the mansion. I mean, you'd think they would figure the little Purist girl from Draught didn't fit in at all on Guardians. But it went beyond just doing their work and respecting her. Every now and then, I'd see them actually look a touch frightened!"

"Well, a few years ago I asked poppa. And he told me that on the day mother arrived, well ... let's just say Grear and I get our sea legs from father's side of the family." She grins wryly at Leon.

"She'd managed to knock herself woozy, bruised and bloody when she tripped coming down the gangplank. Da's chamberlain was there to greet her and made sure she got safely back. But he made sure the tale all the staff heard, since mother and father were honest to a fault, was that she'd gotten in an awful scuffle with one of father's crazed old flame with a knife at the docks, intent on doing away with a rival, and gave as good as she got."

There's a little pause and then she adds, "It lasted till I was about seven. That's the year she was asked to help butcher a lamb and fainted."

"That and the look on her face when she got to hold Leon ... when she knew. It's made me so sad that father didn't have the chance to know his grandchildren. I saw her face in his so many times in his last days."

Rourke makes a passing sound of amusement, but his eyes mark Kenneth, and he lifts his drink toward the man in a silent and potentially unseen toast. His conversation stays quiet.

Sea legs. It's no secret in Gwencalon that Leon joined the infantry for a reason, and that young soldier lifts his mug in the wake of Ysora's words with a smile yet, though one gentled from the broad grin Iain received. "Mother," he merely says with another lift of his mug. Many stories have been shared, and the young Baron has raised that glass to all of them, but still -- still -- ale sloshes within.

And he pauses, there, brows arching as Ysora's initial words sink in. "You -- you -- you want me to -- to...?" he stammers.

She listens attentively at the tale spun by the master - because when it came to stories, it was the arena in which this particular Arx scion excelled. Cynara takes a quiet sip of her mug, waiting for the inevitable twist, something surprising and quite possibly comedic... and Iain does not disappoint. The moment he details of his grandfather howling down on the fearsome Bane Arx, naked and with a bucket of water, she pulls her mug away from her mouth, laughter escaping her and tangling itself in the folds of her scarf. She lifts her mug to salute Iain's story - cleverness is something to be appreciated, after all. When Ysora tells of their Purist mother, she listens, that flashfire moment of levity abating... though it returns in increments, hearing about the scuffle between Justina Maritus nee Soranus vs. Crazy Ex-Girlfriend from Abyss.

The story about his own grandfather earns a low tone of amusement from Bastien, and thereafter a full laugh for the story that Ysora tells when she comes to the exposing of the lie through the butchering of a lamb -- the first flash of white he's given to anyone all evening, the smile brief but hotly burning in the way that all of his smiles seem to be whenever they escape the heavy skirt of his self control. Some of the humor remains behind, glittering in amber eyes when he gives Innocentia his attention again, voice pitched low. "Well? Worth the risk of getting a little bit more ill, so far?"

Linette holds her daughter and husband close, her eyes lifted up as she listens to Ysora speak. Her mouth is pressed tight, and she swallows hard at the end, for the loss of a woman that she couldn't possibly remember. "To Justina," Linette says softly, speaking with care the name that so closely mirrors her daughter's, and hugs the little namesake Justine a little tighter. "Well told, Ysora," Linette adds, louder. Her arm tightens around Leon one last time, and then nudges him gently forward. "Go," she says, offering a small smile. "Tell your tale."

Still cradling her mug of Warrior's Milk, Sage drifts away from the crowd, angling for the stairs, and ascending them, leaving the beach behind.

Addison nods slowly to Rourke, unable to quite keep that little smile of hers from surfacing. Someone among the crowd is given a friendly wave before she continues speaking to the Keeper, words kept low enough as to not be overheard.

Late, but better than never, the Empress makes her way onto the beach and toward that welcoming circle of fires, the normal four knights surrounding her until she reaches the crowd.

Kenneth slips over to get yet another cup of warrior's milk when he sees a man lift his glass toward him. For his part Kenneth nods back, trying to see in the ever darkening skies who it is who lifts the glass. Not being able to make out the face, he just goes and gets his drink, trying to maintain that thin line between being functionally drunk and totally wasted.

The Keeper shoots a sidelong look at Addison and gives a small shudder. "Indeed." He notes the arrival of Empress and knights, inclining his head in her direction across the distance and directing a smile toward her. His eyes follow her as she melts into the crowd, and he gestures to get another mug in anticipation she'll be heading his way sooner or later. Something soft is muttered to Addison.

It seems the hosting Baron expected, somehow, to get away this evening without telling a single tale of his own. Not one to the crowd at large, anyway; not to so many people. Not even after picking on poor Josh Dhaval to do the same. "Um," he begins, and it is not, really, an auspicious beginning. A hand runs behind his neck, rubs lightly at it, and he finally picks up the thread. "My father and I didn't always see eye-to-eye," Leon explains. "We -- we didn't, actually, agree on much. I -- well, he was a marine. And -- like Ysora says, I -- I can't hardly keep my feet on a ship. And -- and he liked to have his boots clean and polished, and I -- well. I preferred to fill them with frogspawn from the pond out back in springtime." It's an easy memory, and it inspires a smile as Leon ducks his head a moment. He draws a breath there, and slows his speech. With the slowing, it becomes a little more smooth.

""Well. Like Ysora says, Mother was from Ethos. And I -- I've tried for a lot of years to -- to lead a life she -- she'd be proud of. Choosing right. Shunning wrong. And I spent a lot of time thinking my father was wrong. Because he -- he'd put other things ahead of it. Like Gwencalon. He -- he cared a lot, about Gwencalon. He -- he'd be gone days, stay up nights, always trying to -- to make it an easier place, for its people." Another pause, another breath, and his shoulders rise in an easy shrug, "It's been a year and more, now, and I -- I've spent a lot of time, now, thinking about those same people. And I guess I -- here's to Lord Ambrose, and those who -- who put others before themselves. Even if we -- if we don't see it."

It may be said that Leon Barca is not, really, an orator; but even if his words aren't smooth or his story particularly well-spoken, he speaks, at least, sincerely.

Mena does stop her progress into the crowd when she spots the Keeper within it and flows into a graceful curtsey in his direction. After she rises, returning his smile through the masses, she does start moving through the people, greeting quietly with nods as to not to disturb the current story being told.

..and when he's done, his toast offered, Leon clears his throat and adds, "I -- I think there's a lot more ale that -- that's not been opened yet. Have a drink. Tell -- tell stories. Remember those who -- who are worthy of it." And with that urging, he steps aside, allows others to speak up if they will.

And finally, with /this/ toast, his mug is emptied.

Addison also notices the arrival of the Empress, smiling at her and offering a little wave her way and then a quick curtsy. She glances up at Rourke a moment later, nodding, "Yes, it really is."

Ysora reaches out to touch Leon's shoulder when he mentions the frogspawn. She steps forward and tilts her head so she can kiss her brother on the cheek when he's finished. "Love you, Brother Bear. He .. I do think he would be proud," she murmurs. "Thank you."

Duchess Shayne raises her glass to Leon's speech as well, sipping to it as she has to the succession of such speeches delivered this evening. She still seems more than content to linger and listen, watching the flow of people across the beach and in and out of the tents.

The whisper of his ward wins a frown to Rourke's features, and a swifter glance about. "Sadly, no, I suppose they won't." He sighs and sips from his cup.

"To Lord Ambrose," Linette echoes, her eyes shining with the flickering gleam of the firelight. Her hand is stretched out to gather her husband back in when he steps down, after Ysora claims her kiss. "Thank you, Leon," Linette says softly. "Well told. He'd be _very_ proud of you."

A raise of her mug, to Leon's tale, Cynara's smile cast towards the Maritus/Barca brood to the side. She doesn't move over to them though, finishing her cider and setting the cup aside so organizers can pick it up.

For the second time tonight, Bastien lifts his mug to a story with a moral that strikes a chord, somewhere in the depths of him. He watches the former Maritus with glinting amber eyes, then tracks his gaze around to the sudden profusion of knights and Imperials, something uneasy filtering through the neutral cast of his expression. "...I think I should go," he says to the sick young woman occupying the patch of sandy real estate beside where he's sitting at the bonfire's edge -- an unlikely individual all things considered, given how...very obviously a Purist she is. He has the decency to appear apologetic about the prospect of leaving her there alone, at least.

"How disappointing," Addison murmurs as she too casts a look around the assembly on the beach. She gets a slightly impish glint in her eyes before she murmurs something further to Rourke, fighting a grin and losing the battle.

Leon accepts the kiss from Ysora with a younger brother's determined stoicism -- and, too, with a quirk of a smile. "Thanks," he says, perhaps a little lamely. He draws a breath, then, and tilts his head to his kinfolk: "Can I -- would you like a drink?" he asks of them with determination yet.

"The two of you look like a pair of hens over here, whispering to each other in such a way," Mena says to Rourke and Addison as she does come upon them. "Did either of you tell a tale?" Upon reaching where the Keeper and their ward are, her arm reaches out so her hand might find her husband's elbow.

"Tae Lord Ambrose and the lieges of Guardians," Iain murmurs into his tankard after a more effusive -- if serious -- toast of it into the air, the remaining contents lifted to be steadily worked at and drained with the sort of speed that promises he doesn't intend to linger overly long, his free hand curling about the diminutive waist of the girl with the copper tresses. Blue eyes chase her focus toward the more Ethosian contingent, and he cocks a brow upward and gestures that way. "Did you want tae go and chat a bit before we leave?"

Rourke smothers a laugh behind a drink at Addison's words, and something of temptation crosses his features. Then his wife arrives, and the Keeper smooths his expression. "Ah, Mena. Good eve." He has someone there with a drink for her already, of course. "We have not. I was waiting for you to do so."

"I think I'll have one more," Linette says, offering Leon a quiet smile. Very carefully, she slips the nearly-sleeping Justine off of her shoulder and back into the cozy nest of her sling, giving the baby a gentle smile before she looks back up at the others. "I'll need something for the rest of the stories and toasts, after all," she says, and starts to head for the ale.

Watching the Imperial Couple and Addison for a few moments, the Duke of Mists' eyes turn towards Bastien Arx, then. He wanders over towards the Guardian man, with a languid gait, still measuring the people gathered here with nearly silent contemplation. And, mayhaps, somewhat guarded.

She's slowly growing accustomed, feeling an arm curl around her waist knowing that it could only be one person. -Hopefully-. Otherwise the freakout would be incredible and Phineas Ashlan would have another excuse to somehow make her life.... interesting. Somehow. However, at the inquiry, Cynara tilts her head towards Iain, and then a glance towards the other Purists on the other side of the fires. She sees Linette, Leon, Ysora... Karyleine among them. The hesitation is unusual in itself. Finally, she shakes her head, whatever approach she would've made tempers itself to a wave from afar. "Another time," she tells him softly. "That way?" She picks a route, any route, with a set of fingers, a small smile somehow resurfacing. "Excellent story, by the way. I tried to predict how it was going to end and failed miserably."

Addison grins at Mena, "Good evening, Majesty." She glances up at Rourke and then nods in agreement, "Yes, we were waiting for you to tell the story. You're so much better at it," her gaze returns to the Empress, that impish look only now fading.

Leon accompanied Linette in the direction of the drinks, and when he reaches that tent he trades that magic mug of ale that lasted him Providence only knows how many stories for one of cider, and turns back to the tales as Linette gets caught up with some old acquaintance. It's only now, with his story told and his attention back to the present--

--insofar as anyone's attention is properly in the present, on such an evening--

-that Leon catches the Empress's arrival, and it's a silent bow of greeting he offers her direction; one as likely to pass unseen, as not.

"Were you," Mena says to Rourke, inclining her head as she accepts the drink already awaiting her, then shifts her gaze between husband and ward. "How convenient. Was this something the two of you were planning? I'm starting to feel a bit conspired against. It always seems me against the two of you. Quite unfair of you both, really." She does take note of Leon's greeting, smiling and lifting her drink in his direction in greeting.

"It is only because you choose to stand on the opposite side so much lately," rejoinders the Keeper to his wife, smirking at her before he takes a mild sip from his cup.

Innocentia nods Bastien's way, her smile bright if a bit saddened. Her voice is a bit on the gruff side, possibly conjested, as she motions behind her towards the steps off the beach. "It was well worth it, Master Arx." She coughs in to her handkerchief, head turned away, before continuing. "I believe I should make my way home, though, else I have a Lord that has claimed the the duties of being my care giver rather unhappy."

Her eyes lift as the Duke approaches, a smile faintly appearing. Her head dips respectfully. "Good evening." Her voice's tone changes as she speaks.

"It's a true story," Iain tells Cynara as he falls into stoops to set his flagon down and offers her his arm on rising. "I left out the bit about how he painted himself up because, well, some things are just nae appropriate for mixed gatherings." The words are coy and lightly given, the corner of his mouth hiked upward as he shoots her a humored glance and the pair of them start off, melting out of the richness of the firelight and into the more featureless dark of the evening.

She gapes, and then sputters. "....you -held out on me-?! Inconceivable!" Cynara exclaims in a mock-gasp, swatting his offered arm before taking it. And off they go.

Yes. Join them, Mena. Join the dark side. Or something.

Addison grins at the Empress again and shakes her head, "No, it wasn't a plan. More of a scheme, or maybe a ploy," she teases. "I ... I just don't have anyone to talk about that hasn't already been talked about a lot. So..." one shoulder lifts in half a shrug, "That's why I didn't say anything."

Pushing himself up off of the sand with a very slight tightening of the eyes, Bastien offers the plague-ridden Innocentia a hand in offerance of helping her up from her seat, despite the fact that she's just coughed into one of them and it's probably a bit like tossing the dice on his health to touch her at all. As he does so he catches Raziel's approach out of the corner of his eye, pivoting enough to give the man the requisite bow, if a brief and shallow one by necessity given he's occupied with helping the Purist to her feet.

"Good evening, Your Grace."

Mena chuckles and shakes her head. "I do believe I walked into being on the opposite side today," she points out to Rourke. "It had nothing to do with what I wished or not, hmm?" To Addison, she nods. "Then you are very fortunate indeed, my dear."

Raziel then notes, somewhat quietly to Bastien, "Everything seems to be in place," cryptic, but with a certain assurity that the other man, at least, knows what he's talking about. "I'll be sending word shortly on specifics." At that, the Duke does smile. "And I haven't forgotten the other matter, either. Still looking into that one."

Rourke wags a finger at his wife. "You could have come earlier. I am here with Addison because she was convenient as I passed by, and I did not wish to come alone," he informs her in turn, and makes no comment at all on Addison's fortune.

The remark of just being convenient wins a wrinkle of Addison's nose. "Thanks alot," she murmurs dryly, though there's still a good deal of humor in her tone.

"Don't be difficult, dear," Rourke comments sidelong to Addison.

Innocentia rights herself, leaving the ex-Knight's hand waiting. You know, plague and all. She dips her head to the pair, Raziel and Bastien, offering a soft, "Good night." as she turns to go. She's not one to stick around when cryptic conversations begin to take place.

As she passes Leon, she lightly brushes his arm offering soft words in passing. Kenneth is next, he receives a small wave goodbye, accompanied by a warm smile.

Her good-byes offered, the Purist woman raises the hood of her cloak up for the journey back home.

The sun has long since set, now, the fire crackling bright against the night sky, and laughter and comraderie grow louder as the ale is consumed. After acquiring his drink, Leon pauses to share a few words with a small group of fellow soldiers -- words, a few laughs, and an easy tale or two, at least on their part; the young baron's countenance is a touch more thoughtful, a touch more solemn, as he tends to be. The farewell wave from Innocentia, however, draws him back a moment, and he lifts his mug in quiet gratitute for her murmured words. "Thank you," he says, and adds: "Providence keep you, Miss Innocentia."

His steps, then, draw him nearer the Imperial couple once more -- and Addison, too. It's to her he tilts asides as he approaches, "I -- I'm afraid you -- you may have to wait longer, if you want a proper fight. It -- it takes a bit more ale."

Mena grins at Addison. "At least he stopped and allowed you to be his escort to come in. He could have just walked right by you. It is not as bad as he made it sound."

Kenneth nods to the plague ridden woman as she passes, mildly curious why she was even out of bed at all in her condition. He might have said something, but he's feeling pretty good from the now what... five or six mugs of warrior's milk. He looks to the ship and decides it's time to sleep for himself as well.

Rourke's attention sifts to Leon as he draws near. "Baron. I had rather wondered. I had hoped it would be faster, given the fact that so many are drinking warroir's milk," he says, near a jest, but solemn all the same.

Bastien simply nods in response to the Duke's assurance, the breath of an upward turn to the corner of his mouth enough to supply the tenor of his response as a positive one. "I'll look forward to hearing from you. Thank you for letting me know. I'm ready anytime. Are you--"

But Innocentia is gone, and the former knight turns his head to look over his shoulder with both brows arched, spotting her on her way to the stairs. There's a moment of study before he turns back to the Duke, leaning on a conversation he understands rather than an acquaintenceship in its infancy that he still has no idea how to reconcile. "I haven't heard anything else from my cousin or any of the others, so I'm at a standstill on it myself. That may be a good thing, though," he offers, rolling broad shoulders as he states the best-case scenario without really going so far as to buy into it.

"Yes, Majesty," Addison replies to Rourke with a grin, turning that merry look on Mena. "You have a point there. I suppose he could have said something like, 'you weren't here and so I was stuck with /her/' instead." She looks to Leon and laughs quietly, "You should order them to drink faster so the fights can start. Though it might backfire and end up with them all passing out instead. Hmm."

"Good evening, Baron Barca," Mena says to Leon with a welcoming smile. She doesn't say anything about starting any fights. If fights start, her evening out upon the beach will abruptly be over.

Ysora glances towards the Imperials as she hands Asha over to Arene again. She bows to the Keeper and his wife, chuckling as she straightens. "You know, I don't know that I've fought at many Ancestors Days. Gotten drunk enough to kiss the occasional miscreant," she says with a glance at her husband and then back. "It is good to see so many others joining in our remembrances. Mists, Gateway, Draught."

"I -- I think Your Majesty underestimates a -- our ability to -- to hold our drink," Leon points out to the Emperor and Addison alike with a twist of his lips and a glance over those yet assembled. There's that. And then the admission: "It'll be a rougher night on Guardians in -- in a few days. When the holiday comes up proper. There -- there's fewer rivalries to fan, /here/, I dare say."

And to Mena's greeting, and bows his head briefly, "Evening," he returns it.

Eamonn waggles his fingers at little Asha as Ysora passes her off, promising cocoa before turning back to join her and bow to Rourke and Mena as well in time to make a face at his wife as she mentions kissing miscreants and then turn back to nod, "It is quite a turn-out. I hadn't expected such a...diverse crowd."

Rourke's attention is stolen for a moment as a messenger comes, a note handed off to him. One can almost feel the air about the Keeper cool as his words scan the page, and he snaps his fingers to the messenger. A short reply is scrawled on the back of the note and it is sent off. "Who knows, Your Excellency. Perhaps I shall be the one to throw the first punch," mutters Rourke in frustration.

Mena does try to glance at that note that has the Keeper so chilled so suddenly, but her attention turns to Ysora and Eamonn. "Well, hold an event on the beach with free food and ale, and you're bound to have a crowd, no matter what the subject."

"Loss is something most everyone can relate to, no matter the isle they're from," Addison remarks softly as she looks between Leon and Eamonn, a little smile for them both. "As is honoring those lost." She shoots a curious and slightly concerned look Rourke's way, and though she's sorely tempted to, she doens't make much of an effort to see what was written on it.

Raziel gives a faint nod to Bastien, then. "It may be, and likely is. Still, I may be able to procure some more information on some of the relevance therein. I will keep my eyes and ears open, as they say." Briefly, his gaze falters towards Rourke, Mena, and Addison; perhaps curious as to the messenger himself.

Ysora steps back again when a messenger approaches the Keeper. Her response is reeled back when she sees his response to the words. After a few seconds, she looks at Mena and Addison. "Oh, I'm delighted to see so many here. It helps some to share those memories."

The messenger receives a brief glance from Leon; the Keeper's reaction to the message, a slightly longer one. "Ah," he observes with a rueful look to the knights immediate to the area, and then proceeds to say nothing more on that vein. "It is," he agrees instead with Addison. "And one that -- that brings a lot of people together. We -- we'll be headed to Guardians, before the currents shift, to observe it properly there." We? He must be speaking for his absent wife, as well.

Bastien turns his head to angle amber eyes warily along toward the Emperor and a few seemingly innocuous spoken words about throwing punches, and the quirk of his brow is subtle but swift. Now it is /definitely/ time for him to go. He shoots Raziel a level glance and half-pivots in preparation to go. "Alright. Enjoy the rest of your evening, Your Grace. I should be getting back to the tower." He sketches a bow in the general direction of the Duke as well as what remaining clouds of nobility remain, and after that? He's heading for the stairs. If Rourke is looking for targets -- even in jest -- he's clearly determined not to present a good one. A few long-legged strides put him onto the stairs, and ascending them two at a time, he departs.

Eamonn smiles at Mena and Addison, inclining his head slightly as he says, "You both make good points. And as Baron Caerdach says, it is a somewhat different holiday on Guardian." He too glances at the Keeper and the messenger, but not for long, and he says nothing about it.

Rourke directs a thin-lipped smile at Leon, and another at Ysora and Eamonn. A deliberate breath is taken, cleansing, before he shakes off the mood and looks about the area again. The shifting of people and conversation seems to be a balm, after a fashion, even if he doesn't enter into the dialogue. He reaches instead for a drink.

It seems like those hoping for a brawl might get their wish yet: on the opposite side of the bonfire, there grows ever louder a dispute between two men. This draws Leon's eye briefly and, as the shouting match grows a little louder, he offers a smile that is not, in fact, remotely apologetic. "I -- I pray you'll pardon me," he says -- asks, really, and offers a bow to Emperor and Empress. "I ought -- hosting -- duties, you know," he makes that excuse and slips off in the direction of the potential fight.