Spring Festival/Storytelling

From Crossroads Wiki

November 12, 2008

It's Tuesday, May 04, 506 A.G.

Mena looks thoughtful at Nix's recent words. "How... interesting. Is there anything you saw that would have made her flee?"

There is the arrival of the Baroness of Destine. "Enough!" Her eyes spark dangerously at her maid that walks with her, "Truly Theresa, no more about the baronies." The girl studies her mistress for a few moments and then nods her head. The guard's features pull to a quick smirk before they are set. Isolde runs her hands down her skirts to walk to the event, though she pauses as she sees the family gathering. Her body lowering with ease of grace to those of higher station. "Your Majesty, Your Grace.." A nod to the others. "Do you need me to allow you more time before the event? I can return later."

Phineas grunts at Mena's comment, then glances at the arriving form of Isolde. "Wide pasture, Excellency. Plenty of space, ya can wander wherever ya want, we ain't kickin' folks out of it." He considers her with his midnight eyes a few moments before telling his siblings, "I'm headed ta get settled at the platform. Anyone stayin' fer the storytelling?"

Mena's attention swings toward Isolde's arrival as well, a hand reaching to rest on Phoenix's forearm as she inclines her head to the Baroness. "Excellency. Have you come to tell an exciting tale?" she asks hopefully. "And I am certainly staying. I do love a good tale," she tells the Duke Green Fields.

Lin just looks at Nix. Giving him a soft smile but she's nodding at Finn. "Yes, I'll stay. But I need to sit." She does move forward to clasp Nix's shoulder briefly before she moves.

Helena walking arm and arm with an Ethos guard behind them, Lady Helena and Miss Cynara approach the pasture. The two have their heads bent towards each other, sharing whatever news there is to share of the day. Any who know Miss Cynara might have an idea of the topic of conversation between the two. The lady looks a little tired and even though it looks to be girlish gabber, she's not smiling. "I think it's just a little further this way," Helena says to her friend, pointing towards the group. As her eyes scan the field her expression hardens a bit and she leans in to whisper to her friend.

A few servants in the livery of the Isle of Green Fields get some tables bearing kegs set up on the platform, and tankards are arrayed out around them in a silent invitation for anyone to come and serve themselves. A small cart has large pillows that are being unloaded to the platform.

"I've spoken to...your brother about it already. ...well. Argued," Cynara tells Helena, flashing a slightly apologetic smile towards the younger woman as they walk arm in arm. Her free hand, gentle in itself reaches up to pat Helena's gently where it's rested on her forearm. "Probably the best way to know what he's really thinking out in the open but it isn't as if I haven't tried to accumulate other points of view regarding the matter. But I thank you for your confidence. As biased as it is." She winks teasingly towards the dark-haired woman. However at her words, she inclines her head to the whisper, and she shakes her head, bending her own towards Helena and whispering back. Her patting hand drifts to the side, gesturing vaguely to something. Otherwise, certain words are kept in a down-low.

Isolde lifts her eyes towards Phineas' midnight hued ones. Her own blue-green ones are carefully placid, but she does have a smile upon her lips. "It is good to see you, Your Grace, perhaps a moment of your time after festival?" She then allows her smile to grow as she sees Mena and moves a bit more in her direction. "Empress, I could not think of a story to share. In fact, I would be most hard pressed and would surely be shadowed by the skills of the Green Fields citizens." It is then her eyes rest on the others of the family. She studies Lin's form with a brief shimmer of something in her eyes before she nods her head to the woman, "You are positively glowing, Your Ladyship. I have question about flowers if we might talk later as well." Then her eyes arrest on Phoenix. They stay there for long moments before she smiles in a polite fashion and her voice only subtly shifts in tones, more friendly and familiar. "Lord Phoenix it is good to see you so soon again too." Her voice attempts to find Mena's ear.

Iseldis has been moving from here to there, to the other place and back again, staying more or less in the background of the festival while trying her best to make sure that everything runs as smoothly as can be expected. She has some quiet words with the Green Fields servants just before she silently deliberates over the number of tankards available which may or may not be sufficient. Despite all her good-natured fretting and fussing, the Green Fields Chamberlain is invariably professional, discrete, and efficient.

Standing near Mena, a dark unkempt shadow next to her serene elegance, Phoenix's departure is stayed momentarily by her slender hand on his arm. He lowers his chin to her, a gesture that seems acquiescent of something said or perhaps her touch. No one else in the pasture holds his attention as she, the comings and goings of others unnoticed. His quicksilver gaze holds her emerald green. Whatever communication that passes between the two does so silently. Without a word, the Forester turns away from her in the opposite direction from which everyone else is arriving. Striding across the pasture, in a moment he is gone, slipped away.

The knights around the Empress and her brother remain alert of surroundings and arrivals, watching for signs of trouble. Perhaps oddly, they don't blink much at Isolde's approach of the ruler.

A young man sprints into the north pasture, bare feet pattering against the dirt, but he pulls up short as he hits the gathering crowd. "Am I late?" he demands of the crowd in general, as though expecting an answer from it. "It started yet?"

Lucian arrives from one of the many directions where people are arriving from, a little away from the finest and most noble entourages. As always, he draws little attention to himself, quite content with just slowly moving towards the gathered nobles as well as the offered drinks. The latter seems to be his primary destination.

Mena's dark eyes track Nix's departure as she listens to Isolde.

Phailin looks over to Isolde before she moves to find a seat on one of those pillows, "Yes, I will gladly talk to you about flowers." And than she moves to claim a seat. Snagging a mug. Maybe its ale maybe its not.

Phineas gives an idle, "Sure, Baroness. We can talk if ya want." He walk toward the wooden floor at the center of the meadow, pointing a bit and directing people. "Need more pillows over there. Anyone bring some of the ganja? Definitely wantin' some of that." His words hold some wry humor. "His voice lifts. "Alright, folks, if yer tellin' a story, or if yer comin' just ta drink and listen, best get a cushion."

Does Iseldis ever sit down? She silently provides her Duke with a tankard of ale, remaining at his side for a moment as she considers the gathered crowd with a gaze that's far too serious for a Fielder at a yarn-spinning event.

Helena breaks a brief smile for her friend and nods at whatever is whispered. "Of course," she responds and simply shakes her head. "Oh, if I could have been there, I do not hear my brother argue *nearly* enough," she tells her friend. "Come, we should find some pillows." As they draw near the Empress, Helena pauses to curtsey, but doesn't disturb Mena at this time. Her gaze heads towards the woods instead before being distracted by the Duke's voice. Honestly, you cannot miss the man. She moves in his direction, taking Nara with her. "Your Grace," she calls out, polite as ever. "A pleasant evening to you." The tone is warm, but her eyes are dim.

Isolde perks towards Phineas. "What do you know something I can supply." She nods her head towards her maid which walks over with Isolde's sachel pulling it out and handing it to the Duke. She curtesies before returning to Isolde's side. The Baroness nods towards Helena as she approaches the Empress. She stands beside Mena, but how her lips move there are some words softly exchanged.

Mena gives a warm smile and inclines her head to Helena and Cynara as they pass in search of seats for the storytelling. "I hope one of you have a good tale to spin!"

Lucian fills up an ale tankard, a surprising amount for the rather slim-built man, and goes in search of a cushion to sit on. It is now that he is brought close enough to notice all the dignitaries, his tankard soon barely kept from spilling over as a repeated series of bows and 'Your Grace' 'Your Excellency' 'My Lady' and 'Your Majesty' are offered up with a few seconds interval between each. None of them loud enough to draw the attention away from any ongoing conversations. He even provides friendly smiles for all of them, if they were to look his way. Finally, he settles down on a big cushion, his posture relaxed.

If it's pillows needed, it's pillows Dag fetches: three of them, in fact, and he hauls them over a shoulder toward the wooden floor. Once there, he arranges a proper throne from the cushions and proceeds to settle himself on it.

When Iseldis hands him the ale, Phineas Ashlan turns a look at her of limitless gratitude. "Isel, glad ya made it out. Feelin' better?" he asks her, free hand reaching to squeeze her shoulder a moment. Then the call from Helena reaches him, and Phineas gives a nod in her direction. "Hey there Helena gal, how's it goin'? And that's the legal one, Cynara. Good ta see ya both. Come, drink, relax." He doesn't quite smirk as Isolde's maid brings over a significantly sized roll of cheeba. "Thanks, Isolde. So any tellers here, or are we all listeners thus far?"

A few more of the large cushions are tossed about the platform, providing seats for many people who would come to participate in the storytelling.

Phailin chuckles as she watches Dag from where she's perched. Now she'll defintly need help getting off the floor but she's not to worried about that and looks to be settling in for the night. Sipping at her drink as she people watches. Kicking off her shoes.

Mena keeps her gaze on the platform, though her head is tilted as she listens to Isolde's quiet words. "I see," she says to the Baroness. "Something to consider, absolutely. Well, since the stories are about to start, perhaps we might find a place to settle and listen? I am sure we will speak again soon, Excellency. Enjoy the storytelling."

"I am, Your Grace," Iseldis assures, smiling now to Phineas with considerable warmth. "I won't be far if you need anything else," she reminds him, before she leaves the Duke to his hosting and goes to fuss with the cushions, helping folks get settled. She pays special attention to Phailin, bringing her an extra pillow for her feet. All guests receive warm greetings and polite curtseys if appropriate.

Leaning heavily on his cane as he navigates through the pasture, the well-dressed figure of the master alchemist joins the gathering crowd. Coleridge scans the assembled from behind his blue-tinted spectacles. Demonstrating that he is well versed in the Who's Who of the Empire, he nods his chin and offers half-bows to the various nobles present as he recites off their titles, should any pay attention to him. Running up along behind him is a young boy carrying a unadorned chair. Huffing from the exertion, the alchemist spends a few moments directing the boy on the perfect placement of said furnishing where the stage may be seen but where he will not impede the views of any seated on cushions.

Helena's response to the Duke is a nod, a tight smile and a brief reply. "A lovely evening," she says to him before she looks towards the stage. "I ... I am a horrible storyteller, I've only come to listen," she says as she takes note of another few people she's not yet greeted. She slips her arm from Nara's and goes to find a pillow. On the way she gives Master Lucian a nod. "Thank you, for your help last night," she tells the mage with some genuine appreciation in her voice. Soon she leads her friend towards with Phailin is seated. "It isn't dinner and it isn't my affair, but might I share your company?" she asks, dropping her pillow near the Forester florist.

Dag's cushion throne seems to have settled him in beside Phailin's large cushion. He leans back on his own, shifting his shoulderblades for maximum comfort, and tucks his hands behind his head. He tilts his hat forward, his eyes mostly covered, but he cuts them aside to the lady. "You gonna tell a story? I got one, but I ain't goin' first." On that he seems quite adamant.

Isolde smiles and lowers towards Mena, "I quite agree, Your Majesty." She starts away from the circle of guards and pauses. "Oh and I forgot, you are looking lovely today." It is an actual... sincere.. compliment. Her eyes then scan the area as she studies the pillows. On the ground. There is a tip of her head as she tries to determine if she should go fetch a pillow. Her own seat not yet determined.

"Nearly enough? That's all we do when we're in the same room together," Cynara jests. "Granted that's improved, thankfully. Doing such against your brother is quite exhausting. Challenging, but exhausting. I suppose it's normal, considering we're two very different people." She gestures to the side. "I think I see spare ones over there, let's grab them before it's too late." When Helena calls out to Phineas, she drops him a curtsey where she is, and gives him a small smile and a wave. "You needn't tell us twice, Your Grace," she tells him with a grin, and inclines her head towards her friend. "Quite a turnout. Are you thinking of contributing?" She retrieves a pillow, and passes it on to Helena before grabbing one for herself. Though it doesn't look like they'll be hearing stories from Helena today, and she could only chuckle at the response. "Where would you like to sit?" Her path seems to head towards Phailin, and she follows her friend there.

Mena inclines her head to the arriving Coleride, then nods to Isolde. "Thank you. It is not a gown I wear often, but one I do enjoy." Likely because it looks as if she can trip on it at any moment. And then she does drift toward the seating, holding up the hem of the gown, the knights following in her wake closely.

A beautiful evening gives hope for passing the time comfortably beneath the open sky, a prospect that would be enough to draw in Niamh were she not already piqued by the prospect of the storytelling winding out in rarefied company. The long-haired explorer has a propensity to stand out where she wanders, not the least for the fact she's already managed to find something alcoholic prior to coming and there's mischief writ across her expression anyways.

Lucian smiles at Helena at her words before he settles down properly. Isolde receives a long study while the Baroness is speaking to the Empress but he does not make any moves in that direction. Instead, Iseldis receives a raised hand in greeting and a friendly 'Chamberlain, it is good to see you' when she passes by in her very busy state. So far, the mage is not close to anyone's seat really but isn't sitting off to himself. Just not next to anyone on either side.

Hardly the sort to miss an evening in which stories are told -- the better to replenish his personal store, perhaps -- Iain makes his way through the field, heard whistling long before he's actually visible, moving along with that rolling, greased-ball-bearing, long-legged gait of his, a flask the size and shape of a cylindrical thermos slung over his shoulder by a leather strap and accompanied by the heavyset, ruddy-faced guard, Cadoc. The pair of them skirt the periphery, pausing only long enough to bow to the Empress and murmur something in passing.

Iain mutters to Empress Mena, "... obliged,... Majesty...."

"Master Acinthas," Iseldis greets with a smile. "Welcome. Do find a cushion and have a seat," she suggests, seeming unlikely to take her own advice until everyone else seems to be comfortably in place.

Mena smiles brightly at Iain and his soft words. "Well earned, Lord Arx. Enjoy the rest of the festival."

Lin looks up from her people watching as Helena approaches her with her friend. Giving a nod, "By all means please do. This is a public event after all." And well she's going to need help getting off the floor so why not recruit these two? If she is so lucky.

Phailin looks now at Dag. Downplaying her status as a Forester she says, "I highly doubt I have any interesting stories to tell. Bet you do. Bet you know a lot don't you?"

"Alrihgt, Dag, yer one of the ones telling a story. Any other story -tellers- here yet? If not, I'm goin' ta make him go first." Phineas gives a grin about at everyone, and then comments to one of the servants. In a few moments, they come back with a lit candle, and he puffs on his roll of dried leaves while he gets comfortable on a cushion.

Dag scoffs, lifting a knuckle to tip his hat up just enough to give Phailin a mild smirk. "I got hunnerds. Don't know which one I'm gonna tell--" He breaks off at the sound of his name and wrinkles his nose. "I ain't goin' first! Someone else gotta!" he complains.

"If no one else is quite brave enough to go first, I shall do so myself," Mena says to Phineas with a bit of a grin. "Let it not be said I am frightened of such things."

Isolde looks around and suddenly does a quick prayer people forget she was once the Mistress of Revels. Her frame is rather well crafted before she approaches Lucian. There is a smile towards him. "Oh I see you would be wonderful to want to gather a pillow for me?" She flutters her lashes at the man before Coleridge grabs her attention. "Master Coleridge, might you find yourself desiring to join us for the event. I am sure that your story will be the best."

Helena holds her hand out to Cynara in a silent request for her friend to help her to sit. She may not need a cane, but the bending is still a little difficult. She smiles at Lin as she settles herself and makes proper introductions. "Lady Phailin, have you met my dear friend Miss Cynara Dhaval? Nara, this is Lady Phailin Forester, one of Lord Phoenix's sisters." She pauses to watch the Empress step forward to tell a tale and when she next speaks it is with a hushed tone. "She the one all those flyers were making a fuss over," she explains to Lin while passing a sideways look to her friend, hoping that Nara won't strangle her then and there.

"Oh really?" Surprise registers in her features when Lin hears that. Taking another cursory glance to Cynara. Only to be distracted when Mena talks about speaking first and there's a chuckle erupting. Yes, Mena's storytelling will be entertaining. Because well its probably family related.

Phineas smirks at Dag. "Chicken shit," he says with casual humor. "Alright. Here's the rules. You've fifteen minutes, tops, and if you pause for more than ten seconds straight, yer disqualified. Though I admit, ten seconds may grow longer the more I smoke." He gestures toward Mena with the joint.

Niamh settles in for the comfort of listening, rather than participating directly. But she has a book and a pen ready to jot down the witticisms of Fielders or the folly of the drunken sorts, a chronicler of the times with a smile on her face and pale eyes roving freely among others.

Having settled on a spot off in the wings of the crowd, Coleridge settles into his chair. He stretches his left leg out before him, leaning his cane against his thigh. From the inside pocket of his waistcoat he produces an elaborately fashioned silver and glass flask; the bright cornflower blue contents within visible. Uncapping the concoction, a wisp of vapor escaping, he takes a sip just as the Baroness addresses him. "Your Excellency," he addresses her, the hint of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "I would not wish to bore all these fine people to sleep with my tales of archaic formula." He gestures absently with his fingers. "And I am certain anything I offer would pale in comparison to your own tale."

She's only happy to help, Cynara reaching for Helena's hand to aid her in sitting down. It's hard not to fuss over her friend in public, especially when she's still recovering - but she manages not to be too overbearing. Golden eyes cast upon Phailin, and at the formal introduction, she dips her head. "A pleasure, Lady Phailin," she addresses the other woman with a hint of a smile - warm still. But when Helena says something about the flyers, she shakes her head once. "My dearest friend has been concerned about the publications but I am confident that this will pass." She takes a seat on the other side of Helena, leaning back against her hands. "Ah, it's good to be outdoors," she murmurs, tilting her head back and closing her eyes.

Lucian just chuckles - yes, he chuckles! - at Isolde's request before he puts his tankard down on the ground and rises up. "I do not see why not. As long as it does not disturb the Empress and her story.." He quickly fetches a pillow from nearby, a slim hand reaching out and pulls it to a position next to his own, at a respectable distance away. He waits with sitting down, watching Mena from a bit of a distance and then looking to Isolde. "Your pillow." A hint of amusement across his features.

In passing Cynara and Helena, Iain leans down to say a quick something into the child of Meritas' ear. He doesn't linger long enough to wait for a response, straightening with enough speed to suggest whatever he said was likely to earn him a whack, and he ushers Cadoc further along. The pair drop with boneless laziness into a different cluster of cushions and promptly open the flask, Iain himself settling down until he's nearly supine, one boot settled loosely over the other with his hands laced behind his head.

Iseldis eventually takes a cushion not far from Duke Phineas, settling upwind from whatever it is he's smoking and getting ready to hear some interesting tales. Her expression is decidedly neutral, however. And she keeps looking down, away from the crowd to her hands that are resting in her lap.

Mena does get to her feet at the gesture from Phineas, looking around the crowd as she gathers her thoughts. "Once upon a time, there was a beautiful and very powerful Empress, though the source of her power was certainly only by the will of her wonderful and most honorable husband. While running an entire Empire was often very trying for the woman, it was something she took upon her shoulders with grace, and honor herself, for serving an entire country of people was very rewarding to her, indeed. It was the simple pleasures that did help make it all worthwhile. Sharing tea in the village, or taking a walk along the beach with her most handsome and loving spouse." She pauses to take a breath, an ironic quirk to her grin. "One day, while this adored public figure was attending the spring festival, she happened upon a storytelling contest. This Empress certainly loved to hear good stories, but alas... no one wished to go first! It was quite the quandary, and made the Empress very sad." She even effects a sad face. "So, to solve this problem, and save the day, she stood up and looked around, appointing someone to rise and tell a story, therefore saving the day, and in the end, the entire Empire from gloom. The end." She grins widely, then looks toward Dag. "I do believe it is your turn."

"Ain't!" Dag retorts to the Duke with a smirk of his own, but he tilts his hat back down over his eyes and crosses his arms behind his head, settling further into his throne of cushions. He stretches his legs out and crosses his ankles, shutting up as the Empress begins to speak.

Isolde glances towards Coleridge and then his chair. That is when it happens. The great alchemy battle of alchemist started this very day. Years from now, nay generations from now they will feud and not know why. There will be not one that can remember, but the witnesses here can watch. It was started over a chair and jealousy. Isolde stares at the chair as she lowers delicately to the ground and the pillow offered to her; even as her maid looks horrified. "Aithne will kill me if she knew..." Theresa offers to her Baroness before Isolde offers an airy, "She won't know." From there she waves over Coleridge. "It is much too improper to yell.." Which she is currently doing. "Please could you relocate to my side here? There is enough room for your /chair/." Then she looks towards Lucian and allows her lips to curve upwards softly, "Thank you for your assistance in the matter of seating." Her attention is then stolen by the lovely Empress.

"Finn!" Lin projects her voice. No way in hell is she going to get off the ground. Than she thinks better of it."Oh never mind." Instead calling a vendor close. It seems the florist is still hungry and makes gestures and gathers up some snacks. Maybe popcorn is in the gathering. Turning to listen to the stories. Once that interaction is done.

Her eyes are closed and her head is tilted back to enjoy the last rays of the sunset descending upon the horizon...so the moment something foreign (as in, Iain's voice) reaches her ears, those eyes snap open yet again, jerking up from her posture of slight repose and looking around this way and that to find the originator of the whisper - and not only that but whatever he says causes her jaw to drop open. Cynara shoots a look at the lord when he drops onto a cushion, and whenever she meets his eyes, she mouths something to him across the distance, complete with exasperated look and a roll of her eyes heavenward. Amusement, however, underscores the expression, and a 'hello to you too' wiggle of her fingers is cast to his general direction before the Empress's story distracts her. And the last few words causes her to grin.

Phineas idly puffs at his smoke, listening to Mena and beginning to smirk after a few moments. He shakes his head when she is completed, chuckling. "Well, that's a way to kick things off, fair enough. And I didn't realize Lucian was going ta be telling something, but that's great. Mena, fergive me ahead of time, I don't think yer story's winnin' anythin'."

Mena chuckles and waves a hand to Phineas, unconcerned. "The joy was in the telling of it, Your Grace," she says, highly amused as she makes to seat herself once more.

Helena settles in to listen and easily gets drawn into what she expects to be a great historical tale. But soon enough the lady realizes the fate of the story and actually laughs a little as she leans against Cynara. When the Empress has finished she claps in appreciation and turns to look to where Lucian is seated, curious as to the tale a mage will weave.

At her friend's leaning, Cynara flashes Helena a quick grin, dropping her head low to whisper to her. When Lucian is called out, however, she cranes her neck a touch, straightening up so she could try and find just who the empress has put on the spot. The man in question looks extremely familiar, and realization dawns on her, a few seconds later, as to where she had seen him.

Isolde puts her hand over her mouth a bit as she looks between Lucian and Mena. She too waits.

Mena casts a wink out into the rest of the crowd once she's settled again.

The Master Alchemist's eyes sparkle brightly behind his tinted spectacles. Perhaps it is Isolde's expression as she considers his chair that brings him such amusement. He offers the Baroness a flourished gesture that ends with him placing his fingertips to his lips to silence his own words as the storytelling begins. With a toast of his flask in that Baroness' direction, Coleridge even dares to wink mischievously at her as his attention is drawn towards the mage at her side.

Dag remains settled back in his cushions, his hat over his eyes. If he listens, he listens on his own terms, conserving his energy for his own tale. When he finally gets around to telling it.

Lucian just got done smiling to Isolde after the Baroness settled down and he is listening to the Empress story. He does not appear amused, instead appearing a tiny bit puzzled at the tale. At least until his name is called and he blinks. Once. "Your majesty.." And he can't do anything but to rise up to his legs and smoothen the sides of his gray coat. "When your Empire calls, I answer the summon and rises up to the occasion." He slowly takes a step forward, his misty blue eyes going out over all the others assembled. He walks a few more steps, head swiveling from left to right. And then, when he reaches the middle, he speaks up with a strong voice that carries well, much unlike his usual tone.

"I will tell you all a tale of fear." He lets that sink in before he continues: "It starts simple, as many tales do. It starts a people. A people who lived in peace, their greatest worries were if the apples would be plenty this summer or if the rains would come at an inopportune time." He nods slowly, gesturing with his hands and making sure that he speaks in more than one direction while telling the tale.

"Their summers were spent watching the grass grow and seeing children grow up, because the land was so plentiful. Their winters were spent.. well, in bed with their loved ones as well as by the windows, watching the snow fall. All was well until one day, when a young man came to the village. The man carried a sword, and had eyes red with rage." A pause before he goes on: "This man quickly got attention from the village and his powerful demeanor and his strength earned him a place among them. He was often angry, but they tolerated it. One day, he burst out in rage over a woman, as it often is, and he used his sword to slay his fellow man. The village, the town, the land were all cast into a state of fear." He looks around. "Because why, did everyone ask, had he carried a sword? Why did no one stop him? Why was there something that could do this? And why was the warrior tolerated? He should be cast out." Lucian nods. "And they did. They cast him out and hunted him from the village for his crime."

"Later on, a man came running to the village, almost a year later. He was bleeding and hurt, and he carried a sword at his side. He tried to get them to help, because he had been attacked by a man with eyes red of rage. However, the village saw that he was strong of build and carried a sword, and he said that he was a warrior. And a warrior had hurt them before, and that warrior had carried a sword, and swords were no longer allowed in this village. The man despaired, but they chased him out and did not offer him any help. Another man came, and they did the same to that warrior. Until the day, when all the warriors had gone, and only the man with eyes red with rage remained, and he came to the village who had outlawed swords and outlawed warriors. He took their lives, every one of them." The mage looks rather grim.

"Because they had feared what he appeared to be - a warrior - and they had feared what he held in his hand, instead of judging the man for the man he was, and judging him for his crime. And that is what fear does to us, cause us to distrust appearances and the tools of those who seek to harm us and apply it to all, when it is to their hearts and intentions that we should look."

Phailin is relaxed against her own cushions. Being spoiled by Iseldis does have their benefits after all and she thusly enjoys the fact that she's got a pillow under her feet. Eating grapes and sipping off her mug as she waits for the next story. Enjoying the spring night and being outdoors does have its benefits.

"And only a man's intentions and his actions can make him guilty of evil, not what he is or the sword that he has at his side." Those are the last words that Lucian offers up to the gathered people, offering a bow to the gathered spectators.

Iain is surprisingly quiet, given his reputation; he listens to the stories attentively. He's chuckling for Mena, and thoughtful for Lucian, though halfway through the mage's tale his lips quirk and he lifts one arm, settling the back of his wrist against his crown in order to shade his eyes, the other extended toward Cadoc for that flask full of...whatever it is.

"Watched grass grow?" Dag snickers quietly at Lucian's tale, despite the truer, grimmer tenor of the tale.

Mena's lips quirk at the telling of Lucian's story as well, lifting her hands to applaud it as he finishes. "A good lesson for us all, Master Acinthas. Thank you."

Phineas listens to Lucian with somewhat narrowed eyes, the look intent and judging as the man speaks. He sets down his tankard and pounds his hand on his thigh when the man is complete, giving a call of, "Huzzah for the story! Well done, Lucian. Even if my sister put ya on the spot. You get ta point ta who is next. Hopefully someone who volunteered, but since Mena started the tradition, I s'pose that ya can at least try ta wrangle someone inta it. Anyone else volunteerin'?" The duke looks about the platform.

Isolde lifts her brows towards Coleridge as he winks towards her. She casts him a soft smile and then shakes her head. Then she turns to look at the assembled crowd with interest on who is going next. She lets her eyes follow Lucian, letting him see her clap. Then she offers a hand. "I could go next, if Your Grace desires." There is a wickedly evil smile on her features.

It's a lovely spring night for a stroll, and the tattoo'd warrior woman joins the group, arriving just on the end of the stories and watching people relaxing and enjoy. Gwyneth looks exceptionally skeptical at the notion of volunteering for anything, most /especially/ anything that involves public speaking. Instead, she just finds somewhere to stretch out herself.

The parable is something Cynara listens to intently, leaning back on one hand and draping her arm over a bent knee. She waits for the next story, but there's a contemplative cast upon her expression. Seeing something move in her periphery, her gaze lifts upwards to spy Gwyneth in the fringes. And while she doesn't say anything out loud to disrupt the proceedings, she does greet the warrior woman with a friendly wave and a small smile.

"Ain't me deciding, Isolde. Lucian gets that privilege," drawls the duke, somewhat neutral as he views the smile Isolde wears.

Lucian looks around, his gaze passing to Isolde as she seems to be the only one volunteering at first. "It seems the Baroness will tell her tale then, since she is the only volunteer. Not much of a choice, and I do not wish to put someone on the spot that would have to prepare a story from no where. Go ahead, your excellency." He gestures to Isolde and moves towards his seat, passing her if she rises up to step forth. If anyone else volunteers after he started talking, he probably misses it.

Mena chuckles a bit at Lucian's words, since that's exactly what she did.

Helena applauds for Lucian as well, leaning in to Cynara to again share a few words. There's a bit of a smile to her lips, as if she's just discovered something important. But she says little else after she leans back, allowing the stories to continue without her interruption.

Lachesis looks around upon entering somewhat later than intended. Not seeing one of the sought after faces, she lets Lucian's voice distract her. The reedy blonde makes her way up to the platorm and steps up to seek a spot close to the man. "Telling tales, father?" After the question, she murmurs to him softly on her way to the seat.

Iseldis applauds politely for Lucian's tale, shifting her legs a bit so they don't fall asleep and keeping an eye on the Duke to make sure she's aware should he get overly drunk or stoned or some undoubtably interesting combination of both.

Gwyneth drifts over to settle next to Cynara, stretching her legs out as she relaxes on the ground. She's not yet pregnant enough to have to wonder how the devil she is going to get back up off the ground, give it a couple more months. "Evening." Her greeting is quiet for Cynara, not inturrupting the stories too badly.

Phineas turns his attention toward Isolde, watching her through a curl of smoke, his eyes as vague as the tendril that rises from the cherry end of his joint. "Ya know the rules, Isolde," he drawls, the words chased by an odd smile at his features.

Isolde folds her legs under her and only whitens a bit at the strain as she comes to her feet with ease of grace. There is a seductive sway to her hips as she walks upon the stage, but unlike some; she looks ready to claim it fully. Her eyes sparkle with adoration of the attention perhaps, or the limelight. A smile curves her lips as she offers, "I beg forgiveness as I did not come preparing to tell a tale. However, it would be un-festive not to and surely no one would decide not to." Her eyes already scanning the crowd for a victim after her tale. "This ia tale of a lion.." Her voice trails to look towards Phineas, "a fox.." Those long lashes drop towards her feet in coy, submissive regard before she looks up towards Cynara and Helena. Perhaps picking them to go next, "and an ass."

Isolde's voice rises softly in pitch as she starts her 'tale'. "One day the lion, the fox and the ass decided to enter into a hunt for the best piece of meat they could find." Her voice takes an on almost haunting measure, "It was succulent, moist and oh so delicious, but first they had to hunt it, capture it and prove their worth of it." She rubs her stomach in the description and it almost looks like she's talking about a more adult sort of hunt by the seductive drop of her lashes.

"Now the Lion being the strongest of the lot found his place to be the carrier of their prize when they captured it. Oh and capture it they did. The Lion looks to the Ass and remarks, 'You! You appear to be good, true and faithful. You, will divide up our shares." The Ass did blush and twitter in such unpleasant ways as an ass's voice sounds. The ass calculated the exact fair shares of the most desired meat and presented them to the others." Isolde pauses for a breath as she blossoms and twitters upon the stage, overly acting it to gain laughter. "Now the lion stared at the equal offerings. He roared with all his might and struck down the most attempting of Ass that tried to do right. He slayed the ass and turned to the fox. 'Fox', he roared." She speaks in a roaring voice. "You will now separate this most succulent meat.' Then he waited. Now the fox. Oh the fox was a vixen, she was cunning and smart. So she divided all the meat to the pile and took only a tiny portion. She offered the largest portion to the lion and lowered her head to his power." She lowers into a very submissive pose as she talks.

"The lion was impressed. The fox had gleened what he wanted. He queried, "Cunning Vixen, how is it that you learned to divide so perfectly?" The fox she meekly batted her lashes and replied with earnest, "I learned from watching the Ass." To that Isolde lowers to a curtesy, "Happy is she that learns from the follies of others." Then her own blue-green eyes scan the crown and fall on Iain, "You! You shall tell the next story."

At Helena's whisper, Cynara smiles faintly and leans her head closer to her friend's. "Hopefully we'll get to hear it tonight," she murmurs. "I'm curious." When Gwyneth moves, the young woman stands up from the cushion to help the pregnant woman sit down should she let her, and upon settling on the cushions again, she nods. "It's good to see you, m'lady," she murmurs to Gwyneth softly - for her ears. "You did wonderfully in our last lessons. Helena, you know Lady Gwyneth, don't you?" She tilts her head, following Isolde's finger towards the newest victim, and her eyebrows lift to see who it is.

"...oh dear," is all she says in response, under her breath.

Mena watches Isolde tell her story with a pleasant expression. She does press her lips together faintly at the end, her hands lifting to applaud the story's finish.

One ebony brow slides up toward the hairline of the Green Fields Duke while he listens to the tale that Isolde lays forth, and when she finishes he gives the very slightest shake of his head, wordless. Then, as he did for Lucian, he gives a rousing call of huzzah and applauds on his thigh. "A well told tale. And it seems that ya have already chosen the next victim. Iain Arx, horse race champion and my littlest sister's new hero because of it, yer called ta the floor. Ya in?"

Helena leans over a little to greet Gwyneth, nodding to the other lady, but for now she holds her tongue, lest whispers infiltrate the story-telling. It is only when the next teller is called that she speaks. "Lady Gwyneth, a pleasure," she says quietly and settles back to focus on the next story.

Lucian settles himself on the pillow again, stretching back luxuriously and letting his blue eyes drift over Isolde, then past her to see the reactions of the spectators. He starts the drinking of his ale, doing a rather mighty job of it at that all the while watching the entertainment. When it's over, he offers polite applause, clapping his hands together a few times without showing much of an expression across his pale features. Once Isolde returns to her pillow, if she does, he offers up: "If the fox had been fast, it would have taken all the meat while the lion was roaring in pride at the Ass. Would the lion have been fast enough? it would have been an interesting chase."

Gwyneth leans back into the cushions, leaning forward a little and nodding to Helena with a little grunt of greeting. "Lessons. Letters. Miserable. Still. Alphabet. Better." She nods to Cynara and she follows that point to Iain. There's an amused little snort, complete with smirk. "Should. Be. Interesting."

Phailin has been busy eating and just thusly distracted. She does nod towards Gwyneth when she nears the grouping. No reaction to Isolde's story though she looks to Iain to see if he'll take the challange.

Iseldis applauds politely as she does after every tale, looking around at the crowd with interest. She leaves Phineas' side only for a moment, deciding he could use a fresh mug of ale, which is as good an excuse as any to get one for herself.

Isolde walks with an ease of motion that can only be cultivated by being born into it. She looks towards Mena in thought and then moves to retake her pillow. At Lucian's words, she ponders it. "I do not think anyone can beat this lion. For when he roars one need not worry about that. When the lion roars it is because he is covering that which his claws have already destroyed." She smiles towards the mage beside her as she settles on her not-chair. "I would be very mindful of the lion."

There's a whistling and a coin toss up in the air. The recent arrival, and semi Lily Headache problem, Bertram walks around, getting use to things. He frowns a little bit as he watches the spring festival. "Lily was right. I probably should have stayed in the corner. Stupid using the door...", he mutters as he catches his coin. The man looks around, debating on a few things as he thinks a little bit...

Iain's lips quirk for a second time at the end of Isolde's story, lifting both in order to clap for the delivery. It takes him only a moment to unfold like origami from his position on the ground and get to his feet, rolling his shoulders once as he ticks a blue glance over the group. "Well...alright then. In is in, Your Grace," he tells Phineas through a crooked half-smile. He hitches his waistband and the double-slung belts low at his hips as he steps away from the already-sputtering red-faced Cadoc, something foxish about his expression as he angles a look at Cynara and Gwyneth.

"Apologies in advance tae those here who've heard this story a'fore now, though as the Dhaval dinna even let me finish it the first time before she keeled over laughing, I suppose she'll nae mind another chance tae mock my misery," he tells the group gamely.

He stops mid-platform and claps his hands together, rubbing them as he skims the group with his eyes, a physical and animated storyteller from the outset. "Alright. This story is short, but it's also true. You canna really see it anymore, as its been a week or sae, but earlier on by a matter of days I was sporting a fairly fine black eye about town, and asked more than once how I came by it. Now you get tae know, as well."

"Nae very long ago, I found myself in one of the dockside pubs, doing what folk do and well intae my cups by the time the relevant bits of the story take place. There was a serving girl there I took tae fancying a bit, as a lad is wont tae do when he's lookin' at life through the bottom of his tankard, and I decided -- in my obvious, liquored wisdom -- tae have a bit of a game with the lass. I told her," he says, "that I was a magical Mistian, and my magic enabled me tae summon coins from thin air --" And so he does; those deft fingers of his know a thing or two about sleight of hand, and he produces a silver coin with adeptness and then causes it to summarily disappear, "-- but tha' in order for the magic tae work...I had tae receive a kiss first, you ken."

Blue eyes glint. "Well! It's all fun and games, innit? I get my drinks when she brings them, she gives me a kiss, and I do a little trick for the pretty wee lass...everyone has a laugh. Bit of fun, innit? Sae I believed."

"Now then, two hours later and having had my fill of both beer and stolen kisses, I leave the bar and begin tae head home...when suddenly I'm jumped from an alleyway tae the side, and some ruddy oxen-necked oaf twice my size and thrice my weight is suddenly trying tae suck my bloody lips off!" He folds his sinuous arms over his chest, rolling onto the balls of his feet. "I do what comes natural, you see, and I'm throwing punches, but the lad dinna feel them much, and I've nae idea what's happened I hear him cussing and on about, 'You owe me the gold you git, gold for a kiss and that's proper'." The corner of his mouth curls upward.

"There's nae moral tae my story, except perhaps tae make sure, if you travel with a guard, tha' you have one who can do more when you're attacked by an idiot than stand there with his sword half-drawn and laugh at you til he canna breathe," he finishes, with a pointed look at Cadoc.

Lucian welcomes the Baroness back to the pillow with a smile, especially at her answer. "An interesting lion.. Welcome back. A good tale, your excellency." He offers a quiet word or two before he looks to Iain, some faint amusement showing across the mage's features. Faint, but even so, he applauds as the tale comes to a close.

Helena listens to the tale, looking a little dubious at the start of the story. But that doesn't mean she's not leaning in to hear how it ends, even if it involves a little trickery, booze, and other things Purists aren't supposed to be about. She even manages a bit of a laugh at the end as the attack is described and she looks over to Cynara. "Oh, you are so cruel," she teases, even if he's laughing as well. She joins in with the applause.

Mena chuckles at the end of Iain's story, applauding the man's effort. "Well done, Lord Arx. You are on quite the roll."

Alright. Well. That was funny. Even Iseldis is smiling and then laughing, holding up her tankard to salute Iain for his well-told tale.

Isolde's story draws no reaction from the reclining scamp, though Iain wins an easy laugh. "Magic, eh!" Dag snickers, even as his eyes follow the tale's teller from beneath his hat.

Gwyndolen arrives, it seems, just in time. She and a couple of men who despite their lack of uniforms could only be guards, arrive in the pasture and make their way up to the edges of the gathered crowd. The ambassador is eyeing the set-up, with the pillows and the stage and the smoke when Iain begins his story. She pauses in her perusal to watch, and listen, a smile ticking up the corner of her lips as it becomes clear where the tale is going. She applauds, naturally.

Adalbert, newly arrived to the gathering, lingers toward the back as Iain is talking upon his arrival. A few chuckles as the baron's anecdote builds. Applauding as do others, it is no small dignified chuckle, but a great booming laugh in appreciation of the jest. "Well told!" he calls, still smiling.

Isolde lifts her hands to clap for her chosen victim before she turns her attention to Lucian and his lowered words. She gives a soft laugh and shakes her head. Her own voice lowering to him before she brushes some ringlets back over her shoulder.

"Give it time, Lady Gwyneth," Cynara murmurs reassuringly. But she waits for the next story patiently, falling silent now as the next storyteller prepares his tale. When her name is mentioned however, and the reaction she had on the first retelling, her eyes widen. "You're not-- oh cr-- " ...and he does. She covers her face with her hands, and she starts laughing helplessly. "I wasn't laughing -at- you!" she protests, even if it was a FILTHY LIE and probably everyone knows it. "I was-- oh fine. I was. But you really brought that on yourself." When Helena calls her cruel, she widens her eyes further, and points to herself. "Me?" she mock-gasps. "I wasn't being cruel! I was....oh come on, you know it was precisely the reaction he was looking for."

"And for laughing halfway through it the first time -- I suppose Miss Dhaval should be telling her story next, shouldn't she?" Iain drops the Draughtian a wry wink and then abandons the platform to box the (guffawing, braying) Cadoc on the side of the head playfully, dropping back down into his seat beside the man and reaching for the flask once again.

Phineas lets Iain claim his whole attention, other than his tankard and his rolled smoke for the night. He applauds when it is done, the traditional huzzah called and then the broad grin as the next person is named. "Well told Iain. Well indeed."

"Maybe something to learn in everything, but inspiration?" Lucian's voice are again loud enough to be heard past him and the baroness, but he soon drops his voice down low once more before looking out among the people. Something out there seems to give him pause, blue eyes frozen for a second.. before moving on, glancing between his companion at his side and the stage.

Gwyneth smirks, her soft snorts of amusment probably as good as it ges for her laughing. She leans back on her hands, just to watch the people and listen to stories. She looks over to Cynara as she gets called up to be the next telling stories.

Isolde lets her eyes travel to see what Lucian is looking at. Her eyes cutting across the crowd to follow the misty blue. Her words are soft. Although she starts to stand. One hand reaches out to touch Lucian's shoulder. "If you will excuse me, I will return." The blue-green of her eyss moving over the crowds as she starts to weave through the people.

Bertram pauses a moment. The man looks at the guy telling the story. "...Damn...Somebody is already using that here? The Magic kiss?", he frowns. The man sighs, and puts the coin away. He just looks down, and shakes his head. So much for the cheese factor. The man beings to look around before pausing. He starts trying to think a little bit. This is going to be a long night for him...

Since Cynara has been tagged as the next victim, Phineas now turns attention on her. "Dangerous thing, ta show up for storytelling. Keep in mind yer goin' ta be better'n Mena, no matter what."

Mena smirks at Phineas. "I didn't see you telling any stories, Your Grace," she points out. "So, I should at least get some credit for effort."

"Oh for the love of-- " Cynara for a moment looks like a deer caught within the sights of an archer when she's called upon next. She wasn't exactly prepared for this. Finally, she sighs, and rakes a hand through her hair. "Alright. I'm afraid mine doesn't preach to a particular virtue either, but something I've heard in the years I've been traveling about." She glances at Helena, and she continues.

"I once heard of a village. Small, peaceful, so understandably when one of their farmers were killed under suspicious circumstances, it made the news," she says, hugging her knees to her chest where she was seated. "No one saw anything, no one heard anything, there was little to go on, no evidence that could be considered, just the body of a poor man with several grievous injuries on his head. At a loss as to what to do, but knowing that justice ought to be done, they consulted with one who they considered a wise man in their part of the world. This man inspected the body, told the other villagers to give him up until the next day to find out who the culprit is."

"And so the next day arrives. He calls all the men in the village to stand in an open field, with their spades standing upright..." She makes a gesture. "From the soil with the metal part suspended in the air. And then he sat, and waited. Dawn turned into early morning. Early morning turned to noon. And once the sun hits the precipice of the horizon, they started to appear."

"Flies," she adds. "Clustering at the edge of one of the spades and around the man holding it. While the spade appeared clean, the creatures managed to detect the lingering traces of the deed. And so the perpetrator was found out, and justice was rightly administered."

She nudges Helena and flashes her a smile. "Your turn."

Gwyndolen waits until the next storyteller has been chosen and is being urged up towards the stage and beginning her tale before moving, leaving one guard behind and slipping through the crowd with the other to find an empty space. "Madam," she greets Mena with a polite nod, and the others nearby: "Duke Green Fields. Lord Arx." She takes a seat, smoothing her skirts demurely, and looking up to listen to Cynara's tale.

Lucian looks tense for a moment when Isolde moves away, his eyes not staying in that frozen spot for long enough for anyone to see where he was looking. Somewhere amidst the crowd of laughing people, it seemed. When the Baroness is gone, however, Lucian turns his attention back towards the stage and the next story. The story? It earns a smile and polite applause from him.

Mena applauds Cynara's story, then does incline her head deeply to Gwyndolen. "Ambassador. It is good to see you. I am glad you have found the time to enjoy the festival."

"Huzzah," calls the Green Fields Duke when Cynara's story is complete. He lifts his tankard to her, although there's something of humor dancing behind his eyes. "Well told story. And Helena's next, is it? Any out there who want to volunteer, speak up and heighten your chances of actually being next." He says sidelong toward Mena, "I do give ya credit fer tryin'. Believe me. I'm glad yer job is Empress, not bard."

Helena laughs a little and pushes Nara forward as she settles back for the story. She grins a bit at her friend and shakes her head. "The tale of an advocate," she says quietly, but to no one in particular. She applauds for her friend and stretches out her hand so that Nara might help her to her feet. "Fair's fair, yes," she tells Cynara as she makes her way up to the stage.

Iain looks briefly surprised to hear the Tyrean accent nearby, turning his head to look over his shoulder toward the end of Cynara's story and offer Gwyndolen a half-smile, lifting his chin slightly in an up-nod of greeting. The end of Cynara's story wins applause from the lordling, interrupted by whatever Cadoc says when he leans over to speak into Iain's ear.

Mena gives a laugh at Phineas's light stab at her story-telling abilities. "As am I, truly."

"Hah!" says Dag, a triumphant sort of laugh, as Cynara's flies tell the evil-deed-doer, and he tilts his hat back just a little to send an expectant look to Helena. At Phineas's call? He smirks. "Wot, I'll tell a tale, when any of these pretty girls thinks they wanna hear one."

Helena ascends the stage, stepping between seated listeners to make her way to the front. There's a bit of nervousness as she smoothes her gown and clears her throat before she begins.

"This tale is an old one from back before the Champion came to set us free." Helena starts, her voice low so that it might grow as the tension of the story grows. "Demons were threat, we were slaves to their will and countless suffered. One of these horrific beasts was nothing more than a giant head, grotesque in its features. Its skin was tough, like dragon's flesh, and its eyes burned and bulged from their sockets. It was a terrifying creature that swooped into villages and ate people whole with its large glistening fangs, too many to count. Rows and rows of razor-sharp teeth filled its disgusting mouth and from the sides of the giant head sprung enormous bat-like wings. They pounded the air like horrible drumbeats, announcing that death was on the way."

Helena's hands move as she tells the story and her voice grows as she spins the tale, becoming more dramatic and quite unlike her. She is intent on describing the demon to the last detail.

"Villages were destroyed by this vile creature for it had an appetite that could not be sated. Each night the people feared it would choose them next. One evening the alarm went out, the beast was seen approaching and the villagers ran to their underground shelter, hoping it would save them from a horrific fate. But one woman refused to join them. "Someone must stand up to this demon," she announced as her neighbor tried to get her to leave. With the village near empty, the woman returned to her cooking, which was actually a large pot filled with piping hot stones. When she heard the wings above she ignored them. She ignored the giant eye that peered into her window and she ignored the ripping of straw as the roof was torn from her house. She focused on her meal.

"Never have I tasted such meat," she declared, leaning over the pot and pretending to sample the stones. She was able to lift them out of the pot and drop them back while giving the impression of tasting them. "So tender, so flavorful, we shall never have a meal like this again!" She turned away towards her table, to gather some spices, leaving the 'feast' unattended. The Demon eyed the pot and in his ravenous hunger he lunged at the cookpot and with those cruel fangs he upended it into his mouth. The howl of the beast could be heard for miles it is said as it burned from the inside. The woman ducked under the table, watching as the Demon tried to fly away. It darted and wove through the treetops and disappeared into the nearby hills, never to be seen again."

Helena pauses there and surveys the crowd, she looks flushed from the telling and for a few moments completely lost herself in the tale. "Never forget that even one person can stand against darkness," she says to finish adding a curtsey in the Empress's direction.

Mena inclines her head to Helena with appreciation in her smile for the woman's story as she applauds.

Phineas grants Helena's tale the focused attention of the others, drawing a toke from the joint in hand and exhaling quietly while considering her words. When she finishes, he calls the huzzah, lifts his tankard. "Good story. Creepy creature, Helena. Who's the victim that yer goin' ta name next?"

The smirking and amusement passed back and forth between Iain and Cadoc seem to be quite handily toned down by the tenor of the words Helena offers her audience, and both seem rapt: stories about demons? Fangs and terrible wings? This is a story a guy can appreciate, obviously, and when it's over the pair of them add enthusiastic applause to the rest, Cadoc even going so far (blame the flask) as to whistle.

Isolde moves through the crowds, but stops as Helena talks. She does not want to be rude to move or talk through the story. Applause offered as she studies her. Then she grabs up two ales from the table and approaches the Empress. She attempts to hand off one ale to the Empress and keep the other to herself. A light voice offered should the knights allow.

Mena does look to Isolde and reaches to take the offered ale. "Thank you, Excellency. That is very kind indeed." The rest of what the Empress says to Isolde is lost among the din of the crowd.

It isn't a major decision for the Soranus lady to make. Helena points to the young lad who has done quite a bit of shouting this evening. "That young lad there seems eager to speak," she says and quickly exits the stage, seeming thrilled to be back among the group.

Lucian settles back, left alone now, and he listens and applauds with his usual polite demeanor. He seems to have finished his tankard but is making no move to get another one, instead just taking the moments that he can to look out through the darkness at the people surrounding the stage.

After a bow towards the applause, Cynara moves to take a seat on her cushions to listen to her friend's tale. And once it was told, she couldn't help but smile, and clap her hands together in show of support for her friend, and appreciation for her story - which sounds familiar, but Helena had a better memory for these tales than herself. And whenever Helena moves to return to her place next to her, she flashes her friend an impish grin. "...so....should I be a little more careful in eating what you cook?" she teases, nudging her friend a little bit and leaning back a bit with her hands. Her eyes follow Dag as he is chosen to be the next storyteller.

Lachesis reaches over to sneak hold of one of the spare pillows and hugs it towards her chest as she listens. She lets herself daydream a bit as she listens to each story told. She glances at Lucian again and grins. "It's so tempting to start illustrating each tale!"

Isolde brings her own tankard to her lips and gives a sigh of pleasure. It is one that can only come from being without ale for a good long while. "I think I have missed drinking." The words soft as she watches the next victim picked and her eyes scan the crowd. If one looks very close, her lips will move against the lip of the tankard

Gwyndolen nods once again to Mena, "As am I," she says as she settles. Iain receives an answering jerk of the chin and then the ambassador leans back on her hands to listen to the tales told. Each earn what looks like her undivided attention, and enthusiastic applause. She sits up again after Helena's, leaning over towards Iain and Cadoc, asking a quiet question, from the looks of things.

Lucian glances to Lachesis now. "Ah, my apologies Lachesis.. Illustrate? The stories?" He glances to the stage again, then shakes his head before he proceeds with the quiet conversation. "Do you intend to tell one?"

There's a nod from Iain in response to what Gwyndolen says, the lean figure canting sidelong to drag a pillow over near to where he and Cadoc are sitting, and he gives it a pat before setting the large flask down on top of it. Thereafter he cants back into his own, watching Dag with interested blue eyes.

"That boy's Dag," Phineas supplies for Helena, and there's some affection stealing across his features as he looks to the aforementioned youth. "Boy, yer called up. Best give a damn fine showing, ya hear me?"

Iseldis's smile at Iain's tale fades quickly enough and she goes back to nursing her tankard and listening to the others as they weave their tales, applauding politely after they finish speaking. Her gaze rests upon Dag for a moment before straying back toward her Duke. She seems calm and peaceful enough, although she twists a silver ring around on her finger as if it bothers her.

Lachesis mmmhmmms at Lucian as she tries to pick out who's next. She chuckles at Phineas' demands for Dag. "I hope so if someone calls on me. I've been thinking one up since I got here. And illustrate. We're outside the castle. That last story would have been fun to make an image for. The stones, the woman cooking, the wings and the head... "

When he's named, Dag lifts his hat up a bit to peer at the one who's named him, and a smirk brightens his features. "Fine. I gotta story." He hops to his feet from his pile of cushions, flashing a smile at the girls nearby, and a rather cocky one to Phineas. He tilts his hat to the back of his head with a flick of a finger, and tells his tale. It's a sharp contrast to Helena's: he does voices.

"I knew a fellow once, wot knew a fellow, wot knew a pretty girl. Now, she were that kinda girl, you know -- the kind wot likes the fellows. An' she got her eye on a handsome one, Jacko. An' she goes to her pa, an' says," His voice shifts to a girlish soprano as he recites the girl's lines, before slipping back to his own. "'Pa, I got my eye on Jacko, ain't he a fine one! I wants to marry 'im.' An' her pa heaves a sigh and says," He heaves a huge sigh, and his voice drops far as he can drop it, "'Sad to say, my sweet, but handsome as he is, he's a son of mine, an' he ain't for you.'

"Well, she were a bit sad, but this didn't stop 'er, no sir! A pretty girl, she got her eye on another handsome fellow, Marko. An' she goes to her pa, an' says, 'Pa, I got my eye on Marko, ain't he fine! I wants to marry him.' An' her pa heaves a sigh, an' he says, 'Sorry to say, my sweet, but I knowed his ma well. He's my boy, an' he ain't for you.'

"Now, she's gettin' awful upset, this pretty girl, wot with all the handsome fellows gonna be taken before she finds one, so she finds the handsomest fellow there is," He needn't name this one. The waggle of his eyebrows and his easy posture suggests himself well enough. "An' she goes to her pa, an' says, 'Pa, there ain't no boy handsomer than /him/, an' I wanna marry 'im, oh /please/!'" But her pa heaves a sigh, an' he says, 'Hate to say it, my sweet, but there's a reason he's handsomest, ain't there? He's mine, an' he ain't for you.'

The young teller of the tale pauses a moment there with a sad look across his own features as he imitates the poor, pretty girl, and the story continues: "She were a pretty girl, alright, an' she wanted a handsome fellow, but her pa ain't makin' it easy, so she goes to her ma, and she says, 'Ma, I wanna marry one of them handsome fellows, but pa says they're all his!'

"'Well don't let that worry you, my sweet,' her ma says," Dag gives the mother an easy alto as a smirk plays across his features. "'He ain't yer pa anyway -- have the one you will!'"

There was a punchline to this. She knows it. She can -feel- it. And once it's said... her jaw drops at the last line, and Cynara claps her hand over her mouth before the sudden burst of laughter drowns the ears of the two women sitting near her. But she lets that fall away as she lets go, tossing her head back and laughing freely. She gives the young man his due applause. "Well done," she calls from where she is, her cheeks flushed from the earlier, mirthsome gale.

Saying to no one in particular Lin can be heard saying, "Sounds a lot like my mother." Yep she was defintly refering to her mother to Dag's story, applauding when it draws to a close.

Mena sucks in her cheeks at Dag's story, looking very much like she's amused despite what proper manners might dictate. But she sure does applaud the boy.

Lucian nods lightly in Lachesis direction at her answer before he settles with listening to the tale. At it's conclusion, he applauds.. again. Like before. "Give me a moment," he offers to the young woman before standing up, moving over towards where the drinks are offered, refilling his tankard. He stands there for a little while, away from the storytelling, his demeanor a less than cheery one compared to all those entertained by the latest story.

It would be difficult to describe the amount of noise set up by Iain Arx and his faithful (if occasionally obviously ineffective) guard Cadoc. One minute they're sipping from the cap of the flask and the next they're sputtering and choking and turning red, sending up a proper Guardians ruckus over the tale the boy tells, in which phrases like, "It's the lad for it, or this feckin' thing is rigged!" and "That story is true, I done heard one just like it before," and other nonsense. At least those two seem to've weighed in on their sudden favorite.

Phineas bursts into laughter at the finish of Dag's tale. "Now there's some competition for Iain on the funniest of the night," the duke drawls toward the youth. "Huzzah, well told! Any goin' ta volunteer, or is Dag picking out a victim?"

Gwyneth snorts in amusement as the punchline gets delivered, unexpected and amused.

Iseldis finds herself grinning again, unexpectedly, and she offers hearty applause for Dag. "Oh, well told!" she calls, appreciatively.

Helena doesn't join in the laughter that comsumes Cynara, but she does applaud the story, even smiling a bit, considering the subject matter. She glances over at Lin but says nothing about the lady's mother. "The boy's got a talent for story-telling," she says instead and that much, at least is quite obvious.

Bertram leans back a bit, and keeps himself hidden a bit.

Gwyndolen watches as Iain and Cadoc debate, and then as the pillow is arranged. There's a moment of hesitation, but she reaches over to take up the flask quickly enough, shifting as she does to take up the offered pillow. She takes a drink, then settles back, just in time for Dag's story. It draws a definite smile, one that twitches in a way that suggests she might laugh in different company. She applauds, leaving the louder exclamations to the Guardian pair beside her.

The success of his tale draws a knowing smirk to Dag's features, and he offers a bow -- a showman's bow in triplicate -- to the Empress, and the Duke, and the audience at large. "Told ya I had a story," he crows to Phineas before he tosses himself back onto his throne of cushions and points to Lachesis. "I wanna hear hers."

Lanky Larimar skip-steps off the road and into the open pasture. He gives the crowd a rather intent once over. The blonde mageling's face near splits as a wide grin as he spies his quarry. "So do I!" he calls out in an emphatic echo to Dag's request. A few more brisk strides have him by Lachesis side and nodding politely to Lucian. "She's /quite/ the teller, you know."

Arriving as quietly and discreetly as she can, Elena curtseys to the nobility and royalty gathered, and then settles down at the periphery, near to the hay stack. She gives a little wave to one or two in the crowd, but seems happy just to settle and listen for now.

Lachesis bites her lip as she tries not to laugh too much, especially as Lucian wanders off and looking perhaps just a bit more serious than usual. It means she misses being pointed at first off. But a nudge from a neighbor draws her attention and she wanders up towards the fore. "Sorry to all you manly sorts who hate the schmaltzy stuff in advance."

Lachesis looks the part of a mage in her traditional, perhaps somewhat dowdy amongst so many fashionable sorts, robes. But the illusionist spins no magic in the air. Instead she carefully modulates her voice into a tale teller's tones as she begins. "Brother Dusk and Brother Dawn set about the daily business of beginnings and endings, raised to the duty of the seasons. Dawn in his turn did the work of dusting the day with dew, Dusk as was his due cooled the air with with his dark fingers."

She leans back somewhat, fingers curling against the edges of the pillow as she lifts her head to the cloudy sky. Who knows what she truly sees in her mind's eye, though? There is a dazzled look there, though, as she goes on. "They were good lads, but as all young heart's do, their thoughts turned eventually to love. And like so many others, their hearts' were first opened to what they saw every day. Dawn's fancy was turned to the Sun. He saw her as she rose, full of brilliance, full of color. Dusk saw her at the end of her days, though, when she sank towards slumber. He longed for secret things and sought not the steadiness of the sun. He was bewitched by the ever changing Moon, seeking her out on the cusp of every evening."

Alright. So maybe a little illusion - small tricks of lighting to fit the shifting nature of time, a little play of color across her face. "It was the summer season, and through it all, Dawn thought he knew all there was to know of his sweetheart. She shone steady and untroubled, glittering and gold without a bit of fear, reliable as a wiser man might find the return of the rains. He proclaimed himself with glorious offerings every morning, and so long as he had some pretty prize, she deigned to offer him some of her sheen."

"Dusk, though. He was a more circumspect fellow. He watched that which he would woo through her journeys. He learned what she turned her face from and what she smiled upon. He delighted in each enigma that she revealed, each dappled Moonlit path found through the trees." Shadows play where light once danced, an unseen hood playing hide and seek with her features.

She lifts her hand ans waves it dismissively through the air. "These things come to a head, though, and so it fell out for our boys, though. It hinged upon those moments we hold in awe, the eclipse. Our dear Dawn, he had become so used for desperately seeking out his Sun. When she hid herself, he could not keep his eyes from hunting for her. And so it was he was more than dazzled by his day upon her return. He was blinded by the very thing he loved, destined never to see her face again. He loved only that which shone, and was not prepared for its dark days."

No illusions again - she lets her features show the grief of that too bright light before speaking a happier ending. "But Dusk - he had learned his love, he had sought to know her every facet. So when she slipped from the sky, secret as a kiss, it was all revelry for him. He had learned his way in the dark and found in the moment only more to love. So if there is a moral? Perhaps it is only this - the love that helps you see more clearly may be far more illuminating than the love that blinds you to its faults." She lowers her head and then looks around, finally nodding towards the pregnant Guardian over there. "Your Ladyship," she says towards Gwyneth.

Iseldis rises from her own cushion to fetch some more pillows so the newcomers can make themselves comfortable, Magus Larimar and Elena included, so they can join the rest of the crowd lounging about on the ground. She keeps an ear tuned to the story, but is far more comfortable busying herself with work than actually sitting idle for too long.

The end of Lachesis' story receives the Huzzah! from Phineas, as every storyteller gets, and the compliment of, "Well told indeed. Nice effects too, gal." He grins, a mellowing to his features as he works his way through ale and the ganja in which he imbibes this evening. "And now on ta Gwyneth, is it?"

Helena delivers her attention to Lachesis and as the tale is told the lady's expression changes. She becomes enraptured by the tale and smiles a little at the end. "Such truth in those words," she says quietly to Cynara as she leans a little towards her friend. "I think I may have to obtain a copy of her story," she adds as she raises her hands to clap for the mage.

The illusions. These catch her eye, though the subject matter certainly causes a strange shift in the would-be advocate's expression. Still, she listens to the story with rapt attention, Cynara pursing her lips a little bit at the underlying lesson behind them. But with the helpful artistry that underscores the telling, -that- makes her smile, and she applauds the telling of this one. She sneaks a glance next to her, however, at Helena, hearing her words and murmuring in turn. "I thought of you while listening to it," she confesses. But this glance is broken away when the other person next to her is called up. "Your turn, m'lady," she murmurs to the pregnant woman, and moves to help her up should she need assistance, offering her hand.

Dag listens, and watches, Lachesis tell her story, and this one sees his hat back and his dark eyes bright as she plays the illusions across her features. "Cor!" he exclaims with a little admiration, an echo to Phineas's 'huzzah'.

Cadoc seems utterly rapt to the illusions, and Iain listens mellowly to the story Lachesis tells, watching the special affects with the eye of a man who may be experiencing envy of magic for the first time in his life: what a set of tools to have, for a person who enjoys a good yarn! He adds his applause to Cadoc's at the end, obvious respect for the craftsmanship that went into it in his expression.

Helena blushes a little at Cynara's comment, but says nothing while she waits for Cynara to help the lady to her feet. Once Cynara has returned to the pillows Helena leans over and whispers something in her ear, finishing it with a brief kiss to her friend's cheek.

Phailin glances over at Helena and Cynara and the murmurs that go on between the two. They are sitting near her after all. Again applause is given for this storyteller.

Elena applauds the story, and thanks Iseldis quietly for the offer of the pillow, but politely declines it.. she stays on the periphery, sitting on the ground and smiling.

Gwyndolen props herself up a little higher, the better to see the tale-teller, a necessity in this case. She too seems particularly interested in the illusions cast, watching the shifting lights and colors with a keen eye. "An interesting effect," she remarks quietly, reaching to steal Iain's flask once again, but setting it back down to applaud as the tale ends. Then she drinks, passing it back with another low comment.

Mena applauds the story as well, obviously enjoying the evening a great deal from the look on her face.

Gwyndolen mutters to Iain, "... you... this?... better..."

There's a blink and a gape at the mage as someone has the brave or stupid plan to get the warrior woman who barely speaks to tell a story. Gwyneth looks, well frankly plainly shocked that she's been picked. "Uh." It's not the most eloquent opening to a story, and ominous for the rendition of story to come. She pushes herself to her feet, looking around at the group. "Tribe. Tells. Stories. Fire. Long. Nights." Her accent marks her as from northern guardian, the fractured nature of her phrasing and sentances seems to be Gwyneth's alone. There's a pause and a deep breath. "Long. Ago. High. Mountains." She stretches up, using her hands and arms and body to illustrate her words, such as they are, trying to make them more intelligable to more of the audience. "Warriors. Search. Stalk." She crouches a bit, bending around her gravid stomach to creep a bit, feral warriors stalking through the shubbery in search of prey. "Much. Hunger. Hunting. Bad. Tribe. Rely. Them. Find. Nothing." A sad face, a pat to the belly, a

classic mime gesture of hungry. "Moonlight. Through. Clouds. Clearing." She lifts her hand to her face, as if peering over the crowd, searching and searching. "Spot! Hide! Something!" She points, up to the sky, off in the distance, her face lighting up with the excitement of the supposed warriors. "Find. Mythical. White. Buck. Standing. Clearing." Her voice takes on a note of reverence, of awe at the idea of the sight. "Not. Shoot. Not. Charge. Watch. Mythical. Tribe. Hungry. White. Buck. Mythical. Sign. Trust." She folds her hands. "Trust. Let. Go. Watch. Leave. Go. Back. Hungry. Tribe. Angry." She lifts a fist, shaking it at the group. "Next. Day. Go out. Find. Herd. Trust." She nods, as if that shoudl explain everything. Somehow.

Larimar offers a smile to Iseldis as she brings more pillows, but otherwise keeps his attention fixed on Lachesis as she tells her tale. A slight and bemused smile plays off his lips, a little approving nod registers here or there at the subtle use of illusion. He claps as loudly and enthusiastically as any, though. "Well done!" When it's over, he steals near the robed mage to murmur more compliments more quiet.

The fond peck of the cheek is rare to come by from the Soranus lady, but one that Cynara accepts with a certain familiarity of one who has known her for a very long time. She doesn't respond to the quiet words whispered to her with her own, but instead an impish wink bestowed at her friend's direction. The careful look of perpetual mirth and more lighthearted expression falls away for the time being to reflect something more open and affectionate, so an arm curls around Helena's own, half-hugging to it as her eyes drift over towards Gwyneth as she speaks on stage....and when the story is finished, she applauds...and not only that. She brings her fingers to her lips, and lets out an encouraging whistle.

Lachesis bows her head as she finds her way out to the sides of the crowd towards the lunar platinum shine of Lar's hair. She grins as she slides her arm through his. "How was that? And .." then she's shutting up to listen. And she grins widely as the story goes on. "I had a feeling she'd be fascinating to listen to and watch!" She claps loudly. "That was wonderful!"

No doubt Gwyneth's is a fine story, but it leaves Dag scratching his head, confusion playing across his features. "Wot?" he demands more of himself than anyone around him, but shrugs off the tale.

It's not only Cynara who seems to be moved by that unconventional telling. Broken words and phrasing or not, Iain and Cadoc are so captured by the telling that it's not until it's over and they've added their noisy appreciation to the rest that he leans over to mutter a response to the Tyrean Ambassador, clapping away at the same time.

Helena winces and draws away from the friend she had just kissed, the shrill level of the whistle is enough to deafen her. But Helena applauds, impressed with the story. "So few words, but the message is so clear," she tells Cynara, once the woman has finished whistling. "Beautiful!"

Mena smiles as she listens to Gwyneth's tale, joining in the applause. "Indeed. A beautiful story, my lady. Thank you."

Iain mutters to Gwyndolen, "... Whiskey... Fields,... thirty-year... me... Marchora... winning the... t'other..."

Phineas has to squint a lot more at Gwyneth's telling of the story, but maybe the liquor and weed make it a bit easier to comprehend than normally it would. "Huzzah!" he declares for her story. "A good telling, Lady Gwyneth. Trust in these things like white bucks that we happen upon, signs of wonders greater'n us." It's a bit more verbage than Phineas normally allows, but then, he's been imbibing for a while now; his tankard never gets empty, and the joint is almost done. "So who're ya pickin' fer next, Gwyneth? And damn, ain't ya about ta pop soon?"

Iseldis can't help but smile warmly at Gwyneth's storytelling debut. She understands the story, of course, and applauds it warmly even as she makes her way back through the crowd to where Phineas is sitting. There, she crouches down at his side to whisper something in his ear.

Iseldis mutters to Duke Phineas.

"Not. Yet." Gwyneth shakes her head to Phineas. "Months. Yet. Ysora. Ready. Pop. Me. Just. Big. Baby." She points to the duke. "You. Story."

"My father always lived by a certain saying," Cynara tells Helena with a smile. "Brevity is the soul of wit. The faster you could make your point, the more people are inclined to listen and take away from it the things you wish them to." She eases her arm away from Helena's, so she could lift both hands to push back her tousled, red hair. Though when the next victim is pointed out, she can't help but grin. "This should be interesting," she murmurs to Helena, her eyes following the finger towards Phineas.

Phin turns a grin upon Iseldis, giving her a swift wink. "Naw, ya take off and have a good time, Isel gal. Ya do a good job." He looks back toward Gwyneth and blinks a few times, comprehension dawning slowly upon his relaxed mind. "Aw shit," he says with a laugh. "Alright, give me a minute. I've just been judge at these things fer a while, not the teller. So everyone get a round of ale, or there's one keg that's cider fer those of ya that ain't doin' the ale, that last one on the end, while I get my shit t'gether."

Mena might look a little.... scared when Phineas is picked to tell a story. Especially in his current less-than-sober state.

Gwyndolen does not wait long for Iain's reply, turning to watch as Gwyneth stands. Brows draw together as the lady begins, and she seems set to ignore the tale, glancing about the crowd impatiently. Her attention is drawn back, though, as Gwyneth physically illustrates her story, and by the end, the ambassador seems won over, applauding enthusiastically. She leans over as Iain whispers, and a brow rises as she nods, and responds.

Indeed Lin's look mirrors Mena's but she's laughing to.

Once people start milling towards the beer, Lucian can't help but move aside, away from it all. Into the anonymity of the crowds, and he finds himself wandering the perimeter, waiting for the stories to resume without imposing himself on anyone and without elbowing his way through throngs of people.

Helena smirks a little at Cynara and nods in agreement, on both subjects. She settles back into her pillow and makes herself comfortable, waiting for the Duke to prepare himself.

Dag's got a nice pile of pillows, and to stand might be to relenquish them; on the other hand, storytelling's a thirsty business. He casts a careful look to Helena, Cynara, and Phailin nearby, and he makes an offer: "You pretty girls want somefin' to drink? I'll grab ya somefin' if you keep any grubby hands off my pillows."

A good time? Hah. Iseldis will inevitably do something boring and work-oriented, because that's just the sort of thing she most often ends up doing. Quietly, she makes her way out of the crowd, downing the rest of her ale as she does. She pauses when she reaches Lucian who is lingering at the perimeter, saying something very quietly to him, or, perhaps, asking a question.

Iain looks delighted over the prospect of the Duke's story, for no immediately discernable reason. He shrugs down against the pillow until he finally is lying flat on the ground with the thing bunched up behind him, fingers laced behind his head, one knee drawn up. What the Ambassador says is responded to with a quiet vocalization that hardly moves his lips, one hand lifted to decline the offer of the flask once Cadoc finishes with it. "Dinna know how much the lass has, but suppose she might be convinced tae part with it. Worth a drop, innit?"

Gwyneth nods a little smugly as she corners the less than sober duke and then heads to get herself a drink of the cider. Her work here is done, and now she can settle back to relax again.

At the considerate offer, Cynara's gaze moves over to Dag. "Ah, Master Storyteller," she teases the young man. "It seems a fair deal enough, I'd love a glass of wine, and I promise to guard your pillows." She even puts a hand over her heart dramatically when she makes her promise, but this is no less sincere. She glances over at Helena, inquiring with a tilt of her head if she would like anything to drink.

Helena looks over at Dag and nods, happy to make that deal, especially since she's just gotten comfortable. "Some cider, but small," she says, making a gesture with her hand. It will likely do no good, but she'll put that out there anyway. Might as well try, yes?

Lucian stops where he was walking when Iseldis comes close, a bit of a surprised look across his face. When she speaks to him, he offers equally quiet words to her in response before glancing towards the storytelling contest and the crowds there.

Gwyndolen looks at the duke as he is called on to go next, and then settles back into her pillows, nodding at Iain. "A drop or two," she agrees, reaching past him to take the flask that Cadoc offers to his master. "If she will not part with it, perhaps I can offer you a trade?" she suggests, taking another sip before handing the vessel back." She sits back up a little, tossing a glance back at her guard to check his position. Her eyes light on the empress as she turns back. "Is your brother as accomplished a teller as one would suspect?" she asks the empress idly, "And may I ask what he has been smoking? Is it something local? It does not smell of tobacco."

Iseldis bows her head slightly to Lucian at his response and walks several paces away, evidently waiting.

"He is indulging in one of the legal and more common herbs smoked for pleasure," Mena informs Gwyndolen straightforwardly. "And this is a fine time to do it. I know he's quite enjoying himself, and deservedly so."

Lucian quickly writes a note and hands it off to one of the staff members who are serving things before he heads out, coming up next to Iseldis as they both start walking. He walks at a polite distance away from her, the two of them appear to be talking as they leave the area.

Wine. Cider. Ale. Dag waggles his eyebrows at Cynara's teasing trots away from his throne to where the drinks live and. Though it takes longer to gather such an eclectic order than it does to merely lift a pint of ale, he's a slight fellow still and weaves his way in and out of larger patrons to collect them. His steps back to the storytelling arena are slower, on account of the balancing act he performs with the glasses and mugs. An act, yes, but a practiced one, and he returns without spilling -- well, without spilling much -- to deliver beverages to owners and reclaim his seat.

And Helena's attempt was nice; but her mug's as big as any.

Isolde blinks then as a messenger comes to her and hands her a note. There is a lift of her brow to that as she turns towards the exit of the pasture. "Truly?" It is only drawn out with mild disapproval before she balls the note and shoves it in one of the glasses.

Phailin did of course ask for cider herself even if her player was afk. Giving a smile to Dag when he returns with the booty.

Dag delivers Phailin's cider with a particularly bright smile.

Bertram leans back a bit before he smiles a bit. He takes a deep breath, waiting to hear the Duke, while thinking a bit. He smiles a bit as he has an idea.

Helena eyes the tankard offered to her and she looks up at him with a quirk of her brow, but she grudgingly accepts it, and even thanks the boy for the effort. "Not a pillow was touched," she assures Dag as she settles back once more, sipping at her drink which will probably end up in someone else's hand before the night is over.

Isolde watches Lucian leave and then she moves over towards Coleridge and drops her voice to his ear. Her eyes scanning the area.

There's a laugh, watching the balancing act as it moves towards them. Cynara stands up so she could help with the divestment of the beverages, taking her wine glass and easing down again. "Everything in moderation, dearest," she says, a grin curling up her lips as she sees the size of the cider mug that was brought to Helena. To Dag, she nods sagely. "Not a grubby finger laid to rest upon your pillows," she says with a mock-solemn air. But with such festivities it's a little difficult to keep that up. She takes a sip to hide the growing smile, leaning back on her cushion with one hand braced behind her.

Having applauded Gwyneth's marvelous story, Elena remains where she is, not picking up on the offer of ale, choosing instead to just watch the interplay of the people who have come to the Storytelling. She nods politely to Iseldis as she departs.

Gwyndolen chuckles at the empress and shakes her head. "I asked only out of curiosity," she assures the younger woman, "I certainly would not imply that the duke was doing anything illegal right under your nose. I suspect we have something similar in Tyr, though it must be a different variant, as the aroma is unlike this."

Larimar whispers further to Lachesis, gently disentangling his arm from hers. A sideways glance is given to the preparing Phineas, and with it a look of what mixed amusement and regret. A slight nod is given to those nearest as the young man comes to a rise and takes his very quiet leave.

Phineas rises to his feet, of course, and stands there drinking until his tankard is drained, and then he hands it off to someone. "So, a tale of stries and storytelling, I s'pose," he drawls, and waits just a moment to make certain everyone is back at their seats.

Iain and Cadoc are chatting amiably as people get more to drink, his attention caught completely by something the heavier-set man is telling him. Cadoc isn't the storyteller anyone here is, and it's taking him a while to get through something he finds rather amusing.

Mena shakes her head. "I wasn't under any impression you were accusing him, Ambassador," she assures with ease. "I was just explaining. And yes. Usually he is a fine story teller." Though, who knows tonight!

Seated comfortably in his chair, Coleridge has been listening to the stories and drinking the strange concoction from his flask this passed hour. At the Baroness' approach however, he straightens. "Your Excellency," he murmurs, pausing when she leans to murmur in his ear. "Of course. I would be honored." The flask is returned to pocket, the cane taken up to provide support as he stands. He need not tell the boy to take care of the chair; it will be done. The alchemist offers Isolde his arm.

Isolde slides her arm against Cole's in a momentary promise of something else. She gives a soft laugh though and offers, "I know it is your honor." A flash of humor as she moves to let him lead her where they might go.

"Thanks," Dag offers a grin to Helena and Cynara as he leans back on his pillows and settles again into the makeshift throne, one hand behind his head, his hat tipping forward again -- but not so far foreward he can't watch Phineas as the duke stands to tell his story. "Mighta kept 'em fluffier, ya know, but a fellow can't complain."

Phailin just shakes her head at Dag as she sips at her drink. Looking and giving Phin her attention. This will be good. She's sure of that.

Gwyneth wanders back over to where Iain and Cadoc are chattering and unceremoniously takes a seat in pillows next to the pair. "Riding. Race. Good. Figure. Ego. Barely. Fit. Village."

The Master Alchemist accepts the placement of Isolde's delicate hand; indeed, he touches her fingertips with his other hand, as if to assure their presence, settle her there at his arm as though it were exactly where she belonged. "It is a good then that I have managed to retain some measure over the years." Veiled by colored glass as they are, the true color of his eyes is not as easy to discern, but they are luminous with amusement. With a gesture of his cane, he leads her from the crowd.

"It seems we shall find out," Gwyndolen replies to Mena with a crooked smile. She looks back over as Gwyneth takes her seat, and offers the woman a smile that only grows wider at her words, a laugh barely contained. "I enjoyed your tale, Lady Tel Girade," she offers.

Chandler makes his way out here to see what is going on and well what the festival is like. waling around the edge of the raised floor to find a pillow out of the way to sit on.

"Now, I got this from my pa's sister's stablehand's cousin, and he swore to me up and down that it was truth," says Phineas as he begins, a lazy smile warming his features and his Fieldian burr like warm molasses in the telling. "A long time back in one of the remote corners of the Fields, where there's still strange creatures that steal babies at night, dancing lights in the forests, and odd rings of mushrooms where faeries cavort, there was a wise old woman who lived in a remote little house. She was known all over as the sort of woman that people come to in order to get advice, make a poultice, help birthe a babe, or even tell their future."

"One day, a young man of sixteen came ta her and begged her help. 'My sis'," says Phineas, his voice changing to a higher pitch when emulating the young man. "'She's just turned twelve, and so beautiful she's even got strange creatures courtin' her in the night, monsters or somethin'. She locks her window every night, and every mornin' it's unlocked and she's gone, sometimes far afield. She comes home after dawn looking like a gal who just... well, ya know. No matter what lock we put on her window, it's always open in mornin'. I don't know what ta do ta protect her anymore.' The old woman listened to the youth, strokin' at her chin-- which had just enough hair to be hairy, but not enough to be a beard-- and then she cocked one gimlet eye at him. 'You have seen these creatures?' she asked him, and the young man shook his head. 'No, I ain't seen nothin', only her wanderin' home in the mornin'.' And the woman stroked her bearded chin a bit longer before she grinned her toothless grin. 'Here is what you do, boy.'"

"And she told the lad to go about the village talking about how his sister was being chased by these creatures of the night, and that last night he saw one crawling out of her window, a vicious monster. She made the young man cut his arm with several marks like claws, to show where it mauled him while fleeing, and to tell people that he saw a vicious, drooling, many-toothed monster that was slobbering about eating young females. 'But what will this do?' asked the young man, and the old woman only cackled and answered, 'Trust me.' So he did as he was bade, and went all over the village telling of the monstrous attacking creature, describin' it in lurid detail. He even got the village healer to mend his cuts, and made sure that the word of the beast spread around, folks knew that the area was in danger."

"Now, even though she'd already seen these things, his sister was all strangely more scared than anyone when she saw the cut marks on her brother, and she went white as a sheet. After that her window was never magically unlocked at night again, and she went on unmolested. When the young man went back to the old woman to tell her of the success, he asked her how his storytelling had caused the monsters plaguing his sister to flee. The old woman just smirked at him and answered, 'Let's just say that one good tale deserves another, and the moral is that there's always a better storyteller out there.'"

And with that, Phineas gives a shrug of his shoulders and gestures toward Gwyndolen. "Ambassador Tyr, ya got a tale of yer lands fer us?"

There's a snort heard but Lin is quickly applauding for Finn before she claims her mug once again

Iain barks a sudden laugh over Gwyneth's commentary. He doesn't know she doesn't drink, so his first instinct is to offer her his flask, for a taste of some of his winnings of that race. "Ay, well. Tha' day was only missing one thing tae make it perfect, and--" And then he's hushed by the start of the Duke's tale, immediately falling silent to listen. The attention he's paying eventually slips into wryness, the wryness into another sardonic bark of a laugh, and he and cadoc lift the flask and cap in a toast to the well-summed story. By now whatever they're yelling in praise is fairly unintelligable, not for drinking so much as that heavy brogue.

She gets it instantly. Cynara's grin curls up even higher on the edges of her mouth. "Clever," she murmurs softly in appreciation, towards Helena as she doles out her applause for this latest round, having set her glass down in order for her to do so. Picking it up again, her eyes wander over to Gwyndolen as she's called up to the stage.

Mena chuckles a bit at her brother's story and applauds at the finish of it. "I suppose that was somewhat better than mine."

Dag watches, skeptically, as the tale unfolds, and he's quiet at the end of it for a moment before he gives a snort. "Wot, mine were better," he points out to the girls around him.

Laughing from the perimeter, Elena applauds the Duke, grinning impishly as she does so.

Gwyndolen seems surprised to hear herself addressed, having been enjoying the tale quietly along with the rest of the crowd. She sits up a little, and shakes her head. "I'm afraid, your grace," she calls back, "That I have no skill with a tale. I'm sure there are others here who could do the lore of my land better justice than could I."

"Ah, but we'll see what the judges say," Cynara tells Dag with a grin. "Though between you and me, yours is pretty up there. I enjoy a good laugh." She lifts a hand and ruffles the 13 year old's hair should he allow.

Helena chuckles a little and sets down her mug to applaud the Duke's story. "Well told!" she calls out as the Duke had done for the other story tellers. She looks over at Dag and gives him a slight grin. "Best not say that too loud," she teases him as she reaches for her tankard.

"Aw," laments Phineas with a chuckle. "Alright. Who hasn't been put to the fire here yet? Elena gal, ya got a story ta spin fer us?"

Gwyneth didnt drink before she got herself knocked up and there's a shake of her head at the offer of a nip off that flask from Iain. She lifts her mug of cider in appreciation of the Duke's story a smirk and a snort at his finale. She looks to the ambassador and then gives a little grunt before the duke calls upon Elena.

The stars glitter like diamonds in the deep sapphire blue of the night sky.

Chandler lets a msall slip as he listens to the story, geting a bit more comfortable on his pillow.

Bertram smiles a little bit, and stands up. "Maybe I can give it a go? I am new around here, and done little save take up space and food from a young lady that many seem to know. No job, and little to go on, maybe a story may be something to introduce myself with?", he asks. "But Miss Elena was called, upon. Alas.", he says, taking a seat again.

Iain and Cadoc crane their heads around -- well, a bit like that, though it's tougher for Iain, who's practically prone -- to see who Phineas has called on. Iain settles back down to the pillows but Cadoc -- poor man -- has suddenly gone slack-jawed and starry-eyed. It looks as though Elena's just scored herself an admirer, and he goes so far as to yell, "A tale from the pretty redheaded lass!", which causes Iain to put his hand over his eyes.

Eyebrows raised, Elena lifts a hand and taps herself on the chest, her eyes on the Duke uncertainly. She shivers a little, even though it isn't exactly cold and then gives him a faint smile. "Alright," she calls over, "but I doubt it's up to the standard of the stories that have already been told this evening." She gets to her feet, swaying a little and composes herself, expression thoughtful as if she were dredging up some old memories.

"Say it loud or quiet don't make it not true," Dag points out with a cocky tilt to his head at Helena's caution; Cynara's answer sends his brows waggling a bit again before he settles back to hear the redhead's story.

The entire time the storytelling has gone on, Niamh has been actively taking notes in a shorthand that ignores any errors she makes, the jot of her pen spilling across the surface of the paper in the book resting on her table. When the storytellers flip, she shakes her hand out to alleviate the strain upon her wrist, a grin curving her lips. A chuckle for Cadoc's behaviour trills above the general din, but she stops one of the servers for a cherry ale. Then it's back to scribing out something, but no one's even begun again...

"You better not do that too often," Cynara tells Dag with a laugh, gesturing to his face. "Someone might hold you down and pluck those. -Believe- me, it hurts." She's clearly jesting, but when Elena gets up on stage, she falls silent, her mouth occupying itself with another pull of red wine from the glass.

"Now, don't ya worry about it Elena. I've been judgin' the storytellin' fer a long time, and I tell stories like shit, I just like listenin' ta them." Phineas speaks with some sympathy toward his wife's cousin. "Besides, it won't be worse'n Mena's."

Elena takes a deep breath, inclining her head towards Phineas respectfully before she commences: "There's an old tale my father used to tell me when I was a little girl. He got it from his uncle, who swears it was told to him as a true recounting from the local region, some years prior to his first telling." She pauses and then adds, "I'm not going to tell you how many years ago that was." A wry smile before she continues: "There was a farmer and his boys who lived next door to the local schoolmistress; this was before the University at Asheart really got going, you see. The farmer had three sons who were close in age and often played together. The schoolmistress had lost her husband due to war and had but one little girl, whom she loved dearly. As the little girl grew older, the three boys started to pay her more attention."

She pauses a moment to take another deep breath, and then continues: "The eldest boy, by far the most handsome and strongest of the three won her attention to begin with. Yet he spent much of his time posturing and concerning himself with his own appearance. She started to lose interest and noticed the middle son. The middle son was obsequious, and fawned over her.. she thought surely this was better, but finally, she realised that the lion's share of the farmwork fell on the farmer and the youngest son, and the middle son was quite inconsiderate and, well, wimpy."

Another pause for breath, before she continues on with the story: "The young lady watched this boy grow into a man over the years, turning his hand to everything his father asked him to. The eldest boy left to go seek his fortune. The middle boy stayed, but had turned waspish due to the young lady's lack of attention. A famine struck. The eldest boy returned, festooned with riches, but starving and thin.. he no longer looked handsome and he was bitter with the ways of the world. The middle boy suffered too, not having gained the strength of working the fields like his youngest sibling. But the youngest of the three continued to help his father; their table was always full and while quiet and reserved, he showed a polite interest in the young lady. So when her mother passed from old age, the young lady ran off with and married the farmer, leaving the boys to squabble over the farm and the food. They started over on another farm down the road."

Her grin is impish as she sits back down.

It's possible that Cadoc's applause is the most raucous its been all evening, for perhaps less than strictly fair reasons. Iain's applause is without a doubt the more credible of the two, and he adds it along with the rest and a lazy smile that says he's about as content as he can possibly be, sipping on a well-aged whiskey and listening to people talk about just about anything at all.

Many impressive tales tonight and Helena has applauded them all. She smiles at the moral of the tale and claps along with the crowd, once more needing to set her tankard down on the ground beside her.

Mena ignores further attacks from Phineas on her wonderful and visionary story, instead focusing upon Elena's story with a smile, applauding with appreciation as she finishes. "Well told."

Phineas gets comfortable on his cushion again and reaches for a renewed tankard. The joint that's expended is given a sad look, but it fades while he listens to Elena's tale. At the end, he applauds and gives her a, "Huzzah, and well told Elena! Ya get ta pick who is next. Only a few left. Everyone better figure out what they liked best. What was most original, any scary, any romantic."

A messenger moves, ducking the crowd and moving to crouch by Cynara, murmuring quietly to her. Nodding once in response, she whispers to Helena, and moves to stand up while applauding Elena's tale. She'll start moving out, though, as discretely as she can.

Chandler applauds a little for the story and takes a tankard of something, he's not quite sure what it is but he's thirsty and it will do.

Smiling, Elena looks over those who remain. Her eyes pick out Bertram, who was so eager to volunteer but moments ago, and she lifts a hand to gesture towards him. "I think that young man was interested in telling a story," she says with a nod. "He can go next."

Dag applauds the story and tilts his hat back down over his eyes as Elena chooses the next storyteller. He appears terribly comfortable, propped up on three pillows as he is, a hand behind his head and a tankard of ale in the other.

Helena leans in to hear whatever it is that Cynara has to say and gives the woman a nod. "Of course, I'll be fine," she assures her friend before the Dhaval woman leaves the pasture. She watches Nara leave, her expression calm and then turns back to listen to the next story.

Phineas turns a look toward Bertram, considering him and tipping his head. "Well, I don't know yer name, which is a damn shame ta me, but ya have been called up ta tell a tale. Ya in? And ya best start with yer name, then."

Niamh swings her feet and claims the tankard that comes her way without looking up, her pen still flying of its own accord across the parchment. She doesn't break rhythm much to drink.

Bertram takes the stage for a second, and thinks a moment. "This is an old story that is the only thing my family left me with after I was abandoned. My name is Bertram Neros of Greens Feild.", he says. The man breathes in, and bows as he goes to sit down. He looks over at everyone as he leans back against a barrel. He looks kinda like a begger sitting like that as he picks up a stone, and tosses it into the air.

"Once upon a time, the gods ruled over all. Humans were just starting to build cities, and the gods were enforcing restrictions upon them. Time went by, and humans began testing the limits. After a while, the gods decided to wage war to punish the foolish humans defying the laws of the gods. The gods fielded the strongest, most discplined, strongly motivated, and best trained warriors into an invincable army while the Humans found their greatest champions. The war raged, devasting both sides. The gods though, took advantage of the humans short life spans, and weak frail bodies. The humans were beaten back finally. Their champions were locked away, and leaders executed."

"But no, that was not the end. For the Gods, they walked into the humans greatest city. They leveled the place, before coming to slums of it. They thought this, 'Surely this place represents truely what humans are.' They walked around, and summoned the broken and dead bodies of the human champions to hang from this place as a testiment to the war. The gods walked until a human begger, a crippled man who could not move his legs, and apparently could not control his bowels by his smell, grabbed onto the leader of the gods. He begged for a loaf of bread, or a drink of water. The gods stared, and the leader kicked the begger away, spitting on the man."

Bertram pauses a moment here. He takes in a deep breath. "The gods laughed, and watched the man crupple to the ground. They beat him to the point of death, only to leave him there, suffering in the pain they inflicted. They walked away. The begger found no solice, save for the kind he had himself, and pushed himself up. A small rock, barely past a pebble found his hand. The begger saw and experienced the cruelity of the gods, and put into the stone the only thing he had in the world."

"With a toss, the begger threw the stone with what little strength he had. It struck the invincable leader of the gods. The god who defeated all the greatest of champions, and won the great war. The god's eyes went wide before the world around him turned red. The red was not anger, but...blood. His blood that was split. The other gods stared, before they, too, were plented with stones. Gods who can made the world, and humans, who could make the impossible possible, were defeated not by armies, or humanity's best swords, but rather, a simple stone thrown by a crippled man sitting in his own wastes only wanting a drink of water, and a bite to eat."

Bertram smiles a bit as he leans back a bit. "The moral of the story? That should be simple to tell, but one to remember for all who hear. For it is not an easy lesson to learn until you experience the stone that the begger has thrown.", he finishes. The man catches the tossed up stone, winking towards all. "You never know from where it may be tossed, and by who."

Phineas applauds for Bertram and gives a call of, "Huzzah! Well told. Now what's yer name, so we can all recall it?"

Mena smiles and claps for the storytelling by Bertram as well. "Thank you, Master Neros!"

Helena joins in the applause, putting aside whatever spiritual conflicts she might have with the story to appreciate a well-delivered tale and an impressive moral.

Phineas applauds for Bertram and gives a call of, "Huzzah! Well told, and well met Bertram! Stones and gods. I like it. Now, ya need ta pick who is next, though I think we're down ta Niamh over there, or that boy Chandler. Either of ya ready?"

Gwyneth pushes herself to her feet, not yet unweildy enough not to be able to get up out of a pile of pillows, as she's proving many times over this evening. She heads off, apparently done with being social for one evening and with as much social flare and schmoozing as ever. Which is to say, none.

Lachesis has been listening to the tales with an easy fascination even as the most familiar faces have left her behind. She follows Gwyneth's exit briefly and smiles. "Thank you for the tale," she says with a bow of the head, and then moves a bit closer to everyone else.

Chandler claps with one hand against the wood of the floor, while he sips more of that drink which seems to taste better the more you drink of it. though hearing his name called. " Umm.... I don't really know any stories. Can I just listen?"

Bertram chuckles a bit. "Thank you.", he states. "Ummm, I'll go with Niamh?", he says. The man moves back to some pillows taking a seat.

Elena applauds politely, and then settles back down, looking about with some curiousity at who has shown up for the event.

"Suffice to say we all should know I am not short-winded in any fashion," Niamh demurs, waving her hand. "Let Chandler go ahead if he wishes, otherwise you should be getting your last round of drinks and preparing for bed."

Mena chuckles a bit, taking a moment to shift herself slightly upon her cushion. She's been sitting for awhile. The knights around her hardly move at all, other than their constant visual sweeps of the area.

Dag continues to recline on his pillows, his fingers tapping lightly on his mug as he waits for the next storyteller. "Aw, chickens!" he calls out those who refuse.

Phineas gives a smirk at Niamh's statement. "What, gettin' yer thoughts in order, want ta be the last one people hear, Explorer? Fair enough. What do ya say, Chandler? Got a story fer us all?"

Lachesis flashes a quick grin at Dag as he tries to call out the audience. Phineas' comment to Niamh gets another. "It seems like it would be a fitting finale to the tales."

Chandler looks like he's scrambling to remember anything that could be considered a tale. He's ten after all. "I'm ahh... thinking." Isn't helpping that his mind is a bit muddled right now either.

Elena rises from her position and actually makes her way around the gathering to the place where she can get some ale. She gets herself a tankard, smiling at those nearby, and then wanders on back to the places she was sitting before. She sets the tankard down first, before sitting on the ground again. Then she takes a sip from the tankard, waiting.

"Well, if you must have a precursor, I suppose it shall help to gauge the audience," Niamh accedes to the request with a twist of her ale tankard around. She sets it aside with a hollow thud on the tabletop, her paper and book forgotten for the moment. The duke receives for his troubles a slightly insouciant grin, the pale crackle of her moonbright eyes easily alight. "Though after so many fine audiences, you make it difficult to follow up with anything humorous, so I have to go for the dramatic. And that's always dangerous at this hour. So let's see how well it turns out." Her lilting voice carries a singularly distinct accent, weaving through common speech with perfect comprehension, but stealing overtones of Pais de Leuvier, Aquilarco, Danzhul.

"I will tell you of a man who shaped a city with a word, how he stood astride a parapet and brought down an empire. I will tell you of a man who defied all odds to deliver victory and lost all to the victory he delivered. I will tell you of a man who history forgot."

Dag perks up as a new story begins, draining the last of his ale and lifting his chin to better see the speaker under the brim of his hat.

Elena takes a surreptitious drink from her tankard, almost as if she doesn't want anyone to notice her.. she swallows it, tongue in cheek, and then shrugs. She takes a more overt drink then, before setting the tankard down. She's watching Niamh though, listening to this story.

Phineas lounges back upon his cushion, watching Niamh with the rapt attention every storyteller gets from him; clearly, the man has a great love of the art of spinning a yarn.

Niamh begins simply, as storytellers do. She sips her ale down deep to lubricate her tongue and unhinge what will be a long telling if she was in any way accurate. One leg crosses over the other and she adopts an easy grace, livened to the attention upon her. "Once, miles and years away, there was Mirael, a shining city set above the sea like a pearl on Her Majesty's brow. Imagine a city akin to Crossroads, but on every tidy corner was a green tree, a lovely fountain, a statue so beautiful a Leuvian sculpture would melt down his chisel and weep.

"Lord over this was Ravaran, a man who by looking at something could see its hidden name and nature, be it an instrument, a fine ale, or the hearts of men. He was well-loved by his people, strict but fair in his judgments, a light in terrible times. For in those days, a mighty empire unleashed a horrific war of conquest across its vast dominions and lands beyond. The empire was Baecere and its leader was the emperor Galanus.

"Everyone knew the story of Galanus's cunning and his wit, and even the most hopeful of men could see the battle was drawing swiftly near. Baecish armies had come with terrible machines of war, cruel devices to crack walls and burn towns, to Mirael's shores. Behind were realms littered with the dead and survivors subjugated by famine and despair, the ruins of those who put their faith in valor and bravery and magic and blood, in steel and secrets and strength of arm."

Aileana arrives a little late for the story telling and carries her youngest with her in a cuddle. The little one in her arms looks as if she's been crying, and is finding comfort by sucking her thumb. The Mother of the infant pauses to curtsey when she sees Mena though her steps take her towards her husband. A guard and nanny are with her, but their positioning is a discreet distance from their charges.

Phineas forgets to drink his ale, swept up in the tale being told and focused upon it utterly.

Whether Dag listens or not, it's hard to say: his hat's tilted over his eyes, and the only indication that he hasn't fallen asleep on his lush pile of pillows is that, from time to time, he lifts his tankard for a drink.

Calmer, and perhaps with less ale and odd-smelling-cigarettes in her, Elena sits off at the periphery without cushions. She also watches Niamh relate her tale of far away lands, but every so often she takes a sip from her tankard.

Aileana settles next to her husband, a very very slow process considering the load in her arms and at her middle. She does not say anything that would be an interruption.

Mena is also pretty wrapped up in the telling of the story, watching Niamh intently.

Helena is not quite so relaxed as the boy sitting a short distance away, but she's taken Cynara's abandoned cushion and is using it to prop herself up as she reclines back. She sips from her tankard too, but in much longer intervals. She glances over as she catches movement out of the corner of her eye. Ana's arrival steals her attention from the story for a moment or two before she returns it to Niamh.

Lin got called away by Hans. He being the one that helped her off the seat and its he that brings her back catching the trail end of the storytelling as she returns. Having grabbed a fresh mug of cider on her way back in.

Chandler sips at the tankard in his hand as he listens. This is great stuff. Good story and whatever the heck is in his mug.

Phineas reaches to help Ana with her load, watching Niamh in a transfixed fashion.

Aileana does pass of the baby for a moment with just one murmured word to her husband, "Teething." And then she, too, settles to listen to the story. Once she's sitting, she opens up her arms for the baby if her spouse wants to pass her off.

Elena spies Aileana, and rises quickly to give her a curtsey, before settling back down, trying to cause as little disruption as possible. She reaches for her tankard again, and takes a sip, smiling to Aileana, before looking back to Niamh.

Niamh sighs. "Ravaran hoped to learn the truth of Galanus' ambition and spare them all. The lords met. After a long time he said, 'I have heard terrible rumours concerning your army.'

"Galanus said nothing. From the silence Ravaran knew his heart was empty.

"Looking down the cracked parapet, Ravaran despaired. Mirael would burn and be butchered, white walls charred black and fountains running with blood. He set his hand upon a stone and found its hidden heart speaking for his people. 'You are counted among the best of us. You must not let this come to pass.'

So he spoke his terrible curse. 'By tears, I bind you. By earth, I silence you. By blood, I bury you. This is my doom upon Baecere. You shall have no peace until my people have their peace. This is my doom upon you.'

"Galanus cried out: no words were heard. His generals advanced. When the last soldier entered, the towers toppled and stones raced down the slope to bury the army of Baecere. Galanus bowed his head and wept hot tears of blood as Ravaran vanished from sight and history to await the day shining Mirael will find peace once more."

Lachesis adjusts her pillow and stretches out on her side to finish listening to this last tale as the hour grows later, looking all the world like a child at bedtime trying to make it through One last story!

Aileana gives a small wave and smile to Elena. She then looks for someone...anyone that she can beckon over for a drink.

Dag does not spy Aileana, as he reclines with his hat still over his eyes. But it seems he's been listening, after all, for his voice pipes up at the pause there and he says, "Wot? Did 'e kill 'em, or wot?"

Shayne makes her way into the area of the pasture that holds the storytelling contest, a single guard still in Locksley colors trailing her.

Phineas gives a low whistle at the end of Niamh's story, and then slaps his leg with enthusiasm. "Huzzah, well told Explorer!" he calls toward her. "Interestin' stuff, from a land far afield. Well told!"

Mena applauds the end of the story as well with a bright smile. "An excellent way to end the submissions."

Phailin does applaud for the conclusion of Niamh's story.

Finally, Elena figures out the story is done, though there is still a puzzled line on her brow. She sets the tankard down and applauds politely, before picking up her ale and making her way over to Aileana. "You need something, your grace?" She seems willing to serve, from the smile and gentle tone.

Helena sets her tankard down and joins in the applause, while shooting a look to the boy a couple pillows down. It isn't an angry look, just a glance born from his question. "I believe so," she tells Dag as she reaches for her drink.

Aileana nods to Elena, "Sure. Just some cider or juice. Thank you so much."

Chandler claps with one hand against the floor cause his other isn't letting go of the mug in his hand.

As the crowd starts to applaud, Shayne takes advantage of the break in the storytelling to get herself a drink and start making her way toward some of the pillows to settle in for listening.

With a nod, Elena moves on towards the drinks table, leaving her tankard of ale there for the moment. She speaks quietly with the servers, not wishing to disturb the proceedings, and then delivers a mug of juice to the Duchess. "Here you are," she says in a quiet tone, kneeling down beside her. "Let me know if you need anything else."

"Thank you, cousin." Aileana replies warmly as she takes a small sip of her drink, just cuddling her now sleeping daughter against her chest and stomach.

"And who is left to tell a tale? We've got Chandler there, and anyone else? Hey Shayne, ya got a tale in ya?" Phineas lifts his tankard toward the arriving Locksley before affixing his regard on Chandler again. "Make some magic, younglin'."

Niamh ducks her head and goes back to picking up her pen, prepared to write once more.

"No tales from me, I'm afraid, your grace," Shayne smiles easily to Phineas as she sinks down onto a pile of pillows, fluffing a few and shifting them around until she has a properly comfortable pile.

Chandler should be nervous having to follow that tale but amazingly the kid is looking fairly relaxed as he stands as the Duke calls upon him. Though he does sway a little too with a hint of a smile to his lips. "It's probably something everyone has heard before but it is all I can think of."

" One day, a scorpion looked around at the mountain where he lived and decided that he wanted a change. So he set out on a journey through the forests and hills. He climbed over rocks and under vines and kept going until he reached a river. The river was wide and swift, and the scorpion stopped to reconsider the situation. He couldn't see any way across. So he ran upriver and then checked downriver, all the while thinking that he might have to turn back. Suddenly, he saw a frog sitting in the rushes by the bank of the stream on the other side of the river. He decided to ask the frog for help getting across the stream. Calling out to the frog the scorpion asked if he might give him a ride across the river. The frog unsure of the scorpion asked how he would know that the deadly insect would not kill him if he helped him across that river. The scorpions reply was if he would sting the frog they both would die for he could not swim. The frog's next question was how would he know the insect would not strike him after reaching the other side. To quick the scorprion reassured him, Because you see, once you've taken me to the other side of this river, I will be so grateful for your help, that it would hardly be fair to reward you with death, now would it.

So the frog agreed to take the scorpion across the river. He swam over to the bank and settled himself near the mud to pick up his passenger. The scorpion crawled onto the frog's back, his sharp claws prickling into the frog's soft hide, and the frog slid into the river. The muddy water swirled around them, but the frog stayed near the surface so the scorpion would not drown. He kicked strongly through the first half of the stream, his flippers paddling wildly against the current. Halfway across the river, the frog suddenly felt a sharp sting in his back and, out of the corner of his eye, saw the scorpion remove his stinger from his back. A deadening numbness began to creep into his limbs. "You fool!" said the frog, "Now we shall both die! Why on earth did you do that?" The scorpion shrugged, and did a little jig on the drownings frog's back. "I could not help myself. It is my nature." Then they both sank into the muddy waters of the swiftly flowing river."

Story told, Chandler plops back down on his pillow and finishes the ale in his mug.

"Huzzah! Good story, well told," declares the Green Fields Duke. "Are we all done then? Any others?" He gives a last look around, eyeing the people present. "If not, there's goin' ta be some folks circulatin' among ya, whisper ta them yer vote fer funniest, most romantic, best storyteller, and favorite story."

With Phin's words, the staff in the Fieldian livery do move along to ask everyone their preferences. (OOC: Just page me. I'm lame. I'll tally up).

Helena pulls herself fully upright as one of the fielders approaches and she delivers her votes, whispering to them four names. Once finished she takes a long drink from her tankard and settles in to await the results.

Elena applauds the young man politely when he's done, offering him a smile of encouragement, and then she settles down, speaking quietly to the staff in Fieldian livery. She's still kneeling near to Aileana, and has yet to retrieve her tankard of ale.

Chandler grins a little back at Elena as she smiles at him before hicupping a bit loudly.

Lin puts in her votes and pats at the staff who comes near her. Well his cheek. Looking satisfied at her voting as she picks up her mug once again.

Aileana withholds a vote since she wasn't here early enough. She does ask Elena, "So how are you today? My little Ainsley was grumpy this evening."

Mena, after applauding for Chandler, would make her vote as well.

When the folks come around to take votes, Dag flips his hat back and escapes his comfortable pile of cushions long enough to whisper a vote. And to realize that his tankard is empty. He saunters back toward the booze to fetch another while the votes are tallied.

"I spent my day in paperwork and teaching," Elena says to Aileana with a wry smile. "The Chancellor has agreed to my vacation for Lambing, so I'm preparing to head off to Green Fields for a couple of weeks. Sent off a few messages to let people know I'd be gone too." She glances at the baby and then back to Aileana. "I'm sorry. You know, Cedric seems to have taken a shine to animals. But then, he's at an age where he likely takes a shine to just about everything. Including Aunty Elena." Her tone is wry.

There's a bit of a whisper war over where Dag is trying to vote.

Niamh is still busy writing notes, which might constitute more inquiries about what on earth she is engrossed with. Nonetheless, it seems to involve hasty alterations, an arrow, and a sip of her ale.

Dag looks a touch unpleased as his votes are disputed, and gestures rather violently as he disputes back. In whispers.

The girl whispering with Dag crosses her arms over her chest and says flatly, "No way. Not for yourself. Try again."

"Then I ain't gotta," Dag retorts, crossing his arms over his chest and looking for all the world, unmovable.

Aileana chuckles now, "I hope he has an interest in animals. He is a Fielder." She sits her drink down and then looks for the nanny to give a nod to her to come get her daughter, "Let me get this one to bed. The whiskey on her gums must have helped."

Mena's lips quirk slightly as she watches Dag's whisper-war with the vote taker.

Chandler seems content enough to lounge about with a grin on his face.

Helena watches Dag over the rim of her tankard and just shakes her head at the lad's antics. Kids, what are you gonna do?

Elena shifts, moving out of the way of the nanny so that Ainsley can be removed. She notes, "I decided that second cousin Elena was a bit of a mouthful for him, so I suggested he go with Aunty Elena." Her eyes flicker over toward Dag, her expression turning more amused.

The female glares at Dag a few moments more before stomping her foot. "Fine then," insists the girl in the garb of staff. "See if we actually don't lose someone who voted for -you-." She turns and marches away, to where things are being tallied.

While the tallying goes on, a staffer comes toward where Phineas sits, presenting the man a black carrying case. The duke takes it and gets to his feet, clearing his throat. "Alright, everyone listen up! There's a tradition on the Fields, where we honor a bard or a minstrel whenever they come onto the lands of a landholder. In turn fer them singin', playin', tellin' a tale, or entertainin' fer the eve, the landholder always gives them room, board, and if they please they get a goblet from their own table, their own crest." He pats the case. "Sure, lots of them tend ta just sell 'em and take the coin fer it, but its still tradition, and there are bards who have wandered the Fields, doin' the circuit ta collect a cup from each. That's what I wanted ta give the winners t'night." He opens the case, displaying the goblets. Five of them wrought in silver, the Green Fields crest worked in small gems upon their face. Four are engraved, Favorite Storyteller, Favorite Story, Funniest Story, Romantic Story. The fifth says Phin's Pick.

Dag glares right back at the girl who tried to collect his vote, arms still folded over his chest, and he sticks out his tongue at her when she finally turns and marches off. The obstinate look fades to avarice at the sight of the goblets. "Cor! Them's shiny!" he exclaims.

Phailin chuckles when she hears Dag. Straightening from her position when Finn brings out the shiny.

Aileana looks at the prized goblets and just smiles, a small chuckle given out of raw anticipation of the announcement and the tradition. She does look to Elena then, "Aunt is just fine, of course."

You can't say she doesn't have timing! Ambling into the area, Solphin comes. Hands in her pockets and humming under her breath. Catching the end of Phineas' explanation, she slows to listen. Sweeping the crowd for a moment, a subdued smile lingering on her maleable features. A look over at Dag's exclamation, her smile lifts a little with a puff of a laugh, wandering that way. She stands right behind the orphan and says "That they are."

Mena also smiles at the sight of the revealed goblets, waiting, of course, to see who they shall be awarded to.

Chandler watchs sthe shiny cup get taken out. Still content and happy it would seem.

Wait, shiny? Niamh's head lifts and she sets the pen down, her lips rounding in inevitable query as the explorer seeks out the shining surface. "Ooooh?"

After some arguing and tallying among the Fieldian staffers, with a few glares tossed in Dag's direction and a girl stomping her foot again, one of them sidles up to the duke with a piece of paper.

Phineas takes the paper and squints at it for a few moments. "Alright, here we go. Funniest is goin' ta Iain Arx, he's the one who ended up gettin' beaten up because he said he could make coins fer kisses. He's lucky he didn't end up with someone tryin' ta see how he'd do if they went the whole way with him, ya know what I mean." He hands the goblet for funniest to a staffer, and off it goes to Iain.

Mena chuckles and claps for the winner of the funniest story award.

Andre walks in, a gypsy song on his lips. It seems he's already had a few as he makes his way over towards Solphin. He rests his arm around her, totally giving up on speaking in a common tongue. Instead he rambles for a bit before looking towards the chaos in the crowd.

Dag jumps an inch at a voice right behind him, but recovers quick: he casts a smirk at Solphin. "One's gonna be mine," he asserts with the cocky confidence of his thirteen years. Still, he gives Iain a cheer for a funny tale.

Helena grins and applauds for the first award, seeming pleased with the announcement.

Phailin puts her hands together and applauds when the first name is given. Looking over at Dag, "Maybe your name will come up."

Elena smiles and applauds politely.

Chandler claps along with everyone for the winner.

Solphin is just beaming down on Dag as the lad jumps, dropping a wink to the self assured kid as she moves to the side. "No, doubt, kid. Not a doubt." She whistles for the winner, even if she didn't hear it. Turning at the arm, she chuckles and jabs Andre in the ribs with her elbow before responding in kind, eyes on the duke as she mutters to the side.

After Iain's goblet is passed off, Phineas reads the list down and comes to, "Romantic, that went to Lachesis. Hers was pretty much romance, the tale of Brothers Dawn and Dusk, and their love of the moons, and how love shouldn't blind ya, it should help ya see better. Pretty stuff. Too bad she isn't here to get it, that means that we grind it up and fertilize a field with it." He smirks. "Just kidding, we'll see it delivered to her."

"Next," continues Phineas, "we've got favorite storyteller. That went ta the Explorer, so Niamh, this one's yours." He passes the appropriate goblet off, and it is brought over to Niamh.

Mena keeps applauding for the winners of the contest in a relaxed manner.

Phailin chuckles as more names are called and more applause is given by the florist. Rolling her eyes at what Finn says about Lachesis' award.

Helena continues to applaud as each name is read and the awards handed out. She sits up a little straighter and frowns a bit when it is mentioned that Lachesis has left.

Chandler keeps claping after ever name that is called.

Elena offers applause at the appropriate points, enthusiasm shown for the Romantic category.

Dag gives a whistle in favor of Lachesis's election for most romantic, and claps for Niamh as well, though he mutters to Solphin, "Didn't unnerstand hers, much, but weren't /bad/."

Niamh chuckles and applauds for Iain and Lachesis, adding her fingers to her lips to give a shrill, piercing whistle that is better suited for castigating sailors or calling up horses. She settles back into applause for him, and grins at Dag's commentary. "I think everyone who contributed won something, and that's the attention and fanfare of a crowd. Worth more than you would ---" And then her names come up. Well, there's no applauding herself. "Thank you!" in a loud voice works instead.

Solphin whistles again for the next winners, a particularly bemused kind of smile at Niamh's name coming up, and Dag's note on the story. "Sometimes the confusing ones are the best. Better than what happens when /I/ tell a story, lad."

Andre grins waggling a flask towards Solphin. He only says one word in their shared tongue before turning to listen to the rest of the awards.

"Alright, the favorite story goes to that obnoxious boy over there, Dag. Dag, here ya go ya damn scamp." Phineas doesn't bother to hand off this goblet, he takes it in hand and lobs it toward the youth. "Don't drop it, bad luck if ya do!" Then he laughs and closes the case over the one to go to Lachesis, and the one with his own name etched on it. "Everyone who participated, I hope ya feel that spinnin' a yarn is a bit of its own reward. I know that I loved listenin' ta each and every one." And from his voice and grin, that is so very true to him. "It's the magic of a story that makes the bleakest night rich, the hardest lessons softened, the greatest memories brought ta life. Everyone needs ta have some more refreshments, and thank those folks over there fer haulin' it out here." He nods to the staff. "Don't steal the cushions."

Aileana cheers for the awards as they are given out, but curiosity does find her expression as she waits for Finn's choice.

Phailin grins at Dag when his name gets called and she ducks just in case her brother misses in his lobbying. Not a good thing to get a shiner from the goblet. You know in case Dag misses to.

Mena chuckles as Dag wins, then looks among the crowd as well. "Well done, all of you. Thank you for a very enjoyable evening, and for being so willing to tell a tale, even with the smallest of warnings."

A grin splits Dag's features as the lad's name is called, and he doesn't bother to run up and fetch the goblet: he holds up his hands as the thing's tossed, and catches it -- sloppily, but he catches it -- between his arms and his chest. "Thanks!" he calls as well, and makes another showman's bow to the applause.

Elena's applause for the award to Dag is more enthused. She gives the boy a warm smile as his name is announced. Then she rises to her feet, apparently intending to head on over to the refreshment area to retrieve her tankard of ale.

Helena laughs a bit and turns to look at Dag as the award goes to him. "And see, you didn't even have to vote for yourself," she tells him with a grin. She takes one last drink from her tankard before she climbs back to her feet, as awkard as she's able because, hey, that's ladylike, yes? She grabs the cushions she and Cynara had been using, preparing to take everything back to where she found them.

Solphin chuckles under her breath as Dag is called, reaching down to jostle the kid a little bit. But quickly hands off when Phineas tosses that piece of flying metal to the kid! Not about to interfere on this one. "Adda boy!" beaming down to him. As Mena speaks up, she turns attention, smiling.

Then Phineas tucks the case under an arm and reaches for his tankard (which is handed back to him, refilled). "Here's ta those who are family and neighbors, which two groups should include just about everyone! Come by t'morrow night fer the music night, a bit more dancin' and socializin', and we'll close that night with a Health ta the Company."

Aileana looks to her husband and then holds her hands out to him, "Hoist me up, hmmm?" She grins to Elena as she asks, "You coming to the music tomorrow? I'm going to play my jug."

Niamh is going to be defined as a Nee-leaves-early versus Nee-stays-lately. With her prized little goblet in hand, lifted in salute to the others, she picks up her book and deigns to march off to a feather bed or a desk scattered with maps, papers, and her new trophy. "Thank you Your Grace, and audience! Fare thee well!" And off she goes.

Chandler stands up as things seems to be over and sways a bit more then before as he leaves his empty mug with the staff before walking crookedily towards the city once more.

Lin smiles when Hans helps her off the ground. A smile aimed for Finn when he makes the comment about music night as she moves in his direction. "I'm thinking I'm going to go. But I think I should be around tomorrow night." Giving him a kiss to his cheek.

Mena starts getting to her feet, careful not to step on the length of her gown on the way up. That could be very bad. She gives a wave toward where her brother and Aileana stand before she moves toward where the tents are. Since she's out here...

"Of course I am," Elena tells Aileana with a smile as she lifts her tankard. "You'll need someone to sing along.. though I'll need lots of lubrication for my throat, I'm sure.." She lifts her tankard with a grin, and then takes a long drink.

Pillows tucked away, the tankard returned and a few words shared with some of those tending things, Helena makes her farewells properly. "Your Majesty, Your Graces," she says in turn, offering curtsies all around before she takes her leave.

Mena smiles and inclines her head to those she passes as she heads off to other sections of the festival. Her knights, as always, remain close around her.

Solphin nudges Andre again, jabbing him in the ribs with her elbow. "Music tomorrow. Bring your own instrument. I keep telling you that some of these fielder things are almost like the real thing..." Watching as Mena moves toward the tents, she pauses and sets her hand on Andre's shoulder, gesturing for a moment as she murmurs something to him in that off language, gesturing around. Seemingly meaning to catch up with Mena.

Aileana looks surprised at the wave in her direction though she then looks to her spouse and smiles, "Do you want to stay out for a while? I haven't done virtue stuff yet." She does curtsey as Mena departs.

Elena also curtseys to the Empress as she departs. Without spilling her ale, either. Or falling over.

Phailin does of course curtsey when Mena moves.

Andre nods, "My own instrument? Okay, I will. We will see what I bring." He muses on that for a moment before turning backtowards SOlphin. He watches her progress, giving her a bit of room.

Phineas looks where Philomena is departing, giving a bow in her direction. "G'night Meener, figures your story and mine were the worst. Yers was still worse than mine though." He grins after her, then looks down at Aileana. "Sure, we can go bid if ya want. I have ta wander through the craft tent, get a few things." He notes Helena's departure and calls a farewell her way.

Is that another wave Mena gives her ducal brother, or some other hand-gesture altogether? Whatever it was, the Empress performs it quickly before moving out of sight.