(514-05-01) Beltaine: Catching Fire
Summary: The party taking place on Burcombe land after the ceremony.
Date: 514 May 1
Related: Beltaine: Of Summer And Winter
morag llewelyn seraphina eiluned maelgwyn heulwen lainn cariste caerwyn tria rozenn aldreda cole madoc morwenna claire erion ffion braelynn selivant 

The expanse of the land surrounding the manor has been made available for those who wish to enjoy its offerings for Beltaine. Upon approach to the manor, the rhythmic throbbing of deep, low toned drums seem to make the very air vibrate with power, and there is a festival atmosphere amongst the celebrants.

Long trestle tables practically groan under the weight of food offered to all casks, as well as caskets of ale and pitchers of wine as well as fresh water. Fires have been lit, some small, others fully fueled bonfires, to create constellations across the landscape. The smaller fires frequently flutter with shadows as brave souls make the traditional leap across them for the promise of good fortune over the second half of the year.

Bales of hay and pitched up tends serve as areas in which smaller groups of people may gather themselves to enjoy the offerings of the celebration. Individual entertainers, from minstrels to jongleurs to storytellers meander to and fro, hoping to offer entertainment in exchange for coin. Well natured rough-housing seems to be expected - arm-wrestling, a bit of brawling perhaps, but anything more serious results in those who've caused trouble being forced to exit the party. Tonight is not the night for shedding blood.

Every woman, young and old, receives a small posset of flowers - for every woman should receive flowers on Beltaine. It is not uncommon to see a couple slip into the tents, or into the forest line past the clearing in which the celebrations are held. Passions are running high, but not indiscriminantly, and the party lasts long into the night.

Morag still hasn't bothered to put on shoes. The little priestess obviously has very sturdy feet. She is amongst the throng of people who are celebrating tonight, occasionally joining in the dancing, helping herself to the food, and basically overseeing the party like a mama bear who wants to make sure the cubs are well taken care of. Her spirits are somewhat lifted from her post-ceremony escapades, at least. As she walks through the crowd, she absently lifts and re-settles on her heels in synch with the drums.

It seems as if someone decided that it wasn't a good idea to leave the former Sun God to drink himself to death and pass out in a random ditch in a field far from civilization… so they led him back here, so that he can drink himself to death in the vague vicinity of houses and other people! Having dragged him along and then abandonned him next to a particular casket of ale to keep him entertained, Llewelyn is visible as his actual self by now, the wooden mask, dented from battle, pulled up onto his forehead so he has room to get the booze in his mouth-hole.

Sometimes it is best to let you hair down and simply enjoy the night. For Seraphina this is the night for such things as she arrives among the groups that came from the ritual. Her hair has fallen around her in waves, the silky mass shimmering in the light from the fire and glowing softly with the touch of mist that will rise with the moon. Her cloak is missing and the swirl of black and red on her form, allows her to slip in and out of the shadows as she glances around for something or someone of interest as the night moves on.

Fortunately, there are quite a few peasant girls who seem inclined to keep the Llewelyn in his cups. No few buxom wenches are keeping him in refills, so there's that. Morag is more or less flitting through the throng to make sure that people are having a good time, her irises perhaps slightly darker than normal from something she may have indulged in after the ceremony but before the actual party started. She sees Seraphina first, offers her a wave of greeting.

Seraphina has taken up a spot to sit not to far from the fire, enough to be out of a way but close enough to have a good view of those who might be trying there luck this eve. So it's easy for her to be spotted and just as easy for her to spot Morag's wave, which is return with a bright grin and words that cut into the night in greeting, "Merry Meet Morag, you did very well this evening.." That voice is hardh and husky, but seems pleasant pleased for whatever reason this evening.

The Beltaine firelight runs riot over a young woman garbed in a long goldenrod tunic. Ruddy highlights blaze in her hair and bronze ornaments all over flash in the copper flames. Eiluned is drawn towards the largest of the bonfires, the smoke and activity drawing her in like a moth. But it's what she carries that sets her apart as a bard, and identifies her station as more than dancer or reveler. In her arms is a treasure of any festival, a carved lap harp. She strums the wire and gut strings every so often, but actually playing while ambling is difficult. Thus she seeks a place to sit. Favours of ribbons and flowers hang down her back like a short cape.

Maelgwyn de Burcome stares at the fire. He stares hard at the fire. No, it's not because he's secretly some sort of pyromaniac who wants to burn down all around him… though that would be amusing to see how his sisters would react to that. No, he is giving serious contemplation to jumping over that fire and being the first one to do it. He pauses his contemplations to scan the area, hoping to see if Rozenn is here and if she will bear witness to such a deed.

Surely when he signed up for the whole gig, Llewelyn had planned that divine booty aside, he would spend the rest of the night wicking exactly those sorts of friendly peasant lasses that hover nearby no! But it seems that the whole thing really got to him, his thoughts turned from spring fertility to the losses of winters past. So, while consoled, he seems to have no eyes for the other girls. He does drink what they pour for him, grateful, in his sloppy way. Quietly, he hums some tune, though no words are put to it of yet.

Getting permission to visit a proper Pagan ceremony? Awesome. Getting permission to attend the afterparty even if it's only for a few minutes? Freaking priceless. Heulwen, being not of the proper persuasion to immediately jump into the festivities, is keen to loiter on the fringes, wide-eyed and thoroughly bedazzled. The flickering light of the flames is subdued from this distance, but nonethless the dance of orange and gold over her features as she passes behind groups of people plays up the golden highlights of her hair and the vivid white of her gown's embroidery. She stumbles a little, catching her foot on a stone lodged in the dirt, but turns about to scan the crowd for a familiar face or two.

Maelgwyn checked his Str of 15, he rolled 17.

"Thank you! Merry meet." Morag replies to Seraphina, beaming at her. "Have you had a chance to partake of the ale? Jump the fire? You should. I've no doubt that you would make it." She wobbles a little, but not enough to really seem like she's going to lose her feet. It's more like she's letting the sound of the drums lift her along like she's gliding on the thermals.

Maelgwyn checked his Con of 12, he rolled 2.

Now this is the kinda thing that Lainn shows up to without a doubt. Because he's so damn Pagan. So Pagan it's painful. And if it's a party, he's going to act like it's a party. There is a tankard in each hand, and he's jovial as all /get out/. "Heeey, Merry Meet! Merry Meet you too! How's it hanging, my friend? Always to the left? Yes, excellent to hear. Mistress, you're looking downright ravishing, care to get a drink later?" Yeah, he's doing the finger-pointing and everything, nothing but swagger, grins, and smiles, all the while taking pulls from his tankards.

An impish light comes into those amber eyes as Morag speaks of the fire and Seraphina can only gives a soft chuckle. "None of that just yet. We will see how the night unwinds. For now, I am enjoying the show.." A grin comes to her lips as she nods towards those that are getting up courage to jump the fire.

The length of her dress does nothing to hide the curve of her leg or the bare feet that she wiggles in the grass as she speaks with Morag, her eyes flickering from her friend to those that are near, running over Liann as his voice carries and giving another chuckle.

Cariste has come to the party as a healer of the Pagan arts she wants to be shure she learns a bit more of the rituals surrounding Beltaine. This was her first real event in attending, and she smiles as she moves right in to get a drink to her fingers. "Merry Meet!"

On a large oak throne overlooking the proceedings, Roaman the Dark and the Lord of Burcombe Manor watches impassively, his solemn green eyes flecked with honeyed brown and hooded beneath a pair of penitent chocolate brows. He sits with one leg propped up on a yew footrest, a plate heaped high with ribs and blood-grapes on the left armrest of his impressive seat and a goblet on his right - it is filled to the brim, barely touched. Taciturn, silent, he watches Morag flit from one guest to another, before speaking. His voice is like liquid rock, smooth and rough at once, poured out of his lungs and through his mouth in a very deliberate way. "Caerwyn," he begins, "your sister." He upnods at the barefoot figure flickering through the night like a will o' wisp.

"Yes, father?" Sounding decidedly pained and massaging his temples with one hand, Caerwyn sits at his father's right in a far smaller seat, briefly glancing up through heavy-lidded eyes at the post-ceremony Beltaine festivities. One vivid green eye briefly scans the open field outside Burcombe Manor, the other masked by a palm. He had, in the last hour, purged himself of some rather funny-looking mushrooms he had consumed in mass quantities earlier, much to his regret. Paler than usual, he grunts. "What, father?" he says impatiently. There. His sister Morag, sweeping through like a wraith, anointing another, greeting the Ebon-knight Seraphina with a smile and flowers. "My sister, yes. The girl who shoved a charcoal-tipped yew wand down my throat. What of her?"

Roaman straightens, pulling himself upright from his reclined carriage on the throne, before staring at his son - his heir - beside him. "Your sister is younger than you but far wiser." An uncomfortable silence, marked by fatherly judgment. "… You may think yourself smart, but small wit will only get you so far." He tilts his head towards Morag. "Watch. Shut your mouth for once. Learn." Another pause. "You're twenty and three as of last winter," he murmurs. "Old enough to bear me grandsons." And then, without another word, he glances back at Morag in conversation with Seraphina. Silence once more.

Well here it goes. Spitting into a palm, he rubs his palms together and shouts out, "Who will jump the fire after me?" Grinning, Maelgwyn stares back towards the fire and then takes off running. Judging the distance he will have to jump, he doesn't quite get it perfect, his shirt catching fire. Landing with a grunt, he begins cursing as he rolls around trying to get the fire out. After a few moments he stands back up, the back of his shirt mostly seared. Taking the damned thing off, he tosses it into the fire, let that be his sacrifice for the evening.

Another pagan! The barmaid from Sarum, the Boar's Beard may be a familiar sight to some, but Tria arrives with someone. Wearing more a curious look than anything, she tries to take everything in at once, having never been to one of these things before. Her hand reaches for that of the man at her side, to get his attention, and she smiles at him, "What do you want to do first?" Looking at the fire and the fire jumper, her eyes light up. "Shall we?"

Caerwyn checked his reckless of 10, he rolled 18.

Caerwyn checked his prudent of 10, he rolled 9.

There is, certainly, the She-Bear of Burcombe about somewhere. Perhaps frustrated at not finding her betrothed somewhere in the crowd. Not overly so, for he is a Christian sort and may feel uncomfortable… but frustrated enough that Rozenn has already begun drinking. The woman was a stoic observer at the ritual. Her baby sister was May Queen, afterall. It was a sort of familial duty to ensure all went well… as best as possible. Likely she disappeared with the others tending to Caerwyn. Here, however, she is at a table, speaking loudly of her personal victories in the grand melee to those who might listen.

Still on a heady sort of 'high' (though not so far as her sister) from the ritual, Aldreda has found her way to the party with the other revelers. Her cloak is still missing, but she did put her slippers back on. The Laverstock girl's hair is still full of flowers and the golden ribbons of Summer. She's in skirts of hues of green, though mostly soft shades. She clutches the flowers she's been given in one hand and a small baked treat in the other. The fires draw her and she appears just in time to spot Maelgwyn in his leap. Dark eyes widen at his fumble and she takes a half-step forward, but calms when he comes through unscathed. "Sir Maelgwyn," Aldie calls, lifting the cookie in greeting. "I hope your leap still speaks of luck in the coming year."

Roz, for her part? Oh, she has seen her twin brother's attempt and she laughs.

Cole has tried to put whatever best clothes he has that isn't stained with dust, metal shavings, or dirt for this occasion. The big smith is a little quiet, even though he came here with Tria, who is so far outside his class, it's stupid. Clicking his thick metal rings against this fingers, he figets slightly, even when Tria takes his hand. "Hrm.." he grunts quietly, looking around. He's used to a lot of people, he usually had a stall or his forge to act as a buffer. This is a bit different, and usually, he's too busy working to actually find time for something like this. But the barmaid is the sort that can do some good convincing. Eyes look at the fire. "Just don't laugh too much if I fall flat on my face." he utters, a lopsided grin crossing his bearded face.

Mael gives Roz a rude gesture before grinning at her. His attention is grabbed by the woman who lifts a cookie to him and he steps over to her. Ah, it was the girl who had sit on his lap. Excellent. "I hardly think so. If you'd like I'd try and jump it again, simply give the word and it will be done." Maybe after something to drink. Or maybe a couple somethings to drink. Grabbing a tankard from a passing wench, he takes a deep gulp, his eyes staring over Aldreda as he does so. "The flowers suit you, Lady Aldreda. Continue to wear them well and who can say what blessings you will receive this year."

Cariste mingles and grins she laughs as she gets lost in the crowd, a beer in her fingers as she moves slightly dancing carefree. She sings a song too a soft song to herself of fairies and rainbows, and dreams. Its a soft sweet song of childhood and as she turns her feet over the grass she smiles softly to those she meets.

Cariste checked her singing of 4, she rolled 1.

"Well, an it harm none, do as ye will." declares Morag warmly to Seraphina. "But if you do decide to jump, let me know first, I want to see it." And then Maelgwyn's making the jump, and Morag lifts her hands to her mouth to let out a trill of encouragement. She gasps at his shirt catching spark, but when he simply tosses it into the fire, she applauds his effort. With a grin to Seraphina, she continues to move along. For a moment she's torn - surely there are guests who require her attention more, so instead of going to embrace him, Morag drops a deep curtsey to her father, her smile for Caerwyn a touch apologetic before she makes her way to Huelwyn, holding out her hands. "Merry Meet, Lady Heulwyn. We're honored you would come to the celebration."

It only takes a pair of eyes to find her target, seated and looking thoroughly miserable, but much too far away for her to approach. Not that she would. Heulwen straightens completely, gaze traveling beyond the fire to pinpoint the one particular knight she seeks, yonder Burcombe in the company of an older man. Her lips turn down in a slight frown, and she turns on the spot to find someone much more conveniently placed. Ah, Morag, approaching her at the moment she is most in need. Relief suffuses her features, lighting up her cheeks with pink washed a pale yellow by the light of the fire. Automatically she stretches out her hands to greet Morag in an almost sisterly way, despite having met but the once.

"Ahmerry meet, my lady," Wen replies, hesitating over the greeting only briefly before squeezing the lady's fingers fondly. "I am afraid it isn't within my power to linger overlong, alas…" Her voice trails off and she glances over her shoulder as if ready to be pounced upon at any momentand not by anyone present. Her attention returns to Morag. "I came only to inquire after Sir Caerwyn's welfare, but I can see from here that he has not died. Although he sounded as if he wanted to."
Madoc pages: Ok. :D

The rude gesture is simply returned. Truly, one can feel the love between Maelgwyn and Rozenn. They shared a womb for nine months and it was nine too many. Only those within Burcombe know the love the two have for one another. Openly, it seems more declarations of spite than anything else. The She-Bear returns to her tales of the melee - she not only 'surived' through to the end, defeating a number of opponents, but she rallied ten other participants to follow her lead. For a young Knight, it's quite a feat.

Aldreda's features broaden into a greater smile as Maelgwyn joins her. She even (barely, perhaps) keeps from looking at the Burcombe's bared chest. He did remove his shirt, afterall. It was a safety measure, but still. She finishes her cookie, brushing crumbs from fingertips. There is a shake of her head and a brief laugh, fingers twisting into her bouquet of flowers to pull one free. She steps up, reaching to tuck it behind Maelgwyn's ear. "I will not encourage you to jump the fire again, though perhaps I may do so myself." The words come in a rush and in the light of the fire and torches, she can be seen to blush. The headiness of the experience is still upon her and what young woman does not enjoy such compliments?

Morag holds Seraphina's attention for the moment and that smile lingers as she nods, "I will find you, with my luck I will need your tender care.." Morag of anything knows Seraphina and Fire have a very odd relationship.

But like her friend her attention is then drawn towards Maelgwyn as he makes his jump, and she sits up from her relaxed pose to call out her own encouragement! A tiny wince as his shirt catches but she gives him a thumbs up as the shirt is tossed into the fire, letting out a low whistle before relaxing again.

That is till Morag is moving off and pauses to curtsy. That along draws those amber eyes over to Roaman the Dark and his son. There is one small blink, and if her attention is noticed she gives a graceful dip of her chin in greeting. If he wishes to be spoken with or given homage, he will of course ask.

"Eyyyyyyy!" Lainn is all smiles, sauntering up to Heulwen and company. "My lady Heulwen, you're looking at absolute peak performance tonight." He's not drunk, not yet, but he's certainly having a good time, finishing off one of his tankards and tossing it behind his shoulders towards one of the many servers bustling around. "Now…I should point out to ask, because I can't keep her in my sight all the time. My sister hasn't been a pain on you, has she? Because all you have to do is say so, and I promise you, I'll set her straight."

Herself, dressed in the normal wear she would have on in the tavern when serving drinks and food, Tria turns a little, facing Cole, the green of her eyes matching the clothing as she gently cajoles. "Of course I would never laugh at you, Cole." Leaning in, she brushes her lips over his cheek, the playfulness of the gesture in her eyes as she pulls back. "I don't know what to do, maybe if we ask the man doing the jumping?" Drawn to the lopsided grin, she responds in kind, fingers lacing with his. "We'll both do it?"

Pagan events are Eiluned's bread and butter. She heads to a bench by the fire jumping that's far enough from the heat to keep her harp safe. Tucking her lap harp between her thighs, she rests the board against her shoulder and sets her fingers on the strings. No playing yet, but she is prepared. "Merry met," she calls out to anyone who passes. "Blessed be this night!" Next to her is an open spot temporarily claimed by one of her small bags, and anyone who wants to test their luck with a bard in conversation is welcome there. The delicate plink of her thumb on a long string sounds a low, rolling note to add to the frenzy of activity. When Mael goes jumping, her head turns that she might follow him. The results of that hop bring a low call from her. "Mind your footing, Lord Burcombe, unless you're trying to find an excuse to be done with your clothes!" For the others headed forth, she is going to wait to see the outcome of their efforts.

Critical Fail!
Maelgwyn checked his STR of 15, he rolled 20.

Cariste continues the melody softly, until she reaches the fire, her drink now gone and another in her fingers. She holds the cup lightly and she softly sips from its fluids gently as if savoring its flavors. Her body leans in to soak up the heat if the flames as those who are jumping jump and she just watches the crowd.

"I figure you would know better than I would." Cole chuckles, the sound reverberating a little deeply. Scratching his beard, he smiles at the smooch on his cheek. "You're a bit more of a social person than I am. I just play with metal all day long." Another look at the fire. "Well…at least they keep the heat low." The smith knows fire, and how hot it can be. "Oh yes, we'll both do it, I'm not one to back down from any challenge you ever told me." A pause before he looks around curiously. "Is there anyone you know here?"

There's a brief moment when Aldreda is staring at him that Maelgwyn makes several attempts to start flexing his pecks. It's not something he'd normally do, but he's bare-chested and she's looking in his direction… so why not? Alas, he is unable to, perhaps the jump took a little more out of him than he realized, and instead he groans, wincing a little. "My apologies, Lady Aldreda, I think that jump took a little more out of me than I first thought. I will have to give it a bit before I try anything else like that again. Still, I thank you for your gift." He indicates the flower she has just tucked behind his ear and then glances towards Eiluned, offering the bard a nod and a smile. "Perhaps, but not just yet Lady Eiluned."

Morag blinks at Lainn in surprise, and unable to help it, the little priestess laughs, buffeted by the pagan knight's energy. "He's well Lady Heulwen, or at least he's better than he was. As you can see he's with our father. Would you like to meet him? I think it would do much for Caerwyn's recovery to know you thought of his well-being, and Sir Roaman will think it well of you and yours if you were to greet him." To Lainn, "I'm Morag de Burcombe." Even if he only spoke to Heulwen directly, she's still acting on behalf of the hosting family.

Startled, Heulwen merely stares at Lainn for several heartbeats, taken aback by the jovial spirit in juxtaposition with the sullen knight she last met. "Sir Lainn," she replies slowly, jarred out of her daze by Morag's greeting, and then a smile flickers into existence and she dips her head to him. "You are kind to look after your sister so, good sir, but I assure you that she has been nothing but the picture of kindness in all the time I have known her. You can rest easy knowing she does well without you to stand guard, I swear it." Laughing now, and relaxing visibly as her shoulders lower and she turns her gaze back to Morag. "Meet whom? Oh, Sir Caerwyn. Ah, we have met once before, you know, but…" She worries her lip between her teeth briefly and then shrugs. Oh, what the hell. "If you are sure it would not be an inconvnience, my lady, I would be delighted."

Laughter rolls from the bard, warm and clear. "Hail, Lord Maelgwyn. Perhaps an incentive, then?" Eiluned stills her hands upon her harp strings, and supports for forward arch of the instrument using her palm. "I offer you two more of my gifts, as before, if you succeed at two jumps without igniting your clothes. A greater bottle, I think. To honor the gods properly?" She is motionless upon the bench and her silhouette is painted in a long black stripe behind her. With so very much to hear and see, taking in everything at once is a task.

The soft pitter patter of hooves can be heard approaching the site of the party, and a magnificent charger appears in the fire light, brilliant white, with a black mane that almost sparkles when the light of the fire catches it. Atop the horse is the equally impressive, if unusual form of Sir Basilisk, taking a moment to survey the merry making from atop the steed before finally dismounting, patting the horse on it's side lightly and whispering a few soft words to it before turning his attention back on the revel.

It takes a moment for Aldreda to figure out what Maelgwyn is trying to do, but when it sinks in, her eyes brighten. She covers her face in the bundle of flowers she holds, but still her shoulders shake with the laughter. There is someone passing with small wooden cups and she takes one without thinking, drinking back the contents. "You must rest," the Laverstock opines, once her mirth has passed. "You made your leap, Sir Maelgwyn. And you are welcome." The acceptance of the gift and the intended blessings — fairness, fertility to one's self, family, and lands — seems to bring her a measure of joy. The young woman does extend her flowers to the Burcombe knight. "Will you hold these, so that I may jump the flames?"

Then Eiluned is spurring Maelgwyn on and Aldie's eyes widen a measure. "Oh, please," to her fellow Laverstock. "Give him a moment to drink his courage back!"

When Maelgwyn launches himself over the fire and loses his shirt in the process, Caerwyn - in a moment of painless clarity - pulls himself into an upright position, about ready to launch himself at the fire again. But given his intoxicated status and his weak constitution - he's always been more fragile than his siblings and his cousins, more or less - his moment of recklessness recedes into a pale waning back into his seat. He refocuses his attention on Morag once more.

"An alliance with their house would benefit both of of our houses, pup," Roaman says to no one in particular. He takes his goblet and sips minutely at it, before placing it back down. A temperate man, for sure, in comparison to his much-maligned son. Morag's smile, he returns with a rarely seen smile back. A favorite child of his, father's comfort. At Seraphina's nod, Roaman acknowledges with a barely perceptible nod, but a slight incline of his head is all there is. Nothing more, nothing less. Coolly aware, almost reptilian. He smoothly turns to his son before gauging the young man's features a little. The Burcombe heir isn't watching Seraphina any longer. His father misses nothing, watching his Beltaine-sired priestess daughter wander away from Seraphina and greet Heulwen next. Caerwyn is staring in the same direction. A comfortable, fire-lit silence extends between them. "Pretty, beautiful even. But pretty comes and goes." Yet again, Roaman says so much with so little - he is not a man to mince his words. He leans forward as Morag speaks and then lifts one hand, beckoning with a 'come hither' gesture. Then, to the manservant at his side, he whispers something and indicates Cole and Tria. The manservant - clad in Burcombe tabard - bows low and quickly rushes away.

Cole and Tria are suddenly approached by the same man servant, accompanied by another servant carrying a large platter filled with drinks - sweetest honey mead and fine wine. "Goodman Smith and company, you come here from Castle Sarum, it has been said? My lord welcomes all the folk, both high and low, who follow the old ways still. Drink, be merry, and Beltaine's blessing upon you," the manservant says, indicating the tray beside him. "My sire has need of your services, but that is neither here nor there quite yet. Welcome, once more, to Burcombe Manor." With a nod, he gestures for both Cole and Tria to take what they would from the platter.

Seated beside a barrel of ale and drinking heavily from it, Llewelyn is easily missed as one approaches the gathering, and the strange knight nearly tramples him as it rides in. Or maybe, drunkenly, he thinks it does, as it clears him by a good ten feet! Regardless of actual fact, the drunken former sun god rolls off to one side and then looks up groggily, not in anger but in amazement. "Oy, wouldje look at that feckin' horse, it's- well it's, it's mag- magnifer- magnanin- it's great! What a horse!" He sits up, notes his spilled drink and grumbles, and then watches as the knight atop it dismounts, eyes slightly wide, as if he is beholding some otherworldly vision. Booze! Or IS IT?

"You…my dear lady," Lainn grins wolfishly, taking a swing, "do not know my sister. She's a troublemaker." He /sounds/ like he's joking anyways. "You know, I just want to say thank you for coming to this. May the gods smile on you, if you're alright with me saying so. Have you tried the fire yet?" he asks, throwing a thumb over his shoulder at the people jumping across, with one person may or may not be tripping in their own attempt. "A troublemaker who makes the worst googly-eyes at your brother any chance she gets. Why, she downright /swoons/." He laughs at that. "My, she'd skewer me if she heard me saying that. But hey, that is what older brothers are for, right." Morag, at the introduction, gets an exagerrated bow. "It is an aboslutely /delight/ lady Morag. As the eldest of Laverstocks, well, that's not Trystan anyways, I thank you for holding this celebration. Sir Lainn de Laverstock, knight, braggart, drinker, and all-around Arian's whipping boy. Or is that the other way around? No matter! Thank you!"

Cariste looks up from her soft pious singing, and her eyes catch someone from afar, she smiles gently through the masses as she watches him. Her smile also one of quiet - for she is shure he would not see her even if her song was sweet. Her eyes pass from one face to another and she laughs at the firejumpers, her fingers clap together happily drinking another drink.

"I don't know how well I know, but what I lack in knowledge I will make up for in enthusiasm!" Tria watches the fire jumper and gasps. "The heat may be low and I may be more social, but I think you are far more used to being around fire than I am," she adds with a smile curving her lips. A wink follows, "Oh, no, you've always risen to any challenges," she grins. Taking another look around after the question, her eyes land on Sir Basilisk. A nod is given him but she gets distracted by the servant as he approaches. Accepting a drink, she grins, "Thank you!" She offers aboutt he drink, then to Cole. "They read my mind, a drink is perfect."

"Oh no, my lady." says Morag in earnest. "I rather meant that you should meet our father. And…" If Wen does not protest, Morag winds her arm in the other lady's, "I think he would like to meet you. Sir Lainn, would you excuse us?" She offers a curtsey to Lainn in return, equally exaggerated before replying, "I'm sure we can get around to whipping you later." Sassy! Then, "My lady, shall we?" She has not noticed the most recent arrival upon his horse, but perhaps she soon will.

After the small look at the Lord and Heir, Seraphina's attention once more by the fire, she is smiling for whatever reason into the flames, only to have her attention taken very quickly by the arrival of Sir Basilisk on the white horse. There is a moment where she pauses, head tilted to the side as curls tumble almost to the ground and she takes the moment to simply drink in the male beauty before it. It is Beltaine after all, the time to enjoy what is offered.

Maelgwyn gives Eiluned a look. Damn. That was some incentive. "As Lady Aldreda says, give me a few moments and then I will give it another attempt. Certainly you saw that my first attempt did not go as well… though perhaps a short rest while Lady Aldreda gives it a try." He smiles at Aldreda, totally ignoring her own laughing. He feels no shame. He happily takes the flowers that the woman offers and nods. "Best of luck in your leap, Lady Aldreda!"

"Oh, your father." Heulwen's heart leaps into her throat, and she pales as she glances toward the seated Burcombe lords. She jumps upon making accidental eye contact with Roaman, and immediately looks back to Morag. Although apprehensive about a meeting, she allows without remark for the priestess to take her arm, and she automatically reaches out to pat the lady's hand. Her smile is apprehensive and tight, forced through her nervousness as she tries to laugh at Lainn's remarks about Arian and her brother. The sound is, at best, awkward and wildly high-pitched, much too loud to complement the punchline appropriately. "Yes, yes, Sir Lainn," she replies randomly as all mental energies are focused inward trying to bolster her courage…or find the goddamn thing in the first place. "We shall speak more later, good sir." Her lips are numb now, and she reaches up with her free hand to try and pinch them back into feeling. "Lead on, Lady Morag."

"Then I will go first, Tria." Cole offers then, clapping his hands together, the metal rings on his fingers ringing out in an almost musical tone. "The first is not that hot. If you fall, the burns will be slight. And see the layer of coals on the top?" he indicates with a finger. "You could walk over them and not burn your feet, so long as you were quick about it. But seeing how it's an open flame? Maaaay not want to try that. A kiss for luck then, maybe?" he grins, then getting sidetracked by the servant. "Oh…why, thank you." he blinks, taking the offered drink. "Tria and I are honored to be welcomed here. And of course, should your sire has a need for my services, I would be happy to offer them whenever he requires, I am hornored by that."

After the words from Sir Basilisk, the Magificent charger, with the sparkly black mane trots off to the distance, off on some quest of it's own now that it's rider has been delivered. Sir Basilisk begins to slowly make his way across the festival grounds, taking a meandreing path towards the fire as he takes in the sights, and sounds.. even taking a big, almost theatrical sniff of the air around him.

"Wait, come back sparklyhorse!" Llewelyn calls after the retreating steed, holding out a needy hand as if to summon it back, and appearing crestfallen as the magnificent animal dissapears. "Didja, didja see the HORSE?" he wonders aloud of anyone nearby, stumbling up to his feet and wavering back and forth, balance unsteady.

Lainn is probably more than aware of the awkwardness on Heu's part. And like that wasn't /completely intentional/. He's nothing but grins as they both make their leave. "Have fun storming the castle, ladies!" he calls after them. "And don't make promises like that, lady Morag! I'll remember!" As they've gone, he turns around. "What's a man gotta do to get a refill around here? You, boy! Bring that tankard over here and shove it in my face!"

Aldreda checked her Dex of 13, she rolled 11.

Cariste smiles as she watches as Sir Basilisk joins the party "come have a drink!" offers the healer. She smiles and lifts her glass to him, a deep blush settles in her cheeks. She was no good at Flirting, but her singing was nice! The young Dunford laughs a little at herself as she keeps her cup full.

It is further down the table from Roaman and Caerwyn that Rozenn sits. Not terribly far. She is family, afterall, and due a place near to them. She's been entertaining those that would listen with tales of the melee and her encounter with a unicorn. The She-Bear of Burcombe is deep in her cups, but still watches over family members with a keen eye. Morag's hooking of Heulwen is caught, same as Maelgwyn's failed attempt to show off for the women. She'll have to say something later…

The youngest of the Laverstock contingent smiles, nigh-brightly, at Maelgwyn. The gold ribbons in her hair gleam in the firelight as she steps out of her slippers. They are left where she was standing before the shirtless Burcombe. Gathering up her skirts, Aldreda heads for the bonfire. She moves at an easy pace first, but it turns into a quicker step- nearly a jog. There's a steadiness to her and a confidence. Something summoned from elsewhere, perhaps. As if, for a moment, she put on a different hat. At the last second, she leaps across the coals and flames… to land lightly upon the otherside. Skirts are released and hands go, victoriously, into the air as Aldie breaks into pleased laughter.

Amber eyes are pulled from the elegant from of Basilisk and Seraphina gives a tiny sigh before she watches the horse disappear as well. Really it would be hard to tell which the lady knight is sighing over if the truth be told. But then another is heading towards the fire jump, and Seraphina settles back again to cheer the lady on. Her husky voice filling the air to combine with the others this might.

"You have no cause to be nervous, my Lady." Morag soothes as they walk toward Roaman and Caerwyn. "My father is a fierce and dangerous knight, but has no cause to be cruel toward any guest, or anyone I should call friend." Morag likely thinks that her father hung the moon, surprise surprise. And there they are. "Father? May I present to you Lady Heulwen de Dinton, and Lady Heulwen, you know my father Sir Roaman de Burcombe, and my brother Sir Caerwyn." She addresses her older brother with a faint smile. "Lady Heulwen was expressing her concern for your well-being, and I suggests she see for herself that you are recovered." She considers a moment and suggests, perhaps slyly, "Lady Heulwen, do you think you could engage my father and brother for a few minutes? I have so many guests to greet."

Critical Fail!
Caerwyn checked his awareness of 5, he rolled 20.

"You would go first?" Tria indicates the area where Morag is, "Perhaps we should speak with one of them about it?" Eyes move to the fire as she rakes them over the coals, "I think I would rather not even attempt that, but I'm brave enough to try jumping the flames." There's a shake of her head and her own flame red hair frames her features as she tiptoes to brush her lips over his, "For luck then, and I would ask the same if only to have a second kiss from you." The last of those words are whispered since she is still so near. Another look to Basilisk, not missing his attire, the look of him. Curious, certainly, but Cole was holding her attention very well.

Basilisk's eyes slowly drift towards Cariste as the offer is made, his dark eyes watching her for a few, long moments before he offers a bright smile, and slightly lowers his head in thanks to the woman, "Ahh.. do you know just how long it is since I have enjoyed a fine cup of wine? Well, probably you don't, but I would love one none the less." He says to the woman. Meanwhile, it may come to some suprise to Llewelyn, but the horse with the magnificent mane does in fact look back towards him, a little snort escapes it's flaring nostrils. The look is only fleeting, as it meets the drunk man's gaze, but soon is lost to the darkness!

It was bound to happen. At least one of the Roman Christian appears at the edge of the party. Sir Claire de Stapleford is in a rather nice blue bliant that complements her eyes. The green and red hem and stitching designs run down each arm and the outside of each leg. There is definitely no need for a cloak and it seems she may have left it on the horse. As she approaches closer, she finally gets a good look. People are jumping over fire. That makes her stop. Someone had mentioned that but clearly the Knight thought that was a joke. Such thing MUST be jokes. But watching Aldreda leap through it has a smile edge onto her face. Moving again, she wanders deeper in and lets her gaze roll over the faces.

Taking the kiss, Cole smiles, feeling a bit more emboldened. "Alright. Never say I never didn't anything stupid." he remarks, taking a look over the flames as he approaches it. "Here, hold my drink." he takes a drink, the passes it over to Tria. Blowing out a breath, he takes a step back. "I will hope the gods favor my feet now and my hammer arm for the year." He's not the fastest man in the world, not the dexterous sort, unless it involves laying an inlay on a blade. But he is strong, very strong, so here's hoping his legs can carry him through. He runs like a bear, a little awkwardly, but it's more like a headlong charge, before his legs spring him into the air, and hopefully, over the fire.

Lainn checked his strength of , he rolled 4.

Cariste moves her eyes off the distant people, as her gaze settles in on Basilisk "Ahh good, I have here a very good vintage of white, harvested after the first frost, very sweet". She smiles as she offers the man her cup and she then proceeds to procure her own. "Have you ever been to one of these parties?" she wonders her eyes dancing happily.

And the words that would eventually become famous. Here, hold my drink. Tria does take the drink and she watches Cole with a smile, "You can do it!" The call is made, her breath is held as he jumps. Will he make it? Will he not? Curious, certainly, worried? Definitely. But she was confident in his athleticism, though the reasons for her confidence are not exactly clear. Or perhaps they were.

The manservant, Angus, inclines his head at Cole. "My lord will be pleased to hear this. Blessed are those who brave the fires on Beltaine, goodman. Good luck," he says, bowing again. He once more covers the ground, furtively skirting the crowd as a good servant would do - only seen and heard when necessary. When he once more arrives at his lord's side, Angus murmurs into Roaman's ear before stepping away. He betrays nothing of what else he has said. Roaman the Dark contemplates these words silently, before turning back to the manservant. He murmurs a brief few words back, his brown-flecked green eyes watching the dethroned Sun God, Llewelyn, cavorting along drunkenly.

In the meantime, his daughter Morag and this new girl - Heulwen - approach his place at the end of the table. Roaman watches them without a word as they come up, before he holds up his hand, sweeping it through the air. Welcome, he seems to say with this gesture.

Caerwyn, by his side, sits straight up in his seat. Pale, sweat beading on his forehead, his ivory skin glistening in the flickering light of the bonfires lit, he attentively watches the exchange. He glances at Morag as she makes the introductions, before turning to look at Heulwen, hesitation embedded in every movement he makes. He makes no movements, like a deer frozen by fear. There is the distant sound of singing at the back of his head, and perhaps a pair of dark brown eyes on his seated form - but he does not see nor hear any of it. His usual spry response, full of snark, becomes swallowed by the cold gust that blows through here.

It is Roaman who breaks the silence. "A Dinton girl. We have not seen your like in a while at Beltaine. Is it wild enough for you, Lady Dinton?" He gestures at the expanse of tents lit by the glow of fire. "Be welcome. I believe my son here has granted you safe passage through our lands before." He closes his mouth again, studying Heulwen with those intelligent brown-flecked green eyes. And then he smiles. "What do you know of the Old Ways, Heulwen?"

In the background, Angus hurries off and approaches Llewelyn, before offering his hand. "Sun God, your service is requested by the Burcombe seats. The Lord himself asks that you sit at the seat of honor with the family. The Sun is always wanted at our table," he says, a faint Irish lilt to his voice.

Llewelyn no doubt startles quite abruptly when the horse looks back. Sparklyhorse! However, in that instant as they share that MEANINGFUL moment, it is not clear if the drunken former ritualist is entranced by the steed, or terrified by it! In awe some moments, he finally stumbles back a step and barely catches himself from falling, before turning around to stumble after the man who had the horse. And, like any drunk, when he approaches, it is without any concern for etiquette, other conversations, or volume: "Ye, sir! Ye have a most, magnifercent horse! Wherever, *hic* didje come upon such a tremendous steed?!" But even as he's bothering the MYSTERIOUS knight, he finds some man helping steady him. "Who- wha-! Whossat? Erm, who? Oh right." He reaches up to fiddle with the mask that now rests on his forehead, concealing features no longer. "Aren't ye ginna invite that there knight, too?" and he jerks a thumb back. "He *hic* has a magic horse! We, we shared a moment."

"Oh.. these are the only sort of parties I can go to." Sir Basilisk says in response to Cariste, accepting the cup from her and offering a wistful sigh as he stares at the fire. "Fire jumping? It looks like fun.. have you leapt over it?" he asks, turning his gaze back towards Cariste, and lifting the offered cup up to his lips to take a sip from the contents it contains.

All to easy. Cole makes the jump easily, perhaps moreso, landing about a foot or two over. Even he looks pretty surprised by that, turning around and noticing the distance he covered. Likely, he's never jumped like that in his life. Or that far. The rings on his fingers clink together in celebration, and the usually quiet smith is all smiles, giving a small 'whoop' to the air, then coming back to Tria. "Obviously it was you kiss that allowed me to succeed." he says to her, chuckling slighty in disbelief. All the impress the lady he's crushing on.

It would appear as though this famed horse has attracted the attention of more than just a single lonesome drunk! Not but some minute or two after the impressive animal runs off on its own accord, Morwenna comes riding in from the direction where it departed on her own, moderately less magnificant but still pretty cool white stallion. "I! I saw something!" she declares as she rides in a little faster than might be polite. "Or I thought I did. Some steed, his mane alight with faerie-fire!"

Cariste shakes her head and she smiles softly to the man beside her, her eyes look back over the firejumpers and she shakes her head, "Not yet…. I was wondering how many would need healed but perhaps a day off?" she asks him as she drinks her wine and offers her hand with a twinkle in her eyes "after you M'lord"

Angus, the Burcombe manservant - bloodred hair, almost black in the night - glances at Sir Basilisk, and then back at Llewelyn, looking unamused. "Fine." He turns to Sir Basilisk and then entreats: "Sir Knight, your presence is requested with the… Sun God, at the Burcombe table. And your lady too." He nods at Cariste, before commenting, in his Irish lilt, "Fine singing there, m'Lady." If any of them should follow, he leads them to one of the tables where Rozenn and a few other Burcombe relatives sit, these being more distant than first cousin and having arrived from abroad, specifically for these festivities.

With most of the stories told to the latest group to circle 'round, Rozenn is left to sit back and drink. Drink and observe. She spots the arrival of the Stapleford and both brows arch. Pushing to her feet, the brunette offers a nod towards her cousin and uncle before vacating — for now — the family tables. She's attired in a dark red gown, bordered in black and gold embroidery. Rather than slippers, however, she wears boots. Her hair is worked into a braided crown with a fall of hair across her shoulders. There are flowers woven into place and gold ribbon as well. Like many of her kin, she supported Summer in the ritual. Two small, wooden cups are retrieved from a platter as she winds her way, eventually appearing near to Claire's side. "Sir Claire," she offers the greeting to her recent luncheon partner easily. A cup is offered forth. "I am pleased you decided to come."

With a sort of renewal of life and vigor, Aldreda retreats from the bonfire and returns to Maelgwyn. Well, after a side quest to retrieve a pair of tankards. They're almost too large for her, but she passes one off to the dark-haired Burcombe knight as she steps back into her slippers. They can exchange flowers for ale. "It would seem, Sir, that I may have fortune to share."

He lands it and Tria bounces on her feet, spilling a bit of the drinks over the rims of the cup. It coats her hands a little, but honestly she doesn't seem to mind at all. When he walks back over, she smiles and offers his drink back to him, "And would you hold mine for me?" Though she does pucker her lips and lean in for a playful kiss in return. "I need all of the luck I can get, you're taller than I am!" The words are completely teasing and after handing it over and perhaps a kiss, she approaches before backing a couple of steps up and dashing towards the fire, hoping to make it over!

Tria checked her dex of 15, she rolled 18.

Tria checked her con of 14, she rolled 8.

Seraphina glances up from where she is settled, near but not so near the fire and gives Morwenna a curious glance, but then that smile comes to her lips again and she raises a hand in greeting. "Faerie Fire?" She calls, that husky tone cutting into the night as she finally pulls herself up from the ground and flickers her skirts free and she heads in the direction of the very nice white horse, if not /the/ white horse.

"With.. the Sun God?" Sir Basilisk asks, perhaps a bit of a look of concern crossing over his features as his gaze darts here and there, in search of this figure, "I wasn't aware he was here.." His eyes rest on Llewelyn after a moment, "Oh.. the sun god, of course.. once I've lept the fire pit, I shall go and greet him accordingly." He says, a smile crossing his lips and a bow of his head offered to Angus, the manservant. Sir Basilisk then reaches to accept the hand of Cariste, "Let us leap the flames, and see if we can't avoid the worst of the heat!"

All might good and well for Morag who is within her element at this gathering, but Heulwen fidgets nervously by brushing at her skirt, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear, running her fingertips over her lips to warm them so that she doesn't stumble over her speech. The color drains ever so slowly from her face as they approach Sir Roaman, but with the introduction she dips into a deep and respectful curtsey and a murmured "my lord"; at least this is something at which she is well practised. She straightens, inhaling deeply, but deflates almost immediately as Morag extricates herself from the rather tight grasp and disappears about her business. Protest is futile, but despite this Heulwen holds up a hand as if to stop the priestess. Her fingers close gently into a small fist, and the hand drops to her side as she turns back to the two men.

Two pairs of dark eyes, two pairs of measuring gazes. Heulwen swallows visibly and offers the most tentative of smiles to the elder Burcombe as she twists her fingers into the folds of her bliaut. She dips her head silently at his mention of previous safe passage, declines politely to remark at all upon the wildness of the evening, and instead latches on to the question that will, hopefully, turn out to be the least harmful. "I know very little about the Old Ways, my lord, but I thank you for making welcome despite my ignorance. I, ah—fairness and fertility to the house of Burcombe, my lord." This is accompanied by another bob of her head, and she casts a quick glance to Caerwyn from beneath her lashes before returning her attention to Roaman.

"Aldreda! Where is my favorite cousin!" Lainn exclaims towards Aldreda, coming along with his tankard. "I didn't even know you were here. Where is your sister, I need to hassel her just for the sheer fun it. Because it's /fun/. Coming up to her, he slings an arm around her shoulders, because well, he's all loosey goosey and having a good time. "So…" his grin is impish. "Heard someone had a happy lap last night. Know anything about that?"

You check your faerielore at 10, you rolled 5.

Llewelyn is just being polite, which is rare for him on a good day! But he looks quite tipsily pleased with himself at having negotiated or badgered the manservant into a few more invitations. Why shouldn't Sir Sparklyhorse get an invite to the table of honor?! When the knight seems confused about his divine status, he gives a shrug. "Its 'im what keeps goin' on about it, I dinna get to plough th' pretty lass 'er nuttin', so I dinna if it really counts still! Shame too, she looked real ripe for ploughin'." Obviously, he has no clue he is saying lewd things about the hosting nobles relation! OOOPS! But regardless, he tips his mask to the knight then turns to stumble after Angus.

Cariste smiles and her hand claps his own, the woman laughs as she nods her head to the invitation, a blush raising in her cheeks as she is deemed Basilisk's lady. At least for the celebrations perhaps for a time. She waits for him to lead the path to the fire, and will prepare herself to leap the flame.

Aldreda checked her Awareness of 15, she rolled 16.

Claire moves through the crowd and seems to spot Rozenn about the same time that she is seen. Ah, the family table. She moves that way anyway and dips her head in appreciation. "Sir Rozenn. Thank you for the greetings. Fair day to you." And there's a tankard for her! Claire stands a little straighter and for a moment it looks like she might turn down the drink. But her gaze turns to the people laughing and having fun. Observe? Participate? It's a snap decision for her and she suddenly looks back with something rare for a Stapleford: A smile. The tankard is taken and lifted in cheers. "Thank you! I believe this will likely be first of many for me. I hope the celebration is going well. This is certainly not what I was expecting." Despite that, the Stapleford Knight doesn't look unhappy about it. She takes a big sip of the drink, in fact.

Fewer seem to take notice of her warning or announcement than Morwenna might expect, but she does spot Seraphina, and looks to her, even as she slips down from her horse. "Aye, tis what I saw. I was riding back, I didn't plan to stop in here, but the road to Wilton passes by quite close to Burcombe. And I saw the thing, the horse I think, galloping away from the manor-house. I would not say… I could not swear to the full of it, but there was something in its mane, something! That stood out from me, even at great distance. And so I felt I must come and see … well, if it was sign of something amiss."

Oh no, not a tankard. It's a smaller cup. Bigger perhaps than a shotglass, but not a full tankard. The liqueor within is thick and sweet and very… well, it's not just alcohol. When Claire accepts hers, Rozenn grins broadly and raises her own in a toast. The smile is welcome. She has not known the Stapleford long, but long enough to have sensed how rare such things must be. "It is going quite well," the Burcombe knight states, turning a measure to look over the festivities. She downs her own cup and will be quick to take Claire's (once empty), hand both off, and retrieve two tankards proper of ale. "Might I ask what you expected?"

Favorite cousin? HA HA. Wait until Aldreda tells the others at the next family gathering. Such banter of 'favorites' is common enough in Laverstock and claims shift. Always a source of pride to have secured such a title. Even if only for a season. The young lady has given Maelgwyn a small cup of that heady liqueur and holds one herself in one hand and her flowers in the other. Leaning into Lainn, Aldie laughs and drinks deep. It's a celebration for her successful jump. "Perhaps I do, cousin, perhaps I do. I merely sought a way to sit for the celebration and avoid soaking my skirts in the damp grass." She can play innocent fairly well, but family always knows.

"Make way, we've come to leap the flames!" Sir Basilisk exclaims as he leads Cariste towards the area that has been set aside for the revelers to leap the fire. "Is there any who would go before us, or shall the lady and I test our valor and mettle?" He asks, lifting the woman's hand high while looking at any others gathered around the fire, who might be preparing a leap as well.

Seraphina checked her faerielore of 3, she rolled 7.

Under most circumstances Morag would not abandon Wen so readily, but she is required to see to all of their guests, and she knows the lady is in good hands. She lets her path take her toward Sir Basilisk as he is heading toward the fire. She moves swiftly to clear a path toward the flame, and in doing so spots Claire, for whom she raises a hand in greeting.

It's not something Tria is used to, running and jumping! That doesn't stop her from attempting it at all though. Running, she gets as close to the edge as she dares before leaping! ……. Too soon she had launched herself and with her small stature, she falls short of the other side, landing in the fire, her skirt and over tunic catching on fire. There's a squeak in reaction when she realizes she was on fire. Jumping the rest of the way out of the fire, she begins batting at her clothing. Luckily the flames aren't too big!

Seraphina is standing to one side of the large bonfire, where many seem to be getting ready to jump. She is next to the taller Morwenna and tilting her head as she listens to the other Knight. A little frown touches her lips but in thought and then she nods to the woman. "Thing seem fine here, but a Sir Basilisk came in on such a horse, but the light seem more from the fire.." Her voice is as soft as it can be, that husky growl a little more sensual for the night it is. The words are followed by a nodding of her head towards the fire as if to show where this Knight happens to be.

"I should think fairness and fertility to Burcombe House is right," Roaman replies with a snort, "Seeing how happily wedded my son is." A pause. "To his idealized conceptions of knightly bachelorhood." He glances at Heulwen. "Perhaps you may speak with my daughter Morag some more. She knows much of the Old Ways. I grant our hospitality to you and your family with peace in their heart." And with that, he glances over at his sullen son by his side. "What, Caerwyn, no words of wisdom?" Though usually reticent, Roaman takes no small pleasure in taunting his son a bit now. He turns back to Heulwen. "His mother spent the first year trying to get him to talk. I spent the next twenty trying to get him to be silent."

"Father, enough, please. You're embarassing me." Caerwyn finally breaks his silence and rises from his chair, before holding the crook of his elbow out to Heulwen. "M'Lady Dinton, it would please me immensely if you could accompany me for a dance. And if you're feeling particularly adventurous, we can jump the fire. Would you like to have a drink or perhaps some food?" The slight bags under his eyes show his weariness, but those green eyes glitter so when they look at Heulwen.
Morwenna has disconnected.
Morwenna has connected.

Taking the drink and giving Tria her kiss for luck, Cole stands back to watch. "You'll do just fine. You're a lot quicker than I am." Ooops, spoken too soon, it seems like. And for a man who's not the fastest ever, he sure does move fast when he sees that she vanishes in the fire, only to come out batting at her clothes. Barrelling up to her, he helps put out whatever fire may be left on her. There's a small laugh. "You alright?" he asks, looking over her clothing. "Your shirt…damn." Setting the drinks down next to him, he does the next best thing he can do at the given moment; he gives her the shirt off his back. Well, he is Pagan and this is a Pagan festival, might as well have at least /one/ bare-chested man walking about. Looking like a bearded and bearish mountain man, he certainly has the body of smith, barrel-chested an all, and with his fair share of scars on his arms from his time working in the forge. "Here." he offers the shirt to her. "It might be…a little big." A little? She'll be swimming in it. Might as well be a dress.

Braelynn approaches the party, walking a bit more steadily than she had a few hours earlier. Green eyes sweep the event, but she doesn't really pay attention to the other guests. It's the fire that attracts her attention, and that is where she heads.

Cariste watches one jump into the fire, but all seems well enough, her hand is raised and she laughs softly as she looks over for anyone to say they are jumping first. She seems ready to brave the fire flames for her new suitor. "Ready" she says to him her eyes alight and reflective of the fire.

It's a mass of shifting favorites in the Laverstock manor, that is definately true. And while it may change, it's always true at that particular moment. Those damn Laverstocks have too much of a good time all the time. Giving Aldreda a squeeze, the older knight drinks. "Well you plan worked out well, I think. And whomever the lucky sod was to get that chance." he adds, winking to her. "So, who /was/ that lucky sod if I might ask? I was too busy not trying to throw Ari off my shoulders."

Not a tankard. A smaller cup. Ahem. Claire probably thinks its ale. Or something a little stronger. If its not, well, this will be interesting. "Good. Believe it or not, my family does occasionally do this 'fun' we hear about. Do not believe the rumors." The smile looks a touch sly. She then finishes the rest of the cup and hands it over, following along with Rozenn. "I'm not sure. As I said, I'm quite ignorant of the traditions of pagans. My faith is very structured to certain events and ritual. My family does do events like this, but they are rare and not normal to the faith." She grins, watching people around the fire. "I like this. Do pagans often do celebrations like this?" she asks, looking back to Rozenn with an interested smile. Ale? She's about to ask when she spots Morag waving. The lil Christling waves a hand to Morag and shows her a happy smile to go with it. "Were we not drinking ale? That was a delicious drink. I've not had it before…"

"Did you know, that the women of the land used to leap the flames clad in nothing but the skin they were born in, and painted flesh?" Sir Basilisk says to Cariste, "It helps keep your garments from catching alight as well." He shrugs his shoulders just a bit, "Alright, let us make the leap!" He says, taking a few steps back to get a running start.. leaping as he nears the flames and embers.

Critical Fail!
Basilisk checked its dex of 18, it rolled 20.

Another person of Stapleford manor has found their way into the pagan festivities, a new 'adventure' for her that's for sure. With all of the people, it is easy to lose oneself in the throng, or materialize as if from nowhere, which is exactly what Lady Ffion appears to do, squeezing through the gap between two large knights' backs on her way to a better vantage point. The feat is rather mundane, executed like breathing, and meant not to draw any undo attention. This evening, she's dressed in dark woody colors, so dark they invoke the mood of a proper Stapleford, but still warm in base to not clash with her coloring.

"That knight did?" Morwenna's gaze turns as her friend prompts her, in the direction of the named knight. "It is some odd name, is it not? But he is…" And there is a slight pause, the maiden herself a little struck by the ethereal beauty of the man, "Surely something about him." Maybe she, like Seraphina, is feeling something of the night? Except she has not come here to revel, nor did she partake much if any in the ceremony before! No, she seems the least likely of revelers, but cannot but stare at the man as he approaches the fire with some woman in tow, and then she glances back to her friend, some confusion in her gaze.

Basilisk checked its con of 16, it roll

Cariste checked her dex of 15, she rolled 8.

Heulwen's eyelids flutter, closing briefly like shutters over a window lest some small part of her soul escape. The barrage of taunts from Roaman wash over her, and she watches as if from a far distance, as important an observer as a fly on a half-finished meal. It does not take a great deal of intelligence to realize rather quickly, however, that the Dinton is hardly the target. With a jolt of realization, she opens her eyes wide and turns them on Caerwyn for approximately one second before looking away. By the slightly awkward shift of her weight from one foot to the other, she is no more pleased with being forced to witness the humiliation than the young Burcombe is to endure it. "Thank you once again for your hospitality, my lord, and I accept it with peace in my heart," she replies formally albeit breathlessly, and it is with great relief that she is finally addressed by Caerwyn.

Wen turns to him, settling her dark and searching gaze upon him, and finally dips her head to him in acceptance. She reaches out to place her hand in the crook of his elbow, offering a secret squeeze of reassurance before looking away toward—well, definitely not the fire. "Perhaps something to drink, Sir Caerwyn? I am quite parched. And then after that, we may dance, although I warn you now that I am known mostly for my ability to tread on toes and knock people over."

They say beauty is in the eye of the beholder and this evening it would seem Seraphina has allowed herself to fall into the power of something greater than one normally sees on any other night. Amber eyes stay on Basilisk as he moves to jump the fire and another little sigh touches her lip before she answers Morwenna, "And before you ask me Morwenna, I've yet to have a drop this eve, but he seems the most handsome of any male I have seen.." There is confusion in her own voice, but she can't help but admire the sheer beauty of the man.

Rescued by Cole, Tria feels the burning but only on little patches of skin, mostly her feet. Shoes, if she had any, are ruined and the dress.. Taking a quick and somewhat modest look around, she discards it and slips on his shirt. Yes, like a dress. Never mind all of that though, Cole was there before her, bare of chest and so strong. Forge? It does a body good and the admiration immediately flickers into her eyes, warming them. "I will be fine, I've got worse burns in the kitchen." The words spoken softly. A hand lifts of its own volition and splays across his chest, the smile making a reappearance. "Thank you." For what, she doesn't say.

There is ale, yes. A tankard retrieved and handed off to Claire and one for herself. Rozenn nods along with the explanation. "There are many festivals that we celebrate. Some, families will tend to on their own. Beltaine and Samhain, however, mark the beginning of the growing season and the end of harvest. They are important, so we all gather." There is a long drink as blue eyes shift, taking people in. A brow arches as Ffion pushes her way through the crowd. Oh, yes, you have been spotted wee Stapleford. "No, it was not ale. It was… mm. I suppose tincture may do. It has alcohol, yes, but other things. We save it for times as this. You'll enjoy it, I promise." It is not so extreme as Caerwyn's 'shrooms, but certainly still euphoric in effect.

Near to Aldreda and Lainn, perhaps, is the lucky sod in question. Unless the shirtless Maelgwyn has made an escape. The Laverstock girl snorts into her ale, but flashes a smile to her cousin nonetheless. "Sir Maelgwyn de Burcombe," she provides the name. "Abi and I happened to find places near him and some of his family. He is a nice sort." As nice, perhaps, as a Knight can come. And nice enough to her, beside. A slim elbow jabs at Lainn's side. "Have you jumped the flames?"

Braelynn turns her head toward one of the smaller fires as the flicker of a human moving over it catches the corner of her eye. She stops to watch them for a moment, and her destination changes slightly, meandering toward them warily. As she walks toward the fire she reaches down to retrieve the hem of the white overdress, revealing the black undertunic beneath.

Cariste jumps, and she clears the flames just fine, her fingers do not leave Basilisk's own and she laughs as the fire licks her legs like a lovers long lost caress. She feels him slip and fall and his fingers breaking hold from her own. No! the healer wont let the knight fall… but despite her efforts she tries! A small hand reaches down to help Basilisk back up before the fire is able to catch hold. "Careful, its hungry"

Off to one side by himself watching the festivities with curious eyes is Erion. The Woodford is dressed in a pale blue tunic, with light grey pants and boots. The colors make his already handsome features stand out. The flicker of the firelight catches on the golden hair every so often and enhances his looks even further. He cannot seem to decide what is more interesting though he watches the fire jumping with curiousity and faint amusement. No one has noticed him as of yet though…or so it seems.

Morwenna nods back at Seraphina, even though she finds it strange to be agreeing with the other woman on this matter, and so readily! Rarely has she ever been the sort to coo and gossip over boys, as other girls might in one another's company. "He is well-formed, but there is… something about him I think, something strange too." She further cocks her head, somehow surprised that he is not able to make the jump, even though others do seem to be failing as well.

The leap of Sir Basilisk, is indeed spectacular.. but it came a bit soon… and he lands within the flames, sending embers about, and the wine in his cup spills behind him, causing a -WOOSH- of flames. The quick grasp of Cariste does however help pull him free, his skin reddened a bit in spots, and hair singed a bit perhaps.. though the white of his tunic remains just that, no soot or singe on it. "My thanks!" he exclaims, "These legs have not been used in too long, perhaps I had best be more careful?" he says with a wink given to the woman. "I'm afraid I spilled all the wine, though.."

Braelynn approaches the group of people who have just jumped the fire. The explosion of flame makes her halt for but a moment before she continues. The corners of pink lips slowly spread upward as a smile is given. She speaks up quietly, "May I?"

Well, at least he's still wearing pants, which are subtley pulled up a little just to make sure they're not going to fall off by accident. Looking at her in his shirt which is now a dress, he barks a low laugh. "That is funny." he remarks. "No really, you're cute." There's a mild falter, then adding. "You okay with staying? I'll understand if you'll want to go home after that." He picks up the dress, looking it over in his hands. "I can see what I can do about this." What? Sometimes he has to repair leather bracers. That requires stitching. Something he had to learn. He shakes his head at the thanks. "I wasn't going to just let you walk around in a half-burned dress. Wouldn't be very kind, would it."

Parked under a tree watching the party with a half finished drink in one hand Fayne is watching intently. Dark eyes observe everything with eager curiousity that is surprising for a man who grew up Roman Christian. He watches everything eyes darting this way and that ina rather excited fashion. Due to his habit of dressing in all black he blends in rather well with the night and none have spotted the excited lurker thus far.

Maelgwyn checked his STR of 15, he rolled 17.
Maelgwyn checked his CON of 12, he rolled 15.

Morag is of course, staring and lets out a little gasp at Basilisk's jump. That he seems to have taken no harm and appears no worse for wear, and she's about to step forward when another figure captures her attention in the flaire of firelight. At the sight of a recent arrival, the Burcombe priestess gingerly touches her flower bedecked hair, and looks down at her grass stained bare feet. Well. This is as good as it's going to get. Biting her lip, she picks up her skirt a bit and begins to wend her way toward Eiron.

Critical Success!
Caerwyn checked his recognize of 5, he rolled 5.

"Sir Maelgwyn de Burcombe." Lainn repeats, trying to put a face to the name. "I don't think I've had the pleasure. But, hey, if you approve of his lap, then I suppose I'll have to as well. But well, I don't think I'll try it myself," he pauses to take a large drink. "he'd be all atwitter and I don't want to make my favorite cousin look bad." Oh gods, Lainn. You and booze. What a mistress booze is. He makes a face at the fire. "Oh no. No no, I am way too sober for that yet. Give me time and maybe I'll start dancing over it."

Claire takes the tankard with a smile and lift. There's an attempt to clink tankards too. That euphoric feeling is setting in and its probably more apparent to Rozenn than to Claire. "Samhain and Beltaine," she repeats, perhaps committing them to memory. "End of harvest. So around the end of October? A few families have a celebration of our faith around then. Beginning of November we celebrate those who have come before us. To honor them. It is not like this-" she says, gesturing to the celebrants, "-but close. There is some ritual, but it is a similar atmosphere." The smile seems to have found its way to being plastered on her face. But the description of the drink has her look curious. "Really? Hm." It looks like she might frown for a moment, but ends up shrugging. "Perhaps I am feeling the effects. It is not unpleasant."
You paged Maelgwyn with 'Well, he failed his Con check, so he likely got hurt. Maybe a burn on his leg? Or he falls and sprains his ankle.'

Cariste laughs a little "perhaps we should go visit the Sun God?" she asks Basilisk her eyes flicker and she assures the knight is alright. This was the second knight she helped save face. She blushes to this one however as he mentions the wine "I am sure Ser Caerwyn would give give us more?"

Caerwyn checked his heraldry of 3, he rolled 12.

So, evidently the 'Sun God', or well, the disheveled and drunken ex Beltaine Community Theater player cast as said deity, in the form of Llewelyn, has now been escorted up to the 'high table', or well, the table where there are some Burcombes. Far from their kind, he has little idea what to make of the father-son sparring or the introduction and invitation of apparently ENEMY women for dances, but he does know that they have a nice spread up here with the fancy-folk, and so he sets into that with some gusto, while watching the spectacles below. Catching something said, he calls down, "They used t' jump naked? Why in the goddess' name did they ever give up on that traddition? We ought get it started again, aye?" he looks over at the lordly sorts, as if they might have the power to make such a decree: All women disrobe and leap the flames! Now he's eating messily and drinking heavily both, washing one down with the other. "Oh no! Sir Sparklyhorse didn't make it!" he exclaims again in despair at the jump, but seems relieved that the man doesn't instantly explode in a blast of hellfire and pixiedust. "So, erm, thank you, your, erm, Sirs or Lordlyships or whatever. This is quite the party ye've thrown together! You know, it's just what I needed, truth betold, 'twas in a bit of a funk after the festivities. I'm the loser yaknow? Well, 'course you'd know, I guess. But, oh, goddess above, you shoulda seen that girl, she twer a looker if ever I saw one, even from what little I saw. Well, of her face, mind, but y'know, with the fires and all, through her gown, you could kinda see…" And he pantomimes a woman's figure. Of course, he's descrbing Eirian's body to her… uncle? So there's that!

After pounding down 2 ales while Aldreda had made her jump across the flames, Maelgwyn happily accepted another ale in exchange for her flowers. He gives Lainn a bit of a grin. "It's alright, if I get drunk enough I think anyone is able to give sitting in my lap a go. Now if you will both excuse me, I am going to drain this tankard and do another jump." It's not the best idea he's ever had, but he had to make one successful jump. Downing the ale, he steps over to a good spot to get a good running jump. Taking in a breath he takes off, trying to get some speed before leaping up and over the flames.

Nope. Not this time. He crashes into the fire and his pants catch fire, and when he lands he turns his ankle. Falling to the ground, he rolls around while yelling about his damned ankle. He's finally able to get the fire put out before burning his legs but he struggles to stand on his ankle. This just wasn't his night.

Erion spots Morag coming towards him and his eyes widen in surprise. Still his smile is quite warm and very charming as he watches her approach him. Once she is with distance to hear he speaks, his tone smooth and polite. "Hello again my Lady Lavender." He tilts his head his expression curious. "You are pagan then? Is that why you would not share your true name? I assure you even as a Roman Christian I hold nothing against those of your religion…to each thier own." He smiles a rather dazzling smile. "Its such a pleasure to see you again though! I am glad we had this chance to speak once more."

Watching Ffion work through a large crowd has to feel a little bit like watching a mouse scuttle through giant-feet, or maybe a rat inquisitively picking bits of food here and there. For Ffion, she gathers curiosities, questions, and sometimes concerns, if only for a moment, like the rather large drunken obstacle of a man in front of her. Rather than discern meaning in the dumb stare they share, she slips away to her destination. How she's managed to escape a garland of flowers so far might be beyond compression, but it makes getting to that bale of hay on the slope much less conspicuous than leaving a trail of petals behind.

Certainly, Rozenn will allow the tankards to meet. If ale should slosh, it will allow the earth to join in the revelry. She listens to the Stapleford and laughs, showing amusement in her features. "Samhain is three days of celebration. There is a grand hunt and then a feast. We all share in these. We celebrate what light remains in the darkness. In us, in our homes." She takes a long drink, angling to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with Claire, to watch. "During the feast, we leave places at the table for those who have died and we set aside choice selections from the crop. The third day, families reflect upon their own ancestors. The spirits are said to be closest to us on tha day. Usually the first of November." A lean, shoulder bumping to the Stapleford knight's. "There are similarities yet between our faiths."

"Yes, Sir Maelgwyn." Now, perhaps, Aldreda flushes. "It hink perhaps you should be offering your lap to a lady, rather than taking what few are available for the likes of me." She drinks heavy of her ale, nearly losing it at Lainn's offer. Laughter, oh yes. Plenty of that. When Maelgwyn stumbles and falls in the flames, the Laverstock shoves her flowers to Lainn to hold and the tankard is handed off to whoever may wish it. She is not a healer, but she will do what she can.. which is scurry over to duck beneath the knight's arm to help him to a bench to sit.

"A drink, then," Caerwyn says, holding out his arm and guiding Heulwen away from his father. He was never the favored heir - even his sister was better loved than he was. He just happened to be first, and there are rules about this sort of things - firstborn son and all. His father is the type to follow rules. He tears himself away from his father and then guides Heulwen towards a seat by the Burcombe relatives - in the corner of his eye, a WHOOSH of fire explodes into the night, and he can't help but look, stunned by the burning knight, set aflame. But oddly enough, the fire goes out and not a single soot stain to be seen. Caerwyn arches his brow curiously - now, he's a manly man and likes the ladies, but he can't help but notice those fine sylvan features - otherworldly almost. Kind of reminds himself of his cousin Eir— Immediately, he turns to look at his company, Heulwen, to see if she's looking where he is. There's something almost captivating about Sir Basilisk, even for a man like him. It's as if the walls of his vision had closed in, and he were simply looking at the man and the man only.

Finally, Caerwyn picks up a pitcher and pours a tall tankard of honeyed ale. He hands it to Heulwen. "I have never seen the knight before, but his clothing, the horse — this is no ordinary man," he says to Heulwen. "… Or I may still be intoxicated by mushrooms. Is it… is it strange that a man should -shine- so much? He dresses like me, almost, only better." He seems almost jealous by this fact. He glances down at himself - black and silver as well, but not -mithril- silver, and the embroidery is so much finer on Sir Basilisk. God-damn-.

Pants were good. Wait, maybe not. Catching him hitching them up, Tria gives him a wickedly playful smile as she fingers the laces at his waist. "Cute?" she lifts her eyes to his, one eye closing in a wink. "I am just find with staying. I would even consider jumping the fire again. Would you like to?" Looking at him with the dress, surprise flickers in her expression. "My mother is a seamstress, but I would rather her not know I burned my dress."

Braelynn waits patiently, and when the group doesn't acknowledge her question she simply backs away from the fire slightly and eyes it. Her eyes close for a moment, and she seems to be concentrating very intently on something. When her eyes open her mouth takes on a defiant little smile and she runs for the fire.

Basilisk brushes down his tunic just a bit, then inclines his head to Cariste, "Perhaps we should go and speak with the sun king, indeed!" he exclaims, whipping his hair about a bit as he shakes some stiffness free of his neck and with that he gestures towards Llewellyn and starts to walk towards the goddly avatar.

Braelynn checked her dex of 12, she rolled 6.

The Godly avatar is no doubt still going on, blissfully ignorant of his circumstances, about the admirable physical qualities of the absent Burcombe ex-maiden when Sir Basilisk arrives. "… and her arse, you could see it when she turned, well, the shape at least. Thing 'o glory, t'were. But aye, she's off ploughin' that branch-headed prick, so I'm high and dry. Well, nae more dry, I suppose." Gulp. But then he waves at the nearing knight. "Oh, Sir Sparklyhorse. Do join us, and yer lassie too!"

"I am a pagan, Sir. But more than that, I am ordained in the name of Danu, the goddess of the earth." Morag confesses, stepping closer. Her irises are a touch larger than normal, and she sways just a little to the rhythm of the drums, but she actually seems quite well within her faculties. "And you - " there's a sudden pause as the young woman turns and winces toward Maelgwyn. "Ah, my cousin's hurt." she observes, perhaps forgetting to keep such detail from the young knight. She surely must have, as she turns back to Erion and plucks up one of his hands in hers. "Will you stay while I make sure he's alright? I'll only be a moment."

Braelynn lands on the other side of the fire with a self satisfied "hmmph!" She now turns her attention to finding someone she knows in this crowd. She drops the lower part of her skirt, and smooths it. She stands up straighter, and seemingly more self assured as she turns and begins to look through those gathered for someone she knows.

Taking the flowers, Lainn does the only thing he should do and…puts them in his hair. "Who's the pretty princess now, Ari!" he says aloud to his sister that isn't here. "Me, that's who!" Yes, Lainn, you are so pretty, befoer then making a hissing noise as Maelgwyn doesn't do so well in his fire jump. "Oh daaaaamn." he utters. "No offense sir, but I think your lap is a little too hot at the moment. But perhaps later!" he does go along with Aldreda though, just in case, y'know, he has to hold something other than her beer. He'll at least make sure there's an open bench for them to sit on.

Sir Claire looks to Rozenn while the Pagan Knight speaks to her about Samhain. There's clear interest with what's being said, too. "Those are not poor things to celebrate. There is a contrast of Christianity there." She sips upon the tankard. "Three days, though. That is- I am unsure I would have the stamina for such celebrations. I am to believe you actually do -sleep- at some point during these festivities." There's no concern in her, no does she seem uncomfortable when Rozenn stands shoulder to shoulder to her while they watch. The point about similarities is not missed, either. The bump gets a grin out of her and a glance. "That does please me. I'm very glad that we share such important values. It is not our holiest day, but it is one that we revel. We say prayers, we visit graves and their monuments. But we celebrate their lives and passing. Like this." She smiles still, gesturing to everyone else.

As the pair sidle away along the table of Burcombes and others gathered to feast, Heulwen relaxes gradually until the smile upon her face comes easy and her eyes glitter with mirth not yet expressed aloud. Instead, she places her free hand atop the one crooked in Caerwyn's elbow, and she dips her head in greeting to any who look her way as they head toward refreshments. Her mouth is practically watering at the idea of a cup of mead, and she breaks away to allow Caerwyn to pour while her gaze drifts over the festivities to finally and truly consider her surroundings.

Quite naturally, Heulwen's attention is drawn to he activity by the fire as groups of people attempt to leap the flames. While the symbolism is utterly lost on her, the sight is not without its beauty - particularly that of one Sir Basilisk; not even she can resist the nearly magnetic pull of the man. So when Caerwyn looks back to check on her, he can see clearly that she is affected—her lips are parted, her eyes are wide, and she is staring so intently at the knight as if to bore holes in his back with her eyes. Only the Burcombe's voice near her ear is enough to drag her gaze away, and she releases the image of Basilisk reluctantly to blink up at her companion. "What?" she inquires, and then shakes her head to clear the lingering sound of humming in her ears. "Aye, indeed, good sir, I find it quite strange myself." And then she immediately tries to drown the queer feeling in her stomach with a cupful of mead.

Erion's eyes widen further, he looks a bit shocked both by the confession that the woman is a priestess and that she is Burcombe. Still despite his shock he remains curteous, she deserves nothing less in his mind despite the secrets kept. "I will stay yes, I should like to speak with you more when you have made certain your cousin is alright." He smiles but still looks a bit baffled. He had been flirting with a pagan preistess?! Its taking a bit to sink in…

"Well, I could use a couple other words, but cute is the one that came to mind at first." Cole shruds a little. A glance back at the fire when Tria offers to jump it again. "I could, but I only have one shirt, so if one of us trips again, we may have no clothes to go home in. And I'm certainly not wearing what's left of your dress." he adds, then nodding. "Well, I think more to the point it would be wise not to tell her /how/ the dress was burned."

After he finishes his drink Fayne gets up. The tall dark clad Stapleford man makes his way near the fire jumpers. Watching those doing this thoughtfully and debating trying it himself. For now he just studies and regards those who do jump the flames with curiousity and thought, as if he is analyzing them somehow.

Maelgwyn is able to finally get to his knees and then to one leg, thanks to the help of the fair maiden that has come to his aid. "My thanks." He gasps out to Aldreda as he hops over to a bench and sits down. "That was not… I could have had it. I don't think I will be trying again until next year it seems." He grits his teeth as he tests putting some weight on his ankle. There's pain and it's enough to tell him that he sprained it pretty good. Thankfully it's not broken.

Cariste laughs as she accompanies the pretty knight to the table. She looks to the knight and then she looks back to where they are headed.. she gets all caught up with the festivities around them and she accepts a small bit of mushrooms herself… she looks into her fingers and she giggles as she offers a bit to the shining knight "You are pretty - M'lord, what is your name?" she may as well ask!

"Beli Lugh!" Sir Basilisk exclaims as he nears, offering a courtly bow to the inebriated man, a hint of a smile slips to his lips at the description the man is giving, "Ahh, have no fear, I am certain you, and many more will have their turn before the night is over, My Lord!" He says, moving to sit right upon the edge of the table, gesturing towards the perfectly useable and empty chair he has opted not to sit in, "My lady, please take a seat and join us, have you met Beli Lugh yet? And I am Sir Basilisk, of course." He says, directing that smile at Cariste now before directing his attention back towards the proxy of the pagan god.

The way Rozenn stands is not meant to be flirty. It's companionable. It allows them to speak while Claire can still watch the celebration at work. "We sleep," she says, with a laugh. "The hunt and feast are all in one day, but preparations for the feast can take a full day before. Everyone works together. Noble and commonfolk alike. The final day is much more somber. It is a more personal thing than the community and connections of the feast." A long drink of ale and the woman dips her head in a nod. "We celebrate the lives of those who came before us and we hope for a chance to see them again. Samhain is the time when that may come to pass." Perhaps a fortune she has not yet witnessed the Basilisk. She might be too distracted. "Pagans have values. Many relate to hearth and home. Where all centers at. It doesn't matter if you live in a castle, a manor, or a small hut in the woods. Everything comes from the hearth." Hey, she considers Brigid to be her patron goddess. Fire.

With Lainn's aid and that of the arriving Morag, Maelgwyn can certainly be helped to a bench and Aldreda lowers herself to sit next to him. She'll let the healer tend to the actual injury. Rather, the girl is more inent on the man. Perhaps even just in distracting him. There is food a-plenty on the table by the bench and she grabs a pastry, offering it to Maelgwyn. "Sir Maelgwyn, I would be glad to share the fortune of my leap. Perhaps it is the gods wishing you to leap for your own fortune, rather than the benefit of others?" She is no fool. She knows that men are wont to show off when women are about.

Morag squeezes Erion's hand, not entirely oblivious to his shock, but purposefully ignoring it. "I'll only be a moment." she promises the poor baffled Roman Christian. With that, she darts toward Maelgwyn, moving to the bench where he's taken a seat. "Lady Aldreda." she offers in greeting, and then kneels in front of her seated cousin. "I'm going to have a look, Mael." It helps to be both churgeon and priestess for the house.

"Ah, you're fine, Sir." Lainn utters to Maelgwyn, picking off a tankard from a nearby manservant and offers it to the other man. "There'll be other chances. Shit, you did better than I likely would have. I do a lot of things, but getting the courage up to jump that is something I'm still gathering up." he says, darting a look at Aldreda. "And you breathe a word of what I just said to my sister and I'll soak your head."

Aldreda checked her Honesty of , she rolled 19.

Aldreda checked her Deceitful of 7, she rolled 3.

There is only a broad smile for Lainn and Aldreda offers, so-sweetly. "Of course, cousin." And certainly, so long as she is his favorite, she will not breathe a word. But there may come a day…

"My turn? Wot? With that bonnie lass? Nae, that fancy-horned prick'd have t' be a madman not to plough her hard 'n long till dawn, though in his case, maybe not as long as me! Haw!" Llewelyn celebrates the thought with another drink, saluting Sir Basilisk with the cup before tossing it back. Of course, when the knight gives an actual name that is not, in fact, Sir Sparklyhorse, he looks just a little self-conscious. "Oh, erm, Sir Basilisk, aye. That er. Is that a family name?" As Cariste is summoned up, he bobs his head toward her, though of course, in his stupor, sways a bit overmuch. "'pleasure!"

Braelynn smiles in Morag's general direction, but certainly she doesn't know her well enough to approach and the woman looks busy, after all. Green eyes continue to survey the crowd. She sees only one face she knows, and she lets out a long, slow sigh as she heads in Seraphina's direction. She sits nearby, and turns her head toward the festivities. She watches - one of her favorite things to do.

Caerwyn checked his lustful of 13, he rolled 9.

Cariste offers her cousin-in-law (Caerwyn) a little smile as she and Basilisk make their way closer to the table, a bright red color flushing her cheeks as she nibbles on her mushrooms.. she sways slightly and looks to the empty seat her eyes lightly move to the knight whose arm she is on and she grins "I am Lady Cariste de Dunford" she offers to Basilisk "Mery Meet M'lords!" she offers to Beli Lugh, and then to Caerwyn and then back to her escort.

Maelgwyn checked his Flirting of 12, he rolled 2.

Seeing Morag move up, Maelgwyn sticks his leg out so she can get a better view of his ankle. "Thank you, cousin." He says with a nod, that nod up to Lainn to indicate that he hears the man and won't repeat a word of it to Aldreda. Not yet in any case… there was no need to embarass the man. "Cousin, I do not think it is broken, so you need worry too much. Remind me next year about this, please." He reaches out then and takes the pastry offered by Aldreda, offering the woman a charming little smile. "Or perhaps the gods are putting me in this situation to be offered this pastry by such a lovely thing as you."

At some juncture, the pair of sighing, awestruck women that is Morwenna and Seraphina will separate, with the former of their number deciding she must have a better look at this strange knight. Whether it is because of whatever… strange and uncomfortable fascination with his otherworldly good looks, or out of any prior suspicion? It is hard for her even to be sure. But she will come to whatever place nearby allows her an inconspicuous excuse to evesdrop, and try very hard not to let Llewelyn's crude antics inspire any harsh words that would give away her cover!

Seraphina checked her lustful of 13, she rolled 11.

The Stapleford Knight nods a few times, seeming appreciative. That euphoric feeling spreads, though, and it tingles. Oh thats lovely. And warm. That feeling of energy has Claire relax a little more and for once she lets herself slouch a little and enjoy the moment. "Lies. Pagans do not sleep." Its a cheeky little remark meant in jest, her smile flicking right back into place afterward. But everything said seems to have her nodding in agreement. Another big sip from the tankard and she looks towards Morag and what she's doing, watching idly. "I cannot say too much about what precisely we do as a family, for it is very family oriented. The way we celebrte the lives of those who came before is is personal. Dealing with loss is always very hard on people and over time we learned that discussing our beliefs in public can cause problems. But…" She inclines her tankard towards Rozenn. "I can ask permission from our heir for you to visit and see what we do. Come celebrate with us. Given what you've told me, I think you might enjoy it." The information on where the values lie has her eyes drop and she thinks on that. God she feels good right now. "There is something very comfortable in those beliefs, Sir Rozenn," she decides and looks over to the other Knight.

Now this is painful, hearing his cousin getting hit on. "Oh gods, do I need to be hearing this?" Lainn rolls his eyes at the two of them. "No, I don't need to be hearing this." he says over the lip of his tankard. "Well, at least he's got some good lines. Good job, Sir. Good job." A sigh. "Yep, I think that just about does it for me." Again, he tosses his now empty tankard over his shoulder, tossed to the same poor servant that caught his last one earlier. It's like he's planning on it intentionally. "Alright, fine. I'm going to make that fire my whore, right here, right now." And he's suddenly off running, right for the fire, to take his best shot and leap over it. Or faceplant right into it. Not like he'd really feel it by this point.

Critical Fail!
Cole checked his STR of 15, he rolled 20.

Amber eyes are torn away from the otherworldly glory of the Knight that now moves to settle at the family table. A nod was given to Morwenna as she walked away, a little smile starting to pull at her lips as she watches her friend before she turns in time to catch Brae's sitting down near her.

A thoughtful look touches Seraphina's features and then a soft fire flickers to life in the amber depths of her eyes as she takes a seat next to Braelynn and whispers as she turns back to watch the crowd.. or Basilisk..really it's hard not to watch a male with such grace and beauty..

Lainn checked his STR of 13, he rolled 15.

"I like cute.." Tria reassures, leaning forward again to kiss his chin, even if she has to tiptoe to do it. "We could always shed our clothing before we jump, it would be the safest way and after all it's a Pagan festival.." Leaving the suggestion hanging there, she walks back towards the fire. "I think you would look good in anything you wear. Or nothing."

Critical Fail!
Lainn checked his CON of 16, he rolled 20.

"Have you had the chance to bed a god, yet, Lady Cariste?" Sir Basilisk asks, reaching to lightly touch the woman's shoulder from where he sits upon the edge of the table, quite a forward gesture. He leans in to speak in a softer tone to the woman, "You ought to while you are still young." His playful little smile returns as he straightens once more, turning his attention back on Llewellyn, "Perhaps you might grant me a boon, Your Highness?" he asks of the man, "I have a task that requires, perhaps, special assistance, that only you can provide!"

When Cariste greets Caerwyn with her accompanying Super-Knight, Caerwyn can barely rasp out a greeting in response: "Hi," he manages to say. Between the jealousy inspired by a man more 'man' than any other man out here (including Caerwyn himself) and the way Heulwen's lips just go so beautifully slack (at another man, nonetheless) - Caerwyn can't help but feel this pressure. Like being stuck between the anvil and the hammer, he feels this immense pressure upon him to act - act somehow, someway. Quite confused by the preternatural forces here, Caerwyn tears himself away from staring gape-jawed at Cariste and her lovely Knight, before he takes the mug he poured for Heulwen and takes a long drink. He returns it to her - his lips touched with honey, his belly warm with fire, his mind clouded with a foggy white haze - and leans forward to kiss Heulwen's lips - still probably slack from staring at Sir Basilisk a little too long.

There is a moment of warmth, of fire, of want — gone all too soon, as Caerwyn wrenches himself away quite suddenly. "I… I don't know what got into me," he says, looking miserably apologetic but stunned at the same time. And then, for the second time this Beltaine night, he tears himself away from Heulwen and rushes towards the vicinity of Burcombe manor, his heart thumping and his cold sweat replaced by a rosy warmth just underneath his skin. It appears Caerwyn has fled once more.

"Ah, you've caught me." Rozenn is often fairly full of energy and seemingly relaxed. What effect the tonic has on her remains to be seen. "We simply retire to our beds to chant in the darkness." There is a nod of understanding at the privacy of some events. There exist similar in the realm of pagans, but not for the ones that have moved on. When the Stapleford speaks of asking permission to attend, something brightens in the knight's mien. "I would like if I could. Thank you for that." At the last admission, the brunette nods, satisfied. She reaches to hook an arm through Claire's, should the other knight allow. And if so, she'll lead the way towards where food and drink may be had. And if she spots Ffion? The other Stapleford will be summoned near as well. "We do have some rather important morals, Sir Claire. Family, most of all."

Wherever is Abigail? She's missing so much fun! And she missed the rather graceful jump of the fire that Aldreda made. The compliment from Maelgwyn earns a rather severe flush across her shoulders and nose. She laughs, briefly, but ducks her chin with it. It was an unbidden response. "They do have their ways, Sir Maelgwyn. I do wish, regardless of your leaps over the flames, your family to have fair health and fertile lands in this coming season." Lainn just makes it worse and she grabs a pastry to begin eating, herself, as if it would hide how she has turned crimson. But at least her cousin is attempting a jump and she sits up, watching.. hoping he makes it over without much difficult.

Morag kneels at Maelgwyn's side and gingerly lifts his trouser leg so that she can feel up his ankle. And then she lifts it so that it's on the bench as well. "Keep it lifted." she instructs him, rising. "I'll have a draft brought to your suite tonight for you to take if it's still painful, assuming you get there tonight." Rising to her feet, she looks to Aldreda again. "Would you keep an eye on him?" she asks of the lady. "He'll be fine, and if he has any difficulties, there are more than a few servants you can call upon."

The kiss, the fleeing - none of this goes missed by the elder Burcombe. Roaman the Dark watches tentatively, arching an eyebrow, before turning to look at Sir Basilisk. A 'hrm' forms at the tip of the man's tongue - mayhaps he had seen a man very similar, twenty years ago, when he himself was but a fledgling youth. The same sylvan grace and strength, the same unnatural beauty. But if this were the same man twenty years past — would the man not have aged? Roaman is wise to the Old Ways, and though the presence of the strange knight might be a disturbance, he does not order men to engage the knight in any way. One does not trifle with the Gods on Beltaine.

Ffion takes in the span of bonfires dotting the scene, watching some of the chaotic rhythms at work as her eyes relax into a stare. These moments often lead to unwanted reflection after some time, and desire for some sort of reprieve. "I went too far out," she comments on her range to the festivities to no one but herself. Her eyes graze over the spectacle of festivity as if selecting her supper when she happens to spot a familiar face, and then another. Ah, her cousin Sir Claire and that Burcombe Knight. She squints down to survey a path and then rises to her feet. She ends up having fortuitous timing as she is able to intersect the pair's path. "Good evening," she offers with a dip of her head to Rozenn. "Good evening cousin," she offers in turn to Sir Claire.

Caerwyn checked his flirting of 8, he rolled 14.

So…. yeah. That thing that was mentioned about Lainn faceplanting into the fire? Yeah, about that… "I can do it…I can do it…I can do it…" Lainn chants to himself, spirting towards the fire at a dead sprint. And he was doing well…up until he trips on an errant tankard. That was probably dropped by that bastard manservant who he tossed it at. DAMN YOU POETIC JUSTICE. "Oh shiiit!" and at this speed, he trips, fumbles, and awkardly does indeed go right into the fire. Well…that's not so bad, it's actually warm OH FUCK OH GODS IT'S SO HOT HOT HOT HOT. Embers skitter and Lainn leaps out of the fire, doing this dance. It might've been somewhat erotic, with what the black night background and goings on, but considering he's shaking his leg as best as he can to get the fire out, probably not. The dance continues, slapping out his leg, then his arm, before just rolling around in the ground. "THIS IS YOUR FAULT, AIRAN!" Well…he has to blame /someone/.

"I knew it. You pagans chant and summon devils and cause ails and…" She sputters, laughing, "while we're at it we can just blame the Saxons on you too. Yes, that will work." Claire sagenods. She can't even keep a straight face for it. "But yes, it is the least I can do. Burcombe was kind enough to extend me an invitation. I came to understand. Annnd perhaps with more drink, I may be participating," the Stapleforn Knight laughs. Its a bright, happy sound she clearly doesn't use enough. No protest given to the linked arms, she's easily led. "Mm. Morals are something I've not doubted. If they were so different we would find ourslves fighting each other. Though some seem to believe that is appropriate. Why that is, I'll never understand." Claire doesnt mind being led, nope, especially to more food and drink. "I was told to expect flowers in my hair."

Braelynn raises a brow as she hears Seraphina's whisper. She doesn't bother to whisper back as she says, "I'm still angry with you." This is said without much conviction. She does turn her eyes toward whatever Sera is looking at. Her eyes do stop on a man. She swallows when she catches sight of the prettiest man she's ever seen and she can only croak out an awed, "Oh…"
Catryn has arrived.

Asked for some favor by the knight formerly known as Sir Sparklyhorse, Llewelyn seems quite inclined toward helpfullness. Whether entirely sure if he's a god or not at the present, lacking a priest to clarify that particular point of theology, and replacing such guidance with the large quantities of alcohol he has been imbibing, the man seems inclined to take on the mantle again, if only for the sake of this fantastic knight before him. That is, after he spends a moment eying Cariste a bit more, erm, openly, as she's quizzed on her… prior divine experiences. "Erm, a favor, Sir Basilisk? Aye, aye, a favor, of course. I may not have been able to feck the lass nor plant the seed o' warmth in her, mm, lovely furrow," gross, Sun God, gross, "but if there's something I can do in me short time so blessed as I am, I'll do it! Make some good of me-self, aye?" Oh, and someone is on fire. That does make him glance off, as it's not a thing you see every day, a (literally) flaming knight.

Spotting Ffion, Claire's smile spreads into a grin. "Cousin!! So good to see you! Come, meet Sir Rozenn de Burcombe. She's a lovely host. She also has a very delicious drink you simply -must- try…"

Maelgwyn checked his Cruel of 16, he rolled 9.

Fayne watches one of the men face plant into the fire with a raised brow. "Oh dear…even I could do better than that." The tall Stapleford eyes the fire as though it has just presented him with a challenge. He runs forward intending to try this himself. For knowledge!

Fayne checked his str of 15, he rolled 8.

As Lainn moves off to go jump the fire, and as Morag gives him instructions for the care of his ankle and then leaves… Maelgwyn gives Aldreda the faintest of smiles before reaching up and taking her hand. He gives it the gentlest of squeezes and turns to watch Lainn make his jump. He releases her hand then, as he needs to move something to prop his ankle up. He looks up just as Lainn trips and goes right into the fire. He begins laughing. Hard.

"Uhhh…." Cole was about to say something, but then he back away seeing the flaming knight dance past him. There's a moment silence where he just watches, a little awestruck by the display before looking back at Tria, even holding out an arm in a protective manner incase the flaming dude gets too close to them. "You're /sure/ you want me to try again. Naked?" he asks her, now somewhat unsure about the whole thing. He also flushes slightly at the idea. "Uh…I think I'll save my lack of clothes for when I'm…er, well…not around so many people."

Cariste laughs a little as Caerwyn gets up and runs away, she turns to Basilisk and she shakes her head a little "This is my first Beltaine m'lord" she says as she looks to him softly and also quite fondly. She hears his playful request and her blush just keeps burning strong in her alcohol touched cheeks. She bows her head a little shyly but kisses the superknight on the cheek, leaning in lightly to partake "do you know of any, Gods?" she asks teasingly back.

It doesn't help matters much at the gorgeous and seemingly ethereal knight approach their table accompanied by a pretty lass, and it doesn't help that Basilisk's proximity causes Heulwen's heart to flutter. Her hand accepts the cup from Caerwyn in a rather automatic, mindless fashion, and she raises it to her lips for a drink only to find it empty. She glances down at the cup in her hand, blinking owlishly at how this cold have happened, and then looks up to Caerwyn. Her lips part to offer him remonstrance for finishing off the ale (although he could hardly be blamed), but instead of giving voice to the words she is surprised by a gentle kiss.

Numbed with shock, her fingers lose their grasp on the cup and it hits the table with a loud thwack before rolling over the edge and onto the ground. At the same time, Heulwen reaches out as if to catch Caerwyn's tunic—but whether she intends to pull him closer or push him away is something that will never be discovered. Instead, the Burcombe jerks away, fumbles with an apology, and flees, leaving her quite dazed and still rather thirsty for some freaking mead. She glances around herself as if the surroundings were new and quite foreign, unsure of what to do next.

Critical Fail!
Cariste checked her flirting of 3, she rolled 20.

There is a micro-flash of surprise in Ffion's features before she returns an easy grin, one bearing hints of her former warmth when the Stapleford cousins were children, a relaxation of 'self'. Dark eyes flicker upwards to Sir Rozenn as her smile broadens knowingly. "It's so nice to be formally introduced," she interjects in the moment. "What is this drink I -must- try?"

"Oh, the Saxons. Now you've just gone too far, Stapleford." Rozenn takes it all in good jest. The woman knows a joke when she hears one, afterall. And she's rather relaxed and loose with the revelry and the tonic in her system. "Ah, yes, well. I cannot say I have not ended up in fights over such, though oft to defend my family and my own honor." A Knight's privilege, that. Rozenn offers a smile that is near-smirk to Ffion. "Lady Ffion and I have met, in fact. As for flowers…" She looks to both and seems to find resolve. "You ought to have them. All should. Let us go find you some proper flowers. And drink."

The Laverstock is suddenly torn. Her cousin has not faired well, either, but- Maelgwyn and the personal request from the priestess. Abigail actually squeaks faintly. She does, however, finally opt to remain by the Burcombe's side. Someone, surely, will tend to Lainn. There's enough ladies on the prowl for a man. Right? And even if only one, no need for a family member to ruin things. But then Maelgwyn is laughing at Lainn. It sours all that came before and the Laverstock stands, suddenly. "He made the attempt, even after speaking in uncertainty. Not everyone finds fit to show themselves off." And then the Laverstock storms off. Perhaps to find her sister. Likely to find her sister.

"Oh, for Danu's sake." Morag is en route with well intent toward Erion once more, but there's Lainn, on fire and no one's doing anything about it. "Sir Erion!" she calls out, "Will you assist me?" She walks over to Lain, attempting to give him a push to the ground. Stop, drop, and roll, kids.

A gesture is offered towards Llewellyn "This here is the avatar of the king of light, Beli Lugh himself." Sir Basilisk says in response to Cariste, "And he seems quite ready to impart his blessings on the faithful.. but before you do.. I would ask him my request first…" his attention returning back to the Avatar, a smile and nod given to the elder Burcombe as he does. "Well, Your Highness, I seek three maidens as brave as they are virtuous, who would selflessly offer to become my champions on a quest of, I admit, more then a small amount of personal interest and stake. I would beseech you, call forth three of the fair maidens of your court, who would willingly do this service for me."

Morwenna checked her faerielore of 10, she rolled 8.

And Morwenna has still remained close, holding quiet and vigilant in watching these odd interactions between the impossibly beautiful knight and the disasterously crude 'God'. The whole thing is more than a bit absurd! But when the 'God' is tasked to pick some maidens from the gathering, she stiffens slightly, and glances back over her shoulder to be sure of where her friend is, and then back toward the high table.

Laughter echoes from the barmaid, "We can keep our clothes on." The smile Tria gives him is purely lecherous. In a good way, if that's possible. "You wait here," she finally decides, "I will give it another try. How else am I going to get better at it?" Dancing off towards the fire, she flashes Cole a saucy smile before she makes the next attempt to run and leap.

Tria checked her dex of 15, she rolled 16.

Tria checked her con of 14, she rolled 16.

Seraphina is still where she was before, though she speaks softly to Brae from time to time. Her eyes though are on the high table, and it's clear she has seen all that has happened. Is there a dark flicker of something in those amber eyes? Of course and it flames high to low as she watches Basilisk, his court, and if Morwenna can be seen, her as well.
Erion has disconnected.

After several moments spent breathing and collecting herself, Heulwen lifts her chin and casts a cool glance toward the elder Burcombe. By this point, his attention has turned away to other matters, and she exhales in relief. Her hands reach up to float over her hair, smoothing it down, and with one last glance about herself she sweeps away from the gathering to disappear into the darkness beyond the reach of the fires and - presumably - return to her home.

Cariste did not mean him! she looks to Beli Lugh and then back to Basilisk as she sighs at her change of luck. "You need three champions?" she asks "in what skill?" she asks squirming slightly in her chair now, she was a pious healer of the gods however and she smiles then to Beli Lugh, "I … am no champion." she admits. The handoff of her to the new God less shiny has her grasping at straws and she inches out of the chair looking like she was trying to escape her priestessly duties!=

So, eventually after being tackled by Morag, Lainn is put out, leaving a burn on his leg, arm, and cheek. "Gods…wait, was I on fire. Shit, I was on fire." Then he's looking up at Morag. "Hey, if you wanted to roll around my lady, all you had to do was ask….oh ow, my face." Yeah, let's just laugh through the pain, Lainn, that's the best thing to do at the moment. Sitting up, he looks at his leg. Then his arm, then he touches his face. "Looks like Arian is keeping the king for awhile longer yet." he mutters. Because as soon as she hears about this….he's never going to hear the end of it.

"Oh, pick them? Hmm. Well, I sadly kinna say I know most of 'em to, erm, know their virtuousness, hah! Let alone their bravery," the Sun King murmurs first, casting his glance around the gathering. It's quite a madhouse of pagan women, all gathered about. He glances sidelong at Cariste, who is TOTALLY APPROPRIATELY dissapointed in getting him as a runners-up prize, because really, he looks less the God and more the ale-soaked drunk you might find behind a tavern on a busy evening. "Well then, I say," and here he stands up, of course wavering again as he comes to his full height, "If there are maidens of virtue, hah, among this lot, who would serve as this knight's champions… let them stand forward, and I will… decide some manner in which to judge among them." Wet tunic competition springs to mind, no doubt.

"Alright." Cole nods, though he sounds a little uneasy about it. He's not going to stop her, but he does think doing it once is pushing one's luck enough as it is. "And well…that's a fair point." he conceeds, even though he can't really imagine a role in life where being good at jumping fires would be relevant. "Good luck." he offers, slowly making his way around to the other side of the fire. Y'know, just in case.

Morwenna checked her prudent of 10, she rolled 15.
Morwenna checked her reckless of 10, she rolled 4.

"I'm Sir Roaman's daughter." Morag replies to Lainn cheekily. "I'm worth a little more effort than you setting yourself on fire." She reaches out and if he doesn't stop her, gently pats the okay side of his face. "I can get you something for the burns if you like. They must hurt. And we can manage to spare your otherwise pretty face."

Morwenna seems to weigh the whole thing a moment, as the disturbingly less-than-grand Sun God calls for maidens of virtue. There is hesitance in her, but there is some seed of curiousity as well, not to mention… whatever draw the strange knight holds, though for that alone, she might not go forward. But boldness has her, so she will, at least, step from the place where she has loitered near the group. "I appear before you to serve if you might have me, Sun God and strange knight. I am but a maiden knight, of no great name, but I hold virtue in my heart and flesh, I swear to you, and bravery too."

Llewelyn watches as some woman steps out, and then gives her quite an up and down look, as she is a tall drink to be sure. Then he looks around to see if there are others, and wonders, "If no more volunteer, can I just pick some randomly? Will you spirit them off on your mighty, sparkling steed?"

Cariste checked her Valorous of 10, she rolled 9.
Seraphina checked her reckless of 10, she rolled 16.
Seraphina checked her prudent of 10, she rolled 8.
Cariste checked her Pious of 16, she rolled 2.

Sir Basilisk's dark gaze drifts over towards Morwenna, to the nearby Seraphina, settling on Cariste again and he smiles warmly, "I could not say, My Lady, without endangering my quest. I can only give the task to those who would be my champion… they may share what they are told." he turns his gaze back on the Avatar of Lugh and bows his head, "I shall excuse myself, while these maidens fair convince you, your highness." He bows his head to the man and slips from the table, taking a glass of some alcoholic fair from atop the table as he walks back down towards the fire.

Seraphina leans up on her elbows and arches an eyebrow at Morwenna, she says something to Brae before she calls out to her friend. "Morwenna, are you sure?" She questions, not the Knights virtue but if this is what she wishes to do. She then tugs Braelynn up from the ground as well and then dusts off her own skirts before moving to stand beside the other Knight and simply arching an eyebrow. She doesn't make an offer but she is going to find out what Morwenna is up to.
<Burcombe> Ethereal Eirian says, "Gonna be a bright sunshiney day? :)"

Cariste murmers from her chair, her eyes shift down at her own fingers… she fiddles with them. "Make me strong in spirit

Cariste murmers from her chair, her eyes shift down at her own fingers… she fiddles with them. "Make me strong in spirit, Courageous in action, Gentle of heart. Let me act in wisdom, Conquer my fear and doubt, Discover my own hidden gifts..Meet others with compassion, Be a source of healing energies And face each day with hope and joy." she offers a small prayer, "I am but a virtuous healer, but I would offer myself humbly to your cause."

Braelynn is shaken out of her daze, and blinks a few times as Seraphina tugs her toward the goings on. Braelynn, shy enough as it is, is starting to look a bit like the medieval equivalent of deer in the headlights. Still, she trusts Seraphina, and follows where she's bidden, at least for the time being, though her eyes do quickly sweep the general area for a quick exit if need be.

Morwenna glances back over her shoulder at her friend, and while her expression indeed suggests doubt for a moment, it is quickly wiped away. "I… I saw something that drew me here, instead of letting me pass by on the road. This knight," and she turns back to look upon him, steeling herself against his beauty and trying to … well, to focus on the man behind that sheen, "I cannot say I trust him, but I feel there is some mystery or test in his offering. Something worth doing. I…" And here she look back. "I would feel stronger, surer, in your company, if you might care to take this quest with me." Then she frowns, FROWNS, and looks back at the 'Sun God.' "If this 'deity' allows it."

Just in case.. Good thinking on Cole's part! Tria misses.. and she misses badly. Sliding instead of landing, she actually falls physically into the fire. And she's /on fire/. So far she's saved her hair mostly, lil singed, but the tunic is toast. Getting out, rolling out, she rolls on the ground. Time to go home..

And Cole just…sighs, before rushing over. He's not going to say it. Not going to say 'I told you so'. No, he's too good for that. He's just really going to miss that shirt. It was his /nice/ shirt. He never wore it to work or anything. Patting her down to make sure the fire is out, he just decides to scoop her up, shaking his head. "I think we've had enough mead." he utters to her. "We'll get some salve on those burns, you'll be right as rain."

Friendship and trust means everything to Seraphina and so when Morwenna voices her true feelings on the matter, those amber eyes move to watch the brilliance that is the Knight in White. A long moment passes before she gives a graceful nod to Morwenna and then turns her attention to the "God" in question. He gets the full force of those sparkling eyes and in a voice that holds both pain and beauty she offers her own words. "If this quest be one of true need and the Just of the land's maidens are needed, then I do offer myself to stand shoulder to shoulder with my sister in arms Morwenna.." her voice is deep and husky, something that runs over the skin in a sensual growl, like water over stones. She doesn't ignore Cariste offer and she doesn't force one from Braelynn, but a hand does rest first on Mor's shoulder than on Braelynn's

As much as Llewelyn looked ready to play tyranical Sun King for a while, making all the women perform ridiculous tasks for his amusement… that cold glare he gets from Morwenna actually sort of sobers him a little. "Ah, nae, of course, ye two… yer friendship, that is admirable! The, erm, bonds of sisterhood, aye, they are important and pure and whatnot." Worst. God. Ever. Now turning toward Cariste, he can't help but briefly frown. This is the check that looked rather dissapointed in him as a runner-up prize to Sir Basilisk! The insult may remain, but it may well be understandable. He eyes her a moment, and then looks around, to make sure there are no others offering themselves. If he has to pick three of three, that's an… easy job!

Basilisk remains near the fire, sipping at his cup of wine and watching the flames, that have consumed much clothing, and singed much skin as well, flicker and dance, seemingly unaware, for the moment, of the offers and decisions being made up at the table of honor.

Morag has seen to the injuries, only to find the young man she'd greeted so warmly has left. Her face falls. There were…hopes for this Beltaine, it would seem, and none have been met. The priestess lets out a little sigh, and she goes to stand at the fire as well, offering a nod to Basilisk. "Merry Meet, Sir." she offers, somewhat subdued. "I do not recognize your colors."

Morwenna does look back with a smile as Seraphina decides she will pledge herself to the affair, and, though she does not smile at the drunken god-performer, she does not further glare at him once he acknowledges them as a pair!

Tria voices absolutely no objections. Her skin is as red as her hair and she gives him a wimpy smile because burns hurt! "I'm sorry.." She's immediately contrite. "I will commission my mother to make you another shirt." She had known better, that was worse! Leaning her head on his chest, she allows him to take her back home.

Braelynn straightens her spine and stand a bit taller, still looking woefully smaller and less muscular than the Knights next to her but she speaks up. "I stand with them" Her voice is clear, but her words are simple.

Basilisk glances down at himself a bit as Morag approaches, "Well, that I can answer quite easily, the shirt is white, and the leggings a fine black, don't you think?" he asks, a hand gesturing from waist down. "Your fire has been quite the ferocious beast, hungering for flesh and fabric alike, has it not? You ought to feed it more next time, so it's hunger is sated beforehand."

"So it would seem. Fire is always hungry, though." Morag replies. She seems oddly resigned, but determined to keep her cheer. "I meant it wasn't obvious if you were aligned to a House. But we welcome all who wish to celebrate, so I hope you're enjoying yourself."

Cariste looks at the others that came forward, and she honestly had no real hope to being chosen, not after looking so dejected by the shining knight. All she can do is look at her fingers gently shifting them, the woman folds her fingers round her drink and wobbly moves with a soft and gentle movement.

Well, ok, Llewelyn waits a few more moments, just to be thorough, and the other women around… well, they are up to other things it seems, showing neither the knight nor his quest any interest. He seems about ready to make some pronouncement, when then, at the last moment Braelynn declares herself. "Oho!" Yes, he seems entertained with the fact that he now gets a chance to make some decision, exercising some small solar tyranny after all. "Well, now we have four, aye? When only three were asked. An' these two," he gestures between Seraphina and Morwenna, "I have decided on them already, as they were bold and true. Ye other two, ah, come before me and… present yer greatest virtue, since that is what the good Sir has asked fer." Well, hopefully he doesn't mean that in some more lewd fashion!

And they call Seraphina the Ebony Knight, it seems her amber eyes do not have the depth of steel this evening to compete with the glare that Morwenna offers the poor male turned god for the night. She doesn't smile though, simply watches for now and turns her attention down to Braewynn when she offers herself as well. Seraphina is not stupid enough to frown at her friend, but she does give her a long considering look, before keeping her mouth shut and allowing Brae to do what she wishes.

Braelynn steps forward and takes a deep breath as she considers the question. "I don't possess the strength of body that a knight can possess, but I have devoted my life to a quest for knowledge and understanding, and a burning desire to know all that there is to know about everything. My greatest asset, my lord, is my curiosity. I am just with my words, and actions, and I always speak the truth - even when it's to my detriment. These are my weapons, and they can slice just as surely as a sword." She says this respectfully, stepping back, and away from Sera as she does. She looks at Llewelyn with clear eyes, and gives him a brave smile. She is, after all, known for her honesty, and she isn't going to start making claims she can't follow up now.

Basilisk turns from the fire, to look up at the presentation of lasses up at the Lord's table, "It is, isn't it? And you wouldn't, I wear no heraldry, and serve no lord you would know. I come from far away lands." He further explains to Morag, "Your Beltaine has been an enjoyable one, there has been much merry making so far, and I imagine even more in the wee hours of the night."

"Thank you, sir. I endeavor to make my goddess and my family proud. I hope others are as satisfied tonight." Morag seems to need to replenish herself, and moves to step away from the mysterious knight.

Cariste replies softly as she looks to Llewelyn after a while, she is known to be Pious so she dose not say that, her eyes rest on him a long while "I am a healer of the Gods, and honor them wholely".

Llewelyn rolls 1d2 and gets (2) for a total of: (2)

With all the ladies having spoken, Llewelyn makes some exaggerated show of thoughtfulness. I mean, this is some big honor, right? He ought to look serious about it. "One boasts knowledge and curiousity, the other a healing touch and faith to all the gods. Sounds close enough to make little difference between." He pers down then, at Braelynn, who has joined with the other two have have come from, well, that vague way all in a bunch, and then to the nearer woman. The one who spurned him! "Sisterhood… is pure and good, aye, but the three of you, hmm, we can't have all one lot, there's no fun in that. So, I pick this one here," he's forgotten her name, no doubt, but gestures at the nearer Cariste. "Go join the others, with the brave Sir Basilisk and his amazing horse! When, er, it returns. It is comin' back, aye?" He likes that horse.

Basilisk steps back over towards the the group as the decision has been made, his gaze drifting to the women and he offers a smile, "So, has the decision been made? Have my champions been chosen?" he looks to the group of women, each in turn.

Braelynn nods her head respectfully to Llewelyn, and gives Seraphina's hand a little squeeze before returning to where she was sitting before Seraphina tugged her along. She flops back onto the grass with a little "hmmph" and watches to see what transpires.

Cariste looks from her fingers to Llewelyn it was honor enough to sit at the high table, she smiles a very sincerer smile to Llewelyn. "You have my thanks, M'lord" she stands and she curtsies, the Lady of Durnford shall see her shining knight once more. The Gods were shining on her this evening, but thats not always a good thing. The woman moves from the high table but not without offering Llewelyn a small kiss to his chin.

Cariste checked her chaste of 7, she rolled 10.

As she was seemingly chosen right off the bat, intimidating the 'God' with her icy stare (hah!), Morwenna has less cause for nervous anticipation than the other two called up for judgment. There is a moment when she fears the mad, drunk deity will make some absurd or even lewd request, given his record of crude language so far. She does glance toward Braelynn, and then between her and Seraphina, knowing the two know each other, but not, for all the god's claim of their sisterhood, knowing the other woman herself. But it doesn't seem anything so bad as that in the end, and his decision… at the worst arbitrary, settling on the woman that the mysterious knight had himself previously led about. "I believe we are," she answers Sir Basilisk. "And we shall serve as you need."

Seraphina narrows her eyes at Llew as he goes to ask for the other two woman to do.. something, but she gives a tiny nod as they are asked to speak of their virtues. The Knight listens with a half tilted head and gives Brae a proud smile as she speaks so well of her curiosity. The healer is also given a smile, for the Knight is in ladies clothing this eve and so does not hide behind her hood. For herself, she just looks at the beauty that is Basilisk and dips her chin gracefully. Yay, Morwenna will get to be spokesKnight.

Basilisk brings his fingers to his lips and lets out a whistle, and only a short moment later, the thunder of hooves summons forth the magificent stallion, a hand higher then most chargers, it's black main almost alight with the flickering of the fire, and it's hide vibrant white, like Basilisk's shirt. "I require you to retire with me, to a sacred spot, so I may grant you your mission, and anoint you as my chosen." he says, moving towards his steed to mount up.

Llewelyn is left smiling in a rather silly, less than godlike fashion after Cariste pulls away from that… not quite so quick kiss. So maybe his night of divine revelry hasn't ended completely without female attentions! "Er, yes, so it's all decided," he echoes, quite unecesarily, but making some grand gesture with his raised arms anyway. Depressed as he might have been earlier, it seems easy enough to reconvince him of his own self-importance! Or maybe Sir Basilisk is just that amazing kind of bro. Of course, when the whistle summons the famed horse that first woke him from his stupor and brought his attention to this whole knightly business, the man grins broadly. "Such a fine horse, 'tis! G'luck to you, lasses." So taken with the animal, he doesn't even question the knight running off with all the women for some shady 'annointing' in the forest. Did he get ripped off here? Ah well! The man takes a drink, and looks rather satisfied with himself, all the same!

Braelynn settles in to the seat she had previously occupied, though now alone. Her eyes follow the other women, and the horse as it approaches. She tucks her knees up under her dress and lets her chin drop onto her knees.

The return of the mysterious Sir Basilisk's mount draws the far greater attention from Morwenna, as it was some faint glimpse of the beast, or so she would claim, that drew her here in the first place, and even convinced her to offer herself. And while there is still some air of suspicion about her, she does not challenge the knight's request. "I suspect, grand as it is, we shall not all fit upon your steed," she murmurs, and turns to find her own equally white, but unfortunately not nearly so badass animal, and once mounted and sure the other women are ready, will move to follow where the strange knight may lead!

Selivant has totally been here the whole time. He was at the ritual earlier in the evening and he most certainly didn't get turned aorund and lost on his way to the Burcombe manor. That would be quite embarrassing, the Burcombes being allies and all that. Nope, that is most definitely not the circumstances. Even though he HAS been here the entire time, he looks a bit unsure of what's going on and is doing his best nonchalant yet somewhat sneaky meander towards the crowd in Braelynn's direction, since she is off by herself next to a tree. onc ehe is close enough he clears his throat, "Soooo, enjoying the festivities so far?" Smooooth.

Is there the slightveyebrow arched at Basilisk words? Maybe but then that horse arrives and much like Morwenna, Seraphina's attention turns to the beast and she can't help but to draw closer and look up into the eye of the glorious horse. A hand raises gently cupped, and if attention is given it's returned before she pulls her gaze away and eyes Morwenna and her horse as well. "Can she carry two?" She questions in that husky voice, clearly worn from all the speaking she's had to do this day.

Braelynn glances up as Selivant approaches. She flushes as she sees him and speaks quietly, "I'm sorry for my behavior earlier. That drink… it made me behave in a very inappropriate manner." She moves to stand up, and brush herself off, and nods her head toward the fire. "Beautiful, hmm?" It's unclear what she's referring to, it could be any manner of things. The man, the horse, the women, or the fire.

Cariste looks to the other woman who move to follow the Knight, she smiles slightly to Seraphina and she giggles before her attention moves to the other woman, "May I ride with you if I am to come?" she asks.

"Of course." Sir Basilisk says, offering his hand down to Seraphina to help her up atop the back of his steed, "Come, it is not a long way from here, if we ride swift." he says to Morwenna, taking the reigns and guiding the horse off into the darkness, riding slow enough for Morwenna to keep up!

Selivant smiles at Braelynn's words, "No need for apologies. It was an…interesting ritual this year and it seems emotions were high." He looks to the strange knight and the departing women, noting that family is close by to him. "Hmmmm, I don't recognize the knight. Which manor is he from?" Then they are off.

Pale green eyes look up at Selivant as she stammers, "I - I do not know. I didn't think to ask." Braelynn looks back over at Llewelyn and says thoughtfully, "I suppose he knows I didn't cheer for him tonight. Perhaps that is why I wasn't chosen." She does, after all, still have black ribbons in her hair, and a black ribbon choker around her pale throat.

Selivant blinks a bit at what Braelynn says, "Cheer for him?" He looks to Llewelyn then and to where the knight rode off. It takes a little but he starts to put two and two together. "Ahhhh, I see." He looks back to the lady next to him and eyes the choker with a teasing smile, "I told you that you should have worn gold." He thens whispers something to her, before looking to see who is left of the celebration. "It looks as though things have died down."

Well, now that Sir Basilisk is gone, having stolen the women and likely discharged the cast-off god of his service… it is time for the Sun God to be fully retired, and for Llewelyn to call it a night. Though not in any proper, planned, or ordered way, of course! No, the man merely continues drinking until he finally passes out, although he may wander about and cause some more general shenanigans before that blessed moment finally comes. The Burcombes will find him sprawled in undignified fashion somewhere on their property come morn, severely hung over but well enough to chase off toward wherever he might hail from.

Braelynn gives Selivant a little smile as her cheeks flush at his whisper. She shakes her head slowly and says, "Without the dark the light wouldn't seem nearly so bright, would it? Would you banish all sadness from the world at the cost of happiness? I told you - I had my reasons." She glances around. "I saw everyone I care to see tonight. I'm content with the evening." She gives him a smile that makes it clear that he is one of those people.

Selivant nods at her words, "That is true. It doesn't mean I'm not going to favor the light more." He heads over to one of the nearby tables to snag a fre mug of ale, before walking back to Braelynn and asking, "Is there anything you would like to drink or did you have enough at the ritual?" He takes a sip of his, while smirking at her.

Braelynn laughs and shakes her head. "No more for me, thank you. I prefer a clear head. It keeps me out of trouble more often than not." She grins at that, and adds, "Though I'm sure I'll forget that during the next festival and have to discover it all over again."

"A clear head is good, but it is a festival. You're supposed to relax a bit and be a little reckless." Selivant holds up his fingers keeping them a small distance apart, "Even if it is just a smidge." He takes another sip, before loking to the fire, "So how many braved jumping the fire?"

Braelynn shrugs. "I arrived late. I saw many jumping, and a few injuries." She looks smug as she says, "I did it without difficulty. Did you?" She gives him a challenging glance and grins.

Selivant checked his dex of 14, he rolled 2.

Selivant shakes his head, "Not yet, no." He eyes the fire a bit and takes a swig, before heading in that direction "But I see no reason not to try. As I said, it is a time to be a little reckless." With that, he sets the mug on a table and approaches the fire to jump. After a few seconds, he takes off in a run and makes a leap through the flames. It's not a particularly impressiv eleap, but he isn't singed at least. Coming back to Braelynn, he snags his ale and takes another drink. "Well, at least I can't be shamed for not giving it a go now."

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