(514-05-21) Performance Tourney
Summary: Two men challenge each other for the title of Performance Tourney winner.
Date: 514-04-21
Related: None
amalthea lysanor seth iolo erion nerys aedan arian braelynn seraphina 

The tavern is rather crowded today and seemingly extra full of ladies. The reason for that might be the performance contests that have been happening on and off through the day. Sitting at a table with a harp of carved wood on his lap Erion watches the final performance wrap up. Rising to his feet the man with his golden hair and strikingly handsome features draws more than a bit of attention to himself as he makes his way towards where the performers are challenging each other. Facing the crowd he offers a dazzling smile and a polite bow. The blue tunic he wears brings out his sparkling blue eyes nicely, the rest of his outfit is a matching and flattering pale grey. "Ladies and Gentlemen I, Sir Erion de Woodford would like to issue a challenge of performance for the tourney in honor of our king's wedding. Will anyone meet this challenge?" Those pretty blue eyes scan the crowd curiously as he waits to see if someone will step up.

Nerys's entered the tavern in her usual clothes, sans any armor so it's clear that she has not been out on the field and is not coming directly from there. After taking a good look around at who is present, and how many people are there she scoots herself towards a place to sit.

The quick and sudden walk to the tavern is enough to clear Lysanor's mind somewhat. She doesn't say too much on the trip over, nor does she expect to once they arrive, not wishing for the performers to consider them rude with their chatter. But once inside, the auburn-haired Dinton says with some relief, "It looks as if the competition has yet to begin. Come, cousin, let us find a seat so that we may be entertained by the contestants." Even still, her bright blue eyes scan the area, searching for someone in particular as she moves to take her seat at a table nearby.

Amalthea trails after her more petite, more well-dressed cousin, looking every inch the stablemaster she is, down to the scent of hay and horseflesh that clings to the tall brunette. Her boisterous good cheer is firmly on display as she takes a place next to Lysanor, nudging the pretty Dinton. "I only pray there is at least one /awful/ performer," she jests. "So that we may have a story to tell Heulwen later."

As graceful as a cat draped over a chair, the notorious courtly knight with the flowing long platinum blond hair has been sipping idly away at a goblet of wine, his knee folded over the other as his toe danced in rhythm with the performances of the day. His indifference was palpable to the actual scoring of each performance, as his muse wandered tither and hither, toward the faces of the fair and those not so fair. His wine was never empty as he sat listening, a curious lazy smile some how always on his face, as if the world owed him for gracing it. These subtle motions maintained a rather enchanting charisma around him, as he denied favours or the preen of words. His focus came toward the front at the attention of a dazzling young man, who just couldn't be as beautiful - surely not - as the good Sir Seth was.
There was a slow uncurl from the chair as he rose to the occassion, still needing to compete himself in this grand affair. His white tunic was spotless as he stood, the crimson cloak snapped at the shoulders by a copper broach in stark contrast. His steps were slight but his posture was graceful, as if he had a crown upon his head that he balanced on the way up to the dias. "I, Sir Seth Shrewton, accept your challenge, Sir Woodfard," he flips his cloak to attend the audience with a grin, "What a delight it will be to compete." He does not carry a harp, but he seems not in need of it.

Seth checked his Singing of 10, he rolled 4.

Erion checked his play of 14, he rolled 2.

Also, as it would only be polite, Lysanor orders a hot cup of tea for herself and whatever her cousin wishes for. "That's a terrible thing to say." The fair Dinton maiden says with a hint of laughter in her voice to her cousin. "Hopefully, if someone does do poorly, it is not Sir Seth." Her words are then spoken in quieter tones now, "He would not take such a loss lightly, I do not think." Setting her basket of fruits and sweets upon the table, once their drinks arrive, she indulges in a bit of fruit to go with her tea. Having heard that the other man was a Woodford, she does look very curious indeed, "A Woodford, one that I have yet to meet." The man didn't particularly look like the Woodford she knew, but even still, she goes to intone, "I wonder how he is related to Sir Acwel and Lady Seren."

As Seth uncurls from his spot, Amalthea can't help but watch, her cheeks heating. Fortunately, Lysanor's words offer the stablemaster distraction and she tears her bronzed eyes away from the glorious mane of the man and to her cousin instead. Careful to keep her voice low, she nods. "Although, he took the loss of the horse race well enough. He strikes me as the type of man to not care overmuch about anything, save maybe that beautiful hair." Her gaze drifts to Erion. "But truly, I have not seen him before, either. I feel quite certain I would remember. Truly, I am a duckling amidst swans," she teases Lysanor quietly.

** And Erion Plays His Harp — Insert Pose Here*

Seth gives a slow clap for his competitor, an applause that doesn't have any vigor to it, as Erion settles back from a harp so sweetly plucked. Seth's lips did curl as he heard the tune not quite unfurl in the way that it was meant to do. Still, the harp playing does find some compliment in the Shrewton, his voice divine as he purrs a congratulatory note to Erion, "How sweetly played and certainly this day, you would have won, if not for my song yet to be sung-" he gestures for Erion to take a stand back as he approaches the edge of the dais, "My fair ladies and gentlemen, I should sing for you now, a song that will weaken your knees and make your breath catch." He looks over the crowd to see if he can spot the Dintons, when he does, his lips curl wider, "This song should remind you of the ache you feel when your eyes meet the one you long for-" his eyes snap to Amalthea, pointedly ice blues holding to her as his hands make such gestures as his voice is passionately embracing an octave that holds the attention of his audience, "-and forever capture the essence of it upon your lips. You may know of it."
He makes a little clearing of his throat and begins to sing.
There is no back up play to the song. The man's vocals carry a melody all on their own.

"Sweet, can I sing you the song of your kisses?
How soft is this one, how subtle this is,
How fluttering swift as a bird's kiss that is,
As a bird that taps at a leafy lattice;
How this one clings and how that uncloses
From bud to flower in the way of roses;
And this through laughter and that through weeping
Swims to the brim where Love lies sleeping;
And this in a pout I snatch, and capture
That in the ecstasy of rapture,
When the odorous red-rose petals part
That my lips may find their way to the heart
Of the rose of the world, your lips, my rose.
But no song knows
The way of my heart to the heart of my rose."

Aedan trods his way into the Tavern, just in time to hear the ballad extolling the virtues of a lady's embrace. It is a song that truly must move men to dramatic acts of passion and women's hearts to skip. But, for the rural knight, it is simply a pleasing tune and another cause for celebration. Taking up a tankard of whatever intoxicant is handy, he hoists his beverage in the air and screams out a mighty and merry, "Huzzah!" That this might be a response more fitting the tournament than such a distinguished performance seems lost on the poor fellow.

Nerys watches the pair that are battling it out, a little flicker of amusement tugging at one corner of her mouth as she listens to the performances. When Seth addresses the two ladies together she glances in their direction for a moment before her focus returns to the performances.

"Now that pleases me to hear." Lysanor says quickly on hearing of Seth's good sportsmanship despite his loss at the horse race. "I only jest, but I do know that he has some sense of pride. Whyfor would he allow his hair to grow so luxuriously as it does. It is the beauty of it all, that I'm sure, many a knight, the men, perhaps, may not understand." That said, she hushes down to listen to the performance, watching attentively when her uncle's former-squire begins to sing, his voice a soothing sound, while the man's visage makes his lyrics seem far more intense. Seated so closely to her cousin, Lysanor cannot help but notice how her cousin flushes with color to the man's crooning, even if she may not have noticed the intensity of the man's gaze when looking upon Amalthea. Only once the song is done, doe she gently applaud both competitors, before stating all without looking at her cousin "You are just being silly. We are all lovely in our own ways, yours shines brighter than most because you have a good heart."

Amalthea checks her chaste at 13, she rolled 18.
Critical Success!
Amalthea checks her lustful at 7, she rolled 7.

It's actually possible to see the exact moment when Amalthea loses all her good sense. It's the exact moment that Seth's eyes destroy her brain by simply virtue of being so damn attractive. It just gets worse when he starts to sing. It's a song designed to inspire the very thing Thea seems to desire with all her… ahem… heart. When Lysanor murmurs at the stablemaster's side? It barely registers. It's like an accompanying hum to the blood rushing through her veins to flood her face. "… I'm sorry. What? Did you say something, cousin?" She can't even tear her tarnished gold eyes away. It's impossible. Seth's hair is basically a Siren, tormenting the Dinton. It's. Just. So. Glorious. "Ah, was that not just… perfection?" she sighs moonily.

Seth's eyes flicker across most of the female faces set before him, including Nerys', at some point in the performance. As his song comes to a whimsical end, it may not be so clear who won the competition, but by the applause, some are clearly in favour of the Shrewton's song. He bows to his audience, then looks to Erion, nodding to the man, as he sweeps from the stage. The decision might be made later on by those who are judging, or in that very moment - regardless, it seems that Seth moves like he knows he won. He steps down from the dais, flicks a curious glance at Nerys, before retreating back toward his chair, earning a few pats on the back and that a few more huzzah's that followed in along behind Aedan's own.

Iolo comes on into the Tavern, carrying his Lute and stuff along as he looks around the interior a bit, hmmning softly to himself as he heads to fetch himself a drink.

Amalthea sits with her cousin Lysanor, at a table near the stage. The two women were idly chatting whilst the performers performed but now there is a lull wherein Amalthea can only stare lustfully at the back of one Sir Seth's head. It's really quite sad. She has a glass of wine, but it sits untouched.

When things seem to have calmed down, Nerys gets to her feet starting to head towards the door on the heels of others that are coming and going.

Iolo spots the dreamy eyed Amalthea, and after having fetched his mug of ale makes his way over towards her, inclining his head to the two, "Ladies." He says, "You look like you've the heavens in your eyes, Lady Amalthea." He says, "Perhaps a song is in order?"

While Lysanor, herself, did not swoon for the chivalrous singer the way many of the other ladies in the tavern had done, her pale cheeks do flush with a hint of color. The man's lyrics and his very voice brings out the romantic in her, but alas, it is not he whom she blushes for; her own gaze looking distractedly at the cup of warm tea before her. But she seems to come to before even her cousin does, her own smile brightening somewhat at the way Amalthea moons after Seth when he makes his departure. "I'm sure that Sir Seth would be pleased to know just how much you appreciated his peformance." Though now as her eyes scan the room, she can see quite a few moon-eyed maidens looking just the way her cousin does. With Seth's departure, she catches sight of an almost familiar face and thus she smiles to the bard when he approaches, "Iolo, the minstrel. I remember you from of Sir Idris de Bodenham's duels."

Amalthea manages to prize her eyes away from Seth when Iolo interrupts her doe-eyed musings. Blink blink blink. "I beg pardon, what? I… I had no such thing. I was simply admiring of the song. The song, and perhaps the hair," she admits, her cheeks coloring brightly as the truth slips out unbidden. "But I could certainly use a song to get that one out of my head. How do you fare, Iolo?"

"I wonder how he manages with all that hair under his helmet, and with his chain." Iolo says with a slight hmmn, inclining his head once more to Lysanor, "Ahh, the street fight in Sarum yes?" he asks, "That was quite the spectacle, wasn't it." He says, moving to fetch a stool to sit down near the two women, "Perhaps something about a brave knight's charge, Amalthea, since Sir Seth is here I think I can sing you that tale of valorous combat I suggested the previous eve!"

"The song was beautiful and I will surely let Sir Seth know of it. Though, I do think that there aren't many others who could do that song justice. Or not the way he has done." Lysanor doesn't even bring up Seth's swooning fans, some of which even follow him to the door. To the bard now, she quirks a brow and inquires, "A tale of valorous combat? That would be wonderful, I think. And in the spirit of these competitions where our knights are training for a taste of just that."

Amalthea, now that Seth has left the building, clings eagerly to the distraction of valor and war. "That would be most appreciated, Iolo. Especially since I know that your voice is easily as beautiful. It is unfortunate you were not here earlier to compete."

"Well, I do not think there is any need to compete with Sir Seth, m'lady." Iolo says with a wry grin at the woman, "And the fact you appreciate my voice brings me such joy, as well." He adds, bowing his head, "Now.. why don't I sing of the battle of Hertford, where King Aethelswith was slain by the army of Logres, led by King Nateleod?"

"It is unfortunate that I never had the chance to hear you sing back in Sarum." Lysanor states as she quietly sips at her tea. "But please go ahead and sing. This sounds like such a marvelous tale." And yet, even when she says this, there is that hint of distractedness in her eyes and though she has asked for the man to sing, she cannot help but be a little restless still.

Amalthea, by turns, is waiting with baited breath. "That sounds like a perfect song for this evening," the lady declares, finally taking up her untouched glass of wine. "Will you tell us, after, where you learned it from? I confess, how you learn and memorize so many epics is beyond what my mind can comprehend."

Critical Success!
Iolo checked his singing of 10, he rolled 10.

The song is a wonderful tale, about hope returning to Logres, the kingdom finally starting to unit after the time of troubles, and brave knights on campaign against the Saxon pillagers.. there's a lot of valiant charges atop noble steeds, and culminating in the decisive victory over the Saxon king that left the barbarian from across the channel dead! Once finished, Iolo bows his head to the two, before taking a sip from his ale!

Perhaps not a romantic love ballad, Iolo's voice is beautiful all the same and the tale which he tells is so inspiring that her heart is filled with pride for those who fought these pillagers off and also for their own friends and family, who, also, fights to protect them against the Saxons. At the very end, Lysanor claps her hands in enthusiastic applause. "Very well said. It was as if I were there with them as they made their journey." If not slew their enemies!

Amalthea is becoming used to the power of Iolo's voice by now, but it still takes her back this time. Almost, there are tears that shine in her eyes as his epic ballad comes to a close full of glory. Her hands press together, echoing the applause of Lysanor, and all of the other patrons in the tavern. "Oh, Iolo, that was incredible. Allow me to buy your next drink in repayment? A poor repayment to be sure, but I have no idea what else I might offer!"

"I cannot fathom why Sir Seth would ever not want to hear a tale of Valor and Battle, are not glories won on the field of war?" Iolo asks, "And, Amalthea, I practice quite often, and do this frequently." He gestures, "And I could not allow you to buy me a drink, I know that you have your heart set on a new saddle, I believe it was, I would not use my voice to take coin from that cause. You can consider it a gift given freely, though if your honor demands you offer repayment, we can discuss something agreeable to us both."

Arian de Laverstock has taken a break from personal challenges, jousting embarrassments, and other such tourney events to just… be. She steps into the tavern, dressed in her simple goldenrod and turquoise gown. Her hair has been gathered up and woven back with a ribbon — a practical style for the short-haired knight. She glances around the tavern upon entry, seaarching for familiar company. When she spots Lysanor and her company, she hones in. Passing by a pair of rather drunk knights, she ducks what could have been an unfortunate groping to close the distance between her and the Dinton.

"What my cousin has stated is intrigues me as well." Lysanor starts, her eyes on Iolo now, "How ever do you memorize such long ballads and not only that, so many of them? Have you practiced them all so often that every lyric is something you hold so deeply within your heart?" To the little discussion going on between Amalthea and Iolo, she has to arch a brow at her cousin, "Are you really in need of a saddle? You could simply ask us and we will try to see what can be done about it." At Arian's approach, however, the red-haired looks beyond the Laverstock as if to see whether Kamron was around as well. Not seeing him, she then rises, offering a polite enough curtsy to the woman, before inquiring, "Lady Arian," She is not wearing her armor after all, "Is my dear cousin in your company today?" Then with a gesture, she motions to a seat at their table, "Please do join us, Iolo just finished singing a wonderful tale of courage shown against our Saxon enemy."

"It was beautiful," Amalthea echoes Lysanor with an earnest smile. "Lady," she offers Arian a proper greeting before turning back to the minstrel. "Oh, Iolo, it is very kind of you to remember such a small detail. Clearly your memory is not restricted to recitation." There's a quick glance back to Lysanor. "It is not the need of a new saddle, but the want of a special kind, a bit of a frippery, really. I would never ask the family to fund such a thing."

"It's important to remember the details, My Ladies, the rest will come to you in short order if you do that." Iolo says with a smile, "The trick is remembering which details go together, and that, I'm afraid is a trade secret." He says with a little wink. He turns to the approaching Arian and bows his head, "Good eve, M'lady." He says, greeting the woman before lifting his mug up once more and taking a drink from it.

Arian pinks at Lysanor's question after Kamron, and tries her best to look quite surprised by the words. "Oh, Sir Kamron? No…" She glances behind her as if to see if he has followed her, but alas, no. "He must be at the tournament grounds." Her pink cheeks deepen. "We are not always in one another's company… I'm certain that would be terrible for his reputation." She takes a seat when invited, sweeping her skirts in to sit in her best ladylike poise. She bobs her head in greeting to those she has not yet met, or do not truly recall. "I'm sorry that I missed it… I do enjoy a good tale of courage."

"This is Lady Arian de Laverstock," Lysanor introduces the woman to the rest of those already seated. Gesturing to Amalthea, she notes, "This is my cousin, Lady Amalthea de Dinton and this is the minstrel, Iolo." Once that is out of the way, she sighs gently, "Perhaps Iolo will have another song on his lips for us." Though when Arian mentions not always being with her other cousin, the Dinton red-head blinks before nodding slowly. "Of course. He, like many of the others, are probably off performig personal challenges or other. If not preparing for the grand melee."

At the mention of always being in Kamron's company, Amalthea squints at Arian briefly. If she has put two and two together, the lady doesn't say anything save, "Good evening, Lady Arian. Welcome. Yes, Iolo, might we beg of you another song, perhaps after you have had a drink? Or, you could tell us your favourite tale," the stablemaster invites, well at ease with chatting to the minstrel, beaming him a warm smile.

"I hear he was out with one of the Trintons—" Another family not directly associate with Salisbury, but has lots of lovely women in the bloodline. Then Arian smiles to Amalthea and Iolo. "Merry met to you both," she says softly. She brushes her hands down her skirts and then folds her fingers together. "Though yes, with the melee coming, I'm sure he is preparing for such." She then turns her gaze back to Iolo, brows arched curiously to see what his favorite tale might be.

Where had Sir Seth gone?! Oh he had slipped outside after his performance speaking gently with one of the fellow performers who was quite upset at their own abilities lacking. Thus, he missed the epic show of the minstrel Iolo - how unfortunate. Perhaps he could make it for the encore! In fact, Sir Seth approaches the Dinton table with a faint smile upon his lips, looking between them, then toward Lysanor, "Ahh, while the introduction are being made, I do hope you have room for one more." He inclines his head toward the occupants at the table, "I'm Sir Seth Shrewton." There is /always/ a seat available for Seth and it just so happens that he'll find the closest one to Amalthea, as he invites himself to sit, a hand running through his bright hair, for a look spared to Minstrel Iolo, "Greetings again Minstrel. I am remiss that I have missed your song. Do forgive me."

"Ah, it would not have been to your tastes, Sir Seth, it was of war and killing and such things." Iolo explains, gesturing a hand to dismiss the apology, "There is nothing to forgive anyway. Is there something you would like me to sing about specifically?" he asks, looking over at the trio of women, "I am certain I can find something pleasing to all of you."

All that Lysanor can do now is look between the two singers as exchange rather dismissive words. "I do not have a preference, but something uplifting is always appreciated. Not that your previous song hadn't been." Now that Seth has joined their table, the young Dinton maiden muses, "I wanted to congratulate you on a wonderful performance today, though I must say that the competition was fierce. But it would seem that your song captured the hearts of many within the room." And here, she smiles brightly at Amalthea!

Amalthea might just be stabbing Lysanor with her eyes metaphorically for the lack of sharp objects handy near by. Her cheeks heat and she coughs on words she might have tried to speak. Don't look at the hair! This seems to be her motto and she studiously avoids glancing Seth's way, all the while offering, "Yes, it was exceptional. Your voice… lovely." Cough, cough. Her eyes fall on Iolo, the lifeline in her midst. "What do you have planned for us, Iolo? Something particularly uplifting? Maybe something about horses?" It's a hopeful glimmer in her eyes.

When Sir Seth pops back in, Arian's brows arch and her dimples emerge with a broad little smile. "Sir Seth," she says, bobbing her head to him, though they have not met. She just has good ears. Then she glances over to Lysanor at the mention of the song battle that she might have missed. She pauses as a barmaid flitters past, taking the opportunity to order a cup of wine, and then she returns her attention to the others. "Or perhaps something about the fair folk, if you don't mind invoking their name."

Seth purses his lips at the minstrel's explanation, smiling quietly as he adds, "How wonderfully thoughtful of you to remember my tastes." He looks over toward the women with an impressed approval on his face, "Quite extraordinary isn't it, that he remembers such tastes." He's settling his knee up on the other as he puts his back straight against his seat, nodding the approval to a serving lad that comes around to refill goblets and see that the nobles are well into their cups to keep the coins flowing out of their pockets and into the revenue of the tavern. He accepts a goblet, as if it appeared out of thin air, from the lad, and turns his attention back proper toward the rest of the table. His eyes flick toward Lysanor at the compliment, "Thank you my dear. That harp player, was quite brilliant. It's unfortunate only one can press on." He compliments his rival, while his fingers tap against the stem of the goblet, following Lysanor's eyes to Amalthea. "Thank you, Lady Amalthea…" he lingers his attentions upon her for just long enough that it incites a pointed mark of interest, prior to letting his gaze sweep over toward one he doesn't know half as well as he should, inclining his chin, and offering a soft, "My Lady." Rounding out the attention, Iolo is regarded as the minstrel must now pick a muse to suit the three ladies requests.

"Why don't I tell you then, about Brynwyllyn, the mightiest of the Faerie Stallions, to tickle both of your fancies?" Iolo suggests, "Or sing you the tale of his adventures, at the very least!" he flashes a little grin and strums a couple notes on his lute before he procedes to sing the song of Brynwyllyn, mightest of the horses!

Critical Fail!
Iolo checked his singing of 10, he rolled 20.

While Lysanor thinks a song about horses would be amusing, she does look curiously at Arian when she mentions the fair folk and to this she turns her gaze on Iolo. "The last that I had heard such songs was so long ago from my childhood." This is said of the fae, but she does watch the minstrel with some amusement as he begins his tale of Brynwyllyn. Though she may not have hard this particular song before, it does remind her of the songs which they had sung as innocent children. It is a song of a /faerie stallion/ after all!

Amalthea settles in to listen to the song, idly playing with her glass of wine as she listens. A slightly ethereal shade colors her smile, the subject matter being near and dear to her heart. When it's over, the stablemaster sighs. "Oh, would that such creatures truly existed," she mourns, all the while applauding Iolo's efforts.

Seth is glad for the wine glass to hide behind, as he keeps it hovered there in front of his lips - it hides a grimace at the song sung - not for the content but for the reason is goes awry.

Iolo clears his throat a bit, stopping the song partway through, "My apologies." he says, "It seems my singing is done for the evening." He moves to rise, "Too much celebrating.. I suspect, if you will all excuse me, perhaps I will try again another day."

"Well, that was quite the interesting song." Lysanor says as she applauds the man still, despite the dryness which definitely could be heard within his throat. She then suddenly rises as if remembering something, "I have something which I need to give to Cyndeyrn before his next challenge." And she knows how often those can erupt!" Gracing the table as a whole with a curtsey, "It was a pleasure to see all of you again and I do wish they would put on more musical performance competitions. Or at least host them more often." To Amalthea, however, she does say, "Thea, I will see you later for supper." And with that she hurries out.

"Thus, I am commanded," Amalthea replies with a rueful chuckle, lifting a hand to her cousin, and then to Iolo, "I will hound you to hear the end of that one, Iolo," she teases lightly, lifting her wine glass to him. "The next drink is on me, despite your protests. Be well!" The Dinton settles her long frame back into the chair, glancing quickly aside to Seth. "Ahem. You left so quickly after your win, Sir Seth. Was something amiss?"

Arian bites hard at her lower lip while listening to the beginning of Iolo's song, but then she offers a sympathetic smile as he stops. She shakes her head slightly. "It is alright… it sounds like a lovely song, perhaps again later." She is delivered her cup of wine, and takes it fondly. She offers the 'maid a smile, and then starts to sip at the rich red liquid. She looks up at Lysanor as she departs, and bobs her head. "See you again soon, Lady Lysanor." Then she is left alone with new acquaintances.

Seth's blue eyes observe silently as the minstrel flees, easing out a breath that he realized he held over clenched teeth, "Not the best I've heard." He sets the goblet on the top of his raised knee, as his free arm drapes over the chair's arm. Lysanor's departure has him cant his head toward her, realizing then that he was in the company of two, one he particularly didn't know well and the other not well enough. Amalthea saves the conversation with her question, his face turning toward her, "Why yes. There was something amiss. Tragic tears of failure my dear. It seems one of the performers was grieving over her loss. I couldn't see the misfortune of such a watered eye go without comfort. It's a shame not all can carry on to the next round. Some surely deserve a second try." He looks between the two, "Have either of you competed in any of the illustrious events?"

"That's very kind of you, Sir Seth, to so console the other performers after your win," Amalthea replies to the beautiful man sitting at the table with her and Arian. They are drinking and chatting amiably. "You were in the only event I competed in," she offers next, blushing only slightly. "And unless there is another horse race, I doubt I shall enter anything else. And you, Lady Arian? Will you enter anything? I meant to ask, too, how is it you know my cousin Kamron?"

As the festival goes on the crowds coming and going into the tavern ebb and flow and into this last opening steps the form of a Knight in Black, or atleast a Knight by the flicker of chain and the long cloak that holds a hood covering the face..

Braelynn, upon entering, seems to be deeply engrossed in the study of a flower she is carrying. She blinks a few times, and lifts green eyes to survey the interior before she begins to make her way inside. She sits at a nearby table, and carefully places the flower, roots and all, on the table next to her before she begins to survey the tavern for someone she might know.

Arian takes another swallow of wine, though she is caught off guard by the question about Kamron. She manages to swallow the wine down before she speaks, though her words are a bit too casual. Perhaps. Or she is just a bit awkward in general. "Yes… I do. Sir Kamron and I met over the Winter. He was being a terrible example and engaged in a snowball fight with some squires, and ended up pegging me with one on accident. I suppose it was an awkward start of a good friendship. He is a good man, and a good friend." She takes another drink of wine, this time more of a sip than a full out swallow.

Amalthea checks her awareness at 10, she rolled 7.

It would seem that sparkle of metal within the cloak is not chain but leather covering a tunic-ed form.

Seth is currently sitting table side with Arian and Amalthea, one knee propped up on the other, looking regal in poise and posture as he converses with the two - chairs around them recently emptied and probably still warm to the touch. A finger absently traces over the flowing platinum blond hair that gets put aside behind his shoulder, while a gentle curve of feigned interest remains on his lips for the subjects that run through their conversations. "Pity that, Lady Amalthea. I could have liked to see what performance you are capable of, surely, there has to be some recognition for how lithe you are in the saddle that could transition to… the dance perhaps?" He was prodding, lightly, as he took a sip of wine behind a mirthful grin. The talk of this 'Sir Kamron' fellow draws clear disinterest in Sir Seth, his eyes wander, but away from the door - nope, he doesn't see nothing that way.

Seraphina checked her awareness of 11, she rolled 16.

Braelynn checked her awareness of 5, she rolled 19.

"Aaah," Amalthea muses slowly, suspiciously, to Arian. It's clear that she's judging just a little, though trying hard not to show it. "Well. He is a good man, yes. Hrm." She reconciles herself to this thought, forcing her attention back to Seth, a slow smile tugging over her lips. "Oh, yes, I can dance well enough, though most often by myself and in the orchards with none to see it. Do you dance, Sir Seth?" A slight glimmer catches Thea's bronze hued eyes next and her gaze swings towards the door, curious. Leather always draws the eye.

It would seem that even Seraphina took time to change before coming to the Tavern, the black cloak still surrounds her traveling leathers as she pauses to see if there are any faces that she might know. The table with the stunning male Knight gets a curious glance but it seems it's the flower on that single table that pulls those amber eyes and footsteps make there way towards Braelynn, but it's hard to tell if she sees Braelynn at all.

Braelynn reaches up to deftly push an errant curl behind her ear as she settles in comfortably. She leans forward as she begins to survey the individuals seated at tables inside the tavern. There is nothing to draw her attention in particular, but perhaps she will be able to practice her favorite hobby. Watching. For that, of course, she'll need to settle on someone interesting enough to keep her attention for a period of time.

A shadow crosses Brae's table, the length of a cloaked form, but the hand that slips around the young lady moves to run a gloved finger only the roots of the flower centered on said table. There is even in this crowd the sent of honeysuckle that might flicker a memory in the people watching lady.

Arian tries to hold steady before the gaze of Kamron's cousin. She has done quite well before the gaze of cousins and his sister so far, attempting owlish innocence. It isn't as though Kamron hasn't been attentive to women all around Carlion and Salisbury! Certainly this pagan knight is just another interested lady in Kamron's field of vision. Certainly… Then she regards Seth as he prods for a dance, and she offers a smile. "I assume you are asking after a tavern room dance and not a courtly one, Sir Seth?"

The languid turn of his head was slow enough to announce that he had /nearly/ lost complete interest in the table mates he sat with, though Seth's eyes do return to Amalthea all the same, when she reverts her own interest toward him. "How awful that none should see it, for I'm sure the long hours in which you prance in the orchards have given your legs the skills you think they lack," he fans a hand across his face to brush an errant strand clear of it, then delights in confirming her suspicions, "I would take that as an invitation if we had proper music to put our steps to. I'm afraid the competition has done away with timely refrains to see to such activities." He aligns a promise of the future with, "Though should there be a proper time and place, I would be of mind to consider a dance with you, of course." Seth waves off Arian's assumption, "Not at all. A dance of proper form is as graceful as a swam over water. I tend to merely watch the other sort, it is not my preference you see." He's still quite oblivious to what else is going on around them.

Braelynn's brow furrow slightly and she inhales sharply. As she turns her head she reaches up yet again absentmindedly, to brush one unruly red curl from her eyes. Her left brow arches sharply and she looks up at the stranger that reaches around her. The dark leather elicits a small shiver at first glance, but she seems to almost visibly shake it off and look at the figure with a perplexed gaze.

The free hand reaches up and pushes the hood from Seraphina's features, a tiny smile playing on her lips, of course it has probably been a good five years or more since they had seen each other, but the girl is there within the woman. The flower is then picked up and swirled between gloved fingers before it is offered back to Brae with an impish smile in otherwise lovely but serious features.

Amalthea might be one to swoon over Seth's looks but his words have the lady looking more than a little crestfallen, her ugly-duckling status amongst her cousins so summarily confirmed. "You would 'consider' it… ah. Please, do not put yourself out on my account, Sir." Thea unfolds, not gracefully at all, though her long frame might give the impression of it were it not for how her hip jostles the table at the quick rise. "I am hardly ever in attendance at such events, any road. Lady Arian," there's a dip of her chestnut head. "I shall see you around? Good evening to you both."

Braelynn lets a slow smile spread across her lips. She seems speechless for a moment and unsure of what to say, so she reverts, as usual, to cold hard logic. "Those flowers are supposed to have 5 petals. This one has 6." She takes the flower and her smile widens as she sees her old friend. "It seems tonight must be the night for seeing things out of the ordinary."

Arian abruptly feels like the third wheel — not that she entirely minds it. She does offer Amalthea a small smile, and then a nod to Sir Seth. "Well, I'm certain that once the tournament is over, a celebration will be held as it often is. I do enjoy watching the dances of those types of celebrations." Note, watching not participating. "There is a sense of grace and glory about a good courtly dance." She finally downs her wine and starts to stand. "But, I should go see to my own preparations for the grand melee. My cousin is my squir eand he's a rather funny fellow when it comes to these things. He's probably been shining my armor for the better part of the afternoon despite it all." Then she stands, nodding to Amalthea who is also making her departure. She does look a bit sympathetic for the Dinton, but does try to make it look as though her own departure is not in some fierce solidarity. She just has to go!

A almost silent chuckle comes from Seraphina as she looks over Braelynn and simply shakes her head. Her eyes sparkle and its clear she is amused as she leans over and kisses the woman's cheek in greeting. Then without a word, she nods towards the seat next to her and if granted gracefully folds herself into a chair. Those amber eyes slowly take in her old friend, slowly flickering up and down and then that smile grows brighter.

"I would hardly be put 'out' as you say, Lady Amalthea," Seth retorts to the measure of his words that has sent her into a spiral and need for departure, "I merely suggest that if our roads were to meet upon the occassion to dance, I would ask you to save me one." Yet he doesn't move to stall her. Did /he/ look like the kind go to chasing down ugly-ducklings? Clearly not. His smile is given to her however, "Good evening my Lady Amalthea. It was as always, a pleasure. My invitation is still, open." The dinner. As for Arian's notes of departure, he offers, "Try not to get trampled Sir Arian. I hear those grand melee's have considerable masses involved for such a small area." Like the real thing, a battle for show. "Good evening," a hand lifted to gesture toward their departure as he reclines back, table suddenly empty of companions.

Braelynn's smile widens as Seraphina kisses her cheek and she nods for the woman to sit. "It's been far too long. I didn't notice you at first. Then again, shadows aren't really meant to be noticed, are they?" She carefully places the flower back on the table and pats it protectively. It is obvious that she is not quite finished inspecting it yet.

Amalthea levels her tarnished-gold gaze upon Seth and nods. "I still consider it, though if you meant it in earnest the person to bring it up with would be my cousin, Sir Cyndeyrn. I wish you a pleasant evening." Clutching her wounded pride, off Thea goes, back to the stables, leaving the scent of them with Seth.

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