Grand Amphitheatre

The first thing one will notice upon visiting the massive amphitheatre is the amount of detail carved into the stone used to construct it, down to the pillars that hold up the highest seats. The images show various plays that have been performed or may be performed here in the future, along with various musicians and poets, even decorated warriors and elected officials that have come and gone. Stair rails leading to the rows and rows of seats are gilded in gold and the circular stage below is illuminated by a series of small gold lanterns floating overhead and a few more fastened into the stone floor. The stage appears to be set, and elaborately costumed men and women begin moving toward it from behind the painted backdrop made specifically for the play. The audience gathered goes quiet. It looks like the show is about to start.

Brennia sits in one of the chairs on the stage with a number of students and bard’s guild members awaiting for citizens from all over Lithrydel to get situated within the theater seats. She’s dressed a little conservatively than usual; black pencil skirt, black high heels, tights, black blazer over a high collared sapphire blouse. Her hair pulled up into a french twist and out of the way while her reading glasses sit low on the bridge of her nose while she is focused on the pages before her upon her lap. A large black marble jar that looks to have been fastened back together with some type of adhesive sits on a pedestal next to a podium at the front of the stage. The seats around Brennia are left empty, aside from the one directly next to her for her bodyguard, and the signs on them stating: Reserved - Queen of Frostmaw, Reserved - Candidate Fitz, Reserved - Alithrya Leader, Reserved - King & Queen of Larket, Reserved - Candidate Draft. She’s nervous, but it doesn’t show as liberty blues scan the many different faces of citizens filing in and in a way it makes her smile very subtly… Until she remembers the task at hand and the seriousness of it.

Reginae turns out to be the first one of the dignitaries to arrive. She’d been able to intercept the invitation that had been sent to Alithrya directly. It wouldn’t do for her rotten sister to attend. She’d heard rumors of the city lockdown for fear of some imagined threat to come from elsewhere in the ocean. The naga couldn’t help but think these two events are related, based on the correspondence. She doesn’t appear in her usual garb, because she’s still in hiding. Instead, she presents as a rogue human male who's bothered to wear a black button down shirt to this swanky event. His usual black slacks and boots make a decent amount of noise as he approaches the stage that holds the avian woman and the odd looking jar. Brennia. His pupils adjust within his hazel irises to the shift in light. He runs a hand through his hair jet black hair and gives her a smile before plopping down in the seat reserved for the Alithryian leader, his long legs propped over the arm that faces the aisle. Before Brennia starts asking questions, he calls up to her - “My mistress sent me as an envoy, you know what with the hydrophobic situation and all.” He waves his lax wrist in the air, whoop de do. He’s clearly thrilled to be here. It’s all part of the persona. His head spins around as he remains otherwise silent, pretending to pick dirt out from under his fingernails until the rest of the crowd arrives.

Daermon was not as comfortable as he would have been with his armored duster and leathers, bedecked with his weapons, but then, that was more visually threatening and never really encompassed what he could really do. Brennia and her campaign manager had insisted, so he’d dressed in a sharp, well made black suit that fit his form well. Brennia had also insisted on him sitting beside her rather than standing behind. She’d said he would be looming if he did that, and she wanted this to be more at ease with everyone. He’d agreed to that as well. He sat beside her, looking calm and collected, but curious to see how things would play out. As Reginae entered, looking like a rogue human male, he watched closely and carefully. When the man made no move to approach, merely taking the seat of the Alithryian leader, he relaxed a hair. That one didn’t smell quite right. The naga bit did, but there wasn’t as much human as there should be for one spending time around nagas. Curious. He studied the man with his cool glacial hues as he waited for the rest to show. He cast a look at Brennia, checking to see how her nerves were faring. She looked good. For now, it was a waiting game.

Hildegarde entered the theatre with Lisbeth in tow. Two other giants bedecked in the armour of the Queensguard would wait outside the theatre, knowing full well that their imposing height might be a little too much for the theatre and those within to handle! Hildegarde was bedecked in her mithril armour, frost worm silk cloak swishing slightly with each step and halberd tapping the floor as she approached her seat. The Queen eyed the environment, looking for any familiar faces: there were a few so far. That rogue, she knew, but she didn’t acknowledge them just yet. No need to out their identity until they had selected to do so. She might need more seats on the side of Frostmaw, given that she was anticipating the arrival of her Steward – Lionel O’Connor – and her High Priestess. The Silver would not take her seat right away, instead merely standing behind her labelled seat and waiting. If someone – perhaps an organiser or helping hand – were to pass by, Hildegarde would politely enquire about arranging for two more seats for her diplomats. A summit was an official thing, after all, her advisors and hands must sit by her.

Hudson accompanies Fitz Johnson, leading candidate for Cenril mayor. It's not just that Hudson and Fitz go way back, are bros, etc., but also that Hudson's funded basically the entirety of Fitz's campaign and owns him. Hudson and Fitz have both worn navy suits that are nearly identical, the major difference being choice of tie. For those who care: Fitz's is a "reptie" that has silver/royal blue diagonal stripes, Hudson's is pastel pink with a repeating tiny pattern of a bird perched on a giraffe. Fitz's tie also has a red sauce stain on it, which neither he nor Hudson have noticed. (OK, tie fanfiction over.) They spent their commute here in heated conversation about beloved baseball team the Cenril Cubbies, who are on the verge of elimination in the postseason. It's true that 80% of their minds is currently occupied with this issue, but also the agenda for this meeting - a discussion of the Vanishing in Cenril - presses on an emotional bruise in Hudson that neither man wants to address. Easier to work through their Extreme Sports Angst together. They file into the amphitheater, and Fitz takes his seat as indicated. Hudson pulls up a spare chair and crowds in beside him, purposefully needling his friend by invading his space. "Think you're close enough?" complains Fitz. "I just wanna be close to you, babe," says Hudson, not above heckling his friend until this meeting gets started. "Ugh. Please no," says Fitz, peering at a paper agenda that he'd brought.

Daermon | Corvo Altier, campaign manager to senatorial prospect of Schezerade, Brennia Smyth, entered next, looking to see who had made it in and who hadn’t yet. He was a tall avian gentleman with black feathered wings, wearing a suit that was similar to the vampire’s, obviously the same tailor, yet where Daer’s was trimmed with a dark blue to juxtapose his eyes, Corvo’s was trimmed in a deep red. He made his way down the room to sit at Brennia’s other side, opposite Daermon. Both got the wolfish grin he often wore as he leaned close to whisper to Brennia. “Sorry I’m late. Securing a bit of funding for our next advance. I don’t seem to be the only tardy one though.” he smirks, nodding to Daermon. Just because they hadn’t gotten off on the best foot, didn’t mean he didn’t respect the vampire.

Sidd enters majestically on the back of a valiant white steed, armor blazing in the golden aura of Sven's light. Okay, maybe not. In truth, he kind of lazily wanders in with his large shirtless companion. The pair had been out touring the city, looking for something interesting to do, when they saw a sizeable crowd of people make their way into the Amphitheatre for some sort of event. Tall and proud stood a row of seven meticulously crafted spikes on the human's head, his choice of clothing seeming to match the odd hair style. His shirt was a tattered mess complete with torn off sleeves, and his pants were shredded at the knee. It was quite obvious that amongst the dignitaries and more well-dressed spectators, he would stand out like a sore thumb; Especially given that his companion was a rather tall man, clad only in a black celtic kilt, foot wrappings and a pair of fingerless leather gloves. "What do ye s'ppose is goin' on?" Aevo asked as he took a survey of the crowd. "No idea, man. Politics? Look." Sidd points up at the stage where he spots a few people that seemed to be of some importance. He was about to suggest they leave, given the dirty looks they were already receiving, when he spotted at least one familiar face. "Yo. Is that Brennia?" Aevo nodded to his buddy, slipping into one of the empty seats near the back. "Aye, mate. Seems so. This gotta do with th' election thing, y'think?" As he slipped into his own seat, Sidd unpocketed a metal tin and popped it open, removing a hand rolled cigarette. It was soon stuck it between his lips. He struck a match against the back of a seat in front of him, promptly lighting the smoke much to the dismay of a few stuffy looking attendees seated nearby. "Hell if I know, man. This stuff usually ain't my gig. I guess we can wait and see?" He slumped back and put his booted feet up against the back of the two seats in front of him, as he waited for the main event to begin.

Leone cuts an unassuming figure as she enters the Amphitheatre, mostly lost among the crowd of commoners coming to see what the powers that be have to say. The holy metallurgist is petite, her diminutive yet ropey frame dwarfed by the encompassing cloak she wears. It is a woolen tapestry of graduated black and grey, the back of it emblazoned with fine embroidery depicting the sigil of Aramoth, with the blue and silver coat of arms of Frostmaw just below. The heavy outerwear is shoved behind her shoulders with a vehement shrug, revealing traditional smithing leathers beneath. She sighs with a measure of relief. One hand, the fingertips singed to a dull charcoal hue, is briefly used to fan her face and neck. Creamy skin is marred by streaks of soot and ash: jawline, cheeks and forehead all suffering smudges. The mingling scents of petrichor and sunbaked iron radiate from the farrier. Crowned with a messy topknot of feathery, jet black hair interspersed with ever-accumulating strands of sterling, the plover seems to be more of a caregiver than a dignitary. She makes her way up the aisle of the theater, soon sidestepping into a row of seats. The cleric-craftsman pauses long enough to bow reverently (and then wink) at Hildegarde before easing down into one of the available seats. Beside her, an armor-less paladin and her constant companion, Bertram, also assumes a seat. A cursory once-over is given to the rest of the chairs and their occupants upon the dais before the blacksmith turns to address the black-clad man behind her. "Who are the others?" The question is meted out through the miniature metallurgist's unique amalgam of glassy and gritty timbre.

Krice was dressed in his usual black button-down, sleeves rolled to the elbows and collar open, comfortable slacks, durable leather boots, and two katanas strapped to his back - the hilts reachable over his left shoulder. The long-haired man clearly saw no reason to dress up for the summit; it was a meeting to discuss a seemingly realm-wide threat, not a fancy dress party. He arrived with Leone and would offer a nod to Hildegarde when they neared to greet her--she'd certainly spare a look in her High Priestess' direction, and as such the warrior's greeting was dictated by whether or not her attention swung the short distance from Leone to him--before standing in front of Leone's assumed seat to scan the room. In response to her query, he leveled an indifferent stare on the other faces. " Some of them, I've not seen before," he said, his answer spoken quietly for sake of decorum, but honestly all the same. " That's Hudson, blacksmith Alvina's estranged husband." Would the lycan's supernatural hearing allow him to pick up these words from the warrior? Who knew, but Krice hadn't said it for the express purpose of ensnaring the wolf's attention. The warrior’s focus ultimately drifted back to the high-heeled avian seated near chairs labeled for Larket's dignitaries. " Brennia - from Schezerade. She and Hildegarde met in Frostmaw a few weeks ago to discuss a potential connection between the different symptoms experienced by the cities." Thereafter, his gold-streaked eyes drifted off the winged woman to the jar situated near her and he squinted, considering it pensively. Turning his face back toward the seated Leone, he grumbled out something indiscernible to others before moving to step away. If allowed to do so, Krice would distance himself from the crowd as much as possible to ensure that his senses were attuned to everything, everyone, but his ultimate intention was to remain near Leone and her paladin, Bertram. He looked on in silence, his brow slightly creased in something akin to concentration, sweeping casually from those gathered to those newly arriving. Because of his natural penchant for people-watching, Krice caught sight of Sidd during his entrance and his attention lingered, though likely not long enough to cause the man any paranoia or discomfort. " Dunno who the hell -that is," he mumbled to himself, an extension-answer to Leone's question. Whether or not Krice had drawn near enough to others that they would sense some kind of atmospheric buzzing around him--or if they even had the level of perception required to pick up on it--remained to be seen.

Lionel has arrived separately from the Frostmawian party that brought his Queen, his own travels having required that he reach Schezerade in solitude. Recent missions across Lithrydel have spread the military’s extensive resources thin, keeping the Catalian from the City of War long enough that he’ll have heard only secondhand happenings of anything directly related to today’s address. Having inadvertently eluded the curious curse placed upon Frostmaw, Lionel has come to the young avian city in relative ignorance. Not one to enjoy a mystery unless it can be solved, he’s sought answers to the reason for his summons the only way he knows how: by hitting up Schezerade’s various places of leisure and poking around. The taverns are an easy enough time, although he emerges none the wiser; the citizenry here is as intrigued as he is, but not even the stoutest old birdlike barkeep has nary a clue what’s what. The two restaurants Lionel visits are a bit tougher to handle, what with their waiters flummoxed to learn he doesn’t have much appetite for avian fare and would instead prefer that his questions be answered. He tips unreasonably well afterward given that his only orders are a glass of water at the first location and hot red spiced tea at the other, but a certain infamy wraps around him by the time he’s done with the restaurant's, such that his arrival at the next destination is met with immediate suspicion from the proprietors. “Heard about you from Havis,” the madame says dismissively, wagging her beaked nose at him distastefully. “You’re not interested in our girls, are you? Or our boys, or anything of the sort.” Lionel blinks. It’s not often his cover is so thoroughly blown. “I’m not,” he admits almost sheepishly, and the stone door of his last stop is shut with such a thud that nearby onlookers assume he’s been tossed out for lack of coin. It’s an awkward stroll to the amphitheater, then, and a slightly resentful meander through the burgeoning crowd en route to find Queen Hildegarde and those others of Frostmaw’s service. “My Queen,” Lionel forces himself to observe courtesies, before nodding to Krice and the High Priestess Leone and taking a seat. He pops the collar of his trusty black silk shirt, crosses one leg over the other, and waits to hear all this valued information at the same time as everybody else. What a bother.

Bradyn | Everyone was making their arrival, traveling into the room and finding their respective seats. A majority seemed to without much flair but with company and Bradyn would not be that much different...minus the company. He was arriving solo, his personality and demeanor meant that he was typically not inclined to travel with let alone keep company. The Maharan male was dressed in his usual manner. Black shoes were kept clean and polished, black pants were pressed and they were paired with a crisp white shirt worn beneath a black button down vest. There was nothing exciting about his attire, but he was at least clean and well-presented. Attire was as far as that presentation would go, Bradyn did not smile to a single person as he makes his way to a seat for himself and he made eye contact with a couple of the individuals at random. Not even a nod for Lionel, whom Bradyn was vaguely familiar with thanks to their shared connection to Khitti. So why was the Vailkrin vampire here? He did not seem the sort who would be overly excited about offering his assistance to help a greater cause, but an open invitation was made and he was here, sitting with hands resting neatly on the arm of his chair and an apathetic look held on his features (which is fairly normal for this one).

Brennia had gotten up with Daermon following a few paces behind her and made her way to Hildegarde. A tattooed hand reaches out and removes a ‘Reserved - Draft’ sign and replaces it on a seat a few spaces down for Hildegarde and her group. Brennia smiles warmly at Hildegarde, “merry meet to you, Hildegarde. I’d like to request a meeting with you if you can fit me into your schedule soon?” Her timbre was light and friendly as to assure the Queen of Frostmaw it was only for good reason. After her and Hildegarde say their goodbyes Brennia made her way over to the human male sitting in the Alithrya seat, also with a smile, “merry meet to you… You said hydrophobic situation?” A glance to Corvo and he stands with a small pad of parchment and charcoal, “would you mind giving the details of this hydrophobia to Corvo?” A glance to Hudson before a wave to Fitz. When Sidd and Aevo make their way in she heard her name and looks to then in the stands with a quick smile and wave to them as well. She looks to the podium and the jar next to it and waits for Corvo to finish before making her way up there with Daermon behind keeping a watchful eye and her campaign manager by her side who hands her a thin folder. “Merry meet everyone,” striking liberty blue eyes look up into the crowd and she calms her nerves by reminding herself it's just like a musical performance, right? Her bardic magic projects her warm alto timbre throughout the amphitheatre so she didn’t have to shout, “thank you all for joining us. I would like all of you to share your own accounts with these curses, but first I must admit something to you.” Her gaze drops to the jar next to her on a pedestal, “this item here was given to me and I thought of it as a lovely gift, but nothing prepared me for what was sealed within. On the night of the fourteenth in August it fell and broke open and after a lot of investigating I’ve come to learn more about this object. It was a weapon crafted by sacrificing a bard during a necromantic ritual for the god, Vakmatharas,” fearlessly she opens the jar, but nothing happens, “it was only meant to be opened by a bard of acceptable power,” her hand reached within and pulled free a mummified larynx, “only during the lunar eclipse would it’s power be released.” She sets the morbid part down next to the pieced together jar and at this time Vermillion Draft makes his entrance with his entourage while making his way behind her unto his own reserved seat. A genuine concern displayed on her expression, “and for this I apologize.” A loud scoff is heard from Mr Draft before Brennia continues, “I will fix this and I have requested the leaders of our areas to stand up here with me to show our support for our people.” She pauses a moment and pulls her papers back together in her folder after offering, “we are up here for any questions you may have and, please, if anyone has useful information on this jar, Vakmatharas or these curses do not hesitate to tell us, thank you for listening.” Dearmon and Corvo escort Brennia back to her seat while they wait for citizens to queue up or for other leaders to stand up and say their part.

Reginae’s male form lofts his brows at Brennia, after everyone else has filtered into their rows. He throws a guarded look in Hildegarde’s direction. She’d be the only one to recognize her this way. “A lot of serious faces wearing black,” He jokes with a lopsided grin before Brennia moves away and leaves her campaign manager in her place. Everyone else is scanned, familiar and foreign alike before he pulls his heavy boots flat on the floor in front of him to take up the conversation with Corvo. Seems a nice enough guy. They have a brief chat in which the rogue male’s voice roughly explains the situation over the brush of charcoal on parchment. The two men nod to each other moments before Brennia begins speaking, directing everyone’s attention to the jar and the mummified larynx. He makes a face because ew, that’s gross. Don’t touch that Brennia. This is where Brennia’s competitor shuffles in, late and arrogant. If Reginae wasn’t already up to her elbows in enemies, she’d be fit to make a couple more. Weren’t avians supposed to be delicious anyway? She checks her snake privilege, and refocuses her attention to the podium. With Brennia’s invite to take the stage, the rogue stretches his toned arms overhead and takes his place beside her next. “You shouldn’t look so serious, beautiful. That’s a lovely sentiment and I wholeheartedly support it. Forget any wazzock that doesn’t.” He says privately to Brennia before taking the podium with a chuckle. “As anyone with eyes can see, our lovely naga reps have sent a human in their stead because of the current hydrophobic affliction. Hard to present with deadly fears of water.” It was a laughable effect, considering other regions had experienced deaths. Might as well have him go first, set the pace. “But, eh, my miss wanted me to assure everyone the naga are willing to help solve the crisis in anyway possible so count us in, or whathaveyou. Uh, yeah, thanks.” He waves his hand around on a limp wrist, hazel eyes scanning the crowd for anyone he’d missed before. Nope. Most of these people are strangers. Ah well. Isn’t that why you come to summits? To make new friends?

Hudson and Fitz talk between themselves as the room begins to fill up. Some faces they recognize, others they do not. They have a vague sense of what Brennia's going to say, they'd already previewed the topic with her. That had gone a little awkwardly. Now the bad news has already been priced in, so to speak, Hudson's gaze keeps getting attracted by the re-assembled jar. "So stupid that breaking a piece of pottery can cause all this trouble, Lithrydel's jumped the shark," he says, not sparing with the salt. Fitz is checking out a local woman (the wings are a dead giveaway) and takes a beat to respond, attracting Hudson's attention. Hudson clears his throat. "Can you not," he tells Fitz. "We don't need a scandal this close to the election." "I'm just looking in that direction," retorts Fitz. A Seinfeldian argument, carried out in whispers, erupts. "In the direction of a hot woman." "She was standing in that direction yes, when you look in the direction of a hot woman it sometimes happens that you look at a hot woman." "So you agree she's a hot woman." "Well that doesn't mean I was looking AT her ..." "Dude I'm not your wife, I'm a guy, I know better, don't use that argument on me." "Dude this argument is getting pretty gay." "Dude please just keep it in your pants until you are elected." "I am, I'm just looking." "K." Hudson is distracted from this increasingly stupid argument by Brennia's stepping forward to commence the meeting. After the naga representative has spoken - who even is this guy, he looks like a hipster - Fitz rises from his seat and approaches the podium, looking far more mayoral than he had in his argument with Hudson moments ago. Fitz is a bit of a spastic, wiry guy on a personal level, but as a candidate he is a lively and earnest speaker, and he addresses the gathering by talking about the heartbreak in Cenril on the day that 5% of its population vanished spontaneously. He is here on behalf of the current acting Cenril mayor and can likewise pledge Cenril's support in resolving this Lithrydel-wide crisis. Having said his piece, he sits back down next to Hudson, who mouths 'good job' and looks tired. He just realized he has to go to toddler gymnastics later. Is not looking forward to it.

Hildegarde is relieved at the sight of Leone and Lionel. It’s always good to have strength in numbers, but thus far it seems as though they are the only true monarchy in the room. That made Hildegarde feel a bit more nervous, truth be told. As Leone winds Hildegarde up with her playful antics, the Dragon Queen offers her a grunt in reply and turns her head so Leone cannot see the smile creep upon her face. She’d get a glimpse, but that was her lot. As for Lionel, the knight only offers him a look of ‘what’s up’; that typical jut of the chin and furrow of eyebrows in the universal sign of concern for a buddy. Yet she cannot focus too much upon that, as soon she has Brennia requesting a meeting. “I will do my best, m’lady,” she offers in way of polite reply, allowing Brennia to slip by and continue on her business. “Words between you and I must be had,” she says quietly to Leone as she takes her seat, hopefully between Leone and Lionel in order to present a truly united Frostmawian front. As the meetings commences and Brennia speaks of requesting the support of all who can pledge it, Hildegarde nods her head here and there; listening to the murmur of the summit and the vows of support offered. Vow may be a strong word at this point. Although, to be quite fair, Hildegarde has been entirely distracted by the order of events due to the little bickering of Fitz and Hudson. Her sole eye has fixed upon them with plain discontent and unhappiness; if she were being crude she would question why exactly they were even present! It’s fortunate, however, that Fitz has a knack for being mayoral when required. Assuming it is her turn to speak, Hildegarde gently cleared her throat and rose to her feet to make her way to the podium. “A pledge of support is all well and good, my fellow guests, but we require action. Hydrophobic Naga, missing people, plague, pestilence, this situation will snowball if we allow it to,” not an intended pun from the Ice Town crowd. “Rumours suggest that Chartsend had luck in curing this, yet we have not received word nor an extended hand from the people of Chartsend,” typical Chartsenders was the general Frostmawian sentiment regarding that little facet of information. “If we seek to defeat a curse, should we not seek the power of the divine?” It’s a simple question. “I am no priest nor paladin, so this is not my field of expertise. But if we are to support this cause and to pledge our word towards assisting the realm, we ought to find out what worked for Chartsend.” Having said her piece, Hildegarde dips her head and returns to her seat. Probably said too much.

Brennia does blush a shade when the human Reginae calls her beautiful along with kind words of support and all she does is donn a smile for the rogue man, but Dearmon in the background keeps a watchful eye on him while those two fell into a silence for a small moment - peculiar, “thank you, I’m sorry, but I never caught your name?” A genuine curiosity taken over her before a glance given down to Hudson and Fitz’s little lover’s quarrel, but she watched this rogue human of a Reginae closely and interestedly while he speaks. It was Fitz’s turn and when he was done she smiled warmly at the man with a sly little ‘thumbs-up’ action. Ultimately Brennia becomes entranced by Hildegarde’s powerful sentiment and being so utterly taken with the woman Brennia looks up to her as a leader, an aspiration. Meanwhile Vermillion Draft was having idle conversations on the side, not making any effort to be hush about it and such words can be picked up of “... not my problem…” or “... my shops aren’t suffering…” and “... why are we even here?...” Typical corrupt businessman slash congressman who only cares of himself and his wealth. When the Queen of Frostmaw speaks of seeking out the divine it gets another audible scoff from Vermillion and even a chuckle among his entourage and when they stand to leave, being done with this unnecessary summons, something… Malicious overtakes Mr Draft and it’s as if he’s possessed (not as if though - actually possessed) when he let out a disembodied guffaw as Hildegarde mentioned Chartsend, “they did not cure anything! Nothing worked for them! Only shifted their burden unto another!” His entourage looked confused and sort of panicked at his outrage, but at this, Brennia could not stand the disrespect any longer and went to get up from her seat. Dearmon attempts to hold her arm back, but she breaks free and motions to the exit, “I don’t know what’s come over you, but you must leave now. There will not be such disrespect orchestrated, at the Queen of Frostmaw - no less.” Brennia(and possibly only Brennia) saw it then, the ghostly face of Orra (one of the necromancers which created the jar)within Vermillion’s own visage and his voice turned cold and sickening just like Orra’s, “sooo…. It was you.” His crew was definitely trying to pull him away by now while he shouts, “the Raven! Beware the Raven! It is the maestro of chaos!” He was cackling like a madman while Brennia was going to make apologies to Hildegarde after a glance to Hudson.

Hudson | Vermillion Draft is causing drama is Hudson's observation. And this is some drama. How does he know about Raven? Hudson had of course immediately looked at Brennia, for her reaction, and in her face he reads something like the expression he sees in Alvina when their children are refusing to do something and redfaced and wailing like tornado sirens about it. Possibly also behaving violently. This is the thing nobody tells you about kids, or they do but you don't listen or think it will be quite that bad: they behave like violent monsters every day and think it's fine. Parenting is like non stop calling balls and strikes and sometimes you get hit by pitches. Like Harper bit Luna earlier and he had had to have a talk about how it is unacceptable behavior to bite your sister because she wouldn't let you have some trash wooden toy that came with the kid's meal they'd emotionally blackmailed him into buying at some fast food place. (Fine! Have this garbage food! Maybe now you won't grow up sad in your hearts because your parents separated!) So not only had he endured the 20 minutes of crying necessary to guilt him into buying this garbage food but then a Disagreement had broken out because one child had wanted to trade and the other child hadn't. And then somewhere along the way, Hudson, in refereeing this, had gotten elbowed in the face. (But, gods bless her, his little sports prodigy, Harper has quite an arm!) Anyway, on top of this, no doubt Alvina will find out because Harper is a tattletale and be like, "You let them eat that bad food!?" He begins drafting his side of the argument in his head: YOU try resisting the kid's meal when you walk by that place, perfect angels, more like demons from hell! Record scratch - he'd been dad triggered for a second there, right now Brennia is still giving him that look. He gets up and moves to Draft and his people, speaking with quiet menace. From one guy in organized crime to another: "That's enough. I think you should leave."

Sidd had no clue as to what exactly was going on. Who were half of these people? What importance did they play? And why were they all gathered? This definitely didn't have much to do with what the human assumed would be related to an election. Brennia was afforded a brief nod when she waved, his attention shifted to the large tattooed man seated next to him. "I'm lost. Any idea what the hell is going on?" he asked, ashing his cigarette onto the floor- An action that earned him an extremely dirty look from one of the nearby resident avians in the opposite row. "Ain't got no clue. Somethin' 'bout a cursed jar? Must've been before I got back int' town." Cool blue eyes danced amongst the various figureheads, the bit of drama unfolding causing another question to present itself. "Who's the ass clown?" Aevo took a moment to listen in before he answered, "Methinks that's th' guy who's part o' that organization. Y'remember? Th' same one that attacked th' campus?" Sidd would quickly sit up then, one brow slightly lifted as he stared hard at Vermillion. He was half tempted to rush the stage and just fully slug the guy in the head, but he knew better that to even try. Security was probably pretty tight, especially where someone like Draft was concerned. "Would you put out that disgusting thing?!" Sidd's attention was finally stolen by an older woman in the row ahead, her protest to his bad habit turning from a simple glare to a vocal request. It was then that the human noticed the few odd looks he was getting, and it hit him that he didn't quite belong here. "Cool your panties grandma. I was just leaving." Sidd used the ongoing kerfuffle on stage to quietly slip out of his seat and make for the exit, most likely unnoticed. "Oi! Where ye going? Show's jes gettin' good! Sidd?" Aevo grumbled to himself and hurried out of the amphitheatre behind his close friend.

Bradyn had heard the request for people to share their accounts on how various regions are being plagued by the breaking of the jar, but the vampiric male remains silent. It would seem that he is the only dignitary from Vailkrin present, meaning that it is not likely that anyone will hear of any of the spectral troubles that are haunting Vailkrin -- but from what he was hearing what Vailkrin was dealing with could be considered minor in comparison to some of the troubles manifesting in the other regions. There was a lot going on with the various parties and their groups, a lot of side conversations to listen in on. Some of them proved to be more...eccentric...than others, pointing fingers and Hudson and Fitz there. That pair definitely earns a brief moment of side-eye from Bradyn but that is brought to a quick end as Vermillion Draft raises a ruckus that has Brennia telling him to exit the meeting. Hm. Interesting. Maestro of chaos? Bradyn may not be a contributor but he was definitely an observer, trying to leech as much information as possible from the on-goings.

Leone's breath hitches in her throat, and a moderately guilty look passes over her face, curling her tawny lips down at either corner and drawing the milky white flesh that coats the angular topography of her face downward. Her eyes crinkle at the corners, forehead drawing into heavy creases. An apologetic glance is given to the Queen at her side, while a rather desperate look is pressed to the black-clad swordsman. The smith rises, no doubt shortly after Vermillion's outburst, but somewhere between people when there is enough of a lull in conversation and, though her trademark timbre of gravel and gloss is raised loud enough to address the crowd and her posture is turned toward the stage, her attention swivels sharply to Hildegarde. "Ah. Um," the priestess stammers for a moment before collecting herself and inhaling sharply. She takes a moment to steady her nerves, and looks pointedly at Hildegarde enough to make eye contact before confessing, "Chartsend was healed and the curse expelled with my efforts, and the efforts of all religious personnel in the city. But he's right," the petite plover declares, indicating the expelled Vermillion, "It's truly not that simple. It seems that it does not destroy nor even truly banish the curse, merely exorcise it - and not permanently at that. So it's still out there, waiting for the chance to attack again - or searching out a new target. Fortunately for Frostmaw (for the time being, at least), our people are becoming afflicted with a long-lived and rather annoying bout of seasonal flu. Runny noses, persistent coughs, general aches and pains. It's all incredibly common... but, well, except from other perspectives. From a different angle, that is to say, it's quite...ah...marked. Everyone afflicted bears a sign. Usually, it's a wisp of black smoke attached to them. It's very faint, and grows in intensity, volume [size], and attachment the longer someone is ill. This, ultimately, led to several deaths in Chartsend. We have a few citizens nearing that point in Frostmaw, though none have succumbed. Blessings and wards interrupt it's leeching life force, but cannot disconnect it all together. It merely slows the process." The sacred smith's head swivels to look around the amphitheater, and then land upon each dignitary in turn. "I can travel, move from city to city, land to land, and teach your monks, priests, and healers how to perform these rites - tell them which ones they need at what stages of illness. And I can be present for cleansings. I can look into the aether and tell you who is affected, and who isn't, since this curse is visible to me, in a way. It is my opinion that, most importantly, we need a team of researchers to find out what this particular curse's weakness is, and how to permanently get the cat back into the bag, as it were." A vague gesture is made toward the broken jar at her final words. The metallurgist clears her throat harshly, then and reassumes her seat before listing heavily toward Hildegarde. "Just tell me when and where, I'll be there," the cleric whispers to her monarch.

Krice squinted pensively in Hildegarde's direction but it was short-lived, his gaze drifting to Lionel. The warrior gave his peer a nod of greeting before Brennia soon announced herself and began recounting the various curses that afflicted Lithrydel's cities. He focused on the jar, attributed several things in his mind to its existence, then scrutinized the mummified larynx thereafter revealed. Weird. As dignitary after dignitary rose to speak of his or her town and city's suffering, the warrior listened. He was neither impressed by nor judgmental of Fitz's speech. Hildegarde held a little more interest for him, particularly toward the end of her words. She didn't know how Chartsend had come to be cured of its plague? The silver-haired enigma squinted, leveling a thoughtful stare on Leone seated just in front of him. Their eyes locked, crimson to chartreuse, and something unspoken was shared between them. However, the warrior's expression shifted to subtle curiosity as his holy companion rose to speak of her involvement in the eradication of Chartsend's curse--or rather, the -redirection- of it. With his other senses attuned to their surroundings, he stared tentatively at the woman who rose to give her version of events, share her knowledge of the situation at hand, only intermittently scanning the faces of those who listened - and those who did not. The disturbance that erupted thereafter earned the warrior's attention only briefly, for as it was diffused, his focus shifted back to Leone. He watched her interact with Hildegarde and remained silent throughout, a moral supporter of the High Priestess in his observations. The moment she was finished with her monarch, however, Krice reached out to take hold of Leone’s right wrist, a gentle touch to reassure her that she wasn’t alone on this world stage.

Brennia feels embarrassed for Schezerade. This was not supposed to be about Draft’s bruised ego and she would be next to occupy the empty space of the podium, “merry meet, again. On behalf of Schezerade I would like to bow my head and apologize for my opposing candidate and his actions. I am also deeply sorry for what's been plaguing our deer townships and villages of Lithrydel for I feel responsible in my careless and ignorant actions.” An avian humbly apologizing AND taking blame for harm befalling others? It might be evident now that Brennia is not your average avian. A determination shifts her expression from concerned into determination, but without trying or meaning to she tied her next words in a subtle spell of confidence - it was probably more for herself than others, “I will find a way to amend what I’ve done now that we have gotten to the bottom of this.” She looks behind her, shifting one of those large onyx wings out of the way to do so, at the leaders with a bittersweet smile for each, “I thank you all for coming and standing up for your people. I do hope we can all meet when times are not so trying and I hope when you look upon me after this it would be as an ally.” Liberty blue eyes study each face for a few seconds before addressing the crowd within the seats before them, “I will stay here as long as it takes to write down your statements, your contributions of information. After today I will be working to find a way to amend this. Thank you all for coming as well, if those of you wishing to record your statements.” She, Corvo, and Daermon move to leave the stage and seat themselves a long table with a stack of blank parchment and writing quills. Brennia understands the leaders have very busy schedules, but if they wanted to help they wouldn’t be turned away. Members of the bards college and guild keep the crowd of citizens calm while meandering about with them, strumming their lyres or fiddling their flutes in the background.

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RP:Schezerade Summit

Grand Amphitheatre