RP:Titans of Winter 2023 Opening Ceremony

Summary: The Titans of Winters 2023 Opening Ceremony, hosted by Kelay in Cenril in effort to raise funds for the rebuilding of Frostmaw, goes off without any major disaster!

Grand Cenrili Arena

Fully restored, this grand Arena appears to be the focal point of Cenrili entertainment. Marble Columns and arches awe and amaze your eyes as you enter through one of the two large archways, iron gates are swung open on either side permitting entry. Your eyes fall on some of the ancient stone seats that have been lined with soft material in specially sealed off areas for the well off.

Valrae || As the sun sank off of Cenril’s shores and found rest beneath her sea, the iron gates of the grand arena were opened. They had been festooned with laurel and winter berry leaves, artistically painted signs boasting ‘The Titans of Winter’s Commencement Ceremony’ at their center. The marble columns were adorned with the white and ice blue banners of Frostmaw, cool magelight accentuating them as they waved gently in the salty breeze. A carpet of crushed white velvet enchanted as though it were a snowbank caught in a wintery breeze had been rolled out to welcome guests as they made their way up the marble steps and through the towering archways. While Cenril’s winters have never been so cold as even the warmest Frostmawian “summer”, no expense was spared for tonight's opening ceremony. The area’s opened ceilings typically showcased a clear starlit sky, however tonight it was a flurry of white and gray clouds that churned out plump, lazy snowflakes. They floated downward in whimsical and sleepy spirals without ever reaching the extravagant celebration below or chilling the area to discomfort.

Valrae || There was a doorman dressed in Cenrilian livery, a long gold staff placed in his hand which he used to knock against the sturdy stone floor to announce each noble guest's arrival by name. There were towers of champagne, tables adorned with whites and silvers and cool blues crowded with all manner of foods. Smaller, finely dressed tables were arranged for seating throughout. An orchestra was seated high in the stands, playing upbeat dancing music. The center was open, again enchanted as if the floor were covered in windswept snow as jewel toned gowns twirled above where guests danced. Dignitaries from across Lithrydel had been invited, sitting in areas roped off with white velvet in reserved seating several benches above the crowd. Special care had been taken to import dining accommodations and seating large enough to comfortably seat the frost giants of Frostmaw. A wreathing mage light, as well as laurel and winter berries adorned their tables and chairs, marking them as the guest of honor for the evening and serving as a reminder that tonight and the events to follow were for raising awareness and coin for the Frostmawian people who still suffered from the aftermath of Xicotl.

Valrae || While serving staff were busy tending to the masses in their formal white suits, Valrae was busy tending to the social aspect of her position. The Mayor of Cenril, and one of the co-hosts of the evening, was flitting from one noble guest to the next with wide smiles and warm words. She’d dressed extravagantly, as someone of her office could do no less. Her gown was thin gossamer, just the barest hint of translucence, and the color of Kafzhash at its highest point in a clear Cenril summer sky. The fabric was more illusion than it was mundane silk, clinging to her as if it had been sewn around her body. The long golden train was a flurry of motion even as she stood still, glamored to look as if it were a puddle of burning sun plucked down from a hot day. Her shoulders were bare and the neckline plunged low, the warm light of the magical dress highlighting the dips of her collarbones and the hollow of her throat. However, the most dazzling work of her gown came from the intricately patterned cage of thin golden chains that covered silk and flesh. A delicate webbing of warm metal and citrine, yellow sapphire and fire opal glittered over it all, covering her from her throat to her toes in jewels that caught the low light and cast it back in an array of dancing colors. Her honey and wheat hair was an artful weave of braids pulled back from her temples, the rest of it a thick waterfall down her back. She’d lined her eyes sharply, sooted her lashes and painted her eyelids in shimmering gold. Her lips were boldly red and her cheeks attractively rosy as she laughed. Fire opal shimmered from golden chains on her ears and hung daintily in the shape of the sun from her throat. The witch was haloed in her magic made light as she welcomed guests and sipped a glass of bubbling pink champagne, stopping between guests to take refuge in the easy company of her date for the evening, Khitt.

Meri :: The opening ceremony was being hosted in Cenril, but since Meri and Magikrios were also amongst the team hosting both arrived in Cenril two to three days before the event was scheduled to take place so that they could be present to support Valrae with any finishing touches as she needed. It has always been hit or miss as to if Meri would actually respect any dress code for events. Last Titans of Winter Opening Ceremony saw her in armor. Tonight both she and Magikrios seem to be in appropriate attire. Meri was in a long, sleek black dress with a low, scoop back and no sleeves. Her outfit might fit the theme of white tie, but her numerous tattoos were on full display for all to see, even the topless mermaid that is preening on a rock. The blonde was of course on Magikrios’ arm, who wore one of his finer black tuxedos for todays of event. Worn underneath that nice tux jacket is silk shirt, black in color too of course. This is Magikrios and Meri we’re talking about here. They were also there with Valrae before the guests even began to arrive. When the guests began to trickle in, Meri and Magikrios would find a place near Valrae and Khitt so that the two of them could assist with the greeting and welcoming of all the guests. Absent of their company are their children, Fleur probably back in Kelay under the care of Mirshann so that Meri and Magikrios could actually focus on being political dignitaries.

Alex seems to respect the formalities of this gathering as he arrives dressed in a unique peaked lapel suit. The fabric is a deep unwashed black in color with fine crimson-red trim lining every edge on both the jacket and tie as a fresh and tidy white shirt contrasts nicely underneath. His jet-black hair is slicked back to reveal his aging, yet still very nearly pristine features, which are conveniently aided by the immaculate brush strokes the laid glittering red paint to decorate his face and hands in a stunning pattern that closely resembles the infinite view that flows across the night sky. Draped across his shoulders and flowing down his back was his prized possession, the cloak of his Queen, Hildegarde the Silver. By his side, a fiendish creature trots around hip height. Seemingly canine in nature, the only oddities betraying the beast's true nature are it's burning red eyes and the faint amber glow beneath the mass of black fur that covers its body. The duo make little fuss upon entry and wander about until they find a suitable spot to situate themselves, the dog heels by the bard as he casts his deep blue gaze across the arena to drink it all in. As he ponders his fourth bout in the Titans of Winter tournament, he's overcome with feelings of excitement for the battle to come, and dread as he remembers his fallen friends from his previous tournament. An open palm falls to his companion's head and offers a few quick pats before the emanating heat forces him to recoil. "Don't worry, Canon. You won't be joining me on this one." The hellhound tilts it head with a whine, seemingly not a fan of the declaration. Alex takes time to appreciate the sense of pride in his home as he admires the decorations and homages to Frostmaw, but they come with a sense of guilt after his absence during the cities very own apocalypse. His shoulders rise and drop as he expels a deep sigh. Oh well, time to enjoy the night.

Khitti || Where Valrae was dressed in the warm, inviting hues of the sun, Khitt was dressed to match, albeit in the cold and dark tones of the moons. The Red Witch’s date for the night was much more subdued than normal. He mostly followed along behind her for now, taking care to offer smiles and greetings, but mainly letting her do the schmoozing as he really wasn’t feeling it much at the moment. The redheaded witch, who had taken to holding Valrae’s champagne glass when she required it, sparkled in the arena’s light much like the mayor did. Ever the lover of form-fitting suits and tuxedos, now was no different as he wore a black crushed velvet frock coat, the tail of which stopped just around his knees, black soft leather pants, with a dark silver silk shirt peeking out from beneath the built in vest of the coat. Silver embroidery shimmered on the lapels, sleeve cuffs, and coattail, leaving trails of what seemed like pearlescent moondust that would glimmer and fade along the air, the source of it all Khitt’s holy magic that stemmed from Valaane itself. Stars, crescent and full moons made of grey moonstone and clear quartz not only bedazzled the same areas of his coat that the embroidery was stitched into, but they were also even found in Khitt’s long braid, placed strategically here and there amongst his tightly woven red locks. And to top it all off was the makeup. Much like Valrae’s, his own eyes were lined sharply with black, like cat's eyes, and given a smoky, silvery touch with eyeshadow. This was somewhat hidden behind his darkly tinted pince-nez glasses, but alas, the event had just started, he was already overstimulated, and the less eye contact he had to make with people, the better.

Quintessa knows she is not the most popular figure in Cenril right now, but she comes to the Titans of Winter Commencement Ceremony anyway, as she felt was expected of her. After making the appropriate arrangements with the Mayor and gaining security for the event, a stoic guardsmen by the name of Alster had been assigned to her and stuck to Quintessa like glue, never letting her leave his everwatchful eye. Meanwhile, as always, the young changeling has designed her gown for this event, this time employing the use of enchanted, shadow-weave fabrics that cling to her body like a second skin. The long, ebony, spider-silk gown she’s made stretches down her lean frame all the way to the floor, ending in a long train of dripping shadows that evaporate into thin air as she leaves them in her wake. Her gown shimmers and shifts as Quintessa moves through the crowd, almost formless and ethereal but at the same time very much solid and opaque, an endless sea of darkness that swallows up all color around it, making her skin appear much paler than usual. Her arms remain bare, showing off this paleness, save for the silver and platinum armlets and torcs that adorn them, matching the series of silver rings Quintessa wears on all her digits, eventually ending in long, sharp fingernails painted a color that rivals the utter blackness of her dress. On her feet Quintessa wears a pair of black, sandal-style, three inch lace up heels with criss-crossing ribbons that trace all the way up her long, slender legs, disappearing behind the veil of shadow that was her dress. Her raven hued hair is tied back into a tight updo, leaving intentional strands of loose hair on either side of her face to serve as a frame while the rest of her bangs rebel, lingering in the way and hiding her mismatched eyes and all the work she had put into her makeup to make them pop with sapphire and topaz to break up her monochrome color scheme, which was black lipstick and heavy eyeliner upon a chalk white surface. Finally, upon her head sits a platinum tiara, the large, jet gemstone set in the center just as black as the rest of her outfit. Countess Quintessa, once public enemy number one, is here in Cenril and is not scared to stand out one bit- oh, and Alster is with her, dressed in whatever Cenril ceremonial garb their guardsmen are told to wear during such events. Knowing Valrae, Alster is looking splendid as well even if he’s standing in Tessa’s shadow. With a mischievous smirk on her face, Quintessa can't help but wonder how the dignitaries gathered here will react when the doorman calls her name. She’s here as a public donor, of course, and she’s got quite a lot of coin to spare for the cause.

Aira :: Having kept to herself for the last several months, even Aira seemed surprised by her appearance at the commencement ceremony, although the cool expression on her face gave no hint of the emotions she felt. Perhaps even more surprising than her arrival at such a social event was how she looked. Gone were the leathers and furs of her usual attire, no weapons were visible, and her appearance was that of clean and put together. Her platinum hair was sleek and straight, down to her mid-back. It even appeared as if the huntress attempted some bit of makeup, but just a touch of rouge on her high cheekbones, dark liner on her eyes, and deep matte red on her lips. She wore a pair of white wide-legged trousers with a matching suit jacket which she left unbuttoned. Underneath, she wore a shimmery silver strapless blouse with a sweetheart neckline that clung to her skin. Her normally worn leather boots were replaced with black spiky heels that bumped up Aira’s height by a couple of inches. As soon as she entered and saw all the people, she beelined for the tower of champagne glasses.

Mesdoram arrives alone: No Brennia. No Hawkeye. Nobody – though the reasons of no entourage ranges from petty spite and recent spats with Alithrya and his roles in their many political ploys, schemes, and kidnapping plots. No matter the reason why the false drow is alone today, Mesdoram welcomes the peace with open arms and hopes to secure a glass of whiskey sooner rather than later. Still a ‘less is more’ mindset when it comes to fashion, he is wearing a simple black shirt and robes, pants, and shoes – no gownz for the muscular man this evening. Maybe in his more proactive days would Mes pounder wearing an over-the-top dress just to get a rise out of his many ‘friends’; alas, much of his trolling ways are behind him. His only real motivation in attending the ceremony is to find out who’s his first round opponent. Weaving his way in and out of the throngs of party go-ers, Mesdoram equips his right hand with a free glass of alcohol, stands off by himself, and enjoys the solace of silence as he finally has a minute to himself.

Cresente takes in his surroundings with as little of a brief glance. With as many centuries of training and work as this profession afforded him, the avian man only needs the one glance to identify several key features of the arena: twenty-four emergency exits along the audience stands, twelve on the floor-level, and twelve along the upper levels, not including the two grandiose archways. The marble columns and the raised platform of the orchestra with silver drapery lining the stands to hide the instrument storage beneath… However, the cursory glance had also afforded him the notice of guards of every race dressed in cool blues and silvers standing amongst the walls, and intermingling with the crowd as if they were regular guests, with wands and daggers at their hips in case something were to go awry. It would be a terrible day to be an assassin on the job here, but Crescente is not here as a mercenary today; he is here to gauge the competition. While there would be no formal gold prizes, Crescente is planning to pull a plentiful nest egg from the illegal gambling that takes place on the outskirts of the match’s venues, with himself being the winner of these fights as the relatively unknown contender. It is with this thought in mind that the towering avian makes his way to the reserved seating, dressed in a jet-black tuxedo, the style of which appears to be rather dated. Perhaps it was the current fashion a few decades ago, and without Crescente realizing it, it betrays the true age of those crows’ feet around his eyes. Tucking his ebon wings against his back, he takes a champagne flute from the tower, and awaits someone worth speaking to.

Zahrani makes her way into the arena, the feline paladin appearing neither feline nor paladin. Her upper half is her more elven appearance, with dark skin and tightly braided hair adorned with a hairclip that bears a lovely sparkling snowflake motif. She wears a matching off-white suit jacket with amber colored accents. Her lower half is that of a large muscular snake with citrine scales that glint subtly in the low light of the evening. Her androgynous face is adorned with makeup that mimics a silver scale pattern on her cheeks, with charming winged eyeliner that matches. As she approaches the herald announcing the Tourney contestants, she introduces herself as Aya, a vanguard of Alithrya. She glides into the Arena, emanating strength and beauty. Her Divine aura is notably absent, so as not to tip off the other Naga. Rather than seek out familiar faces from home (she is incognito after all), she makes her way to where Mesdoram is ordering his first drink, offering him a polite smile before ordering a glass of prosecco.

Callamyre would plainly admit that she had never really spent a great deal of time in Cenril, and furthermore, might confess in a shared whisper with her friend that she was quite surprised to see the commencement ceremony being hosted here instead of Frostmaw this year. The friend to whom she whispered was an unconventional sort of companion, tortoise, shell, and white markings cover a fur-lined creature that very closely resembles a cat, if not for the ethereally human quality of its expression as it listened and nodded from its perch curled around the Good Doctor's shoulders like a stole. "I suppose," Calla continued in a hush voice, "tis my own fault for having spent so many ... years away." She paused upon entrance to the elaborate affair, and realized with an amalgam of crippling embarrassment and sensorial overload that she was quite *quite* underdressed for the 'white tie' event. It was any wonder she'd arrived on time for as last-minute as her reminder to attend had been. She was *quite certain* that she had noted the time and date of the event somewhere easy for her to find; but alas, it had been buried under a veritable mountain of other notes in no notable priority or organization. Meanwhile, the hour crept up on her as she labored intensively under the glowing lamplights of her laboratory, and upon stepping into the arena, Doctor Callamyre na Trough beheld the aesthetic of "mad scientist" all-too-well. Instead of the gold-and-azure dress she had lain out in preparation, she wore a dirtied brown cotton dress, with an apron tied around her narrow waist in a color that *once* resembled white but now looked layered in what one hoped was coffee stains of varying ages. In certain angles of the magelight, the apron gave off the faintest hint of some ichorous chartreuse smear. The same yellowish-green residue was on the lab coat draped around her frame in tiny flecks that otherwise might seem part of her overall wardrobe, especially for as uncaring as Calla seemed to be of their presence. Her focus was now, more readily, upon the other attendees — would be rivals in the upcoming tournament. She still didn't understand what in the blazes had convinced her to sign up, but here she was. Calla gave a wane smile to the Cenrilian doorperson as she passed through, and with thankfully-gloveless hands, picked carefully at the disarray of her chocolate-hued curls, which had been swept into a bun some hours before and now sagged miserably at the crown of her head. "No matter," she murmured to the "cat." "I have a lot of missed time to make up for and now is a good start to that." The calico purred in response and curled tighter around the scientist's neck, also unbothered by the state of the vampire's accouterments.

Joan made her way down the walkway of town, having recently left from the chapel of rest. The amethyst hair colored vampire offering friendly waves to those that she knew while making her way towards the arena for the ceremony. Her jewel toned colored heels making quite little ‘tip taps’ against the stone as she made her way up the steps and then into the arena, taking a moment to admire the hard work that went into decorating the venue. As per the norm for the stylishly dressed vampiric healer Joan was outfitted in a slim fitted jewel toned colored ladies two piece pants suit. Making her way past the guardsman that announced her arrival the woman would look around with a smile, scoping out who was there and more importantly where the snacks and drinks were located.

Mathollak has somehow found his way into the arena bleachers, lost among a crowd of black and white dressed miscreants great and small, a lump of coal marring the glittery white blanket that covers most of the stands. He sends a signal to the doorman, and then they call his name, summoning him to the arena proper. From the coal bursts a spark and a sound. Mathollak is the spark. A figure in deep red erupting from the black, accompanied by an aggressive, hyper-tempo piano string. An angry song, with bitterly sad undertones is sang with a mellow and soulful voice of smoky silver. What happened need not have happened, the lyrics tell us, but she’s accepted it. The piano disagrees. As the song’s tension reaches a crescendo, the pianist brutalizes the keys with hammer fists; bang, bang, bang! Mathollak leaps in time with these to crash his heavy soles into the stone steps; stomp, stomp, stomp! He locks eyes with a server on the way down, and she picks up his subtle hint. As the song comes to an end, as his descent lands him in a cloud of displaced snow, the server is here. He nonchalantly slides two champagne flutes from the tray and carries it with him to center stage. The music has stopped by now, but Mathollak brings attention to them anyway. “Thank you, thank you! Music by Arifrida and the Depth!” Arifrida, a 10 foot tall giant, bows from the bleachers, her voice at rest. He offers Valrae the extra champagne flute, but he’s happy to drink both if she refuses. “And of course to the High Priestess, for hosting this marvelous event. Thank you Valrae for the introduction! And let’s not forget the purpose, the wonderful reason we’re all here today! The Frost Giants of the North!” He notably neglects to be particular about where they’re from. “They’ve lost much, and with everyone’s help here today, we’ll give it all back to them!” This may not have been planned by the hosts, but his fans expected a show from him at each of these ceremonies, and he had to oblige!

Mathollak ::After his performance and acknowledgements, he bows to half the patrons, then bows and turns to the other half. His entire outfit is crafted out of rare luxuries. To the untrained eye, it might appear that the human is wearing a deep red suede suit jacket. But the shades are varied artistically, where part of the suit is covered with the characteristic velvety texture and others are bare and glossy. The paisley pattern is styled to show the shapes of bodies, entwined in embrace in various positions throughout the fabric. The notched lapels have been fitted with only the finest mahogany humbata fur, a beast of beauty and ceremony; but also of danger and power. But observe! The fine brooches of said lapels that hook together, carved from the horns of the beasts, and the slitted eyes that have been dipped in a fine resin and fashioned into dropped earrings for the man. Gaze upon the palm-sized claws that have been woven into Mathollak's chestnut locks to create an elegant, yet juxtaposing wild look. They hold it out of his keen, strategically unshaven face. It was bare, only two days prior, allowing the prime amount of time to achieve the perfect amount of growth on his cheeks and chin. Coupled with the subtle use of eyeliner, he looks positively fierce. The slacks, held up by his concealed suspenders, provide a much needed rest for the eyes, being solid colored matte-red. A supple, slimming leather, sturdy and flexible enough to endure his dance-walking and preserving their strategic creases. His shoes return shine like crisp apples in the snow, shrugging off any of the enchanted snow they glide through. Soon enough, his entourage joins him in the crowd. Notably enhanced since the last time by the presence of several frost giants. Though they weren’t dressed as exotically as he was, they assimilated into the white tie demands, giving him the space to stand out. It was more than this though; being that they were a crowd of mostly nonhuman people, it allowed them the luxury of belonging.

Khitti || Khitt nearly choked on his own glass of champagne as he caught sight of Crescente, the guy that literally knocked him out recently. After a bit of sputtering and regained composure, he pushed up his pince-nez just a little more, as if the tiny spectacles could hide his entire being. Do not perceive. DO NOT PERCEIVE. He resisted the urge to just straight up hide behind Valrae out of embarrassment. He doesn’t, but he’s tempted to. Khitti, on the other hand, was taking notes for her next fanfic back in the recesses of their shared mind.

Cyrene made her way into the grand arena, she has found the postings around referring to the event and found herself curious. Passing the entrance the draconian stood to her full heigh, cresting just over seven feet to see what fineries could be had. Arms folded lightly with fingers tapping idly against the crimson scales that frame her jawline before she starts to attempt to pick a line through the building crowd. Her thick mane of curly ashen gray hair has been painstakingly tamed into several long braids, kept in place by gold hair cuffs clasped at the ends of each, a soft melodic ring given as she moved causing them to occasionally clang together. Spiraling from her crown was her ivory horns, each capped with gold and a thin golden chain connecting them. The tall draconian takes a moment to adjust the skirts of her golden gown the simple movement causing a ripple of shimmering gold light to coarse along the entirety of the silken gown. The garment was backless allowing a full showing of her draconic wings, subtly shifting and adjusting as she moved about, her long tail was also kept close to her frame to keep from it getting stepped on by accident. Each step would send another wave of light to dance across her reflective gown, not to mention her various other gold adornments, her metallic preference on full display. Much less of a target for the eye was her companion. A much smaller feline with black fur hopped about to keep pace behind the tall draconian. Garbed in a robe of royal purple velvet with gold trim, and carrying an oaken staff that came to a crescent head with a palm sized rose quarts suspended in its center. He would stumble a time or two as he couldn’t keep his eyes from darting about trying to see everything all at once. “If you step on my tail again …” Cyrene would mutter down to Kastus, who instantly snapped to attention and took a long step back. But the attention didn’t last long as the table of drinks and food was spotted, the young mage strayed, and within a heartbeat he was gone, a quieted curse uttered in feline was given be she didn’t give chase. He probably wouldn’t die.

Alex felt his attention pull towards the entrance like a magnet as he focuses and catches a glimpse of a both familiar and unfamiliar figure making their appearance and immediately heading for the fancy booze display. "...No. There's no way." He mutters to himself with a playful smirk and sudden uplifting of spirits. "Canon, come." The bard and beast begin their approach and once the hellhound notices their destination, he breaks a few paws ahead of Alex and reaches Aira first, providing a greeting with several quick sniffs from a heated snout to her lifted heel. As he does, the bard catches up and reaches out to pinch the back of the hound's neck and peel him away, so he doesn't burn the huntress on accident. As he does, his gaze never leaves Aira, nor does the smile. He can't suppress the chuckle as he drinks in her features, pointing to her lipstick and then his make-up. "Well would you look at that, we match!" Fighting the urge to tackle the huntress, the bard instead places his hand on her shoulder and cracks another joke, "and you've gotten taller!" Another moment passes as he continues to take in the sight of her before breaking from the light teasing, "You look wonderful! I didn't know you had it in you or else I'd let you do my make-up once in a while!" He wrinkles his nose as he glances to the rest of the crowd, "Still... I think we might be a bit underdressed." A nod is given towards Quintessa. "I've got to say, the Queen of the Dead over there might be my favorite so far. I wonder if she'd be willing to give me some pointers sometime..." His tone of voice says his genuine in that remark before he twists back to Aira. "So, what brings you here? Have you decided to fight this year?"

Valrae is pulled from her empty small talk with a Chartsend noble to gawk at Mathollak’s loud and attention stealing entrance. She nearly chokes on her champagne, a creeping bloom of dusty rose rising from her throat to her cheeks that had nothing to do with the makeup or carefully applied glamours. “Is he always so… Ostentatious?” She stage-whispers to Khitt while hiding her smile behind her glass.

Mesdoram takes one sip of his newly acquired drink and proceeds to make eye contact with the Naga he knows as Aya. The first thought running though his mind is an annoying “I really can’t leave Alithrya without these snakes tracking me down.” However, since he wished to have words with Aya previously, he puts on his softer and more polite persona in order not to frighten nor intimidate the Naga. “Been a long time, Naga.” Mesdoram musters up in an unusually docile tone as he downs the rest his 1st of what will become many drinks today. With that in mind, the false drow snaps his fingers for one of the workers to refill his glass promptly. Feeling a bit more ballsy after his liquid courage, Mesdoram begins his clever and integrate interrogation of Aya with some very vague prodding. “Funny seeing you here for the ceremony. Do you intend to compete as well? Or just chaperone me as I go for the champagne record?”

Cresente steps around a wide-set dryad and her date of a small jersher man as he sips the champagne. It was far too sweet for his liking. He spots the benevolent hosts of the party, and quirks a brow to see at least a semi-familiar face. At least, it looked like it could be the same one beneath the dark spectacles and warrior's paint around the eyes beneath. To Valrae, the avian man bows his head at her in greeting. "A fine ceremony you have put together today, Mayor Baines. It's rather refreshing to see this arena being used again after so long." To Khitt, Crescente raises his head as if to tell Khitt to do the same. "Is there something particularly interesting on the ground there, lad?"

Alex can't help but notice Mathollak's grand entrance and the realization of the identity of the new arrival makes his stomach drop. "Huh... it's the guy who knocked me out of the tournament two years ago..." An idle hand instinctively reaches to his leg and clinches it as phantom pains suddenly emerge. "Damn lunatic..." he mutters beneath his breath before looking back to Aira.

Cresente whispered something Valrae.

Meri and Magikrios would make a point to try and make their rounds through the room. Khitt of course would be greeted by Meri, she’d pass him a drink and offer him a smile before her and Magik tried to circulate the room. Quintessa would not be shunned by them as the two move through the room saying hello and etc. Neither of them lingered for too long with any one individual, plenty of things to do. The duelists needed to meet their matchups, for example. The two Guardians of Kelay-Sage would ultimately end up standing before the space reserved for the Frost Giants. Apologies for the tragedies the region has suffered over the course of the last year were extended, along with pledges to do their best to continue to help. Obviously as political representatives for Kelay-Sage, the two were not only concerned about their own region but their relationship with surrounding areas.

Aira turned when she heard a familiar voice and offered a ghost of a smirk in Alex’s direction. She regarded the hellhound neutrally before looking back towards the bard. “Indeed we do,” she said, inclining her chin when he commented on their matching. “But not so much that we look like we planned it.” Her copper gaze swiveled towards Quintessa before she lifted up a single shoulder in a passive shrug. “I mean, you could go ask her.” The champagne table was getting quite crowded so the huntress began to side step her way through the throngs of people to find a more open space some yards away. Hopefully Alex had the good sense to follow her if he wanted to keep up the conversation. “No, I'm not fighting. Just thought it was time to come out of my…hibernation,” she said, cringing at her own word choice. “What about you?”

Khitti || I’m sorry, Khitt, but it appears that Senpai has noticed you. Khitt didn’t notice this right away however, as Mathollak had drawn not only Valrae’s attention, but Khitt’s as well. The redhead facepalmed, sighed, and nodded to Valrae. “Yes. Yes he is. -Always-.” It’s then that Crescente rolled up out of nowhere and Khitt had to stifle as yelp. He composed himself -again- and offered the avian a strained smile in return. “Only my dignity,” the witch said to the avian, grabbing another glass of champagne as a waiter went by.

Kreekitaka hadn't been seen for months. Since the battle with Xicotl, in fact. It's possible that some people might have considered him dead, even though there was never a body found. But here he came, up to the entrance of the arena, pausing before the doorman and waiting for his recognition as the king. Nothing of the sort came. He coughed and waved his arms--nothing happened. He shouted threats and abuse and jumped up and down, waving his jawblade--and had to avoid being stepped on. For you see, the king of Cenril's local uyeer population had found himself cursed by his own hand, shrunken to the size of a large insect in an effort to make shoveling snow into his gills easier, and subsequently found himself unable to unshrink himself due to Xicotl's antimagic aura tampering with his supply of size powder. It had taken him all this time to fight his way back here, battling the cold and the birds and the sheer scale of the geography just to drag himself here to the arena. He'd tried to visit his store, but his presumed death meant his operations had been taken by another and this newcomer felt no desire to sell garments to a city plagued by undead, which meant he was basically alone, with no backup, and barely two and a half inches tall. His clothes were as fine as ever, though his material choices were limited. Terrestrial silks harvested from caterpillars and spiderwebs woven into a brilliant flowing kilt, decorated with the scales of butterfly wings in dazzling colors. His water tanks--for he still required moisture to breathe--had been fashioned from snail shells and held to his body with sashes made from pine needles. Pine sap made a decent adhesive for pinning a single dandelion seed to one of those sashes as a corsage. Harrumphing at this blatantly size-ist treatment, he hammered his jawblade against the ground a few times to charge up energy, then--with a noise like a small firecracker going off, or somebody loudly clapping their hands--he hurled himself into the air and landed atop the doorman's golden staff, his legs--for the first time ever ending in tiny shoes built for Kree's feet, treated with more pine sap to give him some ability to climb--locking him to the head of the device. "HEY," he bellowed, jabbing his jawblade in the man's face, his voice somewhat high and tinny compared to its usual deep rumble, "I am noTAH! TAH!oo be ignoreDAH! I am KreekiTAH!ka, I am ayive, an' I am fighTAH!ing in HHHTHis TAH!ournamenTAH!, an' you are going TAH!oo announce me yike ao oHHHTHers, or Io knock you TAH!oo HHHTHe grounDAH! an' feeDAH! you TAH!oo HHHTHe birDAH!s." Direct threats usually weren't necessary before becoming tiny. Things had changed somewhat for him over the last few months.

Valrae dips into a shallow curtsey, the most movement her dress of illusions and jeweled chains would allow, and offers the avian man a bright smile. “Merry meet,” She chirps, “And thank you. It’s an honor.” A moment of confusion passes over her features, her eyes moving from Cresente to Khitt. What was that about? She didn’t have long to puzzle over it though, soon enough there was a whisper in her ear and Valrae was hiding a laugh behind a demure hand. She shakes her head gently, golden hair bouncing and jewelry flashing in the light, before she leans over to whisper back.

Valrae whispered something to Cresente.

Zahrani sips her prosecco, the well-dressed Naga woman looking out at the crowd of event-goers. Cyan eyes pass over Val, Khitt, Joan...before turning to Cyrene and her shorter feline friend. As Mes downs his glass and begins interrogating her, she looks down at him once more; in her neutral position, she towers over him at about 6'. She responds just loudly enough for him to hear, "I could do both, if you wanted. Right now, I'm just competing, but I make a good chaperone in a pinch." She offers a wry grin, before taking another sip and surveying the musicians. She isn't quite sure what to make of the busy suit that Mathollak wears, but it certain grabs attention, along with his wild behavior.

Cresente places a hand on Khitt's shoulder. "I'll see you for our rematch in the third round. I took no pride in winning against a broken man." Irisless hazel eyes bore into the redhead's own, as if searching for something. "I expect you to bring your best game."

Quintessa finds a flute of champagne and a wall for her and her bodyguard to linger near as she slowly scans the room. She makes eye-contact with Alex for a brief moment sensing he is talking about her, and she cannot help but smirk yet again. She couldn’t deny that she loved the attention, good *or* bad. The changeling’s gaze continues to travel through the room, stopping on Meri and Magikrios to offer a smile and a wave before continuing on. Mostly she’s here to put a face to the names of all the contestants. She might have to fight them one day so it was good to scout them out like this even if she wasn’t in the tourney.

Alex turned the edges of his lips downwards as his head tilted back and forth at the recommendation of the huntress. "Just ask her? Huh... now there's an idea." He turns his attention to Quintessa again, the sudden sensation of his heart skipping a beat causing him discomfort and confusion as he swallows the frog in his throat and turns back to Aira who had began her retreat. Alex grabbed hold of a champagne glass, then suddenly remembered he'd stopped drinking some time ago and placed it tactfully in the first open hand he saw with a smile. As he and Canon followed Aira, he would pass Meri and someone else he didn't recognize, a warm smile and nod was provided to the both of them along with a quick wave before he continued making his way through the crowd with a plethora of polite sayings such as, "Excuse me", "Pardon me", "Sorry", and "Hellhound coming through!" Once the trio were reunited on a more vacant area the bard took to pinching his tongue between his teeth for a moment as he tried to decipher her meaning of hibernation. Was she being literal? Did she do that now? He snapped back to it. "Oh, yeah. I'm participating. I figure there's certainly no way I get stomped in four tournaments, right? I mean what're the odds." He was being facetious. Historically, the bard made some headway in the Titans tournament, but never far enough to be considered a threat. His expression suddenly turned a bit grim, "I recently moved out of Frostmaw... with all the destruction and Lady Silver still missing... I... I don't really know what to do there anymore. What am I meant to do? Sing songs to repair a broken city?" It was clear the bard was broken-hearted about his home but he made his best effort to keep things light. "I figure fighting in the tournament at least keeps my ties to the kingdom somewhat intact... and I hear they're funding restoration efforts as well. If I do manage to make a dent in the competition, I'll be placing my proceeds to the cause."

Khitti || Khitt opened his mouth at the mention of him being “broken”, but closed it soon after, letting Crescente finish his challenge. “You sure do have a way with your words hurting far more than your punches, you know that?” The redhead chuckled a little, finishing his current glass of bubbly goodness. There was no opposition made against the challenge; perhaps Khitt wanted to fight him too. To prove he wasn’t always like that. And yet, what if it happened again? What if he saw -her- again while he’s fighting? The witch shook his head and sighed.

Mathollak makes the rounds too, planning on meeting everyone and giving them a short moment to become familiar. Until he notices the golden red draconian in her tempting elegance. Coincidence or not, she got his attention. With greed, he snatches another glass of champagne from a platter, and makes his way over to meet her. “Hello! My name’s Mathollak, and I found myself with an extra glass somehow. I couldn’t think of what to do with it until…” He holds the glass, and her, before his eyes. After a brief and positive appraisal, he confirms. “It would look so good in your hands.” Then he offers it to her with a mischievous smile.

Mahri is still here, sipping champagne she snagged from somewhere, and watching everyone mingle

Joan spotted and offered a wave in greets towards Zahrani, then Khitti, Quintessa and finally the giant crab! Making her way towards the refreshment table the vampire would look over the tasty offering making her choices then over towards one of the rope off area for her kind.

Valrae is momentarily pulled away from her guests by concerned staff when the commotion with the doorman and the small talking crab reaches the point of threats. Concern furrowed the witch’s brows. She thought the appropriate response might be to throw the offender out, however she was amazed to find it was none other than Kreekitaka! How had he gotten so… small?! The Mayor used a herculean will to stop the part of her brain that reacted to things like kittens and small babies from making her melt and pick him up herself. Instead, she sent over a finely dressed server with a thick and comfortable pillow of silky silver with instructions to carry Kree wherever he might want to go and make sure he enjoyed his time at the ceremony. It wouldn’t look well for Cenril if one of the contestants were to be stepped on!

Mesdoram smirks quite contently at Aya’s retorts as the Naga shows absolutely no fear towards him… strange since every Naga he has encountered either has steered clear away from the false drow’s path or been gutted with their intestines decorating the Queen’s throne room. Though Mesdoram cannot quite figure out Aya’s motivations nor detect disguising magic of any kind, he seems to be certainly Aya is not part of the Queen’s entourage. Nevertheless, Mesdoram will have his fun interacting with Aya as thus far it has been cordial. “You know, the last Naga to tower over me like that wore my dirk as a pincushion. Perhaps you can be so lucky one day.” Just then he notices Khitt and can’t help himself but laugh at the redheaded man, secretly hoping Khitt has entered this tournament for a rematch. Before taking another sip, Mesdoram does turn his attention back to Aya as he sizes up the Naga from head to tail. “What big muscles you have – but have you seen these pythons?” With that said, Mesdoram flexes hugely as if he were attempting to show you how big his beach ball is when you put maximum air into the ball. Clearly, Mesdoram is having a good time.

Alex manages to catch sight of Mahri off by herself while speaking with Aira. The bard grins impishly in her direction as he remembers their last encounter. He never thought he'd get under that one's skin. It was fun. They should do it again sometime. Khitti say Valrae: Oh, I don’t think I told you. This guy knocked me out and beat my streak recently. *vaguely gestures at Crescente*

Mathollak :: Mathollak’s entourage has meanwhile joined the crowd as well. Notably, the frost giants amid his flock keep well away from the nobles who were invited as beneficiaries to this event, and that reason is made clear if one were to pay enough attention. On some part of their bodies, each of Mathollak’s tall friends would bear the mark of an exile; they were banished from the City of War some years ago. Their dress is tailored custom to each, and designed with clear intent to make the frost giants they were opposed to look like garbage. If nothing else, they made sure to appoint themselves as victor to the subtle social battle by having -much- more fun. They pretend not to see the burning glares they get from nobles full of range at the sight of them, and only glance over occasionally, just to return to their boisterous laughter with even more joviality.

Kreekitaka found himself apologized to by way of acquiring a personal manservant for the evening, and found this to be a perfectly acceptable arrangement. So it was that the uyeer gestured dramatically with his claws in the direction of the refreshment table, riding atop his silk pillow like a conquering hero atop some great steed. "ForwarDAH!, man, an' inTAH!oo HHHTHe fray! AfTAH!er monHHHTHs an' monHHHTHs of travoh, eaTAH!ing raw bugs an' rainwaTAH!er, I am famisheDAH! for some reoh fooDAH!." As they walked, he offered royal waves and cordial greetings to those who waved at the giant crab the size of a very small crab.

Quintessa returns a polite wave back at Joan before her attention shifts towards the door. That incomprehensible and yet familiar language… it couldn’t be. Quintessa abandons her position at the wall to march forward with Valrae, not believing it was Kree until she sees him with her own eyes. “Oh my,” Quintessa says, her tone teasing as he sees the once massive crab reduced to a diminished form. “Kreekitaka… You’ve really let yourself go…”

Cresente gives a brief hum, the corners of his lips twitching upwards momentarily. "Perhaps it was just beginners luck. We'll have to see during the rematch." Was that a trick of the light, or had he smiled somewhat? Crescente does not stick around long enough to find out, as the champagne he has been nursing for the last few minutes has already come close to requiring a refill. As he passes Mathollak, he gives him a curious scan from head to toe, then back up to head again. "A shame we were placed on opposite ends of the bracket. I've heard many stories about the Son of Delisha." None good, but he would leave that out for now.

Meri might snub Mesdoram, even if she is supposed to be on her good behavior. She has not decided. And while Alex might think he will get to pass by without a word for Meri or her husband, they've got a little something to say to him about his opponent. "You better kill him where he stands."

Zahrani humors Mesdoram by lowering herself down to his eye level. She does not appear fazed by his threat. The Naga simply stares into the man's face, not breaking eye contact before responding with a genuinely warm smile, "I see why she likes you..." She takes another prosecco flute (the standard champagne was too sweet for her), winks at Mes, then glides over to meet Cyrene, raising her torso to meet the draconian woman's gaze. She is about to introduce herself, before her attention is inevitably grabbed by the human in the outrageous suit. The vanguard offers a polite smile and raises her glass to Mathollak.

Kreekitaka flared his facial crushers in annoyance at the implication that this condition was caused by a lack of exercise or something. "YeTAH! myseff go, hmm?" he snarled, tugging on the pillow to get Jeeves behind him to raise it up to eye level. "HHHTHe nexTAH! TAH!ime you near-singoh-hanDAH!eDAH!yee obyiTAH!eraTAH! an enTAH!ire ancienTAH! DAH!eiTAH!ee wiHHHTH noHHHTHing buTAH! oioh an' fire, you yeTAH! me know an' Io be sure TAH!oo be ungraTAH!fo righTAH! back aTAH! you."

Aira didn’t -actually- hibernate in the literal sense. But she had been keeping a low profile in recent months for *reasons*. She couldn’t explain that, though, and instead turns to focus on her companion. When Alex mentioned moving out of Frostmaw, Aira, in a rare show of empathy and affection, reached out to grasp his bicep, giving it a gentle squeeze. “You already know I left,” she said grimly. She, likewise, still held affection for the war city. “I honestly wasn’t aware that the competition was raising money for the restoration cause and those affected, but I’m glad to hear it. I will have to contribute a few coins.” Then, sobering at the realization that Alex would be participating again, the huntress’s hand fell away. “You’ve been training?” she asked seriously.

Alex isn't quite sure he heard Meri right and glances back to her with a look of sincerity rarely offered. He scans her expression for any hint of humor and finds no such sign. The bard purses his lips and looks between the two of them with concern and interest. He will seek them out later to discuss things further.

Khitti || Khitt just stared at Crescente as he wandered off to find more to drink. And then the redhead was alone, for the moment. And he was overanalyzing that tiny babby itty bitty smile of the avian’s. Khitti wondered if they were flirting, and took more mental notes.

Mathollak is somewhat offput by the presence of Aya. He knows what she is, and he suspects he knows why she’s here. He maintains his smile, yet it fades from his eyes. He raises a glass in return of course. “I want you to know I didn’t come alone,” he says amicably, as though it meant nothing. “The Queen will have to do much more if she wants me to come back.” Clearly, he saw the presence of a naga here as a threat to his recently-won freedom.

Mesdoram does not know when he will have the chance again and shoots his shot; a slowly more drunken drow flings his first barrage at his redhead friend. "KHITT!!! Hope to see you soon, best buddy!" Mes is definitely less trolly and more joyous with his taunts these days... was that even a taunt or a drunken affirmation? The world will never know… But before he is able to offer a second clever line, he meets Aya's gaze and hears her referencing his wife. Side eyeing the Naga as she leaves him alone, the drow offers squinty eyes before finishing his 4th drink. “Well… she is something else.” Was he talking about Bre? Most definitely.

Valrae’s emerald eyes widen and almost swallow her face as she looks toward Khitt. “You were fighting?!” She exclaimed, somehow shocked but this not at all shocking revelation. The part she should have been surprised by was that Khitt was the one who had been knocked out. “Are you okay?” She eyes Cresente anew, her lips tilting into a pouting frown as she resists the urge to utter ‘men’ underneath her breath. She was sure they’d be fast friends after this. It was a comical stance for her to take, especially considering they were standing one of Cenril’s most ancient institutions hosting a long and storied fighting tournament for Frostmaw. However, this was lost to the witch in the wake of her concern. She didn’t have long to linger over it though, her attention was pulled away and toward the wave of whispering that passed through the crowd. Mathollak had brought a company of giants that seemed to cause a stir with the nobility. From what she understood of the politics, this was nothing short of an insult to both them and herself. Annoyance simmered underneath her finely polished mask of civility. “I’ll be right back,” She says to Khitt, turning away from her date to move through the crowd and place herself firmly in front of Mathollak. Her smile was as cold as any Frostmawian blizzard. “Are you enjoying yourself?” She asks, her tone saccharine.

Cyrene didn’t quite know what to do with herself aside from being a noble gold wrapped pillar so she had decided to retreat but then a voice called out. She looked down to Mathollak with a soft smile as her storm could gray eyes study the man for a moment. “Seems you have.” She takes the offered glass with a slight nod of her head. “I am Dame Cyrene Celes,” she gives a slight curtsy “it’s a pleasure.” Her head cocks to the side slightly setting the cuffs on her braids to jingling as she studies him in a moment of silence. “So this even if for a tournament yes?” Her eyes never leaving the man as if she was memorizing eve aspect of him.

Quintessa has to stop herself from bursting into laughter. She has absolutely no idea what the uyeer was trying to say to her, but watching him thrash around angrily was the cutest thing she’d seen in a long time. “Oh, oh no, yes, I’m sure if I was in your position I’d feel the same way.”

Alex is caught off guard as Aira grabs his arm, the human rather starved from any sign of affection, finds himself twitching slightly as his face grows red to match the paint on his face. In most cases, he would attempt to hide the reaction, but he knew better than to try and fool Aira and instead, simply ignored it. "Training? Well, I mean, my lyrics haven't improved but I am proud to say my sustain has grown at least a full second over the last year." Another joke, though this time it carried a hint of nervousness. "... I've been busy. Drum and I have had a few goes out in the swamplands but, no, I haven't put much into it." He hesitates for a moment, suddenly remembering a very important topic. "Speaking of Drum... I wrote you a letter. Did you receive it?"

Callamyre had indeed come to this bustling venue with the purpose of assessing the breadth of the competition, but truthfully she was less a competitive sort and more a scholarly sort. Encouraged by the feline-apparent on her shoulders, she had taken up a flute of something bubbly and sipped it daintily until reaching a certain threshold upon which she could resist the urge no longer — she pulled out a weather journal of questionable usefulness, and flicked through the ink-filled pages until she found an empty sheet. And it was here that she began taking notes in a hasty lettering with the stub of a pencil found tucked into one of the pockets of her lab coat. "I am *always* thorough," she reminded her furry companion. "Look, I've already written down those qualities. I mean, did you see the feathers?" Her tone, even in its hushed timber, was inquisitive and intrigued, and her hazel-gold eyes lifted from the pages to sweep around the arena, soaking in the connections being made and the physical qualities being displayed. She was even keenly notating any instance of possible abilities. Being thus far unnoticed had its perks, and the professor embraced the opportunity for academic research.

Khitti || Whatever awkwardness was there in the avian’s wake cleared up really fast when Mesdoram called over to Khitt. “Heeeeeey. I can’t wait to kill you where you stand, you insufferable jerk that makes women cry!” He finger-gunned at the drow, offering him an extremely strained smile that said ‘No really. I am definitely going to kill you’. With a smirk, he returned his attention to Valrae. “Oh, it was just the weekly bare knuckle boxing night. Started having a couple of them here in Cenril at the beach. Managed to convince them that they’ll get more money in my home region. You know me. Gotta punch something to help stifle my emotions.”

Meri after a bit of room circulation and light mingling, Meri and Magikrios subtly make for the exit. Well, it is subtle for most. All except Mesdoram. The couple’s retreat from the party has them angled in Mesdoram’s general direction. Once close enough, the very tall Magikrios leans in to whisper to the much shorter false drow. “Don’t forget.” What? Probably that Magik will kill him where he stands. Just as Khitt reminded him would happen. Meri of course gives her brother two thumbs up before she and Magik are out the door.

Quintessa seems to overhear Khitt say something about bare knuckle boxing and she can’t help but feel a sudden burst of curiosity about it. “Huh? You do that every week?” The changeling turns to face the redhead, the train of her dress licking upwards like ebon flames. “And it stifles your emotions? …Can I come along one time and try it out? I’ve got lots of emotions I need to stifle, trust me.”

Mathollak wonders momentarily if Valrae’s question was really more of an accusation, but then he realizes: of course it is. She was taking advantage of this party in the same way he was. “I am! I’m so glad that we can do so much for our taller friends in the North. Frostmaw may have fallen, but the spirit of it lives on in each and every one of those giants. It’s truly a good thing you’re doing here.” But she was his boss, and this was her party. He knew a party foul was being committed here. “But as always, my favorite part of these little get-togethers has to be the feats of pure magic you manage to complete. Right? I mean look at those clothes, Delisha let you into her closet didn’t she?” He leans back to gaze in full, eating it up hungrily.

Zahrani raises a brow at Mathollak's statement. She had been a bit out of the loop with her deep-cover operations, but she had heard some of Reginae's menagerie had left. She tilts her head to the side, before straightening her head once more and offering a grin, "Well done, then. Fortunately for you, I am here as a competitor, not a jailor." There was no threat or malice in the woman's raspy tenor, perhaps prompting doubts in the human male as to whether Aya really is in league with the Queen of Alithrya. She then turns to Cyrene, cyan eyes looking up and down the draconian's vibrant form and saying, "Your dress is absolutely stunning." The feline-turned-naga does her best to keep her composure. If Rani had a type, it would certainly be 'tall ladies with wings.'

Mathollak regarded Cyrene with some curiosity. "Dame Cyrene Celes," he repeats for his memory, savoring the syllables. "It -is- a pleasure. And of course! The tournaments around here are -everything-." But there were two other guests here as well, this could be a networking opportunity. "By the way, Cyrene, this is my friend and host and boss, Valrae Baines." He looks to Aya again. "We haven't had the pleasure, have we? I'm Mathollak."

Aira’s usually scowl fixed itself on her lips at Alex’s admission that he hadn’t really done any type of training. She held her tongue though, because she didn’t want her legitimate concern to be interpreted as lack of confidence in his abilities. “Well, I will try and come and see you fight. If you want, that is.” Pausing, Aira lifted the champagne to her lips and drained the contents, abandoning the empty glass on a nearby table. When he asked about the letter, the huntress nodded. “Aye, I was going to come see you after this…” she gestured vaguely to the party. “Is everything okay?”

Mathollak takes nothing Aya says to be a fact, but this is no place to cause a scene. "Good! I'm glad we can put aside our strife for the betterment of all the good people of Frostmaw."

Khitti || Khitt smirked at Quintessa, nodding as he grabbed another glass of champagne and started into it. “Every week. It’s basically a mini-tournament, either here or in Craughmoyle. And yes, you can come with me. We always need new participants. I probably should take a break from it for a bit because of this,” he said, gesturing at the ceremony. “But, I can always spectate. Probably help you in terms of fighters and their weaknesses too.” Yalway disappears with a magical aura surrounding him. Titus disappears with a magical aura surrounding him. Yalway takes off his pick axe and begins to wrap his hands in preparation for the fight of a lifetime

Alex pretty much interrupts Aira as he shoves his hand to grab her wrist and declare "YES!" as she mentions coming to watch him fight. His brain catches up with his actions a few seconds later as he releases his grip and recoils his hand back to his chest. "I, uh, I mean... yes. I would, I would love that. It would be nice to have a fan in the crowd for once." He chuckles and then genuinely beams at her reception of the letter. "Better than ever." A vague reply as he suddenly finds himself calculating the departure of the next ship to Rynvale. Something catches the corner of his eye and he looks just passed Aira to spot another familiar face. "Doctor? Call... Na... er, gods what was it... CALLA!" he shouts, an arm extending into the air to wave the curious little academic frantically over with a limp wrist. "Hold on. I have someone I want you to meet. She let me paint her hands!" The bard fails to hide his excitement on the last line as he continues waving the doctor over while gently grabbing Aira's wrist with his free hand to try and keep her from fleeing, knowing her distaste for meeting new folks. Canon oddly enough, tilts his demonic little head and bats his paw forward twice to mimic the motion.

Cyrene couldn’t suppress her chuckle at his silver tongue, but dark lips curled up into a grand smile as she regarded her own gown. “I have a mild addiction when it comes to gold. All with dragon blood do. Some gems some precious metals. Mine is obviously gold. And most of the adornments I made myself.” She slipped one of her rings off and holds it out for him to look at. It was a simple enough gold band but inside it was ringed with engraved runes, a spell focus hidden as a decorative bobble. Her attention shifted to the disguised Zaharani as she slithered up. “I thank you,” she nods her head low, another chorus of ringing. “Your attire is pleasing as well. I have never met one of your kind… I will remember you” her attention lingers on the naga as she sipped at the champagne, before looking back to Math, then back again, her smile growing just a little more before taking another drink.

Mathollak wasn’t used to thinking himself as short, but almost everyone in this clique towered over him and Valrae. Cresente was the latest to give him some shade. “Oh? So we are, but those brackets are so constrictive. I don’t think we need to wait very long at all,” he says with a grin. It was only meant to be a threat if Cresente meant -his- eagerness to fight as a threat. “And by the way, we are all sons and daughters of Delisha. She’s the Dark Mother! Our Dark Mother. No need for me to wear that glory alone.”

Quintessa said to Khitti, “After Titans of Winter then. Not that I’d be much good at it with my messed up wrist and all, but I’m willing to try it out anyway.”

Valrae did not, in fact, know there was a weekly bare knuckle boxing night. If she had, she would have attended or nagged or possibly both. Still, she filed it away for a moment in order to focus her attention and slowly boiling anger on the man currently in front of her. The one who was currently playing her own game and adding his own objectifying twist. The witch struggles to keep the smile painted on her face as his eyes travel beyond her face. “Lovely to hear. Of course, our charity extends to all of Frostmaw and her people.” Her tone was one of chipped generosity. “I’m very excited to see how long you last… In the ring.” She smiles again, sweet and harmless as a viper, before she nods politely to the other guests that had surrounded them. The witch’s eyes halt upon Aya, confusion passing over her sunny features like a cloud as the sensation of meeting a familiar stranger passes. “Lovely to see all of you,” She comments vaguely, stepping forward to whisper some final parting to Mathollak before turning on her heels to find her date. To Khitt she says, “I really have no idea what to make of that man.” In a huffing tone before polishing off the last of her drink.

Valrae whispered something Mathollak.

Khitti reached over and fistbumped Mathollak when he mentioned that everyone is a child of Delisha.

Quintessa said to Mathollak, “Delisha be praised.”

Kreekitaka glared at this. Apparently he was going to need to invest in more semaphore flags, because talking at people wasn't enough again. This wasn't worth his aggravation, but he did start tapping his jawblade against his claw to start building up a charge in the event that someone else decided to be smug about being larger than he was. He tapped on the pillow with a leg to have Jeeves lower him down to the table, where he began to walk among the foodstuff, taking bits and pieces with his claws since the silverware was too large to use properly. This probably made him look to the unattentive like a bug on the table.

Alex feels left out since he gave up worshipping Delisha and all.

Alex suddenly remembers that was very shortly after he got stomped by Mathollak... hmm...

Mathollak takes the gilded loop in his hand, turning it over. “Hey it’s not an addiction if it’s not a problem, that’s what I always say.” He spots the little engravings hidden in the inlay. “I know what these are,” he says proudly. “They’re runes! I know about those.” He knows about one. He hands it back. “Dragons do have good taste. I heard they actually invented the whole idea of ‘treasure’. What do you think about that?”

Khitti || Khitt nodded at Quintessa, “I’m sure it’ll be fine. Plus, if you end up not enjoying it much, you and I can just spar together.” The redhead raised a brow at Valrae’s less than chipper tone, stifling a frown as he reached over and squeezed her wrist gently, as if to ask ‘you okay?’. He very obviously rolled his eyes at Kreekitaka and his antics as well.

Cresente inhales deeply, his nose scrunching as if someone had just suggested to him that he try to drink overly fermented mead distilled through cockroaches. "If we were all meant to be children of your false god, I would rather be a bastard." That said, he takes a second flute of champagne offered to him by the servers.

Mathollak feels his eyes widen after something Valrae has said to him, but he turns to his new friends to explain. "She has to go do hostess things, she can't linger with us the whole time."

Khitti || Khitt grimaced a little at Crescente’s remark, but at the same time also resisted the urge to say ‘same’, despite the fact that he himself was a follower of several gods. It do be like that sometimes.

Mathollak said to Cresente, “Hey, nothing wrong with being a bastard! I say own it, otherwise you'll get your feelings hurt.”

Quintessa was just about to respond to Khitt when the comment of Cresente caught her attention. She has to conceal her urge to laugh again, this time at the sheer audacity. “Oh my,” She cannot, however, stifle the smirk that grows as she calls out to the avian. “So which one of the ‘false gods’ do *you* worship then?”

Quintessa said to Mathollak, “I prefer the term 'wild oat' myself. It sounds cuter.”

Mathollak said to Khitti, “Oh hey good to see you bro," he matches the fist bump. "See? I'm not biased.”

Mathollak said, “Khitt knows about Delisha too.”

Mathollak said to Quintessa, “Her love is our love.”

Khitti said to Mathollak, “You’re good, bro. *sniffles* You’re so good.”

Zahrani nods in return to Mathollak, introducing herself to both him and Cyrene, "My name is Aya. A pleasure..." She offers a smile to the draconian woman, glancing at Valrae as she leaves before turning to draconian woman, "You flatter me...if you find yourself in Alithrya, you need only ask for me." She turns to the human bloodknight, "Same to you, sir."

Mathollak said, “We can all be Delisha's wild oats! How beautiful is that?”

Cresente looks at the woman with the unusual eyes as his expression falls back into that of a neutral one. "Avians have walked the lands long before those you revere as gods were spoken of in myth." He pauses to take a sip of champagne. "If you're speaking of the Lithrydelean Pantheon, I would say Aramoth or Arkhen would have been the most likely to be true avians."

Cyrene slips the ring back onto her finger and couldn’t help but giggle softly at how excited the man seems at seeing the runes. Everything she has is engraved, each piece with a different enchantment or sealed ability. Yes it was an elegant get up but it could also put a considerable dent into a city if she had the drive to. “And that could be so, dragons are long lived and tend to make claims. My own mother is an ancient red, I could see her saying she invented the concept of treasure. But that is a broad term, treasure is in the eye of the beholder.” She gives a playful wink before looking back to Aya “An entire city… I am interested now. I may find myself wondering that way eventually, I do like to lean and experience new things”

Callamyre had, evidently, failed at the whole standing-around-inconspicuously-while-covered-in-monster-guts thing. She had maneuvered through the crowd without drawing attention to herself (Gods bless the nose-blind) as she drew out her notes on each observance she made — only to suddenly hear her name above the din. "Oh?" She looked up from her notes as the calico cat switched shoulders around her neck, and the pair of them searched the crowd for the source of the name-drop. "Oh!" Her hazel-gold eyes landed firmly on Alex. The Bard of Frostmaw. She remembered. Of course she remembered him, it had only been a few days, right? Time was a wobbly, wonky thing, especially to the precocious vampire with a penchant for working in the lab for days at a time. But now here he was, calling her name and pulling her quite unceremoniously out of her studious dissociation. Her features twisted into a confused array of emotions, and lowering the book and pencil to the dirty pockets of her apron, she tugged at her fingers and heeled her way through the attendees to meet him. "Yes, hi, hello, yes, the paint is holding up quite nicely—" Although much of the coloring had faded from her freckled skin at the behest of obsessive hand-washing, the memory of their prior encounter brought a dimpled grin wide into her cheeks and it was as though the paint had never chipped nor peeled from her. With Aira towed alongside Alex, the scholarly woman's gaze shifted to the distantly-familiar features of the huntress. "Ohhhh— I do believe we've met!" she recalled with a curious smile. "Many, many moons ago." At least 7 or 8, by the vampire's circuitous timeline tracking. "I trust the new year finds you well."

Quintessa takes a slow drink of her champagne as Cresente answers her, causally crossing her arms across one another. If she has any judgments regarding the worship of Aramoth or Arkhen, she keeps it to herself. “True avians, huh? What an interesting thing to say…” The gears are certainly turning in her head.

Valrae returned Khitt’s squeeze with a soft brush of her hand, offering him a shallow smile. “It’s about time to announce the winners of the best dressed contest.” She murmurs, moving away again to stand with a small collection of staff. They spoke in hushed tones for a moment before she moved away again. The orchestra halted, the dancers twirling over the center of the arena’s snowbank drifting away and rejoining the crowd in the new hush. Valrae took the center and waited until she felt the shift of attention toward her. When she spoke again, her voice was amplified to be heard clearly across the expansive colosseum. “Merry meet!” She says, her smile bright. She was haloed in the light of her gown, a beacon of golden sun in a world of silver and white. “Thank you all for joining us as we celebrate the beginning of this year’s Titan’s of Winter.” She pauses as the crowd cheers, some most notably from Frostmaw pounding upon their tables. “It’s an honor to support our allies to the North as they recover from their most recent tragedies. Now, without further ado I will be announcing the winners of those who came in their best this evening.” The small slip of paper she’d been holding is brought up. She pauses dramatically, drawing the moment out before calling out, “Mathollak and Aya! Congratulations!” The Mayor waits for a moment for the pair to join her, passing them both artfully crafted timekeeping pieces made of Frostmawian Black Ice.

Callamyre- before being side-tracked by Alex, the vampire's keen hearing was picking up all manner of delectable tidbits of lore, which she scratched into the notebook quickly.

Zahrani did not expect to win a prize. She grins at Cyrene, before gliding smoothly to Valrae, accepting the beautifully-crafted timepiece from the Mayor, "Thank you so much..." she says. Would her voice be familiar to the witch? Maybe, maybe not. Either way, the naga woman tucks the timepiece into her suit pocket and returns to the draconian lady. "I seem to have acquired a treasure of my own," she says with a satisfied grin.

Khitti || Khitt frowned as Valrae headed off to deal with the contest winners. Finishing off his last drink, he soon set the empty glass on a passing member of the waitstaff’s tray, then crossed his arms over his chest in a rather pensive manner. The redhead took to people-watching for the moment, making sure to clap once the winners were announced.

Cresente has decided he has wasted his day by coming here. The fan-favorite half-orc he had heard so much about, that was meant to be his first opponent, failed to appear at such a prestigious event. Crescente would simply have to make do with the other contenders he might face later down the line.

Aira eyes widened slightly when Alex grabbed her wrist and exclaimed his delight at her offer to come and watch him fight. His sheepishness afterwards was rather quite charming and he managed to procure a small smile on the huntress’s lips. Aira even chuckled a little as she said, “Alright then, I’ll try and make it. Just let me know when the matches are.” Alex suddenly called out to someone whose name Aira vaguely recognized and she looked over her shoulder to see who the bard was beckoning forward. She wasn’t planning on running, but it was probably a good idea for Alex to grab her wrist anyway just in case. As she is towed towards the doctor, Aira, erring on the side of politeness, offers a half smile and nod of her head. “I confess I don’t recall -officially- meeting you, my apologies, but I’m sure we have crossed paths. It’s a pleasure to see you again.”

Quintessa applauds loudly for Mathollak and Aya. She shouts “Delisha be praised!” For no particular reason at all.

Mathollak offers his arm to Aya, despite his misgivings. "Shall we?" Aya might not be as receptive, but he'll play it off to the crowd if he gets rejected, wiping away an invisible tear and turning his hands up as if to say, 'aw shucks'. Then he makes his way back to the stage, meeting Valrae once again. "Hello again, Valrae! And thank you. Actually, there's a couple other folks I'd like to thank as well. One is Kanna, the beloved bard who is currently enjoying herself at the Alithrya palace resort and spa and couldn't escape with us to be here." Some people here would know what he meant, but not enough to give himself a target, he hoped. A bigger target. "I'd also like to thank Arifrida again! Her people have been so kind and receptive to me, I'm so grateful to be either to return the favor." Then he bows, and departs from the stage.

Mathollak said to Quintessa, “Ayy! That's right! Of course I owe it all to Delisha, the Dark Mother. Her love is our love.”

Valrae smiled through gritted teeth and resisted the urge to shove Mathollak far, far away from the center of the arena. He left just in time. She gracefully makes her own exit as the orchestra strikes up again and those who wish to dance return. She makes her way back to Khitt, hunting for a drink she desperately needed. “Do you think we could sneak out and go eat garbage food yet?” She asks sweetly, only pouting a little.

Mathollak said, “Oh I thanked Kanna because she helped me with this outfit. Was that not clear? Okay it's clear now.”

Khitti || Khitt grinned at Valrae once she returned, nodding to her. "Sure. I could use several drinks that are far stronger than this champagne." He dusted himself off, straightened his outfit, then put his arm out for Valrae to take so they could get the hell out of there. "Khitti's been having the strangest cravings for shellfish lately, so we should probably try to appease her while we're at it."

Alex is distracted temporarily by the announcement of the best dressed and the whole speech about "supporting our allies to the north", which made him feel some type of way... It felt... superficial somehow. Either way, the bard felt his expression drop as that overly sexualized cretin was named a winner for best dressed. It's odd how jealousy infected the bard at the most inopportune times. He spotted Quintessa in the crowd again, and then the winners, a scowl as he forced an exaggerated gag in displeasure to the results. "Hmm... I was really hoping the gothic queen would've won... oh well..." he mutters before suddenly snapping back to reality. Alex was absolutely beaming at the mention of the hand paint still clinging on and he was taken back by the fact that the two seemed to know each other already. He allowed them to make their introductions as he took a mental note that he'd made the huntress smile - it felt like it'd been ages since he was able to do anything other than make her worry or piss her off. Canon growled aggressively at the cat on Callamyre's shoulders until the bard shushed him with a stern look, causing the demonic canine to whimper and lay down by his feet. "Memories are fragile things. Always breaking at the slightest passing of time or bashing of the head." His eyes twitched as he made a silly expression to accompany the out of place claim. "So with memories fading, allow me to reintroduce you! Aira, this is Doctor... Callamyre... Something the something. She's extremely smart and very, very interesting. Callamyre, this is Aira. An incredible huntress and despite what she may try to make you believe, an incredibly caring and compassionate woman for whom I would die." He loosens his grip on Aira's wrist and flicks the hand back towards himself. "And then of course, you both know me, Alex, Bard of Frostmaw and future Titans of Winter champion." He jests before glancing over the crowd again and sizing up his competition. Let's be honest, he hardly stood a chance... but with that voice of his, who knows? "Doctor, Aira here was just saying that she would come watch me get pummeled in the tournament. Might I be able to convince you to do that same? If you agree and I find one more willing victim, I might just be able to pull together a fan club and put up a merch booth!" Alex holds his hand out in front of him to display some imaginary sign. "Alex. Battle Bard Hero. Dolls only two copper coins!"

Valrae returned Khitt’s grin with one of the first genuine ones of her own for the night as his arm settled around her. “Mmm, perfect.” She replies, keeping the instant follow up question of every woman everywhere when they hear the word ‘cravings’ to herself for now. Something to bring up a little later. “Beer and crabcakes and shrimp and… Oh! That street vendor in the Market that sells those fish and chips! You know, the one who makes the spicy sauce?” She would continue to excitedly list all the foods she could think of that would make Khitti and herself happy as they exited the arena, confident that the Cenril and Kelay staff and remaining officials could handle the rest of the party as they headed out into the night.

Mathollak and his entourage of many-sized miscreants gather up after this main part of the festivities, and seem to conspire for a short while around a pair of tables they’ve pushed together. Abruptly, as if through some sort of signal, they all get up at once. They pass a glance past the humbled nobility of Frostmaw before departing through the main gates of the arena, no doubt to finish whatever sordid business they began prior to this extravaganza. On the way out, Mathollak eyes his new time piece greedily. Time was something he was used to losing more than keeping, but this was treasure.

Cyrene is a little surprised by the announcement, she apparently missed the part about the best dressed comparison but was quite amused to see who won. “I guess I attract the more fabulous people” she mused to herself before looking towards Alex and his obvious displeasure at the winners. But her attention was brought back to Aya as she got her prize and came back, this made the draconian smile a little more, apparently she was good company enough. “That is a fine piece, congratulations. Though not one for speeches hmm?” Her glass now empty she snags a fresh one from a passing tray and sips.

Alex catches Cyrene looking at him and suddenly feels like a jerk for his obnoxious action. Not towards Mathollak... that guy was too much... but the draconian did look nice in gold. He isn't sure if they noticed, but he still offers and apologetic smile and wave with tinted red cheeks.

Cyrene offers an apologetic smile, she didn’t intend to make him feel embarrassed. A wave consisting of all fingers was given his direction in attempted atonement.

Zahrani watches Mathollak depart with his entourage, before looking back to Cyrene with a serene smile, "Speeches are my least favorite thing." She sips her own drink, surveying the people filing out of the arena before turning back to the draconic woman, "I should probably return to my duties in Alithrya. Will you look me up next time you are there?" The feline certainly admires the woman, but the request is also strategic should her cover get blown.

Aira extended her hand out to Callamyre. “It’s a pleasure to officially meet you. Being a doctor is quite an accomplishment, you must be proud of your work,” the huntress said genuinely. Aira preened under Alex’s praise of her being an accomplished hunter; however, his explanation of her being kind and caring is met with a scowl. He was ruining her reputation. All around her the party began to grow and swell as guests became bolstered by booze and inhibitions dissipated in alcohol fumes. “I apologize for having to cut this short, truly, but I only meant to make a brief appearance so I really must be going. Calla, hopefully we can have a more quiet meeting next time. And Alex, I’ll see you later.” She was referring to the note. And then before Alex could grab her hand to stay her, the huntress disappeared into the crowd. Khitti closed their eyes, entering a deep rest.

Cyrene thinks on that for a moment, she hadn’t met a naga before and an entire city does sound interesting. “I will make my way down there soon enough. But I doubt I will be dressed like this. Usually I’m a little more armored.” She gives a playful wink before slipping her ring off again and holding it out for Aya. “Here, it will be easier for me to find you in a city with this.” Everything she makes has a little of her own magic it essentially making all her items trackable, assuming she engraved it.

Alex is saddened to see Aira go but he makes no attempt to stop her. He turns his attention back to Callamyre but just when he's about to say something, Canon suddenly barks loudly and bolts for the door. The human's eyes grow wide as he realizes his hellhound just sprinted out into the city streets with no supervision. "I'm so sorry!" he cries to the doctor before bolting for the door.

Zahrani slides closer to Cyrene, accepting the ring from the woman with a warm smile. The Naga chuckles at the comment, "You'll probably find me wearing armor as well. We'll be dressed to match." With that last bit of flirting, she slips the ring on her finger and says, "Good night, Dame Cyrene..." The disguised paladin slithers through the crowd, smiling at a random feline as she exits the arena. She glances down at the engaged ring on her finger, then she checks her surroundings and heads back to the serpent City

Cyrene :: the ring would size itself to fit Aya perfectly the moment she slipped it on, Cyrene would give a parting wave. The. With a sign she rounded on her heel to the table holding the drinks. Reaching under it she pulled out her feline companion who under drunken protest to being manhandled but as he is tucked away like a loaf of bread the draconian gives a sigh. Her tail scooping up his fallen staff as she bows to the dignitaries in passing as she heads into the city proper. “But I wan more champen..” the yell followed by a yelp as he is smacked.