Date: August 17, 1998
Place: Courtyard - Korallion - Haven
Cast: Arahael, Arslan, Cassandra, Cepheus, Chay, Corin, Deire, Dorian, Draconis, Drusus, Kalypso, Khamseen, Kita, Lysander, Marina, Megeara, Riva, Samein
Scene: The Atlanteans hold a banquet to honor the recently-arrived Amarisian Decemvir, Marina. Many guests arrive, and despite one minor incident with a Varati warlord, the night was a success.

Courtyard - Korallion - Haven:
      The entrance to the Korallion is preceded by a large courtyard. It is surrounded by a natural rock wall, though the floor has been smoothed and layered with deep blue coral. To the north is an opening in the wall which leads out onto the bridge back to Haven; its pearl gates carved to resemble strands of seaweed arching to the sky. To the south is the most impressive sight of any shore, the Korallion itself. Embedded into the rocky island is a tall spire shaped like a giant nautilus. Its peak is perhaps one hundred feet above you and its width about equal to that. On the right side of its base is a large opening, which you imagine must, like a shell, move its way to the top.
      There is a dampness to the courtyard, with a constant layer of sea water on the ground and the natural rock walls. They are covered in lichen of the most impressive colors: reds, purples, blues and greens. You see now how the Atlanteans use the ocean's natural beauty to highlight their own habitats, and the Korallion surely must be one of the more impressive.

Arahael comes across the bridge from the shore.

Kita talks with Riva near the entrance. The Reeve nods to her, then says, "I see... You have my sympathies, then."

Riva steps forward to welcome Cepheus, then the other newcomers. "Glad that you could come." She welcomes warmly. "I am Orman Riva."

Tables are set in strategic points around the courtyard to show off those dining to as much advantage as the lovely features of the enclosure. Servers pass round trays of wine and lluora.

Marina takes the goblet from the servant boy's hand and holds it out to Corin. "Trouble? Not at all." She glances over towards the entrance. "As much as I would like to stay and continue this conversation, there is something I must attend to, at least momentarily." She pushes the goblet into Corin's hands and steps closer to the entrance.

Deire clears her throat in a low rumble, fluidly sliding her gaze from her brother and the warlord to examine the courtyard again. "Now, were shall we be sitting?" she asks aloud, voice low and thick with some statement swallowed. Another brief and frowning regard wanders to Arslan before she steps away from Draconis, weaving her way through the maze of tables.

Corin takes the goblet, nods to Marina, and says, "Yes, thank you, I certainly understand."

The Varati Warlord seats himself, two guards remaining standing behind him. The other two have vanished somewhere into the crowds. Arslan makes no further attempts at conversation.

As Riva turns and her voice heard again in welcoming, Draconis turns. Just shy of joining his sister in her journey to their places...

Near the entrance to the courtyard, the sound of metal on metal can be heard ever so faintly. Soon, it falls silent and a host of winged people can be seen standing in the doorway, Lysander at their head. With him, Arahael of House Jove and his daughter, all dressed in fine robes which are befitting of wealth. The source of the metal is unseen, though knowing the Empyreans, the guards could not be far behind. Attending with the nobles are several mongrel slaves, dressed in duller white robes, heads bowed in supplication.

Chay comes across the bridge from the shore.

Arahael enters as a member of Princeps Lysander's party, escorting Lysander's daughter, Megeara. The Deus Jove looks fairly pleased this evening--be it the pomp of their entrance, the attractive young Empyrean woman on his arm, or the party, the reason is unclear and likely unneeded.

With little fanfare or notice, a small group of darkly dressed figures enter the area shortly after Lysander and his party. Perhaps simply not wishing to arrive with the arrogant fanfare of those that came before them, they are nonetheless led by a well-structured Empyrean. Both the Archon's uniform, and that of the two commanders which follow him, are immensely more ornate then the usual wear of the Hounds, clearly meant for more formal occasions. Their steps are light and quiet, evidence of time spent in shadier situations. The small group pauses at the door, waiting for whatever flare-filled greeting which seems to be called for by those who came before them.

Marina narrows her eyes towards the Empyrean entrance and stands impatiently. She glances back into the Korallion. Her eyes locate Chay and she motions him over with a flick of her hand.

Chay comes in just after the Archon's party, looking around the courtyard and moving to Marina as she motions to him.

Riva again welcomes the newcomers, her eyes glinting as she recognizes a few of the grouping by reputation if not personally. "Wine and lluora are being served, and if you will greet those whom we are honoring with the reception." She extends a polite smile as she gestures further along to the others. "Priestess Tritonis Deire and her brother, the heir to the Decemvirate, Tritonis Draconis. Her highness, Amaris Marina is just over there, also."

On their entrance, Kita nods quickly to Riva and makes her way towards the other Hounds.

After entering, Lysander casts a vaguely lidded gaze around the courtyard, searching for a place to move the procession to--certainly, it is Empyrean finery at its best. The Princeps seems to pointedly ignore gazes, positive or negative, instead motioning for the slave attendants to prepare a table for seating. Leaning over towards Arahael, he smiles a bit, "Shall we sit and enjoy the feast, Dominus?" The older Empyrean's voice is soft, but carries with it the weight and charisma of a natural orator. "Megeara." He waits for them to move to the spot the mongrels prepare.

Megeara stands out as a pink rose between Lysander and Arahael. Though her expression remains serene, her eyes dart about curiously, taking in the surroundings. Giving her father an obedient nod, she looks up at Arahael, for direction.

A cobalt brow is still slightly arched from the banter of the previous conversation. A conversation now paused in the pomp that has followed it. Such entrance that made Triton Draconis pause in his steps toward his own place. There is a bow of his head, slight, in greeting, and then he takes his place. A look given to Deire. A smile lingering. Draconis' blue-green eyes move again to those arriving. He finally takes a seat. The debate perhaps is just... paused... rather than ended.

Almost obvious in their obliviousness, a small trio of Varati, one seated and two, mail-clad, standing behind, pay no notice to the entering Empyreans.

Arahael glances once to Megeara, before answering Lysander, "Truthfully, Princeps, I think that this may be an excellent chance to pay our respects to those that Orman Riva has named the honorees of the festivities. And to, perhaps, make some conversation, before the feast itself." He turns his grey eyes to Megeara, "Do you agree, Domina?"

A faint, yet unmistakable smile muses across the Archon's features as his grey eyes watch Lysander and the other Empyreans in front of him. Neither he nor the two Hounds which accompany him move from their slightly distanced spot. One of the Commanders notices Kita, and mumbles something in guarded tones to Cepheus. The look redirects to Kita, a faint nod going to her as she approaches. The Hound refocuses on Riva, who is now behind the approaching Sylvan Hound. A more meaningful bow of respect goes to the Captain of the Guard, should the opportunity present itself. But for now, the party of Hounds remains slightly secluded just inside the entrance.

Marina stands by the table containing her appointed place. She sips from her goblet and watches the newcomers go about their business with what appears to be little interest.

Chay looks around the courtyard.

A stir among the servers is accompanied by soft strains of music, so delicate as to make the ears strain to seek the source. Servers line up and begin to pass trays of seafood, sauces, meats and fruits, vegetables and breads, sweets, and more out to place on the buffet serving table till it fair groans with the weight of food. One of the Ephorate stands before the opening of the structure and calls out in a deep orator's voice. "Please be seated. Your own staff may prepare your plate, or one of our servers will gladly bring to the table what you have selected for your meal." The Ephor then steps aside for the Tritonis siblings to lead the way.

Kita smiles in return to Cepheus, but positions herself at the back of the procession, nodding to the Commanders.

Lysander smiles a bit at Arahael, "I was rather hoping we could get settled first, however, such things are not impossible." His manner is light and unperturbed, turning a gaze towards Marina, and then taking a few steps towards her. "Your Highness." The Empyrean is flawless in his etiquette as he extends his hand, obviously starting with appropriate rank, "How pleasant to see you." A pause as he makes mild small talk with the detached Atlantean, "I spoke with Orman Kai several weeks ago and I was sorry I could not meet with you as well."

Deire lifts her head at the mention of her name, swiveling towards the courtyard's entrance to offer an amiable smile. She does not offer words, though she does not seem to offer many of those in general tonight. Wading her way back around several tables, a seat is taken beside Draconis, the goblet released and set aside to be promptly forgotten. She shifts a bit upon sitting, shoulders forming a straight and unyielding line. The reception's hostess is watched more aptly than most, though her gaze never lingers long enough to be considered... impolite.

Megeara turns slightly, giving Arahael her full attention as she is addressed. "Yes, of course, Deus," she murmurs softly. Her hand remains delicately placed on his arm. She seems quite oblivious to Lysander's words at her back, not noticing as he moves away.

"It warms my heart to meet you... I am afraid I do not know the proper manner of address," Marina responds with a nod to Lysander. "I have not been on the surface for a long, time and things change so quickly it is difficult to keep up. However, I do believe the meal is about to be served. We should continue this after do you not think?"

Arahael nods to Megeara and begins to take a step from the places that the Empyreal retinue had been preparing, only to be brought up short by the announcement of seating and the meal. He frowns slightly, and turns apologetically to Megeara. "After the meal, I suppose." The Deus Jove guides the young woman to their places, finding himself in the inevitable position of being seated between his companion and a Varati Warlord. Beauty and the Beast? Mayhaps.

Samein and Cassandra come across the bridge from the shore.

Lysander's attention wanders to the Ephor as the announcement is made--clearly his chance for introductions is ruined, "No proper address will be required, your Highness, I assure you. Lysander, please." Inclining his head, he smiles a bit and looks towards the gathered tables and moving servants, "Yes, we should sit. When the meal is done, I would greatly like to speak further with you and meet the rest of the honored guests." Bowing his head one last time, he withdraws toward the rest of the Empyreans whom he came with. The slaves already scramble to prepare the places and attend these fickle people's needs.

A few quiet murmurs pass back and forth between the group of Hounds which stand at the entrance. Perhaps waiting for some event to pass. Evidently, the offering for food has little effect on the mix of Sylvans and Empyreans. A faint smirk comes from the Archon, and his eyes take a moment to survey the tables.

Draconis is settled quite easily, the lluora balanced in steepled fingers. The webbing between them more noticeable in doing so. A look of serene amusement...is it this?...rests upon his otherwise placid expression. Lips hint at a smile. Eyes hint at thoughts. "Triton Draconis," he says, his smooth voice carrying, and toward the direction of Lysander and his gathered Empyreans. "It is indeed an honor to finally meet the esteemed voice of the Emperor." And quite infamous no doubt, at least in certain whispered corners. A brief, single nod of his head follows, and Draconis lifts the lluora for another sip.

Samein emerges from over the bridge, arm in arm with Cassandra. He seems little changed in the months passed since many have seen him, save for a rather excessive addition of white to his hair, and a long, black walking-staff inlayed with subtle highlights of gold. Perhaps his own form of dressing-up.

Arahael calls over one of the slaves of the Empyreal retinue, muttering low instructions as he motions towards the heavily-laden buffet table, and then instructing the well-dressed mongrel to take instructions from the Domina seated next to him as well.

Marina lowers herself gingerly into a seat and watches the Hounds at the entrance with some interest. She sips once again at her drink and taps on the table softly with one finger.

Cepheus bows shallowly as he turns to see Samein enter, a pleasant but not pressing look on his face. The two commanders behind him pose a similar greeting to the Arch-Magus and Cassandra. It is a slightly amusing progression.

Riva quietly moves toward the entryway as others of the guests clear the central area slightly in finding their seats. She smiles in recognition of some of the newcomers from Delphi. She speaks in low tones to not interrupt the others. "Welcome. The banquet table is ready and as you can see, some are starting to dine while others still mix and speak with others. If I can help introduce you to anyone, please let me know any you do not recognize."

The dark eyes of the Warlord slowly turn towards the Empyrean that sits beside him. Eyebrows slowly lower, furrowing the young warrior's brow and narrowing the pits of his eyes. In a slow, soft hiss, the Warlord says, "I will not be seated next to such..." Arslan quickly bites his tongue before the rest of his sentence is finished, and rises from his seat. "An outrage and a deliberate insult, to set the seating that I would brush shoulders with an Empyrean." While not a shout, the Warlord's voice is a field pitch, and carries strongly across the distances and noises of the reception. He casts his eyes briefly towards Riva, and motions sharply with his hand, summoning his guards around him. "I shall not abide by this, and I shall not forget the insult." The young Warlord wrinkles his nose in distaste, and with great dignity slowly strides away from the festivities.

Chay stands near Marina, trying not to look to out of place.

Megeara gives Arahael an alarmed look as she realizes where they are to be seated. Positioning herself so that his wings might totally block her view beyond, she speaks but briefly to the mongrel who is waved toward her. This is cut off as Arslan's words drift to her ears and she stiffens, one hand going to cover her mouth.

Marina's voice carries across the courtyard with the tone of authority not often heard, but heard by all when she chooses to use it. "Sit down, Warlord. This meal is to be enjoyed. I will give up my seat if you wish." She stands up and moves towards the vacated one.

Lysander turns to settle into one of the seats, lifting his arms so that the slave who attends him can wrap a cloth around his shoulders--so that food which falls might be caught. At Draconis' words, the Aegian's eyes settle upon the other with an unsurprised gaze, "Triton Draconis. It is indeed a pleas--" His words are cut short as the Varati explodes into a rage at the gesture of Arahael. The slave who attends him clearly backs away in fear, yet the older Empyrean's gaze merely wanders to that spot with a calm patience. When Arslan begins to stalk away, he says nothing, merely letting his eyes follow the other as if laying that one to memory.

Draconis scans one and all in time. From the Varati to those now entering. A touch of a smile rests upon his lips. "A Varati's memory for insult is also legendary," comes the smooth sound of his voice. "This will not be debated. However, a dinner is not usually an ample case for open warfare. Unless, of course, you think our cooks to be enemies." A brow lifts, arches in question to this. "Unless so, I suggest a truce. At least until after I eat."

Riva stiffens at the tone of voice, though moreso at the 'feelings' which are discordant in such an atmosphere. The level glance she directs toward Marina is accompanied by a nod. The glance then slides toward the Embassy as if seeking help from there.

With each step over the bridge, Samein's arm was held by Cassandra with slightly more grip, until his robes nearly wrinkle with the intensity of the grasp. At the notice of all the people gather, one uncertain look is thrown over a shoulder before she moves further within. The Hounds are regarded first with genuine warmth, until the sound of the Varati's voice breaks her concentration. Tugging on Samein's sleeve, she edges a bit out of the way of the entrance, mumbling some sort of greeting towards Riva in one fell awkward swoop.

Arahael barely notices, let alone acknowledges, the histrionics of the Varati that he was so unfortunately seated next to. That he was seated next to the Warlord, he would accept on behalf of his host. But to ask him to respond to such ravings... that calls for more than etiquette. Instead, the Deus takes a glass of wine from a passing tray, sips, and looks quietly at Megeara.

Samein makes up a strange progression in himself, much less in the mutually awkward accompaniment of Cassandra. He pauses at the end of the bridge, giving a quick nod and an almost guilty nod towards Cepheus. The old Arch-Magus seems almost overwhelmed by the collection of personages and noise, and he follows Cassandra's tuggings absentmindedly.

Ravings they are not. The Warlord's voice and form are cool and composed, though his only answer to the various offers and consolations is a short, "Do as you wish. I refuse to be part of your petty celebration." The mail-clad guards leading the way, the young Varati Warlord strides with quick step towards the exit.

Deire murmurs a few words to Draconis as she leans in to scoop up her goblet once again, balancing it lightly against her fingers this time. Raised in a swoop toward the Empyreans as her brother addresses them, it edgily halts and lowers, lifting brows and questioning stare following the retreat of the warlord.

Corin hands her goblet to a servant and slips out the entrance quietly.

Corin heads towards the bridge to Haven.

Kita adds her own nod to Samein and Cassandra. The group of Hounds still near the entrance, as Arslan passes, Kita comments, apparently to one of the Commanders with her, on the untrustworthiness of Varati, loud enough to carry to them.

Members of the Ephorate meet each other's eyes as they double-check the seating arrangement. Certainly, to their way of thinking, generously enough spaced to suit. Shoulders lift slightly and one hurriedly slips inside.

Taking her cue from Arahael, Megeara also collects a glass of wine and forces a suitably bland expression on her face. Though her gaze flickers once beyond, she centers her attention on small-talk, her voice too low to be heard more than a step away.

Surrender? He thought he would never see the day. Draconis does not reply to the Varati again, but turns toward his arriving dinner. That serene look of amusement still remains.

"Please take my seat, Warlord. I have far too much to do without approaching the Amir-al in order to discuss event etiquette at some future date. Which is what I will have to do if you leave. I respectfully ask that you assume my seat and enjoy the meal. I promise no one will ask you to have anything to do with the Empyreans." Marina sits down in the seat vacated by Arslan without even asking those next to her.

"As I was saying, Triton Draconis, before the interruption," Lysander begins again, his attention easily drifting away from the reactionary Varati warlord, "it is a pleasure to meet the heir to the throne. As with Her Highness, I have had so little chance to interact with the leadership of your people. Orman Kai has demonstrated his wisdom and patience to me prior, and I look forward to further interactions and discourse." The slaves continue to prepare the Empyrean's food: pouring his wine and tasting it first, then retrieving his food from the banquet table and setting it before him. His words obviously seek to distract Draconis from the somewhat disruptive influence of Arslan.

Chay sits down with Marina, and looks around, soaking in the surroundings.

A pause. Arslan turns slowly to face the Hound Reeve, and smiles slightly, though coldly. "I made no promise to attend, and I break no trust by leaving. The Varati simply shall not celebrate this Orman Kai's arrival."

A reprimanding glance comes from Cepheus, directed toward Kita. It is truthful, but not as harsh as some might expect. Prior, there was a glimmer of curiosity at the Arch-Magus' glance, but it seems to not be pursued. The Archon mumbles something to the commanders and Kita, and whatever it was, it passes quickly.

There is no response to Arslan; Kita doesn't even turn towards him. She does drop her face slightly at Cepheus' glance, though perhaps to hide the smile barely visible on her features. At the Archon's words, she nods.

The Warlord again turns and strides to the exit. With his departure, the only Varati representation at the reception goes as well.

The smile smoothes even as it grows. "Indeed, I look forward to the same, Lysander." Draconis glances to his sister again, leaning in to hear her quiet words. "Yes...I know," his voice is heard to reply... and with a mulling sound of thought-upon humor. He looks to Riva then, smiling, "I hope to Orman Kai, but he will hear from me of the deftness of his chosen host." Dodging a Varati notwithstanding. Draconis settles back again, drink balanced upon steepled fingers once more. "Amaris Marina, if he wishes to depart, so be it. As he said.... it will be remembered."

Riva stands regally and simply dips her head as the Varati seems determined to leave. "As you will..." She leaves a polite title of address out, remembering with a wry twist of the lips her earlier instructions. The tone is polite "Warlord. A pleasant evening to you."

Arahael speaks briefly, in low tones, with Megeara, then turns to greet his new tablemate. "Decemvir Amaris, it's a genuine pleasure to have you join us." If there were ever a tone to express a subtle victory, Arahael speaks in it now.

Arslan heads towards the bridge to Haven.

Cepheus gives Riva a brief nod, and quickly turns to exit. Perhaps unexpectedly. He leaves the two commanders and Kita in his absence--surely they are able to explain this turn of events...

Megeara sits back slightly from her low conversation with Arahael to take a sip from her glass. "You speak truly, Deus," she says with a soft laugh. Looking past, she gives the new arrival a curious look, tempered with a respectful nod.

Marina glances towards Arahael. "It is? Even with the circumstances surrounding my change of location? I should think it a shame." She turns to the plate of food set before her and takes a small bite. At Megeara's nod she replies respectfully in kind.

Riva turns back to the more amicable guests as the servers clear the table and re-space seating around the gaps left. She tries to guide Cassandra and company to mix in the others and indicates softly, "The Ephorate has arranged a nice spot for you over there, yet where you can speak with others."

Draconis turns to nod toward a servant, and then his gaze scans the courtyard. There is a smile for Cassandra. A thoughtful look crossing over his expression, and then he turns to his sister. "Pity father himself could not have attended. He would have enjoyed what he just missed," he murmurs. The Empyreans are well-noted by him. But his gaze is not impolite, nor does it linger. A placid curiosity, perhaps, more than anything. And then it draws away to look here and there... as curiosity insists.

Cassandra flatly watches Arslan's departure before turning back towards the courtyard with a soft sigh. Humming lightly, just under her breath, Samein's arm is finally mercifully released as she studies the other guests within. Quiet question follows Cepheus' retreating back, the off-key tune swelling louder for a moment before easing into a lulling silence. "Thank you for your hospitality, Orman Riva," she murmurs low towards the event's hostess, pausing for a moment as if words hang unspoken. Abruptly, though, her gaze strays towards the gestured tables. Her just as awkward partner's sleeve is given another tug, this one hardly insistent.

Arahael sips lightly from his wine glass, waiting for the servant to return with his plate and Megeara's. "Oh, the circumstances in which you came to take this place are most certainly a shame, I would be foolish to disagree with you in that regard." He inclines his head, "But I would be equally foolish to allow those unfortunate circumstances interfere with my pleasure in such august company."

Kita glances after Cepheus, then looks about the gathering. A word to the Commanders, and she walks to join the Empyreans, though she stops a respectful distance away, waiting in silence.

Lysander reaches out and takes his drink into hand, settling back somewhat comfortably in the chair. Taking a sip of the liquid, he smiles appreciatively and picks at the plate which was set before him in a fashion consistent with his wealthy habits. "Indeed. It is a pleasure to be here in Korallion. I visited here some time back, and was impressed by its architecture and design." These words are spoken to the Atlantean leaders, Draconis in particular, "Triton Draconis. I am afraid I have not yet had the pleasure of meeting Tritonis Deire." His stormy grey eyes find her a moment later, a piece of food passing his lips with flourish.

Marina nods curtly. "Of course. You are right. I do not believe I caught your name. Or yours Lady," she includes Megeara. "If I might have the pleasure? It would be a shame to continue to speak as strangers." Her eyes find Lysander and she watches him as well as those he converses with out of the corner of her eye.

Samein's attention drifts at least a touch more quickly as it approaches Riva, and he moves forward with his halfbreed companion to the proffered socializing-spot. Samein still seems rather distant from the entire affair, but with that distant gaze comes an almost unsettling sense of knowledge, when his gaze lingers from time to time upon a particular participant of the party.

As the servants bring forth hers and Arahael's dishes, Megeara motions one of their personal slaves from the group which lingers near her father to discreetly inspect the food. Her attention returns to the woman beyond her partner for the evening and she speaks softly. "Deus Arahael, might you introduce me to the Lady?"

Deire tilts her goblet towards her, placid looks following the ripple of liquid contents. "Yes, father would have enjoyed this event," she returns quietly to Draconis, murky eyes glittering in some capture of light in the bare smile that follows. In mid-sip, her eyes flick over the goblet's rim to find Lysander as she hears her name. The goblet is quickly set aside, fingers lightly tapping at a corner of her mouth before folding quickly within her lap.

Arahael's plate arrives, brought only moments after Megeara's. His own plate is a plethora of items, consisting mostly of Atlantean delicacies and spurring the foods placed out to placate Empyrean palates. "I beg your pardon, Decemvir." He places his glass upon the table, "I am Arahael Severin Jove, Patriarch of House Jove. Deus Jove if you care to be formal." He nods to Megeara, smiling, "Anticipating my intentions, Domina? Decemvir, may I introduce Domina Megeara Lysandra Acesian, daughter of Princeps Lysander Marius Acesian."

A hand leaves his goblet, and is held out in gesture toward the woman beside him. "Triton Deire... a Priestess of Pasiphae. Who indeed honors our house with her accomplishments...." Draconis glances to his sister, blue-green eyes leaving Lysander for the moment. "Sister, this is Lysander, the voice of the Emperor of the Empyreans. A man of high intellect and a very keen ability to debate..." His eyes move back to Lysander and he smiles, "Or so I have heard. And I do not doubt."

Drusus comes across the bridge from the shore.

Kita waits patiently, then steps forward again, asking of Arahael, Megeara and Marina and anyone else with that trio, "May I join you?" Blunt.

Riva quietly observes the event, her eyes rising to meet those of the Ephor who helped organize and set this up. She then moves with a light pace toward Cassandra and Samein. "Father was ready to come to this, but a messenger arrived, one who looked like a soldier, one of the Empyreans, though not in uniform. He.. left and has not returned." A hint of worry threads through the soft tones of her voice.

Drusus comes over the bridge and hesitates on the other side. While his expression betrays little, he is clearly out of place here. He looks over the crowd.

"Blessings of pure water on you both and on these proceedings," Marina says to her Empyrean neighbors. She turns back to her food and begins to take another bite just as Kita speaks. Her hand indicates the open seat to one side. "You may if you wish. I have no objections."

Cassandra frowns thoughtfully at each seat, not seeming to pay much mind to the fact that certain people were intended to sit in certain places. Each chair is examined for a moment, before her head slowly shakes, in disapproval. "Not that one," she remarks every so often to her companion. The chair-searching comes to an abrupt halt as Riva approaches. "Did he say anything of what the message contained?" she asks the Atlantean woman, genuine compassion rising easily to her expression.

A sentry at the bridge ends speaks quietly in polite tones to the stranger approaching "Is there something with which you need help?"

Arahael glances towards the entrance at the sight of wings. Calling a servant over, he instructs the mongrel to go to the Empyrean at the entrance and offer an invitation to this table. "My pardon," he says to the grouping at his table, "That is my cousin at the door--I've sent a servant to bring him to our table, if you don't mind."

Drusus nods to the sentry. "I've been ordered to seek out Riva or Kai," he says, his tone uncertain.

At Draconis' words, Lysander arches a delicate eyebrow, but a smile comes to his lips despite, "You must have heard the rumors, Triton Draconis." Equally thin lips part in a soft chuckle escapes his lips as he turns a gaze towards Deire, bowing his head in a deeply respectful fashion towards the Atlantean woman, "Triton Draconis does me honor by his words. It is indeed a pleasure to meet you, lady. I am at your service." Engaging to the last, his eyes slide once again back towards the heir to the throne, "My thanks." He chews a bit more off his plate and seems to revel in the idle conversation.

The Empyrean servant comes up behind the sentry, waiting for a moment to convey Arahael's words to Drusus.

Megeara tips her head, a smile bringing a dimple to one cheek. "What a lovely greeting," she says absently, a faint surprise evident in her tone that one of the other races might be capable of such a thing. Thankfully, her less than tactful reaction is covered neatly by Arahael's words.

Chay reaches over, taking up a glass of lluora, sipping at it, listening to the conversation nearby.

Kita smiles and sits in the free seat by Marina. "Ah, I'm Reeve Kita," she says to the others. "Am I interrupting anything?

Riva shakes her head in response to Cassandra's question. "No. Nothing." The worry is compounded by dismay. She looks up a moment, glancing toward the bridge sentry.

Khamseen comes across the bridge from the shore.

Drusus glances over and sees the Varati envoy. He goes even stiller than he was before, eyes tracking the man as he moves through the proceeding, half of his attention still on the sentry.

Marina looks back to the Empyreans, and after a moment of thought turns back to the Reeve and shakes her head. "Merely idle conversation, Reeve Kita. Please, sit. The food is here to be eaten and there is far too much if we do not all participate."

Arahael shakes his head. "No, not at all, Reeve. Welcome. This is Domina Megeara Acesian," he says, motioning to Megeara, "And I am Deus Arahael Jove. A pleasure."

Deire bows her head in return to Lysander's... flawless greeting, a hand lifting from her lap to carefully readjust her headdress as she straightens. "The honor is mine, Deus Acesian," she returns in a level voice, words formed around a partial smile. "I have heard as many favorable things as my brother has." She pauses there, the smile and glance widening to include both Megeara and Arahael, before politely skirting away. The goblet is reached for again in an absent manner, sipped from without being tasted.

The guards at the gates announce to the assembly the arrival of Khamseen Al-Fajr, Ambassador from Delphi. The man then makes his entrance, clad in his usual robes of black, hood cast back to reveal a full mane of black hair framing his stern features.

Kalypso comes across the bridge from the shore.

The courtyard is a swirl of motion, color, and soft sounds as people seated at tables converse and servers are helping others select food and find seats. Cassandra and Riva are at a table toward the right of the embassy, though empty seats are scattered around.

The sentry murmurs something to Drusus and he follows over to Riva at her table, nodding to the servant sent over by Deus Jove. He curls an arm over his belly and gives a polite half-bow to Riva and her table companions.

Blue-green eyes drift... the grin in them yet held after Lysander's last words... as Draconis glances toward another one entering. A cobalt brow lifts. In both curiosity and question. His goblet is set aside, and he does finally begin to partake of his own food. Slowly, however, and idly. His attention more on the conversations around him, and those having them, than the banquet itself.

Chay motions to a servant speaking quietly, asking for a selection of everything.

"Mmm," Kita replies, looking over the food then smiling to the Empyreans in turn. "A pleasure. How are you three?"

As Arahael announces the arrival of his cousin, Lysander's eyes trail over towards the entrance to the courtyard. Leaning over a bit to the others of his kind on the left of his hand, he speaks in softer tones to the Jovian leader, "It is good to see other members of your House here, Dominus." Taking another small sip of his lluora, he turns his gaze towards Riva, but does not make a formal address or introduction, rather continuing his discourse with Deire, "All lies, I assure you Tritonis Deire. If you ask any in the Empyrean government, I am certain they will confirm that I have a massive propaganda machine which is designed to make myself into some sort of a God." Setting the cup down, he picks at some more of the food.

Drusus explains himself, searching for words that he guesses might be formal. "Ave, domina, dominus. I am Drusus Marcus Jove, and have orders to report to Riva or Kai."

Cassandra pauses around the first word yet to be spoken by her, glancing quickly to the bridge sentry, the source of the Atlantean woman's distraction. Leaning in a touch, she fervently remarks, "It looks as though your attention is required elsewhere. Do come see me and let me know when he does return... or does not?" Her restless gaze dances back to Riva, lower lip nipped at but briefly.

Khamseen looks around, a careful and studious gaze that leaves none of the guests unobserved. Lysander is noted with a longer and more poised gaze, then finally, Marina is favored with a similar look, and Khamseen strides in her direction.

Arahael looks to Megeara, ascertaining that her servant has finished examining the food, and begins to casually eat of this and that Atlantean delicacy. "My grandfather," he says in between tastings, "often had Atlantean visitors. This envoy or that ambassador friends and politics. This food was served often enough that I acquired a taste." He takes another small bite, and smiles. "I offer my compliments, Decemvir--the preparation is quite excellent."

Riva glances up as the Empyrean stranger approaches. She turns to face him. "I am Orman Riva. How may I help you?" She speaks in a soft tone. "Might I know who sent you?"

Marina turns her attention to the entrance as Khamseen is announced. Dinner is forgotten and she nods towards the Ambassador. The Decemvir stands and nods to those sitting near her, "Excuse me for a moment." She strides quickly towards Khamseen and greets him with a nod. "A pleasure Ambassador. Blessings of pure water on you."

Khamseen bows his head deep and curt. "Always a pleasure, your Highness." A slight yet genuine smile plays on his lips as he straightens up again. "I see the banquet seems to be quite successful."

Interesting. Draconis glances back toward his sister and to the Empyreans, Lysander in particular. "I was having a discussion... just before you entered, on ...myths and legends with our... departed guest." His voice pulls smoothly, edged with some humor. "Perhaps it can be said that I will believe some legends before others. But if they are lies," a chuckle sounds softly, "they are well crafted and so... should yet be praised. You cannot dodge it, Aegian, I fear." Draconis shifts his attention to the others near Lysander and then away from the group again. There will be time to talk more after, no doubt. He sets about to finally finish his lluora.

Well, that didn't work. So instead Kita says to Arahael and Megeara, "I saw an Empyreal wedding ceremony recently."

Marina leans in and whispers in Khamseen's ear, heedless of whether this might be scene as a slight by the others or not.

Nary a feather out of place, Kalypso's silent footfalls carry her into the courtyard. Her wings, folded behind her in delicate repose, fairly glimmer in the faint light of the evening. She stops just inside the entryway, wide eyes taking in the scene about her.

Arahael glances after the departing Decemvir, then turns his attention to the address of the Reeve. "Indeed? And what did you think of the occasion?"

Drusus says, "Praefect Lucius Iulius Scarpo, of the Third Ordo, Fifth Cohort, Domina." For those who might know, that particular unit is a borderland one--one that sees regular combat. The Empyrean uncaps a battered boiled-leather scroll-case stuck in through his belt and pulls out the order. He offers it to her, a missive written in practical writing on vellum.

Megeara looks down at her plate with a slightly doubtful expression. Apparently she had instructed the servant to simply serve her with whatever her dinner partner had selected. Her attention is gratefully distracted by Kita's comment and she folds her hands in her lap to listen to the response to Arahael's question.

Kita's brows furrow slightly in confusion. "Ah, interesting. Is the slitting of the palms common?" she asks.

Arahael sits at a large table with Megeara, Lysander and Kita. Marina has just recently departed the table to speak with Khamseen.

Chay is also sitting there, but doing his best to stay in the background.

Drusus is standing, motionless, over by Riva's table, heavily laden down by field gear and looking out of place in this fine gathering.

Khamseen leans closer to hear Marina's comment and a faintly amused smirk draws itself on his features, visibly, in reply. "Indeed, your Highness." Then it is his turn to whisper back.

Lysander's gaze flickers towards Khamseen as the Varati enters. He raises his voice and then in turn his cup to acknowledge the other, "Good evening, Ambassador Khamseen." A pause when Draconis addresses him as the Aegian's gaze wanders back to the heir, "Legends are made from men who do great things, Tritonis Draconis. However, I will not be the one to profess greatness. I do not feel as if one can be an accurate judge of their actions. I shall let history view me as it will." A slight tilt of his goblet before he takes another sip. When Drusus introduces himself, he is given a very fleeting gaze, which quickly returns to the Atlanteans.

Riva nods slowly. "You have orders to report to me or to father, Orman Kai?" She peruses the scroll order as if she might know what it says.

Arahael shakes his head slowly. "I... do not believe so," he replies, "As a matter of fact, I do not recall seeing such before. I presume it was done for a mingling of blood?"

Kita nods. "That is what was said," she confirms. "What is the traditional method?"

Marina nods to the Ambassador from the Delphi. "I understand, I wish I had done as you almost did. I must return to my seat. I look forward to benefiting from your wisdom at some moment in the future." The Amarisian Decemvir slowly, almost reluctantly returns to her seat and begins to finish dinner.

Cassandra studies Riva and Drusus for a long moment before blinkingly glancing away, cocking her head towards the chairs yet unexamined. Apparently quite selective, a good deal of chairs are passed through, before she finds one at the most occupied table, glancing to Empyreans and Hound with a vacant glance before seating herself. Facing towards Draconis at another table, she nods towards him once and smiles a touch, half hidden behind the falling of hair.

Drusus says to Riva, "Either, Domina." The orders are fairly vague but suggest that a meeting with her father might be in order. There is little hint to the man's confusion in tone or expression, but certainly he is feeling it.

Ambassador Khamseen. The face is placed with the name once more, even as he glances to Lysander. A nod of his head is the answer for it. Or agreement to it. The banter of it is set aside for the moment. Draconis yet bears the quiet smile that only in debate turned toward a grin. He turns then to his sister. A glance, a quiet word spoken, the self-same smile. And then he tends to his dinner... settled easily in his chair. He meets Cassandra's gaze. He matches Cassandra's smile.

Khamseen bows his head to Marina again, then looks around for someone else to go bother.

If the unusual foods on her plate had not brought a queasiness to Megeara's stomach, the topic of blood certainly seems to have done so, and she takes a hasty drink from her nearly empty glass to quell it. With a forced light tone, she says to Kita, "It is not a ceremony that I would wish to have at my own wedding, at any rate."

Lysander's brow worries a bit as he once again studies the Praetor with a somewhat more studious gaze. Leaning once again towards Arahael, he mutters a few private words to the other Empyrean. His food seems to be cast aside in favor of an exchange of words. While he speaks, his gaze remains on Drusus--clearly the topic.

Arahael glances to his companion again and, seeing her confusion at the dishes presented on her plate, very carefully picks out one dish from his own plate--one that, from appearances, would appear to quite innocuous. He glances to her again, the bit of direction fairly obvious, then returns his attention to Kita, "Most ceremonies, in essence, seem to be much more symbolic than your literal example. A ribbon, draped over clasped hands, for example."

Chay looks at the plate brought to him, taking it with a smile, eating quietly, tasting the varied foods before him.

Riva raises one hand as if in a hint of frustration, then shakes her head. "I can not deal with this right now. Please, avail yourself of our hospitality and join the meal. Father is ...not currently available."

Kita ducks her head quickly. "My apologies," she says to Megeara. To Arahael, she nods. "There was a ribbon, too, wrapping the hands together."

Dorian quietly comes out of the Entry Hall and looks about the courtyard. Offering a few stray nods to those he recognizes before moving to stand beside Riva.

Deire leans forward a bit as this talk of wedding arises, or something therein, dark brows sweeping upward easily. Fingertips play against the base of the goblet idly, the words of her brother nearly lost to her. Reluctantly pulling her gaze away, she tilts her head towards Draconis to reply in equally low tones. A faint smile seems to hover over her lips, almost haunting in its slightness.

Khamseen strays towards Cassandra's general vicinity, doing nothing but casting his eyes here and there.

Drusus nods. "Aye, Domina. My thanks." He takes the order back--if she offers it--and places it back in its case. Then he steps back and turns on his heel. It is then that the Jove servant finally intercepts him and leads him over to Arahael's table. They make their way through the brightly decorated guests, the feathers of Drusus' wings sussurating against one another as he walks, to the table of his House patriarch. "Salve, Deus," he says with a bow.

Arahael shakes his head ever so slightly in response to Lysander's private words. "I don't know," he admits to the Princeps, giving a brief and curious glance to Drusus before returning to the conversation at hand. "As I said, I think the ceremony you witnessed must have been an exceptionally... literal one, in terms of the co-mingling of bloodlines."

Kalypso steps towards one of the serving tables, collecting a glass filled with water, and taking a small sip, her eyes simply watching. One hand moves to her hair, nimble fingers tucking the hair behind her ear.

Kita nods again. "Old fashioned, perhaps?"

Megeara drops her gaze to her food once more, toying with the utensil for a brief moment before taking a small bite of the same thing Arahael appears to be eating. After a careful tasting, she scoops up a bit more, a faint smile coming to her lips.

Marina finishes her most recent bite and rises to her feet again. She nods to the gathered and speaks softly. "I am afraid I have duties to attend to. It was a pleasure to meet you all. I hope sometime in the future we can speak on a more personal level." With that, she turns and strides directly towards the heart of the Korallion.

Drusus offers a short bow also to his Deus' companions.

Lysander leans back a bit and regards the approaching Praetor with a careful, curious eye, "Salve, Praefect." A faint smile tugs at the corners of his lips. It appears as if that's all he's willing to offer the other, his attention finding the table once again. For a moment, he absorbs into silence, but then lets his gaze settle upon Marina. When she rises to leave, he moves a bit from his seat in a gentlemanly gesture, "It was a pleasure speaking with you, Decemvir. I shall look forward to such a day." When she goes, he settles back in once again.

Arahael inclines his head to Drusus, "Salve, Cousin. I had been told that your station had brought you to Haven. Please, have some food and drink, unless your duties call you elsewhere?"

Cassandra glances away from Draconis to peer towards her tablemates. "The whole of the story of the marriage and what came before is... old fashioned." The words roll out in an uneasy hum, rumbling with some dark and unseen premonition. The dark notion of the sounds are broken by the smile towards Kita, drifting airily from there to Khamseen. Every so often, mere wisps of song rise to voice, the rest quelled beneath even breaths.

Marina passes to the two guards and enters the nautilus.

Riva's eyes follow the Empyrean who had the message for her and she begins to circulate again, greeting others and helping to see that their needs are met.

Drusus shakes his head slightly. "Nay, Deus. My orders only brought me here to Haven." He glances over at Riva, then unshoulders his arbalist and sleeping roll, setting them off to the side where they will not be in the way. His weapons belt comes off too, loathe that he is to part with it, because the setting is so genteel. He takes a seat and accepts some water with a murmured thanks, then just...watches. Everything.

Draconis follows Marina for a moment with his gaze, and then it drifts to the others and lastly to his sister, as he eats. He settles back, listening... it is perhaps one of his favorite hobbies, as Cassandra would well know. And his goblet rests, refilled, balanced by a steepled grasp yet again. No, marriage is a topic he continues to dodge... much to his father's annoyance. He has declined each... allegiance his father has offered. And at hearing the topic of marriage, Draconis does indeed glance to his sister again, a smile slowly forming. Eyes the color of the Triton Sea shift toward Cassandra as she speaks. A cobalt brow arches upward slightly.

Arahael nods, "Very well, then." Turning to the others, "May I introduce my cousin, Praetor Drusus Marcus Jove."

The plate before him appearing fairly well picked, Lysander discards it in favor of discourse. Shifting his eyes towards Draconis, "I am certain you are pleased with the relatively placid state of affairs in Haven of late?" In the chair, he relaxes in an almost languid gesture, his wings stretched taut to his back, "With the tensions of late, I had expected something more. But, alas, I have heard naught." His face is even and measured, like a statesman should be. Clearly the conversation is not exclusive, as it is spoken loud enough for any to interject.

Kita smiles back to Cassandra, then nods to Drusus, falling silent again.

Drusus' eyes widen very slightly but the expression is so fleeting it might have not been at all. He bows his head to the others at the table in greeting.

Chay picks at his food quietly.

Megeara's eyes are on Cassandra, a question quirking her brow at the odd statement. With a slight start, she turns in her seat to face Drusus and grants him a gracious nod.

Arahael offers introductions of those immediately near him, "Cousin, this is Domina Megeara Lysandra Acesian, daughter of Princeps Lysander Marius Acesian, to her left." He motions to Kita, "And this is Reeve Kita, of the Delphic Hounds."

Drusus nods to Megeara and Kita first. "Domina." To Lysander, "Deus. It is an honor to meet you." His voice is a quiet baritone, spoken as if from a great distance. He regards Lysander with great respect.

Placid. The expression that is turned toward Lysander. "I am pleased," a momentary break of his reply to smile and nod to Drusus, before returning his look to Lysander. "...perhaps as much as any." Draconis' words are languid, as if thought upon before freed, "...I will, however, be vigilant to what I.... hear." Yes, a telepath...and with the Delphi. A strong telepath. "The ease of tensions can always be viewed as a prelude to others. But," a smile, "I am glad for the... relaxing..."

Lysander's eyes find Kita as Arahael makes an introduction. Though clearly he regarded her before with a gaze alone, he now voices words in her direction, "Reeve Kita. It is indeed an honor to meet you. Archon Cepheus has spoken highly of your efforts in the Hounds." Drusus' words invoke a return greeting, grey orbs shifting, a bow of his acknowledges the respect given, "Praefect. It is a pleasure." Draconis' words are addressed after introductions, again his head shifting.

Kita grins, dropping her eyes. "Thank you, ah, Deus," she replies to Lysander.

"All are not so certain the state of relaxation will hold." Lysander comments somewhat offhandedly, clearly mixing business with pleasure in a flawless forum, "However, it is pleasing to know that ones such as yourself are working to preserve the peace that exists with Haven." A somewhat offhanded gesture towards the other Empyreans, "For even as we are often seen as 'half' of the problem, none of us wish to see the sanctity of Heaven destroyed. Apollo himself was of my line, and we too have taken an active interest in such dealings."

Drusus listens, quietly, and learns.

The head inclines to this. "I am not a fan of ...conflict. There are times when it cannot be avoided... despite all vigilance to the contrary. For the moment," Draconis continues, "I watch Haven take a collective breath. But I will not rejoice." A pause. "Yet. Half the problem, Lysander," comes the smooth sound of his voice, "can also...and always...be half the solution. So we hope it shall be in the future."

Riva manages to quietly work her way around the to the Empyreans' table. She notes some of the samplings on which they dine. "Our cooks prepared foods which are some recommended to them as dishes you would perhaps like. Feel free to try others of our offerings."

"My grandfather, the Emperor Justinius," Arahael adds to the conversation, "also wished to see peace reign. He was much impressed with this place. It is a shame that his wishes and efforts cost him his life, before his work was done." The young Deus Jove pauses for a moment, then speaks again, "I hope to be able to continue his efforts, as best as my position allows."

Cassandra glances up towards Lysander during some point of his speaking, colorless brows knitting together in a solitary line. Remaining silent, there is a rather... disturbed intensity about that look--plain and unblinking, thin lips bordering on a frown. Finally, she pulls her gaze away, breaking such earnestness with several rapid blinks. Still, behind the sheltered curtaining of hair, the Empyrean is regarded with the occasional frown. Glowering, almost akin to a sulking child. Uncomprehending.

Kita glances at the sky, then says quietly to those next to her, "If you will excuse me, I should attend to my duties."

Glass of water in hand, Kalypso drifts towards the conversationalists, stopping nearest to Megeara. A light finger barely flicks at the other girl's wings, as Kalypso takes another sip.

Drusus looks up at Riva and nods to her, a silent thanks for her hospitality.

Riva nears Khamseen. "It is good that you managed to get here, though, perhaps, regrettable that you did not arrive sooner."

Drusus nods to Kita. "Vale, Reeve Kita."

Megeara's head remains bowed over her plate as she tentatively tries the various foods before her. Moving with quiet motions, she appears to simply be listening to the heavier conversation around her. She starts ever so slightly at the touch to her wing, whirling in her seat to look up. "Oh... Domina Kalypso," she says a bit breathily. "You startled me."

Lysander disregards the invitation to dine further, instead riveting his attention to Draconis and the conversation at hand, "I would not disagree with your words, Triton Draconis. However, history has taught us to be cautious about such things." His glance trails towards Arahael, brow furrowing, "Your grandfather was a wise ruler, Dominus. His efforts will not be forgotten, I assure you." The next words are spoken to the room at large, though towards the Atlantean leadership as well, "Dominus Arahael is soon to sit on the Aegis Council. We hope his wisdom will help guide our people into a new age." For the first time, he notices Kalypso and regards her with a gaze alone, his words tied up.

Drusus regards his House's Deus. A great honor indeed.

Kita rises, slipping out again.

And there, perhaps, is some of the reason behind Arahael's pleased expression earlier this evening. He inclines his head in silent acknowledgment of Lysander's words then, a few moments later, leans to speak in quiet words with Megeara.

"Wisdom should never be wasted when it is found," Draconis says, his voice languid even in his thought. "It is...too rare a thing..." He looks to Arahael and nods to him. His attention returns to Lysander, and he takes a moment to sip at the lluora yet in his goblet. "I am cautious by nature... reserved." A brief smile pulls upon his lips. "And agree with you... and I share your hopes. We prefer peace. It allows for .... clearer thought."

Deire lifts her goblet briefly in some sort of agreement to the flow of words, sipping from the lluora before the vessel is finally finished and set aside. Smiling smoothly, she remarks in a tone that lacks inflection, "After all, here we all sit and we manage to converse without quarrel." In a casual stretch, she flicks a glance towards the bridge, before turning her attention back. Her next words are laced with the emotions of wryness. "Well, most of us manage without quarrel, anyhow." A hand touches to her brother's shoulder in a display of distant affection before her hands settle in her lap.

Kita heads towards the bridge to Haven.

Draconis glances to his sister and there is a quiet sound of laughter. "That was a debate, my sister."

A soft smile quirks up the corners of Kalypso's mouth, as she tilts her head to Megeara. "Domina Acesian, a good even' to you." Her eyes then slide around the persons at the table, an inclination of her head to Lysander.

Servers gradually begin to refill glasses and discreetly clear away the plates as meals are finished. They slip around so quietly they do not interrupt conversations in progress.

Megeara reaches to push her now-empty wine glass away from her as she tips her head toward Arahael. With a glance to her father, she nods at Arahael's words, placing a hand briefly upon his arm as she answers in equally low tones.

Drusus takes a sip of his water, freshly refilled.

Lysander raises an eyebrow at Deire's words, though he turns his attention now fully towards Kalypso, "Domina Tritonides. I hadn't expected you to join us." Gesturing towards the table at which he sits, a smile formulates on his thin lips, "Please, sit and enjoy the fine food which our Atlantean guests have offered us." After that introduction, he begins speaking with Draconis and his sister once again, "It is my sincere hope to make Haven the finest city it can be, Triton Draconis. Peace is a necessary element of that, but it is the route we take to peace which is debatable. As we have seen, some do not understand the concept of the word. Unfortunately, there is sometimes only one way to show them the meaning of the word."

Drusus bows his head to Deire with a murmured, "domina." He seems rather unused to being in fine company, but covers for this by paying rapt attention to the conversation, especially the words of Lysander and Arahael.

Arahael nods to Megeara, smiling. "It has been my pleasure." Raising his voice to more conversational tones, "Princeps Lysander? I regret that I must take leave. I've offered your daughter escort to your home, but she has expressed a desire to stay with you. If it pleases you, I would like my cousin," he nods to Drusus, "to provide escort and safety for her while she remains. Does that arrangement meet with your approval?"

Cassandra pushes back from her chair slowly, rising with a stiffness of form, the humming all but lacking now. She frowns one last time towards Lysander, before the plain displeased gesture is enveloped in a placidity of sorts. Fingertips lightly touch the table as she seeks out Riva within the crowd, nodding once to her, and then to Draconis before pushing away from the table completely. With heel-dragging, shuffling steps, she slowly makes her way towards the courtyard's entrance.

Kalypso grins slowly, moving to take a seat at the indicated table. She sets her glass down on the table in front of ear, talk of peace piquing her interest. But she remains quiet, for now, simply listening with rapt attention.

Drusus nods to Arahael and regards both Megeara and the Princeps neutrally, a soldier ready to accept his orders.

Riva quietly responds to Cassandra's nod. "Fair tides speed you safely."

The Aegian leader misses Cassandra's gestures and displeasure, but does note her departure from the conversation. One would assume Lysander considers it an acceptable loss to such a war of attrition. Thankfully, the Princeps' attention is drawn from the current train of thought and onto Arahael's departure, "Indeed, Dominus Jove?" He almost sounds downtrodden, "I am sorry to see you depart so early." A pause as he glances to Drusus, "Your cousin is a fine member of our Guard and may escort my daughter if he wishes." The Praetor is given a reassuring nod, "Be well, Dominus. We shall speak again another time."

"Only in death does war ever truly lead to peace," mulls Draconis, his quiet words yet carrying. "But if peace is the goal and all share it... a way, though debated, can be found." Surely, so his voice would imply. Draconis pauses his words as Arahael speaks of leaving. "It was indeed a pleasure, Arahael... and I thank you for the honor of your attendance. It will be remembered." And the Varati Warlord may be quoted for the rest of the night. So, he is here in spirit, perhaps.

Cassandra heads towards the bridge to Haven.

As the area is cleaned and cleared, the sounds of the music return. Notably it is not strings or reeds that make such sweet sounds, but voices.

Permission given, Arahael stands. "I'm sorry to take leave, and wish I was able to stay, Princeps. A good evening to you." His bow includes all the present personages, before he turns to Megeara. "My sincerest apologies, Domina, for my departure. I enjoyed your company greatly." He leans in a bit closer to speak quiet words, then bows in a motion much more formal than that granted to the others present.

Chay says, "Lady Riva?"

Drusus bows his head to the Princeps in thanks for the compliment and trust, and to acknowledge the idea. "It would be my honor, Princeps, Domina," he says, then falls silent again to listen. Now, though, his glance flicks out over the crowd in regular intervals before returning to the conversationalists. "Vale, Deus," he says to Arahael as the House leader departs.

Riva moves along the guests engaging in pleasantries and trying to make each feel welcome." She pauses by Chay and nods. "Yes," She speaks softly, then intuitively. "If you wish to accompany them or provide music, you would be welcome to."

Lysander seems to relax in the rather comforting sounds and atmosphere that have developed. Resting his arm on the chair, he sighs softly and looks around, "Tell me, Triton Draconis, have you heard much of the poverty in Haven?" Amid the rather posh, wealthy atmosphere of this place, his words might seem rather arrogant, but there appears to be genuine interest in their plight.

Megeara's eyes remain on Arahael as he speaks to her father, expression tinged with regret at his departure. Absently, she taps her wine glass, moving slightly to one side to give the servant who approaches to fill it. Returning Arahael's bow with a noble bow of her head, she leans slightly forward to listen, and is caught off guard at his words. A blush creeps across her cheeks and she nods, saying quietly, "I should like that, Deus. Good eve."

Arahael stands and, nodding once more to the assembled personages, takes his leave.

Arahael heads towards the bridge to Haven.

Chay shakes his head. "No, my skill is... pale compared to the ones you have commissioned. No, I was going to ask...if I may beg leave to leave..."

Riva smiles. "If you wish. You are here with Amaris Marina, so just move freely as you wish."

Chay stands. "Thank you."

Draconis takes a sip of the Lluora, and he considers Lysander's question for a moment. A thoughtful look descends upon his otherwise placid countenance. "I am in Delphi for the vast majority of my time in Haven," he quietly replies. "But I am not so removed as to not know of its existence. I ...hear a good deal of things, Lysander." As those who can hear things unsaid can. He seems untroubled, the thoughtfulness is merely that. If any arrogance existed, he missed it entirely. "No city that I am aware of... throughout history... has been immune to suffering. Poverty, sickness or otherwise. I am compassionate to such suffering." It is a diplomatic and careful reply. Such as Draconis usually makes. And his compassion... he is Atlantean. He cannot help such. Even if it may seem somewhat removed.

Riva pauses before Lysander and his party to murmur in melodic inflections. "Your attendance honors father. I am sure he would have been pleased to speak with you and glad you did not miss the opportunity to meet with so many of our leaders and prospective leaders."

Drusus lifts his head to listen to Riva after another check of the area. There is a twitch of the corner of his lips, a smile quickly and reflexively crushed, at the irony of her statement as it pertains to him. Doubtless she did not intend it so, but he senses it nonetheless.

Lysander's gaze flickers towards Riva and acknowledges her with a nod, "It was a pleasure to be your guests. Orman Kai and I have great hopes for continued relations between our peoples, and I hope that this feast was a reflection of a great future." A genuine sincerity is in those words, no malice or double-speak. Leaning forward in his chair some, he regards Draconis and Deire again, "I am afraid, as Dominus Arahael, that I must depart as well. His new appointment must be taken care of and arrangements made. I would however be greatly interested in meeting with you on a more personal level. I find Atlantean wisdom and compassion to be refreshing in conversation. Your honesty is compelling."

Chay stands and moves around the tables, and heads to the exit, nodding to the guards as they let him out.

Chay heads towards the bridge to Haven.

Riva lets one hand drop to the point of Drusus' shoulder, fingers splaying to let the pronounced webbing in a deeper tone than her skin drape over him. "When father returns, you can speak with him, or with me, once the guests thin out a little."

"Domina," Drusus says to Riva. "I have been charged by my Deus to accompany the Princeps and the Domina Megeara to their home when they are ready to leave. May I seek you out afterwards?"

Drusus does not react to the splaying of Riva's graceful and strange hand on his shoulder, or does not at least seem to.

Megeara snaps from her somnolent pose of polite listening at her father's words. Rising from her seat, she moves toward Lysander, pausing at Kalypso's side along the way. "Domina," she murmurs, "Perhaps you would care to accompany our party?"

Riva inclines her head. "Yes, of course." The eyes slide toward the others for a moment as her hand resumes its place at her side.

The distant smile that had affixed on Riva at her courteous words slides to Lysander as he next speaks. "It was a pleasure speaking with you. I found your interactions with my brother... most fascinating," Deire announces quietly, the words formed by and emphasized by a smile. Lifting from there, her regard takes in Megeara, and Kalypso respectively. The more elaborate of words is left to the older of siblings.

"Thank you, Domina." Drusus stands and gathers up his gear, arranging it so that his sword hand remains unencumbered.

Draconis inclines his head, a slight bow. "As it would be my honor, Lysander." Draconis straightens, and then his gaze moves to the other. To Drusus. To Megeara. "Again, our thanks," blue-green shifts to take in the form of his sister as well, "for your attendance." He looks to Riva, "And I hope to see Orman Kai when he has finished with his business..." A smile there. "So I can thank him for this." He settles back, and the goblet is lifted, the last sip of it taken. Farewells made. And thanks.

Kalypso nods, coming out of a reverie. "I would be most delighted to, Domina Acesian." She stands, joining the entourage.

Drusus nods to Draconis as the man's gaze meets his eyes.

Lysander rises from his chair, his attention kept on the two guests of honor. The Aegian's face is serious, yet engaging, "The honor is likewise, Triton Draconis." As Deire speaks, she is given a brief bow, "Your brother is as engaging as his sister is gracious. You have been most kind." Respect is shown to the both of them, the Empyrean proving to be nothing but courteous and kind. Turning to look at the others who have risen in his waken, he addresses Megeara, assuming the others will follow as fit, "Shall we depart? The Guard is waiting for us outside the gates." A careful revelation that the Empyreans didn't make a show of force. How odd.

Drusus bows formally to the table and the people at it by means of farewell. He then steps up to his place, which is--at least as military custom dictates--two steps behind the Princeps and his daughter.

Megeara glides to Lysander's side, placing one hand at the crook of his arm as she dips a graceful curtsey to the Atlanteans. "I thank you for your hospitality," she murmurs, her head remaining bowed.

Lysander casts a gaze and a nod to Riva as he passes the Captain, his chiton blowing in the gentle breezes of the sea--wings stretching as they are removed from the seated position. The Empyrean procession is completed as the slaves who attended them fall in behind all the nobles and guards. Truly, it is a spectacle to see, if nothing else.

Kalypso inclines her head to the Atlanteans, as well, joining the procession quietly.

The procession of Empyreans departs the Korallion, and the formal banquet comes to an end.

FIN  

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