Date: New Year's Day, 798 ------- Location: St Loomis, Church of the Blessed Wayfarer
It is quite evident that something of interest is soon to happen at the Church of the Blessed Wayfarer, as the walls outside the cathedral courtyard are swagged with murrey and evergreen silk bunting, and people are already beginning to pass in from the street in droves. Tongues wag with speculation about what the prince will speak of today, but the only way to know for sure is to attend and find out.
(Demetrius): It's a usual sort of early spring day in St Loomis, in which the weather -- currently an ambiguous mix of sunshine and clouds -- might change itself to anything at all on a perfect whim. But for once the weather is the object of no particular preoccupation, because it's quite clear that everyone streaming towards the cathedral upon this late morning of New Year's Day is determined to be here even if the heavens should open up to lash the world with the gale of the century.
Though most people seem to be angling at a chance to stand within the cathedral itself, the better to see and to hear, the courtyard is clearly prepared to handle the overflow, with large awnings stretched over poles to provide shelter from sun or rain or whatever else the sky should decide to produce. Priests and friars are on hand to guide people and gently encourage their good behavior, both outside and in.
Within the cathedral as without, it is mostly standing room only -- just as it always is, given the nave that is designed for procession and dynamic motion rather than mere sitting. However, benches have been brought in and ranged around the walls on this special occasion, evidently for the use of the elderly and infirm. Beams of light lance suddenly through the clerestory windows and fade just as quickly, casting an ever-changing illumination upon the assembling crowd as the sun peeks out from the clouds and hides itself again.
There is no sign yet of the princeling who has summoned people here on this first day of the new year.
(Russax): A murmuring of bells comes through the mildly chilly air, sweetly melodious for all their softness. The old priest Russax is himself up in the belfry ringing the Hollyberry Carillon on this day, welcoming in both the New Year and the crowd of people from town and countryside who can be seen streaming through the streets below.
(Rakim): One of the filthiest foreigners to grace these inclement shores has taken up a watchful roost in the boughs of a yew in Wayfarer's Rest, chosen for its proximity -- he could hop straight down onto the low stone wall separating courtyard from graveyard.
He stands aloof and sure-footed up there, comfortably shouldering the trunk, arms folded tight to match the quiet tension all throughout his wiry frame. The hood of his torn and travel-stained cloak is kept raised, and his shaded eyes crawl calculation over the bustling proceedings below. They climb briefly toward the belfry through branches budding with spring growth when the bells peel, but soon descend again. The steps up to the grand cathedral portico appear to claim the bulk of his interest.
He calls no attention to himself and his presence is easy to overlook, especially with all this other noise and activity going on.
(GM): OOC: Rakim just rolled grace and stealth, coming up with 97.
(Hester): A short, athletic looking woman is already waiting by the opening in the courtyard wall, dressed in a nice but practical-looking green kirtle, and with a matching green kerchief tied over her head -- and over a mass of fiery red curls that look as if they don't appreciate the attempt at confinement. She stands watching the crowd as if looking for someone in particular. Oddly enough, though, her gaze isn't fixed on the faces of the people passing by her, but instead is directed at a distance at least a head higher than any of them.
Under her breath she mutters in Ilexi, "I'll bet he just had to try to work on another project, or two, or ten, before even getting ready to come over here..."
(Yasin): Perhaps Hester was looking for Otty Smythe, given the fact that her eyes are aiming a head higher than most of the other townsfolk. But instead of Otty showing up at just that moment, the significantly shorter (and a little wider) apprentice of Otty strolls up to the courtyard. Yasin is dressed in his usual clothing, sans apron, tools, or backpack, as though he hadn't come from the farrier's workshop at all; indeed, his hands even appear to be clean of soot. Perhaps the chatter had gone around about these furreners and their 'Solitary', or perhaps it hasn't quite spread to all of the ears of the locals.
Regardless of his point of origin, Yasin dips his head to Hester and smiles warmly. "Good morning, Goodwoman Corey," he says in a quiet voice as he approaches. "I'd heard you were back in town. Looking for Otty?" He guesses. Yet in addition to the quiet voice and the warm expression, Yasin isn't really hiding (though he is certainly containing) a nervous excitement; he's bouncing a little bit on his feet.
(Hester): At the sound of her name Hester blinks and returns her gaze to a more ordinary plane, where it finds Yasin looking at her. "Oh, hello Yessy. Er, Goodman Yessy, I mean." She smiles a little sheepishly. "I suppose I was, but most likely he's gone off to the yard to try to cram in some more work every which way before coming here." Looking thoughtful, she adds, "But then again, Holl may be keeping an eye on him to make sure he shows up early enough to get a good view from inside the cathedral." She peers around again, a little lower through the crowd this time. "Don't see her either, yet..."
(Letetia): Just as Hester begins peering through the crowd once more, it parts slightly to allow an elegant gilded statue of a woman to glide through the entry to the cathedral yard, with a finely dressed gentleman in tow. She herself looks neither to left nor right as she passes by, but rather keeps her aloof green gaze fixed firmly on the cathedral doors, which she steers herself towards as if following the pull of a lodestone.
(Ascot): Technically it is the statuesque woman who rests upon his own arm, but the far greater force of her forward motion ensures that Ascot Willason is swept along with her like a bit of flotsam in the wake of a ship.
St. Loomis's mayor looks decidedly more lukewarm about this whole affair, and shifts looks of vague displeasure and discomfort around the yard as he's towed along towards the cathedral. He has, however, turned himself out in his very best and looks quite stylish in a hybrid Ilexi-Cateni style of shoulder-padded tunic and silken hose, with a dashing velvet capelet and an egret-plumed cap set upon his reddish-blond hair at an angle that unfortunately looks more limp than jaunty. Ultimately he seems relieved to be pulled out of the rabblish turmoil of the yard and into the slightly better-dressed turmoil of the cathedral porch, before disappearing with his wife through the doors.
(Velusiyen): A somewhat nondescript and waifish looking young lady is about to scoot past the entry, being quite vigorous in her efforts to plow through the crowd, but she comes to a sudden stop upon spying Yasin, making the nearest person behind her bump into her back with a stifled curse.
"OI! SMITHY!" she exclaims, even more loudly than is entirely necessary given the general hubbub. "OI!" she repeats, this time to someone she has brought in leaning on her own arm -- a somewhat rickety yet roguish-looking old lady. "It's the guy I told you all about, Goody Angold. Uh, Yasin." Upnodding in turn to Yasin, she announces brightly, "I brought Goody Angold!"
(Edelza): Lucy Mudlark has, indeed, brought Goody Angold, if that is who this elderly woman is. She peers at Yasin with lightly clouded sandy eyes, and gives him a smile that, like her general demeanor, is oddly roguish for a lady of her well advanced years. "Aye, is it indeed?" she asks, canting her head to one side as she appears to listen more than look. A single cloud-white braid, pulled back from her left temple to pin back at the base of her bun, tilts and sways along with her head.
(Ziyad): Into the courtyard strolls Ziyad, the young scholar having obviously just returned from wandering elsewhere outside. While he'd obviously made an effort to tidy himself up at some point during the day, evident by hair tucked neatly underneath an exceptionally well-wrapped turban and the faint scent of soap wafting from his figure, there are also bits of greenery clinging to the hem of his grey cloak for those perceptive enough to notice. He lifts his chin to scan the area with his reddish-gold eyes while he eases deeper into the crowd, likely looking for familiar faces, but it's the sound of Lucy's energetic exclamations that ends up drawing his attention. The corners of his lips twitch upwards and he starts making his way in the direction of her voice while murmuring apologies to those he nearly bumps into along the way.
"Goodwoman Lucy," Ziyad greets when he's close enough for the soft words to be heard. His smile widens. "Yasin." There's a dip of his head toward another in the group. "Goodwoman Hester. And..." Now, the young man pauses and furrows his brows, unable to pin a name to Lucy's companion. Instead, he opts to sketch a little bow.
(Ighlaf): Hearing Lucy, Ighlaf also gravitates in the same direction as Ziyad. They come to a slow walk as they call a greeting, "Good morning." their gaze flitting about the courtyard.
(Yasin): Yasin gives a subtly amused nod of his head to Hester at the 'where is Otty' speculation. He says idly, "Haven't seen him yet, or Holl or Matt--" but he's interrupted by the sudden loud exclamation from Lucy Mudlark, behind him. He turns his attention that way and grins, offering an amicably spoken, "Good morning, Lucy." Yasin briefly notices the arrival of the mayor and the mayor's wife out of the corner of his eye, but he doesn't seem to pay much attention otherwise in that direction.
His attention is, however, very much caught by the introduction of Goody Angold, to whom he offers both a wide smile and a, "I am very pleased to meet you, Goody Angold," alongside a dip of his head. "Lucy has told me much of you. Are you excited to hear whatever it is the Prince has to say?"
Rounding out the greetings, Yasin takes his wide smile to Ziyad and Ighlaf at their arrivals, offering a warmly given, "Good morning," to each in turn.
(Otty): The looming, bald and bearded figure of Otty Smythe appears finally, sure enough in his work clothing as though he's only just left the forge. He's being escorted - though perhaps a more apt term might be "herded" - by a woman at his elbow, fair-skinned and a bit on the plump side, with brunette hair done up in a Meroueni-style braid and lively steel blue eyes. She doesn't look tall next to Otty, but there are very few who would, and really she's not lacking in height at all, just a smidge above the burly young Razmani apprentice. Trailing behind them, but being no less herded along by the woman, is a gangly, coltish youth, a bit taller than she is, with messy sandy brown hair who moves as though he's new to his body. He looks quite starry-eyed and enthusiastic to be here, attention darting about the churchyard eagerly though he stays quiet.
"... be just wonderful if he's managed to find someone, but I can't imagine wh- Oh, Hester, love, there you are! Hello! " she suddenly spots and greets Hester with a beaming smile. Otty beside her gives a smile and a nod of his own, even as his wife is already greeting others in the vicinity. "And Yessy! You're looking quite smart, dear, so good to see you. Hello, you must be Yessy's friends," she offers to the other obviously foreign ones nearby.
"Mmh. Goodman Igluff," Otty rumbles aside to her then, with a gesture to Ighlaf, "And Goodman See-Odd Ferrot," indicating Ziyad. And to the two of them: "My wife, Hollyn. My son, Mathias," this time gesturing in turn with definite pride to the woman and the teenager who's still lurking half-shyly behind him. The boy gives a polite nod all the same at the introduction, but says nothing.
But a moment later he's sneaking a smirk aside to Hester, and quipping in a low tone, "Where've you got the mules hiding, then? They'll not want to be left out."
(Yasin): The Razmani apprentice's already excited and agreeable expression brightens more as Otty and his family stroll over. Yasin turns slightly away from the others to cheerfully reply, "Very good to see you as well, Goodwoman Hollyn. Otty. Mathias."
The young man's eyes linger on Mathias for a small moment before he focuses his attention on Otty and says with a grin, "Hester was insisting you had gone to finish one more project."
(Inaya): Unlike seemingly everyone else who's gathering, one figure arriving late seems deeply reluctant and not at all happy to be here. The tall, scarred Salawi looks somewhat gaunt and exhausted, and sports a new haircut-- her intricate braids are entirely gone, shaven off. Inaya treads into the churchyard on bare feet, limping slightly, and makes for somewhere as far as she can get from anyone else. Not an easy task. She offers only a nod of greeting in passing to her fellow foreigners, speaking no words at all, though maybe that's only because there's no way she could speak loud enough to be heard in the crowd. She settles on standing far off against the rear churchyard wall, throwing rather menacing glares at any locals who dare to come too close, which probably isn't nearly as effective as she'd like it to be, given how many people are here.
At least she doesn't have her axe...?
(Edelza): The little old woman gives Yasin a grin and a firm nod of her head. "Aye, that I am," she replies to his question. "If there's aught to be heard of the prince's ship and its journey and suchlike, those things are always of interest to me." She taps her wrinkled lips for a moment. "And crew," she murmurs. She seems to listen for a moment, to the clamor of the crowd or the excited barking of dogs from somewhere off down the street, gaze rising absently upward. "Hmm. Will be an interesting day indeed, I reckon."
(Hester): Hester gives an amiable nod of greeting to first Ziyad and then Ighlaf as they arrive, but her freckle-splotched face breaks out in a big grin when she finally spies not just Otty, but Hollyn herding him along with Mathias close behind. She stands on her toes to try to flag their attention with a wave, but this still might have been a lost cause if both the blacksmith and his wife weren't significantly taller than herself, and therefore of sufficient height to be able to see over the heads or at least shoulders of the people around her.
"Holl!" the redhead calls back gladly. "I knew you'd save the day and round Otty up, get him steered over here like the stubborn ox he is. And Matty! You'll get an interesting earful here today, I bet you; Goody Angold here herself says so." She waves one hand towards the elder, seeming at least somewhat acquainted. "Well, there are worse ways of spending a couple of hours of the new year."
At the quip from Otty she leans in towards him (and rises on her toes again) to tell him conspiratorially, "Well, I offered to bring them into the cathedral to double as extra benches, but even old Covenderry didn't seem to think that was fitting." She belts out a loud, "HA!" of a laugh that rings out even over the noise of the crowd. "It's a real pity; my mules are better behaved than some of the people." She cuts a look in the direction taken by Mayor Willason. "And definitely have more sense."
(Velusiyen): Lucy smiles around at all the greetings and introductions, but her fidgeting betrays an inner impatience, which finally bursts free as she exclaims, "Come on, everyone! If we don't hurry and get in there all the space is gonna be gone, and then we're gonna have to stand out here and wait for whatever they're sayin' inside to be told back out here, and there's always somethin' that gets left out or said wrong, so you might as well be on the other side of town for all you can tell what's really happenin'."
She leans back out from the wall to try to get a look back down the street, patting Goody Angold's arm in such a way that it seems more like a signal to get moving rather than a sign of support. "The Greyleighs are prolly gonna be here soon too, and we don't wanna get in their way..."
(Marwa): Marwa arrives with some of the later-comers of St. Loomis to the bubbling hubbub of the day's excitement. She manages to slip between islands of townsfolk gathered outside without garnering too much more than some flicked glances toward the brightly vermillion-dyed abaya she has donned over her herself this morning, in exchange for her more unassuming winter cloak; and though she might offer small, faintly smiling nods of recognition to the few she might meet eyes with - furreners and locals alike - she does not stop to mingle for conversation. In fact, she seems to be avoiding it entirely for now.
Instead, she makes her way up to one side of the worn steps of the Cathedral and pauses mid-flight to take a look back to the milling crowd with a vaguely preoccupied air. Only here does she seems to notice Inaya clear on the other side of the courtyard, still quite noticeable for being one of the few here to loom well over the town's average height, if not for her own desire to be noticed. Inaya's presence seems to surprise her, for she continues to look back upon the Salawi for a few more moments. But the sound of a pointed clearing-of-one's-throat from the steps beneath her abruptly pulls her attention away, and with what appears to be a lowly murmured, "I am very sorry," in stilted Ilexi to the roadblocked townsperson, she quickly turns and hasten up the remaining steps toward the open cathedral doors.
(Eoforwynn): As if summoned up by the words of Lucy Mudlark, a sudden fanfare of trumpets begins to sound along Main Street, coming from the north -- distantly at first, but drawing steadily closer. The clop of hooves on cobblestone soon follows, and then an eddy whorls through the crowd, pulling it to either side of the street as a passage begins to open up down its center. And through it come the Greyleighs.
Lady Greyleigh is at the head of the little procession, riding on a smooth-stepping chestnut mare just a pace or two ahead of Lord Greyleigh on his handsome blood bay gelding. The younger Lady and Lord, Eoforhild and Eoforwald, come evenly behind on mounts of their own. After them rides another clearly noble couple, both of them blond and of rather rosy complexion, though the man sports a quite athletic build while the plumply pretty lady who must be his wife looks as if simply coming out under a sky threatening to drip constitutes more of an outdoor adventure than she prefers.
A small assortment of retainers accompany them, mostly on foot for the short distance between manor and cathedral. Save for the two very fair nobles, who present a distinctly lavish appearance, all are dressed very finely but not showily, with a sort of understated elegance in their garb of evergreen and mist grey, good linen in the case of the retainers, silk and velvet for ladies and lords.
Arriving outside the churchyard entry, the riders all dismount to leave their horses in the care of a handful of grooms, who then in turn collect small knots of the crowd around themselves while the noble family and the rest of their small entourage sweep through entry and courtyard towards the cathedral.
(Eoforhild): As Lady Eoforhild passes across the cathedral porch alongside her brother, she looks briefly back over her shoulder to see the people continuing to assemble in the yard and throng up the steps behind them. Giving a sharp twitch to the veil that partly covers her butterscotch hair, she presses her lips tightly together, looking even more darkly vexed than she already had. "I can't believe so many people are coming here from everywhere just to hear -HIM- speak," she says in a low irritated voice to Eoforwald. "He's just a puffed-up popinjay and a fraud. He isn't even a -real- prince, however much he pretends."
(Eoforwald): "Don't be ridiculous," advises Lord Eoforwald unhelpfully, with a brief sideways glance past his sister and down, also observing the crowd for a moment. "Of course they're coming to hear him." He gives a small shrug and smiles wryly at her, though the expression in his own light brown eyes is mostly excited. "When was the last time someone even close to royal came here and gave an address?"
(Eoforhild): "He does it just to hear himself talk," Lady Eoforhild mutters. "Nobody is going to want to hear when he says--" She clamps her mouth shut and twitches slightly as her muttering draws a Look from Lady Greyleigh just ahead of her, but the look on her face as she enters the nave is still mutinous.
(Rakim): Up on his perch, Rakim has perked up out of his idle posture, instantly distracted from his careful study of those entering the cathedral.
Seizing a branch above his head, he leeeeaaans his skinny body out to a daring degree beyond toppling point, not unlike a sailor hanging from the rigging. All the better to look down along the line of the wall and verify that he really just saw who he thinks he just saw: a certain somebody who towers above most others (unrelatable) and presently eschews all these abundant opportunities to socialize (extremely relatable).
Yes, there she looms, no doubt about it. He calculates for some small moments, eyes brightened as though the mere sight of her has restored their shine. Then, swift and nimble, the scruffy wretch trades one branch for another, swings down to the next, and from there drops into a free-fall. Whether or not he nailed the landing is left a guess, blocked from view by the same wall. Perhaps he snapped both ankles.
At the very least, there is one person who did not attend to hear -HIM- speak; Rakim is long gone before any such thing transpires.
(GM): OOC: Rakim just rolled grace and acrobatics, coming up with 53.
(Firouzeh): Well past fashionably late at this point, Firouzeh strolls into the courtyard, seeming unbothered by her own tardy arrival. She adjusts her veil with one hand, eyes sweeping the scene until they settle on the towering figure of Salawi. Her wrinkled lips purse as if she's weighing the merits of abandoning the announcement altogether to join her in menacing the locals. But in the end, she simply dips her head in greeting. Her cane carries her the rest of the way toward the door, where she folds into the tail end of the latecomers.
(Ighlaf): Flitting a smile to Otty and his family, Ighlaf doesn't bother raising their voice in the crowd beyond a, "Good morning."
Being somewhat early, Ighlaf trails after Lucy alongside any others heeding the words about moving out of the way before the Greyleighs arrive, and settles to some people watching on the way.
(Keely): As more and more people flow into the cathedral there is one person who seems to have been there ahead of nearly all of them: a slight dapper-looking gent with bristly reddish-brown hair pulled back into a neat queue, and hazel eyes that study everything around them with an enigmatic expression.
Dressed in a silver-embroidered dark grey jerkin and impeccably tailored breeches, he stands in an unassuming way at the very right front of the nave, just below the the elevated platform of the chancel. This means that he has to crane his neck to see anything going on up there, which, given that the chancel is the natural place for anyone to address the crowd, might seem to make his own spot a less than ideal viewing point. But despite this, he exhibits the calm and untroubled air of someone perfectly content with the arrangement of all things.
(Saro): A new arrival saunters in by way of the graveyard, either just missing Rakim or possibly even brushing by his less than savory person on her way in from the gate off Compass Street. Presumably she chose this point of entry on account of its being fairly conveniently located relative to the Bards' Guild, since this latest arrival is none other than Saro Uliveto, dressed in copper-buttoned bright blue tunic as luthier of the guild. As she arrives even the abode of the dead is beginning to have a handful of living souls scattered through it, perhaps considering this a helpfully sheltered spot in case the sky should begin spitting out rain or, worse, the faithful St Loomis sleet. But Saro doesn't stop here herself, and rather passes into the courtyard through the stone arch, pausing only on the other side to survey the mass of humanity milling about.
Seemingly inevitably, her luminous sea-blue gaze also soon finds the towering dark figure at the rear of the yard, and with just the smallest hesitation, the luthier makes her way in that direction, eeling through the crowd until she reaches Inaya. Luckily, the cathedral yard isn't quite so crowded yet that anybody has been forced to endure the anxiety of standing within close range of the glares of the huge Salawi woman, so Saro is still easily able to take up a spot beside her, thumping her back against the wall and folding arms over chest.
Her gaze is turned off towards the top steps of the cathedral as she adresses Inaya conversationally in Ruvic, "You got out of the gutter."
(the St Loomis rumormill): Half hidden behind the columns of the cathedral porch, a troupe of minstrels strikes up a tune, the skirl of shawm and the driving rhythm of the tabor beginning to spill out onto the air as courtyard and cathedral continue to fill. Not a grand fanfare like the announcement of the Greyleighs' arrival, this music nevertheless has an anticipatory energy to it, as if it were preparing the crowd for something important to commence in a short while.
(Yasin): As the hustle and bustle of the crowd increases, and perhaps spurred on by Lucy Mudlark's insistence, Yasin gives a nod of his head to those around him and says, "Suppose we should probably get inside..."
Thus, he begins trailing after Ighlaf and Lucy, walking up the steps to find a spot to watch the proceedings -- whatever they might be -- from inside the cathedral.
(Ziyad): Ziyad dips his head genially when more familiar faces gather, pausing when he spots Inaya's form standing out so incongruently amongst the rest of the crowd. His expression is an odd mixture of surprised and expectant, although it only lasts the briefest of moments before he's swept along in the wake of everyone around him. He turns to move along the rest of his group, still glancing around subtly to see who else has shown up for the excitement.
(Otty): "I was nearly finished with those reaches for that haywagon," Otty defends himself to Yasin and maybe Hester too, and then laughs right along with Hester even as Hollyn starts figuratively nipping at the group's heels again, ushering them onward into the cathedral at Lucy's urging. "Stand around yapping long enough and we'll miss the whole thing, bunch of chatterboxes. He was not almost finished," she adds aside to Yasin with a sly smile. "He'd just started, and Hester's right, we'd never have seen him at all if I hadn't gone round to the shed. Head down, completely wrapped up in it, didn't even know what time it was. You know how he is!" She says it in the manner of chiding, but there's a warmth to her tone and a smile that belies the affection underneath.
Mathias, for his part, starts to ask a question, of Hester or Goody Angold or both, but gets cut off as everyone starts moving and follows along inside, looking intensely curious and all the more excited. He trips on the steps on the way in, not quite going down, and rights himself with a surreptitious check to see if anybody noticed that.
(Velusiyen): Lucy traverses the steps with a bouncing gait that suggests she'd prefer to be bounding up them, but is constrained by her solicitude for the old woman whose arm remains linked through hers. She shows less restraint in passing through the cathedral interior, shoving through the already-arrived audience with chirpily aggressive interjections of, "'Scuse me, pardon, 'scuse, c'mon, make way for an old woman, where's your manners!" Apparently the elder's presence has become a useful tool in this setting. Finally she manages to secure a place on one of the east side benches for her rickety friend, and helps get her settled. Whether any of the people she had been talking to out in the yard had managed to follow through the small gap left by her vigorous passage, she doesn't stop to check just yet.
(Letetia): As it happens, the coldly lovely mayor's wife also has a seat on a bench a little further up from Lucy and Goody Angold, despite the statuesque woman's clear lack of infirmity. But instead she has a folio opened in her lap and a stick of charcoal in hand, and seems to be determinedly absorbed in capturing the scene around her in little vignettes on her parchment pages. In the act of occupying a bench she seems to have lost her husband somewhere else in the crowd, which seems to trouble her not one bit.
(Yasin): Yasin brightens as Otty defends himself, and he almost goes immediately to reply to Otty until the banter plays out at Hollyn's urging and commentary. He grins back to Hollyn and replies, "Did you have to shout his name multiple times to get his attention?" with a tone that implies, perhaps, this is something the young apprentice has had to do -- once or twice, maybe.
He then turns to Otty, amusement giving way to genuine interest as he says quickly, "I was hoping to see you work on those. Did you end up going with the--" He pauses for just a quarter-second, his eyes flicking toward Mathias at the stumble, then returning to Otty without comment, “--adjustable design? A locking pin? Our Solitary ends tonight with the Feast, so I can help you finish tomorrow.”
Crossing the threshold into the cathedral proper, he casts a sweeping glance back at the others and the minstrels still playing their tune, apparently so caught up in conversation and company that he only then registers Inaya’s figure by the rear wall. He offers a subtle, perhaps difficult-to-discern nod in her direction before turning his attention back to his immediate company and continuing inward.
Yasin's path was in Ighlaf's wake, leaving the fate of whether the group manages to follow the young Mudlark's trail through the crowd up to them.
(Halfah): Also noticeably present inside the cathedral already is a contingent from the Mistwatch, arranged in neat ranks on the west side of the nave just a short ways behind the Greyleighs. Halfah Mistbane, Master of Lamps, is the most notable of the group, but Quartermaster Harkinson is also there, and even the poor lowly Tig, who has his own place just behind Halfah as if he were in her particular keeping.
Although standing at quiet attention, both Lampmaster and Quartermaster have a faintly guarded air about them, while the posture of Halfah herself seems taut with repressed tension, and her mouth is very set. But despite this strained atmosphere, each one of the Mistwatch is also turned out in their best dress uniforms, with the officers boasting tassled epaulettes and short capes, and thin silver aguillettes accenting the sleeves of those of lower rank.
(Pomeroy): Standing primly at the left front of the nave, Pomeroy wafts a terribly-perfumed handkerchief and tucks it into his front collar. "One of the Oozles gave me this -pawfaughm-," he informs a perplexed passing clergyman in a haughty manner. "It's very much in fashion with the southern heretics, of course. Very much so." It smells like some sort of awful, stinky fruit.
(Inaya): Inaya is watchful, despite her scowls and glares, and seems to catch at least a couple of those glances directed her way, though she makes no obvious response to most of them, except to Firouzeh, to whom she nods in return. Maybe that's the only one she actually noticed, or maybe she's just in close enough proximity to demand politeness. Maybe she just likes Firo best.
Upon seeing Saro's approach, though, a bit of an almost wary expression touches at her features. This one doesn't get a murderous look. That guarded flicker settles as soon as the woman's words are spoken, though, softening, with an exhalation that might almost be an amused snort. She replies in awkward, heavily-accented Ruvic of her own, that broken voice no stronger for the intervening months: "No. Yet not." And with a gesture toward the cathedral, "Soon, maybe, yes?"
(Saro): Saro, for her part, looks perfectly comfortable to slouch against the wall beside the Salawi woman, which earns her some incredulous looks from less courageous locals nearby before they simply shake their heads in bemused dismissal. The two women are both furreners, after all. There's really no accounting for them.
At the response to her comment, Saro gives Inaya a wry grin. Then, to the question and gesture, "Maybe," she agrees. Looking up towards the open doors to the cathedral, she remarks with apparent regret, "I hear the prince has been having some trouble getting a captain for his ship, though. Hasn't been able to find anyone yet who's got both the skill to bring a ship across the Adelantean to Idiri, and the desire to try it."
She clucks her tongue lightly, lowering her gaze again to refasten a button just below the collar of her tunic. Evidently preoccupied with this small task, she remarks casually, "Sure would be easier to get out of the gutter if that ship had a captain."
(the St Loomis rumormill): Meanwhile the music from the porch is becoming ever more intense and lively, as the excitement of troupe and crowd alike seems to be building towards a crescendo. Flutes have joined their tootling melodies to the tune, cornettos sweetly sound, and even a sackbut now raises its sonorously wailing voice as the music swells. And then, with a grand culmination of pounding drumbeats and a last succession of piercing notes from the shawm, it all falls silent, and a sudden quiet descends.
Clearly something is about to happen.
(the St Loomis rumormill): Inside the cathedral, everything has been all astir, with the crowd still shifting around and jostling for their places, excited and speculative murmurings rebounding in echoes off the rafters, and a general bustle and clamor only slightly muted by the natural respect from being in a house of Dionos. But when the music outside abruptly falls silent, the cathedral mostly does as well.
There is an anticipatory hush, broken only by the usual racking cough or two. And then, swelling out of the quiet, there comes a softer sounding of notes from a quartet of cornettists somewhere back in the apse, and a herald steps forth to announce, "His Grace, Demetrius Estevarre, Prince of Lunastra, Lord of the Isle of Ashes, Royal Navigator of the Most Noble Order of the Compass, Great Master of the Order of the Silver Nettle!"
(Inaya): "Big mistake, build ship and no crew for," comes Inaya's rasped reply to Saro, accompanied by a tiny smirk. She re-folds her arms over her chest, attention zeroing on the cathedral doors at the swelling music. "No one tell him this? He think ship sail..." She makes a little floaty-boat wavy gesture of one hand. "It own self? Princes are stupid, some."
Her rather coldly amused, brittle smirk fades though as the announcement goes out, and she flicks a glance aside to Saro again. "Truth? Not Yehani, here? Not Paldeo even?" She asks voicelessly now, just a raised whisper, though the questions seem this time more serious than the previous quips.
(Saro): Saro shrugs at Inaya. "Wasn't going to get a crew to enlist with no sign of a ship, either," she answers pragmatically. "Not after everyone lost hope there'd ever be another voyage anywhere ever again. And especially when the ships caught in dock here clearly weren't designed with that sort of voyage in mind."
The luthier seems to get her button fastened the way she wants it, and then begins straightening her collar. "Anyway, he's got a decent crew, or so I hear. Some foreign sailors who'd gotten stranded here in port after spending the winter here; good number of locals, some with more experience than others. I encouraged some of my friends among the Yehani here to sign up too, and some did, but them just as regular crew too." She frowns and gives a small headshake. "No one's heard anything from Paldeo in months -- the prince tried to track him down, but no luck."
Finished now with fiddling at her button and collar, Saro slants a gaze sideways and upward at the woman looming over her. "He tried to track down another ship's captain from the Dolphin, too. But," she concludes, flicking her gaze away again, "No luck there either." She clucks her tongue. "Must not have checked the right part of the gutter."
(Demetrius): There's a brief pause after the cornettos in the apse of the church have silenced, and in that moment everyone seems to hold their breath in anticipation. Then a sound of quiet footsteps and the soft plush rustle of fur comes from the west, and, through the archway of the cathedral's Sister Chapel, the prince enters at last.
This seems to give the crowd, most of whose gazes had been trained towards the back of the cathedral, some surprise. A general turning of heads ensues, accompanied by the rustling stir of everyone orienting themselves in that direction, then another rustling as they turn themselves forward once more to watch the man stride up to the front of the chancel. There he stops, just a short pace back from the steps leading up from the nave.
This affords everyone a grand opportunity to gaze upon his personage, which does in fact look very fine today. He is dressed in a murrey doublet with pearls on the standing collar and scattered down the sleeves, and across the chest and upper arms intricate lavender embroidery swirls like smoke. Slashed silk brocade knee breeches are also murrey, with panels of deep evergreen underneath, and his silken hose is more evergreen with whorls of silver-gilt embroidery. But he wears the same lynx cloak that the folk around town are likely accustomed to see him in, and is lacking any jewelry save for a simple gold signet ring. Truly, all his lovely raiment could still hardly be considered opulent for a prince -- indeed, the elaborately jeweled finery of the two blond nobles in the crowd below would rather put his own to shame. But his clothes seem perfectly sculpted to his person, and somehow he gives off the impression of himself being perfectly fitted to his attire, and to this particular place and time as well.
The only thing that mars his appearance is that vertical scar on his chin, whose whiteness seems almost luminous in the soft glow of candles and descending sunbeams. And there are, too, signs of fatigue on his face and shadows below his eyes... but only the people standing with the closest view of the chancel might notice that, and the soft light in the cathedral is kind.
As the crowd doubtless observes him, so the prince surveys the packed cathedral for a moment, eyes passing somberly over the upturned faces. And then, just faintly, he smiles.
(GM): OOC: Demetrius just rolled magnetism by itself, coming up with 53.
(the St Loomis rumormill): A soft sound goes up from the multitude that pack the nave, as of a sort of collective drawing and releasing of breath. It's a rather excited noise, and maybe a little approving too, as the prince's relative lack of ostentation on this important occasion of his making an address seems to strike the crowd favorably. There's a very quiet ripple of sound as some people towards the back of the cathedral take it upon themselves to pass on a description of the prince's entrance to those outside in the yard, but otherwise those inside are quiet with anticipation.
(Velusiyen): Mostly quiet, anyway. Lucy, appearing quite struck simply by the grand appearance the prince has made, leans down to whisper a little too loudly to Goody Angold. "Did you see that? He came from the Sister Chapel! Do you think he took some kind of vow about his voyage?"
(Edelza): Goody Angold only shrugs one bony shoulder and whispers back, "Hush, girl. Dreamer knows, and we will as well if we're meant to."
(Velusiyen): Lucy pulls a face at her elderly companion, not appearing very satisfied with this response. But she composes herself and returns her attention to the prince.
(Demetrius): That smile on the prince's face could have been a superior smile, or a condescending one, but instead it's one that gives the impression that the prince is genuinely glad to be here on this particular occasion, looking out over this particular crowd. It fades after just a moment, leaving a much more serious expression his face, but there's still a gleam of almost eager determination in his eyes. Clasping his hands loosely behind his back and raising his chin up slightly -- scar or no -- he begins to speak.
"Good people of St. Loomis, Greyleigh, and all Innithel," he addresses the crowd in carrying tones. The cathedral helps him, resonating his voice into its furthest corners with only a small pleasing echo. "I bid you all fair greetings this New Year's Day, and am pleased to see so many of you here to greet me as well. You honor me and your lands by your presence, and I hope to be able to reward you all with good news for the entire county."
Sweeping the crowd with his gaze, he continues, "I am certain that many of you here must have come with a strong interest towards hearing news of the voyage that is planned to re-open trade through St. Loomis, and thereby restore this county's life-blood. As I believe must be widely known by this point, the vessel that is being assembled by this town's best builders is much in the style of two that were constructed previously, for our friends in Marpagna. For those who are not familiar with it, it is generally in the style of a galley, but somewhat larger and broader in the beam, and designed more to be sailed than rowed, though either sail or oar may be employed. What it has somewhat sacrificed in speed and agility compared to an ordinary galley, it makes up for in strength and stability, which can only be a boon when crossing open seas -- as it will do, on its way to Idiri and new ports of call." His smile returns, still faint, but expressive of a confident resolve.
"Progress on the ship has been steady over the winter," he informs the crowd, "though slow -- for to no one's very great surprise, the weather on this coast has furnished us with an extraordinary variety of different kinds of snows and ices, which of all the towns in Ensor, I believe only St Loomis has the capacity to produce in such great quantity." He smiles a bit wryly, though seeming more amused than annoyed. "Nevertheless, the sturdy builders of this county have kept hard at their task, and now that the sun begins to smile upon us a bit more with the coming of spring, it is the expectation of the most knowledgeable of shipwrights that work on the ship will be complete within two months' time, at the very utmost."
(GM): OOC: Demetrius just rolled magnetism and dissembling, coming up with 112.
(the St Loomis rumormill): A wave of murmuring excitement seems to pass through the crowd at this news. A ship that really has a fine chance of crossing the Adelantean, and opening up trade with new partners! And in less than two months! What a marvel the foreign prince has helped them to produce!
His confident smile is mirrored and amplified upon the faces of people all across the nave of the cathedral, as they turn to look at one another and nod with pride at what their great builders and sailors can surely accomplish. The mere idea of sailing and trade finally opening up through St. Loomis once more seems to fill the cathedral with an air of happy promise. Clearly there are no difficulties too great for such an extraordinary venture as this to overcome.
(Demetrius): Prince Demetrius looks pleased with this response, as well he might. It seems even to fill him with an additional energy, and he states with some relish, "Anybody who is interested in watching its progress over these next weeks -- and who would not be! -- may go down to the shipyard to view it as it is being worked on." One gets the impression that he himself must find this a deeply interesting pastime. He gives another wry smile then, though, as he amends, "Although, the builders will likely not thank you if you pack yourselves in there in too great a drove at once, however much they will appreciate your admiration. So you may wish to view it towards the end of the day, when work is being concluded for the evening."
He seems to temper his enthusiasm to a more moderate level as he resumes. "It will not surprise you to learn that many among you have offered their services as crew upon this new vessel. I am pleased to say that there will be people of many skills aboard, as well as some novices just learning the ways of the sea. There are among this prospective crew some persons of more advanced experience as well, who will be will fitted to make up the officers of the ship. However..."
The prince draws in a long breath, then lets it back out again as he regards the crowd with somber earnestness. "It is generally the decision of the captain who will be chosen for such important roles, and no one has yet come forth with the experience and will to serve as the captain for my ship. Too, we are still much in need of a navigator who has greater knowledge of the far reaches of the Adelantean than most. And so I must put out the call to you once again -- for I know there are those souls in this town who have both ample experience of the sea, and the courage to employ that experience now in the pursuit of a daring and, indeed, necessary new venture."
(GM): OOC: Demetrius just rolled magnetism and dissembling, coming up with 68.
(the St Loomis rumormill): The people down in the nave turn their heads once again to look at one another, though this time in apparent vexation. Can't there possibly be someone to fill such important roles here, today? Surely, at least, somebody must know somebody who knows someone else who might do these things? But sadly for prince and county, nobody leaps forth from the crowd eagerly proclaiming their resolve to become captain of the new vessel on the spot.
(Edelza): Goody Angold shifts in her seat on the bench, seeming a little restless for a moment, while a very determined spark has appeared in her old sand-brown eyes. She mutters something very softly under her breath, too low for anyone else to make out, and tips her chin down in a tiny nod to herself.
(Marwa): Marwa's own covered head is among those that would have turned, then turned again at the prince's entrance from the western archway, one small part of the ripple of movement from somewhere within the middle of the crowded nave. From her vantage point she looks up to Demetrius Estevarre at first with a slight squint of her eyes, perhaps trying to penetrate the cathedral's gauzy light to get a better sight of him. But the exertion is soon discontinued when he begins to address all those who have gathered here, and all that remains upon her smoothed countenance as he speaks is a slight drawing-together of her brows, as if she had forgotten to mind it - like something absently left behind on the floor of an otherwise tidied and dusted room.
She takes in a small breath as news of this new ship and its vacant captaincy is carried like a wave across the open space of the cathedral and presumably out into the courtyard. Here she turns her face slightly, eyes flickering briefly and with quiet curiosity to the faces of those around and behind her before returning to the chancel and the person standing upon it.
(Demetrius): "We will procure them yet, God willing," the prince asserts with a firm nod of his head. "I am sure none among us can truly doubt it." Who would dare doubt, with such an example of confidence before them? "But now," he goes on, "many among you may be curious concerning just where this ship is headed. Where will it drop its anchor, and with whom will we be seeking the new connections that shall restore this land's prosperity and link it once again to the outside world?"
Pausing a suspenseful moment to ensure that everyone is listening in rapt anticipation, he then proceeds to tell them. "The name of Omrazir must be unfamiliar to most here, but this is a city -- a very large and prosperous city -- lying upon the coast of the far southeastern Adelantean, in the lands of the Sirdabi Caliphate. It is a fine city indeed, a place where people from all lands come to trade peaceably with one another, and find common ground in doing so. But even then, there are many such cities and ports. And so why, you ask, should our voyage take us to this city, of all the many cities upon Adelantean shores, even within the wealthy lands of the caliphate alone? Because..." And there is another dramatic pause. "Omrazir is a city where we already have connections."
Glancing around at the crowd, he raises his eyebrows at them. "Aha! You look surprised -- you wonder how we can possibly have friends in a city few have even heard of up till now. But we have them, indeed. Look among you, and there they are --" He waves one arm broadly around the room, doubtless encompassing a number of the foreigners within the gesture. "-- the good folk from the lost Dolphin, who have lived and worked here for a full year's span now... yet always hoping and praying to the God we share to return home. This ship we build now will furnish them with that way home, and in turn, we may hope that their friendship will help open new doors for us. As we have treated them with honor and kindness, so may their own people treat us."
There is, perhaps, a bit of a glint in the prince's eye as says these last words, and something of admonishment or warning.. and perhaps too the knowledge that honor and kindness are not actually all that the foreigners have been treated with. But he seems to leave it to the finer feelings of the good people of Innithel to recognize and repent of any shortcomings in their hospitality, and to remedy them in the weeks remaining to them to do so.
(GM): OOC: Demetrius just rolled magnetism and dissembling, coming up with 109.
(the St Loomis rumormill): Even that simple yet cheerful picture painted by the prince seems to spark further enthusiasm across the floor of the cathedral. For the moment, no one seems to mind that this Omrazir might be a very foreign and heathen sort of place, filled with very foreign and heathen sorts of people. It is prosperous! Its commerce and connections are extensive! What a marvelous opportunity this must be, what a hope for salvation for St. Loomis itself!
There is a little ripple of perturbation at that very last bit, though, which might signify some tiny amount of discomfited shuffling. A few uncomfortable glances go around the church, as the prince's audience seem to check whether any of the furreners might be standing nearby, and if so, whether any of them might appear to be especially displeased with their Loomisite neighbors in the crowd. Perhaps new resolutions of kindliness and honor are being formed at this point, though like all resolutions of the new year, how long their duration might be is anyone's guess.
(Demetrius): Prince Demetrius watches the happy, if also slightly discomfited, ripples of response from the crowd. He looks to be quite in his element, his posture proud but not stiff, and that faint smile lingering on his lips. It is entirely possible, as the young Lady Eoforhild had unkindly judged, that he enjoys the very sound of himself talking -- at least if there is someone else to hear it.
But the smile gradually fades, and his countenance becomes more sober once more. The sense of resolve does not diminish, however. Allowing the excited murmuring to die down, the prince speaks again. "Indeed, there is much to be hoped for from this venture." He draws in a long breath, holds it a moment, then releases it again in a calm and controlled way. "However, we cannot make the mistake of believing that all may be gained so easily. For we must look some difficult truths in the face."
His gaze appears to search the crowd once more, solemnly. "All of us know full well the difficulty of our circumstances. This land is a hardy one, which breeds a brave and self-sufficient people. Its history is long, and full of valor, though forgotten by many... particularly by those who dwell in other parts of the kingdom. I have learned of this history well, not just from dusty records, but from listening to all of you. But even with a brave people and a storied past, Innithel is but one county, now cut off entirely from the rest of Ensor, and from the Court." He gives a wry self-deprecating smile. "I am well aware that the Court, as presently constituted, may not be held in the greatest esteem here just now. This is scarcely to be wondered at, for I will be the first to acknowledge that it has been in many ways.. quite deficient in how it has treated the people here."
There is a small tightening of his mouth, and a firming of his jaw. "As you know, this was what I was sent here to put to rights. In my time here I have tried my best to hear the concerns of the people of this land, high and low, wealthy and poor, and of all stations in between. I have tried also, not just to hear them, but to resolve them insofar as it has been within my power to do so. How well I have succeeded in this so far, only you may judge."
(GM): OOC: Demetrius just rolled magnetism and dissembling, coming up with 77.
(the St Loomis rumormill): Although the response from the crowd is a fairly reserved one, thoughtful looks and small nods of the head seem to suggest that the prince has, indeed, at the least proved less of a burden and a plague upon the county than might originally have been expected from the foreign Queen's foreign brother. Generous sentiment towards His Grace seems to prevail, in a muted sort of way. However, just when the prince might have expected to continue with his address, a voice raised in anger rings out from the back of the cathedral.
"How well, he asks! How well, I'll tell YOU! He din't find my cow, my best cow, even after I done tole His Grace that it went missin', and that it was them Alisaydes to blame! Was my best milker, an' no doubt roasted up an' et durin' some heathener feast, an' maybe His Grace was one o' them, bein' furren hisself, an' that's why he ain't done nothin' to--" The man is cut off by his wife snapping, "Shut your hole, Ruffy, 's big enough the cow like to fell in there an' died from the stink o' whiskey," and then a small scuffle ensues between spouses until they are taken firmly by the arm and politely if firmly escorted out, and order and a respectful if somewhat awkward silence are restored.
(GM): OOC: Demetrius just rolled composure by itself, coming up with 36.
(Demetrius): His Grace bears this dire accusation from the back of the nave with an expression of forbearance, if also with the tiniest twitch at one corner of the mouth. He allows the crowd some moments in which to regain its own composure, then clears his throat quietly.
"In these last several months," he finally resumes, "I have heard many concerns -- some of which have, as you have now just heard, indeed proven sadly beyond my powers to correct." His mouth twitches again, but then presses itself back into a more sober expression. "But always," he says, sounding genuinely grave now, "the greatest of these concerns must be, that Innithel is cut off from all its neighbors, and St. Loomis has lost its livelihood. And this concern, widely held as it is, affecting all as it does, has nonetheless been the most difficult to remedy. There is hope for this now, and yet -- even when our ship is arrived in Omrazir, crew and cargo and passengers and all -- even then, the challenges will not readily disperse."
He looks out over the cathedral, rather sternly now, yet with apparent regret. "For the people of Omrazir, learned as they are, do not know of Innithel's proud history. They do not know the courage and honor of its people. They will not see it as the land which has endured hardships and perils beyond telling, and prospered despite all. They will not know, even, the wealth and happiness which this land's people once produced for themselves in ample supply through their ships and commerce. The people of Omrazir... the Court of Omrazir... cannot know this."
(the St Loomis rumormill): A stir of dismay rumbles through the cathedral, and now the looks that are exchanged are unhappy ones. Worried. Offended. Some, even a little angry. But they wait for the prince's next words, for now.
(Inaya): Out in the churchyard, Inaya takes in Saro's words with a thoughtful frown, tongue prodding at the inside of her cheek. At that last comment, though, she cuts a definite glare aside, but makes no reply. Her attention goes back to the cathedral with a concentrated scowl, seemingly straining to hear. Whatever comes out this far - whether it's the Prince's voice itself, acoustics bouncing the sound just right maybe, or a relay - she absorbs without much clear reaction. Was this what she expected to hear? Can she even hear anything properly? Is she pleased or dismayed about it? Impossible to tell by just her expression.
(Demetrius): Shaking his head slightly, Prince Demetrius tells the restively unhappy crowd, "They will not see this land for what it is, for they cannot truly know it yet. They will picture Innithel for themselves, and see it in their minds only as a land plagued by endless troubles, amputated from the rest of its kingdom by means of some strange phenomenon, a land utterly isolated, lacking in leadership, without place or title in the world."
"Yes," he continues, "-we- may know that the people of Innithel can stand on their own, against all odds, and in many ways already have for many years. But while -we- know there is strength in self-sufficiency, they will see only the weakness of isolation. While -we- know the power of the people here to manage their own affairs, under the wise guidance of an ancient house like Greyleigh and through the dynamic cooperation of the town council, they will perceive a rudderless land close to anarchy, adrift without the guiding hand of kings and courts."
As the prince presses the point home, there is a note of fine regard in his voice too, as if the hard-won dignity and success of this admittedly humble little land were a point of pride for him as well, and any slight against it a slight against his own person. "Unfair and untrue as it must be, other nations -- not only those of the caliphate, but all around the Adelantean -- will see such a seemingly diminished land as ours as one to be trifled with, and disregarded. This is not only insulting, to people of such pride and courage as those here, but perilous."
Now, however, the prince's chin rises again and he squares his shoulders, as if he were presenting himself as the bulwark against all of these additional challenges, and ready against all comers. His voice rises, and takes on a more sonorous quality, which the cathedral sends ringing all about beneath its ancient rafters.
"And that is why, on this, the first day of this New Year of the New Dawn, seven hundred and ninety-eight, in the sight of Church and people and God himself, I shall have this land of Innithel proclaimed a Principality, in mastery of its affairs independent from the Kingdom of Ensor, under the rule only of myself as Prince Regent, in safekeeping of its sovereignty as of this day, and under the continued rule as well of the same House of Greyleigh to which the people here have looked for generations beyond counting, and this shall be so until such time as Innithel and Ensor may be reunited once more, God willing."
(GM): OOC: Demetrius just rolled magnetism and dissembling, coming up with 99.
(the St Loomis rumormill): At first, there is no other sound in the cathedral than the last fading echo of the prince's voice, and the soft rush of a collective exhalation from the listening crowd. The sudden silence must be audible -- at least, such as silence is -- and palpable even out in the courtyard.
When sound does return to the cathedral, it is at first just as an intense murmur of voices, but the sound spreads and swells until it reaches a level of clamor fit to wake the Dreamer. There are some currents of anger and offense still, breaking out in sharp voices here and there amidst the general hubbub, but overall there seems to be a much greater measure of bewilderment and uncertainty. They've always been under the rule of King and Crown -- this is natural, and How Things Are -- but what in the name of the Dream does it mean for -this- particular representative of that Crown to do this thing, here and now?
It's obvious that no one knows, though the cacophony certainly seem to indicate there are a great many opinions.
(Keely): In all the hubbub that consumes the cathedral floor, there are nonetheless a few islands of calm. This inscrutable looking gentleman is one of those islands, though not the only one -- there are others scattered about, singly or in small groups, women and men who are generally, though not always, at least as well-dressed as himself. For his part, Keely -- for so he is definitely known to virtually everyone in the cathedral who isn't a furrener -- simply stands there and watches quietly, a faint glimmer of something in his eyes -- amusement, speculation, no one but himself and the Dreamer really knows.
(Eoforwynn): The Greyleighs are another stoic and stalwart island within the stormy sea of the crowd. Lady Greyleigh simply looks grave as she watches so many others exclaim and dispute and gesticulate ardently among themselves, and waits for the tempest to exhaust itself somewhat. Her already wan visage may have gone a little paler than usual in the middle of this intense commotion, but nothing that's been said by the prince appears to come as a surprise to her -- perhaps unsurprisingly, in and of itself.
(Halfah): The Mistwatch contingent is also quiet, at least if one ignores the suppressed but still extremely speaking look of anger on the face of the Master of Lamps. The lack of any actual outburst suggests that she, too, must have known what was coming, but foreknowledge of the event does not seem to have taken any of the poison out of the pill she's now swallowing. None of the Mistwatch look exactly cheerful about this new state of affairs, but whatever exactly they think about it is kept to themselves, at least in this very public venue.
(GM): OOC: Demetrius just rolled composure by itself, coming up with 19.
(Yasin): Yasin by this point has long since found a seat with at least a portion of his party, though he probably wasn't quick enough to catch up to Lucy Mudlark.
Those pockets of calm in the crowd? Not exactly descriptive of the young apprentice blacksmith. Well, he's quiet at first -- his eyes blink a few times, then he gives one of those, 'Did I hear that right...?' silent looks over to one side towards Otty Smythe, then Ziyad and Ighlaf, if those individuals are nearby. His right hand fidgets idly with the material of his kaftan. And he stares right back at Prince Demetrius Estevarre, completely and utterly dumbstruck.
When clamor moves over the crowd like a wave, he looks back to Otty and asks quite dumbly, "Can... he... do that?"
(Demetrius): While all the commotion throughout the nave -- and probably outside as well, by this point -- continues without showing much sign of abating, Prince Demetrius only watches it all in silence. There can hardly be anybody looking at him anymore, even being the source of all the commotion as he is, and so there are likely few people to notice the look of weariness that descends upon him for a few moment's time. His eyes close briefly, but this can't do anything to decrease the noise level, and it certainly doesn't restore the crowd's attention. But rather than trying to recapture it himself, he turns his head to shoot an imperative look towards the pyroskenion instead.
(Ziyad): Ziyad goes from nodding along while listening attentively to the announcements to suddenly sitting ramrod straight and reddish-gold eyes going wide in surprise that he doesn't even bother to hide. Instead of looking to those of his companions closest to him first, his gaze snaps towards where the contingent of Mistwatch are seated to note the reactions there, followed by a similarly sharp look to the reigning local nobility. It's only afterwards that he turns an expression marred with misgiving towards Yasin, Ighlaf and Otty.
"I assume..." the young scholar starts tentatively, stopping with a wince when a particularly loud commotion breaks out somewhere in the row behind. He tries again. "I assume that there's either precedence for this or that he convinced the local leadership of the necessity, or he wouldn't be able to announce it here without public protestation from those quarters..."
(Matthew): That look from the prince seems to nudge the large figure hovering in the entryway of the pyroskenion into action, or simply into the remembrance that action is a thing that a person with the authority of an Archbiscop can take. Stepping out onto the platform of the chancel, he clears his throat in a loudly rumbling way, as a prelude to bellowing, "Please, may we have silence! I pray you all, silence please! IN THE NAME OF THE BLESSED SAINTS, THE HOLY TWINS, AND DIONOS HIMSELF!"
(GM): OOC: Matthew just rolled voice and vocals, coming up with 53.
(the St Loomis rumormill): That seems to do the trick... more or less. The cacophony drops off as abruptly as if someone had slammed a door on it, and all faces turn towards the chancel again. It's certainly an improvement, but there's still a little undercurrent of whispers and murmuring.
(GM): OOC: Demetrius just rolled composure by itself, coming up with 15.
(Demetrius): In the sudden descent of relative quiet, the prince turns back to the nave to regard the crowd in a silence much deeper than theirs. For a moment he appears oddly immobilized, his gaze distant and not really seeming to see anything before him at all, until finally he raises his voice slightly to say, "Herald. If you would read the remit from the Crown, please."
(Rhada): The herald who announced the prince in the first place quickly steps up from the back of the chancel, a ribbon-tied vellum scroll in one hand. It turns out she's not actually a real herald after all, but only Rhada, the pale-blond horsey-faced town clerk of St. Loomis. But she seems to be striving her best towards the proper heraldic bearing as she stands very straight, holding the scroll dramatically out before her as she unrolls it and begins to read it out -- or really, to shout it, authoritatively and such a way that you can hear the Capitals.
"BY ORDER AND DECREE OF HIS SOVEREIGN MAJESTY KING LOREN II!
"Let it be known to all and sundry, THAT!
"The bearer of this document, to wit, HIS GRACE DEMETRIUS ESTEVARRE, PRINCE OF LUNASTRA, LORD OF THE ISLE OF ASHES, AND ENVOY EXTRAORDINARY to Greyleigh Sweep and County Innithel, is to be regarded as Our official Representative throughout all that Region, and is thereby to be accorded all Dignity and Honors owing to one of his Station, and is owed full Cooperation by Lords, Officials, and all other Persons, in whatsoever should be deemed Necessary by him for the swift and enduring resolution of Affairs in this Our County of Innithel.
"AND THAT!
"Should it so happen that Circumstances of extraordinary Nature should render timely Intercourse with the Sovereign and his Court impracticable, and where Time may be of the essence and decisive Action required, then the bearer of this document, to wit, HIS GRACE DEMETRIUS ESTEVARRE, PRINCE OF LUNASTRA, LORD OF THE ISLE OF ASHES, and ENVOY EXTRAORDINARY to Greyleigh Sweep and County Innithel, is to assume full control of all affairs insofar as to act as temporary Head of State, for so long as the situation should demand it and not longer."
With a sharp nod of her head and crisp rolling-up of vellum, Rhada steps back to reassume her former place mostly out of sight.
(the St Loomis rumormill): That inspires another round of slightly louder murmuring that travels around the cathedral, but apparently the reading of the scroll is a mere anticlimax after the initial announcement. But everyone's attention is turned to the chancel again, to better to see the next part of the drama play out.
(Demetrius): The prince gives a nod of thanks towards the departing herald-clerk, then returns his attention to the crowd to address them once again. "This new state of affairs should, in fact, have very little bearing upon the day-to-day affairs of anyone in the County -- as I am sure they can feel no greater pride at being a principality, than they did in the successful pursuit of their own prosperity previously, under the rulership of the King in Ensor."
With a glance towards the noble entourage on the west side of the nave, he declares, "The Greyleighs will continue to rule and care for their own holdings, though they shall now also additionally hold charge of the lands originally located beyond the bounds of Greyleigh, which have now been orphaned from their native sweep by the advance of the Mist. In this capacity Lady and Lord Greyleigh may for all purposes be considered now Countess and Count -- though in her great wisdom and humility, Lady Greyleigh has declined to be referred to by any more exalted title than that by which she has always been well honored." He directs a courtly and respectful bow towards the Greyleighs.
"For myself," he goes on, "I will sail upon my own ship to Omrazir, to act as emissary to their provincial Court, and where I shall strive my utmost to act with all the dignity and capacity of a true head of state, putting to good use the full authority now vested in me as Prince Regent of the Principality of Innithel. From this position of greater strength I hope to be able to negotiate a more promising exchange with the Court and merchants there, and to commence the flow of trade between our two nations as swiftly as I may."
With a tip of his head towards the opulently dressed fair-haired lord in attendance with the Greyleighs, the prince announces, "Lord Davishere will act as my agent here in Innithel for so long as I remain away, and with the blessing of Dionos will receive my missives from Omrazir, besides relying on the instructions he has been given, as soon as a ship may return here. Goodman Pomeroy" -- he nods towards that interesting personage -- "will serve as my liason to the St. Loomis town council, and Goodman Keely" -- a small respectful nod to him too -- "as my agent within the mercantile community here, as he has been the most substantial backer of this voyage."
Passing what might be meant as a reassuring gaze across everyone still assembled on the floor of the cathedral, the prince concludes, "In most other things, the people of this land shall continue to pursue their lives and livelihoods as before. My own role as Prince Regent will consist very largely in heading affairs of foreign relations and of trade, and I will intervene in other matters throughout Innithel only where there is need."
And with that, he bows his head to the crowd as a whole, and turns towards Matthew Covenderry. "Archbiscop?"
(Matthew): The Archbiscop nods somberly to Demetrius, then turns to face the nave once more. "While these are strange times," he begins, in his resonant, rumbling voice, "and the events of this day far distant from anything of recent memory, there are hallowed practices which were once observed, long ago, in the days when monarchs might be crowned in St. Loomis. As all such must, His Grace has spent all this past night in solemn vigil within the Chapel of Holy Elen Aedonika, reflecting upon the state of his soul, and upon the great responsibility which he now assumes."
Turning back to the prince, the Archbiscop inquires deliberately of him, "Do you feel your soul prepared to take the oath of coronation, Demetrius?" Apparently titles are now stripped away, in immediate advance of the ceremony.
(Demetrius): Demetrius gazes straight ahead for a moment, before shifting his eyes towards the Archbiscop and telling him quietly, "I do."
(Matthew): "Very well, then," the Archbiscop replies. "We shall do it as in the days of the kings of old, when both times and men were simpler."
Moving towards the railed altar that rises behind them in the center of the chancel, Covenderry carefully lifts a bowl off the top of it which looks to be made of solid gold and to contain some powdery substance. Then, cradling it in both hands, he steps to the front of the altar and looks to the prince solemnly. "Come, my son," he tells Demetrius formally. "Take the knee before me, now, and tell me what you mean here."
(Demetrius): Demetrius obediently drops to one knee, bowing his head low before the Archbiscop. "I come here," he states in a clear and equally solemn voice, "to request custody over this land of Innithel, to hold it in stewardship for all people now and for all the generations to come, and to rule it wisely and well."
(Matthew): The Archbiscop gazes upon the kneeling prince, somber and unsmiling -- an odd expression for his normally jovial face. "And what else do you come here for, child of the Song?"
(Demetrius): Demetrius answers, "I come to uphold the laws, and to govern by the ancient customs. I come to mend iniquities, and to mete out justice. I come to root out evil wherever it is found, and to nourish the good, which like a tree shelters all beneath its branches."
(Matthew): "And what else do you come to do?"
(Demetrius): "I come to promote peace within the land, and the harmony of the Song, and to safeguard the Dream of the Dreamer."
(Matthew): "And what more is it that you come for, that we should witness here?"
(Demetrius): "I come to keep the watch, and uphold the vigil to the last. So long as breath and spirit shall reside within me."
Demetrius inhales slowly, the breath a somewhat shaky one. But the last words, though low, are clear as the rest.
"For this, I come."
(Matthew): "This have you come for," intones the Archbiscop, "and this do we and God bear witness to. Amen." There is a soft, echoing "amen" from all the other priests, sung more than merely uttered, and all in the same low key.
Then, dipping the middle fingertip of his right hand into the bowl, the Archbiscop says, "Look unto the heavens, Demetrius, and hold out your hands now, that you should receive the blessing of the Phoenix."
(Demetrius): Demetrius does so, lifting his head so that he gazes upward and past the Archbiscop, towards the top of the stained glass window in the apse, where St. Loomis stands in a curricle upon the sea, bathed in light. The prince extends his hands palm up, fingers curled slightly, weight still resting on one knee -- on the whole, a supplicatory and rather vulnerable position. But he maintains it unflinchingly.
(Matthew): The Archbiscop speaks no further words, but merely begins to hum. The other priests join in, not with the same note this time, but in an intricate polyphony, rising and falling and interweaving together in a beautiful harmonious joining of male and female voices. As the notes fill the cathedral with their resonance, Covenderry extends his own hand towards Demetrius, using the tip of his finger to mark the supplicant prince with ash -- first on the forehead, then the left hand, then the right, and finally, upon his bared throat.
(GM): OOC: Demetrius just rolled composure by itself, coming up with 19.
(Demetrius): It's possible it takes a little effort, but Demetrius manages not to flinch at any of the successive applications of consecrated ash, even that last stroke to his throat. Only when that is done does he bow his head once more, slowly, and ask ceremoniously, "May I rise now, as a true Prince of Innithel?"
(Matthew): There is no reply forthcoming right away, and Demetrius must wait in silence while the Archbiscop places the bowl back upon the altar, and in its place takes up a long and slender staff. It is carved from a single length of silvery-grey wood, likely mistwood, and manages to exude an air of vast age. Once he has this well in hand, the Archbiscop turns towards the would-be true prince again, and lays the staff first upon the right shoulder, then the left. He leaves it resting there, gazing somberly down at the lowered head. "Do you, who first knelt down here as the man Demetrius, wish truly to rise now as a Prince of Innithel?"
(Demetrius): Demetrius draws in and breathes out a long, quiet breath that causes shoulder and staff to subtly rise and fall. "I do so w--" he begins, then jerks while a little exclamation of inarticulate startlement escapes his lips instead. He cringes to the side, away from the staff... which seems to be glowing.
(Matthew): The Archbiscop twitches slightly too, at first just because Demetrius did, but then he's also staring at the staff, which the prince has not cringed forcefully enough away from to escape. Is it really glowing? Or is it only a trick of the light, after everyone has been staring so hard in the same direction? Or maybe, simplest of all, it's just the sunlight filtering down from the clerestory windows?
"By Kalen's flame," murmurs Covenderry, and there's just the slightest hitch in the humming from the rest of the priests, before it continues on with possibly greater fervency. Then the Archbiscop, too, seems to recover his presence of mind, and stares at Demetrius instead, rather hard. "Do you?" he prompts again.
(GM): OOC: Demetrius just rolled will by itself, coming up with 35.
(Demetrius): It's impossible for anyone watching from down in the nave to see the look on Demetrius' face as he kneels there before Archbiscop and altar, the staff that might or might not really be glowing still resting on his left shoulder. But he does seem to be shaking slightly as he eases his weight back to his left, deliberately relaxes his body, and says, "I do so wish." His voice is almost too loud and forceful, yet itself betrays not the least sign of trembling.
(Matthew): Covenderry draws the staff away, with an almost exaggerated amount of ceremious care, and holds it upright somewhat gingerly, or perhaps reverently, at his side. "Then... rise now, true Prince of Innithel," the Archbiscop intones, though that hesitation might betray a hint of confusion. "Rise, and greet your people."
(Demetrius): Demetrius, presumably True Prince of Innithel now despite such all hesitations and fumblings, wastes no time in regaining his feet, turning his back to the Archbiscop and his staff, and putting an obviously perfectly necessary distance between himself and that implement, since he has to go stand at the head of the steps leading down to the nave again.
"The new Prince of Innithel greets you on this first day of the new year," he states with almost stilted care, and fumbles one hand to his heart, almost in distraction, yet he at least succeeds in executing a full and courtly bow to the cathedral at large.
(Matthew): And that, it seems, is that. The Archbiscop, after staring at the staff for a time longer, finally places it with reverent care back upon the altar. It's no longer glowing, or perhaps it never really was. It has been a long and overeventful day in the cathedral, after all, and anyone might be excused for suffering some peculiar effects upon the eyes owing to fatigue and too much excitement of the nerves.
All this ceremony done with, the bearish biscop raises one hand in a signal that seems to get passed back through the apse and all the way up to the belfry, for the soft murmuring of the Hollyberry Carillon can be heard again, pealing out the news of a new Prince of the new Principality of Innithel, on this New Year's Day.
(Otty): Otty never managed a proper answer to Yasin, stumbling on his words it would seem in the wake of that announcement. His brow is furrowed in a definite frown, as it has been pretty much since that moment, and once the ceremony's over, he looks aside to Hollyn first. Then to, of all people, Keely. Then the Prince. Then back. She, silent for once, purses her lips, following his gaze, and nods. And with that unspoken communication, they both apparently move on.
"Well! Can't say I've ever had this much excitement on a New Year's day in all my life," Hollyn exclaims, fanning at herself a little with one hand in more of a gesture than any real attempt to cool. "Our own Principality! How about that? It sounds terribly fancy, don't you think?" Who she's asking isn't entirely specified; she's looking about at those nearby, Yasin and Ziyad and Ighlaf as well as Lucy and Goody Angold and a few other locals. "Suppose they'd have to do it that way to trade with this... Ummazeel place, legally, wouldn't they? Have you all been there? What kinds of goods do they trade there? Lot of soldiers there, mercenaries?" These last more obviously directed at the foreigners.
Meanwhile, Matty's escaped containment, and with a determined lift of his chin, has been carefully pushing his way up toward the front. Toward the Prince. When he gets within range, he blurts out, without any proper formalities whatsoever, without even waiting to be noticed or acknowledged, "Your... Grace. Uhm. Sir. I'd like to serve. Uhm. Also. On the ship. I mean, uhm. Can I? Is there... uhm. Room?" There's an awkward pause, and then he adds, voice cracking, "Please?"
Who can say whether it might even be noticed above the general hubbub in the cathedral, or if so, whether it might get acknowledged. Otty notices, though. He stiffens, watching with a very deep frown, just as every parent who's ever been publicly embarrassed by their child's lack of manners has done from the beginning of time. Or maybe it's more than that.
(Velusiyen): When the end of the ceremony seemingly comes, Lucy is still gawking up at the chancel and the altar in the middle of it. "Uhh, wow," she finally mumbles aside to Goody Angold. "Did-- did you see that too, or, uh-- or did I just-- just imagine that? St. Loomis's staff was-- I mean, -was- it?" She finally peers back to her elderly neighbor with a look of intense confusion, clearly desperate to get an answer to this question from some reliable source.
(Edelza): Unfortunately for Lucy Mudlark, Goody Angold doesn't appear to be paying this question any heed at all, nor the staff resting up there on the altar. Her peering eyes, though equally intense, are fixed on Matty and the exchange he's just begun (or tried to) with the brand-new Prince of Innithel. Head cocked to one side as if listening to the eager youth's words, she suddenly jumps up from her bench with astonishing agility, and elbows her way fiercely through the crowd to also stand within sight and earshot of the Prince.
Apparently the old woman didn't feel any qualms about her younger counterpart's approach to this matter, since she immediately addresses the Prince with an equally noticeable lack of introductions or courtesies. "You may as well take this young feller, he won't take no for an answer," she states, then immediately tacks on with even greater firmness, "You should take me too, I'll be the best goddamned navigator you ever had 'pon the whole Adelantean."
Some other people who are within earshot of this proposal wince, offended either in their sense of propriety or piety, or maybe both.
(Inaya): Meanwhile, out in the yard, Inaya apparently feels no need to stick around further. She pushes off of her lean against the wall with a low grunt, looking back to Saro once more.
"Tell him, if please you. I stay at hostel," she says, hoarse and jagged. It's an offer, but not a promise, no eager commitment or attempts to go inside for herself to join those currently giving themselves over to the voyage. She shrugs, seeming as though she'll head off, but doesn't for just a moment or two, studying the other woman's features with a steady, guarded gaze.
(Saro): Saro puffs out an exasperated breath at Inaya. "Tell him yourself, you mountainously-oversized guttersnipe," she retorts, though there's wry amusement rather than malice in her tone. "I'm not the one dying to get out of here." She shrugs her shoulders with ostentatious carelessness, declaring, "If there's nothing left in the world but a single solitary corner of land surrounded by mist, it's all the same to me." An ironic smile is on her lips still, but her eyes hold a melancholy distance, as if it were not so far from the truth.
"Eh," get out of here, she says abruptly then, flapping both hands at the other woman in a shooing motion. "If I hear you're wrong way down in the gutter again, don't expect me to tell any princes to pull you out, no matter how badly they need a captain." She pauses a moment, then mutters, "I can tell Keely you're interested, and he can say something if he wants. But that's as far as I'm going."
(Ighlaf): Having followed in Lucy's wake with their leaner form, Ighlaf finds a section nearby Lucy but not in a comfortable talking distance with any of the group with their quiet voice. They listen with a mild frown of focus. They shift into an intent, watchful gaze during that ceremony. They do hear Lucy, giving a puzzled expression in response.
As Matty pushes foreward, their gaze seeks out Otty with a wince.
(GM): OOC: Ighlaf just rolled acuity and investigation, coming up with 128.
(GM): OOC: Demetrius just rolled composure by itself, coming up with 38.
(Marwa): Marwa only breaks free of the utter silence and stillness - which had kept her eyes trained fixedly, almost unblinkingly, and with that very same slight draw of her brows, upon the chancel throughout the proceedings - when first Mathias and then Goody Angold manage to squeeze their respective ways toward the front. The ripples of the crowd shifting around the disturbance seem to eventually reach and pass her, and with that nudge she seems to remember to mind herself again. Quietly and crisply she tugs the edges of her abaya about her shoulders and pulls her gaze down. She looks across the nave to retrace (at least vaguely) where certain personages had been pointed out at some time past: the sumptuous Lord and Lady Davishere, Keely, Pomeroy Macteroy. The Greyleighs. She looks for them, though whether she finds them successfully from where she stands is anyone's guess, then she also looks toward the Mistwatch, who are perhaps not as hard to find in their regimented ranks.
Her attention lingers there for a few moments in study. Afterward, she simply looks to her feet, then as quickly raises her eyes toward the something-or-other happening just below the steps of the chancel, brushing away that remnant frown which had still been upon her face just moments ago. There we go. Last little bit picked up off the floor.
(Demetrius): Demetrius hasn't even had a chance to move away from the top of the steps before he's accosted by two different persons on complete opposite extremes of the age spectrum, though both appearing equally unlikely additions to his ship's crew. Upon their approach he had still been looking a little rattled, not to mention wearied, but as he regards these two very importunate and impertinent individuals, his expression segues first into bemusement, and then an intense irritation.
He opens his mouth to make some probably quite sharp reply, but then he stops, brows furrowing, and studies Matty in particular more closely. The expression on his face smooths out, and he asks the gangly youth very politely, "How old are you, signor? Have you the leave of your family to go off to sea?" He casts a rather more ironical glance over at Goody Angold, looking as if he finds that first question still more relevant in her case, but telling her with an inclination of his head, "You, I assume, signora, need no longer beg permission from your elders, as I must doubt you can have too many."
(Halfah): Halfah and her contingent had spent the whole ceremony in stony stillness, and in its evident conclusion have remained so. The sense of stoic disapproval from their part of the cathedral floor has remained, but the expression of the Master of Lamps has undergone a change -- in fact, a series of changes, throughout the giving of oaths. While first seeming a bit shocked, and then indeed only more furious, she now seems to have settled into a sort of bemused disbelief, even if the traces of anger are still discernible in the tightness of her eyes and the set of her jaw. But she keeps giving tiny incredulous shakes of her head, as if by this point she doesn't know quite what to make of the day.
(Ziyad): Ziyad appears to be in a bit of a daze, having stayed completely silent while the prince took oaths of office. The only sound he made was a single sharp gasp when the staff took on what might've been a glow of unnatural, or divine, origins. Now he sits with a complex expression on his face, lightly worrying on his bottom lip while his eyes flick between Prince Demetrius and the Mistwatch. It takes Hollyn's questions to break the young scholar's obvious staring, drawing his attention onto the smith's wife.
"Goods?" Ziyad repeats, taking a moment to realign his thoughts to handle the questions at hand. "Why, you can find almost anything in our bazaars, Goodwoman Hollyn. Fragrant spices, glistening gemstones, the smoothest of silks and finely worked leather. We've medicines unavailable here, books penned by famous scholars and poets, carpets luxurious enough to grace the halls of a prince." He pauses to rub at his chin. "Not so much quality wood as you have here though. And if you can somehow safely ship your winter's ice without it melting..."
Then, he's interrupted by both the enthusiastic requests of Matty and Goody Angold, which once again draws his attention away.
(Edelza): Edelza cackles delightedly at that response from the prince, and replies proudly to him, "That's right, my boy. I've outlived and outlasted well nigh everyone that's sat themselves at home on land, and well nigh everyone I ever went to sea with too. I've steered ships out of more trouble than you've had to time to stumble yourself into yet, boy. I know the sea like no other -- the winds, the waves, the storms and calms, even..." She trails off with a roguish conspiratorial grin. ".. the Eye." She chortles, a bit wheezily. "Well, not the Eye itself, mind you. But the currents and the broken lands around. And I don't just know with my head, I've got -instincts-." The old woman winks and nods sagely, clearly feeling she's outdone herself with this reported resume.
(Yasin): Yasin had watched both the coronation and the reactions of those near him with silence. He squinted towards that maybe-glow of the staff, though aside from a small sound in the back of his throat, he verbalizes no other reaction.
With his seat closest to Otty and his family as well as Ziyad, his eyes had been the keenest on them. He notices, then, that silent exchange between Otty and Hollyn, that look to Keely, the Prince, and back. Unlike the married couple, though, Yasin's expression shows no obvious sign of comprehension, still looking rather flummoxed. Oh, he gives a few nods of his head of course to Hollyn, perhaps latching onto her reaction as a way to make sense of it all.
He opens his mouth in a bit of a delayed reaction to reply to Hollyn's question of what goods might be found in Omrazir, but allows Ziyad to take the lead, instead offering additional nods of support, an occasionally-offered, "Yes," interspersed here and there. He doesn't notice Mathias's escape, distracted as he was. He does, however, immediately notice Otty's stiffening, and so his attention goes to the object of his employer's attention. He rises a little to see above the crowd, and then -- "Oh," he voices, barely a whisper. And the young apprentice, too, stills, a shadow passing behind his eyes, brief but heavy.
The appearance of Goody Angold offering her services as a navigator, though? That casts the young man right back into confusion, yet again -- and maybe a note of fond amusement.
(Pomeroy): Pomeroy quite-noticeably is doing his best not to preen at the attention from the townsfolk after being appointed as the Prince's liason to the council. He transparently adopts the expression of a dutiful noble who accepts sacred responsibility, with a great deal of seriousness. As soon as Demetrius begins to descend, though, the snobby mayorial assistant turns to find the nearest member of the town council and ensure that they're made fully aware of his new position (in likely the most annoying and overbearing ways possible).
(Otty): Mathias stays quiet as Goody Angold says her piece, looking somewhat awestruck as she lists her qualifications. He raises a hand to push unruly, overgrown sandy-brown hair out of his face, and then, glancing back toward the crowd, and in particular Otty who's started to move, he says quickly to the Prince in an earnest tumble of words, "Near sixteen, old enough to work! If I wait out this season, they'll say I'm too old to take on anymore, I have to start now."
Hollyn, back in the crowd, seems quite impressed with Ziyad's descriptions, nodding along and murmuring here and there. "Don't know how you'd take ice back, dear, but the rest sounds just lovely, just lovely. And don't forget our wool! We've the best wool, good long warm fibers, and many of skill to weave it, too -" but here she cuts off, noticing Otty's departure, and finally Mathias and Goody Angold and the Prince. "... Oh," she says, seemingly speechless for a just moment, smoothing down her slate blue dress with both hands reflexively. "Oh dear." Perhaps oddly, though, she doesn't actually look surprised.
Otty himself looks mad enough to steam carrots, but manages to calm his outward expression as he comes closer to the trio up front. "Very sorry, Your Grace," he rumbles with a polite bow of his head, setting a hand to the boy's shoulder. To Mathias, stern but carefully composed, he says, "This isn't the time. Come," with a gesture toward the door.
(Inaya): Inaya gives a low, amused snort at Saro's reaction, a slightly more settled smirk touching at her lips. "Gut tersnipe," she sort of repeats, in her awkward Ruvic. If anything, it's approving, whether or not she knows what the word even means. "Not think he want. But I will be on ship. Not gutter more. No." That, it seems, is more of a promise, at least by the way she's spoken it, and the momentarily vulnerable, even tender look that crosses her scarred features. Not her usual look, by a long shot. She frowns, lips pursing, and nods to Saro as she turns away.
But then she stops, looks back. Lifts a hand to touch fingertips to her forehead and extends it back out and down, palm-up. A salute, of sorts, in farewell, before she limps off.
(Demetrius): Prince Demetrius looks intrigued, almost despite himself, at Goody Angold's spirited recitation of her capacities. Although the tousle-headed young fellow beside her can have far less to offer, Matty gets a small smile from the prince and an acknowledging tilt of the head. "Old enough, indeed," Demetrius agrees, "but not too late to make your start now."
He would perhaps have had more to say on the matter, but at this point Otty manages to get close enough to take charge of his wayward offspring and begin to herd him off. Rather than seeming grateful, however, for whatever reason Otty's intervention causes the prince's eyes to narrow with a muted displeasure instead, despite the apologies and courtesies offered. But the expression lasts only a moment, and with a courteous nod he tells both would-be sailors, "Goodman Smythe is correct that I can do little here, save take note of your intentions and qualities. However, I very strongly encourage you both to visit the Dockmaster at your earliest convenience, and ask him to add your names to the list of those who wish to serve aboard my ship. Dreamer's blessings upon you."
(Otty): "Mmh. And upon you. Thank you," Otty rumbles in reply with another nod, before steering Mathias around toward the exit, stoic and quiet. The teenager by now looks a wild mix of gleeful, hopeful, ashamed and angry, somehow by turns and also all at once, contorting his youthful features in strange ways at times as he lets himself be guided on out. He casts a couple of glances back over his shoulder to Goody Angold and Prince Demetrius both, but says no more.
Hollyn, watching on from the side of the cathedral, turns her attention briefly back to the group nearby and offers a quickly-spoken, "Well it was lovely to meet you all, and good to see you as always, Yessy and Hester. My! All this excitement, I'll be getting on home now, excuse me, please. A blessed New Year to you, and flame light your way ahead." And then she's hustling over through the thinning crowd to join the blacksmith and the boy on their way out, no words spoken but again a brief look that apparently doesn't need words exchanged as they go, Otty looking much relieved for it. Ever so subtly, he reaches over to find her hand with his own, and gives a quick squeeze before letting go again as the trio moves outside and down the steps.
(Hester): Hester has watched most of the day's stunning proceedings without a word, even if she had added her own surprised breath to the collective gasp of the crowd after the prince announced his new role. Since the ceremony, though, she's just been staring at him with an expression of mild speculation, if not a certain wonderment. "He does manage to look pretty princely though, doesn't he?" she remarks to no one in particular, as she shakes her head almost in disbelief. More to herself, she murmurs, "He's... definitely not what I would've expected, from twelve years ago."
But then, as Otty steers Matty off and Hollyn speaks again, the fiery-haired muleteer seems to realize that people are beginning to leave. "Oh!" she exclaims with a start. "Was good to see all of you here, Holl; I'm sure I'll be back over for dinner one of these nights. Be good, Matty; it looks like you'll be headed for trouble soon enough. Watch out for Goodman Bartrim's roan gelding, Otty, I hear he's due for a shoeing and his back hoof has an attraction to farrier's faces!" She gives her departing friends a grin and a wave.
Glancing briefly around the cathedral, then up towards the chancel at the prince again, she says to Yasin, "Huh. Guess he'll be accepting people's pledges of fealty after this -- the Greyleighs and all -- but that's pretty dull.. after everything else, for sure. Think I'll head back home, and tell the mules they've got a brand new prince regent. I'm sure they'll be impressed." She snorts loudly.
(Edelza): Goody Angold lets out a quiet, "huh!" and then smiles at Prince Demetrius with an expression of both determination and confidence. "Better bet I will, boy -- and that I'll be on your ship when it sails, too." Her clouded brown eyes glint a little, and her smile takes on a more confidential look. "Know some good shipcraft tricks besides, that'll help it sail better through even the worst seas.. and calms. Once I'm on your list..." She chortles dryly, seeming to find the idea of this list amusing. ".. Then I'll help the boys in the shipyard out a little." How a woman of her years and rickety physique is going to accomplish this is anyone's guess, and she offers no additional clues, just turns around with a wink and heads back through the crowd that is starting to thin just a little.
(GM): OOC: Yasin just rolled acuity and investigation, coming up with 47.
(Yasin): Yasin watches the conversation play out between Mathias, Demetrius, Otty, and Goody Angold with an uncharacteristically sharp, attentive gaze. Despite the sharpness of his gaze, though, his broad brow is wrinkled in thought; it seems he is having to take all of his concentration to try and follow the exchange there -- undoubtedly difficult to make out details from his position in the audience.
The young man's attention is so hooked that Hollyn's sudden farewell catches him by surprise, as he turns that way, blinking. "Oh, of course," he barely manages to get out in a mumble as Hollyn rises to go join her husband. Hester beats him to a proper farewell, and he manages a quickly-spoken, "A blessed New Year--" his voice likely lost amongst the growing chatter of the crowd.
And so it is that the young man still seems distracted, a little caught off guard when Hester speaks to him, his eyes still half on Goody Angold over by the Prince. He repeats in a mutter, almost to himself, "Twelve... years?"
He tears his eyes away to offer Hester a small smile, then. "It was good to se you, Hester. I... don't think this will make much of a difference to the mules, no." He then asks in what is certainly a rhetorical throwaway, "What was that you usually say, about mule-sense?" Yasin closes that comment with a brief grin.
"Blessed new year," he says more quietly afterwards, "There will be plenty of food at the Seaglass later on in the evening." And as the quiet words are spoken, so too does Yasin's attention draw back towards the Prince, though by now Goody Angold has already begun her journey through the thinning crowd.
(Hester): Hester grins back at Yasin. "As long as they keep getting their meals and a nice dry place to sleep, they pretty much leave the governing to other folks, and don't really care if that's you or me or the beggar on the street corner, or" -- she tips her head towards the chancel -- "that fancy fellow up there."
Turning to go, she pauses to add, "I'll stop by the inn for some grub sooner or later -- though likely later, after I finish a last bit of business with the Auxiliary and get the mules put up for the night after that. If I don't see more than your leftovers then, a blessed New Year to you too!" And with a small wave she begins to push her way through the still-bustling nave and towards the doors.
(Velusiyen): Lucy also has been watching the conversation up near the chancel steps, though on her part with mouth open wide in an expression of astonishment and dismay. But it's only when Goodwoman Angold starts back in her general direction that the waifish young woman leaps to her feet and hustles over to intercept her friend.
"Aaagh, I can't believe you did that!" Lucy exclaims, continuing to more or less boggle at the old lady. "You just went right up and-- and-- without even askin'-- right during his big thing!" Despite her state of amazement, she still remembers, if only half-consciously, to offer the elder her arm to lean on -- not that she had seemed to need it during her bold assault on the prince.
Turning to the nearest person of her acquaintance in the crowd, who just happens to be Ziyad, she echoes in consternation, "Can you believe she -did- that?" Then she just sighs and shifts her gaze over to the next person in line -- Yasin -- and just shakes her head and shrugs in utter bemusement at him too.
(Edelza): "Oh-- pish!" is Goody Angold's response to Lucy, though that slight pause suggests she might have had some stronger response on the tip of her tongue, but has changed it at the last moment for the moral improvement of the youth. "That boy needed to hear my offer with his own ears, and One God knows if I'd've had the chance elsewise."
She pats the waif's supporting arm reassuringly, which she does in fact lean on a bit now, after her recent exertions. "That one's less a fool than some others of his kind; his little adventures out among the Isles showed that much. Besides," she exclaims, giving a toss of her head that makes her thin braid thwack Lucy in the shoulder, "he and his ship need me, and no doubt!"
(Heward): One person, at least, among the crowd has been observing the entire proceedings not so much with amazement or speculation, but with what seems to be an actual depth of great feeling. A stocky greying-haired fellow who has the appearance of hardy native peasant stock has been standing not too far from the front of the nave this whole time, if keeping himself also unobtrusively to one side of the great gathering. Despite his humble appearance and bearing, he is dressed quite lavishly in murrey livery, with a braid-edged and egret-feathered flat cap which he clutches in both hands over the general vicinity of his heart.
"Oh!" he exclaims in Ilexi to himself, "A princedom of Innithel, an' him the prince of it! An' that my own poor self could be taken into his* service! Ay, if my da could but see this now! An' my own Werth!" Quite overcome, he has to use his fine cap to blot away a trickle of impassioned tears from both eyes.
(the St Loomis rumormill): With all that, the crowd seems to judge that the excitement, in the main, is done for the day. Individually or in pairs, in little clusters or larger clumps, people begin to split away and drift towards the doors, their voices reverberating through the nave as they go. Others, more curious or less busy or with a still unsated appetite for spectacle, remain to witness the swearing of oaths to the new Prince Regent. It's beyond any doubt, though, that this day is one that will be talked about and remembered well into the New Year, and for many new years ahead.
(GM): OOC: The scene fades to black.