Board Thread:Roleplay/@comment-28358106-20170609225054/@comment-28358106-20170618010218

Asja seems to calm down considerably when Cire shows up. His presence is enough to calm her outward anger, but not her underlying wrath. She checks over her dress one last time before being fully satisfied.

"This is still inconceivable," she says, her demeanor calming as Thomas looks her and Regina over. "She mentioned something about a prank, then left as quickly as she acted."

"It may very well have been a prank, because I can see nothing so far," Thomas says, dismissing the scanning glyph he summoned. "Near as I can tell, it's a harmless substance, with little trace. It has some chemical polyvoric qualities, as if it could possibly attract or multiply another chemical to it, but aside from that, I can't see anything else that would indicate any .  I'd need to put the dress in some of my equipment to be sure." He puts his hands in his pockets.

"Out of the question," she says. "The ceremony is already delayed. I can't afford to...to..."

Her eyes flicker for a moment, and she sways a bit. She puts a hand to her forehead. "I...feel strange..."

"I do too..." Regina says, taking Thomas' arm and holding it to steady herself, squinting her eyes.

"Asja? Regina, are you two all right?" Thomas says, his voice rising in alarm.

Asja clutches Cire's shoulder as she sways a bit. "I...I think it's gone now..."

The Elven carraige is moved out of the way, and the steam tank rolls into its position. There is a mechanical clanking and a hiss of steam as it grinds to a stop. The page hurries forward.

"Presenting his royal highness, King Bale Ironback, king of the gray deeps, lord of the Fatherhalls, son of Balur, son of Bodack, son of---"

A side hatch pops open, and a Dwarf unceremoniously steps out. King Bale looks about the scene. 

"Ye needn't go on like that, laddie," he says, stomping out. Two dozen Dwarves pile out of the vehicle behind him, pushing and arguing and laughing. "They know who I am, and If'n they don't, they're at the wrong church!"

Several Dwarves are untying and rolling down a large cask, easily the size of a horse. Bale waddles up to Melandil and his group as his servants and soldiers bustle about him. The royal family gives him a cold stare.

"I knew it had to be you, Melandil," he grumps. "No other pantyshanks has the balls to park his gilded gussy in front of me like that!"

"Perhaps I'm the only one who should," he replies, folding his arms. The tension is eased as they break into small, wry smiles of respect at each other. Bale looks up, and up, and up, to Baku, then around to his wives.

"And who's this new friend of yers, and his lovely companions?" His grin is wide beneath his beard.