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Delaney was close to nailing the door shut, its constant opening and closing grating her thin nerves. The night's festivities before were finally settling, leaving her more than a little irate about her chosen surroundings. It was her fault, after all, since the Cursed Sword is known for its lively atmosphere, and she was the one who wanted it for the last hoorah. A small portion of the Seekers who've chosen to leave Ursa Madeum is now on a ship to their new home, the memory of their company pasted against the woman's heavy heart. They are her family, no matter the miles spread between them, and she will miss them dearly. "What'll you have, Ms.?" The waitress had been a sweet caretaker, ensuring that Delaney wasn't left alone to wallow in her terrible decisions. Sifting worn fingers through pale hair, the Seeker took her time to think the question over. What will she have, hm? Food is probably the best choice she can make, though there wasn't a single thing that spoke to her. Soup? Salad? Grass? A bullet? At this point, she is more than willing to be led to the back and shot, because she's just as useful as a lame horse. "Water and whatever you think will cure this hangover." The waitress giggled before patting Delaney on the shoulder. She has seen the Grand Master deep in her cups before, but the night before had been something else. She and her followers had nearly drunk the tavern dry; if you listen close enough, you can still hear their rambunctious songs embedded into the floors and walls. Drunk they were, but not a single man or woman was disrespectful to the patrons and the staff of the Cursed Sword. Delaney had ensured those gathered beneath her banner are the best in all things: sorcery, fighting, courtesy, and drinking. All those things were shown the night before. While waiting for the waitress to return, she pulled her jacket tighter and gently plopped her aching head against the cold table. As much as she hated feeling like this, she worked to remember why she wanted someone to put her out of her misery. Things are changing, and last night was the pinnacle of those changes. Around her, the tavern was dull; almost all remnants of last night's party have been removed, returning the Cursed Sword to normal. The people were jovial, enjoying their conversations while a few others were speckled across the place doing their own thing. It was busy, just not as wild - even though the door can't stay closed. It set a bitter scene for the woman, but she was thankful, as was her swimming head.
@King Milorian lazily contemplated the benefits and risks that some would say does not fit his persona. He can feel the waves of complacency wash over him in a steady rhythm. It has been difficult to not float away on the calming waters; tonight, it is no different. Looking out the window of his study, he squinted in an attempt to see the edges of the Free Marches, but failed for a few reasons: it's too far, and he's blind. Sitting on the throne as King was not a regrettable choice, it has led to a few things for the people, and those things are enough to soothe his yearning for home. Soon enough, that home will not exist. The decision may have felt abrupt to those outside his circle, maybe even a little insulting considering how long he has been named King. He should care about such opinions - he should care - because it is the people's opinion that shapes his rule. Absconding his family from this land is almost like a slap in the face. The Mythal House is an old one and has inhabited this place for some time. Why leave now? Some may think. What's the reason? Others will wonder. The elf has all the answers, yet none of them truly matter. There is no going back; he will see that his family is safely removed from Ursa Madeum, a place they will never have to see again. At last, he thinks to himself, there will be some peace to this uneasiness. Primera has provided passage to her lands, where she has blessed his family with an opportunity to live. Their leaving meant his staying. He can't just give the crown back, not that it meant much considering the promises they had all made that day of his crowning—a figure, nothing more. Milorian does not have the pleasure of leaving everything behind, even though he wouldn't mind doing so right now. His siblings are preparing for the departure, and his Seekers will take care of whatever is left once they're all gone. Sighing, he rubs the bridge of his nose - so much work needs to be done in a matter of days. He can't help but feel some way about the situation; change is a hurdle many can't jump over. A knock on the door shook him back to reality. Blinking, he curved his attention towards the door before allowing the guard to enter. A visitor at this hour? It was late, that much he knew, too late for company as far as he is concerned. When told who it was, he nodded in a gesture to allow their company to come forth. Alexandros Kholin, Lyrei's paramour ... no, her husband. Saying paramour would imply something illicit, and he would not insult the couple. It has only been a month or so since Lyrei had made her home in the Kholin Reach; Alexandros coming here must mean business. Whatever that business is, the elf waits for his company to come forth and state his explanations for visiting at such a late hour.