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The kick stopped the attacking figure. He then looked up at Sue and Melethia, who had just approached them. They both asked what just happened.

"Honestly, I don't know. I was having a family moment with my Uncle when all of a sudden this guy came and---Wah!"

The minute he felt the boy's hand on his ankle, he removed his hands and head from the top of his Uncle's head and repositioned himself. But even so, he couldn't catch his balance. He fell backwards, just barely avoiding hitting his head on the table. Dazed for a moment, he glanced around and saw a hand grab his Uncle's collar. He heard...laughter.

"Hey...what the hell are you doing?" the young lord asked.

He pulled his legs back and kicked forward, propelling himself back onto his feet. He then grabbed the wrist holding his Uncle, twisted it slightly in the opposite direction. The staff was on the floor, and Darko (he flew out of the pocket the moment he sensed danger) was sitting on the staff. His now free hand found itself on the back of the attacker's head and tried to push down. There wasn't enough force to make it move if he resisted, but even so, it was an effort. He then swung his left foot between the Uncle and the boy, twisted the hand a little more to try to make him let go of the Dragon bard, then tried to sweep-kick the bleeding male. If he had good balance, he wouldn't fall.

It seemed that Roy had learned a thing or two about hand-to-hand combat during his time away.

I shall now demonstrate the Law of Sacae…
Tribesmen fighting with all they have for the sake of one another!

Sue was no longer willing to just stand by and watch, but instead she took Nils behind her left arm and drew the silver sword she had at last mastered how to use through the training she endured between the guild's anniversary and now. She wasn't holding the bard roughly, but rather in a stance to protect him. Her grip on the silver sword never loosened. "Stop what you're doing, now. If you do, I won't have to use this." The nomad trooper warned.

Her face never changed as she looked down at the myrmidon in disdain. It wasn't often that she disliked people, but when they threatened her tribesman without reason, it was different, much different. She only let go of her brutal tone when speaking to the bard. "Are you all right, Nils? Just stay behind my sword, okay?"

Jaren laughed again. "MAHHAHA" Before being grabbed by the red-head again quickly letting go of the boy with the flute he jumped to the left away from the hand on the back of his head and the sweeping kick coming at him Stumbling he just barely managed to avoid a staff swung like a baseball bat by leaning backwards it whistled over his head. "Bwahaa I am invinc---!" He tried to laugh again when a book sailed out of nowhere and connected with the side of his head stunning him for a moment."

"I told you they wern't wrestling you moron" Derrin scowled at the Myrmidon. "I'm sorry for his complete idiocy." The mage growled. He walked up to stand beside Jaren and bent down picking up the fire tome he had thrown and stuffing it back into his robes. He turned his head and gave the pink haired women his customary glare. "Calling the watch wont be nesscacary... unless its a crime to be stupid... in which case he." Derrin jerked his thumb towards Jaren. "Severly needs to be arrested. In any event im Derrin and this is Jaren"

During Derrins long speech which utilized words hed couldn't understand Jaren had wiped his nose clean luckily the damage wasn't anything serious.

He was smileing at the red head boy who had kicked him when he heard his name. Instantly snapping his head towards the sound he saw who Derrin was talking to.... A pink-haired beuty instantly infatuated Jaren rushed foreward roughly pushed Derrin out of the way and seized her hand. "Oh pink haired goddess where have you been all my life?"

Tristai's expression remained unchanged, but as she felt the conflict was thus resolved, she promptly turned heel and glided towards presumably better company. She stopped a comfortable distance away from the raven woman who had cast a remark towards her.

"More than once, I believe, although I'd hate to insult the poor individuals who actually have that as an excuse. "

She sipped at her water, and quite honestly she might not have heard the firey myrmidon's compliment at all before she turned her back on the lot.

He had managed to avoid the trip, and Mel's attack with the staff. Roy was just about to grab the boy by the collar to at least stop him, but just then, the boy was hit by a fire tome. The young lord blinked in surprise, then watched as a mage walked over.

He listened to the idiot's companion apologize for him, then tell Tristai (that was her name, no?) that the Watch wasn't needed. Even if they did come to make some arrests, Roy had merely acted in self-defense.

But even so...the mage had introduced himself as Derrin, and the idiot on the ground as Jaren.

"I'm Roy. Nice to meet you Derrin. You seem more...in-control...than your friend." he said cheerfully, introducing himself.

He then grinned at Jaren, though there was enough killing intent behind the smile that it seemed to say "attack me one more time during festivities or family time, and I swear I won't hold back". It was enough to send a chill down anyone's spine if they looked at him when he smiled at Jaren.

But the sensation was gone as instantly as it came. He laughed at Jaren's attempt to woo Tristai before he looked at his Uncle, Sue, and Mel.

"Thanks for the assistance...Uncle, you ok?" he asked.

((Edit))
He then saw Leon approaching them, and had half-expected the Watchmember to scold him and Jaren. But instead, the scolding was given to Jaren and Derrin. He blinked in surprise. Seems as if these two had a history with the Watch. He turned his attention back to the others, then held his hand out to Mel to take his staff back. Darko, chirping earlier when Mel had taken the staff, was now resting on the young lord's shoulder, waiting to go back into his master's pocket.

Tibarn laughed softly, ruffling Blossom's hair (as best he could, at least, while she wore a bandana). "It's fine, hon. Look, if you're that self-conscious about it, ah, I guess... come on with me, this won't take but a minute. Sophia!" he called, waving to his fellow crewmember as he ushered Blossom along toward her. "You still have that dress Ayra decided not to wear, the red silk one she didn't like? A quick hem, a snip to get rid of excess fabric, and wouldn't it look good on Blossom?" He winked at Sophia.

"I know sewing is kind of your thing, and Blossom... was confused, and seems a little distressed. Do you think you could take care of her? Good as you are, won't take you more than ten minutes." Flirtatious as he was, he had to make the rounds before Ayra got to the party-- she was still dressing up little Vah, an activity her cunning husband had suggested to keep her out of the kitchen.

He shook hands, he gave the Phoenician Salute, he chatted with members of Songhua's ambassadorial entourage. And he sampled some of his own cuisine. "Mmh, that needs more basil next time," he murmured to no one in general before loading some of his favorite fried Mogall onto his plate. Out of the corner of his eye, he suddenly spotted a recognizable face, though it took him several seconds to register where he recognized it from.

"Ah!" he said, suddenly approaching the curiously-attired raven girl nearby. "Annis, right? I remember you, you were at the mountain battle, outside. I didn't even realize you lived in Eyris!"

Soft footfalls at the entrance.

Black as a shadow, adorned in flecks of gold, a figure whose extended absence went unexplained elegantly arrived at the threshold to the festivities. He was a familiar face, one that a rare few had glimpsed in the midst of his absence, last publicly seen at the descent of Ragnarok roughly four months past. The braziers in the vast chamber cast their light across a blanched face, marred by a reddish mark upon the brow and a set of piercing cold eyes made of ruby. They were framed by jagged ebony bangs and a wave of sleek hair fluttered at his back. Billowing behind him was a dusty grey cape, complementing the murky robes trimmed in gold, quietly caressing a body thin in frame and sharp in feature. He held a shifty, ordinary tome beneath an arm, his stance tall and proper. A small and seemingly stubborn frown creased the corners of his impassive lips as he cast his apathetic gaze over the party.

A few things had changed about this figure. His robes were like silk newly woven, as though he had just recently acquired them even though he'd spent an entire year in tattered and shredded robes and cape, the same ones that he should have been wearing now. A few additions had been applied as though to add to the regal bearing. From his ear hung a small golden adornment, swinging with every small motion of his head, and a rather familiar amulet hung from a golden thread around his neck.

What happened? Where had he been? Had he not been in the attic, contorted and wretched? Or had he been with the Goddess, exalted in the power of Reason?

Soren had always been here. At least, that was what he believed. Perfectly collected, perfectly smooth, perfectly...himself. Nothing had changed except for an apparent improvement in social etiquette. His former selves — had they been impostors, illusions? Who was he now? Was he still Head Researcher of The Door? He seemed normal. He seemed as though he'd lived there his whole life, as though he had never left. Had he left in the first place? Strange, most strange. A black aura shrouded the young man as though to conceal him from the prying eyes of others, as though to make him invisible in presence. He was only a passing shadow, here to observe the festivities, here to pretend he existed.

Did he exist?

Soren quietly, silently, lithely stalked forward to test this theory. He had been invisible his whole life. He wanted to see if any of that had changed on this night, this night of celebration, of homage, of respect. He glanced down the feasting table toward the chieftain of Adliana and the fellows who welcomed the man. He critically cast his eyes over the partygoers, taking note of each individual and their actions, of each scene, each movement. And then he passed along the crowds, silken robes murmuring with every step. He hid himself among the shadows of the great hall and continued to watch the people. He knew no one, no one knew him...