[center][h1][color=lightblue]Galahad Caradoc[/color][/h1][/center]
[color=lightblue]Mentions:[/color] [@Ithradine], [@Dezuel], [@Ambra][hr]
He was never big on pomp and ceremony- and thankfully, was not assigned one of the seats at or near the head table. Instead, a seat at one of the far tables suited the young nobleman just fine. Just as well, in lieu of the typical fancy frocks and frills many of the nobles bore, displaying their wealth on their sleeves, Galahad settled for a more modest look. In place of his finest robes and livery, Galahad wore a simple- though admittedly well made quilted surcoat, traveling pants and boots, the sort he'd wear underneath his armor. The only symbol of wealth he wore was a loose and flowing royal blue shoulder cape, his family sigil emblazoned on its shoulder in gold thread. Having returned from a round of pleasantries with the head table, Galahad frowned as he found himself staring at one of the many tall portraits of noblemen and women by his own table. 

[color=lightblue]"Do I really look like that?"[/color] Galahad mused, more to himself than anyone else. The painting depicted him in his Dragoon's armor, standing and staring far too stiffly off into the middle distance for his liking. The armor lacked the scratches and dents of battle's past, and the dragon's corpse he stood upon looked nothing like a real dragon.

With an audible scoff and a shake of his head, Galahad made his way around the table and returned to his seat- across from a younger but fair seeming blonde woman, and a more extravagant man in red. Next to him, a man of more simple means, short dark hair and a rough, but earnest complexion. He sat down with a short exhale, taking stock of those around him. Unsurprisingly, the group was a disorganized and motley one, faces and accents that stretched from all across the continent. That was to be expected, he supposed, Leonhart had called upon the brave, the bold, and the willing- not his own personal armies. Perhaps he was in search of talent born of circumstance and spontaneity, something that his more organized and rigid armies could not match.

[color=lightblue]"What an interesting group are we."[/color] Galahad concluded as he too reached for one of the many flagons of honeyed mead sitting in the center of the table. He took a satisfying sip of the sweet drink- its warmth and sweetness reminded him of Midgar, and far suited his palate better than the wines the southern Edernians enjoyed.

Unfortunately, any moment of silent enjoyment of his drink Galahad might've had was interrupted as the man across from him abruptly stood and began clinking his fork against his goblet. His garb- and extravagance- marked him as a practitioner of Red magic. Veritable jacks of all trades, employing both magic and blade. A rare breed indeed, Galahad was beginning to see why Leonhart had sought out adventurers instead. [color=lightblue]"A bit early for toasts, no?"[/color] Galahad replied softly to the young warrior next to him, though he listened on with an eyebrow raised in slight amusement as the mage began to wax on honeyed words. 

Galahad's wandering eyes eventually caught Leonhart's, the two cousins sharing a silent conversation in raised eyebrows, slight shrugs, and knowing looks. What the two had not expected was for the red mage to call on Galahad by name- Leonhart stifling a chuckle as Galahad returned his attention to the man in front of him, an outstretched hand waiting for him to respond. Galahad's eyes flickered from the hand, to the man extending the hand, a tired expression on his face replied with an unspoken question: 'Why?' The red mage spoke of women, and the duty of men to not allow them to take on the lion's share of the work themselves- words he didn't quite understand. Even in the tables of people, Galahad could spot more than one woman he would not have wanted to be on the opposite end of a duel with. Even if they were not all fighters like he, he had no doubt everyone in this room had talents of some sort- the sort that would set them apart as a useful aspect of any adventuring group.

Galahad remembered why he disliked the feasts and ceremonies his cousin so enjoyed. Still, as to not embarrass the man waiting for him to speak, Galahad reluctantly stood, his full height towering over many nearby that still stood, offering his cousin a slight, but dutiful nod.

[color=lightblue]"I'm afraid I don't quite understand- of perhaps see the point of such a question."[/color] Galahad replied calmly, his cool, silken voice still carrying across the room. [color=lightblue]"Those that are here, are here because they choose to be, whether for duty, for pay, or for reasons all their own. Fighters, mages, scholars, former friends and former enemies, irregardless. It is not upon us to coddle one another, but rather to each do our best at what we do, so that others are able to do the best at what they do."[/color]

With another slight nod to Leonhart, Galahad took a sip of his drink, and returned to his seat. Nodding at the blonde haired woman across from him, Galahad spoke, softer now that he was no longer addressing the group. [color=lightblue]"Would you be so kind as to pass the Quillback? I'd like to eat something from home before my dearest cousin sends us all to some far flung land and the comforts of Edren are far away."[/color]