"One succession crisis at a time, Your Majesty," Darin says.
Elya stands up. "Well, I'm gonna walk around. Mingle with our fellow… 'partygoers,' I guess."
You stand as well. "Aye. I'll go speak with the soldiery, then."
Darin leans back in his chair, placing both hands behind his head. "Have fun, kids. I's be here getting drunk if ya need me."
You exchange salutes and walk away.
Next
This kind of 'party' is more of the setting you enjoy.
There are no scheming nobles. No background politics. Just you, your men, and an impressive amount of alcohol, all in the pouring rain.
You feel comfortable here.
A voice calls out to you, "Hey, Marshal! Hey!"
You turn to your right, where you see a large group of soldiers, both Kroridian and Kantonian, sitting and drinking. As you approach, you notice something… unusual.
All of these Kantonian men have been dishonored as you have. They bear the maimed hands, the mark of shame.
"What's wrong?" you ask.
The attention of the group is now focused on you. One man stands up and offers you his chair, but you wave your hand dismissively. After a pause, he sits back down.
The one who called out for you earlier says, "We jus' wanna give ya our thanks."
"I don't entirely recall doing anything for you," you reply with a shrug.
"What? You's been a beacon to us all. You's proved to us that dishonored folk ain't doomed. That we's still have a place in this world," the man says.
You subconsciously rub the stumps of your missing fingers. You dislike such attention to your shame.
A Kroridian ranger laughs and says, "It doesn't matter to us, Inae Dirriman. Finger or no finger, we're all bitrefas. Brothers-in-arms."