Vanyel had debated if he would go or not, but ultimately decided to come. These men he counted as his friends, and it would do Tylendel good to properly get to know them all if he had not already. Vanyel donned a tunic of deep purple trimmed in silver to compliment himself, hanging over white doe-skin trews and black knee high boots, a silver belt at his waist clasped by a buckle marked with a winged horse. His black hair with its silver streak was left brushed and out over his shoulders. Some might have said he looked very much like a stallion come to show himself off to the mares.

He kept to the sweeter drinks, and after a bit of stiffness began to relax, wandering some, but often happy to sit in some of the chairs and chat.