The harpist is staring at them, though she hasn't had further issues playing her part.

One of the mostly-naked women winks in his direction; another one murmurs something inaudible to her.

A few of the drunken nobles, seated at the middle of the table facing towards the door, are looking in his direction, but so far none of them seem to have pointed them out to the Count, and they seem to be treating this as more 'funny' than 'important'.

"Excuse me! Count Arendae! Are you aware that some fourteen demons are attempting to break down your front door?"

The Count turns. Seen from the front, he's shockingly young to detect, presuming he isn't a cleric — it's hard to guess with aasimar, but it seems he's in his late teens or early twenties. He looks over Blai's party, his unnatural pearly-white eyes lingering for a moment on Blai and Seelah.

"Is that so?" He sighs, casting a mournful look around the room. "And just when I was preparing to order the cinnamon pastries served... truly, those ghastly beasts have no sense for time or place."

"Quite. Would you like to evacuate this gathering's civilians out the side entrance before anyone capable of fighting engages them?"

"Of course. It would be a true tragedy if their beauty was marred by an abrikandilu's bite. But I must ask, did you have another destination in mind for them? Such fragile creatures can hardly be expected to crawl over rubble and battle hordes of locusts."

"The Defender's Heart is accumulating people at the moment."

"Ah, but will they be welcome there, or will they be turned back out into the cold on account of their profession?"

"Irabeth isn't going to turn away people who need help just because they're... you know."

"Would surfacers really kick someone out just because they can't afford clothes?"

The Count fails to stifle his laughter.

"We can clarify this point of surfacer culture another time, Lann."

Daeran turns back and begins to give directions. He's phrasing them as requests, but the other party attendees hang on to his every word and obey instantly. Before long, the courtesans, several particularly-drunk nobles, every minstrel but the harpist, and a pair of less-drunk nobles professing the intent to "keep these ladies safe" are heading for the passage. 

Daeran turns back to Blai's party. "I don't suppose any of you have a Dispel Magic prepared? I had intended to supplement the evening's delights by ordering my most skilled guardsmen to imbibe a love potion, but it seems I miscalibrated the dosage; they excused themselves to another room nearly an hour ago."

"Abjuration is fundamentally uninteresting. ...Furthermore, I have yet to attain the third circle of wizardry."

"I spent my slots elsewise. I do have Communal Protection from Evil, but I am not familiar with the love potion interactions."

He would normally take the opportunity to make a cutting remark about Iomedaean sensibilities, but when there are succubi roaming the city that's just reasonable. Not that it would be a bad way to go, all things considered, but Daeran is in no particular hurry to die.

"Alas, it seems we shall have to do without. I presume you will be staying to assist with the manor's defense?" (He absolutely is not presuming that, but he's hoping that phrasing it like that will make it more likely.)

Camellia licks her lips. "Of course. We could hardly leave such a charming gentleman in danger, could we?"

"We are available to engage the demons. I can cast a Weapons Against Evil for whichever articles would be most improved thereby, and a Prayer once in range of everyone in the fight; do you have mirrors available to distract the abrikandilus?"

"I am afraid few of the mirrors in this manor are sufficiently portable, but perhaps some of the silver dishware will suffice." He gestures. "How many weapons will you be able to enchant?"

"We know where they're coming in, I can go park in Grease range. ...Do you have Grease, wizard girl?"

"I am afraid I have not had the opportunity to learn it. However, I would be willing to assist your strategy with Create Pit if you desire." She sighs. "Though such strategies are uninteresting in comparison to some of the alternatives I am considering. I wonder, would an abrikandilu feel compelled to attack a Silent Image accurately depicting a mirror?"

"...You should pick up Grease, it's really useful. 'Specially for running from" the Watch "angry cultists that you can't take all at once."

"Five, maybe six with how my week has been going."

Daeran lowers his voice and identifies the five people he believes to be the strongest fighters who don't already have cold iron weapons. "Though I cannot say how they compare to your companions."

"Do you have any guess what circle of caster they'd be a suitable partymember for?"

"If they were sober, I would feel more-than-comfortable with them at my back — I myself am second-circle." He pauses. "Though I suppose I could spare a Delay Poison, if necessary."