The Ball Room [EVENT ROOM 1]

[Lye]

The Ballroom of the Iverstead Estate is elegant by definition. The lords who claim the land around the capitol of Knife's Edge spare no expense on interior design. Gold and ivory trim all the walls and stairs. Imported Raiaeran liviol makes up a polished, hardwood floor. Around the perimeter of the main dance floor are tables of food, drink, horderves, and small party favors of no small value. Above, over 20' high, hang glorious crystal chandeliers of imported Cillu glass from the desert lands of Fallien. In the center of the ballroom, raised some 5' above the floor plays a full symphony of strings, brass and percussion. The melodic tunes seem amplified in the domed ceiling and carry to all corners of the room. Those under the service of Iverstead Manor serve the guests in between dances and all of which wear raven feathered masks to hide their identities. To the northernmost wall of the hall, two pairs of stairways lead up to a second story where massive oak doors lead to the guest suites and Lord's private quarters. Beneath the stairway leads to the entry hall where all guests have entered. Once inside, the doors are barred and exit is not permitted until the Lord deems fit.

The event has begun. No players may leave the thread and those late to arrive must account for their whereabouts prior to the lockdown. Until the killer or killers are found, no one is to leave. Guards and hunters will be suspicious of those present. Players are able to move about the manor and the courtyard, but cannot leave the estate. Use the current information in the Iverstead posts to help investigate or avoid certain situations. Leave active investigations open ended to allow for Iverstead posts to fill in clues.

Happy hunting~

Players must use quote tags to indicate transition to another room of the estate.

[Tobias Stalt]

Perfumes and the smell of fine cuisine waft through the ballroom. It is a party in every sense of the word, with decadence on display and the wealth of a Salvic Lord flaunted for all to see. This is the truth of the land once the corpse fingers of the Sway are pried loose. The Wintry North is ruled by opulence and greed, just like every other superpower in this world. Doubtless some of these guests are on the Payroll of the Merchant Princes, forging new bonds with the world far away from Delos. Gold is god, regardless of what the Infidels in the Church might preach.

They carefully police the door, the Royal Guard of Knife's Edge that has grown bloated and lazy. Dulled from their disuse, the men are more ornamental than efficient, but to their credit they strip away the weapons from each guest who enters. A veritable trove of tools rests just out of reach.

And who would not find temptation in the sight? Nobility that moves the invisible hand over this land litter the dance floor. Important figures in the Clergy of the Ethereal Sway no longer lurk in the shadows, but monopolize all the attention they can to win fledgling converts to their cause. This is a breeding ground for depravity, and the worst thing about it?

I'm not allowed to leave.

"Brother Stalt," the languid smile of a Pontiff thinly veils his malice. Those present some five years ago recall my exploits, and the death of an Archon. My presence here is only just welcome; but some of these vile creatures take pleasure in my pain. I can see a certain sadism in his gait as he embraces me, and his voice dips to a slurred whisper. There is wine on his breath. "So good to see you. I thought that when you left Salvar the last time we might never see you again. Your faith is as admirable as ever."

Ah, taunting me already. The festivities are virginal at best, man. At least let the wine taste sweet before you sour the night.

"When I heard the news that you were handpicked by Archon Anton for security detail, I found no end of relief. Surely, nothing foul will occur under your watch." He pulls away and the wry expression on his face tells another tale. He fully expects something to occur; or he knows something that I don't.

And I'm among the most likely scapegoats.

"Father Dresden," I greet him warmly, though my face remains stony. "It is good to find you well. I trust that you've kept the choir boys honest in my absence?" I ask, unabashed. His eyes widen for a moment, but he clears his throat and chuckles.

"You are a funny man, Tobias Stalt."

"You're the first person to say so," I shrug.

Black Vlince, and a pedant I couldn't bring myself to be rid of. The attire of a Witch Hunter, and of a fate I could not escape. Together with a handful of the All-Seeing Eye, I take up my post along the side of the ballroom, hands clasped behind my back. I've been paid to watch, because the Sway cannot afford any mishaps at this event.

[Fae]

I had never been to Knife's Edge.

As a girl, father and mother had instilled in me a strong fear of Salvar's capital; and for good reason. Initially, a small part of me had wondered if I could use this trip to find out a little about what happened to them. But in truth, I suppose I knew I wouldn't get the chance.

The ballroom was far more grand than anything I'd ever seen.

Immediately upon drawing up to the immense structure, my cheeks had warmed with a deep cringe as I clasped my hands in my lap. My gown - as nice as one could possibly procure from the port towns by the coast - would surely pale in comparison to even the drapes that hung inside. The entire procession inside, as I was checked for weapons and eyed suspiciously for being without a chaperone, I retreated into myself and stiffly moved; jaw clenched and heart racing.

Within, well, I suddenly knew how it felt to be a little brown mouse in the corner of a stately tavern.

As the soft, exotic aromas enticed me in, the gentle music played in the background. I ran the words of the letter once more over in my mind. Who was this mysterious stranger? How did they know my name? How did he know about my--

From my spot against one of the walls, I briefly glanced towards the ornate guards. I didn't even want to think the word magic in this place. So for now, I swallowed nervously, silently regretting coming here in my modest gown and watching the other guests.

Perhaps from them I would gain more of a clue on how to act, so I could be invisible.

[Lye]

The old killer cleaned himself nicely for the affair. Instead of weapons and studded leather hugging his form, he wore a fine Vlince suit. The dark fabric, clean and pressed, stood starkly contrasted by his fair skin. His otherwise straightened, grey hair had been framed by a pair of braids woven behind his back. Given intel on the Gala prior to his attendance, Lye opted for an ornate face mask to compliment that of the staff at Iverstead manor. Compared to theirs, his stood out with accents of gold and a teardrop of red beneath his right, jaded eye.

Upon arrival, the guards searched him for weapons and found none. Eyes of the Church and Guard narrowed. Between murmurs, they still permitted him entrance, but the Scourge of Skavia knew he needed to tread lightly.

Lye carried himself through the grand hall with his gloved hands held behind his back. The help opened way to the ballroom and he immediately felt a warmth that betrayed the frigid exterior. Soft, lilting tunes echoed in the hall and the ambient droning of conversation carried low, beneath the music. Strong political figures from around the Salvic region gathered in the hall with beautiful women on their arms. None of which matched the description of the one woman he sought to meet with his letter.

Fair skin, dark hair, modest.

The descriptors offered little reprieve in narrowing down his intended target, but the sight granted by his blind eye proved far more effective. In the corner, illuminated by a frame of what should not be, stood a woman in a humble gown. With a quick glance toward his own ensemble, he felt that he may have overdressed for his company. Despite this, the silver haired assassin cut through the nobles and guests to a fair skinned woman with jet black hair.

He tucked an arm at his waist and bowed in her presence.

"I see you accepted my invitation Lady Fae." His voice carried low, hoarse, but smooth over the ambiance. The choice of name left his lips purposefully to avoid complications of her last name. He rose and extended a gloved hand. "A pleasure to meet you."

The mask, covering his eyes and only half of his lips allowed the exposed half to form a smile. Despite the actions and words, an air hung about him that betrayed his formality.

[Shinsou Vaan Osiris]

The walled Iversted manor, on the outskirts of Knife Edge, often played host to a variety of functions for the nobility. Tonight, though, was something of an exclusivity.

On this particularly cold Salvic evening, Shinsou Vaan Osiris arrived through the large ornate doors and took pride of place in the foyer. His usual scraggy attire was replaced with newly issued Brotherhood military dress – a navy green tunic with silver buttons, laced with golden cord and a black leather parade belt that sat diagonally from his left shoulder to his right hip. Across the breadth of his waist the Telgradian wore a red sash, and the outfit was completed by navy green trousers and freshly polished black boots that had not even been broken in.

Fit for high society, at long last. Shinsou remarked with his tongue firmly in his cheek, Well, if I want the Brotherhood to get a foothold in Salvar, there are going to be some necessary evils. This being one of them. It also seemes there will be some neccesary distractions.

The Telgradian plucked a folded piece of paper from his jacket pocket, and unfurled it carefully.

My dear friend,

Our lives are different now, and we must live them separately due to the paths we have chosen. Yet we are connected by bonds so strong that they will effect us even after death.

I write to tell you of two things. First, that the child I wrote to you of has now been born. Aderyn has the brown hair of his mother and sister, with the nubs of horns, and humanoid feet. He is remarkable, beautiful and I am determined to give him the life I could not give to my daughter. Celandine, as you may know, has deemed it right to go into the world herself, for despite her young age her maturity is that of a young woman.

I have, by method and careful politics, obtained an invite to the Ball of the Lord Iverstead, of Salvar. If you are bidden to go there also, whether by your own power or using my connections for your benefit, I ask that you seek a young woman who will be wearing a mask made of peacock feathers. She will be most keen to meet you, having heard much about you, and will be able to serve as a contact between us going forward.

My fondest regards,

Philomel

He put the note back and scanned the room quietly. Other attendees quite literally packed this lush estate from embellished wall to embellished wall, imported beams to mirror shine floorboards. The main hall could be seen beyond the reception area, allowing the gay revelry within to escape and mingle with the polite conversation being had by those waiting admission into the ballroom. Guests faced each other and regaled in tales of their fortunes whilst a frugal platter of horderves, consisting mainly of the finest fish and vegetables available to the Salvic Lords, were served on legged trays of polished silver and accompanied by crystal glasses of liquor.

There was no-one, yet, that Shinsou could match to the description in the letter.

Whilst the patrons of the ball pranced, danced and made high cockylorum, Shinsou’s eyes looked beyond the masses to individuals. For starters, the guard detail placed at the door. It seemed that they were to let no-one out unless at the Lord’s behest, a command that felt particularly ill placed at such a function; especially when such powerbrokers as the Ethereal Sway were seen to be peacocking around. More interestingly, through the doorway, the Telgradian noticed someone who particularly stuck out. The man was grimly resplendent in dour demeanour, wearing a black tunic and displaying some sort of trinket around his neck. He was hardly diminutive, and seemed out of place entirely at such an event.

“Shinsou Vaan Osiris?”

Shinsou turned solemnly on his heels to meet the blonde haired lady’s voice, which had travelled a short difference across the hall. Her heels feet rasped on the polished wood as she walked; her blue eyes locked on him from afar as her curvaceous body fielded intrigued stares from the men she passed.

“My name is Lady Farthingdale,” The woman curtseyed slightly, the ruffles of her elegant white dress fanning out in time, “Wife to Lord Farthingdale, one of Knife Edge’s more prominent men. It was us that invited you here.”

The Telgradian was not well versed in the order of high society, but realised quickly that it seemed to be an honour to be able to speak to this woman, such were the whispers around him. With some deliberation, he dipped at the waist.

“Your servant, ma’am,” The polite behaviour he had to put on display was both charming and sickening to him in equal measure, “I’m obliged to you for the invitation. Although, I must confess, I am unsure as to the circumstances surrounding it. ”

“Yes, I imagine you would like to know what the Salvic nobility would want with a young, hot blooded upstart from Corone?” She spoke formally, but in a way which left Shinsou unsure of whether her tone was intentionally demeaning or not. He ignored the derisive snorts that echoed on the edge of his hearing. “That will come later. For now, why don’t you enjoy the party?”

“Ma’am,” Shinsou bowed again. Who knew why Lady Farthingdale had invited him in to such a ball and left him dangling so far out of his depth? “I do have one question. Do you know who that gentleman is in the black?”

Her eyes stirred towards the end of his index finger, and beyond to the propped man beyond.

“His name is Tobias Stalt.”

He didn’t know why, but something in the back of his mind itched about the name. There was another itching too; one further into the bowels of the ballroom. As Lady Farthingdale exchanged parting pleasantries, Shinsou’s senses played merry hell.

There's a few strong magical presences here, The young spellsword to himself, Mr Stalt is one, for definite. The others, I’m not sure, but that tinge of power I'm feeling is familiar.

[Flamebird]

"Dear Felicity,

I have little doubt that if Shinsou is invited to this Ball in Salvar which already seems to be the event of the social calendar season, that you will be very eager to go with him. As both you and I care for the man deeply it should come as little surprise that I support your efforts.

I myself cannot attend, due to the birth of my son Aderyn, whom I hope you shall one day come and meet, for you after all were a great influence for me and my decisions to keep him. However through my connections I have managed to obtain invites to said Ball, and though one of these will be held by my representative there, I extend also it to you. You merely need to say you are there on the interests of the Nightingale and the Lily, and they will allow you access.

I am offering you this in return for one favour. In the Ball there will be an individual with a peacock feather mask. I wish to know if her wellbeing, and I believe I can trust you to relate that been to a mother who misses her daughter.

Regards
Philomel."

I slipped the letter under my dress. I hated everything about today, but I needed to put myself aside for the sake of my loved ones.

I was not happy.

I hated Salvar. Yet, here I was. In Salvar. Ugh.

My mentor, Shinsou Vaan Osiris, had been invited to some fancy ball with rich fat nobles. Of course, I needed to come along. What if something happened to him? I could not let Shinsou out of my sights; even in a night of festivities.

I entered shortly after Shinsou had, through the looming arches that felt like gateways to prison. The air was warm and stuffy, I felt constricted. As I walked through, I noticed the guards posted at the entrances and shivered. Why were guards posted at such a public event? To keep order? My paranoia was getting the better of me. I paused, the cool Salvic winds wafering from outside, begging me to return. The only reason I was here was for Shinsou. These rich party guests, dresses and suits you, and happy faces were all gross lies.

I sighed. Of course, I myself wore a dress. The Brotherhood women refused to let me come without it. I needed to look the part, even if I did not feel it. It was a dark purple gown, flowing and elegant. The dress wrapped around with simple silk and gold lacing. The sleeves were long and loose, doing well in hiding my scarred, muscular arms. The front of the gown was a lighter shade of lilac, with intricate gold nylon lacing with detailed designs on them. A see through cloak covered the dress. It did nothing to block out Salvar's winter winds. I pulled down the hood, revealing my straight red hair. Wrapped around my forehead, I wore a dark purple headband. I still was unused to the scar over my eye, one detail of my rough lifestyle no amounts of makeup could hide.

I walked across the marble floor, my purple high heels echoing across the room. I awkwardly walked in them, feeling as if this was some cruel balancing game. I entered the ballroom with feelings of doom and dread. The dress was itchy and confining, just like this lavish dance floor. I slipped next to Shinsou after he finished talking to some rich noble. A clasped my hands together, fidgeting. I grew up in rural mountains and deep forests. I had no idea how any of this high end fancy stuff worked. I was completely unarmed too. If Shinsou was attacked here, I only could rely on my unarmed martial arts training to defend him. Thaynes forbid I let my magic turn on, this was Salvar after all. I had to keep an eye out for the woman Philomel wanted me to, but so far saw no signs of her. I hated this place already. Feeling out of place and vulnerable, I leaned close to Shinsou and whispered miserably, "Well. We're here. What do we do, cause I have no idea?"

[Shinsou Vaan Osiris]

Of course you are here.

A mask of chastised neutrality washed upon Shinsou’s hawkish features as Felicity Rhyolite, his young apprentice, made a rather unexpected entrance into the fray by sliding next to him out of thin air. The Brotherhood leader had no idea why she had attended a ball intended for Salvic nobility hosted hundreds of miles away from Corone, and least of all knew exactly how she had gotten on the guest list. Either way, it seemed he was stuck with her.

“Felicity,” Shinsou hooked her arm, politely escorting her away from the gathered crowd and into one of the sparse numbers of quiet spaces in the corner of the room, “What are you doing here?”

His words lacked the eloquent sincerity that would normally have accompanied them. The Neanderthal, as good as she looked in her dress, was clearly not here in any sort of official capacity and this meant that there could have only been one reason for her attendance. Being mindful of charging her emotions once more, it meant that he would have to be the one to issue discretion. There was a measure of reluctance to the Telgradian as he thought carefully about the words he would use.

“Look,” Shinsou started, leaning into her a little so that he couldn’t be heard, “I’m here at the request of Lord Farthingdale. I’m about some very important Brotherhood business that could see us get a market share in Salvar, but I can’t do that if you’re around my person all night. He won’t speak with me unless I’m alone.”

“But, if you want to help,” The Telgradian continued to whisper, reaching up from the floor to pretend to accept her proffered hand for a dance and allowing himself to be pulled upright by her, “Then look for a woman with a peacock feathered mask. I’ll explain why, later. That way I can kill two birds with one stone.”

With that, he span Felicity around and ended the waltz on a natural twist, giving her hand to another nobleman for him to continue their posturing. It was clear to him that the girl was a warrior to her core, one who was somewhat awkward in social circles but had beauty enough that she could at least fit in amongst the Lords and Ladies of court.

Serves me right, he thought to himself, giving the smouldering green eyes a rueful smile. The smile was extended to the nobleman, a belated apology.

[Flamebird]

Felicity flashed Shinsou a harsh glare as she was passed to another partner. Oh, you mean the same woman Philomel told me to look out for? Sure thing, boss! I know when I'm not wanted!

Felicity had enough footwork skills as a fighter to adapt to the dance quickly. The partner she had been handed off to was a Salvic man with green eyes and brown hair, and pale skin. Felicity, a native Eiskaltian, could easily see the genetic similarities between Eiskaltians and Salvarins here. Felicity tried to pull a pleasant face as the middle aged noble fell into sway with her. He wrapped an arm around her waistline, making her uncomfortable.

"What's your name, dear?" He smiled as they danced, "You don't seem to be from around here."

Felicity gulped. "Felicity. I'm here on behalf of the Nightingale."

"Oh?" The man twirled her around before taking her hands again, "Interesting."

Felicity kept looking away from him, searching for the peacock girl. When the man lowered his hands and took her sides, she grimaced.

"You're gorgeous," Felicity's eyes darted to the man, who was smirking, "Exotic too. Not entirely human? You feel to have the frame of a warrior instead of a princess."

Felicity squirmed, causing him to pull her closer, "What's the matter?"

Felicity was having too many flashbacks of a... certain individual... a lover who never was. Felicity reached for his hands, prying them off. "Stop."

The man winced as she pulled him off, "Definitely a warrior. Care to show me some of your moves later?"

Felicity pushed him away, beet red, "No!"

Aware that several eyes had darted towards her, Felicity took a step back. The man scoffed, "I'm by the punch bowl if you change your mind, Red."

Felicity shuddered, claustrophobic in this place. "I need some air."

She turned and walked as fast as she could towards the courtyard without drawing any more attention to herself. She gravitated towards the corners of the room and walked towards the courtyard entrance. Her high heels made the walk awkward.

Maybe the peacock girl is outside.

Felicity leaves for the courtyard.

[Tobias Stalt]

Brother Charles leans close, but his eyes never leave the ballroom floor. The prominent saturation of tobacco into his clothing threatens to force my eyes to water. "Two," he murmurs casually. "Maybe three?"

"Two," I affirm. There's at least one presence that has manifested any latent power worth mentioning. I do get a sense of untapped energy from more of them, but the crime of Magic does not extend further than usage in Salvar. Simply having the gift does not implicate a person, contrary to the popularly held belief. The Bylaws of the Sway are at the very least that forgiving. "Remember, we can't act simply on the presumption of guilt. Not unwarranted."

"Evil is restless, Brother Stalt," he says.

"And I am not," the weariness in my voice is palpable now. "I won't be rushing to detain the Lord's guests on a whim, not without an edict from the Clergy."

His grunt is noncommittal at best, but I understand the fervor. Witch Hunters are decorated for their actions and to take a heretic into custody at an event like this one would catapult him into the favor of the Church Elders. The simplicity of life as a corrupt enforcer of the law- there is a certain appeal to it, I suppose.

"You heard they permitted him entry?" Charles' voice is tense. Everyone staffed at this event knows about the guest in question. Everyone suspects a scene.

"I've heard." Lichensith Ulroke and I are well acquainted. I don't see that as a reason to approach the man, let alone harass him. If I had my way, I'd put all the Oceans on Althanas between us and never think to cross. Regrettably, I do not. "Leave him," I tell the Witch Hunter who is undoubtedly searching for glory. "Unless he does something, you'd only be inviting trouble."

"The Lord invited the trouble." Is he pouting?

"Indeed."

With my arms crossed now, I survey the floor again. The Leader of the Crimson Hand is visible, and with a bewitching piece of eye candy draped over his arm. So, Lye, it appears that you do have a way with the ladies beyond killing them.

Or perhaps that comes later.

Brother Patrick leans in from my other side now. Is that... lilac? Sweat has saturated his garb and his face is still flushed from exertion. The man has hurried back to his post after gallavanting with one of the guests. How exotic. "Had to use the loo," he says. "Did I miss anything?"

"I expect not," I answer mirthlessly. "Whatever business you had to attend was certainly more interesting than the dancing." I cast a quick glance toward him, and he stares for a moment.

"Just a lengthy piss," he said after too pregnant a pause for me to believe him. "Did you notice that man giving you the eye just now?" he questions.

I hadn't, but as he gestures toward the guest I finally have eyes on the magical presence I was uncertain of. Ah. "Are you insinuating I ought ask him for a dance, Pat?"

"I heard him ask the Lady of the House your name," he says.

Oh, did he?

There is a moment of confusion as a girl breaks away from her dance partner and they exchange a few heated words. She promptly storms out toward the Courtyard, but frankly, she seems uninteresting. The loudest bark oft accompanies the softest bite. What I did notice was her first dance partner. Strings were beginning to entwine.

Whoever the mysterious stranger is, he seems to have his hands in many different things. I approach Father Dresden again, and whisper in his eat. "Who is that man?" I wave my hand subtly in that direction, and the Priest's eyes light up with amusement.

"Shinsou Vaan Osiris," he replies. "An esteemed guest of our Lord Host. Certainly, you have no cause to find fault with such an important fellow?"

How quaint. The Sway looking the other way when it suits them? The tedium is like to bore me to death.

"Not at this time," I tell him. The Law of the All-Seeing Eye is absolute in that no one is above suspicion. "But he has come under the scrutiny of the Eye."

Dresden stares down his nose at me. "So he has," he responds without humor. "I will advise the Witch Hunters further on this matter. I commend your diligence, Brother Stalt."

Direct action is not an option; but surveilling the man's every move, waiting for the smallest of missteps?

Check. Your move, Vaan Osiris.

[darkest.desires.]

Camille had received an invite to attend the extravagant ball, hosted by the newly single, richest lord from a connection of a connection. As she strolled up towards the large palace set before her Nikita seemed to growl with annoyance in her head. Do we truly need to play with these flesh bags? Camille grunted, the beast with in her stirring with uneasiness. The thought of being surrounded by a sea of bodies didn't sound enticing to her either but there was going to be free booze and that was enough to make her commit to the invite.

The large double doors were pushed open for her by two doormen that said nothing. Her dark ocean blue orbs drank in the grand hallway, a smirk pulled at the corners of her crimson painted lips. Taking in a deep breath, rounding out her shoulders and smoothing out the olive tone, silken gown that flowed over her curvaceous body with ease. Her honey brown locks cascaded down her back as her heels softly clicked against the marble flooring. Another set of doors were open for her, revealing the grandiose ballroom she had ever laid eyes on.

Camille let out a low whistle that was drowned out by the band that played dancing music and the sound of the crowd of people that had already started to mingle. Great, we are late... Nikita grunted in her eyes causing Cammy to roll her eyes.

Setting her shoulders back with such confidence she moved into the room, eyes dancing from the singletons and paired up people. She painted a kind smile on her plush, pouty lips and made her way towards the nearest butler that held a silver tray of champagne flutes. She gave him a dazzling smile before plucking one and walking on the edge of the dance floor, allowing herself to admire the different couples that seemed to be lost in one another's gaze.