One Hell of a Party... (closed to Zack Blaze and Philomel)

[Asmodeus]

Tenebrous's cheap wooden chair creaked alarmingly as he leaned back. He regarded the cup in front of him, squinting through the dim light at what the barkeep had deemed "wine". He took a cautious sip as his amber gaze swept the tavern's crowd. The drink was every bit as appalling as he expected it would be, if not worse. But he had bigger things on his mind.

In a few hours time, he was going to rob a powerful noble, one of a small handful remaining in Salvar. Countess Mariana Du'mourne was a collector of some renown. Her vaults contained exquisite works of art, exotic silks, rare gems, and the wealth of Salvar's better days. But Tenebrous wasn't interested in mundane wealth. He had set his gaze on a larger prize: a grimoire penned by Alistair Sanguine himself.

Most had never heard of Alistair. The man had preferred it that way. He was a powerful necromancer and blood magus. He might have posed a genuine threat to the world at one point, but he died before his plans could come to fruition. For all his power, he couldn’t prevent the plague from ravaging his body. Tenebrous had encountered Alistair's spirit in the Nine Hells and realized that the he was no ordinary damned soul. Most of Alistair Sanguine's spellbooks had been destroyed by religious fanatics or taken by ambitious warlocks. The rest had been lost long ago.

Or so Tenebrous had thought. When his sources informed him that the countess had acquired a volume bound in crimson leather and stitched with unhallowed bronze sigils, he'd left Corone immediately and journeyed to Salvar. The trip had taken weeks, but the tiefling feared the worst was still ahead of him. He doubted that the countess would part with her possessions willingly. He knew for a fact that the woman had gone to extraordinary lengths to protect her collection. Tenebrous had planned accordingly.

The countess wasn't only famous for her collection. She also had a reputation for lavish parties. Tonight was one such party, and Tenebrous had every intention of making the night memorable. The guards would be spread thin and distracted, and the countess herself would be occupied. The event presented a brief window where the burglary would go from impossibly difficult to simply ridiculously hard.

Tenebrous had forged a pair of invitations and arranged to have his bastard sword smuggled in. Now he simply had to eliminate the captain of the guards, find out where the hidden vault was, get inside, and leave the party without getting killed.
Though Tenebrous was loathe to admit it, he was going to need help. That's what had brought him to the tavern. He was waiting for his partner, the infamous Zack Blaze, Chief Executive Officer of Misery Business.

[Philomel]

Lavishly adorned in crimson and silk, the faun made her way over the Aleraran carpet with head held at a dignified angle. Her legs were much on show, causing a spirited mass of gossip as she strode through the crowd, her arm linked to that of Count Ray Monsey, whom she lovingly called Ray. The old count had very little to live for now, except his name and his ailing lone daughter, who was more of a lapdancer than an heiress. Hence it being rather ironic that he had a prostitute as company, yet the others did not see that. All the aristocrats and bureaucrats saw a rare species of being, dressed in a pseudo-ballgown with a shimmering train and split-skirt at the thigh, who was to be the exotic date Ray had been declaring he would bring to the occaision, in order to shut their bitching mouths up for once.

Leaning down to Philomel's ear, breaking the few inches of gap between the two of them, the human Count whispered as they gained the alarming expression from Lady Du'Sanza. His soft blonde locks brushed against her cheek.

"This will certainly give them something to gossip about."

Lightly, the Nightingale let out a gay spirited laugh and placed her spare hand on the Count's wrist.

"My dear Ray," she said, a little louder so that those leaning in to catch their words would do so, "You are quite the charmer!"

She then raised the fingers to her mouth and took to glorious, but respectable, giggling. Count Ray glanced around, his eyes meeting with Lady Du'Sanza for a determined moment, before looking away. A slight smirk appeared on his face, as if to say Whose laughing now at Monsey's expense?

"You see I have been the subject of much ridicule," he had said upon their first meeting. "My estate has been eaten up in debt and funds, and much of my eastern plantations have gone to ruin. I blame the Count of Hellburgh, but what can be done?" He had ground a fist into his spare hand, "I need to show them something to laugh at, something that will make their mouths shut up for once. With my daughter frittering away what honour I have, down in Alerar, I have barely anything but my title to keep me in respected society. I need someone to - to be a novelty, a trophy, a-"

The faun had cut him off right there with a smile. Curtly, she had nodded, "I know precisely what to do, My Lord Monsey, I know what you need. A prize around your neck to show the others of your peerage what power you have still ... Of what standard of party is that you are attending?"

And the rest, as they say, was simple history. It had taken a week for the Count and Philomel to travel from Eluriand, where they had met, to Salvar and create a feasible story. Lucky few in the cold north knew about the Concordian species that was the faun; most had just read it in their fairy tales. So the whore and the Count had much to play with and within a few hours they had created a simple, but believable, story.

"Lady Du'Sanza," Ray said with a rather smarmy tone, dark eyes sparkling with pride, "Allow me to introduce her Natural Highness Princessa Lily-Mena van der Faunos, Princess of Faunkind, and my dear friend. Princessa, Lady Du'Sanza."

The high pile of perfumed hair shook and the pale powdered cheeks blossomed into roses.

"Your Highness!" she breathed, aghast, and curtseyed as low as one could possibly bend.

[Zack Blaze]

"Why do they always choose taverns?" Zack sighed as he looked within the window of the run-down dump, "it's never anything nice like a barber shop or a fashion show. Always has to be a bar."

He checked his visage in the mirror, using a finger on each hand to straighten any loose bangs out of his face and into his meticulously made hair. He looked to his left and right shoulder and brought a hand up to dust himself off. He knew the perfect outfit to wear for this job when he was told of it by Robert Uccisore. Apparently, Countess Du'Mourne was a noble of extreme wealth, something as rare and hated as Salvar as an albino high elf in Alerar. It only seemed decent to alleviate some of that ridiculoud wealth to the commonweal.

Of course, when Zack heard 'commonweal', he thought 'Zack Blaze'.

He dressed himself in a tuxedo with a white cummerbund, which highlighted his green eyes all the more. He sighed once more and stepped into the tavern, only to be hit with the stench of vomit and beer. The street fighter enjoyed himself a good drink every now and then, but the aroma of barley and mead always left a sour taste in the boy's mouth. He looked for his contractor, and smiled when he saw the form of the tiefling at a table amongst a sea of similar looking furniture.

He walked carefully so not to step on the peanut shells and spilled liquids that seemed to litter the floor and took a spot across from the amber-eyed employer. He placed two fingers at his forehead and threw them in Tenebrous' direction as a form of salutation. He knew the two of them knew plenty about the other, so there was hardly anything to get out of the way in the form of introductions.

"So..." Zack said as he glanced over his 'partners' clothing choices, "We're walking in the front door, and then....?"

[Asmodeus]

Tenebrous was absentmindedly scratching an infernal rune into the table when Zack walked in. He idly flicked the wood shavings from the tip of a sharp fingernail and returned his partner’s greeting with a slow nod.

"So..." Zack said as he glanced over his 'partners' clothing choices, "We're walking in the front door, and then....?"

“Then,” Tenebrous said, straitening his collar “the real party begins.” He produced a large roll of tanned parchment with a flourish and unfurled it across the table with a flick of his wrist. “These are the floor plans for the Countess’s manor. You wouldn’t believe how many palms I had to grease and throats I had to cut to get a hold of them.”

“Here,” he gestured, “is the room the ball is being held. Everyone who’s anyone will be there. The countess. Coronian naval officers. An avant-garde inventor from Alerar. My sources inform me that a princess of the faun has even deigned to attend, though I’m afraid I’m unfamiliar with the race or their system of nobility. To say that security is going to be tight in that particular chamber would be a drastic understatement.”

“To make matters worse,” Tenebrous continued, “the vault’s location is a well-kept secret. And it requires two keys to open. One is kept by the captain of the guard. The other is held by the countess herself. That,” he said, glancing pointedly at Zack, “is where you come in. If you can manage to get the key off the countess, I can track down the captain of the guard and acquire the other key. With a little time, I’m confident I can also persuade him to reveal the treasury’s whereabouts. As for the countess, seduce her, rob her, kill her, I don’t give a damn. Just get what we need. Once we have the keys, we regroup, sneak to the vaults, penetrate the labyrinth of guards, traps, and magical defenses, get what we came for, and get out.”

“The evening’s festivities have already begun,” Tenebrous said, “but guests will be arriving for the next few hours.” He placed a pair of crisp white envelopes on the table. “These,” he continued, tapping the paper, “are forged invitations. I am posing as a Father Roan Whiteoak, priest of the Church of the Ethereal Sway.” Tenebrous smiled. Nothing like a little light blasphemy to brighten his mood. “I’ll leave it to you to formulate your own persona for the evening. Any questions?”

[Philomel]

With much self-control the 'Princessa' Philomel fought back a snigger and instead gave a most regal incline of her head.

"Thank you Lady Du'Sanza," she said, "However, it is your Natural Highness, of course. I am not a human."

She let out a bright charming laugh, patting the arm of the man who was escorting her. Ray's response was to idly flirt back with her, leaning in as he joined in in her merriment.

"Oh of course not, my dear, who would even begin to think you were something of the kind?"

Lady Du'Sanza's mouth turned into something of a scowl, her brow tightly furrowing beneath that mass of hair. Of course, like Ray himself she was a human, and by debasing all humankind he debased himself and her, but he did not seem to be bothered. It affected her, however, in her great noble pride, and caused her cheeks to flare up with bright anger. As the couple ridiculed her in front of her face she felt the strong desire to burst into flames and rage to the whole room ... but that would be entirely socially unacceptable. She was faced with a Princess, and as ettiquette went royalty was always correct, no matter how wrong or embarresssing it was. Therefore, she bitterly forced a smile onto her else ill-tempered face and subjected herself to another curtsey.

"Oh many apologies your Natural Highness," the Lady said darkly, though with a tone of grace, "My apologies."

There was a short pause, Ray for the moment rejoicing in the subjectifying of his old adversary, then he glanced to Philomel; "May I introduce you to the party's hostess?" he asked, "She is quite the great lady."

"Oh I am sure, I am sure," the 'Princessa' nodded, careful of her - admittedly fake - ruby-tipped circlet that sat atop her head. "I would be honoured."

The Count Monsey smirked to an unashamedly large degree at Du'Sanza, then turned along with Philomel and strode away with her.

Countess Mariana Du'mourne was adequately fat for an aristocrat and had an alarming ample bosom. Or, at the very least, her dress gave the appearance of being fat with its gross amount of lavish silks and sparkling finery. An empire-line, sweetheart-necked lace dress, with cupped sleeves, all the most expensive silks and gems from Scara Brae and beyond, into that part of the world where angels fear to tred. Atop her head was piled titan hair of no comparison, and nestled into the top was a giant sapphire diamond, the size of Philomel's fist.

Not bad, she found herself thinking as her eyes danced over the jewel. They snaked down the pale ivory skin, around the rosey cheeks, and down to the key that was hung around the neck of the Countess. Not bad at all.