Party Up, Throw Down!

[Sulla]

Open to many, and all. Recruitment thread here (http://www.althanas.com/world/showthread.php?29297-Party-Thread!&p=247441#post247441), but hell, you don't need to post in it.

“Keep the curtains closed,” snapped Lord Victor Rosanque with a mewling hiss, “and leave me to my misery.” The lord curled himself in his red leather easy chair, his arms wrapped tightly around his knees. Unkempt raven locks cascaded down his face, the grease on them shimmering in the faint hearth’s light. His two guests stared at him in a bored, though amused, silence, while the servant he’d scolded ran back from the window like a beaten dog.

“Sweet Victor, you needn’t worry. Just a bit of sunlight won’t ruin that wonderfully pale veneer of yours.” Maximillian Gildenfalt’s smile was as famous for being able to delight his high society friends as it was infamous amongst his staff. The man was lithe and tan, with fine white silk clothing woven in such a way as to leave little to the imagination. He lounged on his reclining couch with a servant girl close at hand, occasionally catching her unaware with a wandering grope. “Oath-brother,” he began with that feeble, noble sincerity, “my dear sister has been dead an awful long time. Mayhaps you’re ready to join the rest of us in the world of the living?” He turned now on his stomach, the girl helping his effete body as it moved.

“How dare you,” Victor snapped back, for once a flush of life catching his dour face. Before he could continue, however, Lady Wolkenhorst took a break from her plate to interject.

“Victor, love. Maxi, like always, is right in all the wrong ways.” Crumbs fell from the folds around her mouth as she spoke. Despite her size and lack of grace, she wore the clothes of a woman half her age and a third her size. The servants had had to fetch the largest chair in the manner for her, and each of them passed a worried look from one and other with every creak of the steadily weakening frame. “We’ve watched you waste away in here for over a year. You don’t eat, you barely sleep, and you only invite us by to sit in this dreary hall and listen to your prose.”

“And god! We have listened!” Maximillian’s hand shot straight into the air. “It’s time for a change, my dear.” He sat himself up to look Victor dead in the eye, unflinching even during an awkward silence that ensued.

“Well then,” Lord Rosanque finally said in little more than a whisper, “what did you, dear friends, have in mind?” The lady slapped her hands together in delight, and Maximillian took to dancing around a bit with his reluctant servant, her eyes sweetly pleading with the others. His friends squealed in sickening unison -

“A party!” Victor looked hesitant, but his eyes had all the base qualities of defeat to them. With a head hung low, he relaxed to sit like his station dictated. With a heavy sigh, he acquiesced.

“When, dear Hilda and Maxi, can I expect this travesty?”

“We’ve already taken care of the arrangements, oath-brother!” The deviant’s dancing slowed to a trot before he finally threw the girl down on the couch, chuckling as he watched her get back to her feet. “I’ve even brought in a few more strong hands for our soiree!” He pointed to me. Finally.

Every rumor I’d heard about these wretched nobles seemed like gospel truth. Stories surrounded them in some sort of mythos, but I was not easily cowed by flimsy fancies that so easily took the servants I impersonated. I saw these dreadful people for what they really were; the selfish, cruel, reckless abandon in each of them hearkened to a weakness at their very core. Wealth and titles had dutifully done away with their dignity and restraint. I walked over, as beckoned, with the same cowardly steps I’d observed in the cooks and valets, before being caught in Maximillian’s mincing clutches.

“Now boy,” he began, his thin fingers at my chin, petting it softly as one would a hound. I dared not look him in the eye just yet, for fear he’d see the white-hot fire in my glare and know his time had come, “how quickly can you muster a get together, for we fine masters?” His smile was slicker than the dribble of grease that dripped from Hilda’s maw.

“By the end of the week, m’lord, should be ample for the readying.” Maximillian pulled my face to his, with some great effort on his part even though I’d gone limp, and giving me all the overwhelming aroma of his womanly scent.

“Be on your way then, all of you, you’ve jobs to do!” Lady Walkenhorst shooed away the help, but not before requesting her third platter of meat-laden finger foods. As I strolled off away from the dour, hungry, and prying eyes, I hurried a step faster than the peons that surrounded me. As we closed the massive oak doors to the room, I could heard their worried whispers. Doubt befell each of them, some measly fear that their efforts would not be enough, and that the lash or worse awaited each should they fail. I was, as always, confident in my abilities. Walking past the rabble towards the servants' quarters in the basement, I took a sharp turn in the shadows, often unnoticed during the daily travel of the workers of the manor. Slipping inside a pantry closet, I slid back a small panel on the wall, and crawled my way into the hidden sanctuary I’d made.

My uncle was right on all accounts. Lord Rosanque’s father had this small office built to keep away from his sensitive son and shrewish wife many years ago. Uncle Dussek had been spot on in its location, but there was little doubt as how he’d come by the information. Each of those three wastes of flesh had dealings with him, and each had betrayed him in turn. The fat Hilda had refused repayment on a loan for a vineyard once the winter had withered the crop to nothing. The sullen Victor had dangerous knowledge that might shine unwanted attention my uncle’s way. And Maximillian was troublesome to the reputation of every high-born, including some former relations of mine. His debauchery was the stuff of legend, especially after it came to light that he’d held a group of village youth against their will for more than one hundred days. Any book written on the subject would be ripe for banning.

Discretion was key to killing them all without any blame falling Dussek’s way, so he’d had a few acquaintances recommend me as an excellent bit of help for a party, and he’d charged me to eliminate them with a princely sum of ten thousand gold. And after all my planning, shopping, letting writing, and booking, I’d be lucky to see ten pieces of it. But no matter the cost, I knew what had to be done. The chaos I planned by throwing the wildest feast yet seen would be the perfect cover for my perfidy.

”The messages will spread the word to every corner of Corone and Scara Brae, and I’ve had postings left in every capital in every continent for over a month. Villain, hero, rabble, and king, all were needed. Necessity dictates course. And I dictate necessity (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vxKO565EREc)."

[ReleasetheQuacken]

I gaze of the front entrance of the manor, hesitant of stepping in for many reasons. One, my halberd was at home, leaving me feeling vulnerable and weak. Two, despite growing up in a high ranking family me and parties mix like salt in a bag of sugar. Third, I was at the mercy and will of the idiot next to me.

The idiot, a raven haired man dressed in frills, coughs. "Not hesitant are you? We have a deal remember?"

That's right. Leading until yesterday I had been under the impression that I had been hiding myself well. Then at while resting at tavern an old face I had not anticipated to see revealed itself to me. Jarl Aderyn. The seventh son of the seventh son, descended from the Valkyrie Bryhildr. If I hadn't left there is no doubt in my mind that our parents would had tried to arrange our marriage. Not that he wasn't unattractive or unintelligent but with the current situation my oldest friends are now my fiercest adversaries. Which brings me back to why I am here, in a dress, with an old friend.

"Well? Shall we go in?"

"Are you sure the ones you seek will be in there?"

"Most assuredly." Typical Jarl. Always running in blade first never thinking things over but that's a descendant of Bryhildr for you. "Can't you smell it? Those mudanes that spoil our world with their wastefulness and disrespect? Perhaps with enough them dead the Regency and High Council will allow you back into their fold."

"Jarl... I...."

"My I take your coat sir?"

That sneak, distracting me with his silver tongue to usher me inside. Best keep my cool though. After all, I'm here as support, if not to keep his mouth shut on my were about and movement. Personally, I hate the idea of needing to rely on him but if I try to flee again... no. Head up Coppelia, head up. Keep your eyes open and your lips sealed. After this party ends and Jarl has completed his objective, you'll part ways and you'll return to being just another person in the crowd. Right.

A regal woman, probably one of the house, introduces herself eagerly to Jarl. With his looks I'm not shocked, my attention shifts away toward the shiny decor.

"And who is this fine young woman?"

"This is my fiancee, Lady Coppelia Vogel."

"Congrats. Please enjoy yourself."

He nods, I curtsy and with that I am left on my own to watch him mingle from a distance, a cruel reminder of my current fate. The crowd was fluent and sifting into the main hall. Fuck them all. As long as men continue to deny my kind will always be in odds, odds that have lead us here. And now that we are, whose blood shall flow tonight?

[Otto]

"This itches like the blazes. Who puts sequins inside a jacket?"

Otto sighed, and twisted something on the underside of the iridescent steel disk he'd propped up on its rim. "Carrin? Just get ready, will you?"

The poky little servant's room had just a couple of lamps, but so much light reflected off its occupants that they really only needed the one. Colours shifted and merged together on the walls with every little movement, in a display usually only achieved inside someone's head and with the help of various illicit substances. The band had been avoiding alcohol by unspoken agreement. No one knew what effect the giddy display would have after a few pints, and none of them were willing to find out.

"I say it was a mistake accepting this gig," muttered Aaron, bass guitarist and walking flash-bang grenade. His suit had come in yellow, but it was hard to tell because Otto's eyes started to water if he looked at it too long. "I've heard stories about Gildenfalt."

"I say it was a mistake letting Ags design the costumes," Carrin grumbled. His glittering garb was neon-sunset pink, and he wasn't any happier about it than you'd expect. It even had a hat, which had been a particularly cruel touch.

"We owed her one after Moody's (http://www.althanas.com/world/showthread.php?27207-The-Weave-and-the-Wind-%28a-shameless-spoils-thread%29)," Otto supplicated. "And you must admit, it was... nice of her to aim for something, uh, military (http://static.stereogum.com/blogs.dir/2/files/2013/11/Sgt-Pepper.jpg)."

To a man, they glanced down at their costumes. It was hard to imagine what sort of army would wear these as their uniforms: possibly one that wanted to ensure its soldiers couldn't be confused with those of any other military on the planet. It would be hard enough to mistake them for anything which occurred outside the maddened depths of a raging fever dream. Otto himself had been given a fetching green number, and while he'd prefer to hammer his tusks out than admit it, he was rather taken with the thing. It is difficult to explain what the overall effect was like, because rose chaffers don't come over six feet tall and wearing beards. But in terms of shininess, there was definitely some similarity there.

There was a violet flash, and the three of them quickly threw their hands in front of their eyes. The fourth member - Orlannes - had turned away from peering through the gap in the door, and sauntered back to the band. Otto swore that the half-elf's suit had received by far the most attention to detail; it fit the man like a glove, and the sequins had an orderly quality to them that was absent for rest of them. The man wasn't a peacock. You needed a new word for what he was. Peacocks were drab by comparison.

"I think I can hear the first guests arriving," Orlannes stated, while his bandmates tried to blink the sunspots away. "We ready to roll?"

Otto gave the disk one final tweak and stood up. "All good."

The four of them pushed out into the corridor and headed for the stairs up.

"What'll we start with?" Carrin asked.

"They gave us a set list," Otto said, and was completely unsurprised by the groans which met the news. "Here."

A grubby sheet of paper was produced as they emerged into an expansive ballroom, where a small stage had been set up at one end for the entertainment. The list was forgotten for a moment as they took in the velvet drapes, the shimmering marble floor, the mosaics and chandeliers, the balustrades of polished rare woods, and not least, the linen-covered tables sagging under innumerable platters of canapés and hors d'oeuvres.

Otto couldn't help noticing that the white linen tablecloths changed colour as each of them passed by.

They set their cases down on the stage and glanced uneasily around the mostly-empty hall. "So, do we just start?" Aaron whispered.

"That's what we were told. As soon as the first guests arrive, they said," Otto mumbled back.

"Alright, pass us the list then."

The chit made its rounds. Lips moved wordlessly as each musician memorized the first few songs. At last, it was pressed back into Otto's grey shovel-like hand, and then disappeared into the glimmering recesses of his jacket. "Whenever you're ready, lads."

"Alright, Otto. Count us in."

The orc nodded. "One. Two. One, two three, four- (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=olKXXF6iw2s)"

[eXgTurbostar]

Mighty roars could be heard in the main hall, awakening the prey-like ancient instincts that dwell deep inside most of the party guests and providing them with a short thrill as they look around them, before letting out a sigh of relief. What's the source of this 'noise' you ask? That is simple to 'see', somewhere near a assembled stage for singers, a white lion stood proudly on top of a round chair. She gives the crowd exactly what they want, excitement and puts up a good show. At first growling angrily, roaring and eventually lashing at the the nearby observers, only to stop at the last moment... apparently obeying her 'tamer' that was 'commanding' her to step down or heel in a strange language. In truth, the blonde 'tamer' spoke to the lion in a old form of elvish her mother had taught her during her magic training sessions. Her tone was demanding as to appear that she was issuing commands to lion with only 3 black stripes on her white fur.

"Remind me... why are we here again???" she asked, suddenly remembering a particular encounter she had on the streets while returning from a recently finished job. She was quite happy with the pay so she wanted to go to a tavern and celebrate when... "Hey lady, is that lion yours?" asked a sketchy voice that came from Ariel's left side. Turning towards the source of the noise that disturbed her good mood, her silver eyes would fix upon a average looking man that wore a untasteful turban. He showed a dumb grin, rubbing his hands while switching his gaze from the blonde to her white companion. She let out a sigh and was about to turn back and resume her initial plan of going to the inn when the guy spoke again, this time in a whisper: "If it is tamed, we can make lots of money real quick". The blonde was going to ignore this guy, until certain words made her frown and in a flash, the blonde unsheathes her short blade and puts it to the man's neck while pushing him against the wall. Her blade was barely touching his neck when she spoke the next words in a cold tone "Listen up pal, first of all I'm no lady so that we make it clear. Second if you refer to my beloved Kimba by IT, I'll let her have her way with you." she then lessens the grip she had around his chest, ultimately letting go of him and shows a mischievous smile while asking "You mentioned something about money, what were you referring to?"

And there she was, serving as a 'lion tamer' after the guy showed her a piece of paper that had the title 'entertainers wanted!'. She was told to 'entertain' the guests for a while until the main event. She wasn't told what that main event was...one of the party staff told her in a sarcastic tone before walking away: "You'll know when the time comes.".. so there she was, waiting for 'something' to happen and then get paid handsomely.

[Philomel]

The bass lines thrummed around the building. Philomel's slightly tapered, slightly fluffy ears twitched, perking up as they heard the sound. A small smile came to her lips, a real smile rather than the fake ones she was gifting out like breaths of air, as she heard the starting melody, and it was similarly picked up by the smaller human woman who stood beside her.

Gosling, with her unmistakeable crimson hair tied in two long bunches over her shoulders, leaned back and placed her hands on her exposed hips. Grandly she raised her chin and raised her voice, addressing all their clients in the specially laid-aside room.

"Lords and Ladies," she announced, "The music has begun, and thus with it will we begin our entertainment for the night."

Glancing up to her Matriarch, Gosling looked slightly awkward as she waited for the sign of approval. Within a moment, Philomel gave it - a gentle nod and a pleasing glint in her eye.

"Your first announcement," the faun mused, "Very well done, my dear."

As she spoke the noise in the room began to rise. Patrons, both male and female, began beadily-eyed looking at the set of ten servers Philomel had brought with her; seven human, two elvish and one of a lizard-like desert race known as drak'ra in faunish. There were no men, for the crew of the Fiesty Fox, and thus Philomel's inner circle, were firmly entirely female right now. She was considering befriending some rent-boys for her new offices in Ettermire, but for now women were her kin. They were for hire, and they were hers. Each one of them was a trained seducer and lover, but also trained as a waitress, conversationalist, sailor and now, spy, ready to get the darkest secrets from the darkest of hearts.

A couple of gentlemen rose, those who were the official guests of the lords of this party, and grabbed the wrists of two pretty maidens. Greedily, with lust dripping from their muggins they moved past the plush armchairs, the tapestry drapes and the tables of equisite beverages, onwards to the velvet curtain that closed off an entryway to a spiral staircase. The stairs only led downwards, and into a small corridor with a set amount of tastefully decorated chambers. Here the clients of the courtesan entertainment team, the set of high-class whores who had hired the room for the party night, could do with the clients as the clients wished, and hopefully make a profit on the evening.

Gosling, second in command for tonight, and enthusiastic apprentice of Philomel, clasped her hands in front of her bare belly, elbows touching the bottom of her bustier, and tipped her head to the side, watching the general excitement in the room.

"How much money do you think we will make tonight, Lady Phi?" she asked.

Philomel raised an eyebrow, looking from patron to patron, figuring out each one, where they might be from, who they might be, and how much money she might be able to make from them tonight. Her tongue flicked across her dry lips before she answered.

"Enough to help start at least the project in Ettermire," she murmured to Gosling. "Enough."

"Enough for our Lily to sprout a new root?" Gosling whispered excitedly.

The faun Matriarch nodded, eyeing up a man she suspected might be a prince in disguise. "Exactly."

[Skie and Avery]

Music and magic had a way of going hand in hand, she knew. Skie had entered the hall, stalked down the marble halls and stood for a moment in awkwardness. She didn’t know anyone here. She didn’t really belong here. Earlier that morning she’d stumbled on a slip of paper pushed under the door of the bedroom she rented. Party tonight, details downstairs. She sailed for Alerar in the morning, and her brother stalked Concordia, a beast that wouldn’t dare come into the light just yet. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to go looking for something. What was it that she sought? Even Skie couldn’t answer that question.

She made her way past tables piled high with food and libation, and managed to snag a glass of champagne somewhere. The soft ivory of the bubbling drink was the same color as the dress she’d worn, a draped piece of silk that was reminiscent of Raiaeran goddesses. Her throat was swathed in pearls, fake but realistic enough to fool. Her dark hair and been braided and pinned back from her face, the scent of bergamot and deep spices dabbed behind her ears. She felt pretty, and it had come at no easy price. Tonight she would enjoy herself in frivolity.

Suddenly she knew what she wanted. Lifting the glass to her lips she took a deep drought. She wanted to get wrecked.

[Dissinger]

Boots tread across the streets of Radasanth. People were letting out a cacophony of joy and debauchery. It of course was these sorts of events that led the guard to be on guard against the occasional riot of drunken tomfoolery, but the guard had been paid to stay a respectful distance away from such affairs. In the end, the result was the same, an open party was like a fortress with its gates unbarred and doors wide open. Ripe for intrusion.

Those same boots were soon met by a pair, then a second, and a third. A smal group moving through the streets in unison. The leader tilted his head back and nodded to the compatriots before their heavily accented tradespeak marked them all from the same region;

“Preparations made?”

“Raven is in position, he'll have the vault open in no time.”

“Temptress?”

“As much as Succubus hates it, she succeeded. She's out for the night though, has expectations to maintain.”

The leader paused only a second, wheels turning and realigning before he nodded, “Unfortunate, expected, but unfortunate all the same.”

“Succubus says she can't make it,” The man responded.

“Also unfortunate.”

“But expected?”

“She has no reason to help me without direction from the Father. I was lucky to even get Temptress on board for this.”

They stopped a few streets away, the leader bringing in the rest of them with a hearty laugh and a clap on the shoulders. They all joined in the raucous laughter fitting in as people who had already partook of the party to the passerby. Finally he spoke his voice heavily laden, “We had a month's preparation, shorter than our usual fair but no less on point. The guard for the vault is out for the evening, and Raven is in position to exploit it. We don't hold our heist until Raven is in the vault and has the target, plus any targets of opportunity he has appraised. Are we clear?”

The three with him each nodded in turn before the leader broke the huddle and smiled, “Its so few an occasion we get to enjoy the hospitality of the elite. By all means take part, but remain ready for the exit strategy. As loud a distraction as possible gentlemen. Bait and switch and they'll never know the two were related at all.”

Seth Dahlios, the Lavinian Demon, turned away from his thief friends as they walked into the Rosanque estate. The dagger belt of the Demon was quickly confiscated as was the ones for the other compatriots. That was fine, Raven had already infiltrated and hid their real dagger belts elsewhere. These were mere duplicates that would make someone believe they had the Demon's weapons. Jackets and hats disposed of the thieves spread throughout the party, getting to know the events and distractions with clinical detachment, even as they sampled the wine, and the occasional offering of food.

[BlackAndBlueEyes]

As I opened the foreboding doors to the mansion, I felt a pang of regret.

There were... people here. Dozens of them. Possibly over one hundred. All decked out in their most lavish, colorful, elaborate finery. Gold and silver jewelry sparkled in the blazing light of the chandeliers that hung from the ceiling. They were all conversing with one another, discussing family and business ventures and Corone's upcoming political elections. Off in the distance, I could hear the telltale rumblings of a band.

Several of these figures had the audacity to look towards the doorway and see me and my companion standing there. They looked--no, stared at us for several seconds before returning to their conversations.

My right hand, wrapped in silk in order to hide the crooked vines that were my fingers, began to shake involuntarily. "Hype," I said after several seconds, "I don't want to be here."

Hyperion, my ever-present companion, looked over. From behind a beautiful mask forged of mythril, two glowing eyes looked at me quizzically. "If I'm not mistaken, you agreed to this as a meeting place with that archivist."

"Yeah, well, I'm having second thoughts."

The feminine horror turned her gaze back towards the people who loitered in the foyer, wine glasses in hand. Her attention flickered between each individual, quickly analyzing them with her enhanced senses. "Perhaps you should've thought harder before agreeing to this particular deal, yes?"

"I didn't think that there was going to be this many people attending the party of a bunch of stuck-up old codgers," I glowered.

A stranger came up from behind and startled me with a soft hand on my shoulder. I jumped several inches in the air and let out an embarrassing squeak. Hype tensed up, ready to spring into action and flay the offending person's flesh from their bones at my command. "Oh, sorry," a woman with red hair pulled up into a bun said with a quiet smile as she walked by. "I didn't mean to startle you."

I straightened out the sleeves of my black dress jacket as I side-eyed her. "Don't worry about it," I muttered.

I could sense my companion relax as the woman continued her way towards the thick of the party. Hyperion eased her stance, and I could feel her protective urges dissipate into the cool air around us. After several long seconds, she broke the awkward silence. "Are you sure that I'm the one who needs to learn how to blend in while out in public?"

"Look, I just get nervous at parties like this, that's all. Too many people. Makes me feel uneasy."

Hype's tinny chuckle rattled from behind her mask. "This isn't funny," I snarled as I whipped around to face her. "Look... Let's just get this over with. We should be able to find this guy soon enough, grab the book, and be on our merry way."

A small draft of chilly nighttime air hit my face as I shut the reinforced wooden doors behind us. Hype and I walked side by side through the foyer and into the adjacent room. I was dressed in an all-black formal suit, the form-fitting jacket unbuttoned. Hype picked out her set of Fallieni robes that hugged her curves tightly and displayed brilliant shades of blue ranging from light to royal. The crowds were thicker in here, caged in by walls where stuffy tapestries and old paintings hung forgotten. A fireplace roared loudly with burning wood, casting off enough warmth to make the party comfortable. My eyes darted from person to person, silently praying for a familiar face--either friend or foe; at that particular moment I would not be picky.

[Skie and Avery]

It didn't take long before three empty glasses, their slender forms speckled with foam and droplets of champagne, were scattered before her on the table. Even more quickly, someone came around and picked them up, replacing them with clean glasses of full drink. Skie thought about grabbing another but thought better of it, instead picking through the cheese platter. Her head felt weightless, her body even more so. She couldn't see that well but that was fine. Her place before the band and their dazzling getup ensured that she knew exactly where she was.

It didn't take long for her to realize that she was actually enjoying herself. The drink had helped transport her directly into a place of the here and now and the music was good. The lights were playing along the chandeliers, the glass, and the silver. The fine hall was bathed in light and laughter. One hip twitched and then the other and before she knew it, she was dancing to the beat, swaying alone. A few eyes were on her, but she didn't quite mind it. One man began to approach her, but she twisted away and left the table behind, moving across the room. She wasn't quite ready to socialize yet, but maybe she was getting there.

As she got closer to the entrance into the party hall, where hallways snaked out from the floor into dim walkways and forever more rooms, she scanned faces. Her eyes passed over a grey gaze and she stopped, backtracking. He was older now, and a scar blessed his cheek where her lips once had. It had been so long since she'd seen Seth Dahlios, long enough that his face had almost been that of a strangers. Not so long, however, that she'd forgotten the taste of his soul.

The Starslayer's Curse had come to fruition twice in her life, and both times she'd left, cleaved herself from the men whose spirits she'd nearly eaten without much of a goodbye. She hadn't expected to ever see either one of them again. Here she was, tipsy as a barmaid and staring down one of them. Had he seen her? Before she knew it she'd quickly exited stage left, finding a dim hallway and hiding herself on the other side of a tall statuette of some Coronian noble.

She closed her eyes, and took a deep breath. She'd let him have time to move on through the room and then she'd rejoin the party and stick to the crowds, she decided. After all, there was no need for drama. The two demons, one in name and one in blood, had nothing to do with each other anymore.

[Resolve]

Muir’s tan, freckled nose wrinkled as he and his companion approached the entrance. Already, a motley stream of guests filtered inside, and the congestion would only grow worse over the next few hours. Someone bumped into him as a group brushed past, and Muir groaned.

“I thought you liked parties,” Resolve piped up beside him, knuckles propped impatiently on her hips.

The two matched in their Fallien-fresh ensembles, which Muir had brought with him from his recent travels. Their robes cut narrow silhouettes on their athletic frames in a divine, sunset-hued cloth that set flame to his auburn hair and stoked embers in her violet, kohl-lined eyes. But whereas his hung lazily open to expose the blue ink scrawled across his chest, Resolve wore a bandeau, out from which crept the white filigree of her Astakan markings. They made a striking pair.

“You like parties,” the young man sighed. “I like intimate soirees, familiar fucking faces. This… this is just work.”

Resolve imitated his sigh in response, drawing it out into something melodramatic and mocking as she laced her arm through his. “You’re just saying that because you’re sober. But I’m here, and I’m going to introduce you to some of the loveliest people, and you’re going to enjoy yourself. Capisce?”

The way she yanked him in through the wide doorway didn’t allow him much space to respond, so he didn’t. Instead, as she dragged him into the main hallway, he reached into his breast pocket to extract a small, sterling canister. Out he shook one tiny, white pill, then thought twice and doubled up. Before his friend turned back to him, both had disappeared into his mouth and the tin was nowhere in sight.

“They’ve started already! Can you hear them?” Resolve grinned over her shoulder. “Come on!”

Indeed, the sweet sounds of the Moody Bastards had drifted in over their heads and settled around them, luring the crowd into the ballroom. They shuffled in, Muir at the mercy of Resolve’s enthusiasm, and their eyes finally fell upon the musicians.

Muir winced at the brilliant rainbow on stage and, for the first time since they’d arrived, he expressed something other than begrudged acceptance. “You’ve got to be shitting me,” he laughed.

“Otto’s in green,” Resolve smiled obliviously.

Her friend squinted through the glare of sequins to analyze the group. “Well. He’s an orc, all right.”

“Yeah.” Resolve smiled some more, positively delighted at the prospect of introducing two of her favorite people, and Muir stared back, bewildered. Finally, she relented. “How about we get us some drinks,” she proposed.

His eyes sparkled. It was the first good idea she’d had all day.




Note: I can't promise I'll be good at keeping up with everyone's posts, so please just let me know if you want to interact with Resolve or Muir so I don't miss it!

[Otto]

The ballroom had filled up quick. An entire fountain had been brought in, filled first with champagne, and then with a growing number of inebriated socialites. They were splashing and shrieking away, showering any who strayed close with a costly pale spray. A lion roared nearby, but was quickly drowned out by the excited titterings of the crowd. There were all manner of nobs and toffs here, plus associated hangers-on, toadies, footmen, and... yes, no few women who undoubtedly rented out their affection on a 'per-night' basis.

Carrin leaned over and whispered into Otto's ear. "How much are we getting paid for this?"

The orc frowned. "Not as much as we could be, I suspect."

"Hey," Aaron suddenly said. "Isn't that Resolve? Who's that with her?"

Otto squinted through the crowd. There was no mistaking that mop of auburn hair, or the smattering of freckles. "Looks like Muir. Luned's brother."

They finished the song while Rez and Muir started their inspection of the buffet. He saw the man grab two flutes of champagne off a passing waiter's tray, empty one into his gullet in one gulp, replace the empty glass with a fresh one, and sidle back to where Rez was carefully constructing a buttress of assorted titbits on a plate. The waiter hadn't even moved three steps by this time, and was looking at his silver tray with the gaze of one unsure of what his eyes had just reported.

"Change of plans," Otto said. "We're not doing Minaret to Paradise next."

"Thank the Thaynes," Aaron growled. "If I never hear that requested again, it'll be too soon. What're we playing instead?"

Otto told them. The band nodded their approval.

While everyone retuned, the orc turned back to the ballroom, cupped his hands around his mouth, and bellowed out a roar that overwhelmed the composite hubbub for a good way through the room.

"Hello, Rosanque-On-Sea! We're the Moody Bastards! This next one goes out to the gorgeous lady helping herself to the pate foie gras!"

He turned to the band.

"Hit it! (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=03hC_Ml8aAM)"

[Lightfoot]

Jasker glanced over his ivory pieces, across the board to his opponent. The old noble - taking his time, as all old men did – ritualistically scratched the scruffy gray hair on his chin. He was planning his next move, trying to find gaps in the halfling's strategy and revising a strategy of his own. A small wry grin cracked at the edges of the thief's lips, which were firmly holding his palewood pipe in place. He loved to smoke his pipe for such an occasion. Not only did it help liven up the smell of the stuffy, aristocratic air, but it seemed to be troubling his opponent’s delicate sensibilities.

The old man wasn't a smoker, Jasker could see that much, but the fact that the elderly chap didn't ask the halfling to put out his pipe meant that Jasker had him right where he wanted him. The thief exhaled a cloud of smoke.

"Are you going to make your move or would you rather we die of old age?" The man eyed the thief for a quick second, a thin veil of frustration on his face, before getting back to his thoughts. "I can guarantee you that you'll lose out on that race quicker than I." The old man snickered in response and cracked a small smile, no doubt amused by the halfling’s disregard for propriety.

"Patience, young man," the old noble replied. "Wait long enough and you might just learn a thing or two." Jasker smiled in return and gave the old geezer all the time he needed. Time passed, and the thief looked out into the ballroom, watching all of the guests arrive and mingle to the sounds of rather peculiar music. It wasn’t normally his style, but it fit the mood, which made it even better. Jasker had been one of the first to arrive, his entrance barely being noticed before he planted himself in his seat, nestled away in the corner by the door.

It wasn’t every day the halfling came across an extremely open invitation for a party in a Lord’s extravagant manor. Staying close to the nearest exit seemed like the wisest course of action.

He scanned the crowd, eyes lingering for just a moment before passing onto the next. The guests were rather varied, to Jasker’s surprise. He saw elves, half-elves, a strange lizard race he had never encountered, and a faun… A faun which the thief had immediately determined was the most beautiful creature in the room. He would have to introduce himself later.

He looked to the band, who so far had been performing admirably, and nearly fell over with laughter. Each wore unnecessarily exuberant clothes, with wild colors and intricate decorations. He especially loved the pink hat. It was as if someone had puked a rainbow over the group, another thought that brought a grin to Jasker’s lips. The orc of the group, large with an equally large beard, cut a dashing figure on the stage. Although, the halfling had to admit... if his suit had become any tighter, Jasker would have had a hard time telling him apart from a bundle of sausage links.

The thief now knew this was starting to turn into his kind of party. With a quick flick of his hand, he caught the attention of the nearby lizard woman – who was rather beautiful on closer inspection – and requested a stout ale. The woman was gone and back before he could realize. He reached for the ale.

"Check," said the old man with a wide grin on his face, satisfaction and noble pride in equal measures. Jasker looked back to the board and tracked the movement of the old man's piece. The halfling hid his grin at first, feigning displeasure, but once he moved his piece diagonally into position, he let it grow from ear-to-ear.

"Checkmate," the halfling replied triumphantly. He watched as the man's grin melted away and his eyes darted across the board. Jasker blew out a thick smoke ring. The old man sat back, one hand on his knee, the other on the back of his head, and began to laugh.

"Well, I say," he muttered. "You're quite the player. I didn't even see that coming!"

"Good competition always brings out the best in me," Jasker said. The old man took the compliment with a nod. Slowly, he stood up from his chair, bones popping and cracking as he did. He just let out another laugh.

"I'm not as young as I used to be!" He reached out his hand to shake Jasker's and the thief gladly obliged. "I'd love to stay and play some more, but there is much yet to do, and this night has yet to see the end of me!" The man collected his cane and his hat and seemed to notice the beautiful lizard girl standing next to him for the first time. Lecherous eyes tracked her form and the old noble licked his lips. He leaned in close to the girl, whispering in her ear and sliding his hand along her side.

She giggled, as all trained women do, and played herself coy. The old man smiled, wrapped his arm around her and began to walk towards the other side of the room. With a deft turn, the woman left the ale in front of Jasker with a wink, and continued to trap her elderly prey. The halfling took an appreciative swig.

"Best of luck to you, goodsir!" The old noble called over his shoulder.

"And to you!" Jasker replied, raising his mug. "You'll need it." He watched the old man wobble off with a grin on his face, beautiful woman on his arm. The halfling chuckled to himself, ”This chess set is rather useless now.” The thief took another long draw of ale. ”I suppose I have no choice but to find more prospective marks to charm.”

The thief rose out of his chair with a grin of his own, and became lost in the crowd.

[redrout]

A gruff voice called to Joseph as he was about to walk through the door. The party beyond would have to wait, though if the flyer he’d gotten was any evidence, this would be the party of the decade. He turned to address the voice.

“Check your weapons,” it said, coming from a man’s chest. Joseph angled his head upward, eventually catching sight of the underside of a man’s jaw. In a word, the man was massive, easily over seven feet and with a thick build on top of that. his jacket marked him as one of the many people hired to police the event, though he seemed to bear no weapons, only a pair of silver-colored gauntlets on his massive hands.

“surely with such fine security there is no need for a weapons check, especially not one as harmless as this little knife?” Joseph said easily, unbuckling the hilted dagger from his waist anyways, as it seemed that the behemoth before him would be hard to persuade to not check his weapons. The giant took his dagger, exchanging it for a piece of paper with a number on it.

“Bring that back here and I’ll give them back to you,” he said, already looking to the next set of patrons due to enter. Joseph walked through the open door, hearing the music grow louder. he liked it, feeling himself subconsciously bob his head to the thrum as he began to skirt the room, shooting sideways glances at the throng beginning to mingle, some dancing together. Joseph stopped at the far side of the room, turning to view the crowd, sighing a bit. he had, of course, come on business, and while he could always mix a little pleasure here and there, he seldom had time to himself these days. He was ejected from his thoughts as a voice addressed him.

“Anything you need, sir?” a lithe woman in a long green dress asked, sidling up to him with ease. She was shorter than Joseph by a few inches, and almost strikingly beautiful. Joseph wondered what her angle was. He wasn’t bad-looking, that’s for sure, but he wasn’t anywhere close to handsome either. He smiled broadly.

“Well, I’ve got your company, what else could I need?” he said. Her tawny skin hid any blush, but she smiled coyly and looked down for a moment before looking back up to him, her angular features softened by the smile.

“I suppose I could be persuaded to accompany you for a while,’ she responded, pressing a bit closer to him.

“Then all’s well,” Joseph said with a chuckle, wrapping his hand around her slim waist, turning back out of the room, deftly lifting two small glasses of wine from a passing tray in the crowded room, handing one to her. Now, to find his mark.

[Artifex Felicis]

It is a truth universally acknowledged that a man with the time to be put into a well tailored suit looks far better than he ever would dressing himself.

It was doubly true when someone like Leon Timyon needed nearly the entire month before the event of the season. Even while younger, Leon was not one to let himself go with more than a select few people. Even then, seemingly on the whims of a mischievous deity, something always went wrong.

It wasn’t never a question of if, but a guarantee. While drinking outside in Underwood, a woman nearly replaces his lungs with steel daggers. While having a celebratory drink after a long week with friends, a chair is broken over his back and his tail smashed by heavy delyn hammer. In one particularly memorable sequence, a single beer ended with the cat boy driving a spear into the heart of a dragon, his leg nearly shorn off from its powerful earth magic.

There was only a single course of action; find someone else’s party and simply embrace it.

“Sir, we need to confiscate all weaponry and illicit objects on your person,” The doorman was large, the sort of man who had more in common with mountains then his coworkers. His, surprisingly eloquent, voice was pieces of gravel rubbing against one another. Leon shook his head out of his little daze, flashing a brilliant smile filled with teeth at him.

“By all means.” His arms spread, the mountain’s hand patting him down carefully. Leon was completely and totally unarmed for once. His suit was immaculate, the expensive black fabric providing a stark contrast to his pale hair and face. Leon wasn’t entirely sure if “I do how this inconvenience won’t spoil the occasion."

“It will not sir. I have been asked by the master that all magical ability be kept to a minimum within the house,” the gravel continued, stepping back from the smiling Leon. “Please enjoy your time within, and refrain from any violence within. The master has set aside one of the site courtyards for a scheduled dual later this evening if that particular thirst needs to be satisfied.”

Leon gave a small nod, dropping several gold pieces into the man’s hands as he passed by. Flowing gold always helped make friends, or at least people who would be less likely to throw you out. The debauchery started almost immediately as he walked in, jewelry and clothes and booze and music everywhere. The cat breathed in, his wide grin splitting his face. He barely had to reach before a a pretty waitress handed him a drink. He took his third before strolling into the party, tail swishing as the alcohol flowed.

[redford]

John often took odd jobs on the side, mostly pertaining to security due to his size and abilities. Though he had not expected to be offered one today. He had undoubtedly seen the flyer, it had been all over town, all over Corone, even, if travelers were to be believed.

A stuffy Lord looked over to John with a scrutinizing eye, then turned his attention back to the sword that John had forged for him. It was of exceptional quality, and the Lord had promised good coin for the finest materials. The hilt was of ebony wood, stained and polished to a shine, with a pommel that shone almost as brightly as the gauntlets John wore. It was a hand-and-a-half sword, made with as fine a steel as John had ever worked with. The lord, whose name John had already forgotten, seemed to be looking for a flaw in the blade, in that sort of lordly manner which seems to look for flaws to give reason to some already-present malcontentedness. There would be no flaws in his blade though, nor in any that John produced. He looked over to John again, the permanent sneer on his face curling into what looked like it might have been a smile. He spoke, sheathing the sword and setting it on a large oaken desk in his dimly lit room. He opened a drawer and retrieved a bag, which he handed to him after the lord had walked back to him.

“Well done, smith, here is your full payment,” He looked up at him and tapped a nubby forefinger on John’s chest. “That is, unless you want to earn a little more coin before tomorrow.”

John looked down at the lord skeptically. “Depends, what manner of work is it?”

“Security my good man, an individual of your size and demeanor would make for a perfect doorman to my eldest brother’s party this evening,” he said. “It pays well, and all you need to do is look intimidating. My brother can give you all the details.”

John thought for a moment. He had no pressing jobs aside from the one he had just completed, so the late night wouldn’t result in much lost work anyway. He turned to leave.

“Tell your brother I will come by to see about this job,” he said. Hopefully the brother of the lord he’d just been with was a little less stuck up his own ass.

___________________________________________

more than a few coins had found their way into John’s pockets early into the evening, which was good, and he’d had little trouble with the attendees. The party seemed exceptionally lively inside, though John had little interest in such things. Personally he would have rather smoked a cigar with a couple close friends than anything like what was going on indoors. A rather unassuming man checked his weapon to John, and received a piece of paper in return, which had his designated number and a name, as well as a room and time. John didn’t know what the piece of paper meant, but the money was good enough to turn his curiosity. Hopefully he’d make a little more before the night was over.

[BlackAndBlueEyes]

A skinny woman wearing a very basic black dress approached me, a smile on her face. She held up a tray lined with drinks. "Care for some refreshment," she asked me.

"Thank you," I said as I took one of the flutes.

She turned towards Hype, opened her mouth to offer her one too, saw that her mask did not give the horror a place to consume liquid of any sort, closed her mouth, smiled awkwardly, and walked away.

Hyperion cocked her head to the side, the hood of her robe hanging awkwardly off her head. "I wonder if this is going to be a running theme tonight," she said, more than slightly confused by the waitress's reaction to her.

As I downed my liquid courage, I told her that I would be cutting a mouth hole into her mask once we got back to the Seventh Sanctum.

"Do you think I would enjoy this... drinking thing you talk about?"

I considered what more than a few nights out at taverns devolved into--nothing more than violent maelstroms of fists and furniture. I remembered how fierce and eager of a fighter Hyperion was: All those piercing thorns on her vines, sharp pieces of bone, her speed and strength... And those teeth of hers...

"Nah, probably not," I said.

The two of us wove through the crowds of prim and proper socialites, continuing the search for a familiar face. There had to have been someone here that I at least recognized; the fliers for the party had been dumped around several of my old haunts. They advertised free drinks and wonderful women. I could think of several prolific figures that both of those would appeal to.

We made our way through several packed rooms and narrow hallways. Hyperion's interest was piqued by the music, so we followed its echoes through the manor until we came upon the grand ballroom. The doors opened up to a massive area, not quite as packed as the foyer had been when I first entered the place. In the middle under a massive chandelier, there were quite a few people dancing--by themselves, with loved ones, or with a group of friends.

I immediately gravitated towards the far wall. Pushing my way through the throngs, I made it to the guaranteed safest place at any party. I gripped my glass tightly in my gloved hand and pressed my back against the cool wood of the wall. The loud tones of the band pumped through the room as I scanned it for anyone I might know. I was desperate to spot the scholar in particular who was holding onto a very special tome for me to pick up here.

My eyes fell on the band for only the briefest of moments. Their garish neon-colored costumes hurt to look at for more than several seconds, but I could not help myself when I spotted the one in green.

"Oh, for fuck's sake," I muttered.

My companion's robes rustled softly as she turned to look at me. "What's the matter," she asked.

I nodded towards the stage. "I know that guy."

Hyperion followed my gaze. "Which one?"

"The orc. Gray skin, horrible bright green outfit."

"Is he a friend of yours?"

"Hardly," I replied. "I smashed his teeth in with a rock and infected him with cordyceps once. He's probably still a little upset about that."

[Otto]

Otto sidled over to Orlannes. "See that woman over there? Next to the other one in that mask?" he muttered. The half-elf kept plucking and twanging away, but squinted through the throng. Eventually, he nodded, and Otto continued: "She once bashed my teeth in with a rock."

Orlannes raised an eyebrow at his colleague. "You wouldn't know it. Found some good dentures, did you?"

"Hah! No. Citadel. Just as well, because that wasn't the worst of it."

They broke for a moment to bash out the final few notes of their current number, then regrouped. The rest of the band saw something was going on, and joined in the huddle. They muttered amongst each other for a few moments, then broke apart, with each man wearing an evil little smile. Otto stepped to the front and got the crowd's focus with his clarion voice. It wasn't hard. A singing orc dressed up like an overly-tacky holiday decoration usually found it easy to draw attention.

"Thank you! You're a wonderful crowd! Now, this one is dedicated to my friend over there! No, there!" He pointed over to a glowering Maddy, and was pleased to see an expanding space around her ringed with curious onlookers. "That's her! This song's about a close shave I had with her one time. A-one, a-two, a-one two three four- (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KET11SOC5YA)"

[Philomel]

As the young-looking halfling stepped through the narrow archways that separated their room from the rest of the party, Philomel raised an eyebrow. He had been seated with a noble somewhere near the pillars that held the arches. There were many places to sit and rest here, many places to find your personal source of entertainment, and many places to drag many gold out of drunk men. Fears did somewhat resound in the hearts of the prostitutes, that they would be subject to ruffians rather than the high-society lords that they were used to - but as Philomel pointed out, if they could not afford, then they would not get.

The noble that the halfling had been socialising with was escorted away beyond the velvet curtain by the drak'ra. Her name was Visenyi, and she was one of the most interesting girls Philomel had ever had the chance to work with. Her scaled skin and serpentine eyes were really only for the brave of heart, and thus it was often she got the most active and hardy of warriors for the night.

The halfling, however, seemed to be on the verge of exploration. His eyes contacted with Philomel's just for a moment, before he faded away into the dark. The faun paused, and then shrugged, turning back to where her previous patron had been trying to seduce her. As if she was a commen wench, lying in wait at a bar, eager for any man to pick her up. As dull to her as a life half lived, the Matriarch smiled fondly at his efforts, patted him condescendingly on the head, and moved on.

It was her duty, or so she was determined, to keep a watchful eye on these girls tonight. With neither Maverik, the bold heavily-armoured elf, nor any of her other warriors here, Philomel had only herself to control the clients if they got too violent. Yes, she was teaching Gosling the more subtle ways of throat-slicing, but the girl was still half-frightened at the sight of blood. So it was up to Philomel tonight, the Matriarch herself, to be on guard, and thus she was determined not to find a favourable lover tonight.

Being bored, she paused, then decided to go for a walk. With a quiet nod to Gosling to be in charge (the girl was her apprentice after all) the faun-whore left, heading through the arches and into the central hall. When there the music filled her, the sound of the lyre, the drum and the flute. Subtle voices mixed with harmonies into a melody - not something one heard on a ship or in a brothel very often.

Therefore Philomel strode forth, dressed in her unsubtle outfit of tight-fitting corset and golden sparkling jewellry, right into the heart of the crowd. Her sword was not with her, but else, she had her keris dagger and throwing knives. Her eyes scanned the people, pausing for a moment on the richest faces, marking them out as possible gifters of gold for the evening.

It was then she suddenly noticed someone she knew very well, and thus with a great grin on her face, she skipped.

And nudged her side rather rudely. The girl was glowering after all as the main orc had said something and thus Philomel decided it would be amusing to annoy her further. (He was familiar also, but his name ... Philomel could not certainly place one on it.)

"Madison Freebird," she chortled. "In the middle of a party. How about that?"

[Red Ruby]

Ruby Wessen fancied the large gatherings of the rich and careless. While they paraded about in their elegant attire, fine jewelry, and false personalities, Ruby couldn't help but snatch up the little trinkets neglected by their social attentions. A watch here, a misplaced ear ring there and the coat closet... Oh, if only she could...

"Why hello, miss! Would you like a drink?" offered the neatly dressed waiter carrying a sterling tray.

Ruby's spine prickled with goose bumps as she inconspicuously laid the sterling silverware back on buffet table. Then with a hop, skip, and a twist, she spun around in her shoplifted, red rhinestone dress to face the gentleman.

"Why thank you! You are just a treat!" she sang back to him in her best impersonation of wealth and class.

The waiter curled a thick brow at her unusually enthusiasm, then offered her a stemmed glass of Raiaeran champagne. The brunette fumbled with what the customary way to accept the drink before settling on a five fingered grip around the stem. The waiter's apprehensive look intensified.

"Enjoy the party," he managed with a graceful half bow. Then, with quirked brow still at large, he turned into the sea of color and vanished.

Ruby let a deep sigh escape the confines of her corset constricted lungs - another expert rouse successfully completed. For a moment, she struggled to catch her breathing in the unfamiliar contraption before wrapping her scarlet stained lips around the rim of the glass and draining it dry. What was that, twenty gold a gulp? Oh well, she was taking that with her too.

[Lightfoot]

“No,” she exclaimed with an excited grin. “Truly?” The pair were together at the edge of the crowd, very much involved. Jasker had found her a simple wooden chair to sit on, as all gentlemen thieves should, as he simply stood, putting himself face-to-face with the bare of her neck. A view he greatly enjoyed.

“Truly,” he replied with a nod. The noblewoman giggled behind her lace-gloved hand. She was young, perhaps early twenties, and as such, easily pliable. Her strawberry blonde hair looped around the side of her neck in a beautiful half-braid that caressed her skin. Her dress, a simple dark blue and corset, helped trace the curves of her petite body. The halfling normally preferred his women with a bit more meat on their bones, but there was always an exception to the rule.

“Are you not afraid I will turn you over to the authorities?” she asked slyly, ocean blue eyes beaming.

“That is a distinct possibility,” he admitted. “A rogue of my fame would fetch a pretty purse.” Jasker raised a finger to his lips, as if in thought. “But, if my lady were to show grace in foregoing this duty, I would be eternally in your debt,” the halfling gave a small bow, hanging his head as courtesy dictated, “and would do anything to repay you.”

“Hmm…” she purred. “Anything?” Her tone had changed, a change Jasker knew. He looked up into her eyes, now full of passion and desire.

His lips bore a mischievous smirk.

[redrout]

The girl on Joseph’s arm was good company. She was intelligent and witty, and as the two of them navigated the crowded rooms of the sprawling manor, spying all sorts of diversions; Joseph wondered where Lord Borst would be. After all, he had intended to take the man for all he was worth; that is, if he could find the Lord at all. Their idle chat (which was pleasant) halted as they walked into a small anteroom to the grand ballroom, but removed enough to be quiet enough to think. There were bookshelves standing on the far wall, and two plush chairs sitting at opposite ends of a chess set which sat on a darkly stained table. One of the chairs held Joseph’s mark for the evening, the shrewd but pleasant Lord Borst. The older gentleman looked up to Joseph, smiling. Joseph smiled back, gesturing to the set. It was of carved marble, intricately crafted in likenesses of old kings and queens of Althanas.

“Do you play?” The old man asked, gesturing to the completed game before beginning to reset the pieces. “The only real player I’ve met tonight was that halfling who just walked out.”

Joseph turned to the girl he had in tow. “Well, that’s practically a challenge, isn’t it?”

“Sounds like you better answer, or I might lose interest,” She said quickly, drawing a chuckle from Joseph. He disengaged from her.

“Tell you what. When we’re done here, if some other man hasn’t set his eyes on you, I’ll come find you, okay?” She nodded and turned away, leaving Joseph with the old man.

“She seems pleasant,” The old lord said, just finishing the setup of the board as Joseph sat comfortably.

“That depends on how much you pay her,” Joseph said, awaiting the first move from his opponent. “Lord Borst, if I am not mistaken? Owner of nearly all the cotton plantations in Corone?”

The old man made his move, it was a standard opening. “That I am, young man,” They made several moves and traded a few pieces back and forth in silence. Eventually the man spoke again. “I doubt you came to this party and sought me out to just play chess. Check.”

Joseph captured the attacking piece, which cost him a pawn. “How is your harvest going, Lord Borst? Because I’ve heard that Corone is being less fruitful this year,”

The lord’s eyes narrowed a little. “How do you know this? Are you the one who bought up all the cotton in Raieria?”

Joseph nodded. “Check. And yes I am. As I see it, Corone needs a lot of cotton this year, and with your crops not producing as they should, the people might look to outside sources like, say, Raieria.” He made another move. “Unless, of course, I could be convinced to sell you the cotton I’ve acquired instead,” Joseph finished, smirking.

The lord sighed heavily and moved his piece out of the way. It was coming down to the wire, with no more than six pieces on the board altogether. “It depends, what is it going to cost me?”

Joseph took another piece, and the lord returned the favor. Four pieces, two kings and two bishops. “The way I see it, Lord Borst, you don’t really have a choice,” he said, taking the bishop, which was right next to his king. Borst’s king took Joseph’s bishop, leaving only the two kings on the board. A stalemate. “You can’t afford to have less than a good harvest this year, and I have all the cotton.”

Borst smiled a little. “I suppose I’ve been had, my friend. Well played.” He took both kings from the board and boxed the set up. “Have a letter sent to my manor in Scara Brae, and we can work out the details. He pushed the set across the small table to Joseph as he stood. “Keep it, consider it a gift for a fine player.”

Joseph stood, taking the marbled chess set by it’s handle. It had the pleasant heaviness of fine quality. “Very well, Lord Borst.” He half bowed and turned to leave the room, trying to catch a glimpse of an emerald dress in the throng of people.

[Andy Rorton]

"Well, that is certainly rude," Andy Rorton held the parchment with the invitation in his hand. The paper was crumpled as though it were balled, unfurled, balled, unfurled again, and then balled up and partially lit aflame. He flicked some soot from the bottom of the paper as he kept looking at the one small line of fine print at the bottom of the paper. "At least my name is getting around."

No Andy Rortons.

The fine print was the cause of the gunslinger's aggression towards the paper. Just staring at the writing made him want to shove the thing down the throat of whoever decided to make his name synonymous with 'bad party guest'. It was not his fault a centaur made him an embarrassment in front of his lady friend at that bar. Why was it that he seemed to be the black sheep of get-togethers such as this? He grumbled as he took another step in the line to the mansion. Lined all towards the door were small signs that resonated the sentiment that the Legend Killed was unwanted and unwelcome at this particular soiree.

"Bah Gawd Rorton," the gunslinger's partner and announcer, RJ spoke in whispers as he viewed the same signs as the whip wielding warrior. "They even have a hand drawn picture of you here. I'll be a rabbits fire breathing jackass if they didn't pull out all the stops to make it known that you're an uninvited guest to the invite everyone party."

RJ was quickly silenced when Rorton's hand met with the back of the southern accent commentators head and nearly knocked off his cowboy hat. "Quiet RJ, we're next."

"Name please," the guard at the door looked over the list, though with a party where everyone was invite, the legend killed deduced that the bouncer was looking at the one note that had to be on his piece of paper."

"Ron Joss and Andy Rorton," RJ spoke without even thinking, causing the warror's eyes to widened and his head to crane directly to his side.

"Rorton?" the burly bouncer asked, "I'm sorry but my notes clearly say 'No Andy Rortons'. I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask your friend to leav--"

"Let me ask you something," Rorton interrupted his presumed dismissal, "How many Andy Rortons are in that building right now?"

The question caught the guard off guard, and he tilted his head for a moment in thought. "Zero. I -just- clearly said that my notes say 'No Andy Rortons.'" To punctuate his point, the guardian of the door turned his list around, where indeed those three letters were all written in as much capitalization as one could fit onto the page. Somebody did not want Rorton here and the gunslinger was determined to find out who.

"Exactly. It says 'No Andy Rortons, there is clearly a 's' at the end of that statement. That means it's plural. You have zero Andy Rorton's in there when you can clearly have one. Now if you will excuse me..." The legend killer tried to take a step forward only to run into the palm of the gatekeeper for the party. He pondered this for a moment before he lifted a solitary finger towards the perfecter of the ARO.

"I'm gonna let you in, considering that you have a point there, but I swear to god Rorton, if you cause this to be one of your insane melees, I won't be the only thing fired, or even on fire." He waved the couple through, "I do find it great that you two are so progressive in this day and age."

"What in the blue ball blazes are you talking about?" RJ questoned, which was enough of a distraction for Rorton to slip through without his weapons being checked. The warrior burst through the door and lifted both of his arms as though he had just conquered the entire party with his presence."

"VOICES ARE CALLING, BITCHES! (https://youtu.be/0JkEP1gHpyI)" Rorton shouted and turned every head in the room towards him.

[Dissinger]

“Someone recognized you.”

The words managed to break through Seth as he looked about the area. To the casual onlooker they would have seen someone searching for an old friend, for those who knew Seth, he was on the hunt. Brown hair covered storm clad eyes when he looked back to one of the thieves in his retinue; “That's bad.”

“On a scale of one to ten?”

“Eleven, anyone who recognizes me might mention it to the other guests. I can't let that happen, who was it?”

“Raven haired lass, golden dress, red in face. I'd be quick because she looked unable to hold her drink...”

Seth didn't know of any black haired women in his life currently which was bad. If he didn't remember them, then they probably had a grudge against him. Nodding he chuckled warmly and slapped his colleague on the shoulder before he picked up two flutes of champagne from a tray. A merry smile lit up his face as the waitress gave him a saucy wink. It was almost cute how she flirted with the man most likely twice her age. Moving through the guests he acted the part of a person overly concerned with not losing his drink.

Most ignored the display, and a few chuckled and cheered as he made his way around a few of the more assertive guests. A few jokes were cracked and made on the the part of the thief but he continued unabated on the hunt for the girl who had recognized him. His movements took him through another group of people before he spied her, and his jaw nearly dropped at the revelation.

Skie dan Sabriel, heir of the Starslayer legacy looked beautiful tonight. Rolling his tongue back into his mouth the thief moved swiftly, sneaking up behind her before he said rather loudly over the raucous music, “You're a hard girl to find, did you think ditching me for drink gathering duty would work so easily?”

The girl was startled by the sudden words, and the intimate closeness as she turned and faced her attacker. Her flushed face told more of a tale than he was necessarily ready for, until her eyes widened. A flute of champagne appeared in her hand and he spoke to cover up anything she might try to say, “A dance, why of course. It would be my pleasure milady!”

Grabbing her hand before she could refute he kissed the back of it gently, the briefest of brushes.

Whatever she was expecting that was not it, she of course stiffened only slightly at he caress of lips as the two of them moved towards the dance floor, joining in with the other dancers. Seth remained intimately close to the woman Before he began under the cover of the music, his voice soft and in her ears. A smile adorned his lips even as his words held a heavy weight, “You look good tonight, but unfortunately you knowing me puts me in a tough position.”

“Straight to business I see,” The words were slightly slurred but held a faint note of calm in them. Whatever she had expect was now happening, and she seemed prepared to talk about it, “What happened in the citadel-”

“Stays in the citadel for all I care,” Seth responded as he let out a soft laugh, “You honestly thought I was going to seek vengeance on you for that?”

She frowned at those words as they moved through their dance. Her eyes studying him before she spoke, “So then what are you here for?”

“If you must ask you don't know me as well as tasting my soul should have informed you,” Seth replied jovially. “Work related, you can understand men like me have a need to do my job now and again.”

An eyebrow rose at those words before she spoke, “You're afraid I'll out you before you begin.”

“Well too late on that count, but yes. You could certainly out me and put a major wrench in the works. Of course I can't just let you be if you know who I am, because you mention that and the wrong person hears it, well my reputation precedes me. I prefer to be the one wielding it, rather than you. Nothing personal, its just business at that point.”

“I like to think I handled you quite well.”

Seth almost dropped the dance at those words before the first genuine laugh of the night left his lips. They moved in a spiral about the people on the dance floor before he spoke, “Very well, if you think you're up to the task I'll give you a chance. Think long and hard about this.” A giggle left her lips at those words before he shook his head, “If you wish to join me, you may. You'll know when to join in. If you do not, I would suggest you leave the party after a drink or two more. Merely finish your drink when you are ready to tell me your answer. If you leave, there will be no hard feelings. If you stay and you aren't with me, I will not hold back. I have strengthened my resolve since the last time you dosed me with pheromones, don't think petty attempts into my pants will be a deterrent anymore.”

[Skie and Avery]

It was her turn for a real laugh. She leaned into him, letting the thief’s shoulder support her as her shoulders shook. A couple of people stared, but she didn’t mind. As she caught her breath and wiped a tear away from her eyes, her grin was mostly good humor with a touch of regret.

“Oh, you’re not going to have to worry about that. I couldn’t if I tried.” She chuckled again and took too big a drink of her champagne for it to be polite. “And maybe I knew you, or a piece of you, but times change. We’ve changed. I doubt either of us are the same person we were when we met. I like that (https://youtu.be/y9f5by8kE-g). It makes this a little simpler.”

Someone was yelling, and the band was playing songs for people they knew. Entire social worlds were blooming around them. Seth was different, but he was still a thief. She had a feeling that he was the weed come to choke out a patch of earth for himself, and weeds were never alone. His associates would have seen them together. Could she really walk away without consequence? Did she want to? She was too drunk for this shit. She drained the rest of the flute and left it at a table they passed.

“I was injured not long back,” she said, meeting his eyes but giving nothing more away about the trauma she’d been through. “My reflexes aren’t what they were, but if that doesn’t bother you much, I’m in.”

"I'd hate to infringe on your virtue," he chuckled, whispering in her ear while they moved among the crowd. More people were pouring in, the drink was flowing, the volume gathering like a snowball rolling downhill. She turned to watch him and met his gaze, storm and stars.

"Keep the drink flowing and maybe my virtue will hide her eyes for a night," Skie laughed. They whisked away to the party to meet the others, stealing away like teenagers snuck away after curfew.

[Rayleigh]

The brunette stood just inside the grand entrance. Her petite frame was draped in olive silks, a dress on loan from one Leona Stevvains. On her feet, she wore plain black flats. Perhaps it might have been a better idea for the mousy woman to wear heels, adding at least a few inches to her small stature. Maybe then, she might be able to hold someone's gaze without craning her neck, and avoid being lost in a crowd. More than that, the woman was growing tired of the small jokes. But in the end, it had been determined that heels were more of a danger than a benefit. She was far too clumsy to stay atop heels, and the risk of snapping an ankle had been enough to opt for flats. A thin line of pearls rest over her sharp collarbones, and a matching piece adorned each ear lobe. The set, though most likely fake, had belonged to her mother at one point in time. Her brown hair was brushed back, and there was not a hint of dirt beneath her fingernails. All in all, Rayleigh Aston had cleaned up well.

But the expression she wore lacked any sort of grace or beauty. Her eyes, only a shade darker than the dress she wore, were narrowed. Ugly scowl lines criss-crossed her brow, and her deep frown twisted her features into something border-line sinister.

Slowly, deliberately, the mechanic crumpled the invitation in her clenched fist. The paper had advertised a gathering of intellectuals, coming together to exchange information regarding the nations of Althanas. Rayleigh had made the journey in hopes of learning more about surroundings. Instead, she was met with bad music, shouting, and just about everyone she knew in one confined space.

"Gathering of intellectuals, my ass," she sneered, throwing what was left of the invitation to the well-polished floor. "I need a drink."

The swoosh of her skirts and the squeak of her shoes were lost to the din of the party. Her polite "excuse me's" were also drowned out, and by the time she reached the bar, the twenty two year-old had resorted to uttering "move your ass" under her breath while throwing elbows. When she finally clambered atop a stool, her updo was riddled with fly-aways, and her temples glistened with a fine layer of sweat.

"Champagne, madam?" a man on the other side of the bar asked her.

"Stronger?" came her response.

The man chuckled, failing to understand how serious the woman truly was. As he poured her a flute of champagne, he spoke again, nearly shouting over the sounds of the party. "I hope that you enjoy yourself."

The noise she made, a mix between a sarcastic laugh and a honking horn, was immediately cut short as she downed the drink placed before her.

[eXgTurbostar]

"Gimme that!!!"... those were the words that made a random waiter almost drop all of the drinks he had on his silver plate. He was making his rounds, walking randomly in the serving area designed for him, asking people if they wanted something to drink, a refill or if he could relieve them of their emptied glasses. All around him people, wearing fancy clothes and enough jewelry to buy a small country, did as they pleased shamelessly drinking themselves to the point of passing out or they were groping nearby courtesans as the girls passed by or joined them. Of course that the girls were trained/instructed to act as if nothing happened and next make themselves 'likeable' and 'desirable' to the people in discussion.

A pair of silver eyes scouted the area, noticing the debauchery all around. "This is what people with too much money do? I thought the high class was supposed to behave according to their ranks and titles. This is like a normal day at the tavern when somebody gets a check, all those things mother and father said about Noblesse oblige (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Noblesse_oblige) and this isn't even close to that, what exactly happened to the world during our exile?" she wondered, hiding her contempt towards the others as her role as 'entertainer' is starting to get a bit of tiresome. She felt that people were around them, most likely interested in her than Kimba who was putting on a very convincing show.

It seems that even if this was an open invitation party available for any drunkard/thief/whore/etc to come, people still wore formal attire and well, lets say that the blonde didn't put much thought in her attire, or was informed by a certain rude organiser about that matter. That is not entirely correct, she was "suggested" to wear the 'official' lion taming attire (http://images.halloweencostumes.com/products/23349/1-1/adult-lion-tamer-costume.jpg) but a she 'politely' refused him while acquainting the before mentioned party planner/organiser with the icy sensation of her blade when she hold it against his 'private parts', the second he showed her the intended outfit.

As a busy waiter made his way near the crowd that formed around her show, the blonde stopped mid-action and went directly at him, she was getting sick of all this and needed something to quench her thirst. Her eyes fixed on the drinks he had up his silver plate, she almost knocked him off while taking a glass of champagne from it. She went through the crowd like a plow, not taking notice of their responses and drank the flute's content in one gulp. "What is this? water???" she exclaimed with a frown before downing another one to make sure she wasn't mistaken.

With a displeased face, she watched the waiter walk away..almost running away from her. From the entrance some random guy made a flashy appearance but the blonde's attention went at the bar. She turned around addressing her familiar in old elvish "You can do as you please Kimba, take a break outside if you want, I for one am going to find me a true drink!" She didn't wasted a breath at the crowd's disapproval as she started heading towards the bar where a short brunette in a olive dress was already having a drink. She didn't appear to be very pleased with the current state of the party, as Ariel was..they already had a thing in common.

As the blonde went at the bar, she addressed the bartender with a smile. "I know this is a fancy gathering and all...but would you mind getting me a mug of ale darling? this champagne is a little too exquisite for my tastes." she tried to sound polite to him in an attempt to soften him. "We don't serve ale here miss, this isn't a tavern!" was the reply she got in a cold tone. "but..but..." she stuttered before being interrupted again by him, this time he had a grin "But I can give you what the lady over here is having, I can guarantee it will fit your 'particular' tastes." The blonde sighted and took the flute, she finished it like the one from before, in a gulp before heavily breathing out while her eyes getting watery. After the initial heat colled off, the blonde smiled and turned towards the bartender: "It seems you were right, can I have a refill?" she asked with a grin and got a prompt response "Right away miss!"

While waiting for her drink, the blonde took the opportunity to take a closer look at the brunette that was by her left, shouting something to nobody in particular. She let out a chuckle while looking at her appearance: formal dress, pearl necklace and earrings... she was definitely dressed for the occasion. With a sigh she looked at herself: short skirt and revealing top, both with a blue camouflage pattern, around her waist were 2 different colored bandanas with a black belt over them. luckily she left the vambraces and shoulder pads with Kimba. With a self pitying tone she muttered the next words, addressed to no one in particular but loud enough to be heard by the nearby people, like the bartender and the brunette: "I Should've put more thought in my 'dress' for tonight but I'll be damned if it isn't better than that 'official' taming outfit they wanted me to wear." She then took a small sip from the flute, not wanting to repeat the mistake she made earlier. She turn her head 90º to the left to address the brunette with a chuckle: "It seems you were wiser than me in that matter, miss." She then busrted in a light laugh as the effects of the thing she drank earlier were starting to show off.

[Tobias Stalt]

"No ale?"

The question loomed over the bar as his palms struck it thunderously. "Just what the hell kind of place are you running?" Tobias Stalt wore a mask of contempt fostered over several long days without nursing his need for the drink. The scowl quickly shifted into a grimace as he pulled back and clutched his head in one hand. "Argh..."

From Raiaera to Corone spelled a long journey, rife with idiots and novice sailors that would have drowned left to their own devices. Bags beneath his droopy eyes told the tale of a tired soldier. "I can offer you hard liquor, sir," the barkeep offered cautiously, unsettled by the obvious instability of his new patron. "But I've no piss on tap, I fear."

"No self-respecting establishment ever made it without good swill," the mercenary warned with a wagging finger, "but I'll make due on rum."

The barkeep made a face, but he remained silent. Tobias turned his gaze to the ever-growing crowd. "One spiced rum, straight." Without a glance backward, the vagabond accepted his drink and sipped at it leisurely. Extravagant maroon curtains sewn with gilded fringes peeled away to reveal a moonlight garden beyond, the perfect escape for would-be lovers playing at tryst. A gentle breeze swept through the open windows and caused a series of gasps from panicked women, who quickly held their dresses at bay.

"At least the scenery's good," he muttered. Grizzled and clad in blackest vlince, Tobias had left Blackheart near the entrance. A strict "no-weapons" policy had robbed him of his most obvious offender, but a good Witch Hunter always kept their best secrets in reserve. With a tight grip on his glass, the phlegmatic man took one more brief glance at his surroundings. "Low hanging chandeliers," he observed with a snort.

Cut crystal that reflected its inner firelight in prismatic rays across the room danced to the orchestral accompaniment. Unlike the masses collected around him, Tobias hardly looked the part of ball guest. Every so often, someone shot him a glare or a scowl, but the mercenary silenced them with an empty gaze.

No one felt easy under the All-Seeing Eye.

But, Tobias had not seen anything out of place. Yet. Nothing beyond the obvious doldrums, social climbers and fools looking to make themselves infamous. "Hardly anyone as needs killing," he brooded.

[Otto]

"Hey, are we taking requests?"

"'Fraid so."

"Oh, bugger. Have a look at this, then."

"If it's Minaret to Paradise, they can take that request and ram it up their-"

"No. Not Minaret. Worse... (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lcOxhH8N3Bo)"




Go get 'em, Rayleigh

[Hysteria]

Black hair; tied up and pushed back with an obsidian clip to hold it in place. Talen’s hair cascade down from the clip in a tangle that swayed with each step she took. The shadowy creature was normally in a far more child-like, and dare you say it, male form. Today it was different, and instead her long slim frame was wrapped in strapless dress that hung around her slightly square frame. Her skin was a fine ivory and was extenuated by the black silk of her attire. The dress added much needed shape to the woman’s frame as it fanned out under the large black belt around her waist and down her legs. Talen on occasions like this preferred to use a slightly shorter version of her name, or the first syllable to be precise. Tay clasp her hands in front of her gently as she walked up the steps towards the entrance of the hall. With each step her dress kicked forwards as its full length fell around the woman’s legs to the ground.

Behind Tay a demur woman followed dressed in serving attire. At odds to her master, Ana was wearing a white shirt with a grey vest with silk back and side. Her pants were matched with sensible leather shoes and her outfit was topped off by the small red tie tucked into the vest. Ana’s blond hair was pulled back in a ponytail, but opposed to Tay’s, hers was tied with a simple length of cloth. Neither woman wore any makeup or jewellery, although Tay’s ability to manipulate her form meant she had tinted a line across her cheeks and above her eyes slightly darker than the rest of her skin.

When Tay reached the top of the stairs an odd scratchy voiced singer started a long mournful song. The dark haired woman turned her sapphire eyes towards Ana and then back to the door in a very purposeful move to ignore the giant of a man checking guests. The look signalled Ana forwards, and she fumbled in her pocket to pull out on of the many invites that had been passed freely among anyone of interest for miles around.

The security gave Tay a once over, but she refused to move her eyes from the door to meet his. Even Tay, standing an impressive six feet tall, was overshadowed by the man. Her small build didn’t help much either.

“Alright, you’re both good to enter,” The guard pushed opened the door, “No trouble either.”

Tay didn’t respond as she walked forwards with Ana hurrying behind the taller woman’s long strides. A few steps in the door closed and the party had started.

“What fun would we have, if we couldn’t cause trouble?” Asked Tay to no one in particular.

The pair moved though the main hall and towards the music. Tay was taller than many of the women at the party, and even some of the men. Her face was passive as they reached the dancing area. She stopped and inclined her head slightly to the side to speak to Ana.

“Seems no matter where I go, no matter the form I take, I find the same people.” Tay turned her face forward, forcing Ana to step closer to hear. “Fate is a strange thing.”

[Hawl]

“Twelve orders of muscles!”

“Crack open the new wine barrel, they’re running dry!”

“Get that soup out there, the first course is done!”

Head Chef Ram, a thin man with arms painted in beautiful swirls of Aleraran tattoos, commanded his army with a booming voice. A cigarette was tucked safely behind a pointed ear, promising that the stress of the night would end one day even as the new kitchen staff. His own hands never stopped, preparing elegant sculptures of carrot and leaf and meat, knife flashing like precise lightning. His hands were immaculate and pristine, dancing the knife across the board like an old lover. Nothing escaped his careful eyes, not even the smaller girl who tentatively stood by him without a word.

“Sir?” Hawl could barely raise her voice in the kitchen. Shouted orders, the clang of knives and the constant roar of fire.

Workers bustled this way and that, threatening to topple the thin girl with the white hair. She was guarding a hand truck piled tall with oak boxes, tissue paper rustling and keeping their precious cargo safe. It was her sacred duty, handed down by her aunt to deliver this to the intimidating man before her. She cleared her throat raising a hand.

“Sir?” Ram ignored her once again, screaming as a waiter who dared to bring news that the third wine cask of the night was already emptied into the bottomless pit that was the world’s nobility.

“SIR!” The thin girl’s voice was as booming as she could manage, the head chef finishing his cutting before turning towards her. His hands never stopped, cleaning the sharp knife. Hawl recognized the bluish tint, the prevalida blade worth more than most of the waiters’ lives combined.

“Out with it, girl.”

“I have an order that must be signed by the head chef,” She swallowed, her bravado dying slightly. She fumbled, hands producing charcoal the contract. A lot of gold was being exchanged with several strokes, and Hawl’s aunt was insistent that this man sign for it. She also said to mention that… “The Corone army is marching.”

“You were supposed to be here three hours ago,” His words stung, and Hawl had no excuse. She had overestimated how heavy the boxes were, and how much they slowed her down. Ram signed with two crossing lines, then pricked his thumb with his knife, pressing the small drop of blood to the contract and sealing it. He didn’t even glance at the receipt, the lid of the top box opening. He grunted, nodding.

“I’m sure it is,” Ram’s voice was thick with mistrust, licking his hand and then reaching into the small treasure trove. He held it up slowly, inspecting a minuscule amount of matte white powder. He turned it this way and that, then stuck it into his mouth, rubbing the powder along unseen gums. He shook his head with a moan, then snapped his fingers, two sous chefs by the highly visible on their uniforms. They immediately began preparing a platter, their stations forgotton at the present moment.

Hawl strained to see, watching a decidedly non-edible cornucopia appear. Wrapped cigarillos, the powder sprinkled over tarts next a full bowl of the stuff, larger cigars that dwarfed their cousins, and several small glasses that held tiny shots of a golden liquid. One sous chef rolled several cigarettes, particularly pungent even in the kitchen, setting them beside

“Get changed, girl,” Ram had turned his back to her, returning to his command post as his soldiers moved. They were the lifeblood of this entire party, and Ram would die before he failed in his duty to the Rosanque family. “Your uniform is in the corner.”

“What?”


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ten minutes later, Hawl was assaulted by the sounds and sights of decadence and excess. She was dressed smartly in a boy’s uniform, tightly tailored with emergency thread to her form. One of the other waitresses tried to help her, but her body was a bit too slim and wanting to fit into the pre-made waitress outfits. It was an attractive, smart little suit, expertly designed to be presentable and shame any party goer not dressed to the nines. Her hair was pulled back into a small ponytail by her Ram himself, exposing sharp cheekbones and trying to give the girl an appearance of some femininity.

She swallowed, clutching her tray before her with white knuckles. It was the same heavy tray prepared before her eyes, filled with vice and excess. There was a minor spell cast over it, helping to prevent spills and compensating for Hawl’s nervous hands. A small device of Aleraran make was in her pocket, producing fire with a small flick and the odor of gas.

Her instructions were clear. Smile, walk out, empty the tray then return for more.

The girl took a deep breath, a nervous smile slowly cracking her face as she went out.

[Tobias Stalt]

Several new faces filtered into the room through various entrances. Tobias watched with mild interest, his hands busy with packing tobacco into the bowl of his cobb pipe. "Sir," came the apprehensive voice of a waiter, "we don't allow smoking in this area of the premises. I apologize for the inconvenience." His voice did not waver, but his gaze did. When his eyes met the vast golden depths of the Witch Hunter, he quickly and pointedly shifted his gaze away. "I'm sorry," he repeated, though this time it sounded like a sincere apology.

Tobias lifted the neck of his pipe and clamped it between his teeth. "So am I," Stalt replied tersely as a sneer curled his lip up. He struck a match, then ignited his vice. The waiter guffawed, but made no move to stifle the act. A plume of rank, dark smoke billowed out from his nostrils. "Just pretend I'm not here. It should be easy."

The white collar man hurried away from him, and Tobias shifted his gaze toward some of the newer entrants. "Excuse me," came a gruff voice, and Tobias turned to see a guard with his hand firmly on his sword hilt. "I'm afraid I have to ask you to quell your pipe, sir," the guard was far more confident than his counterpart, and Tobias respected that.

He raised a hand toward the guard and slid a folded piece of parchment discreetly toward him. The guard accepted it, then unfolded and skimmed over it. His eyes narrowed with every word. "I see," the guard stated softly. "My apologies, Brother Stalt," he apologized, "it was not brought to our attention that one of your Order was hired recently."

"Imagine the discontent throughout Corone if a merchant were to hire a Witch Hunter," Tobias joked.

The guard's expression soured. "Yes, I can see the need for discretion," the guard admitted. Tobias let a steam of gray roil free from his lips. The arrogance clearly offended the man, but the Inquisitor was nigh untouchable now. "If we can be of any assistance in your investigation, do not hesitate to let us know."

The guard was quick to scurry off.

"You make for a terrible party guest, Tobias Stalt." The oddly blue haired woman placed a hand on her arm, but he shrugged her off."So cold," she joked. "So it is true, all your kind are as icy as the land you hail from."

"Business," Tobias corrected, "trumps pleasure."

"You sound nothing like the infamous Tobias Stalt," the woman pouted, "I had heard of a man who bedded a woman in every town he visited."

"There are manwhores for that," he stated flatly. "And you are?"

"Mariah," she declared, "and the woman who hired you." His eyes flicked to her, and she smiled broadly. "Don't worry, I have no interest in bedding you, Stalt. I prefer not to court walking diseases."

He scowled, but any retort he had died on his tongue. "My," she muttered, "the stories are true. You have gotten rigid."

Though his reputation as a mercenary preceded him, Tobias was not interested in rising to any bait. The woman obviously had a taste for dangerous men, but he had lost his taste for loose women. "The job," he drawled. Her eyes moved toward the ballroom, and everyone who had gathered there.

"There were hundreds of invitations," she whispered. "The world over, in brothels and pubs, taverns and restaurants." Tobias slowly raised an eyebrow. "Scores of promises, all different. Socialites and drunkards alike have amassed here. This chaos has only just begun to brew."

Tobias merely nodded. It all made sense, now. "You want me to discover why," he said. It was not a question. "And the gold?"

"The agreed sum, provided you uncover what's really going on here." Tobias closed his eyes and tilted his pipe. The tobacco fell to the floor, still smoldering. Mariah stared down at the ashen pile uncertainly. "And you must do so with minimal casualties."

He perked up. "You believe people will die?" he asked.

"I would prefer they did not," she warned, "and unnecessary deaths will come out of your pay."

Without a word, he stepped past Mariah and stowed his pipe away. She watched the graceless hunter bleed into the colorful sea of bodies. "I'm counting on you, Stalt," she murmured, "this entire thing stinks of something foul."

[Pestarzt]

'That’s absolutely a weapon.”

“No it’s not. It’s a utilitool.”

“You could kill someone with that crowbar!”

“That’s part of the utility.”

For the better part of ten minutes, Alex had been arguing with the rough-faced bouncer that blocked his entrance to the loudest party he’d ever been witness to. From within, the noises, smells, and sights of bubbling gittiness and pure elation excited some deep dwelling passion inside he’d long thought dead. He nearly reached the handle, but was held firmly in place by the rough paws of the doorman. A few giggling débutantes in bleach white lace passed by the commotion he’d made, but he paid them no mind. The Pestarzt’s life had taught him one cruel and all encompassing lesson - that parties were a place to make a fool out of yourself, and he’d be damned if he was parting with his only real form of defense.

“Look, man,” Alex began, his dead eyed stare less flinching than the blacked-out eyes of his gas mask, which still hung to his hip, “I just want to get my rage on.” The doorman sighed with a noticeable bit of irritation.

“I don’t know what that is, but you’re not getting your rager out with that crowbar on you.” The mountain of a man crossed his arms, and eyed the slightly shorter vigilante.

“Well I’ll be damned.” Defeated, he handed the wrought iron bar over to the bouncer, though only loosened his grip when the man had tugged on it twice. The hollow victory was something to savor, at least until a sudden gasp behind him caught his attention. Alex turned to the ready, and a quick pump of adrenaline at the thought of danger heightened his buzz. But through the still clouds of smoke from the collective drags of dozen of guests, the man caught quite a show strut its way across a once well-manicured lawn.

A tall, blonde elf led the group. Wearing skins of spotted and striped animals not native to the shores of Corone, he carried himself lightly with a weight of importance. A pair of dark, tortoise shell sunglasses hid his eyes, but you couldn’t help but feel a smugness behind them. Flanking him on both sides were four elven maidens, with strips of bright cloth in their hair, and a few to hardly cover their bodies. What their skin lacked in clothing, it more than made up for in different shades of body paint, making strange rainbow hand-prints hint at some past playfulness. The very rear of the group had two stout dwarves, carrying hefty loads of drums and steel pans. They lacked the haughty sneers of the elves, but perhaps the sweat off their brow obscured it somehow. As the frontman approached the door, a dribble of spit seemed to foam at his mouth.

“I just heard some pricks talking about the “great orc band” playing in there. Some heads are about to roll, buddy.” Even with his uncharacteristic shrill screaming at the doorman, Alex recognized him at once.

“Dj Dankwood!” The Pestarzt called out to him, perhaps too loudly, considering they were but three feet apart. But he’d seen the man play clubs in Alerar throughout his youth, and many a blissful and forgotten night was spent writhing in the crowded dancing pits that formed around his stage. “I had no - “ The DJ cut Alex off before he could say another world, merely snapping at him as if he were an inattentive pet, before he continued to chew the bouncer out.

“Look buddy, I just watch the door. Take your complaints to the staff and the party planner, around the back, at the servants entrance.”

“I don’t do servants entrances!” The bouncer had awoken a churlish fire within the elf, who cracked his neck at his entourage, before they all entered the great hall together. Whatever crowds in front of them that didn’t part with awe, were swiftly brushed aside. Alex soon followed suit.

”Gods. Is that a lion just walking around.” He thought, pulling at the flaps of his suit. He’d done his best half-assed work to stitch together the cuts and tears on it, hoping to look his best for the shindig. ”I’m going to get wrecked.”

[Philomel]

He had slunk in with the difficultly of an Andy Rorton attempting to get into the building. The bouncers, or guards, or security staff or - he decided to call them 'bouncers' - were fully preoccupied with the man and usual human eye-height to notice him slinking under their legs and through the doorway. Entering boldly into the central chamber, he proceeded to sit back, pause and scour the area with his golden eyes.

Most of it was legs so far, human legs and elf legs and a couple of pairs of halfling legs, but he saw no legs attached to hooves. Veridian huffed a little, annoyed at his own shortcomings for being late. Well he had been busy. Farragise had finally gotten back from some epic journey, and thought it fully necessary to relate her tale of apparent dragons and hateful magicians. For a while the fox had entertained the white rabbit, sitting there looking thoroughly inexpressionless until he told her 'he must be going now'. Earth Spirit to Earth Spirit, kin to kin, he was polite as far as duty went, but the story she had told was nothing new to the fox. So he left her and snuck into the party, he placed he knew Philomel was entertaining for the night along with her girls from the Lily.

Clearly, he needed a better view. Some part away across the grand chamber, complete with chandeliers, fake laughter and elegant dresses, there were old men sitting and talking nonsense. Between these creatures were tables, round and square alike, which would provide the perfect opportunity for a fox to look out from. Hopping onto one of these, and ignored the surprised remarks from the gentlemen who occupied the seats surrounding, he looked. He spied various people he knew, or at least various individuals that he recognised from Philomel's memories on those few occaisions where he had not been there.

To the right he saw it - the arches that led to the room where the Lily were entertaining. But as he watched, Veridian saw the horned beloved of his heart leave and begin to walk around the edge of the room - so far from him right now - towards the stage where rustic musicians played. Excited, he chattered once, and left, much to the irritation of the gentlemen who had more questions now than answers, and aimed for where Philomel was walking.

Philomel, I -

He was stopped in his sentence, however by a surprising sight. There was a small lion cub on a stand, by herself with a set of vembraces and shoulder pads. Blinking, and curious, Veridian changed his course to head over to this creature, wondering what sort of being she was. He nattered to her, letting a ring of animalistic calls awaken her, and then reached out with his mind. Whatever she might be, if she was some form of intelligent creature like him, she would have mental capacity. Gently, he found a conciousness, and he prodded this, trying to also confirm eye contact with her. But she seemed more beast than being - or perhaps she was just distracted. He could not seem to establish a link, and thus he left, whipping his tail before bounding over to where Philomel had gone.

Ah, there she was. And with one of the people he recognised personally. Grinning like a jester, and resisiting the urge to burst into flame, the earth spirit ran up to Maddison Freebird's side. As the faun-whore went in for the nudge, he went in for the rub, arching his back right against her ankle. Like some devoted feline going, 'love me, love me, love me.'

[Sulla]

“Dankwood does not play second fiddle to an orc!” The high elf had a certain appeal to him, I must admit. Perhaps it was the way he had gaudily dressed himself in clashing animal hides, or the fact that his open tunic gave no hint as to body hair, but a light dusting of golden glitter. Whatever was the case, it still did not excuse his intrusion. I’d been deep in thought on the second floor, hidden behind the billowing leaves of a hanging plant and staring down a narrow interior window into the main ballroom, when the annoying DJ decided to take me by surprise.

“You’re second to none, Dankwood - “

“You’re fucking right I’m not,” said the DJ, spittle dripping from his mouth. His ridiculous sunglasses kept sliding down his pointed face, though I kept composure enough not to laugh at the spectacle he had become.

“- Which is why I’ve set your stage up on this floor, in the dance studio. Intimate, and with much better light, it’ll prove far more conducive to your famed shows.” I smiled and bowed ever so slightly, as was expected of my station. No doubt Dankwood had only ever had sycophants worshipping every bit of dribble that spewed out that inelegant gape, so I played to his ego, no matter how that tower teetered. “And, of course, the dance studio sits just above the main stage. Every smashing beat will be felt like thunder in the ceiling above that band.” The DJ grinned wickedly at the thought, before returning to his constant, pensive state.

“Good,” he sneered, licking his lips a bit. “I’ll show that knuckle-dragging beast there’s more to rhythm than the pounding of a wardrum.” With that, he snapped to his companions to follow him, lead forward by my least capable of assistants. The dwarves that plodded after him looked weary, but the sirens at his sides had the fiercest looks upon their faces as they sneered themselves forward. I had never listened to Dankwood’s music, but from every account I’d heard, the elf had a way with his backup singers to weave song magic beyond compare. The hedonistic parties he’d entertained at were the stuff of legend, but his personality and flair for fervor was what truly interested me.

No sooner had the interlopers left, than more arrived. The three lords, who had unknowingly hired the instrument of their demise, soon surrounded me. Victor Rosanque had dressed as if he’d come to his own funeral, with a dour face to match. At his side waddled Hilda Walkenhorst; with every slice of sheet cake she shoved down her through, I thought I saw a new crack in the white marble beneath her feet. And of course, gleeful as I at an execution, Maximillian Gildenfalt pushed past his compatriots. To call his outfit brazen was to call the ocean a bit damp. In silks and lace of the brightest yellow and gold, I was thankful that he had the sense enough to at least lace a few of the ties on his breeches. I’d never seen a man pull off heeled boots with such authority, and never wish to see the same again.

“Mal, my boy, you’ve worked wonders!” Maximilian's voice was even more repugnant than the DJs, but at least it sung only praise.

“There are far too many people in my house,” whispered Victor, not bothering to look at me, instead playing with the seams of his dreary suit. Maximilian only slapped him hard on the back, before delivering another, far lower, for good measure.

“Victor, dear, you need to enjoy yourself.” Crumbs and flakes of chocolate flurried to the floor with every syllable Hilda spoke. I half expected the beast to choke and make my day easier. “This is a party!”

“A party we have this fine young lad to thank for,” Maximilian’s every word had that lurid edge I loathed in the lecherous, but I bowed none the less. These simpering nobles would suspect a proud servant far quicker than a dutiful slave. “Come, why don’t you join me for the party, sweet Mal?” Oh, how such a simple alias could become so wholly dirty, in so few words.

“I cannot, m’lord. The party requires my undivided attention, to ensure all goes to m’lords liking.” Hurried footsteps behind me left the soft carpet and began running, at full speed, on the stone floor. I turned to see Eldyl, the brown-nosing valet. The lords look worried, no doubt tired at the endless wave of compliments the bald servant would no doubt throw their way.

“Well, by evening’s end, you simply shan’t refuse my kind offer. I’ll find a way to reward you, and maybe loosen you up.” Another wry smile, and Maximilian guided his friends down to the ballroom below. No doubt I was offered nothing, and no doubt I could not refuse, but time alone with the hedonist was welcomed. I’d heard his guestroom in the manor was furnished with all kinds of devilish little torture devices, befitting a sadist of his caliber. I would take great pleasure in acquainting him with each one more closely.

“Where are the masters going? I need to ask -” I hadn’t let Eldyl finish a single sentence to me all night. Despite the drop of elven blood in his body, and the fact he’d been serving the manor the longest, my unique position as a consultant on this event left me well outside his chain of command. Lords needed to be soothed, encouraged, and nigh masturbated. But servants? There was only one way to speak to their ilk.

“Where the fuck is the ale I ordered, Eldyl?” That caused him to pause. Like a stag caught in a hunter’s sight, he froze at me and began to stutter a bit. “If I hear one more complaint about the lack of beer out there, I'll throw you in a cask until your bloated corpse ferments to my liking.”

“It’s...it’s just arrived…”

“And I’m not seeing it out on the floor, because?”

“I - We weren’t sure where we should put it.”

“Roll it off the wagons, and get it into the ballroom, the dance studio, the damned staircase if you have to. Crack open the casks and drench the guests. I want to see it flow, now.” With that, he was gone. Dogs are so predictable, always flinching when you show them the rolled up newspaper. Through my hidden bastion, I could see the plate of illicit substances I’d called for making the rounds. There were special instructions to get it to the DJ’s room once he was set up, the match to that gunpowder barrel. On the floor below, people were giddy with the sickening drunk they all enjoyed so much.

Halflings and whores, mercenaries, poets, scientists, wizards; all had come to unwind till they unravel, and witness something great (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Raur8OveqV8).

DJ room set up on the second floor, barrels of beer rolling out in the ballroom. There's probably also some sheet cake. I've released the three lords from my first post.

[Lightfoot]

Jasker relaxed in the chair at the opposite side of the room, bare chested, hands deftly carving away at the small piece of wood. The room was dimly lit by the candelabra on the small table nearby, so dim that one could wonder how the halfling was working at all. But Jasker was given hands with a long memory, and after years of carving wood, they would never forget. His palewood pipe, smoke writhing out of the slow burning weed, sat on the armrest of the chair. The thief had lit it and left it there, more for the aroma than anything. It was a scent that he had become accustomed to and now associated with his relaxation.

Jasker made another cautious glance to the bed, and the beautiful form therein, hoping not to wake her. His lover, the Lady Valarie, had enjoyed the smell of his pipe, and relished in the dim light. She was something of an enigma to the halfling. At first, he had assumed she would be another typical noblewoman, arrogant and empty-headed, playing at danger by sleeping with a criminal. But afterwards, Jasker was surprised to find that she could hold a rather intelligent conversation, and he found himself looking at her in a new light. She had a surprisingly sharp wit, making the thief laugh like few others could. She showed an interest in the histories of different lands, passion poured out of her when she spoke of battles long ago.

She wanted to be a student of the world, a sentiment that Jasker fully understood, and because of that he started to feel a certain admiration towards her. She was vibrant in her youth, breathing in every moment with a smile. She spoke of traveling, laying hints that were less and less subtle the more she spoke of it. She wanted to go with Jasker, see the world, partake in his adventures. The halfling smiled at that. Her innocence was almost infectious, and a part of him wished he could bring her along. It was a beautiful fantasy, but that's all it was.

Jasker knew the truth of it. A young noblewoman like her had no place getting caught up with a person like him. She had no idea what Jasker would do. She would enjoy it at first, admiring him and living out this perfect picture she had imagined, but soon that would give way to a much harsher reality. She would see the seedy taverns, the dangerous men, the moral ambiguity. No. She was too kind for that, too honest. The world needed that kind of innocence, to remind the rest of humanity how beautiful it could be. He would not play a part in tearing that down. He would not bear the blade that sheared her wings.

The halfling brought the carving to his lips and blew away any shavings that his hand could not. After taking a moment to inspect the wood in the dim light, he put away his carving knife and stood. Carefully, he placed the carving on the small table near the candelabra. It was unfinished, but so was she. Silently he started gathering his things, put on his shirt, collected his pipe, picked up his boots. He made for the door, but was stopped by a soft sigh. He put down his boots, and crept to the bed.

The thief took these last few moments for himself. He admired her form, how easily the soft silk had conformed to her curves. The half braid had unwoven itself from her beautiful hair, allowing it to melt to her skin. Her lips, plump and soft, rested as easily as she did. Jasker looked upon this beautiful creature who had been his, for a time, and marveled at how content she had become. In another life, Jasker knew this was a woman he could have loved. The halfling liked to think of himself as the dashing rogue, stealing the hearts of young maidens, loving them and leaving them as easily as the wind through leaves and forgetting them just as quick. But in reality, he would never forget. He remembered every single one, and each time he left, he pared a piece of himself away like carving wood.

The thief reached out and lovingly brushed a part of her beautiful strawberry blonde hair aside, and gently placed a kiss upon her soft freckled cheek. Reflexively, she nestled her face against his hand, a smile passing through her lips before falling back into her slumber.

You won't see me again, he thought. Be well. See the world... Give us all something to smile about someday. He made for the door, picked up his boots, walked out of the room.

Sitting on a small table, underneath the dim light of a candelabra, lay an unfinished wood carving of an angel's wing, made by hands that would never forget.

[Erirag the Poet]

“Weapons?” the guard asked. Erirag stared down at him, her face twisting into a grimace as she regarded him. She was half a foot taller than him, and just as meaty. Almost as if he could feel her gaze sizing him up, he quietly moved to the side. It wasn’t like the orc was fitted with weapons anyway. Her fists and her strength were enough.

Sashaying along in just her grass skirt, Erirag entered the party. By now, the room was filled with people and booze. Erirag grabbed a cask of ale and hefted it onto her shoulder as she entered the main room. Scanning the room, she thought she saw familiar faces. It had been forever and a day since she’d last seen Otto but she was sure that it was the orc she knew on the stage. She tried to make her way to the stage but there were far too many people in her way.

Stopping, she popped open the cask and began to fill the empty mugs and glasses that simply appeared around her. Outside she had been scarred and scary. Inside, with the ale flowing, Erirag was quite the popular attraction.

[Otto]

Things weren't going so well downstairs any more, at least not for the band. There was a persistent, dull beat coming through the roof above and putting them off their rhythm. Every now and then, Aaron would slip into a different time signature, Otto momentarily played the wrong melody, and Carrin kept missing the tambourine.

"What in the hells is that racket?" Aaron growled after another dismal number. The crowd were clearly growing ambivalent to their presence. It was only a matter of time until they were - Otto shuddered to think of it - heckled.

"I believe the main entertainment has been established upstairs, directly above your stage," said someone from the wings. "Might I offer sirs an ale?"

Otto knew that voice. He spun around in astonishment.

"Gus?"

"Indeed, sir," stated the elf. Gus stepped forward, bedecked in a sharp footman's suit and bearing a platter bearing four ceramic steins.

"What are you doing here?" Otto asked, before his brain had a chance to catch up.

"Just what it looks like, sir," Gus replied in a level voice. The others surged in for their drinks, quickly clearing the tray of all but one mug, which the elf proffered Otto. "After my previous place of employ was demolished (http://www.althanas.com/world/showthread.php?28221-Sailors-Fighting-in-the-Dance-Hall), I've since looked for other work. And so, here we are."

They looked around at the chaos germinating about them.

"How long until this place falls in on itself, do you think?" Otto enquired.

"I secured my pay in advance, and I have a hurry-bag ready by the servant's entrance. I don't expect it to last the night, in other words."

"Clever man."

Gus rolled his eyes. "When one works in this industry long enough, one learns to be wary of any party which has Lord Gildenfalt attached to it in some way."

Carrin chose this moment to stroll up. "Friend of yours, Otto?" he asked.

"Carrin, Gus," the orc replied. "Gus, meet Carrin, Aaron, and Orlannes."

"Charmed," the elf intoned.

The other bandmates raised their eyes to the ceiling, where muted beats and treble wails still seeped through the plaster. "So what's going on up there?" Aaron spiered the elf.

"DJ Dankwood has been retained for entertainment on the first floor-"

Carrin dropped his tambourine. It jingled sadly on the wooden decking. "Dankwood's here?" he shrieked.

"Indeed-"

"Oh my god! You guys! But... Dankwood!"

Otto exchanged a worried look with Aaron and Orlannes. "Who?"

Carrin's mouth dropped open. "You don't know him?" he asked. Otto might as well have asked if the sky was really blue, or if beer was any good. "Come on! 'Spectres 'n Stuff'? 'Animal Handling Ethics'?" They shook their heads. "'Qualified Grievers'?! No?"

"Whoever he is," Otto growled, "he's ruining our set."

"It's a crap set, though."

"Doesn't matter. It's ours. We're not letting some wanker with a name like soggy firewood spoil this gig for us."

Orlannes rubbed his teflon chin. "What's the plan?"

Otto eyed the ceiling, and then the stairs. He grinned.

"We pay DJ Damplog our respects. Retune those strings and follow my lead - we're going up (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MZjAantupsA)."




The Moody Bastards are making their way upstairs and throwing down the gauntlet for a battle with DJ Dankwood.

[Dissinger]

When Seth returned with Skie the group seemed to tense as one, that was until he held up a hand. At that two of the members relaxed, leaving the third still poised for a kill. He looked at the woman for a moment, the crimson strands that adorned her head pulled into a ponytail tonight that seemed to invite one to look upon her flesh before she to relaxed in response to the battle of wills. While hidden mostly under a cloak, one could not help but notice the corset dliming her figure a bit more and giving her bust a more full look. She looked at him questioning before he spoke;

“I believe I found our fifth. Ladies and gentleman, I present Skie Dan Sabriel.”

A low whistle left the lips of the other man in the group. Though his black hair was steadily greying the man's eyes seemed sharp as ever. They only seemed to move in response to any movement that involved hands in hidden spots, locking onto it with an intense scrutiny. He spoke up with a nod, “Garret Brown, you can call me Hawk. I didn't know Seth could know such a celebrity and not have them aching to kill him.”

The icebreaker certainly eased any tension in the group from the two women. Both covered their mouths as the third woman, who's hair was in a tight braid trailing down her chest, looked upon the heir of Devon Starslayer. It was then that she spoke up, “I am Rachel Brown, most call me Sparrow.”

Skie seemed to titter at that before she turned to the third and spoke, “And you must be Robin.”

The woman seemed unimpressed at the drunken display before her. She looked once more to Seth before she spoke up, “Beatrix Dahlios, I'm Seth's cousin.”

“And he hasn't tried to kill you?” Skie immediately asked. The question hung in the air for a few moments, as Seth's eyes widened at the brazen question. Beatrix looked at her with a raised eyebrow before she laughed heartily;

“I like this one Seth, she has the guts to say what everyone else won't.”

Seth seemed to bristle at the jab before Garret placed a hand on his shoulder, “Oh come now Seth, I know that's a sore spot but you were the one to make it. No sense in getting mad over a little verbal joust.”

Seth shrugged at the words before he spoke up, “If we're done with the jousting lets get some of that swill they call ale moving around here. I'm parched and I want to wet my whistle before we have to go to work.”

[Skie and Avery]

A strange wave of fatigue nudged at her. Somehow as lovely as the group seemed, especially drunk, there was something tedious about having been called a celebrity. It left a sour taste on her tongue and only made her long for the next day when she could be on her way to Alerar, and a new life, a new name. There was only one cure, more drink! Surely the loving embrace of alcohol could wash away the malaise that was threatening to build.

"That's a great idea, Seth," she said and bowed away from the rest of the group. "We need music and booze." The throbbing bassline came from a definite direction, so she grabbed the Hex Magi's hand and whisked him not far away. The ale was flooding the stairs at the same rate as the Moody Bastards and there was no shortage of pints moving around. A cask had broken open, suds and ale washing across the marble. Some drunk noble was on hands and knees, face first in the flood as if they were praying to it. Just as Skie reached out for a glass, she slipped, the soles of her sensible shoes sliding in the ale.

She raised aloft her glass, worried that she'd spill even as she closed her eyes tightly against the fall. The blow never came, and after the crippling moment of fear, she realized that she was still relatively on her feet, cradled awkwardly by the demon she'd led out of the hall. One of his hands supported her back, and she felt the tips of his fingers moving, exploring the knotted scarring where her wing had been. Surely he remembered, though he hadn't said anything so far of the missing deformity. She tried to read his face, but the twitch and movement of his eyes and brows were a foreign tongue to her. Instead she stood, cheerfully thanked him and raised her glass only for it to be taken before she could imbibe.

"Haven't you had a bit too much?" he teased, taking a long draught from the stolen pint. Skie giggled, wiping away a tear before leaning up and planting a chaste kiss on his jaw.

"Never. I'm having fun (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NGNHQKeoSGY)."

[BlackAndBlueEyes]

The heat rose in my neck as that damned Otto Batsum and his merry little band of off-key idiots began singing their little song. As he grumbled lyrics that were a little to blunt in their meaning, a few of the crowd continued to stare at me. My face turned red with anger and embarrassment. A cloud of plague swirled into my lungs, ready to be unleashed upon everyone who was no doubt judging me and my character.

Hyperion, ever my more reasonable half, sensed what I was about to do and rested her twisted hand on my shoulder. Glancing in my direction, she lightly shook her head "no".

Yeah, not killing everyone here was probably a smart thing to do.

I allowed the cloud of death to dissipate inside me and resumed my glowering. It wasn't long before I felt a sharp pain in my side that caught me off guard. I turned to see a very familiar smiling face framed by braided lengths of purple hair. The faun Philomel van der Aart had managed to find me in the throngs of people.

"Madison Freebird, in the middle of a party. How about that?" she said with a knowing laugh.

"It's more for business than pleasure," I said flatly, my eyes briefly falling on her, um, gifts that the corset she wore struggled to contain. "I assume it's the same for you?"

The faun-whore winked. "Sometimes they're one in the same, dear."

It didn't surprise me that Phi and her girls were a part of tonight's entertainment. But, as Master of Secrets for the Crimson Hand, it would make sense for her and her charges to be here as well. Alcohol, drugs, and more primal pleasures tend to loosen lips, and there's no telling what sort of secrets might spill from between the lips of those who have given in to the throes of passion--especially with a collection of Corone's who's who present.

A light body brushed up against my ankle, startling me. I looked down to see the dark amber fur of Veridian, Philomel's earth spirit companion. The little fox was greeting me by weaving its body around my legs, much like a cat. It was good to know that he held no grudge after I sprayed him with acid in the Citadel and melted his throat.

Extending a thin length of vine out from under the sleeve of my jacket, I gave the fox a friendly scratch underneath his chin. Satisfied that he had gotten my attention and affections, Veridian returned to the faun's furry side.

"You don't look terribly excited to be here," she spoke.

I scanned the crowd once more, searching for the scholar that brought me here in the first place. "Yeah, this isn't really my kind of thing. There are people here."

[Hysteria]

Tay has found herself a stool near what passed for a bar and has placed herself upon it. Her long dark dress draped across her legs and cascaded down to the floor. In her hand she balanced a cigarette holder with a thin trail of smoke lifting from the end of the lit dart within. A man walked passed, his eyes momentarily looking at the smoke before shaking his head. He’d lost one argument about smoking that night, he didn’t bother trying again.

“You know, I used to be a performer too,” said Tay as she watched the sweaty orc on stage.

“Really?” replied Ana with a cocked eyebrow.

Ana had her arms clasp behind her back as she stood next to Tay. Her face was passive, but behind the mask she could sense the rising tension in the room. She was sure there was a joke somewhere in having this many people at a party. At very least she expected a punchline.

“I’m never sure if you’re telling the truth… sir,” said Ana, letting the sides of her mouth curl into a small smile.

Tay took a deep drag of the cigarette before resting her hand on her knee. The bright red at the tip was touched with grey ash that broke free as she flicked the holder. For a moment she held her breath, letting her eyes wander across the crowd and then up to the ceiling. Shadows danced and played as lights and movement cast them. Tay gently prodded them, pulling the shadows out of the limited existence and into something slightly more corporeal. These shadows were still empty and nonphysical, but no longer bound by whims of light. First one, then three, six and finally a dozen shadows in human form stood upside down on the ceiling. Their bodies were plan at first, but then in moments finery fit for a ball covered their forms. Six male and six female, they broke into pairs and started to dance in time to the music. Their long fluid waltz not quite matching the jarring shrill cries of the orc, but in time none the less.

“Point taken,” said Ana.