The Ball Room [EVENT ROOM 1]

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

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

Happy hunting~

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

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

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

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

I'm not allowed to leave.

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

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

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

And I'm among the most likely scapegoats.

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

"You are a funny man, Tobias Stalt."

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

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

I had never been to Knife's Edge.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fair skin, dark hair, modest.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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My dear friend,

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

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

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

My fondest regards,

Philomel

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

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

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

“Shinsou Vaan Osiris?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“His name is Tobias Stalt.”

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

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

"Dear Felicity,

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

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

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

Regards
Philomel."

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

I was not happy.

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

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

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

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

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

Of course you are here.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Maybe the peacock girl is outside.

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Felicity leaves for the courtyard.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Indeed."

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

Or perhaps that comes later.

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

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

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

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

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

Oh, did he?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Check. Your move, Vaan Osiris.

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

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

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

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

I couldn't rid the shake of my hands as I walked into the ballroom, Adrielle quickly gripped my hand but I pulled away quickly. "Sorry..." I mumbled under my breath. The ginger haired girl smiled happily and shrugged with ease. My heart galloped wildly against my breast bone, I hadn't gone to a large gathering in years, I was a wonder these days, playing my music and avoiding human interaction at all cost. But here I was, Adrielle had received the invite from a lord that had fancied the look of her, pairs were encouraged and the poor girl thought it a good idea that I accompany her. Quickly I turned as if I were going to flee from the place but the girl that had decided to pity me ever since she met me gripped my shoulder with surprising strength. My brows drew together as I tried to shake her off but still she held me in place. "McKinley you promised..." She almost seemed to whine.

Sighing I turned and gave her a pointed look, "I take back my promise," I grumbled.

"Oh no you don't I spent hours on your hair and had to bargain for that gown you are wearing, we are at least doing a lap around the room!" She moved her grasp from my shoulder and gripped my wrist tugging me along.

Quickly I had to steady myself, almost tripping over the blue ball gown that I wore, the thick layers of tulle under me easily getting caught in the heeled shoes I wore. I mumbled under my breath but allowed myself to be dragged into the room, dodging any human contact at all cost. I pushed one of the curled locks that had been left down, out of my face.

Adrielle held part of her dress up to avoid tripping on it as she stirred us towards the dance floor. Had I not been wearing heels I could have stopped her from pulling me into the crowd of bodies twirling around to the rhythm of the music. "Adrielle, no." I said firmly, finally freeing my wrist from her grasp. Groaning she shrugged and pulled the closest single gentleman towards her and twirled off.

With a sigh of relief I moved back to a more recluse position in the ball room, with a shaking hand I took the glass of wine that a butler had offered me, putting it to my lips and taking a greedy drink. "What the hell did I get myself into?" I mumbled under my breath.

I’d slipped into an almost comfortable little sleeve of existence, keeping subtly to the shadowy corners, watching the beautiful gowns and stately suits as they danced and conversed and glittered in the beautiful room.

Until one approached me.

I used to trade stories with the inn keeper on the road to the coast; fanciful tales of stately princes and mythical beings, the kind of story that belonged in a book of fantasies. Yet, in a dark suit, with silver hair, and a gait befitting royalty, a man emerged from the crowd…

… making a beeline for me.

My heart raced, my breath catching in my throat as he reached me, and I clumsily curtseyed in response to his stately bow. This was the one that had sent the invitation? This visage of a man with a voice like smooth whiskey and honeycomb?

Half of his face remained shrouded by some intricate mask, where my eyes remained as he spoke.

“Th-the pleasure is mine, Sir,” I stumbled, pausing to recollect myself, “you’re… the one I’m to thank for the invitation?”

I felt my fingers fidgeting nervously at the skirt of my dark gown, the rough fabric course under my fingertips. With a grimace, I forced them to be still, but at the same time, I felt my gaze hone in upon the man before me. There was… something, a nagging sensation, at the base of my skull. No, I thought to myself, oh no, no, please no, not here

Swallowing, I blinked back the thoughts,

“I’m afraid… you have me at a disadvantage, my lord.”

Adrielle had grabbed the man without even asking for consent, she fled from the comrade that she had come with. The only sense of guilt she felt was that she knew McKinley was too shut off to the public to even try and mingle. She had done her civic duty and gotten her there the rest was up to the skaeth. Her purple dress flared out, the daring neck plunge stopping in the middle of her navel. She gave herself a moment to glance up at the brute she had grabbed, noting that he seemed to appreciate the dangerous neckline of her dress as well. Her warm brown gaze drank in his features, handsome in stature and physic, maybe even in wealth by the fine garbs he wore. His hand was strongly rested on the curve of her hip while the other clasped her hand firmly.

She allowed herself to feel the confidence that she had never felt before, until a few mere months ago she was just a lab subject. Now she was at the luxurious ball she could have even dreamt of. Crystal chandeliers hung from the tall ceilings, casting a glow on her fiery locks that swayed with the movement of the two bodies in sync.

The two spun and twirled, him dipping down lower, the ends of her hair almost grazing the marble floor. The mysterious lord danced with such skill that it had almost left her breathless. When the song had ended, they both turned and applauded the band of their skilled music before she turned back towards the man.

"I am sorry lord for my abruptness, I found myself swept up in the contagiousness of the splendid music. I never caught your name, I am Adrielle." She gave him a shallow curtsy. "And your name?"

His open hand remained as she struggled to find her words. The eyes behind the mask narrowed in the slightest in response to her unease. With a flourish, Lye retreated his arm behind his back and pulled in a long breath. Green eyes traced the woman from her head to toe and two slow strides placed him at her side. She rose as high as his shoulders and while the two shared a similar fair complexion, their attire formed a stark contrast in volume. Despite this, Lye stood tall and calm with his attentions occupied with the undulating sea of the unsuspecting.

"Yes," he replied after pause. "What better event to learn about a fair, mysterious lady than an elegant ball?"

As he spoke, the sight of his will picked out several other targets of interest. He laid eyes on the redhead from earlier. The killer found it impressive to see her socializing after her first life taken. So fiery and youthful, but naïve. She spent a moment in the presence of a man who shone like roaring flame in the glow of what does not belong. Jade and emerald irises became slits and gloved hands tucked behind his back balled into fists.

'She keeps dangerous company it seems,' Lye noted to himself. Curiosity lingered at the back of his mind, but remained there as he turned a glance to his company.

"I will be honest, I half expected you not to show." A pause followed another, softer smile. "But I am glad that you did. I imagine you may have some questions."

He redirected his attention outward from their small nook of isolation. This time, his second sight pulled his attention to a small congregation. The figure in the middle struck a symphony of memories good and bad. With a huff of amusement, Lye sought to make direct eye contact with the man from across the room. The assassin raised gloved hand toward his forehead and delivered a casual salute of acknowledgement to non other than Tobias Stalt. Those in his company also held an air of caution.

'I wonder what misery and mischief you cling to now a days, Stalt,' rang the thought in his head.

"But we have the whole night to discuss," Lye continued with little sign of interruption. The bait of answers dangled so freely in the air. He turned again to her. Closer than before, he looked downward to meet her gaze and again extended his open hand. "Would you let this humble lord have a dance with you, m'lady?"

Valeaux... A name that carried enough weight to be notable to the loyalists which still served as his eyes and ears. Before him stood the daughter of a man tried and executed by agents of the Church. Those same agents now stood among them either as peace keepers, passive guests, or hunters seeking to rid the world of magic. The realm of nobles proved to be a place where rules of the land bent to their influence and a thin veil of protection hung on those in attendance. For one of the Church to take action in a place like this would surely stir praise or condemnation. It was that very thin line of uncertainty behind which Lye knew he had safety from impending conflict. Like wagging a steak to a hungry dog locked behind iron bars-- within sight but not within grasp.

And he loved it.

As for the Lady Fae, her presence with the seasoned spymaster afforded a much greater protection, for all eyes looked to him. To them, she looked the part of another poor soul tangled in the web of his madness. Despite her proximity to danger, no other place in all of Salvar could provide greater sanctuary.

The music siphoned gently through two massive oaken doors. The Lord of the manor stood just behind them with his eyes affixed as though he could picture the ballroom floor filled with people from near and far. Equal parts of hope and dread beat in his chest.

"M'lord?" asked one of two servants to his side. Their hands rested on the handles awaiting his command. He nodded and the light of the ballroom washed over his angular features.

Lord Iverstead stepped forward to the railway overlooking the ballroom's expanse. He stood tall in his lavish attire. Gold filigree accented fine silks and thick vlince. His frame spoke toward a man who not only oversaw a massive Salvic estate, but knew the trials of the battlefield. Rich, dark locks of voluminous hair framed his darker complexion. Soft, blue eyes stood out against his militaristic appearance and posture. A scar over his cheek and nose told a tale of hardship from the ages of his youth. Eyes fell upon him one by one until the musicians halted their tune. Their attention belonged to him.

https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/...2a92fcc3_o.jpg

"Welcome." His voice carried over a hushed crowd like the soothing, low thrum of a cello. "It is a pleasure to see so many of you accept my invitation to Iverstead Estate. I, Felix James Iverstead the fifth, am humbled."

His arm pulled across his chest, and he bowed to those beneath him. Some among the crowd lowered their heads in response. Those of his servants that tended to his guests all bowed and curtsied in reply. Lord Iverstead rose.

"This night marks the two hundred and thirty second Banishment of White. Tonight, we welcome a season of health, harvest, and prosperity free from the icy grasp of the North. Unlike previous Banishments of White, I have opened my home to noble and common alike. Tonight, I ask you see each other as equals."

The statement stirred low chatter from the attendees. The Lord focused his gaze on the other six lords in attendance from the neighboring estates. If looks could kill, Iverstead's chest would have a half dozen arrows suddenly sprout from his chest.

"Tonight, my home is yours. My servants will see to your needs. Do not hesitate to make use of them as your own."

Again, those in masks decorated with raven feathers bowed and curtsied.

"Some of you may notice that my side is vacant," he stated with a gesture to the lack of anyone to either side of him. "I have been without company for some six moons. Tonight, I look to stand on equal ground with the rest of you. I look to fill these vacancies with laughter, smiles, and life. These cold, Salvic winters take so much from our people..."

His strong, soothing voice trailed off. A moment of silence stung those who understood the depth of his pause.

"Tonight, Iverstead Estate will look to the coming season with charity and hope. Tonight is about giving, living, creating new memories. Memories I hope you may cherish and look back upon as a guiding light long after darkness falls."

He caught himself in the weight of his own thoughts and shook his head with a hearty laugh. The steeled expression gave way to a warm, genuine smile.

"That's quite enough." He gestured a white glove toward the musicians with a nod. "Let the festivities resume."

Music again filled the massive chamber and servants busied about with platters of refreshment and appetizers. As the buzz of the night worked its way back into a fervor, the Lord of the Estate descended the stairs and joined the crowd below.

Aiden, youngest son of Jasmine and Zerith, pulled uncomfortably at the collar of his dark blue doublet. Fancy shindigs were not his idea of fun. At least, not ones this fancy. Jasmine lightly smacked his hand away as she quietly fussed about her teenage children.

“Leave it alone, AJ. I don’t want to hear any complaining. You all but begged me to come along. Well, now you’re here. I did try to warn you this was going to be particularly formal.”

Zevernus, the elder of the twin boys, grinned mischievously at his brother, “You thought you’d do like you do here and sneak off to the kitchens to flirt with a kitchen maid. My, my, whatever will your precious Serena think about that?”

AJ scowled at his brother, “You wouldn’t dare!”

“Wouldn’t I?”

“Stop it, both of you!” Siela stood near the door, resplendent in a gown of green, trimmed in white and silver. Her dark brown hair was piled atop her head in an elaborate nest of curls studded with pearls. “Are we ready yet, Mother?”

AJ & ZJ grinned wickedly at their sister, “Why are you in such a rush, sister dear? Are you that eager to break a Salvic noble heart?”

Siela opted to ignore the barb. Jasmine took one last look over her children and nodded. She had chosen a gown of deep blue trimmed in silver and opted to wear her hair down. It fell in soft waves to her hips, pulled back from her face with a small sapphire and diamond encrusted clip. As a sign of her station in life she also wore a circlet set with three small sapphires.

“Yes, we are ready. Remember, Salvar prohibits the use of magic. Keep your abilities to yourselves.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Siela and AJ responded. Of her three children, they were only two that had shown an affinity for magic use. Siela was not likely to even need her magic, but AJ could often be something of a showoff with his ability to change his appearance.

A few moments later, the family found themselves in the grand ballroom of the Lord Iverstead. With a curt nod, Jasmine released her children to their own devices. She swept regally toward the refreshments.

I wish Zerith had come, she thought morosely. These things aren’t quite as much fun by myself as they used to be.

The one thing that distinguished Shinsou from others was his ability to plan.

The plan had always been to extend the reaches and influences of the Brotherhood onto the international stage. As with anything in history, be it a business or an empire, expansion only came when all of the correct pieces fell into place at the correct times. Having had some experience of Salvar before, it naturally fell into the Telgradian's thinking as a future home for his world. So, when the invitation from Lord Farthingdale of Knife’s Edge fell upon his doorstep, it seemed as if one of the critical pieces of the Salvar puzzle had started to slide into place.

Back in the present, Lord Iverstead’s polite address had just finished, and the music resumed on the dying note of the Salvic nobleman’s speech. Shinsou’s eyes followed the owner of the manor out of the room until those golden irises set upon a certain face.

No way…

A certain face, indeed. One that had been sketched raw in charcoal and pinned on Shinsou’s wall a number of years ago. A man that he, Philomel van der Aart and Storm Veritas had set out to kill, and failed to even find.

The leader of the Crimson Hand, Lye Ulroke.

Some men prefer castles of splendour, drowning in luxury as they dictate the downfall of nations. Some base themselves instead in damp dark caverns far removed from civilisation, cackling maniacally as their plans come to fruition. Still others march at the head of armies of millions, directing the destruction in person. Lye Ulroke seemed to submit to none of the above approaches. His ‘lair’ for tonight was this wonderfully gay ballroom in the richest part of Salvar, dressed in his best attire, with a very pretty girl in his company.

Of course, circumstances change. Lye was no longer on Shinsou's blacklist, and had not been for many years. In fact, the understanding he now had was that the silver haired man he had set out to find five years ago was rumoured to be no longer in direct command of the Hand at all, with it being apparently dissolved. Lye had since allegedly made enemies within the Sway, who pre-occupied themselves with hunting him. As Shinsou propped himself up against the wall, his eyes caught Lye’s quick salutation to the man he knew to be Tobias Stalt.

So, if I have my angles right here, The Telgradian pondered, Lye is being hunted by the Sway. The clergy of the Sway are currently here, and it looks as if Tobias is a part of that little congregation. Two of the biggest political influences, and possibly obstacles, to the Brotherhood’s progression into Salvar are now making eyes at each other across the breadth of this room.

“Perplexing, isn’t it? They share a room, but their ideals could not be further apart.”

Osiris found himself startled by the young Lady Farthingdale, who had returned from her posturing and mingling. Leaning forward, her neatly trimmed bangs – a blond that was almost golden – cascaded over her forehead.

“These men and their institutions could be the key to the Brotherhood’s success, or failure, in Salvar,” Shinsou returned, deliberately meeting the pout with a calculated look. “Lye Ulroke is probably the man I could most find common ground with; I can’t say I am fond of the anti-magic doctrine the Sway take. That said, Tobias Stalt is a man I know very little about, other than he holds some influence within the Sway. The Church of the Ethereal Sway itself is probably the larger of the two entities. One thing I do know is that both of them wield power and hold influence in areas of interest to me.”

“Perhaps, then, your goal here is to provide for both, in some way.” Lady Farthingdale observed from the far side of the richly-decorated stateroom. “The Brotherhood have money, and in you they have power. The Sway could perhaps be bought, or bargained with. Lye Ulroke, however…”

“Yes,” Shinsou interjected, “He is a different creature altogether. No amount of money will buy Ulroke. So, I have to have something worth trading. Security, perhaps? I doubt I’d be able to reason with the Sway to call off their dogs, but perhaps we can come to another type of understanding…”

“You’ll do well to not underestimate him though, Shinsou,” Lady Farthingdale cautioned with a wagging finger, “He may not be the head of the Crimson Hand anymore, but he still has connections, and power. Lye is a good ally to have, but a dangerous enemy to make. There’s a fine line between the two in Salvar, as you’ll learn. This isn't Corone anymore.”

“Then, I shall tread carefully.”

Sudden laughter drew the Telgradian’s attention, a young man with fine blonde hair and handsome features shakily parading his champagne flute around the edge of the dance floor. His companions were roaring with mirth. The withering glance Lady Farthingdale cast in the direction of the blonde man was enough to shut him up almost immediately and elicit a small smile upon Shinsou’s face.

Caught between the devil and the deep blue sea, He thought, as he excused himself from the Lady’s presence and began to approach Tobias Stalt. After a moment's travel through the labyrinth of moving bodies, the Telgradian found himself stood in front of the grim looking Witch Hunter. He bowed slightly at the hip, a silent honorific to show respect.

"Tobias Stalt, I believe?" Shinsou asked poiltely, "My name is Shinsou Vaan Osiris. I was wondering if we could speak in private?"

I watched as the fiery haired maiden that had all but dragged me here, fluidly move through the crowd towards me. Her cheeks held a small hue of pink in them, a dreamy look in her chocolate gaze. Rolling my eyes I finished the third glass of wine, having started my own collection. She stopped glancing from the glass in my hand to the other two that sat as a pair on the table that I occupied. "Kinley..." She said with a disapproving tone. My lips parted for a moment as if I were about to defend myself but quickly I shrugged draining the last few swallows of the sweet red. My tongue traced the curve of my lips collecting the small droplets that had been left on my now stained lips. Adrielle gave me another pointed look of disappointment as I was around the prestige masses tonight and my table edict was anything but above subpar.

"What," I finally said with such annoyance.

"Are you truly going to just sit here and drink in a corner? We are at a gala, would it not kill you to at least dance with one gentleman caller?" The banshee sighed.

I had to fight back the urge to roll my eyes as I looked at her truly, "no it wouldn't kill me but it would kill any one of them if I lose control and spontaneously combust into nothing but a black ball of pure, rare energy." My words were harsh but true, my power was vast but my control barely there. Shaking my head I groaned inwardly.

Adrielle watched me closely, a look of worry on her youthful face. Taking a deep breath I looked up at her raising my hand, "I am fine, I don't plan to go all nuclear tonight." Her face and body relaxed slightly but still she eyed my steadily. "Don't you have some lord to go dance with?" I mumbled.

The girl shrugged, "we were split apart before I could even catch his name." She pursed her already pouty, full lips. "I am going to get some refreshments, I will return shortly." She said slowly, picking up her purple skirt so she could move more freely.

"I'll be here, waiting for the butler to come back around with another tray of wine," I said watching her as she left once more.

The young banshee had secretly left her friend to find the young lord that she had almost quite literally swept him off his feet. They had been been separated when someone had accidently bumped into her. She had turned for a moment to give her apologies and when she looked back the space he had occupied was left vacant.

Quickly she glanced back at McKinley one last time, having only met the woman four months prior after an entire town had been destroyed. The musician had been a wreck , screeching that the destruction had been her fault, that she had some how single handedly flattened and blown through it. From that moment Adrielle had found herself wanting to help her, even though she herself had had no idea what the outside world would be like due to being kept in a lab. Sighing softly she weaved in and out of the sea of bodies. The large room quickly filling with more people as the Lord of the night had given his elegant welcome speech.

Her dark gaze glanced around the room for a moment as she had lost sight of the table that held an assortment of different drinks and light finger foods. Pursing her lips she moved towards the edge of the dance floor, pushing her long fiery locks behind her bare shoulders. For a moment she stood still, like a maiden waiting for someone to ask if her dance card had been filled for the night, an eager lass to be swept up into the crowd of bodies that swayed with the rhythm of the music. She was young enough and had a handsome enough dress on to draw attention from a few Lords but still she turned to return to her adventure of finding a drink and tasting something sweet on her tongue.

She curtsied to a group of lords that she passed, gracing them with a gentle smile as she had finally spotted the table. She nodded at the butler that attended the display of deliciousness. "What will it be miss," he baritone voice easily carried.

Adrielle paused, having never really been much of a drinker. Pursing her lips with uneasiness she glanced up at the butler, "What do you recommend that is light on the lips but sweet on the tongue?"

The server seemed surprised at her question before he reached for a glass, handing it to her. "This is spiked cider, bubbly but refreshingly sweet."

The banshee smiled, accepting the cup. Slowly she raised it to her lips, taking a small sip. The carbonation tickling her nose before she nodded at the delightful taste. "Thank you," she smiled and turned towards the dance floor to observe the room.

Quote:

---

To the esteemed Sakuya Ko of Akashima,

It is with great honor that I am able to invite you to the ball I am hosting during this year’s Banishment of White at the Iverstead mansion. I am hoping that the invitation enclosed reaches you in time. I recall you telling me many years ago that you never stay in one place for too long. I have not forgotten what you’ve told me then and I have thought upon the question you posed for me. I believe I have found a satisfactory enough answer now that I am older and, arguably, just a bit wiser. If I am unable to find you amongst the guests, I trust that you remember where we first met and that you’ll have no trouble meeting me there after the guests have left. This is assuming that you’ve come at all, of course.

I certainly hope that you do,
Felix

---

Azza frowned at the contents of the letter before upending the heavy envelope in her other hand to spill the remaining contents on her lap. As promised in the letter there was a separate invitation card included. The grade of paper used for both the envelope and letter was already astounding, but the invitation card itself was something else entirely- is that gold thread embroidery around the whole card?

Quote:

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I, Felix James Iverstead the Fifth, do hereby invite the holder,
Sakuya Ko of Akashima and up to two guests of her,
to attend this year’s Banishment of White at Iverstead Mansion.

---

Azza’s frown deepened as she looked across to the other side of the carriage to the faux-Akashiman woman riding across from her. The woman was combing the brown hairs of her tail to smooth out any snags and snares while humming softly. “Sakuya, I can’t help but notice that I’m the only guest of yours going to this ball that you’re invited to. Who is this Felix person anyways? Sounds pretty rich. Look it too by what he sent.”

The brown-haired woman stopped her grooming for the moment and flicked her wolven ears up in attention. “Ah. He is a boy that I met a long time ago.” She paused to tuck the brush away into a side pack and moved her tail away. “Though I suppose he is a grown man now. We have written a few times.”

This was just the thing that Azza couldn’t get used to about her mentor. The woman was capable of answering questions that fulfilled what one asked, but never actually answered with anything of substance. To Sakuya’s credit, Azza knew that she should have been more detailed with the woman. “I mean like who is he in society? And why am I going?” Peering out the curtain of the carriage quickly, Azza continued, “We’re in Salvar too, right? I’ve read about it so I recognize some of the architecture, but don’t they hate magic users? Forget that- I don’t even look human and neither do you!”

Sakuya just laughed with the usual bell-like quality of her voice. “Sister Azza, you must be more open minded! There are many people in Salvar and not all hold the same opinion. You can change and so can they, yes? Just do what they do and do not do. I am sure it will be fine if you do not use any magic. Good for learning.”

A sigh passed from Azza’s lips as she looked to the letter again. “We practically are magic to most people. Forget it- what about this Felix then? Is he someone important? He has a mansion after all. A merchant prince maybe?”

“Hum…” Sakuya began as she made a show of combing through her memories with eyes closed. “He might be a lord now.”

“Excuse me?”

“A lord. His father might be too old now to continue as head of the family.”

Azza sat with her mouth agape at the revelation of something rather important that had been omitted in the first place. Closing her mouth when she realized it, she sighed once more before asking, “Am I at least dressed properly?” Glancing down at her bland brown robes with the bottom hem beginning to fray in some places, Azza doubted it. Her ‘nicer clothing’ didn’t seem to fit the bill either with them being spring or summer clothing and definitely not weather appropriate for Salvar.

“I think you will be fine. You are covered after all and if I recall… those in Salvar favor modesty!”

“That. That is not what I meant at all! Sakuya! You’re taking me to a ball and I’m dressed like- like a-”

“Person?”

“Yes! - what? No!” Even as Azza fumed at the absurdity of the situation, Sakuya seemed genuinely confused. “You’re in a travelling robe too!”

“I am sure there are those we can blend in with when we arrive and have fun!”

Azza scoffed. “The servants? I doubt people looking like commoners are allowed in.”

“We have an invitation and the servants are usually more relaxed. I enjoy their company more than the nobles.”

There wasn’t anything that Azza could retort with to counter what Sakuya offered. Given her own personality, Azza knew she’d probably enjoy being around the maids and staff more than the nobility in attendance. Exasperated, but amused all the same, Azza shoved those thoughts away and instead asked with a grin, “So where did you first meet Lord Felix? Sounds like he’s fond of you.”

“Does he?” Humming again in thought as she wondered, Sakuya shrugged. “He is a kind person, so him being fond of me is good. As for where I met him first… I believe I fell asleep on his balcony.”

“Should I even ask?”

“I was tired so I found a comfortable place.”

Azza couldn’t help but snort in laughter. “Alright, fine. I guess you’re going to meet him since we’re headed there. How are you going to get to his balcony tonight? I’m sure the place has plenty of guards, staff, and the eyes of guests are all over.”

Sakuya took quite a bit this time as she hummed about as if considering the many different ways she could do so. In the end she clasped her hands together and offered the answer as a question, “I am very fast?” To which Azza only felt her smirk stretch wide on her face as her eyes rolled.



Eventually the two stepped out from the carriage before the mansion. Opulent. Grand. Those were the first two things that came to mind for Azza as she ascended the steps behind Sakuya towards the entrance. To no surprise of Azza's, the guards and servants at the entrance had a mixture of suspicion and distaste watching the two of them approach. An Akashiman woman with animal ears and tail and a horned girl with rust colored wings. Both dressed like vagrant wanderers. At the very least the older manservant handling the arrival of guests was more professional as he asked, “Invitation?” Sakuya obliged and the manservant took a moment to inspect it. His eyes widened a moment and he whispered something to one of the guards. That guard saluted and then hurried off somewhere. “Welcome, Lady Ko and guest. Please enjoy your time at the ball.”

The change in demeanor was astounding for Azza, but perhaps the most shocking thing was seeing Sakuya carrying herself with a dignified air as the woman nodded her head and continued on. Not wanting to be left behind, Azza followed quickly after and soon enough the pair entered the ballroom proper.

It was the first time in this life that Azza had seen a room so lavishly decorated. Even when she was back on Se’lutia there wasn’t anything like this- well, maybe there was, but she didn’t see it. Those nearby spoke in whispers as they looked towards her. A few pointed and snickered while others had a look of revulsion. “Sakuya, I don’t think this was a good idea.” There was no answer. “Sakuya?” Turning to look for her chaperon, Azza saw that she was alone now. Sighing and feeling utterly exhausted already, Azza shook her head and mumbled, “Right. Very fast.” Looking around, she soon found rows upon rows of tables away from the center floor lined with different foods and refreshments for the guests to partake. Brightening up again, Azza figured that she might as well enjoy it like Sakuya said.

My eyes remained upon the stately lord as he dramatically moved to my side.

I was trying to bury that strange feeling, trying to ignore it, but the more I looked at him specifically, the more I began to feel it; this tingling creeping up my spine, these barely-withheld sensations threatening to overwhelm me.

Again, he spoke, in that intoxicating baritone of his. I blushed; in truth? I’d half-expected I wouldn’t show either.

My gaze followed his as he saluted another of the guests, taking note of the man I didn’t recognise. Perhaps coming here had been a mistake. I didn’t know anyone; I wasn’t the type to make connections or rub shoulders with the well-to-do folk.

The thoughts banished in a flurry as my host offered his hand… and a dance. My eyes widened as my breath caught in my throat.

No, no, no, no, no, no, my mind whimpered as my cheeks burned and I fought to swallow back the trepidation, no way, I can’t go out there!

“I’d be honoured,” My reply was soft, as I delicately reached out to accept his offer.

The moment my skin brushed his, however, I felt a rush.

It was not a rush of girlish, flirtatious excitement (well, not only that), but an explosion of withheld emotion; powerful and intense, but buried deep. It was brief; barely lasting longer than a moment. But it was enough for me to flinch, a gasp escaping before I could entirely quell it.

Praying that the man before me hadn’t noticed, I stepped closer, ready to move onto the dance floor.

“Oh, I do indeed have questions,” I chuckled softly, “I wouldn’t even know where to begin.”

Quote:

---

Black Shadow enters the ballroom

---

Black Shadow stepped off his horse and handed the reigns to a valet. He took a long look at the enormous castle before him. Guards stood at attention across the enormous walls, bows in hand, while others walked the premises. Lord Iverstead spared no expense on protecting his estate. This party brought some of the most recognizable men and women across Althanas, as well as the lowest scum anyone could imagine.

Black Shadow walked to the gate and shuffled his way towards the massive crowd. Before entering the castle, two guards stopped the archer. "Your weapon sir." One guard said, holding his hand out. Black Shadow reluctantly handed his bow to the guards who looked his down. "Any other weapons?" they said. Black Shadow starred at the men for a moment realizing he could not sneak anything in. He reached into his coat and pulled out a dagger, handing it to the guard. "Thank you, go ahead."

Black Shadow nodded and followed the crowds into the massive ball room. The enormous chandeliers caught his eye first. A single chain suspended each and yet they seemed weightless, lighting the room.

Black Shadow hated crowds. Too many people makes a job harder to pull off, and too many witnesses will certainly leave a bounty on your head if you eliminate someone. The dark archer searched the room for anyone he could talk to, but no one looked familiar. He moved to the far corner of the ballroom and scanned the area, studying the guard patterns.

One guard did not fit in. He lacked the size of the others and moved in a different pattern as the other guards. The guard scanned the room before locking eyes with Black Shadow. Black Shadow stood his ground as the guard approached him. "You there, come with me." He said, grabbing Black Shadow by the arm and pulling him towards the stairwell. Other guests stared at the two as the guard led him up to the second floor and into one of the empty estate rooms.

Quote:

---

Black Shadow exits the Ballroom and enters one of the guest suites.

---

The winter ball of Duke Iverstead attracted guests from across the known world. Salvar’s mighty Boyars, foreign dignitaries, and exotic figures of legend from across the seas. All were drawn in. The party itself displayed an obscene decadence normally seen in wall-spanning paintings. Golden trays of figs and cheese patrolled the ballroom atop shapely legs awash in sheer silk. Goblets clinked, sloshing sweet Bradbury white wine and dry, sour Fallien red.

Deep into their cups, the guests turned to gossip, keen ears of Ethereal Sway agents ever vigilant for careless words. The Boyaress of Archen had yet to take a husband, some giggled over the silver rims of their drinks. Many in attendance would hope to be suitors. Other voices, hushed and nervous, whispered of the many murderers in sharing the ballroom. The name of Stalt was uttered once, but a sharp glance from a nearby priest put the topic to rest.

These topics and more formed the chattering hum that filled the ballroom. Lurid affairs, betrayals, and threats, often hidden within monotone conversations on trade agreements or the exchange of kind pleasantries. After a while, one subject began to repeat, spreading from clique to clique like the autumn plague of 1801. The dragon.

The dragon of which they spoke was a mask worn by a particular guest. This should not have been unusual, as many of those attending wore masks as well. As was the style of the courts of Knife’s Edge this year. The dilemma was that no one could agree who the dragon mask belonged to. The man wore a doublet and trousers cut in the loose, straight Coronian style, but made of the gray and dark red silk blends popular in Alerar and trimmed in Salvic embroidery and fur. It wasn't an outlandish ensemble, especially amongst the diverse attendees, but it made his origins... confusing. His polished boots were well traveled.

He entered many conversations, exchanging words on stately topics and gossip, as well as phrases the other guests found incomprehensible.

“The red dragon said that orchards bloom in moonlight. What do you suppose it means?”

“He told me to wander in the tangled places. And I am quite certain his mask was green.”

“The black dragon whispered something to Lady Treslev, and the woman just up and left. Something off about him...”

One especially brave and witty young noble tracked the blue dragon mask down and asked, “where is your hoard, dragon?”

The stranger placed a hand on the lord’s shoulder and replied, “Now you’re thinking,” before vanishing into the flowing mass of the rich and powerful.

It never ceases to astound me. Ulroke plays the dangerous game of provocation like it's the only card in his hand. Perhaps it is. He sends an unspoken regard in my direction, whether to get a rise or to acknowledge that there are eyes on him, I cannot hope to know. I doubt the man is foolish enough to think that the Hunters would simply ignore him. For the sake of propriety, I offer a stiff, slight nod in return before returning to previous business.

The man named Shinsou.

He speaks briefly with the Lady of the House, which affirms only what Dresden said before. Friends in high places could render the man untouchable, lest he take action that breached the law. The Sway's hands were invariably tied when it came to matters conducted between the Nobility.

"Fucking foreigners," Patrick murmurs in exasperation. "They come in with the gall to think that they can buy the place with enough coin. Just because he's not Salvic, the bastard fancies himself good enough to speak to the Lady Farthingdale in such a familiar way."

I spare a quick glance in his direction, and watch the choler rise. Jealousy, is it? "You seem to think that men are made of morals, Pat," I muse gently, allowing a slight smirk. "Coin is worth more than honor in some circles."

"This isn't the Salvar I love," he spat defiantly.

"The problem is that you love this cesspool at all." His expression is rueful as he scoofs at me. "The flesh is sinful, Brother Patrick," I remind him.

But how could we ever forget that lesson?

He stands rigid for a moment after those words hit him, and he closes his eyes. With his head bowed, Patrick utters a prayer beneath his breath and then exhales sharply. "You humble me with the scriptures, Brother Stalt," he tells me, suddenly reverent.

I wonder what fresh hell they forced him to live through, such that it would illicit such a response?

Tobias Stalt, I believe?

The very man I'd taken my eyes off for but a moment has swam his way through the crowd and presented himself to me directly. Our eyes meet for a brief moment as I turn to fully face him, and I can feel now the presence that had seemed stifled at a distance. Magical, perhaps, but it carries with it experience and danger. Shinsou Vaan Osiris is not simply a hedge sorcerer to be trampled out by the All-Seeing Eye. A handful of those Hunters had the training or skill to last a full minute against someone who exerts this much pressure.

No, I've decided.

"I'm on duty," I tell him. Time is money, after all. "Can you make it quick?"

It wasn’t a surprise to Azza at all when anytime she tried to listen in around her while at the dessert table that all she could hear were whispers and blatantly rude comments about her. A mention about a “dirty pigeon pecking at the food” while another replied with “more of a lost mountain goat.” Add in a bit of snide, monotonous chuckling just loud enough for Azza to hear and she just about lost her appetite... or at least she would have had it been her former and younger self.

Truth be told, she found the jeers to be amusing as she never pretended to be part of their social standing. Some of the women she noticed looked at her with a bit of envy as well; there they were refraining from eating too much or anything too sweet or heavy while Azza gorged herself without much care. When it became obvious that the “barbaric girl” wasn’t reacting to the subtle taunting, most lost their interest and began discussing other topics that were much more tantalizing.

‘The masked dragon of the ball’ as he was being called. As speculation and rumors began to circulate around and around again, the hearsay began to grow more wild and fanciful. If anything, it sounded as if there was more than one dragon abound.

‘Perhaps even a chromatic dragon?’ Azza wondered to herself.

Hushed voices close by caught the Azza’s ear as she maneuvered herself closer in the direction it was coming from, collecting desserts on an empty serving platter she had obtained earlier. “You’ve heard or seen the dragon yet? My cousin got a look at him after hearing rumors - the lost second son of the late king.”

“The hidden prince? Please, that was naught but a rumor to incite the masses.”

“But it’s true! My cousin said the way he carries himself is no doubt of royal blood. I heard he was seen mingling with foreign dignitaries near the courtyard gates-” The two men talking suddenly quieted and stopped. Then, more quietly than before that Azza had to strain to hear, “I say, what does that peasant girl intend to do with all that?”

Uh oh. There was only one person that Azza knew of in attendance that even fit that description and ‘all that’ was probably referring to her overburdened tray of tea cakes, jar puddings, various fruit tarts, cream puffs rolled in raw sugar grains, cream pies dusted with flakes of chocolate and an assortment of sliced fruit.

Taking that as the cue to leave, Azza began to head towards the courtyard entrance with her platter of desserts. Now that she had amassed such a bounty, it would be a waste not to eat it, but even she was becoming slightly embarrassed by the amount she was consuming. The courtyard would have less prying eyes and if she just happened to catch sight of the supposed dragon it’d be a bonus. After all, hearing such scandalous tales of a man were intriguing.

As Azza moved along the sides of the ball room, she inevitably drew more stares and chuckles. Some were of amusement while others were less kind. As she neared the courtyard gateway and steered herself around a pillar, a foot stuck out and caught the hem of her robe just as she turned to the other side.

Azza and her mountainous serving plate of desserts careened forward and despite her scream to warn those in her way, it would be to no avail as she and all the eats toppled towards the very 'dragon' she had hoped to catch a glimpse of. Miraculously, the dragon mask itself stayed upon the man’s face and equally as misfortunate was the triple layer chocolate cream cake slice that flew and made a home for itself against the face of the person currently engaged in conversation with the 'dragon' - a sway agent.

AJ leaned casually against the wall as he watched the many lords, ladies, and common folk dance and meander about the room. He and his brother were taller than most of their peers at home, though he noticed that they seemed rather average in the rest of the world. He still wasn’t quite sure what he thought about that. He was, however, sure about what he thought of their first “foray” into the outside world: balls were boring, no matter where you were in the world.

He looked around and noticed ZJ dancing gracefully with a lovely young blonde. He grinned cheekily to himself. Of course ZJ was dancing. Between the two of them, this ball was far more ZJ’s thing than AJ’s. Siela was even more in her element. He saw her across the room. As usual, she was surrounded by adoring suitors. She would be quite busy dancing the rest of the night away.

Sighing to himself, he moved off the wall and headed outside to the courtyard. There was just nothing much for a nearly 16-year old boy to do at a fancy ball that was fun. At least, not the kind of fun that would be permissible. He couldn’t even show off his halberd skills since no weapons had been permitted.

~*~*~

As the song ended, ZJ bowed slightly to his dance partner. “Thank you for the dance, Lady Olivia. You are an exquisite dancer.”

Lady Olivia giggled, “You as well, Highness.”

ZJ winced a little, “Please, just Zevernus. If you’ll excuse me, I think I see my brother slipping out for some fresh air. I think I’ll join him.”

With a nod, the older twin moved away from the dance floor to follow AJ out to the courtyard.

Quote:

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AJ and ZJ move to the courtyard

---

~*~*~

Siela flashed a smile as she curtsied in response to her dance partner’s bow. It had been a long time since she’d truly enjoyed herself at a ball. Perhaps, she thought, it is the new faces. The suitors back home know exactly who I am and my connections. These fellows see only a lovely girl. It’s refreshing.

“Thank you, for the dance, Princess Siela,” the young lord said. “Perhaps you would care for a drink?”

“Thank you, most kindly,” she returned. “A drink would be lovely.” She moved away from the dance floor and took a seat. The young lord caught up to her a moment later and handed her a fluted glass of wine. This was an extra treat. Normally, her parents did not permit her or her brothers alcohol, but Jasmine could not reasonably mind them about such things on this trip and had at last acquiesced on the matter so long as the teenagers minded themselves.

“Would you like something to eat?”

Another young lord was asking this time. She had no shortage of young men willing to fetch as she pleased. She nodded curtly, “I do believe I could do with a small snack.”

The young lord was off in a moment. Out of the corner of her eye, Siela noted the faces of some of the other young women. Though they too had no shortage of willing young men, she could sense the animosity in their minds. They did not like a foreigner making such an impact on the Salvic social scene. Not to worry, ladies, she chuckled to herself, [i]They will forget about me in due time once I’ve returned home.

The young lord returned with a plate of hors d'oeuvres. Siela thanked him once more and took the plate. This was going to a great evening, even with the glared daggers coming from the local ladies.

~*~*~

Jasmine meandered around the ballroom, keeping mostly to herself. She engaged in small talk here and there, but only briefly. She smiled to herself as she watched Siela dance with partner after partner. As much as her daughter complained, she knew the girl greatly enjoyed these kinds of occasions. ZJ also seemed to be enjoying himself.

Now, where has AJ gotten off to?

As she looked around she caught sight of the teal hair exiting the ballroom for the courtyard. Ahh, as I expected. He’d have probably been better off staying home. Oh well, he’ll be fine I’m sure. There goes Zev to join him.

All at once she realized she had been spoken to, “Oh! I’m sorry, I was a little lost in thought watching my children. This is their first ball away from home. I’m Princess Jasmine of Moriah. I didn’t catch your name?”

Before her stood an older gentleman, graying at the temples. “Quite alright, Your Highness. I am Lord Haversham, I had come to see if you would like a dance?”

“Certainly,” Jasmine answered and took his offered arm.

His quarry hesitated with her delicate hand in his. It felt as though a mouse laid itself in the maws of a bear trap and the exhilaration of her pause sent a chill down his spine. Her gasp reminded him of so many chance encounters that he simply lost count. Something about this girl stood above the drabble. Even without his second sight, the feel of her touch along ignited a curiosity that became intoxicating. That yearning for understanding manifested in a firm grip around her lithe fingers and he took several long strides into a sea of swirling bodies. With a delicate understanding of balance, he pulled her against him and swept her free hand up in his. The air held for a moment as the music's rhythm filled the gap.

"Ask away." The statement left his lips in a low, soft whisper. It conveyed equal parts invitation and threat.

As he delivered those two words, he pulled himself into the rhythm of the music. Whether or not Lady Fae kept pace, his experience with balance mitigated any clumsiness into the push and pull of an elegant ballroom dance. His feet followed hers and the entangling of her hands in his allowed him to direct the dance. As they spun, twisted and dipped, he could not help but feel as though he manipulated a beautiful marionette with his fingertips.

In a dip, he held his lips beside her ear. "Your father was tried and executed for magic."

He pulled her upright, eyes locked with hers through the mask he wore. They moved into a three step.

"Salvar is a prison for you." He stated. The bodies of other couples and nobles blissfully moved around them. He made direct eye contact with a few nearby and watched as they gave him and his partner distance.

"Why?" he asked as the music picked up into the peak of its ballad. He spun her out in a twirl and then pulled her back in for a tight embrace.

Ask away

Those two words were like a spell; one that opened a dark, swirling portal. I could not see beyond, but it promised so many things... even if safety was not one of them. What to ask? There was so much I wanted to know, so many thoughts and feelings swirled in my mind as we moved onto the dancefloor. Father had taught me to dance as a girl, twirling around the heart while mother stitched from her rocking chair, watching us.

To my relief, the memory of those steps had more or less remained, and I followed my partner as he led us through the steps. My heart raced, my cheeks flushed, as I was entirely swept away from myself. Before long, I had simply let go of my body, flowing and spinning, instinctively reacting to his movements and nudges. It was beautiful, in a way, like some deeper level of trust and balance than I was used to.

"Who are you?" Finally my question came out.

The simplest and most complicated question one could ask; not merely a request for a name, but to beseech the man for his very essence, his core, what made him... him.

Whether he chose to answer it as the simple request or the complex one, or indeed at all, was up to him.

We continued to dance, and I found it exhilirating and enthralling, an intoxicating ride... until he swept me into a dip... and whispered in my ear.

It was as though someone had speared the moment with a shard of ice, instantly freezing everything in its tracks. My gaze sharpened and snapped directly to his, my breath snatched away in a gasp and my heart suspended between beats. For a moment I said nothing, as he pulled me up again and we moved into a three step.

Then, came his question.

Why?

As we danced, I looked directly into his eye, my gaze solemn.

"Because I'm afraid."

Afraid of the church, afraid of the unknown, afraid to end up like father and mother, afraid to sully their memory or die away from my homeland... He was right, Salvar had made me her prisoner.

Safe behind the dragon mask, the rogue sorcerer and Salvar’s most wanted criminal, Elijah Belov, talked to one of Salvar’s most dangerous men. A kindred spirit, in that one respect.

“I must say, Your Holiness has a fine grasp on the husbandry of bees,” said Belov, the dragon-masked sorcerer. The intricate scale patterns gleamed in the candlelight, colors ever-shifting like snow beneath the northern sunset.

“Yes, well, a proper man must be balanced in his education.” Michail Prevna shifted from one foot to the other, his otherwise impeccable poise and confidence thrown off-balance by Eli’s demeanor. One did not simply chat with the Lord Auditor as if he were another petty noble. Tasked with rooting out corruption in the kingdom and within the Ethereal Sway’s own ranks, he answered to the High Priest alone.

The man stood a head taller than the ‘dragon’ and wore robes of pale blue and silver that nearly touched the floor. His head was shaved and lined with many scars and wrinkles, reminding him of words of wisdom his first fencing instructor once shared. “Never underestimate a man who looks carved from granite.” His gaze was an icy flint, and so was his aura, revealed to Elijah’s magic sight, as bleak and cold as the Frozen Seas of Berevar. Unlike most of the other guests whose souls gently rippled and bubbled in shades of soft pastel, the Lord Auditor’s was a sharp blade.

Upon the agent’s face, a monocle rested on one eye. Few would recognize the prevaldia rim nor spot the tiny, intricate glyphs engraved into the delicate metal. Through the lens, the man no doubt scrutinized the ‘dragon’ in much the same way. Elijah’s years of training, plus the genius of his mask’s construction, would keep him safe from even a gaze enhanced by magic. He hoped.

“Wisely said, Lord Prevna.” Elijah inclined his head, the dragon mask shifting from green to gold as light shifted across its facets. His voice betrayed none of his unease.

“I confess, you have me at a disadvantage.” The Sway agent straightened, clasping his hands behind his back. “Have we met? What is your name?”

“That has become a matter of tantalizing speculation this evening, and I dare not spoil the guests’ fun just yet.” He spread his hands, as if to say ‘it can’t be helped,’ before pushing on before his new acquaintance could respond. “I know I’ve taken enough of your time, Your Holiness, but I wondered if I might ask a question on theology.”

The Lord Auditor’s eyebrows rose. “You have my attention. Let us hear--”

A crash, thunder. A flash of silver and a shower of pastries.

“Gods below!” The curse, uncharacteristic of the disciplined agent, escaped Michail’s lips. Chocolate crumbs and slick icing stuck to the man’s face. Cream and pastry flakes covered his once immaculate robes. Confusion turned to rage on his face, replaced swiftly by a cold, hard line across his mouth.

Elijah barely noticed the Lord Auditor. Behind his purple dragon mask, his eyes went wide. The girl responsible was getting up off the floor. She wore simple brown robes, like a temple acolyte from a poor village. Her hair, silver despite her youth. Were those… horns?

Yet, her physical features were soon forgotten as her aura filled Elijah’s vision like a sunrise. Untamed power churned within her. A feeling of something primal and ancient that only he could see. Except for… the sorcerer’s gaze snapped back to the Lord Auditor. The Sway agent cleaned smudged glaze from his monocle with a silk cloth.

“Pardon this disturbance, Lord Auditor,” said the Dragon, thinking fast. “This is my niece.” He grabbed her by the arm, eliciting a surprised squeak. “Forgive her clumsiness. I will see her reprimanded.”

Without another word, the dragon dragged the orphan girl out of the ballroom, to the courtyard. Perhaps realizing the danger, or perhaps too shocked to resist, the girl didn’t struggle. Once in the courtyard, Elijah took her behind a grand marble statue.

His heart was pounding. He looked hard at her, his words whispering through the dragon’s face like a distant thunder. “You stand out. You shine too bright to be here.” At last, he removed the mask to meet her gaze. “But you needn’t fear me.”

All the while, a voice scratched at the back of his mind. He felt like he knew this girl, but that was impossible.

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The 'dragon' leaves the Ballroom and enters the Courtyard, bringing Azza. Bunny approved.

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The low, constant thrum of the party continued. Musicians changed song and the tables of food and drink replenished just as fast as it diminished. The staff of Iverstead estate moved quickly and with purpose. They hardly muttered a word to their guests aside from a "thank you" or "pardon me". The other lords of the area kept distance from one another except for two, Lord Rorick and Lord Peterberg. During the speech, they kept to the back of the gathered crowd, and bent each other's ears under the weight of Iverstead's announcement. Lady Farthingdale paid much attention to Tobias Stalt and the hunters which kept him company. Lord Quartermire and his circle of esteemed hugged close to the refreshments where he partook as much food as one would expect for his portly stature. Lady Synta and her current suitor for the night danced beautifully amidst the crowd, handing off to other male dancers in spurts to bat her lashes and feel their touch. All the while Lady Vermillion stared daggers at Lady Synta for her behavior with nobles and commoners alike.

In the midst of the festivities, the sound of a plate shattering on the hardwood gave slight pause. Attentions gathered to the disturbance to see a rather intoxicated commoner lose grip of his plate. In the fraction of a second of silence, one of the massive windows suddenly burst open. An unnatural gust of wind swept inward, extinguishing the candles atop one of the crystal chandeliers. Then, another window, and another. One by one, they burst open with gusts of wind which blew out candles, caught fabric of billowing dresses, tussled pristine hairstyles, and whipped masks from the faces of some of the staff. Screams belted out in the chaos, the music halted, one fiddler knocked from the stage to the floor below with a thud of skull against wood. The glow of light above became a wash of darkness.

In the gale, a chandelier loosened from its bolts in the beams above. It groaned a warning to those below before its fasteners failed under the sheer weight of metal and crystal.

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CRASH!

Glass skittered across the ballroom floor. High pitched skrieks of terror rang out with the name of some poor soul crushed beneath. Then, as sudden as it came, the wind slammed through toward the courtyard and silence fell over the shaken crowd.

Voices slowly ebbed through the wake of chaos and bewilderment. Was everyone okay? Do you need help up?

"LORD IVERSTEAD!" screamed a small woman in the attire of the help. Attentions pulled toward the sight of the Lord face down against the hardwood. A pool of thick ichor stemmed from his body and threatened the feet of nearby onlookers.

From outside, guards rushed inward from the commotion. Seeing the Lord of the manor, they charged forward and peeled the weeping woman from his body. A guard knelt down, held a hand to Iverstead's mouth. He paused, then laid a hand upon his neck. He turned a somber look to the head of the guard.

"Captain..." the words alluded to the next. "He's dead."

A grimace formed on the captain's face. He knelt beside his subordinate to examine the body. "Three, four, five..." he muttered.

"Seven times. He's been stabbed seven times." The other guards became rigid.

"Alright!" the guard captain roared. "I want all exits secured! No one leaves this place! There is a murderer here, and I'll be damned if they escape!"

Guards scattered. Doors filled with the frames of men in full armor. Once open windows were swiftly shut and the dark, cold, damp ballroom became a crime scene of the estate.

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Looking out over the faces of disheveled and confused guests, it became quickly evident that the other Lords and Ladies were no where to be seen. Foul air hung in the growing thrum of rumor and speculation.

Someone here killed Lord Iverstead and perhaps his body would not be the last.

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

Happy hunting~

---

Jasmine was pleasantly surprised to find that Lord Haversham was quite the dancer. They moved smoothly among the other dancers with precision and grace.

“How are things back home, Highness?”

“Please, just Jasmine, or Lady if you must. The titles are unnecessary. Moriah is doing well. Why do you ask, my Lord?”

He spun her out and back in, “I have been thinking about expanding some of my business opportunities. I recognized you and thought it a convenient opportunity.”

“Ah, well I hate to disappoint you, but I am not greatly involved in Moriah’s business dealings anymore. You must speak to the king.”

“Is he not your brother?”

“He is, but I do not involve myself with the affairs of running the kingdom. My title is a mere formality.”

“I see. LOOK OUT!!”

Lord Haversham nearly picked her up and threw her he moved so quickly as chaos and a falling chandelier erupted around them. He breathed heavily as he looked frantically around.

“Are you okay, Lady Jasmine?”

“Yes,” she answered, checking over herself for any inadvertent injuries from the shattered glass. “Yes, I’m quite alright.”

MOTHER!

Jasmine almost winced as her daughter’s “voice” rang in her head.

I’m fine, Siela. Come and join me.

~*~*~

Siela laughed merrily as she took a new hand in preparation for a dance. As she did, she stopped suddenly.

“What’s wrong?” her suitor asked.

“Nothing, it’s just-”

Her words cut off as the windows burst open. As the chandelier fell her mind was filled with terror as the partygoers’ minds shouted loudly. She’d been able to ignore the hum of unguarded thoughts throughout the night, but the sudden volume change startled her. She sat back down hurriedly, putting a hand to her head.

“Princess Siela?”

The concern in the young man’s voice was genuine, but she waved him off. “I’m fine, it’s nothing. I must have stood a little too quickly.”

She looked around the room and realized that she’d last seen her mother on the dance floor near the fallen chandelier. Panicked, she sent her thoughts out toward her mother. A moment later, relief flooded her face as Jasmine answered. She got to her feet and inclined her head politely to those around her.

“Please, excuse me, gentlemen, I must see to my family.”

She gave them no chance to respond and picked her way quickly across the room to stand with Jasmine.

“Mother,” she whispered, “something is wrong, I can feel it.”

Jasmine hushed her daughter, “Keep such things to yourself, Siela. We do not want the Ethereal Sway breathing down our necks because of your abilities. Zevernus, welcome back.”

Zevernus nodded to his mother as he hurried up to them, “What’s going on?”

Jasmine looked around. The screaming had largely stopped, though a number of ladies were still fanning themselves in shock at the edges of the room. “Lord Iverstead has been murdered,” she answered simply. “Where is Aiden?”

“He’s still in the courtyard. We met a faun and another gal while we were outside. We were with them when the windows blew and a gust of wind rammed the door open. He’s staying with them to make sure they’re okay.”

Siela closed her eyes for a moment, concentrating on tuning out the loud thoughts of panicked people. She cast around subtly, trying to see if anyone was suspiciously calm about the recent events.

Jasmine looked around and noted that her dancing partner had disappeared. Figures, she thought resignedly, he must have slipped away as soon as he saw I was unhurt. No matter, there are more important things to worry about.

She moved with less resistance than he anticipated. Like a brook over stones, she flowed in his hands. When he moved toward another direction, her body fell into it as though she willingly took a path of least resistance. Her footwork kept pace. Through these subtleties, the killer gleaned a faint light into the history scribed upon her soul. She knew the luxuries of dance, or at the very least the rhythm of the body to the sounds of music. Highest of all, he felt her trust.

The hairs of his arms rose, skin warm with the same anticipation a hunter feels as they hold a bowstring taught and broadhead leveled on the heart of their prey.

"Who am I..." he lingered on her question with a repetition and spun her out. Arms extended and wide, the looked as though incredibly distant. Then he tugged her gentle and spun her into his clutches with her back to his chest. He peered through the black, ceramic mask and spoke beside her ear. "I am both the question, the answer, and the part of you that says you should run, but you can't help but want to stay."

The depth of the statement, though cryptic, carried a burdened weight buried beneath decades of experience, struggle, and conquest. Lye was something of his own, not easily labeled by his own words yet callously labeled by others: Killer, murderer, psychopath, madman...

And at one point in time, lover, father, husband, neighbor...

He twirled her face to face again. His hand rested on the small of her back, firm but gentle. Her answer about fear struck a chord of curiosity. Of all the reasons, fear? In his arms and in their dance she gave her trust, yet fear is what kept her caged. Leoric's intel alluded to something sleeping deep within her family name.

"A raven does not deserve a cage," he replied again with cryptic meaning and allusion.

Spurned by his words or some other unseen force, the ballroom quickly descended into madness. The dull greys and soft auras of blue from his second sight light ablaze. Wind washed through the bodies like a torrent. Chandeliers became large, heavy windchimes. Wax from the candles sprayed a warm rain own and peppered his suit and skin. The grin of entertainment faded into a grimace.

Death was in the room.

Screams rang, glass shattered, and despite the chaos, Lye stood stoic and tall. The hand which held hers moved around her. His will steeled. Light faded to dark from his left eye, but his right eye saw the workings of something that should not be in the sudden gale. As nobles cowered, and locals ran, Lye let his gaze drift to Tobias Stalt and his envoy of Mage Hunters.

A wind like this, so sudden? Magic. It had to be. The first thing that came to mind-- The Church of Ethereal Sway.

From the ceiling some twenty feet high loosed a chandelier thankfully a fair distance from them. The spirit of a poor man snuffed to ash under its weight. Then, with much less ceremony, the winds left toward the courtyard like an army of specters advancing their charge to another battleground.

"LORD IVERSTEAD!"

A body.

"Fuck," Lye uttered. His grasp loosened on Fae.

The guard answered the wail of the Lord's name and quickly assessed the wounds: seven stabs. Their weapons had been confiscated upon entry, Lye's included. The scene, the wind, something sat wrong in the pit of his stomach. What looked like an event to display wealth now carried dark and sinister undertones. This macabre music would most certainly point fingers his way by those aware of his craft.

Lye looked for a direction, a place to go away from here. A faint trail of blue lead toward the courtyard and another to the second floor. A quick scan revealed the absence of other strong, political figures. Trails of what should not be lingered all throughout the ballroom. They crossed and knotted. No one hint stood above the rest. His eyes settled toward the higher vantage point where he felt would be the better of the two options. He turned to Fae, free from their dance.

"If you would like to know more, follow me." The emerald and jade eyes behind the mask looked hardened.

He moved casually, slowly, and with confidence toward the stairwell to the second story where Iverstead arrived from. The mass panic and murmurs covered his movement. Others, looking to flee from the blood, began to follow his lead. They started toward the large doors at the top of the stairwell and made the first steps toward the guest rooms. He used this to fall into the stream of bodies and cover his retreat.

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Lye moves to the Second Floor

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Quote:

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AJ and Celandine enter from the courtyard. All bunnying approved between our posts.

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Celandine looked around the hall that was recovering from the chaos of their ordeal. The chandelier was still crashed, the massive structure piercing the air like some twisty and wirey monster. The broken glass that had been cast, thankfully, had been brushed up by the attentive staff, and the body itself was covered by a perfectly clean, white sheet. Courtiers, nobles and estranged guests alike huddled at the corners of the room, while a tall, pale man with white hair strode forwards, demanding answers, and a black raven-humanoid hurried after him, writing notes in a book as she went.

Celandine knew she was in far too much trouble. First, there had been the murder in the small town when she had arrived on the Salvar shores, now there was this second one. The first she could keep quiet about, as it had been a local thing, but this one … her mother would be furious to know that she had been there.

"But then, I'm not with her," the young lady faun growled, folding her arms and looking to her new companion. Taking in a breath she turned to the prince. "Where do we start?" She nodded at the pale man and the raven, who were talking to a servant at the moment. "They seem to know what to do. You wanted to find your family?"

“Yeah,” Aiden looked around the room and finally spotted his family. “I see them over there. It doesn’t look like much else has happened yet. Would you like to stay with us for the time being?”

“Certainly,” the faun replied.

AJ led the way around the mangled chandelier and waved to his family with his free hand. As they approached, he began introductions.

“Mother, this is Celandine. ZJ and I met her in the courtyard. Celandine, this is my mother, Lady Jasmine Draocsius, my sister, Siela, and you already met my older twin.”

Jasmine inclined her head politely, “Good to meet you, Celandine. While you’ve been outside, quite the commotion has been happening in here. Unfortunately, there’s been no further news other than that no one is to leave the estate. Several other lords and ladies seem to be missing as well. Hopefully, someone will have something soon for all of us. I’ve never been particularly fond of murder mystery stories.”

As this thread has drawn to a close, we will be giving experience and GP for all participants regardless of completion status.

Tobias Stalt gains 120 EXP
Fae gains 80 EXP
Lye gains 150 EXP
Christoph gains 80 EXP
Flamebird gains 50 EXP
loves.blessing gains 40 EXP
darkest.desires gains 20 EXP
Shin gains 200 EXP
ophans gains 50 EXP
Adrielle gains 40 EXP
Black Shadow gains 40 EXP

Since this took so long I'm going to just do a flat GP reward across the board of 150 GP per character.

All EXP and GP added