The Ball Room [EVENT ROOM 1]

[Christoph]

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.