RP:Crimson Rondo

From HollowWiki

Part of the The Cenrilian Connection Arc



Great Hall of Vailkrin

The main room of the castle has been arranged to sit accommodate many visitors with two long stone tables on either side of a centre aisle along which the runner from the entrance continues nearly the whole length of the room. Each table has been set simply but elegantly with a long strip of tablecloth interrupted at regular intervals with identical silver candlesticks which softly illuminate the seating areas. Most of the light in the room, however, issues from a chandelier which is less a candelabra than a giant bowl filled with burning oil, hanging from great chains which are held in the mouth of a stone grotesque, the throat of which also serves as a chimney to prevent the room from filling with the acrid smoke issuing from the flames beneath it. The stonework continues across the ceiling with depictions of skeletons who appear to be passing corpses towards the beast in the centre of the ceiling to be consumed. The ceiling itself is supported by pillars which stand just out from either wall which are fronted by carvings of a faceless, hooded figure; representations of Vakamatharas, the God of Death. To the North – behind a rather more grandiose table supposedly reserved for the hosts and their esteemed guests – and through a small archway are a set of stairs leading to an upper level of the castle.




Celiann || The Great Hall has been grandly decorated. Fine spider silk tapestries dyed a vibrant red – as to conceal the grotesquely gruesome carvings - depict each pictorial heraldry and motto of the noble vampire Houses; depicting scenes of note from each House and their history, be it a proud discovery of some ancient tome or the slaying of a terrible creature. The grandiose stone tables are set north, east and west: the high backed seats of the northern-most table implying that only the heads of the noble Houses may sit there along with any other important or notable guests. There is a cleared space in the middle of the hall for dancing, mingling and general festivities. To the left and right of the entrance, there are catered tables of extravagant food and drink which caters to both living and undead tastes. Vampiric and undead servants roam around the hall to courteously inquire about guests requiring refreshment: they are finely dressed and actually not quite bad looking for corpses. Every so often, a booming voice interrupts the chatter and banter of the hall to announce a new guest of import or certain status. Should guests not have a mask of their own, a member of staff will courteously present one and bid them a ‘good evening’ with a grandiose gesture towards the main floor of the Hall.


Phaedra entered the hall her indigo gaze running over every detail as she quietly walked towards the people already there.


Kasyr , given his nature as the host, is obviously amidst the initial arrivals- the Kensai having somehow been coaxed into ditching his habitual ensemble of armour trenchcoat, scarf, and other such serviceable items of clothing in exchange for the trappings of nobility: the revenant now sporting a finely tailored black spider-silk suit, with a silk cravat of a lustrous crimson shade- and a gorgeous black overcoat, marked with numerous designs in an Alithyraan style etched in gold upon it's back, and perched on his forehead, in place of his habitual goggles, is a rather garish mask of a black snake. But really, all that details is what he's wearing. As for what he's doing- it seems to be more along the lines of meet and greet, couple with a few anxious glances, akin to waiting for someone.


Pyoshia rode within a carriage, several carriages as a matter of fact. Each was holding within several zombies and one, the one sixth in line of seven, held within the queen. Well, as she saw it, she was a damned queen. On top of each of the carriages was a shrub, shaped to the image of the dryad, little men around it, worshipping her, bowing to her, paying tribute. From there, the carriages were covered in sickly colored vines and black roses. As the first one stopped before the castle, the guards came to open up the doors, five undead to pile out, the process repeated for the first five, then.. Just Pyoshia and finally, the last one, another five undead. Each of the undead had upon their head either a rose or sunflower, with roots imbedded into it’s skull, animating it’s body. They were for all essence, still dead, and going to be made fertilizer after Pyoshia had her fun. They wore jewelry, well, the men did, jewelry, blush, and makeup to make them appear ‘nicer’ to the guests. The men also seemed to be wearing dresses and heeled shoes, clearly Pyoshia had a warped sense of humor. The women however, wore tuxedos, flowers in their pockets and presented their fifteen men with corsages. Pyoshia however, she wore a dress made from bark, poofy on the bottom, thin and shoulderless on the top. Her earrings were made from frozen tree sap, and her shoes were cute little black sandals and a red rose on the top of them. She ushered in her little entourage, after they were searched, and proceeded towards the main entertainment area. Her little group bowed at once, before Kasyr, Pyoshia to remain standing. “I had a few guests who felt left out.” The dryad smirking in accomplishment.


Celiann had pestered Kasyr by quoting a book on ‘dinner-party and ball etiquette’, which is presumably why he is so fancily dressed. Celiann will take all the glory for such a situation at least. As he glances anxiously, the necromancer is shuffling quickly towards him: swishing bits of her tangled and bedhead hair out of her face and mouthing ‘sorry!’ towards him before slipping her arm in his and resting her hand gently upon his arm. “The m-m-mask wouldn’t f-f-fit,” she told him, other hand quickly dusting off her dress. “G-Go on, a-a-announce us!” she nudged him.


Lanlan arrives and doesn't have a mask, until now. His earlier qualms about the stench have given way to the most pleasant surprised. These corpses preserved better than some bodies that haven't started decomposing. Still, the state of unlife is rather offensive to him and he takes care to avoid the servants. Of course; what is a man with such specific sensibilities doing in Vailkrin? Business of course, which transcends his personal feelings. With all the people that lurk about, and the masks making everyone anonymous, his discussion with Pyde can be furthered into detail while having no fears of persecution. Luckily, his personal dress code (and ego) limits him completely to looking regal at all times, his long violet cape, his pure white shirt and black pants... But he's no nancy boy! Watch how he goes for Elven blood wine, never fearing to stain his shirt! Balls.


Phaedra had just bought herself a new dress for the occasion it was ruby in color and stunning to look at. One of the undead staff hands her a beautiful feathered mask the same claret color as her dress finishing off her outfit completely. Her gaze ran over all the people as she walked closer to a table with drinks upon it looking around she wondered if anyone she knew was here.


Lanlan picks a mask with hollow horns that erupt starting at the sides of the forehead, as only this mask can protect his identity from any who know of his eyebrows.


Kasyr, amongst other disasters, has been waiting for Pyoshia's arrival, if only because the dryad promised some form of mischief. And yet, when the diminuitive dark dryad gestures towards her gender-bent entourage, the revenant can only shrug, "Sure. Okay. Just don't clutter things up, or make a mess." This is clearly not even close to the oddest thing the revenant has seen- somewhere between cross-dressing orcish fashionistas, and the myriad monstrosities and occult obscurities which he's been subjected to due to cabal, he can't even muster the pretense of being overly shocked. With that said, the kensai simply reaches into his pocket, and tosses a small sealed pack over towards the dryad, "Open that elsewhere. Maybe in the thick of your 'pretty' posse, ou quoi-ce-soit." And then the revenants attention is dragged away from that particular endeavour, his focus simply falling upon his accompaniment. "Et bien, I suppose the surprise would not have lasted much longer, regardless. You are looking lovely, all the same." He offers her arm an affectionate pat, before he quietly steps over towards the herald and moves to whisper- only pausing to quickly look back, "You know. Is there a title I should add? Or would simply name et house work?"


Celiann ’s mask was that of a fox, implying that the wearer herself was sly and cunning, if not for the silver rimmed glasses that perched on the outside and suggested poor sight for the owner. “Unless y-y-you w-want t-to give me one, h-h-house is fine,” she said in a conspiratorial manner! How fun this gala would be. As Kasyr appears indifferent, as does Celiann: sparing scrutinising glances at each undead servant under Pyoshia’s control. This was not true necromancy, that much she could detect. Or if it was, it was not well done. Making an undead corpse, who had not been properly reanimated, wear high heels is a cruelty for surely the brittle muscles and bones would find the pressure difficult to bear. “Announcing His Royal Highness of Vailkrin, Kasyr Azakhaer, Lord of House Azakhaer! Announcing Her Ladyship, Celiann Es’stel of House Ginavi!” The herald had a powerful voice, unnaturally powerful even. Once announced, Celiann tugged on Kasyr’s arm. “T-Take our s-s-seats,” she told him with a tiny incline of her head towards the other House members. It was time to proudly walk past and tell them: yes, yes I’m still alive.


Pyoshia frowned as the man seemingly wasn’t impressed by her theatrics but the woman of course wasn’t done! No, no, she had plans up her sleeve! And the little dryad would likely have to have a small dance festival too! But first, the tea party! She walked towards the back and opened the box she’d been given, finding mice inside, a delicacy she quite enjoyed! One after another, the little mice were slid down into her mouth, and chewed upon with a delightful smile. Little bits of mice skull and tail would be seen as she chewed, sometimes popping out of her mouth only to be slurped back into the feeding frenzy! The undead around her, while this was happening, were seemingly lost… Having no idea at all what to do, they began to run into walls, over, and over, just face, wall, face, wall, confused and needing direction. The little dryad having finished off her meal turned to face her entourage with a smile, one of the few she ever gave. Suddenly, they all turned towards one central location within the middle of the hall. Their rotted mouths and tongues began to make noise and one could hear, “I know a song that gets on everybody’s nerves, everybody’s nerves, everybody’s nerves! I know a song that gets on everybody’s nerves and this is how it goes!” Thirty voices, singing in unison, closing towards the center, slowly growing louder and louder as they got there.. Until finally, Pyoshia stood before them all like a conductor of an orchestra, swinging her arms back and forth, tiny stick in hand.


Pyde stops at the door to be announced in. Soon after he scampers across the room, he whispers a spell and goes invisable, using this he hides his life-size bundle and scurries away from it then drops his spell. He hurries over to a table, and climbs atop a chair to get to the table edge and pulls himself up. He takes check of his puupets on his belt in case he has to entertain anyone.


Lilyanne strolls into the Great Hall, her hazel gaze sweeping across the establishment with what appears to be an impressed expression. Perhaps hoping to make an impression, the female has gone all out in her wardrobe: a form-fitting, silk red dress clings to her body, dark gold floral patterns writhing up and around the crimson fabric with flowers and leaves in all the right places to bring attention to the curves she does not lack. The flesh exposed by the V-cut of the dress is adorned with an ornate, gold-framed opal pendant, while her ruby chandelier earrings catch the rays of dim lighting every now and again. Before anyone thinks that Lilyanne is lacking in the self-defense department, a slit in her dress reveals the dagger strapped to her right leg. Her heeled black boots also play home to hidden blades, though those are not as easy to discern. Standing near the entranceway for a moment, the female assesses the situation before strolling towards one of the catered tables. Mmmm, blood wine.


Lanlan started to take a sip of wine, but instead it bounced off the mask he forgot he was wearing, and blotched up his shirt. He became angry, enraged even! This irrational reaction augmented by a most unforgivable chorus. Those mindless flower-heads from earlier... Now he's so mad, that he whips up a firebolt, manipulates it through the air above the mass, and shoves it down one of the singer's throats! Feeling a mite better, he casts a quick illusion to make the wine-stain vanish into pure whiteness, which begs the question: Just how pure is this "pure-white shirt"?


Kasyr||It's been some time since the various houses have had a reason to convene that, whether it be for the sake of business or pleasure- something that makes the actual turnout almost daunting, in a sense, as though the respective houses have not brought all their members, they each one have a significant presence in the room, one which is practically mirrored by individuals notable within Vailkrins undead commuity, as well as those individuals connected. At a glance, individuals from Ventra were likely those to be noticed first, if only due to the lavish nature of their costumes- reflecting the lucrative endeavours their house has long since chosen to specialize in. Representatives from Torrador, however, are no less notable, however- though their eye catching nature derives less from the sheer luxury of their garments, and more from the fanciful, and sometimes surreal nature of the designs- Some having gone so far to be fully costumed for the event, as befitting some of the more artistically inclined within Vailkrins society. Really, it's one of these that gravitates towards Pyoshia's odd display- which, in tandem with a few of the undead and vampiric servants, he moves to try and cordon off that segment so that he might have a proper niche to sketch out that horrid little scene. Other groups, if not as lively in garment, might make up for it in other manners, what with a good many youth from house Trintus and Ladaeth having occupied a section of the catering table along the east wall- and devoted themselves to talking about battles, various techniques...and engaging in a general contest of one-upmanship. Which given that Trintus represents those who devoted themselves to the arts of chivalry, and Ladaeth those who tamper with physical and magical combat combined? Isn't really likely to go anywhere fast. Other houses too, such as Nasar (rumoured, none too discretely, to be connected to the underworld), Alnwick (risen to prominence through their role as diplomats), and Markan (Alchemists and their 'ilk')- have also made a heathy showing. Asharam, is harder to pick out, but given that Lord Derrick is present- it's likely others of that house are too.


Pyoshia frowns as one of her little friends is caught on fire. Walking over her tiny finger touches his shin and he collapses, released from her spell. The fire began to incinerate him, Pyoshia's magic to work through his body and extinguishing the fire before it might spread. She turns to the rest of her opera, "Sit." Each of the remaining twenty nine to take seats. Her attention turns to Lanlan, memorizing him, before turning away. "Feed the earth, your death, like all the rest is well needed." As the corpse is no longer on fire, her hand placed in the middle of it, the body rapidly begins to decay and becomes fertilizer, fueling her form, providing her nutrients to survive.. Leaving only bones behind.


Kasyr , for his part, is really the only representative of House Azakhaer, with other members of the Coterie currently being indisposed of and all the likes. And yet, the revenant still holds a certain presence within the room, a combination of assuredness and a certain uncanny darkness which is near palpable about himself- and which helps to clear a path through the discord of the dance floor, allowing himself and Celiann to navigate through with ease. Only briefly is a glance spared for Pyoshia's display- and that's one a fireball is introduced to the mix, something that cues a few quick glances towards those responsible for security within the room. That aside, however, he's more than happy to take his place at the head table- Though not before he makes a point of offering the seat normally reserved for one of his coterie mates being now to Celiann, "Apres vous, Madamoiselle."


Celiann releases his arm momentarily so she may take the proffered seat, bespectacled eyes settling upon the display of the burning corpse and the operatic catastrophe. It irked Celiann greatly. As a devout follower of the Death God, this was an abomination: it was not true necromancy. These poor souls, they must be in agony. This was an unclean servitude; a foulness that needed to be removed. Even with the furious and baffled stares from House Ginavi and House Mahara, Celiann fingers move in a small twisting rotation until three to five of the controlled corpses drop to the floor and decay at so rapid a rate that even their bones fade to dust. The necromancer can do little else from her seat, especially without the use of her wand or a personal touch. With a glance to Pyoshia, the necromancer looked to Kasyr, “I w-w-will r-r-retire for a t-time, actually,” she spoke apologetically, “t-t-too much s-staring.” With that, the scholar excused herself.


Lilyanne watches the spectacle unfolding before her from her position at the table, a brow lifted in amusement before her chocolate-hued gaze drifts towards those who might be the security force here. Despite the tidbits of drama, the crowd seems to remain calm, drawing a shadow of smile on the vampiress's lips. Undead parties are always fantabulous. While all are perused, her line of vision settles a little longer on Kasyr before Lord Derrick catches her attention. Golden globet of wine in hand, the vampiress strolls casually up to the known vampire with a smile. "G'day." The start of a hopefully very eventful conversation.


Kasyr offers one last reassuring pat to the necromancer's arm as she excuses herself, though the fleeting nature of the gesture makes it apt to go unnoticed. Indeed, even as she exits the room, the revenant keeps an eye upon her until he can no longer discern her amidst the crowd- by which point he turns a casual glance over towards the only other individuals who had shared a similar 'concern' as to Celianns current status- those being the lord Antonin Mahara and the Lady Alesha Ginavi. Really, at this point, Alesha's actually staring at him- so it's a brief meeting of Kasyr's amused gaze, and a look that seem to rapidly vacillate between confused and anxious, before finely settling upon annoyed. And though she looks oh so poised to say something, the revenant simply turns his head- seemingly distracted by something he finds a need to address towards the Lord Derrick. "Wou.." A glance to Lilyanne, and the revenant pauses.


Lanlan happens to find himself next to a guest who's well involved in the gossip around Vailkrin, and she's taken to using him to brag about it, pointing out each of these different house members, and what they're known for, and some rumors about them. She gets to Kasyr, "Yes we've met before, briefly," he says to her. He finds her quite annoying, but tolerates her for the knowledge she imparts. Whether or not it can be trusted, he is dubious. In particular he takes notice of the representatives of House Alnwick and Nasar. Their faces might be worth remembering in the future. But for now he takes seat next to Kasyr, or a few seats down. It seems as if most people wanted a seat next to him. "Excuse me," he says, "I'm Lanlan! Remember we fought together at the tournament in Frostmaw?" This contest they happened to win, or else he wouldn't bother bringing it up. His garb hasn't changed much so he might still be recognizable.


Lilyanne feels no small amount of initimidation at approaching the head table, but seeing as she recognizes no other members of House Asharam, the vampiress really has no other choice. When her words interrupt Kasyr's the female appears immediately apologetic, even going so far as to take a step back while dipping her head towards the leader of the city. "Sorry..." Her words trail off before those dark eyes lift to meet his in a light smirk. And here she is, caught in the same situation as she had been with Satoshi not so long ago. "Your Highness?" The words are tentative, though she follows it up with, "That's what I called Satoshi, until she told me not to." That smirk broadens a tad before her line of vision flicks back to Lord Derrick. A blink is given to Lanlan's enthusiastic introduction, but makes no verbal note of the matter.


Whereas many of the house heads have lapsed into conversations amongst themselves, Lord Derrick Asharam remains staunchly indifferent to the pell-mell of conversation about him- his deep brown eyes flickering about the swirling chaos of the dance floor, though little seems able to provoke any form of obvious reaction upon his features. They might as well be chiseled, sharp yet oddly youthful despite his age, and framed by short black hair- the head of house Asharam seems curiously predatory when placed in tandem with the rest of those present. Really, the only indication of festiveness at all comes from the mostly untouched goblet of blood wine which rests off to his left. It's only when the chaos finally winds its way to the table itself that he stirs into motion, leaning back into his chair to glance between Lilyanne and Lanlan in an appraising manner, with the latter precipitating a soft spoken, "The company you keep." directed towards the revenant. Just as quickly, his attention snaps back to Lilyanne, the level of scrutiny only intensifying, "Yes?"


Elindra slips into the hall, taking a moment to look around with intense silver eyes, peeking behind the simple but clean cut white mask which comes to an almost curved point over her nose. They would not stop until they catch a glimpse of all the steak. Perfect. The dire werebear is currently in a more 'human' form: six five in height with a strong and confident build and very short white hair fluffed up into an almost-mohawk like style with a midlength ponytail dangling low against her back. Elindra wore a very traditional white tuxedo, with a black bow tie at the collar. A bright contrast against her more reddish brown skin. The tux fits tightly enough against her chest to conceal a feminine feature and emphasize the strength of her toned body, but not enough to rip with wrong movement. One might even mistake her for a he. Upon noticing Pyoshia, she decides not to make eye contact and pretend she has no idea who that is. Even if the dryad technically influenced her to go. The cross-dressed minions? Not strange at all. Technically the werebear is as well. Whatever craziness took place minutes before is unknown to her. Elindra somewhat hurriedly makes her stride towards whichever table is closest to the free steak dinner and takes a seat. Not really taking the time to acknowledge the other guests. Or notice that her dryad friend has just made an exit..


Lanlan stabs Lilyanne in the face with a sharp glare, luckily for her it's hidden behind his mask and carries no threat of harm in any form.


Kasyr , for his part, goes from having an expression that might look entirely at home on a smug snake, to genuinely pleased when he's addressed by Lilyanne. "I'm not entirely partial to Lordship ou-quoi-ce-soit myself. But as titles go, it has its uses. Anyways, it's fine. I have all eve-" Hey look, it's that guy. From the Tourney. "ning. C'est un plaisir, monsieur. I take it the gala has been treating you well, asofar? I pray the choice of beverages has not too too...discriminating."


Elindra eyes the strawberry tart.


Lilyanne first smiles towards Kasyr, lifting her half-full goblet towards the male in a cheers as she re-greets, "My Lordship, then." Taking a drink of the crimson liquid, the female might continue the conversation, though Lord Derrick's one questioning syllable draws her attention. All the better, too, as Lanlan seems quite wanting Kasyr for himself. A dip of her head in a nod is given to the Asharam House haed, the vampiress lifting her goblet to him as well. "The wine is not to your liking?" is noted with a brief glance at the male's untouched wine. Not wanting to sound like she only wants small talk, the query is soon followed up with, "Your House is the stuff of legends, I hear." The interest is obvious as it flickers within her hazel orbs, and she really means no offense to all the other Houses, despite them being within earshot.


Kasyr ||Where Kasyr is easy smiles and a sort of assured mellow presence, Derrick is far more reserved- his mien disconcertingly impassive. Even beneath the scrutiny of his gaze, there's no emotion to discern- just a calculating indifference, which does not seem to falter. Her first response elicits a clipped, "Keeping appearances.", and his attention already begins to drift anew. And yet, the moment she makes her second comment, his attention swivels back to her, "Whispers, more like."


Lanlan nods to Kasyr and sits down, flattening his shirt on the way down, and again he nods. "Yes, of course, the gala is quite nice. And I'm deeply appreciative of the wine. My current endeavors don't support a large expenditure, this is the best I've had in quite some time." Poor Lanlan, deep down he knows he'll never have Kasyr for himself. For part of the time, he listens to the conversations, interested in the cold, condescending man called Derrick, not that he caught his name. Something about him irks Lanlan. But he doesn't offer too much attention, because he's never heard of him, he doesn't think.


Jerica had heard about the gala happening in Vailkrin and had made up her mind to attend, much to the consternation of her guards; who of course followed her and remained at a discreet distance. For once Jerica wore something other than pants and a comfortable shirt. She was representing the Royal family of Venturil after all. The gown was something she bought hastily and so were the gloves. She likely didn't match very well and her makeup for the evening barely there. The only consession the queen made was her hair. It had been curled and pined, twisted and braided to the crown of her head. Amongst it all was a plain looking stick that seemed to hold the mass in place. At the entrance to hall, Jerica paused to get a feel and look for what and who was around. She kept a polite and slightly bored smile on her face.


Svilfon wanders in, looking frazzled.


Elindra withholds the urge to spit the beverage she just chugged down. What felt like a burn is the dark alcohol flush down her esophagus, reminds her why she avoids drinking that intoxicating liquid in the first place. Cooly, she places down the empty glass onto the table and pushes it away real slowly before continuing her lethal tactics upon the innocent blood sausages. Elindra is in the zone.


Lilyanne nods towards Lord Derrick with a sort of satisfied smile, showing her agreement towards the male. "Whispers indeed. It's hard to find out too much information, honestly." A pause taken in speech, her dark gaze slides over momentarily to Lanlan before quickly returning to the Lord. "If it pleases you, I would like the opportunity to see whether your House would be a good fit for my skills." The vampiress purposefully leaves the particular set of skills vague, especially with so many about them.


Kasyr is, out of the corner of his eye, watching a table of meat slowly dissapear. If the revenant didn't know better, he'd have thought the source of this cataclysmic culinary consumption was that bloated desert dragon- and yet, he's nowhere in sight. And he's not really able to properly devote attention towards the source, given that he currently has Lanlan enthusiastically chattering at him. "...The wine you say. Er.." The revenant sniffs the air, a scent that had been subtly lingering about the gray elf now making itself known properly, and coaxing the Kensai into giving lanlans ears a quick glance before he redirects his attention towards the mans face, "...Is that a vintage you normally pursue, or do you just tend to experiment in what flavours other regions provide when you have the funds? Also, how have you been faring since the events at the tourney." The revenants recollection is mostly hazy, beyond nearly bisecting someone.


Jerica wanders around the grand room taking in everything she can. She picks up bits and pieces of conversation and takes a glass of -something- just to be polite. She doesn't drink it.


K||Derrick does not provide an immediate response, his scrutiny only seeming to intensify- taking in the details of her posture, accoutrement, and what threats (hidden, or otherwise) that might be perceivable. Whatever he sees, it does seem to be enough, a hint of a smile brushing across his lips, before he quite simply states, "If you can ascertain where the others of my house are, it would be a good first step to see if you might have a place amongst. If you can discern anything else of note, so much the better."


Svilfon waves irritably at the person who tries to offer him a mask, before making his way over to the large table of food. Any booming declarations of who he is are equally ignored. All that the wizard cares about right now is breakfast, though he's polite enough to give Kasyr a tip of his hat, Jerica a gap-toothed grin, and the other visitors a slight smile and the occasional nod of his head. That done, he rubs his hands together for just a moment, then begins to devour large portions of food with all manners of a drunken orc.


Jerica tried to walk as though for all the world they weren't to go sit down. She even took the time to remove her lace gloves and cloack before doing so.


Jerica grins and wiggles the fingers of her free hand at Svilfon.His manner of eating would have had her staring rudely if she had not just that very second seen an empty chair. The shoes were killing her feet!


Lanlan is getting more and more interested with the conversation Lilyanne is having, the truth of him not having heard of Derrick suddenly having great merit, he listens subtly to see if her somewhat forward offer is received positively. But, he also begins to wonder if he made some mistake with not trying any of the food, after all it seemed that he may soon not have a chance. Over here there was a...woman (most definitely) who has found the sausages to be quite the taste, and then that extremely conspicuous wizard hat that was engaging in the same type. But there was a priority at the table for now. To his distracted host: "I admit my tastes are not quite varied as of yet that I might enjoy a particular pursuit...and most of my funds go toward my schooling, actually. And in fact with my schooling I have been faring well. And I can see that you have been too, as per this celebration?"


Elindra examines the glass of.. boat nectar they call it. Nectar. That seems doable. She raises a brow, and gives it a whiff as would one who tastes wine for a living, ironically. With some hesitation she allows the nectar to touch her tongue. Hmm. Elindra wonders if this is alcoholic as well.


Kasyr glances around the moment Svilfon is announced, and need only stare through the crowd in search of his pointy hat to discern his relative location. Upon the customary hat-top the revenant can only offer a haphazard salute. Still, the revenant can't do much else with his spare time, since he's trying (unsucessfully) to eavesdrop on the back and forth banter between Lord Antonin & Lady Alesha, while simultaneously juggling LanLan's enthusiasm.


Kasyr snaps back to an illusion of attentiveness when Lanlan address him once more, the revenant offering Lanlan a bemused look, "I take it, it would be safe to say that the vintages here would be new to your palette, then? If so, I'm grateful that I could introduce you to something as rich et hearty." You are such a jackass, Kas. " Though, in truth, I believe that vintage lends itself quite a bit from your own people's legacy. But drinks often do have storied legacies." Tremendous Jackass. "Are you amongst those who pursue their studies at the mages circle in Xalious? As for the nature of this celebration, well. This city has peut-etre seen better days, but we are doing well in recovering, et this celebration says as much." A glance over to Alesha & Antonin, alongside an amiable raise of his glass accompanies, "Indeed, the united front we're able to present today, free of infighting et treachery, means a great deal." The toast the pair offer in turn is off-kilter, though they manage to hold the pretense of civility together long enough to finish the motion.


K||Whatever tidbit of information Lanlan is hoping to glean from the exchange between Derrick and Lilyanne, that moment has long since come and gone, with the Lord of House Asharam having since returned to his diligent study of the room, though it seems a little bit more focused now.


K|| By the point Elindra and the wizards display has caused some of the members of houses Trintus and Ladaeth to begin converging on their position- the rigorous nature of their feeding frenzy serving as an admirable example to a means the two houses can endeavour to prove their inherant superiority over each other. What this essentially boils down to, is Svilfon and Elindra abruptly end up with a handful of vampires of varying ages as sudden accompaniments in their gluttonous endeavour to devour all they see. It's sort of horrifying to watch.


Elindra glances over at the incoming with a competitive (and somewhat territorial) glint in her sharp silver eyes.


Grailan 's eyes, in contrast to Elindra's own glint, were glazed over and quite evidently dead. Gray and dead as the flesh of his face, as his body otherwise was garbed in platemail of a deep obsidian hue that protruded along its surface a myriad of sharp spikes. His head was covered, for the most part, as well; an equally dark hooded cloak was pulled over white and corpulescent hair that managed to fall in tresses about the front of his shoulders, as the cloak danced on the wake in ginger touches against the Hall's floor with each step. The cadenced gait was ambient with the darkly melodic 'click' of armored greaves in a path toward Jerica; an overwhelmingly oppressive aura of depression, of sorrow, of melancholy emanated from his form perpetually.


Jerica sits in her chair all prim and proper, smiling and nodding a greeting to those who pass her table. Ever watchful eyes slowly move over the room as she tries to get a sense for the political situation in Vailkrin. The glass of whatever she had taken without bothering to ask what it was still sits on the table untouched. The food too, while rather an interesting buffet, goes unexplored.


Grailan said to Jerica, "It is a grim reminder here, my Queen."


Grailan 's words were deep and full of regret.


Jerica glanced up at her bodyguard and frowned,"If it's uncomfortable for you feel free to wait elsewhere until I'm ready to go home." She meant it but at the same time, Jerica hoped to get the slip from this particular guard.


Grailan looked briefly at Jerica with dead eyes, "Of this you know that I cannot, despite the wishes of your Highness and Queen Raidh. I cannot disobey."


Lanlan has begun to realize his misstep, and attends to the glass of wine. "I see. So this wine isn't made from elves (at least not necessarily), it's made of elves. Well. This is embarrassing. I've usually disapproved of cannibals..." After this Lan's become somewhat unfocused, and appreciative of the mask he's wearing, otherwise his fellows would notice the blushing. "I don't precisely study at Xalious, I do make it a checkpoint. I prefer to spend as much time as possible in the field. The archmage...I find him to frightening to tolerate for long." This was true, Lanlan hadn't yet understood the aura of evil that he projected. "Even if he is my mentor..." Did notice that not all of the people at the table seemed happy to be there, and the toast was a little forced.


Jerica resolved not to sigh and pout like a petulent child. "Of course. I just thought to save you some discomfort,Grailan." Jerica didn't not like Grailan. She was sure somewhere in there was a really likeable person. She just couldn't see it. And he was really good at his job, which could be both a blessing and very annoying. Especially when she had a job to do. Jerica twisted the ring on her finger as a distraction before asking of the guard,"What can you tell me of those here?"


Kasyr||At a glance, there seems to be a great deal of general contentment- with the various houses seeming to exult in the festivities, and the momentary oasis provided from the day to day tension which seems to run rampant in the dead city. And yet, undercurrents remains, bits of vestigial friction between undead and vampric factions resulting in some sections of the room remaining relatively polarised to a specific group. And midst hushed whispers, there's talk of both the threat poised by the slowly advancing burrower, and the indignant outrage at Cenril- and the most recent act which has been tacked onto the sordid legacy of the church. Other undercurrents exist to, talks of cultists and other things queerer too- yet these are shushed to make way for matters more concrete in nature, be it pleasent or otherwise.


Grailan 's dead, sorrowful eyes scan over the others present in the midst of such an overwhelming aura of despair, and the dread knight seemed to scrutinize them. It wasn't a scrutiny that would be considered 'normal', but almost a stare of loathing and foreboding tragedy, which was let land on each one. Unlike Jerica, he did not sit; he stood behind her and slightly to the right, "There is ulterior motive and hidden power here. And none are akin to one another."


Jerica listened to Gailan's words and nodded slightly to acknowledge them. She picked up her glass and pretended to sip from it. Jerica wanted a clear head this evening, not one muddled by alcohol. Snippets of conversations were caught in passing as the minglers passed her table. Finally she stood and left the wine glass on the table."I should pay my respects to our hosts." Jerica wove her way through the crowd to Kasyr and she was quite sure Gailan would be right behind.


Kasyr steeples his hands together, his index fingers tapping against each other, "Well, you handled that rather well- all the same. Anyways, you've probably already eaten odds et ends of other races, knowing some of the butcher shops in the land. Pretty indiscriminate about what kind of meet to squeeze into a sausage ski-..er. Y'know, this probably won't make you feel better. Anyways, if you have difficulty bear monsieur Tiphareth in large doses, peut-etre you ought to seek out peers or others. Bounce ideas off them, quoi-ce-soit." if there's one thing the revenant hasn't picked up on by being married to Satoshi, magic sorts love bouncing ideas off each other. And Deadly experiments free of ethical constraints. Those, too. "Really, I'd even have a suggestion- if you can find the fellow with the pointed hat in this crowd." Kasyr, whilst -aware- of the less than happy nature of both the heads of house Ginavi and Mahara, is doing his utmost to play stupid. They had worked so hard to make Celiann dissapear- having effectively unpersoned her, if only for the revenant to show up with her as his date. Yeah. Today was a pretty good day, in retrospect.


Lanlan remarks to what Grailan said, perhaps to diffuse the melancholy with jest, "Well sir, this is a table of politicians!" He lifts his glass of wine to cheer him, and then brings it to his lips. Luckily, he remembers that it is not something for him to drink and places it at the table. At the far end of the table. "Drink up!" He says to the random chair-sitter who the wine is now in front of.


Chayden paid well to be kept aware of the happenings around the lands, another of his more loyal informants having birthed the news of the strange gathering to the self-earned and proclaimed ‘Shark’ of Cenril. He made his arrival without fanfare or flare. There wasn’t much point it. Chay was without his most recent company, though by the slow almost lazy shift of his stare, Her lack of arrival wasn’t something to be bothered with. The lycan knew if she wished to come along she’d do so in her own time. The vagrant kept to himself, milling with more focus to the detail of the building than the patrons within, save Kasyr. That one, garnered a stare and nod if only for effect.


Grailan did not reply to Lanlan; Jerica's motion and words caused the undead bodyguard to 'click' cadenced steps with his armored frame in tow.


Tristram was late, per usual, and he liked to think of himself ever the more fashionable one for it, or that's what he told himself, at least. His presence was announced at the door, but the name and region probably got lost in the din of the party that was in obvious full swing. He fixed his mask, which he was wearing with a simple, but perfectly tailored tuxedo, naturally, and headed for the refreshments, because a drink in hand was worth twenty in the bush.


Grailan said to Jerica, "Please do not pick combat with this one; he would be somewhat difficult to kill."


Jerica says to Grailan, "Oh, don't you worry. We're old friends." Jerica had once saved his life. A real smile was in place this time when she chose a moment to interrupt, "Kasyr, it's good to see you again."


Grailan merely stared at Kasyr with dead eyes and a melancholy expression.


Kasyr gives a sideways glance to Lanlan as he manages to earn at once an appreciative look, and a dismissive wave from the Lady Lorraine, of house Torrador. Somehow, either through indifference, or out of some peculiar sense of humour, she manages to mistake him for a servant- and goes about vigorously shooing him from her personal space thereafter with a copper for his efforts. Whatever the case, this leaves Kasyr free to greet Jerica and...the big lump of flesh in a can next to her. The kensai almost wants to engage in a pointless staring contest with the morose bodyguard- but there's more pressing matters to attend to, Jericas abrupt introduction coaxing the Kensai into offering a courteous nod of his head, and an animated, "Madamoiselle .." Don't you forget.." Jerica. It has been quite some time, en fait. How fare tu, et how are you enjoying the festivities?"


Jerica glanced back at Grailan and suggests, "Would you be a dear and go see what you can see about particular matters?" Eavesdrop, she meant and report back what he'd learned later. The body guard probably wouldn't be hard to miss but he could quite possibly be dismissed as just another servant to nobility. Servants, she had learned, gossiped. Looking back at Kasyr, Jerica gave a little bow, "I'm doing well and your Gala is a success I would say. I've enjoyed myself so far."


Kasyr || These sort of festivities require a good deal of help, which enables Elindra to find an impromptu tour guide with little to no problem, What she ends up with is a fair haired youth just in the midst of his teens, whose only made a bit peculiar by his near rictus grin, and his unnaturally pale pigmentation. Nonetheless, he's more than able to help her navigate the maze of hallways to find what she's searching for.


Grailan bowed his head to Jerica, "As you command, my Queen." It was a deep and sorrowful voice, and the armored monster departed the Queen's side to 'see what he can see'.


Kasyr ||Tristrams not really going to have trouble in the drinks department. Sure, some of the choicer vintages might be nicked- but there's still a choice selection at the table reserved for the heads of houses...and through the staunch (read: Ruckus) demands of those tied to house Ladaeth and Trintus- there's a few less hoity-toity brews available, to boot.


Svilfon resumes his earlier devouring of the food, acting like he didn't just vanish for a while and return unexpectedly. But then again, he's a teleportin' wizard, it's what they do.


Tristram flashed a quick grin at a couple vampires who sniffed the air around him as he drew close to the refreshment table. For their delicate sensibilities, he knew dragon blood had the unfortunate effect of being quite the noxious odor. He found a glass of wine that suited him and sauntered through the large reception area, taking in the sights, the strange sense of tension he felt amongst some of those gathered in the room. He wished he could have wrangled Terra away from one of her patients for this; she was always the best ice breaker to have on hand for these sorts of situations. Given that he was without his female companion, he decided to go poach someone else's. Hence, he began to search for Satoshi.


Eilyo silently entered the room, trying to draw as little attention to herself as possible. She stood hesitantly off to the side of the door, watching and waiting before deciding whether she really wanted to be there or not.


Xersom wasn't a politician, and his date hadn't yet arrived. Not that he was used to dates; the male's entry was marked by the subtle tapping of the butt of his old and gnarled walking stick against the floor as he moved. He was dressed in the attire of a wandering madman, a sort of hermit, with traveler's robes covering his body in thick, faded folds. Intense green eyes nearly pulsed from the faux face planted over Sacrilus' real face; that it was a mask at all might've only been revealed by the myriad of scars all over his body aside -it was an infernal litany of some archaic, forgotten, and definitely evil language.


Chayden found the table after circling like the predator he was known to be before settling before a bit of drink with a plate of rare what he imagined to be steak. If it wasn't, well he wouldn't be too picky, the lycan was all but starving, Regal and artist events were never his style. He crashed them, robbed those he could blind and then simply vanished back to his home in the underground market of Cenril.


Kasyr offers Jerica a genuine smile, his expression bordering on the roguishness that he used to be reknown for. "Well, I'm grateful for that much. I wasn't really sure what to expect when I started it up." Plus, all the problems he had trying to navigate it himself before he decided to delegate such things to other people. He -really- needed to follow Redhales advice and do that more often. "I've heard little from you, en fait, since that disaster with the dragon. What misadventures have you stumbled into since then? I've been mostly stuck in Vailkrin." Y'know, boring stuff, like the civil war, and cultists.


Svilfon elbows some of the vampire's who seem to have taken his place by the table. He seems unconcerned by the dark looks they give him, house rivaliry ever rich in Vailkrin. Though, the wizard does pause as he picks up the smell (read:stench) of a dragon. Pale eyes drift from the food to Tristram, and Svilfon spends a long time looking at him. He knew who he was, of course, and as per the last discussion he had with the snow queen, Svil undoubtedly should ask him some questions. But before he can his wandering eyes are stolen by the entrance of Xersom. The wizard is sensitive to the ebbs and flows of magic, and that one was definitely worth keeping an eye on... after he's finished eating, of course.


Xersom 's gaze moved questioningly toward Kasyr as he heard the male say to Jerica, who he didn't know, 'disaster with the dragon'. There were two present now, after all. Yet he continued to move to find himself a seat at the table as if he were invited despite his lack of ownership or stake in any official capacity.


Jerica settled in for a nice if oft interrupted chat with Kasyr, "Hm, I've since had a son and gotten married which makes me Queen of Venturil now." She didn't bother to really keep her voice down announcing that tidbit.It would have been common knowledge anyway. "I've led a rather boring life since then." Jerica looked around slowly, noting subtle tensions and open hostilities when it was thought no one saw. "Quite an interesting group you've gathered. And where is Satoshi?" she queried turning back to Kasyr.


Svilfon mutters something about Eboric being a sly dog... or bear... rather... after hearing Jerica's news.


Xersom abruptly spoke, and interrupted all the while, Jerica's words, "Now I've seen two of them in person." His voice, naturally, was both sinister and soothing like a madman's lullaby.


Lanlan didn't want to talk about the wine anymore, and swallowed deeply to stifle any...eruptions. "Yes, I put great effort into maintaining composure as you can see, as to Tiphareth, you have it correctly, though I doubt if it's his fault. As to the others, well at times I do reach out to my colleagues. It's just that at this point in time I feel," he closed his eyes and waited for the appropriate words, "...selfish. But since you recommend it, I'll seek him out." He seems to have lost the attention of the revenant at this point, having spent too much time entranced. Apparently he's wont to do that at random intervals. Now that he'd snapped back however, he'd noticed a few extra revelers than earlier. One in particular who announces herself to be queen. Just to be polite he nods his head in a slight bow and then says: "Excuse me," as he scoots his chair back and joins the other commoners in perusing the foodstuffs.


Jerica probably didn't hear Svilfon's mutterings around the food being crammed into his mouth. She looked sharply at Xersom though and wondered if they had met before. "Two?"


Lanlan turned back to look at Xersom, who was of looks and sounds strange enough to make a scene.


Eilyo has sensitive hearing and Xersom's voice caught her attention. It was odd and wonderful all at the same time, ah, but that was the bard in her. She found herself keeping him in her sight even as she glanced at the others around the room.


Xersom tilted his head, "Is Raidh Jorgunsdotr not with the same title? She is a... personal friend of mine. Her ancestors and I go very far back." Briefly those fake eyes moved toward Kasyr, since Tristram was already looking for Satoshi.


Svilfon tips his hat to his fellow Guild mate, Lanlan.


Xersom seems to have entrapped the attention of the gathered, as well!


Jerica kept her smile politely in place. Her composure would not be shaken,"Yes. Venturil has two queens but I am the first of them. How is it you know my sister-wife so well? Have we met?" The look she passes to Kasyr asks if he knows this person.


Elindra thanks the odd servant boy with a smile and slightly aloft brows before disappearing into the washroom to cleanse away the lingering delight that is the scent of 'quality' steak and sausages. And, once finished, within twenty or so minutes, Elindra returns to the gala smelling like whatever soap was present in said washroom. Her hair is very slightly damp now and there's a soft heat coming off her skin. A potential sign that she may or may not have taken a shower. Not that she'll tell. The dire werebear in "not-truly-a-human" form then realizes the great lack in commotion amongst the crowd.


Tristram breezed around the room, offering pleasantries whenever he came across a group. There was a beauty in a masquerade ball; there were very few expectations when everyone was a potential stranger. It was a strange accent that caught his attention and he was soon weaving his way to Kasyr, passing Svilfon on the way, whom he offered a polite nod in greeting. When he reached the host, or one of the hosts, he reached out to touch Kasyr's shoulder. "Kasyr, old friend. Comment allez-vous? You look busy. I'm just looking for your wife to steal. Is she about?"


Elindra squints.


Kasyr twitches a glance over towards Xersom, the look he offers to the dragon being inquisitive, and yet he doesn't broach the subject further- his focus instead being upon the dark creature itself, trying to gauge what little information he can from his posture and presentation. ...A course of action which does little to prevent him from replying, "Well, people love a party, en fait. Great time to flaunt weath, accomplishments, the strength of ones house- all that fun stuff. So, how's the bear doing? I've not really stepped on his toes recently- so I've not really heard anything as to how his lands been since the burrower left. Just bits and pieces about some...southern...expedition, or something." Jangal? Something relating to that? He can't rightly remember, or if it's even just hearsay. "Regardless, glad to hear you're doing well. As for Satoshi, well, she's as busy as moi, et often moreso."


Elindra said, "under her breath, "Where did that dryad go? ""


Kasyr said to Jerica, "He's...one of the local denizens. A bit of an oddity. That's all I can really say on the matter."


Xersom didn't seem to be bearing a mask like the rest of the patrons, as his mask was a very lifelike face of its own over his true one; a mask he wore constantly. Those faux eyes mimicked the movement of real ones as he looked Jerica both up and down and back up once more to study that smile with a subtle, likely very dark grin courting the corner of his lips. "You and I? No, no. Though I suppose we have now; it is very nice to meet you and you may call me 'X'." As to how he knew Raidh, it went unanswered; let Jerica question her sister-wife about that. "I haven't seen her in awhile, I hope she is well.


Xersom continues: She knows how to find me if she is in trouble." That walking stick seemed to have disappeared, nowhere to be seen.


Emilia was late to the party. Heck, she’d be late to her own funeral. Blonde curls partly swept back from her face by some hair pins while farm attire had been replaced with a soft blue summer dress that hugged the petite frame of the farm girl perfectly and matched those ever bright blue eyes of hers. Though she still wore those still worn leather cowboy boots with her dress. It was the bandage wrapped about her right hand that threw off the pretty girl look more so than the foot attire. Of course, she had a mask on, one that was rather simple just covering her eyes mostly, but hey those blonde curls would give away the human to anyone that knew her. Being late the human made her best attempt to sneak in as quietly as possible, not wanting to draw any attention upon herself. Instead, she’d keep a look out for the one that asked her to be here.


Svilfon responds to Tristram's nod with a slight smile, flashing the gaps in his teeth, before he finally puts down the food and plonks onto his face the mask he supposes he should wear. It's a cheap imitation of Redhale's own, and though it looks faintly ridiculous sitting there all scary beneath the man's wide-brimmed hat, Svil doesn't seem to care. So much for him being a stranger. But at least it somewhat disguises him peeking about, staring at people without the usual social grace required to hide such things.


Kasyr finds himself subject to a sudden tapping noise coming off from his right, that comes off as at once impatient and anxious- and the familiar sound of Tristrams voice. ...And decides to briefly ignore that attempt to get his attention in favour of the dragon, "Bien, J'en suis triste de vous informer, Monsieur- were my wife present, I'd likely not be at these tables alone, lest you had already stolen her. Perhaps you might have the pleasure of her speaking with her later, however." The revenant pauses a beat, glancing over towards the source of the tapping only to come face to face with the scathing glare of Lady Alesha- a small indication that he may have allowed her to simmer for a bit too long. "I'll address your..er, query soon. Je promets." And then the Kensai snaps right back to Tristram, "By the way, your gift was highly appreciated. I only pray my hospitality is not found wanting."


Xersom said, "One."


Xersom seemed to know exactly where Emilia was, he turned his 'masked' face toward her as she wove through patrons and guests alike, and outstretched his hand in her direction. It was neither for a spell nor command, but an invitation with a very subtle and brief smile.


Jerica would be rude if she didn't answer X's question; "Raidh is doing very well,thank you for asking. I will pass your regards on to her. I'm sure she would have loved to come but, alas, she was other wise occupied." Jerica moved slightly away from Kasyr so that he wasn't too crowded by a crush of people and in particular a decided grouchy looking woman.


Eilyo finally recognized someone she was comfortable with, at least enough to go say something. She quietly slips over to stand at Emilia's side and smirked as she spoke. "Late too, eh?" She herself had only arrived shortly before the human. Her mask only covered her eyes, was white lace, and shaped like a butterfly. With the bottom half of her face, and that small scar, uncovered, and her thick mass of burgundy locks, there was no hiding who she was, to those who already knew.


Xersom said to Kasyr, "Seven."


Jerica turned her head and found Grailan doing as asked.Sort of. He looked like a statue against a wall wearing armor. The kind one finds in old castles where the inhabitant happens to be a collector of old armorment and weapons. That's what Grailan reminded her of just then even if she knew he would be right at her side in a thrice if he thought her to be in the least bit of danger. Oddly, that was comforting as she returned to the activity of mingling.


Tristram tipped an imaginary hat to Kasyr as he stepped away from the Revenant, who appeared to have his hands quite full. "Nothing is lacking, old friend. With the exception of Lady Frostmaw." He winked. "I have a reputation to uphold in the papers, you know." He grinned at Kasyr and turned to make his way back toward the refreshment table, which seemed like the most inconspicuous place to lurk without a date. He marked Emilia's arrival, and Xersom's, too, for that matter, and waved to his Gualonian chums. He reached for something to eat and encountered a similar problem to Svilfon's, in that it was a clumsy endeavor with the mask, which, although it did not obscure his mouth, it certainly didn't expedite anything very well. "How do you ..." He frowned as he tried to lift his mouth and nab a bite of some delicacy he hoped wasn't made from a human or composed of blood. He glanced Svilfon's way and nodded in approval. "Your way was best, I think. Have we met?"


Emilia looked slightly startled by the voice of the woman as she spoke to her. With all the people she’d not heard her come to her side. A few blinks and a smile later the blonde replied to the other woman. “I’m always late. Part of the job.” And, sadly being a farmer meant putting work before free time, which was a good reason why she was late to just about anything she was ever invited to. Meanwhile, X was flashed a warm smile as she raised a hand to offering her that gesture of ‘just a moment’. The farm girl wasn’t about to be rude to Eilyo. A little wave of the fingers given in return toward Tristram.


Eilyo had been watching Xersom from the corner of her eye and didn't miss the gesture for Emilia. She nods her head with a smile and a lazy wave of her hand towards the man. "Go. It's good to see you, dear."


Xersom let his arm fall slowly and gently to his side with an approving nod at Emilia's gesture, as he turned his head toward the others at the table; Jerica's answer was given a dark smile, naturally, and nod. But it was Tristram that garnered the ancient being's attention thereafter, and Sacrilus lifted to fingers to his forehead in a lazy salute to the Gualonian leader.


Kasyr said to Xersom, "I hope you're not counting wives."


Xersom said to Kasyr, "I think you know exactly why I'm counting, my friend. Twelve."

Jerica noticed Emilia just then. That very moment in fact.The blonde hair and the boots were a dead give away. Her smile turned fond for the girl and she raised a hand to wave a hello.


Svilfon turns back towards Tristram and offers a smile hidden beneath his mask. “I am not the most adept at these social gatherings. I prefer to do as I wish.” That said, he pulls the mask of, puts a small treat into his mouth, before returning the mask back to its place. “As for meeting, no. But I have been asked to aid you in a certain... matter.” The wizard lifts a hand and from his palm a small flame flickers into life, before vanishing into a tendril of smoke. “I had intended to seek you out soon, to ask you some questions about it.”


Emilia was not sure that she knew who this woman was, but maybe she had met her before. It was possible. A flash of a smile, “You too, Miss.” And then she was crossing the room to join Xersom at his table of people. Jerica was given a friendly smile as she returned the gesture of a wave. Standing next to where X sat she flashed an apologetic smile, “Sorry.” Referring to arriving late.


Alice had, for the large portion of her day, been locked away in her home office, working as hard as she could on several incredibly important documents. Unfortunately, the woman had worked well into the afternoon, before looking up at the clock, and letting out a stream of curses as she did her best to do this whole feminine thing as quickly as possible. In the back of her mind, the redhead cursed herself for having never payed attention to mother's training in how to behave more... towards her own gender, but as most people often discovered within moments of meeting her, Alice was clearly more the kind to spit and cuss. Thanks, Dad. In any case, she managed to somehow get herself into the dress that she now entered the room wearing; a deep blue velvet which was decorated here and there with small silver beads. A thin silver circlet was worn over her hair, which she had also managed to tame into a bun. A friend had earlier attempted to place a flower in her hair, but of course, the sea-tanned woman would have none of that shyte, thank you very much. It had taken quite a bit of urging from her conscience not to wear her boots under the dress, but luckily, she'd been doing the politics thing long enough now that she knew what not to do when going places that required fancy. As she made her way in, she attempted her hardest to somehow remain mostly unseen, she wasn't a fan of wearing dresses; or these kinds of sparkly earrings, or these icky satin gloves. Sure, she might have looked nice and all, but... she'd much rather be out on patrol. The dress was missing the heavy comfort her armor offered... and besides. Social gatherings weren't exactly her deal either. Truly, she was here because it looked good for her to do so... and also because she had it in her head that she ought to say hello to someone tonight. Slightly nervous, yet still stern eyes slowly looked around the room, searching for any familiar face in the crowd she now saw.


Eilyo sighs heavily and saunters over to an empty seat near a table. She gracefully falls into her seat, trying to hide a pout as she watches the room. Why was she even here, anyways?


Tristram mirrored Svilfon, lifting his own mask to pop a treat in his mouth before replacing it again. "I am fairly adept, but I also enjoy eating ..." His attention was captured by Svilfon's fiery magic trick, and its completion found the dragon grinning widely. "I'd show you my fire, but it would probably ... burn all this ..." He gestured to the party, the spider silk tapestries hanging from the ceilings. "Tristram." He traded drink hands and offered Svilfon his now-free right hand. "And you must be ... Satoshi's wizard friend ... Svil ... I know this ... Give me a second ... Svilson."


Xersom , from his seated position now that Emilia had arrived at his side, shamelessly snaked an arm around her lithe waist and pulled her authoritatively into his lap; it was an antic that was likely apologized for with a quick kiss to her lips from the faux ones of the former General of Arrecation. "Fifteen." He kept those arms around his girlfriend as she might settle more comfortably with the offering of food plated before her; he hadn't touched any of it. His appetite was for... a body much too large for this feast. "And here I thought I'd have to meet people and make introductions; it seems you'll have to make the introductions for me instead, so many you know."


Emilia was snagged from the standing position of hers into the lap of the man of hers. There was a soft smile as she returned his kiss with a light one for a brief moment. For a brief time the blonde had gone cross eyed due to the mask on her face, something she was far from used to wearing. Blinking she giggled a little looking back to X, “I really do not know that many people here.”


Kasyrs' expression is fairly flat in response to Xersoms statement, "I couldn't help but hope otherwise. How many now? I'm already sort of pressed for space."


Emilia upon noting Kasyr was here she'd speak to him, "Where is the kitty? I like him."


Xersom said to Kasyr, "Nineteen, now."


Jerica quietly retreats on the guise of wandering and intruductions. She pauses by Svilfon because the hat gave his identity away for a quick hello and nod for Tristram.She wouldn't linger since it seemed the two might have more than social niceties to pass between each other. She did wonder, briefly, why X spouted off random numbers. Jerica supposed she'd find out at at some point. Passing Grailin brown eyes flick quickly to the bodyguard's face for any indication he might have overheard something interesting. He was as stoic as ever so she wrinkled her nose and moved on.


Svilfon takes the extended hand with a nod of his head. “Close enough. Svilfon, Sublime Master of the Mage's Guild.” At the earlier words of the dragon, he simply laughs. “Curious as I am, Kasyr there probably wouldn't appreciate it.” The wizard shift shis gaze to the revenant for a moment, and sees the Lady Alesha's dark scowl given to the vampire. This was Vailkrin, not some filthy pub, she would not be ignored for these other... people. She taps his shoulder again, much harder this time, before speaking in a voice which is tight with suppressed anger. “You will answer me now, Kasyr. Such a face you brought with you to this gathering... do not think we do not know what you intend.” She scowls again, causing Svilfon to eye her for so long it almost appears rude, before he speaks again to Tristram. “But yes, good sir. I am the wizard-knight of Frostmaw... I intend to aid you, but we'll need some time away from all this,” he motions at the party, “for a chat. Perhaps in the coming days? Preferably somewhere... outside. You can show me your fire, I'll see how tamed some of it can be.” He tips his hat at that.


Xersom held on around the waist of the farm girl easily; she was light and small, so it was as if she were weightless in his lap and grasp. "More than I." He looked toward Svilfon, briefly, and blinked his gaze, "And a husband to Ilgriathialkal." He had met the dragon before; she was impressive.


Alice relaxed after a while, realizing quickly that most everyone here is already busy with their own affairs. A small smirk forms on her lips as she scoops up an ale, and takes a sip. Some things never change. Her eyes glanced toward some of the blood wines and the sort, and she chewed the inside of her cheek, thinking of certain... problems she's been facing lately. For a long time she stared at that liquid, thinking, pondering. She'd recently been presented with a sort of... opportunity, but given her position... it couldn't possibly be a good one. She tore her eyes away from the bottle finally, and felt a chill go down her spine. "Knew I should o' brought a coat..." muttered the woman under her breath as she returned to looking at the others present here tonight.


Xersom said, "Twenty-four."


Svilfon snaps his gaze to Xersom, having heard the name of his dragon wife spoken. For a long moment his pale eyes remain locked on the man; the sense of something disturbing about him more than just a casual observation now. But he refrains from seeking answers. The sense of grotesque... wrongness... about Arrecation's former general means there's a chance a discussion between them would result in something violent, and Svil did promise he'd be on his best behavour... well... he promised he'd not actively set anyone on fire, but the two are basically the same thing for the wizard. So instead he merely stares, ensuring the man knows he is doing so, before returning to his earlier conversation.


Svilfon said to Alice, "A coat would only hide that fine dress you're wearing. You do better without it."


Kasyr casually pushes away from the table, and yet somehow manages to clumsily knock Derricks drink askew, sending its contents spilling over the edge of the table, though thankfully away from the head of Asharam. "Milles pardons. I would offer to get you another one myself, but I seem to be rather...engaged. I'll just have to hope her bite isn't worse than her bark, or I'll need to make like a tree et leave." Somehow, Derrick manages to maintain his stoic facade, despite everything. Sure, the Kensai had debriefed Derrick that a spilled drink et a comment related to shrubbery meant to see about readying for the worst, and seeing if the dryad was present..but. Kasyr doesn't wait to see Lord Derrick leave, however, his attention instead abruptly snapping back to Lady Alesha, "I'm sorry for the offering you the spare time to contrive some excuse. I figured you might desire to beg, or explain it away. Put up some sort of pretense. Though I suppose the theft in Cenril, et my other movements might have tipped my hand in regards to knowing." The revenant tips his head at his point, a cigarette procured from one of the pockets of his coat, if only to be placed to his lips, "So, what do you intend to do about moi? You've already seen what happened to the people on the losing side of the war."


Pyoshia pats Elindra atop the head, somehow, she can reach that high.


Xersom said to Kasyr, "Thirty."


Emilia snuggled into the lap of the man of hers. She’d been working since before the sun came up. Thus, she was tired, more tired than she would of ever realized if she’d not of slowed down from the work pace. Resting her head on his shoulder the human yawned. Her eyes fell shut before fluttering upon moments later. Eye lids shut…flutter open. It was a repeated thing. Each time it took longer before those lashes fluttered again. Before long he would have a sound asleep date in his lap.


Jerica was making another circuit of the hall when suddenly the otherwise statue still Grailin moves into her path. This time he leans down and whispers in Jerica's ear. Whatever he said made the corners of her eyes widen a second. Schooling her features she makes her way back to her host and offers a cool glance towards the female with the waspish attitude. "Kasyr, it has been lovely but I'm afraid I have to leave." Grailin of course is a wall at her back. Good bye's are offered to Emi and X as well, a farewell wave to Svilfon and the queen finds herself being herded; yes herded, towards the exit.


Kasyr said to Xersom, "...Really? Sonnofa"


Kasyr said to Jerica, "Adieu, Cherie. ...A good evening to you.


Alice turned her eyes to the entrance of the room where her own guard stood. A grimace grew on her face. She hated being followed. Svilfon's voice came as a distraction, and she nodded her thanks. "Suppose yer right." Once she'd spoken the glass was raised back up to her lips.


Svilfon offers Tristram a nod of his head, “Aye, I will find you soon. Leave it to me, I travel far easier than most.” He tips his hat to the dragon, “And no need for apologies. At a place such as this, I do not expect to be known, fine hat of mine or not.” He grins, the expression hidden – which irritates him. Damn these masks! But otherwise, the wizard doesn't hold Tristram up any more. He'd meet the dragon soon enough. It was a puzzle he wants to solve, a theory to be realized. These things take precedence over most others. As for Lady Alesha, she does not seem amused at the Revenant's flippant seeming comments. “I am sorry, Lord Kasyr, King of Everything, do you find it somehow offensive that the happenings of other Houses not of your own do not include you? Should I dissolve the Mage's Circle? Remove myself from power? Have all the other Houses in Vailkrin, houses far older than you own, open their doors so you can trollop through with your mud coated boots and know all our secrets?” The woman's voice has grown quiet loud, hardly the right tones for a public gathering, but considering it's Kasyr, perhaps this is the safest place for such an outburst. “Should well all here bow down to you, Lord Emperor Kasyr? What happens outside of Azakhaer is not your concern. It harms not the city. You have stuck your nose in too often... perhaps it is I who should remind you of what happens when you lose a war? Powerful as your House is, I doubt it can survive all of us...”


Kasyr||Kasyr, in one of those rare moments forced by convention, isn't wearing his backpack, so it's not like he actually has an exact idea of where Casper is. Sure, the pack had been stashed under a table, near a pair of guards- but that only gave a likely location of where she might be. In truth, the cat was currently taking refuge near a serving girl, who kept sneaking the cat bits of food. ...'Edible food' specifically.


Xersom said, "Thirty-nine."


Eilyo found herself wanting to understand the random numbers, but knew she couldn't ask.


Xersom 's arm began to tighten around Emilia's body as she fell asleep against him; her sleeping didn't entirely worry him. But the growing numbers did, and one hand left her in order to lay upon the table's surface like a cowboy would before drawing his weapon upon someone. There was tension in the ancient creature's body. and he kept looking toward Kasyr. "Forty-two."


Tristram dipped his head to Svilfon in turn and stepped away to go chase that most elusive ice maiden, if only to do this part to set the gossip mills churning with fresh fodder for the dailies. He doubted it would bother Kasyr much, not when it took the heat off the political situation just a smidgeon. He caught sight of the tail-end of something furry heading around a corner, and convinced it was Satoshi and those six thousand or so tails of hers, he ducked off after it, though not before finishing his glass of wine and setting it in the hand of a nearby body-less suit of armor.


Alice sniffed the air. Her eyes narrowed slightly. Perhaps it was just a feeling of paranoia after all the letters she'd been sent... or perhaps it was being surounded by so much bottled blood. Even then, she thought to herself, this uneasy feeling that crawled across her skin, lifting the hairs on her arms, was just a product of the chill of being in a dress. Her eyes glanced back to the door. Her companion wolf was there with her guard... he seemed to be on edge too. It had to be the blood. He'd have to get used to it. So would she, she thought to herself. She should distract herself, she thought as she now made her best to make eye contact with Kasyr; who was, in all honesty, the only reason she'd bothered to arrive tonight. There were words to be had, if she had a chance to have them.


Kasyrs' expression contorts a bit, though not into anger. There's something direly amused in his expression. "Is that all you're gambling on- a little bit of showboating in the hopes public opinion might save tu? I've got one better than tu in that regard. I mean, after all, I haven't been the only house investigating your movements, or taking note of the way in which you essentially dissolved the identity of your vassal, right around the time she was 'kidnapped' by Cenrili paladins. Now, I know, it would be silly of moi to assert that we'd work with paladins-...but, you didn't really need to. Those Nathali fellows have been doing that for you, et the Cenrili's at least kept track of how they had a coffin inbound,to Vailkrin, the same one that said unpersoned vassal ended up in. Hell, they'd proudly tout that fact. So please, keep announcing this- I have a fair bit of documentation I'd love people to see. I won't even have to lift a finger to deal with tu. So, if that assassin was yours, damn shame, by the by." No doubt, someone amidst their houses had probably taken credit for that whole fact. An assassination attempt, and fairly nasty one too- someone probably wanted to pad their reputation. Whatever the case, the Kensai just lets those words simmer and starts fumbling with some matches.


Alice 's brow furrowed at the sound of Cenril's mention. Paladins.


Alice frowned, the odd forboding feeling rumbling in her stomach even more. This was accentuated lightly by the pulsating of her amulet, which as always, she ignored. Not being a fan of magic or magically-affected objects, she was in no way about to admit to being aware of something on her person being enchanted; regardless of whether or not she'd been warned that the object was of great use to her. No thanks, she thought to herself as she came to the realization that Kasyr would not be making eye contact, and if she planned on having word with him, she'd have to get over there. Time to man up a little. Her footsteps made little noise, which was something she wasn't entirely used to, being a girl who tended to make all the noise in the world when doing pretty much anything. Alice was a powerhouse, not a tiptoer. Anyhow, she managed to make her way to an empty seat nearby. During any silence between Kasyr and his friend, she let out a curt; "Lovely evenin'." The look in her eyes seemed to say something more along the lines of 'what the hell is going on right now get me out of this awful garment immediately' and 'there is something wrong here'.


Alice casually elbows him, for good measure.


Xersom held Emilia tightly now, and while he wouldn't be opposed at holding her the entire night, he opted to use his magic instead; the girl was abruptly and silently immolated in mercurial darkness, only for it to clear and the farmer gone. She would find herself safe at their home, provided she awakens before X returns. "Fifty. It's fifty, Kasyr." He said, with finality, and slowly stood up from his seat. That intense green gaze slid over the gathered, "I wouldn't suggest sitting in the next few moments." The other houses were rather looking around; the place was crowded, after all, with vampires and the like. The doors open, and a mass of men walked in; they wore thick grey hoods and cloaks, and all of their faces were covered by masks, as if for the party. There were twenty five that ambled slowly in some hulking mob through the front door, but their presence and arrival might cause the other twenty-five to be noticed mingled in the crowd; all dressed the same and overlooked until now. Meanwhile, a man with a coppery mask pushed in the crowd, as if moving away from the hooded and silent men who wore masks of either Vakmathras or Redhale. "Fifty."


Kasyr lets' out a -really- insincere sounding "Oof." before he wheels to face Alice, his cigarette hanging from his mouth. For a moment, his hand dives into his coat, palms something, if only to brusquely clap against Alice's. Not a cigarette, but a mithril scalpel. "I figured that might help you take the edge of things. I mean, things are a little hectic. Going to be. You know." Without even a pause, he's wheeling back around, his coat swishing to obscure sight of Alice and thus what he gave her.


Eilyo heard the number and looked at the door at the same, making the connection perhaps too late. What was this? What has she found herself stuck in the middle of now?


Svilfon seems somewhat concerned at the continuing outburst, and the numbers spoken by Xersom. That general was disturbing, perhaps enough so to throw off the wizard's magic a touch, just like Vuryal sometimes did by presence alone. So he merely sits, not injecting himself into the furthering conversation between the lady and the revenant... There is a stuttering from the woman, the look shifting between shock and outrage, before she screams, “Stop with those bloody numbers!” She scowls at Xersom, then at Kasyr, “You dare... DARE... make these insinuations... and all you have is documents? You are an idiot!” Her glare fades a touch as she looks at certain partygoers who seem to be refraining from most the... partying... before she looks back at Kasyr. “Documentation can be forged. I state again, what my House does is none of your concern... We seek only to...” Her words fade, then, as she shifts her glare to Alice. “You... I have seen you before... be wary of what this idiot says, he wants to spark a war on the ashes of my House. He thinks we don't see it.” She turns back to Kasyr, then. Though, she doesn't speak. She merely watches the newest members enter the party with a sly smile on her face. “I sent no assassin, Kasyr... I did not need to...” With that, she steps back from him rather quickly. “I am not alone in my distaste for you.”


Alice stood quickly, peering over the crowd of bystanders and cultists alike. It seems she has completely understood what Kasyr had to say, and give. Her free hand slowly trails to the slit on the side of her evening gown, quietly pulling her dagger into her hand and holding both behind her back carefully as she pretended she didn't see a thing. Her voice was soft as she replied to him. "...Did I hear the number correctly? Ffifty?" She seemed to be aiming the question to both Xersom, with whom she wasn't familiar, and Kasyr. The look in her eyes had gone from nervous to blazing; this was her forte; the feeling right before... trouble. Her guard at the door, who had thus far been pretending to sleep drunkenly caught her eye, and they shared a nod. He snuck away, and the wolf by his side slowly started to circle to the side of the room, as if looking for fallen meat. Al forced the smirk that teased at her lips not to form; she was glad she'd thought clearly today.


Svilfon eyes the incoming mob with a slight sigh. "This is why we can't have anything nice..." The words are muttered, though, before he picks at some of the leftover food. If he's at all concerned, he hides it well. Or perhaps he merely hides who he is, if they didn't already know.


Alice turned her eyes to the Lady who had spoken to her. "Ye'll be pleased te know I hardly listen ter what anyone says te me, so's ye don't need ter worry too much." She looked a little curious, though, not having really much memory of the female.


Svilfon ::Lady Alesha looks at Alice and smiles with the unnatural cruelty of an undead hunter. "I doubt it will matter either way for long."


Elindra 's lips curve down a little on one side forming a half frown of clear disapproval. It fades a moment after but the feeling remains. She's been ditched. Well. At least she got a decent meal out of coming here, without spoiling her amazingly white tuxedo. She would linger a bit longer in silence, eyeing a man who continued his ominous counting. Those piercing silver eyes held tightly on Xersom. Until a mass of men came pouring into the hall. Suddenly his counting makes sense. Those dire eyes now scanning the group that made such sudden entrance, and the members who reveal themselves to have been present all this time. The frown returns.


Xersom spoke easily, as his hand covered in scars of carvings of some infernal litany, moved to grasp hold the hilt of his Accursed Blade. The weapon was slowly pulled from its holster at his hip, showing off the darkness of its steel. It was so dark, so unholy that it actually seemed to suck in light around it. "Because it's the amount? Or because you already knew?" His voice was sinister and soothing, as intense green and fake eyes slid over the gray hoods standing still. One copper-masked fellow seemed to lightly and subtly push his way toward one of the heads of the vampire Houses.


Alice said to Kasyr, "...Charming."


Xersom said to Lady Alesha, "Do you know who I am, little girl?"


Kasyr said to Alice, "Welcome to politics in Vailkrin. This only happens every few years, ou quoi-ce-soit. ...And yeah, Fifty. Prepare to get very acquainted."


Alice 's eyes were still trained on the doorway; and after a while, she saw exactly what she wanted to see. Her guard had returned, with a nod. Her voice was hushed as she spoke back to Xersom. "I've been being kept... aware o' the situation through me own research, and correspondence with this ol' git." She tilted her head to Kasyr, still keeping her eye on her guard. It appeared he had at least half of what she'd sent him for... that was good enough for her. "I didn' think it'd gone this far, though. Good ter know I could be here tonight. Wouldn' want you boys havin' fun without me." Her jaw clenched now, and she turned her eyes to the masked individuals. "...Knew I should o' worn me boots..."


Svilfon and the Lady Alesha both look at that accursed sword, but their reactions are infinitely different. The wizard seems curious, despite the disturbing sensations it causes to wander up his spine; such untamed evil effects those who who're as well tied to the world as Svil is, despite the company he so often keeps. For the lady Alesha, she merely smiles, the look as cruel as the countenance she offered Alice earlier. “I find it redundant you sharing with us your ability to count to fifty, is all. But then,” She waves at the man, “You keep company with an idiot, I should expect such small signs of intellect to mean much to you.” The woman turns, then, seeking out Antonin. This was what had been planned, she had played her part throwing doubt to her motives, and Kasyr's. But with so many masks in place, she cannot find him. She frowns. No, he would not abandon her, surely. So she speaks again, this time to the room, “It is time.” She looks victorious, knowing Kasyr is weakened, uncaring of one man with a sword against her magic and the cultists. Though... where was Antonin... she looks around once more, before spying his fine clothes pushing past some of those guarding the door, his movements frantic. Apparently he has seen enough with Xersom's unchained wickedness and Kasyr's smugness. He wanted no part in this at all.


Alice stared down the crowd, silently willing them to -run-.


Elindra leans against the table of food with a bottle of blood wine in one hand, and a strawberry tart in the other. Closely monitering every one of the guests and the intruders now. A lot to take in perhaps. But she is more than determined. For a moment however, she feels a tiny hand stroke her fluffy white hair, and her eyes turn towards the user of familiar gesture. Offering both a highly critical and curious glance once Elindra confirms the little hand belongs to Pyoshia. Who, oddly enough manages to reach that high.


Xersom did not look his intense gaze toward Alice as she replied in a hushed tone toward Xersom as he stood in his hermit's garb and holding tight the handle of that relic of which had origins long forgotten; forged by a people equally as ancient. But they went either unheard or unacknowledged as the Lady Alesha offered her words of wit and insult to the former General of Arrecation. She offered words which caused his eyes to narrow just slightly enough to denote the anger and wrath in the incarnate evil's psyche; it was a cold and merciless anger. The table before him, the very same that Svilfon sat at, shook violently before the very fabric of its existence was becoming torn and ripped away like paper's ashes as it smolders and burns; the pieces of it blackened and drifting away into the air to disappear from reality entirely. It continued until the table was gone, but by now Sacrilus was moving. He was actually moving toward his prey instead of standing still; a slow and unconcerned gait toward Lady Alesha and the tip of his blade dreadfully 'tapped' in an echo in the silence of both cultist and guest as they watched the male approach the female. "Do you know who I am?" He asked again, and the woman would find some unseen and nearly incomprehensible power attempting to lift her from the ground and hold her suspended in the air. Wards, enchantments, spells; none of it mattered against this creature because it all would serve to replenish the seemingly limitless power of the ex-wraithen demon if used against him or triggered by him. "I am the Face of the Damned. I am the Shadow Over the World. There is no wealth, there is no ruin, neither silver nor gold that will stop me. Your problem lied with Kasyr, but you decided," he was almost within arm's reach now, or would be, "to bear words toward me. To try to command me. Now Kasyr isn't your only problem." And, like the table, that power attempted to begin to violently and with extreme pain, slowly begin to shred the woman from reality. A sudden scream pierced the room, not at all distracting X however; it was the scream that was strangled short by the sudden and bloody decapitation of one of Heads of a house; the man in the coppery mask and Cenrilian regalia had a bladed whip that was wrapped around her throat and yanked it hard enough to completely severe neck from shoulders in a fountain of blood. The gray hoods would immediately begin their attempted massacre.


Pyoshia entered back into the gala, the undead left with the tree, to rot.. And become further food for it's substance. Her approach was masked, the giant robes covering her whole form being larger than that of anyone for her size.. It honestly looked like a a little kid had gotten into their parents clothing and tried to wear them... Exactly how Pyoshia wanted to make it seem. Her tiny hand reached through the oversized sleeve to grasp at Kas and make her presence known, as a tiny little black rose was to appear to the vampire king.


Elindra said to Pyoshia, "lightly, "Well. This doesn't look good, now does it?""


Pyoshia said to Elindra, "I'm not sure as to what you reference.. Shhh, yogi, I don't want people to know it's me."


Svilfon does not seem all that alarmed as the table he was sitting in front of begins to dissolve from the very fabric of reality. He instead snakes his hand out, grabbing a few last morsels of food, before pushing his chair backwards, outside of the demonic influence of the nefarious Sacrilus. He lifts up his cheap mask and continues to eat, looking relaxed amidst the coming turmoil. For the lady Alesha, though, her fate was sealed the moment she spoke such rude words the former general. The wizard would say they were worth it, he did find them rather amusing, though is smart enough to disguise that fact. But for her, the magical wards she wears are dissolved, her arcane and mundane protection offering nothing but power to the damned man. She feels it, slow with an ancient cruelty, lingering outside of time's embrace the cold hand of death stealing her life one small piece at a time. All she can do before she screams is enact an incarnation that is not tied to her defense, not tied to this room at all; all it does is ring a single bell in her home, a warning to them all of what will be coming. With that final act, one born of loyalty to her line, she screams, the sound drowning out all others until it's choked out by her lungs no longer being able to draw breath, for soon they are nothing more than ash and shadow, gone from the world. A head of a vampiric house, slain in Vailkrin, slain under the protection of Kasyr's own party. It is worse than the other leader who had his head so violently removed... for that was done outside of Kasyr's influence, this was not. The wizard thinks this will have many implications in the coming days... things will be getting interesting.


Alice let out a low snarl once she recognized the Cenrilian regalia upon the masked strangers' bodies. "Outrageous..." She practically spat. The playful look in her eyes had turned to one of rage suddenly; and her entire form was beginning to tremble with that very anger. "The Church..." This time, she actually -did- spit, and her hands clenched tighter around her knives; the one sneakily passed to her by Kasyr, and the other, already with her. Her eyes turned up to the man she had positioned at the door, and gave the most important nod. He made a hand motion of some sort to someone or something down the hall. Never go unprepared. Ever. Her father had taught her long ago, back when he was training her to take over the tribe... though she'd never had a chance to make him proud, she would certainly take those lessons in always having a backup plan, always having emergency preparations, to heart. In the meantime, she payed little attention to Xersom's outburst; instead focusing her attention on other masked figures, picking out who her opponent might be. "Kas- I think waitin' round'll be the las' thin' we need ter do right 'bout now. We're already one down. I won't move till ye give me a go." She glanced at him, wondering to herself if he had any idea for a plan of attack. Her eyes glanced back to the other side of the room now. "If'n ye can, watch me back." Her voice dropped to a tone that only he would probably hear. "I've got a surprise on the other side, if'n I kin get ter it."


Kasyr allows a brief moment to acknowledge Pyoshia- a brief pat on the head offered given that despite some mild weirdness, she'd not been the source of trouble. "Protect the guests." And then the Revenants moving, peeling away towards wall hanging which rested all but adjacent to his seat- those sparse few moments while the room lay in shock allowing him to swipe his hand behind the tapestry which depicted house Azakhaer and pull free the empty sheathe which had been stashed behind it. And it's about that point the room begins to burst into action- people clearing from their chairs in shock, the heads of the houses scrambling to find refuge within their flocks. The cultists, the Nathali, are scarcely armed- having merely brought daggers, and edged knuckle dusters as could easily be snuck past defenses- and yet such items will suffice, the ones chosen for this endeavour amongst the orders best, and the arnaments tainted in dragons blood. All around the room, those who had managed to sidle near a target are choosing now to initiate their bloody offensive- to lance poisoned weapon through an exposed back if they can muster it, some caught in the act, others succesful. And in the midst of these men, deadlier threats lie. Five cullmen- remarkably dangerous monks, bearing slightly precognitive abilities in regards to combat, thereby allowing them to predict the physical movements of their opponents- and a pair of priests, devoted to Vakmatharas. The revenant sees none of this, however, his vision having honed in upon the man in the copper mask- shoving clear those who might block his path, before hopping up onto a now vacated chair and diving straight towards the whip wielder- hoping to clear the space towards them, the tip of his sheathe poised to crash into the man. The tip of his sheathe which was now crackling with electricity, a light seeming to swell from within.


Pyoshia said to Elindra, "We should take a seat by the one who's still eating. I'm sick of breaking up fights, specially among those who're cheating death already."


Elindra doesn't argue. "I'm all for it." She doesn't mind sitting back and munching a few more steaks. And whatever else she decides to shove into a bag.


Xersom watched with those faux eyes, a certain sinister and insidious taste borne within their depths, the bloodshed and apparent massacre that erupted around him after they slowly slid alongside his masked face in order to find the scene. Such a slow and predatory movement was followed in its wake by the turn of legs and torso to face the majority of the room as he lazily held his Accursed Blade in his hand. It was otherwise that the former General did as he always had and simply stand there. Unlike Kasyr, who seemed to dance gracefully his murders among the crowd as if a produced play of theatric and dramatic proportion, Sacrilus did not move. Those that came near him died in horrific and painful ways; the first literally exploded into a burst of sinew and blood which painted the immediate surroundings in remnants of flesh, organ, and marrow. The second wasn't so lucky; he sprinted at the former General of Arrecation only to abruptly stop, and scream beneath his mask as his arms fought against themselves. He could not help it and didn't have control, as he screamed in explanation, until he plunged his dagger into his own throat seemingly out of his hands' own accord. Meanwhile, that whip-wielder narrowed his eyes as Kasyr came toward him with a leap to clear the space betwixt the two; he wasn't going down so easily. Even in that Cenrilian regalia, the man seemed to move without hindrance, and dipped his body low to allow the sheath in shock-charged dazzling to sail just above his coppery-masked face. But that didn't end his movements; dip fluidly turned to spin and the bladed whip stretched outward to swing in a wide circle around him. This cut many at their shins, but it was aimed for the landing of Kasyr -a position he thinks would end in a crouch to become sliced apart by that whip.


Eilyo swiftly moved from her seat to the wall, putting her back towards it, as soon as the chaos erupted around her. She was inching towards the door, always keeping her back to the wall and her eyes on the scene before her, which oddly came nowhere near her. If anything got close it simply stopped and turned around, or bounced away, losing interest in her immediately. It was no easy task keeping up this shield of hers, of course, but she had enough energy for it to last long enough for her to get away. She hesitated near the door, pausing a moment to keep watching the massacre, seeing if she could be any help to anybody.


Xersom 's gaze was caught by the sight of another fifty men enter. Cenrilians. The same whose ancestors were killed by Sacrilus among the tens of, if not hundreds of, thousands. "Keep them from me," he warned Alice, "I won't enter the city, but I will not hesitate to kill them."


Alice took Kasyr's movements as the hint that it was time for her to move as well. Reaching down and tearing the dress slightly, to create a second slit, making it easier to maneuver, the girl prepared for action. Once this was ready, she too dove into the mob of people; blades at the ready. She, for now, targetted the minor cultists, cutting and slicing at the necks of the cultists. Several fell in her wake, and when one managed to get a cut in on her upper arm, she payed it little mind. Her body was hardened from several previous wars; and her heart from previous losses. Her goal was on the other side of the room; and that's where she was headed, cutting down enemies in her path, pushing aside passerby to safety. Once she was at the other side of the room, her daggers were quickly traded to the Guard who had been waiting dutifully by the door for a weapon of greater size; a double-edged battleaxe which she took up surprisingly easily. Then came a holler; a war-cry of sorts; and into the room poured fifty more individuals; armor-clad and bearing an insignia that seemed to be an updated version of Cenril's old one. Her voice was commanding and strong; this was her niche. "Men! I want A to clear out the nobles, servers, anyone who doesn't belong here. The rest of you... Fight!!" At her command, her men, shining with virtue poured into the fray, automatically either focusing their swords on the enemy, or moving 'innocents' towards the door. Once she was sure they were moving, a whistle left her lips, and the wolf that had been sneaking about dove into the fray, joining her by her side as she dove back in as well, hacking down some poor sap with the axe in one singular, fluid motion that left no mercy for those putting blemish on Cenril's name- and those harming her allies.


Svilfon supposes he is an innocent, or at least is taken for one. One of Alice's guards comes up and rather rudely grabs his arm while 'requesting' he leave the room before he's killed. The wizard merely sighs. “Look, you go save that guy,” Svil shoves him towards a noble who is laying on the ground with his arms over his head, praying to Vakmatharas that he be allowed to live if only to kill many others to satisfy the dark god's unending hunger. Clear now, Svilfon pulls off his mask, places it carefully on the ground, before pulling from the air his Xalious wand. Not only was it an instrument of great magical prowess, it was also viciously sharp. It would do. So with a war-cry that's not anywhere near as awesome as Alice's, he charges forward, shoving a few cultists towards Xersom, who seems eager enough to destroy them, before jumping onto the back of another one. He grasps on with one hand in a piggyback position, before, while reaching to stab the man in the chest over his shoulder, the wizard snarls, “Look, I just wanted to eat, damn you.” Stab, stab, stab, the man falls, the vampre doesn't stop talking, “To enjoy a relaxing time. By the balls of Sven himself, hairy as they are, you will not make me break my promise.” The wizard gets up, kicks the corpse, before running to intercept a cultist or two making their way to some scared looking nobles. The wizard's warrior skills are far from fantastic, but in the frantic melee he does well enough it seems with anger alone.. and a lack of self-preservation. He would not set these cultists on fire... he would not!


Xersom spat because of Svilfon's use of Sven's name, "The son of Syven should've been killed long ago."


Elindra , despite stuffing her face in that passive humored manner, is well aware of the extensive chaos going on around them. And the danger it posses to Pyoshia. Like a hawk, her sharp silver gaze keep intense watch of all actions around them. If anything is to even attempt to harm... even think of harming the dryad. Well.. simply enough. Elindra will not allow it. As the fray begins to suck them in, the dire woman rises abruptly from her seat. Eyes wide with spite. The first aggression of a cultist would end with a face being smashed in a very swift and gruesome manner, with the power of a single well aimed punch by the agitated Momma Bear. "Oh great.. I ruined my suit."


Kasyr might have hurtled towards the whip wielding warrior, but he'd not bet upon that initial motion to carry him towards the man- the revenant having expected an evasive maneuver. Thus, the function of the invoked energy is revealed, as the Revenants sword, Vesper, abruptly flickers into existance in a burst of sparks- made solid just in time for the Kensai to draw it clear in a swooping arc. Even as the revenant would be preparing to land, the flesh upon the back of his right wrist begins to dissolve into sparks quite akin to those that had appeared earlier- serving as fuel so that the revenant might tap into the primordial electric energies he bore an affinity with, forcibly redirecting his momentum into a sliding skid that bordered on near literally lightning quick- and sent him clear of the whip wielders strike. It also happened to send him crashing back first into a wall, with a cascade of cultists, servants and vampires sent spiraling out from his path. Yet, the revenant does not even allow himself the time to adjust, forcibly kicking himself clear of the wall, a secondary eruption of sparks and sanguine appearing upon the back of his right hand as he goes surging towards the whip wielder. Except, not quite. Rather, the revenant comes to an abrupt halt, but his sheathe does not, essentially arcing forward even as he himself hoabruptly arcs to the side and resumes that lunatic pace- aiming to come in low as the sheathe hurtles midway. Specifically, the Kensais aiming to bring his blade slamming into the man- and even if he should somehow manage to block it, the revenant abruptly converts even more flesh, causing a rather profuse amount of internal bleeding when one of his kidneys go up in sparks- all so he can imbue an excessive amount of kinetic energy into the strike. Enough so that should it strike, it would sound quite akin to a thunderclap. At point blank range. It'l be more than enough to send the 'Cenrillian' skyward. And anyone adjacent. Well. Elsewhere.


Pyoshia sighed and stared at her bear friend, “Don’t breathe, little cub.” Even as she spoke, she knew the werebear would be the perfect guardian for her, keeping the enemies at bay. She had little worry of the cultists making it to her. Her tiny little body began to form magic, hood pulled back as she needed better sight. The vines that hid underneath the robe shot from the back, little seeds to come from them and be dropped around the floor near the dryad. Little plants quickly began to bloom from them, growing fast and suddenly releasing a vast amount of pollen into the air. The pollen was simplistic in design, the larger the amount breathed in, the faster the people would be put to sleep. Of course, the tiny dryad wasn’t done, she had been told to keep the guests safe, any non combatants to suddenly have the castle come to live around them. Pillars began to rise from the stone works of the castle, encasing them inside as they shot to the roof. The solid stone encloses left enough room for the people to sit, nothing more.. Stuck inside, air coming from the top of the pillar, tiny holes left so they might be capable of gathering air and pollen, falling asleep with the others if they breathed air.


Svilfon turns to Xersom. “Divinity is a form of death; deities are more damned than mortals. But...” the wizard dodges away from a lunging dagger, before pushing the man at another cultist. “...is now really the best time to discuss it?”


Kasyr told Svilfon, "*There's a sense of imminence, quite different to the normal easy going manner of the revenant* Why is this room not a fire hazard? You *is he busy?* Represent. This *He's probably busy*. House."


Svilfon told Kasyr, "*A swift response, born of a simmering anger* A promise was made, I'll not set them on fire... plus... *A pause through an evasion of coming dagger strikes* this way is quite fun."


Xersom promptly causes a cultist to turn inside-out before it collapses on the ground, dead, as he spoke to Svilfon, "Divinity came after. I watched my Master hold him by the neck. And, not entirely the best time, dragon's husband."


Maldoff had been staying in Vailkrin with Phaedra, and thus decided to pay a visit to the event being held in the castle. Yet he seemed to have arrived at the party at entirely the wrong time. A battle had errupted, either that or the dancing was way out of hand. Now, the high born was not much of a fighter. He was actually pretty helpless when it came to battle. So he froze in the doorway, glancing around quickly as he tried to assess the situation. His emerald eyes landed upon Xersom, recognizing his new tutor immediately. He wasn't sure what he could do to help, but if anyone could give him guidance, it was the ancient dark one. SO that was where the bard's focus remained. What could he do...he wasn't powerful, not yet, he hadn't yet learned to harness his hatred as X had promised he would teach him to do. All he had on him was his flute, even his constantly present Sprite was missing in action, probably panicked at the apparent brawl and fled. Reaching into his satchel a hand gripped at his flute, though he was uncertain as to what he could do with it, aside from whack people in the head, and that would probably damage the instrument.


Kasyr||There was dead strewn about, cultists, vampires, undead, human necromancers- mostly casualities of the conflict, but some having also killed each other during the conversation, or due to bad blood coming out during the frenzied moment. Alice's men, as well as the areas of the room which had been set in order by the heads of houses, who were fighting furiously to protect their vassals, were the bastions of order within this place - And the cullmen recognized it. Amongst their peers, they were those which pushed the threshold of humanity to their limit in both their capacity to kill, their endurance, and that curious talent which offered them an edge even against foes faster than them- and one amongst them surpassed this limitation, a vampire serving as a leader to that squad. Purposefully, they wade through the room, pushing past through the chaos with a startling lethality only a well trained monk can exert through his fists- one which is only further exarcerbated by the dark blessings of the priests of Vakmatharas which still rest central in the room. Blessings which even now protected them from the pollens which set their peers to sleep- and gave them the means to tear into the men Alice had brought to help. The purpose is clear enough, Coup de grace those individuals she seeks to rescue- and redirect the Cenrilians towards Xersom so that he might be 'forced' to retaliate. An action aided through the use of throws and bludgeoning blows, and thereby conserving their strength for more pressing matters. Like the defense of the clerics, since the forces adjacent to them are waning -quickly-.


Alice let out a cry for her men to avoid Xersom, and leave him be. So far, it seemed that the evacuation efforts were going smoothly; one by one, the bystanders were being escorted out and to a safe place at currently undisclosed location. They would be kept safe for as long as possible. For now, they would simply be collected there, and kept calm. Back here in the fray, however, things were a little different. The greataxe, now spraying blood here and there, gave no mercy where it struck. Clearly, it was a weapon forged to destroy; to defend; to win. Alice's muscular strength was perhaps slightly surprising; though not too surprising, given her generally toned features. She was a warrior, and always had been. Around her, her guardsmen continued to fight valiantly; two of them placing themselves near Kasyr; the others dispersed throughout the crowd, gleaming with all their military might. These guards didn't seem to have any qualms with striking down the Church-Cenrilians. Clearly, they, and Alice too, had no particular fondness for the Church or its power, especially now that she knew that it was intertwined with cultists and schemes to destroy. Near Al, another cultist fell to the ground in two pieces; cut through by the power of her blade. A shout was given to anyone standing by and doing nothing. When she saw the cultists attempting to push her men towards the male who only stood and destroyed; her voice cut through the air once more. "Fall back; defensive maneuver A! Lift your masks! Druids! Counterspell!" A few of the men in the crowd now held up their hands, lifting an enchantment over the guard (And any other ally deemed fit) which would nullify the effect of the pollen. A hiss to the dryad was given. "The hell d'ye think yer doin'? Stick ter helpin', no' tha!" In this moment, she let out a growl. Most of the guard had managed to push back into the fray; but one unlucky fellow had fallen victim to Xersom.


Elindra eyes Pyoshia and her failed attempts to knock out the masses into unconsciousness. Holding her breath. As asked to do so. The dire woman shakes her head and shoots a look at Pyoshia as if to say. "Don't pursue it." With that, Elindra deliberately reaches out to nab her dryad friend and hold her tight against her chest with an well muscled arm. It's time to leave. Elindra will not heed any amount of protest.


Xersom just finished his quip toward the pointy-hatted wizard-knight when that single fellow came into the proximity of Xersom to fall victim to him; it was against the Cenrilian, in his back, that Xersom shoved that Accursed Blade without taking a step in any direction. A Cenrilian. Ancient and incredibly dark magic began to come into play as the man of virtue was held stuck by that blade of such impenetrable darkness and apparent evil. The color began to drain from the male's face, making it darker and darker, without stopping until only a silhouette of impenetrable shadow stood as the weapon was yanked free. There was a reason he didn't desire the Cenrilian's near him; he would do worse than kill. It's betrayed by that, because the shadow-silhouette didn't crumple and die. It lurched forward, and began indiscriminately ripping throats out; either ally or enemy, it did not matter to that being. Meanwhile, it was the whip-wielding man that was suddenly faced with an excess of kinetic energy from the point-blank strike toward him from his crouched form; definitely not something he wanted to get hit with. The masked man dropped to lie flat and allow the weapon to fly overhead, but the sheer wind in the wake of the strong movement lofted him up and sent him flying into the wall of the foyer. The whip-killer bounced heavily from it and landed on the ground, but quickly scrambled to his feet. The hand that wasn't holding his weapon held his ribs as shoulders lurched in pained breath, but he was determined. The whip came up, then crashed down in order to shatter the links of the blades against the floor; abruptly, the links violently were flung after being disconnected in attempt to shred and skewer the Vailkrin Lord.


Kasyrs' body is already beginning to contort and twist, to react- and yet he's held back momentarily, both the torque and weight of his weapon suddenly bearing far more weight than they should upon the Kensai's body. Vesper, the damnable weapon, had a hunger for phantoms, one which rather rapidly weigh down the weapon as they accumulated within it- and a room full of undead who had been liberated to a true death was like a buffet to the damn thing. Faced with the unexpected burden, the revenants not entirely fast enough to weave between the oncoming fractures of metal- many of them slamming into and ultimately -through- flesh, muscle and bone, only to go spalling through the more incurring yet further fatalities by virtue of ricochets. It's enough to bring the revenant into a faltering lurch, coaxing a loathsome resonance of empathic energy from Kasyr, as the impact of the current situation begins to dawn on him, and the manner on which it only further exarcerbates itself. And it's not done. Still more die- Still Cenril's church exists. The Nathali no doubt still exist, Mahara, the burrower- all the things that might threaten him, his city, his -Coterie-. Every shadow in the room seems to grow and quiver, rippling in queer resonance with the oppressing feeling that swells about the revenants form, and begins to coax arcs of black electricity about his form. It makes the Kensais form hard to look at, which makes it all the more difficult to discern when he actually moved- supernatural alacrity put to use as he scorches a path across the stone floor and crashes into the clerics at the center- Vesper sent hurtling through them in a wide slash that bears enough force that they are rent asunder into wet pieces, which themselves go flailing into the crowd. At once, the cullment find themselves abruptly without the source of their boons- an event that leads to the abrupt end of two of them- as their precognition is abruptly distorted by the sudden alteration to their current state of being. The revenant's not in any state to enjoy this, as he abruptly hurtles forward to intercept that monstrous gheist of shadow. The movement is reckless at it's best, the Kensai using an exertion of electrical energy and something -far- darker to send himself slamming into that monstrous aberration- if only so that the combined weight of himself and the now unwieldy vesper are exerted into it at lightning speed- with the intent of sending it crashing into the whip wielder.


Xersom said to Alice, "I said not to!"


Svilfon is not a warrior. Though, he does fancy himself a knight, it's a title he claimed rather than earned, simply because it fit his disposition... unfortunately, not his skillset. He'd killed a cultist or two easily enough, frantic fighting was like that. But soon he came across a cullmen, and the result of that little foray into the world of melee fighting is vicious, quick and not all that good for a wizard's reputation. The man easily dodges a lunging stab, twists around once, before thumping Svilfon so hard the vampire flies across the room to slam into a wall. Well, great. Blood pours from his nose and mouth like a sanguine waterfall, mixing with the blood which pours from many other minor wounds he's picked up during the fight. And finally... painfully... he realizes he must break his promise. Spitting out a globule of blood onto the floor, the wizard clears his throat and speaks a few quick words in a convoluted tongue, causing two fireballs to be born into life. “Really,” He lifts his hands, one using his wand to point at the cullmen, another pointed at a cleric. “I'm never going to hear the end of this.” He shakes his head, before the two balls of fire shoot forth, seeking their prey with an almost sentient intelligence, before exploding out, burning one cullmen badly, though not lethally, and interrupting the cleric's protective spells. Following that, Svilfon steps away from the shadow-y creature created by Xersom, and grabs hold of a few leftover nobles. He sends thoughts to Kasyr quietly, silently, despite the frantic battle, before vanishing from sight, taking the two vampires with him.


Svilfon told Kasyr, "I'll get these to safety... I cannot be assured the rest will survive, though I am sure you will. Xersom will ensure it... I think. *there's uncertainty in that*. Some Vailkrin nobles must know what happened here. It cannot be seen that we were the cause, or the structure will fall upon our heads... They will ensure their houses know the truth, and will bring aid if you require it.. I'll see what other help I can find."


Alice said to Xersom, "I lay no blame on ye, it were them cultists pushed him back!"


Kasyrs' body is already beginning to contort and twist, to react- and yet he's held back momentarily, both the torque and weight of his weapon suddenly bearing far more weight than they should upon the Kensai's body. Vesper, the damnable weapon, had a hunger for phantoms, one which rather rapidly weigh down the weapon as they accumulated within it- and a room full of undead who had been liberated to a true death was like a buffet to the damn thing. Faced with the unexpected burden, the revenants not entirely fast enough to weave between the oncoming fractures of metal- many of them slamming into and ultimately -through- flesh, muscle and bone, only to go spalling through the more incurring yet further fatalities by virtue of ricochets. It's enough to bring the revenant into a faltering lurch, coaxing a loathsome resonance of empathic energy from Kasyr, as the impact of the current situation begins to dawn on him, and the manner on which it only further exarcerbates itself. And it's not done. Still more die- Still Cenril's church exists. The Nathali no doubt still exist, Mahara, the burrower- all the things that might threaten him, his city, his -Coterie-. Every shadow in the room seems to grow and quiver, rippling in queer resonance with the oppressing feeling that swells about the revenants form, and begins to coax arcs of black electricity about his form. It makes the Kensais form hard to look at, which makes it all the more difficult to discern when he actually moved- supernatural alacrity put to use as he scorches a path across the stone floor and crashes into the clerics at the center- Vesper sent hurtling through them in a wide slash that bears enough force that they are rent asunder into wet pieces, which themselves go flailing into the crowd. At once, the cullment find themselves abruptly without the source of their boons- an event that leads to the abrupt end of two of them- as their precognition is abruptly distorted by the sudden alteration to their current state of being. The revenant's not in any state to enjoy this, as he abruptly hurtles forward to intercept that monstrous gheist of shadow. The movement is reckless at it's best, the Kensai using an exertion of electrical energy and something -far- darker to send himself slamming into that monstrous aberration- if only so that the combined weight of himself and the now unwieldy vesper are exerted into it at lightning speed- with the intent of sending it crashing into the whip wielder.


Pyoshia struggles and squirms as she is grasped within the arms of the large dire werebear. Her little fists pound against the larger one's hands, "Have to do this dummy! Lemme go! Lemme out! Stupid burr!" Her word mumbled as her mouth gets placed underneath the other's forearm. She realizes her fate is sealed to being drug away, as she exits out.. stage left.


Kasyr shouted at Pyoshia, "GET THE PEOPLE OUT OF THE WALLS!"


Kasyr isn't going to deal with a bunch of people all stuck in his walls like this was a sort of half-assed version of 'Cask of Amontillado'.


Alice turns her gaze to a human nearby; wounded as hell. No mercy, she reminds herself as she hurtles forward. Slaying this individual was no real feat; and she motioned to another human to the side, her men would take care of that. Her focus was now solely on the vampire cullmen. Taking a defensive stance, she took one of his attacks, blocking with the center part of the axe's handle. The second attack was not so well blocked, and it was, with a hiss, she took a stab to the thigh. Luckily for her, this provided ample opportunity for her to retaliate, pushing forward with the axe to stagger the male back in a swift enough motion that the blade in her leg came free. It hurt; but she wouldn't falter. This was not her first battle inury; nor would it stop her. Perhaps she was weaker for being human; but there was something about her spirit that made her a formidable foe. That, and, of course, her experiences in past wars. Her arms lifted, and she stepped forward, swinging the axe at her opponent, who dodged the first blow. They clearly did not expect the returning swipe, which decked them at the knees. This opportunity was not missed; with another heave of her strength, she swung the axe forward; slicing the male's head clean off of it's shoulders. She found herself being dragged back by one of her men, so that she could lean against a pillar. This of course, recieved multiple curses and annoyed responses from the redhead, but the throbbing pain in that leg told her he was probably right. He remained before her, sword out and ready to protect, and she too kept her axe at the ready. Her voice rang out again. "Druids! Attempt negating wall spell! Free them from the walls!" The druid's attention was now spent on attempting to do so. Her eyes turned, and it was a sigh of relief that she noticed the last few (who were not inside the walls) had finally been escorted out. A quick headcount told her that three more of her men had fallen in the fray. They were doing well... but she would have to be sure to give proper funerals, and to find the names of those fallen.


Xersom remained standing in his location, the dead piling around him. They were all gross and grotesque corpses and wicked representations of some horrible versions of themselves. But it was both his creation and the whip-wielding man that would fall prey to Kasyr's atttack. Immediately tackled into the human with the Cenrilian disguise of regalia, the creature with pitch black body in phantasmal and wraith like horror that was once a noble and viruous man under Alice's command, literally ripped the assassin apart. It tore organs out of him and innards, bones ripped from their moorings and sent to fly away. But the victory was short lived; the unwieldy vesper crashed into the creature; it pinned the former human and would likely devour it.


Kasyr doesn't really wait and see if being skewered near to the hilt and partially pulverized will be enough to kill the creature, be it immediately nor over time. Rather, the Caliginous Kensai simply closes what distant rests between himself and that bestial creature of power and gnashing teeth, that same abysmal energy now used to coat his right arm in a construct of like energy- so that he might grasp hold of it's features and ferociously pound it's face into pulp against the stone wall. A gruesome fate, and one made all the worse by the intense crackle of electricity about his presence, which serves to aid in the rapid obliteration of it's flesh: both that which he touches, and when the creature endeavours to take hold of him in it's bloodthirsty final throes. It's only when the stone of the wall has partially contorted, and barely any recognition of the things actual form has long since ebbed away that he relinquishes his hold upon the darkness, and starts to gather his wits. He'd need to trust in Svilfon, and figure out what to do. He'd need to.. The revenants foot splashes against the ground a gruesome pool of blood slowly amassing in his vicinity- and helping to bring his mind back to the present, to the pain and protests of limbs, and the awareness of his wounds. "They want a goddamn war? They can have it."


Alice watched with keen eyes as her men destroyed the other human they had circled round, now moving to stand guard round her. The druids remained their work attempting to free the people from the walls, slowly making some headway. Al felt her leg trembling, and she leaned against that wall even more, gritting her teeth. The wound was deep, and she was bleeding quite a bit. This dress was ruined, and for the life of her, she couldn't bring herself to give a damn. She forced herself, with all of her might to not pay attention to her fallen soldier-turned creature thing. His body would not be brought home with them; his family would mourn. This perhaps, was a piece of A'ls more noble side; always on the watch for the duties that came even after the battle. The duties that were ones of brotherhood instead of bloodshed.


Xersom , on the other hand, had taken not even a cut on his form as he stood in the center of those grotesque corpses. His blade wasn't yet sheathed because of the proximity of the Cenrilians around him. His intense gaze went toward Kasyr, "I won't strike at those in Cenril. I won't go there, Kasyr," the ancient said, before he continued, "Though I am impressed. I cannot stay, however, not tonight. I have a sleeping woman to return to. But should you require me, do not hesitate. Vailkrin is a place I enjoy, even if I can see the plotting here." He referenced those that knew too much, rather than any solid conspiracy; the inhabitants were 'shady'. "I plan to eventually settle here, after all." Then his gaze went to Alice, "I am sorry your man went through that Hell. He suffered every moment of it, but now he is not. I won't go to Cenril. Please do not have his kin or friends come looking for me. Those..." He jerked his chin to the fallen soldier-turn-creature, "Can change others if given enough time."


Kasyr strides across the room, a literal wake of blood forming behind him as yet more errant streams pool together. The revenants intention is readily enough discerned- the kensai seeking out a chair to sit in, if only so he can survey the disaster that lays before him, and so that he might contemplate whether to accept the crimson bounty that has accumulated about him, or decide against it. Would sheer mass, and vital force contained within, be enough to counter effect the dragons blood. "...Hrm. Madamoiselle Alice. I'll not weigh you down with more hard decisions in the moment- but I believe it es safe to assume that the time to act es now upon us. And we need to make a decision soon." The revenant pauses here, before his attention shifts over to Xersom, "My thanks, as a note."


Kasyr said to Xersom, "Our agreement was Vailkrin, non?"


Kasyr clearly doesn't seem to be in any rush to push Xersom into the fray, at the very least. Really, the revenant seems more likely to brood and chain smoke, at the moment.


Alice waved off Xersom's words in a calm manner. "Don' werry 'bout it. 'E knew what 'e signed up fer when 'e joined the Guard in the first place. An' don' be worryin' yer pretty head. Ain't nobody comin' ter get ye." She nodded. "Yer a friend o' his," she tilted her head towards Kasyr. "So I trust ye." It seemed that in her discomfort and tiredness, her typical, not-so-fancy, far-from-proper speech had slipped back into her dialogue. She was just too tired to give a damn. "Men, 'ave the nobles escorted to their houses; then return to our meeting point. Have the healers ready. Don' need ter be bloody bleedin' everywhere, aye?" She waved a small group off, but some remained by her side. After a while, the wolf that had entered the fray alongside her found its place sitting next to her, on the side that wasn't injured. Her eyes now turned to Kasyr. "I agree. I told ye, I didn' trust them Church-folk, an' I dinnae what they 'ave planned next, but we 'ave ter strike back before they 'ave a chance to. This, my friend, is a war."


Xersom nodded slowly to the leader of Vailkrin, before Alice's words brought her to his gaze, and a small and very brief grin touched at the corner of his lips, "There is always someone after me -it makes your gods and my Immortals look like toys." Then, the ancient being was gone in a plume of mercurial darkness that eventually dissipated.


Alice tsked softly. "If'n I believed in the gods 'round here..."


Kasyr glances about the room, at the people being led away, and the few stragglers who yet remain, before his attention flickers back to Alice. "There shall be a continuation of events in the morrow. J'imagine that things will be of a more somber tone, but well, a number of questions will need answering. Problems sorted. Your involvement et whatever details you may know in regards to things may be appreciated." About him, tendrils of crimson slowly wind their way up the seat he resides in, tentatively nudging at wounded spots as they sought to replenish his wounded form, to reconstitute him bit by bit. "Et we will be able to work out a far more definitive plan, j'pense."


Kasyr does manage to look a little bit amused at Alice's outburst about divinity.


Alice nodded to the male. "I'll be here. First because o' Cenril, secon'... because ye need the help." She winked, and then, with some help from her men, slowly made her way out. Not once did a complaint leave her lips. As she left, a command was made for the fallen guards (save for the one who Xersom had killed accidentally), to be collected. They were, and thus ended, for the New Cenrilian Guard, night one of yet another war.