RP:Masquerade In Vhys: Halloween Edition 2022
Summary: It's the annual Halloween party, hosted by some fairly unknown person named Lhyrin and the ever-wonderful Valrae Baines! When did Vhys and Cenril become allies?! WHO KNOWS. But more importantly, this was a masquerade! And Quintessa and Scarlet won the costume contest!
Prizes:
- Stained Glass Pumpkin Spiritlamp
- Won by the "Bird Alchemist" (aka Quintessa)
- Stained Glass Skull Spiritlamp
- Won by the Masked Dancer (aka Scarlet)
Chateau Drakenheart, Vhys
This formerly abandoned mansion has been somewhat refurbished, though only on the first floor. New furniture, flooring, and wallpaper has been redone in earthy browns and foresty greens, with stained glass windows, installed by Vhys’ very own glassmiths, that depict various types of flowers, trees, and other foliage. The rest of the house, including the tower, still lies in a state of disrepair, with the windows covered by long black curtains. Within the first floor lies several rooms, though everything but the ballroom, kitchen, and several washrooms are closed off currently. The ballroom has been appropriately decorated for the spooky holiday and allows for the many guests of the ball to come and go as they please to the small garden out front, if they need a breath of fresh air.
Various types of food and drink, as well as a fully stocked bar, are set up on the east side of the ballroom for both the living and undead alike, courtesy of the Elimdorei Hotel’s catering, while waitstaff wander about the large room carrying plates of hors d'oeuvres, wine, and bloodwine for the guests. Opposite the food, on the west side of the room, are lavish couches, tables, and chairs for party-goers to relax or people-watch if they so choose to, while to the south a chamber orchestra, comprised of both wind and string instruments and a piano played by ghosts, help to create the atmosphere for the party, their music filtering out into the garden via a two large opened doors that lead out to the front of the mansion. On the north side of the ballroom lies the door that leads further into the mansion, for access to the kitchen and washrooms. And finally, within the middle of the room lie two black pedestals, each holding up the prizes for the annual costume contest: large spirit lamps in the shape of a pumpkin and a skull, made entirely of stained glass with steel handles attached for carrying. Each one has a lit candle within and seems to give off an ominous aura.
Lhyrin || More than a hundred or so masked partygoers fill the ballroom, while others still filter into the building as Lhyrin busied themself with making last checks on the catering, making sure the orchestra is sorted, and simultaneously trying to do their best at schmoozing along the way. The rather imposing elf, having not attended a formal affair in decades (it would’ve been never if their father had had anything to do with it), went for a look on the more casual side of formal, opting for a long black suede tunic with gemstones and embroidered accents in Vhysian colors (dark blues, purples, and reds) with splits down the sides and four buckles to hold it together over a black silk shirt, as well as black leggings and boots. Their nails and lips were painted a matte black, with a bit of shine brought to both with a ruby red lacquer to mimic dripping blood along the bottom, while their long straight blue-black hair was pulled back into a half-ponytail and their slender ears were littered with stud piercings and a few small rings. To bring the whole look together, the self-proclaimed Avatar of Vakmatharas wore a half-mask of pewter grey, its design consisting of intricate metal filigree--some of which even covers the eye holes--with five upside-down metal bird skulls, positioned just so to make the mask resemble a crown and tied behind with two pieces of black silk.
Lhyrin || After long enough had passed that most of the guests would be present, or at least out in the garden nearby, Lhyrin signaled to the orchestra to halt in their playing for a moment as the vampire moved to the middle of the ballroom, coming to a stop next to the costume contest prizes. “Welcome deathlings and happy Halloween!” The gaunt elf’s monotone voice boomed over the chatter of the guests. “It’s a pleasure to have you all here tonight and it could not be possible without the help of Cenril’s own Mayor Valrae Baines.” The vampire gestured towards the Red Witch, wherever her position happened to be at the moment. “In a little while, Valrae will hold the ever-coveted costume contest and two of you will take home these spooky spirit lamps that were made right here in Vhys!” On cue, the lamps’ lights glowed more brightly. “Until then, enjoy the night and try not to die…” Lhyrin slinked away from the pedestals then, intent on finding Scarlet, though it was a bit of a chore as all of their heightened senses were rather overwhelmed from all the smells, lights, and sounds.
Valrae entered at Lhyrin’s announcement. The witch had cloaked herself in power. The dress she’d worn was simple in shape, a slip silhouette with a low back that ended in a short train. Thin straps and a scooping neckline left her shoulders bare. The intricacy of the dress came from the glamor that had been woven with its making. It was as if she’d drawn down the sky and adorned it for the night, the dress a pale lavender that faded into deep shades of indigo blue as it neared the floor. Stars twinkled and burned at her feet in the darkest of the blue shades. Her mask was made purely of magical glamouring spells that mimicked the sun as it rose over the ocean. The illusion of waves crashed near the tops of her cheek bones while the white and orange burn Kafzhash rose above her eyes and blazed dramatically over the top of her golden hair. Her pale pink painted lips tilted into a warm and welcoming smile as she raised her glass of champagne toward Lhyrin. In Lithrydel’s turbulent political climate, the Mayor of Cenril collaborating with a prominent Vhys resident to host the realms annual Samhain event was sure to generate several headlines. However this unlikely and previously unknown alliance came about would remain a mystery. “Many blessings for our host of the evening.” She says, addressing the crowd. “Please cast your votes into the cauldron that’s been placed near the entrance. Mind the fire.” The witch winks behind her mask.
Quintessa arrives inconspicuously for the masquerade, as she expects is appropriate. It’s not like the warlock was afraid of being recognized- she just wanted to play along with the theme of the event. Dressed in a thick, waxed-canvas dress, black as a moonless night save for the studded, blood-red hem that separates it in a stripe down the middle from her neck to her ankles. On her face, obscuring her identity, is a long-nosed, leather, corvid mask with large, tinted glass lenses serving as the optics of the face-covering, stuffed with citrus and lavender so potent it lingers in the air around her. On her head she wears a simple, long-brimmed leather hat, sewn into the top of her mask to create a single accessory which sports a red band matching her dress, ebon-metal studs gleaming in the lamplight. Her shadow-stepping boots were hidden by her long, canvas dress, but the impressive alchemy belt around her waist was on full display. Was it just for decoration or did Quintessa bring something dangerous in those vials and bottles of brightly colored liquid? Few could guess, save for the changeling’s partner who would not let Quintessa out of her sight, especially not to go overseas to some costume party. The things Karasu will do for love. At Quintessa’s side, the demifeline puts a hand on her hip, glowering at the other partygoers from behind a matching corvid mask with inverted coloring. “The bar better be good here.” She complains to no one in particular, slightly slurring her words due to the fragrant mixture of herbs she stuffed the beak with to mask the scent of fermin and other less desirable races that might be in attendance. She is dressed to kill tonight, figuratively, and almost certainly literally. There are most likely hidden daggers somewhere on her heeled black knee-length boots, or some kind of throwing implement where the black linen breeches tuck into the boots. Her wild curls have been tamed tonight and are hidden beneath a flat-topped wide-brim hat with luminescent embroidery that gives her mask an even more ominous look to it. Karasu sets her eyes on Lhyrin, and averts them in lieu of looking at some decorations. “So they really were hosting this. Hm.” The spellblade pats down the thick overcoat with gloved hands that have been embroidered with the same luminescent threads. Aside from the mask’s design, these glow-in-the-dark embellishments are the only pops of color on Karasu’s costume. “Do not fret, my love,” Quintessa coos down to her partner, “Just relax and enjoy the party.”
Gorehilt anxiously twiddles the hem of his sleeve. Whatever this event was, it had been made plain that he wasn’t to have much autonomy in it. His outfit and itinerary had been more or less completely laid out for him by his captors. As bad as his behavior had been, Gorehilt’s surprised he’d been allowed to come at all. His airy, white silk suit is heavily embroidered in golden motifs, a densely overwrought display of serpentine, floral, and filigree imagery in the distinctly timeless and esoteric style of the sunken city. Polished, miniscule squares of lapis lazuli beadwork ostentatiously line the cuffs and the bottom hem of his short frock coat, not to mention some of the featured figures in the embroidery. His matching silk mask and slippers are heavily beaded in the same fashion, adding a gleaming blue accents to his outfit that lend aquatic suggestions to the ordinarily earthy tones of his green skin. Despite all the fine, excessively busy detail, the outfit’s simple color scheme, conservative cuts, and comfortably tailored fit still smack of elegant, functional minimalism. The mask, which only covers from his brow to his cheeks, has even been meticulously pasted on so as to escape the jarring, inconvenient use of string or ribbon to fasten it. Gore’s face is clean shaven, his hair is done up in a CRISP fade topped with stylish locs (not dreads, Brennia had informed him, there’s a difference.) One of his tusks is natural. The other is false, a freshly-fitted prosthesis veneered in mother of pearl to replace the gold one Leoxander had given him. Gorehilt is definitely recognizable and looks discernibly… ticked off. One of his naga handlers taps him on the shoulder and, with a ruthlessly cajoling glance, encourages the greenskin to mind his appearance. Gore pretends not to notice and pushes himself to his toes instead, clasping his arms behind his back. He throws Mathollak a rebel smirk before scanning the ballroom for allies. Over their captivity, the two had grown closer as friends, and Gore wasn’t afraid to show the man his cards. Any liberty was an opportunity to get one over on their captors, and a masquerade was no small liberty indeed.
Mathollak was allowed much more freedom when it came to choosing his outfit than Gorehilt was, thanks to his record as a vacationer. Still, he had to represent her. And with dignity. His mask was shaped very typically for these types of events, covering his eyes in red suede pulled over a lightweight frame, slanted upwards away from the sides of his face. His mask was bedazzled with slivers of glass colored red, giving a scaly impression. From just under his cheekbones, the mask quickly stretched and tapered into fine points that reached the bottom of his chin. Fangs, they were, and they gave a slight impression that he was a striking snake. Under this, his long tailed coat, tightly wrapped and embroidered elegantly. His undershirt and pants were a similar red, but very visibly tight to his skin, and no scale impressions were needed here, they were natural. Only the occasional blanched stripe of yellow and then black would break up the scarlet monotony, and only the poets know for sure if he’s venomous or not. He was here to find fresh vacationers. If he found enough, he hoped, he’d get even more privileges than he did now. His armed entourage was everclose to him though, so close he could smell their breath, he thought. He knew his vacation would come to end soon. Across the room, he spied Gorehilt, looking like someone who faces reality. Mathollak met his eyes and tapped his nose discretely before moving about.
Kang , at the mention of a costume contest, takes a closer look at her own attire. What has the doppelganger gotten them into this time? Quickly, but trying to seem unhurried, Kang seeks out a mirror. Before he can take a step, his disguise guides his hand deep into the verdant green clutch at his hip. Of course, a compact! Under the ruse of checking her makeup, Kang looks himself over. Like he suspected, elvish-ish. The shape always feels a bit flamboyant and too tight. The golden cats eyes that shine through the imp mask are new, though. Plain, unadorned black iron studs in the ears, a string of wyvern fangs across rather modest decolletage. The emerald gown perfectly maps his new curves to perfection. Diamonds, black gems, bloodstone. Oh, yes, the staff had went all out. However one detail stood out. One that worried the disguised preklek. The fair elven skin was fleck with cracks, sparks leaking down like glitter. That can only mean one thing. "Bad kitty," Kang whispers.
Loravelle 's costume is more of an inside joke for her fiance than anything else. Hastily cobbled together by herself and her sisters, the woman arrives on Leo's arm in a multicolored, patchwork ruqun. Her skin is already a sickly pale, but she's applied enough makeup on her face to look even more sickly than normal – practically pale blue in hue, with thin markings of black paint along her throat, collarbone, wrists, and elbows if she rolled up her long sleeves to represent stitching, as if she were a rag doll. Susie the ragdoll, specifically. Even either side of her painted lips look as if they've been stitched together with the same tiny black markings, and she either figured out where to find some or might have stolen (borrowed, she'd obviously repay Lita) some of the strange paint Leo's head had been dunked in during the beach party in Rynvale to color her own hair an unnatural scarlet color. Lora didn't realize until the last minute that the masquerade was in fact a masquerade, but perhaps her mask is fitting. Layers of frayed, colorful muslin wrapped around her skull from the top of her forehead to the tip of her nose, with gaps to allow for her grey eyes to peer out. A folded paper fan is clasped loosely in her free hand, which she unfurls to reveal that it is painted to depict a silver (uninhabited, for Leo's sake) spider's web on a field of black, which she fidgets with. Her 'mask' probably doesn't hide her face well, so it's safe to say that her nervousness is palpable. Her fingers squeeze a little on Leo's arm. “Drinks?”
Clovelia slowly filters into the main room of the event feeling very under dressed and out of place. The young one hoped she had the right clothes to fit in as this was so wonderfully intriguing. A very sheepish dryad hid behind her goblin mask with held breath when she parked herself into a corner. Attached to the mask, a matching ribbon of deep blue to match her gown and earrings of teeth aside. She was no way a contender for the costume competition but she was not trying to be. White bark-covered skin dappled with dark shadows between the cracks of her arms down to her elbows where evening gloves took over. The doll in her hands, the ugliest one she had but her favorite, dangled nervously in her grasp. She is a bit old for dolls, perhaps there was more to it than just a young girl’s companion.
Lita has taken a bit of inspiration from a certain pirate in regards to her outfit for the evening. Simple black dress pants and a button down shirt, the sleeves rolled up to her elbows. A crisp dark red and black vest, embroidered in some fancy filigree design has been tailored to fit. Instead of a tie, a crescent shaped ivory pendant hangs beneath the unbuttoned collar of the shirt. Usually barefoot, the vampiress seems to have commandeered someone's black boots to complete the ensemble. Raven curls have been pinned up into a bun, loose strands framing her cheeks. Atop her head sits a fancy tiny top hat with a dark red chrysanthemum to match the color of her vest. A bit of black lace hangs from the edge of the hat over her hair and over her eyes she's donned a simple black mask. Her lips have been smeared with a messy streak of crimson paint, looking more like blood than intentional makeup. It may or may not be some political commentary. Either way, she's eyeing the other party goers and making her way towards Leo and Lora. "Save me a dance." She says to Lora, sidling up next to the costumed woman.
Scarlet is here as "a flapper girl." She doesn't know what that means, only that the phrase and the look came to her in a dream and she knew she -had- to try to emulate it for the ball. Her outfit consists of: a crimson, sequined dress that ends at the knees, a bright and fluffy white boa, an elongated cigarette (a prop only), shiny black wedge shoes, fishnet stockings, and to tie it all together a flamboyant sequined mask that matches the dress and has feathers coming off both sides like feathery tendrils. Her hair is shaped into a short bob tonight, though she usually wears it longer (and it will, in fact, be back to her usual style on the morrow... the advantages of illusion magic, as always). Not one to make herself the center of attention, Scarlet enters the ballroom and greets Lhyrin briefly before leaving them to their schmoozing and placing herself near the catering tables. Is she looking for someone? But she knows nobody here, she couldn't possibly…
Leoxander was wearing black. Surprise, surprise. Usual boots, usual pants, just an oversized hooded shirt with the top drawn over the mess of blonde he rarely bothered with, cuffs partly drowning fingerless black gloves that had been painted white for metatarsals and digit bone representation, A sketchy white strokes of paint depiction of ribs might peek now and there from the opening of his long sleeved shirt, another fitted back one beneath along with a concealed weapon holster against his abdomen. Once upon a time, social gatherings weren't a thing on his agenda - and for the most part begrudgingly remained thus - but considering the event was something of a return for his long-eared neighbor, it might make for strain in future bartering. There was still that buried scent or the phantom of it nagging at the back of his brain, though any expression on the pirate’s features were hard to read with his eyes encircled in black and lines drawn for a wider, deceiving stitched grin that his actual mouth wasn’t supporting. Loravelle, AKA ‘Susie’s’ question prompted a nod as he took in his surroundings, ascertaining who’s who by body language and scent in the crowd, his pace drifting his doll companion to linger somewhat protectively near. “Good look on you.” He greets his co-commander with a faint smirk and takes the drink handed eventually his way to cautiously sniff at it.
Kang ||The sparks start to float upwards to shimmer in the air, but Kang the succubus was having no part of it. She whistles a low haunting melody and draws patterns in the air with his left index finger. The sparks flicker and drift with the rhythm, following their conductor. Hoping not to draw too much attention, which seems to be the opposite of his disguise's intentions, Kang attempts to strike up a conversation with another guest. Without interrupting the movements of his left hand he grabs a couple glasses of apple wine and approaches the dryad. "Hello, my dear," a husky feminine voice emanates from his mouth. His disguise is thorough. Any flaw could mean death. "We spoke earlier. I adore your dress. Who's the designer?" He offers Clovelia one of the glasses and waits for her response.
Valrae || By the time Valrae had moved from the center of the room and to the bar her glamoured mask had changed and her dress with it. The waves had disappeared, the mask now resembling Kafzhash in full splendor as it obscured half of her face. Her dress was a bright afternoon sky, pale white dripping into a pure azure blue dotted with slow moving clouds of white. The witch passed her empty glass of champagne off for a fresh one and sipped it delicately as she watched the party goers with dark eyes. The masquerade theme made it nearly impossible to find a familiar face in a sea of feathers, lace and jewels. Not that she minded over much. She was quickly becoming an old hand standing in crowded rooms and feeling very alone. Still, she delighted in the various costumes and the effort that had been put into them and made herself comfortable on one of the readily available seats to enjoy the view of a wallflower.
Lhyrin would eventually set eyes on Scarlet as she made her way into the ballroom and greeted them. They’d compliment the other vampire on her costume before making their own way to the nearest servant with bloodwine. From within a pocket on their tunic, they withdrew a very small vial, pouring some of the substance into their drink before taking a sip. Those with keen senses might smell the potent pixie dust from a mile away, but at this point Lhyrin didn’t particularly care. What they did care about was the rush of adrenaline the dust sent through their body almost immediately and they breathed a sigh of relief once the dust truly took hold. Look, they don’t do social situations much, okay?
Loravelle didn't need to be told twice to keep close, but there's some temptation to slow her stride even more to appreciate the costumes others were wearing. Especially Lita's, who she fails to conceal a giggle at. “Of course,” she briefly lets go of Leo's arm to hug Lita, and it's then that her eyes wander. ...Who is that big guy in white? “...G-gore...?” Leo and Lita were sharper than she could be, but she dips her chin in the orc's general direction in case they hadn't noticed.
Clovelia accepts the glass as offered with a free hand, nodding out her thanks. She was not sure when the other arrived beside her but the room was busy with conversation. “Design..?” she thought. “I, um, do not know. I found it in a little shop.” She then glances, mask angling down, to look at her dress. “Thank you. Your outfit is pretty remarkable. Do you know your designer?” The counter emphasized her nerves during the idle chat. This may not be the place for this woman-child.
Lita smooths a hand over the fancy buttons of her vest and tugs the hem a bit at Leo's compliments. "Appreciated." She beams at him. She'd been hoping Mahri might have been with them but maybe she'd be fashionably late as well. She's eyeing the other costumes around when she spots Valrae, offering her a brief smile in passing before spotting a certain green-skinned orc through the crowd. Had he meant to wear those colors in public? Maybe he'd accidentally gotten dressed in the dark. She's already staring when Lora points him out. "Doesn't look like he's on his own." She murmurs, eyeing his guards.
Valrae returns the smile Lita had given her. She doesn’t know it’s Lita, or she hasn’t yet guessed it, and so she does little else before returning to nursing her drink.
Kang said to Clovelia, "Of course. The relationship between designer, debutante, and dowager is sacred!" Kang bows her head reverently. "There comes a time in every woman's life where the dress she wears determines whether she thrives or dies. A designer you can't trust is, well, ahem. . .not to be trusted. But I digress." Her left hand waves quickly into the air, catching all the sparks and forming them into a fan that she uses to waft air across her face. of course, the breeze is quite hot, rather than cooling. "My designer prefers to remain anonymous, but he goes by Ciren."
Mathollak at last understands why Queen Reginae was so willing to let them attend this party. If they were going to ask for help, who would they approach? Everyone’s wearing a mask or disguise or costume of some sort, any one of them could be a slithering plant, waiting to catch them in the act of ‘treason’. Imagine how low his stock would be then, he might be dressed like his friend. He rounds the party, coming to the bar and quickly downs two shots of rotgut, leaves with two tall foaming glasses of reddish brown liquid. He presses one to Gorehilt. “I don’t know why I didn’t see it coming,” he says, after half draining his cup. “Ohh good, sour cherry. But not one person here looks familiar to me. You make any friends, yet?”
Quintessa skirts along the sides of the party, a drink in her gloved hand- elven bloodwine. She watches the partygoers casually and curiously, less a fly on the wall and more a spider. She knows how suspicious her and Karasu showing together is but she doesn’t care. Eventually she makes a full circle around the ballroom, her drink finished and passed along to a servant as she mingles. It’s strange for her to walk around unknown, exciting even, without being in her more magically fortified disguise. All she would have to do is remove her mask and everyone would know it was her… The Changeling ties of standing so she approaches the very same chairs Valrae was sitting in, the last two open on the Red Witch’s right hand side. “Do you mind if I sit next to you?” Quintessa doesn’t wait for Valrae to respond before she and Karasu take the open seats. There they sit in juxtaposition, Val’s afternoon sun to the warlock’s midnight darkness.
Leoxander subtly followed Lora’s question to glance at the direction of the escorted half-orc. He may not be in Alithrya but that was definitely a queen’s soldier at his side. Taking a drink of whatever seemed safe enough to consume, and still using his tongue to discover any lethal or poisonous bitters, he leaned against the counter between Lora and Lita, speaking low. “He’s either there on his own accord or they’ve got leverage to keep him from kickin’ the teeth into that guard.” He figured it might be about time to sit down with his north ruling neighbor to see what Lhyrin knew on the matter.
Gorehilt begins to meander his way toward Mathollak. Having traveled together from Alithrya, Gore had the advantage of prior knowledge and knew what costume to look for. Recognizing others was proving somewhat more difficult, and Gore begins to realize that it could be a while before he bumps into a friend, assuming he does at all. Assuming any are even here. Well, for his own part, he was tall and easy to spot. In their effort to make his compliance conspicuous, the naga had given him an unintentional advantage that might yet afford him the opportunity he needed to make contact. With his ophidian guardians close in tow, he arrives at the bar just in time to catch Math. “There’s a sharp looking fella.” Gore clicks glasses and imbibes, matching the delisha worshipper’s pace. The incessant parties had put his tolerance at an all time high. Might come in handy tonight. “No dances yet, but the night is young, eh? One of these roguish ladies will give me a turn on the floor eventually.” He continues scanning the crowd over the lip of his cup.
Clovelia watches the hand collection stardust flakes and will them into a fan. while hearing the advice, she works on her drink. "they certainly did well. you look incredible, mam, as everyone here." clovers tone was genuinely impressed, if anyone were to over hear. when her words finished, her goblin face untied itself and fell on the ground. clove took this as a cue to exit to quieter, less crowded places "pardon, I must remedy this". with a scoop of her mask, she exits the scene.
Valrae | The glamor of Kafzhash had shifted again. The gold melted into shades of bright burning orange as it slipped into the returning waves. Her dress was now painted in the vibrant colors of a dripping sunset, pinks and blues melting into violet and indigo as the sun of her mask returned to rest beneath the sea. Valrae might have seemed surprised underneath the mask of fading sunlight, if only it didn’t obscure the majority of her features. On reflex, she offers a polite smile and nods, “Oh, sure!” She chirps, smoothing her enchanted skirts and she readjusts her seat so that she’s facing her new party companions. If they seemed familiar to her, she hasn’t placed them yet. Blame it on the champagne and nerves. “Are you two enjoying yourselves?” She asks, hoping to open the floor to a bit of easy conversation.
Quintessa said to Valrae, "Oh, absolutely. I love a good party." Karasu stays as quiet as the dead as Quintessa speaks, glaring at the Red Witch through her mask's lenses. "I love your dress. It's like a painting... or a vision from the Dream Realm."
Loravelle takes a drink from Leo's glass when he deduces that it's something safe to consume, and she tries not to blatantly stare in Gorehilt's general direction. Especially when he moves toward the bar. She wants to try to be helpful here, but that would require being assertive – something that she isn't. But maybe she could try? She overheard Gore say something about dancing. Lanara's Swan lessons spring to mind, and she does the unthinkable – especially for herself, and steps away from Leo and Lita to at first confidently, but quickly very, very timidly, at the sight of the naga guards up close – right up to Gorehilt. Or as close as his guards will allow. “...I um. I like your costume,” stammers Lora. “W-wanna um...” She gestures vaguely at the dance floor. “Um...D-dance...??”
Kang hums a low dissonant, vaguely discordant series of tones and the sparks slide along her wrists and find their homes in the glowing cracks of her skin. Once again, the succubus is whole. Now, to socialize and not die. Kang straightens her crimson locks and adjusts the gown, not that either needed it. Let's rock this night.
Lhyrin contented themself with people-watching for now as they sipped at their heavily spiked bloodwine. Occasionally a fermin or two would pass them, either complimenting Lhyrin’s use of their most beloved dark lady’s former home or complaining about how scandalized they were that Lhyrin dared to use Ryeanna’s mansion for something like this. Going unseen thanks to the metal filigree over the eye holes of their mask, Lhyrin rolled their eyes so hard at both personality types of the Rodents of Unusual Size that they were sure they’d just roll out of their head entirely at some point if it went on. The fermin scattered about the room would whisper as they do, whether in the positive or negative, and Lhyrin did their best to pay little mind to it either way. Alas, they could not exterminate the entire fermin population, even if they really wanted to.
Valrae said to Quintessa, "Oh, thank you!” The witch reaches her free hand up to brush the bottom of her mask but her fingers seem to move through it rather than land on it. “It’s an illusion.” She admits, her voice dropping low as if she were sharing a secret. “A bit like cheating, isn’t it?” Valrae had turned the smile she shared now to Karasu and it nearly faltered as she caught the glare. Something about those eyes were familiar. “I’m sorry, I didn’t ask your names?"
Leoxander followed Gorehilt’s movements with blue eyes that a skeleton should not possess, the surrounding circles of darkness making the contrast of color all the more crisp. “‘F that is him, he seems in good spirits.” Straining to jump his hearing over the crowd to pick apart the conversation between he and Mathollak. Though with the Mayor walking around like a neon sign, it was impossible to glance her way now and then. While there are plenty of new faces at a masquerade - there were also a few new scents Leo picked up on individual scents. Along with a tingle of pixie dust that caused him to draw the black fabric of his mask over the lower half of his face, somehow making the attire just that much more intimidating without a mouth. He could almost sense the gears turning in his fiance’s mind, and tempting as it was, when she made the decision to step closer and approach Gorehilt, he acted as though it weren’t a big deal. But he was also a very good watchdog and absently observed what body language he could see in the half-orcen’s response.
Quintessa gives Valrae a cheeky grin when the witch asks for her name, but perhaps that grin would be all Valrae needed to know who was sitting next to her. “Oh now -that- wouldn’t be fair, would it? A masquerade would lose its mystery if I told you my name… Let’s keep up the illusion until after the party is over, no?”
Mathollak :: Somehow, the liberating effect that should’ve come with the anonymity of a mask missed Mathollak. He blamed it on his entourage. They were mingling now, and unlike he and Gorehilt, they weren’t designed to stand out in this crowd. He knew they were among the partiers, watching him and listening. Probably even enjoying themselves. He keeps all this to himself of course, Gorehilt already knows. “Well I’ll bet four lemons you find the tango before I do,” he says, talking complete gibberish apparently. “I found a pair of pretty ribbons myself, I’ll tell ya how they fit.” He clinks the glass again and then makes a confusing path through the festivities, before inevitably finding his way back to the bar for more drinks. These ones, he takes to Quintessa and Valrae.
Lita is keeping one eye on Cenril's Mayor and her new companion, seemingly the woman's opposite, both in color and demeanor. She was intrigued by the display, at least. Simultaneously, she's eyeing Gorehilt's trek to the bar, turning a shoulder to him as Lora makes an approach towards the orc. Lita shifts dark eyes towards Leo, impressed at his restraint but not surprised by it. Absently, she fiddles with the ivory pendant around her neck and motions for two shots of whiskey, one of which she hands towards Leo. She glances towards the door again. "Dont s'pose you've had eyes on Mah this evening?" She asks of Leo as she sips at her drink.
Mathollak immediately spots the mysterious juice dangling off the plague doctor’s belt, and he noticeably kept his eyes on them as he approached. “Isn’t it so weird?” He says to them, possibly interrupting. But it was important. “I think you might be the only person here I actually know!” He addresses Valrae. She might recognize his swampy accent, if not the color of his clothes. His normal swagger is diminished by the circumstances, though, so she may not. Of course, he does know the crowish woman too. He just doesn’t know he does.
Valrae is surprised for the second time at Mathollak’s abrupt approach. For a moment, there is only confusion in her dark eyes behind the mask of sunlight. When she finally places his voice, the Mayor begins beaming again. “Math! It’s so nice to see you.” There was emphasis that was a touch of place for such a casual event. The last time she’d spoken of the man it was mentioned that he’d been keeping strange company and suggested that it wasn’t wholly by choice. “You’re doing well?” Her voice had lowered a touch.
Gorehilt is just turning back to Mathollak when a welcome surprise steals his attention. A stitched puppet arrives to stammer something out at him, and it takes Gorehilt a second to mentally piece the situation together. “Speak of the devil. That was fast.” Downing the other half of his cup leaving it empty on the bar, Gorehilt winks at Math. The half orc’s trying to keep his cool, even though his pulse is spiking. His mind is racing, and it’s all he can do to keep up with the fast lingo. “Sounds great, don’t keep ‘em waiting,” he mutters, eyes flitting hesitantly over to the guards. He shrugs an apology at the nagas and takes Lora’s gesturing hand. “They can’t resist me.” A moment later, he’s leading her to the edge of the dance floor, under the begrudging scrutiny of reptilian eyes. The orchestra has taken up the strains of a macabre waltz, and if she permits, Gore will begin leading Lora through twirling steps. “I didn’t think I’d get picked so soon. To what do I owe the pleasure?” Damn the enchanted mask. The guards will be able to hear every word. “You’d better answer carefully,” he ‘jokes’.
Leoxander set down his empty glass in exchange for the fresh one Lita placed into his hands. “I’ven seen her. Can’t say I’m not worried about, either, but at least we got our ways on one.” A subtle lift of his jaw in Gorehilt and Lora’s direction, before he risks his gaze off the two for only a moment to take in Valrae and Mathollak’s interaction. Because he was always just waiting for any excuse to hit the blood knight.
Quintessa smirks to herself. Mathollak, it seemed, had bought her more time by stumbling alone when he did. “My my,” Quintessa coos up at the man from her seat. “Math? As in Mathollak, the Axe of Love?” The changeling reaches up to take the drink he had offered her. “How exciting- surrounded by so many celebrities. And a gentleman too, thank you so very much.”
Valrae ’s inquisitive and strangely intense stare is broken from Mathollak as an eerie chime sounds. “I’ve got to go announce the winners. Save me a dance?” She stands quickly, leaving the the three of them with hurried goodbyes. For the final change of the evening, Valrae’s glamor shifted. The light of Kafzhash faded slowly from her mask, replaced with the blue green light of a crescent Vaalane over the black and white dotted night sky. Her dress was a blanket of stars, endlessly dark as the constellations shifted and shined. She took her place near the center of the ballroom and the black pedestals that held the spirit lanterns. The orchestra faded to a halt. Valrae’s enchanted voice rose above the crowd, “Ghouls and ghosts, we have our winners!” She pauses for dramatic emphasis, her gold polished nails tapping on her glass. Finally, she announces, “Masked Dancer and Bird Alchemist! Congratulations! Please come and collect your prize.” In case it wasn’t clear by the vague contest names, an ominous low green spotlight shines down on Scarlet and Quintessa.
Loravelle occasionally possessed some cleverness, though that might not be noticeable to anybody in that moment. At least not right away. She hesitantly peeks over her shoulder before Gorehilt responds to see whether or not Lita or Leo had tailed her, or if she's about to be ambushed by more naga – the thought of which almost makes her turn tail and flee the moment it crosses her mind. Instead she remains practically frozen in place, uncertain with how to proceed to the next step of her hastily cobbled plan, but she feels the half-orc's hand take hers, and her feet are moving, and she's dancing. It's...it's fine? It's okay. No angry snake-folk yet. “I...Eh – well...” Wait, maybe Gore doesn't recognize her. Not that it mattered for now, maybe. Instead of the Common tongue, she pulls from the wellspring of tongues she's learned over the years, and says something utterly ridiculous in Orcish if anyone else might be listening in and knowledgeable of the tongue. She has to lean in a little, given the height difference, but Lora guesses whispering won't be necessary with the sound of music close by too. “C-Cinder has wonders where you've...gone to.” Not quite a question, but, phrased in a way that hopefully is indirect enough to not be too obvious.
Lita nearly spits her drink at hearing coos of the 'Axe of Love'. "Not so much anymore." She calls out.
Lhyrin having sensed that it was almost time for the contest to begin, they slowly made their way to the edge of the crowd, to get a better look at the winners when they were announced. They adjusted their mask a little, finished off their drink, grabbed another as it went by, and added just as much pixie dust to this one as they had the first one.
Mathollak doesn’t really have to lie about anything, since the truth is he has been enjoying his time away from all his responsibilities. “I’m doing great! My vacation’s going a little longer than expected, and I had to bring my big brother along, which can be a drag.” He recognizes Quintessa’s voice, and it signals danger to him. The good kind. “You know me! That means that I know you. Tell me: are you a friend of the family? Cause I’m lookin’ for a valet.”
Leoxander |A silent look said enough as he ended his conversation with his friend. He was there for information, nott revelry. Squinted his eyes against the irritation in the air, a small or two of hands together in applause for some bored celebration. He was more interested in keeping an eye on Loravelle, shifting thief like through the crowd if they didn’t move aside, resisting the die hard urge to lighten some pockets or pouches, in order to stay at a distance but still close enough to be able to reach her quickly.
Scarlet yelps a little as an eerie green spotlight shines upon her. What? What's happening? She hadn't been paying attention, even after her attention was called for. But she does piece it together after a little bit, and makes her way to the ballroom's center to shyly claim her prize. It's a little unnerving to know she caught enough eyes to win the costume contest even when she was trying to keep a low profile, but ... honestly? This skull fits her newly vampiric aesthetic perfectly. She just hopes she hasn't garnered too much of the wrong kind of attention in the process.
Quintessa is somewhat surprised. Bird alchemist? That must be her! “How unexpected,” She says as she rises from her seat, passing her untouched drink to Karasu to collect her prize. Was the demifeline going to be annoyed Quintessa won and not her? Maybe, but they’d deal with that on the way home- for now Tessa makes her way to Valrae, perhaps joining Scarlet on the way up there. “I love your hair!” Quintessa would try to whisper to the ‘Flapper’ woman at the first possible chance she got. Once she had her new stained-glass lantern she’d return to Mathollak, making sure to speak a cryptic message to him. “I’m somewhat of a family friend,” she says with a hushed tone, “But I’m more of an escort than a valet.”
Lhyrin’s stormy line of sight shifted from Valrae over towards the ‘Bird Alchemist’ and then over to Scarlet, aka the ‘Masked Dancer’. They wondered if their fellow vampire had found who she was looking for, eventually joining in the applause that was typical after a contest was announced. Taking up another glass of bloodwine, they’d take it to the other vampire and offer it to her. “Congrats.” They were their normally subdued self, of course. “Did you find what you were looking for?”
Gorehilt blanches a little, though his mask and the rotating view of him should be enough to hide it, at least from eyes that mattered. “Now you’re talking my language. So that’s it,” he banters on, “you’re a fan of orcs.” He switches to his native tongue. “It would be fun to dance again at the next ball, in Alithrya. I’m one of the Queen’s own ‘precious’,” the orcish connotation is ‘covetously prized’, “guests.” As the waltz carries the past the bar, he follow Lora’s glance and manages to catch sight of Leo and Lita. He nearly trips. “Shoot,” he blurts in common, “new slippers. Good thing you were here to catch me. Can I say that you have strong arms?” He offers Lora a grateful smile and lets some genuine relief shine through. Good gods, it was good see they’d come. “You don’t play the piano, do you?” Perhaps imprudently, he cranes his neck to steal another look at the bar.
Scarlet || Behind the mask, Scarlet blushes at the compliment from the other contest winner. "Thanks," she manages to stammer, "and I love your mask, too!" When she meets up with Lhyrin and they ask their question, her response is an expression that would be impenetrable even were she -not- wearing a mask. She takes the glass of bloodwine offered and downs about half of it in a single go before answering, "I may have. I think I may have. We're about to find out." She finishes her drink in a hurry and then slinks her way out of the ballroom and into the garden, perhaps following a particularly sinister-looking fellow who'd departed just a moment earlier.
Gorehilt the music of the waltz slows and stops for the announcement. Gore stops and, with the other dancers turns to listen and offer his applause for the winners.
Valrae had fully intended on returning to Mathollak in hopes of pressing him in cryptic ways for more information on his current situation, however it seemed that fate had other plans. As she turned from the black podiums a guard discreetly ushers her toward the edge of the room before whispering something in her ear. The witch nods and afterward makes a short trip toward Lhyrin to give them a parting farewell before she’s surrounded by Cenril men and women who escort her from the party and into a carriage set for the harbor.
Leoxander missed a few words here and then between the distance and relying on painted expressions and the ambience of hum and buzz. If nothing else he gathered that Gorehilt wasn’t treating her as the half-orc typically did, or was playing a helluva part acting oblivious to keep Loravelle safe. Blue eyes tripped over victors of the costume display, lingering a half second longer on Scarlet before he sought out Loravelle again through the shifting crowd.
Lhyrin tilted their head at Scarlet as she scampered off onto her hunt. They were almost hurt that she didn’t invite them to help! Okay, not really. They were just really craving murder tonight. It’s hard not to when you're hosting a party with so many delicious-smelling people involved. As another of the waitstaff with bloodwine trailed past them, Lhyrin whispered to them to follow as the gaunt elf positioned themself at the front door that led out into the garden and the front of the mansion. As people started to leave the party, they’d be right there to thank them for coming, right along with downing more pixie dust-spiked bloodwine. They still weren’t even entirely sure if they -liked- bloodwine, but it was a necessary evil tonight.
Loravelle wonders if she made a mistake the instant he blanches. What if this isn't Gorehilt? What if she was wrong and now she doesn't have the means to get away safely? She comes so dangerously close to wrenching her hands away from Gore's to turn tail and run, but stops as he responds in kind, in his native tongue. Thank the gods. She tries to hide her sigh of relief with a very poorly faked cough into her elbow as she turns away briefly, but the book keeper is listening. He's being held in Alithrya by their Queen? Where in Alithrya...? She doesn't answer right away as they continue to dance, mostly following Gore's lead while she attempts to gather more information. When he nearly trips, she tries to catch him, hands grasping momentarily at his shoulders in effort to keep him steady. “Easy, Go-..er,” the near slip up is quickly transitioned into some colorful, vulgar language in orcish that is laced with an excessive amount of apologies for her cussing. Back to strictly orc-tongue, then. “Strong enough to lift a piano or two, and I can play a little bit,” she flexes one of her skinny arms and tries to smile a little. As much as she'd like to continue the joke, Lora has info to gather. “...Does the place you're staying at have pianos? What does it look like? We,” of course she meant Leo, Lita, and the others, “We'd love to visit sometime...” And break him out. The others too, whoever they might be, if Lora were to guess. She completely misses the announcement of the winners, much to her disappointment, but more pressing matters were at hand here. She didn't know how much time they had left before he was whisked away by his captors.
Mathollak whoops as his friend (hopefully) goes up to claim her prize. When she returns with it, he’s a little confused. “Nice lamp,” he says, sliding his mask up just a bit to scratch an itch on his cheek. “Yeah. Well what I really need,” he says, continuing their conversation from before, whether she understands him or not, “is my novel, you know the one you’ve seen it. Normally I never leave home without it but, between the alligator and the bottle I just haven’t had the lemons!” Then he starts laughing like he just told a joke.
Leoxander , in turn, was moving in on Loravelle to collect her as though he were -her- security and they’d been ordered to separated the two apart. “Think we should get out’a here before the afterparty, Dove.” A slight raise of his jaw, very slight, passing Mathollak as he recognized the voice commenting about a lamp, along with a nod of acknowledgement to the forsaken elf prince on their way out.
Quintessa gives Mathollok a bashful smile. “I love lamp.” She pauses for a moment to understand what Mathollak was trying to say, his words utterly incomprehensible to anyone who didn’t know certain details of his life. Quintessa nods slowly. She thinks she understands. “Oh, sure, I’m great with books. I’ll go to your place and pick it up. I guess you’ll be busy with the alligators, huh. Is that where I’ll find you? I’ve got enough lemons for us both.”
Gorehilt offers the crook of his arm to escort Lora off the dance floor. He walks back toward the bar. Do they have pianos? “I’m sure I could get one,” he feigns a flirty tone, as though humoring her apparent xenophilic interest in orcs and their language. “Being the Queen’s guests means we have every luxury her palace can offer. And constant attention. I doubt I’ll ever leave,” he laughs, “the way she spoils us so.” Gorehilt’s handlers aren’t fare behind Leoxander, but the half-orc doesn’t want to relinquish Lora, so he asks her hurriedly, directly, boldly in common as his eyes seek Leo’s. “A friend of yours? You must introduce me.”
Loravelle is reluctant to leave just yet when Leo moves in to collect her, just in case Gorehilt could tell her more. But they were out of time and there's some nagging worry within her that she overstayed her welcome as the naga guards are tailing them. “I-I see...” Back to Common again, as she shifts her worried gaze from Gore to Leo. “Yes, a...very good friend,” she omits that he's her fiance just in case the guards settle their attention on him for any reason. “It was so nice to see you,” she has to stop herself from using Gore's name, but she quickly steps to Leo's side to presumably be led out of the ballroom. With her mask leaving her mouth visible, she mouths some words in orcish for Gore before departing. “We'll find you. Soon.” She can't promise it, but at least she can give him some hope....
Mathollak can’t be sure if his message got through of course, but he’s hopeful, and his mouth bends up so that the ends of his mouth disappear under his mask. “Haha! Sorry you wouldn’t get it,” he says to a stranger who was looking over at them now. “Inside joke, you wouldn’t get it.” Mathollak isn’t sure who the guy is, it could be a watcher, so he tries to wrap the deal up. “We can talk about the bees after but they shouldn’t be a problem. Anyway, why don’t you come to Alithyra for the party? The queen’s gonna be there! Me too, and Gorehilt. Everyone!” A dance line starts forming behind him, and he invites himself into it. “See you then!”
Leoxander managed not to squint his eyes in position even though it was the only part of him visible. “Yeah….” He offered a word to agree with Lora. If nothing else, the half-orc would have recognized that gruff tone, but Leo had gathered enough information in those few seconds to add to the pile and start becoming aware of the trap. Mathollak’s lead in the dance-line distracted most from noticing the skeleton king doll-nap his fiance, and the rogue didn’t miss that holler about Alithrya, either.
Quintessa allows Mathollak to be pulled into the dance without any protest- she learned what she needed to and she would act on this information. She smiles and waves him off. “Oh I will certainly see you there, friend. Goodnight! It was good seeing you.” With that said she turns to Karasu, who was already impatiently waiting to get out of here. “Okay, I’ve had my fun. Let's go before anyone else recognizes us.”
Gorehilt looks up to his naga guards and shrugs innocently. “Some guys get jealous,” he jerks his thumb toward Leo and Lora, “too bad for her. She seemed fun.” Gorehilt looks between them, and some of that rebellious streak colors his expression again, “don’t tell me. I’m about to turn into a pumpkin.” Though he’ll get a dig in when he can, Gore knows he can’t risk any kind meaningful insubordination. The rest of the night, what’s left of it, will probably be meaningless smiles and blathering on about Queen Reginae’s graces. Well jokes on them, the half-orc laughs to himself. The word had gotten through, and he would owe Lora big when this was all over.