RP:The Party That Went Viral

Part of the The God of Undeath Arc

Summary: On Hallow's Eve Cenril is abuzz with the promise of a good party to be hosted by a mysterious benefactor upon the abandoned ship The Sullen Siren. For several months, Cenril has been afflicted with a mysterious disease and unseasonably cold winds. The Red Witch Valrae, Matron Gevurah D'Artes and Lanlan arrive at the ship to investigate who the patron is. Kasyr arrives with a different plot in mind (the reputational thrashing of Vakarash and Vuryal), though Gevurah quickly shares her suspicion: Alithyk Caluss may have something to do with this.

Shortly after the costume contest (Meri won as the Skeleton Warrior and received a distressing prize), several party goers succumbed to the final phase of the mysterious disease: zombification. Black-eyed and purple-veined zombies terrorized the party of over 600 people. Valrae quickly realized that this illness is likely treatable. Her aim was to save as many lives as possible, but many on the ship were content to save their own lives and kill as many zombies as possible. Kasyr took this to its most gruesome conclusion and set the ship on fire, killing many infected and hundreds of innocent in the fire (Meri and Eleanor escaped, Rilla stayed behind to save lives).

On the beach, Valrae, Gevurah and Rilla discovered that the boat wasn't the only site taken over by Caluss. The entire southern port of Cenril succumbed to chaos, fires, violence as the sick turned into zombies.

Alithyk Caluss is determined to turn the world undead, and Cenril was only the first attack. Where will he strike next?

The Sullen Siren

As you cross the gangplank onto the The Sullen Siren, you see no one, though you know the ship is not abandoned because you can clearly hear men working below deck, as well as the distant, pleasant chatter of voices, the opening and closing of crates and doors, the raspy scrape of rope. It would make sense that a grounded ship would have brought her passengers to shore and left behind just a skeleton crew. The ship leans towards the port side, a consequence of it being run aground on the soft seabed. The ship’s rich, deep wood seems afflicted by a pale, turquoise fungi. Otherwise, the ship is meticulously maintained with no loose nails or rusty hinges or chipping paint. Near the bow are rows of benches for passengers keen to enjoy the ocean breeze. A crisp breeze blows gently against your face. A sign written in charming calligraphy points down the main stairs, instructing guests to find their quarters. From the deck you see two trapdoors and narrow flight of steps near the captain’s wheelhouse. These are guarded with less charming signs written in chicken scratch in a curious rust-red ink that read “Keep Out.”

The night was cold, far colder than the season warranted. Wind howled through the city, suddenly alive after months of near empty streets and low trafficked shopping districts. Though illness still raged through the slums of Cenril, new cases had seemed to slack and this emboldened people from their homes and back toward normalcy and routine even while the smell of decay carried underneath the icy, sea scented gale. Most of the night’s activity swelled around the appearance of a new and mysterious ship. Advertisement of a All Hallows’ Eve party had been papered across Cenril, the flyers promising food, drink and dancing without even a hint of who might be hosting the poorly timed celebration. This mystery had created a frenzy of excitement and speculation around the event and lines to get inside had begun growing quickly. The ship itself loomed over those lines of costume clad guests, blinking warm and welcome with lantern light as it bobbed in the choppy, brackish water. Upon crossing onto the deck guests were welcomed to upbeat music from a live band at the bow. The lights were enchanted, glowing low with the same turquoise tint of the fungi that clung in clusters on the dark wood of the ship. The scent of sea, spiced wine, and delicate hors d'oeuvres masked the smell of rot and decay that surely came from the quarantined slums. There were paper bats and cotton cobwebs, sheets of ghosts and slightly offensive characters of green witches and half-man half-wolf werewolves dotted around the ship and on tables of refreshments by way of decoration. There was apple bobbing and a booth for face painting. People crowded in front of the open bar and the band, a tangle of movement as they danced to the loud, thumping music.

Kasyr 's presence was hardly a solitary thing, given he'd come with a notable entourage. Courtesy of a combination of malarky and Money, the kensai had managed to acquire the permits necessary to host a performance on the boat- or at least, to be able to convincingly lie that he had. Something which allowed the tradesman he'd hired to begin rapidly assembling a small stage and equally quaint booth on the ships Forecastle. Really, it's an intentionally gaudy red and black box- adorned with golden symbols reminiscent of ones once associated with both Archmosia, and of a certain vampiric Ascendi. So, it's almost sinister- save for the absolutely cartoonish proportions and the way all of them look intentionally skewed. That, and the absolutely goofy puppets that soon poke up in the box. Thwackarash is quick to introduce himself, grey skinned, pointy fanged- and with a pair of tattered bat wings. Really, it'd be almost intimidating, if his chest wasn't bloated up to look like a frogs, mid croak. That, and his almost phallic looking scythe isn't doing him any favors, when he swings it around. His companion puppet, Vurmin- is equally doofy looking- given it's a googly eyed naga that can't seem to decide if it's staff is for pointing, chewing on, or picking it's nose. ...Yup. This is why the Kensai arrived to this halloween party. Because, quite frankly- he has nothing better to do, than to start funding a blasphemous franchise of puppet shows to crop up at social events, in order to defame, and muddle the concepts of certain ascended beings- and bury them beneath stupid parodies of themselves. "I wonder if there's an open bar?" Amidst these musings, he notes one of the workman giving a small placard the stink-eye. "No no, that needs to be up on the booths side." Mostly it contains the altogether spiteful message that any resemblances to any so-called Time Lords named Vuryal, or Ascendi named Vakarash, are wholly intentional- and they can suck eggs. "Posterity's sake."

Gevurah :: The hype around the Hallow’s Eve party was so boisterous it reached even the Underdark. Over the past few months, the slums of Cenril have been hit with a novel disease, and yet some mysterious benefactor has thrown together a lavish party that will pack as many Cenrilis together in tight quarters as possible. Matron Gevurah D’Artes had long suspected, without evidence, that Alithyk Caluss, The God of Undeath, was behind the new illness in Cenril. Could he be behind the party? Last year, Caluss struck on Hallow’s Eve. It’s possible, even likely. Gevurah and Lanlan arrived early to investigate and survey the scene, but they weren’t the only ones eager to be the first on The Sullen Siren. Throngs of people, packed elbow to elbow, crowded the beach, gangplank, and party deck. It unnerved Gevurah to be so physically close with strangers. Noble-blooded drow tend to do poorly in crowds and mobs alike, but the Matron presses on. She wears no costume -- that’s for surfacers and children (to put it redundantly). Though many would say that a Matron in her full enchanted regalia is terrifying enough.

Meri :: Those who don't know Meri well might be hard pressed to pluck her out of the crowd this evening. Those vibrantly colored full-sleeve tattoos that Meri is so keen on showing off has been completely covered up between a combination of black clothing and armor. This year the artist has decided she wants to be a creepy skeleton warrior for the party, and so black and white body paint has been applied to face and neck to help her achieve this look. Her normally platinum blonde hair has been sullied with charcoal to give it a dirty appearance, and it has been pulled back into a messy braid with raven feathers woven into it. And to complete the look? Meri has a sword and scabbard strapped across her back -- which is the main reason she has selected this costume. As is the norm for Meri when it comes to parties, her priorities are to locate the drinks first...and work on the socializing second.

Gevurah spies Kasyr near the puppet show and elbows her way through the crowd to approach him. “Kasyr,” she says, as good as a ‘hello’ coming from her. “I’m as surprised as you are to discover that I am relieved to see you here.” The drow lowers her voice, leans in, then says in the drow language for Kasyr’s ears only, “I believe Caluss is behind this.” She pulls away to a normal distance, gestures at the puppet show, and demands, “Why does this amuse you.”

Mesdoram || Why does Mesdoram torture himself with such droll celebrations and formalities? Why does the being with the most punchable face find himself once again in the company of hypocrites and goody good two shoe patrons? Why, it is the booze of course. Dress in his battle attire, the drow adorns fresh blood splatters throughout his form – mainly, his spiked gauntlets and spiked battle boots bathe in life juice of a recently slain victim. As frightening as he might appear in any other circumstance, 3 clueless Cenrilians look him Mesdoram up and down and give him the collective thumbs up for a great costume! This angers the drow, who whispers into Nariv’s ear “You find me the best drinks at this venue, or everyone will be wearing my daggers for a festive hat.” The elf slave panics a bit, and runs off to fetch her master a beverage to quench his thirst for satisfaction… and his thirst for whiskey.

Lanlan arrives with Gevurah, but they quickly separate to investigate the strange party. Cenril has been a hub for more darkness than usual, and they intended to discover if it was their tarry enemy behind it. That was Lanlan’s excuse for separating at least, and it was a good excuse. The main reason, was because he knew she didn’t think much of his inclination to participate in the surfacer games, such as the Costume Contest. After the tandem thing he did with Val last year, she was even less inclined to let it slide. So while he was ‘investigating’, he also found a good hiding spot, and began making notes of people he didn’t like, even before meeting them.

Valrae arrived late with a small group from her coven. She wore no costume and was instead bundled in a grey woolen coat, her face tucked behind a green and cream patterned mask that matched the scarf around her neck. She walked quickly through the crowds of guests, inwardly cursing every time she heard a wet cough, and with purpose. Her heels clicked loudly across the wooden ship. The smell of death clung to her, eased the resistance from her path as other party goers cringed away and curled their lips or openly covered their nose. Valrae and the other witches with her had been tending the makeshift sanatorium in the heart of the slums. It had all started with a cough, but those that she had been tending had progressed to much worse symptoms. Sores, vomiting, fevers, hallucinations. The list was growing and changing by the day. Some of the worst of the ill had to be subdued, strapped to the bed as they screamed and gnashed their teeth at treatment, food, or water. And so the smell of death clung to them as they stalked through the party like the unwelcome guests they were. Valrae’s emerald eyes searched through the crowds, hoping to spot anyone who presented themselves as the host of this ridiculous, reckless, and down right malicious party so that she might give them a proper piece of her mind. She spots the puppet scene first and is immediately taken off guard, letting out a small laugh. Gevurah and Lanlan were also spotted easily, and the smile that had formed on her face beneath her mask drops away quickly as a trill of warning skitters down her spine. If they were here it could only mean trouble was brewing. She pushes through the crowd and toward the drowess.

Meri :: The drinks weren't really too hard to locate, open bars tend to be a hot commodity. Meri kept her order to a simple beer tonight so that she did not have to linger near the crowd of the bar longer than needed. With a drink in hand, Meri begins to look around and really take in the faces of the crowd. She really...very dismayed by the number of drow that are present tonight. Which really puts a bit of a damper on her want to socialize as her choices seemed really...limited. That's fine, she can work with this. Creepy skeleton warrior's are not exactly meant to be social, right? And at least there was free booze.

Kasyr turns at the sound of his name, before pausing when he discovers the source. That said- he isn't getting the feeling that an impending murder is on the way, so he simply offers a smile in return, "I mean, it always helps to see people you know, or colleagues- et quoi-ce-soit." The remark about Caluss has the Kensai pausing for a moment- in part because whilst the Matron had sent him a letter, it was still sitting in the pocket of his coat, unread. That said, the pause could probably be interpreted as him just thoughtfully searching for the words to respond back to the Matron in her language, "Like last years 'party'?" That aside, when her attention turns towards his current project- he can't help but gush a little, "It's not necessarily for my amusement." This would maybe hold a bit more water if he didn't snicker as Thwackarashes let's out a shrill puppet-y bellow of, "I AM DEATH!". Cue Vurmin providing a sympathetic tsk, and a pat on the back to his companion, "That explains why you're shouting. That lisp is bad to-" Thwack. Thwack. Thwack. The Kensai turns away as this continues, pausing to find the proper words over the din. "...Mostly." Okay, he's pretty sure he's not grinning, he can continue. "It's part of a larger scale project involved in a subject I think you might find a bit...pertinent." Now it's his turn to lean slightly closer, if only so he can quietly voice, "Deicide." Leaning back, he then inclines his head, "These two served best- though for that, it might take a little history lesson." Kasyr -might- have a notebook on him, just for the sake of both applied theory -and- exposition. Gevurah, I hope you have a drink on hand.

Gevurah recognizes when Kasyr is about to launch into one of his esoteric monologues (at a party!) and is more than relieved to see Valrae approach. Last they met, Val was still disguised as Grace, but Gevurah can see through the aura. “Evening. Do you know each other.” She gestures between Kasyr and Valrae, then slips into the crowd like black ink into a dark pond. Phew, lecture evaded. The drow walks up to the bar and parks herself next to Meri, a face she can’t quite place. She’s seen her before, but where? Where? (Take no offense, Gevurah remembers very few surfacers). She stares at Meri as she tries to place her.

Mesdoram || Nariv forcefully navigates to the front of the open bar, frequently apologizing to everyone she bumps into. The Cenrilians and crowd do not appear to be amused by the elf’s seemingly erratic behavior – one in particular dressed in his best interpretation of a vampire grabs her by the arm. “Ma’am, there is a line.” Nariv quickly looks at the bartender to say “Whiskey – your best stuff!” and turns to the gentleman attempting to throw her to the end of the line. The sheer anxiety in her eyes as she looks at the vampire-imposter. “Surely you like your head without a hat, right?!” This baffles the man and bartender who has placed a glass of whiskey down on the counter-top while still holding the bottle. Nariv lets loose a sigh of relief and steals the bottle from the bartender’s grasp. “You are the protector of many tonight good sir!” Without waiting for a reaction, Nariv hurries back to Mesdoram hoping to quell his insane desire for whiskey.

Meri takes to staring right back at Gevurah. No offense is taken to the fact that she's not remembered, the skeleton-woman is oblivious to that right now. There is plenty of offense taken to the fact that a drow is staring at her right now. And of all drow to be staring at her? It just had to be Gevurah. That's fine. This is fine. Meri's cool. Everything is chill. She's...just not exactly breaking this stare down with Gevurah right now. Nor is she smiling, but maybe that's just because she's really trying to play up her costume? Spoilers: it's not.

Valrae blinks as Gevurah makes her hasty exit. “Wait-” The drow is gone before she can volley her millions of questions. Great. The witch blinks at Kasyr and his puppet show, clearly at a loss for words. “This is bizarre,” She manages, hearing a laugh from behind her. Juniper, a pretty witch that belonged to Valrae’s coven, leans near Kas and blinks her wide brown eyes at him. “Did you make those yourself?” She asks sweetly. Gevurah breaks eye contact with Meri only when the bartender comes to take her order. “Wine. Red. Elimdori.” Her glowing red gaze returns to Meri. “Were you one of Daath’s students in the magic club?” She means the Mage’s Guild. Why does Meri look so familiar? “I don’t give autographs,” she adds before Meri can reply. “Foolish surfacer custom.”

Mesdoram safely secures his bottle of whiskey from Nariv – snuggling cradling it as if the lives of everyone here depended on it. After taking a quick swig, Mesdoram motions a ‘get out of here’ hand gesture at her. “You may go now. You have done well.” With that, Nariv graciously bows toward her master and disappears for now into the festivities. Meanwhile, Mesdoram begins strolling to the open bar predicting he will be thirsty again soon.

Meri was sorely tempted to answer Gevurah with some sort of snarky response, but she doesn't. And it is not because Meri is planning on taking the high road either. No, her hate for drow runs to deep for Meri to be able to stomach an adult response. She does recognize that she is a little outnumbered in that regard, and she's well aware of who Gevurah is....So instead she snubs the Matron. No answer, she just turns and walks away, trying to distance herself from Gev...and all of the drow in general. Maybe she's just mad that she can't have an autograph.

Kasyr isn't quite sure how to feel about this. He pauses for a second at the notes he's holding in his hand, and glances back at the way Gevurahs form vanishes into the thick of the crowd, before affording a dismayed look at Valrae, "I think I've spent too much time at the mage tower." Translation: My god, I think I'm becoming a nerd. Still, he now finds himself with a seemingly interested audience, so he tries to take it from the top- albeit with a bit less zeal than before. Juniper’s question is addressed first. "With some help. I mostly just did some scribbles, et went over the different designs. Et some of the scripts. I hope you're enjoying it, though." As for Valrae's question- once he remembers to offer an awkward wave, he begins to start up his spiel, "Well, it should be. See- A long time ago, there was a mad Ascendi- who sought to enslave all vampires, et wipe out those who wouldn't follow him . . . et a backstabbing enthusiast turned timelord. Some people still remember them- et remembering these kind of people, or fearing them, can be powerful. Et given they've both promised to return- I figured it might do well to -change- the way they're remembered, in case that might rob them of some of that power. ...That, et maybe it's a little bit cathartic. Ruining the legacy of a pair of Tyrants."

Gevurah recognizes Mesdoram, a former member of House D'Artes who strayed from the path under Tiphareth's rule. Switching to drow language, the Matron addresses Mesdoram acerbically, "Is this why you left the underdark? For surface parties? A waste. You had such potential." She watches Meri leave. The magic club members are so weird.

Valrae continues to watch in mesmerized confusion, laughing again despite herself. Juniper seems deeply invested, if only in Kasyr himself instead of the puppet show he’s pouring his effort into. She giggles and flips her glossy hair back, asking thoughtful questions like, “What is a time lord?” And “Oh so this is like a history thing?” Valrae rolls her eyes. Someone to their left vomits. The sticky, chunky black substance lands near Meri’s feet!

Meri :: The skeleton drops her gaze to the bile that has landed pretty close to her feet. It's hard to gauge her reaction, because her face is painted, but it seems like she is lifting a brow. Why is it black? What is with that funky smell? It's not exactly the grossest thing that Meri has seen in her years, but the woman still distances herself from the black vomit.

Lanlan finds a decent stage for himself when the time comes, and resumes his ‘reconnaissance’, or secret enjoyment of a classic surfacer tradition. That is when he spots Kasyr and the puppet show. And also Valrae but meh they’re not really cool right now. He doesn’t get their attention the regular way. Nope. Instead, a NEW puppet joins the show! It’s shaped like Lanlan except cuter, which is impressive in itself. Anyway, the gray long-browed puppet chimes in, “Back you vile ascendi!” The puppet Lanlan says. The other two puppets cower in fear of this newcomer. “Is that the great Lanlan!? Oh no someone help us!!” But does anyone come to save them?

Gevurah :: At the conclusion of ‘The Monster’s Smashed’ (a classic, upbeat Hallow’s Eve dance number), bards shift towards the repetitive, sunny tempo of game show music to let the crowd know that it is time for the costume contest. The lead singer addresses the crowd. “Ladies and gentlemen, zombies and ghouls, ghosts and wraiths, bloodsuckers and my ex-wife, may I have your attention please!” He waits for the crowd to quiet. “It is time for everyone’s favorite Hallow’s Eve tradition, the costume contest! Contestants, please line up along the right-side of the stage and give this lovely vampire your name!” He gestures and winks at a waitress who, by all appearances, is a literal vampire with blood-red hair who waves at the crowd and smiles through fangs. The bard continues, “I will call you up to the stage one by one.”

Kasyr , after having been earlier snubbed by Gevurah, despite the seeming significance of the party- is more than happy to have a receptive audience. "I'd say a fancy word for chronomancer, enfin, but I only ever heard one person use that title- alors, time hopping jerk would also be acceptable." As for the history comment, he's going to answer- but then someone proceeds to vacate their stomach- and keeps going. It's actually a bit excessive for how much of their insides are going outside and on the floor. "...You know, I was going to go for drinks? Maybe we can continue this over drinks. Over...there." Kasyr, bless him, is oblivious enough to the subtext of this, that he proceeds to glance over towards Val, and mention, "Feel free to come along- I'm curious to know if anything changed with ..uh, plans- since last everyone convened." That's vague enough, right?

Kasyr might, uh, need to pause for a moment to stare daggers at the interloper on the puppet stage. Is this improv meant to spite him, or a signal that somethings going awry.

Valrae nods along, happy enough to grab drinks. She’s entirely forgotten her mission to find whoever is hosting this party and make a scene about it. There was too much going. When tiny Lan appears she is laughing again despite herself. She grins underneath her mask, plucking the tiny puppet up before turning toward the bar. “Whose going to save you from the giant witch?” She asks the little puppet sweetly. Juniper pushes her way toward Kasyr’s side. “So do you do puppets often? Is that like, your thing?” She flips her hair again. “I’m going to throw you off the boat,” Valrae whispers to the puppet in her hand.

Lanlan :: The tiny Lanlan puppet struggles valiantly and stares into the witch's eyes defiantly. "Do your worst, monster!"

Gevurah meets Mesdoram's gaze coolly. She takes a sip of her wine as he downs his whiskey. She says, still speaking in their native drow tongue, "There are troubles more pertinent than the conquest of the surface. There is a new god, an undead god, who threatens all life including yours. See me after this in the under dark." With that, she remembers her mission and slips away from the bar and resumes inspection of the boat. She whispers a quiet spell under her breath and scans the ship for magical anomalies. She finds many. There's just too many damned creatures, many of them magical, on this boat. What more, the boat is clearly under an illusion (not uncommon at parties). It's hard cull trouble from noise.

Valrae pats the Lan puppet softly and ominously nods. “Soon.” The witch then rudely shoulders aside her thirsty friend and looks toward Kas. “I don’t have any news,” She answers his earlier question honestly. “I missed the ritual, I don’t know how it went. I never heard from Tessa or Lan.” Her eyes darken. “I’ve been so busy with this,” She waves her free hand. “The wind and the illness, I mean, that I haven’t been keeping up with the guild.” Guilt surfaces as she thinks of Odhranos. Valrae orders white wine and sips it serenely as she watches puppet Lan struggle. “Have you heard anything?”

Lanlan backs up. “My costume?” He checks his pockets, checks his satchel. “Where oh where did I leave it?” He asks himself as he nonchalantly steps up to the poopdeck above the captain’s cabin. “Is it here?” He puts a hand to his forehead as a visor and looks into open space...Suddenly an enormous goose descends from the heavens, flap-flap-flapping intimidatingly as it lands behind Lanlan! It splays out its webbed toes of doom, ruffles his pristine snow-white feathers menacingly, and stretches its goosey goose neck out. A cacophonous, catastrophic honk erupts from its fiery orange beak and apparently disintegrates Lanlan as he explodes into a pile of blood. The goose bathes in Lanlans blood, and offers a menacing honk of warning. Believing he sent the message, Lanlan (as the legendary Goose, destroyer of worlds) bows. From the beak. “I am Goose. You’ve doubtless heard of me, though I’ve never left any survivors! Honk-honk-honk-honk-honk,” and the honks all sound like especially evil laughs.

Kasyr decides the only polite thing he can do for the witch who saved his puppet show is to helpfully inquire, "Should I get you a drink while you make tiny walk the plank?" That said, he does have his own drinks to get in order- as he specifically seeks out a spiced rum. And then proceeds to stare at it. Gevurah said this was a possible Caluss thing- and the potential that means potentially the drinks would be tainted, wouldn't it? Or would it? ...This really isn't fun to contemplate, and he really wants a drink. "I, uh. Pardon?" He blinks at Junpier, thinks back on what she said, and then offers a sheepish, "Oh, ah- No. I'm a swordsman. Kasyr Azakhaer? You might have heard of me?" ...Hopefully not for the recent war crimes at Xalious. "...Drink?" This is just vacillating between oblivious and awkward now.

Meri was not entirely paying attention to the bard when he began announcing that a costume contest was underway, she was a little bit preoccupied with the black bile that someone just vomited at her feet. Joining the contest was not entirely intentional, but in moving away from the bile the psion put herself right in the line of sight of the bard...and within arm's reach. With so many having come to the party -not- in costume, the bard latches onto Meri's arm and pulls her in front of the crowd. There is no fancy reveal, as the skeleton warrior has been rocking her look since the start of the party. However, she does use Lanlan's reveal to her benefit. When Goose, destroyer of worlds, is revealed? The skeleton warrior removes her sword from it's scabbard and takes a swipe. As much as she would love to stab Lanlan, it's really just for show. The blade will come nowhere close to making contact, it's as if to say 'get back you beast.' Meri has met Goose, she cares for that pesky beast about as much as she cares for the drow.

Gevurah , while circling the party, rounded the deck to come face to face with Valrae, Kasyr and Juniper. Juniper's fawning is evident even to a creature as cold and isolated as Gevurah. She hears Kasyr announce who he is to Juniper and assumes Kasyr is hitting on the girl. How low, for a man of his stature, a former king, a former revenant. The man loses his vampire mojo and also his 'game', as the surfacers say. Really, it's so pathetic to watch Kasyr beg a girl for affection that Gevurah decides then and there that she will personally see to it that Kasyr becomes a revenant again. One the one hand, she needs this so that he may be of actual use against Caluss. On the other, well... it's just sad to watch Kasyr flounder with nobodys.

Kasyr said to Valrae, "Also, to clarify. I think the last thing I heard was that we were all terrible people, on par with a cult? ...That."

Mesdoram , completing his second bottle of whiskey, turns into the direction of the bards’ proclamation and scoffs. “Costume competition? Who in their right mind would sink so low.. what petty insecure jackass would dress up as something they are not?” The stumbling drow begins navigating to the stage to confront the messenger with his Twin-Enchanted Dirks occupying each of Mesdoram’s hands. Their glow illuminates the recent blood which splatters across his chainmail sleeves, chest, face, and battle boots respectfully. His drunken eyes conveying several emotions: disgust, too much to drink eyes, and malice. As he approaches the front, he hears a cheer from the crowd. “That drow went all out this year! He looks absolutely terrifying!” A few of that man’s entourage begin cheering at the sight of Mesdoram, fueling the drows every inflating ego. Twirling back to the crowd, Mesdoram’s piwafwi spins with him as he unintentionally strikes a pose with his dagger’s tips pointing down, the aura from his enchanted cape highlighting his form, and snowy white hair complimenting his ebony complexion. A drunken satisfied smirk adorns his face now, as he thinks to himself – this contest was over before it began.

Valrae offers Kasyr the struggling puppet and nods. “He should walk the plank. For crimes of… Being Lan and a jerk.” Juniper seems pleased that Kas has offered her a drink and not at all thrown by the swing from oblivious to awkward. “Oh!! You’re *that* Kasyr,” She croons, as if she hadn’t already known. “Wow! I’m sure you have some amazing stories.” Valrae resists the urge to roll her eyes again and focuses on the information Kas has offered her. Her mood darkens. “That would make a twisted sort of sense…” With Gevurah’s reappearance Valrae addresses her. “I hope you aren’t right.” Valrae states abruptly, finding a place to set aside her wine. She’d prefer to finish the night stone sober.

Rilla certainly had never been known for being friendly, but somehow she always ended up at events whether out of curiosity or a morbid sense that if something went wrong she needed to be there. She slipped onto the boat a little late and happy just to be unnoticed. Auburn curls fell down her back, a few little braids peeked through, keeping her hair from her face and holding in pressed flowers and feathers. A girl could try even if dressing up was not for the young wildling. Crystalline eyes flashed and she dipped her head as she headed straight for the drinks, hands tapping lightly against the black leather of her leggings. She moved between people, eyeing them suspiciously and searching for a familiar face in the crowd. Offering a crimson smile to a passerby who she nearly collided with, she made a clear break through them as the attention was drawn to the contest and the costumes. With a glass of spiced wine procured, she turned, one hand in the pocket of her black jacket, pulling it around her to conceal the strap that held her blades around her waist. Her lipstick left a stain on the rim of her glass and Rilla wiped it with one pale thumb. One minute she was sneaking into a party, the next she was laughing at the show of costumes to herself and mostly under her breath. “A goose, what will they think of next.” She mumbled, bringing her glass back to her lips and drinking deeper. There were too many people to be this sober and for nothing to be happening.

Valrae said to Kasyr, "Cretinous things, to be exact."

Kasyr gets the distinct feeling he's being judged- and there's something like pity and disgust being leveled at him. Which is about the point where he decides that the best thing he can do with the booze is drown puppet Lan in it. It's an adequate excuse not to drink- and also might distract Juniper from her own drink when it arrives. Still, plushie disposal aside, the Kensai turns his attention towards Valrae, "In the interim, I haven't really known what to do. I think trying to impress upon her the stakes would just lead to her doubling down- so, I think it will boil down to her just needing to be exposed to harsher truths." Just traumatizing the soldiers of the future, today. "And frankly, that will happen on it's own, given how things have panned out, asofar, non?" That address, the Kensai finally begins to gesture between Juniper and Valrae, "So, are you two colleagues, or?" Let's be frank, there's a lot that Kasyr doesn't know about present company. "Oh, et I do have stories. Even a few that could boil down to drinking games. Later" By later, he means, not at a potentially haunted party, with equal odds of the cuisine being cursed.

Valrae laughs loudly as Kas dunks the puppet into his drink, deeply approving of this decision. Juniper seems delighted by what she assumes is an offer to said drinking games and pats his arm playfully. “Oh I would be down for that!” She giggles. Valrae, desperate to ignore her friend, focuses on her own conversation. “That could work,” She says with a shrug. “But I’m not entirely convinced. I’m not sure how much more she needs to see before realizing that team Creations is her team and on her side.” She rolls her eyes and adds, “Juniper is a part of my coven.”

Gevurah :: The bard lifts the skeleton's arm and shouts "The skeleton warrior claims victory!" The crowd erupts into an applause. The redheaded vampire walks onto the stage with a small ornate, black chest. The bard announces to the crowd in a hushed, conspiratorial tone, "Good people of Cenril and beyond, I tell you true that none alive know the contents of this box. This mysterious prize was sent in the 11th hour by an unknown patron of confirmed goodwill. Only he or she who wins the costume contest may open the chest. Skeleton warrior, show off your prize!” The magical lock dispels in Meri’s hands. When she pries open the lid, she will find a bloodied, fleshy elven ear. A haunted voice whispers an explanation straight into Meri’s mind: It is a necromancer’s ear, to be worn over Meri’s own ear as an earring. It will grant her the ability to intercept and hear the telepathic commands that an undead receives from its owner. The bard on the stage blanches and quickly shuts the box before Meri can show it to the crowd. “Oh my! Not a family friendly prize!” he jokes, his voice jittery. “Thank you to all participants,” he says quickly as he shoos Meri off the stage and quickly kicks up the band to put the macabre surprise behind him. What in hell was that?

Mesdoram || Nariv looks toward the stage in anticipation of the results! Being distracted by the freedom she has been enjoying, she looks at the Goose, then the Skeleton, then the... the... Mesdoram drunk with his blades brandish proudly with a crazy looking in his eyes? She quietly and discreetly begins backing away, not wanting any part of Mesdoram if he were to win... or lose.

Mesdoram shrugs and puts his daggers away, muttering to himself as he sheaths his blades. "Not today, Mesdoram, but soon..." He unintentionally travels toward the exit, thinking it is the bar "... soon they will all be skeletons." and disappears into the night searching for drink.

Kasyr might have discreetly glanced between Valrae and Juniper checking to see signs of red or yellow eyes, and pointed teeth for a moment- given the secondary group of vampires he'd pacted to himself had been referred to as his coven. It might have taken a good few moments after that before it properly dawns on him that there's another usage of that term. "Oh. Ooooh." A beat. "Neat. Yours as in you belong to it, or yours as in -yours-?" The Kensai begins to relax a little in his seat, offering Juniper another appraising look- given that what he actually knows about witchcraft can mostly be summed up as. Witches= Rituals / Witches =/=Fans of Larket. "Provided tonight isn't a complete catastrophe, maybe I'll pick your brain over that, if that's alright."

Meri won! And got a prize! However Meri is not entirely sure how she feels about this prize. Where her face not already painted white to achieve the whole skeleton look, she might have actually blacked right alongside the bard. Yes, there is no need to show off this prize. Meri could not be out of the center of attention soon enough, she really had no appreciation for sharing the limelight with two drow. In the midst of the costume contest, she spots the arrival of a familiar face, one that does not insight the urge to start throwing fists. Valrae and Kasyr were also people that Meri had no particular inclination to punch, they were just socializing with the drow...where as Rilla was not as of yet. The moment that Meri has an opportunity, she approaches the Rilla...holding the box contains Meri's hard-won prize. "Hi. I think I need another drink now." She lifts the box she is holding, "And no, you don't want to know. Trust me."

Valrae’s attention turns to the stage as the winner is announced, zeroing in on the mention of the night's mysterious host. She claps for the winner distractedly. Another trill of warning dances down her spine as the witch teeters on the tips of her heeled toe to see around the crowd. The hush of the prize rolls through the crowd, whispers of question following as it’s quickly swept under the resuming sound of music. The witch frowns as Kasyr pulls her attention away from the stage. “Both.” She smiles, “I’m the High Priestess of Selen’s Coven,” She admits sheepishly. Juniper pats Kasyr again, annoyed that Valrae is stealing her moment with this announcement! “I’m sure she’d love that! But she’s pretty busy. Running a coven and all that. I’d be happy to show you some things sometime,” Her smile suggested she’d be happy to show him something other than witchcraft though.

Lanlan :: At the end of the contest, the legendary goose of destruction releases a honk so fowl the entire costume explodes into a blizzard of downy mist, then slowly diffuses into nothingness. He bows, and leaves the stage to mingle with the party again. By now anyone who’s anyone is here on this boat, enjoying themselves. Except Lanlan. He’s on the boat, but he’s been too busy compiling a list of annoying people to avoid if he wants to have a good time. A list he’d happily share with Gevie once he found her again. He wasn’t one for dancing, but he had to admit, the band of bards created a beat that was both audible and unoppressive, thanks mainly to the sweaty cellists sick beats layered under the violins and flutes. The dancefloor moved and swayed together in harmony, except that one guy. And there was always at least one, and it was usually a man, who didn’t have any rhythm, or any knowledge of this fact. His violent jerks and twitches created a circle of space around him, that’s how awful he was. Then there was the waiter, aggressively peddling his cheap bacon wrapped scallops. But woe to any who might eat one, because Lanlan saw him sneezing brown gunk right into the gloves he now served with. Or that couple, sitting at a ten person table by themselves with their tongues down each other’s throats. Can they even breathe? He looks like he’s eating her alive! All of them disgusted Lanlan, and prevented him from having a good time. And where was this mysterious host? And then the bass drops... Literally! The giant cello bonks and clangs on the floor. Almost directly in time with the gong of a silver platter heralding the flight of a dozen horderves. And from the dancefloor a woman shrieks, piercing the night, “Ahh! He bit me!” From somewhere else, “Oh my god bro what are you eating! No! Don’t eat me! Ah somebody help!” After that it’s chaos. Crowds of people attempt to disperse, but everyone’s confused. At some point in the party, the people who arrived sick became a good deal sicker, and their disease, as if by a switch, turned them into undead, flesh-craving monsters. Their eyes turn an abyssal black and deep purple veins throb violently under their skin. Then they bit the person next to him, spreading the undead bane almost instantly. The people who weren’t zombies were quickly worked into panicked hysteria, they started running toward exits and hiding places as fast as they could. With the density of people on board, it quickly became join the stampede, or die under it.

Valrae | The emerald skull at her side pulsed, recognized and answered to the sudden coalescing of dark magic that permeated the air seconds before chaos arrived, a frequent but never welcomed guest to Cenril’s large and public parties. It was too late to warn those around her when the first body dropped. A man dressed as a shirtless priest fell and writhed on the floor of the ship, only to rise again with pale, sweat covered skin. They stumbled and pulled the nearest person kneeling over them down. Valrae watched with abject horror as the priest sank his teeth into the woman’s face. Someone screamed. The commotion rippled through the crowd around them. A woman dressed as a sexy healer lept toward Valrae. The witch grappled with her, narrowly avoiding her snapping teeth as she screamed with effort and knocked her to the ground with an elbow to the temple. Around her, her coven mates closed in. “Val…?” Juniper, begins, “I think we should go.” Her fascination with Kasyr was thankfully replaced with thoughts of survival. More screams filled the cold night. Valrae’s brows furrowed, her dark eyes scanning the crowd as chaos slowly begins to descend. “Okay…” She answers finally, turning with the others to head toward the exit. Suddenly, the panicked crowd began pushing to exit the ship while fighting off others who groaned and used teeth and nails to pull them down. Valrae was separated from the larger part of her group, pushed in the current of exiting bodies to the gangplank. She wrestled her ash wand from her bag clumsily, spells flying from her lips to push attackers back with non lethal blows. The way the infected moved pulled at the witch’s memory. The infected in the slums had fought like this in their sick beds. “Don’t!” The Valrae pushes Juniper's wand aside just before she can cast a killing blow. “They’re sick! Don’t kill them!” Juniper turns on her with wide, angry eyes. “But they’ll kill *us*!” Valrae fires another spell, knocks another infected party goer back. “Not if we can help them,” She urges, stumbling back further with the crowd. There was another scream, followed with a splash as someone went over the rail of the gang plank.

Kasyr s' relaxed demeanour melts away into a pall of unease as the party grows troubled, before veering towards a certain sense of panic as the dead rapidly begin to overtake the living. As terror ripples through the crowd, his own attention skirts over towards his hands, peering at his flesh for any sign of contamination or corruption- and yet, he remains blessedly free of any symptoms. "Providence, or-?" Oh. The witches have already whisked away, and now it looks like the press of the crowd is getting worse. Without wasting another moment, the Kensai stops peering at his hands, and begins to pull himself over the side of the bar. He doesn't even question the lack of complaint this receives, only thinking to glance around for the bartender a few moments later- where he sees the man spasming on the ground, a few prominent veins bulging along his neck. Off to the side, he can hear a mother screaming out in search of her child- and the kensai can't help but give a second glance towards the man. "We can't let this spread from here?" ...Wait, wasn't? "Lanlan?!" Where is he when you need him? "Did he already escape?" Planning is hard when everything's already gone to hell- and worse when what small place of refuge is being overtaken by a few other guests seeking to escape the swell of the crowd- some of which are a bit more ravenous then others. With barely a second thought, the swordsman snags a bottle from the bar, and then hops onto the counter- intent on vaulting over and using the weight of his coat to spill over a portion of the mob. Because, frankly, the logistics of seeing a number of people trampled over in the subsequent surge of people entirely merits the brief few moments he's cleared a path towards the captains cabin.

Meri :: While Meri wanted another drink, it does not seem that she will be getting one. Before she and Rilla can even get through any proper hellos, chaos unfolds at the scene. What was Meri saying the last time that they spoke, Rilla? Something about the parties and how something always goes awry? Case in point. The blonde had every intention of keeping close to Rilla, but they are separated as a crowd of fleeing people pushes through them. Meri is not about to stay stationary, nor does it seem like panic is about to set in. It is with a roll of her eyes that Meri takes her sword back in hand so that she can defend herself, lamenting over the fact that she is stuck carrying this dang box with an ear in it. While frustrating, it does not really seem to hinder Meri's abilities to keep herself out of harms way. Her sword is drawn, yes, but it is last resort weapon for the psionically inclined woman. Instead her telekinetic abilities are put to use, though it might be challenging to pin point that Meri is the reason that objects begin to mysteriously move. Like that table that seems to slide in between one of those couples who were too busy making out and a zombie charging at them trying to eat them, giving them enough time to escape. That would not be the only instance of objects moving as if they had a will of their own. The hung decorations appear to be ripped down by some mystery force, only to entangle the undead on the offensive. Maybe a ghost has shown up to the party? The end goal of the psion is to try and keep herself safe while giving the party-goers the means to escape. She vaguely hears someone making the argument that those attacking are sick and should not be killed, but it does not seem to process in Meri's mind. If one of the diseased gets to close to Meri? They will be cut down without remorse. Meri will worry about her own escape in good time, once enough of the crowd has dispersed.

Gevurah was too preoccupied watching Kasyr and Juniper flirt to notice the man twitching abnormally on the dance floor, or the waiter sneezing out brown viscera. The priestess of death came here solely to identify the patron of the party - and yet, since her arrival, she has been distracted, unnaturally so. Her mind feels clouded, her thoughts heavy. Suddenly she notices her magical scan eat away from the periphery to the center, as if termites descended upon her magical sight. The priestess gasps. Caluss! Only he can nullify her Vakmatharas-granted gifts. Gevurah searches for Lanlan in the stampede. Damn, she lost him. A black-eyed, purple-veined woman dressed as a sexy Queen Josleen charges at Gevurah. The matron unclips a black dagger from her belt and stabs Sexy Queen Josleen through the eye. So much for sparing the sick. She frantically looks for an ally and tries to levitate to escape and get a better view. Panicked party-goers cling to her legs to hitch a ride off this hellish boat, weighing her down. Instinctually, she fires off a force blast at the party guests, but….nothing happens. Her spell completely fizzles. Dammit. As only Gevurah and Lanlan know, whenever Caluss is present, all Vakmatharas-granted spells fail. Lesser priestesses would panic, but the Matron’s strength of will and presence of mind keep her calm. Gevurah is also a pyromancer. She opens her palm downwards on the heads of wailing guests and is about to open a flamethrower when Valrae runs in the line of fire. Unwilling to kill her ally witch (you’re welcome, Valrae), Gevurah drops back to the ground, elbows a Naughty Knight in the down-stuffed pec and slashes open the throat of an orange glitter-covered Haladavar-in-the-buff. Blood sprays across Gevurah’s ebon face and platinum hair, and also spills onto poor Rilla, who is standing too close to the Matron. “Out of my way!” Gevurah shouts at Rilla. Valrae may want to save as many infected people as possible. Gevurah will kill anyone, infected or not. Gevurah locks eyes with Valrae and nods towards the gangplank. “I can clear a path.” She lifts a hand and points it towards the only exit of the ship. Dozens of innocent people stand between her and the exit. She’ll burn them all to get her allies out.

Lanlan sees a path open up to the captain’s cabin, and decides that’s where he’s going to hide. He waves goodbye to Kasyr on his way out with a smirk and opens the door to the captains cabin. His intention is to close the door behind him, but before he can, a massive crowd forces its way through.”Hey! Stop! This is my hiding spot!” To his surprise, the skeleton warrior who just beat him in a halloween contest and Eleanor are also pushed this way. Lanlan slams the door closed behind them, even though people are banging on it begging to be let in. It’s almost pitch black in here, until someone lights a candle, low to the ground. A sickened face is full of black veins is illuminated by a middle-aged woman holding a candle, wearing a false warty nose and pointy hat. Someone shouts, “Hey! Has that guy been bit! He’s gonna turn into one of them monsters! Kill him before he kills all of us!” The fake Valrae says, “No! He’ll be fine he just needs medicine!” Lanlan is about to speak up, but decides he should check himself for bites. He does, as far as he can tell he’s safe. “Kill ‘em both! Anybody who protects a killer should be killed as well! They’re just as dangerous!”

Rilla || One minute Rilla was offering a slight smile to Meri, silently grabbing a glass from the table and holding it out to her, but before niceties could go any further, chaos seemed to erupt around them. “This is why we can’t have nice things.” She hissed as the crowd began to teem with life and death respectively. Her first order of business was getting out of the way of two were grappling in a fury of teeth and nails, she hopped up onto the table. Her boots planted firmly in a plate of food - the party’s over, no one’s eating it anyway - she surveyed the scene before her. Monsters. Great. She let the glass fall from her fingers, any thought of inebriation long gone. Retrieving her dagger from its sheath at her thigh and a shortsword, the young vampire pushed over one of the ill with one foot, using their back as a handy platform so that the relatively small-in-stature woman could see over the heads. Before stepping off, she aims her foot at the back of his neck, a swift kick with her heel to where his head and neck meet that was intended to put him down. Her hands up, she launched herself off and away from the falling man, rolling over her shoulder and beneath a part of the fray before coming back to her feet. She came up swinging, her blade aimed for the temple of the attacker she’d dodged beneath who was going after a slight man with wide eyes and no weapon in hand. She mouthed ‘run’ to him as blood sprayed across her, her head dipped to keep it from her eyes. Her gaze settled on Gevurah, and she moved out of her way, unsure of the woman at best. “A path isn’t going to get the rest of the people out.” Rilla said over the shouting as she ducks underneath another assailant, “but every man for himself, right?” A crooked smile tugged over red lips as she shouts after Gevurah, not ready yet to dip out of the fray.

Valrae watches as someone crushes a broken beer bottle into an infected person’s temple. The body falls onto the floor of the gangplank bloody, jerking. The ashen skin turns from the sickly color of the illness to healthy life before stilling in a new death. The witch watches in dismay, nearly going down as another grabbed at her legs only to be knocked back by a quick spell from Juniper. “They can be saved,” She insists, turning to see that they were nearly off of the gangplank now. “Don’t kill them!” Valrae screams again, hoping for anyone to listen and completely unaware that Gev almost roasted herself and others. Suddenly, they were crushed under bodies. The exit stalled but the rush of screaming people had not. Someone steps on Valrae’s foot and she curses as she loses a heel. Quickly, she kicks off the other. There was more splashing, people were bailing off of the side of the boat, the plank. Gevurah is crushed near her. Valrae watches in horror as she spills blood. “Are you out of your mind!” She hisses. “He wasn’t even infected!” She screams, a hysterical laugh bubbling out after her dismayed cry. Others were pushing the crazed infected into the water on top of them. Screams now came from the water as well as the boat. In the chaos Valrae distantly admired Rilla’s graceful leap and roll from the fray. But the crush of bodies pushes the air from Valrae’s lungs as something hits the back of her head, a limb or thrown object she doesn’t know. In frustration, the witch wiggles her hand into her bag, until her fingers brush the smooth surface of the emerald crystal skull. “No!” With her other hand she reaches out to knock the Gevurah’s hand aside. “You’ll kill them.” She meets Gevurah’s eyes with a steely look of her own as her power pools, as Rilla’s voice distantly reaches her ears. With force and power, bodies ahead of the unlikely trio fly back, some hitting the sand on the shore and stumbling before running.

Eleanor had taken great care to arrange her costume for the evening, and when she sidled onto the scene, bits of oceanic jewels and sequins glittered across her sun-bronzed glow that hinted of summer well into fall. They were twisted in writhing designs along her exposed skin, interspersed between shots of azure ink tattoos and when combined with iridescent chiffon, formed an imaginative representation of scales and fins to pair with an emerald-green silk dress. El's flaxen hair was twisted into a herringbone braid, and an intricately-etched emerald and pearl comb kept her bangs pinned at just the right location to sweep across her brow, adding another layer of protection where her makeup attempted to conceal the gem found there. It was not like the spellrogue to come as herself, but she figured it was long past time for her to make an appearance, however bejeweled and masked though it be. Of course, whatever plans she had to show off her scintillating costume were dashed as she arrived not only unfashionably late, but well into what can only be described as "anither Cenril disaster", at least, how she'd explain it to Leo later. She thanked the gods she'd had the foresight to wear practical flat-soled boots as no sooner had the would-be mermaid arrived was she being shoved and scratched and generally mishandled before being unceremoniously shoved into a cabin. She hadn't even had time to get a drink! "Whit in th'—" the woman started to hiss as she stumbled inside, before effectively silencing herself, a grimace curling along her lips. She wasted no more time with curses, reaching a hand along the small of her back into her bodice, fingertips searching for the wand tucked into its hidden holster. Pain shot along her hand, seizing her digits for a heartbeat before she managed to grasp the handle, and warily brandish it in the half-lit room. "Someone ..." She paused, endeavoring to subdue the accent that threatened to coil around her words with abandon. "Want tae fill me in?"

Gevurah is petite even by drow standards (a fact which has caused much self-loathing). She’s easily shoved by humans of unimpressive strength. When’s the last time the Matron was in a mob? A scrap? Ever? She grabs a fistful of iron dust from the bottomless satchel hidden beneath her piwafwi, and utters a quick spell that does not rely on the God of Death. Her fists transmutes into an iron, spiked, taloned claw larger than her head. The metallic digits flex in and out of a fist. BOOM! She pommels an infected Shirtless Mesthak so forcefully into the deck’s floor that she creates a hole. The infected and two other party goers (sexy mermaid, goofy rubber avian) pummel into the necrotic hull below deck. Gevurah leaps over the hole she just created and smashes the back of a young woman’s (Reverse Cowgirl costume) head to knock her down. That’s when Valrae reinforces that the innocent should not be killed. Gevurah rolls her eyes at this futile sensitivity. (Herein lies the problem with surface alliances.) Focused on getting off this boat, the Matron does her best to accommodate Valrae’s request by non-lethally shoving as many people as possible with her fist. Valrae beats her to it and blasts bodies out of the way. Gevurah uses her powerful metal fist to spring herself off the ground, forward onto the beach to what she assumes to safety. She looks behind her to see if Valrae (and Rilla) have caught up. With her back to the city, she fails to notice the advance of a group of infected people not in party costumes. It’s a mother, her two children, a grandmother, a baker. Common folk from the city with black eyes and purple veins charging onto the beach, headed straight for the matron. She hears them coming, whips around to meet her attacker and readies another punch. (One Punch Drow). She shouts over her shoulder at Valrae, “Where did these come from?”

Rilla was not offended by the bloodshed, had never been even before she was turned. Crystalline gaze was pulled away from her course by Valrae’s scream, she nearly collided with a frantic teenager with a bite taken out of his right arm. For a moment she was face to face with him as bodies jostled around them. It felt longer than it was, her attention pulled as she elbowed back against someone who pushed into her. “I’m sorry.” She said to him, and in a flash she was behind him, her blade dragging across his throat, through his skin, spilling crimson down his front, over her fingers. The warmth of it was tempting, but there was no telling how feeding from someone with the virus would do to her and there simply wasn’t time for that now. Snack time later, fighting now. She let him fall as a path was cleared for her, silently taking her chance to follow behind the drow woman. The salt of the air was a welcome respite from the iron of blood that filled her nose. Rilla stayed back behind the two women, blades replaced in their sheaths and in their place were throwing knives, the change only notable when one flew evenly past Gevurah into the chest of her attacker with a dull thud. “Don’t you think there will be time for questions later?” Rilla called out, another blade already in hand though she closed the distance in a flash between herself and the other women. “Anyone have a plan?”

Valrae | The gangplank rocks underneath Valrae’s feet, sends her heart thumping into her chest wildly. More bodies flood in and the wood groans beneath the weight of it. Gevurah’s metal fists of fury and ship hole punching were not helping the structural integrity of the gangplank. Valrae’s stomach rolls as she pushes forward, spells flying from her finger tips in effort to help the drow push infected back. Finally, Valrae’s feet find sand underneath them. The rush of cold surrounds her as she stumbles, looking around the dark beach for Juniper and the rest of the witches she’d come with, for Gevurahand Rilla now too. The smell of smoke carries over the salt and sand. In the distance, toward the city, there is a warm glow. With her heart sinking, Valrae realizes the city is on fire moments before the drow pulls her attention to the new infected rushing in on the beach. Her eyes are wide and full of dread as she turns and shakes her head. “It’s in the city… They’re in the city. It’s everywhere.” Valrae turns to answer Rilla when a loud cracking sound comes from behind them, people scream as the gangplank comes down, bodies on and under it. Valrae watches in horror. People and infected were rushing from the dark water, others were flying off the side of the ship screaming. The witch pulls the emerald skull from her bag. “I’m going into the city,” Guilt was heavy in her voice at leaving those trapped on the boat. The infected were stumbling closer to them. Valrae blasts one getting too close back with the flick of her hand before she turns on her heel and runs toward the fires in the distance.

Kasyr is left momentarily standing after the press of bodies that had shoved their way into the cabin- but he really doesn't have much of a grace period to mull over what can only be called providence. Whilst that had cleared out this section of the ship fairly well, the party had been packed- and there yet remains a number of undead stragglers. It's really not long before one saunters over towards the Kensai- a burly man in leather chaps, and an open dress shirt, whose skin sparkles under wildly swaying lights on the boat. Even after Kasyr manifests a sword out from thin air, and plants it into the mans face with enough force to guide his body into the door and frame of the Captain's cabin- he still can't piece it together. He's at least got breathing space, however -and- he's contained some of the problem to a section of the ship. "Just, hold on over there. I need to make something flammable." Yeah- this is fine. There's the bar, after all. It's not quite as elegant as containing the calamity by directing the ship elsewhere- but a purge by fire should get the job done. Too bad Lanlan isn't here to collaborate with. Such a shame. Then again- he's currently got other issues- such as the two obviously infected individuals- the tightly bundled child in the room, whose mother is clinging to in a fierce death grip- more out of a desire to keep her still, than to keep her safe. BUT WHO CARES. Seriously, contamination isn't really a world ending threat, when you're going to be burning to death for the greater good in a matter of minutes, right? Kasyr is once again grateful that the bar is so well stocked.

Gevurah looks at Rilla when the vampire addresses her. She recognizes the undead woman for what she is, and snarls. “This is the God of Undeath’s doing.” Valrae blasts back the infected on the beach. No longer under immediate threat, the Matron has a moment to take stock of the city and come to the same conclusion as Valrae. She lets loose a low, exhausted sigh. “Alithyk Caluss…” She glances at Rilla. Something about the woman’s competence tells Gevurah that this vampire, whoever she is, must be of some importance on the surface. For this reason alone, Gevurah explains to her, “Tell this to your people. Alithyk Caluss seeks to turn the world undead. This is bad even for creatures like you.” Meaning vampires and other undead. “Caluss’s attack has begun, here in Cenril, this I know.” She glances beyond Rilla’s shoulder at the boat. Lanlan has still not escaped. The matron casts a spell that heightens her speed and strength, levitates, then zips towards the boat to find her companion. “Lanlan!” she shouts from above.

Meri :: One moment Meri was fighting, trying to save lives, trying to keep herself from being bitten...and the next she found herself caught up in a push from the crowd...and found herself trapped with the Captain's Cabin? This is really a place that she does not want to be, she was not trying to move in this direction...she was trying to fight her way off of the ship. So what happens? Well Lanlan was the one who shut the door...that Meri wants open. She wants out. Meri response is a poor one given the situation, but for the second time tonight she is taking a swing at Lanlan. This time...she actually means to hit him. Where? Square in the jaw, right in the kisser...but she's got a box in one hand and a sword in the other. She's not about to drop either...so if Lanlan does not move out of the way of her, the door, and thus her escape...? Then he could very well end up tasting the metal hilt of Meri's sword. Never mind the detail that they might be trapped with sick people. Meri is currently too mad to care. She has not even processed that Eleanor is also in the room with her, Meri was a little too preoccupied to fill her in on the details at this exact moment.

Rilla ducked automatically at the cracking of the gangplank, whirling around as her lips parted in muted surprise. Suddenly wishing to be back on the boat where at least she knew the attacks were coming and where they’d come from. “My people?” Rilla questioned, brows pulled together, with no sire around to teach her there were many things about being a vampire that was still confusing and new, this was one of them. “My people are not the undead, but the message will be passed along.” Rilla nodded, but rather than make an escape, the young vampire ran after those in the water. She splashed through it and pulled one of the ill off of their intended victim, sinking his head beneath the waves as he reached for her. Her hand tightened around his throat, the other sinking her blade into his temple. The water stained red, but this was a losing battle. Instead she focused on those who weren’t infected, offering a set of hands to those less quick than her and tugging them away from their assailants, dispatching them for the women and children who were still scrambling for safety.

Lanlan detects smoke. Subtle at first, but then the smell grows stronger. So he’s blocking the door, yes, because he’s trying his damndest to get out without making a scene. “Damn thing is stuck,” he mutters to himself. “Oh hi there Human, yes I’ll have us out in just a second don’t worry.” And then does she politely sock him in the jaw? Maybe. Either way he’ll move. “Sure have at it,” he says nursing a grudge and maybe a tooth. In no time though, everyone knows what’s happening. “Is that, *sniff*, says someone in the crowded cabin, “Is that smoke? FIRE!” In the inevitable commotion, the stampede is resumed, and brought to Meri and Lanlan. But ALSO, the person who was turning into a zombie? Is no longer turning. He’s bitten his friend, who has bitten her friend, who has bitten a stranger, and so on. The stampede of frightened partiers is rapidly turning into a horde of undead biters, so so handsy they are. Lanlan casts some magic and flattens himself against the wall and scrambles up it onto the ceiling. He crawls upside down and makes his way out of the window in the captain’s cabin, making his way onto the poopdeck. Outside he sees Kasyr dowsing the entire cabin with rotgut quality alcohol and lighting it on fire. He feels that they’ve both caught each other in the act of something awkward so he just goes toward the lifeboat.

Gevurah spies Lanlan on the poop deck above a lick of flames, and Kasyr not too far from him. She floats overhead and shouts down to Kasyr, “How are you getting away? The ocean is full of infected. There’s no swimming away from this.” She glances towards Lanlan expectantly, trusting him to escape this just fine. Afterall, he can levitate like her. Gevurah is concerned about Kasyr because he lost his mojo. He's so breakable now, as a human.

Eleanor 's celadon eyes shot toward Meri almost magnetically, and part of her suspected there was more than just heat-of-the-moment drive behind the psion's hook which sent Lanlan scuttling off like a possessed spider monkey. She quickly smothered an absurd chortle, but a thorough and perhaps inappropriately amused smirk settled in nicely along the rogue leader's full lips. Tightening her grip around the cursed wand, the spellrogue's gaze tore away from the familiar skeleton warrior to sweep around the cabin, and her nostrils flared, drawing in deep lungfuls of acerbic, sweaty, diseased air. "Daingead." El took up alongside Meri, prepared to help drive through the door in whatever means necessary. The cursed wand trembled in her hand. Nevertheless, should anyone, or anything, get too close, she would not hesitate to use its wicked tip for inflicting excruciating pain. Did undead even feel pain? She hoped she wouldn't have to find out.

Kasyr has got a fairly good blaze going at this juncture, and a solid stack of bodies to clutter up the deck near the captains cabin. Frankly, he's pretty satisfied at the outcome- even if this wasn't quite as efficient as steering the boat into some isolated rocks in the middle of nowhere. There was just a finishing touch left- to hurl a bottle through the wind- "Oh." Hi lanlan. Bye Lanlan. "Really, Kasyr falters for a few more moments after the illusionists escape from the window, before shrugging, hurling the molotov through where the drow had vacated- and then race off the the direction he went. After all, Kasyr had already cut down most of the proximal life boats- which means, there's really not many left for those few who are uninfected. And making the choice of who stays and who goes? That'll be something for Meri and Eleanor to figure out. And maybe Gevurah, given her prompt appearance means she can likely contribute to the decidely pyrrhic measures used to contain this outbreak. "I'm pretty sure there's a lifeboat still intact." I mean, there's the option of stepping over a bridge of his own summoned swords- but frankly, the Kensai is wholly intending on just setting the boat to drift, and floating -away- from the friends and families he's consigned to a fiery death.

Meri :: Human? No, the skeleton warrior was actually a lycan...Which is exactly why she is able to smell the smoke right around the same time that Lanlan does. Except, Meri doesn't have half a chance to figure out where it is coming from because the cabin was currently turning into a madhouse. Everyone was being bitten...! And Meri did not want to add her name to that number. The skeleton woman is relieved to find that Eleanor is soon by her side, trying to help with the door...but Meri quickly gives up on opening it, that just meant releasing everyone who was just bitten. "No, forget it. We've got other means out of here..." she grumbles in frustration to Eleanor. The boat could burn as far as Meri was concerned, and everyone else on it. Well, except Eleanor. And hopefully Rilla made it off. Meri did not know, she was certain Rilla stood better odds. So how does Meri escape? El probably understands how, for she was the one who gave Meri this roguish little trinket once upon a time...but the important detail is that one moment she is trapped within the cabin and the next...she's gone. While Meri presumes that Eleanor can escape in a similar fashion on a whim...? Meri latches on to the spellrogue's hand with the hopes of dragging her into this disappearing act.

Gevurah isn't here to save anyone but Kasyr and Lanlan. Anyone else who needs rescuing will need to make bids/blood oaths.

Rilla is only still here in case someone feels like trying their hand with the ocean monsters, she'll save your butt for free.

Lanlan is pretty sure he’s picking up what Kasyr is putting down. Once he gets to the lifeboat location, which is what landlubbers call it, Lanlan sees many lifeboats. All set adrift and floating away. That is fine, because he CAN levitate and float expertly. He leaps off the side of the ship and drifts lazily through the air to a lifeboat. Then he produces a wand and flicks his wrist. It’s actually his magical telescoping oar! He stands in the back of the life boat almost ready to zoom away, but then he lays eyes on his mystical floating Gevie. Sexily floating above the burning ship, and also by now the burning people. He heralds her with a flashy wave that illuminates him and his boat in magical glitter, like a flare. It could be misconstrued as a signal to survivors, but no its only for Gevurah. “By sea!” He calls to her. It also attracts the mer-zombies, but Lanlan just pushes them away with his oar, jabbing them in the face with disdain.

Gevurah joins Lanlan in the lifeboat he's hogging all to himself. With her large, iron taloned fist (transmuted earlier in the evening), she beats down the aquatic infected creatures that swarm around the boat. She glances back towards the boat and Kasyr and says to Lanlan, "He's so weak in this current state. I'll have to restore him if he's to be of any use against Caluss."

Eleanor had few qualms over jumping ship, and it would seem she is soon of the same mind as her unofficial Riker. Resisting the urge to poke a few eyeballs with her dangerstick, El nodded to Meri, and the pair of shadow-laced birds poofed into the night.

Lanlan begrudgingly agrees with her. There's a reason for Lanlan to continue disliking Kasyr, but it's hard to remember at times. "Fine. But you know it won't do anything to his mind right? That stays as is." Perhaps the most unfortunate thing. He studies the ship as it begins to burn further, crackling and splintering. Not to mention the screams of the ones dying onboard. "Shame about the ship," Lanlan says. They're expensive and he'd been wanting one; needing one for the enterprise he was beginning.

Kasyr s' pace only picks up when he nears the edge of the ship, before he finally vaults over the edge and towards one of the drifting boats. Really, it's far enough that any leap to get to it would need to practically defy all expectations. Which- is why the Kensai just cheats and focus on rapidly summon those floating swords of his- in order to hastily form a series of platforms to stumble along in order th close the last bit of distance. it does the job well enough -and- provides him with arnaments to lodge into the heads of any curious mer-zombies. Which is to safe- he's safe and sound, and well equipped to drift off while the party burns down in the background.

Rilla had a bit of a fight ahead of her making sure that those who could be helped were. Why? Maybe it was a little too similar another time when she had to drag bodies from a harbour. She had done many executions in her time away from Lithrydel, and executions were what she did now until she was satisfied that those on the boat were off of it. With little ceremony, she would disappear much like she appeared. A non-consequential shadow who shrugged off her assailants without much struggle, though you wouldn’t know it from the bloody, wet mess that she’d ended up. At least it wasn’t her blood.