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An Affair to Remember :: Masquerade :: OPEN to ALL !!!; woo!
Topic Started: Thu Feb 1, 2018 5:49 pm (1,503 Views)
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A humm of chatter filled the air as many people stood around in groups adorned in rich fabrics and extraordinary gowns that filled the grounds within the large golden gate with a colorful array of crowds. This has to be it. You think to yourself as the carriage steadily approaches behind a line of others unloading their beautiful cargo one after another. The trip had been long having to fight through the amount of traffic that filled the streets earlier, but hey, it beat walking in the heat of the day in heavy clothing. Eventually you could hear the sound of your carriage driver leaping gracefully down from their seat on the outside and saw their figure approach your door. They bent and unfastened the steps, then swung the door open and stood aside for you to descend. Your eyes now took the scene in full of movement and white stone pillars topped in gold. The crowd was classy, each too busy in their own conversation to notice you make your way up the stairs to make it into the courtyard. A pair of guards clad in white uniforms with gold accents dipped their hats as they allowed you to pass.

On the other side of the fence towered lush green topiary and rows of stone archways leading you down a maintained sidewalk through the heat of the crowd. You weave and pardon your way past many higher-class people until you find yourself greeted by a man with a glowing smile. He tips his hat to you and holds out a tray of golden roses on pins.

“Good afternoon! We are glad you were able to make it today! Please take a rose and pin it to your right breast, continue along the path and get acquainted with staff and other guests- we only ask that you please do not remove your mask, and remain anonymous. We hope you enjoy your time with us!”

:::::Upon seeing the small fragile rose you feel yourself compelled to take it and pin it on your lovely garments. Looking around, you notice everyone is wearing a rose similar to yours- even the staff. You smile in return and thank him.:::::

He ushers you along and quickly greets the next guest waiting behind you. Further down the path you see a large fountain with golden angel statues and from behind it, you begin to hear the sound of a beautiful orchestra stationed upon a small stage in the background. The noise is just barely noticeable above the chatting voices, it’s relaxing, and light and eases your nerves that had built through the swarming amount of guests. You follow the sound out to the side of the large court, with a massive mansion in view behind the players. The scene is breathtaking. Less people are roaming about in this area, and those that are had found themselves standing in a trance to watch the talented musicians play. One of the many butlers around the yards approaches you with a golden tray lined with champagne and glasses of water.

“Would you care for refreshment?”

The dip their heads politely as they approach.

You either accept or decline, though it is a bit warmer outside and the condensation on the glasses makes them that much more enticing.

Once dismissed the butler turns and approaches the next guest with the same question. A slight breeze brought the day into a perfect temperature and even a slight chill to your skin. Now that you kind of have your bearings of the grounds, why not go around and mingle, try to make yourself familiar with a few of the guests? There is a large garden on the other half of the grounds, perhaps you would rather take a romantic walk and smell the roses. The place is filling quickly, which means the doors will be open soon. Perhaps if you would rather keep to yourself, maybe you should start moving to the doors so you can get a full view of the place.

Either way, you notice how happy and pleasant all of the guests and staff are- everyone is approachable. Besides one staff member that had just clumsily dropped a tray of hor dourves. They looked a tad embarrassed while they attempted to clean up the mess.

What do you do?


Hello!!! Welcome to the Masquerade! So excited you guys decided to join in and take part of this! I’ll try to make it as enjoyable and humorous as I absolutely can! I just have a few things I want you to include in your reply to this post in an OOC section so I can get a good idea of what to do here.

****If you have an outfit in mind for your character- PLEASE post them!!!! If not- that's okay! Just something fun to do!

Will you be staying for both parts, the dance and the mystery solving shenanigans??

Now some things I would like you to know;

-YOUR CHARACTER’S MASK MUST NOT BE REMOVED, SAME WITH THE ROSE. It’s the one law that is reinforced here. Though if you take it off- I warned you!
- Any interactions with staff/faculty members/guards/or other workers will be played out by me. So feel free to talk to them! ((If you need help- ask! If you need to find the washrooms- ask!))
-Violence is not really acceptable during the first part of the ball- the guards will have to manhandle you and they do have the right to escort you out for causing a scene. *z-snaps* So if you really want to beat someone up, you better make sure that none of those eyes are watching you…

… and wallah!!! That is all!!! Alright guys, I hope you have fun! Kick back and relax!!! See you soon!
Edited by X'yros, Thu Feb 1, 2018 5:50 pm.
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"Message for you, Captain."

A guard carried the message to a woman who had just disembarked from a frigate at the docks of the Coral Chateau, a large structure made of coral, marble, slate and stone, sitting in the middle of the bay of Taras. The redheaded woman being addressed dropped the packs she was carrying, and took the letter from the sharkskin-clad guard. It was an invitation to a gala, a masquerade to be held within the city. The captain, Silnimare Morrighanu, was not unknown to the city, but she had never been invited to such events outside of her time as a guard, or in the navy. It was written on fine parchment, indicating that it was most likely a high-class affair. Sil never really avoided such areas, but she simply found more that interested her in the slums and commercial districts of the city. But the pale-skinned captain was not without class, and she had been expressly invited to the event, so it would be remiss of her not to attend. She turned back towards the ship she had ust disembarked from, and called out, "Don't rest too easy, We'll be heading back into town shortly. Tell Cyrus to get cleaned up."

She asked the guards to carry the bags inside, while she checked in on the various affairs of her center of operation. After about an hour, Cyrus, a ten-year-old boy with blond hair and blue eyes, came running out of the chateau back to the dock, his soft features as clean as could be. Silnimare smiled, and placed a hand on his shoulder.

"We've been invited to a ball, a fancy party. We'll need to go into town to get you some nice clothes , and a mask." The boy looked at his mother confused. "Why do I need a mask?"

"Because it's a masquerade, that how those sorts of parties work: you have to wear a mask and keep it on. Now come along, we need to get your clothes, and I'll let you pick your mask."

The young boy nodded, and they set sail across the bay once more, to the glistening gem that was the City of Taras.

They had been shopping for about two hours, and the young lad was garbed in a stunning blue doublet, with silver-threaded trim. They were at their final stop, a shop in the merchant quarter that dealt in masks of all varieties, from the comedic, to the theatrical, to the spiritual. As they walked in, the boy's eyes widened in wonder at all of the wooden and leather faces that stared back at him.

"Something I can help you with?"

An energetic middle-aged woman came out from a back room, setting aside a needle and some thread underneath the counter. Her eyes lit up when she saw the youth's energy, and when she turned to the mother, her eyes shone with recognition.

"I know you, aren't you that captain that used to be blind and play music? I'd recognize that tattoo and red hair anywhere."

"Yeah," Silnimare replied, slightly surprised at being recognized in an establishment she had never frequented. "That's me... Forgive me, but I don't recall making your acquaintance, before, miss...?"

"Besham, lass. And think nothing of it, you know how people gossip, and my older cousin Rupert saw you play at the tavern a few times, back when you were just the toymaker's daughter, no offense."

"None taken, I suppose. I'm nothing special, Ms. Besham, just another person making their way in this city."

"Don't talk down on yourself like that, girl. You've saved quite the handful of people in your time. That alone is commendable. Too many stand idly by. And speaking of standing idle, these bones could use some work, so what are you looking for, might I ask?"

Silnimare chuckled, and nodded kindly at the woman's appreciation.

"Thank you for the kind words, and I'm looking for a mask for my son, we're on our way to a masquerade."

The middle-aged shop keeper's brown eyes lit up, and she shuffled over to a certain part of the shop, and began showing the young boy all manner of eloquent and fancy masks, but Cyrus seemed rather disinterested in what she had to show. His young eyes scanned around the room, and fixed onto a particularly grim mask. He ran over to it, and pointed at it, saying that was the one he wanted. The shopkeep turned to Sil, unsure of the boy's morbid choice, but she simply nodded in resigned approval.

Once they made their way out of the shop, they began the walk to the masquerade. As they strolled through the streets, Silnimare asked Cyrus why her chose such a mask.

"Because it's scary!"

"Why do you want it to be scary?"
"Because I'm gonna be a scary pirate someday, so I need to practice."
"There are other ways than fear to excel, even at piracy, Cyrus. I know some people who learned the dangers of abusing fear personally."

She said no more on the subject, leaving Cyrus to think on what she said.

As they drew near to the ball, Silnimare pulled her blindfold down over her eyes, fully exposing her tattoo of an eye on her forehead. Her clothing shifted, forming an elegant blue dress, her feet still bare. Her wavy red hair was loose, but no unkempt, and she scarcely looked out of place, save for her self-imposed blindness. Both her and Cyrus were given golden roses to affix to their clothing. She reminded her son to keep his all-too-creepy mask on, and to try to stay out of trouble, as she began to try to find someone she knew, or was interested in talking to.
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"So are you going to the party?" Captain Voitto spoke up and quickly as he saw Detaras quickly flit an opened envelope back into his locker. It was the end of shift for the, and for as much as he knew the mighty knight would prefer to keep working down to the bone, even the local hero had to sleep every now and again to be at his best for dealing with all the worst parts of Taras.

"No, I've got patrol that night." Detaras responded very simply and quickly, hoping to put it to rest.

"Again?" The captain wondered aloud, not surprised knowing that the veritable armor-clad giant likely signed himself up for every patrol he could, but worrying for his knightly brother in arms, "When's the last time you had a day off, Detaras?"

"I'm a knight of Taras; I've a sworn duty to do my best for the sake of the people."

"Okay, yeah, but we still get vacation days as long as we're working with the guard." Voitto argued, figuring quickly that it would have to be a struggle to get the embodiment of chivalry to consider something even remotely selfishly for once, "Once war becomes official, then that'll change, but you should take some time off before you go crazy."

"I already took a break not that long ago. It would be obscene to take another so soon."

"Really? I can't recall signing your days off recently." The captain wondered, trying to search his thoughts. It happened so rarely, but it had to have happened at some point, "When was it?"

"Just the other day." Detaras replied, trailing off quickly.

"When?" Voitto turned stern, suspecting something that would not surprise him in the least.

"When I got shot with the piercing ballista at the docks." The normally mighty knight said in a very small voice, trying to slip it out under his breath/

"When you got shot. . .?" Voitto considered before erupting, "That was two years ago-- and that was medical leave for a day while you healed!"

"Really? Feels like yesterday and like it lasted forever." The heavy knight coughed and shut his locker to lock, "So, anyway, I've got important work to do then, Ser-- eh, captain Voitto."

"Bullshit! It's patrol! The people of Taras can do without you for at least a night, longer if you need it." Voitto barked, "I'll make it mandatory if I have to."

"Captain, I've got no--"

"Quiet!" The captain shot down the protest quickly, "You're a good knight, Detaras, but you've got to take care of yourself. Besides, if you don't and the bureaucrats catch wind of this, it's gonna be my ass on the block, not yours. Consider it a favor to me, take a break, maybe go to that party. Relax. For me?"

"Voitto. . ." Detaras began to plead, only to be cut short again.

"Okay, it's an order!" Voitto snapped back, "I'm marking you as on vacation for then, and you're going to that masquerade."

"I don't think you can do that." The heavy knight protested.

"Order my knights to take breaks? Like Abyss I can't! Maybe if you're a guard, are you, Detaras? Or are you a knight under my command?"

There was a moment's silence as they paused, Voitto's green orbs meeting with the bright blue eyes that managed to pierce through Detaras's visor.

"That's underhanded." Detaras grumbled.

"So it is." Voitto nodded and grinned victoriously before slapping the tall knight on his breastplate, "Have fun, ser Detaras."

Detaras could not deny that the sight of the manor was a beautiful one to behold. Clearly the result of opulence and taste meshed together to bring forth a classy display of an enclosed estate. The Celestte Family definitely wanted the people of their district to know exactly who lived there, though for some reason the knight found it difficult to place the family name. He shrugged away the concern, for Taras was such a sprawling nation of structures that to recall all the influential families of it, even those who had put enough of a history into their surroundings to secure the name of the district as their own, was a difficult endeavor.

When the carriage came to a stop, he wasted little time disembarking, skipping the steps brought out for him in order to spare them the strain of the combined weight of himself and his armor. The adamantine plating of his equipment was thick and dense, even refined and polished to as close of a sheen as it could be, it still appeared rough and more prepared for heavy duty than to shine for the benefit of others. The actual clothing that he sported beneath it for the sake of his own comfort was a mixture of dull brown layered beneath a simple black padding. There was no plume atop his helmet, but the most vibrant color that he sported was the Tarasian red of his long sleeveless tunic beneath the super heavy armor, its right side pinned beneath his right tasset while the other side sporting the Tarasian emblem stayed displayed, and a half-cape cape coiled over his right shoulder and upper arm, clearly faceted to not be a hindrance in case he needed to throw it behind himself for a fight. His left shoulder was considerably larger, designed for heavy impacts. Despite the cordial setting, also came equipped and prepared for things to go wrong, sporting a simple-seeming mace hanging from right side, and a cord coiled around his left gauntlet.

All-in-all, he looked very out of place for such an event, more prepared for a battlefield than any sort of mingling, but as with many things he came with a plan. He was not here of his own volition, but because his captain had ordered him to attend as a vacation day with the intention to unwind, yet the knight rarely found himself comforted by such gatherings. More likely, it seemed to him that the guests of high caliber would eventually find at least one of them drunk enough for the others to be disgusted with and demand removed or arrested. Few people actually wanted to deal with problems, but it seemed likely to the heavy knight that the private security might not mind the help from a renown knight. He had made sure to arrive a bit earlier than the invitation had stated, though that was a factor less of his hopeful plan and more of simple knightly etiquette to arrive early.

"Good afternoon! We are glad you were able to make it today! Will that be your mask for the evening?" The greeter inquired politely, subtly dubious but respectful.

"Good afternoon, and, yes, as it masks my face." Detaras answered simply with a nod.

"Splendid!" The man said pleasantly, actually believable if it was false, but he wasted little time, "Please take a rose and pin it to your right breast, continue along the path and get acquainted with staff and other guests- we only ask that you please do not remove your mask, and remain anonymous. We hope you enjoy your time with us!"

Detaras did so gingerly with his thick gloves, carefully pinning the golden rose at an angle on the right-side lip of his breastplate. Perhaps either a sign of belonging at the party or a mere memento to leave with later? Either way, a small but simple thing.

"Actually, I was hoping you might allow me to assist with something before others arrive?" The heavy knight inquired, catching the attention of the hatted man.

"Certainly!" The man chimed curiously, "What do you require?"

It was thankfully easy for Detaras to find himself among the private security and getting a quick guidance of the key points of interest for the mounting festivity. They reacted to him with a bit of curiosity and surprise, some with a bit of thanks for his efforts which, for as welcome as they were, he downplayed quickly and considerably as simply doing his duty. The explanation for why he would prefer to act as security than participate in the masquerade was similar, a desire to help rather than to engage in any level of hedonism. Perhaps other knights could allow themselves a welcome invitation to wine and mingling with the higher echelons of Tarasian society, noble-blooded and wishing to be considered as such, but the Adamantine-clad knight only wished for duty to keep him busy, even if it was as simple as making sure little happened that was too exciting.

He stood like a tower among all, his armor secure though it stood out from the security with its Tarasian-loyal colors rather than those of the private security of the estate. He moved regularly to keep his view over the party fresh, to provide him with optimal vantage points as the building crowd of attendees moved about, some taking note of the auspicious guest associated with the safeguarding of Taras against a terrorist force.

As for the weather, Detaras was fine. He had trained under harsher conditions than the moderate temperature that laid over the masquerade, and desired for no drinks. His blue eyes from the darkness cast by his visor scanned over adding masks, taking in the different forms far easier than deciphering the faces of those who would wear them, and familiarizing himself with even the servers and performers. He kept watch for anything possible to go wrong, kindly refusing drinks offered to him. He was vigilant, yet hoping that nothing went wrong and he could leave this night for home in peace and tell his captain that he had done as ordered successfully.
Edited by Detaras, Fri Feb 2, 2018 3:00 am.
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This was really fancy. People were all dressed up in fancy outfits, complete with carriages and manservants and handmaidens and the whole coterie. The entourage of staff that guided people to the gate was decked out, and even the guards looked like they’d been polishing their armour more than wearing it. Watching it all from afar through a lens-pipe was a man whose face slowly started to break into a grin so broad it was almost mad. Of course, one might not truly be able to call him a "man" by the human definition, but neither might one be entirely wrong about him being a little mad. Madness, after all, takes many forms.

Ivory tusks rose from betwixt the lips of the juggernaut orc, Gortwog, as he collapsed the lens-pipe and put it away, still grinning. To say that Gortwog was big was to say also that water was wet. Standing just shy of seven feet and not-quite-half-that as wide, there wasn’t a speck of fat on the orc’s body. Every fiber was taut with muscle, and while that muscle didn’t necessarily “ripple”, there was a certain fluidity to his movements. He was an orc well-versed in the lessons of war. The draaken breastplate he always wore was adorned today with the full-length hide, head and tail included but sans legs, of a dire grizzly worn as a sash; dropping from the right shoulder to the left hip, it had been worked together in such a fashion that the maw - still filled with sharp and well-kept teeth - was clamped hard onto the tail of the slain beast. This and the huge, hornless skull of some unidentifiable wild cattle bound over his left shoulder marked him as one dressing formally. Gortwog had even bathed, something he hadn’t done in nearly a month; he had scrubbed himself hard, getting every last grain of dirt and every last trace of blood, grease, and grime out of every crack and crevice that he could. It had taken a while.

Squeezing his legs together, he urged on the massive wolf he rode. Those legs were covered in breeches of dark-brown leather guarded by boots cut from the hide of a mountain drake, its tendons used for thread, complete with attached greaves for added protection. But orcs were creatures of war, and their armour was rarely limited to their feet and legs; this particular orc was no exception, as evidenced by the fearsome-looking drake-scale gauntlets he also wore. His breastplate, too, had been taken from that mountain drake. There were three pieces to be taken from every drake that constituted different kinds of armour, something a drake hunter was all too familiar with: the hide, the scales, and the interlocking armour plating that bund them both together. Gortwog was a drake hunter by trade, and he never let anything go to waste; what he couldn't eat, wear, wield, or use he traded for things that he could.

The orc's legs had helped him greatly in his battles against various beasts and beastly men alike; they were large and powerful, just like the rest of him. But it was not because of his stength that they didn’t need much of a nudge to get the red-eyed worg moving. The two were quite in sync with one another, and that had saved them both on more occasions than either of them could count - and the worg could most assuredly count, even if it couldn’t talk the way people did. It spoke in other ways…loud, frightening, and extremely violent ways - exactly the kind of ways that a fearsome orc loved to talk. Talk was cheap, after all - unless it was done right.

By the time he reached the place, people were already starting to notice him. The first of them screamed at the sight of the worg-riding orc, thinking a savage monster had come to eat them or worse. Gortwog let his worg, Bloodback, growl at a few to clear a path. A couple people fainted. The worg only stopped when he came close to where people were unloading from the carriages. He was immediately given a wide berth, and he sat there for a moment as the worg took its time slowing from a lope to a walk, and then ultimately, to a stop. Gortwog took his time dismounting, too, making certain that all his weapons - save the sickle-sword on his back, which was tethered to his left spaulder and wasn’t going to be removed any time soon - were firmly in place upon the make-shift saddle; that “saddle” consisted of numerous furs and hides arranged just so, all bound together with various bags and holsters for his arsenal, including one for the flag that he bore. Its colours and clan insignia were unfamiliar to anyone gathered, but it rose upon its staked pole above the orc from the worg’s back, and when Gortwog dismounted at last, he did so with a practiced ease that didn’t even bump the thing. Stretching his muscles after a long ride, he worked out any cramps that he probably wouldn’t even have noticed much and pulled his invitation from one of the bags. Then he put a hand on the worg’s neck, whispered into its ear for a moment, and clapped it hard on the neck twice. The worg barely even felt the claps, but it felt them enough and was smart enough to understand Gortwog’s whispered instructions, and the worg was loyal enough to heed them.

The worg turned and trotted off as the orc strode forward, pondering the invitation as he did so. It had come to him from a rather terrified courier that was barely recognizable for all the furs, hides, and other protections against the bitter cold of the frozen north that he had been wearing at the time; were it not for them, Gortwog might have thought the traveler was an elf or something shorter by the timid nature of the man and his apparently quite skinny little body. Of course, Gortwog would eat just about anything, but he didn't like his meat raw; whatever happened to the messenger after he had happily left the gathering of some fifty-odd over-sized excuses for green-skinned "warriors" (perhaps more barbarian than anything else) wasn't his affair. But the invitation itself was fancier than anything his tribe had ever seen, and he was one of the few who could read any of it - let alone the whole thing. He was also intelligent enough to wonder why in the abyss he, of all people, had been sent an invitation.

Perhaps it was indeed because he was one of the few warriors of his tribe who could read Common.

Whatever the reason, he was here fully expecting to get drunk and fed until he was fit to burst. There had best be some fantastic entertainment, too. He would find out soon enough.

Gortwog had to duck through first gate before heading toward the guards, who stood wary but nodded and smiled politely as he ducked through the second gate, presenting his invitation both times. He shoved the invitation into a hidden pocket of the bear-sash and accepted his golden rose without a word, pinning it to the hide just past where the bear’s maw clutched its tail. Then he grinned again as he pulled out a mask he had hidden beneath the bear’s head. He smoothed it out and made certain it wasn’t too badly battered from sitting in there for several hours. Finally, he donned the surprisingly festive-looking mask that seemed completely out-of-place for him…and yet, anyone who knew him would have just shaken their heads and brushed it off as…well, him. He had an interesting sense of humour and loved irony.

“So where’s the booze?” he inquired jovially of the one who'd given him the rose.
Edited by Gortwog, Mon Feb 5, 2018 6:09 pm.
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Letty Amara pushed some papers aside and leaned back. "Always too much to do," she grumbled, while pouring herself a small glass of red wine. She looked up at a knock at the door, and smiled. "Plork! Good to see you! I've read the reports of the events in Gallowstown, and I am glad things turned out so well. You are a credit to the Ivory League."

Plork smiled, proud of a job well done. "Friend Plork did is doed lots to help, and also, Friend Plork am were gotted a kazoo. Does is Friend LettyAmara will want Friend Plork to be played a song?" Plork asked, brandishing the kazoo and putting it to their lips.

"NO! No, thank you for the very kind offer, Plork, but I have another vitally important job for you," Letty said, rummaging in a special pile set aside for just such an occasion. She glanced briely at the invitation, and smiled. "You will be representing the Ivory League as a cultural attache at a soiree in Taras. While the dresscode is formal, I am sure your... usual... lack of attire will not be an issue, as you are so colourful." She paused, and nodded. "Yes, I think you will be ideal for this assignment, Plork. One more thing, since it is a masquerade ball, you will need to wear a mask. Perhaps something understated--"

"Friend Plork are can will makes a butterfly mask, like of Friend Roopiloop! With Glitter!"

Letty massaged her temples. "Yes Plork, I think that sounds perfect. Off you go, and have fun."

Plork headed back to their classroom, and quickly whipped up a suitable disguise. The enkaida packed a few things, then set out in the Vivacious Lorikeet to the thriving city of Taras.

Plork's mask

Taras! What an impressive place, especially after Gallowstown! Plork meanered along the streets, rubbernecking happily until reaching the Celestte Estate seemingly by chance. A large, black wolf caught Plork's eye. The enkaida reached into the Plorkified Pouch, and withdrew a huge bone with gobbets of meat hanging from it. Plork gave a whistle, "HereFriend Good Doggie, Friend Plork do am will has a bone for Friend Good Doggie!" When Plork was sure they had the animal's attention, they tossed the bone towards it, and it snatched it out of the air without breaking its stride.

Bones for Friend Good Doggie

Plork wandered through the gates, nodding and smiling at all the other guests. Upon sighting the topiary, Plork spent some time, giggling and bending their tentacles into similar shapes before following the path, until presented with a badge.

"What a is lovely badge!" Plork gushed, pinning it to a strap over their shoulder. "Friend Plork does were has one for you, too!" and once again a tentacle dipped in to the Plorkified pouch, to return with a pin proclaiming it is his birthday, which Plork afixes to his lapel. "Many thanks," he says, before edging away from the enkaida, shaking his head.

Badge for the badge man

Plork explores the grounds, until music causes their ears to twitch. Following the sound, Plork finds an orchestra playing a delightful tunes, and the enkaida is compelled to accompany them for a while on their kazoo. The musicians soldier bravely on, and before long the enkaida's attention is grabbed by a figure in an impressive mask, and Plork wanders off. They continue to mingle with the guests, until another servitor glides over, with a tray of champagne. Plork nods and smiles, and helps themself to a glass, and pushes another into the waiter's hand. "Cheers! It are OK, Friend Plork do does haved spare straws," producing a pair of green curly straws through one of which they sip demurely, while offering the other one to the waiter.

Plork's straws (they match the mask!)

There's a loud clattering behind, and Plork turns to see a flustered member of staff attempting to pick up a spilled tray. Plork swoops in, and solicitously tries to help gather them all up. "It are alright, there is nearly no not dirt on them. Friends can just blow thens eats them, see?" Plork says, popping one in their mouth, before strolling to the garden, to admire the flowers.

Edited by Plork, Mon Feb 5, 2018 3:54 am.
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Another ball to attend in Taras. She just prayed that this one would not end like a certain one she had attended some years ago. Though even if it did...she would not be caught so off guard like she was last time.

The elf maiden walked down the stairs towards the Masquerade. She wore a beautiful hunters green dress that would make anyone think of the forest. Equally beautiful green eyes pieced out from behind her silver feline shaped mask.

It was not long before she was offered a pin which she gently placed upon her breast before she began to look around the room to mingle. Once again her thoughts went back to that chaotic eventful night for the last gala she had attended in Taras...and to Tanderous. It had been some time now since she hand ended their relationship, but she wondered if the Black Bowman would be one of these dashing masked men.

One person did catch her eye....for he towered over the whole crowd. Beyond his size he looked quiet out of place. She could tell he was not used to attending such events. With a drink in hand she gracefully made her way across the floor to Detaras.

"Good day sir,
" she greeted. "Enjoying the Masquerade?"

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Edited by Mistalee, Mon Feb 5, 2018 6:01 am.
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Friend Plork

Darting hands quickly snatched up the runaway pastries as they scattered around the fountain from the dropped tray. The waitress looked frightened while doing so and froze in fear when a looming shadow was cast over her. Still reaching for the remaining treat, the woman slowly lifted her skull. Immediately she sighed a breath of relief- which she quickly took back. Unsure of what to think about this guest- the lady tried her best to return kind words with a weak smile.

"N-no... I am afraid they must be tossed." She returned to retrieving the cream-stuffed pie. "Immediately"

***Plork, you notice that her half of the cuf link is missing, almost as if the gold had been snapped in half.

She bows her head, muttering beneath her breath as she turned to leave with the tray.

"Hope you have fun-"

She disappears into the crowd and heads back to the direction of the building.
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The pair had arrived at the gates during the hour past noon and had been quickly guided across the courtyard joining with a large crowd of stern looking men and women, each fitted with a fragile golden rose. Since passing through the gates, Jurdanian had not released Phedre’s hand for any reason, still clutching her even as he shook the hands in greetings to others. It was warm out- but it did not matter for once they passed beneath the massive doorway into the mansion the air was cool and refreshing. A man named Hiinok had greeted them there, and led the fairly large group around the castle-like building explaining each room and pointing out every area where certain guards would be standing. He held a roster list of names and called out different men and women, of different races and even species. The thing they all held in common was the rougher appearance. They had been advised to remove their masks in the meantime so Hiinok could see who was who, and then each was whisked off to change into a white and gold uniform. All except for two members specifically; Jurdanian, and some monster of a knight, Detras. They were told to remain in the uniforms they were in already.

Once the tour was complete and the guards were given a rundown of how to react in situations and what higher-ranking official in the Mansion to report to if a problem should arise, they were brought to a massive golden golem. It was shining and well-polished, detailed to the nines, and the stomach was mesmerizing. Hundreds upon thousands of sharpened chunks of diamond glowed and glittered in the center.

“And this- this is E.M.O. You can call him Barny.”

The golem lifted a massive arm and waved at the crowd, it stood nearly twice Jurdan’s height.

“He is the eyes of this place- so if you suspect something suspicious, he’ll find out for you. Alright, now that the introductions are over- it appears out time has run out! Guests are already beginning to arrive! To your posts, and we hope you enjoy your time with us!”

The men and women departed, those remaining that did not need to be in duty just yet were whisked away. Jurdanian smiled warmly down to Phedre and squeezed her hand lightly as they followed the much smaller group back out into the courtyard.


She followed him silently, her arm linked in his as they were approached by an attendant with a tray of golden rose pins. He held them out before the pair, and bid them to each take one and attach it to their person. She simply stared down at the flowers with a blank expression. There was something about them that she did not like… and she was sure that it was not simply the fact that she had little use for pretty flowers. After the tray was pushed forward once more she sighed and plucked a single golden bud from the tray, holding it at arm’s length before her. She looked at it carefully from behind her ornate lace mask, and blinked several times before closing her hand around it and bringing it down to her side.

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with this,” she grumbled loud enough that only he could hear. Her gown was a decadent display of fashion and beauty, and she could find little free fabric to tuck the flower against.

She pulled in a slow deep breath and turned slowly to take in the sight of carriages arriving and noblemen and women disembarking. Her gown swung with a whisper behind her as she moved, and again she was reminded of the elaborate fashion that clung to her body. She felt a foreigner in her own body.

Her shoulders were bare, the gown was laced tightly over a corset and secured without straps or sleeves. The fabric swirled an iridescent blue green, changing in the shift of the light. As she walked she kicked forward a full skirt that pooled outward from her cinched waist. Split asymmetrically down the flowing fabric was an array of peacock feathers, their multicolored eyes laying one atop another to fashion a mesmerizing cut in the fabric. Swirling up the opposing side of the bodice flowed more feathers, they curled up around her right breast to brush lightly against her exposed skin. Up her arms she wore elegant gloves, the same shifting green blue shade as the gown. Her hair was piled in a series of loose curls atop her head, held there with several sapphire and emerald encrusted pins which caught the light and winked playfully from the shadows of her black tresses. Over her eyes sat an elegant mask, ornate in its black lacing that curled and spun complementary to the curves of her face. Hints of small diamond stones shimmered in the center of some swirls. Several peacock feathers lifted from the corner of the mask, on the same side as the feathers on the bodice. Her rouged lips stood proudly beneath the mask, full and steady as she continued her surveillance of the courtyard. She fiddled slightly with the pendant around her neck, the heavy red stone encircled by diamonds. He had given it to her, and while at the time she thought little of it, she could not bear to have it removed now, needing a little piece of him with her wherever she was tonight. It sat pleasantly at the hollow of her throat.

“Unine is a cruel mistress,” Phedre whispered under her breath, her voice low. “It appears that it is not commonplace to adorn oneself with feathers.” She looked down at her exposed chest, enhanced by the tight lacing of the corset. “I feel as though I am a caged animal on display.”

Another attendant approached, this one with champagne and water. She took the latter and gulped hastily. She could have used a hint of the liquid courage, but the evening held other plans that required her alert and focused. She felt the weight of the long dagger against her thigh and relaxed somewhat. At least she was not wholly unarmed, despite how naked she felt.

She did not understand her place here, and as she watched masked faces parade past her, she began to mirror their postures and mannerisms, hoping to blend in despite her eye catching attire. Rolling her shoulders back she stood tall, raising her chin slightly in the manner of nobility. Despite the warm kiss of the sun, the thought made her shudder with a sudden chill.

The orchestra played a pleasant melody and she allowed herself to be swallowed by it and transported momentarily as she awaited Jurdanian’s direction. She had no concerns over her missing the arrival of her mark, he would make it known to all at the party when he arrived.

And surly, just as she drifted away to the soft melody of the stringed instruments, a series of brash trumpets could be heard heralding the arrival of someone important. Phedre perked forward, her sapphire eyes assessing the new arrival as they drew forth from their golden detailed carriage. She recognized him despite the mask. He bore brown and gold embellished attire and donned the mask of an eagle. Two great feathered wings had been fabricated and strapped, folded, to his back. His sneer was apparent even under the extended beak of the mask. He had arrived to live out his final day, in luxury. And she would give him that, the gift of a luxurious death, despite the ever watching eyes of the golem.

She turned away from the man, who was escorting a buxom lady on each arm, and wondered if Diocletian and Kronos had also spotted his arrival from where they were stationed. She had no means of hearing from them. As the eagle made his way past them he paused. His eyes slid across her as she did her best to swallow the snarl that he evoked. He approached without acknowledging Jurdan and circled her as his eyes traced the lines of her body. “It appears,” he spoke with a deep lilt to his voice, “I am not the only one in feathers tonight.”

He drew himself from her with a deep bow, one that had his nose brush so closely to her chest that she felt his breath. She dare not give him the satisfaction of stepping back, and instead stood proudly before him. She tossed him a mischievous smile in return, and he turned his back to her, returning to his awaiting escorts, both of whom threw Phedre a most unpleasant scowl. The game was afoot.

OOC: No pic of the dress, but the mask Phedre is wearing can be found here
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"You aren't wearing that." Demetria turned towards Maze. "I let you make the bad mistake of purchasing that as a joke, but you aren't wearing it to a formal event. You do not need to be a walking scandal." Demetria winked as she lifted the dress away from her body and picked up a far more reserved dress.

"I estimate they'll cut me off on the wine at least three glasses earlier in this." Maze groaned and threw her petite steel hands in the air. Demetria yanked her soft clothes off and put her new dress on and had herself situated in it quickly enough. She frowned into the mirror at the end result. "Maybe this is too much. Wait, no, Maze will get smug again if I follow her fashion advice. Her chest is made of steel, what does she know?" Demetria giggled at her unheard mean comment. She rapped on her door. "Umbra, offload the carriage."

Her arrival was more like one of the wealthier sort than that of a member of the middle ranks of the Agency. Her equipment was her own, and as she dismounted from the golem-pulled carriage, she turned and helped Maze out as though the golem was the important member of the duo. Maze yanked on her rather more simple black a line dress. The golem attracted quite a few more looks than Demetria. She chuckled, "I'm certainly the better looking of this pair."

"Everyone is just amused a golem bothered to put on clothes and a mask." Demetria retorted. She adjusted her own mask, that of an Astendan sea-kite, white feathered with little black stripes above the eyes. They entered. A little rose was pressed into Demetria's hand, as was Maze's. They both affixed them to their dresses on the right breast. Demetria undertook the motion with some caution out of worry about the stability of her dress. "It is cute, but I have to wonder where they got the money to give such a...motley assortment a nice little trinket." It struck Demetria like a thunderbolt as she watched the rest of the revelers. For one, the daughter of the Tsakos family was a notorious shut-in. For two, she couldn't dance. For three, her usual job left her with gruesome murders and monster hunting. She was not in her element. Her eyes and head gradually dipped so that she could see her chest. Maze was right, she had made herself in to a walking scandal. But her face was left unchanged. A butler, an attractive young woman in a nice suit strode by with a tray of wine. Demetria stepped - too fast - and was just as suddenly in front of the young lady. She took the wine with a wink and downed the glass as fast as gravity allowed it. She took the next. "I am not nearly drunk enough to be wearing this dress with my figure. Don't stop me now." It, too, disappeared with the tremendous skill of that only a binge drinker could muster.
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Jurdanian's Uniform: YAY COLORS

“Here,” the taller man picked the brooch from her clutch and quickly pinched the fabric over her right breast, then slid the rose through the fabric and clipped it shut. “That should do it.”

He returned to standing from his slouched position and watched Phedre twirl her head about like a nervous falcon. A light inward sigh presented itself, but he found the holds of her hand and held it tightly, drawing his thumb to rub against the back of her wrist to draw her attention a moment away from the crowd.

“Ah- yes well, that she is…” He smiled despite the situation. “I guarantee that not one individual here could match this gem in my grasp. The colors suit you very well, Love.”

The smaller hand slid out of his as she reached for refreshments upon the tray, Jurdanian simply waved it away once offered. Apparently he needed to be in sober condition for the later evening, after that however it did not matter. Not a fiber in his body had any intention of being in a good sense of mind. It might take an entire barrel, but he’d be damned if he ended up walking out instead of being dragged out briskly, embarrassed for all of eternity.

Amber eyes traced the stiffening movements of his partner as it took only a few seconds before she completed adjusted herself to blend in with a strong wave of confidence. He shook his head slowly with a smile before holding out his arm for her to hook around, as most people were strolling about. They began to continue down the bleached stone path when from the corner of his eyes he caught a woman and a- golem, apparently, the one slamming back each stronger liquid presented to her. The darker man grinned and tossed a remark to the server as the pair passed by.

“She will need something stronger than Wine!”

*** The server gulped and returned her gaze to the guests she was.. Helping.

“T-there is a bar inside, Miss. These drinks are just-” She clamped her mouth shut.


The blast of trumpets had turned Phedre’s attention away from the music that they had paused to soak in and in turn took his with as well. The man released a growlish tone as he watched a ridiculous figure take assisted steps down from a large golden enkida-pulled carriage.

“Hmm, the dinner bells rang. Where’s the main course?”

Decorated head to toe in riches and women, Jurdanian stifled a laugh as the feathered masked figure approached with two sleazy looking women dressed in glimmering white gowns besides him.

“Mmm, looks like we’re having Turkey for dinner, Dear. With a side of ****.”

His skull returned to continue observing the orchestra and the people that chose to ignore the royal D*****bag.

Though he was not watching the “grand” display occuring behind him, he felt the tug of his arm as Phedre slid free and the pause of feet that brought the colossus to turn around with a furrowed brow. He wasn’t expecting the man to actually stop. But he quickly understood why after he thought for a moment; Phedre was right to have adjusted her posture. But despite the shift in her attitude, she was standing out enough to be noticed. He watched from over his shoulder, not wanting to turn full just yet. The man had approached dangerously close, entirely overstepping the boundary X’yros would normally allow. Yet he bit back the urge to bear-slap the sense back into the man. Living a full life in paralysis should put things back into prospective. Though, he did turn. His cape twirled neatly behind him in a glittering manner as he did so and he slid out a hissing slur of anger to the man that had turned his back to them already.

“No- but you are the only C*** here, Sir.”

Jurdanian slid a number of curses out of his breath, visibly angered from the encountered. Once they were out of earshot, his voice was a growl that tossed to Phedre.

“Make him bleed out. Slowly.”

Nostrils flared, he released a snort and slid his arm beneath Phedre’s, leading her to the garden of white roses for some air of peace out of the crowd. It was a bit more relaxing traveling through the maze of massively tall rose bushes decorated with man-sized statues. He was relatively quiet as he led the lady through. It was uncertain whether it was the garden that relaxed him, or the picture of watching her bounty drown in his own crimson pool. It must of have been the latter, for a sick smirk perched upon his lips and lifted his mood.

“So- once this night is over, how far away from Taras should we go?”
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Asami finally made it to the ball. The city was a lot larger than she anticipated, and the carriage ride afforded her a better look. Finding a dress meant for someone like her was a challenge. No one ever considers a fluffy tail. In the end she had to settle a blue dress with silver accenting that just barely touched the floor. She placed her simple blue and white mask on her face, her ears atop her head poking up as the carriage stopped and the door opened. Stepping down the looked around at the workmanship of the estate. There was nothing like this back home, which was mostly small wooden cabins in the snow-capped mountains. Her village was a frequent stop for those traveling along the mountain pass to get some rest and food.

Before entering she approached a gentleman handing out beautiful golden roses. Taking one she pinned it to her dress and began walking around the crowd. "I've never seen so many people in one place before. I'd live like a queen if we could get this many people to stop at our village." She then decided to stand off to the side, not knowing anyone there was mildly uncomfortable. It's not like she would know a soul here.

She wore her tanto like is wont to do when she can't carry her sword. The hilt was tied to the sheath with a decorative ribbon on her hip, holding it closed. The sheath looked almost ceremonial and matched the colors of her dress, making it look more like a piece of her ensemble. She had no intention of ever undoing the ribbon to draw it, as having it was for comfort.

After a few minutes she spotted the refreshments and made her way to get a drink, her tail swishing around as she wove through the crowd. She took the glass that was handed to her and went back to her isolated area to watch everyone, her ears scanning around at the various sounds.
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Demi, nowhere near drunk, noted the sudden passage of someone in a uniform she didn't recognize. Her eyes fell momentarily to her glass. It was easy enough for her to snap out of it. Taras wasn't her home, so she didn't have to take a strict role in protecting it. The dark skinned man was certainly not an Istani from just a quick glance at his features. Demetria herself, half Balefiran and half Istani had a bit of both's looks, a soft, heart shaped face, bright almond shaped purple eyes and milk chocolate skin. She made her way over to the bar around all the strangely tall people and sat herself down at the edge.

"A good Balefire whiskey. On the rocks. A tall glass." She leaned forward, careful not to plant her chest on the bar, and offered a small, pleasant grin to the bartender. "So where are all these uniforms from? They aren't local, that's for sure. They do know how to throw a party."
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So this was one of those fancy-type parties all the big-heads from the cities threw, eh? Frankly, Gortwog was not impressed. Nobody was dancing, it seemed, and there were no boisterous tellings and retellings of stories complete with reenactment or “friendly” (a loose term in orc tribes) sparring matches or…well, at least there was a place to drink, though it certainly didn’t look like much. When Gortwog stepped up to it, he could have sat on the counter if he’d so chosen. The stools certainly weren’t big enough to accommodate his gargantuan rear end, so he settled for just standing.

“I’ll have the biggest mug o’ the strongest gut-rot you’ve got,” he told the barkeep, “and none o’ that cup-half-empty spiced elfish grog you rich city folks pride yourselfs on.”
Edited by Gortwog, Tue Feb 6, 2018 8:19 pm.
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So far things were off to a comfortably slow start, but among the attendees the towering knight found several individuals catching his attentions, figures rather out of place beyond simple ceremonial weapons. A large orc and a half-Istani woman who both made clear desire for alcohol, a quick recipe for disaster, a strange-looking but friendly creature, perhaps an Enkaida more likely to incite aggravation than to readily visit it upon another given the friendly disposition, and a woman who looked very uncomfortable with the whole scenario, along with her accompaniment for safe measure.

Detaras flexed the fingers on his left hands, making sure he had the dexterity that would be required were he to need the coil around his forearm. He would act preemptively only if they showed a readiness for something uncivil, but to interrupt festivities on an assumption would only result in trouble overall. Beyond those select people, most things seemed relatively normal for this type of event, lavish and fairly hedonistic, a little annoying for those who did not prefer to be in such a place, but ultimately harmless to start with.

An oddity of the crowd was somebody actually approaching the heavy knight and speaking to him. He looked down tot ake note of an elven maiden in a green dress.

"Good evening, ma'am." The Detaras replied respectfully, though he had been hoping to be left alone for the most part, "I'm simply here to guard, and I will enjoy it so long as things remain relatively calm. I would suggest meeting with somebody else, as I'm afraid I won't be very interesting."
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Marie Thlydd
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How long had it been since she had been to a soiree like this? Several years at least. Something within her said it was likely at least a year or so, of course, such talk was before the time skip.

It still took her a bit to realize that years had passed by in the blink of an eye. How could such a thing happen? What had happened in the moments of her memory loss?

Such things would be beyond her at the moment, now she was attending a ball. Why and how they had managed to get her an invitation was strange enough but she held to the fact that the invitation was for her.

She had climbed out of the carriage and had pinned a rose to her dress, it was not as fancy as many people here had but it would work nonetheless. The garment was a deep scarlet, velvet in form and simple in function. One would hardly call it fit for a court but she had managed all the same.

For now, she wandered around the gardens as various guests mumbled and bustled together and all the while felt out of place. She adjusted her simple red masquerade mask and stood ready.
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