The Masquerade Ball (Open to ALL)

[Brandon Blackwing]

A voice from behind accepted his invitation. The familiarity of the woman’s voice made the bat turn around in pleasant surprise. “Enggy!” he exclaimed. The smile on his face grew wider when he ascertained it was really her. His heart started racing in his chest, a fire fared on in his guts. She looked stunningly beautiful. The blue dress she was wearing matched her bright eyes perfectly. The beads dangling in her hair and the necklace finished the whole thing. Kneeling down, he grabbed one of her hands, pressing a soft kiss on it. “It would be my pleasure.” The got up, complementing her with her glamorous outfit, like one should expect from a gentleman like him. “May I add that you’re looking amazing tonight?” He wanted to take the girl to the dance floor, when more people joined their group. Also, their host was holding his hand out to the thief, obviously wanting to shake hands. The bat promptly responded by grabbing the man’s hand. Giving it a firm shake, he gave the man, who had introduced himself as Quint earlier a friendly smile. “Likewise. By the way, you sure know how to throw a fancy party.” Someone else greeted them. A man dressed in armour. The bat nodded at him as a way of greeting him back and just wanted to go dancing, when a maid appeared. Well, maid wasn’t the right word. The woman was indeed wearing a maid costume, but she didn’t look like one at all. She was way too muscular. The thief thought a set of heavy armour would suit her better. Oh well. Then he laid eyes on the plate she was carrying. A variety of drinks and snacks were displayed on it. Strangely, his favourite snack was present on the platter as well. Not able to resist, he reached out and grabbed a moth from the plate. Holding its wings hostage between thumb and index finger, he opened his mouth wide and forced the creature inside. Chewing on the nocturnal insect, he closed his eyes, enjoying the flavor of his snack. Now he’d really take Engghaen to the dance floor. He felt a bit guilty for letting her wait that long. He gave the girl an apologetic look. Right when he moved his feet, yet another person appeared. The man , wearing an elegant black and silver suit, called out to Quint. He was looking for the host of the party and sounded pretty haughty. The bat didn’t like the tone at all. Also because there was authority laced in the words, and authority was something the thief had trouble with. Too make the picture complete, the man’s eyes, peering from under his mask were white. It contrasted too much with the thief’s own black orbs to his liking. The bat decided he didn’t like him. Brandon weaved his right arm around Enggy’s waist, pulling her closer to him, while gently hooking her fingers into his. He gave the black haired girl in the blue dress a questioning glance. Like usual, one of his eyebrows was lifted, but it was hard to notice with his mask. Realizing this, he asked “Shall we be off, M’lady?” In his dream, the thief knew how to dance, and was quite good at it too. With the long strides used to dance a waltz, he and his partner shove over the floor elegantly. Circling around, the bat could feel a blush creeping up to his cheeks. Her presence and her current stunningly gorgeous getup that made her even prettier than before had everything to do with it. He looked her lovingly in the eyes. A smile emerged on his lips. He leaned in on her, breathing warm breaths in her exposed neck. “Are you enjoying yourself tonight, Enngy?” he whispered in her ear. He made her spin under his hand, after which he connected the both of them again. “Because I am. Have I already told you your dress really suits you? It matches your lovely eyes perfectly.”

[Rhys Blodwen]

Rhys mind didn't cease, not in the slightest. He didn't move, for fear that the viewpoint was not watching him, but a poor passerby. He was scared of what he, himself, might do to the people around him, that he couldn't control himself. SO when the glorious plate of food arrived, Rhys made no effort to move himself from the table, but simply stared - or, viewed - the tantalizing plate. However, it was becoming harder and harder to stay put. More and more people were crowding around the assembly. Three turned to four, four to five, and so forth. Rhys would be fine with it, but they were so close! What if one engaged him? What if one tempted him? Well, no. That couldn't happen. The most tempting thing in the room, right now, was the food. Tempting. Very tempting. Suddenly, Rhys couldn't remember the last time he ate, and grew increasingly hungry, staring at the slices of beef on the plate. A small little grab. Couldn't be hard. Rhys attempted to push off the table, but nothing happened. The man in front of him didn't move. Rhys began struggling to make the body cooperate, but it didn't seem to comply. The harder he tried, the more frustrated Rhys became. Until the body just walked away. Without the viewpoint. In the complete opposite direction. That explains why Rhys was so healthy, doesn't it? He wasn't. That wasn't him. HE was walking away, and HE left himself to hover. Hopelessly. Rhys still hungered, but not for food. What did he hunger for? Well, he didn't quite know. But it wasn't food, seeing as whatever the hell he was, it wasn't a person. After a moment of confusion and hunger, he addressed the crowd in the same telepathic connection as previous. "What do you see?" He asked, hoping someone would respond. He was beginning to get worried.

[Taylani]

Taylani was as much transfixed by the symenstra as any other. She had never met one, had only heard of them in whispered hushes. Something told her to be afraid, something told her to be repulsed but she was neither. She was curious and eager to learn how the other did what she did. As a dancer, Taylani noted the easy the woman seemed to keep her balance even though weight would have to be a factor. How did she keep her torso from sagging even a little to the ground in light of gravity? Could it be that the symenstra was perhaps lighter then humans? Or perhaps their muscles were more toned in the stomach and side regions that the natural sag that would have bowed a human's body didn't do so with her.

Before she could even contemplate much further the spider-esque woman moves brilliantly across, transfixing many around her. The very pregnant red head had only time to widen her eyes and part her lips in a surprised gasp before the other's lips were on hers. At once it was both strange and yet familiar caress, the lips much softer then that of..whose was she used to? What was that thought?

In a fog Taylani returned the other woman's kiss, her hand drifting up as if it was the most natural thing to do, to entangle in the dark hair briefly before the kiss ended. Auburn brows shot up over blue eyes, and dancer stumbles back in surprise. Bumping into several around her that she hadn't even realized was there.

To add to her confusion she turned away and saw..two of one man only one seemed almost dream-like translucent and the other solid. The solid one looked like he was almost bored, like he didn't even see his surrounding. The dream-like one looked confused and Taylani seemed to hear in her head his question.

I see two She thought back, not even realizing that it might not be so natural to communicate in this fashion.

[Roderick]

Exchanging greetings with the other guests, Roderick half turned as another man approached the group. He was garbed in an expensive black and silver suit, with his fur cloak sweeping from his shoulders. When he spoke he did so with a commanding tone, staring out at them all with eyes completely devoid of colour. Roderick should have felt the urge to react to the stranger in some way, but he found he wasn't all that surprised by him. Watchful, yes, but strangely unafraid. The mask seemed intrusive - he hated how it stuck to his face and made sweat build up in a film over his flesh. He wanted to peel it off but decided against it a moment after. He made to speak his name to the others but found a slight pause arising as he grasped for it. Different names floated to the surface of his mind, each belonging to a face he recognized but did not know. What was his name? Who was he? A hunter. I was a hunter. Maybe I still am? Something was muddling him right now. He was sure that he would awake in the morning and still be a hunter, but somehow he also knew that in this dream he'd found a new line of work some time ago. At last his name arose and he spoke it, "Roderick Vandenberg." Dismissing everything he was seeing as some strange dream he was experiencing, he managed to keep a look of disgust from his face as he watched a man crunch his teeth into a moth, enjoying himself as it slowly slid down his throat. Another man lingered nearby, a spectral version of himself making pained faces at the sight of a waitress carrying a plate of snacks and drinks while his mortal form stared at the offered dishes disinterestedly. A brief blurring image swung down before him, as the dancer on the roof smoothly moved by the red-haired woman and planted a kiss on her lips; the woman had returned it before she had realized exactly what had happened. Startled by the event she took a step backwards, bumping into a few people that were near her. Having moved at some point during his musings, Roderick found himself standing right next to her and, with better reflexes than he had in the real world, he wrapped an arm around her to steady her balance, the touch firm and reassuring. "Easy there, ma'am." He moved on soon enough, skirting away from the blind man casually, as though he was completely disinterested in him. Instead Roderick turned his attention to the owner of this mansion; "A fine party, Quint Caravel."

[Wrenmae]

"You must choose," one of the servants told him in a voice that grated like shards of glass, "Or the choice will be made for you."

"You wouldn't like us to make the choice for you," Another cackled, strange lumps moving beneath her skin, squiggling like worms before sinking deeper into her flesh. "Best you choose one of them to slay. Such celebrations call for sacrifice after all."

"Sacrifice." they all said, and nodded in unison.

In the kitchen where servants moved in and out of the swinging doors like wraiths, Wren hung trussed by wrists and ankles, bobbing over the cutting table. Beneath him, cooks without faces senselessly chopped the meat their hands found, neatly slicing and preparing it for the guests beyond. He could hear them, whispering and laughing beyond the swinging door, a reminder that he had simply dreamed one room too far.

"I'm not a killer."

Even saying the words, he knew it was a lie and the servants cackled to themselves, shaking their heads.

"Now, now, Plague bearer," one snickered with a wink, "We all know THAT'S not true. We've been fans of your work since we found out who it was that so devastated Zeltiva."

"Quite a few sick dreams came from that," One of the servants confirmed with a thoughtful nod, "Delicious fear and sorrow, really thrums the heartstrings, doesn't it?"

"Why me?"

"You? Why you, he asks!" The first chortled, and his teeth were razor sharp for a moment, slicing his own tongue in merriment. "Dear boy, you escaped us on the dream turtles long ago...can't tell you how dissappointing that was."

"Besides," another said, its eyes like hollow pits, "Do you know how long it's taken to set this up? We had to gather together, a rare event, for rarer opportunity. It wasn't easy rounding up your Chavi, but we had some time...really though, you must appreciate the pains we've taken to set this up."

"I applaud your accomplishments," Wren countered dryly, "I'm sure it's very difficult to fabricate in a dream." he remembered them now, or at least one of them...from a dream he'd had many seasons ago. Back then it had taken the form of his sister...a dead, beloved dog, and an unborn infant. Now they all wore neatly pressed suites and other servant attire.

The first one scowled, rolling its grey eyes, "You wouldn't know," It explained, throwing its hands back as if presenting the entirety of the dream, "Not all of this is actually that simple. Mixing and matching Chavi, drawing a suitable guest list, and making sure no one wakes prematurely...hardly a meal if they yank out of it too fast, now is it?"

"I wouldn't know," Wren countered, "I'm not a parasite."

The second among them, in the shape of a woman, placed a hand on her brow and mock swooned, "The murderer thinks ill of us, however will we cope?"

The other three chortled before the first held up his hand.

"We're not here to make enemies of you, sorcerer, just to ask you to kill one of the guests before the strike of midnight in the dream. Be quiet about it, unless you prefer dramatics. Fear, rage, sorrow, we consume them all. Get things going for us and we'll let them all go when we've had our fill."

"Like you let me go?"

The fourth one snarled, waving scything claws uselessly, as if in tantrum, "The Turtles took you. We don't really aim to KILL anyone, not really. Just a little bit of fun, good fun."

"Nightmarish fun." the woman agreed.

"A simple thing, then pop back to your waking world and your waking...activities."


"Just one?" Wrenmae asked, struggling at the bonds he knew he wouldn't be able to break.

"Just one." They all echoed in unison.

Wren sighed, struggling again, before falling limp. "Very well," he relinquished, more-so eager to remove himself from such a vulnerable position, "And in return?"

"We'll...tell you something interesting?" The first offered with a shrug.

"Navigating the Chavi affords us some rather interesting secrets." The female nodded, "Help us and we help you."

"Not the worst offer I've received," he said to them with a sigh, "You could work on your presentation."

"Yeah, well, approaching people about dream murdering is surprisingly hard to do casually," the third one complained, coughing billowing clouds of flies that died moments after exiting his mouth, "But we'll take that into account the next time we plan one of these."

"Every bit of critique helps!" The female said with a slimy smile.

"What exactly are you?" Wren asked them, frowning, "I don't think I had the chance before."

"Wish I could help you there, buddy," The fourth said with a shrug, "We're really just getting by, day by day, you know."

"Tough not to have a lineage," the third lamented, "Awfully hard to coordinate family get-togethers."

"Trust me," the first said, drawing itself up to its full height and snapping Wren down from his bondage, "It won't come up. Let's just call this a contract among friends."

"Best of friends," the fourth chirped

"Employers." Wren corrected and the female rolled her eyes.

"Whatever you say. Now get out there and socialize...sacrifices don't choose themselves."

"If only." the third muttered, crossing its leathery arms.


Wren said nothing, only tucked a provided dagger into the folds of his clothes and stepped out into the party.


Immediately the sorcerer was awash in the color and extravagance of the scenery. Servants glided gracefully between the guests, offering treats and lavishly prepared meals on silver platters. The guests were dressed in a mixture of culture clothing...reds, blues, whites, and a myriad of other colors made the ballroom a marble field with flitting butterflies, each more wondrous than the last, dipping and weaving with each other in coordinated beauty.

Wren wore clothes associated with Alvadas, the long and multi-hued shimmer of his wide-sleeved robe, the delicate curvature of his peacock blue mask set against his forehead, nose, and eyes. He stepped into the party with the air of someone who recognized their own importance, easily slipping around guests as he navigated the hall. For now, he simply watched them...their identities obscured by masks, it was still fairly simple to spy out the Symenestra, and the flashing eyes of Vantha beyond the masks they wore. He could spy no Zith among them, narrowing him down to actually having to choose an individual. Had there been a Zith in attendance, he'd have considered his choice to be made.

There was no clock...but he felt he would know when the right time came.

For the time being, he cut through the swath of color and fabrics like a ghost, nearly drifting with long strides and the low dragging edges of his attire.


"It feels like a home." A man said suddenly, and Wren turned to confront him. He sized the man up, paused, stopped himself and smiled.

"Yes, but...whose and why? We all came here with masks, suggesting our identity is to remain private for the duration of the event. I wonder what the true master of the house has planned for such an unexpected celebration."

He held out a hand, "Murdock," he lied easily...after all, his mask was his identity now, "And you are?"

[Einla Frostfawn]

Einla reached out, grabbing a handful of molasses taffy from the warrior servant's tray. Molasses... She had a feeling that the tiny, sticky rectangles she held were very much a frivolity, but it wasn't a foreboding feeling - simply a sense of the truth. She ignored it, staring at the treats in her hand until one of them flew upwards and into her mouth.

The candy dissolved instantly on her tongue, and as the rest of the taffy vanished, she sprouted a feather from the back of her hand. It wasn't an eye-catching feather - the grey shade matched her dress - but she knew it was there at once. She waved it gently through the air, moving her hand up and down, then took a soft step away from the group.

She could move, she discovered, almost effortlessly. It was as if she were bobbing through the air, or perhaps piloting her body from somewhere else; still in full control, but not suffering the natural consequences. She spun in a circle once, slowly, before turning and introducing herself to the host of the party. "Einla Frostfawn," she said shortly.

[Snowdrop Snowsong]

Snowdrop bowed her head as a greeting to the host. "I'm Snowdrop, Snowdrop Snowsong from Avanthal," she spoke in common. Hoping that was the language that most spoke in here. A waitress came up and started handed out different drinks. The Vantha shook her head no. She wasn't thirsy.

Slowly but surely she started to separate from the group. The woman was still dancing in the air and every so often Snowdrop would look up at her. Wishing that she was graceful and not so clumsy all the time. She let out a sigh and went about her way. The ball was quite beautiful. The music was so elegnant that she felt inadeqent to be here. Yes her dress was beautiful, amazing even, but she felt out of place.

The teenager decided not to wonder too long on that feeling. She perched herself up against a wall and looked around. I hope someone dances with me, she thought.

[Pjeil]

"I bid you all welcome to the Autumn Masquerade Ball. All are welcome here. Please eat and drink and be merry." Boomed their illustrious host. If this was not one of his parent's parties, maybe then he could enjoy himself. He could not help but nervously check himself before he reached for some food offered to him. If he got his formal clothes dirty his uncle would have some words for him and the probably would involve some curses.

Style was changing in Sultros but what he wore was still traditional to his. All Isurian clothes were fashioned to showcase the physical perfection that every Isur strove to embody. As such the cloth was often very revealing. So were his clothes. If anything, his embroidered vest was conservative for his kind, leaving his arms free to show off his metallic arm and his chest. However, his snug trousers were almost as bad as the more antiqued hose, but at least they were comfortable and did not look too ridiculous. All of which were shades of blue, to match his arm and to contrast his red mask.

Confident in his ability to not miss his mouth he gulped down a roll of meat and then took stock of his surroundings. He was not far from his host and others were greeting each other in common. Above danced the Symenestra and below danced couples to the sound of a band. Pjeil idly wondered where they came from. He couldn't see their faces, they seemed indistinct and out of focus.

When at last he it came to be his turn to introduce himself to the host of the party he bowed and gave him a short greeting and his name and nothing more. Then blushed when he realized he had dropped into the Isurian tongue, but did not trust himself to correct himself in common.

[Assilsa Curare]

Assilsa smiled mischievously as the red headed woman kisses her back and freaked out. She couldn’t help herself, Assilsa was certainly happy with her Syn Syn but it was all part of the job. The man in the blue attracted her attention more than anyone else in the group. Ignoring the comment of the clearly idiotic male in the stupid looking clothing she swung so that she could hang behind the attractive man.

Wrapping her long arms around his neck Assilsa made sure she had a firm grip on the silk so she would not fall unexpectedly. He was certainly the confident type when he had spoken in some unknown language but decided not to correct himself. Assilsa assumed that everyone in the room knew the tale of the Symenestra, this was going to be fun.

Her legs and hips were wrapped in the fine skill, with every movement the bells on her clothes would ring at a wonderful tone. Smiling widely exposing her fangs Assilsa breathed on his neck slowly rising to his ear, dragging one fang along the lobe of his ear.

“Why hello you”

[Engghaen]

She smiled at Brandon when he replied surprised. Her cheeks turned a bright red, listening to his compliments. He looked great. His clothes fit him perfectly and made him even even more attractive. Now that he had turned around, she could look at his clothes more carefully. Different from Engghaen, he was wearing a mask and if she didn't recognise his voice and if he didn't introduce himself, she probably hadn't even seen him as someone she knew.

She waited patiently for everyone to introduce themselves to Bran. Meanwhile, she carefully looked around. It was getting busier. Some people looked really scary, others looked nice in her opinion.

The cat smiled when he took a snack of a plate she hadn't seen coming. It looked like a moth he was eating. She sniffed. Hey, were that... Mice? She couldn't resist picking one and put it in her mouth, holding it by the tail. Crunchy.. Chewing on the mouse, she grabbed his hand. That tasted great.

"Yes..." she smiled at the bat. "I'd love to." Sure she did. And he knew. But she just wanted to put the stress on it.

The dancefloor wasn't really packed with guests, but there were some couples dancing. The music was a slow waltz. They moved over the floor graciously, in a way she did not expect. The wooden floor seemed like it was made out of ice, the way they swiftly moved. She was surprised, dancing hadn't been one of the things she could do best. But this was a dream, no? She could do anything she'd want to.

He whispered into her ear. "Yes, I am too..." the cat replied. She spinned under his hand and then the bat reunited them again. He was making her shy with all of his gentleman-ness. And his compliments, and his looks as well. She stared into his eyes, framed by the mask. "You look great too, Brandon.." she said slowly.