Having a Ball! (The First Grand Ball) [05/07, Evening-through-Night, Everyone, OPEN]

[Bradyn Forthwind]

It was a day much like any other. That is, if any other day consisted of your King throwing the most anticipated and extravagent event in the last century. It had almost been in planning for months, which when one saw the very halls themselves was startlingly obvious with the sheer scale of the proceedings and the intricate attention to detail gone into the decorations. The largest hall in the palace was theirs to enjoy, so large was it that even the province lords of other islands would have trouble finding one of equal size.

But that was, after all, why Castle Licorn was the heart of Forsilvra. Each inch of the room was, as was to be expected, flawless. In the air above them hung countless chandeliers, crafted into shapes fitting to different variations on the very crown that Adrien wore, linked to ropes that allowed them to be hoisted and lowered as needs be. What truly stood out was that those that were above individual areas were decorated in that province lord's family colours, while the remainder were the rich purples of House Fontenot. Banners interweaved above all of the tables laid out in the room, crafted with delicacy to marry family crests of those on the same island together. The Fontenots, in particular, not only interwove their own crest to all the province lord's houses own crests almost seamlessly, but also managed to incorporate each variation of the Five Horn's personalised crests also.

Five long tables stretched almost to the halfway point of the room, each just as lavishly decorated and even at points having carvings representing animals and colours from their families and homelands, matching with the care and precision put into the very banners and mirroring their efforts. The floors, though not decorated to the same level for obvious reasons, were cleaned and polished so that they almost shone. Heading off each of these tables was the Fontenot's own, which also hosted the Council and those of the horns that were not currently on duty...or, at least, that gave the appearance of such.

There had been a grand feast laid out for all of the families, the remnants now being bustled away by the busy servants in preparation for the main purpose of the ball. Yet, some food remained and small foods to keep the families refreshed were still being brought and as to be expected - the wine was flowing freely. Where at the dinner, families were sat in their designated areas, the attitude had relaxed and now many had shifted places from their families or gone to speak with friends on distant islands or form alliances and the like as a band had filed in and began to play some quiet background music. There was good cheer in the air, good food in their bellies and good wine available to all.

The servants had begun to come back out with their masks firmly in place, as had the band, to signify that now was moving ever closer to the ball. The masquerade was starting and many had taken the hint to fix their own masks in place. Some had even done so before the meal, but it was certainly becoming more difficult to tell who was who without close inspection.

This would be a night to remember...and it was still young!

[Adrien Fontenot]

The great hall was a marvel to look at. Adrien couldn’t have been more pleased at how well the event was going, considering the disaster of the day before when Lord Fitzwulf had died. Adrien glanced to where Elanor was seated, as the head of her family now she was in the chair of the Arbrecht table that was closest to the dais. The other high lords (and ladies) were much the same.

He reached for his mask and put it on. He’d gone with an elaborate looking mask of splendid purple flecked with gold. While most were trying to hide their identities for fun, the Horns had convinced him that he needed to visible to all the guards for his protection. The hall was filled with people from all over the province, and while no one suspected treason, the Horns lived always watching for it. Adrien hadn’t cared. He liked the mask he’d chosen and he wanted the girls to know where he was anyway.

“Aurora, they are clearing the tables, away. It is time to open the dance floor as you promised me.” He teased her, acting as though she wouldn’t have wanted to, even though Adrien knew this dance meant much to her. They had been even more distant in the last few days, and Adrien didn't want to lose his sister.

Rising he took her and hand, pulling her up. He waited for the Herald to call out for silence. The servants moving tables paused and eyes shifted his way. “Thank you again for coming to this day! We again celebrate the future of our kingdom as we remember those lost. As soon as the tables are clear, my sister and I will open the dance floor. Put on your masks and begin to mingle. Let the wine flow. We will have a ball tonight!”

Then he turned and smiled down at his sister.

[Iridia Harcourt]

Seated beside father, Iridia was covetously whispering something to her twin when the herald called for silence. The Harcourt heir's mismatched eyes shifted then to the boy-King standing on the dais, announcing the opening of the dance floor. A cheer rose up, and the pervasive din about the scores assembled rose, chatter filling the air. Isaac said something about asking for a first dance, and Iridia laughed, pinching the fawn color of his tunic, while Ian said something loudly to her left, making even her Uncle William chortle from across the table.

The night had, thus far, been off to a pleasant start -- the Harcourts arrived in a crowd, and taken their seats assembled near (but thankfully not too near) the head Fitzwulf table for their Province. Iridia's father had exchanged the customary pleasantries mixed with continuing condolences to the Lady Elanor, as was expected, but Iridia and her Province Lady had offered only the simplest greetings and steely expressions for one another. The feast had been sumptuous and extravagant, but that was to be expected -- course after course of early spring greens, roasted quail, poached salt fish. Iridia could hardly think of dancing at that moment, so gorged by the endless food. Iona had tsked over her daughter's gratuitous partaking of the wine and seasoned lamb, but Isaac kept refilling her cup and Ian continued to portion off the sweetest sections of meat on to her plate, only after he had served his wife, of course. Something had changed, Iridia noticed, after her last conversation with her father, on the evening fall of Jon Fitzwulf's death -- and whereas before Ian had said nothing about Iridia taking the heir's customary place at his left-hand side, he now seemed to wait, silently, for her to take it.

Iridia glanced once more over her shoulder at the throngs, looking from the hanging Harcourt banners directly above their table to the masses around them. Upon their immediate arrival, Iridia had been on her twin's arm, and it was hard not to search the faces of those assembled -- the Vandermark had arrived early and in full numbers, their clan alone already taking up large sections of the room, their jovial laughter reverberating on the grand reception hall's stone walls. She had seen him, albeit briefly, sandwiched between a sister and a cousin -- but his was not the only face she was looking for.

He was in the room, somewhere. The fact that it was a masquerade was a blessing, literally, in disguise, for Iridia's intended -- he had been keeping a low profile as it were, but nonetheless, this would provide him with an opportunity to be more fluid with his movements. Everywhere one looked, there were beast and fowl of all manner, intermixed with adaptations of mythical creatures, long flowing gowns, ornate masks with beading and feathers.

Iona had wanted Iridia to bedeck herself as some sort of bird, having urged her daughter to proudly wear the Harcourt blue, adorned with the myriad of feathers and some sort of beaked contraption. But as much as Iridia hated following this absurd tradition and usually let her mother press her in to whatever get-up she wished, for once Iridia objected her mother's intrusions. She knew exactly what mask she intended to wear, and although it vexed Iona, Ian seemed to get a laugh out of it. As her father said, if anyone in the Harcourt family was a fox, it would be Iridia.

So she had adopted a silver figure-fitting gown for the evening, one even her mother was impressed by -- rather than adopt her usually cut-and-dry garment, Iridia had opted for one that hugged what womanly curves she possessed, the material satiny to the touch with deep bell sleeves. She had a black sash around her waist, trimmed in Harcourt blue, to not forget the colors of her father, and her mask was simple, the pointed fox nose and arched ears. The colors favored her olive skin, and Iridia left her raven hair loose, tied only near the ends with a startling Harcourt blue ribbon. She enjoyed the anonymity of the mask -- but she didn't want to be that hard to find. She knew there were several there that night she needed to speak to -- and whom would want to speak to her.

Isaac was stalwart on the fact that if Iridia was a fox, so was he, and thus his tunic was fawn in color, his own mask similar in shape to that of his sister's, but one with which he fidgeted. The thought made Iridia smile -- two Harcourt foxes, raising nothing but trouble in this chamber full of hens. It would prove to be an interesting night, indeed.

[Reagan Morgandy]

Reagan raised her wine glass along with the others seated at their table at the King's announcement, her slender fingers gracing the sides of the delicate chalice. A cheer rose up, and Reagan smiled lightly, glancing at Cordelia, who was seated at the prominent head of their part of the table, with Reagan to her left. The fervent air of excitement that settled over those assembled and the clattering of dishes and voices filled the spaces between -- the fervor was tangible, and Reagan had to admit she herself was rather enjoying the festivities, thus far. This evening was promising, to be sure.

As befitting a woman from the coast of Lacharn, Reagan spared no small detail when it came to her choice of dress for the evening -- her gown was an aquamarine blue, off the shoulder and cinched at the waist, accentuating her dark skin. A purple sash was tied around her waist, and the gallant Morgandy seahorse raced along the hem of her gown, leaving bubbles in the form of small crystalline gems, sewn in to the fabric. Her long, raven hair was pulled back into an ornate plait, matching pearl pins tucked delicately among the folds. The most stunning ornament, of course, was the mask she wore, glistening scales of blue, purple, and silver, imitating that of the exotic fish off the coast of Enyon.

"I'm pleased they stocked our table with our own choice vintage. Excellent move on the boy-King's part, wouldn't you say?" Reagan whispered to her sister, a mischievous smile on her ruby lips, as one finger traced an outline of a merman, carved in to the table's surface.

[Thelonius Larson DeLauncey]

Larson had walked in the door, starting out the night sober was an interesting idea for him, but he did it well dressed and with his twin at his side. Taking the last few drags at his cigarette before putting it out, he walked into the room and began to scan it for hot chicks, well just one hot chick.

A servant passed by the pair and they grabbed glasses. Larson tugged at the sleeves of his black jacket, his outfit was meant to match Nessa's, black pants, an emerald green shirt, and black shoes. His mask covered his eyes and only the top half of his face and also matched his outfit.

Now he would just wait, eat, and get drunk.

[Lucius Kaedon DeLauncey]

Cassius had insisted that the DeLaunceys and their banners arrive early and be a strong presence. Lucius did as asked (or commanded) but not for the reasons his brother would have liked. No, he wanted to be there when Iridia Harcourt arrived, to see where she was sitting, what she was wearing, and maybe steal a look at her mask before everyone put them on after dinner. He’d gone simple, with a plain gray mask.

As the tables were cleared away, Lucius used the opportunity of the induced chaos to move ever closer to the Arbrecht groups. People were milling about, doing their best to stay out of the way of the scurrying servants, who were sweeping floors and moving chairs in an effort to create the dance floor that the king would soon open.

He saw her, looking ever so beautiful. Lucius moved to approach when the herald called all to be still and silent, and he scowled while he waited for the king to speak. No one cared what the little boy royal had to say. At least, Lucius didn’t. All he wanted was to be the first man to ask Iridia Harcourt to dance. He did have to admit, he liked the line about letting the wine flow. If he and Iridia had enough of it...

He glanced back toward her, trying to catch her eye. Now that the king had finished, the way between them was blocked with a table still being moved out of the way. Or... “Dammit,” he muttered, when he realized the servants were leaving the table there and setting it up with the left over food and more pitchers of wine.

[Melari Forthwind]

It felt a little wrong to be enjoying a feast and grand ball with her sister's husband dead, but Melari couldn't help it. She was seventeen and pretty and had only just been kissed by a prince in the gardens, and on this night she really did look the part of a little rose. Melari had planned on wearing blue to Adrien's grand masque, since it was a favorite color and one that became her well, but now that she had someone to spend the evening with she wanted to make herself recognizable. Tonight she was in a gown of softest blush-pink satin, skirt falling away in dreamy layers meant to resemble petals while another soft layer of fabric cradled her shoulders. Pearls hung from her ears and throat, for all the world like dewdrops, and a delicate mask in the same pink hid her eyes. For hair, though, she'd taken a slightly different approach -- while it was caught at one side with a wee little rosebud, the rest was pinned with white gems fashioned to look like stars.

Roses and stars; at least one special young man here would know what he was looking at.

Melari beamed with pride on her Uncle Bradyn, thrilled to pieces that he had planned this Masque. It was beautiful, and perfect, and she was still smiling when he returned to his chair. "Uncle, I don't think I've seen anywhere more beautiful in my life. You've done a wonderful job; it looks like a fairy court!"

[Elanor Fitzwulf]

Elanor's table was lonely. She sat resplendent at the Fitzwulf place, marked as the leader of Arbrecht, but there was nobody beside her. People came to offer their condolences, of course, but the young woman was painfully aware of Jon's absence. She was even painfully aware of the absences of the father, mother, and brother she had hardly known. It was a horrible place to be, and even worse she was on display. Everyone in this castle knew that her brother had died, and that she was leading Arbrecht all alone against all tradition, and everybody stared. Some gazes were scornful, others curious. Many more were pitying. Elanor honestly didn't know which she found worst, but she'd resigned herself to all this attention long before the feast had even started. This was her time to make an impression and she couldn't afford to waste it.

Instead of wearing black (although she had truly wanted to), Elanor Fitzwulf was gowned in gold. Gold silk swathed her curves, gold caught at her hair; gold dripped around her neck. Had she more choice she would have worn silver, and arrived as the moon, but that was disguise was too soft for the person she needed to be. She needed to look regal and strong, and her golden outfit did the trick well enough. There was a hardness in her eyes as well, her trademark coldness that helped the image along, and it didn't hurt that gold was the other half of the Fitzwulf colors. She needed to look like a Queen. She guessed she was managing it.

Still...it was going to be a long night. If Elanor had any foresight, before long she guessed it would be the golden queen pitted against the silver. Iridia Harcourt was troublingly present.

The girl bit the inside of her cheek, tired, then turned to focus her attention on the king instead of the Harcourts. At least Adrien was her friend; his support would carry some weight. With any luck the other province lords would be on her side before the night was over.

[Tiberius Lexington DeLauncey]

As the heir to the DeLauncey name, Lexington was usually uncomfortable with his duties. It meant meetings, lots of facts and figures, and trying to be socially and politically savvy, and frankly he wasn't confident he was good at any of it at all. However, on days like today? It had its perks. In sitting at his place beside Cassius, he was as close to the head of the table as one could be without being saddled with an incredible amount of responsibility. And what was at the head of the table? The best food, that's what. Lex had eaten really, really well, and by the end of the meal it was worth the discomfort of being vaguely important.

As the dinner wound down, Lex watched as Lucius got up and wandered off. It wasn't really surprising, of course, and he just shook his head and chuckled. This sort of event was the perfect opportunity for Luc to prowl around and get as much leg as he possibly could, and he imagined that's exactly what he was going to do. As for him, he wasn't sure how he'd spend the evening. He wasn't in much of a mood to chase girls, although he could see by the look on Larson's face that he had his curvy infatuation on his mind again. Sticking with Cassius would be by far better than watching his twin chase some girl's tail, but it also might mean talking politics all night. But then, after all the issues with Cassius's woman, he might like a little company.

He and Larson were dressed in a similar fashion, but not exactly the same; Lex was wearing the shirt that he'd gotten when he was out shopping with the DeValle girl he'd run into in the city. His mask was the same as Larson's though, planned in an effort to confuse people who didn't have such an eye for details.

When the tables started moving, Lex stuck fairly close to Cassius, and thus keeping Larson nearby, too. Some quick scanning of the ceiling found Lex the Montrose banner, but it was now above a blank space, those who had been sitting there at dinner now scattered. Taking the goblet from his twin, he looked at him skeptically. "How do you expect to find her it's a masquerade, mister eagle eye?"

[Nessa Montrose]

As the daughter of a fourth child, Nessa was nowhere near the fancy end of the table. However, that didn't bother her at all; although she did wish she could provide some comfort for Elanor. She could only imagine how difficult it was to be her right now...the center of attention, all who saw her judging her and casting an opinion. For her part she was looking absolutely regal, her posture ever portraying the strength she possessed.

Sitting beside her father, she tried to keep up a running banter with him, knowing how uncomfortable he sometimes was in events like this. Much of it was commentary of what was around them: peoples' outfits, the food, how the decorations had probably cost enough to run a province for at least a week. She desperately wanted to turn around and look for Larson; as luck would have it, she was seated with her back to their table. But she resisted the urge, since nobody knew of her feelings, and she wasn't sure she wanted to have that conversation with anyone just yet.

After the King's announcement, Nessa hurried to get out of the way, unsure whether her father would follow her or seek out the nearest source of alcohol. Her gown wasn't as elaborate as those around her; she wore a gown of emerald green silk, the rich fabric shimmering softly. It was cut close to her figure, needing no corset to give a pleasing shape, and the long belled sleeves were slit along the top, tied together with ribbons but able to be let loose to hang at her sides if the room became too warm. The neckline did not dip too low, but instead exposed most of her shoulders and collar bones, framing the red star pendant she wore at her throat. That necklace was the only bright pop of colour she wore, and the only allusion to her house colours, as well. Her mask she had made by hand, the creation of it having given her a productive use for her free time while in the capital. Her hair was pulled completely back, twisted into a bun and held in place with emerald pins, letting the subtle detail of her mask draw the attention.

Having tied her mask on while she slipped through the crowd, she turned and scanned those she could see for Larson. She had sent him a note stating what colour she would be wearing, but she had no idea what he would look like tonight. And, frankly, with everyone's faces covered, she wasn't sure she'd be able to recognize him reliably. She wasn't sure how big a mask he was wearing, what colours he would be dressed in...but she hoped to the stars and back that he would find her.

[Aurelia de Valle]

Aurelia had arrived late, despite the fact that the DeLauncey lord had wanted them early. Late was more fashionable, to start, and Aurelia had enough gumption to do exactly the opposite of whatever some high strung DeLauncey ass wanted of her. Her dress was a stunning green and gold, embroidered from top to bottom in trim that would remind anyone of dragon scales. The scandelousness of it was how low cut she’d forced her seemstress to make it, the curve above the chest cutting deep into her cleavage. Oh, her father would hate it, but he would not send her back. He loved her and his daughter too much. She also wore the mask she’d purchased at the fair. And finally, she’d taking the paints and painted a dragons tail down her neck and into her cleavage, the end somewhere beneath her dress.

She sat through the dinner, picking at her food, wishing she’d been seated somewhere else. Why they always had to sit with families and groups made no sense to her. She carried on small talk with her sister, but her eyes and thoughts were far from this table, and on a man who sat along the long lengths of the Ahesteri table. The old Gods tortured her with too much DeLauncey.

Finally, the dinner ended and people began to mingle. She swept past a few group of nobles, but made no effort to commit herself to any direction. There would be games played later, perhaps upon the dance floor, which would not open until the king had finished dancing with his sister (really? of all the young ladies here he would open with his sister?) Aurelia thought she was strange, but to each their own, she supposed.

[Rosamund Alysworth]

If Rosamund Alysworth hadn't been possessed of so rational a mind, she might well have been bouncing off the walls. She had been looking forwards to the ball- the grand masquerade ball!!- ever since they had set foot upon Forsilvran shores. Gathered with her family, she wouldn't really be seated anywhere close to the King, but that was fine. She could still do her best to admire him from afar, and gush, and swoon, and so forth.

She was wearing a little red mask reminiscent of a fox, lined with a shimmering edge of gold. Dressed in one of her nicer gowns, with her long crimson locks hanging loose, she had checked herself a dozen times in the mirror before coming here, just to make absolutely sure she looked pristine. There would be a lot of competition, after all, for the attentions of the King, and even though she stood less of a chance of making a decent impression, she was hardly about to be denied her ability to try. Besides, they had already kissed- more than once, in fact!- and that much have counted for something... right?

Grinning as the tables were cleared away, the dance floor prepared, Rosamund waited with great anticipation for things to begin. King Adrien would dance with his sister, and then, and then perhaps with her! At least, in the space of her own imagination...

[Helena Fournier]

Timing was going to be crucial here.

She had pleaded being unwell to the summons to place her at the dinner, which hadn't really been a complete lie so much as a stretching of the truth, to avoid the ceremony where there was no avoidance of that which she needed to avoid - being recognised. It was an odd balance she was trying to find, with needing to be at the ball and also needing to be absolutely sure of remaining hidden until such a time as was necessary. Which was why she was so grateful that a servant had been sympathetic to her.

Through her, Helena...Sophitia...Fournier had managed to not only procure a dark green dress and an exceptional mask (one that covered her face except for her mouth and eyes - a brilliant green affair that fastened neatly over her features) but had also found the servant helpful in informing her when the feast was over. It allowed her time to get down to the halls and enter just as the King distracted everyone's attention. Slipping in unnoticed was crucial to the plan.

The irony wasn't lost on her that she was going so far out of her way to avoid the man she needed to confront, but she kept telling herself that the knot in her stomach was apprehension. Truthfully, she knew better. She knew that guilt wracked her, for what she must do, for what she had done...and for what was going to happen. Wordlessly, Sophitia slid towards the only other visible dark greens she could see, as if to camouflage. Only to realise just a little too late that it was the Faeralds, relatives of the King and a very prestigious house that would likely notice even a masked interloper in their midst.

Great start, Helena.

[Aiden Faerald]

For a boy who was so shy he barely even spoke to his family much, Aiden was surprisingly eager for this ball. It may have been the feasting, the good company, or the fact that it was an entirely good way to spend the night...but for Aiden, the reason was much simpler. It was, infact, so simple that anyone with eyes and ears would be able to tell it.

Melari would be there!

Of course, normally with a boy his age it would be very unsurprising to find out that he was looking forward to a chance to spend time with girls in an entirely frivolous manner, but with Aiden...oddly...the complicated things were simpler and the simpler things were complicated. He had, only recently, kissed Melari and the memory of it still played through his mind. Something that evening had given him the idea to. Something had given him the confidence to. So how much less comfortable would he feel in a masquerade ball where none knew his actual identity?

He was dressed in the greens of his house, except for his mask. It may have been peculiar for a man to wear a mask of this sort, but Aiden wasn't one to keep up with social graces anyway, so he had requested a mask in the shape of a cat, in silver. It was meant to represent the likeness to Rascal, the kitten that had brought them closer and he hoped Melari would notice it. After the feast, he scanned around for Melari but didn't have to try very hard at all. She was the one in fine pinks and whites, who looked every bit the vision out of his words.

His heart almost skipped a beat as he realised something that couldn't help but bring a smile to his face - She had dressed that way for him. She was a rose and the stars and at the same time something much, much more. She wore the beauty of the flowers and heavens and made them her own. In this moment, in his eyes, she was as a goddess.

It took him quite a while to realise he was staring, jaw probably wide open, before he nudged Dierdre, eager and excited. Anyone would have thought he was the younger of the two. "She's here, Dee! She's here! And she's wearing the things right out of the note!" He was so eager, that it was only after he had mentioned it that he remembered he might not have even told Dierdre about the love note. Oops.

[Craig Montrose]

For Craig, a masquerade held little excitement. What was the point in hiding who they were when no-one would give a damn who they spoke to, whether or not they wore masks? It struck him as wrong, which he put down to because it was such a small step from a masquerade to lying. People could pretend to be others - Like those damn twins he saw the other day, he had no doubt they could easily get away with being each other at something like this and there were certain people who would use such deception to their advantage.

This was why, in the spirit of the thing, his mask just about covered his eyes and that was it. He'd smartened up for the event, wearing the reds and yellows of House Montrose, but some fierce stubble was pushing it's way through on his chin and there was no mistaking his barely covered features for someone else. He couldn't be too much of a grouch though, since Nessa seemed to have flown from her chair and entered into the spirit of it. Craig was happy for her, but it did leave him short on things to do.

There was something that he could do, thinking about it. Everyone had been giving Elanor a wide berth since Jon's death and Craig thought it a damn shame. Jon had died valiently and he knew Nessa was fond of him...after all, why else would she have gone back for his sword? She had made her da so proud on that day, that she honoured the fallen man in the way any true lass from Arbrecht should have. The sword had got back to Elanor, so maybe the two were friends now, too? Either way, Craig had a knack for involving people in parties, so with little pretense he strode over and sat down heavily in a seat next to her. "M'lady. I hope tha I ain' interruptin ya thoughts too much, but ya looked like ya could use some company." He grinned and looked around, before taking a swig from his hipflask and offering it to her "E'er tha' or a good drink. Want one?"

[Etienne Fleurant]

If there was anyone that enjoyed the duplicitous nature of the masquerade ball, it would have been Etienne Fleurant. He was not a man afraid of being known for his actions, but he was certainly a man who enjoyed the finer things and the tapestries that these sorts of events weaved. It created opportunities, it created alliances. But most of all, it was a chance to show off just how well you could blend in and make a statement at the same time. It was like playing at politics, only with clothes.

Etienne was a very sight to behold - In lieu of his traditional family colours, he wore almost completely emerald. Even his mask was, with large frills to the side as a dragon would have. His entire costume was made up to suggest at intervals that he wore scales, which mirrored the intricately crafted scales on his mask. He had chosen to come as the fearful creatures of myth in that particular colour for a reason that was twofold. First, dragons were the kings of lizards. He had a particular fan of lizards that he sorely needed to make peace with. The other reason was a little subtler, which would come out soon.

This was not the most startling thing about Etienne for those who knew him, however. The biggest transformation was that his bright, golden hair was now a deep brown - The very sign of him being a Fleurant being hidden under the colour he had applied. It felt...well, oddly liberating to know that he was likely the least recognisable person here, but also one of the most instantly noticeable.

Still, there was only one person he needed the attention of this evening, so he carefully walked about the Ahesterian section to see if he could catch any glimpse of Abrielle Laroche.

[Bradyn Forthwind]

It had been a most ostentatious reception for the houses, one that Bradyn himself would have been hard pressed to top, even with his eye for detail and pure ability to throw everything into such. He was not one to be outdone by Duncan Montrose of all people though, so at the very least, he knew his costume was to be better. That was all there was to it, after all.

He had opted for an appearance of a stag in the colours of Forthwind - the blues and whites. Originally, he had been tempted to make it seem more lifelike, before he had recalled that the Forthwinds were not the only ones in Caelain to feature a stag on their crest. So, at great expense, he had requisitioned one in the Forthwind's colours. His mask was sleek and angled as a stags would be, the "skin" being the sky blue of the Forthwind's crest, while the antlers that protuded were of an ivory colour, giving the impression that were they real, they would have been worth a fortune.

The rest of his clothes linked directly to it, the cuffs being also in ivory to suggest the hooves. He had augmented this by wearing thick white gloves and white boots, as if to complete the illusion. The one way he did concede the costume was in carrying around his very out-of-place-in-his costume, but equally very decadent, cane. It's head was carved of pure gold and the rest looked as if the entirety was made of jet, when in fact it was simply an ebony colouration. When he sat back down near Melari, moving from his seat up near Adrien to enjoy his family's company once more. "My, my Melari. If I'd have known you were going to dress up so much I would have put much less effort into this ball, because it pales in comparison to your loveliness. I'm sure whoever your eye is on will be unable to take his off you, too." Bradyn let out a short, sharp laugh at her words. "I only helped, my dear. Most of this is down to the wise Duncan Montrose, authority of all that is the castle. He is very, very good at what he does."

[Aelfric Morcar]

I'm happy here, I'm happy here, I'm happy here.
Noone would really pick Lord Morcar out of a crowd of other nobles his age. He was tall, but thin. Brown haired, and garbed in a black silk tunic and trousers with a white hawk stitched into it's vest, and a belt of white fox fur from Ernsaw. His shoes were delicate, precise things, and they itched. In a similar manner, Aelfric itched. He itched with the company, so many nobles, and the boy would never trust a single one of them. The De Valles he knew, had studied them on the boat. The DeLaunceys he'd spent most of his life learning about. The rest he'd undoubtedly be forced to mingle with soon. But right now? Isolated near the bottom of the table at which the DeLaunceys had began, he noted the masks. His own was a simple thing; white, covering his whole face, more like a shroud than some garish decoration. He just didn't care. Such things were not meant for him.

They were all so...jolly? Yes, that was the word. Aelfric hadn't understood what it felt to be gleeful for a very long time. He only knew a bit of sadness when he'd left the Vale Dogs in the kennels; he was already resisting the urge to return to them. Edith sat obediently on the man's right shoulder, completely unperturbed by the crowd around her; last year, Aelfric had spent four weeks getting her used to crowds, bit by bit. Now, she seemed very bored. Occasionally, Aelfric would slip a piece of meat up to her, and she would bat his head in affection.

How long did he have to sit here?
He wouldn't drink, because the alcohol tasted strange and dulled his mind. He wouldn't feast excessively, because he was already full, and had a small appetite. No, Aelfric was content to sit here and wait the hours away. Solitude suited him.

[Marisée Forthwind]

“She does look wonderful,” Marisée replied forcing a smile. She was still plagued by nightmares of her husband’s death, and a massive guilt that she did not feel sad by the prospect that he was gone. She had come to the ball because even though she was mourning, she had heard that Lady Elanor would be in attendance. If the Lady whose brother died the day before was allowed to attend, then Marisée assumed she could too. As much as she should have been mournful, she truly had wanted to attend the grand spectacle.

She had opted for a very clean dress, with a high neckline and long sleeves. The dress was patterned for her house, and she’d brought with her a simple silver mask to put on when the time came. The meal was wonderful, and another she made at picking at it, she enjoyed every bite. She was free of him. She was free of the husband she did not love. Free to return home and be with her sister and brother. Free to enjoy Demere. Free…

Gods, was it wrong of her to feel so happy about it?

“Did you help set this whole affair up, uncle?”

[Melchior Iravar]

Melchior sat between his sisters, bored though he tried to appear otherwise. He had given in and allowed Ishtar to dress him, having been totally incapable of coming up with any ideas of his own. He had planned on not playing the silly game at all but his sister would hear none of it. He had to admit with grudging admiration that she had done well with her choices.

He made an imposing figure, already tall, dark, and muscular and now dressed in a tunic of some shimmering jade cloth. As it caught the light of the candles dark fire raced across his chest, the entire effect made him seem to fade and reappear, he was insubstantial like an apparition and he rather liked that effect. He liked the tunic, but he loved the mask Ishtar had managed to find somewhere. Someone had cleverly imitated the plague doctor’s mask, carving it from ivory and then painted it with the jester’s diamond pattern in jeweled tones of amethyst and jade, bordered by gold. To a lesser extent it mirrored the effect of the tunic, with shadow and light playing along the surface to haunting effect.

His eyes were moving constantly, taking in each of the costumed people in turn. It appeared the ladies of the court had taken the task of a costume to heart and some of the masks were truly breath taking. He was taking some marginal interest in trying to guess who everyone was beneath the mask, a more difficult task then he had initially thought it would be. Of course it helped when he had assisted in picking out pieces of the costume himself.

[Elanor Fitzwulf]

Elanor turned sharply when a weight plunked into the chair beside her. Some part of her felt fear; her mind conjuring up the shadowy figure of a knight with hammer raised. But then her eyes recognized the man, and she relaxed. Craig Montrose was Nessa's father. She didn't know him well, but Nessa was a friend...and Montrose's frank greeting was exactly what she needed to break the troubling loneliness of her high place at the t table. It was enough to make Elanor smile, and when she looked into Craig's face there was gratitude in her eyes. "You guessed right. I've been aching for company. Not so much the drink, but..."

She eyed the flask, then shrugged. "I won't refuse it. Thanks." Elanor accepted the offered drink, taking a swig before handing it back. Montrose liked things a little strong, but then he was from Arbrecht. "Nessa looks lovely tonight."

[Lyneth Faerald]

Lyneth sat clad in dark green, a color she felt could keep her hidden while still showing off her House during dinner, when they were unmasked. That said, she wasn't expecting much in terms of being hidden, best case scenario someone would mistake her for her cousins. The hair rather stood out.

She didn't like things like this very much, the masquerade just seemed dangerous and only to make things more awkward. At least she liked her dress, that always made things easier. She had planned each outfit before she left, the nicest dress she saved for the final ball, but this was one of the better ones. She stood up, turned around from the table to give some degree of mystery and fastened the mask on her face. It was gold in color, ornate, with emeralds sewn into it. A fine gift from her mother for the occasion.

It was time enough, then, it seemed, so she stood tall, smoothed out her dress once more and proceeded towards the dance floor being prepared.

[Drusilla Forthwind]

Drusilla naturally had assisted her husband in setting up the ball. It was going to be an exciting affair, she looked forward to seeing what everyone would be wearing and looked forward to speaking with her daughter and nieces. Whilst the woman embraced her Forthwind family, she didn't forget the Equitatus and nor the fact she was the last of them. Her dress was in her native family's colours, a vibrant red with a black. Although around her her neck and hung down was a silver stag, the symbol of the Forthwind family. Her mask was of similar colours, red with a black trim.

It was unlikely that people would mistake people for being others. The woman gave an amused smirk, before her hand reached out to lift one of the goblets and took a sip of the wine. It was of an excellent quality. Unfortunately these events would remind her about the parties that she attended with her first husband, but that was a lifetime ago now and the woman's cool face did not change.

She walked through the hall and would occasionally greet those the woman considered to be her friends, but her eyes focused on her husband and her niece. There was a chance they wouldn't be able to see her just yet.

Finally she found her way to her husband, Melari and Marisée.

"I say strangers, you all look quite lovely to the eye." She said with a smile. Before the woman stepped forward to embrace them and to place kisses on their cheeks.

[Arianne Montrose]

A flower bouquet. That was what Arianne’s costume was. A celebration of Spring! The renewal of life after an especially harsh winter. A vibrant red petal cascaded down upon her face, masking her vivid blue eyes from the friends and family she’d been apart from for so long.

Above her head the rest of the bloom radiated from her head. A fanciful creation that was just silly enough to be pleasant rather than preposterous. But that was only her opinion. Perhaps it was a crest of crazy but it was all in good fun.

Arianne has been aching for such a show. She didn’t want to be the prettiest or the best dressed. She wanted to be joyfully vacant of any care in the world! She felt so light. The furs of the north cast off for the silken, air light fluff of the fabric that flew all around her in hues of Yellow and Red and Blue.

Ahhh Blue! Such a rarity in the dusty dull colors of the Green.

But, as steady as she was as she entered, she felt her nerves stab in through the pang of uncertainty. Suddenly she felt very much like a creature of two worlds. And all at once the feeling came upon her as a wave and she faltered a step which only enhanced the sense of worry that had flung itself in on her good time.

She laughed then. Why was she being so harebrained? She was dressed up in costume. This was meant to be fun!

Arianne was home.

[Cornelia de Valle]

Since her sister had insisted on a separate costume, the rest of the de Valle daughters assembled their own costumes -- but to Cornelia's pleasure, they all could agree on the theme: creatures of myth, long dead or long lost. This had appeased one of her younger sister's desire to be a mermaid, and Cornelia could easily decide on her own the course her costume would take. She had risen from her own ashes; it seemed fitting.

Her sisters had begun to scatter about the room once the dancing was officially opened, and Cornelia had been too absorbed in conversation with her cousin to notice them all disappear. So when Adrien's voice stopped and the minstrels began, Cornelia looked up in some surprise from the remnants of her plate to see the benches beside her suddenly unoccupied. Rising to look for them, Cornelia couldn't help but glance about her once more, chiding herself self-consciously for looking for -- oh, what did it matter? It's not like he would be looking for her in return -- and now all these damn masks... All Cornelia saw was a sea of exotic creatures and dead heroes, and for a moment, she self-consciously touched the edge of her mask. Her dress was a deep, blood red, the stuff of flames and sin, and it was trimmed in golden piping, racing down the bodice of her dress to gather in smoldering folds at the back hem. Her sleeves were long and deep, and her hair was let free, the pride of the de Valle women, white-gold, resting past her shoulders. Cornelia's mask was a rather heavy and intricate thing, but it completed the look of the phoenix -- it looked as though it were consumed in flames, small red feathers lining the edges.

Then, out of the corner of her eye -- dragon scales. "Aurelia. You look as though you are in pursuit of something -- indulge me and tell me whom it might be?" Cornelia said lightly in jest as she came upon her, looping her arm with her younger, rather sour sister, phoenix baiting dragon. Cornelia loved Aurelia, as she did all her sisters -- but Aurelia was one of the hardest to reach. When they managed to hold conversation with one another, it was almost always intriguing and enjoyable. But Aurelia usually tried her best to chase Cornelia off before then.

But dragon's fire couldn't kill a phoenix, Cornelia mused. She'd just rise again and come back for more.

[Malcolm Montrose]

Malcolm wasn't exactly one to get into the spirit of parties. Not unless the involved some decent drinking, at the very least, and Belleile hadn't proved entirely forthcoming, with that. Oh, there was alcohol, surely, but nothing on par with the strong spirits they guzzled down like water up in the north.

For appearances sake, however, he'd made all the required efforts, dressing up in fancy new clothes which hardly seemed practical at all. He even wore a mask, a depiction of a lion in gold, which firmly covered his upper face and brow. It was barely enough to conceal his stern expression, and did little at all when it came to the Earl's smooth scalp.

He'd been mingling a little, sampling enough of the wine that he could at least feel something of a buzz. He wasn't really in the mood for dancing, or this silly affair with the masks, although Arianne's certainly caught his eye as she walked in.

At least, he believed that to be his wife. Damn costumes, making things unnecessarily confused. Still, he noticed the momentary falter- barely caught it, really, given how his mind remained distracted by internalised grumblings concerning the ball. Regardless, he approached, two goblets of wine snared in one hand.

"Is all well, my lady?" He offered the question, although if this wasn't Arianne, he'd possibly be the slightest bit embarrassed, and perhaps a little pissed.

[Nathaniel Merrick]

Nathaniel loved parties. Not only were they a fantastic opportunity, socially speaking, but it was also quite wonderful to see everyone looking at their best. He hadn't been directly involved in the organisation of the ball in any way, but needless to say, he was impressed. Duncan or Bradyn... whichever one, really. They'd done splendidly, and he would need to pass on his compliments the moment he found himself the chance.

He was dressed in a medley of obsidian and pink, laced with the teeniest bit of purple. Not exactly the most aesthetically pleasing combination of colours, although he had had them arranged together in such a way so as not to be too jarring.

His mask was a simple black- a cat, which even came complete with little threads of whiskers.

The King made his announcement, and Nathan beamed as the tables began to clear. Turning to look down upon his wife, he hoped that some part of her might be enjoying this evening, too. "My Lady Kenna, perhaps you could do me the honour of a dance once the King and the princess have finished?" He did enjoy dancing, and intended to keep doing a fair bit of it all night. In his mind, this was certain to be a wonderful night.

[Kenna Merrick]

Kenna hated parties. And she hated the grin on her husband’s face. And she hated the stupid mask she had to wear To keep it simple, she’d selected something plain and black, to match the dress she wore, a floral thing with pink and black and white all over it. House colors, as she liked to think. At least the pink of House Merrick was tolerable. The Red of Montrose would have been preferable, but she would not disgrace her husband at the biggest affair of the year by shunning his colors.

She tolerated it all by dosing heavily on the wine. By the time dinner was over, of which she realized she’d eaten relatively little, she was on at least her four glass and definitely feeling the effects. And the night was still young! She could hopefully manage a few more before insisting that Nathaniel let her go back to their manse before she made a fool of herself.

Kenna liked this plan very much.

So when he asked her about dancing she turned to him and blinked. “Dancing…?”

She hadn’t even thought about dancing. “I… Of courshe lord Merrick.” At least her mood about it was far better with the wine in her system!

[Nathaniel Merrick]

Nathan was elated that Kenna would do him the honour of a dance, so much so that the apparent slurring of her later words confused him. Had the pronunciation of 'course' just given his lady wife a hard time? His previous delight faded the slightest amount, a mild expression of concern brushing over the lord's face. Leaning in a little more closely, he touched his fingers to her cheek, at the border between skin and mask.

"Are you feeling well, Kenna? Perhaps you should give the glass a break from those lovely lips." His other hand settled down, the palm closing over the rim of her goblet. She might not have been completely intoxicated, but he worried for her, nonetheless. Now that he thought about it, she'd been drinking quite a bit of wine already, and he'd seen her sampling more of the liquid stuff than actual dinner.

[Cordelia Morgandy]

"I daresay it wasn't his decision." Cordelia remarked in reply, for why should the boy-King need to bother himself with as minor a detail as this? It was a wonderful inclusion, however, and praise should have been given where it was due. Doubtless one of the councilmen had been behind this, and the Morgandy women certainly seemed pleased.

Sampling another taste of the wine, Cordelia smiled at her sibling, always appreciating the wit of the shark. "But you really should stop calling him that, sister mine. At least at a time you might get caught." Her words were fairly whispered, soft beneath the buzz of activity which currently filled the space of the hall.

Her own attire was predominantly the Morgandy purple, with silver detailing and a smattered embellishment of pearls. Her mask was elegant in its simplicity- Cordelia hardly felt the need to stand out dramatically- and reminiscent of the glittering ocean's waves.

With a playful tone she set down her glass, casting her fingers delicately about the curve of its rim. "We would not want everyone to think that the women of Enyon are troublesome little snarks." She commented with an amused, sidelong glance.