[Festival] Winter Mist Masquerade

[Jade]

70th Trial of Zi’da, Arc 717

Much preparation had been made to ensuring this arc’s Winter Mist Festival would be another spectacular event. After the ordeal at the Royal Wedding had escalated what was to be a wonderful time to extreme proportions, the citizens of Rynmere could only grimace at the royal court, wondering when the next assassination attempt would be the last.
Vhalar had been spent with a number of investigations being conducted, mostly of Tristan Venora and his family line. Of the rumors that spread, a number of them suggested that the Venora attempted to strike His Majesty, but was blocked and apprehended by the Ouroboro Guards present at the event. However, Tristan still walked free and handled his Duchy as he was tasked to do, which caused much suspicion to arise as to who exactly attacked Cassander.
Further investigation turned up a letter at Tristan’s place of residence, detailing his escape plans to the east after the King had been proclaimed dead. Although his signature appeared to be his own, the words written on the letter did not. This trial was by far the longest of all conducted as many experts in written craft, as well as eyewitnesses at the event, gave their testimonies.
Shortly before the season change, Tristan was relieved of all charges, though the search for his doppleganger continued on. Needless to say, his relationship with the people of Rynmere, as well as the King, was on rocky footing. With the trial his cousins and uncle were made to endure, one that slandered the name Venora, it was hard to find anything good to say about the line.
It was now Zi’da and with the winter season now upon them, so too was the Winter Mist Festival. A festival that would be so grandiose, it would distract the minds of the nobles and commoners, at least for the evening.
All the nobles of the regions were sent fancy invitations with the King’s seal meshed in wax upon the parchment. Such an affair didn’t require his attention, but the attention insisted that all who were able to come, do so with their best attire. It was a masquerade after all, held within the royal ballroom(as it was the only place big enough).
Dusting atop the Endor and Gawyne Mountains was spotted nearly a trial ago, thus, the pathways were swept of snow, decorations were hung, candles were lit, tables were set with finely crafted chairs to accompany them, food was requested, wine imported, music guaranteed… It was really more than should have been necessary, but it would be a pleasant evening, no matter what.
Rumors suggested that Her Majesty played a large part in planning for the event and even told of several priests from the Monastery accompanying her to orphanages to hand out invitations to the caretakers and children. Commoners were invited too, mostly by proclamation in the city squares.
Thus, the hour came upon the 19th break of the day, when a soft flurry of snow fell on the pathways leading up to the Palace, did the carriages begin to arrive from all over the Kingdom. Pine trees leading up to the Palace were decorated with red and white ribbon while colorful candles lit the way to the enormous, decorative doors. They were lined with pine trimming, decorated golden ornaments, blue flowers, white ribbons, and other festive things. Guards stood outside, holding the doors open and patted those that entered down.
When finally past the entrance, one could see magnificent decor lining the halls leading towards the Royal Ballroom. A loud voice could be heard declaring those that entered to the patrons around, giving life to each face attached to their name. Then, by way of servant or their escort, one would be escorted into the room and explained the individual events for the evening.
If one was feeling adventurous, there was a scavenger hunt that would begin within the hour. To participate, one would only need to ask a royal servant to which they would produce parchment with a single line of text: “The impossible, the unattainable, the color of the sea with a bite that could make you bleed.”
For those wishing for a more relaxed evening, the royal palace provided entertainment in ways of music and art. In one corner of the ballroom, there were several master painters already working away on canvases with their subjects lined against a backdrop of yellow fabric. Should one wish to have their portrait done, they could simply request one from these skilled artisans and have one produced within 20 bits.
As for the food, rows upon rows of luxurious tables were spaced throughout the expertly lit room, lovely smelling meats, fruits, and desserts filled from end to end. Wine was carried out on silver platters as well as decanters full of Venora’s best.
The King and Queen had yet to make an appearance, but that would be soon to come, surely.

!

Message from: Jade

I'm not enforcing a posting order as this will be based more so on your interactions with each other rather than my interactions with you. I will definitely continue to moderate this thread, but feel free to join up and explore the environment of the festival. Clues involving the scavenger hunt will be sprinkled throughout my posts, so make sure to pay attention to details! As for the other information included in this post, I involved it so that we may continue our plots forward rather than stall behind. I will finish up the wedding thread with you all, but I apologize for the spoilers that this thread has provided. Nevertheless, I will try my best not to let plots fall behind anymore! So, for the time being, let your characters enjoy the night! Happy holidays ♥

[Andráska Venora]

70th Trial of Zi’da, Arc 717

Andráska Venora, for all his history, never cared for formal parties.

He had little choice in attending, of course. Not since the near fall of Venora, nor the excommunication of his siblings. While he had gone against Alistair in the trial and his brother alone had stood against their father, the damage had been done. Both his parents had retreated to the deep Venora countryside and Ebony watched over him like a hawk. His time for freedom and games had passed. Carefree nights with mysterious powders and decanters to tame his demons were but a distant dream and he entered the near-empty ballroom, watching the few heads turn at his announced arrival, pinning to him as he descended the stairs.

Swallowing, he held his head high as his grandmother would have wanted and met the curious gazes with a strong green one. He could not show weakness - not now. He was the first in line out of three, the example and the tragedy. Dressed in a black suit lined with satin, his red vest was brilliantly bold, a red and white rose tucked securely in his breast pocket. Its petals were a pleasant combination; an artist mixing paints. A new breed of roses, the florist had told him, to welcome a new beginning.

Andraska thought they looked like they were bleeding.

"Excuse me," the young baron greeted, approaching one of the painters setting out his brushes, "May I?" Unwilling to jump into the depths of politics and gossip, he reached behind his head and began to untie the mask secured in place. A few more people were arriving, and he took a seat in front of the yellow backdrop, trying not to look as nervous as he felt.

"Of course, of course," the painter agreed, pleased to have the first wave of interest and watched as the covering was removed and Andraska's face was bare. The brows of the artist rose, satisfied to see a handsome subject matter, and began by deciding a color palette, "You want a portrait? Anything you want to express?"

The young Baron shifted, trying to find a comfortable and somehow regal position, "I'm getting married," and then realizing his mistake as the painter's eyes began to light up, he quickly lifted a hand to correct himself, "Hopefully. I mean-" No one had yet lined up to marry the heir of a disgraced line, but his family was eager to find a match. Andraska cleared his throat, and pushed his shoulders back, "I'm on the market."

"Handsome, rich, young?" the painter mused thoughtfully, offering a friendly smile beneath his pointed mustache, "Women will overlook a great deal in a man for just one of those things." he pointed the end of his brush at the rose in the noble's pocket, "What is it, I wonder, will they be able to offer you?"

Andraska smiled politely and tried to smooth back his wild hair, carefully watching each person arrive and wished for a moment that he could be dressed in the Ouroboros armor, anonymous and away from prying eyes. To be another soldier where fighting was easy. It was loving that was hard.

[Ivy Gawyne]

Ivy did not want to be taking part in this, not in any way shape or form. But there was little to be done about it all things considered. The fabric of her dress was rather comfortable, but there was something about the way it clung to her body that made her feel uncomfortable. The Chiffon fabric dyed a shade of brown had cost 19gn. Of course, that was 19gn too much for someone like Ivy who was 81gn off of living on the street. The dress had been something her father had requested (forced) her into buying at the start of the season. She couldn't really blame the man for asking her to do such. She never really told any members of her family about her financial situation. He didn't realize he was asking his daughter to practically starve... But such was the case. It was better to look like a proper noble than the properly eat after all! She was just barely above the minimum wait she should have been, and that was only through the kindness of others. She seemed to have a certain amount of luck in stumbling upon people willing to pay for her meals. If that was because she was a noble or they were looking for a date, she didn't honestly want to know. She hated the idea she might be taking advantage of her status.

Speaking of her father's desire for her to buy a new dress, she had a feeling this was all part of a far greater ploy. Recently he'd been sending her letters asking her to attend various parties and galas. Nothing strange for a normal noble. But Ivy wasn't a normal noble, both she and her father knew that. The gentle prodding and the quiet name drops of various 'unattached' noblemen hadn't been missed. In his letters it was always jotted in quick side notes that she might want to meet lord whoever or lady what's her name and inquire about her brother. He promised long ago he'd never force her to marry, but she'd watched the disappointment in his eyes. Ivy was one of the only two girls born into her entire family with the most recent generation. She didn't even have any female cousins, it was just her and her sister. Of course, he'd want her to marry a fine young man and be taken proper care of. He wouldn't force her into it, but he wasn't above prompting her and hoping that maybe someone would catch her eye.

The moment she entered she already hated everything about this. The way her name boomed in her own ears at her entrance. She saw recognition in some eyes and didn't like it. It scared her how complete strangers could now her just because the blood that ran through her veins. On the other end of the spectrum, there were some people who wore confused looks as the least known Gawyne entered the hall. There were surely those who didn't realize she had existed until this moment in time, and she was blessedly glad for that. Few people knew her, and no one knew of her history that had led her to acting as hermit-like as she had for the last couple arcs. It was a clean slate, one that her father could only wish she'd fill with good things. She had the same wish. The blessing and the curse that was her nature meant that there was nothing truly slanderous about her name. Which at least meant there was nothing she could be judged for on this little quest her father had sent her upon.

The woman shuffled along quietly, trying her best to find something, anything, to do with herself. She wasn't sure where to begin and she couldn't see any familiar faces to rely on. No family, no friend, no anyone. Eventually she ended up sadly standing off to the side, hoping and waiting that either she could fade into the night or someone might take notice of her sad existence and pity her.

[Alice Endor]

"M'lady?"

"Very kind, George," She smiled at the man, his tangle a bright mess of duty and discipline. Dressed greens and maple gold, sticky colors that tied tight knots. He caught her arm against his, a chauffeur turned escort, and she watched as sunlight caught and faded his mind with pride. He loved her. Not in the way she wanted, or believed she was owed, but it was a start. Alice pricked and plucked at the web, clumsily catching against the hardier strings.

George was a hardy man, balding with great, wide shoulders and a double chin. Like most of Endor, he wasn't suited to a sedentary life, but he was asked to drive her family from a young age. Not much chance for exercise, or love, when he spent his youth oiling wheels and tending to horses. She remembered his tangle before she'd strummed away all that upsetting regret. True, he wasn't as funny or sharp as he'd once been, but those weren't qualities she needed in a chauffeur, or an escort.

And she shined next to him. Her gown was a delicious red; they sewn rubies and pink topaz into the bodice, made tighter with an additional corset. The skirt splashed from her waist, sashaying from her every movement.

And she even let her mother curl her hair. Or, she let her mother tell the maids to do it.
________________________________________________________________________________

"What will they be offering, I wonder?" She asked, resting her hand on the artist's shoulder. Alice smile through her focus, a party trick, as she cut into his surprise to spur him further into his painting. He wasn't the reason she had walked across the room in heels.

He was tall and lean, with a generous mop of brown hair tussled on his perfectly shaped head. His eyes glinted green, like emeralds, she thought, and she admired his clothing. She smiled wider, her magic reaching into his tangle, his beautiful mess of emotions, touching anything close to curiosity.

[Valeria Burhan]

.

She'd been preparing for this night for many ten-trials although a great deal had happened in the interim since she'd visited Ericor's to acquire a dress. For one thing, she'd become far warier regarding corsets. She'd chosen to wear one this evening although her ribs still bore the bruises of her last use of it at the Charity Gala at Bellesoir. It was the black one, which was a lot less obvious under her blue dress and she'd laced it as loosely as possible to avoid true agony while still allowing her figure to be augmented to some degree. She'd left her legs bare to show them off in the knee-length dress. They looked quite lovely and shapely if she said so herself, and they appeared longer than normal courtesy of the heels that she wore, which added a good three inches to her height. The blonde hoped to present quite a striking figure at the Winter Mist Festival and she wanted to turn heads, something she hoped was more or less guaranteed.

Aside from her eye-catching dress, Valeria had gone for a rather minimalist look. Her hair was lightly curled and brushed more to the left than normal so as not to detract from the delicate filigree mask that she'd purchased for herself. She'd even toned down her make-up to an almost unheard of degree, only lightly powdering her face in order to cover the blemishes she'd acquired during her teenage years.

When the carriage she'd ordered pulled up, she handed over the required amount of nel, alighting gracefully onto the thin powdery layer of snow that had recently fallen. The light flurries added an attractive dusting to everything, adding a certain magic to the prettified grounds. The Crown appeared to have outdone themselves, because everything certainly looked quite festive. She adjusted her mask and lightly patted her hair as she swayed her way up the steps, shivering a little from the cool air. She passed her invitation to the announcer who boomed her name to those gathered in the room beyond, causing the young woman to smile to herself; it was something to which she would happily become accustomed although she'd prefer it to be a far heftier title.

A servant approached her almost at once, explaining the activities for the evening while she surveyed the room, searching for those she might recognise, a tricky endeavour considering that it was a masquerade. However, there was one particular figure that she was seeking that she was sure to find even if she'd been wearing a full face mask: Ivy Gawyne. She nodded her thanks to the servant, giving a slight dismissive wave of her hand to get rid of him while she scanned the room for her friend. She spotted Velaine Krome, who she assumed was with Nathaniel Endor; although she couldn't see his face, the figure appeared familiar. Tonight, she'd be doing her best to avoid them. Considering how things had gone during the Gala in Bellesoir, she didn't think she could bear to deal with any more rumours relating to the Endor. Thankfully, she spotted the slightly hunched figure of Ivy in a brown dress and Valeria moved briskly towards her, her heels clicking a staccato rhythm on the floor.

"Ivy!" she exclaimed brightly, moving to stand before the girl to air kiss her, careful not to touch her; she didn't want to cause her to freak out here of all places. "It's lovely to see you. I'd heard that you were coming and I was glad when I heard. I would have invited you to come along with me but- oh well, that doesn't matter now! I'm going to make sure that you have fun! I know you don't like to be at the centre of anything so I won't ask you if you want to get your portrait done. How about the scavenger hunt? You're certainly clever enough for it whereas I... well, I can look pretty and help if I can," she explained with a giggle.

[Andráska Venora]

70th Trial of Zi’da, Arc 717

Andráska was trying to remain still for the artist, keeping his chin high and his back straight, all while ignoring an itch that had begun to stir on the right side of his jawline. He never was good at staying still for long periods of time, and he cleared his throat, shifting just as another body walked forward.

He saw her approach from across the room; An elegant woman – young with brilliant hair like burnt umber, thin and pale. Her full lips pulled into a devious smile, alluring in their secrets. What will they offer, I wonder? Something in her tone pulled the young lord's attention, and he watched her for a moment before refraining a smile, "A very good question." The woman leaned casually against the painter and assessed the work, so comfortable in her movements. Andráska tried to catch the man's eye again, but he seemed drawn into his work, forgetting the two as he pulled his brush across the canvas.

Who was this attendee? "I'm afraid you've caught me at an awkward time, or I'd offer a better introduction..." the Venoran lord ran a thumb over the dark mask in his lap, turning it over in his hands, unable to decide which honorific to use as he drank up the red of her skirt, "Andráska Venora, and you are?"

He kept his tone relaxed and polite, a genuine inquiry and not one laced with political spite. He wasn't sure if she would be offended by his ignorance, but surely, she understood just how many people one sees at these sorts of things. She just happened to be one of the first, and for some reason, his curiosity was making it nearly impossible to remain seated, "I'm hoping we haven't met before. Forgetting you must be an awfully hard thing to do."

[Rat]

Rat didn't belong here. That much was obvious.

He stood with his master, Desmond Davril, outside the precipice of the party. At least that man looked like proper noble, trussed up in a too-expensive blue suit with a starry cobalt mask to match. Rat, on the other hand, thought he looked ridiculous. His master had insisted on proper attire to the masquerade, but was reluctant to pay for anything that fit properly for someone with as low of a status as the Lotharro had. So instead of wasting money on a slave, his master propositioned the theater to lend the youth an ill-fitting costume and mask to match. The costume was a long black coat of older fashion. Stylized with golden threading and brass buttons, he thought it would have been rather fetching if had actually fit the Lothar's smaller frame. Rat had been given a pair of tan breeches and brown boots to match, along with a full black mask. His master didn't want the slave's extensive scarring to scare the other patrons or make them think he was too cruel a master. Though given with what Rat had observed, nobody in Rynmere would really care with what Mr. Davril did with his property.

That word was creating a growing sense of discontent within the slave. For months, he had accepted his place in bondage. In some truly impressive amount of moral acrobatics, he had felt that in some way he deserved the burning of a brand on his skin. That his father had been right to sell him; that his father had been right at all in anything he did to the youth. But now, after discovering what he had about the man, all he felt was the urge to confront him. He yearned for freedom, if only so he could ride to the Warrick Monastery and get some Fates-damned truth out of that old monk's mouth.

But no, he was here. While answers were disappearing into the night, Rat was to be shown off to all the glitz and glamour that the best of Rynmere had to offer. He was Desmond's prized slave after all. It had been him that stopped an attempt on Isadora Venora's life at the Rynmere Theater, and now his master wished to use him as a bargaining chip at this masquerade. Track down some Venora or intrigued nobles and use Rat as a type of proof that the Davril name was worth their attention. Or better yet, their investment.

Rough, searching hands patted down both he and his master as they waited to be cleared by the guards to enter. Rat wondered how many people actually tried to sneak weapons into a party such as this. Was fighting, or even assassination, a normal affair? Rat sighed, the ruthless politics of nobility confusing him. How did anyone remember who was on whose side? While the Lothar admired the noble houses and revered their originators, he couldn't help but think all of this backstabbery was less-then helpful to the process of ruling.

A small, hidden smile sprung to life under his mask. He thought he rather sounded like Caius there for a second, grumpily picking apart an issue. He wondered if he would see the Gawyne tonight? As he and his master entered the Crown's Royal Ballroom, Rat attempted to peer past the elegant finery which lined the halls of the palace. Searching for his friend, the Lothar was instead greeted with a glittering sea of masks, sharp suits, and swirling dresses. It reminded him of a dream, perfect looking people moving as if they could dance their troubles away. If Rat was being honest with himself, a part of him yearned to be one of them. They seemed so...free.

The loud proclamation of his master's name startled Rat from his idle musings. The Lothar stood stiff, hands behind his back and awaiting further instruction. Desmond walked coolly forward, his face a mask of calm civility. Rat followed swiftly after, suddenly thankful that his full mask prevented anyone seeing the fierce, red embarrassment that rose to his cheeks. He was curious with what his master intended to do first, but the slave knew better to ask. As distant as his master was from Rat's day to day life, preferring to let the theater and its employees oversee his work, he wasn't sure he would be appreciative of the Lothar overstepping his station.

"I need to find some business partners who are here. Take a break for yourself, I'll let you know when I need you." Almost as if the man could sense Rat's curiosity, he dismissed the slave with a wave of his hand. Surprised, he waited a moment to check if that was his master's true intentions or simply a test of some sort. Desmond grinned slightly in response. "I appreciate the attentiveness, but you've been doing good work at the theater. Jane has had nothing but good things to say about you. Take the break, but check in with me in an hour. You're my property, and I can't have you embarrassing me. Or disappearing."

The last statement was more of a warning than an encouragement. Rat nodded in understanding. not needing an explanation of what would happen if he did slip away or found a way to hurt the Davril name. Desmond might have been a distant master, even a kind one sometimes, but Rat knew if he pushed too far he'd suffer beatings more severe than even Clay Deveraux gave. Bowing slightly, Rat turned to walk further into the ballroom. He had a break or so to enjoy himself, and barring his brand on his wrist, no one knew who he was. If he was forced to be here, the slave intended to have a little fun before being thrown back into his master's games.

He wandered the ball until a flash of platinum blonde caught his eye. A stunning woman in blue stood talking to another in a more demure brown, and Rat couldn't help but feel as if he had seen her before. Perhaps in a dream. Gathering his confidence, the Lothar pressed on towards the two. He heard the words "scavenger hunt" as he gained ground, remembering that a servant had mentioned something about that earlier. He supposed that would be a fine way to spend his free time, especially if it was in the company of these two woman. Figuring that would be a fine way to enter the conversation, Rat approached the well dressed figures.

"Hello," he began, keeping his tone light and courteous. "Couldn't help but overhear something about a scavenger hunt. Are you two participating? I've got a talent for finding secrets, but I seem to be lacking for partners."