The Grand Ball.

[Raven]

211/7/08.

Descant had orchestrated a small miracle. He'd brought a slice of Razasan into Myrkenwood.

The bard himself would be just inside the hall that they were using for the event, greeting people as they entered before ushering them on inside. Des looked positively decadent and dressed for the occasion. Shoes were polished so furiously they almost sparkled. Raven black pants bound with belt and held in place with a silver buckle worked into the shape of a harp. Tucked neatly into aforementioned pants was a scarlet t-shirt drawn together along the front with lazy swoops of lace and over which he wore a black vest. To complete the whole look he had a black coat that he had left completely unbottoned. The coat itself was embellished with swirls of crimson that appeared to shift subtly from one pattern to another. The only blemish to the ensemble would be the sable gloves that he was -always- wearing.

For all the flair of his clothing, Descant would be completely absent of any jewellery. The fellow had never been adorned with it and it didn't appear that even such an occasion as this would see him flaunting wealth past what he had already spent upon his clothing. Despite having been at the venue since the early hours, the bard still looked well-groomed and there was no hint of weariness within his hazel eyes. In between meeting one guest and another a casual run of his gloved hand would tuck errant strands of his brown hair back behind his ear, charming smile all the while.

The bard would be flanked by a recent arrival, Gideon Fell. The man who had once been a local of Myrken had been dragged all the way from Razasan for the occasion and was providing invaluable insight into the who's who of Myrkenwood. Allowing Descant to greet the guests to the ball as they arrived in a more suitable manner. Gideon himself was rather unremarkably dressed despite the festivities, obviously he was not intending to take part in any way and it would appear that he was here on business rather than pleasure. What with the sword at his waist and all. Apparently the bard was taking great pains to make sure that everything went -right- this night.

Gideon towered over the much shorter Descant, though they both shared slenderness in form. He was garbed in deep blue, almost black, functional neat clothing and though he was not dressed for enjoying the ball he hadn't slacked in terms of grooming. Long black hair had been pulled back into a severe ponytail and his goatee was neatly trimmed. Where Descant was amiable and welcoming, Gideon was wound tight, grey eyes scanning for a nonexistent but seemingly inevitable threat. Knowing Myrken it wasn't such a farfetched expectation.

Of course, people didn't come to stand out the front of the hall and exchange pleasantries with the bard and the returned Gideon and so they would be ushered inside. The first thing one might notice upon entry into hall was that it was bathed in the warm glow of candle light. Candleabras decorated every surface, strategically placed at every table. Chandeliers had been raised and blossomed with candles. Becoming accustomed to the light, one would note that the hall had obviously come under some renovation in preparation for the event.

The floor had been polished, the walls had been redocrated and were now resplendent in a golden hue. Crimson curtains lined windows and galleys. The colour splashed in healthy doses about the entirety of the hall; fabric of the cushioned chairs, tableclothes draped over the banquest tables and the uniform of the servants dashing to and fro, delivering food and beverage to those who had already found themselves seating at the banquet tables that had been arranged with military precision and were surrounded with aforementioned comfy chairs.

Weaving through all of this atmosphere, unobtrusively adding without dominating, would be subtle, simple music. Crafted to enhance people's comfort, buoy good spirits and diminish the press of their worries. How the musicians had managed to produce and play such a song would be a mystery but there was definitely the current of magic entwined though it definitely didn't originate from the talented entertainers upon the stage.

[Drache]

Drache Sgarsiath had spent the day assisting the Ball set-up, but disappeared without notice to get herself changed. She had taken the opportunity to lurk out of sight as the final preparations were handled without her, steeling herself for the event. The guests were already starting to arrive when she reappeared, her low, sibilant voice hissing over Descant's shoulder. "I told you that you would rise to the occasion. You look sssplendid."

Despite her insistence that she wanted to keep a low profile, she was easily the flashiest person in the room. The luxuriant red and gold decorations seemed tailored just to suit her. Her crimson scales had been burnished to a gleaming luster that made them seem smooth as glass. Even her black claws glittered like obsidian. The black satin dress she wore was embroidered with shining golden thread in the shapes of curling tongues of flame. It was full-length, but it lacked both petticoat and corset, being of truly exotic design. By necessity, the garment was backless, secured by a wide collar around her slender neck to allow full motion of her large wings. But more than backless, it was open all the way to the underside of her tail and revealed all the sinewy muscles that bunched and coiled under her scales. The front of the dress was form-fitting and sported a teardrop keyhole that revealed ample cleavage. It was split to the hips on each side, and the gleam of red scales flashed from underneath whenever she walked. On her feet she wore sandal-like shoes that were custom-fitted to her feet. Her taloned toes were still bare and touched the ground, but the pads rested on a flat sole that was strapped up her shapely calves, the black satin ribbons criss-crossing to her knees.

And then there was the jewelry. She wouldn’t be caught at Ball like this without a decent display of her collection. She had a hard time selecting which pieces she wanted to wear, but eventually settled on a faceted ruby the size of her eye nestled in gold filigree at her throat, clasped over the collared dress. To compliment the necklace, small plain gold bands coiled up her horns, clasped around the end of her tail just above the spade, and encircled her wrists. Each was either delicately engraved or set with precious red stones. All were priceless and likely held some magic of their own. The only thing that lacked where any rings on her fingers, but having claws might have something to do with that. Even her wings were decorated, threadlike golden chains, bejeweled and dangling with a soft chiming from each phalanges. The folds of her wide golden membranes shimmered faintly.

Glamorous, exotic, and intriguing; that was Drache. A cruel combination of deadly weapons and feminine curves. She grinned, able to conceal her nervousness except from the bard. She moved to stand next to him, apparently having decided to greet guests personally after all. At 6' with the horns, she stood slightly taller than Descant, though her presence was commanding enough for a person twice that. Having the presence of mind to restrain herself, she consistently waited for the guests to move first when it came to shaking hands, always mindful of her claws. She did not curtsy as a firm rule, and once she had introduced herself to Gideon, she deferred to him when it came to greeting those she didn’t know, which was just about everyone. Most people didn't know that it was the foreign dragon-woman's coin that had backed much of the Ball, but she didn't seem in any hurry to make a spectacle of it.

As the guests entered the hall and grew accustomed to the cheerful lighting and delightful music, they would also be confronted by the most appetizing of smells. The tables were devoid of floral arrangements, so the delicious scents of food had a prime opportunity to shine through. The buffet looked like the end result of a competition between every master chef within a hundred miles. Crystal and silver dinnerware was stacked in pristine piles, waiting. Whole glazed boar, roast venison, and baked chickens marinated in savoury sauces with a dozen types of steamed vegetables crowded onto platters beside them. There were ceramic tureens of gravy next to silver troughs of mashed potatoes. Fillets of fish and freshwater clams steamed mouth-wateringly on beds of wild rice. There were cheese casseroles, fried shrimp, and stuffed quail all within arm’s reach of each other. Huge bowls of berries and sliced fruit, along with cheese, crackers, and a forest’s worth of tooth-picks offered plenty of finger-food. Fresh bread rolls in baskets gleamed in the candlelight. A beverage table flanked by two servers offered everything from plain water to milk to tea of several different varieties, a half-dozen wines including Derry Red. Stronger liquor was available for a mild cost. The only thing missing seemed to be the chocolate. All this and the deserts were still to come later in the evening.

[Dulcie]

Dulcie was never one to be late to any sort of event and this one had been greatly anticipated. There had been no effort spared for her tonight and with as many sisters as she had there was no surprise that Dulcie was in rare form this evening. Years ago there wouldn't have been the coin she needed to look as lovely as she did this night, but she was good at her work and such an event would have been carefully saved for from her more generous salary.

It had been talented hands that had put together the gown that Dulcie wore as every seam of the dress seemed to fit just exactly where it was supposed to. The gown was a pale green crepe silk that had sleeves off the shoulder and a fitted bodice that was laced with a matching silk ribbon along her back and tied off into a small, neat bow. At her hips the skirt was full and elegant, with a bit of the dress that trailed behind her when she moved and made that soft swishing sound as she walked. It would be hard to tell that this was the same woman who spent her time walking between the kitchen and the bar on any given day.

Her hair had been carefully fixed, her sisters having spared no time or talent for it. There were many braids that had been carefully woven together just above the nape of her neck and pinned so as to fix her long hair up in this intricate style. With the fine light brown hair that she had there were always bound to be a few bits that would escape the confines of the style and so even those little pieces had been curled a bit using a heated iron, something which had been a rather harrowing experience for Dulcie to watch but resulted in a truly elegant hair style.

With her arm linked with another's she would look over at her escort and smiled as they went up the steps together, having chosen to arrive with him rather than to meet at the ball.

[Treadwell]

The night before, at the Treadwell home, in the master bedroom.

"A great and wonderful ball, darling, tomorrow evening, mmph mmph! There's to be music, dance, food, drink, the whole lot of it!"

"Allie, stop being so foolish. Balls are for the young and thin," here Alice Treadwell jabbed a fat finger into her husband's bouncing belly as he paced by their bed, "and the folks without families! We, my love, are elderly and quite far from being light-footed little waifs meant to wisp about on a floor! Besides, we've our new babe to attend, with our two little children, too!"

An "Mmph!" jerked from the Councilor as his wife poked his gut, upsetting the careful puff-puffing of his pipe. "I won't hear that, hmm hmm. We have our servants here to watch the house, and the baby and children are likely to be asleep before we ever leave. As for old and fat?" Aloisius chuckled, reaching out to run a hand over Alice's middle as she rested there in their bed. "I dare think we should, hmm hmm, go and see what we're capable of before judging that much!"

"Perhaps," she added, giggling at the tenderness of the touch, "but we're both about to burst from anything fancy enough to wear to such, and you know it. I put on so much while I was pregnant, and you just let yourself fatten right out with me, you lazy pig!"

"Alice, hmm hmm, you forget that I'm a little of a tailor after all my years. I'm certainly not the best, but I can manage a thing or two, mmph mmph, in a pinch."

"But you also can't see colors. We'd end up looking like your couch at the inn!"

The afternoon of the ball, at the Treadwell home, in the master bedroom.

The two people Alice had described as elderly and far from being light-footed waifs stand there now in the master bedroom, taking up more than their share of space before their polished, shining slab of metal that makes a mirror. Since Alice had nagged her husband continually about his tailoring efforts, the proper colors of any slight, new additions had been carefully matched to existing fabric, and any seams even remotely in danger of splitting had been reinforced. Now, they are dressed in like fashion: Aloisius in a purple suit and skullcap he'd worn a few days prior, adjusted all around to actually fit him without leaving too many unsightly bulges and ripples, and Alice in a similarly bright dress fixed to similar ends. Between the two of them, the layers and yards of fabric had cost them quite a bit when the clothes were new a year ago; Treadwell's adjustments to them in the name of decency and modesty had cost nearly the same when the couple had gone to several tailors this morning to purchase suitable material.

"You look wonderful, mmph mmph! Why are we going to this ball, again?"

"You mentioned music, dance, food, and drink, if I remember. Granted, I don't know how much dancing anyone will manage, what with our taking up so much of the floor!"

Alice chuckles at the thought of there just being the two of them spinning and turning about the dance hall, with everyone else squeezed to the sides of the room. She then adds one final observation.

"Mind you, Allie, I think it's not even the dancing or the meeting folks that you care about."

An inquisitive "Hmm hmm?" sets Aloisius's pipe to puff-puffing again. . . and then another startled, "Mmph!" on being poked hard in the navel again causes more cloudy bursts.

"Food! That's your reason for going to this ball! Food, food, food!"

Merriment erupts from the elderly couple as the poke to the Councilor's gut turns into playful tickling, which (in addition to the mentioning of so much food) leads to that same gut rumbling noisily and emptily. This merriment doesn't last too long, though; it gets interrupted quite sharply by loud knocking at the door and a declaration that their coach and horse are ready.

Both Treadwells sigh and laugh. "I reckon, hmm hmm, we have to be serious all night, hmm hmm?"

"We might," leaves off with a tease of a smile from the old matron, and arm in arm, the pair make for their coach with their servant driver in tow. "I do wish you wouldn't take that blasted pipe."

"Hmph." It's clearly a hmph of disapproval, so the pipe stays lit and in place.

They arrive at the ball without being too terribly late, the two of them pausing a few moments to take in the building's appearance before toddling inside, with the still-smoking Aloisius leaning on his cane and his Alice leaning on her Aloisius.

"Dear me, love," comes the whisper from the moist-eyed, ravenous tax collector as they pass the buffet. "Are you sure we have to bother dancing at all?"

[Raven]

Sarcyn could only trade a smile in return to the one offered to him. The whole event would have set him back a small fortune, a hefty investment in a whole new set of clothing. At least it appeared that he had gotten advice from someone, as he was quite sharply dressed for a mercenary who usually looked like he'd rolled from one town to another. Even his slightly ragged black hair had been clipped back into some sembalance of order. Sarcyn almost looked like he held a more reputable profession.

The mercenary had purchased new boots, pants and cloak of the more standard black that he proferred. Tucked in and laced up he'd have pulled on a tshirt of the same hue as Dulcie's gown, though the lacing at the wrist was added flair he'd rather be rid of. Let alone the lace at his neck that he couldn't help but tug at occasionally. Stuff felt like it was choking him. To finish off the whole ensemble was a coat that was a few shades darker than the green of his shirt and had he had his way it would not have been edged with black and embroided with celtic knots of that lighter green snaking about.

How anyone had convinced the mercenary to switch his more somber grey shades for green, let alone don a shirt with lacy bits was a mystery that would remain unsolved. Upon the pain of death if he had his way. Just wearing the shirt was making him decidely uncomfortable, though he'd do his utmost best to hide that from his partner for the evening. The one thing that this mysterious 'they' had been unable to do away with was Sarcyn's sword, though the scabbard would be swapped out for one that didn't look so worn and the hilt of his blade would be anchored and bound to the scabbard with a ribbon of green.

There'd be a deliberate gesture to that fact at Gideon's questioning gaze. For this night the sword would be merely ceremonial and would remain in it's hilt. Hopefully.

[Lamai]

There hadn't been a long line for the carriage to wait in before coming to a stop at the entrance to the grand hall where Descant had managed to arrange the event. Even so, there was a moment or two once the wheels had stopped before the carriage door was opened from the inside, allowing the young man to step out first.

It was little wonder that he was often dressed down. There was no mistaking James in his full uniform. His knee-length coat was completely black save for the crimson knotwork that circled both wrists and twined up his arms past the elbows. Silver discs formed the belt that circled his waist; there was a knife in a ceremonial sheath upon his right hip. The left carried his sabre which hung from a crimson-dyed baldric and decorated with both an iron stud and a silver one. The finishing touch was, of course, the wide-brimmed hat that he almost never wore -- not by choice. He seemed more broad, more comfortable as his hand extended in offering to the woman in the carriage.

The Baroness, in contrast, was a brilliant show of color. It took a moment for her to step out of the carriage, dainty feet carefully placed upon the steps with her hand in James' to keep her balance. Not being able to see where she stepped made a difference.

Lamai was a picture in crimson. The gown itself wasn't quite satin or silk, but almost a mixture of the two and elven-spun on top of it. Her shoulders had been left bare, and the front of the gown dipped to show just a hint of cleavage, while the back was laced up in silver ribbon that actually showed her spine. The waist of the dress was dropped down, and the front carried two, pleated panels of sapphire velvet that had been embroidered with silver -- one in a fire pattern, the other water. Her arms were covered all the way past her wrists; the fabric extended to loop around each middle finger.

Upon her hands, the only jeweled adornments were her rings. Her engagement band and wedding band were both white gold with ruby inlays, and the former had a sapphire nestled in a bed of diamonds settled into it. However, upon that slim throat, sapphire velvet had been wrapped with a teardrop diamond hanging from it. Her hair had been braided in a shell-spiral, and the silver circlet that rested upon her brow had been incorporated into the very design to enhance it. From each earlobe, sapphires dangled in the same teardrop shape as the diamond at her throat.

You are stunning, Milady, James looked her over with a small grin, and Lamai flashed him one of her own. Reassurances were vital; she wasn't used to being in Myrken as Baroness. Healer, yes. That didn't require pretty clothes and jewelry and makeup and perfectly done hair. With a nod, she took the final step, placed her hand upon James' arm and allowed him to guide her inside.

The initial greeting was actually the easy part. "Drache, you are gorgeous," Lamai informed the half-dragon as if the female wasn't already aware of that. Yet, they'd had an amusing time discussing fashion and other such female things, and it was with a sly smile that she looked the bard over as well. "And though I was hoping to see your dress, Gentleman Bard, I can't say I'm disappointed."

There wouldn't be long to chat, of course. There were plenty more guests to greet. Besides, inside would be where the real test would come, and Lamai easily floated as she walked. Still, there was a twinge of sadness inside. Kerrak would have loved an event like this. He would have loved dressing her for it. And his son was too worried about politics to join her. Hmph.

She would just have to make the best of it. Perhaps, she could find someone to dance with so that James could go play cavalier to his own interests.

[Altias_Bromn]

Leaned against a tree, a ways from the doorway, he watched the comings and goings. A smile flitted over his lips as he watched Lamai and her lapdog go inside. She was a vision, as she had always been. Perhaps he spent a moment pondering a life wasted, and moments lost, when it came to that woman. There were regrets, that was certain. He was simply glad at this point that she still spoke to him.

Restless and sore fingers toyed with the collar of his waist length black velvet jacket. Sensitive fingertips moved over the silver embroidery that graced collar, lapels, cuffs and hem. Swirls of vines and leaves always reminded him of his freedom. He wore pants of silver, tucked into highly polished knee high boots of black. A delicate silver shirt of silk, with black designs which mirrored those on his jacket completed the look. His sword, not hidden this night by billowy skirts, hung proudly at his hip from a thick black leather belt. This night, Altias Bromn looked more the part of a man than most had ever seen.

The gentle breeze kissed fire and shadow colored locks, drawing them briefly across his face, before they were once more tucked behind his shoulder. He would enjoy watching the comings and goings. He needed to remember why he had come home.

[Thadius Dhrin]

The dark carriage stopped out front. Silver spirals decorated the door that the young boy opened to allow the occupant inside to step forth.

Black boots, tipped at the toes with sliver, stepped down onto the soft earth below. Black leather trousers were tucked in to those boots, a belt of black with silver spirals matching those on the carriage door wrapped round his slender waist. The buckle was carefully crafted in the same design. A mint green silk shirt with silver buttons peeked from beneath a heavy white coat which reached his knees. The coat was crafted of white leather, something somewhat rare in these parts, the sleeves bottoned tightly against his arms with silver spiral buttons.

Hawkish features were hidden behing a silver mask. Plain, but shined to a mirror polish. All that was seen behind the mask were soft, almost kind, smokey jade eyes. Even his hands were covered, in simple black leather gloves.

A gesture to the boy, and the coach would pull away, leaving him to enter the ballroom, and look upon the lavishly dressed people within. That kind gaze turned hard as he moved further into the room and they caught sight of a familiar little woman. Dressed in the finery of a courtesan, smiling, laughing, seeing.

A soft growl was caught in his throat, before he forced a smile that reached his eyes and began to approach Lamai.

[catch]

Palm fronds and skulls cracked beneath his feet, the Precambrian gold glittering under the eye of a cold, unforgiving sun, the World-egg curving above in a gently, blue-white shell. His hands were bound in gold, and he wore a collar of silver and rubies, gold filigree and discs of copper and opal, and everywhere there are people, crowds upon crowds, thousands, and they cheered him as he paced down the decadent avenues. The air was thick with lily-of-the-valley and lavender, and lotus-petals and rose-petals and bird-of-paradise blooms floated through the air, thick as rain, to fall before him and be tread underfoot, releasing their scents in sharp, tangy bursts of fresh color and smell...

Catch stood in the middle of it all, lurking as much as a man like him could lurk, with shoulders hunched and long-fingered hand gripping the table of meats behind him, a tear traveling slow down his pitted cheek. He couldn't remember where he was, or how he had gotten here, even though he could feel the strange, rich cloth against his skin. He looked down at himself, a silken tunic of white, stark against his pale skin, leather pants like those he was used to wearing, a single over-shirt of some darker color - it's color, he could not determine, because it seemed to shift and ripple - of a material he didn't know.

He must have come with Miss Dulcie, and only she would have cared to see him dressed so well, though his hats certainly made him look ridiculous, and the comb in his tufted, curl-haired beard even more so. At least he was as presentable as he could have been made. Catch, however, could remember none of it. It was as if he had gone inside his head, except he couldn't have. He was better. He was healed. That sore, sad place, the place the Golden City had been just moments before, it still ached as he prodded it, and he tasted the sugar-crumbs of cakes on his tongue, and a jellied candy sat on the crown of a molar, so that his tongue picked up it's tangy, honey flavor as it passed around it, automatically trying to dislodge the slowly-melting things.

He had been eating, then, gorging himself on the sweets before he woke up. Only, that was the wrong term, wasn't it? It had ended, that sweet bubble of a dream, as abruptly as it had began, and now he was pressed in by jeweled humanity. Even Drache or Lamai, when his frantic eyes passed over them, could not clear his head, sparkling as they were, and Catch felt himself struggling to breathe, his chest heaving against the effort.

Catch looked down to where he thought he had gripped the table, to see that he held a knife instead, a long, wicked thing that still dripped with the juices of some fat-spitted animal, taken from the carcass behind him and held discreetly against his thigh. The addled man looked up again, and his eyes twitched puppet-like in his skull. How had he ever though balls were wonderful things? He wanted his horse. He wanted to go home. Not to the Broken Dagger, but home.

[Lamai]

Was it surprising to know that Lamai was keeping an eye on him? And why wouldn't she? Darling Catch was her patient, and while she had done what she could, it wasn't complete. It wasn't finished. Glenn would have to be satisfied with what she could do. One of the things that she could do was to watch him. That was why that pretty, gowned creature was reaching for that knife with a knowing, tiny smile.

"Catch, darling.. others will need to use that. It's hardly fair for you to keep it to yourself, now is it?" Lamai was sweet in her sparkles and finery, but those eyes were soft, just for him. Not a hint of her own pain lurking where he might see. Where she moved, so had James, and the man's hat rivaled Catch's own new one, tonight. Only Catch's had that fetching feather, whereas James' had none.

"Why don't I show you a neat trick to do with your hat at a fancy party like this, Mister Catch?" James was offering with a grin of his own, as if the pair were sharing a deep, dark secret. It allowed Lamai the moment of turning away from the table, only to stop short with the appearance of the taller, silver-masked creature.

It was the eyes. Her aqua ones met smiling jades, and Lamai's breathing actually paused. It caused James to hesitate too.. at least, until she was lifting a hand to wave his concern off. He frowned, but the Baroness was starting to smile.

"I.. am surprised.." Lamai almost purred, letting that gaze drop for a moment, only to slowly lift again with a hard edge reserved just for the eyes upon her. "It is so nice to see you."

[Thadius Dhrin]

"Lamai Carver...what a surprise. You certainly look well."

He would extend his arm, and nod his masked head toward the dance floor.

"Would you do me the honor?"

If she took his arm, he would move her toward the dance floor where they could speak quietly and uninterrupted. there was a soft growl at the bottom of his words even as he spoke the pleasantries. How could she be there? Even if she was there how was it that she could see. Something was amiss and Thadius wanted to know every little detail.

[catch]

A girl had thrown her arms about his neck, and she nuzzled and kissed at his jaw as if she didn't know herself, soft hands plucking, stroking, and yet she was nothing, and Catch bore her with a silent patience that did not mirror the roiling in his gut. The further into the Golden City he was led, the more wild became the crowd, until he was surrounded by bacchanal orgy, men forgetting they were men and not beasts, a wild percussion of blood, sweat, leathers, and foul, stinking humanity. In this ancient place, laws were a luxury, and at Catch's coming those few were cast aside in favor of a Wild Hunt. Slaves, those who had no say in their lives, spilled their blood, and other things that Catch did his best to ignore.

At the center of the City, surrounded by spires of opal and Borean onyx, in a vast square packed with the shredded, undignified remains of Humanity, there was a massive slab of marble, carved from the living rock, as creamy white as one of the pale moons that hung pregnant and fat in the sky, and on this pedestal with nameless, ancient creatures carved into it, there stood a man. A crooked man. Catch and the girl stepped onward...



... and Catch found himself following after the two, pushing past the Forest Lord and his invitation, his new boots made possessed and taking him places he didn't know he could go. Out here, in the center, these fine people could see him and judge him. Out here, he inflicted his marred head on them. He did not know where the knife had gone, and he could feel the lips on his jaw, where it met his neck, and unless James stopped him, as he would be wise to do, Catch would march straight out into the middle of the floor, seeing only a marble pedestal in the throng of humanity. He mouthed something, but as to what it was, there was no clue, save for a moment later when he suddenly turns to the Forest Lord.

"I don't feel well," he'd tell James, and he certainly looked the part, his skin paler than usual, his eyes rimmed in bloody red, the sweat standing out in great, silver beads, turning his curls to wet threads that snaked out from under his hats like tendril fingers.

[Raven]

Descant had been so busy finishing up proceedings and then welcoming the first guests, that he would not have even noticed Drache's absence. Fortunately she would return by the time he had noticed, before he begun to wonder if she'd gotten cold feet at the last moment. The thought would quickly be banished from his mind as he viewed the wonderful spectacle of her outfit. There'd be no hesitation in him putting that thought to words. Her own compliment accepted with gracious humility and a charming smile.

"I couldn't have done it without your help."

Not that they'd get a lot of room to chat either, what with Lamai and her Companions arrival. Lamai's sly smile would be met by bard's roguish grin. He was in fine spirits and not even the thought of the other night and the numerous taboo topics that the dragon-lady and the healer had engaged in would see him dissuaded from his infectious good mood.

"M'Lady Lamai. I endeavour to never disappoint."

With the promise of tracking the healer down for a dance some time during the night, the bard would turn his attention back to Drache. The flow of traffic was becoming far too great for them to realistically stand about and continuing greeting new arrivals. Plus festivites were already beginning inside and there was no way Des could settle with remaining away from all the fun. He'd see that his hardwork was suitably rewarded!

"Shall we head inside and mingle?"

Question would be posed, arm offered and a knavish gleam in his hazel eyes. This was his bread and butter after all and the young man was -starving- to sink his teeth into the revelry that he'd so far failed to find within Myrken Wood. If it wasn't for the fact that Drache had asked him to take care of her estate in her absence (plus the whole flying thing) he would've likely begged to journey with her to Razasan.

[Drache]

The elegant dragonness maintained a quiet patience as the guests streamed by. She returned the greetings in earnest to anyone who approached her, but rarely moved forward first. Many people just stared open-mouthed as they passed, like she was some sort of circus spectacle. She bore the silent insult stoically, but would remember the faces. She made a point of seeking out the merchants and suppliers she'd worked with to settle on the arrangements for the glorious ball, and though she said little, often only offering a polite nod of her horns, she thanked them for being a part of it, and for being willing to deal with her. Somehow, she maintained a demeanor that was aloof without being too unapproachable, highly appropriate for one of her race.

"Misss Dulcie, I barely recognized you. How did they get your hair to do that?" she complimented when she caught sight of the innkeeper and Sarcyn, who received a grin.

"Good evening, Councccilor Treadwell. Thanksss again for your asssissstanccce with my new lair. I hope you enjoy the buffet!"

"Thank you Lamai," she replied with a generous flip of her wings that set golden chains and jewels flashing in the light of a thousand candles. "I mussst say, you're almost as shiny as I am." A definite compliment, amplified by the way the half-dragon's gaze lingered appraisingly and longingly on all her sparkling jewelry. She nodded to James as well before moving on.

"Indeed. At leassst until you have to go perform or danccce." Clearly she had no intention of doing either of those. She slipped her warm arm through the Bard's and joined him in heading inside.

The servers were busy trucking dirty utensils back to the kitchens and returning with clean ones, replacing empty platters and bowls and jugs with full ones, weaving through the dining area to refill glasses and offer trays of delicacies.

After a while, a huge crystal sculpture set behind the buffet began to glimmer. It was carved into an extravagant multi-leveled candleabra, the many small flames flickering with the movement of the air. But the inside of the masterpiece was gleaming too, plasma-like tendrils of colour-changing flame twisting slowly around inside like ribbons of lava or heated glass. The effect was absolutely breathtaking, and Drache gave it a smug grin when she moved past it. A most magical contribution on her part.

Thadius earned a slightly narrowed gaze, caught in a moment of subtle body language incongruous with the festive atmosphere. But he wasn't the only one and the half-breed quickly lost sight of him.

She saw Catch move out onto the floor towards James, but he was too far away to talk to.

She paused briefly to savour a cut of meat from one of the tables. Though she ate only with her claws, she managed to do so delicately. She kept her wings tight and her tail low, but wasn't able to completely prevent the occasional brush against other people. For the most part, she let Descant do the steering. The young man was clearly enjoying himself, and she was glad for that.

[Lamai]

Lamai, this isn't a good idea.

See to Catch. Thadius is my problem.

Everything that is your problem is my problem, Lamai!

"Of course," Lamai extended her hand to rest on Thadius' wrist, then lowered her arm atop of his. Her touch was warm. Vibrant. Alive. This was hardly a ghost meant to haunt him. For the moment, the Baroness didn't correct his use of her maiden name.

Catch is more of my concern.

Lamai!

James growled briefly under his breath. There were times, like these, when he seriously considered asking for a reassignment. There was no amount of coin that made up for this headstrong woman. However, there was a point to be had. Catch didn't look well, at all.

"I can see that," James remarked soothingly, clasping his hands behind him as he turned most of his attention to Catch. He certainly wasn't glancing towards Lamai at regular intervals. "It might help us to go sit down. Or, if you need, I could escort you home? Not everyone finds these parties to be entertaining.."