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[Nasod]

☵ Vhalar 23, 718 ☵
Current Theme: In for the Kill

☵

"Hurt, stab, slit their throats. Make the heretics bleed, merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily murders the life I lead. Impale, gut, run them through, make the heretics bleed, once I have you in my sight, there's no escape from me!"

That eerie and demented tune echoed within the balcony of a lavish and extravagant banquet hall in the Gleam. Dosan, by way of his beloved Duke Detlev, was able to attend a prestigious party in honor of the King’s coronation, hosted by the Duke of the Gleam, Duke Rayford Morose. Sitting on the edge of the balcony, Dosan had the perfect view, able to see the comings and goings of nobles from all over the city A calm yet impish smirk played on his face, his eyes darting from person to person, hand gestures and body language, to the facial expressions of those he could see. It was fun watching the interactions of such well-established citizens, a nice change of pace, as Dosan was used to dealing with the dredges of the Lair that his beloved Duke had to deal with.

Speaking of his Duke, Dosan had eyes on him from where he was perched. Biting his lip, the viper admired his lord from afar. It was like watching this forlorn and tortured soul trying to find a place in a world he didn't belong in when in reality, it was everyone else that was strange not him. Dosan found himself getting worked up, so he decided to focus on other things, almost losing his balance and falling several feet onto the dancefloor below. Putting his feet back onto a solid surface, he leaned forward onto the balcony, resting his chin into his hands as his snake-like gaze watched the machinations of those below. ☵

"Speech"

[Mads]

T

he city of Quacia was a curious kind of wounded creature. While its head was filled with grandeur, dining from plates of gold and laughing and singing and busying itself with all the superficial tangents a life of leisure afforded, its belly gaped wide and open and rotting. Maggots burrowed through its flesh, and the stench of fetid, battered, and broken legs hung heavy and thick in the sickened air around it. But the head? The head continued to make merry, even as the taint of its festering body crept ever upward, like the emerald vines themselves.

“Now, if you must speak – and by ‘must’ I am referring, of course, to basic etiquette – you are to only make use of Common.” Dark eyes the grey of the half-light before morning flashed with a dangerous, demanding glint as she stared into the very opposite of her own across from her: bright and light and curious. “Is that understood?”

“It is, my lady.” To make his point, Mathias chose to respond in Common – slowly and meticulously to avoid a strong accent. He allowed his lips to curl into a smirk; one that was made all the more effective for the lack of his eye’s participation. “Will this please?”

Liliana Ribeiro-Morose. Though noble blood ran through her veins, it was diluted – thinned by a foolish marriage for love and thinned again for love found in the bosom of Lair. She was hardly a scandal, more so in that there were plenty others like her than that she did not have reason enough to be considered one. Most of her family accepted her as much as they might accept any other competition, as their patriarch hardly seemed to distinguish between bastard, blood, and broad. Even those with no name at all had a chance if they married in.

Thus, the nature of her birth and the purple beat of her heart had had little impact on her, leaving her as noble as the rest in everything but the colour she bled.

“Droga, it really is such a… clumsy language, is it not?” She waved a gloved hand in the air as if the quick flutter of her wrist might fan away the offence of the words that presumably still lingered in the air about her rich auburn tresses. “But it is what I requested, so I shall not hold it against you.” With a smirk of her own, she tilted her head to the side, hands finding their way to her carefully shaped hips made to seem all the wider thanks to the tightly cinched corset about her already considerably slim midsection. “Of course, for as long as it serves and for where it serves. Refrain from barbarianism in the privacy of our own company.”

“Of course.” The gentle, whispering quality of Vahanic again graced his voice as he nodded his understanding.

They moved through the streets at an easy, casual pace. The Gleam was bright – as bright as the crimson lights ever allowed – and filled with music and song and dance and drink. It was a trial of celebration, a gaudy display of wealth and wellbeing for the destitute and dying to long after – to grow ever more bitter and discontent and despairing. Though none would call it such, Mathias wasn’t blind to the facts. If anything, he was blind to any other reason for it – the king was the king for another arc.

It wasn’t anything to celebrate, as far as he understood, though it didn’t keep him from wearing the mask of a young, foreign dignitary. The mask was complete with costume – a dark suit, expensive shoes, glittering rings and jewellery. All of it had been provided by the taller, far more regally decorated woman who strode beside him. His role was simple enough, though the job he’d been hired to perform had a way of making simple things far more… tangled.

“And the weavers?” He leaned closer toward the Lady Liliana as he spoke, careful not to touch her. The merriment around them provided noise enough that some intimacy was required – but he was well aware of the nature of their little farce and had no intention of stepping out of the carefully drawn lines between them.

“Yes,” she started, pursing her lips for a moment as her fierce gaze grew distant for a trill or two. “I know it would be easier for you if I knew anything about them. What they looked like, how many there might be, which of my loathsome brothers or sisters or cousins seek to target me,” Liliana spoke calmly, casually, as if she were discussing the weather or what it was the party might be serving for antepasto. “But I did not part with as many coins as I did to make your life any easier.”

They never did.

“What I can tell you, however,” she levelled her gaze, staring down her nose at him more so out of the differences in their height than any intentional condescending manner. “Is there is no doubt strings will pulled and puppets shall dance.” They turned down an even brighter, louder street - if it were possible. “Let them. Your sole purpose this evening is to make certain my actions are entirely my own.” She paused in her step, pale hand tightly firmly his bicep in a commanding grip as he too stopped to turn and face her directly. “Is this understood?”

“It is, my lady.”

Releasing him with a nod and dismissive pat on his shoulder, the Lady Liliana started off once more. “It better be.”

T

he word “lavish” hardly even began to describe Morose Manor. Large and well-maintained, it stood tall and proud within the heart of the Gleam, and what a heart it was. It very nearly beat with the pulse of wealth, tall pillars, angled roofs, sculptures and carvings and engravings. It was more art than building, as such the centre of the city’s concentrated wealth might should be, and, though it was clearly a waste of coin, it hardly made it any less impressive.

Party-goers strolled into and out of the massive doors which remained open and inviting – at least to those whom the guards deemed worthy of passage. Laughter and music and the scent of the rare beef wafted through the air. Dresses and suits, bright eyes and smiles, and the raucous cacophony of a thousand conversations all had at once mixed together in a merry façade.
Those dresses and suits so whimsical and fine were tools not only to impress but to impress upon the others gathered just how much better off they were. The eyes and smiles were bright in the hope that the light would help to hide the shadowy poison of thoughts unspoken. The words exchanged were all but empty, searching intently for weakness in other’s while covering one’s own. For once, Mathias didn’t feel nearly so out of place as usual.

“Ah, Lady Liliana, hello hello!” A large, full-bodied woman forcibly took a gloved hand into her own considerably meatier ones, shaking violently – but with just enough precision it wasn’t quite enough to be considered assault. “It is so good to see you!” Dull and dark blue eyes didn’t bother to wander over Mathias at all – not yet. “Why, Lord Glauco and I were ever so worried when we heard about your little… ‘incident’.” She moved closer, as if whispering, but her voice remained at its obnoxiously brash level and tone.

“Baroness Otávia Rocha.” The Lady Liliana inclined her head politely, though she spoke the name to Mathias in a clear explanation, forcing the woman’s attention to him. “I am so very sorry to have worried you. It must have been truly difficult for the both of you considering the severe financial setbacks the two of you have faced these past arcs.” The acidity was confined to the words chosen, as she employed a sweet and innocent tone and expression: a soft curve of her full lips and gentle, almost girlish twinkle in her eyes. “And so unfairly, I might add. Truly a shame.”

“Oh. Oh, yes. That-“ The Baroness politely cleared her throat. It was her turn to utilize the young man beside the Lady now. “And who is your adorable little friend, Lady Liliana?”

“This is Mathias.” Liliana smiled over at him, looking for all the world a young woman in love. It was quite impressive. “Mathias is an old friend – a dear friend – and he was gracious enough to take time out of his busy schedule to accompany me this evening.”

“Is that so?” Otávia grinned wide – a bit too wide – and appraised the young man before her with a renewed intensity. “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mathias.” She managed to make the lack of title louder than what she actually said.

“I should mention,” Liliana started, gently petting the side of Mathias’ arm while her smile faded to a doting pout, “His Vahanic is abysmal.”

He, naturally, chose to wear a polite but vacant smile.

With a serious nod toward Liliana, Otávia tried once more, her Common heavily accented and halting. “How. Do. You. Do.”

There was a light pressure on his shoulder as Liliana’s eyes flashed with a mischievous glint for the half trill their gazes met. “My apologies, come again?” His Common was meticulous, nearly over pronounced but more than enough to fool the

“How. Do. You-“

“Oh, how do you do?” He was careful to match his tone to the women who had spoken before him – polite but so much so it could not be taken as anything but condescending. “I am well! Otayvia, was it? It is a pleasure.” Extending a hand, he made certain to grip her own – a faux pas for a Quacian but an embarrassing misunderstanding for a barbaric foreigner.

She quickly withdrew her hand, disgust flashing across her face unbidden before she regained her composure. “He is… delightful. I wish you the best.” With that, she turned to leave, finding some other unfortunate soul who had not had the foresight of bringing their own idiot foreigners for the evening.

“Sloppy, Mathias.” Liliana frowned down at him, shaking her head. “Innocent. Stupid. It hardly matters that you sound intelligent as long as you fend them off. Do not overplay your limited hand.”

“Understood, my lady.” Less was more, apparently.

Though there were plenty of people gathered, he and she managed to get through the crowd without much difficulty. As they moved, he observed, keen eyes taking in the faces they passed, keener nose searching out the telltale scent of ether. It was there – of course, with so many powerful and important people gathered – but it was faint meaning it was either weak or residual, allowing him to focus more so on the people rather than what the people were doing.

There were others like him – dressed-up and made to play a part but a part separate from the nobility. He locked gazes with several of them: a shockingly bright white-haired young woman with crimson colored eyes, a thin and reedy man with greasy hair and soft emerald eyes obscured by thick-lensed spectacles, a dashing young man with a firm jawline and very nearly sparkling ochre eyes, and, finally, the scrutinizing gaze of an almond-eyed dark-haired man leaning over the bannister of the balcony above.

Mathias’ attention lingered on him for a trill to two longer than the others. A weaver, perhaps? It was too early to tell, and he had no way of knowing, but the man was marked in mind as a potential threat, along with the others who had stood out to him. While a mage couldn’t know for certain when there were others of their kind about, it wasn’t difficult to single out those who might be. The strange nature of what lived inside each of them set them apart – sometimes quite literally. He had dealt with enough of mage, both friend and foe, to know what to look for. Whether he proved correct in his assumptions or not, only time would tell.

“Focus, Mathias,” Liliana drew him from his careful casing of the massive ballroom’s interior with a hand placed on the small of his back and words whispered firmly into his ear. “You see that woman strutting towards us? The cadela with breasts enough to feed an army?”

The woman in question did indeed have an impressive bust that seemed to threaten escape from the tight bodice of her dress with each playful step she took. A veritable earthquake rippled across them as she waved a hand in their direction to catch their attention. “I see her.”

“The Lady Emiliana Morose. If at all possible do not speak and absolutely do not touch her.” There wasn’t quite worry in her voice, but there was commanding urgency enough Mathias took no issue with the orders. Not that he would have had she said so less forcibly – after all, he was being paid to be exactly what she needed. There was no need for petty foolishness like pride or self-respect to get in the way of efficiency.

Before Emiliana could reach them, the music shifted, and instead of her arriving, she switched to beckoning them to join her – something that apparently wasn’t to be refused. Liliana took him by the hand and they, together, drifted out onto the floor, joining in the hundreds of others in a simple waltz. Though he was no dancer, Liliana had no issues dragging him through the steps until he was at least able to keep up – though it was more a matter of him shuffling from place to place than any real dance. Fortunately, he wasn’t alone, as several other young men and woman who seemed to be in a situation that was – at least socially – comparable to his own, were dragged right along with him.

[Nasod]

☵ Vhalar 23, 718 ☵
☵ Mood: Annoyed, Conerned
☵ Current Thought: WHo are you?!
☵ Current Theme: Gates of Hell

☵ As the lowly assassin sat upon his perch, he found himself doing what he always did, watching, observing, and making mental notes of faces he could make out from the distance he was. It was rather hard, and the strain of it all was starting to give him a minor headache. It was intriguing to him, however, as this was a gathering of those who supported the Arkenstone family. But in the eyes of this viper, he could only see the lot of them as parasites. Those in attendance tonight were simply here to play the bloody and rather fun game of courtly intrigue. The clamor of aristocrats and nobles made the young man sick, but it was amusing none the less.

He liked the game and how it was played, finding it to be the greatest thrill, wagering one's existence in a gamble of life & death. He giggled, finding how futile their efforts were and continued to watch the masses as they went about the soiree. As he looked on, he noticed something, well more someone. Had the person not been holding his stare for that long, Dosan would have never caught it, but there he was, a pale-skinned blonde, sticking out like a gold nel amongst copper ones. The two had to have met gazes for at least a couple of trills, which spurred the snake to slither from his vantage point.

Descending the staircase, the atmosphere shifted as the music changed, and many began to find their way to the dance floor of the elaborated and luxurious venue. Once he made to the ground level, he lost the bright blonde haired male, cursing under his breath as he began to navigate his way through the crowd of dancing pairs. Midway to the other side of the room, where the bar would be, Dosan felt a hand on his shoulder and his instinct was to reach for his gauntlets, but he remembered they had been confiscated until his participation in the blood sports later tonight. Cursing again, he put on his fakest smile and turned, only to see Fabian Dontimeir, a Dragoon, and customer of the Liar who had quite the reputation as a closeted whore.

He smiled at Dosan as he laid a kiss on the assassin's cheek. Dosan eyed the man, one in his late 20s and was known throughout the lair as quite the....well one could say he liked others to take control behind closed doors. Fancy seeing you here Dosan, I didn't think this was your kind of scene. the warrior admitted, licking his lips as he took Dosan in. I find it weird seeing you in clothes, I'm used to you being without. he said, putting a hand to his chin as he chuckled. Dosan, however, was not amused feeling the dragoon undressing him with his eyes.

"Funny, as I never thought you could walk properly, being that you are always on your hands and knees"

the viper hissed back, to which a devilish smirk crept onto Dosan's face. Touche'. But all jabs and insults aside, care for a dance? the dragoon proposed, bowing and extending a hand to the young man. Dosan looked over to the bar his lord was stationed at, and as much as he wanted, longed to get by his lord's side, it would be rude to turn this man down. With a sigh, Dosan took the man's hand and was escorted to the dance floor.

As the music played, and bodies sway to the rhythm, Dosan caught sight of his pale-skinned onlooker from before, or at least he hoped it was him. He had never seen this man before, and that made him both fearful and curious. Who could this person be? An assassin? A spy? Dosan could feel his heart begin to race from a possible danger being so close, and he knew if he didn't at least warn his lord, something bad might happen. He prayed to the wounded god that this song would hurry and end, and he could rush to his master's side and protect his beloved Lord Detlev.☵

"Speech"

[Mads]

W

ith a slow rise and fall, the waltz continued, and bodies large and small - yet each just as expensive as the next - flowed over the floor like some delicately decorated wave of needless decorum. Allowing Liliana to guide his blundering steps, Mathias focused his attention on the dancers, who passed by in as myriad a number of moods as they themselves numbered. Some looked bored, others miserable, some excited, others purely delighted. There were the oddities, those with keen gazes like his own, that he took note of, eyeing them as he and she passed, but, if any planned an attack on the young woman who swept him around in wide circles and tight squares, none seemed willing to chance it on the dancefloor - at least not yet.

Both the crimson-eyed woman and the ocher-eyed man locked stares with him, the prior raising an amused brow while the latter offered something a bit darker and more intimidated, but neither appeared particularly interested in either himself or Liliana - though such a thing hardly disqualified the suspect mages from his list of potential threats. As they twirled away, both far more light on their feet than he, the dark-haired almond-eyed man took the white-haired woman's place. He was partnered with a muscular man who hardly looked to be nobility, let alone a man of high standing, and it seemed he was hardly enjoying himself. They passed one another for a brief moment, but, as he sensed only a venomous curiosity from the manner in which the man eyed him, the exchange was quickly forgotten.

As the waltz came to a close, he and Leliana had come to stand just shy of the centre of the ballroom. All around them the others began to break out into conversation, their individual voices joining together to give rise to a swelling eruption of sound both merry and quaint. To Liliana's furtive dismay, which she hid beneath a shielding gloved hand and slight stoop toward him as if whispering something into his ear, the Lady Emiliana Morose had seemed to make a point that she and her partner end their own dance nearby. Close enough that it required only a few politely shoving steps to join her, the woman beckoned them for the second time that night. Lightly squeezing Mathias' shoulder in what he assumed to be a final warning before they were faced with the Lady, Liliana picked her way over to join her cousin with her escort in tow.

"Lily," her voice was more that of a gusty sigh, perhaps in part due to the immense weight she was forced to carry around with nothing but her back to support it. "How are you, you beautiful young thing?" Her dark blue eyes seemed to glitter in the sunset hues of the bloodlights and candles mixed glow as she studied the woman, completely ignoring Mathias much as the Baroness had earlier.

Her partner, an incredibly tall, dark-skinned woman with a face as severe and stern as any statue remained just as silent, towering over those around her.

"Lady Morose," Though subtle, Mathias picked up a hint of strain in the voice of the auburn-haired woman beside him. "I am all the better for the privilege of seeing you tonight." He could almost feel the tightness of her smile. "Are you wearing an... Alves?" She gently kissed the hand that was extended but very quickly released it.

"An Alves? Oh, no no." The louder and larger - in all aspects of the word - woman tutted a merry little chuckle. "This is one of Moura's most recent pieces. She wanted to," she ran a hand over her sizable hip, brow raised a painted lip curled, "Accentuate the sensual and sumptuous curves of my body." It most certainly did so. "I must say, I did not think I would see you here this evening with a young man upon your arm." Though she referred to him, she never glanced his way. "I take it Pietro did not...?" Though she politely trailed off, it was a clear enough insinuation.

Gently caressing the curve of Mathia's jaw with the back of her hand, Liliana shook her head and let out a soft patter of laughter that was almost lost the buzz and clamour of chatter around them that filled the hall up to its ceiling and back. "You are not the only one, my Lady. Mathias was... quite the surprise." Her hand slipped from his face to his chest as she grinned the sort of smile that any other woman would have been quick to understand the meaning of.

Emiliana's face, powdered as it was, still flushed a dark blush as she tittered in response. "Oh, Lily, I am always struck envious by your ease of indulging yourself in such... escapades." She laughed the last word out as if it were a punchline to a joke she shared with the tall woman beside her - who, in turn, briefly smiled. "And while we are on the subject," she leaned forward beckoning her cousin closer with a waggle of a finger, "Have you had the fortune of setting eyes on the Duke this evening?"

Though there were several Dukes who were a part of the king's court, it seemed Liliana had no need for clarification. "I caught a glimpse of him by the bar before the dance." For the first time since their short relationship had begun, Mathias thought he heard something quite close to a girlish giddiness in her voice. "He looked absolutely dashing. Oh, what I would do just for a taste of-"

"Lily," Emiliana's eyes widened in mock horror, though her voice betrayed her amusement as she finally chanced the briefest of appraisals over Mathias.

"Oh," Liliana's laugh sounded quite genuine now, filled with mirth and diversion. "He only speaks Common. That is the second best thing about him."

"And the fir-" Catching herself and blushing once more - something Mathias was beginning to wonder if she might be able to do so on command - Emiliana's hand flew to stifle her own laughter. "Lily. Really."

The tall, silent woman raised a brow and offered him a questioning glance, but said nothing. He remained smiling politely and let his gaze wander the crowd once more. After all, he doubted a young, illiterate man would hardly be invested in the chittering of two foreign women. It allowed him time to assess their situation, and it didn't take him long to pick out three of the four he'd spotted before. The white-haired woman had made her way to the balcony and was engaged in a rather lively discussion with several young men and an elderly woman. The reedy, greasy-haired, bespectacled man stood with a drink in hand, seemingly alone, at the edge of the dance floor; though Mathias couldn't make out his eyes for the glint of his glasses, he seemed to be studying those gathered. The handsome young man who had shot him so dirty a look before was not but three people to Mathias' left, engaged in a gentle exchange with a currently violet-eyed, sharp-eared young man who was blushing incredibly fiercely.

Any one of them could be the weaver, if not the unlikely chance they all were.

The dark-haired, almond-eyed man had all but disappeared once the music had stopped, and though Mathias carefully searched for him, perusing over about half of the room, he was interrupted by a soft clearing of the throat and sharp jab to his ribs. "Mathias."

He blinked three times in rapid succession, recalling the half-listened to conversation that had passed between the two - no, three, the ellune had said something as well once or twice while he'd be preoccupied - and bowed his head in apology first to Liliana then to Emiliana and her escort - Moema, she had said. In his carefully dictated Common, Mathias addressed Emiliana with penance lightly layered through his even tone. "I apologize, my Lady. My mind is wont to wander."

Though accented - and neatly so, at that - the Lady Morose shook her head, as overtly magnanimous as ever, and replied as easily in Common as she had been speaking in Vahanic not but a bit ago. "Think nothing of it, Mathias," No, not "sir". She was above him, and she had no issues reminding him of such. "Moema simply wondered where it was you hailed from?"

A wide but carefully groom brow raised in an arc as the dark-skinned woman nodded.

Without hesitation, Mathias replied as he'd been instructed long before he and Liliana had arrived that the venue for the night. "Scalvoris, most recently. My trade requires I move quite often." Rather than allow for a second question of clarification, he settled upon a warm smile - though one that only just missed his eyes - and chuckled his own gentle laughter. "Though, if you wish to know where I was born, consider yourself one of many."

Liliana, in her smooth and whispery Vahanic, nodded, almost solemnly. "He was found and raised by merchants. They said they plucked him from the floating wrecking they came across after a particularly nasty storm." A bit quieter and with a wry twist to her words, she shook her head, very nearly selling to him that her pity was genuine. "I think he might have been bought and was merely lucky enough to fall into the hands of those who cared to tend to him."

"Oh, how dreadful." Emiliana, ever the first to display a heart that bled blood as thin as water, allowed her expression to soften for a blink or two before she pressed on unfazed, switching back to Common effortlessly, "Then we shall not press you for it." Her tone implied she was doing him a favour, and while Mathias graciously accepted it as such with a kind smile and grateful bow of his head, he could feel the warning pressure of Liliana's grip upon his arm that kept him from saying anything else.

"It really has been-" she started, but before she could finish there was a clear, glass-like ringing noise that filled the entire room, gathering the collective focus of the party-goers all at once to centre on the night's host who stood atop the balcony with a large smile, open arms, and the white-haired, crimson-eyed woman by his side.

“Welcome!” he began, voice loud and booming and bright, “Welcome honoured guests, Quacian and foreign alike, to my home.” There was a round of applause, one that fell just shy of enthusiasm but deafening all the same. “I am, of course, the Duke Rayford Morose,” he bowed, though it seemed more a mockery of himself than a true introduction, and several in the crowd laughed and chuckled in reply; some even went as far as to call out a friendly “Hello!” or “Ho, Duke!” which were all received with gentle eyes and kind acknowledgement – from the duke, at least.

“Every arc, we gather together in celebration of our grand king’s crowning-“ Another round of cheers erupted from the crowd. The Gleam, after all, was quite fond of the Quacian king. “Yes, yes. He is a great man, is he not?” Duke Morose’s smile widened into a merry grin as he received the collective affirmation of the those gathered. “Indeed. And every arc, it is my pleasure- no, my privilege- no, my duty, just as it has been for all the dukes of my house before me, to throw the most resplendent, the most extravagant of parties in his honour!”

There were more cheers, though, as Mathias glanced at his companions around him, he noticed only polite but refined applause from all three of the woman.

“We have much planned for you, honoured guests,” he winked, eliciting an anticipatory murmur of excitement, “I would ask you help yourselves to the banquet – and wine. I know quite a few of you – if not all! – are quite looking forward to the night’s main events; do be patient! As with all things, there must be time allowed for your excitement to grow fit to bursting before we even think to harvest it!” This time the cheers were much louder. “In a break’s time, my ushers will ask you to make your way to the gardens. Please do so, as I would not want a single one of you to miss out on the sports we have in store.”

When the cheers of excitement – and several over-eager betters – had calmed, Morose clasped his hands together in front of his chest, merry expression softening some. “Now, I ask each of you to draw a single drop of your blood – to those of you visiting our fine city, please find any of my servants, they will have a blade – and offer up your prayers to our king.” There was the general bustle of movement and activity, the shifting rustle of dresses and suits filling the hall in a steady, almost rhythmic whisper. Mathias and Liliana shared a blade between the two of them, as did Moema and Emiliana.

Loudly, commandingly, the Duke began his prayer, and all gathered – whether faithful or not – quietly repeated after him, hands spotted with beads of blood lowered toward the floor and heads bowed.

“Below earth, beyond time, Your Wounds You gently tend.
The sanguine gash, the gaping slash: our city’s price You paid.
Below sky, bound by time, we spill our lives to mend
Your aching bones, Your tender groans. Our blood we give in trade,
And ask You, Wounded One Below,
To help our dear King’s greatness grow.
Show unto him the way; reveal to him Your will.
Yet even as we pray, we know You suffer still,

From flesh to flesh, and bone to bone,
We give our blood to You alone.”

Upon the final verse, Morose gently set his cut finger upon his tongue, eyes shutting, almost sensuously, as all gathered did the same. “Está fieto.” The crowd murmured the closing words. There was a stillness that hung around the room for a trill, perhaps three or four even, before Morose raised his eye, face once more a merry beam. “And now, I ask you all enjoy yourselves! Drink, eat, and be merry, my friends!”

With the reverent silence broken, the band started up another song – this a far livelier foxtrot and one that Liliana seemed to have no desire to perform. Before Emiliana could say otherwise, she and he had disappeared into the crowd, winding and weaving their way through the bodies as people began once more to break out into dance. She wasn’t quite fast enough, and a clumsy, muscular – and familiar – man swept through the dancers directly toward them, his eyes set hungrily on his partner and oblivious to the impending collision.

Without a second thought, Mathias positioned himself between Liliana and the oncoming man, his hand just slightly extended forward. Ether swarmed out of his fingertips, invisible spheres of concentrated power zipping to their proper places. Five thousand sixteen hundred four – it was all he needed between the simple four-point barrier that was erected a trill before the man slammed into it with force. The barrier itself dissipated immediately after, but the man, who had smashed the better half of his right side, stumbled backwards, dazed, confused, and irate.

Unfazed, Liliana took the lead once more and offered the man a quirk of her brow as she waited for him to stand aside. “Do try to watch where you are going.”

Mathias, silent, followed behind her, bright grey eyes staring curiously at the angry, flushed cheeks of the careless dancer. He was the same who had imprisoned the almond-eyed, dark-haired man from before, and the manner in which he glared at the Lady Liliana suggested he was, at the very least, upset enough to strike her if he had had the gall. Perhaps he was not the weaver he was meant to subdue, but he was most certainly the greatest threat he had come across yet.

Conflicts on the dancefloor weren’t so uncommon that anyone stopped. Most simply gave the four of them a wide berth and ignored them, though a few couples whispered with the sort of hushed tone that could only be the conceptual stages of gossip.

“Mathias?” A curled finger beckoned him forward, and he moved without question, though he was about half the man’s size in musculature and at least a head shorter – hardly an intimidating figure. Liliana’s dark grey gaze flashed in the entitled, challenging way that seemed to be so ubiquitous a display of power. “Is there going to be a problem, sir?” The title was spared no acidity, such that it sounded far more a gibe than any true honorific. Though Mathias doubted there would be any true issue, his ether ran cold and clear beneath the surface of his skin as he stared coolly up at both men, ready to react should the need arise.

[Nasod]

☵ Vhalar 23, 718 ☵
☵ Mood: Annoyed, Conerned
☵ Current Thought: WHo are you?!
☵ Current Theme: Gates of Hell

☵ The entirety of the waltz, Dosan was a nervous wreck, but he did his best not to let it show. He played his part the best he knew how and simply wished for the song to end and this miserable dance to be over. The entire time, however, he spent every rounding chance to put an eye on that man. They were quick glances as him & Fabian danced, but it was enough to get a good enough picture in his head of the appearance this variable had. He wouldn't forget that face, even in a sea of dignitaries and aristocrats. The woman he was with, she was an odd face too, he hadn't seen her before, but then again he wouldn't know most of the nobles here. Being of common birth, Dosan, even by the grace of his lord, was still far below the totem pole. Every guest in the room could end him with just a word, and there would be nothing he could do or say otherwise.

Soon the song came to a close, and Dosan could be no happier about it, thanking the wounded god for such a blessing.

"You have had your dance, now if you'll excuse me, I must hasten to my lord's side"

he said, pulling himself out of the hands of the dragoon, but not fast enough. Fabian had latched onto to the viper's hand which made Dosan's eyes shoot back at him in disgust. Detlev is a big boy, he can fend for himself ya know? Why you gotta be his little handmaid all the time? He's nothing special, and he's a weirdo. the dragoon inquired, his words only causing Dosan's blood to boil a bit, and caused the young man to pull the dragoon in close as if to kiss him.

"The Duke is by far the best of them all, and a far greater man then you would ever know. Try not to insult him in my presence, dear Fabian."

the viper hissed, his facial expression less than savory. Is that a threat? the dragoon inquired, smirking as if this was some sick twisted form of foreplay for him. Dosan chuckled and patted the warrior on his chest.

"Not in the least silly, but it would be very unfortunate if a Blood Viper somehow got into your bed as you slept. Accidents are a common thing nowadays, one can never be too careful."

he giggled, pressing his way from the wretch.

Now that he was free of his unfortunate admirer, Dosan made a beeline for the bar, where his lord sat, a drink in hand and merely gazing into the cup. Approaching his lord's left side Dosan bowed and stepped a little closer. Before a word could escape his lips, Detlev had spoken and the young assassin stiffened up in response. Are you enjoying yourself Dosan? the enigmatic figure asked, Dosan locking eyes with his superior as Duke Detlev turned his head slightly to catch the viper in his peripheral. Dosan, choking on his nodded, trying to calm himself in his lord's presence.

"Yes my lord, I'm very grateful to attend this extravagant celebration for our king."

he replied, feeling the sweat bead on his brow, nervous and elated to be given such an opportunity. Before their conversation could continue, the hose of the evening began his speech.

The host of the party, Duke Rayford Morose was very.......for the lack of better terms, flamboyant and jovial. He was a complete opposite to his lord, and it made the viper curious as to the type of man he was. He was the Duke of the Gleam, and Dosan knew as much as anyone else had about the man. He was rich and had an eye for luxury, and was a benevolent soul to boot. Dosan couldn't help but wonder what secrets this man held hidden behind all the glitz and glamour, and a part of him wanted to find out. But that would have to wait till another time, even he knew such things would take much time, and was willing to wait for it. Then came the fun part, the prayer and offering his blood to their great diety beneath the city. Not as fervant as others, Dosan was of the Scarlet Belief and he enjoyed spilling blood, be it his own or someone else's at his lord's behest.

As the Duke ended the prayer he encouraged everyone to enjoy themselves as the best part was going to be happening later in the evening. Dosan knew exactly what that was. The Blood Sports, which was right up the viper's alley. Turning to his lord Dosan bowed again as he spoke.

"I am participating in the blood games this evening my lord. I will try my best to bring victory to the Lair tonight."

he said, his tone light and full of optimism as he hoped this would delight his lord, a display of his skill as well as being the best form of entertainment for his lord. I am well aware of your participation. Try not to go overboard though, It wouldn't look good for the Lair. the Duke encouraged, sliding a shot of expensive looking liquor in Dosan's direction. Bowing once again, Dosan took the shot and turned to face the crowd that was back to the dance floor, musing now in a more upbeat sound, and echoes of celebration in the air.

"I'll try my best not to my lord."

he confirmed, downing the shot, his eyes scanning the room that was to the back of his beloved lord. Looking out into the sea of faces, he was intent on finding but one. There was no subtlety in his gaze, as even Detlev could sense the intensity of his underling's scoping eyes. Is there something bothering you Dosan? Detlev inquired, shifting in his seat, his eyes switching from the crowd to Dosan and back again.

"Nothing noteworthy my lord, just a simple variable."

he replied, his eyes finally focusing in on his prey. There he was, that pale white haired male. He watched as the pair moved through the crowded dance floor, and saw what would have been a collision, but somehow, someway, only one of the two parties ended up crashing.

"Interesting."

the viper hissed, turning to the bartender and asking for another shot, to which Detlev asked for one as well, adding it to his tab. Together both men drank their shot, eyes now focused on such a curious pair. ☵

"Speech"

[Mads]

A

t first, the man didn't say anything, though vague amusement tempered with anger flitted over his features as he glanced down at Mathias. Though he worse a suit instead of a uniform and had cleaned himself up nicely, Mathias had lived in the city long enough to recognize a Dragoon in or out of uniform. The ready stance, the dismissive smirk, the face and body of a labourer forced into the posture of someone who was not quite noble nor heap. Liliana seemed to see it as well, and her expectant gaze warmed, voice almost purring as her neatly plucked brow raised in an amused arc. "Fabian... Dontimeir, was it?"

Immediately, the man's face paled.

Liliana let out a tinkling laugh, far more frightening than any of her vim and vigour could muster, as the band continued to play on and the dancers whirled and twirled around them, allowing plenty of space if not at the price of the occasionally annoyed glance. "Oh, but I have heard things about you." She stepped forward, past Mathias who allowed her pass but remained ready with eyes set on her could be assailant, "I suppose it is only natural a man who spends his spare time on his back squealing like an over-enthusiastic pig-" Here the "p" was heavily over-accented. "-would find his feet too clumsy for proper dancing."

The mix of building rage and frustration that boiled beneath the thin veneer of impotence he had hastily drawn about himself threatened to overtake him, but Fabian instead bowed his head, voice strained but polite. "My apologies, my lady." She hadn't even introduced herself - by presence alone she had established the impossible gap between their worlds that he could not - and would not - ever be able to close. It was both impressive and disconcerting.

"Your apologies indeed, Fabian." With a flick of her wrist, he moved out of her way. "Have a lovely evening. Try not to boor your way into the ill-favour of any of my far less generous contemporaries." Mathias moved as her shadow, quietly passing behind her, still ready should the Dragoon change his mind. "They would not find your blunders nearly so... farcical as I." She let out another titter of laughter before finally she turned her back to him and strode off of the dance floor.

Both men stared after her - one grinning in amusement and the other red-faced and enraged - though, as Mathias joined her, glancing back to gauge the situation one last time, he found that both had collapsed into discussion rather than action. It seemed Liliana wielded her birthright as effectively as any swordsman might a blade. Though, he supposed, the manner in which she had done so was more than enough reason to seek revenge - something the weavers of empathy were quick adept at providing, should the coin or incentive be high enough.

"Are you certain-" he started, but was interrupted by a delicate, gloved finger pressed to his lips.

"This is not your world, Mathias." There was something almost pitying in her voice, but her dark grey eyes remained cool and steady as she stared down at him. "Do not presume. Do not question." The finger was removed as she drew closer, breath warm on his lips as her nose brushed against his. "You are here to act and react," For a trill, her lips hovered just across from his own. "Nothing else." With that, she withdrew, eyes sparkling with a mischevious mirth, an expression not dissimilar to a cat who had its prey trapped and defenceless. "Now, let us find the good Lord Gabriel. He is, I assure you, the single most interesting man here." Entwining her fingers into his own, she led him through the crowd, pausing here and there to smile and nod or exchange a greeting or two with those who thought to stop her.

All the while, Mathias continued to search the faces around them, to determine what intents he could detect. He'd lost track of all four of his suspects and, as they moved, gained three more. The first was a portly man with bright shifting eyes and sharply pointed ears - very clearly nobility of some kind - who was quite fond of touching. Those he touched were hesitant at first, but in short time they joined him in laughter. Mathias could smell the electric scent of ether in the air, but he couldn't be certain whether it came from the man or not.

The second was a fiery-headed woman, hair tightly woven into the likeness of a flower - such a symbol alone painting her as a foreigner - who stood with a demure smile as she nodded along to a conversation she seemed content to feign participation in. Their eyes met for a moment, and whether she was a mage or not, it was clear they were there for similar enough reason that both seemed to take note of the other, an unspoken acknowledgement of the other's potential for trouble.

The third and final was a golden-eyed, winged man with wildly tousled nutbrown hair. While he took no notice of Mathias' discerning gaze, he, too, was overly touchy - hands trailing over the skin of the men and women around him. It would not have caught his attention nearly as much if it had not been for the powerful aroma of ether in the air as he and Liliana had passed. The winged man was, at least, a mage of some kind - most likely, of all those he'd noticed thus far, a weaver.

When they - in the losest of terms, of course - finally spotted the Lord Gabriel Valer-Morose, Mathias' attention was forced from the party around them and onto the bright, clear blue eyes of the curly, onyx haired, olive-skinned man who, unlike all his other contemporaries, addressed him directly after kissing Liliana's outstretched hand with a suave press of his lips to her glove, eliciting a giggling chuckle from her. "And who might you be, sir?" Though he, naturally, spoke in Vahanic, it was so clearly a question meant for him, Mathias couldn't feign foreign ignorance. Instead, he donned his most confused look - a furrowed brow, a slight frown, and a polite opening and closing of his mouth - as he turned to Liliana for direction.

It was her world, after all.

"Gabe," Her demeanour was completely changed; she now smiled freely and openly, voice light and teasing and childish. It seemed the man was a true friend - an ally, a confidant, a brother - and one that she was entirely comfortable around. So comfortable that secrets were hardly a worry to her. "This is the," she lowered her voice, leaning into the man that stood only a finger or too higher than she, grinning merrily, "The abrogant."

"Oh?" Never once did Gabriel allow Mathias out of his friendly gaze - a gaze that took on a far more scrutinizing gleam after Liliana's revelation. "And you, sir, are confident you can keep my precious Lily safe?" The question was somewhat of a challenge, buried beneath the quiet and polite tone and amiable expression that didn't touch the warning flame of his sapphire eyes.

Speaking low as well, more so at the past behest of Liliana who had requested he speak Vahanic only to her and in private, he raised a brow and kept his voice calm and unassuming. "If she will allow me, my Lord."

A brief moment passed between the two of them as Gabriel regarded him in impassive silence. Any common man who felt things in a common fashion would have been sweating - Mathias simply calmly waited for the reply, if the Lord thought to offer it to him. All at once, with a loud guffaw, Gabriel clapped him on the shoulder and nodded, face beaming. "I like this one, Lily. He knows you for the troublemaker you are."

Less amused, Liliana rolled her eyes, an unspoken admonition in her voice. "He certainly thinks he knows something."

Gabriel pulled him in closer; Mathias noted that the man wore a scent - sandalwood if he wasn't mistaken - and wondered briefly how much that must have cost him to import. "As long as you do the job, sir, you are welcome as a friend as far as I am concerned." He grinned wide before he pressed his lips to Mathias' - a kiss that lingered just a trill longer than it, perhaps, should have. "Now," he chuckled, releasing Mathias from his surprisingly firm hold and allowing him to stagger back to Liliana's side who hid her laugh behind a gloved hand. "Shall we find something to eat? I am absolutely famished, and gossip is a better dessert than an entree." He winked an the pair - Mathias returned a polite smile and Liliana nodded emphatically.

"Do we know who will be entertaining us this evening, Gabe?" She skipped ahead, forcing Mathias to take up the rear, as she fell into step beside her beloved cousin. "I have heard rumours about... district representatives?" The interest in her voice was clear, unshrouded by wile. "Is that true?"

While Mathias would have been content to remain the pair's shadow, Gabriel seemed to have other ideas. Glancing over his shoulder, grin wide and sea-blue eyes twinkling with merriment - not unlike his uncle who had stood before them all only bits ago - motioned Mathias forward with a tilt of his head. "You are - for tonight, at least - one of us."

"It really is not-"

As Mathias fell into step beside the curly-haired man, an arm tightened around his waist, and Gabriel's voice lowered, levity exchanged for a brief moment of gravity. "Do not presume to tell me what is and is not; I say you join us? You do." Wordlessly, Mathias nodded his understanding, and, in the next instant, Gabriel was smiles and laughter once more, finally turning to address his dear cousin with an apologetic, wide-eyed frown. "I cannot say I know all the names of the contestants, but I too have heard the rumours." He glanced between the pair on either side of his hips and laughed, "I have even started a few myself!"

"Naturally." Liliana playfully batted at his shoulder, though there was some annoyance in her eyes as she caught Mathias' glance. He did his best to appear apologetic, but, whether his southward arced brows translated correctly or not, she only allowed him the briefest trills of her attention before she looked back to Gabriel as he continued.

"As for the verity in these things... I believe there are both Lair and Gleam representatives - several of each. Shanty, of course, will not be represented and Fortress..." Here, he shrugged, the motion pulling Mathias a bit closer and offbeat of his step. "Last I heard, Uncle was trying to convince the king to lend him the Puppet, of all things."

Genuine laughter filled the air between the two Moroses; Mathias did what he could to keep an eye out for those he'd pegged before - and was careful to sniff the air and make certain Gabriel had not worked a spell over the typically acrid Liliana - but was, more or less, forced to keep his eyes and ears on the discussion at hand.

"My, can you imagine?" Liliana shook her head. "That would be an utter mess. And Uncle's poor garden!"

"The stonemasons would have work for the next three arcs, no doubt." Playfully tugging at Mathias' leather belt, Gabriel grinned wide, as if he'd shared a clever joke. Mathias smiled politely in return, which seemed to be enough, as Gabriel nodded and continued. "Though I sincerely doubt the Puppet will be making an appearance, I have also heard there will be a Dragoon this year. As well as several foreign mercenaries - more so after..." He paused, and Liliana lightly bobbed her head. "At any rate, I believe it will be quite the enjoyable show."

"Will Arsenio Lobo be competing?"

"Lily, I said enjoyable not predictable." Though his voice was heavy with a sigh, it was playful and laughter danced in his eyes. "Lobo is a wonderful swordsman, but he is entirely all too efficient."

Liliana pouted as they gathered around a small table that had been draped in lace and decorated with a fine assortment of carved gems in the shapes of the various crests of the Dukes and Barons. "True though..." She curtsied halfheartedly as Gabriel pulled out a chair for her, plopping down into the seat with a sigh. "His aesthetic is just so-"

"The man fights naked," Gabriel spoke both condescendingly to Liliana and as an aside to Mathias, as he waited for the other man to move the chair as he'd done for Liliana. Obliging him, Mathias did as was expected, though when he took a step back with the intention of remaining standing, he was forced into the seat next to Gabriel with a firm tug on his wrist and a dangerous glimmer of bright blue eyes.

"Oh, please, Gabe. As if it is not as equally enjoyable for you." Liliana sneered the words out, though her tone was entirely amicable and lighthearted. "And he really is such a performer. Efficient but... beautiful. An artist, if you will."

"I cannot deny that, I suppose."

Food arrived only a half bit after they'd seated themselves - waiters dressed in smart white suits and gowns arrived with several plates in each hand. Each dish was different; polenta and crab and hummus and flatbread and all manner of exquisite scents and flavours. Though he waited for the other two to help themselves, Mathias didn't make the same mistake of not participating a third time. He gingerly lifted a small, golden puff off of one of the carefully garnished plates and popped it into his mouth. It was at least as delicious as what Graciana cooked on special occasions, if not more so thanks to its novelty. Cheese was expensive, and there was more in his mouth currently than he typically consumed within an arc.

"Oh!" Interrupting himself in the middle of lifting a delicate cracker piled high with a dark, rich-smelling caviar and topped with a sharp-scented tassel of some mysterious leafy green that Mathias was, naturally, sceptical of, Gabriel let the thing hover just shy of his mouth as he addressed the thought he was, clearly, afraid might escape him. "Now that I think on it, Duke Detlev did say something about... personal attendants? Favoured underlings?" He shook his head, the uppermost rounds of caviar teetering yet barely remaining where they were. "Something along those lines. Something," he nodded at Liliana with a grin, "To look forward to, I think." As he, finally, moved the cracker the rest of the way, the caviar, at last, could withstand the jarring no longer and toppled off of its vessel in a charcoal cascade. "Shit."

Anticipating the spill, Mathias, napkin already in hand, reached out and caught the mess before it landed in the Lord's lap, which earned him an impressed raise of Liliana's brow and a bought of laughter from the man himself. "My my, quite attentive, are you not?"

With a nod, Mathias glanced at Liliana, who had lowered her own gaze to focus on extracting a choice strip of delicate white meat from a thick leg of crab. "It is my job, my Lord."

"Of course." A warm had found its way to Mathias’ knee. “Thank you…?”

He wondered if it was considered rude to not introduce one’s self to superiors who had never asked for it, but now that the moment was upon him, he supposed it was all well enough that he simply give his name and move on. “Mathias. Mathias Moreno, my Lord.”

“Mathias. Mathias…” Gabriel let the name roll off his tongue. “That is… not a Quacian name, if I am not mistaken.” His interest burned bright in his blue eyes as he swirled a delicate and expensive blend of exotic juices in his glass.

Liliana still seemed absorbed in her crab – if anything, her frustration and focus appeared to be mounting rather than receding.

“You are not, my Lord.” Mathias folded his hands over his lap, well aware of the hand but with no real power to remove it. He spoke calm and casual as ever, though he made a point not to look Gabriel directly in the eyes – it was better to err on the side of respect rather than to assume himself incorrectly over-familiar. “Though where exactly it comes from, I cannot say.”

“Cannot?” The other man stared, eyes glittering facetiously, “Or will not?”

Offering him a soft smile and gentle chuckle, Mathias shook his head, “If I knew, I cannot imagine why I should hope to hide it from you, my Lord.” He received a gracious nod. “Though if I were to guess, I would imagine it is from somewhere in the North.” Or so Graciana had suggested at some point in his life; it had never been something he’d been particularly worried over, and thus had never put much thought into it nor felt the need to investigate its origins.

“It does have that… barbaric ring to it.” Gabriel’s brows rose and fell in rhythm to the word “barbaric”, but his kind grin – which, as Mathias had already seen, was as much a mask as any he wore – was coupled with a warm, “The juxtaposition with your person is, of course, absolutely delightful. Are you certain you are not of noble blood?”

That was a question he knew the answer to immediately – arcs spent under Graciana’s tutelage had instilled within him certain reflexes, and the cajoling jests of nobility had ever only one proper reply. “You flatter me, my Lord.”

Satisfied, Gabriel leaned back in his chair with a hearty chuckle. “Ah, well. I suppose even I cannot have everything I want without consequence.”

“When I am-“ With a small, entirely unladylike grunt, Liliana, at last, freed the meat from its cloistered shell. She let out a small sigh of triumph before setting her eyes on the two young men. “When I am through with him, you are welcome to find distraction in him all you like.” Gloves removed at the start of the meal, her slender, delicate fingers gingerly picked up one of the silver spoons, dipping it into the creamy, steaming polenta. “When I am through, Gabriel.”

“Yes, yes, Lily.” He brushed her words aside, but there was an understanding in his eyes; he even surreptitiously removed his hand from Mathias’ knee. “So, Mathias,” More polite than hungry, his blue eyes settled far calmer on the commoner. “I have seen your eyes flicking this way and that. Anyone… suspicious?”

Here, mouth appropriately full enough that she didn’t speak, Liliana’s eyes lit with interest and a soft nod of agreement.

“That may be too strong a word, my Lord,” Mathias started, setting his glass down and letting his eyes roam over the faces he could see from his seat. “There are several… provocative figures scattered about.” Of which he was able to spot three.

The white-haired woman, who he was almost certain was a mage of some sort – and most likely of some skill and power -, sat with the Duke Morose, one of his entourage, if not his personal guard. The bespectacled man, and the dark-haired, almond-eyed man as well, were situated at the bar – a special circumstance given the holiday and Morose’s close connection with the king. While the first was actively engaged in a discussion with a red-haired man who was at least twice his size in both height and width, the second seemed to be watching him.

“That man at the bar-“

Entirely without any sense of subtlety, both Gabriel and Liliana turned their heads.

“…Duke Detlev?” Gabriel’s voice was entirely sceptical.

“Or that viper by his side?” Liliana chimed in, far more astute and somewhat admonishing of her cousin’s poor guess, to which he only chuckled.

“The latter.” No longer a question of whether the man might notice three people staring directly at him, Mathias opted for a casual smile and a wave of his hand before he turned back to face his two… “companions”, as it were. “Though… I do not believe anyone has tried to manipulate the Lady as of yet.”

“Well, I should hope not,” she started, a slender cut of flatbread pinched between her fingers; its tip lightly coated in glistening honey. “I am, simply put, far too charming to be fall under the influence of some weaver’s machinations.”

Gabriel outright guffawed at that. “True, true, cousin!” He received a not-so-polite kick under the table. “Let us drink, then, to my dear Lily’s continued charm, free of interference.”

The three of them raised the glasses.

Beyond the cordoned dining area, past the dancefloor, sequestered away into the shadows of the large, stately marble columns that rose up to the ceiling in elegantly carved spirals, sharp eyes watched and waited. There was only under a half-break until the games began, and already some of the more eager guests had begun to file out through the wide double doors that led into the Duke’s Garden of Stone.

Soon enough, blood would be spilt. Though whose blood was a question few thought to ask, when, perhaps, they might should have.

[Nasod]

☵ Vhalar 23, 718 ☵
☵ Mood: Intrigued, Conerned
☵ Current Thought: Ive come to say hello
☵ Current Theme: Gates of Hell

☵ The two, the noble and his viper, looked on as the celebration continued, but held their focus on the dining area where their query was feeding. Detlev tapped Dosan's shoulder and motioned him to come within whispering distance to him. Do you remember why I had an invite made for you? a question that made Dosan nod, acknowledging such a thing. Good, then why don't you go and deliver the message to our fellow guests. Dosan nodded once again, and then with a bow to his lord he left his company. The music was like an interlude to the grand showcase that was Dosan Saito. A slick smirk and a devious cut of his eyes painted his face as he made his way over to the trio, snagging a tray of deserts from a passing waiter.

Upon reaching the dining area, he approached the table where his prey sat and ate their fill. His demeanor was calm, yet charismatic and jovial. At the table, he bowed, keeping a respectable distance from the two nobles, and as he rose from his bowing he placed his eyes on the anomaly at the table. He knew the two dignitaries, seeing them in passing glances, putting two and two together. The sheer amount of opulence was enamoring to the viper and his fear of stepping out of bounds relaxed, after all, he was sent by his lord to deliver a message. Looking to the woman, he smiled, sitting the tray on the table.

"I've come bearing a message from my beloved Duke Detlev. He says that, and I quote; Such paranoia can be so unsettling as if you have something to hide. You can relax, you are in good company"

he had no idea what it meant, but if he knew it would make whatever reaction on her face even more enjoyable. ☵

"Speech"

[Mads]

W

ith a contented sigh, Gabriel set his glass down, brows raising as his gaze carefully followed the dark haired, almond-eyed man's approach. "And now, perhaps, the pupeteer seeks his strings?" The words were thoughtfully murmured, and both Liliana and Mathias nonchalantly turned their heads to watch as well.

The man certainly appeared the part of the conspirator - albeit an alarmingly blatant one. Most who tended toward subterfuge were discreet, both in action and expression, but, as the man snaked his way to their table, he unabashedly displayed a poisonous expression - an obliquitous confidence. He slinked in time to the music, an odd dance across the floor of the dining area to avoid the busy bustle of those coming and going. It was a scene in and of itself, and all three of them watched with differing expressions, subtlety exchanged for supercilious amusement, demulcent irritation, and vacuous indifference. None of the three said a word as the man bowed and smiled - his expression shifting to something much more appropriate with speed enough to warrant suspicion all around, though none displayed it. Though she politely returned the man's attention with a terse curve of her lips that was, very clearly, due to her breeding and nothing else, Liliana glanced down at the tray he set upon the table with an annoyed frown.

At the mention of the Duke Detlev, however, Liliana's attention perked, and her pique was set aside for the moment as she raised her gaze to match his, raising her brow at the word "beloved" but making no comment on it otherwise. "It would seem the good Duke Detlev is as discerning as ever," she started, tone even and knit loosely with a subtle levity, "Seeing things in people they themselves take no notice of."

Gabrial grinned at that, dabbing at the corner of his mouth with an embroidered cloth napkin that cost about as much as one might make in a season down in the depths of Plenty. "Really, Lily, what do you gain from striking at an echo?" Waving a passing white suit over, he wordlessly gestured to the unwanted tray of delicate cakes, and it was removed without question in a singular fluid motion as the waiter returned to whatever it was he had been doing, tray in hand. "And you, nameless mouthpiece," The moniker was spoken with as much poise as if he'd said the man's name, "May suggest to the good Duke that speaking through the lips of others while lingering in-" He grinned wide towards where the Duke still leaned against the bar "-the 'shadows', as it were, seems far more the act of one who has need of such kinds words, rather than our merry table here."

All the while, Mathias stared at the messenger, hands folded neatly upon his lap and nose keen to the scents in the air. Beyond the decadent mix of the more aromatic foods and the slightest hint of lightning in the air from the winged man they had passed earlier, he could not detect the use of any ether, as far as the other man was concerned. Though it did nothing to absolve the messenger of Mathias' suspicions, he found himself doubting the incentive behind playing the role of saboteur. If he was the Duke's man, there was little reason to interfere with one of the lesser known - and many - nieces of the Morose family. While his ether still pressed cool against the tips of his fingers, ready should it be needed, Mathias stared calmly back, saying nothing as both his role and proclivities dictated.

"Of course," Liliana added, glancing past the messenger to smile sweetly at the man who'd sent him, lashes batting playfully. "If the good Duke seeks a mutual comfort, he is more than welcome to join us."

[Nasod]

☵ Vhalar 23, 718 ☵
☵ Mood: Intrigued, Conerned
☵ Current Thought: Ive come to say hello
☵ Current Theme: Gates of Hell

☵ The viper couldn't help but smirk at them, a table full of pompous and arrogant fools, blinded by their status and wealth that they would be so rude to a potential friend. Especially one who is connected to information that could be damaging if it ever got out. Among those seated at the table only one of them was of any importance to him, but he would get to him momentarily, the nobles came first. If there was one thing that pissed him off, it was how high and mighty the Quacian nobility were, how they believed they were. The lot of them thinking they were untouchable, but that is never the case when it came to information. No at the end of the day information is power and Dosan was serving the most informed man within Quacia, even if no one knew such a thing.

Dosan looked to the woman as she spoke, reading her body language as best he could, but even a blind man could see she had a fascination with his lord, and that was......unsettling. But she wasn't wrong and he knew that the scope of his beloved Duke reached far and wide. Nothing was beyond his eyes and ears.

"Discerning is a modest way of saying it, as nothing escapes my beloved lord's eyes & ears, nothing."

He said, looking to his Duke as she continued, blabbing about him seeing what others couldn't in themselves. He tried to hold back the chuckle, but it escaping his lips as he watched his Lord move from his place.

"My lord has become skilled at such things."

he agreed as again she wasn't wrong in her statements of the Duke.

The other one at the table, the male noble was the prime example of why Dosan hated them, as he was bold in his words against both Dosan and Lord Detlev. The viper was around upper-class people in the Lair long enough to hear an insult in tone, though it was normally a hit or miss, but in this situation, it was loud and as clear as water. Dosan's eyes shifted to the male as he gave his advice, to which Dosan smiled, fixing his clothing before addressing him.

"To be rather frank my lord, the shadows are far better than making a mockery of one's self out in broad daylight. My dear Duke has the company of secrets within the shadows. Secrets of every last person in this room. One of the perks of running the lair is that he is privy to everyone's nasty little habits, and it's why many fear him for what he knows. But my Duke is not wrapped up in his own arrogance that he forgets his place, which is what I wish I for other unfortunate nobles in Quacia"

He subtly jabbed, a smirk rising and falling all in the same moment

"My lord, however, knows his place and is quite comfortable meeting the many desires & needs, vices and fetishes of those who can afford it, and as an extension of his will, I merely serve as a voice and hand when he deems it necessary, isn't that right my beloved Duke Detlev."

he finished, bowing as his master finally joined Dosan at the table, slowly moving to stand in front of his viper.

And here I thought my reassurance would be met with appreciation, instead you insult me and my staff. Tsk tsk tsk, such unbecoming behavior of a relative of the benevolent Rayford Morose, using such snide and venomous words to a messenger, isn't that right Dosan? He spoke in a rather disappointed tone, though a smile was plastered on his face, and Dosan comically agreed with his lord from behind him. But it is expected from mere children in a big family, not getting the attention or recognition you desire, and so to make yourselves feel better you insult those of lesser status than you. But its ok, all is forgiven. He added, his attention turning to the pale skinned male at the table who had his stare locked on Dosan, and his smirk faded a bit, and then turned to the lady at the table, placing a hand on top of hers. I would hope you two enjoy the rest of the festivities, and in the future, be careful of what sombra you bark at, as mine has one hell of a bite. Come Dosan, this table wreaks of peacocks and pheasants, I'm in need of fresh air. he ended, motioning for Dosan to follow him, departing the table. Stopping and turning on his heel, Dosan came back to the table and bowed to the table as a whole.

"I do hope you will forgive me for earlier, I tend to go overboard when I participate in any form of blood sports."

he said, bopping his way to catch up to his lord, stepping outside for a breath of much needed air. ☵

"Speech"

[Mads]

B

oth Gabriel and Liliana exchanged bemused glances with one another while Mathias considered the casual implication of threat. From what he knew of the Duke, by reputation alone, it seemed likely that the facade of innocence the messenger half-hid his words behind was one based upon truth. After all, if the man was wont to share that which people by law were encouraged to pursue, he would be a poor businessman indeed. Though there was the general assumption among the greater gossips that the Duke of the Lair was somewhat simple of mind, as far as Mathias knew, he was ether very good at picking which secrets to reveal for which people or chose to abstain from the double edged blade of blackmail. Whatever the case, the golden skinned man before them seemed perfectly capable of flapping gums and puffing out acrid smoke.

Neither Gabriel nor Liliana seemed particularly worried about what the man might know, either way. Both were far too distracted, eyes widening in curiosity as the messenger repeated himself about "knowing places", quite ignored by those he spoke to. The three of them fluidly rose to their feet as the Duke approached, respectfully standing for one of the most powerful men in the city of Quacia as was expected of them. Gabriel offered an appropriately shallow bow; Liliana dipped a deeper curtsy, eyes bright with intrigue; Mathias bowed in full, playing his part as foreign noble without hesitation.

"Duke Detlev Brythian," Gabriel raised his head, voice smooth, tone polite, and lips turned in an amicable interest, "Gabriel Valer-Morose; it is a pleasure to speak with you personally." Not a trill was spent on the dark-haired, almond-eyed smirk of the man who thought himself vindicated by the appearance of the man who owned him like a pet. "And this young woman-"

"Liliana Ribeiro-Morose, Duke Brythian." She spoke for herself well enough, and the young woman even refrained from shooting her cousin a dirty look, instead fully focused on the reclusive Duke of the Lair, question in her tone.

Mathias remained silent, eyes bright and watchful but careful not to stare at the Duke himself.

When the Duke spoke, however, it was right to the point, no pleasantries. Both Gabriel and Liliana seemed slightly taken aback, their smiles fading in favor of genuine confusion. Mathias, too, found the display entirely unexpected. The messenger was, at best, the son of a wealthy merchant - though it seemed far more likely he was more like Mathias himself: an elevated Heap. That the Duke would think to publicly and blatantly reprimand the children of another Duke's direct lineage was almost as startling as how many words he chose to use.

Notoriously still of tongue, it was not unlike a waterfall of thinly veiled disdain had just sprung forth from the Duke's curved lips.

Gabriel and Liliana exchanged uncertain glances with one another - that single look at least two or three conversation's worth of understanding - before Gabriel's focus shifted to the clearly prized messenger who stood beside the Duke like some sort of smug harlequin. It was clear, in the man's sea-blue eyes, he saw nothing of value in the chortling face to assuage his own personal confusion over what was happening- a Duke personally defending a Heap.

If Gabriel or Liliana were embarrassed by their actions, it was second seat to their incredulity, however well handled they managed it.

Catching Mathias' attention as the Duke continued, Liliana mouthed the word "weaving" with a question in her eyes. It was only further emphasized as the Duke sought to reprimanded them with an alarmingly direct attack on their characters. Mathias subtly sniffed the air and shook his head - there was most certainly no magic at work; Detlev was, however, the master of Vices. He supposed it was possible the man had partaken of his own personal collection before the gathering. A theory that ran fueled entirely upon the increasingly believable assumption that the Duke kept his mouth shut out of a lack of anything intelligent to say.

Whether by chance or, as the messenger had previously claimed, a keen eye, the Duke turned his attention to Mathias for a moment. He, naturally, respectfully bowed his head once again. Rather than address him, Duke Detlev Brythian of Lair chose to end his bizarre, impromptu speech with a warning threat. Neither Gabriel nor Liliana could do anything but keep their jaws from dropping as he took his leave. Instead, they silently stared at one another, dark grey and light blue mixing into an autumns storm upon the sea of their shared bewilderment.

That is, until the messenger - Dosan, as the Duke had named him - returned with a painfully juvenile gloat.

While Mathias' ether remained at the ready, even as the man turned to hurry after the coattails of his "beloved Duke" like some simple-minded child, Gabriel and Liliana were able to hold their composure for about a half trill before they both broke out into laughter. Though several of the tables around them had quieted to observe the peculiar display, they took the cousins' mirth as a sign to return to their own meals, expressions ranging from amusement to concern to downright displeasure - a displeasure that, had Mathias been asked to guess, was hardly likely to be directed towards the young nobles.

"Why," Gabriel began as he managed to catch his breath, cheeks reddened from his own entertainment, "I believe that is more than our good Duke of Silence has said in some twenty odd arcs." Not nearly so bold as the Duke himself, though Gabriel spoke with amused levity, he kept his voice low enough the upbeat quickstep that filled the vast ballroom easily obscured his words from any curious ears nearby.

Liliana hid her own laughter behind a polite hand, though it was entirely an empty gesture of politeness. "Quite easy on the eyes, certainly; however..." She cleared her throat with a soft, chuckling cough, "It is no wonder he opts to keep his thoughts, such as they are, to himself."

Mathias understood the most basic tenants of nobility - namely the social hierarchy and where he personally fell upon it. Dosan must have been quite valuable and capable indeed for the Duke to act so rashly as he'd done, and in front of so many people, in the defence of a sombra. As he understood it, the nature of a shadow was to be silent, watchful, and, should the need arise to take upon itself a secondary role, execute it with the same efficiency it might an aggressor. From what he'd seen of Dosan's performance, however, it was far more likely the Duke was simply... simple.

"Mathias?"

He had watched as the pair disappeared to the garden outside before he let his attentions centre back to his table, and he blinked several times before responding to Liliana's question, voice quietly apologetic. "Yes, my Lady?"

Distracted by her own thoughts, Liliana leaned forward, voice lower than before but loud enough to carry easily enough to his ears. "You are absolutely certain there was no use of magic involved with that... display?" Her amusement had been traded for something that resembled concern. It clouded her brow in shallow furrows, more so contemplative than contrite.

"Unless it is a magic outside the purview of the domains, I am certain the Duke acted of his own free will."

"Shocking." Gabriel shook his head, swallowing a polite mouthful of food and tapping his finger against the edge of the table. "Entirely unprecedented." He paused, grinning wide. "Or so I would like to say."

"Gabe." Liliana's eyes seemed to almost roll out of her head.

"Think about it, Lily. He spends so much time among the Heaps, is it any wonder he gets them confused with people who matter?" If Gabriel thought to wonder if such an insinuation was ill-received by a member of the population he so nonchalantly disdained, he made no show of it. "And he was at the bar for quite a while..."

"Your father will have a fit if you keep on like this, you know." A tone reminiscent of Duke Detlev's played in Liliana's voice and the pair shared a chuckle. "Can you even believe what he said at the end?"

Shaking his head, Gabriel set his napkin upon the table, his meal concluded. "What I cannot imagine," he began, leaning back in his chair with a contented sight, "Is the mess that man would find himself in if he failed to control one of his pets in the court."

"You do not fear being bitten by so..." Liliana paused, imitating Dosan's earlier smirk and tone with an exaggerated flair, "Dangerous a man?"

With a chuckle, Gabriel only shook his head. "Though it is curious the Duke singled you out of all the others with their own... precautions, as it were."

"Perhaps he has taken a fancy to me."

"A strange way to show it indeed." Gabriel grinned wide as Liliana huffed in mock offense. "At any rate," he rose to his feet, joined by Mathias and Liliana who stood shortly after him, "One of us should at least alert Uncle to Duke Detlev's... condition. It would be a true tragedy if such behavior continued, I think, even from a height such as dukedom."

"Yes," Liliana nodded, "Better you than I, Gabe." She nodded towards Mathias. "As I have my own sombra this evening, it would be more trouble than it is worth to explain him as well as... whatever it was we just witnessed."

"Of course, of course." Arms extended, Liliana leaned into his embrace with a giggle, kissing his cheek with a brief peck, before she withdrew. "And, Mathias?" He turned to extend a hand, which was gripped in a politely firm handshake. "On the very off chance that... 'Dosan' character thinks to carry out his master's passing threats..."

"No one but those the Lady wishes will be touching her tonight, my Lord." There was nothing dangerous in Mathias' voice, only calm lucidity.

"Wonderful." He patted the top of Mathias' hand once with his own before he released the handshake. "Then, I suppose I will be off." Waving a warm hand, he paused mid-turn, "I shall do what I can to rejoin you before the games begin."

"I eagerly await your return, my Lord," Liliana laughed, shooing him with a flick of her wrist. "Now go."

"Yes, yes, I am doing just that, thank you very much."

The moment Gabriel was out of earshot, Liliana rounded on Mathias with a steely glint in her eyes. "Did you hear that little cabrao mention blood sports?" Her smile was hardly the same mirth filled curve as before.

"I did, my Lady."

She nodded, slipping her hand into the crook of his arm as they started toward the doors that led to the gardens. "If Duke Detlev is so enamored with a vapid toto like that, there stands a good chance that man is one of the Lair's representatives."

The silence she allowed suggested it was not a rhetorical statement. "That would seem logical."

Again she nodded, eyes set ahead but gaze distant in thought - or, rather, machination. "Should you have the chance, Mathias," her words moved in a languid rhythm that matched the current waltz in half-time, as they passed under the wide arc that led out into the cool night air, "You have both my permission to and request that you see to it he bleeds."

Bright eyes scanned the gathering crowd, catching sight of nearly all but the white-haired woman he'd previously identified as the most likely threats to the Lady Liliana's continued well being. There were about six bits left until the event began, and the center of the garden, sunken down into the ground and surrounded by neat stone steps like a miniature area already contained a handful of capable men and women - and several very nervous looking ones who were, no doubt, debtors seeking to win their freedom from the weight of their own financial shortcomings.

With not a hint of hesitation or uncertainty in his voice - for an exhibition carried with it no bets and only an unspoken, and often broken, rule that spectators not interfere, Mathias nodded, voice calm and dispassionate as he studied the faces of his "maybe-mages". "As you wish, my Lady."