[The Garden of Concubines] Festival of Dira

[Colombina]

Shadows of revelers stretched to god-like height on the hypostyles surrounding the courtyard of the garden. The shades told a story of raised cups, quick laughter and happy entanglements. Those without could only look on and burn with envy. A line of those invited trickled down the steps, everyone wearing their best. For an Eypharian, that meant hems weighted with gems, spun arrangements of gold and deeply dyed linen. As the bewitching parade of guests entered, they rendered their invitations, crisp pieces of purple wadj stamped with the Pressorah's seal. Some had been delivered others distributed haphazardly in the market. The guests final steps into the party were halted by a long table hung in black with a collage of funerary masks. They were all beautiful male and female faces, some painted entirely in vivid colors, others gilded in bronze, and others made with an overlay of feathers. Even in death, it was important for the Eypharians to appear comely. All guests were compelled to take up a mask and wear it until the appointed hour. Someone with a sense of humor planned this rule, forcing high and low to mingle unaware. For wasn't death a great equalizer? Only the Pressorah's mask indicated status. She sat enthroned on a raised dai, leopard and tiger skin at her feet, a gold mask covering her face. The scene within was overwhelming. Black velvet and gold chains were swagged between pillars and the cloistered garden in the center breathed perfume beyond its walls. Trysts and whispers rose from within the lush enclosure. Surrounding the raised garden were tables of birds browned to perfection, gilded bowls of ruddy pomegranates and clusters of grapes, piles of warm barley bread, olives of all colors, white cheeses, pots of honeycomb, and most importantly, a glass cask of beer. Wealthier Eypharians had their own golden straws to drink the liquid from the proffered cups. Those manning the table were all women in elaborate guises. However, a second glance revealed they were wearing nothing at all! Only intricate paint that covered their bodies like clothes. The Concubines floated through the party unmasked. They took turns playing instruments in a corner full of cushions and rugs, or regaling guests. In another corner a half-naked concubine was having her likeness painted as she reclined on a bench. From her hips down she was swathed in persimmon colored linen. Acrobats and dancers in black or white jumped and twirled through the party, barely mindful of other guests. They existed in an imaginary scene, where they leaped about as Dira's jackals, Before and After. It appeared the rumors of Eypharians' decadent parties were well-founded. Please Read!Dear Players, please take up a mask, feel free to describe it and join the merriment. You can take liberties with the scene and npc's, just don't burn the place down. .

[Hirem]

Hirem sighed again, shuffling at his post. His heavy mask was cumbersome, and he rather disliked his field of vision wearing it, but he thought it was the only one he would dare wear. A brown mask with a face that resembled his, he thought, was much better than the extravagant disguises the other masks were. Instead, he opted for a mask that was little more than a slab of wood that was carved like his face. Still, beauty was a stupid thing to judge the mask by, he was thinking, as he pulled it tighter on.

The party would have been lovely to an Eypharian, but he was killing himself. This festival disgusted him. Celebrating nature was one thing, but he could not fathom the reasons for celebrating death. Death was not something to be merry over! It was harsh and terrible. However, he could excuse the reasons for the festival, but he could not excuse the festival. He only needed to look at his right to be angered. He was standing next to a woman, stripped down to the waist, posing for some artist while displaying her breasts in public. What possible use was there in that, what beauty was there to be found in it? To Hirem, it was yet another example of the Eypharians need to be eradicated.

He glanced at the Pressorah. What boiled in her brain? What was she thinking? Hirem leaned against a column. This was all necessary for his plans. Although he could have done a lot better if Zulo wasn't keeping a strict eye on him. He had been sent to watch the steps to the Garden by the senior Gardener, but Zulo had finally let him come with the Gardeners to the festival almost as an apprentice. Hirem knew Zulo was keeping an eye on him, to observe exactly how this Benshiran operated. He smiled. Zulo was at a disadvantage here. He knew Zulo's true purpose, but Zulo could not guess at what his true purpose was.

[Chaelnomyl]

It had been only a short stay in Ahnatep before Chaelnomyl had been passed an invitation to this ”Festival”. Against her better judgment, the Akvatari had decided to attend, seeing that anything devoted to a god or goddess would at least grant her a bit of knowledge and a little bit more understanding of the culture of the Eypharians. After all, she had little to no knowledge of the people at all, and found their random allotment of multiple arms to be a little… weird. Perhaps in later days, she could practice morphing her wings into additional arms and take on the form of the Epyharians to blend in. For now though, she was an Akvatari. A lonesome soul by her own choice and of her own devices.

Stopping at the table to receive a funerary mask, the Akvatari picked up one composed of a collage of blue, dark blue and purple feathers. Other than those, it was entirely similar to all other funerary masks; nothing to note except that it had caught her attention because of its colors. Chaelnomyl very much enjoyed blues and purples.

Entering the area where the Festival would actually be held, Chaelnomyl’s eyes widened under the mask ever so slightly as she scanned over the velvets and chains held between pillars. The heavy smell of the garden tingled her nose and surprised her – how could there be anything so fragrant in a desert ?

The most peculiar thing, though, was probably the woman posing without a top on for the artist that Hirem was standing near. Though she had a mask on to hide any facial expressions, Chaelnomyl was not one to give such expressions in the first place. Had she been anything other than an Akvatari, it was likely she would be frowning. This was such an odd display of worship for a goddess who was supposedly one of death. Chaelnomyl could not understand how she could be honored through celebration. Perhaps this was something the goddess demanded? She was unsure as to Dira’s demeanor and only knew her for what she was: Queen of Death. There was little more to know.

Tucking her seal tail in tight and curling the fins up towards her body, Chaelnomyl fluttered off to the side and watched the scene as those pretending to be the jackals danced through the crowd, almost unaware of the people they were nearly running into. One danced entirely too close to her wings and the Akvatari spun around in surprise, afraid of someone getting injured by their speed of movement. Frowning inwardly, she moved a little closer to where the concubines playing music were and listened intently. If nothing more, at least the Eypharians seemed to be able to appreciate the art forms… Kind of like the Akvatari. Perhaps they weren’t so mentally different after all. Four arms, though. And people thought seal tails and wings were weird. That thought was entirely too hard for Chaelnomyl to push out of her brain, and so it lingered in the back of her mind even then, as the music flooded her ears and she closed her eyes. Mother’s sad songs came humming back to her and the Akvatari couldn’t help but sway to the tunes, letting her guard down. This would be an interesting event.

[Akuaysun]

Green-gold eyes watched with a bit of curiosity as those in line mingled and carried on before they even entered the palace where the celebration was to take place. Aku sat with a soft smile to the side simply observing the many Eypharians in their natural habitat. It was a fairly easy task thanks to the fact that most of them chose to look down their perfectly sculpted noses at his Myrian form. In his hands flipped the invitation he had been handed in the market, likely the idea of a humorous joke against those that considered themselves perfection.

Syna seemed to just be setting and shadows were stretching long. Any time now his transformation would take place, and with it the revelation of his celestial form would appear. Currently Aku was trying to decide whether or not he wanted to reveal this form to them just yet or leave it up to surprise. The celebration was to Dira, something that the man had heard about on his westward wanderings, and decided it would be well worth looking into. Perhaps if Dira chose to make an appearance he could fast track beyond Myri and simple ask the goddess of death to call upon her brother. Still Akuaysun felt as lost as the day when he was reborn into the mortal realm. More than anything he wanted to ask his lord why he had been sent into this realm and what mission he was to perform.

He had been traveling westward through the entire season of fall, trying to stay ahead of the winter snows. The lay of the land had fallen rather favorable for him, and while the sea of grass had been spoke of as an infamously dangerous area, his slow traveling habits and staying to groups had turned out exceptionally well however. Once inside the city of Ahnatep his wandering had transformed into seeking out a place to stay and along the line had found the slip of parchment in the folds of his cloth. Having procured a mask after presenting the document, he retreated before entering to make his current decision contemplations.

It was an extravagant thing, faced with a jubilant smile and glazed with bronze. The slits for the eyes were narrowed for the wide closed mouth grin, and about its fringes long sweeping peacock feathers swept back. It was enough to hide the horns that would soon grow forth from his temples and perhaps keep him disguised as a regular human participant. Internally he could feel the shift taking place, the lingering moments of twilight burning away.

Retiring from the commotion to a place deemed safe enough, the man let his body transform. The process of muscle tearing and rearranging as bone cracked and extended. Though he had been going through the transformation nightly for months, the pain still shot through every seam of his form relentlessly for the few moments it took. Time passed normally in the world but in his mind’s perception it felt like an eternity with each passing. When at last complete however his body was leaner and more majestic. The luminescent skin of his body was hidden away neatly beneath the fine cottons and leather of his attire, and draped over with the worn cloak Aku had become so favorable of. The mask hid what remained exposed and only the slightest glints of his deep cobalt eyes could be seen. Flowing out between the rainbow of colors held within the feathers silver hair streaked with the faintest hints of gold already caught the Leth’s light and glistened with it.

Returning to the gates that protected the sacred gardens of these people, he was offered little resistance while slipping inside. All around him the celebration was in full swing, but Akuaysun was content slipping off to one side and observing all those in participation. It was in his nature to watch, and ponder, for now however Aku was satisfied taking in the beauty that surrounded him.

[Hirem]

Hirem sighed, and he tried to keep his mind empty except for his plan, but it wasn't working. The laughing, yelling, talking was making his head hurt. He preferred the quiet desert or contemplative nights, not this ruckus. He glanced around the party, and nearly dropped his jaw. There was something that was like a giant butterfly on the sidelines... it looked like a human woman from the waist up, but with wings and some tail... Hirem shook his head. He knew he heard about those people before. Ak- Akata... something He hated this ignorance, and resolved himself to asking the being of her race later.

He tried to put the being out of his mind, and let his head hit the column. His mouth started to whisper a prayer to Yahal, but he kept his eyes focused. He said it very quietly, so only people right up to his chest could hear. "Yahal, I know I have not been the most faithful. For every step I take off your path I curse myself. But I take every step hoping, praying that those steps bring me back onto your path again. My way..." He stopped and sighed before continuing. "My way is the way of hate some would say. My way is the way of war some would say. But, to me, my way is for my people. I have made myself try to follow your pure example, and soon... Soon I will be back on your path." Hirem stopped the prayer, and shook his head. He felt sick, his head was throbbing, but he still had a job to do.

He looked up, and stared at the Eypharian people. Masks would complicate things, but that wouldn't stop him. He already had a possible target picked out... the only thing left was to find him.

[Colombina]

Akuaysun:

"Lavish, is it not?"
A woman spoke to Akuaysun without looking directly at him. She stared into the crowd, drinking through the slot in her mask with a golden straw.
"Some are surprised by the party's tenor, since it is for Dira, but I like it. Death is only a comma in the poem of existence. Fear cowardice, fear pain, fear boredom…"

She turned to face him now, displaying her mask: porcelain painted solid black with ebon beads hung from the brow.
"...But not death."

She had long dark hair and a human shape. She showed that the oldest race still carried themselves well among their more fantastic counterparts. Her claret colored dress was met the floor with a slight train and slim sleeves.

"What say you? Do you look on the lady with dread?"

The woman's voice had a smile. She stirred her drink with the straw. Considering the strange topic of her conversation, it was probably not her first cup of beer.


Hirem:

"Kalen! Kalen!"
The concubine who was being painted called towards Hirem with a lilting pout in her voice. She tried to gesture the Benshira toward her with one arm, the others were adjusting the silk on her lap or wrapping around her bare chest in an odd fit of modesty.
"I know you're supposed to be oh so vigilant, tonight," she began when Hirem was near enough.
"But I am dying for a glass of something."
She smiled becomingly, "Please?"
Reading reluctance in Hirem's looks, she tried to persuade him further.
"If you do, I promise to tell you all manner of tidbits I have learned about the party thus far."
The concubine leaned back in her chaise, speaking to both Hirem and the artist.
"Things that would make your toes curl."

The painter, another concubine, began to show interest.
"Mena, what have you picked up from just sitting here?"

Eager to tell, Mena roused from her seat a little.
"I was here before you, getting arranged. I heard about the guest list. Jibade Osahar is here."
She began to preen, triumphant.
"And you know he rarely attends anything."

The painter huffed, "It doesn't matter much, everyone's masked. You could be talking to the chariot handler or a Jibade."

Mena's smile turned wicked, "That's where you're wrong. Osahar's mask has a tell for the Pressorah's guards to know."

"Well, what is it, Mena?"
"Let me have a little fun. I'll tell you both in a riddle, but I'd like a drink after. I have no wings but will fly. What am I today? What am I tomorrow?"

Chaelnomyl

"An Akvatari!"
Chaelnomyl's contemplation of the music was interrupted by the slurred exclamation.
"By Syna, I have never seen one up close."

The young man addressing her was decked in the indications of wealth, but then so were most the attendees. A broad collar of precious stones was all that covered his chest and he wore a white kilt like many of the young Eypharian men.

His gilded mask stopped above his mouth, depicting a Golden Wolf with a short snout. Flanking him were the rest of his "pack", wearing similar masks of lesser bronze.

"Let me have a look at you," he gestured to Chaelnomyl with the brevity of one used to obedience.

Regardless of her reaction, his pack were already beginning to circle her, placing numerous hands on her shoulders. She was being simultaneously held down and pressed forward.

The Golden Wolf had little respect for boundaries. He reached toward her, passing his hand through the fur on her tail with a uncomfortable familiarity.

OOCAmirah said she'd come, but on with the thread!

[Hirem]

Hirem listened to Mena without emotion, but when Jibade Osahar came up in the conversation, suprise flashed over his hidden features. She knows how to get to Osahar? After she finished talking, he smiled graciously at her. "Quite an interesting riddle you have there." He inclined his head in a manner of thought. In truth he had already heard this one, or at least, one version of the answer for this one, but to humour her he took a moment to think. Finally shrugging, he asked with a little dip in his head, "Is it a butterfly? Caterpillar, no wings, today, flying butterfly the next?" He shrugged again, and stood next to Mena, taking a renewed interest in the girl. "What kind of drink is it you thirst for?"

[Akuaysun]

Cobalt eyes did not turn upon his visitor immediately, instead watching the many performers as they danced, sang and accompanied those in attendance. Beneath the carefully carved surface of his mask the Ethaefal smiled in silent approval at the joyous occasion. His ears listened closely to what the woman had to say, twitching here and there to particular phrases she pronounced so eloquently. His eyes drifted skyward to read the stars, they seemed to be well aligned to the event and Leth shone bright over the desert sands. It seemed on this evening even he would be showing the highest respects to his dear sister.

“Justly deserved I would say, it is good to give honors to those we respect, and those who do not respect death will soon find themselves facing her.” His head tilted sideways slowly, gazing upon her, the stoic expression on her mask, and the depth of its darkness a cold reminder to what many saw the afterlife as. He knew better, having spent time amongst the gods, knowing of their realm, having sat amongst them. It was beautiful there, a beauty that he had yet to find upon this realm.

Akuaysun turned his eyes back on the assembled group his mind reeling with possibilities. The woman was a curious thing, not gaudy or overconfident but hardly coy either. Internally he laughed and continued to answer her question. “Death is a familiar name to me, Dira’s touch is an integral part of the great cycle and I think of her fondly, perhaps as one would think of an aunt. She comes at the proper time but never overstays her welcome. Her hand is swift and her caress can either be kind or hard. I see or know no reason to fear her though.” He gave a soft nod as if to drive the point home, and listened for what more the woman had to say.

[Chaelnomyl]

”Akvatari!”

The word pulled Chaelnomyl completely out of her contemplation of the music of these six or more armed people only to find another one in a golden wolf mask and his presumable pack coming up next to her. He had many things on him that the Akvatari found entirely unnecessary, as while she was one to appreciate the décor a race or a person could present, there were lengths one could go to that could be considered… overdone. Broad collars with an ample helping of stones worn as a shirt like many humans would have worn it was one thing that ranked up there as… “overdone”.

Chaelnomyl watched him with a grim expression on her face, underneath the feathered mask. He asked to have a look at her and the tone was one she would have expected from a master addressing a pup. Ironically he was the one wearing the mask of a dog, not the other way around. Her head moved slightly as she noticed the pack begin to circle her and push on her. The Akvatari’s wings picked up speed all the more, trying to force back against them as they tried to hold her down and push her forward. As the Golden Wolf passed his hand through the fur on her tail she wheeled it around with all her might and kicked the fins out at him as if to slap him on the shoulder, or maybe the face. It wasn’t a particularly precise movement but it wasn’t intended to be. As the tail crossed with whatever flesh she could slap with the leathery end of it, she brought it down and kicked out as if she were kicking through the ocean to knock him away from her. The Akvatari were not violent creatures and so she merely wanted to remind him that she had her own personal boundaries whether he liked it or not. Chaelnomyl was also not one who enjoyed being touched by… well most anyone. Dranquay had a tendency to put a hand on her shoulder and it sort of bothered her, even from her own brother.

”I sincerely hope you are blind or have somehow transposed your eyes onto your hands.” Chaelnomyl responded, not particularly wanting to make a scene but figuring if she had to, their… Princess? Chaelnomyl couldn’t think of the right word… would not appreciate the commotion. Or at the very least, some fellow patron with the half the decency of a gentleman. This one seemed to be used to getting his way and she highly doubted he was going to respond favorably to her disapproval of his actions, but well… There was little else that could have been done. She was not exactly going to allow herself to be man-handled like the topless women who lounged about everywhere else.

”The least you could do would be to ask before you violate someone’s personal space.” There was a quip of irritation in the Akvatari’s voice. A rare occurrence, considering how she tended to stay as outwardly stoic as possible. This, however, was more than enough reason to let it slip through.

[Colombina]

Akuaysun:

The woman said nothing at first, stirring her drink. She sipped it like a child, her shoulders a little hunched and her fingers on the straw, so careful to not spill.

"I like the sound of that," she announced.
"Most would call us macabre." She laughed in her warm alto, expressing her opinion on that viewpoint.

"Death is only dreadful to those who are left behind. That I can comprehend. It is a sad thing to part from a dear object."
Her fingers slowly wound through the ends of her hair. She stared into a pool of dancers. The melody nearest them was drawn out and sweet, so the dancers swayed languidly.

"Dance with me."
It was a command, but a soft one. She deposited her cup on a ledge and held out her hand.
"I'll have no excuses."

The woman was not shy, but she was not coarse. Akuasyun found her between his arms in the midst of a graceful formation. It was a dance most knew, but was not impossible to adapt. The woman knew what she was doing, making gentle corrections as they weaved between other masked couples.

She was at ease enough with the motions to renew the conversation. The formal portion of the dance was fading and couples were beginning their enclosed variations.

"It has been too long since I danced. I am overwhelmed with the day to day." She leaned back to look at his face, though the masks made the exercise fruitless.

"I am a guide. I take people across the barren lands. Which is what brought me to Ahnatep. I am meeting my next party here."
She smiled behind her mask, "And I thought it would be a great pity to miss this party."
She twirled gracefully then returned to nearness.
"And what of you? Do you have a name?"

Hirem:

Mena smiled at Hirem and the artist, "Then there is your tell for the Jibade."
When asked what she wanted, she pretended to consider it before asking for the Eypharian standard.
"Beer please. I don't have my straw, but I'll make do."

Content, Mena leaned back in the chaise, allowing her portrait to continue. Hirem was left to fetch her refreshment.
For glorified servants, the concubines were a trace demanding. An aspect of the imposed hierarchy of the city.

As Hirem weaved through the crowd he began to see the variations in the funeral masks. In addition to the elaborate decorations and bedecked concubines, the effect was overwhelming. A mask of turquoise, a gilded one, a feathered thing, half-veiled, a woman's face, a wolf's. The parade moved around him, a noise of color and shape. Near the beer table an Eypharian woman was speaking in low tones to a pair of men. All had the shape of a butterfly spread over their masks.

Chaelnomyl

Chaelnomyl's slapping fins were playfully batted back, despite the stings she gave. The spoiled young man laughed, as if she was a puppy nipping at his fingers. Her indignation and discomfort was reduced to yapping in his mind, easily ignored.
"What a strange thing these Akvatari are," he announced callously, "Like the god who fashioned them was drunk."

The young man finally regarded Chalenomyl, his smile was predatory.
"I never ask for anything I want."
To emphasize his point, he harshly pinched the Akvatari's tail and his friends' grips grew tighter on Chaelnomyl's arms.
"Only the dregs beg."
He said the phrase like it was a motto. His pack nodded and chimed in affirmations, a few howled in a raucous chorus.

A new idea was forming behind his eyes, and it didn't bode well. His mouth opened to announce his next plan, but another voice filled it.

"You ignorant Chupra, let her go."
The interposer was another young man of obvious lesser means. His mask was bland wood painted with amateur skill to resemble scales and he wore a robe too big for him in a dull color. Like a good Eypharian, he made an attempt at finery, his four arms had bronze bracers.

Like Chaelnomyl's voice, the spoiled noble ignored the new protester. It was fascinating, the way an Eypharian could pretend as if a solid thing or audible noise didn't exist.

But then the "dreg" did something that couldn't be ignored. One hand flicked showing he was palming a small blade. It went straight towards the noble's throat and hovered there.
"Please."
The blade pressed, drawing a little blood. Only this made the noble relent and wave away his pack.

Retreating slowly, the armed Eypharian moved beside Chaelnomyl. He took her hand, leading her slowly backward from the wolves, but facing them all the while.

With a snarl, the noble yelled something in Arumenic. Whatever it was, her advocate was startled by it.
"Let's go, now!"

He pulled her away at first, then let go of her hand. She could follow if she like, as he dived into the crowd.
He weaved and pushed through bodies and shadows, behind them there was a clatter of footsteps.
The young man only stopped running after slipping inside the structure surrounding the garden. It was forbidden territory to guests. The features of the room were hazy in the dim. The young man stayed on the wall by the door, breathing heavily.