[Seasonal Quest] The Winter Ball: Act I of Darkling Tides

[Elem Bree]

"Hold still, son. And stop shuffling your feet. I don't want those shoes scuffed."

Elem did his best to hold still, his mother working on the suit of clothes he was borrowing from his father. Being a good foot taller than the older Bree, all she could do was let hems out and try to repin them. His father was placing molded pieces of leather inside the shoes the student was borrowing, the pair being the ones his father displayed to peddle his craftsmanship. The general chill of winter would be a pleasant welcome to the hot, stuffy mess he was at the moment.

His father stood, nodding at his own handiwork. Elem's mother stepped back, having altered the clothes as best she could. He didn't look slovenly, but anyone with an eye for tailoring would know he had simply done his best with what he had. Who could ask for more than that? His father opened his mouth to say something but his mother piped in first. " I'm so happy that you are going to the Winter Ball, son. I hope you meet a nice young girl there."

"A local would be nice, preferably a shopowner's daughter. Maybe a leatherworker's or--" His father's grand ideas for cheaper materials was swatted down by a firm smack to his forearm by his wife. "Well, make sure you bring those shoes back in the condition they left in. " As an afterthought, as Elem walked toward the door, he added, " And the suit." Elem only nodded, waving behind himself. "Everything will be fine. I'll bring it all back in the morning."

The cold winter winds whipped at his nape from the shoreline as Elem made his way to the University. He had been working hard and studying harder to become a practicing man of medicine. He toyed with his mother's idea as the campus came into view. A woman in his life wouldn't be the worst fare, after all. Women usually showed up to these events, he suspected. He didn't know, being the frugal bookworm he was. It made sense, though.

Following the signs and the general noise, he found himself at the west wing. He took a moment of pause, straightening his attire. His shoes did look amazing. He grinned, thinking of his father's pride in them. he wished he could share in the celebration, but his father saved that for dead leather. Entering the large room, there were people everywhere. Women in lovely dresses, most with a man following nearby. His eyes scanned the crowd for somewhere to go, to mingle, to mix in. Not to be the bookish lanky man out in the open for the world to see.

[Trente]

Trente gave a taken aback scowl at first to the man who plowed past him. Though, the look quickly altered to one of pure observation, possibly some concern as he noticed the bumbling, clearly panicked, nature of the man departing the room with haste. Had he tarried longer Trente would have offered the assuredly drunk man some assistance. However, as the scene resolved itself he simply straightened his tie, giving a disregarding look toward the closing door the mysterious man ducked through, and looked back to the first clumsy man that ran into him, Stri.

Refocusing his attention, and gaze on the man took equally short time. He remained silent, nodding in approval and recognition as Stri mentioned his origin in Syliras, though that fact alone lended Trente no feeling of fraternity to the man. Stri's excitement over the topic of automatons, however, did win him a smile of approval from Trente. Trente enjoyed any subjects of curiosity such as what he found to be a foreign magic. And, the enthusiasm the man showed made the topic all that much more interesting to listen to. He fought to shake the slight sensation of disappointment as Stri broke himself off from his own fascination. Though, Trente did have to silently commend the man for being aware enough of his audience to not get too carried away in his own interests, and still involve the other conversationalist. After all a conversation is simply a production if the speech is not mutual.

Trente nodded, recognizing Stri's question and pondered leisurely a short moment before responding. "I have to admit maps themselves hold no true interest in me. The skill is, however, practical. You see, space is one of the aspects of reality that is measurable, and completely quantifiable. There is no argument against space, and there is no disagreement on how to perceive it. An aspect of life that is this well accepted should also be understood, in my opinion. Others may choose to settle with a laymen's view of this essential truth of life. I, however, choose to dedicate my time to at least a basic understanding of cartography. Literally the skill of quantifying and presenting this truth." The questions was honest, though no more in depth than Trente felt it needed to be. He respected the man for trying to include Trente's interests in the conversation, and hoped his response pleased Stri, but Trente had other topics that he felt would entertain him more. And, he had no qualms against notifying the man of this.

"Though, I have to profess a much deeper interest in hearing about your work. I have only on very rare occasion been allowed the pleasure of witnessing an animator's work in person. The experiences have always been pleasurable. I share at least a fraction of your the enthusiasm and awe for the art." His words were relaxed, and honest. The words seemed to flow so comfortably from his lips, that it became obvious that his current tone was in fact his average tone. He was always formal, though not so much that he was distant from other's interesting (necessarily,) especially when they fascinated him.

"You seem very interested in your work. If you would indulge my curiosities, would you share with me a little more about what it takes to animate your trade's complicated gadgets? I, of course, realize that no magic can be truthfully represented in only a few words, but I would enjoy even a small synapse if you would." He then shifted his weight slightly to the other foot without breaking eye contract, and looked to the man receptively, still not wavering his attention. There would be time later to spread his awareness about, but he wanted to understand this man a bit more before he gazed about too much. At least till Stri ceased to entertain him.

[Nai'shee]

Physical description : The same as always (CS), just with this dress Nai'shee arrived pretty late. When she entered a University she didn't felt like a student. She wasn't a complete stranger anymore, but she couldn't accept this place as something familiar to her. She was afraid that she never will. Her hopes lied there, in the open sea and the freedom of eternal sky, not in this ancient walls which provided knowledge to generations and generations before her and which will keep doing so as long as Mizahar lives. There's no chance something like this could be destroyed. She walked straight to West Wing, with confidence on her face, proudly walking in her new dress. It felt different, after all this years - being dressed differently and being dressed pretty. She past the big wooden door and entered the hall Ball was in. She paused on the stairs, taking a quick look at the guests. Almost everybody found their best clothes for this event. Yet, most of them didn't seem like having much fun. Well, let's change it, she thought. She was really interested in many persons here, she noticed Benshira, who weren't really common in Zeltiva and also a man, dressed formally, in black, who seemed to be a bit confused or afraid, but yet glad he's here. But what picked her attention were one of the two mans who had a conversation, standing at her right. He obviously was conspicous with that weird makeup and that plant replacing a rose in his pocket. He, and his friend, a tall man, who seemed like really wise person to Nai'shee were pretty much the only ones who had conversation here, so her choice was obvious, even nor she noted to herself she must meet others who picked her attention sooner or later. She confidently, but not with much elegance, approached them. "Hello", she said with smile. Their serious faces reminded her to add: "I'm sorry if I interrupt your conversation. Mind if I join?" She sounded too mature to herself. She just wanted to act as always, but she couldn't do whatever she wanted in the middle of University anymore. She had to be more or less respectful to others.

[Avari]

Skulking around the great doors that led into the imposing West Wing of the University of Zeltiva, Avari couldn't help peering through the tall glass windows with insatiable curiosity and drinking in the light and music that spilled out from the elegant ball taking place within. Rarely did she take an interest in the small, studious world of the University of Zeltiva, reckoning herself beyond the rules and restrictions of academia, but the Winter Ball was a special enough occasion to attract her attention. Even though the event wasn't nearly as artistic -- or the women as luminous or as simply yet stunningly well-dressed -- as the parties she remembered in Mura, the Winter Ball was still a vibrant social occasion full of glitter and grandeur. Avalis knows, Avari had never been able to resist glitter and grandeur when she saw them.

Last year, she recalled, she'd been suffering a bad cold when the Winter Ball took place. The year before that, though, she had managed to sneak into the ballroom by following a waiter inside through a service entrance. When someone mistook her for a waitress and asked her to refill their wine-glass, though, the proud Konti had stalked off in a huff.

This time, Avari vowed, she would experience the Winter Ball properly, as a guest. It looked so inviting, so interesting. And they had wine and refreshments on those long tables too, she noted, peeking through the windows again. It had been so long since she'd last had a taste of good wine.

Now that she had made up her mind, her gaze moved toward the many laughing, lively guests arriving at the door. With dismay, she noticed all too quickly how greatly their fancy ball attire differed from her much-mended tunic and salt-stained breeches. There was little chance that Avari could gain acceptance on her own when she looked more like a laborer than a sparkling socialite, she thought. She would have to be cunning about it, a thought that brought a faint, impish grin to her face.

Noticing a group of well-dressed matrons nearby, Avari drifted closer and listened attentively to their chatter as they approached the West Wing doors.

"...and he was saying to me, you really ought to have a setting made to match the jewel," the woman in front was telling the group. "I asked him, wouldn't that be far too expensive, but he insisted! Nothing's too good for the wife of Professor Bachmann, he told me!" She giggled self-consciously.

Normally, Avari would have been far more interested in the mention of jewels, but at the moment her mind worked swiftly in connection to gaining entry into the Ball. An idea darted into her head, and she strode toward the group of ladies with a preoccupied, businesslike air, announcing, "Excuse me, excuse me! I have a message for Mrs. Bachmann here, please let me through!" Giving her startled looks, the group of ladies let her push through without any resistance. Avari carefully situated herself in the very center, ducking behind a tall woman with a feathered hat as the ladies passed through the doors. Just as the Konti found herself face-to-face with Mrs. Bachmann herself, the guards in front of the West Wing were wishing the ladies a delightful time at the Ball. None of them had given the rather shabbier-looking Konti in the middle of the group a first glance, let alone a second.

Thank goodness, Avari thought, just as Mrs. Bachmann asked her, "You said you had a message for me?"

Turning around, Avari tried to size her up. "Uh, yes. Are you...that is, do I have the honor of addressing Dahlia Bachmann?"

The woman frowned and shook her head. "No, I'm Anna Bachmann. I've never heard of a Dahlia..."

"I'm sorry," Avari said quickly. "I must have found the wrong person. Please excuse me, will you?"

And with that, leaving a confused-looking woman behind her, she pushed her way out of the group and lost herself in the crowd of ball-goers. With a broad smile, Avari looked around herself with satisfaction, surveying the ancient granite hall and savoring the glow of dozens of lamps and chandeliers, the warmth of a banked fire and of bodies pressed together, and the clamor of Zeltivan voices raised in revelry. Even more than the people, though, or the beautifully maintained pre-Valterrian architecture around her, the tables holding the refreshments caught her eye and held it.

Avari glided closer to the refreshments with the look of a predator in her eye, gazing avidly at the variety of canapés and drinks laid out on the tables. She rubbed her hands together and reached for an empty plate. Now, this was a party.

[Paragon]

OOCThis thread is now "locked" to newcomers. Those who have not already posted MUST private message me before posting here. Thank you. To players already taking part: keep your characters in and around the West Wing hall for now. I promise these two storylines will converge The West Wing was alive with the definition of party. Dim lighting glistened against the myriad of women's colourful dresses, sweeping against one another in soft, silken material. The drink was literally flowing, and the food was a particular hit, all cooked up by the University's school of culinary. A great mixture of people were attending too. Though the Scholar's seemed to keep themselves to themselves, the younger Zeltivan residents mingled and chatted, fortunately bumping into one another, socialising like good friends. Not far away from the hall itself, things couldn't be any more different. Professor Hal Jaeda stood in the darkened doorway to the Archives building. It was a building off limits to almost everyone, the belongings inside kept secret from the rest of Zeltiva. He was a professor of Magcrafting, his interests lying in magical objects of all kinds. He was not here out of interest though. Tonight, there had been a break in. This door hadn't simply been padlocked and barred for public access, it had been sealed with the most complex gylphs that the College of Scholar's could conjur up. And now someone had broken through the seals and forced their way into the Archives. Hal twisted his head, ears pricking up to the music emenating from the West Wing. Oh how I wish I could be in there, sipping champagne and stuffing my face with fancy snacks. He sighed, wrapped his arms around his body, and then stepped into the darkness, unsure of what was waiting for him inside. Hopefully, his colleagues would be with him soon. If not, then he'd have to face this alone. A shadow was falling over the University of Zeltiva, and the party goers knew nothing of the danger they were in.

[Faylon Kwanda]

[Attuned to his surroundings from where he’d chosen to stand Faylon could see most of went on around him. The Winter Ball was certainly a melting pot of all cultural aspects in Zeltiva, he saw sailors rubbing shoulders with students and scholars conversing with members of the sailors guild though he couldn’t quite make out any of the conversations, the music was robust and the food and beverages were all exquisite. Helping himself to another drink of the wine he’d taken Faylon would make his way to an enormous table laden with food and appetizers.] [On his way he’d noticed the arrival of several other guests destined to stand out. There was a dark skinned man, Idue the Benshira, not quite the same complexion as the others with what looked like hand axes tucked into his belt. There was also a Charoda. These two were the ones that stood out the most for Faylon as they were obviously not native to Zeltiva. Not unlike himself though Faylon could pass as someone born in the city if required while their natural looks set them somewhat apart. It was a curiosity and yet one that was a welcome difference to him.] [At the table Faylon would set the empty glass of wine he’d taken down and reach for an appetizer, just a roll of bread, which he’d soon raise to his mouth and bite a chunk out of. Chewing with his back to most of the crowds he’d listen to a few of the conversations occurring nearby thinking he may have heard the name Bachmann being passed around once or twice though thinking nothing of it. Once he’d finished with the bread he’d reach for a few slices of cheese and likewise gobble them down before patting himself on the stomach once and looking back over his shoulder to see if he could pick out any other interesting faces from the crowds.] [Nothing stood out for him at first, just the usual assortment of party goers, until a woman in a mended tunic and salt stained breeches approached a table where several refreshments were set near his own seemingly intent on the beverages. Watching her openly for a moment he reflected on her appearance, she was attractive, and how her clothing made her stand out much the same as his did save that Faylons tunic seemed a bit cleaner than hers and his breeches hadn’t been stained yet the sword he wore meant that eyes would fall upon him too.] [Admiring from a distance Faylon said very little, he was still in foreign territory having never been to the Winter Ball, before his gaze slowly began to shift away and he took another piece of cheese from the pallets laden across the table he stood near. Moving away then Faylon would have turned into a waitress that loomed close enough to ask him...”Another drink, Sir?”...with a cheery smile that he’d take her up on by accepting a glass of sparkling wine in his right hand. Venturing away from the tables and many of the other party goers then Faylon would have moved to the edge of the hall, towards the walls, where he’d notice the Benshira again and close the gap between the two of them.] [Nearing the man he would raise his glass of sparkling wine and ask...”Mind if I join you?”...before moving to stand just out of arms reach near Idue and leaning into the wall next to him. Introductions followed when he went on to say...”I’ve never been to one of these before. Interesting so far. My name is Faylon.”...then he’d raise his wine to his mouth, tipping the glass higher, so that he could drink slowly and sample the fragrant beverage. This one tasted a little different than the last he had and Faylon surmised the University must have opened several different bottles for this occasion so that they could cater to all of the different tastes arriving. Well one wine was as good as the next to him especially when they were of this calibre.] [Right now Faylon wasn’t exactly sure how this night would progress. The Winter Ball was definitely a high point in Zeltivan life though. Looking out across the sea of people again as he leaned into the wall near the Benshira he’d have remarked once...”We’re both armed with steel in a room full of swans.”...a simple bit of rhetoric meant to point out that he and Idue were carrying weapons and dressed more practically than many of those who came here dressed for a party. It happens.]

[Warden Thrice]

oocJust making sure you guys know, but Eorar’s actually morphed right now and looks like a regular human. Eorar sighed and stood up straight. He felt ready to go back to the party. He wiped the majority of the spilled wine from his shirt and jacket, then ran his hands over his head to repair any of his morph that might have slipped. He frowned when he felt how large his eyes were, but with a little focus they returned to their steel gray. He was indistinguishable from a human, and when he was satisfied with himself he took a deep breath, then returned to the party. No one gave him a second glance, and as he wove between the revelers he found himself relaxing in his anonymity. He didn’t really have anywhere to be, and so he found himself near the refreshments table. There were cups of olives and bowls of salad and little sandwiches on silver trays. Eorar sighed and picked up a plate, picking up the leafiest-looking things he could find. He saw a flash of white from the corner of his eye, and at first he just thought it was someone in a dress, but when he saw it a second and third time he actually did turn. His features lit up as he saw who else was at the table. “Avari!” he exclaimed, rushing over, forgetting that she had never actually seen him in this morph and might be disconcerted by a stranger’s approach.

[Idue]

Idue felt the eyes of many on him as he stood, leaning against the wall sipping his wine. Of course his appearance would bring attention on him. From what he could tell, there were no other Benshira here, so he truly stood out. Add that to the fact that he was armed at a party where it didn't seem like much trouble could possibly occur. But what thing Idue considered was a blessing was the fact that people would probably leave him alone. It wasn't that he was antisocial. More of the fact that over the past two seasons, he made his friends in combat over social interaction. Had he lost the ability to carry a conversation? No. Did he enjoy solitude over group interaction? Most likely. Yet Idue's exterior didn't fright one man from speaking with him. Although from first glance, this man wasn't like these pompous scholars and nobles. Faylon wore clothes similar to Idue's, and he too wore a weapon at his waist. In one hand he held a wine glass identical to the Benshira's which he toasted to him. A simple request to join him was asked, and Idue nodded his approval. It wasn't as if he was doing anything important. If the man wished to lean against a wall, sipping wine, and watching snobby nobles, by all means he could. It was only Idue watching the man as he shifted his weight to lean on the wall did the Benshira notice the man was out of arm's reach. Not that he had any intention to pick a fight with the man. Maybe he was just wary of getting too closed to an armed man. Maybe he had been to Sunberth, and learned that life had to be fought for. But no life was on the line that Idue knew of, so he merely listened to the man name himself Faylon over the crowd's droning noise. The man didn't stick a hand out for a handshake, instead sipping his wine. Nor did he show any formality in announcing himself? Did humans not live by their full name. In Ekytol, they would've named their tents without thought; it was just the way they lived life. But this wasn't the desert, and Faylon was no Benshira. Forgetting the handshake in case the man reacted in the wrong way, Idue instead bowed his head, and gave his name in return. "You may call me Idue, Faylon." Faylon reply instantly, instead taking the moment to glance out into the sea of people enjoying the ball. While he waited, he pondered his past. His father would've loved enjoying a night like this with his son. They would most likely humor each other with the oddities that these humans seemed to all have. But he would've enjoyed dressing up and not worrying about where they were going to find water and food. This would be a stress-reliever that his father had never experienced. Maybe then he would not have died with such impurities at his heart. He would've had his chance to tell his son about his disappearing mother over a glass of wine instead of his death bed. Yes, Idue had learned that there was more to life than just wandering in the desert. And he needed to experience it, whether he learned of his mother's whereabouts of not. Idue was pulled out of his own thoughts when Faylon spoke again. He named them two men armed with steel among a room of swans. Idue glanced at the man, considering what he said. He could hear the irony in his words. In a room full of peaceful Swans, two falcons were already prepared for the worse to happen. It wasn't that Idue actually expected bad things to happen. Had he strayed away from the life purity of Yahal so much that he was always prepared for the worst case scenerio? Why had his mother chosen Sunberth to run away to, because Idue knew that cursed city was a benefactor in his corruption. But Faylon knew none of this about Idue. In the eyes of the human, he was merely a fighter like him. What they fought for could be different, but they both have seen the hardships of life. "Yes, we're the falcons among swans. But I'm certain that when danger appears, we'll be ready for the fight and the swans won't." Idue gave a small smile. He had played with the words Faylon used, and finished the "smart-talk" for him. If only both men knew that danger was lurking nearby. Maybe then Idue would be glad of his choice to come armed for his first taste of the college life.

[Stri Navasarjaka]

Trente certainly seemed knowledgeable, and at least passively interested, in the studies he took part in. And quite formal, though, the gods bless him, he didn't seem pretentious. Indeed, the leisurely way he answered Stri's own questions hinted at an ease of conversation growing. Stri was glad he hadn't taken the question the wrong way; the second after it was out of his mouth he had realized the way he asked it could have been mistaken as a half-hearted attempt at including the other in the discussion. Still, the answer was fulfilling enough, though the philosophical musings on the concept of space did not overly concern him except where it might be measured by area, diameter, width, or height. The topic of conversation seemed to turn back to Stri and his interests in Animation. Smiling sheepishly again at the mans mention of Stri's enthusiasm, he nodded his head as Trente had, what Stri guessed was a recognition of the question and an unspoken assent to answer it. He appeared to have piqued the more elegantly dressed mans' interest, and as he was the only person with which he had truly had a conversation since the festivities began, Stri decided to indulge him. "Ancient Alaheans developed Animation into what it has become today, though its roots are believed to have originated from a bit of thievery by Yshul from Kihala, Goddess of Life. I don't mean to bore you with history, but there is a method to my madness. Animation is derived from both Life and Undeath, as it is believed that Uldr contributed to the cause somehow." Smiling, Stri hoped he wasn't going too in depth in his explanation. When he was going to get to the meat and bones of his explanation, he laid eyes on a blonde-haired girl in a red short-sleeved dress headed rather obviously in their direction. This caused a pause in his speech, and when she stopped and asked her question as to whether she could join in on the conversation, he smiled politely. "The point of asking if we mind if you join in our conversation is rather moot seeing as how you started with a 'Hello,' invariably including yourself no matter if we mind, or not." He said. That sounded intelligent. Smiling wider, he added, "I myself do not mind at all. It's a pleasure to meet you, my name is Stri Navasarjaka." Unable to find a place to belong in the party, people seemed to gravitate towards him now, though it undoubtedly began with a collision. Still, he couldn't help but wonder who else might join in; he hoped not too many, since he had a chronic fear of public speaking. Stri turned his gaze towards Trente, hoping he hadn't offended the man in any way. In any case, there wasn't much to explain concerning Animation; at least, not at the level of competence he had achieved. A small diversion such as the addition of a new guest to the discussion would not prove too difficult a boundary to leap. If the topic of conversation bored the rather bubbly looking, younger woman, well, she was free to leave and find another group to talk to.

[Elem Bree]

Elem's brief moment of awkwardness was soon dispatched by others entering the hall. Unsure of what to do, his eyes scanned the other men in the grand hall. It appeared that the majority of those enjoying themselves had a glass in their hand. It wasn't a terrible idea. After all, he would never be able to afford a glass, much less a bottle, of any of the drinks provided. His feet shuffled him toward the large table of finger foods and bubbling glasses.

As he approached, he noticed a woman also standing at the table. Her back was to him, but her striking white hair and skin reminded him of another girl he had run into in town before. Her frame seemed different, but he still felt the urge to give it the off chance that it was her. His hands wanted something to do, so they found a cool glass of champagne, the liquid sliding effortlessly down his gullet, tickling all the way down. His courage was shored up almost instantly. Taking a breath, his free hand reached out to her shoulder, the name he knew on his lips.

"Nir'alia?" His face was flushing against his will as his error became crystalline. A man was approaching the woman that he had just called the wrong name, calling her Avari instead. Elem's feet tried to push him away, scooting off into obscurity. However, he was saved by the drink, which he immediately followed with another to wash down the crow he was about to eat..