Open Chronicles The Valenntenian Masquerade Festival

[Solomon Regis]

"Whilst we have always prided ourselves in our history, Valenntenia would not exist without the passion and love that flows through its streets every day. We Descendants were few at first; It was those who came from the world outside of our fair town, who took us into their arms and birthed the next generation that we have to thank for our continued prosperity-- Had love not sparked new life, we would have died out long ago. On this day, the birthday of the first child born to a mother from outside of Valenntenia, we celebrate that love. Invites are sent to towns all across the known land, from Epressa to Liadain, welcoming any willing to make the trip to come and enjoy an evening of masked dancing under the stars, drinking the finest vintages, and hopefully, a bit of romance, in the hopes that they too will find a future in the arms of another. Sometimes, our hearts find solace in the most unexpected of places."

- Somner Regelan Terrill, On the origin of the Valenn Masquerade Festival



From on high atop the great Tower that marked the beginning of their time, Solomon could see clearly the sun as it began to wane, retreating shyly behind the horizon. Today was the day that every man, woman and child in Valenntenia knelt and prayed to the Ancients that it would take its time in returning, that it would allow its brother the Moon to rule the city for just a few hours longer than usual. Below, The Absalon watched with a growing smile as the shadows cast by the Tower began to grow across the town, and balls of light came alive across every street, like fireflies among the brush. Tonight, this city would not sleep. Every soul with warmth in their blood and fire in their heart would revel and rejoice in the chance to become something that they were not, something that they wished to be.

For some, The Valenn Festival was about love, finding a soul that matches yours, and igniting a spark that can never be extinguished. For others, it was a celebration of life in Valenntenial; a reminder of the community that had been built from nothing but a lone Tower atop a tall hill hundreds of years ago, and the magical stones which guided them to the prosperous lifestyle they now enjoyed. No matter the reason you celebrated the Valenn Festival, whether you walked out of your front door onto the brightly lit and bustling streets, or arrived through the city gates from a faraway land seeking a night you may never forget, you will be met with smiles from all sides, stalls peddling the finest goods at discounted prices to starry-eyed travelers, and colors and costumes beyond imagination.

At the gates, Solomon saw the first visitors arriving; wagons and carriages lit by the lanterns that hung upon the sides. Some would remain in their carts, others would disembark to walk the moonlit streets, last-minute costumes, masks, and jewelry out on display for those who could not procure their own. Others still would take up the offer of a boat through the small waterway that snaked its way through town, glistening under the glow of the lanterns lining every pathway, and the full moon that baked Valenntenia in its ethereal glow. Ultimately their trip would lead them to the Tower Courtyard, where the dance would begin proper. Long tables draped in elegant cloth were arranged in semi-circles around the massive fountain at the courtyard's center, adorned with the finest vintages of wine the city had to offer, delicacies prepared by the most talented of culinary minds of the generation.

The Absalon turned his head from the growing crowd, a sensation against his shoulder drawing his attention elsewhere. He was alone atop the Tower, but he felt her presence on these nights, always. Solomon liked to believe that the spirit of his wife returned to him to abate his loneliness when those lights below began to burn. That the sensation he felt was that of her hand, placed so gently upon him, inviting him to one final dance.

His lips curled, and he turned to descend the Tower. He too would participate in this merriment. When the large doors of the Tower slowly swung open, Solomon would be donned in a costume of his own, a brilliant white robe of long, downy feathers wrapped around him, with wings crafted with wire and iron hanging from his back, broken and bent at various points. A white blindfold was tied over his eyes, woven with fabric that allowed him to see properly through it. The Wounded Angel had been his costume the first time he'd attended, and this year he'd felt it call to him again... Whether it be the ache in his bones, the conflict he'd endured, or the looming storm that this coming year would bring.



"Ser Absalon!"
​

Solomon turned and smiled at the young Somner that approached, the gaudy colors of a Jester adorning them, bells attached to their clothing ringing with every step they took. The Angel bowed his head.

"Is tonight's entertainment ready? We should have our first arrivals at any moment."

The Jester turned, and motioned towards a group of no less than twenty-five masked musicians readied their instruments. To be in the Valenntenian Chamber was an honor to one's family, and a feat that took training not unlike that of a military position. This chamber orchestra had formed before the first Valenn Festival, and remained ever since, with new musicians rotating in over time, of course. The chamber positioned themselves in the open doorway of the Tower, and under the command of a twenty-sixth commanding them from their front, began to play the first song of the night, a slow and swaying melody that saturated the air in a melancholic warmth. The Absalon smiled, nodding in approval, and held out his hand to the Jester. Quickly, the Somner retrieved a small colorful stone from his clothing and placed it into Solomon's palm.

"Let the Valenn Masquerade Festival Begin!"

Solomon tossed the stone into the massive fountain in front of him, and the waters within surged upwards, brimming with a bright lavender glow and reaching high into the night sky as the stone dissolved within. The signal was seen even from the city gates, which slowly opened to welcome those guests arriving from other lands. The doors of nearly every building opened, masked and costumed men and women emerging and greeting one another as if they were strangers meeting for the first time, pleasantries and introductions shared amongst themselves as they started for the Tower.



(Didn't catch the announcement/details of this event? No problem! Click here!)​

 

[Kaira Yehven]

The first Guardian of Faith had been one of the most celebrated Guardians in the history of fair Valenntenia.

Guardian Aevia Bedivere was a devout follower of the faith in her time, and was known for her active duties in the Vanguard. Kaira, as a young girl, often paid homage to the marble statue of her person in the Hall of Faith, the largest building dedicated to the Faith in Old Town. It was her personal motto that inspired Kaira to pursue training to be a Guardian of the Faith.

We fight twice as strong if we fight with Faith.

​

Grateful for the masquerade event, she wore a mask that sat delicately on her face. It was a light attempt of anonymity, but her popularity with the people of Valenntenia would not be shielded by a mask. Especially when her dress had been fashioned after the dress depicted in the marble statue of Guardian Bedivere.


It was from her family home in Old Town that she chose to walk to the heart of the festivities, picking a spot once she arrived to watch over the guests making their way in.

"For you, Daughter of Valenntenia." A merchant brandished a rose to her, but made from hard set sugar. It looked like glass, how it shined in the warmth of the lanterns put up to light up the streets.

"Oh." Kaira hoped the mask hid her blush. "Thank you." The devout followers of today had many monikers for the Guardian of Faith, but that one made her feel the weight of her duty the most than being called Guardian.

She turned her head to keep an eye out for familiar faces... or she hoped to make out their familiarity under their guises.

Kaira lifted a hand to her Stone, tucked away beneath the asymmetrical neckline of her dress. She would at least feel the presence of another Guardian...

 

[Villam Regis]

At the call of the Tower fountain, Villam Regis stepped out of his home onto the quickly crowding streets of Valenntenia. Tonight was a night he usually dreaded, but this year was a year of many firsts for the Regis heir-- firsts that brought with them an odd sense of unease to his bones, a confusing cocktail of excitement and worry that addled his thoughts.

He was all too aware of the stares of the passersby that found him as he descended the stairs of the Regis Estate and walked slowly towards the gates bearing his crest. Did they judge him silently for his name, in a year that had seen his father come under harsh scrutiny? Did they speak in whispers of how he was doomed to inadequacy? How he could not stand in the shoes left for him?

More likely, they were looking at the suit he'd chosen. Traditionally Villam had worn dark colors, discreet masks that did not stand out amongst the crowd, in hopes of blending in with the common folk and avoid unwanted attention. Tonight, he'd opted for something far different.


His body was wrapped in an embrace of orange and crimson, and his face was hidden in a silver mask with tongues of flame arching from the sides and top. The suit had been imported from a faraway land, crafted by an eccentric fellow in Vel Anir who'd been captivated by Villam's tales of his homeland. The flaming motif of his outfit held several meanings. The first was a tribute to his late comrade, Guardian Dorian. Fire and Passion were closely aligned, and without a wielder for the Stone of Fire, Villam had to burn brightly enough for both of them.

The second meaning was tied to his own stone, Passion. Things were changing within Villam, but tonight he felt the burning flames of his Stone's namesake raging in his heart brighter and stronger than ever before. The turnout for the Festival was massive, and with rumors of political upheaval thanks to Carvyre's fearmongering, all eyes were on their city. All eyes were on him.

Him, and his date for the night, Vazia Ferreira

It was uncommon for Guardians to hold relationships with one another, and even then, they were usually wielders of closely related stones. Passion and Faith, for example, historically tended to be attracted to one another. So when word spread that two arguable opposites would be attending this festival as a couple, intruige was high.

Villam too, was somewhat trepidatious about the ordeal. He and Vazia had grown close... well, close by their standards, anyways... rather quickly. While the idea of them being a couple had come about as a ruse to draw jealousy from Lale... The Passion Guardian couldn't deny an attraction to the Void wielder. There was something about her, something behind the blank facade she presented that drew him in closer.

Tonight, he felt, she would be wearing two masks... Which left him to wait for her arrival, standing on one of the small stone bridges arching over the water, where they'd agreed to meet before walking up to the Tower together.

Vazia Ferreira

 

[Vazia Ferreira]

Vazia spent the entire day before the masquerade debating with herself. Debating with herself, and wondering if she had chosen the right thing to wear. Earlier that morning, she had gone to the Tower to deposit her stone for the day (and night). The masquerade would be in the courtyard of the Tower, close enough that if anything happened, she could get her hands on it quickly. But she would not need it tonight. Tonight was supposed to be a day celebrating love and emotions and if she sucked the love and emotion out wherever she was, that would be defeating the purpose.

As for her 'costume', she supposed she was going as a flower. Her dress and mask were a deep shade of red, the skirt of the dress reminiscent of the petals of a rose. She stared at her costume laid out on her bed and again debated with herself. She almost wished she had her stone back in her pocket, but she pushed that thought away.

When dusk fell, the Guardian of the Void Runestone stepped out of her house into the busy Valentennian streets. Immediately many eyes were upon her. She pretended to ignore them as she walked down streets making her way to the spot she was to meet Villam.

She had spent a few moments standing in front of her mirror, which was longer than she had ever bothered to look at herself for 10 years. But when she saw Villam standing on the bridge ahead she wondered if maybe she should have pocketed her stone after all; it was what he (and everyone else) was used to.

She made her way towards Villam, stopping in front of him, her not-quite blank eyes looking up at him from behind her mask.

Villam Regis

 

[Lyta]

Lyta adored The Valenn Festival.

Whenever her duties and travels permitted she always ensured she was home for the grand masquerade ball. She spent the weeks leading up to the occasion carefully curating her costume right down to the finest detail. Over the years it had become a tradition of sorts to attempt to guess what the Guardian of Dreams would go as. The year Dorian had asked to take her, she had gone as a phoenix and every time she had twirled about the dance floor her skirts had created the illusion of real flames. Another year, inspired by her dearest friend Stella, she had woven a gown of scaled armour which she had painted to look like the dragon. The Air Guardian had even helped her appear to fly - a stunt she would not be repeating in the future.

In the grand scheme of her past attires, this years was rather simple. Yet never before had her brother said the words...

"Kress, Lyta. You look..." Eamon was rarely at a loss for words, especially when he knew it would get under his sisters skin in the way siblings were wont to do. He stood up and, seemingly suddenly conscious of his own costume, smoothed it down whilst clearing his throat. Laughing in delight at her brothers reaction, she gave a twirl. The golden fabric shimmered with every movement but was truly a spectacle when she spun, letting it catch the candlelight and flicker of the hearth fire. The dress looked as though it had been spun from the stars themselves. Intricate, carefully woven white flowers embroidered the edges and as the layers of the dress settled, the flowers layered on top of one another. Upon her face sat a mask of gold and tiny crystals, shaped into a pair of butterfly wings. Where bits of skin showed through she had coloured in with bronze and gold cosmetics. They mirrored the same wings protruding from her back, fastened on with near invisible webbing. Her blonde hair had been pinned up into a braided bun, adorned with gold and white flowers. Care had even been shown to her butterfly heels.

"Father is going to have a heart attack," Eamon laughed, running a hand through his hair before offering his arm to her with a grin. "I shall have to endeavour to use the distraction to my advantage. Perhaps he will finally agree to my trip to the Empire."

Lyta could not help but return her brothers infectious grin as she looped her arm through his. It was so rare their schedules aligned and she could spend this time with him. Though dressed as he was she doubted he would be lingering with her for long.

"Let us not keep him waiting then."

A carriage took the siblings from their manor to the Tower courtyard where a thick crowd had gathered already.

 

[Alaric Wulf]

"Oh come on Saskia, you are always pushing for me to do new things. I ask you to participate once and you lock yourself away and pout." Alaric sighed, pressing his shoulder into the doorframe as he rapped upon her door once more. His hands were covered in a dark blue satin, his suite matching the gloves. Silver thread held the seams, filigree sewn into his vest. He clasped his mask in his free hand while he awaited his best friend, only friend to respond.

She had really pestered him into changing his way of life. Frankly, he couldn't function without her. He didn't know how to act, or what to do. He didn't know how to talk and relate to people. Sure, he could wield a sword and fight with the best of them, but there was more to life than that.

The socially awkward lad was really trying here, going out on a limb and doing something new. This wasn't like the festivals at home, they didn't know anyone here, couldn't hide behind familiarity. It was good for both of them to branch out and away from the Knights. The certainly spent enough time away from home, they needed to be able to participate in other things too.

Saskia Kerraelas

 

[Mikko Cendrillon]

Why hadn't he asked her if she was going?

Of course she would have, Mikko had remembered seeing her previous years being in attendance. The Masquerade was probably the second most popular event for Guardians to be present for, after Homecoming.

Mikko had signed his name up well in advance to volunteer as security for the event, before he even thought about Lyta Drømmer and asking if she would attend with him this year. At least, this year he decided to go with something more than his Vanguard uniform and no mask. Something stirred him enough to put in more effort this year, to still retain his look of being part of the Vanguard, walking among the crowds to ensure everything was going smoothly. He wore a long, black jacket over his all black uniform, where golden embroidery twisted and turned in elaborate patterns along the shoulders and hem. His long hair needed a trim, but had worked it's way into curls, pushed back to one side so that his golden simple mask was unobstructed from view.

Cendrillon had glimpsed Drømmer earlier, but she was escorted by her brother and Mikko did not want to disrupt their time together. He knew Lyta had been busy as of late, and perhaps he looked forward to this night to catch up with her.

He happened upon another familiar face, recognising Kaira no matter what disguise she put on. Mikko had been her appointed Vanguard detail for years before they had a disagreement and she demanded he be relieved of his service. "Miss Yehven." But he did not stay to chat, continuing on to perhaps intercept Lyta and her brother... or be noticed by her if he didn't blend in with the crowd so much.

 

[Saskia Kerraelas]

"Because..

." Stomping footfalls could be heard on the other side of the door that Alaric had been waiting at, the door seemingly ripped open to allow a face to protrude from the gap. Light blonde hair fell forward, a pouting face unable to be hidden under the white mask depicting dawn and the rising sun. Amber eyes bore into Alaric, Saskia pursing her lips before continuing her train of thought. "This costume is too fancy and nice!"

She opened the door and stepped out, her hands lifting and falling to her sides in defeat. "You didn't have to go this far for what is supposedly us being --- what was it that you said this was? Right. Our presence here in Valenntenia is us representing the Order." She rolled her eyes, closing the door behind her, careful to not get any of the gold and yellow silk caught in the door frame.

"If we are to represent the Order, why not extend the invitation to the likes of Syr Faramund? Or Syr Hector, or even Syr Cathmore, grumpy woman as she is." Not two of the youngest Sworn.

Saskia looped her arm around her best friend's, pulling him to the direction that would take them out from the tavern they had been staying in the past two nights.

"Honestly, Wulfy. Isn't it not strange? We are so far from home." A couple of weeks travel, no, more. Of course, they had been dispatched to a town a little ways from Astenvale, quelling the village from monsters born from the darkest depths. The Dusker allowed herself a momentary pause, gasping lightly at how the city had transformed seemingly overnight.

"Oh my..."

Alaric Wulf

 

[Boesarius Terral]

Boesarius looked toward the Tower. Looked toward that lavender glow. From beneath the brim of his hat his eyes regarded the display with a practiced neutrality. His opinion was irrelevant. His opinion on the purpose of his being here, even, was irrelevant. He committed to no action without the absolute intent to see it through.

He looked back to the merchant—a plump man far past his physical prime. A large assortment of garments hung in display from all edges of his cart. Boesarius had already been looking at one before the lavender glow heralding the commencement of the night's festivities had come.

"How much for the costume?"

The merchant went to it. Touched that one in particular, holding up its black fabric. He was still smiling genially. "You like the simple one?"

"Yes." Wearing something gaudy would have been a mistake.

"Ah, I see. Save a few coins here, buy something extra special for a lady later with what you saved."

Boesarius's smile didn't reach his eyes.

"What kind of mask were you thinking about?"

"Let me see them."

The merchant went around to the back end of the cart, and Boesarius followed. The merchant pushed open a trunk, took out a mask on each finger in a manner which hinted at a bit of showmanship on his part, and with a sweep of his hands held them out for Boesarius's viewing. Boesarius rejected all of them—gaudy. The merchant set those aside and took out some more.

"That one."

"Which one?"

"The blindfold."

"Eh, I tend not to like those, myself," the merchant said, perhaps in the effort to convince him to buy something more expensive. "You can see through them, sure, but—even with all the lights—makes everything all dark. Hard to see." He saw, however, that Boesarius wasn't going to be persuaded, and shrugged. "My eyes aren't the best though."

"I'll take it."

They completed the transaction, and the merchant, holding both hands on his vest now, satisfied, said, "Enjoy your stay here in Valenntenia, and enjoy the festival!"

"I will."

The costume—which was hardly anything more than a simple and unremarkable black robe—Boesarius held draped over one forearm, and the blindfold mask he held in his other hand. He walked back to his inn room. Changed. And then he emerged back out onto the street, looking something like a humble monk of sorts, just the robe and the blindfold obscuring his eyes.

He walked toward the Tower.

 

[Mabbon Dreierg]

'Is this too practical?' Mabbon asked for what felt like the umpteenth time. 'I mean, does it look like I'm attending a ball, and not about to lead a raid on the Tower?' Glancing around the antechamber, his eyes dark and full of doubt, Mabbon smoothed down the fine clothes he had donned for the evening.

'You look dashing!' His sister, Cynthia, reassured him. 'And don't let anyone tell you otherwise, y'hear?'

Fixing her hair, and letting out an excitable breath, the short half-orc slipped her arm through his. 'Now,' she said, 'no more delaying! Let's get in there and show the people of Valenntenia what they've been missing!'

Whispering a silent prayer to the Ancestors, Mabbon surrendered himself to the guiding hand of Fate -or his sister- as they strode, arm-in-arm, into the grand hall. Soft, melodious music and the sounds of laughter welcomed them both, as did a fair number of mildly interested parties.

'Good evening, Madame!' A rather rotund figure bowed as they entered, champagne spilling to splash the tiles at his feet. Mabbon noted how the man's eyes never wandered above her neckline.

'Good evening!' Cynthia replied, pulling her brother along. 'Was he talkin' to me or you?' She whispered, later, leaning in.

'Me, I think.' Running a hand through his long black hair, Mabbon glanced around the large room in which they now stood. Local nobility and foreign dignitaries milled about, jawing about this and that and this. Glass flutes clinked as jokes were shared. Mabbon noted a few familiar figures in the crowd, though it was difficult to tell for certain who was really who.

One figure stood out from the rest.

Stopping his sister with a gentle paw, Mabbon steered her away from the roiling crowds towards the lady in question. 'Is it the dress?' His sister asked, a smile in her voice. 'No,' he lied, 'well, yes, but no. You'll see.'

Slipping up alongside the woman in the white dress, Mabbon cleared his throat surreptitiously.

'Nice night for a spot of people-watching.'

Kaira Yehven

 

[Akiza]

Akiza looked toward the Tower. Looked toward that lavender glow. Her gaze, full of the ample evidence of the type of magic of which she was invested, regarded the display with a subdued delight. She was going to miss Valenntenia. It was one of the nicer places in which she had taken refuge. But she had to stay one step ahead, always one step ahead.

She looked back to the merchant—a slim woman whose beauty was at its peak. A large assortment of garments hung in display from all edges of her cart. Akiza had been browsing, taking her time, but the lavender glow heralding the start of the Valenn Masquerade prompted her to make a decision.

"How much for this one?"

The merchant went to it. Touched that one in particular, holding up its deep blue fabric. She was still smiling cordially. "A fine choice, madam. I think the darker blue suits you well."

"I do too." It was the sort of blue which gave way to the black of night in the last moments of evening; lovely.

"It's one of the more extravagant gowns I have on offer. You must be looking to make an impression!"

Akiza smiled sincerely; not quite an impression, no, but she did feel like having just a taste of a different life...if for one night.

"I have a number of masks that will complement the gown beautifully."

"Show me."

The merchant went around to the back end of the cart, and Akiza followed. She had hanging from strings attached to both sides of the cart's railings a host of different masks, and with deft hands she slid aside the ones whose color or design was unsuitable, leaving at least a dozen for Akiza's viewing. Akiza had some difficulty in deciding—they all touched her fancy well. But at last one gleamed a bit brighter than the others.

"That one."

"This one here?"

"Yes. With the golden shine."

"A splendid choice," the merchant said, agreeing with her outright, very much so because it, like the gown, was one of the more expensive options. "The golden hue of the mask combines wonderfully with the dark blue of the gown. And, if I may say so, it allows for your gorgeous eyes to be seen." Seeing that Akiza agreed wholeheartedly with her assessment, the merchant hiked up her shoulders in excitement. "You'll look amazing for the festival."

"I shall purchase both."

They completed the transaction, and the merchant, clasping her hands just beneath her chin, satisfied, said, "Have a wonderful evening, madam!"

"I look forward to it."

Akiza carried the lavish gown in both of her arms, the mask on top. She would disappear from the streets after turning this corner and that. From a route unseen she would reemerge, dressed now in the gown and with the mask granting what anonymity it did. She looked, as was her wish, like someone who lived a more pleasant life.

She walked toward the Tower.

 

[Roki]

A diplomatic mission.

What exactly was diplomatic about Syrs Kerraelas and Wulf, Roki couldn't quite say. What he could say, however, was that he looked, dashing. And his tusked grin proved it all the more.

Golden yellow threads, balanced with the lustrous black of his cape. Textures that made the material of his shirt look almost airy. Loose and flowing sleeves, properly fitted trousers. And! His favorite part, a mask in the style of a monkey spirit, from his Mentor's homeland of Aetochi.

It had all taken him quite some time to put together. He had bugged Lou about some color choices, and needled her to get the source of her fabrics, but it all came out silk in the end. In that it came out good. He couldn't afford silks yet.

That Roki carried his ashwood staff on his shoulder, with a lit paper lantern tied to its head, only added to his mystique, and told all who saw him, of some of the lessons he had learned from Cais Vihara, and the Monk Agata.

Still, his mask sat atop his head, held there upon his purple shock of hair with the ties of good chord. His cape, cloaked about his shoulders, trailed dramatically behind him with each swaggering pump of his arms.

When the small town's illusion gave way, his eyes grew twice as large. Freezing behind Saskia and Alaric. "Eldyr's Nuts..." he said, breathless. Took in a breath and laughed. Grinned all the wider. "Wonder if I can find someone to teach me some of that!"

Saskia Kerraelas Alaric Wulf

 

[Hruugen]

"I look like a real demon!"
Hruugen told himself. His reflection caught in the water of the fountain.
Not yet fully known to his fellows here. Solomon was the only one he truly felt knew anything about him.
So he did not see the setback in his get up for the festival being something so complete in its coverage.

His red and furs were topped with a demons mask. It was supposed to represent a man fallen to his own evils. Hruugen thought it amusing that a guardian would wear it.

Truth be told he did not feel nor behave as fearsomely as his get up portrayed. He began to search for his fellows, or just anyone really. It was a festival and these things were for enjoying.

 

[Nacht]

Na

cht woke up in his room at the mewl of his cat. It was night, as he had intended. See, for this night, he planned on attending the famed "Valentennian Masquerade Festival". A teacher at the Monastery had gotten a bit sick of his inane enthusiasm and decided to give him a task, or perhaps a better word could be challenge. The Valentennian Festival is a place where rather important people meet other rather important people. You must strike up a conversation someone does not seem to be annoyed by for at least a minute. Well, Nacht agreed and remembered back to Dunhold. Perhaps his sense of timing and reading a room

were a bit off when it came to exciting things like missions and big events and such. Well, what better chance to improve? He looked in the mirror and admired his mask, which was of a black cat with intricately designed silver patterns with a nice dot in the middle which reminded Nacht of the moon. What a shame such a piece of art is going to be shoved to the side after this night, he thought, pulling on the last part of his outfit, a well made black jacket. There was also a strange long black felt thing he was told was a tie, which he wrestled with for a couple of minutes before entirely discarding and giving to Shade to play with. It was a waste but what was he to do? He had never needed to wear fancy things before, and had only gone home with such a handsome attire was because a man at the store he was in had taken pity on him. He had to admit, though it was expensive, his guide through the closet of the upper class had not done him wrong. Finally, his shoes were slight platforms, which he liked. He knew he wasn’t short, but being taller never hurt one’s reputation. “Shade, stay.” He said, addressing his friend directly. He was of course loath to going anywhere without her, but a cat upon one’s head did not exactly scream “I belong here” in his target social sphere.

Leaving the room and shutting the door, he quickly clattered down the stairs, each thump of his shoes on the wood almost like music to his ears. Quickly stopping at the receptionist desk, he would take out a couple coins and leave them, giving a smile only slightly dampened by the pressure he had chosen to take on. He hadn’t considered it at the time, but he was a representative of sorts for the Order. Now there was a scary idea. Standing up a bit straighter, Nacht would swallow a bit of his own spit and look from side to side, searching for… ah, there. Coming down the road was a carriage, nothing laden with gold and shiny and pulled by snow white horses like in one of his favorite tales “Cynderilla”, but it was cool nonetheless. Barely managing to bite back a passionate but also very loud greeting, he would climb into the vehicle and immediately strike up a conversation: “Can you please take me to the Masquerade Festival, sir?” He asked, speaking at a normal volume. So far so good. “Gladly.” his driver responded with a laugh. “Are you planning to attend at all?” he asked, ever innocent. ”Ha! No, I don’t quite have that luxury. This night is when I work the most, carting around tourists and snobby nobles and such.” they responded, still chuckling. “Well, I thank you for your promptness.” Nacht said formally, relaxing a bit. After a few more minutes of talking and before he even realized, they were there. “Much appreciated. Have a nice night.” He said before snickering at his unintentional pun. A jump later, and he landed on the ground, joining everyone else walking towards presumably the entrance.

Upon approaching the Tower, the squire couldn’t help but gasp at how pretty the whole event looked. Obviously, the organizers of such an event had put a monumental amount of effort in. The least he could do in return was enjoy the whole thing to the fullest. Looking around he spotted some other people from the knights, Roki’s complexion and shock of purple hair almost unmistakeable and he was with two others he couldn’t exactly place. Suddenly, he realized something. This event was based on the anonymity of the masks, so that meant he could be anyone he wanted. Hmm, but who could he pretend to be? Nacht…Nathaniel! Nathaniel could be neat. Walking over to a bar, he would order some juice and receive it rather quickly afterwards, slightly sipping on the beverage and walking around, searching for a friend to make. For today, he was no longer Nacht. He was Nathaniel…something. “Let’s do this. I’ll be the best ambassador you’ve ever heard of, Syr Khan.” he said to himself, gripping his hand into a fist.

 

[Alaric Wulf]

Alaric quietly let Saskia vent, knowing he might get smacked if he interrupted the fountain of emotion pouring from her lips. Instead, he appraised her costume in his mind, taking in the details, and admiring how absolutely stunning his friend looked. How she had avoided being swooped up by anyone back home was still a mystery to him..oh wait she threw food and punches when it came to slight irritations, that's why.

She looped her arm in his, a task that he probably should have done, but she needed to feel in control. He was okay with letting her huff and puff and take the lead. Finally, she stopped to catch her breath and he intervened quickly. "I think you look amazing in that costume, I don't think it's too much at all. A ray of sunshine." He grinned at her as he slipped his mask on. It was in the shape of the moon, silver and glittering in the light. He had never worn anything so fine, or expensive in his life.

"We are far from home Sas, but they couldn't really afford to send anyone of real importance. The Watcher.." he trailed off, recounting the threat that still loomed over the order. It was a fight they were not winning. "It makes sense to send us, we have less experience." Alaric caught Roki's excitement as they stepped out and into the city, it was if it had changed completely overnight. Even Alaric had to pause to catch his breath. He grinned and looked back at Roki as they continued on. "Would have never experienced anything like this at home!"

Roki Saskia Kerraelas

 

[Kaira Yehven]

'Nice night for a spot of people-watching.'

Kaira jumped slightly, her Stone now warming as her cheeks did.

She recognised his voice, turning to indeed see Mabbon Dreierg dressed finely for the festival. "I am taking this quick respite in being unrecongisable to my advantage." She beamed, dark hazel eyes drifting to the female on his arm. "Your sister?" The smile warmed, and Kaira turned her body around to face them both.

"You both look delightful. I confess, I was admiring all the outfits Valenntenia is filled with. Valenn Festival is one of my favourite traditions." She shared, but there still was the smallest hint of sadness to her words. It was also the hardest celebration, one she always tried to forget. Her parents had been celebrated for their love and creativity in their costumes the year prior to their deaths. Their portrait was on display at one of the entrances, but Kaira knew to avoid that side at all costs. She fiddled with the glass stem to the hard sugary confectionery she was handed earlier, twirling the rose.

"I am glad to see you, Mabbon." She smiled, willing her cheeks to cease their rising colour. "Your mask is quite clever."

 

[Saskia Kerraelas]

"I know..." She grumbled, gaze falling to see Roki had found them.

Saskia was well aware the dangers of the Watcher, remembering how spent she was after wielding the shadows as greatly as she did that day of the skirmish. They were in the Steppes now, far from any cries of cultists, and a festival that brought the quiet city to life was to be enjoyed.

"Did the Order really send the riff raff out here?" She grinned at Roki, looping her free arm through his and pulling both with her towards the direction of the crowd, trusting them to guide the trio towards the main festivities. "No one knows we are from the Order, I mean, look as us. We are no Helena or Syr--- is that Na--- no..."

And so she pressed on, dragging her friends with her until they found some merchants selling drinks and food.

"Did you guys hear that the lemons in Valenntenia are sweet?" Her arms freed each of them, going for her coin pouch tied to her wrist to purchase a sugared wedge. She promptly bit into it, sold at the idea of anything sweet.

Her eyes widened, delighted with the sweetness that washed over her tongue.

Roki Alaric Wulf

 

[Boesarius Terral]

Into the Tower Courtyard. All was a dazzling display, from the huge fountain with its shooting geysers of water to the lavish tables putting on offer vintages of wine whose age might well have surpassed the Courtyard's celebrants. Others, both who called Valenntenia home and those—like Boesarius himself—who had come from abroad, gathered in increasing numbers in the Courtyard, the nexus of the Festival.

Tonight would mark Boesarius's last night in Valenntenia, before he would have to make the journey back home. He had initially come to track down and discipline his wayward apprentice, Leah, for daring to disregard his order not to pursue Monolith to the ends of Arethil. Find her he did. Discipline her he did. But, as well, the Church of Jura had a secondary task for him, since he would be in the region. Not much of Valenntenia was known in Gild, and the Church had an interest in knowing, via firsthand information, how the nation and its people ought be regarded. Espionage (though it could hardly be called that, when it was little more than "listening in") wasn't Boesarius's favorite work, no, but he complied with the Church and the Sanctum's orders.

There was nothing especial about Valenntenia. Nothing which eclipsed the manifest sin of Elbion or Vel Anir; nothing which would make Valenntenia a threat more immediate than, say, Althhaven, perennial source of troubles that school was for the whole of Campania, not merely Gild alone. The Valenntenians merely styled themselves as protectors of a sort, coveting magical artifacts to which they, by all accounts, attached a misguided sense of importance. Such airs of grandeur were common among Curites. The Valenntenians would, at present, pose no threat to the Gildan people, even if the beliefs of the two peoples stood at odds.

Boesarius expected his assessment to remain the same after tonight.

He approached one of the tables, seeing with the copious amount of ambient light through the thin cloth of the blindfold. He would sample some of the local Valenntenian cuisine. He had not eaten in two days, engrossed as he had been in his task, and so upon his tongue even the unfamiliar flavors were welcomed, savored.

 

[Malik]

Malik did not take guard duty up like his brother had on this night, no tonight he was his night to revel in the ladies. Romance was at the forefront of the minds of practically every woman in attendance, and it was the perfect opportunity for Malik to take advantage of it.

His attire was red satin, draped elegantly over his athletic frame, just tight enough to show the muscle underneath. His mask was that of the cunning fox, how fitting he had thought anyways. The festival was barely underway, but already the crowd buzzed with excitement, filling the streets with activity.

A familiar figure was spotted not too far from Malik, and an easy grin split his face. "Mikko!" He walked up to his twin, slinging an arm around his brother's shoulders. "Look at you, participating and everything. Brings a tear to my eyes."

Mikko Cendrillon

 

[Ingrid Bohnes]

Ingrid had not left the city since she had spoken to Solomon, since she had met Rhenn. Normally she would have been long gone, and probably wouldn't have even bothered coming back otherwise. She had made a promise to let Rhenn teach her, as prickly as their first meeting had been. Still she had been holding her stone a lot less, which had helped her body recover immensely.

Red hair, glossy for the first time in a long time, glowed under the city lights. Her eyes were bright, and she smelled of lilac instead of death. Her form had filled out a bit, returning some of her curves. She wore and emerald dress, the fabric light and airy, flowing around her like water. Ivy twisted and intertwined around her face, her reddened lips the only thing visible on her pale face.

It was unlikely she'd be recognized by any of the Guardians right now, but the stones would tell them. They always told them. Soon, when Rhenn was done with her, she'd be back to the way she used to be. Reclusive for the sake of others. Tonight, if only tonight, she wanted to embrace life.

 

[Hazanko Miya]

Behind the snarling smile of a ice white face, silver scaled and silver haired, eyes as dark as obsidian peered through a thin haze of sweet smelling pipe-smoke.

Engulfed by the painted patterns and glint of decorative mirrors fanned about the monstrous visage, Hazanko's gaze glanced across the table. His frown hidden well by the weighty wood of his Aetochan dragon mask.

"Odd, stranger," the man sat across from him at the table said. His own mask raised onto his head and worn like a hat. He smiled. "Never quite seen a mask like that," he pushed a stack of silver coins forward.

Hazanko's eyes flicked to the ante upped. Flicked back to the cards he kept hidden under his palm. Frowned all the more. Pushed his cards forward. "I fold," he grumbled.

The man laughed, and scooped up the pot with a little laugh. "Suppose the Dragon's luck wasn't with you this night, stranger,"

A rumble came from Hazanko's throat. His eyebrow twitched, and he huffed as he stood up to leave.

---

Outside, his black robes fluttered freely behind him. White patterned accents along the hemmed borders of its sleeves. Triangles sequenced like the wash of waves. Foam across the black sands of Mount Jugan Bao.
How happy were the crowds, as the pink mist swirled about them all.

 

[Lale Carvyre]

Lale chose to arrive alone to the Tower, grey eyes noting each Vanguard member that patrolled the area. Old Town had come alive, lit up by warm glow of lanterns and decorated with every shape and form of flower arrangements. There was no doubt magic had been put to work to enchant the seaside city, and Lale had to hand it to the Somners for putting in such work to transform Valenntenia.

"Lady Carvyre." The Vanguard soldier nodded to her as she passed by, making her way to the Courtyard. Lale offered a smile, her intentions for the evening was to observe, to take in merriment enjoyed by others. Of course, she did not dress to be mysterious, she was a Carvyre and they never hide from scrutiny. Her dress was not of Valenntenian make; something she had found and insisted on bringing home after one of her many travels. Where Valenntenia was home, the ancestral roots for her house and direct line of Descendants of the Ancients, Arethil was her second. At least, her mask was inspired by her pet, Bandit; the fox almost synonymous with her House.

Dressed in red, like a Carvyre ought to do, her fox-like mask did little to hide her obvious Carvyre features, and garnered many looks. Of course, Valenntenia knew her face and her name, having been seen around Old Town, the Province, and the Tower, doing everything in her privileged power to help those in need. She had Kaira Yehven to thank for such an idea, to win the love of a city that cursed the name Carvyre a year ago.

"What region of wine are we serving tonight?" She asked, leaning slightly towards a dressed server, bottle of wine in hand and ready to pour for guests.

"Valenntenian, of course, Lady Carvyre." He replied.

Lale scoffed, but nodded. There was only one vineyard successful enough to cater to the city, and that belonged to the Dreiergs. She took her red with a taut smile before turning to size up the arrivals. She should have skipped the night, and she may still do so, but this night brought in foreigners. Lale wondered which of them would have traveled the farthest.

 

[Villam Regis]

Vazia looked like a walking rose. Neither Villam nor any of the other Guardians would have imagined such beauty to be hiding within the Guardian of Void. But he'd seen glimpses, brief seconds of a woman underneath the empty shell she often seemed to be. Was that the real Vazia, hiding underneath layer after layer of blackness and void? As he watched her stop before him, with eyes showing that glimmer of humanity burning stronger than he'd ever seen before from her, he decided he truly wished to know that woman.

Reaching out, Villam gently takes her hand in his own. It wasn't the first time that he'd touched her, but it was the first he'd wished to feel her. Even through the glove he wore, he could feel the slight chill to her flesh. Even so, he slowly raised Ferreira's hand to his lips, placing a gentle kiss to the back of it before kneeling slightly, in some mix between a curtsy and a bow.

The city around them was so full; more populous and alive than it had been in decades. Truly, all corners of Arethil have heeded the call of love and passion this year. It should have been a moment of pride for the Guardian of its namesake. And yet, he hardly noticed.

"You look lovely, Vazia. Won't you accompany me, tonight?" Of course, she'd already accepted his invitation some time ago, but that had been sudden and the circumstances could have made it seem dishonest. Villam wanted... needed her to be sure he'd meant it. "It would do me a great honor." Nervous... why was he nervous? This should be rather trivial... But for the first time, he truly looked forward to locking arms with another and ascending to the Tower.

So long as it was her.

Vazia Ferreira

 

[Stella]

Were it not for her current task of uncovering the truth behind the poisoning of Lale Carvyre's father, Stella would not even be present for the festival and gala. She'd attended only once before, in her first year standing as a Guardian. Ceremonial only in showing that a dragon could be as civilized as the people it had sworn to protect, she'd seen no purpose in attending again beyond that.

These events were for the land dwellers. The dancing and gaiety and celebrations. Finding love or, more likely, lust in the arms of another for a night. Stella had no use for such things and she had not intended to come this year, either, despite her presence still in the city. It was at the unrelenting insistence of Lyta that she'd deigned to show her face at all... and dress for the occasion.

Well. Sort of.

Stella's typical appearance among humans had already set her apart from them with all the many small, nuanced things that just weren't quite right for a normal human. She needn't draw any more eyes than necessary, and had planned to go just as her usual self but Lyta had also insisted she help the Guardian of Wisdom look the part. As a reclusive creature at heart, she chose a simple robed gown of blues tastefully and minimally decorated by lines of gold. Forgoing her usual ashen hair for a more (Lyta called it glamorous) white, Lyta braided it in a simple style. A small aquamarine and silver brooch tied it all together without a single piece of jewelry more.

Her hoard was of knowledge, not useless baubles.

When Lyta asked of a mask the dragon only replied that the face she wore was her mask and it would be enough. So different was she from her usual human self, Stella had her doubts even the Absalon would recognize her. All the same, he likely wasn't expecting her to attend anyway.

So here she was, doing ... what was the word? Mingling.

Stella smiled quietly to those that greeted her and elected to join some rather one-sided small talk with some locals just so she could say she'd done so upon her forthcoming departure.

How long did she have to be here for appearances sake? An hour would do, wouldn't it?

 

[Hazanko Miya]

"And that's when I saw them, the cutest pair of-"

"What was it you just said? A band of ogres?"

"And they just crawled on out of the sea!"

"Ghastly stuff, really, swells right up,"

"And well, you see, I just, well, I have so much going on right now,"

Laughter. Gasps. Chatter. A sea of sounds all set to rise and fall with the flow of the evening. Music swelled across the air. The whine of strings, the pound of drums, and the high song of harps.

"On the ninth day, that's when they begin to break," one man in a yellow fox mask said to another. "Soft, and wriggling, they slip out. Pulse by pulse,"

Hazanko came to stop before a woman of star-silken hair. No mask of wood, paper, metal or stone to be found. But a deep quiet that pulled closer the shaman of mist. "For all the complexities of the drink," he said from behind his own false visage. A coupe of Dreirerg red clutched in one of his hands. "I find myself missing the familiar bitterness of cured leaf," he smiled wistful behind the snarl toothed grin of his mask, as all its little mirrors, glittered and gleamed with the play of lights of both heaven and earth.