Open Chronicles The Dancing Flame..

[Srivani]

Each year, the Royal Family of Dalriada outdone themselves. This year was no exception. The Royal Gala had been in full swing for hours in the gardens of the Great Keep at the heart of Oban, and everyone who was anyone was in attendance.

The King and Queen would have had themselves shone in a generous light by permitting even the lower classes their own section of the gardens, luring them from their miserable lives in the shanty squalor and blights of Oban and oh-so-munificently showering them with exquisite food and wine for a day. But the King and Queen were not so benevolent, and the show of hospitality was just another chance to show off their wealth, to rub it in the faces of everyone who clung to the rungs below them. Yes, the peasantry would dine like nobility, taste the best Obanian wine and gorge on the sweetest fruits and finest dishes, only to starve on the streets tomorrow. This was nothing more than a reminder of what they did not have and never would, a cruel taunt that would make their hunger all the more painful.

Still, their Majesties would accept the adulations for their apparent kindness and compassion nonetheless. The great families of Oban queued to kiss the hands of the Royal family, and would have no doubt kissed their feet too if it’d earned them a pat on the head. This was a city obsessed with wealth and status, each family on an endless uphill climb to fight for fame and fortune, amongst them some of the most disgustingly affluent people in not only Oban, but all Arethil.

The extravagant affair was to commemorate another year of the family’s reign, and had been alive with music and entertainment, merry with many drinks and buzzing with whispered rumours that the King’s most valuable possession would be shown off in a grand finale.

Srivani, The Dancing Flame.

As infatuated with prestige as the nobility of Oban were, they were just as captivated with magic. The Genasi’s tent was, as always, just as well guarded as the crown Prince. She stood in the middle of multiple meddling servants, one tending to the curls of her hair and painting some tresses in gold paint, one painting her eyes and lips, two others dressing her in new silks and leathers and decorating her in the finest gold and rubies.

Night had fallen and the stars had won their battle for dominance in the clear sky above, which meant that it was too, Srivani's time to shine. She was cloaked and hooded and led out into the audience, the guards keeping close watch as she blended in with the babbling crowd, until the King called for hush from the platform.

She let the crowd’s din die down and a pregnant silence to fall before the cloak she wore caught flame and burst into light. Those nearest to her shrieked and a circle of spectators formed around her, aghast as the cloak burned from her feet to her hood until nothing remained but the pristine woman with a wide smile on her face. A cheer spread through the crowd as the music started to play and they each fell silent to watch once more as Srivani began her dance.

 

[Val]

It was on the other side of the Garden, far away from the momentous performance that Val found himself chanting.

"SHOTS SHOTS SHOTS!" His voice was joined by a chorus of the lowborn as he and another man three back a row of liquor poured into glasses that he would have called far too small. The spirit flew down his throat with little burn, and scoured his already full stomach. A pile of empty glasses had accrued in front of him, and it was added to with this latest batch. The man in front of him swayed for a moment, staring.

A brief sickness flickered over Val's face. The crowd grew hushed.

Then he reached down and snapped up his opponents final glass and downed it in one swift gulp. A loud raucous cheer went up, Val shooting up his arms as he shouted and began to sing.

"Walking down Canal street
Knocking on every door
Goddamn son of a bitch
I couldn't find a whor-
"​

Val suddenly found a hand on his shoulder, pulling him back from the table as the crowd around him continued the old drinking song and followed it verse by verse. The bony fingers that grabbed him were not unfamiliar, and the young noble let out a groan or impatience and annoyance.

"Hasherdems, what's that -hiccup- bloody old man want now?" His head lulled as he saw the slim servant of his father scowling at him. The man had never muched liked Val, thinking him a wastrel.

"You are missing the crown's performance. Your father wants you there so the King can assess you."​

A groan escaped him, shoulder sagging. "But I've been so...good lately."

Val truly had been. His reputation as a party boy hadn't left one bit of course, but over the last few months he had been far more diligent. Much to his father's delight Val had involved himself in the family business, taking on more responsibility and even mingling with the higher echelons of society. Actions that had brought shock to many that knew him.

"I just wanted one nig-hiccup-night of fun." Val looked at the man like a beaten puppy, but all he received was the hard stare of a man with little patience. A second passed. "Alright...let's go see the dumb fire lady."

The servant turned away, and Val smiled to himself as he followed after.

It was a fine line he was walking. Convincing his father he wanted to do more, but showing he did not suddenly change completely. He had to earn his father's trust, but not so quickly as to arouse suspicion. The Advisor to the King had always been an intensely paranoid man, even when it came to his family. He had to put on the right act.

Besides...the drinking had been fun.

 

[Igni Ymaranath Ythys]

If anyone ever represented all of Oban's ostentatious wealth and luxury in bodily form, it was Igni.

She was dressed in black satin lined with gold. Her neck dripped with jewellery and her fingers sparkled with a multitude of diamond rings. Her skin was smooth and unblemished, hair perfect, eyes large and blue/purple, depending on the firelight, and her lips plump and full.

She was also incredibly, unbelievably fat.

Though only a little taller than average, it would surprise no one to learn that Igni was over seven hundred pounds. She had drawn almost as much attention as the fire dancer herself upon arrival, though not for the same reasons. Most of the guests were too polite to say anything but she could see the ladies whispering behind fans or their delicately gloved hands. Not that she cared. She liked the attention, whether good or bad. It was only right that their attention be fixed on her.

When the dancer came out she stood close to the table of food, wine glass in one hand, though refrained from eating anything. She rarely ate in public as it invited all the wrong impressions. Like all the others she was impressed when all the dancer's clothes burned off, impressed by the confidence of the lady before her - most women would be clutching at their breasts and scampering for the nearest dark corner. Perhaps a gallant gentleman would even whip off a tablecloth and seek to save the lady's modesty. That would be a spectacle worth watching.

There was the smell of stronger alcohol on the air, and for a moment Igni thought her magical seals were leaking, but no - two men, one obviously inebriated, joined the circle of nobles and rich merchants to watch the fire lady dance. She found herself standing beside him, examining him closely. He was certainly handsome, drunk, and full of himself, like most young nobles. But there was a kindness to his eyes that made her take a second look.
Looks weren't enough, though. Igni decided she needed to explore a little further.
"Such skill and beauty. Is she nobility herself, do you think, my lord?" She gave him her brightest smile.

 

[Lottie Beaufort]

"She's not a noble, she's a pet."

As soon as the words left her lips she wished she could swallow them back down. Lottie was already courting danger by being this close to the king and his wretched son who laughed too close to comfort. If he found her... if he thought for one second the tall blonde with grey-blue eyes was his 'stolen' fiancée, she could kiss her freedom goodbye. But danger was her middle name. Well... no, Beatrice was her middle name, but it should have been danger with how often she liked to play with it. Still, she didn't have to flirt with it quite so outrageously by opening her stupid mouth and saying what was really on her mind. She blamed her sisters. How could she have ever been expected to learn restraint when Blanche had a mouth as foul as a sailor and Wren thought herself a man? Not that she could blame either of them now they weren't around anymore. Though if they had been maybe she wouldn't have been stupid enough to come here tonight.

Clearing her throat and avoiding the dark look the elderly couple to her right gave her, Lottie turned her attention back to the dancing woman.

She'd seen Srivani perform multiple times before. When she was younger it had amazed her and she had even hoped to be like her one day. As she had grown older and seen the ugly side to noble life, the invisible chains that women found themselves bound in if they possessed magic. Would the Prince have made her dance like this for the crowds? Her hands tightened on the barrier in front of her at the very thought.

 

[Elliot Aldmar]

He was not Elliot Aldmar. Not tonight. Tonight he was one "Darrethyn Ilsendrith." An assumed name, part of the artificial identity package crafted for him for this task. His name, his background, access to the party itself, the clothes he wore, all of it was provided. All of it in service to his benefactor. All of it to have "a little chat" with the King's prize: Srivani.

Of course, what the benefactor wanted with this woman was his business. Elliot had not been briefed on the details, nor did he feel that he needed to be. He knew next to nothing of Srivani, only her appearance--which, frankly, seemed almost unnecessary, given the present moment. Elliot knew enough for the task, and this task, as it so happened, was simply an expedient step toward his own ends; aiding his benefactor was merely incidental, now that Elliot had acquired all the means to be here in this party in the first place.

The benefactor was interested, so far as Elliot could surmise, only in his own personal gain.

Elliot was not.

Elliot was here because he despised Oban. Despised it for the same reason he despised Dornoch. And here lay opportunity.

There were, after all, greater things at play here than himself, his benefactor, and a woman named Srivani.

* * * * *​

Elliot was dressed in a sharp ensemble of elven finery: a black, tailored jacket, black pants, white silk shirt and cuffs, some of the finest exported jewelry from Zar'Ahal adorning his fingers, blood red ascot tie which might have matched his eyes had they been like the eyes of many pureblooded drow.

The night, thus far, had been a series of lies and pretense in keeping with his cover as Darreth, posing (ironically) as a well-to-do émigré from Zar'Ahal that had carried much of his wealth to a new home in Dornoch. Despite Elliot's predilection for the wild, he was still well-versed in the game played in the upper echelons of civilization. This, funnily enough, owing to a certain someone from none other than Dornoch itself. A certain someone who had long since departed Arethil in dramatic fashion.

Still. Idle conversation here. A smile there. A toast and a nod and a shaking of hands and a kissing of a hand and all the rest.

This until the hush descended upon the whole of the garden gala. Elliot, part of the crowd of nobility, turned to look as the attraction which brought on the silence took the stage. The alighting of a fire, the cloak turning to ash, and a woman revealed, adorned in precious gold and rubies, as the polite cheers washed like a wave down the gathered crowd and said woman started to dance.

And there she was. Srivani. The target.

Elliot watched--just another man among many in the crowd, even if he may have stood out with his gray skin. Patiently he spectated with a quarter-full glass of wine in one hand and a stolid expression on his face.

Now was not yet the time.

Srivani Val Igni Ymaranath Ythys Charlotte Beaufort

 

[Varys]

Oban was known for many things: The tall walls that surrounded it, the unforgiving and punishing might of the law, and the diversity of wealth among its many peoples from slum to palace. Of course, the elite nobles and royals held all the cards when it came to power and wealth in the city. They lived lavish lives and enjoyed luxury the common folk could only dream of. Any chance these privileged few had to show off their wealth was usually quite quickly picked up on.

Varys ran his hand through the silvery-white hair that hung over his shoulder, hiding his disdain for this environment as expertly as he could while he watched from his spot amongst the crowd. The last time he'd been here was as a fireworks apprentice, several years ago. Now though, he was on his own, done with his training and roaming about Arethil to hone his craft. Not as an illuminator, but as a mage. He'd taken to moving city to city, picking up any opportunity to sharpen his abilities in real situations as opposed to controlled training. What was he doing back here? Well...

An older human male in robes and gold jewelry spoke suddenly from his side. It was all Varys could do to hold back a groan. "They've drawn quite the crowd tonight Varys, as usual! Isn't that Fire Dancer the most splendid sight you've ever seen? She's such a scrumptious specimen." The silver-haired elf cringed at the terminology. Niv, as the human was known, was a noble here in Oban. He'd called on Varys to attend the party with him so that he could try and find somebody who would pay him for Varys' services. Basically, he was being whored out by an old man. "Why do you insist on being so annoying, Niv? Bad enough you dragged be back to Oban, why does every second at your side have to be miserable?" He sips his drink, tucking some hair behind his ear as the potent liquid goes to his head just a tad. Niv was right about one thing, that dancer was a sight to behold. Even with his Speaker abilities, it would have taken ridiculous amounts of concentration to perform anything close to that.


Suddenly, Niv pats him on the back rather roughly. "Because you owe me, San' Seya. I haven't forgotten that trick with the cursed gold you pulled on me. It was either attend this party with me, or something much worse. Now go mingle, and butter the crowd up, alright? It looks like you didn't bring a date as I told you to, anyways. A damn shame, since the woman on your shoulder is usually the best thing about you." Varys pulls away and tosses his hair behind his head with a sigh. Yes, he'd scammed Niv, but he had a feeling that the old fart was angrier about Varys sleeping with the woman who Niv had been convinced was interested in him that night. "Yes, well I didn't want to subject any woman to some old horndog trying to grope them behind my back all night. Enjoy the party, Niv."

Varys departed Niv's side, breaking off into the crowd to find something more worth his time. The Dancer was intruiging, and all eyes were latched onto her. Varys too, found the alluring figure moving effortlessly across the stage to be a difficult thing to look away from, but it was not because of her womanly features. Rather, it was the fire itself. Being a Speaker, Varys had the innate ability to converse with the elements and world around him as though they were any other being. He could feel Arethil's emotions, it's thoughts and feelings.

Srivani's fire was happy. Fire was never happy.

Still, her performance offered Varys plenty of opportunity to scan over the crowd one by one without seeming like he was being nosy. He couldn't help but feel his ears perk when he saw one person in particular. A dark haired woman he knew, one he'd had a day of adventure with long ago.

"Lottie? Is that you?"

Charlotte Beaufort Val Srivani Igni Ymaranath Ythys Elliot Aldmar

 

[Srivani]

Srivani moved like water transformed by music, flowing in graceful arcs, limbs in constant motion, painting a picture sound alone could never achieve. She performed a wordless interpretation of the beats, of the soft strings, in a way that any audience could understand no matter what language they spoke. In that way her dance wasn't simply movement, but the most honest form of communication she knew. When you had no voice in this world, you had to learn how to express yourself in other ways.

Now that she had people's attention, whether it by the fire or scantily clad appearance, she let the flames ignite and dance over her palms and swirl up her arms. Her very hair seemed licked by flames as it tumbled down her back. Ribbons of fire flowed around her as she moved, fluid and flexible to the call of the music, her lips curled in a constant, graceful smile.

The crowd reacted to each burst of flame, and so she gave them more. The fire spread along the floor in a circle around her and she played with those fiery ribbons as she spun and twirled, until it seemed the little inferno would devour her, engulfing her like a blazing cocoon. Srivani spun and spun inside the burning sphere until she stopped and it burst into thousands of embers that each took on the shape of a butterfly and flapped over the crowd until they withered away to ash.

 

[Val]

"Pet indeed." Val repeated quietly, looking at the face that had said the words with a slight frown.

It was an opinion that he himself shared, one that Wren had all but raved about to him when they had spent time together in his manor in Alliria. He frowned for a moment longer, and then quickly replaced the expression as he shifted on his feet.

The act.

Had to keep up the act.

"A happy one, certainly!" Val declared, swaying on his feet ever so slightly and peering around as though he were searching for something. "The King treats all those in his company well."

The noble said with a smile. "Good food, good wine, good life. What more can someone ask for?"

Thunderous applause drowned out Val's words as Sirvani's performance fire radiated out over the crowd. The embers of a thousand fireflies burning over the crowd. It was a sight he'd seen before, but that didn't make it any less remarkable.

 

[Amalric Urahil]

A lyre struck up from somewhere unseen, the strings artfully plucked to the precise movements of the dancing beauty, seducing the ears of the audience even as Srivani beguiled their eyes.

The rhythm picked up the faster she twisted and turned, cadence crescendoing in a burst of sound with every explosion of fire.

The enchanting backdrop to her art only served to place her more firmly center stage, each note enhancing her performance with that unseen infatuating power that came solely from music.

Swiftly she spun and swiftly did the lyre play, fingers dancing across the strings just as she danced across the stage until she finished in a rain of ashes and the last note echoed in the soul like a lost lover.

Only then did the lyre player reveal himself, an elf with a scarred face, wearing somber robes, threaded with silver and blue.

His eyes fastened on her and though he did not smile, mirth flashed in those gray depths like lightning in storm clouds.

 

[Igni Ymaranath Ythys]

"A pet! Well. How very odd. We don't have pets in Alliria." Igni turned to face the lady - a young lady with short brown hair and green eyes. "Well, that is wrong. We have pets. But not sapient pets."

She studied the faces of those around her, turning her back on the dancer. One could learn very little from watching a pet dance. One could learn substantially more from the faces of those powerful people watching. And so when the young and drunk nobleman's mask slipped for a moment, she saw a glimmer of something underneath that was a whole lot more real. Igni cocked her head.

"You don't seem happy, my lord. Are you envious of the current owners? Is this a happy pet you wish to have for yourself?"

As she waited for an answer she watched from the corner of her eye as an elf greeted the young lady by name: lottie. She committed it to memory with a familiar verse:

Little Lottie said, am I fonder of goblins or shoes, or of riddles or frocks?

 

[Lottie Beaufort]

Lottie's eyes sharply turned to Val as he muttered under his breath in agreement. The shock of it made her check her illusion magic was still firmly in place, hiding her tell-tale brown hair and green eyes from the public and instead making her appear blue-eyed and blonde. Nobles, much less the men, agreed very little with her and her sisters mentality that the whole disgusting infrastructure that held the poor down and the rich high should be torn down. She had opened her mouth to say something when Igni cut in with her own queries and she found herself waiting for the answers also. Was he intending on--?

All thoughts stopped when someone spoke her name and she visibly winced. More than a few heads turned in her direction to see if it was that Charlotte before dismissing the blonde entirely.

"Her mother would have a fit if she thought her daughters had bleached poor Lottie's hair blonde!" she heard one lady say to her right before the group descended into polite chortles. She could have thumped the bloody elf for all the rage inside her in that moment but that would be unlady like.

"You must be mistaken," she smiled politely and waved her fan as though the heat of the flames against her skin was a trifle too hot for her to be unbothered by. Her eyes, however, even in their blue-grey disguise were like thunderclouds focused directly on Varys. If looks could kill, Varys would wish he had been dead. "Lady Laylah, of Morekkech," one of the most Westerly vineyards and known for being a direct competitor to Lottie's family. It seemed to settle in the minds of the earsdroppers why she took such offense to being compared to one of her rivals daughters.

"A pleasure, I'm sure."

 

[Elliot Aldmar]

Small reflections of the summoned, bursting flames in Elliot's eyes as he watched impassively. It was good that for his cover as Darreth he had presented himself as calm, not-so-easily excited or amused--that it was more or less in line with his actual self. This gave him the opportunity to study, rather than put up an act of engaged enjoyment to be one with the crowd.

Things of note: any notion that Elliot would be able to take Srivani by outright force, even if the security of the Great Keep was not a factor, was to be dispensed with. Given the tools available to him, he would not be able to prevail over her magic. The option preferred by both the benefactor and Elliot himself was to lure her to the predetermined location where she could be secured. The second option was the preplanned escape route, with all of the insiders ready to play their small parts (a blind eye here, an unlocked door there) should Elliot and Srivani come their way; this one, of course, being a bit more dangerous. The final option, outright force--well, Elliot never made any sort of commitment to going this far. He wasn't about to ruin the prospects of his own ulterior motives.

Other things of note: there was a blonde woman among the crowd attracting some level of attention, not so far off to Elliot's right. A glance revealed a noteworthy person present, one Valren Damyr. What Elliot had been briefed on concerning him: the man was anathema to the plan, the heir apparent to the throne of Oban, the spitting image of nobility who had every stake one could have in ensuring the King's dancing prize stayed where she was. It would be best to steer well clear of him.

As the lyre was playing and the blazing cocoon enveloped Srivani and it burst and the butterfly embers swirled above the crowd, Elliot turned. Began to filter back through those nobles present with curt offerings of "Pardon me" and "Excuse me," making his way out from the crowd and across the garden. He finished his wine and set the glass onto the waiting plate held by a servant and continued, straightening his jacket and pulling his cuffs flush and smooth again.

Into the Great Keep and into the reception hall which bordered the gardens he went. While the crowd was thoroughly entertained, it would give Elliot the chance to slip away without much notice.

He had the dead drop of tools to pick up, after all, in case their use was warranted.

In the reception hall there was a man Elliot had seen sparingly throughout the evening (presumably one who had watched Srivani's performances enough times to become tired of them). The man, sitting with his wife at one of the tables, both of them smoking fine cigarettes in long, elegant holders, saw Elliot and said, "Too much wine?"

A polite smile. "Happens often enough, does it not?"

"I do concur." The man made a small gesture with his head. "The lavatories would be down that way."

"Thank you."

And Elliot turned and walking through the reception hall and went down the hall indicated by the man. But he did not go to the bathrooms.

Along the way was a small door to a servants' closet and storeroom. Elliot, having listened acutely for footsteps behind him and not seeing anyone ahead, stopped at this door. Opened it. Entered.

And the door shut.

Srivani Val Igni Ymaranath Ythys Charlotte Beaufort Varys San'Seya Amrose

 

[Srivani]

All of the little conversations here and there all blended into one dull murmur, but the sound of the lyre rose up above the instruments that she was used to. It was something new, something fresh that sent a militia of chills marching across her back as she danced, a far brighter smile igniting on her face at having some semblance of interaction. Someone was playing, not for the King or the audience, but for her.

The thought only augmented her display, the sound like a flint that sparked an answering light behind her ribs, her heart a thrum of pure excitement. Her hands rose up above her, fans of fire igniting in her palms which she waved in slow arcs, her dark golden eyes flickering with firelight subtly searching the crowd for the musician.

Finally, she caught his eye and mirrored the rapture in his gaze, the smile on her face far brighter than any flame she could summon. She gave a subtle dip of her chin, and as she threw out her hands once more, a wave of fire was cast out across the crowd, a swooping firebird that circled, igniting the oil lamps that encompassed the gardens before carrying itself into the air and bursting into cinders that fell like slow, swirling droplets of smouldering snow.

Srivani bowed as the cheer began, and she smirked at the elf as she gestured with a hand toward him and applauded along with them.

 

[Val]

"Me?" Val said with a shake of his head.

He always hated these sort of conversations. Over the last few years he had played the act well enough, but now...now it was becoming more difficult. The closer he got to where his father wanted him to be the harder it was to fight against the cruelty.

The proper answer would have been to say yes, to skirt some line about the King and his excess. About how he could do better.

It would have been a forward implication, one taken half in jest and half in challenge if it got back to the Monarch. That was what he should have said, but the thought disgusted Val. A bitter taste was left on his tongue at the thought of even saying it. "No."

He finally answered.

"I'm afraid I don't have the proper disposition for pets." The Noble mused. "Not attentive enough I'm afraid."

His shoulders rolled in a shrug. "I'd as soon as trust myself with a canary as a woman of such talent."

Val smiled.

"I'll leave such things to my betters." It was an extremely political answer, not really responding, and skirting around his own disgust. It seemed almost punctuated by the flame drawing over his head.

 

[Amalric Urahil]

Amrose features twisted into a half-smile, the light playing oddly across the silvery lines criss-crossing his face.

As the applause began to die, he plucked a melancholy quartet of notes in slow succession from his lyre. His lips parted and he sang. Softly, yes, but the words came clear and mournful in the afterglow of what came before and they stilled the crowd, as though easing them into chill water after a hot summer's day.

He sang of a young hero from Elbion, who stood alone against the great Drakormir and perished in fire. There must have been some magic in his words, for they all grew still and listened as he told them of Maho Sparhawk's final moments, even as the ashes and cinders of Srivani's performance still drifted around them.

The song was short and sweet, though sad. A last remembrance of one of Arethil's greatest mages.

When Amrose finally grew silent, he only looked out upon the crowd and nodded once, his gray eyes distant, before they came back to rest on Srivani and came alight.

He did not leave them long in their sorrow. Smiling oddly, the elf struck up a different tune with his voice, leading them in a long familiar tavern song as he clapped his hands to a beat. Others joined in until half the room was clapping and stomping their feet to the rhythm. Amrose nodded to Srivani, wondering if she could dance to a jig.

 

[Isiell]

Oban. It was almost halfway between her old home and her new home, and upon swearing her allegiance to the Dawn Court, Isiell had taken advantage of her newfound freedom to go to all the fascinating places she'd read about in her studies, but never been allowed to visit.

A Royal Gala seemed the perfect time to visit.

She was glamoured, though. Her black hair was the same, though she'd pinned it up into a pile of curls on her head without the help of the glamour. But her eyes were blue instead of green, and her face a little sharper. Less childlike. And her ears looked human, not fae.

Her lips were painted a bright, vivacious red, and she wore matching gown of silk that barely clung to her shoulders before it swept around her form in a way that accentuated her hips before pooling around her ankles. If one happened to glimpse her shoes, they were golden sandals with laces that went up her legs.

She'd been mingling with the crowds, nibbling at the food on the tables--though it wasn't anywhere as delicious as fae food--and sipping at an ever-being-refilled cup of wine. The gossip in Oban's royal district was delightfully chaotic, and while she had little concern about which parts of it were true or not, between the wine and the chaotic energies she was practically giddy by the time Srivani took the stage.

This Dancing Flame had been the talk of the night, and with Isiell's own affinity for fire, she had been intrigued. When the woman performed, though, Isiell was left impressed in a way few things ever did. The firebird at the end was an especially ingenious touch, but Isiell was quick to redirect the cinders that wafted around her to prevent them from marring her silk gown.

A jig was struck up then, and while the tune itself was tempting in a toe-tapping way, Isiell skirted along the edges of the room, still getting a feel for the crowd, the people and players present. The Dawn Court didn't really have an official interest in Oban currently, but it never hurt to be aware of what was happening in the world. But Isiell's only true goal tonight was to be entertained.

Ariel would enjoy this, she thought, sipping at her wine. He's always so fascinated by humans. I'll have to write to him about this 'Dancing Flame.'

Her eyes landed on a human male--clearly some sort of noble by his haunted and conflicted gaze--and the robust woman he conversed with. The man had a delicious amount of chaos swirling around and through him, and she would love to get a little closer. And the woman... Isiell had to confess that she'd never seen one so... portly before. It was quite a fascinating sight.

If either of them happened to catch her glance, Isiell would just smile and lift her glass of wine in greeting. She wasn't in any hurry to move in their direction right away, though. She was also curious about Srivani, and she had a feeling if she wanted to compliment the woman on her flames, she would need to intercept the dancer before she disappeared for the night.

 

[Varys]

Whatever attention that Varys had been paying to the flames that danced along with they mystifying figure on stage had diminished when he realized who was in attendance. Her hair was a different color, and she was carrying herself far differently than the Lottie he'd met years prior, but there was no mistaking that cute face or that soft yet biting tone in her voice. But... wasn't she living in the woods with her sisters? Why did she claim not to know him? What was she doing here in a ball with so many....

Oh.

His eyes darted to the onlookers around them, all dressed in regale and splendor. He understood now. Biting the inside of his cheek, he slides his hands into the pockets of his jacket after a small bow. "Oh! Heavens forgive me, Lady Laylah. I meant you no offense." Lottie wasn't the only one who had changed since their last meeting. It certainly seemed as though Varys had grown up a good deal in the time the two of them had been apart. His increase in height and build aside, the frustrated young elf had matured into a confident and powerful mage with little of the bitterness he'd held before. If it weren't for the silver locks of hair tied behind his head and the fire in his eyes, he'd have been hard to recognize himself.

Looking over at the other two she'd been standing with, a rugged but well groomed man and a rather disproportionally sized woman, he nodded to the both of them as well. "I must ask that you forgive me as well for my intrusion. Allow me to introduce myself, I am Varys San'Seya, Speaker." There had been a time where using his last name had been dangerous; the name San'Seya seemed to evoke reactions from some people for reasons he didn't quite understand. Nevertheless, he was more than capable of handling himself now.

He turned back to Lottie, er... Laylah, and he was met with a gaze worth a thousand knives. He winced, and only offered another silent look of apology. Mixed in with that apology was an unconcealable look of happiness though; He'd been worried about the girl for some time, as he'd never been able to make the second trip to Oban to see her, and he oft wondered if she was safe.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw somebody else though. She had dark, curly hair, with sharp blue eyes and near flawless skin that was barely held on to by the silken dress that cascaded down her form. She was beautiful...

So why did even briefly looking at her have every alarm in his mind going off? His hair seemed to stand on end for the brief less than a second their eyes met. Quickly he turned his attention back to 'Laylah' and the others. "Miss Laylah, have you been well?"

Charlotte Beaufort Val Igni Ymaranath Ythys Isiell

 

[Igni Ymaranath Ythys]

"But a noble such as yourself does not need to care for his own pets," Igni said.

At last she was satisfied, by her own standards at least, that this man was pretending to be someone he was not. Which made him all the more intriguing. All noblemen hid something but usually with bluster or pomposity, not usually with self-depreciation. But before she got to dig further the young elf with white hair introduced himself.

"I am Igni," she said, placing her hand over her chest and inclining her head. "And Lady Laylah. A pleasure." She repeated the same gesture to the blonde lady. Then she turned to the man hiding his true self. "And, may I ask, who are you?"

Igni then caught the glance of a dark-haired girl in a silken dress, who raised her glass in greeting, though all Igni managed to do in response was incline her head curiously.

 

[Elliot Aldmar]

Inside the servants' closet.

Dim light from the stained glass of the hanging lantern in here. Various supplies on the shelves that servants would need to complete their custodial duties around this wing of the Keep. Of these there was a small box, not unlike several of the others. Elliot removed it from the shelf and set it down atop an empty barrel and opened it. Contained therein, his kit.

A knife. Smaller than his usual daggers, but concealment was the desired quality here. A sheath attached to a harness with thin leather straps that went over his shoulders and around his stomach, such that he could hide the knife in the small of his back under his jacket. So long as no one with an acute awareness of such things brushed up against him, it would suit. Elliot took off his jacket and donned the harness with the sheathed knife and put his jacket put on again.

A tiny pouch of bone dust. This would power his necromancy, if such measure were called for, and, like the knife, they might well be. Elliot slipped it into his pocket.

A small, rolled-up scroll of Fire Warding. There was the possibility that this could be useful. It would only provide a moderate degree of fire protection and for only a short time, anything more powerful requiring a prohibitively larger scroll, but this expanded his options nonetheless. This he slipped into his other pocket.

A smoke bomb. One that was the size of a tangerine, so smaller and less potent than it otherwise could be, but perhaps effective enough in tight quarters. Into the same pocket with the pouch of bone dust it went.

And lastly, a key. Necessary for a surreptitious exit along the pre-planned route. If all went well, this would be the only item he would need to use. The key joined the scroll in his right pants pocket.

With that, Elliot departed from the servants' closet, walking and carrying himself as if he had every right to be where he was and to do what he was doing.

* * * * *​

Elliot sauntered back out onto the garden grounds, arriving as the lyrist's song was ending and his jig was just beginning. He stayed back, at the rear periphery of the crowd, as partners were being sorted out and the dancing started to the lyrist's lively tune. Elliot was not a total stranger to dance, coming to know two very different styles during his many years in Dornoch; he was moderately surprised to see the nobility engaging in this particular style now, having expected a slower or more refined style to be joined with here. Regardless, he wasn't too keen on participating if it could be avoided.

So on one of the outside benches he sat, seemingly lounging and taking in the fresh air and the festive atmosphere from afar.

And on occasion, casual glances toward the Dancing Flame, Srivani.

Now he had to assess the exact method of extracting her. Perhaps she would be all too willing to go. Or perhaps not. Perhaps she very much enjoyed her station here, living amongst the lavish trappings of royalty, and would not be so willing. Or worse, if it was so, perhaps she was a slave, and one who loved her chains. And there was nothing Elliot abhorred more than that, for there was no more pathetic a creature that could carry out so detestable an existence upon Arethil.

But he did not yet know. And to find out, he would need to speak with her, preferably with the most amount of privacy feasible.

Which, of course, could prove to be the difficult part, depending on the security around her.

Srivani Val Igni Ymaranath Ythys Charlotte Beaufort Amrose Isiell Varys San'Seya

 

[Srivani]

As the elf began to sing, Srivani stilled for a moment and melted to her knees to listen, her head tilting as she drank in the sound of his voice, the sorrow of his lyrics reflecting in her golden gaze. As the story unfolded, the images he conjured in her mind were played in the flames that danced in the air around her, but her eyes were on the bard.

The guards shifted, exchanging uncertain looks between one another and keeping an eye on the dais where the Royals lounged. The King's attention was pensive, his fingers gesturing to his personal guard who leaned in to listen to whatever the King had to say, the man nodded and stood back, his gaze settling on Amrose.

Srivani's expression was one of devastation when the elf's song ended, but it had as much to do with the lyrics and sombre tone as it did to do with it being over. She gave him a nod as his attention returned to her, and her resplendent smile returned the second he struck another chord. She laughed brightly and drummed her hands on the scorched floor before pushing herself to her feet and accepting his challenge. Srivani could dance to anything.

The other musicians struck up in time with Amrose, and Srivani's bare feet stomped into the stage in intricate steps, her jewellery jangling as she moved and the curls of her hair igniting into flame as they bounced around her shoulders. She cast the elf an exhilarant grin and sent him three fire sparrows that circled around him before taking to the skies.

Srivani skipped forward and took the hands of two children who'd squeezed to the front of the crowd, pulling them onto the stage with her, and they clapped and twirled and laughed gleefully in time with her, sending up another cheer from the crowd.

 

[Val]

Another bloody song.

Despite what he had done for most of his life, Val actually didn't like parties all that much. They were a complete and utter waste of time and money. It pained him how many crowns this fucking shindig had cost. The thought of everything that could have been done with that gold niggled at the back of his mind as the Fire Dancer scooped up to Children from the crowd and began to dance with them.

"I..." He frowned for a moment, glancing at the woman of excess for a few seconds before looking up at Sirvani again.

A sigh escaped. "I am in search for another drink."

There was a mirth injected into his tone, a notion of levity that might have been appropriate at a time like this. He offered a pleasant smile to the others in the gathering group, quickly taking a bow. "If you'll excuse me."

Val said as he quickly slipped away through the crowd, moving between the people as though he were water running over a rock.

As he made his way through Val snatched a flute of champagne from a man who seemed to be practically stumbling onto his face. He slipped out of the mans way, downing the drink as he broke through the edge of the crowd and through himself onto the bench besides Elliot Aldmar.

 

[Lottie Beaufort]

Lottie gave a sniff just loud enough to show how dead he would be if they had been somewhere less public yet lacking enough bite not to deter from her slight smile that showed truly how pleased she was to see her. After seeing Varys her life had changed drastically; Wren had vanished and Blanche too. Never in her life had she been alone but over the past year she had learnt how. Still, there were nights where it weighed on her that nobody knew who she was. Even when walking the crowds like she did tonight she always felt alone with another persons face painted over hers.

To find one of those souls who knew her eased a pain in her chest she had tuned out several months ago.

"Quite well, perhaps you can buy me a drink after your hiccup?" the upward lilt towards the end of her sentence phrased it as a question but the way she looped her arm through his without his answer and began walking made it seem anything but.

She stopped not at the drinks tent but on the fringes of the crowd where several benches had been placed for those wanting quiet conversation. Only when they were sat down did she squeezed his hands in as much as she dared show her affections.

"It's so good to see you," she breathed out and then laughed. "What are you doing here?!"

 

[Amalric Urahil]

Amrose stared openly at the genasi as she danced, a hint of a smile on features so torn and tattered that they resembled a ship’s last surviving sail after a storm.

His stormy eyes watched her as the song drew to a close and the children ran back to their tables. Catching her gaze, he looked pointedly toward a shadowed alcove that led off from the crowd, then back to her.

He set off toward the alcove and waited there while the court jester took center stage, juggling knives on fingers even as his sharp tongue juggled insults.

 

[Kristopher Mortas]

Parties were always his favorite.

Especially the ones during the day.

Back when he could enjoy them.

Now, the sticky-fingered vampire had to contend with the waning light of a party designed to simply impress. Though, it did not disappoint. He had a marred face, and a set of peculiar eyes, and pale skin. It wasn't hard for the informed to deduce what he exactly was in a few cursory glances.

Or if you happened to bump into him with a silver spoon, which someone had just done. He gave a slight yelp of pain, before apologizing and moving away from the nobleman who had been oh-so-careless with his spoon. Of course, this was after Kristopher lifted the pinky ring he was wearing. Gold.

Very stylish.

Wouldn't burn his finger off.

He was in the lower caste of the party, working his way upwards, towards the cheering crowd. Where well practiced and sticky fingers begin to pick and prod, mostly looking for coin and for loose-fitting jewelry.

Not that anyone that he took it from would miss it. It was all harmless, in the end.

 

[Varys]

The Elf was made painfully aware of how bad he'd nearly blown it for his old friend by the daggers in her stare. That was foolish of him; he knew Lottie's story well, she'd told him of much of her situation as they'd sat by the lake watching the sunset one evening. It seemed so long ago now, but it had been an evening Varys had never forgotten; Lottie had been the first real friend he'd made in his entire life, and though they'd not seen each-other again until now, he'd always held her memory close to heart.

Of course he had no idea of what hardships she'd gone through since then.

"Of course. It's the least I could do to make up for the transgression." He bowed his head to her respectfully, even as she claimed his arm for her own a bit too quickly for it to look natural to onlookers. Oh gods, he could already hear the chatter around them.

"What's got them in a hurry?"

"My, My! does the lady have plans for him?"

"Pah, some people can't control themselves."
​

If Niv caught wind that he was being ushered out of the crowd by a beautiful woman, he was going to get an earful from him. "I'd say you're going to get me in trouble, but after that stunt I pulled, fair play." He mumbled to her jokingly. He could live with the hushed whispers and dirty looks, as once he saw the rather secluded set of benches she was leading them towards, he was much more concerned about catching up with the woman from his past.

Sitting beside her, he let out a breath of air he had little idea he was holding in for so long. He felt her touch against his hand, raising it up with an affectionate squeeze that led him to look at her with a slightly flushed smile. She really did remember him... He'd been worried maybe she would forget about the strange immature elf she'd met on a random day in Oban.

"I'm so glad that you're okay, Lottie..." He spoke quiet, enough to be discreet as he raised the hand that squeezed his to kiss the back of it in his own small show of affection. "I was so thrilled to see you I didn't think straight back there. Please forgive me."

At her inquiry, he wears a small smirk and rather cockily raised brow. "Oh, you know. Everybody wants a piece of me these days. You learn some rare magic and people expect you to put it to use for them." He shakes his head, his smirk fading just a tad. "Honestly though... I'm here because I owe somebody a little money, and I think he's hoping he can talk somebody into hiring me on his behalf."

He lowers her hand, squeezing it back with a warmth in his eyes that most definitely differed from the last time they'd met. "I'm sorry I didn't come back. I wanted to, really. So much has happened... I never dreamed I'd see you again."