Open Chronicles Where The Autumn Leaves Fall - Halloween Costume Party Event!

[IdlingMuse]

The Balance of nature shifts in rhythmic motions once again. From the scorching heights of Summer to now, now toward the slow freezing and stillness of Winter. Whether one took to the energy and heat of Summer as inspiration and light, or considered it overwhelming and uncomfortable- or saw the placid stillness and beauty of Winter or considered it a numbing, slow death- the Seasons turned all the same.

But between these two extremes when the frenetic edges of Summer heat abated to a breeze-swept warmth, when the health and vibrancy of green leaves plumed into a panoply of orange-yellow hues, the Balance of nature took on an altogether different perspective beneath the watchful eye of the Autumn Court. For in this time where nature itself cooled the abatement of nature’s own vibrancy gave way to celebration and festival in the less extreme weather. Crops were harvested from the fields, food flowed in abundance, and what excess could be spared in the wake of Winter was put to task in balancing Nature’s cry for subdual and stillness with mortal life rising in celebration before the cold.

Mortals in service to the Autumn Court, at the behest of Prince Lorcan, have arranged for a festival to be arranged in the north of the Ixchel Wilds. Near enough to the Portal Stone there to allow for convenient attendance. Any and all who receive one of the magical invitations dispersed throughout Arethil will see that the party is themed, requiring all in attendance to don some sort of costume or ensemble. To guise themselves in the countenance of another being, specific or general, so as to enjoy the revelry and show their creativity in equal measure.

A spectacle of floating lanterns and nature shaped just a bit to resemble civilization will await any who decide to attend. The raw wild of Ixchel and the safety of civilization held in perfect harmony for all to enjoy.

The festivities include a grand feast held within an ancient tree, its insides shaped to be both hearth and home for any wishing to partake in any of the delicacies available. A series of games and competitions ranging from attempting to catch wild animals, to bobbing for apples, tying contestants together for a two-legged race, and much more! A stage is also present for various songs, plays and dramas to be enacted at the whim of the guests!

Last but certainly not least!

A panel of judges at the Prince’s behest will be judging the costumes on display (Polls to be held) for the following categories!

The Most Unique Costume!

Scariest Costume!

Cutest Costume!

And lastly: The Most Colorful Costume!​

 

[Vaezhasar Drakspae]

The stone archway that served as the portal gate had stood dormant for the better part of the day, its surface rippling occasionally with faint prismatic disturbances that suggested the thinning of dimensional boundaries on this particular night of festival and masquerade. Now, however, it blazed with sudden purpose.

The air before the portal shimmered and crackled with energies that defied casual nomenclature. What emerged was not the expected reveler in costume, but rather something altogether more ambiguous in its provenance.

The conveyance appeared first: a disc approximately six feet in diameter, hovering some three feet above the ground with the serene confidence of an object utterly indifferent to the terrestrial concept of gravity. Its surface displayed an enormous eye wrought in turquoise and cobalt, the pupil a dark cosmos unto itself, complete with what appeared to be stellar formations. Golden horns, each inscribed with intricate spiraling patterns, projected from the disc's perimeter at cardinal points. Flames in shades of crimson, amber, and rose-gold writhed about the construct's edges, though they generated no detectable heat and consumed nothing. Lightning in violet and white cascaded across its surface in patterns that suggested either profound purpose or magnificent accident.

Upon this improbable vehicle stood its equally improbable passenger.

The figure commanded immediate attention through both stature and appointment. Robes of deep cerulean flowed about a form that stood perhaps seven feet in height, the garments trimmed and accented with gold that caught the ambient light with uncomfortable enthusiasm. The being's head was crowned with an elaborate helm from which fingers, yes, fingers, rose like gold-plated antlers, their points curling in patterns that hurt the eye to follow too closely. Where a face might be expected, there resided instead a visage that blended bovine and draconic features, with one singular slit indicating an eye that glowed the same unsettling blue as the flames crowning its head.

Four arms extended from beneath the layered robes. One hand grasped a staff topped with additional blue flame, another held what appeared to be a grimoire bound in materials better left unexamined, a third wielded a lantern that cast prismatic light through its ornate cage, while the fourth rested upon a large dagger whose pommel bore disturbing familiarity to the eye-motif of the transport disc. Various arcane implements and artifacts hung from the figure's belt and person, each humming with its own particular frequency of power.

The being surveyed the gathering with the air of one who had arrived not fashionably early, but rather precisely when intended, and who remained uncertain whether the destination merited the journey. A cape of darkest burgundy, almost black, billowed behind the figure despite the notable absence of any breeze.

Whether this represented an extraordinarily committed interpretation of the evening's costume theme or something rather more authentic in nature remained, for the moment, an open question.

 

[Dorin]

Spoiler: Costume

Watching the monstrosity emerging from the portal was a Fae dressed in a far less elaborate outfit. Perhaps inappropriately so depending on the judge.
He had donned his dancer's silks in a palette to suit the falling leaves and crisping air, black, burnt orange, crimson, and cream. His body adorned in trinkets of gold and garnet that jingled a lively chime as he moved. Then they had made a mask of a rabbit with small golden antlers and a bit of dappled furs. It was a humble playful costume of a Jackalope. Dorin's costume had been cobbled together with movement in mind. Or rather not constricting his movement, for the fabric was light and sheer in places in a way that was very much more suited for the warmth of summer.
Dancing and Drink would keep him warm.
He intended to fully partake of the revelry, that is to say he intended to dance the night away, drink far too much and perhaps steal a few hearts.
That wouldn't stop him from admiring the craftsmanship of others. One had to admire the ingenuity of mortals, no matter how many centuries passed they still managed to find startlingly new ideas.

He certainly wouldn't have ever thought to sew such unfathomable creatures together into a display so almost opulently gaudy in it's grotesque nature. He knew of a few fae who would be delighted in hearing every detail of the cruelness of it's construction. Dorin had chosen such an understated costume in hopes of avoiding such types. There were moments when Dorin was happy to shine but on the whole he preferred the role of supporting actor to lead. Especially when playing around in the territory of the Autumn Court.

 

[Ispir Sione]

Balance and Nature. Bound together in a sea of floating lanterns amidst the barely-tamed forest for the festivities to take place. An autumnal glow softly lilting over the fading leaves and chilled air as if it were a part of nature itself. The lanterns and their light, however, was not the only thing drifting on the air tonight!

Spoiler: Witch Ispir

Having purchased a broom with a simple flight enchantment Ispir would drift upon the autumn air with a new style of cloak, hat and pointed boots to somewhat resemble the appearance of witches from legends and folktales. Admittedly his 'costume' was only really a modification of his usual outfit but he hoped it stayed true to the spirit of the festivities. Balance. Not true change, not yet, but a half-way point of the shift from one paradigm to another.

Ispir would idly snatch a mug of cider from a passing staff tray and take a drink, the broom whooshing through the air at a comfortable pace. The first person to arrive, it seemed, was a rather scary person in armor! Honestly the worry about them being some sort of invader or person set on attacking the gathering hummed through the crowd for a long moment, but after being recognized many knew Vaezhasar Drakspae to simply be leaning into the theatrics and sentiment would no doubt shift from worry to appreciation!

Ispir did not notice Dorin which was likely for the best. The poor bard would have had no idea how to deal with the Fae man's.... risqué choice of attire.

At any rate Ispir decided to avoid the stage for now. Knowing he could go and put on a show some time tonight he elected to let it wait and simply gave Vaezhasar a friendly wave from his broom, floated up to the armored man while snatching another mug of cider, and offering it to him with a cheery smile.

"Hello friend! Can I interest you in a drink?"

 

[Rovan Ravenhill]

Spoiler: Costume

Spoiler: Optional OOC Music

Between the prismatic disc-borne reality that defied mundane gravity, the gleeful swilling of beer and floating through the air on a broom extraordinaire and the rather sparsely dressed champion of joyful abandon, the entrance of this stately gentleman completed a motley quartet for the night's costumed alphabet.

Warm autumn glows caught silver trimmings and rings like naughty winks, metallic and grey against the natural and vibrant light. Glints of this seasonal glow ran up and down his beaked mask like wily sprites. And behind his avian half-mask - raven-black, swept back and with severe knack - did hair cascade in long unctuous locks. Dark navy feathers on his sleeves completed the adopted countenance of a stormcrow, and a mantle of deepest maroon, matching his navy vest and pantaloons with silver trimmings, enveloped him like lowered wings.

The smug air of his entrance halted for a beat, when his eye could spy no fellows from the Allirian court. Ah, no matter. They were bound to arrive soon. And above all, one ought not be seen standing alone, gawking at the splendour of the Autumn Court, however much its resplendent guests might tease attention.

So it was with long steps, indulgent in the tight seams of his pantaloons, that Rovan sought other company . . . finding someone of a different make than this dubious triad of fellow enterers: the first of which he found far too scintillating, the second much too lofty for his neck's liking, and the third decidely too avant-garde and complicating. At least, Rovan would need to be much more inebriated to start mingling with any such mind-boggling, head-swivelling company.

"I'll say, that one looks like a proper handful, mm?"

His off-hand remark to a fifth and costumed member of tonight's ensemble was succeeded by an insinuating nod at Vaezhasar's hand-shaped ornamentation.

 

[Vaezhasar Drakspae]

Ispir Sione

Vaezhasar's helmeted head turned with deliberate precision, his eyes, mere glints of azure behind the helm's narrow, singular slit, fixing upon Ispir. One of the four arms that sprouted from his armor extended to accept the proffered cup with fingers that moved with practiced ease despite their metallic encasement. Another of those supernumerary appendages traced an arcane gesture through the autumn air, whereupon the helm commenced to rise from its wearer's head with all the stately dignity of a crown being lifted by invisible chamberlains. The metal rose and came to rest, floating with preternatural stillness beside his shoulder.

Thus revealed was a visage that might have given pause to any student of physiognomy, long waves of dark hair cascading past broad shoulders, framing features both noble and fierce. The face possessed that particular cast of masculine beauty one might find carved upon ancient monuments to forgotten warrior-kings: strong jaw, aquiline nose, and those penetrating eyes of crystalline blue that now regarded Ispir without the barrier of steel between them. Beneath each eye, curious markings traced dark lines down his cheeks like tears rendered in ink, lending an aspect both mystical and vaguely unsettling to an otherwise handsome countenance.

"Most considerate of you to attend to the needs of a fellow reveler, my youthful friend," he intoned, his voice carrying that particular cadence of one accustomed to addressing assemblies rather than individuals. "Indeed, I am quite parched, these past hours have afforded me no opportunity for refreshment."