Saikland's Grand Mirrored Ballroom - the shrine of The Thirteenth on the Pilgrimage Path - is probably one of the best places a person could be to celebrate the Blood Moon eclipse. This rare celebration that combines ball and service has the large space arranged with plenty of space cleared in front of the stage for the attendees to gather during the service. The rest of the room is arranged for a ball, with couches and chairs brought in for lounging, a stocked bar for drinks, and attendants ready to serve the guests once the service is over. Instruments for a band are on the stage, ready and waiting. Many masked figures are already present and mingling - likely wealthier merchants, clergy, and other prominent commoners from around Saikland, as well as a few less well-known members of the extended Saik family.

Someone wearing Ram skull had arrived at the Saikland's Grand Mirrored Ballroom! The Blood Moon eclipse was a rare celebration, and there was no way in hell he was going to miss it. He's dressed rather stoutly, dressed in fine clothes and wearing a proper mask for the party. Eyes search the place, either for certain people, or just to understand his surroundings.

The journey across the Compact didn't take very long at all. The Saikland is the place to be though, during the Blood Moon eclipse. This man is rather resplendent in a gathering of many peacock feathers and a coronet to go along with the mask. A simpler tunic and pants go along with the ensemble, clearly not to compete with the other flashy-flashy pieces. A woman is upon his arm, looking all the ready to hiss and strike in her own ensemble.

Someone wearing a shaped leather young stag mask meandered in with a throng of guests that had filtered from without, sliding this way and that with guided hands through the crowd to make it to the destination he had in mind. What the Stag's gaze was set on was the bar. A silent vigil was claimed at the bar's corner as a few drinks were ordered in quick succession, followed by a shorter glass though not quite one made for knocking back shots. With a casual lean enacted, masked head twisted this way and that to take in the guests that were left to arrive and make themselves comfortable.

The tall brilliant figure of a Serpent in aureate tones enters beside the flashy Peacock. A soft swallowed laugh accompanies a fanged smile. She leans in to murmur to her colorful companion before looking around for the refreshments. Once directing their destination the golden serpent quickly loses herself in admiring the many costumes and masks.

Someone wearing a Tranquil Sea mask of pliant leather with gemstones in oceanic hues sweeps into the ballroom upon the arm of her sharply-dressed date donning a half-moon mask that wholly obfuscates his face, and therefore also his identity. Her own is lacking for coverage, but does not necessarily undermine its purpose - or so she hopes. Bold, vibrant colors reminiscent of the ocean are thrown into sharp relief by the man's umber attire. They make for quite the contrasted pair. "I'm glad you were able to pull me away from work. I suppose it's probably a bad idea to inure oneself to stress when you can simply cast it off with a night of drinking and dancing," she says to him as they meander to the center of the room. When they halt, she turns to smooth her hand down the front of his chest under the guise of adjusting the hem of his frock coat, though there's an air of intimacy in the act.

Bloodbeard, the Bloody Iron Chef arrives! Those that don't know him, surely will by the end of the night. And what better accompaniment to such a figure of terror and dread... than Fear and Wraith! The slight figure drifts along at the chef's side, humming an atonal, off-key tune that's both a bit eerie and grating. In rags and silks, bone and steel, the wraith moves silently yet easily, almost seeming to float along. The shifting materials hiding whether or not there are feet and legs beneath... or something worse. The atonal humming is traded for a soft whisper from Wraith to Bloodbeard, head canted after in question, following the other's lead.

Glimmering like a prism, a lady in a prismatic mask sweeps in gracefully and with flourish, looking at all of the beautifully colored masks and the fashionable clothing that the other guests are wearing. She glides over towards the bar to fetch herself a beverage.

Entering the mirror-panelled ballroom at a leisurely saunter comes a figure in a purple mask. Her hair, obviously dyed, is a vibrant red, and is tied back in a ponytail that falls to almost the middle of her nearly bare back - her outfit on a whole verges on scandalous. Her head turns, apparently in slow consideration of the ballroom, but her face is so thoroughly covered by the mask that any reaction to the place or its occupants is quite hidden.

Someone wearing a half-moon ceramic mask slows to a halt when his companion pauses to smooth out the wrinkles that had formed near the face of his coat, utilizing the time to glance about and familiarize himself with their surroundings. It was rare for the man to attend events such as these and, if not for the recent return of the woman wearing a Tranquil Sea mask, he likely would have abstained from taking such initiative. "I'm not sure I'll be able to drink without revealing my identity," he says, voice muffled. "I suppose that means you'll have to consume twice the amount on my behalf." A smile is presented, though it remains hidden from the world. "And this fact does not take you off the hook for dancing. Let's find a place to sit. Come," the man continues, again collecting compatriot's arm and guiding her in the direction of a nearby table.

The long expanse of offered wines is the first destination for the pair of Peacock&Serpent, and they approach it with an arm threaded through the peacock's elbow before the are whispering to each other. "They are all very good. I've been near drowned in Saikland wine for the last year. It would be a happy death."

A candle is grabbed at and used to light the plump haze roll that Bloodbeard is chewing on, with a long blue plume of smoke puffed out he smirks with terrfying sharpened teeth. "We should find a spot to have some tea and possibly collect more thumbs! The jewelry is getting light and too many delicious cakes are seen." He nods to the wraith next to him blowing smoke in their direction before spotting the half-moon, "HA! That one looks interesting. But first, where the fuck are the drinks?"

The petite figure in the burgundy and gold mask has done little more than wear a mask to hide her identity - she is the hostess afterall, it would be difficult to host without giving herself away. A typically Lycene dress of burgundy honeysilk matches her mask and accent (that of a wine-soaked Lycene, though no drink is seen in her hand). She greets people in passing as she makes her way to the stage to give a more formal introduction to the evening's festivities. "Good evening, everyone! Welcome to Saikland Greens, and the Grand Mirrored Ballroom of the Thirteenth. The Saik family is pleased to have you here to celebrate the Blood Moon eclipse. This evening we will have a service given by the local seraph, followed by music and dancing. For now, please come in and make yourselves comfortable. Find a drink, find a stranger, find a story."

Someone wearing a shaped leather young stag mask canted his head with a start as his gaze seemed to be pulled to a peculiar direction, and conveniently around settling guests as one in particular had caught his fancy along with the half-moon visage that fell alongside them. Without little ceremony, the two shot glasses were grasped with some spirit as he took off away from his hideaway at the corner of the bar. He approached the half-moon mask and Tranquil Sea mask, canting his antlered head rather curiously before extending forth the glasses to them both. "I /could/ not precisely agree more, my lady. My lord. In fact, some folk make it a solemn promise to themselves to never, /ever/ become mired by stress if they can help it. And if they cannot, Spirits are such a comfortable aid in loosening the weary mind." The Stag's gaze settled upon the Tranquil Sea's, staring poignantly as if he were waiting for some form of recognition.

Someone wearing Ram skull:whistles aloud behind his mask, noticing the gorgeous masks and the wonderful attires! Though the man in the Ram mask approaches the 'Bloodbeard' and claps him on the shoulder. "If you're looking for some great drinks, I would suggest you head that way." He smirks at him and seems to turn his full attention to the bar as he moved to approach, giving the one in the stag mask a nod. "Good day to you."

"ACH! A fucking Ram." Bloodbeard stares intently at the Ram skull, running his hand over the smoothness of the bone. "You'd make greatness upon a wall!" Bloodbeard then will try to lick the skull unless the one wearing it pulls away from him.

Someone wearing A glittering gold and cupridium serpent mask returns the Long Nose masked hostess's greeting with a warm smile and a quiet "Thank you." which is mangled by her faux fangs. The tall golden figure presses talon-tipped fingers against the Peacock's shoulder and laughs quietly. "There are few sweater deaths." She agrees before her hand slips free of the Peacock's arm so she can descend on the wine.

"Taste bone after tasting liquor, my throat is dry, Bloodbeard," The Wraith at his sigh harshes out a response as the figure starts to lead the man towards the bar. Gliding along at his side until they reach the 'watering hole'. Reaching for a bottle and uncorking it, putting bottle to mask and tipping it back for a somewhat messy drink, the Wraith hands it off to Bloodbeard next and instead focuses on the two animal masked men there. "I should have antlers with my bones. I'll have to find some..."

Someone wearing Stalking predator rattles in. Bleached white bones, fangs and small skulls make up the majority of her impractical gown, and offer a satisfying rhythm of scrapes and clatters with her movement. The eerie ensemble is, of course, topped by a skull mask, one of a sharp fanged wolf. The only thing to ease the otherwise morbid aura of such an outfit was the cheerful woman who's giddy smile could be clearly seen beneath the menacing fangs of her mask.

"Sweeter deaths? Are you attempting a murder with puns?" The serpent gets a long lingering sidelook before his hand settles upon the small of her back to press the wine glass into her hand when she arrives. "Hello!" The Wraith gets the Peacock's attention rather quickly, and a wine glass lifted towards the figure to dip and be sipped from. "These usually worry me. Masquerades and parties." Back to his companion, the Serpent.

Someone wearing Ram skull smacks away the Bloodbeard with a hand. "Ey! Off-limit licking." The man growls a little bit, before he pats the man on the shoulder and approaches the bar even still. Though he notices the Stalking Predator, giving them a wave. "Why hello there." Bones and bones. Respectable.

Distracted and yanked away from what might have been a good design to work into the ram skull, Bloodbeard looks at the bottle that is sudden thrust into his hand examining it closely as the liquid sloshes from side to side behind the darkened glass. "There's a little boat in there. Don't see the serpents." He looks to the wraith and the liquid running over them from their attempt to drink, then raising the bottle to the Peacock and serpent. "Of course you're not in the bottle, you're out here. so Serpent. What's your plan this time? Leave me aside while you go after the ships crew again? Or shall we dance instead?" A curl of his lip revealing a couple of the sharpened teeth then a long slug of from the bottle and wiping at left over drink with back of his bracers.

Someone wearing a Tranquil Sea mask of pliant leather with gemstones in oceanic hues leaves her hand pressed to her date's chest as she smilingly replies in coy tones, "I suppose I will simply have to endure the pain and torture of drinking more than I had planned this evening." Her tongue clicks with mock disappointment. "How ever will I go on?" Right on cue, a pair of shots are extended out for them. She accepts them both without hesitation, though has the good grace to at least piece together who this gift of a man is that spared them a walk to the bar. The intensity of her silver eyes is turned upon the stag, his whole look analyzed, and just when it seems she's going to give up, the smirk that twists is lips is placed. "You!" the Tranquil Sea exclaims, and, after deftly securing both glasses in one hand, throws her free arm around his neck in a sort of side-hug born of familiarity. "I suppose this is not the best time for introductions, but suffice to say, my lords, you both are very important to me for different reasons, and I look forward to you being better acquainted at the conclusion of the masque."

After procuring a small glass of whiskey, the figure in the purple mask turns on her heel for another sweeping look around. A low, husky laugh is exhaled as she watches the Bloodbeard attempt to lick the person with the Ram Skull and, although she does already have a drink, she saunters on towards the bar too, anyway.

Someone wearing Stalking predator's mouth fell open in a mock expression of shock and despair. "No licking at all? What sort of party would this be without the occasional stray lick or two?" she asked, poking fun at the Ram skull's statement with little context, but it was the only part of the conversation that she'd heard when she approached.

Someone wearing A glittering gold and cupridium serpent mask lifts her glass of wine and she replies, "That's no way to enjoy either." She smiles at Wraith before the golden figure is distracted by Bloodbeard. "I do like to be let out from time to time." She gestures to the bottle with her glass. "Perhaps I was just waiting for the invitation." Comes her laughed rebuttal.

The burgundy-and-gold-clad hostess catches talk of licking from where she is on the stage. "This /is/ a party in the Lyceum, licking may be in the cards. Assuming all parties are in agreement, of course." There's what is likely a critical look at the various masked figures inolved in the discussion. However, she seems content enough to let the subject go and stand quietly as the guests get settled and the mirrormasked seraph of Saikland Greens joins her on stage. "Friends, enemies," Her voice pitches as if her eyebrow just quirked up, "Those known and unknown who have gathered today, I ask that turn your attention to the seraph's service." The woman steps aside so that the male figure can speak.

(Insert a moving sermon on reflections and whatever here.)

Someone wearing a shaped leather young stag mask bid the Ram a parting nod as he was leaving the bar, to join the guests he had ascertained were known to him. And a cue could never be so well-timed if it had not been expertly directed better. The Stag's crown parted in a bow of familiarity before the embrace was reciprocated and his head had canted off to the Half-Moon with a polite bow, "Yes, me! I would say it is not, but it is the place we find ourselves in and I will not argue the venue. For the company is more than pleasant can be." His head tracked off to the woman, "I...can imagine just indeed who shall greet me at the masque's end, though for the sake of mystery, I shall be pleasantly surprised." Antlered head gazed off to the wicked spirits that were speaking of breaking such antlers. Arms folded over his chest in a guarded sort of stance, the Spike seeming more like a projecting Buck than his countenance gave him credit for. He leaned over to the Tranquil Sea mask, murmuring.

Someone wearing a half-moon ceramic mask shifts his attention to the shaped young leather stag when he extends two drinks forward. One of the two glasses is /nearly/ accepted before the Tranquil Sea greedily scooped up either, but a polite dip of chin was nonetheless offered, clearly appreciative of the stranger's gesture and astute awareness of the room. "Stress is a necessary evil, I think. But spirits are, indeed, always a suitable solution -- even if their effects are only temporary," he reasons, temporarily falling silent as the hostess summons a seraph to offer those gathered at the masquerade a sermon on faith doctrine. When the lesson has concluded, his gaze returns to the pair from before. "It is a pleasure to meet you, regardless of position or title," the half-moon concludes, presenting a hand and offering to shake.

"A serpent which needs an invitation to be allowed out from where it would dance, spin, and devour those that are willing to risk a dip past the depths where your homes are." Bloodbeard holds onto the bottle for a moment longer while staring directly at the serpent before turning quickly to watch the seraph start their sermon and there's a brief moment where the bottle starts to head to his lips and instead finds itself sailing through the air towards them. "Fuck the gods."

Silks and rags dampened by spilled liquor, the Wraith begins to sway side to side, the atonal humming returning as they drift away from the bar and out onto the floor. Not dancing, precisely... just drifting. In a generalized direction. The pattern of swaying and humming even seems to follow the cadence of the seraph's sermon. And then... there's a flying liquor bottle. Snickering heavily, the Wraith darts across the floor, leaping up to catch the bottle against their rags, cradling it even as they spill to the floor, having completely forgotten the landing part of leaping once the drink was secured. "Free drink! This is a good party."

Someone wearing A glittering gold and cupridium serpent mask slowly and very carefully imbibes while she listens to the sermon. Angled slightly towards her current drinking companions. The direction of her gaze doesn't turn from the sermon though her head does angle and her chin lifts with a little exclimation of noise coming from her. "Politesse is grievously undervalued." This comes wryly after the Chef's proclimation.

Someone wearing a Tranquil Sea mask of pliant leather with gemstones in oceanic hues seems more than pleased to be in present company, if her broad, toothy grin is any indication. A moment passes wherein she is more than content to observe the men exchange greetings, even a hand-shake, all the while one of the twin shot glasses is raised to her lips and tilted back for a sip. Mid-consumption, a voice is heard disparaging the gods aloud. She lowers her glass and pivots to scan the crowd passively for hints of trouble brewing. Nothing seems to happen, so she resumes her close discussion with the stag and the half-moon. "So, how have you been?" The Tranquil Sea's eyes have filled with their usual warmth. "I meant to write you, but I've returned to Arx primarily to conduct business, and that has consumed most of my time. My lord half-moon has been assisting me with these matters quite diligently." The other shot glass is raised enticingly toward her date. "Are you sure you don't want to risk exposing your identity for a taste? It's good."

Someone wearing a shaped leather young stag mask quieted but only briefly for the sermon's words, which were soon cut short by the antics of blooded beard guest. It drew a rather heavy exhale from the Stag before he turned along again to acknowledge the words of the Half-Moon mask, "It claims us all, in some form or another. The best thing to do is box it away and find a reason to smile, my lord. Spirits help...but best not to be lost into them, for they /also/ bring stress if not careful, hm?" A stag of wisdom tonight, perhaps. Not all woodland creatures pontificated so matter-of-factly. Nonetheless, the half-moon's hand was taken with gentle force as he reciprocated on the shake with a succinct nod of his head, "And you, sir!" The antlered crown turned to the Tranquil Sea mask soon after she had spoke, giving a rather easy nod as answer to her question, "As well as one can be with little to no responsibility. Though...there has been some tribulation." His voice faltered there for a moment, "News for another time and do not worry of writing. It is all the more a treat to see you here."

Someone wearing Ram skull checks 'recovery check' at normal. Someone wearing Ram skull is successful.

Someone wearing Bloodbeard, The Bloody Iron Chef checks 'recovery check' at normal. Someone wearing Bloodbeard, The Bloody Iron Chef is successful.

Someone wearing Bloodbeard, The Bloody Iron Chef checks 'recovery check' at normal. Someone wearing Bloodbeard, The Bloody Iron Chef is successful.

As the irreverant statement about the gods is made, the seraph makes some pithy comment about choice, finsihes the sermon, and then steps off the stage so that the hostess may introduce the next part of the evening. "Right. Well," She clears her throat and gives the Wraith figure a dip of her head in appreciation for keeping the bottle from landing in a shatter at her feet. "The rest of this evening, we shall be regaled with the musical offerings of the River Wanderers, seven musicians of local reknown." Then, the woman is heading off the stage to mingle and enjoy the evening. Perhaps seeking a dance partner.

Loitering at the bar, the figure in the purple mask wordlessly turns her head at the exclamation about the gods. A moment is spent watching. Then the hostess draws her attention back with the mention of musical offerings, and the purple-masked figure moves away from the bar, gaze picking over the other guests.

Someone wearing a half-moon ceramic mask fixes his attention upon the one who had insulted in the pantheon in the presence of a seraph and scowls, though this expression -- thanks to mask -- remains hidden from the world. In another setting, he would have considered calling attention to the inappropriateness of the words; tonight, though, he opts to give the stranger the benefit of the doubt. Maybe the act had simply been a means of portraying a fictionalized and grotesque caricature. He shakes his head before again settling his gaze upon the Tranquil Sea and Stag. "If what you say is true, I'll later taste it upon your lips," the lunar face retorts, tone flat but words bold. Hand gestures in the direction of a nearby table. "Let us sit and continue our conversation there. Perhaps one of you can explain how you saw through each other's disguises so efficiently."

Bloodbeard shakes his head as the Wraith catches the bottle, shouting back "You would find a means to catch it." A nod to the seraph, "Exactly! Choice!" Then turns with a grin to the rest of the room, zero cares given for their view as he finds the smoke and puffs on it again. "Where's the skulls gone?" He's lost on something else just as suddenly and wanders away from the bar towards the Wraith muttering.

The Peacock gets bored, and its obvious by the way his head shifts from left to right then left again to set all the feathers to rustle against each other. "We're dancing." A sideways murmur to his escort before he is pushing her away from the wine and towards music and a more open open space. He guides the Serpent through the crowd before stopping at the edge of the dancefloor to wait for its next song.

"Oh?" She's barely given a moment before she's whisked off, "Oh!" The Serpent barely gets her glass set to the side before the Peacock leads her off the direction of where the dancers are. By the time they get there she uses the momentum he started and pulls him from where he'd tried to rest at the edge an onto the floor. Eager to get to moving the Serpent falls right into the dance with or without her companion.

Someone wearing a Tranquil Sea mask of pliant leather with gemstones in oceanic hues is grateful for at least some of her mask's coverage, though even still, perceptive eyes might discern the heightened color of what skin is exposed for the half-moon's words. Out of an effort to disguise this flush better, she raises the other shot to her lips and imbibes it in one smooth gulp, with nary a hiss of complaint to spare for its bitter taste. The empty glasses are carried over to the table and discarded atop it. "I can only assume he noticed my scar," she explains, left hand gesturing to the disfigurement of the skin at her neck, resembling a pool of melted wax. "But it isn't the season for high collars. And as for /him/, the smirk, just beneath that protruding deer nose. I know it well." Mention of tribulations does manage to give the Tranquil Sea pause; she stares hard at the doe face as though able to discern what expression lies hidden beneath. "I think I know of what tribulation you speak," she replies, all mirth entirely expunged from her inflection. "Samuel was excellent enough to bring tidings to me while I was away. I am sorry." Her hand reaches out to cuff the stag's wrist consolingly.

"Waste not want not!" The bottle held aloft in voctory, The Wraith calls back to Bloodbeard, pushing back upright and tipping it back once more for a messy imbibing of the liquor. The sway and atonal humming begins anew as people begin to make their way towards the dance floor, though the Wraith makes no move to join in, itself. It remains in place and simply... sways to the clink, clack, and sigh of its coverings. As the Bloodbeard approaches, the Wraith pauses to listen.

Someone wearing a shaped leather young stag mask was already sifting off to a nearby table that the Half-Moon had suggested, soon grasping a drink roaming along from a server's tray before glancing from mask to mask in the small trio. Before he had even a chance to speak, the Tranquil Sea was able to answer the question rather succinctly as it only caused a smile to peel to his lips. "I happen to have an easy tell. Better that than be completely unreadable, though I would not mind being the chameleon from time to time. Some do it so effortlessly. However, I was never made to be a trained actor." The slight falter of the smile underneath the mask could have been discerned but not entirely, as Tranquil Sea reached out for the Stag's wrist. A hand clasped over her own with a gentle pat, "Thank you. All will be well, in time. But come, this is not an evening for dourness!" And a bounce back as quickly as the somber moment had arrived. Stag's gaze had pinned off to the Half-Moon, "It would be too easy to say my hearing was uncanny enough to discern the voice, but yes, the scar can be telling."

The hostess has found a dance partner among the myriad guests, some person who seems quite pleased to have been chosen, and sweeps across the dance floor as the music fills the room with lively song. Others begin to fill in around the edges of the dance floor.

Someone wearing A Peacock Mask stumbles forward onto the dancefloor a moment, interrupting the flow of all for far too long before his feet find the steps. The Serpent's hands pulling him along amid the others probably helps far more than his glancing at his fellow dancers. A hand snags her hand and his arm encircles her waist as they move about the floor. "You've no patience, I see."

"...Beautiful creatures that they are, they are also annoying and will eat all the figs." Bloodbeard was muttering to Fear and Wraith, then lost any cares again. Turning to watch the serpent and peacock take the dance floor. Holding his hand out to them, "Shall we show them how fear can take to be light upon feet as well?"

"Why wait?" The resplendent sinuous Serpent asks with a slight warping of her words as copper lips spread into a smile that shows off those strange accessories. Once they're moving she seems to fall into the peacock's lead with a delighted laugh. Greeting the dancers around her quietly as the party continues to lift her mood.

Someone wearing a half-moon ceramic mask follows the Stag to the table and draws a chair from beneath, motioning for the Tranquil Sea to sit. When she does so, he follows suit. "I had not considered the scar, nor the voice. You are particularly perceptive, my lord. I am admittedly impressed," he confesses, bringing elbows and forearms to rest atop linen-covered surface. Attention settles upon the most unfamiliar of the two, silent for a moment while mind attempts to identify and place the stranger's lilt. "Lycene. I've done a fair amount of trading and shipping with merchants who speak with such an accent. The Lyceum is a beautiful region, truly -- and regardless of season. Is this how you crossed paths?" he inquires softly, glancing between them. "You speak too eloquently to be a simple sailor."

Tilting in towards Bloodbeard, the Wraith whispers out a response before tis voice lifts to conversational tones, "...I miss the days of being covered in blood..." Then shrugging it all away, the Wraith takes up the offer of a dance to join the rest. "Think we can hunt down some pirates or bandits on the way home? We have time, don't we?"

"Because I don't want to knock people over." The Peacock managed NOT to do so, but only just barely. The pair of them wind close as the spinning steps begin and the paired up dancers move between and through other dances while dipping low. "At least I have you to keep me from turning the dancefloor into a battlefield."

The hostess directs her dance partner toward the Wraith, saying something quietly.

Someone wearing A glittering gold and cupridium serpent mask clucks her tongue, "You've more grace than that." At least she does. Eyes half hidden by the golden mask drift the direction of the hosteess, Wraith and Bloodbeard. Watching them for a moment before she's swept into another turn. She quickly looses herself in the dance, the soft sounds of the scales at her hips chiming as she moves.

Someone wearing a Tranquil Sea mask of pliant leather with gemstones in oceanic hues releases the Stag's wrist once it is clear that condolences are rendered unnecessary for the evening, then folds her fingers together atop the table. "No," she starts, her eyes shifting between the men seated at either side of her, "I believe we met while soaking in some grotto, introduced by Marquis Gaspar Tessere, my former patron. I was just an admiral back then." The woman shrugs her shoulders at that. "He's always reminded me of my late brother, Caius, and so I have taken to doting on him, and have on more than one occasion played the part of an advisor. Not that I profess to be any wiser than he is. Suffice to say that it is very important to me that you both get on, or tolerate one another, at the very least."

"...the values which they hold, they don't like them any more..." Bloodbeard slips back and forth from quiet asides to conversational tones. Taking a long sleeve of Wraith's and pulling them closer for a dance, giving a slip to the mechanisms of their costume shifting their form a little. "Ah. That's better, less to trip upon. Though more to toss blood upon."

Someone wearing a shaped leather young stag mask chuckled lightly, giving a nod to the Half-Moon, "We have shared a time together where I could consider the Tranquil Sea in artistic form before us a true member of my family. And I hers. It would do me a disservice if I could not pinpoint a very common trait she carries with her; voice or scar." The Stag settled in, juxtaposing his chair just so as to facilitate the conversation further into a friendly bid of space, "It is, is it not? Winter tends to not show its hand around my home, and so I found the splendor of such in the city to be something to behold. Until it becomes too frigid to even have a pleasant walk down to a tavern. Then it can go back to where it came from." Upon the Tranquil Sea's recollection, he smiled and nodded gently at the memory, "That certainly was it. How times have changed, now." The compliment had the masked man ceasing in his words and taking a gentle sip from his glass; partly out of a candid moment of reflection and sincerity of being regarded so highly by the masked woman. "Advisor, business partner. Stirrer of ambition. The list can go on, my lord. I owe her much and more."

"Do I? I'd do better on the battlefield instead of the dancefloor." The pair of Peacock and Serpent edge towards the sides of the dancefloor to stay away from the more intricate motions at the center. Perhaps for wine in the near future, or for something else entirely. "Have you enjoyed yourself so far?"

Tsking lightly, the Wraith shakes its head, "I'm all too aware of those values and the sort of weight put behind them... they still just aren't to my taste." Drifting in closer, there's a small noise as the costume shifts, "You pull on everyone's chains so familiarly?" Still, there's both fondness and amusement coloring its tone, moving in closer to make the dancing a bit easier. A few quiet words exchanged with the hostess in passing before the mask turns back to Bloodbeard, "I really do like her."

The hostess gives the Wraith a smiling dip of her head before continuing on, ultimately landing off the dancefloor and near the table the Half-Moon, Tranquil Sea, and Stag occupy. "You are all having a pleasant evening, I hope. Is there anything you need?" Her eyes seek out each of there's, but it is unclear if she has any recognition of who may be beneath the masks.

Someone wearing A glittering gold and cupridium serpent mask is pulled away from the dance floor and back towards the wine. "Just one glass than I wish to dance again. If you're more comfortable on the battle field I can leave you here to enjoy the wine while I do." She murmurs quietly to the colorful bird-man at her side.

As Bloodbeard leads Wraith across the dancefloor without a care of who might need /to get out of their way/ there's a grin back to Fear and Wraith. "If its a chain that I've born, or seen too many times over. Within a glance, without thought of consequences." His voice grows a louder, "For they are nothing more than a fear preventing us from being our true selves." Wraith is given a spin, his hand holding onto theirs under the slip of cloth and wires giving another pull to the mechanisms for a soft click to be heard as the costume switches mid spin. A nod back to the hostess, "They are both someone to feared and admired."

Someone wearing A Peacock Mask leaves his hand inside of the Serpent's hand, he pretends reluctance before letting the hand pull him forward. "More wine? Its Saikland wine, so its not at all surprising that you've been enchanted by it." They return to the wine table, but the Peacock lifts a hand towards the hostess. Who is probably much busy, but nevertheless deserves recognition.

Someone wearing a half-moon ceramic mask is pleased to hear that his hypothesis regarding the Stag's origins was not entirely unfounded. "Few are fond of winter. Biting winds and snow preclude travel by foot. Ice often inhibits sailing near the coastline. Commerce dwindles and nature dies. I doubt many would take offense to your sentiment regarding the coldest of our seasons," he muses, internally recounting several dangerous and uncomfortable contracts fulfilled under such conditions. "Business partner? Ah, yes. She invested, if I remember correctly." With these two clues, additional context was obtained and he could finally piece the puzzle together. "Soaking in a grotto, you say? I am unfamiliar with this tradition. I cannot imagine that you were clothed," the lunar crescent continues, tone maintaining its neutrality. And then the gold and burgundy mask appears. "We are, my lady. Thank you for your hospitality. It shall not soon be forgotten."

The Wraith waves a flap of ragged silk at their hostess in passing. A greeting, an acknowldgement, both? Something! A gesture of good will! Turning across the dance floor, the Wraith is content for Bloodbeard to barrel them along wherever he pleases, trailing in his wake win flutters and drifts and clicks and clanks. A spin, another tug to the wires, the costume shifting again as the figure spins back in towards Bloodbeard. "Now you're just showing off." The Wraith lets out a raspy laugh and shakes its head, "I fear no human, but I do admire that one."

Someone wearing a shaped leather young stag mask bid a gentle nod along to the gold and burgundy mask, bowing slowly in thanks, "A very inspired and quaint, pleasant evening. My compliments." Though, he seemed to be just fine with any libations he had stacked along at his side of the table. A set of fingers snapped along to the Half-Moon to recall the statement he made prior, "Mm, that she did. It is still providing great dividends, too, if I am not mistaken." The stag paused momentarily, glancing between Tranquil Sea and Half-Moon. "U-unfamiliar, hm? They come in two varieties, my lord; cold and hot. I have one of my own on premises that is perfect to settle weary muscle and bone. Works wonders after a sparring session. But ah...no, not usually clothed when it comes to public bathing among the Lycene. I cannot speak for other areas, certainly not."

Someone wearing A glittering gold and cupridium serpent mask grins widely under her mask. "Always." She gestures with her ring armored hand and retreives her glass to get herself a refill. "Especially because of where it's from. Just a glass for me though. Will you be all right to mingle if I abandon you for the dancefloor when I'm done. She watches as the flashes of color across the dance floor.

Bloodbeard's lips curl as he and Wraith share their dance, a shift of his view towards others in the room for a moment before answering them. "Showing off would be to hold a tea party with..." He takes another look around the room, "No. There's none here worthy to be the cake." Then looking towards the Wraith, as they take another spin together, with soft murmur.

Someone wearing a Tranquil Sea mask of pliant leather with gemstones in oceanic hues unfolds her fingers so that she can raise her hand, balled into a fist, and clear her throat behind it. "I invested in it, yes," she then clarifies, and then seems quite pleased to be able to twist entirely around, away from the semi-uncomfortable turn of conversation taking place between herself, Stag and Half-Moon so that she can address the evening's hostess. "My lady, this has been a pleasant time, thank you. Nothing for me." She refrains from fully revealing herself to Gold and Burgundy, though the warmth in her tone may suggest that they're at least acquainted.

"I will stick around if you need visit and chatter with others, friend." The peacock nods to the Serpent with a smile beneath his mask. His hand plucks up a wineglass and he'll sip from it slow. "Of course you have things to speak of. You've a voice that needs to be heard. I'm sure I should visit the hostess while you're busy dancing."

"Of course, thank you all for coming," Some bit of familiarity with the tabled trio is evident in the hostess' tone, before she slips away toward the Peack and Serpent. "I keep hearing bits of compliment for the wine in this direction." She looks between the two, "And since the lovely serpent has expressed interest in a dance, perhaps she might join me? Since our feathered friend wishes to be on a battlefield instead."

"None? Not a one? Pity... I love a good tea party," the Wraith lifts a shrug as they continue to spin around the dance floor. Mask turning this way and that to peer at the gathered partygoers before looking back to Bloodbeard, laughing harshly at the murmured words before offering a quiet response.

"How gracious." The fanged serpent laughs around another swallow of her wine and she lifts her glass as the Hostess steps over. "We are a pair of connoisseurs of fine vintage. Of course, the decor and the party itself are enchanting as well." She finishes her second glass and sets it aside again. "I cannot fault him. If I were on a battlefield I'd rather be dancing instead. I would be delighted to join such a magnificent mistress of ceremonies." She offers out a honey silk sheathed hand.

Bloodbeard shakes their head to something Wraith has said, "Cake is required. We might be able to find it upon the sail back, if it's not on the isle." He leans towards peacock and serpent, with their host. "A proper battlefield can be found where ever one is willing to slice a thumb, dance with the tiny dancers that wish to burn upon shoulders, then watch those gasping for air dive into waters where they will burn from the insides out." A tilt of his head, "Or there's enough of that without searching, and to simply enjoy the moment before finding a new location to bathe in another's blood."

Someone wearing a half-moon ceramic mask folds either of his forearms across his chest and freezes suddenly, chin tilting downward to inspect whatever it was that his fingers had touched. Fabric -- to be expected, of course, since the vest and coat were made of unblemished umbra. Mind, though, sought the familiar comforts of chainmail and plate. When their hostess departs, he again shifts his gaze between the Stag and Tranquil Sea. "It has been some time since I've visited the establishment of which you speak. Shall we adjourn now and continue our conversations there?" Not expecting to draw any opposition from his companions, the man slowly stands. An arm is presented to the woman who had accompanied him to the masquerade. "Maybe you won't have as heavy a burden as you imagined," he adds, this a reference to their prior exchange regarding liquor. When she accepts it, he leads the trio in the direction of the ballroom's exit.

Someone wearing a shaped leather young stag mask bowed his head yet again to the masked hostess, keep the tone of light familiarity before regarded the woman properly, "A charming quiet evening to, perhaps, prepare for what shall come on the morrow. And then we all must steel ourselves, as the real spirits will come to visit us." He remarked casually before rising to his feet, giving his body a small twist of comfort to let loose idle cracks of bones. The rest of his drinks were consumed as his antlered crown sifted over to the masks he had been conversing with, to see them both along and to say his farewells before the journey to the city was impending.

The hostess takes the serpent's hand and leads the taller woman out onto the dance floor. "I hope I do not disappoint," She says, settling her hands in the other woman's easily. Once the music starts back up, the pair are drifting across the floor.