Atharen, A Fantasy Roleplay Forum

To Ellasir Dal'Fenharel, Jacques Perea, Arkash of Lorien, Midhir of the Kullu Monastery, and Amyas Dal'Morian,

Each of you, I have invited into my home. To each of you, I offer a gift: the visage of an unmasked Queen, intentions no longer obscured but by time and the opportunities it provides. Eyes observe every sheet of paper, even within my own realm. I will not elaborate further. If you wish to embark upon the journey I have offered you, then meet me at my estate amidst the Wintry Accord, and be well. Dress to display your devotion to Ulen, and by necessity, my own expectations.

On the night of the Accord, when the soiree draws to a close, I will ensure that all of you speak with me. Inquire of my words little at the ball, and share nothing with my... opulent guests. You will arrive when the lights begin to fade, when pleasantries become debaucheries, and moon and star co-mingle in the sky.

Fairly,
Lady Ash

As it was every year, the Wintry Accord was a compelling affair. The most vibrant of Entente clamored to the halls of Ardenserat, a structure with no equal in all the world's expanse. It was immaculate, and broad, consuming much of the core of Amoren's gilded Noble District. The palace was surrounded by a line of Halamire-Knights on all sides, regulating to whom and who could not enter. Entente would display their House Sigil, verified by magic. Bearers of unique invitation, such as by Lady Ash herself, would present her seal to be admitted much the same.

Every single soul was dressed well, with grandiose silks, their bodies covered head-to-toe and padded in thick regalia. Many presented their faces, but with embellishments both temporary and permanent. The ivory-gold structure of the palace, covered in undying autumn leaves draped like ivy, saw the passage of tens of souls filtering through as the night went on. Festivities endured inside and outside, though moreso within.

The interior of the palace was divine. The ball room alone held hundreds of souls, with floors that displayed stunning reflections, and a chandelier that twirled like a circular vortex. At the end of the ball room sat Brilan Ald, or Lady Ash, the Treveyn of Couronne and proprietor of the events that reigned within Ardenserat's exalted halls.

She wore a masque, a chalice of Etherwine attached to her lips through much of the night. Her dress was a rose-gold color with silver patterns and trimmings, her collar wrapping around her neck. Jewelry covered the layers of her dress, with the woman's feet shaped like sharp crystal-quartz heels, the result of an arcane mutation.

As the guests arrived - including those invited by Brilan directly - they would engage in the Candor ruthlessly, as a predator or unwilling prey. The Entente were all smiles, laughter and conversation, though within all of them was a discerning need for information. Their eyes twinkled and their smiles widened, but few were really fooled. This was a den of wolves.

---

"But I don't even know anyone in Amoren except you," he protested.

The letter was addressed to him, acknowledged the monastery, which he had been careful not to mention since Jack had informed him that nobody would care that he paid all due respect to Ulen. Acknowledging another path was the sin, and he could not acknowledge his monastic lineage without offending—or blaspheming as the case might be. However she had discovered him, he was on the hook now, it seemed. If Jack was going, Midhir was going. That is, unless Jack warned him otherwise. It seemed as though he was a lamb being led to the slaughter, but he didn't have the stature to decline such an invitation. He didn't have any stature in Daravin.

Perhaps they would see him as some servant of Jack's—Jacques Perea. He liked the sound of the man's name, though he would always be Jack to him—a simple name for a complex fellow.

He hadn't wanted to think how much of his savings were spent on the finery for this party that he would likely never wear again. The lineage taught not to hold tightly to material things, but that was easy to say from the safety and abundance of the monastery. But Midhir let it go and let himself be done up in form-fitting clothes of the local style in shades of cream and gold that Jack said suited him.

"Am I supposed to wear a mask?"

Later, he arrived according to Jack's plans, trying to play the part as was assigned to him. Though he felt rather a fraud, the letter he presented was accepted and he was welcomed into the greatest show of opulence he had ever seen in his short years. It was glorious, but he had a reaction similar to that of the wolf that had quit his company when they neared Amoren: hackles raised. He was in danger here. He could sense it.

But he had agreed to trust in Jack and so here he was trusting in Jack.

All the same, his Mark itched to be activated, to shield him from unseen perils.

As the guests engaged in their diction, the night continued onward. Minutes, then hours - time upon time, and with each passing turn of the clock, another rumor:

Have you heard news of the Borderlands war? They say that Veir Julien has taken a commanding position, and is making gains on the Rien.

It is being said that la Montese de Ciseperant has increased surveillance from within Bardona; she is clamping down on the rising rhetoric to oust her, it seems...

It was always difficult to discern truth from lie in a soiree; a product of the very elusive Candor, though the Candor was also that problem's solution. A wise mind surveyed the lips of many, coming across many stories; many little tales, forming into one tidal wave of a concept. Only when that wave truly landed on a ballroom's shared 'shoreline' did it become real.

Some rumors present, that night, were very real.

Do you see that disgusting peasant? The Sil'norai -- invited by the Treveyn, I have heard. Of course, they referred to Amyas, who would receive many hateful looks as the soiree continued on. His lack of adequate attire attracted much attention -- the poor kind.

Many of the other... unusual guests had largely gone unnoticed, or if they had been noticed, it would be difficult for them to tell. As the night strayed forward, attentions shifted to pleasures; to drinks, to stories of less poignant things, to passions and the handsome faces of Valran, and all of the crude wanderings of the mortal mind. All of this, however, was rectified when Lady Ash stood from her throne, and called upon waiting ears to attend her coming speech.

Stepping from her seat, she descended the steps, the chandelier above her twisting to project the image of both moon and sun, the shape of it contorting as cogs and gears swirled. As she approached the center of the ball, the crowd moving to the fringes of the room, the sun and moon met in a dim eclipse.

"Courtiers," she called, lifting one hand, "...and great Lords alike. On this eve, I am reminded of the symbols of our national heritage: the Sun and Moon, Ulen's first eyes. The Surveying Eye, his third; the one that will open when he prepares to herald the end of known time. Time. It is something that has fascinated me so, for a long while. All of the few... short years I have been alive. It is time for you all to leave." The woman smiled. Darkness filled the edges of the room, the pillars went black, and the edges of light that brimmed from the eclipse vanished until all was empty. A spark of energy appeared at the edges of the room, and before anyone knew it, all of the guests were gone. All but the chosen five.

The sun and moon separated again, and a warm light shone through the room. The ashen-haired woman stood at the center with a gentle smile.

"Do not worry; you are all alive," she said, lifting her chalice of Etherwine to her lips. "I merely wished for privacy. The court here is... accustomed to my tricks. Some even celebrate them. What is this realm if not an exercise in vanity, after all?"

Darkness remained at the edges of the room. A ward, perhaps, so that none could enter. It was difficult to say.

"I am Brilan Ald," the woman introduced herself, beckoning her five guests to appear before her. "I would introduce myself fully, this once. For the first time in... some years." She breathed through her nostrils, taking in the summery air of the room, her chest still as if filled with tension. "I am... Ald'Norai, and I have been this realm's caretaker from the time of Silor's fall. I have brought you here -- all of you -- for one purpose, one that will require transparency between us, and utmost loyalty. I have brought you here to help me uncover the location of Atharen's greatest magic -- the art of Chronomancy."

Jack taught him to dance.

He was graceful enough, his training having taught his body a certain vocabulary. Midhir just didn't know the steps, but his body was used to moving in response to Jack's. It was delightful, in any case—another little learning adventure with his mercurial lover. There were a few slights spoken within his hearing, but he ignored those. There were more people who commented upon them with more of a sense of indulgence, as though Jack was training a pet to do new tricks. That didn't matter to Midhir either. He just hoped everything went well and that eventually, they could return to their room and he could make Jack's body respond to his lead.

When they were finished with the dancing, he stayed in Jack's orbit and mostly only spoke to him. They were in the middle of a chessboard, but he didn't know the rules or the players or anything, so he just tried not to mess up. He tried a few hors d'oeuvres and nursed a flute of sparkling wine, but didn't overdo anything. Everything seemed to be predicated on overindulgence, but moderation was one of his guiding principles. At least he wouldn't be a drunken mess if things got as serious as Jack had warned they might.

So much magic had been worked that night, it was truly something when Lady Ash managed to top it all with her monologue and her magical prowess. He supposed her magic might have been how she knew of his existence, though that might have merely been a spy network. In any case, when the others disappeared, he found himself stepping closer to Jack, though whether for protection or to protect him was anyone's guess. He didn't know how long his shields would hold against a magus of her power, but it probably wasn't long. Then again, she could have snuffed out their lives with some ease if she was that powerful. Perhaps she actually wanted what she said she wanted, though it was likely not so simple.

She spoke of transparency, but she hadn't shared much of anything yet. She spoke of loyalty, but hadn't earned it yet. He didn't frown. Midhir was curious what would come of all this, of course, and he wondered if Jack would be able to withstand the temptation. Chronomancy, if it were real, might help him with his problem.

Or it could just make matters worse.

In any case, he took Jack's hand in his own, just to remind him that he was there and there for him.