Lindon Masquerade | Spring Ball ~ Ended

The fair valley of Rivendell, upon whose house the stars of heaven most brightly shone.
New Soul
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@CHAOS for Aule and The Lady of Flame
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The Mother of Pearl smiled wide, and the gray eyes framed by her ivory mask glinted. She was pleased with his mannerisms and utterly delighted by his flattery. “Indeed,” she said, when Aule talked of being capable of great attentiveness, “‘tis the duality of all great smiths.”

She inclined her head approvingly with his inaudible invitation to dance.

Let us see if the Maker of the Dwarves can dance as well as he can forge, thought The Mother of Pearl as she linked a gloved arm around one of his own, allowing him to lead them both to the dance floor. There, she unlinked her arm and placed a hand gingerly upon one of his shoulders. With the other hand, she clasped her own gloved hand with one of his own and raised it as the musicians struck up a new tune and a harmonic waltz began to play.

“If I may be so bold as to ask,” she inquired politely, “you seemed to have been searching for someone in particular this night when you first arrived. I would not make it my business to know whom it is you are expecting to come across, but perhaps I can be of help in your search?”

*
Image | Image

“Fair tidings indeed,” replied Ulmo, with the approach of The Lady of Flame, “but solitude, nay. I simply wished to venture where few have this night and find whatever company I may.” With this, Ulmo extended a hand to The Cloud With a Silver Lining, who laid down next to his chair and chewed incessantly on a bone the servers had been kind enough to bring him.

“Would the blazing lady wish to join us for dessert?” asked Ulmo, Lord of Waters, offering her the seat across from his own, “or would she rather continue to ignite the surrounding air where she intends to be next?”

It was at this moment that four servers approached, each bearing a silver platter with a mirror-like shine. The first carried a variety of fruit: strawberries, pears, berries, and melon; each coated in chocolate. The second, shaved iced in translucent crystal cups, topped with sweet syrup. The third, an assortment of small cakes in thin paper cups, frosted in various colors. Lastly, from the fourth platter, a mound of candies in a golden bowl: butterscotch squares, lemon drops, wafers, and peppermint swirls.

“It would be a shame not to share such a delectable bounty with a new friend.” added Ulmo, taking a salted caramel cake for himself.

*
Image

It had only been a moment since she arrived at the masque, but The Grapevine knew her first activity of the night would be to sample the various wines made available.

She approached a table and picked whatever goblet caught her eye first, and raised it to her lips. Indeed, it was a vintage she knew. “Dúathôl. Dark Dream,” she said aloud, to The Wolf on the other side, who seemed to be enjoying the same kind of wine, “if you allow it to sit on your tongue just long enough, when its bubbles have subsided, the ripe taste of its cherries and plums can be savored.”

“I myself enjoy it more so for its cinnamon spice,” added The Grapevine, selecting another goblet with rose-colored wine, and tasting that one as well. She pondered for a moment before its name came to her. “Laichsîr, Sweet Stream,” declared The Grapevine, drinking and finishing both of her beverages, “not one of my personal favorites, but the red currant might be more suitable for your palate.”

The Grapevine plucked another goblet from the table and walked around and over to where he was. She stood but centimeters away from him, admired his attire, and offered him the wine. “Will you not taste it yourself?” she asked, her green eyes meeting his own blue ones.


@skekSil for The Wolf

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The Blue Bear

The gaze of a sinister elf was nothing to The Blue Bear. In fact, over past few months, he’d even grown to enjoy it. Very few mortals had gained the appreciation of their elder kindred in such a manner; he had gained it from a handful now. He relished the utter lack of subtlety as she appraised him. While her eyes grazed over his body, he allowed his to do the same with hers. She wore the black dress like it was a second skin, leaving nothing to his vast imagination. A corner of his lips curled in a salacious smile, greedily awaiting the hungry end. The tales of her prowess at killing and torture always left out how marvelous she looked. The tales were so focused on the describing the horror within her eldritch eyes that they left out everything else about her, the shimmer of her hair, the fullness of her lips, rapaciously graceful way she carried herself. The Blue Bear was quite impressed, and he let his appreciation be known.

“Killing, eh? Have you moved on from the mundane art of knifework to merely killing people with utter sight of you? If so, I would love to learn how you do it. I am a naught but a humble student, hoping for a master to show him the art. All that I have learned pales in comparison to but what an afternoon with you could yield. I would be in your debt.”

With a degree of difficulty, the Númenórean tore his gaze away from the elf and looked out at the dance floor. He licked his lower lip absently as he watched all the fabric fluttering about.

“It’s going to take forever to wash out,” he said with a laugh, reflexively brushing his fingers through the deep vibrant blue that was his hair. Normally, it was jet black but the dozens of shades of blue on his costume and mask demanded that his hair become a part of his costume as well. It fell well past his shoulders, a vibrant azure, shimmering in the light of the candles. He had oiled it, as had become a custom of his, in balsam pine, cedar, and juniper berries.

He touched his hand to her wrist, a bold move considered all the stories told about her, and returned his gaze back to hers. “I would be remiss if I did not offer at least one dance. What should I call you tonight, assuming are indeed using a pseudonym? Mirdautas vras!”


The Galedeep

“Shadowy seas and sea monsters,” mused The Galedeep as the pair of elves moved swiftly onto the dance floor, moving with the grace and precision of a pair of hawks. “I’ve seen my fair share of those. I remember when the seas were naught but shadows, before the sun and moon alighted across the sky in their eternal chase. And sea monsters? I’ve seen more creatures of the sea than anyone here.” The claim sounded overly braggadocious and, from any other soul still in the world it would have been. I have seen schools of hammerhead sharks, hundreds of them, scores upon scores, in their migrations across the oceans. I’ve seen pods of whales that could crush this entire building with their bulk. I’ve even caught a glimpse of a kraken. But…,” the ellon stretched gracefully, turning so that they faced the same direction, took a few careful but firm steps that jingled in rhythm with the music then half spun back, moving his body as close to hers as he dared, a wicked but good natured smiled danced over his lips. “Those are all tales to be told over a fine meal, a good wine, and much slower music. too dark and serious for such light affair as we have now, don’t you agree? I am, and ever shall be, The Galedeep.” He stepped back for a moment and bowed low again, arms swept to the side. “And it is my greatest privilege to be dancing with the brightest of stars on this most lovely evening.”


The Fire of Motion

“It is far, far easier to talk to a squirrel than a man, they pay more attention, and it is far less intimidating to talk to a mountain lion than it is to a beautiful woman,” The Fire of Motion quipped. “Yet it is always worth the risk to open your mouth and try.” He rolled his eyes at his attempt at flirting. He had been bad at it two thousand years ago, and he was still bad at it now. Not to mention that One Who Runs with Deers had been the one to approach him. He laughed, though most at himself. A ball in Imladris? That sounded familiar. His bicolored eyes darkened as he thought, all the while his mask and outfit shimmered back and forth. “I believe my friend Finnba—I mean, sorry, The Galedeep was there. He told me such tales about it! He, of course, was very descriptive of all the women and all the wine that was had. He’s an elf of singular interests when it comes to these sorts of things. Still, I does make me wish I had made it. Now that I think about it, I can’t remember for the life of me why I wasn’t there.” His lips pursed in thought as they swirled and moved. He found his steps much easier now, either from understanding the beat and rhythm of the music or remembering the specific movements.

“Abandon pretense and shame, eh? Ought I ungarb now and run wild?” Then The Fire of Motion did laugh, long and heartily. “As fun and liberating as I think that would be, I’ve learned one very important lesson about being a storyteller: never be the subject of your own story. I’ve grown sadly accustomed to watching events unfold and recounting them rather than participating. The Sunflower, you say?” The nimir spared a glance at the brightly dressed ellon and his eyes lit up with recognition. “Is that…? The rascal! I wish I’d known he be here!”


The Somberlain

Elves. Men. They were all beneath him. At a half a handspan above seven feet, it was more than just a literal feeling for The Somberlain. He would not even be here if he had the choice, alas though, those higher than him had suggested he be in attendance tonight. They would not tell him why or who he might see, but he knew better than to ask questions. Answers were rarely forthcoming, and they were even more rarely satisfying. So, here he was. The Somberlain had verily flown from his home to the coastal elven city in haste to make his appearance at the masquerade. He slipped in past the guards and the sentries, moving through the shadows freely.

He did have to admit, though only to himself and never out loud, he enjoyed the regaling fineries, the exquisite costumes, the new identities. The blood, the wine, the roses. He moved with a grace that would befit the most noble and ancient elves in attendance tonight, though it had been a very, very long time since he had counted himself among the race of the starspawn. He had grown, changed, altered far too much to be anything recognizable to them now.

He towered over his fellow masquerade attendees. Though many of the elves were tall and lithe, he still stood out. Normally, it was his wont to go unseen, wrapped in the blackest of shadows, but tonight he wanted to be noticed. He wanted mortal and immortal alike to see him tonight.

He had braided his vibrantly white hair into an intricate knot, taming its preternatural ability to flow in stasis. He wore a black cotton wool V-neck tunic with short sleeves. Over this, he wore his ornate, bronze breastplate, carefully embossed with the image of a bat with wings outstretched. In the center of the armor was a massive, fist sized ruby whose blood red color was matched only by the brilliant, near perfect clarity. As if mimicking a heartbeat, the ruby pulsed with as the candles attempted to cast their meager light upon. Over his breastplate, he worn a long genuine leather duster made from crocodile skin with a high collar and dyed black. Into the bespoke duster were sewn pauldrons and gauntlets that matched the material and design of his breast plate. Supple angora wool and silk leggings, matching the onyx color of the rest of his ensemble. Tall leather riding boots completed the picture, lacing up at the side. The center point of his costume, though, was his mask. While simple, the subtle terror it would convey pleased The Somberlain: In place of a half mask, the massive man wore the long beaked, hollowed eyed gear of the plague doctor, strapped and belted around the back of his head with supple leather and bronze.

He entered the ballroom, surveying with casual laziness, the fare for the night. The men and women were all arrayed in delightful costumes. Orders be damned, he was going to enjoy himself tonight. Underneath the mask, he smiled viciously. The treats were very much on display tonight. There would be no shortage of visuals for his eyes to drink in. He hung back, preferring to stay away from the center of the room. He indeed desired attention tonight, but being a focal point was not what he had in mind. Let his… partners come to him.
Strange Fruit got holes in the flesh but it ain't gonn' spoil cause it never was fresh

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Lady of Shadows

She never missed an expression, a master in gleening information from a minute tic, a crinkling of the eye or even the lack of any signs whatsoever. It was her job. And she was good at it. With this one every single expression was calculated, deliberate and meant to be understood by even the most primitive observers. The salacious smile merely earned him a brief twitch of an eyebrow, however one that was leaning more towards salacious itself rather than questioning. She too could play this game. Yet another one she had perfected over the years. Use what you got. Slowly, yet obviously deliberately she lowered her hands holding the cup just enough to allow his roving eyes a full view without any hindrance, a new fire lighting in her eyes.

Though standing still by the table, the two of them were already dancing their deadly dance with each other, sizing each other up. Mutual respect for one another did however not mean that given half the chance, either of them would immidiately seize the opportunity to stab the other in the back. In their world it often came down to kill or be killed and she would rather live to see another day than find herself with a knife in her back because she had let her guard down around someone like him. However that did not mean she could not appreciate what she saw, much like he was appreciating what he was seeing.

A flickering scrunch of her eyebrows was all the expression that could be seen at his words, her hand moving to set the cup of punch on the table, untouched. For the longest while she remained quiet, her eyes boring into his skull as he looked out onto the dance floor, almost as if hoping to be able to penetrate his skull and extract his thoughts. Even when he quipped about his hair she did not retort, though her body tensed a split second before his hand touched her wrist. Dangerous move. Though likely deliberate on his part, but then with him everything was, testing her.

Finally she spoke, her voice slightly more ominous than the melodic tone she had held before, giving him a sharp look as he spoke to her in black speech. She was well aware of his indifference to openly causing a spectacle. She however, preferred to remain in the shadows.

"Be careful of what you wish for." she said in a low voice, an intense fire in her eyes, the only warning he would ever get from her.

"You do not seem like the man to have more than one Master.." with the last words she gave him a knowing look before she continued. "And the last thing you want is to be indebted to me.."

Pulling her wrist from his touch, she offered up her hand for him to take to lead her to the dance floor. "Lady of Shadows will do fine for now.. Urug"

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The Moonless Night


Even as she spoke, if somewhat vaguely, of the heartaches and struggles that haunted her, the Moonless Night found herself basking in the warmth of the Snowy Owl's (@Sil) hand on her arm. It had been... quite some time since she indulged in simple touch, with no further expectations behind it.

The Owl's attention was diverted, briefly, by a passing tray of food, and she took the shrimp pastry he held out with a grateful nod, and ate it--savoring the vibrant yet delicate burst of flavor as she bit through the flaky crust into the tender shrimp--in the momentary lull between her confession and his reply.

His words were far gentler and wiser than the Moonless Night expected, and when he finished, with his hand nearly over her heart, fingertips not quite touching her skin, she found she was blinking back tears. When he gave a laugh, tinged with only a slight amount of embarrassment, she used the opportunity to carefully brush the tears away before they became trapped in the filigree of her mask.

"No," she murmured when she looked back at him, her smile sad but sincere. "You are not being patronizing at all. And you are right about the story, though in truth it is over a decade's worth of stories and heartaches, and I fear that some of them are... not quite finished yet. But those are not tales suitable for a moment--a night--like this."

She gazed at him silently for a few moments, unsure of how to convey her gratitude for his thoughtfulness, and finally she leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss to his cheek, just below the edge of his mask. "Thank you," she whispered, then let the somber air around them fall away as she pulled back.

"I believe, dear Owl, that I have been entirely too selfish with you on the dance floor," she smiled, letting a little gaiety back into her eyes and voice, as she glanced around the ballroom. "It seems that there are several awaiting partners now. I will confess, though, that I should like to dance with you again before the night ends."

The Moonless Night took another step back from the Snowy Owl, sank into a slightly curtsy, and then glided away. A recent entrant had caught her gaze, and while she was a bit loathe to end her dance and conversation with the Snowy Owl--for she felt as if she'd unexpectedly found a kindred spirit--she'd come to the ball to mingle and be inspired by the fine garments and costumes on display.

"We seem to be similarly themed," the Moonless Night spoke as she came to stand beside The Moon His Ill Reminder (@Androthelm), letting herself sway gently with the music. Movement, after all, was the best way for the glittering stones stitched across the midnight blue velvet of her gown to catch the light and twinkle like the stars in the night sky. "Would you care for a dance?"

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Lady Redback, dancing with The Sunflower

The dance continued, as did the surprises from her petalled partner, including a song he composed with the same grace and rapidity as his footwork. Lady Redback’s smile only grew wider. “I love it. If you would permit it, I would have my far less graceful tongue attempt to return the compliment.” Her face flushing red with embarrassment, she began,

Let not his attire deceive,
There’s more to this flower than leaves.
His singing is sweet,
He is swift on his feet
Think him just a fool and prove yourself naïve.


What had possessed her to do that? She was no poet, and to attempt so before someone who earnt their crumb by their skill. She felt especially nervous, almost light headed. Was there more in than punch than just fruit? She shook her head to clear it and was glad that her mask his most of her blush.

Where do you usually ply your trade in entertainment,” she continued, “when not visiting Lord Cirdan’s manor? As I believe I may safely assume you are not the Shipwright himself. I would hazard a guess that you are Firstborn, based solely on your display of dancing skill with your antlered partner earlier.

The dancefloor was filling quickly with more couples. In her attempt to dodge one especially animated couple of fur and flame (and a cape), she stumbled over her own feet and only The Sunflower’s hands kept her upright. “My apologies, I am normally much more graceful than this. I would have to blame this new dress, as I have only had a glass of punch so far tonight.

@skekSil
Last edited by Laintaen on Tue Oct 06, 2020 1:29 pm, edited 2 times in total.
I can resist everything except temptation. - Oscar Wilde
she / her

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The White Flame
It was a delicate hand that took his own, but with a steel grip to rival a Dwarf’s clasping a gem. They had chosen well, this unknown band of miscreants that sought to bring the world’s most famous chef low, but like that time he bested no less than three Hobbit grandmothers in a pie-baking contest, they would find his crust hard to contend with.

With a flourish that saw his night cloak disrobed, the White Flame stood revealed as a pillar of red fire and ash. He threw the cape aside with his free hand, not even watching as it enveloped another dancing pair, forcing them to stumble away. Taking advantage of the freed space, he twirled his partner into the room. May the best Elf survive, he thought to himself, unleashing the full might of his lithe feet and surprisingly thin legs.

If this dance had a name, he did not know it; it was not in his nature to follow structure, in any case, and he would never deign himself to tread preordained steps. No, he swung around, extending limbs and retracting them according to whim, holding still for a moment as if holding the world’s breath along with his body, before releasing all tension in a whirlwind of movement.

He did not forget his adversary, his opponent, his counterpart, the being that had come to him in a paradox – seeking his death yet provoking such a display of life. Whenever his hands let go of hers, they quickly sought back, letting The Vixen move according to her own designs, but never far apart. Keep your friends close and your dance partners closer.

Meanwhile, his eyes scouted the crowd. He saw the confused faces, which was to be expected – none of them had seen the full force of anarchy in interpretive dance. Currently, the White Flame was re-enacting the dream sequence that any ballet choreography had to contain, illuminating what could not be spoken in words. More than that, no doubt their uncertainty stemmed from his brilliant decision to dance rather than fight; they had expected to fall upon him like wolves once the violence began, but as he had refused to draw first blood, they were bound by societal convention to stand aside. The fools. Another proof that life led by strict hierarchy could only lead to mistakes. And subpar dancing.

With his approximately seventy-third flourish since his arrival, the White Flame once more swung himself close to The Vixen with the hint of smile belonging to a man feeling fearless; in part because he felt in control, but mostly due to a combination of concussions and self-made concoctions having long since destroyed the area of his mind allowing for inhibitions or any consideration of consequence.

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The Vixen

From behind the beaded fox mask, grey eyes watched The White Flame with growing amusement. The starry cloak caught her on the cheek as he flung it off his shoulders and onto a passing pair of dancers. She laughed and, with a shrug of indifference, mouthed “Sorry” to them.

Of course, she was not truly too sorry. In her opinion, a bit of chaos was called for at this most civilized of gatherings. Not so much as to cause a panic, to be sure, but some subversion of the local order would be a lasting, lovely memory. Hadn’t she thought the same in Rohan when she had helped sequined bum-flaps tilt the norms of fashion toward the absurd in that primitive country? She smirked at the thought. Of course, it had all led to something more deeply satisfying than meddling in a beauty pageant. As her strange partner spun her onto the dance floor, she cast an affectionate glance at The Blue Bear. As expected, he had found a new partner - the black-haired elf (The Lady of Shadows) clad in a dress which seemed to be a second, shimmering skin. Lucky him, thought The Vixen.

Where dancing with her previous, familiar partner had been a smooth and delicate endeavor, this second turn on the dance floor was an explosion of contorted limbs meant, it would seem, to convey a story? Emotion? The mystical visions seen under the influence of certain substances? Not one for inventiveness of this sort without the aid of said substances, she contented herself to follow in The White Flame's wake, mirroring his erratic movements and laughing heartily as she did so.

Shimmering fabrics and glittering masks caught the light as they moved at random and completely at odds with the music. The spectacle of their writhing dance was sure to earn them a wide berth in the ballroom, and the whole experience confirmed her suspicions: The White Flame was mad. And it was delightful.

When he drew close once more, she saw the barest trace of a smile upon his lips. Panting lightly from their exertions, The Vixen gazed up at him. “Whatever you’re on,” she murmured, “I’d like some.”

The musicians finished their song, and she dropped into a graceful curtsy. She then spun to stand at his side and raised the hand which still grasped his, turning to the crowd which may have been watching them with dismay or delight or some combination thereof. With her free hand, she caught up a glass of red wine from a passing server. “My lords, ladies, and gentlemen,” The Vixen proclaimed loudly to the room. “I give you - The White Flame!” With a grand sweep of her arm, she raised her glass in a toast to his flickering, unhinged glory.
she/her | Esta tierra no es mía, soy de la nocheósfera.

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The Forge-fire Flickering, dancing with the Sundering Sea (@Moriel

Again, the ellon (Sundering Sea) had responded to her jabs as his namesake might, twisting and bending, seeming to recede even as he rushed forward. She allowed herself to be spun in and out of his orbit even as she let the words twist in her ears. He certainly made for pleasant conversation — which was saying something, given her preference for working alone. Indeed, it was hard to say when the last time she had talked with someone so — well, thrilled was a better word than thrilling. He certainly seemed to be enjoying himself, at very least. Perhaps I should travel more, at least down here to Lindon. The mountains will be there when I return.
The tide of the dance separated them, and she took a moment to pause and smile. “You might cover ground indeed, if I was better suited to dancing. But my strength is in my arms, not my feet -- and anyway, I’ve come all this way and met only you. You will forgive me, if I beg release to catch my breath -- though perhaps we’ll speak again later?


***
The Moon His Ill Reminder

An elleth (@Sally) approached in similar colors. The Moon His Ill Reminder inclined his head gently as she spoke, and then nodded more firmly in response. “Of course! Surely two night skies will light up the room. First, though, tell me: what name do you carry here tonight?” He smiled broadly as he took her hand and began to gently drift toward the dance. “I am sorry to have come so similarly decored -- though perhaps we were fated to meet? You’ll have to forgive a touch of the poetical, for...” he smiled again, and the silver threads on his coat twinkled. “Tonight I am called The Moon His Ill Reminder
In the deeps of Time, amidst the Innumerable Stars

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The Moonless Night with The Moon His Ill Reminder @Androthelm

She rested her hand in his, returning his smile as they stepped into the dance. She laughed softly as he apologized at the similar theme, but wrinkled her nose a bit when he mentioned fate. Her run-ins with fate so far had not ended in her favor.

"Perhaps," she murmured. "I prefer to make my own fate these days, though."

As he introduced himself as The Moon His Ill Reminder, though, she couldn't help but chuckle. "It is fortunate then," she replied, "that tonight I am The Moonless Night. It seems there is some story behind your name though, and I'm very curious. What does it mean for the moon to be an ill reminder?"


Full description of The Moonless Night's costume, just for reference.

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Aule with Mother of Pearl

He smiled happily taking her arm and leading them amid the swirling masses of bodies dancing to a beautiful waltz, as her hand clasped his and settled on his shoulder he gently settled on her waist and they began to glide and spin across the smooth dance floor. The smith wove them through the bodies that spun around them in a swirl of colours around them like a fine snaking ribbon of inlayed silver running it's tight and beautiful course.

He tipped his head at her question, and he licked his lips "You may of course be so bold my lady." He said softly "For I absolutely am looking for someone, though I am contented to enjoy my dance with you." He said lifting their joined hand spinning her about gently before bringing her back in at a crescendo. "I have to admit though I do not even know if they are here, nor truly if I have any hope of finding them at this ball, after all it is a masquerade and their name will not be the same, and it was only the faintest hint I was given that she would be here." He smiled and quickly moved them backwards as he glanced over his shoulder moving them away from a spinning couple that was coming towards them to swiftly to avoid a collision if he had not moved them. "Perhaps once we finish this dance we can perhaps stop and have s drink and discuss such things, that way we can enjoy this dance rather than searching for her while we spin about."


The Lady of Flame with Ulmo

She smiled at Ulmo as the Cloud returned to him to gnaw upon a bone brought to him. "It is good to hear the tidings are fair, it would not do on such a fine night for them to be anything else." She glanced out at the sparkling stars for a moment before returning her attention to the kind elf sitting enjoying the balcony eating and relaxing.

"I would be most honoured to join the Lord of the Sea for dessert though I don't see why I can not continue to ignite the air around me while enjoying dessert." She tipped her head with a coy smile and sat across from him just in time for the silver platters to be brought out for them.

"My goodness I did not know Ulmo had such a sweet tooth, is it from all the salt in the oceans that you need so many sweets?" She said with a cheeky laugh as he picked a salted caramel cake. For her part she plucked a chocolate dipped strawberry from the tray and bit into it. It was succulent and sweet. and she could not help but take a second one and enjoyed it with as much relish as the first.

"So after dessert are you going to be rejoining the bustle of the dance floor?" She asked looking at Ulmo closely her chin resting gracefully on her hand her head tilted slightly to the side observing him as he enjoyed his fancy cake.


@Sur Vanar Utírieste

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The Blue Bear

She seemed taken aback, almost skittish when he touched her. His eyes sparkled with that slight revelation. With someone like her, someone trained to control every aspect of their being, every movement, every expression, every sound they made was calculated. What had he just gleaned? The Blue Bear couldn’t be sure just yet, and now was not the time. Later this evening he could pore over his mental notes, once the festivities of the masquerade had worn off, when the music died and the candles were snuffed out.

“My Eldritch Lady, I do not wish. You know the detritus effect wishing has had on my culture. It’s a slow acting poison. I do not wish because wishing is passive, it’s lazy, it’s giving in to decadence and weakness. I desire things, and the things that I desire, I find ways to get.” The Númenórean grinned, showing the edges of his pearly white teeth. Let the even sorceress take that for what she would, despite being masked, The Blue Bear was not one to hide.

He dropped the snarling bear headed cane through a loop at his waist and took her proffered hand, seemingly delicate but sinewy and agile, and led her to the dance floor. He pulled her into a closed position hold, his right hand angled and placed across her upper back, over her shoulder rather than on her waist while his left held hers near his shoulder. The music was slower now, and more somber with the string instruments warbling on their lower end.

Lady of Shadows you shall be then,” his voice was smooth. “Barely a whisper. A being without substance but a form inexorable and glorious to behold. Thy name is nowhere, thy name is never. Ecstatic terror embodied in the reflection of nothing.”

They continued their line, moving counter clockwise across the dance floor. The Blue Bear spared not a single glance about the room as they moved. He could see the light of the hundreds of candles reflected back as a single red flame in her eyes. “Serving a master,” he said after a moment. “No. No I do not serve. I prefer to think of myself as employed, and my loyalty thus is increased a hundredfold over the squabbling masses, fighting and killing each other over scraps. I am no tool, but a learning, watching work of art. In a landscape littered with the doldrums of kill or be killed, I am a shining blackness. The glory of my actions and deeds reflects upon those that taught me, I do not seek to cast a shadow on them.”

The pair continued to move, swinging back and forth like a pendulum, their steps moving rapidly one moment then slowing apace with the music. The Blue Bear had learned this dance a long time ago, but rarely found a use for it. He was surprised at how well he remembered the steps of the Waltz.

“Why do you think, Lady of Shadows, that the last thing I want is to be indebted to you? Surely you cannot value yourself so low to think you are not worthy. Or is it me? A lowly mortal, hardly worth the effort? I assure you, neither is entirely accurate. Though should you require a soldier, you would find me ill-suited to that tedious sobriquet. Both of us are more nuanced than that. But if this be a rejection of my petition, know I will not take it ill. I’m made of stronger stuff than that.”
Strange Fruit got holes in the flesh but it ain't gonn' spoil cause it never was fresh

Black Númenórean
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A voice from the other wide of the table caused The Wolf to turn back around. The speaker was a vision of loveliness in green and deep purple, the adornments of her mask and gown appearing as a fanciful representation of a vine of grapes- fitting, as she enumerated the virtues of the table’s vintages. “Dúathôl,” he repeated as she (The Grapevine) spoke of the wine in his hand, and took a final sip to drain the glass, holding it in his mouth as she suggested. And it was true, the fruity flavors intensified with the additional moment, lingering upon the tongue as he swallowed. He placed the empty glass on a sidetable, and when The Wolf looked back to The Grapevine she had appeared before him, and swayed close- very close. She, like the wine, was truly delectable, with verdant eyes shining out from the clusters of amethyst that framed her face. Emboldened by both her own boldness and the loosened social strictures that were part and parcel of such a masque, The Wolf gave a slight inclination of the head as he reached up to take the wine, and allowed his fingers to brush against hers as he took the goblet. “How could I refuse such an offer?” he replied with a smile, spinning the wine in its goblet, several inches below his nose. The light, sweet fragrance came up in an intoxicating wave, and with an appreciative nod, he took a deep swallow. “Very nice indeed. Your insight is remarkable, for a I do appreciated the flavor of redcurrant, though a more traditional grape is my more. Ah, but where are my manners?” The Wolf took a slightly step back to offer The Grapevine a bow, but though this increased the space between them, he took the opportunity to take up the hand which had proffered him the wine, and place a brief kiss upon her knuckles. As he began to straighten he allowed his eyes to flick up, meeting hers from just below for a moment, before returning to his considerable height. “I have the honor to be The Wolf this night. And you, mistress of wines?”


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“A kraken, you say?” Vingilótë allowed her gasp to be obvious in its disingenuousness, but tempered the jibe with a mischevous smile. They swirled around again, pulling slightly apart, and when they came together again, the otter-masked ellon drew her closer than before, his hand on her waist assertive, even demanding. But then he stepped back to introduce himself properly, sweeping his arms wide in a grandiose gesture. Vingilótë offered a brief curtsy in return. “Galedeep,” she repeated, allowing the vowels to linger richly on her lips as she straightened, “now that sounds like a name with some stories behind it. And some knowledge of the stars at sea.” Two could play at his game, Vingilótë thought with a flash of her cobalt eyes, and as they came together again and swept into the first step she asserted her considerable strength for the briefest of moments as they returned to frame, with the pressure of her hand on his shoulder pulling The Galedeep flush against her body, so that as they danced their legs passed one between the other, their faces a hair’s breadth apart, and her bosom pressed into the crook of the shorter elf’s shoulder. “And are you promising tall tales, a fine meal, good wine, and slower music?” Vingilótë murmured low and husky into his ear, her lips almost brushing it, “A mariner should know not to tease or tempt the stars.” Her eyes flicked up over his shoulder at a sudden movement and sound, and she caught sight of a nís garbed all in gold and bedecked with antlers; clearly having just missed making contact with Vingilótë’s own partner. She knew who this was and grinned to herself. “But it seems to me,” she continued as they turned, and, tilting her head to plant a light kiss on her partner’s cheek, just grazing the corner of his lips, Vingilótë allowed the impetus of the movement to pull her away from The Galedeep, spinning a long stride’s length away from him in a whirl of white and gold, the silver sails affixed to her hair billowing out behind, “that someone is trying to gain your attention.” She gave a meaningful look behind him at the antlered nís, then held his gaze and smiled broadly. “You bring out the mischief in me, Galedeep. Perhaps we will meet again this night?” Vingilótë gave a throaty laugh, turned away, and was lost in the crowd.


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“Finnbarr Galedeep?” One Who Runs With Deers exclaimed, “Is he here? How on earth did that- no, I can guess who persuaded him.” She shook her head slightly, imagining the scene between Davos and Finnbarr. “I know that rogue of old, The Galedeep. I imagine being here, he’s making the most of it.” Her silvery laughter mingled with that of The Fire of Motion as he reacted -rather literally- to her suggestion to abandon pretense and shame. “You have a point, though perhaps others would tell your story.” His eyes fell on The Sunflower then, and One Who Runs With Deers laughed again at the shock and delight of his recognition. “Yes, good Fire, that is exactly who you think it is! And I am sure he will be overjoyed to see you again. And sure he would either join you in wild abandonment at the slightest provocation, or compose an epic in the telling of it.” Her eyes danced, and as they made another turn in their earthly dance, she caught sight of an otter-masked nér- there could be no mistaking that physique, or the attitude he displayed as he postured for his partner. “Hah!” One Who Run’s With Deers cried in mirth, her chin tilting up in the shout. They danced closer, and as The Galedeep was pulled around by his partner, she called “Galedeep!” in greeting but the sound was surely mostly swallowed by the noise of the crowd. The nís with whom her old friend danced, however, caught One Who Runs With Deers’ eye, and disengaged herself from the burly nér. Eyes positively snapping with amusement now, One Who Runs With Deers returned her gaze to The Fire of Motion again. “I beg your pardon, but I fear we may be about to be interrupted.”


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His hands were not free to applaud his appreciation, but The Sunflower shook his head vigorously, causing all the hidden bells to clamor their admiration of Lady Redback’s verse. “My dear Lady Redback!” he cried ecstatically, “A beautiful verse! Why, one would think you too practiced such arts in your days!” With a more genteel nod, The Sunflower answered her inquiries as they danced. “Aye, indeed!” he replied with a chuckle, “I have no such magnificent beard as the Shipwright. I am of the woodland kin, and serve Thranduil as I did his father before him! Though of late, I have been on sojourn to Imladris, and the service of yet another Lord.” The Sunflower was about to make some comment about how one need not be of the Firstborn in order to have grace and indeed there were many witty tales he could have told her of the clumsy antics of his people, but they were nearly run over by another couple, and Lady Redback stumbled. Turning his step into a quick lunge, The Sunflower deftly supported her with his arms, helping her regain her balance. “Had I as many legs as a spider, I should have difficulty controlling them as well!” he said lightly, but both smile and eyes were kind, tempering the tease of his remark. “It may be that there was more than just punch in that bowl, one can never tell whose hands have been at the mixing. Are you feeling well? Would you care to sit?”



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As the dance naturally parted them. The Sundering Sea felt his partner recede from him further, like an ebbing wave. He gave The Forge-fire Flickering a wink and a deep bow as she begged off from their dance. “In my experience- limited though it is- you are well suited to dancing! But, it would be selfish of me to keep such a fire all to myself, and I will not grudge you recovery from my waters- though I would be thrilled to speak with you again later this night.” His grin was sharklike as ever as he parted ways with the Forge-fire and went on the prowl for his next partner- there was a competition to win, after all. As he prowled, The Sundering Sea could hardly fail to notice the gyrations of a wildly flamboyant couple (The White Flame and The Vixen), disrupting their corner of the dance floor with hitherto-unsees modes of dance, both off-putting and fascinating. The Nelya halted to watch the final spasms of their dance, and as the woman spun to her partner’s side and proclaimed him in a toast, The Sundering Sea caught up a goblet of wine from the same server’s tray and raised it with enthusiasm. “The White Flame!” he echoed her cry, toasting the mad elf, and drinking deeply. Taking a pace closer to the pair, he raised his glass again. “And to- dare I say- The Vixen?” He boldly toasted the fox-masked woman, though she was still handclasped with her partner, and drank to her as well, holding her grey gaze with his own, considerably more ancient one.
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Evil is a lifestyle | she/her

Arien
Arien
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The Snowy Owl

The Owl could sense some emotion in the Moonless Night, but looked away politely - although, not being a genuine owl, was unable to twist his head completely around - as she swiped some betraying moisture away from her face. He flushed pinkly as she stepped in to plant a kiss on his own cheek, but bowed courteously in response to her curtsey as she drifted off onto the dance floor again.

The Owl himself had no intention of seeking a new partner just quite yet. The tables at the sides of the hall were still heaped with gorgeous foods and he was feeling... well, let’s just say it: Peckish.

Beaming with delight at the spread, he set down his goblet and replaced it with a full one. This one had a dark, suspiciously oily glisten to it; but when the Owl delicately tasted it, it exploded on his tongue with all the deep black fruits of summer; a perfect, plummy bouquet that made him sigh and set all the feathers of his wings a-tremble. He nibbled at a delicately twisted candied nut cracker which complemented it to perfection and let both his gazes: huge and golden, and bright blue, scan the floor.

Hmmm. The White Flame had arrived. Perhaps there were more interesting things to be savoured at the party than mere plum brandy. The Snowy Owl smiled to himself beneath his sharp beak.
cave anserem
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The Lady of Shadows

She glided effortlessly across the floor in his arms, easily following his lead as if they had been dancing together for eons. It almost surprised her how quickly it came back to her, this dancing. For the briefest of moments she allowed a memory to flash before her eyes of her laughing and dancing with her older brother at a similar ball in Lorien. She quickly blinked it away, as usual never letting the memory linger and fester. She pushed her emotions back down so quickly that it barely registered with her. Instead she focused on how he was gripping her hand, and where he had placed his other hand high on her shoulder. Just like one should with a Waltz. Her lips almost pulled into a smile at his attention to detail, though managed to remove it before it fully lifted her lips.

While it looked to all the world that she only focused on her dance partner, her eyes locked on his as they moved, she did not miss anything that was going on in the room, sure that neither did he. Inattentiveness could get you killed. At all times she had a rough idea of where in the room Zôrzimril was, as well as who was partnering up with whom, even as her dancing partner spun her around the room. But they were mere distracions, her true quarry right here in her arms.

She had let his comment about wishes go without riposte as truth be told she believed the same. She also let his poetic response to her choice of name for the evening go without response. However his comment about never serving lit a spark in her eyes, the anger flickering there for a brief moment. Did he just insult her? He knew who she was, who she served. Did he deliberately make a jab at her own servitude with his offhanded comment? He truly did like living life dangerously, as she had killed men for less.

He seemed oblivious to the insult he had caused continuing on with his observations and question. Maybe he did not know her as well as she thought, her eyes becoming thoughtful. As the music finished, so did their dance and she ended it with a smooth curtsy that almost looked like the shadows were going to swallow her whole, before she rose back up as if emerging from them. Stepping back in close, she looked up into his eyes, her voice low and for his ears only.

"To be indepted to me is to serve. To be indepted to me is to be indepted to my Master. With Him, one does not get a choice of words as to your role, you are but one thing to Him. A servant."

Loremaster of the Herd
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The Moon His Ill Reminder dancing with The Moonless Night @WRONG LEVER KRONK!

"What does it mean? It means I have a long memory, I suppose. A long memory and poets for close friends, who suggested the line." He chuckled, and then sighed. "A moonless night is a beautiful thing, but not as beautiful as a night before the Moon. And as the Moon waxes and wanes, as Tillion guides it from east to west, we must remember the passage of time. That is a ill reminder, if you ask me. Oh! To dance again beneath the stars, and the lights which did not dim." Vaguely aware that he was being too somber, The Moon His Ill Reminder laughed and flung himself into the dance, hardly bothering to ask any questions until they were weary and the music began to dim. Then, at last, he ceases his frenzied flight from thought and bowed low. "I am sorry to have been so grim before. A Moonless Night is a beautiful thing, and I thank you for your kind questioning. I hope that your night remains dark and splendid."


(OOC: So sorry to have had to dip out -- if anyone is really desperate to talk with either The Forgefire Flickering or The Moon His Ill Reminder give me a ping on discord--I'm more likely to see it than on here--but like I mentioned in the OOME thread I'm swamped with school right now and am having to pull away from unprompted posting for a bit. Have fun y'all!)
In the deeps of Time, amidst the Innumerable Stars

Black Númenórean
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The Vixen

A lukewarm smattering of applause accompanied by not a few shifty looks greeted The Vixen’s proclamation. She drank deeply, amusement glittering in her eyes. The full-bodied wine carried boisterous notes of black cherries and finished softly with a hint of cloves. It was a far more serious drink than the bubbles she had downed earlier. Over the edge of her glass, she noted an elf (The Sundering Sea) who had echoed her toast and, somewhat surprisingly, called out a toast to her as well. Her eyes locked with his, and as she lowered her glass from her lips, she nodded in appreciation.

She turned her attention back to The White Flame. “Thank you,” she said, “for a most magnificent dance.” She curtsied once more and released his hand. “And I meant what I said - I’d be gratified to learn by what means you were transported to such heights of inventiveness tonight.”

With a grin, she turned and glided over to the one who had so forwardly toasted her. He was robed in a magnificent confection of every oceanic shade from deepest blue to teal, highlighted with white. Never one to miss the details of finery, The Vixen admired the sheen of pearls sewn into the fabric stretched over his torso and affixed to the mask which half-concealed his face. She inclined her head in greeting, the beads of her mask glinting in the candlelight.

“It is generous of you to toast two strangers without hesitation, particularly after such an exhibition,” she began, grinning, “which I am inclined to think was not to the taste of every elf in attendance.” She laughed lightly and took another sip of her drink, watching him keenly for a reaction. She swallowed and gestured to the half-full glass cradled in her hand. “While I could indeed raise my glass in return, you’ll pardon my need to learn a bit about a prospective dance partner before I offer a toast of praise. Your chosen name for the night,” she went on, “would be a start. By the pearls shining on your person and the hues of your robes, I’d wager you are some interpretation of the ocean. I’ve heard it said that water calls to the elves. Am I wrong?”
she/her | Esta tierra no es mía, soy de la nocheósfera.

Balrog
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The Blue Bear

The dance finished and the Lady of Shadow was already melting back into the crowd, or more likely, returning to her previous location to spy out individuals in the room. Before she left though, she whispered something only he could have heard. Rhetorically, it fit her personality. It was dangerous, very dangerous, on the surface but the deeper one dug, the less utterly intimidating it felt and more nuanced and complex it became. “Slaves who own slaves who own slaves,” he muttered, his eyes tracking her as long as he could before she disappeared from view. “A complicated mess of a worldview,” he mused, turning his eyes back to the rim of the dance floor looking for a new partner. But even has he did so, he found his eyes lingering on the shadows and wondering if she was moving through them.

Vaguely, the Númenórean wondered if he’d insulted her. She clearly felt her worldview very strongly, most ancient beings clung that like a dying man at sea hold on to a bit of driftwood. If he had though, he’d likely be dead, or would have had some impression that he was about to be snatched away. But he didn’t. Still, those glowing red eyes hovered about him in his mind’s eye. She was far more complex and complicated than all the stories told about her, maybe than she knew herself to be. All in all, The Blue Bear thought, it was not a bad first impression. He did wonder for a moment before he tore his eyes from dance floor, who she had been sent to kill. If she was a servant like she said, she’d never have the wherewithal to Lindon of all places in the world and kill for her own agenda.

He brought his bear-headed cane back out and casually sauntered across the room, not paying anything or anything mind. He snagged a flute of champagne, downed it in a few gulps, the placed it on another passing tray. He wanted something stronger. Something that would burn on the way down. Interrupting his search, he saw a man dressed in a fine white robe with grey wings and a full white mask with trimmed with gold (The Gull, @Sur Vanar Utírieste). “When in Lindon…” he said with a chuckle to himself.

“Greetings, good sir,” The Blue Bear bowed low. “I see you have been bereft of a dance partner, and travesty to be sure; might I offer myself in that stead for the time being?”


The Galedeep

Who was this elleth? The Galedeep did his best to try and place those eyes as they danced without seeming to gawk at her like a hungry pelican but try as he might, she remained a mystery. Mystery was good though! He smiled privately, he would find out who she was, this Vingilótë. Those cobalt eyes were too entrancing for him to let her go with just a single dance this evening. Something occurred to him then. Had he been teasing about the fine meal and good wine? Perhaps he had, but there had been a shift in his thinking. He was serious about it now. She placed a kiss on his cheek and the corner of his lip and whatever she said in the heartbeats after were lost in a sea of sensations. The Galedeep and been kissed and kissed a thousand times over but this one… He blinked away his distractions and her voice came back, like a siren in the fog. “And you, my lady, seem to bring out the gentleman in me, we are quite a pair it seems. If the winds will it, I will find you out again ere this evening is through and I shall make good on that promise of food and wine and story.” Then Vingilótë vanished, melted into the crowd. The Galedeep was left stunned, his eyes affixed to the spot she’d last been. He rubbed the spot on his cheek where she’d kissed him.

He swung back around and the words she’d spoken to him whilst he was in his fugue came back to him. There was indeed someone trying to get his attention. He squinted. The nís was bedecked in golds and an antler mask that… The Galedeep rubbed his eyes. Could it be? No! No, he hadn’t seen her in a very, very long time. It was too great a coincidence that they should be here together right now. It must be some other companion from his days of carousing and flirting (which hadn’t and would never end). Then he caught a glimpse of her eyes. Those unmistakable periwinkle eyes. It was her!

Moving with a grace the belied his sinewy and burly frame, The Galedeep darted across the dance floor until he was within speaking distance. He recognized her partner as well, a former student and old friend of his, festooned in a garb of dancing flames. He knew the boy, the ellon, and knew his excitable nature, especially around the heroes of the stories he told. The Galedeep narrowed his eyes. Was it possible he didn’t know who she was? The Galedeep nearly gaped in surprise. How could he not know? He looked to The One Who Runs with Deers and saw an impish light in her eyes. A sparkle came into his own amber eyes.

“Lad, do you mind if I cut in here, this lady and I have a few things we need to catch up on that simply cannot wait.”


The Fire of Motion

“You seem to know everyone,” The Fire of Motion jested. “You and The Galedeep, have probably danced with everyone in this ballroom once or twice.” Just as he was about to make a quip about he and Gellam parading through the masquerade clad in naught but masks and hair when he appeared. The sea otter mask materializing from a sea of colors about them. The Galedeep cut quite a figure, his costume was less a costume as much as it was simply what he wore on a normal day, though decked out in enough finery to make even the most ostentatious elf blush. Bells on the boots? The elf was clearly in a jolly mood.

Galedeep!” the nimir said, recovering his senses.

The Fire of Motion relinquished his partner to the much more experienced elf and bowed to each of them with a broad smile but a slightly perturbed twinkle in his eye. “My lady, it was a pleasure unimagined. I pray that during our brief encounter I did not embarrass you too much.” With

With that he took his leave and began to search out Gellam, or The Sunflower more properly tonight, wherever he might be in the midst of this conflagration of color. The image of the two of them causing a ruckus and his amusement therein had not quite gone and now, bereft of a dance partner, The Fire of Motion sought a little fun. There were several here that looked entertaining, the one dressed as an owl looked promising as well as the overly boisterous with the... interesting dance moves.
Strange Fruit got holes in the flesh but it ain't gonn' spoil cause it never was fresh

Thain of The Mark
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The Moonless Night

As The Moon His Ill Reminder swept her into the dance, the Moonless Night pondered his answer. The dance proved a little too energetic for true conversation, and despite the somberness of the answer The Moon His Ill Reminder had given, she found herself smiling and laughing when the music finally faded.

"Being mortal," she said almost breathlessly, "I am sometimes all too aware of the passage of time. In some ways, the resolution to not waste time anymore is what has brought me here, though it seems almost frivolous to consider a ball as time well-spent, but I'm learning to not treat joy as frivolity."

She curtseyed as The Moon His Ill Reminder bowed, then replied, "I am not The Moonless Night because I love darkness. Rather, it's because there are smaller lights which become more visible when there is not a brighter light to overcast them. Their beauty is just as intrinsic, simply less noticeable on all but the darkest nights."

With a smile, she thanked him for the dance, then stepped off the dancefloor for a brief reprieve. Another server passed by with the same shrimp pastry that the Snowy Owl had shared with her earlier, and she snitched another off the tray, and then grabbed the first glass of wine that passed her by on a tray as well. Standing to the side of the room, well out of the way of the dancers who might jostle her and spill the wine, the Moonless Night carefully nibbled at the pastry and sipped at the wine--relieved that it was sweet, as she did not like dry wine in the slightest--as she perused those present, unsure of who was currently looking for a dance partner.


(OOC - The Moonless Night is currently free for anyone who wishes to dance.)

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“Perhaps not everyone in this ballroom, but if only you knew!” One Who Runs With Deers chortled at her partner’s jest, and as The Galedeep approached them, allowed herself to separate from The Fire of Motion, offering an inclination of her antlered head and a smile in response to his bow. He hurried off into the crowd, and the nís turned to face her new and old companion. To him she gave a deep curtsy, the smile blossoming into a grin as she arose, eyes afire with elation- and then with a laugh threw her arms around his neck and embraced him. It had been a long, long time since she had seen The Galedeep, and yet longer since they had danced at such a fête at this. But dance they had in the long ago, amidst deep winter snows and pine-sweet summers, in days before Mithlond had been thought of, when they were young. “It may take longer than a dance for us to cover the ground travelled since last we met, Galedeep,” she said as she pulled back from him, the sensations of merriment and wine and dance and the sudden wave of memories scintillating within her like the fleet rush of the deer from which she took her name, “But that sounds like an excellent place to start. My name was rather less suitable than yours to retain for the evening, but of all those here I think you will best understand, and remember, the one I have chosen,” the nís offered her hand to The Galedeep. “One Who Runs With Deers.”

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The Vixen turned to him with an interested inclination of the head, which The Sundering Sea returned in kind. His barking laugh rang out at her description of the dance she had just completed, and he nodded in a mockery of graveness. “Indeed, I think many here might faint dead away if asked to put on such ad exhibition as your and your partner just have, much less watching in disapproval. But I am made of sterner stuff, and found it highly entertaining.” With a nod of confirmation this time and a bow, he introduced himself. “You are quite correct, though one would expect little else of one so cleverly garbed. I am known tonight as The Sundering Sea, after she who calls to many elves of my kindred.” The shark’s teeth bound to the Nelya’s silver-grey hair clattered lightly as he tilted his head with a grin, the light catching both the many pearls of his mask and the silver stubble of his cheeks. “The sea calls to us, we call to the sea, and dare I say The Sundering Sea calls to women as well- particularly those daring enough to dance with such an erratic flame. Unless the deeps of the sea frighten a fox of land?”
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Evil is a lifestyle | she/her

Black Númenórean
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The Vixen

The boisterous laugh that burst from the elf brought a smile to The Vixen’s red lips. “I am happy to have entertained,” she laughed. “Though I was but a pupil - those who have the mastery are elevated above the rest of us, high-minded and preoccupied with their craft.” She smirked, then sipped idly at her wine as The Sundering Sea expounded on the mutual draw of elves to water and of women to himself. It was a blessing, she thought, to find herself in coherent conversation again. She also found herself intrigued. A fair few steady and proper elves were in attendance tonight, but the one before her gave an impression of delightful buoyancy.

She eyed him appraisingly, eyes and mask glittering alike. She had not failed to notice his appearance upon his arrival in the ballroom, but the details of his strength and fluent boldness were impossible to miss at this range. “Daring, or foolish,” she agreed. “It was to my disadvantage to be a fox with feet planted firmly on the ground. Even so, I find the ballroom far less treacherous than open water.” She set her glass upon a passing tray and stepped in closer to The Sundering Sea, offering him a hand. “The sea may have its charm and its pull, but The Vixen is a skilled huntress - though, admittedly, it is unusual for this fox to pursue such prey as the waves.”
she/her | Esta tierra no es mía, soy de la nocheósfera.

Master Torturer
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Lady of the Shadows

And just like that it was done. The small piece of paper had easily been slipped into his pocket even before the dance had begun and she could have left it at that, however something had compelled her to stay. To dance with him. There were endless things one could learn from how a man held a woman, how he moved across the floor in a practised dance. She had given herself the time to converse with him, something she never did. But then she had known she was going to all along, hence the painstaking time spent donning this elaborate costume. Even getting it made had taken time. And money. Well it would have cost money, if the tailor had not offered it to her for free. She had of course spared the wife, she was known to keep her word afterall.

Now that the deed was done, there was no need to remain in this opulent hall, the many lights, mirrors and people in their bright costumes all preying on her nerves. Gliding from one shadowy nook to another she made her way to the very back of the room, intending to leave unnoticed. She knew leaving through the front doors would gain too much attention and instead she chose to slip out onto one of the balconies at the very back of the huge hall.

Before stepping out she glanced back once more, immediately spotting him. He was already onto his next partner, someone dressed as a seagull. Her eyes quickly moved on and she managed a glimpse of Zôrzimril, pleased to see the woman was still occupied. Determined she stepped out onto the balcony where she agilely leeped onto the railing and in a flurry of sheer lacey fabric she jumped off and disappeared into the night.

New Soul
Points:
OOC @Androthelm - Good luck with school! :)
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As the music of the waltz rose to its zenith, so did the candlelight in the ballroom as well; and as The Mother of Pearl danced with Aule, the myriad of beaded pearls on her ivory ball gown reflected their fire with light of their own, bathing the pair in a white aura.

“Then I shall wish that fate be kind, and that you shall find this mystery person before the end of the night,” she replied with a warm smile, “and a drink would be wonderful. Apparently, vintage all the way from the Woodland Realm has made its way here to the coastland, and graces us with its presence on one of the tables in the ballroom, perhaps we can-”

Before she had finished speaking, a cape came flying at The Mother of Pearl and Aule, from The White Flame (@Aduchil). Its seams enveloped them, wrapping around snugly, and met each other again on the opposite side.

“Ambush! Ambush!” laughed The Mother of Pearl, stumbling and struggling to free herself from the white and red cloth.


*

Image | Image

Ulmo chuckled. “Apparently so,” he said, biting into the sweet cake he had selected from the platters, “well, according to our servers tonight anyway. They have been awfully generous with me thus far, and I suspect it is a result of my true identity being known to them.”

He wiped the corners of his mouth neatly with a napkin before setting it aside. “You wouldn’t happen to know who might have told them?” he asked rhetorically, then addressing her last inquiry. “Well,” he began, as he rose from his chair, “perhaps I shall return to the ballroom if the lady before me wishes to dance with the Lord of Waters.”

The Cloud With a Silver Lining had paid little attention to their conversation. He barked one last time at Ulmo, before securing the deer-bone in his canine jaws and bounding off in the direction of the ballroom.


@CHAOS

*

Image

He treasured his newfound prize above all things. It had been given to him by the servers but was now his to do with as he pleased. None, none but he would savor it’s marrow and succulent cartilage. It was definitely not for sharing.

The Cloud With a Silver Lining took slow and careful steps forward in the ballroom, striding beneath the long tables with soft paces. If he wished to maintain the location of his treasure a secret, he would have to remain unseen by those dancing, and drinking, and laughing.

He dropped to the marble floor, crawling his way out of the ballroom and into the night shadows permeating the gardens. Once there, he secured the mouth-grip he had on his bone again and dashed across a lamp-lit walkway.

He ploughed through a sea of tulips, falling petals clinging to the ringlets of his wooly vest. Tail shot skyward, wagging as he went.

The Cloud With a Silver Lining arrived at his destination - a peach tree hidden from the dim lights in the gardens, where a small shell-adorned birdhouse hung from its lowest branch.

Sniffing around the tree as he circled it, he dropped the bone for a moment. The Cloud With a Silver Lining protruded the dark nails of his forward paws into the soil and began to dig swiftly. It was a shadowy patch of dirt, nestled between two raised roots, and it was perfect for what he intended.

Picking up the bone one last time, The Cloud With a Silver Lining deposited the meaty deer-bone into the earth. Quickly, he covered it with the same mound of soil he had dug up, patting it down with his right front paw. Inconspicuously.

He looked around and out toward the shadows beside and behind him, confident in the fact that no one had seen him conceal his prize.

Then, feigning innocence, The Cloud With a Silver Lining retreated back into the tulip beds where he proceeded to roll around on his back, long pink tongue spilling out of his mouth. Quite pleased with himself.

@Tharmáras

*

Image

“The Grapevine, at your service,” she replied in a soft intonation, smiling in delight from the peck he had given her knuckles a moment before, with a hand over her heart. “Do you come here alone?” asked The Grapevine in earnest, “My own companion has left my side for the time being.”

“Mistress of wines, indeed,” she added, “my employer in Harlindon was kind enough to give me leave to attend this masque, but I’m afraid after tonight, I must return to the vineyard I am assigned to prune and nourish with my care.”

She waited for his reply before turning her gaze in the direction of the dance floor, where an attendee known only tonight as The White Flame moved in an avant garde manner with his partner The Vixen. Blinking in her confusion, The Grapevine cocked her head to the side and attempted to decode the story wrought in his movements. “He certainly seems… passionate, wouldn’t you say?” she said, turning back to The Wolf.

When the dance between The White Flame and The Vixen had finished, The Grapevine yielded in understanding and clapped for them. Tonight had already proven itself to be a memorable event indeed.


@skekSil

*

Image

His dance with The Lady of Flame had left him wanting another turn in the ballroom, but he could not and would not deprive another guest in Círdan’s manse of taking their leave of him.

The Gull hovered at the edge of the ballroom, as he watched wave after wave of partnered guests spin in unison or attempted harmony on the marble floor. On occasion, he glanced this way and that beyond the corners of the ballroom, hoping to catch a glimpse of the one whom he had arrived with tonight, Ulmo, Lord of Waters.

Plans to remain apart for the sake of maintaining their identity a secret had been put into place upon their entrance. Still, he had scarcely left his Lord’s side for several centuries and old habits had proved to be rather difficult to break even on a night like this.

As he drank his third goblet of wine, The Gull was approached by another - The Blue Bear.

He was a mortal, The Gull perceived, clad in every shade of blue there was in Middle-earth. Why, even his hair had been painted blue.

“Evening, I am The Gull for tonight,” he greeted in return with a half-bow, “Travesty, perhaps, but one cannot afford to be forceful in such situations, it is in very poor taste to be so. Waiting for the right dance partner however, is a quest of patience that I relish on these occasions. For one can never be sure whom they might encounter.”

“As for your invitation, I readily accept,” said The Gull, hands outstretched to The Blue Bear so that he may take either hand, or both, and lead them to the dance floor. “Pray tell ma aphadon, my good man, by what name do you go by tonight?” he asked graciously.


@Ursus thibetanus
*

Note From Your TR: In light of the number of guests in attendance tonight in the Lindon Masquerade, here is short list of those without a dance partner who aren’t engaged in a conversation with another character, as of this post-

The Huntress (@Ursus thibetanus)
The Somberlain (@Ursus thibetanus)
The White Flame (@Aduchil) since his dance has ended with The Vixen?
Vingilótë (@skekSil)
The Snowy Owl (@HONK HONK)
The Moonless Night (@WRONG LEVER KRONK!)
The Cloud With a Silver Lining (@Sur Vanar Utírieste) yes, even the dog too! XD

New Soul
Points: 1 396 
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Joined: Thu May 14, 2020 2:30 am
The Woman Crowned with the Sun
The Emperor of Shadows
Mansion Road ---> Balcony


Bats and owls whom Vefántur set free from Mandos swooped about the sky.
Very vast were those caverns taht they made stretching even down under the
Shadowy Seas, and they are full of gloom and filled with echoes, and all that deep
abode is known to gods and Elves as Mandos. There in a sable hall sat Vefantur, and he
called that hall with ihs own name, Vê. It was lit only with a single vessel placed in the
centre, wherein there lay some gleaming drops of the pale dew of Silpion: it was draped
with dark vapours and its floors and colu,ms were of jet.

- Tolkien, from The Book of Lost Tales One:
The Chaining of Melko and The Coming of the Valar

In reverence Yavanna is next to Varda among
the secret things in the mould. She is...robed in green;
but at times she takes other shapes. Some there are who have
seen her standing like a tree under heaven,
crowned with the Sun; and from all its branches there
spilled a golden dew upon the barren earth, and it grew green with corn.

- Tolkien, from The Silmarillion: Valaquenta


The dwarves of yore made mighty spells,
For ancient king and elvish lord
There many a gleaming golden hoard
They shaped and wrought, and light they caught
To hide in gems on hilt of sword.
On silver necklaces they strung
The flowering stars, on crowns they hung
The dragon-fire, in twisted wire
They meshed the light of moon and sun

- Tolkien, from The Hobbit: An Unexpected Party


"For those who have dwelt in the Blessed Realm live at once in both worlds,
and against both the Seen and the Unseen they have great power."

- Gandalf, from The Lord of the Rings:
The Fellowship of the Ring - Many Meetings

"I hope the Phoenix didn't choose green or gold," worried The Woman Crowned With the Sun.

"Whatever dress she chose, it must be red," assured the Emperor of Shadows and kneaded the small of his wife's back in soothing circles.

She nodded vigorously, giggling, and allowed herself to relax. She wore a cape and a split-skirt of green organza and corn embroidery. Her sequin bodice which exposed a subtle hint of her toned belly shimmered with crusted discs of gold and bronze. The Elf-lady's blonde curls were arranged in a waterfall braid. A rose-gold circlet adorned her flaxen hair, bejewelled with peridot and gems filled with effulgent dragon-fire. The elleth's red-gold mask was rimmed with flower-shaped yellow diamonds. Her Dwarvish glass slippers were green as spring leaves, illumined with the imprisoned sunlight of summer. The Woman Crowned With the Sun kissed her husband with a soft fervent intensity. She uttered his name when his nose skimmed her down her neck, relishing the rich amber and ginger scent of Armacalavénë, the Sunbeam perfume Airien Mereniel had given her. She eased him aside with some reluctance, excited for the surprise she had been waiting for. The Woman Crowned With the Sun let out squee of delight when he fastened a carcanet of lemon topaz cabochons around her neck.

"You are fairer than Yavanna, ninya indotári ("Queen of my heart," Quenya)," vowed the Emperor of Shadows and kissed her freshly rouged lips.

"How arrogant of you to propose we attend this masquerade as gods, muin nín ("My dear," Sindarin)," she commented, giving his cheek a pat.

"Is that a complaint, Your Worship?" he asked, caressing her thigh.

"No," she replied with merry laughter and joined his hand to hers, "but I am slightly annoyed you didn't choose Aulë so we could be paired together. Mandos, the Lord of Death. Hmpf!" She regarded the Emperor of Shadows with a comptempible expression but, moments later, allowed him to curl his arm snugly around her waist.

His shirt and breeches and shoulder cape were of silver satin. His tooled boots and silk brocade vest were all black as was the melanite jewel of his left hand's white-gold band. His bat-like mask, designed with crackle motifs in Forostar mithril of which he still had plenty, the Emperor of Shadows forged of a strange shining black metal of his own devising. Before their carriage arrived at Girion Coruben's inn the Emperor of Shadows used a Elf's fragrance oil - Lóvoro, Evernight, embodying darkly the scents of patchouli and cardamom and black pepper - from his wife who bought it from Airien.

Her amused smile slowly vanished, watching her husband's gaze drift toward Lord Círdan's palatial mansion which their carriage was swiftly approaching. She had been married to the him for centuries and knew his sly smile when she saw it. She once had been a meek woman but ultimately found her strength when she had become his queen. The Emperor of Shadows was conceited and cunning, wrathful and murderous still but she was not afraid to remonstrate him when he deserved it. She spoke her mind and though he often bickered with her, the Emperor of Shadows never abused her for voicing opinions even of his own crimes or his deviant behavior.

"Thinking mischievous thoughts are you?"

"The Phoenix isn't the only one who likes to play matchmaker."

"Look at me," she demanded with a tight urgent squeeze of his hand.

She was concious of her restive knee shaking when his eyes bored into hers. Those orbs were icy-blue and flaming bright. She heard her Eldarin friends speak of the terror they experienced in the crossing of the Helcaraxe. She was sure her husband's eyes were just as cold as that glacial hell had been when he meant to stare in this penetrating way. It was not the first time she was terrorized by his unnerving gaze but, as usual, she tenaciously gripped her resolve and began to speak. "My girls are here tonight," she stated with acerbic vehemence, removing his arm from around her sides. "Do you know what I expect from you?"

He gave her one of his infamous winsome grins. "You want me to be kind and charming."

"An extraordinary feat for a notorious blackguard," the Woman Crowned With the Sun commented dryly. "Masquerades are perfect for us to attend on the mainland, you must understand. No one realizes the brute you are, see? For me, it's nice not to be hated for just one splendid evening." Her words were scathing and it struck a chord she noticed, seeing his smile falter. She felt vulnerable for a second but quickly regained her sure footing, knowing she still dominated this conversation. "I want you to promise me that you won't hurt or antagonize anyone," she said with a softened timbre.

He said nothing...like Maeglin.

"Give me a night to remember not badly..." she pressed, clinging to him. That's all I ask, love."

The Emperor of Shadows seized tender hold of her arms above the chalcedony bangles, bracelets embellished with apple marcasite flowers, the smith built for her. "What if I told you there would be no drama, no tricks?" he lied to her with a tone as smooth as melted butter. "That I would be the paragon of chivalry?"

The Woman Crowned With the Sun tossed back her curls, loosing golden peals of laughter. "You are not Tharmáras, darling, but..." She senuously grasped his chin. "I would appreciate it if you tried emulating him this evening..."

Once removed from the carriage, the Emperor of Shadows ordered his masked guards to keep him and his queen in their sights while they reveled in tonight's entertainment. The Woman Crowned With the Sun quarrelled with her husband concerning where they ought to venture to first. She wanted to wait for her female friends in the garden but he was adamant they visit the grand balcony overlook.

"So you can look imperiously down on everyone?"

"Yes."

His wife spluttered mild obsecenities under her breath in indignation but he ignored her.

"You are welcome to leave me alone, of course," her offered with an irritating nonchalance which earned him a smack upside the head.

"FINE!" she agreed in a frustrated tone which obviously declared this wasn't fine and followed him along a torchlit grey marble stairway. The balcony they came to was an ideal place to behold the elegant grandeur of the capital port's cityscape and the star-spangled spring sky. The Woman Crowned With the Sun seemed put at ease when the Emperor of Shadows twirled his giggling wife in a delightful spin toward the railing wreathed in coastal foilage. Meril Duvain's harp tune of Echoriath Towers moved them to companionable silence, holding each other. The magic of the Eldarin minstrels conjured wondrous images of Gondolin's snow-mantled Encircling Mountains in their mind's eye. They gazed at each other fondly, immersed in vivid memories of their blossoming romance at his forge in the alpine woods above the Hidden City.

The Emperor of Shadows, true to his word, looked snobbishly over Lord Círdan's verdant orchard. Standing on an ivied observation tower was an elven couple, an Elf in blue and a Elf-woman in white....the male was blonde and the lady, a redhead.... Unable to suppress his diabolical impulse, he calmly surveyed the balcony for a distraction. It didn't take him long, never did, which the Emperor of Shadows attributed to millennia of mayhem. "Oh, look, a display of Gaearon Cenedril wines."

The Woman Crowned with the Sun gasped louder than was necessary. "Maira! ("Only of great, or splendid things," Quenya)" she exclaimed, holding her own face, as she snapped her joyful gaze on the sample table of Lindonese cherrywood. "The vineyard of Telkelion and Fíllaniël!" The Queen exclaimed and sashayed over with the quickness of an Ent-wife.

The Emperor of Shadows took the opportunity to draw closer to the balustrade where he promptly spat on the Elf below. The Woman Crowned With the Sun returned to her husband after he greeted his ancient nemesis wetly, standing rooted in the sampe place where she left him. "Meneliaf, Heavenfruit, a divine blend of lemon, lime, and green apple," his ecstatic queen explained, handing him a flute of the precious liquid, her blue eyes glazed with awe. The Emperor of Shadows breathed in the heady scent of Harlindon sémillons. He exhaled with pleasure, enjoying the the ethereal citrus perfume of the alcohol before he took a pleasant sip.

He paid scant attention to his wife as she waxed lyrical of the Seaglass Vineyard wines, studying the crowd of dancers and socializing party-goers. His attention was drawn to a stunning woman who wore a tight black dress. The material seemed alive with fire, arrayed with glittering garnets. He felt a mangetism to this Lady of Fire. A Noldorin smith, he couldn't help but be enamoured by the flaming extravagance of her raiment. He began thinking rashly in his exuberance. "Could she be one of us?" thought the brooding king. If she was, he wanted to welcome her home. He was too intrigued by her mystique not to introduce himself but he didn't want to reveal his identity openly in public tonight and his wife was wary of him speaking to people....so he decided a private nudge would be best. Hopefully she would forgive him when he was approached by her directly....

The Emperor of Shadows, a High Elf of Aman, reached in the Spirit. By the fëa he looked from this Seen world to the realm of the Unseen. He saw the forms of many but only her's mattered to him. She was luminous and ethereal, no longer wearing a dress of black but a diaphanous gown of white. Her back turned toward him. She no longer held a chocolate-dipped strawberry, hands bound in bonds of blinding luster. Black vapors slowly coiled about her as did the dark mists Hrango saw enshrouding the Pale Child whom he saw when looking at the Emperor of Shadows in the Unseen World. He felt a pang of sadness cut through him. Purity smothered. She couldn't banish the choking darkness.

He felt a fierce outpouring of genuine grief for her. He strode toward the White Prisoner and boldly entered the smokes enveloping her soul. The hands of his Spirit softly touched her shoulders. He had no doubt her physical Self would be aware of his intrusion, her discomfort. It was a violation of the White Prisoner's most secret place which perhaps she shared with few Eldar or perhaps no one ever in her life but he wanted to help her. To give her sanctuary. "I know your pain...it is my own. We are the same, you and I..." The shrieking air swirled violently. The Emperor of Shadows was flung out of the cyclone. The sable clouds blazed crimson, engulfing her in a whirling storm of fire.

The mad winds gripped the Emperor of Shadows and tossed him back into the Seen World. He grunted stumbling against his wife. She supported him with some difficulty and fussed over his short, mannish ebony hair. She was an Elf of the Úmanyar and never stood in the Light of the Trees; she would have seen her husband looking at the elleth with Ulmo and suddenly falling as if he had been pushed by an invisible force of some kind. "We'll go to the garden there now," he promised her without complaint in a hoarse voice. He pretended not to notice her wide-eyed stare, panting. He limped from the balcony, unwilling to look back at the Lady of Flames.


*



The King of Feathers
The Queen of Starlight
The Orchard of Círdan


Manwë Súlimo, highest and holiest of the Valar....his throne was set in majesty upon
the pinnacle of Taniquetil... Spirits in the shape of hawks and eagles flew ever
to and from his halls... Manwë has no thought for his own honour, and
is not jealous of his power, but rules all to peace...
His raiment is blue, and blue is the fire of his eyes.

- Tolkien, The Silmarillion: Of the Beginning of Days

"Varda the Beautiful arose. Varda it was who at the playing of the Music
had thought much of light that was of white and silver, and of stars...
Too great is her beauty to be declared in the words of Men or Elves."

- Tolkien, from The Book of Lost Tales One: The Coming of the Valar


The King of Feathers ceased his frantic pacing near the Uinen fountain. Before the Queen of Starlight left their chamber at Celondsend, they agreed to meet here but his wife was late. The Phoenix often assured him that waiting on a woman was always worth the trouble. Hoping he might see her coming from on high, the King of Feathers ascended the carved steps of a lone turret. The tall structure of grey marble enrobed in clinging ivy afforded Círdan, courtiers, and visitors panoramic views of Mithlond's grandeur and Lhûn Bay's moon-dappled waters from the orchard. He removed a gilded handmirror from his pouch to look at his imitation of Manwë before she appeared.

His suede boots, velvet breeches, silk shirt, and satin doublet with silver piping were various dramatic hues of blue. The glossy mask he wore was made of blue and cream and gold porcelain with a teal feathered plume fancily attached. He lathered the skin of his wrists with Airien's fragrance oil Eryn Brannon, the Lord's Forest - a bold fusion of sage, bergamot spice, and Lindonese leatherwood. "You're going to a dance at court with your lovely lady so you need to reek of smelly goodliness!" Airien had told her cousin's husband before she prepared the Phoenix for the Masquerade.

"Melindo! ("Lover!" Quenya) spoke the dulcet voice of his wife below, the Star Queen.

"Nyatári ("My Queen," Quenya) uttered the King of Feathers in answer, turning swiftly around.

His wife wore a ruched sleeveless white dress of chiffon which complimented her svelte body and her smooth alabaster skin. Her long legs were comely exposed by the split front of her skirt. The diamond beading of her sleek elvish heels sparkled in the lamplight as did her chandelier crystal earrings imbued with blue Imladris starshine. Wreathing the top of her wondrous red hair was a chaplet headdress woven of aromatic pale flowers of Taniquelassë. Radiant blue eyes shone through the Elf-lady's white-gold mask embellished with mithril star-shapes, revealing her to be a High Elf. A star-sapphire pendant pulsating with variegated brilliancy hung from a silver necklace plated in gleaming braided rhodium. Bound along the chain were Balarian pearls interspersed with small glass orbs suffused with the majesty of a pink sunset.

"Women of the Rainbow House are supposed to be dressed in a glorious array of colors, you know," she teased her husband.

"I rather you be the queen of goddesses tonight," said the King of Feathers when he remembered how to speak. He was spellbound by the Star Queen's exquisite beauty. Her alluring heady fragrance of peonies, apple oil, and vanilla sandalwood was intoxicating. She came up the winding stairs hurriedly but with elvish grace. She slid her slender ivory limbs about his neck as his strong arms pulled her tenderly against his broad chest. The married couple shared a deep, intimate kiss emotionally wrought by the sound of the sea. With their gaze eventually lifted toward Ilmen, they remembered their youth in the Blessed Realm. He opened his mind to hers and she welcomed him to look into her own by sanwe-latya, telepathy their parents taught them long ago. They both saw pieces of the same memory.... three children dancing beneath the stars in the Tree-lit waves upon the sand of Silpion silver near rugged purple sea-cliffs. Above the children, the Nelya played melodious tunes for them on his pipe of shell...

"To the balcony ninya haran ("My King," Quenya)," she murmured, drawing him out of his pleasant reverie of their beloved lost Paradise. With her full glistening red lips widening, she led him by her beringed hand down the ivied turret. Theygave pause, halting on the romantic candelit path when they saw a fluffy sheepdog burying his bone in a peach tree yards away. "I want to touch him before we go inside!" she pleaded with the King of Feathers.

"Ah a Cloud With a Silver Lining," he mused, chuckling, but sighed a moment later. "I think we should hasten to the ball though, Elbereth. I believe it's starting to rain."

"There is not a cloud in your skies save for the dog, Mānawenūz ("Blessed One," Valarin)." She peered closely at his face then pursed her lips and the King of Feathers knew she was restraining her tempestuous fury. "That is not rain, my love. It's saliva." She scowled, wiping the spit off her husband's face with a kerchief he kept within a pocket of his sapphired cape.

"I will kill him this time," swore the King of Feather's, his cheeks ruddy as King Caranthir's.

"Perhaps I will beat you to it," she challenged with an alarming murderous look, turning her livid gaze to the castle's grand balcony.

"We should visit the Cloud With a Silver Lining," the King of Feathers assented, leading her off the path toward the cute hound. "Maybe we can rid ourselves of this ire before we enter Cirdan's home."

"There is comfort in a hound's fur, that is certain, and I have missed our own dogs while we've tarried here on the coast." They followed the Cloud With a Silver Lining to a bed of tulips where it started to rolling over in supreme gaiety. The Star Queen did not wish to spoil her immaculate dress so she stooped down instead of kneeling to pet the adorable shaggy beast. She whispered to the hound, telling him he was a good boy and the sweetest of Lindon creatures, as her beringed hands swept over his wooly coat and planted a kiss between his eyes.

"That is an odd statue," mentioned the King of Feathers, gesturing at an effigy of lifelike stone in the distance.

"What is it like?" asked the Star Queen, too preoccupied with rubbing the sheepdog's belly. She was a mason but the Cloud With a Silver Lining held her immediate interest.

"It has a mask," The King of Feathers told her, glancing at his wife, then to his astonishment he saw that the statue had somehow moved from the peach tree to this tulip patch which he told the Star Queen.

Smirking, she stood straight and glided to the statue. "I have this is irrepressible urge to knock it down...." She gradually lost her smug smile, having expected the statue to react. She touched his mask with a hesitant movement...


*
The Lord of Unicorns
The Garden

"There also were many other creatures that have not been seen upon Middle-earth,
and perhaps never now shall be, since the fashion of the world was changed."

- Tolkien, from The Silmarillion: Of Eldamar and the Princes of the Eldalië



The King of Feathers had not been the only Elf in the Lord's garden waiting on a wife and awed by statues. The Lord of Unicorns, an Elf-lord famed for his chiseled handsomeness and gallantry, lingered for his Phoenix in a moonlit glade of a holly thicket. He admed a sculpture of King Thingol and his queen, Melian the Maia, holding hands in his storied trance. "How fortunate for you," muttered The Lord of Unicorns, rumininating in bittersweet meditation, "that you dwelled in bliss with your sweet angel for millennia. I spent that long of time looking for mine."

The Lord of Unicorns could have sworn he heard quiet weeping in the fringe of holly but when he looked askance at the berried evergreens, he saw no one hidden amidst the lustrous leaves. He sat on the paded bench of a gazebo and considered reflection in the wraparound glass wall. His white leather boots were tooled in gold and crusted with diamonds. His breeches and linen shirt, waistcoast and brocade jacket were immaculate white velveteen trimmed in gold. A moonstone and silver brooch of a courant unicorn, the bridegroom gift of the Phoenix's surrogate mother, was pinned to his white neckloth. His pomaded shoulder-length wavy hair was neatly combed. His mask was platinum and silver accented with iridescent mother-of-pearl. It was dominated by a short regal horn of crystal which glimmered with a lambent opalescent sheen in the streaming moonlight. He dabbed the body oil of Olosheru, Dreammaster, on his wrists. It comprised an earthy masculine odour of pines, yews, and cedars - the trees of Irmo, the holy sovereign of visions and dreams. He heard a loud bang of the holly yard's carved wooden door swinging shut against the grey marble fence. The Lord of Unicorns burst from the enclosure and examined the dense aisle of quivering holly trees with a bemused expression.
"Eriol... 'One who dreams alone.' ” - Tolkien, The Book of Lost Tales I

High Lord of Imladris
Points: 5 208 
Posts: 2755
Joined: Sat Sep 12, 2020 7:53 am
Aule
Dance Floor heading for the Gardens


They had manage to miss another couple only to get caught up horribly in the cloak that The White Flame had thrown. He took a firm stance and held the Mother of Pearls tightly enough and kept her on her feet as she gave a laughing cry of 'ambush'

"Indeed we are a tangled mess it would seem. I have no idea who would wear such a ridiculously long cloak to a dance such as this but we shall free ourselves of it and perhaps leave the floor for that drink and perhaps the safety of the Garden." He held her steady in one arm and used his other to untangle them until the cape fell about their feet and he carefully held the Mother of Pearls hand so that she might step safely outside of the tangling mass of white and red fabric that had ensnared them before following suit.

"Now you were speaking of Dorwinion Wine on one of these tables lets get ourselves outside where perhaps it is easier to speak." He said offering the beautiful elleth his arm and led them to a table arrayed with wines. "I fear you may be the wise of us when it comes to the best vintages for this, I am more accustom to the wines of Aman from my younger years, I've not often gotten to taste wine here, and certainly not such fine a vintage." He said with a laugh and once the Mother of Pearl had selected a wine for them both he led her out towards the Gardens and into the pleasant coolness of the night sky. Where he caught a glimpse of several new people he had not seen before and recognized several of their outfits or at least he thought he did, Manwe, as the Lord of Feathers, Varda, the Queen of Starlight, Yavanna/ The Woman Crowned with the Sun, and.... if he'd not spent the last 6000 years waiting patiently for Namo to let him back to Middle-earth he might not have recognized Namo as the Emperor of Shadows, at least he assumes that's who he was playing at.



The Lady of Flame
Balcony heading for the Gardens

She could not help but smile and press a gloved black finger to her ruby lips with a smirk as he asked who might have told the servants who he was.

"My Lord, you are most gracious and kind, but I fear you have told them yourself." She said standing up to join him she reached out with a hand and gently touched his beard cleaning a few crumbs of the caramel cake from it. "I may be merry and kind but I am also old enough to remember a kind elf lord who helped get my mother west when she lost all save me with the death of my father, that Lord had a beard." She said tilting her head down slightly while looking up at him. "Now I know of only one other ellon in all of Arda that has a beard as one might describe it if one were being generous, if one were being truthful though he tends to bare stubble and wild scruff when he has gotten lazy and not shaven." She said and took a breath. "Now my Lord Ulmo," making sure that he knew she would not let his secret out unless he so wished it. "I know you are not the sort to surround yourself with fools but those wise enough to look at what is happening about them and deduce certain facts." She was about to suggest they go inside and dance when her head tipped back slightly as if she was trying to avoid a touch that was Unseen, her eyes going slightly wide and glazing from recoiling herself in the spiritual realm from the touch. she knew this well enough being a teacher and high healer in the House of Elrond she knew full well what was happening and her eyes flashed with rage for a second at the breach of decorum in entering such a private space. Her face slammed shut from the flash of rage, for she did not wish to alarm Ulmo more than need be and she mentally spun her spirit about .

Normally one only entered there if a patient was deeply ill and needed spiritual healing to help reconnect their Fea with their body. This person... This person was there without permission and as far as she knew without reason, here in the Unseen she was trained and strong, knowing full well that she had work yet to do on the pain she suffered on the darkness that ever lingered in her spirit. "YOU KNOW MY PAIN?" Her spirit snarled with a hurricane holding his spirit close for a moment letting her take a good look at his face and had she not needed to maintain some decorum as she was standing before Cirdan she'd have done far more to him than shoving him back through the maelstrom of wind back into his own Seen body. She returned fully to her own body fully and glanced over her shoulder seeing a new comer to the balcony stagger back hard and a beautiful woman catch and coddle him before they both seemed to flee for the Gardens the man, limping now and not daring to look at her as she glanced at him.

"I am sorry, I think I know that couple, I think perhaps I will follow them to the Gardens, I hear more voices down there and it is easier to speak in the quiet of Lord Cirdans Gardens and Orchards than over the lively music of the ballroom" She gave Ulmo a sweet smile "You are of course welcome to join me, as I do think that at least the elleth with him is dressed as Yavanna, I am not entirely certain of his garb perhaps Namo? We shall have to greet them"

Balrog
Points: 5 867 
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Joined: Mon May 18, 2020 11:02 am
The Blue Bear

“A fitting name for such an exquisite costume, my lord,” The Blue Bear intoned with a roguish smile. He looked his dance partner up and down and nodded approvingly. “You look magnificent, really. Though I should expect such impeccable costuming from one of the Firstborn, you always have such wonderful attentions to details.” The Númenórean nodded his approval underneath the lacquered wooden mask. “I go many, many names, but tonight I go by The Blue Bear, should it please you, Esselda.”

He took his playfellow by his outstretched hand and lead him to the dance floor. “I hope you don’t mind if I take the lead for the first dance?” He winked. “I imagine that you’re far more experienced than I at this sort of thing. I will happily admit that such soirees have never been a priority of mine, though if they are all as magnificent as this one, I might make it more a priority to attend them.”

He led his partner into a waltz, placing his right arm on The Gull’s shoulder. As the music began, The Blue Bear began to move with great sweeping steps, eager to impressive his Eldar dance partner. “I’m reminded of a quote I once read,” he said in between the swells of musical strings. “’I never see a ship sailing out of the channel, or a gull soaring over the sand-bar, without wishing I were on board the ship or had wings, not like a dove 'to fly away and be at rest,’ but like a gull, to sweep out into the very heart of the storm.’* I can’t for the life of me remember where I heard it, but I do believe it fits with your accoutrement for the evening. Tell me, if you will, what does the gull mean for you?”

There was glitter of mischief and enthusiasm in The Blue Bear’s eyes. It was not often that he had access to so many of the First-Born. Ever the student looking for a new tutor, he felt like he had found a secret entrance to Paradise. As he and The Gull moved through the steps of the dance, he wondered how The Vixen was fairing. It had been her idea to attend the ball, he hoped she had found a few partners equal to the fascination of his.


The Galedeep

She looked almost the same as she had all those long, long aeons ago. Even though it was nearly been seven thousand years since they’d seen each other, he still remembered the way she smiled. That smile filled him with a great joy, but it was inexorably mixed with a deep sorrow. He knew what he represented to her, or what he had represented those seven thousand years ago. He had begged her to come with him and sail after the War of Wrath, when she had refused him something broke between them, their friendship suffered. A bridge somewhere had collapsed, and they had never been able to fully repair it. Sure, they exchanged a letter or two here and there, but both had their own lives to live, their own demons to fight, their own memories to torture them.

He looked into her periwinkle eyes and felt more than a pang of regret. He could still see pain reflected in those eyes. There was more merriment in them though, than when he last saw them, more light and life.

“We would need the entire ball to catch up on all the stories we’ve missed out on,” he agreed, “and more besides.”

He took his partner by the hand and immediately he swung into action. His dancing skills had been rusty earlier in the night but now he was in a much better rhythm.

“This sort of things reminds me of all those wonderous Winter Balls we used to have in the Elder Days. It might not be on such an extravagant level, but the nostalgia does tinge at the heart doesn’t it?” He smiled and his amber eyes twinkled underneath the sea otter mask. “I had no idea what I was doing back in those days. I’m still not completely convinced I know what I’m doing now.” The Galedeep pulled his partner, One Who Runs with Deers, in close for a moment as the music crescendoed. “Please, tell me you’re happy. After all this time, I think you deserve it.”


The Somberlain

Thus far he had been disappointed by all this Ball had to show. He had expected a show of utter decadence and high culture, but all he had seen was doldrums and boredom. From his vantage point near the entrance, The Somberlain had been able to watch all the dancing couples, a few of whom he knew beneath their vulpine and ursine attire. While making a mental note to approach the one in the fox mask later, The Somberlain bemoaned the lack of a real dynamic here. Everything was so neat and orderly. He missed the Elder Days. Those had been truly decadent parties. Even before he became such as he was now, he remembered attending bacchanals that stretched on for days. Ah, the days of swords and blood and sacred rage! But those days were long passed now, the fires of the flesh had given way to towers of the mind, the lords locked themselves away in high lofty peaks to study rather than to experience. Wisdom was now counted by page numbers rather than memories.

Humans were obnoxious and uninteresting. They’re lives were too fleeting, too bright to have any last impact or notice. The Elves too, were humorless and dull. This Ball had the potential to peak with wild frenzy, yet everything was buttoned down and kept restrained.

That’s when he noticed her.

Just as he was able denounce this gathering and perhaps collapse the roof on the lot of them, he noticed a woman dressed cleverly in the guise of a ship (Vingilótë) moving through the other party goers. She was different somehow. There was something unique about her, something lupine. While outwardly she displayed nothing different from her fellows, there was something in the way she moved, in the way she carried herself, a look in her eyes, that set her apart and caught his interest.

With a fluid, unnatural grace, The Somberlain moved through the crowd until he was at her side, his massive frame towering over her, the beak of his mask casting a long shadow.

“Something tells me that you are more used to the wild hinterlands than gold encrusted palaces, but you move with the same amount of ease and grace in either.” Hidden beneath dark glass and leather, his iridescent eyes washed over her figure. “Tell me, what bemusing pseudonym have you adopted for the evening?”


The Huntress

The world was laid before her. She’d never felt such freedom. In fact, she felt so much freedom that she almost dared not move or disturb it in any way lest she break the illusion and ruin the evening. For the length of a song she watched the dancers move through a complicated set of movements that made The Huntress feel as though she was watching a version of the wind as it moved back and forth and created the swirling airs. It was hypnotic. It was also very intimidating. The Huntress watched and tried to memorize the movements of the dancers, but as soon as she thought she had it down they did something different and she was soon lost again. Still, it was mesmerizing to watch. Finally, though, she felt like it was time to ask someone to dance. Butterflies began to pound out an incessant beat in her stomach, but excitement was mixed with the fear and trepidation. Nervously, she looked around until she saw someone she thought might make an interesting partner. They were dressed as a snow-white owl (The Snowy Owl), a delightful and intricate design. She couldn’t tell if the figure beneath was a man or a woman, but even without the masks hiding their features, The Huntress had had a difficult time discerning between genders in the elder race, they were a race that looked fair and beautiful and strong regardless. She took a deep breath, combed her fingers nervously through her hair, and moved along the edges of the dance floor until she came closer.

“Hi,” she said a little more cheerfully than she had at first intended. “Sorry, I don’t mean to interrupt. I, uh, I mean, sorry,” she began to turn a bright said of red under her rabbit half-mask, she cleared her throat and took another deep breath. “Would you like to dance?” she asked with a quaver in her voice.


OOC: ( Quote taken from L.M. Montgomery's "Anne's House of Dreams")
Strange Fruit got holes in the flesh but it ain't gonn' spoil cause it never was fresh

Black Númenórean
Points: 2 528 
Posts: 1866
Joined: Thu May 14, 2020 3:21 am
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He took her by the hand, and there was a kind of radiant understanding between them; of all the time that had passed, and all that remained unspoken. There would be time, now, to discover what each had done in their separate journeys of life since parting, but for the moment, periwinkle eyes met amber, and like the slow time captured by the resin from which his took their color, they were reunited in friendship. The strife that had marred their last meeting had faded into the ages, overshadowed by both time and far greater tragedy. The words that had scorched the air between them were as mist, evaporated with the dawn of regret and better days. They moved in harmony once again, and as The Galedeep spoke of the winter balls of the Elder Days, One Who Runs With Deers allowed her eyes to roll back, exhaling a long sigh of happy memory. She remembered dancing with him then, and there, in the snow-covered hall of their king, his firm grip propelling her into the next exuberant move of the country dances through which they had reveled.

And for the merest of moments, The Galedeep’s hands were replaced by a different pair in her mind’s eyes, and his otter-masked face with one ruddy-cheeked and grey-eyed. One Who Runs With Deers smiled again at her partner’s assertion of uncertainty. How recently had she spoken those same words to the shade of her twin? But before she could commiserate, The Galedeep pulled her close. Even as the music rose about them it seemed to recede, and there was only the two of them, though the throng moved about. Please, tell me you’re happy, he implored, and she thought. Hers had been a life disrupted by war and despair; exile, and loss. The highest highs overwhelmed by the lowest depths for the longest time, and the separation from those whom she loved acute. She had known true happiness of many stripes, and known also how fleeting such happiness could be. But happiness, as a general state of being? How long had it been since she had felt that? When had she last paused to consider whether she might be?

I have to believe he would want me to be happy. The sudden recollection of what she had said to The Sunflower on the day following that fateful Laer ball came back to One Who Runs With Deers in a flash, and squeezing The Galedeep’s shoulder with her hand as the corner of her mouth quirked up and a fathomless quality entered her gaze. “If you had asked me that not so many years ago, I could not have given you the answer you desire. But.. do you know, I think I am. It has taken a long, long time to arrive at such a place, but I think I have. Despite having no idea what I’m doing, really.” One Who Runs With Deers laughed softly, and reality seemed to reassert itself, the music loud again, and the movement of the crowd a riot of motion and color of which they were part. “What did we have in those days but our convictions? And our extravagant balls? Only you and I here know the truth of Thargelion’s light,” her voice was a loving whisper as she spoke the name of the land of pines, and the joy had returned to its silver tones. “and I wouldn’t trade that for anything.” She tilted her head in question.

“And you, Galedeep? Are you happy?”



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Vingilótë was still reveling in the amusement of her encounter with the bold Galedeep and had selected another fine glass of wine to indulge in when she felt the presence approach her. It had entered the hall while she had been dancing with the otter-masked nér, and touched her faintly when she departed from him. But such things were not her concern this night- at least, not until he had decided to seek her out. If she had possessed hackles in her current guise, they would have risen; as it was, the back of her neck prickled, and Vingilótë turned to face The Somberlain as he drew near. He towered over her, an unusual occurrence in any company, and as he halted close to her, she knew what, if not who, he was. It did not take much acquaintance with his kind to become accustomed to identifying them, and extended proximity made the task all the easier. Vingilótë’s eyes regarded him steadily over the rim of her goblet as she took a deep draft of wine, seeking the eyes behind the mask. She lowered the goblet, and swallowed. “You are most perceptive. And I would venture to suspect the same is true of you. Tonight I am Vingilótë,” she swept him up and down with her gaze, before returning to the mask, “and you? I suspect have taken the name of nothing so fair.”


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“A most appropriate name for your profession!” The Wolf replied as The Grapevine divulged her profession, “And no wonder you are such an expert on the vintages of the evening.” He nodded in response to her earlier question. “Aye, I do- well, not alone completely, but without a partner. I am escorting a young woman under my care tonight, but not so young that she needs chaperoning every moment!” He joined The Grapevine in observing The White Flame and his partner in their flamboyant dance. Though The Wolf could not claim to understand precisely what was happening in that dance, the pair seemed to be enjoying themselves, and with an amused shrug he joined The Grapevine in applauding the duo as they concluded their dance. “Well,” he said when the applaused had died down, pausing to drain the goblet the elleth had given him and setting the glass aside, “I cannot claim to be a dancer of quite the same exuberance as he, but I flatter myself that I might be able to keep up with the twisting steps of a Grapevine. If you would honor a simple man such as I with a dance?”


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No sooner had The Vixen set her hands in his than The Sundering Sea pulled her onto the dance floor, wrapping his free arm around her waist and diving immediately into the steps of the dance currently circling the crowd. One who dared to take her name from the nimble fox, and who displayed such skills as she had with The White Flame would not doubt keep up with ease! “Daring and foolish, both virtues required to treat with the sea, if one wishes any adventure!” He winked at The Vixen from behind his mask. “And I welcome your hunt to my territory. But a woman of such stature is a rare thing, and I dare speculate there may be more of the sea about you than the fox belies. Tell me, what brings the Vixen to our northern shores? Unless she came merely to prey upon the sea, in which case I surrender freely.”


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With graceful steps, The Sunflower danced Lady Redback gently to the periphery of the throng, until there was a clear path to the nearest table laid with food and drink. As he led his partner towards it, The Sunflower murmured a quick request to a passing server, and by the time he was depositing Lady Redback in a comfortable chair, the server had reappeared with a glass of water, proffering it to her on a tray. The Sunflower bowed low over Lady Redback’s hand, giving it a chaste and gentlemanly kiss. “I hope you will feel steadier soon, and perhaps we may see each other again before the festivities are over!” As they had made their way to the side of the ballroom, The Sunflower had caught sight of his friend heading his way with intent, and he smiled at Lady Redback with a courteous nod. “For now I beg you excuse me, dear Lady!”

The Sunflower began to make his way through the crowd, which might have necessitated shouldering were he not both so lithe and adept at moving through crowds- though the possibility that his jingling bells alerted those around to his movement could not be discounted either. At last The Sunflower reached The Fire of Motion, and reached out to clasp his arm with delight. “What a vision of fiery color you are tonight! How splendid! Come, you must show me how your flames dance!” The Sunflower pulled The Fire of Motion onto the dance floor with an exuberant leap and tumultuous ringing of bells to join the swirling crowd. “And I saw you had a most enchanting partner to test your embers,” he continued as they moved, “tell me, did you enjoy your dance with Lady M- ah, I should say, One Who Runs With Deers? I have been fortunate enough to experience her partnership myself, and it is indeed an experience, is it not!”


((OOC Laintaen: Please excuse my godmode! :smooch:))
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Evil is a lifestyle | she/her

Guardian of Imladris
Points: 273 
Posts: 91
Joined: Sun Sep 13, 2020 6:00 pm
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The Silver Eagle entered the ballroom. He took a few steps away from the main door and then stood still for some time to look around at the happening. Instantly The Silver Eagle was filled with amazement by the costumes and disguises that were chosen for the night and the music and the decoration seemed to fill the room and everyone with joy. To The Silver Eagle it seemed like time would stand still here; There was no aggression, only harmony.

The Silver Eagle's own outfit consisted of a silver robes, that contained different tones of grey and white embroidered highlights. Furthermore, he wore a silver cloak in the form of wings that was neatly assembled with white feathers. On his head he wore a silver helmet that disguised his identity, which also was full of detail and attached to its top was an ornament which resembled the form of an eagle's beak.

After a while, however, The Silver Eagle got curious about what was going on outside, since it has also been far too long since he has last seen gardens of Lindon. So, he decided to head towards them and perhaps he would even walk into someone that was familiar to him, or perhaps that someone would walk into him...

New Soul
Points:
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The Cloud With a Silver Lining
in The Orchard of Lord Círdan with The King of Feathers and The Queen of Starlight

@Tharmáras

He had failed to notice the furless two-legged walkers approach. How long had they been watching him exactly? Would they attempt to steal his succulent prize from its burial location? Bearing these questions in mind, The Cloud With a Silver Lining warily beheld an astonishingly beautiful walker with her two lower limbs flashing momentary exposure from the white curtains of her gown. His instincts told him she meant no harm as she folded down and over to stroke his belly.

The touch of her smooth immaculate hands ran over his canine physique, sending a pleasant tingling sensation shooting through him all the way to his extremities. The Cloud With a Silver Lining twitched in ecstasy as she uttered sweet affirmations to him, to which he barked twice in response. Yes, yes I am, he replied in the animal-tongue, panting as she pressed a pair of soft lips between the scope of his vision above his cotton-dappled mask.

He whined when she stopped. Had he done something wrong? Was the goodest boy in all Lindon not deserving of further affection? The Cloud With a Silver Lining rolled over onto the belly of his silver-buttoned vest, as the walkers seemed to be distracted by the presence of a sudden stone tree. He rose to the pads of his four feet and approached to inspect it. How queer. It had not been there a minute ago, or had he failed to notice it in addition to the walkers?

The Cloud With a Silver Lining barked, dropping his black moist nose to the base of the stone tree and encircling it once as he sniffed. He exhaled a warm stream of air from his nostrils. The stone tree had not been marked… very strange. He had tagged every stone tree from here to the green-leafed fruity rivers in Harlindon but somehow it would seem that he had missed this particular one. Oh well, only one thing to do.

He positioned himself parallel to the stone tree and raised his right hind leg to the starry sky, as was the usual procedure, but before he could drench it with his golden trademark, the voice of his emel - his mother - rang through his canine mind, from folded ear to folded ear:


“I don’t want you to get into any trouble tonight… Go on then, have fun, but be a good boy for your emel.”

The Cloud With a Silver Lining brought his upraised leg slowly down and back to the grassy earth, almost wishing he had failed to remember the words of his mother. He barked once at the stone tree and followed it with a low growl emanating from the base of his doggy throat. You are safe stone tree, for now at least, he warned it in canine speech, returning to the lady walker with his tail wagging and hoping she would pet him again.
*

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The Mother of Pearl
with Aulë; leaving the dance floor heading in the direction of The Gardens

@Fuin Elda and @Tharmáras

Aulë had freed them both from the clutches of The White Flame’s cloak with deft gloved hands. “You are a most delightful companion to have around Great Smith,” she declared with an affectionate smile, nodding her approval as they strode over to the long table where The Mother of Pearl had mentioned a moment earlier that an assortment of Woodland vintages could be found. “Aman, you say? I am not the least bit surprised to be honest, for I perceive you are far wiser and physically more capable than a large number of us here in the coastland,” she replied when her second dance partner for the night mentioned the days of his youth in the fair continent across the Sea.

“I almost envy you,” followed The Mother of Pearl, raising two golden rainbow-jeweled goblets filled with the berry-infused Thranduil’s Select wine and proferring him one, “For I was born among the Falathrim, the Teleri who chose to remain in Beleriand by the will of Ossë, Maia of Ulmo. I never beheld the Light of the Two Trees and I fear I will not for some time until my Lord departs from these shores.”

She linked arms with her new friend as they descended the short stairway to the gardens of the manse beyond the confines of the ballroom, and they found themselves not alone once there. Among those in the cultivated public space was an Elf woman of sheer loveliness, wearing a gown of verdant brilliance and adorned with varying golden accents. The trail of her perfume lingered yet at the bottom of the staircase and The Mother of Pearl beheld The Woman Crowned with the Sun with curiosity and awe. Further, her eyes beheld another guest, dressed in notable shades of blue. The King of Feathers looked rather familiar, but she could not be certain, perhaps she did not know him at all. He seemed to be in the company of another, who was possibly even fairer than the green-garbed Woman. The Queen of Starlight was robed snuggly in a gown tailored from delicate fabric, the color of pale winter snow. The light of a sea-colored star glinting from her long, ornate dangling earrings. Below her at her side, a shaggy sheepdog wearing a white velvet mask and sheep’s wool upon its back wagged its tail in contentment. How adorable to have such a creature in our presence and in its own costume as well, she thought, feeling the urge in her heart to caress The Cloud With a Silver Lining at the first possible chance.

“Are any of these attendants familiar to you Vala?” she asked Aulë, whose own attention seemed to be set intently on the individual garbed in shimmering dark satin and masked with the webbed spread-out digits of a bat. Some individuals attend a masquerade as someone they are not, others will dress to show who they truly are, thought The Mother of Pearl, her gray eyes falling upon the pained Emperor of Shadows with a flicker of disdain.

*

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Ulmo, Lord of Waters
speaking with The Lady of Flame and witnessing all the activity in The Gardens from The Balcony

@Fuin Elda and @Tharmáras

Hannad heruin. I thank you,” replied Ulmo, after being politely and affectionately chided by The Lady of Flame. “I would not ask any of whom I am well-acquainted with now nor in the days to come, to be anything less than sincere in these regards. Nor would I have your mother, who now dwells in the Blessed Realm, see me feign ignorance in your presence.” He clasped her hand as it wiped away the remnants of his recent dessert and smiled, goodwill and admiration playing across the aged features of his masked face. “Still,” he added somewhat somberly, “I remember a time when attendants of a springtime celebration such as this understood the importance of suspending their disbelief for the sake of merrymaking and mystery filled with voluntary wonder. Perhaps the cares of this world have grown too bleak for those dwelling in it now and seeking departure from it to do so again as they once did.”

Ulmo chuckled softly at the mention of his beard and the inarguable intelligence of those who served him and his guests tonight. “Ah, but who can say I am the only Firstborn with a waterfall of strands descending from their chins tonight?” he remarked gleefully, “Or the entirety of Middle-earth for that matter? History is not written by the memory of any one person alone my honest lady. I know of the stubble-faced Nelya of whom you speak, for he is close to me in counsel and his congenial demeanor is known to me just as well as his illustrious silver whiskers, yet even he is not the only ancient who still resides upon these lands with evidence to his great age. For now, even with so many of our kind sailing into the West, there is a small number of such people who still tread with silence feet under the shadows of tall trees from the Grey Havens to the heart of Caras Galadhon. You may perhaps find another here in attendance or in your future travels. Both eyes open, mellon. Both eyes open.”

Even as the Lord of Waters spoke of long-lived beings and the ever-receding presence of the Elves in Middle-earth, he felt a tension rise in his physical body as if caught between two warring factions of unseen power, and looking upon The Lady of Flame, Ulmo took notice of her faltering state of mind and spirit however much she attempted to conceal either one and though he could not gaze upon what or who had overcome the very essence of her, Ulmo knew she had been perturbed.

”I will join you perhaps, in a moment,” he replied with wavering consideration when The Lady of Flame took her leave of him and began her descent into the gardens. When she had gone, Ulmo called for a small piece of parchment and an ink-dipped quill to be brought to him by a server. He wrote upon it hastily and asked that it be delivered to the one known tonight as The Gull. Stepping over to the marble baluster of the balcony, the Lord of Waters placed both hands upon the ledge and peered with Elven sight upon those below amidst his flowers and orchards. He had fully understood the risk of attracting individuals of an unsavory nature to his mansion in light of a disguised event but should any negative happenings occur, all pleasantries would be withdrawn and the might of the Ruler of Lindon not be executed kindly upon those seeking to make trouble or cause harm.

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The Gull
dancing with The Blue Bear and moving in the direction of The Balcony

@A BEAR A BEAR @Fuin Elda and @Tharmáras

“The Blue Bear... I find that name title very suitable from what I can see,” said The Gull with a smile in his serene voice, taking notice again of the many similar hues in the attire of the man before him. “Oh, by all means, lead us in this ballroom promenade,” he replied, as the sea-bird was led to the dance floor by the beguiling Blue Bear. “You need not worry about the level of your dancing skills my painted fellow, for despite the legendary superiority of the Elves in all things, I myself cannot attest to any sublime capabilities in my own musical footwork. I may even ask that you be patient with me as we sway about.”

As they cut across the marble floor of the ballroom in lively strides, The Gull clasped one hand with that of The Blue Bear and the other he placed firmly against the back of his dance partner’s right-side shoulder blade. Gray wings extending from beyond the strikingly white robes of The Gull trailed as they stepped in time to the swells of ever-playing melodies the musicians tonight were courteous enough to provide. “Such events have become more prominent in recent days,” he shared, in reference to an earlier comment made by The Blue Bear. “While it is true that the Quendi have always had their share of great feasts and dances, here in Lindon we have had not much of either since the passing of our King Gil-galad in that war of long ago. The majority of us since the fall of the fair ruler have occupied much of our time lingering about these shores, waiting for whatever the future should entail. Good or ill.”

The Gull listened attentively as The Blue Bear paraphrased a thematic text he had read at one point in time, ending with a surprising inquiry. “Well,” said The Gull thoughtfully, choosing his next words carefully, “I suppose the significance of ‘the gull’ to my own self would mean… the inevitable.” He smiled bittersweetly beneath the mask that concealed the entirety of his face. “The long-foreseen and inevitable withdrawal of my people from these parts of the world. When we have finished constructing the last of the white ships in the likeness of swans as our kin across the Ancient Shores did once in the jeweled waters of Alqualondë before their own blood was spilled upon their fair piers. When we will whisper our last goodbyes to the skies above Endor and bid farewell to the green-strewed earth blanketed upon this continent. When we will raise white sails against the wind and by the blessing of the Sea Lord and the other High Powers, we will make our way to where death will be but a distant memory and tears we will shed no more. When our time will end and the time of others will begin…”

He paused for a moment before speaking again. “Yet, I do not conceive these words with an entirely heavy heart,” followed The Gull, contentment rising in his voice once again, “I would not have paid tribute to this symbol of inevitability if I was entirely sorrowful at its meaning. For, like myself, many of my kind share in utmost eagerness to deliver these lands to the rulership of others so that we might, at last, join our friends upon the glistening lawns beyond the Sea and see those we have long been parted from once again.” With this, the song to which both gentlemen had waltzed to came to an end. Releasing his intriguing dance partner, The Gull stepped back and bowed. “It was an honor to have shared in this dance with you Blue Bear, perhaps our paths will cross again later. However, if this be our only encounter, then may you find much joy in your time here in the manor our Lord and take with you all the blissful memories you can acquire before returning from whence you set out from to be here in the Havens with us.”

Pivoting to the where wine and food had been set for all, The Gull came face-to-face with a server and a note addressed to him. Opening the parchment, it read: He is here. The Gull quickly folded the memo into an interior pocket of his layered robes in his chest and moved in the direction of the grand balcony. They had promised to avoid the company of the other while the masquerade was underway for the sake of maintaining their true identities unknown, but it seemed a concern had piqued the interest of Lord Círdan. The Gull only hoped it was a minor issue and not something grievous.

*

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The Grapevine
speaking and then dancing with The Wolf

@Moriel

The Grapevine smiled with affectionate charm. Her first dance at the masque would come to pass and with a handsome partner as well. “You may certainly have this dance gallant Wolf, and the honor is entirely mine” she expressed generously, offering a gloved hand for him to accept and lead the green-clad, jewel-adorned elleth to the pulsating heart of the ballroom. The Wolf made no guarantee of animated capabilities and to this The Grapevine sighed with relief. “I should hope not,” she replied with a sweetened laugh, “Lest I find myself flailing my arms at my sides vigorously and send these emerald gloves flying straight from the tips of my fingers and onto the marble of the floor beneath us all.”

When they found themselves coming face-to-face on the dance floor, The Grapevine took a confident step towards The Wolf and slipped her long ivory arms around the base of his neck, clasping her hands behind him. She took precaution in doing so, as to not wrap her arms around him too tightly and make it difficult for them both to move. A fitting stance for The Grapevine it would seem, for just then, the musicians struck up a mellow tune. Perhaps the most unhurried rhythmically and softened melody of the night. The aria of an Elven singer with red-painted lips and shrouded by the see-through designs of a black lace veil stepped before the orchestra in full wordless song. Her spellbinding vocals rose with trembling delicacy and were attended by the slow rising and descent of string bows behind her.

Visions of passing years and distant peoples from centuries and kingdoms long gone, resonated in the mind of The Grapevine as she began to sway gently with The Wolf. She wondered what thoughts of imagination had the magic song of the enchantment-tongued vocalist deposited in his own mind and in addition, she wondered to herself where her pet and companion The Cloud With a Silver Lining had gone to and if he would cause any special disasters she would undoubtedly have to clean up. He was a well-behaved sheepdog overall, but as his owner the past several years, she had often found herself tidying up after his messy trails frequently.

*

Image

The Nightingale
entering the mansion of Lord Círdan and speaking with The Silver Eagle

@Legolas

Ascending the long distance to the white-marbled mansion overlooking the Gulf of Lhûn, she stepped over slabs of pale stone with muted footfalls. The wide expanse of her olive-brown ballgown raised by the strength of her hands to avoid dragging the decorative seams of her bouffant skirts across the face of each step. Twisted shimmering bronze metal, curved into a loop around her neck in a fashionable torc, wrought with knobs at its ends and ornamented with the depiction of small birds set with little onyx eyes in a ring of white lacquer. The ecru bodice of her corset-cover descending from a low décolletage, but not so low as to be distastefully immodest. The light of Tilion in the night Lindonese sky was mirrored in the crystals beaded in sequin tassels from her waist to the hem of her gown.

The Nightingale arrived and with two armed guards following her every move. A pair of Halcyon soldiers clad in mail hauberks beneath surcoats displaying the kingfisher sigil of the Valley forces, a requirement from her Lord and atar back home and the only reason she had been allowed to depart under the cover of darkness and attend the seafront soirée. Her mask had been made by the skill of her own hands, for her needlework was of notable prestige among her people, and pressed together with the very plumage of the song-filled bird she meant to imitate in her guise. Vanes of tawny feathers protruding from the mask that began at her brow and concealed her symmetrical face to just above the cupid's bow of her gold-tinted lips.

While her love was unlikely to be in attendance tonight as a result of the wilds having grown thick with danger in recent years, The Nightingale would occupy herself in the company of others no less worthy. She espied The Silver Eagle from afar, sporting a reflective helmet of silver-make, and recognized the son of Thranduil by the power within her. I must speak with him at once, she thought in her delight, looking at the armored sentinels at her side, but how can I clandestinely maintain my true nature and status unknown with such companions astride of me. I shall have to detach myself inconspicuously from their ever-present gaze and offer them an earnest apology when the night is over.

She swept away from her personal guard with a forthwith stride, and by the power of the blessed blood coursing within her, was lost to them. The Nightingale made a beeline to The Silver Eagle, materializing before him with an aura of faint golden light. “Mae g'ovannen oh noble friend of friends,” she uttered with an inclination of her head; lace braids of raven-black hair interwoven with meticulous care falling over her bared white shoulders as she did so. “Perhaps you may remember me by the name I was bestowed at the time of my birth. Perhaps you may have heard this name uttered by the lips of he who has my heart. Nevertheless, I do not bear that name tonight, for under the full circumference of the Moon I have become The Nightingale. By what name do you go by in this masque my Woodland kin?” The Nightingale smiled warmly as she spoke and the Princess of Rivendell looked upon The Silver Eagle as she waited for his reply.
Last edited by Farewell on Mon Nov 16, 2020 6:26 am, edited 2 times in total.

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The Vixen

A swirl of blue and white fabric engulfed the slender figure of The Vixen as she and The Sundering Sea spun onto the dance floor. Her skirts swirled slightly, and the deep red eyes of the fox which wound around her bare arm winked in the candlelight. She smiled politely at his quip about treating with the sea. “The sea and I have a long history,” she admitted. Memories of sudden, explosive flame and the rush of water turned her expression momentarily serious. A few beats of song passed before her eyes’ usual mischievous luster returned. “It has taken much from me. But you, my dear, are a far more inviting incarnation than the true waves sparkling beneath the stars.”

They continued moving in coordinated elegance along with the rest of the dancers. “I am here seeking both pleasure and profit,” she stated simply in reply to his query. A stranger need not know the full reasons she and her companion had arrived in the haven. With a playful pout drawing down her lips, she went on. “Regardless of why the fox finds herself in these lands, you must see how you bring conflicting instincts into play: I hunt for indulgence and find you willing prey, yet you have taken the form of my adversary. So tell me, Sundering Sea,” she whispered, “what would you advise? Shall the fox dive in with abandon, or flee from the merciless waves?”
she/her | Esta tierra no es mía, soy de la nocheósfera.

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Aulë
with The Mother of Pearl ; The Gardens


He smiled and accepted the proffered goblet of wine and gave her a small chuckle. "I am afraid I am not as old as I appear though in spirit I am. I am afraid I have only the memory of the Light of the trees, and the memory as well of their darkening when they were struck down by Morgoth." He said softly sipping at his wine. "So you have seen already all that is left of their blessed light in this world already though you may not know it." As they strode out of the hall and towards the garden he pointed with his wine goblet to Tilion. "Behold the last fruit of Telpirion, and Earendil. The Silmaril of Air, the only light that is the blending of the light of the two trees in their untarnished form." He said with a smile "Alas Arien is not out though it is probably for the best Tilion was horrible at keeping away from her those first days and still oft burns his face black at coming too near her." He said with a chuckle.

He looked about as she asked if he knew any of those here. From here he did not. "I am afraid my lady, that I am unsure of who most people are, I have only recovered my memories for the last few years, and have not had a chance to see everyone once again after so many years had passed so many look so different to me. I only hope that the woman I seek who is of similar birth to you, being Nandor and having never seen the light, is still as I remember her or I should be sorely lost-" He paused seeing the look upon her face at the site of the one he had guessed playing Namo. She was displeased to see him.

"Are you alright? Should we move away from him?" He asked softly not knowing who he was to see him from here though he caught sight of a woman garbed in black coming up behind the Emperor of Shadows and she... She had wrath upon her face and her eyes were fixed on the man. "Or... Do you wish to see what she is going to do to him. I almost fear there is a Fourth Kinslaying about to happen with the look upon that womans face." He said motioning then to the Lady of Flame, though he knew not what she was called. "I'd say a balrog is descending upon him, though I think he should probably wish a balrog than that angry woman. I know for sure I would not like that wrath descending upon me." He said softly, for the distaste she'd displayed towards the Emperor of Shadows she may in fact want to see what this woman who looked like a dark moving flame did to him.


The Lady of Flame
The Gardens


She smiled and bowed her head a smile playing on her face as the Lord of the Sea clasped her hand kindly and let her know that her own hints at her past had been enough for him to know who she was. She had been quite insistent with him in the First Age to get her mother to the West when she did not think there was any other way for her to heal the wound that had been caused by the death of her father in the Second Kinslaying she did not know if he would join her shortly. Perhaps it would be better if he did not. She was not sure he would enjoy what she had planned to do to the ellon that had so trespassed upon her. "I shall most certainly keep both eyes open, kind Lord Ulmo" She said and turned and followed where the two elves had gone before she was perhaps fifty feet behind them, her chin tipped down and her eyes fixed on the retreating back of the limping ellon. She did not know what Lord Cirdan would do if she did this elf harm but she would accept those consequences she had no doubt that he had felt something happen with how he had reacted. Perhaps he had turned aside so that he would not have to see her bloody this fool. She had a very good idea of exactly who it was and she had every intention of causing him far more pain than she had when he had touched her fea.

As she descended into the garden she missed all others that were there, including The Mother of Pearl and Aule, as well as The King of Feathers and the Queen of Starlight, the only other person she realized was there was in fact the Lady Crowned in the Sun and that was because she was holding onto the ellon that she had every intention of teaching a lesson in manners. Which may need Elrond to fix his fea when she was through with him. Her brilliant red upper lip was pulled back in a snarl, and any that did see her knew that danger was approaching indeed she was the embodiment of Flames raging and consuming for the moment.

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The Phoenix
Unashamed Arrival at the Ballroom

A capricious gambol raised her out of darkness; the nimble silhouette gathering distinction with each step. Come at last, her riot of colour lit up the entrance for as long as it might please her to present there, pressing both ivoried hands together in a barely smothered release of delight. The prestigious event at Lord Cirdan’s manse was well underway by now, having crested to a point where she was summoned seemingly into being, by the rites of such merriment all about.

Descending into the opulent arena, orbited by a veritable carousel of colour and chaos, tiny golden heeled shoes birthed a pair of brazen sunlit ribbons in some haphazard race to climb, to showcase, their entwine of the elleth’s slender ankles. An asymmetrical handkerchief hem drenched in merlot red discouraged any further study of those supple legs however, for their canopy cascaded like a crumpled bell down from her tapered waist, festooned by thin ribbons of medallion gold thread. The sleeveless body which arose of such a nest evolved to a writhing ambience, seeking it would seem, to consume all her upper half. A startling collision of claret and carnelian, carried over tides of burnt ochre, extending the bold veins of dawn into a cresting bertha formed of both blushing wine and sun-kissed feather plumage that softened her feminine swell.

She was the Phoenix, crowned by titian tresses which were strewn with immodest flowering garnets; these in turn set within delicate leaves of gold filigree, shaped for curling maple. A matching feathered wrap was quite superfluous, hung about her shoulders, yet designed for a toolful accessory. Now she spun slow round and around where she stood, a golden shimmering clamour of rosegold bangles that rose and cascaded down each equally animated arm, like burgeoning wings. They failed to quench the intensity of piercing sea-blue eyes, cooled in a mask of flame-red feathers, nor to still the coral lips which were poised at the point of laughter’s liberation. For a time it appeared she had forgotten all else but the euphoria that abounded, and then, swift as ever she had come upon their gaudy flock, the Phoenix skipped gaily back toward the entrance; seeking for some thing that she had left behind. For the thing which she had come here to appreciate was not astoundingly apparent. And the sooner she had set the one purpose in motion, she could see about enjoying the other.



She of Smoke and Mirrors
Reluctantly edging into the Ballroom

Smoke and Mirrors; the name was her own conception, unlike all else about the elleth in this absurd hour. An illusion, an enchantment, an outright lie had gazed back in blinking wonder at her reflection from the looking glass, and the only consolation she might find in all of the ridiculous glitz and glamour was that nobody should recognise her. Her startled charcoal eyes sat each at the epicentre of a dark-powdered explosion that speckled out in diminishing shadow across her otherwise ashen cheek. A lazy mist of midnight lacework slunk across her brow and swooped down to obscure the top half of her face. As though she were a widow, lamenting her loss of that good sense which would (and should) have discouraged her attendance.

The usual cowl of sable, ink-stained hair had been teased upon this alien eve to a wildly crimped miasma that swarmed to a fall above her elbow, and frequently startled her as it ghosted into her line of sight. The least fanciful of all costumes they’d flung at her, the end result was still a sheer swathe constructed of soft tiered mist; it’s muted charm tastefully crisscrossed in a fold over her flat chest. An ambitious effort to raise some figure. The wavering shade of a saturated cloud blended unto a darker, wide band meant to define her waist, the steep fall of the shifting long skirt swooped low enough to disguise any misstep she might make and be judged upon. She almost had begrudged the length which concealed two smart, black ankle-heeled boots, the only issue of the whole outfit which she could not find fault with. Still those self same shoes had led her here, the traitors ! Let them cower in the shadow and their shame ..

Fluttered wisps of sleeve were all that orbited the elleth’s slight shoulders, so that she was very conscious of her bare arms’ debut. She had refused the velvet choker offered, electing instead for a many times coiled leather thong, which snared her pale throat to hang a single, swinging selenite pendant. Even this though clunked with incongruity against her skin and caused her want to cast it’s simple decoration from her self. She was Smoke and Mirrors indeed. And about to turn back in disgust at herself when the Phoenix caught her by one hand and led the begrudging elleth to know her first time not stood as a mere sentry to the door of a grand ball.

I promised I would come,” She of the Smoke and Mirrors deemed arrival, it would seem, to be fulfilment of her vow, and turned wishfully to depart. She had already lasted far longer in this crazed mission than she had expected and all in all things showed small promise of improvement.


Now you are here ..” the feathered inferno coaxed, little understanding that she asked too much. The Phoenix did not sigh though, for she had much experience with souls so obstinate of course. She had ensured the attendance of such a one this very hour. Such a one who appeared soon at hand, both fortunate and entirely fore-planned.


The Blizzard
Blasting disregard in the Ballroom

She always dressed in white, and this day was no exception. A spiderweb tracery of fine spun snowflakes made up the entirety of her long gown, close fit yet not restrictive, for all that every motion was subtle. She might cross the room without your ever noticing she had set forth. From a distance she appeared but a colourless blur, the raiment complimenting her albino complexion as though she were forged wholly out of snow itself. Yet she might have worn this gown any given day of any random week. Her ‘costume’ if you like was as one who would attend such a grand frivolity. In that surprising turn of events she was not herself at all, and if she were not recognised it was because she was so little known. But still compared to Smoke and Mirrors, she might as well have been at home here.

The Blizzard allowed the fur-trimmed fringe of her garb to hover just far enough up from the floor to cast but suggestion, that a subtle levitation was at work here. Certainly no step was heard. A chalky landslide of a train served her as shadow, trailing the length of her turned back, that none might come in reach without their tread announcing their proximity. She found herself stood before the Phoenix and the Smoke and Mirrors so that both glanced her way for a solution to their debate.

We are all here now ..” the flamehaired Phoenix appeared to conclude, yet there was a note of uncertainty aimed at the Blizzard’s glacial expression. Behind her delicate embroidered mask of snowy lace, the pallid amazon … did not disagree; encouraging the Phoenix to glance about the ballroom for some clarity. But of all the ballrooms in all of Endor, there never had been a one with so many elves of star-coloured hair. She glanced at the likely candidates for whom she had been promised would attend .. and found none of them likely enough to convince her. In time, the flaming maiden turned her attention instead unto an artful net of silvered rivulets, beaded with miniscule crystals which was woven all about the Blizzard’s blinding hair. You would gift me some small clue ?” the Phoenix expected, well, not entirely expected to be satisfied. But dragged her gaze away from the alluring decoration nonetheless.

You came here to dance,” the unrelenting Blizzard served up memory, and a tranquil dismissal for the redhead, before her own ice-rimed eyes further explored the unimpressed brunette. The elder Teleri tilted her head aside and appraised the younger. Without further explanation, she extended a hand to Smoke and Mirrors. “You did not come here for the dance,” it took no great feat to discern. A single ring of abalone shell adorned the Blizzard’s index finger, close to hypnotising the reluctant guest as fingers trembled in an invitation few would have the gall to refuse.

I did not come for the dancing,” the allowance was given honestly. The Phoenix frowned, and surveyed the room for the real reason she had come tonight. Revelry. Romance. With this other in the works, perhaps her own at last could continue without complaint. Her heart was out there somewhere and they were due to find one another, the prize due .. a kiss. And given that her husband had known lips beyond her own, she was not beyond yearning to locate him, before they did so again.

By the time she glanced back from her longing to seek out the Blizzard, and the Smoke and Mirrors, both those had blended some place beyond all of the musical mosaic that was the dancefloor. There was not even time spared for a shrug before the Phoenix sized up the contenders who might be her quarry, or the means of gaining his attention ..
All that is gold does not glitter, not all those who wander are lost
The old that is strong does not wither, deep roots are not touched by the frost.

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The Blue Butterfly
In the gardens, with @Tharmáras

The ground could not keep her, for all that the gardens of Cirdan wore appeal that would drag at most to wonder at it’s charms. Small, black, soft-soled shoes grazed the springy turf, never laying down even their meagre weight, as though she walked on water and feared to fall still even a moment. True to her name for the evening, the Blue Butterfly teased the flowers and the bushes with the promise of her devoted attention before yet another of their number won her heart, and the young girl capered on, continuously overwhelmed by the thrills apparent. Distant voices marked the dedicated pursuit of her followers, not followers officially but peers, and yet they followed. Few might keep such a pace as did she, flitting through the undergrowth, leaping out before startled folk roamed this fertile labyrinth like a dream. A short pirouette of laughter was all the glimpse they gained of her, before some other lured her, and so aimlessly the game persevered, and she never looking close to tiring of it.

Perhaps it were the silken wings which lifted her in nimble leaps and twirls, flaring from the extension of each of her willowy arms. They trembled with her rise and fall, unravelled sails of powder blue, eddying in patterns of evolving, complimentary tones amidst tenebrous ebony veins. Glimmering with all the glamour of glass-stained windows to overcompensate for the plain, liquid azure of her short dress. This lace-up camisole was nonetheless festooned about the waist with butterfly applique, as though she stood a queen and they her tiny, clamouring acolytes. The unadorned tulle skirt projected in a gossamer cloud just short of cloaking her dark stockinged knees. It was rather a trial to wear, whilst navigating the heights of a nearby silver-barked tree, and in all honesty a Butterfly ought to have simply risen out of the dusk floral sea which vowed to cushion any fall. But she was as intrepid for adventure as she was spirited in vanquishing the great reach of nature’s tower. And so she dusted off what quota of grime and dirt besmirched her pretty dress and, fleet-footed, frisked along her dwindling stage of wood.

The height availed her to recognise several roaming constellations of folk, though recognise might not be the correct word for this circumstance. Still sapphire blue eyes outshone the black swirl of silk, rising in twinned glories of fabricated antennae, that served to mask her own identity this eve. The auburn garland of her crown-braided hair nigh lost several of the velveteen indigo flowers which had been so securely set to flourish in that nest, as she clutched at her perch, and waved uproariously at one particular passerby. He walked alone, although he did not walk far, tethered by attraction to a pair of statuesque stone lovers; Thingol and Melian of old. By contrast to their indulgent intrigue in one another, the solitary Elf seemed lonely. He might have been anyone and she would still have afforded him the same surge of excitement. The complexities of clambering back down from her heights though presented some dilemma, and after a small while of consternation beading sweat across her alabastrine brow, the Blue Butterfly rallied her nerve and trusted to the devotion which had gone into conceiving her costume for the night.

See the Butterfly !” she trilled, with emphasis on ‘fly’, and duly vaulted from the tree branch in the idyllic belief that no harm would ever befall her. Regardless of the abundant prickly holly bushes abounding.
All that is gold does not glitter, not all those who wander are lost
The old that is strong does not wither, deep roots are not touched by the frost.

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The Moon His Ill Reminder

He had drifted, for some time, by the windows and out into the garden, thinking of the world as it was many thousands of years ago. The sky over the masquerade was lit with thousands of stars--and he wondered at them, and wondered at what the elleth (The Moonless Night) had said. The stars were certainly brighter on nights when there was no moon -- and once again he found himself thinking of the time before the moon. He was a very old ellon, though his mask hid a wearying face. Everything, it seemed, had been brighter then.
So he drifted, deep in thought, and missed some time of the party. But wasn’t that how things went? Didn’t he have that awful tendency to drift, and to miss time, to spend hours or days or weeks among his groves, tending the trees, selecting--perhaps after half a century, perhaps after more--one great giant from out of whom he might bring an entire ship, a legion of spear-shafts, and an endless wealth of arrows? How could--
A laugh broke The Moon His Ill Reminder from the meloncholy, and he turned. The lights of the hall were warm, oranges and golds, the colors of autumn. He saw a red-jeweled elleth dancing, saw her spin, saw the glitter of the jewels on her fingers -- none of that spoke to him. Then she laughed again, and the laughter was hot finger of flame. He smiled. He would not let this night slip past, as he had let so many go.
The Moon His Ill Reminder returned to the hall in a wind which pulled his dark drapes and whispered of white-sailed ships and the wind in the orchards. He swept into the room with a half-smile on his half-hidden face and allowed himself to be caught in the motion of the people, swept wherever they would go--for tonight, the elves were dancing! Tonight, he would enjoy.
Finally, the motion of the crowd brought him close to a familiar face. With little resistance he parted from the rush and inclined his head respectfully. “It is good to see you again, my moonless friend. How has the night fared for you? Could I interest you in a dance? Or a drink, or a walk in the moonlight?” He laughed. The two of them, walking in the moonlight--but that was not a melancholy thought. Tonight, even an ill reminder could be beautiful.


The Forge-fire Flickering

Once the dance had her, it did not let her go. Or perhaps it was she that did not let it. The Forge-fire Flickering threw herself into dancing in the same way she threw herself ordinarily into her work. She danced with a dozen faceless elloni, and outlasted them. She spoke softly with a kind-hearted elleth, and enjoyed it all the more -- and guessed, as it happened, who was under that mask. I will write her a letter, The Forge-fire Flickering decided as soon as I am home.
When there were no free partners left, she paused and rested and drank a little. The wine went to her quickly, and soon she was dancing again, spinning and dipping, twirling--and overwhelming, she suspected, her partners. Soon they were giving way again, and she was, again, out of breath. So again, she sought refreshments, and panned the room for another dance.

(OOC: The Forge-fire flickering is BACK, y’all. If anybody would like to dance, she’s currently catching her breath and grabbing a bite. If anybody would like to insert themselves as the elleth who made such an impression on her, she’d love to talk as well.)
In the deeps of Time, amidst the Innumerable Stars

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The Moonless Night

She'd finished the glass of wine and the pastry, and for a while found herself without a dance partner, instead watching. She watched the elves spin across the floor, caught sight of some who seemed definitely not elven like herself. A few in particular caught her eye, made her breath hitch and her heart clench with memories she did not want to deal with that night unless absolutely necessary. She'd already come too close to touching on them in her conversation with the Snowy Owl.

She ate a few more bites of various foods--she'd not yet had the urge to sit and dine on a full meal, her stomach fluttering and twisting a little at this thoroughly unfamiliar though enjoyable setting--indulged in another glass of wine, and continued to watch the dancers. This time, she forced herself to watch what she'd truly come for, noting the fabrics of the costumes, the craftsmanship, and trying to decipher the theme behind each one without being told. Some were obvious, others less so, but she still found the challenge captivating and fruitful.

At some point after finishing the second glass of wine, a nameless dancer pulled her back onto the ballroom floor, and she'd become caught up in several more vigorous dances where partners switched, whirling and bouncing, with each turn of the music. She lost track of the passage of time, but eventually her very mortal stamina made itself obvious and she broke away from the dance floor. Her face was flushed, but there was a lightness in her heart that she couldn't remember the last time she'd felt it... if ever.

As she stood to the side of the room, fanning her overheated face with her hands, a figure broke away from the crowd and approached her. After a moment, she recognized him as The Moon His Ill Reminder and she smiled widely as he greeted her.

"The evening has gone well so far," the Moonless Night answered, though her voice took a teasing cant a moment later. "I think I'd enjoy some fresh air, though, so perhaps that moonlit walk, if it would not be too fraught with memories for you. But if I am a terrible conversationalist, please forgive me. It's been some time since I've mingled in a setting like this."


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The Moon His Ill Reminder

He inclined his head politely when she suggested fresh air and a walk -- and then his smile flickered, although only briefly, at her concern over the moon. Perhaps I should not have raised that. he wondered I could have given any reason for my attire here tonight, and I chose to launch into deep philosophies.... But, that harm was done. His smile returned.
“The moon and I will set aside our differences tonight, if only for a brief time. Shall we walk, then?” He offered her his arm and drifted across the floor toward the arched entranceway to the great hall.
“Don’t worry about the conversation.” The Moon His Ill Reminder remarked as they walked. “Conversation is for two people. Those people’s quirks and inconsistencies -- they are what makes one conversation different from another. If I wanted to talk to somebody who talks just like me, I’d talk to myself all the time. Tell me, though -- if you don't mind the question -- what's kept you from coming to these events? I find them -- Well, refreshing isn't quite the right word, but it's something like that. Energizing, maybe. Relieving.”
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The Moonless Night w/The Moon His Ill Reminder @Androthelm

She cringed internally as she noticed his smile falter for just a moment, but her worry of any inadvertent offense was quelled when he smiled again and offered her his arm. She slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow and, as they approached the hall's entrance, deftly unhooked the train of her gown to trail behind her again. If the Moonless Night wasn't dancing or sitting, it would be a shame not to display it. The sparkling stones sewn onto the midnight blue velvet caught the light inside the hall for just a moment, glittering, before they stepped out the door.

She couldn't hold back a soft laugh as he brought up talking to oneself. "I will confess now that a habit of mine is talking to myself, but I think it's because there have been many times in my life where I've been forced to deal with solitude. I had to learn to keep myself company when I was very young."

Her eyes were still adjusting to the dim, evening light out of doors. Even if the moon was shining, the interior of Lord Cirdan's manor was so brightly lit they might as well have captured the sun for the night and brought it indoors. But the scent of flowers and the quiet chirp of nighttime insects were already beginning to set the atmosphere, and in the distance, as they stepped further and further away from the manor and the music faded, she thought she could hear the quiet murmur of the sea.

It was her turn to falter, though, when The Moon His Ill Reminder asked why she hadn't come to these events before. The Snowy Owl had picked up on at least part of her true identity fairly quickly, but the way The Moon His Ill Reminder spoke with her seemed as if he hadn't, and that surprised her.

"Ah," she breathed. "I am, honestly, not from around here. I was in the area for a business transaction, and I had just finished that when I received the invitation to the masquerade. I have no idea how my name ended up on the guest list, but from a professional stance, it was too good of an opportunity to let pass. Back home--" her voice caught a little here. Was it home, still? Or just what she was so used to calling home? She'd been pondering that for months, and was still no closer to an answer. "--there might be grand parties and festivals, but nothing of this caliber."

The Moonless Night was curious at his chosen words to describe how he felt coming to a gala like this, though. "I would agree that something like this is not refreshing, but it might be energizing. Relief is not a feeling I would have paired with a gala, though. What makes you think if it that way?"

They rounded the corner of a shadowed pathway then, though, and as she waited for The Moon His Ill Reminder to reply, The Moonless Night found herself breathless and awestruck at the sight of the gardens. The fruit trees were in full bloom, their scent heady, and while the night sky might often be more quietly vibrant without the moonlight, there was also something to be said for the way moonlight illuminated the earth, though she would not make the observation aloud in deference to her current companion.

Arien
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The Snowy Owl

Owl-like, he could only blink his eyes and stare.

Why?

Well, because the Snowy Owl was completely stuffed with shrimp.

He was reclining on the most delightfully plush chair - a velvety blue and stuffed with something light and yielding - with his legs sprawled out and a hand - or wing, perforce - lightly resting upon his feathered stomach.

“Ooohhh,” said the Snowy Owl, with some satisfaction. He took a small sip from his goblet and let the clearly doctored punch dance across his tongue. He was also pleased to see more Birds entering the ball - he’d spotted an Eagle @Legolas, a Hawk of some sort, and a Phoenix. Quite the Parliament.
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The Moon His Ill Reminder, walking with The Moonless Night @Taethowen

He heard her hesitate and bit the inside of his cheek slightly. Had that been too forward? Or perhaps there was some gossip of which he was unaware, some holdover from another ball he had missed in the past seasons, while he had been sailing... But! The conversation continued. The Moon His Ill Reminder brought a smile back to his face when she mentioned talking to herself. “You know, I have talked to myself plenty as well. I was once driven north by storms on the sea and had to winter in the wreckage of my ship among the ice-floes of the far north. It was the dead of the coldest part of the year before I met anyone at all -- another shipwreck, another desperate survivor --- and by that point I was so desperate for conversation that I ignored the fact that he was a corsair out of Umbar. For three more moons we camped together. The need for fellowship will lead folks to the strangest circumstances.

He had to think for a moment to reply to her second point, and in that time they walked silently through the evening. The moon glittered on the silver threads of his shirt... And he shifted his cloak, almost unconsciously, to hide them.

As for my relief, well... I suppose that sort of explains it. I spend enough time talking to myself, when I’m sailing or carving the wood so that others could sail.” He listened, for a moment, to the distant sound of the sea before continuing. “Ossë is a boon companion, if his mind is in line with yours, but hardly a conversationalist. Though sometimes I’ll admit you could almost imagine...

For a moment, trailing off, he stood in silence: a dark shape in the dark evening. Then The Moon His Ill Reminder shook himself free of the reverie. “But I am sorry. I promised you that I would set aside my grievances with the world, and I have hardly done that. To answer your question: I come to these sorts of things for relief, relief for myself. I come because they are delightful, and I have spent enough time in my sorrows.
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The Moonless Night, in the gardens with The Moon His Ill Reminder @Androthelm

She managed not to trip over her own feet when The Moon His Ill Reminder mentioned the far north and a corsair out of Umbar. Managed to steer her own thoughts back, once more, to the present rather than heartaches of the past.

"...the need for fellowship will lead folks to the strangest circumstances," he said.

"It can indeed," The Moonless Night murmured in agreement, hoping to keep the sadness from her voice. Then she briefly turned her face away, hiding behind the act of investigating some nearby blooms until she was certain her heart would not compromise her composure.

They continued down the path together a moment later, as she continued to listen to his answers. His mention of carving made her lips curl into a smile again, and she wondered if he found the task as meditative as she could find her stitching.

When he mentioned Ossë, though, her brow furrowed in thought as she tried to place the name. "Ossë is..." she paused a moment, trying to figure out the right term, "a guardian of the sea, correct?"

The Moon His Ill Reminder had fallen into silence, though, his footsteps stilling. Her hand was still tucked into the crook of his elbow, and The Moonless Night waited patiently until he spoke again, answering her question about how he found relief at these galas.

"A time to mourn, and a time to dance," she spoke softly, understanding the weight of sorrow all too well herself. "Please, do not feel you must hide your grievances on my account. While I do not wish to intentionally stir any pain up, a wise friend once told me that a sorrow shared is halved in the bearing. I do not wish to pry, but if you need to simply acknowledge your grievances and sorrows to a listening ear, it is no hardship for me."

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Black Wind

Night wore on.

The cloud-kissed Moon passed over the heavens and Time, not one to be left behind, hurried at a furious pace. Yet for ones at the event down, people would think Time is standing still. Yet, it was not, for Time stands still for none.

It was now exactly midnight. The popular ever-popular Lindon Masquerade was at its peak Guests were arriving and making merry in the palace's many halls. The warm smell of food wafted a good distance out, and sounds of merrymaking were picked up by those nearby.

It was at this time that a person, who announced himself as Black Wind at the entrance, entered the Hall. Black Wind was tall for his age. His garb was simple, yet elegant and quite becoming. His mask was of gold colour, simple in design. On the edges on this mask was embossed with flowing designs, the embossing of which was golden as well. From around his mask, flowed down his jet-black, shoulder length hair. A fine velvet shirt he wore, open at the forearms and slightly on the top of chest. his forearms seemed strong and sinewey. The ivory color of his skin coupled the black and gold colors on his person was quite noticible. A black pants and shoes finished up his simple garb. Curious eyes peeked from under the mask, curious yet steady and composed. Black Wind was a young elf in his teens.

Black Wind had half-wanted to come here. In the end, he determined that he does need to meet and know the others of society. After all, connections are important. This was especially true because the elf had come from far away. Elf he was, and yet a Moriquendi. He had no love for the Eldar. He was young, yes, and he had heard tales from his mother, tales of ages back, all the way to the Sundering. This means he did not see them in a positive light yet, just like they, as he heard, did not suffer the company of a Moriquendi. Thus, he did not wish to declare his identity, for he knew that some could discern one's race with but a glance. It is, therefore, he was of two minds at first, and yet he knew the importance of knowing everyone. As a Moriquendi, perhaps a lone one in Lindon, it does not bode well to sit at home and glower on things of ages past. However, he did not expect much. He was of their own kind, at the end of the day, and bore them no ill will. Thus, Black Wind wore a neutral expression at the Ball, neither smiling nor scrolling. One could say he was tight-lipped, even though he did slightly bow his head in greetings to others in his vicinity.

He went first to the Ball Room. As said, he was from a land far away, and there there is no such finery to be seen. The light and the decorations dazzled his eyes in the beginning, but he got used to it. He observed many guests were already dancing in pairs, and some were at the long tables taking a drink or having something to eat. As he did not know anyone yet, it was to the long tables that he went first to quench his thirst with a glass of white wine. The ale of Lindon was famed, and its taste, as he slushed the drink around his tongue, said the rumours were true. Turning to the dance floor, he allowed himself a small smile that curled up on the corner of his lips. The merry-making was such that could bring life to the dead, and to stones. For now, he sat back and enjoyed the fun, but was inviting enough for conversations.

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The Phoenix
Taking full advantage of the Ballroom

She had come for the dance, not to behold it but to become. So there was not a space of time that one might count before she was about it. One nimble leg laid a glancing double tap of delicately pointed toes before her, shadowed by the other in it’s turn of mimicking the move. And so began her whimsical path about the ballroom, threading about and around all the partnered couples, in a careless disregard for doing so alone. Each bare arm threw shapes that teased the air in passing, fingers trembling like a visible pulse as the collision of warm metal bracelets dashed their muted clamour up and down her animated limbs. For a moment it appeared that she sought to take flight, the farthest reaches of her bright feathered wrap caught up in each rising, falling, limb, and then the romp deviated from it’s own design, and she was clapping with hands high, then with hands low. The pace of the music picked up, and encouraged her to do same. She did not require to be told twice.

There were disadvantages come of arriving late, most certainly that of most dance partners already ensnared. But there was also an impressive turnover, for all that there were still a few wallflowers harboured about the edges of the ballroom. Limiting herself to just one partner at a time was rather too inhibiting for her jovial mood this eve. So the Phoenix took pride in seizing up the hands of whichever soul was happened to stand within grasp, and baiting them to join in an ever-more-impressive line of revellers who wove about the hall behind her.

The play of it was chameleon; a turn taken in keen hooked arms and the merry exchange of partners, until a series of fouetté turns carried the Phoenix in their midst to a dizzying finish. There, in the breathless gasp of satisfaction, her upturned eyes found a flurry of butterflies cavorting overhead. Blue-grey eyes followed their own enchanting frolics before the flame-haired enthusiast had fed her fill of peace, and took up with the dance anew.

(OOC : Anybody who wishes to have themselves caught up in the participatory dance, do feel free to assume involvement by your character(s) )



The Statue, In the Garden
already with the King of Feathers, the Queen of Starlight, (@Tharmáras )
and the Cloud with Silver Lining (@Annúnfalas )

Subtle ran the breeze amidst the Gardens, exuding a cool refreshment which dragged at the turning heads of flowers, polishing the shimmer of exposed roots and touring the heights of gleaming tree bark. All things floral in that diverse colony swayed and sculled in the otherwise invisible tide of time, so that some of the souls at the grand event began to abscond deep into it’s fragrant draw. But also, cloistered in that verdant sea were arbours, arches and pergolas, a lost civilisation of blinding pale stone. Almost as elaborate as these stood on discovery were statues, the spirit of life frozen for purpose of reflection. Figurines of legends lost, some interacting, and others alone, each caught in the throes of an act that should identify them. Only one of their count wore, as though he too were a guest of the masked ball, a disguise.

The process of elimination would suggest him to be Irmo, master of spirits, keeper of desire, lord of the lawn. Damaged during a tempest quite recently, his fair polished visage had been marred, and so the pock-marked stone face of the Vala now stood shrouded, behind a dignified mask of silver, until he should know repair. But the Elf assigned to consult on that issue had taken great pains to study his task, and when the masquerade ball presented an opportunity, so too did the disguise only he was privy to. The real statue stood still in the grounds while it's twin meandered, an identical alibi to lend further confusion to the charade.

Raiment in the hues of pewter drowned his lightless layered robes though in a coarse skin of cloying, grain-finished icing. This held each fold and fall of cloth defiant against wind that might have teased it toward motion. Silvered streams of a long starlit mane tumbled from the burnished, metallic-masked brow, likewise thick with clay that did not utterly dismay the sheen of mooncast. Strews of braided moss enhanced the monotone palette of that 'sculpted' mane by introducing some small suggestion of colour, patching elbows and where else it might be placed, to suggest ancient idleness that stone ought to have nurtured. He had, after all, to match the original garden decoration in all appearance.

Iridescent channels were engraved all about the mask, scorring out an illustrated labyrinth save for where twinned pools of stark colourless sheen bored out for a pair of eyes. Their rimy glaze rivalled the sacred sight of Silindrin, though the ‘Statue’ had strayed in high dove-grey boots from his assigned locale aside a jetsome fountain in the grounds. Bearing in both hands before him, a rod wreathed in poppies stood his testament to stories told, wherever he might roam. And thus the stone-less, stone-like figure had haunted the Gardens of Cirdan’s palace, at his leisure some hours now, committing to motionless poise when faced with oblivious other guests. But the ruse was approaching it’s greatest challenge.

The flamboyant King of Feathers was intrigued to view The Statue in the Garden, but his resplendent Queen of Starlight was wiser still; her gaze ensnared by knowledge which betrayed her, and her partner both. Their voices, if not their beguiling garb upon this eve, were not unfamiliar, and might have raised suspicion each alone. Together, there was no doubt of their true identities, the two Elves who had ever known their friend to play at this game, in years of youth.

'The Statue’s pale fingers closed around the regal elleth’s wrist, abrupt but not unkind, as she reached out to unmask him, and there for a short time her mischief was held at bay. He did hope that she would not shriek as she had done in Aman on uncovering his fun or else his plans for the night would be quite undone ! The possibility convinced him to leave hold of the celestial goddess, and raise a solitary index finger to stand guard alone over greyed lips instead. A wordless gesture to encourage silence, rather than alarm.

Perhaps perturbed by this turn of events, a four-legged intrusion approached, encircled and inspected the living Statue. With an exploratory sniff, and then an exhortative bark, the Cloud with a silver Lining debated the prospect of adding further authenticity to the Statue’s disguise. But thankfully, want for attention from the more attractive guests stole the masked dog to distraction. 'The Statue' was spared from having to employ his rod of dream flowers as a fetch stick for the beast, and instead nocked his head slightly askew to properly contemplate the company before him.

You dressed the dog ..” a calmly crooked smile supposed of a whisper, behind the Statue’s still expression. He ought not to have been surprised, save to learn in time maybe that the sheepdog’s costume was not their doing at all. The hands wrapped in dull cloth stifled all but a glint of a single silver ring which winked in catch of starlight, as the Statue gripped and loosened his hold on his staff; the only weapon he could pass off as a prop in such circumstances. If his old friends missed the snark in his tone, the slow shake of a bemused head gave up his despair at their four-legged company. Of all about the masquerade this eve, these three were all too wise to his camouflage.
Last edited by Ercassie on Mon Nov 30, 2020 12:49 pm, edited 1 time in total.
All that is gold does not glitter, not all those who wander are lost
The old that is strong does not wither, deep roots are not touched by the frost.

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Black Wind
In the Ballroom


He sat there lazily for a time, taking in small sips of ale and mead. Their quality was one of the finest, for since he was biased, thought the wines of Dorwinthon of the first degree. Still, the wines of Lindon were not bad. They had a fresh and fruity taste, depending on what you are drinking of course. As he drank the wine, he also drank in the people around him. Their dress was resplendent, and much like the Wood-fairies or the forests of Mirkwood deep, the elves here would move swiftly and effortlessly. They were certainly graceful, and in many their nobility showed. As he went beyond the colours and the designs, he observed that most of them were of themes connected with Spring.

After some time, there entered the dancing hall a trio. All of the women were gorgeously dressed, although he did see the youngest of them was dressed in a riot of colours. Yet it was not even that which made him smile wide; it was her happiness as she joined the dance. Her laughter and her joy were certainly infectious.

The dance at the moment was the chameleon. He got up and joined in. It certainly was enjoyable, seeing the happy and smiling faces of everyone around him. While back in Mirkwood there were events such as this, he regretfully remembered that there was no such opulence, although the natural beauty of the forest abounded. Happiness, he thought, seldom depended on opulence or dancing on the simple forest floor. It was independent of all material things, pure and untainted.

As the group danced, he gently hooked arms with The Pheonix. Smiling, he asked her "Are you lost?"

Still laughing, the flame-haired elleth said "Maybe, and I only just got here!"

"Someone once told me that happiest are those who are truly lost. And you certainly seem joyful! What do I call you?"


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The Phoenix, with Black Wind @Draugän Nuruhuinë
Ballroom

The casual exchange of company meant little, when all were a part of the same whirling delight. But whereas smiles and laughter had become the currency for some time, communication carried in a gesture, a motion; eventually words returned. The spell of endless music dwindled to backdrop, the veil of the magic began to thin. New delights were worthy compensation. Mystery was the name of this game.

He was not a one that she recognised, which was rather the point of the thing. The Phoenix though had come to know no few Elves throughout her long life, some whose light would glimmer through the most committed camouflage. The black and gold ensemble that became the speaking Elf was suitably striking, and she could discount several folk she knew that she knew he could not be. Yet still that leant no further clue to who he in fact was. It was an awfully exciting prospect. After all, there was only one soul in all Elvendom who she despised, and he could not be so fool as to dare attend this party.

Well certainly if you are found already, there is nothing left to look forward to,” the Elleth wheeled her new friend toward the aisle of fair laden tables, seeking for refreshment and a diversion, a rather different type of dance. “To have all, to .. know .. all, is therefore no satisfaction. So this eve, good sir, I am known as ‘the Phoenix’, although ‘Joyful’ would not be incorrect, in truth. I am also honoured to make your acquaintance, though still ignorant as to your own exciting alias.

A pout, meant to entice an admission of his sobriquet, to progress. Would he play ? The Phoenix ran her fingers along air before a choice of many, many flutes of wine, poised to select one, and yet not quite accomplishing the act. Her other hand caught her chin in a quandary as she considered. “Do you partake ? I fear I could name as many types of wine as I might name guests disguised here.” She may not have been young in years, but that great passing of experience had been of much glad times, and those kept a heart young immortal.
All that is gold does not glitter, not all those who wander are lost
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The Moon His Ill Reminder, walking with The Moonless Night @Taethowen

A guardian of the sea, correct?” The fair elleth in dark dress seemed hesitant to name Ulmo’s liegeman, and more hesitant still to ascribe to him any qualities. It made The Moon His Ill Reminder feel very old. But then, it had been long ages on ages since the days of his youth, when these things were political matters and the Powers worked directly on the world. He wondered if they were more religious than political, now, or if they had slipped even further -- into folklore or myth. Shasta, the Corsair -- he had been quick to wrath and full of miscomprehensions, but he had been a latecomer. The Moon His Ill Reminder had believed that to be the -- the short memory of men. But here was an elleth, unfamiliar as well.
Guardian may carry...” He paused, and smiled softly. “The wrong implication. Ossë is vassal to Ulmo, and reigns over the inlets, the isles, the coasts. But he guards little, unless it is to guard the meeting of ships and rocks, ensuring that it comes. Still, he had treated me kindly, and I should not be so harsh. I have had a long life along those coasts.

It seemed, however, that his attempts at light conversation were not thorough enough. He smiled when she offered a listening ear, and bowed his head when she said it would be no burden. Then he laughed: “My friend, thank you for the kind offer. But we are not here tonight simply to avoid burdening each other. I do not want to lure you into a conversation which is neutral or with an absence of pain. This is a Masquerade -- we are here to rejoice. To experience the presence of joy. So, let us sit for a while in the moonlight --” He guided her still-linked arm toward a bench. “And tell me a story that brings you joy. We are a melancholy folk these days, who linger here on the coast. But what brings you joy?
In the deeps of Time, amidst the Innumerable Stars

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The Moonless Night with The Moon His Ill Reminder, in the Gardens @Androthelm

The Moonless Night nodded as The Moon His Ill Reminder explained Ossë' to her a little further, and while she was curious to know more about the Valar and their vassals, especially as this ellon spoke as if he was acquainted with them personally, she feared her limited knowledge of only Oromë would give away too much of her true identity too early in the night. So she let the topic pass without further comment.

They walked a little further, and as he spoke of joy, she found her heart aching just slightly again. She sat on the bench, quiet for a few moments as she thought about his question while arranging her skirt so as to crush as little of the velvet as possible.

"What brings me joy?" she murmured thoughtfully. "In all honesty, that is something I've been uncertain of these days."

She'd had a glimmer of joy, she thought, not too terribly long ago. But it had been stalled, then abruptly ended, and she'd found herself grieving lost family, lost lovers, lost friends, and a home that did not feel like home anymore... all marred with the stain of treason. But a smile crossed her lips as she tipped her face to the sky, letting the moonlight caress her skin. She'd felt a glimmer of joy again, that very evening, when the Snowy Owl spun her around the dance floor.

Most of the joys in her life had been stained with sorrow as well, she realized, as she let memories flicker through her mind, before at last settling on something that might seem mundane, but had been a steady contentment in her life regardless of all else. And to her, contentment was a quiet, daily joy that was necessary to make life bearable, though it was one she was only beginning to rediscover now.

"I work with my hands," the Moonless Night finally stated, turning her face from the sky to watch The Moon His Ill Reminder where he sat beside her. "By trade, I am a seamstress. And I remember the first time I truly fell in love with the craft. I apprenticed under my aunt, side-by-side with a cousin. The work was tedious and strenuous at the start, but there came a day when I realized that I could touch a piece of cloth, and it was like I could tell with just that touch what form the cloth wished to be coaxed into under my hands.

"While my cousin still surpasses me in skill--I have a talent for crafting garments, but am not nearly as blessed when it comes to embroidery--I will dare to say that there are few in Arda who are more skilled than she and I. Recently, I find myself on a quest for the most luxurious, rarest textiles I can get my hands on. I don't know what I will do with them all, but I love to touch them. To see what ideas will flow between the cloth and my fingertips."

As she spoke, her fingers had begin to run softly over the draped folds of midnight blue velvet across her lap, reveling in the contrast between the soft pile and the hard, glittering gems which mimicked the stars.

"This gown was such." The Moonless Night smiled broadly then. "When I received the invitation to the masquerade, and I began to look through the materials I'd acquired on my journey here, my fingers brushed over this velvet. It was like a whisper in my mind. I should not be empty. I am meant to be a sea of stars. And it was right."

Her hands stilled a moment later as she watched The Moon His Ill Reminder's eyes beyond the shadow of his mask. "What of you, then? What brings you joy?"

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The Blue Bear

They danced for a time, switching back and forth between who led and who followed. The Blue Bear was silent for a long while (almost has if he had been consumed by the horde of his inner thoughts) but listened intently to the words of The Gull. They were wise and full of depth, as all things seemed to be with the Eldar, but they had a note of defeatism that The Blue Bear felt unbecoming of the deathless race. The philosophy of the Eldar was one predicated on looking backwards, obsessing over the actions of events and peoples long put in the ground. Still, he listened to his companion. While The Gull was not wrong in any of his ascertains but The Blue Bear could not help but see the cloud of doom coloring everything he said. At least he said it in a very pleasing voice he mused.

The philosophies of Men in this day and age were not much better by comparison. Where the elder sibling was focused on the past, the younger was focused on the future. Men had an endpoint; the obsession of Man was to avoid that endpoint as best they could. He was no better, really. Wasn’t his whole set of machinations centered around moving the endpoint, if not eliminating it altogether? Focus needed to be drawn away from the beginning and the end, single points along the path. Life, mortal or immortal cold not be enjoyed in such a fashion, it could only be endured. He did not to endure life. He wanted to live it, control it. His life would not be one to be endured.

He came out of his thoughts, an almost friendly smile on his lips. The song ended and they parted. “Whether we shall meet again I know not. Therefore our everlasting farewell take: For ever, and for ever, farewell! If we do meet again, why, we shall smile; If not, why then, this parting was well made. *” The Blue Bear bowed with a flourish, sweeping the bear-headed cane across his chest. He watched the elf disappear into the crowd, melting into the wild, ceaseless conflagration of colors. He grabbed a champagne flute and, without tasting it, down it in a single gulp. He watched the dance continue, partners moving back and forth in a dizzying number of steps, dips, and twirls. There were a few miscues here and there but on a whole the ballroom seemed to move as with a single mind.

He did not see The Vixen in all the commotion though. Had she gone out the balcony when he wasn’t looking? The gardens? He gripped the head of the cane tight and took a deep breath. He was going to have to find a way to navigate the floor without getting propositioned for a dance while looking for her, an exercise he did not relish. Still, he moved deftly through the dancers, his footwork almost a desperate counterpoint to avoid the actual rhythm of the music. Finally, moving around a few couples that seemed either too friendly with each other and or too inebriated, he found her, dancing with an elf as tall as him, arrayed in all the colors of the sea, similar to hue as his own costume but with a theme far more fantastical.

“I do hope I’m not interrupting anything yet?” Beneath the lacquered bear mask, he smiled and his ocean blue eyes sparkled with licentious intent.


The Galedeep

His mind threw itself back to a time when the world was not so complex, when he could still count the number of personal demons he fought. Thargelion. One Who Runs With Deers’ mention of the place caused his heart to stir and ache. He knew his time there had been short, had not been as deep and emotional as hers but the memories were tinged with sorrow. He still remembered everything. He remembered the conflicts he started upon his arrival. He remembered the masquerades, the festivals, the feasts. At certain times of the year, he could look up and see the same stars that wheeled over head, he could see the lights and colors of Thargelion, long defiled and gone. He remembered Helevorn, his own personal paradise. A lake so deep and cold that none but he could traverse it under lapping waves. He had built himself a kingdom there, one he could visit when ever he needed to separate himself from the toils and tribulations of societal life. Now, the place was but a memory. No cove, no underground cavern, no lonely lake had he found since then that made him feel so at home. His memories were a poor substitute. “I remember…” he mumbled, suddenly bereft of the merry mood he’d started this whole evening with.

He coughed and rubbed the ruddy brown beard on his chin. He put a smile back on his face, if not for his sake than that of his companion. She was happy. That was good. He would be damned if his incongruent moodiness was going to dampen the evening for her.

“Happy?” he asked, tilting his head to the side in an attempt to regain his cocksure composure. “Maybe,” his eyes began to wander the ceiling as he searched for the words to answer. “I’m less and less haunted by the ghosts of Beleriand. I don’t wake up in a cold sweat as much. I suppose that’s all a sea dog like me can really ask for.” He barked a laugh, indicated to his overly ostentatious maritime outfit.

“I’m sorry, Tavari,” he said, unable to hold the pretense of a good mood. “I know I’m ruining the mood a bit with this but I promise we can get back to merrymaking in a moment. “I’m sorry. I know I wrote you after everything but I never actually said it to you. We said a lot of things to each other that day. You are many things, Tavari. You are pig-headed, intractable, foolhardy, but you are not a coward. I never should have said you were. You are the bravest woman I know. You act sometimes as though the gease of a dead man carries more weight than the feelings of your own heart, but I should never begrudge you that. You are my friend, Lioness. I hope you can forgive me.”


The Fire of Motion

Before he had a chance to settle into his surroundings, he was swept up again. This time by someone he recognized. He breathed a furtive sigh of relief at this. However, the showering of compliments from beflowered ellon caused The Fire of Motion’s cheeks to redden as much as his mask. “I… thank you, Sunflower.” His head grew dizzy for a moment from all the compliments. He was very unused to receiving anything positive about his appearance other than from family members. “I daresay though, you look far more exuberant and vivacious than I.”

“Enjoy my time with Lady M? One Who Runs with Deers?” He looked at The Sunflower for a moment, his brow creased in confusion behind his mask. Then the wheels began to turn. The sound an ancient wagon wheel sounded in The Fire of Motion’s head, creaking and enormous. Lady M… Mordagnir? His bicolored eyes opened wide with realization. The periwinkle eyes, the height, the fluid movements, the way she seemed to know him. His mouth dropped open for a moment before he shut it resolutely. If he was ruddy before, he was absolutely crimson now. He had been talking to Tavari Mordagnir?! How could he have not known exactly who she was? He’d met her! He’d talked to her! He knew her voice! How could he not have known? His inner voice was screaming but outwardly, The Fire of Motion remained as calm as he could (minus the deep crimson cheeks). “I had a good time dancing with her, though she is far more advanced in the art of dance than I.”

Suddenly his mouth was very dry. He felt like he had not had a drink in ages. “Shall we…” he tried to sound casual, “get something to drink? I’m a bit parched from all the eh, motion.”


The Huntress

Did they hear her? The Huntress, beneath her cuniculus half mask, blushed in anxiety. She licked her lips, then dried them again. Should she ask again? Would that be rude? What should she do? The Huntress fidgeted with the arrows in the quiver at her hips. How long had she been standing here by now? She gulped. “Excuse me?” The elf, she was sure they were an elf. Actually, were they? She was having trouble seeing and she didn’t want to be seen gawking. What if they turned around on her all the sudden and saw her hunched over them like a creepy vulture? Her palms became sweaty. She almost wiped them on the dress but stopped herself. That was bad manners too, wasn’t it? The Huntress was growing more and more mortified by the second. She’d clearly made a mistake or had offended the elf in the owl mask. What had she done? Oh, you cow eyed fool! What did you do! Stop doing it, whatever it is.

She took a step back. The owl masked patron still seemed to be ignoring her. Maybe, maybe that was best? She winced and took another step back. When there was still no response, she took in a deep breath, held it, and vanished back in the crowd. Would the embarrassments here never end! She was enjoying herself, but apparently, she could not get out of her own way and stop acting like a girl who’s never seen another living soul!

She moved along the edges of the dancefloor, too mortified to look at the dancers, afraid of offending someone by looking at the wrong moment.

Finally, she managed to make her way to a quiet corner. She soon realized she was not alone. A woman (She of Smoke and Mirrors), she was sure this time, dressed in what almost looked to The Huntress like a funerary outfit. Surely that wasn’t it right? She was wearing delicate, black lace of her face in lieu of a mask. Clever.

“Mind if I hide out here with you?” she asked timidly, still afraid of making another social faux pas.


@Ercassie

The Somberlain

The mask he wore hid the smile, but the dark glint of his yellow eyes could be seen through the glass: hints of malice, amusement, and subtle interest. The fact that this one did not shrink from him was promising.

“Vingilótë,” his voice was suddenly harsh and raspy, as if he were trying to speak through a mouthful of cotton. “It has been a very long time since I heard that word said aloud.” He waved his hand dismissively. “Nothing so fair as that? Dear me. Is death not fair? Is life not but a dream of the dead?” He laughed, a hollow sound like stone scraping stone.


“Well I am death, none can excel
I'll open the door to heaven or hell
Whoa, death someone would pray
Could you wait to call me another day
The children prayed, the preacher preached
Time and mercy is out of your reach
I'll fix your feet til you can’t walk
I'll lock your jaw til you can’t talk
I'll close your eyes so you can't see
This very hour, come and go with me
I'm death I come to take the soul
Leave the body and leave it cold **”

He looked down at her. She was tall, taller than most of these oblivious partygoers but he was still by far taller than her. His eyes gleamed with a dangerous hunger. “I am The Somberlain.” The word echoed out of his mask in a way that seemed to defy sound. The echo came from much further away and higher up than he was. His shadow shimmered and moved a step ahead of him. “Shall we dance?”


OOC: (* taken from Shakespeare's Julius Caesar, **O Death, a folkloric song)
Strange Fruit got holes in the flesh but it ain't gonn' spoil cause it never was fresh

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The Ballroom

OOC: Wanted the Lord of Unicorns with his Phoenix ASAP as discussed on messenger @Ercassie . I'll be replying back for Our Butterfly and the carriage ride to the ball which both took place before this post. Including replies to the garden for you, Fuin, and Annúnfalas very soon.

The Lord of Unicorns
The Black Swan
The One Who Dreams Alone


The Lord of Unicorns stood transfixed, awed by the splendor of the flight of the Phoenix. If she wasn't costumed as the legendary undying bird of the Blessed Realm he would have recognized his wife easily. Her joyous zeal and flawless grace in the dancehall belonged to no else nor did her matchless beauty for Gondolin women, it was known, were fair as the sun and lovely as the moon and brighter than the stars.

"Do you intend to gape at her all night or sweep your wife off her golden heels?"

The Lord of Unicorns blinked, staring openmouthed at the Black Swan who had come with him from the garden. The tall svelte elleth, pale and lovely, wore a silken black strapless dress. Double flowing pieces of streaming sheer black fabric descended from her black damask collar but only grazed the heights of her diamond-strewn bodice, fleeing each to a side of her like wings in rest. An ornate silver star pin adorned her ebony sash. She wore a mask of tardur, a lustrous black metal her uncle devised to mimic galvorn, embellished with silvery galena mined on Tol Noldore. It was decorated with black feathers, a swanhead featuring prominently of jet with eyes of Balarian pearl. Her rich brown hair the Gentle Queen dyed black and arranged into a chignon, its black flower diamond pin glittering in the chandelier light as did her polished black nails and velvety black lipstick. The Gentle Lady indeed perfected many of the ball's participants. The Phoenix, the Black Swan, and She of Smoke & Mirrors all benefited extravagantly from the cosmetic arts of the Gentle Queen; she labored extensively at her Lindonese spa (she owned a chain in Círdan's realm) to make her friends wondrous to behold and hours were spent hunting down the finest costumes.

"You seldom encourage romantic moments with my spouse." The Lord of Unicorns was truly impressed. The Black Swan was once his lover in the First Age but he drove her away. When they reunited centuries ago, she wanted to reestablish their relationship but he declined. The Lord of Unicorns and the Phoenix were married; when that happened, the Black Swan accepted defeat. Her enmity ripened into a begrudging respect of the Phoenix gradually over the years although she still harbored feelings for the redhead's husband.

"You must hurry or suffer watching someone else steal every dance with her. Go on." She shooed him away with a wan smile.

The Lord of Unicorns desperately sought the Phoenix, politely refusing conversations with other women. A cold knot of dread twisted his insides when the young Black Wind gently hooked arms with his wife, the Phoenix. The coiled serpent of fear broke through the walls of his confidence to leer at him when The Phoenix steered the Black Wind to the wine table.

"It happens to the best of us, brother. I'm sorry."

The Lord of Unicorns would have welcomed the Mortal's grip on his shoulder ordinarily but his friend's assumption of the Phoenix's disloaylty rankled him; it wasn't his wife he was worried about. The voice of the One Who Dreams Alone was easily recognized. His cloak, breeches, and coat were grey & burgundy brocade. A Belfalas volto mask which concealed his face entirely was made of stark white porcelain heavily gilded; pear-shaped white diamonds, resembling teardrops, were scattered below the dual eyeholes. A silver-braided tricorn hat was worn over the cowl of One Who Dreams Alone, hiding the color and style of his hair.

"Don't be foolish," commanded the Lord of Unicorns scathingly. His anger faded. He felt a sudden pang of regret watching his friend close his sad brown eyes, his comforting touch falling away. He apologized for his harshness although One Who Dreams Alone assured him he deserved to be rebuked for his grievous folly. "We planned to be here together."

"You're right, my mistake. The Phoenix would not deceive you. She's your duchess and your children's mother. I am ashamed to have doubted her loyalty, mate. Forgive me."

"The Phoenix is being friendly, that is all," said the Lord of Unicorns with fervent confidence. "You know how gregarious she is and being a woman of the Lord's court, once the handmaiden of a Princess, it is her duty is to have a welcoming spirit. She loves me, I've known the undeniable truth of that in our most intimate moments. I know you were betrayed by the woman you married but Elven couples -" he gestured at the Phoenix "- prove to me more faithful in relationships than their human counterparts." He paused to recite a verse from the Lay of Leithian: Not thus do those of elven race / forsake the love that they embrace / A love is mine, as great a power as thine. It was his turn to clasp the shoulder of One Who Dreams Alone. "I don't mean to discourge you however; you were hurt but don't let one woman's betrayal make you believe that every lady is like the evil one who damaged you."

"Why were you frightened?"

"He does not know she is taken already, I am certain."

"Bema's arse!" cursed One Who Dreams Alone with a rueful shake of his head. "Time for you slide in there and get your woman, brother."

"I do intend to cut in as they say in Bree. I expect to see you at Girion's on the Lhûn when the ball ends."

"Perhaps not if the Gentle Queen monopolizes my evening delights," answered One Who Dreams Alone with a roguish chuckle which the Lord of Unicorns had not heard in a very long while. He departed the ballroom in search of the Gentle Queen who could perhaps mend his broken heart.

The Lord of Unicorns' purposeful stride brought him toward the Phoenix, approaching her from behind unseen. He took bold masculine possession of her waist. "When we found each other I knew we had much to look forward to," he murmured, palms tenderly meandering toward her hips, "and I have discovered that every day we face together is a thrilling new adventure." He breathed in the warm, spicy fragrance of her. His lips travelled down her neck. "Cálënín arë cuilëninya, miruvornín a ninyaharma ( "My light and my life, my wine and my treasure," )," he uttered, caressing her amazingly smooth bare arms wrapped in bangles of rose-gold. He knew viscerally that the Phoenix recognized the unmistakeable familiarity of his strong hands on her lithe body and the intimate poetry of his words. "Behold your lord, my firebird," he spoke compellingly to the Phoenix, releasing her a moment to turn about. When she did, he pulled her against the hard muscles of his broad chest.

For him, for them...the world melted away, leaving husband and wife alone together illumined in a patch of moonlight beaming through a lofty window of the ballroom. The mystic sound of bells and chimes, harps and woodwinds voluminously swelled in a sweeping sublime symphony of King Maglor's. Its lush exotic melody conjured visions of the wondrous dreamlike paradise of Lórien's Garden beyond the Veil of Silver Glass. He looked into the blue-grey eyes of the Phoenix, his mesmeric gaze at last resting on her sweet coral mouth which he had all these years pleasurably ravished ten thousand times ten thousand. The Lord of Unicorns seized her sculpted face with passionate softness. He kissed the Phoenix slowly and deeply. Moaning in the immersive pleasure, carried away, his firm arms came around her snugly as he bent her backward. "May your husband interest you in something more exciting," he suggested, nuzzling her throat to catch his breath, "than the bottles of Gaearon Cenedril, melethril?" He whisked his lady to the ballroom floor without further ado, winking at her charmingly.



*


The Ballroom

The Black Swan
The Cold Emerald


The Black Swan observed the Phoenix and the Lord of Unicorns in quiet sorrow. She tore her stare from them. The Gentle Queen would be fey if she saw the Black Swan's winged kohl eyeliner sullied with tears. The Black Swan was here to protect The Lord of Unicorns and the Phoenix, considering the now ever-growing threat of Umbarian Corsairs. She did not bring any of her blades to the ball (the Gentle Queen was adamant about this) but was adept in martial arts, brutally efficient of dispatching or disarming an enemy with her hands and her feet. Also, as the Black Swan told the Phoenix and She of Smoke & Mirrors during their carriage ride, a girl could do a lot with a hair pin.... Keeping a wary eye on the Duke and Duchess of Forlond, the Black Swan wandered the outskirts of the ballroom where no one stood or danced. She was always comfortable in the shadows.

She gasped in startlement for once when a tall slender High Elf seemingly appeared from the ether. He wore green velvet breeches and jerkin, each trimmed in gold floral embroidery. His sleek pointed leprawn boots were tooled elaborately in vine-like motifs. Despite the earthy nature of his garb, the Black Swan felt goosebumps riddling her alabaster skin. His carved malachite mask resembled a ghastly skull as did his platinum rings with eyes and teeth of emeralds. The macabre display was disturbing as was the unsettling coolness his presence exuded. Beside him stood an Elf of nobler bearing, clad in mysterious black and muted silver.

"I am the Cold Emerald," spoke the stranger with a sardonic timbre and flourished his shimmering cape without introducing his quiet companion. "Perhaps a good whirl on the dance floor would raise your low spirits, elleth?"

"A dance with death," the Black Swan mused aloud wryly.

His muffled chuckle produced an eerie spine-tingling horror. His flaming veridian eyes bored into hers...radiant eyes which mirrored her own jade orbs sans the piercing Calaquendi brightness.

"I must pass..." the Black Swan replied huskily, too overwhelmed by frightening possibilities she didn't want to brood on. She let out a gasp of shock as a freezing sensation radiated along her satin skin. The Cold Emerald had grabbed her lissome limb in a vise-like grip. "I don't take kindly to refusal or abandonment," the Exile hissed, relaxing his hold upon her. "You shall not pass. Dance with me."

The Black Swan would have stabbed him dead in unbridled elation with one surgical thrust of her hairpin or a vicious well-placed blow of the knife of her hand but those eyes....her eyes, her father's eyes... restrained the Black Swan's brutal violence.

His gaze actually softened when he said please awkwardly. The Black Swan steeled herself against doubt, laying her slender hands on his shoulders. He turned them away from the princely stranger in a gliding spin beyond the Lord of Unicorns and his Phoenix. She made hesitant eye contact with them, blushing redly like glaring fumellar poppies of Irmo, as the fanciful otherworldly Hymn of Lórien built to a lush soulstirring crescendo....
"Eriol... 'One who dreams alone.' ” - Tolkien, The Book of Lost Tales I

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She watched the years pass behind his eyes, the endless turn of the sun and the stars and the long ago pines of Thargelion, and his sorrow washed over her like an ebbing tide. Not so long ago, the mention of their former home would have caused a similar melancholic swell in One Who Runs With Deers, but recent years and events had unlocked something within her, a secret door to happy remembrance. She, too, awoke in cold sweats at times after the grip of dreams that were the echo of terrible things, and a history than no length of time could erase. But though the memory of Thargelion and all she had lost still fed a deep well of pain, it was overwhelmed now by the river of past happiness in which she had finally found permission to bathe. The character of The Galedeep’s sorrow was, like he himself, an old friend to the nís of antlered gold. Her eyes crinkled at his characterization of her, and One Who Runs With Deers shook her head slowly when he fell silent, braver than she for saying what she had never been able.

“I’m sorry too. Sorry I couldn’t be the friend you needed then. You are my friend, Finnbarr, and I forgave you long ago. I’m sorry it took me so long to tell you. It ought to have come sooner but, well,” she took a deep breath, “after Arasoron’s death I went, rather mad.” It was the understatement of Ages, but she hoped that with her plaintive smile he would allow it to pass. There would be time enough for tales of those days later, if he wanted to know. “What matters is that we are still here. For good or ill, Galedeep and Rávnissë survive. I would never begrudge you your sadness,” she tilted her head to one side as she raised her hand to cup the side of his face beneath the mask, bristly with its auburn beard. “And I hope that you can join me in remembering the good times too. And the people.” As her hand slid back down to his shoulder, the other arose to her own collar, where her thumb slipped beneath the neck of her gown and withdrew a fine chain. One Who Runs With Deers pulled forth the length of the chain until its passengers followed after from beneath the gown: a pair of rings, silver and mithril, and very, very old. The Galedeep was the only other being yet living who had seen them put to their original use. She took his hand and grasped it, pressing the rings between their palms as she raised their clasped hands between them.

“The people are still with us. Everywhere I go, he is still with me. Something I have learned in my wanderings, Galedeep: you have no control- who lives, who dies, who tells your story. Who tells Thargelion’s story? Who tells the story of those who never left? Who tells our story? Who tells his story?” One Who Runs With Deers tightened her grip, and her voice was fierce with pride for a nation, a people, and a love lost. “I do. No more do I allow shame, fear, sorrow, or the command of a dead king to stop me telling the truth of those days, and the people we shared them with. When Maitimo cast me out,” her lip trembled briefly, for the memory, like so many others, remained fresh despite the passage of years, and seldom spoken, “he said my days should be spent solitary, wandering, and leaderless. He never said anything about silent. And so I speak.” All at once, One Who Runs With Deers was startled by her own outburst, though she meant every word, and her cheeks flushed beneath the mask. Her grip loosened, though it maintained contact with The Galedeep’s hand, and a sparkle of mischief returned to her periwinkle eyes.

“You asked me to go to sea with you once. Is it too late to say yes?”



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“Oh dear,” Oh deer! Hah! Get a hold of yourself, Fool, The Sunflower observed as The Fire of Motion reddened visibly beneath his mask, “It looks as though your flames have spread, my friend!” Nodding with a jingle at the suggestion to get a drink, The Sunflower waltzed his companion rapidly to the edge of the dancing crowd, and released him with a leggy bow. “Come, let us see if we can find a libation to douse you.” The petal-cowled wood-elf led The Fire of Motion to the nearest refreshment table and caught up a pair of goblets, offering one to his friend. “Drink! Oldest Dorwinion, enough of that and you won’t have enough inhibitions left to be embarrassed about anything, not that I would know of course.” The Sunflower took a deep draught from his own goblet before continuing in a commiserating tone, “No one could blame you you know, it is quite a different setting, and ah, clothing than one newly come to the guard might be used to seeing their Arahiril in. It’s all in the perils and pleasures of the night!” The Sunflower gesticulated wildly in his enthusiasm, nearly splashing wine all over a passing server, to whom he blew an apologetic kiss. “Who knows who may be lurking behind any mask?! I say,” distracted in mid-flow by the sight of One Who Runs With Deers, now standing outside the crowd of dancers, intimately close and handclasped with an ellon masked as a sea otter, The Sunflower elbowed The Fire of Motion to get his attention, “they look quite well acquainted, don’t they? I wonder who that could be?”


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His voice chewed gravel as it pronounced the Quenyan syllables, and she wondered how long it had been since he had spoken that tongue. Clearly his mouth had forgotten how. Vingilótë drained her goblet as he waxed poetic about the fairness of death, and reached out to place her empty vessel on the tray of a passing server without looking away from the malevolent figure. His poetic words led him to actual poetry then, and his declamation was a chill wind surrounding the pair, separating them from the warmth of the ballroom around. Fascinating. Perhaps he had nothing better to do with his time these days than compose such rhymes? An odd pastime for one of his kind, but who was she to judge. He stepped toward her then, preceded by the shimmer of his shadow, and asked her to dance. Vingilótë tilted her chin up to fix her gaze on the eyes behind the mask, as they towered over her from close range. “Somberlain,” she echoed, turning over the syllables in her mouth, and her voice was as rich as his had rasped, and held her answer for a long, considering moment. “Yes,” she said at length, “we shall.” Vingilótë raised one hand to be taken by his, the other to settle delicately upon his shoulder, just at the edge of her comfortable reach, and arched one onyx brow. “Lead on.”


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Pleasure and profit? This was a woman whose goals The Sundering Sea could support! “Hmm,” he mused languorously as they danced, “What would I advise? A clever and crafty fox never flees when pleasure and profit are in sight. They may hide beneath the surface, but a cunning vixen like yourself- why, I have no doubt that you can find them. Therefore I advise abandon.” The last word was a veritable growl as The Sundering Sea pulled The Vixen flush to him. It was, of course, at that moment that they were interrupted. A man arrayed in deep blue but with the façade of a bear (The Blue Bear) had approached, and The Sundering Sea recognized him from his entrance to the fête- on the arm of the woman he himself now danced with. He turned his head to look at the newcomer, and grinned. “Not yet.” He sized The Blue Bear and the man’s licentious look up in an instant and released his hold on The Vixen, spinning her out to one side, before giving a slightly mocking bow to The Blue Bear. “You two,” The Sundering Sea began, “seem like a pair of rogues. And lucky for you, you’ve run into the biggest rogue in all of Lindon country. It so happens that I carry a small stock of certain.. delightful substances on me at occasions such as these, for those who care to imbibe more deeply than with wine.” His grin had broadened to resemble that on the sharks whose teeth clattered in his braid, and as he gestured behind him to the balcony, and its steps down to the garden area, his voice raised form the conspiratorial murmur to which it had descended, into that of a solicitous butler. “Might I tempt you both to a stroll in the gardens, and a bit of light entertainment?” The Sundering Sea bent his elbows and proffered and arm to each of them. It was possible he would lose the evening’s contest to The Galedeep, but there were certain opportunities one simply couldn’t pass up.


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Taking his cue from The Grapevine’s posture with both her arms around his neck, The Wolf slipped both his hands about her waist, the heels resting above the bones of her hips, and his long fingers touching the small of her back. They swayed and rotated slowly to the song of an elleth above the musicians’ accompaniment, wordless and pure. It was captivating, and for a moment he allowed himself to be entranced, his eyes lingering upon the singer. Then he smiled and chuckled softly. “Forgive me,” The Wolf murmured to his partner, “But it’s seldom I hear music such as this, and particularly such song. Where I’m from, tavern songs and ballads tend to dominate. They too are beautiful in their way, but it has been many years since I’ve heard anything like that,” he nodded in the direction of the singer. “I’ve often wished I could have studied music more, but a soldier only has so many hours in his day.”

@Annúnfalas
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Evil is a lifestyle | she/her

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She of Smoke and Mirrors, in the Ballroom
pursuing the Blizzard, but finding instead The Huntress @Fleeg


The pursuit took She of Smoke and Mirrors through a forest thick with flourishing limbs, her wary step crowded on all sides by the stamp and skip of souls ensnared in their own lively enchantment. They did not have music such as this where she was from. The whistle of the wind, the drum of drizzled rain, the shrill soprano of a solitary sparrowhawk; such sounds made up the symphony of the real, untamed world which she knew and loved best. The majestic strains of rhythm in the ballroom were as strange to her as would be speech uttered after a year of silence. Powerful, authoritative, and ever more so arresting without the width of a mighty oaken door to put her ear to. Finally inside the pictures she had seen, the scenes she had imagined, the turn and twirl of the fine ladies’ skirts flared like a grand kaleidoscope of parasols to trip her intrusion, as much as she feared her own hem might. For all that, the anaemic empress seared a passage through the dancing; and in the wake of that Blizzard, She of Smoke and Mirrors revelled in her secret hunt after, savouring the private game of cat and mouse, little caring or expecting to secure her prize. There had passed no word between her and the elder Teler since The Phoenix had fallen to the throng. She of Smoke and Mirrors did not know exactly what she sought here herself. But for the first time since arriving at this decadent palace, she began to feel just a little of that self peering out from behind the rigmarole of her robes. Stalking, shadowing, stealing unseen in the limelight of another’s illumination; it was a sentry’s lot in life. It was quite familiar enough to salve her taut nerves.

Somewhere in the charade of her chase arrived a slowly-dawning awareness, of just how little attention folk were truly putting paid to the brunette. Their own self-entertainment was her advantage. So that the Elleth came almost to embrace her disguise, her camouflage. For all that she had fought to not be primped and polished, for all that they had done their best regardless, so were all others here dressed just so ostentatiously. So. She had been forced to appear so outlandish to be viewed as nondescript. The acknowledgement caused her to recover her breath, to remember to breathe. And that was long enough to lose sight of her company, in as much as ever the Blizzard had scarcely been at all. One of them had come not for the want to dance. But why indeed the third of their triumvirate had come at all was unlike to be learned. Particularly now.

Devoid suddenly of quarry, and of purpose perhaps, She of Smoke and Mirrors misplaced the drive which had compelled her. Out of habit, hands lacking their usual tools were left to take up whatever was within reach, for distraction. Delectable fancies, frosted and sugared, were set out across the wide spread of tables, daring her to dally with their kind. She of Smoke and Mirrors liberated a lone treat, therefore, and turned it over, every which way in hand, failing to identify it’s name. Flicking efforts to dispel her cloud of hair, she had to admit, the fragrance of the thing suggested it had been well doused in perfumes. And indeed much of the food and drink here appeared as though decoration, far too fantastic to be consumed. It’s flavour proved altogether too sweet for her natural pallet, and the delicate weave of dark netting which masked her face found new purpose, as she spat the offending extravagance back out into her palm, and slung it with hope of discretion beneath one of the fine-dressed tables.

Wine was a thing equally as foreign to this wild will, so she elected to drown the aftertaste with what she’d overheard was ‘fruit’ punch; a deceptively less tame refreshment than she might have hoped. Her inexperienced tastebuds simply did not realise this yet. Which might have been made clear when She of Smoke and Mirrors was approached by what seemed like a sentient hare. The unexpected arrival was not, in fact, some enigma of form, but in fact a woman. Or so the Teler gleaned from other’s phrase and tone. The language was no trouble to her, having dwelt aside Mankind since the First Age. The timid approach endeared the stranger to her somehow, gauging of a similarly lost soul in this strange environ.

We are all in hiding here,” the elleth allowed, offering a belated nod to the Huntress. “Both the hunter and hunted alike. As it seems .. are you.She of Smoke and Mirrors glanced enviously over the other’s ceramic missiles, for she dearly begrudged the absence of her own. For this stranger to bear a quiver of arrows, even as pure décor, long with a mask that invited predators .. was a rather ambiguous choice. The woman’s dress though was fearlessly outrageous. “So do tell, are you here to hunt out a goal ?" she wondered. "Or have you fled here for fear of being hunted ?
All that is gold does not glitter, not all those who wander are lost
The old that is strong does not wither, deep roots are not touched by the frost.

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The Moon His Ill Reminder, sitting with the Moonless Night @Taethowen

He caught a strange look in her eye, an--an attentiveness, The Moon His Ill Reminder thought, to his musings on Osse and the temperamental seas. It was the look of a canny student, ensuring that they are missing nothing. It was not a particularly elvish look -- but then, perhaps he did not know what elvishness looked like, nowadays. He had been long in his travels, and long in the shipyards before, and now he wondered if he did not know more of Edhellond or Forochel than of his fellow Quendi.

"What brings me joy?" she murmured "In all honesty, that is something I've been uncertain of these days."[/i]
The Moon His Ill Reminder inclined his head gently. It was true. The world had grown grim, in his lifetime. It was hard to name something which brought him joy, consistently. A gala like this could bring pleasure for a season, but nothing -- Unless it were his ships, unless it were the shaping of long masts and narrow hulls.

”I work with my hands,” she said, and The Moon His Ill Reminder felt her gaze on him. ”By trade, I am a seamstress. And I remember the first time I truly fell in love with the craft. I apprenticed under my aunt...” He listened quietly to her story, of her cousin, of the long labor, and then -- of course -- of the enchanted moment, when the form of your work came to life beneath your hands.”

The Moon His Ill Reminder nodded at that, and smiled. That he could understand. There was joy, still, in the working of wood -- and not only for the promise of safety for those who rode the ships west. There was joy in the making of things, with no goal beyond that.

“Recently, I find myself on a quest for the most luxurious, rarest textiles I can get my hands on. I don't know what I will do with them all, but I love to touch them. To see what ideas will flow between the cloth and my fingertips." It was a beautiful thing, to hear someone speak so clearly of a craft she loved -- and to see, in turn, the result, her dress a sea of stars. He was so entranced that he hardly heard her question -- and it was only a moment later, when he realized that her eyes had met his, that The Moon His Ill Reminder reconstructed it:
What of you, then? What brings you joy?

The Moon His Ill Reminder paused for a moment, hesitating to break eye contact and then -- when he did -- turning to gaze upward into the stars. Somewhere, he knew, Vingilot was soaring through the aether -- there it was, shining bright. ”I work with my hands as well.” he said finally. ”Carving the ships -- Well, you know them. We don’t need to speak of the Havens. Not here, not tonight.” he paused for another long moment. ”At times, though, I don’t think I make the ships for the Havens. A ship is -- A ship is a ship. They are meant for sailing, and I would rather my ships sail many times, and not only once.”

When The Moon His Ill Reminder turned to face The Moonless Night, there was a twinkle in his eyes, visible behind his shadowy mask. ”But, there. I have given you two things that bring me joy -- the working of ships and, later, their sailing. You’ll forgive me, though -- you have seen plenty of these ships, no doubt, staying in Lindon, but I have almost no familiarity with -- with tailory? Seamstressing? I don’t even know what to call it.” He paused before taking the plunge. A Masquerade, anonymous, and yet -- friends in the unlikeliest of places. ”I’d love to see more of your work, if you had the chance? Some day in the future, I mean -- when we’re not occupied here.”
In the deeps of Time, amidst the Innumerable Stars

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