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