Mel and Rayni circulate amongst the guests for several minutes until Mel sees Layferi standing along, gazing at the full, pale orange moon of Olarune, the fullest of the twelve tonight. Ducking behind some screening bushes and adopting the form she had worn as her own for so long, adding a few things to adjust her dress a bit, Mel becomes Melphina. Rayni lurks nearby, watching through a screen of vines, as Mel gathers up her courage and steps out to meet him. As Layferi turns, he catches sight of Mel and his face lights up. "
Melphina!" he exclaims, stepping forward to take her hands, then kiss her softly on the lips. "
Praise be to the ancestors and gods, I though I'd never see you again. I was hoping your father would finally let you go... I was just thinking about you and here you are! I should make wishes more often... Oh heavens, I'm babbling. Melphina... I'm so glad to see you love!" he says, his eyes shining with happiness.
Someone said:
Nonetheless, he discusses some techniques of his own with the 'dancers', and offers a bit of show on his own. As he chats, he slips in some questions about "My good friend Silas Karrnathen" and where could he be.
A few of the dancers are interested to see what Harolk might have to offer, and some seem mildly impressed by his technique. Others are more than mildly impressed (a conceit that seems to come from their protected position as a member of a dragonmarked House), including Lorien d'Thuranni. "
We'll be doing some duels later tonight, could I count on you to spar with me?" he asks you, a bit of an arrogant smirk on his face. He's probably expecting to humiliate you, but you know you can take this arrogant poof any day of the week and twice on Sar.
Bail watches the girls circulate around the gardens and finally loses Mel in the hustle and bustle. And then Rayni too. Before he can panic, however, Shenystari appears near his elbow, handing him something that looked like a flower, but had a spicy scent. "
It's edible. Don't worry about Mel and Rayni, Mel is meeting with someone and Rayni is acting as a witness. Neither are in danger. I just wanted to make sure you didn't feel the need to split some noble elven heads if there was no need," she says serenely, a hint of good humor in her eyes.
Hxaptos keeps a very close watch on the party, eyes peeled for any more hints of danger from afar. It was distracting; so many people wore small permanent illusions, glammerweave clothing, elegant jewelry glowing with magic, and at least three women wore clothes that were painted on. Thuranni was a house of entertainment... and illusion. Deception was an accepted part of their parties, it seemed, and many people wore masks or had elaborate make-up or face paint that further disguised their true appearance. It was enough to give a reasonable person a terrible headache, and for someone like you, it was many times worse. A woman with her face painted like a butterfly smiled at you, the butterfly waving its wings, the eyes painted on them staring at you. You had to remind yourself, forcefully, that it wouldn't due to be killed while on the cusp of being able to enter Xoriat, and stayed your hand from killing the woman to get the eyes off of you...
Tondrek found the waiters beginning to pass him by entirely, and had to follow them around a bit if he wanted something to eat or drink. He continued to ask mostly incomprehensible questions of anyone who was near, whether or not they were actually listening was irrelevant. One of them turned out to be an old elven man, his form so frail it seemed he would blow away in the wind. When Tondrek mentioned again something about “
"necromantic possibilities of negative energy fueled illusions"” the man perked up and wandered into Tondrek’s sphere. “
Really? Might be dangerous a bit, you have to take care with those energies. You could do some excellent ones for frightening plays though, or even mock haunted houses. I don’t doubt you could do some good shadow illusions that way, but using pure necromantic energy would open you up to the possibilities to having your own energies stolen to power it. And if not your energies, what about those of your audience? You would need a containment abjuration, not necessarily something as strong as a death ward but a lower- level enchantment might be possible…” He goes on much more in that vein, willing to delve into all the delightful (and frightful) details of such a thing.
The party begins to move into the Festhall itself, conversation beginning to rise as clothes are whisked away from the display cases, revealing the bladed treasures within. Several are excellent steel blades with exquisite craftsmanship, showing hilts in the shapes of dragons, bats, or birds, being jewels clasps in claws or wings or tails, with etchings in the blade showing names or poems or whole battle scenes. Others are deceptively simple, but made of rare metals. A simple white dagger the length of a man’s hand seems out of place amongst the fancier blades. Simple until you realize the case is covered with ice crystals on the inside. Simple until you read how the metal was extracted from a mine buried under a glacier in the Frostfell, and the white leather hilt is covered in the hide of a yeti. Another is made of fever iron, drawn from the bubbling depths below Sharn. A third was made with metal taken from the top of a lightning-struck mountain, and women laugh to see how their shawls and skirts stick to the electrically-charged case.
Some hold weapons dug up from Xen’drik, including a giant’s sword that must be nearly twelve feet long. It’s presented in a long case, tastefully lit with magelights, showing ancient tracework with some kind of blue wire and violet gemstones. Others have weapons dug up from around Khorvaire, including several byshek maces found in the swamps of the Shadow Marches and ancient goblin weapons found in the Cogs. One case, in a room with a black cloth around the door, is said to have weapons from the Demon Wastes themselves, and must be kept in darkness, less the weapons begin to decay.
Several forges are set up along the walls, with smiths demonstrating various techniques of blade-making. Most have been in here for several hours, preparing their blades, and now need only to show the finishing touches. People didn’t come to a party, even one like this, to watch a smith hammer a piece of metal three thousand times in a row. Most use some magic to help them; some have small constructs to aid them with holding, hammering, keeping the forge at a correct temperature, or doing other small tasks. Others murmur spells over their blades or use wands to aid in their skill.
OOC: We can do some ret-conning for Mel’s conversation with Layferi it if becomes necessary Bront.
