Amber Sands

[DungeonmasterCal]

((to all)

Without warning, the musicians and the dancers begin again. The dancers move as if they were the same person; each step, each gesture, each expression the same. Their eyes have a distant look, as though gazing at something beyond the walls of the banquet hall, their faces serene and aloof. The dance is simple, yet elegant. So hypnotized by it you are almost surprised when the dancers lunge forward, grabbing your hands and pulling you onto the floor with them. Though you've never danced like this before, as soon as they touch you, you seem to know the steps. Now whether your bodies are supple enough to perform them...

 

[DJMG]

(OOC Survival +6!

Detect Undead at will!

Dex 14 - I *might* have a chance of not snapping like a twig! )
Father Grimwald attempts to join the dance to the best of his ability!

 

[Snowelf]

OOC:: YEA! Detect Undead! You never know when he's gonna pull those out of his DM box.

Kija

Kija's body flows easily with the dancer's moves, her limbs gently meld into the moves. She is, however, a little confused by the uncustomary actions. She looks at Aya for some sort of explaination, attempting not to let their guest see her worry.

((What should I roll for that, Mr. DM? Bluff?)

 

[DungeonmasterCal]

OOC: To avoid falling down, breaking limbs, or general embarrassment, roll either Bluff, Perform (Dancing), or Dex checks: DC 12.

 

[MysticChick]

21! Aya is a dancin' fool!

 

[Snowelf]

Kija

Dex 17, she's good, but she's no Aya!!

 

[DJMG]

Grimwald

18 + 2 = 20! Get down!

 

[Snowelf]

OOC::Geezzzz....even Father Grimwald dances better than Kija!!

 

[DJMG]

Some people have it, and some people don't! Sorry you're one of the 'don'ts'

 

[DungeonmasterCal]

After the dance, you are allowed to sit back down. The players perform another number, the women continuing the dance. This one is slow, the movements of the dancers taking several seconds to complete in some parts. As they dance, they weave their arms and hands in patterns evoking long, flowered vines swaying in hot, humid breezes. Their hips sway, calling to mind waves that crash on distant shores. Sweat beads their faces and bare midriffs, the bangles and jewels that hang from their blouses, ears, ankles and wrists glimmer and catch the bright light in the hall, each tiny flash a different color of the rainbow and seemingly aimed directly in your eyes. Expressionless, the women watch you with eyes half closed. They dance among all of you, moving without sound or even apparent effort as the musicians play a gentle arrangement that fills you with longing and unfulfilled desire. The billowing silken sleeves of the women brush your skin as they slowly twirl and sway around you, the scent of exotic flowers and musky, hot skin filling your nostrils.

Suddenly, you realize you and your hosts are the only ones in the room. You have no recollection of the music ending or the dancers leaving. Only the faint sounds of the city beyond the enclave walls filters into the banquet hall and the very faintest hiss of the oil lamps can be heard.