What a farce. 

Zarius stands towards the opposite wall from where the good Madam Marrowvine made her speech, arms crossed and leaning against one of the countless polished stone pillars that lined the perimeter of the ballroom. He watches the happy couple as well as the expressions of the various individuals in attendance this night. Well at least the faces he can see. It was admittedly hard to tell what a pumpkin or a bed sheet was expressing. He lets out a long sigh as the Marrowvines let finish their announcement. 

So this whole event was just to ensure a captive audience for the big reveal. Was it a show of power? Clearly the other non-adventuring guests were already in support of the Marrowvines being in such a prestigious position of power. Was this all just to try and warn the rest of the party goers not to conspire against them in the future? There were many here with greater ambitions just like himself, but how many actually gave one ounce of concern over such lofty politics. Perhaps the Marrowvines hoped that this would earn them favor with some of the more powerful people present, or tempt up-and-comers to their side before they became too independently powerful themselves. It all came off as grandiosely insincere to the skeptical tiefling. 

He glances at the pale man he had arrived with. Both their ambitions had nothing to do with the crown or the Court or the elves as far as he knew. It was sometimes hard to read the man's stoic expressions and glean what thoughts he had behind those piercing eyes. What did the assassin make of this proclamation?

He stands idly next to the charcoal tiefling, his pale eyes focused on the Marrowvines cheering with their crowd of nobility invited to the party; although, among the cheering crowd… he can’t help but notice the few who seem uncertain, who don’t care, and who are more than puzzled among those toasting one another while the band crescendos. Mainly, he finds it is those who do not reside amongst the nobility: adventurers from different lands, cultures, classes, and backgrounds… who also have all been invited to this very party.

… But why?

Tensions have always been taut between the elves; and if nothing else, Caedes knew this by his basic knowledge of Charon’s history alone… but the Solarian King is hardly the voice of reason in the city of Darkveil. It was always the Ashen Fathers who had the last say— and even though he wasn’t invited personally— Zarius was.

Though their backgrounds and classes are different; the point still stands.

The Solarian Family simply doesn’t mean much to Darkveil; and from what he knows of his new ally, Zarius has nothing personal against Sol City, its court, or its king.

So, then… why? Why invite Zarius? Why invite Shaa? Why invite Veliky, or Kamille?

What about these others, looking up at the Marrowvines with mixed expressions?

What are they trying to get at, by intermingling amongst the nobles, those who are not related to their cause? What are they trying to push, indoctrinate, or influence upon them? Something they want them to leave with? A favour? A mindset?

He remains confident in his read that this party is far too high profile to serve as bait for the lower rung of adventurers, wanderers, and travelers who are mixed amongst the nobles… but that doesn’t mean the Marrowvines don’t have some kind of ulterior motive in place for them to take away.

Caedes crosses his arms over his chest, brows furrowing as he looks to Zarius; his pale eyes are clouded with suspicion. It’s unspoken, but he seems troubled over the new announcement as he meets the tiefling’s golden gaze.

Edward sits in the corner, sipping on his wine as he listens to the cheers and applauses from the crowd at the Madam’s speech. He sighs, not really feeling great at the declaration that the king is trying to unite the elves. From what he has read from books at home, the elves have been separated for a thousand years or so. The sun elves of Capitol Landing, the moon elves of Moonglade, and the dark elves of Frost gale. Imagine if all of those elves come under the royal family? Charon has been relatively peaceful for the past thousand years but making this declaration would surly rile up some dissent from other nations.

Edward’s doubt that the moon and dark elves would like to be under the sun elves, because surly the royal family would not want to be on the same level as the other elves. Edward’s father would certainly have something to say about this. Edward looks around to see if there are any elves around. He would like to hear their options on the matter since he’s not well versed in current politics. He sees a lone elf standing at the back of the crowd and walks over to them, Edward says, “Hello there, my name is Edward. I’m new to these parts and I’m not really sure I fully understand the context of this speech. Are you okay with uniting underneath the sun elf royal family?”

"Why... WHY!! I should not have let that shopkeeper convince me this 'mummy wraps' thing was a good idea..." Socket grumbled to themselves. Many times the odd strips of fabric would not cooperate, and resulted in a stumbling. Eventually, having already been very late, they rushed over to the Ballroom. 

Hours of fidgeting and fussing with the confusing garment had paid off, once it was affixed properly, Socket could easily blend in with a bit of concentration. Approaching silently, they masked the sound of their own steps with practiced ease before spooking a few of the village children. "Put me bbbbaaaaaaaaaccccckkk!!!" was a particularly reactive statement, and soon many younglings were spreading word of the 'Flashing Mummybot'. 

After a few wonderful encounters, and a journey full of marvelous festivities, the steps of the Ballroom swept into view. To say that this sight startled a few of the guards would be an understatement. A few terse shouts, and handing over the invitation to the ball cleared up the commotion. Socket stepped inside, their first party of such magnitude, in such a place. What new discoveries would unfold? Questions raced around in their mind, and an overload of sight, sound, and chemistry catalyzed the state of mind into prevalence.

"Such wonder, I am going to strain my storage before this party is over aren't !?" They spoke aloud to no one in particular, eyes darting from one place to another. All the while, they stood still, and stood out. It was still a concentrated effort to keep their glowing lights dimmed, so this distraction in turn had given rise to becoming something of a spectacle themselves. Luckily, in such a splendid and bespectacled hall, Socket might hope to blend in at least a bit.

Vakker smiled and clapped along with the crowd, showing everyone his happiness at such a great announcement.

Inside, he was furious. A council of Sun, Moon, and Dark Elves? Like that would end well. The Sun Elves would never give up their power over the others so easily. The Sun Elves will certainly remain in power and the other Elves on the council will just be even angrier than they are now. The Dark and Moon Elves will certainly be sitting at the Sun Elves sides, with knives in their hands and a hope to take their place on the throne.

And who knows what kind of political restructuring this will cause? How many of his clients will be replaced? This might be terribly bad for his business. Elves were also incredibly prideful. It would be very difficult for him to make any new clients in such a council if it was made entirely of elves. They didn't take kindly to being advised by anything other than another Elf. And even then, it was barely acceptable.

The Satyr had often been looked down on by so many of those long-lived, long-eared, pompous pricks just because he has hooves and fur like a goat, like an animal. But he was just as long lived as them, longer even than many of them. He deserved respect. He'd worked for it more than them, and he wouldn't let them ruin him now.

Perhaps a bit of political sabotage was in order. Just thinking of that almost made the smile on his face genuine.

Marik was standing off to the side when the clock rang out getting everyone's attention, a female Dark Elf walked to the front of the main room. The room went silent, apparently a lot of people knew who she was, Marik guessed by the attention the Elf received she was the mysterious Madam Marrowvine. 
She started her speech, and the longer she talked to the more annoyed Marik became. 
This whole thing was just political crap, a way to flex power, and money. 
She assumed by the response this woman got; she was well known amongst certain crowds. Marik wasnt exactly one to get involved in anything political. Marik downed what was left her drink, aggravated they had wasted her time, but also confused why she was even invited. This was defiantly not her normal crowd; she had no pull or power in anything of importance. She was just your averaged adventurer, looking for some coin and enjoyed a good fight every now and then. At least she got free booze though there was that.

Marik took a looked around the room, as many clapped and cheered at this 'news' some looked mad, and some much like herself just looked like they could care less. 

The Marrowvine's speach caught Kamille on her way out of the ballroom. The Witch stopped, tempted to listen in to the speech without even realizing the furrow upon her brow. She looked around as people started to clap at the end, her words still ringing in her mind.

This could change everything.

Kamille was one that doubted the elves would ever work peacefully together. It felt like one of those situations where a bit of distance made for a smoother relationship, even if always tense, but at least, stable. Elves had.......... a different way of seeing things, in her experience. Could be good.

Could be bad.

It felt more like... the first domino being lined up. And while she couldn't say for sure why she thought it like that, it was the metaphor that resonated. And while she could only assume all the plots and schemes that took for them to take this one big step, she questioned the endgame. The means might be questionable if the ends are honorable - she would stay behind that.

She would need to know more...

But for now, more urgent matters were at hand, so she left the ballroom.

Shaa scratched his chin trying very hard to feign any interest. That was a pretty bold move to bring up the king in such a mixed gathering. Maybe that was their way of saying “ Broadcast it across Charon, the elves are in charge”  At least Shaa had a better idea of why he was here. As a frequent representative of the Fighters Guild, he would be a good pick for that audience. Whatever. No amount of delicious pastries would buy his loyalty. It was a pretty good way to keep your house intact but that was about as far as it would go.

It was curious however. There were a lot of young folk here as well. Could they have invited some up and comers in anticipation of something? Shaa was starting to look for a quick exit but maybe he should stay around a bit longer to see how this all played out. He had too many friends around here. If he left and something bad happened, he would never forgive himself. Where were those little sausages?

"I am going to be late," Sarris yelped as she was trying to get dressed for the ball.

Corra growled at her, "Hold still so I can get this tightened."
The corset creaked as it pulled her waist in as Corra pulled on the laces.

The amount of fabric that was used in making the slip, corsets, skirts, and the dress was more than Sarris had ever sewn. Let alone the undergarments that fit her like a glove. Sarris had not sewn it, the house Farries had. She had started to make a plain ball dress. But a whole arm of Farries got involved. Worse there were new shoes with lace straps that wrapped around her legs as she climbed to her knees.

It was a beautiful dress. It was white, like the fresh winter snow, with a lot of lace teasing the eye and drawing it to the fact she was female.

White pearl beading and fine Elven and Fae-designed embroidery danced around the dress. It displayed an epic battle, which of course the Winter Court was winning.

A simple note written in sharp cold blue ink on a crisp white sheet of paper said, "Enjoy the evening."
To make matters worse the note was signed, "Mab"
The Winter Queen wanted Sarris to attend this event. That meant this was going to be dangerous and the Fae wanted to know what was going on.

When she was almost unable to breathe. The laces were tied and the dress slid onto her. A similar process took place as she was tied into the skirts and then the dress. A small ringlet of silver with blue and white gems was placed on her head.

She had two throwing daggers woven into the braids of her hair. The weight helped her hair stay in place.

"I feel like an ostrich," Sarris said as she looked in the mirror. The dress' cut was low enough that her neck showed as did her ears.

"Go," Corra and Leah both ordered as they helped her to her fire drake.

Fireclaw rose through the air as it took flight. She held on tightly as her cloak wrapped around her in the cool evening air.

They landed in a garden which caused some alarm and Sarris headed for the ball and her entrance.

She arrived late enough that her hall announcement was postponed. A polite way of saying she was not introduced.

As she glided down the steps into the grand room, she heard the announcement made by Madam Marrowvine. There were false smiles, murderous looks, and some honest cheers. Like that the world was changing.

Mab set her up to look like an Elven Princess.
"Why?" Sarris thought.
To non-elves she was Elven and to the Elves she was human. Sarne was in a better spot and she wished he was here to help her through this. He had been talking about having her title restored.

Sarris took a wine goblet from a servant's tray and sipped it.

She felt like she was going to be caught in a web, but was she the spider or the fly...

Unity among the elves...? What exactly does that mean for Charon? Obviously, unity and equality are wholly different things. Veliky is by no means a historian, but even she knows about the millennia of bickering between the three sister-races, and even she knows that a treaty won't suddenly make them friends. There will still be enmity, it'll just be much quieter, and quieter can be even more dangerous.

But it's a start. If the king knows what he's doing, he could really make something of this. Tenuous unity is better than none. Still, it does nothing to alter her plans.

"What a load of widow dung!"

The ridiculous exclamation draws Veliky's eyes to a heavyset dwarf (heavyset even among dwarves) reclining in an elegantly thin, white chair at a white cloth-draped table. His red-and-white platemail struggles to contain his stomach. At his hip is an ornate, yet brutal-looking dress hammer. His accent is thick, enough so that Veliky knew he was a dwarf long before she glimpsed him.

"Millennia of war, assassinations, bloodshed, and they're just going to kiss and make up? Hah! I'll believe it when I see it!"

Sitting at the table with him are two others: a lean, sun-elven man with long, white hair and a spotless complexion - he's dressed in dark, leather armour in a stereotypical depiction of a thief; and a dark-skinned woman with clever, green eyes and an unapologetically confident smirk that seems intent on staying - she's dressed in a green cloak, wearing some kind of skull as a hat (it's unclear whether or not the skull is real).

The elf seems weary in the way that only an unpleasant conversation can beget. He breathes in exasperation.

"As I already told you, Athel, it's official. I was there at the summit."

The dwarf's short, brown beard rustles as he laughs. The amusement isn't feigned, but it belies a far more earnest anger, which Veliky can easily detect. 

"And I should trust your word, Iymbryl? You're a liar by trade!"

The elf's perfect face is flawed by irritation. He opens his mouth to rebut, but the tiefling is quicker to the draw. Her voice is like caramel: smooth and sinful.

"Iymbryl's in the business of knowing things, dear. Lies are just one of many tools." She swirls a little glass of clear liquid in her hands. "Take this announcement, for instance: perfectly honest, yet with intentions of its own."

The dwarf scowls. The veil of humour is gone.

"That's beside the point. Say that it's earnest; that doesn't mean peace. In fact, it'll make things worse! At least when the elves are at odds, they're safe from one-another, protected by borders and armies. If they start faffing together, there'll be assassinations, conspiracies, hate crimes! It'll just be a war with less marketing!"

"You'd prefer open war, then?" The elf leans on the table, exasperation finally boiling over into anger.

"Aye, I would. At least, then, soldiers are the ones fighting and dying. With this alliance, it's the civilians that'll be suffering."

The human only chuckles.

"Oh, it doesn't matter either way. People are always suffering and dying. Besides, the elves hate each-other; they'll be happy with some rivalry."

"Suffering and dying are things we strive to prevent-" "A pointless effort." "...And the first step to *doing* that, even if it isn't perfect, is to unite under one banner."

"Nooo, I think not. First step, and I ain't afraid to say it: down with the kingdom!" He stands and raises a fist into the air, this his full height actually decreases in doing so. "This royal farce has gone on long enough!"

This outburst provokes no shortage of shocked gasps from those nearby, and does much to clear the space around the table - enough that Veliky can approach unimpeded. She's heard this damn argument too many times. She despises it. But she approaches indifferently. Best not to betray anything yet.

"And what would that accomplish?"

All three turn to look at the sudden interruption. The elf needs to stand to see the tiny witch over the table. Perhaps it's good that she appears so ridiculous; the dwarf is less inclined to offence as he sits back down. In fact, he smiles.

"This whole game of birthrights and pedigree is cynical and greedy, and it has been since its inception. I say, 'Tear it down!'"

The human doesn't veil a fascination in Veliky. Her green eyes peer in a way that sends pins and needles through the little halfling's skin, yet with an unmistakable warmth. It's alluring, yet paralyzing. But she does remove her gaze to smile at the dwarf.

"And what, if you had the chance, would you replace it with?"

The dwarf's cheeks, though barely visible under his facial hair, become rosy at the opportunity to exposit.

"For lack of a better description, I'd make it more dwarven! In the mountain halls, any dwarf can become a great! They need only the talent; whether they're smiths, brewmasters or soldiers - or gardeners! Ha hah ha!"

His mail - evidently real - rattles as the laughter resounds from deep in his prodigious belly. The others don't join in. It's a highly dwarven quip, difficult for others to find humour therein.

"But dwarves have kings and royal families, too, do they not?"

"Aye, but dwarven kings are descendants of heroes. They're held to the highest paragon standards of our culture. They fight beside their armies instead of watching from some high throne; they suffer the punishments for their own crimes!"

"Does fighting make them a good leader? War and politics are very different battlefields."

The elf gestures with a slight, but approving raise of his hand.

"Thank you. I concur, Athel; heroics might be romantic, but they don't make a good ruler."

"Really?" The dwarf is clearly unconvinced. "And what *does* make a good ruler, then?"

"Prudence," the human interjects. Her voice is without even a shred of doubt; she knows the truth from experience. "A ruler's job is to make decisions. Above all, they must be intelligent enough - and willing - to make the right ones."

Veliky nods, not when the human finished her opinion but, specifically, when she said 'willing.' She'd done so only somewhat consciously, but the human noticed nevertheless. She leans on her chin, subtly looming.

"Who *are* you? We don't see your kind very often - that is, assuming you're a halfling." Veliky opens her mouth to respond, only to be interrupted. "Actually, why don't you sit with us? We have a free seat for you."

Indeed, they do. Veliky hadn't thought it important before, but it is strangely convenient. These three... they're simply too disparate to be properly aligned with one-another. Their speech patterns, their accents, even their mannerisms indicate that they're from completely different walks of life, even if they, individually, aren't necessarily trustworthy. She should be safe with them.

She hesitates - that much is clear. But, she does, without a word, climb onto the vacant seat. Still, she's barely visible over the table. The human's smirk widens devilishly.

"I'm Veliky. No surname, don't ask. I run a company. Blixt™ Co."

The dwarf says nothing, but is visibly amused by the revelation that this utterly tiny woman is the head of a business. The elf's brow is furrowed and gaze downturned as he ponders something thoroughly. The human's face is unchanging, like a painting.

"A company? Of what sort?"

Veliky doesn't like how undaunted these people are by her. Not one of them has flinched or shifted uncomfortably under her steely gazed. They're more experienced than that.

"Sell drinks. Magical drinks. Help to keep energy up."

The elf's eyes widen immediately revealing their mystical, violet irises. His voice, elucidated by surprise, bears the timeless youthfulness common among his kind.

"That's *your* company? My people won't stop talking about your product."

Veliky's chin tilts with bemusement.

"Your 'people?'"

"Aye. This prissy elven prettyboy is Iymbryl Castellion, Spymaster for the Sun Elven Royal Family, or, as I like to call him, 'Iymbryl Castellion, Royal Ninny.'"

Iymbryl's eyes narrow at the far-from-flattering introduction.

"...Well, if we're doing one-another's introductions, then this," He gestures to the dwarf. "is Former General Athel Rthymark of Clan Ironeye. From Bleakfort."

The dwarf was fully prepared to rebut some petty insult, only to find himself nodding approvingly at the surprisingly respectful introduction.

"That leaves me. Abigail Abingdon, Ashen Mother. And, might I say, your costume is absolutely adorable. Where did you get it?"

Veliky's seeing stars. When she introduces herself to others, she often finds them intimidated by her relatively high standing. Now, she knows how they feel. By any metric, these are some of the most influential people in all of Charon, and they just introduced themselves to Veliky like they're chatting over tea. In comparison, her company ownership seems pathetic. And did this woman just introduce herself as a powerful crime lord from the Ashlands, then change the subject by complimenting Veliky's costume? Even Veliky envies that casual boldness. She shifts in discomfort, which is made even greater when Abigail notices her awkwardness and giggles.

"I... It's a long story."

"Ooh, I'm intrigued already. But, to stop us from digressing too much, what is your opinion on this unification?"

It's a difficult question; Veliky's still trying to find the answer herself. A vague answer might be best.

"Unity's always preferable to hostility. It won't end the conflict - I'm sure there'll be plenty of intrigue - but it's a start for a stronger kingdom overall."

"...A broad answer." Veliky kicks herself. This is the greatest spy in the world, why'd she think she could get anything by him? "But I agree with the sentiment. This rivalry has kept Charon stagnant for millennia; bitterness is a small price to pay for eventual peace."

The human swirls her drink again. Veliky notices that she hasn't even taken a sip of it, yet.

"Oh, what's peace, really? They'll make nice for a while, then they'll fight again. Or they'll fight something else. And will the public even appreciate peace? Sure, they complain now, but you don't hear them praising the things they do have: walls around them, a government protecting them, a functioning economy; when everyone has peace, nobody wants it."

'That's... a strange opinion,' Veliky thinks. So she thinks doing things for the good of all is pointless?

The dwarf's face scrunches in distaste.

"Don't listen to a word Abigail says, Veliky. She's a lechress: no morals, no values."

"I take offence to that, Athel." Her half-stifled giggle contradicts her words. "I have values. I value expensive wine, submissive men and long walks on the beach."

Veliky cringes at the wholly unwelcome information, and feels a certain sense of camaraderie when she sees Athel and Iymbryl do the same. It does explain quite a bit, though.

"Ugh. Anyway, I think it's a load of widow dung."

"Yes, you- you mentioned that."

"Aye. Even if it's beneficial, even if it helps the kingdoms, it's just unjust! These elves have been fighting for as long as anyone's remembering. They've got grudges to repay; this peace is a betrayal of their ancestors!"

Knowing that these three are such important figures, Veliky is, for once, keen on staying quiet and timid. But the dwarf's statement perplexes her beyond silence.

"But... the people they'd be fighting aren't even the ones that their ancestors fought. They'd be fighting the descendants of those people."

Yet the dwarf seems entirely unfazed by her refutation.

"Aye, and those descendants should be fighting for justice as well! Sure, you might not care if you're a little mouse, crawling around and scavenging for yourself." He holds his hands crooked and purses his lips, miming a mouse. "But we're people! We're part of something greater: a nation! And we've got to fight as a nation!"

Veliky furrows her brow at the general, unwilling to yield, in spite of his prestige.

"If people can unite as a nation, then why can't nations unite under one banner? That's fighting as something greater, isn't it?"

Being attuned to the nuances of conversation, Veliky can feel tangible shock in the air. What she's saying isn't even as offensive as some other quips made by the three nobles, but for it to come from her is a surprise...

But, then, Iymbryl smiles.

"Well, Athel? What say you?" His tone is that of a delighted taunt.

"Hmph..." But, after a few seconds, he smiles as well, his eyes becoming tiny beads. "Not bad. You're full of dung, obviously, but it's a strong rebuttal."

...What? Veliky's utterly confused. He disagrees, yet he congratulates her. And he isn't even going to try refuting her? This is all too confusing. She's in an uncharted territory; it's as if she's a servant that accidentally stumbled into the throne room during audience. This is far too strange. She considers leaving, when,

"Why don't you stay awhile? I think there are many things we could talk about." It's as if the woman read her mind - a disturbing thought in its own right. Her eyes gleam between the fangs of her skull-cap. How they watch her impartially, motionlessly; she isn't put off by the quarterling's eccentricities. In fact, she revels in them.

Veliky's immediate reasoning says 'No, I have somewhere I should be going.' But, in fairness, she's far less likely to be backstabbed when she's around such higher class. And, although she's well out of her league, maybe there is something to be gained here, especially considering that she's already, against all odds, endeared herself to them... Besides, she feels that she'd have great difficulty refusing this woman.

"...Alright. Sure."

Beist looks up from his plate of food in surprise as people suddenly start clapping and cheering. It seems there was some kind of great announcement he wasn't paying attention to. Well, best to just play along. He put the plate down and started clapping as well, lightly to prevent his giant hands from clapping too loudly.

When the clapping finally comes to an end and everyone began chatting excitedly about the news, Beist leaned over to the nearest person. He was about to ask what he missed, but decided it may be better not to. They'd probably think he's some big fool for not paying attention.

"The Dark Elves and Moon Elves have joined a council with the Sun Elves." Pretzels stated into Beist's ear when the little snake noticed the big man looking confused.

"Oh, how lovely." he responded before picking his plate back up and continuing to snack on finger foods.

Vi'ira had found herself lost in thought once more as the night grew darker and her feet grew more tired. For a bit of time, she was sat near the bar, taking a moment for herself after a night bustling with laughter and dancing. A silence washed over the crowd as a proud looking Dark Elf commanded the attention of everyone in the room. 'Ah', she thought to herself, 'Madam Marrowvine in the flesh.'

So this is why a gathering was called to ensue. Yes, partially to celebrate the forthcoming of the Black Harvest, as Madam Marrowvine had said, but there was announcement to be made, and she wanted everyone to hear it. Vi'ira felt a smile cracking on her lips. Elves are such interesting creatures. At times, even Vi'ira shocked herself with the ingrained calculatedness that runs thick in her blood. Elves know how to manipulate their environment, and she could only believe that is what was unfolding before her. A plan was hatching.

The Elves ruling at the same table? Vi'ira didn't know what to think. Was it truly the best idea to allow a bunch of rich, noble Elven families one step closer to the throne, and one hand deeper into the inner workings of Charon? Let alone, Elves that derive from the same Cosmia, and hold the same stubborness and entitledness as their brothers and sisters. The Elven War is no mystery to anyone. The texts recounting the tradegy have not yet begun to age and crumble on the edges, the ink still saturated in color. Even the Marrowvine's had a piece in this deal, which caused question after to question to race through her mind.

On the other hand, King Eldenwar displayed a similar heart to that of Emanious the Kind. It is easy to let doubt cloud one's vision. Hell, at times Vi'ira believed it kept her soul glued together, for if she did not question the things around her, than she was a spineless servant. Maybe the Elves, the Sun, the Moon, and the Dark, could truly find a way to come together to focus on the good of Capitol Landing, the good of the Luna Sea, the good of all of Charon. If the right people were chosen to head the esteemed Elven families, this could be a positive thing to look forward to.

As the crowd erupted in cheers, Vi'ira raised her glass of a random dark alcohol, she was unsure, and finished it. She looked around at the faces of people from across the ballroom. Some spoke in excited whispers to those next to them, while others stood alone contemplating, similarly to her. She noted the faces of those she had met throughout the night, and those that she had not. She placed the empty glass on the nearest surface and fetched her journal from her belt. The pages were stained a faint red from a previous accident during the ball, but thanks to Cantio, the damage from her spilled drink was minimized greatly. She sketched the many expressions that she saw, and wrote in the top corner: A NEW TIME IS UPON US. MAY MORALITY TAKE HOLD OF THOSE THAT NEED IT MOST. THERE IS NO MORE ROOM FOR SELFISHNESS IF CHARON WERE TO BECOME ONE HEART. AND PRAY THAT IT CAN.

Hylltywyll took the distraction caused by the great announcement from Madame Marrowvine as a golden opportunity. While everyone was busy looking up at her, no one was looking down at the little Fairy flitting between the forest of legs, reaching up and picking the pockets of the wealthy noblemen and merchants.

He stole a very shiny pocket watch with a couple of letters etched into the back, plenty of spare coins, fancy pens, and even a feather off of the giant train of Bellighul. It was so easy thanks to that lady up there talking about something the Fairy didn't really care about.

When the crowd began clapping and it was obvious the distraction was over, he hastily scrambled back to the cover of a new buffet table. Time to celebrate a perfectly executed heist with some more finger foods. Those little egg things were his favorite. He'd make sure to grab plenty of those. Just no more of those blue monster birds!

           Natsunats-Shun walked into the venue with practiced grace, pretending that she was not in a panicked frenzy, and had not just flown straight from the window of her tavern suite to the entrance of the Marrowvines's estate. She was very good at pretending, and one might've been convinced she'd been there the whole evening if it weren't the state of her attire and the slight sheen of sweat on her brow. The cloth of her wing cape was rumpled, the ruffled green boat neckline of her dress was askew, and unbeknownst to her, the ribbon tying the corset was sticking out from under the shorter top layer of skirt. She was just planning to gracefully and composedly walk to the bathroom to fix herself, when the hostess made the announcement.

…

        No wonder Gerry wanted me here so badly, I thought to myself as I tried to figure out why the ruffles didn't sit right on my collarbone. This is huge. I ran my hands around my head and over the offending piece of cloth. Ah, I buttoned it wrong. I redid the buttons, fixed my wing cape and the head jewelry that hid my horns in plain sight before heading back to the party.

         It's time to work

    Vikram clapped politely, the jangle of his robes added to the noise of the room. Elf matters. He cared little for politics, but unity was a good thing he supposed. Knowing little of the inner workings of the Kings and Queens and lineages of the courts affected him little in his day to day life. It's not like whomever sat upon the throne was of great importance. Instead there was a party to enjoy despite the fact that several of the faces around the room had soured. Whatever announcement and change the speech proclaimed apparently affecting them a great deal. 

    Grabbing a goblet of fine Solarian wine, a #9 vintage Soccieto Blanc, He joined a crowd of random people. Wild opinions and sharp wits flew rapidly every which way. The speculation of future matters of the court had certainly arrested the imagination of the party goers. War, peace, annihilation, bad crop season, economical futures, the end of Halflings as we know them. While amusing it was a bit disturbing how just a short speech and a summit could pave the way to the worst of days and the best of days in the minds of the populace. Vikram drank heartily, for he was now trapped in a conversation it would be considered impolite to leave as abruptly as he had arrived.