Descending down the stairs with a hand on the railing is a tall, pale woman with long lavender hair. She descends slowly, appearing to not be used to long glittering white gown she wears. The dress hugs her form elegantly, and though she tries to glance around the room as she steps down the stairs she finds herself staring at her feet so she doesn't trip.

"Breathe. Walk slowly. Relax. it's just a ball, you're here to have a good time." She thinks to herself, carefully grabbing her small train behind her as she reaches the bottom of the stairs, stifling a sigh of relief. The young woman looks around and takes in the sight before her, walking around the edges of the room to where refreshments are provided, her dress glitters, shimmering like a thousand stars as the light from above dances around her. 

It was late, well past midnight when the pale wood elf passed through the gates to the main grounds. He had received a letter a few days before inviting him to this Black Harvest party. In truth he had completely dismissed it, not caring for parties, crowds or the family that invited him. He cared so little for the invitation that Kalos actually tossed the letter out, choosing to instead continue his own hunt. 

However his new found emotions continued to play with his mind, reminding him that he had been trying to be more civil, act like a normal person. His interactions with Kamille, Ulrich and others had shown him that there was a different side to Charon, one he could trust and return to. So after days of inner conflict, arguing back and forth with himself, the scarred man decided to attend, believing it to be a learning exercise, a chance to see what civilization was like. Plus, its not like he was going to know anyone there right. 

However due to throwing out the letter, he completely missed the part about needing to wear a costume. He instead showed up in the same outfit he always wore, a pair of dirty leathers, caked with dry mud, dirt and leaves. His blades rested on his hip while the large longbow sat attached to his back. He passed by groups of people, all in costume, drinking and laughing as the night went on. As he entered the main ball room he quickly realized just out of place he was. The elf scanned the room, watching tons of strangers mingle, chat and enjoy each others company. He was a fish out of water. 

Not knowing what to do, and apparently missing a big announcement recently, Kalos instead just strode over to the food table, picked up a random plate of meats and cheeses, and stood there, awkwardly watching strangers dance while he picked at his snacks. What the hell was he doing here? 

From ancient times to our days have people been arguing on what shape in the universe is the most perfect. Some said it was a circle, for that is how we see the Sun and the Moon, splendid in their beauty and mercifulness. Others shook their finger in disapproval, for they were confident: the most perfect shape in the world would definitely be a sphere. Only barbarians wouldn't know that the Sun and the Moon had been more than a mere flat shape! There were also those who bigotedly preached, that if there was anything perfect in the world, that would undoubtedly be the shape of an egg! An eternal symbol of creation, a mathematically proven fact!

Yet, Cheche knew nothing of those theories, and little did she care. For her the most perfect shape in the world was the shape of her full tummy, rumbling no more!

It was definitely a good idea to wear such a spacious costume! Now Cheche filled it well, being the most perfect round object at the Marrowvine's mansion. And since she was not hungry anymore, Cheche was *curious*. Here, we should remind the kind reader, that curiosity was both her strongest and her weakest trait! How many times was it, when she had to save her little sparkly self from bandits, cultists, horsepedes, molded cheese, and what not! On the other hand, how many times her curiosity had led her to true friends, great journeys, and wonderful stories to tell! Suddenly, all the music stopped, and the idle guests, roaming around in the gardens only a minute ago, hurried back into the main hall of the mansion. It meant that something big was going on there, so Cheche tagged along. Being short and having a firm round pumpkin around, still fresh from the veggie patch, helped her to squeeze through the crowd of distinguished guests. Many of them gladly gave her the way, in order not to get the bright orange stains on their silk and velvet robes. Cheche was delighted, her costume proved to be a real treasure after all. She found a quiet corner near the big leafy plant, fetched herself a big cushion, climbed at the broad marble window seal, and settled comfortably. It looked like the Boss Lady was going to give a speech. She made an elegant greeting gesture, all eyes on her. Everyone grew really quiet, and even Cheche stopped sniffling for a second. The lady started speaking, her voice was cold and beautiful. However, the words she said escaped Cheche's understanding. Sophisticated politics and intrigues of the powerful ones were something alien to such a small rolling-stone adventurer as her. She heard that the representatives of all Great Elf Houses would sit together at the same table and chuckled at the thought. That would definitely be fun! From what she'd heard, those Elf families didn't meet that often. Prrobably, they will have lots of stories to share and have plenty of cordial conversations! Cheche smiled. She thought of her own family left behind, somewhere in another world. That brought sadness back. Cheche sniffed and wiped a lonely tear with her sleeve.

Blue Raspberry had gotten a little bored of being a little bird. It matched Astrid's costume, sure, but it was also really hard to eat all these finger foods with such a tiny beak and people were everywhere so they had a hard time not being seen. Maybe it'd be better if they changed back into a knight? Then they'd be able to eat the food and not have to worry about being seen at all. They just needed some kind of costume to wear over their armor. Wearing the costume overtop of their armor wouldn't be suspicious at all!

They just had to look through their stuff to see what they had. A jar? No. Jewelry? Maybe they could go as someone with a lot of jewelry on? No, that wasn't really a costume. They had their displacer beast cloak, but they jsut wore that normally, so that wasn't a costume. A bunch of bones... Oh, a skeleton would make a great costume!

The little blue bird hid under a table and morphed back into their knightly appearance in their full suit of armor, but unlike usual, there was a strange skeleton haphazardly constructed by gluing the different bones to the front and back of their armor with some ooze. A skull sat affixed to the top of their helmet.

They crawled out from under the table just as everyone was looking up at the balcony for some reason. No one noticed the sudden appearance of this weird new guest among the crowd.

Zak stood at the entrance to the grand terrace, his gaze taking in the surroundings. Nervous, his hand reflexively reached down to pet his wolf. Damn, he cursed under his breath when his hand met empty air. Gray’s not here you idiot, he told himself with a scoff, his hand moving to the pouch hanging across his chest. Zak’s wolf was safely settled in a pocket dimension, not welcome at a posh party such as this.

Zak was relatively certain that under normal situations he wouldn’t be welcome here either. Why in the hells would Mister and Madam Marrowvine ever include a tribesman such as he to be anywhere near those in attendance tonight?

Looking around, he sighed in relief, noting that enough other partygoers had also chosen simplicity over theatrical so he wouldn’t stand out. Zak chuckled, quickly deciding that it was quite entertaining that most chose to be more creative than him with their costume choices.

Dressed in his full tribal colors, Zak’s gaze roamed the terrace, searching for anyone he knew. Cheche was here somewhere, and although Zak wasn’t sure what Cheche had chosen to wear, he figured her short stature would make her easy enough to spot.

    It wasn't his idea to come here, nor had he actually received the invitation; it was his adoptive elven father's, Valamin Gethri of Moonveil Village. Valamin wouldn't be able to attend and had asked Úlfr to do so in his place so as not to seem rude, and Kamille, or the Witch of Moonveil as some people seemed to call her, had urged him to oblige his father. So here he was, begrudgingly dressed as a druid from Moonveil, the only amount of costume Úlfr could be bothered to adorn.

    He flashed the invitation at the front door to get past the hired hands barring the way for any without and scanned the large room, looking for the hosts. Úlfr had every intention of simply informing them he was here in Valamin's stead, that he wished he could have personally attended, and that he wished for their continued prosperity. It didn't take long to find them chatting away to some influential and politically important guests. The silver-haired lycan made his way over and waited for a moment to interrupt their conversation at the least inappropriate time. 

    Úlfr found his moment and made his introduction, delivering the message his father had entrusted him with. Despite absolutely not wanting to be here, the last thing Úlfr wanted to do was embarrass his father, and so he spoke as properly, politely and respectfully as he could manage when addressing the two Dark Elves.

    Once that was over, Úlfr excused himself and started to head back towards the door with every intent of leaving, but instead he caught a glimpse of a familiar face. He struggled for a moment, deciding whether or not to say hello... and eventually made his way over to Kamille.

Another few hours go by as the party continues to rage into the early hours of the morning. The entire crowd appears happy, excited and most importantly, drunk. Even though a good amount of people leave early, it does nothing to diminish the electricity in the air. Lady Marrowvines earlier announcement seemed to be a fairly popular one among most of the nobles and regals in attendance. The majority of the guest have congregated into the main ball room, filling the hall with loud conversation, laughing, drinking and dancing.

As you continue to enjoy the party, mingling with friends and participating in fun frivolities, you notice something odd, having to think on it for a second as you second guess your own eyes. You watch as a strange elven man wearing a fancy red sparkly suit approaches Madam Marrowvine with a golden goblet of unknown liquid. You blink for a second, now staring at the cup as you firmly believe you saw him slip something into the Madams drink.

Now holding the cup, you watch as the elven man leaves, vanishing behind a curtain, as Madam Marrowvine slowly raises the cup to her lips. You dont fully understand what you just saw, and are not sure what do to.

(Refer to the poll section on Charon to continue)

Those with the stealth skill notice that they are a Moon Elf, and more specifically are bearing a symbol that belongs to the Lunar Rebels

(With a vote of 7-21, the community has voted to alert Madam Marrowvine)

You go back and forth in your mind, trying to absorb everything in just a matter of seconds. You draw your breath, ready to step in and announce what you saw, however another voice cries out before yours, from an unknown stranger among the crowd. A hush befalls the room as all heads not already on the scene bolt in its direction. The figure in red also stops, keeping his back to the Madam as the stranger points them out, exclaiming that they have poisoned the cup! Before anyone can do anything, Madam Marrowvine tosses the cup to the side as five large armored guards appear as if out of no where.

The suspect elf instantly darts through the crowd, pushing and shoving their way through flocks of surprised and startled guest. Several members of the party move to intercept, standing in the mans way as the guards enclose around them. The room is in chaos, panic rising as the crowd begins to understand. Both wife and husband move towards the supposed attacker, screaming and ordering for his head. A crowd has now formed around the scene, pushing you aside as you struggle to get close, making out glimpses of the chaos through random strangers.

Now face first on the ground, several guards bind the red dressed man in shackles, force him up and then begin to drag him out of the hall. The entire room sits stunned, unsure what to do, while the couple calms themself. After a few seconds, Madam Marrowvine awkwardly chuckles, orders another drink and exclaims to the room that the party should continue on!

Shortly after her and her husband leave for the rest of the night, the party slowly dying off into the wee hours of the morning.


(You can respond to this topic with your reaction and follow up, but can not influence the outcome of this post in any way.)

Zarius backs away from the rubberneckers as they try to get a better look at the sloppy poisoner. How bold could they be to pull such a stunt with so many keen eyes keeping a watchful eye over the hosts? It was a foolish attempt. Likely one taken out of desperation rather than a properly planned assassination.

What he had noticed, at the very least, was that the red dressed man was a moon elf. Likely a member of the Lunar Rebels of Moonglade if he had to take an educated guess. Perhaps they were disgruntled to find that the Dark Elves were eagerly accepting the offer to sit alongside the ruling Sun Elves as if they were equals.

Perhaps they knew something that the attendees here were unaware of. The reality was that many of those outside of the nobility here likely did not really have any positions of power to speak of or even care about Charon’s politics to begin with. There were a few though who certainly had more at stake and felt very strongly about the monarchy one way or another.

Stepping away from the crowd as the party proceeds to wind down for the night after the hosts exit, Zarius crosses the ballroom and steps outside the front doors to wait to regroup with Caedes before they return to the Ash Lands. 

He breathes in the cool night air. One thing at a time, though what he would give to bear witness to the interrogation the wannabe assassin was no doubt being subjected to after causing such a scene at the high profile event. The ball certainly had been full of surprises, both good and bad, and left him with a lot of things to consider for his own plans for the future.

Cyran had been moving to stop Madam Marrowvine from drinking from the chalice- not out of any love for her, but out of moral obligation- before she flung the cup away and called for the guards. Cyran immediately set off in a brisk walk through the crowd, determined to help catch the assassin, but a noble who hadn’t noticed his presence knocked into him and shoved him off course. Cyran caught himself before he could fall, but the damage had already been done. Madam Marrowvine’s guards had reached the man with the rebel’s mark first.

The would-be-victim merely laughed and proclaimed that the celebration was still on, but the events that had just transpired soured the evening for Cyran, leaving too many unanswered questions in his mind about the assailant, and why he’d been invited to this gala at all. But the chances of getting answers from the Lunar Rebel, a moon elf much like himself, were slim to none as the rebel was dragged away in solid wrought-iron chains.

There was no need for him to linger. Cyran had seen enough. The assassin disappeared into the crowd, barely noticeable to the concerned partygoers as he made his way to the exit. Any rare guest who did manage to spot him would notice the carefully blank expression on his face that concealed the troubled thoughts that brewed underneath.

Since his exile, Cyran had cared little for the matters of other countries, and avoided political strife and conflict like the plague. The squabblings of petty nobles was none of his concern, especially when he had to focus on his own survival first. For the past decade, he’d managed to stay out of political matters just fine, but given what transpired today, Cyran had the feeling that he would not be able to afford keeping to himself for much longer. Conflict was brewing, and if he wasn’t ready for it, then he would only be swept up in its torrent when everything came crashing down.

Cyran disappeared into the night, troubled thoughts still lingering in his mind on whose side he should take. Though Moonglade was his birthright, he felt no particular love for his home country, and he did not care for the elven power struggle itself- only the harm that would come from it.

Cyran suspected he would have to make the choice sooner rather than later.

Lingering in the back of the crowd, Caedes watches the scene before him unfold; the scene is perfect— or it would have been, if the assassin hadn’t been so sloppy in his undertaking. He should say he’s surprised, but given the curiosities of this ball, paired with such high profile guests, and an unsupervised crowd… of course he’s not surprised something like this could occur.

He remains still, no attempt to intervene, while people around him panic and fret; the thud of the elven man hitting the ground as guards apprehend him resounds through the ballroom floor, but he chooses to remain motionless. He watches through gaps in the crowd as the elven man— a moon elf— struggles against the guards. The flash of a rebel’s mark on his clothes…

… makes him interesting.

Madam Marrowvine’s voice rings out, the tone of her voice awkward as she declares the party should continue; but for many in the crowd, the party is already done. He takes a breath, offering the moon elf one last glance as the guards drag him into the hall; then, he turns on his heel and excuses himself from the mass of people.

I can’t believe…

In front of all these people?

What if there are more?

Gossip rattles through the crowd as the hosts quietly depart following the upset; he listens keenly as he passes group after group of prattling nobles— some angry, some frightened, some lackadaisical. He pushes past the last of them, pushing open the grand doors that leads to the front stairs of the ballroom, where he had agreed to meet Zarius should anything grand have occured, some hours before.

Vakker sipped his wine as the rebel was dragged away.

How disappointingly sloppy. Did they really think they could get away with that in such a crowded ball? Idiot. Vakker thought to himself.

He didn't particularly care about whether the Marrowvines lived or died. It may have sent a message to the royal family if they had, but it ultimately wouldn't have accomplished much. They would just find a new Dark Elf representative to replace them and continue on with their plan. The Golden Family wasn't one to let something like this stop them. If it did, they wouldn't have stayed in power for so long. Still, at least it would have been interesting for a moment.

Vakker wondered if whoever had been selected as the Moon Elf representative might currently be targeted in a similar way. The Marrowvines had certainly neglected to mention who the Moon Elf representatives would be in their grand speech earlier. The advisor would just have to find that out himself after leaving the ball. Just more and more work to do. How he loathed the royal family and the problems they kept causing for him.

The smile quickly faded from her lips as her eyes caught a glimpse of the movement, as they were slowly strolling around the outskirts of the party. Kamille squeezed Amílcar's hand as her eyebrows met in a furrow and she hesitated. Gladly, someone else intervened - gladly, because as the events unfolded, more and more worried she grew. A moon elf...?

That....... could lead to problems. Would. Not because it could be tied to her, personally, but the reasons weren't lacking: a half-elf that hailed from Moonglade, that had assassins under her and was known for selling poisons. It wouldn't, because she doubted something so sloppy could reach her. But it was one more problem under the ever growing list of Moonglade's issues at the moment. Everyone knew of the poorly veiled intentions of the leaders of Moonglade, and that attempt, as unprofessional as it was, just reinforced that and put it on display for everyone to see.

The Witch had wanted a bit of peace and distance from these cursed politics for the time being, but it felt like there was nowhere to run. Gently pulling the Necromancer closer, she whispered in his ear.

"I'm tired... Feels like enough excitement for the night. Maybe we should be bidding our farewells?"

Even more than worried, she looked dissappointed. Moonglade had felt like a peaceful place to live, but like any other, was bubbling with problems underneath the surface of beautiful, bountiful forests. Far from being surprised by the attempted assassination, though, she felt those responsible for it had in daring what they lacked in professionalism. If the rebels were unprepared to this degree, she feared they would create more problems than they would fix.

    Bah, such party tricks are in such poor taste. These silly elves always stirred these silly games up among themselves to keep their parties more interesting. Surely, nothing will come of this and it will all be forgotten for the next big twist at the next weird gala that this crowd all attended. He removed his costume, standing to the far wall of this crowd of actors performing their twisted skit. Didn't these foolish nobles know that people are actually assassinated? Bah! Fools. 

    Vikram sipped his wine and mingled with some of the Zeinavan guests, each of which found themselves absolutely enthralled with the nights happenings.

"You find yourself fooled my friend. Had there been an actual attempt on these nobles would they not shoo each of us out of their mansion? Who is to say the actual mastermind did not still cloak themselves among us. Suspicious, is it not? Open your eyes."

    His frustration with the common partygoers was too much, it was time to go. As much patience as the man had for children he found little for these childish games. Off, away from the nobles and their gardens, back to do work that mattered.

     The Lunar Rebels? It looks like they don't approve of the Marrowvine's move into the inner court, unless that substance is beneficial, which is very, very unlikely. I debated not calling out. I'm not the biggest fan of the Marrowvines- having lived in their son's territory didn't give me the best impression of their family- but someone else ended up doing it for me, and thankfully, the agent was neutralized without much issue. I continued to wander the ball, subtly following the guards as they took the assailant to see where the guards. I'd make a great scoop, and the Lunar Rebels would make great contacts, considering that I have a similar political agenda. Unfortunately, I was spotted, and made my way out of the party as it died down.

       For now I'll watch and share what I've seen. It would've nice if they'd died, but I guess this result is okay too, after all, my issue is with their son, not them.