Vakker sipped his glass of wine, a boring conversation with some unimportant noble from Frostglade having just ended. Worthless. Not worth the Satyr's time. His smile never faded while he thought about how unremarkable that man's ideas and thoughts had been. He was calm and collected, as cool as ice. He wouldn't show any kind of distaste outwardly in company.

He scanned the crowd for someone else he could try and connect with, someone worth the effort, and spotted a redheaded man in an extravagant peacock costume complete with a mask, a feathered cavalier hat, and an enormous feathered train dragging behind him. The crowd had to leave a wide berth behind the man to avoid stepping on the train. Now, that's a bit much, he thought to himself.

He wasn't sure if this man was just extremely arrogant or if he was actually important enough to warrant such a vibrant display, but as the redhead grabbed a glass of wine from a servant's tray and removed his mask to take a sip, the Satyr's heart nearly skipped a beat. Immediately, Vakker recognized that face. The hair was a bit different, but that face was unmistakable. He smiled wider, his icy blue eyes filled with surprise. He had to talk to him.

He walked over to the man quickly, gliding between dancers as if gracefully sliding on ice toward his target. He couldn't believe it, after all this time. He approached the man from behind and stepped carefully around the train, his hooves gently clicking across the ground. Vakker gently placed a hand on the man's shoulder and leaned in to whisper in his ear.

"Well well well! It's been quite some time, hasn't it, Amilcar?"

The Necromancer had wandered into the gala, arriving slightly late, eyes crossing the masses of people. His costume was intentionally overly extravagant, he wanted to be noticed. This was not the first time he was over dressed, even at a costume ball it was excessive. Many had to be weary of stepping or being tripped by the train of feathers. His hat, titled to one side as was in fashion, often rubbed against the faces of those standing nearby. Often the murmurs of the crowd found a smile under his mask. 

Making his way towards the tower of champagne glasses, a fountain of bubbling wine trickled down into the others from on high as more bottles were poured at its peak. He was given one, taking it by the stem and becoming a sentinel at the side of the table. His mask did not allow him to eat or drink, thus, the silken fabric was untied for a time and set his mask onto the linen covered table. The symphony were still practicing their instruments, the conductor shifting through sheet music quickly nearby. He wasn't particularly impressed. Mostly due to having the luxury of hearing Cantio play several times. It ruined his appreciation for most other string players. Though, he lifted his glass to them nonetheless. 

The sound of cloven hoofs rang rhythmically behind him, as he took a large dram of wine into his mouth. 

He was also touched on the shoulder almost immediately registering the sound. He was a bit particular about physical contact. Yet, before he could soundly scold the perpetrator for doing so, a voice whispered in his ear. A wave of memory crashed into his mind and he was stunned. It was not long ago when he had learned his true name, guarding it closely from others. Yet, of all days, one remembered him. 

Bellighul was silent for a moment but fell back into the present and turned his face to meet him. 

Likewise, he was a bit surprised at seeing the rather dapper Saytr. He smirked a bit and scanned the form now close, who towered over him in height. Bellighul's baritone voice spoke melodously and quietly. "Well, if it isn't Vakker...maker of Kings. To see you here is both unfortunate and fortuitous...are you here to corrupt another courtier or simply enjoy the festivities?" They both were the scheming and plotting sort. Hard to read beneath layers of flattery and half-truths. He drank another swill before using his free hand to daintly remove Vakker's hand with two fingers. 

Vakker let his hand be removed from their shoulder with no resistance before putting it behind his back in a dignified pose. He smiled down at them, chuckling a bit at that title. He hadn't heard that one in quite a while, not since the Sun Elves took over as the ruling family. Now he might be better known as Vakker the Baron Maker or the Vakker the Lord Maker. He hoped he wouldn't be know as anything, really. He'd come to find working in the shadows much more comfortable. He even preferred to use a pen name every time he wrote a book.

"Why not a little bit of both? I can enjoy myself and conduct my business at the same time, you know. I didn't expect to see you here. You look a lot more alive than I remembered. And your hair! It suits you."

Vakker took a sip of his wine.

"You know, I had heard a little something about a certain Vampire having a grand villa built on the coast in Zeinav. What was their name? Belly Ghoul? A silly name, but anyways, rumors said they were extraordinarily ostentatious and had recently dyed their hair red. It was no surprise that such a figure would be invited to this prestigious event, but imagine my shock at finding out such a well known figure turned out to just be... you." he said in a teasing manner.

Bellighul stood there for a moment, unmoving, contemplating Satyr's words closely. The Necromancer's charm was strained intensely, struggling to subside the frown and anger on his face. Vakker always had a habit of digging deep into his psyche. He was not to be trusted, yet he played the game. It was far better to walk away, yet, Bellighul was far too proud. He would entertain this one for the time being. They coyness bothered him greatly. "Alive and dead are more subjective than we like to think, dear Vakker. I've found that life in undeath is quite extraordinary. Yet, I've also found that the dead have an awful habit of long memory." He moved to look him in the eyes. Ruby red ablaze yet smiling. His charade was apparent. He truly hated the Saytr. Yet, he played the game. 

His baritone voice once again sounded. "It's pronounced 'Bell-lay-gull', considering you spent so much time in Zeinav, you are just being facetious now." He directly examined. Hoping to put Vakker on edge, although, that one was not known to be easily shifted. Thus he spoke strongly, in attempts to control the situation. Knowing well an outburst of his would have dire consequences. He was to be calm. Collected. Yet beneath his noble persona lies that of a vengeful slayer. 

He continued. Strongly. ''I now wonder how you managed to stay alive. Surely, someone would have killed you by now. I certainly would have...if you had not had a part with a dagger in my back so long ago, lucky you." He was being transparent. Sipping his wine as he finalized the sentences, taking in the notes of dark fruit and spice. Summoning another bottle, this time, one hidden beneath the table; meant for the nobility and social elite. His own vintage. Directly from Zeinav. The bottle was opened, two drinks poured and Bellighul cheered his foe, or friend, by clinking the wine glasses together. 

"Perhaps, your luck will find an end. In due time. Until then, there are so many things to do...you and I. Although, Vakker, the name Amilcar I quite prefer."

Vakker's smile fell into a look of dignified anger.

"I am still alive after all this time because I know who not to trifle with, and believe me, I never intended to trifle with you. If I had known their target, I-" Vakker began before looking around and leaning in closer. Speaking in a quieter, calmer voice, he continued. "I would have advised them against it. They only asked for a bit of help with the planning. I thought it was an easy job, but they didn't tell me their target. I thought that was fine. Secrets are common in my work, but when I found out you were the one they'd killed, I knew I had made a mistake."

He straightened up and looked down at Bellighul, his smile still absent. His voice was still quiet as he spoke.

"You know I hate to admit when I make a mistake, so listen to me now as I say this, Amilcar. I made a mistake, and it is not one I intend to make again."

"I believe you, enough." He seemed almost unfazed by the revelation, no less caring for the reason. Bellighul was not the sort to accept apologies or excuses well, he was far too grudge-holding. His assassination, which itself remains subject to debate, would not be taken lightly. Though he lives again, he is but a shadow of his former self. 

Though he smiled. He was good at disguising himself in front of nobility. Though a rage simmered inside. He continued. 
"The fact remains I lost everything. Now, milenia later I return by Lunala's favor. A very different time....look at them all." Again, his eyes wandered across the Meadowvines. Not with awe or intrigue but with malice and scorn. It was apparent as his smile twisted down, nearly snarling. His chalice grew empty quickly as he tried to disguise his expression. Turning back to Vakker, placing a hand around his shoulder and leaning his face closer to the Satyr's chest level.  To begin a half whisper. The progression of a dark plot.
"The Dynasty is still as fickle and void of honor as ever. Now, they throw bones to the Dark and Moon Elves. As if that will rid the past memories of their genocide against them." He scoffed. The heel on his boot tapped somewhat loudly as if to reaffirm his point. 
"Vakker, my dear, you are equally at fault for allowing this to happen, how a Dynasty can stand thousands of years is beyond me." The Necromancer's head shook, adjusting with his free hand his vest and cravat. His other hand softly attempted to bring Vakker in closer and somewhat away from earshot of the others surrounding him. 
"Now, you will aid me in gaining back everything I once had. That suffices more than any apology...you will be Maker of Kings once again. Then, we can be friends once more."

For a moment, Vakker wished he'd never spoken to his old friend here at this ball. Then, he wouldn't be in the man's eye, receiving threats and promises. He had been upset when he'd heard of Amilcar's death, but that was a long time ago. He wasn't one to try to get revenge against people who could very well be the end of him if that revenge went wrong. He had let go of his anger some time ago. Now, it was very clear, his friend had not.

He let the man's hand pull his head down lower to speak more privately.

"Is a threat really a great way to rekindle a friendship?" he sighed.

"They still stand because, like I said, I know who not to become an enemy of, and they would be a powerful enemy. I'm willing to work with you, but you know I don't like threats, even from you. I'm not pretending I have no fault in your situation, but I'm not going to be forced into being some pawn in your match against the Dynasty just because I recommended them some assassins. It's not like you've never unintentionally harmed me in any of your business before." Vakker whispered forcefully.

He hated being threatened into working for someone. More often than not, that just caused him to get that person killed off so they would stop bothering him. He'd hoped his friend would be a bit more forgiving. He would have offered to help him anyways, since he had some guilt in the whole incident, but he wouldn't allow him to think he could hold his mistake over his head forever.

He straightened back up to his imposing stature and looked down at Bellighul before taking a sip of his wine.

Amilcar chuckled softly, adjusting his cravat again as others passed the two by, awaiting them to fall out of ear shot before responding. "I generally don't make threats, I find them too thin for my liking. You are indebted by honor. That should be enough." He spoke of honor, whilst plotting against the Dynasty, though not one he saw as legitimate. He truly believed Vakker was entitled to aid him, placing an amount of blame on the ancient one. Yet, he could have been projecting. 

"Though, I have been called a violent man; subtle is not how I would describe myself. You would know." There was truth, the debonair sorcerer was not one to have ever been modest or shy in the face of attention. Even before the dagger struck him down. 

"See, I have learned something at this ball, it is that the sheer apathy and willful ignorance is a plague on this century's society. Fearful of conflict. Willing to bend the knee to toil away in the dirt while a golden spire reigns indefinitely. Cowards...all of them." His philosophy was dogmatic and extreme. He could not bear the idea of being subservient any longer. The restless dead, perhaps. 

"I never took you for a coward, but three thousand years can change people I suppose." The venom on his tongue, hissing from behind his lips. He was being awful to Vakker, who in reality was no more than an accessory and an apologetic one. Though, his grudges were a constant one. Bellighul did not forgive easily and remembered slights well. 

"But, my friend, a crusade is on the horizon. Conflict, unavoidable. A great Holy War to right the wrongs of generations of spineless nobles and careless commoners. Make sure you are on the right side of it, by Lunala's grace." Vakker was certainly imposing, towering over the Lord of Ghouls even with his tall heels. Yet, as the Saytr sipped his wine, the bearing of Bellighul never subsided. A almost constant devious smirk on his face veiled inister intentions. Yet, this was not the Amilcar that Vakker had once known. A kind and wise leader of nomadic descent. Surely, death is change but in undeath, the Zeinavian seemed to be split into two separate entities. Though, most of Charon had seen but one. Both chivalrous and malevolent in strange contradictions. 

The man that was Amilcar who walked the gardens with Vakker in old Ahriman was there, in his eyes and features. Yet twisted and morphed into a being of intense hatred and ambition. Bellighul placed his hand gently on Vakker's shoulder, as if to ease the tension as he turned to the Marrowvines and raised his chalice to them. Though unlikely they even noticed, it was a part of a grim charade.

"Long may the Solarians reign." He spoke in jest, however, making sure any ears that overheard would barricade him from words of pure treason. 

This man was definitely different from the one Vakker had known all those years ago. He seemed far more maniacal and unhinged than the cryomancer. It almost made him worry he had been mistaken when he'd assumed this was Amilcar, maybe it had actually just been someone who looked very similar, but that possibility was impossible. They knew too much about the past for that to be the case. Still, this change in personality was too much. Perhaps three thousand years really could change him this much, but Vakker was still concerned.

"My honor is not so easily indebted. I'll help you, but don't think you can order me around like one of your mindless ghouls. Yes, I've heard about what you've begun to dabble in. It's not like I care to judge other people's hobbies, but perhaps you've gotten a bit of a big head after having such obedient thralls to be in charge of. I assure you, my friend, I'm not so mindless."

Vakker raised his glass silently as Bellighul gave his mocking regards to the hosts of the party. His smile was gone. He wasn't sure if he was being sarcastic or not when referring to this man as his friend. They didn't seem at all like his friend anymore.

Vakker also disliked the Golden Family not minding if that golden spire fell, that he and Bellighul could agree on, but he didn't hold any special grudge against Solaria or love in his heart for Lunala. He simply hated the Sun Elves in charge because they were awful for his business. He didn't really care what god they followed. He wasn't a fanatic, unlike the man standing before him.