Sins of the Past: Masquerade Mayhem

The invitations went out several weeks ago, and now all that remains is for the guests to arrive.

Where, you ask? Why, one of the largest and most ostentatious mansions in all of Alexandria City, of course. It was on the invitation... Didn't you read it?

Shame.

The mansion in question is owned by the Society of Dagger Dames and Gentleman Adventurers, donated ages ago by one of the Society that passed from this mortal coil some century or so ago. While it has long been the site of some truly amazing social occasions, in recent years it has fallen into obscurity as the Society has become considered passe and just a little bit of a joke.

"Are we sure this is the right move?" A halfling in a mask asks, dressed in a fantastical costume that makes them look like a wood-nymph complete with ivy woven into her hair. "Maybe the age of the Society has passed. Membership numbers aren't what they use to be, and we barely have enough people for the Council. Maybe if we started charging a membership fee..."

A large, rather rotund man dressed like a Walrus lets out a suspiciously walrus-like honking noise of protest. "A fee? A *fee*?!" He bellows, "What do you think we are? Some pay to play organization? No! Ours is a *calling*! Harumph!"

The third person, dressed as if he were an angel complete with feathery wings, sighs. "Well, hopefully this latest bunch will bring new life into the organization." He says, voice pained, "The Merry Maid of Martell won't give her birth name, and I fret at the idea of someone unvetted in the Society. This Captain Cashew is alright, if a little... ostentatious... but the real question mark is this Skyler Skywalker." He takes a deep breath, letting it out slowly, "He's got a good reputation among the Adventurer's Guild, and made friends in high places, but he's a bit of a wild card. And there's the rumors..."

"TUT TUT!" The Walrus harumphs again, interrupting the Angel while the Wood Nymph giggles, "All will go well! Now, let's open the gates.."

Which brings us to the present: The gates are thrown open, allowing entry into the ballroom of the Society Headquarters, where a band dressed like musical instruments plays stately music up in a balcony, while tables full of fine finger foods and strategically placed seating areas line the walls. Servants, all dressed in white, move through the slowly growing crowd. The members of the Society are all easily picked out of the crowd, each one wearing a sash of purple with the sigil of the Society on it along with medals and accommodations from both the Society and other organizations.

On a dais at the back of the room is a small seating area with five seats for the Council of Five, leaders of the Society. Seated there are only three people: A large-belly old man with a Walrus mask, a slender man dressed as an Angel, and a spritely little halfling dressed as a Wood Nymph.

No sign yet of the honorees of this little shindig, but then again, who wouldn't be fashionably late for their own party?

Auranar isn't one to turn down a party, particularly not one that she's been invited to. Most especially one that her sister is also attending with her husband. Even if she has to go alone.

Dressed in a fine dress with a white set of petticoats and a white blouse beneath, Auranar's dress is a bold and lovely pink affair that corsets around her middle under her chest and marks out gold leaves along the edges down the skirt. It is in short a beautiful dress with a white mask settled over her features that covers only a small portion of her dark skin, she would be fairly easy to recognize if not for one thing. Her customary pink-and-black hair for which she is best known is done up in a bun so that the pink is a little ring of braided hair atop her head.

She arrives a bit early, not wanting to miss anything at all.

The Pool Shark was unsure about the invitation at first. It was likely to be crowded, noisy and full of strangers. And if she was going to spend time doing that, she had crowded, noisy and full of strangers at home.

Social organizations, by their very founding, are... well, social. So there's always a little bit of interplay between one group and another. Sometimes it's hostile, sometimes it's friendly. After all, it would be so much more boring without that sort of thing.

Which is where the Shining Chalice comes in. One might say that the two groups are of similar mindsets, though the Chalice is more involved in the arcane. But a friend is a friend, and so when the invitations went out, a certain half-elven couple were perfectly happy to accept. And, perhaps, to show some people how it's done.

Which is why the Archmage Telamon Lupecyll-Atlon, lord of Leca'fi Amdamu, and his lovely wife Cor'lana Lupecyll-Atlon, are stepping through the gates arm-in-arm. Elaborate, cumbersome robes, hoods, and pointy hats? Not for them. Telamon is dressed in a ruffled white silk blouse, buttoned up the front, with a pale green vest embroidered in gold over that. His trousers are a light tan color, tucked into fashionable but comfortable boots with green embroidery in the dark leather. Perched on his head is a broad-brimmed hat with a large violet feather in it. He doesn't look like a sorcerer. He looks like a dandy. And that's just how he likes it.

Tel smiles at his wife. "Well, it seems we made it on time." He catches sight of Auranar, and raises his hand to his sister. "Aura, you made it!"

Free food.

The TarRaCe will survive an evening without her.

Her costume was a bit ... different. She wore a ballroom gown, a sea-green in colour. It was cut and designed to show off particular features. A short, somewhat stubby shark's tail, a fin situated in the middle of her back, and delicate gills down her neck.

Instead of wearing a shark costume, she was a shark IN a costume.

After offering up her invitation at the door, Irshya made her way around the ballroom, stopping at the strategically placed finger food feeding areas. Where she avails herself of the tasty tidbits. No plate required, she simply drops a few delightful delicacies into her maw, and moves on to the next offering.

Along the way, the little woman waves to Auranar, then Aelwyn, and eventually Telamon.

Cor'lana is dressed in a gorgeous pale-green dress to match the green of Telamon's vest. It's floor-length, with a bar of white flowers embroidered around the neckline. Her sleeves are long and open bell sleeves made out of a slightly sheer fabric, with another bar of white flowers above them. Under the arm gussets, the dress is laced at the sides, ending in crisply-tied silk ribbons hidden underneath a cloth belt (cut from the same fabric as the dress) that is thickly embroidered all over with the same flower motif as the rest of the dress. Finally, rows of beads fall along the curve of Cor'lana's torso down to her waistline.

There's little white flowers in Cor'lana's waves of dark hair to complete the look, and she smiles brightly at Auranar as Telamon greets her. "Rana!" she says with a little wave.

Pothy, who is on Cor'lana's shoulder, is also dressed up for the occasion. The leucistic raven has a bow-tie of pale green that has also been embroidered with white flowers. Unlike his mistress, who is seemingly keeping her eyes trained on finding familiar faces, Pothy appears to be keeping blue eyes out for-- "Where are the snacks?" he asks in his elegant little voice. "I don't see them."

The Walrus, who is quite obviously Lord Hyrum Strannem, the current leader of the Council of Five, lifts his glass in Aelwyn's direction at the Dragoon's arrival... Before his retirement from field duty, he was a member of the Order of the Cockatrice himself, even if it's been decades since he was active. He turns to the Nymph, Kandi Thistlespring, and mutters to his former assistant turned fellow Councilor. She giggles, and grins in the direction of the shark-gobber, eyes twinkling behind her wooden mask. The last member of the Council in attendance, the rather bored looking Angel, does perk up slightly at Telamon and Cor'lana's arrival. Malak the Mad, the man behind the mask, started his career as a sorcerer after all, and is a frequent guest with the Chalice as well as the Arcanist's guild. He offers a grave nod of greeting before going back to his bored observations.

As if summoned by the corvid's words, a waiter all in white appears at Cor'lana's side, offering up a tray with glasses of sparkling, bubbly wine... And giblets of meat for the raven. "Courtesy of Councilor Malak, who sends his regards." The server murmurs deferentially, before disappearing into the crowd.

There's suddenly a pause in the music, and the walrus-looking gentleman stands, holding up a hand for silence while the other keeps himself steady with a cane that rumor has it was made from a Leviathan's penis bone that he removed himself back in the day. It's capped in gold, and polished to ivory. "Greetings, honored guests! The Society of Dagger Dames and Gentleman Adventurers welcomes all of you to this most august occasion!" He bellows, voice loud and firm. There's a moment of silence from him to allow cheers... They aren't exactly enthusiastic, but he nods graciously as if they were, before continuing, "Tonight we have decided to hold a grand masquerade to celebrate the breaking of winter and coming of spring. And how better to mark this occasion of renewal and rebirth than to announce the newest inductees into our fine Society?"

He smiles indulgently over the crowd, like a proud father that's given his kids a special surprise. "Each of them have in the past year proven themselves to the Society, through deed and conduct, and represent our future!" And he begins to clap, turning towards a side door where two servants fling it open to reveal....

A single woman in the greens and browns of a ranger, a large thunderbelcher across one shoulder and a black domino mask that barely pays lip service to the idea of a mask. She walks forward, pauses, and bows to the crowd.

"I present to you: The Merry Maid of Martell!" Hyrum bellows, thumping his staff. He then motions for the next person to enter. "And I present to you Captain Cashew!" Beat. Silence. No one comes out. Hyrum harumphs again, eyes narrowing behind his walrus mask. "I *said*... Captain Cashew!"

Irshya's head tilts at the Nymph, a curious expression on her face, and then looks to the Walrus as he stands to great fanfare.

The Goblin's found her way to a large bowl of nuts, a delicacy she seems to enjoy rather well, as she begins putting a double handful into her mouth.

At the mention of Captain Cashew, and his lack of stepping into the limelight, Irshya pauses. Someone nearby wonders if Captain Cashew had perhaps been eaten. The Pool Shark looks at the handful of nuts in her hand... they immediately vanish into her mouth as she tries her best to look innocent.

Second? No. No. He was supposed to be introduced last so he knew exactly how to outdo the entrances of the two before him. The Merry Maid was no competition, but the good Captain did not trust this Skyler fellow. He tried to hang back for a moment, but the second time his name is called he relents and comes striding through the door.

One of the councilors had called him a "touch" ostentatious. That might have been a "touch" of an understatement.

The man comes striding into the room, wearing a costume of thick green brocade, his puffy pantaloons and coat sleeves slit to allow the crimson fabric below to peek out, and everything trimmed in enough white frothy lace as to put a dressmaker's shop to shame. His hair is curled into golden ringlets that falls across his shoulders, and his moustache has been waxed to twirled points. A mask made of red silk flower petals surrounds his eyes but hides little of his face. And atop his head he wars a wide-brimmed hat in brilliant crimson, a spray of violently orange feathers arches from the hat, bobbing and waving as he practically waltzes across the floor, little silver stirrups on his high heeled boots jingling merrily.

He's dressed as a rose of course. And if that's not clear, he has one tucked into the lapel of his coat just to drive the point home.

He waves to the crowd as if he were a foreign dignitary being welcomed to court with thunderous applause, even if the only clapping is polite... at best.

As he nears the councilors, he removes his hat and bows with a flourish. He opens his mouth to speak, but one look from Councilor Malak has him closing his mouth and placing his hat back on his head before going to stand next to the Merry Maid.

The masks that Telamon and Cor'lana wear are matching, simple domino-mask designs akin to the one Auranar wears. The difference is in the patterns embossed into them -- Tel's mask depicts stars and moons, while Lana's depicts ravens. Besides, there's no disguising the two of them. Especially with Pothy in tow.

And so Telamon nods politely to the waiter, taking one of the glasses and offering it to Cor'lana, before taking one for himself. "My thanks, to you and to Councilor Malak." As the waiter departs, Telamon looks at his wife wryly. "Malak is something of a wild child. Still, he's had some interesting insights, which is why we keep inviting him back."

His starry eyes move back to the stage where the Council of Five and their guests are assembling. "Goodness, they seem a bit contentious. And I thought tempers got heated in the Chalice during poetry night."

Auranar waves cheerfully at Telamon and Cor'lana, smiling wide at her family and starts toward them only to stop half-way there out of politeness. After all, the introduction and speech of the people running this little event are important and she doesn't want to rudely interrupt the goings-on. Though... There seems to be a little problem with the arrival of one of the new members being presented at the masquerade. Namely that they aren't appearing at the proper moment of introduction.

Then, at last the man steps out and Auranar has to blink several times at his... vibrant costume. It's certainly something, and that's to say the least of it. She lifts a hand to hide the somewhat impolite smile that crosses her lips, and then she patiently awaits the moment that Skyler will appear (she's yet to meet the man, but she's heard things about him that are quite good.

Although the room is awash in murmurs at Captain Cashew's grand entrance, everyone present can practically *hear* the sigh from Malak the Mad at the over the top arrival of Captain Cashew. Hyrum, though, looks pleased, nodding his walrus-masked head with evident approval even as Thistlespring leans in to murmur in his ear. He waves her off, scowling, and nods to the two arrivals. "Very good. Very, very good!" He bellows loudly, adding in a lower voice that somehow still carries, "Sorry, Cashew, old chap. I know you wanted to go last, but we had to change the order." He nods ponderously, "Extenuating circumstances and such."

He then pauses, and speaks up again, "As for our last inductee, I am told he is running late. Undoubtedly due to some heroic act that needed to be done. But for now, let us have a round of applause for the Merry Maid of Martell and Captain Cashew!"

Attention diverted, off Thistlespring goes. Is this related to the missing Skyler? Perhaps. But even as people applaud for Captain Cashew, the crowd begins to murmur and it's not about him.

Upstaged! By someone that isn't even there! The humanity, the dishonor, the outright *cheek* of it!

Pothy looks terribly pleased with the fact a waiter comes specifically for him. (At least, in his corvid brain, the waiter is entirely for him, even if the wine glasses are for his people.) "I send my polite regards to the Councilor," he says before Cor'lana can even get a word in, and he's eating his giblets happily.

Lana is holding her glass politely even if she's not going to take a sip of it immediately. The tension between the Captain and Hyrum makes her press her lips together slightly. "There really does appear to be some history there," she says. "Or some other tension... I wonder what."

"Maybe a disagreement about the catering?" Pothy offers as a response.

Then there's Hyrum's announcement that the inductee is late. Cor'lana's brows knit together in concentration. "I hope he's really late and not... Waylaid by someone." There's a hint of danger in her voice. "Skyler is too nice of a person to be hurt or kidnapped by anyone if I can help it."

GAME: Ravenstongue rolls Sense Motive: (8)+28: 36
GAME: Irshya rolls perception: (1)+19: 20 (EPIC FAIL)
GAME: Telamon rolls perception: (7)+35: 42
GAME: Aelwyn rolls sense motive: (10)+6: 16
GAME: Auranar rolls Perception: (12)+5: 17

The Goblin tugs on Telamon's sleeve, and Ravenstongue's. She gestures for them to bend a little. She whispers. "Do either of you know these folks here that we're gathered for, the Maid and the Captain? I mean, there's not even a Crimson Pen novel about them, unlike the shelf full of volumes detailing your heroic lives."

Irshya nods to Ravenstongue then. "Erm, I don't know who Skyler is but it's not nice to kidnap or hurt people. We go out and seek justice when that happens, don't we?

Aelwyn makes a grandiose sweep towards the fellow member of his Order; raising his hand afterwards to make a brief flash of flames in a circle. Have to show off, naturally. He had been polishing his scales and carefully oiling them for good moments. Like hours. "Sharkie, Ravenkeepers, others." He bows his head at the familiar faces. "It pleases this one that the invitations have gone far and wide." A party is no party with few people - and more people out there to show off with, all the better. The draconian politely claps at the entrants; he was not particularly impressed yet, but he was definitely enjoying the show. "I wonder in which wear Bicep will arrive?"

Telamon's eyebrows rise above his mask, the domino not hiding his surprise. Skyler miss a party he was invited to? Telamon doesn't buy it. Something is definitely off. When Irshya gets his attention, he leans down to speak to her softly. "A couple of them. Not -everyone- gets Crimson Pen books written about them, Irsh. Besides, there have been times I'd have happily passed that honor to someone else."

The half-elf straightens up, his eyes sweeping the area, and pausing on one man standing apart in armor. That's... different. His dark gaze narrows slightly, and he looks at his wife, but says nothing. Then the sorcerer begins to casually move through the crowd, angling towards said armored sentinel with a deceptively light step.

Auranar continues along her path then to Telamon and Cor'lana, smiling at Pothy warmly. "Hello. What's this about a kidnapping? Has someone been abducted again?" She motions over her shoulder casually. "Also.... Who is the individual in the armor? Some kind of guard?" She doesn't like the look of it to be honest.... Which is when Telamon starts walking right toward them. She sighs and starts after him subtly. Just in case…

Cashew's eye twitches as it's announced the third inductee would be late. He's not annoyed by the rudeness of it, in fact he's currently considering why he didn't think of it himself. Perhaps for the next to-do he'd need to show up suitably, egregiously late due to heroics. Maybe having rescued some lost, grubby urchin. With the urchin in tow. That would work.

He snags a glass of bubbly off the tray of a passing server, twirling the end of his mustache with his other hand as he watches her walk off. Something suitably impressive, yes. "Everyone loves it when you help grubby urchins." He murmurs, perhaps not realizing he spoke aloud until he catches a look from the Maid, and he just gives her his most dashing smile.

To be fair, the good Captain does have some very white teeth.

Then again, he strides towards the councilors, his boot heels click-clacking as he walks. With the stirrups he's a one man percussion section. "Perhaps we could move on without him and he could have his induction in private. At a later time. It does seem a pity to force these good people to wait on some... former... outlaw's tardiness? Hmm?" He says it as if it was just the most innocent of ideas. Nor is he keeping his voice all that low. It's meant to carry out across the crowd a little, though he refrains himself from actually shouting. And then the show would be all his.

"I'm not sure," Cor'lana responds to Auranar. She eyes Captain Cashew as he announces his case before the councilor. "I really don't like that man very..."

As she says this, Pothy finishes his giblets and says, "Then I'm going to tell him he can soak his oats in some water and wait. They're yummier that way, anyway." He takes flight off of Cor'lana's shoulder and lands before Captain Cashew's feet.

"Hello. Did you get missed by the waiter who was passing out the patience cookies?" Pothy asks politely in that boyish voice of his.

Cor'lana pales considerably. "Pothy!" she hisses, making her way over to her wayward corvid.

"I will happily maul anyone getting any ideas of writing such smut about me.", the Goblin faux whispers back to Telamon. She wanders away, and shortly there after there's a shocked GASP.

"Who care about someone being late? You've run out of the fig and prosciutto canapes!" While people are distracted by THAT bit of bad news, Irshya takes the opportunity to snag a few of those patience cookies from the waiter.

Telamon's interrupted by a woman with *huge* tracks of land that are barely contained by a milk maid dress. "OH MY GODS! ARCHMAGE TELAMON!" She squeals, tugging on her twin braids that upon closer inspection appears to be a wig of yarn. Grey hair is visible at the edges of the wig, in fact. "You simply *must* sign my copy of The Raven's Tongue!" And our of her cleavage comes a scarlet-bound book with a drawing of Telamon and Cor'lana in a fiery embrace, Pothy in a tree overlooking them. "And your lady-wife! I especially like the part where you take her in the stable loft! So romantic!" She clutches the book against her amble bosom, a tear streaking down her cheek.

Meanwhile, Cashew's statement causes a murmur... And in a corner, a figure in black armor with a full face helm straightens up, unaware of the archmage approaching as his head turns to stare at Cashew. Hyrum laughs indulgently, shaking his head, "Cashew, my boy, be reasonable! Even the most baseborn and wretched of men are allowed to rise above their station!" He chuckles, and turns to where Thistlespring was.

Obviously, she's not there anymore. Malak sighs, taking off his angel mask to scrub his face, muttering, "I knew this was a mistake."

Unknown to the party, Thistlespring is pounding on a door, "SKYLER! Dammit, man! You need to come out! You're running late!"

No answer. And when she opens the door? The room is empty.

Oh dear.

Aelwyn looks over at the guard; but seeing Telamon handle it he instead snags a glass of bubbly from the nearest source. It was ever a mystery of how sith-makar drank from tall glasses. "Tch, a moment. This one needs to address something." He gathers his silk sunset, that is to say, his cloak, and tosses it over his shoulder before proudly striding over this Captain.

"Spectacular," The Dragoon compliments, tapping his glass holding hand at the Captain's back. "A fine entrance. Everyone indeed, does deserve their moment in the floor." The draconian smoothly rumbles. The flames raged all the higher around his face. "Truly a shame we are yet to see the last, but would Rose not be most eager to see more of these..." He gestures, "Glorious entrances, for what worth is a party if not to impress?"

The flames seemed to grow darker. Deep purple. All into darkness itself - and Aelwyn spreads his snout into a wide macabre grin. The champagne glass is then knocked back into his maw - and shatters it with his teeth. One way for the makari to devour the glass. "Would one agree, Rose?" Crunch.

GAME: Aelwyn rolls intimidate: (15)+20: 35

Auranar, seeing that Telamon is being waylaid, goes wide around the pair offering her brother a glance that is sympathetic even as she makes her beeline for the 'guard'. She smiles as she advances, putting on the guise of an airheaded woman with little thought in her head (she's done this before to great effect - as long as no one guesses who she is), and waves at the ‘guard’. "Hullo! Who are *you*?"

Well, it's all she's got on short notice.

Suddenly Telamon is reevaluating the wisdom of building a tower out in the countryside. Or on an entirely different plane of reality. Desperately trying not to cause a scene -- less for the disturbance and more because he's keeping an eye on the black-armored fellow.

"Ah... typically, the -author- signs the book, not the subject, but if you insist..." He's wearing white silk gloves, with an image of the family curuchuil embroidered delicately on the back of the hand. And right now he's very thankful for those gloves, as he takes the book.

It's fortunate that Telamon is the son of a diplomat, and has his father's knack, because his expression is politely bland. "Ah yes, a... notable volume. To whom shall I make the inscription out to?" One can only imagine what kind of thoughts are going through his head.

Well, one person doesn't have to imagine, she knows it right off the bat.

In the direction of the kitchens, there's a minor disturbance. The stream of food momentarily stops, followed by a man in an apron and a chef hat sprinting through the door in the direction Thistlespring left in. A few minutes later, Thistlespring appears again, face flushed as she settles her mask back in place. She marches up to Hyrum, whispering in his ear, and he scowls, nodding. The halfling then makes soothing gestures with her hands, and pats the hand on the Leviathan dick bone cane before settling back into her seat.

Meanwhile, the armored figure turns to Auranar, voice a cold rasp, "I am an Inquisitor of Kor, under contract by Lord Ashewell of Gull's Edge, newly arrived from Myrridon." He says loudly, his face turning towards Cashew, "Do you know this... Skyler that the man spoke of? I have been trying to track him down regarding his... past actions."

Meanwhile, Hyrum turns to Malak and Thistlespring, muttering, "This is going so well, isn't it?"

The lady in question gushes at Telamon, "Oh, you're even cuter than I imagined!" She squeaks at Telamon, simpering at him as she leans forward, her... assets... threatening to spill out, "Please, address it to 'My Stars and Moon, Lady Jemma!" She bats her lashes, and bites her lip, "I've read all the Crimson Pen novels about you!"

GAME: Irshya rolls perception: (15)+19: 34

Cashew regards the corvid in front of him for a moment, the hand not holding the glass of bubbly going up to check the feathers in his hat. Perhaps considering what a few black ones would look like added to the spray. No. Far too short and not fluffy enough.

"I don't indulge in cookies." He replies to the familiar smoothly, having no issue being addressed by a bird. "They go right to my hips." He does indulge in a sip of his wine though.

And then he turns to see Aelwyn. It says something to Cashew's benefit that he somehow manages to keep his smile in place all through the dragoon's display, though he does take more than a couple involuntary steps back. "It's, ah, Cashew, actually. Captain Cashew." He stresses the title, though perhaps not too strenuously with Aelwyn.

He pulls a silk handkerchief from his breast pocket. Red silk. Embroidered with roses. At least this guy likes to stay on theme, and dabs a little at his cheek below the mask. "Well, yes, but do you not agree that respecting the time of others is also a sign of good manners? And manners are certainly a way to impress as well?"

Oh! Thank the gods! A distraction. Cashew turns to the inquisitor, taking his opportunity to escape the dragoon's burning stare. "By reputation mostly." He says, now sounding far more calm as he tucks the kerchief away in such away the it leaves another splash of crimson against his green coat. "Poor reputation, my dear inquisitor. Has he stolen from this Lord Ashewell? I wouldn't be surprised." Once again, pitching his voice to carry in the crowd.

Auranar blinks her eyes at the inquisitor and offers him a smile. She can't pretend to flirt with the man (she's both terrible at it, and he simply isn't her type), but she can pretend to be interested in him. "No I can't say that I have heard of him at all. Are you sure you're in the right place?" She glances over at Cashew and offers him a slightly broader smile. Broader because she's thinking pleasantly of stomping on his foot. "Oh! THE Captain Cashew?" She lifts her voice a little loudly and grins. "I have a girl friend who simply insists that your... Delicate nature is her favorite... *part of you*."

Auranar lifts a pinky and wiggles it at Captain Cashew.

"I think your hips could do with some fattening," Pothy remarks, which makes Cor'lana's violet eyes go all the wider as she finally arrives to scoop up Pothy.

The sorceress is blushing red of embarrassment as she rights the white raven on her shoulder. "I am... terribly sorry about Pothy," she says, before looking at Captain Cashew. And then comes Auranar's barbing remark and Cor'lana has to strain every muscle in her face to _not_ laugh, putting a hand up to her face.

Pothy looks at Auranar for a moment before swinging his head back to regard Captain Cashew. "On second thought, your hips don't need fattening. It'll just make your delicate nature all the more delicate. Can I get more giblets, please?"

The Goblin has found the popcorn. And they even dole it out in little bags. Not nearly enough for her liking, so she gets two after pouting ferociously. There's a little cackle as she observes Telamon's predicament. She does her best to rub the guilty look from her expression; she did mention the unmentionable Crimson Pen, after all.

Irshya moves closer to Auranar then, observing her distract the guard with a cheery hello. "You've come a long way to find an er... ex rogue, if I am hearing things right.", she says to the Inquisitor. The little tail wiggles back and forth, visible under the hem of her ball gown.

Irshya then lets out a loud squeak, as someone trods on the tip of her tail. With a tug, she retrieves her tail from under the foot, and in doing so, causes the passing cook to slip and tumble backwards onto his behind. One can see the little thundercloud forming over Irshya's head as she glares at the floor'd man.

Aelwyn throws the broken flute behind him; smiling all the wider at the good Captain. "Time and manners? Tch, are the expectations not meant to be broken, a new fashion an urge yet to be sated? Why restrain to common expectations?" He clicks his teeth audibly, tilting his head back. "This one thinks they are bleeding." From biting into the glass, he supposes. "The taste of blood."

The Dragoon's gaze then turns towards Cashew. "Would that not be surprising?" He stretches his lips wide. "Worry not, expectations are simply boiling for the grand reveal." The draconian's gaze returns to the others though, and he tilts his head, the flaming ribbons tilting towards one side. 'imprisoned'? He attempts to mouth, but the dark flames probably made it impossible to notice what he was trying to say. There is also the fact that he was a sith-makar and most lip gestures involved chomping down and beastly grimaces.

"His crimes are severe." The Inquisitor says in a harsh rasp, and he pitches his voice to be loud enough to match Cashew's. "Lord Ashewell has reason to believe that he was involved in the kidnapping and possible murder of his middle child."

There's an audible gasp in the room, and even Lady Jemma is distracted from her increasingly heavy-handed flirting with Telamon to stare at the inquisitor. Malak just puts his face in his hands, while Hyrum's face goes beat red as he surges to his feet again. "HARUMPH!" He bellows, "This is a *celebration*! Of the Society of Dagger Dames and Gentleman Adventurers!" He scowls, and points his cane at the inquisitor, "Good man, you make grave accusations!" He pulls out a handkerchief of fine silk, patting at the sweat on his red neck, "We can discuss this after the cake!"

The cook goes sprawling as Irshya pulls their tail out from under his feet, and he yelps, "No! The cake!" He squeaks, attempting to get to his feet, "I must warn them! The *cake*!"

Unfortunately, even as he says this, the doors to the kitchen are thrown open and a gigantic cake shaped like a castle is wheeled out on a low cart…

GAME: Irshya rolls perception: (12)+19: 31
GAME: Ravenstongue rolls Perception: (18)+27: 45

Telamon is currently unable to assist his wife, his sister, or his friend because of the nightmarish prospect of autographing a Crimson Pen novel. Oh, the horror. Well... there are worse things. With a deep inward sigh, Telamon draws an elegant inkpen from his vest, deftly flipping open the godsforsaken copper dreadful to the frontispiece before writing in his elegant hand. A murmured cantrip causes the ink to instantly dry, before he closes the pen and the book, putting the former away and offering the latter back.

"I assure you, the real adventures were even more exciting than what the Pen publishes, Lady Jemma," Telamon comments. "Perhaps someday when I write my memoirs people will be just as taken with those tales."

As the armored man makes his declaration, Tel's eyebrows come together. "Excuse me, though, I think I see a possible problem brewing. Duty calls..."

GAME: Aelwyn rolls perception: (20)+1: 21
GAME: Telamon rolls perception: (7)+35: 42
GAME: Auranar rolls Perception: (19)+5: 24

"I'm so delicate I'm practically a delicacy." Cashew chortles back to Auranar with an actual smile, thinking perhaps they are having a moment of connection. Though as she extends her pinky he looks down at the wine glass in his hand. No. His pinky is properly extended as he sips. Whatever could she mean by the gesture? Truly, a mystery

"No insult taken." He says to Cor'lana, even though the tight set of his lips indicate he did indeed take a little offense. "Dull plumage leads to dull humor, after all." He shakes his head, making his own brightly colored, if stolen, plumage shake. What bird could produce such garish feathers anyway?

He's pointedly not looking at Aelwyn, much easier to deal with the dragoon if he doesn't look that way. "It is a balance, good sir. You measure unexpected with expected. Too much one way is dull, the other scandalous." He sniffs slightly.

His tight lipped grin breaks into amused satisfaction as the inquisitor lays out this Skyler's crimes for all to hear, his chest puffing out as if to say. 'I told you so.' Without him actually giving voice to those words. That would be rude. He'll accept voiced apologies regardless.

Even if this distraction is taking attention off him on his day, well, it's a sacrifice he's willing to make to spoil an upstart's rise. "Murder? Of a young noble?" He repeats in case someone just happened to not be listening.

He turns to Councilor Hyrum. "Surely you and the other councilors need to discuss this, sir. Do you really want to risk sullying the good name of the Society?"

Auranar glances toward the cake, her expression falls. She has a feeling she knows exactly what is about to happen and she doesn't have the faintest clue as to how to stop it. She looks at the inquisitor and she says loudly, pointing away from the cake. "Oh my isn't that Skyler now?" Not that she even knows what Skyler looks like, but what she _does_ know is that the law of inevitables means that he's in the cake.

The Goblin seems on the verge of crying. "Sod your cake.", she says with a huff and a sniffle.

The size of the cake and the way the bearers struggle with moving it does seem to placate Irshya. Enough that she lets her poor abused tail go.

"This is an ample apology.", she says, rubbing her stomach as it gurgles. "Whatever I can't manage, could I get it cut and boxed up?"

"Dull plumage?!" Pothy exclaims, before Cor'lana promptly silences him by offering a handful of berries up to his beak. He eats... but angrily. Pale blue raven eyes are fixated onto the Captain.

Cor'lana, meanwhile, turns to the attention of the cake, and she tries, once again, to have a completely impartial face as she looks to the Captain. "I rather think the story is far more complicated than you might believe," she says. "Your personal dislike of the man--which is obvious to me--has led you to a certain conclusion prematurely."

In fact, to buy presumably-Skyler-in-cake more time, she says, "What is your problem with him, anyway?"

Aelwyn clicks his teeth, "Sometimes, Rose, the whole garden needs to bloom. Perhaps it is their last chance, lest the fire takes them." He gestures, but his attention was already strayed from the poor man. Instead, he was looking at the cake. He heard the giggling. He was slow to understand what it meant though; especially since he was looking for something more palatable to drink. "Hmmh, this one should have smoke for a more dramatic escape..." The draconian rumbles, as he considers the situation. "Tch, rude on someone's special day."

Things are coming together and Telamon really does not like how the cards are falling. So it's time for the diplomat and the social sorcerer to enter the fray. His voice rings out, authoritative and proud. "Hold, inquisitor, and worthies of the Society! I know not what Skyler has done to draw this kind of ire and ill intent."

The half-sil's eyes almost glow with soft starlight, flickering in their depths. "I can testify, truthfully, that Skyler is -not- guilty of the charge laid by the inquisitor. Whatever his flaws, he is not a murderer or kidnapper." He spreads his hands. "Who here thinks that one with such sins could evade my wrath?"

GAME: Telamon rolls talky: aliased to diplomacy+5: (8)+36+5: 49

"This is just like the Sorcerer in Flames...!" Lady Jemma breathes as Telamon excuses himself and marches off, biting her lip so hard it nearly bleeds, fanning herself with the now signed book, "I.. I think I need to excuse myself... to freshen up.." She lets out a ragged breath and turns to leave.

Meanwhile, the cake continues to be pulled forward, attention drawn to it as one of the servers draws a massive two-handed sword and ritualistically offers it to Hyrum, who steps down gingerly, careful for his bad hip. He beams at the crowd, and hefts the sword one-handed with a reminder of his past strength. He seems oblivious to the undercurrents going on, holding up one hand towards Telamon. "My chef has been working on this cake for *days*!" He tells the archmage and the gathered group indulgently, "Let us enjoy the show they've prepared!"

Malak the Mad, who seems to be the only sane person in the room, straightens up from his head-in-hands-oh-god-what-is-happening posture, frowning at Telamon as he feels the man try to take charge of the situation. He speaks up, voice carrying, "Perhaps we should all listen to the esteemed Achmage." He offers slowly, "As I am sure all of you can attest, situations are rarely what they appear to be in Alexandria."

The inquisitor stops, crossing arms over his chest. "Indeed." He rumbles, turning to stare at Cashew as if realizing there's more to the dandy's words, "But I think it is telling that this 'Skyler' is not..."

"HERE!"

The top of the cake bursts open in an explosion of icing and some rather *perturbed* doves, one of which lands near Pothy and stares at him. Oh hey there, good looking...

Skyler stands up, brushing feathers off his shoulders as he strikes a heroic pose. The Swashbuckler is dressed in a vaguely military outfit: double breasted coat, pauldrons of gold on his shoulders, and his hair carefully, artfully coifed in a style that would be dashing if not for the icing (oh gods please let the white stuff in his hair be *icing*...). He grins broadly, and the expression falters as the room grows silent, and everyone just *stares* at him.

Malak just puts his head back in his hands, sinking to his seat…

GAME: Auranar casts Greater Invisibility. Caster Level: 11 DC: 20

The only person who was really expecting this, is Auranar. Auranar who heard the giggling from the cake and knew that by the law of inevitables that it had to be Skyler. So when the cake explodes... She reaches out and grabs a handful of the sky pirate and... A few arcane words pass her lips fully intended to render him entirely invisible. Then to add for good measure she mutters under her breath to him, "There's an inquisitor here that thinks you killed Lord Ashewell's kid. I suggest that you take off before this becomes untenable." She smiles at the group of people staring.

The Goblin watches with anticipation as the old fogey hefts the two-handed sword, ready to start cutting the cake. Her little tail wiggles back and forth.

Then the cake is completely ruined by the arrival of Skyler. She faints, dropping to the ground with a thud.

"Any gardener worth their salt prunes the flowers for aesthetic appeal." Cashew replies, though it's clear he's still trying to avoid the dragoon's gaze. "My problem with him is a story that is far more complicated than you might believe." He adds to Cor'lana with a sugary sweet smile, using her own words. True or not. Really, they're not. It's frankly obvious the Cashew seems to just dislike the man on principle and being given excuses for it is just icing on the cake.

Speaking of cake, why was everyone looking at the damnable cake, there was far more drama to be had with the inquisitor. For a moment, Cashew even finds himself swayed by Telamon's words, for a moment. The problem is, the Captain doesn't care if the accusations or true or not, that's extant to the point. The point being this Skyler is a...

"Numpty." The word leave's Cashew's mouth like a curse as Skyler bursts free from the cake. "Blithering buffoon." He's mostly muttering under his breath, but Cashew has one of those voices that carries. He trained himself to have that voice. "Pestilent pox on a pachyderms ponderous posterior."

Then he looks down to notice some cake and icing splattered on the toe of his polished boot, and his ire really starts to cook.

At Auranar turning Skyler invisible, Cor'lana smiles.

It's a dangerous smile. A horrible smile. It's the smile that crosses the face of the fae-touched woman when she has an idea that is going to turn everything upside-down.

"You're looking for Skyler?" she asks, before murmuring an incantation. Herself, her beloved, her sister, Aelwyn, Irshya... They all take on the appearance of Skyler. The spell also washes over others, rippling out with strong illusory magic that would make Grandfather proud.

"_I_ am Skyler Skywalker. And I maintain my innocence!" Cor'lana-as-Skyler declares.

"What the fuck," Pothy mutters with wide raven eyes.

GAME: Ravenstongue casts Veil. Caster Level: 20 DC: 28

Aelwyn turns towards the cake, the anticipation from that direction too damn high to ignore. The Dragoon's eyes widen when that cake then explodes into both doves and Sky, and he flashes his teeth. "Brilli-" He begins, but then the pirate is gone. Or was gone. He slowly blinks, and then looks down at himself. Peek. Yes.

"I walk the Sky," The Dragoon-Pirate declares and with another of his tiny hidden vials, just sets himself on slow trailing bits of fire. "And the let fires burn my guilt." And yes, even with a human face - he still had a very disturbingly wide, and macabre, grin.

Well. That escalated quickly. Telamon blinks as the cake pops open to reveal... of course. Skyler has a flair for the dramatic that rivals Tel's at times. And this is no exception. Except, of course, things are getting odd, what with an inquisitor asking hard questions and things balanced on a knife edge.

So turning Skyler invisible isn't the worst idea. But Lana's idea... oh boy. Well, it's nothing that can't be smoothed over. And indeed, it'll definitely keep this priestly interrogator busy for a bit. Telamon lets the image of Skyler wrap around him, and he joins in Lana's declaration.

"No, _I_ am Skyler Skywalker, and I am innocent of these crimes!" Tel-as-Skyler counter-argues. Sometimes, you just have to embrace the chaos and run with it.

The Goblin-as-Skyler begins to stir a short time after Skyler becomes just everyone in the party. Her eyes flutter open and she sits up quickly, letting out a groan and rubbing at the side of her head. "Nnnng what am I doing on the floor?"

Then she sees the absolute state of the cake, and looks very sad. "What a waste."

Irshya blinks, and looks around, her mouth hanging open. Everyone is Skyler! What.... She looks at her hands. Promptly faints again.

"I am Skyler Skywa..." Skyler starts to say up on the alcove, holding a dick bone and gold cane. He's interrupted as Malak almost contemptuously waves a hand, banishing the illusion in the area of the Council of Five. Thistlespring shakes her head, tugging on Hyrum's sleeve as he collapses down into his seat, flushing.

"Sorry, Kay, Mal, I just.. got caught up in it all." He mutters to the halfling and the sorcerer at his side, not looking at them, "You must admit, despite the confusion... This Skywalker fellow has *rizz*."

The other two just stare at him, and he coughs, getting to his feet again and slamming his cane against the floor. "ENOUGH!" He roars, loudly, "YOU WILL ALL STOP THIS AT ONCE! YOU ARE GUESTS OF THE SOCIETY, AND THIS IS NOW HOW THINGS ARE DONE!" He collapses back into his chair, clutching his chest, "Not done this way, at all!" He mutters.

Malak gets to his feet, sighing. "Obviously the accusations are serious, and in good faith we cannot allow Skyler's induction into the Society to continue until we get to the bottom of this." He says, loudly, "We of the Council of Five are declaring this masquerade ball to be at an end. Martell, Cashew, I apologize on behalf of the Society, but until this is settled we will be postponing your induction ceremony."

Martell, or rather the Skyler wearing Martell's clothes, just lets out a sound of disgust and turns to storm off. The rest of the guests begin to trickle out... An invisible Skyler among them, after whispering in various ears to meet him later.

Cashew is somehow still going on his insult rant. "You disturbingly dimwitted duplicitous disgraceful... dingleberry." Only he pauses as he takes a breath for what would no doubt be another devastatingly alliterative insult he no doubt keeps a book of and practices in a mirror for just such occasions as these to notice an ungodly number of Skyler's all around him.

"What.. what is this?!"

It's a nightmare is what it is. He lifts his wineglass to take a sip and cool his suddenly frayed nerves only to see Skyler staring back at him from the reflection in the surface of the glass. He let's out a very undignified squeak of alarm, and drops the glass. Adding wine to the the icing and cake splattered on his boots. Travesty.

He turns to regard the council, "Surely you can't mean that?" He asks, his voice just a touch shy of being whiney. He'd never actually be whiney. But those three are perhaps the only ones in the room Cashew wouldn't dare lip off too.

Instead, he takes a deep swallow of his pride, doffs his hat, and bows to the council. "Very well."

Though as he stands up, he casts a baleful glare around the room. He has no idea which is the real Skyler, but he wants him to be sure whatever his issue was with him before, now he had some meat on their bone of contention. And he wouldn't always have friends around.

Jamming his hat back on his head, he somehow manages to both storm and flounce his way out of the room, still looking like Skyler, which is another problem in his book. Can't even make a proper dramatic exit as himself.

Auranar inconspicuously lingers around a little bit, making sure that she's the last person out of the party. Mostly though it's Captain Cashew and the inquisitor that she keeps an eye on. She doesn't like either one of them, and however curious she is about Skyler, she trusts Telamon's judge of character and also his ability to track Skyler down should this turn out to be an error on her part. Either way it seems best to keep the inquisitor away from Cashew and vice versa.

"Ah, a what an exciting opportunity." Aelwyn says, "To create even more grandiose entrance the next time." He lets out a long breath. "To taste the thrill again." He takes up a wine glass, opens up his mouth and summarily throws the contents at his currently human face.

Disaster? Well, depends on where you stand. From Telamon's viewpoint, it's making the best of a terrible situation. And it's not like he _lied_... he knows that Skyler didn't murder Lord Ashewell's son. But this is going to take some time to untangle and sort out.

And maybe with the chaos, they've got the time they need. Telamon leads a line of other Skylers out the gate, encouraging them to make grandiose (or ridiculous) statements. Sorry, Skyler, that's the price for getting you out of this jam. Once they're clear, though, Tel concentrates, his expression as Skyler set into a look that -- well, let's be honest, Skyler's never had that kind of focused look before in his life.

Cor'lana smiles brightly as Captain Cashew saunters out of the gala in dismay. "A job well done," she murmurs to herself. After a moment, she murmurs another incantation, and her visage is... herself, once again. Much to Pothy's relief.

She helps lead people out, and there's sure to be an after-gala dinner or tea-time somewhere to decompress and discuss. For the moment... Cor'lana's just happy to have helped a friend.

At some point, she resolves to have a messenger find Skyler with an offer of some kind of protection. That inquisitor makes her nervous.

-End