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Post by Deimos on Oct 16, 2016 20:02:05 GMT -5
HARVEST GALA THE PARTY OF THE SEASON WELCOME TO THE WINTER PALACE | |
Thedas has been blessed with an incredible all around harvest and to celebrate, Empress Celene is holding a masquerade ball at the Winter Palace! Only the elite, wealthy, and famous were invited inside the palace, but behind all the masks and costumes, it's hard to ensure the guests fall into one of those three categories. Off the palace property, a festival is going on all across Halamshiral! Booths of games and food line the streets and performers try to make a pretty coin off the crowd. There is no posting order or sign up! Just jump right in! PHARAOH LEAP. [googlefont=Oswald][googlefont=Bitter]
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Post by Zaria Hawke on Oct 19, 2016 0:01:13 GMT -5
Mask | Dress | shoesOf course the Champion of Kirkwall would be at an event like this. Why would she miss it? Galas like this were the best kind of place to learn about what was going on in the world beyond the Free Marches. She'd kept to herself quite a bit since her foray with the Inquisition. But this was one event she just couldn't pass up. Much like the incident with Tallis years ago. She'd had to work at this though. Zaria wasn't used to wearing a dress like this. Truthfully, though, she didn't really need maneuverability to defend herself. She was a mage, after all. She was escorted off the dance floor by her most recent partner, so far confident that she hadn't managed to embarrass herself with her lack of dancing ability. Her mask was large enough that it covered the rather unique tattooing on her face, her bright blue eyes accented by the silver mask. Perhaps the blue and black of the dress contrasted to the blue and silver of her mask, but that was part of what she liked about it. It was unique, just like her. She found herself imagining her companions in this situation. Merrill and Fenris both would have been out of place here, though for very different reasons. Aveline would have kept anticipating an attack, and Varric probably would have started talking to someone, or multiple someones, about his books. He seemed to find fans wherever he went... Bethany would've been nervous about her magic, while Carver would have called it a waste of time. Anders' name crossed her mind, but she forced it away. So, none of her companions really would have really belonged in a place like this. She didn't feel like she did either, but she'd gotten help with her rather inadequate dancing ability from friends of Varric's. Merrill had given her a spell to help with the aches in her feet from wearing shoes for the dress. Even though her shoes had such a low heel, there was still more of a heel than she was used to wearing. How did noblewomen wear shoes like this every day?
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Post by Fenris on Oct 21, 2016 19:52:13 GMT -5
Were it not for the fact that Hawke had decided to go to this pompous and overrated event, Fenris most certainly would have stayed behind, content with having a quiet evening where he could drink for the pleasure and not because of the stress of being in a crowd of haughty nobles. Of course maybe it was just bringing back memories of long ago where he had to entertain such unnerving guests. Whatever the case, he remained off the dance floor, enjoying some of the fancy wine as he watched the woman in the blue dress carefully, namely looking out for the men who were perhaps getting a bit too friendly with Zaria for his liking. He promised to behave though, downing yet another glass of wine before simply taking a bottle from a passing servant, sparing them both the trouble.
He could try and enjoy himself a bit and quite honestly the party itself might have not been that bad if it weren't for the fact that nobles just happened to rub him the wrong way, especially when they happened to be too curious for his own good and ask about his history. The mask was supposed to help hide his identity, he was told, but he insisted that the markings would still show, not much of an optimist. So far though he'd hardly been approached and the attire he'd been provided seemed to hide the bulk of his intricate markings. There was little he could do for the ones up his neck however, but so far they hadn't been brought up by anyone. That didn't mean he hadn't noticed the stares, convinced that the eyes on him were anything but good. Even if he realized some were actually regarding him with other interests, it might have not sat with him all too well really, nor Zaria if she was feeling any bit as jealous as he was right now. Still, while he may not be enjoying the attention on himself or her, he wasn't about to cut her fun short.
While he wasn't fond of these events, that didn't mean she didn't deserve to have her fun, and he'd promised to always be there for her, even if that meant silently suffering this fancy atmosphere! It wasn't as bad as he'd lead you to believe though. If the elf was truly miserable, no doubt he would have ran off already. Instead he remained, sitting in one of the fancy chairs with a bottle of wine and watching the love of his life practically shine. First time seeing her in a dress, quite honestly, and while she definitely looked beautiful, he found her just as endearing on the battlefield. He was quite ready to be alone with her, but he supposed he'd just have to practice his patience... and try not to get too drunk. NOTES ; Fenris being a grump as usual. At least he put in an effort with the outfit and mask?
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Post by Dorian Pavus on Oct 23, 2016 20:36:33 GMT -5
[ MASK and his outfit is something like this] Dorian had a love-hate relationship with these kinds of events. On one hand, they were a well of information and gossip that could be used as potential blackmail. On the other hand, parties such as these were stiff, and overly formal. They reminded him too much of home. His mother was enjoying herself somewhere, though, enjoying gossip with the Orlesian women and men. Kahlia was... somewhere. He honestly had lost track of his cousin after an hour into this hell they called a party, and the last thing she'd heard her say was something grumbled under her breath about not being able to fight in a skirt. He had no idea how long it'd been since he'd last seen her, however. It was all a blur, the last... minutes? Hours? He couldn't quite tell. Alcohol would do that to you, he supposed. Perhaps he shouldn't have drank so much of the free champagne the servants kept bringing around... but, no matter. What's done is done, and he'd given up on trying to curb his habit of overdrinking long ago. The magister found himself wandering ever closer to the dance floor, after some time. Usually he despised these things. Women would crowd around the handsome man like flies back in his youth, begging for a dance in hopes they could worm their way into his good bidding and marry into his line. In the rest of Thedas, he'd noticed quite a lack of that happening, however. Although, some women did still pinch his ass as he walked by. It made him sick. He remembered, back to all those years ago, how harassed Cullen had been. The poor man had been practically attacked by admirers from the moment he stepped foot through the door. Tonight, however, people seemed to be a bit more relaxed. Perhaps it was the tension that lay thick in the air outside of this ballroom that had followed them inside, making them worried. Or maybe it was just the alcohol making him think it was calm. Who knew, really. After a moment, he caught sight of a beautiful woman in a blue dress. She lacked a partner, now, and, well. Dorian had yet to dance with someone that night. Mother would likely throw a fit if he didn't at least make nice with one person while he was here. Placing his newest finished glass onto the tray of a passing servant, he approached the woman and bowed politely. "Good evening, Madame. I would hope it's not to late to ask you for a dance?" He asked with a small smile, extending a hand to her.
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Post by Kahlia Pavus on Oct 23, 2016 21:01:00 GMT -5
Mask | dress Dorian got a black suit with little shoulder fringes, and she was stuck in this thing. Why did Tevinter fashion have to be so bloody complicated? Okay, so it was pretty, but... She couldn't do anything in this thing. And she'd lost track of Dorian in the crowd too. How hard could it be to keep track of a Tevinter in a crowd of Orlesians? Decently hard, apparently. And suddenly she was swept onto the dance floor, without really remembering how she'd ended up there. It completely defeated the purpose of her being Dorian's bodyguard... At least she'd gotten a few pockets sewn into the sleeves of her dress so she could store a few things in there. A couple smoke bombs and a dagger in each sleeve was all she really needed. Maybe she wasn't supposed to have them, but she did anyway. With all the assassins that came after her cousin, she couldn't let herself go without weapons for too long. She made her way off the dance floor and messed with the lace around the collar. She honestly preferred Orlesian dresses to Tevinter fashion. But it wasn't worth complaining about now... That didn't mean she was going to stop, of course.
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Post by Zaria Hawke on Oct 23, 2016 21:21:48 GMT -5
Zaria knew Fenris didn't want to be here. He'd objected to it plenty, but came along anyway because she insisted. She appreciated what he did for her, putting up with all her dance partners throughout the night. But another man came up to her, wearing a black outfit and bearing a somewhat familiar voice. Something connected in her mind and told her that this man had been part of the Inquisition during her brief stint with them. She smiled and dipped into a curtsey, then placed her hand in his.
"Besides the gossip, the dancing is the best part of this party," she said to him. The pair made their way to the dance floor, and she attempted to follow his steps as they danced.
"Have we met?" She finally asked the question that was poking at the back of her mind. "You don't sound like you're from anywhere nearby. Are you from Tevinter then? Or Rivain or Antiva?" Perhaps she was being a bit too nosy, but she'd had a few drinks herself and it was starting to affect her. Probably best if she stopped though. Too much alcohol had a tendency to make her start sparking, and that would just call attention to herself. No point in ruining a perfectly good party with an unknown(or well-known, in her case) mage losing control because of alcohol. Even if she was hard to recognize right now.
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Post by Fenris on Oct 23, 2016 22:07:07 GMT -5
There was yet another man who'd decided to approach, Fenris glaring from his seat nearby, back to watching like a predator for the stranger to make a wrong move, give him a reason to step in. He almost wished Zaria wouldn't torture him like this and just reject the offers, but even he knew how ridiculous that was. It wasn't as if she was betraying him, even if he'd like to rationalize it as such instead of admitting to himself that he was being foolish. She was merely having fun and he couldn't deny her that right, even if it drove him crazy. This man in particular, even though he had literally just approached her, was already rubbing him the wrong way, though he hadn't quite placed why yet, though no doubt he was keeping a close eye on him, determined to find out.
As with the others, he reluctantly sat back and watched, stewing in his jealousy as he drummed his fingers impatiently, oh so ready for this night to be over with. The fancy wine was not enough to sate him completely and Zaria would have better luck convincing him all mages were good than to expect him to willingly go to another gala... He'd say that of course, but he damn well wouldn't let her go alone either, still not over her leaving for the Inquisition. He sighed at the thought, finishing off yet another bottle and managing to catch himself before he tossed it into the nearby wall. He needed a lot more wine. Were he not busy watching this strange man like a hawk, no doubt he would have sulked off to find the cellar. Instead he waited as patiently as one could for another servant to wander by.
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Post by cyrlan lavellan on Oct 24, 2016 3:02:04 GMT -5
[nospaces][googlefont=Open+Sans|Raleway] [newclass=.battle_wrap]width:300px;border:3px double #e3e3e3;padding:40px 40px 50px 40px;background:#fff[/newclass] [newclass=.battle_lyrics]width:280px;font-family:Raleway;text-align:center;padding:10px 0px 10px 0px;font-size:9px;letter-spacing:6px;color:#ccc[/newclass] [newclass=.battle_post]width:250px;text-align:justify;font-family:Open Sans;font-size:9.5px;margin-top:20px;color:#929292;line-height:1.5em[/newclass] [newclass=.battle_post b]font-family:times;color:#642a21;font-style:italic;letter-spacing:1px;font-size:10px[/newclass] [newclass=.skin-cred]font-family:tahoma;font-size:9px;letter-spacing:1px;margin-top:15px;color:#005a8f[/newclass] [newclass=.skin-cred a]color:#005a8f!important;font-size:9px!important;text-decoration:none!important[/newclass] [attr="class","battle_wrap"] [attr="class","battle_lyrics"]
meet me on the
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b a t t l e f i e l d
[attr="class","battle_post"] there's a thing about these events. vallaslin augmented by bold streaks of ivory, lines trail down his neck, and vanish below a lopsided collar, courtesy of intermittent adjustments. the mask, while lightweight, lingers at the edge of his vision. the inquisition's very own formal wear, an indisputably human creation, is noticeably absent. instead, he hugs the edges of the ballroom in something very much of dalish make, the type worn by dancers in months of celebration. gold glints around ankles and wrists, an almost imperceptible 'clink' as he moves. clad in blacks and golds of dyed woven leather and silk, the bare-footed lavellan makes a wordless statement with mere appearance. [break][break] it would have been somewhat more impactful had he actually ventured out onto the dance floor, instead of skirting the border, answering curious nobility with carefully curated answers, always moving to the next. he laments his invisible confinement to the ballroom, for sake of ceremony and all. clutching an untouched glass to his chest as a lifeline, cyrlan hesitantly deflects one question with another, smiles wanly ( nervously ) and strides ( skitters ) away. the ball is held in good spirits, far better than before, but once is enough. [break][break] hair neatly tucked behind his ears ( of which are flattened against his skull, or at least making their best attempt to do so despite tight control ), cyrlan wonders how one can simultaneously feel so exposed and yet be so covered. he tugs at his collar again, searching for a familiar face. or mask. other inquisition members seem to have dissipated into the crowd, though they had not been a particularly large group to begin with. the glass switches hands. he shifts his weight from one leg to the other. eventually, he concedes to defeat, selects a spot next to a column, and leans against the bannister. just a while more, he tells himself, just a little more before he can venture outside to the festival, most likely a better scene than the ballroom. [break][break] ( mask, couldn't find a proper outfit ref whoops ) [attr="class","skin-cred"] ☕
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Post by Kahlia Pavus on Oct 24, 2016 10:46:29 GMT -5
Well, she wasn't having any luck finding Dorian in this mess. Maybe she should just find someone familiar she could talk to? She pulled herself off the dance floor and glanced around the rest of the crowd, noticing someone who was trying hard to go unnoticed. The effort was actually amusing, considering the outfit was so outlandish. She made her way through the crowd to him.
"It's good to see you again, Inquisitor," she said quietly. She smiled at him, dropping into a curtsey. "Maybe it is improper, but would you like to dance? Parties like this tend to be more fun if you don't worry about what's being whispered about you when you're not listening." Because of course people were talking. It was a bloody Orlesian party. There wasn't anything anyone could do to stop Orlesians from gossiping, short of killing them all, but that would ruin the fun. Well, what fun there was to be had. She offered her hand to him, hoping that he'd be able to recognize her so she didn't sound quite so weird.
But it wasn't hard to guess at who he was. There were only two elves here wearing masks for this gala, and one of them kept his eyes on another woman. The one before her was wearing something remarkably not human in make or design.
"Dorian would enjoy seeing you," she finally said, knowing that would at least let him know she meant no harm.
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"And here's where the magic happens. Literally."
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Post by Dorian Pavus on Oct 24, 2016 17:40:07 GMT -5
"I fully agree." Dorian chuckled softly as they moved to the dancefloor. It was likely for the best that the dance at current was more slow than the others. It was hard to talk and spin like a madman at the same time, and this woman seemed to be one inclined to talk. Not that he particularly minded, anyway. Talking made the whole 'dancing with random strangers' thing far less awkward than it could be. "Ah! Where are my manners? My name is Dorian Pavus, and yourself? I admit, you seem familiar as well. I feel quite guilty for not recognizing such a lovely woman at first glance, if we have met before."
A large part of him hoped the woman wouldn't think he was serious in his flirting. He would hate to have any awkward situations in addition to the pains in the ass that was the Orlesian nobility whom surrounded them. As it was, Dorian was just trying to be friendly. He had yet to see any of his old companions in these halls, and with his cousin lost in the crowd, it was for the sake of his sanity that he find someone who was not amongst the usual gossipers to talk to for at least a few moments. If he was being honest, he didn't really want to be here. He missed Skyhold, and there was no way he could return to Tevinter at present without expecting a dagger in the back. It was boring at best and frustrating at worst.
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Post by Zaria Hawke on Oct 24, 2016 20:59:57 GMT -5
Zaria couldn't help but laugh when he mentioned that she seemed familiar too. And the name rang a bell in her mind. He had been with the Inquisition during her brief time at Skyhold. No wonder she recognized him. "Don't feel bad, I requested this mask specifically to hide my most distinguishing features," she joked. "Most of southern Thedas calls me Champion," she said, almost cryptically. "Anyone that I've actually met knows me as Hawke." Good friends called her Zaria, and Varric called her Sparky sometimes, but that wasn't something she felt needed mentioning. Varric had a habit of calling her that at the worst moments...
Dorian Pavus... Fenris hadn't told her much about the Magisterium after they'd killed Danarius, and she hadn't bothered asking. It was a touchy subject with him, and she didn't want to start a fight over that at least. "Odd to see another mage here," she muttered, soft enough that the other dancers nearby wouldn't be able to hear them. "And if the likes of us were invited, I wouldn't be surprised to see the Inquisitor here sometime soon." She gave a joking grin as they danced, focused primarily on her dance partner because that was polite of course.
Her eyes found Fenris for a moment, and she gave him what she hoped was a reassuring smile. She knew this was hard for him, not just being here but watching her dance with strangers. He said he would behave, but she didn't want to make it too hard on him. Perhaps after this dance she'd take a break out on the balcony. According to Varric, the views here were incredible.
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Post by Fenris on Oct 24, 2016 23:32:14 GMT -5
Even drunk, it only took a bit for Fenris to realize what was bothering him so much. This man, the way he dressed and looked... He realized he was from Tevinter. That shouldn't have been too surprising. It was an event and people from all over Thedas were no doubt invited. No, what really bothered him was the fact that this was an exclusive get together, for the famous and noble. The only people with power back at the Imperium were of course magisters, so it was no real stretch to assume the very man holding Zaria was a magister. As if he needed any other excuse to hate the stranger.
They were talking, about what he could only really imagine, unable to really make out anything from this range and with the music drowning any distant voices out. He cursed under his breath, resisting with every fiber of his being to avoid getting up and ripping the man's hands off of her, and maybe even be kind enough to not try to tear the magister to pieces with his bare hands. Fortunately before he could get too lost in those disturbing thoughts, he noticed Hawke look his way for a moment, smiling. If nothing else it calmed him down somewhat. He wasn't any happier about the situation by any means, but it gave the drunk elf enough sense to not do anything stupid... For now. He just looked back to her with those puppy eyes of his that he insisted he didn't have. Just a little longer he'd tell himself, reaching up and under his mask to pinch the bridge of his nose. The alcohol was doing little to save him now.
"You promised to behave for some damned reason. You can't ruin it now.." he muttered to himself, kicking one leg over the other as he tried to relax. He'd be better off if he tried to ignore her current dance partner, but with those suspicions of his now, he'd be keeping a close eye on the magister well until they finally left this place, not trusting any mage, let alone one from Tevinter.
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Post by Varalas Mahariel on Nov 1, 2016 12:20:21 GMT -5
[attr="class","dilyrics"]Run away, away with me. Lost souls & reverie.[attr="class","dilyric"]Running wild and running free. | [attr="class","dibody3"] outfit"The Hero of Ferelden, Varalas Mahariel." The man at the door announced him to the ballroom in a voice that echoed despite the vastness of the room. It was quite impressive, really. He felt it was contradictory, though, to wear masks if someone was going to announce your arrival to the entire hall. Orlesians never did make sense to him, though. Black heels clicked against the tile as he strode in. He wore a mask that covered his face in an attempt to lay relatively low during this event, but clearly it had been a pointless endeavor. He took comfort in the fact that Orlais didn't care for him in the way that Ferelden did. Ferelden had experienced the blight first hand, Orlais hadn't. He'd worked hard to stop it from getting that far north, but it's hard to be thankful to someone for stopping something that didn't hurt you yet. He didn't hold it against them. He quite liked his lesser fame here. He quite disliked the presence of elven servants. One had quickly swept up beside him with a tray of drink and snack. He eyed her for a moment, eyes gold disks in the dim light, before taking a glass. If their ears didn't mark them as elves, their eyes in the dark did. He smiled and he saw her lips twitch up, but she quickly dipped her head to hide it. He offered his thanks before she scuttled off to serve another guest. He watched her until she disappeared from his view, at which point he looked around the room as if he might spot a familiar face. For obvious reasons, he didn't find any. Varalas strode over to the railing overlooking the dance floor and leaned against it. He wondered how no one ran into each other when no one had peripheral vision due to their masks. Practice, he supposed, and luck. Across the way, he finally spotted something familiar. Someone had come in distinctly Dalish dress and he was fairly confident in the assumption that it was sweet Cyrlan. He didn't make a move to him, instead wondering if Cyrlan had been paying enough attention to notice he'd arrived. He sighed as he adjusted his mask to allow him to drink (masks were so impractical, as was everything Orlesian, really,) and looked again around the room, closer than before. As far as he knew, his old friends had rejected their invitiations. He'd hoped to see at least Leliana here, but it seemed she'd been too busy as well.
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