Spirits of the Earth

This is the main thread for the Hellvion Ball! Plotting info can be found here (http://www.spiritsoftheearth.net/smf/index.php?topic=16993.0). This even t is open to Connlaothian nobles only. Please post in the plotting thread before joining the ball.


Open Threads
These location-specific threads are open too everyone attending the ball!

The Grand Hall: A Grand Fireworks Display (http://www.spiritsoftheearth.net/smf/index.php?topic=17018.msg197301;topicseen#msg197301) (you're already there!)
The Ball Room: Catherine Wheels and Spinning Sparklers (http://www.spiritsoftheearth.net/smf/index.php?topic=17020.0)
The Gardens and Veranda: Roman Candles and Chinese Lanterns (http://www.spiritsoftheearth.net/smf/index.php?topic=17019.0)

Semi-Open and Closed Threads
Ball-related threads that are either semi-open (for side-adventures where you might be open to someone joining you) or closed will be added here. If you want to add a semi-open or closed thread, please PM me and I will link to it here! Be sure to let me know if it is closed or semi-open.

Sparks in the Darks! (http://www.spiritsoftheearth.net/smf/index.php?topic=17408.0) [Complete]

---

It had been quite a dreadful winter. It was too long, too cold, and had far too much snow for even the Hellvionian Duchess to dislike (and they had fairly awful winters as per the norm). But Duchess Melora's duchy weathered the storm- but not without a lot of casualties-and mostly in the poorer classes who could not afford to stock enough food. Those that had survived were gaunt and thin, even some of the nobility had suffered from the weather's unusual cruelty. But the second the weather broke, the ice from the rivers thawing out and the trees beginning to ripen and green, it was here the Duchess declared the necessity for a ball to celebrate the freedom and relief from something so naturally stifling, especially during this time of war.

War was something she outwardly disliked, and the whole of Connlaoth knew of it. She was, out of the other duchies, the most vocal about it- and well, part of it was to gain the attentions from The Grand Duke himself- whom most presume, through gossip, is due to a long held grudge against him since he hadn't selected her daughter as his wife. And it was also stated that is why Duchess Melora's daughter Aella had yet to wed- and at her age, people had begun to talk- and even the Duchess's husband, who normally let his wife do as she pleased, was becoming more adamant to see his daughter married off.

She said she'd see to it, as she always saw to most affairs, and waved off her husband's concern. Her daughter, after all, needed to marry only the very best and powerful of men there was to offer. So she suppose she ought to select one, and do so soon. But she had to be careful as to just who exactly her perfect daughter would be married off to- for it could prove a great advantage in political alliances if she were able to select just the right one. Perhaps if she and her husband could finally come to the conclusion as to which noble house would inherit the throne, she could negotiate that with the marriage of Aella to him- but as it seems, she showed no interest in one family over the other, though rumors were going around she might be actually considering a certain Lord Davishire Callister; but if the rumors were true about what happened over the winter, and that he was already calling upon another lady- she'd have to reconsider. But little did she now, both houses in opposition had done some seemingly scandalous things over the course of the winter- even if, it had been out of necessity-
For Lady Callister had spent the winter at Lord Connloach's- and Lord Davishire Callister- had a Lady Treyburn at his!

Speculations aside, she'd have to gauge both parties this evening, make a choice, and make it swift. Perhaps if she could promise Aella as the bride- she could seal her fate and keep the blood line in Hellvion. And what better way then to have this engagement become the 'grand finale' of her ball? Right before the spectacle of fire worksm too! It was a splendid idea, and the fire works- as promised by the Regent of Connlaoth- Lucien Thornwood, it would be a dazzling display- the best there's ever been.
And if it were not, Lucien Thornwood, who had been within her good graces for quite a long time, might fall to her ire like most others that dare trifle with such a woman of power.

But here it was, the day she so long awaited, ushered in upon brilliant sunshine and no signs of rain. It couldn't have been more perfect if she set it up herself with Angsar's powers, for all of her gardens were in full bloom, and the guests had begun to arrive. Calling for her husband and daughter, the royal family moved about to station themselves in the Grand Hall so that as each guest arrived, they could be announced to their host and greet them appropriately- and Duchess Melora was flushed with just the daintiest amount of pink to her cheeks, as her heart pounded lightly within her chest as the excitement of the day to begin helped coax her head up high as she awaited for the first guests to arrive.

OOC: The bit in italics is flashback, obvi.

---

As she stepped into the entrance hall of Duchess Melora's ball, Constance "Olive" Carwick felt like she was stepping into another world. How long had it been... The daughter of the late Duke of Wulfbauer had always spent less time in the glittering circles of Connlaoth's social elite than most others of the high nobility. She had been, after all, marked as a mage when she was only a girl. But it still made Constance stop a beat to think that this - this! - had once been her world. The world she was born into. The world she might have once felt entitled to. But that was all Before. Before she had silently and compliantly followed a Knight of the White Lily to the north. Before the mage camps. Before the mess and slaughter of Valinarus, and the chilling horror of the Northern Camp that had no name, that didn't officially exist, where mages were experimented on and exterminated. Before regaining her freedom, if you could call it that, in more mess, more slaughter, more blood. Before the last few years living on the run with other scarred survivors, before their campaign of guerrilla warfare against the government, against the army and the church.

Before all of that, could this really had been her life?

"Your invitation, please."

The man's sharp inquiry cut into Olive's reverie. She looked up, blushing and flustered as Bryony very well might, at the suspicious, pompous, and over-dressed old man tasked with vetting the guests. Surely, at a party like this, he expected to recognize everyone on sight. Well, she didn't suspect he would recognize Bryony either way, and when she handed him the invitation To Lady Bryony Carwick and Escort she saw recognition settle onto his face.

---

It had been a very different day when Olive had procured that invitation. The cold bite of the winter, which had been the death of more than one of the rebels, had yet to release the country from its jaws. Olive sat huddled with a handful of other members of the Alliance of the Blue Star (http://www.spiritsoftheearth.net/smf/index.php?topic=16034.msg168127#msg168127) around a weak fire, shivering slightly under an old fur. The Alliance regularly intercepted post and letters sent by road, and Olive watched as Silas slowly inspected the most recent batch of letters they had confiscated, only giving a sidelong glance to the bound and gagged - but unharmed - postman who had been carrying them. Well, they'd put him close enough to the fire; he couldn't really complain.

Silas had been looking through the messages for a few minutes, the silence of the winter encapsulating the small group, before something made him pause and his face darkened "I don't believe this..." he muttered to himself. Then, looking up to the group of eyes now curiously on him, Silas told the others, "The Duchess of Hellvion is throwing a ball."

"A ball?!" The scoff came from Roderick, whose face mirrored the disgust in his voice. "When the majority of people in the country are starving and freezing to death?"

Olive moved slowly, lethargic with cold and hunger, leaning towards Silas. "Can I see those?" Silas passed Olive the stack of nearly identical invitations, only the neatly calligraphed invitee name differing from one to the next. She slowly sifted through them while the others continued to talk with anger and disgust about the audacity of the nobility, the starving of the people, and where food for a ball would even come from. She knew all the names; that was no surprise, Melora was unlikely to invite any lower nobility and, the daughter of a duke, Olive knew - or at least was familiar with - the rest of the ruling houses. She paused, then, when she got to one invitation in particular.

To Lady Bryony Carwick

Bryony? That was a surprise. Her cousin might now be the sister of a duke - Olive did, at that point, know of the death of her own father - but she wouldn't expect Melora to invite her. She'd hardly been out in high society at all. But then... Olive leafed through the rest of the invitations. Bryony was the only Carwick invited. Perhaps she was to stand in for Avery now that he would be busy running a duchy, possibly at war. She didn't expect that Avery would attend a party when he had duties to attend to. Olive had always admired him for that. But then there would be no one, at least not on this list, who would really know Bryony. Bryony, who was only a year younger than Olive, a cousin she'd always born a close resemblance to... And no one had seen Constance Carwick for five years.

"I think," Olive suddenly spoke up, interrupting the discussion going on between the others, "that I can get us in."

---

"Oh yes, Lady Bryony, you're very welcome," he said, his tone polite and a little apologetic. Then, to Olive's surprise, his expression softened and he gave her a little, almost sympathetic, smile. "The Duchess is very glad you could attend," he said, in a more confidential and warm voice.

"Thank you,' she replied, her own tone warm but shy, as she was sure Bryony's would be. "Thank you very much. Its an honor to attend." Then, bobbing a little curtsy, she squeezed the arm of her escort, who nodded his head courteously to the man, and the pair entered the grand hall.

The carriage rolled to a stop outside the grand estate and the driver hopped down from his perch to open the door. Dwight stepped out of the vehicle and stood still for a moment, stretching, before he started up the path to the mansion. As he walked, he worked out the rest of the cramps in his legs from the long carriage ride. It wasn't a short trip from Allar to Hellvion, and he was still sore all over from the multi-day trip.

He walked along the entryway unescorted. He didn't have the budget to bring along a retinue, so he strode up to the front door alone and unattended. The doorman looked with some distain at him as he opened the passage, and the man checking invitations wore the same look upon his face. Dwight handed over the invite, and the man grudgingly let him pass.

He was a pity-invite and he knew it. A bone thrown out to the last remaining member of a once prestigious family. Everyone else knew it too. And so he was here not out of respect for his house but rather out of pity for it.

The whole situation rankled on Dwight. Right then and there in the entranceway he resolved that he would find a way to restore the wealth and influence of his family, he'd show all of them. And this party was one of the first steps. For many, this was a gathering of pleasure. For Dwight, it, like everything else nowadays, was business. Make friends, improve his reputation, raise awareness of who he was. It was all on the agenda.

Well, no time like the present to get started, he decided. He stepped out of the entryway and into the grand hall to begin mingling with the other guests as best he could.

It was the most wonderful of days to travel, and the most wonderful of days to attend a ball of such magnificence and importance. The sky was washed clean from the clouds that covered it all long winter, and the sun shone amid it like a gleaming jewel, following a single carriage that quickly made its way through the woods, pulled by a quartet of grey stallions. One could even call it blessed - though, maybe the important guest that was carried in the chariot might not, considering how little importance he gave blessings and curses. After all, this was no land of mages and fae, but Connlaoth!

Miracles and magic had no place here. How ironic that he was the exact man that took care of something almost miraculous, the fireworks that would be the pinnacle of opulence of this evening.

How ironic. His thin lips formed a slight smirk at the thought. Fireworks...

The carriage made a slight turn, barring on the road to follow it into beautiful gardens, and trees disappeared to make place for blooming flowers of great beauty. The rays of the sun almost as if stroke them with their long fingers, and they shone even through the windows of the carriage to fall upon a figure of a man, deep in his thoughts. It was only for a short moment, and then, the self-same man was embraced by shadows again. His rather expensive-looking chariot stopped in front of a beautiful residence, and the door opened, though remaining in the shade the walls cast at it.

It was truly a relief to step onto dry, warm earth once again after that dreadful winter was what Lucien thought upon stepping out, carrying himself casually elegant as always. One of the servants, garbed in white, that accompanied him, picked the long coat that trailed behind him up, and together with his cape, he softly laid it down behind his master's feet, to avoid even the corners getting stuck in the door that closed soon after Lucien made his way out. His typical white coat, lined with the soft grey fur of wolves at its collar and sleeves, was half hidden by a long grey cape, pinned by an exquisite brooch at his shoulder. With one smooth move of his arm, he pushed it aside to reveal the robe underneath, buttoned by even more exquisite silver at his chest, to open widely at his waist, and trail behind him in the wind. The servant bowed deeply as he made his way away from the carriage, and towards the residence.

Duchess Melora's ball. What a good opportunity to strengthen political alliances... Good that he provided the fireworks. They will yet be of good use to him, he was sure of that. And the Duchess herself - he grew quite fond of her. She was a magnificent woman to say the least. But even she was sinking into the spider's net like a fly, slowly approaching. She, too, could, like a firework, bring him higher and bloom to scatter and disappear. Sure, she could still do much. After all, a duchess was a woman of great importance. But she was only a woman, and he needed her for one thing only - to bring him closer to other nobles. A little attraction was a side product, a pawn on the chess table that could help him win the game, but it was something he could still easily get rid of. Besides, Melora was no choice for marriage, partly since she was already in one, and partly since she, by herself, could not even rule a duchy without her husband.

What he'd need would be a wife that could. That was what he would be looking for this evening - though, only rather discreetly.

"Sir, your invitation, please?"

The voice of an old man broke the regent of Connlaoth out of his thoughts, but he didn't let on how much it surprised him, and rather quickly pulled the envelope from beneath his coat. His white-gloved hand raised to hand the paper to the man. While he read it, a servant stepped to him.
"Sir, may I take your cape?"
With a slight nod, Lucien unpinned the long grey cape, and without a word handed it to the boy, which bowed, and exited.

"Sir Thornwood, it is a pleasure to welcome you. Your fireworks are regarded highly." the man welcomed him upon reading the invitation, and bowed, too. "Though, it is surprising to see you without an escort..."
"It's a pleasure to attend, too. However, I feel no need for an escort." Lucien responded in a silky voice, gracefully waving his hand at the remark. It was rather rude to point something like that out...

For the position of a regent, Lucien was slightly eccentric in some ways. Over thirty and unwed. Coming from a questionable noble family. Living all alone. Truly, not the standard for someone of his status, but he made up for it with his manners and behavior. And expensive gifts for his noble acquaintances - he had once gifted an Essyrni dancer to a man for a favor, even.

Like that, he made his way to the grand hall, naturally searching for the Duchess.

What was a party without it's hounds? Kentamin Dhelsbar, though of noble stock, had already pledged his allegiance to a greater cause than a noble blood line; and was now becoming more integrated into the templar's who were beginning to get a bit of a dangerous reputation. Perhaps it is this reason he was selected to attend, not only to show the good will of the church and that they too, were not only soldiers, but Connlaothians as well- and he, as an example, one of great stock as well- so it was a surprise when he received an invitation- and when the Priests had granted him the time off to attend.

So now he stood, in stuffy, tight fitting layers of deep blue, a color that brought out the vibrancy of his eyes, and all around the frills of the collars and buttons and cuffs of his suit were intricate gold embroidery to accent his chosen attire. And thick, oil slicked black boots came up to nearly his knees as he stood at attention, bowing before the Duchess of Hellvion as he was introduced, and the Duchess's violet eyes shined at such a sight.

"Such a handsome templar. You make your parents proud I'm sure," Melora told him, as Kentamin   gave a nod in agreement.

"I try my best to serve an honor both my family, country and church, Duchess."

Melora gave a nod.
"Then I feel as if I am lucky a man of such breeding and training was able to attend my event. Please, do feel free to mingle here and enjoy yourself, Lord Dhelsbar."

ANd with a nod, Kentamin turned away, and it was after the young templar was out of her sight that she spotted another guest of great interest. Bryony Carwick. And it was when the young girl's eyes caught her gaze that she gave her a smile and gesture for her to approach.

"Why, Lady Carwick, so good for you to attend," she told the little thing with a bit of a pout to her lips. "I hope you are doing well. My condolences about your cousins. Though we have lost many good men and ladies to this war, to lose ones of such high caliber is an atrocity. Duke and Duchess Carwick were well loved and your brothers..." She shook erh head. "It was sad to lose them too.I just hope we can see an end to all of this foolish fighting soon." And witha  graceful nod, she inquired, "I hope your journey faired thee well?"

Olive had no choice but to follow Melora's unspoken beckons when the Duchess caught her eye. As families of neighboring duchies, Melora had, of course, seen Olive as a child and she could only hope now that the years blurred Melora's memory. She hadn't, after all, been allowed anywhere near the snobby Melora or her family after she'd been Marked as a child. So Olive turned and, with her 'escort,' approached the Duchess. (She hadn't, thankfully, seen who the Duchess had previously been talking with!)

Olive bobbed a polite curtsy, saying in greeting, "Duchess Melora." On her arm, Roderick, her 'escort,' gave a small, stiff bow, but said nothing. Olive forced herself not to glance at him. This interaction, she knew, would be much harder for him than her. Roderick was originally from Hellvion. He wasn't a mage, but in many ways his rage was that much greater because of it. Roderick wasn't a mage, and neither had his little daughters been... But that hadn't stopped the Church dragging them away when the nation entered a frenzy of mage hunting. The girls, of course, had been twins and that had been proof enough for the Church. The girls, no more than six, had been sent to the camps with everyone else. When Roderick joined their ranks, the mages in the Alliance who had been in the camps spread word amongst themselves to find Roderick news of his girls. But when they had, it hadn't been good. Now a father without children, Roderick was now one of the most fervent rebels.

"It was so kind of you to invite me," Olive responded with Bryony's modest brightness. "After the bleakness of this winter and all the suffering in the war, I-"

But Olive cut off. She'd been so distracted by playing her part, that she almost hadn't heard what Melora actually said.

"My condolences about your cousins ... Duke and Duchess Carwick were well loved and your brothers..."

The Duchess. 'Her' brothers. Olive reeled. Her mother... Avery... Cass... She couldn't believe it. She had barely recovered from the news of her father's assassination, but this! It couldn't be true. For a moment, Olive forgot where she was. Her mother. Avery. Caspian. Her father. Images of all of them swam in front of her. Her mother, always so proper, always so beautiful even as she aged; her mother who she never reconciled with... dead. Avery, who she would have married if it hadn't been for this war, who was fair and kind and... dead. And Cass, who had actually been her friend, getting into trouble when they were young... They couldn't, they couldn't all.

"It's still very hard for her," hearing Roderick's voice brought Olive back to the present.

Olive realized she'd been silent for too long, with her emotion plain on her face and unbidden tears in her eyes. "Oh I'm very sorry, Duchess," she said hurriedly, a blush of embarrassment coloring her face, and dabbed her eyes with Roderick's proffered handkerchief. "I- I loved my brothers very much. And the Duke and Duchess... It's all so horrible. I think," she swallowed, sniffed, "I think Avery would have made a very good Duke. He was always very kind, very fair." She took a deep breath to compose herself. Bryony always wore her heart on her sleeve, was emotional and sweet, so Olive hoped her own obvious emotions wouldn't raise very much suspicion. Her entire family... "Yes, I also hope this war will end soon. It's just terrible."

Such drama in her house sent a fire of rage boiling beneath her skin like the veins of lava waiting in bowels of a volcano. But she did not scorn the girl for her emotions, and showed pity where society dictated, but she would not be mourning over the loss of this conversation when the true focus of the evening just arrived-
For the Grand Duke not only replied to his invitation much later than was socially appropriate, but he was now arriving much later than his rank dictated. If anything, he should have been the fourth or fifth person at the latest, but now, he was nearly the last person to arrive. And with his wife on his arm, Melora felt herself chewing on her own tongue, but the tense expression blossomed away into a smile as she whispered her condolences to the girl once again before turning away from her and standing more erect and proper, eyes shining subtly as she awaited to receive the Grand Duke in all of his glory.

"Your Grace," Melora began with a bow and regal curtsy, "You are looking well, and so is your wife." And here, Melora's gaze flashed to the Grand Duchess, as her well polished smile broadened for her. "And congratulations to you both on the birth of your child. I'll be she'll grow up to be as lovely as you both."

The Hellvion Ball was supposed to be quite the grand affair, and knowing Malora, it would be a lavish event, beyond reason, most likely. The damned woman had always thought entirely too much of herself, though even Micah Coleridge could not deny that she had always been beautiful - almost beyond comparison. Almost. To think that he had nearly chosen her for himself in his naive youth, but thankfully he had sense enough to pick a bride more easily managed and pleased. Barely. It had been a close thing, but he was grateful for the years he'd had with his late wife, and for the children he had been given. Melora had only managed to produce a single daughter, and he shuddered to think how things might have turned for him if he had failed to sire a son.

When he had first received the invitation Micah had given serious consideration to simply ignoring it and not attending. Wouldn't that have burned that hateful woman up? Maybe, to have a duke of his caliber ignore her would be quite a statement, wouldn't it? Still, Hellvion could be too useful to him to make enemies. Besides, it wasn't Melora he was here to see.

Duke Micah Coleridge was announced as he entered, as a man of his note should be. Of course, he arrived just after the Grand Duke, and found that most of the attention was on Calent. Emerald eyes flared momentarily before an easy smile graced his lips, let the fool have his moment, before the night was over it was his name on every set of lips. Striding confidently into the room his eyes sought out who he most wished to see.

It didn't take long to find Duke Hellvion himself. Walking up he dipped his head exactly enough not to be insulting in his greeting to the other duke. "Good evening, quite the spectacle you've arranged for the night, my good man. I have been looking forward to this ball, mostly because I had a matter that may be of some interest I wished to discuss with you. Do you suppose you could spare me a few minutes of your precious time?"

Olive was only too glad to lose the attention of the Duchess Melora. Her head - and her stomach - were still reeling from the news that the duchess had so casually (and unknowingly) delivered to her. She followed passively as Roderick's firm hand on her shoulder guided her away from the small party - the party that would shortly include the Grand Duke - with a polite nod of his head to Melora.

Once they were out of earshot of the other party-goers, and still keeping her close to him, Roderick asked in a quiet voice that was both hard and compassionate, "Are you okay?"

"Yes," Olive answered automatically without thinking about it. Then... "No," she answered again, honestly, trying to keep the conflicting emotions from her countenance. The conflict continued in a few moments of silent inner-struggle, then was replaced by a look of resolution. "Yes, I am," she finally said. "But... I think I need a minute, to..."

Roderick squeezed her arm. "Why don't you get some fresh air? Clear your head. Remember why you're here." Olive nodded in numb agreement and Roderick continued, "Why don't we go outside for a bit?"

"No," Olive answered. "No, I can go on my own. I... think it'd do me good."

"Alright," he agreed. "I'll have a wander around here. Try not to get myself in any awkward social entanglements."

Olive had to smile at that, and looking up she saw he was smiling, as well, if grimly. It seemed fine. There was nothing unusual about a sweet young girl with a newly deceased set of brothers needing to collect herself. And getting some fresh air... Well, maybe it wasn't a bad idea. Olive's eyes scanned the room. Seeing all these faces that she recognized... It left her feeling unsettled. But after another squeeze from Roderick, she nodded, and exited to the gardens. (http://www.spiritsoftheearth.net/smf/index.php?topic=17019.0)

Roderick, meanwhile, milled about. Trying not to look too darkly at the wealthy, hob-nobbing nobles.

Dwight carefully extracted himself from a conversation with a few elderly nobles. It was clear from there looks that he wasn't welcome. He huffed as he walked away. Well who needed them!

He'd only walked a few more steps when he sighed. He needed them, unfortunately. He needed them to like him, which increasingly seemed to be an impossible task. The other nobles were tolerating his presence at the party, but none of them seemed to want anything to do with him.

He sighed again as he walked towards the gardens (http://www.spiritsoftheearth.net/smf/index.php?topic=17019.0). He needed some time to himself, and it seemed as if going outside was his best bet.

Duke James Edmund Avelon of Hellvion was a man who often did not make such public appearances, despite the reputation and events often sponsored by his own wife. Poor health was a common theme, but here today, he stood as healthy as ever, and even a bit portly in his age. He smiled carefully at the approach of another Duke and gestured towards him with regal finesse.

"But of course, my ear is all yours, Duke Coleridge. Shall we take this conversation upon drink in the gardens? Or would a corner within this room suffice?"

"A glass of wine while discussing business in the gardens sounds excellent, Duke Avelon. Such a wonderful suggestion." Micah kept a pleasant tone and demeanor, but inside he was hiding his disdain. The duke of Hellvion was getting fat in his age, hardly taking proper care of himself. Hard to believe the man had produced such a lovely daughter. How Aella Avelon was created was hardly his main concern, of course.

Gesturing towards the exit before folding his hands behind his back, Micah waited for James to lead the way. Hardly proper to take charge in another Duke's home, after all.

The wine was poured well after the two men were situated in the gardens, against a lovely set of table and chairs near a rose bush. The day was lovely, they couldn't ask for something better and the wine, delicious as the Duke took it to his lips.

"Nothing better than Connlaothian wine," he said, then smiled over at the other man. "So, you said you had something to discuss with me?"
And he was curious as to what it was. The two duchies hadn't conducted business for a time. Perhaps it was time to reopen some trade?

The lack of trade between Hellvion and Orchy could probably be contributed, at least in part, to Melora's displeasure with Micah, but his duchy flourished without trade from the admittedly wealthier providence. Bringing the glass to his lips he took an appreciative sip before speaking.

"Quite right, nowhere else makes finer wine than Connlaoth, but it isn't wine that I wish to discuss with you. As everyone knows my dear wife passed several years ago, and you have a very beautiful daughter who has been kept far too long without being wed."

Micah let the words hang between them, not saying more for the moment as he sipped at his wine and subtly watched for Duke Avalon's reaction to his implication. Melora would not like it at all if he took her beautiful daughter as a wife, but that was part of the reason he wanted the girl.

The reaction started off slow, a gentle nod about the poor man's wife, and then as the quietness set in between them, he raised both of his untamed brows. The look was curious, but after a moment, he stared down in thought before stroking his beard.
"I see. Yes, it is almost famously too long," he went on, being careful of his words. "My wife, as you well know, is just... particular on the selection of a suitor." And here he paused, not wanting to presume what he thought about this statement- and rather, let it go at that. Micah should come out and say it if he wanted his daughter. He was not here to play games. That was a job for his wife.

"As she should be." Micah commented idly, "Aella is a very lovely young woman, certainly deserving of only the finest of suitors. As particular as Melora can be, however, wouldn't you agree that it is high time your daughter be married to a man that can care and provide for her as she deserves?"

Here Micah leaned forward in his chair, green eyes gleaming slightly. "I can give your daughter much and more than any other man that might ask after her. Think of what a marriage could mean for our respective duchy. Hellvion is known for wealth, but Orchy is known for power. Uniting our duchy through marriage could be very lucrative for both of us."

The Duke of Hellvion leaned back in his chair, nodding and taking in all the other Duke had to say.
"Your offer, as it stands, is the finest," and he chuckled, but that soon faded away as he sighed. "But I'm not sure how my wife would feel. You... do know I know the.. complications she has towards you?" And he raised his brow towards the man. Though he spoke of it like it wasn't that big of a deal, as if speaking of his wife and daughter were simply an act of business. Because.. well, they were. And as much as he loved his daughter, she had to marry someday.

And Micah had a very promising offer.

Ah, there was the only real obstacle. Not that he really considered Melora an obstacle. "Complications...that is a polite way of putting it. She cannot reject suitors forever, Duke Avalon. There will not be a better offer for your daughter than I, and I will not wait. This offer ends if a decision is not made by the end of the ball."

The Duke of Hellvion gave a nod.
"And I am not foolish to believe other wise. She will make a good wife, and you a husband for her. It is only fair to accept, for not only would it benefit you both, but our duchies, and the political alliances it can uphold."
And the Duke was quite pleased. He never considered Aella would finally get the opportunity to marry a Duke proper and she, become a Duchess. But as soon as he accepted, he sealed both his and his daughter's fate. For he knew Melora would be writhing with rage-

But hey.. He had to put his foot down eventually. And at his age, and with his illness...
And with the help of some fine wine, he began not to really care.

"At what time do you wish it appropriate for the marriage? Or would you prefer we converse with Melora?"

Micah smothered the triumphant smirk that wished to take hold, settling for a satisfied smile instead. It had been easier to convince Aella's father than he had thought. Everyone knew the man deferred to his wife - quite shameful, for a husband to be so weak as not to be able to keep his woman in check. Still, he let none of that show as he raised his glass in a toast.

"To alliances, my friend." He tipped his glass, draining the last of the wine, rather pleased with himself in how quickly he had accomplished his primary goal for the evening. "Wedding talk is tedious, Duke Avalon, and best left to the women. It is one case in which I think including your wife and my future bride in the discussion is appropriate. My only stipulation is the engagement be announced tonight."

He was not going to give Melora time to talk her husband out of this arrangement.

The Duke raised a brow.
"Tonight?" Oh dear, he was hoping to have at least a little time to give his wife a warning before informing her he had just effectively sold his daughter off into marriage. And there was also the informing Aella bit...
But that might come easier than he thought, because Aella just happened to poke her head out to check in on the guests at the edge of the gardens and smiled when she saw her father.

"Daddy!" she said, her face blossoming into a radiant and sweet smile as she approached him.

Her father's eyes lit up at the sight of her, and embraced her lightly before turning to Micah, and it was only then that he realized now was as good a time as any....

"Aella, darling, you do recall the Duke of Orchy?"

Aella turned to Micah and smiled in kind, curtsying as perfectly as she could.

"Why yes. We've met numerous times, father," she told him, proud to remember the face. "How are your children fairing?" Though she was not about to ask on the specifics, she just hoped they were all well and good. She knew, after all, his one daughte rin the war and...

Well the woman his son had married......

Aella was not one to judge.

"Tonight." Micah confirmed quietly.

Aella appeared almost immediately afterwards, and he smoothly straightened himself as he stood, sparing a warm smile for the young woman that was going to be his wife, whether she knew it or not. She curtsied and he bowed to her - a deeper bow than he had even given her father.

"My family is quite well," He wouldn't have said otherwise no matter the trouble they might have had, "Lady Aella, how sweet of you to ask after them. My children send their apologies for not attending. Lillian is busy serving the Grand Duke, and Valia is heavy with child so much too delicate to travel, and Gabriel would not leave her side."

"I bet the young Lord is proud. It must be exciting for him, to have his wife with child. Do you know when they estimate she is due?" Aella asked, genuinely interested. Babies were beautiful things, after all, and she always had a soft spot for them.

There was a flicker of something in those unbelievably green eyes, but it was so brief it might have been missed, and his charming smile never faltered. "Yes, my son is quite pleased to be welcoming his second child in short order. I can't say for sure, but very soon there will be another wailing babe in my household."

Micah was impressed with himself that he was able to keep any scorn, disgust, or even mild displeasure from his voice as he spoke of the bastard squirming in Valia's belly. That his son was claiming the child as his own was a farce. The vile little beast should have been gotten rid of the moment they knew it was growing in his daughter-in-law's womb.

Still, he couldn't bring Gabriel around to his way on the matter, so he swallowed his pride as much as he could and kept his mouth shut to keep up appearances. Tonight wasn't about his son, however.

"Lady Aella, your father has some news he wishes to share with you. Isn't that right Duke Avalon?" Micah gave the girl's father a pointed look.

"Oh?" And Aella raised her gaze curiously towards her father, who shifted a bit uneasily beneath that look. He could only hope his daughter would not be angry with him-
for he already knew he'd be suffering beneath his wife's scorn soon enough.

"Why yes, Duke Coleridge had come to ask me something very important, and it was a request I could not refuse- for it was a request involving you."

Aella blinked and kept her smile, her gaze never leaving her father's.

"Oh? What is it?"

And her father hesitated only briefly, before informing her.
"He has asked for your hand in marriage." And before she could digest that, he quickly added, "And naturally, I accepted. Marrying him will secure you as the new Duchess of Orchy, and the wedding will be as soon as you please."

Aella blinked.


Then blinked again.
And again as she stared at her father, then rigidly, she looked over at Duke Coleridge-
who was several.. several..
several years her senior.

"You.. you wish to marry me?" she asked, which is the only thing she could find herself asking, and the confusion was quite evident on her face.

Oh... oh dear. What.. what was she to do? She was just promised to a duke! And it wasn't that she despised him or that the union would not be beneficial but...
She bit her lip.


Her heart was still pining over the most confused emotion for a certain ghost prince.
And while she felt herself bristling over that, she had no idea what to say- considering her father had already accepted such a proposal!

Micah remained a silent observer as Duke Avalon informed Aella of the engagement. It wasn't uncommon in the slightest for marriages to be arranged, or for brides to be much younger than their husbands. Considering what he'd heard of the girl's sweetness, he didn't expect any problems from her. It was Melora he was prepared to fight with on the issue.

As she turned her pretty eyes from her father to him, Micah smiled faintly at her, green eyes glittering slightly with obvious enjoyment at her confused question. "Why would I not? You're young and beautiful, Aella, and I have heard there is no sweeter or finer prize to be won in all of Connlaoth."

Watching her bite her lip, he stepped forward and gently took one of her hands in both of his and gave her his most winning smile. "Lady Aella, I understand that this news comes as quite a shock, but let me assure you that I have only your best interests at heart. I'm a very generous man, and you will want for nothing as long as you live. You could do much worse."

"Oh, it is not that I wouldn't think that, that you wouldn't be, Duke Coleridge," Aella went on, finding  it increasingly harder to fight off her budding tears. "I... I guess I.. I just haven't, haven't much thought on the matter of marriage since... since..."

Since when?

Aella's tears did nothing to move Micah, of course. He would never intentionally harm her, but she could spend the rest of the evening sobbing in her room unhappy with the impending marriage and he would not be deterred in his quest to have her. All he would or could do was try to reassure her that it wouldn't be all bad.

He arched a brow at her curiously for a moment before smiling gently and giving her hand a soft squeeze as he kept his hold on her. "Please don't cry, my sweet lady. I promise I will be a good husband, and I know you will be a good wife, and a great Duchess. All of Orchy will adore you."

All of Connlaoth would adore her.

Aella had no idea what to do or what to say, and it was difficult to hold off her tears as she turned her face away, embarrassed.
"Oh, forgive me I... it's not that I am unhappy..." she went on, a hand lifting to hide her eyes and futilely wipe away the tears.

"I suspect that it is just so sudden, but Aella, please be know, we all have your best interest here, and the Duke of Coleridge is a perfect match," her father went on- even if he knew it was only truly a political match. But well...
All he cared about was she was taken care of. And as beautiful as she was, his own wife made it near impossible for him to marry her off.

He might not ever get such an offer again, at least nothing so grand and so suiting.

OOC: @visualspice  Heads up! I thought we should move this along! :D Anyone else who maybe still has a character in this ( @Moonie @Alegretto @Anadwen ... @Ivory ?), things are about to heat up!

---

A few hours later...

The Alliance of the Blue Star worked by consensus. No decision or plan was made unless everyone agreed. A plan had been agreed upon for tonight, a decision made. The Alliance did not attack civilians, they did not condone unnecessary violence. But a lavish ball, thrown in the midst of a war that was still claiming lives every day, after a winter that left the majority of the nation starving; that couldn’t be ignored. So they had all agreed; once they knew they could infiltrate the event, they would not make an attack. They would make a statement.

That the nobility could not hide their heads in the sand. Could not pretend, even for a night, that the war was over. How could dancing and lavish food and drink be permitted, when innocent people were still being held like animals in camps to be beaten and starved and slaughtered? How could the nobility imagine holding a ball when there was already rumors that a draft would be set in the country recruiting boys as young as fifteen? It was outrageous. To let it go on unchallenged, surely, would be a crime. But it must be done with minimal loss of life. The plan they had decided on was a statement, not a slaughter.

But as soon as Roderick Caersly learned that the Grand Duke would be in attendance, he made a secret plan of his own. Unlike most of the other rebels, Roderick was not a mage. He had never seen the inside of the camps where many of his compatriots had suffered. But he was a father. Or he had been. He spoke his thoughts to no one. He knew they would never agree. Such an action, he knew, they would call a crime.

But there was a greater crime that needed answering.

Though he grieved for the news she received, Roderick was glad that Constance had separated from him on her own. That she was out in the gardens still. He didn’t want her to be here. But it wouldn’t change what he had to do. And now, seeing that the Grand Duke was newly disengaged from a conversation partner, he took the opportunity to approach Calent.

“Your Grace,” Roderick started graciously, bowing his head in a humbled greeting to the Grand Duke. “We’ve never been introduced, but I would like to wish you a heartfelt congratulations at the new addition to your family. A daughter is, surely, the greatest blessing.”

Calent turned on heel and nodded towards the man who had approached.
"Indeed, a child is always a blessing, a gift from Angsar."
Studying the man, he realized he knew not who he was, but prodded first a different question besides asking him his name.
"Do you have children?"

---

“Two daughters. Beautiful girls. They were a true blessing.” Roderick still spoke pleasantly enough, but the past tense he used speaking about his girls hinted at darker things to come.

“Lord, were they beautiful. Took after their mother, not me. Long blonde hair and bright, warm brown eyes. Perfect in every way. I’m sure you know what I mean, Your Grace, having a daughter yourself. I hope your daughter has years and years stretching out before her to grow into a beautiful and possessed woman.”

The fact that the man was still talking at all - most lower nobles kept their words to the Grand Duke short, if they spoke at all! - might have been a sign something was wrong. And as Roderick continued, his voice grew increasingly agitated. And he stayed close enough to Calent that the Grand Duke wouldn’t be able to easily evade him.

“My girls didn’t get that chance. They’re both in the earth, now. They were perfect… perfect... But they were two. Twins, you see? They were sweet girls, normal girls. But when your men came to take the mages away, they didn’t care. They didn’t give a lick that the girls weren’t mages. Twins, bad enough they said! They were only seven years old. Seven years old when they took them away, weeping, to your godforsaken ‘camps’ in the north! Seven!”

Alarm sparked through the area immediately around the two men. The sound of guards rushing forward from the edges of the ball reached Roderick, but he didn’t stop.

“Maybe they were eight by the time they died. Cold, starved, sick to death, and alone in your camps! Because YOU killed them, Calent Allarick!” Roderick grabbed the Grand Duke by his shirt collar, yelling now. But his other hand was concealed in his pocket. “The blood of my daughters, my innocent girls, is on YOUR hands! MURDERER!”

The words hung for just a moment before the guards grabbed the man who, by now, was yelling loud enough for half the ball to hear his accusations. Two guards grabbed him firmly by the shoulders, wrenching him away from Calent. But Roderick wasn't going to lose this opportunity.

His hand in his pocket pulled a trigger. He'd modified it himself for this purpose. It was put together to ignite what was concealed beneath his shirt. The winter had left Roderick gaunt and skinny; there had been plenty of room beneath his ball attire to pack a deadly amount of gun powder and shrapnel: the largest bomb he could build and conceal.

And now was time.

In that moment, everything turned into a deafening roar as Roderick ignited the explosion which erupted with a shock of force and chaos. Whatever was left of Roderick and the guards splattered over the hall. The force of the explosion shook the foundation of the hall. The wall nearest the explosion swayed and creaked, then with a second deafening roar, collapsed inward onto the ball.

A high pitch noise was all that existed, that and the far away sensation of the rumbling ground that, despite this dissociation, was happening all around. Pillars were crashing, smoke and fire swelled through the ball room like a dark wall, and for those not initially incinerated by the blast were now screaming in agony, or still frozen in shock.

The Grand Duke suffered the latter, his ears still piercing, the sound unbearable, and the world all but lost to him. He couldn't even feel it, the burns that seared his fleshed and the smoke that threatened to suffocate him. He was already lost into the chaos, and soon the ball room walls came crumbling down. Chandelier's smashing, statues crumbling, and people being smashed beneath it all like insects beneath one's boot.

Milo Gray was making his first appearance tonight as the premature Lord Gray. At fifteen, he was too young to be a lord, but the war hadn't taken that into consideration. His father had been killed more than three years ago now, but it felt like yesterday still. When the invitation came, to Lord Miles Gray, his mother had gone cold as ice. Milo'd known she hadn't wanted him to come. He knew she'd refuse to come with him. Part of him didn't want to go, either; he didn't want to let her down or upset her. But he also knew that he was turning into a man, and he'd have to fill his father's shoes. Fulfill his responsibilities. Surely keeping the Gray name visible, showing that their house hadn't fallen, despite tragedy... that was the right thing to do?

He'd been uncomfortable all night. Naturally serious and a bit taciturn, he hadn't been sure how to interact with the young ladies who were still easy three or five years older than him. Or what to make of the even older lates who doted over what a 'handsome young lord' he was, and by the ones who had known Karol Gray, how much he was the 'spirit and image' of his father.

He'd been trying to duck away from one such lady when the commotion surrounding the Grand Duke began. The woman clutched his arm, but the accusations flying from the man - clearly mad - were far more interesting than anything Milo had to say! Milo hadn't known what to make of it. There was hardly time to make anything of it before

It happened.

For a moment, time and the room seemed to stand perfectly still. And then it erupted. When he was aware of his surroundings again, Milo was coughing soot and smoke and dust, his ears ringing loudly. He'd been near the explosion, but a fortuitous turn in the wall between where he stood and the rebel left him unharmed, if dazed. But the woman... Then Milo realized the reason he was coughing up soot and dust: the wall had collapsed. And underneath it... All he could see was one, old, bejeweled hand.

He was almost sick. But urgency won out and he looked quickly around for an escape. The structure was still crumbling and while he was looking he saw that the column behind the stunned Grand Duke was about to give way. Acting on instinct, not thinking of how his mother loathed the man, Milo darted forward and nearly tackled Calent away from where he was standing.

Just in time.

The column toppled across the room, mere feet from where the pair were standing now. Milo looked at it wide-eyed, panting and coughing, and stunned.

The second his back hit the floor and the column fell with a deafening ring, he found himself unable to move, unable to breath as more dust and smoke swelled around them. Whatever had happened was incomprehensible, as the Grand Duke lay there, still as death, but still casting the wild shine of life in his eyes.

More trembling roused him, and though his body was locked in shock, it didn't take long for the heavy foot falls of soldiers to come pounding their way.

"The Grand Duke!" he heard one exclaim, but despite them being over top of him, their voices sounded so far away. Confused, he looked around, the world still spinning, mind and ears ringing as he finally turned to address Milo Gray, the young thing that had saved him.

Milo was still on the ground, propping himself up by his palms, and panting. Just as the Grand Duke stared at him in shock, the boy stared back at the Grand Duke. The only thing on his mind was the question, what was happening?! over and over again. He barely registered it when another guard picked him up and put him, shakily, on his feet.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he managed to strangle out a stunned, "M'lord."

The blood and burns on his face were enough to make the men now swarming around them panic. But even as they were moving around like a hive of bees to attend to him, the Grand Duke was still lost in his daze. And as he was brought to his feet, and so many fussing over him and beginning to direct him out of the way of the chaos and crumbling section of the building, he found himself managing to cough out, "The young man... bring him too."

Though he might not remember this command later, soon a bunch of men were surrounding Milo, asking if he was alright, and helping him off the ground. One even went so far as to say, "You know you're a real hero kid. The Grand Duke is forever in your debt." While ushering him into a line behind the fanfare that surrounded the Grand Duke.

The bomb that had gone off seemed to hit just the right structure, for the column that it knocked over worked as a domino effect to collapse against other nearby supports, until the entire east side of the ballroom was crumbling to dust. Even things not impacted by the blast were being sent over from the reaction to the sheer force of one of the might Hellvion columns falling toawrds the ground.

And Calent spared but one glance over his shoulder at all of the chaos, before he himself was taken outside and into the fresh air of the lawn.

Milo was in too much shock to do anything other than go along with the Grand Duke's guards as they escorted him, along with the Grand Duke himself, out of the ruined building and into the safety of the gardens. He just stared at the man who called him a 'hero.' What could he say?

Once they were out, Milo looked back in disbelief. The ongoing collapse seemed over now, but dust still billowed into the air and half of the ballroom and the entire grand hall were lain open and exposed. How had one man caused so much damage?

Without realizing, he found himself speaking his thoughts out loud. "Who... who was that man? How did he...? Are there still people in there?"

But even in his shock, the man's words kept echoing in Milo's brain. 'The blood of my daughters, my innocent girls, is on YOUR hands! MURDERER!' It might sound like the rantings of a crazy man, but Milo couldn't help but think that his own mother would be glad to see this man - the man he'd just saved - dead. But all of this mindless violence... He had no idea what to feel, much less think. All he could do was stare at the destruction.

His men ushered him urgently, forcing Milo out onto the lawn with the rest. At his inquiries, they answered simply, but with on less worry than he, "Our men are on it." And it was true, anyone on duty was already rushing onto the scene- men helping men, even the women who could were barking out orders and doing things to help retrieve the dead and the damned. But as Calent watched all of the despair- he felt numb to it-
Numb to the world.
And even numb to where his face and whole right side remained blistered and aching from the burns.