~~Secrets~~ (Mystery, Samheen 28th-29th, closed)

[Grant]

Some secrets are large,
Some secrets are small.
Some secrets are left
To be pondered by all.

Some secrets you hide,
Some secrets you say.
Some secrets should never
See the light of day.


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OOC: This thread is open to anyone who would like to attend. This thread will be of a mystery/horror theme. Important notes regarding this adventure:
• There will be NO IC consequences or impact from this event! Assume no risk joining this event.
• This event is high-danger. Pc fatality is predicted in the 30-50%.
• This event is high-complexity, with an estimated run time of just over 1 month RL.
• Placement in this event is limited. Once the event has closed, no additional players will be allowed.
• Abide by the restrictions of the invitation, and come equipped for a dinner party. No weapons or armor.
• You must describe your attire/possessions with your first post. You may not assume changes midway through this sequence.
• If this scenario should become "impossible" due to circumstance, the scene will gradually end.
Good luck, have fun, and give it a try!
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On behalf of the Naturalist Society of World's Mouth, you are hereby invited to enjoy an evening of dining and entertainment at the Ardemus Manor, Southern Marchlands, World's Mouth, during the Eveningtide of Samheen 28th, 1224 yahren after our lord, Charlesmagne. On this night, the Naturalist Society and it's distinguished fellow, Professor Ardemus, would welcome all adventurous and intellectual persons.

-Proff. Ardemus, c/o Naturalist Society

It was a curious invitation, made only more curious by the name placed on the bottom margin. Professor Ardemus, Father of the Nashorn, Founder of the Naturalist Society, and perhaps the most respected mind on magic, sorcery, and alchemy in the Western World. But most importantly, he was presumed dead, a rumor that gave his invitations to seem rather presumptuous at best. Whoever sent them must have had a very unusual sense of humor...or perhaps these invitations were written some time ago. Either way, the implication is clear: the receiver is expected on this very night to a dinner party. And the dinner party was at the most enigmatic and strange of places in perhaps all the known world: the infamous Ardemus Manor of old, where Professor Ardemus himself was rumored to do the impossible on a daily basis, a manor surrounded by rumor, legend, fear, and awe. Even his death seemed something unreal...something that could not have been true.

Samheen 28th, Eveningtide, to Samheen 29th, Gravetide

Was it a dream, or was it real? The invitation seemed real enough...and the Ardemus Manor was notorious and very real, a place with an address, as if such a very concise description of it's location somehow lent it reality and weight where other places would have none. The road to the Ardemus Manor, winding through the hills of the Southern Marchlands, were real enough, and travelling them by the fading daylight hadn't seemed so very difficult by carriage. But the sun, like all things, must eventually set...and soon enough, long shadows crossed the lands and cast the ground into darkness or sullen tones of gray. It was an Autumn night that would accompany the guests when they arrived, with dead and falling leaves whirling in the swift, cutting wind and storm clouds gathering and blowing overhead, the distant forks of brilliant lightning flashing off in the Western distance. But the lightning was a welcome thing, for in those brief flashes of clarity, the arriving guest could see his or her coming destination, a building that would live in the hearts of millions for generations to come.

Ardemus Manor.

Here they come, thought the host as the guest's carriages pulled down the country lane and across the bridge into the estate's grounds. They would come in along the circular drive, circling the twenty-foot statue of Professor Ardemus himself, his pose one of quiet, solitary introspection, and pull up at the front doors, where they would be handed out by the footman, directed past the two guards at the broad, double doors, and through the foyer into the reception room by the aging, middle-aged butler...and then we'll get started, thought the host as he turned away from the window and inspected the interior of the reception room. Square, like all the rooms in the East Wing, it featured printed wallpaper upon its upper half and burgundy paint upon the lower, separated by a wide, molded border. There were two divans stretching the length of the south wall opposite the windows, each one embroidered with floral patterns over a faded scarlet. Outside of those on either southern corner were two pairs of smoking chairs, all leather and each one flanking a small, decorative table of polished walnut. Three more chairs formed a small group in the northeast corner, just under one of the north-facing windows, these of a larger, more luxurious design featuring overstuffed chocolate leather, and a lovely, carved wet bar dominated the northwest corner just near the room's entrance through which his guests would arrive, the liquor cabinet built as a corner design to effectively use such space. Opposite that entrance was another door, one that would lead into the dining room, of course. I should think we would make it THAT far tonight, thought the Host, nodding in approval at the reception room's decorations.

Moving to the wet bar, he began to prepare a few light refreshments for his arrivals. Indeed, this should prove a rather interesting visit for them all, he thought to himself, as he tipped the claret into several long, thin glasses. I should hope at least one of them succeeds. Glancing up at the mirror, the host checks his appearance one last time...not bad, but certainly not aristocratic...before he would begin welcoming all newcomers.

[Shaeliana]

The Naturalist Society! It was an organization the healer knew little about, but the little she had heard fascinated her all the same. Bubbling with giddy excitement, Shaeliana sat on the edge of her seat, looking out the coach window at the architecture, periodically set ablaze with light by the approaching storm. This represented some of the finest minds and creativity of World's Mouth, another place she'd heard much of but never experienced first hand. This would be a night to remember, a night to be recorded in her journal.

As the carriage finally drew to a halt, the young woman breathed deeply and clutched at her bag, mentally preparing herself to disembark. Thoughts of her mother pranced through her mind; her mother who so loved the city life, the parties with all the protocol and observances. Even after all the time Shae had spent at Court, she had not learned to feel comfortable with the spectacle. Inching forward, when the door opened and the expected hand of the coachman reached in, she took it and slipped one dark brown slippered foot out onto the small steps and made her way out of the vehicle slowly, with as much grace as she could muster.

Outside, the cold wind grabbed at her. Long fingered hands pulled the fur lined, bronze colored cloak more tightly about herself. Given this was a meeting of intellectuals, she'd gone for a more subdued look this evening, choosing a satin gown of a rich brown with bronze undertones. The neckline was low enough to reveal some cleavage, but not as daring as many of the women wore these days. Nor did it sport the wide frame at the hips that was so popular in the Mouth. It did fit snugly around the torso to the waist, where the bodice ended in a shallow v that was trimmed with tiny auburn and gold beads. These were mirrored around the neckline and again off the bottom of the sleeves which ended just below the elbows. The sides of the full sweeping skirt were pulled back to reveal a dark cream colored satin underskirt which was matched by long gloves of the same material.

Dark brown curls had been pulled up and piled on top of the healers head, held in place by two carefully placed jeweled combs. These dark golden topaz jewels matched the small drops at her ears and the pendant that hung from the small gold chain around her neck. To finish the look, she carried a gold fan with a silky print of brown, gold and tiny blue blossoms on a creamy background and a small clutch purse made of matching material. Inside the purse, the curious would find a very small tin of salve the healer used to keep her lips from drying out, a small pair of scissors, a tiny skein of brown thread with a needle stuck through it, and a very small comb, though why she had included that was beyond her now. She couldn't comb her hair. A lady's maid had put it up and if it fell down, she was at its mercy.

She'd also included two small packets wrapped in white cloth; one a mixture of various herbs to help alleviate pain and a dose of ginger and grayseed to help settle an upset stomach. It was the healer's experience that the combination of excitement, too much alcohol (which for the healer was not much at all), too much food and too many people resulting in stuffy smoke filled air often resulted in an achy head and upset tummy before the evening was done. Normally, she'd have just excused herself and gone home, but tonight, she didn't want to miss anything.

Feet firmly on the ground again, the young woman let herself be escorted through the entrance, purse and fan clutched in one hand, invitation in the other. Eyes wide with wonder, she paused inside the reception area to observe the room and those other party goers who inhabited it.

[Gavin Tylvan]

It was his ability to take things in stride that made Gavin not panic as he rode in the coach. For a flicker there was a moment of total confusion as the man's brain struggled with comprehend just where in the Nether he was. A slip of paper in his hand. He held it up before his eyes and struggled to read it in the gloom of the coach. Fighting with each word, finally all started to make sense. It was an invitation. A dinner invitation. In World's Mouth. He did not care how he came to be there or why. He was riding in a coach and probably going to that dinner. Which was fine.

Checking himself, he found that his usual clothing was gone. Not leather or fur. Silk white shirt he wore even had a puffy collar. Now, this is new. Tight dark green pants were made of fine velvet, and there was a matching coat as well. A slight shift of his torso revealed a tightness that could only be a waistcoat. Fine leather boots reached about half way up his calves. Soft leather gloves were in his lap, and an ivory headed cane rested next to him. A flicker of panic as the tall man touched his face, feeling that the beard was still there. He wore no jewelry except a simple yarn necklace.

The coach rumbled to a stop and unaware of the protocol, the tall man opened the door himself and stepped out. Taking a flicker or two to get his bearings, he finally noticed the servants and allowed himself to be escorted inside. The note was safely in his waistcoat pocket, next to something that felt like a golden watch. Noting the guardsmen, the warrior in him felt slight unease at his own lack of weaponry. Quickly brushing it aside, he pushed on, following the butler through the house. His cane was left at the door, along with the gloves, Gavin feeling no need to carry them around just now. As they passed the corridors, he made sure to note the way to the exit as best as he could.

[Gaelena]

Her childhood upbringing came easily back to Gaelena as she rode in the carriage, swiftly checking her gown to make certain nothing was out of place. She then checked her small bag, dabbing a bit of lavender scent she had made behind her ears and one drop down her ample cleavage, which was proudly displayed.

Looking at that, she paused to wonder what she was doing in such a dress, but this thought quickly dissolved as the carriage came to a stop. Climbing from the carriage, she shook out the wide ivy green outerskirts of her gown, embroidered with climbing ivy done in silver thread. The underskirt was of a cream silk, which matched the lace that tried, in vain, to protect some modesty of the bosom that threatened to break forth from its confines. Her flame red hair was done up in a series of braids, that culminated in one long red curl sliding down her neck and over her shoulder. A small hint of eyeshadow deepened the green of her eyes. Her only jewelry was the silver pendant about her neck.

Once certain that all was in place, Gaelena made her way up to the entrance, the invitation in her hand. She was always willing to learn, though how she had come from Pax to be in World's Mouth... The thought once again disappeared. She handed the invitation to the butler and waited to be escorted in.

[Draydis Quinn D`Anorre]

The invitation arrived at the Emerald Guard headquarters and was immediately delivered to Commander Quinn. Upon reading it, he figured it was no place for a military type such as himself. As Draydis went on with his various daily tasks, he thought about the invitation...wondering why he of all people would receive such a note.

Towards mid-day, he decided he would attend. After doing his best to remove the dirt and sweat from the morning drills, the adhiel put on his usual attire...but then decided showing up at a dinner party bristling with weapons would be in poor taste. After all, why would he need any weapons at a dinner party?

The weapons were returned to the rack in his bed chamber and his heavy black leather armor soon joined them on the stand as well. In their place, the soft leather uniform of the commander of the Emerald Guard was put on. It was the uniform he wore for all forms of ceremony, and was the best attire he owned. The uniform was well tailored and was of lush shades of green and brown. The gloves, boots, and belt were all made from the same leather, and matched perfectly. The leather was soft, yet durable. The gloves were of a style that one would wear for fencing, yet they had simple adornments that matched the rest of the uniform. The belt had a point of attachment for his uniform sabre, yet tonight he went without even the dress sword. The boots were soft, and lacked the hardened sole of most military boots. This was a customization that Draydis had requested when given his position, as stealth was always of concern to him...and hardened soles made far too much noise.

The golden ring of the emerald guard was put upon the ring finger of his right hand, and a leather symbol representing the dark aspects of the Mother hung from his neck by a braided leather cord. He pulled his hair back into a ponytail, which was wrapped from his head down to the ends of his hair with black leather cord. Having his hair pulled back in this manner exposed not only the tattoos of the tiger stripes and ancient adhiel runes on his neck and face, but also allowed a careful observer to see the heavy, rope-like scars on the back of his neck that obviously extended far below his neckline.

Once he was dressed and everything seemed to be in place, he went to where the carriage awaited him. It was a pleasant ride, and along the way, the commander began to wonder again why he had received an invitation. These thoughts consumed most of his journey.

It was due to these thoughts occupying his mind, that Draydis had not realized that the carriage carried him from Kes'levy....and that he knew that not only had the woods of Taquar been burnt just the day before, but Draydis was no longer in Taquar. For now, the adhiel did not know he was dreaming...

Upon his arrival at the manor, Draydis exited the carriage and handed his invitation to the man at the door. Though he was unarmed, Draydis carried himself as an individual that knew how to handle himself in a fight. It wasn't that he wanted to appear unfriendly, it was just that since joining the guard, every day was full of drills, training, and preparing for the next fight. Being a warrior had become his life.

As the door opened, he stepped inside and made his way to where everybody else had gathered already. Without a sound, the commander entered that chamber...

[Ashtallion Urdil]

The carriage jostled slightly and the adhiel lord smoothed the folds of his white satin and slik robe with one hand as the other held the invitation. He admitted to knowing nothing about this Naturalist Society, however his curiousity overwhelmed his better judgement and he accepted the invite, hence why he found himself in the carriage. Eventually it stopped, placing a hand over his stomach in an attempt to settle the fluttering feeling. Ashtallion emerged from the carriage, holding the skirts of his robe in order to prevent himself tripping. As the door closed behind him and it drove away, the sorcerer regarded the large manor before him.

His hair gleamed strong and golden in the light present, glinting also on the gold and silver threads sewn in to the white robe. Obviously, at a dinner party he did not expect to be allowed to take the Pelegrim, yet he felt somewhat vulnerable without it. The blade had seen him through more than one unsure situation... still, he was strong in his sorcery, that was all he needed.

Handing the invitation to the door man, he nodded as he walked through the doors to join the other guests. Despite being nervous about the unknown, there was excitement bubbling in him also.

[Grant]

The first and most obvious truth that could be seen upon the host was that he clearly did not belong here in the Ardemus Manor. A shining, bald pate, a long, thick beard shot with gray, and a heavy, hawkish brow that spoke of stern authoritarianism, the thick man...for he was rather large with both muscle and fat...presented himself in a way that seemed shabby in comparison to his guests. His modest height was covered in common laborer's clothing, clean, fresh, and rugged of stitch, but far from opulent, dazzling, or even modestly fashionable. No jewelry adorned his fingers, neck, or ears, and his boots were of scuffed and worn leather, displaying what might have been a lifetime of walk and wear.

Despite the rather uncharacteristic appearance of the host, something more could be seen in the man if one were to observe closely. His beard was square and properly cut, his fingernails trim and clean, and his teeth were white and healthy. He moved with a casual, direct grace, absently tipping the vintage into several clear, crystal flutes with perfect grace and acumen as if he had done so a thousand thousand times before. "Ah, welcome...welcome to Ardemus Manor, ladies and gentlemen. I beg you will please make yourselves comfortable," murmured the man, as he carried flutes of a rosy, dry wine to his guests in the room.

And of guests, there were but four. Shaeliana had entered the reception room to find not another soul within save her host, though she was quickly joined by Gavin, Gaelena, and Draydis. No doubt the butler, the footman, and the two guards were still awaiting additional guests, leaving them to pass the time before the host moved their party into the dining room. "You have all only just beaten the storm, I think, for the barometer is falling such as I've never seen," murmured the host, though what he might possibly mean by barometer would be anyone's guess. "My name is Grant Armstrong, a representative of the house for tonight's occasion. Perhaps we should wait another...five burns 'ere we adjourn to the hall? I believe there will be a few more along shortly."

[Finley Ward]

Finn had not read the invitation himself - to do so would have been pretty miraculous, since he could not read - so he'd had Nico read it to him, and taken it on trust that that was what it said. The most obvious reaction to all this was, unsurprisingly, one of surprise, since why would Finley Ward of all people be invited to a formal dinner out in the Marchlands? After several burns of aching paranoia, the Dortman had decided that to not go would be to deny his curiousity forever, and despite his misgivings, he had shelled out the coin it cost to order a coach, made a halfhearted attempt to neaten himself up for the occasion, and gone, leaving Nico with succinct and specific instructions as to what exactly to do with whoever owned that house if he did not return. Of course, whether Nico would value Finley highly enough to inact revenge, should it be necessary, was another matter.

The fact that he was slightly late was... of little importance in his mind. And the rising excitement the other guests might have felt was matched, equally but lopsidedly, with rising paranoia in Finley. Coaches, estates, and rich people - these things were all very well, assuming one was stealing from one or somehow turning it over. To approach one of these things from one's own place in society, even if in disguise, was more comfortable. Unknown invitations usually led to trouble. Almost always led to trouble. He wondered, idly, who he'd offended this time. Perhaps Teresa had had a rich uncle who doted on the girl, but officially shunned her because of her heritage. Or maybe Tanaquil had had a lover... Finn snorted at that last thought. Tanaquil? Lover? naah... 's more likely fish would fly than that bitch opened her legs fer any fucker...

Outside the coach - for once the thing had halted Finn, after a moment's last burn nerves and hesitation, hauled his skinny frame outside into the thick, heavy eveningtide air - the place seemed appropriately dark and moody. At least if this was to be one of those meetings involving being beaten within an inch of your life, the gods had some sense of occasion.

Standing at a meager five foot seven, Finn seemed to cut an unusually tidy figure this evening - at least, at first glance he did. The calf-length, dark wool jacket was clearly not much older than a day or two, and the cut and style of the thing spoke of some small money, at least - it was a fine thing. Or perhaps, would have been, had it not smelled slightly but pervasively of dockwater, been missing two buttons across the front, and apparently been trampled by a stampeding bar crowd on some occasion. The white linen shirt was relatively crease-free, un-darned and had none of that fade of old, well-worn apparel - however, it had a large beer stain along one sleeve, which was thankfully mainly hidden by the aromatic jacket. Held up by way of a thick, brass-studded belt, dark leather trousers matched the outfit well, and had been chosen for this very reason (sometimes, even lowlives needed to emulate the high life) - though this was offset nicely by two days' worth of rather hopeful stubble on his chin, a sign that the man could not grow a decent beard even if he tried really really hard. His hair was neatly slicked back from his face, giving him a slightly World's Mouth mafioso appearance which could only be appropriate - but then, conversely, he smoked a small, misshaped rollup of questionable origins, pinched between two nicotine-stained fingers trimmed with filthy fingernails.

Besides the general clothes required in order to avoid arrest in the street, Finn had brought very little with him. First and foremost, a pouch of tobacco and papers stuffed into his pocket, for any smoker would not be without their poison for an eveningtide, particularly one that boded as badly as this. Also, a small but servicable blade tucked into his boot, out of sight. It might well be a formal dinner party, but Finley was not accustomed to the niceties of such an occasion, and nor did he wish to be caught unawares by the men with big sticks and angry expressions and some sort of grudge to wear out, when they eventually decided to make their presence known. Besides this, Finn was not a man who liked to be unprepared, and his own particular personal habits demanded he carry at least one weapon on his person, should a blonde of questionable intelligence happen to wander into his path. Not that he'd be actively seeking such a pleasant passtime this eveningtide. It hardly seemed appropriate, given the setting.

Apart from these two items - and the two silver hoop earrings Finn perpetually wore in his left ear and never thought about, let alone removed - he carried nothing at all, besides some spare change in his pocket (amounting to two crown in loose lances and coronets), and a feeling of distrust and annoyance. Taking in the last of the smoke from his unimpressive rollup, Finn stubbed the thing on the side of the carriage, and offered the driver a terse nod by way of tip, before continuing on up to the house, and inside, towards the reception room and whatever horrible fate awaited him. Paranoia was a useful trait, sometimes. At least he would not be caught unawares, when the shouting started.

[Motley]

He was an ugly little wretch to be certain. Mismatched eyes gazed at himself in the mirror. Perhaps he had the coin in his pocket to buy some finery for an occasion like this, but he simply didn't have much by way of desire to.

Scuffed, threadbare boots and rough spun leggings covered his bandied legs from the waist down. His muslin shirt was once black but had faded into a distant grey and had been mended several times around the elbows. Over this his put on his pride and joy, his magnificent patchwork coat. Made from a vast array of scraps and bits of multicolored cloth, the coat was a sharp instrument in and of itself to announce him. Being short enough to hide him from most people's vision when he stood too close, Motley wore it as a way to garner attention for himself, and pronounce to all that saw him as a wandering minstrel, a troubadour and performer.

Into the waiting carriage he climbed, carrying along his shoulder bag that held most of his possessions and his well used, and well cared for lute. It was a precious thing to him, as it was his livelihood, and his entertainment rolled into one. He strummed it lazily as the carriage rolled inexorably towards its mysterious destination. He never thought twice about bringing it with him, after all, almost every party required a form of entertainment, and if there was a lull, he was prepared to do battle with boredom once again should it raise its malevolent head.

Upon arrival he climbed down clumsily from the carriage and waddled through the doors as he made his way inside. He took a glass of wine for himself, and enjoyed the well honed taste of the vintage as he glanced around at the other attendees. Seeing their clothing and their respective beauty made him feel awkward and outcast, but this was the way of the world for young Motley, and he took in his usual stride. He awaited further instruction as he took a seat and began to pluck absently at his lute. He pondered over which song to play as the guests continued to arrive, and chose "A Thousand Yahren" which he had learned to play long ago in the magnificent halls of Dragonskeep. The mismatched eyes that once studied himself in the mirror, now studied host and the hall.

[Brionna Galenn]

It didn't seem strange to be in a carriage on her way to a dinner in World's Mouth, even though she couldn't quite remember how she had gotten there. She was sure there was a good reason, however, and she relaxed on the padded seat and watched the scenery through one of the windows.

Brionna was quite looking forward to the evening, mostly because it was such an unusual event to receive an invitation to: a Naturalist Society in a city she had never visited before, at the request of a man who was supposed to be dead. Not that being dead would necessarily stop him, she mused. It didn't stop Diana... A small frown creased her brow. Why wasn't she in Roque protecting Eloise from Diana? She couldn't remember, and eventually let the thought drift off. She wouldn't be here if things weren't alright back home.

The carriage rolled up the drive of a stately manor house and came to a halt by the doors. As a footman opened the door and extended a hand to help her down, she smiled. This was not a night to worry. This was a night to enjoy herself.

Safely on the ground once more, she gave the man a warn smile and thanked him politely. As she made her way up to the door, she automatically checked her appearance. Her dress was of russet silk, with a clinging bodice and an elegant cut to the neckline that made it appear to reveal far more than it actually did - displaying your assets was one thing, but looking as though you were about to fall out of your dress was only suitable if you frequented some of the lower-class inns. The skirt of the dress was cut in many layer panels, with the under-layers getting progressively darker. The result was a rippling and fluttering as she walked, each of the panels sliding independantly over her legs.

Her copper curls were swept up and held with jewelled pins, with a few curls having escaped and drifted around her ears. She swatted feebly at them, knowing that it was a lost cause. Sometimes I can't help thinking it would be nice to have hear that did what it's told, she thought with a rueful sigh. A band of black velvet circled her throat, pinned with a large emerald brooch that echoed the vivid colour of her eyes. On her hands, she wore a single ring: red gold, strands plaited and twisted around each other in a cunning design.

Satisfied that her attire hadn't suffered through her confinement in the coach, she nodded at the doorman and made her way into the hall. There were several guests there already, and she felt a vague flicker of interest as she looked around. The misshapen little man playing music she was sure she recognised - hadn't she seen him (or someone like him) at the funeral recently? He had been talking to the man who had kept watching her, she was sure of it.

Stranger, however, was that the woman in the brown satin gown also seemed vaguely familiar. She studied her out of the corner of her eye, trying to place where she might have encountered her before. By the time she had reached the balding man who was handing out the drinks, she had given up. Maybe I've passed her in the Bazaar a few times, she decided.

Accepting a glass of wine, she smiled and raised it slightly in a gesture of thanks. Sipping the barest amount - she prefered not to drink without food as a rule - she looked once more over the assembled guests. Quite an eclectic gathering, she thought. I wonder why we've all been invited to this gathering?

[Draydis Quinn D`Anorre]

Draydis had been standing at the side of the room in order to take inventory of who all was present. Just as he was about to approach Gavin to say hello, Ashtallion walked in.

Dray beamed for a moment, but then considered the circumstances under which he had met them both before. "I certainly hope we weren't called here tonight to slay demons!" The words were directed at his two friends, and only after uttering them did he realize that the others present would either think he was mad, would become scared for the unknown, or would just disregard him based on his strange appearance.

He chuckled at his own thoughts and then approached the two men. "It is good to see you both again!"

[Talanwei Fortisse]

Talanwei felt slightly disjointed as he sat easily in the carriage that bore him to his destination. Why was he here? This carriage...evening wear? The Achadiel had a sense of dislocation for a sickening moment and his stomach quailed for but a moment. Jade eyes searched the ceiling for answers written on its surface. For another excruciating eternity contained in a moment, his skull ached horribly. The innards of this carriage were smooth with a satin like material and soft inlay on the seats that adorned it. A deep rich crimson off set by a royal blue array of curtains was what greeted him as background. Talanwei’s slow assessment of his surroundings eased the vertigo and he looked ahead gathering his thoughts.

All at once his mind remembered as moments passed. He was en route to the estate known as Ardemus Manor. In his unconsciously clenched hand he had the folded invitation to the soiree of sorts. Opening it, he looked at its contents for what could have been the eighth time that night.

On behalf of the Naturalist Society of World's Mouth, you are hereby invited to enjoy an evening of dining and entertainment at the Ardemus Manor, Southern Marchlands, World's Mouth, during the Eveningtide of Samheen 28th, 1224 yahren after our lord, Charlesmagne. On this night, the Naturalist Society and it's distinguished fellow, Professor Ardemus, would welcome all adventurous and intellectual persons.

-Proff. Ardemus, c/o Naturalist Society

The Achadiel shook his head wondering for perhaps the tenth time since receiving the invitation why he had been summoned. Talanwei folded it once more and caught a glimpse of his own attire. Oh that's right, no armor or weapons. Instead he was clad in a subdued blue undertunic with loose sleeves and a soft leather doublet the color of cream. The paladin was not used to these fineries as his eyes traced themselves down to his lower body that was in a set of fine leather trousers that were a deep black and, even he had to admit, were quite comfortable. The half adhiels boots were also leather and their lining was shot through silver. Though it was a small area of the boot he felt them a bit to gaudy for his taste. Talanwei felt he must not have been in his right mind when he selected them. To his left on the seat was a coat a blue that was was deep midnight and reached to his mid thigh. Another fancy affair with silver cufflinks and its inside lined in silver. In the left breast pocket was a time piece and the letter opener he had forgotten to remove from its depths. It was in fact the very one that Talanwei had used to open the invitation itself. He then reached up to his hair that was tied back except for a few forelocks on either side of his head. The clink of his two silver bracelets comforted him. It was one thing that felt familiar, constant and he breathed a mite easier. He felt overly done, like a peacock or something of the like, but it was a change. This had to be good right?

The carriage had reached its destination without the Achadiel's knowledge. He looked out upon the expansive estate and the stairs that led to the maw of the great building. The coach opened his door and Talanwei grabbed both his coat and the cane that was concealed beneath. In a deft motion he slung the coat over his left arm and simply held the cane. The Achadiel covered the space to the door relatively quickly and relinquished his cane with a curt nod. He could have given his coat but for some reason he did not. A deep breath filled his lungs and he stepped over the threshold into the unknown.

Talanwei's thoughts were jumbled as the long corridor opened into an expansive reception room. There were already many in attendance and he most immediately took notice of those that he felt looked out of sorts in these surroundings as he did. One man, with slick black hair and face covered with a haze of stubble. Another large fully bearded man looked cautious and ill at ease. There were others, adhiel, human, man and woman all dressed to the nines. None of these people he knew and none of them likely knew him. The achadiel made his way to the window that looked out into the darkness. Talanwei made mental notes of his surroundings in case there were some chance the agenda for the night turned dangerous. However he felt his senses dangerously dull, perhaps it was his rational mind thinking that there was no way that in a surrounding such as this violence would erupt. Only time would tell this fact as he gave his gaze to the night.

[Gaelena]

With a confident stride, Gaelena entered the room, shortly after a rather tall gentleman in white and green and a lady in brown. She cast each a smile, warm and welcoming, then gave one to the man who followed shortly after her, whom, to her shock, was striped. How very...interesting.

Taking a glass from their host, she studied him for a moment, taking in the differences in his appearance. The clothing spoke of shabbiness, but his personal appearance made the clothing seem a lie. His tone as well was not one to be taken with the clothing. What sort of game is this?, she wondered as she turned her eyes from him to the two newest members of the party.


The shorter one seemed a musician, which caused her to smile again, brightly. Oh, she loved music. So what if he was different? Look at... Her mind froze on that thought and the little man who had momentarily come to mind. The taller one (though he was of a height with her) gave her a very uneasy feeling. He seemed...dangerous. There was something dark about him. She unconsciously moved away from him and closer to the trio of men, of which one had greeted the others.

[Lir Calysta Markby]

The coach rattled her and she muttered a couple of explicits as she sat as still as one could in a jostling conveyance. Her violet eyes flashed with the annoyance of being summoned. Of course, it was not much as she read over the invitation over and over again with no clue as to how it ended up in her possession. Why me? She thought to herself as the coach finally arrived to its destination.

She could not exactly remember when she had changed her dress and even her appearance. If she looked into the mirror now even she might not be able to recognise herself. The eye patch was gone and her body was scrubbed until it was a pale pink. The bronzed skin did not exist as she stared at a rose tea complexed woman staring back at her with two eyes. Her skin was soft, her lips were soft and her body was encased in silver and violet silks that matched her eyes. What the hell is going on? Her mind rebelled as she fumed. Her roughened hands were also softened and put in matching gloves. Her feminine figure was shown off perfectly by the gown that was picked for her.

The bodice and overskirt of her gown was violet brocaded with silver threads in an elegant motif. Silver bows pulled back the voluptuous overskirt to reveal an underskirt of the silver as well but with deep purple threads shot through it in the matching motif of her overskirts.

It seemed as if this would have been the creature she would have been if her life was different, if she was not sold by her father or kidnapped. Her thick blue black hair was piled on top of her hair and the rebellious curls were pinned artfully in the current fashions of the World's Mouth. At least no one would ever recognise me. She tried for a chuckle that came out rather dry as she straightened her shoulders and sighed instead. Thankfully the gown was not tightened too fashionably or she would have problems breathing as well as moving.

She had a stylish hooded cloak that protected her from the coming elements that threatened a downpour as well as the cold air. A medium leather black purse was brought along with a silver flask filled with alcohol, neatly packaged herbs that she would usually carry along on the ship that ranged from pain of aching temples to problems with bowels. She had a piece of thin leather that held two needles and thread. It seemed that whatever was usually found in her leather backpack was transferred into this purse and she was never without it. There were also torn cloth that was wrapped neatly into a ball, a flint and tinder to light a fire if needed and a small candle tucked beside the flint and tinder. She also had a small but very sharp knife sheathed carefully that she used instead of a pair of scissors and that was protected at the very bottom of this purse covered by all the other items in the purse. It was not considered a weapon to her but a utensil for her craft.

The coach finally came to a halt and she waited until the footman opened the door and offered a hand. She accepted it to step out of the coach. Gloved hands held onto the leather purse like a life line as well as a fan (what would she do with this?) and the invitation was held in her right hand as Lir headed towards the entrance of the manor.

Once she stepped inside, she skillfully lowered the hood making sure not to hinder the hairstyle, and exhaled softly. Well I see that there are quite a few people already here. The cloak was given over, but she held onto the rest as she tried to absorb a bit of warm of the place. Keen violet eyes looked about the room and confirmed what she knew would happen, she knew no one here.

[Rhoddin]

The young bard stretched, and was somewhat astounded to find himself sitting a carriage of some thought. Upon his lap laid an invitation to The Naturalist Society of World's Mouth, and an evening dinner party. What in the seven hells a dinner party was, well Rhoddin was not sure, as for the Naturalists Society, he was even less sure, but still an invitation was an invitation, and the young man was far too polite to ignore an invitation.

He looked down at himself and was surprised to see he was dressed in more finery than he knew existed. He seemed to be wearing a brown breeches of a very fine yarn, almost velvet in appearance, with soft calf high boots, at least they felt practical. A soft green coat covered most of his snowy white linen shirt, with it looked like little pearl buttons.

His hair was remarkably well contained for him in a simple pony tail tied at the nape of his neck with a simple leather thong. He wore a soft leather belt, with an intricate brass buckle.

By his side lay his lute, cleaner and newer looking than he last recalled seeing it, but he couldn't see his sword, so he assumed he had come unarmed.

He had no hat that he could discern, although it seemed a pair of soft kid gloves where tucked into his belt, what good they'd be he no idea. Tapping his pockets he noted a flask in one pocket, a quick sniff indicated nothing more than water, and little else. Ah, there it was, Archlos' pearl, it seemed that little trinket just followed the young bard around, funny thing that he still had no idea what had happened to the old man.

He felt clean and well rested, both of which were at odds with what he knew his real state to be, so he surmised this was some sort of dream, but a remarkably real one to be sure.

Still he'd never been to worlds mouth, and well it was always good to go somewhere new occasionally.

As the carriage came to a stop, Rhoddin dismounted, his lute in hand, and after watching several others arrive, headed towards the door and reception area.

Standing and observing the room before him, his young face creased into a grin, at least he knew a few people here. He could make out Motley, the rather twisted little man was hard to miss. A young woman in a russet dress also looked oddly familiar, but he couldn't quite place where he had seen her before. And by K'Tan I'll be damned drifting amongst the other guests Rhoddin spied someone he hadn't seen in what seemed like an eternity, dressed in soft browns and copper tones drifted Shae.

Rhoddin noted that Motley was closer and so decided to make his way to the small man first, trying not to disturb the others, although his large frame, and lute, did pose some problems in moving elegantly through a crowd...

[Becca Acerbi]

Becca, despite half a dozen minor panic attacks about being in something that rickety and high up, had managed to doze off in the carriage, hands still clenched into fists in her lap.

She'd not really thought about accepting the invitation - she'd just done it, then pestered people at the University to see if anyone had heard of the man. When she found out he was "the most respected in the Western World," she'd assumed that it didn't mean much (They were all uncultured money-grubbing gits, after all, so they probably didn't have much time to actually learn anything.). But it cemented the decision to go - if nothing else, Becca wanted to see how someone who was - as one of the University Professors assured her - very much dead could host a banquet.

Perhaps her logic was more than a little skewed, but it got her into a passable-for-fancy dress, and a carriage, and to the house. She didn't actually know how or where she got the dress - all the girl knew was that it didn't cover her shoulders at all, and it was far too fancy was something she would normally wear. Something had stabbed through her pocket into her thigh a few times before she fell asleep, and a few brief moments of searching produced a few handfuls of change - about three crowns if she remembered right - and what she assumed was a hairpin, the sort that looked like someone had dragged the longest nail they could find out of a wall, coated it in silver, and stuck bits of coloured glass on the end. Hmph. It ended up carefully worked into the front of her dress where it couldn't stab her anymore, then for all intents and purposes it vanished from her mind.

Becca's eyes fluttered open for a second, long enough for her to take in the statue, then closed again with what could pass for a grimace of pain. 'Methinks I should sew my mouth shut now before I get myself into trouble...'

She wasn't quite awake when she was helped out of the carriage, which spared her most of the nausea that came with getting down from it - she just went very, very white automatically and mumbled a few half hearted curses. The wind went a long way to waking her up (or at least to making her look less like a zombie, which amounted to the same thing) and blinding her by blowing all of her long ginger hair into her face. Still, by the time she got into the reception room, she'd got it mostly under control - which meant "Out of my face" - and had a little colour back in her face. Not quite enough, though, and that made a drink a neccessity.

[Finley Ward]

Upon arrival in the reception room, Finn took the scene in with a vague, halfhearted look of disapproval on his face. There were plenty of other people here, which implied there was no horrible beating forthcoming - no, even worse, he'd be expected to spend an eveningtide socialising with these types. Perhaps if he'd been a more perceptive man, he might have thought immediately of some scam he might play to pass the time - everyone here seemed remarkably well dressed and therefore, probably had money, or something that he might see fit to part them of. But no, instead he saw it as a terrible trial, and only remained in the building at all due to a combination of residual curiousity about the circumstance of the invitation itself - he clearly did not belong in this crowd - and inherent laziness, resulting in reluctance to actually walk out and endure the hassle of finding (and paying for) another coach.

Instead of walking out, then, Finn promptly ignored everyone else present, and quickly took possession of two of the glasses of wine, the first of which he emptied immediately in one swallow and replaced before carrying the second, in an open-handed grasp across the brim, to the southern corner of the room where he claimed one of the leather smoking chairs with rather abrupt familiarity that spoke of his immense disregard for the whole charade. Placing the glass on the decorative, flimsy table beside him, he promptly set to work constructing another small, crumpled rollup to replace the one he'd lost outside, behaving for all the world as if he were the only one present at all.

Truthfully, he did not recognise any of the other guests, and nor would he have approached any of them if he had. Finley was not the most social of characters at the best of times, unless he saw some profit in it. It required so much effort to fake normal, emotional responses... and in this situation, he couldn't bring himself to be bothered. In other words, he was faking nothing tonight. Finn was being entirely, undisguisedly, himself.

For anyone who knew him even in passing, that did not bode at all well for the Dortman's manners this eveningtide.

[Gavin Tylvan]

Forcing his shoulder muscles to relax, Gavin tried to make some sense of everything. Judging by the invitation he was in World's Mouth and he was attending a dinner party. The host was someone named Professor Ardemus and from the looks of it, he preferred to dress casually. For a flicker the tall man regretted his choice of clothing, but not much could be done now. Besides, he was not uncomfortable as the clothes seemed to fit him like a second skin. Custom made probably, though why in Heavens would I have a set of custom made posh clothes is beyond me.

Only one guest has arrived prior to him and politely the tall man nodded to both the lovely lady and the host. One more lady approached and she too got a polite nod. Tight lipped at best, Gavin only spoke at length when he needed to convince people of something. For now, silence would serve. Then Draydis entered, followed by Ashtalion and the Dortman relaxed slightly. Those two he knew and them he could trust. As the host spoke, it became apparent that it was not the man who invited them to that place and his clothing started making a bit more sense. A servant or an assistant perhaps? Maybe even a bodyguard, though he does not seem the type.

His nose wrinkled a bit as Finley entered. The man brought a whiff of salty smell with him, making Gavin arch an eyebrow for a flicker. Seems I am not the only low born bastard invited here. Good. Would not want to stick out. A hint of familiarity hit Gavin, but he could not quite place it. For some reason, he disliked the man at first sight and simply chose to avert his eyes, lest he show his distaste, which would be rude. Until he could identify the reason for such a feeling, he would try to avoid the lanky man.

More people appeared and the crowd seemed to grow quite interesting. The short man looked very much like a gnome or a halfling, but Gavin had seen plenty of those to know the difference. A human? I wonder what happened to make him such. Was he born like that? Doing his best not to stare, Gavin still kept his gaze roaming across the crowd. The wine in his hand was untouched, even though he brought the glass to his lips from time to time. The tall man rarely drank and this was not an occasion for such a thing. A glass of milk or some such thing would suit him much better.

Allowing his gaze to remain on the ladies that were present, he made a point of not staring inappropriately. Mostly his eyes scanned the dresses they wore, ignoring the cleavage quite easily. While they were lovely to behold, he felt that one glance was all that was needed. They would not do trick and move of their own accord. At least no breasts that he heard of ever did that. It was the music that drew his attention to the side, and a smile drifted to his face, as he nodded to Motley.

As Draydis approached, Gavin spared him a glance and a smile, his eyes returning to their observation of the guests. They lingered on Brionna as Gavin leaned closer to the adhiel and shook his head. "No demons I hope. A simple dinner party. But, we have quite a gathering here it seems." One more glance. "Lovely ladies and quite a nice selection of gentlemen. I'll need to mingle a bit in a flicker or so and see if my suspicion is correct. I won't drift far." Slowly he moved through the crowd towards the red headed lady in green skirts. It was a slow journey as the tall man did not take a straight route to her.

He almost missed the Achadhiel standing next to the window. Had the man not looked his way, Gavin would not even have noticed. But, the feeling of being watched alerted him to the smaller man's presence and he was rewarded with a nod. The man's gaudy boots brought a surprised rise of his eyebrows, but Gavin did not keep his eyes there for long. Merely the knowledge that he noticed him should be enough. Onward he walked, the lady in green his goal.

Before he could make his way to her, three more entered and each time he paused to cast the eyes at them. First came a rather lovely lady, dressed in a dress bearing quite a generous amount of silver. Something in her posture made him wait for her to turn his way, before he offered a nod. She is as lost as can be. I, at least, know two other people here. The other man he did not see till the moment he bumped into him. Turning his blue eyes to Rhoddin, Gavin realized he was still staring at Lir. Stepping back, he bowed slightly and apologized to the man. "Oh, I am so sorry. Please, forgive my clumsiness." He did not wait for a reply, moving instead aside and letting him past.

Mere steps before he reached Gaelena, Gavin spotted the newly arrived ginger haired girl and knew he had a perfect reason to address the red haired lady. Drifting closer, the tall man kept his eyes at Becca and pretended to take a sip of wine, merely tasting the beverage, by allowing a few drops to touch his lips. His voice was hushed, barely loud enough for the girl next to him to hear. "Seems not all of the guests are in the best mood tonight. That girl looks like she could use a drink." He did not look towards Gaelena, instead merely keeping his eyes on the last arrival and giving the girl at his side a chance to reply or ignore him completely.

[Ashtallion Urdil]

Recognising both Dray and Gavin, the mage was also able to let some of the tension seep from him. He smiled, a warm and genuine one that came easily to his lips. Asht moved toward Dray, giving a nod to Gavin. " Good to see you my friends. Needless to say this will make the evening more tolerable. ", he chuckled slightly, still glancing towards some of the other guests. " I pray to the Father that this will be a demon free eveningtide. ", again another laugh, this one more forced and did not reach his eyes.

" I've had my fill of the filthy creatures for now. "

The magus ignored the wine that was flowing freely, some of the other guests were already endulging themselves. He liked a clear head and alcohol did not mix well with magic. On that note, Ashtallion's eyes half closed for but a moment as he centered himself quickly. It was merely a precaution he found he was doing more and more recently, settling his own nerves and making sure no tainted sorceries and mystical trip wires were lying about. For all he knew the dinner party was a farce, one to trap those stupid enough to accept the invitation.

" Tell me Dray, do you know anything about this.... Naturalist Society. I am somewhat embarressed to admit I know nothing about them... "

[Gaelena]

Watching her fellow attendees, Gaelena simply could not, for the life of her, find a common thread to pull all these different people together. Each seemed to be so different. From the dangerous one, to the quiet one by the windows, to the ladies present. And more kept arriving. Two more ladies arrived and another gentleman. One of the ladies seemed quite confident in her steps. The violet and silver silk suited her quite well and for once the red head felt just a twinge of jealousy at the girl being able to pull off such a concoction.

The gentleman who entered seemed to know the small lute player. It must help in such situations to know someone. Her smile softened. Others seemed known to each other, as a pair of gentlemen stood talking. She frowned a bit, thinking that the tall man in the white shirt had been with them, but he was not now.

Then, a voice spoke up beside her. Turning her head a bit, she looked up at Gavin, then turned her eyes on the latest entry. "Perhaps more than one," she said lightly, laughter tinging her husky voice. She took a slow sip of her own wine, then replied, "Then again, perhaps she just needs a friendly voice beside her to help her relax. Of course, the question remains, is it the best course to relax?" She returned her large green eyes to the gentleman beside her, a single red brow raised and a smile tugging at one corner of her lips.

[Draydis Quinn D`Anorre]

Dray nodded to Gavin, not knowing exactly what the big man had in mind...

Ashtallion then asked him about the society. "Nay, I have never heard of this organization before. I found it odd that I would receive an invitation, but felt like it would be worth investigating...you know all that curiousity and cat stuff." He gave the mage lord a smile. "What do you know of the society?"

Draydis chuckled a bit when he noticed that Gavin had begun to talk to the red head that had given Dray a strange look when he entered. The adhiel had become used to the strange looks that he received, no doubt due to his tattoos. While they were functional in the wild as camoflauge, they were quite an oddity to the rest of the civilized world.

He began to look at the other guests to see if any others had arrived that he knew. He looked back at Ashtallion. "Only Gavin and yourself are known to me. Do you recognize anybody else here?"

For the time being, the commander did not have a glass of wine. He found that drinking with an empty stomach was never a good idea, and besides, he wanted to have a clear head until he could figure out why exactly all these people were here. It was readily apparent from the typical appearances that a military commander was not exactly of the same status as most present. Time would tell why exactly why the guardsman was invited...

[Motley]

As was the case nearly every day of his life, Motley seemed to attract a few stares and curious glances. He returned the polite nods and smiles warmly with his own whenever they were received. He continued to play his background music as a familiar face suddenly popped up.

The ugly little man was surprised to see Rhoddin enter and begin to make his way over. He wasn't disappointed or upset by the other entertainer's presence, in fact it was quite the opposite, a friendly face was a gift in strange occurences like this, and he welcomed the other man with a wide smile of broad teeth. He was merely curious as to why their mysterious benefactor would invite other known associates.

Perhaps we are to pair together and sing for out guests. Maybe Rhoddin is more famous than I gave him credit for and they invited me because I know him... He mused as the young man walked over.

"Ah... Rhoddin. Good to see you once more. Looks as if this shall be a fine eveningtide. Although I admit to being suspect of any event that would invite the likes of me..." He joked.

Social gatherings were the little man's bread and butter. He mostly felt at ease, but there was a tickling sensation in the back of his mind that told him to be cautious. Surely he would never be betrayed by the people at a fine event such as this, but one could never be too sure. He decided it best to maintain an attitude of cautious optimism. At the very least, he might get a few invitations to play at other fine events such as this. He began to put a mental play list together in his head if he were asked to perform.

More guests were arriving, and in more beautiful finery and elegant clothing. Motley hoped to score a few more performances out of this, as he could then perhaps afford to buy some finer clothes and hopefully attend more of these functions. He noted with some optimism that there were others that were likely commoners like himself.

Good. A mix of backgrounds makes for interesting and entertaining conversation. He thought.

"Quite a crowd here tonight." He also remarked to Rhoddin.

[Grant]

(OOC: This thread is now closed to random additions)

That's about everyone, thought the Host, having reserved no drink for himself. He wouldn't be staying for long, after all. He wasn't a part of tonight's festivities. Pulling a battered, tarnished watch from his rugged, coat pocket, Grant checked the time...we're ahead of schedule...before he snapped it closed and took up an empty flute form the wet bar. Tapping his pocket watch...a universally unreal item in Tazlure...against his flute, he slowly tried to bring the rather quiet, subdued crowd to attend to him.

Ting ting ting ting ting ting ting!

"Ladies and gentlemen, thank you all for attending tonight...and on behalf of Signor Ardemus, Fellow of the Naturalist Society, Dean of the Nashorn Institute and Honorary Professor of the Castigus Academy, welcome to Ardemus Manor. I am Grant Armstrong, a representative of the Estate and your host to begin the eveningtide. We are...somewhat early, which is a precious rare surprise, but I see no reason to delay this eveningtide any longer. While it is...customary to make introductions at this time, I hope you will forgive me for breaking tradition and moving to the dining room, where we might introduce ourselves once we are seated? That should better serve our rather...unusual circumstances for gathering."

There were seven gentlemen and five ladies, though one of the ladies was not yet present. Indeed, she would be along eventually...some ladies just had to be excessively late...but Grant didn't want to remain any longer than he absolutely must. twenty six burns, he thought to himself, counting down the passing moments in his head. Twenty six burns before the night REALLY starts. "Let us adjourn into the dining room, just through there?" motioned the Host, his hand (still holding a closed pocket watch) motioning towards the doorway that stood opposite from the foyer arch.

The dining room was strangely modest compared to many of the rooms in the Ardemus Manor's East Wing. Printed papers covered the walls here as well, stretching from floor to ceiling and bearing embossed images of cherubs and doves in flight amid a burnt creme sky. The crown moulding that ringed the top of the tall chamber was breathtaking, with more than a foot of worked, carved wood forming a breathtaking shape where the wall met the plastered ceiling, and at the center of the ceiling, a lovely chandelier of worked, hammered brass. While the chandelier was the only source of light in the room, it fulfilled this task perhaps better than any ten candles...and it accomplished this without any candles or fish oils apparent, it's light almost unusual in it's constant, unwavering, illuminating quality.

Below the chandelier was the dining room table, stretching out a respectable twenty feet of polished and embellished walnut with matching chairs running along both sides. The table was hidden beneath of lovely cloth of white damask, and twelve places were set, each place featuring three forks, three knives, two spoons, three glasses, two plates, and a soup bowl...and a hand cloth dutifully starched and folded to resemble a lovely little swan gracefully perched within each guest's soup bowl.

From the reception room to the West, guests would enter the dining room at the northwest corner. Another doorway lead off to the kitchens to the east, and another double doorway lead off to the south, presumably to a more public room, such as a conservatory or ball room. The floor here was of rich, polished wood, nearly black in color, and a hearth dominated the wall to the north behind the head of the table, though the hearth was cool and unused. A large portrait hung over the hearth featuring (of course) Professor Ardemus, though perhaps a slightly younger professor with a few less wrinkles and perhaps a touch more muscle. The inscription below the painting proclaimed "Ardemus Manor, est. 1204AD", dating that particular piece.

"Please, I beg you take a seat as you wish..." offered the host, indicating that there were no arranged seats. There were six along the west side of the table and six along the east. "...and we shall begin with introductions."

A silent and formal gentleman watched from the opposite side of the dining room for the guests to begin entering. Once he saw them, he would escape back to into the room behind him, slipping away silently.

[Ashtallion Urdil]

" I know nothing of the Society.... hopefully this eveningtide will enlighten us more as it progresses.... as for who I know here... ", at that moment he spied Becca entering, " No one.. though that young girl does spark some memories. An apprentice sorceress if I remember correctly. Her power and standing though are a mystery to me... ", he shrugged and started looking at the other people present. " An interesting assortment isn't it? I wonder what possessed this Naturalist Society to extend invitations to us all.... "

The sorcerers' curiosty only grew more intense with each passing candlemark. " Perhaps we should mingle aswell, seeing as Gavin already has... ", Asht gestured to their friend as he spoke to Gaelena. The fellow in the chair, looking rather content and smoking away seemed altogether out of place yet not so at the same time. The little human, he almost mistook him for a halfling or a gnome.... he shrugged the thought off.

Grant Armstrong certainly made an impression on the mage, " Our host it would seem? ", he could not help but constantly look around him, trying to glean what he could from the other attendants to the party.

He had little time to ponder anything else as they were requested to enter the dining room. Which the mage did so happily. He took a seat on the west side of the table, sitting three seats in, so roughly in the middle and waiting, hoping Dray would indeed take a seat at his side. If not, he would survive... possibly.

[Draydis Quinn D`Anorre]

Dray nodded at Ashtallion's observation. "Aye...though I don't know about him. He seems to be in charge here, yet there is something strange about him. Something...calculated."

The guardsman was about to mingle among the guests when they were called to the dining room. The means by which the man announced the decision made Draydis suspicious. Things were mysterious here, and he began to wonder if demons or the like were in fact involved after all. There were only two present that the adhiel would trust...Ashtallion and Gavin. The rest would be considered suspect until the truth of their purpose here was determined.

"Let's find a seat...next to a wall." He quietly said to Ashtallion. The commander then headed for the dining room and stood patiently behind a seat where he could maintain an eye on the doors to the room...and where he could have a back to a wall. When he entered the dining room, Dray did his best to take in all the detail...but primarily to note the layout of the room. The knives on the table satisfied his desire to be armed.

He waited for the others to stake a claim on the other seats before he sat. Though Draydis was not well schooled in the details of manners, he knew that taking a seat before the ladies present did was improper and rude. In the meanwhile, he briefly studied the knives on the table to determine if they would be useful in a fight or could be thrown should it become necessary.

The feeling that something just wasn't right couldn't be shaken. The host was odd, the invitation was curious, and the wide variety of guests present only made it that much more suspect. He was a military commander...not somebody that would normally be invited to a fancy dinner for some society of intellectuals.