La Siréene, leting herself be guided by Quinn, enters the house, demeanor graceful and friendly.
"Obviously, that is so, yes. We were invited by lady Carlisle. I am Lady La Siréene Dorée, and this is Earl Jornel Vennel Caromarc."
Ah... the name our dear, mad Gaston shouted so empaticallly...
Baron Dragomir dan Volst! You are a practitioner of the foul art of necromancy, and for that you shall be judged. Drop what you have stolen from the sick, surrender now, and confess, or face the justice you deserve.
Blackacre stiffens suddenly, and his eyes widen slightly before he catches himself and puts back his poker face.
VOLST! But certainly he is zombie food now - isn't he?
Quinn looks around the mansion as he is being lead around. He gazes at the trapestries and other fine works of art, but in reality he does not care. He notes the location of windows, possible exits for a hasty retreat, and the location of stairs and other enterances.
Ianez nods politely to the butler as he enters.
"Ah yes, friends of Lady Carlisle," the butler says. "Right this way." He leads your party into the house.
He gives a respectful moment for you to walk around and take in the rich visual of the mansion's interior. Halfway down the entrance hall, there are openings on both sides that lead to lounges. At the far end of the passage, a second hall runs perpendicular, with doors off of it leading to back rooms. In the center is a grand staircase with ruby red carpeting, that goes up to the second floor. There is a balcony running parallel to this second hall, with doors off of it leading to rooms on the upper floor.
At one end of the back hall, off to one side, is a banquet room. The doors are open, but there's a barricade of arcane energy on the threshold that hums and glows bright azure. There are similar barricades at all doors leading to rooms in the rear of the mansion. You see zombies on the other side of these, mindlessly ramming themselves against the barricades. They are repulsed by the light and thrown back into the rooms.
You see sorcerers, members of the Salon, amid the undead fighting them back. They launch arcane missiles, blasts of light, a volley of spells that whistle and spit and spin like fireworks. The air is punctured with sounds of rat-a-tat and booming cannonfire, a light show of orange, yellow, red, and violet that flares up and fades, like ephemeral blossoms against the dark background of night.
Oddly, this is in fact so, for the back of the mansion is torn open with large holes. The undead pour in from outside. Too numerous for the sorcerers, they periodically swarm and break through the blue barricades along the far back edge of the house.
Outside the banquet hall, stands an easel like the one you saw outside. Upon it is a wreath of flowers with a piece of silk draped across it that reads CONGRATULATIONS BARON VOLST.
One of the partygoers happens upon you, a pale woman with fiery red hair, swept up in a loose pile on her head. Romantic tendrils curl loose about her ears. Her eyes burn vividly like yellow-green peridot, and she looks as if she were a bit mad. She shuffles down the hallway, but doesn't come near you. At her side, she drags the lolling corpse of a halfling.
Shuffle...shuffle... She stops.
"Lady Reeva Windermere," the butler announces. "This is La Siréene Dorée, Earl Jornel Vennel Caromarc, and company, friends of Lady Carlisle, here to attend the reception."
Reeva doesn't seem to register your presence much. She looks mentally far away on some trip of her own. She has a disappointed look on her face.
"My plaything stopped playing," she says. "Now, I'll have to get another one."
I will sign us in, it would be rude not to. Trailing the others, I reach for the book. Checking the names on the list I slowly flip back.
As you finish perusing the book, the writing shimmeringly disappears before your eyes. Your mind grows darkly clouded and goes blank; you forget every name you had just seen.
I do not sign us in.
I shake my head to get the cobwebs out.
Is this defense or sport? What happens if the zombies get them? The question is to Caromarc, Ianez or Blackacre... and in a hushed tone.
The manservant reasons his master must look informed, but a servant may be ignorant. He tries to have a quiet aside with the butler.
"What's going on?"
Ianez bows to Lady Windermere, face impassive, then looks around. "Interesting...choice of entertainment, madame. Did the Baron choose this himself?"
"Of course, thank you."
"Huh?" Reeva says, groping through fog to focus on the words being spoken to her. She tilts her head to one side, and throws a hateful look at the fighting going on behind the barriers. "Who cares about that?" she says. "My plaything is broken!"
"Baron who?" She waves the name away dismissively. "I don't care about him. The others do, but I don't. He's a stupid gnat. Just because he's a necromancer, they say 'Reeva, you are a necromancer...you should care! But I don't."
"Oh! This stupid thing!" she howls. She lifts the dead halfling by an arm and shakes it.
Ms Reeva, how did your play... thing, "break"?
Reeva turns inward considering this. "It is being defiant of me, of course. It is junk."
If I go outside, do you need another one?
Reeva ignores you. She shuffles away to one of the lounges dragging the halfling behind her.
The butler says, "I will take you into the party now."
Caromarc shivers as Reeva turns away
The butler leads you into a lounge off one side of the entryway. It's a rich, warm space with ivory-colored wallpaper, velvet love seats, high-backed chairs, and a fireplace with a marble mantle at the far end of the room, in which crackles an inviting fire. There are mirrors and oil paintings, like in the hall, and the room has gas-lit chandeliers that sparkle with tinkling crystals. There is a bar in one corner of the room.
There is an older man in a plum-colored waistcoat seated on a high-backed chair. On either side of him is a buxom femme fatale, on one side a blonde and on the other side a raven-haired Tian beauty. They both wear revealing lingerie and sit with their long legs sensuously crossed, in stiletto heels.
At the bar stands a lovely brunette woman and a thuggish-looking man. You notice Reeva Windermere is now also in the room.
Again, the butler introduces your party. With a grand sweep, he courteously departs.
"Welcome," says the older man in the high-backed chair. "I am your host, Ludo Guillemont." He motions to the blonde by his side. "This is Paige Carlisle, whom you know already." He points to the Tian woman. "This is the exotic beauty, Xa Io."
He gestures to the people at the bar. "Those two over there are Melanie Foxglove and Dex Satherdee." Then, recognizing Reeva, "And that fragile red-haired beauty is the incomparable Reeva Windermere."
Lord Guillemont twiddles his thumbs, delighted that you would have the pleasure of meeting him.
Paige looks at you with confusion. "I don't think that I know them."
As they enter the house, La Siréene giggles for a moment, then puts her mouth close to Quinn’s ear and responds in a whisper, but not in her current cheerful, chatty voice, but in her usual emotionally flat, impartial tones;
We are entering the snake's nest, Quinn. On your guard. She pauses and playfully blows air in Quinn’s ear for a moment. Incidentally, yes. I love the moment before the storm, figuratively.
-------
La Siréene observes Reeva with fascination. Some people become so strange about broken toys. Like a haughty Hareton. Can I play a part in repairing her, too?
-------
Well, I should have predicted this. No matter. Here we go. This moment of negotiable truth.
La Siréene smiles and steps forward, gesturing with her unoccupied arm and giving the trio in high-backed chairs a respectful nod. ”Greetings! Such a pleasue to be here. Yes, we have aquainted ourselves to the fair Reeva already.”
La Siréene turns to Quinn for a moment ”Just a minute, darling.” then, she moves over the floor to Paige Carlisle’s left side, gives her a warm, affectionate smile and whispers in her ear. My deepest apologies, dear Paige, to have come in this guise. Circumstances forced me to cast Alter Self. You would have my deepest gratitude, dear, if you would play along until such a time as I can clarify the situation in private. There are things going on that you need to know.
Would I come here, pretending to be her guest, if I was not? Would that not be foolish? Admittedly, I did, and I was, but do I appear foolish to her? Curiosity can be such a useful tool…
She moves in front of first Ludo and then Xa Io, exchagning friendly and personable greetings. "Such a pleasure to meet the both of you, Ludo, Xa Io. I'll get myself a little something from the bar, then, shall I?" With that, she moves back to Quinn and reclaims her grip on arm, guiding him towards the bar.
I stand still, and look to the action behind the glowing arcane fields.
What did she say? Caromarc wonders, tensing slightly.
When the party gets a look at the "entertainment" outside, as well as Reeva's "plaything," Blackacre seethes, doing his best to maintain his composure and a disinterested mask.
Have they created this nonsense for SPORT?? This salon needs to be wiped out, as soon as possible.
Blackacre puts his hand in his pocket, fingering a copper piece, and mutters to himself as he looks around the room.
Paige's thoughts swim in a pleasant, warm bath of red wine. Who is this woman? We are friends? I don't think I know her. Where did we meet? A list of expensive bars and night spots scrolls through her head. Mmm, look at that boyfriend on her arm. I'd like to **** (her mind wanders, painting pictures of sex acts that are unrestrained and completely shocking.)
On the surface, Melanie gives a charming smile. But this covers a psyche as cold as ice. She digs in her head, plotting, scheming. Friends of Paige Carlisle, eh? I wonder if any of them might be useful to me.
Next, Dex's thoughts. This party is boring. I should grab one of these babes and we can go make our own party somewhere better. He shoots a hard look at Ludo. If that old man calls me 'Dexter' once more, I swear I'll smash a table on his head!
When you try to detect Ludo's thoughts, you are immediately assaulted with the laughter of boogie-men and evil cackling. It looms over you, like dark pipe organ music, haunting and overwhelming. You are momentarily stunned.
Ludo swirls his martini and takes a sip. "Is your friend in the nice hat okay? He looks pale." He bows his head slightly, and the corner of his lip curls in a mischievous grin.
Where did Sandru go off to? I had hoped he would stay close.
At the bar, La Siréene first attempts to secure a drink, something light, sweet and pleasant, before turning to Quinn, voice and demeanor of deep affection. "Do you want something, darling?"
Drinks taken care of, she turns to the other two at the bar. "Melanine Foxglove and Dex Satherdee? So pleased to make your acquaintance. Please, call me La Siréene."
"I guess I do know you," Paige says. She watches La Siréene cross to the bar. "I don't know how, but I guess it's true." She falls back in her chair, snorts in boredom, waves the question away. "Eh, who cares?" She holds up her empty glass and looks at the dregs. "I need more wine."
"Oh, Paige, you drunken idiot." Melanie sighs. She turns to the bar and jostles a martini shaker. The gentle crunch of the ice makes a pleasant sound. "Here we go again. It's not the first time you've picked strangers up at a bar and invited them over to a party."
She looks at your group, serious without irony. "No offense."
She removes the lid to the shaker...the cylinder is metal, wet with condensation...lifts it high, and gives a generous pour into a martini glass. She tosses an olive into it and hands it to La Siréene.
"La Siréene, pleased to make your acquaintance as well," Melanie says. She waves to a couple of servers who weave through the room with trays of hors d'oeuvres. "You and your friends are our guests. Relax, and please enjoy the reception."
"My thanks, Lady Foxglove. No offense is taken." The bard nods politely in greeting to most of the others, but instead of nodding bows formally to Xa Io. "我很榮幸見到你。"
"Thank you," La Siréene says, as she sips from her drink. "It is so nice to see friendly faces. It has been a trying night. An Umbral Dragon ate our driver and horses on our way here."
Xa gives a nod of acknowledgment to Ianez. Her eyes are onyxes, fringed with black lashes, against the white powder of her makeup.
"Dreadful," Melanie says, finishing another pour and handing a drink to Quinn.
"We've been having a rather odd evening ourselves."
"Yes, we were wondering about that."
"We were holding a reception for our new initiate, Baron Volst, when of all surprises what would you know? Zombie invasion at the back of the mansion. All the rooms in the rear wing of the place busted into."
"Very inconsiderate, that," Ludo says. "It's getting to a point where you can't schedule a party, nowadays."
"But good ol' Ludo here," Melanie points at him, "wrapped the back part of the house in a big arcane bubble. Nothing gets in, and nothing gets out. Well, except the occasional flesh-eating, drooling undead. I don't know why that's happening. There are strange arcane anomalies. Under normal circumstances, Ludo's spell would be foolproof. But tonight not so."
"It made sense to buttress our fortifications. We put up a defensive line by placing some of the lower-ranking sorcerers inside the barrier to thin out the waves of the zombies," Ludo says. "It was then that Volst..."
"...the wretch! That pathetic little weasel! He thought he was going to stay out here in the party with us! A new initiate...can you imagine?"
"Blech!" Melanie exclaims with disgust, and flicks an imaginary Volst away with her fingers. "We picked him up by his little rat tail and threw him in the room with the zombies."
All of the sorcerers share an evil laugh.
At the bar, La Siréene first attempts to secure a drink, something light, sweet and pleasant, before turning to Quinn, voice and demeanor of deep affection. "Do you want something, darling?"
Quinn moves in close to La Sireene in a romantic gesture. He puts his arms around her waist and moves his head close to her ear and whispers,