Ah shoot, I feel bad that I didn't keep an eye on the thread as well. :( It was a really cool game--please let us know if you have time again!
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Velas sits Phardorl by the hand and introduces him to Havin. They chat about his art and his forges. Velas obtains some lovely mulberry wine to pair with the dragonfruit parfaits. Onstage, the muscled men and women gyrate to an angular, harsh beat full of blasts and blares. Drow sweat glistens on their forms. Velas gestures behind him, not looking, with a smile. "Not bad, aren't they? All hard working drow. They haven't risen as far as you, of course--they have their durance and day jobs, but they dream of being artists full time." He luxuriates for a moment. "I consider myself blessed to be so." He sits up again, his eyes growing keener, their pupils drawing Phardorl in. "But it wasn't always that way, dear Phardorl. I was once a mere slave to...the rulers of this place. Now, I bear them no ill will. It is a system that serves them, and far be it from me to think that we would do otherwise. And yet...I can't help but want to rectify it. Don't you agree? Wouldn't it be a better world if we drow used our birth-given talents and hard-earned skills to...improve our place...within the Spire? A little help goes a long way." Velas toasts to Phardorl. "To helping the downtrodden," he says.
Velas places a warm hand on Phardorl's shoulder. "Oh yes. May we chat for a moment? Here, try these. I call them 'cloud parfaits'. Do you detect the notes? Dragonfruit, grown here in the Works! Phardorl, darling, I've heard tantalizing tidbits about your story--the only drow forgemaster in these parts--and I was hoping I could introduce you to Havin Ebenstar. May we chat? I think your story is one worth recording for the ages! Come, come!" Velas takes Phardorl by the arm as if they were long fast friends, waving to Havin at a table with a good view of the stage. Muscled dancers wearing overalls, with artistic swipes of grease, are climbing onto the stage, complete with geared hoops they will spin about their bodies and extremities.
While Karkoush is observing Phardorl, Velas is busy being the life of the party. He actually joins in with the fire dancers, twirling a small poi cup while singing out what appears to be a list of mechanical parts for airships. It's quite the display, although no one is certain as to its significance. The singing bowls ring out as cups of punch are filled and re-filled, and Velas flits this way and that, an undersea butterfly. "Yes, I had heard the last Heart expedition went awry--well, such is the price of curiosity, eh? Oh yes, those are goat cheeses made by humans--aren't they exotic? Note the smoky flavor. Let it roll around in your mouth. The fire dancers will return with a pyrophone on the stage--please don't miss it," and so forth, and indeed, a bunch of tubes spouting both music and fire is wheeled onto the stage for a literally incendiary performance (some magic is employed by a few careful observers to suck up smoke and keep the curtains near the ceiling from igniting).
Velas has prepared many things for this fête: great crystalline bowls that ring out different tones (filled with a heady punch at the moment); fire dancers, glittery and focused as they wait in the side corridors for a grand entrance; unusual and hard to identify seared meats and vegetables, dripping with braised sauces that excite the senses and tickle the nose; kohl-eyed jugglers and acrobats, and bobbing upside down in the most improbable way, a boat, high above the party, from which descend nets with gold-flecked oysters and little crunchy seaweed and rice snacks. Prior to admittance of guests, the area is hushed and dark, the murky sounds of waves emanating from within Velas' party space. Diaphanous layers of curtains, purple and blue and black, block any view of his domain. Throngs of drow and other folk from every part of Spire wait at the ropes he has procured, overgrown Gutterkin manning two entrances at either side. Then, at a silent signal, the curtains are lifted, one by one. Party-goers are admitted as the ropes are removed and the gutterkin bouncers wordlessly, fearsomely cross their arms and watch the entrants. Light like that of phosphorescent creatures in the depths flickers down upon the floor. A raised stage in the center back of the room is decorated with red coral, which strings out along the walls, and Velas makes his way onto it, regally. He is decorated like some sort of asymmetrical sea urchin-merfolk hybrid, spines and spray bursting out of one side of his outfit in an explosion of shards and reflections. He clasps some sort of human-made amplification device, spiralled and pearly, on a stand of some dark metal. "Tonight," he intones, his voice hypnotic, rich, sexless. "Tonight, we celebrate the blood that joins us, that is spilled in birth and death. Tonight I welcome you to The Ocean Within." Six utterly lovely midwives appear upon the stage, and music bursts from every corner from drummers and pipers previously hidden. The midwives bare their razors and begin to dance, cutting dangerously close to their bared skin, and the wild soiree has begun.
I don't think Velas needs any prep, per se. Just to wave his enormous fans and start things going. :)
Dang, I'd swoop in to help Thusiax, but it doesn't make sense narratively.
Velas looks lofty and vaguely offended. "I'm perfectly capable of doing five things at once. Let me know when he's responded in the affirmative. Now, I'm picturing a chocolate fountain here...and caged fireflies..." He begins to bustle through the space.
Velas' eyes go wide. "The Torch! How deliciously working-class! I love it. I shall make this happen forthwith. We'll have gears...oil...laborers in overalls!" Velas rubs his hands together. "Come, Thusiax, Clive. Off to The Torch we go. Let us meet with Ebenstar."
"Also, it's settled. Thusiax will be our bartender. Can you dance on a bar, Thusie? En-thusi-ax-tically?" Velas is quite amused with himself.
"Well, then!" Velas claps his hands. "Does anyone know of a good spot at which to throw this throwdown? A noir-day soiree? Or we can go search the Works to see what...works." Velas winks.
"I'm always partial to visiting tailors," says Velas with a swoop of fabric. Velas snaps his fingers. "We should celebrate. I can throw a party, in the Works. We'll invite Phardorl and his siblings. They'll be putty in our hands after we dazzle them a bit."
Velas likes slumming it at the Works. Sabotage? Oh no, not if we can produce some weapons on the side.
Velas shall choose Grace. And continuing the mission sounds good to me!
"Hmph," says Velas, when all is said and done, "I prefer something a little more spectacular. We should double back to him at a later date, with some chorus girls to help his eye wander."
Velas meets Michael with a flat, unreadable expression; he's met far worse hecklers before, and isn't fazed. "Who guards the freight elevators? What's the guarantee that no one inspects the deliveries? And you keep your stamp well hidden, yes?"
"And the trick is to first secure the foodstuffs, and then ruin him," says Velas with another smile. "He has an eager replacement, yes?"
"Clive, charmed as always," says Velas, entering Clive's domain with a swirl of robes. "...What interesting decor you have. Very well, then, we need a fellow named Michael ruined?
Velas looks around the tiny landing, the yawning Perch all around them. "Wish we could have stayed in Red Row. You know, the Bound operate there as well. I don't like heights without a proper harness."
"Now we're covered with a reasonable story," says Velas briskly, after paying the gladiator and offering his most flowery thanks, "Let's deal with this Clive issue. Where can we find him?"
"Ah, Ryloj, forgive me for intruding on your martial meditations," says Velas, gliding up to the warrior. "I am Velas, an artist lately of Amaranth, and this is my compatriot, Thusiax. Might I speak with you after your bout? I am in search of fabrics, such as those you wear, only found in the Red Row." Velas is a bit of a fancy bird surrounded by war hogs in this...arena...or pre-arena, but he does his best, ending his request with a slight bow and a smile.
Velas seeks out the most outlandish and brutish of warriors, ideally someone with some sartorial taste beyond bare flesh and straps of leather onto a pauldron. He checks each fighter with a cool gaze.
Velas chuckles, sounding almost embarrassed. "My dear sir. You misunderstand me. I'm here from Amaranth. We will happily pay you. And should you refuse us, well...I'd truly hate to have to relate to my superiors that you led us astray. I was told this is the best place to find gladiatorial fabrics. Gladiation is an art, as you well know, and one I would choose to honor in a performance." He produces a strip of silver, examining it, and speaks to his palm. "Or, we could go elsewhere."
"Hello. May I speak with your current champions, or their manager? I am looking to purchase something, and will pay well."
"Let's talk to some bruisers, then. I'll try to make this quick. Where's Clive now?" Velas strides towards the fighters' rooms, not waiting for an answer.
"Food is a basic right," says Velas, some idealistic color coming into his cheeks. "Lead on. ...I'll try not to be gung-ho. But ooh, this is making me irate just knowing about it."
"Well, tell me what the op is," says Velas. "That Clive. How a one-armed fellow can climb around on the edge of nothing is beyond me. But we're getting fabric as well, or your dear Master will be quite suspicious."
"I merely told him the truth, dear Thusiax. We're off to get some fabric. After that..." Velas let the sentence dangle. "Let's see what Red Row turns up. I've been bored lately anyhow."
cool, wasn't sure :)
Velas nods to the major-domo again on the way out, and once comfortably away from the Lord's manse, he speaks briskly to Thusiax. "We're off to the Red Row to find some fabrics, Thusiax. It is imperative that we find them post-haste, as I'm already behind in development of my next recital. Arena silks firstly, I'd say." As they get even further away, he says quietly to the other drow, "Mutual friends had me get you mobile. Now, we do have to go to the Arena, but tell me what you're up to otherwise." Velas' tone is matter-of-fact, bordering on scorn and imperiousness.
Velas bows again to Lord Cornell, smiling slightly.
Velas bows to the majordomo. "I am humbled that you would say so," he says softly. He also bows to Lord Cornell, although the act does not reach his drow heart. Just like Alights--odd and cruel. I've bathed in this, he thinks. With nary a smile, complete obeisance, he effortlessly moves through the maze of shadow. Was there a sashay on the last turn? Perhaps. Velas and his art are inseparable. Upon sitting in the designated chair, attentive yet relaxed like a cat, Velas nods at the question. "The fabrics I seek are cutting edge, forged in a crucible of crime and blood. They do not have names, but descriptions. Fighting-silks in the Arena. Something about illegal silver. Some mix of retroengineered gnollworks, seasoned with demon ichor. It is said some of the best gladiators and sin-plyers are using these. I'd like to use some in an upcoming performance. ...Would you be able to release your Thusiax for a few days, for this purpose?" Velas awaits calmly. The threat of sunshine or beatings is always a possibility, but those who lay their hands upon him usually have recriminations from Amaranthine patrons.
Velas appears forthwith, in a relatively sensible silver lamê ensemble, asymmetrical lined with owlbear ruff, with matching satchel, carnelian and bloodstones accentuating his well-delineated neck and collar hollows, and a half-mask resembling a skywhale about to take flight, as befits his station. He speaks to the majordomo. "Yes, I am to see Lord Cornell. Here is my calling card." He hands a small ebon card embossed with a purple, glistered V.
Thusiax, eh? Sloppy. The Ministry could simply activate someone else. I suppose he's special. Well. With a practiced hand, Velas procures a quill and spireblank ink and drafts a quick message to be sent by courier.
I trust this message finds you well. My patron, Forfend-The-Moss-Of-Quiet-Brooks, recommends you highly in the field of unusual textile procurement. I regret that I had not found your expertise sooner. I am in dire need of certain difficult to obtain fabrics for an upcoming performance and understand you have an agent who can procure them. Please let me know if I may visit your manse to discuss this matter in person. Genuflections to Your Replendence, Velas Elf-Singer, Hon. Fellow of Amrnth., People's Artist Slvr. Qtr.
He adds his own glittering, purple wax seal to the message, passes it to the waiting runner, and resumes his reading of obscure Northern plainsong, practicing his trills absently.
Thielinel gives voice lessons to her protégés, at her palazzo in a quieter, more sedate section of the Silver Quarter. When she does, they often request a short aria or lied from her at the end of the lesson, and she usually obliges. Some of the songs are imbued with the power of "Beauty is Truth", and contain a subliminal message that only the students hear. This is the message of their Magister--unwritten, and undetectable save for the by the most astute magic user--and her palazzo is well warded. They commit it to memory, bow to their teacher, and leave. More mundane messages are sent verbally, at parties, in the form of gossip or coded phrases about music or art.
Whew! Velas is completed. That was a lot of thinking and writing. I made a suggestion as to where Thusiax could have heard Velas; feel free to accept for alter!
I, too, haven't played a male on here that wasn't anything but heterosexual--now there's a discussion in the making on how cishet male players will play a somewhat asexual or LGBT-leaning female character, but not a gay male. (Guilty as charged, even though my half-orc female bloodrager is a tough cookie and fun to play.) . Certainly when I've had other characters erm, touch my characters with no consent, it felt very untoward (and was super eye-opening.) Well! We'll dust that aside for the moment, be mindful, and see what happens.
First post here! Yes, the main issue here is consent--I don't want to lord over another character, so this will be handled delicately. :) We can always use the X card as needed. Still getting assembled, and I have a busy busy day today at work, um, mixing songs about dogs, so I'll get to Velas' dark and twisted backstory soon enough. |