QUICK NOTES: This is a masquerade. You are allowed one new outfit for the ball however elaborately decorated you want (as long as you don't infringe on the color that is reserved for the higher nobility of your duchy). Since this is a masquerade, include a mask please. Thanks <3
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Upon entering the Great Hall, one would immediately be met with a rather extraordinary sight. The tables had been removed (with a few pushed against the walls) to allow for more room in the center of the hall for dancing. Banners in midnight blue and silver hang from the walls, fluttering in the warm summer breezes that are allowed indoors through the open windows. The entire scene is cast in warm pools of light from the various candles and lanterns hanging from the ceiling and situated upon any available space.


Chairs are positioned here and there for those that wish to take a break from the festivities while ladies and gentlemen in the most elaborate and stunning of costumes mingle within the center of the hall. The tinkling notes of the orchestra lilt out over the general hum and bustle of the gathered crowd -- from waltzes to pavanes to everything in between.


The king himself is of course present, though it is only good manners to pretend that one does not know who he is behind his embroidered black half-mask. In an outfit of ivory and black silk, Ambrose has done his best to appear like any other courtier, though his piercing blue eyes and the fact that he is a head taller than most men does tend to give him away. Ah well, let the masked flirtation begin!


Queen for a Night: Lady Anne Chatwyn
King's Champion for a Night: Lord Nicholas Fleetwood


(Note: feel free to post your arrival here if you want)

Mal's presence was usually loud and obvious. This was Ambrose's special night, however, so he didn't wish to ruin it for his friend. To that end, his appearance--likely much to everyone's surprise--was far more muted then usual. Dressed much like Ambrose, his outfit was of black and silver. He wore black silk pantaloons with silver slippers, A silver silk undertunic, a black doublet with silver embroidery all along the length of it, and a silver silk sash across his chest. The only thing that broke from that color scheme was a private joke that he expected once Ambrose caught sight of it would have him howling...at least on the inside. The half-mask was silver and intricately detailed, except for at the top, where several huge, fluffy peacock feathers jutted from the top.

Tonight, he was indeed Lord Peacock.

He stood at Ambrose's side, with only one thing to give away that he was his customary self. He still held a goblet brimming full with something alcoholic in his hands at all times unless dancing...which he currently wasn't doing. No, at the moment he was playing his role as Ambrose's adviser, standing next to him, playing nice, an going through all the motions.

He'd already embarrassed Ambrose plenty int he past, and he would continue to do so in the future...for tonight, however, he would play his part and let the King have his night. All that remained was to see who showed up for His Majesty's little gala.

A scarlet red gown, one with off the shoulder sleeves, and a low neckline, seemed to be gliding into the room. This was only the second ball that ever the wearer had been to, but you could not tell she was nervous. She actually was not, really. She was more excited. She hoped to again meet with the Duke Alden Brighton, and possibly the King himself again. Not that she would know them immediately any way, because of the lovely masks that they were all wearing. Victoria herself was wearing one that looked much like a butterfly, in shape, covering the top of her face and the "wings" coming down the sides, keeping her nose and mouth free to breathe. It was a deep scarlet color, covered light pink rose lace, with ruby accenting the edges of the wings, and lining the edge of the holes for her eyes. Every now and then a flash of red will catch her eye, but she just has to remember that she is wearing the mask.


It was another's mask that caught her attention, one that had peacock feathers. She smiled as she thought she recognized the half of a face she could see with it. Beside the man was another figure she was pretty sure she knew. Knowing that it would be no fun to spoil their secrets just yet, she just gave them both a big smile, and a nod, and made her way back through the gathering crowd. They would then be able to see something that was not a usual for Vicki. She had all of her hair down, not even half up, her thick brown curls were hanging loose behind her. There was a glint of the red rubies that adorned her hair as well. She surely would not be mistaken as any one from any other duchy. She was too red, and too risky in her style to from any where accept Pemberton.

Falke had not wanted to attend anything since the tragedy of the tournament. His brother, however, had already bought a tunic that would match for such an occasion. Olric had been so obsessed with pleasing the king that he didn’t quite understand the need. Sure, the king was stout, strong, and attractive, but he doubted that his brother had ever had such sinful thoughts as these he had.


The young lord had taken it upon himself to complete his brother’s wishes, having the tunic tailored to fit over his slender frame, where it had fitted completely to his brother’s muscular one. Gazing at himself in the mirror of the tailor, which was a small thing indeed, the young man found himself smiling proudly at the visage in the reflection. He looked ever ounce his status.


That whole day he’d made sure his hair was lordly, and had even picked out a suitable mask to display on his face, considering it was a masquerade. The king had flare, Falke gave him that.
That very evening came swiftly, and Falke was presented with the chance to actually give into himself. He felt devilishly lovely, and it was a bittersweet thing. This was what his brother had wanted, but the male had been put into his grave. He would never forgive himself for his breaking down as he had done, but now he had to conduct himself as a man.


One wouldn’t know that it was Lord Falke Wyatt that entered the room when he did. His face, covered in a white mask with purple, matching the lavender color of the tunic concealed those pale blue eyes. White blonde hair framed around his face, causing a surreal, elfish look to his already lovely complexion. The light of the room caused the mask’s paint to reflect into the pale hair, giving it a lighter purple tint.


By no means was he the fairest, but he thought highly of himself as he strode down the isle, smiling at the woman that offered him her hand. He kissed the lady’s knuckles, but quickly made his get away. He was trained in court dances, he knew how to swoon a lady with his rhythm, he had never lacked in that aspect, but at the moment Falke needed to be assured of his own status, of the status the death of his brother gave him.

François never tried to make an impression--or at least, he never made it look like he was trying. It came naturally.

This time, he was well aware that the woman on his arm would draw the most attention to him. It was hard not to recognize Pippa, even if her face was hidden; her voluminous blond curls, if nothing else, drew the eye. And everyone knew she and François were much in each other's company; add to that his acknowledgment of Adam, and the pieces fit into place for the gossip-hungry courtiers in Marcheford and beyond.

François himself looked almost understated beside Pippa. Their theme was Hades and Persephone, but while she glowed in the colors of springtime, at first glance his attire was his usual, simple black--not a touch of any other color, only the contrast between the velvet of his breeches and the silk of his slashed sleeves. If you looked more closely, though, you might notice something glimmerous about him, and realize that his doublet was set with innumerable black opals, which threw off sparks of multicolored light as he moved... and that mask--

He was rather proud of the mask, actually. He'd taken a real human skull (bought from a haberdasher) and cut it so that it covered only the top of his face, his eyes behind the empty sockets; he'd also, naturally, painted it black. And, because even François was afflicted by a touch of squeam, he'd mounted it on a thick silk back, so he needn't feel the abrasive bone against his skin. He didn't even try to disguise himself; if nothing else, the mask would let anyone who gave it half a thought know it was François Villon. Who else would dare to don such a thing? And he was uncommonly thin and narrow, almost skeletal in body as well as face; that, combined with his misshapen, rather flat nose, let everyone who wasn't an imbecile know who it was. And who else would wear such a wicked smile?

But disguise was never the purpose of a mask, thought François. He made his way into the crowded ballroom, Pippa on his arm; his eyes darted immediately to the king, and the man beside him, whom he knew to be Lord Michaels, then scanned the rest of the ballroom.

No, masks had never been intended for concealment.

Masks were meant to illuminate something that faces hid.

As Lucy entered the splendid Great Hall, her eyes lit up and a smile of pure pleasure appeared on her face as she looked around at the magnificent sight before her eyes. The lights, the banners, the orchestra playing...all combined to produce the most wonderful picture. True, the Pemberton ball had been extremely extravagant...perhaps even a little too much so. This was pure elegance, true beauty, and Lucy adored it.


Lucy made her way gracefully into the hall, her mind drifting back for a moment to the latest events. The tournament had been a great success; not only had her cousin Nicholas, her champion, done extremely well in his fencing match, but Lucy had also made quite a few new acquaintances which would surely help her in the future, as well as renewing certain old relationships. Though there were some she could have done without seeing...but she pushed those thoughts away, for they were hardly suitable to the current atmosphere. Instead she remembered King Ambrose's attentions, and his latest magnificent gift. The coronation itself had also been splendid, as was only to be expected...and now...now, tonight would surely be the highlight of the whole series of events.


Lucy herself was certainly dressed for a night of splendor. Her undergown was of the purest white silk, clearly visible through the divided skirt and slashed sleeves of her overgown. But the overgown itself was still more of a sight. Boldly made of silk in a rich blue, a color few would dare wear, in a shade just barely light enough to escape being classified as the forbidden "royal" blue, it was heavily embroidered in threads of white and silver, and strung with pearls which shimmered in the glow from the lanterns. Lucy had foregone a hair net or any other kind of confinement tonight; instead, the top part of her hair had been braided and twisted into almost a sort of coronet around her head, the strands woven with strings of pearls. The rest of her hair she had left free, falling over her shoulders in a golden cascade. Over her eyes and the upper half of her face, Lucy wore a mask of white, decorated in glittering swirls of silver and blue. But the highlight of the entire ensemble was the necklace Lucy wore, the gift of King Ambrose. A string of pearls on a silver chain traced the contours of her neck, supporting a magnificent sapphire surrounded by further pearls. She had promised the King she would wear it to this ball, and wear it she had; her new gown had in fact been designed precisely to match the necklace. It was a departure for her, considering she displayed the deep royal purple of Ashton as often as possible; but this was a masquerade, after all, and she had no wish to make her identity quite that obvious. Lucy continued her journey into the throng of dancers, eagerly anticipating the thrills awaiting her on this night.