As you step into the ballroom, a wave of opulence washes over you, enveloping your senses in a symphony of sights, sounds, and scents. The vast expanse of the room stretches out before you, adorned with lavish decor and sparkling chandeliers suspended from the lofty ceiling. The air is alive with the soft murmur of conversation, punctuated by the melodic strains of a live orchestra drifting from a distant corner.
The walls are draped in rich fabrics, their hues ranging from regal crimson to deep indigo, adding warmth and depth to the space. Gilded mirrors line the walls, reflecting the flickering candlelight and multiplying the room's splendor tenfold. Intricate frescoes and ornate moldings adorn the ceiling, depicting scenes of myth and legend that seem to dance and come alive in the soft glow of the chandeliers.
The polished marble floor gleams underfoot, its surface smooth as glass and cool to the touch. Elaborate patterns and intricate designs are etched into its surface, forming a labyrinth of geometric shapes that seem to lead you deeper into the heart of the ballroom. As you move further into the room, you catch glimpses of couples twirling gracefully across the dance floor, their movements fluid and effortless as they glide to the rhythm of the music.
The scent of exotic flowers fills the air, mingling with the heady aroma of fine wine and perfumed bodies. Crystal vases overflowing with roses and lilies are scattered throughout the room, their petals vibrant against the backdrop of muted hues. Servers dressed in livery weave gracefully between the guests, offering trays laden with delicacies and libations fit for royalty.
At the far end of the ballroom, a dais rises above the crowd, adorned with velvet draperies and golden tassels. Here, at the centre sits Archon Demetrius, surrounded by other nobles and dignitaries looking over the event. Scattered about the event are members of The Eyes, most blending in and inconspicuous, but some wearing their black uniforms. There are also thirty-two cats mingling around, accompanied by servants in charge of the cat’s care.
In the heart of the ballroom, beneath the shimmering canopy of chandeliers, lies the dance floor – a stage set for romance and revelry, where dreams are spun and destinies are forged. Here, amidst the swirl of music and motion, you feel as if you've stepped into a fairy tale come to life, where anything is possible and the night is filled with endless enchantment.
tldr;
1. describes the ballroom
2. the Archon is at the far end of the ballroom and approachable
3. The Eyes have a presence at the ball, both seen and unseen
4. There are thirty-two cats meandering about
5. Post on this thread if you want to be welcomed by the Archon, all are welcome
To say he was nervous was something of an understatement. But excited, also. Tiberius was the sort of person that took pleasure in war – and every party like this was more than a little like one in miniature. Especially in Tevinter, where everyone who was anyone was dangerous in their own right. He offered Lyric a hand down out of their carriage and guided her slowly to the ballroom, wincing as the overwhelming sights and sounds and scents hit him like a wall.
This court was not besieged and starved like poor Orlais. Open to outsiders for the first time in half a decade, of course they would flex Tevinter’s great wealth. Every ounce of it seemed to be on display now, from the fresh flowers to servants dedicated only to the Archon’s furry companions. He skimmed the crowd for faces he knew, trying to figure in how they might be subtly altered by time.
Tiberius was outfitted in style this evening: a tailored three piece suit of darkest blue silk jacquard, covered all over in copper paisley. Similar metallic tones were smudged on his eyelids and accentuated with dark liner. He wore black oxfords with capped gold toes, gold painted nails and no jewelry.
“Let’s go say hello, shall we?” He did not know this Archon well – Demetrius Arvina had succeeded his mentor, the former Archon Radonis, only a few years before Tiberius had left the country. Still, a few words from the man could make or break House Umbra’s next few months. There could be no more putting it off. He steered Lyric carefully through the crowd, scattering pointless pleasantries in their wake like chicken feed.
“My Lord Archon.” Tiberius swept a very precise bow. “It is so very good to be home. May I introduce my fiancée? This is Lyric Oatshield of Orlais and Starkhaven.”
The weather appeared to be playing along, making it a beautiful night for a ball. Enzo, who typically shut the world out while riding in his carriage, rode along with the windows open and the curtains drawn back to let in the cool night air. Though, while his eyes watched the lamplit cobblestones glide by, his mind was elsewhere. He'd be working this evening, in a way. Enzo never wore a uniform, but he as an Eye of the Archon all the same. Tonight, more than ever, he would be on watch for threats. With Tevinter open to the wide world again, there would be no room for failure. For him, this that doubly true. With his family name tarnished as it was, Enzo's only hope to pull himself back into true Altus position would be to prove himself a loyal servant of Tevinter, and of the Archon himself. And so Enzo would play his part, charming those he could, and gently prying into the minds of those he could not.
As his carriage came to a stop and the door was opened, Enzo stepped into the flow of bodies entering the ball. His suit, black at first glance, caught the light at certain angles to reveal the finest threads of gold and red stitched into subtle patterns of the flame dahlias with which his House had been associated since its first ascension to nobility. His vest beneath was so deep a red that it was only distinguished from the black jacket under the right lighting. Gold cuff links were stamped with his flame dahlia emblem and he wore a stylized enamel pin of the flower on his lapel. Tucking his left hand neatly into the small of his back, Enzo took his cane, a smaller brother to his staff with the dragon's head curved to form the handle, in hand as he moved with the tide of guests.
Enzo was no stranger to this ballroom, but was always impressed by how it could be so transformed to fit any occasion. He chatted for a while with those around him in the line, exchanging pleasantries and comments on the flower arrangements. One of the Archon's prized cats paraded past, an attendant close at hand, and Enzo offered an amused smile to a lady at his side.
An amusing indulgence of our Archon, his smile said.
Distasteful. Ridiculous. her thoughts told him.
But Enzo pulled his mind back from the woman. She was from a lower house, of no real consequence. Barely eligible to be here at all. Turning, his eyes moved over the heads of the guests in line until they stopped on one as if drawn by a magnet. There, several groups ahead, stood Tiberius with...
So that is the rumored Lady Lyric of Orlais. Enzo casually adjusted his stance and angle of his head to try and see the woman more clearly. But he could only catch flashes of her gown or her hair through the crowd. No glimpse of her face. A taste of bile in the back of his mouth preceded Envy's first pricks and proddings at the edges of his thoughts, forcing Enzo to look away as he combated the unwanted, guilty hopes that she might be hideous. What a horrible thing to wish upon his friend. He stepped along with the line as it moved forward, sweeping a flute of something sweet and bubbling from a passing server. Soon he could make his bows to the Archon and be about some business that might distract his mind.
The Lady Caesennia Othos, a last name granted to her by someone of much higher authority, was the only one of that name. A loner, who raised through the ranks solely because she developed magic. Nature magic, at that, which landed her in lessons whenever she had a free moment.
She had never been to a ball before, but she knew how to dress for a ball. How often she had helped the mistresses of House Obsidian prepare? It hadn't been her usual job, true, she'd been a cleaner until recently. And now, enrolled as a Lady-in-Waiting for one of the Obsidian ladies. The sense of familiarity helped her not feel so skittish, though she knew she was not quite ready to debut upon society.
But the idea that she had the right to be at this ball... was enough to draw her from her humble lodgings. The nation had provided her with a simple home, and starter funds, as well as ensuring she kept a more appropriate job within the house that had owned her. She wasn't certain if that was meant to cause her to fail, or to help her. But sometimes it felt like she was meant to fail.
She had come alone; she still knew no-one in the higher ranks of the societal hierarchy, save for her employer. How quaint; to think of Lady Obsidian as her employer, and not her owner—
Casey found a place in a corner to stand, sipping something alcoholic (a terrible choice on her part, as she's never had even a nip of alcohol before, and the look on her face says she dislikes the drink). She doesn't stop sipping it though, because it's what they handed her. And she has not yet mastered the ability to ask for something else; another new right that she had recently acquired.
Ilaria held court in a side room, playing Wicked Grace with a gaggle of older women and listening with half an ear to their gossip. So-and-so had had a baby; whatsherface was getting married later this spring. How would tonight influence all the rest of the year’s parties? A fashion for lilies and velvet, perhaps. Would the Archon send soldiers to Seheron this autumn, as was always done before the barrier? Of course: it built upon the character of the nation’s young soldiers.
It was all incredibly dull. The polite wagers were too small, these remembered acquaintances from Ilaria’s past life now mothers and grandmothers. They did not know her anymore, and the thrill of that discovery faded in less than five hands. Ilaria Obsidian excused herself and made her way back to the ballroom, smoothing her venom green skirts around her hips.
From the upper balcony, she had an excellent view. It was still so early into the night – some Low House Lordling was paying obeisance to the Archon, a queue beginning to form behind him. As Ilaria would not be seen standing in line for anything under the sun, she would need to find amusement elsewhere.
Exactly where? It was not yet obvious. She accepted a flute of champagne from a gilded platter and took the stairs down. For a moment, she thought that she glimpsed a familiar head of dark, curly hair. Ilaria’s brow creased, then smoothed back into poised neutrality. Just another memory, almost certainly. She banished it from her thoughts, drifting closer to appreciate the orchestra.
A cat batted at the hem of her gown, then stalked away from her, tail making a question mark. Of all the Archons she had seen, there had been no other so indulgent toward his animals. It was a strange distinction, one that may well get left out of the history books.
His distaste for having to be seen had been a lengthy conversation between him and Demetrius. How was he supposed to lurk and eavesdrop on all the gossip when he openly outed himself all in black with his signature mask covering the most of the lower half of his face. Hosting the ball at all was a risk and when the archon had proposed it, Mal thought it one of his wilder whims than true calculation.
The guestlist was heavily scrutinised. Familiar names found their place on the better lists, some he’d stalked since they’d stepped off their carriages. How time had moved on, fortunes changed. Tevinter was a very different place to five years ago, but if war loomed they needed to put their best foot forward in understanding their neighbours' conditions. Work had already begun in Orlais, weakened from its barrage of fending off the darkspawn. He’d found one promising lead there. One name that had him rethinking his earlier distaste.
Smirking under his mask he wondered if she’d be as tipsy this time. Hopefully not, and if so, well, he would have to have words with her friend.
He needn’t greet the Archon formally, as his Eyes, Mal made careful sweeps around the perimeter, doing his best to avoid the larger gathering of cats. Perhaps he’d ask the botanist if there was something for his allergy, her work had caused a bit of a stir at the University of Minrathous. He dismissed it for now, finding a favourite corner to watch the proceedings for a time.
When convenient though, Mal would instruct a server to deliver two glasses of a particular whisky. One man to be given the message of, ‘welcome home,’ while the other, ‘Chin up, Soldier.’ Hopefully that got some message across while he braved to mingle, hoping he didn’t end up with a lame duck.
Deme didn’t say people couldn’t go missing, just strictly, no unnecessary deaths.
Novella Tilani was not in some great ball-gown, or a nice suit. She was in simple but flexible black leathers, standing out from the crowd only because she was on-duty. Her watchful gaze saw all, even if she did not interact with anyone directly.
Ella wasn't a typical member of the Eyes; and at an event like this she would use a fake name, except for the fact her wife was in attendance.
So, her cover was that she felt like she needed to do more for her country... She'd narrowly avoid any questions about her military history, and claim this was her first time in service. The regular Tevene would not know any better, nor would the strangers entering the country.
She clasped her hands behind of her back, wandering through the crowd of people — idly studying them as she passed, putting names to faces and faces to names, checking a list in her hand. Each name, that was unknown, had a description. That was enough for her.
She'd make small talk, with someone nearby, smiling brightly as she slipped past them. Eventually, settled in a corner, she sipped water and watched.
Now this? This was a party, Lia thought to herself as she giggled again at the bright displays and the wonderful outfits everyone was in. An invited academic, the invite had said, drawing her mind back to her friend she had made a few weeks back, on her birthday. Had he saw such value in her words that a bastard like her would get invites to such a grand event? She wasn't going to think on it, instead, she was very much going to make sure she didn't get too far into her cups, like on her birthday, and enjoy the party.
Even if her chaperone was eyeing everything with suspicion. Hands smoothing down the green satin of her gown, she fussed with her appearance. This was one of the first outings she had since finding the document in father's study that had explained so much of why she was given such leeway as a child and young adult. She wanted to make sure that if anyone ever put the two together that she didn't do anything to bring undue attention or shame to the family.
Her jaw dropped, at a passing couple, before the duo split, leather and was that a tuxedo gown? She's have to seek one of them out later to engage in conversation, that might be a incredibly engaging one, to say the least. But as she mingled, speaking with several, repeating the same introduction, botanist, recent publication, research mostly, delighted to visit, beautiful dress, gorgeous gown, it was a bit much -- How did Luce and Rene deal with this regularly?
Tucking back into a corner with a flute of champagne she rubbed her cheeks, the muscles screaming about how wide a smile she had on her face this evening, mind wondering if her friend was nearby...
To say that Lyric was overwhelmed at the idea of going to a ball so soon after arriving in Tevinter would be the understatement of the year. She was still wrapping her head around the fact that she’d finally come clean to Tiberius about everything with her parents and her family and he was taking it so well.
She thanked Tiberius as he helped her out of the carriage and went wide eyed as she entered. It was beautiful but also quite intimidating. She’d never gone to balls when she lived in Orlais, though she imagined they weren’t all that different, but she’d been too young when she’d been shipped off to the Circle in the Free Marches, and obviously mages were never invited to balls.
Lyric was dressed in a gown of shimmering silver, intricately embroidered with delicate white flowers. The gown hugged her petite frame, accentuating her slender waist before flaring out in a cascade of flowing fabric. Her hair, usually worn loose, was pulled up into an elegant chignon, a few stray curls escaping to frame her face. Her blue eyes, wide with awe and apprehension, took in the grandeur of the ballroom as she clung to Tiberius' arm, grateful for his familiar presence amidst the overwhelming spectacle.
She nodded as Tiberius said they should go say hello, so not only was this her first time in Tevinter, and her first ball ever, but she would be meeting the actual freaking Archon. She wanted this to go well for Tiberius, sure she didn’t know him as well as she’d like, but so far everything had been positive, at least after they’d gotten well away from her parents in Orlais.
She curtsied as Tiberius introduced her to the Archon, she wasn’t sure if that’s what she was supposed to do, but she couldn’t think of anything else to do either, she certainly couldn’t just stand there mouth agape like some child. She smiled a bit as Tiberius added that she was also from Starkhaven, the place she considered her true home.
It’s a pleasure to meet you Lord Archon. The man looked a bit intimidating, but she’d also heard he was a bit of a cat lover, and somehow that made him feel a bit relatable.
The Archon had a love-hate relationship with these events, partly because he couldn’t exactly just let loose and have fun, no because of his position, all eyes were on him. It was why he was prone to sneaking out of the palace with the help of his friend Mal to try and have some fun occasionally. At least today he was in a generally well-behaved mode, though his bright purple attire could be said to be a bit edgy and flamboyant, he certainly didn’t care what other people thought of his style choices.
After finishing up greeting some, to be honest he’d forgotten their names as soon as they’d left, he turned to the next people approaching and flashed a smile. Little Mal, one of his cats, circled around the area, looking at Tiberius and Lyric, dressed up in a little Eyes cat outfit that Deme had made for the cat, since his namesake was Chancellor of the Eyes.
Ah yes, Tiberius, it is good to have you back in Tevinter, and lovely to meet your fiancé. He smiled at Lyric and nodded as she curtsied. So my dear, how are you finding our lovely kingdom? You’re from Orlais and Starkhaven? Must be an interesting story behind that. And Tiberius, how are you settling in?
