The ruin had been rebuilt with solid, impossibly to acquire Afhari wood from the black reach. It was miraculously strong, and the floor was tiled with rare black marble. Every goblet in the place, even those held casually by the courtesans and guards, were silver, with those of rank holding chalices of gold with jewels, and needless to say, all of them flowed with the finest wine.

The party does not have many true "guests".. but invited guest had brought an entourage of operatives and assistants, and they appropriately marvel at the austentateous wealth, as does do the associates of Lasier, Lord of the Isle.

Higher ranked guards, accountants, and the sailors, once castaways, now wealthy beyond their dreams, enjoy viandes, potables and mild halusinagens from across Arceum, a feast that would not be out of place in the palace of a national level ruler.

Dancers and singers provide entertainment, and of course, the prettiest (catering to a wide range of tastes) of the isle's slaves are on courtesan duty tonight, pouring wine in scant costumes.. though even the pretty slaves are adorned in diamond, jade and gold (and not much else).It is mainly the hired help who enjoy such plebian pleasures, though Mother's Son, the pirate lord, despite his age still seems to appreciate fine vituals. It is said when he was younger, his appetites were truly legendary. By the end of the night, they no doubt will be.

Others sit quietly and observe, perhaps enjoying the music and looking for every advantage. One quiet merchant sits and listens appreciatively as a desert scarred howler played the haunting songs of the desert. Though they brought some joy to the merchant, he his heart was guarded, looking to any in the room that might bring treachery, and looking for any advantage he might find in this lion's den.

Some men who thought themselves cultured studed the works of art in the place - some of the finest works of art had been brought in and strewn across the room, including moving clockwork portraits (the latest craze among Vissio nobles) and truly exquisite Dublinai ceramics, simple but breathless works of negative space. The more cosmopolitan of them debated which was greater.

An aged Dublinai merchant, could not help but marvel at the gladiator, stripped of his customary helmet, revealing the features of a Patrian high noble - one with a sterling war record, chained and caged in the corner. It was said that gloating was beneath the superior man, but it was impossible to keep the smugness on his face. Perhaps he'd fought in the war?

In the other corner, corner, another warrior brooded, trying not to pace in the area she'd been chained to, avoiding all the wine and food set aside for her. She knew why she was here, and that either her or the gladiator would die tonight, and it was not going to be her.

The Prize Desert Scorpion outside had drawn at least a few appreciative glances and even a nod from Lasier, who had called him "spirited". Of course, he was outside, now, with only a few wanderers outside paying too much mind to the creature.

But the most attention was devoted to the three great treasures that had been brought in.

Atop a stone pillar, lashed to it, infact, was a skeleton, wearing the legendary Red Mask of the Bird of Prey, a genuine artifact, once worn by a renegade doctor who had turned to murder, undeath and crimes unspeakable. Even her elrict powers had failed her when she'd put on the mask, and none had dared touch it since.

From the Bright Republic, atop one of the chrome chairs so popular there, sat a beautiful artificial woman in a bizarre, outlandish, impossible costume. A technopriest had "reactivated" her and asked her to sing, briefly, to prove she worked, and she'd patiently answered questions. Those few rich enough to own Auditory Record devices knew of her, of course: the artificial singer, Claire Durand, beloved by countless fans.

Finally, in an iron cage stood bound, a wondrous creature not seen years - one of the fae, a high ranking noble, no less, who'd committed some crime against Patria so egregious, that they'd agreed to give her up. Though the Fae were virtually unheard of, and never meddled in human affairs, none doubted her once they saw into her impossible features, or saw the red and raw skin that had brushed up against the enhcantediron that no doubt kept her from using her wicked magics upon all present.

And of course, watching it all from the back of the hall was Laiser itself, wearing ornate garments said to be giant spider silk and a steel backed tunic made from leaves spun to steel with fae artiface, perched across a throne, with his most trusted servants at his side. Occasionally, he'd whisper to one some arcane instruction.

In front of him was a great scale large enough to fit a human, sat upon a pedestal of pure gold, and none dared approach it. It seemed to possess a weight that dwarfed the other wonders in the room.

OOC
Most of you may act, all of you are here.

Any noted as slaves may not move from their assigned spot, other than the Scholar, who is permitted some leeway to explore the exhibits. Gara is not technically a slave, she's a guest. Her owner is so distracted with the room that she could probably talk to others. Claire hasn't fully "awakened" yet (she's been off for a while, and the tech priest is messing with her) and so can't activate her combat functions. She's basically in 'be nice for the fans' mode.

There are lots of very, very powerful guards here, and none of your have your powers yet, though Gara is a crazy good fighter.

The only person who can't act at all is The Doctor, who is too busy being dead at the moment.

To make it very clear, starting shit now, before you get your powers, is going to get you a smack down. This is mainly for a bit of interaction before we start.

This message was last edited by the GM at 00:25, Mon 08 Oct 2018.

"Now now, no touching," said Claire as she playfully batted away the wandering hand of a guest who got too close. "I must remain pure for my fans." Not that she was really aware of what "purity" meant yet, or why it mattered, but she knew that she was supposed to cheerfully reject advances and handsy fans.

She wasn't worried - the place was well-guarded and she was built to take a little punishment from going through the crowd. So after the merchant left, she returned to placidly observing the crowd from the perfectly ordinary chrome-steel chair that she sat in.

I don't know that I have combat functions anyway, so we're cool. :)

"That. Is. Not. Yours."

A particularly grim looking fellow seemed to materialize out of no where. He wore silks and straps of armored leather in the style of the professional guards from the desert, and wore a very nasty looking blade at his belt. He didn't draw it, but his hand was on the hilt.

If you looked in what Visso called an "illustrated dictionary" or asked a casting director to show you a clip of a typecast "heavy" or "enforcer", this guy would be it. Light scars adorned his well trimmed mustache, and steely eyes seemed devoid of not but duty and barely restrained violence.

There was nothing in his voice but the quiet promise of certain death at the steel of his hip.

The young man, a very young looking pirate not yet out of his teens, apologized "Sorry, sorry. I've just listened to her voice a lot. Not much else to do on the ship." He backed away, as did a few others who had gotten too close.

The guard's expression remained utterly unchanged, but he faded back into the shadows.

A young woman, a Dublinai, spoke up "She certainly seems lifelike, and well put togeather, quite a work of art, she said reservedly.

"Art?" Scoffed a middle aged Vissio. He seemed to be primarily exmaining her joints and face, but from a respectful distance, wearing some kind of vision enhancing goggles. He was one of the few not dressed in finery.

"That's real time response feedback, non mechanical voice and joints, without magic, outside of a techno bubble." He said, shaking his head. "She's a damned impossibility: a marvel. It shouldn't even be possible..."

The conversation continued.
This message was last edited by the GM at 03:16, Mon 08 Oct 2018.

For all that she was caged, her head was held high, her manner proud. She would not flinch at the touch of the bars that scalded her, either, and any who looked in her eyes could see clearly the disgust and fury she felt for the goings on around her.

"...until the sun took its rest beneath the waters.
And she will cry, 'Athana, tend the fire'
until the waters take their rest beneath the stones."

  The last notes of the traditional Howler elegy clung to Gaja's gudok impossibly long, as though unwilling to end the song's magic, until she silenced the strings abruptly with her smallest finger.  She had begun her performance early that evening, and was by now nearly a fifth of the way through the known canon.  She'd stuck to it closely, taking requests as an excuse to give up no lore the Outsiders hadn't already pawed over in their thoughtless greed.  But her fingers were sore, and her throat was dry, and the powering-up of the singing automaton had drawn most of her audience away.  The belt of coins draped low across her hips jangled softly when she stood, and she kept up the semblance of a melody as she crossed the floor in the suggestion of a dance.  Really, most of her attention was on the nearest servant with fresh wine.  She knew better than to approach the treasures too closely, but it was the first time she had looked away from the fae prisoner for more than five heartbeats since the veil had been removed from her cage, and it only lasted until she'd secured a full goblet.  Of course, her illusion of freedom depended on her illusion of working, so she downed it quickly and began bowing out a wistful reel, close enough now for the machine to overhear and harmonize.  She kept her eyes carefully downcast, as though focusing on her ornamentations to the melody.

"Yesterday's world is a dream,
like a river that runs through my mind.
Made of fields and the white pebble stream
that I knew as a child..."

---

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4Ycf1h5dj84 for reference.  Gaja's taking a risk with the theme of this one, but it's plausibly just a song about lost love.

Over the years of his attendance to Laiser he had earned a degree of freedom through obedience and diligent work. Thinking on it now he had come a long way from a laborer working to take back the island from the storm sweep wilderness to his position now as a trusted slave.

He had cataloged and assessed many of the fine items that Laiser presented within his domain and he would likely continue to do so for the foreseeable as he was still no closer to his ultimate task of uncovering just how Laiser was delivering on his promise of renewed youth.

Increase had several theories but no conclusive evidence. Those slaves which disappeared to "assist" in whatever process did not return; an indication in of itself perhaps. All the same Increase did his best to not draw attention, moving along the fringes of the party, giving polite submissive inclinations of his head when passing a guest, and giving the guards their due caution. At least those which he could see with his naked eye.

Edited to be more accurate
This message was last edited by the player at 17:20, Mon 08 Oct 2018.

Marius watched the party with a stoic expression, currently enjoying the food and drink offered him as if he were a mere guest and not the night's entertainment.  He even managed to seem like he wasn't bothered at all by the cage and chains which was actually true. He had adapted to their weight and restraint after several years as a slave gladiator.

The fall from his power and authority he had earned stung, but that was a grudge he now nursed for the future. Right now he was looking with curious amusement at the smug merchant.

"Did we meet on the field of battle or are you just marveling at the stupidity of Patria destroying their greatest general?"
This message was last edited by the player at 17:15, Mon 08 Oct 2018.

The scholar walks among the party. The guards seem to pay him no mind at all. His clothes mark him as someone who belongs, though he's not taking part in his


A few few people turn their head to listen to Gaja's song, and it's suddenly clearer why she's there when her voice sings the songs of her culture. Her performance of requests are technically competent, but these are HER songs, and the cracked voice and tired fingers do not disguise the spirit behind them.


The old Dublinai can't help but smile. "Ah, you are General Valeria! I was not sure.

No, neither of those apply. I am but a merchant, albeit a moderately successful one."

The fact that he was here utterly belied that fact. He took a sip of wine to disguise the bitterness of his words. He had a slight tremble on his wine cup, lifted with two hands as he did so. It was hard to tell if this was emotion or infirmity.

"My son passed the examinations, and was a captain at the Battle of the Three Rivers. I doubt you'd remember him. Xian Ji was his name."

Awkward. Captain Ji is a name unknown to you, but you recall a killing an officer who had been careless when you were just starting out during that battles. You'd just graduated the war college and been deployed as the leader of a unit of light horse.

The man had deployed his forces skillfully, but had not expected a damn near suicidal Calvary attack on his command to disrupt his ability to give orders. He'd died begging for his mother, but a lot of men did that when swords were stuck in their guts.

"My youngest took up as a merchant, but recently died during the Burning Raids you orchestrated."

Very Awkward. You got You told your men not to slaughter merchants who dropped their goods, and the cargo was military in nature, but that probably wouldn't give me man sufficient reason not to hate you.

"My daughter was killed during the sack of Nanpoor, along with her new husband."

At least he couldn't blame you for that one. Well, not directly. They might have wiped out the pirates had you not orchestrated the burning a few years back.

"I am at odds. It is said that the worth of your foes speaks of one's own worth. So I cannot say that I am happy that you were removed from your position. On the other hand, it has placed you in a position that I might watch you die tonight."

His eyes met Marius's, and a small amount of wine fell from his cup from his trembling hand.

"Forgive me. My health is failing. I am hoping that perhaps I will be able to start a new family after my youth is returned to me."