Midnight Masquerade - Session 2

OOC Note:  This is a repeat of the event in Midnight Masquerade - Session 1.  The repeat is due to dual time slot scheduling to accomodate all time zones in roleplay planning.  So....yes, things are eerily similar between the two at some parts. ; )

Theatre of the Fountain

A large open area, roughly circular, this clearing is ringed by tall pines, thickly limbed with almost wall-like density. The lawn is of short cropped grass, on the bowl-like hill which makes up the clearing; on one side is a tall wooden structure, looking much like an outdoor stage or half-pavillion. There are torches burning brightly in sconces all about it to light the stage, and there are silken drapes which open and shut with performances hanging on rails above. On the hill opposite the stage, there are almost natural looking depressions in the ground, no doubt rows where people may sit to watch. From above, warm golden light of the sun illuminates all.

Two paths converge in the center of the bowl, one the white-pebbled trail leading back toward the house, and the other a tidy forest path leading out the other side of the hollow. They meet about a great fountain in the very bottom of the bowl-like open space, a stone basin carved with waves, fish, and ships, while the center which spouts water is a giant figure with a crown of clouds, and waves for raiment.

SUNSET:

The material that clothes this maiden fair hangs in sheer iridescence about her lissome frame, hinting at the curves of her torso before passing the subtle swell of her hips into a full, sweeping skirt. Her shoulders and collarbone remain bare, the fabric soft against the milky white skin of her upper torso and arms forming a striking contrast in indigo blue, fading gradually to a vivid purple around her waist. The colors of her raiment further transform through intense pinks, reds, and oranges, the many layers of lightweight splendor ending in a deep vibrant gold as they sweep the ground in a hem stitched with gilded threads. Even when tucked beneath the flowing drape of her garment, soft simple slippers of verdant green wrap her dainty feet in the life of Spring, as seen in the meeting of earth and sky at the height of sunset's beauty.

A smooth, shining waterfall of flaxen locks cascades freely down the lady's back, dancing lightly over bare shoulders in aureate waves. Resting weightlessly atop her head is an adornment wrought of fire and ice - a crown of tiny starlike crystals that seem lit from within by the light of Elbereth. No mask hides the curious stare of Lady Sunset's argent gaze, but rather a hand-woven veil of fine silver threads, hiding aught else that might give away her identity save her eyes. Though not of the lady's gown, she wears low on her shoulders a sheer, light length of midnight blue gauze. Studded with dazzling crystals to match those in her crown, she shimmers as does the night sky with any movement in the light.

FOAM:

Graceful of limb and posture, upright and fair, this woman is clad mostly in white and silver, blue and green. A cap of white sits on her carefully braided dark hair, lace and satin interwoven and graced with crystal and twinkling glass, to the effect that it sparkles with a chance ray of light whenever she moves her head.

Her dress is silky, as well, with a white bodice worked not unlike her cap, in glittering white and shimmering crystal, slowly fading into a mixture of green and blue at her waist, which flows to her feet in a wide skirt of the same shades, not unlike the curve of a wave, white droplets of milky glass and embroidery shattered across it, lined with silver embroidery.

A mask of simple white silk covers the upper half of her face. Eyes of bright green, youthful and ancient, are set like jewels into it, the strange mixture of white, green and blue repeated partially; perhaps the most obvious hint as to whose face might be behind the mask.

STAG:

The tall figure before you is crowned with antlers. He is masked with the tawny visiage of a stag, but his eyes are a startling blue. The mask is smoothly molded into the proud head of the forest creature. From either side of the mask gyring horns sprout, antlers that are gleaming jet and veined with gold.

A stag and yet not, for the body of this fabled Forest Lord is that of a lithe Quende. He is swathed in a silken shirt that whispers with emerald colours, from dark moss to the green of a sunlit leaf. Tight fitting breeches of mottled earthen tones cling to his muscular legs and he wears light boots of fawn shaded leather.

GREY_WOLF:

This is truly a strange character. He wears a pair of charcoal breeches tucked into a pair of well-worn, though highly-polished riding boots. A red silk coat, embroidered with silver leaves and vines, hangs down to his knees and is worn open. A grey silk vest is worn beneath the coat, and a silver silk shirt is worn under the vest.

Perhaps the strangest aspect of this costume is the grey wolf-like mask. It covers the edhel's nose, upper lip, and forehead with two holes revealing sparkling blue eyes. Twin braids fall down the sides of his face, and black hair covers the silver ribbon that ties the mask.

To add to this character's mysterious persona, a billowing black cape trails behind him and is fastened about his neck with a silver chain.

EMLINGLIR:

Changeable eyes; now gray, now blue, now green peer out from behind the mask of this young elleth: eyes that take in much without revealing more than is necessary. Her chestnut hair flows freely down her back, held away from her face by a stunning headpiece made of bright yellow feathers. An orange beak hides her nose from view. What skin still shows is pale, and is emphasized by red lips.

She wears a gown of bright canary yellow, carefully covered with row upon row of feathers which match her headpiece. The sleeves are long, clinging closely to her arms as does the bodice of the gown, until the skirts trail along the ground in multiple layers of etherial whisperings. Lighter yellow slippers peek out from under her gown.

PANTHER:

This elven figure wears a mask in the snarling form of a panther, and fur clothing to match, and moves with the very grace a panther might show if configured in elven shape. But there must be a touch of vanity behind the mask, as he wears a cape, very dashing, lined with white fur.

Only the eyes, bright and intense, show through the holes of the mask.

BLACK_FALCON:

Two dark blue, almost black, eyes stare intensely with evident youthfulness lurking deep within these windows to the soul. Striking dark features on her face make it impossible to show what she may be feeling or thinking, except her pink lips seem to be arced at the tips in a secret, yet mischievous smile. Her body is tall and curved, moving slowly and elegantly, as if walking was a graceful movement in a dance, and her long limbs show her hidden strength. She's dressed in a black velvet dress and her long striking black hair fall back in luscious wisps down her back are mingled with silver twine and white flowers. A silver pendant of a star hanging on a silver cord shines at the base of her throat. She could only be fairer if she truly smiled, which seems to be a rare thing to see on her face.

BLACK_STALLION:

Before you at length of 16 and a 1/2 hands stands the most breath taking and elegant elven horse in all of Imladris. He is jet black like coal, his coat glistening with a silvery sheen, his mane dark and long.. his locks unruly and wild! Like all Elven steeds, the expression in his large, liquid-brown eyes and his mannerisms show a much higher degree of intelligence than you would usually see in a horse. As he walks to you, his strides are rather funny, his two forelimbs merely hanging along and powerful hindlegs doing most of the walking! He hobbles even... and had the elf dressed in his proud from not been such a clutz and scratchy lil devil in this cumbersome costume, the horse would do a much better job as portraying his true regal self!

TREEBARK:

Wrapped in long coat of what appears to be treebark, the pieces cunningly fastened together to form as real an approximation of the trunk of a tree as might be imagined. Leaves seem to be attached to the arms of the coat themselves, tufting out wildly at the end of the arms where the hands emerge, and great clusters of them surround the face of the wearer of this coat. More leaves and bark form a cleverly wrought cap which the elf wears, and wooden shoes like old gnarled tree roots complete the arboreous costume.

From the valley beyond the gardens, the ringing of a silver bell rises loudly and clearly, its euphonious voice beckoning all to join in the celebration it voices. The Midnight Masquerade is soon to begin.

Night falls on a valley far from sleeping, and void of all darkness on so mild an eve. Lining the paths down into the Theatre lawn are rows of festive luminaries; candlelight from within colored glass bottles casts shards of ruby and sapphire light in a flickering dance over the moonlit walkways. Stars glint off the rippled waters in the Fountain's basin. Upon its surface floats a myriad of tiny white blossoms, the first pale faces of spring now upturned to Ithil.

It is a night of celebration, as is foretold by the voices of laughter and song that arise from the hills even before one reaches this clearing. Brightly dressed quendi appear not so at all, but rather a gathering of creatures in many a form. Smiles remain, though hidden beneath veil and mask.

From the Narrow Trail comes a most peculiar figure. An Edhel dressed in a red silk jacket, a wolf-mask, and a billowing black cape, strides up. The cape swirls liquid-like behind him as he makes a very dramatic entrance. He takes two running steps, then spins around, the cloak making a very mysterious pattern around him. He bows elegantly to the Quendi around him, who are laughing and applauding. After a moment of peering at masks and make-up, he joins in the merry-making.

Panther enters the center of the theater of the fountain with a certain slinky air, as if stalking something, who or what to remain indeterminate, humming a tune softly with closed lips ... a jaunty tune and well-known, with many a set of verses attached to them, most of them satiric, salacious, or downright low.

Amidst the gathering audience of towering pines that look down upon the festivities a lighter shadow moves in the darkness. A glimmering light slowly moving betwixt gnarled boles, faint. A keen eye might spy a great spreading crown of antlers as if slender branches were themselves moving from tree to tree.

Yet neither tree nor stag this form be. A tall figure strides down to the fountain from the trees, his head that of a noble stag, his eyes shining in the resonance of many colourful lamps. He is hailed by a star figured lady and with her he stands talking a while.

In a whirlwind of golds and purples alike, a lady clothed in the very hues of Anor's descent steps briskly from the midst of a lively cluster of masked quendi. From beneath the sheer drape of her veil a faint outline of smile appears, matched in sparkle by the light within argent eyes as they settle on each of the newly arrived. Upon the wolf and panther her gaze longest lingers, a low murmured laugh following. "What a predatory gathering has begun to amass. Need the fairer creatures fear your fangs, Lords of Menace?" Lady Sunset chuckles, eyes flickering momentarily to Stag upon his entrance.

Panther turns then, and looks at Lady Sunset, and bows floridly, the bow worthy of a noble in a vast empire saluting the queen of the world. "Ah, my lady!" he says, "you have nothing to fear from me, a hunter of the night, and before the dazzling brilliance you bring, a mere panther knows but one recompense ... to go to bed!"

The Wolf laughs at the Sunset's comment. "Nor am I to be feared, Lady," he says. "My only prey is Eldaril, or perhaps something a bit stronger." He takes a glass from a table and downs it in one gulp. "Otherwise, I am quite docile."

A laugh floats into the air at the banter between Sunset and Panther, filling the theater with silvery notes, rather like birdsong. And it emerges from the throat of a great yellow bird, it seems, for the laughing edhel is dressed in layers of yellow feathers. Thus enters Emlinglir, the Yellow Bird Song, into the ball.

Then skips in, like a dark cloud, a maiden dressed in the colour of the shadows. Her skin seems bright against the midnight of her hair and dress and her smile, for once, is large and happy as she enters excitedly. She smiles at those already there and their assorted costumes.

"Ah!" the lady chuckles, her voice unknown to many when lifted so in laughter. An aid to concealing her identity, certainly. "Go not too soon, for I shall hide beneath the stars of night ere I would send one noble guest from such warm festivity!" With this sentiment, Sunset draws a star-sprinkled indigo shawl over the brightness of her raiment, temporarily transforming into a more subdued version of her former brilliance. "And of Eldaril we have plenty!" This invitation extends to Emlinglir and raven-clad maiden as well, the lady's smile truly reminiscent in warmth of the sunset itself.

In a reflected twinkle of lamplight, another tall maiden enters the clearing from the pathway, brushing a hand absently over her laced skirts as she does. She is not one for idle hesitation, though, after a quick glance around the already assembled... elves, the picture of foam mingles with the gathering, exchanging a greeting here or there as she makes her way through the crowd.

"If I may have my leave?" the Wolf says the the Sunset. "I believe that there are a pair of birds that require my... attention." He strides off, his cloak leaving a ghostly shadow behind him as he walks. He comes up to Emlinglir.

"Who might you be," he says after an elegant bow, "O bird of golden feathers?" His cloak catches up a second after he erects himself.

Panther bows again to Lady Sunset. "Excellent. Now, I think I can in repayment delay any hunting for the night, and subsist on Eldaril. Where was that again?"

Merry laughter, rich and vibrant, between the watery chuckle of the fountain and the leap of harp strings. The starclad lady is subtly trying to lift the Stag's mask to which he denies with laughter and jest. The stag steps away, nipping a wineglass from tray that floats by on the hands of a server and leans back against the fountain.

Sunset's response to the Wolf is a humble bow as he steps toward the golden bird. The sheer lower layers of her garment whisper softly with her fluid movement, like flames around her verdant green slippered feet. When she rises again it is to regard the Panther with a smile seen only in her eyes as her expression remains otherwise covered. "There are spirits a plenty upon the tables beside the fount, if you prefer your choice. Otherwise, perhaps a server might assist? Though your drink be then a mystery, 'tis only fitting on such an occasion."

"I should think I have found it." calls Foam, now standing before a cart holding refreshments and bending over it in examination, to the panthery elf. "Perhaps you would like to confirm my findings? Surprises are good, but when it comes to spirit, I would rather have high ones than ... surprises." She looks up with a faint trace of laughter.

Emlinglir flutters her feathers and smiles at the Grey Wolf. "Me, mellon? Why, I am just a bird, come down from the trees to join the festivities this evening."

Panther turns and walks over to the cart where Foam is standing. "Excellent!" he replies, bowing to her in turn. "And would you have any recommendations as to the spirits, other than their altitude?" A brightness enters his voice as he asks.

"Pray, dance with me," says the Wolf, a grin upon his face. "For it is not every day that one has the chance to speak to the sun herself." It is obvious that the Wolf is out tonight if only to flirt.

"Would you not agree, my predatory friend, that if the altitude is fitting, all else may be unnecessary?" asks Foam mirthfully, her tone jesting. "Would not we all?" Then she bends over the table again, and selects a bottle, holding it out to the panther. "What would you think, in that light, of this one? Is it high enough for you, or would you rather be surprised after all?"

Emlinglir inclines her head graciously. "These feet would indeed enjoy such entertainment... only... I hope I will be safe from the Wolf, on the dance floor?"

Black_Falcon takes a glass of wine and takes a small sip whilst watching the happenings with a laughing-like smile.

Panther laughs. "Pour, pour!" he answers. "And the surprise will be at your hand!" He winks, and bows even more floridly than before, with so much panache that it almost seems for a moment he floats halfway ...

Another boyish grin upon his face, the Wolf says, "Nay, Lady, there are /none/ who are safe from me." He laughs and takes her hand. "Though, perhaps I can make an exception for you. How could a mere wolf devour such a beautiful morsel like yourself without remorse? The world would truly be a dark place without you, O beautiful bird. Do you dare take the risk?"

"Surprises are in store beyond drink on a night of such mystery," Lady Sunset murmurs with an enigmatic smile to Foam and Panther before she whisks across the moonlit lawn to the side of the elleth dressed as a black bird. "And what of you, my fine feathered friend? Have you a care for surprises?"

"A falcon looking to swoop down upon her prey?" the stags murmurs, having stepped lightly behind Black_Falcon. "Or a falcon looking for a perch?" And the stag bows, carefully, and at the lower arc of his bow he appears as if he might charge the elleth.

Emlinglir laughs again, a sound much like music, and allows herself to be led onto the floor. "I believe I will live dangerously, and if things get too frightening, I shall just fly away, back to my tree. But for now I shall stay on the ground."

"Your wish, my lord, is my command." answers Foam drily, pouring two glasses of the shimmering red wine she has selected and holding one out to Panther. "I pray you will be content with my choice and at least not poorly surprised; it is after all, a splendid night that I should hate to spoil even in part for such gallant company."

Black_Falcon seems very, very surprised that someone had noticed her and was a little shocked when she heard a voice directing it's words to her, content to just stand where she was and watch and listen. She nods in greetings at the Lady Sunset as she swallows her most resent sip of wine. She is even more shocked when another speaks to her and her smile turns to a grin at such words. "Both." She says, answering the Stag's questions.

The Wolf's cloak swirls as the pair dances upon the floor. "Dangerous living is the most enjoyable way to live, I would think." His eyes twinkle as he says, "Though I know only how to live like that." He dramatically dips Emlinglir and stares into her eyes. "Would you sit with me for a drink?" he asks. "I would enjoy your company, and perhaps you would enjoy mine?"

Panther takes the glass of wine and sniffs it delicately. "A fine vintage, I should say, as of grapevines blessed by the light of the evening stars ... "

He takes a delicate sip. "And so it is indeed! Your taste for fine wines is vindicated, Lady Foam. Though I wonder why you did not choose a champagne?"

As Stag's uncertain stance gives a momentary lift of curiousity to flaxen brows, Sunset's smile fades nonetheless, though not clearly seen. With a flourish of hand she turns to regard both Falcon and Stag. "And you, o noble beast? Seek you to provide prey or perch?" she chuckles, her jest ringing clearly though lips remain hidden behind her veil.

Emlinglir steps lightly, almost flitting across the dance floor. Being dipped brings out more laughter from her fair throat, and she answers merrily, "Aye, Master Wolf. A drink would be refreshing, as would conversation."

Foam raises her glass in salute before taking a sip, and answers, "Why, to avoid competition, of course. While foam never comes alone on one wave," she gestures to herself, "there should be no more than one tonight to save our friends from confusion; I certainly would hate to be outsparkled.

Panther laughs and sips the wine. "I see!"

Falcon drinks the last remants of the wine leaving her glass empty and laughs with the Lady Sunset, though rather quietly so she could hear the chuckles of the funny elleth.

The Wolf returns Emlinglir to her feet and they walk off of the floor. He takes two glasses of a white wine and indicates that he would like the bird to sit first.

"Both," is the Stag's simple reply, and though the mask masks it, one might guess by his voice that hidden lips are also curving into a smile. He straightens. His jet black antlers are veined with gold, tinged a ruddy crimson, perhaps by the light of a westering sun. "And one question for another, I wonder, is Hiril Sunset about to retire, as she is famed to do?"

"I suppose it is only fair," Sunset muses, a lilting emphasis marking the last word as she prepares her reply. Then with a sweep of her starlit shawl from the bright layers of her skirts to sky overhead, she sends a shimmering curtain of silvered stars upon the breeze, only to be caught up by the lady's hand before it touches the grounds soon to be wet with dew. "Fame or no, my happiness lies in warmth and vigor. Such I find in dazzling company and celebration, and I hope not to sink into my beloved West until all has played out in the light. Let the stars come!"

Emlinglir finds a seat on a nearby bench, and there she lands lightly, settling her wings. "I do enjoy wine after a dance, though I didn't know that Wolves did, too!"

Wolf grins and sits next to the bird. "I do not know if other wolves enjoy wine after a dance," he says, "but I am not a normal wolf." He sips at the wine and scans the crowd.

"So is a sentiment we all share." mutters the foamy lady as she catches Sunset's comment, taking another sip of her wine as her panthery companion disappears in the crowd. She does not move closer yet to them, but is turned towards the group. "Even the waves seem to warm with the setting sun, though they may be cool to the touch."

Linteil takes a seat and sips out of his wine glass.

Emlinglir accepts a glass from the Wolf, and sips it delicately for a moment. She sighs lightly, and then smiles at her dance partner. "This has been very pleasant indeed, mellon! But alas for me, I must go soon to gather my things, and prepare to get back to my duties before the sun rises. Thank you for the dance!"

Falcon puts down her empty glass and puts a misplaced whisp of hair back in it's place behind her leaf-shaped ear and tidies her skirt with her left hand, obviously seeing it as an unneeded thing to do. She sighs and looks, again, at the assorted costumes.

A light breeze ruffles the Stag's silken shirt about his naked lower throat as he chuckles, "Indeed. Let the stars come, the trees whisper, and the waves break upon the shore." The noble forest lord's head swivels upon the last, in the direction of the fountain. Again, the Stag's voice is flavoured with laughter, "Not too cool to the touch I hope? Lady foam, you are famed for the dance upon the coral strands."

With a gaze discerning as is natural for the lady beneath the silver veil, Sunset searches Foam's eyes for any foretelling of her identity. Whether or not this venture is successful cannot be heard in the timbre of her sentiment to the blue-green elleth. "Sunset and the Western seas are not far sundered in the eve of day. And yet you speak true." Mystery descends in the lady's voice, and so does it alight in argent eyes as she looks upon hues of the sea in Foam's raiment. Yet not long does this uncertainty linger before her dance-like steps resume toward a nearby tray of wine goblets.

The Wolf bids the golden bird farewell and finishes his wine. "Namarie, mel," he says in Quenya.

The yellow bird trills a musical scale in response, waving farewell to the prowling wolf as she leaves.

"I am." says Foam without wrong modesty in response to the stag. "Although I see no corals here, and the strands are far; on dry ground I have less fame than you. In change, I think I may be less cool to the touch apart from my companions, as well." She pauses, looking towards Sunset. "Not far sundered, indeed." she answers lightly, but without further comment as she takes another sip from her glass.

The Wolf sets his wine glass on a cart and swirls his cape elegantly. He is off in search of new prey.

Falcon sighs deeply and sits down on a stone bench, the smile of her mouth more like a modest grin as she watches the Quendi around her chatter and laugh.

Sunset has not tarried, and the Stag is left alone looking to Lady Foam. He approaches her upon light feet, a wine glass still in one hand which he now sets down upon a near table. "Too much the bother to sneak a drink through this mask," he comments regretfully. He kneels before Lady Foam. The very image of a vassal seeking a boon of a Queen, the stag invites, "Far we are from the endless waves, but still I can hear them now. Will you dance with me Hiril?" His voice is low, his eyes are bright and intent upon the lady.

Noticing the lone Falcon on the bench, the Wolf slips next to her, careful not to get wet when passing Foam, his cloak trailing behind him. "You seem to be enjoying the masque," he says. "Perhaps we could enjoy it together?"

Goblet of sparkling white wine now delicately clasped in her hand, the lady clothed in Anor's flame turns once more toward the gathered quendi to find most, if not all, in lighthearted discourse. This a joyous melody to the maiden's ears, her brilliant smile retires to one of peace...one more often found on these pale lips, were they to be recognized from beyond her veil. Thus after a single sip of her Eldaril, Sunset drifts over to the fountain, tracing her fingertips absently over the mirrored surface of the water.

The lady falcon's eyebrows rise and for a moment she looks at the wolf-like edhel with disbelief before her face explodes into laughter. Her laughter rings quietly, but clear as she did so for a couple extra moments as she looks at the wolf helplessly.

What jesting remark usually would have been Foam's answer, now is checked in her throat. Automatically, it seems, her hand reaches out to the stag's shoulder; a usual movement to a vassal's request, perhaps, but it stops just short, slender fingers instead settling on the tip of his antlers. "If you wish it so, we shall dance on dry ground." she answers equally softly. "Although I would like neither to be pierced by horns nor to drown a noble beast."

The Wolf shares in the Falcon's laughter as he pulls himself to his feet. "Would you dare dance with me?" he asks, tears shining on his cheeks. "I may slip again, and this time you could slip with me!"

Falcon laughs and shrugs as she stands. "I am not the greatest dancer, just remember." She warns, patting down her shirt and moving her wings slightly back. She, again, despite herself, laughs again, lowering her head to muffle the sound.

The Stag's white hand reaches up for the hand of Lady Foam. "It is too late, for in you I am lost, though it has been said that drowning is a pleasant death," he answers. Standing again, he draws the Lady forward to an open space upon the cool grass where crickets yet chirrup. "And fear not my horns but the horns of the musicians," the Forest Lord murmurs to her as a new song trills upon the fragrant night air.

"Do not hide your laughter," he says, "for it is more like the songs of birds in the morn." He carefully takes the Falcon's hand and guides her to the dance floor. "If you worry about stepping upon my toes, you may simply stand on them and not worry about it later." A smile flashes across his face.

"If I knew this not to be a night unlike most, I would believe wolves to have an inherent affinity for those of the feathered kind," Sunset chuckles quietly, looking deeply into the fountain as though speaking to her own reflection alone. Though soon another touch of her hand shatters the image into silvered ripples, and she looks to the dancing pairs with a new, yet not as readily identifiable, gleam alight in her argent eyes.

"It has been said so." answers Foam, "Perhaps it is no less than a dance in particularily icy embrace, and the music of the endless sea to sing you into sleep. A comforting thought, though were you to drown, I would hope it is in my company." It sounds like a jest, but her eyes are not laughing as she takes the stag's hand to begin the dance. "I will care for the horns for your sake, no hunters shall be upon us here."

Falcon frowns and looks down to make sure her feet are safely on the ground. "Let's hope it doesn't come to that." She says, putting one hand on the wolf's shoulder and held out her other, waiting for him to join it with his own.

From far and beyond, galloping through the balmy night air of late spring comes the bravest and proudest Stallion of the Imladris herd! His proud mane flutters in the breeze and on approaching the Stag, Falcon and other creatures of the wood and elements of nature, he tries his best attempt at a bow, considering the costume he is in! Going upto Sunset, he nuzzles with a big, brown mouth that has hay sticking out from the ends. "Mae Govannen, mellyn." he snorts.

His arms tighten around the slender waist of the Lady briefly, "And nor shall mellon wave withdraw and take you away." What he whispers next is near lost in the wash of sweeping music that dashes out bright notes in counterpoint to the lamps swinging lightly upon the Spring breeze. The Stag laughs now and sweeps the Lady around in a colourful whirl of silks.

The Wolf begins to dance with the Falcon. He notices the Stallion's grand entrance and gasps, "Nin Eru!" His look is that of complete and utter shock.

Unexpected, it seems, is the Stallion's gesture of greeting, for the Lady Sunset nearly pitches backward into the fountain before she regains her poise...and her laughter, for a fleeting moment. "Noble Horse," she chuckles. "Though hay may very well be your delicacy, might I offer you a draught of wine?"

Falcon turns her head to where the wolf was looking with such an expression with a confused frown under her mask. Her lips part and eyes widen as she looks at the Stallion with the same evident shock as her companion and the same words escape her lips along with her breath. "Nin Eru." She whispers, gaping.

The Wolf, shock still evident upon his features, looks back to Falcon. "Would you mind excusing me for a moment? I want to see if that horse can dance as well as any other."

"I will come back after we are through, of course," he adds hastily.

Falcon nods, bringing her hands back down to her sides. "Of course." She says, still staring at the Stallion, still shocked.

The Wolf slips, figuratively, away, over to the horse. "I cannot help but be..." he searches for the proper words to express himself, "surprised by your costume. Would you be so kind as to allow me to dance with you? At least try?" A wry grin is upon his lips.

Whatever the stag's whisper to it, Foam seems to find it amusing. Her laughter mingles with that of others and the music of the dance as she light-footedly follows her companion's lead. Head bent, she seems to whisper something back, but she is not so absorbed yet in the dance that she does not notice anything else around. A movement of surprise, perhaps, and then a slight stiffening that might indicate a frown beneath her mask as she looks to the forsaken falcon.

The Stallion spits the few blades of dry grass from his mouth and after a hoof reaches up to wipe his lips, he replies, "Lady your golden radiance takes my breath away! What need have I of wine if I may perchance soak some of your yellow glory." He bows.. again a poor attempt at bending, his tail bobs behind him as a gust of wind rustles through the trees. He turns around to have a look at those present and then, a subtle impish smirk graces his face and he says, "But if the Miruvorthaer has brought her best, how can I refuse?"

Falcon walks back to where she once happily stood and took up another glass of wine to keep her amused. She takes a long sip of the golden beverage, a sip a little longer then the ammount she usually prefers, which is quite strange.

"What else but the best is to be found in the Herdir's stores?" Sunset answers in golden tones to match her raiment, shrugging of the Horse's compliments with little more than a mysterious smile. Perhaps the renewed sparkle in her irises reveals a hint towards the discerning of her identify to any who would bother with a closer study. "But alas, your partnership is requested in a dance," the lady repeats, eyes curiously flickering between the Wolf and Horse.

The interplay of muscles, the light touch of fabric and skin, quick movement of limbs, all weave into a harmony of dance. Thus the Stag is instantly aware of his Hiril's sympathy for the falcon. He says naught though, instead moving faster to a quickening beat. Others whirl around nearby but he looks to Lady Foam. Their dance becomes wilder, a fluid dialectic under the stars burning in the heavens.

Not having noticed the presence of the Wolf before, he Horse turns towards him. On his face he wears a somewhat quizzical air of surprise. "The wolf wants a dance?" He breathes deeply and with a heavy note disappointment weighing in his voice he says, "The horse shall be delighted to dance but.. " an impish snicker comes from him, "Alas! Horses and Wolves do not make good partners, dancing or otherwise. How do I know when Im not looking the Wolf shall not try have me for dinner?"

The Wolf keeps his composure for a minute. "Because you're so big!" He bursts out laughing, then quiets himself. "My apologies. I will not dine on thee, Horse. Though I should not like to have my feet--er, paws--stepped on by your hooves."

Her thoughts soon bent to the dance at hand as the movement quickens, the foamy lady seems in complete harmony with the stag in her arms, her step almost weightlessly easily bent to his. If one knows one of them by name now, surely the other will not be hard to guess from the fluency of their wordless communication.

As the Horse turns to regard the Wolf, the sun sets alas in the West towards the Last Homely House. Anor's Lady of Dusk pulls her veil of stars tight around shoulders pale in moonlight, and with whispered steps and a faint smile to those who would look, Sunset disappears into the night.

The Horse laughs, "I would dance with you mellon but don't you think you owe a bird of prey the remainder if a dance? She just might tear you to pieces if you make her angry." Taking the offered glass on wine that lay on the table nearby, she sips it and remarks, "If you still would like a dance with the Horse after that, though difficult it shall be, I will be happy to oblige."

The music trembles and dissolves away in a sprinkle of harped notes. In brief moment between songs the Stag guides his lady, laughing, to the fringe of the dance. "Far from the ocean you may be, but yet you dance as well amidst the trees," he says , his chest rising and falling more deeply than normally its wont. His antlers dip in the direction of the stallion.

"The Lady has given me leave," says the Wolf. "So, shall we?" An amused smile tugs at the corners of his lips.

Falcon puts down her empty wine glass, only to pick up another, bringing that to her lips smoothly while swaying slightly to the tune of the music humming through the air.

"Trees hold a charm of their own, do they not?" Foam's voice is soft as she answers, but there is quiet laughter as well in it, "And it is easy to dance in good company." She follows her companion's look, and snorts at sight of the wolf, then adds, "I shall get you something to drink with difficulty, yes?" and approaches the cart, and the falcon standing by it.

Linteil goes and stands by Falcon.

Black_Stallion says, "Ah! But mellon, you asked the leave off her and she could not refuse, could she?" A wry smile creeps along the corners of her mouth, "I shall still be here.. perhaps, you would think otherwise and not keep the lady waiting like that." A gaze is cast at the Falcon, and the Stallion waves. "And if you shall not dance with a bird so charming, then I certainly shall!""

"Oh I feel special!" Says Falcon, smiling at Linteil as they talk about their interesting topics.

"If I go over to her, I do not think I will be able to dance," the Wolf says, laughing. "I shall be far too intoxicated. The wine cart is too tempting to pass up."

In the wake of the Foam the Stag drifts. Casually his crowned head turns as he gazes about the merry throng. He seems content to enjoy the atmosphere as he nods to Linteil and the Falcon perched by him.

The Horse grins, "Then you are very much at a loss for no wine in the Imladris cellars can compare to the beauties and charms of a bird so royal and graceful." If the Horse could trot, it would look nothing like that the Stallion is doing as he goes up to the Falcon and again, bending low he grins, "Lady of the Wind, may I have the pleasure of your company?"

Taking up two glasses of beverage, Foam offers a faint smile to falcon and her companion, before turning to the stag and offering him one of the goblets. "I do hope you shall not find it a burden, mellon." she says with a smile over the rim of her cup. "But perhaps it is time soon to unmask yourself, so you may enjoy the Miruvorthaer's fine work without hindrance."

Coming along the path slowly, moving awkwardly as though his outfit were a great encumberance, an elf in the form of a tree, or perhaps impersonating an Ent, appears over the crest of the Theatre's edge just as the music stops and fades away. Stopping midway down the path, the form of the tree throws up his limbs and says in a frustrated, and very familiar tone, "Well... I WOULD have to miss all the fun."

The Wolf shakes his head in disbelief. "A Horse and a Falcon?" he whispers to himself. "How very strange." He goes over to the wine cart and takes up a glass. He offers one to the tree that has just appeared. "Perhaps you could use one, too?"

Again the falcon maiden is utterly shocked to have people talking to her as she looks at the Stallion. She smiles kindly, glancing to her mellon beside her, her brows raised as if asking permission.

Shaking his great head, sending a few leaves scattering like the wind through an autumn forest, the old elf with the familiar voice ambles his way down into the theatre. "Trees are all very well, but their dances last an entire season, while it seems that this masquerade is about finished. Have I come only in time to start back up the trail for the house, to perhaps reach it by tomorrow if I hurry? And after all the trouble the tailors took, too."

A moment of silence marks the possible rebellion of the Stag. Yet dancing is thirsty work and the wine of the Miruvorthaer is not easily refused. The proud head bends and slips off the edhel it had masked.

His twilit hair is damp and slicked back and his pale skin flushed from the muffled warmth of the elaborate head gear. And so it is with a grateful, though wry smile that Gilathan takes the glass. "As I am to leave soon then perhaps it is right that I should remove my guise. Yet I wonder at the lady I danced with. Who might she be?" He grins over his glass and nods apologeticly to the tree.

The Wolf walks up to the tree and offers him a glass of wine. "Perhaps I could help you back to the house, sir?" He unties the silver ribbon that his hair conceals and the mask falls into his hands. He addresses the entire assembly with, "I am Gildiron, if anyone hadn't already guessed."

Falcon lowers her head and slowly takes off her feathered mask, bearing the hidden parts of her face. "I think a couple already know, but I am Miraniel." She says, with a slight smile.

Declining the glass of wine with a dismissive wave of his... 'branch', the figure of the old tree says, "No, no, none of that, thank you. It does tend to make one drowsy, and the hour is late. I suppose I should have hurried out much earlier, but I had duties to attend to, and then getting myself into costume and out here took more time than I thought."

Linteil pats his companion Falcon on the back and says "Well, I must be off". Farewell to you all!

Falcon replaces her mask, though, so she does not have to carry it. She waves to Linteil. "Namarie mellon!"

The Wolf downs his glass of wine and pats the tree on the back. "Would you accept my offer to assist you in returning to the house?" He downs the second glass of wine and sets them both on a tray.

Foam seems to think this over while she takes a sip from her own glass, her eyes sparkling mirthfully. At last, she settles on, "I never thought I would have need to worry, Gilathan; truly I am astonished to hear you ask such after your most elegant request for the last dance." her voice is full of mock surprise, as she sets down the goblet and carefully removes her mask to reveal the face of the Saeleth Feandril which can not quite hide a smile. "I shall remember this, or perhaps it is for another reason you asked?"

Pulling off the mask and cap which complete his treelike disguise, Thelinen says, "I would gladly accept, Gildirion, if I were not firmly convinced that you will fall fast asleep halfway to the house. Rarely have I seen anyone consume wine with such vigour, and I know quite well the effects it has. I will shuffle along on my own

Gildiron laughs. "It will take a little more than what I have consumed tonight, friend. Though, if you wish to travel alone, so be it. I bid you all good night."

Falcon takes her left hand in her right to prevent it from taking another glass of wine. She moves away from the winecart and nearly stumbles on a nearby stone and walks to the stone bench she has sat upon once before now on this night and scans the Quendi around her. "Good night." SHe says with a little, tired, wave.

"You should know that I would do much to gaze upon your face meltha," Gilathan jests, yet there is truth in his laughter as well. A faint look of surprise crosses his features when the Falcon is revealed as the elleth Miraniel. He steps to the side as a shoe flies by while sipping his wine.

Gilathan waves his mask in farewell to the Falcon as she calls Good Night.

Falcon raises a subtle eyebrow, but says nothing.

Shaking his head again, Thelinen turns and moves stiffly back up the trail, toward the House of Elrond. As he goes, he can easily be heard muttering to himself. "... in my day, our festivities lasted for days... ... dash in the pan... ..." The old Steward soon enough disappears into the night, no doubt still talking to himself.

The stallion smiles, "Namarie mellyn." he says to those leaving: Treebark, Miraniel and Linteil. "Miraniel, it is a pleasure to make you acquaintance mellon, and had the masquerade ball been held for longer, I would most certainly have revelled in dancing with you, despite the incumberence of the costume!" Light of the waning day dances in the warm brown of his eyes and he turns around to face the Stag, an inquisitive look in his gaze, which eagerly anticipates the revelation behind the identity of the elf masquerading as foaming and frothy bubbles of water and air. "Ah! If it isn't Feandril.. I'd have never known."

A raised eyebrow is Feandril's answer to Gilathan. "Indeed." she answers drily. "You did not like my mask, then?" And as her name is invoked, she turns towards the still-masked stallion, with a quizzical smile. "It is, and I thank you, proud windfoot." Her brow still drawn in thought, she turns back to the smith. "Perhaps a bit of food would not be amiss before we find out about the horse's true identity, mellon?" With that, the Librarian takes Gilathan's arm and draws him into the crowd and towards the food-laden tables.

Just as the Black Stallion came in riding with the wind, so does he leave... no trail to mark his departure. Ah! That would be a good exit but, this Stallion if far too refined to leave a fine Bird of Prey by herself, "Would the lady care to join me in the Imladris kitchen for some late night dessert?" He winks, "I know the chef has left some delicious cream puffs lying hidden in the pantry." He whispers something in the Falcon's ear and awaits her reply.

Miraniel laughs at what the Stallion whispered in her ear and nods. "Very well." She says, then glances down at her attire. "But will you give me leave to change along the way?"

"Of course.." the Stallion whispers and winding his way among the path of trees, he heads to the house. Excitement bubbling in his voice he says, "And perhaps we shall find some apple tarts! Yes, I am positive I have seen those today when I was in there and I could smell them all the way in the Halls of Healing and Lore Depository!" Oh-oh. Did the Stallion just reveal his identity.. 'Fraid not! For he has already disappeared in the woods.

The Participants:

Sunset - Eryndae

Foam - Feandril (played by Arwen)

Stag - Gilathan

Grey_Wolf - Gildiron

Emlinglir - Glasiel

Panther - Martion

Black_Falcon - Miraniel

Black Stallion - Naurelin

Treebark - Thelinen (played by Dinaloss)