Jul 2017 Archive, part b

Because I just had an idea for Sir Tomash's Inglish style heraldry.

Split the shield bend sinister. The top and left section has a white background with a green (that shade of green you get on some old computer terminals if that's possible) lightning bolt on it, while the other half (bottom and right) has an open book, filled with some sort of writing, on a black background.

Hope that all makes sense

- Sir Tomash, Lord Protector of Ozerboard etc.

I realised a bit ago Sir Ekyl's arms violate the rule of tincture! aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!

Should I redo them? Though I guess if the flag of Albania is acceptable...

Twistey's inclusion of Staar-Wos in her tale led me to place both it and Staar-Tric on the map of Weab. Then I realised that not only was Staar-Tric the source of the Marizu in the first place, but that both nations could be said to be in the same state as the Potterverse: let down by their creators, and thus defected entirely to the Marizu League.

(I mean, I quite like Voyager, but it and Enterprise are fairly consistently regarded as bad. And the Star Wars prequels certainly count, if The Cursed Child does.)

So I wanted to write their story, or maybe the full story of the Marizu League. But as I began, I realised that there was more to the story: I couldn't write the history of the Marizu without creating the history of the Empire it spawned from.

So... I did. :D

The Rise and Fall of the Scholars' Empire

AKA hS has great fun working out what the late 19th-century equivalents for chunks of the internet are.

hS

(The one from the revised full History.)


(Link)

The style of this map is cribbed from two old maps found online - mostly this one of the US east coast, but the towns/locations were taken from this one of Anglesey.

I really like the effect of hand-drawing it, though it took a good few hours to complete.

hS

The Scholars' Empire land of Air'ihpotre fell towards the end of last year, leaving only the Marizu League realm of Roe Lin. At the time, several people wrote up their reactions to the news; I've just gone through and added those to the Cyclopaedia.

The Fall of Air'ihpotre

&

Air'ihpotre

(If anyone can figure out what I was on about when I mentioned the Curse of the White Serpent, and the Beasts of the Isle of Morn, I would be very grateful. :D)

hS

I don’t actually know what it should look like, but I feel that the flag should somehow represent the conflict of "imagination" versus "sticking to the rules (of kanun and spelin)". I would like to use octarine to represent imagination, but obviously we cannot draw that. But then, this may be the reason why after two years there is still no image of the Riding’s imaginary flag, just a vague description?

HG

Business was good today, but nothing of any real importance happened in her life specifically. Just daydreaming about becoming a knight. Wiping sweat from her forehead, she sits down behind the counter to think about where she's been...

Twyla Witherspoon was not always worthy of residence in the Protectorate of Plort, as she had only just recently started caring about the Marizu and their deeds. Her voyage to Konti-Nyuum started early; at age eleven she unknowingly founded a small band of Marizu in the country of Staar-Wos. She also caused the existence of monstrosities in Mayen Croft (a large and mainly Marizu area of Vidya Gaym) and the Airi-junal Islands. Only one or two years ago, she very nearly avoided the generation of more Marizu in Tiu Fort (also in Vidya Gaym) and Sti Venkeen. None of these things affect Twyla's conscience, and what little of it finished the journey to Weab was kept in the small but wild nation of Sk'ratsh. Indeed, she cannot wait to announce her knowledge to her fellow citizens of Borrd and thus open them to attack!

Twyla discovered Plort, specifically Wechi, through absentmindedly attempting to divine images of the Marizu in a bowl of Guugol fluid. Curious, she set off for Wechi, and immediately knew that Plort was where she wanted to stay. Upon her entry in Borrd, she caused a bit of commotion in front of Baron Huinesoron himself due to her misreading a book of Plort's history. She is still rather embarrassed about the incident, but has come to reside in Borrd rather nicely.

Currently, Twyla is a shopkeeper who sells artwork, weapons, travel guides for several Airi-junal Islands, and souvenirs from the District of Eidsaf'twaer in Vidya Gaym, which she visits a lot, especially a castle called Wolfreidi. She is currently in the process of creating a set of weapons and tactical gear for herself, relentlessly improving her combat skills so that one day she can try and apply for knighthood.

-----

So, here's a few things I'd like to ask for help with on the backstory:
1. Are the new names I had to come up with okay? In case you need clarification, Staar-Wos is Star Wars, Mayen Croft is Minecraft, Tiu Fort is Team Fortress 2, Sti Venkeen is the Stephen King fandom, Sk'ratsh is Scratch.mit.edu (not sure if it should be a part of Weab or So Shall Media, since some folks use it as a substitute for FF.net, but most users think of it as a second DeviantArt), Guugol fluid is Google (the search engine and no other part of it), Eidsaf'twaer is the iD Software fandom, and Wolfreidi is the Wolfenstein 3D (Wolf 3D) fandom. Did I do a good job of naming these things?
2. I said above that Twyla caused the existence of various Marizu, but that sounds a bit off. Is there any other way to say the equivalent of "I actually wrote a bunch of bad fanfic when I was younger?"
3. I also said that Twyla sells guides to some Airi-junal islands, but that also seems a bit off. Is there any other way to say the equivalent of "I write a lot of original fic?"
4. I probably also got a few things about the Plortverse wrong. I was going to do more research and fix them, but I don't have time to do so right now, so I'm going to post this and let you guys tell me what I did.
5. Give me any other tips you have! Tips are greatly appreciated! :D

-Twistey/Twyla Witherspoon, owner of Twyla's Odds and Ends

The first three parts are already on the Plort wiki , but to give newbies an impression of how this is supposed to work, I post them here again, with annotations that are not meant to be part of the chronicle. Also, I’m going to correct mistakes and insert missing links in part three.

((Part One, published 2014))

Not much is known about Hieronymus the hermit. He travelled wide and far, looking for a place where to dwell when his livelong journey came near its end. Following rumours about a dreaded plague called the Marizu, and the brave knights who fought this evil, he came to the shores of Wechi. Unseen by anybody, he roamed this vast land for over a year, even sneaking into Arkive and the Hall of Ancient Records. Only when a stranger accused the noble knights of vile malefaction, Hieronymus stepped forward to Borrd to defend their selfless deeds. ((Looking for something to do when I’m retired from my job, reading everything on "The Complete List of PPC Fiction", lurking and then joining a discussion about what the PPC actually do.))

Since then, he has talked to some of the denizens of Plort, and he began to build his home in Wechi, and to prepare his offerings to Kanun and Spelin, for he pondered to explore the mountain range of Purmeshun, but now he seems to be lost in the wood of Kar’eer. How he got there is still a mystery, for he has never been seen in Iric. ((Talking on the board while never chatting in the IRC, creating a wiki user page and thinking about prospective agents and how to get Permission, but not actually doing much, because my job got into the way.))

Some may conclude that Hieronymus is a fearsome mage who comes and goes of his own volition, and has not revealed his full power yet, while others may believe that he is a leaf in the wind, never knowing where he may be tomorrow, and both may be right, for being self-contradictory is his very nature.

((Part Two, published 2015))

Over time, rumours spread that the hermit may have left the dark woods to walk the roads and pathways of Plort again.

Inhabitants of Ozerbord remember a grey bearded man who appeared at the Games of Batveg, clad in the habit of a harlequin, pretending to be a veritable knight, but fighting the atrocities in other knight’s tales rather than the misdeeds of the Marizu. Of course this fool was laughed out of town. ((Introducing the "Uncanonical Department of Inaccuracies" in the badfic games.))

Wordsmiths and Grammagicians at Worhkshap tell tales of a taciturn, grey bearded man wielding a staff – named Androia – in the training sessions for scribe apprentices. Civilians, knights and even barons up and down Plort claim that this very man’s feeble attempts in practising the ancient arts of Beytah may actually have improved their strength. And nobody shall ever again mention the Quiet Baker-Knight’s weird experience at the Shipfest in a nameless harbour. ((Developing prospective agents Androia and Hieronymus in writing exercises for Poor Cynic’s workshops, beta reading for various PPCers, being shipped in the shipfic fest for "German Pretzels".))

It is also said that Hieronymus, on his flight from Ozerbord to Worhkshap, passed an unexplored region at the junction of the Wattuf Mountains and the Mountains of Reverence, where he found the Snow Drops, a moste potente potion that helps curing forgetfulness. How these will be used in the future is yet to be seen. ((Occasionally role-playing an uncanonical Flower – the Snowdrop, Inofficial Department Head of the Uncanonical Department of Inaccuracies – on the board.))

Recently, the peasants living in the lands between the rivers Wep and Freewep began to talk about a newcomer, fitting the hermit’s description, amongst the workers sent by Baron Neshomeh to help in repairing the damage caused by the last earthquakes. ((Webs.com and freewebs.com continuously delete former PPCers sites for inactivity.))

The peasants are probably not mistaken, for one day not far in the past, Hieronymus appeared in the Hall of Ancient Records – as he likes to appear out of the blue – and he bent low, and he spoke up and said, ‘Milady Neshomeh, I travelled wide and far. My eyes are old, and my posterior can not stand perpetually riding against the Marizu. But my mind is still sharp, and my hands don’t tremble. If you would assign me a corner in your castle Arkive, where I can rest and store my staff and flask, I could help you copying and restoring these documents I see are in bad shape and may soon disaggregate into dust. And in case I feel ever fit to follow you into battle, I would appreciate the licence to wear your colour on my shield.’

((Offering to help Neshomeh with archiving "The Lost Tales", and asking permission to use Neshomeh’s special shade of green on my coat of arms. Also, Hieronymus the hermit asking for a corner to store his still uncanonical "weapons" implies that Hieronymus the boarder, if he ever asks for and gets permission, would like to have Hieronymus the archivist’s apprentice store his stories in the archive of Lost Tales, skipping the step of having them gone lost elsewhere first.))

((Part Three, published 2016))

The humble hermits request was met with grace. But rather than finding the rest he had hoped for in that tiny corner at Arkive, the archivist’s new apprentice was immediately sent off to demonstrate and improve his Eich-Tee-Ehm-Ehl skills in the devastated lands. ((Actually working on "The Lost Tales" and the wiki.))

While Hieronymus was supposed to travel between Arkive and the river Freewep, he somehow became sidetracked to the City of Borrd. He arrived just in time for the annually Baronial Council, where he barely escaped imprisonment and prosecution for treason and libel by Baron Thanasius Ampelius. Had he not conveniently gone lost in the wood of Kar’eer again, Hieronymus would certainly have talked his head off. ((Getting into a dispute about who should govern the new nation "Riding of Sittorese" and chickening out of the role play. Also, my job getting into the way becomes a recurring theme.))

On his flight from the baron’s ire, the hermit fell into a dubious dungeon. But that is another story and shall be told on another day – actually here, based on this, – but Hieronymus did still not reveal how he got out of this mess again.

The way through the dungeon may have led to an alternate universe, for Hieronymus clearly remembers that he got out of the forest by following Baron Dann from Castle Tegnoh to La Wunj, where he attended a great festival, apparently held annually to celebrate a victory over the ypurs. His memories of spotting Dame Karrin the Blue and Baron Thanasius Ampelius, and making an awkward attempt to apologize, are much less clear. Before he could hear a response, Hieronymus fell to the floor, very drunken, rolled under a table, started to snore and never spoke another word in Iric.

((The festival was proposed by the baron formerly known as Techno-Dann on the Baronial Council. I had so hoped for an opportunity to finally put one line into the IRC and give closure to the role-play I had chickened out of, while having an excuse to ignore all further discussion. Alas, it was not meant to be.))

When he woke up again, all the Ops and Dars of Iric were gone, La Wunj lay mostly abandoned, none of the few citizens Hieronymus still found remembered any recent festivities, and when he asked for Baron Dann, glares and stares were the only answers the hermit got, for everybody knows that south-eastern Plort is and always was ruled by the fair Baroness Delta Juliette. Thus, Hieronymus joined the last trek that left La Wunj to the west, and since he became more invested in the Riding of Sittorese, he travelled on until he reached the Empire of Fanvik-Neht, where he built a secret hermitage which he hopes will once become a stronghold of goodriding. ((Acknowledging Delta Juliette’s story and the abandoning of the IRC; creating an account on fanfic.net and starting to write "Air'ihpotre" fanfiction that didn’t get much attention yet.))

How he got across the ocean and then back again, is still one of many mysteries, but although he was supposed to be back on his job of dusting off old scrolls in Arkive, some strange fate took the archivist’s apprentice to the newly assembled Baronial Council again, where he was promptly and retroactively tasked with keeping the records. ((Assuming responsibility for the chronicles of the Baronial Councils.))

((Part Four, published 2017))

On his way home from the City of Borrd, Hieronymus the hermit got no further than the Lhawgin Heights, for one evening, when he sat at his campfire [...] strange noise [... ho]oded figure spoke, approaching the old man, [... some(?)] of the Barons talked among us, and [...] agree [...] your journeys through the nations of [...] works in the archives [...] gain [...]understanding of the ways and mores of Pl[ort, ...] dedication to the Riding of Sittorese and the Law of Goodriding. Thus [...] join the ranks of our armies, riding against the Marizu [...]

[...] addressed like this, the archivist’s apprentice was so fl[ustered(?) ...] forgot that he had not made proper offers at the temples of Kanun an[d Spelin ...] never wandered the Knights’ Road, and he fell to his knees, and he felt a sword touch his should[er(?) ...] became a knight of Plort without much of the pomp and cere[mony(?) ...us]ually involved.

[Archivist’s note: The end of the scroll looks like it was ripped by talons and singed by flames. As far as can be determined from other sources, Hieronymus the hermit did not return to Arkive before the next Baronial Council was held, but he may have shown up when Baron Iximaz gathered an Army for a campaign to the Bronee.]

((Getting Permission, participating in a Role Play that became part of Iximaz’s "Neverfree From Working")).

((I don’t know yet whether there will be another scroll. Keeping the tune is hard, I obviously didn’t do much worth mentioning since I got Permission, and there is not much left that would be mentionable just for me doing it for the first time. So, this may be a good point to let this tale end.))

HG

The doors of Otik creak open. As the rail lashes at the flagstones, Baron Huinesoron walks slowly into the council chamber. He walks with a cane, one leg trailing limply behind him, but his back is straight and his head held high.

He does not look at the gathered barons, knights, and civilians. He crosses the wide floor in silence, coming at last to a stop in front of the grand map of Plort carved into the wall. From his pocket he draws a stylus, pulsing with red light.

"We've been through some troubling times lately," he says. A ripple runs through the crowd as they hear the cracking in his voice, the strain weighing on every syllable, but the baron does not look round. He raises the stylus, and its lambent glow cuts into the stonework like clay.

"The war…" Huinesoron shakes his head. "Was it even a war?" His hand moves over the Forest of Kar'eer, dust falling as the rain where it passes. "The Mords of the discord say their lands are bountiful and cultured. They say the western lands pleaded to join with them, to live under their enlightened rule." He walks down the length of the map, his cane tapping on the stone, and presses his palm over the city Ozerbord. "They say that when their airships landed at Skypcht, they were welcomed with open arms.

"I have my doubts." The stylus sweeps across the Geymez Plateau, obliterating the name of Ozerbord, and inscribing a new one in its place. "But I will not fight. Geymez, as La Wunj, belongs to the discord."



He steps back and looks up, his gaze taking in the northern Spalchik Lowlands, where the city of Teebor and the castle Kwenaya gleam as twin jewels. "The Refuge stands empty," he says. "Oh, it draws the crowds from time to time, when peril strikes or the old festivals resume, but none live there." He stretches up and plucks the green gem of Kwenaya from the map. "It has no need of a baron," he says softly.

The stylus flickers to life anew, its light shading to a deep blue. "I relinquish the barony of what was once Ozerbord," Huinesoron says, tracing glowing lines across the map. "Let what remains of the Refuge stand without the baron it no longer needs, and let the Lady Iximaz take up her place as warden of the new discord in the west. By the Edict of Bast, those lands once held by Baron Thanasius Ampelius also pass to her; the lands beyond the mountains are united once more."

He steps back. The whole chamber seems to hold its breath as he studies the map, and then he makes his slow, steady way down to the line of the Larninkurvs.

"Barony July," he says, and a sigh drifts through the air. "Barony Ampelius. Barony Cassie. Barony Araeph." The baron lifts his stylus again, and green fire gathers about its tip. "All stand empty, in the heart of Borrd and the Riding. This cannot be."

Under his pen a new pattern of baronies takes shape. "I will take Barony Araeph as my own," Huinesoron says, plucking the amber jewel of Araeph's castle and pressing his own garnet into its place. "I will reclaim Retben from its ruins and build a new keep in its place. And I will take also Barony July, ceding back its southern tip to Barons Neshomeh and Juliette.

"But," and with a sudden stroke he inscribes a circle around the city of Borrd itself, "I will not claim baronial authority over this city. I ask that the Council of Borrd be jointly trusted with that duty, as has been proposed on many previous occasions."

He pauses for a moment, bowing his head. Then he reaches up and carves a new hole into the map, on the banks of the river Meibot. "We have welcomed Baron Eshakhar into our midst," he says, pulling a carved rose quartz from his pocket and clicking it into place. "Let Baronies Ampelius and Cassie be hers to watch and to ward, to lead into battle and to lead in time of peace."



Baron Huinesoron turns at last, facing the Council. His face is pale and drawn as he looks out at them, and in his outstretched hand he holds the four gemstones he has plucked from the map: amber for Araeph, topaz for Thanasius Ampelius, turquoise for July, and jasper for Cassie.

"We've been through some troubling times lately," he says again. "This island fortress has-" He pauses, wincing, and leans heavily on his cane before speaking again. "Has been shaken. But it has not fallen."

Huinesoron straightens up again, and a fiery spark seems to burn in his eyes. "And it will not fall," he declares. "Not while any one of us draws breath. This is the Union of Plort - the legacy of Jay and Acacia - and it. Will. Not. Fall.

"We must draw together, now more than ever. To that end-" He stops again, draws a deep breath. "To that end, I propose that this Baronial Council be expanded to include not only our military leaders, but also those who guide the fo- five nations of Konti-Nyuum." He looks across the crowd, noting faces and absences. "Let the archivists of Wechi send their representatives, and the Beytahs of the Riding. Let," a wince crosses his face, "Protector Tomash of Ozerbord sit in council, and…" The baron closes his eyes, clutching the gemstones in an involuntary fist. "And let the Mords of the discord be seated among us, that together we may debate and decide what is best for the Union of Plort."

---

The national borders and the shut-down baronies aren't really open for dispute. The Discord has taken over most of the RPing that used to be done on T-Board, so it gets the land to go with it. The relocation of Barony Huinesoron, boundaries of Barony Eshakhar, expansions of baronies Iximaz, Neshomeh, and Juliette, status of Borrd, and the expansion of the Council of Plort (not the Council of Borrd, which remains just barons - Iximaz, Phobos, PC, Huinesoron, Kaitlyn, and Eshakhar by the above maps), are all up for debate.

Oh, and in keeping with the theme established a while back, the colour of baronies on the map/the gemstones used for their castles is what you get if you plug their names into <font color="this spot">. Since 'Zingenmir' is identical to 'Huinesoron', you get Eshakhar.

Iximaz - Sapphire
Phobos - Obsidian
PoorCynic - Jade
Neshomeh - Lapiz Lazuli
Huinesoron - Garnet
Kaitlyn - Ruby
Eshakhar - Rose Quartz
Juliette - Amythest
VixenMage - Turquoise

And someone please give the Discord a proper name! Baron Me has been using the descriptive word 'discord', but I doubt you want to just stick with that. (If you feel like making a flag for it - or if anyone wants to throw in a flag for the Riding of Sittorese - that would be delightful.)

hS

To Fandom News:
Haha, that's great! I love it!

To Silly News:
Interesting story. Wonder why the elephant wanted to do that?

To Serious News:
No comment. Humans do not make sense sometimes.

To Not News:
Wooooooow... O.O

-Twistey

There's some Star Wars: The Last Jedi behind-the-scenes footage out there, and I'd just like to say:



Alolan Vulpix: confirmed!

hS

Matt Cipher has just informed me that the next Doctor will be announced on Sunday!

With the addition of the church of Asgard, there apparently was a church of Hanzo established in Brazil!
Here are some of their principles:

“Preach peace and harmony on the internet and online communities.“
A free Tuesday per month for religious studies (i.e., playing Overwatch).
Consumption of high-calorie foods.
Initiation into the church and baptism completed by playing an Overwatch match — (or, if the new convert doesn’t own Overwatch, the free-to-play Paladins game will suffice).
The term “Hanzo Main” and the act of “rage quitting” a game are considered sins.
Hate speech and toxic behavior in streams are also sins.

It seems fairly legitimate, as there was seemingly a document obtained from the Brazilian Government giving a thumbs-up. https://assets.vg247.com/current//2017/07/church_of_hanzo_1.jpg

If anyone wants to translate that, be my guest!

- Maxewell

Hey, it's a returnbie! Take this returnbie gift! *hands you a replica of the Spear of Destiny* Doesn't work like the original, that'd be too dangerous in a Boarder's hands.

I'm interested in this fanfic you're writing, or at least, your stuff in general. What fandoms are you in, what type of stuff do you like to write about, etc? Just curious. :D Anyway, nice to meet you! *waves rapidly with entire arm*

-Twistey

"Hey! About the returnbie gift, what's the Spear of Destiny?" It's a really cool weapon from the iD Software verse! Let me show you!
http://wolfenstein.wikia.com/wiki/Spear_of_Destiny_(item)

Well, that's a quick palate-cleanser of a mission. Storm got her wish.

But speaking of Steormægð,


SPOILERS INCOMING
SPOILERS INCOMING


how come she could not change back? Wouldn't the embryo become human if she resumed human form? And (unless you plan to reveal this later) what will become of the baby once it's born?

There are two spots where I am unsure if it's a typo or deliberate, namely, these:

1) as the world fade around them momentarily
(IMO, I really think that it should be "faded" here to clarify what's going on)

2) The present subjunctive make another fleeting appearance,

Stream-of-consciousness notes:
- I'm liking the concept of Targir
- The pre-mission "bunch of agents complaining about work" is nice
- I've never seen the console changing the fic before, but I can't see why it wouldn't happen
- The bit about not threatening the authors is a good touch
- "... the bombs were no less deadly" was a somewhat funny line
- The agents slipping into the present subjective is a neat variation on the usual present tense gag
- "Now she has a point to her." Good bit.
- Wait, what's going on with the DORKS ... oh , É and S did a thing and are parents now. It'll be interesting to see where this goes
- Showing canon being back to normal at the end like that is good

General review:
This was rather good overall, and there were a bunch of funny and clever bits. However, one complaint I have is that it feels like there should be a tiny bit more mission in the mission (snark, the occasional badfic quote, etc.). I didn't get as good a sense of the fic as I usually do, even though I've still figured out generally why it's bad.

Speaking of subjective complains, it seems like the "I just found out I'm pregnant" bit could use a bit more narrative weight. That seems like a really important event in the story, but it doesn't even get a paragraph to itself, or much description at all. Makes the revelation a bit underwhelming (unless it wasn't meant to be a revelation, and was supposed to be a normal-ish thing, in which case ignore this comment)

- Tomash

Is this document what you meant to link to? (If so, you left the = off the href)

- Tomash

The Hostess had forgotten how much she hated that clown. He had just opened her Doom trap - without even looking at the riddle, mind - and then displaced it. Right where she was. Good thing she had poison immunity of her own.

Focusing, the Hostess painstakingly finished reforming her body an stepped through the Void door on the left staircase.

((Boom! I'm back, darlings!))

She made a low growling noise as she stared at her Board. Where was her helper? Granted, he would be an awfully powerful variable, but at least that would be something!

Realizing her shoulderblades had gotten pushed out, the Hostess straightened and tried to calm down. She most certainly didn't need more Streets, thank you very much.

At the thought, she allowed herself to spend a few minutes arguing with herself about which Street she would even get. Anger? Impatience? Something from the L/O/L glitchpile? Restlessness?

...probably that last one.

Agh! She was getting distracted again! Stupid dead apathy, making her not care about staying focused... how long was resurrection going to take, anyways?!

On this Board were several different types of pieces - chess, checkers, Monopoly tokens, D&D figurines… each piece represented a person or force within her Party.

With a soft hum, she reached into a box of figurines and pulled out what looked like a miniature clown. “You’ll do,” she murmured as she placed him at the edge of the Board. After a moment, she picked him back up and moved him closer to the center - Spanky would be rather powerful, after all.

Just as soon as he joined in.

After consideration, she moved a few other pieces around - the White Queen, the Black Knight, the Iron, a wooden bell… it was hard to tell whether this affected anything or was just her way of keeping track.

Once she was done moving the pieces around, the Hostess took out a deck of cards and looked them over. “Not bad,” she muttered grudgingly. “I do have to give you some credit.”

Finally, she put the cards down and began to pace. Being ‘dead’ was boring. She wanted to be out there meddling, not observing! Okay, sure, she was still meddling. But she wasn’t out there, dropping more clues, talking to her guests… just sitting in her void, keeping her Board up to date and looking at her cards.

Being passive was so dull.

This time, instead of the lights coming back on like the flick of a switch, a fog dissipates from around the fixtures. Once things become visible again - which was about half of the normal light level - you can make out the figure of a body, a female. When the light returns to normal, well…

It’s Calliope.

That… that cannot possibly be right. She was just doing a circuit of the room, wasn’t she?

Wait, no. She was dragging the Cryptographer to the Garnet Ghast.

Or was she laughing at Sapphire?

No, she was messing with Mister Turkey.

No, wait, it was Yatagarasu.

Oh gosh. Where was she? She couldn’t have been in five places at once. It just wouldn’t have been possible.

But you look around and you don’t see her anywhere save for over the railing of a balcony, not only hung but impaled on a spear of some kind. The lights couldn't have been obscured for that long... and you heard nothing.

So what happened?

After slipping away from the Crimson Woman, the Hostess maneuvered expertly through the crowd, never touching a single person. To anyone bothering to keep an eye out, she seemed to be making a clockwise circuit around the room, not that you had any idea why she would be doing this… unless, of course, you received something.

The Musician had gotten to the party on time, indeed, with time to spare. Her carefully-laid plan to be the perfect socialite had lasted for the time it took her to make two key realizations: One, that she'd completely misunderstood the concept of "fashionable lateness", and two, she knew the chamber orchestra's cellist. The two had talked, griped about composers and divas, and the Musician had completely missed the start of the party proper.

Now, as she stood and took in the crowd, she wondered if she hadn't underdressed.

The Musician wore a simple gown, white silk dropping from a high Empire waist almost to the floor. Her jewelry was similarly simple, a silver treble clef resting in the hollow of her throat and, for those with quick eyes, a matching silver bass clef on a chain around her ankle. She was accompanied by her own music; an array of silver bells and steel chimes hung from her braided and coiled hair and sang in key with the orchestra. Eyes the color of violin strings sparked behind a simple dove-gray domino mask; while most of her face was clearly visible some art or artifice obscured her identity and left her familiar but anonymous.

Moments later, you hear the clacking of heels on marble, and feel a sharp tug as space seems to rearrange itself. A spotlight comes on, shining at a balcony connected to the main floor by two staircases, one curving along either side of the room.

In the center of the spotlight stands a woman in a suit - a white shirt covered by a deep red vest, with black slacks and a black suit jacket (though the cuffs were the same red as the vest). She also wears what looks like it could be a small red cravat, tall black boots, gloves - white at the fingers, less opaque the farther up they go - and a mask. This mask is black with red trim below the eyes, and has a smattering of garnets towards its top which glimmer a bloody crimson in the spotlight, but is otherwise rather plain. It does, however, leave her bright green eyes unconcealed.

What surprises you more than anything is her hair. Gone was the long, mostly-straight hair you had seen for the past six months; now, the chocolate-colored hair is cut just short of her shoulders, and is more wavy than anything. You also take a moment to notice that she decided that bright red lipstick was a good idea... how typical of Calliope.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” she announces after a moment, “welcome to my birthday masquerade! I thank all of you for coming, though I do realize that we still have a few guests still on their way. Please, enjoy yourselves.”

Her grin at that point unsettles you. The lights come back on, but you barely notice.

"After all, parties don't last forever."

He was a tall and imposing figure, with a simple black and white tux adorning his lanky body, making him look elegant and poised as opposed to awkward. The only defining features were a bird mask with a long portruding beak covering the upper half of his face above his mouth and a long, almost comical, top hat. An obnoxious grin was clearly displayed as he walked, pausing once as if searching for something in particular before continuing further into the room.

She tugged at the silk of her dress, her self-consciousness easing slightly as she saw the myriad of fancy costumes in the room. She'd worried she'd overdone it, with the ballgown the color of wine and the silver tracing the bodice and down to the hem in a curlicue pattern. A black, satiny mask covered the upper half of her face, and was touched with the same silver pattern as her dress. Her gloves, too, were black and satiny. Her dishwater-blonde hair was pinned back (with ruby pins, no less) so it fell in a waterfall of curls down to her shoulder blades.

She had a secret.

Taking a deep breath, she stepped further into the party, looking for any familiar faces in the crowd.

He was squat and round, wide-shouldered and bumpy, padding in awkwardly, bumping against guests and knocking poorly shined shoes against table legs and saying 'Phwor, pardon!' He resembled a bowling ball in both dignity and appearance. This was a fact that he was deeply aware of, and he took advantage of it. The bowling ball theme for his mask, he thought, was a brilliant plan, and the only thing that could possibly go wrong would be a chance meeting with somebody else, or, even worse, a chance meeting with exactly ten somebody elses themed after bowling pins. The havoc would be unstoppable, maybe moreso because he was terrible at bowling. The mask covered his head, went over and around and stopped right at his mouth. He was grinning like he had seen something funny. He was grinning like a wiseguy punk who found many things funny. The jacket was red, the shirt was black, the tie was white. He had seen Billy Joel wear something similar, and it had looked very good on Billy Joel. How good it looked on him was a subjective matter that he, for now, had let slip from his mind. He was still very proud about the 'bowling ball' theme. So he stood there, looked around, and grinned. He knew his friends. He'd recognise them in a second. All he needed to do was wait for all these blithely wandering strangers to move out the way, give him a clear path of sight. That was all. He grinned like he had seen something funny.

A teenaged... person (for their gender was indistinguishable) nervously slipped through the doors, clearly not wanting to be there very much. Their delicately cut suit was made of complimentary shades of white and blue, fading into each other where the colors met, and shot through with silver and black. The pants and jacket hung loosely off the person's slim frame, and the shirt was made of a flowing gray material. Their mask was an intricate affair of dark blue and black feathers flowing up from ornately filigreed black metal that covered most of the person's face except for the bottom quarter. The exposed part of their face didn't reveal much about them. Short, fluffy gray-brown hair could be espied on the back of their head where the feathers stopped. Their eyes behind the mask seemed to be all different colors; blue, then green, then grey, even brown. This person, after coming in, found the nearest unoccupied wall space and stood there fidgeting, obviously impatient to be gone.

An adult slipped into the building, dressed in a formal white suit and wearing a wolf mask. His dark hair poked out from the sides of the mask, and he had a wooden cane with a dragon head for a handle. "Tonight should be fun." His brown eyes danced around the room, taking in everyone, seeking someone in particular.

Though you wouldn't be able to tell behind his mask, the man was smiling. He pulled his black cloak close around himself as he entered. Upon seeing the crowd, he decided to move to the walls, where there was less chance of accidentally bumping into someone else.

The Concerned One entered soon after, dressed in a simple yet formal black suit and red tie, with an undecorated half-mask covering everything above the tip of his nose. His dark hair was shaved on the sides but long enough to curl a bit on top, but no other features were noticeable. He looked around the party scene, clearly uncomfortable for some reason; an observant person could have heard him mutter, "Here we go," before he walked further into the room.

((Here goes nothing!))

Someone slips into the house.

Dressed in a suit the colour of wine, the person's face was almost completely hidden behind an intricate clockwork sculpture that slowly ticked and shifted about. It was quite honestly a miracle how it didn't break the person's neck, based on how complex it was.

He, for he was male, moved to mingle with the crowd.

The doors swing open, and the diminutive figure of a classy young lady in a crimson Victorian-style dress makes her way into the party. She pauses at the door, adjusting her mask- a black, feathered affair that covers only the top half of her face but does nothing to conceal her mouth or the color of her hair- medium length, brown and spilling down her back in a low pony tail. As she raises her arms, it becomes apparent that a pair of wings in the same color of scarlet, are part of the dress, attached to her wrists- when she moves her arms, they move with her. "Well," she says, grinning. "This should certainly be interesting."

((I'm probably doing this wrong.))

Hopefully it's not too late...

-Twistey

It ur birf!

It a dai!

It ur birfdai!

*showers you with cakefetti*

You're seventeen! Seven! Teens!

Seven whole teens!
Good grief! Where do you keep them?! Is it expensive to feed them?!

HAPPY BIRTHDAY YOU LEGEND

Um, have you put the Other Board and T-Board into the same list? As in, in-line with the Board? That seems like an odd decision to me.

I forget how you gave me the spreadsheets before - it must have been either straight email or by upload to Google Drive. But to be honest anything works - I'm sure you have a preferred file transfer setup. :) You have my email.

hS