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10-14-2006, 07:27 PM
((Note: The intention of this story was to develop Anathamonââ¬â¢s character and personality as well as to depict my interpretation of post-Sunwell blood elf society ââ¬â the decadence of the nobility as they stared death in the face. It is also something of a playful punch at my goth friends.))
Part 1 ââ¬â Dancing While Our World Ends
The gala event was well underway. It had taken two weeks to clear out the floor of the ballroom itself. Refurbishing the tapestries and carpets had barely begun. The ceiling was gone in most places, charred and ruined, leaving the open sky overhead as some great, painted ceiling.
Ash still rained in through the openings but thanks to a simple spell from Maulviac the dust turned to rose petals that wafted gently downward, blanketing the floor.
Most of the old courtiers had shown up: Ceredee and her constantly changing harem of fawning male suitors. Malice and Vetian sat alone in a corner, a large glass of water in their hands as they regarded the throng. Pernicianne was the center of it all as normal, soaking up and trading choice bits of gossip that had already been soiled by the passing of a dozen different mouths.
Everyone was there because they wanted to be seen. This was the first ball since the destruction of Silvermoon. Anathamon had insisted on reviving his tradition as a show of unity and strength, supporting the new governmental edict to rebuild and continue. The blood elves were on the rebound.
The young blood elf had become all the more a socialite, much to the dual delight and derision of his peers. To be successful as a debutant was to be loved and hated by the same people.
He had spared no expense on this great masquerade, drawing heavily on what remained of his familyââ¬â¢s monies. Preparations had been a month in the making as lethargic peons had worked long hours on his demanding specifications. The rest of the manor house remained in ruined shambles, but the ballroom now stood resolute.
Now that the party was assembled it was obvious that many of the old faces were gone. Those that remained looked taunt and frayed as if drawn too thin. Most clothes were stained black with soot and had not been cleaned in ages. Nonetheless, compared to the peasantsââ¬â¢ rags it was still finery.
Seated on a reclining couch, Anathamon stared deeply into the eyes of Karlotte. She had a ghostly pale complexion and had obviously shaded her eyes with too much soot. He chewed slowly on a gold berry as they sat in silence. It was quite plain that she was very taken with him.
Anathamon winked slyly, though not to Karlotte as she had assumed, but to a young, half-starved serving girl across the room. The girlââ¬â¢s face erupted in tones of red as she blushed and smile widely at him before returning to her duties, now constantly looking in the young debutanteââ¬â¢s direction with hoping eyes.
ââ¬ÅKarlotte, my divine dove, you must excuse me.ââ¬
Part 1 ââ¬â Dancing While Our World Ends
The gala event was well underway. It had taken two weeks to clear out the floor of the ballroom itself. Refurbishing the tapestries and carpets had barely begun. The ceiling was gone in most places, charred and ruined, leaving the open sky overhead as some great, painted ceiling.
Ash still rained in through the openings but thanks to a simple spell from Maulviac the dust turned to rose petals that wafted gently downward, blanketing the floor.
Most of the old courtiers had shown up: Ceredee and her constantly changing harem of fawning male suitors. Malice and Vetian sat alone in a corner, a large glass of water in their hands as they regarded the throng. Pernicianne was the center of it all as normal, soaking up and trading choice bits of gossip that had already been soiled by the passing of a dozen different mouths.
Everyone was there because they wanted to be seen. This was the first ball since the destruction of Silvermoon. Anathamon had insisted on reviving his tradition as a show of unity and strength, supporting the new governmental edict to rebuild and continue. The blood elves were on the rebound.
The young blood elf had become all the more a socialite, much to the dual delight and derision of his peers. To be successful as a debutant was to be loved and hated by the same people.
He had spared no expense on this great masquerade, drawing heavily on what remained of his familyââ¬â¢s monies. Preparations had been a month in the making as lethargic peons had worked long hours on his demanding specifications. The rest of the manor house remained in ruined shambles, but the ballroom now stood resolute.
Now that the party was assembled it was obvious that many of the old faces were gone. Those that remained looked taunt and frayed as if drawn too thin. Most clothes were stained black with soot and had not been cleaned in ages. Nonetheless, compared to the peasantsââ¬â¢ rags it was still finery.
Seated on a reclining couch, Anathamon stared deeply into the eyes of Karlotte. She had a ghostly pale complexion and had obviously shaded her eyes with too much soot. He chewed slowly on a gold berry as they sat in silence. It was quite plain that she was very taken with him.
Anathamon winked slyly, though not to Karlotte as she had assumed, but to a young, half-starved serving girl across the room. The girlââ¬â¢s face erupted in tones of red as she blushed and smile widely at him before returning to her duties, now constantly looking in the young debutanteââ¬â¢s direction with hoping eyes.
ââ¬ÅKarlotte, my divine dove, you must excuse me.ââ¬