Ballroom, End of Evening, Sat Jan 24

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Dramm a'dan

"I WILL BATHE IN YOUR BLOOD, HUMAN FOOL!" Countess Gyverin gutterly roars in a voice quite unlike her own, as she straightens from the blow dealt to her from Count Haas moments before. Blood is visible dripping from one corner of her mouth, and on the hand she used to wipe it away. Those that are close enough notice the surface of her eyes turning black, her posture and rate of breath indicative of a wild creature.

She roars again as an elemental energy gathers in her hand, which she then hurls at the Count. A large burst of magical stone flies out of her grip, only to be cast aside by the shield he had cast upon him.

Her eyes begin to clear and she screams again, staggering back and grabbing at the bandage over her wound. “No no no, what is this? What is happening?” she utters before losing consciousness, first slumping to the table, then to the floor.

The count chuckles bemusedly, idly brushing something off of his shirt. “Women. Curious creatures, but inevitably... completely useless.” He looks to his wife with a crooked smile. “See? This is why I chose you over her. I knew you’d behave.”

"Sarryn, come." Seizing Illandra by the arm, he turns on his heel without so much as another word, and briskly marches out of the ballroom. Any that choose to follow see several guards of the Haas house ring around their master, escorting him and the young Remington out of the palace and into a waiting carriage. There is and was no chance to attempt anything to stop them, if one had dared considered such a foolish act.

Meanwhile, to those who went to the Countess’ aid; her body lays on its side, inert upon the floor of the ballroom. She is pale; blood flows freely from her nose and mouth, as well as the wound on her chest, exposed after she tore the bandage away before collapsing. This blood, however, is not the dark red one would expect, but blacker than pitch. Those that are sensitive to such things feel the taint of necromancy, and even so, only faintly. Her eyes are wide open in an unfocused stare. As the last of the unnatural colour fades away, the expression underneath exudes terror.

Roused by Count Wheatley's calls, palace guards soon sweep in, brushing aside any who happened to be near, to lift the unconscious woman off the floor. Baroness Ostrem could be seen quietly leaving out the ballroom doors just as several guards of House Gyverin enter, rushing through the crowd towards their mistress. They form around the guards carrying her and all leave the room, Count Wheatley following behind, his face etched with worry.

Once the door closes behind them, silence falls over the room. All ruling nobles have either retired to their rooms in the palace, or back to their estates. The rest have departed, one way or another, in the previous chaos. You have been left alone to absorb the events of the last few hours... at least for a few minutes.

The door opens again and a small woman wearing palace colours steps in. "Ah, ahem, yes. The Masquerade has officially concluded for the evening. We thank you for attending. Good night." She turns around and walks out, leaving the exit open behind her, expectant of your departure.
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