never killed nobody —
News of the grand “Party of the Season” had easily reached Denocte, the noble families abuzz with gossip and excitement at the prospect of attending. Better still was the news that Lord Arden Sarrallon had turned his nose up at the invite, disdainfully declining the offer. Locae had made his mind up, upon hearing his father’s response, that he just had to go.
A night of high class revelry with no expense spared and the chance to wander the halls of a Solterran noble’s palace rather excited the young Lord. That and of course the prospect of frustrating his father whose disdain for all but the highest class of Denoctians almost outweighed his disappointment of his wayward son. Dressed in the finest velvet money could buy and crowned in a halter of gold and ruby, Locae perused the marbled halls of the Ieshan’s lavish home, his hoof-falls lost to the echoes of the towering, painted ceilings. Though his outfit marked him as one of them, as someone with staggering wealth and grand holdings, the scars wrought across his plain ebony fur did more to draw attention than any gold or rubies could. He felt like a lion prowling among them, wreathed in a mane of auburn. But the Sarrallon Lord was under no illusions that there was many a viper and desert cat in the court of Solterra.
Though Locae was all too happy to attend the party as a manner of annoying his father, he had very little interest for the finer things in life and even less interest in the conversations between this noble or that. In fact the only thing that would make the evening at least somewhat enjoyable lay spread out across a number of rather vast tables.
The heady blend of alcohol and fine foods wafted from the gigantic hall as Locae greeted Prince Pilate at the door, a smirk upon his lips that suggested any pleasantries he spoke were entirely false. Then he made a beeline for the whiskey, weaving artfully despite his sheer size between the many horses that had packed out the room. The fruity cocktails and multi-coloured drinks promised more than just the usual effects of alcohol and were far too garish for Locae’s tastes and he instead went for a glass filled part way with amber whiskey. Sipping on it in a refined manner (or as refined as the scarred brute could be), he surveyed the packed hall and the guests within, searching for any faces he might recognise.
