Debauched and Delirious

One was only invited to the Obsidian Masquerade once in their life. 

The Masquerade itself was an endless affair, with several attendees spending portions of their interminable afterlives in attendance. Even in the city of Vulane, it was considered... less than appropriate... to attend.

For the occasion, the young vixen Malina chose to embody the essence of the night sky, reflecting the eternal dance of stars and shadows that played out above Vulane on the streets above. Her dress was a flowing cascade of midnight blue silk, shimmering with subtle, embedded crystals that twinkled like distant stars whenever she moved. The fabric was layered and cut to resemble the gentle, undulating waves of the night, creating a mesmerizing effect that drew the eyes of anyone who glanced her way. Her mask - now that was special.

Her mask - enchanted by the archmage Szal at the expense of much of her small fortune - showed the actual alignment of the Ethereal Tapestry of Frost, one of the holiest constellations to the Reynardians. This was perhaps the most important part of her ensemble: 

If her mask faltered, the undead at the party might become... peckish.

She also carried a silver fan inlaid with moments from Reynardian history to flutter flirtatiously in front of her delicate snoot should any suitors came to call.

On her back was the true prize: the cost of entry to the Masquerade, the greatsword of Azura. Malina was a slinky creature, but after a few months of training for this moment, she was able to carry the ‘sacred’ artifact, strapped to her back. With her own meager enchantments, she had lessened the weight as well and used its supposed holiness to ward off the undead creatures of the undercity on her way to the dance.

The gigantic mausoleum where the masquerade was in full swing was once a holy sight in the Tyrian religion - the same religion of the paladin from which Malina stole her new trinket. Now the place was swarming with vampires and even a few creatures considered ‘devils’. Malina saw the place a few blocks away and, after sweeping into a side-alley, began the ritual to defile the sword.

Laying it in the muck of some unidentified muddy liquid, Malina began drawing sigils in the air with her folded-up silver fan, her long brush swirling in concentration behind her. The sigils broke out of the air like burst pustules, their purple blood staining the emptiness until the spells were completed and they popped like fireworks and drizzled onto the sword. Energy flowed out of Malina’s fan and encapsulated the sword in violet ribbons.

The ribbons fell gently and then the air throbbed as they alit upon the ancient holy sword. When they did so, Malina could tell that the gleam had been removed from it. She still needed the sword - in case she was attacked by the guests or the hosts of the masquerade - but now they could at least approach her.

She needed at least one of them to approach her: Perhaps when the dance cards were distributed.

The mausoleum was huge. Towering and black, it was no wonder that the party was referred to as the Obsidian Masquerade. An ancient place built by the first Tyrians, it was now infested with... less tedious creatures.

At the entryway to the great desecrated monument were throngs of various predatory magic users, all trying to gain entry past an imposing figure: a badger in paladin’s armor. He stood motionless at the great metal door with a huge halberd and burning red eyes. She made note of the eye color: the mind-controlled peace-keepers of Vulane (called the Silver Masks for their headwear) had violet eyes.

Malina approached and immediately the undead brute made way for her.

“Why does she get to go in?” a white-furred female stoat in a violet dress yelled out. Her friends began to chime in but their queries were silenced as the great door closed behind the vixen, barely missing her long brush.

This was it. For all the poise that Malina had on the outside, she felt like a little pup once more as she took in the gaudy, corrupt, lascivious revery around her. In her life, she would only have one chance to make an impression here. She took a breath and reminded herself of the list of forbidden knowledge that she wanted to discover before she left.

The mortals were all wearing masks, but the special guests were walking among the never-ending party with their fuzzy faces prominently displayed - if they had faces at all.

The converted ballroom was buzzing with laughter, whispered discussions, and loud boasts. The walls were a grand and reflective black interspersed with golden columns. Long silk ribbons of the brightest red hung from the rafters and stretched from wall to wall. On various tables where fountains of Veilwinter wine sprung eternally were treats and foods of varying levels of delicacy and ethicality, including mysterious and tantalizing meats that Malina made note to avoid.

The ballroom floor itself emanated red light from between the cracks in the ancient tiles and every now and then Malina’s delicate ears could pick up additional voices and raucous laughter coming from below. Malina had her mask up around her snoot by this point, carefully checking out the...

...Guests? Residents? Inhabitants?...

...Of the Obsidian Masquerade. The atmosphere was one of barely restrained debauchery as the young vixen scanned the throng of creatures and entities attending the party with her bright, violet eyes, looking for anyone who might know one of the forbidden secrets that she yearned for. She stepped gingerly onto the floor of the ballroom. 

Along with being lit by another - even more interesting - party from beneath, it was also searing hot. Malina had remembered her specially enchanted shoes for the occasion, and so was not harmed. The dance cards were shuffled into a tarot deck by a female ferret and drawn. Malina’s card was drawn with the Tower tarot and, after all the names were called, she was partnered with a rather interesting vixen who was referred to as “Tower.”

Malina was only passable at divination, but even she knew the symbolism of the Tower card: The dramatic imagery of a tower being struck apart by lightning against a stark, black background was difficult to ignore. Perhaps fate had put her together with this other vixen for a reason.

“Hello,” Malina said gently, offering her hand.

“A pleasure,” the vixen said softly, grinning. Malina gulped when she saw that her dance partner had shining red teeth instead of white, but buried her feelings of dread far, far down. Tower was a vixen similar in build and color to Malina, but with a black dress trimmed with red and with white colorings around her glowing eyes. It was the vixen’s eyes that gave Malina a growing sense that something was deeply wrong. 

Tower’s eyes were flashing different colors in rapid succession: red green purple white yellow green crimson green white pink apricot salmon... an absolute miasma in Tower’s irises.

“You have beautiful purple eyes, Malina,” Tower said, her eyes having their own party. “Have you ever met anyone... interesting before?”

The waltz began - slow and dignified. Malina cocked her head.

“More interesting than you, my dearest Tower?” Malina said. “Never. By the by, what is your true name? Must I refer to you as ‘Tower’ for the rest of the night?”

Tower chuckled. “If I told you my true name, you might stop dancing... and we musn’t have that.”

The ballroom was filled with mortals, devils, ghosts, revenants, zombies, and vampires, all swirling in time to the music. Malina studied her partner’s eyes and how they created a kaleidoscope of color. From Malina’s vast knowledge of the various Hells, she concluded that Tower must have come from the Delirious Hells - the place where creatures that had been forsaken by all the Gods were sent. Malina took a chance.

“What crime, I wonder, would a vixen have to commit to be forsaken by Reynard Himself?”

Tower spun Malina in a twirl, suspended on her tippy toes.

“Ah, so you are familiar with Delirium?” Tower said when Malina had regained her footing. “I admit I’ve been a very bad girl,” the vixen with delirious eyes said. “The first fox in three thousand years to be sent there. But I think you’ve met the other candidate. You see, you’re not the only fox here to have secrets in her eyes.”

“Wh-whatever do you mean?”

“Well,” Tower said, continuing with the music, “unless you are one of the one in fifty thousand to have natural violet eyes, you have met with someone of great magical power... and dabbled in things that mortals should not. This is who I mean...”

“You mean...?”

“Yes,” Tower said, smiling her lava-red smile. “The so-called ‘Eighth Vile Vermin’ of lore.” Malina was spun around again, this time literally and metaphorically.

“So... the Tyrians were correct... in a way,” Malina said, giving in to her mysterious and malevolent friend as laughter and screams filled the air, barely able to keep her mask on. Her greatsword glittered, pulling the vixen scholar and her tail in a spiral as she danced.

“And you have studied with Him? The Traveller?”

“Yes,” Malina muttered as Tower began to spin her the other way ‘round. “But I did not know what to call him...”

“Hahahaha! My dear gorgeous, clever friend! He is the curse!” Tower said, spinning faster now - eyes brighter and more insane. “The shadow! The enemy!”

Malina cackled too, and in her enthusiasm as she was tossed and twirled she let her mask slip. Looking into the eyes of the creature from Delirium, Malina could see something new. New colors that Malina had never seen before were suddenly appearing in the flecks of the vixen’s eyes.

“Ah, I had almost forgotten,” Malina’s partner hissed. “About your unfortunate mortal nature.”

Malina snapped out of it immediately as Tower’s blood red fangs emerged from her maw in a gentle smile, now illuminating the lips and fur around it.

“I really must go,” Malina said, quickly putting her mask back to her face.

“Oh no, no,” Tower cooed. “I insist that you stay.”

Malina wrested her hand from the vixen’s grip - a little stronger than she expected. As she made her way across the glowing red floor, now feeling the heat that she had been protected from before, Malina looked behind her. Tower was now floating over the other guests, her fangs fully deployed and her black and red rags fluttering in the nonexistant breeze.

“After all this time I find another adherent of the Traveller!” Tower cackled. “And I must bring you home.”

Malina was already briskly making her way to the entrance, dodging wolves and reptiles and all manner of larger beasts - alive, dead, undead, and unalive. She was careful to miss the twirling figures and then, as soon as the red-hot dance floor ended, fell to her knees to avoid the gaze of Tower.

“Come now, food!” Tower called out. “Let us share notes!”

Malina struggled, her mask still held up to her face with one hand and crawling with the other. That’s when Tower saw the glint of metal near the door.

Malina’s stolen and defiled greatsword, still on her back.

Tower dove just as Malina heard the screech and rolled out the door. The vixen’s usually fixed hair was now scattered.

“Well, how was it, you lucky whore?” A white-furred ferret near the door asked. Malina gulped in air and calmed herself on the cobblestones while a little crowd gathered.

“Enlightening!” the vixen said with a mischievous smile.