[color=f9ad81]The clamour of bells resounded through Isamanca, their symphony accompanied by the silence of the townspeople. They marked the end of the Rose Hour, where all prayers and masses would finally conclude, and the reverie could continue. Thousands poured out of the various basilicas of Love & Beauty, their spirits renewed and fresh for their final day of pleasure, indulgence and intoxication.

A regal man emerged from the Palace di Chavarra and made his way to the gathering of hunters. He walked with the smooth, casual confidence of someone born into wealth. Lethodus recognised the man as Firenze Danari, a confidante and personal bodyguard to Duke Alessio Chavarra. The ebony crescent of hair that lined his jaw and was artfully trimmed, set against olive skin without blemish, and eyes that burned hot like mercury. He regarded Lethodus with a respectful nod, but beyond that, he was as cold as the tundras of Sivar Velg. [b]“Her Eminence, Alta Sixtuvia II, and the Esteemed Dukes of the Revosso have requested your presence in the Blue Basilica. Follow me, and keep pace. Patience is not well practiced by some of our guests.”[/b]

Firenze turned and began walking swiftly. They would follow, he knew, for they were here for good reason after all.

He guided them through the palace gates. They emerged in a grand foyer of pristine marble, at the heart of which was a three tiered fountain etched with various caricatures and crowned by a cupid with rubies for eyes. They proceeded through a grand corridor that opened into an outdoor promenade lined by high-arched windows. On either sides there were pools of crystal blue water, from which eight marble podiums rose. Upon each podium were the eight nymphs of the Revosso, the daughters of the Goddess of Love and the God of Beauty. Every curve, every crease of fabric, every intricate feature was ornately sculptured. Even Firenze, despite his face of stone and chilly demeanour, slowed ever so slightly to admire the Daughters of Love & Beauty. To the left, there was Nimaro the Verdant; naked and exposed, with leaves decorating her long, wavy hair and a fawn nudging at her legs as she seemed to leap into the air, and Rissono in her loose, flowing robes, nurturing various scrolls, and next to her, Affora’s sumptuous figure was hidden beneath chaste robes as she seemed to reach for the promenade, and then Picassa and her three faces (representing fear, hope and tragedy) seemed to lament. Adjacent to them was Fiorella of the Orchards, tall, proud, muscular, her hair bound in buns, her sickle hanging deftly by her side, while Cairello smiled and danced on a field of flowers, Mercinia smirked wickedly with her crown of coins in her hands, and finally Bassinia, large and busty, with one exposed breast, stood with one foot and a jug of wine cradled in one arm.

They came to a pair of large, solid golden doors. Upon them were the inscribed images of Venice, the Goddess of Love, and Essere, the God of Beauty. Playing above their heads were eight small cherubs. Firenze turned suddenly to regard the hunters.

[b]“In the presence of Her Eminence, you will not bow to the dukes, but kiss the sapphire upon her ring only. Her Eminence is not to otherwise be touched or interrupted when she speaks. If addressing the Duke Chavarra, you will refer to him as monsero – not sir, ser, my lord or m’lord. And one last note of importance,”[/b] he paused, observing the hunters warily. [b]“The Phoenix is also present this evening. He is to be afforded the same respect as the other dukes, regardless of your… preoccupations.”[/b]

Firenze hoped they would behave. The Mass of the Dukes, the Alta herself, these were manageable for the Order of Cinders. The Phoenix, however, was an entirely different story. Overseer of the red wizards, known blood maegi who utilise their blood to empower their own incredible magic, the Phoenix was a particularly troublesome sort of woman who enjoyed provocation. He sighed and with one great push, opened the doors to the Blue Basilica.

The Blue Basilica was, in itself, a masterpiece. Marble columns lined the central aisle, rows of backless benches lined in formation towards an altar covered in red, gold and bronze cloth. Ten massive, arched stain glass windows curved from the doors to the altar, each depicting the nymphs, and finally Venice and Essere, who seemed to mirthfully overlook the lectern. Tiled floors, walls of golden filigree, and the stern faces of the leaders of the Revosso, met the hunters as they entered. There were nine men, and two women; one in flowing cyan and white robes that collected at her feet, and another further away from the rest of the peninsula’s nobility.

She was the Duchess Vessandra Rossarian, the Phoenix of Ceir Parval. She stood close to Alta Sixtuvia II, her crimson vestments with their golden hem a stark contrast to the purity of the light blue and white enveloping the high priestess. It was said that the dye used to colour a red wizard’s robe was the blood of maegi who had since departed this world, an additional locus to their use of power. She observed the hunters with amber eyes, the slightest indication of amusement playing on her lips.

Duke Alessio Chavarra, clad in azure vestments and velvet, welcomed them with open arms and a wary smile. [b]“Dearest guests, welcome to Isamanca! It is beautiful, no? A pity why you’ve had to come, but alas I suppose darkness does not stop to celebrate as we humans do,”[/b] he turned to regard the other leaders. [b]“Your Eminence, my brothers and sister of the Revosso, I have invited the Order of Cinders to our most holy mass to discuss an evil presence that has made itself known in this proud and ancient city. I do not speak of the savages of Jzarea, who threaten all that is sacred to us, but of a vamphiir. Master Lethodus, if you please,”[/b] he motioned to the older hunter.[/color]