Wraithvine and anyone ze believes will help with the task (possibly meaning no one) must infiltrate a ball and rescue a prince from the clutches of his evil (yet, alas, overwhelmingly popular and powerful) Queen Mother. All without being recognized or exposed during the escape, and before the clock strikes one in the morning, for some reason… -- Deathshead419
[AN: Pure evil requires dedicated choice, and I don't believe anyone living is pure evil. Not even in fiction. They have motives and reasons for doing what they do. And they almost always believe that they are doing good]
An expensive ball lead to expectations. Glitz. Glitter. Cloth-of-gold and every display of wealth and power. Gemstones, gold, and everything that could be worn in display. Exotic dyes. Exotic cloth. Complicated hairstyles that took teams to accomplish. That was for the invited guests.
The letter Wraithvine carried was not such an invitation, but it did contain a plan and people who could help. Of course a grand ball would have entertainment, and the play on offer to the gilded lords included hirself. All they needed was to make Wraithvine look like a mummer.
"You're too authentic," complained one of the crew. "Too real. You need to look fake." They hustled hir through a gauntlet as they changed Wraithvine from the skin out. Artfully threadbare shoes, one wheeze from falling apart. Trousers with multicoloured patches where no patches should ever go. A robe with orchestrated tatters and trailing threads. Also patched. A coat of many pockets.
Support me on Patreon / Buy me a Ko-fi
Prompts remaining: 33 Submit a Prompt!
Ask a question