Board Thread:Mythical Roleplay/@comment-27147599-20181124220120/@comment-34052734-20181125185950

Casimir glided through the ballroom, welcoming all of the noble guests who had just arrived to their celebration. He was dressed in formal attire: a sleek black coat with coattails, a Victorian collared shirt—faint beige in colour—a maroon tie resembling the blood of the poor he had taken advantage of. He elegantly sauntered towards another gentleman of an elder age. “Hallo Reinheim, isn’t this just a marvelous celebration?”

Frederik was in the midst of a gathering of other royal silver-blooded, a relaxed smile sprawled across his long face. He held a glass of Burgundy wine in his left hand. His eyes withheld a vivid type of attention, engaged in whatever him and his fellows were conversing about.

Ezekiel loomed around the streets, his clothes being tattered scraps of material. It was clearly hand-sewn, done by himself, as it was the only thing he could wear on his back when the temperature dropped. He begged for a coin or two, but he was truly searching for a job.