A Cassiline Missive

From the desk of Manuel Cass’id, First Under-Prefect of the Cassiline Brotherhood:

The Cassiline Brotherhood is one of honor and respect. Hard work hardens our young men into weapons honed and sharpened into extensions of Cassiel’s dagger. All that we are is summed up in our words, I protect and serve.

For our Brotherhood, the Longest Night is spent in meditation and prayer as we observe Cassiel’s Vigil. Therefore the request of the Night Court is an unusual one. But with the renewed interest in the story of our great anathema, Joscelin Verreuil and his experience within the Brotherhood, we will relent. We will send two of our Cassiline Brothers to Mont Nuit to demonstrate for the Longest Night Masquerade at Cereus House the famous battle in La Serenissima between two former members of our Brotherhood.

Manuel Cass’id

~

Joining us at the Longest Night Midwinter Masque event this year will be two SAFD actor combatants from the DC area to perform a choreographed demonstration of the infamous duel between Joscelin Verreuil and David de Rocaille that took place in La Serenissima during the events of Kushiel’s Chosen.

Entertainment Director Az has been working with local SAFD actor combatant and fight choreographer Mallory Shear to bring the famous Cassiline duel to life. Take a look at the Cassiline Combatants who will be joining us this January!

Matthew Crawford – David de Rocaille

Headshot of Matthew Crawford holding sword

A Central New York native, Matthew Crawford has been an actor in the DMV since 2011. Some of his favorite roles include Mercutio in Romeo & Juliet, Horatio in Hamlet, Thenardier in Les Miserables, James in James and the Giant Peach, and the Ernie Mac track in Puffs. He is a teaching artist for Signature Theatre, Imagination Stage, Baltimore Shakespeare Factory, and Adventure Theatre MTC (to name a few). He continues his own education as a certified Intermediate (soon to be Advanced) Actor Combatant via numerous stage combat classes and workshops. Much of his fighting has taken place at the Maryland Renaissance Festival in various shows and weapon demonstrations.

Jillian Riti – Joscelin Verreuil

headshot of Jillian Riti

Jillian Riti is an actor, fight director, and teaching artist based in DC and Chicago. She has performed and coordinated violence for dozens of plays and short films. Jillian began their stage combat training in Los Angeles in 2011 and never looked back.
Select credits: Finding Neil Patrick Harris (Nu Sass Productions); Henry IV Part 1 and Henry V (Brave Spirits Theatre); The Lady Demands Satisfaction and Long Joan Silver (LOFT Ensemble); and Bullshot Crummond, Twelfth Night, and Perfect Wedding (West Valley Playhouse).
Credentials: SAFD Advanced Actor Combatant. BFA: AMDA College and Conservatory of the Performing Arts.
Follow Jillian on X: @jilliannners

Mallory Shear – Fight Choreography

Headshot of Mallory Shear

Mallory Shear is a DC based Fight & Intimacy Choreographer, Performer, and Teaching Artist. Mallory is a Resident Teaching Artist with Signature Theatre. They have choreographed and taught at Arena Stage, Olney Theatre, Chesapeake Shakespeare Company, Keegan Theatre, St. Mary’s College, McDaniel College, Iron Crow Theatre, The Strand Theatre, Baltimore Shakespeare Factory, Holton Arms, The Landon School, and several Regional Stage Combat workshops, to name a few.
Select Performance Credits: Shakespeare Theatre of New Jersey, Adventure Theatre, Live Action Theatre, Baltimore Shakespeare Factory, The Strand Theatre, Horwitz Performing Arts Center, Maryland Renaissance Festival, etc.
They are an Advanced Actor Combatant with the SAFD, an Intermediate Actor Combatant with FDC and did their stunt training in the UK and Ireland. Mallory is a proud associate member of SDC.

Masque Prep Fanfic: Rosanna Baphinol nó Valerian

Almost from the moment the rumor began of an Official Consort to the Dauphin Mont Nuit had been aflame with questions. Supposedly said potential Consort was a close friend of hers, therefore to gossiping minds Rosanna just had to know all the details of how and why and when this affair had begun. Not  that Rosanna would ever tell, of course. But with the future King choosing to shy away from the biggest party of the year, well the queries had started to arrive in more and more imaginative forms. 

“A donation to the construction of a new shrine?” Rosanna rolled her eyes and continued to look over the collection of masks laid out for her inspection. 

“So they say,” her Second replied with a shrug. Tryphosa made a note of who sent that letter and went back to sorting the growing stack of correspondence. “As though we need a new one. Besides, where would we put it? And in return for information on Lady Dahlia’s particular favorite gifts?”

“They are desperate to ingratiate themselves to her inner circle, if the rumors are true. As though I would give them anything.” She examined a mask covered in peacock feathers. “Besides, it’s more fun to watch them wriggle and guess.” 

“Are you sure Mandrake didn’t bid for your marque?”

“Not at all. I just like the games of court and Odilia is giving them the spectator sport of their lives. A member of the Court of Night Blooming Flowers maybe becoming Royal Consort? And not a Cereus? It’s a scandal and I love a good scandal.” No, that mask wouldn’t do, she returned it to the pile and continued looking through the choices. One caught her eye, it was made up entirely of the most delicate, silver chains she had ever seen. silver chain masqueIt took both hands to hold it up properly, the metal glittering in the candlelight. Oh yes.

“Do you think he’ll be a good king?” Tryphosa leaned back on the settee, a lock of platinum hair falling becomingly across her face. Rosanna looked at her over her shoulder, studying her friend and Second. “What with his brother passing away so unexpectedly, the whole country turned on its head for months in mourning and gossip.”  

“I admit I wasn’t ready when I had to take up being Dowayne,” she replied and held up the mask to her face. Even if her costume had been complete for some time she had yet to find just the right mask to complete her disguise. It all felt rather like a metaphor to life in court – any court. “My predecessor did leave quite suddenly, I thought I had more time to prepare for this. I imagine it was similar for him, on a far greater scale mind you.”

“But your family is, well,” Tryphosa waved her hand looking for just the right word to describe Rosanna’s huge family. 

“Overbearing?”

“Rich is more what I was going for. Well connected is polite. They expected you to make Dowayne one day, so did you and never hid it.”

“True,” Rosanna gave a laugh. “But an assertive Valerian? It sounds like an oxymoron doesn’t it? But as the youngest in a brood I never wanted to end up in my siblings’ collective shadows, so I do not think I can be blamed for pushing ahead. No matter how impromptu my promotion came.”

“Maybe the Dauphin is like that too. He’s so sweet, from what I’ve heard, perhaps people underestimate him. Does your friend hint at any of that?”

“If I am not going to hand over pillow talk to a high paying patron why would I give it to you?”

Tryphosa threw a pillow and Rosanna just barely ducked in time. 

“Resorting to violence? Now who belongs in Mandrake?” 

To be completely honest the girlish play was soothing. Rosanna did know quite a lot, enough to worry her over just what sort of traps the court was placing for her friend and the Dahlia’s golden prince. Being born into the nobility herself, she knew just how vicious the landed class could be. But she had faith in the Precept, which she held steadfast in her heart, and that Blessed Elua would be watching over them all on this holy night. Such devoted thoughts were cut short by the touch of a flesh and blood hand on her shoulder, and Rosanna pulled herself together. 

“Oh hush,” Tryphosa grinned despite not getting the gossip she desired. “Are you done picking your mask? We have a ball to get to.” 

Read the story of our Masque here and submit your fanfic story.

Masque Prep Fanfic: Petrea nó Cereus

spools of thread and sewing scissorsPetrea nó Cereus stood in front of the full length mirror as an adept of Eglantine House busied himself around her with fabric and bric-a-brac, sketching and stitching the beginnings of her costume for this year’s Midwinter Masque.  She frowned at the mirror, unhappy with her reflection.  She was getting on in the years, the beauty of her youth seeming to fade faster and faster every day.  But wasn’t that almost the point of Cereus House – for one’s beauty to fade?  How was that supposed to be something to be admired?   Petrea sighed.  How had she ever risen to Second of the most glorious and noble House of the Night Court with thoughts like that?

Outside the room, Petrea could hear adepts gossiping in low tones.  Of course, no one could stop talking about the affair between the Dauphin and Odilia nó Dahlia, and certainly not in the Night Court.  The mood in Cereus House seemed to be one of the biggest topics of discussion and whether or not the Prince choosing a Dahlia was seen as a slight to the oldest and most noble House.  Petrea shook her head and absently stroked the Eglantine adept’s head.  Did people really think that the Prince had purposely fallen in love with Odilia out of spite?  The social politics of the Night Court – and noble Court, for that matter – drove her practically to madness at times.  But gossip as thou wilt was practically a second tenet of the City, so she could not ignore it, lest she look foolish to her patrons and bring dishonor to her House.  

Turning her thoughts back to the grand plans for the Masque, Petrea reminded herself to make sure her private invitations had been delivered.  The position of Second did allow her certain privileges and she didn’t hesitate to take advantage of them when it suited her.  It had been a difficult year and she planned to enjoy every moment of the Longest Night.

Read the story of our Masque here and submit your fanfic story.

Masque Prep Fanfic: Aliksandria nó Cereus

“I am Aliksandria nó Cereus, Dowayne of Cereus House.”  I repeated this to myself again.

I looked around the hall at the members of the City Judiciary. The magistrate, the leaders of the trade guilds, and representatives of the nobility. I had been Dowayne for five years, and I still felt I was play acting at leadership. I could list the reasons I had been chosen to this role, the steps of the ladder I had climbed to reach this seat and, yet, I felt an imposter still. I feared I would always feel this way.

My predecessor had warned me about this part of the job. He had told me that the Night Court’s seat on the Judiciary was always in jeopardy and that the guild leaders would look for any way to oust us. He had also told me that this had been the way of it for hundreds of years, and that they have never succeeded. But I don’t think he could have prepared me for this.

The guild leaders had spent the bulk of this session railing about how the Night Court held unfair advantage by holding both the seat in the Judiciary and our seat on the Council of Religious Orders. In truth, it was a tired argument that I had heard since I was Dowayne’s Second, and had been old even then. They then shifted their argument to one of undue influence, again an oft used argument due to our history of giving counsel to members of the nobility, including house royal. This argument was, however, made more poignant due to the Dauphin’s current tryst with Odilia.

“We, the leaders of the trade guilds, put forth that while one or the other advantage might be overlooked, the occurrence of both cannot,” stated the leader of the silversmiths guild, a Monsieur Jacques Halceaux. “The trade guilds put forth that the Night Court must cease to give counsel and succor to the Scions of House Courcel, specifically and most urgently, ending the affair of the Dauphin and the adept of Dahlia House.”

The magistrate weighted the words carefully before turning to me:  “How does the representative from the Court of the Night Blooming Flowers respond?”

I took a deep breath.

I am Aliksandria nó Cereus, Dowayne of Cereus House,” I reminded myself.

“The Night Court is not in the practice of refusing to conduct business with members of noble houses so long as guild law is enforced and heresy does not occur. Furthermore, while I am a representative of the Night Court in this Judiciary, I am not its de facto leader and cannot dictate to other Dowaynes. As to the relationship between Odilia nó Dahlia and the Dauphin Gustav de la Courcel, it is not within the Night Court’s purview to sanction or forbid this union, as her marque has been made and he has reached his majority.”

This appeared to be the response Monseiur Halceaux had hoped for, as a triumphant smile flashed across his face. “If that is the Night Court’s response, than we put forth that its seat on the Judiciary is forfeit.”

The Magistrate raised his hand, “The leader of the silversmith’s guild is reminded that such an action would require a discretionary period and a vote by two thirds of the members of this body.” He then turned to me, “My Lady Dowayne, I recommend you bring this issue to your fellow Dowaynes and discuss amongst your guild how you wish to proceed. We await your final word on the matter when we reconvene after the Longest Night.”

The Longest Night.

scrollwork

Read the story of our Masque here and submit your fanfic story.

Saturday morning workshops

This year we’re adding three discussion workshops Saturday morning! Join experts from our community for one, two, or all three to discuss unique aspects of both the Kushiel’s Legacy books and topics surrounding the world.  Workshops will be held Saturday morning between 9:00am and 12:30pm.

Click the links below for content information and to purchase your tickets for individual workshops or packages. Workshops are $15 each, two for $25.50, or sign up for a full morning for $36.  (Note: you must purchase a package in order to receive the discounted price.)

Individual Workshops

Packages

A poem for your beloved

“O, dear my lord…
Let this breast on which you have lent
As close in love as a foe in battle,”

~Jacqueline Carey, Kushiel’s Dart

 

These words, written by Anafiel Delaunay to his secret lover Prince Rolande de la Courcel, begin the poem “Antinous’ Ode to His Beloved.”  The ode, once proscribed in Terre d’Ange, was later to be lauded and performed by the royal poet Thelesis de Mornay, shouted and whispered by besotted admirers to woo their beloved.

Now, it’s your turn – woo or declare your love with a special gift.  Our own Eva nó Gentian will compose a unique poem for your beloved, to be presented to them in written or spoken form at the Longest Night Midwinter Masque*.

 

Choose from a two (2), four (4), or six (6) line verse, each with the following options:

  • Recited for your beloved at the Longest Night Midwinter Masque, January 4, 2020 (specific time TBD)
  • Written on beautiful 11″ x17″ high quality paper, suitable for display, presented to your beloved at the Longest Night Midwinter Masque, January 4, 2020
  • Both recited and written

Prices are as follows:

  • Two (2) lines
    • Recited – $5
    • Written – $10
    • Both – $13
  • Four (4) lines
    • Recited – $10
    • Written – $15
    • Both – $23
  • Six (6) lines
    • Recited – $15
    • Written – $20
    • Both – $34

To purchase your poem, please email poet@thelongestnightmasque.com and specify your options.  You will be provided with a payment link.  Once your payment has been processed, the poet will begin composing your verse.

*Note: if you are not attending the Masque, we can arrange for shipping of a written poem to your home.

 

Book Donations

Phèdre nó Delaunay gathered books, and scrolls from all over the world to research and learn everything she could to succeed in her great adventures and become the hero we all love.  Do you, perhaps, hold a book that could help someone become a hero in a great adventure?

We will be collecting new and gently loved books at the Masque to donate to the Fairfax County Public Library.  Who knows what benefit your books could bring someone?

Dahlia’s Grand Château

On Mont Nuit, just south of Cereus House, is a grand château that serves as home to House Dahlia. With a motto of “Upright and Unbending,” adepts of this house exemplify the poise, dignity and commanding presence one would expect to find in the palace at the heart of D’Angeline politics. Sometimes accused of being haughty, Dahlia adepts instead are skilled at the games of courtship, the wildly contained flirtation, teasing, and bantering that drive D’Angeline love and ambition.

dahlia flowerDahlia, unlike any other house, is a crafted blend of many of the qualities of other houses. Dahlias can be as steely and delicate as Cereus house, as perfect and pristine as Camellia, as sensual and teasing as Jasmine or as competitive and calculating as Bryony. In Dahlia lore, Naamah bestowed herself as a Queen in her seduction of the King of Persis. Thus, Dahlia adepts project an air of aloof consideration and passionately cool action. Patrons pay for access to a nightly audience with House Dahlia, a chance to be chosen – some patrons are luckier with others and some come just to enjoy the atmosphere. 

Upon entering through the stone and iron gates of the grounds, patrons are treated to the immaculate and sumptuous grounds, complete with hedge mazes, gardens, and fountains. Patrons are greeted by guards in royal blue livery and escorted into the heart of the house. 

The hallways are lined with tasteful mosaics of Naamah and Eula’s companionship framed by the deep richness of velvet curtains. The grand hall, where the Dahlias gather each night to mingle with patrons, is decorated as finely as the palace in the City of Elua.  And all Dahlias are in attendance at the nightly salon, from the little novices all the way up to the full adepts. Dahlia believes that in order to learn the elegance and poise required of the Kings and Queens of the Night Court, the novices must learn by example and watch the dance of the Dahlia salon. 

Novices in Dahlia livery make the rounds with trays of refreshment, watching with eyes already haughty with the knowledge of their future marque as the adepts on their personal chairs entertain their personal courts. Living statues line the walls of the salon, the more mature novices close to graduating, painted gold and training themselves to be aloof and beautiful and untouchably desirable by decorating the salon with their own bodies.  Each of their niches has a plinth on which they stand, the fluttering chiffon curtains hiding and teasing at their graceful limbs.  

Candelabras with tall candles cast dancing light upon carefully placed mirrors that set the entire salon aglow.  The rich jewel tones of the upholstery bathed in a golden light, imposing chairs of exquisitely carved dark wood seem gentler in the soft light, and the black and white checkered marble floor gleams in the central floor around which everything is arranged.  

This checkered floor is the subject of one of Dahlia House’s most famous and scintillating seductions.  After the dances have completed, stately pavanes and leaping galliards and risque lavoltas leaving the patrons breathless and the adepts enlivened, after the patrons have approached their chosen Dahlia with due reverence on bended knee, after the adepts have listened to the flattery and accepted gifts with cool smiles and haughty eyes, a Dahlia rises from her imposing chair.  Her dark hair shines under the candlelight, her dark eyes glitter, and her low voice calls, “My dear Jocaste, I have been challenged to a game.”

The Dahlia Dowayne, a beautiful woman with striking streaks of silver through her hair, gestures to the checkered floor with one elegant hand, “Do us proud, my Second.”

Odilia nó Dahlia claps her hands and the statues come to life, arranging themselves upon the dance floor that has become a chess board with living pieces.  Her patron, a look of hungry delight on his face, takes his place along his side of the board and the game begins.  

The appeal of Dahlia is evident in the game.  She sits her throne, commanding her pieces, watching her opponent for any moment of weakness.  And he, caught in the Dahlia’s gaze, thrills at her attention, at the thought that perhaps he could be her equal for the night.  As the game progresses, she rises, pacing her side of the board as the adept falls away and the politician and strategist comes to the forefront.  Her skirts whisper on the marble floor, a predatory gleam in her eye and her patron calls for a drink to slake his thirst. And when she finally makes her way to where he sits, he is frozen as she approaches.  She makes her last move and murmurs, low and proud, “Checkmate.” And he kneels.  

Visitors to House Dahlia understand that adepts set their own terms, their own price, with the approval of the Dowayne. Patrons play the games of flattery, seduction, and intrigue to gain entry to the bedchamber of a Dahlia adept. Patrons pledge themselves to their chosen adept forming their own little courts. The horologist’s voice marks the hours and the arrival of guests and patrons. Each adept takes turns commanding the events of the Great Hall through the evening, with the stunning and sly Second taking control over the twilight and the Dowayne commanding through the midnight as adepts and patrons retire back to their private salons. 

Dahlia adepts respond to talent, wit, and boldness in all its forms but are quick to see through arrogance and deception. And each fancies something different. As an adept, our Dowyane always showed a preference for poets over financiers, yet her Dowyane would only ever choose older, silver-haired courtiers. Thus, Patrons want to stand out, to be noticed and admired in order to gain the attention and the most private of audiences with their chosen. Games of skill and chance often make their way through the little courts as the night progresses, some more daring than others. An adept chooses their patron for the night in their own time, commanding their own terms, inviting them behind the curtains into their private bed chambers. 

From there the service is as varied as the patrons’ desires. Yes, many who come to Dahlia derive their pleasure from serving – and thus Dahlia’s learn how to receive as well as give. Touches of Mandrake and Valerian sometimes also make up the delicate balance of fortitude and grace that is a Dahlia. Likewise, some patrons come to play at nobility, to dabble in the court politics that their everyday rank denies them. And then there are those who come to conquer, to break through the walls and partake of what wonders await on the other side. 

Though it is true that most patrons will never witness a Dahlia’s true face, most patrons walk away with a deeper experience of pride.. Trained to the service of Naamah at such a young age, Dahlias learn how to hide their true selves, just as the scions of Elua must. Dahlias aspire to be the crown jewel of Namaah’s arts, to only show the facets and shine that can enchant, divert and command. Adaptable and yet implacable, Dahlias always find a way to get what they want, whether it be the fat jewels in a patron’s purse or an invitation to palace fetes, the more rare patron gifts. 

And yet the gift the patron receives, as reflected in the many facets of House Dahlia, is one of the more precious gifts Naamah’s servants can offer: confidence and pride in one’s own inherent desirability and worth.

The Poetry of Mandrake House

mandrake poemCatching my stare from across the room

You shudder in anticipation

Breath heavy, heartbeat rapid

You know what you’re in for

 

Drinking in every inch of you

I stare, lascivious and rapt

Pulse quickens, mind calculating

I know what you’re in for

 

Wrists up, eyes averted

You instinctively kneel before me

Ready to serve

I accept

 

Wrists cuffed, neck collared

I bind you to my servitude

Ready to command

You accept

 

Whips and floggers flick and arouse

Leaving red kisses on your bare skin

I hold the secrets of their power

Will it be pleasure or discipline?

 

My leather rustles, your chains shine

Yield, obey, for now you’re mine

 

A shadow whispers beyond

The blindfold stretches taut

Across a forbidden gaze

Commanding hands brush over

 

Blueblack bruises blossoming

upon yearning skin

Silhouettes of desire dance

across flagellated flesh, framed

By flushed cheeks and parted lips

 

Scarlet motes we hold dear

Modesty has no home here

 

Feeling adrift or seeking renewal?

Surrender to Mandrake House

For “Love is hard, harder than

steel and thrice as cruel”

Sounds of Pleasures at Valerian House

One approaches Valerian House up a long path, flanked on either side by tall and ancient trees. This gives the manse a feel of seclusion, of secrecy, of hidden delights sampled by only the daring. Two adepts greet the visitor, one male and one female – both bare of any raiment. The walls of the salon are decorated with fine tapestries, woven with scenes from dreams and myth. Carnality is the theme, a hint of things to come. Once one descends into the pleasure chambers, the eye catches an unusual sight – for newcomers – in a place of Namaah’s servants. “There was an altar to Kushiel there; a niche with a raised dais and a bronze sculpture contained within, an offering bowl on the dais at his feet.” Valerian House is dimly lit, with lush tones of blood red and accents of black from the chaise cushions to the carving on the dungeon furniture. Nothing is left to the imagination, or the feast for the eyes.
valerian flower
As the patron wanders through the halls, past the private rooms and public salons, one hears things. First comes the refrains of musicians. Pleasures of the flesh cannot always be left in utter silence, setting a mood can often be perfected with just the right strum of a harp or the beat of a drum. Such songs in Valerian House are enjoyed in minor keys, with a dark kind of tone to them, we like it that way. Once the songs fade away, and the reverberations of happy patrons and enthralled courtesans fill the ear. Cracks of whips, cries of pain-laced ecstasy, the rattle of chains, a snap of the flogger, they echo from the dungeons and the bed chambers. Sometimes they are matched to the beat of a song, other times they are enacted in the total absence of any other sound, depriving the senses of all but the assignation at hand.
Upon entering the manse patrons first notice a floral scent faint by the door, which became stronger and more intoxicating as one walks deeper through the halls towards the receiving room. Once inside the receiving room, and pleasure chambers, the floral scent becomes secondary to the mix of frankincense and cinnamon. This reminds patrons of both the sweetness and the spice to be found when seeking pleasure inside the walls of Valerian. The many offerings on the altar of Kushiel add to the potent blend arousing one with anticipation.
The fragrance in the air is so heady an earthy flavour is left in the mouth, heavy and satisfying which is complimented by the rich flavour of the Namarrese wine offered to patrons in the receiving room while awaiting to choose an adept. Should a patron choose to enjoy the lesson all Valerian adepts know well they may indulge in a spiced candy with their wine and savour how the spicy pain leads to greater pleasure.
All Houses of the Night Court thrive off the sensation of touch – it is why patrons attend them. To feel, to experience, to become lost in the little kingdom which worshipped and frolicked in the name of pleasure. In Valerian House one expects pain to be the feeling most felt, at least by those adepts and courtesans who call the place home. Stings from crops, welts from whips, bites and soothing caresses mingle and intoxicate the senses. Cool leather laid in one’s hand was soft despite its ability to sting; wood can be rough but is strong and useful when used to prop up a lover. But not everything is hurt and discomfort. Velvet chaises cradle sated occupants, soft and rich in texture, with feathery cushions beneath. Silky beds awaited a tired patron, and sweet kisses pressed like butterfly wings to warmed skin.
By the time a patron leaves Valerian House, whether one has stayed the night or but a few hours, every detail of the visit has been carefully and lovingly crafted. No element is too insignificant, for the sensations bestowed on the patrons are the delight of those who practice their craft here.