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A ball had been announced in Arkane following the death of one Gerrald and his followers as well as the Prince's recent engagement. Valta, though not caring in the slightest for the marriage, had had previous dealings with Gerrald of a less than pleasent nature, and decided this was a fine reason to celebrate. In accordance, she wore a gown, probably for the first time, ever. Unfortunately, shortly after the ball, it was torn completely in two by Seraphos for reasons she has never divulged.
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Eyes: black______________________Hair: black
Skin: pale_______________________Hair Length: Waist-Long
Build: Slender____________________Hair Texture: Straight
Face: Distinguished
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Profession: Pirate__________Age: 25__________Sex: Female
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Valtameri stands before you, outfitted in a manner you have never seen before, and are not likely to see again. Her thick raven hair is pulled up and piled atop her head, laying in a complicated assortment of curls and plaits, somehow held in place by four slender rods, each gleaming like jet and dark amethyst blended together. Only the streak of white branching from her right brow remains free from the other coils, trailing down the side of her face in gentle curls.
Her visage remains cool and beautiful as ever and somehow emphasized by the lack of black locks surrounding it. Her cheekbones seem more refined, her brow arched and smooth as it moves into her elegant nose. Her full lips seem to be painted a deep crimson, as though if she pressed them to your skin they’d leave a stain of blood. Her pitch black eyes, the irises and pupils merged together into one stygian pool, are highlighted by a dusting of grey color and black eyeliner. Her normal arrangement of earrings have been replaced by a series of silver hoops and chains, accented by drops of jet and dark amethyst, echoing the sticks holding her hair. The only blemishes are her scars. One, a pale line of crimson, rides vertically over her right eye, cutting through her eyebrow and down her cheek. The other, much fresher and darker of shade, slices horizontally across her cheek, just beneath her eye and over the bottom of the first scar. The pair do not diminish her beauty, merely add to the disdainful expression curling her lips.
Her body is obviously that of a fighter’s with well defined muscles curling over her long limbs, all under distinctly feminine curves. However, it is the feminine aspects that seem to be emphasized now. Her pallid skin is curled over with a thick velvet gown so dark a violet it appears to fade to black as she moves. The rear is cut low, the top edge resting just below her lower back, revealing a snowy expanse of skin above, the only interruption her intricate tattoo. The breathtaking image of the skeletal remains of two broken angel wings, strewn with ashen feathers and drops of scarlet blood, spreads across her shoulder blades.
The front of the gown hugs her ample chest, the fabric seeming to drip down her form. It lies close against her midsection, only the tiniest hint of a swell barely apparent in her lower belly. The skirt is immensely full, hanging down from her hips to the ground in large drapes of violet. However, when she moves, slits can be seen running along the front from her upper thighs to the floor, her finely formed legs visible as the fabric twists about them. Her arms are adorned in lengths of delicate black lace. The gloves only cover the backs of her hands, being held on by loops over her middle fingers before moving down to cover her arms to mid-bicep. A thin strip of the velvet of her dress encircles her neck, a dark amethyst hanging from it into the curve of her throat, carved into a delicate feather.
The final touch to the ensemble is her shoes. The two black leather high-heels push her already impressive height up another three inches. Thin, black satin laces curl out from the leather, wrapping around her ankles and criss-crossing up her calves to tie off behind her knees.
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