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[Bailos]

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Standing back at a respectable distance, Bailos unfolded his arms and waved off the last skeletal servant as it pushed the final chair into place in these great halls, sending it back to Oblivion. With a look of satisfaction and pride, but at the same time callousness, he strolled over the floor plan, making sure everything had it's place.

Everything had been meticulously decorated over the last few days. A pond had been built and filled outside, the fireplace was already being stoked in preperation for the nights events, and the plates and candelabras had been polished to luster, within an inch of their lives. Everything was ready. Well, almost everything.

Reaching into a dusty chest hidden away in a corner of his personal chambers, Bailos' skeletal claw emerged holding a very old and expertly crafted tribal mask, a relic of his long and storied past. Closing the chest, he skimmed the vibrant, blue myth that would serve as his visage tonight for the masquerade.

Eventually his gaze turned to the obvious, he saw his boney claw hanging onto the mask, then looking to the floor, he saw the black, light mist that billowed from underneath his robe, holding him afloat, crashing into the floor and disapating.

Setting the mask back down he thought to himself about how to rectify the situation. His powers of alteration had long been untapped. It had been nearly a decade since he had to truely disguise himself last. Clenching his fists, he resolved to 'fix himself up', as not to frighten any of the guests who hadn't seen him since his transformation.

A nearby candle and lantern both flickered as the lighten in the room sharply dimmed. It was daylight and the sun poured in through the beautiful stained glass, but a strange purple/gray hue overtook the tower then, and enveloped the room. Surrounding the Wraith Lord and swirling up around him, shadowy tendrils wrapped his person. Clinging to his hands, as an enbalmer would prepare a mummy the strange power took hold. Slowly the flesh began to wrap over him, starting at the hands. He felt a weight coming back to him. Gravity seemed to do its job and soon he felt his mass building.

The penultimate adjustment occured; the billowing pillar of mist that previous held him up formed into two distinct channels. The mist stopped disapating and built up, before solidifying in 'properly' shaped legs.

As the transformation completed, he promptly buckeled under the sensation of his new weight. On his knees on the floor, he once again thought of the cold touch of the stone on his 'skin'. A fond memory now, nothing more, his powers couldn't bring back that which he had lost.

Slowly standing up, still shaking slightly from this awkward use of power, he stumbled back over to his chambers, walking more firmly, with more confidence with every step. Soon his body would remember. Reaching into a chest, he enjoyed the feel of the grain of the wood, before opening it and pulling out a simple robe to keep him modest....

Brushing some dirt off his shoulder, he mused aloud with a bit of a wry grin on him.....

"I...have a ball to prepare for"