Vampire IV: The Song of Night

[Diva De]

One of the servants comes downstairs and whispers to Lady Adelheid. Belle Smithson is still unconscious, though they have put her shoulder back in its socket and stitched the wound in her side.

[Griever]

Herr Griever sat quietly in a resting room adjacent the main hall, which was filled with books and comfortable chairs aplently.

The first thing one might notice when entering the room was a very large gash in Herr Griever's right leg, truly an entire chunk missing, with bleeding held in decent check by soaked bandages.

The next thing one would notice soon afterwards was not so much what was present, but what was absent. Absent indeed were any grimaces, irregular breathing or any other sign of pain at all from the man or any smells of blood or that witchcraft known better as medicine. Instead he housed a content, lackadaisical expression, as if he was bored, but not so much as to be moved to action. Also, the room had the slight scent of peppermint.

[Internet Flea]

Desmond returned from his perfectly amiable quail hunt to a scene of carnage. Nearly a dozen hunters had been injured, quite a few seriously. The Bane King Mr. Buttons had been killed; the rumor was that he had pounced upon the North Woods Dragon and tried to bring it down with his teeth. In any event, the crown had passed to Matron Violetta. Perhaps this was what she had been wanting for the past few days.
He spent the night considering the implications of the hunt. For one, the powerful enemies he had been worrying about were now considerably less threatening; their injuries would surely preoccupy them for a time. It would be interesting to see where the Matron's wrath would turn, now that the cat was gone.
It would be more interesting to see whose wrath would follow hers.

[Helgraf]

Deadline for Night Actions is passed. If you hadn't sent in a night action, you've missed your opportunity. Day will begin once the night narration is posted (should be within 24 hours and probably closer to 12).

[Helgraf]

As night fell, many of the guests retired to their chambers to nurse injuries taken in the hunt. Fatigue and fine sherry combined to lull them into unconsciousness ... one by one.

Yet there were those who could not, or would not, sleep. The recent events convinced them the true dangers were occuring during the day, and thus night was a time to make preparations, conduct research, arrange meetings. And others had even more sinister purposes.

In the keep, in a dusty passage untravelled in years, a small misshapen lump of a man hobbled forward, mad eyes blazing, burning with crystal clarity, thoughts burning within the wrecked dome of a mind with the celerity of comets blazing through the night sky.

Here he had hid them, in a chamber he had shown to no other, not even his daughter. Lovely daughter, lovely precious pussycat. He purred as shattered remnants of memories danced coyly with the neurons, flittered close and away before he could grasp them firmly, like quicksilver fumes slipping just beyond his grasp.

He kept them because knowledge was important. Knew this, remembered it, even as he forgot the facts themselves. Old books, old works, treatises, theories ... grimmerie and dweomercraft. Suppressed. Heretical. Suitable only for burning.

Oh how he burned now! The song was all about him; within him; he could hear it now, see it, feel it in every footfall, every breath, every sod-coated remnant of what he'd been once.

Once. Once, twice, a malformed fist driven into his innards, until by main force he expelled a bloodstained twist of metal; a shape whose meaning was a refrain in the Song, a bridge, a coda, a transition; a thing whose meaning now was not for itself but for the things it brought together and held apart.

It struck the floor, and he trembled at the thunderous clash of the cymbals, casting his head from side to side, peering into the darkness - who could not be woken, could not have heard such a sound!

And yet, nothing. No call, no cry, no sudden dance of lurching meat on razored strings. Quietly, slobbering on the stones, he picked up the bloodied object, pressing it into place in the maw of the Guardian Thing, twisting hand and soul both, shuddering and staining himself with malodorous fluids.

With a metallic roar, the Thing tore open the barrier, then padded to the side and lay supine. Docile before the master. Were not all things docile before their Masters?

Capering, caterwauling, creeping; he came covertly calling, hauling heaving, hexed and hexing, til digits drooped and divers dragged. Here, broken buried bones whispered woe and weal to the weaver woven.

And he clasped the ancient assemblance of artifice athwart; betwixt the bindings of the beetles came the castings of the cthonians; deep the dwoemmercraft, ere the enchantments found and fondled.

Forth to back he travelled, his path travelled unravelled, set alarum once again and puzzle portals restored. Til he came upon the tower, where the bell would toll the hours; here its leaden heavy tones upon a fractured form belaid; and quietly he whispered, of syllables torn and twisted, naming as he did a brace of names.

And unleashed a subtle madness that gave him hint of gladness as it spread out from the keep, out from the main.

Scarcely noticed did the sleepers, nor the remoric darkened creepers, who threw open a door and took their prey. With claw and tooth they flayed him, opened him and drained him, til clean of sanguine humour he did lay; splayed upon the floor of cobble, did his corpse without a wobble, in mockery of his Lord display.

and thus the night was ended, with Alistair Raccioni suspended, his body to be found upon the day.


Day 4 begins

[Internet Flea]

It had been a quiet day so far, likely due to the number of injuries the day before. It seemed the Finnegan house was one of the few with no injured occupants, though the Raccioni fellow's absence was worrying.
That Mordokai fellow had been acting oddly, claiming reasoning against the late Bane King without supplying any. Perhaps he was connected to the Matron, and acting on her behalf.

[Diva De]

Belle Smithson screams, caught in a nightmare. It sounds like she said Grey Mage.

EDIT: Upon reading Mordy's arguement, I tentatively offer this rebuttal: the game is not SOLELY about roleplaying, but it is encouraged. And if I have nothing to go on and two people to choose between, I am going to choose the person who does NOT give me something enjoyable to read.

[Gray Mage]

((Lady Tialait))

[Wizibirb]

((Lady Tialait))

[Mordokai]

OI! I'm still lying in a pool of my own congealing blood here. How about some basic decency people? I'm looking at you, Internet Flea!

I gave you my reasons when you asked. And it was you who was the one acting suspicious, as I'm sure at least three other people can confirm.

[ThePhantom]

(People, please. Let's not take out a roleplayer, let's get rid of Gray Mage, he has barely roleplayed the whole game.)

Count Phillip, wanders the halls of the manor, looking for the library. Surely there would be a book on how to treat wounds there.

[Lady Tialait]

Matron Violetta looked out on the courtyards of the manor. She was grumpy and annoyed with everything. Her leg ached, her back ached, her sores were extra painful. She narrowed her eyes out. How dare they have any amount of fun? She was miserable. Well, at least that stupid cat was dead and gone, never to return. That alone made her feel better about herself, she grinned, her fingers twirling the tiny crown in her hand before spiriting it away into her leper's cloak. Let them search her, she dared them.

"Idiots."

Yes, they were all fools and idiots. She did not care if they liked her or not. In fact, she preferred them to dislike her. No, not dislike. Hate. She wanted them to hate her. The kind of hate that made a man or woman as insane as they would be if they were in love. Love. Bah! Nobody needs it. She closed her eyes, a bit of puss oozing down her mask like a grotesque tear. She remembered a story her father once read to her. Of a Dragon, a Knight, and a Mage. What was his name again?

"Grey Mage...."

That was it. She settled down, and napped in the wheeled chair she had taken with her, snoozing lightly to pass time.

[Mordokai]

(People, please. Let's not take out a roleplayer, let's get rid of Gray Mage, he has barely roleplayed the whole game.)

You do realise this game is primarily not about roleplaying, right? Sure, the narrator might not agree with me(all three of them, in fact ) and I know most, if not all of the players don't agree with me, but the point stands. The game is about hunting our enemies. And if your only reason to lynch people is their absence of roleplaying, all I'm gonna say is... you're next to get pointed at.

[Mordokai]

EDIT: Upon reading Mordy's arguement, I tentatively offer this rebuttal: the game is not SOLELY about roleplaying, but it is encouraged. And if I have nothing to go on and two people to choose between, I am going to choose the person who does NOT give me something enjoyable to read.

In that case, choose me. Sune knows I haven't offered anything enjoyable to read in a long time

Sorry for double post btw.

[otakuryoga]

Sigh, the masters events always seem to take a turn for the worse, perhaps that wandering gypsy was correct and this land is cursed.

perhaps i can convince the count to prevail upon Father Santiago(piratemonk) to try a blessing of the estate

[Cristo Meyers]

(Grey Mage)
--
Niko was finally well enough to move about, at least to a point. Anything above a slow walk caused his ribs to shriek in pain, so lively jogs through the gardens were completely out of the question.

He still couldn't quite remember what exactly had happened, but it seemed like that was more the norm than the exception.

Another guest had been murdered in the night, and accusations were flying again. Things were getting intense, people were dying, and he and multiple others were well and truly trapped by their injuries. This was starting to look less and less like a party and more and more like a giant trap...

[Internet Flea]

It was breakfast when Desmond noticed Ghanz Nmi. He had seen him before, he realized; he had been calling for the Bane King's head ever since the first body showed up. He had hunted with the Matron Violetta. He was her most active supporter.

How had Desmond missed him? Had his life become so comfortable for so long that he had forgotten the skills that had earned him his place? If his father had seen him blunder so, it would have meant hours of staring at pictures until he could say which men knew each other. If the Earl had seen him, it would have meant a life of poverty.

He forced those thoughts away. He had missed the connection, but he saw it now; and with the Matron injured from the hunt, this Ghanz was the most likely to shed light on the cause of their attack.


((And now for the fun OOC stuff. ))

OI! I'm still lying in a pool of my own congealing blood here. How about some basic decency people? I'm looking at you, Internet Flea!

I gave you my reasons when you asked. And it was you who was the one acting suspicious, as I'm sure at least three other people can confirm.

((I'm always suspicious. I didn't like the stated reasons, and nobody else gave me any, so I'm assuming there isn't a better one. I didn't notice you on the injured list (though it's nice to see that serious injury doesn't cause silence or anything), and I didn't notice Ghanz Nmi at all, so there you go.

Now I depart from the main thread, to gather more suspicion information. AWAY!))

[Lamech]

You do realise this game is primarily not about roleplaying, right?

I strongly agree with this for obvious reasons.

Also ThePhantom

P.S: It turns out I know nothing...

[Tasroth]

(((Lamech. No time to RP, busy now.)))

[Zar Peter]

point at otakuryoga

* falls down sleeping *

[Gray Mage]

It was already the fourth day in that cursed mansion, and the guests have been slowly killed off, one by one. Leonard has been too lost in his own thoughts on who was the responsible for these deaths to socialise with anyone else, and besides, he never was one to be talkative anyway. But his days of being quiet is over, this is the time to speak, because if he doesn't do that now, this might be his last day in the world.
"......"
Then again, it might be harder than he thinks.


((Ghanz Nmi for the counterbandwagon.))

[Murska]

((Otakuryoga for... busy.))

[Shadowcaller]

((The Phantom don't like people who don't RP eh? Well, I better protect myself from him then.))

[Aemoh]

I don't recall seeing much in the way of arguments for why we should lynch anyone. Course, that's cause I skim through the thread, what with all the RP going on.

Anyways....

*points at Sanity702*

Once more, for ze random.

[Dragoon]

Bushranger, and RP later when I have more time.

[Duneyrr]

Ugh... Murska for random. I've had so little time lately. Hopefully RP later.

[PirateMonk]

Father Santiago stares at the corpse. It had happened again. Another guest had been slain, far more brutally than the first. Were they entirely defenseless? The priest felt a shudder go through him, as if a horrible Phantom were passing through, and began to prepare the body for burial.

[ThePhantom]

Count Phillips, after finding a book on treating wounds, heads to the linen closet to get some cloth to serve as bandages.

[billtodamax]

PirateMonk while I catch up.

[Gray Mage]

((Changing to Thephantom.))