Vampire IV: The Song of Night

Helgraf · 10-26-2010, 03:33 AM

Helgraf, Alarra, and RabbitHoleLost present...
Vampire IV: The Song of Night

Enter freely and of your own will.

These are the words that stay with me yet. So much has happened, there is so much to be told. Yet as the sanguine humour leaves me, drop by drop, each one a phantom beast, a leech, a remora, stealing my strength, my resolve already destroyed; even as this happens, I find myself returning to the words of our first introduction.

Enter freely and of your own will.
But leave some of the happiness that you bring.

Perhaps if I had been able to bide this counsel, I would not have come to this end - and it is an end, one that creeps through me; a numbing, chilling end. I hear it now, in the echo of my pulse that moves sluggisly in my ears.
I hear it, just as the madman foretold. The song of Night.

It sings to me a serenade of surrender, somnulent sibilant succumbing. Succulent swallows of savoring sound out below, where the bride - once mine! Alas, no more! - where the bride lays beneath, trembling at the touch and spatter of my final sonata; twisting and writhing like an animal in the ruttage with each splattering spot of crimson that decants from my open veins and descends.

I, the father, devoted, defeated, dying. My wife, my lover, my sun, debased, debauched ... yet still divine. My happiness falls to the floor, memories slowly vanishing with consciousness. I will fall under the black tide, succumb to the song soon enough.

My daughter. My precious daughter. This party was to be your introduction to polite society ... so long delayed after ... Giselle. I can only pray the madman's words were spoken with silent lucidity - that among my guests, hidden, shall be such men as can face this enemy .. enemy within.

I fear for you, my daughter. Fear that the new lord of this manor will eventually turn upon his word as he has turned upon me. That he might not kill thee in thy turn, but render to you the damnation of the Bride.

My bride. White veils and soft flesh all stained crimson now, memory and malady afflicting me.

They come. From England, from Europe, from the colonies. Gemma ... my most loyal servant. I fear you know what came unto my household. I can only pray your wisdom and herbcraft were sufficent ban to save you as I could not save myself. Guide them if you can. Save them if you must.

I leave their safety in the hands of an old woman, a girl barely a woman, and a madman.

God save us all.

I can hear the words again ... the echo of the great doors opening. That voice like velvet, like silk.

Enter freely and of your own will.
But leave some of the happiness that you bring.

And then, I hear nothing at all...

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OOC: Roleplay is heartily encouraged. Please feel free if you wish to write your character's arrival at the manor.

Details: The manor is situated on a small island off the coast; one would arrive via boat - the water is too shallow for proper ships, though one could be rowed in, arriving at a small, well maintained pier; any baggage would have been offloaded here onto pack animals or a carriage. The journey from the docks to the manor would take a few hours by carriage; one on a horse bearing only a light burden. Once clear of the dock, there is a thick, primeval wood; small game animals are plentiful but wary of people.
The manor itself is a large, almost intimidating structure; a thick outer wall originally designed to keep out celts, picts, jutes and other undesirables still stands - through the gatehouse that clearly doubles as a murder zone for besiegers, lies a wide courtyard with a number of smaller outbuildings and the keep proper. Horses are stabled off to one side of the entrance, and the stables secured with thick chains and intimidating locks.

After horses are unhitched and led to the stables, you will be escorted to the central keep. Across the lintel of the double doors, the words Enter Freely have been carved into the stone. Servants emerge to take up your belongings and see them delivered to your chambers for the duration of the affair.

After a time, the Count Din Elfre will descend the central staircase to join those assembled.

"Welcome, honoured guests. I hope your journeys have not proven vexing - it is yet several hours until evening. Allow the servants to divest you of your burdens and offer you light repast and drink to fortify the spirit. In the spirit of the occasion, I shall offer you a diversion. One among your number must be chosen to be the Bane King. Discuss as you will, but remember, if at least a quarter of you cannot come to an agreement, then all shall pay a forfeit!"

The Count gives an almost musical little laugh at that point. "Your proper rooms are still being prepared, so for this first night, you shall rest here in the castle. I assure you there are plenty of down pillows and thick blankets. Fire bricks will also be available for those who wish them.

Now, please. Mingle amongst yourselves. Share the happiness you bring."

Player List

Spoiler

Current Housing Arrangements: See Here

The Recruitment, Roles and Rules Thread

Day 1 begins and will end approximately 48 hours from when this thread gets moderator approval.

Griever · 10-26-2010, 10:19 AM

Herr Griever von Lufdel gazed wearily out from his rowboat, peeking as he would from a rather gloomy fog. The island that was barely a speck of dust on the horizon from shore now laid before him, as would a lazy giant, not caring to hide well enough to avoid interest.

As he docked silently with the pier, he noted the full stable of horses nearby,
I am the first, then... heh, some things never change.

Stepping upon the pier, Herr Griever lifted a single bag out of the boat before smashing down the tip of his cane, breaking a board on his boat, sinking it quickly.

Without even glancing down he turned, got a horse and rode off into the forest, softly reciting a short poem:

Though home is sweet and road is long,
We dare not let our resolve slip.
Fleeing fate is forever wrong,
And so today we will burn the ships.

And so... today... we burn the ships.

banjo1985 · 10-26-2010, 10:49 AM

Dr Alexander Pickman-Leng arrives at the docks in disarray, his hair unkempt and forehead slick with sweat. A man of science and research rather than outdoor pursuits, his bearing is of someone unused to heavy exertion and glad that the difficult journey is almost over. As he paddles clumsily to the edge of teh docks he see's Herr Griever galloping off into the trees; clearly he was one of the first to arrive.

"Well, the Dean did say his carriage and horses were the fastest in Edinburgh. If I could row I would probably have arrived first."

The silent servants take the two heavy bags from Alexander's boat, surprised by their weight. They're small, but clearly hold heavy instruments rather than clothes or neccessities.

"Careful please fellows, those are valuable scientific pieces on loan from the university."

Alexander gets off the boat himself and walks over to the carriage that is being loaded with his equipment. He does a good job of freshening himself up and smoothing down his jacket and hat, one would almost not believe he'd recently looked so ruffled. He checks his pocket watch and holds his hand up as the carriage driver makes to start off for the manor.

"One moment if you don't mind. There is plenty of room for bags and people alike, let us wait for another to join us."

The biologist stands at the end of pier with a warm open smile on his face, ready to help anyone who turns up next and allows him. He won't push the issue if someone wants to keep to themselves though.

Murska · 10-26-2010, 10:57 AM

A man in smooth, elegant and expensive black clothing arrives next. As his boat approaches, he is sitting in the middle of it, his back straight as a board, as four brown-coated men drag the boat to the pier and attach it. He stands up and steps off the boat. A man hands him his two bags, which don't appear particularly heavy, and then the boat turns and leaves.

Seeing the biologist, the new arrival makes a small dignified bow. "Hello there, good sir."

Lady Tialait · 10-26-2010, 11:14 AM

Matron Violetta, the leaper rowed her own boat to the small island. She would have taken more, but her...condition...begged to differ. Most labor would not work for her, no matter how rich she was. The sores on her face were starting to postulate, so she wore a burlap leaper's mask. Two crude eye holes were cut so she could see. Each of them showing a bit of her condition, oozing scabs crusting over the edges of the openings. A wet spot over her mouth had formed, as she rowed her boat she pulled the mask back, spitting a tooth into the water. She restored the mask. A smell of death came off the leaper as she arrived. Her hat on her head had a decayed flower arrangement on it. Her dress, made of the finest silks was both faded and ripped. Her hands were covered in dirty gloves, each finger having at least two expensive rings. The metal tarnished. She seemed a reflection of aristocracy. Trying it's hardest to be proper, but failing because at the core it is rotten. The Matron found a spot to stand, and bitterly spoke out.

"Does anyone know why we are all gathered here?"

The woman seemed completely annoyed with even being in this castle, much less having to sleep on the ground like some common leaper. She was not a common leaper. She was a rich and influential leaper.

cd4 · 10-26-2010, 11:30 AM

Sir Cedric the fourth of Durham stepped out of the next boat. He doesn't look too happy. He is however emacuately dressed and somehow managed to not crease any of his clothes on the journey here.

He sees the situation in a glance and says to Violetta "Well madam it looks like the scientist there is waiting for someone else to join him in the carriage and the other man is trying to talk to him. I think that riding with him in the carriage might prove interesting."

He walks up and gets his bags delivered to the carriage, he speaks to Alexander "Greeting sir. I see that you are a scientist, might I join you. I have been interested in the arts of science for some time and am always looking at new ideas, especially those that are profitable.

I hope though that whatever you are working on is going better than poor Percy Pilcher's attempt. He demonstrated a new flying machine yesterday, I stopped off to see on the way down here. This new flying machine unfortuantly flew like a stone and he died."

((True story Percy Pilcher did try to fly a hangglider in 1899 and died doing so.))

Lady Tialait · 10-26-2010, 11:59 AM

Clearing his throat, the obese Matron Violetta shakes her masked head. A single pustule below her eye pops, she quickly wipes it with a bloody rag, that she spirits away back into her pocket.

"Why would I do that? I am not here to waste my time. Especially not with foolish endeavors that might get me killed."

Korias · 10-26-2010, 12:00 PM

Perhaps it was wrong of Kenneth to chuckle as he saw the group rowing in, his own tiny sailboat tacking it's way up to the dock. As he tied the boat to dock, he smiled at the crew gathered along the pier. What a fine evening this is for such a crew to be gathered. His accent is thick, easily identifying him as Scottish: though from his large bright red hair, it was easy to begin with. Or it could be the kilt. That would be fair reasoning as well.

Carrying his two bags up to the carriage, he laughs again at the scientist giving orders to his servants. Laddy, do you really expect to be researching here? But as the whif of the leper was blown by the breeze that had carried him ashore in the first place, he immediately placed his handkerchief to his face. I do believe there be something afoul already at this party. What could the Duke be thinking? he whispers to the two intellectuals.

Zar Peter · 10-26-2010, 03:03 PM

Sir Zar arrives with a little boat. He's a skinny, sinewy man with short cut but very tousled hair. He wairs grey trousers, a white shirt and a green jacket. His possesions are only a little case and a hunting rifle. He jumps out of the boat, nods to Dr. Pickmen-Leng as recognicing a fellow scientist, takes a horse and rides to the castle. He never was and never will be a man of many words.

((Point at billtodamax because I think we have to point and the die said 3))

Diva De · 10-26-2010, 05:30 PM

Belle Smithson arrives and spends a few minutes calming her horse Tadewi as he takes in the smells of this new land. She approaches the group of other newcomers and nods politely, her hair braided loosely and and falling down her back, tied with a green ribbon that matches her eyes. A man hanging back from the group catches her eye and makes her feel uneasy. His baggage says Tasroth.

Pardon me? I am Belle Smithson. I take it that you, too, are guests of the Count? She holds out a gloved hand, expecting some gentleman to kiss it.

ThePhantom · 10-26-2010, 06:41 PM

Count Philippe de Chagny, his green coat removed to let his arms move freely, rows to the dock. After reaching it, he pulls it back on, and lifts his bags up, to be loaded onto a carriage.

Looking at the guest that arrived before him, he notes the men at the carriage, the woman with the horse, and the lady who has fallen on hard times. Well, at least there should be no lack of speak to talk do. Or will there?

"Bonjour là. N'importe lequel d'entre vous parle-t-il le français?"

Lamech · 10-26-2010, 06:42 PM

billtodamax... I have a plan and it should end great!!!

Cristo Meyers · 10-26-2010, 06:59 PM

Sir Niko Almasy spat as some oddly vigorous salt spray lapped against the edge of the small boat, splashing him in the face. With any luck, his horse would be waiting at the dock as the cramped seating of the small rowboat was proving most annoying. It wasn't that the man was anti-social, far from it in fact, but rather it was because he'd never acquired sea legs of any kind. Even the gentle rocking of the rowboat was enough to set both his stomach and his mood to sour.

Yet another one of Father's "expeditions" to high society, joy of joys. He fervently wished he'd just been able to stay in America. Even if most of the locals in the Great Plains thought him an oddity with his accent and high society mannerisms they had been accepting enough people: teaching him skills he'd never have learned at the estate. Shooting, namely, he was quite a pistolier and was never without the classic Colt Peacemaker he'd bought there, even though wearing the weapon was more or less out of style in most places.

Niko stepped off the boat onto the dock, stamping his feet to try and get rid of the damp. He recognized none of the people gathered there, not that he'd expected to. Luckily his horse was waiting for him, along with what little possessions he bothered to carry on these trips. He was looking forward to a short, solitary ride followed by a bed, or at least a warm fire...

Dragoon · 10-26-2010, 07:38 PM

A young woman walk over towards one of the others that is similar in age and asks, "Excuse me, but does your cat, Reinholdt cause you much trouble on your journey?"

Diva De · 10-26-2010, 07:42 PM

Belle turned to the gentleman who had spoken in French and smiled faintly, while at the same time squinching her eyes shut in concentration. Je parle un peu. Bonsoir, monsieur. Je suis plu de faire votre connaissance. She smiled more brightly after that, her American accent tinging the words. I learned a little while I was at finishing school. My daddy insisted I go. Do you speak English? I'm afraid our conversations will be limited to common pleasantries otherwise. She flushed slightly, partly embarrassed, partly excited. She couldn't WAIT to meet someone fascinating. She just hoped she wouldn't be singled out for being American.

Helgraf · 10-26-2010, 07:49 PM

Quote:

Originally Posted by Zar Peter

((Point at billtodamax [i]because I think we have to point...

((This is correct. Though you appear to be pointing to nominate the Bane King this first night, whatever that might be.))

At the estate, the Count Din Elfre moved among the servants still in the central keep, directing them with subtle gestures and the faintest of verbal cues.

Toward the back of the manor, a misshapen wreck of a man, bound in garments stain'd and foul drags behind him a pack of hunting animals on stout iron chains. ... to call them dogs would be stretching the word to its limits. As he reaches the far end of the estate, he howls at the snarling beasts, a low ululating tone more animal than man resonating in the air. He pulled up the massive bar high enough that when he pressed his back against the massive wooden doors he was able to pry them just wide enough to pass a man through. Another long, forlorn howl as he sidled through, half-dragging the hunting beasts with him before removing the chains.

The creatures stood motionless a moment, until the realization of unexpected freedom struck ... and they loped off into the woods before their master changed his mind.

The abominable wretch squeezed back through, tugging the massive door with all his strength until it came shut again and lowering the bar in place.

Soon. Soon all would be in readiness. Even now, the guests were beginning to arrive..

Sanity702 · 10-26-2010, 08:27 PM

Zion almost collapsed off the boat, he had been rowing. He had been to confident in his rowing skills and was now regretting the extremely long time it took to get here... He figured he would be sore for the next few days to say the least. Once on land he collapsed exhausted. He looked up to see Cersie and Mr. Buttons sill in the boat.

~~((calar))~~ thought this was for lynch

ThePhantom · 10-26-2010, 08:43 PM

Quote:

Originally Posted by Diva De

Belle turned to the gentleman who had spoken in French and smiled faintly, while at the same time squinching her eyes shut in concentration. Je parle un peu. Bonsoir, monsieur. Je suis plu de faire votre connaissance. She smiled more brightly after that, her American accent tinging the words. I learned a little while I was at finishing school. My daddy insisted I go. Do you speak English? I'm afraid our conversations will be limited to common pleasantries otherwise. She flushed slightly, partly embarrassed, partly excited. She couldn't WAIT to meet someone fascinating. She just hoped she wouldn't be singled out for being American.

Phillip smiles. At least there's one person who can speak some french.

"I do, mademoiselle. I am the Count Philippe de Chagny."

He bows.

"And I have the pleasure of addressing?"

(Lamech)

PirateMonk · 10-26-2010, 09:27 PM

Father Santiago sails in on a small sloop. He ties the boat to the pier and takes from it a worn leather bag containing his possessions. After riding through the wood, he enters the manor and warily surveys the other guests.

((~~Zar Peter~~.))

Diva De · 10-26-2010, 09:57 PM

Quote:

Originally Posted by ThePhantom

Phillip smiles. At least there's one person who can speak some french.

"I do, mademoiselle. I am the Count Philippe de Chagny."

He bows.

"And I have the pleasure of addressing?"

Belle Smithson. My father is Duke Smithson, formerly of Dover, now of Maryland in the United States. He's a...businessman. And a minorly famous hunter. He's caught - well, all SORTS of things. But he couldn't make it. So he sent me to answer the Count's gracious invitation. I DO enjoy a good hunt, don't you? The fair-skinned brunette looked about eagerly, drinking in all the sights. Well, except for the leper-lady.

ThePhantom · 10-26-2010, 10:02 PM

"Well, your father is certainly a fine hunter of women to produce such a lovely daughter. A shame that he couldn't be here, but his lose is our gain."

Phillip holds out a hand.

"Care to join me on the carriage out of this cold evening?"

Ghanz Nmi · 10-26-2010, 10:14 PM

The night was yet young, but already a storm could be seen in the distance. Brooding alone inside his carriage, Major Ghanz Nmi's mood mirrored the weather- calm, but about to boil over.

There was a time when his rank meant something, when the decorated officer was a leader of men. That was years ago, back when he still served a sovereign nation instead of a puppet colony. Nowadays, he spends his days being dragged from one humiliating social function to another, the foreign dignitary of a defeated people.

Ghanz was not looking forward to this latest gathering of so-called "Nobles"- yet another event in which mimicry of a peacock is considered the dress code. The Major's Oriental features tightened as he imagined the next few torturous days, no doubt spent telling the same war stories to hundreds of fops who do not know the end of a weapon from the tip.

As he stepped out of his ride, Ghanz surveyed his newest Hel for the foreseeable future, and could not help but feel an attachment to the fortress- another once-proud symbol of military prowess, its days of glory long past.

Shaking his head and putting on his cap, the Major stepped into the castle.

RabbitHoleLost · 10-26-2010, 10:33 PM

She stood, high on the second floor, watching as, down below her, they all began to arrive.
They were all late. Years and years late, though it wasn't all entirely their fault she'd been kept from society and the excitement of social encounters. Really, Adelheid couldn't really even blame her father, the Count, who'd been so unlike himself as of late, especially the past few days. Not even if it was at his own insistence she stay away from social gathering until she reached a particular age, and until her older sister was promised to a man of equal noble stature to please Mother.
But, dear, Father had been strange. It was in small things, like the way he smiled and minute hand gestures, but Adelheid had always adored her father, and little things stood out like extra appendages.

Perhaps it was simply age getting to him, or stress. With the oldest daughter now gone, maybe Father was realizing his age. He wasn't nearly as young as he had been, and the years weren't getting kinder.

But Adelheid would be damned if she let his strange behavior ruin her "coming out", as the entrance into society for young noble women was often called. She'd waited far too long.

Hiding out on the second floor, gazing down upon the guests as they stepped one by one into her home, she knew she'd have to wait a little bit longer. Just a little bit...soon, it would be time for her entrance into society.

And she would dazzle like the glorious young woman she knew she was.
The woman her father brought her up to be.

Korias · 10-26-2010, 10:57 PM

Up and at em ol' chap. Kenneth extends a hand to Zion (Sanity702), helping the man get back on his feet. Now certainly isn't the time to be resting when there be a party to attend. He motions forward with the rest of the group, hoping to glean something from the chitchat. A Frenchman, an American, and a cat.

It had to be cats. Perchance this one will have less dander than the last one. Otherwise I'll hardly be fit to enjoy the festivities. But his ears perk up at the mention of business, the negotiator in him stirring to see what sort of deal he can construct. Approaching the pair, he smiles warmly. Permit me to introduce m'self. Kenneth O'Rias, Admiral o' the Orion shipping fleet. He extends a hand in greeting to Count Phillip, before turning to Belle and bowing slightly, I hate t' be evesdroppin' on you, but you said you be the heiress to the Smithson's? I didn't know they were still rubbing elbows with the courts here in Britannia.

Regaining his composure, Kenneth relaxed a bit before pelting the pair with questions: How the vintage was this year in France, how the new zoo in New York was progressing, the opinions on the current Prime Minister, general small talk. Nothing too out of the ordinary, save one: So how do you know the ol' Count anyway? He seems to have quite a few connections across the world. He says, noting the eclectic gathering of guests.

ThePhantom · 10-26-2010, 11:00 PM

(Um, just a little nit pick, how does Kenneth know what the count said when they haven't arrived to where the count is yet?)

Count Phillip shakes Kenneth's hand.

"The wines are fine, and the champagne my family makes is excellent this year."

Korias · 10-26-2010, 11:15 PM

Spoiler

As from what I can tell, We've already been escorted away from the docks... I'm a bit confused as to where everyone really is at this point. We would only start pointing at everyone once we'd been amidst the company of the Count anyway. If I'm horribly off in that we're not AT the hall, then I'll edit my RP as such but I could use a little clearing up here, since the opening says one thing but it appears everyone has taken to the whole "We're at the docks" schtick.

ThePhantom · 10-26-2010, 11:20 PM

(Well, some people went to the hall already, but my character hasn't yet. He would like to travel in the company of people who might be friends, which means waiting for a few people willing to go in the same carriage.)

Korias · 10-26-2010, 11:27 PM

Quote:

Originally Posted by ThePhantom

(Well, some people went to the hall already, but my character hasn't yet. He would like to travel in the company of people who might be friends, which means waiting for a few people willing to go in the same carriage.)

Thanks for the clear up. Post edited to reflect the change in questioning.

ThePhantom · 10-26-2010, 11:33 PM

"He's a good buyer of champange. I think he'll been planning this party for years."

Phillip looks around at the others waiting to arrive at the Count's manor.

"Through I question his taste in invitations. Inviting a leaper? That riskes all of his guests, as well as himself."

Alarra · 10-26-2010, 11:35 PM

Mrs. Morgan closed the door to the last of the guest suites as she completed her check of the upper floor. It had been quite a lot of work to prepare the drafty, seldom used rooms for the more than 30 guests that now swarmed the grounds. Of course, the rooms had been prepared days ago. She was nothing if not punctual in her duties. She couldn't help feeling a bit miffed that the Count had lied to his guests about the preparedness of their rooms. She was sure he had his reasons for wanting the nobility to bunk together on the floor, but she couldn't think of any other than that he must want her to look bad.

She continued down to the kitchen. Many of the group seemed to have traveled far and would probably want tea.