Helgraf and RabbitHoltLost present …
Vampire V: Paris By Night
Beneath the stars, that most terrible church of the most glorious Virgin Mary, mother of God, deservedly shines out, like the sun among stars. And although some speakers, by their own free judgment, because they are able to see only a few things easily, may say that some other is more beautiful, I believe however, respectfully, that, if they attend more diligently to the whole and the parts, they will quickly retract this opinion. Where indeed, I ask, would they find two towers of such magnificence and perfection, so high, so large, so strong, clothed round about with such a multiple variety of ornaments? Where, I ask, would they find such a multipartite arrangement of so many lateral vaults, above and below? Where, I ask, would they find such light-filled amenities as the many surrounding chapels? Furthermore, let them tell me in what church I may see such a large cross, of which one arm separates the choir from the nave. Finally, I would willingly learn where [there are] two such circles, situated opposite each other in a straight line, which on account of their appearance are given the name of the fourth vowel [O] ; among which smaller orbs and circlets, with wondrous artifice, so that some arranged circularly, others angularly, surround windows ruddy with precious colors and beautiful with the most subtle figures of the pictures. In fact I believe that this church offers the carefully discerning such cause for admiration that its inspection can scarcely sate the soul. —Jean de Jandun, Tractatus de laudibus Parisius
Behold Paris, from such a view, high above the streets. From here the light shines outward; embracing all it touches in filial piety. Her Missionaria Protectiva carry this light in their hands and hearts as they move through the rues of Paris; bringing mercy and corporeal aid to the poor and downtrodden.
But come with us now to another place. Here, the light is no longer diffuse and gentle. Here the light has been honed and focused; in these halls, the Brethern wield the light as blade and shield against the heresies of the darkness and the enemies of man. It takes a peculiar strength of will to peel back the façades of innocence and reveal the blackness beneath. Question House is a brutal reminder that those who prey in hiding will face the purifying light.
Everybody knows the Paris Opéra, at least by reputation. It is with regret that I assure you it hasn’t changed at all: for the sake of the passer-by who hasn’t been warned, let me say that it looks like a railway station. But once you’re inside you’ll be more likely to mistake it for a Turkish bath. — Debussy
Turn again, from a piercing light to the light of inspiration. Here, the finest worked magic for those public who could afford the extravagance. Salieri, Meyerbeer, and old Ciceri himself, who noted wrote “the stage should make as complete as possible the illusion of reality”. Here the illusions are woven thickest, across a three acre site whose auditorium takes up less than a fifth of the total space … There are over seventeen stories, seven of which are below the stage level; including stables for the opera horses. There really is a lake underneath the building; it is an integral part of the design, and the water level acts as a ballast, raised or lowered, depending on the weight of the stage, seven stories above it.
The conflict is subtler here, a war between artistry and patronage; the eternal struggle between the will to create as one wills and the need to create to appease the givers of endowments. Even here, there is struggle, amongst the privileged; for those who are established wish to maintain, in whole, the order which reigns through Paris, spreading like a pearlescent spider-knit tablecloth; the elders in their manors and chateaus, and their children, educated at the finest Universities of Paris, living in cafes and mistaking these lives for those of the sweepings of the streets; with the cries of Liberté, égalité, fraternité, they meet and plan how they might better Paris for all her native sons and daughters – and perhaps they are not entirely incorrect; the social order is rigid for the common classes; it might well take the interference of the disaffected nobility to ensure that the wheels keep turning against all that would oppose them.
Then there are the outsiders. The Romani, the gypies, the Ægyptians; fhideli, by all names, the travelling people have come once again to Paris. Naturally, the gendarmes are out in force, ensuring that nothing untoward occurs – all men know the travelling folk are light-fingered, and their goods of dubious origin, yet few can resist the exotic allure of their bright colorful, scandalous clothing and lifestyles, nor the opportunity to have fortunes told, elixirs brewed and charms purchased to mend life’s hundred thousand little flaws. They are at the same time feared and distrusted; dark tales speak of curses handed down, ancient poisons, of dalliances with the impure and worse.
Let us fall back to the Cathedral for a time. Here, high upon her grand spire, we look to the gate, where a single wagon pulls up. A hunched figure at the reins speaks with another, unseen. For a moment his head comes up, and the unavoidable feeling of having been perceived, despite the absurdities involved in the distance alone. The wagon passes into the city, and quickly out of sight. through. Life goes on in Paris, even in spite of the webs of intrigues that betimes threaten to throttle it. Ships dock, the stevedores unload the many large crates; others are loaded in their place. For Paris is a city of the arts, but it is also a city of trades and markets, where goods both local and foreign, domestic and exotic flow through the rues which are her veins.
There is a commotion now; a horse, ridden hard, comes galloping up to the gate – gendarmes approach; several on the gatehouse wall aiming muskets as a precaution. The figure, a man of medium weight, strongly built, with his shoulders set back over a broad, deep chest and a neck well balanced on the trunk as the head is on the neck. The face, clean-shaven, shows a hard, square chin, a large resolute, mobile mouth, a good-sized nose, rather straight, but with quick, sensitive nostrils, that seem to broaden as the big bushy brows come down and the mouth tightens while he converses with the gendarmes.
Several gendarmes leave the gate on horseback, riding into the city. See this one, who heads toward the docks. Note the particularly heavy raiment worn, how he moves in the lee of buildings to keep unseen. Here then, is a shadow among darkness. Here is the nightcap that douses the candle. The rat who walks as a man.
Paris is the City of Light, but She is ready to burst into flames. What part will you play?
After 16 Nights, the game is now over! Current Events
Event: Viva la revolution! The streets of Paris are ablaze with the actions of revolutionaries.
Liber Mortis - 28 Dead, 8 Destroyed
IXI Fat Tony IXI - Lynched Day 1; Destroyed Night 2
Alber - Autolynched Day 2
Eternis - Autolynched Day 2
The_JJ - Autolynched Day 2
Fin - Killed Night 2
Eldritch Knight - Lynched Day 3, Destroyed Night 13
Urien - Autolynched Day 3, Destroyed Night 7
Lady Tialait - Killed Night 3
Lex-kat - Lynched Day 4
Lamech - Killed Night 4
Murska - Lynched Day 5
Fleeing Coward - Lynched Day 6; Destroyed Night 6
ThePhantom - Killed Night 6
Lindon - Lynched Day 8
Diva De - Autolynched Day 8
D_Lord - Autolynched Day 8; Destroyed Night 8
Joxer t' Mighty - Autolynched Day 8
cd4 - Killed Night 8
Bladescape - Lynched Day 9, Destroyed Night 11
Lamech - Killed Night 9
TsukikoJ - Killed Night 9
Super dark33 - Lynched Day 10, Destroyed Night 10
erikun - Autolynched Day 10
Lord Loss - Lynched Day 11
Mustiado - Autolynched Day 11
Matthias2207 - Autolynched Day 11
Larspcus2 - Lynched Day 12
Gray Mage - Killed Night 13
TigerFang - Killed Night 13
Zar Peter - Lynched Day 14, Destroyed Night 14
Elder Tsofu - Lynched Day 15, Destroyed Night 16
Reinholdt - Killed Night 15
The_Grimmace - Killed Night 16
Navi Plaguelord courtesy of "Make yourself a Navi" website plus some ingenuity on my part...
Werewolf Awards: 'Best Narration: Helgraf' Rabbit says stuff that makes me blush.
At the start of the day, gendarmes proceed through Paris, posting up bills warning about the dangers of associating with the Gypsy Folk.
"In accordance with the bylaws regarding the regulation of transients, all Gypsy Folk are required to register upon arrival in Paris. Pursuant to this ordinance, Papers of Notice will be distributed to maintain awareness of the transient presence in our noble city"
IXI Fat Tony IXI
Navi Plaguelord courtesy of "Make yourself a Navi" website plus some ingenuity on my part...
Werewolf Awards: 'Best Narration: Helgraf' Rabbit says stuff that makes me blush.
The Opera House, one of the finest places in the city of Paris.
However, Gérard Carrière is no longer going to be working there, there are new managers, since two new owners decided that new people would be needed to run the Opera House. The fools, they have no idea who is the true owner of that place.
At least this gives him time to relax. He does have enough money to last him for the rest of his life, so he doesn't have to worry about that. Perhaps things should be calm for as long as he lives.
Avatar by Emperor Ing
Last edited by ThePhantom : 08-28-2011 at 09:32 AM.
Jaspard fingered the golden coin that hung around his neck as a good-luck charm, knowing full-well that this city wouldn't be safe for much longer. But for some reason, the thought was interesting rather than just terrifying. For when the danger arose, so to would the darkness he was here to slay.
The small sabre that sat attached to his side and the pistol he held in his hand were what he used, and they'd tasted many the blood of the beasts he hunted. He was back, once more would Jaspard hunt the demons. "Prepare yourself, abominations of Paris. I've come, to hunt."
(Random point at FleeingCoward)
"Trust bladescape, Shadow of Doubt,"
My almighty and all knowing extended Signature lies HERE! Now includes awesome quotes!
If I'm needed in a FFRP scene, or someone has an idea for one of my characters, PM me. It's more likely to be received than anything else.
Ah, Paris. The language of romance and the city of love. The city carries an element of danger, but perhaps to those of european inclination, that merely adds to its charm. The idea that the Phantom of the Opera might appear around a dark corner or misty alleyway, while purely a flight of fancy, brings with it a flavor of enticement as well.
Erik had decided towards a leisurely stroll as the day drifted through afternoon. The markets and streets always held something new to view, even away from the colorful venders and in the backalleys of winding, medieval architecture. Munching on a chunk of pain found him today wandering along one of the tributaries to the Seine, following the sidewalk and just taking in the sights of the people there.
(Seeing as how my other WW marks me as vulnerable to upper case letters, I'll be pointing at The_JJ for today. I guess it makes as much sense as any.)
Mr. Pelay arrives in Paris from Alberta wary from his travels. He looks around the city of love and sighs, he missed his old home. He missed it very much. He took off a cloak that he had been wearing. It was made from the finest furs he could afford, and seeing how he owned a fur shipping company, it was quite fine. Gesturing to his friend he whispered, "This place is always lovely, but always dangerous. Be wary, Paris is a poisonous flower." no friend responded, he was alone. He again sighed realizing this. He also wondered if Murska had gotten his latest shipment of furs.
"I laugh at life, it's antics make for me a giddy game. Where only foolish fellows take themselves with solemn aim.”
Avatar by: Etcetera|Doll by Recaiden|Sigbanner by Szilard
Last edited by Lady Tialait : 08-30-2011 at 02:23 AM.
From the shadows of the alley way he called home Fin watched as Bladescape fiddled with something around his neck. It looked golden, but from this distance he couldn't make out any more than that. Years living on the streets in this city had given him a great eye for anything of value, especially if it looked like it could be snatched.
He began his pursuit...
It only seemed to take a few moments before Fin was within a few metres of his target, he began to salivate at the thought of food, food that this newest lift would afford him. Perhaps even a room for the night, it was gold after all and the skies looked to be promising rain.
He was close...
Now within range it was just a case of waiting for the right opportunity and it looked like it was coming, there was a bit of commotion up ahead, a street performer gaining a crowd, it was the perfect spot to casually bump into this rich fool and snag his prize. To Fin, the value of that trinket was immeasurable but he doubted it's owner would even miss it! The crowd was getting closer, Fin calmed his breathing and readied himself.
Then he saw it...
Just before they got to the crowd his mark raised his arm, brushing aside some of the fabric of the man's clothes. Fin eyes were there expecting to see a purse or something else of value. Instead he saw the hilt of a sword, only small but still deadly. Was this man a killer, would he kill? Was it worth the risk?
Waiting for that day, when we all have the time.
Originally Posted by Dirk Kris
I'll never trust you again. Even if we're on the same team. Even if the narrators tell me to.
A young man enters Paris, lost in thought. The city was said to be one of the most beautiful in Europe, but rumors also spoke of the great dangers lurking there. It looked inviting enough. He had survived the harsh cold of the lands of the Czar, and he could survive this. Stepping around an overturned cart of saltpeter, the traveler locates suitable lodgings and goes out to see what the city has to offer. If there is evil here, he thinks, I will find it soon enough.
"Belkar the Gourmet Chef" avatar by Sampi.
Do you surmise it's wise to have laser beams emitting from your eyes?
-They Might Be Giants, "The Lady and the Tiger"
Dominique stepped out the side door of the Opera Populaire, drawing her cloak more tightly around her shoulders. Peering up and down the street, she looked to see who was watching. Dominique gave a bitter laugh. Not that it mattered - no one ever looked at her. A plain-looking girl with blonde hair the color of bleached bone, no one noticed her much at all. Eyes of an unremarkable hazel looked down the street once more. Certain the way was clear, she headed out.
The streets were cool, and a wind that spoke of a winter yet to come gusted at her, making the cloak fly out behind her where she wasn't holding it. She shivered in her skimpy chorus-girl costume - someone had taken her clothes while they were rehearsing. That was before the managers came in to say that this week's productions of Hannibal were cancelled - no one was coming. People still whispered that the opera was haunted, though no one had seen any sign of their "phantom". Dominique sighed and ducked into a shop. The sign overhead showed a harp with a woman's face, singing - or was it playing? - golden notes.
Steadying herself before she went any further, Dominique caught a glimpse of her reflection and sighed. Thinking of why she was here, what she was doing...
There she was, Christine - the one everyone was making a fuss over. Even HIM - whoever he was. That presence... Dominique and Christine had grown up there together, in the opera house. But Christine sometimes forgot her name. Eyes narrowed, Dominique followed her. Christine had that far-away look again, which meant...scarcely breathing, she followed.
The chapel - again. Determined to find the secret the soprano was keeping, Dominique lurked in the shadows of the archway into the chapel. Christine sang to herself, something about an angel, and then...
...then she saw him.
Remembering his face, the way he moved like a dancer, but wrought with danger, Dominique gasped. Catching sight of her reflection again, she crinkled her nose with sadness and said, again, it was no wonder he had not noticed her.
Going to the old crone inside, Dominique handed over a small purse that clinked in the gnarled fingers. The woman seemed to weigh it in her palm, then nodded. Stepping into the back, Dominique quickly took in the shackles, the blazing fire that made this room too warm, and the woman's...instruments. Gulping, she kept her eyes fixed on the floor as she undressed - she could not risk the costume being damaged.
You understanhd ze proceedurr? The woman's accent left Dominique blinking for a moment before she understood her words. Nodding, she braced herself. The woman nodded back, the grabbed one of her wrists in a hold much tighter than it should have been. You vant to be soprano? Dominique nodded again, willing herself not to cry already. Let me heer it. Dominique's singing voice, the reason she was here, was a deep, rich alto. However, he clearly preferred sopranos, so... The old woman spat on the floor and grinned at the girl with a smile that left her blood chilled. Darling, I promeese you - you vill scream until you are soprano - tonight!
It didn't take long for Dominique to prove her right.
He sat alone on a bench in the train station. He was waiting for someone. He had long forgotten who, his memory wasn't what it used to be. He hummed to himself, still waiting. He didn't know how long he had been there, but it was light when it started. Now it was super dark (33). He drummed a bit on the seat. Music had always been one of his strong suits. Memory wasn't. Why was he here again? ...Right. Meeting someone. Who was it? ...Eh. He'd remember who it was when he saw them.
(Are PMs allowed in this game?
Also... I tend to play characters with no given name. So don't ask him. )
Fire Emblem Spritesman Inna Playground - Let me know if you set up a game!
In the heart of the city sets a manor that may once have been great, but now mortar is crumbling, the iron wrought fence choked with weeds and vines, and the windows soiled with the smog and fires in the air.
From the attic protrudes a balcony. Setting within wheeled chair is an elderly man. As shabby as his house is, this man is immaculate. He wears a rich robe of silk, and his brilliant white hair hangs down to its broad, cushioned collar. A goatee is the only hair on his carefully shaved faces, curling down to his chest. Brilliant blue eyes look out from a face ancient, but only marginally wrinkled. In his youth he must have been incredibly good looking.
His eyes are in what focuses his strength, for the body beneath the robes is wasted away. They gaze on the street below do those eyes, watching with intense focus, noting every detail.
Now and against a servant comes to him, occasionally studying his face and writing down a note, though he says nothing. All in the area know him as this ancient, crippled thing, and none recall when he was not. Many are desperately curious what he has written, but his servants do not tell. The last one to do so was found in the canal, face down in the putrid waters. Even then, the only thing upon the paper was a name. A single name.
They call him the Baron in jest, and though once it may have had a name, his manor is now known only as Chateau du Mal Voisin.
He has seemed particularly vigilant and focused this last week.
A servant arrives, and he blinks twice, three times, four. A conversation is held in that gaze. The servant nods, and writes down a name.
That name is Elder_Tsofu.
__________________ Helping others is a good and noble cause, but sometimes the best way you can help them is by lending them a sword and telling them to go slay their own damned dragons.
Last edited by Joxer t' Mighty : 08-28-2011 at 10:57 PM.
Unless the rule specifically say that PMs are not allowed then assume they are allowed. It is pratically certain that you need to use PMs to talk to your faction and your alignment without any one else knowing.
Originally Posted by Larspcus2
On this note, while editing obviously needs to be done when changing a vote, can one edit a post for nefarious purposes or to avoid a double post?
You can edit how you want, though some players will get the original post stored by email so be careful what you edit as they might call you on it.
Now for some RP:
He watches the street, always watching, always waiting. He was looking for crime and he found it often. Rather than confront the criminal he simply took down the name Fin in his book ready to give to those who asked him to watch.
Gerard gazed up at the Opera House angrily. He had heard of the decadence debauchery that took place there, and was determined to shut it down if he couldn't get a ticket. He reached into his pockets, sighing with frustration, but not surprise, to find them empty. That IXI Fat Tony IXI guy, on the other hand, seemed able to afford opera tickets whenever he wanted. There was simply no justice in the world.
Delightfully abrasive in more ways than one
Originally Posted by Recaiden
This is Demon King Mangosta talking. Of course he's harsh.