MM-Totentanz [Invite]

[NPC]

~~~~~

No ball that year had been as extravagant as the one the prince had put on within the safe, uncontaminated walls of his castle. It was a grand ball, with a thousand of his closest friends, with all the food and wine and other comforts they could desire, in keeping with the idea of an extended stay… as extended as they wished or required.

Of rooms there were many, and around every corner, there was merriment. Jesters, mummers, musicians, much dancing and singing and drinking as well. The food was excellent, the wine second to none. And the castle itself was the grandest one could ever hope to see. Its design was unique, and the rooms in which the ball was held - that is, the main rooms, aside from the apartments to which the guests retired at will - were irregularly and beautifully designed, such that each was a different color, and led into one another. It was quite a game to move among the rooms and see what might be happening there at any given time.

The prince himself was among those drifting from room to room, and had dressed in some of his best finery, which, granted, was not much to be said when one considered how many fine clothes the man owned. He was a purveyor of fine things; fine wines, fine women, fine flavors and entertainment of any sort. There was a certain amount of eccentricity and arrogance about him, but he was social and talkative enough to count as being friendly, and would chat with anyone who approached him.

Likewise, the other guests were very open, for some due to the amount of wine flowing about the premises. They were everywhere; the prince himself could, at the moment, be found in the room that had been decorated in blue tones, with a group of musicians who were playing a full and lively gigue. Not everyone was expected to dance, but the mood was upbeat, and anyone who chose to mull over matters or otherwise burden the mood would soon find themselves sent off to their own rooms.

~~~~~

[Adrian Kilvayne]

You take a mortal man,
And put him in control
Watch him become a god,
Watch peoples heads a'roll

Sir Adrian Kilvayne strode through the castle's ballroom, dodging the courtiers and guests with effortless fluidity. A knight in service to the royal family he and his line had been, but this night he felt something was not quite right. The decadence of the royal court had grown more pronounced of late, culminating in this garrulous affair, this all-too-ostentatious fete. Though Adrian was not one to complain about such things in general, there was a palpable tension in the atmosphere. The plague and famine, the strife and sorrow outside these walls could not be drowned out by any degree of merriment.

Still, Adrian was a man of the nobility, and so his allegiance was to the prince and the prince's wishes. The prince had called for joy and dancing and song, and so it would be. He moved hither and yon, taking up a maiden once and again, for a dance. But he would have words with the prince, ere the night was over. He had come in a fine tabard, bearing the sigils of his house. The left was crimson with a sable-feathered, or-taloned eagle and the right was or with an argent diamond. At his belt was sheathed a longsword of masterwork quality. He felt vulnerable without his armor.

Not because he was worried someone would manage to take his life. But the attempting of such would quite possibly result in his nature being discovered by those who would not understand. His curse, his gift...the people of the time called it witchcraft. He himself thought it was such, and he knew the penalty for such was death. They would find a way, he mused. He had seen it before. With different specimens of his kind. Whatever they were, anyway. He had no answers, and that caused problems in itself.

At least knowing why he was different would be something like armor to him. Sir Adrian's musings ended when he came upon an exotic beauty who seemed to be from some legendary land he read of in musty and forgotten tomes. The journals of some ancient wanderer, some ill-fated fool of his lineage. His name was Brogan, or was it Athanasius? He couldn't rightly recall, but it mattered not.

"Milady," Adrian said with a flourish and a tip of his wide brimmed and feathered hat, " May I have a dance with thee?"


tag- Mira; Marcus. Isaac. Get this here ball a'rollin.

[Marcus Rodgers]

Hate, hate, hate. Marcus Rodgers hated this damn prince. He hated this damn castle and its eccentric design and its eccentric owner. But the prince did not seem to know this, and had invited Marcus and his wife inside as part of the thousand hale and healthy "friends" to reside within the safety of his castle's walls. So Marcus kept his hate to himself. Mira felt it would be extremely indecent of him to act otherwise.

His wife wore an ornate gown and seemed to float as she passed from one guest to another. Marcus admired her as she moved about the room, as she led him from one room to the other, as she greeted everyone in turn in the most polite ways. How she danced, sometimes with other men, just for a lark, and never for long. She knew how jealous her husband could be. She also knew that her husband had best gag and bind himself when it came time for her to dance with the prince.

One man stopped her and tipped his hat, and requested a dance. Something about this man felt all wrong to Marcus. He could not quite pin it. It was slimy, though, and this was one man he would not let Mira get into contact with. Yet the rules of the party stated explicitly that there would be no negativity, so he would have to handle this in a way that would not involve cutting the man open and forcing him to eat his own entrails.

As Mira approached the man, Marcus stepped in front of her smoothly. "I'm afraid she's already promised me a dance," he said kindly, with only a hint of distaste in his tone. "Perhaps some other time… in the distant future."

Mira glared at Marcus and whispered to her husband, "I am very capable of handling myself, thank you, milord." She had never fed into the typical weak-women status of the day, but that was not considered unusual in her case, as she was exotic.

Marcus only flashed her a smile and turned away from the man to take up Mira's hand and wrap an arm around her waist. "Yes. Now, I believe I mentioned something about a dance."

[NPC]

A loud, almost musical clang sounded from somewhere within the castle. Everyone froze.

It happened every hour. The orchestra stopped, dancing paused, conversations ceased. Then, chuckling nervously to each other, the patrons noted that they would not let that bell catch them off guard next time. Yet it always did.

The sound came from one of the rooms, the one in which no one dallied. This room had a dedicated color scheme just as the others did, but this one featured windows covered by heavy black curtains, with tapestries and carpet of the same color. The brazier that provided light lit the room in disturbing hues, and none so foreboding as the shadows that fell upon the giant clock that stood against one wall.

The clock had a large, heavy pendulum that, at the top of each hour, rang loudly throughout the castle, and frightened everyone so much that it made all activity grind to a halt until everyone remembered what it was and laughed it off. And then it happened the next hour, and the next. However, in between those rings, the merriment went on as normal.

[Adrian Kilvayne]

Gone insane from the pain
That they surely know
For whom the bell tolls
Time marches on
For whom the bell tolls

"I'm afraid she's already promised me a dance,"

Sir Adrian frowned. This was most disappointing. The woman was spoken for, and closely guarded. She would not be dancing with any save her husband, it seemed. Well, Adrian was merely acting in the spirit of this affair, as it happened. It was no loss to him, in truth.

"Perhaps some other time… in the distant future."

"Perhaps," Adrian said. He had a foreboding sense that there was precious little future left to those in attendance. It was that damn tolling, every damn hour. It was creating a sense of the deepest unease. He couldn't shake it, even with the prospect of possibly exchanging witticisms with the unknown courtier and his wife. He thought he should recognize the man from somewhere, but it was not clear why. That added to the generally unsettling ambiance of the evening's gala event.

"I am very capable of handling myself, thank you, milord."

Adrian was certainly not going to argue with that statement. Seeing their interaction made him feel somehow alone. Alone, among a throng of people. They were making connections that would fade by morning's light, but these two...what they had was tangibly real. Adrian's life was so far consigned to wandering alone in a void of time and space, though there were many stars in the cosmos. He was alone.

Perhaps all of the others were too, in the end.

He resolved to seek out the Prince, for he was no longer capable of making merry. He knew his words, his queries, would be unwelcome. But they must be spoken, they must be asked, he reasoned. And no one else in this God-forsaken palace of debauchery had the heart or guile to do so. The prince was in a room painted and decorated a rather lewd and preposterous cacophony of shades of blue, and Sir Adrian was surprised to see the man was still seemingly conscious. The Delirium of the divers hedonistic entertainments abounding had not yet stolen his wits. This was fortuitous, indeed.

"My Prince," Adrian said, " I wish to have words with thee, if I may."

He bowed in deference, and held his breath, praying the prince would pay heed.

[Marcus Rodgers]

“You sorely irritate me at times, husband,” Mira said as Marcus swept her into a dance that took them all around the room. Yet she let him glide her all around, and even broke into a smile when they paused briefly for him to guide her sideways and kiss her free hand.

“I try my best, milady.” There was a familiar spark of mischief in his eyes. He was of an upper nobility, so for him to marry an exotic woman had been unconscionable at first, but after the general populace had observed how well they got along, it began to feel simply natural.

They both jumped nearly out of their skins when the bell tolled again.

“Next time,” Marcus said, after catching his breath, “next time, we will pay attention and be ready for that thrice-accurséd bell.”

Mira nodded, still settling herself from the shock. Marcus placed a small kiss on her cheek and then one on her lips. That helped to soothe her nerves a bit.

“I will dance you,” he said into her ear, “all around this palace, through every room, so all may see and envy my beautiful wife.”

She gave him a sly smile. “I accept that challenge, milord.”

[NPC]

In the blue room, the prince was laughing heartily as his guests told many jokes, and he returned with jokes of his own, causing even more uproarious laughter. It was into this merriment that Sir Adrian entered. As the prince saw Adrian approach, he patted his fellows on their backs and excused himself to meet with Adrian specifically. The knight had always done his family excellent service, and, in any case, the expression on the man’s face needed tending to.

He would discern the cause of this unhappiness, the prince resolved as he met Adrian. Otherwise, he would have to send the good knight upstairs, in order to keep his melancholy from spreading among the guests.

“Of course, Sir Adrian,” Prince Prospero said warmly. “I would know what it is that concerns you….”

The prince’s words trailed off as his gaze fell upon something beyond Adrian. A figure stood there, not directly behind the knight, but with a few other guests between them. The prince took in the figure’s appearance. A black shroud, dabbled in blood; a taut, dead face, dotted with the same; a feeble figure, all in all, and one that caused a shudder to shake Prospero’s frame, visibly, until his expression changed to clear, dangerous anger.

“Fool of fools,” he shouted, his voice hoarse, “I will not withstand such mockery within my walls!” With a wave of his hands, he implored his guests, “Apprehend that interloper, and unmask him! so all may know who we will hang from the battlements at sunrise!”

And in one, almost synchronized movement, the patrons in the room - and, indeed, all the others, which had heard him as well - rushed the frail figure, at the command of their host and prince.

[Adrian Kilvayne]

“I would know what it is that concerns you….”

Adrian was preparing to speak, when the Prince's attention turned elsewhere. Adrian followed suit, and was awed by what he saw. A maudlin mockery strode through the ballroom, drab, dark, and bloodied. A face like unto death. Adrian was unsettled before, now he was simply...terrified. Horror and revulsion the like which he had never felt before siezed him. Perhaps it was possession of a sense that the Prince lacked, for the spell was broken by a command that seemed...ill thought out. Perhaps the Prince's fear had more turned to anger, but it was not Adrian's place to ask why. His was but to...do and die?

That didn't sound right.


“Apprehend that interloper, and unmask him! so all may know who we will hang from the battlements at sunrise!”

Adrian withdrew his sword, and followed his prince's command. He was a Knight of the Realm, as it happened, so he must obey. All must obey. That was the sad truth of the matter.

"Brother knights! To me! We shall take this would be devil to the dungeons!" Adrian said, sounding a clarion call. This matter would soon be put to rest, and he could bring the serious questions he wanted to raise to the prince's attention. But not tonight. The subject had been ill treated by the scurrilous knave before him.

He pushed his sword into the man's torso, and sneered, " By order of the prince, remove thine mask, or it shall be forcibly removed!"

[NPC]

The prince was impressed - Sir Adrian was most brave. He led a charge of his guests, and, indeed, the prince himself, in drawing his sword and pushing it right through the interloper’s torso without hesitation.

It was around then that Sir Adrian would notice that the interloper didn’t have a torso.

Prince Prospero paled in utter shock. The rest of the crowd fell back, and then pressed their backs to the walls, quivering and holding onto themselves in fear. The creature passed right by the prince, who was so taken aback that he failed to act at all. Once he recovered from that, however, he thrust himself after the mummer, chasing him from room to room, until they reached the black room, with the tolling bell, the one that no one ever entered.

There, Prince Prospero caught up to him, and, within only a few feet of putting a dagger through the creature’s (supposed) neck, the thing turned around. With a sudden cry, Prince Prospero dropped the dagger, then fell to the floor in instant death. The rest of the crowd, which had frozen in the respective rooms, heard the cry and knew what it meant, and threw themselves into the black room. They grabbed the mummer by the cloak and tore off its mask - which, as Sir Adrian had already learned, had nothing behind it at all.

Each attendant fell in turn, dropping where they stood, all dead before they hit the ground. The torches in each room went out, and the clock’s frightening toll rang no more. It was the Red Death that had brought them all into Prince Prospero’s palace, and it was the Red Death that now found its way in and claimed the lives of them all.

~~~fin NPC~~~

[Marcus Rodgers]

As promised, Marcus and Mira were sweeping about the rooms, moving from one to the other, when the sudden rush began. They paused as the black-cloaked figure moved past, with Prince Prospero close on his heels. “What is going on?” Mira wondered. Instinctively, Marcus reached inside his coat for his dagger, and, with a gentle push that placed Mira’s back against the wall, told her silently to stay put as he investigated. Of course, being who she was, Mira pulled her dagger from under her skirt and followed Marcus into the black room.

There they saw Prince Prospero fall, and there they felt the crowd rush them, all pulling back the mask. When the discovery was made, Mira gasped. Marcus reached for her hand. “Mira….”

It was with her name on his lips that Marcus died, with Mira falling next to him, her head landing almost gently on his shoulder.

fin the Rodgers