He pulls the head from his inside jacket pocket. The shrunken head of his dear Elise. It is smaller than even that of a child. Surely some sorcery is afoot. He pets back the few remaining strands of hair, whispering assurances.
As noted, the game will not begin before this evening, and may perhaps be delayed later at our discretion (but there is a statistical likelihood of a large weekend).
Some preparations must still be arranged, as my darling compatriot doubted the rate at which our kind would be able to contact us. As well, we have not found where we left the Library.
0
Options
AuralynxDarkness is a perspectiveWatching the ego workRegistered Userregular
Whaleface's submission, understandably, arrived last. He'd be happy to replace someone if needed and the seafood course is still available.
Erin The RedThe Name's Erin! Woman, Podcaster, Dungeon Master, IT nerd, Parent, Trans. AMABaton Rouge, LARegistered Userregular
This is just another service we offer. Yes, many services. Serve the dead. The living serve us. They will all serve.
Bummed that I am missing out on this one. More bodies. Need more bodies for the pyre
This is just another service we offer. Yes, many services. Serve the dead. The living serve us. They will all serve.
Bummed that I am missing out on this one. More bodies. Need more bodies for the pyre
Man TRV, I missed you during Phallamon. Hopefully I can snag you on the next go around.
"Go down, kick ass, and set yourselves up as gods, that's our Prime Directive!"
This is just another service we offer. Yes, many services. Serve the dead. The living serve us. They will all serve.
Bummed that I am missing out on this one. More bodies. Need more bodies for the pyre
Man TRV, I missed you during Phallamon. Hopefully I can snag you on the next go around.
Gotta use your master balls to snag him.
+1
Options
Erin The RedThe Name's Erin! Woman, Podcaster, Dungeon Master, IT nerd, Parent, Trans. AMABaton Rouge, LARegistered Userregular
edited August 2013
I've been hitting the job hunt pretty hard lately, so a lot of stuff has been put on the backburner. I miss you folks! I'll be back sometime soon. Once I've actually got a job secured. When we rip the still beating job from their chest. Only then will the world know peace. Only then will our wandering cease.
I look forward to doing dumb things and making bad calls once more! Hiding under the veil of ignorance, we shall make the blood flow.
It seems a rogue set of Encyclopedias has been at the center of the Library's disappearance. In most cases this would not be a problem, but it happens to be the complete collection on Things Which Do Not, Technically, Exist in this World, and Yet Somehow Are - and as such has been more difficult to bring in line. We will inform you when it is safe to enter the Ballroom.
Seeing as the volume of participants seems to exceede the capicity of the ballroom, would the hosts consider renovating to accomodate the extra guests?
(i.e. would it be possible to extend to a main? as no mains are currently running.)
It seemed like the summer fog shuddered them in that night, creaking and groaning from the four corners of the world.
Always alone they arrived, never together. Their line of work prohibited socializing on almost all occasions, and accompanied travel was scarcely an option. But they knew of each other.
One by one they walked the stone-worked path up to the manor. The door was answered each time by a butler, but never the same one, who took their offered token and discreetly carried it to the hidden places of the servants. The foyer seemed more appropriate for an amphitheater than a mansion, but provided plenty of room for all attendees to avoid socializing with one another. Eventually small cliques began to form – as is the nature of social compacts – and common lines of discussion arise. The weather. The Thames. The kidney. They were, in some small way, professionals. There was no need to grow in-depth.
There was no crack of lightning to illuminate the arrival of the two that would come to be known as the masque's hosts, but all present became aware of their presence simultaneously. They stood before the window at the far end of the hall (Had that not been a door? It hadn't seemed important to pay attention before..), hands folded together.
“Messrs,” one said, though they were not sure which.
“Mademoiselles,” the other continued. Their voices androgynously lingered together, far too similar in pitch and tone.
“We are very pleased that you have joined us.”
“This masquerade is a great tradition,” the taller said, stepping towards them. He bore a long hat upon his head to exaggerate his appearance.
“One which has existed before you, and shall continue to do so after,” his associate continued. Her features were slight, head to toe. Yet they looked very similar, in ways no one could quite identify, and which no one wanted to admit.
“It is necessary,” they continued, and it was not clear who – if either of them – was speaking. “Our kind is never afforded an opportunity to relax, and to socialize. Never allowed to taste of similar hearts.”
“You are here,” the tall woman said authoritatively, “Because you like killing people.”
“So do we,” the slight man nodded.
“If any among you lack the conviction to enter the masque, and dance with your peers smiling and warm, the time to leave has passed.” One of them smiled. “You will not make it far. But do not worry. Passion, and determination, can direct you to great things here today. You have the option of leaving here changed. To put it tritely, more powerful than ever before.”
“I am Lord-Countess Langley,” the tall man said. “Esquire.”
“And I Lady-Count Post,” the slight woman added, “Esquire. Welcome to Edenbarrow Manor.”
“We know that travel may mean you are not properly attired for the festivities,” Langley said, politely addressing the most downtrod of his guests. “Please, permit us to escort you through the manor. We have arrangements for such situations.”
Few among the professionals present considered the proposition of leaving. Those that did reached the same conclusion the hosts had provided: It was too late. They had fallen too far into the manor, into the terrible depths and all-consuming menace of the foyer. There was nowhere to go but deeper within.
“The ballroom,” they introduced. “Much of the masque shall take place here. We will return once you possess your masks. Please excuse the dust.” The floor was pristine. “It has been some time since it was last meaningfully used. The masque does not occur often.” They lead them past the decorated hall, to a pair of closed doors. “Behind here you will find the dining hall, and if you search carefully you will likely find the entrance to the kitchen. We recommend refraining from engaging in habits with the kitchen staff. Many of them know more ways to gut a carcass than you.”
Several guests felt that unlikely, but understood the intention of the statement.
Unexpectedly they were lead upstairs, to a great dressing room which was introduced as such. “It is likely you can find something in your size here,” the hosts assured, “Please investigate later. Everyone will enjoy themselves more if we play the part.”
“Scuse me,” one of the quiet guests asked. “Been holdin’ my tongue thus far, but gotta say...this whole thing’s pretty bloody queer. What’s rightly goin’ on here? How’d you find us all? This some sting?”
One of the two hosts turned to face the guest, though which was unclear. “Of course not,” they said, “The police cannot find you here. The law cannot find you here. We found you because it was necessary for us to.”
A pause. “You Illuminati?”
“No.” The host smiled. “Though I have eaten one before.”
The tour continued. “Keep your yap shut,” one of the other guests elbowed the speaker, “This is some templar shit. Know the smell of a secret order when I see one.”
They passed by an open door. Curious, one guest peered in, only to have the door abruptly closed in his face. “That was the Library,” Langley said with unusual firmness. “You are likely to see it again. I would recommend an attentive eye to ensure that you do not enter.”
“What’s wrong with the library?” someone asked.
“We rediscovered it earlier today,” Post smiled, “Only to notice that many of the books had lost all of their bindings. We’re not certain where the skin has gone.”
This was sufficient reason.
Both of the hosts procured gaslight lanterns as they lead the group downstairs, down stairs, and then once more a descending flight. What at first seemed like a wine cellar instead entered to a room with a grand stone table, and crypt-like decorum. Before each seat, resting on the table, was a mask. At first the guests were curious, but they soon realized that the masks had been crafted from bone - specifically the skulls they had produced at the door. Each soon recognized their mask. “Your seats are laid out,” the hosts said, “It is a grand tradition that we begin with a seance. We shall make an effort not to contact any of the dead you are…responsible for. Please, join hands.”
“It is imperative that you do not break hands during the seance,” the hosts continued, “Keep the circle intact.”
Though clammy, and cold, and not all of them entirely like flesh, each hand found itself a partner. Post and Langley sat across from one another, their eyes locked. With the masks upon their faces, the circle felt...empowered. Ambitious. Strong. Almost unanimously the guests felt it was a marked improvement. “Curious mask,” one next to Post inquired, “What is it of?”
“An unusually large jackalope,” they answered.
“Haha, cute,” the guest nodded. “Very fanciful. Ain’t no jackalopes.”
“Yes,” she smiled, “It made it quite hard to procure one.”
“What is your mask?” another asked Langley, “It seems...familiar.”
“The Queen,” the tall man answered.
“Ours is alive,” he chuckled, “Which queen?”
“The Queen.”
The grip of hands became uncomfortably tight.
Words of power and ritual were spoken. The guests were reminded to keep the circle unbroken. One by one the lights went out. It was at first a familiar darkness to most present, but as time went on it became colder and darker than before. Then at once they arose, terrible and awesome in their countenance. Six within the circle, looming above the seated guests with disgust and contempt. A maiden without a head. A private dick. Something tall, but also short, whichever made it easier to look away from. A hound, somehow far more terrible than its short size would imply. A Chinese dignitary, fuming with spiritual loathing. And lastly, old Mary herself, no stranger to several present.
“Wretched, pathetic things!” the Chinese raged, his beard sparking. “Partying and indulging! The lot of you should be quartered! You dare call upon us! Impudent! Arrogant!”
And then he said no more, for none of them were there any more. At the end of the table, Post’s hands stood firmly in the air.
“The dance begins,” she smiled.
The Bone Masquerade has begun. Please return to the ballroom and enjoy the festivities. Do not indulge in your baser tastes within the ballroom - this is a proper event. Show deference and respect.
Outside of the ballroom, do as you will. You will be better for it.
The Masks of those around you are powerful things. Within are locked your Traits, and Obsessions. They know you better than you know yourselves. Taking the mask of another will permit you to augment your mask with their nuances and designs. You cannot, of course, take all that someone has to offer at once, but you should find the added ability to define yourself convenient.
Should you have any unkind things to say about another guest, please whisper themto the air. The Lord-Countess will take care of the most inconvenient at 7 PM PST/10 PM EST. It will of course seem to be as one night for you, but our record-keepers run on an alternative clock.
If you see anything out of the corner of your vision, or if you suspect one of the masks to have nothing behind it but wraith and wrath, congratulations. This will be a very exciting night for you.
+13
Options
The AnonymousUh, uh, uhhhhhh...Uh, uh.Registered Userregular
I can confirm with 100% accuracy that kime is some form of serial killer in this game.
I somehow think the seance was a bad idea, but it was quite fun!
Anyway this keeps going around right Lucedes?
He's a shy overambitious dog-catcher on the wrong side of the law. She's an orphaned psychic mercenary with the power to bend men's minds. They fight crime!
Posts
From the Desk of Darth Vertroue Diplomat to the USA.
See? I was right.
Twitch Stream
Which might be the most horrifying thing of all.
This is the right answer. Dammit.
Though I think the Lucky Charms leprechaun would have been a marginally funnier choice.
Penny Arcade Rockstar Social Club / This is why I despise cyclists
We'll make them pay, won't we?
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=I-T1ASexPVg
I will kill you one by one.
Island Name: Felinefine
Some preparations must still be arranged, as my darling compatriot doubted the rate at which our kind would be able to contact us. As well, we have not found where we left the Library.
Whaleface's submission, understandably, arrived last. He'd be happy to replace someone if needed and the seafood course is still available.
Call me~
Confusion will be my epitaph
Nintendo ID: Pastalonius
Smite\LoL:Gremlidin \ WoW & Overwatch & Hots: Gremlidin#1734
3ds: 3282-2248-0453
Yes, many services. Serve the dead. The living serve us. They will all serve.
Bummed that I am missing out on this one.
More bodies. Need more bodies for the pyre
Im afriad you will have to consider this party
8-)
Crashed!
Man TRV, I missed you during Phallamon. Hopefully I can snag you on the next go around.
Gotta use your master balls to snag him.
When we rip the still beating job from their chest. Only then will the world know peace. Only then will our wandering cease.
I look forward to doing dumb things and making bad calls once more!
Hiding under the veil of ignorance, we shall make the blood flow.
Unless gaming's your steady work, in which case I'm insanely jealous.
I mean... I wish. Because there is only one of me!
Silly human brain. A-ha! Hah! Ha...
Oh definitely. It's just that I was the rabbit last time.
e:Honeycomb monster
(i.e. would it be possible to extend to a main? as no mains are currently running.)
Soon.
Now?
Soon.
Where?
Soon.
Speak of them?
No.
It seemed like the summer fog shuddered them in that night, creaking and groaning from the four corners of the world.
Always alone they arrived, never together. Their line of work prohibited socializing on almost all occasions, and accompanied travel was scarcely an option. But they knew of each other.
One by one they walked the stone-worked path up to the manor. The door was answered each time by a butler, but never the same one, who took their offered token and discreetly carried it to the hidden places of the servants. The foyer seemed more appropriate for an amphitheater than a mansion, but provided plenty of room for all attendees to avoid socializing with one another. Eventually small cliques began to form – as is the nature of social compacts – and common lines of discussion arise. The weather. The Thames. The kidney. They were, in some small way, professionals. There was no need to grow in-depth.
There was no crack of lightning to illuminate the arrival of the two that would come to be known as the masque's hosts, but all present became aware of their presence simultaneously. They stood before the window at the far end of the hall (Had that not been a door? It hadn't seemed important to pay attention before..), hands folded together.
“Messrs,” one said, though they were not sure which.
“Mademoiselles,” the other continued. Their voices androgynously lingered together, far too similar in pitch and tone.
“We are very pleased that you have joined us.”
“This masquerade is a great tradition,” the taller said, stepping towards them. He bore a long hat upon his head to exaggerate his appearance.
“One which has existed before you, and shall continue to do so after,” his associate continued. Her features were slight, head to toe. Yet they looked very similar, in ways no one could quite identify, and which no one wanted to admit.
“It is necessary,” they continued, and it was not clear who – if either of them – was speaking. “Our kind is never afforded an opportunity to relax, and to socialize. Never allowed to taste of similar hearts.”
“You are here,” the tall woman said authoritatively, “Because you like killing people.”
“So do we,” the slight man nodded.
“If any among you lack the conviction to enter the masque, and dance with your peers smiling and warm, the time to leave has passed.” One of them smiled. “You will not make it far. But do not worry. Passion, and determination, can direct you to great things here today. You have the option of leaving here changed. To put it tritely, more powerful than ever before.”
“I am Lord-Countess Langley,” the tall man said. “Esquire.”
“And I Lady-Count Post,” the slight woman added, “Esquire. Welcome to Edenbarrow Manor.”
“We know that travel may mean you are not properly attired for the festivities,” Langley said, politely addressing the most downtrod of his guests. “Please, permit us to escort you through the manor. We have arrangements for such situations.”
Few among the professionals present considered the proposition of leaving. Those that did reached the same conclusion the hosts had provided: It was too late. They had fallen too far into the manor, into the terrible depths and all-consuming menace of the foyer. There was nowhere to go but deeper within.
“The ballroom,” they introduced. “Much of the masque shall take place here. We will return once you possess your masks. Please excuse the dust.” The floor was pristine. “It has been some time since it was last meaningfully used. The masque does not occur often.” They lead them past the decorated hall, to a pair of closed doors. “Behind here you will find the dining hall, and if you search carefully you will likely find the entrance to the kitchen. We recommend refraining from engaging in habits with the kitchen staff. Many of them know more ways to gut a carcass than you.”
Several guests felt that unlikely, but understood the intention of the statement.
Unexpectedly they were lead upstairs, to a great dressing room which was introduced as such. “It is likely you can find something in your size here,” the hosts assured, “Please investigate later. Everyone will enjoy themselves more if we play the part.”
“Scuse me,” one of the quiet guests asked. “Been holdin’ my tongue thus far, but gotta say...this whole thing’s pretty bloody queer. What’s rightly goin’ on here? How’d you find us all? This some sting?”
One of the two hosts turned to face the guest, though which was unclear. “Of course not,” they said, “The police cannot find you here. The law cannot find you here. We found you because it was necessary for us to.”
A pause. “You Illuminati?”
“No.” The host smiled. “Though I have eaten one before.”
The tour continued. “Keep your yap shut,” one of the other guests elbowed the speaker, “This is some templar shit. Know the smell of a secret order when I see one.”
They passed by an open door. Curious, one guest peered in, only to have the door abruptly closed in his face. “That was the Library,” Langley said with unusual firmness. “You are likely to see it again. I would recommend an attentive eye to ensure that you do not enter.”
“What’s wrong with the library?” someone asked.
“We rediscovered it earlier today,” Post smiled, “Only to notice that many of the books had lost all of their bindings. We’re not certain where the skin has gone.”
This was sufficient reason.
Both of the hosts procured gaslight lanterns as they lead the group downstairs, down stairs, and then once more a descending flight. What at first seemed like a wine cellar instead entered to a room with a grand stone table, and crypt-like decorum. Before each seat, resting on the table, was a mask. At first the guests were curious, but they soon realized that the masks had been crafted from bone - specifically the skulls they had produced at the door. Each soon recognized their mask. “Your seats are laid out,” the hosts said, “It is a grand tradition that we begin with a seance. We shall make an effort not to contact any of the dead you are…responsible for. Please, join hands.”
“It is imperative that you do not break hands during the seance,” the hosts continued, “Keep the circle intact.”
Though clammy, and cold, and not all of them entirely like flesh, each hand found itself a partner. Post and Langley sat across from one another, their eyes locked. With the masks upon their faces, the circle felt...empowered. Ambitious. Strong. Almost unanimously the guests felt it was a marked improvement. “Curious mask,” one next to Post inquired, “What is it of?”
“An unusually large jackalope,” they answered.
“Haha, cute,” the guest nodded. “Very fanciful. Ain’t no jackalopes.”
“Yes,” she smiled, “It made it quite hard to procure one.”
“What is your mask?” another asked Langley, “It seems...familiar.”
“The Queen,” the tall man answered.
“Ours is alive,” he chuckled, “Which queen?”
“The Queen.”
The grip of hands became uncomfortably tight.
Words of power and ritual were spoken. The guests were reminded to keep the circle unbroken. One by one the lights went out. It was at first a familiar darkness to most present, but as time went on it became colder and darker than before. Then at once they arose, terrible and awesome in their countenance. Six within the circle, looming above the seated guests with disgust and contempt. A maiden without a head. A private dick. Something tall, but also short, whichever made it easier to look away from. A hound, somehow far more terrible than its short size would imply. A Chinese dignitary, fuming with spiritual loathing. And lastly, old Mary herself, no stranger to several present.
“Wretched, pathetic things!” the Chinese raged, his beard sparking. “Partying and indulging! The lot of you should be quartered! You dare call upon us! Impudent! Arrogant!”
And then he said no more, for none of them were there any more. At the end of the table, Post’s hands stood firmly in the air.
“The dance begins,” she smiled.
The Bone Masquerade has begun. Please return to the ballroom and enjoy the festivities. Do not indulge in your baser tastes within the ballroom - this is a proper event. Show deference and respect.
Outside of the ballroom, do as you will. You will be better for it.
The Masks of those around you are powerful things. Within are locked your Traits, and Obsessions. They know you better than you know yourselves. Taking the mask of another will permit you to augment your mask with their nuances and designs. You cannot, of course, take all that someone has to offer at once, but you should find the added ability to define yourself convenient.
Should you have any unkind things to say about another guest, please whisper them to the air. The Lord-Countess will take care of the most inconvenient at 7 PM PST/10 PM EST. It will of course seem to be as one night for you, but our record-keepers run on an alternative clock.
If you see anything out of the corner of your vision, or if you suspect one of the masks to have nothing behind it but wraith and wrath, congratulations. This will be a very exciting night for you.
Anyway this keeps going around right Lucedes?