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t h e . w a y w a r d - e v e n t
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On the surface,
an Elysium of unsurpassed splendor. Beneath, something sinister lurks...
Nikodemus "First he spouts off a bunch of nonsense about Larson...then it's revealed he planned on manipulating them into a scrap...then he figured on rigging the fight...AND he thinks Larson couldn't have won it on his own....I smell a lynchin'." Looks over at Vash. "Nice bucket. Hold onto that, I think we'll need it." OldanVisuce Stormcaller I am quite sure a fine upstanding citizen would be quite offended throwing a fight but I still don't see how that would apply to any of us excepting maybe Altiriel there. OCC: wow a person goes to work and comes back to find that everyone has decided to wonder off and explore Krouser "there you are, Coyote, I've payed you back for your blessing." Nikodemus "Shhh...," Niko whispers loudly so everyone nearby can hear it, "just work with me here. This'll be fun." Nikodemus
OOC: Nice one, I liked that. Stormcaller Nikodemus
OOC: Umm...not David Stormcaller, by any chance...hmmm? Sorry. If you don't want that for a name, I'll go back and correct it. Stormcaller
OOC: Sorry, That would be a good name but considering what my character thinks his background really is it isn't a name he is likely to have aquired. From one that can't remember most of his past to one that won't talk about it I guess I can play along for a time, especially if it will make things more interesting. Gwynhala "What chair is doing here?" *Oldan, rhetorically, slightly embarrassed.* *Regaining his composure, satisfied at last that Larson is nowhere in sight - indeed, things look quite different on this side of the Great Hall - Larson is quite literally nowhere to be seen - satisfied at last, Oldan notices the plain but graceful (and slightly amused) mankindred in equally plain, comfortable, dark clothing seated in an adjacent chair* "You seem distracted. You are of Gypsy blood, are you not?" *saying this - the language is english but the accent is vaguely...dutch? - GWYNHALA raises from chair and offers a welcoming hand to Oldan* "I'm Gwynhala. Sit. Please. And tell me an outrageous story of your travels, if it please you. And I will tell you an outrageous story of mine. Perhaps others will hear, and join in our ranting, and we will discern who has told the best story, and so pass the time in this miraculous place until dawn." OldanVisuce Nikodemus Nikodemus Larson I love to watch the scrambling of fledgelings when what they have to account for their big talk, it's like cockroaches when the light comes on. ------------------ Altiriel Twice-Born *under his breath* "Yes, and you would know about cockroaches, wouldn't you..." Altiriel Twice-Born Gwynhala "At least the music is well-performed" he mutters. "even if they are cheating." Larson Ya I use cockroaches like you all the time. ------------------ Darkana1 Wow thats strange according to my map I wouldnt have thought that ladder came up here, but then the tunnels defy all the laws of physics and reality, intersections where they should not be corridors that dont cross but do..... And the styles! Incan, Egyptian, Modern, VIctorian sewer, primitive tunnel and every other style of corridor or tunnel you can think of. Sorry Altiriel, I didnt think I would ever see a Salubri, and there was much that suggested Tremere, If misinterpreted. Now at least I know something very important has broughtus here if we have most clans including two who are somewhat rare these days, truly something is going to happen here, (looks over at Garou) Dont worry about my guns I just came straigth here after moping up the BSD's they are explosive rounds with silver splinters. Your safe, Ahh Larson back at last I see, but no army with you whats wrong your supposed forces not able to come here with you? perhaps Oldan can make an illusionary host to help back up your boasts, though I must admit the more you boast and bluster, the less important and powerful you sound, if it wasnt for the fact that there would be immense trouble and chaos which I dont want to see, Id suggest that you stop posturing and prove your actually half way to what you say you are, And dont think about threatening me either, while I would only strike here in self defence, You irk me too badly and you will regret it one way or another. ------------------ Larson
You're accusing me of posturing? And as for my toops their a little busy right now, I don't like being in cities I don't control so I'm fixing that little problem, besides they wouldn't fit in here as well as I do. They're a little uncivilized you understand. ------------------ Krouser "I must be on my way. Prince Wyatt will be expecting me, and I'll be late enough as it is." *leaves, clearly planing to return.* ------------------ Krouser Daimon to Locke, Tzimice Bishop Nikodemus "Nice enough fella...got a sense of humor like I like my champagne...nice and dry. "Must be hellish to be forever scurrying about on errands for another, though." Elijah Robert Marks The waiters were gone. The archway was gone. The Great Hall, apparently, was gone. The sounds of the Great Hall were now very faint, as though it were far off in the distance. Turning, Elijah saw that the darkened archway he'd passed through was now a pair of massive oaken doors, closed tight, each adorned with the symbol he'd seen so often of late. He was standing in a long hallway. It was narrow by comparison to the place he'd left -- no wider than three shoulder spans -- but the ceiling arched as high at it had in the Great Hall. The feel of the place was different, however: where the Great Hall was festive and grand, this hallway was somber and dark, covered in thick carpet, thick curtain and thick tapestries, all a dark red, perhaps maroon. It smelled of dust and cobweb. The hall seemed to go on forever. On each side of the hall were doors much like the ones behind him... massive oaken doors with iron rings, all bearing the Great Halls sigil. Above each door was a large window, curtained, and to the left and right of each window was a tapestry that travelled the length of the wall to the next set of doors and window. No window over the door behind him, Elijah noticed. No tapestries either. He tried opening the doors, but they wouldn't budge. Shrugging his shoulders, the hunter began to walk down the length of the hall, occasionally trying an oaken door and finding that it, too, would not open. Soft light -- moonlight perhaps -- streamed through the occasional breaks in the curtains hanging over the doors. It wasn't much, but it was enough for Elijah to see relatively clearly. As he began walking down the hall, he began to worry that this place, like the Great Hall, would play the same trick on his eyes, where it would go on forever, no doors opening. He wondered if this was perhaps some kind of elaborate trap. After a minute, however, he could make out a wall on the other side... and he noticed soon after that the doors on that side looked open. Happy to be going somewhere, even if he didn't know exactly where, he quickened his pace. The tapestries, he noticed, were very old, depicting tall, strong, dark-haired men and women of noble bearing, engaged in various activities. One or two of the figures looked a bit like... the hostess? Perhaps? There was a passing similarity to the lady who seemed to have entranced Vash, Florindo, and, well, every other male creature in the Great Hall... but he couldn't be certain it was the same person. A relative, maybe? Or maybe just a lousy artist? Or maybe just the ravages of time affecting what was once a clearer picture. In truth, all of the tapestries were worn and covered in dust. After some time he saw that the opened doorway had a light flickering from within. Perhaps someone is there who can show me the way out, Elijah thought to himself. Or, perhaps someone is there who will take offense to my presence and rend me limb from limb. Either way, it beats being trapped in a hallway... He pased more doors, all bearing the same sigil, though none of them danced the way they did at the Great Hall. "They're as dead as everything else here," he murmured, a hint of a smile creeping into his face. It took roughly fifteen minutes to walk the length of the hall. As he got closer to the door, Elijah saw that beyond the doorway was what appeared to be some kind of living room or sitting room. Stepping through the doorway, he saw that it was, indeed, a living room of some sort. In one corner, a fire in a small fireplace popped merrily. Elijah forced down the urge to run -- it's over there, I'm over here, he reminded himself. To one side of the fireplace was a small table with a tray of what looked to be tea or coffee on it, on the other side was small bookcase filled with old books bearing titles he'd never heard of. In the center of the room was a coffee table with a chess set on it and extra game pieces set off to one side. At the end of the room was a large bay window overlooking, of all things, a bay. Elijah looked out the window. It was night over some kind of seaport... somewhere up north, he thought. It overlooked the docks... not necessarily a beautiful view, but certainly striking. Picturesque. He could smell the thick scent of sea air, as well as the smell of diesel from the ships arriving by night. The crecent of a moon was just rising over the edge of the water, and the skies were clear. There wasn't anyone in the room, however. The tea (it didn't smell like coffee, Elijah decided) was still hot, so he assumed who was here would be coming back. He sat down in a chair and admired the finely wrought figurines sitting on the chess board... ...and then he froze. And then, finally, he swore to himself, softly. The chess board itself was a common faux-cherry, mass produced item, but the chess pieces were exquisite. He picked up one of the Bishops from the board, hand trembling. It seemed to be carved of a heavy, strong rock, but the features were exquisite. He could very clearly make out the expression, the clothing, everything about the character it portrayed. "It's me." Elijah Robert Marks stared in horror at a chess figurine of Elijah Robert Marks. They were all there -- Nikodemus, Vash, Oldan, Larson, Mr. Giovanni, the Malkavians, everyone he'd met in the Great Hall -- even Father "Forgiveme" was represented (another Bishop, but on the other side of the board. Elijah tucked that away as irony to appreciate at a later date). Those who weren't on the board were arranged carefully to the side, as if they were waiting their turn. Sweat tricked down Elijah's forhead. It wasn't until he brushed it away that he rembered he no longer perspired. Elijah looked on the blood on his hands, dripping on to the figurine with his image on it, in horror. With a cry, he kicked over the table, flinging the chess board and the intricately carved figurines onto the floor. The air felt heavy, oppressive. "My life is not a game!" he shouted hoarsely. "Do you hear me, who ever you are? It is not a game!" "You are not supposed to be here." Elijah turned, surprised. Standing in the frame of the doorway was an uncommonly tall and thin man, in formal dress with a cane and top hat. He was staring at Elijah with a half-smile that ended abruptly at the borders of his mouth. THUMMMMmmmmMMMMMmmmMMMMmmmMMMMmmm He looked at the upset table, the overturned chess board, and the chess pieces scattered on the floor. When he looked at Elijah again, even the half-smile was gone. "You, fledgling, are where you do not belong. You should be at the party, with your companions." THUMMMMmmmmMMMMMmmmMMMMmmmMMMMmmm Elijah tried to speak, but the air was too thick and his tongue was too heavy. Suddenly he saw a flash, and he saw the Great Hall's sigil pulsing, swarming about the room. It ran across the floor and surrounded him, and then swarmed him, covering his body with a strange pulsing heat. THUMMMMmmmmMMMMMmmmMMMMmmmMMMMmmm The tall man moved closer to Elijah, bent down, and wisphered in his ear. "You will forget this place, fledgling, and you will leave. Return to the party now. Run!" THUMMMMmmmmMMMMMmmmMMMMmmmMMMMmmm Elijah began to run. ------------------ Lady Amara *as Elijah runs he begins to forget,..it seems he runs for miles when he begins to slow...at that moment, a hand seems to reach out of nowhere, grabbing him by the throat and stopping him in his tracks. The hand lifts him off the ground a few inches as he gasps and stuggles for life.* "Wake up, Hunter!" Screames a young womans voice. "It IS all a game! The sooner you stop relying on your senses the way the cattle do, the better off you'll be!" *She sets him down as he takes his first up close looks at the one who has seemed to begrudge him since thier meet.* "Your eyes keep decieving you. Tell me what you want to know. Is it the Truth? I'll share the truth with you, if you think you really want it. There's a reason you've seen these images and experienced this confusion." ------------------ Elijah Robert Marks "Tell... me... the... truth..." ------------------ Elijah Robert Marks The evening continues with taunts and jibes, half-playful jests and half-serious insults. Few have noticed the hunters absence, they saw him wander off exploring and that was the last of it. The night continues with music and song, and most have settled in to a pleasant yet cautious reverie... THUMMMMmmmmMMMMMmmmMMMMmmmMMMMmmm This time, the sound is not quite so wondrous. The reverie is broken abruptly, the music stops, the hall is silent. THUMMMMmmmmMMMMMmmmMMMMmmmMMMMmmm The sound returns again, stronger, sounding like a swarm of bees. Your head is throbbing from the sound -- it is angry, unhappy, as though it were disturbed. THUMMMMmmmmMMMMMmmmMMMMmmmMMMMmmm Some of the weaker-willed guests cry out in discomfort at this point. It seems as through there is a force pressing down on the air, making it thick, uncomfortable, oppressive. THUMMMMmmmmMMMMMmmmMMMMmmmMMMMmmm The last tone almost rattles your body, and then it is gone. Everyone blinks, and unlife, as it were, returns to normal. Most of the people seem to have forgotten that anything unpleasant has happened at all. Altiriel and Larson continue to trade snipes and sly insults, as does Darkana from time to time. Then, as Larson begins to respond to one of the lastest insults thrown his way, the wall behind him... disappears... And Elijah Robert Marks, running full tilt, crashes into a very surprised and angry Larson. Larson rolls up onto his feet immediately grabbing Elijah effortlessly, lifting him off his feet. "You whelp," he snarls, "I'm going to do you a favor and --" Then he stops, noticing that Elijah is barely aware of his surroundings, hanging from Larsons grasp with a mixture of horror and incomprehension on his face. Larson makes a decision. "Get in your chair!" With precision and ease, he throws Elijah into the velvet-covered chair he'd been sitting in earlier in the evening. Elijah's body crashes into chair, knocking it over and slamming into the wall. As he collides with the wall, something falls out of his hand and rolls out in front of the chairs. Larson turns to the rest of the people in the hall. "I said when I came in I wouldn't start trouble. So I have deliberately chosen not to kill this piece of filth." At that, he sits and puts his feet on a nearby table, daring any to answer him. Elijah sits up slowly, blinking. He looks around, a confused expression on his face, and notices his position, and his overturned chair. Still frowning, he stands up slowly, brushes himself off, and picks up the chair, returns it to its rightful position, and sits down slowly. "Why... why is everyone staring at me? I just fell back, I guess. Was I bleeding?" He looks at the dried blood on his hands curiously. Looking down by his feet, he sees the chesspiece he dropped when he hit the wall. He squints, bends over, and picks it up. His eyes widen slightly and the figurine rolls hits the floor, rolling into your view. The figurine is obviously a carving of Elijah Robert Marks. ------------------
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