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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 "Hey, don't trip over that. "Anyway, I'll talk to the guy and see what he wants from ya. He's a reasonable sort. And what the hell do you do with somebody else's soul anyway?" Krouser as to kokopili, he was a wanderer, musician, and "distributer of dreams", sort of, in that regions mythology. /ooc Nikodemus Neuromortis The cup replaced nimbly on the saucer still balanced upon the crossed leg, the Tall Man regards first one, then the other, then shakes his head in an almost imperceptible gesture. "When did the answers cease to be simple?" A pause to let this sink in, but just long enough to interrupt any answer given. "I asked you a simply question and both of you grant me non-replies of self-doubt and rhetoric. I did not ask you what the game is, or is not. I did not ask you from whence you came. I did not request your insights as to the finer points of strategy within the game. And I did not," he addresses Elijah, "invite your opinion as to what this particular chess board reminds you of. But since you are bent upon denying yourselves the luxury of confidence, I extend a hand in the spirit of good will, that you might have an easier time of this." With this, he uncrosses his legs to stand; the cup and saucer remain suspended impossibly in place until he waves them absently to the table, keeping a baleful gaze upon his guests. "The "idea" in Chess, as you put it, is to take the king while defending your own..." Approaching the board, he muses over this a moment. "Granted, this is a simplistic attitude, but not without merit. On the surface, yes, this is the idea. But underneath, there is much more to this simple game of checkers deluxe." Taking up a piece, a white knight, whom they recognize as the gypsy Oldan Visuce upon the back of what is assumedly a horse; it's obscured by the Tall Man's hand. The Tall Man runs a hand over the contours of the statuette, then places it isolated in an opening move upon the board. "Did you know that there are one-hundred seventy septillion ways to begin the opening ten maneuvers in a standard game of chess? This is the figure '170' followed by twenty-four zeros. Ten moves afford more choices than can easily be comprehended." From the other side, a knight unfamiliar is placed in identical position opposing. "But the choices decrease as time progresses. As the gambit is played out, there exist fewer and fewer opportunities to the strategists in conflict. They plunge onward--and it is only a matter of time before both parties realize that there will be one, inexorable conclusion." With a hand, the entire white cadre is swept from the board, leaving only the lone knight upon the stage, blank-faced upon his steed--which is now readily seen as a massive Garou. "One conclusion, culled from seemingly limitless possibility. Do you see?" A flick of the eyes to the board. A table-tent bearing an intricate calligraphy rests beside the board, which now looks as though it has seen a difficult game--the gypsy white knight still stands amidst a handful of black pieces, none of which bear familiarity. Another, smaller pawn has advanced almost the length of the field, but stands ready one space diagonal to a looming tower, anticipating his demise. And lying face down in one corner of the board, a large white piece bearing a sceptre lies felled between an ominous knight astride a winged gargoyle and a woman bearing a hideous, malevolent grin that splits her face ear to ear. A fallen king. And a closer look at the card reveals a single word: "Ravnos." "No tactics, caitiff?" Regarding Marks with that cocked eye which offsets his flat tone, another minute gesture. The two turn to observe the bookcase. Which stands open, revealing another room beyond. "Go and see." As they step through, both are confronted by a room vast as the Great Hall itself. A room full of tables. And on each table, a glass dome. And under each dome, a board. And on each board, pieces, frozen in time. With dawning horror, they stand transfixed as they notice each table bears a table-tent ascribed with intricate calligraphy. And next to this, an overturned hourglass with not a grain of sand remaining topside. "So what is the point?" The voice now contains a hint of suppressed glee, the kind a child displays who knows a juicy secret. "You would have been correct, and I would have applauded you, if you had gone with your first instinct, Mister Marks. Although the counsel at Nicea was still roughing out the edges, in 397 A.D.--yes, I say 'A.D.', call me old-fashioned--the third council at Carthage confirmed officially the canonization of the New Testament letters into being. What does this have to do with what we see here?" He approaches a table--the setup is exactly as the previous room, only now it, too, is under glass, the hourglass dry--which he hefts lightly, peering through the upper bowl. "In each game of chess, opponents who do not play for leisure are constrained by a simple device such as this. When they have completed their course, they turn the glass over, or strike the button on the little box whathaveyou, and the opponent is faced with an added challenge. In the professional arena, it simply tracks the tally of time spent in deliberation, which counts against a player in his rank and standing if overtly tedious, or for a player if expedient in effective strategy. In this arena," a sweeping gesture. "The challenge is mortality." The spent hourglass is placed again upon the table bearing the "Ravnos" card. "Events throughout history return the hourglass to the upright position. The clock resets at midnight, another twenty-four hours to create or destroy. In this time, one has the choice to advance, or withdraw--never to stand still. Action must be taken. Decisive, deliberate, beneficial--or the player will be removed from his seat. A choice must be made--even the choice to wait is a conscious, active choice, effective in many arenas. But inactivity... He gestures behind them. As they turn, they encounter tha familiar board, all pieces in place as before. Oldan has resumed his place within the rank and file of the white army. No kings--but one addition: The hourglass. The sand hangs in the upper bowl, not a grain escaping through the the body's narrow waistline. "I asked you, Seekers of Golconda, that you might better comprehend what is about to take place upon this board. That you might ask a simple question, a question all participants must ask themselves if they ever hope to gain ground: Am I playing my game, or yours? Your bids for humanity are essential if you are to truly understand whose game it is you play. For instance, I have heard young Marks' bid for God, for ethical relevancy to this current state he occupies. To this, if you so choose to question the veracity of the Christian God in His purpose, I ask you: Does not the Lord work everything out for the good of those who love Him? Is your bid for victim, or for vessel? Have you lost your 'faith' due to your circumstances? The canonization turned the hourglass upright. It placed the words upon the page, in black and white. The knowledge of good and evil, the choice for Autonomy or Servitude, for atheism or Christianity, was now ready to be placed into the hands of every man. At virtually the same time, this game came into existence. Also in black and white, a representation of the balance of power simplistically mirroring the effort included in the pages of text so many hold so dear and God-breathed. What is the catalyst? Brother slays brother and time stands still. Until the next death. Which only comes with the shedding of blood. The First Times, as you noted Salubri, is merely another word-picture in your mind. Merely another fulfillment of a cyclic endeavour perpetuated by the Players who strive to protect their King. And this division, Camarilla versus Sabbat--is this not brother against brother? How soon until the hourglass is turned once again? There is so much more to this, young progeny, than you might hope to understand in the time you have left. Ask yourselves the question." With that, he is gone. The fire crackles with his departure, staccato gunshots in an echo chamber. And the first grains of sand strike the bowels of the glass smoothly. Silently. Effortlessly as time passes. Krouser Elijah Robert Marks ------------------ Stormcaller After taking many more turns the group rounds a corner and sees Krouser standing at a door. Krouser: They're in there talking. I figured, why disturb them more than once? David: Now how the heck did you get here before us. Oh never mind it doesn't matter. At least you are here and that gives us a better chance of being able to deal with whatever is in that room be it physical or spiritual. The group prepares to enter the room but just as they are about to try the door they feel a strange sensation that they have something that they must do and they don't have forever to do it. ------------------ Nikodemus "Damn, but the scent of that power is familiar... "Ummm...fellas, I'm not too sure it's entirely safe in that room. There's been alot of power spent there recently...and I'm not entirely sure of the source. I have my guesses though, and I don't much like them." IP: Logged Vash Back here again? Maybe I'm trying too hard? *He notices nobody is around, only Voracia. After a quick glance around, just to be sure, Vash tip-toes over to her and frowns* Well, Miss... I think you've gone long enough without giving any answers. *Vash takes a pen and a notepad out of his jacket and scribbles a note on it. He places the cap back on his pen and tucks it away in his jacket. As he removes his hands, he pulls out some duct tape* Sorry about this... *Vash carefully tapes his note to Voracia's chest, and then blushes, out of habbit* Read that when you wake up, please. *With the final instructions Vash wanders off to join the rest of the group, if he can find them* *The note reads:* Hope you had a plesant nap. You sure were "dead" tired. Ha ha ha ha. Sorry, bad pun. Please tell me what's going on when you awaken. -Vash *As Vash wanders the hall, his ears perk up and he makes his way through the maze to the group. He smiles and waves* So, have we found out which pieces we are? I hope I'm the queen, she has the best moves. *Vash frowns and scratches his head* But it would be more then okay if I wasn't... Krouser Altiriel Twice-Born "'Am I my brother's keeper?'" Altiriel turns to face Elijah. "'The Archangel Gabriel said unto me, "Son of Adam, Son of Eve, behold, the mercy of the Father is greater than you can ever know, for even now there is a path opened. A road of mercy, and you shall call this road Golconda, and tell your children of it, for by that road may they come once again to dwell in the Light…"'" "That's what the Book of Nod says on the matter. Golconda is the way out. The 'Road back to the Light.' It does not allow you to become mortal once again, but it does allow you to understand your condition. To understand the Curse of Caine, and in understanding, to surpass it." "But he doesn't know everything, does he?" He turns toward the door. "Did you hear that? I thought I heard someone call my name..." Elijah Robert Marks "...hi. Well, the good news is I remember everything now. The bad news is, as far as I can tell, it still doesn't make too much sense." ------------------ Stormcaller Nikodemus "Oh, I nearly forgot...are you guys alright?" Krouser *cracks knuckles.* "this is all getting to be academic anyway. We know the rooms are an ordeal. Why not just stay out of them." Darkana1 (Darkana places on the table a strange figure, it is definatly Darkana, two facts strike you, firstly it is in a pose like an assassin, dagger drawn and ready to strike, but it is neither white nor black but two coloured types of marble one black and one white, impossibly twisted together into a spiral, there stands the statue white and black, both yet neither ------------------ Nikodemus Elijah Robert Marks "I think I'm starting to figure it out, however. This is apparently, at least in part, a kind of a parable." ------------------ Nikodemus "What have you puzzled out so far?" With that, Nikodemus sheathes his weapons and removes the bands from his hands. Stormcaller Looks at the group Can any of you think of anything that I have missed? Any thing, no matter how small could be important. ------------------ Elijah Robert Marks "However, there are two things this Tall Man said that really struck me. First, chess starts out with an exceedingly high number of options that diminishes gradually as the game goes on. Second, that apparently Altiriel and I were being somewhat too indecisive for the Tall Man's comfort." Elijah smiles at that. "And then there's this..." Elijah talks about the bit of the Tall Man's speech concerning Ravnos, and describes the Vault of Dead Games. "Shakespeare had it all wrong. All the World's a game. And Soylent Green is people." ------------------ Neuromortis Then again, the board is still there... Carry on. Darkana-- I think there's a difficulty in a.) reconciling the fact that you haven't been present with the group, yet capriciously come and go while maintaining shared character information as though you had never left, and b.) your contribution is somewhat in conflict with the entirety of the storyline thus far. Not that it is not valuable--but your piecemeal offerings are a bit confusing when you isolate yourself for the majority of the game, then appear with anomalic plot-twists and expect folks to follow along. Perhaps if you share a bit of your motivations, in character as you progress, instead of simply the results of said motivations, we might be able to better understand where you come from. Please don't take this as an assessment of efficacy--it's merely an effort to clarify. Take care, and good gaming. [OOC]
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