In Which an Elfen Dies

(Magnagora): Avurekhos (from the Realm of the Red Masque) says, "Two Ladies of the Masquerade provide an offering in honour of the Crimson God of Gods, Fain. Be reminded of the contempt he holds for those of the lesser races, meet me outside the Blood Fist to see them dance and flay. Otherwise may you find yourselves smote to dust on His return."

Ashen orchids.
The corrosiveness of the taint sickens the land. Here, the skeletal, black trees are laden with ashen orchids, long since drained of any semblance of life. Shreds of blood-stained, silken saris hang beside them in a grotesque parody of leaves, and broken grey pawns lie beneath in the sweet embrace of strangling roots. A broken menhir rises at the centre of the area, bearing the burden of a ribbon-strangled elfen with her torso torn open and a pretty bouquet made of her internals.
Librarian Iveseth n'Kylbar, Of Bloom and Blood is here, shrouded.
You see exits leading south and down.

Shaddus crosses his arms expectantly.

Shaddus inclines his head politely to a gigantic maggot.
With a sickening series of rips, the mucous-covered front of a gigantic maggot twists and contorts into a distorted mockery of Shaddus's features.

Shaddus smirks.

Librarian Iveseth n'Kylbar, Of Bloom and Blood looks confused and says, "So few answer. Do they not know where the Blood Fist lies?"

You have emoted: Anita idly twists a snowy curl around a bloostained gold finger.

Unchained Prelate Shaddus Trueflight, of the Broken Teeth says, "The order of the Masque has fallen into disarray. Why have you not educated the city, held sermons, taught the unworthy of their place  in His dance?"

Librarian Iveseth n'Kylbar, Of Bloom and Blood says, "Why did you leave?"

A wry smile spreads across Shaddus's face.

Unchained Prelate Shaddus Trueflight, of the Broken Teeth says, "I found my place in the dance, and decided to follow a difference beat."

You murmur, "What do you think we're doing..."

Unchained Prelate Shaddus Trueflight, of the Broken Teeth says, "The two of you are young, and naive. You follow Him, but you do not know His ways. In His service, there are no excuses. You either succeed, or you fail. One of the few areas in the First World in which there are no grey areas."

(Magnagora): Avurekhos (from the Prime Material Plane) says, "If you're uncertain where that is, you may teleport to me."

(Magnagora): Shaddus says, "I do believe the Warlord has issued an invitation to the city at large. Those who are lacking in knowledge as to where they are supposed to be can speak to me. Those who are unwilling to learn can report to the scaffolds above the North Gate for education."

Librarian Iveseth n'Kylbar, Of Bloom and Blood says, "I have offered no excuses, Marquis, nor will I. I give only success brought through blood and hate, and work."

Head tilting, you say to Shaddus, "If you are free sometime, seeing as you know His ways and words, perhaps you can enlighten us?"

Librarian Iveseth n'Kylbar, Of Bloom and Blood says, "That would be enjoyable."

Shaddus regards you for a moment before nodding his head. "Perhaps. I can't very leave Avurekhos to make a mockery of the Waltz."

Unchained Prelate Shaddus Trueflight, of the Broken Teeth says, "Very well, rather."

Shaddus clears his throat.

Shaddus closes his eyes and inhales deeply, absorbing the scent of his surroundings.

You whisper to Iveseth, "Perhaps we can burn the ones who don't attend, too."

You glance askance.

Librarian Iveseth n'Kylbar, Of Bloom and Blood says to you, "The Harbinger has very strictly informed me I cannot simply burn the city because they will not move."

Shaddus gives a short, phlegm-filled rasp of a laugh.

You have emoted: Anita flicks her fingers through the air, "I can still try."

Shaddus nods his head at Rolsand.

Her fingers lifted, Librarian Iveseth n'Kylbar, Of Bloom and Blood says, "It is not 'welcoming to
new shards'."

Shaddus grunts noncommitally.

Puzzled, you say, "It's just teaching them their place.."

Unchained Prelate Shaddus Trueflight, of the Broken Teeth says, "Pity."

You see the following people here:
Rolsand, Iveseth, Avurekhos, Shaddus, Kailanna, Anita.

(Magnagora): Iveseth says, "Come to us, Magnagora. Hear of the Masque."

Shaddus leans against a nearby tree, crossing his arms over his chest as his hydraulics whine in protest.

Shaddus motions for Iveseth and you to proceed.

Nightmare of the Glomdoring, Avurekhos Feyranti, Crimson Fist of Luciphage says to Shaddus, "Did you hear, the grand finale has a special guest."

Shaddus raises an eyebrow questioningly.

Kailanna raises an eyebrow, curious.

Nightmare of the Glomdoring, Avurekhos Feyranti, Crimson Fist of Luciphage says, "Shaddus filleted and on a platter offered to Lord Fain."

(Magnagora): Iveseth says, "This is the final opportunity. We will begin in a moment."

Shaddus smirks.

Avurekhos winks conspiratorially at Shaddus.

Unchained Prelate Shaddus Trueflight, of the Broken Teeth says, "Threats by the Lord Fain bother me little. His essence has defiled me more often than I can explain, or remember."

Shaddus's eyes sparkle with amusement.

You clear your throat in an attempt to gain the attention of those around you.

In silence they gather, a scarlet circle of shards, their forms shrouded under blood-hued cloaks and masks of the darkest black. One steps forward and lights the pyre stacked high before the deathly tree, sparking it into a roaring flame that casts you all in frightful shadows and turns the masks into dreadful visages. Another places urns of wine and blood at the base of the fire, a curved knife set alongside them.

Brighter and brighter the bonfire burns until it threatens to lick at the branches of the trees, washes of the terrible heat reaching those amassed around it.

A scream rips through the Blood Fist, distorted with panic. The voice prattles something in elfen, its fear making the words incomprehensible. It grows slowly closer with each passing second until the panicked panting of the animal is heavy in your ears.

You have emoted: Like a shadow of chimerical gold amidst the sea of red, Anita parts the circle. She steps through, the firelight soft and radiant on the contours of her body. The human woman is a dark showing of gold and obsidian, wearing nought on her form except for a mask of leather and rubies, and gold paint. Her nature is entirely sensual, the hooded glance of her eyes as she lifts them to each of you in turn, coaxing your attention with the embering quirk of her lips and the allurement in her mismatched eyes. Her hips sway as she takes a position on one side of the fire, poised and waiting.


There is a brightness to her, innocent and joyous against the limitless, beckoning sensuality of the other woman that awaits her across the pyre. Where you has been painted in shadows of gold and darkness, Iveseth stands in opposition to you, bedecked in creamy smudges of white paint across her body and brilliant scarlet of blood that stands vibrant on her purple flesh. The only appearance they share is in their masks, dark and glittering with scarlet. She

Repeated thuds of contemptible flesh being subdued halts the persistent begging sounds, accompanied by the low rumble of dazed sobs as the drums begin.

The beat is a slow, languid one as it begins, resonating deep in your core, sounding more and more like a throbbing heartbeat with each moment. Pounding bass drums, like thrusting masters of seduction with their masculine tones, and the more piercing goblet drums mix together in a beautiful rhythm, like a guiding line through the body.

With a sharp intake of breath past Iveseth's trembling lips, the two dancers begin to sway in tandem, the curves of their forms free without any garment. The beat of their hips is matched to that of the drums that sound through the Blood Fist, seductively slow and rolling, each movement sending the firelight to reveal darker and darker sins upon their bodies.

The acrid smoke billows high into the air above you, filtering through the tree as the cracking from the fire sounds more akin to bone snapping than timber.

You have emoted: The beat quickens, wild and without limit, dragging the two dancers along with it as it does. Anita twirls, her feet pounding the ground and leaving Iveseth to mirror the same motions. She spins faster and faster, her feet never pausing, moving like a wild thing before the ritual fire, revelry taken by both the viscanti and human in the thrill of the dance. Through each leap they follow each other, burbles of sultry laughter bubbling at their lips as they dance with their sultry joy around the circumference of the fire, their hands held high towards the fire.

With the drums at the height of their strong beat, relentless in their passion, the circle parts once more and an elfen woman is thrust into the fray. Her clothing torn away, she too has been  decorated for the dance, charcoal handprints and evidence of cruel hands marking her as prey. The eyes of the gathered turn towards her as Iveseth's dance leads her directly to the elfen, grabbing her hand and whirling her into a fearful frenzy. The two viscanti seem ignorant of her gibberish, sobbing pleas as she is passed back and forth between them, thrown like a doll across the blazing clearing.

In the midst of the furied dancing, the circle parts for one final time, a wooden cross brought in between the red-robed bodies and laid to rest before the urns and knife.

Shaddus pulls a small dagger from beneath his robes, cleaning beneath a jagged nail with the point before tucking it back into a hidden fold.

You have emoted: Closer and closer the dark woman spins towards the light one until the two finally collide in an embrace that leaves their body paints smeared and their breath ragged. They gyrate together, the blood and cream of Iveseth's decoration melting onto the gold and charcoal of Anita's as they meet in a jerking, animalistic fashion.

Tearing away from the women, the elfen scrambles through the gathered Magnagorans, her filthy hands pulling at their garments as she pleas for mercy on unhearing ears.

You have emoted: As one, Anita and Iveseth turn their heads to the elfen.

You have emoted: Her voice rough and libidinous, Anita whispers "Blessed is He. God of Gods, King of Kings. The First Lord of Magnagora."

Sinful and intimate in the circle, Iveseth whispers, "Know His words, know your place."

You whisper, "Our flesh is weak, we are maggots. He is the beginning of our world, and He is our final thought."

Librarian Iveseth n'Kylbar, Of Bloom and Blood whispers, "Is it through the Waltz that we find our future, or be trampled beneath better feet."

You have emoted: Anita continues, her whispers a caress upon the ears, "The power of Magnagora stands because of our Lord, for we are nothing without His touch."

Like vicious predators, they swarm the elfen, their hands sunk deeply into her hair as she is dragged across the rough ground, kicking and yelping. She is thrown there on the cross, lowered to the feet of Iveseth and you, cowering and trembling, not yet realizing where she sits.

The words directed to the gathered shards, Librarian Iveseth n'Kylbar, Of Bloom and Blood whispers, "We pray to Him that He may find a worth within our hearts and raise us to serve Him."

A darkened sound that brings a shiver to the air, you whisper, "Let the blood of His foes SING His praise, for He is the Crimson LORD."

In one final, thudding beat, the music stops and the dancers drop to their knees at the top and bottom of the cross.

You have emoted: Anita sets her hands on the shoulders of the elfen, forcing her down on the painful wood of the cross, her hands without a care as they bruise the struggling flesh like soft fruit.

The moment you grips the contemptible's shoulders, Iveseth straddles its waist, immobilizing it completely on the cross. A hiss of laughter leaves her lips as the ropes are tied in place about it's wrists and throat, the course fibres rubbing raw quickly.

You have emoted: Anita pries her fingers from the flesh, reaching for the urn of blood-thickened wine as Iveseth lifts the other. With one set of sharp-tipped fingers, she pries the contemptible's mouth open and uses the other to tip the urn into it, flooding the elfen in a drowning tide of rich red wine and half congealed cruor, forcing it to swallow until its stomach bloats with the look of gluttony.

 Her body held atop the elfen's, Iveseth is quick to coat it in the bath of the same wine, its thick fluid sticking like a sanguine coat to her skin. Quickly after follows the knife, trailed across the contemptible's skin in a lover-like touch, leaving gashes of free-flowing claret as it travels. A look of anguish dawns across the elfen's face, the scream torn from their wine-stained lips met with nothing from the watching citizens.

You have emoted: Barely audible, Anita whispers, "We are born in blood and pain."

Librarian Iveseth n'Kylbar, Of Bloom and Blood whispers, "And so too shall we be reborn in blood and pain."

You have emoted: Above the weeping creature, Anita and Iveseth embrace again, a kiss of wine shared between the two of them before they stand, the elfen left in an inescapable position on the cross.

Two larger beings step forward from the depths of the circle, lifting the cross and the drunk-addled elfen into its place in the fire. Nothing is said or shared between them, and when they return, they are lost amongst the faceless others.

"Now sing." Iveseth says in one final whisper, the wine on her lips a gruesome mark of passion.

The fire catches the new addition, burning brighter and stronger than any natural flame, until the white-hot tendrils lick along the cross and the offering's body, burning through the wine-laden skin like paper as screams of torment fill the air, echoing loud and long in the Blood Fist, ragged and without sense.

Shaddus licks his lips.

You intone, "Speak now and offer your prayers to the Masque, so that you may be reminded of your place on the ground."

Avurekhos nods towards both Iveseth and you, "May His Malevolence be entertained by your offering, or may you die doing so." he turns his emotionless orbs to the crowd, " Much like those that have denied His Will, or strayed from the path. The Lord knows contempt for You. Offer him praise, glorify him, and pay homage at his shrines and he shall reward the greedy. If you do not, know His hatred upon His return".

Librarian Iveseth n'Kylbar, Of Bloom and Blood says, "Let the Masque ring eternal, for He is all."

The screams have died down now, barely audible sounds of pain only remaining for a few moments more until silence is had, nothing but the crackling of the fire and the breathing of those gathered to be heard as the worthless thread is cut short by the Fate's scissors.

Lavinya murmurs a quiet litany beneath her breath.

A sinister cackling causes the hair on your nape to stand on end, as the malevolent eyes within the Masque of Fain glow with preternatural light. Moments later the light is gone, but the whisper of laughter remains.

You have emoted: In a flurry of snowy curls, Anita bows her head, her murmurs reaching your ears in a hum of worship.

Shaddus turns to you, eyebrow raised.

Librarian Iveseth n'Kylbar, Of Bloom and Blood says, "Return to the city and know that all are welcome in His waltz, for the Enchantress, the Forbidden, the Machine, and the Legion are all  beloved by Him."

Lavinya brings her fingers together to reverently form the unbroken circle of the Ouroboros.

Lavinya d'Murani, Chosen of Legion says, "Lord Legion approves of His brother's worship."

Shaddus nods, turning back to the crowd. "You are all dismissed to explore His realm as you see fit. Iveseth, Anita, and Avurekhos will stay."

Ashen orchids.
The corrosiveness of the taint sickens the land. A proud, diseased mare ambles about here. Unchained Prelate Shaddus Trueflight, of the Broken Teeth hovers in midair, borne upon a bank of sickly, coiling black smog. There is a burning illusory eye floating darkly over him. He wields a magnum blastworks in his left hand and the Corrupted Staff of the Soulless in his right. Librarian Iveseth n'Kylbar, Of Bloom and Blood is here, shrouded. A dapper marionette hangs here limply, suspended from silken ropes.

The fire continues to burn merrily, grand and brilliant with its lingering fuel. The ashes sit heavy at the bottom, greasy and slimy with fat.