RP:The Child Prophet: A Play

This is a Devout's Guild RP.

This is a Necromancer's Guild RP.

Concert Hall

Josleen arrived early at the Concert Hall to ensure everything would just be so. The instruments were tuned, vocal chords warmed, dancers limbered up, ushers instructed, and the prima donna stage director was reassured. Josleen’s husband would be late due to an unexpected crisis that required the King’s attention, but, for the Queen, no crisis short of injury to her family or a full on siege of the city could keep her from this hall. She, Nasada, and Alvina labored over this play for months. Together they created what Josleen hoped would go down in history as one of the stage’s finest plays/ballets/operas [the Queen went HAM]. Nasada (and a +1), Alvina and her family, and Bradyn (and a +1) had all been invited to sit in the Royal Booth. Wealthy theater goers would benefit from box suites with lovely views. Middle-class citizens would sit behind the orchestra, and the lower-class would sit or stand in the gallery. The lobby has been decorated in heavily religious iconography in grayish hues. The decor gave the hall a somber and reverent mood. Outside the hall, a small but loud group of protestors had gathered. Their signs protest Vakmatharas, the King, the Queen, and Evil in one breath, often equating Macon with the God of Death himself. Unfortunate, really, a sour note in an otherwise perfect musical. You see, a copy of the play had leaked, and its contents inflamed the sensitive, uninformed, and misguided (if you ask Josleen). Fort guard under the direction of Mythayus, the Army’s Commander, have been tasked with keeping the peace. They don’t worry Josleen, who is focused solely on the stage. When the time came, Josleen would place a hand on Alvina’s shoulder and nod to let her know it was almost time.

Zahrani remains at the Chapel of Cyris, far enough from the Concert Hall to not be seen, but not far enough away to hear angry shouting. The paladin felt it more prudent to remain with the faithful that sought shelter. Cyris was able to turn the curse away for the families that found the courage to come to him for aid. There is talk amongst the clerics to expand the chapel to accommodate a Holy safehouse for the children. It would stem the curse, but the priests continued tirelessly to find a permanent reversal. The cat brings water and a simple meal to a family, before turning her ears towards the Hall. A group of protesters gather outside. An elder gentleman with a booming voice and a makeshift funnel to amplify it further, could be heard shouting, "There is ALREADY a deity that can protect us! This blasphemous farce will not go unchallenged! Give up your crown and restore Freedom to Larket, and Cyris will surely intervene!" He was no priest, but he's old enough to remember the chapel's presence before Macon took the throne, and he has every confidence in Cyris.

Larewen arrives as one of the wealthier guests, never one to spare a penny for propriety's sake. Clad in her usual attire, the necromancer finds her way to the assigned box according to her ticket. It's the first time she's stepped foot in Larket since she outwardly spoke against the King and Queen, and yet curiosity had beckoned. The rumor mill certainly helped influence her decision. Carefully adjusting her bustle gown as she sits, the necromancer's mismatched gaze soon drifts over those present. The protest outside had amused her and the hint of a smirk still curves the corners of her mouth upward. Patiently, she awaits the start of the performance.

Alvina does not feel great about all of this. Her duty as head of the Bard's guild feels heavier with each passing day they've worked on this play. She likes to think she's done her best at toning down some of the more sensational themes but the play overall unnerves her. Frankly, if she didn't know Josleen personally, she probably would have outright refused to be associated with this 'labor of love' as the Queen says. The bard has no idea of Nasada's heavy involvement - all notes have passed through Josleen directly. Hudson's already taken his seat in the royal booth while Alvina paces the stage to help find costumes, props, and other assorted items worth panicking about this close to curtain call. She looks pale and clammy.

Nasada :: The figure that would come to be known as ‘Sister Solarus’ by the commonfolk of Larket had come alone for the most part. She was dressed head to toe in robes of red and black, with large embroidered patterns of gold ascending up the main body of the vestments. Upon her face, beneath a large open hood, sat a youthful mask of a feminine nature, and it too were plated in that valuable yellow metal. In her silk-glove covered hand a sable colored shaft was held; Atop its structure a menacing curved blade of malachite complexion. Her walk was deliberately slow, pallid gaze sifting over the turnout for tonight’s event with keen interest. She had been, for some time now, planting the seed of belief in the ear of the local populace with the intention of swaying as many as she could toward the side of this new religion. While there was much resistance, small pockets of Larket’s citizens easily fell to the tale of wonders regarding the King and Queen’s son. Entering the Royal Booth, ‘Sister Solarus’ would come to stand off to the right side and peer over the crowd, awaiting for the entrance of those that would be filling these noble viewing quarters

Bradyn did not come with +1 despite having the option, it was a complete lack of want and effort on Bradyn's part. If he was going to be in attendance of such an affair, he was going to be going alone. Measures were taken so that Bradyn does not look like some 'creepy vampire from Vailkrin', his angle was instead to appear more like your average human aristocrat keeping company with royalty. Both tend to be equally stuck up, so this works for Bradyn. Bradyn's position up in the Royal Booth is an assuming one, preferring to keep to the shadows so that most would be hard pressed to even note his presence. His conversation while there is kept to a minimum, interacting minimally with the few individuals invited to be in that space. Minimal in this case is a nod, perhaps a hello, but then silence - waiting for the play to begin.

Josleen greets Nasada, Alvina and Hudson with embraces and excited "Helloooo!" and "I have a feeling the performance tonight will be wonderful." Prince Guillem arrives with Floria, Josleen's most trusted hand maiden. Guillem makes it a point to shake hands with each adult in the booth, a new habit of his ever since his father told him real men give firm hand shakes and make eye contact with everyone they meet. He has taken this to heart and makes it a point to say "Hi, I'm Guillem, Prince of Larket" to people who he has already met. Josleen appreciates that Bradyn doesn't look like a creepy vampire. His efforts are rewarded with a lilting, "You look dashing tonight, Bradyn!" and an embrace.

Hudson is attending this event out of loyalty to his wife and part of the complex calculation of friendship with fellow people in power. He has not brought the children to this play, however, because he and his wife talk and he is aware that the subject matter is not, in fact, appropriate for children. Luna especially is quite fragile and gets nightmares. Hudson has good seats, at least, for Larket's latest piece of propaganda, although glancing about him he's not so sure who to make small talk with up here. Nasada looks extremely unapproachable and is dressed in an extremely over the top outfit. (Hudson is wearing khakis and a polo and some loafers. He did shave for this, though!) Hudson notices that Bradyn is lurking in the shadows - possibly he has some intel on that being a primo location for passed hors d'oeuvres for the VIPs such as themselves - and Hudson decides to lurk in that general vicinity as well. He nods at Bradyn in a conspiratorial manner and hopes for chicken on a stick. Always a crowd pleaser.

Mythayus entered the concert hall with a squad of guards with him. He was donned in his black spiked full plate, with a Larket cape. A kite shield made with a light-colored metal with darker shaded metal, making a scene of a wolf head howling at the moon, with angelic wing coming off the sides of the head, whilst the whole wolf head, seemed to be engulfed with a dark colored fire. His hair raven hair pulled back in a tight que. His vivid blue hue scanning the crowd for a moment or two as they entered and took their seats, as he pointed in several different directions. A couple of guards headed in each of those directions. He, himself stood in the back keeping a watchful eye on the patrons, as he was charged with keeping the peace. The guards would all keep watchful eyes on the patron, while a few under Myth’s order would go to calm the protesters. The guards quickly focused on the old man, “Sir, please stop what you are doing. If you have a problem, now is not the time to voice it. This is a play. If you do not stop you will be forced to leave.” Myth would keep a careful ear making sure the protesters to make sure the current situation didn't escalate.

Hikoro |Time had awaken the old Apostle, the seal having faded to send her on her path of life once more. The very path that ushered her to a distant graveyard to cross paths with a disgruntled Paladin. Words were shared and voices heard. Curiosities formed that send her down the road to the Concert Hall once the sun returned to the skies. For awhile, the pale figure watched the rioting crowd and disgruntled faces. A few glances now and than. Larket, had changed. So much time had passed and driven her back into a remnant of the past. It was strange to feel like she could be missed in a crowd. "Old friend, what do you think of them? Chaos mounted with words of retribution. Do you think perhaps the Paladin right?" The old wolf at her feet shook it's black peppered fur. Time had changed the once young wolf. Shadow simply sat and listen to their comrad, ears swiveling to hear each outraged cry of the crowd before onward towards entrance of the hall. Letting out a faint chuff as if to indicate for Hikoro to follow. "Perhaps..you are right." With a light push from her perch, the pale figure drifted into the crowd. Idly pressing forward to offer a smile, the worn figure tried to slip through the crowd to see what all the fuss was about. "One god against another. What a time to wake up."

Valrae || The small, desolate witch community that still managed to survive in Larket were instrumental in seeing the leaked contents of the play reach ears beyond the borders of their inhospitable home. Those with distance between themselves and the Hard City shrugged it off as more of the sensationalized madness that Larket seemed so keen to traffic in, others shared stingy comments over morning coffee an sparse newspaper clippings before moving on the more important matters such as grocery lists and beach plans. Those that carried a mind more weighted with the idea of political action had taken to organizing a protest alongside rattled citizens. They made signs, coordinated brightly colored tunics, and arrived early to shout at all who entered the concert hall. “Blasphemers!” The loudest of them shouted. Others still donned red and scarlet to air old grievances, the wound felt by the witch community festering beyond the idea of healing. As for Valrae, she sat behind the orchestra in a carefully glamoured disguise. She was a heavy set, older woman with silver curls and over applied plum colored lipstick. Her seat was acquired through less than tasteful means. She rationalized this by telling herself knowing her enemy was a necessity. The disguised witch picked at her ruffled bag nervously as she waited for the show to begin.

Hudson of course embraces Josleen. "So great to see you!" he says, which is what you say. "Alvina's been working so hard on this and we're very excited it's finally happening." Mostly so she can STOP working on it. Hudson smiles politely at Bradyn, who apparently received the adjective of 'dashing,' which Hudson DID NOT. Hudson concludes, based on this information alone, that Bradyn is obviously gay, and then promptly pats himself on the back for lurking with a gay man. So open minded he is. Gonna tell his wife about it later and deposit some good hubby points in the bank.

Bradyn is not super pleased with the fact that Josleen embraces him in even the slightest manners. It's tolerated though, because they are in public, and there are a lot of guards around. It's just better, but he is not pleased. Trust, Hudson, Bradyn would rather you receive the compliments from the Queen. A 'thank you' might be appropriate at this moment, but there is only so much hope for Bradyn's social skills. Let's not reach too much here.

Alvina shakes the young Prince’s hand happily. “Pleasure to meet you, sir.” only after embracing Josleen and watching Hudson move closer to the corner for no reason that is readily apparently. Did he know Bradyn? Does he know everyone? The robed woman is creepy, Alvina politely avoids contact with her whenever possible. She quickly excuses herself to go back to check on the rest of the guild members in these final, critical moments. She kisses Hudson’s cheek, forgetting to make her usual remark of ‘behave’ and scurries down to the orchestra pit to give them thumbs up before vanishing behind the curtain.

Nasada :: As Sister Solarus, the youthful necromancer would make polite greetings with those that entered; Warm familiarities with Josleen. A polite and pleasant bow to Alvina and Hudson. A knowing nod to Bradyn. Prince Guillem was afforded a concealed smile and a pleasant shake in greeting- How polite was he? Good upbringing, all things considered. Despite the pleasantries, the girl beneath the robes was a nervous mess. With the sound of the protesting not far off, she could only wonder if things would devolve as they had many times in the past. The last thing she wanted to see was more needless bloodshed.

Joan rubs her thumb along the bridge of her nose as the quite business woman made her way pass the crowd outside, now and then she’d be bumped and or almost stop short as she made her way into the hall with the normal citizens. It didn’t bother her much at all that she had to mingle with the rest back near the doors, making apologies, the pale woman with the amethyst colored hair squeezed in near the entrance, crossing her arms as voided orbs swept left then right, noting everything and everyone.

Hudson decides, because Bradyn is now a gay man in his mind, that they can talk about women's tennis. Because the only other gay man Hudson knows follows women's tennis, and therefore all gay men now must follow women's tennis. Hudson is very pleased with himself for being so chill and open minded. "I really think the Jones sisters are going to go all the way in the Larket Open," he comments to Bradyn. His wife drive-by kisses him on the cheek. "Good luck, honey," he tells her, and then looks back to Bradyn. "To be continued at intermission I guess!" No doubt Bradyn is so disappointed that this tennis conversation must be put on hold. Hudson makes his way to a seat, finding that he's been seated next to Nasada. Hudson doesn't want to stare but: is that woman wearing a mask? ?????

Alvina watches as people filter in apprehensively. A copy of the play bill is rolled anxiously in her hands as she smiles at those she knows and those she doesn’t. When nearly everyone is seated, she climbs the steps to occupy the stage. In front of a large, velvety red curtain. She’s wearing a badge, symbol of her current rank within the guild. She lifts her gloved hands to hush the crowd and command their attention. One, two, three taps on her throat to project her voice. “Welcome, one and all, to this production brought to you on behalf of the marvelous Queen of Larket and the Bard’s guild. What you’ll see here today -” She pauses, reading notes scribbled on her scrunched playbill. Thoughts of Valrae’s death sour her tongue. Alvina closes her eyes to gather her strength. Gods, don’t let her get struck down for this. “ stems from possible recent events aimed at Larket’s citizens. Please respect the rules of the theater and those performing, as they’ve put a lot of time and effort into this cause. And without further ado…” She bows, shifting out of the way to let the curtain open and the play begin.

Act 1

Josleen || The red velvet curtains part to reveal a breathtaking set that resembles Larket’s town square with the fort looming in the background and raised on scaffolding. The opening number, an ensemble, recaps recent events with dance and song. Nefarious witches leap and pirouette away from Larketian guards who advance jeté battu to mark their rhythmic marching. Witches cast spells on innocent Larketians, spinning en pointe to symbolize the dizzying darkness of their spells. The ensemble ends with a blonde witch in a scarlet cape looming over a large black cauldron that is shaped like a skull. The next song begins with an actress playing a middle class, pregnant Larketian woman. She screams in pain as she prematurely gives birth to a too-large daughter. Cue ensemble cast of innocent, pregnant Larketian women, including the Queen in the fort, who descend into panic and give birth prematurely. Some mothers die. Some newborns die. Men look on helplessly, including the King. Mothers who survive look on in horror as their babies rapidly age. A choir howls a hellish lament as the stage dims. The set cleverly unfolds to reveal the throne room. On it sits a king, grief stricken with his head hung low. Dramatic lighting exaggerates his weary features. He sings in a husky baritone that he will avenge the innocent mothers and children of Larket, he will make those who did this pay. The light snuffs out and the throne rolls away on a beam, taking the King with it. A new light shines on the fort’s entrance. There is a battle (more leaps and dance) and The Red Witch is captured. The scene moves to a dungeon with the clever use of props and partitions. There The Red Witch confesses to the king that she cursed the children of Larket. The King demands she lift the curse, but she refuses. The lights blink out, and from a trapdoor in the floor a pyre rises. Bright orange light floods the stage and The Red Witch is tied to the stake. As she burns, speaking in tongues and turning the flames green, hopeful parents do not take glee inher death, but instead turn to their children, hoping to see the cure lifted, but it is not. Is there no cure? The curtains to shield stage hands who scurry across the stage to dress it for the next act.

Act 2

Alvina || [Part 1 of 2] The curtain opens, depicting a large city scene on a rotating stage. Various windows can be seen. In each window, family members huddle together weeping over their children and pregnant wives and friends. The King and Queen are included in this montage, their expertly designed actors practically leaking despair on the crowd. The stage slowly rotates to focus in on each ‘window’ individually - Each desperate family consults elaborately dressed doctors, who turn them away. Next comes a skilled mage, who can find no solution for their woes. A man (not naga) of science is offered a baby while the mother and father plead side by side to the point of tears. Save her! Save her anyway you can! The aged man examines the child for a moment before repeating the head shake of those who came before. There’s no cure on this mortal coil that can spare these children. We move slowly now through focused scenes of hospitals, living rooms, healers washing blood from their hands and sobbing. Some families try to flee the city, but find no peace outside it’s safe walls. Other Larketians prays to every righteous god in record, the silhouette of each deity turns it’s head and vanishes. The violins sob in quick staccato from the orchestral pit. The families are left to grieve as mothers shriek in agony and collapse defeated on the ground. When the stage rotates back to the Balcony holding the King and Queen, Macon (v2) looks compassionately out at a backdrop of the city. Josleen approaches, placing a worried hand on his shoulder. They exchange a look that speaks of their sympathies for their beloved city before the spotlight fades to black.

Alvina || [Part 2 of 2] The act continues with a narrowed spotlight on a creeping figure with a small child in it’s arms. The figure rushes through shadowy woods, off stage a crow calls creepily and fog from dry ice is fanned to set the scene. A chill runs through the crowd, the strings pluck sour notes to fuel the unease. In the Dark Forest, the figure pulls back his hood to reveal the King! Macon holds up his son and howls to the heavens. It’s a forceful but desperate plea. The moaning cries of the strings, echoed in dismal sounding chimes, reaches a heart pounding crescendo as the child is encased by inky tendrils that glow with light. Despite the frantic nature of the scene Macon (v2) looks on in wonderment instead of fear. The orchestra fades out, ending with a few hopeful notes of promise while the curtain closes and the lights are brought back up to announce intermission and the beginning of a cocktail hour. Guests will be treated to a literal buffet of lavish foods. The best the city has to offer. A bartender is standing by to whip up the cocktail of your choosing or one of the promotional play cocktails (murky black lychee martini?? Please don't be a creepy eyeball). Among the delicacies, this land locked city has gone so far as to offer cocktail shrimp by the ton. No expense has been spared.

Cocktail Hour

Mythayus had every faith in his guards and their ability to handle the situation. Addressing those shouting ‘Blasphemers’ would be similar to that of the old man. Requesting them to leave if they have a problem and to voice their concerns at a more appropriate time. Plays are not the place to voice concerns. Mythayus watched on over all the patrons, keeping his blue hue constantly moving.

Hikoro |Features twisted under her mask, eyes staring out into the world of mystery and history. The play that so curiously had her head tilting and ears perking to listen to the songs that rang histories bells. Was this the world the Larket she'd left behind? What had come and gone in the past? Idly dipping her head, she took a stance in the back. Keeping to herself with worn garb and new. A mix of past and present that would soon enough be fixed. "History.. Their history." A pale hand reached out to drag her fingers through the wolves fur. Watching the curtains close and the intermission come to pass. "Desperation of a father set to save his child. Perhaps there is more to this story." Still the figure kept to herself, simply..watching the present behavior of those in the room.

Hudson generally speaking watches this extremely inaccurate and bad play with a hand over his mouth to cover his disdain. He tries to think of something thoughtful to tell his wife about the production that doesn't have anything to do with the substance of the thing, but it just makes him angry and he feels the old marital resentment that Alvina always agrees to help Josleen with this Dumb Fascist Stuff. It's cartoonishly fascist, even. So embarrassing. He is relieved when it's cocktail hour. At least there's chicken on a stick. He downs not one but two of the signature drink. Maybe if he's drunk he'll be able to sleep through the rest. Hopefully the second half is not scored so noisily.

Josleen , like Hudson, also has her hand over her mouth. She's holding back a whimper, because there's no use holding back tears. She weeps as the children and mothers suffer, as she did. The actors are brilliant. The dancers capture the right tone. The singers speak for her soul. Bravo!

Larewen observes quietly the plight of Larketians, but there is no stirring of sadness in her heart for their suffering. Perhaps it comes with the fact that her kind cannot bear children, regardless of whether they wish to or not and this has hardened her heart against those more motherly feelings. Whatever is left of those emotions has been largely drained by recent events. When the intermission comes, the necromancer orders only wine and she sips at it with content. There's no attempt made on her part to mingle.

Bradyn low key is not sure who he hates more right now. Josleen? Hudson? Thankfully the play begins and Bradyn no longer has to listen to Hudson talk about women's tennis. What even is tennis. As soon as the play begins, Bradyn is all eyes forward. The content of the play is of no surprise to Bradyn, but he does have an appreciation for how the story is being told thus far. Intermission comes, and Bradyn can't escape the Royal Booth fast enough. He wants to avoid Hudson, please no more discussion of this sport. Cocktails are not exactly high on Bradyn's list of things to do while here, neither is mingling with the crowd. He has suffered through that enough. No, Bradyn will be the first to duck out of the booth for intermission and also the first to return to it.

Nasada :: The masked woman had been watching on with some sort of excitement, even though she knew for the most part what were going to happen at every turn. She had, after all, been privy to seeing an earlier copy of the play. Every now and again, Sister Solarus would scan over the crowd to gauge the reactions of those seated; Most seemed to enjoy it from what she could see. Others, not quite as much. Hudson’s awkward glancing was noted, although she could not reassure the man with a smile or pleasantries due to the nature of the disguise. She would linger with that pale gaze, and from his perspective, it was probably a little creepy. Still, a nod was issued and she turned back to the remainder of the first two acts. When the intermission had begun, the heavily robed woman would rise to her feet and quietly case the grounds, occasionally to stop and mingle with the more devout members of the audience. She had been out and about many times, and her preaching had become nearly perfected when compared to an actual priest. And so, whenever she got the chance, she would make attempts to proselytize, even here, during this strange and fantastical production.

Zahrani | The old man turns to face the guards, lowering his megaphone, "Child, I speak these words for the good of this city..." As the play starts, though, the man reluctantly sits. Upon intermission, his face appears livid and heartbroken. With some degree of resignation, he makes his way quietly through the crowd, no doubt watched by the same guard. Standing not far from the Royal Booth, the elder's voice carries across, "Know this: Vakmatharas will never be satisfied with blind faith. One of my sons, years ago, was drawn by his empty promises of relief. Eventually, the God of Death demanded the literal heart of his wife and son. How long before the King is forced to do the same?" With that, the man waste no more of his time in the Hall, making his way out. A few commoners who had heard him exchanged looks of concern and fear, before turning and leaving as well.

Alvina doesn’t make an appearance at cocktail because she can hear the cries of the protestors outside. She -cannot- right now. Instead, she busies herself with the actors and their requests and demands. Seeing it on paper and seeing it on stage feel different. The tone is dark, ripe with grief. People do crazy things when they’ve had their hearts broken but she’s starting to think this isn’t a phase Josleen is going through…

Hudson can't hear the cries of the protestors, actually. When you're privileged and chilling in the Royal Whatever (gods bless whatever he's drinking) you don't have to hear the cries of the downtrodden. (Though, as noted, Hudson agrees that the play is monstrous.) Hudson gets a third martini and looks around for Bradyn to further discuss women's tennis. The guy's nowhere to be found. Hudson raves to a perfect stranger about what a terrific waste this Cenril Cubs season has been. Then he skulks back to his seat and passes out for the remainder of the play.

Josleen mingles at the bar and eagerly corners anyone she can find to ask, "What do you think so far?" Hudson, Old-Lady-Val, Mythayus, Bradyn are all asked for their opinions. When she finds Larewen, she takes a moment to greet the vampiress. "Oh, I didn't expect to see you! How nice of you to come. What do you think so far?" Larewen had once saved Josleen's life, thus sparing herself the brand of 'creepy vampire from Vailkrin.' "Do you follow Vakmatharas?" she asks despite already knowing the answer. Guillem tails his mother and introduces himself to new people the way his father taught him. However, he looks bored by his own prophetic destiny. "Mom, how much longer?" he whines. Josleen pretends to hear nothing negative. Mythayus has this under control.

Valrae watches the early scenes of the play with mild amusement. The actress they’ve chosen for her wore too much makeup and had a considerably larger nose. Her slightly humorous mood shifts as the play continues. The demonstration of mother and child, their suffering put in dramatic display, left a sour taste in the back of her throat. The dungeon scene elicited the sinking feeling of both regret and old, long forgotten fear. Her false confession rang in her ears long after the play had concluded. In her plump disguise she moved with the crowd to the refreshment hour. Her mind wanted to pick at the final scene, to work through whatever motive and action underlined the night, but she was now snagged on her former life. What if she had spent more time working to lift whatever curse had been placed on Larket’s children? Valrae had been so deeply mired in her cause, in the suffering of her own people, that she’d trivialized the pain and suffering of others. What ifs and should haves haunted her and darkened the unhidden emerald of her eyes. Her fleshy and wrinkled hand shook so violently that a server seemed reluctant to pass her a bubbling flute of champagne. Outside, the protesters have grown antsy. The small crowd boils with the anticipation for civil disobedience. Guards are shoved and shouted at. A small barefoot woman with tangled hair that reaches her waist manages to sprint around the line of guards and barrels into the now eating crowd. “Blasphemers will be smited!” Her shrill voice breaks over the conversational drone of those enjoying the buffet. Suddenly, she strips from her loose red tunic and reveals nudity covered in painted slogans. She runs toward a shaken crowd that scrambles away from her path. Drinks and food spill. “You’ll all bu-” A guard tackles her to the ground before she can finish, a group of them carry her out of the doors again.

Joan watched the first and second act with not much interest, her face set in a rather bland manner. Tho she does take note of all the death, as a budding Necromancer that caught her attention. How many corpses were there, she wondered right as intermission broke. Her voided gaze would search about till she spotted the lady Larewen, and then Bradyn. Had she known Nasada was there the merchant vampire would had offered a wave, but since she didn’t Joan took the opportunity to snag one of those fancy drinks, she even managed to score one chicken on a stick. These she would partake of while keeping near the entrance, a brow raised as a few people follow after the old man that had such a scene.

Valrae || Shaken old lady Val gives Jos a good review, though she shakes violently throughout. Her over applied lipstick has ran into the wrinkles that line her lips.

Larewen is startled by Josleen's greeting and the seeming pleasantry of the woman's tone, especially considering their last exchange. Swallowing a mouthful of wine that's left to linger on her tongue, the necromancer's chin lifts slightly. "I can't imagine the pain your people have suffered," she says politely enough, and truly she can't--but not out of sympathy. The query of who Larewen follows is met with a subsequent dip of her head. "Yes, I follow Vakmatharas whole-heartedly. If rumors are true, I must say I am pleasantly surprised by your own change of faith."

Josleen said to Larewen, "The third act will explain the change of heart. He did for us what no other God or mortal would do."

Hikoro |Pushing herself from the wall, a hand rose to remove the old beaten barbute. Cracked and worn, it found itself tucked under her arm at the approach of the bar. Peppered hair falling around her shrouded facial features now that the helm was done restraining it. "You ask what people think of this historical piece, are you the creator of this spectacle?" Hikoro's head tilted off to the side, ears swiveling in all directions to catch sounds left and right while Shadow stood at her side. The pair appeared to be addressing Josleen directly. "Is this the pain that history has brought to your people? The dark curse that voice have spoken of, your new god has lifted it?" She had, so many questions and so little time to ask them. Perhaps not the best choice of attire either. Probably to most, she looked like someone that dug up old gear and mixed it with a fresh tunic and greaves from the market. Well, at least she didn't smell..bad.

Larewen said to Josleen, "Then I eagerly await the next act."

Josleen forces a smile for Hikoro, who is dressed strangely. "Indeed. These are all events that unfolded here in Larket last year. It was a terrible time, but as you'll see in the final act, our suffering is over now. We only need to embrace our salvation." Prince Guillem steps forward to introduce himself to Hikoro, but each greeting is less enthusiastic than the last. Plays are long. Children lack the attention span.

Nasada :: Sister Solarus concludes her business with one of many small crowds with a collective 'amen'. She, as best she could, tried to ignore the rowdy protests. As she made her way back to her seat, that mask of gold shifted over familiar faces in the crowd, coming to pause on Larewen for a lingering moment. It was suspected that the vampire would sniff her out through the disguise, but the young girl opted not to say a word. Not now. With scythe in hand, the priestess returned to her seat to contemplate over the coming days ahead.

Zahrani stands just outside the Chapel, sharpening a farming scythe and some other tools and watching a very light but steady stream of people leaving the Concert Hall. She spots an old man followed by a few more, and nods in greeting, "Is the play over already?" The crowd stops, and the elder gentleman sits next to the Paladin, "No, and I will not waste more of my time shouting upon deaf ears." The feline smiles sympathetically, "I know that feeling all too well, but I appreciate you fighting the good fight." Cyan eyes turn to the small crowd gathering around them, "And they seem to appreciate it as well." Putting the scythe back in its place, the panther says, "Our evening meal is starting, and we always set extra places at the table if you're hungry." Some of the people take the Paladin up on the offer of food, and they make their way cautiously into the chapel.

Larewen does, in fact, catch a whiff of Nasada's familiar scent, and her right eye, known for its ability to read magics, recognizes the threads of the other's necromancy as Sister Solarus passes by. Naught is said though, for the necromancer is, presently, more preoccupied with the play.

Hikoro |Dipped her head in respect to the Young Prince Guillem, Shadows actions follow suit. "A delight to meet you, young man. It is good to hear your generation is in good health." She returned the introduction of her name, 'Hikoro Silver' before turning to head back to her seat. Wisely choosing against any liquor that might cloud her judgement of the evening events unfolding. She'd heard one story and now it was time for her to hear the other side of the tale.

Alvina || [Part 1 of 3] The final warning tone sounds, signaling theater goers to return to their seats as intermission comes to a close. Again Alvina takes the stage to recap the play so far - for those who might have missed important plot points. This is Josleen’s idea and Alvina looks moderately uncomfortable doing so. “Thus far, we’ve seen the plight of the Larketian people as they suffer relentlessly under a curse that rapidly ages it’s children and steals the lives of both expectant mothers and their children. The King and Queen both suffer personally and with their citizens but no one can find the answer to end this devastation.” She has pointedly left out the mention of witches. “When last we saw the King, he’d taken his precious son, Prince Guillem, into the Dark woods with one last gambling plea for his son and all of Larket.”

Act 3

Alvina || [Part 2 of 3] With that, she exits the stage and the curtains open for the next act. On stage is Macon (v2) with the little prince stepping through the doors of a clearly marked temple devoted to Vakmatharas. An idol of the god looms over the altar, and when the prince comes into view, the statue begins to weep blood. The orchestra is muted, allowing the audience to focus on this miraculous sight. A priest standing nearby turns, himself weeping at the miracle of the idle’s tears and approaches. “This boy…” He cries shamelessly, “suffers.” Overhead two spotlights, meant to be interrupted as Guillem's eyes, are shadowed by ominous skulls. Without so much as another word, the priest reveals a dagger. The priest uses the blade to slit his own throat, grinning happily sacrificing his life. In the two spotlights overhead, the skull shadows vanish and the babe’s skin immediately appears healthy and bright. The surviving priest approaches to explain to Macon what’s just happened and how the prince is now safe. Macon (v2) then recounts the suffering in his city and asks how the rest of the children can be saved. The priest nods sympathetically. “They too can be saved by our lord, if their parents come to understand that Vakmatharas himself is not evil. Many fanatics have used his name and symbol for their own corrupt causes. Vakmatharas is himself neutral - neither good or evil. Death is the neutral counterpart to life, and many people fear this and deem it evil without understanding it’s nature. It, as our god, is neither good nor evil. It simply is. When the parents of those afflicted children realize this truth and accept Vakmatharas into their hearts truly, their children will be spared.”

Alvina || [Part 3 of 3] The spotlight dims, the scene shifts back to the balcony in Larket where the King and Healthy prince stand overlooking the city once more. Macon begins a monologue expressing his concern for his citizens. “I worry they are not yet ready to understand. They are too good, too pure of heart, too noble. All their lives they’ve been told this lie that Vakmatharas is the harbinger of all things wicked. We must sway them, We MUST! Their children, their futures depend on it!” Just as Macon hangs his head to fret deeply over the plight of their people, the Prince gingerly takes his father’s hand and smiles brightly at the king. He is calm, collected. “Don’t worry Papa,” says young Guillem with unshaken confidence, “I will show them the way and they will understand.”

Finale

Josleen || The stage goes dark, actors leave their places, and a spotlight bears down from above center stage. Josleen steps into the light in a glittering grey dress of the same hue as the Vakmatharas Temple’s banners set on stage. It had been years since she performed for an audience, and though some may deem it tacky, the Queen could not pass up an opportunity to perform, especially not tonight, for this performance which will mean so much to so many. Pools of tears sit on her lashes as she relives what she and the city has suffered together. The curse made lay people of everyone, even those who donned the crown. For this reason she does not don her crown on stage. She simply is, a woman, a mother, a Larketian. Her lament begins low and sweet. Her soprano scales the octaves as it rises in volume. While the lyrics exalt the unexpected Child Prophet of Vakmatharas, a sweet boy who has never harmed a fly, the tone beseeches the hearts of good Larketians to forget what they think they know about the God of Death and for the sake of the children. Let worship of him enter your hearts, she sings, the Prophet knows the truth and his peers will be spared with him. The notes climb and just as they threaten to shatter glass (and, hopefully, people’s reservations against Vakmatharas), a foul-smelling gust whips into the hall. Curiously, it emanates from Josleen’s voice, though she does not react to the smell of rot, or seem to notice how the candles dim and grow of their own accord, then flicker and dance wildly. She does not notice how the audience’s stomachs churns, and how each individual is overcome with a terrible nausea all at once. She is spared from the chill that climbs up spines despite the heat of summer. Saved from these ill effects are only those who worship Vakmatharas, namely Bradyn, Nasada, and Larewen (maybe Joan?). As for the rest of the audience, there’s a good chance that they will vomit bile mixed with black ash, tar, and dirt onto their own laps. (ooc: If you want to say your character would resist this dark magic, that’s fine! Up to you whether or not you vom black grossness.) Josleen sways on the stage, the bard possessed by a wicked magic she never trained for, expected, or wanted. She wakes from her trance at the end of her song and blinks in confusion at the retching guests. The confusion gives way to a slack jaw. Hands press against her face beneath eyes peeled wide open with horror. What happened? Bad shrimp? The papers will certainly blame the shrimp in the morning.

Larewen curls her nose slightly as the smell of rot permeates the concert hall and for a moment, she dares look down at her left arm, half expecting to see the curse having spread. But no, it's simply Josleen's breath, rancid and vile. The necromantic magics at work glisten brightly in the darkness of Larewen's right eye and curiously, the elf leans forward. She watches as other attendees begin to hurl, vomiting up that nasty bile. The papers can blame the shrimp, Josleen can tell herself it was the shrimp, but Larewen knows that not to be the case. In the wake of the Queen's shock and that of the viewers both affected and unaffected, Larewen brings her hands together in an applause. Truly, the corrupted elf is amused and greatly entertained by the misfortune that befalls the others.

Alvina stands behind the curtain, already feeling sick from nerves before Josleen took the stage. Once the candles flicker and dark magic saturates the air, she turns to be violently ill off the back end of the stage. Luckily, she’s hidden from view. The retching takes several minutes to fulfill it’s purpose - tears stain her eyes from exertion and lack of control. The alien textures that rose from her throat threaten to suffocate her. Her hands press against her throat in fear as she stares down at the grave-like contents she’s expelled.

Zahrani | Rani prepares to join the others who were just beginning to settle in for a meal. As she makes ready to sit next to the head cleric, a foreboding, unnatural feeling reaches both of them, and a few of the more spiritually-tuned faithful. The scent of bile and black tar, even though the source is far away. The others continue to eat peacefully, as the panther idly looks out the window of the Chapel. A moment later the elder cleric joins, stroking his wizened gray beard and speaking in a quiet, aged voice, "As always, we have a long road ahead of us. The thirst for Freedom runs strong in the lifeblood of this city. We cannot neglect its people now." The Paladin nods, and the two rejoin the dinner table.

Hikoro |Ears turned and danced to listen to the sounds of the performance and the words of the actors until the one she'd spoken with stepped onto the stage. How fascinating it was to see a hostess perform for her people so, but the feeling that followed.. Not so much. The Guardian felt the sensation of magic tickle their spirit and threaten to consume it with it's unholy plight, but it was the very magic she had power against. With a push of her energy, she let herself relax. Fighting against the spell and it's dark intentions. "We have our truth, old friend." The poor wolf at her side was perhaps not so lucky. The creature vomiting the black substance up as a hand reached down to reassure it's old friend. "I'm sorry old friend, I can't protect you from this plight."

Drevyn has lingered about the crowd for some time, a keen knack for laying low a hidden talent he is rather fond of. When the play dies down, its the sudden shift in the air that draws the Nasar Vassal in even more. Dark magic, a sense of foreboding precedes the shift in the air, as the joy and overall good mood previously on display is drowned beneath the unholy presence of whatever it is Queen Josleen just did. Its a odd thing, the way it all happens, as even the vampire himself feels his guts churn and bile almost rush out of him in a violent manner. He didn't openly worship Vakmatharas, oh no, but he was a betting man and if the gods were forced to fight, even against the mighty Aramoth would Drevyn choose Vakmatharas. Death is the only end to war, after all. But it is Lady Larewen that becomes the focus of this particular vampire's attention, as he goes to try to close the distance between the pair, as his sole purpose for being there was the deliver her a message. A shame if she met any ill fate now, given all that has been done in her favor.

Josleen || Prince Guillem is among those who turn red and purple under the force of their own retching. The boy, uninitiated in the very religion he's expected to spearhead, calls out for his mother once the vomiting subsides. Josleen runs to her boy and comforts him, whispering that the shrimp vendor will have to pay! "But mama, I didn't have any shrimp..." he cries. "Sshhh, shhh," she says. "It's the shrimp."

Nasada :: Sister Solarus was more in tune to the final act of the performance than any other part of the play. There was something about Josleen’s song that enthralled her. The sour stench of rot permeated beneath the mask upon her face, and so when the lights began to dim, the mask that had been guarding her features was slipped off and the hood with it. The soft glow of indigo emanated from the blade of the scythe, the very tool used to pull the necromancer to her feet. She felt nauseous, but only from that rancid smell and not the haunted act that would follow. Despite having removed her mask, those youthful features would still be concealed in some regard. For upon flesh were paint of black and white; The former used as a base, whilst the latter was used to form the shape of a ghastly skull. A safety measure to protect her identity for times just like these. To her horror, the faux priestess was now bearing witness to blackened bile being spewed from the mouths of many of the attendees. People were writhing and crying out in agony. Guilty. This is exactly what she felt now. Although the intentions for helping the King and Queen of Larket were those mired in some form of vengeance, to see the strange and unpleasant event before her- There was definitely regret.

Larewen lowers her hands to her sides as she rises to her feet, mismatched eyes yet again sweeping the crowd. She's quite glad not to be among those afflicted, but she's little desire to linger around the mess that's left behind in the wake of the mass expulsion of vomit. Carefully, the necromancer descends from her box as she takes her leave, sidestepping as much of the refuse as she possibly can. Her skirts are lifted carefully to keep from trailing in the black and tarry bile. It's during this escape from the gruesome scene that Drevyn meets her on her path and she pauses long enough to gesture for him to follow.

Valrae watches as the dark plot unfolds before her eyes. The wicked, controversial scene spins on and Valrae feels her whole body grow still and cold. The urge to vomit had stirred in her belly long before Josleen’s magic ever tainted the air. The introduction of the unfamiliar, tanited power has an ache blooming behind her eyes. The enchanted brooch, a gaudy gold carrot, that hides her identity grows hot. Valrae can feel the magics reacting to each other, her glamour threatening to shatter against the power of Josleen’s wicked song. The balding man to her right violently empties black, rotting soil the witch snags her oversized bag from the floor. Over the sounds of reaching the protesters screaming and chanting can be heard. Dirt and ash pervade Valrae’s senses as inky black drips from her nose. She stands, her disguising glamour pushed near it’s breaking point, and pushed past legs and feet toward the door. Her chunky heels squish in pools of black vomit. More of the mysterious substance leaks from her ears as she fights the urge to vomit. The glamor and her resistance breaks audibly as she reaches the door. The contents of her stomach, along with the mix of black ash and dirt, spray the floor, her shoes and her white stockings. Hurriedly, she pushes through the doors and retreats into the crowded, rioting protesters with her head down.

Drevyn nods to Lady Larewen as they pair leaves the scene before anyone can see them together. The chaos of the event offering the perfect chance for them to slip away, unnoticed. Though a quick glimpse back to the poor Shrimp vendor is given, human sacrifice indeed. The sorry thing stands in terror as people echo Queen Josleen's words against the shrimp, as he knows ruining such an event would have him in less than favored conditions with the crown. And the crown is known to be a bit less than merciful when it came to perceived attacks. For what is known so for, the balding man basically just tried to poison all of Larket and its honored quests. A clever tactic, to place blame upon one so easily crushed that they'd offer no reasonable defense for themselves save bumbling pleas for mercy. A smirk, and the vampire is gone. His own plots and schemes to unfold, and after witnessing these events he as ready to unravel a bit of his own chaos.

Hikoro |With an ushered hand, the Guardian beckoned her wolf to come with her. A decision was made and though Shadow was slow. The pair turned to retreat from the Theater and the fowl stench that tainted it's walls. What a mess the evening had been and yet so...historical. She'd yet to decide still if the town was worth protecting or if she should return to the Hill from which she was once sealed to guard. "Step aside." The woman called to a few outrages faces. Using the blunt of her weight to push through the crowd while returning her helm to it's rightful place. Time for a drink to calm the eve.

Zahrani finishes her meal, offering a silent prayer of thanks before standing and going to wash her dishes. The other guests would be asked to do the same, though they would not be compelled. It is no matter, as some have done much harder labor for a living. After putting her plate and utensils away, she heads back outside for the few remaining duties she had left. Even after a meal, she scales the wall of the chapel courtyard without any difficulty, fully clad in armor and robelike garment. The cat silently patrols the perimeter, walking past a couple Larketian soldiers who also had volunteered as guards for the Holy place. Of course, their real purpose was to monitor them for any seditious activities, but what did the Paladin and clerics do instead of shoo them away? They welcomed the soldiers just like they would welcome anyone...offering hospitality, healing, guidance, and putting them to work.

Bradyn is not often amused or pleased, but in this moment Bradyn is both. Bradyn is of the same mindset as Larewen. Josleen can try and tell herself all she wants that it is the shrimp, Bradyn also recognizes better. The necromancer does not linger, why would he? Even if he was better at socializing, people are currently sick to their stomachs. His departure is a swift one.

Nasada :: Sister Solarus covers her mouth and carefully makes her way out of the concert hall. She had seen enough for this evening.

Joan makes her exit while she can, nose wrinkled as the vampire refuses to inhale or exhale. She didn’t need to breath nor use her sense of smell at the moment, to this she is grateful as she dispersed ahead of the crowd.