The Grey Dust

🦄 Machiavellian Masquerade - Chapter 1

Master Plum

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Location: Shadowell Manor: Music Room (Northwestern Corner Chair)
Skills: N/a
Hit Points: 6
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It is much safer to be feared than loved,
When, of the two, either must be reasoned with,
Because this is to be ascertained in gentlemen,
That they are unfaithful, fickle, false, cowardly...
And covetous...

Forever alone, but with a friend. Such was the paradox was it not? The raven's tuft of feathers ruffled by a hand. The room was theirs now, with silence and a chair to ponder in. There was a certain air about him and his plumed accomplice, perhaps it were the mask so ominously matching the beak? Or was it the dagger hidden in his stanzas that prophesied their demise? Twas the timing of her action that intrigued him most, spooked as if there was a ghost. At his words she stopped and fled, before either hand a chance to pick her head. Plum did not expect the other men to stay either, no they followed her like hounds after a fox. 'Gentlemen' indeed, as he chuckled to himself, watching the blue devil take his leave following the doctor's footsteps. With how many women now did that man try his luck?

A finger coaxed his partner to look towards the western door, turning the beady-eye'd attention towards the next room. Considering it perhaps, considering to send a shadow. But at a moment's chance Plum directed his friend to the other side. With a stroke of the back of two fingers his bird looked back at its master in rapt attention. The bird had just partaken in a bloody feast, but what however did the Lord prepare for dinner? Did those dogs already hunt down the leaver? Did their hunters already shoot down their prey before he reached the door? But for now he was content to rest in the armchair connecting all the dots and picking out his plots. When would their mutual interest be revealed? Or was it all in vain and this was a dinner for schmucks?

🦄 Machiavellian Masquerade - Chapter 1

Master Plum

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Location: Shadowell Manor: Music Room (Western Door) -> Music Room (Northwestern Corner Chair)
Skills: N/a
Hit Points: 6
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A collector's piece indeed,
Every detail exactly carved embed,
She spoke not to me or my friend,
Your viol whining, by your fiddle bow is led,
Will you still play, when all the rest of us are dead?

It seemed to go well, flitting in and out as a fitting shadow. None of the trio had so far had reason for quarrel, a doctor, a musican, and a Casanova if such a lordly tramp could be called one. Would Master Plum find them eager to strike a compact? A deal where they would agree to a non-aggression treaty between all involved in a mutual understanding that they would prefer to stay away from the Lord of the Manor's wrath. But to do so so soon, was it wise to possibly implicate oneself as a person of interest? He had already isolated himself by his mannerisms, perhaps a blessing as to not entangle himself to heavily into the arms of possibly armed strangers. That said, to be alone in such a dilemma was also to be the hanged man pulling his own rope in self-harm...


"Poisoned are we but I know,
Music makes us an antidote:
One Lady rubs fiddle with bow,
Three gentlemen taking notes.
Miss or Madam if I may urge,
Play us not a fateful dirge."

Sliding from the doorway and taking the near chair as the other men stood. Alas, Master Plum had snatched the seat in spite of the beaked doctor. Perhaps to take dominion of the corner chair away from one who would sit his derriere upon such a throne. For here he could watch all three more easily, turning his head all the slight left. His right blue eye icy and gazing at the lot, and the left green eye a mesmerizing shade of jade turned towards his bird. The raven on his shoulder hopping down from the master's perch and resting on a reclined falconry forearm.

🦄 Machiavellian Masquerade - Chapter 1

Master Plum

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Location: Shadowell Manor: Breakfast Room (Table, windows-side, opposite fireplace) -> Music Room (Western Door)
Skills: Perception, Social Manipulation
Hit Points: 6
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With maw of cursed ebony in a smile,
And in the porches of their ears did pour
The leprous distillment; whose effect
Holds such an enmity with blood of men...

Yes, he mulled it over, staring intently at his selected slice of scrumptious sharpness of savory snack cheese. Three eyes were upon the cut wedge, turned at opposite angles to each other as both man and bird glance over the offering placed upon the fingers. A curious pair, untrusting of their host, and putting on the airs of the decision. The food laid out, would they eat it? Had not others already tasted the forbidden fruits? Two or three was it that casually slipped the seeds into their ravenous mouths not thinking of the objective of their game? How many rooms would they have prepared he wondered, as if already expecting the Ambesire already plotted to have one less. Yet there was no need for death, no the Lord of the Manor was clear. The aim was to feed one less mouth, and thus perhaps...

He brought the cheese beneath his nose, no not the long beak of a nose his mask wielded, but rather the one beneath that. A public sniff to inhale, as if to make sure there was nothing amiss about the odor before consuming. No trace of poison or lecherous intent, no trickery afoul here as the rhymer made his act. The scent, the aroma, the pleasantness of it all to mask the truth, and then just before the wicked wedge touched his opening lips he paused. Was there something he found the other had not? Either way it appeared his desire to consume the cheese was no longer. Closed his jaw and curled his lips into a slight frown of regret before sauntering over to the table to replace the very piece he snatched from the altar. Returned the cheese to its place amongst the innocent wedges, the man hastily made way around the table to leave the room and inviting food behind. Together they hurried on, following after the two already moved on, with brisk haste and feathered flaps.


"A company and medley of melodies,
Interesting people here have come,
Should we trust fruit and cheese?
No, not I, said Master Plum."

🦄 Machiavellian Masquerade - Chapter 1

Master Plum

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Location: Shadowell Manor: Grand Vestibule (F4) -> Breakfast Room (Table, windows-side, opposite fireplace))
Skills: N/A
Hit Points: 6
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And in the master's manor,
They'll gather for the feast
We'll stab it with their steely knives,
But who justly kills the beast?

The silence said more than what words could. The hush that fell upon them all. Yet it was in that last quip that he found himself raising a brow beneath his mask. No not the words of the manservant, Jasper was it the lord mentioned? Not the passing mention of some Lady who presumably attempted to join the fettered lot, but the final parting before the liege left. To have a man of his power in his pocket, would weigh more heavily than the dead girl's locket, and buy much more than just the few sera it would sell for. To rid of one more mouth to feed, the suggestion vague, the instructions lost. And if he were to win such promised gratitude, what would be the cost? And more so what could with such favour be bought?

Thus he mingled amongst the flock, flitting in as he cocked his head to his left and saw guests following after the woman with a case. They would spend the evening here together it would appear, and it was time to warm up to this potentially vile villain if indeed they were all summoned by the same Lili as he. The only loyalty he had with him was on his shoulder, the unblinking raven scanning the room and shifting itself on the padded perch. The appetizers laid out neatly on the table were inviting, refreshing if not for the fear of the lord's desire for one less mouth to feed. Certainly it was not about the money, but the did Lord care if an uninvited guest die? Or did he mean one of his own household, or holding? And would the fires before him burn the fallen bodies that would drop this fearful evening? Making his way to the table of fruit and cheese and drink to pluck a slice of cheese from the lot. Fruit in midwinter, from the larder's harvest? The beaked man thought not.

🦄 Machiavellian Masquerade - Chapter 1

Master Plum

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Location: Shadowell Manor: Grand Vestibule (F4)
Skills: N/A
Hit Points: 6
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But look at this lovely house,
Standing within its own forest,
Filled for the most part with rich conspiring folk who live a little above the law.
Think of the deeds of hellish cruelty, the hidden wickedness which may go on,
year in, year out, in such a place, and none the wiser.

It's a trap. The lord of the manor revealed that indeed it was all a ruse. But more so, openly declared that they were not invited. No, but in fact part of a greater plot. One which perturbed him enough to play along, one that made a man of his power and influence tremble perhaps at the possibilities. Oh yes, there was a dark innocence about it, wasn't there? If they were to trust a man who had not yet pulled the trigger and send the hounds to maim, then there was a possibility that his curiosity fueled his hospitality. The doors were opened only to be sealed shut, and now it was only a matter of time before he expected a caged bird to sing.

Curses, to think that he had not seen it coming, he had expected a dangerous game, but this was far more than just a game wasn't it? Or was it? Could they truly trust the Lord of the manor to tell them everything that piqued his interest? Maybe it was just another dinner game the wealthy play? But alas, if to be trusted, he did reveal that none of them were invited, nay all present here were not invited by Him. Yes, this was all turning out to be a game of trust, a mental exercise, a game of shadows. The stakes were high, and yet one was dead, and another fled, thus if they would stay, they must play. Thus we have little choice in the matter but to obey. Any halfwit ought to see that, yet what if they conspired, the game's afoot indeed. Shall humble pawn take king?


"Of course m'lord by your grace,
Consider us all advised and warned,
And may we help find in this place,
Our odd lily amongst the thorns..."

Ardad Lili, that is a name he knew all too well. Peppered in to the rhyme perhaps, the veiled reference to the persona behind his invitation. Would it strike a chord in anyone else's subconscious? Would the lure work as charmingly as the false invitations? Perhaps they were not as stranger of strangers to each other, all strung by this gilded lili's string.

🦄 Machiavellian Masquerade - Chapter 1

Master Plum

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Location: Shadowell Manor: Front of Manor Outside -> Grand Vestibule (F4)
Skills: Perception
Hit Points: 6
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And thus they bade me enter
The foremost circle that surrounds the abyss.
There, as it seemed to me from listening,
Were lamentations none, but only lies,
That tremble made the everlasting air.
And this arose from sorrow without torment...

From the cold into the colder. Though the first frost of mid-winter fell at last as the fruit of the snowy season, it was the Ambesire who held the harvest. Like lambs to the slaughter to either freeze outside or gamble inside. Into the grand vestibule as the dogs barked at the heels, perhaps they too would find a meal left behind in the forest. Or perhaps they would find sport in chasing after the man who departed early. The guns and guards were not for the protection of the Ambesire Lords or Ladies who had yet to greet them, he mused. Yet still, he was led inside, into this palace of painted peril, taking note of the doors which opened and those which remained closed. A skittishness almost eager to escape reflected by the beady-eye'd search of his friend. The man looked right, the raven looked right, the man looked left, the raven looked left. Strolling into place as the arching architecture and crimson colour schemes were noted, and of course the chairs with a wary eye above them perhaps if those exploded up into the high silvered ceiling or nay dropped down into a bottomless chasm. Perhaps it would be best to remain standing for now, lest the lords of the house take offense at sitting guests. And surely the luster of those pearls gleaned a glimmer of greed.

Pilfer, pilfer, pilfer. What would they so rich miss among the many? Hidden in the vast wealth, a single Sera would not be so much would it? Was there a shrewd accountant, waiting to tally around the corner? Such lucre he had not seen, not at levels as grandiose as this. But did he not claim a locket now his? Did the fortune of the Ambesire amass itself in a similar way? Looting from the corpses of the dead? The Thoughts raced in his mind, stepping closest to the doors, if the rest come enter, let him be the first to slip and leave. Unless those dogs, found him less enchanting than his bird. There was an odor to be observed in the air though, as his breaths heightened in worry of the numerous possibilities. A hint of spice, perhaps from the cloth? Or from the flames? Or from the mind which wandered too far? A sweetness of herbal liquor with a kiss of soft wood. Was it the smoke which wafted and was inhaled? Meant to calm and disarm, a system of soothing no less? A scent or tactic that he would take heed.

🦄 Machiavellian Masquerade - Chapter 1

Master Plum

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Location: Shadowell Manor: Chair A -> Shadowell Manor: Front of Manor Outside
Skills: N/A
Hit Points: 6
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I had been sitting alone, on tram-track,
through a singularly dreary tract of woodland;
and at length found myself,
as the shades of the evening drew on,
within view of the melancholy House of Ambesire...

Not quite the warm welcome. For the cold was as brisk to the bone, as was the bitter business by the herald. No warmth radiated from the manor, the dark majesty of its presence only caused a shudder in the ominous mind. Large and imposing, the sight emerged from the woods as he was the first to bask in the gloom. The illuminated windows were the hundred eyes of the great beast staring at its meal with unblinking sight, the steps were wicked teeth and the doorman a black tongue. And there upon the balcony with what his eye could see the glaring gaze of god lording over the hopeful. The wisps of wind and moan of machinery came to a heavy halt as the distance was covered before the Ambesire Manor, to which he held briskly on to the ruffled feather of his fowl friend and the new locket pocketed away.

The others behind him had paired off it seem, into couples already though the devil-faced man seemed to be the lusting partner. The other men had their chosen their women, courting perhaps as the doctor and the latest lady flirted about each other. The brute paired off with a girl, the devil flitted between his three, and the lucky one spared from meeting a raven's dinner was trying his luck with someone no doubt. Thus of all the the gents here, it appeared the raven carrier was coupled with his raven. And with a stretch of his legs the master rose from the bench, a hand brushed the bird at his right shoulder towards his left as he bent his head down. The raven in turn shifted, tiny talons hopping across the upper back and nestled to the man's left shoulder and preened its dried bloodied beak. Feet planted on the familiar floor, fleeing from the doohickey device of death, he tilted his head towards the left ever so slightly. First amongst the guests, but hopefully a stranger he would stay.

The Elder Scrolls: Chapter's Dues [character-driven, mission-based mercenary RP]

Interested.

🦄 Machiavellian Masquerade - Chapter 1

Master Plum

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Location: Shadowell Manor: Chair 15 -> Chair A
Skills: N/A
Hit Points: 6
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You fly back to master now,
Little Raven.
Fly, fly, fly.
Fly, fly, fly.

A flicking backstroke on the back of his feathered friend signaled the permission the ravenous raven sought. As the men gathered and kicked about the littered pieces to their final resting place, he could deny his partner no more. The bird flew off after the scent of a fresh kill, leaving the harlequin alone with the other man ahead of him. Though now their seats had turned into benches, and if his eye did not deceive him, did the lady ahead of the man faint? Tutting and shifting himself about, he adjusted himself to the rotating seat, resting his back against the bench. Can they get a move on already or will they be just as cold as their meal?

Bloodied beak tore away at the scraps of flesh. Black feathers baptized red, as the raven buried itself into the remains. An early meal to gorge over, but in the midst of it all, an unblinking eye spotted the gleam which beckoned the curiosity. Paused mid-meal to investigate the lustrous sheen that caught its eye from pecking out the liver. Hopping over to the sheen, parted beak like grasping fingers, tugging away until its prize came free. Taking wing the raven returned, fluttering from past the treetops ominously before perching on the right shoulder of its partner and paid tribute the shiny, bloodied locket from its sharp jaws. A lovely locket, quite a steal.

🦄 Machiavellian Masquerade - Chapter 1

Master Plum

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Location: Shadowell Manor: Chair 15 -> Chair 15.
Skills: N/A
Hit Points: 6
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There were two ravens sat comfortably.
They were as black as black could be.
Then one of them said to his mate,
where shall our dinner take?
With a downe derrie derrie derrie downe downe...

A cawing crow indeed, the bird's beady eyes begging at the bits of body, broken, battered, and bloodied. The smell of death freshly dealt, permeated the air as the carrion called out to be ripped asunder. Oh how the chair had done much to pulverize the meat, the tender flesh no doubt scattered across bone and marrow. A shake of preening feathers, and a ruffle of hunger flitted the talons upon his left shoulder. His companion it seemed minded not the cold as much as he. Down the man or woman fell, but not before divorcing the chair in one final act of desperation to escape. And yet now between the odd pair, surely one them could certainly have a premature dinner from this life cut short, surely it was dead. Or if not on the cusp of dying and not just fainted as before, given the evident splatter that excited his raven. Yet the bird waited patiently, as often he would claim the first cut and distribute the spoils, that and the beaks of ravens oft were not made to cut the sinew well from bone thus required greater predators to take claim. For still the master calmly sat, watching the events all unfold beneath the long-nosed mask and stroking his feathered friend.

what were they playing at? He pondered if indeed the guards were as innocent as they claimed? The surprise caught everyone, and most had scrambled out of their seats either fearing for their lives of being crushed from the falling duo or next up into the air. Yet he stood his ground, or rather stayed his seat, watching the show of panic set into motion. Scrambling underneath the projected trajectory, accounting for the pull, the wind, the last act and final swansong. The man in the last chair did not as much budge nor show a sign of concern, at a death nor the prospect of his very own. There was little argument to move, as certainly his chosen seat would have been adequately far from the fallout, and it seemed the curious man in the penultimate chair thought the very same. All the while most of the other guests took to their feet to escape, save for perhaps the other beaked man on the other end of the parade of chairs. What foul plot was afoot? The man in black had ironically survived the forest long enough to die. The grim twist of fate, which gave them all such a terrible beginning, and to one of them a terrifying end.

"Minced meat of exquisite taste,
A guest for some hors d'oeuvres,
We'll let nothing go to waste,
And thus our dinner is served."

A macabre sing-song comment came from the back. Still ominously stroking his bird as if such soothing touch was holding the hungry avian back. Certainly it was only naturally for a raven to eat what slivers of carrion it could find, yet the mockery of the dead may have been seen as a little more than just a fool's attempt to make gallows humor. Just what sort of dinner were they all going to attend?