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Log: Love Of The Theater

Page history last edited by Richard Hughes 14 years, 8 months ago

Run By: Dokuganryu (2 xp)

Players: Black Silk Star

Synopsis: Black Silk Star visits a demon prince for his hearthstone.

 

 

 

 

Malfeas. The Demon City. Lord of the Yozi, King of the Damned, locked in an eternal tomb made up of his own corpse, He Whose Rage Is Boundless. Within this Hell lie the fallen Primordials, their diminished states an eternal testament to their burning hate for the gods and Exalts of Creation. Bound into permanent forms, a corporeal hellscape made of the very soldiers locked within Hateful General, the infinite forced into the finite.

And yet even in this diminished state, these creatures are too great to command their own natures. Essence pools about, tainted and twisted by their very existences, like sick mockeries of Creation's great dragon lines, and upon these pools of Essence do the demon princes of Malfeas build their black Manses. One in particular - the Theatre-Citadel of Syrgal, The Prince Of Sorrow And Of Joy, Second Circle Soul of the Demon City himself - lies atop a particularly powerful line of Essence, captured long ago by the Prince Of Sorrow and of Joy when Malfeas was still in its formative states. A camp of demonic actors has sprung up about the Theatre-Citadel, reciting plays of dark and alien joy and despair with routine practice, singing and dancing songs not merely to keep Cecylene away but for the sheer joy of the theatre, exulting in Malfeas's favored of recreations.

 

Black Silk Star sails in the hot, noisy air of the Demon City aboard his crystalflame board. One of Hell's Princes, and here undisguised and unguarded. It is to the Sygral's citadel he goes now, the burning green heart of the Demon City at his back.

 

No demons molest him on his way to the Theatre-Citadel; though several out of plays give pause to watch him soar, for the most part, he is ignored, given berth but little else as he sails across the playscape. However, upon reaching the manse itself, a pair of demon guards bar his way - faceless entities clad all in what appears to be superheavy plate made of chitin. Upon the door, the mark of Syrgal - a pair of theatre masks with malfean accoutrements - surges forward, both masks prying open their stone mouths to speak to the Hell Prince.

"Greetings And Despair, Oh Mighty One. The Prince Of Joy And Of Sorrow is not receiving guests at this time - even guests as honored as your kind. Is your purpose fair or foul, oh joyous bringer of the Green Sun's light?"

 

"I want his house," Black replies bluntly. "As he is a citizen, your master is worthy of a degree of respect. Therefore, he may continue to dwell within it, so long as I depart with the Third Hand Gem it produces, as the rent required."

 

"The Prince of Joy and of Sorrow is most confused. You desire his Theatre-Citadel's power? May we inquire as to why, that we might pass along this equitable information to him in order to better facilitate this discussion?"

 

"You may communicate," Black says, tone cold, "That a Peer of the Princes has made this request, and that your master has until the Tomescu have cried twice to deliever a response, or I will break his mind and bind him to my purpose for all the long, long days of his immortal span."

 

"The Prince of Joy and of Sorrows bids you enter." The twin masks state. Green essence splits down the center, separating the two masks as they recede and the door swings open; the faceless guards part to allow Black Silk Star entrance to the Theatre-Citadel.

Upon entry, it is immediately obvious why it is a 'theatre-citadel'. Luxurious carpets likely made of flesh line the way to the stage, with grand curtains towering into the air; a chandelier dripping with vitriol hangs from a ceiling so tall clouds gather within, forming an unusual, misty lighting to the room; chairs of all sizes and shapes dot the theatrescape, aligned into rough rows. Balconies, some floating in midair with no visible means of support, some simply affixed to the wall, line the interior for a perfect view of the massive stage.

A balcony flows down for Black Silk Star, settling down and opening its doors to allow him entry. Malfean delicacies sit upon a desk within, and a demon with a mask stapled to its face hunches over in the corner, holding up a tray to better serve Black Silk Star's needs.

 

Black Silk Star mms, cruising forward. Still on the board. His feet are not made for touching the earth. But he does pick at some of the grapes; the vineyards of Creation are sweeter, perhaps, but Hell knows more varieties of bitterness and sour than are catalogued in the kitchen-libraries of Yu-Shan. Savory harsh meats, sharp sour fruits...

 

All such things are present upon the desk as the balcony closes before him, soaring back up into the rafters. It ascends nearly into the mists above before stopping near the chandelier, before a luxurious, golden box nearly twice the size of his, in which several demonic attendants sit around a four-armed creature roughly in the shape of a man, with no face - instead with two theater masks for two of its hands. Neomah lay in luxury and decadence, reclining on top of each other or near their master, giving the literal image of purest opulence as Black Silk Star's box meets the other one, merging with a green Essence flow to allow him to speak to Syrgal. Syrgal settles the smiling mask over his head and begins to speak.

"Oh Green Sun Prince I bid hello/welcome to my theater/I ask that we as fiends fellow/do share a meal together."

 

Black Silk Star bows slightly, he barest inclination of neck and waist. "Noble Citizen, friend Sygral; I wish amends for this hasty scrawl; unmetered and sadly unkempt; in this suprising appointment. But lest we waste time in repartee stale; allow me to say, twill be to no avail; in the end, I am the Shadow's get; And all my desires shall be met." His mouth gives a brief twitch at that.

 

Syrgal applauds with his lower hands. "Your rhymes are not required here/feel free to speak your norm/the rhymes are but a curse I fear/one bound so to my form." He shifts in his chair as a Neomah climbs onto his large lap, curling up comfortably. "Of The Shadow I will admit/but still I must protest/until you've passed my exam and writ/upon my soul intrest/my home I will not give to you/until you've proved to be the best." The demon shifts again. "But I am a demon fair/fair is foul and all/if you can pass my test of flair/I will to you my hall."

 

Black Silk Star mms, taking the seat. The board hovers near at hand, ascending vertical. "A test?" he asks. "Perhaps your door-man was not clear. I am a master of the Adamant circle, and a Peer of the Princes. It is within my power and purview to take what I desire, and the laws of the Endless Desert will lend me their support in the matter. Why, then, should I take some test?"

 

"Tis writ in my contract I cannot disobey/a test must be given to all/those who come in day after day/seeking to take of my hall. Take not it personally/oh Prince of Green Sun/would that I could will it, but folly/I can't, lest I risk becoming undone. Tis part of the writ of the laws with my foes/to bend knee to you is to bend knee to those."

 

Black Silk Star's frown deepens for a moment, before shrugging. "Very well. What is this test?"

 

The demon prince claps his hands together, a thunderous applause echoing from below as the Theatre-Citadel fills in the space of time it takes for him to finish clapping. Ligier's light dims (but does not disappear), strange lights lowering onto the stage. "Perform for me a single scene/of heart-moving woe/or of joy true and obscene/that I might find tears flow."

 

A long moment.

"I don't act," Star replies. "Or caper, or dance, or sing. I admire those who can and do, but for myself? No."

 

"Then I am sorry, Green Sun Prince/I must ask that you get thee hence." The demon removes his happy mask, shifting to the sad one. "Can I not yet change your mind/and hope perhaps some talent you'll find?"

"Still if you are convinced you can't," the demon rubs his chin, "I think perhaps we can recant/and a deal begin. Are you at all familiar with a demon prince named Crall?" He shuffles in his chair once more, removing his sad mask and swapping to his happy face. "He is covetous of what I have/and wants it, wants it all. If you will destroy that prince/then to you I'll recompense/with the stone you so desire/and perhaps avoid your ire?"

 

The demon prince cocks his head, removing both masks.

 

Black Silk Star looks up, and when he does, the mark of the Ebon Dragon burns on his forehead- an infinitely tight and ever tightening spiral of obsidian darkness, as cold and chill as the Oblivion the Yozis refused. "It is within my purview to free you from your oath."

 

The demon prince settles his happy mask back on his face. "You would let me war again/and strike upon my foes/and all the little things again/that I have missed in droves?"

 

Black Silk Star nods again. "Of course. But the gem will be my payment." His mouth twitches again. "Cash up front."

 

"Then in this we are in agreement/hurry up, here is your payment!" The demon thrusts the heathstone into the Prince's hands.

 

Black Silk Star fingers the black orb lovingly for a moment, before pocketing it deep in the cloak. "Very well. Now- who laid these oaths? And by what power are you compelled?"

 

"The Treaty of the Fourfold Fiefs/we four who rule laid them ourselves/as the rulers, lords, unquestioned chiefs/we laid these agreements for our Hells." The mask shifts a bit, from a smile to a grin. "But I am tired of playing by rules/I want their fiefs, their homes, their jewels/the rivalry continues on/and so I wish to be free anon."

 

Black Silk Star gives Sygral a curious look. "And so what prevents you? Is this treaty somehow more binding than the Azure Code?"

 

"By a spell we all forgot/to preserve the power balance/even now I've found it not/despite sending a small phalanx/searching for the lot." Syrgal runs his (six!) fingers over the Neomah's head.

 

Black Silk Star mms. "Bide a moment."

 

Black Silk Star nods. "Thought so. Hold still; this may tickle," he says. Raising his arms, green flame and black shadow suddenly explodes around Star, as he twists his hands into the Mudra of Ultimate Negation. "ADAMANT COUNTERMAGIC!"

 

The demon sits up, placing his mask upon his face. "By the Ineffable Yozi I can speak freely once again!"

"Go, go, take your stone, I have some foes to beat! Now I'll see those bastards lying at my feet! You, my friend, you've done quite a bit to hasten their defeat."

 

Black Silk Star coughs. "Watch yourself, Sygral," he says mildly. "You just slipped into rhyme. Enjoy your freedom; and keep this Manse safe."

With which, he steps on the board, and soars out of the Manse, and towards the Gates of Hell.

Time presses, but there is another five day toll to pay.

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