Spacekitty
Recently Resurrected Divine Feline Entity.
Names
Endonyms (Vampires): Aishites/The Ascendant (Masters or Ones)
Exonyms (Vampires): Vampires, Strigoi, Shtriga, Bloodsuckers (All considered as insults)
Bloodline: Aishites of Bloodline Tiresias
Names:
Endonyms: Tiresians, The Star-Seers, The Star Born, Celestians
Exonyms: The Mad Clan, Mad-blood, Ruiners of Nahrim
Symbology:
Symbol: Typically a crescent moon with the sun positioned within the circle formed by the crescent, surrounded by astrological symbols. Comes in different variations based on the specific coven, and some may use totally different symbology.
Alternative symbols are often wolves and owls, sometimes present together and with the moon, or lions and eagles, sometimes present together and with the sun.
Colors:
Moon aspect: Black, Blue, Silver, White Sun aspect: Orange, Red, Yellow, Gold
Motto: Varies by Coven
Childe of Tiresias: “To see the future is to choose it”
Clan Ambrosia: “Power from the vices of mortals”
Artifacts and Locations
Eye of Tiresias - a disembodied eye with the optical nerves still attached. It’s blue iris matches the purported eye color of Tiresias and is said to have been recovered from the ruins of the Observatio Astrum-Fatum. It glows a soft blue very faintly and will move to follow and observe others after rooting itself in its container using its nerves.
As the story goes, at the conclusion of the ritual, led by Tiresias, that doomed the kingdom of Nahrim, a great blue light engulfed the Progenitor, causing his body to spasm as his flesh was turn off in wisps of pure-magic, in a flash of a second leaving behind a singular eye as rifts to the Astral-Sea opened around the Observatory.
Has been lost for several centuries.
Lens of Seer-Sight - A lens recovered from the ruins of the Observatio Astrum-Fatum, said to reveal the true nature of everything observed through it
It is a purple crystal lens rimmed by gold etched with thaumaturgic symbols. Formerly used in the 4th observatory to help observe the auras of celestial bodies.
The Observatio Astrum-Fatum - In order to buy the favor and assistance of Tiresias and his Childe, Aisha showered him with the funds to build the observatory he had seen in his visions, one which allow him to fix the elixir or complete his unified theory of magic.
The observatory was said to have been built on a point of astral significance within the city, on the top of a rocky dune with an astral well dug within it. 6 separate observatories with golden telescopes linked by underground pathways which collectively could be used to gaze at any celestial body, visible or not. They served to channel astral energy to a central ritual chamber. It is said that it is within this ritual chamber that Nahrim was doomed. Located within the ruins of Nahrim.
Ritual Sites of Gomorrah - The Vampiric city of Gomorrah was founded far after the fall of Nahrim, in a time when many had given up the dreams of outright Vampiric sovereignty. Not a full fledged kingdom like Nahrim, the city-state still served to inspire future attempts at Vampiric rule. Formed by the Conqueror Rogum Subastris, it avoided the fury of mortals through the use of the Lanuae Astra, a device capable of teleporting the entire city and its people to pre-made astral ritual sites. After the disappearance of the city; believed purposeful by some in an attempt to safeguard it, believed a sign of its ultimate destruction by most, a few remaining ritual sites are maintained in the hopes that the city will someday return.
Sextant of Anastasia - An astrological divining tool used by the Tiresian Seer-Mage, Anastasia as a “key” to control her machine, the Lanuae Astra. It was constructed from Star-Stone and Platinum with thaumaturgic engravings and diamond-lenses. The sextant was found partially melted and fused with the machine in the remains of Gomorrah.
Shadow of Gomorrah - When the city of Gomorrah vanished for a final time, whisked away to a location unknown, all that was left was the melted Lanuae Astra and black “burns” etched into the landscape where buildings and people once stood moments before. Currently located in present day Nurbellium
Lanuae Astra - The great machine used to teleport the city of Gomorrah to the ritual sites. Said to have been an intricate thing of lenses, mirrors and crystals that harvested and focused the energy of celestial bodies, sending the city traveling through the constellations to its new location. Now a melted pile of star-stone, metals and glass.
Bloodline Culture
Terms:
Childe - The progeny of a vampire
Sire - The vampire that gave the subject the Dark Kiss
Dark Kiss - Otherwise called the Blessing, or the Sip of the Chalice, this refers to the act of turning someone into a vampire
Ascension - Otherwise called “Rebirth” or being “reborn”, it is another term for being turned into a Vampire
Nahrim - Refers to both the ancient and fallen Vampiric Kingdom or to the concept of a Vampiric Paradise, a place where vampires needs not hide in the shadows and can feed freely and easily
Alternatively, can be used to refer to the concept of an unattainable dream, especially one which will ruin the dreamer if sought after.
Old Blood - Refers to vampires “ascended” before or during Nahrim
New Blood - Refers to vampires born after Nahrim
Diablerie - The consumption of a vampire's soul by another vampire. Almost universally seen as a heinous act by vampires, most who commit this act are hunted and put to final death. There are very rare circumstances in which vampiric law allows such a thing, officially at least.
Dementor - A vampire which has committed Diablerie
Parry high, parry low. The sharp clink of two blades making contact. Step forwards and under, a quick flick of his wrist, a slash across theirs, a blade clattering the ground. Repeat.
Two opponents stand before him, postures speaking just as loud as their poised blades. Keep moving, circling, never letting them surround him. Take careful, measured stabs, testing their boundaries, always moving. Draw the first in, fake an opening. Side-step, forward, stab. A single remains. The rest follows routine, Parry high, parry low…
A rapier thrusts into imagined foes, a short figure dancing around a candle-lit room edged in furniture as immaculate as it is unused. It is a dance as much as it is combat, feet shuffling and wrist snapping in a mesmerizing pattern that would make even Caolin’s Rose blush. The Kobold at the rooms center is what small children believe they are when they wave a stick about, just without the clumsiness that sees rooms destroyed.
Panting, the milk-white dragonling takes a pause. Gods, if lizards could sweat, he would be. This is why he preferred to practice in the gardens, out in the cool mountain air. The Lady insisted on keeping her Manor warm, almost steaming, to keep the cool of her skin closer to the warmth of life. Normally a great comfort to the Lizard; but heavy exercise, warm rooms, and layered clothing does not mix well…
But no matter. In the heat of battle, he could not simply sit down for a breather. A Knight could not rest until the enemy was slain and his charges kept. The Kobold forced himself back into action, ignoring his own labored breathing and aching muscles.
Dead to the world, he could not hear the subtle clearing of a throat, the louder polite cough did not even pierce his focus, a book knocking against the back of his head… THAT did get his attention.
Rubbing the back of his head, the fencer stopped his dance and turned towards the doorway to the small side-room, seeing a familiar figure within its frame.
It is Julian Le Rouge, the Chamberlain of this particular estate of The Lady. His pale face was contorted into rage, a black vein bulging in his forehead as if his heart still pumped blood. Despite the recess given to all servants for the day, he is still dressed his part; a black doublet embroidered with flowers in golden thread- and not merely gold in color mind you- and breeches to match. In fact, the Kobold had never known Julian to dress down for any occasion.
“What in the Sovereign's dead name are you doing?” His voice was a shouted whisper, laced with every bit of venom the man could muster. He stomped over, without actually stomping or risking damage to the elaborate carpet or disturbing the quiet, with barely restrained murderous intent to the Kobold and glowered down on him.
“Have you no sense?!” He demanded, and then continued before the kobold could respond. “Do you not know how foolish you are lizard? Let me enlighten you as to what sharp little toys do the walls and furniture.”
A clawed hand raked out, tearing a scratch through the Kobolds’ own doublet.
“It tears them, much like I so desperately want to do to you.” The Chamberlain was nearly frothing at the mouth in his restrained rage.
The Kobold hissed, batting the man's hand away. He had JUST sewn himself this doublet, and now it was ruined. It was his time to be angry.
“I’d like to see you try. I am the Page of our Lady, and I must keep up my skills with the blade.” He says the last with a swelling of pride, as if the title meant anything to anyone besides himself.
Julian just rolled his eyes. “Your not even a real fucking Page…” His hand pulled down his face, as if to wipe away his annoyance. “Anyways, Pages don’t carry blades.”
With supernatural speed, Julian lashed out, trying to rip the rapier from the Kobold’s grasp. But with a reflex that surprised even the Chamberlain, the Kobold’s hand carried the blade out of his reach and then brought it to his throat.
“Try that again” The defiant Page warned through gritted fangs.
Julian’s eyes flashed a mixture of shock and… consideration, but ultimately, he seemed mostly unphased and simply pushed the rapier to the side.
“Just don’t play with your toy inside, Lizard. I can’t have you damaging anything.” The whole situation had him drained, and he simply wanted to be done with it.
The Kobold said nothing, but did sheath his blade.
“Thank you kindly. Now begone, servants have the day off. Go frolic with the other Kobolds of the other houses. I hear them causing trouble all the time.”
Thoroughly annoyed, but feeling he had made his point, the Chamberlain took his leave of the Kobold, gone off to do whatever it was the man did when there weren’t servants to harass or guests to entertain.
The Kobold for his part, kept his blade sheathed, not wanting to push the man to actual murder.
He briefly considered going back to the quarters that were kept for him here, where he certainly had some sewing supplies lying around, but dismissed the idea. He wanted to practice stabbing others, not stab himself with needles. But, sticking to whatever unspoken agreement he felt he had made with the Chamberlain, he settled with simple daydreaming and mock-fighting, this time also imagining his own blade along with that of his enemies’.
He wandered the empty Victorian halls of the Manor, a Knight strolling the halls of his own estate, occasionally fighting off bandits, rescuing maidens, giving speeches and accepting awards from the Councilors of the land.
So engrossed was he in his fantasies that he forgot that he was supposed to be hiding from the main areas of the Manor, a fact he did not remember until he strolled into the foyer where a single figure stood.
As soon as the small Kobold passed the threshold of the main entryway, tucked behind a grand set of stairs, a crushing wave fell upon him. A sudden, primal fear dragging his frolicing to a creeping stop.
The scales and flaps around his neck began to rise, an instinctual response to intense fear, a desperate attempt to make the Kobold appear large and threatening, a feat impossible to achieve given the figure standing before him.
Lord Montague Navarro stood to the side of the foyer, leaning over a small side table, his eyes mercifully cast downwards to the letter he seemed to be penning.
If he had noticed the Kobold, he gave no indication of it. A mercy, as fear gripped the tongue and body of the Knight-hopeful, who could not but stand rigidly still, eyes downcast, as if trying desperately to avoid the ire of some predator.
A few, stretched out moments of silence passed, punctuated only by the scratchings of quill on paper.
Finally done with his letter, the Lord of the Blue City produced an envelope, wax and seal from his pockets, using the candle atop the table to melt the wax and press the seal.
Turning, the Lord finally took notice of the Kobold, who felt as if he was shrinking beneath his gaze. "Tsk, I ought to have sent you to that madwoman.” The Lord said nonchalantly, pausing just a moment as if considering. “No matter” He chuckled, waving his hand to dismiss the idea. “Your timing is still divine darling, she has you well trained. Take this and be quick." He strode forward, pressing the letter into his hands, before promptly turning and leaving the estate.
The Kobold stood there, still frozen in place, until slowly, the heavy presence of the Lord finally decided to depart with him.
Suddenly, Oliver and the horses did not seem quite all that bad.
The Ambrose Society
“The sightless masquerade”
When a mortal man has all the money he can spend and then some, when he has reached the highest station his birth allows, when his bed chambers are filled with the girls of his dreams, he has it all. Yet, he shall lay, surrounded by the splendor of his world, unsatisfied.
The mortal soul is an endless pit of hungering desire that can never be filled. Even the most exotic pleasures become dulled by excess until they are utterly mundane. A constant feed of new stimulus is required to sate their desires, if only for a time. This is what drives the self-destructive urges of man that seems to enrapture and fell even the greatest of kings.
The Ambrose Society simply seeks to exploit- fulfill these desires in a safe way. One which will keep their well-deserving clientele constantly sated, feeding them more and more while never letting them sink into self destructive debauchery. At least, not enough to ruin all the fun.
***
The Ambrose Society sells itself to the elite merchants, nobles, politicians and other noteworthy socialites of the realm as an elite institution that is both an endless masquerade of pleasures and entertainment as well as a neutral grounds for “keeping old money old”.
What is done and who it is done with is forever kept a secret. It is a place to start and end affairs, explore one’s desires and indulge in the less *proper* pleasures in life without fear of recourse. All must don the mask, and at least pretend they do not know who the others are. While on their grounds you are among peers. It is the ideal place to form lasting alliances, to keep the Old Money Old.
The Ambrose Society is an invite-only high-society country club that is an “open secret” amongst the elite of nations in which it operates. It’s name is known within high circles, and even some of its members. The society is careful to let just enough slip out to give it a mystique, a forbidden lure to attract clientele while still keeping the damning specifics a secret. Just public enough to avoid suspicion, just secret enough to bend and break modern conventions of decent and morality without recourse. A dangerous tight-rope balance that hangs between scandal and criminals
The society finds its niche in the unspoken, though never unenforced, psuedo-anonymity of its members and activities, and it’s constant pushing of societal bounds and moral constraints in a slowly ever expanding delve into debauchery. Every member is given a safe space in which to explore the hedonistic depths of their souls, guided by a hidden hand that controls the speed and trajectory of their descent. Reeling them back up as necessary, guiding them towards less destructive pathways. Keeping them always just satisfied. A constant drip of pleasure.
The sacred neutrality of the Commons and the surrounding Grounds is kept by the “Masked Mistress” (Lady Alcina) and her masked servants “The Blind Watchers”, “The Accountants” and “The Rule Sayers”. They ensure that the nobles play nice, their presence and activities are kept a secret, and help facilitate mutually beneficial relationships and business dealings for all. They are the enforcers, the neutral mediators, and the adjudicators. They remain silent unless such speech is absolutely necessary and simply watch over the night's proceedings. Other masked servants called Hands attend to the needs of the clientele and the society.
The Hands
Mundane servants that serve the needs of clientele. The wait staff, the cooks, the personal butlers and more. They speak, though the polite amount that a good servant should. Responding politely when spoken to, offering suggestions and answering questions regarding the amenities. They are dressed in fanciful Venetian masquerade masks covering their eyes and mid face, though leaving the rest unobscured. They wear brined feathered hats and dress in simple white ruffled shirts with flowering necks and puffy sleeves, covered by a black vest and complimented by knee length breeches and stockings.
These constitute the staff the help the pleasurable activities occur, not those that constitute the activities of the night themselves.
The Blind Watchers
The silent guardians of the Masquarade. Posted at every entrance, patrolling every perimeter, watching every guest. Though they are ever present, they are quickly forgotten as the nights’ activities go into full swing, fading quietly into the background. They do not speak. They do not interact with the guests. They do not even respond. Their duty is to simply watch without seeing.
The Blind Watchers are the incognito guards of the Ambrose Society. They keep a look out for prying eyes that should not be there and ensure that all remains civil within the Masquerade.
They dress in outfits reminiscent of Caolin Duelists, fit with masks covering their entire faces and rapiers and pikes, depending on if they guard the interior or exterior.
The Accountants
The accountants are the businessmen and lawyers kept on retainer by the Society. They help coordinate dealings between society members, building business relations and settling disputes. They are who help keep the old money old.
The Rule Sayers
Some guests forget themselves when they are in the Masquarade. Lost to the frenzy of passion, they may slight another member or worse yet, break the few rules of the Masquarade. The Rule Sayers are those who determine if and when a client has broken one of the rules and if and how they should be punished. They are the judge, jury and executioners of the Society, answering only to The Lady herself.
The Masked Lady
The “Lady of the Masquerade”, the not so secret object of desire of many within the Society who organizes this whole little thing.
Contrary to the name, this does not refer to one person. Rather this refers to a group of 5 distinct, but equally beautiful mistresses. Each seems to have an equal say in what goes on within the Masquerade, seemingly in competition with one another over who should rule, taking in various clients as pawns in their games against one another, often to the… physical delight of the clients.
Their identities outside of the Masquerade, as with the identities of all the Societies “staff” is one of the actual and truly kept secrets of the society. It does not die to wonder either, as those who get too close to the truth may find themselves in… unfavorable positions.
The Splendors of the Masquerade
A simple overly fancy and expensive whore-house would not have the same allure, dedicated clientele or mystique that the Ambrose Society has. There’d be simply nothing it could offer that others couldn’t. Pretty girls who are good at pretending? Why, you can get that anywhere…
No, the Ambrose Society is no simple whore-house. Yes, it has it Dolls; though they are not the dainty, obedient damsels of other such places. The Society's Dolls are tall women, dressed in black and lace, much like their lady. And just as appearance takes after their Mistress, so does their “bedroom manners”... If one is to have a Brothel, it may as well stand out amongst the dirty things on the streets.
Then is it a debaucherous country club? Almost. Prime among the theme of the Ambrose Society is The Hunt. An old tradition, both amongst Vampires and their prey. The Societies secluded locations serve a dual purpose: privacy, and ample hunting grounds. These grounds are well stocked, with exotic beasts imported from across the realms carefully stocked throughout the lands. But not in cages, ready to be released as the staged hunt nears its finale. No, that is too simple and boring. All hunts at the Society are real, as is the danger. It is only the expertise of the Masked Huntsmen, who lead bumbling clientele through old forests, that sees the hunt's success. Brave unknown men and women who put their tracking skills and their lives on the line to bring their Clients the most thrilling and true hunts they can ever experience; in comfort at least. Stories to tell in the lounge, with less exaggeration than usual needed.
Games, of course, are a staple of the grounds. Jousting, Polo, Croquet and the range. Gambling is of course to be had within it’s halls. Exotic foods? That goes without saying.
But this yet is… all mundane. None of it truly defines what the Society is, what its purpose is.
At its core, the Society is about control. The maintenance of the status quo when it benefits its members and its change when it does not. Stifling would be upstarts, and seeing the fall from grace of those who stepped too far out of line. Forming relations; always at the expense of those outside of our glamoured halls.
And at the top? Sits the Society and it’s Masked Ladys. The truest goal of the society is not to benefit it’s members. It is to rule them; and through them, the industries, cities and nations they represent. As the drinks flow, and the money comes, the Elite who flock to the society come to find their estates tied intimately to the Society. It is subtle. Slow, almost mutually beneficial. Almost. The deals are never quite as generous as they seem. New members are quickly inundated with connections to the Old Blood of the society, who wrap them up in their own estates, equally wrapped up in the workings of the Masked Lady.
Puppets who have their own Puppets, a spider web of control with Lady Alcina at it’s center. That is what the Society is.
ACTIONS:
1. The Legion of Doom Assembles!
2. it assembled a second time!
Endonyms (Vampires): Aishites/The Ascendant (Masters or Ones)
Exonyms (Vampires): Vampires, Strigoi, Shtriga, Bloodsuckers (All considered as insults)
Bloodline: Aishites of Bloodline Tiresias
Names:
Endonyms: Tiresians, The Star-Seers, The Star Born, Celestians
Exonyms: The Mad Clan, Mad-blood, Ruiners of Nahrim
Symbology:
Symbol: Typically a crescent moon with the sun positioned within the circle formed by the crescent, surrounded by astrological symbols. Comes in different variations based on the specific coven, and some may use totally different symbology.
Alternative symbols are often wolves and owls, sometimes present together and with the moon, or lions and eagles, sometimes present together and with the sun.
Colors:
Moon aspect: Black, Blue, Silver, White Sun aspect: Orange, Red, Yellow, Gold
Motto: Varies by Coven
Childe of Tiresias: “To see the future is to choose it”
Clan Ambrosia: “Power from the vices of mortals”
Artifacts and Locations
Eye of Tiresias - a disembodied eye with the optical nerves still attached. It’s blue iris matches the purported eye color of Tiresias and is said to have been recovered from the ruins of the Observatio Astrum-Fatum. It glows a soft blue very faintly and will move to follow and observe others after rooting itself in its container using its nerves.
As the story goes, at the conclusion of the ritual, led by Tiresias, that doomed the kingdom of Nahrim, a great blue light engulfed the Progenitor, causing his body to spasm as his flesh was turn off in wisps of pure-magic, in a flash of a second leaving behind a singular eye as rifts to the Astral-Sea opened around the Observatory.
Has been lost for several centuries.
Lens of Seer-Sight - A lens recovered from the ruins of the Observatio Astrum-Fatum, said to reveal the true nature of everything observed through it
It is a purple crystal lens rimmed by gold etched with thaumaturgic symbols. Formerly used in the 4th observatory to help observe the auras of celestial bodies.
The Observatio Astrum-Fatum - In order to buy the favor and assistance of Tiresias and his Childe, Aisha showered him with the funds to build the observatory he had seen in his visions, one which allow him to fix the elixir or complete his unified theory of magic.
The observatory was said to have been built on a point of astral significance within the city, on the top of a rocky dune with an astral well dug within it. 6 separate observatories with golden telescopes linked by underground pathways which collectively could be used to gaze at any celestial body, visible or not. They served to channel astral energy to a central ritual chamber. It is said that it is within this ritual chamber that Nahrim was doomed. Located within the ruins of Nahrim.
Ritual Sites of Gomorrah - The Vampiric city of Gomorrah was founded far after the fall of Nahrim, in a time when many had given up the dreams of outright Vampiric sovereignty. Not a full fledged kingdom like Nahrim, the city-state still served to inspire future attempts at Vampiric rule. Formed by the Conqueror Rogum Subastris, it avoided the fury of mortals through the use of the Lanuae Astra, a device capable of teleporting the entire city and its people to pre-made astral ritual sites. After the disappearance of the city; believed purposeful by some in an attempt to safeguard it, believed a sign of its ultimate destruction by most, a few remaining ritual sites are maintained in the hopes that the city will someday return.
Sextant of Anastasia - An astrological divining tool used by the Tiresian Seer-Mage, Anastasia as a “key” to control her machine, the Lanuae Astra. It was constructed from Star-Stone and Platinum with thaumaturgic engravings and diamond-lenses. The sextant was found partially melted and fused with the machine in the remains of Gomorrah.
Shadow of Gomorrah - When the city of Gomorrah vanished for a final time, whisked away to a location unknown, all that was left was the melted Lanuae Astra and black “burns” etched into the landscape where buildings and people once stood moments before. Currently located in present day Nurbellium
Lanuae Astra - The great machine used to teleport the city of Gomorrah to the ritual sites. Said to have been an intricate thing of lenses, mirrors and crystals that harvested and focused the energy of celestial bodies, sending the city traveling through the constellations to its new location. Now a melted pile of star-stone, metals and glass.
Bloodline Culture
Terms:
Childe - The progeny of a vampire
Sire - The vampire that gave the subject the Dark Kiss
Dark Kiss - Otherwise called the Blessing, or the Sip of the Chalice, this refers to the act of turning someone into a vampire
Ascension - Otherwise called “Rebirth” or being “reborn”, it is another term for being turned into a Vampire
Nahrim - Refers to both the ancient and fallen Vampiric Kingdom or to the concept of a Vampiric Paradise, a place where vampires needs not hide in the shadows and can feed freely and easily
Alternatively, can be used to refer to the concept of an unattainable dream, especially one which will ruin the dreamer if sought after.
Old Blood - Refers to vampires “ascended” before or during Nahrim
New Blood - Refers to vampires born after Nahrim
Diablerie - The consumption of a vampire's soul by another vampire. Almost universally seen as a heinous act by vampires, most who commit this act are hunted and put to final death. There are very rare circumstances in which vampiric law allows such a thing, officially at least.
Dementor - A vampire which has committed Diablerie
Parry high, parry low. The sharp clink of two blades making contact. Step forwards and under, a quick flick of his wrist, a slash across theirs, a blade clattering the ground. Repeat.
Two opponents stand before him, postures speaking just as loud as their poised blades. Keep moving, circling, never letting them surround him. Take careful, measured stabs, testing their boundaries, always moving. Draw the first in, fake an opening. Side-step, forward, stab. A single remains. The rest follows routine, Parry high, parry low…
A rapier thrusts into imagined foes, a short figure dancing around a candle-lit room edged in furniture as immaculate as it is unused. It is a dance as much as it is combat, feet shuffling and wrist snapping in a mesmerizing pattern that would make even Caolin’s Rose blush. The Kobold at the rooms center is what small children believe they are when they wave a stick about, just without the clumsiness that sees rooms destroyed.
Panting, the milk-white dragonling takes a pause. Gods, if lizards could sweat, he would be. This is why he preferred to practice in the gardens, out in the cool mountain air. The Lady insisted on keeping her Manor warm, almost steaming, to keep the cool of her skin closer to the warmth of life. Normally a great comfort to the Lizard; but heavy exercise, warm rooms, and layered clothing does not mix well…
But no matter. In the heat of battle, he could not simply sit down for a breather. A Knight could not rest until the enemy was slain and his charges kept. The Kobold forced himself back into action, ignoring his own labored breathing and aching muscles.
Dead to the world, he could not hear the subtle clearing of a throat, the louder polite cough did not even pierce his focus, a book knocking against the back of his head… THAT did get his attention.
Rubbing the back of his head, the fencer stopped his dance and turned towards the doorway to the small side-room, seeing a familiar figure within its frame.
It is Julian Le Rouge, the Chamberlain of this particular estate of The Lady. His pale face was contorted into rage, a black vein bulging in his forehead as if his heart still pumped blood. Despite the recess given to all servants for the day, he is still dressed his part; a black doublet embroidered with flowers in golden thread- and not merely gold in color mind you- and breeches to match. In fact, the Kobold had never known Julian to dress down for any occasion.
“What in the Sovereign's dead name are you doing?” His voice was a shouted whisper, laced with every bit of venom the man could muster. He stomped over, without actually stomping or risking damage to the elaborate carpet or disturbing the quiet, with barely restrained murderous intent to the Kobold and glowered down on him.
“Have you no sense?!” He demanded, and then continued before the kobold could respond. “Do you not know how foolish you are lizard? Let me enlighten you as to what sharp little toys do the walls and furniture.”
A clawed hand raked out, tearing a scratch through the Kobolds’ own doublet.
“It tears them, much like I so desperately want to do to you.” The Chamberlain was nearly frothing at the mouth in his restrained rage.
The Kobold hissed, batting the man's hand away. He had JUST sewn himself this doublet, and now it was ruined. It was his time to be angry.
“I’d like to see you try. I am the Page of our Lady, and I must keep up my skills with the blade.” He says the last with a swelling of pride, as if the title meant anything to anyone besides himself.
Julian just rolled his eyes. “Your not even a real fucking Page…” His hand pulled down his face, as if to wipe away his annoyance. “Anyways, Pages don’t carry blades.”
With supernatural speed, Julian lashed out, trying to rip the rapier from the Kobold’s grasp. But with a reflex that surprised even the Chamberlain, the Kobold’s hand carried the blade out of his reach and then brought it to his throat.
“Try that again” The defiant Page warned through gritted fangs.
Julian’s eyes flashed a mixture of shock and… consideration, but ultimately, he seemed mostly unphased and simply pushed the rapier to the side.
“Just don’t play with your toy inside, Lizard. I can’t have you damaging anything.” The whole situation had him drained, and he simply wanted to be done with it.
The Kobold said nothing, but did sheath his blade.
“Thank you kindly. Now begone, servants have the day off. Go frolic with the other Kobolds of the other houses. I hear them causing trouble all the time.”
Thoroughly annoyed, but feeling he had made his point, the Chamberlain took his leave of the Kobold, gone off to do whatever it was the man did when there weren’t servants to harass or guests to entertain.
The Kobold for his part, kept his blade sheathed, not wanting to push the man to actual murder.
He briefly considered going back to the quarters that were kept for him here, where he certainly had some sewing supplies lying around, but dismissed the idea. He wanted to practice stabbing others, not stab himself with needles. But, sticking to whatever unspoken agreement he felt he had made with the Chamberlain, he settled with simple daydreaming and mock-fighting, this time also imagining his own blade along with that of his enemies’.
He wandered the empty Victorian halls of the Manor, a Knight strolling the halls of his own estate, occasionally fighting off bandits, rescuing maidens, giving speeches and accepting awards from the Councilors of the land.
So engrossed was he in his fantasies that he forgot that he was supposed to be hiding from the main areas of the Manor, a fact he did not remember until he strolled into the foyer where a single figure stood.
As soon as the small Kobold passed the threshold of the main entryway, tucked behind a grand set of stairs, a crushing wave fell upon him. A sudden, primal fear dragging his frolicing to a creeping stop.
The scales and flaps around his neck began to rise, an instinctual response to intense fear, a desperate attempt to make the Kobold appear large and threatening, a feat impossible to achieve given the figure standing before him.
Lord Montague Navarro stood to the side of the foyer, leaning over a small side table, his eyes mercifully cast downwards to the letter he seemed to be penning.
If he had noticed the Kobold, he gave no indication of it. A mercy, as fear gripped the tongue and body of the Knight-hopeful, who could not but stand rigidly still, eyes downcast, as if trying desperately to avoid the ire of some predator.
A few, stretched out moments of silence passed, punctuated only by the scratchings of quill on paper.
Finally done with his letter, the Lord of the Blue City produced an envelope, wax and seal from his pockets, using the candle atop the table to melt the wax and press the seal.
Turning, the Lord finally took notice of the Kobold, who felt as if he was shrinking beneath his gaze. "Tsk, I ought to have sent you to that madwoman.” The Lord said nonchalantly, pausing just a moment as if considering. “No matter” He chuckled, waving his hand to dismiss the idea. “Your timing is still divine darling, she has you well trained. Take this and be quick." He strode forward, pressing the letter into his hands, before promptly turning and leaving the estate.
The Kobold stood there, still frozen in place, until slowly, the heavy presence of the Lord finally decided to depart with him.
Suddenly, Oliver and the horses did not seem quite all that bad.
The Ambrose Society
“The sightless masquerade”
When a mortal man has all the money he can spend and then some, when he has reached the highest station his birth allows, when his bed chambers are filled with the girls of his dreams, he has it all. Yet, he shall lay, surrounded by the splendor of his world, unsatisfied.
The mortal soul is an endless pit of hungering desire that can never be filled. Even the most exotic pleasures become dulled by excess until they are utterly mundane. A constant feed of new stimulus is required to sate their desires, if only for a time. This is what drives the self-destructive urges of man that seems to enrapture and fell even the greatest of kings.
The Ambrose Society simply seeks to exploit- fulfill these desires in a safe way. One which will keep their well-deserving clientele constantly sated, feeding them more and more while never letting them sink into self destructive debauchery. At least, not enough to ruin all the fun.
***
The Ambrose Society sells itself to the elite merchants, nobles, politicians and other noteworthy socialites of the realm as an elite institution that is both an endless masquerade of pleasures and entertainment as well as a neutral grounds for “keeping old money old”.
What is done and who it is done with is forever kept a secret. It is a place to start and end affairs, explore one’s desires and indulge in the less *proper* pleasures in life without fear of recourse. All must don the mask, and at least pretend they do not know who the others are. While on their grounds you are among peers. It is the ideal place to form lasting alliances, to keep the Old Money Old.
The Ambrose Society is an invite-only high-society country club that is an “open secret” amongst the elite of nations in which it operates. It’s name is known within high circles, and even some of its members. The society is careful to let just enough slip out to give it a mystique, a forbidden lure to attract clientele while still keeping the damning specifics a secret. Just public enough to avoid suspicion, just secret enough to bend and break modern conventions of decent and morality without recourse. A dangerous tight-rope balance that hangs between scandal and criminals
The society finds its niche in the unspoken, though never unenforced, psuedo-anonymity of its members and activities, and it’s constant pushing of societal bounds and moral constraints in a slowly ever expanding delve into debauchery. Every member is given a safe space in which to explore the hedonistic depths of their souls, guided by a hidden hand that controls the speed and trajectory of their descent. Reeling them back up as necessary, guiding them towards less destructive pathways. Keeping them always just satisfied. A constant drip of pleasure.
The sacred neutrality of the Commons and the surrounding Grounds is kept by the “Masked Mistress” (Lady Alcina) and her masked servants “The Blind Watchers”, “The Accountants” and “The Rule Sayers”. They ensure that the nobles play nice, their presence and activities are kept a secret, and help facilitate mutually beneficial relationships and business dealings for all. They are the enforcers, the neutral mediators, and the adjudicators. They remain silent unless such speech is absolutely necessary and simply watch over the night's proceedings. Other masked servants called Hands attend to the needs of the clientele and the society.
The Hands
Mundane servants that serve the needs of clientele. The wait staff, the cooks, the personal butlers and more. They speak, though the polite amount that a good servant should. Responding politely when spoken to, offering suggestions and answering questions regarding the amenities. They are dressed in fanciful Venetian masquerade masks covering their eyes and mid face, though leaving the rest unobscured. They wear brined feathered hats and dress in simple white ruffled shirts with flowering necks and puffy sleeves, covered by a black vest and complimented by knee length breeches and stockings.
These constitute the staff the help the pleasurable activities occur, not those that constitute the activities of the night themselves.
The Blind Watchers
The silent guardians of the Masquarade. Posted at every entrance, patrolling every perimeter, watching every guest. Though they are ever present, they are quickly forgotten as the nights’ activities go into full swing, fading quietly into the background. They do not speak. They do not interact with the guests. They do not even respond. Their duty is to simply watch without seeing.
The Blind Watchers are the incognito guards of the Ambrose Society. They keep a look out for prying eyes that should not be there and ensure that all remains civil within the Masquerade.
They dress in outfits reminiscent of Caolin Duelists, fit with masks covering their entire faces and rapiers and pikes, depending on if they guard the interior or exterior.
The Accountants
The accountants are the businessmen and lawyers kept on retainer by the Society. They help coordinate dealings between society members, building business relations and settling disputes. They are who help keep the old money old.
The Rule Sayers
Some guests forget themselves when they are in the Masquarade. Lost to the frenzy of passion, they may slight another member or worse yet, break the few rules of the Masquarade. The Rule Sayers are those who determine if and when a client has broken one of the rules and if and how they should be punished. They are the judge, jury and executioners of the Society, answering only to The Lady herself.
The Masked Lady
The “Lady of the Masquerade”, the not so secret object of desire of many within the Society who organizes this whole little thing.
Contrary to the name, this does not refer to one person. Rather this refers to a group of 5 distinct, but equally beautiful mistresses. Each seems to have an equal say in what goes on within the Masquerade, seemingly in competition with one another over who should rule, taking in various clients as pawns in their games against one another, often to the… physical delight of the clients.
Their identities outside of the Masquerade, as with the identities of all the Societies “staff” is one of the actual and truly kept secrets of the society. It does not die to wonder either, as those who get too close to the truth may find themselves in… unfavorable positions.
The Splendors of the Masquerade
A simple overly fancy and expensive whore-house would not have the same allure, dedicated clientele or mystique that the Ambrose Society has. There’d be simply nothing it could offer that others couldn’t. Pretty girls who are good at pretending? Why, you can get that anywhere…
No, the Ambrose Society is no simple whore-house. Yes, it has it Dolls; though they are not the dainty, obedient damsels of other such places. The Society's Dolls are tall women, dressed in black and lace, much like their lady. And just as appearance takes after their Mistress, so does their “bedroom manners”... If one is to have a Brothel, it may as well stand out amongst the dirty things on the streets.
Then is it a debaucherous country club? Almost. Prime among the theme of the Ambrose Society is The Hunt. An old tradition, both amongst Vampires and their prey. The Societies secluded locations serve a dual purpose: privacy, and ample hunting grounds. These grounds are well stocked, with exotic beasts imported from across the realms carefully stocked throughout the lands. But not in cages, ready to be released as the staged hunt nears its finale. No, that is too simple and boring. All hunts at the Society are real, as is the danger. It is only the expertise of the Masked Huntsmen, who lead bumbling clientele through old forests, that sees the hunt's success. Brave unknown men and women who put their tracking skills and their lives on the line to bring their Clients the most thrilling and true hunts they can ever experience; in comfort at least. Stories to tell in the lounge, with less exaggeration than usual needed.
Games, of course, are a staple of the grounds. Jousting, Polo, Croquet and the range. Gambling is of course to be had within it’s halls. Exotic foods? That goes without saying.
But this yet is… all mundane. None of it truly defines what the Society is, what its purpose is.
At its core, the Society is about control. The maintenance of the status quo when it benefits its members and its change when it does not. Stifling would be upstarts, and seeing the fall from grace of those who stepped too far out of line. Forming relations; always at the expense of those outside of our glamoured halls.
And at the top? Sits the Society and it’s Masked Ladys. The truest goal of the society is not to benefit it’s members. It is to rule them; and through them, the industries, cities and nations they represent. As the drinks flow, and the money comes, the Elite who flock to the society come to find their estates tied intimately to the Society. It is subtle. Slow, almost mutually beneficial. Almost. The deals are never quite as generous as they seem. New members are quickly inundated with connections to the Old Blood of the society, who wrap them up in their own estates, equally wrapped up in the workings of the Masked Lady.
Puppets who have their own Puppets, a spider web of control with Lady Alcina at it’s center. That is what the Society is.
ACTIONS:
1. The Legion of Doom Assembles!
2. it assembled a second time!
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