Thaidakar the Ghostblood

"There is no need to make a scene," The servant sniffed. "Fine, then. We will end the ball. But if I find that this was never ordered by the King..."

"What is my role?" The servant asked haughtily. "I and others direct the lesser servants. Who is to bring this Lord his wine? Who is to fetch this Lady's coat? I make sure that the people who are to do that know they are to do it precisely when the Lordships would like them. Which is, most often, nearly instant. My job is to know the preferences of those here." The servant seemed ahead of himself as he continued elaborating on the excellency of his position.

"It says here that his Highness would also like a wine?" the servant said with a dry smile. "Perhaps you did talk to him, but, alas, if you know his Grace, then you also would be acquainted with his... habits."

No Mourners.

"It's a technical term," He said with a smile, "It's the classification for it, since calling it different things in similar forms is annoying."

The servant looked at Miros skeptically for a moment, then took the scroll. He opened the scroll and read its contents.

The servant raised an eyebrow, "Is that so...? Then I shall see it."

The master servant shook his head, "Whose ball do you think this is? In the Palace? And, if the King had truly ordered this, would his servants be the ones to know first?" The servant loosened up, "M'lord, perhaps you've had a bit much of the drink..."

It was at that moment that one of the master servants walked over, only hearing the last words, "What is this commotion?" He noticed the Lord and his expression darkened. The servant strode over, "Under who's authority are you proclaiming this ball finished?"

*Physical pain.*

sorry to double post. The RP's out.

Welcome, Lords, Ladies, Non Binary Gentlefolk, and all the more, to Starfall, a Love RP. There's been a good deal of discussion, so here's a brief rundown of the background info needed to get started. ~-~ ~-~ The Concept The Setting The Apocalypse The Magic Finally, as a quick reminder for those who need it or are new, here are some more general rules we tend to follow. If you have any questions, just ask. People will be there to answer them, though that will mostly be handled by a group of people in charge of handling the continuity of the background info, such as what historical facts will stay in the rp. Now... Shall we begin? ~-~ The monthly ball at the palace of the Prince Regent, George the Fourth, was phenomenal, as usual. Ever since his father had been removed from his throne by the prince and his ministers until he would recover from his sickness, George had been doing well, or so it seemed from the outside. What went on in that man's mind, no-one could begin to know. That is, if there was anything going on in his head... He seemed too enamored with alcohol and the ladies and not enough with enforcing the law and maintaining stability for the Count Albert's tastes. Nevertheless, the lad had done right by the nobility. It was their God-given right to rule. If not, then what was their purpose? Whatever it was, Albert knew what was to his tastes. Champagne. A tall glass of champagne always fixed the sour taste George's latest scandals. Such as running off with a woman after a party, more drunk than Albert's Uncle Ferdinand, which was saying something. But of course, the Prince Regent being drunk and the Count Albert being drunk were two very different things. It was acceptable for a Count such as Albert, hardly 24, but for a King at 22... It was hardly acceptable in any respect. The Count tightened his cravat, careful to not let the fabric move his thick gold ring. Albert waved for a servant. Almost instantly, they were there, tray in one hand and the other wiping their sweaty face with a handkerchief. "Yes, m'lord?" the servant asked, tucking the handkerchief deep into the depths of some inner pocket of his vest. "Give me another champagne," the Count said, placing his empty glass on the tray as the servant lowered it. "And give a message to the Countess, it would be pleasing to me to dine together and watch the show." The servant gave Albert an odd look, but did as ordered. Odd... odd looks weren't meant to be given to superiors. As he knew he was too drunk to remember what the servant looked like, he recorded the appearance on a napkin and handed it to a passing serving woman with orders to have him whipped. Albert leaned ever so slightly in his seat, holding himself there by his shoes on the table feet. he was at the side of the ballroom on a raised platform, the lights dim, music slow and thoughtful, the dancers elegant in their superfluous, almost hideous attire. Hideous, it seemed, was the fashion these days, or so Albert heard. He never really knew what looked good to other people, merely what looked good to him. fashion changed like partners in one of those old fashioned folk dance with a particularly quick pace and style. But Albert, he stayed the same. What looked good to him? A nicely tailored suit, a cravat, hair combed just enough to seem intentional, and, most important of all, a pocket watch. One with a pocket watch had places to be, people to see. Every ounce of their time was important. The fact that you were even in the same room with them was a privilege. And, so, Albert kept a silver pocket watching on him at all times, checking it ever so often. It was at that specific moment, as the song ended and people stepped away from each other, either to find new partners or to leave the dance floor altogether, that it happened. When in a room crowded, with so much unintnetional noise and even intentional noise, something to interrupt it all is almost never possible. But it was this time. It began with one person, slipping into the room with a worried expression. That person whispered it into another person's ear, who told their friends, who told others, and thus it spread across the room until... She walked over, that smile on her face, her voluptuous hair descending down her back. Albert smiled as the Countess had a servant pull a chair for her and sat down. She was young, a few years younger than himself. Their union was not one of love, but of business. They'd grown to be fond of one another, but that was, perhaps, a part of the fact that both had a rather large sum of money to their name. "My wonderful husband... drunk again?" "M'lady Theresa," he replied smoothly, or as smoothly as one can when drunk. "Champagne is my speciality." She raised an eyebrow, "Is it as much your speciality as your skill when conversing with women? If so, then I pity the alcohol." "What do you want, love?" He asked with a smile. His wife was a beauty, eyes brighter than the sun, body sleeker than silver, skin such an intoxicating shade.. but he digressed. "You were to come in fifteen minutes, I thought." "I thought you..." she hesitated, frowning. The smile resumed on her face, the disappointed frown remaining in her eyes. "I thought you kept track of news." "how new is it?" "Approximately fifteen minutes old." "Is that so?" He had a sip of his drink. "If you would oblige me with this news, I would be very pleased, m'love." "The star," she said leaning over the table and taking his drink, having a long sip. "It's falling. They say it'll hit the earth and wipe us all out. Dead. All of us. Smithereens." Albert froze. "Impossible. False news." "I'm afraid not," She said, "I have confirmation from ten different sources. One even says that..." Theresa widened her eyes, slumped, falling into her seat. A look of fear emerging on her face. "Albert!" Her eyelashes fluttered, before falling on her face. She didn't move. Albert was paralyzed in his seat, eyes wide. After a long moment of pure terror, the Count waved for a servant, "Here! The countess!" Too fast. She was just... A servant rushed over, looking her over. He turned to Albert, a look of boredom showering his face, "Too much champ-" "No." Albert said, cold determination bursting in his voice. "She's not drunk. This happened just now." Panic blossomed on the servants face. he rushed off, bringing maids and a master servant. After a short discussion with the master servant, Albert allowed them to take Theresa to the Prince's own medics. "We will alert you when we know what's plaguing her and when she's cured." He nodded. Too fast. This was happening too fast. He was just talking to her... Albert left earlier than he intended to. After ten minutes, it became unbearable what had before made him happy. Alone in his study, he waited. Waited for the message that she was okay. He was more excited than he thought he'd be when a message finally came. The servant walked into the room, looking around, noting the Count looking eager. "M'lord, the Prince Regent's medical servants regret to inform you that Countess Theresa Von Dalwhit, your wife, died tonight at 11 o clock precisely. 15 minutes ago." "Fifteen minutes ago... That's old news..." He whispered. Count Albert Von Dalwhit, the formerly confident aristocrat stumbled to his bed soon after the servant left and collapsed on it. And... for the first time in years, wept until the early hours of the morning. @Ookla the Yellow Sock @Ookla the Abstract @Ookla the Resolute @Ookla the Raveness @Ookla the Interstellar @everyone else who wanted to participate.

In other words, I take it.

Aweomse.

XD

But my oaths didn't. I am a knight radiant too, sojourner. (heheh)

Life before Shard. Discipline over procrastination. Schoolwork before fun.

Yep, which is why we can wait a few more hours. Sorry, folks, but I gotta finally finish doing school and work out. Real life, then Shard.

Lindor Chocolates.