Faure
11-04-15, 09:10 PM
(Solo.)
THE EVENING BEGAN IN MASQUERADE, a celebration that writhed in affluence and decadence. It was to be the party of all parties, and a soiree like no other. In the city of Radasanth, this masquerade had been the talk of the town for weeks. Any and all who had a brain in their head and enough sense to rub two coppers together had heard of Duchess Fiora Perring. She is a middle-aged widow whose wealth is rumored to have been built upon the demise of three previous husbands who all met untimely, awful ends. Reputed to be erratic and unstable, the black widow often sought to betray the rumors circling her with philanthropy and opulent parties.
However, the public only knew a fraction of the truth that Duchess Fiora desperately sought to keep buried from what they were able to read in the papers or hear from gossip. The social circles in aristocracy, whose money and influence bought access to certain sects, knew the duchess in a different light. The duchess had only opened her social events to those of the highest order, and those who were actually able to get past the gate to her manor and the tight-lipped, unsympathetic guards to attend these soirees would probably reconsider their interest in such things. You see, the widow's rumored of instability did not even scratch the surface as to what kind of hell would break loose at her gatherings.
Gerard Faure had heard through the grapevine of affluent patients of some of the things that the rich and powerful were up to, and frankly what he heard of Fiora disgusted him. One powerful, rotund merchant he treated for gout told of a splendid party years ago where he and his friends attended, intending to carouse. While the night began in earnest with everybody who was anybody was there. The manor was full of drunken aristocrats doing all manner of things that only the influence of alcohol and the promise that whatever happened that night would be their secret would allow.
The merchant told in stark detail how the duchess appeared at the height of the party naked and atop a white stallion that had been painted in symbols by her servants and slaves. She gave a long winded speech of how the night would never be forgotten and proceeded to let her guests take turns mounting her for all to see. And what was once a party devolved into an orgy, as any and all who were found wanting stripped to their bare asses in the middle of her courtyard and took part in carnal pleasure and their darker desires. It was at this point, Gerard stopped the merchant's sultry tale and made him pay his fare and sent him on his way, swearing that it was complete nonsense much to his patient's protests.
Another patient of his, a noble who suffered from pneumonia, told of a party where the widow had grown irate when one of her slaves had spilled wine upon her immaculate dress. The solution had been simple and barbaric as the Duchess had one of her suitors slay the poor wretch in the open. The noble told in sordid detail how the mewling whelp died screaming as he struggled to put his own entrails back into his body. And what had once again had been a social affair deteriorated as dozens of the widow's suitors slaughtered and savaged helpless, panicking slaves at the gathering in an attempt to gain her favor.
It had been such a bloodletting that the noble confessed that many of the guests had joined in and the screams of the murdered and dying inside the awful manor had been heard around for miles, but nothing would come of it. Sensing that the noble stopped short as to announce his own participation in the matter, the doctor treated him and refused any payment, sending his patient on his way.
One more tale in recent weeks had come from his friend, Silas Cain*, who was visiting from Fallien and had a strange sense in finding himself at the wrong place at the wrong time. The inventor had confided in the doctor that he had heard from a friend of a friend of a friend, that the masquerade that had been the talk of the town is the last party the Duchess would be throwing.
Gerard, suspicious, had simply asked why.
Silas had retorted that one lucky guest was rumored to be bequeathed a special gift from the savage widow, and the night would be a celebration before she left the city and country on a vacation. The unstable, evil witch had never left Corone in ten years since her last husband's death, which made it highly unusual and shrouded in secrecy. In the highest circles it was being said that Duchess Fiora was leaving for good and wherever she embarked to, her earthly and mortal possessions would be of no use to her there.
That was three days ago, and much to Gerard's misfortune he discovered all too late that Silas had only told him part of the truth. The first being that there was a party thrown by a mad woman, and the second being that he had been invited and was going. After everything the doctor had heard and after everything he had endured by listening to what he believed to be foolish gossip, he was about to leave his friend to his fate and a night of disappointments.
However, something deep within Gerard's heart could not shake the peril his friend might have been in the night, if anything at all about that horrible manor turned out to be true. Instead, with coat in hand and a mask he had for just such an occasion, the doctor left the safety of his abode and into the night to rescue Silas from himself. And besides, from what he had heard, the woman could throw a hell of a party.
----------------
*Last seen in The Good Samaritan (http://www.althanas.com/world/showthread.php?25053-The-Good-Samaritan).
THE EVENING BEGAN IN MASQUERADE, a celebration that writhed in affluence and decadence. It was to be the party of all parties, and a soiree like no other. In the city of Radasanth, this masquerade had been the talk of the town for weeks. Any and all who had a brain in their head and enough sense to rub two coppers together had heard of Duchess Fiora Perring. She is a middle-aged widow whose wealth is rumored to have been built upon the demise of three previous husbands who all met untimely, awful ends. Reputed to be erratic and unstable, the black widow often sought to betray the rumors circling her with philanthropy and opulent parties.
However, the public only knew a fraction of the truth that Duchess Fiora desperately sought to keep buried from what they were able to read in the papers or hear from gossip. The social circles in aristocracy, whose money and influence bought access to certain sects, knew the duchess in a different light. The duchess had only opened her social events to those of the highest order, and those who were actually able to get past the gate to her manor and the tight-lipped, unsympathetic guards to attend these soirees would probably reconsider their interest in such things. You see, the widow's rumored of instability did not even scratch the surface as to what kind of hell would break loose at her gatherings.
Gerard Faure had heard through the grapevine of affluent patients of some of the things that the rich and powerful were up to, and frankly what he heard of Fiora disgusted him. One powerful, rotund merchant he treated for gout told of a splendid party years ago where he and his friends attended, intending to carouse. While the night began in earnest with everybody who was anybody was there. The manor was full of drunken aristocrats doing all manner of things that only the influence of alcohol and the promise that whatever happened that night would be their secret would allow.
The merchant told in stark detail how the duchess appeared at the height of the party naked and atop a white stallion that had been painted in symbols by her servants and slaves. She gave a long winded speech of how the night would never be forgotten and proceeded to let her guests take turns mounting her for all to see. And what was once a party devolved into an orgy, as any and all who were found wanting stripped to their bare asses in the middle of her courtyard and took part in carnal pleasure and their darker desires. It was at this point, Gerard stopped the merchant's sultry tale and made him pay his fare and sent him on his way, swearing that it was complete nonsense much to his patient's protests.
Another patient of his, a noble who suffered from pneumonia, told of a party where the widow had grown irate when one of her slaves had spilled wine upon her immaculate dress. The solution had been simple and barbaric as the Duchess had one of her suitors slay the poor wretch in the open. The noble told in sordid detail how the mewling whelp died screaming as he struggled to put his own entrails back into his body. And what had once again had been a social affair deteriorated as dozens of the widow's suitors slaughtered and savaged helpless, panicking slaves at the gathering in an attempt to gain her favor.
It had been such a bloodletting that the noble confessed that many of the guests had joined in and the screams of the murdered and dying inside the awful manor had been heard around for miles, but nothing would come of it. Sensing that the noble stopped short as to announce his own participation in the matter, the doctor treated him and refused any payment, sending his patient on his way.
One more tale in recent weeks had come from his friend, Silas Cain*, who was visiting from Fallien and had a strange sense in finding himself at the wrong place at the wrong time. The inventor had confided in the doctor that he had heard from a friend of a friend of a friend, that the masquerade that had been the talk of the town is the last party the Duchess would be throwing.
Gerard, suspicious, had simply asked why.
Silas had retorted that one lucky guest was rumored to be bequeathed a special gift from the savage widow, and the night would be a celebration before she left the city and country on a vacation. The unstable, evil witch had never left Corone in ten years since her last husband's death, which made it highly unusual and shrouded in secrecy. In the highest circles it was being said that Duchess Fiora was leaving for good and wherever she embarked to, her earthly and mortal possessions would be of no use to her there.
That was three days ago, and much to Gerard's misfortune he discovered all too late that Silas had only told him part of the truth. The first being that there was a party thrown by a mad woman, and the second being that he had been invited and was going. After everything the doctor had heard and after everything he had endured by listening to what he believed to be foolish gossip, he was about to leave his friend to his fate and a night of disappointments.
However, something deep within Gerard's heart could not shake the peril his friend might have been in the night, if anything at all about that horrible manor turned out to be true. Instead, with coat in hand and a mask he had for just such an occasion, the doctor left the safety of his abode and into the night to rescue Silas from himself. And besides, from what he had heard, the woman could throw a hell of a party.
----------------
*Last seen in The Good Samaritan (http://www.althanas.com/world/showthread.php?25053-The-Good-Samaritan).