| This archival work is dedicated to Loranna Pyrel, who passed away in early 2023. Rest in peace, friend. — Rock |
| Book Information | |||
|---|---|---|---|
| Source: | Elder Scrolls Forum | ||
| Book Date: | 3E 428 | ||
| Writer(s): | Ted Peterson | ||
| Publication Date: | September 2004 | ||
| Up | Loranna's RP | ||
| Prev. | The Trial of Vivec | Next | Noble Seamstress' Spotted Owl |
Hearthfire Ball
Hearthfire Ball was the second campaign of the Loranna's RP series.
This page exists only to record the posts of Tedders, who was the only developer to participate in the roleplay. Not all concepts presented are original to Tedders' posts, as replies are built off of replies, and the original concepts of other roleplayers are frequently referenced in his content. For proper citation context, consult the archived forum threads.
Sheogorath
A scullery maid, fat, gray-haired, wrinkled like an old apple, hobbles in, supported by a walking stick. Her eyes are blazing blue with a barely restrained wildness like a caged animal as she cleans up the mess. With a sack full of spilled food and the unscathed wooden bowl in hand, she moves back towards the kitchen, muttering under her breath.
Sheogorath
And somewhere in a dusty, unused room in the palace, the old scullery maid licks the empty bowl … her tongue bleeds raw on the rough wooden surface … tears run down her face, but her eyes stare blankly forward … she cannot taste anymore, but she can still see … all sorts of things ...
Sheogorath
Off in the distance in the woods comes the sound of music. A traveling bard and his musicians. He is singing but you can't heard the words just yet.
Sheogorath
The song that seemed to fade away into the chirruping of crickets last night has never entirely disappeared. Though it’s easy to miss unless you listen for it, it sounds like the single voice has turned into a chorus. Still the words cannot be heard, though the melody is somewhat familiar …
Sheogorath
It's still far, far away, but the words can now be heard, as if sung by demented children ---
Be a good sin-izen from birth to burial
Just follow the lead of our lecherous Uriel
Embrace your ardor with a lack of fear
Bravely, like U the Fifth off in Akavir
A few prissy Imperial think that it’s wrong
But the rulers have ever sang this rude song
The atmosphere’s always hot, even when the wind is chilly
If you hope for a bit of a grope, you must go cyrodilly.
Sheogorath
The second stanza begins:
From doomed Kintyra to Pelagius hysterical
There’s something naughty in Imperial empirical
Of sex and rumor, sex and humor, Cyrodiil is rife,
Uriel Lariat he mistook a horse for his wife,
That horror Katariah liked it a bit rough an’,
They didn’t call him Magnus for nothin’.
Oh, yes, U. Lariat sure loved his brown-eyed filly,
They are fine with love equine in central cyrodilly.
Sheogorath
The third stanza is quieter, as the throng seems to have moved farther away into the woods:
We must end round the bend before it does bore us
No time for a worse verse of perverse Cephorus
Ten races, two genders couldn’t satisfy the lust
Of our most unruly rulers like randy Antiochus
More heliopause Morihatha, many men had to buy her
Twisted and free, the family tree of old Emper Tiber
Perhaps this song has gone on too long, and is less rude than silly
And all these lays are libelous lies of the chief family cyrodilly
Sheogorath
The chorus continues faintly:
But fancy a dally or dilly
In a land that’s quite hilly
Wearing underclothes frilly
You’re just gilding the lily
And it’s so rudely cyrodilly
… Before becoming too distant to be intelligible …
Sheogorath
The servants whisper in the corridors, watching their masters and mistresses comings and goings:
“Certainly a lot of people paranoid around here,” chuckled the third footman, Kajab Bwac. “I ain’t never seen anything like it in all my days.”
“Hauntings, possessions, people bein’ foils of this and foils of that,” agreed Rotha Ogashe, a pretty parlormaid. “Why can’t people be more reasonable? That sort of stuff never happens.”
“Oh, Tales and Tallows brings out the crazies,” said the cook’s assistant Bolud Gydamp . “I mean, honestly, what kind of a silly God is that fond of anagrams? Makes no sense to me.”
Sheogorath
It is a beautiful morning, not a cloud in the sky.
But it's a little humid and smells like rain.
Sheogorath
Thunder growls overhead, though the sky is still cloudless. There is a charge in the air that tingles the skin. A thunderstorm is definitely coming.
Sheogorath
Outside, the wind picks up intensity. You can hear it whistling through the eaves, though the manor is well-built, no draft is felt. The candles continue to burn up right without a flicker.
Against the panes of the window, the first few drops of rain strike. Any who arrive much later are going to be wet.
Sheogorath
Lightning flashes through the window lighting the candle.
It had been so quiet, you hadn't even realized the window was wide open.
Sheogorath
A thunder clap shakes the barred windows, and wind whistles through from nooks throughout the manor, extinguishing all candles.
For a moment the ballroom is plunged into darkness.
Sheogorath
One candle at the far end of the ball room had remained extinguished, far away from where the group is gathered.
It flares to life, and a man stands behind it with a match which he gentles blows out, before looking over the assembly.
He is a perfectly ordinary man, trim, well dressed in a beautiful waistcoat, leaning on a walking stick.
“I’ve had my fun,” he says in a quiet voice. His eyes seem to glow brighter than the candles, but it is his smile that charms. There can be no danger from anyone with a genuine smile like that. “And now it is time for me to collect the debt I’m owed. You promised me a dance, Azura, for that priestess did go mad.”
Sheogorath
"I should release my proxy from his semi-voluntary servitude," Sheogorath says, looking at no one except Loranna/Azura.
Sheogorath
"Dnah ym ekat. Uoy fo ti dnamed ot em rof si ti."
The Mad God take Loranna/Azura's hand and leads her to the middle of the ballroom. Their footsteps echo in the large hollow place.
Sheogorath
“Oh, she was mad before,” says a friendly voice in Allerleirauh’s head. “The experience shattered her to sanity, which is just as good.”
Out loud, in reply to Loranna/Azura he says, "The mortals must do as they wish. That is the whole of their charm."
Sheogorath
"Cakes and coffins provided for the guests according to their needs now and hereafter," agrees Sheogorath with a smile. "We'll be needing a little of both before the evening is through."
It begins as a slow, stately waltz, very formal. The Mad God holds himself rigidly, each step with precision, as he gently begins to spin Loranna/Azura in circles.
"Speaking of coffins, my dear, I wonder why Attrebus didn't open the one he found in the road ... I would've liked to see the look on his face if he had."
Sheogorath
The Mad God's dance gathers tempo, following the lively tune, but is still quite precise, measured, restrained, proper. It is a complicated dance, highly ritualized, which both Princes know as if by instinct.
Sheogorath
"Look to the windows," Sheogorath whispers.
Outside, standing in the storm which had become a tempest, was a legion of zombies. Their slack, pale faces stared in through the windows, dozens of them, perhaps a hundred. Behind their dead eyes, there was the glimmer of understanding that they were witnessing something extraordinary. Their minds did not function, and yet they knew.
"The living, the dead, and the never alive sharing a dance."
Sheogorath
"I'm afraid poor Nelecar will never be completely sane after this," Sheogorath whispers. "The human mind is not something one can take and return unmarked. But your other guests will recover."
He smiles: "I might even grant them each a gift."
Sheogorath
"You do get confused, don't you, my dear?" smiled Sheogorath, shaking his head. "'Twas I who asked you for the dance, don't you remember? Don't feel bad. I get confused sometimes myself ... occasionally ..."
The two begin whirling around faster and faster.
"I will grant each mortal here one act of great genius, which would only be possible by an illogical leap, a spark of madness. It may be a great piece of art, a new understanding of magicka and mundus ... one revolutionary idea for each, that is my parting gift to these creatures who have been so kind to be my playthings and to accept a goddess among their midst."
Sheogorath
The Wabbajack and The Mad Platter fly from Attrebus's hands, drawn into the vortex around the whirling Princes.
"My favorite gift! What already belongs to me!" Sheogorath laughs drawing back from the kiss. "Thee who gives shall soon forgive what they who got forgot!"
The Mad One looks to the windows and whispers, "One last gift for those who never ask."
Eyes locked with the zombies, he speaks their language, lips moving with no sound.
Sheogorath
Sheogorath is no longer visible in the whirlwind, but his voice, always calm, a little mocking, can still be heard: "Goodbye, guests. I will dance with each and every one of you all in good time ..."
There is a flash of lightning outside the window, bright enough to turn the whole room white, and when it dims, the Mad God is gone.
Sheogorath
Sheogorath in his land of shadow and obtuse ascent,
Can’t be seen but listens down to the manor and dell.
To him dancing sweetly and crushing the innocent,
These are simply acts done poorly or done very well.
I came to you with a dance of death and a guileless song
I bring life and death, my mad black banner unfurled.
Real or illusion, the guard only got this part wrong --
The caravan’s but a cog: my machine is the world.
Sheogorath
a dank, sad nap. eels sleep and ask nada.
(sorry, i accidentally wrote that backwards)
Yzarc era elpoep uoy...