Danse Macabre

[Sarafina]

Gentle pads pressed to the stone without a sound as the lioness of pale cream slid through the night-cooled halls of the Agrabah palace. Only a bell-soft chime had accompanied Sarafina's movement as she'd entered the social fray, a gentle song sung from garments of chain and gem. Fine gold cords looped her crown and body in lines of grace, offering glimmering contour and dripping with onyx and pearl drops. Beneath the chain rested waves of soft silk pinned in place with chains of gold and green jasper. Sarafina was a vision of jungle beauty and was strutting every bit of it.

Not even the sway of her stomach, freshly freed from the weight of new life, could detract from the confidence with which the lioness walked. Sarafina had been blessed with the news of the Pridelands' downfall as she laid among the warmth of her family, already celebrating the arrival of her cubs not an hour prior. Kula herself had arrived from the front line, armor streaked with sweat and gore but holding a triumphant gleam in her eye. She had been to their homeland, to the very spot of her own birth, and had struck down members of the Freedom Fighters. If all went well and they appealed to the great Lady of the Land then it was more than a fair chance that their family could reclaim their home in Scar's name.

It had become a celebration twofold of life and new hopes.

Sarafina had been able to leave her new children -- Takasa and Kamara -- safely tucked against the stomach of her eldest daughter. Her presence was required for the celebration, but Kula had been given a free "pass". Someone had to look after the newborns and a teenager wasn't necessarily a requirement for a formal party.

Pausing at the foot of a staircase Sarafina was quick to snag a glass from a passing waiter. After they'd been sent on their way -- with a hurried look of confusion shot over their shoulder -- the lioness settled on her hind. Cradling the glass in the palm of her paw, the stem gripped between two toes, she sipped gingerly at the red wine within. Another reason to thank the Spirits for guiding her family into the service of Man. They had such amazing ways to pass the time.

Teal eyes traveled up the staircase to a group of ghazi; Facilier, Tabs, Nasira, and Marius stood near enough together that she could sweep them all in a single look. Sarafina smiled a greeting. Before kohl lips could part in speech a soft prickling along the lioness' spine gave her pause. A perturbed expression crossed Sarafina's visage; head tilted, ears perked, eyes narrowed ever so slightly.

Something in the wind had shifted in some barely-perceptible way. Like the static in the air before a lightning strike; like the emptiness of the beach before a tsunami. It was a purely instinctive reaction to something that Sarafina hadn't yet experienced enough to name. Lowering her glass a bit the lioness canted her head back, brows lowering as she drew in the scents of the palace.

What was causing this chill in her bones?

[The Horned King]

As he drew closer, the traveler understood that the mass fount of magic was actually various distinct scents, revealing a cacophony of magical users in the ensuing ballroom. Once again straightening his mantle, the traveler arrived into the ballroom, desiring to go neglected so that his journey may go unabated. There would be a time for flair and battle; the lich needed only a few more moments.

The ballroom was magnificent in size, and even more so in its mixture of human-like figures. Several stand out to the traveler; the unusual creature on a staircase, for one. Three legs, a female dress, a great tail, and four odd square-shaped heads, each with a different face. The traveler would be appalled if it wasn’t fascinated. Emanating from this vile creature was extensive magical power. Could this be...No. Its power was strong, but it lacked something else. The aura lacked the absolute darkness the traveler sought. The traveler made a note to avoid confronting this one head-on without preparations.

Another aura… this one reeked of insincere holy magic. Interestingly, the traveler found it was not the man who possessed the aura, but a sword by his side; concentrating enabled the traveler to sense softer auras emanating from him as well. An artificer?... No, the robes may look different, but one knows a miserable Christ-Spawn when he saw one. One close by him, however, had an aura extremely familiar to the traveler. Ancient, dark magic seemed what this man deal with. How long since that ritual had been performed on among the children of men? No matter, for it seemed the demon magic quivered when the traveler arrived. It knew him.

Searching the room further, the traveler noticed two more magi. One carried the aura of a warlock of sorts, one who made deals with beings of power. The magic granted to him smelled of cheap alcohol and sweet olive; the smell did nothing to confirm which gods this particular warlock served. Then the unmistakable odor of necromancy. Both seemed experienced in their fields, but the stench of recent death betrayed the fact that the necromancer seemed to have recently stolen a soul. Perhaps this was what their celebration was for? The traveler could spit in disgust; one measly soul taken does not deserve the raucous debauchery this… Legion was partaking in.

All of these did not deter the traveler but allowed the tourist to focus down his search until he found an ebbing power come from further within. Pure darkness… Exactly what the traveler had searched for. But how to reach it…

Perhaps a performance would do. Not one that shed his disguise, but perhaps a story to frighten that one who quivered in his aura. Noticing a section in the center where acrobats and fire-breathers performed. A sufficient place for his show of power. The traveler continued forward, towards the stage. No doubt an assortment of eyes would be on him now. No matter.

His story would suffice.

[Tabs]

Tabs narrowed his eyes. Were... they reacting to him? A bit late to notice his horrid appearance, wasn’t it? He frowned. And here he was feeling rather confident in his ability to pass. Tabs looked down to look himself over. Was everything normal? As normal as he could get it to be anyway. He turned his heads away, ashamed of whatever it might have been, regardless that he had no idea what was wrong. But it had to be him. Why wouldn’t it be? That’s the joy of anxiety, isn’t it?

He turned his heads back suddenly. Briefly glancing down, he opened his palm, realizing he was clinging to his upper arm and wrinkling his dress. Tabs’s face had been brightened to a slightly lighter blue, as opposed to its usual grey-blue, in an effort to mimic the desirable pale look once in fashion in the 19th century. The higher contrast made it yet easier to see his lingering upsetness as he leveled his eight eyes with Facilier’s.

“Ha. Which neck?” he asked self-consciously.

Tabs straightened his back. He offered a bejeweled claw to the voodoo practitioner, presuming he meant to aid him down the stairs. Three shivering, heel-adorned hooves took each step with care. As he went, eyes affixed to the ghoul. His frowns deepened. Oh look. A would-be partycrasher. Lovely.

“Between you and I, Facilier,” Tabs said, his voice taking on a more digitized, corrupted tone, “If it comes to it... I will be taking absolutely none tonight.”

He came here to feel confident about himself for once: for escape from his usual horrid existence: to do as he pleased without fear of being judged -- this would be his night of self-love and no one’s ego would stand in his way. No one’s.

~*~

_{Clack, clack, clack,} clack, clack, clack, clack.

“Congratulations.”

The breath from behind was like being hit by a breeze from a cold winter night. Nil, the giant thylacine, loomed almost precariously close behind Sarafina. Huge, curved hawklike talons sat somewhat sideways, at rest on the stone floor. Nil’s “formal clothes” were modest, a long dark blue cape decorated with a detailed galaxy pattern, giving as close to the impression of a dress as could be offered when in the form of a beast. Eyes stood out starkly against her dark-furred face and even the yellow of her sclera seemed icy. Though, it seemed like her monstrous appearance was something she couldn't help.

Black claws clacked the floor again as she took two steps to one side to allow the lioness more breathing room. Word traveled fast among the Blackbloods. Although Nil had no real interest in the state of the war if she was being honest, she did absorb everything she overheard. It was obvious Nil meant to be congratulating Sarafina on the birth of her children.

The massive, narrow head lifted and lips folded away somewhat to allow a cold mist of breath to escape. Her mouth did not move, yet her voice appeared.

“I’m not sure how much I care for the entertainers tonight.”

[Marius]

Marius stood still. He had heard the voices of his comrades, but he didn't react. His eyes were focused on the figure that was making it's way towards the stage. For the first time in years, Marius felt an uneasiness, a lump in his throat that could only be described as...

Fear.

"It's ancient. Dark and cold like an abyss." He chuckled, but it was an empty one, trying to mask his true feelings.

"Nasira," he started, tilting his head slightly in the necromancer's direction. "perhaps we should keep a close eye on that...'person.' " The tone of his voice was nothing short of concerned.

[Scruffy]

In celebration of the fall of the Freedom Fighters, the Blackbloods gorged themselves on steaming joints of meat and melt-in-your-mouth pastries and drank themselves blind on fennel liqueur, daiquiris and wine. Scruffy wandered around wide-eyed, dazzled by the display of garishly colored confections as a child might be pleased with bright colors. 

Scruffy belonged to Scar's pride. She had grown up in the Outlands, a barren wasteland where the exiled lions of the Pride Lands lived. Scruffy had been a wisp of bone and skin, growing like a weed in shallow soil. She had put on a significant amount of weight since Scar had brought the pride to Agrabah, but seeing so much food in one place was enough to make her misty-eyed. Scar was gone, but he had saved his people by bringing them here. As long as they remained loyal to the Blackblood Legion, they would never go hungry again.

She pawed at a duck wing. Honey and grease dribbled down her chin fur as she chewed. She spotted Sarafina and waved obnoxiously.

[Nasira]

Nasira looked expectantly at Marius, but he did not reply at first, so she followed his eyes. An ambiguously human being cloaked in a ragged robe strode in at a shambling pace. But this was not the most remarkable thing about them. Great stag's antlers rose in cruel curves from the crown of their head - like the despairing, withered limbs of the damned begging for forgiveness. From their base, two sharp brow tines curled in like devil horns. The set alone gave the newcomer a very menacing look.

"It's ancient. Dark and cold like an abyss."

A flinty look came into Nasira's eyes, but she hesitated. Her first impulse was to challenge the enigmatic outsider on the spot, but for all she knew, they could be a distinguished or honored guest. The guards would not have let them in otherwise. Of course, there was the off chance that the guards may have been incapacitated judging by their "guest's" perverse ambiance. It had happened before. 

"Nasira. Perhaps we should keep a close eye on that...'person.'"

"Oh we will," she assured Marius. All the lightness seemed to have gone from the overseer's manner. With a distinct feeling of trepidation, Nasira watched the stranger get on the stage.

[Shion]

A gentle clicking of hooves heralded the approach of the tall oryx, her massive horns jutting out above the crowd. Magenta-colored eyes surveyed the ball, in full swing, seeing all manner of Blackblood patrons, soldiers, and overseers all gathered in the beautiful palace of Agrabah. Only weeks before, the army had stormed her land and demanded she give her estate to the Blackblood Alliance or risk death. Despite sinking her entire life into her estate, Shion had chosen to ally with the Blackbloods. At first she had regretted her decision -- an woman of business had no business being part of an army! -- but now, hearing of the army's brilliant victory over the Freedom Fighters, completely crushing their army and sending them all running, Shion was now feeling more at ease with the situation. True, she was not a warrior, but being part of this powerful, magic-wielding alliance would be all the better for her estate and her business. All of the people who held grudges against her family line and the enterprise had no chance against an army of magi and warriors were they to try and overtake her.

Now, as she watched the night begin to unfold, drunken patrons aside, she felt a twinge of pride. The celebration was beautiful and well-earned. She took a small, idle sip of her cocktail, flicking her tapered tail with a smile. However, like the other patrons, she felt an uneasy stir in the energy of the room. Even though she did not have to yield to her prey animal instincts as a civilized animal, she felt the tug of fear -- to run. There was no apparent danger around, however, which made the oryx uneasy. If she were younger and more anxious she might have tried to make an escape, but she refused to flee such a celebration with no apparent problems thus far. Still, she got the nagging feeling of a nearby predator, like beast stalking their prey just out of sight.

Her ears pricked slightly as she watched the hooded figure make their way to the stage. They concealed their face, which immediately set off red flags. Her tail swished again, this time out of anxiety rather than contentment. She could sense some uneasiness in the lioness that sat by her as well. Though she by nature did not usually trust predator animals -- especially lions, considering her ancestors were their lunch-- she regardless took it as her feelings of anxiety being validated.

"Who is that?" she queried softly, feelings for some reason as though she had to lower her voice, addressing Sarafina. "Do you know? I don't like the way they look."

[The Horned King]

The traveler walked through the company to the stage, taking a moment to stop and contemplate his next move. Should this go ill-natured, then he would be forced to combat and perhaps even fighting for his mortal vessel. However, even this turn of events would summon the one with pure, black power. And so he applauded politely as the current act finished, and then proceeded to walk onto the stage.

“And now… The true test begins…” A mutter under the breath.

“Ladies, Gentlemen, and Loyal members of the Blackblood Legion! How privileged am I to be in your proximity, at the celebration of your magnificent victory over the loathsome Freedom Fighters in Africa. How truly wicked to strike while your enemy regained a small shred of hope of returning to normal. And now you gather, celebrating over an unmagical rock in a worthless tract of land, for no reason other than putting down the near corpse of your original enemy. Wonderful and magnificent. Your vision certainly expands far beyond petty human squabbles; it goes as far as petty lion squabbles.”

The traveler raised a hand in disgust. “You claim to desire world domination? Perhaps the useless rock is a good first step… However, your weaknesses show to the world like the sand in sunlight. Your doors tonight are open. Assassins may return under your very un-watchful eye and strike again.” His raised hand moved slightly, and the crowd watched as green mist spread throughout the room, and then bent away and swirled towards the traveler. Then they expanded, and a picture showed of a man with a scythe in his chest. While the man does not appear to be Mortaray, it still is a striking image most may be familiar with. “I have spoken with your peons in the land they call Germany, and they told me of the Rogues and their clever surprise. How distasteful. “

The green mist swirls again and shows a reflection of themselves as they partied, and in the background of their social party was a raging fire. “While your enemies re-group and rearm themselves, you revel and relax and consider your calling complete. I say nay to this! Your sights have been set too low, Blackbloods of Agrabah. And I have come to offer a higher vision. One that will ensure that you may continue your balls and declaration of power for centuries to come. Allow this humble servant to share this wonderful story with you all.”

As the traveler spoke, the green mist formed into a crowned rider, sword in hand as arrows flew around him. “Legend has it, in the mystic land of Prydain, there was once a king so cruel and so evil, that even the gods feared him.”

The green mist showed the rider falling down, as light shimmered from heaven and struck him. The light carried him to a cage, where the rider broke free and rode once more. “Since no prison could hold him, he was thrown alive into a crucible of molten iron. There, his demonic spirit was captured in the form of a great Black Cauldron.”

The mist showed the dreadful scene, where the rider was thrown into the great steaming pit and emerged as a foreboding and ominous cauldron. Any who knew of magic would feel their hairs rise, for even the image of the Cauldron brought fear to the magic. “For uncounted centuries, the Black Cauldron lay hidden, waiting, while evil men searched for it, knowing whoever possessed it would have the power to resurrect an army of deathless warriors, and with them, rule the world.”

The green mist showed the Cauldron, burst with dead men rising from the ground. They walked forward, and it seemed that they would consume the room. As they approached guest to strike, the mist dissipated and returned to the traveler.

Now not needing to truly hide, the Horned King raised his hood back so his face may be shown. It was a ghastly sight; a sunken in, shriveled head, shrunk into the skull, with red beads for eyes, and a set of teeth sharped by time. It, combined with the horns, completed a horrifying monster of a man. “And one man did find the Cauldron. It was I, the Horned King, Scourge of Pyrdain, and the Phantom of the Spirit of the Cauldron. I know of the reality of the Cauldron and of the power it possesses. I offer you, Blackblood Legion, a prospect and chance to obtain infinite power, and an undead army untouchable by mortal hands willing and ready to destroy all foes and enemies to our cause. My only quandary… is that the Cauldron was lost to me by the hand of so-called “heroes” who treasured a foolish resistance.”

The Horned King slid his hands back into his sleeves. “I ask only for the resources and skills you all have to allow me to find the Cauldron, and in return, I offer my magic and knowledge of the arcane and mythical in your war against the Rogues, and eventually, the Cauldron-Born, the children of the Black Cauldron, as your unstoppable army. I wish to speak with your Sultana and express this to her privately. Bring me to her, and I will speak of this plan further.”

[Claude Frollo]

Frollo had heard and saw everything. This shell of a man, he believes in the books he was called a Lich. A hated being of God himself just waltzed into the Palace, Dared to call apon Lady Maleficent directly?! Not only that but spouting such nonsense about an undead army and infnite power. Lady Maleficent would never stoop so low as to damn her self by using such evil magic should it even exist or even believe such a tale.

Even so,likely if this magical black thingy even truly existed, who is to say this 'horned king' would even hold up his end of the bargain. This was a increasingly dangerous situation they were in to be sure. The one thing the undead man did have going for him was the agreement that this party was a Damned stupid idea with assassins about.

While putting this fool to the blade was the first instinct he had, Frollo didn't feel like he liked his chances in returning unscathed in challenging a seemingly powerful 'demon' without help. With everyone still angry about the last campaign... He wasn't going to risk it. But he could at least test the other's reactions to see if they would be by his side should things get.... physical.

"Nasira." Frollo said under his breath " Crow is probably watching this as we speak so I don't think we will need to do anything here... but does what this monster say have any validity? Should we 'show him the door'? As I believe the phrase is?"

[Lindsay Curie]

“Wow. And I thought I was bad at socializing.”

The lean alien snorts from her side of the room, wight shifting to her hip. While she agreed with the first part, at least she knew when to put a cap on it. She’d most likely outlive most of the individuals in the room. Let them have their tea party, if they so choose. She didn’t have to agree to it or like it, but at least she wasn’t shouting it at them from the stage. Let alone the whole ‘I’M HERE AND LOUD, TAKE ME TO YOUR LEADER!’. Why couldn’t people just ask? So many dramatics...

“I’ve been looking for a reason to retire, and this seems to be as good as any. You all have fun with your new friend. Though...”

The alien hangs slightly in her turn to the door, and her gaze shifts to the almost clique-like gaggle of Legion. It seems to rest on Nasira, of all individuals, as if deigning her the leader of said pack.

“If you end up killing him, feel free to bring his corpse back to my lab. I’d just love to pick him apart, see what makes him tick.”

There’s something almost... grotesquely intoxicating in the way that last part is said, mentioning dissecting someone with such pleasure while they’re still around to hear. Let alone in earshot...

With that, Lindsay turns towards the door to leave, red fabric flowing behind like water.