The Funeral of Adair Askara.

by **Adair Askara** on October 20th, 2013, 4:14 am

Fall 32, 513 AV

Sweet Home Askara was brightly lit that evening. Candles burned in every window, and the gate was wide open. The first carriages had already started arriving when the suns had set, and now that it was completely dark the area in front of the house was crowded. Male slaves dressed in black suits welcomed every new arrival with similar words: „It’s good that you are here. Oh, it’s such a sad occasion. Who would have thought … the master’s cousin … he was still so young … it happened so suddenly ... the master is inconsolable …“

~~~

A slave would take the visitors into the house, into what was normally used as a ballroom. There the first signs that this was not a normal funeral could be seen. The slaves in this room didn’t wear plain, black and boring suits. They had covered their faces with frightening masks, their chests (these slaves were male as well) were bare and painted with black ornaments, and they wore long black skirts. Black and red curtains covered the walls. The tables that stood there were made of black wood, with red table cloths and huge black candle holders.

A dozen different kinds of food could be found on them and countless bottles of wine. There was cake as well, chocolate cake that was decorated with red cherries so that it fit the time of the evening. In the very center of the room stood a wooden coffin on a pedestal, the coffin of Adair Askara who had passed away so suddenly, the slaves explained.

There was another piece of furniture of note in the room as well. Behind the coffin, against the wall a black chair that looked almost like a throne had been placed. This was where the special guest of the evening would sit, the slaves explained before they started murmurring again. Oh it was such a sad day, such a very sad day…

by **Estrellir Konrath** on October 21st, 2013, 12:04 pm

As the second daughter of the Konrath family head, Estrellir arrived in complete darkness and well after many lesser Dynasty members had assembled. Etiquette required it and the Konti wasn't powerful enough to get away with a violation. Not that she cared. Not exactly.

For the funeral of an Askara, although a peculiar occasion, Estrellir came as a Konrath representative, not in disguise. She'd borrowed a simple black silk dress that ended slightly above the knee and revealed her shoulders, held in place by thin silver straps. Her hair was collected in a single braid, although a few strands had loosened here and there. Although she'd arrived by carriage, she was wearing leather boots for comfort. Most funerals were long and tedious affairs, so she'd dismissed the thought of fancy heels immediately. A black hat adorned with a bouquet of subdued and dark flowers (whether real or fake was hard to tell) covered her head and flattened her locks. Slender fingers were concealed in black gloves. At first they stung, rubbing against the delicate webbing, but after a few moments the sensation faded. Estrellir was used to wearing gloves. Still, the opalescent scales on her shoulders, back and legs revealed what she was.

She arrived late, but not as late as to indicate disrespect. The Askaras were the oldest and most traditional family, after all. Words of welcome were uttered as she crossed the threshold, quite exaggerated and uselessly emotional to the Konti's cold mind. Nevertheless, she allowed to be led into the ballroom. The exotic fashion sense that had dressed the slaves took her breath away for a moment. Of course, the Askaras were also known for their eccentric ways and customs...

First of all, Estrellir started a walk around the entire room, taking in the offered food, drink and other attractions. With slice of chocolate cake in one hand and a small fork in the other, she wandered over to the coffin. Was it open, allowing a glimpse on the peaceful corpse, or was it closed, the lid ornamented by symbols and pictures? Then she'd turn to the next slave. “Indeed, very sad. He passed away suddenly, you say? But what was the reason exactly?” A hint of sympathy could be heard as her brow furrowed.

The coffin and the throne... How intriguing indeed.

by **Alexandre Askara** on October 25th, 2013, 1:18 am

All seemed surprisingly still out in the halls, but the quiet Askara wasn't going to complain. He sat in his comfortable chair by the fireplace where a warm blaze burned. The logs snapped and hissed as their bodies were consumed in the dancing heat. It cast haunting shadows across his long, dark room. The light was constantly shifting and morphing, flirting with the blackness in an ancient courtship. One could not be without the other. His elbows rested on the cushioned arms of his seat, and he sat low against the back, with his long legs stretched out in front of him and his ankles crossed. Piles of books and papers littered the old polished wood floor around him in a literal mountain of work. Opened ink vials with their quills dipped inside waited to be picked up so that he may resume one of the many articles that he had on pause.

Alexandre stroked his lower lip with the edge of a well-kept thumb nail, lost deep in thought. The eyes that haunted all of his dreams watched from above the fireplace, captured forever in a portrait of her face. Today, he couldn't seem to get her out of his head. When he tried to write, every word turned into her name. Everyone's handwriting was her handwriting. His room smelled like her. Deep down, he tried to tell himself he was hallucinating. But the large part of him that now controlled much of his life - the part of him that couldn't or just wouldn't let go - ignored the logical thought. His mask lay atop the small side table next to his armchair, not currently needed. The left side of his face was warm in the firelight, and the memory of his skin burning and the smell of cooking flesh made his spine tingle uneasily. But he didn't turn away.

The right side - the unscarred side - was cast in shadow, which he found rather ironic. It almost made him smile. Footsteps passed by his door, and he listened to them retreat down the hall to the stairs. It was nearly a bell later before he heard any more movement outside. The click of his lock made him look up, but not in alarm. Only he, Cross, and Banjemin had access to this room, but his cousin respected his privacy enough to stay well away and not intrude, so that left Cross. The slave that had raised him alongside his mother entered the room quietly, locking the door behind him. "What are you wearing?" was the first thing out of Alexandre's mouth. Cross, looked at himself with distaste, but crossed the room before speaking. "They are having a funeral service downstairs. A showing."

The Askara's interest was automatically piqued. "A showing?" Cross nodded. "Who died?" The Myrian looked uncomfortable and uncertain. "Your cousin. Adair." Alexandre's jaw actually dropped. "Adair is dead?" he whispered. "Why are you only telling me now?" His voice was like ice laced with a fire, and he slowly rose from his chair. "That is because," Cross answered calmly, eye to eye with his Master, "I have only just found out myself. It seems to have been very sudden." Alexandre snorted at the obviousness of that statement, but the Myrian ignored him. "This is how I have been told to dress, and I am to serve the guests. I've brought you a cloak and mask so that you may go downstairs without drawing attention to yourself. Just look...," he paused, trying to think of a good word. "Try to look like a nobody."

Alexandre donned the cloak and mask quickly, pulling its deep hood down low to keep his already covered face in shadow. It was a plain red mask, with the eyes cut out and nostril holes for him to breathe through. It was sculpted into the face of the man, and that was all. The cloak was heavy, high quality black cotton that brushed the floor around his feet. It would cover him front and back easily, and had two tiers. He pulled it tight around his shoulders and glanced at Cross, who nodded his approval. Of course it was an unnatural disguise, but this was an Askara event. Everything was abnormal, which at the moment he was thankful for. Alexandre left the room first and gracefully ascended the stairs. He immersed himself in the crowd of guests making their way into the two-toned ballroom.

Everything was black and red, from floor to ceiling. He wanted to roll his eyes, but zeroed in on the casket at the far side of the room. A throne was behind it, which he barely noticed. All attention was on that box. Adair. How could this even be real? Hadn't he just heard his cousin shouting annoying nonsense around the house just the other day? And had to listen to him gallop through the halls like a untrained animal? Alexandre gravitated closer through the crowd - just another black figure in the mass of dark-clothed mourners. Slaves all dressed like Cross were catering to the visitors, but he ignored them. Could this be another one of his cousin's little tricks, only not-so-little? Adair had been too full of life to die in just a day's time. His eyebrows furrowed and his eyes narrowed.

by **Jaadis Sitai** on October 25th, 2013, 7:08 pm

“I doubt you’ll get much out of this lot.” A voice would advise when Estrellir had posed her question to the Askara slave. “The suits will dance to whatever tune their master plays, and truth be damned.” And then there she was, wafting in an aromatic wave of roses, beautiful as a flame. Jaadis Sitai had the most wonderful smile.

It had been a cloudy day, but no pall could darken this lady. Like Estrellir, Jaadis was dressed for the occasion. The dress she wore was black satin, short and sheer, showing everything and revealing nothing. Silk gloves and low boots of a similar discolor cloaked Jaadis’s hands and feet respectively. The scarf that artfully draped across her shoulders and upper back was purest white, and the silvered rose hanging from her pretty white neck continued the monochromatic theme. Even the fiery red tresses of which Jaadis was so proud of were bound and netted today, caught up tight in a black silk caul.

The scion of Sitai gave a throaty laugh as she slipped her arm through Estrellir’s. Jaadis gave the konti’s hand a squeeze and whispered, “It has been so long, dearest…it’s a shame we had to meet again under such sad circumstances.” The smile on Jaadis’s face turned wry.

The fiery-haired young dynastic had arrived at sundown, drawn not be societal whims but by curiosity. The Askaras and the Sitai were (presently) on good terms, but beyond smiles and small talk she did not know any personally. Jaadis hadn’t been planning on coming to this memorial at all, in fact, and would have been happy to let her cousins and/or her uncle represent the Sitai…however, once she had heard it was Adair who had died, she had drawn up a carriage at once.

Jaadis still remembered the first time she had passed through the slender dark door of Askara Ink - and indeed, even as Jaadis stood there, admiring the funereal proceedings, the evidence of her visit was revealed in the trellis of her naked arm. From beneath the jet black sleeve a tattooed confection of greenery, all flower and vine, peeked out, a taste of Adair’s artistry immortalized on skin. Jaadis well remembered the man she had paid to ink her, and what a character he had been. Theatrical? Of course. But willing to break all the rules? Oh yes…understandably, it was this experience that both drew her in and colored her language chary.

“I hope whatever Adair has planned, it starts soon,” Jaadis said under her breath to Estrellir. The Sitai sent a sideways glance at the Konrath debutante and smiled again. She explained: “Adair always had a flair for the dramatic, and I doubt a little thing like death would stop him…oh, he most definitely has something planned.”

by **Katherine Morealis** on November 10th, 2013, 4:55 pm

The skies were already dark above Kenash when her carriage arrived at Sweet Home Askara. Katherine stepped down the platform, clad in black silk garments. Her dress was elegantly somber; the skirt flowing in layers to her knees, showing off her long stockinged legs. Her arms were fully covered in dark lace, and her creamy neck adorned with a delicate choker of lace and silk. She let most of her lush bronze hair down, but the upper layers were pinned to the back of her head with a hair brooch. Katherine dressed well, but she chose to dress discreetly for the solemn occasion.

A funeral. It was what she had expected to see when she agreed to represent the Morealis family. But when she cast her eyes around the large hall, the only thing that remarked her as part of a typical service was the coffin and the general dark motif of the place. To her, the slaves' outfit were utterly ridiculous. If she had not been informed that this was a funeral beforehand, Katherine would have thought that this was another one of the Askara's bizarre taste for a ball... or was it?

Katherine waded through the crowd, trying to mask that morbid curiousity with an expression of sympathy and sorrow. At least she thought that she looked the part of a sorrowful mourner. Truth be told, Katherine did not personally know the person whose funeral she was currently attending. She only knew him by name, an Adair Askara, one of the many queer members of his equally strange family.

She wished she had come here with somebody; even her sad excuse for a brother would do. As she searched the faces of the people gathered for the sad occassion, Katherine realised that there was no one in the room that shared a relationship with her beyond acquaintances. There was no one to complain to for the duration of the evening.

As she got closer to the coffin -that rectangular box which supposedly held the recently departed Adair Askara's remains- she noticed a peculiar piece of furniture that she had not noticed when she first entered the hall. There, sitting against the wall just behind the coffin, was a black chair. It closely resembled a throne, Katherine silently mused to herself. When she asked one of the passing slaves what the chair was for, he answered that it was for the special guest. Askara's Head, Banjemin, immediately came to mind. However, with the Askaras, you never really knew.

by **Adair Askara** on November 14th, 2013, 3:15 pm

The coffin that stood on the pedestal was closed. It was a very fine coffin made of wood so dark that it nearly seemed to be black. It was covered with intricate carvings that seemed to show harmless scenes of Kenash. If you looked closer though, you could see demons with horns and wings and cloven hooves between the houses and trees and all the harmless religious pictures. This was clearly not a normal coffin, but then Adair Askara had not been a normal man. The strange tastes of the Askara family were well known throughout Kenash.

The cake though was normal. No, it wasn’t exactly normal, it was delicious, sweet, but not so sweet that one’s teeth would hurt. It tasted exactly like cake was supposed to taste like, just as the wine tasted like wine and the juice like juice. Nothing was spoiled, nothing was poisoned, and nobody had secretly slipped drugs that would make people behave strangely into the food (although it had been tempting). This should be at least a small comfort.

The slave that Estrellir approached wore a demon mask, like all the other slaves. He was slender and had straight black hair (the mask didn’t cover the entire head). To Alexandre the voice that could be heard from behind the mask should be familiar. It was the Vantha that helped his cousin in his shop sometimes (and also did other things for him). He sounded as if he was on the brink of a mental break down. He sounded so very, very sad.

„Master Adair died of a broken heart“, he told the Konti and sniffed a little. „It was one of the Morealis boys I think who decided not to return his love any longer. In his despair Master Adair drank poison. When I went to check on him in the morning, he was lying in his bed motionlessly. I called a doctor, but he could not be saved.“

He stepped towards the coffin and raised his voice once more, „I will open the coffin now so that you can take one last look at Master Adair and say goodbye to him. Do not worry, his corpse has been cleaned so that he looks as if he were only sleeping.“

He gestured for the people around him to come closer and opened the coffin …

by **Shayna** on November 22nd, 2013, 6:06 pm

From outside came a small figure scurrying up the steps, her tiny frame might have marked her a child until one was able to see the freckled face of the black haired woman. Not quite reaching even five foot tall sometimes drew unwanted attention to Shayna, but usually only for the briefest of moments before the ridge of her slave brand on her face turned their attention away. Her brand, three pillars crested with a diamond, marked her as a slave in the house Morealis. More specifically the slave of Katherine Morealis, which might be why her hair is not pulled back in the efficient if sloppy ponytail.

In deference to her Mistress' seemingly preoccupation with appearances, the slave had combed out her long black hair that still tried to curl against her will around her shoulders and back, until it was almost smooth. If it was a little uneven Shayna didn't think it would be glaringly obvious that it was, her clothing was the serviceable but neat skirt and blouse that her Mistress had given her to wear that disastrous night the twit Iora had taken ill or something forcing Shayna to work in the philtering lab for her Mistress.

If she was nervous about being here she hid it well, using all her skill at keeping her thoughts and feelings from her face that she could. Inside she was nothing more then a quivering mass of nerves. Mistress Katherine had not sent for her, but she had been sent after her Mistress. A message and an order in the form of a request to give to Katherine the message that she was needed home early for a meeting of sorts, and to try and make sure that Katherine did not cause too much of a ruckus. Shayna trembled a little at the thought of what she would have to do if her Mistress' temper started to light. Shayna had had a taste of that temper, her hands mostly healed though tiny scars in her joints where the thin skin had split was a testament.

Her oddly colored green eyes survey the crowd, picking up the visages of different people automatically her mind stored notes away. It was an instinct that she had honed in her years being trained on the breeding farm she had been reared on. The slight touch the woman gave to that man's elbow, the secretive glance spoke of an affair to Shayna, the cold smile that never reached the eyes between two greeting dynasty members spoke of grudges. All these things could come in handy, if Shayna used the nuggets of information correctly. People rarely recalled a slave passing through a room so often they acted as if no one was there. Which was silly because the slave gossip mill was atrocious.

Tonight she knew exactly whose funeral Katherine was attending, and even whispers of how he had died. Shayna, perhaps alone other then the man himself, knew who Adair had been secretly seeing. Considering she caught the man sneaking out of his room. Finally she caught sight of Katherine, and she took a deep breath and moved across the room deftly side stepping servants and slaves, deferentially inclining her neck whenever a Dynasty brat looked her way.

Moving up behind Katherine, her feet quiet on the floor for she did not want to disrespect the funeral goers, Shayna stops at her Mistress' elbow, still a little behind her. Her chin lifts, no matter if she had earned her Mistresss' wrath she was not going to duck her head foolishly. Her eyes did not travel up though, instead she keeps her focus somewhere on Katherine's jaw line. It wouldn't do to seem to be aggressive with her, even with something so simple as meeting a gaze.

"Mistress Katherine." Shayna says quietly, from her position to the left and slightly behind the woman. "Forgive me for the intrusion. But I was sent to you with a message from your father." Her words are soft and deferential but she allowed her eyes to slide to the coffin. The man that was presumably within had shown her kindness in his own strange way, and to this day Shayna could not figure out the motive for that kindness.

by **Estrellir Konrath** on December 3rd, 2013, 5:41 pm

The answer came promptly. The slave seemed not merely sad, but desperate, as if he'd be ready to join his master anytime. Estrellir simply nodded and shot another glance at the polished wood.

Suddenly enveloped by a voice of female silk, she turned away from the coffin. The sight she faced was a less sinister one, although that didn't mean much to the reasonable Konti. Death was a part of life, not its opposite. Her race lived long enough to understand that. The other woman had chosen a similar outfit for the occasion, but in contrast her locks shone bright as a flame. Where Estrellir was a perfect image of monochrome, that woman knew how to play with specks of color.

As the woman took her hand and showered her in hollow pleasantries, reminiscent of a pretty songbird, Estrellir neither protested nor agreed. At first she gave herself over to the white hands of that strange beauty and used the next moment to concentrate. The woman's appearance didn't suggest it in the slightest, but her sense pointed towards the Sitai. A girl too fair to belong claiming heritage, hadn't she heard...?

Estrellir relied on instinct a lot, so that tiny hunch was enough. “It is a pleasant surprise to meet you again...” Dark eyes flickered towards the tattoo. As a detective, she'd done her homework a long time ago. “Was he a good friend of yours?” A handful of words served to push them into the elaborate game of social niceties and pleasantries, mirroring emotion while being aware of its lack in the endless game they were playing. Like children quarreling and plotting to get the favored toy in the end, to get their revenge on those opposing them... Estrellir felt tired and went rather limp in the human's arms, but then the ecstasy of the spider resurrected her spirits. After all, that was the position she excelled at.

“Something does seem strange,” she agreed in a low voice. “As if everything we see and hear was part of an elaborate set-up. I suppose we're caught in a play and surrounded by fictional characters. If you look closely, you notice how stiff it is.” Only when speaking the words did she realize herself. They were walking on the stage, feet firmly planted in a tale.

The slave spoke again and Estrellir took a step back towards the coffin. How strange, she mused, that a slave would be heartbroken by the death of one who commanded them and bound their lives! Too many hints – now what did they add up to? Forgetting the Sitai at her arm, she leaned forward.

by **Vice** on April 3rd, 2014, 12:14 am

Estrellir Konrath :

Adair Askara, Alexandre Askara, Jaadis Sitai, Katherine Morealis, and Shayna :

Comments: A shame the thread never finished :/ If any of the four of you decide to return, please PM me for your grades.

Estrellir: If you have any questions or concerns regarding your grade, do not hesitate to ask! We'll discuss my reasons for assigning what was given. If you still don't agree, then perhaps something can be worked out.

Enjoy! Also, please mark the thread as 'graded' in the grading queue, please.

Open The Funeral of Adair Askara.