#bgevent

— Truth be told, Natalya wasn’t terribly excited to be here when she arrived in Italy. She wasn’t quite sure why she needed to be present for negotiations between powers – negotiating was hardly her strong suit ( in fact, when it came to things Natalya wanted, it was often a case of her way or the highway ), and politics as a whole tended to bore her – she often found it better to leave these endeavours to her mother or her brother ( not that she was given much choice – it wasn’t as though anyone in the Russian courts trusted Natalya to navigate their relations with other powers, the fear that she would somehow make things much worse than they’d been to begin with no doubt plaguing them ). Nevertheless, her mother had insisted that Natalya and her fresh new fiancé ( who she was doing her very best to avoid ) come along for the trip to support their nation, though the very idea of such things made Natalya ill.

Of course, even she had to admit, the carnival was a nice touch. She’d visited Italy a few times in her youth and never cared much for it, but she could see the appeal now that her leash had been loosened ever so slightly so she could attempt to enjoy the festivities. Her family were no doubt off somewhere, scheming or colluding, as they were often want to do, but Natalya was determined to have a brief moment of reprieve before any real work began. While her family were all seemingly here to promote the betterment of Russia, Natalya had... ulterior motives. Her current goal was to do everything in her power to prevent her upcoming nuptials from going ahead – and though she may be no political strategist, she figured that someone here must be able to help her, in exchange for the right favours.

That, of course, was going to wait. Natalya had always rather enjoyed ice skating as a child ( Lord knows Russia, of all places, had enough frozen lakes in the winter to create the perfect environment for the sport ), but hadn’t participated in it in some time. Perhaps it was a remnant of her youth that she’d disentangled herself from – shedded away along with any innocence she’d once possessed, or perhaps she’d fallen one too many times and decided enough was enough and hung up the skates forever. Whatever the case, she figured there was no better way for her to find some peace and quiet and clear her head than by doing a few laps of the rink that had been set up as part of the carnival.

The sound of the Swiss trumpeting alarm airs panicked noise through the country as the disappearances of several important individuals was announced by the heralds of each relevant and affected nation. With the airs of spring perforating the skies, momentary disappearances are viewed as brief escapes or planned rendezvouses yet it is not long before gruesome discoveries are made. Lord David Douglas’ corpse is found first, floating in the river. Along with his death, several other bodies have been found in varied fashions of manslaughter, speaking volumes for the violence that the assailant hopes to invoke in the fleeting peace. Duke Ludovico Sforza is found, poisoned at his desk. The French, too, have lost a young soul in the person of Jacques de Valois, Viscount of Orléans, whose body s found in an open field, not too far from the orchids. Close by, in the honey gardens, are the bodies of Beyhan Hatun and Safiye Sultan, holding each other tight even in death but perhaps the worst discovery is one of Prince Pyotr of Bely, whose headless body is found in the wine cellars.

Diebold’s men have disembarked to each scene, looking to bring ease amongst the panic. There was surely foul play afoot and yet there were no fingers to point or clues to make from the deaths, which happen so suddenly that many within the vast stretch of castle grounds have yet to hear the full list of the departed. But despite the lost and uncertainty, another trumpet sounds to announce the arrival of one of Switzerland’s own sons.

On a pilgrimage to Rome, Diebold’s eldest son, Prince Loris of Neuchâtel had been travelling. Upon his return, he was seen accompanied by a ferocious man by his side ─ a madman, who opens his mouth to direct words are the Italians, especially those that he claimed to be his children. “Giulio, Francesco and Giovanna. My own flesh.” He says it loud enough for all to hear but who knew it his claims were true ? 

From behind, follow another three figures that leave onlookers gasping in confusion and shock. The Church’s dog, Lord Julius Orsini, arrives with three lost souls ─ each with their own truths to preach. The helmet resting on the knight’s head is removed, revealing the face of a woman who’s stark resemblance to the monarchs of Germany leave them in horrified realization. Whispers flow through the crowd : Elisabeth, who had once been declared made with grief, sobbing for hours as she declared that her firstborn was alive, now stood vindicated in terror-filled relief as she is faced with Princess Claudia Blanche, the eldest of the legitimate brood.

Another woman stands nearby, the Polish royal crest in her palm. She unravels a long parchment with the insignia of Sigismund’s deceased brother and the first heir of Poland ─ a marriage document, signed with his name and his wife, as well as the progeny that now stood before the crowd, in the flesh. Princess Helen Jagiellon of Poland, the lost and forgotten princess, has returned with a burning vengeance in her eyes. Dressed in the tradition garb of her mother’s homeland, she catches the eyes of those aligned with the Ottoman Coalition, interest sparking in her dark gaze.

And finally, a man believed to be dead has come from the grave with a snarl furling at his lip. An unforgettable face, matched with a familiar stance. Lord Simeon of Bely, the eldest son of the headless Pyotr and his late wife, greets Switzerland with murderous intent dressing his features. He bares his teeth at the Russians, eyes directed at the criminals who sit comfortably in their seats. They all thought him dead and buried, but he has returned, bringing hell on earth.

The Swiss Prince stands aside, nervously watching the four figures make their way towards their countrymen. The truth has become inevitable.

A NOTE FROM THE ADMINS

For our two month mark, the admin team is glad to be delving into something much deeper and darker with our plot. At this time, we will also be opening up spots for members to take their fourth and final character. However, in order to do so, the prospective member must contact the admins, with prior history of good activity ( across all three characters ) as well as consistent and accurate tracking of points and general character management. We will not be giving out the fourth character slots lightly and thus we hope those that chose to request for a fourth, take a careful consideration of who they select and are dedicated enough to develop the new character as much as the prior characters. For those who have not yet portrayed a POC canon in their current line up, the fourth character must be a POC.

With the new additions to our character list, the faceclaims for their roles will be ( 99% ) non-negotiable and are also plot heavy hitters that will require more in depth plotting and reading.  *We will be judging applications for these characters more harshly but for those who are extremely passionate in delving into some of the more complex plots available, we encourage you to apply and reach out with any questions during the application process.

Among all of this carnage, Pyotr’s concern was not for others. There were people far more suited to heroics and tending to the injured than he. In all his years of military service, he had fought through worse bloodshed than this, seen larger explosions take more lives. If this was some attempt to destroy the great houses of the world, then it was a failure. It was shock tactics meant to frighten women and children and, for now, he was more concerned with gauging the safety of his little family before counting heads from a safe distance. More could be gained from this - whatever this is - if he remained cool-headed and, most importantly, alive. 

Therefore, from the observation stands where the panic unfolded, Pyotr slipped away, shoving others aside in a determination to reach the safety of the castle walls. Naturally, he was not the only one to do so. Amid the racket, others of varying rank ran with him. Like-minded fellows, he thought, sensible in their priorities. 

Preparations  still  await  to  be  completed  as  the  morning  of  the  sixteenth  day  of  the  fourth  moon  begins  with  the  breaking  of  dawn,  coloring  the  skies  in  a  bright,  yolk - thick  vibrancy  that  rouses  occupants  of  all  three  castles  from  fleeting  slumber  as  the  highly  anticipated  day  stirs  vivacity  among  the  masses.  Horse - trodden  paths  between  the  three  residences,  once  heavily  patrolled  with  the  precautionary  measures  necessitated  to  ensure  safety  between  all  factions,  remain  clear  of  foot  soldiers  who  were  now  replaced  with  standard  bearers  carrying  the  banners  of  the  Ottoman  Empire  and  Germany,  colors  intertwined  upon  cloth.  Trumpeting,  three  heralds  call  for  attention  from  all  those  that  would  listen  to  begin  the  gathering  at  the  castle  of  Sasso  Corbaro,  ushering  in  guests  from  all  sides  of  the  faction  to  account  for  the  Duchess’s  vast  array  of  friends  and  extended  family  members.  The  wedding  procession  begins  with  the  entourages  of  both  bride  and  groom  departing  from  the  quarters  of  their  respective  countries,  through  the  halls  of  the  castle  to  eventually  gather  at  the  small  chapel  which  now  serves  as  mutual,  sacred  ground  between  the  two  faiths.

In  the  spirit  of  unity,  the  ceremony  is  appropriately  themed  around  a  fusion  of  Ottoman  and  Germanic  traditions,  considering  the  cultures  of  both  bridge  and  groom,  incorporated  into  the  festivities  to  further  emphasize  the  peaceful  union.  In  line  with  the  fashions  of  Europe,  the  bride  dons  a  gown  of  blue  as  a  symbol  of  her  purity,  cementing  a  statement  for  the  rest  of  the  wedding  to  follow  suit.  Jewel - toned  blues  are  used  to  decorate  Sasso  Corbaro,  with  shades  of  gold  interlaced  in  the  detailing  to  symbolize  grandeur  and  prosperity.  The  splendor  of  the  ceremony  is  heightened  by  liberal  use  of  floral  arrangements  in  complementary  shades,  with  roses  being  the  most  prominent  through  splashes  of  seasonal  wildflowers.

Though  the  marriage  is  blessed  by  a  Lutheran  priest  in  accordance  to  the  faith  of  Germany,  the  ceremony  itself  and  the  religious  rites  entailed  are  conducted  in  the  Islamic  faith.  Both  religious  and  legal  requirements  are  carefully  observed,  with  readings  taken  from  the  Quran  before  the  groom  motions  to  kiss  the  bride  ─  three  times  on  the  cheek  and  once  on  the  forehead,  as  is  customary  to  the  faith.  After  the  ceremony  comes  to  a  completion,  Friederike  declares  her  intention  to  convert  to  the  Islamic  faith,  the  religion  of  her  new  husband  and  of  any  children  that  may  be  born  of  their  union.

Behind  closed  doors,  legal  papers  are  drawn  to  finalize  the  decision  and  a  new  name  is  chosen  by  the  bride,  though  she  will  always  be  known  as  Friederike  (  or,  more  affectionately,  Friedi  )  to  her  nearest  and  dearest.

After  the  pair  emerges  from  the  legal  proceedings,  the  true  festivities  begin.  Guests  are  offered  a  choice  between  a  European  feast  that  Westerners  may  be  more  familiar  with,  interspersed  with  German  dishes such  as  Sauerbraten,  or  a  more  flavorsome  spread  from  the  Ottoman  Empire,  featuring  smoked  meat  and  an  array  of  sweets.  The  music  that  fills  the  halls  is  distinctly,  uniquely,  Ottoman  in  nature,  played  on  the  kemence,  kanun  and  kadum  while  shadowplays  and  meddah  amuse  those  who  wish  the  newlyweds  well.  The  tales  weaved  by  these  story  tellers  are  not  familiar  to  those  who  hail  from  the  Ottoman  Empire,  however,  drawing  inspiration  from  Germanic  folklore  instead  ─  another  clear  merger  of  the  couple’s  origins.  With  the  scent  of  meats  and  sweets  in  the  air,  fluted  music  soothing  the  ear,  the  celebrations  promise  to  continue  well  into  the  night,  washing  away  all  doubts  of  the  union  and  invoking  respect  from  the  gathered  countries  as  a  new,  joined  force  arises  from  the  marriage.

CONCLUSION

Congratulation  ─  our  first  wedding  plot  has  been  purchased  by  Shay  and  Henry  and  now  fully  rolls  into  effect  !

Please  note  that  the  wedding  will  be  taking  place,  in  character,  on  the  16th  of  April,  1559.

This  plot  drop  will  last  for  an  entire  week,  out  of  character,  from  the  16th  of  April  (  12:40PM,  GMT-4  )  till  the  23rd  of  April  (  12:40PM,  GMT-4  ).

Characters  are  mandated  to  plot  and  write  threads  in  response  to  the  wedding,  either  being  in  attendance  or  purposefully  choosing  not  to  attend  due  to  personal  reasons.  Regular  threads  are  permitted  to  continue  in  this  time  but  we  ask  that  priority  be  placed  on  the  current  plot  and  references  should  be  made  on  the  union,  as  it  will  be  known  throughout  the  three  different  castles  and  the  two  different  factions.

there lingers an air of anticipation as the morning of the third day of the second month in 1559 breaks over the snow capped mountains of switzerland, rousing the bodies of both highborn and lowborn from their deep slumbers to address the last day of the successful neuchatel fair with growing excitement. the courtyards of montebello are slowly filled with even more wears, fares and raw produce than ever since in the days prior as merchants from all the attending countries work to empty out their temporary stores to conduct a clearance of all persihable goods before the festivities are due to end. yet even in this, there lies an element of competition as the more ❛ generous ❜ of countries decide to offer their bountiful stores of food to the passersby, each neighboring land, allied or hostile, then refusing to be outdone by the other as good intentions are contorted in pride.

at the chinese tents, firemasters dressed in the cream-and-gold garb of switzerland carry crates upon crates of straw-cushioned bamboo and paper tubes, wheeling out the racks and preparing the fuses as visitors from all across the known world settle into their seats for dinner and a display of lights in the evening skies. the green men work to keep the nobility entertained with cartwheels and comedy as the erected tents are slowly disassembled behind the dining crowd. a hush falls upon the crowd as the fire pits are dimmed, children tucked close against the sides of their parents when the food is cleared and the firemasters begin their show of lights.

the first bamboo and paper tube ignites with a startling noise that sends a wave of shock through the crowds, both within and without the confines montebello castle as wide-eyed gazes reflect the array of golden and orange and red sparks dancing in the dark night sky. distantly, a babe cries in immediate response to the sudden commotion but the cries are quickly swallowed by a quick commencement of claps and laughter till only glee fills the courtyard, ring-adorned hands pointing towards the skies and mouth parted into gasps over the art made upon heaven’s canvas. behind the noise, servants and merchants alike are heavily laden with boxes and packages that are meant to be carried into the stables and carriage yards of montebello, peoples from differing countries now working together with tireless determination to pack the tents and unsold produce back into the wagons and cages as each monarchy is due to return to their respective faction-divided castles on that very evening. nursemaids rush forward to soothe the perturbed children, guiding royal babes back to the temporary lodgings within king diebold’s castle as a few lingering ambassadors forsake paper and ink for the festivities outside with arms wrapped around shoulders, friendship thick and ripe in the air.

( it is this image that will forever be burned into the retinas of some as the repeated, thundering sounds of ignited fireworks masks the steps of the devil within their midst. )

timed to perfection, the opposite ends of the castle shake with heavy quakes. the motions goes unnoticed by those gathered in the courtyard as the exploding pyrotechnics conceals the sounds of frantic horses and collapsing columns. the unfamiliar commotion in the skie means that it takes a few moments for even the hired mercenaries of king diebold to discern that anything was amiss but the sight of smoke and loose horses fleeing the scene sends a rush of guards and servants to the burning stables on one end and the destroyed carriage yard on the other, where two small but impactful explosions had been set off, masked by the display in the heavens. what greats the eye is enough to send chills down the back of any seasoned soldier ─ once neatly packed, crates of silks and works of art are now strewn across the rubble. thick smoke fills the air and perforates the lungs, forcing them to double over into harsh coughs and beneath the burning planks of wood and chunks of brick, parts of destroyed bodies are discovered, charred and ripped to piece ; both human and animal, intermingled like a grotesque mockery.

within the courtyard, the last of the fireworks are ignited in one long fuse, creating an array of lights as bright as the sun within the night skies and the cheers of the crowd nearly drown out the screams as more and more people happen upon the disastrous scene. servants flee from the destroyed stables, horses kick their way into the once-peaceful courtyard and like a match, panic ripples through the gathered nobility as shouts of death and treachery and danger are reverberated through the crowd. what commences is nothing short of a stampede as the hired mercenaries of the swiss king are overrun but the rush of panicking royals, nobility and wild animals, now set loose by the unforeseen attack. there lingers very little semblance of morality or dignity among the monarchs when lives are at stake and this is further evidenced by the careless pushing and pulling of one another into danger as each individual battles to get to safety within the palace walls. bodies are thrown to the ground, families are separated and the fire pits, which one warmed the frames of those gathered around in peace, fall to the floors and ignite wood and canvas, painting a fearsome picture that marks the end of the neuchatel fair.

though the grasp of winter begins to thaw some five or six days after the montebello attacks, the ground remains too hard to break through with a shovel, hidden beneath several inches of flurried ice even as the first buds of spring peek forth from the snow-capped trees in shades of greens and pinks and reds. the religious sisters of switzerland flock to the castle in their white and black habits, embalming the dead and packing snow against the walls of the chapel of rest, tireless in their duty to persevere the bodies whilst the switzer king worked towards finding the perpetrator behind such an unprecedented attack. the chroniclers would go on to lamenting the dead, reciting verses upon verses of waxed poetics for the deceased that ranged from fresh green lads to wizened patriarch, from underfoot innocents to duteous men whose bodies now laid, awaiting proper burials yet it is the entrapped nobility that haunt the halls of the castle, a solemn silence descending upon the once jovial gathering. tempers only rise when the swiss mercenaries storm through their royal ranks as if they were but petty thieves, awaiting judgement ─ each individual is separated and then heavily interrogated by the king’s men. not even the injured are spared from this scrutiny, broken and still-healing bodies carried into the king’s private council rooms to be interviewed.  

stories collide with falsified news and paranoid accusation, a hundred versions of the same night leading the swiss guards on a wild goose chase that narrows down the blame onto the shoulders of three main countries, now placed under immense scrutiny. the ming empire of china lingers upon the tongues of many, the only common attribute in the stories that speak of thunderous fireworks in the skies that masked the first tremors of the explosion. some more religious folk, spurned into fervor by the sudden attack, place accountability upon the laps of those from the ottoman empire ─ an easy assumption to make as infidels from the east now seem foreign and barbaric to the pious. in return, the amount of deaths from the ottoman faction lead several fingers to point towards the catholic monarchs of spain and the holy roman empire, whose families and household staff remained largely unaffected by the attacks, most either kept safe indoors or away from the worst of the injuries.

in the end, it takes the drunken ramblings of a serving girl to lay the blame upon lord gaufrid neuchâtel of bern. the name sends an uproar through the gathered royals, a riot nearly occurring within the castle walls itself as kings and emperors from across the known world demand answers from the hosting king. as cousin to diebold, gaufrid was prepared to be regent over the young neuchâtel heir should anything befall the switzer king, effectively putting the overlooked lord in complete control over the power of switzerland’s troops. unlike his name, which, when placed together, means ❛ territory of peace ❜, the cousin of the king was known to be heavily and vocally discontent with his lot in life, thus his involvement in the peace treaty came as a surprise to be swiss royals, who had been lulled into a false sense of security by the conniving man.

all eyes draw towards the accused as the guards drag him before the king in the burnt remnants of montebello’s courtyard. those standing closest to diebold would say that the king trembled as he spoke the words that would condemn his kin to death by torture and execution, the furs of his large cloak dragging on the floor as he spun away, unable to watch as the herald announced the manner of punishments that would be dealt to the culprit before the mercy was death was bestowed. those with the stomach of such unpleasantries were invited to watch as justice was served but the gates of montebello begin to draw open for each respective faction to return to their allotted castles and mourn for their dead, with proper burials and funeral services being planned for the following few weeks.

to many, justice seems to have been served in the form of a most unexpected criminal though the visiting royals now grow suspicious of the swiss king, doubtful of his ability to maintain peace between the warring countries when he struggled to keep harmony within his own home. yet none are permitted to leave the cold grounds of switzerland without first meeting with the king and none wish to draw attention to themselves by fleeing earlier, each country bound by pride and determination to prove their innocence, now more than ever.

CONCLUSION 

thank you to everyone who has participated in our first event thus far ! it has officially ended with the torture and execution of the criminal lord, gaufrid neuchâtel and the gates of montebello are now open for our characters to return to their respective castles as life attempts to return to normalcy. the next few weeks will be filled with funeral services and burials for the deceased as spring begins to settle upon switzerland. 

for those of you who are just beginning your event threads or are in the middle of these threads, please feel free to continue until the conclusion but refrain from making any new threads actively reacting to the attack as it has been a week in-game since it has occurred ! we are so happy to see so much love and enthusiasm from all of you and we promise even more fun things in the future. keep your eyes peeled for the next installment of bloodlessglory’s juicy plots ! until then, for any further questions or concerns, you are more than welcomed to reach out to us !

as the first day of festivities and an evening of merriment dies down, the second morning of the fair rises with a similar excitement as the courtyard of montebello, its titles and greenery more commonly speckled with snowfall, is now hidden beneath the heavy foot traffic as noble visitants from all corners of the known world enjoy themselves within the erected tents, purchasing new clothing and foreign food displayed within the small stalls. the cacophony of crying salesmen, huffing beasts and laughing customers allows no room for doubt that the initiative proposed by the swiss king had been a successful one, and it had only just begun. chroniclers from all the cantons of switzerland scribe down the fruits of king diebold’s efforts on careful letters to their respective liege lords, to assure the continuous loyalty and pivotal support for the neuchatel monarchy, watching as the last of the participants rush to the list boards by the athletic fields.

        the array of contestant differ in more than just their country of origin ─ green and mature, men and woman, nobility and royalty, were all made the same for everyone longed to boast of their physical prowess through friendly matches made with those who, not even a year prior, were met with hostility in larger, blood-drenched fields.

at midday of the twenty-eighth, the king himself receives the list of names from the scribes, ever-jovial as his eyes skim through the names of different nationalities and in different penmanships. with a hearty sigh of relief, followed closely by a beaming grin, king diebold announces the first contestants of each sport in a booming voice, nodding in approval before allowing his herald to continue in the calling and matching of each long anticipated match. the swiss king offers the best of luck to each and everyone participating in the games, enthusiasm flooding his robust frame as he garners a peak of the lush gifts to be awarded to the winners. there is a small hesitation to his gait as he moves to step down from the pedestal, as if he has merely forgotten one last announcement, eyes traveling across the crowd gathered by the edge of the podium as he reminds all his guests that this is a peace event and that sharp weapons, harsh words and violent intent must all be forgotten before one enters the ring.

        ( or else, remains his cutting, unsaid advice, as his exit from the stage gives room to yet another joyous performance, drawing the minds of the dignitaries away from their strange host. )