Question Mark?
Member
|
The stage is set. It is an ancient theatre, obviously opulent and beautiful within its time, but now decrepit and frightening. The terraces are empty, and filled with faded tapestries, once vibrant and beautiful. The stage is engraved with vast and ornate woodwork, representing the sea and some sort of squid. The predominant colors of the old theatre, it seems, were black and aquamarine, with teal accents. A strange nautical design, slightly off in proportion, decorates the majority of the cobweb draped furniture. Atop the vast and ornate stage stand The Ringmaster, dressed in a dapper but tattered suit of black and orange.
“Lights”
A single spotlight shines down upon the madman.
“Welcome, one and all, to the Carnival of Sorrows. I hope that you will enjoy your stay. The performance tonight will be separated into three acts. The first: Professor Pythagoras and his Perilous Puppetry. There will then be a brief intermission, within which you may converse amongst yourselves, and the second act will begin. This will comprise a variety of acrobatic stunts and an exquisite theatre piece by the Tragicomic Theatre Troupe. Although you may not have heard their name before, you will be quite familiar with the cast embers. I am sure of it. Finally, we will conclude our performance with the Grand Finale, within which I will call up one of You, yes YOU, to perform an act of bravery and glory. As the show concludes, whomever has survived, err, remained for the entire performance, may return to the theatre entrance to claim their ticket stubs. If you perish, err, leave unexpectedly, the objects remain here. Now, ladies and gentlemen, without any further ado...”
The lights are blinding, and by the time they focus, illuminating only the stage, The Ringmaster is gone. The stage is draped with a tattered backdrop, representing a whimsical forest. Slowly, somewhere, haunting crystal music begins to play, hinting at childlike wonder and hidden secrets, of lyre-playing sylphs and ancient tombs, beneath damp and shaded ground. The puppets enter. They are marvelously realistic marionettes, representing medieval villagers of a sort. If you couldn’t see the glint of the strings, you would swear that they were real. The room is pitch dark now, and dusty, and the only light comes from the vast and beautiful stage. The puppets flail about, and one, who appears to be a knight holds up an image of a fearsome creature. The other puppets gasp in horror, but a small boy steps forward, brave, and wielding a blade far too large for him. The young boy’s face looks remarkably familiar though. You are sure that you have seen it somewhere before. Suddenly it dawns upon you. It is the face of Drakkoniss. The knight laughs, as do the other villagers, and he reveals the name of the best that had so terrified the others.
“Jabberwocky.”
The boy appears startled, but puffs out his chest and readies is blade. The knight looks weary, but points out toward the depths of the forest. He speaks, in a voice that is more familiar than anyone would like to admit, although the speaker is nowhere to be seen. This puppeteer is a better ventriloquist than most. The puppets are almost life-sized too. It must take quite a few fellows to manipulate those things.
“Beware the Jabberwock my son, jaws that bite and claws that catch! Beware the JubJub bird, and shun the frumious Bandersnatch!”
The music picks up now, haunting but energized, hinting at a coming darkness. The scenery shifts, and the boy sits within the forest, leaning his back against a large tree, pushed on to the stage by unseen hands. Suddenly, the music strikes a minor chord, and in comes the Jabberwocky. The puppet is vast, far larger than any of the others, and spews fog from its wooden mouth. Out of the corner of your eye you can see the ringmaster sitting at a warped and darkened grand piano, spewing forth grim yet beautiful music.
The Jabberwocky turns its visage toward the audience, and reveals a monstrous face, painted garishly with clown makeup. The battle betwixt the boy and the creature is intense, and as you wait for the fateful moment, when the boy cleaves the Jabberwock’s head from its shoulders and carries it back to town, the music stops. A long slender talon has pierced the chest of the little puppet.The little boy makes a final swing, impaling the Jabberwocky upon his sword, and both fall back, wounded and shrieking the same song of death. The music picks up into frantic crescendo, as light and fog spews from both, and flickering shadows, obviously designed to represent the spirit of each, stand against the fog, shadow puppets moved about by the expert hand of the puppeteer. In the final moment of the play, before the lights are put out, you could almost swear that Drakknoiss was the one with the shadow of the monster, and Clown was the boy, but this could not be true. Your eye must have played tricks upon you.
END OF ACT 1
|
Printable Version
Icon Legend
New Messages
No New Messages
Hot Topic w/ New Messages
Hot Topic w/o New Messages
Locked w/ New Messages
Locked w/o New Messages
Post New Thread
