<strong>Reginald, The Sacrificial Playwright</strong><br/><strong>Location: </strong>The Theatre<br/><strong>Tagging: </strong>Zefiriel, noel; the crowd.<br/><br/>Reginald was, in one way, gifted; his ability to see beyond the illusions and vagaries of others, whether mystical or mundane in nature. He became aware of the soft glowing presence, though his current accoutrement prevented him from beholding what glamor and glory her fae-like form held.  If he could, he might accuse her of being his Muse, given shape.<br/><br/>Unfortunately, he does not even so much as hear the bells. Nothing she says registers with him on any level.  That does not, however, stop him from reaching a hand out towards the presence he feels and the glimmer he sees, his index finger pointed towards it, but not too close. "What are you?" He asks, his voice muffled by the woven straw basket.<br/><br/>Meanwhile, a flower fell from the sky above, and it was only as it passed directly in front of him that he became aware of (the basket, understandably, limits his field of vision). He plucks it carefully out of the air, and weaves it into the basket carefully.<br/><br/>The hand that had previously been indicating the strange presence on his shoulder, now found itself turning into a blind wave aimed upwards. Hopefully he at least was waving in the right direction, towards Noelle, but he couldn't see without taking off the basket (which he never does; he always has some sort of mask or helmet obscuring his face when in his theatre.  Nobody knows why, though speculation and rumors would say that he was disfigured or ugly), or contorting himself into a highly painful and awkward position.<br/><br/>As the time gets closer and closer, Reginald would quietly depart into the room which the actors used to change into and out of their costumes, and where some sat out when not in one of the acts. Such was his fate for this next act, as all would soon see.<br/><br/>Zefiriel, if she looks around, may notice the actress playing the buxom, elegantly dressed lady (the titular Viper's Daughter), and how she is carefully stuffing her bodice full of small pieces of cloth padding; the actress, apparently, is not nearly as well endowed as she is portrayed in the play.  But, props to her for making it look natural; likely, props were owed to the seamstress that made the pads, too.<br/><br/>***<br/><br/>The fourth act's back portrait depicts what looks like the grand hall of some fabulous castle,  with careful attention to detail, just like the others.  This act is strange for its beginning, during which time, one may see men pantomime fighting (though it certainly looks realistic enough; the clanging of metal indicates those swords may be dulled, but the real deal) in spars, or perhaps, duels.<br/><br/>This sort of violence is not uncommon in his plays (and in fact, many may claim that this is his least violent play thus far). The strangeness is the fact that none of the stage actors are speaking their lines. Rather, their is a narrator, not seen on the stage, whose crisp, cool, clean voice travels through the hall, in a mighty, but restrained, baritone.<br/><br/>A lot of exposition about this "Viper", and his daughter, are given. The Viper was a strategist and a knight who was well known for his cruelty and cunning.  A wretched man, with perhaps his only redeeming feature being how much he cares for his family.<br/><br/>His daughter, it is explained, inherited many of his psychological aspects; and add to that that she was well endowed (much like her mother), and learned well from that self-same mother, the art of seduction, and manipulation.<br/><br/>When the first spoken-by-an-actor line is done, it is by a messenger who quite literally runs onto the stage, huffing and puffing. "Sir! I have another message..." the messenger began, panting and obviously out of breath. But, he is cut off by the Viper.<br/><br/>"Did it come from him again?"<br/>"Yes, sir."<br/>"How... pathetic. A disgraced monk seeks my daughter's hand?" The Viper scowls. The man playing him is older, and perhaps made to look more so by the clever application of make up, and dye. He very much looked the part of a cruel man, and even had a distinctly predatory method in which he moved around; the actors that Reginald employed were well trained, to be sure.<br/><br/>The next spoken scene was a monologue delivered by the Viper, wherein he explains how the prestige and honor of his family is so dear to him, and how he only has the one daughter. Obviously, he must ensure that she marries upward, so as to further improve the family's reputation, and how this meddlesome monk must be dealt with, as his nagging is making The Viper most displeased; and trust me, gentle viewers,<em>you will not like an angry Viper.</em><br/><br/>And, on that sinister note, the curtains close for a final intermission.<br/><br/>***<br/><br/>The last act opens with a painted background of a moon-lit forest. Their is even a large rock laid out on the stage, upon which The Viper's Daughter lays, as if slain, or merely asleep. The play begins with the Monk making a monologue, explaining how The Viper was so kind to give him this one chance to prove that he would be a good match for his daughter (at this point in the play, the monk's infatuation has been made crystal clear).<br/><br/>All he has to do is kill some bandits, some damned deserters of The Viper's force, who kidnapped his daughter for ransom. "Finally! A chance to show the world that I can be a hero!" He shouts jubilantly to the crowd.  The monk is obviously mad, and this would not be the first time in one of Reginald's plays where the clergy are implied to be, shall we say, a few eggs short of an omelet. All in good fun, of course.<br/><br/>Practically bouncing along on the stage, the monk would find the sleeping beauty, and look carefully around. Suddenly, scoundrels appeared! Rugged men in fur and leather armor, wielding crude, rust-caked swords that still looked like they would smart if one was hit with them. Four of them.<br/><br/>A small argument of words ensues, before the five enter into a chaotic flurry of melee. The Monk manages to prevail, not through strength or skill, but through blind, or dumb, luck; when he is parried and recoils from it, one bandits sword clobbers another bandit in the head, and he literally falls to the ground, as if struck dead.<br/><br/>The fighting continues around the "corpse" (who, to the careful watcher, is clearly breathing), and one by one, the bandits fall, as if the protagonist of this play were destined to win this fight. Once they had been slain, he quickly ran to the rock and knelt by the side of The Viper's Daughter.<br/><br/>Just as he was beginning to speak "Oh, m--" the woman lunges upward, with a glint of steel in her hand! She stabs the monk with a dagger, and rips it back out; as the monk, played by Reginald, cries out in anguish, one may see blood coating the blade! Has he truly been injured?<br/><br/>The monk, in his final apparent moments, slowly stumbles his way away from the rock, blood clearly dripping down from his costume. "I, was...a fool..." He slowly, painfully, says, straight to the audience, before collapsing to the ground, apparently dead.<br/><br/>The  Viper's Daughter is menacing as she saunters over to the corpse, and tosses the bloodied dagger off to the side. She, in turn, beholds the crowd, and utters her final lines. "Never play with a Viper, my dears. Our fangs are sharp, and our venom, lethal."<br/><br/>The curtains fall for the final time this evening, to a loud round of applause from the assembled audience (though the gentry, of course, are much more dignified with their clapping.).