Since time immemorial, there has always been a certain type of
nobility: the kind with wealth to spare, who can indulge their every whim
-- and whose whims are better left undescribed before the innocent of
heart...
Andrealphus has been just this kind of noble, in any number of
different rank structures. Always he is minor nobility, sometimes (these
days) even when it doesn't matter all that much in terms of actual social
rank. His lands or other holdings are prosperous, and he manages them well
enough to make a tidy income. During the day, he is largely respectable,
known at Court or in the social centers of the locale as a socialite.
Devastatingly handsome (or gorgeous) in his younger years, he ages
extremely well for a long time, and even when a bit of age starts to show,
he or she is still quite beautiful for at least a decade. After that, they
slip out of public life; after all, there's always another beautiful young
thing just coming of a particular age in any court's collection of minor
nobles. Their lands are passed to an heir (yes, an heir) and they
themselves are generally quickly forgotten, having contributed to society
little more than an engaging presence...
...and the nights. Oh, the nights. Spoken of in hushed tones in
the darker corners of the Court, by male and female alike: invitations
proferred by discreet messengers on silver-embossed cards; thrillingly
sensous words presuading a chaste young lass to attend; gorgeous eyes
pulling in any target they desired, rumoring even the sovereign themself.
And once there, your choice of ecstasies. Wine and drugs and masks
lubricating revels of unspeakable delights, pain and orgasm mixing in new
and frightening ways, all morals abandoned -- the host's ideas always
seemed so excitingly erotic, every one....
And in even quieter whispers, what happened after. The unmarried
noble always choosing one of his bastard children as his heir, which a
friend could have sworn was his. The cheating wife and husband who find
each other in the same room, and the murder soon after. The high-ranking
young woman who must wear long sleeves and dresses to hide the always-fresh
scars of a particularly rough inclination. The father who recognizes the
mask in his daughter's wardrobe....
But somehow, the next generation of society's hedonists never was
told, or cared, or listened to the stories from the previous circle of
attendees, and so the cycle goes on.
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