Who killed Markiplier?

Welcome to Markipiler Manor

Mark's house was huge. It was a small castle by any definition, the driveway itself looked to be made of slate and marble. The grand fleur de lis marking itself in the middle, and the rest of the building was crafted in rough stone. Some of its windows were shaped in the style of an old church, warm light pouring through to cut the twilight of the world. From the outside some of the rooms looked to be hexagonal in its strange design. Seemingly inspired by old castles. It had a golden but slightly intimidating ambience. Perhaps in mirror of its owner, Mark was warm and friendly. But he always held secrets, after all, no one gets this rich quickly without cutting a few corners or pulling some strings. But the house looked welcoming as the autumn sun was going to set soon. You looked at your flat silver wrist watch. The time was 7:55, and you were almost late. As you pivoted to the front door, there was a man in front of you. From his back he looked like a man dressed out of the early 1900's who was packing for a trip to Africa. He stopped, putting his hands on his hips. Looking at the set of oak doors, like he was thinking about something. He turned and spoke to you, "Oh bully! And here I thought I was going to be the last guest to arrive." The man smiled. You were correct in the earlier guess in that the man was a bit outdated, his appearance and the way he spoke only seemed to prove it even further. His overcoat was a dark creme color, he sported a black handlebar mustache as well. His eyes were happy, and shielded by round glasses. On the side of once of his glasses where many smaller lenses, maybe to be used like smaller magnifying glasses. On his chest was medals, his feet covered in high trimmed boots, maybe he also had time in the military. "My friends call me The Colonel." He placed his hands behind his back while bowing graciously, and bouncing up. "You're welcome to do the same should it please you," The Colonel fumbled with his hands some more. "But, uh, after you..." he added politely, ushering you to the great oak door. As your hand wrapped around the smooth silver handle. It opened without you having to put much pressure or force on it. A welcoming voice called out to you, "Ah, Bonjour! Welcome to Markiplier Manor, your invitation, please?" It was Mark's butler, whom you didn't know by name. He smiled as you handed him the letter of invitation that you had received earlier. "Very good, very good, right this way!" The Butler walked into the house, past the ivory marble foyer. And into a warmer area with dark wood accessories and golden accents on everything you could find. The curtains and furniture all matched this golden theme. There was even a grand piano in the back corner. "Good luck at the table tonight, I shall fetch you a drink forthwith." The Butler smiled and walked off, now in front of you was your good friend, the Mayor. He was talking to another man in a trench coat, who saw that you were approaching. And went off to ask the Butler something. Only after giving you a short side eye glance. "Oh! There you are old friend," The Mayor smiled. It was good to see Damien every once in awhile, when he's not too busy with his new career. "How are you settling into your new office?" He asked. You smiled back, you said nothing as the Mayor already knew your answer. "Now, I know it'll take some getting used to. But, there's no one I would rather have alongside me to protect this great city of ours." He spoke as he held his silver topped cane in his hand. Damien was formerly dressed, as he always was. With a black tuxedo and white accessories. Including a small pearl white flower, with a matching pocket square. His dark hair was slicked back and his stubble was trimmed. Even at a friend's house, he had his little black ribbon pinned to his lapel that proudly branded the world 'Mayor.' For all of the other guests to see. "Now I'll see you at the table soon, but try not to rob me blind again!" The Mayor laughed as he walked to finish another conversation, "We'll catch up." He smiled. As you walked deeper into the house, the feeling that something was off hung over you. But this was a fun evening with some friends and acquaintances, what can go wrong? You passed into the next room, you saw a Chef. Who was picking up silver platters from a round rosewood table, with a small chandelier hanging over it. "If you're lookin' for hors d'oeuvres, I'll get 'em when I'm good and ready!" He spoke harshly. "And stay out of my kitchen!" He added, jabbing a ladle at you. Another voice carried from across the hall, "Now, now let's not be rude to our guest." It was the Butler, the Chef grumbled his way back to his kitchen. Not wanting to speak with the Chef any longer, you strolled over to where the Butler was waiting for you. "So sorry about that, here's your champagne." The Butler handed you a small glass of the bubbly liquid from a shining platter "Enjoy your evening." He added happily as he walked off to serve the other guests their drinks. You were left alone in the stairwell, which was beautifully decorated with curves and carvings. Of course it was, Mark was rich. Speaking of him, where was your esteemed host? As if to answer this question, a familiar hearty voice rang. "Welcome, welcome one and all, my name is Markiplier, thank you for joining me on this auspicious evening." It was the host of the party, Mark. Dressed in a wine colored silk robe and a cravat. He seemed as suave as ever, even though he looked as if he was having trouble keeping his blanch as he walked down the stairs. He continued to talk, "So good to be surrounded by such close and trusted friends..." He motioned to you. But you were the only one there, Mark carried on as he stepped down. His legs looked like they were having trouble supporting him, was he drunk already? "Now this evening it's not all about poker, it's not about me, It's about you." He said, trying to be sincere. "So drink up and be merry! Life is for the living, and who knows? I could be dead tomorrow!" Mark threw his head back laughing. You raised the glass of champagne, taking his advice to heart.