What Do You Want? [Winter Festival; Closed]

[Kassan]

As the scream filled the air, and everyone turned quite deliberately, Kassan was looking the other way. Only a moment ago, he had been deep in thought, staring coldly at the stones crunching beneath his feet. But when he looked up, a figure in the near distance caught his attention. The... the mask. He stumbled, pressing a hand to his heart as a great swathe of fear and shock swept over his body. That mask was all too familiar - the face of his saviour so long ago. The glimpse was gone, the figure facing away and darting into the distance, but he was sure of it. Memories choked him like acrid smoke. Steadying his glaive on his back, and checking his daggers were bound at his side, Kassan rushed off, abandoning any chance of conversation with the Xannos monk. The entirety of the situation seemed to push everything else aside. The figure moved north, seemingly hugging the wall, but he was fast. Ever so fast. Kassan's feet pounded against the ground, his legs working overtime, like bellows pumped at full speed. Was this an omen? A message? In his homeland, things happened that could not always be explained, but it was always wise to treat them as a message from the God's nevertheless. But... I thought you had died, my saviour. I thought you had perished with that final blow. And so Kassan pursued the masked man, aware the glaive on his back was a testament of the past he had with this figure. Destiny and fate rattled around in his head, thoughts crossing like a great web of glistening gossamer. Any thoughts he had had of festivals, money, or friends, were firmly in the past.

[Jett Variona]

Jett wasn't sure what to think when the massive red Akalak stepped up to congratulate him on what he described as his 'find'. The monk stifled a snort and placed the worthless rock in the open palm of his hand. With a short force of will and a swift burst of res, the rock stood on its end and spun around for a few moments before falling to the dirt below. It was part for his own amusement, and also part to show to intimidating stranger that Agnis was not the only power around here. Never could be too careful after all. He was about to say something when the flutter of feathers ruffled behind his head, close to his ear. Confused, Jett turned his head and met the gaze of the bird taking a breather atop dear Agnis, quorking back his own words. He found himself less annoyed and more delighted by the creature, and turned his head back to Ezra. "It seems I am not the only one that knows you Ezra." Jett said with laughter. "Mayhaps it is that I have found a new drinking partner! What do you think of that eh?" Any reply that the scared man could have made to that was interrupted by the sudden presence of the little girl. The smile faded when he noticed the salt in her eyes, so potent he could almost smell it in the air. Then he realized that this was not salt in the air, but some other powder. And then there was the scream, piercing in the sounds of joy around them. Misplaced, alarming. So much had happened in such a short time, Jett was unsure of how to react. Had something crawled forth from the Aperture? That normally happened at night. Jett caught sight of fellow monks rushing to the scene, leaving only him, Agnis with her bird, Ezra, the red foreigner and the little girl. There were people here, too many. If something indeed was attacking from the Aperture, someone would need to make sure everyone was led to safety. There was also the case of this strange little girl, who gave the monk an eerie, ominous feeling. He quickly shook that away, inwardly chiding himself. He shot Ezra a returning nod before taking a knee to get to eye level with the girl, leaving his hammer where she rested. "There there." He said, trying to sound comforting. He wasn't very good with children. "We'll find your sister. Ezra," Jett raised his voice, unaware of what he was saying to Alderache. "I need you to watch over this little one while I go figure out what in the name of Xannos is going on." He stood and addressed the stranger. "You there, Akalak. I hope you can use that weapon of yours. We may need it if my suspicions are correct." Once more he turned to Ezra, putting a hand on his old friend's shoulder. "If I do end up finding... one who needs to rest again, I'll come back to find you. I would need your wisdom. Then again, it may be nothing." The monk nodded to them both and ran off to find his fellows, towards the screams.

[Damian]

oocHello folks. I messaged Liar before hand if I can gain late entrance into the festival. For those who aren't already in the thread and want to hang with a cool cat, err, dog like me. Message him and ask first. "Food," Damian whined as he followed his nose through the massive, red stoned, gate. The draw of scents and smells made his stomach growl. The dog was thin, having not eaten as much as he should. His nose twitched as his tail laid low almost parallel with the ground. He trotted on his sore paws and perked his ears when the scent of sustenance grew faint. His eyes drifted over the walls and buildings, decorated festively, much like many of the people who filled the bridge and streets. Such matters of peacocking did not interest Damian as he turned back around and began to back track. He didn't dare lift his eyes to meet anyone's, the foreignness of the event and city made him feel uncomfortable. Still he walked along and among the many inhabitants of the city of celestials blissfully unaware of surroundings. Thin and matted, Damian looked like a common mutt. "Food?" Damian questioned himself as he caught the scent again. He began to lazily wander to where many people of all sorts were gathered. He weaved his way through many legs until he could see what he could only smell. His wet nose poked up over the many tables sniffing the feast with glee. But when he felt a hand smack his nose, he whimpered and backed away. His body curled up for a moment as he looked up at the monk with a bit of plead in his eyes. "No," the man said firmly as Damian began to slink away. But he wasn't ready to give up on his pursuit of food. Curiously, he began to wander away to find a place to shift. He couldn't help but feel shy around the many people that occupied the area. He moved away and began to follow a path that seemed to lead down into a crevice. He noticed others were there as well and didn't pay them any mind as he descended down into the quarry. The black dog walked cautiously over the blood stained stone. From above, he'd look like an animated picture drawn onto the stone. He sat for a moment and watched as families and people moved about excitedly. He observed as some of them picked at the stone and found shiny, crystal gems. "Sweet, these will get me plenty," Damian didn't hear the rest, but assumed the gems had value and more importantly get him food. With new vigor he began to walk away from the people and moved to an area where other's didn't occupy. A large dug out in the stone, that didn't seem to go anywhere. Damian could see through the shadowed darkness of the area and noticed a light shimmer at the back of the area. His tail wagged as he walked into the tight, confining area and began to squeeze himself into it. He whined when he found he couldn't get to it so he began to scrape the packed soil and stone to at least move some of the earth. Little did he know that he was missing tiny bits of gem. Either he was fixated on the one, or he simply didn't see them through his blindness. When his scrapes seemed to not get him anywhere he backed out and sat on his haunches in defeat. He whimpered in thought for a moment before a light flashed in his head. After a brief pause, his form began to morph and contort behind a veil of bent light. The blackness seemed to dissipate into the waves of light as his form grew and began to unfold. He didn't care if others witnessed him, all he wanted was the gem and food. A one tracked mind indeed. When the bends of light began to glow and project themselves onto the walls like light through water. They soon faded and what was left was a man, Damian to be exact. He stretched his hands before he quickly leaned over and shoved is arm into the tight space. He felt around inside before he finally felt a smooth, almost glass like, bump. Quickly he grabbed at it, his nails quickly filled with soil. But when his arm receded he was happy to find that he had grabbed the gem he wanted. With more renewed excitement he moved himself back out of the indentation and stood up. Dirt and grime was smeared across his sweaty body, much effort exerted despite the bitter cold. He stood up with a shake of his body to fling any loose participles that clung to his body. Merrily he began to trot back out into the open, hand closed in a tight fist. He felt accomplished and was unaware of the gawks and stares he garnered as he strode confidently in the buff. His feet were blistered and sore from the harsh landscape when he found himself soon back on normal ground level. He stopped and looked around, taking a sniff to find the food once more. When he finally found it, he began to walk toward the area, still unaware of the quiet murmurs around him. But when he finally approached the feast that had been set out for the festival, he found the monk who had originally snapped his nose. He tapped the man's shoulder to get his attention. When he turned, Damian missed the look of shock as he grinned wide. He held out his hand to the man and opened it to reveal the gem. "I may have food now?" Damian asked unaware of whatever reaction the monk might garner.

[Alderache]

Alderache was not fond of the sickly sweet smell of the cakes. He was never particularly fond of sweets, preferring the earthly tastes of meats and vegetables. You wouldn't like anything sweet. Petching weirdo. I bet you don't like women either. Alderache sighed. Alseroth was clearly cranky from missing out on the fight. Alderache was not paying as much attention to his momentary neighbors, missing Jett's show with the rock. He noticed the little girl speaking to the monks, but just assumed that she was lost. After listening to her pleas, he realized that was the case, and he looked out over the barren landscape. Why was he in this seemingly forsaken land? Because you just HAD to listen to that stupid Wysar you praise so much. We could be lounging somewhere, surrounded by pretty women waiting on us hand and foot. Instead you bring us here. To the petching middle of nowhere. He was about to return with a snide remark, when a woman's scream invaded his ears. It was not the scream of a minor injury, or a lost child. Something bad was happening, and was dangerous. Which is why I am taking it over from here. Alderache was taken by surprise as Alseroth fought for control. Alderache tried to resist, but he was too ill prepared. Alseroth quickly stifled him to a dark corner of his mind. He drew his Lakan, missing the feel of it's weight in his hand. HIS hand. One of the men had offered him to come along. Alseroth would've anyways, but at least now he had an excuse, and a blessing. He hid a thin smile. He would finally get another taste of the fight. He may not be able to kill the monks that beaten him when he'd arrived. But he could certainly try to show them up in their own town. He joined Jett, running alongside him toward the source of the screams.

[Jag]

“We’ll find your sister, Ezra.”

The bird chirruped the twisted statement thrice over; he relinquished his perch in favor of a young girl’s outstretched, pointing arm. She was thrilled by him, and the raven-haired monk he had chosen as a roost had become wholly engrossed in a gathering towards—and away from—a woman’s wailing cries. Was she to leave, too?

“We’ll find Ezra!”

Again, the jumbled words were spat back from a yellow beak and deviated further from what Jett had intended. On his second attempt, Ezra was cut short by a flourish of swirling, tangled, too-bright light that swallowed the small bird and spat out a young man, as naked as he had entered the world. “… Ezra!”

The sentiment finished with a throaty laugh and a grin that nearly touched his ears. Wide, pale eyes stared the girl down, nearly of a height with her on his knees, and a prying hand swept back a fistful of matted hair. He was comely, if not a bit lanky, with a neck too long and a face too animated. “What’s your name?” Jag leaned in, seemingly oblivious to the madness around him—whether it was for the sake of the child, or his own imprudence, it was hard to tell. “I’m Jag.”

Saccharine air made the Kelvic’s stomach churn, and he licked his lips, stealing an upward glance at the man whose name he had wholly abused without heed, “What do you think is happening?”

[Boris]

After an unceremonious reception, Boris leaned to the side to see what Shadekas was up to. He had an impressive collection of shiny stones! She made an astonished whistle, and gave him a nod of approval. Boris had once collected shells, picking them up from the bottom of the sea and piling them up in an underwater den. Mama had asked her what it was for, and when Boris replied "Fun!", she even joined in. The kelvic lost her fascination for shells however when a still-living urchin had turned out to be poisonous and had left her beak numb for an entire day.

Another man she didn't know, sitting at the table they were displayed on, started talking on about a 'cause' and 'duty'. Boris knew of these words, but mostly in the perspective of a dolphin. It was a human thing, her marine kin would tell her, which meant that it didn't matter. She quickly lost interest.

Something smelled sweet. Boris wondered if it was food.

Her wonder at the stones dissipated quickly, and soon Boris was rocking back on her heels, staring up at the sky, and waiting for someone to pay attention to her. She wanted to play a game, but everyone was so busy! The world and the people around her melted away as she got lost in the shapes of the slowly morphing clouds. Soon, that became dull too, so she turned toward the nearby crowds.

"Hmm…?" Boris caught the sight of someone smiling at her—beckoning her! "Ooh!" It wasn't a face she recognized, but she didn't mind. It was so much fun making new friends! Then, a moment later, the stranger darted off into the city. A sly, mischievous grin bared her teeth, and Boris let loose an excited laugh as she immediately took off running after her challenger. What gall he had, taking off like that! Boris wasn't one to lose a chase. This man would be hers!

"Wait! Come back!" she cried futilely through her laughter, sprinting as quickly as her long legs could carry her. She ran a little too quickly even for herself, and the solid, flat land underneath her wobbled beneath her feet. Running was so much harder than swimming! Everything about being a human was harder than being a dolphin—but where was the fun without the challenge?

[Liar]

OOCIn order to keep things running smoothly, everyone gets 10 days to reply. PM me if you need longer than March 8 to post.

The Gates stood at the center of it all, and at the center of the Gates stood Damian. His wolf’s nose perceived the direction of the sweet scents that pervaded the area, as the man who had refused him his food did not relent. There were three different sources, which did not stick to the skin or drift on the wind. There was a quickly fading trail that led into the city, one chased by a monk and another Kelvic; there was a strong concentration of it to the South, where brave citizens gathered and not-so-brave ones fled; and there was a smaller patch of it in the West, growing stronger as if it was approaching. He could pursue one or none of these leads, and join the scenes that unfolded there:

The masked man fled, and did not look back. He did not seem to see Kassan, or notice that he was being pursued at all. He parted from the wall and dove into the maze of Nykan streets, his actions as deliberate and precise as the day he had stepped in front of a Benshira slave and his captors. The streets were empty where he moved, his footfalls echoing from the red walls around him. There was only the two of them, it seemed, the pursuer and the pursed, alone and together. The effort in the pursuit was making the monk’s muscles ache far sooner than they usually would, but his exertion was soon awarded by the loud clink, shk, clack of a falling object. When he turned the next corner, Kassan would notice the mask at his feet. Whether it was shed by accident or design was difficult to tell, but there was no mistaking what it was. Every bend and flourish in the carving, every chip and nuance in the paint... it was exactly as Kassan’s own memory could have remade it, and yet it was here, in this city, on this street, of all places. The shadow of the man was moving fast; was there time to retrieve this memento? Nearby, Boris was in engaged in a similar quest. The man that fled from her managed to stay far out of reach but just out of sight, matching her pace almost exactly. For every turn she made, he achieved the next, and so he led her on the most convoluted and entertaining of routes. Sometimes he looked back to smile at her, but never did he stop to cut her some slack, to ease the challenge of the race. Her breath was coming shorter than it usually did so early in the game, but what did that matter? It was too easy to fall into the rhythm of the turns, the music of the chase. The streets were empty where he moved, his footfalls echoing from the red walls around him... As she rounded a corner, the kelvic collided instantly with a dark-skinned man in brown robes, the one she had seen beside Shade at the table with the shiny rocks. Even before she recovered from the shock of the impact, she glimpsed the man she had been chasing at the end of the alley. He leaned into another turn and escaped out of sight, yet again.

Jett’s authority and Alseroth’s strength allowed the two men to easily find themselves at the center of the throng, which had formed a nearly perfect circle around a sad, still body. It looked to be the vague shape of a small girl, barely taller than the child whom they had abandoned. But whether it really was poor Mishka was impossible to determine: her face was eerily absent from her head, her dark hair sprawled around a shriveled, blank stretch of flesh. Her limp body seemed crushed on the inside, almost liquid, but her soft, fair skin was completely intact. A mound the size of a cat was wriggling in her flattened chest, wandering beneath her body as if it were a blanket. It began to shrink, or maybe it was melting, spreading within her. And before their eyes, the body filled again. It was bulging in some areas and stretched thin in others, wholly shrunken and clearly inhuman. She was no longer the girl she might have once been, but an unnamable creature of clumsy flesh. It began to rise. It stumbled through the clothes that no longer fit on its mutated body, then it began to crawl, and stand, as if learning how to move. Though it clearly could not see, its faceless face moved between the people around it, who watched it in suspense. And then it approached them, arms flailing and hands groping. The brave and the curious screamed and scattered, and the crowd turned into a rolling wash of panicked heads. Between the cracks in the chaos, the monks remained where they stood, shouting orders and exchanging tactics. It was their responsibility to neutralize the problem. But how? “Over there! Look!” Fingers were pointing toward the southwestern face of the city wall. The sea of bodies moved and separated as faces turned to this new source of panic and awe. The creature darted between the bodies and out of sight, toward the very same disturbance. Both the monk and the akalak could not see what everyone else saw; they were too far back, it seemed. They knew only that the strange, apparently undead girl was getting away, and that recognition and glory were the inevitable outcome of catching and detaining it. They may not have noticed that the scent of cakes, which had been so thoroughly ingrained in the air not a moment previous, was absent from their noses.

“Put some clothes on, man,” Drir complained to Jag. He was frowning at the flagrant display of magic and nudity, but not necessarily at the man who appeared to be nothing more than a mischievous Nykan mage. “There are children.” He stripped his arms of his own coat and tossed the heavy, sweat-stinking wool at Jag, but the girl did not seem to mind the faux pas. She had shrieked peculiarly at his change, a mix between fright and delight, and ultimately decided on the latter. “My name is Minna,” she answered, blushing. She took his hand, he who was not too sacred to touch, he who had not abandoned her plight. She insisted, “And it’s not Ezra, silly. Mishka. I saw her go towards the gates, but she ran too fast. Her legs are longer than mine, you see. That’s the way she went. Come on!” She followed her own pointing finger, tugging the kelvic eagerly behind her. She led him far from the little shelter, to the great piles of harvested stone that had yet to be delivered to the city. Between the careful stacks of giant, raw rocks, there were narrow lanes; in the one she chose to search, it seemed someone had spilled their lunch. So many pieces of stray fruit and bread were strewn to one side, more than any one bird could possibly hope to eat, but she did not seem to notice them. If Jag were to try to pick them up, they would vanish beneath his fingers. But it was difficult to find the chance. The girl held onto him for as long as he would let her, running tirelessly down the makeshift alley. “Mishka!” She cried, as a shadow flitted at the end of the lane. They chased it, turned after it, and chased it again. They rounded the next corner, and it was as if they were following the trail of food. Jag’s stomach growled. “No! Stop!” said the man they discovered there, on his knees and holding his chest. His eyes settled despondently on the child. “Don’t come any closer. Don’t give in. Leave this place, and slowly, while you still can.” He moaned, looking forlornly down the behind beyond them. The trail of food continued beyond his sight, growing denser in the distance. Instead of honey, Jag smelled delicious seed and maggots. “You’re what it wants.”

[Kassan]

Kassan's body pounded with the exertion. His legs began to ache, and he knew that his pace was far superseding his own personal limits. Panting heavily, he rounded a corner, and nearly stumbled over an object that had fallen to the ground from the man he pursued. The mask. One look and he was back there, on the dry road, the slaver's caravan beside him, the smell of blood and death and bitter, bitter freedom. This was the past, before he had found shelter with Uphis. His pupils contracted, staring fiercely at the mask he had taken in his own hands. Why was he here in Nyka? After all this time, why had he come back? His questions scattered to the wind as a feminine figure crashed into him, and he stumbled back, clutching the mask tightly. She took a moment to recover from the shock, but her eyes went towards the man, and Kassan met her gaze. "You too?" He vanished around another corner, and Kassan knew he had to catch the man. If he didn't, any hope of truth, of completion, would slip from his fingers like dust. Uncontrollably, irrevocably, gone from his grasp. But this woman? Was she pursuing him too? He had no time for socialisation. He gave her a knowing look, and a gentle nod, and then pursued again. Whether she followed or not, was her choice, and her choice alone.

[Jett Variona]

Jett had never seen anything so horrific in his life. "Xannos have mercy..." He whispered as he watched the young girl's corpse wriggle and convulse. And her face... sweet love of the Celestials her face was gone! He wanted to vomit, to shout, to do something that would stop the horror playing out before his gaze. The monk was by no means a stranger to death and strange events, but even he had never seen anything like this. His brain leaped from viewing the slowly rising and fumbling creature as the corpse of some poor little girl and something alien entirely, but no matter what he thought he could not bring himself to raise his hammer and put an end to the horrific spectacle. He seemed frozen to the spot, watching on as if he were just another citizen. It was the screams that broke him out of his stupor. Someone pushed against him in their haste to get away, and the monk's mind snapped back into action. "You there!" He yelled to his fellows of the order, most of whom were faithful to Uphis and had their blades drawn bare. "Form a perimeter! Do not let it escape!" But the new and sudden distraction seemed to be enough for the monstrosity to make its escape, and it darted through the crowd like a trout weaving through the rocks in a stream. His horror was forgotten, only duty and glory remained in Jett's mind. The monk gave chase, Agnis held ready for when he would catch up with the creature.

[Jag]

Jag’s stomach protested loudly, flipped, turned, and tied itself in knots. It ached, as his bare feet ached, from their dash through a maze of cut stone. Then, he smelled it. The saccharine air had turned to rot, and maggots wriggled beneath his nose. Jag lifted a hand to his slavering mouth, gold-green eyes darting to the girl as their fingers parted, clammy and cool. “It’s food,” Jag offered, a playful laugh tickling his wet, fleshy tongue. He stooped to examine the remains of a melon, splattered over the ground, its orange-yellow flesh drying in the sun; he almost touched it, but it crumbled like ancient earth, just beyond his reach. His lips twisted. “Never mind, it isn’t food.”

That sharp face turned on the trembling heap of a man, his playful cadence and thin smile suggesting he took little of what the stranger said to mean anything. “This is Minna. I’m Jag.” He clapped his hands together, resting his elbows on his knees. It was obvious he was not going to leave, not without following the growing trail of decay to its end. “Why are you here, if you want us to leave? Is this yours?” Jag gestured to the trail at his feet. The whites of his eyes flared in their curiosity, and he leaned forward, his growing smile nearly splitting his face. “Can I not touch it because it is yours? Are you a wizard?”

The Kelvic exchanged glances with Minna, and hugged stinking wool to his chest. “Have you seen a girl like her, wizard? We’re looking for someone—her sister, Mishka.” Perhaps the Wizard of Rotten Food had noticed a girl run by; what did he have to distract him?