[Seasonal Quest] The Winter Ball: Act I of Darkling Tides

[Avari]

As she stealthily pursued the masked assailant back into the cold dark night, Avari couldn't help thinking that she had just run into the West Wing to get away from this man, yet here she was running after him now. By all rights, she should be fleeing in the opposite direction and possibly screaming. But she had to know if he was in fact the one who had broken into the Archives Building and to find out what he planned to do with his stolen fragment. Besides, Avari felt less fearful of him now that she was the one sneaking up behind him, rather than him lurking somewhere in shadows behind her.

And it seemed Avari wasn't the only one curious about him. Someone was following along behind her, hurrying urgently with a slightly awkward gait. Taking her eyes off the masked assailant for a second, she risked a glance behind her. Her mouth fell open in surprise when she recognized the bald pate and grey eyes behind a blue-and-gold mask.

Eorar? Somehow, she had expected the friendly Charoda would more likely be ministering to the man who was stabbed, not in hot pursuit of the murderer. The Konti wasn't entirely unhappy to know he was there, though. If nothing else, it meant she wasn't alone in the dark night with a proven killer.

She smiled briefly at him, and in that moment, her foot landed on top of a dry twig with an audible snap. Avari's head whipped around to the masked assailant, her heart pounding in her chest. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the man had frozen in his tracks and was looking behind him for the source of the tiny sound.

"Duck!" she hissed, reaching behind her and grabbing at Eorar's jacket to pull him down.

She tried to get her head down, but it was too late. The masked assailant had spotted them following him, and he responded immediately by taking a sudden, unexpected turn and disappearing around the corner. Raising her head, Avari sprang after him, but she didn't have far to go. Even around the corner, they could hear the masked man cursing as he found himself running into a dead end.

Immediately, Avari let go of Eorar's jacket and pushed him insistently to one side. The masked assailant turned around to face them, still holding the knife with which he had stabbed that poor fellow in the ballroom in his left hand. Avari gulped and instinctively reached for the hilts of her throwing daggers, trying to measure the distance between her and the masked man. She wished intensely that she had the time to ask her dice what to do next. She wouldn't even have minded having to tap into Avalis' gnosis and gaze into his chavi to obtain a clue or two about the man's motivations. The Konti had been blessed with an abundance of divinely-bestowed gifts, but none of them were going to do her any good right now, when she really needed the help.

Frustrated and foolhardy, Avari decided she was going to bluff it. She wasn't running away just because the man had a knife. Besides, even if she got hurt, she had a healer standing right behind her. Why not bluff it?

She drew her throwing daggers from their sheaths and brandished them, making sure they caught the available light from the buildings to give them that ominous glint. With an effort, she composed her features into impassive stillness, trusting to her black mask to obscure any show of emotions in her eyes. Squaring her shoulders, she strode forward a short distance into the alleyway and cocked her right arm in a throwing stance.

"There's two of us to one of you," Avari called brashly to the masked assailant, "and I've got two daggers to your one, and you better believe I know how to use them. Perhaps you ought to drop your weapon and come with us." She paused for dramatic effect and then added, "Before someone else gets hurt."

Out of the side of her mouth, she urged Eorar, "Come on, sound menacing. Help me sell it to him."

[Warden Thrice]

The change from light to dark wasn’t as startling as he thought it would be, but he was fairly certain that it was because he was pelting at full speed after a Konti and a murderer. This is idiocy, Eorar thought. This is idiocy, he agreed with himself matter-of-factly. His run could barely be called such, and was more a perpetual state of falling and regaining his balance, creating a wild careen forwards that was silenced by his clothing. Avari’s pale skin was like a beacon, so he was never unsure of where he was supposed to be going, and his crazed dashing was enough to keep him a solid ten feet behind her. Ahead, he could see the outline of their quarry. Avari glanced over her shoulder at him. He gave a nod in return to her smile, though it might not have been noticeable beneath his swinging limbs, and in the same instant he heard a sound that made his heart skip a beat. A twig snapped. The Konti screeched to a stop, and luckily she managed to grab ahold of Eorar’s jacket before he ran smack into a lamppost. He spiraled to the ground, landing in a heap. He wasn’t allowed a second’s breath before she was up again, and he clambered to his feet and followed her. The man had ducked behind a building, and he heard a loud sound that he assumed was a foul word. The two of them skidded into the alleyway, Avari tense with determination and Eorar poised with preparation for the unexpected. The man turned to them, white shirt speckled with blood and face concealed behind another mask. Eorar noted with slight amusement that he and Avari both had their own masks still tied to their faces. The bloody knife glittered in the moonlight, and a single moment of silence passed between them, each side sizing the other up. When it came to it, it was Avari that made the first move. Eorar didn’t like violence. Not at all. He couldn’t even eat meat without becoming incredibly ill. Still, he saw no problem with making a show, if they could survive long enough to do so. Taking the drawing of her daggers as a signal, the apparent human slipped out of his jacket, doing his best to keep his gaze lowered and his fear suppressed. Folding it neatly and draping it over one shoulder, he began to roll up his right sleeve as Avari opened communications. Even when on her side he found her voice intimidating, and he didn’t realized he had stopped moving until she spoke too softly for the bloodied man to hear. He blinked at her in understanding, turned his gaze to the man, blinked once more in his best chilly gaze, then finished rolling up his sleeve. He took a deep breath, closed his eyes and opened his mind. He was at the bottom of the ocean. He was crawling—no, he was not in the alley—he was crawling along the deck of a sunken ship. No, concentrate! Breathe. Water. Breathe. Sand. Breathe. Not a Charoda. Breathe. He felt the djed flow in his body change. He felt it warp and twist, and automatically moved his left hand to assist his right as it mutated and transformed, translating the skin of a human to something else. He said nothing when he opened his eyes. The giant lobster claw in place of his hand spoke for itself.

[Faylon Kwanda]

[Once he’d fallen back against the table and then slid to the floor of the ballroom Faylon was reduced to doing little more than laying on his back and looking up at the ceiling. Not the ideal place for him to be nor how he preferred things to have gone. Thoughts were soon adrift in his mind as he still wasn’t completely sure what had happened and his chest started to rise and fall more quickly as he took in breath after breath which caused the stain from his wound to grow a little more prominent. Around that time he’d heard someone calling his name, the girl Nai’shee, though it was out of concern and Faylon started to realize that laying there on his back this wound wasn’t something he’d just be able to walk away from on his own.] [Groaning once Faylon could feel the pain in his chest start to grow a little more numb and cold before the silhouette of a man got his attention. It was Trente. Letting his head turn to the side once Faylon would focus on the man briefly before finally telling him quite clearly when he asked...”Last words?”...there was an exhale of breath that followed this...”I don’t plan on dying. Smack me once and get me a drink.”...there are some that might think Faylon was being comical but he was deadly serious when he told that to Trente. Eyes were getting a bit foggy which meant that a good swift smack to the side of the mouth might jar Faylons senses back into order and the drink was something that he could use to keep his mind off things. On that note Faylon would also add in a bit of a louder voice that he drug from his chest...”IDUE!”...he called once seeing as he had gotten on best with the man thus far before continuing...”Idue if you see that masked bastard kill him will you?”...that was most of what he had to say before breathing steadily again.] [Laying on his back Faylon would next feel something being lain over him, Elam’s jacket, before his own shirt was being peeled away to reveal the puncture wound that he had sustained. Alongside that there were a few other scars present revealing that this wasn’t the first time Faylon had tasted the steel of another man of his body nor was it the first time his own flesh had been carved into though this might have been the most serious occasion. Eyes soon started to turn and focus on Elam as the man told Faylon his name and informed him that he could help with the wound, something that every patient wanted to hear, causing Faylon to nod his head once and say...”Well then Elam Bree; I think I’ll owe you a drink.”...the least Faylon could do for having his life saved after all.] [Doing his best to relax just as Elam instructed Faylon inwardly hoped this would be over soon. There was something completely unappealing to him about laying on his back like a wounded piece of meat. If the man hadn’t pulled that blade Faylon thought he surely would have had him but that was nothing to dwell on since he was the one laying on his back bleeding out of his chest now. Should have reached for the Longsword. Faylon mentally admonished himself seeing as how he hadn’t expected to have to draw his blade during the altercation. It wasn’t as though this was something that went down in the alleys of Zeltiva where Faylon had went about his business.] [Ironically as he lay there Faylon almost half smiled at the thought that he may be remotely famous after this day. After all he might have been the only man to have been stabbed, that he knew of, during the Winter Ball in the last several years anyways. Of course the thought wouldn’t keep him warm at night but there was nothing wrong with letting him believe he might receive just a bit of local fame for the exploit seeing as how it occurred right out in the open of all the others in attendance. You have to appreciate the little things you know.] [Nothing else to do but lay there Faylon would relax, as best he could, just like he was told to do and let Elam work on his chest. Trente had been considerate enough to ask him for his last words and he wouldn’t forget that. Nor would he forget that Idue stood ready if the man returned. Or the concerned cries of Nai’shee which likely had quite the hand in saving his life this day. All these people were now etched in his mind forever.]

[Idue]

After all the words between the two, the constant bantering of high and low class, and the near blows, Idue had not made an enemy with Trente that day. Maybe it was because the man had backed off from a fight with him, which pleased Idue. But really he didn't feel he had any fight with a man who dropped his sword to ask for a dying man's last words. In Sunberth, Trente would be dead the second he set his sword on the ground. But this was Zeltiva, and the fight was not going to be with this man, no matter how annoying he was to Idue. No, Idue's fight was against the man who stabbed Faylon. If he could not avenge himself, Idue would do it for him. Which is exactly what Faylon had asked of him while he rested on the ground while Elem's hands worked on him. No sappy speech about telling the woman at home. No common sob story before passing on. A simple statement. If you see the petching bastard, kill him. That was all Idue needed in a time like this. He was never an oversensitive person. But if Faylon was going to give him one last request, Idue was going to follow it. And if he lived to hunt the petcher down himself. . . Idue would be right beside him, ready to chop him into little pieces. But there was no hunt this day. No fight that Idue would jump in. Just a crazy looking Benshira standing over a wounded man with his axes in his hand. Idue wouldn't be surprised if some of the people standing around them convinced themselves that Idue was the one who wounded Faylon. But standing here, Idue felt he should do more for Faylon. Guarding him from a threat that was probably disappeared from the campus was pointless. He needed to do something more. So he knelt down, setting his axes opposite of each other, and lifted up a pray to Yahal. "Pure Father, I know you are watching this crazy scene unfolding before you. A man lays wounded by the hands of a murderer. Men and women who have never experienced murder in their life have nearly witnessed it before them tonight. And for all I know, this murderer has disappeared. He'll probably never be seen again. But I ask that you help us purify Zeltiva. Ask Viratas to halt Faylon's blood loss. And then sharpen our swords and axes. Because I stand before you, as all of these people as my witness, saying I will help to purify this city. And if it begins with me loping off the head of this murderer. . . It'll be worth it." Idue had done it; he had showed the Zeltivans that Benshira bred mad-men. There was no way one man could purify one city, even if it meant killing one person. A city with thousands of people, some of which are criminals. Some of them could be in this room, witnessing the man who just said he would rid Zeltiva of them. Some of them could be people Idue considered friends. . . Maybe he was alone. But until he weeded out the bad seeds, he had people who would help him. Nai'shee, who ran like the wind for Faylon's aid. Trente, a man who most likely had the desire not to be outdone by the Benshira. Yes, he would help if it meant possibly outdoing his rival. Faylon, a man Idue considered the closest thing to a friend in this city. Yes, these three individuals were what Idue needed to begin the cleansing of Zeltiva. And more would follow once Idue proved to them that he was fighting for a good cause. He would get rid of the evil of this city, and then. . . Well he had a whole world to help. If only Idue realized he just gave justification for him to kill others. Something that wasn't very. . . pure.

[Elem Bree]

Elem wished he had used something besides the handkerchief. His father's anger was secondary to the beads of burning salt which were beginning to drip into his eyes. His initial action was now folly in the hands of fear. As he pressed on the wound, it only became soggy in his hands. Yes, the steel had missed his patient's organs, but it appeared an artery had taken the brunt of it. He listened to the man's voice, pride swelling in it over a wound born of battle. He wiped his forehead with his sleeve, looking up to see the servant returning with a steaming basin and clean rags. Looking down at Faylon, he only had one thing to say.

"You can buy me several drinks. Please, try not to talk."

It sounded like sound medical advice, the kind he had heard himself when being examined. He couldn't tell the man to save his strength for living, as the young doctor's assistant was the only one knew he was caring for a dying man. Quickly washing the blood from one hand while pressing with the other and then alternating, he traded the dripping handkerchief for one of the rags, holding it on the wound. The thought of cauterizing it came to mind, but if the bleeding was so intense, it would just pool inside of him and cause his lungs to collapse.

Which to do? Hold the wound closed or let it bleed freely? This was not information he had gleaned in his studies thus far. None of the masked attendees would be of any assistance. It would only cause panic as would calling for Claira. What could she do with this either? Surgery perhaps? Elem's thoughts quieted as he did his best to keep a face of confidence on. Removing the rag he currently had pressed on the wound allowed several oozes of blood to emerge. They might have squirted, but the wound was coagulating it to a degree. Not a saving degree, however.

This was a moment where time seemed to slow, where each drop of sweat down Elem's face became a thunderous explosion when it landed. There was no one to help him. If the man before him was to survive, it would be by Elem's hands. He had to heal the man. If he could give his own life to do so, he would. The man who stabbed Faylon was a coward and an assassin. Brave men like the one he worked on had to survive lest Mizahar be populated with the killer's seed. He looked up at the lingering servant, beckoning him over and pressing his hesitant hands to the rags on the wound. Standing, he calmly but quickly pulled a tablecloth and all of its fine objects and masterpieces of food into the floor. Spying a clean table, he pulled its cloth instead, laying it on the table. He pointed at the servant and a few men nearby.

"Get him up here on the table and bring me some light."

The jostling and motion wouldn't help, but he wanted a chance at what he was going to attempt. The only feasible way to stop the bleeding would be to cut the wound open further, stick his fingers inside and find the artery. He would then have to pull it, hoping it didn't snap, and tie it off. It would be terribly painful and might kill the man, but if he did nothing, he would absolutely die. The basin and rags came after men put Faylon on the table. Elem took a deep breath as candles were brought to the table, providing extra illumination. He closed his eyes for a moment, the sharp eyes of others possibly reading a silent murmur on his lips. He prayed to Rak' keli, which he had sworn he would never do.

It was something he wanted to pride himself on, being able to cure the injured and save lives without the hand of the Healing Goddess. Knowing the scope of what he would have to do in a moment, he only wanted the man to live. He knew he could save him. He needed only a few things.

"A blade. Sharp and exact. A pair of tongs or forceps, preferably the latter."

A breath of promise and prayer.

"And more hot water!".

[Trente]

Trente returned with the servant, doing his best to clear the way, but more importantly stay out of the way. He was relieved that people were finally grasping the importance of the situation, moving without being forced. But, was sickened by the fascinated way they looked upon the scene, as if it were some perverse show on their behalf. And Trente had to fight a callus laugh at the fact that his "peaceful congregation" has in fact gotten what the came for. Entertainment.

Instead he came to a halt just short of the inner circle, not wanting to get in Elem's way, and watched silently, but alertly as Idue dropped to one knee. Trente was surprised as the man set his weapons to the ground, and more surprised with himself as he stepped forward again, standing over the now unarmed man as somewhat of a protector, just as Idue had him when he knelt beside Faylon. All while he laid his ears upon the man's words in surprise, at how impactful and passion they were. Unexpected from the otherwise graceless man. A vow, a promise, and request to the blood soaked god of community. And though Trente another day, another moment would have disregarded such violent prayers, there was something within him that realized the heart of the words. And this moved Trente, sewing a thought upon the soul of his mind.

The roots slowly seeping downward as he rushed forward on Elem's orders, and assisted Idue in moving Faylon to the table as the servant gathered a platter with a set of ornate and brightly dyed candles upon them, setting them down near the wounded man for light, the tallest of the waxy spires shedding direct light on the wound below. Trente found it nearly laughable, that candles made for pleasantries for the ornate, was being used to reveal such an ugly and revolting sight. And so, with a painful squint against the sight, and a curl of his lip to the lurching sensation in the pit of his stomach he turned away from Faylon and moved over to Nai'shee, a small amount of blood now adorning the forearm of his white loose shirt. He looked her in the eye to see how she was doing, in hopes it would bring at least of them some level of comfort.

[Nai'shee]

She was just standing beside Faylon, looking at him, bitting her lip. She was on her guard too, but to dodge, not to attack, protect as Idue. She really had to find herself a proper dagger, sword, knife, something and remind herself of old lessons she almost forgot. She haven't fought for three or more years and even then she was a child and she only fought to make time for somebody to escape or find an opening for escape for herself. She never fought a true battle - a battle to death. Or at least she was pretty sure she haven't. That's why after a while of watching Faylon getting his first aid, and talking with elegant smirk which she already considered "so like him" even nor she barely knew him, she got nervous because of Idue's guard. It made her feel like something is going to happen. She gently concentrated at her Djed, to be prepared in case something comes - which, most certainly, won't happen. Nobody is stupid enough to come back here. She was so worried she jumped from one leg to another, impatiently. Few moments later Trente approached without any readable emotion on his face. He probably wanted to talk and she felt like yelling at him. She always hated feeling of being helpless, that's why she always wanted to learn more. But she barely knew anything about medicine, so she could only watch the show, unaware of how Faylon actually was. She finally moved her eyes from blood on Faylon's wound to give Trente a quick sight, but her impatient eyes gone back at Faylon in second.

[Paragon]

As Avari and Eorar faced down the attacker, he stood frozen for a moment, as if torn over what to do. All of a sudden, the man raised a hand, and a stream of fire burst from his flesh. The Konti and the Charoda were forced to step back, and at least make distance to avoid the reimancy. The jet of flame created a wall of sorts, separating them from the knife wielding man who now carried the fragment of the artifact. Having to shield their eyes, they did not see the man escape. When the flame relinquished, he was long gone, and they were left alone in the cold night air, wondering what was going to happen now. When they glanced down, they saw a scrap of paper. It had a short sequence of numbers on it: 40, 52, 61. In the main hall, the guests formed a circle of sorts around Faylon. Elem had begun to get the wound under control, having stemmed much of the fast flowing blood, and began a surgical procedure. However, Faylon's skin grew paler by the moment, eyelids fluttering as if he were about to go unconscious. It would take a miracle to save the man now. Some might call it retribution. Faylon had taken lives in the city, and now the city was repaying him. The miracle happened however. Suddenly, the guests were bathed in light. Much of that radiance seemed to pour unto Faylon and Elem. In the basking of that light, the white receded from Faylon's skin, colour returning slowly. Elem would find the blood clotting, and the skin stretching to try and close the wound. Nai'shee and Idue shielded their eyes, looking on in shock. When Elem looked up, a female form floated there, smiling at him. “Don't be afraid,” she whispered. Her words were soothing, caring. Elem suddenly felt at ease. “I am Rak'keli. I have witnessed your tenacity. Though the odds were stacked against you, you kept on going. I believe you call it... determination.” She came to him, the others only witnessing a great tunnel of light. “Though you hold little faith for me, I mark you as my own, Elem Bree. I wish to keep track of your progress as a healer, as I'm sure Mistress Claira will. Thank you. You have a good heart. I will watch you with interest.” Faylon suddenly burst up from the floor, gasping with all the air in the world. The light twinkled from existence, and so to did Rak'keli. In her wake, Elem would be left speechless, forever marked by Gnosis from the Goddess of Healing. Faylon's wound seemed to tighten, before healing with barely a mark. Though it was Rak'keli's light, not Elem's power, that healed Faylon, both would blink at each other in awe. As the crowds recovered from the dark, then divine events, Trente made his move. Sword still drawn, he worked his way to the stage Mistress Claira had taken with the first cryptic and grave news of the night. Once stood erect upon it, close to the lip dropping to the ballroom floor below, Trente rose his weapon into the air and with it his voice for the first time that evening, to draw the party goer's attention toward him along with the sharp stain of Faylon's shed blood upon his white sleeve. "Tonight has been far from the peaceful engagement we had all hoped for. Though grateful we are that the gods have turned a kind eye on the brave, "he lowered his sword and signaled the bloody sleeve toward Faylon below,"and adorned the selfless," an equal motion toward Elem, "we can not forget the wrongs that were done. Faylon, our protector, nearly lost his life to a wrathful rogue this evening. All as Mistress Claira and the rest of the staff, which would have us look to them, neglected in fact purposely so to warn us of this threat. Shrouding this rogue in shadows of ignorance. Had they fulfilled their responsibility as hosts and warned us, warned Faylon, of this danger the events of this night would have unfolded much differently. Faylon would be unharmed, and the rogue apprehended. Rak'kelli's hand would have been unneeded and we, the people, could have protected ourselves. But, this only goes to show the dire state in which Zeltiva is in. The university would call itself a power, an entity bent on shedding light upon the knowledge Zeltivans require. Yet they are the first to shroud danger in these shadows, and now Faylon has kissed death, and who knows what other dangers face us all tonight. We can not, however, lay all of this blame on Claira and the other professors or this establishment. No, we have been sheep, allowing ourselves to be flocked about as a wolf roams amongst us. Not only tonight, but for all our lives. We have stood by and entrusted our safety in hands other than our own. And for this we have won no right to complain. Tonight Rak'keli's grace has saved us from our ignorance. But, next time it will rest on only us to save ourselves. I will not be herded amongst the ignorant flocks any longer. And, I offer a hand to all those that feel the same. Zeltivans need training beyond that of the scholastic. We require martial training, and I shall seek this, as well as offer it. All of those that wish to protect themselves, to learn how to hold their own fate int heir hands, and to give that same power in return to your fellow citizens I beseech you to listen to this proposition. Next season I shall give the call to organize together in an association, a guild. To teach and learn that which is not shared by this university. Martial arts. And so, all those that seek a hand in your own destiny, that seek to be known for your own knowledge no that of the university, and wish for the safety of all your countrymen. Ready yourselves for spring. Prepare to break loose of the bonds of ignorance which Zeltiva's flawed system has forced you under." He then gave a pause, allowing his speech to come to an end, letting the crowd give what response it would, then gave a final set of words as his eyes rest upon Idue the rough Banshira who had been almost as much of a part of his action that night than Faylon had. "As for those of you that doubt this path. A wise man shared strong words with me tonight. Amongst them was this gem of knowledge. 'You might've come here to socialize, but in the end, you might just fight. Our plans are never etched in stone. More like sand, waiting for the breeze to blow it away.' So, be prepared, don't rely on your comfy preconceptions of Zeltiva to save you. Next time that dagger could find it's way into your chest. Here is your chance to change that. Be prepared." And as the entirity of the situation began to sink in, the waves rolled onto the shore, touching Zeltiva, before recoiling as if in horror. The darkling tides kept coming, and on the horizon, something called. It came from below the water. And with the storm, it would rise.

[Paragon]

Adventurer's Loot I'm simplifying this for the sake of brevity - since so many of you participated. First off, thank you for making this so much fun! You all played your parts fantastically, and I hope you enjoyed the surprises that were in store. This was only Act I of Darkling Tides, so there is plenty more fun to come, and you're all welcome to come along for the ride. Though swimming experience may be required for the next part! All participants receive the lores: Winter Ball 511 Attendee, On Darker Tides, Witness of Rak'keli's Light More specifically, Avari, Eorar, and Elem receive: The Stolen Artifact Avari and Eorar receive: The Masked Man's Note: 40, 52, 61 Elem receives: Touched by Rak'keli, Treating a Stab Wound Faylon receives: Stabbed, Kissed by Death Nai'shee receives: The Messenger, Calling for Help Trente receives: Taking a Stand, A Hopeful Future Idue receives: Cleansing Zeltiva's Evils, A New Path All players can take 2 Socialisation XP. Those who were in the hall can take 2 Dancing XP, while those who followed the man/professors can take 2 Stealth XP. Avari and Eorar, take 1 Intimidation XP each. Eorar take 1 Morphing XP. Elem take 3 Medicine XP, Faylon take 3 Boxing or Unarmed Combat XP. Nai'shee take 2 Running XP. Trente take 2 Rhetoric XP and 1 Leadership XP. Elem Bree also receives 1 Gnosis Mark of Rak'keli "Healing". This was a behemoth of a thread - if you think I've missed something, please let me know. It's VERY possible I've missed a trick with the XP. Thank you again, please head to the OOC thread, where I'd appreciate some survey responses - if you have ANY questions or concerns about this grading, don't hesitate to PM me.