The Masquerade Ball (Open to ALL)

[Wrenmae]

It was a coldness, a lack of feeling really. It spread along his skin like fire and seeped into his very bones. He felt it in his hand first, more the lack of it. It was the weight of the stone hanging from his shoulder that he felt first, not the feeling of skin calcifying to marble or digits freezing to unyielding stone.

Of course. The mask had felt like nothing on his face, it had been easy to forget it was on, but turning back to the body of the thief, he saw his mask clutched in his accursed grasp.

No.

His face twisted into a desperate grimace and he swiftly turned back on the body of Brandon, a red stain creeping from under his body and across the dazzling dance floor. Pride and arrogance, foolish things, he should have been watching the damn thief's hands!

He took a step toward the mask, reaching out even as his arm froze in that position, reaching and never touching. The foul magic spread across his skin, sinking into his being and slowing his movement forward. He was beside Brandon, he was over the mask, he thrust his frozen hand forward...perhaps if he could only touch it again, claim it as his own then.

And his feet froze, half crouched, reaching for the mask.

"NO!" Wren growled, gritting his teeth against the magic that forced his compliance, "Damnit!"

From his shoulders and back, places where the stone had not touched, tentacles and arms burst from his skin, writhing towards the mask on the floor. It was a bid of desperation, and he knew that if he could just have the mask returned to him, the stone would slide away.

He was so close, grey patterns racing up the reforming muscle and freezing his new appendages in disgusting undulations, all just inches from the mask.

Finally the stone closed over his eyes, slowing now as if mocking his efforts to save himself from the curse. The mask was just beyond his grasp, tantalizing and yet eternally at the edge of his fingertips.

He had moments, seconds maybe, the dream sounded distant.

"Damn...it."

Brandon :

Fun little bout, mate. Thanks for being a good sport about it. I had a blast. Cheers!

[Annalisa Marin]

Anna nodded at the plan, though whether or not her memories from the dream would remain was another matter entirely. Daren could very well steal them away, or Amaryllis' technique could block out everything. It could be that she might just forget it like she did most of her dreams, lost in the back of her mind in an endless haze. Still, it was worth a shot if nothing else and besides there was much to discuss with Celeste besides this dream world. Amaryllis might not approve of her willingness to trust the girl, but the Nuit could petch herself in that event.

The sorceress felt her heart skip a beat at the mention of overgiving, pain of the previous Summer fresh in her mind. The hallucinations, the crying out in her sleep, the difficult with even walking. Reimancy carried a heavy price and it had nearly driven her to insanity, though Morphing's risks sounded equally as horrifying. To forget one's own original form, to change completely and totally forever was a fate Anna would rather not dwell upon. Then again, all magic possessed its risks. She'd heard tell of elemental mutations for those that pushed far beyond their natural limits in Reimancy. Anna filed away the possibility of looking more closely into Morphing in the future, she was always looking to broaden her horizons.

"A steep price, though one all practitioners face. Perhaps later we might compare notes on various magical disciplines." Anna suggested with a shrug.

The sorceress decided to go through with Celeste's idea, first trying to decide what to cast. Reimancy ran the risk of causing mass destruction, Voiding could be even worse, however Shielding was relatively safe all things considered. It was not exactly flashy or exciting but it was a good template to build off of.

The tall woman drained what remaining wine was left in her glass, setting it down before her when it was empty. Anna concentrated on protective emotions, the desire to defend rather than destroy. It didn't take long and once she had a focus upon it she gripped her glass once more, willing her Djed to push outwards from her hands.

Normally it took a very long time for her to get any results, this time the purple strands came into existence almost immediately and wrapped themselves snuggly around the glass. The tall woman quickly worked the weaves of a basic shield into the glass, the strands almost moving with a life all their own as she built layer upon layer into it. Unlike before there was not drain felt, no weakness in her limbs and the strands remained thicker and more steady than ever before.

Within the span of a mere two chimes an even and nearly perfect shield adorned the glass, shimmering a deep royal purple before her eyes. She carefully set the thing down, turning her gaze up to Celeste. Her theory about not being restrained by normal reality seemed rather spot on.

"That shouldn't have been possible. Shielding usually take much more care and patience for one so new to it as myself, it took me over twenty chimes just to make my first shield over a Miza. Yet this once has no holes and few imperfections in it's weave. That being the case our magic theoretically is only limited to our imagination here." The woman said very slowly, almost not believing it herself.

In a world were the impossible was possible where were the lines drawn? What rules were enforces here? What was preventing her from creating a portal to the Void big enough to consume the whole ballroom? This dream was both wonderful and terrifying in that respect, though it also raised yet more questions. Was control solely resting in the hands of the 'host' or could she and Celeste manipulate the reality of this dream if they so desired?

"Hmm... perhaps the Grand Library has something on the nature of dreams within its halls. Unfortunately, most of the works are in Nader-Canoch so we are both rather out of luck for looking for assistance there." Anna mused.

"Another thing, will you or I remember this when we awaken? I rarely remember my dreams, even when I do its only in vague flashes. Also lest you forget, my erstwhile stalker has quite a thing for interrogating me and erasing my memories. Among other things I suspect..." The sorceress said.

Anna tried not to think overly hard about the things Daren might have done to her, or she might have willingly partaken in due to his hypnotic influences. In that it was something of a blessing her mind was wiped, no doubt whatever he'd forced upon her was rather horrific. A flash of pure burning hatred ran through her, her nails biting into the flesh of her palms. She was going to murder him horribly for this, that silent vow remained true. That he might very well be involved with any hardships Celeste was dealing with made him all the more a threat.

[Engghaen]

She smiled sadly when Quint was finished speaking. Why did he tell her this? And how did he know? Yes, she did long to keep what she had and did not like change. Not because she did not like new things, but because she did not want to risk losing what she had. Though if the girl really wanted to go for something, she would. But that did not happen often at all. She was too cautious for that. She would first think of all the single things that could happen and then pull out a conclusion. Most of the times the opportunity had already gone away by then. It was sad. It sometimes hurt her. She needed to dare more, she stated. She should remember that.

He spun her around. Then he told about how gracious she was. The corners of her lips curled up slowly. In her opinion, she was not gracious. Sometimes she was actually quite plump. A clumsy bird trying to flutter.
My eyes... Yes, Brandon said that as well. I don't know. To Engghaen, her eyes were just something regular. They were blue, and... sparkly. But it was nothing special. Different from Human eyes, but just regular eyes to her. Kelvic eyes.

Dancing, yes, dancing. That was why he was here. That was why he had thrown this party. She still did not get why he thought she was so interesting and special, but apparently he thought that and that ment she there was probably a reason for it.

They then kept silent. The girl enjoyed his company. It was different. Actually he was not that bad at dancing, contrasting with what Quint had said himself. When the song was almost over, she looked at Quint again with a rather shy look. "You are not that bad at dancing. I hope you will change. Not changing is the worst thing that can ever happen to you. Ever. I enjoy your company. In a... different way. It has been nice dancing with you. Apparently you have made my evening. Thank you for that." Slowly, they came to a stop. Engghaen shot him a thankful look. Then they walked back off the dance floor.

There, a small girl was sitting. She was evenly colourfully dressed as she. Carefully shifting her gaze over to the girl, she smiled at her. Then, not to be mean towards Quint, she looked back at him. "Thank you for throwing this ball. Thanks for everything."

x

[Roderick]

Brandon completely ignored him. Breathing out heavily through his nose Roderick turned around to regard the man that was speaking - Quint Caravel, the host of this party that had been oddly absent for much of the night. Now he appeared to deliver some formalities, being interrupted mid-speech by a woman in beads and feathers, who dropped a roll of parchment on his head from high above. Taking the object in hand, he began to read off the names it displayed. "In no particular order: Taylani, a vision in burgundy..., Einla, in sequins and grey..., Rhys the discrete..., Snowdrop, beautiful blue eyes peeking out of a mask of blue and gold..., Assilsa, dancer on the ceiling..., Brandon, of the famed Black Wings..., Engghaen, she who prefers looking up at a table..., Roderick, adorned in fine black leather..., Valerius, handsome in an elegant suit of black and silver..., Pjeil, bored Isur with the blue arm..., Wre-- Murdock, fancifully adorned in a wide-sleeved robe and peacock blue mask..." That last part had been highly suspicious - as though Quint had been about to say an entirely different name, only to correct himself just in time. It was just barely noticeable, and was swiftly drowned out by the rest of the names. "Annalisa, enchanting in an emerald and sapphire colored dress, ..., Celeste, the comely and giggling young dancer..., Ardan, dressed as a black panther..., M'wanii, a vision in a light sparkling cream dress embroidered with pearls...., golden-eyed Tinnok in her one-armed gown, ..., and Jeepea the Pycon." As wonderful as the descriptions were, Roderick found the large painting behind Caravel to be more interesting; it shifted and changed as he spoke, showing each person in exquisite detail as he spoke their name. When the Zeltivan's own name was spoken he watched as he appeared upon the work of art, dressed as he had been at the start of the night. The effect of what he'd been wearing had eluded him thus far, since he hadn't seen his own reflection. Seeing it laid out before him he felt impressed. Huh. I look great. Seeing that one of the fighter's had turned into a shapeless blur, he told the guardsmen to stay back for a moment; swinging at something they couldn't see wouldn't get them anywhere. Glancing over his shoulder as three more men became attracted by the spectacle unfolding between the two fighting guests, he decided he should wrap things up quickly. "You two, help me out of this armour." They stared at him silently for a moment, "Get to it, will you - we don't have all night." Dutifully they held their tongues and set to stripping the man they thought was their captain of his armour. Piling it up neatly on the ground, another of the guards carried the equipment away a while after, so it wouldn't get in the way. Without the heavy, intrusive skin of metal cocoon him, he felt much better. Tightening his borrowed belt tighter about his waist, he adjusted the dagger he'd found so it wouldn't slip free, waving a hand dismissively at the men gathered around him once he was left with just a breastplate. "I will deal with this - move the guests on." Nodding sharply, the guards all turned around and set to clearing the area of its onlookers. Taking a step forwards, time slowly returned to normal, revealing a grisly tale of what exactly between the thief and Peacock; for a time, frozen in the moment, Roderick saw the thief's innards hanging out in the open, his body being torn asunder by the cruel, wicked claws the robed man sported. As they returned to normal, the thief grasped out at the Peacock, tearing his mask from his face; he didn't seem to notice. Watching with mild curiosity as the defeated fighter collapsed and bled to death in a pool of his own blood, the Zeltivan met the eyes of the man that had caused all this trouble. Letting his eyes take in the details of his face, Roderick matched the calm look he was given, at first planning on sending the man on his way. Instead he watched with a mix of surprise and fascination as the Peacock started to turn into solid rock; the thief's powers were working even as he died. As a vast number of writhing tentacles sprouted over his body, the panicking man's formerly calm manner evaporated, and he cried out and screamed as he reached for his mask, perhaps hoping it would stop what was happening to him. Without knowing why, Roderick let his morphing slip away, revealing his true face. Everyone else had completely moved on, and without anyone's eyes on him the Zeltivan saw no need to continue his charade. The increasingly furious man continued his attempts at retrieving his stolen possession, his body becoming a mass of stone and writhing appendages as he put every fibre of his being into taking back what was his. As the grasping limbs tried to seize hold of the mask, the archer lowered his foot onto it, feeling it crack beneath his weight. As it split apart he started to turned away and, as casually as one might swing a door shut, he took hold of one of Wrenmae's many stone limbs and lifted his arm, flipping the statue over onto its back. Landing heavily on the hard floor, the brittle rock that had once been a man shattered and splintered into dozens of fragments, scattering themselves over the floor. Walking away calmly, Roderick left the broken stone to lie where it had fallen, while the thief slowly died an agonizing death. Small traces of grey smoke began snaking their way across the floor as the clone crumbled into nothing, its being transferring itself back to the original body it had once inhabited. Watching as Brandon was reunited with the second of his three clones, the archer turned his attention towards the observer, standing silently on his own as he watched over the events that were unfolding in the room. By now the chaos that the three had caused was clearing itself away, the masquerade carrying on as usual. The words of the Charoda returned to his mind, but he pushed her away from his thoughts as he continued on his travels. Over time he had been thinking about why exactly he was interfering here. Now he knew; it was because meddling was dangerous. Every situation he'd put himself into that night had involved some level of danger to himself, but despite that he had jumped at the chance whenever it had presented itself, and now he was enjoying himself greatly. The lack of any form of armour or cloak made him feel light and unrestrained, and he strolled through the crowds, completely at ease with everything, not caring about the two men that had just died a few minutes ago. Drawing near to the observer, he made clear his intentions "It's time for these antics to end. The other two are back where they belong - now it's your turn. Return to Brandon so he can be whole again."

[M'Wanii]

Everything swayed inside the space that M’wanii now stood in. It might have been the undeveloped part of the not-dream. It was odd and unnatural. Echoes of those trapped here came from everywhere giving the Charoda no sense of direction or location in relation to the sounds. There was nothing behind her or in front of her, nothing pure and utter nothing. She wore no clothes here either, her dress vanishing when she left the ballroom. There was nothing here. Still she kept walking, or was she swimming. Yes she was but where… Surfacing out of the nothing caused the amphibious woman to appear on the roof of the ball house. She was still without her dress but nudity wasn't much of an issue to in the society of the Charodae. Her scars were back as well, stretching clearly from her ankle, up her leg, her side and her arm to her forehead. They were rough and ugly but familiar. The amphibian wondered why she had appeared here and more importantly what she should do next. She was far too high up to jump down and there appeared to be no stairs granting access to the roof. So what should she do. As M’wanii stood thinking about what to do now, a small white bathing robe materialized next to her. Still unsure what to make of what was happening, she picked it up and put it on. At least now she wasn't as cold. Turning around the view was amazing. The not-dream’s creator had obviously taken great care to give a stunning view from up here. Odd considering there was no way up here. Just a pattern of glass sky lights, showing the floor a long way below. Carefully M’wanii crouched next to one seeing what had happened in her absence. A man in a tux and black and white mask appeared and disappeared, having addressed the guests about something. The familiar stranger appeared from a guard and proceeded to smash a statue. Odd. The trap wasn't trying to seem normal any more. That was it! It was a distraction. The eye automatically goes to the abnormal, right? So find the normal, ignore the distraction. Normal what was normal here? Stretching out her legs, she searched desperately for something abnormally normal. Now sitting with legs out stretched, M'wanii lay backwards to ponder about where to look. That was when she saw him.There was a statue hanging above her, suspended from wires that feed from the taller parts of the roofs. A perfect marble representation of a male human, flying over her head. Had that been there the entire time? The more she stared at it, the more it seemed real. Maybe it was…… “Hello?” She ventured towards the carved piece of stone .

[Brandon Blackwing]

x

WrenA good sport about my defeat? I don't mind letting Bran die as long as it is only in a dream. And even if it is a dream, making Bran more skilled in combat wouldn't have been as much fun, I think. Wouldn't have made such a good story, no? It was my pleasure.


The observer did what he did best. Nothing. Just standing quietly in the middle of a crowd and watched as the events had unfolded themselves. It had been very amusing, and yet not. He had closely observed the spectacle developing between the reckless one and the thief, trying to take the peacock down. He had felt sad when the reckless one had died, but as he saw that he just returned to the original body, he cheered up a little. Brandon wouldn’t lose parts of his personality then. Good. Paying the fighters special attention, he had known all along the clones couldn’t defeat the peacock in a fight.

They should have noticed it sooner, but unfortunately it took the death of one of them to make the other realize. Morons. They should have waited and watched first. Then act. The basics. He sighed inaudible. Why didn’t the thief give up. Pride? Honor? A thief? Ha! What a joke. But still, he understood the thief his feelings. He couldn’t turn back, tail between his legs and flee. That would make him a coward. Or a wise man. But seeing as Brandon, the complete version, was neither, it should have been obvious he would keep fighting. The observer did not mind. For all he was concerned, this made an excellent show.

It also helped that time had slowed down to a snail’s speed. He could see every action begin to form, every emotion start to display on the face of the thief and Peacock. Interesting. While the thief became frustrated, the peacock grew more arrogant and cocky. The observer shook his head. He was starting to underestimate the reflection. He grinned underneath his mask, it rippled when his lips moved. Never underestimate an opponent. It could make the difference between victory and defeat. The peacock seemed to think that the reflections were stupid. Too dumb to land a hit, or to formulate a decent strategy. That was a serious mistake.

They were quite intelligent, all of them. And the thief seemed to be desperate, he could see it in his eyes. A sadness, immeasurable. Desperate men were dangerous. They were capable of pulling off things that were impossible for an ordinary person. Suicide acts. This was exactly what the thief was about to do. He just knew it. Another thing that the peacock did not take into account was that all of the replications were a different manifestation, a different part of Brandon’s personality. The one that usually stopped the thief and the reckless one in their tracks, the one that prevented them from doing something that had no chances of survival, was not imbedded in the thief, neither was it in the reckless one. So, they were not held back by reason, they didn’t doubt their decisions. The just executed them.

As the thief was pierced by the claws the peacock had grown, the observer saw the reflection’s hand grappling the mask. Fingers quick of action ripped it off his face before the man noticed. The observer was taken aback. He had not expected this. He had known that the thief had some sort of plan, but this? Good thinking. So his offence had been a feint? Only so he could steal the peacock mask, hoping he would turn into a statue like the rest of his victims. Truly impressive. It worked. His grin had become much wider now. This was the best spectacle he had ever seen. The thief, clearly the underdog here, had actually managed to best the superior peacock. He could not help but to respect him for that. After several chimes of agonizing pain, the thief found back his way to the original body. Now only he himself was left.

The tall man that had been running around all evening, cleaning up the mess the thief had made, was watching too. He crushed the mask with his foot and crumbled the statue that had once been a man. The observer lifted an eyebrow. Why was he doing that? Maybe he didn’t like the peacock either. Either way, he had turned in the observer’s direction and paced towards him. The last of the copies did not move. he was curious what the man, Roderick he thought he was called, wanted with him. In hindsight, it should have been as clear as a crystal. He wanted him to return to the original as well. Huh, seriously? He didn’t need to tell the observer that. He was starting to feel quite lonely with everyone gone. Of course he wanted to go back. He could not however. “I don’t feel like dying.” he spoke his thoughts. And that was the only comment Roderick recieved.

x

[Roderick]

"I don't feel like dying." Silence followed for a few tics as man and clone watched one another closely, each evaluating the other. Of all the different personalities that had been wreaking chaos that evening, Roderick had been under the impression that the observer was the most sensible, level-headed of them. Yet it seemed he had no intention of letting everyone else have a good night; for whatever reason he'd decided he was going to stay for a while. "You're not going to die - you'll just have to suffer the company of your friends again." They continued to hold one another's eyes, while the silence lengthened once more. Roderick broke it. "Why do you lot have to spoil this? I deal with enough shyke during the day - I should get to have some nice dreams." The dagger was still tucked into his belt, hidden away behind his back. Feeling the urge to just stab the bugger and be done with the matter, Roderick wondered if he could actually succeed in such an effort; the clone had shown some level of skill in unarmed combat, so the question of who would win of the two was an interesting one. Approaching calmly, Roderick drew in close to the clone, until their faces were a few inches away. "You don't have any say in the matter." He said the words quietly, with no hint of anger within them - all so he might finish what he was planning on doing. Slipping the dagger free he stabbed out with it at the man's chest, aiming between his ribs to where his heart was; at the same time he grabbed him by the back of the neck and shoved him forwards roughly, towards the point of the blade. If he repeated what he'd done earlier, the observer would move out of the way before he was hurt and they would have to fight things out. For now though the archer simply hoped for everything to work out; he would carve a hole in the clone's heart, and then throw him to his knees finish him off.

[Brandon Blackwing]

x

The man, Roderick, kept his mouth shut after that reply. Well, for a short time, but it was something. The observer didn’t quite feel like talking. Or listening to this guy for that matter. Come to think about it, he never really liked talking. It was useless. People only talked about boring chitchat not worthy of his time. Besides, there were more entertaining things going on. Unfortunately, this guy, somewhat taller than himself, blocked his vision, he could still hear some interesting conversations though. Until the man decided it was time to annoy him again.

So, what did this man claim? That he wasn’t going to die? Ha! That’s unlikely. Dying seemed to be the only way to rejoin the others. As much as he would like to be with them again, he couldn’t quite get over the thought of having to die for it. It was not like he didn’t enjoy his fellow copies’ company. What this man was blabbing about, suffering their company, didn’t make sense at all. Though, maybe if it was done quickly he could consider it…? He felt the desire. It was strong enough to gleam in his dark orbs, half closed while musing on the idea.

His eyes were looking in the man’s own ones, but his didn’t see anything. His mind was handling the sight right now. It were illusions of the minds eye, true, but that didn’t make them appear any less realistic. The keen hearing of the bat picked up the rest of the tall man’s words. "Why do you lot have to spoil this?” Spoil this? The evening? Clearly he was confusing all of them. He hadn’t done anything wrong. Maybe the people had been scared by his appearance. It could have been. The observer was certain that they had been, but other than that?

The only one who had been ruining the party had been the thief. And the reckless one to a certain extend. But that had been the Peacock’s fault. He shouldn’t have angered them. The observer sighed deeply. He’d have to use his voice again. Always the talking. It had a negative effect on his mystery act. In order to keep things balanced, and hold on to the mysteriousness that surrounded him, he had to spout some dramatic lines. Enigmatic sentences, containing as few words as possible. It occupied his brain for a moment, thinking of a suitable response he could give. Or rather, how to put his reply into a line filled with drama.

“The only one responsible has died already. Isn’t that enough? I never unleashed chaos upon this very crowd, so let me keep on breathing.”

Roderick slowly came closer. Prowling almost, his face leaned in on him, only a centimeter of five of distance between them. A whisper, spoken icily calm, flew from the man’s lips. “You,” he said “don’t have any say in the matter.” Oh, really? Meaning that he would kill the observer himself then?

That appeared to be the plan, as he was grabbed by the back of his neck and roughly drawn forward, where a blade awaited, thirsty for blood. His preferably. Well, the dagger would have to skip this meal. Like he had done before, he vanished in less than a tick and reappeared behind the man who was trying to stab him. Like a ghost. He had been aiming so he would be positioned with his face at the man’s shoulder. “Like I said, I don’t feel like dying.” And he blinked away, leaving the words behind, the only evidence he had ever been standing where he had just a tick ago.

The observer materialised just outside the building. It was quite crowded here as well. Well, not a surprise, a lot of guests had fled the chamber when he and his companions had appeared. And then there were still the lot of people how couldn’t enter the mansion since it had been packed with invited party members already. The bat ceased gazing at his new surroundings and walked away, boots tapping on the hard stone of the road. He mixed with the crowd, although dressed in a bit more scruffy way, nobody seemed to pay him any attention. He didn’t wait for the other ones, no other one, to follow him. They- he would notice he was gone soon enough and he was sure that th- he would catch up eventually. He shrugged, he didn’t care. He had had his fun and entertainment, but it had been enough for tonight. His cloak fluttered behind as he disappeared behind a corner and entered a dark alleyway.

x