Quest [Festival of Illusion] Sacrilegious Faith

[Whimsy]

11th Spring, 513AV

Finally, the few days of the year that the Alvads live for. The days of the Festival of Illusion. The greatest festival in all of Mizahar, so they say, they with the swirling cloths and the trickster smiles, the gleaming eyes and the secrets tucked behind their teeth. These are the days that the city comes alive, and Ionu walks amongst his people, so they say, whatever guise he or she may take. The greatest week, a celebration, full of frivolity, revelry and joy.

It was never thought that death should come to the citizens this week.

The blue sky stretched out lazily above the Bizarre, the central trading place of the shifting, changing city. A blood red sun shone down upon the citizens, an eerie burgundy film over the cobblestone of the streets, the pale white faces of the people, just emerged from the chill of winter. No wind: the weather still. And noise everywhere: children ducking and running with toys the shapes of ducks, wooden ducks that moved and quacked and layed wooden eggs. Women stroked the cloth of blue scarves that rippled like the sea from vendors, with their wares spread out on rickety tables outside the entrance to the Bizarre, This was where the Festival of Illusion truly thrived: tourists and citizens alike all came to purchase the magical goods the city was known for, and that were arranged in all their splendor during these next few days.

This was the scene. This should have continued to be the scene for the next three days, a scene of peace and joy, of laughter and happiness, of a celebration of Ionu. But it was not to be: to the eyes of those watching, to the eyes of those outside the Bizarre, the rest of the Festival would be tainted.

There was a loud crack. A crack that could not be mistaken. A crack of bone.

In the middle of the courtyard, without a sound and without warning, a man, a human man with tan skin and dark brown eyes as dark as his hair, had jumped from the roof of the Bizarre: face down, his head connecting with the stone streets, breaking his neck instantly, cracking open his skull. A man jumped, a man dead, surrounded by a sea of blood seeping from the wound, staining his brunette hair. A man dead, with no warning.

A man dead before the eyes of children: before the eyes of Ionu.

What on Mizahar could drive a man to this?
e

[Kuvarakh]

Thank the gods, a break! With the arrival of the Festival of Illusion, a significant number of the neighbors seeking redress at the shop for their frequently exaggerated losses was reduced. He was going to enjoy the festival. It held special meaning to him, and his boss, Wanda, knew this. A huge weighty chapter of his life had been purged from him during LAST year's festival. It had coincided with his meeting of minds and spontaneous formation of The Order of Transcendence. So much had changed for him. It was a rebirth of purpose and an end to the stagnation of his fruitless wandering over the last century.

He had come to realize his "mission" was fraught with as much negative potential as positive. It had brought his life's direction to a grinding halt. Then, a sign had brought him here and he'd thought an answer would be waiting. The answer was in the form a message formed in his mind by Ionu to "Begin Anew". The whole core of his understanding of himself and his purpose was restored to fresh perspective. He found a beautiful black feather in his hand, highlights of rainbows ran along its edges and surfaces in almost hypnotic swirls and spirals.

But more than that, he had found a group of others staring with the same rapt delight at identical feathers in their hands. That day, almost that very moment, they had formed The Order, and his life had taken on new meaning. He did not know what, if anything, they had been "freed" from to join in this remarkable endeavor, and he had never made it his business. His own soulful reorientation into life and society had been enough. That had been a year ago.

Now, as then, he danced. He remembered the dancing he'd indulged in last year and he set himself a mark to surpass it. His spinning and gliding, arms alternating between extension, akimbo and parallel forearms at shoulder level. One leg, bending and extending, the other kicking and tapping. Both legs, twirling and leaping, squatting and kicking, driven by the beat coursing through his senses. The music laying a foundation for spirited arpeggios to play within and without.

He laughed as he spun. What he lacked in grace and prowess, he made up for in enthusiasm. He wondered how often a Nuit was seen to behave so, in ANY city, under ANY motivation. Others joined his laughter. He supposed it may have been inspired by his clumsy interpretation of dance and he held no hard feelings. The laughter sounded merry, not derisive.

Then the clapping started. Sporadic at first, as though unsure of which person was establishing the beat. But the beat soon found itself and grew solid. All such things eventually fade though, whether from waning interest or simple sore palms. As the beat grew weak, one loud clap broke through. A sudden, offbeat, single crack grabbed the attention of those poised to clap one more time. The gaiety was replaced at once by screams and shock.

Like a wave of invisible water washing through the center of the street, the crowd was parted, and Kuvarakh stalled his motion to stare in equal horror. A dead man lay in clear view of all. His skull split open, his brains becoming visible as the blood engulfing them leaked into the street. His head at an angle not found in nature. A last few twitches as horrified silence brought the festival to a grim halt.

[Rengar]

Garren was having a great time at the festival. He had a sack of wine in one hand, and a pretty little brunette in his arm. Her name was Cheryn, or Cheryl, or something. Cherry. Her name is Cherry. Don't spoil my fun brother, today is a celebration. Garren put the skin to his lips, squeezed it as the robust red flourished his taste buds. He pulled it away, bent down, and kissed the short woman fiercely. She giggled beneath his lips, their tongues mingling, her tasting the wine through him. "Are you sure your people aren't originally from Alvadas? Your coloring is so beautiful and unique, you seem more Alvadan than most. Although..," a finger trailed down his chest, following the light cloth, tracing his muscles, "You are much more fit than most men here." Her finger traced lower and lower, until she reached the waist of his trousers, and she continued lower, atop the cloth. She gripped him firmly, causing Garren to grit his teeth and exhale, "When are we going to stop this foreplay, and get to the main event?" Garren stared down at her, a mischievous smile upon his face, "Well then, shall we find somewhere more... available?" He took her firmly by the hand, and began weaving through the crowd that made up the Bizarre. "Where are we going, there's so many people here?" Garren ignored her question, taking another swig of the wine until he found his prize, a stairwell. The stairwell led upwards, and he pulled her up it, listening to her giggling as she realized the plan. Up and up they climbed, as if they were rambunctious teenagers again. Reaching the top, he found an unlocked door, and let himself through, finding himself atop the Bizarre. He led her out of obvious sight of the doorway, and pressed her against the wall, his mouth devouring hers. Her hands were already untying the laces of his breeches, and he ripped her dress from her body. She was small, supple, and now naked in the wind. He moved to kiss her neck when he heard a commotion down below in the streets. "Hold that thought," he walked over to the edge of the building nearest the commotion. He peered over, and saw the body down below, his eyes widening in surprise. Brother, stay calm, think about how this looks. Do you think he jumped? Or was killed? That doesn't matter, just stay calm, someone is likely to come up here and talk to us now. He'd momentarily forgotten about Cherry as he stood there, looking at the body, and the crowd around it.

[Artur]

'Oh thank you!!' Artur's mind echoed as he chowed down on the delicious confections that were provided today, his stomach reveled in a much merry mood as he indulged in a sweet tooth from the Void. His favorite snack of all time he tried just moments ago was the super sweet rolls they had laying on platters, among several other fantastic sugary things they had. The bear hadn't expected to find himself in such high spirits when he first heard about the festival, but he actually felt glad to have participated in such an event now that he got to indulge in its sweets. Surely there had to be other food for him to enjoy than sugar though, as his excitement could only be matched by sheer curiosity. He made his way down along some of the other stalls that held food, avoided other people along the way as his plump frame nudged between gaps. People danced all about in fine fun spirits which made the festivities all the more enjoyable for the bear, for he had never seen such an event come together like this.

As he arrived at his next targeted stall he found some prepared meats and some prepared veggies, and then there were different colored foods that could pass for fruit as well. Artur picked up what could pass for an orange, a few spikes poked out of the skin of the believed fruit. One whiff and the bear knew that by the burn in his nose this was the same plant he found in the Garden that one day, a very sharp sour smell with a tinge of sweetness to mix with. He didn't plan to find another one of these ever again, as he nearly went on a sneezing tirade the last time. Still he hadn't planned for it to pass along as a edible fruit, if it could be called that, considering his nose burned too much for it. Still he took the spikey orange and looked at what other options intrigued his belly. That was when he heard a crack, a crack that made him cringe as he could only imagine the pain. What that crack was he didn't rightfully know, but with people beginning to gather around his stomach began to turn a bit.

Murmurs then caught his ear's from the people around him, a man was dead now in the midst of the streets. Did he jump? Was he pushed? Did he accidently fall? Questions were all around Artur and he wanted to get out, but at the same time he also wanted to know what was going on.

[Esra Lesque]

Though Esra hated to admit it, the atmosphere brought on by the Festival was a welcome change. The craftsmen, the art, the music, the children playing; all of it came together to spark something in him that had proven to be elusive in the past couple seasons. Esra didn't fully understand the feeling, but he did know one thing -- he was going to be a part of the day's festivities.

A smile spread across Esra's face as he strode off towards the center of the Bizarre. The boy's eyes darted from face to face, looking for someone who appeared both happy and unsuspecting. It had to be someone from out of town, someone just passing through for the festival. It had to be him. When Esra found the middle-aged man, he was wrestling with a scarf that was fashioned in the form of an exotic snake. The scarf was well-crafted, very intricate, and when the man moved, it almost looked alive. It was the perfect distraction, and Esra made his approach. As Esra stepped towards his potential victim, he filled his head with every detail he could manage.

One -- blue eyes, vivid, but not bright.

The boy worked his way into the crowd, doing his best to blend in, pretending to marvel at the various trinkets people were playing with, the art, and the clothing around him.

Two -- Light brown hair, touched with grey, atop an exceedingly round head.

Esra's heart rate began to pick up in anticipation of the event to come, circling his prey for a final glance at its face.

Three -- Pointed nose, thin lips, beauty mark just below the left corner of the mouth, skin beginning to wrinkle.

Esra reached out, connected with the djed in himself, and felt his face flush. He grinned as he reached his hands up, letting them sink into his flesh and work to restructure his nose and cheek bones. He clenched his teeth and covered his mouth, partially to keep himself from grunting in pain, and partially to help guide the transformation along. He ran his hand through his hair, leaving it lighter, nearly blonde with strands of white, and he pushed very gently just below the corner of his lip. When Esra pulled his hand away, a small brown spot occupied the space where his fingertip had been a moment sooner. He let go of his djed, felt his face cool, and stumbled for a moment, light-headed. Esra ran a hand over his new visage, threw on the most maniacal smile he could manage, and tapped Snake Scarf's shoulder. The man turned, face empty, eyes blanketed in terror. Esra's heart stopped; he had intended to startle his prey, maybe share a laugh about the caricature that Esra now wore as a face, but he didn't intend for the man to respond like this. Esra swallowed hard, and for a moment, it seemed like the sound of his swallowing could shake the entire city. There was nothing else. No music, no chatter, no laughs -- nothing at all.

What's wrong?

A chill ran through Esra's body and he turned to see a man broken and bleeding in the center of the Bizarre. Esra gasped and diverted his gaze upward, numbed by emotional shock. Esra'd never seen a corpse before, at least not one like this.

[Licearsvansan]

Svan was having a good day, and for once he wasn't paranoid that something bad was going to happen. Mirth and joy radiated off of the citizens of Alvadas, and each and every person seemed elated just to be alive. Who could blame them? Dancing and parties filled the streets and the markets were flooded with people all eager to see the newest and most spectacular illusions Mizahar had to offer. Merchants and artisans alike brought out their best merchandise and put on proud display for all to see. Svan saw wands that leaked a rainbow of colors into the air, instruments that made noises no normal creation should make, and food that looked like one thing and tasted like another. It was this last thing that caught Svan's eyes.

Earlier on in the festival, the brown haired man had been unaware that the chefs in Alvadas cooked strange foods that taste completely different from what they appeared to be. Because of this he had experienced a terrible event where he ate a slab of meat whole only to learn that it tasted exactly like broccoli. Being a carnivore, Svan found most vegetables a fruits to be repulsive and frankly indigestible. No sooner had Svan eaten the hateful veggie-steak than did he spit it back up. Luckily he had been alone when he ate the repulsive meal so only he had to deal with the repercussions.

After that not so enjoyable experience, Svan learned that not all is as it seems during this festival, and Svan was now abusing this rule to its fullest extent. In one hand he carried a bussel of carrot, and in the other was a half eaten hunk of chocolate. Both tasted remarkably like meat, and considering Svan's stomach wasn't yet rebelling Svan assumed that this food secretly was meat. Despite this, there was something amazing about being able to eat this food seriously for the first time in his life. Meat was delicious, but it lacked the satisfactory "crack" of biting into a crispy carrot, and chocolate, while no vegetable, contained several other delectable traits he had never experienced.

Svan to a massive bite out of the carrots and smiled greedily. He then continued to devour the carrots at an unsettling speed before tossing the remaining stubs aside and walking towards a crowd. Amongst the people there Svan saw Artur looking at the ground and decided to walk up and see what every one was staring at. Svan took a bite of the chocolate and let the smooth and creamy feeling glide around the inside of his mouth. Svan groaned in food induce ecstasy and nudged Artur. "Listen buddy, you HAVE to try th-" Svan stopped short once he saw what everyone was looking at. It wasn't the first nor would it be the last time Svan would see a dead man, but to see one on such a day was nearly unthinkable.

Wide eyed, Svan made panicked glance to his sides. "Wasn't me!"

[Whimsy]

Nothing but silence reigned the courtyard in front of the Bizarre, every eye transfixed on the desecrated body that lay directly in front of the entrance to the mall. His body seemed to twitch for a few moments, the last nervous spasms of a body reluctant to slip into death, and then still, as his brain matter seeped out from the crack in his skull. Mingled blood and brain ran down the slope towards the crowd, gravity determining its grisly descent.

And then everything began to happen at once.

Some ran to the body, crouching over it and staring at the man's glassy eyes, looking closely at the hole in his head without touching the body: they knew that this, all of a sudden, was a crime scene, and they could not touch the evidence. "Someone call the Womiyu!" a shrill female voice cried, and a pattering of feet against cobblestone was heard as they ran to find the Alvadian guard. Where they might find the guard in the twisting streets of Alvadas was uncertain, but try they would, nonetheless. A small child was heard crying in fear at the sight, and a mother hushed them, clutching them to her breast.

Others began to look around, fearfully. Suicide was something deep, dark, personal: clutched sadness within one's chest, not something splayed out in the middle of a public festival. A man near Licearsvansan heard his wild protest of innocence, and looked askance at the man, taking a step away: why should he protest his innocence if it was already to be assumed? A mutter went up around the hidden Dhani, and Alvadians began to look closely and carefully at the potential murderer.

But those who did not hear the Dhani's whisper looked up to where it all began: the flat roof on the top of the Bizarre, a viewing platform for the twisting patchwork at Alvadas. And there, it seemed, the answer was to be found. A tall purple man, an Akalak, and his brunette accomplice stood right there, in plain sight, at the scene of the murder. A gasp of shock ran through the crowd in the courtyard.

"Get him!" cried a man, his arms muscled and his hair wild. A hunter, of some sort. A pause in the crowd, and then, a mob unthinking, several of the young and strong men began to yell and rush up the stairs on the outside of the building, intending to capture the Akalak. Cherry, frozen with fear and a guilt she did not deserve, would not move if Rengar should try to budge her. He could leave her, or be sentenced to guilt with the woman he'd only seduced for a night.

e

[Kuvarakh]

Kuvarakh recognized the Dhani as "Mr. Lyseer Swanson", a man he'd met a good decade before on the shores of the Suvan Sea. If not for their being dropped off while the ship made repairs after a battle, they would probably not have met, both having the inclination to keep to themselves. Having gotten to know the man pretty well, he knew him to be nervous and quick to become defensive. And, while he wouldn't cite him as a paragon of exemplary humanitarianism, he was sure the Dhani had not done this thing. Besides, he had seen him moments before at street level.

He made a quick assessment of who was the most disposed to accuse the man and moved in range to direct a sphere of djed to encompass the accuser's head and impress upon him the attitude that his accusation was hasty and to strive for calm. Even as he directed the flow of mental directive to another finger-pointer, he was gratified to hear the man that had been shouting accusations, change his tune to one of level-headed reexamination of the circumstances. There were now two people advising calm.

Another angry citizen began to show signs of questioning their original aggressive stance towards 'Mr. Swanson', and the clamor in regard to him began to subside. Realizing he may need more hypnotic influence before the day was done, Kuvarakh watched the scene carefully as he made his way to the Dhani's side, quietly muttering, "Stay calm, do not run. That will only make you look guilty."

He was about to vouch loudly for the certainty that Mr. Swanson had not done it, when he saw that most of the gathered crowd was now looking at a nearby rooftop. He had spent some time in Riverfall and knew an Akalak when he saw one. There was girl with him that appeared to be completely naked. She was petrified with fear as someone shouted "Get him" or "Get them" and mob mentality took over.

"Myri's Balls!" he muttered, anticipating a grim response to the grim death moments before.

[Rengar]

Don't you do it Garren. I'm not going to wait around while they tear us apart. This isn't the first mob we've seen. Gods you remember Sunberth? Don't kill anyone. We're innocent, we need to find a Womiyu and give ourselves to their protection. Self defense only. We have to bring Cherry with us too, they'd hurt her too. Of course. Let's get moving, it won't be long until they make it through the market and up here. Garren turned to Cherry, who had enough sense to get dressed, "We're going to have to go now. If you don't come with me, that mob will blame you. How can we find Womiyu? I don't even know what to look for." He heard angry voices coming up the stairs, and went to action. He opened the door to the stair well and held it, waiting. When the first man stepped through the open way, Garren slammed the door with his full weight driving his shoulder. It struck the man in the face, and shot him backwards into the crowd. Garren then crouched low, grabbed the handle of the door, and started lifting. His muscles strained, bulging and pulsating as he pushed and pulled higher. To Cherry it would look like he was doing nothing, but as he grunted there was a loud pop. The joints in the door had warped and snapped, wedging the door in its frame. Better than a lock, and a temporary measure to keep them out. He went over to the back of the building, looking down. No. Yes, it's the only way. I hate you sometimes Garren. I know. Cherry joined him by the side, looked at him, terrified. He scooped her up in his arms, stepped up on the ledge, then stepped off. He wrapped her up tight in his chest, and positioned to flatten himself out. His body struck the cloth of the awning and bounced a few feet in the air, the wind from his lungs shooting out. As he came back down, the awning caved, and they fell into what felt like a combination of people, crates, and something that shattered. He laid there for a moment, his entire back hurting now. He looked down at Cherry, "You okay?" She nodded, then he struggled to stand up. He took her by the hand, "We need to run, where can we find the Womiyu Cherry? I don't know this town well enough!"

[Artur]

With the way the eyes of the people fell upon Svan after his remark Artur felt his stomach churn inside him, the sweets he had earlier turning bitterly sour as anxiety turned his face pale. Someone paler though had made their way over to where he stood, muttering words just below the sound levels his ears failed to pick up. He was sure that the pale man would be standing up for Svan, and vouch that he innocently remained down here before anything. Artur knew Svan a little, enough to know that his friend hadn't done such a thing. Coward as he was the Kelvic Bear wouldn't just let the blame fall on Svan for a simple remark. If this pale man had the same idea that Artur picked up then surely he would find a second voice to back him up.

However that didn't seem to be necessary, as the people pointed out a couple on the roof from where the man fell. There was anger in their voices, had to have been for them to make such aggressive assumptions. Artur still remained locked in place as if he were frozen in time to watch the event unfold before him. The horrid scene of a body that twitched its last remnants of life, the aggression the crowd made as they chased after their likely criminals. One of them being a girl who needed to put on clothes, the other being a blue man he had never seen before. Not that he had seen the girl, lest he would've known who she was. The blue man was a first he had ever seen. "Could they have pushed him?" He finally managed to slip out once more, however it didn't seem like the two would go quietly.

The blue man had taken the girl in his arms and plummeted into one of the stalls below, a risky yet bold move that caused people to retreat away in the moment of terror. For Artur it was pure awe, still he remained frozen in his spot in horrid amazement at what unfolded before him.