[Quest] Archi-Mage-ic (Closed)

[Fallacy]

Kuvarakh The crowd urged the nuit in, and so the nuit followed. There was a tangible happiness in the air, something joyous, and it was infectious. The building seemed welcoming, eagerly inviting in the guests, and as they came in, there were servants there, both human and mechanical contraptions of all sorts, to take the guests coats, jackets, and veils. Though, it was well lit, and it was evident that the place was built from pleasure in mind. The most extravagant of everything was unfolding around him. The light which lit the rooms were not firelight, but magical light, magecrafted columns snaking on the walls every few feet or so leading into a long hallway going past rows and rows of closed doors. The doors themselves had a dark rich look to them, the floors were polished wood, but every now or then they would turn to stone, a green reflective jade color, as if the house couldn’t decide on what looked best to impress its guests. On the other end of the hall there was a light, and it seemed that was where everyone was headed to. Anyone who was anyone in Alavadas attended this party, anyone and then some. Off to the side of the big doors which lead into the main room where the party would be held, there was a guest book. There was a quill placed to the side of the rather ornate book, opened to a random page, the scrawling of signatures present on the parchment. It would be fun to take a peek at the book, to know who attended, even if you don’t know who exactly is behind the mask. It only added a bit of extra mystery to the place. There was something odd though, there was no ink vial anywhere near the book. Instead guests just picked up the quill and started writing. The ink came, the ink came, and not in one consistent color either. The names were in a rainbow of color, and the ink shimmered, changing their color even when it was fully written. A lady rushed in front of Kuvarakh, followed by her masked escort, a man, but people parted way for him for he was still in his silencer uniform. The lady wore all shades of reds that faded to blues and then greens, and then back to reds again. It seemed that color changing fabric was really in right now. It looked simple though, but elegant, not as flamboyant as many of the other guests, but instead sensible and reasonable. Upon her face was an elegant looking gold mask, that looked like the centerpiece of the uniform. The mask itself was crowned by blonde hair put up in an extravagant way. It was obvious that just doing her hair must have taken many hours, and possibly more than one hairdresser. A single gem adorned her neck, a stone of white diamond, void of any color or imperfections. Picking up the quill she hurriedly signed her name, and although it took her no time at all the penmanship was astoundingly beautiful, and it read: Verlyna. Just a simple first name, and under it her escort, signed: Aceren. The girl giggled under her mask, ”You could have at least dressed up more. This is a party.” she said evidently excited to attend before she rushed into the room beyond, the escort silently following her, raven hair falling over his mask messily, he did not care what he looked like, and perhaps it was this Verlyna who picked out his mask… When Kuvarakh would enter the main room, he would be greeted by a grand display, the entire room looked made of gold. Could Towers truly be that famous of an artist within Alvadas or was this just another trick of the city? Off to one side of the enormous room were some tables, all clothed in white drapes, windows which extended floor to ceiling provided a view of the outside lands draped in darkness, a full moon hanging in the dark of the night to the north. It seemed to have a trickster smile upon its face, the craters in it seemed to be eyes, and the grin it wore looked almost unnerving. To the very back of the room were two grand staircases which met in the middle before extending the rest of the way down together. It allowed access to the upper rooms. Most of the space however was dedicated to being empty, for people to mingle and dance when the music will play. Already throughout the crowds weaved servants with trays of drinks and little snacks, coming from the far end of the place, the kitchen in one of the other rooms, and making their way through. Once their trays were empty they would go back to replace what was lost. It looked like most of the guests where just getting in and there still was some time before the party started yet.

[Kuvarakh]

Kuvarakh was nearly overwhelmed with the sense of celebratory abandon radiating from every direction. The house itself was adorned in the same sort of kaleidoscopic accoutrements as the party goers themselves. He saw the registry and made his way there, fascinated with the possibilities of the A-list of historic personnel that might be attending this surreal event.

Common chivalric courtesy compelled him to stand aside as an elaborately coiffed, blonde woman, outfitted in another masterpiece of color-transitioning splendor, giggled her way past to sign the book. His jaw dropped at the name, "Verlyna". She did not follow with 'Devette', but he had the feeling it must be the legendary hypnotist herself. Was she creating this consuming atmosphere of gala indulgence through a mass hypnotic trance? No, he thought, he would not have been ale to resist her power.

It occurred to him suddenly that he was the only one not completely enfolded in this dream-like scenario. That was significant to him. Was it his imagination? Or did the whole scene fade sightly for the briefest instant with that realization? If every other person was behaving exactly as if this event was an expected part of their evening, then somehow, despite the seeming reality of it all, he was removed in some way from it.

He began to look carefully at everyone. No, there was not one other person he could see that was showing any sign of the hesitancy to join in that he was feeling. It was unnerving to a degree. Nor had anyone spoken to him since he entered the building. It occurred to him that the expressions of good-natured impatience to enter the Manor had been vaguely directed at "whoever is holding things up..." or stated as "what's the delay?" or "Don't be bashful, take a deep breath and jump in." and the like. There was never a moment that a singular remark was directed at him.

But it was not unreal. Bodies were jostling to get inside. He had been bumped repeatedly, but always it was accompanied by a vague, all-inclusive "Oh, excuse me, dreadfully sorry" with no gaze directly at him. He was here, among them, but somehow still alone. They were like scenery.

But WHAT scenery they were! Everything was included and not a hair out of place. He felt the rush of air as a body slipped by, smelled the cologne, felt the tickle of a feather brushing his cheek from some extraordinary headpiece. Were he not a Nuit, he had no doubt the catered fare would taste exquisite. And the drinks would no doubt be geared to further reduce inhibitions. Even the tones of different styles and materials of footwear sounded distinctly appropriate against the lustrously polished hardwood floor.

He thought for a moment that a mirror might reveal some stark truth. Perhaps he would see no one reflected in it. This thought was forgotten as he strode in front of it. Had he been holding anything, he would have dropped it. Who was he?

The face was vaguely familiar, but he could not immediately place it. was he playing the part of some historic figure and not even aware of it? It was a mask, but real right down to the...scar...The scar where my daughter accidentally cut me with a broken wineglass! It was his original face! It was also a mask. He could feel his heart pounding as he slowly reached up to grip the suddenly noticeable edges. His...heart? Pounding? He fought the urge to cut himself to see if he'd bleed and, instead, pulled the mask off. The face beneath was the face of the first body he'd inhabited after his Nuit transformation.

He staggered back a step, wildly uncertain whether he was even real or if he'd been absorbed into some fantasy. He pulled the next mask off, not noticing that the first mask was conveniently gone, and saw the face of the second body he'd inhabited. The same body he'd worn when he met his old friend, Aldren Trask. The man who taught him the rudiments of hypnosis. The man, on whose behalf, he had killed the murdering monster that had been his first master. Such an ugly story. He brought his hands up to his face in remembered anguish, again, not noticing that the last mask had simply vanished.

He turned and hurried to the door, forgetting which way he had come in. He found himself in the main ballroom where everyone was waiting in excited expectation. He looked outside, a flash of bitterness struck him that after spending what seemed now like a solid week of changeless afternoon daylight, it was now dark. Even the moon seemed to grin at him. He turned in annoyance and nearly walked into the man that had escorted Verlyna to the event. He had seen the name "Aceren", but did not recognize it. It seemed distantly familiar, as did his outfit, but he could not place it.

"Watch where you're going." the man said sourly, "Drunken fool."

[Shyam Kuromiya]

This is becoming annoying. This place seems to enjoy being mischievous. I better not annoy it in any way that may lead to me getting hurt. It is annoying enough when it seems to be having fun. This water doesn't seem dangerous but appearances are deceiving, especially in a place where the walls seem to have eyes. Shyam waded to the edge of the pool, ignoring the plant for now. While shaking the water out of his fur he, Shyam lay down on the floor and thought about, how things were so far. As he had eaten at the Inn and he was able to stay for an average amount of time without eating he was unable to consult his stomach about how much time had passed. Being stuck in the cave without any light from the sun, left him with no way of measuring how much time had passed. His internal clock depended highly on an external stimulus to set itself, and without it he had no chance of figuring out where he was. Although time and energy were of great importance to him, his most pressing concern at the moment was Aesir's well being. She was able to hunt and take care of herself even though she was staying with the boy, but he was worried if he would be able to find her again, and if the animals she found to eat here were safe for consumption. Deciding to take a break from worrying like an old maid, Shyam focused on hsi enviroment to find himself in front of the plant reaching for it with his hands. Wait... Hands?... Shyam jumped back quickly, tripping slightly over his legs and landing on his ass in the pond. He was stunned for a moment unsure of what had just happened. Although moving to the plant unconsciously was bad enough, for him to change to the human form without knowing was truly and absolutely disturbing. Yet it also fascinated him. He was unsure as to how other Kelvic felt about transforming between their human and natural form but to him, the process was... fascinating. His body changed and molded and he could hear it all. The churning of organs as they moved, changed and settled down, the breaking, creaking and fusing of the bones as they changed his form, the fur sprouting from his body and the always surprising tug at his tailbone as it grew into his bushy yet strong tail. It was all interesting and uncomfortable at times yet it never hurt, BUT he was always aware when it happened, as his hearing amplified the sounds that his body made as it changed. For him to be so engrossed in his thoughts that he did not feel these changes, was beyond amazing, but it made him nervous and slightly scared. As a hunter, concentration, focus and awareness were vital for his survival and for him to lose all these in one go, was disturbing. He looked at the plant that was the source of all his unease. It sat, - for lack of a better word- in front of him seemingly innocent, with a glow that grew brighter and dimmer with time. Like a heartbeat. The people on the walls moved some more. He stared at them wondering what they were doing, trying to see if he could sharpen the shadows of these people, into something that made sense. While doing so he thought how the plant would taste and what eating it would do to him, but immediately abandoned the thought. The plant was able to make him forgot his surroundings. It took him away from himself and could control him if he wasn't careful. Just as he was thinking about being controlled he felt himself move. Leaning forward towards the plant with his hand out-stretched. He pulled it back suddenly almost as if he had been burnt. What a sneaky plant. I can never be careful enough around it huh? He smiled slightly at the thought. He decided that he wanted to take the plant. It seemed interesting enough and if he found someone who knew about magical plants he could ask them for their opinion about it. Ignoring the people he went to the wall of the cave and poked one of the crystals. It didn't cut him, it wasn't sharp enough to do so. Looking for one which he could grab he pulled on it. It felt warm and full of life in his hands. It pulsed with a light that matched the plant's pace. The warmth moved up his arms, through his body and seemed to fill him with energy. The crystal however, did not didn't budge a millimeter. It stayed still it's place determined not to move. He was slightly annoyed about that, but seeing that there was nothing he could do he didn't bother with it anymore. He instead went to the plant. It's roots were buried in the ground and he knew pulling it out and breaking them would render it unable to feed itself ergo leading it to it's inevitable death. The ground was slightly hard but he knew that if it was made wet it would become soft enough that he could dig around the plant and remove it safely with minimal, if any, damage to its roots. He went to the pool and cupped water into his hands and went to the plant and poured it over it. Going back and forth, he did this until the small rivulets of water started to flow from the plant to the pool. Still not thinking it was enough he did it until his back started to ache, and he started to pant slightly. He decided that a break was needed now. The ground around the plant was already softening, and small puddles and formed. The upper layer was saturated with water and it would take awhile for it to sink down. May as well take a break for now. Nothing I can do for now. The pool is warm enough that I won't lose any body warmth staying here... tho I may get a major case of pruning. Turning back now may waste the energy the crystal gave me... tho it would be more comfortable. Going to the opposite edge of the pool so that he would have a clear, safe view of the plant, he found a small incline that he could use as a head prop-up. Laying his body in the warm water he went to sleep forgetting his initial forebodings about the safety of the water.

[Kuvarakh]

"I'm very sorry," Kuvarakh instinctively apologized, "but I haven't been drinking, it's just so chaotic here, I-..." realization struck him that this man had spoken directly to him. It was more than just a general address to some unspecified individual that just happened, by chance, to be him. He didn't necessarily care for the assumption this man had made, regarding his level of sobriety, but up until this moment, he had felt as though he was just a figment of everyone else' imagination, as they were figments of his. 'Did this man feel the same way?'

He made to follow, but was immediately intercepted by a waiter carrying a tray of drinks. The man quickly blustered an 'excuse me', without actually looking at Kuvarakh, who moved to step around him. A pair of women, decked out in glittering finery, hurried to get a sample of this new round of wines, intercepting Kuvarakh's path anew. There seemed suddenly to be a relay race of blocking maneuvers as Kuvarakh struggled to get free of the developing crowd and follow the man that had spoken to him.

Gales of laughter broke out as a trio of jugglers began an elaborate routine involving flaming skewers spinning across the center of the room, naturally, right in Kuvarakh's intended path. By the time he cleared the area vacated by guests for the sake of the jugglers' convenience, he had lost track of the man he assumed to be 'Aceren'. It was difficult to be sure of anyone. So many of the outfits featured color shifting fabrics that it was hard to tell if people were moving or if it was just an effect of the sliding, spinning, rotating bands and blocks of color. Kuvarakh wondered if he could have counted the number of people present, even if they all stood still. Often it seemed that the colors flowed from one outfit into the one next to it.

There! Suddenly, he saw him step into a spot that seemed to clear for him. That uniform he wore was somehow significant to him, but he could not place what service or fraternity it represented. The man stood out, if only for his complete lack of involving himself in the boisterous revelry of those around him. Kuvarakh also stopped moving altogether. He couldn't describe what made him feel that this would mark his presence to this man, but he was suddenly sure it would.

As if on command, the crowd found interests in things placed strategically behind and to the side. The sounds of patrons indulging themselves receded to a drone and the man seemed suddenly clearer, as if some sort of filter cleared the haze of confetti and steam between them. The man lifted a glass to his lips. Not an exotic delmonico or parfait glass, nor a tapered copita or snifter. It was simply a plain straight sided glass, and it looked to have nothing more than water in it.

The slow rise of the glass stopped as the level of the man's eyes came equal to Kuvarakh's. He allowed the glass to descend in the same unhurried fashion, but his eyes remained riveted in Kuvarakh's direction. He was far enough away that it could not be for certain that he was looking at anyone in particular. But when Kuvarakh nodded his head in recognition, the man reciprocated the gesture.

Kuvarakh tried not to hurry too much as he made his way towards the back of the room, near the base of the staircase, where the man was standing. Party favors suddenly popped around him filling the air with glitter and confetti and the relatively clear path to the stairs was suddenly filled with an influx of laughing, weaving celebrants.

Kuvarakh made an effort to remain gracious as he jostled his way through, only to find no trace of the man. He cursed and clutched empty air in frustration as he looked back the way he had come. The soft sound of a throat being cleared somehow penetrated the din and Kuvarakh looked up to see the man looking down at him from the promenade circling around from the first landing where the stairs met.

[Kuvarakh]

Kuvarakh ascended the stairs slowly, keeping his eyes on the man above him. Still leaning on the rail bordering the promenade, the man slowly rolled to lean on his left arm alone, keeping his gaze back on Kuvarakh. There was no threat implied, but neither was there welcome in his expression.

Kuvarakh felt an odd displacement as he reached the top step, as though the entire ground floor was now scenery, a living, moving painting. A tapestry of this night's event, captured in motion.

"I feel out of place down there." the man, 'Aceren' said. "And you...feel...out of place down there as well. Who are you?"

"Someone with an invitation, thank you. Someone that signed the registry and is hoping to find some reason why I was invited." Kuvarakh responded with a mix of annoyance at Aceren's brusque manner and dismay at the sense of isolation he felt in spite of the crowd below.

"I'm afraid I must correct you, sir. You did not sign the registry. I was watching you as you positioned yourself to do so, and then stepped aside to allow Verlyna to sign in your place." The man said, straightening as he spoke, the ice in his glass tinkling softly.

Kuvarakh's brow furrowed briefly. He was certain he had signed it. This man was playing some game with him. Or perhaps it was Verlyna. This man had accompanied her arrival. As any citizen of Alvadas knew, Verlyna was a powerful hypnotist. "I think you may have overlooked my signature then Mr..." Kuvarakh waited to see if this man would confirm his name, given that Kuvarakh had not.

"You may call call me 'Aceren', if it makes you feel triumphant by holding out for MY name before giving your own." The man said with a tone of taxed patience.

Kuvarakh smiled sourly to accompany his barely perceptible head nod. "And you may call me Kuvarakh, now that you no longer treat my name as something I am commanded to surrender. Do these sorts of events not usually include provided name plaques for those of us that otherwise need to ask such things?"

A genuine look of mild surprise crossed Aceren's face. "There is no one down there that should be in need of a name plaque to be recognized." there was scorn in his voice, but also a look that said he now thought it possible that this invitee before him just might not be fabricating some cover story. "Why do you not mingle with the elite below?"

"Perhaps for the same reason that you do not." Kuvarakh sighed, annoyed. "Why am I required to account for myself to you? I have caused no trouble and you yourself stated that I appeared out of place down there. You are up here the same as I. Should I be demanding that you account for your presence on the promenade? Is it off limits? You indicated I should come up. Did you lead me up here to entrap me with a violation of protocol?" Kuvarakh grew angrier as he spoke. He had been invited. He had signed in. Who was this Aceren to interrogate him this way?

A grim smile broke across Aceren's face as he took a step to bring himself uncomfortably close to Kuvarakh. "I am up here for reasons I am not obliged to disclose, not to them or to you. Your behavior is at odds with the patrons below and that interests me. Any one of them would be only too eager to announce their names with no prodding whatsoever. Yet you resist, making demands for concessions from me first. This also interests me. You step up here with no more urging than a clearing of the throat, then cite my twisting of your arm to bring you here to this tactically advantageous location. And then belligerently refuse my offer to return graciously. This definitely interests me. And, regardless of what you claim, you did not sign the guest registry. And that most certainly interests me. I may not recognize every face here instantly, but I DO know every name...except yours." His eyes bored into accusingly into Kuvarakh's, who leaned back defensively against the railing. "Indeed, you are a most interesting man, Mr. Kuvarakh."

[Tapestry]

e
Aceren might have said more, but as his mouth twisted in the beginning of a sentence the sound of trumpets echoed from below. Each of the guests stopped their dancing and socializing and turned to a stage that had not been there before. It had risen out of the ground by what seemed like no provocation. Upon it, a man with a startlingly exquisite mask stood alone. Beside him were two majestically carved statues of Akalak men, lakans held in both hands that surveyed the crowd from their perch with cold, obsidian eyes. Tower's mask was a work of faceted glass, catching the light and distorting the face beneath into a deluge of curious horror.

"Honored guests," he said, his voice a lilting keen that silenced the errant whispers of gossip, "Thank you all for attending my Masquerade." Stepping out to the edge of the stage, he continued walking, a pathway rising up from the ground beneath his feet, as if the house itself responded to his unconscious commands.

"As I look among you, I see diplomats, artists, killers, and healers. Not a one of you does not deserve to be here, and yet not a one of you knows why I have opened my mansion to you...now of all times."

The guests hung on his words. Aceren turned a pointed attention to the man, eyes narrowing beneath the mask. His posture changed, relaxed to alert, and Kuvarakh could feel the tingle of magic on the air.

"As you all know, I was delivered this letter one month ago." He held up an envelope that glittered beneath the magical light of the hall, "In it, there is a threat upon my life."

A new wave of muttering raced along the lips of the guests. Whispers, opinions, gasps.

Towers waved a hand and the noise died down.

"Now, I do not bow to threats, my good people...nor do I suffer them to go unnoticed. My killer has asked me to surrender the Eye of Ionu, and to that I say..." he paused for dramatic effect, shrugging his shoulders, "What is the Eye of Ionu?"

"Gods damned fool," Aceren muttered under his breath.

"I asked you all here, on the eve of my supposed execution, to spend my last Life-day among the opulence only I and my illustrious family can provide. We shall see if our murderer is daring enough to come for me when I am among friends, hmmm?"

There was laughter, some nervous, some drunken, from the crowd and Towers beamed beneath his hideous mask.

"Without further adieu," he cried, leaping off the walkway among the crowd, "Let the celebration commence! Half a bell till the twelfth! Half an hour to truly live!"

He was lost in the wash of the thronging people and Aceren scowled, leaning against the banister and looking out over the heads of the people for the gregarious Towers. After a moment of looking, he seemed to remember Kuvarakh and turned back to him, crossing his arms.

"Towers never had a notion for tact," he told the hypnotist warily, "I'm here to prevent his death." Crossing the distance between them, the man's previously interested expression hardened to something similar to suspicion. "Not that he's making it easy."

Turning back to the rail, he looked out over the crowd, nodding to someone down on the ballroom floor. "You're not the killer." It wasn't an accusation...Aceren simply seemed to be stating a fact, "But at the same time I don't want you meddling. Do the Womiyu a favor and keep your eyes on the people around Towers. We don't know what to look for yet, but we're hoping to know it when we see it."
e

[Kuvarakh]

'The Womiyu! Of course!' Kuvarakh finally put the pieces together mentally. This Aceren was either a Speaker or a Silencer. The latter being the most likely if his presence was in a police capacity. For a moment, Kuvarakh thought he needed to be sure not to mention his capacity for hypnotism. The Silencers were frequently tasked to deal with djed-crafters thought to be a threat to the city or its people, or even just the peace. Their dealings commonly showed a marked lack of restraint.

But this man had arrived with Verlyna, known as the greatest hypnotist of this age, at least as far as Alvadas went. So his meager skills were surely not of any great concern. It did however explain the man's gruff manner. It was no wonder he was not down there indulging in all the celebration and inebriation. He needed his wits about him.

It occurred to Kuvarakh that, as a Nuit, he also was not imbibing any of the numerous intoxicants circulating throughout the crowd. He also had his wits about him. 'Was there some purpose in this? A predestination? Why else was I invited to this fete? I don't know anyone. I can't indulge in the atmosphere. I'm seriously displaced in my own time. No one seems to truly respond to my presence, even when they bump into me. Only this Aceren fellow.'

His own thoughts came back in a different sense. '...No one seems to respond...hmmm...I go basically unnoticed...' He started to grow tense, from excitement or apprehension he could not say. He'd been invited in from outside the time line of this event. He'd experienced a sense of awareness from the various buildings he'd entered, certainly the greenhouse at the least. He was a complete outsider, yet he was clearly intended to be here. 'But why?...What do I have to offer?...except...going unnoticed.'

It occurred to him that the entire crowd had had the feel of scenery to him much of the time. It was only Aceren's presence that had disrupted that. He suddenly felt sure that he was supposed to help Aceren secure Towers' safety. Aceren was just beginning to descend the stairs when Kuvarakh cleared his throat pointedly. The Silencer stopped and made as if he was picking up a piece of debris from the rug and returned to the promenade with a look that instructed Kuvarakh to make it quick.

The Nuit outlined as swiftly as possible his sense that he was out of place, but more importantly, not yet truly "present". That he felt that he was supposed to do something to change this. That simply standing and watching was not his...destiny. The Man looked very skeptical, but was courteous enough to let him finish. Kuvarakh could feel the question coming when Aceren folded his arms and asked him just exactly what it was he thought he was destined to do.

"Take his place." the words seemed to bubble out on their own. "Be a decoy." He held up his hands to ward off the scornful retort he could predict. "No seriously, I can't be poisoned and, as a Nuit, I don't suffer mortal wounds like mortal folk. A knife in the back is no worse than one in my leg as far as internal organs go. And what other methods of assassination are likely in a situation like this?"

[Tapestry]

e
Aceren let Kuvarakh finish before speaking. Behind his mask, his eyes darted from side to side as if precariously ricocheting from cause to effect and back again. The party had begun to swell once more, dancers swung hypnotically through waves of color...no longer people but sensations embodied. Among them all, Towers stood out like some grand prophet, awash in the praise of those around him.

His arrogance was a defining trait, and one that had created the situation as it was. It would also prevent him from acquiescing to Womiyu request. Biting the inside of his cheek, Aceren finally shook his head and muttered a curse under his breath. "Would that it be so easy," he told the nuit with a sigh, "But Towers is not a man to be replaced or easily convinced. The man was threatened and he holds a party on the night he is to die. Does it sound like a man who would allow a corpse to replace him?" Aceren paused.

"I'm sorry. I did not mean to give offense, just..." Sighing he turned back to look out over the crowd, "Do you ever have the feeling that something has already happened? That perhaps you're watching a play where the end has already been decided?" He shook his head again, vigorously this time, tearing the haunting feeling of foreboding from his mind.

"However, you could go down there. Stick close to Towers. If someone does leap out with a dagger or spell, I don't suppose I could convince you to take the blow, could I?"

Frowning, he shrugged, "I can't explain it, but you seem like the only person I can ask to do something different. I've gone over the plans a hundred times in my mind, but for some reason I can't think to give my men other orders. But you...you I can speak to freely. I'm not sure what fate this foretells, or what your role is in all this...but I'll be damned if I don't use you to protect that pompous windbag."

He turned on his heel, heading for the stairs, pausing. "I don't know why, but I can tell you Andres knows exactly what the note was asking for. We've had suspicions he had the Eye for some time now, but never any crucial information like this. I can't tell you what it does...I'm afraid some secrets must remain classified...but." He offered Kuvarakh a hesitant smile, "If we pull this off, consider yourself recommended for the Womiyu. I'll vouch for you, provided you help us prevent this assassination."
e

[Kuvarakh]

Kuvarakh wished he had looked into some of the city's history at the Sunken Conundrum to see if Andres Towers had been assassinated. And what had been the method and location. He himself was quite intrigued at Aceren's ability to truly interact with him. But more so that Aceren also recognized the singular peculiarity of it. Kuvarakh also felt like an outsider watching a dream of some past event. He wondered why Aceren was set apart, in this way, from the "scenery" role the other celebrants comprised.

Kuvarakh felt like driftwood and this party was the ocean. He was touching it, even submerged at times, but never part of it. He looked at Aceren as some sort of life line to the reality of the event. But he wondered if he himself was somehow corrupting that connection. Aceren was clearly part of the event, like the rest of the assembly on the floor below. But having met with Kuvarakh, he was now becoming disconnected, as indicated by his remark about being unable to quite manage to give new orders to his subordinates.

The rest of the crowd still interacted with him, but his connection with them was apparently now compromised by his connection to Kuvarakh. He knew there was change in the air, but could only approach it with Kuvarakh. Back in the crowd, routine took him back to his initial orders.

He decided it might be best to stay close to Aceren, rather than Mr. Towers. If the Womiyu agent could think more clearly in the present with him around, it might be of more use than for him to stay near to Towers. He didn't even know what this "Eye of Ionu" was. Nor did he know if this assassin was also going to be "scenery". Or if he, like Aceren, would recognize Kuvarakh's unexpected presence as being at odds with the situation.

[Tapestry]

e
As they waded through the assembly, the clock struck its final chimes. Resounding gong-like noise shattered the tittering of the guests and even lanced the eerie sound of stringed music emanating from where the musicians mechanically played their instruments. In the short time they had spent searching, no one had pushed out to either as suspicious. They were all strutting colors and masks, recognized and mysterious...frustratingly vague. Aceren pushed through the crowd, Kuvarakh directly behind him. The people responded sluggishly, almost like curtains when one pushed against them. Limited in their scope, they often continued speaking even when pushed aside...as if reading from a script each one was too dedicated to improvise with.

Aceren was pushing toward Towers as the man stepped, surrounded by adoring fans, toward the center of the ball room.

The clock chimed again, the last of its sonorous tones setting the hour. From the sea of people, Andres languidly plucked a single glass from a proffered silver tray and drank it with aplomb. Grinning, he spread his hands as if to indicate that there was no harm to come to him, not here among the best and brightest of Alvadas.

And then his face contorted, his eyes widening in horror as he clutched his stomach. He buckled to his knees to the sound of gasps and cries of surprise forcing his hands out to catch his body before it hit the ground. Pale, sweating, he looked up and caught Aceren's eye for a moment. Kuvarakh was behind the Silencer and could see the look of a man who was suddenly stripped of his arrogance, laid bare by something he couldn't stop.

Then his mouth belched fire.

And he twisted where he held himself, smacking the ground with a dull thud.


"NO!" Aceren shouted, throwing people aside to get to Andres' side. But to Kuvarakh, who had seen much of the dead in his long journey, knew a corpse when he saw one.

The silver tray the drink had been taken from lay on the ground, unattended, dropped by the one who held it as they melted into the crowd.

Around them all, the house shook and rocked, as if possessed of an unmitigated fury. Decorations fell apart, doors slammed and sealed...much as they people tried to flee, the house around them seemed insistent on them going nowhere.

The crowd pressed up against the double doors to the outside.

Aceren remained at the side of Andres, turning the body over and putting both hands on his chest.

When he stood, his eyes found Kuvarakh in the chaos...burning points of agony and loss.

"This was always going to happen," he said in a strangely calm voice, "No one prevented it then...but this time it's different." He pointed at Kuvarakh. "We have less than a handful of ticks before the door is forced open. We need to know who the assassin is. We need to find out who was after the eye! You're the only one here who wasn't here at that time...only you can see what none of us could!"
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