Closed Fare Thee Well (Anton)

[Alric Wilmot]

47th of Summer 513 AV Alric walked about Alvadas in his armored robes and his sword at his side. He had hunched shoulders and a frightful look. The Nuzem he had conjured this week was still out there, he was sure, waiting to take him when he was unprepared. But of course, Alric was always prepared. He wore a bandage wrapped about his head, covering his ears. It was spotted with blood, his ears yet to have ceased their crying at being overtaxed. His eyes too, would occasionally let a drop of blood slip. That was why he had a kerchief, though. It was yellow, though it was quickly becoming red. He dabbed his eyes at the familiar wetness, though for the most part he ignored his eyes protests. He was leaving very soon, to seek better fortune and reunite with old friends. He could hardly believe the strange happenings of yesterday, yet at the same time he thanked Ionu for what had taken place. It was clear to him now that Alvadas, as lovely as it was, had no more to offer to him. It was a beautiful place to grow up, for sure. But lately it had turned quite vile. Alric was homeless, and jobless, and was running out of money. His fortune, it would appear lie elsewhere. Of course, that had all been decided. What had to happen now, was a bit of good-natured revenge. He briefly wondered if Ionu would approve of what he was about to do, before deciding that he would. After all, his priests had to be on their toes to see things that weren't there. Alric smiled as he dabbed another drop of blood from his right eye. This was going to be fun. He gave a glance over his shoulder to look out for the Nuzem, then headed down a brightly lit street. It was early in the morning, and the sun had yet to rise from its bed. There were streetlamps abound, though Alric saw several that Alvadas had changed into large eels. They still glowed, however, so it wasn't so bad. He made it to the Bizarre rather quickly, much to his pleasure, and began to look about. In the corner of his eye he spotted exactly what he wanted. He skipped over, only stopping two more times to look out for the Nuzem. The merchant was a plump, tanned man with big burly arms. He had a dark mustache and stubble. He smiled at Alric and gestured to several large crates packed with chickens. "Welcome my friend! Would you care to buy a chicken? They're good birds, laying eggs often, and easy to care for." Alric thought the man might be lying, but hardly cared. He needed chickens regardless if they laid eggs frequently or how easy they were taken care of. "Yes, my good man, I'll take all of them." The man stopped smiling. "Oh, um. Well, sir I have about 30 chickens with me today..." "How many are they a piece?" The man scratched his chin, still a bit put off by the easy sale. "Well they're egg laying hens, so around two Copper Miza each, but-" Alric cut the man off with a wave of his hand and produced a single gold Miza. "I believe this is all that is required then?" The man looked at Alric incredulously and then to the coin. Alric was paying far more than they were worth, and the man knew it. Instantly his smile returned and he accepted the coin. Alric smiled politely back, and noticed the man had a bucket of paint near his booth. Instantly, an Idea came to his head. "Well, my friend, is there anything else I can do for you?",asked the man. Alric nodded. "Yes, if you wouldn't mind, please paint the numbers 1-31 on your hens for me. Skip 30, please. And make it quick." The man stopped his smiling yet again, and opened the crates. He took each chicken out and put his fingers in the bucket. The color of the Paint was a dark blue. The Chickens remained calm thanks to Alric's emotional suggestions, and behaved calmly as the man used his fingers to paint the numbers on their sides. When he was done, the Sun had finally begun to rise. Alric thanked the man and then turned around. The crates looked heavy, and he didn't want to bother carrying them. Suddenly, Alric heard a crash from behind him. He jumped and swung around, baring his rapier. The Nuzem was not going to take him this day! Lucky for him, it was just a stray cat knocking over a merchant's unattended pail. Cream spilled out everywhere on the cobblestones. Alric turned away, relieved that it was only a cat. Finally he saw an Isur male talking with an Isur female. Alric smiled and called out. "Excuse me! You two. Could you please come here for a moment? I need help with something, and would appreciate your help!" The two Isur shot Alric a look, but came anyway. The man spoke first. "Yeah, what do you want?" Alric smiled at the man and spoke, once again lacing his words with djed. "Thank you for coming to my aid. You see I need to get these chickens to the Temple of Ionu. Its very important, and I just don't have the power to lift them up and go about my way. Do you think you and your friend could help me deliver them? I'd be ever so grateful." The man looked at the crates, and then back to Alric. He gave a shrug and nodded his head. He gestured ti his female friend, who rolled her eyes, but went along with it anyway. They lifted the crates with ease, and the chickens let out a ruckus from the sudden movement. Alric silenced them with another emotional response of calm. With the Isur behind him, he set out to find the Temple and make his final display of worship count. After all, what's more mischievous than a prank played on the God of Trickery's own Temple?

[Alric Wilmot]

Alric nodded his head, agreeing to himself. This would be an act of worship as much as a send off, as much as vengeance. He was killing three yukman with a single blow! Alric felt his cheeks dampen again, and he moved to wipe the blood from them. His yellow kerchief had finally lost its color. Now, all Alric saw was red, no yellow remained. No matter, no matter. It would all be worth it in the end. Alric smiled as he thought of the mayhem soon to come. He briefly glanced over his shoulder, thinking he saw a tentacle, but calmed himself when he released it was only a woman's braid.

[Anton]

But the woman's braid that didn't turn out to be a tentacle turned out to didn't turn out to be what it turned out to be. Indeed, that little wisp of black turned out to be the world's saddest, most inefficient flyswatter, purposed to turn out flies...into the afterlife. Turning out from the corner was owner of said world's most saddest, most efficient flyswatter: a girl whose fun-sized size suggested that she was turned out of the house during dinner. Every day. Consecutively. For a decade. The absolute look of tiredness marring her otherwise young face also suggested she was turned out during bedtime. For an equally long period of time. On closer inspection, however, the fun-sized girl would turn out to be a very, very fun-sized boy, for whom puberty would only deign to consider starting after being offered fifty young virgins laid before his great hoard. Until then, deal's on hold.

The temple had a great turnout with regards to tourists this fine summer...but a poor one regarding the unique illusions surrounding the temple, and so Anton was mildly surprised when he found himself face to face with the illusionary ghast of a mobbing victim. Handkerchief, too, he noted, so he was probably one of those poncy illusions who whimpered and cried while being beaten by the other bigger, thuggish illusions. Strength over strength, even in the world given life of the Lord Trickster's.

Anton had always regarded the natural illusions that occurred around Alvadas with a differing emotions: reverence and awe, in right of the Trickster's power and, secretly and sometimes, only in theory. Fear, once in awhile, but most of the time...Pity, for when it came down to, illusions were just that illusions: a glimspe of the what is and what if and what could and couldn't be, but not the things themselves. They were not alive, though rumors about Cadmus, about those so utterly steeped in Ionu's powers...No, rumors, he thought.

But regardless of what he thought, the child in him allowed them to be real, at least until they faded or changed to something else. And he offered them the courtesy of life while they were there, for a given value of courtesy...

"You poor baby..." he said, patting him sympathetically on the the head with the SMI flyswatter. "You want to come inside and sit down? I promise I'll keep the others out."

[Alric Wilmot]

Alric faced the person who had spoken to him. To his surprise it was a young child, a girl perhaps, or an effeminate boy. He couldn't quite decide which. He held out his hand in a motion to tell the Isur to stop their movement. They did so, thankfully, without Alric having to spend time hypnotizing them. At the rate he was losing blood, Alric was glad to reserve his strength as much as possible. He found that the city had delivered them to the Temple, though it was packed with tourists. Alric clucked his tongue in slight annoyance before turning back to the child. The fact that he was called 'baby' rankled him. He wasn't sure if he was being mocked. But it was quite the possibility. Alric let thoughts of retaliation slip from his mind. The girl was only a child, and Alric had more pressing matters. Like navigating the crowd and getting in the Temple. That is, until Alric realized the child meant the Temple. But how could a child let him in? Briefly he wondered if the child was an Alter boy, or Acolyte. But the curiosity died when Alric could not sense a mark on the child. Not of Ionu's make, at any rate. "Don't call me a babe when it looks like you are barely weened yourself, child. It is an odd word coming from your mouth. However, your offer intrigues me. How would you get us in without wading through the crowd? Speak, and let me hear what you suggest."

[Anton]

"Um, suggestion?" Anton's timid, little smile robbed the insult from the illusion's words. Okay, rude illusion be rude. Not completely unexpected, for Ionu's little gifts ranged the personality spectrum from naughty to nice to somewhere south of senseless, but it was still something of a surprise when it actually happened. But play it cool, Anton. He ain't real but you are, so you're gotta be the bigger man, actual height not taken into the consideration.

"Right, suggestion." He brought his hand up to cup his chin and made a show of thinking about it long and hard. "Cover your eyes? They'll be gone that way. But really, bab-Sir, you have nothing to fear from those on the inside, they won't hurt you like the ones that did that." The flyswatter came up again, to pat gently at the bandages. "I'm not sure how your kind heals." Damn, the slip up. The 'your kind, my kind' nonsense. How could he break character like that? "...Guess you guys just do, huh? "

[Alric Wilmot]

Alric was begining to think the child mad. He barely made any sense at all, and Alric was having a difficult time telling if the boy (for Alric had begun to suspect the child was such) was serious, or attempting to be witty. Alric rolled his eyes at the boy's suggestion. And of course Alric had nothing to fear from the Acolytes and Alter Boys! They were as devout to the Lord of Illusion as himself. They had no reason to cause him harm. Well, not until the day was over at any rate. Alric narrowed his eyes when the boy said 'your kind'. Was the boy not human? Alric hadn't considered that. He had, as ashamed as he was to admit it, judged the boy at a glance. A grave sin to those who held to the mantra, 'not everything is as it seems.' Alric pushed his frustration aside then. Perhaps the boy was more than he appeared, or less. Either way, Alric was not about to continue as he had. He motioned for the Isur to follow, and then turned to the boy. "Well then, let us head inside then, shall we? Perhaps you can tell me your name as well? It would make it easier to address you. And don't fret about the bandages. That was mostly my fault. My name is Alric Wilmot. Now, I have business to attend to, and would be delighted if you followed." Without bothering to see if the boy followed, Alric went forward into the mass. He had the Isur move in front of him, shoving people out of the way. The chickens were getting louder, but thankfully, Alric was able to silence them once more very quickly. Alric could not suppress his grin as they entered the Temple doorway. Luckily, the tourists were mostly about the outer rooms, admiring the art and architecture. Alric headed towards the center of the Temple, stifiling giggles as he went. He could hear Cadmus, now. He was preforming Morning prayers. Alric's eyes lit up. Now was nearly the perfect time! In a few moments, the Prayer would require silence as those in attendance performed minor illusions to pay homage to their god. When that happened, Alric could set the chickens loose and for a brief few moments, they would let them be, believing them illusions. Alric licked his lips and gestured for the Isur to lower the crates and be ready to open them. They looked confused but a brief suggestion kept them where they were. Alric leaned in close as he observed Cadmus from the podium. Petty revenge, thought Alric, was a rather enjoyable activity.

[Anton]

Isur, chickens, bandages, blood, Alric Wilmot-

"And I'm Anton." he chirped, putting out a hand for a shake. A hand that was left hanging lamely as the illusion known as Alric Wilmot turned and made his way into the crowds. Well, nothing to be disheartened about. Some illusions moved slow, and some moved fast and never stopped much for talk. Some had manners, and some were made with spit and rudeness. It was simply Lord Ionu's nature to encompass and embody every single archetype within the living act. And so Anton, being Anton, followed Alric and his fellow illusions, all short, most avian.

Isur, remarkably well-behaved chickens, bandages, blood, Alric Wilmot the illusion, giggling.

"Alric the Illusion?" Oh, there he went again, violating the illusion of the illusion. "Alric of the city of illusions, what's so funny? Did the temple decor change to honey badgers again?" He liked the honey badgers that came from that little event, until the benches started oozing bees and turned into hives. It was an awkward day for everyone involved.

Isur, remarkably well-behaved chickens, bandages, blood, Alric Wilmot the illusion, giggling, Cadmus-

The morning sermons were starting.

"It is good that your chickens are introverts. Otherwise I'll have to ask them to leave." Anton added saintly, waving the flyswatter at the cages.

[Alric Wilmot]

Just as Alric had predicted, the crowds hushed as Cadmus bowed his head and asked the others for the same. As they did so, Alric saw various illusions come to life. Various flora and fauna both native to the region and not, sprang to life. Other things, whimsical fantasies also seemed to appear, violins that played themselves and simple ribbons of light. Alric looked on, appreciating the beauty before he ruined it. Anton said something about his chickens, though it hardly registered. The boy was an odd one, but insofar he had not hindered anything. Alric doubted he would now. Alric turned his gaze to the two Isur and gestured to have them place the crates down on the ground and open them. They were puzzled, but Alric sent a suggestion of compliance and sent an emotional surge of apathy to get rid of any curiosity. As they were letting the chickens out. He kept them all silent with small emotional manipulation. Animals were easier to control due to the absent thought process. Still, his eyes began to bleed from the silent casting, and he dabbed them again. Normally his eyes would weep with joy rather than blood, but a previous use had rendered them sensitive. He finally dismissed the two Isur, not needing them any longer. They shook his hand before leaving, though Alric wished they hadn't. Their grips were much stronger than they knew, and Alric nearly winced in pain, his pride the only thing preventing him from doing so. Anton forgotten at the moment, Alric rolled back his sleeve and tapped his mark. At once the chickens became invisible. Alric smiled, then, hearing the prayer about to end. Everything was going smoothly, which seemed to him a blessing. The god of illusion and trickery seemed the type to appreciate a prank, especially a fare well one. He sat down then and extended his influence over the chickens. He felt them, and the calmness he had provoked. He sent them images of various places around the praying masses, to get them into position. He sent simple thoughts into them. Go to this place. They did not think as the races did, but they still felt the urge to comply. The invisible chickens quietly marched into place, ready for Alric's final command. Alric began to laugh again, though it was quieter and deeper, a hearty laugh in his throat that he could barely contain. Cadmus finished the prayer, and the illusions began to vanish. At the last one, a golden Velispar, was dismissed, Alric sent an emotional surge of panic and fear and desperation to his flock of chickens. All at once squawks, clucks, and other calls were heard as the Acolytes, Priests, and even Alter Boys began to defend themselves against invisible chickens bowling into them.

[Anton]

Something landed on Anton's head, something that clucked like a chicken and balanced itself with claws on his head like a chicken and smelled like a chicken but just didn't look like a chicken. Or anything at all for that matter. He reached out to the top of his head, feeling for the feathered shape of his new invisible head tenant, and plucked it down to cuddle against his chest. it gave a weak squawk of protest, but did little more, for introverted chickens, whether by worldly creation or hypnotic design, could do little more than read their chicken books and stay quiet.

"I'm gonna keep this one, if it's alright with you." He told Alric the Illusion, who seemed a little too preoccupied with his isur and his bleeding and his random giggling. "I have just the name for him too. Isn't that right, Rhysol Jr?"

He poked at thin air again, and newly-christened illusionary invisible introverted chicken Rhysol jr let out another cluck of protest.

...Which then turned into a demonic bird-shriek as Rhysol Jr. lived up to his namesake and exploded out of his hands, trailing a path of thumps and thuds and all around it seemed the other chickens decided to skip from introverted to extroverted to sociopathic, and the closing prayer session degenerated into something quite unexpected.

"I think that's a lesson we all can take here." Anton said sagely, unfazed by the clearly ilusionary spectacle. "Names give power. Clearly, if I had named her little Bala, we'll be seeing a bit of a plant spectacle over here."

[Alric Wilmot]

Alric turned to Anton for the first time since meeting him. He hadn't payed attention to the young man, but now that he was, he found him quite funny. He was certain the boy was mad, but in a way Alric found that endearing. He himself has been called mad more than once. He had told them otherwise, but he had had moments where he almost believed them. He looked back over the Acolytes who were being instructed by the priests to round up the chickens. Illusions were being used extensively to catch the fowl. Ropes, metal cages, animated flowers, and even bubbles were being used to catch them. But even with a concentrated effort, the chicken avoided them expertly. Fear was a very powerful motivator, and Alric had pumped them all full. As Anton had said, they were like little Rhysol jrs. Alric watched in silence, a smile plastered on his face. The giggles had dried up, and had been replaced by a smug satisfaction. He sat there for a few minutes, Anton staying put. The chickens were round up over time, of course. The combined powers of so many illusionists making relatively quick work of them. However, the main prank came into effect then. They had noticed that the chickens were numbered, and had been keeping tab on which ones they had. And, sure enough, they were missing number thirty. He saw Cadmus himself count over the chickens and begin to instruct the other priests to look for the last one. He peered down at the man, daring him to look in his direction, and see who was responsible for such delicious chaos and mayhem. He did not. Alric however, decided that this was satisfaction enough. He kept a smile to his face and turned to Anton. "Well then, I've had my fun. Tell me, young Anton, what were you doing here at the temple? You know what I was doing, now, at least. But I'm curious about you. You've said some odd things, odder than some others I've met. Also, even though you're young, your vocabulary is exquisite. You remind me of myself at your age, in fact." Alric got up then and began towards the exit of the Temple, and gestured for Anton to follow. "I hope you don't mind, but I'd rather walk and talk. I don't want to be here when Cadmus starts wondering who let those chickens loose"