Manifester: Clan Ball
His eyes scanned the ballroom. Still no sign of the white-capped thundercloud. Where had she gotten to?
"Fenix, you look uncomfortable."
He leaned forward and looked to his right. --Of course I’m uncomfortable, you manipulative witch.-- "My wardrobe seems to have shrunk since last I wore this, Queen Carnifey." --Truth be told, I hate dressing up. Too many layers…plus, midnight blue and violet clashes with my hair and eyes.-- He shifted the blue jacket as he straightened. Grand medals denoting his lineage and his age adorned the jacket, a four-strand rope wound its way across his left and right shoulder. --Let’s just keep pointing out I’m the fourth son.-- A purple undershirt, dress pants, and dress boots completed the outfit, a slim longsword at his left hip.
"You seem bored by the Torrehnt Clan Dance, Fenix."
He kept himself from snarling at Fawx. "When nothing changes in the performance, dear Sister, it is easy to become bored." At least the purple/blue Clan color looked better on her. Yellow hair seemed to lend itself well to those colors.
He knew he stuck out like a sore thumb. The only redheaded child of a dark-haired father. The triplets were dark-haired and eyed, Fawx was fair-haired and gray-eyed, and he was red-haired and green-eyed. He didn’t remotely
look like his Mother, either.
--But I’m a Manifester. I’m supposed to be different.--
The Torrehnt Clan Dancers cleared the floor.
A sea of yellow and orange-red took their place on the wood floor. Half had on masks, either metal or cloth, half had red-orange or goldenrod shirts, and half had yellow boots on their left foot, half on their right. They all had their hair under a Clan colors headwrap, and a handful had swords in hand.
A man strode forward, wearing a Clan colors long coat and carrying a staff. He bowed once each to the T’y’light Royals and with a flock of his hand, the candlelight dimmed. "Royals of T’y’light, Royals of visiting Clans, I invite you to journey back in time with me, back to when there were nine Clans, not our current seven." The Solaris bard thumped his staff on the floor and the performers twirled and leapt across the room.
One performer caught Fenix’s eye. Those movements were familiar…
"Once, long ago, we Solaris were allies of the two Lost Clans. Marriages between the three Clans were not uncommon. There were even children from the Nen’roma and the Nen’dori."
--Now, that’s a part of history I didn’t know.--
"It seemed that neither the hierarchy of the Clans nor the Placement could keep love away," the performer stated. "Even though the Nen’dori were the lowest Clan, they did not seem to mind that fact. But, like all good things," he said with a grin, the light dimming, "this was to come to an end." A flourish of his hands, and the ballroom went black.
--Every Solaris must be taught basic illusions,-- Fenix mused.
A tiny flame appeared from the darkness and perched on top of the Actor’s staff. The light cast an eerie glow on his face. "Every Clan has their idea of what happened next, but, I tell you, the Solaris know the truth."
Another flame appeared, settling over a female performer.
"I would like to introduce to you an ancestor of myself and our Head Mage," he bowed to where Drakin was sitting, "as well as our Mage Brothers and Scholar Sisters."
Fenix looked closer at the bard. He did bear a striking resemblance to Tempyst’s Father.
"Her name was Aliece, daughter of Storvan, Sister to Gideon. She was the child of one of twelve Nen’roma/Solaris marriages."
Another flame hovered over a male performer.
"Allow me to introduce her husband, Tephthis. He was the last Nen’dori to marry into our Clan."
The flames above the performers winked out, then reappeared. Aliece now held a white bundle.
"This is Jen, their fourth-and last-son. Tephthis had been called away before his birth. Pity he would never know his son."
Aliece vanished and Tephthis entered.
"Time truly has an odd way of bringing about change." The bard motioned and a larger flame spotlighted where Aliece had been. The white bundle was now stained red; she lay face down in a pool of her own blood. Tephthis cried out, rushing to his dead wife.
"Who could have done such an evil thing, the Nen’dori wondered as his tears mingled with his love’s blood. Even back then, to kill a child was the worst crime imaginable," he stated.
Tephthis reached out for something.
"What’s this? The murder weapon?" The storyteller stepped over to the performer and peered over his shoulder. "No, it can’t be." Tephthis held a curved balde. "A Shurkra? The killer was from our Clan? But wait, what’s this?"
As Tephthis studied the curved throwing dagger, his look hardened.
"Oh dear, this cannot be good."
"Gideon," the performer growled.
The lights dimmed to black. Footsteps were heard, followed by a man’s scream. A single flame illuminated two figures. Tephthis dropped the body, then flung the Shurkra into Gideon’s spine. He walked into the blackness.
"It was truly a dark day when an innocent man’s blood was spilled. A fire begins with a tiny spark. Within a matter of years, that spark had become wildfire, burning all of Nen’roma blood. The Nen’dori felt they had a score to settle." Darkness settled over once again.
Clashing swords and death cries echoed throughout the ballroom.
"Venture with me ten thousand years back from the current day," the Solaris begain, emerging once again from the dark, "back to the last known record of the Nen’roma and the Nen’dori." The entire ballroom lit up. There were many bodies strewn across the floor. There were only ten who were standing.
"I draw your attention to the fighter with a gold faceplate. This is Lemin, ~Lysah~ of the Nen’dori Clan. She has come here with her fellow Hunters to extinguish the Nen’roma once and for all. It has been engrained in her that these Shifters are the reason her Clan is the lowest. She has been very through with her Hunts, killing any creature who did not act like its brethren."
The bard stepped over to the other side of the floor. "I draw your attention to the fighter with the steel faceplate. This is Irin, last known pureblood Nen’roma. She fights to defend her bloodline."
Fenix studied Irin’s movements. He knew that fighting style.
Every fighter but Lemin and Irin fell dead.
"I shall fall silent so that you may witness the deciding battle."
Irin manifested another sword. Lemin threw her blade away and snatched a two-handed sword from a fallen ally. They stared at each other, then aimed for the other’s throat.
Fenix found it easier to track who was who by the color of her shirt. Irin was goldenrod, Lemin was red-orange.
Irin groaned and backed off. Red had begun to stain the left side of her shirt. Were their blows actually striking each other? She jerked to the left and whimpered. The two performers seemed to be speaking to each other, and Irin nodded.
"This ends, Nen’roma!" Lemin howled as she swung her blade, knocking of Irin’s faceplate and tearing her headwrap.
"You missed." Irin returned the gesture with her twin blades. "I want to look into the Hunter’s eyes as the Hunter is slain by the Prey."
"Tempyst," Fenix breathed. She was in no condition to be performing. Her bardic uncle should know better…
The two women drew their weapons back and stabbed forward.
"Fenix, you look uncomfortable."
He leaned forward and looked to his right. --Of course I’m uncomfortable, you manipulative witch.-- "My wardrobe seems to have shrunk since last I wore this, Queen Carnifey." --Truth be told, I hate dressing up. Too many layers…plus, midnight blue and violet clashes with my hair and eyes.-- He shifted the blue jacket as he straightened. Grand medals denoting his lineage and his age adorned the jacket, a four-strand rope wound its way across his left and right shoulder. --Let’s just keep pointing out I’m the fourth son.-- A purple undershirt, dress pants, and dress boots completed the outfit, a slim longsword at his left hip.
"You seem bored by the Torrehnt Clan Dance, Fenix."
He kept himself from snarling at Fawx. "When nothing changes in the performance, dear Sister, it is easy to become bored." At least the purple/blue Clan color looked better on her. Yellow hair seemed to lend itself well to those colors.
He knew he stuck out like a sore thumb. The only redheaded child of a dark-haired father. The triplets were dark-haired and eyed, Fawx was fair-haired and gray-eyed, and he was red-haired and green-eyed. He didn’t remotely
look like his Mother, either.
--But I’m a Manifester. I’m supposed to be different.--
The Torrehnt Clan Dancers cleared the floor.
A sea of yellow and orange-red took their place on the wood floor. Half had on masks, either metal or cloth, half had red-orange or goldenrod shirts, and half had yellow boots on their left foot, half on their right. They all had their hair under a Clan colors headwrap, and a handful had swords in hand.
A man strode forward, wearing a Clan colors long coat and carrying a staff. He bowed once each to the T’y’light Royals and with a flock of his hand, the candlelight dimmed. "Royals of T’y’light, Royals of visiting Clans, I invite you to journey back in time with me, back to when there were nine Clans, not our current seven." The Solaris bard thumped his staff on the floor and the performers twirled and leapt across the room.
One performer caught Fenix’s eye. Those movements were familiar…
"Once, long ago, we Solaris were allies of the two Lost Clans. Marriages between the three Clans were not uncommon. There were even children from the Nen’roma and the Nen’dori."
--Now, that’s a part of history I didn’t know.--
"It seemed that neither the hierarchy of the Clans nor the Placement could keep love away," the performer stated. "Even though the Nen’dori were the lowest Clan, they did not seem to mind that fact. But, like all good things," he said with a grin, the light dimming, "this was to come to an end." A flourish of his hands, and the ballroom went black.
--Every Solaris must be taught basic illusions,-- Fenix mused.
A tiny flame appeared from the darkness and perched on top of the Actor’s staff. The light cast an eerie glow on his face. "Every Clan has their idea of what happened next, but, I tell you, the Solaris know the truth."
Another flame appeared, settling over a female performer.
"I would like to introduce to you an ancestor of myself and our Head Mage," he bowed to where Drakin was sitting, "as well as our Mage Brothers and Scholar Sisters."
Fenix looked closer at the bard. He did bear a striking resemblance to Tempyst’s Father.
"Her name was Aliece, daughter of Storvan, Sister to Gideon. She was the child of one of twelve Nen’roma/Solaris marriages."
Another flame hovered over a male performer.
"Allow me to introduce her husband, Tephthis. He was the last Nen’dori to marry into our Clan."
The flames above the performers winked out, then reappeared. Aliece now held a white bundle.
"This is Jen, their fourth-and last-son. Tephthis had been called away before his birth. Pity he would never know his son."
Aliece vanished and Tephthis entered.
"Time truly has an odd way of bringing about change." The bard motioned and a larger flame spotlighted where Aliece had been. The white bundle was now stained red; she lay face down in a pool of her own blood. Tephthis cried out, rushing to his dead wife.
"Who could have done such an evil thing, the Nen’dori wondered as his tears mingled with his love’s blood. Even back then, to kill a child was the worst crime imaginable," he stated.
Tephthis reached out for something.
"What’s this? The murder weapon?" The storyteller stepped over to the performer and peered over his shoulder. "No, it can’t be." Tephthis held a curved balde. "A Shurkra? The killer was from our Clan? But wait, what’s this?"
As Tephthis studied the curved throwing dagger, his look hardened.
"Oh dear, this cannot be good."
"Gideon," the performer growled.
The lights dimmed to black. Footsteps were heard, followed by a man’s scream. A single flame illuminated two figures. Tephthis dropped the body, then flung the Shurkra into Gideon’s spine. He walked into the blackness.
"It was truly a dark day when an innocent man’s blood was spilled. A fire begins with a tiny spark. Within a matter of years, that spark had become wildfire, burning all of Nen’roma blood. The Nen’dori felt they had a score to settle." Darkness settled over once again.
Clashing swords and death cries echoed throughout the ballroom.
"Venture with me ten thousand years back from the current day," the Solaris begain, emerging once again from the dark, "back to the last known record of the Nen’roma and the Nen’dori." The entire ballroom lit up. There were many bodies strewn across the floor. There were only ten who were standing.
"I draw your attention to the fighter with a gold faceplate. This is Lemin, ~Lysah~ of the Nen’dori Clan. She has come here with her fellow Hunters to extinguish the Nen’roma once and for all. It has been engrained in her that these Shifters are the reason her Clan is the lowest. She has been very through with her Hunts, killing any creature who did not act like its brethren."
The bard stepped over to the other side of the floor. "I draw your attention to the fighter with the steel faceplate. This is Irin, last known pureblood Nen’roma. She fights to defend her bloodline."
Fenix studied Irin’s movements. He knew that fighting style.
Every fighter but Lemin and Irin fell dead.
"I shall fall silent so that you may witness the deciding battle."
Irin manifested another sword. Lemin threw her blade away and snatched a two-handed sword from a fallen ally. They stared at each other, then aimed for the other’s throat.
Fenix found it easier to track who was who by the color of her shirt. Irin was goldenrod, Lemin was red-orange.
Irin groaned and backed off. Red had begun to stain the left side of her shirt. Were their blows actually striking each other? She jerked to the left and whimpered. The two performers seemed to be speaking to each other, and Irin nodded.
"This ends, Nen’roma!" Lemin howled as she swung her blade, knocking of Irin’s faceplate and tearing her headwrap.
"You missed." Irin returned the gesture with her twin blades. "I want to look into the Hunter’s eyes as the Hunter is slain by the Prey."
"Tempyst," Fenix breathed. She was in no condition to be performing. Her bardic uncle should know better…
The two women drew their weapons back and stabbed forward.