The Frozen Masquerade

[Selah]

OoC: Evening, BA. Welcome to The Frozen Masquerade, where nightmares are made real and illusions lure into oblivion the weak and the strong alike. Who can resist that melodic whisper?

A basic outline out the RP is as follows: Participating characters will first discover and enter a snowbound mansion, where they are invited, by its owner, to partake in a feast and follow it up with hours of dancing and entertainment. Rooms for the night are afterward offered; darkness closes in. But the next morning does not come. Rather, your character’s nightmares, made material, come in morning's place.

Your objective? To escape the house. Team up, go at it alone; only break free of the mansion before the illusions swallow you alive. How will that be accomplished? Howsoever you desire or think an appropriate motivation to keep your character moving, ;-)

As Masquerade is now up to 13 participants, I will no longer be accepting character submissions. Please refer to The Frozen Masquerade's Out of Character Thread for further details and posting order.

Happy posting!

IC:

I saw pale kings and princes too,
Pale warriors, death-pale were they all;
They cried—“La Belle Dame sans Merci
Hath thee in thrall!”

I saw their starved lips in the gloam,
With horrid warning gaped wide,
And I awoke and found me here,
On the cold hill’s side.

And this is why I sojourn here,
Alone and palely loitering,
Though the sedge is wither’d from the lake,
And no birds sing.

John Keats, La Belle Dame Sans Merci


His conscious mind cannot remember the Beginning - if ever there was a beginning - nor does it remember the Before - if ever there was a before. It only remembers the dancing in the long, golden hall, the tables sagging with the weight of a thousand dishes and a wealth of silver. The dancing, the dishes, the silver: these are the beginning, the middle, the end, the before, the after. He is even starting to forget the woman who brought him here.

But if he concentrates, visions of himself in an old and yellowed smock, holding a shepherd's crook in his left hand, surface in his mind's eye. He sometimes remembers the heat of a summer afternoon, and how he laid himself in the cool grass and waited for the wind to brush his face.

And then there is the touch of her hand upon his cheek, her skin as cold as well water. He opens his eyes and she smiles down at him. He is taken by that first glance. He stares at her, as men stare at a god made manifest, and she slips to her feet, fluid as water, saying, "Come."

He comes, leaving his shepherd's staff and his shepherd’s self behind.

He remembers next the white stone bridge over which she took him, the mansion they entered. They walked down a wainscoted corridor and emerged in the eating hall; he admired the lofty ceiling and vast, marble floor, dotted with food-laden tables. She fed him from these sunken tables and silver dishes, then caught up his hands and pulled him into a dance. He remembers how he could not breathe for the ecstasy that swelled his gut, how the yule marble burned under his feet, how his legs weakened and his heels finally bled.

And he remembers too how she danced with him, gripping his sweaty hands with such strength his fingers turned purple in the earthlight, and how she smiled and laughed and held him to her when his legs gave out and he skittered in his own blood across the marble. "No, no, no, no, no, my love; stop now and you shall die!" she cried. "Dance, dance, or give me up and die a mortal's death!" And he remembers how the threat was like a lance through his belly, the thought of losing her, and so he scrambled after her, hauling himself upright, dancing, dancing, dancing so that she would not leave him.

His memory passes in blurs of light and circles of dancing, day in and day out. Sometimes he remembers how she plied him with candies and biscuits and thin milk, to which she would add sugar crystals. But after this he remembers nothing, only the lights and the dancing. So much dancing. His feet still bear the scars.

And then the moment when she said, "Do not follow me. Please." His vision had been bleary and swimming and he could not understand; he stumbled after her when she sailed from the hall. She passed into the golden foyer, beneath the pillared arches, and she ascended the stairs. He tried to follow. But he was drunk and sick with the sweet food and wild dance; he staggered on the steps and fell down them.

And when he woke up, she was gone.

It came to him, as he lay stretched at the foot of the stairs, that the earthlight that had lit the mansion was also gone and that he lay in darkness on a heap of broken tile. Dust coated his tongue, filled his nostrils and brain; he tasted rot and dank air. He twisted to his knees and came to his feet; he stretched out a hand and found the staircase: it was shattered and overgrown with fungus. The banisters had rotted away and floor beneath him was broken up as if with a pickaxe. He stumbled from the foyer into the dancing hall, drew back the damp curtains of a window, and saw beyond the soiled glass nothing but white upon white upon white. He looked at the cracks in the frame and saw the white piled in its corners was snow.

He ran, after this, like a man insane, stumbling where no traces of the sickly light from the outside gleamed, looking for some sign of life, some portal of escape. He did not know the name of the woman who had brought him here, but he screamed for her all the same. And when she did not answer, and his screams had chafed his throat raw, and the blisters on his feet opened and left blood in his wake, he huddled in the murk and silence and sobbed.

It took many days—or perhaps it was many years; he did not know these things anymore, not since time had frozen—it took him many days before he accepted that he would never set foot beyond the white stone bridge that led to—and from—the mansion. It took even longer for him to accept that he would never see the woman herself again. He combed the mansion in search of her and found only disused rooms and spider webs thick as cotton, rotten timbers and caved in walls, dust deep as a fishpond.

He started to question her existence, and after that, his own sanity.

An affinity with the mansion began to fill him, for surely, he reasoned, the mansion was enchanted just as he had been enchanted; surely it was damned, just as he was damned, to live without time and company. “But I shall be your company,” he said out loud, one day, to the great ceiling to the eating hall. “I shall be your society, your friend. And perhaps, if we are lucky, more friends will join us. And will not that splendid? We will make them eat with us, and dance with us, and stay with us for all time…”

[Euphoria]

OoC: Let's start this with a bang.

IC:

The snow fell gently at first, nothing more than an icy whisper escaping from the clouds’ grasp. Slowly it accumulated, until a sizable sheet of pure white blanketed the land. Fields, mountains and forests vanished beneath the encompassing flakes. With the disappearing nature there vanished another thing, hope. The first flake of snow heralded a halt to all transport and jobs. With one flake people shut out the nothingness with a slam of the door and a whine of sealed windows. They lay in their rooms, fires blazing madly, radiating heat too tiny to warm the closest hands. Like that, the sly snowflakes began their frigid reign over everything.

*

Nathan awakened with a start, feeling colder than he had in months. The inn obviously wasn’t looked after very well. His sheet lay on the floor, unconsciously discarded during the night. He hastily shrugged on his overcoat to take a look out the window. Nothing. It could only be described as a white darkness, blocking out everything with its shimmering brilliance.

“Perhaps I shouldn’t go anywhere today,” Nathan chimed inwardly. He detested any kind of cold, snow even more so. What joy was there in inflicting chilling irk on others with a frigid ball of ice? He didn’t even try to understand it; better to stay put by a fireplace. And that was what he planned to do, until the cries began.

“Evacuate now!” The voice was frantic and fuelled by adrenaline, with just the slightest edge of fear. Nate didn’t even try to make sense of it; he just grabbed his hat and dashed out of the room. He jumped down the stairs three at a time, landing in a murky foyer filled with screaming visitors. There was no use making sense of the dithering cries; nothing more than a terrified cacophony. Everyone was running towards the one wooden door out of the inn, so Nate decided to follow.

Once outside, everything could unfold clearly before Nathan’s eyes. The first thing he noticed was a huge dancing flame on the roof of the house opposite. Charred figures intermittently burst out of the giant bungalow, their shrieks piercing the very air around them. The person who called to evacuate was in the centre of town: well-built with a simple crop of hair and powerful arms. His hands were cupped around his mouth as his deep, amplified voice roared above the anarchy. “Everyone out of your houses; it’s not safe!”

Nate looked away, just in time to see the next building along catch fire. Luckily, everyone seemed to have abandoned their homes as requested. The flames dashed along the side of the house and immediately set the roof alight. The street was swarmed by a throng of screaming locals.

He didn’t need to see any more. Before the entire town went up in flames, Nate dashed away, onto the rapidly disappearing path. He walked until he couldn’t see the shining buildings any more, then stopped to take a short break. “That was mad,” he coughed. “I should check up on the place some time to see if everything worked out.”

The snow began to fall faster, until it was nothing short of a blizzard. Nathan was scared. Scared of freezing to death; scared of never fulfilling the mad dreams that were always cooped up inside him. He could feel the hope slipping away with every misleading flake of snow that landed on him. “Snow and hope can’t coexist," Nathan decided then. And, since the horrible white gems were everywhere, Nate was reduced to a quivering mass. Until he saw the mansion.

Such a house he had never seen before. It was abundant in elegant spires, tipped with the very purest of snow. Its central roof rose to impossible heights that had Nate dizzy with vertigo. The windows were thick and had a ripple effect that obscured the chance of peering inside. The thick stone walls – ancient and rustic black – fit the timeless house perfectly. The oaken double-door was gargantuan and deep brown. There was a giant black knocker on one side. Nathan let his mind mull over the people that might have resided there. “Fabulous socialites,” he guessed. “Unspeakably kind, with such manners and etiquette the Queen herself would be sick with envy. I’m sure they will facilitate me for a while. " The boy threw caution to the wind and ran towards the mansion, thrusting himself into hopeless depths the snow couldn’t hope to compete with.

[Power Shot]

The snow around him was soft, but soft wasn’t a word he was familiar with. He knew the definition, certainly, but he did not understand the meaning, which made all the difference to him. His clothes, dark as the night, seemed out of touch with this winter wonderland. Out of place. He drew his coat along his frame, and the hollow left sleeve played with the slight wind. His right arm, on the other hand, drew a letter out of his pocket. He needed to consult it, to determine the correct location of his query.

“No return address,” he muttered thoughtfully, his mind like a great set of gears. “‘I await my guests faithfully. Follow the winter’s chill, and you will find me in a grand manor fit for the finest warriors and lords in the land’.” He lowered the aged parchment to muse. I have followed the obvious clues. Maps revealed the location of this manor. Parchment testing revealed that the sender is aged, the paper is older then the average human. Ink testing revealed it to be recently written. He glanced through the slight storm towards the giant house up ahead with interest. “This should be the place. Though I wonder how the inviter succeeded in delivering this. The Dome knows I do not like interruption.” He stuffed the letter away in his coat, and began his trek through the snow. His boots made great, giant prints, and his legs sank deep into the frozen stuff. Fortunately, he was spared the frost that the ordinary person would feel, though he did have to keep an eye on how low his temperature dropped. He could not be allowed below the freezing point, after all. With that he ran the risk of losing even more then his left arm.

He wondered, as he approached it, what exactly the inviter wanted. The iron giant was not exactly what one would call a social person; in fact, he shunned human contact on most days unless basically ordered to do otherwise by the mystic Kenjin, or on whims. This was one of the latter, one he did on occasion to assert his very declined version of humanity, something that he had not yet achieved, but nonetheless was interested in. Humanity separated him from the remainder of those that roamed the worlds. Humanity segregated him, and made it impossible for him to connect with others.

Through the faceless cowl that hid his disgusting face, the ronin watched as he walked through the gate that led to the entrance of the manor, and the small paved way blanketed with snow. Suddenly, he was no longer stepping on snow, but granite and concrete. His boots clunked more, and he noticed that, if the inviter were to attack him, he would have even less of an advantage. Sure, the attacker could see him easily, but now the ronin would be simpler to hear as well. He gripped the handle of the Arm Striker, but nothing pulsated from it. If anyone was nearby, they would not be a threat to him.

Ahead, he finally caught sight of the door, where a withered man stood, frail and as if one well-placed wind gust would carry him off into the landscape. The ebon knight walked forward, and stopped just a few paces away from the individual. “You are the sender of this?” he asked, and withdrew the letter from his pocket. He watched the withered man’s eyes trail briefly to the fluttering left sleeve, then back up to the faceless cowl.

“Indeed so, sir,” he replied, in a calm, mournful manner. “Judging by your famous garb, I take it that you are the Dark Eye, the monster of metal Chronos.”

He nodded. “I am Chronos,” he answered.

The man smiled, and beckoned the Dark Eye to enter the abode. “Would you care for some tea, sir? I have brewed it especially for you.”

“No, my body does not require such nourishment. Though I would prefer to take slight refuge in your manor until the storm lightens.” Chronos stepped inside the manor, and the man closed the door behind him.

“Very good sir. I will show you into the parlor. I am expecting many guests tonight. Would you like me to take your coat for you? Or your-” He glanced up, as Chronos was significantly taller then he “-staff, sir?”

“No.”

[HitokiriChibi]

“Cha~ra~ra~! Joker spies nothing but white! What winter land has he brought himself to today?” The sing song voice cut through the cold winds, the speaker seemingly unaffected by the dizzying gusts of frost and snow that pelted him. Indeed, it should have affected hi m somewhat seeing as how he stood at the top of a tree, leaning out into the wind with one hand on the trunk and the other stretched before him dramatically. His long coat, the color of twilight dusk flapped wildly as though it tried to send him from his perch, the single bell attached to the long cowl ringing incessantly.

A frown suddenly crossed the young man’s face, even though the only thing visible was his purple eyes and icy hair that streamed haphazardly in the wind. Those eyes, ringed by a band of ice, scanned his surroundings with something akin to mourning.

“Joker be atop this tree, looking so dashing yet no one is here to witness his glory!” Spinning abruptly on his branch, he hugged the trunk with as much melodrama he could muster and as he grasped it, he saw a flash of light. It was the kind of light one would see of the sun upon glass, only the proper angle would alert someone to its presence. Blinking, he squinted in the age old fashion of one trying to make their eyes focus on something beyond their range.

“What be this Joker spies?” He murmured to himself, standing tall once more, “Yes… Joker must needs investigate this. Perhaps ‘tis an establishment Joker can seek shelter within. Perhaps there be people Joker might find entertaining. At the very least, ‘tis something very shiny!”

Grinning, he leaped forwards a dagger in each hand. Whipping one forward, the blade lengthened into a whip of steel that shot forwards to a neighboring tree, wrapping around and tugging Joker forwards to a safe landing. He continued this way, leaping and bounding from tree to tree as he kept sight of that flash in the distance. Another part of his mind was keeping track of time - there was only so much sunlight left in this day and he hoped to reach it before that beacon was taken away by time.

~.:*:.~
Puffs of breath clouded in the cold air, escaping from the scarf wrapped around his face, the only sign of the fatigue that plagued Joker after his exertions. He crouched atop high granite walls, his coat flapping behind him like wings heralding the end of day as the sky darkened to a matching shade. Sighing he stood, his gaze never leaving the estate sprawled before him.

“Joker need not announce himself to the owner… Joker is simply Joker after all, and would never do something so common! And Joker never asks permission to enter peoples’ homes!” That last suspicious statement reached, he embedded a dagger into the wall and then proceeded to lower himself down, the blade elongating slowly and steadily.

Gaining solid ground he scampered across the snow covered grounds, making his way to the side of the main building. In his mind, entering through a backdoor was too suspicious and expected. Entering the front was too direct - therefore he would enter through a side door, preferably on the second floor.

Grinning he skipped forwards until he stood within the shadow of the mansion. He could count so many windows, all of them blackened with the sign that no one stirred within. The ones to the front of the house though were lit - Joker had avoided that area as best as he could. For now though, he clambered his way up the wall, sought out a window to peer within then created a portal to that new destination.

Falling through, he found himself within, and gave himself a pat on his back, the bell jingling cheerfully as though congratulating him on his entry.

“Joker to explore~ Joker to explore~ Joker to explore this other person's house~” singing softly to himself he proceeded from the room, his eyes wandering over the various items on display and keeping an eye out for the owner of this grandiose abode.

[Ranarath]

It’s cold. There wasn’t anything else for Cila to think about except that simple yet unavoidable fact. A chilling wind would come up every few minutes, swirling the snow around but not making any kind of change to the white landscape. The only other place the dragoon could think of that was like this tundra was a desert, only on the opposite side on temperature. She was used to temperate climates, nothing like this snow. It was a good thing that she managed to buy some more clothing from the last town. Her feet now wore a pair of fur-covered boots while a heavy, fur cloak covered the rest of her body. With the cloak’s cowl up, the white fur blended her body into the snow except for the small part of her face that was visible.

Hopefully this will keep any predators away along with keeping me warm. She let out a sigh and her breath became a white cloud. How do people live out here? The dragoon drew her wings closer to her body, trying to keep any heat she could. The nearest establishment was only suppose to be a couple miles away from what the last village had said but Cila felt like she had been walking for hours. She stopped for a second and glanced behind her; her footprints were barely visible. When another wind came up, they’d be gone completely. I could be walking around in circles and not even realize it.

Becoming slightly worried, the dark lady decided to get a better view of the area. Her black-scaled quickly unfurled and, with one strong beat, she pushed herself into the air. She rose into the air and turned in all directions, hoping to spy some kind of shelter nearby. And the dragoon needed to hurry, it was too cold to be in the air for long. Of course, it was made much worse when a gust decided to spring up at the point, throwing her off balance and into the snow. Cila spat out a mouthful of the frozen water, “I don’t like this place.” She stood up and brushed off the white dust while drawing the cloak against herself. Thankfully, she had spotted something before the wind had come up. And if I remember right, it was in this direction.

It seemed like another hour before she caught sight of the building. Several evergreen trees surrounded the huge building, creating somewhat of a homey appearance if that could be accomplished in a place like this. The mansion was filled with like and smoke drifted out of the chimney. There was one problem, though. How would she get into the mansion? It was fairly unlikely that they would simply let her inside. People tend to stay away from her based solely on appearance. Not that she was a sociable person, though.

Despite her reservations, her body kept moving towards the front door, perhaps drawn by the idea of warmth and comfort. However, she did stop once she noticed someone standing in front of the door. He was dressed in a tuxedo and stood in a very straight manner. Cila thought the man must be cold but, if he was sure, he was excellent at hiding it. But he didn’t give her much more time for contemplation. “Would you like to come inside?” he asked, his eyes settling on her.

“Um...” the dragoon was taken aback by the direct invitation.

“Please, come in. The master always enjoys company no matter who it may be. Please.” He turned and opened the door wide. A nice glow sprung out, welcoming the cold dragoon. When she still hesitated, “There is nothing you need to worry about. Come in and enjoy yourself.”

“Well...” It did seem to be alright. Any respite from the cold was a blessing. She walked up to the butler, muttered, “Thank you,” and stepped into the mansion.

OoC: I apologize for the wait.

[Tiroth]

The clouds spread out beneath her swirled in unpredictable currents as Laurana dove and swerved and climbed in the air. Had anyone else been flying high enough to hear, her whoops of laughter and delighted shrieks as she pulled off ever more complex maneuvers would have remdinded them of a young child playing a favourite game. Indeed, this impression would have been correct, although few would ever believe it of a dragon.

Letting one wing trail in the top of a particularly fluffy cloud, Laurana felt her empty stomach growl. the young dragon straightened out her flight and paused in her acrobatics for a moment and twisted her neck round so she could stare at her belly. The traitorous body part growled again, loud enough to hear over the rush of the wind, and Laurana scowled at it. Okay, so she'd been playing up here for nearly two days straight, and she'd have to eat sometime...but did she have to break off her playing now? When she was having so much fun?

The third growl was actually painful. The dragonchild winced and immediately spilled some of the air from beneath her wings, dropping her into the cloud layer and down towards the ground hidden far below. Maybe if she was quick she'd be able to find some of the meat that humans raised and get back to her games before she had to sleep as well...

It didn't work out that way, though.

Partway into the cloud layer, Laurana started to feel the bite of extreme cold through her scales. The clammy feeling that always came over here when she was in a cloud didn't help - the incredibly thin film of water that coated her body magnified the cold. The lower she went, the colder it got, until she finally broke through bottom of the cloud layer and into the clear air beneath.

At least, that's what she wished had happened.

Snow dropped from the clouds at an alarming rate, whipped about by a worryingly fierce wind that threatened to knock the dragonchild about in the air. The snow that brushed against her body melted almost instantly, weighing her down and making her colder, sapping her strength until it was a struggle to even stay in the air.

There was no way that Laurana could climb back above the clouds where it was safe in this weather, so she screeched and tucked her wings against her body instead. With a much smaller profilke for the wind to grab, she cut through the blizzard virtually unhindered, picking up speed and diving stright for the ground below. The dragonchild figured that slogging along on the ground would be safer than trying to fly in this...provided she could actually see the ground before she ploughed into it.

The longer she held her dive, the more nervous Laurana became, until every swirl and eddy of snow below her made her wings twitch and begin to unfurl. The wind caught her then, blowing her about almost as freely as the snow, forcing the young dragon to hold her wings closer than ever...until another eddy scared her and she twitched again.

Laurana knew how high she'd been flying, and she knew how long it should take for her to reach the ground again, but it felt like she'd been diving for hours by the time she saw anything real. A smudge of brown below her betrayed the presence of trees, which meant the ground at last, so she snapped her green wings fully open and strained her muscles, bleeding off the speed of her dive. Another sudden gust of wind forced the dragon down instead of up, nearly throwing Laurana into the tree she'd seen, but she just managed to swerve away in time.

It was only after the swerve that she saw the human-style building...or, more specifically, the patch of roof that she was headed for.

With most of her speed gone, the roof didn't give way immediately when Laurana hit it. The snow that had built up partially cushioned the dragon's fall, but the impact forced the breath out of her body all the same. "Ow," she said when she could bnreath again. "That hur -"

With a groan, the roof gave way beneath her, and Laurana found herself falling in a cloud of broken timber and pieces of the roof. Bits and pieces of the building continued to fall after she hit the floor, partially burying the young dragon beneath them.

"Double ow," she whined.

For the fourth time, her stomach growled.

[LadyElvenarcher]

OoC: Meh...mediocre post. But at least it gets things going again.

IC:

There is nothing more glorious than flying through snowfall, Small One. I feel truly at home for the first time in many years.

Shilera floated lazily on the updrafts, her eyes closed in the only sign of pleasure she would give. The Ice Dragon remained her mostly stoic self despite her words. Even her flight pattern was controlled, and Sileya wondered if Shilera really was feeling as excited as she had said. It was hard to read the Ice Elemental sometimes.

Unlike the fiery Pyria.

I want out! I want out! I want to melt things! Pleeeeeeeease let me melt things!

Sileya couldn’t restrain her laughter at the Fire Dragon’s overly-energetic attitude. Pyria was quite a handful, and Sileya was thankful for the calming voice of Lithiuan which gently chastised Pyria.

Hush, young one. Everything isn’t always about you, you know. Quiet yourself and let Shilera enjoy her time outside.

But the Fire Elemental would not be deterred. I’m sorry, but there’s so much frozen stuff out there, and I want to burn it! Please, please, please?!

Shilera completely ignored the exchange going on between her brethren and looped slowly, giving Sileya enough time to grab onto the Dragon’s scales. The Dragon then opened her jaws and breathed a light, frozen mist into the air, soaring through it immediately after to enjoy the tingling sensation that played along her scales as a result. Sileya shivered and chuckled. “I don’t have protective scales, remember?”

Shilera laughed softly inside the Elf’s mind. I apologize, Small One. I thought perhaps if your concentration was broken by a sudden burst of cold, Pyria would cease shouting inside your head.

The Fire Dragon was outraged at the comment. What? I do not shout! I just want to plaaaaay!

Something tumbling from the air suddenly caught Sileya’s eye, and she focused her attention in its direction. It was headed straight for the roof of a large house—a mansion, from the looks of it. If it wasn’t careful, it was going to—

The crash echoed through the now torrential falling snow and instantly commanded Shilera’s attention. Without saying a word, the Ice Dragon soared over to the fresh hole in the roof, allowing Sileya to jump off her back into the house. Even as the Elf fell, the Ice Dragon glowed and dissolved back into Drageziel.

Sileya hit the floor right next to the crumpled heap of a small green dragon partially buried beneath the rubble from its abrupt entrance. Blinking in surprise, she moved over to its side and started pushing pieces of the roof off the dragon. “Are you alright?”

[insaney]

White, white as far as the eye could see. Even the sky was white, dotted with a myriad of snowflakes that swirled around swiftly with the wind, drowning out the grey of the clouds that had let them go in the first place. It resembled a windy desert, sand in the air and sand on the ground; snow in the air and snow on the ground, from horizon to horizon.

And not only that, the snow was knee-deep, as this one had discovered. His cowl stretched out behind him as his slender left arm rose up, the talons pressed against his forehead, seemingly sheltering his eyesight from the biting snow.

He leaned over slightly, narrowing his eyes, trying to see into the distance.

“No no~” He stood up again and turned around slowly, the snow crunching beneath his feet.

Near leaned forward again, looking out at the horizon.

“No no no~” He snapped his fingers and turned around again, frowning.

“Manic doesn’t think this is the ocean,” he whispered, sighing, “there aren’t even any waves!”

Near looked toward the sky, “There’s no sun…that’s funny. Manic followed it here. It was shiny~”

Near pressed down on the snow and leaped out of the knee-deep hole he was in. He grinned and took a few steps forward, until finally, he was knee-deep in the snow again.

“Raaarrr!” he opened his mouth and went face first into the snow, biting at it. But it was all for naught; he stood up and spat out some of the white, unintentionally swallowing the rest.

“Glecchh, fwuh! Bwaa…” Near let his tongue hang out of his mouth for a few seconds, but quickly pulled it back in as a silhouette of…something appeared in the distance. He leaned forward and sheltered his eyes again, squinting at the large figure. What could it be? A monster? A wall in the middle of nowhere? Or just…

“Shhelltterrr! Wheeeee~!”

He threw his both hands up into the air and made a beeline straight toward the huge structure, his legs cutting through the snow and leaving behind a noticeable trail. It was a mansion, rising high out of the snow. It was an odd place to put such a thing, but it didn’t matter now, just like the front door to the place. Near leapt upwards as soon as he reached the building, digging his claws just above a window and swinging straight through the glass pane, shattering it.

“Kyahahahah,” he grinned, standing up “the Crown Clown has arrived!”

[Puck]

Heaven and hell are not that different from each other, it is only the perception of them that changes everything. Life and death are actually fairly close, only our minds eye change them to our own desires. Perception is the key to faith, and the holder of our liberty. How we see things changes who we are, and how we react to each and every daily trail and tribulation we go through. Whether this be the death of one who was held dear, or simply tripping on your way to work. Perception of reality change how we are effected by this circumstances.

Take the now for instance, to a young, childish, and artistic mind the gentle snow fall and heavy drifts are a dream come true, a winter wonderland if you will. However, to an adult, a realist, someone whose mind is a little more mature the snow is seen as dangerous, it destroies houses, block roads, and make even simple hicks unpassable with cold and chilling winds that accompany the blanket of white. That day two children took their perception and transcended the depth of winter's snow.

They did come prepared however, the younger of the two used some well earned money to buy huge fur coats to cover his, and his female comrades hair. However this was not enough, the howling winds of jack frost found its way through the cracks in their protection, freezing them to their very soul. Each step they took in the almost waist deep snow seemed to amplify the fact to them that they had made a grave mistake in their over zealous decision. They couldn't return though, the way they had come, the very footprints they had made where already covered up by the raging blizzard leaving them only one choice, the road forward.

They had lost the path hours ago in-between bouts of bickering over whose fault it was, their only hope was in a half frozen raging river to their left, if they followed it they would have to come to civilization eventually, or die trying. It was a gamble but it was the only chance the two kids had, a sad affair by any means.

“I'm tired,” The girl stopped in her tracks and looked around at the thicket on either side of the river, “I'm cold, I'm hungry, we can't go on much longer,” for a usually jovial voice she gave a strange melancholy tone.

“I know Cari, but what can we do?” The boy said stopping a few steps in front of the girl, “We have to keep going, we don't have the equipment to stop now, if we tried to make camp we would freeze to death. Just hold on, we will find shelter soon,” Devin turned to the girl hoping to reassure his futile efforts at comforting her with a cheep smile, he never got it out. A Mountain of fur suddenly appeared behind the girl, it's sharp yellow teeth glaring.

Panic filled the child as logic fled, Devin rushed towards the girl as the beast rose it's might paw. As the clawed hand swung, Devin sprung into action, pushing the girl down to take the blow himself. The claw struck with a sickening thud as droplets of red rain dyed the snow and Devin fell to the ground rolling down the short incline.

Thwack. The furry monster found it's arm stinging, when it's yellow eyes looked it saw what appeared to be a stick protruding from it's muscle. Thwack. Another hit him, this time piercing through his leg causing it to stumble for a second. Thwack. Thwack. Thwack. Thwack. Four more sent the beast toppling over. It breath was heavy. It's wounds where deep. Taking one last breath it fell into eternal sleep.

Near the brush was the young girl, her heart pounding hard against her chest, her hands shaking, her face sweating. Sighing she dropped her last arrow to the now blood red ground from the river of crimson that rushed from the large beast. Getting to her feet she looked at the carcass of the animal and couldn't help but feel sorry for it's predicament, it was just angry from being woken up and now it law against the snow as a lifeless corpse.

“Devin,” She said with a weak breath, “Devin!” She remembered what had happened, rushing down the small hill she saw his body clinging against the side of the hill half floating in the rushing water. Looking up with his deep eyes he saw his savior, and no longer needed to stay conscious he closed them. His body started to get taken away by the tide as Cari latched onto his hand. She would not let him die there, she would not let his body be taken from her. With her remaining strength she pulled him to shore, his body cold and shivering from the water.

She had no strength, no breath, no hope, but she had will. Using the last of her will power she lifted the frozen boy onto her shoulders and started up the hill. Panic started setting in, where would she go? How would she survive? They wasn't a town for miles, Devin would die by then! No. She pushed the thoughts to the back of her head as she started, her head scanning the sky for any signs of life.

There off in the distance, smoke? Yes. Glimmer of hope sparked across her face as she braved through the forest grandeur towards the gray miracle. Seconds would turn to minutes, and minutes hours as she used all of her will power to trudge the deep snow, and deathly dense forest. Twenty minutes she found herself there.

Her body felt weaker then it ever had before, her mind more tired, and her hope o small. All of this and yet there she was, in front of two grand doors that spoke of perceived truth, a truth that they would both survive this night. As she opened the door, ignoring the courtesy she was tought as a child, Cari found her body give in as she and Devin fell inwards to wards the bright candle light at the feet of a man. Looking up Cari used all the strength she could muster to say one word, “help...”

OoC: Wow...this is like the who's who of the BA.

[MrRandom]

In fire there is the spark of chaos and destruction, the seed of life. In ice there is perfect tranquility, perfect order, and the silence of death. Such is the opposition between the two that where one prevails, the other cannot endure. Which explains why the fragment of chaos, who was primarily a fire user, had trouble coping with the snowstorm that battered him and his companions.

Had it been possible to see through the thousands of flakes of frozen water, the group of people that trekked along through the snowdrifts would have seemed very odd indeed. Four of them there were, which would not have been odd in and of itself except that they were all identical...well, almost identical.

The observer who could see through the blizzard would have seen one with red hair and eyes carrying a large greatsword on his back, one with orange features idly twirling a pair of heavy metal weights connected by a piece of chain, which he referred to as a "meteor hammer", one with very light blond hair, piercing blue eyes, and a pair of small swords, and finally one with a light purple colour scheme that some would call magenta, and a truly massive sword slung across his shoulder. But they all shared the same appearance in every other respect; height, facial configuration, even their clothing was identical, albeit coloured very subtly in each case. So it's probably a good thing the casual observer couldn't see what was going on, because there would most certainly have been some explaining to do.

The four of them were plowing a path through the snow, enclosed in a fiery bubble of sorts that warded off the encroaching blizzard and helped to melt the masses of compacted ice that stood in their way. The orange man was standing at the front of the little party, spinning his meteor hammer in front of him at high speeds. The heat he channeled through it melted the snow in front of them far better than their heat shield ever could, though it was curious to note that they seemed to be going in completely random directions. But when your group is led by a being of pure chaos, what else could you really expect?

Of course, no-one else noticed this as their meager path was covered up again within a matter of minutes. Besides which if they had noticed they were going round in...not circles, but a sort of squiggly, random pattern...well, if they'd noticed that they were going around in whatever shape they were going around in, there wouldn't have been much they could have done anyway. So the red fragment helped push aside the snow with his huge weapon, which was also imbued with fire, while Magenta, who represented strength, simply bashed at any snowdrifts he came across. As they progressed, Orange could feel his strength waning as the freezing cold wind and snow assaulted them from all sides.

After several hours of blundering and bickering from the quite literal voices inside White's head, the quartet came across what at first appeared to be snow, but resisted any attempts to melt it. When Magenta swung his weapon at it and took a small chip out of it, one of the fragments within White's mind suddenly projected it's voice into the outside world to point out what was going on.

"Nice work there...it's quite obviously stone of some sort. From the sounds of it, some sort of marble...and it appears to be a bridge. Well whatever it is, it's an obvious indicator of something man-made, so I suggest we investigate further."

Suddenly picking up at the thought of a break from all this boring, almost orderly snow, the orange fragment dashed straight across the bridge and through the massive doorway that was on the other side of it, zigzagging this way and that as he ran. Eager for a reprieve, the others quickly followed. Once they had crossed the threshold, White saw a pair of what must have been children, one barely conscious and the other not even that. Upon seeing this sight, another of White's voices, Yellow, asked desperately to be released in order to heal the two.

Yellow's requests, Orange's cries of delight at being out of the cold, and the man who White assumed was the owner of the mansion standing there looking at all of them, were all too much for White to handle after the total quiet of the snowstorm. Placing one hand on either side of his head, he let Yellow out to shut him up and sank to the floor, screwing his eyes up in an attempt to block out the outside world, if only for a few seconds.

OoC : Now, if this was a who's who, would I be here? .

[The Metal]

OoC: A little mediocre, but I haven't been doing this for a while.

There was nothing, nothing for miles. Just trees and snow. A lone man was walking in this utter nothingness. He was tall with red hair and yellow yes. He carried a longsword on his back and a small dagger strapped to his leg. He seemed to be lost in thought. How did I get here? I thought I was headed for the desert, or... was it a village? Why can't I remember? He clutched his head in agony. It had been hurting him for what seemed like days to him now. All he could remember was a vague image of something large hitting in the face, then the urge to travel. He could barely remember his own name.

As he walked on, he noticed that the sun was going to set soon. Realizing that he had nowhere to go, he decided to set up some shelter and call it a day. He ripped some branches off a few trees and bult a makeshift tent. He crawled in and was soon asleep.

There was something just beyond his reach. He ran to it, but the closer he got to it, the farther it moved away. He continued chasing it, he didn't know why he was after it, but he knew it was important. Finally the thing stopped and he caught up to it. It was a small sword with a red blade. He lunged at it, but it moved to the left, causing him to fall to the ground. He looked up at it and realized that it had his name on it. "Zabaro" it read. At this point it moved to away once again. It seemed to have reached its destination, a hilt. The sword plunged into it, and suddenly Zabaro was overcome with immense pain. He saw a hammer. It was big, with black runes on it. It hit him in the face, causing him to fly back about a hundred yards.

Zabaro woke up in a cold sweat. He was in a small room. It seemed that the bed was the only thing there. He got up and opened the door at the front of the room. "Ah, you're awake," said a voice behind him. Zabaro spun around to see a small old man. He was wearing a suit and carried a very formal manner about him. "Would you please come with me? I've been waiting for a visitor," he said. Zabaro just nodded and followed the man to wherever he was taking him.

OoC: There, now back to teh top of the list.