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Aurelia Bretane · Posted: Thu Apr 28, 2011 11:56 pm Post subject: Clandestine Dream

Night wrapped its darkened veil around the sun, and the blue and crimson lightning still jumped and rent the clouds to the south as Aurelia made her way back into the Ashencrosse stronghold. Night here often brought nothing but torrents of silence, smothered by the haze of Umbra. But tonight a bright and beautiful song wove itself through the fading golden rays of twilight as the Countess drew ever-closer to home.

The theatre was darkened, save for a single candle inside that flickered and painted the stained glass windows with long and flitting shadows. In the center of the fortress, a soft golden glow lit the world with warmth and song. The gypsy camp was awash with bright-faced revelers and a symphony of colour and light. Aurelia smiled as she melded into the perimeter of the revelers and was offered wine.

“Contessa.” The dark-haired gypsy offered her a bottle with smile, half-drunk, dizzy, and ecstatic.

Aurelia took it with a soft “thank you” that dispersed the moment it left her lips, into the sound and fury of the dance. Agostino winked and disappeared into the jubilant crowd.

The night music mounted ever higher, filling the a sky that would have no choice but to release its haze to the stars in the wake of such a sound that displaced all but itself. The only clouds here were in shades of green and blue and red, a million miles away, nebulae where lay newborn stars nestled in their vibrant veil.

The assembly of bright spirits could not help but draw her in. Closer to the fire she danced, encouraged and urged forward by the euphoric souls around her and the warmth of wine within. At last she found herself enraptured by gypsy song and dance, golden hair afly in the radiant splendor of the bonfire. The bonfire released embers that shot like arrows aflame into the night, and the air around her sparkled and crackled with the exhilaration that poured from her soul and wove itself through the tapestry of radiant melody. Skirts whirled around bare feet in the dust, bodies twisting in aerials and graceful arcs. Dark-skinned boys with bells on their ankles dance, jingle, spin.

Aurelia found her feet alive with some mixture of the highland jigs of her youth and the fluid dance of the gypsies. A strange new dance borne of the night and this new place. Borne of rapture, song, wine, and fire. A dance of rapt, mad joy that refuses to be contained. Breathless awe that touches everything, and leaves nothing it touches unchanged.

Agostino · Adventurer Joined: 22 Feb 2011 Posts: 41

Thrice the bell tolled, and spirits gathered from across Ashencrosse as storm clouds chased the sun to the horizon. Agostino stood watching by the wood pile. Silhouettes arrived and crossed the firelight, each shadow bringing with it the warmth and kindness of a kindred spirit.

Lute and tambourine played gently beneath the voices of the gypsies as they spoke in hushed reverence of nightfall’s majesty. Agostino kept watch over his companions as he tossed new wood onto the bonfire. Each new addition threw up a shower of embers into the night, flares that warned off malevolence and ill will while his kindred yet gathered in this place.

As the music ended, expectant eyes turned toward him, shining in the firelight. Familiar faces beamed, awash with wine and flame, as he rose from his perch atop the wood pile and approached the bonfire again. This time, he did not carry logs. This time, he took up two torches, extinguished, but blackened from use. Silently, he dipped the burnt ends in a bucket of coal oil, and slung the excess toward the fire. Hungry flames devoured the droplets in bursts of light that faded as quickly as they flared.

Agostino lit the torches at the base of the fire, then lifted them reverently before him. The dark-haired gypsy stood still and silent, his face illuminated by the torches, until the music began.

In a flash of rhythm and light, a drum beat out a tattoo as the gypsy began to twirl the torches at a dizzying pace. The flames left arcs of light in the night air as his body twisted, dancing in time with the drum as one. Soon they were joined by another drum, and yet another until a circle of sound rose around the fire. Agostino’s expression was one of concentration and peace, as he allowed the sound to spiral around him, and move him as the music saw fit. The drums were his command, and his purpose to do their bidding.

Wheels of light whirled around the firedancer as he wove himself through the dream. Around the fire he circled, pausing only briefly as he made eye contact with one soul on the perimeter of the group who swayed with the rhythm, her eyes glistening in the firelight. She smiled, as he gave his dance to her, and allowed the euphoria of the night to channel her direction, before moving on around the fire.

The drumbeats drew to a climax and finished with a flourish as a gypsy woman handed Agostino a tiny wooden cup. He lifted the cup to his lips, then knelt deftly, lifting a torch before him and spraying the cup’s contents across the flame. A plume of flame billowed into the air, setting the revelers alight and making the children gasp. Then, the celebration was darkened again, and the lute quickly led into a dance that drew them all in, each in his own way.

An older man clapped Agostino on the shoulder with a broad smile as he rose, and he handed Agostino a bottle of wine.

“Grazie, Signore.” Agostino bowed his head respectfully and wove his way through the jubilant dancers, until he came upon the countess.

Pausing briefly, he bowed his head again. “Contessa.” He smiled and handed her the bottle of wine. The girl was youthful beyond her station, but she seemed strong and kind. Thus is life, he thought to himself. No more or less than a series of meaningful moments. Life, in a single breath. Without pretense, he found his place in the song and disappeared again into the throng to dance with the fire that burned within.

Cezanne Abella · Seasoned Veteran Joined: 24 Apr 2009 Posts: 475

The dark eyes of the fire dancer were alight. Drumbeats tattooed the night with song as Cezanne closed her own pale green eyes and lifted her head, breathing in life. Song, fire, dance, and wine spun her senses and lifted her spirit to another place entirely. Shadowplay across the fire darkened her face, and she opened her eyes as Agostino’s fiery reel brought him before her.

Out here, on the perimeter, she was safe. But safe from what? From whom? Connection. Touch. No one got too close.

Here, the fire and light could touch her face and bathe her in their warmth. But here the shadows touched her too. The darkness cloaked her shoulders and spirited warmth away into the Umbran night.

The firedancer slowed, or so it seemed to her, as he caught her gaze in his. Something in the dark gypsy’s soul connected with her own, if only for a moment, and it strengthened her. His flame passed between them, and he gave her light, and pushed away the shadows at her back. She smiled as his gaze passed from her to the fluffy black cat who sat at her feet, mesmerized by the wheel of fire his torch had become.

And then the moment passed, as the dancer moved on. The light was before her, darkness behind. A plume of fire rose into the air and painted the faces of the revelers with its glow. As the lute swiftly filled the night with song, she shivered and shrugged off the shadows, allowing the song to lift her into its lofty refrains. Her spirit emboldened, she took a step closer to the fire.