Re: The Phenomenal Fracas (GBS2G6) [Round Five: The Ambitus Phenomenon]
05-10-2012, 01:46 PM
Originally posted on MSPA by whoosh!.
There was a void, but that didn't last long. The abyss had very little to say for itself, personality-wise, barring a tendency to stare.
A shadowy dining room took its place. The four remaining combatants were seated around one end of a long table. Plates, folded napkins, lit candelabras and an astonishing display of cutlery covered the table, each in their appointed place. What could gleam gleamed, and what couldn't instead settled for being merely pristine. The table only lacked for food and the rest of the company intended to enjoy it.
As it was, only four sat in the room. Three more places were set and empty.
The silence continued for a while, largely due the inability of those present to break it.
When somebody finally cracked open the door and entered, it was almost a relief. The Prestidigitator looked at them carefully, then closed the door. Only the candles lit the room. He didn't speak, instead choosing to remove the jacket of his suit and lie it over an ornate wooden chair. A bare cane-sword was rested against the wall, shining darkly, as it dripped something onto the wooden floor. From time to time a pink spark seemed to dance across the coated steel, but it may have been nothing more than a trick of the light. The wooden sheath of the cane-sword was laid next to it.
“I apologise: first for being so late, and second for missing so much of your battle. Fortunately my business has been concluded. More or less.”
The Prestidigitator gingerly placed a hand over his mask - cracks radiated out from one of the edges, and it looked close to breaking - and removed it. For a moment knotted scars and old burns caught the light, but the darkness quickly reclaimed his face. The mask splintered in his grasp and shattered upon the floor. A cloud of moths, specked with maroon, burst from the wreckage and crowded over his visage. A few moments later and the demonic mask was returned, faded and chipped as before but otherwise largely intact. A flourish, and a black silk handkerchief appeared in his hand. The Prestidigitator began to clean his cane-sword.
“I must apologise also for the state you find me in. I admit, I had envisaged being better dressed and better prepared, but it was not to be. No matter. The way this battle is progressing has impressed me, and even with the difficulties you faced in the last round you excelled.”
He smiled.
“I think it's time you all enjoyed advantages. Ah, but first-”
Four Gentlemen glided out of the shadows: First, Third, Fifth and Seventh. The fox, the ox, the spider and the magpie.
The Prestidigitator nodded at them. “Third? I believe I entrusted something to you. Wrongly, as it transpired.” He held out a hand.
Third stood very still. “I- I no longer have it.”
“Yes, so it would seem. Who does? Where did it get to? Fifth?”
Fifth hesitated for a moment, then reached into a pocket and withdrew the pocket watch. It was whisked away in an instant, and the Prestidigitator continued as if nothing had happened.
“No more interference with the combatants. It's been entertaining, and the line has been toed to perfection. But no more. The time is coming when these fine fighters will truly have to prove their worth. I'd rather there was no cheating when it comes to that.”
The four nodded in assent, still visibly on edge from the mention of the pocket watch. The Prestidigitator smiled widely in response, then snapped back around to look at the combatants.
“In the last round you suffered setbacks: namely, the loss of your weapons and weakening of your abilities. Still you survived. And now, dear fighters, you shall have your reward.”
He picked up the suit jacket from the chair and slipped it on, the stars in the cloth gleaming brightly. The bare cane-sword twirled in his hand and the handkerchief slipped away into the shadows, suddenly serpentine.
And then everything changed.
The dining room dropped out of existence. The battlers blinked, and there was sunset.
They stood on top of a building, overlooking a second magnificent one. It was massive, squatting on the water like a gargoyle on a cathedral. Spires stretched towards the sky, and the sea lapped at its sides. Two wide bridges led towards it, connecting the stony behemoth to the rest of the city, but that was all. A steady stream of people – people in carriages, people on horses, even a rare few boasting cars and the less infrequent number who simply chose to stroll – made their way across these bridges into the maw of the building. As the sun began to sink, lamps were lit on these two walkways as well as around the doors.
“16th of August, 1188, the grand opening of the Ambitus Opera House,” the Prestidigitator noted, as if speaking to no one in particular. “As chance would have it, or perhaps due to an ambitious advertising stunt, exactly one hundred years after the building in question lost its original purpose as the Winter Palace of the Sorian Monarchy. Revolution left the building gutted, and for years it was simply locked up and allowed to decay. Occasionally someone would find their way in, but aside from that it was almost ninety years before anyone stepped inside through the intended entrance. It took them another ten to convince the authorities to make it available to purchase and to renovate it. Ninety years is a long time for mortals, but there were still fears that the Winter Palace could be viewed as a symbol of the old monarchy. Even now, the country isn't quite as stable as anyone would like. And with rumours of an heir still surviving...”
The Prestidigitator fell silent for a moment.
“But it barely matters. The real point of interest of this night and this building is neither its future nor indeed even its present. Tonight the past will make its presence felt. For whatever reason, a hole seems to have been worn through the passage of time. For a few hours, the Ambitus Opera House and the Winter Palace of exactly one hundred years prior will exist simultaneously. Or, rather, the opportunity to experience both will be there. You may need to alter your frame of mind to slip between nights – fear and excitement may suit the night of a revolution better, for instance, than the delight and insouciance of the opera – but you will find yourself moving very easily between both. Curious, isn't it? I've only ever witnessed the same happening once before.”
He turned to them, but they naturally hadn't moved.
“Ah, but don't think I've forgotten about the advantages I promised. Night is falling, and an atmospheric level of lighting more suitable for opera ensures that it will rarely get too bright. The opera offers all the riches of, well, the rich, as well as the wealth befitting a winter palace should you wander into the past. The finest cloth and outfits to be made and worn of both this year and a century earlier, all on display. And last but not least, a swarm of people. Should you go back far enough, a swarm of people consumed by fear or rage. I'm sure all of these will appeal to you, in one way or another. Naturally, you will also find the weapons you had on hand in the third round now returned to you.”
His eyes glittered.
“Are you ready?”
Each of them blinked, and they were scattered amongst the crowds and free to move once more.
The night was young, and it promised much.
There was a void, but that didn't last long. The abyss had very little to say for itself, personality-wise, barring a tendency to stare.
A shadowy dining room took its place. The four remaining combatants were seated around one end of a long table. Plates, folded napkins, lit candelabras and an astonishing display of cutlery covered the table, each in their appointed place. What could gleam gleamed, and what couldn't instead settled for being merely pristine. The table only lacked for food and the rest of the company intended to enjoy it.
As it was, only four sat in the room. Three more places were set and empty.
The silence continued for a while, largely due the inability of those present to break it.
When somebody finally cracked open the door and entered, it was almost a relief. The Prestidigitator looked at them carefully, then closed the door. Only the candles lit the room. He didn't speak, instead choosing to remove the jacket of his suit and lie it over an ornate wooden chair. A bare cane-sword was rested against the wall, shining darkly, as it dripped something onto the wooden floor. From time to time a pink spark seemed to dance across the coated steel, but it may have been nothing more than a trick of the light. The wooden sheath of the cane-sword was laid next to it.
“I apologise: first for being so late, and second for missing so much of your battle. Fortunately my business has been concluded. More or less.”
The Prestidigitator gingerly placed a hand over his mask - cracks radiated out from one of the edges, and it looked close to breaking - and removed it. For a moment knotted scars and old burns caught the light, but the darkness quickly reclaimed his face. The mask splintered in his grasp and shattered upon the floor. A cloud of moths, specked with maroon, burst from the wreckage and crowded over his visage. A few moments later and the demonic mask was returned, faded and chipped as before but otherwise largely intact. A flourish, and a black silk handkerchief appeared in his hand. The Prestidigitator began to clean his cane-sword.
“I must apologise also for the state you find me in. I admit, I had envisaged being better dressed and better prepared, but it was not to be. No matter. The way this battle is progressing has impressed me, and even with the difficulties you faced in the last round you excelled.”
He smiled.
“I think it's time you all enjoyed advantages. Ah, but first-”
Four Gentlemen glided out of the shadows: First, Third, Fifth and Seventh. The fox, the ox, the spider and the magpie.
The Prestidigitator nodded at them. “Third? I believe I entrusted something to you. Wrongly, as it transpired.” He held out a hand.
Third stood very still. “I- I no longer have it.”
“Yes, so it would seem. Who does? Where did it get to? Fifth?”
Fifth hesitated for a moment, then reached into a pocket and withdrew the pocket watch. It was whisked away in an instant, and the Prestidigitator continued as if nothing had happened.
“No more interference with the combatants. It's been entertaining, and the line has been toed to perfection. But no more. The time is coming when these fine fighters will truly have to prove their worth. I'd rather there was no cheating when it comes to that.”
The four nodded in assent, still visibly on edge from the mention of the pocket watch. The Prestidigitator smiled widely in response, then snapped back around to look at the combatants.
“In the last round you suffered setbacks: namely, the loss of your weapons and weakening of your abilities. Still you survived. And now, dear fighters, you shall have your reward.”
He picked up the suit jacket from the chair and slipped it on, the stars in the cloth gleaming brightly. The bare cane-sword twirled in his hand and the handkerchief slipped away into the shadows, suddenly serpentine.
And then everything changed.
The dining room dropped out of existence. The battlers blinked, and there was sunset.
They stood on top of a building, overlooking a second magnificent one. It was massive, squatting on the water like a gargoyle on a cathedral. Spires stretched towards the sky, and the sea lapped at its sides. Two wide bridges led towards it, connecting the stony behemoth to the rest of the city, but that was all. A steady stream of people – people in carriages, people on horses, even a rare few boasting cars and the less infrequent number who simply chose to stroll – made their way across these bridges into the maw of the building. As the sun began to sink, lamps were lit on these two walkways as well as around the doors.
“16th of August, 1188, the grand opening of the Ambitus Opera House,” the Prestidigitator noted, as if speaking to no one in particular. “As chance would have it, or perhaps due to an ambitious advertising stunt, exactly one hundred years after the building in question lost its original purpose as the Winter Palace of the Sorian Monarchy. Revolution left the building gutted, and for years it was simply locked up and allowed to decay. Occasionally someone would find their way in, but aside from that it was almost ninety years before anyone stepped inside through the intended entrance. It took them another ten to convince the authorities to make it available to purchase and to renovate it. Ninety years is a long time for mortals, but there were still fears that the Winter Palace could be viewed as a symbol of the old monarchy. Even now, the country isn't quite as stable as anyone would like. And with rumours of an heir still surviving...”
The Prestidigitator fell silent for a moment.
“But it barely matters. The real point of interest of this night and this building is neither its future nor indeed even its present. Tonight the past will make its presence felt. For whatever reason, a hole seems to have been worn through the passage of time. For a few hours, the Ambitus Opera House and the Winter Palace of exactly one hundred years prior will exist simultaneously. Or, rather, the opportunity to experience both will be there. You may need to alter your frame of mind to slip between nights – fear and excitement may suit the night of a revolution better, for instance, than the delight and insouciance of the opera – but you will find yourself moving very easily between both. Curious, isn't it? I've only ever witnessed the same happening once before.”
He turned to them, but they naturally hadn't moved.
“Ah, but don't think I've forgotten about the advantages I promised. Night is falling, and an atmospheric level of lighting more suitable for opera ensures that it will rarely get too bright. The opera offers all the riches of, well, the rich, as well as the wealth befitting a winter palace should you wander into the past. The finest cloth and outfits to be made and worn of both this year and a century earlier, all on display. And last but not least, a swarm of people. Should you go back far enough, a swarm of people consumed by fear or rage. I'm sure all of these will appeal to you, in one way or another. Naturally, you will also find the weapons you had on hand in the third round now returned to you.”
His eyes glittered.
“Are you ready?”
Each of them blinked, and they were scattered amongst the crowds and free to move once more.
The night was young, and it promised much.