Danse Macabre

[Ander Maladori]

Nyssa - Mecetti Province - Tapani sector

It began by candlelight. In the full darkness of the evening, when heavy clouds had obscured even the pallid moon, the door to the dormitories opened just enough to split the darkness with a flickering flame. Ander, who lay beneath the heavy weight of a wool blanket with his eyes closed in a mimicry of sleep, tensed as he heard the groan of the door’s hinges and the soft shuffle of footsteps against well-worn stone. His eyes flew open and for a moment he saw the candlelight cast across the bare bricks of the dormitory walls, lurching with shadows of figures unseen. Moments later all was darkness, as a hessian bag was whipped over his head.

The night chill crawled over Ander’s bare forearms as someone tore away his bedding and pulled him to his feet, shoving him roughly towards where he knew the door was. His toes curled against the bare stone of the dormitory floor at the sound of muted gasps behind him, as other sleeping forms were woken with just as much care. They were no cries or screams, however. If any of the sleepers were startled, it was only at being so suddenly roused from sleep. Like Ander, each of them had known that this was coming, that one night they would be torn from their beds and marched to stars knew where. Each of them had eagerly awaited it, knowing it would signal the beginning of a new phase of their training.

“Let’s go,” murmured a voice through the bag covering his head, the speaker close enough that Ander was almost certain he felt the heat of their breath against his ear. A familiar voice. Yes, there was no mistaking Maestro Fiore. It would be her hand at Ander’s shoulder, too, guiding him out into the corridor. In his mind’s eye, Ander pictured the hall outside of the dormitory: the long hallway, all exposed brickwork. At the end of the corridor, curved stairs spiralled up and down through a tower. If he counted the steps, he could anticipate where in the castle they were being taken. Would that help, to know perhaps minutes in advance which corner of the old castle they were going to? Knowing that wouldn’t tell him what the Maestro and her fellows had planned. A test of some kind, a trial of how much Ander and the others had learned? Ander had not seen how many others had been pulled from their beds, but there was every chance that not all of them would return to the dormitory...

[Annika Von Horix]

She had not been sleeping well since coming to the castle on Nyssa. It was not that she did not appreciate the aesthetic of the castle grounds that were her home for the present. Labyrinthine halls, freezing cold stone, creaking old doors and perhaps the odd skeleton or two, she could handle. What disturbed Annika was something else. She was here to learn, but she had been warned that the knowledge would come with a price, and it was different for everyone.

When the door burst open, and the figure rushed in to take her. Annika had not been sleeping, and she did not resist. Pulled from her supine position atop her blanket by her arms. A rough covering was drawn over her face, just thin enough that she could breath, and see the odd traces of candle light, but nothing else of any use. Strong arms ushered out from her room, and down the hall in the direction of the tower stair.

What she could do was listen. She heard other footsteps, she was not the only one chosen this night.

What their first test would be, Annika could not say, but she could feel that it was not going to be as simple as identifying toxic flora. The tiny hairs on her arms were standing up.

Danger.

That's what was before them. Instinct warned her to halt, stop her feet from complying and moving forward, but she was stronger than her urges, and kept walking.

[Ander Maladori]

More than once they halted and were spun on the spot. It took only four of these revolutions before Ander had lost all notion of where he was and where they might be going. He had a rough idea of how long it had been since they had left the dormitories, but that was not enough; in that time, they could have been taken almost anywhere in the castle. All he knew was that they seemed to be going down, as the air felt heavier, more oppressive even.

When Ader had completely lost track of time and his location, he was brought to a stop and the hand at his shoulder slipped away. Pulse thumping in his ears, Ander strained to listen for any sound that might suggest what was coming. There was no warning, however, not even the rush of air as a club hit the back of his knees. He buckled to the floor, stars exploding before his eyes at the pain of his knees crashing into the stone underfoot. A series of thumps and yelps and strangled cries cascaded around him, as they all fell in unison.

“You may remove the bag from your head,” the Maestro announced. You may. Ander hesitated at those words. He had learned quickly to listen carefully to Maestro Fiore’s words, because they were rarely chosen without care. If she was offering them the choice to remove the bag, did that mean she expected them to leave it be? Would there be pride in completing whatever test lay ahead without the use of sight, or would the shame of not taking Fiore’s offer sting more than the lashes he would receive for bumbling through it all with a bag on his head?

Still on his hands and knees, Ander tore the bag from his head and took in the trial as it lay before him. Six of the Order’s initiates were positioned in a circle, roughly equidistant from one another, such that the initiate who stood opposite Ander was about forty feet directly in front of him. Two of the others had not removed their bags. Idiots, Ander thought, though he took no time trying to figure out who else had been torn from their beds. Instead, his attention was on the centre of the circle, where an unfamiliar figure stood.

It was a woman, bound at the wrists, with her hands behind her back. She was halfway between Ander and the initiate opposite him, her near-human features visible to him only in profile. She was... beautiful, but that was not the most striking thing about her. A sword lay at her feet, a rapier by the looks of it. Ander glanced down, then his left and right. Each of the initiates had a similar blade within reach. Without hesitation, Ander took up the rapier and scrambled up to his feet.

“A test so simple that even a child could complete it,” said the Maestro, whose voice was dripping with disdain and came from somewhere behind Ander now. He thought he could hear her footsteps, but he didn’t dare look. Instead, he clutched tight to the hilt of his rapier and watched the stranger at the centre of the circle.

“To win, you need only be the first one to draw blood from this woman.”

[Annika Von Horix]

Annika began to tear the bag from her head, the rough fabric pulled irritatingly at her curls, abrading the smooth skin of her face. Her cheeks felt flush from the contact with the covering, and the disorienting blind journey to this room, she could not wait to be rid of it, and even had it half-way off when something stopped her..

'You may..' Said with something in the Maestro's voice that implied.. 'You can if you want to but..'

Which made this not a test, but a competition. Annika hesitated.

Even beneath the obscurity of the hood, the apprentice assassin closed her eyes, focusing on other senses. The muffled shuffles of forms scampering to their feet. Her own feet were still wearing thick socks, muffling her movement though it was fluid. Annika rolled onto her toes, the fingers of her right hand bracing against the floor just for a moment, and touching upon a blade, which she took. She breathed quietly, but could hear others not managing the skill after the fright of being woken and dragged to who knew where in the castle's bowels.

Her suspicions were confirmed by Maestro Fiore a moment later, when the point was revealed.

Draw blood from the woman.

Beneath the bag, Annika's head tipped to the side, trying to focus on where she approximated the center of the room to be. The woman was unnaturally quiet, and very still. That should have been their first warning that all was not as it seemed.

Her fingers gripped the hilt of the weapon she had taken, and Annika rose to her feet. Not quite so foolish as to go at her first..

[Mireasă]

Her pale blonde locks were upswept from her face, coiled and curled in fashion of a highborn Tapani native. Like the rest of them, the black of her attire gave away no hint of allegience to one House or another, though the material and crafting were obviously of high quality. The padded doublet was belted around her narrow waist. Form fitting leggings disappeared into high-heeled boots of the same, well made, no expense spared, design. The fingers of her bound hands flexed, but her eyes remained fixed to the sword before her on the floor.

It probably appeared to some of them she was there to be executed, the method of her demise a convenient lesson for the future members of The Order.

The woman remained still and quiet, fixed in her thoughts at the Maestro explained to them the comparatively easy task they had. To cut her, just once..

When Maestro Fiore finished, she stopped trying to conceal the crescendo of Darkness that threatened to spill from her. She went from being a cold quiet spot, to a cacophony of senses, none of them good.

Mireasă looked up, curious herself about which one would begin their dance. Perhaps they needed some encouraging, accompaniment.

A muscle ticked at the side of her red mouth, and the sword lifted into the air, before her. Held in an unseen grip, floating before her, poised to defend, for now.

[Ander Maladori]

In the silence that followed the Maestro’s words, none of them moved. The supposed simplicity of the challenge was a lie, without a doubt. A lie that fell apart the moment the sword in front of the bound woman floated into the air. Ander swallowed, his mouth dry.

No one wanted to be the first, to be the one to walk into what might be a trap. Especially not now their target was being defended by a weapon that appeared to be moving of its own accord. Was the bound woman controlling the sword, or was that the work of Maestro Fiore? Ander knew well enough that kind of power, the control required to suspend a weapon in midair, was not something you came upon lightly.

His bare toes twitched in nervous anticipation against the stone floor. Be the first. Those were the Maestro’s words. Now wasn’t the time to second-guess himself. If he was going to be accepted into the Order, he had to take the initiative. With one last glance to confirm that, yes, he was going to be the first one to move, Ander started forward with his rapier angled ahead of him. When he was within reach, he thrust the point forward, a quick lunge to test how the floating sword would respond.

[Annika Von Horix]

They were not of the Order yet themselves, but they were not without training. Their days, and parts of many of the dark nights were filled with lessons on various subjects that they would need to absorb the knowledge of, and arts to perfect. They bodies were tested in Tapani marital arts, building their stamina and endurance. Their sleep deprived minds were challenged with remembrance of the difference between the paralytic agent in the venom of a frinka, and the deadly toxin drawn from the spines of scalefish from Naboo, often testing them on each other.. Learning to walk their dormitories blind- folded, which perhaps should have been practiced with more concentration and less giggling at who just walked into the corner of their wardrobe and split their forehead open. Learning to be aware of the trait they all had in common, despite what House or sector they had come from, The Force, the Dark side of it specifically, which had long sheltered their Order in it's embrace. Turning themselves into instruments of death.

But it was their own lives that concerned Annika. To her side, someone moved forward. Her covered head turned to the sound of feet against stone. Brave, but maybe not smart. She found that closing her eyes, improved what she could see. In no way did she have sight, but she could feel the others in the room with her. Many of her peers, The Woman, and another cold spot that she could not identify. The center of the room, where their target stood writhed with the Dark side. The others traiing with her might achieve that level of power someday, tonight though they only pulsed with the various shades of their auras. It was how she avoided bumping into anyone during the blind-folding lesson..

The first to move, Brave but Not Smart, shimmered with an orange aura. Thrusting for the woman's middle, the Darkness around her responded in kind.

[Mireasă]

The handsome foolish boy ran for her, his bravery encouraging a second attack from behind her. She dealt with the boy first, keeping her bright eyes on his for now, smiling almost. The sword wobbled for a moment, until he was almost upon her. The kick of adrenaline from the obvious danger she was in fueling it's response. Rotating the weapon like the arm of a large clock, his blade collided with the unstopping inertia of it's rotation, forcing his blade upward.

That had been their one chance. Cut her before she figured out what she was doing.

The smile in her eyes reached her lips as Mireasă bent forward, almost in a bow to the brave young man in front of her. The toes of her right boot kicked out behind her, colliding with the unprotected sternum of the second attacker, hard enough to sending him flying backward to his original sprawl upon the floor, wind knocked from his lungs.

From the moment on, the sword moved as if she had it in her hands before her, even though they remained bound at the small of her back.