The Shadow Carnevale (RP)

"I don’t know anything about this." Lille looks at the lock like it is completely foreign to her. "If only Ezme was here. She might be strong enough to smash it with a big rock." She looks between Roald and Albert, weighing their options. "Normally I’d run to get her but here I don’t know if I can. Or if I could get out and then in again." She regards the cage suspiciously. "You said a ‘witch’ did this? Where are they now?"

"I don't know" Albeart answers "I mean, I didn't see any witch. But it must have been one, right?" He's not sure what's going on at all. "Strange things are happening. Who woke you up?"

"Roald, it's me. Albert." He says to his friend. "I really don't feel good." Albeart slumps down and rests his head on his paws as the world begins to spin.

Lille realizes that Roald may not be able to understand bear-Albert. "This is Albert," she explains. "...I think. He says a witch switched his body into a bear’s. Maybe we need his regular body to get him back?" She’s starting to look a little overwhelmed, especially at the thought of running around the Carnevale some more. "Tell us something Albert would know. What did you offer to do when you talked to me before I went fishing?" She switches to Wildspeak for the last part, giving the bear’s shoulder an encouraging squeeze as he slumps down.

Before Albert has a chance to answer, there is a giant BOOM of a cannon somewhere out of sight, rumbling the ground underfoot. Any hero who looks up sees a wisp of smoke rising and a humanoid blur flying through the air, more than forty feet overhead.

Though they appear to be dressed in bright colors like one of the carnival workers, the figure doesn't act very professional. They wave their arms wildly and you hear a long cry of "FRAAAAAAAAACK!!" -- an exclamation that raises in pitch and intensity in step with the figure's increasingly speedy descent back to the earth.

It's at this moment that your shocked and frazzled mind probably pieces together that this is fact your friend Ezme.

Your eyes follow her descent until you hear a KA-WHUMP -- the sound of our human cannonball slamming into the top of a carnival tent about 100 meters away. Something stick-like in shape spins and tumbles through the air behind her, landing somewhere in her vicinity with a loud clang.

BOOM
The deafening blast shakes Roald to the bone. His jaw drops and for a moment all he can do is point.
A black shape is getting clearer by the second. Is it a bird? Is it a giant leave? No it's... It's...
'' That's Ezme!?''
He watches her hit the canvas and sliding down to the ground.
'' stay here with Albert, Lille. I'll go and get her. ''
Roald starts running in the direction of the tent, which isn't hard to spot. But again it is taking forever to get there. It feels like he has to drag his legs through a thick soup. To his surprise it seems that if he puts in less effort he is actually moving quicker.

Upon impact, the tent deflates, all the air blowing out of the open tent flap and burbling raspberries like an untied balloon. Ezme slides down the side as it sinks, then struggles to sit up once she (and the collapsed tent beneath her) finally touch ground.

The staff!!! Where had it gone???

Ezme's eyes scan around her until they finally rest on Albert's holy weapon, laying on the ground about six meters away. She had to get it! But the pull of gravity feels like chains dragging her down. Unable to rise fully to her feet, the trapper grits her teeth and determinedly starts to crawl toward the staff, her eyes fixed upon it.

The familiar sound of whistles and scornful laughter assaults her ears, and a crowd of feet steps between her and the staff, blocking her view of it. Sighing, Ezme sits back and looks up to see a group of men wearing harem pants stitched in the style of her people. They surround her, jeering. Something inside her scowls, already knowing how this plays out.

"Would you look at this one! Have you ever seen anything like it!?" one of the men laughs.
"A beast!"
"You here for contest!?" a jokester with tight curls goads. He turns to his friends. "... I think she thinks she will be next circus strong man!" He makes a muscle in demonstration.
"Oi, pathetic," one of them comments in response to his companion's flexed bicep. He smacks the curly-haired fellow across his abs. "This creature is more man than you are, Gavet!"
"Would probably please your wife better in bed, too!" tags on another. The mob hoots with laughter.

Another man, clearly the alpha, steps forward, his lip curling with disdain. He seems more outraged about Ezme's presence than amused. "Overgrown bhavanti. That is what this is.... It is pitiful," he snarls. He shoves his chin at her as he addresses her, his tone self-possessed but cold. "Get out. You do not belong in this arena."

Ezme stares back at him with unflinching defiance. She knows her line. She delivers it just the same as she'd done that day: "You are scared to let me compete. You are scared you will be beat by woman."

A smaller, more slender fellow with a goatee jeers: "'Woman!?' That's what you call yourself! So... is that why you are dressed like whore??"

This last line comes entirely as a surprise. He had gone off-script! Taken aback, Ezme glances down at her outfit. She is apparently wearing skin-tone leggings and a shiny blue leotard with white stars up the arms. The neckline of the leotard plunges to her navel and is loosely laced up the front. On either side of the lacing is half of a sequined red heart, giving the impression of a heart torn in two and then raggedly stitched back together. Ezme is suddenly abashed. This outfit... It is ridiculous... It is revealing... It is not her at all.

"That is right. You are fooling no one," the alpha continues cruelly. "You are not woman. You are freak...."

Unfortunately, Lille misses most of Ezme’s dramatic flight overhead. At the crack of the cannon, a child-like cry escapes her lips and she hunches against the bars of the cage in a wild fright. "Where is it? Where is the storm?!?" Her voice is near hysterical, and she only glances up from cowering long enough to catch a brief glimpse of their erstwhile rescuer in the air. Then she ducks down again, huddled and whimpering as she slowly self soothes.

Albeart flinches at the noise. For a second he's hopeful that something broke the lock, but sadly that's not the case. A tent off in the distance behind Lille looks like it's hit by a large boulder. A sound of loud flatulation follows. Then, because of Roald's words, he understands what happened. But... How come she was flying?

"This world is getting stranger by the minute." He tells Lille but sees that she's cowering against the cage. "Storm? What storm?" Albeart looks up at the sky. It looks odd but not stormy at the moment. "Was that really Ezme? Maybe she can bust open this cage!" Hopeful, he stands up on all 4 legs again, trying to get a better look of what's going on. He nuzzles Lille's shoulder. "You alright?"

''STAND ASIDE! ALL OF YOU!''
Roald walks through the crowd, he has the wooden duck in his stretched out hand. Like if it was some sort of magical item. All heads turn in his direction.

Something inside Ezme can’t decide whether she is relieved or mortified to hear Roald’s voice. Not quite processing his words nor what is in his hands, her primary objective is getting to her feet before he sees her reduced to crawling… but she can’t. She can’t get up! What was wrong with her???

Lille cuddles against the bear’s big form as if it were natural for her. She gulps and shudders, trying get control of herself. "I’m fine," she claims, the waver in her voice belying her words. "I just didn’t see the lightning first," she murmurs. The excuse seems weak even to her, and she takes a deep breath. "I will be fine." Her voice is a bit steadier, and she lifts her head. "Was that really Ezme?"

The crowd opens up and Roald sees Ezme laying on a tarp that used to be a tent. He hands her the duckling.
'' AS IT WAS WRITTEN YOU CAME DOWN FROM THE SKIES, TO SAVE US ALL. NOW STAND, DAMSEL OF THE DUCK!''
Roald kneels and bows his head.

At first, Ezmaray ashamedly assumes that Roald is quacking a joke at her expense, but in catching his glance as he kneels, she is struck by his sincere expression.

Well, either this wasn't really Roald, Roald had gone insane, or.... Could this duck actually...? Ezmaray looks down at the oddity in her hands and then back at Roald's curiously reverent form, a surge of energy suddenly reviving her. Be it through her companion's faith or be it through a renewed sense of purpose, somehow her weakness falls away, and Ezme finds the strength to draw herself back up to her feet. As she does so, the hair on her head sprouts in a patchwork of lengths and brownish hues -- thick and shaggy. Her leotard shifts from blue to mottled shades of brown and tan, darker tufts of fur sprouting where the sequins once were.

Rising up to her full height, Ezmaray roars furiously at the jeering men, baring her teeth as she does so.

"I am not freak!" she laughs bitterly as their eyes widen with alarm. "You were right first time. I am beast!" Feeling fine and fierce as the king of the jungle, she turns to Roald. "Come, my duckling." The men fall back as Ezme grabs Roald by the wrist, tugging him to follow her in the direction of Albert's staff.

"I believe it might be." Albeart answers. "If only I could get out of here and check." Then he remembers something Lille said earlier. "You mentioned a name earlier. Ray? Something like Ray." He says inquisitively. "Is this someone important?" He doesn't seem to be able to remember Raynor in this world. Perhaps something is blocking his knowledge.

Roald has no other choice than to obey and follow Ezme.
'' Where are we going? The others are over there''
Politely he tries to nudge her in the right direction but it's like he isn't even there.

Fueled forward by her fury, Ezmaray tucks the wooden duck in her bosom and pulls Roald along behind her, the crowd parting before her. She freezes in her tracks, staring at the spot where the staff had once been.

"It... It was right here!" she clammers in dismay, searching the area urgently. "Albert's staff! We must get it to him!" she blurts, anticipating Roald's question. "And we need to find Daryl! He is in trouble..." she continues, suddenly remembering this detail herself (though now she can't quite piece together how she is so certain of this fact)....

"There it is!" she says, pointing as she catches a glimpse of the staff slithering through the grass toward another tent.

Albert's staff is a large serpent. Of course it was. She'd known this all along.

Ezme dashes headlong toward it, leaping dexterously through a lion tamer's ring to get to it as quickly as possible -- but then she hesitates with hand outstretched just a few inches away from the reptile. Was it poisonous? Surely it would bite her... While she wavers, Albert's staff/snake takes the opportunity to slip under the edge of the tent, taking shelter within.

"Frack!" Ezme curses, biting her own faltering fist. "This way, Roald! We must catch it!" Ezme is a raging force of nature, hooking arms with Roald and tugging him haplessly through the flap of the tent with her. As they burst inside, Ezme stops in her tracks. "Is that Daryl?!?"