The Shadow Carnevale (RP)

Ezme's own vision begins to blur as Daryl's struggle only causes him to sink further, almost as if her fading body were a quicksand trap. He wants to move. Why is it so difficult for him to do so? she distantly wonders. The part of her asking this question is the invisible one that is standing, watching the whole scene unfold impassively from the side.

In this moment, a rich, warm blackness envelops her senses, as if wrapping her up in a warm, loving hug. She is suspended in a cozy, dark space. As she gazes around herself, she perceives a stunning galaxy of stars, but each pinpoint of light is connected by glowing strings, creating shapes almost like constellations. Filled with awe, she turns to behold a very bright star beside her. Daryl. They both recognize one another instantly. Looking down, Ezme, realizes that she, too, has a body of light. As they float there, contemplating one another, a blue bubble rises up between them, projecting memories from Ezme's life - all at once, simultaneously. Time has no linear progression here, she notes. Some of these images confuse her, though. She lifts them up to inspect them like they were puzzle pieces, analyzing them, struggling to understand how and where they fit.

In one, she is being bullied by some bigger kids. That wasn't so strange, but she couldn't quite place the children in the memory. She knew them, they felt so familiar, and yet....

Another scene: she is with her father, who is unsympathetic. She looks in a mirror to inspect her wounds... To her shock, the face she beholds is not her own.

Ezme's gaze darts back to Daryl. He emits a feeling of abashment. Something pierces her in the chest. Ezme reaches out to the lad. He lifts his gaze to meet hers.

More and more strings of light beam from her to him, connecting them, drawing them closer to one another.

It's clear what he's thinking. It's the same thought that she had also been entertaining... that this experience is oddly wonderful, like being truly seen for the first time ... ever. And yet, if it continues, if they shared all of their memories, what would happen to them both? ... And, did they care? It felt so safe, peaceful, and wonderful here....

But yes, Daryl decides he does care. He is worried she will not survive this. He will get blamed for killing her. Their friends will abandon him.... She feels his distress as if it were her own. And Ezme... Ezme had her sisters to care for.

Yes, they agree, they both have to live.

With that decision, Ezme is suddenly back on the ground underneath Daryl, both of them fighting with everything in them. "Someone... help...!" she manages to gasp.

Albeart gazes back at the person he's pinning down. "Yes, I am." He roars. "And if I don't get my body back soon I'm going to be very angry!" At this he, once again, bares his teeth. "Now tell us everything you know about this urn in the coach." He's not sure they would even understand him, but it's worth a try, right?

He shifts his weight a bit, keeping the pressure on and making it clear that he's not messing around.

Lille gasps as she feels his hand, the touch imparting so much more than just his rough skin. The man is full of hunger - no, he IS hunger, grasping for her memories like a starving man would for food. And all throughout is the corruption, black and vile, oily and smoky. Are there hints of something else? Some glints of his own life, his memories, his soul? There might be *something*... hints of light, of experiences and hopes and longings. But everything is coated with the black oil, swirled with the black smoke until it is hard to see where the original parts end and the worming, creeping tendrils begin.

Her mind recoils back as the tendrils seem to turn in her direction, the hunger and dark craving reaching for her. They come in from the edges, slipping through the cracks as buzzing black bees. A few come flitting in where she regrets not being able to help the bear more. Others swarm in to sting her new companions, showing them how inadequate she is to protect them, all after she had to ask them for help. And they come pouring into her growing fear of not being strong enough for adventuring; not being smart or fast or tough enough to face the things at the carnivale. In the woods, she had grown to be confident in her abilities. There were challenges at times, but they all made sense, and rising to them felt natural and comparatively easy. But here the "rules" made no sense, and Lille felt like she had started on the back foot and only fallen further and further behind.

Albeart’s roar snaps her out of the dark spiral. Here was a man who had done all sorts of amazing things, and had also somehow lost his body in this awful place. And the recent glimpse of Ezme’s face comes to her too; a strong woman, more than just physically, yet entranced by that strange pot. Perhaps.. perhaps she might measure up just fine with the other adventurers. Perhaps she could carry out Jordash’s last wish for her. And perhaps she could find a place with this group, to learn all she wanted to know about the world together with them.

With her newfound realizations and inner strength, she twists her hand around, trying to extract it and the stone. Yet instead of more frenzied fighting, she has a focused energy, calm and purposeful. "You cannot have me," Lille says levelly, as if simply discussing the weather.

Ezme lies in the mud on her back, eyes closed, one arm extended out toward Daryl. At first her faint visage flickers, but as she catches her breath it grows solid yet again.

Lying there, panting, the trapper allows herself a moment to lock away her grief over the loss of yet another chance at otherworldly bliss. She turns her head to the side to hide the tear escaping the corner of her eye.

Finally, she opens her eyes, checking on Daryl beside her. Aching over the loss of connection, she wiggles her fingertips to touch his reassuringly. Roald, leaning over them both, looks worried and absolutely exhausted. Yet, as he stands there panting, leaned over with hands on his knees, there is a heroic sheen about him.

The good man who fears his own capacity for violence, Ezme recalls. What would it feel like to be him? She blinks up at him wordlessly, too many mixed up emotions in her breast to name.

Roald's hand is right there, ready to help her back to feet. She sits up and starts to reach out to take it, then hesitates as the thought of possible merging sinks in.

Of course she is curious, but ... neither one of them would have any control over what was shared and what was not, and she is not sure she's ready to know what Roald thinks of her. Certainly she has thoughts/feelings/memories that she is not yet ready to reveal....

For a brief moment, Ezme hesitates there with hand half extended, looking uncertain in a manner atypical of the trapper.

Lille concentrates on maintaining the dual grasp with the burly man’s hand next to hers, but in the end she is no match for him. With one extra surge of shadow-hunger, he clenches down and her hand finally slips off the stone. She grimaces briefly at the lost contest, but retains her refound air of control. She sets her hand on his large one, though not in in competition. Kneeling forward to lean her face close to his, she looks him in the eye as if trying to pierce down through all the swirling corruption to the person inside. "You owe me one," she tells him with calm conviction.

Her eyes lock on his a moment longer before she rises and walks over to where Albeart has pinned their prisoner. "Now, what were you saying about helping and bulls?" she asks them levelly. Lille sounds especially skeptical about the first part.

Roald wants to help ezme to her feet but sees she hesitates.
Maybe she wants to get up on her own
He turns a little and pretends he was helping Daryl all along.

Lilli spins with unnerving speed, pointing her staff an inch away from the man’s throat. Though she retains her calm demeanor, the deadly glint in her eye is almost more dangerous with her level tone. "And what would you know of fair? You have nothing resembling balance, only taking and hoarding." Her piercing gaze seems to address the shadow within, or whatever its source is. Her hard expression softens briefly, though her arm stays as straight as ever. "Perhaps there is enough of you left in there, enough of a person who lived in the world, who had a pack or family. Maybe if you can reach deep into that part, forget the shadow for a moment, you will see some light. And you will know that taking from others with no agreed exchange is anything but fair."

She withdraws her staff, planting it on the ground beside her. Her unwavering stare remains as intense as her voice. "Until then, do not speak of fair, and do not bother us unless you intend to help." Her last words are pitched to the rest of the hungry crowd, and she shifts her weight to stand that much closer to Albeart’s imposing bulk, the unspoken threat loud in the moment of silence.

Looking down to the pinned figure, Lille says, "What were you telling us?"

"I don't believe much of what they say." Albert tells Lille. "But it's true, then I need to find my body soon." He shifts his weight again, trying to make it uncomfortable for them. "And I'm pretty sure they know more about that urn."

He looks to where the coach is. "What's taking them so long over there?" And spots multiple of his friends laying in the dirt next to the wagon. "Something is going wrong there, Lille. We may need to head back."