Ash 62nd
Beneath the boughs of a tree which only bloomed in Ash, Alphonse basked in the welcome change of its flesh-colored petals scattered about. Vesta remained nearby, herself enjoying a moment of lazy quiet. Said quiet was interrupted by the harsh words of the other. "What're we gonna go over today?" questioned Alphonse. "I need a break. It's been a... few days."
Inhaling deeply, Vesta turned her head to look at Alphonse, looking her up and down. "Well," she said with a yawn. "I could give you another Rune to keep you busy. This one is even more dangerous than the last to your well-being. While you are left languishing on the ground, I shall nap somewhere else and then return to see if you have survived. How does that sound, orphan girl?" Vesta didn't have to add those last two demeaning words, but it made the crone smile.
Alphonse, meanwhile, showed off just how textbook ticked she was by the insult. "Whatever, old lady. Just hit me with it."
"Give me your knife. We haven't pigment, so I shall carve it into your back instead," replied Vesta. "If you prefer, I could use my claws, but you risk infection," she said, undulating her little feline razors through the air in a mock show of their efficacy.
"Is this one gonna be as ...mindfeckin' as the last one?" questioned Alphonse with a bit of hesitance. Her hand dove into the pack between her legs, drawing forth a simple dull blade she used for eating and nothing else.
"Worse," said Vesta. "Painful and traumatizing to the best of us. When I was given this Rune, I could not sleep for three days. It is the Rune of Masquerade, to do with illusions and all which is not real, yet can be perceived as such."
Alphonse blinked, then her eyes went wide. She shook her head. "I don't think; I--I'm just gonna pass on this one, okay?"
"What's wrong. Has the big Rathor met her match already?" said Vesta with a coy grin. She snatched the blade from Alphonse's mitt and made a circle motion with it. "Take off your clothes, and I do mean all of them."
Alphonse bit her lip. Vesta had seen her naked before, sure, but the way Vesta said it rubbed her the wrong way. "But it's just to carve a stupid rune? Why the britches, too?"
Vesta laughed with sadistic glee. "Ah, well, you risk tearing them apart during the initiation."
"I don't really like the sound of that," said Alphonse. Vesta was scaring her. "You sound drunk?"
"Relax. I'm just a little tired. Someone as old as I am: we need our beauty sleep," said Vesta. "Come now, are you going to chicken out, or are you going to be the tough warrior-pest of Atinaw I've always known?"
"Excuse me?" huffed Alphonse. "That crosses a line. You know I'm sensitive about being Rakura. Do you know how much I suffered, being a bad omen and an orphan at the same time?"
"That's the spirit," said Vesta, slapping her on the arm. The bald cat looked up into her eyes. "There was a time you would have thought with your fists, first. You're improving."
Somehow, Vesta irritated her even more. "Whatever," groused the beast woman. Crossing her arms, she pulled up her smock, cloak, everything in one go. Up her neck and over her horns, she tugged on high extra high so as not to catch the fabric with her cheek-horns. Next came the rest, all tossed in a hazardous pile on the bed of fallen flower petals. Baring her backside to Vesta, she keeled over from where she sat, aggravating the wound in her abdomen. She gave a grunt. "Hit me with it," she said.
I know I'm gonna regret this. She never acts this way unless she's gonna hurt me. That bitch.
Vesta leaned over her shoulder, spreading the fur to see the pale hide beneath with her little hand. She brought the knife above it, ready to make her cuts. "Do you need something to bite down on?" asked Vesta plainly.
"No," replied Alphonse. The biting pain that followed into her shoulder made the woman tense. Her shoulder trembled with tension, fur standing on end. "Argh. The feck, Vesta, I thought you're drawin' pictures on me with that thing, not guttin' me with it!?"
Vesta laughed, continually digging into her little art project. "Mhm. Not my fault you're a wimp under that tough exterior, right?"
"Feck you."
She only giggled more. The old crone was having too much fun.
As Vesta worked, the hot stinging of Alphonse's nerves plateaued, and her mind adjusted to the pain. It wasn't too hard to resist now, though she could feel her own crimson dripping down her back. "I've already lost a lot of blood," Alphonse cautioned. "Take it easy..."
"Don't worry, dear," said Vesta. "I'm aaaaalmost ...done. It should hit you any moment now. Can you feel it yet? Look at your hands."
Blinking, Alphonse looked at her hands. As she did, each of her fingers split into two. "Bwah't the-" They undulated, moving independently of each other. Everything she could see suddenly doubled, and she threw her head back, bringing her malformed hands up to her face where several of her features continued to split. She breathed through her teeth, trying to keep it together as shock roiled through her. "Hfffht. Hfffh. I'm gonna scream. I'm gonna." Strange sensations tickled across her body, tail splitting into two at the end, her arms growing another set. "What the fuck is happening to me?"
"It's temporary, dear," said Vesta, flipping the knife in her paw through the air and catching it. "I never thought of that, closing your eyes--if you keep them closed, it might help. I'd wager the initiation would find another way to-"
There was a scream.
Alphonse's eyes doubled, one set unable to close while the other opened, and vice versa.
There was hell to pay.
The next day, after falling into feverish shock, Alphonse pulled through. Everything she'd seen had rocked her to her core. "Are you gonna tell me what that was?" spat Alphonse in a low hiss. Her skin itched--all those doubled joints and appendages were crumbling off of her like a charcoal-like paper, disintegrating. It did not feel correct in any way, shape, or form.
"I gave you the rune of illusions, Masquerade," said Vesta. "Should you find yourself with the choice of burying yourself in a cesspool again, or getting gutted by racist xenophobes, then this will allow you to concoct a more sanitary solution. As a magic, it's painfully dangerous in the hands of anyone who likes to fight dirty, like yourself and mine. It's not a magic for the honest, so I'd work on being a better liar if I were you."
Sitting up, her head spun with a headache. One eye shut, she rubbed over her face with the lower side of her palm. "Ugh. So, like, can I make someone see nothing? Blind them 'er so forth?"
"That is one application yes, and in time. You will need to learn the basics, however," said Vesta. Alphonse hated the basics.
"Fine, I bet this is gonna be confusin' as shit," said Alphonse.
"Masquerade is about manipulating the five senses; at first, only visually. Eventually: scent, taste, sound, even touch," said Vesta. "It is very important to never let anyone know you have this Rune, for they will forever distrust you."
"I already trust you about this much," Alphonse said, holding her fingers into the configuration of a very tiny hole. "So no change there, honestly."
"Very good. You'd be a fool, otherwise," said Vesta, tapping her chin to think about how to condense all of this information down. "Masquerade works through developing constructs. At first, two dimensional like a painting, and eventually all three dimensions."
"I suck at painting," huffed Alphonse.
"It's a good thing you don't need to paint, then. All you need do is imagine," said Vesta.
"Aight," said Alphonse. "What else do I need 'ter know?"
Vesta hummed, lips popping well before she abruptly spoke. "Details are incredibly important within Masquerade. As you develop the magic, it in turn will give you a keener understanding of the world around you. One of the greatest blessings of Masquerade is its gift of insight. You will find yourself remiss to miss certain details. Cultivate it, and it will in turn cultivate your eyes. Cultivate your eyes, and you will be doubly so capable of weaving the finest illusions for which to deceive." Her words tapered off.
"Details, got it...?" said Alphonse.
"I'm not done yet," said Vesta. "You need to pay attention to the texture, the color, even the lighting. Patterning, the smell. Little details." Pretending to twist some invisible mechanism together with her hands, she spoke again: "A trade such as painting will help you to understand the details of whatever you are working with, but I was able to get by without it."
"I don't think I'm gonna be very good at this, but I'll give it a shot," said Alphonse. "Sooo, what's next?"
"Willpower is required to manifest and maintain a construct. You must keep concentration on your illusions. It will be much time before you can say, swing your big stick around while keeping your opponent subdued. I would prescribe meditation classes to help order and split your thoughts into separate lanes as I can," said Vesta.
Alphonse was looking at her like she was offended. "That's not gonna happen. I don't need no shitty meditation."
"I thought you'd say that, but the only enemy here to your progress is yourself. Keep that in mind, Alphonse," bit back Vesta. "Anyway- when creating constructs for the first time, you should always use a reference. It is much easier to say, replicate the wall next to a door to hide the door, than it is to paint an original wall nobody has ever seen before."
"That seems a little more reasonable," said Alphonse. She bit her lip. "Like, aren't people gonna notice that though?"
"You'd be surprised," sighed Vesta. "The smallest, simplest illusions are often the most overlooked and beneficial to the mage."
"Next, illusions cannot truly harm nor impede. They can fool someone into holding back, or tricking their mind into thinking they are in pain. You can even horrify someone by making their skin crawl with worms beneath as I have done many times to bigots, but beyond the psychological harm, there is no truth behind it. A strong enough mind can always see through an illusion, so it may be wise to pick fights with people who are exhausted, agitated, angry, or emotionally compromised in some other way."
"That's all for now. Any questions?"
"Nope. None." Alphonse was still processing what she'd just heard. Getting her opponent's goat seemed like a good strategy in sword fighting, so it only seemed fair that it'd help her fool them with illusions. The more she thought about it, the more the opportunities swirled through her mind. "Actually, I can think of a lotta ways this'll be useful to me. More so than Animus."
Lifting her nose, Vesta leered. "You still don't see the value in Animus? If I had a cane, I'd be smacking you with it about now."
"Easy, you bag of dust! I'll know it when I live it, so shadd'ap!"
"Sink or swim will get you killed one day. Perhaps when you are not so young, you will shape up," said Vesta.
"Yeah, whatever. At this rate we're never gonna get to Daravin. We've barely made any progress," said Alphonse with a humph of frustration.
"We will make progress when progress is due. When I have finished with these initiations, we shall learn on the road rather than needing to nurse your corruptions imparted by magic!"
Alphonse growled. She had a point.
