THE MIRAGE PARADE
A party more grandiose than any that has ever been, a procession of wonders and monsters alike, only ever met by chance, gone the same way it appeared. Sightings of the Mirage Parade have been reported all across Ivras - some call it an old wives’ tale, yet some Witchfinders seem to take the reports seriously. It is rumored that those that join the Parade may never leave, for their feet will dance on their own to the wild music until they collapse.
***
The Masquerade was in full swing, buzzing with music and joyful litanies of the merchants who shouted and the revelers who strolled along fragrant alleys.
A man dressed in a coarse burlap cape and a simple paper mask staggered among the festival stalls, whining and hiccupping like a drunkard, shouting at anyone who wanted to hear that everything had been stolen from him. Passers-by watched him without lingering, their masked faces indecipherable behind those hollowed out eyes and unmoving smiles.
"They’re devils - the quacks of this bloody parade!" he exclaimed, holding the attention of a few peasants.
The parade? They whispered around him.
"Ghosts, fairies, witches! Dancing as if their lives depend on it." He croaked between his yellow teeth, a black look behind his fox mask. "’m a merchant I’ll have y’ know, I was travelling – was lost in the forest, when I heard-” He swayed on his feet. “-music in the distance."
As a small group crowded around him, the man began relating a tale far from matching the phantasmagoric visions he’d witnessed.
***
Dancing around the trunks to the sound of their thundering trumpets, a procession like no other made itself known to the depths of the forest; one far more majestic and terrifying than any parade before it.
Thin fairies with gossamer wings moved with witches wearing wide, richly decorated hats. Beautiful ladies dressed in shimmering dresses danced with drunk, laughing satyrs. Jesters with pointed shoes and bells covering them from head to toe sang alongside nymphs with lustrous hair and skin covered with stars. All of them wore masks and costumes from all over the world, far exceeding the wildest dreams of the greatest travelers. Some played instruments: bronze lyres with strings as fine as spider silk, horns made from shiny silver spirals, and crystal flutes sighing ethereal chords whose notes flew like birds in the canopy, to name a few.
In the midst of the raging horde, wild beasts joined in as well. Sinuous dragons with shimmering bodies raced beautiful dogs whose paws never touched the ground, followed by winged bears who were unable to fly but danced lightly on their hind legs. Twinkling mice roamed among cloven hooves, and cats with half-moon smiles leapt elegantly to and fro. Fireflies cast their multicolored hues on rich embroidered fabrics worn by the dancers. No show had ever been more joyful - and never had a dream seemed more real.
The dancers who crowd between the trunks weren’t beasts, nor were they people, whether they danced on their feet or on their paws, (the man described them with a haunting gaze). They were the bodies of a raucous Sabbath of ghosts led by an enigmatic masked figure whose forehead was marked by a third eye. The one who led the melodious procession was an ageless woman, full figured and silvery like the moon. (He painted a feverish portrait for the audience, mad with love, as if she stood there before his very eyes.)
She was naked aside from her mask and the transparent drape she wore instead of a gown - more beautiful than any dress ever worn by a fairy tale princess. Her hidden face was crowned with two crescent-moon shaped horns, and her long silvery hair waved behind her like the stream of stars caught under the treetops.
She’d approached the lost traveler with an outstretched hand, a smile frozen on her porcelain mask. Her fluted voice sounded like the summer wind in the branches - her name, a soft and resounding echo, was forgotten the moment she confided it. The heart of the frenzied parade beat in the warmth of her palm, in which she invited the stranger whose heart flooded with emptiness. Two midnight-colored elves followed her, dancing around her, luring in the stranger with their graceful movements.
He had spent the night dancing with her under the stars, blinded by the thousand-colored procession, by the beauty of the moon-woman who sang for him.
(“-But there was somethin’ even stranger than those wraiths,” The storyteller paused, something terrible in his gaze.)
In the middle of the procession, an immense palanquin slowly advanced, surrounded by black veils speckled with stars, lifted up by four giants with golden skin that glittered under the silver light. There was a huge horned figure inside which sat perfectly still, as if deaf to the music that was driving the wanderer mad. Trying to discern anything behind the dark veil was near impossible, as if no eye was able to grasp the figure’s contours, its colours. It was like facing absolute void, like being blind before a gaping abyss pierced in the middle of the dazzling chain of dancers.
He had tried questioning his dancing partner, but the moon-woman had distracted him by caressing his cheek with a hand softer than silk and capturing his gaze in her three opalescent eyes, turning his attention away from the figure. Slow and ineffable, the palanquin moved at its own pace, ignoring the procession yet dictating its step, impossible to forget once seen.
***
“...in the early morn, I found m’self naked as a worm on the side of the road not far from here. My purse and jewelry, gone. For a long time I couldn’t even remember my name.” He shivered under the cape that barely protected him from the cold. "Last night I was fair on the other side of the country. I don’t have ‘n explanation for this.”
An old woman with a face like parchment stood out of the assembly, stretching out a wrinkled hand towards the poor fool.
"My poor friend," she stooped over him, wrapping her own shawl around his rough cape. “You had a terrible encounter, one I had myself very long ago.” The storyteller looked at her haggardly, mute with surprise. “The Mirage Parade.”
This name alone made the crowd shudder and rustle with whispers. “Mirage…” murmured the merchant.
“I was but a youth when it came to pick me up. Like you, I was lost in the Sunless Jungle where I should never have ventured. I had lost all hope of ever going home when I heard the music. I saw the glimmering crowd dance towards me, all laughter and song. A winged man of colorful feathers wearing a golden mask and jewelry lead their bewildered dance. I made myself small, hoping they would pass me by, when he walked up to me and took my hands. He made me dance all night long to the Parade.”
She paused, a melancholy smile on her thin lips. “He put a necklace around my neck as we danced. When I woke up in the morning, the Sunless Jungle was nowhere to be seen. Instead, I found myself underneath the old oak tree in my own garden. And on my breast…” She drew from under her cape a ruby pendant gilded in a golden star. “… was this.”
“They… brought you home? With a gift? Why was I stolen from, then, ah? And what‘s this Parade, any road?” The merchant hissed in anger.
“I spent a long time wondering about that myself. I’ve travelled far and wide and heard many stories. Others have met the Parade – many have speculated on what it may be. Some say the dancers are ghosts, spirits that could never rest. Others will tell you that they are thieves and no good mages banding together to rob poor lost souls of their every last coin.”
“Can’t say ’m surprised,” grumbled the merchant.
The old woman lowered her voice, making the crowd lean in to hear. “One thing is for certain however: no one has ever met the Parade twice. “ A deathly silence fell on the crowd. “Many have tried to track it down: fools in love, bounty hunters, Witchfinders – you name it. Lords have gone insane trying to find it, ruining their lands to crack a secret that would always escape them. No one knows where the Parade comes from or where it goes. No one knows what it wants, why it robs some and covers others in gold...”
A surprised hiccup shook the merchant as he fell to his knees, gripping the woman’s hand tightly. “Never meet it twice? ‘s there no hope for m’ things then? Or- or see th’ woman again?”
A sad smile met his inquiry. “I’m afraid not, son. You shouldn’t think about it anymore – it will only bring you despair.” She leaned closer, crouching by his side, whispering in his ears: “For those who meet it twice may never leave,” before rising to her feet surprisingly fast for a woman her age.
A shout rang from the other side of the alley, followed by the clattering sounds of armor. “What’s going on here?!” Guards followed a scowling individual marked by Archon Miriam’s insignia as the crowd dispersed.
“Come with me,” hissed the woman as she grabbed the merchant by the elbow, pulling him behind a tent where no one saw them. “We really shouldn’t speak of magic here – not in these times.” She speaks lowly, gazing deep into his eyes.
The merchant nodded in response. “… What of the one under all the dark veils? On th’ palanquin,” he asked, his voice barely a murmur.
“Not much is known about them – although they appear to rule them all. Some have called them their King, the Great Void. With it begins and ends the Parade’s story, of that I am sure – but you mustn’t seek it. Everything you were before yesterday is gone – you need to move on.”
The man swallowed slowly, a long shiver running down his spine. And, after a moment, he asked, “By the by… why’re you not wearing a mask?”
“Who says I’m not?” the woman answered, with a strange glimmer in her eye – a glimmer he recognized immediately.
“Wait-“
But before he could call to her, she was gone, swallowed by the same crowd she had emerged from.
***
GOLD TALLY:
Lit:
1743 words = 17 g
1500 milestone bonus = 7 g
World-specific = 1g
Evocative = 2g
Expansion = 2g
Dialogue= 2g
Atmosphere = 2g
x 2 contest = 66 gold
Art:
Complete background = 6g
Colored bust = 2g
Accessories= 1g
Atmospheric = 1g
x2 = 20g
