The Mask of Mesolotii

          The voices of thousands filled the air of a warm summer evening; some shouting, some singing, some laughing, while others still exclaimed their pure delight at the festivities that made up Carnevale di Mesolotii.  The city which gave the carnevale its name was as old as memories, a timeless picture of sandstone buildings, canals, horse-drawn wagons and carriages, and scholastic monks walking in silent procession. During these few days, however, it was transformed into a sea of vibrant colors upon waves made of people.
           Carnevale di Mesolotii was a celebration unlike any other and it drew its celebrants from not only the city, but from cities hundreds of miles away.  In the seemingly endless chorus of voices could be heard a dozen languages and dialects, from the light, flowing tongue of the Maraleaux to the slightly more abrasive and guttural speak of the Heutch, all mingled amongst the passionate and quick language of the resident Itiranio.  The costumes, one of the long-standing traditions of the carnevale, were equally as diverse.  There were dresses made of cream colored satin, the v-neck showing the silk chemise underneath and trimmed with pearls or intricate embroidery.  It was not uncommon for corsets to proudly display the shaped cleavage of the women, their skin powdered to fine porcelain.  The skirt of the dresses fell in layered bunches or, for the more daring and less conservative, hugged shapely hips and legs.  The men ranged from simple white shirts with dark pants all draped over by a hooded cloak, to regal jackets and pants of gold or silver with white embroidery.
         As diverse as the clothing were the masks that hid the faces of the thousands upon thousands of celebrants.  Some covered only the eyes, layered silk of a dozen colors upon a stiff backing, coated in glitter and trimmed with the peacock's feather.  Others were complete facial obscurants, ranging from simple faces of smiles and frowns cast in white plaster and porcelain, to ones painted in a myriad of colors and even trimmed with tassel.
The masks were symbolic to the carnevale, representing a time when people could revel in life and enjoy each others company with absolutely no regard for who it was they celebrated with.  Friends and enemies alike would stand side by side and sing or hoist glasses in a toast to the good life.
         The shops of the markets bristled with activity; the female patrons threw down their coins for dresses made from the finest silks and satins, adorned with pearls, jewels, and glitter, or masks of the highest quality with doll like makeup or feathers of every color, shape and size.  The males bought up silver flasks for their spirits, or ornate swords and daggers to complete their costumes and give them the hint of fierceness they sought in order to draw the welcomed eye of the women.
         From there the masses moved to the avenues of restaurants and taverns.  Thousands of tables, chairs, and benches had been set out to let the denizens of the carnevale rest their feet while they enjoyed their food and drinks.  The venues ranged from the high priced and opulent, to the somewhat more common establishments frequented by the proletariat.  The former made up the main streets, catering to the masses as best they could.  There was dignity to be found by being seen there, and at these places the youth gathered seeking good repute and the recognition that came with being a patron to such.  The proprietors had poured out coin into trying to make their streets the most magnificent in Mesolotii, to set them apart from the others. They made a great show with the hundreds of paper lanterns strung from one side of the street to the other.  Red, blue, yellow, and green were inlaid with thinly hammered metal designs and glitter that made beautiful silhouettes upon the colored paper. 
         In the dead end alleys in the lower section of the city thrived the lower end of the caste system, still dressed to impress but preferring familiar company with sound drink to the exuberant, flashy and nomadic styling of their richer counterparts.  . Most all were residents of Mesolotii, making their way as peddlers and small shop owners, men from the docks, masons and builders, barmaids, and farmers from beyond the walls of the city. Many had their masks pulled up as they sat among friends, cheeks and noses flushed red with alcohol and laughter.
         Gilo Selvantio sat leaning back in his chair just outside of a small tavern, one arm resting on the table to his right and holding a wooden cup of spirits, while the other lay on the thick arm of the chair.  He was dressed garishly for one in the lower quarter, strikingly white robes with red trim and a red sash around his waist. The hood of the robes was pulled up over his head, though his own mask, one made of gold painted plaster with black around the eyes like the make-up wearing men of the Far East, lay upon the table at his elbow.  His beard and mustache, trimmed and well combed, had long since turned gray with white streaks.  Beneath the hood his hair of the same color was kept in a short ponytail, though a few wisps had managed to come free and now draped down in his face.  However, he was not so out of place, for when greeted he spoke in the common tongue and offered a laugh to their base jokes and a shout to their celebrations.  These manners allowed him the refuge he desired and there, in the dirt streets of Mesolotii’s lower quarter, he was content.
         “Amongst so many people you manage to drink alone, friend,” came a voice.          Gilo raised eyes cornered with crows feet, but nevertheless sharp and clear, to see a man wearing a plain white mask shaped into a smile.  A Tudor cap sat upon his head with a large blue and purple feather pinned to the side.  He wore a deep green doublet with a collar that encircled his neck.  Silver beads, barely larger than a pin head, covered the velvet fabric patterned with dark purple suns and slightly lighter green leaves.  A cord of purple and gold cinched at the waist and an even dark green, almost black, cape fell from his shoulders to mid-thigh.  The sleeves billowed to the elbow, then fit snugly along the forearm and ended in fitted gloves of black over his hands.  His breeches were the same dark green and billowed slightly around his thighs before growing tight just below the knee and disappearing into black boots.
         With a smile, Gilo raised his cup, “then stay a while and have a drink!  Keep an old man company!”
         The man obliged, taking a seat across the table from Gilo and waved down a maid for a drink.  For a moment they sat in silence, observing all of those around them in their various states of celebration.
         “Let the noble and rich have their celebrations on the cobbled streets.  They put on such a show with no real appreciation for what it means to celebrate life.” Gilo said, a stab at the wealthy and homage to the less fortunate.
         “And this rabble knows better?” his guest said.
         “Rabble?!  You would do well to watch your tongue, sir, for these are my folk! My people! They call them the less fortunate and the lower class, but among these peoples of this quarter, I assure life is appreciated for what it truly is, rather than what those others try to make it.” Gilo replied, taking another drink.
         “I apologize, montevo,” the guest said, holding up a hand in defense, “poor manners on my part.  I was not aware you grew up in the dirt streets.  Your dress would indicate otherwise.”
         Gilo let out a short, sharp laugh, “I suppose you are right.  One could call me the richest commoner in all of Mesolotii, it is true.  I have done very well for myself but I assure you I have never forgotten where I came from.  That is why I drink here.  Let my coin, given by the noble, put food on the table of a barmaid or an innkeeper.  They work hard for their earnings and deserve each penny they get.”
         “Your story begs explanation, montevo. Would you share another cup and tell?” the man across from Gilo said.
         “My story is not so spectacular.  I was born the bastard son of a seamstress, not so original an origin.  You can look at any man here and the chances are good he would be hard pressed to tell you who his father is.  Truth be told, it is possible and likely that we have nobility among us even as we speak, though they will never know it.  The aristocrats are not content in their own beds,” Gilo said with a short laugh, “they often come seeking the warmth of the women here as well.”
         “And so was your conception?”
         At this Gilo laughed heartily, “I would not be so bold as to suppose that I am the long lost sun of a merchant or some man of court who could not tame the fire in his breeches!  No, my father was most likely a sailor or a peddler stopping in the city for a spell.”
         The man on the other side of the table lifted his mask slightly and took another drink and despite the darkness, Gilo’s keen eyes could see pocked flesh beneath.
         “You are marked, I see.” Gilo said.
         The man’s body language did not betray a reaction to the statement, though he was silent for a moment.  He finally turned towards Gilo and with a friendly voice said,  “A less fascinating story that is ill told at a table.”
         “I apologize. I intended no disrespect. This damn drink loosens my tongue far too much!” Gilo said, shameful enough to blush even amidst the rosy cheeks his drinking gave him.
         The man waved a hand and behind the mask, Gilo could see eyes light with mirth, “then we are even. We hardly should spend the night apologizing, though!”
         Their cups struck together and the men drank.
         “I take it you were not content to stay in the dirt streets.” the man said when their cups came to rest on the table.
         “In my youth I was restless, as all are.  When a passing merchant offered to apprentice me, I pleaded with my mother and - with her blessing - fell under his tutelage.  I have seen the world over, my friend. I have been to the arid deserts of The Ghulan, spoken with the painted, hairless men of the Far East, and even had dinner with the western nomads.” Gilo said, casting his eyes down to the hand that held his cup.  He pulled his hand back and seemed to travel to a time long past as he gazed at his fingertips.  Time had faded the dark blue stains on them, but not completely, “and I learned many, many things.”
         The man looked to Gilo’s hand, “you are a master herbsman?”
         Gilo’s eyes raised and in them there was something dangerous, “far beyond.  I know every plant and its abilities.  Especially the mortiferous.”
         "I think it was misleading to say that your life has not been remarkable." the man said, looking at Gilo, "I would wager that no others on this street share your life."
         Gilo smiled and looked about, "perhaps you speak the truth, montevo."
         "I am sure of it."
         There was a sudden flash of light overhead, followed by loud pops.  The two looked skyward to see a brilliant erupts of color against the deep indigo of night as, somewhere in the city, fireworks were launched from towers.  Voices changed from raucous conversations to gasps and sounds of awe as thousands of eyes turned upward.  It was as though man had harnessed the power of the stars and sought to reseed the sky with more. 
         Gilo's face seemed sober as he watched, the colors flashing on his face as they danced against the velvet background.  He raised his cup to his lips once more and took a long, steady drink, a smile spreading across his lips.
         As he set the cup down, he looked to his companion and a cold feeling gripped him.  The man had removed his glove and his right hand rested on the table now, his body turned slightly towards Gilo.  Enough time had not passed to fade the stains on the younger hand.
         "You-" Gilo began then froze as he felt a tingling in the back of his throat.
         The voice behind the mask was cold now, even and direct, "I have heard of your exploits around the world, montevo.  You are a legend.  Whispers spoke of your arrival in Mesolotii and for those who knew you, they knew it meant death.  A death I cannot allow."
         The tingling spread rapidly, like ice water in his veins that made his body unresponsive.  A dull pain began in his chest and he clenched his jaw, staring hard at the man across from him.
         "You...your hands..." he said through clenched teeth.
         "Yes, I have studied as well." the man replied, taking another drink from his cup, "a different teacher but the lessons were the same."
         The pain had grown and Gilo groaned, his coughs stifled to small sputters by his locked jaw.  Those nearby did not pay him any heed, a man who had drunk too much or swallowed down the wrong tube.  He tried to move but his arms remained down, all feeling from them gone.
         "I know there is some discomfort, but I assure you it is fleeting.  I would not have you suffer an undignified death, writhing in agony.  That would be vulgar." the man said, standing and slowly walking in front of Gilo.
         "You will come to rest at your beginning," the man said, leaning down to whisper Gilo's ear, "you have come full circle, montevo.  Sleep amongst your kin.  Your name will always be spoken with reverence amongst those like us."
         The darkness began to close in, the world before Gilo fading.  The pain, as promised, had passed and he grew tired.  His head slowly dipped forward until his chin rested upon his chest and he grew still.
         The man stood for a moment in silence, tribute to one of the most revered silencers ever spoken of.  He then leaned over - no more than a man speaking into the ear of a drunken companion - and reached up Gilo's sleeve and withdrew a long, slender blade.  There was nothing ceremonial about it; no etchings in the steel nor intricate wrappings on the handle.  It was a simple tool for a single purpose.  Slipping the blade into the rope belt around his waist, the man stood and drifted back into the crowds.
         *                              *                              *                              *                    

         Pioyn held tightly to Braisenna's hand as they passed through Vermanjo's Arch, the massive stone gateway that lead to St. Benitiri's Square.  Pioyn looked to his companion and smiled as he saw her eyes light up at the magnificence before them.  Hundreds of costumed citizens danced to the music played by the orchestra seated in the square.  The dancers moved concurrent with one another, the ladies dresses swaying like petals caught in the breeze.  They danced around the grand fountain in the center of the square, a massive structure carved of various types of stone.  The water glittered like liquid crystal as it tumbled from the multiple tiers and reflected the light cast by the golden street lamps and the paper lanterns strung high between the buildings.
         Braisenna turned to Pioyn, her eyes sparkling behind an eye mask of deep purple and green, trimmed with short, black feathers, and moved towards the dancing throng, pulling on his hand.
         "Come, Pioyn!" she practically squealed, "dance with me!"
         The youth hesitated at first, a bit overwhelmed, but drew courage from his lady and followed her.  He took her hand and hip and the two fell into step.  The music was beautiful and surrounded them like the warm air of the night, for the orchestra that played in St. Benitiri's Square during the Carnevale di Mesolotii was made from the finest musicians to be found.  The deep, long moans of the cellos were as the cobblestones of the street, a sturdy bass upon which the violins and flutes danced with one another, even as the citizens danced.
         At the crescendo, all of the ladies spun from the hold of their gentlemen and into the arms of the next.  Pioyn watched Braisenna take up another partner just as another woman became his.  She wore a dress of deep red silk, trimmed along the low neckline with black feathers.  She wore an eye mask similar to Braisenna's and Pioyn found himself blushing as her full lips leaned in to kiss his cheek before the dance resumed.  Black tresses were drawn up in a beautiful arrangement on her head, held in place by a single, ornate hairpin.  Pioyn's steps were a bit clumsy, for his adolescence left him in awe of the woman's beauty and subtle sensuality.  She moved with a practiced grace and though she was silent, her attention remained on Pioyn completely.
         The song came to an end and each pair stepped back and bowed before clapping for one another.  Pioyn stood dumbstruck for a moment, his eyes unable to leave the woman.  She kissed his cheek once more and whispered a thank you in his ear for the dance.  As a single flute began an introduction to the next song, a gentleman in a deep green doublet of velvet with purple suns and light green leaves stepped up and offered his hand to the lady.  Pioyn felt his heart sink as the mysterious woman accepted the hand and curtsied while the man responded with a slight bow.  Taking her hand and hip, as Pioyn had taken Braisenna's, they stepped away in matched grace as the orchestra's music began to swell.
         Alivia D'selii smiled to herself at the skilled movement of the man in the dark green doublet.  She had spent years mastering the art of dance and rarely did one come along that she felt could come close to matching her own skill.  But this man, hidden behind a plain white mask of plaster cast in the look of a smiling face, seemed to effortlessly lead her.
         "You are a rarity." she said into his ear, leaning into him," I am impressed."
         "Have you never danced with a man before?" he said with jest, eyes light with mirth behind the pale mask.  She smiled as he dipped her and let out a soft gasp of delight when he pulled her back up, bringing her tightly to him.
         "Not one so adept at dance.  Where are you from?" she asked.
         "A number of places, not the least of which includes the dance halls of Geneut in Maralaeux." came his reply.
         "No!" she burst out in disbelief, "I must know who was your tutor? I spent two years training in Geneut!"
         "  I had several instructors," the man in the green doublet said, taking her hips and doing a quick spin before raising one back to her hand, " it was an intense training.  Call me impatient."
         The music swelled with the flutes lifting their feet while the violins gently guided their hips.  The sea of masks flowed around them and Alivia closed her eyes for a moment, letting the sheer energy of the night make her skin tingle.  Her steps were flawless, as were those of the man that lead her, and more than once she saw the admiration of those around her in their eyes. 
         "Your name?" she said, again leaning in to speak softly into his ear.
         "  Tsk!" he said and dipped her again, " you ask me to break the rules of the carnevale?! Such boldness!"
         She blushed slightly and cast her eyes to the street, "I beg your pardon."
         He laughed, a gentle and warm tone, "it is not needed.  I am afraid you have fallen victim to my teasing."
         As she slowly raised her eyes, they stopped at the nondescript dagger tucked in his belt.  Her brow furrowed a bit as she came back up to meet his gaze.
         "It seems your choice of accessories is not as advanced as your dancing." she said," do you really seek to draw a lady's attention with that?"
         "I find a degree of satisfaction in the subtle.  Sometimes there is too much grandeur placed upon the ornate and ceremonial." was his reply.
         "Quite the contradiction, given your ability in dancing," she said, her movements becoming a bit less flourished.
         "That is a beautiful hairpin," he uttered before he passed her hand to his right and spun her away from him.  Her gaze locked onto him and the delight faded quickly from her face.  The song reached its final crescendo as she twirled back towards him and as the final note was struck by the entire orchestra, his hand slipped over her mouth while the blade slipped into her lower back.  He held her close, turning her mouth towards him and pressing it against the mouth of his mask to stifle her cries.  As an appreciative cheer for the orchestra and dancers rose up, the man pushed her gently out of the throng and through the crowd to a stone bench off to the side.  There he broke their 'kiss' and set her down.  She leaned back against the stone wall behind her and looked at him with tear filled eyes.
         "I am sorry." he said softly in her ear, "in another life we may have danced together in Geneut.  I heard tell of your methods, the way you seduced your prey before stilling them with the small prick of a hairpin tipped with poison.  You came here to kill a man I cannot allow you to kill."
         He reached up and gently plucked the hairpin out and the dark tresses tumbled down around her shoulders.  He slid the pin into his boot and knelt before her, taking her hand.
         "This was your final waltz, but I promise you I will remember it always."
         Her head drifted gently to the side and her eyes closed.  The man in the green doublet rose to his feet and turned, melting into the crowds of St. Benitiri's Square. 

*                              *                              *                              *                         
         From his balcony, high in the Senior Magistano's Tower, Benedicti Orusso watched the carnevale in relative quiet.  He smiled with aged fondness as the gentle roar of the celebration below drifted up to his ears.  Were he younger, he would have loved to have been in the streets with his friends, enjoying the food and drink and chasing after the affections of masked women.  However, his body would no longer tolerate such things, for his bones already ached and his eyes had begun to grow heavy.  The tea he drank on the balcony helped dull the pain and would eventually ease him to sleep.  He pulled his night robe around himself a bit more, for though the summer night was warm, it always seemed a bit chilly in the tower.
         The Senior Magistano turned his back on the night and walked back into his chambers.  The balcony was a large one, a place he could entertain guests when they came by.  Through the archway back inside, he stepped into the main visiting room, a recessed floor of massive stone blocks covered by a thick rug he had bought from an eastern merchant.  A long couch and several chairs were set along the edges of the recess, facing each other with a low table in the center.  A fireplace off was off to his left, the flames within dancing as though they celebrated the carnevale as well.  The mantle overhead was lined with vases of undeniable value, and on the wall hung a massive painting of a man posing in regal armor. 
         Meanwhile, Luiso Nalsa crouched low the rooftop of the Tower of the Senior Magistano, holding firmly to the rope he had tied to the towers spire.  He wore ashen robes, the hood drawn up and a scarf across his face.  Dark eyes watched as the elderly Senior Magistano walked back into his chambers and Luiso dropped the rope.  He leapt out and pulled the rope tight, silently landing against the stone wall and rapidly lowering himself to the balcony below.  As he stepped up to the archway he heard a chime come from the chamber door within.  He stooped low and slowly leaned around just enough to allow him to see within the chambers.
         "Excuse me, but do I know you?" Benidicti said, one hand holding open the door to his chamber.
         Across from him stood a man in a deep green doublet patterned with purple suns and lighter green leaves.  He bowed slightly, the white plaster mask that was shaped as a smiling face preventing Luiso and Benidicti both from seeing his face.
         "Good evening, Senior Magistano Benidicti Osso.  I apologize for my unannounced arrival at your chambers." the man in the doublet said.
         "Who are you?  My men downstairs did not announce anyone." Benidicti said, his voice stern.
         Beneath the scarf, Luiso smiled.  While the assassination of the Senior Magistano would be a notorious deed to Luiso's name as a killer, the arrival of this unknown person had provided him with a means by which to keep the attention of the law away from himself. 
         All too easy, Luiso said to himself as he withdrew a foot long, hollowed piece of wood.  Rolling back the sleeve of his left hand, he pulled a small, tiny dart from the band of cloth on his wrist.  He slid the dart into the end of the blow gun and lowered the scarf.
         "It is most fortunate that I found you, Senior Magistano, for I fear your life is in danger." the man in the deep green doublet said.
         "What? What do you mean? Who are you?" Benidicti said, stepping back from the door.
         Luiso raised the blow gun and as he pressed his lips to the end, the man in the dark green doublet rushed forward, throwing an arm around Benidicti and swinging him to the side.  Luiso blew and the small dart exploded from the blow gun, sailing through the air faster than the eye could see.  However, the masked man had been too quick and the dart struck the wall, harmlessly falling to the floor.
         "By the gods! What are you doing?!" Benidicti demanded, his voice trembling with shock.
         Luiso cursed under his breath and strode into the room, pulling a long curved blade from beneath his robe.  The man in the dark green doublet moved forward, his stance wide and his hands held up defensively.  Luiso moved like a cat, his movements quick and calculated.  He swung at the man in the dark green doublet, each time his blade barely missing its target as the man sidestepped and moved out of the way.  If Luiso moved as a cat, the man in the dark green doublet was as a snake, his body moving like liquid as he avoided each strike.  Benidicti cowered off to the side, curling up and moaning as he watched in fear as the two men fought.
         As Luiso thrust the curved blade forward, the other allowed it pass nearby, then wrapped his arm around Luiso's, trapping it.  His gloved fist struck Luiso first in the side of the face, then in the side of the neck, sending burning pain down through his body. He grunted and brought his foot up, snapping out and kicking the man in the thigh then kneeing him in the stomach.  The man released his arm and dropped down, rolling away just as the air whistled with another swing of Luiso's blade.  The man leapt to his feet and returned to his defensive stance, while Luiso stepped back and grimaced, rubbing his neck where the strike had landed.  The pain had turned from hot to cold and he felt the muscles stiffening.  This man, whoever he was, was trained far better than Luiso had anticipated.
         With a roar, Luiso charged forward again, his blade lashing out in a series of slashes and thrusts, the man managing to evade each with well practiced maneuvers.  Luiso brought the blade down in a powerful overhand strike and the man stepped in, throwing his forearm up and intercepted Luiso's arm before the attack could be completed. Another forceful blow from the man in the dark green doublet sent Luiso stumbling back, his empty hand clutching his chest where the punch had landed.  His limbs ached and he winced visibly.  This man was striking major nerve clusters, which resulted in his entire body being wracked with pain but more dangerously, it made his limbs slower to respond. 
         He glanced over to Benidicti, who still huddled against the wall, sobbing in fear.  The old man was too terrified to flee, or even call for help.  Luiso would need to kill this defender first and do it quickly before Benidicti was able to gather his wits enough to summon his guards.
         Taking a steady breath, Luiso tried to push the pain out of his mind as he approached the man in the green doublet again.  His arms ached terribly as he lashed out and he could feel the clumsiness of the attacks.  Though to any city guard or even a soldier they would have seemed quick and lethal, the man in the dark green doublet was evading them with even greater ease.  For the first time since his training as a youth, Luiso began to feel fear creeping into his mind.
         "Die, pelganjo!"he hissed vehemently, frustration of the mans evasion making him swing harder and harder.
         A wide slash that should have tore open the man's mid-section whistled through nothing but air as the man dropped down and with surgical precision, struck both of Luiso's legs in the mid thigh.  Luiso felt them freeze in agony as he cried out moments before a knee drove into his hip and a fierce downward elbow smashed into his clavicle.  Luiso's sword arm went numb and the blade fell from his hand just as the man pulled something from his boot. 
         "This man is not for you to kill." said the voice from behind the mask.
         Luiso cried out once again as the man stabbed him in the chest with something small but very sharp.  He looked down, sweat beading on his face from the fight and the intense pain he now felt through his whole body.  Stuck in his chest, over his heart, was a hairpin.  He looked up to the masked man and tried to speak, but suddenly felt his throat begin to tighten.  He fell to his knees and gasped for air as the poison quickly worked through his body.  A terrible ache had formed in his head and a ringing in his ears, while the world before him began to darken.  There was a brilliant flash in his vision and through the archway he saw a beautiful eruption of fireworks, the final ones for the evening.  Then it was dark.
         Benidicti remained frozen for several seconds, until he realized that the would-be assassin was dead.  The man in the green doublet was standing over the body, but his gaze was upon Benidicti.
         "You...you saved me." Benedicti finally managed to say with a trembling voice, slowly climbing to his feet, "that man was going to kill me! You saved me! Pratzi notorro! My friend, you have saved me!"
         The man in the green doublet knelt down and his fingers closed around the handle of Luiso's curved blade.
         "Not exactly."