Difference between revisions of "A deluded illusion?"
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Revision as of 08:23, 22 March 2017
By: Keegan Posted on: July 12, 2008
Elisaz spat into his hand, slicking his long blonde hair back out of his eyes.
With a nonchalant grin, he swung his pack from his shoulders, dropping it
softly to the side of the Scarlattan stage. Already he could hear the murmuring
of the audience, concealed only by the thick burgundy red curtain. A slight
smirk tugged at the corner of Elisaz' mouth as he toyed with the ideas of
further fame and fortune. He knew very well that behind the curtain,
opportunities awaited. City Senators mingled with Order heads. Prominent
merchants sat alongside accomplished hunters. Each and every audience member,
an opportunity to further his own wealth and social standing.
Placing his lute carefully on the stage, Elisaz began to rummage through his
pack. His supple hands quickly found the small mirror and he held it from his
body, admiring what he saw. Long blonde hair framed his face, emphasizing his
captivating oceanic eyes and perfect complexion. His lips drifted apart in a
broad grin, revealing pearl-white teeth. A smug smile lingered on his face as
he paused to admire his perfect features. Swivelling on the spot, Elisaz
positioned the mirror in such a way to examine his large white wings. Reaching
back, he hummed contently and preened his wings, ensuring they were in optimum
condition. A final precaution, Elisaz quickly brushed down his perfectly
tailored suit, and rearranged his handkerchief so it protruded from his jacket
pocket on just the right angle. His eyes sparkled with confidence and as he
dropped the mirror back into his pack, he scooped up his polished lute from the
floor.
Sensing the possibility of a restless audience, Elisaz sauntered out on to the
performing area, standing immediately centre stage. A lone wooden stool stood
at his feet, but otherwise the stage remained barren. Elisaz let his whole body
relax as he slid on to the stool. He closed his eyes and softly let his fingers
run across the lute-strings. Without obvious intention, his mouth opened very
slightly and all that was pure and innocent seemed to escape from between his
lips. As his voice rose and strengthened, the stage began to transform. The
empty stage became a bustling city square. His voice grew stronger and the
stage changed once more. Vines climbed up from beneath the wooden stool,
wrapping around a Viridian which appeared seemingly from nowhere. Lush grass
appeared to sprout up from between the cracks on the stage floor. His fingers
slowed dramatically until soon, it was only his voice, growing stronger and
full of vitality. Still, the stage was transforming, an elaborate illusion
designed to deceive the audience, to make them see something that was not
there. As Elisaz let his voice slowly and elegantly die, he opened his eyes to
survey his wondrous handicraft. The empty stage now appeared to be a majestic
forest, flourishing trees and lavish surroundings. The backdrop, created only
with music, showed a crystal-blue sky with the ice-capped Vashnar mountains in
the distance and a smattering of wispy clouds.
Elisaz grinned and turned to see Spalding, the stage manager, standing
patiently at the side of the stage. With an arrogant nod, Elisaz signalled for
Spalding to open the curtains. The audience hushed suddenly as the curtains
peeled apart and Elisaz threw back his head, bursting into his opening song.
Spalding shook his head, sadly watching the strange fiasco play out on stage- a
small wiry man sitting on a wooden stool, an unstrung lute lying to his side.
The man's mouth hung open, a deep mumbling groan exiting his lungs. The man,
dressed entirely in rags, looked up from his slumped position, his gaze falling
for a moment on Spalding. His eyes seemed empty, deep caverns of hopelessness.
He grinned a toothless grin before suddenly heaving into a guttural cough. His
long, dirty, matted hair placed his face in shadow, but his mud-stained limbs
told clearly of his social standing. Spalding pulled his gaze away from the man
and out into the many empty seats of the Scarlattan Theatre. A sad smile
lingered on Spalding's face. For him, this was a common sight. Most days he saw
Bards who would proclaim they were of elite status among illusionists. He had no
doubt they were right. Only the very best could deceive even themselves.