[hr][hr][center][img]https://i.imgur.com/TNHAzog.png[/img][/center][hr][hr][color=F0E68C][h3]Missing           [url=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8c6tw_JbGRg]𝅗𝅥   𝅘𝅥   𝅘𝅥𝅮   𝅘𝅥𝅯   𝅘𝅥𝅰[/url][/h3][hr][hr]
“Sebas!” came the call through the door. [i]“Sebas!”[/i] 

Sebastien Marais rolled over in bed and groaned. “Go away!”

Audette took that as permission to open the door. She had risen well before him, of course, as she always did, to begin the day’s preparations. His work as a coachman sometimes kept him out late, and the night before had been no exception. 

“We are missing our sieve,” she griped. “Have you moved it?”

He sat up in bed, rubbing the sleep from his eyes and blinked. “Of course not,” he replied automatically. “Why would I move the sieve?”

“Are you certain?” she prodded anxiously, fingers knitting and unknitting themselves, glancing over her shoulder. “Because I can’t find it anywhere.”

“Mon cœur,” he joked, “do you not know the man you have been married to for eleven years?” He shook his head. “If I never had to set foot in a kitchen the rest of my life, I would be in all five heavens. No, I have not seen the thing in a week.”

“Hhhhnnnn.” She let out an exasperated sigh, softened by a slight, rueful smile. “I was hoping this was some trick of yours,” she groaned. “It means we have lost it, because I have looked. By Shune, I have looked.” Sebastien started to rise and he believed her. The negative result of her search was written all over her face. Padding across the wooden floor, he planted a soft kiss on his wife’s forehead. “Then I shall go to Henri and buy us a new one on the morrow, or perhaps we can send one of the girls.”

Audette closed her eyes for a moment and her breathing steadied. “There goes the money for Father’s Day and Fortuna.” She opened them and shot him an apologetic look.

He squeezed her shoulders. “I can make do without, and perhaps it will turn up. You know, perhaps one of the girls has it.” It had just occurred to him. Lisette and Genevieve so often liked to play house, and they usually dragged either Charles or Bernard in when the boys weren’t together.

Audette’s face shifted. It became determined, and she glanced between Sebastien and the door just to her right. “You know, I bet you’re right.” She separated herself to go investigate but made it only a couple of steps before pausing. “Oh, but I must not wake them. Lisette is supposed to go with Mirella today, and Genny has her lessons in the Gift.” She bit her lower lip. “The little devils. I bet they misplaced it.”

“Can we live without the sieve for one morning?” asked Sebastien, taking the opportunity to dress himself, for he was irreversibly woken at this point. Audette turned to him with a tired smile. “I can make do without, and perhaps -”
Then, there was a scream - no, a [i]shriek[/i] - of the sort that stabs deeply and immediately into any parent’s mind with instinctual urgency that freezes every other concern: the sound of their child in terror.  

They hadn’t even made it to the door when a whole chorus of shrieks erupted from the other three. Audette was first, Sebastien nearly crushing her in his haste as she paused to open the door. 

In the center of the bed was Genevieve, her small face an inhuman thing of horror: eyes and mouth impossibly large, skin red, hands clawing backwards on the bed she shared with her siblings. They had tumbled off of it, Charles on the floor, tangled in the blankets, screaming. Lisetts wailed. Bernard ran straight for his father. Such was their terror that they could not form words.

Such was the sight that it took Audette and Sebastien alike a good five seconds to comprehend it. “Ses jambes!” Bernard cried. “Ses jambes!” 

Lisette’s eyes darted between her sister and her parents, the former screaming repeatedly and uncontrollably. “Ses jambes,” she whimpered, tears spilling down her cheeks. She pointed fearfully, but now they saw it. Genevieve finally seemed to register something other than the evil that had been done to her and her eyes fixed with heart-twisting fear and emptiness on her parents’. Her legs: the girl’s legs were gone.[/color]  

[hr][hr][color=c4df9b][h3]Ambitions[/h3][hr][hr]
Nine-year-old Genevieve Marais was not alone that day in loss. By some minor miracle, the escapades of the night before had not cost any lives, but for the payoff of one humbled sanguinaire, three had been irreversibly damaged. News spread rapidly: strange warps in stone or wood, missing items, mystery sorenesses, ill dreams, and fleeting notions of having been woken up at some point in the night abounded.

These, then, would appear to be matters for the authorities. They would appear to paint an incomplete picture in need of a solution. Yet, while the people of the Workman’s Quarter may have been common, they were not so simpleminded as their overlords in the rich townhouses and the shining towers must have believed them to be. There was not one report issued to the academy or the Century. They knew what had happened, for it had happened before. For as long as there had been a Workman’s Quarter it had happened with startling regularity. And so the ungifted commons who occupied it did as they always had: they spoke of it amongst themselves and nobody else. They gathered in their bitterness and hatched plans in furtive conversations around wells, dinner tables, workbenches, and in the shadowed rear reaches of pubs and cheap concert halls. They spun ambitions of how they would yet get theirs - how they’d get it back: the same sorts of tales they’d spun for centuries to sate their embittered need for agency. 

Only, this time, it was different. They knew the Traveler’s agents among them, and those names moved rapidly, but never into the grasping hands of their betters. They flocked to these men and women and they swelled the Traveler’s ranks, eager to drink of his fountain of hope, of her promise of mana and magic and something that might make them [i]mean[/i] something in life. They did not know who their charismatic saviour was. They did not know if he was a man or she was a woman, and it was a topic of much idle speculation and many yarns that the agent one’s brother or cousin or best mate had just spoken with was actually the ringleader. Most secretly knew that there was no one, single figure named ‘The Traveler’. If there was, then it was wise that he hide his true self, lest those with power come and destroy her. 

For all of this mourning and plotting and bubbling fury that now very likely threatened to spill over, however, the people of the Workman’s Quarter and the Crafter’s Quarter woke up early, as they always did and walked off into the cool grey dawn to serve their purpose and earn their keep, telling themselves that, soon, things would change: [i]very[/i] soon.[/color]

[hr][hr][color=7ea7d8][h3]Revelry and Misadventure[/h3][hr][hr]
Meanwhile, the children who had paid four hundred Magi to attend the Academy of Thaumaturgy for the year woke up bright and early. They dressed themselves eagerly, chatting around the breakfast table about tactics and strategies and possible prizes to be discovered as they stole a quick meal. Then they bounced, bounded, and - for those who had been perhaps a bit too active the night before - trudged off to Balthazar Square, where they soon found themselves scrambling to select allies from the myriad exotic guest teams who had come to stay over the past week from magic schools far and wide. 

Whisked off through portals following a succinct but thorough - some may have said ‘hurried’ - explanation of the rules, they arrived at a dozen unique arenas spread across the twin continents. This was Roses & Neskals, a more modern adaptation of a traditional Eskandr game of magic, conquest, and flying bludgeons, with perhaps just slightly less bloodshed than before. It was the third of the five Trials, and perhaps even more gruelling than its predecessor: The Dragon. 

From the start, it was clear that some players knew what they were doing more than others, for the game was most popular only in certain regions, and certainly not on the distant shores of Callanast. It had always been rumoured that at least one game per Trials was always thrown in specifically to favour the home teams and maintain the honour of Ersand’Enise as host. It would not do to have them lose at their own party, now would it?

The thousand or so youths more or less [i]staggered[/i] across the finish line, for what it was worth. If Roses & Neskals was intended to be a celebration, it quickly turned into a slog. The matches proved either long and gruelling or swift and brutal, but both varieties left in their wakes a litter of bruised and exhausted bodies. 

When the competitors weren’t busy battering each other, they roved about the countryside, poking into every manner of trouble available within their surroundings and uncovering an impressive array of treasures: items handed to them from various grateful or grudging locals. By and large, however, all who were involved were doubtless grateful for having been a part of the grand experience. 

When it came down to it, the truth was that only one could win, though. It was the students of Zenos Mozaru, Zemana, Sectoxomactex, and the twins Fades-in-Moonlight and Born-on-Solstice who emerged from the group stage of eight elite teams. In an epic finale, in front of a packed Proving Grounds, it was Sectoxomactex’s group that emerged victorious, with Zemana coming second and Mozaru lasting to the end while the teams apprenticed to the sisters came in fourth and fifth, respectively. 

What followed was an evening’s worth of both revelry and misadventure, as renowned bards played at the venerable Five Thrones Tavern, fortunes changed hands in betting houses, and enormous quantities of alcohol were consumed. It served as a fitting backdrop to first kisses, new friendships, and well-earned rests.
 
Yet, there was a darker side as well. If one Eskandish blood feud was brought to a close in the later hours, another was declared, against targets unknown. The costly efforts of the sanguinaire hunters the night earlier seemed not to have eliminated the problem, and the new bloodsucker was suspected to be female: an entirely different entity. At least one student found herself under assault in the seedier areas of the city, but her story spoke to a new awareness in many of them: they could sense that something was amiss there in the Workman’s and Crafters’ Quarters. What, exactly, were the commons on about now?

Whatever it was, it would prove to be an issue for tomorrow, as it always was and, unless something was to change, would always remain. A gentle rain fell that night, in the Hours of Ipte, perhaps to cleanse, perhaps to soothe. It had cleared by the morning and the young magicians awoke to skies cloudy but no longer threatening a deluge. The worst had held off for now, it seemed.[/color]

[hr][hr][color=a187be][h3]Thin Air[/h3][hr][hr]
Yawning, stretching, and chatting as they dressed, they made their way, once again, down to dining tables and sitting rooms, eager to discuss strategies for the upcoming fourth event of The Trials: the absolutely absurd test of altitude known as Thin Air. If the rules were simple, it was this very simplicity and openness that made the game so unpredictable. Any manner of strategies might be employed, so long as they did not cause an instant maiming or fatality. There was much that magic could do. Injury and death were far less to be feared.

There were those who took nothing for granted, however, waking up early despite the day’s relaxed start, drilling, planning, and practising as the last of the night’s drizzle faded. There were those who scouted and those who bribed. There were secret and not-so-secret alliances struck, sealed in various ways. Purchases were made and, soon, almost every craftsman in the city who could cobble together something passable as a ‘flying device’ stood to make a good bit of coin.

Then came the call and they made their way once again to that great plaza before the imposing facade of Balthazar Hall. Instructions were given and allies chosen - a longer period than usual of ten minutes was allotted, for this was the penultimate event and much was at stake now. It would also be the last one allowing for alliances, for Chamber of Greed, coming next, was to be strictly a solo event and, to some contestants, in the most literal sense.

One hour of preparation was given. The teams set immediately to work: the only stipulation being that, when it ended and the race itself began, they would have to begin from ground level. How long they would have to reach the dizzying heights of thin air remained to be seen.[/color]
[hr][hr][h3][color=CD5C5C]Resources[/color][/h3][hr][hr]
[color=CD5C5C]Matches will be played out the same way that we did The Dragon, with [b]strategies being submitted directly to me on this forum, by Direct Message (DM). However, there will be only [u]one[/u] per team, to be prepared collectively.[/b] This will be due by Tuesday, December 13, at 10:00 PM EST. Please read the hider below [b]thoroughly[/b]. If you have read it and still have questions, feel free to ask a moderator for assistance.

[hider=Thin Air: Rules and Info][h2]Resources[/h2][list][*]All information on the game itself is available in [url=https://docs.google.com/document/d/1lRrAFaybkdDWTc-1gQA-yjYMqFA-w54QY0NVe2bQTXY/edit?usp=sharing]this document[/url].
[*]Allied team selections for this event can be found in [url=https://docs.google.com/document/d/1T54-LfTb6P3dKvM6VlvbhLiGNvw3RzkpDe20uXxDcCQ/edit?usp=sharing]this document[/url].
[*]Profiles of all guest teams are located in [url=https://docs.google.com/document/d/1vLI1tbGeSc1QZw_dunf4_ZOgXfDXekhu8WuQBLqmJF8/edit?usp=sharing]this document[/url].
[*]The leaderboard may be accessed through [url=https://keepthescore.co/board/mbsregmpihe/]this page[/url].[/list][/hider][i][h3]Event four, Thin Air, starts now. Good luck![/h3][/i][/color][hr][hr]