Author's note: I'm sorry this took a while...it's rather difficult when you've got so many ideas and so little time. I've had to rewrite a lot of parts to make sure everything fit together and felt as perfect as can be. I hope I succeeded. -SV
Most characters property of Riot Entertainment.
OPENING NIGHT
"Everyone wears a mask...I just chose to create my own."
Act I – Chapter 1
The setting sun made the silken letter in his hand seem ablaze.
For most others, it would have been a contract of the blackest kind.
He had received so many of these in the past two years. But never once did he see them for what they were...
Instead of a contract, he saw a commission for art of the highest kind.
Art that only he can produce.
You shall be beautiful...
His eye scanned the parchment, picking up details but only one usually—the name of his mark – held any significance.
You shall be perfect...
He had always been paid handsomely for his...services. But truth be told, he cared very little about material wealth. The artist had need for coin only for necessities—and what may be required to make his next performance a masterpiece.
Let it not be said that I am not a professional.
His eye danced about the rest of his commission and he could already feel the impatience of his art waiting to be created.
I cannot live without the euphoria of performance...
That was when he noticed a few details that seemed off…
A lesser man may have let those pass, but not he.
His euphoria disappeared like morning dew, only to be replaced by cold fury.
He had more than enough mind to understand what intent lay behind the immaculately written words.
Trying to censor me? he mocked, art can never be silenced!
A more rational man—no, an ordinary man—would have backed down from such odds.
But he was not the most rational...
Neither am I...ordinary, shuddering in a moment of absolute distaste.
The red sun was finally sinking and the night sky was beginning to fill with the light of countless stars.
The very vision of peace.
The artist's mind however was on fire from the letter in his hand.
They dare insult him? His work? His birthright?
Only one had ever succeeded in doing so.
The artist had already been cheated of what would have been a crowning triumph in his illustrious career when that individual had fallen to another's hands.
The culprit was an upstart so far below him and his mark that the artist was in utter disbelief when he had first heard of what had transpired.
The memory still made his blood boil and the bile rise in his throat.
They want a performance? his rage turning into malevolent glee, they shall have a performance!
"I feel uneasy about this, Duchess," Irelia whispered.
The Duchess Karma did not seem to hear and remained a silent observer to events as they unfolded.
The Blade Dancer had been uneasy for the entire time since she had heard of the Duchess' plan. When she had first been approached by the Duchess about it, she could scarce process what she had heard.
Yet there they were, disguised in plain sight; veiled handmaidens attending to the food and drink of a feast held in the immense estate of Gysei Reto.
Gysei was a merchant who dealt in metals, forging, and construction who had made a name for himself across Valoran both in his outspokenness for Ionia's industrial progress and the prodigious managerial abilities that had made him one of the wealthiest individuals in all of Runeterra.
He was also a secret but staunch ally of the Duchess Karma, who came to value his lesser known enterprise of trafficking secrets and information that would otherwise be left unheard of...
Such was the power of having gold to burn and a belief in the greater good.
He should not be doing this, Irelia thought, casting a glance at their "host" who continued to entertain guests left and right as if without a care in the world him even as guests continued to pour out from exorbitantly expensive custom-built telearches—hextech teleportation gates freshly imported from Piltover but with aesthetics crafted in pure Ionian style.
The merchant was more than what he appeared on the surface. If anything, he had proved himself a most skilled actor, especially after what the Duchess had asked of him.
Irelia felt herself breaking a cold sweat beneath her borrowed silken robes, and her blades, kept deftly in the food cart she was pushing shifted slightly in reaction to her emotions. She mentally chided herself—she was the warrior, not Gysei and yet he was the one who looked totally at ease in fulfilling the duty asked of him.
Let it not be said that the maverick merchant did not have loyalty and a constitution of steel.
She looked at the Duchess, herself garbed in a similar garment, and knew she was feeling ill at ease as well.
It had been hours since the elaborate farce had started and way beyond the time they had conscripted in the counterfeit contract.
Every passing moment lent more tinder to the embers of fear in their hearts, threatening to burst into a full fledged blaze.
From the corner of her eye she spied two members of the Kinkou crouched in vigil atop the roof of a small, nearby pagoda.
It was reassuring at least, that they had allies in this endeavour.
Lord Shen himself was patrolling the area, along with several of his subordinates. They kept their presence hidden as best they could—both from the celebrants and from the Golden Demon himself if and when he came.