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Masks of the Soul

Cenriel Academy


a part of Masks of the Soul, by Cienpher.

Cenriel - the academy that is far more than it seems...

RolePlayGateway holds sovereignty over Cenriel Academy, giving them the ability to make limited changes.

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Cenriel Academy is a private school that offers education from grades six to twelve. It has a lovely campus, set with a main senior high school building, a main junior high school building, a music building, a gymnasium, a swimming pool, a soccer field, and lastly, the gardens. It is a beautiful school, aesthetically pleasing for sure, but there is turmoil beneath the pretty exterior... and not even the teachers know of this. Itex and the Masked, without knowing it themselves, will grow to clash here eventually...
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Cenriel Academy

Cenriel - the academy that is far more than it seems...


Cenriel Academy is a part of Throme.

1 Places in Cenriel Academy:


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#, as written by Raize
Angel Vannin; Cenriel Academy

The gardens or grounds of Cenriel Academy were quite quiet. In fact, perhaps they were too quiet. Everyone was within the buildings, studying, or doing something else. Classes had gotten out early today, and everyone was relieved because of it. Why wouldn't they be? School was simply somewhere to keep the children. Angel, did not like being confined to a place that he did not want to be confined to. But the school, and educational systems in Throme caused a big riot in his mind, They required him to go to school, and to sit in those rooms for hours on end. They also obligated him to talk, which is something that he would not do, ever. The teachers had heard about him, all of them knew what he refused to do, and they had pressed him all year about it. Their speeches were always the same thing, repeated over and over again. 'You are nearing high school, now. Angel, you must speak to your high school teachers, and to US! You will not develop social skills with this kind of attitude any longer. In fact, we think that you're being deprived of a lot of education because you do not speak.' It annoyed the heck out of Angel, but he knew that these things would never change. He would not miraculously start talking, and his teachers would not stop goading him, or agitating him with their petty lectures.

He was in his favorite section of the grounds, it was rather peaceful and calming to him. This was one place that the other students did not venture to, because they knew that this was Angel's turf. Nobody knew how he had claimed it, but he had. Every time someone had ever walked here without Angel's permission, a rushing feeling of confusion and unease would tint the beautiful area they had wanted to visit. They would leave quickly, and never return. It was an odd feeling to have, but Angel did not have it. Somehow he had left his mark upon this place. When it rained, it did not rain as hard here. When it snowed, it was simply a light dusting of diamond dust. And when the sun shone, the most powerful, most beautiful golden rays would hit his spot, making it glow with vibrant colors, and fantastic hues that would take anyone's breathe away. But not Angel's. He mused for a moment over why this was, but came to the conclusion that these thoughts -- indeed were irrelevant to his life.

It was silent here, in his corner of the world. That was the way he liked it. He was seated on a flat, black stone. One of the many that was carved just so that the sparkling waters of the pond would not overflow on the perfectly cut green grass. A waterfall streamed down in luxuriously beautiful, glimmering tendrils and splashed into the pond with tinkling laughs. The sound was colored. The colors that flashed into his head were cool, blue, and soothing. The back drop was black, and the stripes that ran through it were navy, cerulean, teal, and the lightest strip was a pale, ocean green. Deep, but see through. This set a small, half-smile on his face, but it soon disappeared. He hopped off his rock and began to walk gracefully enough towards the biggest building in the school. His math teacher had already started to drone about decimals and multiplication tables and variables. He could say, that although he was brilliant with numbers, he hated math a lot. Only a few of the colors of the numbers were not dull to him. One Was bright yellow, because when he looked up at the clock and saw it was one minute until math class was over, he was very happy.

That was about it for the happy colors of numbers.

His math teacher made everything worse. Instead of teaching, he would just give them lectures on what everything was. Like every single one of his students were stupid and didn't know any of the math terms that he decided he would teach for the day. He would assign at least four pages of homework that they didn't understand how to do, and maybe even he didn't understand it. But his voice, OH, his voice was the worst part about it. Most people's voices were colorful and cheerful, except if they were angry or sad. But his, his was just a mixture of black and grey. Nasty colors floated across Angel's vision in sad little garbage heap clumps. Every time the teacher spoke he was bombarded with these disgustingly colored bombs that were obviously the color of his teacher's voice. He could smell just the tiniest hint of mince meat when "Professor M" spoke. He hated the sound, the scent, and the colors of Professor M's voice. And that is why he usually skipped math class. The teachers had decided to keep him in grade eight, even if he was smarter than all of them combined. He had written a one hundred page thesis about his theories and explanations as to why he should graduate early. The teachers had been astonished, and maybe a little bitter afterwards. He finished his homework on time, and was always in class on time, except when he was skipping.

Math was at the end of the day for him, so he may as well have just left right now. There was more than forty five minutes left in math class, but he didn't care a bit. That was the way he was. He was ornery, disobedient, and he was not a star student. But he got straight A's, always knew what his teachers were talking about, and showed up for class five minutes early most of the time. The teachers had set up speech therapist appointments with his multi-tasking-guidance counselor. The whole entire time he had sat in the chintzy chair across from her, his eyes never moved, and never blinked. The only thing that did move was his growing irritability, and her nervous twitching. She gave up after twenty minutes of having a stare down with him, and told him to leave her office. He wondered whether it was because he was being ridiculously hard headed, or if she was just scared of him. His thoughts whirled around in his head as he walked towards the gated entrance of the academy. He wanted to leave right now, and he intended to do so at the moment. I don't understand why they won't just let me leave, and go to college.. He thought to himself grimly, It's not like they have anything better to do with me--

"Angel, wait a moment." A voice crashed through his thoughts. He stumbled dizzily, because as soon as he heard the voice, a vanilla aroma was what he could smell, and a mango-colored bliss clouded his vision. Beautiful, yet softened colors drizzled in a mango, sunshine yellow, and fuchsia parfait. The colors drizzled over top of one another, and the vanilla scent turned into something more tangy, something like citrus juice. He loved this scent, but he wasn't even sure who had spoken. Slowly turning around, he then realized who it was.

Her smile was non-existent, but the brilliantly pure white light that blinded him from seeing was her voice this time. The one teacher that was not afraid to talk to him, or look at him had found him just as he was about to ditch math class. He wondered whether he would be in trouble after this. But his thoughts moved back to her question, and he let his left shoulder relax in the smallest of shrugs, but he knew that it would catch her eye. She was good at reading his body language in response, which was why she wasn't afraid to talk to him, unfortunately.

"It looks to me like you're ditching class." She said quietly, mango puffs were in the air every time he breathed, a cloud of the wondrous scent, 'I'd nearly forgotten I had something for you, to take home with you that is.' She was an all-business woman, but her voice said other wise. It seemed as though she was straining to be a teacher, but there was something else on the inside, trying to burst out of her. There was something there, something that Angel couldn't quite put his finger on at this time.

When he didn't answer, she spoke again, this time holding out a black velvet box. It was about the size of his fists put together, and he looked at it with a puzzled expression. He had expected many different scenarios. But her offering him something was not one of them. 'I thought you might like it. It's nothing too big, but it's interesting.' She gazed at him for a moment, and broke her stare when he grasped the box with his right hand. He lowered his hand to his side, and gave her the briefest of nods.

She turned around without another word, her long, elegant blue skirt flowing out behind her, as did her tangled blonde locks. Suddenly, when she had turned around just then it had made him think of his mother. The way she looked perfect with her hair tangled, and she had always been fond of long blue skirts. But he did not dwell on this too long, for in a rush of movement he had sprinted out the gates of C Academy and power walked down the street. Even Cenriel was close to a rather busy street, filled with bright yellow taxis and various cars that would feed more than ten thousand hungry, homeless people for at least five years.

Angel had a limousine, but he hated it. His grandmother had given it to him for his birthday, but she had given it to him out of spite. Her eyes had sparkled, and her laugh still crackled through his ears as he thought of it. She made him use it most of the time, but he would not be beaten to using it now. He could see it parked around the curb, and he felt an angry twitch at the bottom of his gut. He raised his free hand's fingers to his lips, and blew in it as hard as he could.

The shrillest whistle anyone could have heard ricocheted through the air, but only one taxi pulled up beside the curb. It was the oddest one he had ever seen. You would frown too, if you had seen how interestingly colored this taxi was. It was not yellow, but a deep, deep black. Midnight black, as a matter of fact. He frowned. He had always thought that taxis were dirty on the outside, and even more disgusting on the inside. The paint job on this taxi was perfect, smooth, and polished. The chrome dazzled him, and when the back door flew open he saw that instead of leather seats, there was posh suede seats that were dyed a dark navy blue. He heard a voice come from the front of the taxi, and he was surprised when he heard this, too.

" 'Vell, my boy? Are you going to get in 'ze car, or are you going to stand their like an 'eediot." A voice with a very heavy accent slipped through the dark glass windows. He felt compelled to do as the taxi driver asked, so he stepped into the car, and at once his mind was washed over with deep, and muted colors that relaxed him. Violin music gushed out of the speakers, and the suede seats were so soft, that he felt he was floating in a cloud.

"You can call me Vincent, or Vince." The taxi driver remarked, and Angel felt an interesting, rich taste cross his lips. Vincent's voice was as rich as dark chocolate, and nearly as relaxing as the sound that pooled around him from the speakers. "Vhere to, my boy?" Vince asked politely, making hand gestures at Angel.

Angel didn't speak, but he handed Vincent a piece of paper with the name of the destination he had in mind. Vince didn't question Angel, but he did glance at him with a rather curious look in his green eyes. Shaking his head, while tsking furiously against the top of his mouth, he pulled out from the curb and joined the jungle of cabs that had begun to swing down the street in a yellow parade, with a black dot in the middle. Vince knew there was something strange about this boy, and he vowed that he would help Angel, even if he didn't know Angel's name, yet. Angel, was deep in his own mind at the moment. He frowned in concentration as he stared at the black velvet box in front of him. He didn't want to open it, and then he did at the same time. With a silent sigh in the back of his mind, he placed it to the left of him and leaned back, relaxing into the cloud of bliss, while Vince still observed him curiously from the mirror fixated on Angel.

"Curious, very curious indeed." Vince muttered, as he gunned the engine, shooting forwards into the war of cabs, game on.


Characters Present

Character Portrait: Vera Chung Character Portrait: Amara "Amy" Calen
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#, as written by Witless
Amy Calen; Cenriel Academy - English Class -> Greenhouse

"So, in conclusion, we have three types of conditionals: potential, theoretical, and impossible. The difference between them is which tense of verb is used: present, perfect, and pluperfect, respectively. They also use a type of future verb, with the theoretical and impossible conditionals using words of doubt or uncertainty like 'would,' 'could,' 'might,' 'may,' and many more. We'll conclude this lesson on Monday with the placement of conditionals, real and unreal ones, and combining tenses within them..."

Mrs. Lengley had taken to teaching them about grammar lately, as she felt their writing needed more structure. Amy could hardly complain; she knew most of the material anyway, and she was making an A in this class, unlike most of her classmates (there may have been another skilled one or two in there). What really surprised her was how far below the Valencia students Cenriel students were. If she had no other reason to be here, there would be no way at all that she would have transferred. But she was curious, and she felt drawn here, by some sort of mystery hanging around, pervading the school.

The mask was the centerpiece, revolving around the Student Council. While there had been one in Valencia, it had been well-founded and strong. People knew and confided in it, and there had been elections. It wasn't made only a few years prior. It wasn't run by a woman from outside the school. It wasn't made of those people who simply wanted to be in it and who were accepted by the other members. But there was one key thing that it also didn't have: the masks. It seemed a unifying factor, like the masks chose who should be in the Student Council. Every member appeared to have one, and Amy had received one soon after transferring to Cenriel.

It was a strange thing, and she still had yet to test what it did. It made little difference; she'd find out eventually, when she needed to. For now, as the bell rang (It had already, hadn't it? The classroom was already mostly empty, with the final few trickling out.), she figured she should head out to the Greenhouse, where they were all supposed to meet. She had nothing else to do until then, so why not make sure she was on time?

She wandered over to the Greenhouse, opening it to emptiness and wandering to the back of it, passing by and through begonias, primroses, some newly added roses, petunias, daffodils, cinerarias, amaryllis, forget-me-nots, tulips, and peonies. Somehow they were taken care of, by gardeners never seen, never acknowledged. Maybe if she stayed long enough, she'd see them, maybe she wouldn't. Maybe they only came in when no one was around? What did they look like? Were they old, young? Female, male? Many, few? Like they belonged? Like they were skilled? How long would she have to stay to see them, to meet them? The curiosities of the school were many and diverse. Including the Student Council.

Yes, she was now in that group. Well, in a way, of course. Not that she was fully accepted, not that she likely would be soon. Not that she knew much of what they did, of what they battled, of whom they worked for. But she was finding out little by little and growing to like working with them against this big organization, this Itex, whatever it was. Some organization, a big one that seemed to be omnipresent. One that used the same masks that did... whatever they did.

And why the masks? Who made them? Who decided who was given them? Who decided what they did, how they worked? Was there more behind them than just masks created by a genius? Were they even created at all? What was the point, the use, the reason behind their existence? Was there something much bigger behind all this? The questions kept pouring out, and none were answered. Or, when they were, they raised even more questions to be left unanswered. Many mysteries, curiosities, many indeed...

The Student Council. Run by a Liesel Moringmer. Whoever that may be. A person not connected to the school and yet it seemed like she was fully accepted here, like she belonged and didn't need to worry about anything. And she somehow had a group of followers whom she had found... some way. These people, some were better than others of course, but they seemed to have as little of an idea of what was going on as she. And that gave Amy little confidence in this group, even if she had longed to be in the Council. But she'd last through this, get some questions answered before leaving, if she so decided. They- *slam*

A door closed, the entrance to the greenhouse, and Amy figured she should check out who it was. There was supposed to be a meeting today, right? Yes, yes... and so it was, as she walked out from the flowers - pollen, leaves, and petals down her uniform and throughout her hair, for some reason lacking a tie - to see Vera and Liesel. Maybe there was something new, maybe there wasn't, but there was one thing to be sure of: she would find out soon enough.