Ye ol' Bazaar

[Syrawenn]

“Oh trust me, it’s a dream.” The girl laughed. It did not sound happy. “But I don’t think it’s mine...or at least not mine alone cause you for one are waaayyyyy to lively to be a dreamperson. And she...” Syrawenn pointed at the unnamed woman that had not spoken since she came in. “Well, she could be a dreamperson since she’s so quiet. But I’m not so sure...wrong colour, y’know. And even if this is a dream...be afraid. Do not let your guard down. If you die here, you might very well die in real life soon and I ain’t got no way to find you to warn ya.”

She started walking around, checking the room out for other exits, casting a glance at the silent woman near Finodborn from time to time. “Nice to meet you, Finodborn. I’m Syrawenn and I got some bad news for you...if you think taking a deep breath helps, you’re gonna be disappointed cause this is how I usually am in situations of death and destruction!” Obviously she caught the note of hysteria in her own voice and clamped her hands in front of her mouth for a moment. “Woops, there I go again. Hey, question, did you hear voices? Besides mine of course? Oh, another thing: it’s not that I don’t trust you, I just make it a habit of distrusting any city where darkness comes to swallow you up! Did you know there is a giant snake out there? But he’s looking for someone else, so don’t worry about it.”

Suddenly she stopped dead in her tracks and turned around slowly. “Hold all horses...you’re an Elf! Bloody bones, what are you doing in a place like this? You belong in nice stories! Took a wrong turn somewhere?” Her face showed not as much surprise as might have been expected. “Then again...Nol already said there was stuff really wrong with the universe. Well, I already believed him, I don’t need another reminder. Damnit, why are all those people dying!”

Another of the Elf’s remarks slowly dawned on her. She looked at him, her grey eyes full of haste and worry. “Don’t you hear the voices? They cry for revenge...” Her voice changed and took on a dreamy tone. “They will keep me going for the rest of the night and the ones to come...until they are truly dead. So many this time. Maybe it would help if I just woke up...maybe if I cannot dream they die, they will not die. Who knows?”

She blinked her eyes and focussed. “Would you please punch me or something to see if that will wake me up?” The girl looked at Finodborn with a completely serious face, all the while making sure she had her back to a wall.

[Finodborn]

She really started to scare him. Not that the situation was really cozy and appealing for Automne and him until Syrawenn had entered the building, but giant snakes for one were not amongst the things they'd seen up til now.

"I'm not much of a seer, Syrawenn -and he spoke the name with much attention to produce each sound as bright and outspoken as possible, degusting it- , but one thing I do know is: there's a huge difference between being on guard and being afraid. In fear, our senses are narrowed down, whereas in rest we can only use them optimally. So I still suggest you calm down a bit."

"I did hear a voice laughing, but I've heard more spectacular things today, some of which I even produced myself. Furthermore we have reason to believe that I and Automne are divine instruments of some sort. So let us not jump to conclusions, as clearly the obvious is not at home here."

When she started about elves, he couldn't help but smile his teeth bare. He chose not to try to take away her naive presumptions about the tales that are the lives of the elves, many of which don't end all that happy. "As I said, I do not really know who or where I am nor where I come from. Now what's this about voices keeping you going and people dying everywhere? I really don't understand what you're talking about, and if you want me to say anything about it, you'll have to do a better job explaining. Why is it that you feel responsible for the lives of all these dead people?"

"Punch you?! I don't think I want to do that... Anyhow, my punch is so girlie that it wouldn't wake you up anyhow. However, there is another option" he spoke with a voice loden with seriousness. Then he quickly stepped up to her and blew her in her nose as hard as he could. Ha! That should do the trick...

This girl doesn't talk like a girl... she has experienced things that make me a young boy compared to her, so it seems.

While she was recovering, he delved up the orb, as well as the mysterious wind instrument madam Rahan had given him. "Say Syrawenn, perhaps you know more about the use of these items?"

[Guest]

Automne just stood there, baffled and quiet as the girl came storming in a fit of hysteria and fear, or perhaps caution? Her eyebrow twitched as she landed squarely in his arms, but she did not say anything.

The girl pointed to her calling her a possible-dream-person but Automne shook her head. Then the girl suddenly seemed baffled as to why elves were here. Storybooks she says? she cocked an eyebrow, but now for the first time showed a caring smile.

The girl became frantic, then calm, and then, asleep? But then, ah yes, awake! She chuckled at Finodborn's comment about his own punches.

"Well dont doubt your own stre-"

He blew on her nose, the sight was both strange and hilarious. She laughed briefly but soon regained her composure, brushing red-golden and chestnut bangs from her eyes. Finodborn asked about his instrument, and she just looked at them both for a moment.

"Yes, and please. If you can, tell us what is going on up there?" she pointed to the heavens, "Finodborn and I, according to what we've been told are doomed to destroy this place. Or one or the other." Her brows furrowed, she stepped up and grabbed his elbow, "Im not so sure I can do that. But the gods have power over everything yes?" She closed her eyes and leaned her head down abit, her bangs falling forward revealing her own decorated elf ears. She sighed slowly and semi-sadly.

[Syrawenn]

“Narrowing the senses...nice one...” The girl called Syrawenn mused, one hand on her chin. “Okaaaay...calming down...see? Calm now.” She took another deep breath and looked around again. Whaddayaknow! The other one is reacting. Another waking dreamer then. Wow, she is pretty...I guess I really disturbed these two then in their private mome...

Before she could finish the thought Finodborn stepped in and blew in her nose. The chaotic girl staggered back, holding her nose and shaking her head, laughing and trying to sneeze at the same time. Finally the releasing sneeze came. “HatchOO! Aaah...much better, but I’m still here...not better. Rats.”
She rubbed her nose again, which still itched and shot Finodborn a kind of indignified look, but the giggles spoiled the entire effect. “That was funny! You really are a weirdo, but a nice one. Items? Explanation? Which one first?” Syrawenn glanced at the items mentioned. They did not look familiar at all. I’ll have a look at them in a moment. She promised herself, her hands already itching to get a hold of those strange looking objects.

“Right, explanation. I already explained, mister noseblower. When people die in my dreams, they will die in reality. Tough luck, I guess, but maybe I get a chance to warn them....but it’s never been so many before and I haven’t got the faintest where to start! I don’t even know where this place is!” She was getting worked up again, desperately trying to keep the voices in the background. “As for what is going on out there, miss other-elf, haven’t you guessed by now? It’s chaos, darkness flooding the city and basically eating everything in it’s path. People are dying where they stand, armies are invading, a snake is roaming -but I still think he’s the least of our concerns, he was kinda funny too- and in the meantime we can’t wake up! Hold on, what did you say?”

Big sea-grey eyes stared at Automne. “You said what?” Syrawenn repeated, slowly taking a step towards the woman that was holding Finodborn. A little voice in her mind made notice of the fact that Automne was touching Finodborn and wondered how close they were. A headache was growing between her eyes. Her words came out dangerously calm: “The gods have power over everything and they told you you two are here to destroy this place...the gods told you that and you believe them and simply go along...like sheep...you two are here to destroy this place...and you dare ask me what is going on out there? You blindly follow the word of some stupid god that does not know his followers from an itching toe, that will use you to do his divinely idiotic will and you go along in this? Does being an Elf mean you have no free will or something? I dare say it is your turn to explain something to me before I find a way to collapse this house with the three of us in it! The world will be a better place!”

Her eyes shot fire, looking from the one Elf to the other, her arms loosely folded over eachother, ready to act if necessary even though she did not seem to carry any weaponry.

[Finodborn]

The tensed muscles in his neck relaxed a bit as she seemed to be calming down a bit. Well that's something already...

He had to laugh as she was sneezing, and he heard Automne laugh too. When she tried to give him the 'hurt' look he had to laugh even harder. By the time she called him a weirdo, his tummy was really aching. "Look who's talking!" he managed to squeeze out with a breathless voice between to gasps for air.

As he recovered, he listened to her story, and slowly the implications of what she said were dawning on him... "How do you know people die 'in reality' if they die in your dream Syrawenn? You mean like you have these dreams all the time?" A vibration ran upon his spine. If that were true for him, he'd never be able to sleep at all. He saw her stress increasing again. Perhaps an overdose of trauma had made her a bit funny in the head or something.

As he saw her get angry and aggressive he became a bit frightened, and increased distance between the two of them. He put the objects away quickly, out of her reach. "Now listen!" he yelled, trying to interrupt her rattling. "Things aren't always as clear and straightforward as they appear to you!" He then told her all about his day up till know, starting with the hazy walk on the marketplace, about all madam Rahan had told him, about the musical duel, about the sun and the sea, the whole lot.

[Guest]

Automne's eyes also shot forth hre fury, what had turned into a serious conversation was now brewing an argument.

"You! You tiny, incredulous thing! If only you knew! I did not find means to this city by my own means. NEVER! NEVER did I say I was in there control. I was stating that the gods find a way to manipulate to get there will. You tell ME if this is not so? Was if Finodborn or I who chose this, and before you came Finodborn and I had decided that we were going to avoid this fate if we could..."

She held her breath, trying not to lash out at the girl to a point where she lost control, "Listen, I know you are a very sweet girl... Im sure that now you are stressed," Automne's eyebrow twitched as shetried to keep her anger and voice in check," we wanted to seek your help. A first step to avoiding this fate. Apparently you know things that we don't, is it that wrong to ask without getting our heads bitten off...." She swallowed hoping she wouldn't have to say anything else and that her meaning would be well understood. However, she could not help but adding in a low and sinister tone, "But don't you dare ever call me some puppet or threaten me..." She clenched her fists but crossed them over her chest to calm herself, after all Automne wanted to give the girl a chance to rethink her choice of words.

[Syrawenn]

As soon as the anger had flashed up in the strange girl's eyes it vanished again to be replaced by a thoughtful look. Her arms relaxed as she listened first to Finodborn and then to the very agitated Automne. So much was going on at the same time that it was almost impossible to keep track of things. But, Syrawenn vouched to herself, I sure as all the seven isles am gonna try to figure this out!

She nodded, something of satisfaction on her face. "Thanks. I needed that. Very cool outburst, I could learn something from that. At least you just showed you got yer own ideas about what is right and wrong...so now I know you're no deity-fan per se and that's good. Cause the gods can be soooo incredibly daft when it comes to human affairs. They do seem to forget there is this little thing called mortality...oh wait, do Elves die of old age? Never mind, not important right now. Might not get the chance to get old here anyway. So..."

She sat down where she stood, crossing her legs as if this was some kind of tea party. "Let's put our cards on the table and see what we know...I just heard Fin's story of course and from where I'm standing -sitting, pardon- I see not just two warring parties but four or even five." The girl put up her hand and started counting. "We got the sun god who seems to be preferred by your mysterious madam Rahannana, then we got his counterpart the seastuffpeople who are cruel according to aforementioned lady, then there is this Nox shadowy person who seems to have an entirely different agenda...sounds to me like Nox is breaking free of this dream and is gonna pester us in waking life...and then there is madame Rahoopla herself who is charged with breaking the circle. Last but not least it's all the waking people who are stuck here. Ain't this a nice little cosy group?"

She looked from the one Elf to the other, continuing as long as they did not try to decapitate her to be rid of her endless babbling. Hush, you got too vivid an imagination! Fine, fine, but this IS a dream, you never can tell!

"Anyway, there are these items to help either the sungod or the seagod. As far as I'm concerned it's not necessarily smart to break a balance..." The grey eyed girl thought back of Nolaquen and Eawenn and their struggle in balancing time and realities and giggled. What is this with balance? Why do I keep falling into those scales?

"But now that we're here...guys, once more: this is a dream. Trust me. I don't know about what kind of dream, cept that it seems to be more real than normal. That strengthens my ideas about Noxyboy. He's getting out and letting us to rot here in the chaos. Well, tough cookie, cause chaos is just my thing!
Question: what does your gut tell you to do with those items? Songs are songs, but not all songs are just songs and in my experience when people or divine cuties try to make you choose there is a hidden third choice that they prefer not to mention.
I'd like to place my bet on that one, but gotta find it first. Maybe the trick is to find the door that Nox is using...maybe the trick is to trick Nox into leaving through another door that will get him back into another dream...a kind of loopy thing.
If this dream is more real than normal, we could try to shape it by being stubborn as stubborn can be or by using those items you just showed me.

Any comments so far?"

[Guest]

Rendia

As Rendia lay there, with the sea openly threatening to pour into the city like an overfilled cup, something awoke within her. It wasn't a sharp awakening, or a harsh control, as the half-goddess had instilled her with. Instead, this was a kind of quiet and luting song in her heart- something familiar and at the same time distant and regal. It was not the harsh and petulant god who claimed to be the Mistress of the Lake- it was not the soft weeping that was somehow dreadful despite its sadness. Instead, this was something simpler- more important.

The new voice seemed to grasp Rendia in a silken hand, gently washing away the other throats that lingered yet in this place of shadow. A voice surprised her, then- the familiar voice of a young girl. The voice of Rendia's self- as a child.

"Priestess Rendia? Why should I believe in Anasis?" The voice was somehow alien in its resemblance to Rendia's own- and as the priestess looked up, she saw something formal in the eyes. They glowed with an inner fire- like blazing jewels of a sapphire sea and a cerulean sky. "Why should I believe in the goddess of the lake?" The girl was surrounded by a fine mist of glowing particles, as if smoke was billowing from her every pore and immediately alighting.

"Why should you believe in me, my priestess?"

Isabella

The demon grinned leeringly at Isabella. "You are so confident, Muchislian- the bitch might have done well to send someone more discreet for her task." He clucked disapprovingly as he escorted her gingerly from the throne room, offering a mock bow to the clinging sultan as they departed. "It is a shame that this place must stop existing, you know. It's rather pretty. A shame that the empath they sent to try and defeat me is an overconfident Muchislian- such is your folly, and such will be your downfall." The demon suddenly seemed to strike an aching resemblance to Andolin- excluding, of course, the dead eyes that seemed to encompass everything at once, and yet stared at nothing.

Once the pair was outside the entryway- although Isabella had no recollection of ever moving through what had been a very certainly closed door- the demon turned to her sharply, red gleaming within the pits of his eyes. "I think it is time that you learned a lesson- the same lesson that Rahan learned, and the same that all who live within this place shall learn." He was about to speak further, but paused first, as if to consider something else.

The woman suddenly realized that they were no longer even near the palace- that they were in some old and abandoned building. There were a few soft chairs cast around, but the inside of the building was scorched... and she thought she perhaps could recognize a twisted visage of Pan in the dim interior. There was blood too, on the floor- but it was old, and had long congealed into a sort of grim carpet.

"Time passes slowly here, relative to your own world." He narrowed his eyes to needlepoints that could have easily pierced the strongest armor. "Some saw fit to trap me in this place- tried to send me away from Tazlure. They couldn't have known they would only trap me in their own dreams, now could they have? No, the people who did this were cocky and confident, with their love of the Hooved One and their casual use of empathy." He was ranting now, lost in the majesty of the moment. "So for a millenia I have sat here, waiting, hoping for my chance to leave... willing that I could find a way out of this place."

He paused then, and the smile returned as his expression relaxed. "The key out, of course, is you, Isabella Florentina of the Citadel, formerly of Muchislie. You are the key to let me out of this place." Tiny tendrils of raw and red emotion flowed out of him, then, gently rubbing the edges of Isabella's shield. "Such a pretty trick that the half-elf taught you. Pretty little trick indeed."

And then found her shield shimmering and wavering under the constant blast of passionate energy striking it- exactly the sort of passion she might have used in her wooing of Andolin, except somehow more physical and seductive. It seemed more raw, and less elegant- seeping through the cracks that already lined her shield.

The mocking laughter filled her mind, and despite herself, fear threatened to take hold. "Defend yourself, harlot. Or are you too weak?"

Zaure

Isa's shield shut out the elf's parting sentiment, although there was no way that Zaure could have known. He could only see her staring up at him, uncomprehending, and then her confidence returned and she spoke something to the demon that the elf could not hear- and then the pair sank into shadow and were gone from the chamber, leaving only the silence of terror and the soft whimpering of the Sultan's clinging form. Zaure's confidence consoled him somewhat, but like all children, his fear was irrational and extreme- not even Zaure's ministrations could stop the tears in his eyes completely.

After a moment of hushed silence, the magi woman spoke again- her tone clipped and formal. "He is not done- he will destroy her and return for the rest." He sighed rigidily. "This place has kept him captive for far too long, and he will want revenge." She sighed mournfully and looked over at the Sultan. "Especially on the force that binds this place together. He's tried it before, of course. And if that meddler Rahan hadn't taken the vial, we wouldn't be in this mess now, would we?" Her words made no sense to anyone within the bazaar- although the male magi nodded in agreement.

The sultan stepped away from Zaure, then and looked at the magi. "What, then? Will you not retrieve the item for me?" He gazed imperiously at the pair, and they shrank visibly from his angry stare upon his face. He looked toward the still silent hall, his tiny voice almost lost in the vastness. "Will nobody go and fetch my bauble for me? Does nobody have enough strength to brave the darkness?" The guards were still frozen from the demon's icy presence, and the nobles visibly blanched at the thought. He sighed, then, and clung to Zaure for a moment, tears streaming down his face as his lips quavered yet again.

"I don't want to die..."

Zhavon

As Perdita collapsed behind her, the woman found herself running into objects in the inky blackness of the abandoned bazaar. In her search for refuge, she found herself growing closer to something in the distance. There was light there- but something compelled the woman to remain still for a moment longer. As she watched, the dark man exited, with a woman in his company... the Muchislian woman whom had escaped her sentence to the dungeon. He led her, and it seemed that she did not know where she walked, so ensnaring was the soft whisper of his voice.

In a few moments, the pair had disintegrated into smoke and were gone, leaving only a few scattered ashes and the haunting sound of the voice. It was with suddennes that she realized that something warm and vibrant was in her hand. As she found herself unclenching her fists, she noticed something that shocked her.

The vial was in her hand, whole and unbroken- shining light that spilled over her and onto the palace entrance. It was still beautiful- and there was still the familiar haunting obsession that loomed over all who looked upon the vial. It begged her to fulfill its purpose- to make done what needed to be done, but could not tell her what. Instead, she was suddenly aware of voices in a nearby house- voices speaking about death and dreams... and there was something oddly comforting about the way they spoke- with confidence and certainty. She could recognize three distinct voices...

The vial hummed quietly, with confidence.

Finodborn, Automne, and Syrawenn

((OOC: I'm sorry, but you guys are doing great on your own- and posting well. At the moment, though, it's better to let this conversation to continue for a bit until you do something that I can properly react to. ))

[Gia as Rendia]

Rendia coughed and sputtered as the keening in her own horse throat died away and she listened, too invaded to care very much what was coming. Something was coming... and it demanded her notice somehow. Stubbornly, Rendia turned away roughly, trying to fall back into oblivion until this had passed.

The voice again stopped her. She knew what it was... but she still could neither escape or find a reason to care. It was alien also in that she had never said those things. They sounded familiar, but Rendia did not want to remember why.

She did not question why she should have the distinct impression of glowing eyes. She did not question when the girl appeared... beautiful... more beautiful then Rendia had ever known. And she asked again.

"Priestess Rendia? Why should I believe in Anasis? Why should I believe in the goddess of the lake?"

Rendia wanted to squirm away and shield her eyes, hide like a sulking toddler and tell everything to go away. She knew she could not allow herself that. She tasted the dryness from screaming in her mouth as her teeth ground back and forth, and the roughness breaking into blood. In that moment of waking back to thought, like waking from deep sleep, she fought and tried to resist... five more burns...

Instinctually killing any waking of emotion or trust, slowly, Rendia allowed her mind to respond tentatively, weakly.

Why? she asked, slurring her thoughts as you would half asleep. Quietly she reached for the comprehension. An answer to why. She moved her tongue with a groan. Nothing... there is nothing... because I am nothing...

She stared at the figure, still unable to care what it really was. She just knew she had been asked to answer, so she was. Images of doubts and questions flickered through her memory. There were no words to them. But their essence was like... what about when he tried to destroy you? What about when you went without? What about where you ended up? What about the pain? What about the price you paid to heal? What about the first time they ever told you of Anasis? What changed since then? Why? Why should you of all people, who has never gotten anything worth having... Why should you believe that a good night's sleep and clean clothes and a free bath and an erasing of your scars and a friend who made you cry because she was so safe she did not deny you anything... is that really all you have to show? Is any of it real?

And if it is not... then I must not be real either... If any of that were so... then nothing exists at all. I know there was pain. That is because there is... there is...

Mercy? Light? Truth? Life?

"Why?"

Rendia did not really know. A memory whispered to her... "The wisest answer is: I don't know. "

Not this time. Rendia struggled. But it still was not enough. Blankly she looked at the figure, until she was really staring through her, trying to see the answer in the distance. The blood wet her tongue. It was alright to be broken and inadequate.

"Because," Rendia croaked, "she is good."

[Guest]

Automne placed one hand to her chin, the other placed calmly on her hip. Her angry eyes, that furious fire, had cooled too to there kind green blaze. "You know, you have quite the point there..." She thought, thinking maybe the piece to the puzzle was hidden in some event from before. Playing to the guards? No that couldn't be it... perhaps.... Automne snapped her fingers.

"Is there anyway we could... say... blend the songs? Pour them together?"

The earlier events of that day, the musical duel between she and finodborn... they had each played there song, the other adding to the song in a lung-straining and thought consuming battle.

"If we could somehow do something like that, maybe we could restore some tiny balance... or... myabe that would just make things blow up faster?" Automne laughed despite the dreariness of her comment. "What ideas do you have Finodborn?"

She pulled her long, fallen bangs behind her ears. Her fingers brushed past her ears, knocking a few of the dangling decorations against each other. A tiny windchime sound in the dark of Madam Rahan's house, both lovely and forboding in it's own sense. Music, who would have thought it could do so much? The thought made Automne feel some bittersweet pang of joy and regret. She wanted to be a bard for that reason, that music could do so much... but like this? This was ridiculous!

[Zhavon Mikhalrian]

After running into the first thing, an abandoned, overturned cart, in the dark, Zhavon thought better of her wild flight through the lightless bazaar. She slowed her pace considerably, one hand before her to feel for anymore obstacles. It wasn't an ideal solution, she still tripped on whatever littered the street or sidewalk that she couldn't feel at waist level. At one point, the girl fell to her knees, the pain enough to make her gasp and rise gingerly again to her feet. Looking up, it was then she saw the faint light in the distance, a ray of hope that almost made her weep in relief. Moving towards it, she continued her half stumble, half jog through the streets towards it.

Reaching the light, though was another thing altogether. Struck with the sudden inspiration to hold still and stray behind the corner of a building out of sight, Zhavon did precisel that. Leaning close to the edge, she watched as the dark man (the sight of him sending a shudder of terror down her spine) lead the woman from earlier that day out onto the road. A name flashed through her mind, recognition flaring from seemingly another life. Isabella. Zhavon knew her, from somewhere, she knew the woman's name and what she did, and that they had shared a dance class together in some other life. Her breath stopped, eyes wide with this knowledge as she pressed her back against the wall to keep from being seen by either of them. But they were gone, save the sound of the siren's voice of the dark man.

A warmth spread through her right hand, and for a moment, Zhavon thought she had pierced the skin from the strength of her clenched fist. Looking down, the light still dim in the area, she opened her hand. Surprise radiated through her at what she saw there. The vial. Her vial to be exact, the light shining as brightly as before, filling the void of darkness about her like a beacon. Again, she forgot to breath as she stared at the gorgeous brilliance she held. The sense that she had a purpose flooded her in a sudden, unexpected wave, seizing hold of her without mercy.

With a reluctant sigh and the obvious sluggishness of one who did not want to act, she unwrapped the veil from her hair and face and began to fold the beautiful vial in the cloth. Hoping to dim the light it gave off, she eyed her handiwork before slipping the bundle into her pocket, her fingers still coiled about it. The encounter with the dark man and all the others in the bazaar made her fearful that the vial would be discovered and confenscated again.

Catching sound of the voices nearby, she turned in their general direction to join them, figuring that these people were alive and not like the evil man. With the thrum of the vial to give her strength, she began her shuffle in the dark towards the house. Zhavon remembered her manners, even in this peculiar, terrorfying dark times and lifted her hand to knock upon the door.

[Finodborn]

Finodborn sighed deeply. How can it be that even in one's dreams one can be held responsible for things, and even the faith of a world?

"I have no idea on how we should do this... Syrawenn's ideas sound very nice and her analysis is proof of a sharp intellect, however thinking it up and bringing it to be are two different things.

I'm no mage nor cleric, and until very recently I considered music only a way to seek beauty. It is very well possible that what you suggest might work, Automne, but it might as well fail miserably, possibly with desastrous results. As far as I can see we have no means to control the mystic consequences of our song-weaving, and therefore it is risky business. I really don't know what we should do here... Feels like we don't have enough information to do anything sensible."

Finodborn took the orb in his hands again and focused his attention on it, stroking it's once perfectly smooth surface. As it was chipped, and he was no clairvoyant, he didn't really expect much of it, but he considered it worth a try anyhow.

[Isabella Florentina]

Isabella wasn't even surprised when the daemon took on the guise of Andolin. In fact, it was one of her favorite fantasies that they had played at during their secret meetings. Even when he first seduced me. She just arched an eyebrow at the creature. So, this will be a battle worthy of a panling then.

As if guessing her thoughts the grim interior of the old keep the Rose found herself in reminded her somehow of the Horned God. Pan's Blood. The passion of revenge. An image of a magnificent half giant filling her in celebration of Pan's lighter joys brought a smile to her face and she faced the dark beast that so resembled her lover with increased confidence, his sneering words falling from her like droplets from a polished table. His words confirmed her suspicions and Isa smirked as the daemon diminished before her eyes.

Then his power touched her and it was more real than she could ever had imagined, and her confidence wavered. Isabella felt the seduction sweeping over, trying to find the cracks in her shield. This is more than a dream, she realized as her breath quickened in response, this IS a place between reality and dreams, carrying repercussions when I wake up. How strange all these dreams have been and this one most of all.

Isabella repressed a groan, refusing to let the daemon see how she affected became, instead using her own mind to not so much create a memory to attack with as she usually did, but instead taking what infused her right now and sending it back at him. Her mind focused on a mirror, change her shield from an opaque gossamer to a shining armor, while her thoughts raced. If only I could create an amplifier of some sort, giving back tenfold what I receive.

Despite her flushed cheeks Isa pretended calmness as she laughed softly "This is not the natural order of things, dark prince. Why don't you share your name with me, and I will share Joy with you like you have never felt before." The invocation of her gods power brought an image of light with it, and the memory of the soaring spirits in the Aether when she had joined with Pan himself.

[Zaure]

Zaure's eyes widened and he gave a soft gasp at Isabella's vanishing, betraying his surprise and also that his facade of confidence for the Sultan was just that, a facade. Still, he ran his hands through the child-Sultan's hair in a gesture of comfort, still holding the boy tightly, wiping the ever-present tears from the child's eyes. Normally, the child's fear would seem exaggerated, but the elf had a feeling it was just a more honest, outward reflection of the fear every person in that room felt.

"Destroy her?" The words were soft out of Zaure's mouth, but, considering the amount of empathy he was expending to keep the Sultan intact, energy seeped into his words. He was not afraid for Isa as such, what happened to her meant nothing to him, but if such an empath was so easily destroyed, just by a pronunciation... "Kept him captive? How long has he been here?" At her look at the Sultan, Zaure set the little boy down, but kept his hands possessively on the boy's shoulders, 'So this little boy is the uniting force of this city...' He held his chin up and addressed both of the magi, "What is this vial, and what does it mean?"

The elf let his hands slide off the Sultan's shoulders as the boy stepped forward to deliver a scathing look to the two magi, but gladly accepted him back when he wished it, then forced the small form away from him slightly. Zaure went onto his knees so he was face to face with the boy, hands on his shoulders, "I will go. But I have to ask something of you first. I... do not know this place, therefore I cannot know what is amiss. You do, if what they," he gestured to the magi, "have said is correct. What I ask is something you may not wish to do. I would like to..." He stopped to search for words, "To link myself to you, so that I could know this place as you know it, and see where the wrong is, to avoid it so I can get you the vial."

Zaure took a deep breath, "If you agree, then sing with me, that is all. If you don't, and you don't want me to link my mind to yours, then don't sing, and I shall not do it." At this, the elf began to sing gently, an elvish lullaby, taking much care not to put any pressure into the words, allowing the boy to make his own decision. If the boy sang, and only if, would he link himself to the Sultan.

[Guest]

Automne, switched her hands to her hips and frowned.

"Let me think... I suppose my idea should best be used as a last resort. It is clearly evident that this is no normal dream. Therefore it makes sense that the answer to this conundrum isn't normal either. Wouldn't you agree? I suggest that we find a way to make Syrawenn's dream.. no punn intended... a reality. So Syrawenn, how do you suppose we start?"

Automne gave her an encouraging smile and scooted up a little more closely, tugging on Finodborn's arms ever so deilcately, subconsciously.

[Guest]

Rendia

The little girl who was not really a little girl smiled up at the priestess. There was something in the smile that belied its simplicity- for the girl was something more than she let on, and Rendia was aware of this. The figment of whatever deity had lurked in this place, and had wept and cried and bemoaned her fate was gone. This, now, was what Rendia had searched for- within this small child who stared at the darken sky in mourning.

"You deserve better than this, lady Rendia. You deserve more than this place and more than this fate." The girl smiled and suddenly was a young woman, the reflection of a lake visible in her larger than usual eyes- her beauty complimentary to that of a sunset or rainbow. "You are wise beyond your years, child. Uphuron has quite a follower in you..." She looked mournfully at the sky, her skin still glowing, as if the sun still fell upon it.

"Your faith alone holds me here- your faith, alone among all the silent throats in its plea." The woman's thick hair floated in an invisible and unfelt breeze. "Why am I here, my priestess- what is it that you need from the Mistress of the Lake?"

Water began to seep into the city, trickling around Rendia's ankles through the myriad cracks in the city walls. The water spun and eddied- and it was clear that the walls would not stem the tide for very long.

Isabella

The passion surge from the demon in increasingly brighter colors- the passion of anger and passion and lust flowing through his arms- streaming from his charcoal hair, that so resembled Andolin's own. It was almost as if the limitations on his power weren't those imposed by his strength- but rather by his mortal guise. The laugh sounded like the rumbling of the earth beneath Isabella's feet, as if the ground itself had become a millstone, slowly turning and moaning.

Isa could feel the raw emotion eat into her- threatening to overthrow sensability and rationality. Rage gave the world a reddish tint, and the inexplicable lust brought weakness to her knees. Her loins burned despite her resolve, and the fantasies, emotions, and thoughts threatened to overwhelm her sensibilities.

But then her shield began to change, slowly at first, but with increasing rapidity. The surface developed a shimmery sheen to it, as of moist metal in an afternoon sun- and the shield became almost tangible, surrounded by halos and aurae. The surface was a mirror of the spirit and heart- turning aside the energies flung at the dark haired woman and sending them back. But it was as if she was more than a mirror- for she brightened the energy being given to her as she returned it, touching it with light and joy, the feelings of her own ecstasy and passion as the threads passed through her mind.

As the energy surged into the demon, he gave a low grunt of surprise- and then he grinned at the empath, his eyes deep red and smoldering. In this moment, he looked like Andolin at the peak of his sensual climax. The same gleam danced within his eyes, as he continued to grunt and grimace...

And then the creature moaned in pure delight, as the emotions continued to flood through him. It was clear that he was not concerned about being affected by emotions- at least, not in the same sense that Isa was. His skin took on an unearthly glow, glimmering despite the shadow that loomed about it. His head thrown back, he crooned loudly- and then he stood perfectly still- and the cycle of passionate energy stopped...

The demon fell to his knees and whispered something in a foreign tongue, which somehow made sense to the Muchislian's ears. "I will give you my name once the time is right, love... but not a moment sooner. Surely you know that beings like myself feed on passion and lust- on energies that you so kindly suffused me with." The smirk was there- and it was Andolin all over again... drawing a slender blade from somewhere upon his person, the Andolin doppelganger took a solid step toward Isabella, radiant energy surrounding him- forming a corona about his face and arm.

The blade glimmered unholily, emulating the savage grin on the creature's face.

Zhavon, Syrawenn, Finodborn, Automne

As he touched the orb, Finodborn felt a lingering spark touch his heart and mind- an almost reminscent smell filled his nostrils. He could recognize it as the incense that had once burned in this place when Madam Rahan had dwelled here. The long crack was jagged and rough- and it scraped at his prying fingers, but nothing magical or special flowed through him- there was no awakening, except for that gentle smell, and the sensation of wisdom and age that came with touching anything that has belong to someone else for a very long time. But the instrument called to him, then- as if touching the orb had been a trigger for something greater, and it wasn't long before the elf felt it in his hands once more.

The lilting cry of the sun flowed into Finodborn's mind- and his fingers found themselves slipping in a pattern upon the instrument- entirely of their own volition. A similar thing happened to Automne's own- but the pattern was simple, incomplete. It was missing something... its tempo and rhythm seemed to solid and formidable- something devoid of change and surprise. Each beat was as predictable as the last- as the roaring grew louder outside. The whispers did not speak- instead, the instruments and their inhabitors offered gently encouraging tones into the minds of the two elves.

Syrawenn felt the barest edges of the voices slipping back into her mind- the same beseeching call from before, but this time one of the voices stood out from among the throats of the dead spirits. One single refrain echoed over, and chills spread themselves and multiplied across the woman's skin, her auburn hair standing on end. The soft humming- a man's humming... far too deep for Syrawenn's own longs... emanated from her chest, following the time of the symphony of silence crafted by Finodborn and Automne's nonexistant music.

In this moment, somehow, the dead voice was familiar to the brown haired woman. It was the voice of the sun- the same sun that had beat upon her face and arms- in a place and time that seemed so far removed from the current one. Jaji himself was among the dead- and it was he who lent his voice to Syrawenn- not intrusive and controlling, but rather presented as a tool. A gift- but nothing more.

As Zhavon drew closer to the door- Syrawenn, Finodborn and Automne could hear the footsteps of her progress, light outside the door- but more importantly, they could see the brilliant light that shone from the vial despite the woman's attempts to stifle it. It wasn't so very different from the glow of the sunlight- warm and pale over desert sands- a total antithesis to the unholy glow of The Nox.

The vial whispered sweetly to Zhavon- sweet nothings of passion and encouragement. There was something the woman had yet to do... some secret the aliquot of liquid light knew but would not tell. There was talk of faith, of balance- and of the tragic fate of the elven empath, another broken link. Seven images danced about within Zhavon's mind- chains and links breaking. Somehow, this was relevent- but exactly how wasn't clear. The broken links were shattered... but something brilliant seemed to be sliding them together- an adhesive without any force to assist in its binding.

Zaure

The elflet found himself outside the palace walls with a suddenness that surprised even him- the magi had been swifter than expected, moving Zaure outside the perimeter with the speed of a thousand winds. But there was something in the air that drew the elf's attention away from whatever he had been sent to do- suddenly it seemed not important. It was, after all, a task for mortal hands- and Zaure's hands were no longer bound by such guidelines. There was something freeing and ephemeral about this realization, something dark and yet also wondrous- like the final notes of a song that had gone on for the exact amount of time needed, despite being cut short by an overzealous conductor.

The elf was no longer walking the paths of shadow- for the bazaar was alive to him, now. Walking easily between light and day- to the place where time held no meaning, and no power over any therein. He instead strode along the hallowed halls, not quite a palace but far from a hovel. It was a temple in the loosest sense of the word. There were loose couches and pillows thrown about, decadent music played in all its splendor. There was something familiar about this place... about the love he felt here.

A small man with curly hair and mischievous eyes smiled loosely- the gleam in his eyes sparkling beyond what even the brightest sunshine could do to a mortal iris- and then the man was lost in a swirling crowd of people. Everything shone with a soft white light- everything. Pillars of white marble and tapestries and flowing garments, all glowed with a subtle corona, a sparkle of something beyond their physical forms.

Other faces popped out, amid the multitude- the dark haired woman, walking callously to her undoubtable fate; the girl with her rustling skirts and wavering hair- disquieting eyes and heartening smile, a pack of cards shuffling itself from one hand to another; a rogue with a long ponytail, his eyes open to all things- wide and innocent within his faith, despite what some might call unfaithfulness; there was a tall halfelf, a shock of blonde hair brightening the dark mane, slightly pointed ears incapable of belonging to either human or elven cultures- delicate features smiling sadly at Zaure, the clothing charred but the beauty unimpaired. The woman who had loved despite herself whipped her joyous locks about her, spinning in a lethargic dance, crooning lightly for the Rose she had loved despite its thorns. Even the charcoal haired man lurked in the shadows, seeking the raven haired lady amid the crowd- glowering lightly at the wandering elflet.

But one among the faces stood out- a face calm and peaceful and zealous all at once. The woman's eyes were blank and encompassed everything and nothing, a walking stick clutched in her hand- her features as fine as porcelain. Despite her apparent blindness, she was not hindered by the crowd, her head moving to a silent music only she could hear. She looked instinctively toward Zaure- but saw nothing, heard nothing... and then she too disappeared back into the crowd. Somehow, though, it didn't matter. All that needed to be said had already been said- in a field, through long palaver.

And then the elf was in a corridor alone, a familiar song playing in his mind- the song of a young virtuoso who cried for the loss of the one called Zaure- alone in a room, upstairs in an old and boisterous tavern. Her tears showered the elf in a sapphire rain- cerulean mixing with the irridescence to give the room a rainbow sheen. A boy approached close, extending a comforting arm to the girl- and his horrid playing was somehow familiar too- endearing in its own way. The harmonies combined, and the girl smiled up at the boy, extending her hand into his.

Again he was in the bazaar- the only music now a requiem, though no more tears were shed- he walked resolutely toward the ocean, but he knew not why. The sea surged forward, smothering Zaure with foam and salty spray and shining droplets, but it didn't matter anymore. Nothing of the world mattered- nothing at all was his concern anymore, except for this journey through corridors and memory. And now, it was ended- the long walk had ended here, upon this long beach far beyond the edge of the bazaar.

With a last breath, Zaure's existance unravelled and respun itself- and the earth breathed a gentle sigh, a long and quavering note echoing to any who would hear it. The sun set. The sun rose. It did both- it did neither. Rain fell up- a broken vase unshattered. There was more ahead, was the realization- there was far more than the journey... there was peace and, perhaps- happiness.

Zaure departed.

[Finodborn]

OOC: Aden, erm, IC I said I was trying to get some life out of the orb of madam Rahan, not the musical instrument. Shall I play on nevertheless? (I guess it would be lots of re-writing to correct this...)

[Syrawenn]

Syrawenn grinned. Wow, I think they actually listened. Automne's unconscious little gesture did not escape her. Interesting. They represent opposing forces but they like eachother. How's that for symbolism? Might be a good sign, even if this is a dream.

The girl got up, wiped her hands on her cloak and looked around in the strange house. "Okay, lessee, what have we got here...you two have weird instruments to call on gods or something and either you choose one -which we don't like- or you play together -which I like loads, thanks Automne- and we got Noxpox finding his way out of here. Now what makes him stand out from the rest? He's obnoxious. Why is everybody so scared of him? Cause he manages to do what they can't. So if we go looking for him, we migth want to go the exact opposite way of where the utter horrible darkness is, cause that is no doubt a handy ruse to turn the attention here while he is getting out there." She waved a hand in a non-specific direction.

"Since this is a dream I am gonna assume that we can find things that are not as they should be...I mean, you always know when you're just dreaming about the day or when something from your waking here and now is secretly intruding, like a knock on the door and you dream of a woodpecker?" She tilted her head, looking at the two questioningly, then realized it might be a bit too tattered to understand. "I mean, you usually do notice things going on outside your dream but they influence your dream. So I wanna really really concentrate on that particular bit: the part where you just know and can feel that something does not belong inside the dream at all. Hell, worst case scenario we find other dreamers just like us cause they do not belong here either! Deal?"

A broad smile showed on her face.

ooc
Due to Fin's little ooc note I won't react to Aden's post yet until it has been specified what happens

[Guest]

OOC: This thread is on a schedule for finishing up soon, sadly- if I had all the time I wished, I would gladly have let you play out the bit with the (very broken) orb. As it is, though, you can just assume that the orb did nothing (which it would not have- it is linked to the woman's soul, which has passed). I'm very sorry for the rushedness of this, but... the schedule for finishing is a bit tight, sadly- and spending a post on the orb (while it would be a very pretty interlude) is not something I can feasibly do- especially with the rate at which the posts come in this thread.

[Gia as Rendia]

The knowledge dawned on Rendia slowly, foreign, brand new in the face of her complete unbeing moments before... or was it eons? And the Lady of the Lake was speaking, speaking words of praise that Rendia could never live up to. What did she deserve? How was she wise?

"I deserve the place and fate you give me," Rendia protested, the effort leaving her empty once more. And then she was speaking of Uphuron, oh, she was so lovely, standing there speaking kindness Rendia could not hope to fathom. She was not worth a worm that Anasis should be here.

The water did not register in Rendia's mind as a danger. Indeed, she was not seeming to process anything correctly. But she did realize she was being asked to say what she needed.

How... how dare I ask... or even say...?


Rendia struggled to a kneeling position. She could not defend herself, she realized. She could not tell in this state if this was the true Anasis. She could only believe. And this helplessness made her breathe catch painfully.

This freed her tongue. "Oh, Lady, you know what I need before I ask, and have given it before I was born," Rendia gasped, shaking. Lowering her eyes and thinking of nothing and everything she had known at the same time, she spoke to the goddess of her need.

"Mercy," Rendia whispered.

[Guest]

((OOC: Edit- I actually edited a bit with the orb into the post- but not enough to affect the storyline... I know it feels like godmodding, but I'm trying to give as much freedom as I can without letting the thread drag on forever. ))

[Isabella Florentina]

For just an instant Isabella felt triumph that her mirror was working, allowing her to draw breath and regain her selfconfidence. The daemon not only looked to Andolin in such a way that her loins started to react despite herself... he was reacting in a very similar, if far more powerful way on her clever whore's trick of returning passion.

Rage and lust threatened to overwhelm her, slipping through her shields despite her efforts, making her almost throw herself down upon the beast and she redoubled her efforts. It threw the beast into the last troes of passion, a climax she had not even illicited from Andolin though all but his eyes declared him to BE the dark sorceror and she did not trust her senses. There was always the possibility the two had been one all along.

As the daemon spoke it dawned on her with sinking horror what she'd done. Isa had been feeding the monster. Oops. He stepped towards her with a blade drawn, challenging her. Isabella swallowed, feeling as innocent and ignorant as a newborn babe, unable to perform this task that her Lord Pan had charged her with. "Take my blood, but it will be Pan's Blood. Take my Joy, but it will be Pan's Joy. I will change you beyond recognition and bind you to my will," she spat with more bravery than she felt "and if you will not succumb, then let the Light take you, and burn you to cinders. I am the Twilight. I am your only alternative." Isa held up her hand with her open palm, as if ordering him to stop.

Meanwhile her thoughts raced. If the limitations forced upon this beast where those of a mortal, would he bleed when cut? Was the solution to simply slay the monster?

[Finodborn]

OOC: I'm really really really sorry to have kept you waiting so long, Zhavon (&the others off course)! *Crawls through mud, hitting himself with something pain-inducing*

It had been a disappointment that the orb hadn't given them a straight path out of this darkness. However, the vague scent and presence had been a bit comforting, as they seemed well-known and soothing in this strange world, even though he had only encountered madam Rahan twice.

Finodborn's attention immediately shifted to the door. At first, he thought there was some thug who had come to slice there throats, or perhaps a giant snake who had found them. Though that would probably not knock before entering, he realised.

He put his instrument away now. He looked Syrawenn in the eyes. "Do you think this light belongs inside the dream at all?" he asked, pointing at the incredibly beautiful light, which seemed to have everything their music of a couple of flickers ago had lacked. He couldn't stop a tear from crawling out of his eye.

He just sat their for a while, greatly impressed; as nobody else showed any initiative, he simply said "Come in, please!"

[Syrawenn]

Strange, where is this voice coming from? Syrawenn wondered, not noticing the humming that rose from her chest. She looked at Finodborn to ask him and found her voice uttering something else completely! The male song that found it's way through her vocal chords stunned her for a couple of precious flickers, making her miss out on the footsteps outside.
The girl blinked. She blinked again. The voice simply blended in with the light in a way so perfect that her chaotic mind was not able to comprehend it. What is this?

Her question was voiced by the Elf: "Do you think this light belongs inside the dream at all?" he asked, pointing at the incredibly beautiful light.

Slowly she nodded. There was a sense of belonging in that light, nothing like her own intrusion into this whole mess. "I think so." Syrawenn whispered. "But eh...I don't think we're gonna get much choice in what we do...things are blending in already, let's use it! Let's make it stronger and chase Obnoxy in a corner! Come on! Huh?"

Right then Finodborn spoke: "Come in, please!"

Syrawenn shook her head. "No, I said come on! Wait, come in? Who'se there then?" Immediately on her guard she peered at the entrance, ready for whatever was going to disturb them this time.

[Zhavon Mikhalrian]

The wait felt like an eternity in the pitch black of whatever had descended upon the bazaar. The only lights were from the vial wrapped in her veil and shoved in her pocket, both precautions doing very little to dim its brilliance and from whomever was in the house at this very moment. Their conversation was muted, their voices heard but the walls doing well to muffle their words. She was close to weeping in despair as she was forced to wait there, needing to see those that belonged to the voices, another living face, anything but the terrible darkness or the horrible dark man who killed Perdita.

Leaning against the door, she raked her nails against the wood grain in desparation before finally, Syrawenn's voice lifted enough to impart her words to Zhavon. In a cry of release, she fumbled at the door handle and stumbled in. Tears flowed freely down her cheeks as she saw that these people were indeed alive, that they were not another part of this wretched nightmare. With a sob, she fumbled her way inside, moving straight for Syrawenn as the only one she recognized. Half falling, half sinking into the woman's arms or at her feet, she cried, mumbling something about being with people at last.

In due time, she would calm down, the vial still shining as brightly as ever through the silk veil. When she did recover herself, she slumped on the floor, her fingers seeking out the vial to clutch onto it like a talisman against the darkness. Zhavon spoke then, in a flat and despairing voice.

"After you left... she... the other woman and I were trying to reach for this and this dead man... Oh, he was horrible. He showed up out of no where, looking at us and laughing that we were fighting for it." It obviously meant the vial, though so far, of the other three present, only Syrawenn might have known that precisely. "I claimed it and he took it, it burned his hand, or I think it burned his hand... He said something about being chosen by a woman with a seeing stone. And then he killed that woman that was with us..." She shivered all over, speech caught up with sobs as she tried to relate the rest of her story.

"I turned to catch her, he moved so fast, I didn't even see him. She turned into darkness, it seeped all over her like a stain and I was frightened. I left her there, but I don't think there was anything I could have done." Zhavon gulped back another sob that threatened to claim her voice again. "I ran, and I saw the black man again with a woman, the one from the market who went to see the Sultan..." Isabella. The name radiated through her mind in recognition from some other place. "And that was when I suddenly had this again..."

"I came here. You were talking and... oh, dearest Pan, I had to see if there was anyone else alive here..." Looking up at them with watery green eyes, she sought out their support, or at least their sympathy. "...I, I don't know what's happening... I think that black man will come back. He said he'd deal with me later, and I could get you all killed!" The idea terrified her, that much was clear from the way her voice shook. "But please..."

Zhavon struggled to her feet, fighting her skirts and any of those that might have tried to keep her way she was. She was filled with the need to remove herself from their presence so not to endanger them, the desire so great, it overrode her need for living companions.

"I have to get away so he doesn't find me here with you and do the same to you..." Whimpering, she would move to the door if they hadn't stopped her from rising, the vial still clutched tight in her fist.