Blood Moon Prophecy (Sam 27th GT)

[Grey Wolf]

If you would like to join, PM me. We can discuss the reasons and implications that might have. I will send a few choice invitations too. The events that transpire here will have consequences in the waking land. So tread carefully.[hr][/hr]Sands. Endless desert. Nothing but sand as far as the eye could see. Nothing, but a hint of a mountain in the distance .Very, very far away. No sound disturbed the night air, save the howl of a wind. Clouds of sand rose, tinting the moon rising over the mountain red. Everything had that same reddish tint. Almost like everything was covered by a thin filmy layer of blood. The sand was red too. As it shifted there was a faint image of a bloody sea its waves tossed around by the same wind that swirled the sand.

The air smelled richly of ozone, just like it does after a storm. Yet, the sand was dry and sharp and scraped the skin as it was blown past. No clouds marred the sky, enabling the stars to add what little they could of their own red light. Rising in pitch, the wind wailed around a small rise in the sand where the tracks started. A single set of footprints. No more than a set of dents in the otherwise perfect surface of the sea of sand. Even now the wind was slowly corroding them, making the first few almost indistinguishable.

They led towards the mountains. A shallow valley shadowed by the mountain lead onwards. At the edge of light a row of figures stood. Vaguely humanoid, they stood as still as statues. Some of the poses were impossible. Leaned to the side they still did not move. A lone man, if it indeed was a man slowly approached them. He was the source of tracks. He was the one that left the tracks. The man never looked back. Onward his went, his pace painfully slow and steady. One step at the time, he approached the statues. One step at the time, he made the distance between his origin and himself greater. One step at a time he came closer to the shadow of the mountain. Shadow the blood red moon made.

[Fialessa Valenstri]

This red moon... She knew it would come, she'd expected it. What she had not was the sand... she didn't like it. It hurt as the winds hurtled it against the exposed parts of her flesh. She had to keep pace, she had to follow the steps, what she could see of them in the wind, in the starlight. Her red hair whipped behind her merging with the bloody reds that fell over the world. Even in the night she held her hand to cover her eyes, not to shield from light but from the grains of sand lest they crust her eyes and make it more difficult to keep sight of the footprints.

She tried to move faster as she trudged through the sands, as fast as one could as the ground shifted and sifted beneath one. She did not know why she followed or specifically who, only that she felt she should, it could not be explained, at least not by her. The walk seemed endless and she cursed the wind as it rose up, she prayed it did not sweep away all the tracks of the shape she saw farther off in the distance. She needed them. What? Who shall I find? Cold fear and apprehension gripped her as much as the exhilarated curiosity that coursed through her did. Her gaze fixed momentarily on the mountains before her and then refocused upon the steps, she was drawing closer with every step she moved closer...

[Grey Wolf]

The figure disappeared in the shadow of the mountains. The trail it left was still visible. As Fialessa followed them they became more and more pronounced. She was gaining on him. Line of figures in the distance soon became more distinct. They were people. Still too far to discern any features, there was no mistaking them for anything else. The trail led through them. Straight through their silent line. No movement still. They were all as still as statues.

As the Panling crossed the line of shadow, the night grew suddenly colder. Not by much, but it was obvious. Wind picked up in volume and the sands took on a darker color. One more akin to blood. Figures were now definitely human like. In fact they were adhiel. Each and every one of them dead. Encased in a glass shell. Looks of horror on their faces. Caught in various poses of torment. Men, women and children together. Whole families sometimes shrouded in a single shell. A smell of burning flesh permeated the air despite the wind.

The ground grew hard under Fia's feet. She walked on the sand no longer. Instead her feet tread on glass. In the distance the figure she had been following sat on a lone rock amidst the sea of bodies. His head was hung low. As if he were mourning for something. If someone were to approach him one distinct feature would become apparent. The man had goat legs. He was covered in silky fur. He had horns. A satyr? Or something more?

[Amber Kynterle]

Amber yelped as she got a knee in the gut, then growled in determination as she rolled over on top of her assailant. The youngest of her three brothers - though he was still older than her - laughed as they wrestled in the hay loft. "What are you laughing for?" she asked. "I'm on top now!" But then he hauled off and kicked her in the chest. With a cry of dismay, Amber fell backwards, slipping over the edge, falling toward the ground a good twenty feet below.

She landed in red sand, on her hands and knees, instead of on her back like she should have. She looked around. There was no barn anymore, no sign of her family's farm at all. "What the hell?" she breathed. The change of scenery confused her to no end. Something tugged at the corner of her mind, something that said this was normal, but she didn't understand it.

She stood slowly, brushing sand from her hands and knees. It was then that she noticed her clothing. It was her old clothing, only slightly modified. Black leather pants the clung to her hips and legs, with black boots, a black sleeveless vest over a crimson tunic that for some reason was far tighter around her chest than she remembered it being. She pulled at it a little bit, grimacing. For some reason, she remembered wearing a uniform of some sort that had been too tight around the chest. For a moment, the image of a red bear appeared on her vest, but then vanished, and she didn't notice it.

As she glanced back out at her surroundings, she noticed a set of footprints in the sand, leading away from her. They looked fairly fresh, though there was no one else to be seen. She didn't like this place, and she didn't want to be alone in it. She didn't know who'd made the footprints, but maybe it was someone she could hang out with for a bit. She started following them, moving quickly, although her pace was slowed by the sand. She'd never had to walk on sand like this before, and she went down a number of times. But she pulled herself back up again, and continued scampering over the sand as fast as she could, hoping to find someone soon...

[Sevti]

The world around her was nothing the human Panling had ever seen. Bodies encased in glass, dark red sand whipping around them. Every one an adhiel. Some she recognized from Temple, from their visits to her father's tavern. All of them were among those who disappeared a month ago. What has happened here? she found herself asking.

The wind caught hold of her deep red skirt, twisting it about her legs. Her attention turned from the scene around her to keep herself from falling with her next step. Carefully, she pulled her skirt up, gathering it into a loose knot in her right hand. After one step, she released it, taking her steps carefully. The danger of falling, she decided. was less harmful than the danger of having her legs cut by the tiny pieces of sand whirling around.

When she looked up once more, she saw a familiar figure in the distance, head bowed as he sat alone upon a rock. Horned One, what has happened to your people? she thought as her steps took her closer to her god. Beyond him, she saw another woman approaching, an adhiel unfamiliar to the young woman.

Wait, something told her. Let her approach first. She stepped onto the solid sheet of glass and stood there, watching what unfolded before her.

[Barrett]

Silent. No tell-tale beating of wings as the desert owl glided along on its nightly hunt. Silent as a soul soaring through the night. Hunting for answers. And more questions. Pale feathers seemed to take on the ominous hue of the moon. Softly, ever so slowly it landed near a frozen, outstretched hand. A hand that had been stretched out in one last unanswered prayer. Recognition lit the pale yellow eyes.

And suddenly there was a man standing where owl had been. A tall Dortman garbed in robes the color of sand. Though he had heard this scene described, though the consequences of the adhiel’s failed attempt to thwart Dominicus had occupied a large portion of his considerable mind for some time now, still he was shocked. Nothing in the words of the bard or in his own imaginings could have adequately prepared him for this. It was a long burn before he caught sight of the others there. The Horned One and some of his followers, perhaps?

He remained distant and respectfully silent, his stance oddly reminiscent of the stare of the owl.

Observe.

[Fialessa Valenstri]

She followed the shape toward the mountain, she saw statues as she moved forward. No, not statues... people... Her breath caught as she realized what she took for statues were people, unmoving people... why aren't they moving? She drew ever closer moving as quickly as she could. The sudden cold shuddered through her and had her reaching to draw her cloak around her shoulders. She found that she hadn't been wearing a cloak at all. Just a simple bodice and skirt, no help against the chill in the air.

Ach the smell... what is it... She'd never smelled burnt flesh before so she wasn't certain of the scent on the wind. It was awful whatever it was. She saw the faces now as she moved in closer, moved among the fringes of them. She wanted to cover her eyes, her nose... stop her breathing. Something so as not to see the horror upon their faces. Why am I here... why am I seeing this? She didn't know.

Her heart tugged with every face she saw, tears welled up in her eyes. Bare feet moved along the glassy floor she wove through the encased adhiel. There now... she saw him sitting there just before her. He was why she was here... wasn't he Fialessa moved even closer, her eyes widened as she took in through shining eyes at the distinctive features of the man. No... it cannot be... can it? Her heart ached at his mourning and somehow she knew it must be. She was close now, so very close but so afraid to speak, to break the silent sadness. Rather subconsciously with her hand she reached out to comfort him...

[Grey Wolf]

He was sad. Often the Horned One came here. This was the place where his people tried to fight back. Where they died. So many. At first it made him angry. Set his blood to boil. Gave him a will to fight. To punish the One responsible. His roar was terrible. His rage destructive. Time passed. The Joyful One lost his Joy. Sadness ruled him now. Tears were in abundance, but none were shed. He could not afford to show his sadness. To appear weak. Only in this place could he truly let go. Only here could he let the full burden of the situation become apparent.

As Fialessa advanced, a sad haunting music filled the night skies. A crude flute in the Sorrowful One's hands sent the notes across the desert. The wind picked them up and they mixed to form something bigger. Something even more sad than the tune itself. Swaying softly to the rhythm of the music, he never noticed her approach. The flute looked like something a child might make. A series of irregular rough reeds, tied together with a string of interwoven grass. So simple, yet the music it made was near perfect. It continued even as the crude thing was set down by the sorrowful musician.

His voice rose, in perfect harmony with the music. Deep masculine voice, added a new note to the melody. A sadness filled lament for all those that died. At first, there were no words to his singing, just a simple counterpoint to the shrill tune of the pipes. He did not hear the approaching girl, her footsteps completely silent on the sheet of glass that surrounded him. Music and the wind muffled what little noise she made. Just as she was about to reach him, his voice rose in song.

"Oh how they fell,
My pretty ones
How they cried
as thunders came

For mercy begged
None they got
How silly and sad
as thunders came

Valor they knew
Courage they had
Like mist it went
as thunders came."

As her hand touched his cheek, Pan rose his eyes to look at the petite adhiel. His voice paused, yet the tune went on. Bringing his own hand up to gently caress the back of her palm, the God gave the girl a sad smile. His eyes held hers as they filled with tears. A single large tear rolled down each cheek, before a stream started. Still he smiled, though there was no joy in the him. Motioning with his other hand to a spot next to him, he began the song anew.

"My children gone
And through my fault
He beat me then
as thunders came

Joy they knew
Joy they forgot
Only the pain they had
as thunders came

Art and Blood
side by side
ran and fell
as thunders came

Horned One's folly
to think he could
destroy the One
as thunders came."

Falling silent, Pan's head hung low. The tune of the flute went on. Flickers passed as he offered nothing more. Then, as if he had come to a decision, his head went up once more. Picking the flute up, the Horned One took Fialessa's hand in his own. Turning it so that the palm faced the sky, he set the flute in her hand and gently closed her fingers around it. A single shrill note rose, as if the flute protested. It was almost painful to bear, though it lasted but a flicker. Suddenly, just as it began, the note fell silent and only the wind howled around the pair.

[Guest]

Celestine tried so hard to think, to concentrate on what should be. The pain, and the sluggishness of her thoughts, made it hard for the young adhiel woman to focus. She could feel the landscape slowly changing about her though, could feel the sharp pain of the ground as it shifted around her, turning from the nightmarish forest it had been to the strange, dark valley where she had so recently met her God. Now as she reappeared here she found her lower body half-encased in a discolored, strangely ruddy glass. Panic immediately began to sink in and she started thrashing wildly.

"NO!" She could not, would not allow herself to be trapped like this! She had proven that she could change the landscape of this nightmare world with her thoughts and her inner strength and she would use that strength now! Focusing her will and stilling her body, she envisioned herself in the valley as it was; the beautiful rolling hills of greenery and flowers, the bright sunshine, the birds and small animals playing, and the followers of Pan darting about or resting in the shade of trees as they sang songs or played instruments or made love. Lines of concentration appeared on her softly smooth face. Sweat beads formed on her brow, hidden by the short blonde braids that a fellow acolyte had woven from the flowing locks that had been shorn in the Citadel's dungeons. The scars from the torturer Silk's knife still adorned her neck, face, and the parts of her body not obscured by her priestess's sari. She knew the spider's fangs had sunk in somewhere. It didn't matter. She had to believe, had to trust in Pan.

"My Lord Pan, please hear me. I am sorry. I could not save your temple in the Citadel. I could not kill the beast. I ask your forgiveness, and your protection for my brothers and sisters who yet remain." She bit her lip and tried to focus her mind and spirit on travelling to her God's side, free of the glass.

[Finodborn]

All of a sudden, a hand closed itself over Barrett's shoulder in a most unpleasant way.
A voice, filled with anger and sadness, whispered in his ear: "Not quite what facts and figures do to you, is it? Shall you stand here to watch once more, as a bystander too ashamed to be confronted with the smell of blood and the taste of pain?"

The horrid tune was audible even here, at least to the bard. In fact, it was all he ever heard lately when he closed his eyes and sought out the realms of music. He hummed along with the unsettling tune, his chin now resting on the shoulder of the young querist. A single tear escaped his eye, scarlet as the moon itself.

"If you want a good look, you have to go into the shadow, Barrett."

[Barrett]

A small part of Barrett wondered at the ease of communication in the Aether. The observation would be fuel for much theorizing later. But there were more pressing concerns. The touch of the adhiel, his proximity, his music, awoke something in the normally reserved Dortman. His heart thumped frantically in his chest, his ears filled with the sound of his own pulse that seemed to fit suddenly into the pattern of disturbing song. His stomach fluttered, his mouth went dry. Everything felt more real, more intense than it should.

It was clear to the Querist that he was in Pan’s realm now. Finodborn’s harsh words were truth. Here he would experience whatever it was he wished to observe.

His body -such as it was in this place - would not obey the instinct to pull away from Finodborn. The bard’s words and manner signaled some danger, but Barrett could not resist.

“I have seen horrors, I am not ashamed. At least I don’t think I am. Afraid, perhaps. I must be able to analyze what I experience in a clear manner. But I will do what I must to learn what I can here.”

[Fialessa Valenstri]

Even within the sorrow filled lament emanating from the flute she was hard pressed not to find beauty. Sadness was the perfect emotion Fialessa was beginning to feel. It was a tie, it meant that one had something joyful to mourn and that anger may have passed or become imminent. To every other emotion sadness either preceded or came after.

A smile, the smile that pronounced the pain, that shared the knowledge that they all suffered. He worst of all. He would be joyful again! He had to be! All could not be lost... It tore at her heart to see his tears as she took a seat beside him. And the words began again, each etching themselves within her.

Still watching her god's face she registered surprise when he turned her hand upward. Glancing down she watched him placing the flute within her hand. She was uncertain, her questioning gaze flew up to meet his eyes again even as the not rang so harshly within her ears. After the song with only the wind around them, the absence of speech was almost unbearable. Her fingers closed gently over the flute. She was overcome with the gesture. Softly, ever so softly so as to only merge with the sound around and not overpower it. “How... what might I do...”

[Sevti]

The song reached Sevti and she found tears dampening her cheeks. Such sorrow! She wanted to cry out that it wasn't folly for him to have fought, that nothing was forgotten, that on Pan's Isle, at least, there were those that still had the faith that he was stronger than the One and would go on fighting the minions of that selfish God until they had no breath. The petite Panling hadn't known of the tragedy here, but she prayed that it would be something never forgotten. It would give her people one more reason to fight, one more reason to hope.

She wasn't the only one with this thought. She heard another voice cry out in apology with as much anguish as the human girl had in her own heart, letting their God know he was not alone. We must come together, Sevti thought. Why are all but one of us standing in the distance, waiting for someone else to make the move? We need to draw strength from one another. It's the only way.

She began to walk forward, head held high, her pace quick but steady. She watched as Pan placed his flute in the hand of the adhiel that stood before him. The girl spoke but Sevti was still too far away to hear her softly spoken words.

She approached the rock where the two of them stood and placed her right hand on the adhiel's shoulder, her left, tentatively, on the Horned One's arm. Then she let her voice rise above the wind, praying that she would be heard by all that stood by, waiting. "We will come together for you, Merciful One," she spoke. "We will continue this fight for you. In our numbers, we will have strength. Don't lose faith in us. Not in your Joylings, in your Artlings, or in your Bloodlings. We believe, and we will not stop the fight."

As much as she believed her words, she still could not stop the tears streaming down her cheeks.

[Grey Wolf]

It simply did not work that way. Lower body still trapped in the glass, Celestine found it impossible to move. It would take some time for the effects to kick in, but it was a fair bet that her legs would soon start to go numb. Lack of circulation could do that to a person. Blood mixed with lime green substance oozed out of two large puncture wounds on her abdomen. The pain was back now. It was so very real. So intense. Here, the toxin did not numb her. Considering the amount of pain it cause it might have been preferable.

As Sevti approached, Pan remained quiet. He did not move away from her touch. "The fight? The war? The numbers?" He spoke once more. Barely more than a whisper, wind caught the voice of Pan and carried it to everyone. It was a shadowy caress on their skin, but it was all present. "To fight we need the numbers. To win the war we need to fight. If we fight a war our numbers dwindle. It is a circle. Where will it break? Will we have enough numbers? Will it be enough?" It was a different Pan from the enrage axe wielding tool of vengeance. Calmer, sadder.

"Look." Extending his hand, Pan pointed at Celestine. "Look. She has fought." A wide sweeping gesture to encompass all the glass encased corpses. "All of them have fought. All of them are gone." A pause as a new fire lit in his dark eyes. "Yet, we must fight. To surrender is not an option." He placed his hand on Sevti's. "A change is necessary. Otherwise, all is lost. Unity is necessary." Dropping his head low, the God fell silent. When it came his voice was barely audible. "I do not know. What should I change? How will the unity come? How will our numbers grow? How will the world know there was the change?"

[Fialessa Valenstri]

Fialessa thought, ceased upon a few words as the human girl emerged and spoke forth, and their god responded. Unity and change... But it seemed so... Hmm... And it was what the other girl had said, Joylings, Artlings, Bloodlings... Why were they separated? Already they were divided.

“Yes perhaps it is a change that is needed. We are already dividing ourselves... Artlings, Joylings & Bloodlings... Can we not, should we not each of us embrace all three aspects. Do we not see that each is a part of us, the art, joy and blood weaves together, it is a part of us all. How can we fight as strongly as we need to if we are only a part of a whole. Each of us must strive to become unified in ourselves so that we may unite as a single group against the One – not as three trying to be one...” Fia didn't know if she was right but it made sense to her.

[Barrett]

Try as he might to remain quiet, to simply stay out of the way and observe, this discussion came too close to mirroring the Querist's own hope for fighting the One. Perhaps it was this place, the influence of the folk here, even the Horned One's influence. The words just came tumbling out with uncharacteristic enthusiasm.

"You'll need to unite more than just your own followers, you know."

[Finodborn]

Finodborn smiled as the querist spoke up. He released the man from his clutch with a friendly pat on the back. "He's right. Uniting the Panlings is one thing. Wise priests and bards of our order have already figured that out a long time ago. My Lord Pan isn't the Lord of Art, Joy and Blood. He's the Lord of Passion, whatever form it may take. And in the present, this Passion should lead our way, as always. It tells us to take up the sword, sharpen our fangs, poison our arrows. Call it blood, if you please, or call it Art. The Passion of destruction is also a creative one."

"We alone won't do, for our enemy is strong and more proficient in the art of destruction. But in facing a mutual enemy, we have many allies." All of this, he had been saying more to himself than to anybody in particular. Identity was a relative thing here. The distance Sevti experienced, Finodborn did not, for to him they were all here in union, and if they truly were different entities with space separating them, he wasn't aware of that right now. It didn't occur to him as such that there was something like sending and receiving, speaking and hearing. He assumed that everybody would understand intrinsically.

He turned directly to the one he was speaking about. "I believe trust will suffice, My Lord. Trust of You in Us, of Us in You, and of Us all in the Passion that is the life that gives shape to all things.

[Sevti]

The thought of unity felt right. She knew they all spoke truly. She knew her own beliefs of Joy, Art and Blood combined in her to make her stronger. Even if she didn't know how to use them all to their best advantage, they all had a place in her life.

But getting others together... how? Particularly on Pan's Isle. In somewhere like Citadel, the young Panling woman could see the help being available, but on her home, the island of her God's people... they were alone in their fight and the diminutive woman wasn't certain how to change that.

Ask.

"Your words make sense," she spoke, her eyes scanning the horizon for the speaker, finally settling on Barrett and Finodborn. "But how do we get other faiths to help on Pan's Isle? They've taken our harbor in Tal'Fea, from what I've been told, the Portal in Gatetown is functioning but no one knows how to use it. We're being overrun by the Oneists and are fighting them on our own. I believe that others would combine with us to fight them, but how to get them here?"

A wry smile crossed her lips. "Forgive me for being selfish, but I'd rather not see the war be won somewhere like Citadel while my home falls because combining into warriors of Passion is not enough alone to stem the tide." Her eyes met Findoborn's. "I'd like to believe in these allies, but I've seen none of them yet."

She turned her attention back to her God, "I trust in you, Lord Pan. I trust in my fellow Panlings. That is where my faith lies. But I am finding it hard to trust that others MAY reach us in time, to have faith that others MAY bind with us against this darkness."

Sevti swallowed, taking a deep breath. "I would welcome any who came to help us in our time of need, but we must be as strong as we can in case they do not. We must strengthen ourselves. We must each make ourselves wholly Passion, and draw all of our faith together in Passion. We cannot count on anything other than that."

A part of the human girl hated herself for having to say these words, but the war that were fought on her shores, the sight of Panlings and no others beside them beating the Oneists back, the knowledge that her people were dying and the world, as far as she knew, could care less - they made it difficult for her to have faith in anything other than the Horned One and her fellow followers. Where had her innocence gone? Her belief in good in the peoples of the world?

The answer came to her in a myriad of visions - a young girl being gutted, a building burning, a red-haired man fighting alone. That's what stripped her innocence - though it also, she realized, enflamed her passion stronger than any of her worship to the Joyful One ever had.

[Guest]

Celestine screamed in agony as the pain of the spider bite filled her being. She tried to grit her teeth, tried to stifle it, but it was overwhelming. If she could have fallen, she would have. As it was she swayed forwards and backwards, trying to relieve the pain by moving.

She lifted her head and howled "Pan, please have mercy on your servant! I did not mean to fail our brethren!" Then the pain took her, and she shrieked in agony again.

[Fialessa Valenstri]

“Though I spoke less of unification as a force and more of a unification within one's self. We need more than strength and unity to defeat our enemies, in fact we need need the strength to persevere and rebuild if we cannot. The army of the One is an overwhelming force fed by zealots... fanatics. Our Passion needs to be as such. Perhaps it should be called Passion as a unification, not separatist names like Art or Blood.” Fia returned in response to what Barrett and Finodborn responded.

But to Sevti, “Sometimes a loss is necessary. Do not think that I am saying this out of anything but love. That is my home as well, My family and friends reside there, Panlings all. But like as not it would be a difficulty to raise an army large enough and skilled enough to fight the fanatics of the One. Let alone get it there. Even if the Adhiel of Gulanadur rose up from their dark homes, I have doubts even aid from them may be too late, and simply not enough. Perhaps it is the time to relinquish Pan's Isle in favour of surviving. However much it breaks my heart to say it.”

Her next breath was a tormented sigh. A tear or two slipped from her amber eyes. “I have serious doubts that this war is only upon the shores of Pan's Isle, and upon the Panlings alone. And the Citadel shall be of no help to you, as only three Panlings of the temple remain there, all the rest...” She shuddered, then looked at Sevti directly, “Yours and mine aren't the only ones who suffer. And I am no tactician, I know nothing of winning battles. People are dying, being slaughtered the world wide. Do you think the Oneist's only concern are the people of Pan and solely those of the Isle? I'd say they'd like nothing more than to squelch the followers of every god but their own. Pecunians, followers of the Mother, all are at risk to suffer at the hands of fanatics.”

Fialessa looked to take in the sight of the two others who had spoken out as well. They not directly beside where she sat beside Pan with Sevti. Looking down at her hand again where the flutes sat silently, “So much sacrifice... does our faith go on after we have died if there is no one to teach it. Or shall too our beloved Pan fade. Or is it our responsibility to be certain something of Pan remains tied to our world, to build again and perhaps become stronger in another time, another place. To lose now only to win later...” It scared her that these words all came from her lips.

She heard then the howling scream of someone, wondered at it, but it was not a call to her. Fialessa looked to Pan.

[Sevti]

Sevti felt her Blood begin to rise. "You may give up Pan's Isle," she spat at the adhiel, "But I will fight for it to my dying breath. Yes, it may be hopeless. We may lose the battles that we fight there. The island may fall to these heartless bastards. But if we don't fight for the land of our birth, YOUR island," she addressed to the Sorrowful One that sat between them. "If we walk away from it now, then we don't deserve it to keep it. We don't deserve your faith in us. We don't deserve our own faith in us."

The panling couldn't stop to think through the words that were pouring forth. They all needed to be said, even if those that were within the sound of her voice didn't pay any attention to one word of it. She continued.

"Yes, the Evil Ones won't try to only eradicate those of us that live on Pan's Isle. They will bring their darkness to the whole of the Empire. But maybe - just maybe - if we fight them hard enough on Pan's Isle, they will decide it won't be worth the trouble to fight further. Maybe, if all of Pan's Children come together to push them back, we won't lose the center of Pan's worship."

Anger won't help, a small voice spoke in the back of her mind. Anger is ALL that will help, she shot back. Anger is passion.

"Other faiths must do what they think is right. Other people must do what they think is right. But I won't give up. I can't give up. Even if I fight them alone. Even if I keep them from advancing for only a flicker, it's worth it. My Lord," she turned back to Pan, the firmness of her conviction strong behind her dark eyes, "I refuse to give up on you. I refuse to give up on your land. I refuse to give up my passion for our way of life. I REFUSE."

[Fialessa Valenstri]

The little adhiel sighed, she had expected an outburst though she'd hoped it wouldn't come. This woman here already admitted to her selfishness and she was. She didn't see beyond her perspective, her anger. It was not the island that was important. It was the faith that mattered, that it continued.

“The center of Pan's worship is here...” she responded by standing placing her hands gently, one, the one still grasping the flute, over her heart and the other hovered over Sevti's. “That cannot be taken, land means nothing if we all perish. Do you not see? You would have everyone die for a handful of dust, and for what? What purpose does it serve?”

Fialessa was certain Sevti did not understand, fight as hard as she wanted it would be worth little in the end. It would not deter the oneists from reigning their terror across the field of every non Dominican they crossed. Yes so she was in the midst of battle, Fialessa could understand the vehemence. 'What purpose would your death serve? To them you are one less Panling, And to us. We lose another sister with strength to persevere and teach. Another sister that could have one day given birth to a child that might have been one who would help us to regain our footing in this world, perhaps even reclaiming the land of our birth... We can afford to lose it now in order to survive. Carry the land in your heart not under your feet.”

[Sevti]

"And when we've let them take every island? What then?" the human girl shot back. "If we keep running and running, because it isn't the land that is important, then eventually we'll have no where to run to. And what then? Will it only be then that it is time to stop and fight?"

The panling shook her head angrily. "No. We need to make our stand and that stand needs to be on our homeland rather than running like cowardly children. These Oneists are living beings. They can be killed just like we can. They can be killed by cunning, by using our strengths, our passion, rather than letting them have it." She closed her eyes, remembering the carnage at the ruins, how an equal number of Oneist bodies lay scattered upon the ground. When her people were prepared, they could fight just as effectively as those Zealots of the Jealous God. They hadn't found it easy to penetrate Gatetown yet. Only one scout so far. And they WOULD take Tal'Fea back. Sevti refused to believe any less.

She opened her eyes, looking coldly at the young adhiel woman. "You speak of combining all of Pan's passions into one in yourself, but I don't think you have a drop of Blood within you. That passion that we need if we are to stand up to the zealots and keep them from taking every one, every thing we love. Because what good will having our worship within us be if we have no place to practice it?" She snorted softly. "You may be able to combine Art and Joy, but you'll never be able to find Blood. Blood doesn't give up."

[Finodborn]

"A handful of dust?!" Finodborn screamed, adding his voice to that of Sevti. "This is not just a patch of land that is interchangable with any other! This is the place our Lord has foreseen for us in this world. The fae that dwell here, the centaurs, the dryads and the Panlings, the trees, the birds, the streams, the sky - this is our ecosystem. Sure, faith can exist even when you are away from the Isle. But this faith cannot exist if the Isle stops being what it is. This is our source, our heart, our blood. Giving it up is simply not a choice.

Pragmatics are not in order! Pragmatics are there to serve when faith gives up! We shall slaughter the Oneists, one by one, until they flee from our home. And Pan knows, if you would have faith in your anger, in the bloodlust they have triggered with their heretic behavior, only success could be the outcome! You would not doubt, for you would that we cannot lose."

[Barrett]

I did not know the situation was so dire. I wonder if the former soldiers of the Purple Guard might not be persuaded to venture out and lend their support against the Western invasion. The Citadel is currently beset by its own Nether problems. Pan’s Temple is… not what it once was. And many of the faith have come to tragic ends recently.

Tal-Fea… Gatetown Portal… How much of this will stay with me when I wake. Master Aurelius, let the knowledge of this dreaming journey stay with me on the morrow. I hope these details will be able to move someone to action on the Panlings’ part.

“Of course, you must martial all of the strength that you may…”
Barrett knew that he was an outsider in this place, in this discussion. But he wanted to do something. His voice was soft, reasonable, and in complete contrast with the argument taking place around him.
“… in case the call for aid is drowned out by the needs of others. I will try to convince those that I advise that the same fate awaits them if they allow Pan’s Isle to be taken. For that is my fear…”

He trailed off into silence as the Passion of the Horned God’s children became almost tangible in this place. Horrible cries of pain seemed mixed in with the angry voices. The querist turned about to see who was crying out. It was those poor creatures in the sand-glass trap. If Pan had to listen to those calls, constantly, no wonder He was at a loss.

The loss of Pan’s Isle was too much to fathom. The wild knowledge of the Fae and the adhiel… all lost. To be replaced by the Westerners with their hive-mind mentality. It seemed that Pan might have a chance. But the god would need to hear his living followers rather than be trapped by the suffering of his losses. It was not Barrett’s place to give advice to a god. Sure, he had spoken out earlier. But the passion of those around him, in this Aetheric place - where he might be susceptible to the same influences - was too much to risk.
Aurelius. Please lend me your own voice to offer what little counsel I can to your brother.

Quietly, very quietly, he addressed Pan.
“Listen to them. They need you. For inspiration, for leadership. For some… dare I say it, organization. Do not let sorrow and regret for those lost drown out the prayers of those who still fight to keep your faith - to keep You - alive. Perhaps that is the strategy of the Western god… to paralyze the god of passion with grief so that his followers lose heart.”