Ye ol' Bazaar

[Isabella Florentina]

In the middle of the sea of pain that the light, the blood of the sungod, caused Isabella felt Nox withdrawing, a small piece of her own will recovered. She remembered the twilight. She remembered Pan, whose willing vessel she was.

Isabella allowed the pain to turn into passion, to become the hot raging passion of bloodrevenge, pushing and pushing against the darkness that was Nox who thought he had fully possessed her. "No," she cried out, "Neither the dark nor the light shall win here, for both carry their own danger when in control. Begone, begone all of you!"

[Syrawenn]

Almost absorbed by the voices that she carried Syrawenn heard Isabella's cry and could not help but smile. See? She thought to the voices. And people still think I'm mad...I'm not the only one that thinks there is a middle road...balance is exactly that, not the extreme one, nor the extreme other. So...you guys got a song for that? I'd loooove to see that vial and noxy meet halfway in the air. Would make for a nice encounter, wouldn't you think?

Her eyes sought out Zhavon and the vial. Much to her chagrin the girl was stopping the light from pouring out. Worse: she just gave it to another stranger!

Hold it, no stranger...it's another dreamwalker. Flippin flatbacks! How many people are walking around here this night?

Slowly Syrawenn started to weave her question into the song, trying to make the voices understand about her ideas. Maybe there was still a chance to restore that weird balance if everything would cooperate. Too bad the newcomer had no idea about what they had talked about earlier. But maybe she will understand this weird song! The girl hoped fervently and put all her willpower into her actions.

[Gia as Rendia]

OOC: Major computer problems. I'll be gone indefinitly, but working on snatching some time in between, so I haven't entirely dissapeared! Plus, I'm not sure where Aden wants us to go, so this is proceeding on his time anyways?

[Zhavon Mikhalrian]

OOC: I've been harassing him daily about attending to us... *Weeps.*

[Guest]

The beautiful tune suddenly reached the zenith of melody, the notes flowing past one another with an almost divinely graceful accelerando. It was all coming together... the lost spirits of the place, the living ones, the divinities that held sway, the shadow, the light, the in between space that could only be truly termed twilight... A pattern was being etched in the Aether, bound by Nether- a plan long ago forged being brought to fruition. Everything was in readiness- this moment of climax and choice. The sound of a coin flipping and being caught echoed vaguely, although none could hear it within the torturously beautiful music that rang through the emptiness.

A woman laughed lightly, and twin voices sang dirges in the dark. Fate and luck. Consequence and chance. A promise, an oath, a decision, a chance, a fragile blessing. A hope.

No.

It was so deliciously simple, came the voice within Isabella's mind. So delectably, delightfully, deliciously simple. The hag was more clever than I had thought, of course, taking some of HIS blood and trapping it like that. She wants so badly to see this dream ended... she wants so badly to be Underdine all over again- the heroic female casting a demon into an abyss forever. The voice chuckled.

No.

There will be consequences, my dear. You were traitorous- giving yourself to the moment. To the perfect balance of it. To the gentle caress of indecision. Foolish foolish foolish. You had it all. We could have been great together, you know. Great indeed. A pity The voice was more than a bit irritated. Isabella could feel her passionate discharges flying against him, blowing threads of shadow away like a strong breeze- but nothing more. The light had weakened him, and had she performed but a moment sooner, she would have expelled the darken force.

But it was too late now. He was in control- and there would be consequences. The olive-skinned lady suddenly felt herself flung backwards within herself- a most disconcerting sensation, like being thrown from the helm of a ship. Suddenly, her eyes were reddened, and her arms moved although she willed them not. Waves of passionate empathy flowed out from her, her very life force being used in a most despicable way. All of her sensual memories came and went, the stream flowing out of her being and into the suddenly luminous and music-filled bazaar.

Flames stretched from extended hands- arcing in intricate and lazy loops. It was Isabella's passion and empathy- this transferrance- coupled with the daemon's dark sorcery and evocation. After all, what was life but another passion- love and romance and sensuality and even hunger. All of them were fuel for this dark weaving. The flames lashed outward, around- and began to consume Isabella herself. The flames were clearly unnatural- the water that now floated nearly at thigh-level did not extinguish them. Instead, the flames merely turned the water into a boiling hot steam- and even the surrounding water that was not evaporated was suddenly scaldingly hot.

It was a horrid sensation, as Isabella's own life force fell away from her, unable to see from the flames that now consumed her body. She felt no pain, though- the pain only turned into more glorious passion... and so the cycle continued. The raven-haired woman felt her blood boiling, her heart beginning to falter, and knew the end was coming soon. There was a time to think and a time to act.

If I cannot have this place, nobody shall. Nobody.

It was, after all, only a fragile hope...

Automne's flute blew the melody right to the edge of sharpness with its volume- but did not cross over, the notes fluttering around like mad butterflies in their tremolo and vibrato. Somehow, though- they were solid despite their transience. As her music floated in effervescent tones, the question suddenly flowed into her- like lyrics of the spirit. A soulsong that could never be denied, even in the most dreadful of dreams.

...How many walk this night? How many traverse paths of shadow and light? How many walk this night?...

The words lent themselves to her music, just as Isabella became a living inferno, and the flames roiled around, suddenly licking at the flute, which instantly became blazing to the touch. She felt the touch of the scalding water upon her skin, beneath the water- the air was dry and hot... she could almost feel her body rebelling against her will. Her hands were immolated, the fingers blackened already. Some part of her wanted nothing more than to retreat from the sudden conflagration- to curl into a ball beneath the waves and sink into nothingness...

It would be so easy, wouldn't it? It's so easy to fail... and so hard to win came the gentle voice within her head, gone almost immediately.

Finodborn felt his voice rise like a tenuous thread- somehow binding the music together in a way that it had previously been unrestrained. The binding, however, was fruitful- forcing the music in new directions, the other voices wrapping and distorting so as to best fit the elf's into the melody. The water raised around him as he continued to sing, his body weak with the effort of holding his melody, and from loss of blood...

The heat was oddly soothing, somehow, as it burned its way into his flesh, like the embrace of a warm lover, only intensified a thousandfold. The water was so soothing as it raised above his head- and he was singing underwater, his lungs needful of sweet air. But there was none beneath the surface, and still he felt his voice singing- the voice of his very soul added to the mixture...

It would be so romantic, wouldn't it? To die while singing? To sink into the sweet sadness of the melody and surrender? and then there was only the encroaching blackness and the sweet song of Automne and Syrawenn, filling his mind where it could not his lungs.

Syrawenn felt her questions slowly combining and conforming to the questions she forced into the melody. The words formed themselves around her whims and her will, and there was suddenly a great beauty and strength in the words- who was here? Where was here? The questions formed themselves at their own behest, insisting their solution by their mere existence.

Then the flames struck, engulfing Syrawenn. Her eyes were instantly dry and she could feel the sensitive membranes start to crack, horrible pain flooding through them. Her lungs were inundated with heat and dry air, searing her insides with surety, amplifying the pain the woman felt. But still, the voices within her sang, exposing her to more and more of the flames. There was no smoke- only heat, her hair beginning to singe and her knees shake with the immense shock of the sudden inferno.

Singing for the lonely, you're not the only ones who feel this... so scared of what we're doing. All the time. The whispering and yet powerful voices within continued their song, the lyrics once more changing, but never stopping.

The bazaar began to seep with lines of light.

Zhavon found herself, her back turned, no longer protected by the vial. It was odd how naked she felt- but also how relieving it was to be rid of the burden of the vial of burning blood. The song was slowly bringing light to the bazaar, and only Zhavon truly saw it- truly saw the beauty of things. The way lines of light began to form along fractalline pathways, spreading from the sudden juxtaposition of darkness and light. It was as if reality itself was falling apart from the proximity of the demon and the sunlight of Jaji- or Uphuron, or whatever his name might be here. The water continued to rise.

The corruption was still within her- linking her inextricably to Finodborn- but most strongly to Isabella. The bond between them was almost tangible- so closely were they linked, bound by both bloods- light and dark fluids binding them to one another.

As Isa's life force seeped away, so did Zhavon's... as Isabella's flesh burned away, Zhavon felt every sear- every lick of flame. She felt the roaring of passion, her heartrate speeding up with passion, even as her vitality faded, her limbs growing pale... and she was suddenly falling forward into the water, sinking into the same horrible bliss and futility that was overtaking Isabella.

The night was fast ending (was there even night anymore? was that a dawn that approached, even as the sun lay dead in a street somewhere in the city?)... and with its coming, Zhavon felt an inexplicably painful smile worm its way onto her lips. It didn't matter what came next, or even before.

Hope was always fragile, and the young Rose had kindled it while she had the oppurtunity.

Goodbye morning, sorry it had to end, but see you cried just a little too long... and now I just must move on...

Rendia knew what was coming, despite herself. The demon was selfish- it knew that there was little it could do when confronted with the power of this holywoman and her mysterious power. Rendia knew all this, but did not know how she knew. It didn't really matter, did it? The demoness suddenly exploded with a light that seemed somehow dark in comparison to the aura given off by the vial the priestess held in her hand. The bottle of Uphuron's blood- the blood of her brother.

The flames roared all around, licking at everything- seeking the hair of the red-headed woman, seeking the flesh and instrument of the fluteplayer, setting her fingers ablaze... completely consuming the dark woman herself. It lapped at the woman with many voices, seeking to crush her voicebox, and already the elven lad had been swallowed by the sea (your sea, Rendia... your sea). So much darkness had already been done this day, and Rendia knew that it was not the last to happen.

She knew. She just did.

We can live beside the ocean, leave the fire behind, swim past the breakers, watch the world die. But it was not what would happen.

She just knew.

[Guest]

Automne was speechles, for more than one reason. Her lungs using all their might to fuel this tune of mystrey that birthed from her flute. Fingers dancing and cramping in pain but she would not stop, for it seemed they were winning.

At least for a small time.

Then something monstrous from Isabella swelled out, demon's fire that lapped at the flood defeating it. NO! Some part of screamed, This is not fair! None of this is fair... Her song swelled and swam somehow eternally without shape but somehow made into fluttering spinning solid notes. She wanted to lash out in sorrow and deperation but she was otherwise occupied when suddenly something poured over her, something strange like a voice coming unto her, speaking into her mind.

...How many walk this night? How many traverse paths of shadow and light? How many walk this night?...

Her mind shuddered as this soulsong delved into her and she nodded painfully so. She knew that her mind could not block out that voice, it had some power to cut through straight to her conscious thoughts.

Finodborn's song joined into the chorus, her eyes darted down, he was slipping underneath the water but by some miracle his voice managed to slip out and make the water go higher, it seemed he had not the strength to lift himself out of the liquid. Suddenly the water seemed very warm, then an unbearable pain struck her fingers she focused her eyes, her fingers were being singed, the flute being blackened. She pain detroying her nerve endings. Is there no end? This is some hell of a dream, it's all real... She could no longer feel where her fingers were going, she was almost certain her fingers weren't even hitting the flute but she had to keep trying, after a while the seared flesh, which she could smell and it did make her nautious, did not bother her so much. For this she came to two conclusions: Either I'm dying by some other power that has intervened or my fingers aren't there anymore. Suddenly another rolling blast of inferno came at her flute and she screamed through the melody, Correction, their still there and so am I.... not that it's a positive thing.

It was insane, the flames that had now engulfed Isabella were sucking the air, making it uncomfortable and difficult to breath. This was ludicrous forcing yourself into some sort of masochistic activity. Automne's breath grew parched, her lungs blistered and everything below her ribs was under water. She had no strength left to lift herself an inch from the kneeling position and the scalding water made her body wail against her begging for her to pull back, something she could not do... but still something inside her beckoning her to end it, to just die right there to shrink away from all pain....

It would be so easy, wouldn't it? It's so easy to fail... and so hard to win

She wept hot tears which stung bitterly against her skin, and the strange fire remined on her fingers and flute, inches from her face. Her bangs began to fry and the skin was tightening in the heat. What hell is this?


Please, whichever entities dwell here. Hear me, oh please hear me. Let this be over soon! She pleaded to something, to everything hoping something would hear her and help, Let this unearthly pain subside... help us push back the evil. She felt she was praying in vain, that any second now her body was just going to give out and she was going to perish into the waves. And what of Finodborn, He was inches from her and she could do nothing to save him. 'Don't die.' whispered something inside her to his spirit 'None of us can give up.'

[Finodborn]

Time seemed to crawl slowly like a snail. Finodborn just heard the beautiful somehow accidental harmony he'd created before the water reached his ears, distorting and muting the sound slightly. He instinctively gasped for air, sucking in the last he could expect to get.

I'll be out of air soon, he thought, very down to earth. And There was no way he could get up. The embrace of the hot water was soothing and comforting, and though it hurt his eyes, he kept them open. He observed the bubbles of water that contained the vibrations of his voice. He saw them rising to the surface like little flying gemstones. It was as if he was on the bottom of a deep, warm ocean.

He saw flickering and sensed some awkward things above him, but he was too far gone to understand what was going on. Perhaps it is the sun that has risen again. He didn't really hear the song anymore either, only his own voice.

It was calm down there. The warmth made him feel sleepy. It would be so romantic, wouldn't it? To die while singing? To sink into the sweet sadness of the melody and surrender? He smiled, and agreed. He'd sing until there wasn't a whisper left in his lungs.

[Zhavon Mikhalrian]

It was beautiful. The way the entire world seemed to crack into veins of light, seeping through the reality of this dream in ways she hadn't quite thought possible. It was as though the world was shattering, breaking and this light was a result thereof. Just the sight of it brought tears to the girl's eyes. It didn't dazzle her, as she might have expected from something so brilliant in such a dark world. It also scared her, as though this was the end, and that within in this end, they had to do something or be lost in the trying.

Despite the roiling agony found in her life being drained away and the phantom burning sensation spreading over her body, she continued to stare ahead into the nothingness. Seeing the world as it was, she knew that all wasn't quite lost just yet, despite the demon's growing strength as it tore from Isabella and herself their lives. There was still a way to survive, to defeat this blackness that fed upon the two Roses and sought to find a way into their world.

Sinking into the water of Anasis's flood, there was some sort of serene solace to be found in the depths. The pain of Isabella's conflagration was still felt, despite the water and the smile came to her lips. There was to be no surcease of this agonizing pain of death or of Isabella's demonic punishment. Zhavon contemplated for only a moment to remain there and to fade away without another stand. But the bond that tied her fate to Isabella's was too strong.

With an effort, the girl struggled to right herself, standing in the thigh high water, her clothing and hair soaked and plastered to her slender form. Eyes blinked away the drops, but it didn't seem to do much good for the silent tears. She tried to look, to locate Isabella in all of this, having no thoughts for the others just yet. Seeing the blazing form and its dark light, Zhavon waded through the rising tide towards the demon bound Rose. It wouldn't matter, would it? She already felt as though she were the one burning, the pain couldn't get worse, could it?

Heavily, she lifted her limbs, dripping water and wrapped them about Isabella's form, whimpering as the pain increased due to proximity. What reaction the unearthly fire had to the equally ethereal flood water, she could only guess, if indeed Zhavon even still cared. The girl bore the burning, however, thinking more to the ruined and tainted soul she was bound to, knowing that her own could not be far behind Isabella's corruption, and that their deaths were imminent.

Closing her eyes against the pathetic sight, she pressed her slight form closer to the more voluptuous Rose's body, feeling the steam rise from her drying clothing. Zhavon then began to tug at the other woman, attempting to guide Isabella's form into the water, supporting her as best as she could through the pain. "Calm yourself, Isabella... It'll be alright. Pan still loves us..." Her voice was but a whisper, yet confident, controlled and perhaps even hopeful. "Can't you see how beautiful it is? This light? You can still see the light, you're not his creature."

Yet, even Zhavon knew her life was ebbing away to feed Nox, through the line somehow forged between herself and the older Rose. "You're not alone with him, I'm still here... And he can't take us both." Swallowing hard against the lump in the back of her throat, she lowered herself to her knees, guiding Isabella if she allowed herself to be, or simply falling into the water on her own.

[Syrawenn]

A distant part of Syrawenn saw the unnatural flames shoot out of Isabella's hands -Nox' hands- and tried to jump aside. Somehow her body would not react. It did not matter. Nothing really mattered except the voices inside her head, the voices taking over all sound.

What are you saying? Whose questions are these? I never thought them up...maybe I did, but I can't remember. Does it matter? Nothing matters...

Again the words were taken up in song. They formed melodies she never knew existed, harmonies and disharmonies falling and rising, each building on the other to form the base of her existance in this strange realm between waking and sleeping.

Solutions? Who is here? All those that walk the dream, you silly bastards...where is here? That's easy! Just don't ask me when....where IS here....it is because we are....because of what is happening...if Noxie wasn't being a pest, here would not be here but would be scattered over a trazillion minds all over the world, taking the power from him like a glass scattering on the floor and taken away by the magpies...what the flip am I thinking? Does it matter? No...it does not matter, I got the answers.

Right then the flames hit her and her eyes grew big with disbelief.

Is this happening?

The flames blackened her skin, reaching to take all the air from her lungs and take the voies with them.

Don't stop!

The voices continued, they sang and sang, calling the flames to them, letting the heat consume the girl.

Why are they letting the flames pass? It hurts!

Questions of her own that the voices were not answering. The pain filled her until it was impossible to do anything but just accept the fact that she was burning.

But I don't want to be burning!

The voices sang on.

Singing for the lonely...so scared of what they're doing...all the time...Who is scared of what?

The lyrics changed.

How? Into what?

The fire burned, the voices sang, the words changed. Her body did not matter anymore, it was lost in this reality. Syrawenn let the voices take here away from the horrible pains. She refused to feel, refused to accept the torment. Her mind detached from the burning pyre, wanting to hear what the voices were singing, seeking for the answers hidden in that song.

What are you singing?

[Isabella Florentina]

It is not fair it echooed somewhere in Isabella's head, and indeed it was not. Suddenly the memory of being slain by the light was crystal clear in her mind, the horrible visage of Dominicus overtaking the prince, the sword piercing her heart, her lifeforce spend. How was it different from being slain now, by the darkness , ironically in a blazing fire of light and heat? I'm of the Twilight, neither Darkness nor Light shall love me, yet all shall need me. It was a bitter realization for little welcome or love would be hers.Yet I will settle for power, which is neither good nor evil, it just is.

As Isabella lit up as a human torch she felt no pain, just passion (or was that by now simply the same?)

...How many walk this night? How many traverse paths of shadow and light? How many walk this night?...

"SEVEN" Isabella cried out through the fog that was passion, her voice strong as of on the height of climax even though she became weaker and weaker, panting "We are always a circle of seven.. power to us if we close the circle."

She was drowning, not in water or in flames, but in the burning of her own passions, amplified by life itself in a way that a tiny part of her mind noticed and wondered about, fiddling with the concept of life, energy, faith and emotions. There was something important there, but it was fast losing its significance. Isabella felt herself dying and it consumed her. It was so tempting to give, to give up. So tempting.

Suddenly Zhavon, foremost in her mind, her emotions a mirror of her own, sharing this passion, was embracing her with her soaken clothes and taking her under. In a last effort to resist Nox the Rose answered the embrace with a heavy groan, wrapping her flaming arms around the girl as they both sank into the thigh high water. Pan loves us, her mind chanted, Pan loves us. She was unaware that her mouth tried to croak the same words through blackened lips. Unconciously the chant followed the tune that the bards had been using and Isa rose in a song of praise for her god in a raven's voice.
[/i]

[Rees]

Rees wakes in a strange place- a low couch near an open window with filmy curtians drifting in a hot moist breeze.
Groggily, she rubs her eyes and tries to recall where she is and why she is... alone. She feels a terrible pang of loss and sadness, as if she had somehow expected someone to be with her.

But she is alone, and swings her feet over the side of the couch, sitting a moment and thinking as she shakes the sleep from her head and peers out the open window to a strange city below, its streets winding down from the house where she sits into...

And suddenly the spirits are tugging at her; pulling the light robe she has worn over her thin shift, urging her forward, outside and down towards the center of the city, even though what she has glimpsed from the window is a scene of utter chaos and danger.

Silently soothing them, Rees feels her heart pounding and rises, seeing a bar of light beneath her door- hot, somehow verdant tropical light, such as recalls from her childhood.

Going to the door, she takes a deep breath and throws it open, walking out into a world gone mad- a world of heat and flame and light and water.

Rees walks, dreamlike, through water, and as it drags upon her robe, soaking it through and she sheds it until she is wearing only the simple shift, feeling heat beating down upon her bare shoulders and the wind of the spirits lifting her hair and tossing it, the long ends wet and dragging behind her as she sloshes forward into chaos, with only one thing beating in her mind, chanted by the spirits or some other force, making her put one hand to her temple as she moves forward:

SEVEN SEVEN SEVEN SEVEN SEVEN SEVEN SEVEN

She sees some one struggling in the water ahead of her and in her own skull the beating of the number continues, with the echo of a thousand spirit voices behind it, babbling, cojoling, commanding her attention.

Ruthlessly she quells them, building up her sheilds layer by silken layer, drawing them closey to her, always keeping clear of the black and reddish strands laying just outside the woof of the mental 'cloth' she has contructed. Once she has shielded herself from the mental clamor and din, she looks around more closely, feeling a sense of urgancy that seems to grow with each difficult step forward through the water.

Where is this place? How did I come to be here- and how can there be so MANY spirits in one place?? The very air seems choked with them! WEll- first things first. There is the water...

Seeing that the struggling figure in the water looks as if he is going under, Rees sloshes over to him as best as she can, and attempts to grab him under the armpits and haul him up. As she does so, she notices the dark reddish brown stain floating through the water below him, and realizes that her white shift is turning red with blood where the water has soaked it.

[Guest]

((OOC: At Gia's request, I will be NPCing Rendia in this post))

Rendia's PC Post

Rendia's hands formed a soft pattern- a pattern that would be familiar to none who here walked, but that held a significance on its own, even if that significance was lost on the others. There was something about a number- something about seven, but they all seemed so minor, these mortals- and while she did not pity them, she did not feel connected to them either. The only task of any importance here was the elimination of this... this... creature. This darkness.

There wasn't even time to consider what was happening. She could see now six mortals gathered here- the demoness, her aching voice invoking numerology and metaphor in the hopes of saving herself; the adhiel sinking beneath the wave, not conceding, even as death began to overwhelm him; the many-voiced oracle, for that's what she was- an oracle- even if she didn't know it; the flute player, her melody forming ropes of magical energy- consequences no other could see, except for Rendia and the demon itself; there was the flame haired stranger, blood staining her- blood of light and blood of shadow. And now, there was this sixth- this sudden manifestation of spirits and voices, her skirts swirling powerfully with every step, shields raised and unhindered by the achingly high water.

It was her water. It was Rendia's sea- and it was this water that she had to preserve. Once more, the purpose and the reasoning didn't make sense- but it was all here, a part of Anasis's collective unconcious- an ordainment without consequence, but equally without reward. Still, there was no time for what was right in this moment- only what needed to be done. But even as the thought entered Rendia's mind, she knew it was wrong- she was not above these mortals- no matter how lofty her faith or ideals, she was still that, at heart. Mortal.

The thought was chilling, even as it was exciting- for what it implied about the numerology. Seven walk this night- seven points of light and one darkness, and the twilight that dwelled betwixt them, and the aching pain that each would suffer before this was through. Memories and lifetimes seemed to pour past Rendia in an unending march, and in that one instant, she saw everything that lurked here. Prayers of fractured souls that lingered yet upon this grim plane reached her ears- praying for a divinity that had abandoned this place, except in the hearts of the dwellers. Anasis's presence swirled within the priestess's mind, lifting and highlighting certain thoughts and recollections. There was still a debt to be repayed. There was still much to be done.

Extending a calm and mighty hand toward the circle of six (or was it seven? Are you part of the circle, or are you distinct? Make up your mind. Mortality or divinity, it does not matter- only that you decide it.). Allowing all other thoughts to leave her mind, the mote of light within her- the spark of vitality, life, and faith reached out toward the darkness, and a single thought reigned supreme within the woman's intellect.

"This ends now. One way or the other, this ends now."

---

For Isabella, of course, the flames continued to roar- the dual heats of passion and of pain splitting and recombining until there was no thought she could cling to for comfort. The Muchislian had made a grim bargain- a dark promise, and had enjoyed her deal with shadow perhaps more than she had enjoyed thte arrangement she possessed with the light. It was all so beautiful, really- light on one side, a horned god struggling to listen to prayers in a land of dreams and deception. It seemed Isabella could see Pan, searching for his followers- seeking his flock in their now ruined cloister- a dream that so many had prayed would be forgotten. On the other side was the shadow, and the sweet seduction promised between tightened teeth- the dark lies and deceptions and the passions Isabella had enjoyed on occasion. Her most intimate fantasy played in her mind, and still the flames burned over her, the demon's cries shrieking like a thousand confessions into her ears. Whispers of Underdine- of a Promiser, and how he had lied. A house in a small summertown- Hammerheim. A dark tower birthing itself beyond the Mouth of the World. Shadows lurking in an Institute of Magic, passions waiting to be unleashed. A God upon a mighty mountain gazed imperiously about him, and a thousand fates were decided with a single whisper.

The train of images continued, as it must for all who belong to the place in-between things. The demon was dying, but so was she- and all that mattered now was who could remain alive longer. Even as she sank beneath the waves, the flames tried to roil about her and Zhavon, a deadly embrace- the pair of them somehow linked, more intimately than the other members of this circle. Passion and belief merged with hope and gentle ignorance, forming something deeper than any one of those things could possibly be, individually. There was a tragedy in the making now.

SEVEN WALK THIS NIGHT. SEVEN SEVEN SEVEN SEVEN SEVEN SEVEN. The thought suddenly flowed into Isabella's mind, and unlike the other images, it remained solid and unshakable. SEVEN. There was something important about this number- if only the Rose could remember why. The demon's pain was hers, and he shrieked at the number, trying to flee- but bound by his own foolishness and rashness. SEVEN. It was a powerful number- more magical than either thirteen or three, bearing in it some sort of inherent glory, for its simplicity. SEVEN. There were seven souls walking this night- and one demon. He was outside the order of things, distinct- and that was a weakness in him. He was not part of the circle. Not one of the SEVEN. There was a circle- now it only remained to close it.

A sort of dim glow of hope flickered for an instant inside Isabella- the gentle caress of a distant and perhaps forgetful god. With it came a momentary respite from the darkness that threatened to swallow this world. The waves rose higher still, but suddenly air seemed unimportant. There are parts to be played yet, before you may taste of the air again, Isabella. The voice came from everywhere and nowhere, and then the darkness dancing behind her eyes was before it as well- swirls of shadow accompanying her final decent into the cool and tragic sea. Perhaps the feeling of its closeness was solely a product of the dark-haired woman's closeness to death itself- or perhaps she could always have listened, but just chose not to. Whatever the case... the voice now radiated to her, speaking of things that were doubtless important.

---

Zhavon, too, felt the embrace of the horned god- the soft reprieve from the darker passions. Like a fragile barrier, the embrace encircled her form like a consoling lover, desperate for the warmth of her body- the heat and flames had already brought the water to an aching temperature- and still they rolled and shifted, bending and moving like vapor in a breeze- aching to the point that sensation ceased mattering to the immature Rose, not yet fully schooled yet already burdened with so much. Her thoughts would drift back, then, to vauge recollections of beautiful sunsets- perhaps poetic of perhaps not, but doubtless in their gorgeousness.

For her, too- there were things to be done. Purposes to be fulfilled, doubtless crushing in their plurality- but which of those purposes were destined for performance at this point? Which were needed of her now? There was no answer, aside from the dismal soundlessness of being submerged in a pool of shadow, illuminated only by rapid hope loss and underwater flames. Her skin felt chilled, by this point, even as it burned. An awkward juxtaposition of feelings, to be quite certain. It was perhaps this fragility of being that close to doom that made Zhavon hear the sound of Rees's spirits swirling- the soft and wispy voices that congregated, the whispers that knew more than they should, by all rights.

There was nothing for her in those words, now- she had done the right thing. She had taken the demon underneath, pulled Isabella beneath the waves and rising waters- beneath the flood. She felt the lifeforce continue ebb to feed Nox's own failing vitality. It was quite the paradox- how necessary it clearly was to kill this thing, but knowing that it would only regenerate itself using Zhavon's own life force... it was like a horrid trap for the young Rose. Like it or not, though, her mind and soul were bound to Isabella's- and through her, bound to this thing. Bound to this Nox- this demon, this shadow. Tethers linked them- invisible bonds that tied the pair together, heightened- perhaps- by their physical proximity. Something within her knew that all that remained was to keep this thing beneath the waves- to keep it from reaching the air it required so desperately. There was something about seven- but to the inexperienced girl, it was just a number. A number with significance, but a number nonetheless.

--

Finodborn, as well, heard the undulating voices of the spirits, speaking with barest tremolo and vibration- quivering like the strings of a tightly strung piano, speaking to him... they belonged to this woman, it would seem- as much as the spirits of the bazaar belonged to this place. The two competing rhythms fought with one another, singing a different song- singing a song for the lost and lonely- and within it all, Finodborn's lonely and submerged fight stood out in opposition- for he gave his last breaths unselfishly. Unlike these spirits, there was no desire in his heart- no need for revenge or destruction or absolution. There was only pure harmony and melody. Unchained and unbound by casual emotions, drawn to a point by the proximity of fate's inevitable curtain call, it sprang forth loudly- though no sound emerged to break the sudden stillness of the night, with the demon's flames submerged and diminishing- the only sound the quavering notes of a melting flute, and the voices of Syrawenn's song.

He would likely have died, then, drifting beneath the surface of the still-rising waters of Anasis's flood. Indeed, with a vibrato reminscent of that of the spirits' own song- mind and soul both lost as surely as the body was, but filled with purpose. Just as the hand reached into his armpits, everything stopped for an instant, and the voice that spoke to Isabella granted the minstrel his turn under the auspicious focus- a sort of emotional smile descending upon the bard- a mixture of soft melancholy and euphoria, wonderful and bittersweet at the same time. Then there was the voice, and it was all that Finodborn had ever dreamed it might be.

You are not destined for death, yet, young bardling. This is not the hour of your passing- not yet. Not as long as the cycle remains, in some form. There is sacredness. There is hope for you yet. The smile moved, and Finodborn came crashing back to reality- somehow renewed and envigored by his brief hiatus from this horrid dreamscape. The sound of flutes played merrily within the adhiel's conciousness- merging with the melody of the spirits, blending expertly with the words he found his lips forming despite their lack of air to breathe- despite their utter emptiness. They were words of the soul- not bothered by such trivialities of suffocation.

But then his head was above the waters- his body lifted forcefully by the mysterious woman, air forcing its way into the vacuous void of his lungs- unconciously forcing up the water that had doubtless passed from his lips. At the first breath, before even thought was possible, the words were flowing again- perhaps enough strength returned to his lower limbs such that he might stand unaided. The water, now, lurked somewhere around chest level- and continued rising, as Rendia's energies flowed through it- in some sort of attempt to bury the mistakes of the bazaar, perhaps. To bury the flaws that had eventually come to the point of causality. Whatever the reason, there was only one thing to do, now.

To sing. And, perhaps, hope for better.

---

Rees felt something strange as the presence moved past Finodborn, something entrancing about it stirring memories of the little man named Robin who she had 'known' so well- and the thought itself brought an involuntary blush to the fortune teller's cheeks. Moments later, it was gone, and the youth was hoisted from the water- lifted from the shadowy depths that continued to rise about the pair- as if angry that she would dare take this victim from the warm and potent grip of Anasis's sea. Perhaps the goddess herself was vengeful... came the thought, unbidden. But there was time for such concerns later. Now was a time of deeds, and not words- all speach had long since been discounted. There was only room for doing and moving and shifting and changing

The spirits fluttered Rees's skirts beneath the waves- feeling quite awkward giving the saturation that they were currently possessed of. There was more to do? Ah yes, more- another task. The last fragment of the seven, words barely making sense from an objective view, but calling to someone within the woman, to some part of her that knew what all this meant. Karma, Fate, Providence, Serendipity. All these things and more- there was an order to the way this semblance of a circle had formed, from nothing- from fractured lives and the countless who had faded into the abyss of anonymity- who had been taken away, only to rejoin the torment as members of a chain of spirits, now channeling their rage through Syrawenn's aching vocal chors with perfect duplicity.

There is more to do, yet, whispered the ghosts- which one was not quite clear at the moment. Think of the importance of SEVEN, if you would. Think on the value of the SEVEN who have gathered here. SEVEN destinies under SEVEN banners, now united. SEVEN stories woven explicitly for this moment. SEVEN is the key. SEVEN. The words came rushing into Rees's conciousness like an endless torrent. Look now- he is safe, perhaps... but what is it that needs to be done? There is song here- but the flames are not extinguishing... can we let the two Roses sacrifice themselves? Can we let them die- are their destinies tied to that of the demon? Answer the question. Can the SEVEN become five and still be mighty? It was not an honest question- not rhetoric at all.

Could they afford to lose the two Roses- what weapon did they have against these things? The song was all that seemed to hurt it- and the power of the empaths. But the water, too, seemed to diminish it- perhaps out of sheer virtue of the lake goddess's willpower, out of her sheer hatred- now so loudly proclaimed. The avatar was right- this would end. One way, or another, it would end. One way or another. The waters continued rising, and the voice of an old shepherdess drifted across the channels of the spirits, to Rees's ears alone. "Everything that ends has a beginning- everything that begins must have an end. Sometimes more than one of each. Sometimes a neverending supply. Sometimes cycles can reset- sometimes balance can return simply by resetting the system." Another verbal smile, this time for Rees- and then the shepherdess returned to whatever it was that dead women did.

---

Rendia felt her spark flowing forward, aching to be released... sliding easily toward the nexus of this death and destruction... toward this demon. Nox. Shadow. Night. Breakers would be swam past, yes- but not until this threat was diminished. While the force of divinity and beauty flowed out of her, it did not create any sort of weapon- no direct one, in any event. Instead, the seas began to glimmer, the aurae realligning themselves with the polarity of the Aether. The oceans went from an abysmal black to an almost iridescent clarity, even in the darkness of the moonless sky- but that was to be expected. After all, did not the moon walk now, for them- among the mortals? The thoughts were somehow important, if someone could remember what it meant.

The seas surged, then- suddenly- without warning. Rising at least another foot or so, they were now nearly at the nape of Rendia's neck- though admittedly she was shorter than the others, but then again, she also had the least to fear. The song was drawing to its finale ((pray that they keep singing, Rendia)) and soon would come the climax of all this struggle. Rendia knew it- not how she knew, but only that it was true. With as much certainty as she had in the next breath she would take, quavering, into her lungs. The sea was the key, as much as this song was- as much as the spirits gathering was. Everything fit. The demon was beneath the water's surface.. unable to resist as long as the bindings of Faith in the Horned God remained intact. It was grim, sure- the fact that these two might be sacrificed... but it might just be necessary. Everyone here knew it- everyone who was part of this joint destiny.

Rendia did nothing further, then- nothing further being necessary. Her part lay with the seas- her destiny was tied to the Lady of the Lake, tied to the Mistress of the Moon. Tied to water, tied to earth. Tied to all things that existed here- by virtue of divinity. She had her brother's blood- that would be the catalyst, but not yet... no... not yet. The others had their task, the question only remained if they would perform them. How many of them would be willing to die for this cause? Rendia wondered idly, but did not bother answering. Time would tell. It always did, with things like this.

She looked from one to the other- to the oracle, channeling the voices and inquiring of them. To the bardling, risen again- like the phoenix, as she had known he would. To the musician, playing her feverish melody when there was nothing left to play on. To the spirit channeler, next- with her deck of cards doubtless wet beyond repair- her eyes filled with importance. Beneath the waves at the forms of Zhavon and Isabella, now outlined by both halo and corona. Beautiful, to be sure, but also tragic- in many ways.

---

Automne felt the flute falling to pieces in her grip- or at least nearing the point of zero structural integrity- threatening to fall into droplets of moltenness, her fingers already long past feeling pain. It was a wonder that she kept them moving, still- blackened as they were. The instrument itself was warped and bent in an odd position- it surely could not continue to produce notes, could it? But it did- the rhythm and syncopation it produced somehow adding to the melody, not detracting from it. It was odd, indeed- how everything was working out in neat procession. Perhaps the gods had heard her pleas- or perhaps there was something deeper at work here- something more than any of these beings combined, drawing a desperate gambit to a close at last. It was then that the flames ended- perhaps saving the fragile flute, and sparing Automne's fingers their tentative existance. There was warmth in the water- almost scalding, but far less than the pain of the direct flames. The dark water was lit by spots of flame, given off by Isabella's flares.

The mocking words floated to her, borne on spiritual voices- borne on dissonant fragments of the dead of the bazaar- channeled perhaps by Syrawenn, or perhaps by this second woman, coming near- with purpose in her eyes. Without so much as a pause, she reached beneath the waves, now at least at Automne's bustline, arms gripping for the adhiel that lurked invisibly beneath the waves- and drew him up, whole as ever- his eyes filled with renewed vigor and brightness- with new purpose. ((Sing, damn you, sing)) - the words apparently unbidden, but whispered by a shared link, of some sort. They were true. It was all she had left to do here- play her music, and listen to Finodborn's singing. Faith, child, faith.

That's all that mattered now- was this sweet symphony, this music tinged with belief and hope- this endless flowing of positivity and triumph. The thing was diminishing in form and power- and not only because of the water engulfing it. There was something more- something bound the thing beneath the waves, as the sound... magical, somehow- they all knew- smashing into the thing like a thousand knives, the flames flickering and beginning to die out. But would it be enough? Could it possibly be sufficient to destroy this Nox? There was more, of course- more parts to play... but would they fail in their courses? More voices, whispering delicately into the elfess's ears, sweetly promising failure in tones that were hardly more than doomsayings.

No, came the voice- filled with mishief- there is no failure for you hear. Get up and win the race- don't allow yourself to fail. Sing a song for the lonely, this sweet forever- listen to the saddest songs. Rapid hope loss- but you are vindicated. There is no blame to cast for this... just ignore the ministrations of these spectres. The deed is almost done... almost completed, Automne Rosse of the Citadel. Things are drawing to completion... and there will be reward enough in the deeds. Bend like a reed, but do not break. The presence broke off, flitting to whomever it would appear to next- perhaps as an apparition.

---

Syrawenn was perhaps the one who felt the most relief as the flames fell away, into nothingness. At last, perhaps, her spirit-guides had ceased their singing of enigmas and mysteries- and stopped the burning from touching her face- doubtless now blackened, and slightly disfigured. It hurt like the netherworld, to be sure, but something within told her she was not done yet- not even with the flames gone. Especially not now... there is so much to be done. So much yet to play out in this massive drama of dimensions and places- of unity and disjunction. So much left to tell- the part of storyteller now played by a weaving, not merely a collection of taut and frayed threads.

These are the questions of this place- questions long unanswered. Perhaps they are guides to help you, or perhaps they are only confusing. But there are secrets here- and long has this moment been coming. Not everything can be told, so treasure what can be. We are here- as you put it- because we are. This place exists solely for this gathering of seven- for the importance of this blessed union. This is the why of it- the why of it is the where, if that makes any sense. It matters, and it doesn't matter. It is relevent and irrelevent. Both and neither. It doesn't matter which it is, does it? No. No it doesn't. It doesn't even matter if it matters.

The lonely- us, those without places- we are afraid. So long have we inhabited it all, and we're singing for all of the lonely in the world- those who know what it is to be singular and trapped. Afraid of what we dare to do- might this be the end of us? This final moment of destruction... will it be signing our own warrant? There is cowardice- but also resolve. It must be done, channeler, it must be done. You've seen it in your dreams... you've seen the horrors. You've seen the earth tilt and change. The shadow must go, even if it means our own demise... but we are still scared. We are still afraid... and so we sing.

We sing the song of the lonely- the song of this world and of your world, this split and recombined and shifted rhythm. This concerto of hope and doubts. Of fear and courage. It is who we are- it is who you are. It is the song of all things that simply ARE. All things that EXIST. That is why it is anathema to Nox- that it is why we sing it. It hurts him, and it weakens him. It is with your voice we sing- in our own words. There is no need to understand. It doesn't matter. Singing for the lonely- singing for the lonely. There are seven lights in a dark expanse- a continuum of shadow fractured into shards by the sheer luminosity you bring here. Play your part- add your contribution. Change the song. Make it your own. Sing what you will- sing the song. Sing your part. What should you sing?

It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter, love. It just does not matter. Just sing. Sing.

[Zhavon Mikhalrian]

The end should have come ages ago. Beneath the waves of Anasis's sea, their time should have ended, the flame that surrounded both Roses either quenched or burning with such passion that they would finally be released. But it was not to be, and both were still alive, clinging to life and in turned to, clung to by the demonic force, leeching from them both as its own power ebbed.

Pushing through the water, submerging herself deeper, she laid her cheek against Isabella's shoulder, eyes closing, hands still clasped about the older and more experienced Rose. Pan was with them, at least for now, the fact comforting, though doubt and worry wormed their way into Zhavon's mind. If he abandoned them, would they, would she, have the strength to hold the demon beneath the waves? Despite it, she held fast to Isabella, tears, shed in vain, mingling with the water of the goddess.

The thread that bound her to Isabella was continually drained upon, her life flowing into the other Rose and into the demon. If she could think of a way to cut their bond, she would do it, but so far, her mind only continued to draw a blank. Her mind, tied to Isabella's and tied to the demon's, the trio nothing more than a chain of life force, sharing a commingling of blood. Blood that was tainted, or blessed, by the Sun God's, and surely that was untouchable by the demon? If only Uphuron's luminescence that burned through her flesh held her, at the very least, to the last bastion of life that Nox would never batter down.

With this realization, that in part Zhavon was some vessel of light, carrying within her veins the despair of shadow and the wonder of light, hope blossomed. If Nox could not penetrate and subsume that within her, then she could surely outlast the demon as he groped for life.

Her face turned to Isabella's, lifting to press chilled lips against the Rose's cheek. "We will win, Isabella... Just hold fast and we will win..."

[Isabella Florentina]

Isabella was so tempted, so sourly tempted, to give into the twilight that called upon her. A thousand voices shrieked in her mind. However, Zhavon's embrace was more powerful than any voice in Isa's mind. The dark lady held on, groaning as the pain worsened, yet seeing pleasure through it all as she had been taught. Isabella was one of the few that served Pan that way.

SEVEN WALK THIS NIGHT. SEVEN SEVEN SEVEN SEVEN SEVEN SEVEN. Yes, Isa could feel the presence of Rees, somehow. The circle was complete. This was the last straw needed to defeat the deamon. Let all rejoice. Even in her pain Isabella started to sing in a high note, somewhere in the minds eye, taunting the creature, now that see knew Pan would be triumpant.

It was at this moment of exuberance, way below the waves, that Isabella hugged Zhavon closer and whispered through blackened lips in her mind "Kill us, sister, kill us both. For the gods will rejoice in our sacrifice and we will live yet again."

[Guest]

The water rose and crept higher along her dress, soaking up the warm water and binding her to where she stood like a cacoon. There was no escape now, nor was there ever she now though. She tilted her head back so that the warped end of the flute would not catch ill notes in the water. What was an ill note anyway, not anything she could tell, these notes were not in her mind.

Now the voices came flooding down on her, as if the water, flames, thick water and breathlessness of playing her instrument weren't enough to rob you of your precious oxygen they did no good. Each with a lovely voice promising in cherub's vices that there was naught but death and failure in this place. Make them stop! Make them stop! She wanted to cluctch at her ears but her fingers were glued with charred cement to their purpose. Dear Pan! Chase these voices from my mind or I will not be able to fulfill my purpose! please close what sweet sanity I have left and lock it away for them not to pry and chip at! Something answered her, making they voices shrink away like shadows to a sun.


No, there is no failure for you hear. Get up and win the race- don't allow yourself to fail. Sing a song for the lonely, this sweet forever- listen to the saddest songs. Rapid hope loss- but you are vindicated. There is no blame to cast for this... just ignore the ministrations of these spectres. The deed is almost done... almost completed, Automne Rosse of the Citadel. Things are drawing to completion... and there will be reward enough in the deeds. Bend like a reed, but do not break.

Then things became deathly silent, she was sure there was sound... just that none came to her ears.

<center>Automne, silly girl. Why do you insist on leaving?
I want to fulfill my dreams... my purpose.
There is nothing there for you... youll be just as lonely.
I don't care... I'll make do. I'll find my way...
Then go, and dont come back. Sing your songs.</center>

Mother, I will.
Mother, I am.
Mother, I have.
Automne stared out everything in slow motion in her eyes... her fingers dancing like mad spiders along the warped silver shining metal. I must add something! What I'm doing now is not enough!... What am I doing? Im just letting my fingers do what they do! I can not just let this happen, anyone can simply lt their fingers be played... but.. I am not just anyone! I am Automne Rosse of the Citadel! I am a bard and have been chosen for a prupose!
<center>
Bend like a reed, but do not break!</center>

She stopped her fingers, not letting them play their own tune anymore. The feeling began to well inside her begging her and pleading her to play now. The tune was known in her head somehow but she now knew this was not enough. I WILL play the song for the lonely, souls lost and and souls unforgiven! Souls unloved I play now in your memory, and I play for my purpose! To play the songs of time undying and death everlasting... though forgiveness, recognition, and love above all things shall resound in my music! She placed her fingers in specific order and purses scorched lips in a practiced fashion letting her dry breath renewed with perserverence and determination.

The first note peeled out like a red red rose blooming in the blink of an eye, sudden and breathtaking it sprang open lovely to behold. What silence her mind had created began to fade with this note. She changed her digits again and let loose the sound of weeping and sorrow... springing forth tears to her eyes, for all she had experienced she now relinquished in these notes.

The third note sang unrequited love and the feelings of loneliness.
The fourth of anger and passionate frustration.

The sound of the dream world was coming back, her notes purer and more substanant than before. Her soul was spun through the threads of the Bardic Voice through her flute which was now a part of her, she was sure she would not be able to let go.

The notes came faster and faster, each building upon the other combinations of sadness and desperation. Her flute seemed to purify with each arpeggio of emotion and purpose ringing divinely. No longer did she let her fingers dance on their own being guided by an unknown force but she bent them to her will and played with all that she felt. Her flute began to warp unprovoked by heat or any outer influence to stretch like a vine and shine with clean remarkable sound. The sound unleashed forgiveness and uplifting love unto all. Her tears ran across a blackened face and her breaths seemed to be taken easier.

Automne was sure she was doing some good until she heard a crack. He flute was beginning to split though she was determined to finish the battle against the dark force. Another crack ran down the center twisting her notes, clearly this was an unexpected change for it did not help the notes like it had before. Finally it cracked to colorless pieces in her hands. She panted and began to cry. "This was not supposed to happen!" She was barely able to croak out the words as the pieces were washed out of her drooping hands. She saw them sink heavily to the bottom, where she also saw Finodborn. "Oh!" She delved into the deep waters and held her arms out to him. Somehow his voice was able to pierce the waters and somehow he was being pushed towards the surface, but who knew how long this would last, he needed help. She reached out to him grabbing his arms and attempting to pull him up, knowing full well he could not support himself due to what he had done to his ankles. She spoke into the waters still trying to pull him up wholey. "Though we have just met I hope we will sing together... for a long time and fulfill our purpose." Her hands, blackened and beyond feeling somehow managed to wrap around his arms and pull him closer to new life and air.. and hopefully success.

[Syrawenn]

Completely unaware of the other fights that were going on inside each and every individual present Syrawenn was focussed on her own struggle to stay upright in the flames. She did not know how or why but the voices strengthened her while they used her as a channel to out their frustrations and emotions. Raging through her body the girl lost all sense of time and place

Almost she lost her footing when the flames died out.
Almost.
But not quite.

Oh no, you don't. Syrawenn thought grimly. You ain't winning just cause the bad part seems over! Been there, done that, creepo number one! No fooling me this time!

The girl kept her wits together and listened to the voices. Used as she was to her own internal musings it was so easy to hear them, so easy to follow their lead. It was almost scary.

Am I crazy? Most probably. Am I dead? Guess so. Is this still a dream? No. It's both. Dreaming and waking. It's real. It will be felt in real life. I wonder how. Will the dogs bark? Shadows move? Maybe nothing. The sun might be shining. Another beautiful day until it is too late to change. It has to change. Gotta warn them. Gotta warn people. They should not die. Bloody bones, so many people to warn. I don't want them to die. Damn dreams.

Her mind wrapped itself around the voices. Unanswered? Used to it. Mysteries? Sure, throw me some more, I don't mind. What's this with seven? Am I one of them? Don't make me laugh. But don't be afraid. I'm afraid enough for all of us. Go sing, cause I can't sing. Use my voice, cause I don't know what to say.

Things that simply are...alright, I can add myself to that mix. The girl realized. I dunno what the flip I'm here for anyway. I just am. Very nice... Very nice indeed! That will be my part then...unpredictable, everchanging, fluctuating. Try and keep up with this noxyboy and prepare to have your mind blown!

A maniacal laugh escaped her lips, quickly transformed into a sound Syrawenn did not know she had in her: she was singing. This time she was really singing herself. Her chaotic mind turned and twisted to find strange combinations of notes that somehow made it into harmony with the others, jumping from one song to another, from calculated dischord to a pure tone whenever the fancy struck her.

Here I am! The song screamed. Deal with me! I dare you to understand me! Again she jumped from song to song, secretly connecting them all through a pattern that existed by curtesy of it's absence.

Come follow me if you can. Keep up with me and see everything I have to show you. Nothing and everything, have a bit of all, have a bit of everyone you have devoured. Can you still stomach it? Sure you can, you thrive on pain and death and all those dark emotions, don't ya? Here, I got something fun for you to chew on...you can handle to darkness, how are you in handling the light?

Syrawenn burst out into song, putting all the Love she had ever felt for her parents, despite their questionable following of the One, all her heart's desire for someone to put an arm around her, for the few friends she had really been willing to give her life for, all her hearts content and the promise she felt for the future. Unable to believe she was able to throw all this at the heart of darkness, it granted her the chance to respond without being afraid anymore...with the innocent love of the child she secretly still was.

Love you, noxyboy...

[Finodborn]

Perhaps this moment was the thing he had been looking for; a meager and insignificant reflection of the real thing had been the music in his life so far, for in no way was it comparable to this. He had found beauty in its purest form. Beauty has pain as well as pleasure to it, life as well as death death. So does music. Therefore this point between two worlds was the only moment it could be truly felt. But unlike music, daughter of time, beauty knows no meter. That's why I never found it before.

The fact that it wasn't his time yet surprized him, for he thought he was already dead. Hope. Hope? He snapped out of his neutral state of absolute objective emotions, his instincts resurrected.

If the water hadn't carried much of his weight, perhaps he would have fallen again, for his feet could not carry him. But it was the air column feeding his voice that really kept him standing. A singer normally doesn't blow air through his throat; he supports a column of air. This one didn't need Finodborn's support, for it pulled him up rather than leaning on him.

He sang of hope.

[Torigm Khace]

The walls broke at last. Water rushed inward from all sides of the bazaar. The roar of the rushing torrent quickly flooded the circle of dreamwalkers. Isabella and Zhavon clutching one another, Automne, Rees, and Finodborn supporting one another nearby. Syrawenn alone in body but joined by a multitude of spirits that compounded upon themselves and belted out their song with her voice. Rendia alone, away from the group felt the time come and eternity was hers to hold as the sounds of her companions were washed away in the roar as their bodies floated slightly within the water, a moment frozen in time. And then there was silence. The forceful singing of the dreamwalkers never ceased until the water filled their lungs. It was noise and harmony surrounded by a cacophony that disharmonized the entire existence of the dream realm. So few take time to listen.


In the end,
Where hearts will go, I'll follow,
and take it upon myself
to love
and not be defeated
by the pressures of life.


In the silence, the blissful peace, Rendia chose divinity. How else to be nearer to her faith, her goddess, than to stand by her side for all eternity. How much better it is to understand mercy by giving it. The darkness that surrounded them all was broken between the light bearing outward from her clutched fingers. The tiny dragon's claw pressing into her flesh as a gentle reminder. The light of Uphuron, of Jaji, three quarters full, rolled lazily inside the miniature vial. The cycle of life and death of the dream had come to a close and the nightmare rested inside Isabella. The only way to defeat the nightmare was to wake up, and how could you wake up if that essence of life was contained, confined to a tiny space, sealed away for no one to enjoy. Rendia could see the life still within them all, merriment, laughter, joy, pleasure, pain, sorrow, anger, love, and forgiveness. All the things that make up mortality and divinity.

There inside both Zhavon and Isabella was only a quarter of the wakefulness. The light to start the cycle anew. Someone had carelessly thought to trap a part of it and break the cycle. They had carelessly given power to the nightmare. They had taken from all the people of this world and so many others, the knowledge that everything would be all right in the end. A truth rested in Rendia's hand, and she decided to pull the stopper and let the truth be known.


In our lives,
from beginning to end
we will have triumphs and defeats.
If we follow
the ones we love
we can come to learn to love ourselves.


It sounded like sandpaper and a gasp as the light flooded from the vial and the water pushed suddenly away from the seven. A funnel of dryness and light surrounded them. Their imperfections, their recent wounds and scars, their hopes and dreams were revealed. The water in their lungs was pushed away, and collectively in their states, they let out a silent breath. The horn that signaled the coming of the enemy sounded in Finodborn's mind. The untouched flute of the Unicorn still hung limply by his side. Automne's own cracked flute crumbled in her fingers. The horn sounded in Automne's mind.

"Maybe I was just a messenger, part of knowing when to play is knowing when not to play." He handed the flute to her and Automne lifted the flute from his weakened hands. "If you are the champion of the Sea, then I am the champion of the Sun," she said and brought the flute to her lips. She blew the same long note of the horn that now sounded in everyone's minds. The water rushed backwards as the funnel tripled in breadth. The surrounding height of the waters grew tall, and a song entered Automne's head. The song of Jaji began to play on the flute of the Sea.


I will find myself
alone on a beach full of life
searching for my love
And I will find my love in the end.
The tides and the sun will follow
washing away the evil at our feet.


Rees helped Finodborn to stand lending her strength to him as the melody entered their hearts. Rees hummed gently along with the Song of Jaji while the melody of the Sea grew in Finodborn's mind. As the caesura of the Song of Jaji came up under Automne's fingers, Finodborn dropped his jaw slightly and shaped his lips and a long low note echoed from his mouth signaling the horns of the song of Miru. The dropping patterns and low soft notes of Jaji entered into the mix and the rising tides of Miru harmonized and circled one another as Automne played the Unicorn Horn flute and Finodborn vocalized the song in his heart.

Syrawenn remained silent, the voices in her head quiet as her self. The waters pushed back to the walls of the bazaar in their raspy hush, fully revealing a night of destruction and mayhem. An evil had swept through but now lay trapped between Isabella and Zhavon who looked skyward, burnt carcasses that were once living. The light of Jaji boiled away the immensely tall waters that encircled them all. Clouds formed and spread outward, and shadows of clouds and of people not there slowly appeared around the fallen bazaar.


It is in the defeat
of the evil within oneself
that you will find followers.
It is in the search for life
at its culmination
that you understand love.


Forgiveness and mercy. To understand them, to receive them, you must give them. They are integral parts of love. Rendia looked upon the wounded before her. People drawn in but willing to play their parts to restore a broken realm. It's no longer about what Anasis would do, she has done her part. She has exited the stage and Rendia is left to do what she must do. She recognized that despite the foolishness that caused this event, some good must come of it and she wept for joy as it ended. The bountiful waters rolled back and away as the harmonizing strains of music filled the broken bazaar. Rendia approached the clutched husks of Isabella and Zhavon and brushed them off.

As though they had simply been encased in dust, the decay, the evil, the ash, the mistakes where brushed away. Isabella's long dark hair flipped and flowed down her back as she let go of Zhavon who let go of Isabella and looked around in amazement as the light she was to deliver was all around. Spirits walked away from the body of Syrawenn, one at a time and took their places next to the appropriate shadows that grew darker on the ground of the bazaar. Rendia wiped the soot from Syrawenn's eyes and tears flowed freely from them both as protected souls issued forth from Syrawenn's form.

The faint whispers of singing joined the livening tune of Automne and Finodborn. Rendia wiped the cuts from Finodborn's ankles and he could dance again. The physical forms of the dream walkers were whole again and she stepped back to listen to the music that played in everyone.


I have found my love
and not suffered the defeat
of my doubts at my end.
I have found myself
and embraced this life.
I hope you will follow.


The people took form and shape and solidity. They began to pick up the things that were washed aside by the rush of water and broken by the rage of villainy and jealousy and spitefulness. The darkling army was spoken of with laughter and jocularity. How silly they looked rushing through the bazaar in their black pointy hats and spiky armor. How fearful they once might have been. How dreadful they didn't stop to buy anything. Especially the beautiful fabric. Fabric for sale, wonderful silk imported from across the sea. Shipments every month.

Some shoppers stopped to listen to the lively singing and dancing of Finodborn and Automne who danced and twirled and played merrily. Their harmony was no longer a contest of wills but a musical structure built upon two songs that completed one another. A duet that was written somewhere in dust on the back of a star. Rees could feel the presence of someone near, watching with a loving eye, a young man who somehow seemed familiar and yet he was a stranger.

"I know you don't know me, but I'm going to be training to be a knight soon and I was wondering if I could spend my last day as a man without a sword in the presence of a beautiful young woman such as yourself. There's a great vendor down the street that makes a mean cup of Joe and the sweetest bread this side of the Terras'Ka harbour. What'd ya say?" A charming smile and a comfort and ease about him, melted her heart.


Follow, follow, follow
I'll lead the way my love
stay with me forever
we will never once be lost
we'll always have one another
far beyond the end


Syrawenn listened intently and heard only herself within her head. The populace of this dream had taken up their proper places once again, and the fabric salesman wrapped a shoal around her, "She looks lovely doesn't she ladies and gentlemen." Then he whispered in a low tone to her, "If you tell everyone where you got this, you can keep it."

Shoppers tossed coins near the ground of Automne and Finodborn and cheering them on. Clapping hands and adding melodies which mixed, as they had always had, into the Marriage of Jaji and Miru. Little children danced at the grownups' directions the proper steps of the Dance of Sun and Sea. A child tugged at Rendia's flowing garments, which fluttered in the gentle breeze that moved the clouds at their lazy pace far overhead.

"I know why the sun shines, Miss." the little girl said, her face a young mirror of Rendia. "It's so it can see itself in the sea and keep the sea warm because Jaji loves all that he looks on." Rendia smiled and patted the girl's head. There was some wisdom in the words of the little girl, and still much to learn. With her other hand Rendia uncurled her fingers to look at a small sealed vial with a curved dragon claw stopping the end. Within the vial a very tiny black snake slept, curled into a very tiny ball.


There is no end to love for those who do not want it to end.
There is no defeat of hope for those who follow their hearts.
It is not for ourselves, but to help others, the reason we live our lives.

[Gia as Rendia]

Torigm Khace, it was a beautiful ending. Thank you for completing our dream. ^_^ I'm not exactly sure I understand what happened, but I'm glad it did.