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[Nh'bdy]

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Sitting outside of the Twin Oaks Tavern Seth extended his tired arms lazily skyward, musing into the gentle mist that fell from the heavens of Ilshenar.

Ooh muddled liquid of putrid gray,
Casted haphazardly hemophiles way.
My riotous sword of heavenly wrath!
An angel cast as terrors aid..
But sleeping now by my design.
Stinging pain kept warm with cloak in hand.
Sleep well M'lady for anon the morn..
Hatred, violence, and pyres scorn!

Seth accents the word "Pyre" so that it seems to float betwixt the realm of "Pire" and "Pyre". Turning dramatically to his companion as to signal his exit from the light of the monologue, he vividly recalls the scene of their work, for a moment, gazing into his eyes may grant the viewer the glowing of hell fire, but the moment is lost in the night, seen only by Malorn. Silently, he whispers but two words... "Sossoria Prevails.."


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Work in Progress.
"What do you call a fish with four legs? A stool pidgeon! Bwuagh bwuagh bwuagh bwguagh!"
~Malorn

[Skye O'Mlly]

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She was no fool to antics. She had lived a hard life. Born of nobles and cast to the dirt she had learned lifes harshest of lessons. She gazed at the masked men, they could be here to destroy her, guardians of her familys integrity here, to wipe out this mistake. Yet she felt certain they were not. In her hand was a flask of chemicals of a flammable nature. In her heart was a fear of living her life without meaning, always on the run. Was it time to stop and take a stand? Was it time to end her merciless wandering?

She was thin with flaming red hair a rebellion to even the sun, the eyes that were housed under her lashes sparkled blue and kind. So odd in this nameless faceless woman, to see kindness in her eyes. Compassion for the weak, the trodden, the lost.

She tossed the bottle and flames ensued...
The fire they ignited was far stronger than any passion,
The inspiration they brought to her an eternal gluttony of knowledge.

Were their intentions nefarious? to some? Terrorists in the eyes of those who would oppose. The needle dug into her neck, she shivered her body still cold. So cold, to thin, to thin this day...

The vision crept behind my eyes
Soft shuttered eyes of nameless beauty
With spidery hands fate read to me its tale
With lips of ebony the night kissed me..

I saw my love for what he was
For what they saw and hated
Yet I loved him no matter his cast in life

I saw my love for what I saw him
Yet they saw not this dream
Bitter pain, endless lies
Turning my face from their constant refrain.

Cold lips and white skin my love lay slain
My fathers blade for what was ill
My mothers arrow for his life was nill...
My heart lost, my deed now sworn..

His eyes of death they stare at me
they beg me to reclaim his name
beg me to reclaim his name...

Beg me to reclaim

Her scream peirced the darkness her wandering at an end...

I know my face....

[NOT Malorn]

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She slept.

His eyes gazed over her face, pain of many years caressing her cheeks, wrapped about her eyelids, sweeping through her nostrils, into her lungs. Pain of a life, remembered in a night, and twisted in a dream. Palpable and serene as if it were his own mind concocting.

The power of the poet, empathy as a compass.

Staring, silent, his mask shed as she searched for hers, his guises and guard down, and all that remained of his face was fascination.

Fascination, and the Idea. His one mask never shed, and his only true face of his only two purposes. Seth had his ways, and it was much easier to not watch the look on Skye's face. It was much easier to not gaze into her sightless eyes, full of terror, confusion, and pain.

The truth remained clear, their quest, their Idea, was not easy and would come at a horrible price.

With eyes closed, the mist of the stale basement air licked his lips and stole his breath. No longer could he linger near this woman, tragic and lost... Ebbing on the brink to be found...

With but one step, she would be found.

"I will see you in Yew." His words fell on deaf ears, and uninterested walls and darkness. The night air was thick around the tavern and his feet carried him without question or refrain. He wore his mask, for a face of one of the faceless. The fires of the night burning brightly in the back of his eyes, and mind.

"It has begun."