Battling the Nightmare: a performance for the Festival of Light

AolinAolin Inside a transdimensional bakeryMember Posts: 35 ✭✭✭
edited April 17 in Roleplay Logs
You shout, "A performance of the last battle against the Nightmare and the Imago's birth will begin shortly at 66458 in Esterport for the Festival of Light. All are welcome to attend. There are cupcakes!"

@Orunmila Gallant says to you, "See? Mention cupcakes and the people will come."

Listlessly running his gaze across the crowd, @Anavander's attention snags on the awaiting kegs, which cause him to stir himself from where he lingers. Hooking a cup by the handle, he holds it in a loose grip as he studies the assorted offerings, expressionless. At length, he pours an overly generous portion of ale for himself, and wearily wends his way back to sit atop a barrel, cradling the cup between his laced hands.

Arch Duchess @Teotl Nehekhara, Kelo Viyve laughingly says, "Or ale."

Aolin motions to the table and grins, noting Anavander with a curious glance and a smile. "Please, help yourself to drinks and a bag. Just a moment longer and we'll begin."

Arch Duchess Teotl Nehekhara, Kelo Viyve smiles and says to Didi with purrs and near-subvocal intonations, "Hello again."

@Selyssa stands quietly, picking bits of dead critters from her calf-length tresses of shockingly blue hair while others converse.
Roux's features look a bit strained as he walks in, and he lights a burgundy-cinnamon cigarette with a soft, fiery exhale before letting the cinnamon-scented smoke drift around him with a sighing exhale.

Orunmila quietly chews on the last piece of the cupcake then smiles. "Delicious."

@Rihrin steps in quietly and notices @Roux, casting a broad grin before waving.

Anavander's lifeless eyes rest upon you for a moment, long enough to offer a lopsided, paltry excuse for a smile in turn, lifting his cup in vague salute.

Waiting cheerfully beside the shrine, soft lit by the moonbeams woven into her ethereal dress, Aolin watches the crowd arrive and assemble. In her hands, the quicksilver lyre delicately blossoms flowers and creatures, shifting form beneath her hands in passive waiting as it anticipates being played. The faelike Yeleni finally determines that enough have gathered to begin. Settling into a cross-legged position on the ground, she reaches to the side and snags a brightly painted bow, closing her eyes as she sets hair to string and lightly pulls it across. A wistful, lilting tune drifts free atop bright, visible colors that dance before the crowd, slowly forming the image of a starlit hilltop with a child tucked into a bower, their mother knelt and singing as moths flit about.

@Qelres lingers at the back of the crowd. They are a quiet, subdued, unbreathing presence.

Lin stakes out a place beneath the canopy of an unused market stall, habitually rolling her shoulders, hiking up an outsized kimono that seems always on the verge of falling off of her shoulders. She observes things passively, tending to keep one eye, one ear perked, and idly tends to a number of fresh scrapes and cuts that pepper her skin like guidemarks on a seamstress's dummy.

Orunmila turns his attention from his cup to you, settling in and focusing on her.

Aolin begins to sing quietly, the lullaby sustaining the scene. "It's time to become, little moth, little moth, for the moon's rising high in the sky. You've eaten your greens, now you nest midst the leaves as the wind plays the tree's lullaby." Within the insubstantial hilltop imagery, the faceless mother tucks the hair out of the equally blank face of the child.

Guiseppe moves across the market square quietly to stand next to Orunmila before turning his attention solely on you.

Rihrin makes his way through the crowd to stand by Roux, turning to listen to you once in position.

Aolin continues, the quicksilver strings of the lyre singing out the sweet and gentle melody. "It's time to lie down, little moth, little moth, for the night is so terribly dark. We must circle the flame, keep the shadow at bay while we sing our old songs to the stars." The moths thicken the air with twinkling, prismatic hues caught by moon and star, delicate ornaments upon the crown of the hill.

A hilltop sprawls out through the market square, and the sound of crickets punctuates the song.

Anavander's scarred brow lifts as he watches the display, faint surprise briefly flickering to life in his eyes, before dying away once more.

Roux glances at Rihrin, waving briefly with the hand holding the lit smoke before he refocuses, his keen gaze following your movements with the instrument, a sense of familiarity and recognition to the Yeleni's expression. His free hand twitches as if feeling the hard line of a bow within his own fingers for a moment.

Keeping a steady pace as the gently lilting lullaby continues, Aolin looks up now from the lyre, her eyes drifting between both the colorful imagery brought forth by the dream-touched lyre as well as those listening. "It's time to dream sweet, little moth, little moth, for your light in the world is so fleeting. Look onward, look far: find your own chosen star, and imagine it near while you're sleeping."

The fond, wordless singing of a doting mother drifts out over the crowd, entwining into the lullaby in quiet, subtle harmony.

Orunmila looks around taking in the imagery in awe.

@Church scratches sleepily at his beard, expression slightly glazed - it would seem he is well-prepared for this particular event.

Teotl strokes one paw along their zither, as if soothing a child to silence in their lap as they sit and listen, tail twitching a rhythm.

Aolin sings out, her rich contralto filling the area despite the quiet serenity of the lullaby. She watches the crowd with a smile as she sings, finishing, "It's time to awake, little moth, little moth, for the sun's coming up in the sky. Your long rest is done, now the day is begun: so spread your wings proud and bright, love." As the last notes fade away, the peaceful hilltop scene fades away as no more colors arise from the strings to sustain it.

@Iaphia's crossed arms slowly loosen, then fall to her sides at your performance. Backing up, she finds a solid appearing barrel, and hoists herself to settle.

Orunmila beams broadly.

Teotl purrs contentedly, offering a smile and offering a quiet applause.

Setting the bow into a loop in her belt and shifting the lyre around to her side on its strap, Aolin stands and regards the assembled with a warm smile. "This was a song transcribed by Hioma, the Imago's current shell. I'll be talking- and singing, and dancing, and weaving- of her story and how it ended, yet continued on still. How she became more than just a shell, and is ever Unforgotten." She pauses for a moment, glancing over at the table full of cookies and beverages, and grins. "Please, help yourself to refreshments at any time. Questions are welcome at any point during discussion, but I do ask that during the performance you keep verbal communication to a minimum."

@Rijetta perks up, having been deep in thought for the song.

@Aithinne moves slowly and as unobtrusively as possible towards the table where she takes one of the bags. Opening it, she moves out of the way again before returning her attention to you.

Aolin ponders for a moment. "Cupcakes, not cookies. Sorry, habit," she laughs.

Orunmila chuckles long and heartily.

Teotl grins mischievously at you.

Selyssa shyly makes her way to the table, picking up a bag, quietly.

Anavander lifts the cup to his lips in a distracted, disinterested fashion, taking a long draught as he watches you with vague intent.

Straightening, Aolin lays her hands against the shrine and lets the rest there, color rippling out under her touch as the silver tattoo on her arms flares briefly. "The Goddess Omei has had many Aspects through history, each reflecting a vital component of Herself, brought about by the circumstances of time. Artist, Dreamer, Beast Queen, Nightmare... and now, the Imago. Imago, a word that refers to the final stage of metamorphasis, in which a thing becomes all of its parts, yet more than the sum of them. She is thus now, a glorious whole, with each facet inside but dominated by none." The bright smile on her face darkens to a shadowed, pensive expression. "It was not always so, though."

@Lin messily shakes out her hair and corrects her posture, drawing her robe stiffly together, and takes up an attentive posture, looking like some soldier from a strange land. She is mostly still, her hands clasped loosely behind her back, but her tail endlessly swerves from side to side.

@Sekeres remains stoic and silent as she scans the crowd, her river turquoise eyes moving aside to you. Then they project away like lost comets encircling black rings of shadow through the curtain of her dreadlocks. Pointed ears vibrate along the air with the lightest shiver as her harsh cheekbones pull inward.

Selyssa's ears wriggle as she spots the diffuser within the bag, leaving it within the bag for safe-keeping. She grabs the platter, eating the sweets to quiet her rumbling tummy.

Rijetta grits her teeth.

Selyssa takes a platter of colourfully-chaotic cupcakes from a rainbow floral treat bag.

Iaphia has leaned forward, arms on her thighs, to listen intently to every word that comes from you.

"Not so long ago, the Nightmare's self-hatred had caused her to discorporate into many parts, dispersing Her Divine essence into woodland creatures around Sapience. She wished the solace of thoughtlessness, and to delve further into Chaos, and so split her thoughts and being so thoroughly that She could not remake Herself outside of her demesne of Dreams." Aolin continues, the pattern of her fingers drumming the shrine causing a rhythmic dance of colored light around the prismatic column. Her brows furrow slightly at something, her eyes searching the crowd briefly before looking over at Sekeres with a sidelong grin.

Aisling approaches the crowd quietly, joining them at the back, her hands resting at her sides as she watches.

Teotl flicks one of their ears reflexively.

Folding his hands atop the head of a war-painted orel, Church slumps forward a bit in the saddle, the bird begrudgingly settling to roost akin its rider as he makes himself more comfortable.

Aolin pauses for several long moments, her face taking on a wistful cast. "A little Rajamala girl, starving and desperate for survival, ate some of those animals. In doing so, she took bits of the Nightmare's essence inside her, and began to change. She came to Duiran, where she found answers and purpose. Eating piece after piece, she slowly assembled the Divine essence within her, even as she became a daughter to the Seer and his wife. And then.. she died." The words are delivered softly, a startling contrast to the harshness and finality they contain. She continues a moment later, solemnly. "Understanding that She must be unfettered from the ties of mortality to fully become, the mortal body of Hioma fell away like a caterpillar's chrysalis atop Her throne. But there was more to come. She was not yet whole- the Nightmare was still unbound."

Jhura's lips curl into a frown as she listens, fingers curling to brush against a yellow mouse tattoo and her eyes flickering closed for a moment.

Anavander sets his left elbow atop his thigh, allowing his head to fall aside so that his jaw thumps to rest against his knuckles.

At the mention of the death of a vessel, Qelres lifts their head. Their eyes narrow. They are silent and tense.

Rijetta raises a hand to her lips, eye fixed on the middle distance as she considers.

Anavander absently rubs at his head with his free hand, the gesture loose and lethargic.

Aisling's fingers curl, then ease, and she rubs her palms on her thighs before her hands move to join behind her.

Merek listens and watches.

Aithinne's chosen cupcake seems to be entirely forgotten in her hands. She keeps her attention focused on you for the most part, but does break her eyes away periodically to scan the crowd.

Diantha, Princess of the Dreaming Moon slips in around the edge of the crowd, visibly winded as she arrives.

Like a practiced storyteller, Aolin's words fall steadily, paced and emotive. Pushing away from the shrine, she tucks her hands in the small of her back beneath the gossamer rainbow of her wings, stepping out now to make her way through the crowd, looking up at each face as she passes. She finally continues, slowly circling back around to before the shrine. "What came forth from the shreds of Hioma's skin was someone- Someone- in between. The nameless girl. Gathering a stalwart group of expeditioners bearing the chaos mark-" her hands come out from behind her back and she taps the silver mouse on her forearm with one finger as it lights up briefly, "they went forth into Chaos Dreaming to tame the spheres and subdue the Nightmare. Some of them are here with us today."

"And some bore witness," Diantha, Princess of the Dreaming Moon echoes, her voice carrying low and sonorous across the crowd. She waves to you, taking a moment to beam brightly at you before falling silent.

@Jhura smiles at Diantha, Princess of the Dreaming Moon.

Teotl tries to subtly shift on the ground so that they are downwind from Diantha without drawing attention.

Aolin pauses, flashing a brilliant grin to Diantha, Princess of the Dreaming Moon before continuing.
You have recovered balance on all limbs.

As if on cue, Lin lifts her arm, making a fist, a gesture of confirmation and solidarity in one. Around her forearm, a red tiger tattoo ebbs and glows.

Anavander's attention drags itself briefly to the new arrivals, lingering upon them in only a very cursory fashion, before it slides back to you, eyes settling upon the argent mouse upon your forearm.

You say in lunar tones: "This is the story of the final battle with the Nightmare, and the birth of the Imago."

Sekeres's eyes drag to Diantha, Princess of the Dreaming Moon, focused for a moment as the corsucating celestial constellations across her skin mirror with chaotic shifts in nameless colors. Her jaw sets through the barest of smiles, and looks back to you quietly.

Aolin pulls her lyre back into her arms again, settling it across her chest. This close to a shrine of Omei, the quicksilver shifts in subtle but rapid permutations of beast and flower across its surface. Once more laying the bow to the strings, she begins to play. Rather than the sweet, lilting lullaby, a low and tense chord grates out to fill the square with a rich but harsh sound that pulses as the bow moves steadily back and forth in a fluid, unbroken motion. Atop the foundational chord, notes suddenly branch out, adding a dark and chaotic melody as images begin to swirl from the four strings of the bowed lyre. Above the crowd, a violent purple astral storm begins to take form.

Guiseppe's lips quiver as he fights to hold back a burst of laughter. He narrows his eyes at Orunmila shortly before turning his attention back to you, pulling a respectful expression back onto his face.

Dark, swirling shadows of deepest purple roil and churn above with unsettling susurrations as eldritch lights flash.

Teotl lifts their eyes to watch the forms taking shape, mouth agape in open wonderment.

Lost in her own thoughts, Iaphia's head lifts, cocks back to watch and listen to the continuation of the story from you.

Orunmila shakes his head silently, then turns his attention upward gazing at the storm in awe.

As the ominous melody weaves through the crowd, Aolin begins to sing, her voice effortlessly clearing the bowed lyre's warlike, rhythmic song. "Deep within the Dreaming, the Moon beneath their feet, fourteen dreamers gathered in a ruined city square," come the words, almost hushed despite the easy projection through the busy foot traffic. "Wings of violet teeming above the shattered street, deadly whispers warning of a Presence hidden there."

Before the crowd, their backs to the shrine, fourteen shadowed figures appear. Each clutches their weapon and stares upward with a palpable tension.

The faint, eerie whispers of the storm suddenly crescendo as the ravenous storm approaches, becoming a shout of angry wings.

As if in echo to the roil of shadows above, twin curtains of diaphanous ashen mist drape about @Straid's shoulders, intermittently creating the vage shape of great wings as he listens. His eyes seem to regard everything and nothing at once as dark geometric patterns slowly shift atop twin nebulae of emerald and amethyst.

It isn't a storm at all.

It's a horde of violet moths.

Teotl shudders violently.

With a struggle, Sekeres attempts to call upon her willpower reserves, however the effort leaves her looking dizzy and weak. Her eyes quickly grow unfocused and she sways slightly before crashing heavily to the ground, and she quickly slips into unconsciousness.
Being unconscious, Sekeres falls over.

Sekeres regains consciousness with a start.

Lin stares implacably at Sekeres.

Sekeres stands up and stretches her arms out wide.

Sekeres leaves to the northwest.

In a frenzy of motion, the expedition grabs their weapons, the Seer sliding a kagamine cage across the square to the nameless girl.

Aisling bows her head, turning on her heel as to follow.

Aisling leaves to the northwest, the bone-chilling air slowly dissipating.

The bowed lyre stops dead for one, two, three heartbeats as the images stand still in an echoed memory of shock and horror. Aolin watches the two depart with a faint frown, her hand poised over the strings. Then, in a rush, she begins to play once more, the strings shouting out a warlike dirge as the ominous melody picks up in tempo and takes on an edge of feral glee. "Down came the chaos moths from the storm! Snarling, slashing, churning fray! Kill one off, another forms, never fully gone away." The faelike Yeleni's eyes flash as she sings, her feet carrying her through the shadowed images of the dreamers that flow from her instrument in what is nearly a dance. "Into the battle the dreamers charge, standing firm against the horde! Flashing magics small and large, shining arcs of spear and sword."

Lin isn't the most expressive person at times, but she is by no means immune to the story's charm, and doesn't seem to be aware of her own quietly growing grin, filled with sharp fangs.

The maddened rush of massive violet moths fills the square, a maelstrom of furious chaotic energy that swoops down on the crowd.

Although the memories of the expedition battle valiantly, it soon becomes clear that the storm of wings is undiminished. No bodies litter the ground.

Raucous hues of disunity surge over Esterport, shot through by violet moths in a surging, oneiric herald of the Imago's power.

Teotl's breath catches in a gasp of surprise.

The wild song slows, little by little, and the images of the fighters begin to slow along with it as one by one they realize the ineffectuality of their efforts. Each weapon falls slowly as bewilderment sets in. Aolin resumes singing, the bellicose melody turning pensive despite the grin she can't quite suppress at the show of power in the sky above. "Dreamers now surrounded, beset from every side, the essence of the Nightmare ever in pursuit," she cries out, the frustration and confusion of the expedition haunting her voice. Atop the notes, though, a sweetly plucked harmony suddenly sings out in counterpoint. "Music then resounded, another tactic tried- a Salurian melody from a quicksilver flute."

Teotl relaxes visibly, tensions flowing from them at the sound of that Salurian melody.

The battle rages on, moths falling but never seeming to hit the ground as the fury of chaos rages hazily through the crowd.

One set of hands lets his weapons fall away and picks up a flute, the melody streaming forth in shades of red, orange, and yellow.

Orunmila reflexively moves out of the way of the images of the moths a few times before adjusting to the scene finally.

Anavander's free hand twitches towards the worn leather of his sword's hilt every time a moth draws near, the scarred digits jerking like the spasmodic contractions of a dying spider. His brow draws down, casting his amber eyes in shade as the muscles of his jaw undulate and flex like writhing serpents beneath his marred skin.

@Guiseppe seems to be paying fascinated, rapt attention to the story unfolding in front of him, both eyes wide behind his bangs.

The slower pace continues, but begins to grow in complexity as threads of countermelody weaves in little by little under Aolin's skillful hand. "Steady heartbeat drumming, foundation for the song, the singer backs her father with a stalwart beat," sings out, and a distant thump-thump joins the song from somewhere unseen, just barely audible. Her eyes find Sekeres, a fond acknowledgement. "Nature's murmurs thrumming, the leaves whisper along, violinist joins in with a wind so sweet." Now, a nod to Jhura, as the bow begins to move faster again.

Lin's eyes open widely. Without thinking about it, like some well-exercised reflex, she cups the mask at her side and pushes it over her face. Her tail bristles harshly, ears perked and tilted upward.

A breath of wind rolls through the crowd, bringing with it the sound of rustling leaves, joining the heartbeat that resounds.

Jhura brushes her fingers across the surface of an entwined softly shimmering violin with chaotic patterns at your nod, dipping her own in acknowledgement.

In a renewed burst of energy foreshadowed by the building speed, Aolin's bow flies suddenly forth again, singing out a chaotic and fey melody- the same as before, but wilder, angrier. "Now come the nameless girl's dancing paws, angry, savage, steeped in fate. Chaos bonds torn free with claws, turning moth against its mate." Here and there through the storm, moths turn and begin to slash viciously at each other. "Slowly the moths fly into the cage, pulled as sure as tide to shore. Arrows fly in streaks of light, storm of wings stills more and more."

A hazy outline of a girl stomps with feral grace through the illusory square, spinning and leaping and sending forth Her will to the cloud of chaos above.

Her breath noisy in her mask, Lin sniffs at the air, wefting her way through the crowd without care, looking for someone or something.

In Her hands now, a bow, shooting light at the moths and knocking them from the air.

One by one, they flutter down in a daze, drawn in through the open door of a kagamine cage studded with amethyst.

As the moths begin to gather within the cage, Aolin continues playing, the song slowing yet again from its wild energy into a more measured verse. Strangely, a loud croaking can be heard now, louder than any natural frog might emit. "Croaking sounds now falling, a deep and rhythmic sound, archmage steadies chaos into ordered song. Lute and sitar calling, fresh harmony is found, chaos eater sending notes into the throng," sings out, her voice weaving the words into the harmonic mesh of the bowed lyre as her eyes seek and find Lin, giving her a nod of acknowledgment.


The thunder of wings is a whisper now, the last few stragglers making their way into the cage.


And then.. there are no more. Chaos, order. The door of the cage is closed.

Lin halts in her tracks, acted upon as if some unseen person had gently barred her with a hand to her chest. She seems somehow satisfied, if not a little shaken, giving you the sum of her attention once more, but often breaking eye contact to glance around for something.

Slowly, the instruments die away as the expedition looks at each other with a sense of confusion and triumph alike.

'What now?'

As the moths murmur in the cage and the expedition lower their instruments and cease their noises, the lyre too dies away to a single chord, the first chord, still unbroken. Aolin begins to sing again against it, and once more, it builds swiftly- first through quickly plucked notes and then into smoothly bowed melody. "Back to Omei's throne they went, cage laid down upon the floor. Nameless girl a challenge sent, 'I thought that You would be more.' From the cage the moths fly out, forming into Nightmare cold. With a whisper, not a shout, 'You've learned nothing,' She did scold." By the end of the words, the strings all but scream with tension, built steadily with a growing complexity of harmony through the verse.

Face to face. The Nightmare, eyeless and scarred and tattooed with eldritch light. The nameless girl, a hazy quicksilver silhouette.

Teotl shudders violently.

A harsh tension settles over the square like a stifling cloak, crackling with static.

Straid tilts his head to one side in a decidedly avian fashion, a few long braids tumbling from the mane of their kin atop his head to drape and catch upon the base of one of his horns. An expression fraught with complexity lightly contort his features and the geometric patterns in his pupilless eyes seem to shift in a fashion that speaks of agitation as well as keen attention.

Suddenly, the Nightmare leaps forth in rage, balls of violet flame wreathing her paws.

"Harsh violet fire cast at the girl, blazing, burning, hungry things. Dhurive flashed in bright-hued whirl, blows sent back with expert swings," Aolin all but shouts atop the warlike scream of the lyre as the two forms of Her break into battle. "'Now it's My turn!' came the cry, nameless girl advancing strong. Back and forth the blows did fly, but... the battle was not long."

The dhurive flashes, steadily pressing the taller Omei back until she is trapped against the throne.

Aolin does not sing now, instead letting the lyre's strings tell the tale through sound and images alike. The scene pours out from the strings atop the cracklingly tense chords. Trapped, each of Them thrusts an arm forward at the same time, and stumble back. In each of Their paws, the heart of the other.

In the hand of the nameless girl, a powerful thing, violet and rich with power. In the Nightmare's heart, the mortal heart of an adolescent.

And yet.. of the two, the one who falls is the Nightmare. Crumbling back against the throne, She tries to squeeze the bloody heart, and cannot.

Lin does not overtly shift her attention away, caught in the thrall of the story, succumbed easily to the same charm that has mesmerized campfire-huddling wanderers for Epochs. She does, however, sidle over to Diantha, Princess of the Dreaming Moon, and without directly addressing the Fae, very casually edges an elbow against her arm.

Anavander's weary gaze slides from the mortal, bloodied heart, to the Divine, effulgent with power, expressionless.

The Nightmare tries to shove the heart into Her own chest, but it will not fit. Looking up, she asks the nameless girl, "How?"- though it is Aolin's voice that sings the single word. The nameless girl shakes her head, and Aolin sings, "It is not You they believe in any more." The lyre slows still further, becoming pensive, almost mournful.

Sekeres stares at this illusionary heart, her face a hollow mask.

The Nightmare's claws open; the mortal heart falls to the ground, and she curls up and weeps.

Diantha, Princess of the Dreaming Moon lifts her hand to brush against Lin's arm, smiling a touch shyly up at her.

Near the back and just off to the side of the crowd, Pilar watches with rapt attention, her fingers twirling around a heavy quartz pendant on a gold chain as a cigarette hangs between her lips.

Iaphia's wings have moved to shield her sides, taloned fingers tense on her knees. Body tense, she waits for the end with bated breath.

"I don't want to go away," the Nightmare cries in Aolin's voice. The nameless girl shakes her head. "I know. Neither do I." In this tableau, the Yeleni's lyre is bittersweet in its song, heartbreakingly complex in its slow-plucked layered harmonies.

Rijetta quietly excuses herself.

The Nightmare gathers her pride, her last dignity. "Name your terms," she states in a voice all Her own.

Aolin's lyre falls silent, and she stands, looking out at the crowd. "Remember Hioma, the nameless girl said. Remember Her memory." Laying the lyre down, she continues in a well-projected but soft-toned voice. "And She agreed. In exchange for remaining a facet of the Goddess, the Nightmare did not fight as the nameless girl consumed Her heart."

You say in lunar tones: "And in consuming Her heart, the nameless girl finally became what She was meant to become. The Goddess Omei in full. The Imago."

A single tear trickles down Teotl's cheek.

The violinist murmurs in verdant tones: "Hail to She Most Chromatic, She Who plays Dreams upon Her Calliope. Hail to the Queen of the Chromatic Court."

Orunmila beams broadly at you.

Teotl bows their head respectfully.

Qelres is baleful, sulking, hunched up like a vulture with their hair a storm of tangled black around them. If they are weeping, as Teotl is - and their cheeks are damp - it is not in sorrow. The eyebrows are too low, the face too twisted, and the mouth too much of a snarl for that. In the lap of their skirt, their hands twist, fisted.

Aolin takes a deep breath, then exhales, smiling softly. "Because of Hioma's influence, her strength, and her love, the Imago understands mortal emotions, ambitions, heartaches, and dreams. She lives on in Her, a voice of compassion that tempers the blade of the Beast Queen and the ire of the Nightmare. She is balanced, and brilliant. She Most Chromatic."

You say in lunar tones: "Unforgotten."

The violinist says in verdant tones: "Never alone."

The chaos eater chants in reddish tones: "Unforgotten."

"Unforgotten," the narrator murmurs in lunar tones.

The wanderer murmurs in reddish tones: "...Unforgotten."

The Singer whispers in lunar tones: "Unforgotten."
Post edited by Aolin on
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