Yui-chan

Rune-sama: There's no time limit for responses, silly, so don't you dare worry about it when you've got other things on your mind! *adopts best Stern Peredhil expression and then switches to Peredhil hugs* Just take care and feel better. Still, thanks much for the kind words. Master Wolfe: *hands him a scrap cloth for drool wiping* Hm... maybe if you ask nicely, Archaneus will hold still enough to let you admire his ears on occassion. Thank you for the compliments. That 'style' is something that doing this drawing has really helped me cement. I tend to try to hard to draw or paint in ways that just don't suit my tastes, so I'm doubly grateful that everyone is giving me these chances to practice and settle myself into my own rhythm! Griever: Well, thank you. It's not perfect, but I take careful note of everything I mess up to avoid on the next drawing. Kasmandre: Hee. See if you can find Waldo in there, too! Ninja stealth Waldo! ... maybe that's who Archaneus is tracking... http://www.themightypen.net/public/style_emoticons/default/ohmy.gif Everyone, your compliments (while making my head swell to immense proportions) mean a lot to me, so thank you all. Now, stop bothering with my chicken scratches and go write things! I'll sick Zool on you if you don't...... -> Riding the Volleyball High, ~Not-quite-Yui

Aardvark, what's a stubbie? Speak English, will you? Celes, Vincent, Justin, Tralla, Archaneus, Gyr, and Vlad, thanks so much for your kind comments! I have a lot of improving to do, but I do enjoy dabbling around with my art. It makes it worth my time when I can make something that other people enjoy as well. I appreciate everyone who's so graciously offered to let me practice more by drawing up their characters. Yours, ~Yui-chan

Return-hugs to Peredhil and Zool! You guys are too nice to me. Thank you! Zooliolio, if you want a character sketch done, all you have to do is PM me a description of our favorite crazy painting and his various accessories. No candy bars are necessary. (My waistline doesn't need the encouragement, I assure you.) I'll add you to the list. I think there are about four more to go as of right now...? The offer is still extended to any patient Pen member who'd like to challenge me. I just can't guarantee any kind of timeline. I only have about five other Works-In-Progress sitting around on my harddrive as it is. >_

Well, here is the first of the handful of character sketches that peers have asked me for... Editted: The temporary sucky version is gone. Behold, the power of the scanner! Archaneus, I hope you like. Please tell me if there are details I've gotten wrong or things you don't quite like about it. Also, the image is a link to a closeup shot of Archaneus and his bow, so click for detailage. Aegon also points out to me that I've been a bit vague about whether I intended to deliver these images in color or not, so I thought I'd mention my current 'plan' for these. I am going to go through the list of people who've asked for character portraits twice. The first time around, I will deliver something similar to 'Archaneus', here, a black-and-white pencil sketch. The second time around, I will revisit the sketches with color for those who'd prefer it. I wanted to do it this way so that everyone who asked would at least have a pencil piece in decent time, because adding color is going to nearly double the amount of time it takes to do an image. As it stands, 'Archaneus' here took me approximately 15 hours of work to complete. Please PM me if you don't find this arrangement acceptible, and maybe we can work out something else. $_$ Thanks, ~Yui-chan

I guess that was my problem with the first poll, Zoolie. (Though I did vote. ) I'm not sure what you're getting at. Don't we already help where we can and when we can? Don't people already ask for help when they especially want it? Are you wanting to formalize the process, or what? Confusedly, ~Yui

Congratulations, Tasslehoff. I hope you'll enjoy the experience and opportunities you have in the Air Force. You'll have to keep us up to date on where you get stationed. It's a small Air Force, after all, so maybe I'll see you somewhere. Best of luck, ~Yui

Wren, Thank you for sharing that with us. This is a nice opportunity to practice different types as well as possibly make a bit of extra spending money. ~Yui

Truth to tell, this doesn't sound much like me at all. I rather prefered the alternative it gave me, a lai. Does anyone else find it interesting that we've had no repeat types in the thread thus far? I'm terza rima, and I talk and smile. Where others lock their rhymes and thoughts away I let mine out, and chatter all the while. I'm rarely on my own - a wasted day Is any day that's spent without a friend, With nothing much to do or hear or say. I like to be with people, and depend On company for being entertained; Which seems a good solution, in the end. What Poetry Form Are You? ~Yui

Mad Merlin He sits in a cold, darkened corner, alone in a dead-silent room. A mind full of much restive nothing, a heart full of deep, dismal gloom. Golden his glazed-over eyes are, black-brown his long, tangled hair. Pink-pale his thin, cracked, dry lips as they part to breath stale, fetid air. Gone is the once-milk-white tunic, now dirtied to brown, dingey grey. Gone now his tall, doe-soft boots, for the thieves long since took them away. Gone, too, his once noble bearing, that confident lift of his chin. But most of the missing is summed up by the lack of his once-frequent grin. It's true he was not always forlorn. It's true he was once free of care. It's true he was once just a young man, one of wisdom and courage and flair. It's true, too, that once he was much loved, and true that he loved her in turn. What's more, he once dreamt of a life that they'd share with their growing unborn. Truth lived in her blue eyes and soft locks, filled his mind and his heart and his soul. And 'tis true that his volatile temper was well soothed by her serene control. And she, for her part, shared his great joy, gave the warmth and the light to his day. But more, is the truth that he shattered when cruel life took his lover away. Thus now he just sits in his dark place, watching nightmares of her in his mind, Living and reliving horrors that his enfeebled thoughts deftly find. His mem'ries see sun-speckled meadow, smell heather and pine on the wind. But they linger on red, drying blood and the feel of her slack, cold, dead skin. As there in his rock hell he huddles, eternally living his pain. He shivers and shudders and moans out as his tears fall like bitter, warm rain. Next he recalls his swift vengeance, the black hundreds felled by his bright blade. And he screams out his rage to the stone walls, with the hope that his howls never fade. These sounds are the cries of the broken, which ring out through the valleys and hills. This is the destitute singing of a bard that life's counterpoint kills. Here, too, is the end of a hero and the birth of a legend of fear. A wild, lost, dead Lord of the Forest ruling many a long, bleak, dark year. Let Wolf be his silent companion, let hurt be his best, busom friend. Let rage and despair be his bedmates in his self-made, cold, wet, mountain's end. For these are the Darkest of Ages and the decades of suff'ring and strife. And this is the shattered, mad Merlin, who's been dashed on the sharp rocks of life. Inspired by Stephen R. Lawhead's Merlin, the second book in his Pendragon Cycle.

The silence at the end of Timothy’s words spread throughout the ruined clearing, leaving even the birds and fauna eerily quiet. Elena watched the strange man, both surprised and pleased at the depth of his vision and his conviction. Gyrfalcon regarded him with new understanding and perhaps a bit of pity for all the horrible things the sociologist had undoubtedly seen. In Kaleyra’s gaze, though, was only a sadness so deep and profound that her eyes had slipped to a navy blue so dark as to be nearly black. When Timothy looked up from his seat, it was to find himself staring deeply into the Avian’s despair, and he couldn’t help but shudder. Whatever he might have thought to say, though, was lost when she raised her hand and gently set it on his shoulder. "I... um... I wasn’t aware of the blessing and curse of your ocular asymmetry, Timothy. I understand your cynicism, and your willingness to believe the worst of the situation," All three of her companions blinked in confusion as Kaleyra forced a bright smile, but only Timothy was close enough to watch her gaze harden to a steely point as she glanced up at Elena, "but surely you will not take the words of a stranger to heart over thousands of years and generations of records." The scholar straightened, letting her hand fall from Timothy’s shoulder as she turned to face Elena. Her smile was politely fixed in place, but her freed hand quickly clenched into a tight fist. "I am sure that you have your reasons for saying or perhaps believing your claims about the Pool, Lady Elena, but I could produce volumes of data from scores of different civilizations that refute your claims." The ragged woman frowned, her brows drawing together sharply, but Kaleyra continued, her voice calm and even. "Furthermore, I can think of a number of perfectly rational explanations for individuals who may indeed have expired upon gazing into the Pool, not the least of which is cardiac arrest or fatal aneurysm triggered by the profundity of the wisdom there discovered. Your word is not sufficient evidence to contradict a lifetime of research and exploration," she glanced back down at Timothy and then to Gyrfalcon, her eyes coldly emotionless, "but I can understand how they might give anyone pause." Gyrfalcon frowned at her reaction, wondering if it was logic or desperation that made the Avian cling so tenaciously to her disbelief. A momentary crack in her façade gave him all the answer he needed as, for one heartbeat, he saw the despair that Timothy had. The ranger took a step towards her, lifting a hand with the intention of comforting her, but a quick shake of her head stopped him. It was a jerky motion, almost frantic, and intuition told him that the meek scholar was ill-equipped to handle his sympathy at the moment. Instead, he lowered both his hand and his worried gaze. Kaleyra continued on as if the tiny exchange had never happened, her eyes finding Elena’s once more. "That said, it seems to me that it’s in all of our best interests to find and come to terms with these necromantic individuals who are also seeking the Pool. One cannot be certain that their intentions wouldn’t preclude our access to the knowledge we seek, after all. Thus, I will be glad to cooperate and contribute as best I can to your attempts to protect the Pool and this island with the obvious caveat that I will require access to the Pool once we have provided for the island's continued security. My need and intentions are true, as I'm sure the Pool will recognize." The scholar concluded with a sage nod and promptly turned her attention back to Timothy, who blinked up at her in a bit of confused wonder. "Your wounds are bound securely, Timothy, but I recommend you rest for a bit to recover your strength. If there’s nothing else you need at the moment…?" The historian regarded his winged companion for a long moment before realizing she was waiting for a response. "Oh, um... no. I’m fine.” His voice softened sympathetically. "Kal-..." "Good," she interrupted him with a curt nod, tearing her gaze away from the realization in his eyes. Instead, she offered the others a weak smile and muttered, "In that case, my water skin needs filled. I’ll return in a minimal amount of time." The Avian turned and swept up her pack, making a hasty retreat into the humid shadows of the jungle and leaving the two men gazing after her uneasily...

Thanks, Gyr and Gwaihir. Actually, the comment about her being 'clothed in blood' was based on the image. If you click the link, you'll see the color of her dress. It's really why I included the link, because you're right that it starts to sound ominous... Then again, perhaps it is. ~Yui

Very nice, Wren! I was especially struck by the lines in the third stanza: "baby in a plasic box looking out through a maze of wires a tubes" They're especially emotional imagery and very effective given your theme. You ... uh... might want to take a look at your spelling and typos again, though. 'miniature' : 'plastic' : 'wires and tubes' Heh. Don't mind me, I'm the local grammar and spelling stickler.

A familiar voice slips free of the shadows from whence her eyes watch. I think themed writing is an excellent idea, and probably a weekly timing is good for this group. I only wonder why the effort should need to be competitive? I would think there is much greater benefit and much less potential for hurt if it were a Weekly Exercise, and not a competition. There is more growth where there is no fear of judgement, in my experience, and besides... how can we judge who is 'better' with so many excellent writers and unique styles here? No, I would not like to see a competition, but I think the weekly exercises are a marvellous idea. Also, without the 'vote', one would not need to lock the threads, and anyone who'd not managed to participate in last week's theme could still do the exercise and let us enjoy the result. Thank you for suggesting it, Rune-sama. A fair hand flows forth from the darkness to pat the little demon child on the head before both voice and form slip back into the comfort of darkness and silence.

One of the rare recent poetry works I've created. It seems lately that most of my writing is to give a properly rich caption to some piece of art or another, especially the few poems I create. I will not burden the forum with a bunch of images, but I will try to include links, especially where I feel the piece of writing doesn't stand on its own. Thank you! 'Cobalt Dreams' linked (It's a digital painting done as an exercise in portraiture with Photoshop 7 and my mouse. Special thanks goes out to a young woman called 'Akemi' for volunteering the photograph. The picture just screamed 'Sleeping Beauty' to me, so the poem was written with the fable in mind.) "Once upon a distant time, along a hidden trail, in ancient castle clenched by vine, beneath a whisp'ring veil, I found a vision clothed in blood, concealed from mortal eye, awash in sunshine's glowing flood and safe 'neath summer sky. She lay in silence soft and deep, alone in sweet repose, a porcelain beauty sealed in sleep a fragile, human rose; and I stood watching, entrapped, it seems, as she glittered, fire and gold. A noble lady in cobalt dreams, her fate long left untold..."

Cyril, It's an excellent piece made even more so after your revisions. Thank you for sharing your process in the Workshop. ~Yui

I think we're all only glad that the Pen and her people are helpful to you. It's part of the purpose for this place, after all, even if it weren't part of the core nature of just about everyone here. Best to you, Vlad. ~Yui

Agreed. A very happy birthday to you both. ~Yui

... oh, dear.

Zadown, Many wishes for a very happy birthday. *smile* ~Yui

Hai, Peredhil-sama.

Crowgirl and others, I'm always looking for new ideas, new things to sketch, challenges to give to my limited art skills. If you're interested, I'll open myself up to doing character sketches for any Pen members who'd like. The warning, though, that goes along with this is that you won't be able to expect the image tomorrow or next week. I don't have as much time as I'd like for my art, so I have to do it on a 'you'll get it when it's done :P' basis. This goes for anyone who's got the image in their head and would like to see it put on um... paper or digital paper. I'll do character sketches for those that want them. PM me as much information as you have about how you want your person to look! ~Yui

That's very nicely done, Rune, and definitely reminiscent of the artist's style in Demonology 101. Lovely job! I have probably a rather large number of character sketches, both my own various different characters and a few requests I've sketched for others in the past. Strangely enough, my Yui-chan sketch is the one that I've just about finished up. It's a portrait of how she looked a few years ago, when she wore her hair short, and a three-year-old sketch, but it gives one the right general idea. Nowadays, her hair is much longer... Windblown Yui Enjoy! ~Yui PS: If you're trying to guess, yes... the sketch is also the source for my avatar.

Kaleyra watched, rather painfully aware that she’d been silent and motionless for neigh on a full five minutes as the developments swirled around her. It was all happening so fast – the strange, wild woman; the undead army; Timothy’s anguished cries; the short, vicious battle with the woman… The scholar cringed even as her rational mind ran the catalogue of injuries that her companion had received in the past few minutes. If nothing else had the power to alarm her, it was the sure knowledge that Timothy’s very life was possibly draining away to the damage that hid beneath his skin. But then, there was much else in the situation to alarm her. And what have you done, Kaleyra d’Avie? Some part of herself whispered the chastisement in her mind. How are you helping your companions or your quest by standing here like a worthless, winged statue? Simple enough, but the young woman did not know what she could do. Her eyes scanned the clearing, watching Timothy’s blade and Gyrfalcon’s katana flashing through the rotted mass of creatures around them, but she knew she would be less than worthless in the contest of arms that the men were waging. Flightless, weaponless, magicless… the young woman bit her lip, feeling her lack quite keenly even as her mind raced. In the end, her thoughts settled with her eyes on the strange, wild woman who lay on the ground near the battle. Memory pricked her, and she raced back through the whirlwind events of the last fortnight to an overheard conversation in a church that is now only burnt rubble… My wife, Elena, was truly a hero... beautiful, compassionate, courageous, skilled... She discovered the whereabouts of the Pool of Eternal Reflection... Even from the rafters above the cramped confessional booths, the monk Jakob’s pain was poignantly clear in his eyes. Elena set off to find the legendary Pool and never returned. Elena. Kaleyra stared, wondering if it were possible. Jakob had claimed that Elena knew the location of the Rainbow Veil, could his wife have become stranded or even chosen to stay? Did this stranger before them know the way to the Pool?! The Avian had already taken a few steps towards the woman when she stopped, realizing the danger. Two of the undead had broken from the rest and were ambling up clumsily behind her prone figure, taking advantage of how Timothy and Gyrfalcon’s struggles held her attention. Kaleyra gasped and broke into a run, completely unthinking of the fact that she still had no weapon. She only thought that someone who was perhaps the best possible source of information on the Pool that they all so desperately sought was in imminent danger, and they could not afford the loss. The ruckus the scholar rose as she sprinted through the undergrowth broke the strange woman from her reverie, and she looked up to see the third intruder rushing at her, a determined look on the hawk-winged woman’s face. Unaware of the danger behind her, she could only assume that this creature meant to attack her, and the dirty woman fumbled for her staff in self-defense. Kaleyra was saved from Timothy’s fate by the fact that the historian had tumbled the woman onto her own staff, and in rolling over to free it, she came face to face with two of the rotting undead. As she started to bring her staff to bear in defense, a blur of blue and brown leapt across her and barreled into her attackers, turning them all into a jumble of putrid flesh and loose feathers. By the time the world had stopped spinning around Kaleyra’s foolish head, the scholar had the stench of death so thick around her that it was hard to breathe. She struggled to free herself of the paper-skinned monstrosities, but got only as far as hands and knees before a fist like a bony sledgehammer caught her across the ribs, slapping her aside as if she weighed nothing. The impact robbed her lungs of air, and she lay gasping as the undead gracelessly ambled to their feet, lumbering over her. The impulsive Avian began to see the error of her headlong rush into danger as she watched one supernaturally-strong fist raise above her for the final blow. As it swung downward with finality, Kaleyra squeezed her eyes shut and wondered rather idly what the afterlife would be like...

Cyril, Ahhh... perfect. That's precisely the part that I was wondering about. I liked having the weight of realization sitting at the end of the story better than having it in the middle. Revision three is going to nix that dialogue altogether, I think. Great suggestions, as always. I really appreciate your analyzations! Sincerely, ~Yui-chan

{Revision II -- Some significant amounts of content was added to the middle of the story, I hope to help give it a bit more structure and perhaps fill in the story of the man who was speaking. I do think I like it better, but I almost feel as if I've diluted the poignancy of the story's emotions and its message. I welcome any and all comments, as always. } Fate's Storyteller I never chose to be this. I want that to be made unmistakably clear. I never chose the course of my life, the spin that my path threw on our ordered existence. In fact, had I, in the moment before my soul was tied to this fate, been given the option, I would have stayed in the nothingness of Oblivion before willingly binding my feet to this path. I weep daily at the lives that have been destroyed in the wake of my journey, and the cries of their passing will ring always through my mind. I never chose to be this, and I would give all that I am for someone to take it away from me. But there is no one else, and so I am left alone, the weight of my secrets crushing me. Perhaps you think you would like to hear of this wretched destiny of mine. Perhaps you think it should make a fascinating tale, a riveting legend to tell your grandchildren when they someday totter on your knobby old knee. You are wrong. You will hate to hear my story; you will listen, sickened and mesmerized at once, praying to the gods that you did not hear what I have to tell, yet at the same moment helpless before your compulsion to listen. Just as I am helpless before the compulsion to tell you. So shall you sit, now caught within the riptide current of my passing, to bear silent witness to what has gone before. Listen well, yet bar the shutters of your fragile mind, for there are some here who will be destroyed by the end of my telling, and I should not wish it to be you... _______ I was born as you were - son to a mother, expunged from her body with the desperate haste reserved for the most foul of cankers and sent howling into the cold world beyond. I screamed my outrage as the midwives washed the blood from my wrinkled skin. I squealed my anger as they sucked the mucus plug from my nose. I squirmed and wriggled and fought as they bound my newborn body in the blanket and offered me to the woman who had created me. But I was silent when she failed to reach for me, her ghost-pale hand lying limp on the mattress and her glassy eyes staring sightlessly at the sky above. Fate whispered in my ear... I lived, though, as many of you did, growing in the care of relatives and fosters, running and playing with the other children, enjoying the excesses of the good years and suffering with my village through the bad ones. I was loved as much as any parentless child can be, and treated with the greater part of kindness and justice. I had a grandfather much like yours, a wisened old man who taught me of honor and the ways of the Ancient Powers. I had young friends, a first love, and the occasional opponent. I had games to play, chores to complete, and dangers to face throughout my childhood, just as you did. But I also had Fate silently crooning to me throughout it all. You see, I told such tales even then that no one could resist sitting and listening to what I had to say. When I stopped in the village center, listening to the whisper in my mind, the citizens flocked to me just as you did, today, unknowing that they'd left chores half-finished and errands incomplete. Wordlessly they sat in a great circle around me, young beside old, mother beside murderer, two score of faces turned to regard me in obeyance of inescapable compulsion. I looked out on them as I do now on you, letting the words flow from my lips. For many years, I truly believe that my words were still innocent, as if you yourself told the tale instead of this Instrument of Fate. But in time, She gathered Her power closer to my heart, and men would find themselves ill and pale at the end of my tellings. Women would frown and clutch at their thudding hearts, wondering why they suddenly felt like the stag who had just felt the breath of an arrow that had barely missed their soft flesh. They would return to their chores deeply confused and finding themselves pondering the sins in their lives. Those who were wise would often seek the village priest at sunset, wishing to absolve their guilts. Those who were foolish merely shook their heads and turned their thoughts to the words of my stories, ignoring what their souls had felt behind them. That moment when they would walk away, some to salvation, was the only in my life that cruel Fate would fall silent. I have wondered since if She was silent in approval or in the foreknowledge of grief. ... Still, life went on, and my youth flowed away with the sands of the hourglass. Like you, my child's body grew and changed until it had become an adult's, and like you, I found myself troubled and excited at once by all that would be mine as a man. Had I but known, I would have railed and cursed at the Voice that was my companion. I would have begged to remain forever a youth, forever ignorant of my Role. But I did not know, and so I squandered the last of my youth, with its innocence and wonder, in attempts to play the adult I would become, as many of you have done. It was gone all too quickly, and in the moment when youth had truly faded from my life, the only barrier to Fate's design finally fell. That day will be forever carved into the crystaline spires of my memory, a day of both Destiny and misery, when I became aware of the cursed nature of my existence and the deplorable role that Fate had set me into. On the first day of the last cycle of the moon, I told the tale that passed final judgement on my village. After years of warning, many had blessedly cleansed their lives and minds, but elder Cordys, missus Aenwer, and neighbor Psorisus had not. They each staggered under the weight of my words, feeling the horrible judgement that was upon them until the moment that they were found guilty and fell dead to the ground. Those three were the first to know Fate's cleansing, and I finished my tale with my tears wet upon my cheeks. The others were horrified. They knew nothing of the terrible sins of their peers. They did not have the voice of Fate whispering to them about Cordys' perverse abuse of the young daughter who had died the month before, about the rapture Aenwen found in Psorisus' arms while her husband was out hunting. They knew only that three lives had ended beneath the power of my compelling tale, and they each, to the smallest child, turned to me with eyes that held horror, anger, and fear. Perhaps they would have sought my death, but in that moment, Fate stole my voice and my mouth to deliver a her message. "Children, pawns of My whim, look upon this man, grown to serve Me and be the Instrument of my Cleansing. Know that My words have reached out to your souls, have touched your essences, and have gleaned the deepest, darkest secrets from the locked vaults of your minds. That you live stands testament to your worthiness to partake of this Gift of Existence. That your comrades have fallen into death shows the weight of their corrupting sins." I listened to myself speak as one apart, amazed at the Power that my voice contained. "Heed this moment and this warning, favored Children, and keep ever vigilant against greed, against avarice, against sloth and gluttony, against lust, pride and envy. For these, more surely than any blade, shall doom you to death and damnation." Horror won in the many eyes that were rivetted to my touched countenance, but Fate had not finished Her warning. "Know that you will be judged, time and again, and keep your souls pure and true, for the Cleansing shall continue until time itself ends, and you shall never again have the warning that you have enjoyed in these past years. I am the Ancient Power of Fate, and this man shall evermore be my Voice. Never again shall you know his face, but evermore shall you know My judgement." As suddenly as She had taken me, the lady Fate released me, and I sagged to the ground in grief and shock and weakness. Within me, She whispered of my mission, my duty, of the suffering that was to be mine and that I was to carry to others. As the people I had known all my life made the signs of devotion over their hearts and bowed before me, She whispered of the Dark Corruption that we would undertake to destroy. She crooned cold comfort into my ear as I cried for myself, for those who would die, and for those who would mourn. And in time, She compelled me forward, forcing me to set my feet on the path that would lead to my eternal existence. Thus, I came to travel the world. In every town I enter, I sit as I do today, telling my story to the crowd compelled by Fate to hear it. I invaritably find many worthy of my attentions, for the Corruption is strong in the hearts of men. In every town I stride away from, I leave many voices wailing in grief. I could never wail with them, but for long years, everywhere that I walked my tears wet the ground beneath my feet. Fate caressed my brow as I suffered... Lifetimes ago, I cried my last tear, the well of heart within me run dry by my aeons of cleansing. And though I still grieve with all the power of my soul, the ground will not be wetted as I leave this place. It was destiny's only gift to me, the only concession from a Power that had created me for an eternity of misery. For I am He that was sent to Cleanse this land, and my place in the great order is to wander the world of mortals, judging the worth of the souls they have created for themselves. You who still hear my words have been found worthy of the gift of life that the gods have given you, while those beside you who lay dead felt the Divine Flame burn their souls through my voice. Grieve your dead, mortal Children of the gods, but always remember their Fate and the mistakes that they made to bring them to their end. For you never know when my journey will bring me back to this place, and my story will burn in your ears once more. There will be no warning, and no forgiveness for you pristine few who have allowed your souls to tarnish. ...