Yui-chan

The shadows slide sideways into quiet sound, a rushing hiss that brings to mind wind whipping through small tunnels. It is the sound of ephemeral voices of the Shade raised in praise, and although innocuous, the eerie quality of the ruckus raises the hairs on the back of a number of Pennite necks (or hackles). Out from the din of phantasmic cheers, a single voice raises in praise. Congratulations to all who entered, and those few who won. You've all done great work. And then, in a heartbeat, the realm of lightlessness falls silent once more, leaving most staring in perplexion into the darkened corners.

The shadows gain a soft whisper of a voice. ''Tis well-deserved, friend, and long overdue.'

There is excellence in the land of the doubles, yet no empathy. There, you can comment freely, and yet you may never speak. This land of the doubles teems with freedoms, and yet is devoid of liberty. Such a land is not for me, but it should well suit thee.

Kaleyra regarded Myth with a slight frown, clutching her pack to her chest uncertainly. "... um.... but we're only five as it stands. Surely, it would be safer to stay together..." Her glance traveled to the others hesitantly. "Would it not?"

As always, Zadown, a wonderful piece. Your descriptions are constantly breathtaking, both visually and emotionally. I just wish he hadn't died! :'( ~Yui

Cyril, Thank you for the compliments and feedback. I definitely agree with what you've said about the weaknesses. The body and ending really got too thin. That's why I seldom post up spur-of-the-moment works. I'm all about multiple revisions. Thanks for taking the time to read. ~Yui

Thank you for the support, gentlemen. I'm glad you enjoyed this strange little thing. I haven't been writing all that much, recently, and this guy just sort of finally forced his way out. I know I'll be thinking twice before I sit down to listen to any strangers' stories. ... what a good excuse to use next time someone shows up at the door to sell us something! Yours, ~Yui

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 despirate 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 her ghost-pale hand laid limp on the mattress and her glassy eyes stared dead at the sky above. Fate whispered in my ear... I lived, though, as many of you did, running and playing with the other children, enjoying the excesses of the good years and suffering with my village through the bad ones. I told such tales even then that no one could resist sitting and listening to what I had to say. It was a hard life in that place, so no thought twice of the deaths that were scattered throughout the years or of the strange little boy who went silent when they happened. They did not wonder overmuch as men who had been healthy fell eternally asleep in their beds, and women in their apparent prime collapsed dead at their chores. Nor did I, for I knew the reasons, just as I knew why no children ever fell prey to this mysterious malady. Nevertheless, I cried at the lives lost, mourning the necessity of their deaths. Destiny crooned at me through my grief... It was not until I was a man full grown that I came into my true power and path. As a child I had obeyed my fate here and there, waiting for those who demanded my attention to come to me, but as an adult, I was compelled to serve more actively, and I began my black journey, traveling through the lands in search of those I required. In every town I entered, I found many worthy of my attentions. In every town I strode away from, I left many voices wailing in grief. I could not wail with them, but 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 father who 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 Phoenix Flame burn their souls to ash as I spoke. 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. ...

Lord Kendricke, I certainly agree with Rune and Peredhil that this is a wonderful work. I'm always more attracted to poetry with solid rhyme and meter, but there's also an aspect of animal-sensation rather than deliberation that nicely complements the style you've chosen. As far as criticism goes, I had to search down to a level I don't normally comment on to find some things to mention to you. I appreciate the challenge, milord. What follows are most certainly what I would call 'nitpicks', and I think overall you've got here a most effective and enjoyable piece. Here is what I might change, were I revising it: 1) In the second stanza, using the phrase 'groove it' jars me a bit. I think it's because of the 'trendiness' of the expression; it strikes me as an anachronism would, out of place with the very time-place independent language of the rest of the work. (See? Absolute nitpicking. ) 2) Again in the second stanza - "I pick a spot and close my eyes, my feet are hypnotized. No longer who I was, my mind expands a dozen sizes." You've got such lovely and unmolested meter and rhyme until that last line of the stanza. I would slip the words around a bit in the revision to smooth over the inconsistancy there. 3) In the fourth stanza - "I am the sound. I am the floor. I am the gasping heat. I am the move. I am the air. I am the breaking beat." While I appreciate the fact that you were trying to stay consistent, again, to form, the sentence "I am the move." doesn't sit well with me, simply because of the strange noun-usage of 'move'. It hits me strongly enough that, even though the form and rhyme are flawless, I feel like there's an awkward hesitation around it that disrupts the flow of the words. Were it mine, I'd probably substitute something like 'dance' into the sentence to smooth that over. Whew. See how hard I had to search to find anything to comment on? It's a great poem, Milord Kendricke, and I hope that my comments will be helpful to you. Yours, ~Yui

Ahh, milord Aardvark! It's been far too long since I've had the pleasure of reading something of yours. Yui-chan grins brightly. As always, it's a fun gem of a piece with wonderful, simple rhyme and an upbeat rhythm. Thank you for sharing, Master Anteater. ~Yui

As Rune disappears behind the stage curtains, breathing a sigh of relief to be out of the spotlight, she is startled by the unimposing figure that melts out of the shadows to her right. Heart pounding from more, now, than just the jitters of being onstage, she gapes at the cowled form as it approaches. "I hope you do realize, Rune-sama, that no one here has ever thought poorly of any comment made, from the most indepth literary analyses to the simple-smiley responses." Yui-chan lifts a hand and slips the ebon fabric off of her head, revealing a warm smile and grey-green eyes to match. "You don't need to know technical terms or fancy literature techniques to know how a piece of work makes you feel, or what it makes you think about. In my opinion, those are the most important qualities of any literary work, and if that's all you want to comment about on anything I've written, then you should know that you've already helped me immensely. So please, do comment to your heart's content, and be as blunt and honest and mono-syllabic as you want. "Everyone here, from the founders and Elders to the newest Initiate, feels just like you do. We all have that moment of doubt before we lay our works out in front of everyone. But those of us who've been here a while have learned that there's nothing real to fear, because no soul here, not even on their most grumpy of Mondays, would ever dream of ripping a writer down. Not now, and not ever." She grins and leans in, whispering with a conspiratorial wink, "Besides, you can bet that our Polite Ancient would be the first in line to sic his giant Hamster bodyguards on anyone Rude enough to do so. And then Wyvern would char him/her with some of his Almost-Draconic flames, Gyrfalcon would shorten a few appendages with his katana, and Gwaihir would send Myth to significantly shorten the rest of his/her lifespan." As Rune blinked, a bit amazed at the Huntress' plain speech, Yui-chan straightened and set a hand on the newcomer's shoulder. "I can't speak for the others, but I would love to see your work when you're ready to share it. I hope in time, you'll know as we do that this is a safe place to show it, no matter how uncertain you are. After all, to be in the halls of the Pen is to be always among friends, whether you have a title or not. Please, remember that." The Pen's resident Shadow offers one last reassuring smile before bowing low to the nervous young lady. "I'll see you around, Rune-san."

Yui-Temae: The castle was a looming behemoth, crouched in a half-crumbling pile on the mountaintop, its stones made black by the torrential rain. Shattered gargoyles lay strewn about the remains of its courtyard like demon corpses, and its ragged battlements leaned as if too old and tired to maintain their struggle to reach the conflicted stormclouds above. Only the brave walls of the keep stood against the violent wind and angry lightning, and it earned them a sound cursing. Aegon scowled into the wind as he leapt from his steed’s back and shooed the animal off into the night. He could sense her presence all the stronger, now, like seeing a dim light in a shadow realm, but more, he could feel the fear and pain lacing that presence as well as the unmistakable taint of sorcery. The mage’s heart lurched at the thought of his lady enspelled, but he diverted the worry into rage at the creature that had her. He promised his hungry blades a taste of the villain who had taken Yui-chan. Only a heartbeat after he arrived, Aegon’s gaze, as angry and dark as the weather, had found the rotting wooden door of the keep. He sprinted across the rubble-strewn courtyard, lightning hammering the protective bubble of his wards, shattering itself against his determined magic, but the young man barely noticed, his attention focused instead on the spell gathering at the back of his mind. Dark and festering, it enveloped his hands in shadow until the moment that he pressed them against the ancient barrier. Its rusty hinges and pitted wood rotted to dust in the space of a heartbeat, leaving the mage free to step into the drafty hall of the Master’s home. ******* Ayden’s breath caught in his throat as the shadowy figure stepped through the archway and into the great hall. He knew who to expect, knew that where she was, he would never be kept from, but as the flickering light from the torch he held illuminated a black cloak trimmed in silver and a pair of steel-blue eyes, all of his reasoning fled. The Slave was suddenly a boy of six, again, standing before the father he had always adored. That he should be here, alive after so long... Ayden felt the sting of tears behind his eyes and fought for composure. In the end, it was Graeson who reminded him of his purpose. "Ayden, is this the man who’ll help us?" the child’s whisper did not escape either man’s notice, and the Slave felt Aegon’s sharp gaze watching him as he tore his own away to look down at the boy. The smile he offered was weak, but he nodded. "Hai. This is m… is Aegon, and he’s here to help the lady I told you about." Ayden looked back at the mage as he spoke, noting the concern in his eyes as he stepped towards them. "You know where Yui is? You must take me to her!" It was clear that the swordsman knew they weren’t here to oppose him. After all, a raggedy young man and a small boy were hardly the dastardly villain types. "Yes..." The lad didn’t trust himself to say much more to this ghost from his past, so instead he simply picked up Graeson and rushed off through the halls with his father fast on his heels. ******* The final sigil was in place. The last vestiges of her will were broken. As the Master gazed upon the limp form laid out before him, his black eyes gleamed hungrily. She was the last he would ever need, the one who had what was needed to complete him. And despite the rush he had been forced to, she had been by far the most rewarding conquest of them all. He leaned down until his cowl touched the planes of her cheek and whispered beside her ear. "Ima wa anata ga watasi no desu. Watasi no kiree na sakura. Watasi no kyusai*." The dark creature had the satisfaction of seeing her shudder, and not even her whispered "Zettai zya nai...** " could dampen his pleasure. Speak defiance all she might, she was already firmly in his spell. Her champion would find this secret chamber too late to save her. The Master’s craggy face actually split into a smile as he straightened and freed his hand from his robes. One touch was all he needed... ******* The Weaver glanced at Chronos. The shadow stain of the Master’s tampering had sapped the color from most of her being, cutting a fluid line diagonally across her face. In short minutes, she knew that the spell and the rouge Nightmare’s actions would consume her cosmic role. It worried her, and worry was not an emotion the eternal being was accustomed to. "Have I acted too late?" Chronos smiled softly and patted her shoulder, the warmth in his gaze especially bright. "One grain of sand can change the flow of a river... or of time. Have faith, Weaver of Dreams. We still have a few grains left..." * "Now, you are mine. My pretty cherry blossom. My salvation." ** "Never..."

As usual, the Huntress walks the halls quietly, learning, observing, absorbing this new place and all the people in it. The usual moving pains vibrate through the walls, but there are smiles and good cheer, so all is well. In time, she finds her way to where the Elders have gathered, taking and passing and scanning sheets of paper on which are scrawled titles and descriptions that probably do not begin to fully describe any of the members who have chosen them. There is only the slightest motion beneath the Ebon Cloak as she shrugs and makes her way towards the gaggle. Gyrfalcon hears the soft footfall in the heartbeat before her voice reaches him, "It would not do to haunt empty halls, I suppose, so I'm here, too." He turns to meet a slight, wry grin beneath the shadows of her cowl and offers his own in response. "It's good to see that I don't have to go back and Yui-nap you, then, milady." The ranger's good humor earns him a soft laugh and a mischevious look. "Perhaps I should go back and let you try, magus." The challenge hangs in the air a moment before popping like a soap bubble before the light of her smile. While smirking at her humor, the half-elf reflects on the fact that Temae Yui's ego might be getting a bit inflated. He ponders whether he should step in and help the situation in the near future... In the meantime, he turns to business. "Have you got your rank and title for us?" Again, the young lady shrugs. "I don't really know what title I had, nor do I have any expectations. You magnanimous leaders may assign whatever you wish. The only thing I know is that I'd like to be labeled as the Pen's Shadow, if you would please. It suits me, I think, and my presence recently." Ever the polite one, Gyrfalcon bows gracefully. "As you wish, Yui-sama." His courtesy earns him a bow in return and another ghostly smile. "Domo arigatoo gozaimasu, Gyrfalcon-sama. Mata asita, neh?*" And with that, Yui-chan steps back, allowing another clamoring Pennite to slip into her place and steal the Elder's attention. He never sees her disappear into the shadow in the far corner of the room. {* Translated from the Japanese: "Thank you very much, Lord Gyrfalcon. Later, then..."}

With such a wonderful post already about the epic, I can only nod enthusiastically and say that I love the Odyssey as well. I think it's a must-read not only for the story and the messages in it, but for the epic poem form and the sheer history of it. Consider who wrote the original, and the utterly alien world he lived in compared to what we experience today! Thanks for pointing it out to everyone, Cyril. Yours, ~Yui

Aegon regards the rich treasure from their stocking with a bright grin and a truly wicked gleam in his eyes, while Yui-chan is left red-faced and shaking her head in embarassed amusement. With a waggle of his brows, the illusionist leans over and mumbles, "Oh, he knows us so well." Yui only hides her face and blushes brighter. You're evil. Thank you for the Christmas wishes, and I hope you'll except ours as belated as they are. Here's to a wonderful 2003 for everyone! ~Yui (& Aegon)

Kaleyra barely registered Y’Tren’s question as she wrapped the Veil back into the soft cloth she’d stored it in and tucked it gently back into her pack. By the time she’d finished the task, her whirling thoughts had taken the sensory input and swept it away. She forgot all about answering. Instead, the Avian scholar slipped silently across the deck to stare in rapt attention at the night-blue shore of the tiny island. All she could think about was how impossible it seemed that they should be so very close to success…

Timothy slipped into step beside the pair as they made their way through the milling sailors to the forecastle, where Y’Tren and Myth stood waiting for them. There, the moon’s light shone bright and cold on the well-worn wood of the deck, and the shadows that plagued the rest of the vessel were blessedly absent. Gyrfalcon took his place in the center of the empty space and held the crystal as Kaleyra had instructed, so that its rough-carved eyes peered out into the darkness before them. The artifact glowed softly from within with reflected moonlight. As the others watched in silence, the half-elven mage closed his eyes and cleared his mind, bringing forth the lovely song that he had spent the past few days practicing. The sounds of the ship and her sailors gave way until the entire world was silent except for the magical weave of his rich, smooth baritone. "Verdant, rainbow hues the weave, Fields aroll ‘neath wings conceive, Lights and lives of innocents, Scamper, scurry, nose-to-scents. Flow’rs fragrant, silken, sweet, Heavy fruits and nuts and meat. Soft, cold trickling, flowing, run, Tumble, split, mist spray in sun. Essence and soul. The cradle in which gods’ infant lies." Despite the strange language in which Gyrfalcon sang, everyone listening understood his words perfectly, feeling the power with which they drew forth the image and essence of a small, beautiful island. Certainty flooded the heart of everyone on the vessel, penetrating the disbelief of even the most skeptical of Wallace’s men. Expectant silence gave way to reverent awe as Gyrfalcon continued the lilting melody of the ancient spell. "Warm in cloak and gently wrapped, Gathered in, with love, entrapped, Encompassed light, held tight, conserved, Pristine, solitude deserved. Softest touch surrounds, conceals, Fluid nothing, safe appeals, Cherished, treasured, protected well, Encircling powers of holy spell. Lock and latch. The hand that guards the child of gods. Woven words from gold-pure heart, Trusted friends, entreat, impart, Faith wound tight ‘round fragile need, Bowed head, blinded, devoid of greed, Weigh and judge, regard within, Supplicants, despite all sin. Beggar and king. The eye that beholds the child in wonder." By the final verse, the figure held gently in Gyrlfacon’s hands glowed silver-white, as if the light of the moon had been drawn in and trapped within the translucent crystal. Like the orb that powered it, the light was cold, leaching the heat from his skin even as he felt the artifact drawing the mana from his body and the world around them. Coldness and the unique exhaustion of mana drain assailed the half-elf, but he found he didn’t mind, his mind feeling strangely detached in a way that was usually dangerous for a spell-caster. He heard his voice continue without him, uttering something so utterly alien that only one mind among all of them stood even a chance of understanding. “Ish hadai oreliadi vem yoshirun gahlshiar.” Y’Tren smiled even as Kaleyra frowned, her gaze darting to the old man’s. The question in her eyes never found voice, however, as a sudden flare of light blinded their night-tuned eyes. Wincing, the scholar looked to Gyrfalcon as power exploded from the Vishari Veil, beaming through the eye of the rough-hewn falcon to slice apart the night’s darkness like a tailor’s blade does cloth. A cloudless thunderclap slapped the rolling waves, spreading the light as if by blowing apart the folds of midnight fabric with its very volume. And as the two halves of the celestial curtain fell apart, they revealed the sparkling shore of an island that hadn’t been there before, the holy myth called the ‘Rainbow Vale’. Y'Tren only smiled wider, his eyes gleaming with anticipation. His voice was an awed whisper as he stared at the island and repeated, " 'God has judged and found worth.' "

“Oh, ye of little faith…” The soft-spoken admonishment did not carry to the men who deserved it, swallowed instead by the raucous sound of the crew’s mirth. Rather than press the point, however, Kaleyra shook her head and turned towards the ship’s stern. There, the half-elven ranger stood quietly at the railing, eyes on the water and thoughts thousands of leagues away. Still, he heard her surefooted tread approaching over the rolling deck. “Is it time?” He didn’t turn, enjoying the sparkle of the silver moonlight on the undulating waves. “Yes. Y’Tren has verified our coordinates.” Her unbound wing rustled slightly in the night breeze as she smiled. “We are, indeed, at anchor beside a small island. It’s difficult to conceptualize, isn’t it? Our eyes reveal only water.” “Yes. It’s very difficult…” Gyrfalcon turned to regard his learned companion, his face half-buried by shadows. “The past few days would seem to have restored your confidence, Kaleyra.” The comment earned him a slight blush and a sheepish grin. “Well, I cannot claim to have any more substantial justification than I did when we held that particular discussion, however…” She shrugged slightly, feeling helpless to convey what she felt. In the end, all she could do was quote, “As our clergy are fond of saying, ’Faith begins where logic ends.’ It is not rational, but my intuition tells me that we are where we should be. The Pool of Eternal Reflection is here, Gyrfalcon.” He could not help but smile at her sudden conviction, enjoying the rare display of the spark that usually hid securely beneath her layers of timidity and self-doubt. “Let’s find out.” Her response was to quietly offer him the smooth, milky-white crystalline form of the Vishari Veil and turn to walk away.

Both Gyr and Icarus, coughing and waving the dust away from their faces, are caught by surprise as a voice pipes up behind them. "You two are rather noisy, considering that you are in a library." The teasing tone gives lie to the stern words as Yui-chan slips free of the shadows between two huge shelves of books, her ebon cloak swirling around her feet to stir a bit more dust. "I should think your mothers would have taught you better." Gyrfalcon smirks, recovering his suprise a bit faster than the newer Icarus. Yui had always displayed an alarming tendency to like to sneak up on people, so he was a bit more used to it. "I thought this place was abandoned." Laughing, the young woman shook her head, showing glimpses of her golden hair from beneath the cloying darkness of her cowl. "The library is my domain, my ... um... sanctuary. If I am to be found nowhere else in the Pen, it is here, though until a pair of loud and rather nosey men started poking about, it was a well-kept secret." Again, she smiles to soften her words, and sweeps into a low curtsey. "Welcome, and if the dust bunnies bite, then I would recommend you simply bite back."

Silently, a diminuitive figure slips from the shadows beside the growing crowd of welcome-wishers. When silence has finally fallen, she inclines her head in a bow and intones, "Okaerinasai, Geldrinhor-sama. It is good to have you back." Yui-chan straightens, then, revealing the friendly smile her voice implied.

Hai, hai! Goodness knows, the presence of two Sticks would soon spell the doom of us all! I'm so glad that you caught it, Vlad-san. ~Yui

The title for this piece just suks, but I couldn't drag a better one from my Muse. It's the first piece of poetry I've written for a few months, inspired by a growing sense of horror and frustration at what CNN shows me every morning. For now, I'll just call it my Lament. Lament Please! Close your eyes. .. Don't watch. .. Don't hear. All the madness and hate, .. Breeding death, .. Breeding fear. In a world upside-down, Hold so tight to your hope! Lest you find it struck dead, Hung on cruelty's frayed rope. If the sharp gunshot sounds, .. Stay still. .. Don't turn. You don't want to see, .. Evil's face, .. Eyes aburn. In the misguided rage Of a perverted few, Guard your innocence close, Lest they steal it from you. So please, close your eyes. .. Don't watch. .. Don't know. As they ransack our lives, .. For 'fun'. .. For show. In a world upside-down, do your wholehearted best to live life rightside-up ... for there lies the true test.

((Hee, hee. Be careful, Wyvie. Your writing is so good, it's starting to do in the rest of the Elders. Are you trying to eliminate the competition? Great job, as always. Now, get more time to write! ))

Horrified, Yui rushes up to Zool's painting, paintbrush in hand. "No! Hang on, Zool! You can't die, yet! " she gasps, then mumbles darkly, " ... you haven't helped me finish Darkness Rising." Not wasting more than a moment for the admonishment, she quickly pulls out a pallete loaded with paints and starts slapping color onto Zool's enchanted canvas. Within seconds, he finds himself surrounded by a sterile-looking hospital bed, a cardiologists' cart, and a pair of orderlies that are her two-dimensional hands in his world. He barely has time to let out a startled "B-but...!" before he's on his back on the bed, tuxedo-shirt opened and hairy chest exposed. "I-it was an expression!" he shrieks, struggling against the pair of massive hands holding him to the sheets as the other orderly grabs the paddles and rushes towards him. The conductive jelly glistening on their metal surfaces has a decidedly red tint, and he makes a mental note to mention to his would-be savior that she should work on her color drift when painting transparents. With the grunt's shout of "CLEAR!", though the surreal moment of observation fades back into his general alarm over the situation. "YIPE!" KA-THOCK! Painted Zool jerks on his hospital bed, eyes bulging as a handful of 2-dimensional volts jolt through his body. He freezes there for a moment, back arced off the matress, face blank with shock, and then collapses to the bed like a limp ragdoll. Outside, in the 3-dimensional world, Yui gasps in dismay. "No, no. CPR before the paddles, you two! Check for a pulse!" Now, generally, paintings don't have a pulse, but luckily for Zool, the two-dimensional orderlies were able to detect the two-dimensional beatings of his two-dimensional heart. (Imagine an ape pounding on your sternum, and I think you'll see why it was 'luckily'.) As the unnamed lackeys hurried to contiue the procedure, our inspirational Elder was just starting to shake off the stunning effect of the paddles. He giggled, his sight still overlayed by dancing electric sparkles, "Hee! That tingled my toes!" ... and then he focused his sight on the approaching lips of Orderly #1 as he leaned in to begin administering mouth-to-mouth, and his eyes went wide with horror...

Kaleyra pondered Y'tren's words, watching his back as the elderly man strode towards the helm. He seemed so assured that she couldn't help but feel relieved to some extent, and yet ... She shook her head, turning her gaze back to Timothy and Gyrfalcon. "He certainly is confident in his optimism, isn't he? Y'tren seems to me to be quietly but deeply pious. ... um... I think." Gyrfalcon nodded thoughtfully, but Timothy just screwed up his face as if he'd eaten something sour. "If you ask me, it's more like a delusion..." he grumbled, standing to regard the makeshift bandage that wound around the scholar's torso. Her wing was well-immobilized, and he nodded curtly in satisfaction. "I cannot profess to comprehend the subtle difference between delusion and faith," she muttered, gingerly standing up from the crates she'd been forcably seated on long moments before, " but I do believe that it's there. Not all who have great faith in their gods are deluded to do so." Turning to the quiet one of the trio, she inquired, "What do you think, Gyrfalcon? As a mage king, surely you must have great faith in the gods that provide your power and prosperity..." As the half-elf pondered his answer, Kaleyra peered at him curiously, gathering her blanket tighter against a chill.