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Present, but not a part of the whole, Hadiyya had lingered around the fringe of the crowd that had gathered at the reserve for this day of remembrance. She wasn't a shy ghoul, it wasn't the multitude of new faces, horsemen and Halloween alike, that kept her at bay, but the memories, or startling lack there of. While everyone had been fighting, while the Clan's world had been crumbling, the djinn had been gone, unconscious through it all. Jacking Hell, with all that had happened, everything that was going on around her, it was a bloody miracle she had lived through that final battle.

But she had, and she'd awoken to destruction and death, and a void in her mind for everything that had gone on between the dropping of the island, and the journey home. She had seen nothing, remembered nothing, and there was nothing. Except the voices..

Whispers, incoherent, and wholly unsettling. She didn't know what they were, where they had come from, and she had told no one.

If they knew, if they suspected.. No, no she wouldn't let that happen.

With a soft cringe she pushed the thought away, focusing instead on the multicolored collage of images that were raising up in the form of a tree. It was beautiful, in a somber way. She watched as it rose up and up, melting into the sky to encompass everything around them, and as the hint of a breeze tickled her skin she gratefully inhaled. Breathing in that gently familiar scent.

Then gasped as the images changed. First the four isles, each one beautiful in their own right, and then destruction. She saw the hovering island fall, and everything she had been unconscious for was suddenly thrust upon her. The phoenix, the hunters, the death and demolition of the four isles. It was horrible, and even knowing second hand what had happened, it hadn't prepared her for seeing it. Again she was struck with just how lucky she was to have lived through something like that, and it tightened her chest, made her eyes sting.

But compared to some, what she'd been through, awake or not, was nothing. And before the birth tears could fall the ghoul forced them away. Pulling in deep, calming breaths to chase away the panic that had begun to well up inside her. The horsemen, only a handful remaining, had lost everything, and this was for them, not for her.

She bowed her head, reciting a silent pray for the lives that had been lost, and when she lifted her head a bit of red captured her attention. "Maladore.."

Of all the students that had gone on this trip, none had gone through worst. Riley had been loved by the entire student body, but the bond she had shared with the plague doctor.. For the second time in fewer then five minutes the ghoul's chest tightened painfully. It was watching the other's as they stepped forward to light their candles in remembrance, and she knew why it stayed back.

Mind made up, the ghoul moved forward towards the pyre, and when it was her turn to add a candle to the collection she claimed a second from the pile. One for her, to show her respect for the horsemen and all they had lost. She couldn't even imagine the pain they were going through.

The second was for Maladore, for the loved it had lost, and she lite that one as well and set it down with the rest. She then wove her way back through the crowd, coming to rest at the plague doctors side, one dark hand lifting to rest on it's shoulder.



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Nergui was a point of absolute darkness in a mass of colors that made up the remaining members of the fallen clans. The only real source of color on the woman the golden sheen of her own glowing eye. The mark of the insanity that infected her. Her posture alone betrayed just how uncomfortable she was, but she didn't move, nor did she speak. She pushed aside her own petty insecurities and she listened, watched, and remembered.

Living through the destruction of their home the first time had been a crippling thing. Experiencing it a second time, even if only through a vision, was enough to freeze the horsewoman's breath in her lungs, chest tightening painfully, but she refused the warm touch of liquid at the corner of her mismatched eyes. One dark hand lifting to brush away the evidence of tears before they had a chance to fall.

She would not cry, she would stay strong, she would stand proud, and she would remember.

Malodore hadn't noticed the ghoul's appearance, so when something touched its shoulder it startled, flinching away from the contact automatically. Then it saw who it was - Hadiyya, a ghoul it remembered but hadn't ever had a great deal of contact with. Still, her apparent concern was touching. "Grazie," it whispered to her, shifting to allow her touch on its shoulder to remain.

The spread of light was - if it fought down its instinctive fear - almost beautiful.

There was a boil standing in the shadows. Fai wouldn't have noticed him except for the fact that he stopped right next to him. The boil didn't seem to want to go forward, he just stood there, staring at the ceremony, his hands in his pockets, a strange expression on his face. His hair, Fai thought as she looked up, was very interesting.

Then the horseman forgot about him, focusing on the past once again.
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He'd had fun, Roch thought, feeling as if the world was shaking underneath him. He'd had a lot of fun on the War Isle, and he'd enjoyed fighting the war clan in sparring. They were his sort of people. And... most of them were dead now. He glanced over, realizing that one of the horsemen was standing next to him, and feeling a shot of guilt rush through him at the sight. Silently, as was only right for a grim reaper, the punk boil slipped away. He would think of what had happened in his own time.

Umi looked around at everyone at the ceremony. She was sorry about everything that happened to the clan. She had fun on the their island going to classes and learning from the horsemens.

Her heart went out to all those where who lost a friend or family member. She didn't have anyone she was clost to so she couldn't fathom what everyone was feeing. But still, death of any kind was a sad event.

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Xio walked in to the ceremony and looked at her fellow horsemens. She took a candle and lit it. Normarly she didn't really pay attention to things like this if it didn't revolve around her. But those who died were fighters, warriors like her and she felt they deserved this ceremony.

She dipped the candle into the pyre and closed her eyes. After a few minutes like this she setted the candle on the floor with the other candles.

Kiwi stood among what remained of his fellow Clan members, outwardly proud and firm in the midst of the somber silence that hung across the Clan and Amityville students gathered. His eyes kept darting off to them, eyeing the Halloween creatures warily. They may wish to pay their respects, but what right did they have to be here?? ... This was Clan business, and despite having honored the Clan's ways, they were rather a thorn in his side ...

His gaze shifted back to Medea as she spoke. The flame behind her flickered in dark, long tendrils of ash ... reminding of him of that day. The way his beloved home had filled with the same grey ash ... the same grey form of Insanity, attacking its own ... The smoke of the pyre hazed and shifted. For a brief moment Kiwi could once again hear the soft, chiming jingle of livelihood in the desert sands of Famine. The sands, so barren, but warm and comforting. The cozy tunnels and passageways beneath the dunes and cliffs, hidden but filled with life and home and warmth. Plants of all kinds, the moths that filled the caverns, clansmen bartering, bickering, and laughing freely down the halls.

He reached out towards it, slowly at first, extending his hand, letting his arm lift towards it, longing to grab hold of this moment and tuck it into his chest forever.

But the image vanished again, gone, just as his homeland now was ...

Blinking a moment, the horseman dropped his arm, sliding fluidly once again into his stoic pose. But his eyes still betrayed him. His mother and father were there, nothing more than ash now, somewhere in those sands ... He blinked again. For anyone watching in that moment, he would have only had something in his eye. After all, he was a Famine clansman. To Famine, water was rare and precious. It gave life to the barren desert, and in that respect, tears too were precious. He would not cry. At his side, the ancient boil's hands curled into fists. No. He would avenge them.

With such a thought in mind, Kiwi took hold of a candle, lighting it in the pyre before placing it still and silent by the others.

I will avenge you all, my brethren.

(( i heart necroing pls ignore ))

Mmur stood very still as he watched Medea. He didn't know much about the priestess, but it seemed the clansmen of Death were strangely suited to lead the rest of their ragtag group. They had a calm about them that extended beyond their weird rituals, and perhaps more importantly, their leader was still alive. As much as he loved Famine's charming Heir, now Protector, Mmur was not besotted with her to the point of foolishness. If she was granted control of their collective might, Cymbeline would probably drive their new home into the ground.

As one of Famine's soldiers, Mmur had spent most of his life on the Isle of Famine... soldiering. He had never had any reason to visit Death other than to conduct Important Business, and he certainly had never engaged in trance. Overall, his mental assessment of the solemn isle had been something along the lines of pretty, but quiet.

He hadn't felt like coming today, but there was little else to do and even fewer people to do it with. The center of their reserve was packed, not only with others of his kind, but with students as well. Some looked confused. Mmur felt nothing at all.

There hadn't been a thing he could have done. He knew that. Knowing didn't stop the destruction he saw when he found himself alone for too long, the screams of terrible agony he imagined had simultaneously ripped from the throats of the dying clansmen as his home was destroyed.

Someone was standing to his left, someone different, not the brooding Noble that had been there a moment ago. He sneaked a glance at his new neighbor, and almost immediately his eyes began to sting. Mmur blinked. He was not weak. He would not cry. There was no need. None of this was real.

"Heard you got some vengeance to take," Hadan said. "Heard it has something to do with Hunters. Heard you're living with a bunch of kids. Heard Halloween... smells funny. Heard they're gonna take your hat. Heard our island's gone. Heard I'm gone. Heard I'm dead. Is any of that true?"

"Well, you're not here. That's true."

"Heard a lot of things."

Mmur finally turned, leveling a glare at his closest friend. "You heard nothing. You're just me. The real Hadan would never complain about weird smells in our camp. The real Hadan barely ever changed his clothes. I doubt he cared about smells at all. No, I know he didn't. And you talk weird."

"Weird how?"

"My helm is not a hat."

Hadan was silent after that. Mmur was even able to ignore the other soldier's bored twitching after a while. His hands clenched and he swallowed, pushing the memories and elaborations on memories deep inside. Even though his eyes were dry, he began to feel pinches of emotion as they curled around his carefully constructed walls, but those sorts of feelings were better off not felt.

It was true he sometimes saw terrible things when he closed his eyes these days, visions that made his teeth clench and tears threaten to fall, but most of the time Mmur felt the same as he always had. It was hard to comprehend the loss of everything he'd ever known when it seemed as though this whole visiting Halloween thing was just a rather pointless assignment. He stood a bit straighter as the smoke rose from its pyre, snaking into a thick trunk and what seemed like hundreds, no, thousands of spindly branches. He wanted to step forward, to touch the shimmering forks, but it was too late. The tree was changing. It was becoming...

The recent past flickered to life around him no matter where he looked, the sight of it clear and painfully sharp. A sweet breeze swirled past, one that had traveled from War to Death to Conquest to Famine, but a moment later the farce had ended. Trees, sand, buildings their ancestors had crafted brick by brick, they cracked and splintered, turned to powder and sifted through the sky in slow motion. Again.

Beside him, Hadan's mouth gaped in a silent scream and his skin went mottled, then fully grey, as his eyes flashed bright and golden behind his lids.

Mmur was furious.

The world shifted, and he was back in Halloween. Home. Peh, home. He barely heard Medea's words over the flood of anger that filled his mind. What was the point? He felt no more worthy of surviving than he had as he'd watched the destruction of his home the first time around. Mmur's bare foot stomped in the grass like a restless colt's. Vision tinged red with suppressed rage, he managed to lurch forward, lighting a candle and placing it near the others before hurrying off to be by himself.

It had been a mistake to come.