Welcome to Gaia! ::

Location: Unknown
Type: Informal
Those Present: Sombre, Paxar
Starts: Below (msn log)
Status: Done.
Outcomes:
-Sombre and Paxar discuss...wait, what are they discussing!?

Paxar: *draws butterflies out of strands of continuous light*

Sombre: ::tries to put her hands in the middle of the butterflies, to disrupt the light::

Paxar: *twists the butterflies into snakes with a ripple of his fingers*

Sombre: ::cackles in delight, gnashing her teeth at them::

Paxar: Hisses a whistle through his teeth, causing the beams of light to wriggle like they're swimming through the air*

Sombre: ::beams up at, and tries to mimic the sound, holding Scalpel up by one ear::

Paxar: *looks directly at Sombre, smiling faintly* Hallo Scalpel.

Sombre: ::grin widens:: Smart are those who can hear without hearing. Why can you listen?

Paxar: *shakes his bald head softly* Listening is not an art of my tongue... 'Tis the Thoughts I follow with my Eyes...

Sombre: ::holds Scalpel up directly in front of:: Where do you See?

Paxar: *lifts both arms and extends his hands to trace a multitude of lines fanning out from Scalpel's head, each line taking the form of minuscule lines of text too small to read* Everywhere....

Sombre: ::blinks:: How can I See the sound? ::puts a hand on one of his:: How?

Paxar: There is a point... *points randomly off into the distance* Where sound and sight and taste and touch and smell, all become one. Here it is where the link lies...

Sombre: ::leaps to grab at the spot where he pointed, then stares at her hands, blinking blankly:: Eternity in flames.

Paxar: *nods solemnly* A difficult pass to play. Too often the mind is certain the square is square, they cannot see the line is one.

Sombre: ::closes her eyes:: Perspective. Listening. Sight. But will it Save them?

Paxar: *cocks his head, wiggling his toes against the floor, talons making a scraping noise* Often, but then, not all stones are precious.

Sombre: ::eyes fly back open, glaring:: They do not KNOW, they cannot KNOW! There can be no hope for those who do not forgive.

Paxar: *purses his lips in warning, the talons clicking out morse code* But those who refuse to teach and open eyes are responsible when the hope is withered. Those who know cannot stay silent and remain clean-handed.

Sombre: Those who are not pure are cast aside. Those tainted...muddied...::wrings her hands over and over, dropping Scalpel down onto her foot:: Who can teach the blind to see?

Paxar: *grins broadly, his eyes stretched wide and distant* The Surgeon!! Ha ha! For every ail there is a cure! Let the blood-letting begin with the letters...

Sombre: ::tears well up:: For every cure there are a million ails! Let the blood flow fast, and swift, and pure, and ignore the bad blood spilt on innocent lives!

Paxar: *stern and eyes riveted on Scalpel* Nay. Never ignore. In the ignorance, the point of joining is lost. All must be seen always. Even the ugly. Even the impure. Even the Dark.

Sombre: They do not see. ::stretches her hands out, palms-up:: They will not see the Dark...the impure. The destruction of flawed innocence...perfection, perfection, and the end of difference...the Scalpels lost, and the City's falling..

Paxar: That is the burden our eyes bear. Those who see fail to act when fathers come to claim their sons. *pauses for a split moment, a look on intense pain spasming over his face before the clicking continues* Each has their own role to play. That role is not for them.

Sombre: ::hones in on that pain, blinking placidly:: Who are the Fathers of the pure? The Lightbringers, Citydwellers, flaw-snuffers? Who can we call the ones who Bore us? What role have we, but pawns...mindless drones, jump and snap.

Paxar: Ah, not useless, never, or there would be no why to being. Each an atom, small and insignificant for its own aim in the largest of pictures, but each a crucial component of the equation to which we are all a part, willing or no, tis the way of it all....

Sombre: Cancerous society...never useless, only brainwashed, only cells and uniform and unmoving. Purity.

Paxar: Nay... *cocks his head* Always moving, and endless waltz of cogs and wheels, each pushing against each other. The Phlegmatic cry and pull their hearts out, the Melancholics drown in mind rivers, the Choleric hold the earth with feet and hands, The Sanguine fire off into the sunset. Each unique, each pulling weight, each thinking each thought each way.

Sombre: ::stares directly at, very serious:: And the Broken?

Paxar: *shrugs* Are broken, of course. *grins manically*

Sombre: ::blinks at:: And Why are they...::hums softly, then grins to match him:: They?

Paxar: *eyes light up in understanding* Ah! That is your aim... Because there are some who need to reach the place of joining. To keep the mind Unbroken keeps it sealed from sight.

Sombre: Need we See? Need we be seen? Tell me....why are there Broken, in a world who despises imperfection?

Paxar: Because there is need for even the ugliest of creatures. In this net of life, there is no creature without its purpose unique to its niche. We see because there are things that can be seen no other way. At times there are things that nee to be known that only we Broken can see.

Sombre: ::chuckles bitterly:: Ah, to be useful! No! NO! ::stomps her foot like a small child, and bares teeth:: A City should hold no slaves to its Purpose!

Paxar: Can you not see? The City is the purpose. All work to that purpose... How glorious the workings of these Walls! *spreads his arms* A stunning goal, and that so close has it been achieved! But it is a living thing, this City without constant care it will rot, truly.

Sombre: The City demands a perfection that can never be met. The City....::grits teeth, scrunching eyes shut:: The City...so blind...perfection...::takes a gasping breath, scooping Scalpel back up to wring her hands around his neck::

Paxar: Nay. The City demands nothing. There are needs that it has, like any living thing, we sacrifice ourselves for its strength. An osmosis, our life and essence to feed it. In return we glean protection and prosperity and love.

Sombre: ::continues gritting teeth:: Security from a shunned world, protection from those hated on principle, love, love never, love ever! The City demands our sacrifice, for the Citydwellers accept nothing else.

Paxar: *reaches out and squeezes her face painfully tight between his scaled hands* Nay. The City. Demands. Nothing. *glares* If you refuse the love it offers, that is your own imperfection. Do not doubt it, or you shall no longer be a part of it. Cancer cannot be allowed to metastasize!

Sombre: ::smiles a bit, gently holding onto his wrists:: Glorious disease, a Cancer born of perfection. Burn the disease from their eyes...from the heart.

Paxar: *scowls, but his eyes dart wildly about the air around her head* The Cancer threatens, it serves no purpose but to squeeze out the life. Cut it clean so that the purpose may thrive. Long live the City! Long live the Glorious beast!

Sombre: ::grips his wrists more tightly:: Cut it clean. Cut it out. Cut it. Cleanse the City of its Broken, of its Cancer. Long live the People, the imperfection, the Question and the Sight!

Paxar: *drops her in horror and shrinks back, clawing at himself* Nay, nay...life is needed to keep the City alive. For one man to stand alone, he condemns the rest to death. For his own selfish goal he kills the others, he cuts the gates open and allows the poison in. For his own selfish want he forfeits the lives of all else. Evil, this is... Pure Evilllll....

Sombre: ::holds out her hand, hugging Scalpel tightly to herself with the other arm:: Stop. Stop. None may stand alone, even those Broken. Stop. There is no evil, even in the hearts of the hated.

Paxar: I see that which stands alone... *points directly at her with all four of his hands, fingers twitching* I cannot be permitted. It endangers the City.

Sombre: ::flinches back, shaking her head:: The City doesn't want the likes of us. ::slowly takes her hand back:: Why is there fear?

Paxar: The City does not want to cultivate the likes of the Broken, but yet it holds us to its heart where the Outside would swiftly slay. The City protects the Broken, and issues that all should treat them with the care their require. Without the City, a Broken life is forfeit. I long to serve the City because it alone sees my worth.

Sombre: ::strangely lucid, and suddenly looking as young as she is tiny:: And what worth have we to the City, the one that stands alone?

Paxar: *stares her straight in the eyes and clicks but a single claw against the floor* Because none can perform geometries as I can. Each of the Broken can perform a single task beyond the limits and bounds of any other. Their status reads 'Broken' its meaning is Prodigy.

Sombre: ::stares back, uncomprehending, and then holds Scalpel up:: We. Useful is he who Knows, whom the City holds, but we stand Alone. Broken maybe, Broken maybe. But never am -I- not We. Will we be cut free?

Paxar: *steps closer, close enough for his breath to be felt on her face* If thou showest some sign of Broken spirit, and in that glimpse a sigil of the skill for which thoust shall rise, nay, thou shall be surest kept. If though falls down into the mire, with naught to offer but the City's pain, then yea, thou shalt no longer be purchased of use.

Location: Hallway
Those Present: Sombre, Cyphr, Phrain
Starts: Below (msn log)
Status: In progress
Outcomes:
-Sombre meets Cyphr and Phrain
-Sombre learns what a Ronwe is

Scalpel had been anxious, as of late, and that made him irritable. He'd go long periods without saying a single thing to Sombre, without responding to anything she said to him. It was almost as if he truly was nothing more than a bunny-doll at those times, and that somewhat frightened the strange little Zero almost as much as his sudden cries at shadows on the walls did. She'd taken to tying him to her at her waist, as opposed to carrying him or dragging him behind her, as she'd sometimes done, by her Scalpel-sized chain. Although she did not talk to him now as much as she had (as she'd grown frustrated with his lack of answers), she continued to roam the halls like a living ghost, silently observing those around her, save for the occasional vocal comment to herself on something she'd seen.

Cyphr, on the other hand, had spent a great deal of squirmy time in the Library, studying for his certificate exams. He'd taken a burning passion to familiars, especially of the monster type, and had so far managed to pass the Ronwe Certificate. He was carefully walking his ronwe down the hall, making sure to keep to one side and out of the way.

As Cyphr came into Sombre's line of vision, she slowed down to get a better look at him and his...what was that? Blinking, she quietly fell into step beside him, eyes on the..the thing he was walking with. She did not think to ask him, however, as to what it was. She instead chose to define it through observation- what did names matter, anyway?

Cyphr looked up as Sombre began walking with him and saw the stuffed animal she held. "Hullo!" Chimed Cyphr in his usual friendly manner. He peered at her with open curiosity, finding it strange that she hadn't said a word in greeting. Was that good or not? He followed the line of her gaze and saw that she gazed at his Ronwe. "Ah, this is Phrain." Cyphr boasted proudly.

Sombre moved closer to..Phrain?, eyes wide with curiosity, but quickly jumped back at Scalpel's angry mutter. She glared at him, and then looked back up at Cyphr. "A Phrain repeated, a song unsung..." she mumbled, blinking owlishly. " An ant in a mantis' skin, the doors shut..but what does he pray for, if not to be reborn?" Turning pitying eyes upon the Ronwe, she made a soft tutting noise and shook her head.

Cyphr stared at her, completely baffled and blinked largely. Phrain for his part paused on his ungainly legs and peered up at Sombre with beetle-black eyes. "An ant in a mantis' skin," he chimed back at her, a perfect echo of her own voice. Cyphr peered at him, his confusion swiftly replaced by enthusiastic curiosity.

Sombre stood, shocked, and then clapped her hands childishly, bouncing a bit. "Ah, it speaks!" she cried, and then touched her own lips, frowning. "Have you no tongue of your own with which to speak? Alas, for a godless god reborn..an eternity in shame. And what's in a name?" this last she directed to Cyphr and not to Phrain, her frown deepening. "To whom and on whom does the antbeast pray?"

"You mean...what he eats?" Cyphr asked slowly, trying to understand her riddles and feeling very shamefully that he was failing miserably. "He eats grubs...and he can mimicry. Uh, with his tongue." Cyphr's eyes darted about the hallway a little self-consciously and he rocked back on his heels. Phrain squatted next to him and watched them both curiously.

Slowly, almost absently, Sombre too rocked back on her heels in imitation. "Has he no speech of his own?" she asked, trying her best to make her question clear, and then turned once more to Phrain, offering him a hand and peering at him intently. "Can one remember beyond memory?" she asked him quietly, "A time and place never known, but forever seen at the edges of what is...and isn't? Who's to say what is real or isn't, right, little shell-filler?"

"Shell-filler remember beyond time and place at edges of what is real." Phrain replied in his way, cutting up the fragments of her speech and rearranging them like an editor of a movie tape. Cyphr grinned crookedly at him. "Ah, he can talk in his way. Just reuses sounds he's heard places before. My Phrain's pretty young, so his sound vocabulary is pretty small. He's a quick learner though, aren't you Phrain?" Cyphr cooed to him, rubbing the top of the Ronwe's head affectionately.

But Sombre's eyes narrowed, and she snatched her hand back. Perhaps Phrain was doing nothing more than parroting her words..but that had sounded just like a sense-making sentence, to her. Ignoring Cyphr's praise of the creature, Sombre growled at Phrain. "What memories hold you in their nets? A drowning pool, a blinding light...a song, a song to rouse you from forgetfulness...?"

"Beyond places," Phrain replied, clicking his tongue once like the sound of a door latching, followed by the distinct sound of wind through long grass. "Nets young Phrain in his way." Phrain pieced together, trying slowly to tell his story with what little sound clips he had to hand. "Aren't forgetfulness, rouse sound memory heard places beyond places. Young Phrain memories in the nets, Empyrean of his own." The sounds were mostly clipped from Cyphr and Sombre's voices, but occasionally a voice that might've been Lelaus' was sprinkled throughout like connective tissue. Cyphr's face lit up in understanding. "Ah, yes! Phrain was captured in an Outsider net, and the Empyreans freed him and brought him here when he was small."

Location: Ampitheatre
Those Present: Sombre, Tomb
Starts: Below (msn log)
Status: In progress
Outcomes:
-Sombre meets Tomb

Tomb lay on his back next to one of the pools in the amphitheatre. His hair was soaked and tangled against his tarnished silver face, his red eyes gaping listlessly up at the glass skylights above. His breath came sharp and ragged as he regained oxygen after nearly drowing himself yet again for the sake of his gods. He felt the strength flowing back into him, and with it a delicious sensation of approval from Ea, one of his patron deities.

As she wandered along the edge of one of the pools, Sombre thought that perhaps she saw something beneath its surface- an indistinct form, of some sort, that made Scalpel whimper, just a little bit, and whisper to her of things she could not hear. The little zero trembled a bit, and leaned forward in hopes of seeing more, of discovering what exactly it was that she was not-quite-seeing...but sadly, she leaned too far, and (with a small noise of surprise) went tumbling into the water.

Tomb rolled his head to the side and watched as a small melancholic floundered into the water. He watched calmly, rather unmoved and grim to see what would happen. She looked awfully small. He wondered idly if she was able to swim.

Sombre's eyes immediately shot open, and she took a moment to orient herself. Her natural inclination (which was most likely her body's instinct for survival) was to rise back to the surface, but she ignored this in favour of looking around herself to see whether she had indeed seen something. She allowed herself to sink for a few minutes, but saw nothing. If there had been anything in the first place it was gone now, and she was very quickly running out of air. When she could stand no more of this, she forced herself back up to the surface, and onto the edge of the pool, highly disappointed in both her findings and that she now could hardly control her breathing.

Tomb rolled onto his side to watch. If the girl started drowning, it'd be a great opportunity to pray to Ea while someone else was drowning. He sat still, half-raised on his elbows and stared at her intently, still making no sound.

Sombre felt eyes on her, and her head snapped around. Unfortunately, it only seemed to be a boy watching her, and not something interesting in and of himself. However, he might have seen whatever she had witnessed. She pulled herself from the water and went to him. "Why are you?" she demanded, peering down at him. "Eyes beneath the veil, ever-watching, call forth the weak...and they come, like so many before them, to pay homage to the decay of reality. Who's to say from whence they came, or come, or are? And why are you?"

Tomb regarded her solemnly and blinked with a slow, steady imperterbable gaze. "I am because the City needs worship. I am because the Gods of Mesopotamia have chosen to recognize my faith." He paused a moment and then chose to clarify her comment. "The Gods have been for all the time that things have crawled upon this rock, looked to the sky and asked what lit the heavens. We are seed and soil, in need of each other to grow and to thrive." Tomb replied, a slight tone of preaching in his low sonorous voice. "We may be weak in their wisdom and experience, but we are many, and that is the balance of the Heavens as it has always been wrought."

"Those who hold the magnifying glass may never know the strength in the worker ant." Sombre sing-songed, crouching down beside him. "Glass and metal might intertwine, but never may they blend--and why would they? Days and hearts and songs and sins, and who's to know? Who indeed? Ants to move forward the ever-turning clock, ants, ants upon a tablecloth...and the City breathes forth its plagues of locusts, and the world weeps for those of unsound mind, wavering heart- for what is there to live for, after all is said and done, if not the oiled machines of the Gods? Gods!" She laughed, a tinkling and high-pitched sound, "Your fate, my child, sings for its supper, sings for another, sings for your blood and oil in the water.."

"As well it ought!" Tomb responded sharply, no anger, but insistance in his tone. "You and I have no worth on this plane at all, young one. We are here to serve the Gods. At one time we perhaps served planet as well, but in this state of affairs, when all that is left is to survive and to bring the Gods strength in return for their favour, then hell-bent to this purpose we should be. There are some who turn their attentions to the City alone. It is needed, for those of us who bend to the Gods devote our every moment to our purpose. But never should you scoff at this decree. Show me a better, but I dare you to find a cause more noble."

"Nobility and royalty, and we all fall down.." Sombre replied softly, jabbing a finger at him and grinning. "Forgive those without sight, for their hands are tied with conformity, and their hearts are tied, and their thoughts are whole. The Gods stumble at the might of true seeing, and sand sifts through the hole in the hearts of the whole. Glass and glass, burned into shards by the fires of disillusionment, true sight, true seeing, and the darkness draws ever closer..." breaking off with a shiver, Sombre made a quick glance over her shoulder and hugged Scalpel to her chest. "What reaches from beyond our sight, when all is calm? A ripple in a still pool, a song in an abandoned room..? The City hunts, and not even those who are its eyes see all that it knows..a thou', a thousand to every moment, every soul.."

Tomb smiled, and despite his handsome face this smile was a distortion, something morbid and dark in and of itself. "Don't you see?" His eyes were beetle bright and he leaned closer, gripping her wrist tightly with one cold clammy hand. "That is why we must turn to Them. The Darkness ever does move on. Only with our prayers can we gain ground. Only the Gods have the might to push it back. But do not be folled to think that it is their weakness that causes them to stumble in the sands...The sands shift when we are faulty, when we fail to support them they cannot help but to stumble. For eons our ancestors neglected them. It is up to us to raise them again, brandish them high into the aether and return to them the power they were to stupidly stripped of. We have our work cut out for us, scrabbling mortals tho' we be." Tomb's grip had gotten nearly vicelike as his fervour took him, a nearly trancelike conviction taking him as he spoke, eyes distant as he looked into the memory of looking into the faces of Gods.

Sombre blinked, and then hit him lightly in the head with Scalpel. "Light may never imagine the dark, for in observing it, it is no longer light..a dark song, a bone sword..the land of the lying. A facade of fairy lights, meant to dazzle, distract..but the darkness can never see the light." She seemed not to notice the boy's grip on her wrist, or if she did, she did nothing about it. "Sing a song of sixpence, a King about to die...sing a song of silence, of goblets filled with lye.." trailing off once more, Sombre glared at the boy before her. "They will come for you. An uneasy shot in the dark- or was it the light? They hum for your soul to be scattered upon the plains..from whence did the call come, my lord? Are they upon us?"

"Oh, of course they will come for me, small one." Tomb's burning gaze riveted again upon her. "I am surely damned for what I do. My Golem alone has the power to destroy my flesh. As for the source of the Darkness..." Tomb sighed and let go of her wrist, staring numbly at the purple bruises left in her skin in his wake. "I have my theories that Belial is at the heart of it...He or something in his hall to the east. I have seen horrible things there... The Nephilim were watching and they shuddered in the wake. Do you know what power and what darkness must lie that memory itself is quaked?" Tomb exhaled deeply and drew himself languidly to sitting and dunked his bare feet into the water as his knees came to rest over the edge of the tiled pool.

"Damned!" cried the tiny melancholic, eyes wild as she pounded small fists against Tomb's back. "Memory unscathed by memory, and all the world's aflame! A thousand souls.." her voice cracked, and she slumped, putting her cheek to his shoulder and dropping Scalpel into his lap. "Who may know what lies beyond, to see the unseen palace? Horrors in the sighs of a million wives, children snatched into the night, into the arms of the fate that calls their name, that calls them into thorn-studded arms, saying come, child, come and see the morning light! And it is beautiful, enchanting..a lovely painted blindfold, for a lovely blind child. Do not you too have memories eaten by the deception of the day?"

Tomb stared into the ripples of the pool and his voice grew quiet, not hushed but intimate. "I have been to that other place, that land of dead... That endless milky grey. Gods!" Tomb let his head tip back, his jet hair spilling down his back. "Endless faces, a sea of them, trapped in mourning, in fear, lost and without a light to guide them to someplace better..." There was a note of sorrow in his voice, faint and pitying but his eyes showed the torment he had seen, the fierceness of his gaze told of the magnitude. And then he slowly collected himself back together and looked down at her. "Memories of before? No. Perhaps when I was young as you are now I might have dreamt once. But I cut them from me like so many cobwebs. I have no need of sentiments."

And for once, Sombre was speechless. Trembling slightly, she did nothing more but bury her face against him. After a moment, she found her voice once more. "They have no want of a tiny child, who sees and hears and is not whole. A thousand souls, and not a one of them can be touched, can be saved..there is nowhere, and nothing. A thousand souls, and the Gods turn their heads and laugh as the light is trapped by the grime on the windows, deserted.."

Tomb's brow furrowed darkly, his hatred of the Outsiders and their allies bubbling away, the one emotion in that cold heart. "There are crimes on Earth that the Gods can do nothing to help us without enough support from the faithful. In the days when the Scorched Souls were burnt to purgatory there were not enough of our ancestors who knew of the God's return, nor of the sheer power their enemies would foolishly unleash. There's nothing we can do to undo the errors of the past. All we can hope is to ensure no repetition of that atrocity comes to pass." And then he did something unusual. He lifted a long lithe cold hand and placed it on the red hair of the young one. He wasn't sure if he was capable of comfort or reassurance, but there, an effort was the least he could do.

For a moment, Sombre stayed still, waiting..and then, she pushed herself back from him, grabbing his hand and looking sympathetically at him. "Your Gods are dead." she stated airily, "Hope is dead. Life is dead. A City in flames, beyond the vast sea..her children burning in the water. History is written by the victor." She grinned darkly, giggling a little bit. "Who's to say that the Gods belong to anybody? Who can say that the Gods are theirs? Led to a doom by the Gods of the enemy..who will save you, little mouse? Surely not the broken toy, the trap sprung? Surely not the innocent shadow?"

"Shadows innocent? Hah!" Tomb barked lowly and he removed his hand from hers slow and purposefully. "The Gods are never dead - that requires life to have an ending. It is for them a matter of waxing and waning...never an end." Tomb grew quiet then, his gaze drifting distantly for a long moment and then he settled deeper into himself, propping elbows on crossed knees. "I will not be saved, I know."

Sombre rolled her eyes, and smacked his cheek gently. "The broken are not fixed, never set, never put to rest. Can you say the same for those who came before? Five and ten and twenty, and more and more and more and more. Will you step into the void, dearheart? Don't go, don't go! If you touch them, they will never live again. Give it time..and the City, the City.." With a sigh, she shook her head and snatched Scalpel back. "Lives."

"How can you tell me not to go? This is my only purpose of being. I have no worth but for this. I will pour my all in it and someday I shall fall in this pursuit and there will be none but my Gods to mourn me." Tomb looked her in the face, then glanced at Scalpel. "That's my lot."

"The dead are not mourned, but the living, the living!" Sombre hummed softly, tugging at one of Scalpel's ears, and then shoved the rabbit into Tomb's face, giggling softly. "Behold, reality! Can the eye see what the ear cannot? Jump, to your feet, soldier. Never shall the young be known amongst the living, never shall the fallen be known to their Gods as saints, and the world laughs, for we are but specks upon the lens."
(TBC)