Fragmentary Passage: Angantyr

Fragmentary Passage: Angantyr
Date of Scene:	20 June 2013
Location:	??? Destati
Synopsis:	Let the pieces fall where they may. A dream twisted out of shape provides answers.. and choices.
Cast of Characters:	Mysterious Voice, Angantyr Vespar
Tinyplot:	Fragmentary Passage

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Mysterious Voice has posed:
The world of light fades with the coming of sleep. Generally this means dream, nightmare or memory. Pieces of all of these spun together to form landscapes to visit in the small hours of unconsciousness. This dream however.. it is not of a place he has been before. Or perhaps he has? It seems there is a distant recollection of the stained glass underfoot but it is tarnished and shrouded by silt and ocean water, partially obscuring the picture.

This column of darkness with it's floor as the stained glass and it's ceiling as rolling storm clouds is completely barren save for a single trailing staircase illuminated by shrouded flames. These sparks of light like embers or fireflies dance within their sheltered orbs of glass and look very much from a certain angle like the night sky.

Maira's voice can be sensed more than heard, as if calling from a great distance away. There is the feeling of her voice but the words are almost too distant to make out. They seem as vaguely familiar as the stained glass and taut with meaning.

"..such a far way... the road.."

There is a crack in the side of the world. A ragged slash somewhere above him, where the stairs join up to and run alongside it before continuing their ascent upwards into the stormclouds. A silvery illumination and the sound of the ocean filter faintly from that distant tear in the dreamscape.

Angantyr Vespar has posed:
Sleep...a familar thing to Angantyr. A thing that comes and goes, he has not abandoned his humanity, he has clung to it...for good or ill he has become more human these days than previously under Garland's consul.

As he falls towards the stained glass...again? He notices that something obscures the sight from him...silt or water? Darkness? Has it claimed such a foothold here too? Has his actions taken him this far from the light? Up revealed...nothing but a illuminated staircase...down was more darkness.

Always the shadow of, huh? He wonders if this is something that will always be...or will he become the night eventually. However, too much introspection isn't what Ang focuses on right now. He moves towards the only place he can...

Then Maira's voice...it's painful to hear with everything recently...she is close to him, but...not in the way she wants. Will it be like this forever? Who knows...but he knows she hurts because of it.

"Maira?" He calls out...not this again...but it's even less audiable than last time...what is going on?

There was only one direction to go...he knows not retreat...only to advance.

So he climbs the stairway to the ocean.

Mysterious Voice has posed:
Her voice continues up the spiral but the words are so distant.. just the intonation. The general lilt and feeling to her voice and the way it fell into the empty silence of the surroundings.

At the top of the spiral lay a dark shore with arcs of crystallized darkness forming a vague lattice. Beyond the lattice a starless expanse of pure and unblemished darkness.

There is a pressure here but not an oppressive one. Power crackles in the air but it mingles with a strange sort of peace that the ocean and the vague silvery orb picks out of the surroundings.

Here the ruins of buildings jut from the sand peppered by hundreds, thousands, hundreds of thousands of weapons.

The ancient blades are embedded in the silvery sand. Some of them are intricate while others are simple. Some of them proud and others humble.

All of them are dull and lifeless and broken. A voice having nothing to do with Maira, a nameless vaguely male voice announces frankly from a patch of darkness from which it protrudes. "Where do you think this path leads?"

There is a pause and the voice continues, resolving into the shape of a hooded figure who stands at the very base of a titanic anomaly of the landscape.

In the thickest patches of ruin, shrouded by gloom until the voice had spoken (or perspective and reality simply shifting to reveal it) A luminous clock stands in the midst of those ruins. Violet fire illuminates the place where numbers are, numbered from I to VII with the big metal hands pointing to 'I'

The hooded figure continues. "Where these paths have always led. Power and Destruction." the figure bows respectfully and inquires frankly and upfront. "Good evening, sir Vespar. Forgive the theatrics. They are somewhat inevitable in order to grab a moment of your time.. unobserved. Would you walk with me, perhaps only for a minute or two? I shant delay you long."

The figure gestures to the endless dark shore in a gentlemanly gesture.

Angantyr Vespar has posed:
Angantyr walks...the voice is distant, but the feeling is there. He follows, because in the end it is what is in his heart. The beach...a dark one. He looks out at the darkness, the unending...space...

"The Dark Relm.." Angantyr mutters, only being here but a brief time before...once, when he was younger, hot headed...and landed at the feet of Garland. It was but a short time...but the place left it's mark on him. But here...the ocean was always a place he loved, here...he... always felt most at home, more than anywhere. He walks, but then... buildings, destroyed, blades embeded into the ground everywhere. "What...is this?" He asks, a sight of a long hard fought battle? What are these weapons, that jut from the earth as their final resting place?

Then a voice, he turns towards it, surprised by getting snuck up on...but..

Where does this path lead...

"Yeah." he agrees...these paths always lead to such places.

"You seem to have me at a disadvantage, sir." he muses, the clock at the center of the ruins catches his eye...

What is that..?

"Sure...let us walk. Maybe I will even get your name."

Mysterious Voice has posed:
"A folly so ancient that even the questions have worn away. A desperate last struggle against the forces of light and darkness." The hooded figure chuckles, hands held behind their back loosely as they stroll with a scholarly pace along the silvery sand.

No matter how far they walk however, the perspective of the Clock seems completely detached from that of the rest of the scenery. It is always completely visible and always just far enough in the distance to set a background to the ruined buildings and the shattered blades.

The hooded figure whose hands are gloved is only a silohuette of a man, an hooded black shape and a cultured voice from within a drawn up and empty cowl. "As for myself, I am a seeker of many things and so go by that name. There is nothing more important than the labels we give ourselves, is there not? A man may call another man a monster, a wretch, a creature of darkness -- but that accused man is nothing save the names he calls himself. Have the sorcerers deigned to tell you anything of the path they have set you on by catching you in their nets? Have they told you that their path, a path of obscured riddles and feigned apathy and mistrust has run them around in circles while the forces of Chaos crystalline in all corners of the universe, preying on the imbalance they themselves have caused?"

The seeker chuckles softly. "I assume not, but I will not lecture you. If you wish to learn more of their folly, of their deceptions then I am more than happy to point you in the direction of them. I believe learning answers for yourself is more honest than simply telling someone what they must believe, how they much act-- or even, what they dearly need to hear."

Angantyr Vespar has posed:
The clock...always there on the edge of their awareness...annoying. One of those things, maybe it was the representation of the thing that is there, around you, but just out of reach? Maybe.

"The Seeker huh? A name, if anything...though I find it more of a title...it will have to do for now." He muses, and continues to walk, and listen. "The Sorcerers?" He asks..wondering just who he ment by that, but lets it go... Angantyr pauses to look at the destruction again, before turning back to the man. He isn't being pushy...it's a quality that he is respecting...

"I don't often deal with such people...if they can not do what needs to be done I go without them. I don't play to the tune of those who can't see what is infront of them, and would risk everything to play at one upance." Angantyr shrugs, "But...if you're willing to point, I am willing to at least see for myself. I can not promise I will draw the same conclusions as you...but isn't that why you are simply pointing me, and not telling me?" Angantyr asks...

"But...who are the sorcerers you speak of?"

Mysterious Voice has posed:
"But of course."

The seeker says in a very dry voice. It is not precisely easy to know what he sounds like because every time he talks the inflection and tone is different, as if he were taking on and discarding different voices with every step down the shore. "As to the sorcerers.." he gestures idly and a series of images appear. A wizened blue robed man with a pointed hat.

(In fact, two of them, one looking much more addled and whimsical than the other) and an ugly old woman in a cottage of tangled briar. "They are the players of a game those rules have been discarded. While they argue about the right path, the worlds slip further and further into Chaos. You know, inevitably.. where that leads."

The walk has taken them into the ruins and the hooded figure evaporates like smoke as they turn the corner. There is a feeling of pressure and a pulling together of worlds and the ruins are what remains of a home destroyed.

The ashes of a place betrayed and trodden under an Archadian boot. The ocean has flooded this place, making islands of dark water where buildings poke through the sand.

There are notices, pale and fluttering on the scattered ruins which are empty of life both friend and enemy. This small place of fractured memory flooded by dark waters is as contained by high walls and the ocean as a snowglobe. A relatively small and enclosed space in which different objects gleam with resonance and purpose.

Each gleaming flame placed atop a ruined building, on a windowsill or atop a crumbling wall is bright and shining. Some of fireflies. Others are bright and piercing flame, almost searingly bright.

The light they cast never seems to penetrate far into the sodden gloom, but where their light falls. The stone and the wood are sound. As if the homeland destroyed was perserved perfectly in a memory before it's fall within the influence of that light. The ruin only lay in the darkness outside their radience.

And there was a notice, a word, a symbol painted on each gleaming source of light. And these are the words they each announce silently to the fallen world.

Victory -- A lantern set on a crumbling door.
Dividing Line -- A globe held in the grip of a cracked statue.
The Last Key -- An orb that has halfway rolled into the dark waters.
Endless -- A lantern set on a half crumbled wall
Tower of Voices -- An open flame carefully banked within the ruins of a charred house.
Zero Point -- An orb stuck in a twisted part of a roof, embedded there like a fallen star.

A tattered notice at eye level on a broken wall reads only. "There is never time for everything."

Angantyr Vespar has posed:
Hmm...

"Merlin huh.." He muses, and the woman...unfamilar, he had not ran into Mim. Still..

"Isn't that the beauty of free will? In the end, there is no truth, only what we think is right..?" He turns...

Huh. So this is where he has to go alone, or perhaps he was guided here. But...

Here...his heart sinks. He closes his eyes, and takes his helmet off...taking a knee near one of the burned and destroyed homes. He places his helmet down for a moment, lowering his head at the sight of his destroyed home...no matter how far he went...how deep he delved...this was home.

A place he so strongly wants to find again in his heart. The man, who holds himself like a mountain against fate, finds himself wiping his eyes...he still feels this way. He puts the helmet back on, standing up as he notices the six points of light.

There is never enough time...

He moves towards the Orb stuck in the roof first, towards the Zero point. It seems logical to start at Zero...

Mysterious Voice has posed:
There is a feeling of unreality around each of the points of light.

They are not only heat up everything warmth can give. Life. Hope. There is a disruption, then a warm rush of sensation as the ruined space dissolves into another place on the endless dark shore.

There is a woman there on a flat rock overlooking the dark ocean. She sits straight and strong in the light armor of a warrior, brushing blue hair back behind one ear as she looks at the silvery orb out there near the horizon, fixed and unchanging.

Her arms are wrapped around her knees and she looks lost but unbroken. Bowed but not shattered. The woman slowly looks in his direction and smiled. It was a warm and welcoming smile and without reservation.

"I don't remember who I am or how long I've been here... but I am welcome for the company just the same." she gestures to the rock near her and goes back to watching the ocean. The aura of resolute longing surrounds her.

Angantyr Vespar has posed:
Angantyr finds himself on the ocean again... oceans seem to be a thing in his heart. Or maybe in general?

He walks along the beach until he sees the woman, looking towards her with a nod..she isn't attacking him nor has the yellow eyes...then again, this was a dream was it not? Hm...

He shakes his head...this was still the dark relm, for his bravado, he knows what she says would happen, even to him, given enough time...his resistance was not immunity. Or was it even resistance? That was important.

"You sure sound as if you needed.." he says, understandingly. "This is not a place that we were ment to linger...despite connections to the darkness." he pauses, "All the same, I am Angantyr Vespar.." he says, looking out over the water as well.. "Do you remember what brought you here..? Or how long you've been stuck...in this hell?"

Mysterious Voice has posed:
"I have come... to appreciate it, actually." The woman says with a wry smile, her lips pursed as if looking at Angantyr Vespar. As if trying to look inside him for something. "It is a dark place, yes. But-- I.. I chose to be here. My friend. I--" she smiles sadly.

"I chose myself. I chose..this, so he would be safe. That-- he would have a chance. And now I'm waiting.." she turns her face away and her endless resolve seems to flicker for just a moment. "We're all waiting. All of us who come here are waiting for something. Wishing for something. I just--" she sighs. "I just wish I remembered those I've been waiting for." she looks at her hand, in which a cracked glass star is clutched in her hand, the three pieces lightly cutting into the flesh as if the pain would help her hold onto the memories.

"..We promised to stay together but.. they got.. lost somewhere." the flicker passes and she smiles towards him again. "But I have hope. Sometimes, that's really all that is left, when this place has taken everything else."

Angantyr Vespar has posed:
"I admire your resolve...and your strength." Angantyr says, such praise does not come easily from his mouth...but many do not understand what is to be here...and even he only knows but the surface. He doesn't shrink under the stare, and instead, continues to watch the ocean for a moment.

"Hope..?" He asks, heh...hope. Powerful, yet fickle...fleeting yet everlasting. "...I see. I never much believed in hope..I focused on revenge and hatred...I drank from the cups of those who used darkness...only to be dragged from them by friendship and...hope."

He looks back towards her, "I still took revenge anyway...yet they didn't turn from me..." he looks back out...

"Friends are important...more than I could ever imagine. You have some...so do I, they keep our hearts protected from the darkness that surround us..." he smiles a bit.

"Though, Lady, I suggest finding a better place to wait...though you can't beat the fact that there aren't many crowds.."

He pauses, "Save maybe the yellow eyed kind."

Mysterious Voice has posed:
The woman laughs and her laughter becomes tinny and distorted as if hearing it through a seashell. She reaches out and attempts to put a hand on his arm. Her touch is the same warmth and life as the lanterns should she succeed.

"..Thank you." she says simply, nodding to him. She makes no promise to remember him but she appreciates his words just the same. That part of the dark ocean recedes, being shrouded again by gloom. It pops like a soap bubble leaving the ruined and charred remains as stark contrast to the measure of buzzing silence and peace to be found in the woman's presence.

There are four chimes from the luminous clock and the great metal hands now read 'IV' with that many of the violet fire extuinguished. There is a wave of pressure that enacts a cataclysm in reverse upon the surroundings. Charred stone and wood heal. Cornerstones rise and beams place themselves in their right places.

But it is only a partial restoration, one that leaves the surroundings still broken but the damage looks fresher and less total. Smoke rises from a few smouldering places. The lantern Angantyr had touched has gone dark and cold, it's light completely expended. The hooded figure is nearby, hands behind his back. The voice has elements of Riku's voice as he speaks.

"An image. Preserved in memory. A knight trapped in amber, forever hoping for a rescue that may never come. A casualty of a war fought by children over a prize they were never even told they were fighting for."

the hooded figure shakes their head and then evaporates again. "Such a waste."

Angantyr Vespar has posed:
Angantyr allows this, typically he is...less inclined to let others touch him, but in this case he feels it is not something that is going to hurt him...and he feels that physical touch would be good for the woman. There is a moment, a feeling of warmth and light, despite the darkness that surrounds her, and he laughs a little too...he knows the value of a good smile and laugh in such surroundings. "I find that laughter keeps it at bay...maybe for just a bit longer." he shru-before the illusion pops like a soap bubble...he is back, in a world that he remembered in a destructive state...but a state that is reversing? The restoration is not...complete, but...what is this? Why is this...

He frowns, but his thinking is disrupted by the speach of the figure, the memories of Riku's voice snaps him back awake, focusing on him...there was a memory...

"Wait...she DOES exist..? Hey!" Angantyr frowns...nobody deserved that. Nobody...

Not even no-oh wait, we haven't gotten there yet. Nevermind.

Gone, again...the clock advanced...he could chose too more, maybe? So...what does he choose?

The ocean, once more calls to him, as he walks towards the orb halfway rolled into the dark water.

The Last key...

Mysterious Voice has posed:
The light this time at the touch of the half submerged orb is more of an explosion. A collison of great forces against each other that reaches out and rends the paper thin tissue of this dreamlike reality. Another flare of brilliant and piercing light sears across the reforming landscape like a spear.

A curtain of stars and galaxies makes up the terraced pathways of this tower to the heavens. The tower itself seems crafted out of starstuff with the empty space in every direction giving an incredible vista of a ruined and barren world. Great scars and ravines have carved the landscape. Darkness has tainted and and corrupted the land. Light has seared and scorched. A beam of darkness from the top of the tower collides with the spear of light and a pressure wave explodes from the antipode of forces that sets the tower to noticeably quaking.

Straight overhead, large and close enough almost to touch is a pillar of twilight energy. A spire that reaches up to the moon of this world which is a luminous blue and vaguely heart shaped. A powerful radiance pours down along with that eerie blue, pure energy pouring down along that spire of energy like a waterfall. It is the nexus of perfect interconnection. A web that spans a universe. A complete and terrible unity waiting for a controlling hand. Power in it's purest context without mortal filter or constraint. The price, and the stakes, of this contest going on all around him.

Along the stairways and corridors of the starlight tower are the dead. Armored figures lay where they fell, discarded soldiers in an unknown war. The battle continues unabated up about, massive surges of light and darkness exploding against each other.

Shards of crystal rain from the sky at every impact.

Angantyr has posed:
Angantyr is torn from his dream-like reality and placed into a war torn one. He is no stranger to things like this, and immediately knows how to put his head down and run to something safeish. This is...what is this,...

Then he looks up.

Even he is touched by this, something...in his heart tells him what this is, but he cant put words to it. He just knows it is important...more than anything else in the world, it is important to all things. Power, in its purest form...but also light and love. It is...both extremes...yin and yang. he understands why people are fighting for this now...it is precious. But with power like that...even Ang feels that it maybe too much, even for him.

Hes not sure what drives him, but he has to move forward. Dark may his heart be, he still isnt sure about what must be done, but...he thinks hell know once he gets there. He moves, reaching for any weapon that will come to him, he doesnt care what, just something to defend himself, and starts climbing the staircase towards the top...

The unobtainable goal, perhaps? Perhaps this was just the battlefield of his heart, and his prize his heart...but something seemed...more to this. This wasnt just a reflection of his soul, but it also might as well be.

Angantyr moves, he moves because he must, because it calls to him. He looks at it again...trying not to distract him with the sheer beauty and majesty of the moon above him.

Mysterious Voice has posed:
The fallen sword is much like the ancient blades that littered the dark and flooded ruins of before. It is drained and dead in hand, only a faint whisper of something crawling along the length that may have been once an echo of the moon overhead.

A crystal within the workings of the blade is cracked, whispers bleeding from the stone that form a constant background noise to the din. Whoever speaks.. it is in Avira's voice though the words are inaudible. There are several more cataclysmic crashes in which the entire tower seems on the very threshold of coming apart. At some point, darkness devoured the endless vista of the world below the tower and now this single last foothold is left as contested bastion.

The darkness reaches up to the lower reaches of the tower, and there.. the millions of eyes can be seen. A solid sea of heartless in many thousands of different forms are clawing their way up the tower towards the spire. They crash against the base of the tower and it trembles.

They will be here soon.

At the very apex of the spire there is nothing to mark the great contest of wills except the energy spire that connects the starlight tower with that immediate moon. Even the din has been sucked from the air leaving the spire in ringing silence.

Hanging in the middle of that pillar of energy is a sword. But it is no more a sword than Avira's voice, or Maira's came from their owners. It is a symbol more than a sword. A concept rather than reality. The intricate traceries jutting from the entwined spirals and curves are completely unsuited for a weapon that is more than decoration -- but it is far from decorative in bearing.

It is all that stands between anyone and entering the spire of energy. A last battered guardian with massive cracks and battle damage having wounded the ancient weapon, glowing lines tracing each and every one of these faults.

Angantyr has posed:
Angantyr picks up the pace the more he climbs...this is becoming an increasingly void battle..those who fought here only fought to bring the heartless upon them...or maybe they were the heartless, now joined forever by the darkness in a single hungry desire to consume all. Angantyr runs, he cant afford to be caught here, he has to push forward...he has to find a place to make a final stand that can help him hold out as long as possible..

Then he comes to the Apex...everything here but the pillar and the sword that acts as the last bastion of defense...he looks behind him again...there is no time, theyll be here soon...and the moon above them will be forever...no they cant get there. Angantyr knows this, in his heart of hearts, that this can not come to pass.

He stares at the sword, no not a sword, the concept of sword. A symbol...a concept. He hears Aviras voice, but it is too distant to make out. He tosses the void weapon he picked up on the ground...it would not serve him. He isnt sure why it came with him this far...

...Well, this is it I guess. I hope Im dreaming but if Im not.. he pauses..

Well, lets at least give it our all. he says, and reaches towards the weapon, not caring if it burns, or if it comes to him, he reaches in with all of his might, all his determination...the desire to live, but also the desire to protect the moon above. Angantyr was taught to use any weapon he could, to make it his own...it is damaged, but he will fortify the damaged parts with his own body, or rather, with his own heart.

To master it, and strike down those who would threaten his path, and those he aligned himself with.

Riku has posed:
Something shifts. The ancient void blade cracks apart into ruined scrap as it leaves Angantyr's hand. Time slows then freezes like the tower was caught in the midst of a flashfreeze. The heartless, already clambering for this spire and surrounding him from all directions stare from their locked positions with empty yellow eyes.

And Angantyr, holding the guardian blade in the midst of the stream of energy.. is known.

Whatever presence lives within the blade or connects this guardian to it's charge turns it's attention on Angantyr. It is fierce and immediate, a blazing and burning presence that recognizes him. In this second, in this flash of a moment it follows the infinite web of connections to his personal thread, illuminating his connection with the rest of the universe-- and the rest of time, in that same instant. It races down the length of his life, reading and reading and reading, every memory. Every sensation. Every thought and every action. Every connection to others which radiate out like the threads of a tapestry.

Every feeling that he's ever had seems to try and play itself all at once. Rage and Joy. Sorrow and Grief and Bitterness. They wage war to be heard, a single moment of calamity, his entire life played over in a second, everything crashing together into a single terrible note of sound.

It replays those final thoughts. That final determination to protect the moon overhead and to master the blade.

And it is good enough.

The scouring presence is then put in perspective as a small, inconsequential tendril of energy as the entire flow courses along the connections and flows from the sword to the very core of Angantyr's being and then back again, pulling everything that he offered along with it as the energy spiral pulled in.. started to contract slowly, then faster as the heartless began to sluggishly move again, clawed hands and tendrils swimming through the thickened air as the energy contracts half its side, then a quarter, then a single bisecting beam that extends upwards, broken only as it falls on Angantyr from that great height.

And the explosion happens without sound and the light wipes away vision but it can still be felt. That exploding energy, light and darkness both exploding outwards from the blade --- taking more and more of Angantyr with it and always pulling for more. Repairing something unseen as the space becomes more and more crowded by the heartless who climb up the sides of some invisible barrier that rises higher and higher with every second.

The blade lets him go. Almost reluctantly it lets him go as what it drains from him, what it gives in return to strengthen him is no longer enough to keep it stable. The cracks return and multiply quickly, and there is a shove. A physical and mental shove as if something was pushing him from the way as the barrier is completed.. and the sword /EXPLODES/ in ragged shards of light and darkness.

The flooded ruins return with the swiftness of someone falling out of bed, with a sensation of falling and a single bright fragment of twisted white gold metal laying near his hand in the puddle. The orb of light is gone as the first one, and the clock with it's luminous violet flames reads 'VIII'

Angantyr has posed:
Angantyr holds to the blade as long as he can...he nearly screamed as his life is forced to replay...

A young Angantyr, dressed more like a noble than a dark knight looks at his disapproving father, who had just told him he has a little brother...and he has been replaced as the heir. A disgusted look as he is told why he was...he was unwanted.

A older Ang, sparing with his brother, the darkness first going out of control and scaring him...pity from his brother...disgust again from his father...and a growing sense of bitterness for the world around him.

Ang and his brother, talking on a old wall overlooking the ocean...Ang almost looks happy, talking to his brother as a equal, and not a subordinate. As a necessary thing...

The fight that destroyed his home...Angantyrs determination to drive the Arcadians back...and the feeling of failure after being routed...

The feeling of betrayal when it was discovered his brother betrayed them to save the nation...Angantyrs rage...

His meeting Garland...the years of torment and hardening under Garland. A Sword was first forged that day, being tempered by the rage and hate that Garland used like a well placed weapon. Here he learned what it truly meant to fight...to survive...everything was a test...everything was a challenge...everything was fight or die.

However, from this, bloomed his friendship with Avira, meeting the misplaced woman, teaching her as he was taught...a bond developing as they spent time together...a bond increasing as he met her friends, both in Clan Danga and beyond. Meeting others who would share space in his heart, bringing back the ability to trust...even to love again. A sense of duty to protect...to use his power for something...to prove that he could do something other than destroy...

And then it was good enough.

Power drains, and Angantyr doesnt stop, he forces it in, allowing it to take what it needs...something had to be done...whatever happens, something was exchanged, and Angantyr was pushed from the blade. Weakened, Angantyr watches as the Heartless are fended back by something.

And then the sword explodes...

Angantyr jolts back awake...kneeling in the sand. He rubs his head...the place...restored slightly, but still just a shadow of its former self...

And another choice that needs to be made...so little time, so much to do huh?

He sighs...what was that...what was this? He looks for the mysterious figure...but there was nothing, only him. Closing his eyes, he chooses again...and goes for the one held by the cracked statue.

The Dividing Line.

Mysterious Voice has posed:
The ground around his feet cracks and splits apart with a sound like splintering glass. It is a short fall to the next mirage or vision or nightmare. A short fall through dusty air that parches the lungs and reddish black stone carved by the touch of light and darkness both.

The tower is what sets the perspective to this image as part of the same place as the one that came before. The landscape is broken up into small areas of frozen time. The battlefield has been chopped up into these artfully displayed dioramas and filled with empty suits of armor bearing ancient and rusted blades.

In between these places are corridors of dark glass that extend out into the distance. In fact, the entire battlefield, seen from a sufficient height would paint out a stained glass window much like how this dream began. Each island tells a silent story of loss and struggle. Victory and defeat.

If Angantyr picked up the white gold fragment, it hums and rattles faintly in hand as if resonating with these stories. It whispers and each suit of armor, each heart that sleeps within these frozen statues wishes for something. And those wishes are made audible and fall on the parched earth like rain. General patterns can be made out of the endless multitude.

This is not just one time. One place. The tower and the moon is a constant as much as the clock was before. They are changeless. Enduring. Every other scene.. comes from an endless stream of variations. Clothes and attitudes and armor change, but the reasons stay the same.

There are just as much cry for vengeance as cry for salvation. Just as many big dreamers whose whims would save the world from itself or conquer it. Just as many who reach for the impossible. For the return of those lost to darkness. For the salvation of a town or a city or a nation. For the very resurrection of the dead.

And the moon overhead and the tower is the line drawn in the sand pitting all these hearts against each other. Other forces can be felt in the background as well. Agents and seeds of Chaos planted here and there in the silent panoply. Sometimes innocuous and sometimes overwhelming and ominous. All profiting from the bloodshed, no matter which side 'won' -- prolonging and escalating the conflict. Pursuing their ends while the world burns.

The hooded man is regarding a trio of warriors in armor, an unarmored man holding one of their number by the head. Holding them off the ground as a stab of ice races across their armor. He walks his away around the small island unhurriedly.

"Events do not stop simply because their reasons are forgotten. The sorcerers meant to hide it. To bury the worlds in forgetfulness and rewrite the story to their liking. But that is not how the universe functions. This story.." he gestures to the picture before him and then around them. "And every story begins the same way. And it will end the same.. without due caution and preparation."

Angantyr has posed:
Angantyr walks through the graveyard of keys and armor.

Is this the resting place of the warriors fighting over that moon? Not just one place and time, but many...uncountable...warriors of light and darkness clashing here for one thing. Things in the background manipulating the world to their goals and aims...and the world burns. Angantyr sighs...he too was a puppet in the show, he feared...try as he might to tear the strings from him. He wondered, how to act, without dancing to their tune.

But all too often this is what they counted on...and planned for.

Every weapon had a story...and here he found one in particular. The trio fighting the unarmed man, as he froze one of their numbers in ice. He watches, what did this mean? But the mysterious figure again.

So the worlds were not once separated? Is this what you are saying? He asks, curious. Then that means...it would make sense, many worlds have common elements to them..

Well, to be fair...to ask people to act strictly on logic all the time is impossible...we are beings of emotion...sometimes we succumb to them...our greatest weakness and strength rolled into one, no? He asks, shaking his head.

What is their tale? he asks, motioning towards the trio, Where does their story fall in this...graveyard? Who is the man they fight? And is...at the end of the day, important to the grand scheme? To them, yes...I dont doubt that.

Mysterious Voice has posed:
"There is an adage concerning all worlds being connected under a single sky. I find the reverse a matter of history, for under the light of Kingdom Hearts all things are possible. Even worlds spun from nothing but a story and a wish and a child's faith in home."

The hooded figure chuckles softly. "As for these three? Knights who chose the freedom of others over their own. Who sacrificed everything and lost. Lost their crusade against a former teacher. Lost their home and eventually, lost themselves to darkness and oblivion. The man, Xehanort, is a wielder of great darkness whose recklessness in time spelled his own downfall."

The hooded man shrugs and says frankly and without rancor. "A man lashed to the wheel of advancing time perhaps has a necessary drive to see his work completed within his lifetime. With all the consequences entailed to that." The white gold shimmers, the shard bending into an unbroken circle as the endless panoply of stories fade back to the ruins that are no longer ruins.

It is Angantyr and the hooded Seeker who are the shadows here, for they stand in the midst of a lively and unblemished square. No hint of fire and no mark of war has been laid on these grounds and people move in and out of buildings and along streets about their business. The sounds of life chatter at a low ebb around the hooded man and Angantyr, who stands on a small circle of destruction with the hooded figure in the dappled sunlight beyond. The Clock is still present in a ghostly background way, reading 'XI' with only a single sickly violet fire in evidence.

The Seeker continues. "Their tale of tragedy and failure is one of very many, with more still to come if the grinding wheel that hews these lives to mulch is not halted. The force of Chaos not stymied as they dig claws into the fabric of years. This-- is why I have come to you for aid. For is it not said that no man is unconnected to any other? " he chuckles very dryly, cultured voice calm and straight forwards.

"You have been shown the consequences of an ancient past. A past that will no doubt repeat itself in time, rendering new graveyard worlds whose shattered swords meet the horizon. And no doubt your teacher would only laugh. But will you?"

Angantyr has posed:
Angantyr listens.

A sad tale...a slightly familiar one too. History does repeat, given enough time. So the worlds did used to be connected more firmly. Or at least...not as they were now. But as hole worlds, separate but connected? or all connected and not separate? It seems unimportant now...but still...this isnt new after all..

The city, around them restored...nothing is wrong, but he is but a shadow of this place. He isnt here, now, as always and before he was the darkness that haunted his home. A sad smile, as he turns back to the mysterious figure.

Former teacher. He says, I no longer follow Garland, I broke free of my own will... though he wonders about that sometimes, or if its not a complicated plot. He, however, refused to accept it. So no, I will not laugh. I dont want this to happen...to my or any other world. Somehow, I dont think wed be talking if that was my desire.. he mutters, and turns to face the figure.

But why me? I am not that special, just a man with bad bedfellows and a bad power. Why do you seek my aid?

Mysterious Voice has posed:
The Seeker chuckles and slowly circles around the area of destruction that Angantyr is still within. "The sorcerers believed they were clever." he begins, the bite of sarcasm slightly in his voice that sounds like Riku's again before remodulating into the ever shifting melange. " They would not choose and uplift aspirants as in the old traditions. In the traditions that led to the fate that youve seen.

They feared intervention and betrayal. They feared darkness and thus chopped their arms away to spite their bleeding fingers. So they cast a wide and subtle net that would niggle and fish for those who were strong and stalwart. Those who were wise and compassionate. Those who were champions -- and eventually, to send dreams and visions to those chosen few. Chaos and darkness cannot intervene if they do not know whom to shatter."

The seeker chuckles quietly. "Suffice it to say.. their methods were inevitably flawed. So I come bearing not a smile and strings for you to dance to, but knowledge and sincerity. I do not require heroes, Sir Vespar. I do not slap a label on you in secret that I expect you to live up to." he extends a hand, offering to pull Angantyr across the borders of ruin into the sunlight and life of the perfectly preserved memory around him. "I seek only aid, no matter the source it comes from."

Angantyr has posed:
Angantyr listens...the Sorcerers again, this man has little love for them...

Then again, he cant blame him, if what he says it true. Angantyr listens, but there was a lot here...

So Darkness seeks people too...but why? Why does Chaos want people...is it because of that moon?

He taps his fingers against his armor, the destruction he sits in...a place hes always been. Did it have to be though? He was starting to think there might be a better way, a different way. Avira and Maira...they had faith in him that he could.

So this man, this man who has no reason to trust him asks him for aid. He could rebuff him...but..

The thought of a home to protect again...

He takes the mans arm, willingly taking it to be helped out of the darkness and destruction. Well, then youll have it. Just dont cry to me when its not sunshine and rainbows.

Mysterious Voice has posed:
There is a bark of bemused laughter. "I will keep that in mind." The seeker says wryly, gripping Angantyr's arm and pulling him across the circle of ruin into the surroundings. There is a feeling of pressure, of passing some invisible barrier. And the people stop and look, and there is a moment of recognition as if he only now became truly real to them. Real and fully present to this preserved memory. "Very well. When you are ready... seek me.. here." There is a picture, an image, a flash of rolling green hills and a white expanse of castle in the middle of that green. Castle Oblivion to those who know it's name. A forgotten place of memory to those who do not. "And we shall begin.."

The Clock hands move to 'XII'. There are twelve strikes of a titanic gong and with every strike the world contracts a little. Not vanishing into darkness or being consumed, but rather being folded away like a treasured keepsake. Folded and folded until peaceful dark shore and village meet and intertwine before finally falling away to the stained glass cylinder in which this all started.

The light dims, as if passing swiftly from noontime sunshine towards sleepy dusk and into evening as the light quality fades to nothing.. and as it does, the hooded figure and the stained glass finally vanish.

Let the pieces fall where they lay.

Destiny or distortion.

Dream or prophecy or nightmare.

All things in their places, and at their own times.

And with the final rays of light dying away.. the dream ends. In hand is still the smooth white gold circle, about the size of a hand, like something broken away from a pauldron or very close to it. A keepsake of a strange dream.

Angantyr has posed:
Angantyr smirks, and is drawn into the light. He remembers this place...this time...

The place is not as familiar, but he knows OF it...he has seen the place from a distance, but never went to it. Should he ever realize just how the memories he saw today, and that place were, hed laugh long and loud...but today, he just gets to be confused.

This place? Cas- And then the world folds back up. Memories being put back where they belongs...despite the pain and sorrow, the possibility for renewal and restoration came. Things started to return, before he was on the stained glass again...but what...

Then things turn back to normal, waking up in a familiar place. In his hand...the smooth white gold circle is left in his hand. He blinks, confused, looking at the item. ...Okay, seriously, what did I eat to get this kind of dream.. he muses, shaking his head.

Castle Oblivion.. he mutters, What is this all about..?