Twisted Roads of Legend: The Angels' Tear

[Acacea]

The night that set their feet on the path.

Oclar 1391

The sun has set on the warm city of magic, the streets silent as if the whole of Spellgard is holding its breath in anticipation. The constellations of Lucinda and Ilsare are rotating slowly around each other as they trek across a clear sky, in a movement that will likely take the night for the Archer's arrow to strike the Weave's circle. Skipping after a party headed towards the tower grounds is an exuberant young halfling, one untouched by shadow, doubt, or despair. Carefree, or careless, depending on who is asked, this prankster of Shadon thinks little of springing from behind at the Black Wizard Rufus Coldfinger, to greet him with bright eyes and laughter. She understands nothing of war, of suffering, of evil. She sees many things with her eyes that are not yet felt with her heart, even so soon after the death of a loved companion. Normally she might scoff at the notion of wasting her hours waiting for some flowers to open, but tonight is different; the stars reach for one another and the night is filled with a strange warmth, tinged with some vague, barely remembered sorrow.

And so she bounds after the group of friends and acquaintances, led by Connor Garvill, to see the annual blooming of the Angels' Tears and hear why there is such a fuss about a bunch of plants...

1

(This is not a written or spoken account by Acacea, nor an account independent of her. This is a chapter of her character development thread which contains many other writings, spoken accounts, or memories of hers. A CDT is meant to document the change and growth of a character, in whatever manner fits the character. That's exactly what this is. These events are separated from the others simply because they are so vast I could not hope to keep it updated and still do any justice to these decades of her life.)

[Acacea]

The Tower of High Arcana stretches upwards as they approach its grounds, telescopes set up in front of it to view the events of the night. A gruffly familiar voice reaches their ears just before its owner and a few priestesses and gatherers come into sight, the unmistakable snort of a wizard denouncing someone: "Bunch of fools!"

Amenithrulia grins slyly at Moraken, her melodic voice raised to ask pointedly, "Then why are you here, old man?"

As Connor quietly gestures to the others to show them the flowers in question with their buds of blue and crimson, Moraken's expression turns somewhat cross, the well-known wizard waving one hand a bit in dismissal while he quickly answers, "Well...study of course! What else, I don't believe in any of your nonsense!"

"How come they are tears? Are they sad?"

Moraken looks to his left, his right, and finally down at the halfling who has just unabashedly appeared in front of him to look at the flowers, right in the middle of his discourse with the priestesses. "Tears? What tears? You're crying? Be concise girl, we can't have no words of no meaning flowing around this place like bad smelling air!"

She crosses her arms and sticks out her tongue at him in response, mumbling that perhaps wizards should try not stinking up the place then, while the sorcerer who led them here answers more directly. "Yes, in a way...but also not. It's a bit of a story, as most legends are."

This gains some recognition from the man well known for his mastery of magic and tower north of Hlint. "Ahh, you're here for that. You know the tale, then?"

"I know of it, yes."

The voice pipes up again between them, saying "I don't!" almost indignantly, as if she is scandalized at the very thought, but they continue over her head. "Bah, it's a load of nonsense--just because flowers behave oddly; there must be a good explanation for all of this."

Rithredia brushes silky hair behind upswept ears as she hides a grin at the words, leaning down to adjust the settings of a telescope with her tone reflecting a discussion that has been had many times before. "There is always an explanation, right Moraken?"

He responds with a stab of his finger in the air and a firm, "Always! And not some dead and long-forgotten angels, either!"

"Ohh, you don't know the story?" The elven woman dressed in shades of red that they first heard playfully chiding Moraken appears almost pleased by this news from the halfling, as if looking forward to sharing it.

As she opens her mouth to respond in the negative, Connor's voice nudges in over hers, dryly commenting, "Amazing...something the Great Acacea doesn't know."

Acacea makes a face at him and immediately dismisses the notion. "But I am always finding them out--so I WILL know!" She looks back to the Ilsarian and rocks back and forth on her bare feet, motioning towards the telescopes as she both asks and answers herself. "Can I look? Yes!"

The answer comes warmly even as the halfling is wriggling in front of the others for a turn, the priestess motioning at them all to see for themselves. "Look and see, Ilsare's arrow moves closer to the star of enchantment. When it strikes, the flowers will open."

A striking blond man garbed in the colors of Lady Doom, the mistress of storms, gives Acacea a warm smile as he moves from the telescope to allow her a turn. She looks for a moment at the slow turning of the bright stars, responding to the priestess again with what seems a very familiar word for her. "Why?"

A skeptical inquiry echoes from an arrogant elf, whose posture and expression give little doubt that he is a Gray. "And this is important, why?"

The halfling treads on the end of the question, repeating impatiently, "Yeah, is it magic? Why?" while the darker wizard in the party turns from the priestess to address Moraken in a professional tone, as if the account of an Ilsarian cleric is less than reliable. "I assume you already have thoughts on the explanation--you were proclaiming that so loudly."

"Well, no..." Moraken reaches for a few seconds without answer, his eyebrows drawing together. "I am sure however, that there is one! If I had found it, why would I be here! Think logically, man!"

Exasperated with the discussions of wizards, Acacea turns back to the priestess of love. "Ameni, if I promise not to roar near the temple anymore, will you tell the story? Or someone!"

"Me?" Moraken looks startled at the notion, scoffing, "Bunch of dribble."

Rithredia shakes her head in amusement, deep green eyes almost fond. "Oh, Moraken..."

He waves a hand again, drawing himself up in front of the others. "But if you insist!"

2

[Acacea]

"Your stories sound just as insane..."

Moraken answers challengingly, raising an eyebrow to the Lucindite priestess. "Oh, you want to tell it, Rithy?"

After a glance between them, Connor clears his throat quietly, suggesting, "Maybe Rith would be a better choice..." but she shakes her head at that, seeming delighted at the thought of hearing the wizard tell the story. "No, by all means I would LOVE to hear your version!"

With a glower at Connor, Moraken replies, "Fine! Go on, then! My version would be far more factual!" as Rithredia tries to soothe ruffled feathers with a smile. "No, no, no. You do it. Aww..."

Acacea looks quizzically at Moraken, playing with the edges of a colorful skirt as she asks, "So...basically you would just say 'stars move and stuff and a flower blooms for whatever reason,' right? Since you said you didn't know why?"

As the black-clad wizard bends down to look through the telescope, Moraken clears his throat. "Right. Well, there were these two clerics at some point. No idea...bah, clerics. Fools, really." Stifled giggles punctuate his sentences as he grumbles now and then. "Not a brain among the lot of them..."

Rithredia throws her hands up into the air as she looks at the wizard, exclaiming in exasperation, "Oh, put some flavor into it!" but Moraken carries on over the top of her as even the Gray smirks slightly. "Intuition this and intuition that! Where the hells is the logic in that!"

Without even looking up from where he examines the movement of the constellations, Rufus, the dark-robed wizard, interrupts in a cool tone. "Pardon, but clerics of?"

Moraken gives a start at the question, blinking his eyes as he says, "Oh! I missed that part! One of Ilsare, and one of Lucinda," with one whisper from a sorcerer muttering "wizards..." and another between two priests of Mist and Aeridin, respectively: "Clearly yet another case of cleric envy..." "Apparently so."

As an auburn-haired woman gracefully seats herself in a colorful carpet of flowers to listen, Moraken continues, his hand sometimes accenting his own words and making his staff wobble around on his shoulder. "Well, at this time a magical realm was supposedly discovered in the very heavens. A realm of magic and well..dreams, as the story goes. Likely a pocket plane shattered from the prime shard and was lost among the ether, nothing more than that. Such a fuss over nothing."

A jingling noise carries in the night as the halfling flops backwards onto the grass to watch the stars and listen to the story, the bells on her bracelets chiming together in the sound that gave her one of her many nicknames. "Right! That makes about as much sense to me. But that's okay!"

"Well, as gods do, two wanted the place. Lucinda and Ilsare."

At this revelation, Acacea turns her head slightly on the grass to whisper to Rufus, who had seated himself against a tree to examine the flowers. "How come the other ones didn't want it?" He tilts his head down to her as he opens a book in his lap and pulls out a quill, whispering back, "Who besides them would want a dream pocket plane?" making her laugh to herself.

"Well, of course that caused a little on the side of friction between them, as they weren't great friends to start with. Two claimed it, only one would own it, according to the tale. Never heard of sharing, clearly." A few in the party snicker or grin at the thought of two wizards being able to share any better, of course, but for the most part they manage to at least attempt a respectful silence.

"At this time, it is rumored that there were these two clerics that lived, and loved each other. Serious case of bad timing, that."

"Hah! I guess so... but then if it was good timing it prolly wouldn't be a story."

Athus Dephillie, Aeridin's healer, fans himself a few times in the warm air as he chuckles. "Good point, Miss Acacea."

Moraken just shakes his head as he continues, his dry dissection of the story making the priestesses on either side of him cringe. "Long and short, the Weave and the Archer decided it was a good chance for a skirmish. And so, over this petty plane, a war started, just a small one of bickering to begin with...Such ramifications over nothing...Well as it was, the tension spilled out into the clergy. Clerics...See, root of all evil, I tell you."

Acacea's chiming voice interrupts what appears might turn into a rant, asking in a helpful tone, "How is that the root if you just said it was spilled into them from somewhere else?" while Moraken stares at the young halfling.

Lady Doom's cleric makes no attempt to hide his low chuckle as she looks curiously at Moraken. "That doesn't make a whole lot of sense for a wizard!"

A few grins appear on faces, and the quiet laughter of the Aeridinite is hidden behind his fan. Acacea looks around and, realizing she's being stared at, clears her throat and adds, "I mean...go on."

Amenithrulia laughs aloud and Katrien smiles behind her own fan at the irritation on the wizard's face. "It makes complete sense, girl! The divine leakage caused the problem here! Celestial spillover, as it were!"

With a slight cough and a sheepish look as if she can't help herself, Acacea asks, "So it's the spiller that's the problem, right...? Right? Oh right...oops! Story!"

A growl serves as a response to the interrogation: "Well, you wanted the story, so be quiet and listen, would you!"

"Sorry!" The halfling sits up and hugs her knees to her chest as she grins to herself, trying to adopt a more attentive pose as Moraken mutters, "For the love of the Weave you're a mouthy one..."

"Right, then. The two clerics, they 'fell in love,'" Moraken continues. As the wizard rolls his eyes, the stormy-eyed cleric leans over to Acacea and whispers a little too loudly, "He still hasn't forgiven you for that mess you made in his tower..."

"Damned fool move that was... no idea what they were thinking--" he cuts off as the halfling makes a desperate slicing motion across her neck to Rolf, motioning to "cut it," but too late.

"MESS?! THAT WAS YOU?" The intimidating wizard looks less impressed than ever as Acacea squirms around uncomfortably, bursting out in defense: "The enchanting oil everywhere was not my fault at ALL and I'm sorry-about-your-hair-and-um..THE STORY!"

The eyes of the Ilsarian priestess twinkle as she gently prompts him. "The story, Moraken?"

He straightens his robes out with only a mutter or two, ignoring the occasional chuckle from the group. "Ah well, the story. This is the love part, I don't do that part. Rithy, you can deal with it. Or you, Ameni."

Rufus raises his eyes from his notes in response, glancing between the speakers with a small grin of amusement. "Yes, perhaps somebody else should continue with the story; Moraken seems distracted." Amenithrulia smiles and clears her throat, tilting her head back to looks to the skies for a moment...

3

[Acacea]

"WELL!!"

Amenithrulia jumps slightly and waves slender fingers at Moraken while gathering her thoughts. "Oh, hold on..."

"Don't get all teary..." He leans his staff on the ground and sighs, muttering to himself. "Here we go...clerics..."

With hands on hips, the Archer's priestess turns to Moraken. "I'm not getting teary, this is a very monumental story to both our faiths--"

"Sure sure, monu-something alright..."

"--and so it should be done justice."

As Acacea dissolves into giggles, both Rufus and Connor glance up incredulously, comments ending up on top of the other's.

"The love between two clerics is monumental?" "Moraken has faith?"

Connor's question is answered with a sharp glance and a snort. "In myself, my boy, in myself."

Moraken bends down to peer into the telescope as Acacea whispers "He reminds me of Aleister..." with a grin to Rufus, who laughs in response.

Athus interjects with a gentle smile in reply to Rufus, adding, "Any true love is monumental, I believe."

Finally having a pause in which to continue, Amenithrulia says mildly, "Emily Nightwoven and Narsil Fledgeheart. Those were the names of the two faithful devoted to both Ladies of dreams and magic."

"Faithful my bum, stupid is more like it..."

Rufus chooses to ignore Moraken's mutterings, interrupting casually as if for accuracy and not any belief that this will affect him any. "Who worshipped whom?"

"Emily Nightwoven, a priestess of our Lady in Magic, and Narsil Fledgeheart, a firm devotee of Ilsare. These two met early, and love graced their steps endlessly; laughter flowed across fields they walked, and life seemed an endless routine of joy and blessing for them both."

The speaker glances up to the stars as she settles into her story, ignoring a small grunt from Moraken likely repressing comments. "Hands rarely parted, lips often touched, and the red roses of Ilsare seemed to bloom in the very heart of the pair."

Acacea nods at that, whispering thoughtfully to herself, "I bet their hands got awful sweaty," while Moraken breaks his short silence with, "Good manure, roses bloom in good manure."

"Oh stop it, old man!"

"He is right, though."

Clearly deciding not to allow the flower comments and the agreement of Rufus to interrupt, she lifts her chin slightly and continues. "At this time, however the two Ladies were not the stalwart allies that they are now."

"Bah or so it's said! Who knows, there aren't any clear records of a relationship between the two."

"They each had their own agendas and were if anything, fleeting acquaintances..."

Moraken interrupts yet again to nod his head in grudging agreement. "I will give her that much."

"Why thank you." Amenithrulia moves on after commenting dryly, perhaps to avoid her tone sinking in. "When this place was found, they both contended for it. Clearly the Lady of Dreams should be the ruler of this domain of hers. Clearly, the Lady of Magic should be ruler of this place of great enchantments."

A few heads turn to one side, startled by the sound of Moraken whacking the end of his staff against a telescope, complaining, "Who aligned this lens! It is atrocious! A cleric, I bet..."

The storyteller sighs, touching her hands to her forehead for a brief moment. "Rith, fix the lens..."

The Strandborn in Lucinda's Fallan Gis and well-known gossip-holder of the faith bends to examine the telescope, then mutters to herself. "You moved it, Moraken!"

She shakes her head and settles in to spend some time fixing it as Acacea snickers to herself. "Yeah, it's atrocious after he beat it with his stick. Hah."

"They argued furiously in the heavens, peaceable at first, in the ways that the mighty often do...but soon enough peace was no longer to be had, the fabric of the dream itself becoming a battleground for heart and weave. And of course, where the heavens lead the clergy soon follow; at first hot argument raged between mortal Lucindites and Ilsarians. Soon however...well, soon enough this led to outright--"

"Stick! What stick?!" Moraken glares at Acacea, brandishing his staff over one shoulder, while Amenithrulia sighs again before completing her sentence.

"--outright war."

4

[Acacea]

"Well, there is some evidence of that one....a smattering no more."

"Emily and Narsill lived in these times of struggle - oh, enlighten us Sir Moraken of the Tower!"

Acacea stretches slightly and mutters, "They fought too? Bet a lot of dishes got thrown..."

A slight squeaking sound is heard from a telescope as Rithredia finally gets the lens back into place. Moraken straightens himself at Ameni's challenge, answering, "Several ruins of Lucindite and Ilsarian temples remain, but of course there are no firm causes for the destruction."


The halfling's muttered comment of "'They blew each other up' works for me...!" goes unheard as Moraken continues.

"On one such site however, an expedition was led by Lord Ultrion III, there were discoveries of old arrowheads in the Lucindite compound bearing unmistakable Ilsarian markings. Still, they could have been fighting together, that we do not know."

"I suppose not. You are not far off from the truth though, Acacea dear. Emily and Narsill indeed started with petty arguments as this all began."

Toes wiggle comfortably as the bard looks up when addressed, asking, "Only started, huh? I guess plates lead to...um...what do plates lead to?"

"Horrid Wiltings, dear," Moraken replies dryly.

"Oh. That seems like kind of a big jump really..."

Amenithrulia smiles sadly as she paints the scene aloud with just a hint of humor, explaining, "They began getting into heated arguments of where to put the couch, then how to pay things and who was responsible for what."

"Typical," the wizard grunts.

"Yet as the war in the dream intensified, the two drew apart, love that once shined as a beacon became twisted with the sour ropes of hatred, and then despair."

"Lack of organization there, see that...typical."

The priestess of love sighs slightly to herself at her own words, but beside Rufus Coldfinger the halfling seems to be still stuck on previous comments, whispering to him, "You see? That's precisely why I wouldn't want to get married. A dish thrown one day, death and destruction the next..."

He shrugs, quirking an eyebrow as he answers, "Sounds like a typical family to me."

Ameni shakes her head at the ever-objecting wizard, protesting, "It was faith, Moraken."

"Ah, right, 'faith.' Sure."

"Torn... these two eventually joined the war, their faith tearing them apart. This war was eventually called Dreamer's Ends. Of course, as these two were most devoted, these two indeed fought hardest. They became at first renowned, then champions of the cause, leading the clergy forth against the other, seeking each other's end with a spite that few can imagine."

The chiming voice interrupts again as Acacea asks curiously, "Would that not make Ilsare very unhappy?"

"And it was to pass on one eve that the two were to perform the greatest magic of their lives, as each called forth a Deva of immense power to fight for them... times were different then, Acacea. Ilsare has always been a very rebellious goddess. As such, passion can be strewn about in many ways.

"And it was. The steps taken from this point forward were to be marks of faith and dogma. They would change the views of both churches in ways no one ever expected. On the night of the ritual, Emily called forth a celestial maiden, radiant in power and beauty, terrible in the arts she commanded. Narsill called forth a man wielding a mighty bow wrought from the heart fletchings of Ilsare herself, rune laden and graced with power beyond our ability to conceive."

Moraken listens with half an ear to Ameni's story while looking over to Acacea after hearing her question, and leans towards her. "At times, people do rather odd things - as do gods. A desire for something material over the sphere they serve is rare, yet not unknown, you see. Greater power from their dominion, versus the power lost in the struggle for it, would be measured and defined before action was taken." The priestess pauses and nods firmly in agreement with that as he adds, "Clearly this shard was worth the trouble in the eyes of both of the divine."

After hearing no further questions, or perhaps choosing to ignore Acacea's whispered answer of, "Shadon should have snuck in and turned it into a bar," the story is allowed to flow on.

"As it goes with the pains of most stories, these two blessed celestials were not in all regards just champions of their realms. Indeed they were far more than that... Far more. For unknown to the two who called and wrapped the celestials in the enchantment of their will, these two heavenly beings were already acquainted, old true emotion fanning the ritual call to bring Celestial lovers to their sides."

"Perhaps, likely stray lupinals with some odd form of illness."

Caught by surprise, Ameni's delicate features stare at Moraken for a moment. "Lupinals..."

A cough sounds near the tree as yet again the halfling is the question-asker. "What's a lupinal?"

Connor looks over his shoulder at Acacea and answers, "A wolf, Acacea."

"Possible an archon, even if the flowers have something to do at all with this foolish tale."

Ameni mutters under her breath while looking askance at Moraken. "He would know..."

Acacea's small nose wrinkles a bit as she tilts her head to one side, saying, "Oh. Why don't you just say wolf, then?"

A small smirk appears on Connor's face, partially hidden by a pretense at scratching a cheek or something similar. "Lupinal sounds more pretentious."

"They are called Lupinals! So I call them by the correct term, not the half-baked inaccurate musings that you others make."

"Pretentious sounds pretentious too... Oh. Right. So they wouldn't do it?"

Rithredia clears her throat to turn the heads of the group towards her, and she smiles while explaining. "Lupinals are blessed wolves from the heavenly bestial realms. They are graceful creatures that have evolved into an enlightened state of union with the nature of their realms."

"Wolves on legs, likely still carry fleas as well - Lupinals," Moraken reiterates, as if that should answer everything.

"They don't have fleas!"

Acacea scratches her ear as Rith mutters, thinking about this for a moment until her face brightens visibly and she asks, "Is that like Rolf's holy gnoll?"

A frown crosses the expression of Mist's cleric at the term given to the hound archon, but before he can comment, the voice of never-ending patience says above everyone, "As I was saying..."

5

[Acacea]

Moraken's mouth opens as if to comment or object again, then he squints and looks to her. "What were you saying?"

In the most helpful and enthusiastic tone Acacea can possibly muster, she offers, "Right! They were already in love!"

"Ahh. Nonsense...go on."

Graceful and patient, Amenithrulia forges on past the few screeching halts in her story. "These two creatures were indeed pierced previously by the Archer's Sting. Unbeknownst to the summoners, they were bound in manners that bordered on compulsions.

"Emily had bound the maiden to her intent, wrapping the deva in compulsions of destruction...and sent her to kill Narsill. Narsill of course just as ignorant, bound the Deva's planetar lover and sent him to destroy Emily, enchanted with the power of his hatred."

As she exhales softly in a sigh of sadness, Moraken leans on his staff and mutters, "Hatred does not enchant at all, that's nonsense. A skilled practitioner will do it every time, not with some emotion of impractical standpoints."

With a smile that gives support throughout the great trial no one knew storytelling could be, Rith lays a hand on Ameni's shoulder and says encouragingly, "Go on dear, you are doing just fine."

After only a few muttered words in elven that seem quite possibly directed at the wizard, Amenithrulia continues. "The two met en route...and clashed with the fury of their summoners' bindings; arcane power sparked shields and wove magic of destruction, and on swift wings the Ilsarian planetar ducked and weaved his way around, firing shaft after shaft at his lady."

"Bow against Weave, poor archer really. No chance at all."

A grin lights Rithredia's face at that as if she silently agrees, but neither comment further to interrupt Ameni's progressing story.

"It was simply brutal - two lovers forced to fight one another over things distant to them, their magical bindings impeding any free will. The recklessness of humanity and even elvenkind being paid by creatures of more enlightened nature than us.

"Days were to pass as the two wheeled in the skies, night faded to dawn, to dusk and again onwards as they bloodied one another with bow and arcane might.

"Meanwhile, around the lands war was just as brutal between the faiths. Derelict rogue groups following the tenants of Passion edicted by the Lady of Dreams found their ways into the realms of magic to enact bloody murder to all those Weave-gifted."

Touching the other cleric's arm in sorrow, the elven priestess of magic nodded while adding, "And the stealth granted by the realms of illusion was used to catch the fletchers unaware. Many tapped into powerful magics just to prove points of worth."

Two wizards both interrupt simultaneously, Rufus with a loud curse as the quill he was using to record every word spoken snaps abruptly, and Moraken with yet another defense of logic over emotion. "Passion bah, waste of emotional space. Mind wins out over heart time and time again. Ever seen a good emotional general? Never!"

Acacea snickers at the profanities and lauds her own swearing skills over his, then looks back to Ameni. "They prolly blew the whole thing up and neither of 'em got it."

The priestess shakes her head while looking elsewhere. "Ultimately however, this was all just ill conceived fate. A moment of unhinged emotion."

A snort escapes Moraken as he says, "Ilsare is unhinged, simple fact of the planes, a irrevocable meta-law."

"Emotion has never done anything good," the dark wizard nods to Moraken in agreement. Acacea smiles a little at that, her head tilting a bit in not-quite-agreement. "That's not true! But it sure is dumb sometimes."

A cautionary note enters Amenithrulia's voice. "You would be surprised how many times emotion has change the tides of battle."

"It sure can, towards defeat..." Rufus answers.

"Bah, they only know the word charge in the heat. Place for minds alone that is."

Rithredia steps beside the priestess of the lady of dreams to support her. "I would have to agree with Ameni there. Love for the Weave is a driving force that many do not tap on."

A white fan flutters again in the evening heat of the desert city as Athus agrees, "Morale is a part of emotions."

"Morale!" the wizard scoffs. "Winning is morale, my boy! Losing is bad for it."

"...Eventually the deva's arcane protections failed, and a shaft flew straight and true, striking the deva through muscles of chest and flight. Tears flowed from them both the entire time the battle raged, and she turned and fled, finally falling from the skies here....very near to where we now sit."

Rithredia interjects, "Some say that right on the center pinnacle of this mighty tower."

"Bah, weak. Trust a blasted cleric-summoned planetar to fail. To an archer, no less." He leans down to peer at the skies through the telescope and then straightens again. "Turn the lens a further 5 clockswise Rithy, the image is as soft as an Ilsarian heart."

"...But it was at the last moment that the deva was to call upon ancient weavings, lost to our times and ages."

A playful smile teases the wizard from Rith's face as she starts fiddling with the lens. "Sure, Moraken. I will make it as strong as an Ilsarian with a cause. ...There."

"Closer now... perfect, stars are sharp. You need some lesson in these things out here, I know they have moving parts...still, a few years and I'm sure even you can understand it."

The melodious voice of one clearly talented in the arts carries still over the banter. "The deva called upon a lost evocation that shattered the earth they stood in. As she unleashed her magic - magic of such potency that it was felt for miles, the planetar could do nothing more than observe."

Moraken leans forward with a fierce light in his eyes and just a hint of a grin on his face. "HAH! See, the archer loses every time!" he exclaims, seemingly getting a tad caught up in the story himself.

Rolf echoes a low chuckle, murmuring to himself, "My my, such emotion you display..."

"Emotion? Never, just like maintaining the natural order. The Weave...and then all that other stuff."

"Flames of blue weave came forth, and there was no defying it. That day the Weave had been present and visible to even the naked eye, and was now flaring wildly within the grounds of this tower."

"Still has some scars around here, a few broken sigils if you know where to look."

Rithredia lifts a finger as if cautioning Moraken not to be hasty. "But the archer survived. The agile speed of those gifted with the grace of the Fletcher of Dreams is one to be reckoned with, and where any normal individual would have simply perished immediately from existence, this planetar was to see the end of his days."

"Indeed. They both emerged from the chaos, dying... Tears flowing as the compulsion drove them onward."

"Bloody feathers everywhere I tell you, Ilsarian stew! So you see now, nonsense, none of you believe any of this, do you?"

The halfling bard again squints an eye at the wizard and then comments aloud, "You know, you spent this whole time saying "Nonsense!" but then giving more information to support it..."

Quite used to tuning out both wizard and chatterboxes now, Ameni wove on, the others grinning occasionally at comments here and there but for the most part attempting to keep their peace. "Now it had turned into a melee. Swords of pure magic and finest starfire were brought forth - the final conflict that would bring the lovers to their eventual demise.

"As pure weave and hearty starfire pierced celestial flesh in the final rending blow, awareness was restored...."

Moraken muses aloud to himself, distracted at the mention of the weapons. "Starfire, impractical - in its solid form it is extremely difficult to craft, harder than mithril and more dangerous than the most potent of heatings. Take several elven lifetimes to make such a blade."

Rithredia turns again to Moraken to add her own observations to the pot. "Yet its merits have proven quite useful Moraken, at least in other applications."

He nods grudgingly at that, agreeing, "Oh yes, the liquid form, while more volatile, is far more practical, if dangerous."

"Indeed."

"Why I was just discussing this with that cursed elven woman recently... I just wish she would stop tampering with things she is so clearly does not understand. Solve her family issues first, then worry about starfire pools and so on!"

Acacea grins to herself and whispers, "I like wizards. They are funny."

A delicate elven hand is waved at the scholars to get their attention back to the story they'd been distracted from. "For a moment, the war paused everywhere. The heavens halted, all faithful gazing upon the grounds of this place. Ilsare had now felt her servant fall, Lucinda the same."

Dark hair wisps over Rith's ears as she bows her head slightly. "Lucinda provides," a heartfelt sentiment echoed by Connor as he listens.

"Sure, just wish sometimes she would provide some adept help around here. Sometimes I wonder if Lucinda provides idiots."

"I resent that, Moraken!" Rith huffs at him at hearing his last statement. "You can fix your own damned telescope!"

He looks to her in surprise, then shakes his head. "Ahh Rithy, I never said you were an idiot, you did that for yourself. Assumption is a great evil and not for the scholarly mind."

"Yeah, well you smell like an old laboratory experiment."

"It still lingers! Ahh I had hoped it would, it is so hard to keep that smell."

Rufus chuckles to himself and says aloud, "Well, it is easy to see how a war like that could begin with an argument."

Ameni clears her throat loudly, and Moraken turns back to her. "Oh, sorry. More nonsense to come."

"The two Ladies now looked upon the grounds to see the cause of this heart-stopping moment. The two celestial lovers lay cloven on the ground, hands entwined in a sorrowful gaze."

"...Likely they ran out of arrows...That's when the shooting stopped, not some bleeding heart moment."

"Tears settled in their eyes, and for the first time since this whole conflict had started, love and magic merged, two divine powers flowing together and reaching towards the land." She inclines her head a moment as she speaks, her voice tinged with the emotion of her tale. "At that point... a gentle wind sprang up, a wind that smell of roses, that rustled dead wings. Chains of runes flared within the winds and sought out the fallen servants."

"Hmm... closer now...The stars' alignment moves and the magic starts to spin its course." Moraken murmurs as he observes the skies.

"At this moment, realization had struck them. They were fighting a war that had no origin or truth to it. They had forgotten the nature of their hearts. Which ultimately was to work together.

"Yet the lessons had to be learned and the death of the two celestials was not to be reversed. Not even in the newfound peace of the magic and love. As much as the Goddesses tried to bring their servants back, the forms did not move. Still and motionless, as the tears of heaven fell. The winds began to pick up.

"They swirled around the forms strongly, and plucked the delicate white feathers from the wings of the celestial beings, spreading them all around this area. Feathers fell into the earth you stand on now, and where each feather fell a small blue flower with a red bud sprang to life."

"If someone would let me pick and study one, it would be far different! Every time I get close, these two loons throw me out."

"They are not test subjects!"

Ameni's gaze turns to Rith, who nods and clasps her hands to speak. "Now on the nights when the star of enchantment shines bright, and Ilsare's arrow-tip glows with force, the beams intersect...and here where the two fell, Angels' Tear blooms. If you look closely, woven in starlight just above each you can see the two, alive and whole, and embracing in joy."

"Everything is a test subject, dear Ameni."

"Ever since that day...Lucinda and Ilsare have not fought, but remain joined in cause through the lessons learned that day. Allies now bound by union beyond explanation. Strongest allies amongst gods, some say."

"Yet the story does not end there," Ameni added, the two priestesses of love and magic exchanging speaking roles gracefully and without pause. "Emily and Narsill found love once more. They wed soon after, though regret colored their days."

Again Rithredia smiles at Ameni and speaks in turn. "Though there is hope...There is a legend, that if a bloom can be taken to each of the circles used to call the celestials and placed within, they will both rise from this place, reborn and whole in the blessings of love and magic...though that is likely just a hopeful legend..."

Moraken peers up at the skies through the lens and says in a voice that has lost some of its gruffness. "See...the point of the arrow will soon intersect, and the flowers will then open for a few moments, and the angels will dance above them."

Rufus' head turns to the other wizard in unfeigned surprise, and the gray elf speaks the same sentiment. "So you do believe all this?"

He glances from the lens to look sharply between them. "I believe what my eyes tell me. For it appears that angels do indeed dance on these flowers."

Acacea sits up on the grass and cranes her head up to the priestesses. "How come no one ever tried it? I mean, even if you don't believe it, just to see?"

A smile is given for her question. "No one knows where this happened..." and Moraken nods a bit in agreement, saying, "It seems no one ever found the circles...and it is in all likelihood a fanciful legend."

Musician's fingers trace a colorful block of reds and blues with dashes of green on a bright skirt as Acacea asks, "But, wouldn't you rather be able to say it was for sure than just say it 'probably' is?"

"Dear girl, I am a busy man! I do not have time to hare off after every emotional piece of foppish nonsense I hear!"

A questioning note surfaces in Rufus' tone as he speaks. "But these flowers are an unexplainable fact."

"Oh yes indeed...that they are."

"It is not unexplainable...The reasons for their existance is quite clear." Ameni sighs as if wondering why she just spent an hour telling the story to wizards. "These are the lessons learned by the goddesses on that horrible day."

"Clear, but not proven," Rufus notes.

"Proof in faith is more important than hard facts."

Moraken shakes his head. "Lessons...like all fables it needs to have a lesson, otherwise it would serve no point at all."

Acacea's eyebrows furrow together as she considers Moraken's statement. "...Don't throw dishes?"

"Life has lessons too Moraken...like not using dirty vials at the alchemy tables," Connor grins.

"That is simple sense, and a good teacher." The wizard gestures upwards, pointing towards the stars. "Now watch, as the Weave once more makes wonders here. It is once more about to walk the world."

6

[Acacea]

Heads are tilted back as even the most skeptical wizards look on with a glint in their eyes at the knowledge of magic to come, and those gathered at the grounds and no doubt at many other parts in the world as the gentle rotation of the Ilsarian constellation gracefully closes. A shaft of burning white light sears from the tip of its arrow to pierce the tiny pinpoint that is Lucinda's star of enchantment...many wait, looking to the flowers, to the stars, and to the flowers again, with bated breath...yet nothing seems to happen.

"Give it a moment..."

The light between the stars intensifies, becoming red as heart's blood, yet, no stirring from the flowers is seen.

"Odd... is it broken, I wonder?" muses Moraken aloud, a hint of concern bleeding into his tone.

The halfling squints an eye again between flowers and stars, then asks, "How can it be broken? It's not like someone stepped on the stars or something."

"Acacea, sometimes you read my mind..." voices Rufus, which doesn't seem to be an appealing thought to him.

"I mean the magic broken, not the stars, girl. I am sure the stars do not break! Well, not in the limited timeframe of observation we may attend to."

The small blue star starts to pulsate vibrantly, and the buds on the flowers seem to sway in time with the gentle light, yet it does not seem encouraging to those who have witnessed the event previously. Moraken pulls his head away from the telescope to look upwards, saying, "It is almost passed and nothing has happened!"

The light between the two pinpoints mingles along the stem, blue and red swimming together like a gentle ocean around the flowers. Yet still, they do not open.

"Waste of time Rithy; you drag me here every year! That is it... I am going home. Nonsense!"

As the wizard makes his exit, whether truly dismissing it or merely leaving to make his own observations, Connor shakes his head slowly, his expression becoming concerned. "Something is not right...something's...interfering..."

As he speaks, the tip of the Ilsarian star begins to again move away from the Lucindite circle, the two beams losing more contact with every moment that passes. And the flowers have not opened. The priestesses look confused, taking murmured consultations with each other when not being questioned by the visitors.

"Is it supposed to be ending?" asks Athus Dephillie, behind his ever-present white fan.

"Well, no..." Rithredia answers slowly. "At this point, the flowers would bloom, just like they have done for every year for a long, long time."

"Something is different?"

"I am not sure...well, yes...by now the flowers would bloom, and you would hear the songs of the celestial realms."

Katrien, gifted with music as she is, looks around the Tower grounds in dismay. "I would have liked to heard those songs," and the shorter bard seems to share her sentiment, saying with an almost comically cross tone, "Oh, sure, wait until I come to watch to not do it."

The gray elf lets his gaze wander the grounds, his lips pursed. "So clearly, there is something amiss, here."

Yet Connor does not seem to have heard the various exchanges, lost in introspection. He opens his eyes, saying slowly, "There is another magic here... an old magic, old as that in the flowers, I would say. It has been dormant, but now it is awakening..."

All eyes turn to Connor as he speaks, though he does not seem to be aware of it, as though he searches for something he cannot see. "As if... the power stored here is being...called back..."

Savin's eyes narrow slightly and then go out of focus, seeming to look beyond the mundane to cast his senses towards what Connor has detected. "You're right, Connor," he says after a moment, forestalling the skepticism of the 'feelings' of a sorcerer spoken by a few others within the party. "Its a strong magic presence, Rufus. It is clearly interfering with the magic of the flowers."

After a pause, even Rolf nods in agreement. "Hmm. I, too, can feel something. Though, perhaps if we worked together, we could overcome it."

As Acacea begins to question what it is exactly he suggests they overcome and why, she is interrupted by the sound of wizard striking ground, and they turn to see Savin crumpled near the flowers with blood running from his ears. She blinks as she watches the Aeridinite rush to his side to tend him. "What, did he think too hard?"

Rolf pauses to make sure that the moaning wizard is not dead, then continues. "We will not have sufficient powers alone to clear it...it is as if there is a blur in our sight, and we would need to refocus it."

"Rolfy, I haven't the faintest idea of what you're talking about."

He smiles to the halfling as Savin is helped weakly to his knees. "But the others might."

"These two magics are linked somehow, though...that much is clear," reiterates Connor, before the others turn to question Savin on what had nearly killed him.

"I tried to locate the source of the magic. Unfortunately, I was discovered in my scrying."

"And it bit you?"

He nods slightly at her as the lights around the flowers begin to fade, the stars barely aligned at all. "You could say that."

Rufus finally opens his eyes. "Well, I have to agree with you Connor," he admits, the last one to do so. "Yet we should try to change it together, not alone." He glances at Savin for emphasis.

"Perhaps if we join up in a circle we could refocus the magic?" the priest from the northern islands offers.

As the individuals among the group seem to repeat that something is interfering and does not wish to be found, clouds start to spin over the once bright clusters of stars overhead, far more rapidly than any would have expected. Rolf repeats himself for what has to be the fifth time. "Circle?"

Water, like tears, begins to leak from the clouded sky, pouring rain down on what has been a warm, clear night, and obscuring the celestial constellations.

Savin glances up after wiping the blood from his face. "I suggest we do this quickly, before it leaves."

Rolf nods and holds out a hand to Savin from the cobbles, and extends another to the priest of Aeridin, as others pull their cloaks tighter and Acacea answers the question of "do what?" with a silly grin. "They said to make a circle to "adjust" things to get rid of the interference! Weren't you listening? Too bad I haven't really the faintest of what it means and I think i-" she blinks as she sees others joining hands to form a circle. "Oh."

The Aeridinite in turn reaches for the hand of the dark elven sorceress, while Katrien looks to Acacea inquisitively. The halfling shrugs and grins, then holds out her hand to the simply, yet elegantly dressed woman, as Connor reminds them of what their role must be. "We need to focus our thoughts on magic of love and sympathy."

Skepticism is briefly put aside as even Rufus joins the circle, the presence of some heavy force undeniable at this point; as well, any witnesses not of the party have left the grounds to get out of the rain. Despite the life-giving water falling from the sky, it seems as though the flowers begin to wither. Hands are clasped in a circle, and private thoughts are held close to heart and offered in support of the magic being interfered with, in hopes of it coming back into focus.

The many different perspectives of individuals are joined and offered as one: here a man concentrating on the story he has heard today and the love that had been a part of it; there, a healer seeing the new life the flowers bring in a similar light as the healing of the many patients he has tended to and cared for in his lifetime; behind a face that is cool and logical, one remembers the faces of his childhood, and their shared joy in magic; another finds a glimmer of memory lighting a place thought dark for many years; one finds an inner eye of the storm and lets it anchor him, before he opens his eyes to the figure directly across from him and lets the sight fill his heart and be his focus.

The static energy builds around them within the circle, and tiny hairs stand on end as magic is woven together, intentions setting passages along threads that are invisible, yet palpable. One normally not comprehensive of such things finds a new sympathy that might once have been unfelt with her own private sadnesses and recent loss, and in sympathy and newfound understanding forms her feelings with music to support the wilting flowers; other's thoughts turn to the love of the Weave and the inherent balance and harmony he feels within it, humming so quietly that it is only audible to those near him; another picks it up softly as she revisits all the loves in her life.

The area around them seems to become receptive, as if awaiting a distant call laid here by the ages of untold rituals and stories. They feel a fulfilling presence surrounding them as strange glimmers of light flash in their eyes. It builds around them, a distant battle of wills and desires felt in each heart, as if something struggles to find a way through a room with no doors. The feelings build up as old memories form in their heads...memories of lost loves and passions, of kindnesses and sorrows.

The Weavegifted of the circle build channels of intent, skillfully woven from strands of the Weave that linger and dance around the Tower, yet each can see that it is not that which seems set the strange resistance aside. True arrows of emotion flow from the offerings of gathered hearts, pushing aside an ominous sense of despair and age-old sorrow that presses down with the clouds. All those in touch with their senses of magic witness mystical threads unwinding the clouds themselves, creating a space just large enough for the twin constellations to shine through...though they barely touch at all now, all can feel the heartfelt power now swirling around in binding emotion.

A light song is heard on the air - the sweet, melodic voices of the heavens in accord...

7

[Acacea]

"Dancing...two flowers are blooming...red...blue...which one...?" comes an observation from Athus, one of several who have opened their eyes to stare up into the shimmering night sky, and they look to where his eyes gaze by the doors of the Tower and see two of the blessed flowers, each surrounded with a flickering glow. He seems to pick the one on the left, thinking that red is closer to Ilsare, and closes his eyes again in concentration.

Katrien's eyes light up as she hears the celestial voices, no small lover of the magic wrought with music, and right in front of the Tower doors, the priestess of love and beauty faints in shock, the sound of it heard before the cause is seen - a flower opening and a small celestial figure appearing above it, with a mighty bow grasped in its hand. Yet unlike the dancing visions said to be associated with the flowers, he appears to be no apparition... his features are clear and the lines of his form show true in perfection as he turns his eyes, glinting like the sheen of a gilded harp, to a flower on the other side of the walk.

The bud shrouded in a mystical azure dances almost frantically, as if sentient and yearning to open before the time has completely passed and the stars have lost contact altogether. The Shadonite bard too, had gazed towards them when hearing the voices of the heavens, and now her eyes close and her private expressions of melody mingle with it as she harmonizes and lets them become the same, directed towards the blue flower as she silently wills it to open before it is too late, despite the parting stars. As her song fades into that of the heavenly ones ringing in her ears, the music of her heart seems to set a resonance with the flower, as though it is echoing back the song to her.

The Weave around the Tower of High Arcana jerks violently as a resonance almost tangible to all builds between the struggling flower and Acacea, while Connor and Katrien with still-joined hands disregard all other thoughts but that of the Weave and this small flower that seems to carry one of its forms, until then it bursts into brilliant bloom, another small figure appearing above. No other flowers so much as move, however, remaining tightly shut.

Flowing hair as dark as a raven's wing sweeps her skin as she slowly shakes her head, as if dazed, before she sees the lights streaming around the Tower from above. Everyone stares at her, and she stares back with frank interest in gleaming eyes of midnight blue, a stunned curiosity seemingly the strongest reaction of the night. Connor's quiet voice breaks the silence as he murmurs, "The interference has diminished."

Those who had not yet opened their eyes turn to look, Acacea opening hers as well, eyes bright with surprise and remembered song. Ameni, having come back to consciousness, has the time to hear Rith say above her, "Oh, you've come back to yourself!" before she spies both celestials radiant in love and magic before her and promptly faints again. The elven woman who had been tending her looks in surprise as she falls right back down, and turns her head to see what the fuss is about. Her green eyes widen in shock...and then roll back in her head as she falls next to Ameni, the surprise of legends walking being overwhelming. No one seems to really notice the fallen priestesses, however, other than a small smile from Rufus.

Except the Aeridinite... ever the attentive healer, Athus releases the hands of those near him to arrange the clerics in positions of comfort, as the female planetar slowly inclines her head to everyone after approaching.

The rhythmic chant that Rolf had been carrying to himself dies like a passing storm when the circle is broken and he bows politely to her, a gesture which is returned. The silence between words that reigns before she speaks seems to create an anticipation before ever she parts her lips, yet when she does, the words are simple. "...We thank you. It has been a time since we have woken."

8

[Acacea]

A small squeak of Acacea's voice not working properly is heard before she clears her throat, distracted by the strong resonance she can still feel from within the small celestial. "Hi." She blinks as if that's not what she wanted to say, then looks around. "I mean, you're welcome."

"Sleep of the dead...eternity of the lifeless did beckon us, freed in truth to find heart's desire once more."

Heads are inclined to her as she thanks them, and she looks again to them all, delicate eyebrows drawing together slightly. "Such a time was meant to come, yet there is something not right... The blooms...you placed the blooms and found the circles?"

The halfling shakes her head, and Connor speaks the negative answer, and they watch as confusion is painted on her perfect features. The male planetar moves to her side, his very stance and gaze towards her speaking of care before she even takes his hand. "Without the blooms...how was this managed? It was...impossible." She persists, as if expecting that surely something must have occurred. "You did not visit the unicorn and find the paths?"

Her lover strokes the back of his hand, sparing one glance to the group before setting his gaze on only her, yet he too appears uncertain. "They have not bloomed?"

The Lucindite sorcerer looks between them before slowly answering, "There was something interfering with the blooms...You were the only two...and only after."

The small figure of legend looks up to her companion. "We bloomed, but were not redeemed."

"Redeemed?" asked the priest of Mist, touched by celestial blood, himself.

She looks to him, held close to the other half of her pair. "Without redemption life was gone, the casters not reconciled." He shakes his head sadly at that, answering someone's expression of confusion by saying, "The silver flows of the magic in the river would be set against the casters if the way isn't cleared." The tiny face of his lover screws up in an odd expression of concern still graced with divine perfection. "It is...wrong...can you all not feel it?"

A few of the Weavegifted immediately focus their senses outward at her question, and Connor hesitantly offers, "We felt something wrong before... and it is still here."

"Our summoners were apart in life, apart in death. They died in hatred; intended symbols of union became our prison. If the blooms were not placed in the circles, there is...it is..." The pauses become longer as concern turns to worry, and could there be a hint of fear, there?

"Our faiths shared and indented upon Weave and Dreams, in the blooming of the union bud - the tears of the celestial."

Rufus Coldfinger turns his cool gaze to them and says, "Tell us, if we are to make it right, where are the circles found? The ones that the flowers need to be put in," though his motives remain only his.

The halfling thinks back to the story and voices aloud, "I thought the story said that they found love again, only that they were regretful," as Savin too mumbles his memory of the summoners getting back together after the war.

"That is not so..."

"Story?"

She shakes her head at him, and he nods, his hand tightly holding onto hers. "I do not know, my heart, yet I think that they do not know our casters died at the hands of the other, much as we did."

A sigh escapes him as the others frown and the short bard comments needlessly on their version being worse, and he adds, "The passing of the ages muddles the scriptures of magic and love, much like it once did before our time."

"The other?" Savin asks, not understanding.

"Each other, hey? They killed each other."

The woman nods to Acacea's answer about the summoners. "The fallen of wings found peace in the heavens, and earth did not reflect it; those who hated hated too strongly and for too long. Crimes of both mingled to destroy whatever happiness would have been found in an embrace that was meant to be."

"There was a magical presence here, interfering with the flowers blooming," Savin Amandil reminds them. "Maybe you know something about that?" but Connor looks at him warningly. "It is still here, Savin."

Concern again lights her features. "What kind of presence?"

"It looked like ancient magic; a web of some sort that was leeching from another source of magic," replied Rufus.

Acacea speaks up helpfully, "It bit Savin, too," but the gray elven wizard doesn't seem grateful for the addition. Connor adds, "It is something old...linked to you and this place perhaps."

Ilsare's small male figure closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, then tells his beloved, "Magic is the realm of your world, my heart eternal," but as they speak, a clap of thunder that sounds too close for comfort roars through the skies, and the clouds suddenly race to knit back together over the constellations. The sound startles everyone, even the small figures of divinity, one of whom was furrowing her eyebrows and saying, "There is only one thing linked..."

Her thoughts are interrupted by her own screams that pierce the night, and her perfect, mage's hands reach up to clutch at her head as she falls to her knees, and then onto the ground. Her companion drops next to her, holding her in his arms in a panic as his golden archer's eyes flit around for the cause. Breathing heavily, he looks to the others, her hair spilled out over his lap as he struggles to speak. "I...I..." His face twists in a frustrated frown as he leans his head back and then bellows in rage, forcing out the words. "Seek the paths of the single horned horse in the wooded lands...there the path flows on!"

All of them - the dark elf Alantha, the Black Wizard Rufus Coldfinger, Acacea-of-too-many-names, Weavegifted Connor Garvil, Katrien the Lucindite songstress, the priests Rolf and Athus - step back in shock as power runs rampant, blazing over the still forms. Lights dark and grotesque make fey patterns, twisting around their bodies that spin and change, limbs growing and turning before pushing outwards. Faces of perfection are transformed into nightmarish versions of themselves, and Athus whispers a prayer to himself. "Aeridin..."

Acacea takes another step back, her arms wrapped around herself as so quickly everything changes. "I do not think that is Aeridin, hey?

What was once the flawless image of grace in magic spies what remains of her beloved, and she shrieks in pure hatred, the sound sending chills down more than one spine. His warped body cringes further as he gives an answering shout, eyes glowing bloodshot and contemptuous. Magic snaps between the two in fierce conflict as they launch into the skies and at each other, grappling violently.

"Oh my..." "Dear Lucinda..." "Centuries of hatred..."

Their battle takes them far out of sight; it is the sound of their clashing that lasts longest in their ears, until it too fades, leaving the witnesses alone before the Tower, with only the thunderstorm, wilted flowers, and two unconscious priestesses to say that it had occurred at all.

9