Shadows and Light
Moderator: Student Council
Shadows and Light
OOC: Trying to work a collaborative effort to spin a story here, that's had a lot of planning in the background. We're not closing it off by any means, but would ask please that you ask Palilla or I if you wish to join in. We've discussed this at length and would love to have input from others, but want to keep the authors of the actual posts to her and I. By no means does this mean we don't want others to help or collaborate, we just ask that you send submissions to either her or I. You'll see the nature of the story and be able to tell who to send things to later. We ask this, so that we can keep the focus of the story in its intended direction. Anything given to us will make it, in some form into the story, most likely with much conversation with the new author before it makes it into a forum draft. I'm sure invitations will be forthcoming as well.
Sometimes the only way to see the light, is a journey through darkness
Obsidian Seraph tossed and turned, trying to get to sleep after the events that played out. The explosion, the fire, the new girl being carried out by Biff; and his taking Palilla to help her friend Em.
He lay with his arm over his head, elbow bent over his nose, covering his eyes with his bicep and forearm. “Enough.” Oby muttered and rose to sit at the edge of his bed, elbows on his legs, and hands washing across his face. He realized that sleep was pretty futile, the events with Palilla continued to rerun in his mind over and over, like some crazed DVD. The voice he’d heard last night continued to goad him, mercilessly.
“She should have kept her eyes shut. I told her to keep her eyes shut. They've all kept their eyes shut. No one should have to see that” Oby punched at his desk, sending pens and books falling with a loud crash. Oby looked over to his roommate Bill, afraid he might have awakened him. Oby smiled as he saw the huge form of his slumbering friend, snoring away as usual. Nothing short of a herd of bull elephants could seemingly wake him. Oby got up and wandered to his closet where he put on his St. Joeseph’s School warm ups on, slipped his feet into his sneakers and quickly slid out the door.
He didn’t know what she saw while he was taking them through the flames. All he knew is that she was moving along with him, in that shadow, when she stopped cold. When he’d looked back the young Latina was sheet white, her eyes wide in abject terror. That thing was there too, lunging at her. He’d reacted instinctively, and didn’t even know where the words he’d said came from. Nothing in her balance is determined. What the hell did that mean? Little Mabon, it called me. What the hell is that? Then Oby recalled the last thing it’d said to him, which terrified him the most “You can’t save them all” What did it mean, who was he supposed to save? What would happen to those he couldn’t? Oby sighed, and tried to shut out the voice by running.
He ran till he was breathing hard, the cool spring night turning his breath into long plumes of white, disappearing into the night air. He didn’t have any particular destination in mind, and was only slightly amused when he found himself on the football field. Bill had tricked him into trying out for the team, and now it seemed he gravitated to it more often. So much so that it was almost a second home, the team a second family. Hell, even Biff seemed like a normal guy on the field.
“Tch tch, Little Mabon, the large one will belong to us, and how we’ll feed.” The voice rang in his head.
“STOP it! Godammit, leave them alone!” Oby collapsed to his knees in the turf, holding his head in his hands. The voice echoing in his head “you can’t save them all…you can’t save them all…”
“…what did I do?” Oby questioned. “She should have kept her eyes shut. They always keep their eyes shut” Oby’s eyes snapped up, and he asked quietly “Gods, what did you see Palilla…I’m so sorry.”
He lay with his arm over his head, elbow bent over his nose, covering his eyes with his bicep and forearm. “Enough.” Oby muttered and rose to sit at the edge of his bed, elbows on his legs, and hands washing across his face. He realized that sleep was pretty futile, the events with Palilla continued to rerun in his mind over and over, like some crazed DVD. The voice he’d heard last night continued to goad him, mercilessly.
“She should have kept her eyes shut. I told her to keep her eyes shut. They've all kept their eyes shut. No one should have to see that” Oby punched at his desk, sending pens and books falling with a loud crash. Oby looked over to his roommate Bill, afraid he might have awakened him. Oby smiled as he saw the huge form of his slumbering friend, snoring away as usual. Nothing short of a herd of bull elephants could seemingly wake him. Oby got up and wandered to his closet where he put on his St. Joeseph’s School warm ups on, slipped his feet into his sneakers and quickly slid out the door.
He didn’t know what she saw while he was taking them through the flames. All he knew is that she was moving along with him, in that shadow, when she stopped cold. When he’d looked back the young Latina was sheet white, her eyes wide in abject terror. That thing was there too, lunging at her. He’d reacted instinctively, and didn’t even know where the words he’d said came from. Nothing in her balance is determined. What the hell did that mean? Little Mabon, it called me. What the hell is that? Then Oby recalled the last thing it’d said to him, which terrified him the most “You can’t save them all” What did it mean, who was he supposed to save? What would happen to those he couldn’t? Oby sighed, and tried to shut out the voice by running.
He ran till he was breathing hard, the cool spring night turning his breath into long plumes of white, disappearing into the night air. He didn’t have any particular destination in mind, and was only slightly amused when he found himself on the football field. Bill had tricked him into trying out for the team, and now it seemed he gravitated to it more often. So much so that it was almost a second home, the team a second family. Hell, even Biff seemed like a normal guy on the field.
“Tch tch, Little Mabon, the large one will belong to us, and how we’ll feed.” The voice rang in his head.
“STOP it! Godammit, leave them alone!” Oby collapsed to his knees in the turf, holding his head in his hands. The voice echoing in his head “you can’t save them all…you can’t save them all…”
“…what did I do?” Oby questioned. “She should have kept her eyes shut. They always keep their eyes shut” Oby’s eyes snapped up, and he asked quietly “Gods, what did you see Palilla…I’m so sorry.”
Sometimes the only way to see the light, is a journey through darkness
-
palilla
The shadows coalesced all around Palilla, and she almost immediately began to hear a keening wail. As she looked about, she could see figures outside of the shadow. The hospital waiting room took on a black and white cast, like a slightly out of focus, old tv show. Soon she sensed some sort of movement. Her body was in a chair on solid ground, but seemed to float towards something. It was so surreal. A memory?
As she looked around, Palilla could see... Oby? She knew the figure is him, since he had his hand on her shoulder, like in the fire, but his appearance had completely changed. His skin, normally hard, but smooth stone, was now the true appearance of Obsidian. Sharp edges obscured his features behind them. His eyes, normally a strange glowing red, seemed ablaze, the red light pouring out from his brow in small wisps.
Soon, there were ghost-like figures hovering about them, very interested in their movements. Two, then four, the crowd grew all around them. A lone figure in a spanish death shroud caught her attention, the hospital completely fading away.
Images blurred past the latina, like flashes of her life. Only these weren't her memories. Here a mother frantically searching an apartment, that was the victim of thievery, another a man leaving a boarded up store with a crying woman, more and more images of people who'd had things taken from them, and the destruction that plagued their lives afterwards. A baby left to die, from a mother that had nothing left after robbery, people driven to thievery themselves, a young boy holding a gun, robbing a store, only to get shot by the storekeeper. More images, more destruction, all piling on top of her, and then came the voices:
"Paula, you stole from me."
"Paula, I had nothing left to feed my child... You took everything!"
"Paula, he shot me, but I had nothing."
"Palilla, why?...Why did you make me do this? Why... WHy... WHY?!!!
The figure in the shroud became red, it's eyes burning into hers.
"You belong to us, Paula Sanchez! Sooner or later, we will get you, and we'll feed... We'll make you PAY!!"
It lunged at her, skeletal claws reaching for her throat, and the latin teen found her arms too heavy to move, feelings of despair sapping her strength. Her voice unable to make noise as she screamed but no sound followed.
"NO!!"
Palilla suddenly felt the hand on her shoulder clamp down, and pull her forward against a chest that seems more stone now than skin. Its sharp edges felt as though they would cut her cheek. The pain snapping her out of some sort of trance, she looked up to see Obsidian Seraph's changed features, his eyes on the figure from her nightmare.
"You can't have her, nothing in her balance is determined."
The figure wailed and seem to shrink back.
"You can't protect them all, little Mabon." It's voice diminished as the figure faded from view. "You can't save them allllll...."
Obsidian watched the figure fade, and Pally could have sworn she barely heard him say, "I can try."
He pulled her back to arms length, and looked at her.
"You should have kept your eyes shut..."
Opening her eyes, Pally realized she was in the hospital still. Standing and stretching, she went to the cafeteria, to look for something to eat, before going back, and waiting for the doctors to say she could see Em. A glance at her watch revealed the time to be 3:43am.
"iDios mio!"
As she looked around, Palilla could see... Oby? She knew the figure is him, since he had his hand on her shoulder, like in the fire, but his appearance had completely changed. His skin, normally hard, but smooth stone, was now the true appearance of Obsidian. Sharp edges obscured his features behind them. His eyes, normally a strange glowing red, seemed ablaze, the red light pouring out from his brow in small wisps.
Soon, there were ghost-like figures hovering about them, very interested in their movements. Two, then four, the crowd grew all around them. A lone figure in a spanish death shroud caught her attention, the hospital completely fading away.
Images blurred past the latina, like flashes of her life. Only these weren't her memories. Here a mother frantically searching an apartment, that was the victim of thievery, another a man leaving a boarded up store with a crying woman, more and more images of people who'd had things taken from them, and the destruction that plagued their lives afterwards. A baby left to die, from a mother that had nothing left after robbery, people driven to thievery themselves, a young boy holding a gun, robbing a store, only to get shot by the storekeeper. More images, more destruction, all piling on top of her, and then came the voices:
"Paula, you stole from me."
"Paula, I had nothing left to feed my child... You took everything!"
"Paula, he shot me, but I had nothing."
"Palilla, why?...Why did you make me do this? Why... WHy... WHY?!!!
The figure in the shroud became red, it's eyes burning into hers.
"You belong to us, Paula Sanchez! Sooner or later, we will get you, and we'll feed... We'll make you PAY!!"
It lunged at her, skeletal claws reaching for her throat, and the latin teen found her arms too heavy to move, feelings of despair sapping her strength. Her voice unable to make noise as she screamed but no sound followed.
"NO!!"
Palilla suddenly felt the hand on her shoulder clamp down, and pull her forward against a chest that seems more stone now than skin. Its sharp edges felt as though they would cut her cheek. The pain snapping her out of some sort of trance, she looked up to see Obsidian Seraph's changed features, his eyes on the figure from her nightmare.
"You can't have her, nothing in her balance is determined."
The figure wailed and seem to shrink back.
"You can't protect them all, little Mabon." It's voice diminished as the figure faded from view. "You can't save them allllll...."
Obsidian watched the figure fade, and Pally could have sworn she barely heard him say, "I can try."
He pulled her back to arms length, and looked at her.
"You should have kept your eyes shut..."
Opening her eyes, Pally realized she was in the hospital still. Standing and stretching, she went to the cafeteria, to look for something to eat, before going back, and waiting for the doctors to say she could see Em. A glance at her watch revealed the time to be 3:43am.
"iDios mio!"
Chapter 2.
Obsidian ran more that early morning before dawn, until he was exhausted. He ran to clear his mind, to allow him to think straight. Mostly, he ran to try and escape the events surrounding the explosion in the chemistry lab.
As he entered the quad, he quickly gathered his shower gear and headed for a hot shower, to wash off the fruits of his exertions. He let the water run off of him and held up a hand. It almost seemed foreign to him, even after a year, he wasn’t used to the stone like skin. It was still smooth, and supple, like skin, but the texture was cold to the touch, with just a hint of the flintlike rock that he was named for. At times it seemed like there were points of light under the black surface. He was just glad that it was still supple, and didn’t hinder his movements, but still the question was always there, would it stay that way, and if not, how long before he was simply a statue. He shook the thought from his mind Just live life one day at a time. He thought with a slight smile.
He shut off the shower head and stepped out of the shower, toweling dry. Drying his hair, he smelled a hint of…something. What the hell is that, something sharp and flowery. He sniffed at the towel, but that didn’t seem to be the source of the odor. It was pleasant, but odd. It seemed out of place in this quad, considering it was just Bill and he, and he seriously doubted Bill was the source, unless his roommate was playing some sort of odd joke. Oby shrugged, who knew how Bill’s mind worked. He walked back to his room and settled back in the bed, reaching out to make sure his alarm was set. The green glow of the letters staring out from the clock read 3:43am.
************************************************************
“Bwahahahahaha!” The roaring laugh of Bill roused Obsidian Seraph from his restless sleep.
Oby washed a hand over his face, blinking and struggling into the waking world. The early morning sunlight filtering through the window making it apparent that it was time to get up, despite the fact that the alarm hadn't gone off yet. “Geeze Bill,” Oby started, reaching for the sheets to pull them aside, what his hand met with stopped him, “what the….” Obsidian’s hand met with a large leaf. Oby picked it up. He dropped the leaf and pushed himself out of the bed, landing in a heap at the floor staring up in shock at his bed. It was covered in large oak leaves, some with acorns still attached, and golden petalled flowers that he’d never seen before. Bill roared with laughter even more. “What the hell’s the big idea, ya oaf? Pretty funny huh?!” He turned glaring at Bill.
Bill’s laugh cut off immediately, looking puzzled. “Wha? Ohhhhhh, you think Bill have someting to do wit dat?” He pointed to the bed. “Me not dat good. Bwahahaha…but me want to meet da guy dat did dat!”
Oby sat on the floor in muted disbelief. What the hell was going on? He stood up woodenly, looking at the leaf and flower covered bed. One thing was certain, there was no way anyone could have snuck into the room and done that without waking him up. Warily he reached down and picked up an oak leaf by the stem. Spinning the leaf between two fingers, he inspected it. It seemed flawless, as if it had just been plucked from the tree. Even the small acorn that nestled in the middle of the leaf seemed to be perfect. Oby walked to the window that looked out over the school grounds, and leaned on the sill. He held the leaf up to the window in his slightly shaking hand, and looked out over the grassy commons. Not one oak tree…
Oby let out a long breath, trying to collect his thoughts, and calm his nerves. He rushed over to his dresser and rummaged around, pulling out a large, old Tshirt. He slid his chair over near the bed and spread the shirt out as best he could on the seat. He started to gather the leaves first, laying them on the shirt, carefully. “Bill, give me a hand. All the leaves and all the flowers on my shirt, and don’t miss any.” Bill moved over and used his big hands to help gather the flowers, and leaves. Oby stooped over and grabbed the last flower, and placed it in the shirt, tying the sleeves around it to cinch the bundle up. He didn’t know what was going on, which meant it wasn’t normal, and when it came to the extremely abnormal, he knew he’d need help.
Obsidian ran more that early morning before dawn, until he was exhausted. He ran to clear his mind, to allow him to think straight. Mostly, he ran to try and escape the events surrounding the explosion in the chemistry lab.
As he entered the quad, he quickly gathered his shower gear and headed for a hot shower, to wash off the fruits of his exertions. He let the water run off of him and held up a hand. It almost seemed foreign to him, even after a year, he wasn’t used to the stone like skin. It was still smooth, and supple, like skin, but the texture was cold to the touch, with just a hint of the flintlike rock that he was named for. At times it seemed like there were points of light under the black surface. He was just glad that it was still supple, and didn’t hinder his movements, but still the question was always there, would it stay that way, and if not, how long before he was simply a statue. He shook the thought from his mind Just live life one day at a time. He thought with a slight smile.
He shut off the shower head and stepped out of the shower, toweling dry. Drying his hair, he smelled a hint of…something. What the hell is that, something sharp and flowery. He sniffed at the towel, but that didn’t seem to be the source of the odor. It was pleasant, but odd. It seemed out of place in this quad, considering it was just Bill and he, and he seriously doubted Bill was the source, unless his roommate was playing some sort of odd joke. Oby shrugged, who knew how Bill’s mind worked. He walked back to his room and settled back in the bed, reaching out to make sure his alarm was set. The green glow of the letters staring out from the clock read 3:43am.
************************************************************
“Bwahahahahaha!” The roaring laugh of Bill roused Obsidian Seraph from his restless sleep.
Oby washed a hand over his face, blinking and struggling into the waking world. The early morning sunlight filtering through the window making it apparent that it was time to get up, despite the fact that the alarm hadn't gone off yet. “Geeze Bill,” Oby started, reaching for the sheets to pull them aside, what his hand met with stopped him, “what the….” Obsidian’s hand met with a large leaf. Oby picked it up. He dropped the leaf and pushed himself out of the bed, landing in a heap at the floor staring up in shock at his bed. It was covered in large oak leaves, some with acorns still attached, and golden petalled flowers that he’d never seen before. Bill roared with laughter even more. “What the hell’s the big idea, ya oaf? Pretty funny huh?!” He turned glaring at Bill.
Bill’s laugh cut off immediately, looking puzzled. “Wha? Ohhhhhh, you think Bill have someting to do wit dat?” He pointed to the bed. “Me not dat good. Bwahahaha…but me want to meet da guy dat did dat!”
Oby sat on the floor in muted disbelief. What the hell was going on? He stood up woodenly, looking at the leaf and flower covered bed. One thing was certain, there was no way anyone could have snuck into the room and done that without waking him up. Warily he reached down and picked up an oak leaf by the stem. Spinning the leaf between two fingers, he inspected it. It seemed flawless, as if it had just been plucked from the tree. Even the small acorn that nestled in the middle of the leaf seemed to be perfect. Oby walked to the window that looked out over the school grounds, and leaned on the sill. He held the leaf up to the window in his slightly shaking hand, and looked out over the grassy commons. Not one oak tree…
Oby let out a long breath, trying to collect his thoughts, and calm his nerves. He rushed over to his dresser and rummaged around, pulling out a large, old Tshirt. He slid his chair over near the bed and spread the shirt out as best he could on the seat. He started to gather the leaves first, laying them on the shirt, carefully. “Bill, give me a hand. All the leaves and all the flowers on my shirt, and don’t miss any.” Bill moved over and used his big hands to help gather the flowers, and leaves. Oby stooped over and grabbed the last flower, and placed it in the shirt, tying the sleeves around it to cinch the bundle up. He didn’t know what was going on, which meant it wasn’t normal, and when it came to the extremely abnormal, he knew he’d need help.
Sometimes the only way to see the light, is a journey through darkness
-
palilla
"So why won't you go out with me, Pal," the fairly attractive boy said as he pseudo-hung from the latina's locker door. "It ain't like you got a bunch of other boys begging you for a date."
Palilla smirked as she pulled Goodbye, Chicken Little from the locker, along with her freshman english text book. She turned and looked the guy, Kurt Dodd, in the eye, and smiled cutely. Time to move in for the kill.
"What? Dere's not a bunch of other boys after me? iDios mio! I guess I will hafta go out with joo and save myself from da indignity and horror of not datin'!!!"
Several kids in the hall stopped to watch. The boy was getting a little embarassed and a bit more mad at being drawn into a scene.
"So, what? You some kind of dyke," he shot back. "It figures! The way you're always so hot after your roommate, always doing just exactly what she says. Yeah! We've all seen it! So, you like being Emily Parker's little girl-toy?"
A few kids snickered. A few cleared out, expecting all hell to break loose. One even dialed up one of Biff's buddies to see if there was going to be fallout. Pally swallowed her first response, which was to hit the pretty boy somewhere in the face, and instead smiled a bit more calmly.
"Want to come watch? It'll cost ya."
The boy blinked, at what he thought was a dead serious look from the latin freshman. She'd made him speachless. Suddenly he turned beat red, as everyone around him started laughing and pointing below his belt.
"Aww," she said as if looking at something cute. "Joo need to do sometin' about dat, Kurt! Da sisters have policies, joo know!"
The embarassed boy ran off, and everyone disbursed, but as Pally turned around, to close her locker door, she was amazed that, not only was the hall suddenly empty, but her locker door was closed and locked, while all of the others were open. Feeling a little creeped out, she opened the locker door, finding the locker stuffed full of locks from other people's lockers...
Palilla smirked as she pulled Goodbye, Chicken Little from the locker, along with her freshman english text book. She turned and looked the guy, Kurt Dodd, in the eye, and smiled cutely. Time to move in for the kill.
"What? Dere's not a bunch of other boys after me? iDios mio! I guess I will hafta go out with joo and save myself from da indignity and horror of not datin'!!!"
Several kids in the hall stopped to watch. The boy was getting a little embarassed and a bit more mad at being drawn into a scene.
"So, what? You some kind of dyke," he shot back. "It figures! The way you're always so hot after your roommate, always doing just exactly what she says. Yeah! We've all seen it! So, you like being Emily Parker's little girl-toy?"
A few kids snickered. A few cleared out, expecting all hell to break loose. One even dialed up one of Biff's buddies to see if there was going to be fallout. Pally swallowed her first response, which was to hit the pretty boy somewhere in the face, and instead smiled a bit more calmly.
"Want to come watch? It'll cost ya."
The boy blinked, at what he thought was a dead serious look from the latin freshman. She'd made him speachless. Suddenly he turned beat red, as everyone around him started laughing and pointing below his belt.
"Aww," she said as if looking at something cute. "Joo need to do sometin' about dat, Kurt! Da sisters have policies, joo know!"
The embarassed boy ran off, and everyone disbursed, but as Pally turned around, to close her locker door, she was amazed that, not only was the hall suddenly empty, but her locker door was closed and locked, while all of the others were open. Feeling a little creeped out, she opened the locker door, finding the locker stuffed full of locks from other people's lockers...
The dark figure sat watching events through the hazy smoke drifting out of the bronze brazier. The smoky image bringing a smile to his face for the first time in….centuries? He watched as Antoine DuBois, who dubbed himself Obsidian Seraph, the figure hissed at the name, wakened, his bed covered in the accursed Oak leaves and Marigolds. Someone had gone to great lengths to protect this one. He needed to find out who, and stop them. He sat back in the great chair, one long fingernail tracing a line over his cheekbone, creating a trailing indentation in his pale skin. The nail slipped languorously inbetween his lips, clicking on the sharp teeth, lining his mouth. With a quick motion he waved his hand through the smoke, dispersing it. As the tendrils grew back together, a new view came into play.
The figure watched in glee as Paula Sanchez, or as she liked to call herself, Palilla, stared in confusion as the locks spilled out of her locker. “Confusion, fear, and distrust, little Miss Sanchez. All spices that will make the feast that much sweeter.” The figure recalled the unexpected treat of the mortal girl that harbored such secrets, such delicious fears, as she pierced the veil between the mortal realm and Otherworld. The corner of its mouth curled up in a twisted smile. “Little Mabon you brought us a treat, and an anchor. I do hope you enjoy our little visits. I wonder how many more close to you will add to our fun.” The chuckle issuing from its lips held little mirth, and the flat sound would have been disturbing to anyone from the mortal realm, but the dark denizens of this realm heard the sound and knew, that for the moment at least, they were safe from the fury of their master.
The figure watched in glee as Paula Sanchez, or as she liked to call herself, Palilla, stared in confusion as the locks spilled out of her locker. “Confusion, fear, and distrust, little Miss Sanchez. All spices that will make the feast that much sweeter.” The figure recalled the unexpected treat of the mortal girl that harbored such secrets, such delicious fears, as she pierced the veil between the mortal realm and Otherworld. The corner of its mouth curled up in a twisted smile. “Little Mabon you brought us a treat, and an anchor. I do hope you enjoy our little visits. I wonder how many more close to you will add to our fun.” The chuckle issuing from its lips held little mirth, and the flat sound would have been disturbing to anyone from the mortal realm, but the dark denizens of this realm heard the sound and knew, that for the moment at least, they were safe from the fury of their master.
Sometimes the only way to see the light, is a journey through darkness
-
palilla
"So, let me get this straight, Miss Sanchez. You were getting your english books, putting down a boy who was hitting on you, then *POOF!* there were locks in your locker that weren't yours," Jack Lowery laughs as he asks his question. "If this wasn't a school for mutants and paranormals, I'd wonder if you were doing drugs. I'm chalking it up to a prank, Mr Conrads. Sure, Paula's got issues, but, they didn't come into play, this morning I don't think. Let's let her off the hook."
She knew they were thinking this was funny, and in a way it was, but, it was also a little wierd. What she didn't say was that she thought she may have heard tiny laughing noises. That would have gotten her stuck with test and a lot of other crap he wasn't ready for.
Unknown to the three, the phone was set on conference with many of the phones throughout the school, and Cap'n Jack's voice sounded like it said, "If this wasn't a school for mutants and paranormals, I'd have you run into HQ for testing. I'm chalking it up to a prank, Mr Conrads. A stupid, drug induced prank. Paula's got issues, Doc, and she hides it with stealing and drug use."
She knew they were thinking this was funny, and in a way it was, but, it was also a little wierd. What she didn't say was that she thought she may have heard tiny laughing noises. That would have gotten her stuck with test and a lot of other crap he wasn't ready for.
Unknown to the three, the phone was set on conference with many of the phones throughout the school, and Cap'n Jack's voice sounded like it said, "If this wasn't a school for mutants and paranormals, I'd have you run into HQ for testing. I'm chalking it up to a prank, Mr Conrads. A stupid, drug induced prank. Paula's got issues, Doc, and she hides it with stealing and drug use."
-
palilla
Palilla steadily clicked along on the pc, writing down the names of websites, and books. She had read something on a website, dealing with her dream from the hospital, and it had her attention. Perhaps the sisters would like her history report on the Kelts and their cultures. As it turned out, her ancestors in spain had also been amongst this stock of people, so she knew the penguin running the show in her class would give her credit for doing the deep dig, there.
After nearly thirty minutes, she rubbed her eyes. Pally had compiled a list of at least 20 websites, and 45 books with information on the religions of the Ketls, particularly the Celts of Ireland. Time to get answers.
"Aright, Mabon! Joo an' me got a dance ta dance, chico!"
After nearly thirty minutes, she rubbed her eyes. Pally had compiled a list of at least 20 websites, and 45 books with information on the religions of the Ketls, particularly the Celts of Ireland. Time to get answers.
"Aright, Mabon! Joo an' me got a dance ta dance, chico!"
4.
Obsidian took his gathered up flora and ran across the school grounds, towards the one person he’d figured could help. While he didn’t know her all that well, he knew that Francis Cross was steeped in arcane lore, and had a pretty good grasp of the paranormal. He’d seen her before in Quad 1, when he’d show up to get Annie for language tutoring.
He made his way to the quad, and knocked on the door, ready to take an earful for showing up in the wee hours.
A somewhat bleary eyed Francis opened the door, quite surprised to see Obsidian, of all people, standing there with something bundled in his arms. She rubbed her eyes and the side of her neck with a sigh. “Something I can do for you, Oby?” Her voice becoming a bit more concerned when she recognized his state. His hair was loose, instead of in his customary ponytail, and sat wildly about his head. It was hard to tell, given his already dark skin, but his eyes were sunken, and he had that haggard look of someone that hadn’t slept at all for some time.
"Franky, sorry for the early morning wake up, but I need help." his wild eyed look out of character for the young hero, leading Franky to the only conclusion she could think of, he's scared. "Something weird is happening, I'm not sure what, but it's not normal, I don't understand that stuff," Oby's words come out in a jumble echoing his chaotic mind state. "Maybe it's magical? I couldn't think of anyone else on campus who might understand it, so I came to you. Please, Franky, I don't know what else to do."
He dropped the package on the doorstep and hurriedly started to open it, revealing the oak leaves and Marigolds.
“What the he…Are you serious!? Put those things back outside!” Franky whispered forcibly to the stone skinned boy. She started to push the bundle with her foot, but Oby stopped her with a hand.
“Franky, this is part of it! I woke up this morning and my bed was covered in those things.” He gestured wildly to the school grounds. “Look around, do you even see an Oak tree? I don’t even know what the gold flowers are. There’s more too.” Oby then began to describe the events of the days leading to this, and Franky had to admit, her interest was piqued.
“Okay, okay, calm down, Oby, I’ll help, now get in here before the Penguin patrol sees you.” She grabbed Oby’s shoulder, as he gathered the tshirt back up, pulling him inside to her portion of the quad.
She led Oby to a chair, and told him to sit while she tried to figure out what she could. Reaching up to shelves packed with books, she pulled down a select few and started to mull over them, every once in a while lifting either an Oak leaf, or flower up to ponder it. This continued for several minutes. She reached up and pulled down another book, and after leafing through pages, for what seemed like forever to Oby, seemed content with what she found. Carefully placing each book back in its place, she turned again to Oby, who fidgeted uncomfortably in the silence.
“Well, I think we have a start. Given what you’ve told me, and the Oak leaves, and” she held up one of the golden flowers “these Marigolds, it looks like we’re dealing with something Celtic in nature.”
Oby blanched at that. His family was of French origin, not Irish, or Scotts.
Francis started to walk around the room, pulling down all manner of objects. Bottles filled with dried, and fresh herbs, papers with markings that were undecipherable to Oby, candles, chalices, a small cauldron, and a large tome with gilt writing on the spine, “Le Sylphe Amoureaux, Le Ondins, L’Amant Salamandre”.
As she collected the odds and ends, she explained. “Mabon, is a Celtic God, known as the Eternal Youth. A god of light, and master of the hunt and hounds. The Oak Leaves and Marigolds are used in rites dedicated to him. Your family is French, right?” Oby nodded. “You’d be surprised how much mixing of French and English or Irish went on. I suggest we start with enacting the Rite of the Hound.” When she saw Oby’s complete confusion, she sighed. “It’s a rite that delves into the self.” Still seeing his lack of comprehension, she tried again. “It’ll allow us to follow the lines of magic surrounding you, and hopefully show us what is causing all of this.” When Oby nodded, at least consenting if not fully understanding, she went back to collecting items from the selves, muttering “I just hope it doesn’t result in a Black Mass.”
Once she’d collected the arcane instruments she needed, Franky began. “Du persil, de l’eau de l’aconite, des feuilles de Peuple, et de la suye”
“First we call upon the wisdom of the Badhbh, then we call the Hound to show us the way.”
She turned to Oby, and indicated a clear spot on the floor. “Sit there.” He did as he was instructed, and she placed the Oak Leaves and Marigold’s in his lap.
She began to draw the circle around Oby, widdershins, placing a candle at each of the four cardinal points and offering a small invocation at each. Then she started, “"Tha i fuar. (Gaelic: It is Cold). anns a' Bhagh a Tuath (Gaelic: In the North Bay). Cait' a bheil sibh a' fuireach? (Gaelic: Where is it that you live?). Ag eisdeachd (Gaelic: I am listening)."
Oby watched fascinated, as Franky seemed to lose touch with the quad about her, all the while mumbling and whispering her invocations, as she walked around in the clockwise direction.
Obsidian took his gathered up flora and ran across the school grounds, towards the one person he’d figured could help. While he didn’t know her all that well, he knew that Francis Cross was steeped in arcane lore, and had a pretty good grasp of the paranormal. He’d seen her before in Quad 1, when he’d show up to get Annie for language tutoring.
He made his way to the quad, and knocked on the door, ready to take an earful for showing up in the wee hours.
A somewhat bleary eyed Francis opened the door, quite surprised to see Obsidian, of all people, standing there with something bundled in his arms. She rubbed her eyes and the side of her neck with a sigh. “Something I can do for you, Oby?” Her voice becoming a bit more concerned when she recognized his state. His hair was loose, instead of in his customary ponytail, and sat wildly about his head. It was hard to tell, given his already dark skin, but his eyes were sunken, and he had that haggard look of someone that hadn’t slept at all for some time.
"Franky, sorry for the early morning wake up, but I need help." his wild eyed look out of character for the young hero, leading Franky to the only conclusion she could think of, he's scared. "Something weird is happening, I'm not sure what, but it's not normal, I don't understand that stuff," Oby's words come out in a jumble echoing his chaotic mind state. "Maybe it's magical? I couldn't think of anyone else on campus who might understand it, so I came to you. Please, Franky, I don't know what else to do."
He dropped the package on the doorstep and hurriedly started to open it, revealing the oak leaves and Marigolds.
“What the he…Are you serious!? Put those things back outside!” Franky whispered forcibly to the stone skinned boy. She started to push the bundle with her foot, but Oby stopped her with a hand.
“Franky, this is part of it! I woke up this morning and my bed was covered in those things.” He gestured wildly to the school grounds. “Look around, do you even see an Oak tree? I don’t even know what the gold flowers are. There’s more too.” Oby then began to describe the events of the days leading to this, and Franky had to admit, her interest was piqued.
“Okay, okay, calm down, Oby, I’ll help, now get in here before the Penguin patrol sees you.” She grabbed Oby’s shoulder, as he gathered the tshirt back up, pulling him inside to her portion of the quad.
She led Oby to a chair, and told him to sit while she tried to figure out what she could. Reaching up to shelves packed with books, she pulled down a select few and started to mull over them, every once in a while lifting either an Oak leaf, or flower up to ponder it. This continued for several minutes. She reached up and pulled down another book, and after leafing through pages, for what seemed like forever to Oby, seemed content with what she found. Carefully placing each book back in its place, she turned again to Oby, who fidgeted uncomfortably in the silence.
“Well, I think we have a start. Given what you’ve told me, and the Oak leaves, and” she held up one of the golden flowers “these Marigolds, it looks like we’re dealing with something Celtic in nature.”
Oby blanched at that. His family was of French origin, not Irish, or Scotts.
Francis started to walk around the room, pulling down all manner of objects. Bottles filled with dried, and fresh herbs, papers with markings that were undecipherable to Oby, candles, chalices, a small cauldron, and a large tome with gilt writing on the spine, “Le Sylphe Amoureaux, Le Ondins, L’Amant Salamandre”.
As she collected the odds and ends, she explained. “Mabon, is a Celtic God, known as the Eternal Youth. A god of light, and master of the hunt and hounds. The Oak Leaves and Marigolds are used in rites dedicated to him. Your family is French, right?” Oby nodded. “You’d be surprised how much mixing of French and English or Irish went on. I suggest we start with enacting the Rite of the Hound.” When she saw Oby’s complete confusion, she sighed. “It’s a rite that delves into the self.” Still seeing his lack of comprehension, she tried again. “It’ll allow us to follow the lines of magic surrounding you, and hopefully show us what is causing all of this.” When Oby nodded, at least consenting if not fully understanding, she went back to collecting items from the selves, muttering “I just hope it doesn’t result in a Black Mass.”
Once she’d collected the arcane instruments she needed, Franky began. “Du persil, de l’eau de l’aconite, des feuilles de Peuple, et de la suye”
“First we call upon the wisdom of the Badhbh, then we call the Hound to show us the way.”
She turned to Oby, and indicated a clear spot on the floor. “Sit there.” He did as he was instructed, and she placed the Oak Leaves and Marigold’s in his lap.
She began to draw the circle around Oby, widdershins, placing a candle at each of the four cardinal points and offering a small invocation at each. Then she started, “"Tha i fuar. (Gaelic: It is Cold). anns a' Bhagh a Tuath (Gaelic: In the North Bay). Cait' a bheil sibh a' fuireach? (Gaelic: Where is it that you live?). Ag eisdeachd (Gaelic: I am listening)."
Oby watched fascinated, as Franky seemed to lose touch with the quad about her, all the while mumbling and whispering her invocations, as she walked around in the clockwise direction.
Sometimes the only way to see the light, is a journey through darkness
-
palilla
Lost In A Dream, Part One
Pally rubbed her eyes. She had been at the terminal for entirely too long, and she thought maybe her right butt-cheek had gone numb. Yes. It was time to find dark man, and get a few things straight. This was way wierd, but somehow believable. Hell! There were duendes running around the campus, why not he have some creepy, unexplainable spirit thingie calling you a long dead diety. Or, maybe it was that autumn equinox thing... But, why name a person after a holiday?
She stood, and stretched, realizing, that yes, her right cheeck was indeed dead to feeling. It was late evening, and the library was ready to close. More confused, with too much wikipedia and other googled data, Pally needed answers, and now was the time to find Obsidian Seraph. Gathering her papers, she stuffed them haphazzardly into her bag, and began her search.
As she walked out, her purse somehow became detatched from her backpack, and slid unnoticed to the floor. A few corners later, her shoe laces came untied. Asking around she finally found out where Antoine was rooming, and went there. After a few minutes, she leaned against the door frame, when nobody answered the door. She wasn't budging til she got the dark skinned rock head, and that was all there was to it.
As she waited for Oby's return, Paula began to nod off. She just couldn't sleep right since the fire, and it was seriously messing with her ability to stay awake in a regular schedule. Every time she closed her eyes, the nightmare returned, as did the shrouded spectre that threatened to feed upon her soul. Slowly, the world faded, and slowly it blurred into the fuzzy black and white greyscale of the world she knew. The screams and moans always seemed more tortured than before, which always seemed to add to the latin teen's terror. Pally became frozen in this place, knowing she was the prey, and the spectre was the hunter, in his own field...
Pally rubbed her eyes. She had been at the terminal for entirely too long, and she thought maybe her right butt-cheek had gone numb. Yes. It was time to find dark man, and get a few things straight. This was way wierd, but somehow believable. Hell! There were duendes running around the campus, why not he have some creepy, unexplainable spirit thingie calling you a long dead diety. Or, maybe it was that autumn equinox thing... But, why name a person after a holiday?
She stood, and stretched, realizing, that yes, her right cheeck was indeed dead to feeling. It was late evening, and the library was ready to close. More confused, with too much wikipedia and other googled data, Pally needed answers, and now was the time to find Obsidian Seraph. Gathering her papers, she stuffed them haphazzardly into her bag, and began her search.
As she walked out, her purse somehow became detatched from her backpack, and slid unnoticed to the floor. A few corners later, her shoe laces came untied. Asking around she finally found out where Antoine was rooming, and went there. After a few minutes, she leaned against the door frame, when nobody answered the door. She wasn't budging til she got the dark skinned rock head, and that was all there was to it.
As she waited for Oby's return, Paula began to nod off. She just couldn't sleep right since the fire, and it was seriously messing with her ability to stay awake in a regular schedule. Every time she closed her eyes, the nightmare returned, as did the shrouded spectre that threatened to feed upon her soul. Slowly, the world faded, and slowly it blurred into the fuzzy black and white greyscale of the world she knew. The screams and moans always seemed more tortured than before, which always seemed to add to the latin teen's terror. Pally became frozen in this place, knowing she was the prey, and the spectre was the hunter, in his own field...
As Franky began to walk widdershins around Oby, repeating the phrase, the world grew less substantial, almost wavering as if looking through the heat vapors from a hot road in the summer. 3 times round, 5, and only she and Oby are left from the mortal realm, and seem to be in flux between worlds. 7 times round, 10, and a point of light grows out of the void, drawing her attention. The 13th time round the Oak leaves and Marigold rose from a startled Oby's lap, spinning about, like marionettes on strings, forming a framework, a window into the Otherworld. Oby watched in amazement as the plants spun about. Franky however, began to see things, which obviously Oby did not.
At first, she saw only what appeared to be a great, ancient forest, so deep that like barely dappled the landscape through the canopy of great trees, vines and other plants. Soon a crack is heard, and figures started racing by Franky’s vantage point. All manner of beings raced by, all with an unearthly look about them. White skinned and elegant, the lithe limbed people ran by hardly disturbing neither the ground they ran on, nor any limb they brushed by. All shapes and sizes, some winged with gossamer wings, and others built powerfully with great bows outstretched. All seemed centered around one figure, a brilliant youth with a dark aura about him, but who exuded a peace and calm, dressed in hunter’s garb. The youth led by three massive grey skinned hounds, tethered by leashes made of hair, each hound emitted a dark essence, and lowered their heads to the ground sniffing. Having caught the scent the lead hound, eyes glowing red reared his head back and let out a mighty howl. Quickly the Fae creatures bound off in the direction the youth indicates.
The scene blurred around Franky, and becomes one of a battle, the same gleaming creatures led by the hunting youth fighting against creatures similar to them, but somehow twisted. Each is taller, thinner almost to the point of emaciation, claws are their weapons, rather than the graceful weapons of their elegant foes. The youth and his hounds stand fast in front of an archway, in which a pinprick of light expands to create a door leading out of the Otherworld. The vision carried Franky along, through the door, to look upon another battle, this time between human mortals. The pitched battle continues, as Franky’s perspective changes, and she can see both realms fighting almost equal battles. Her attention turned to the mortal realm and she recognizes two men, one with a glow surrounding him and the other who is almost bestial in his countenance. A blow struck and the bestial man falls. In the Otherworld, the dark army is defeated, and the door connecting the two realms winks out.
The vision starts again, and each time, mortals fight mortals, and each time there appears to be a champion on both sides. The clothing and surroundings change each time, starting from cloth and crude spears, all the way up what would appear to be WWI clothing.
The vision fades again, and coalesques again to view the hunting youth with the hounds that's shes seen in each of the visions. In this vision he's besieged on all sides by the dark fae, and split off from his allies. Fighting valiantly with the aid of his hounds the youth avoids most blows. Quickly though, one of the dark fae scampers up between the hounds and opens his mouth. The hound with the red eyes moves quickly avoiding the torrent of flame that spews forth, but it burns through the leash tethering it to his master.
Quickly, the other dark fae surround the dog, splitting it off from his master. Chased into a corner, the massive hound turns to fight, and the dark fae fall back before its wrath. Franky sees that the hound is wounded however, and realizes it’s only a matter of time. The hound slinks backwards, wobbly, blood loss from its many wounds making consciousness difficult. It looks and sees a pinprick of light in the darkness, and moves towards the expanding light, and leaps…
The vision changes once again, to a small house in what appears to be Paragon City. Taking Franky on a swift journey into a bedroom, in which a blonde haired figure sleeps. Surrounding the figure is a smoky black aura, which appears fairly weak, although it is causing some deterioration of the clothing and bedding the boy sleeps in. A pinprick of light flares briefly and the image of the hound lands in the room. The hound’s aura mingles briefly with the boys, in a mingling of energies, as the hound leans down and licks the boys face before fading into a dark, smoky mist. The aura surround the figure intensifies, and the deterioration of the walls of the house begins to happen, and the room starts to buckle noticeably. The vision flashes to the outside, as Mother and Father run dragging a blanket covered figure with them, just before the house collapses. The last thing she recalls seeing is the mailbox, with the name DuBois emblazoned on it.
With a jerk that stunned the young witch, the mortal world snaps back into focus. Franky found herself on hands and knees, breathing hard. She looked up just in time to see the framework of Marigolds, and Oak leaves start to unravel, the top glowing and spreading down the framework to the ground. Just as quickly as the plants rose into the air, the structure collapsed, falling into a fine powder, which glowed with an inner fire. The powder burst almost in a fireworks burst of golden motes, before fading, leaving the two teens transfixed by the display.
Franky was the first to recover after the golden glow faded, and sat quietly for a moment thinking. "Hmmm....well, I think I can take a stab at this. Oby, this has something to do with a past..I'm not sure if it's your past or just A past but there is a pattern going on here that you're either a part of or trapped by. I think that sometime in the past something of great spiritual magnitude happened among the Celts and that event triggered another event that happened in the mortal world. Whatever those events were are affecting you now. I just can't tell if we are talking about "someone" or "something", is all. However, whatever it is has been moving down through time causing things to happen and it is now causing the same thing to happen to you...I just wish I knew what...and why. But all I can say truthfully Oby, is that is has something to do with you...your powers..something.” Franky quirked her head sideways, thinking about the visions a bit more, and turned back to Seraph. “Have you ever heard of Cu Chulainn?
At first, she saw only what appeared to be a great, ancient forest, so deep that like barely dappled the landscape through the canopy of great trees, vines and other plants. Soon a crack is heard, and figures started racing by Franky’s vantage point. All manner of beings raced by, all with an unearthly look about them. White skinned and elegant, the lithe limbed people ran by hardly disturbing neither the ground they ran on, nor any limb they brushed by. All shapes and sizes, some winged with gossamer wings, and others built powerfully with great bows outstretched. All seemed centered around one figure, a brilliant youth with a dark aura about him, but who exuded a peace and calm, dressed in hunter’s garb. The youth led by three massive grey skinned hounds, tethered by leashes made of hair, each hound emitted a dark essence, and lowered their heads to the ground sniffing. Having caught the scent the lead hound, eyes glowing red reared his head back and let out a mighty howl. Quickly the Fae creatures bound off in the direction the youth indicates.
The scene blurred around Franky, and becomes one of a battle, the same gleaming creatures led by the hunting youth fighting against creatures similar to them, but somehow twisted. Each is taller, thinner almost to the point of emaciation, claws are their weapons, rather than the graceful weapons of their elegant foes. The youth and his hounds stand fast in front of an archway, in which a pinprick of light expands to create a door leading out of the Otherworld. The vision carried Franky along, through the door, to look upon another battle, this time between human mortals. The pitched battle continues, as Franky’s perspective changes, and she can see both realms fighting almost equal battles. Her attention turned to the mortal realm and she recognizes two men, one with a glow surrounding him and the other who is almost bestial in his countenance. A blow struck and the bestial man falls. In the Otherworld, the dark army is defeated, and the door connecting the two realms winks out.
The vision starts again, and each time, mortals fight mortals, and each time there appears to be a champion on both sides. The clothing and surroundings change each time, starting from cloth and crude spears, all the way up what would appear to be WWI clothing.
The vision fades again, and coalesques again to view the hunting youth with the hounds that's shes seen in each of the visions. In this vision he's besieged on all sides by the dark fae, and split off from his allies. Fighting valiantly with the aid of his hounds the youth avoids most blows. Quickly though, one of the dark fae scampers up between the hounds and opens his mouth. The hound with the red eyes moves quickly avoiding the torrent of flame that spews forth, but it burns through the leash tethering it to his master.
Quickly, the other dark fae surround the dog, splitting it off from his master. Chased into a corner, the massive hound turns to fight, and the dark fae fall back before its wrath. Franky sees that the hound is wounded however, and realizes it’s only a matter of time. The hound slinks backwards, wobbly, blood loss from its many wounds making consciousness difficult. It looks and sees a pinprick of light in the darkness, and moves towards the expanding light, and leaps…
The vision changes once again, to a small house in what appears to be Paragon City. Taking Franky on a swift journey into a bedroom, in which a blonde haired figure sleeps. Surrounding the figure is a smoky black aura, which appears fairly weak, although it is causing some deterioration of the clothing and bedding the boy sleeps in. A pinprick of light flares briefly and the image of the hound lands in the room. The hound’s aura mingles briefly with the boys, in a mingling of energies, as the hound leans down and licks the boys face before fading into a dark, smoky mist. The aura surround the figure intensifies, and the deterioration of the walls of the house begins to happen, and the room starts to buckle noticeably. The vision flashes to the outside, as Mother and Father run dragging a blanket covered figure with them, just before the house collapses. The last thing she recalls seeing is the mailbox, with the name DuBois emblazoned on it.
With a jerk that stunned the young witch, the mortal world snaps back into focus. Franky found herself on hands and knees, breathing hard. She looked up just in time to see the framework of Marigolds, and Oak leaves start to unravel, the top glowing and spreading down the framework to the ground. Just as quickly as the plants rose into the air, the structure collapsed, falling into a fine powder, which glowed with an inner fire. The powder burst almost in a fireworks burst of golden motes, before fading, leaving the two teens transfixed by the display.
Franky was the first to recover after the golden glow faded, and sat quietly for a moment thinking. "Hmmm....well, I think I can take a stab at this. Oby, this has something to do with a past..I'm not sure if it's your past or just A past but there is a pattern going on here that you're either a part of or trapped by. I think that sometime in the past something of great spiritual magnitude happened among the Celts and that event triggered another event that happened in the mortal world. Whatever those events were are affecting you now. I just can't tell if we are talking about "someone" or "something", is all. However, whatever it is has been moving down through time causing things to happen and it is now causing the same thing to happen to you...I just wish I knew what...and why. But all I can say truthfully Oby, is that is has something to do with you...your powers..something.” Franky quirked her head sideways, thinking about the visions a bit more, and turned back to Seraph. “Have you ever heard of Cu Chulainn?
Sometimes the only way to see the light, is a journey through darkness
-
palilla
She walked down the hall, and the whispers started and ended just as quickly as she looked. Somehow everyone knew, Paula thought. What was she going to do? Em was going to flip out!
"So, Pally," the voice of a boy who ran with the crowd that acted like they were stoners said. "Heard you got the hook up! So, uh... Me and the guys were wondering if you might either share or, you know... introduce us?"
Paula blinked. She was just back from Southern California, her skin toasted slightly darker than usual, and people were asking her for drugs? Suddenly, her face went angry, and she stepped forward, rearing a hand back like she might hit him, and the boy ran off, laughing. There seemed to be a surreal chittering quality to the boy's laugh, but the latin teen shrugged it off, and went her way to her next class.
"So, Pally," the voice of a boy who ran with the crowd that acted like they were stoners said. "Heard you got the hook up! So, uh... Me and the guys were wondering if you might either share or, you know... introduce us?"
Paula blinked. She was just back from Southern California, her skin toasted slightly darker than usual, and people were asking her for drugs? Suddenly, her face went angry, and she stepped forward, rearing a hand back like she might hit him, and the boy ran off, laughing. There seemed to be a surreal chittering quality to the boy's laugh, but the latin teen shrugged it off, and went her way to her next class.
-
palilla
Paula waited outside of the room they had Nissa in, while the doctor saw to her. Slowly the teen faded into a full sleep. In her sleep the nightmare returned, and she awoke as the skeletal hand reached toward her. Waking from her nightmare, Pally tok a step forward, but fell flat on her face, as something tripped her.
Looking back, she saw she hadn't been been tripped at all. Instead, her shoelaces had been tied together. It was one of the oldest tricks in the book. Being a light sleeper, though, she would have noticed if someone had tied her shoes together like that. Something was up, and Antoine DuBois had answers she was willing to bet!
Looking back, she saw she hadn't been been tripped at all. Instead, her shoelaces had been tied together. It was one of the oldest tricks in the book. Being a light sleeper, though, she would have noticed if someone had tied her shoes together like that. Something was up, and Antoine DuBois had answers she was willing to bet!
"I've heard of him, sure." Oby looks up at Francis with a quizzical look. "He's the hero from Irish Mythology, right? Don't really know much more than that."
“Listen Oby, I’m not really sure what’s happening to you, I mean, I can see some of it, I can watch it, try and delve into it, but there are forces out there that I can’t deal wi...” She pauses mid-sentence, suddenly lost in thought. Slowly, a smile spreads over her features as she holds up a hand. “But I think I know who can.”
“After curfew tonight, meet me at the Greenline in Steel Canyon, we need to get to Croatoa before midnight.”
Oby groans at the mention of Croatoa, his experiences with Red Caps still fresh in him mind, as well as the knowledge that he still has to help contacts there. "Croatoa? Okay. I really hate that place though."
-------- --------- --------- ---------- --------- --------- ----
The Croatoa night was damp and foggy as Francis and Oby made their way through the woods. The cries of Red Caps could be heard somewhere in the depths and darkness of the undergrowth but Francis moved without apprehension. The strange iron cross she held in her left palm seemed an odd comfort. To Oby, the whole atmosphere took on the visage of a Grimm fairytale, all that was missing was the big, bad wolf; but from what Francis had mentioned earlier back at the quad...they just might be seeing him yet.
As they walked Francis shook out a badly tattered witch hat and carefully fitted it to her head, wisps of fuscia hair a striking contrast to the black costume piece. The entire image had a disturbingly absurd quality.
“Are we going to see War Witch?” Oby asked, “’cause if we are, I’ve heard of her you know and...”
Francis held up a finger to indicate silence and then pointed directly in front of them, indicating their destination.
“There.” She whispered.
In the distance stood a henge of blue-grey stones rising out of the mist. The ground was covered in between the stones with small green mushrooms, all in all, forming the largest fairy ring either of them had ever seen.
“we’ll travel through the fairy ring onto the outer branches of Yggdrasil.”
Oby looked confused.
“The world tree.” She clarified. “It’s the only safe way into the Chaos. Once there, we can summon the energies we need.”
“But why here?” Oby seemed a little nervous.
Francis sighed, although not in impatience. “In Croatoa, the Red Caps, the Fir Bolg, and the Tuatha de Danaan have been traveling back and forth through the Gates so often that they are sitting, ummm, ‘propped open’ as it were. Haven’t you noticed that the fae have overrun this place? With that and the magical machinations of the Cabal,” The last word coming out as a snarl, “The trods into the Chaos are well traveled. It will be easy to slide into them unnoticed, as opposed to having to open one anywhere else. Besides, I don’t need a major screw-up to come crashing down and all of a sudden we have a new population of pixies in the quad gardens or something.”
She smiled as reassuringly as she could, “Ready?”
Franky turned to look at the young man, and had to feel some sympathy, the look on his face was somewhere between stark terror and complete naseau, and hard to tell which was winning. "I don't know, Franky. Sitting in your room is one thing, but travelling right to Ygr..yag..." Oby growled in frustration, "The World Tree, isn't that a bit much?"
Franky put her hands on her hips, and quirked a half smile at him, her tone both reasurring and taunting "You've faced Warhulks at point blank range, and taken down Jurassik, who uses a car as a club, and you're afraid to go sit by a tree? C'mon, Oby, this is a piece of cake." She figured that not telling him the rest of the idea was the best course for now, as she grabbed hold of his wrist, pulling.
"Alright, alright." Oby gave up his protest and followed, his free hand going to his pocket where he'd stashed the cross Franky had given him the night of the dance. "Just hope that's all that's there..." he muttered under his breath, following the bright haired girl who seemed a lot more fearless than he.
“Listen Oby, I’m not really sure what’s happening to you, I mean, I can see some of it, I can watch it, try and delve into it, but there are forces out there that I can’t deal wi...” She pauses mid-sentence, suddenly lost in thought. Slowly, a smile spreads over her features as she holds up a hand. “But I think I know who can.”
“After curfew tonight, meet me at the Greenline in Steel Canyon, we need to get to Croatoa before midnight.”
Oby groans at the mention of Croatoa, his experiences with Red Caps still fresh in him mind, as well as the knowledge that he still has to help contacts there. "Croatoa? Okay. I really hate that place though."
-------- --------- --------- ---------- --------- --------- ----
The Croatoa night was damp and foggy as Francis and Oby made their way through the woods. The cries of Red Caps could be heard somewhere in the depths and darkness of the undergrowth but Francis moved without apprehension. The strange iron cross she held in her left palm seemed an odd comfort. To Oby, the whole atmosphere took on the visage of a Grimm fairytale, all that was missing was the big, bad wolf; but from what Francis had mentioned earlier back at the quad...they just might be seeing him yet.
As they walked Francis shook out a badly tattered witch hat and carefully fitted it to her head, wisps of fuscia hair a striking contrast to the black costume piece. The entire image had a disturbingly absurd quality.
“Are we going to see War Witch?” Oby asked, “’cause if we are, I’ve heard of her you know and...”
Francis held up a finger to indicate silence and then pointed directly in front of them, indicating their destination.
“There.” She whispered.
In the distance stood a henge of blue-grey stones rising out of the mist. The ground was covered in between the stones with small green mushrooms, all in all, forming the largest fairy ring either of them had ever seen.
“we’ll travel through the fairy ring onto the outer branches of Yggdrasil.”
Oby looked confused.
“The world tree.” She clarified. “It’s the only safe way into the Chaos. Once there, we can summon the energies we need.”
“But why here?” Oby seemed a little nervous.
Francis sighed, although not in impatience. “In Croatoa, the Red Caps, the Fir Bolg, and the Tuatha de Danaan have been traveling back and forth through the Gates so often that they are sitting, ummm, ‘propped open’ as it were. Haven’t you noticed that the fae have overrun this place? With that and the magical machinations of the Cabal,” The last word coming out as a snarl, “The trods into the Chaos are well traveled. It will be easy to slide into them unnoticed, as opposed to having to open one anywhere else. Besides, I don’t need a major screw-up to come crashing down and all of a sudden we have a new population of pixies in the quad gardens or something.”
She smiled as reassuringly as she could, “Ready?”
Franky turned to look at the young man, and had to feel some sympathy, the look on his face was somewhere between stark terror and complete naseau, and hard to tell which was winning. "I don't know, Franky. Sitting in your room is one thing, but travelling right to Ygr..yag..." Oby growled in frustration, "The World Tree, isn't that a bit much?"
Franky put her hands on her hips, and quirked a half smile at him, her tone both reasurring and taunting "You've faced Warhulks at point blank range, and taken down Jurassik, who uses a car as a club, and you're afraid to go sit by a tree? C'mon, Oby, this is a piece of cake." She figured that not telling him the rest of the idea was the best course for now, as she grabbed hold of his wrist, pulling.
"Alright, alright." Oby gave up his protest and followed, his free hand going to his pocket where he'd stashed the cross Franky had given him the night of the dance. "Just hope that's all that's there..." he muttered under his breath, following the bright haired girl who seemed a lot more fearless than he.
Sometimes the only way to see the light, is a journey through darkness
Francis pulled him along till they reached a small cropping of stones set in a circle. Given the acrid smell of ozone, and several scorch marks, it was obvious that this area had once been used by the Cabal for…Oby stopped the thought right there. If the Cabal used this site, he didn’t even want to speculate on why,
She stopped in the middle of the circle, dropping the boy’s wrist. “Well then,” Francis rested her hands on her hips. “Let’s go.”
The magic circle she had set up within the stones was simple and consisted of only three small candles, a pinch of salt, and a withered pile of laurel leaves. In truth, combined with the stones, the entire scene was something straight out of Barret’s The Magus.
Francis knelt in the center of the circle and motioned to Oby. “Grab my hand.” She stated matter-of-factly. “This might get a little bumpy.”
Oby stepped into the circle, nervously eyeing the small circle of items laid about, and moved painstakingly slow. He didn’t know much about magic, but he was sure it would be a BAD idea to disturb any part of the circle. Once he was sure he wouldn’t upset any of the magical ingredients, he sat in his customary yoga style wiped his hand of the nervous moistness that coated it, and took Franky’s hand.
Francis closed her eyes and began in a low voice.
“One might object that, if this magic must be accepted, and if its reality could be demonstrated, man, bereft of intellect and morality, would be no more than a cog in the wheels of the universe. But we of Magic do not believe in a blind fate. We admit, with reason, the inevitable chain of effects and causes in the circle of life’s general laws; but so do we acknowledge the eternal Wisdom whose counsels, hidden to us, arrange the accidents of every existence in a series of tests destined to educate our human intelligence and will. Therefore, let us trace these paths of lesson with the twelve solar houses, the science of numbers, and the sacred letters ascribed to each of the seven traveling ministers of changeless Providence.”
She glanced up at Oby, “You ok?”
He tried to give her a reassuring grin, but Francis thought the look was somewhere between having tasted something awful, and seeing a ghost for the first time. She worried that he was going to pass out before they even got anywhere. She gave his arm a tug, which seemed to snap him back. “Oh..ye-yeah, I,” he swallowed hard, and she thought he took on more of his old demeanor “I’m fine.”
Francis nodded and bent her head once more to continue and closed her eyes. Oby not sure of what else to do, followed suit.
“Alte air choireigin. B’ fhearr leam fuireach a-staigh. Chan ann tric a gheibh sinn an cothrom. Fulrich agus faighnichidh mi dhaibh. a’ cruinneachadh anns an taighcheilidh.”
(Translation from the Gaelic: Some place or another, I would prefer to stay in the House. It’s not often we get the chance. But wait and I will ask them, if we may gather in the meeting house.)
The stones faded away and the smell of the foggy Croatoa woods gave way to a distinct scent of acorns and rain. The grass beneath their hands and knees suddenly felt slick and smooth, like driftwood fresh from the shore. When they opened their eyes they were sitting on a narrow pathway, but not of stone or dirt, it was a pathway made of the twisting, knotted, branch of a great tree. The rest of the world was obscured by giant leaves in green, gold, and blue that dappled bright sunlight in a myriad of colors across their startled faces. The great tree around them formed a grand cathedral with leaves as stained glass windows and unseen birds chanting hymns of praise to the wonder around them.
Before either of them could speak, the leaves began to rustle in time with a light breeze. Only then, they formed words.
“Co as a tha sibh?” (Gaelic: Where do you come from?”)
Oby’s eyes snapped wide, and Francis felt his body go taut, like some overstretched guitar string. He looked over at her, whispering “Who said that, and what did it mean?”
Francis translated, and then realizing that Oby wasn’t answering, elbowed him lightly in the ribs, and nodded her head towards the tree. Oby’s brow knitted in confusion. Francis rolled her eyes in frustration, jerked her head towards the tree, and mouthed answer
“We come from Paragon City” he heard Franky’s exasperated sigh behind him “Um…in the mortal realm.” Oby’s voice didn’t ring with any kind of customary confidence, but the branches shifted in that unseen wind again, and a sense of acceptance came from that. Either of them or the answer, he wasn’t sure.
The voice rang out again, with it’s ethereal quality, from the trees in the same strange lilting language, that Franky would later identify for him as Gaelic. She saw the momentary panic in his eyes, and she stepped up, translating for him. “Only the dead may pass this way. Are you that?”
Oby felt a small trickle of sweat pass down between his shoulder blades. “I am not”
Again the voice called out from the rustle of leaves, and again Franky leaned into Oby, translating. “Then what calls you to this place?”
Oby shifted his weight nervously from one foot to the other and let out a deep breath. “I'm looking for answers. Things are happening to us, and around my school, in my world, that are tied to things here. Things that I don't, and can’t understand. We need help from you”
The figure was indistinct at first, shifting back and forth seemingly without form or substance, impervious to the laws of nature. By the time the two of them realized the form was that of a man, the figure had appeared to emerge from a large, knotted, branch nearby. Even as it strode forward, crossing the precarious looking limbs with ease, the entity had a warped quality to it. It was as though Francis and Obsidian Seraph were watching someone walk across a dusty road through a pane of imperfect glass. The features did not change, exactly, but twisted and reshaped into a series of people, who looked remarkably similar. First there was a hound’s head atop a body made of wood and branches, leaves exploding out of every fingertip. The hound had deep emerald eyes and a nose that wrinkled in a way that suggested mirth. Then, the wood was no longer wood but leather of a dark brown hue, and the hound’s head was now a man with untamable red hair and a wild look. Now, they stared at the features of a young warrior, a Celt swordsman who could not have seen more than twenty winters. His long, flame bright, hair fell nearly to his waist in thick curls and knotted twists. His eyes were green, his skin fair, but he wore an expression of benign amusement, his mouth slightly upturned in a benevolent grin. A sword in a scabbard that bore the image of Cernunnos was slung across his hip and the icon of the Raven decorated an iron torque around his neck. His eyes closed for a moment, and then he spoke.
“In the times before, there was a great hunter and with him, four great hounds. Each day the hunter took his hounds with him into the woods and each day they returned with their master to his hearth.
Many years passed and the great hunter and his great hounds grew old, but each day they went into the woods, and without fail, return at sunset.”
The figure’s image wavered again, the leather starting to shine, taking on the dark steel of a suit of armor. The red hair darkened as if ink were spilled and flowed through the locks, painting them a deep black. A sword rested easily at his hip in a scabbard that bore the same markings as the red haired warrior. The helm that the figure carried under one arm was tooled to resemble a Raven, and a plume of inky feathers crested the top. The voice changed as he addressed them further.
“A young man was in the woods one day and came upon one of the great hounds. Thinking the hound would certainly slay him he struck with great force and skill, and laid the hound low.”
Like special effects from a new movie, the features of the speaker changed again. Hair lengthened, falling in a thick mat of ringlets down the back of a head who’s face became tan, with a long beard. Armor melded into a an open Wainscoat of blue, piped in gold. A cutlass rested on his hip, again scabbarded in the device of Cernunnos. Across his chest a heavily tooled flintlock pistol was holstered, a Raven’s head prominent on the butt of the gun.
“From the trees he heard a terrible wail of sorrow and from whence appeared the great hunter. The young man saw as the old king wept for the loss of his beloved hound, and his heart was moved.”
The tan deepened to red, as the image wavered again, ringlets flattening out to a long spill of glossy black hair. A headdress made of Raven feathers rested atop his head. The wainscoat was absorbed into a simple leather jerkin, decorated with turquoise. Soft leather breeches covered its legs and doeskin moccasins protected its feet.
“There in the woods he spoke up loudly and for what he had done he offered to the spirits there that he should take the hound’s place, for the hound had done only its duty. “
The breeches wavered becoming slack knickers, tucked into high laced boots. The jerkin warped and became a long sleeved jacket. The headdress changed, becoming a hard metal pot helmet with a wide brim. Cernunnos’s symbol, and a raven were painted on the side of the helmet.
“But the old man replied in refusal. No man should die for a hound but to the spirits he offered a new geas. The young man should indeed take the place of the hound. but not in death, in life.”
The figure wavered yet again, shifting back to the figure of the young Celt swordsman.
“Let he who has pledged this oath become the Hound, to fulfill the unfinished tasks of the loyal servant laid low. To be steadfast always to the goal, to never waver at the Huntsman’s call, and to be guardian of all those who face the darkness in the woods.
And so it has passed from one Hound to the next, from one who has fallen beneath the oath and the next who takes it up again.”
The swordsman’s face lengthened, and leaves covered the body once more, the face of the hound now looking down at the two teens. The words that followed flowed as if all of the voices of those they’d just seen spoke as one.
“Always must there be a Hound, when the darkness rises in the trees of the world.”
As they watched, the figure turned back to the tree, back to whatever netherworld he’d been summoned forth from. It stopped before it reached the tree, turning to regard the two travelers. It took in the slight form or Francis Cross, stopping momentarily at the pink hair, and smiled slightly. “Sage.” He nodded courtly, before passing his gaze to Seraph. He held Oby’s gaze with his own intent stare for what seemed to the two teens like a small eternity. Oby didn’t dare move his eyes off those of the man. The figure then smiled, “Well met” he said as he turned and walked through the trunk of the tree, back to his afterworld.
She stopped in the middle of the circle, dropping the boy’s wrist. “Well then,” Francis rested her hands on her hips. “Let’s go.”
The magic circle she had set up within the stones was simple and consisted of only three small candles, a pinch of salt, and a withered pile of laurel leaves. In truth, combined with the stones, the entire scene was something straight out of Barret’s The Magus.
Francis knelt in the center of the circle and motioned to Oby. “Grab my hand.” She stated matter-of-factly. “This might get a little bumpy.”
Oby stepped into the circle, nervously eyeing the small circle of items laid about, and moved painstakingly slow. He didn’t know much about magic, but he was sure it would be a BAD idea to disturb any part of the circle. Once he was sure he wouldn’t upset any of the magical ingredients, he sat in his customary yoga style wiped his hand of the nervous moistness that coated it, and took Franky’s hand.
Francis closed her eyes and began in a low voice.
“One might object that, if this magic must be accepted, and if its reality could be demonstrated, man, bereft of intellect and morality, would be no more than a cog in the wheels of the universe. But we of Magic do not believe in a blind fate. We admit, with reason, the inevitable chain of effects and causes in the circle of life’s general laws; but so do we acknowledge the eternal Wisdom whose counsels, hidden to us, arrange the accidents of every existence in a series of tests destined to educate our human intelligence and will. Therefore, let us trace these paths of lesson with the twelve solar houses, the science of numbers, and the sacred letters ascribed to each of the seven traveling ministers of changeless Providence.”
She glanced up at Oby, “You ok?”
He tried to give her a reassuring grin, but Francis thought the look was somewhere between having tasted something awful, and seeing a ghost for the first time. She worried that he was going to pass out before they even got anywhere. She gave his arm a tug, which seemed to snap him back. “Oh..ye-yeah, I,” he swallowed hard, and she thought he took on more of his old demeanor “I’m fine.”
Francis nodded and bent her head once more to continue and closed her eyes. Oby not sure of what else to do, followed suit.
“Alte air choireigin. B’ fhearr leam fuireach a-staigh. Chan ann tric a gheibh sinn an cothrom. Fulrich agus faighnichidh mi dhaibh. a’ cruinneachadh anns an taighcheilidh.”
(Translation from the Gaelic: Some place or another, I would prefer to stay in the House. It’s not often we get the chance. But wait and I will ask them, if we may gather in the meeting house.)
The stones faded away and the smell of the foggy Croatoa woods gave way to a distinct scent of acorns and rain. The grass beneath their hands and knees suddenly felt slick and smooth, like driftwood fresh from the shore. When they opened their eyes they were sitting on a narrow pathway, but not of stone or dirt, it was a pathway made of the twisting, knotted, branch of a great tree. The rest of the world was obscured by giant leaves in green, gold, and blue that dappled bright sunlight in a myriad of colors across their startled faces. The great tree around them formed a grand cathedral with leaves as stained glass windows and unseen birds chanting hymns of praise to the wonder around them.
Before either of them could speak, the leaves began to rustle in time with a light breeze. Only then, they formed words.
“Co as a tha sibh?” (Gaelic: Where do you come from?”)
Oby’s eyes snapped wide, and Francis felt his body go taut, like some overstretched guitar string. He looked over at her, whispering “Who said that, and what did it mean?”
Francis translated, and then realizing that Oby wasn’t answering, elbowed him lightly in the ribs, and nodded her head towards the tree. Oby’s brow knitted in confusion. Francis rolled her eyes in frustration, jerked her head towards the tree, and mouthed answer
“We come from Paragon City” he heard Franky’s exasperated sigh behind him “Um…in the mortal realm.” Oby’s voice didn’t ring with any kind of customary confidence, but the branches shifted in that unseen wind again, and a sense of acceptance came from that. Either of them or the answer, he wasn’t sure.
The voice rang out again, with it’s ethereal quality, from the trees in the same strange lilting language, that Franky would later identify for him as Gaelic. She saw the momentary panic in his eyes, and she stepped up, translating for him. “Only the dead may pass this way. Are you that?”
Oby felt a small trickle of sweat pass down between his shoulder blades. “I am not”
Again the voice called out from the rustle of leaves, and again Franky leaned into Oby, translating. “Then what calls you to this place?”
Oby shifted his weight nervously from one foot to the other and let out a deep breath. “I'm looking for answers. Things are happening to us, and around my school, in my world, that are tied to things here. Things that I don't, and can’t understand. We need help from you”
The figure was indistinct at first, shifting back and forth seemingly without form or substance, impervious to the laws of nature. By the time the two of them realized the form was that of a man, the figure had appeared to emerge from a large, knotted, branch nearby. Even as it strode forward, crossing the precarious looking limbs with ease, the entity had a warped quality to it. It was as though Francis and Obsidian Seraph were watching someone walk across a dusty road through a pane of imperfect glass. The features did not change, exactly, but twisted and reshaped into a series of people, who looked remarkably similar. First there was a hound’s head atop a body made of wood and branches, leaves exploding out of every fingertip. The hound had deep emerald eyes and a nose that wrinkled in a way that suggested mirth. Then, the wood was no longer wood but leather of a dark brown hue, and the hound’s head was now a man with untamable red hair and a wild look. Now, they stared at the features of a young warrior, a Celt swordsman who could not have seen more than twenty winters. His long, flame bright, hair fell nearly to his waist in thick curls and knotted twists. His eyes were green, his skin fair, but he wore an expression of benign amusement, his mouth slightly upturned in a benevolent grin. A sword in a scabbard that bore the image of Cernunnos was slung across his hip and the icon of the Raven decorated an iron torque around his neck. His eyes closed for a moment, and then he spoke.
“In the times before, there was a great hunter and with him, four great hounds. Each day the hunter took his hounds with him into the woods and each day they returned with their master to his hearth.
Many years passed and the great hunter and his great hounds grew old, but each day they went into the woods, and without fail, return at sunset.”
The figure’s image wavered again, the leather starting to shine, taking on the dark steel of a suit of armor. The red hair darkened as if ink were spilled and flowed through the locks, painting them a deep black. A sword rested easily at his hip in a scabbard that bore the same markings as the red haired warrior. The helm that the figure carried under one arm was tooled to resemble a Raven, and a plume of inky feathers crested the top. The voice changed as he addressed them further.
“A young man was in the woods one day and came upon one of the great hounds. Thinking the hound would certainly slay him he struck with great force and skill, and laid the hound low.”
Like special effects from a new movie, the features of the speaker changed again. Hair lengthened, falling in a thick mat of ringlets down the back of a head who’s face became tan, with a long beard. Armor melded into a an open Wainscoat of blue, piped in gold. A cutlass rested on his hip, again scabbarded in the device of Cernunnos. Across his chest a heavily tooled flintlock pistol was holstered, a Raven’s head prominent on the butt of the gun.
“From the trees he heard a terrible wail of sorrow and from whence appeared the great hunter. The young man saw as the old king wept for the loss of his beloved hound, and his heart was moved.”
The tan deepened to red, as the image wavered again, ringlets flattening out to a long spill of glossy black hair. A headdress made of Raven feathers rested atop his head. The wainscoat was absorbed into a simple leather jerkin, decorated with turquoise. Soft leather breeches covered its legs and doeskin moccasins protected its feet.
“There in the woods he spoke up loudly and for what he had done he offered to the spirits there that he should take the hound’s place, for the hound had done only its duty. “
The breeches wavered becoming slack knickers, tucked into high laced boots. The jerkin warped and became a long sleeved jacket. The headdress changed, becoming a hard metal pot helmet with a wide brim. Cernunnos’s symbol, and a raven were painted on the side of the helmet.
“But the old man replied in refusal. No man should die for a hound but to the spirits he offered a new geas. The young man should indeed take the place of the hound. but not in death, in life.”
The figure wavered yet again, shifting back to the figure of the young Celt swordsman.
“Let he who has pledged this oath become the Hound, to fulfill the unfinished tasks of the loyal servant laid low. To be steadfast always to the goal, to never waver at the Huntsman’s call, and to be guardian of all those who face the darkness in the woods.
And so it has passed from one Hound to the next, from one who has fallen beneath the oath and the next who takes it up again.”
The swordsman’s face lengthened, and leaves covered the body once more, the face of the hound now looking down at the two teens. The words that followed flowed as if all of the voices of those they’d just seen spoke as one.
“Always must there be a Hound, when the darkness rises in the trees of the world.”
As they watched, the figure turned back to the tree, back to whatever netherworld he’d been summoned forth from. It stopped before it reached the tree, turning to regard the two travelers. It took in the slight form or Francis Cross, stopping momentarily at the pink hair, and smiled slightly. “Sage.” He nodded courtly, before passing his gaze to Seraph. He held Oby’s gaze with his own intent stare for what seemed to the two teens like a small eternity. Oby didn’t dare move his eyes off those of the man. The figure then smiled, “Well met” he said as he turned and walked through the trunk of the tree, back to his afterworld.
Sometimes the only way to see the light, is a journey through darkness