| Scene Listing | || | Scene Schedule | || | Scene Schedule RSS |
| No title. |
| (2013-06-19 - 2013-06-20) |
| No description. |
| Riku | The light this time at the touch of the half submerged orb is more of an explosion. A collison of great forces against each other that reaches out and rends the paper thin tissue of this dreamlike reality. Another flare of brilliant and piercing light sears across the reforming landscape like a spear. A curtain of stars and galaxies makes up the terraced pathways of this tower to the heavens. The tower itself seems crafted out of starstuff with the empty space in every direction giving an incredible vista of a ruined and barren world. Great scars and ravines have carved the landscape. Darkness has tainted and and corrupted the land. Light has seared and scorched. A beam of darkness from the top of the tower collides with the spear of light and a pressure wave explodes from the antipode of forces that sets the tower to noticeably quaking. Straight overhead, large and close enough almost to touch is a pillar of twilight energy. A spire that reaches up to the moon of this world which is a luminous blue and vaguely heart shaped. A powerful radiance pours down along with that eerie blue, pure energy pouring down along that spire of energy like a waterfall. It is the nexus of perfect interconnection. A web that spans a universe. A complete and terrible unity waiting for a controlling hand. Power in it's purest context without mortal filter or constraint. The price, and the stakes, of this contest going on all around him. Along the stairways and corridors of the starlight tower are the dead. Armored figures lay where they fell, discarded soldiers in an unknown war. The battle continues unabated up about, massive surges of light and darkness exploding against each other. Shards of crystal rain from the sky at every impact. |
| Riku | Angantyr is torn from his dream-like reality and placed into a war torn one. He is no stranger to things like this, and immediately knows how to put his head down and run to something safeish. This is...what is this,... Then he looks up. Even he is touched by this, something...in his heart tells him what this is, but he cant put words to it. He just knows it is important...more than anything else in the world, it is important to all things. Power, in its purest form...but also light and love. It is...both extremes...yin and yang. he understands why people are fighting for this now...it is precious. But with power like that...even Ang feels that it maybe too much, even for him. Hes not sure what drives him, but he has to move forward. Dark may his heart be, he still isnt sure about what must be done, but...he thinks hell know once he gets there. He moves, reaching for any weapon that will come to him, he doesnt care what, just something to defend himself, and starts climbing the staircase towards the top... The unobtainable goal, perhaps? Perhaps this was just the battlefield of his heart, and his prize his heart...but something seemed...more to this. This wasnt just a reflection of his soul, but it also might as well be. Angantyr moves, he moves because he must, because it calls to him. He looks at it again...trying not to distract him with the sheer beauty and majesty of the moon above him. |
| Riku | The fallen sword is much like the ancient blades that littered the dark and flooded ruins of before. It is drained and dead in hand, only a faint whisper of something crawling along the length that may have been once an echo of the moon overhead. A crystal within the workings of the blade is cracked, whispers bleeding from the stone that form a constant background noise to the din. Whoever speaks.. it is in Avira's voice though the words are inaudible. There are several more cataclysmic crashes in which the entire tower seems on the very threshold of coming apart. At some point, darkness devoured the endless vista of the world below the tower and now this single last foothold is left as contested bastion. The darkness reaches up to the lower reaches of the tower, and there.. the millions of eyes can be seen. A solid sea of heartless in many thousands of different forms are clawing their way up the tower towards the spire. They crash against the base of the tower and it trembles. They will be here soon. At the very apex of the spire there is nothing to mark the great contest of wills except the energy spire that connects the starlight tower with that immediate moon. Even the din has been sucked from the air leaving the spire in ringing silence. Hanging in the middle of that pillar of energy is a sword. But it is no more a sword than Avira's voice, or Maira's came from their owners. It is a symbol more than a sword. A concept rather than reality. The intricate traceries jutting from the entwined spirals and curves are completely unsuited for a weapon that is more than decoration -- but it is far from decorative in bearing. It is all that stands between anyone and entering the spire of energy. A last battered guardian with massive cracks and battle damage having wounded the ancient weapon, glowing lines tracing each and every one of these faults. |
| Riku | Angantyr picks up the pace the more he climbs...this is becoming an increasingly void battle..those who fought here only fought to bring the heartless upon them...or maybe they were the heartless, now joined forever by the darkness in a single hungry desire to consume all. Angantyr runs, he cant afford to be caught here, he has to push forward...he has to find a place to make a final stand that can help him hold out as long as possible.. Then he comes to the Apex...everything here but the pillar and the sword that acts as the last bastion of defense...he looks behind him again...there is no time, theyll be here soon...and the moon above them will be forever...no they cant get there. Angantyr knows this, in his heart of hearts, that this can not come to pass. He stares at the sword, no not a sword, the concept of sword. A symbol...a concept. He hears Aviras voice, but it is too distant to make out. He tosses the void weapon he picked up on the ground...it would not serve him. He isnt sure why it came with him this far... ...Well, this is it I guess. I hope Im dreaming but if Im not.. he pauses.. Well, lets at least give it our all. he says, and reaches towards the weapon, not caring if it burns, or if it comes to him, he reaches in with all of his might, all his determination...the desire to live, but also the desire to protect the moon above. Angantyr was taught to use any weapon he could, to make it his own...it is damaged, but he will fortify the damaged parts with his own body, or rather, with his own heart. To master it, and strike down those who would threaten his path, and those he aligned himself with. |
| Riku | Angantyr holds to the blade as long as he can...he nearly screamed as his life is forced to replay... A young Angantyr, dressed more like a noble than a dark knight looks at his disapproving father, who had just told him he has a little brother...and he has been replaced as the heir. A disgusted look as he is told why he was...he was unwanted. A older Ang, sparing with his brother, the darkness first going out of control and scaring him...pity from his brother...disgust again from his father...and a growing sense of bitterness for the world around him. Ang and his brother, talking on a old wall overlooking the ocean...Ang almost looks happy, talking to his brother as a equal, and not a subordinate. As a necessary thing... The fight that destroyed his home...Angantyrs determination to drive the Arcadians back...and the feeling of failure after being routed... The feeling of betrayal when it was discovered his brother betrayed them to save the nation...Angantyrs rage... His meeting Garland...the years of torment and hardening under Garland. A Sword was first forged that day, being tempered by the rage and hate that Garland used like a well placed weapon. Here he learned what it truly meant to fight...to survive...everything was a test...everything was a challenge...everything was fight or die. However, from this, bloomed his friendship with Avira, meeting the misplaced woman, teaching her as he was taught...a bond developing as they spent time together...a bond increasing as he met her friends, both in Clan Danga and beyond. Meeting others who would share space in his heart, bringing back the ability to trust...even to love again. A sense of duty to protect...to use his power for something...to prove that he could do something other than destroy... And then it was good enough. Power drains, and Angantyr doesnt stop, he forces it in, allowing it to take what it needs...something had to be done...whatever happens, something was exchanged, and Angantyr was pushed from the blade. Weakened, Angantyr watches as the Heartless are fended back by something. And then the sword explodes... Angantyr jolts back awake...kneeling in the sand. He rubs his head...the place...restored slightly, but still just a shadow of its former self... And another choice that needs to be made...so little time, so much to do huh? He sighs...what was that...what was this? He looks for the mysterious figure...but there was nothing, only him. Closing his eyes, he chooses again...and goes for the one held by the cracked statue. The Dividing Line. |
| Riku | The ground around his feet cracks and splits apart with a sound like splintering glass. It is a short fall to the next mirage or vision or nightmare. A short fall through dusty air that parches the lungs and reddish black stone carved by the touch of light and darkness both. The tower is what sets the perspective to this image as part of the same place as the one that came before. The landscape is broken up into small areas of frozen time. The battlefield has been chopped up into these artfully displayed dioramas and filled with empty suits of armor bearing ancient and rusted blades. In between these places are corridors of dark glass that extend out into the distance. In fact, the entire battlefield, seen from a sufficient height would paint out a stained glass window much like how this dream began. Each island tells a silent story of loss and struggle. Victory and defeat. If Angantyr picked up the white gold fragment, it hums and rattles faintly in hand as if resonating with these stories. It whispers and each suit of armor, each heart that sleeps within these frozen statues wishes for something. And those wishes are made audible and fall on the parched earth like rain. General patterns can be made out of the endless multitude. This is not just one time. One place. The tower and the moon is a constant as much as the clock was before. They are changeless. Enduring. Every other scene.. comes from an endless stream of variations. Clothes and attitudes and armor change, but the reasons stay the same. There are just as much cry for vengeance as cry for salvation. Just as many big dreamers whose whims would save the world from itself or conquer it. Just as many who reach for the impossible. For the return of those lost to darkness. For the salvation of a town or a city or a nation. For the very resurrection of the dead. And the moon overhead and the tower is the line drawn in the sand pitting all these hearts against each other. Other forces can be felt in the background as well. Agents and seeds of Chaos planted here and there in the silent panoply. Sometimes innocuous and sometimes overwhelming and ominous. All profiting from the bloodshed, no matter which side 'won' -- prolonging and escalating the conflict. Pursuing their ends while the world burns. The hooded man is regarding a trio of warriors in armor, an unarmored man holding one of their number by the head. Holding them off the ground as a stab of ice races across their armor. He walks his away around the small island unhurriedly. "Events do not stop simply because their reasons are forgotten. The sorcerers meant to hide it. To bury the worlds in forgetfulness and rewrite the story to their liking. But that is not how the universe functions. This story.." he gestures to the picture before him and then around them. "And every story begins the same way. And it will end the same.. without due caution and preparation." |
| Riku | Angantyr walks through the graveyard of keys and armor. Is this the resting place of the warriors fighting over that moon? Not just one place and time, but many...uncountable...warriors of light and darkness clashing here for one thing. Things in the background manipulating the world to their goals and aims...and the world burns. Angantyr sighs...he too was a puppet in the show, he feared...try as he might to tear the strings from him. He wondered, how to act, without dancing to their tune. But all too often this is what they counted on...and planned for. Every weapon had a story...and here he found one in particular. The trio fighting the unarmed man, as he froze one of their numbers in ice. He watches, what did this mean? But the mysterious figure again. So the worlds were not once separated? Is this what you are saying? He asks, curious. Then that means...it would make sense, many worlds have common elements to them.. Well, to be fair...to ask people to act strictly on logic all the time is impossible...we are beings of emotion...sometimes we succumb to them...our greatest weakness and strength rolled into one, no? He asks, shaking his head. What is their tale? he asks, motioning towards the trio, Where does their story fall in this...graveyard? Who is the man they fight? And is...at the end of the day, important to the grand scheme? To them, yes...I dont doubt that. |
| Riku | "There is an adage concerning all worlds being connected under a single sky. I find the reverse a matter of history, for under the light of Kingdom Hearts all things are possible. Even worlds spun from nothing but a story and a wish and a child's faith in home." The hooded figure chuckles softly. "As for these three? Knights who chose the freedom of others over their own. Who sacrificed everything and lost. Lost their crusade against a former teacher. Lost their home and eventually, lost themselves to darkness and oblivion. The man, Xehanort, is a wielder of great darkness whose recklessness in time spelled his own downfall." The hooded man shrugs and says frankly and without rancor. "A man lashed to the wheel of advancing time perhaps has a necessary drive to see his work completed within his lifetime. With all the consequences entailed to that." The white gold shimmers, the shard bending into an unbroken circle as the endless panoply of stories fade back to the ruins that are no longer ruins. It is Angantyr and the hooded Seeker who are the shadows here, for they stand in the midst of a lively and unblemished square. No hint of fire and no mark of war has been laid on these grounds and people move in and out of buildings and along streets about their business. The sounds of life chatter at a low ebb around the hooded man and Angantyr, who stands on a small circle of destruction with the hooded figure in the dappled sunlight beyond. The Clock is still present in a ghostly background way, reading 'XI' with only a single sickly violet fire in evidence. The Seeker continues. "Their tale of tragedy and failure is one of very many, with more still to come if the grinding wheel that hews these lives to mulch is not halted. The force of Chaos not stymied as they dig claws into the fabric of years. This-- is why I have come to you for aid. For is it not said that no man is unconnected to any other? " he chuckles very dryly, cultured voice calm and straight forwards. "You have been shown the consequences of an ancient past. A past that will no doubt repeat itself in time, rendering new graveyard worlds whose shattered swords meet the horizon. And no doubt your teacher would only laugh. But will you?" |
| Riku | Angantyr listens. A sad tale...a slightly familiar one too. History does repeat, given enough time. So the worlds did used to be connected more firmly. Or at least...not as they were now. But as hole worlds, separate but connected? or all connected and not separate? It seems unimportant now...but still...this isnt new after all.. The city, around them restored...nothing is wrong, but he is but a shadow of this place. He isnt here, now, as always and before he was the darkness that haunted his home. A sad smile, as he turns back to the mysterious figure. Former teacher. He says, I no longer follow Garland, I broke free of my own will... though he wonders about that sometimes, or if its not a complicated plot. He, however, refused to accept it. So no, I will not laugh. I dont want this to happen...to my or any other world. Somehow, I dont think wed be talking if that was my desire.. he mutters, and turns to face the figure. But why me? I am not that special, just a man with bad bedfellows and a bad power. Why do you seek my aid? |
| Riku | The Seeker chuckles and slowly circles around the area of destruction that Angantyr is still within. "The sorcerers believed they were clever." he begins, the bite of sarcasm slightly in his voice that sounds like Riku's again before remodulating into the ever shifting melange. " They would not choose and uplift aspirants as in the old traditions. In the traditions that led to the fate that youve seen. They feared intervention and betrayal. They feared darkness and thus chopped their arms away to spite their bleeding fingers. So they cast a wide and subtle net that would niggle and fish for those who were strong and stalwart. Those who were wise and compassionate. Those who were champions -- and eventually, to send dreams and visions to those chosen few. Chaos and darkness cannot intervene if they do not know whom to shatter." The seeker chuckles quietly. "Suffice it to say.. their methods were inevitably flawed. So I come bearing not a smile and strings for you to dance to, but knowledge and sincerity. I do not require heroes, Sir Vespar. I do not slap a label on you in secret that I expect you to live up to." he extends a hand, offering to pull Angantyr across the borders of ruin into the sunlight and life of the perfectly preserved memory around him. "I seek only aid, no matter the source it comes from." |
| Riku | Angantyr listens...the Sorcerers again, this man has little love for them... Then again, he cant blame him, if what he says it true. Angantyr listens, but there was a lot here... So Darkness seeks people too...but why? Why does Chaos want people...is it because of that moon? He taps his fingers against his armor, the destruction he sits in...a place hes always been. Did it have to be though? He was starting to think there might be a better way, a different way. Avira and Maira...they had faith in him that he could. So this man, this man who has no reason to trust him asks him for aid. He could rebuff him...but.. The thought of a home to protect again... He takes the mans arm, willingly taking it to be helped out of the darkness and destruction. Well, then youll have it. Just dont cry to me when its not sunshine and rainbows. |
| Riku | There is a bark of bemused laughter. "I will keep that in mind." The seeker says wryly, gripping Angantyr's arm and pulling him across the circle of ruin into the surroundings. There is a feeling of pressure, of passing some invisible barrier. And the people stop and look, and there is a moment of recognition as if he only now became truly real to them. Real and fully present to this preserved memory. "Very well. When you are ready... seek me.. here." There is a picture, an image, a flash of rolling green hills and a white expanse of castle in the middle of that green. Castle Oblivion to those who know it's name. A forgotten place of memory to those who do not. "And we shall begin.." The Clock hands move to 'XII'. There are twelve strikes of a titanic gong and with every strike the world contracts a little. Not vanishing into darkness or being consumed, but rather being folded away like a treasured keepsake. Folded and folded until peaceful dark shore and village meet and intertwine before finally falling away to the stained glass cylinder in which this all started. The light dims, as if passing swiftly from noontime sunshine towards sleepy dusk and into evening as the light quality fades to nothing.. and as it does, the hooded figure and the stained glass finally vanish. Let the pieces fall where they lay. Destiny or distortion. Dream or prophecy or nightmare. All things in their places, and at their own times. And with the final rays of light dying away.. the dream ends. In hand is still the smooth white gold circle, about the size of a hand, like something broken away from a pauldron or very close to it. A keepsake of a strange dream. |
| Riku | Angantyr smirks, and is drawn into the light. He remembers this place...this time... The place is not as familiar, but he knows OF it...he has seen the place from a distance, but never went to it. Should he ever realize just how the memories he saw today, and that place were, hed laugh long and loud...but today, he just gets to be confused. This place? Cas- And then the world folds back up. Memories being put back where they belongs...despite the pain and sorrow, the possibility for renewal and restoration came. Things started to return, before he was on the stained glass again...but what... Then things turn back to normal, waking up in a familiar place. In his hand...the smooth white gold circle is left in his hand. He blinks, confused, looking at the item. ...Okay, seriously, what did I eat to get this kind of dream.. he muses, shaking his head. Castle Oblivion.. he mutters, What is this all about..? |
| Riku | Something shifts. The ancient void blade cracks apart into ruined scrap as it leaves Angantyr's hand. Time slows then freezes like the tower was caught in the midst of a flashfreeze. The heartless, already clambering for this spire and surrounding him from all directions stare from their locked positions with empty yellow eyes. And Angantyr, holding the guardian blade in the midst of the stream of energy.. is known. Whatever presence lives within the blade or connects this guardian to it's charge turns it's attention on Angantyr. It is fierce and immediate, a blazing and burning presence that recognizes him. In this second, in this flash of a moment it follows the infinite web of connections to his personal thread, illuminating his connection with the rest of the universe-- and the rest of time, in that same instant. It races down the length of his life, reading and reading and reading, every memory. Every sensation. Every thought and every action. Every connection to others which radiate out like the threads of a tapestry. Every feeling that he's ever had seems to try and play itself all at once. Rage and Joy. Sorrow and Grief and Bitterness. They wage war to be heard, a single moment of calamity, his entire life played over in a second, everything crashing together into a single terrible note of sound. It replays those final thoughts. That final determination to protect the moon overhead and to master the blade. And it is good enough. The scouring presence is then put in perspective as a small, inconsequential tendril of energy as the entire flow courses along the connections and flows from the sword to the very core of Angantyr's being and then back again, pulling everything that he offered along with it as the energy spiral pulled in.. started to contract slowly, then faster as the heartless began to sluggishly move again, clawed hands and tendrils swimming through the thickened air as the energy contracts half its side, then a quarter, then a single bisecting beam that extends upwards, broken only as it falls on Angantyr from that great height. And the explosion happens without sound and the light wipes away vision but it can still be felt. That exploding energy, light and darkness both exploding outwards from the blade --- taking more and more of Angantyr with it and always pulling for more. Repairing something unseen as the space becomes more and more crowded by the heartless who climb up the sides of some invisible barrier that rises higher and higher with every second. The blade lets him go. Almost reluctantly it lets him go as what it drains from him, what it gives in return to strengthen him is no longer enough to keep it stable. The cracks return and multiply quickly, and there is a shove. A physical and mental shove as if something was pushing him from the way as the barrier is completed.. and the sword /EXPLODES/ in ragged shards of light and darkness. The flooded ruins return with the swiftness of someone falling out of bed, with a sensation of falling and a single bright fragment of twisted white gold metal laying near his hand in the puddle. The orb of light is gone as the first one, and the clock with it's luminous violet flames reads 'VIII' |