the_next_chapters_of_synoin sabbie .:bows:. your turn... 011230 ... sabbie [to those who have come late to the tale of synion, the_court_of_the_crimson_king has her first chapters] 011230 ... sabbie synoin came to a beheaded body, lying in the corridor. she squatted down next to it as a word she could not pronounce drifted down past her shoulders to attach itself to her wing. reitoei it said. synoin touched the body reverantly. 'you will not be forgotten' she whispered, last rites for an unknown factor. 011230 ... farmfish under the delta city skies synoin inadvertantly wiped her pale white hands on her stripey pants, although she felt like a cute little dead girl, she realized reitoi's ghastly, headless body was unmitigated evidence that she was very much alive. big eyes, thin lips, and dreads yes, but dead? not quite yet. she had to find out why the queen wanted her so, first. she looked over at the tattoo on her right arm, a heart with a circle around it and a line running across. "didn't feel a thing," she said. continuing to feel a boost in her big silver boots she finished paying her respects, rubbed her fingers at the base of her neck, and stepped forward amongst the desolation and crumpled mass of rubble that used to be the court of king crimson. a flash of silver and white caught her eye, so she gave in to the urge her young wings presented her and she actually flew the short distance, even though it was painful and surprisingly difficult. it was the body of queen iceberg crushed beyond recognition laying under the twisted mass of the roof that once kept the weather from ruining her self interest. she kicked at the remains with a mixture of digust and anxious curiousity, half expecting the corpse to suddenly spring on her. she found the turquiose wand and quickly stuffed it into her back pocket. "never know when this sprightly little widget will come in hand," she said, and she noticed a gilded box, barely damaged, sticking out from the shards of broken glass and birdwings that once served purposefully as the throne. she bent down, carefully dug it out, wiped off the dust, and slowly opened it. 011230 ... Grievance synoin pulled at the noir box, but it's impulses refused her, though strangely the whistle of brokenbea appeared in ghastly light, suprising her so that her aureole turned a hissing confusion of colors all at once. she grasped the whistle, and though the pain in her wings were still apparent, she thanked the whistle with gratitude. the whistle shone bright exposing everything's natural palor, and in doing so letters appeared on the noir box. ID Zip code(s): 83541 Lenore, WV Zip code(s): 25676 mysteries pulsated from her aureole and her returned tiara of courage both at once, shrowding the whole court in such foreshadowing that she could almost guess the end of the story, as even unrelated foreshadowing was an able king. Then, *she sighed*, and opened her no-space and placed the box inside as delicately as yesterday's memories. inside she also placed the wand of the dead iceberg queen and the whistle of brokenbea. white noise again filled the air, paining her wings, and escaping tears. why so much? She had almost forgotten why she had come here, so much had she changed in one night. Travel was always so dilegent about the past. she cried, and her confidance boots turned black, and her pants as well. her chest plate swelled and her tiara came into her hand, she gasped as the iceberg queen's wand flashed from no-space and merged with her tiara in her hand, forging a sword and it glowed with her aureole, empathsizing with it's ambiance, and it spoke latin to her, telling of this ambiance, "PATH". Remembering her latin, she thought, "suffering, why?". she glanced down and saw herself in full armor, even her wings were netted with a mail, but instead of weighting her down, they gave her strength. magic sparks mixed with the white noise about her, and reflected off of her obsidian aromor, now again changing color and ambiance with emotions, this time bewilderment with beauty, and the blood on the floor of the crimson king shone with the rainbow of colors that grew from her, and she displayed. She thought of all the things lasting, and how the layers effected each other, how there was always another one beneath the one you looked at. and she decided to be careful, and adaptable. as adaptable she would have to be, an adept, if she was to control the sword that fed on her own state of being, a weapon dangerous enough that it could destroy it's user if not propiated. As the whispers of destiney fluttered and mingling with the channeling of energy's in the fallen hall of the crimson king, life laughed eternally, and synoin's smile read rapture. 011230 ... reitoei a ghostly quivering shape appears near the maroon tapestries. the figure gestures towards the tapestry. pulling it back reveals a golden key and a strange inscription: 'it is not the flag that moves'. the figure fades to the 7th circle of hell with an anguished scream 011230 ... farmfish looking up curiously synoin still smiling rapturously to herself did not fully see this phantom slinking down, although she did hear the desperate scream. her aureole flashed emergency fire-red in stacatto beat and a feeling of destined oppurtunity seized her through all the intricate layers of who she was becoming. as the anguished shriek faded and the ghostly appiration escaped recognition, a tinkling like a melted icicle diving to concrete, seized synion's attention which was a difficult endeavour for many channels of energy both light and dark vied for her consideration. it was the golden key, scintillating, sunlight on the pond of her childhood home, diamonds on the ocean of her last unrequited love. she picked it out of the dust and destruction and rubbed it clean. with her knowledge of six languages, including absolute fluency in latin, synoin had little problem translating the ancient text of reitoeian. "it is not the flag that moves." synoin's aureole which had calmed to lavendar after the scream abated, now glowed a sage green. she was fascinated with this enigma. and it was here she remembered the box sequesterd in her no-space, the noir, gilded container that eluded her. there it sat safely with the whistle of bockenbea. she respectfully set her sword down amongst the rubble and removed the box. again she read the inscription concerning zip codes and an american address in lenore, west virginia. her aureole changed from sage to basil for curiousity carries the fragrance of our fondest summer memories. noticing a keyhole, she immediately attempted to turn the chamber and unlock it. aureole blinking white, white, white with anticipation. it worked. the lid sprung open. 011231 ... unhinged and everything came suddenly flooding back; before she had wings, before her tiara had melted, before her tiara was even placed upon her dreaded head...even the times when she had long flowing hair that trailed behind her when she ran through the meadows of her...her.... and the tears streamed down synoin's face. before they had placed the weight of the prophecy on her shoulders and crowned her with her blinking tiara to defend the destiny of a kingdom, the destiny of her world. when she was young, unwinged, dreaming. her wings trembled in time to her bleating sobs. synoin new she was no longer a child, no longer free to run in pretty meadows without care or tiaras or wings. but her newly armored self tucked all her teary memories into the young part of her heart. there would be children who needed the same thing she had..to run free from the things that had made the iceberg queen so bitter. she pulled the turquoise wand out of her pocket and broke it. she would win without those things. the green sparks started to flame from the sharded ends of the wand and her wings ached with the power that had made them. but slowly, the sparks died out and the lid to the box of her memory slowly closed and dissolved into ash. suddenly, all her testing of flight swept her off her feet, far away from the dark ash of corrupted innocence to the clouds of duty. 011231 ... Grievance the mail on her wings hit each other while she flew, producing a melancholy, yet content harmonic bell tone. she tore through the air, she had intended to go somewhere, to her duty. But she then realized she didn't know where that was, or why it was, and her emotions tore more deeply than she cut through the air. she saw a mountain up ahead, though it was dark, the moon was gibous and illuminated the sparkling hills out of the reach of the iceberg queens bitterness. she swept down on top of a gigantic tree in a flurry of wings and melancholy bell tones. "this will be my sanctuary, to find the truth behind all of this. a cocoon with reaching tendrils to the world beyond as well." this would be where she would stand against, or around, or embrace pre-destiney. she had her own choices didn't she? synoin was not a puppet caught in a synew web of control? her sword forged of tiara and the iceberg queen's wand filled her haven with all the colors of heaven as she meditated from here. day dawned. she awoke, and felt her wings strength, and with a smile she lifted herself out of the tree, and looked on the lands and the people, she observed from above where their critisisms couldn't reach her, and she noticed a million things. but always was the reasurance of the weight of air beneath her wings, giving her lift, and life. farmers and villagers looked up high as the bell tones waved passed them, and they saw gleaming armor changing colors, and synoin saw below green and blue, and above, white and blue, and golds mixed in between. a whole world, that always needed something, change. change was survival. exausted from many flight borne revelations, she went back to her sanctuary, and as she landed the leaves of the tree almost seemed to vibrate with the sounds of her ambiance, and synoin slept again, to absorb the faces of everything she had done that day. tomorrow, she would try to discover what was behind those faces, in those souls, and in her own. the necessity of her life flowed out and as she sighed her last before sleep, colors etched carvings in the tree supporting her... 011231 ... farmfish celebrating the new year the quiet cry that came before she could hold it back still lingered just beneath her eyelids, under the surface of a heart breaking, so close to dissolving. synoin flew above the destruction, slowly surveying the damage. stopping momentarily to rest on a low lying cloud, dangling her feet, her aureole glowing peach, the color of duty. only one thing was visible admist the rubble from this lofty height, and it was the flag of the court of king crimson. though a stiff breeze was blowing out of the pursed lips of the north wind, the flag did not move. this was the gods speaking to her and she knew it as strong as her love of childhood. if the wind could not move the flag, it would move her. so she dropped from the cloud like a stone, entered the upstart draft and soared heavenward until below her was only geometry. her wings, once painful in their birthpangs were now mature. she was no longer the child, no longer lenore, but someone she had arrived at, altogether new. she listened, she watched, she carried the question with her still. what is the prophecy? and as she mused over it, she knew there was only one place to go: west virginia. 011231 ... Grievance the noir box was now grey, ashen, and she could not remember the numbers strewn after each other. she headed to west virginia. she didn't know where that was, in her whole life there was always just those she knew, and the black taint of the iceberg queen lying a shrowd over there life. There was always only white and black, but now, like her memories from the noir box, everything was turning grey, and nothing seemed to matter anymore besides her own instincts of what was right. the tao yin-yang circle was turning a pale comparison of itself, a grey. "worlds do collide, and blur into each other," she knew. "i've never heard of west virginia, and only recently of lenore, but if it is not here, then it must be somewhere out there." She looked down as her world receded more and more into smaller and smaller geometry. Then she saw it, a crossing, a bluring. only, it wasn't grey as suspected, but a kolidascope of shifting colors. patterns within patterns of shifting patterns. the wind carried her through, and her heart lightned so that her aureole turned a blinding white. and amongst that insanity was a figure standing. the light receded and the figure looked human, though still hid by illusions of light, synoin asked,"is this west virginia?" The figure shifted, and, it sounded like laughter. then spoke, "I am from a place known as west virginia. my race of people think of themselves as starting in the east, and gradually moved towards the west. the west is the ending place, the destination. West Virginia is a symbol of your destination my child. every ending has a new begining, the question is who will go along to continue to influence this chang.e." The figure hidden by illusions of light shifted again, this time sounding like the blaze of a thousand souls brightness. the figure outstretched a hand, and in it was... something... synoin looked towards the figure as it once again spoke, her aureole a confusing bluster of colors that can't be seen, only felt. "In my world, you are a creation, but that doesn't mean that we created you, perhaps we just worked a Knowing on you, unknowingly. You are a source of unknown things that can be found." the figure gestured towards the object, as synoin curiosity wrapped about her to grasp it... 011231 ... sabbie synoin took what was offered curiously, not noticing that the figure slowly dissolved like fog before the sun. synoin turned the object over in her hands. it was a small picture frame spun from coloured sugar. synoin lifted it to her eye and the scene unfolding between it's sweet walls expanded to ungulf synoin herself. synoin was somehow now tied to a rock, herself and yet not herself, more an observer, a guest in another's body, a smaller, more childlike body. to knights stood before her, swords at the waiting. synoin frowned. she had read of knights and adventures in her childhood, stolen books smuggled under pillows to be read in the light of filched candles and munching fruit pies pinched from a kindly cook who turned a blind eye to a lonely, neglected daughter... surely the knights should stand at the ready? synoin peered closly at them. no, they were standing at the waiting, nervously gripping their swords, ajusting their sheilds again and again. synoin shook her head, feeling pity but no danger. there was a great RAOWWLLLLLLLing from the trees and one of the knights knees buckled and he sat on the ground, rather ubruptly. he gathered himself and stood, but not before synoin had realised what was going on. these two were not yet fully knights. although she had never met them before, she knew that one was apprentice knight ternique, she recognised him from the feather in his helmet, and the other was his squire, niclettem. these two not.knights were the only thing between her and ... the RAWWWOOOLLLL came again so loud it blocked out thought, and with it came much crashing of trees. the not.knights shifted nervously as the closest trees fell with much indignate crashing (since there was no one else in the forest and synoin's party outside that self same forrest, what does that say about the crazy tree.falling.in.the.forrest thing? synoin shook her head, impatient with such thoughts) the dragon emerging was not as big as one might expect, mottled dull greens and browns. synoin stood, not afriad for no reason that she could understand and the not.knights stood, terrified. the dragon, silent now it had exited the forrest (and if a dragon rawls in a forrest... thought synoin) and it charged. the not.knights met it with a spectacular clang and went to work. hack slash, hack slash, shelid thus, feet placed so. synoin watched sadly. she could see they were way out of their depth. the inevitable happened and the dragon won. tears slid down synoin cheeks as the knights, now mortally wounded crashed to the ground. she and the dragon watched curiously as ternique stretched out his now ungauntled hand to niclettem, who, with the very last breath in his body, reached out his arm to touch his friend. as the fingers met, a sound like the finding of the kitchen keys inside the cupboard rang out and the two knights dissovled. where they had lain two steel grey cats now were, one with a feather like marking on her head. one cat bolted into the forrest, the other sat to wash her belly. in an instant, the dragon snapped up the cat and click, clock clomp it was gone down the throat to make friends with the dragon's breakfast. the dragon, unhurt in any way synoin could fathem, ambled over to her rock. a long tounge, thicker than any synoin had ever imagined, ran over synoin's face more like a friendly dog than a scouting party for the stomach. synoin gasped. although the dragon appeared friendly, still its breath stank like dying stars and flattened cats. (but then what do you expect from a species that uses rats as toothpaste? thought synoin wryly) the dragon came closer again and synoin could see all its teeth, the nastiest things she thought she had ever seen. (who would have thought that teeth themselves can grin like villians? she wondered) as the mouth opened wide, wide, wider than she thought possible and she could see the discolourations on the roof of the mouth, synoin shut her eyes and felt something shatter in her hands. she opened one eye causiously, to discover herself standing in a small veggie garden behind a small house in the sun. synoin opened her hand to see small fragments of the sugar frame sticking to her sweaty palm. she tasted one, experementally. mmmmm... they were good. she wandered down the rows of broccilli as she thought about what she had just... seen? been a part of? witnessed? dreamed? 020101 ... sabbie synoin_arises 020104 what's it to you? who go blather from