Harmonious_Echos

*Harmony reads, yawns, and ignores Snypiuer as she trails out of the room, long blonde hair flowing behind. Muse waves & winks impudently, and tears after Harmony screeching "Black Pen Sucks! Black Pen Sucks!" and laughing raucusly...

ACK!! http://www.themightypen.net/public/style_emoticons/default/ohmy.gif "Ummmmm. . . that WAS a critique of the poem" Lol actually I think it deserves that. I've written so much better!

Thanks, weenie...lol...but really it's OK, I just wanted a critique on the poem!

House Fire funeral of a thousand things memories on a pyre; countless priceless treasured stuff vanished in an hour. notebooks, songbooks, children's stories, clothing, worn, and clothing, new dishes from another era paintings from a year or two; stacks of pictures, things in limbo sacred scraps of remembered time; all erased in a moment's passing, by the ever-ruthless flames. now the dust returns to dust, only ash remains, and the people stand and weep at life's quick cruelty.

Longitudes of Avinarr To all who are reading my pennings, please to recognise: my name is Bet-Maie Liis Carronous of Avinarr, I am a Caretaker of Histories. according to the records of my birth, I was born illegitimately to uncaring parents and placed in an orphanage in the year of 3266, and spent the majority of my young life in the care of the Librarie Nursuries. I studied under the current Master of Histories, Falrel Haatous, from the year 3257 to the year 3289, during my Lord Jeoffrey Aine the 2nd's reign. I was promoted into the ranks of Librarian at the age of 14, and was recommended to the ranks of Caretakers at the age of 19. During this time I learned such things as husbandry and ettiquate, scribing and Historical repairs, Artisic representation, and basic spellworking. I was then set at the task which is the duty of all the Caretakers: to serve the King in recording the history of this world--the countries of Avinarr, and also its sister countries to the south and northeast, Weinarr and Falinarr. The outer islands are not considered worth mentioning in most accounts, and if other continents exist on this world, we know it not. My Lord Jeoffrey the 2nd began his benevolent reign in Avinarr at the tender age of 30 years, but such was his wisdom--and the wisdom of his cabinet of advisors--that he held the throne with his stern but gentle hand until the year 3289, when he was 94 years old. Then my Lord Jeoffrey the 2nd fell ill, of a strange withering sickness, and wisely passed the responsibilities of the kindom on to the Cabinet, and, less wisely, to Lord Jeoffrey the 3rd, his firstborn son and heir. On the day of his death, in the month of Red Wheat, the year of 3289, the entire kingdom took to the streets to mourn his passing. The people of Avinarr, and also many in Falinarr and Weinarr, created their own way of remembering the Gentle King, by staying home from work, or, if they needed to go about, walking always with eyes lowered to the earth (in which he had been laid) and never speaking aloud. We called it, the Birthday of Sadness. Upon the death of our King, rule of the kingdom was passed on, as was the custom, to the Heir. Our Heir, however, was Jeoffrey the third, known to the peasent folk and common peoples as Jeoffrey the Blunt--or Jeoffrey the Turd, to those who did not care if they had a price on thier heads and arrows aimed at their backs. I, being 22 and in the service of the king for many years, had grown up attending to and playing with Prince Jeoffrey and his younger brother and sister, Gregort and Mibriel, who were twins. I became a close personal advisor and teacher to the twins, and sat in cabinet with the Nine advisors during the reign of Jeoffrey the second; I knew everything there was to know about the Royal family, thir customs, traditions and personality quirks. I could not hanve been closer had I been a princess myself. But I was never permitted to act as a part of the royal family; I was only a poor orphan, well taught by the rods of the royal Librarians, but living as I was, only by the grace of the King. I was never allowed to forget this. If you were to trust the words of a poor Librarian scholar, I would tell you that as far as the royal children went, either Prince Gregort or Princess Mibriel would have been far more suited to rule than Crown-Prince Jeoffrey; but, you should not trust me. And now, I will tell you why...

There is a child in me, as well...And, in my case, full of mischeif and prone to causing bizarre wanderings of the mind and soul! I love the visuals, though, especially the celestial references... Harmony & Muse

very nice imagery....just a suggestion, would the word "await" work better instead of the word 'wait' for the beginning line of the last verse? anyway it seems like it would help the flow a bit.

buxom...

Hysterical....

Fear is intensity, alert focus on the unknown; Confidence is pride in one's self, and a relaxation of one's ultimately necessary guard...Fear is Yin, Confidence is Yan. (And an equally balanced measure of BOTH are necessary, in order to control the input of nine voices of Chaos!)

Just pointing out that I totally love the Samurai and the Ninja series. Nice work!

*disrupts more* MUAAHAHAHAHAHAHAA!! *leaves, embarrased*

I continue to be amazed at your writing skills...more, more! *thumps hand on desk*

I like, altho I concurr that is it confusing...but then I'm pretty confusing myself. Confusing can be good, confusing makes me think. So, I like.

Lady Nurandor Laelri sighed as she leaned back on the edge of the fine Roan-made desk, thinking of Sara, her third-maid. The touch of unfamiliar compassion jarred her calm thoughts, and a flash of anger marred her pale, delicate face. She hated to feel sorry for thing, especially the Katel. Why would a species so given to intelligence and magical sensitivity become willing slaves? It didn’t make sense. Even dumb animals needed a trainer to learn how to obey, and these little people obeyed all, anything, everything without question! A race who could do, could be so much more…it thoroughly irritated her, to have slaves who had the ability to be more proficient at the Arts than she, even if they never used them. It made her feel that she stood on shaky ground. It was hard, knowing as she did what everyone really thought of her. The Laelri Family's mind-sense ran strong in her blood, and any emotion connected to her in thier thoughts was an emotion (and a thought) that she could read. She knew more about her slaves’ thoughts of her than they would ever know—and it helped her keep them in their places. Still, it was often hard to keep herself from striking them, for the slaves let their thoughts of her flash freely, and their thoughts were not as calmly submissive as their outward appearances! Still, she did not want them to guess her secret—they were, after all, intelligent little beasts, and would wonder if she punished them for the unspoken—so she tried to treat them with kindness. She hoped that in time, their thoughts of her would be more tolerable to her inner ear. Tonight she wished more strongly than ever that she could hear more from them, more than just the thoughts they had about her. If only she could read all of their minds, perhaps then she would know why so many of them were disturbingly restless of late! Well, the time to think on that was later. At the moment, she had more important matters to attend to. She glanced down at her desk; there lay the parchment notice from the capitol. News of Duke Lex’s victory at Tesian’Fara had arrived with startling quickness; she would have to send Flutterbys with the necessary orders to her agents in the third and fourth districts of the city—not to mention arranging another shipment of her Katel sword-fodder, to send to that colossal idiot, Duke Lexian himself. She shook her head at the memory of the tall, strange young man with the green-tint hair and skin. As if the King would ever allow a Verrutt, a mixed-blood, to enter the High Court! The very thought made her grimace. True Ald’hi stayed within the strict familial blood and status lines, as set out by the Blood Law; no mixing between the Ruling families was allowed, and only Al’dhi with pure familial lines were allowed to enter in the inner courts of the High King. Those who obeyed the Blood Law always had the pure metallic coloration, and were ranked by the values of the metals themselves. Gold, Silver, Platinum, Bronze, Steel, Copper, or Iron. The Al’dhi colorations, their blood, their genetic heritage was their status. Al’dhi with pink, brown, blue-tint or green-tint hair and skin were considered unnatural--an unhappy mutation caused by the mixing of certain familial lines, and regarded from birth as those of the lowest caste, even if they were born to the High Queen-Mate herself. Verrutt were bastards, mistakes sprung from the passions of a pure-blooded aristocrat and some lower-caste lover. They were part of the Low Al’dhi, banished to live in the general population of Katel and other low-caste slaves. They did not belong in the presence of the rulers of Porain! Laelri sighed. Her Katel First-Maid, Marcella, slipped quietly in with a tray of fresh linens, closely followed by her assistants. Laelri watched without interest as they silently made her bed, replaced her towels and approached her. Their thoughts floated between them, muted murmers back and forth. Laelri closed her eyes, stretched her mind out to touch thiers, gently, as only one of Laelri Blood could. “Is she falling asleep?” “Marcella, what’s she doing? Is she writing the Capitol?” “Oh, I wish she’d tell us what‘s going on.” “Child, I don’t know what the Lady does. She is my Honor. We are Katel. That is the way things are.” Laelri shook her head, opening her eyes. Try as she might, she could only read the thoughts they had about her. All the rest were silent to her, lost in a fog; not open, free for the taking, as they were with the Al'dhi. She opened her eyes, and allowed herself a scowl, aimed at a large stack of parchment standing ready for her messengers’ carry-capsules. Flutterbys carried their messages only to the recipient’s place of residence, not to the person in particular, so she could not be entirely certain the messages would not be read by enemy spies. It annoyed her to have to rely on such an untenable message service—but her agents in the capital were valuable enough to risk even the danger of exposure in order to warn them. There were very few high-born Al’dhi, much less Katel, who would inform to her of the goings-on in Aunas Keep. It was even difficult to keep reliable informants in the rest of the capitol. Lady Laelri treated the few she had with as much honor as she could stomach to give a spy. She would, and did, pay much for the privilege to ‘see’ what the King did outside of the public eye. Reaching for the stack, she rose from her desk and headed out the door towards the aviary. Her letters to the spies for the other keeps could wait—her networks in the lesser keeps were well established and extensive. And, for the most part, expendable. All they had to do was keep her informed on the latest plotting in their courts, and the plots were simple enough, with the exception of Lord Oerl--she had been completely unable to penetrate the Iron Courts. She shook her head, folding a letter into its correct capsule. Why is it so hard to reach him? Iron-bloods. Always so hard-headed…they’re even harder to read than Katel... The other ruling families were nit-picking cowards. Constantly nipping at the outer fringes of her power in order to annoy—and nothing else. They knew nothing they did could shake the Laelri Court. The Silver-Bloods had had thier place in court as second to the High King for three hundred Turns. They had their own places, their own purposes; each knew that they could not get along without the others. Or, at least, they had...No Steel-blood had ever competed for a Copper’s throne, and no Bronze had ever threatened a Silver--much less a Gold, since the establishment of Ald‘hi Empire. They all had their places, and all were equal in their own right, united under the Aunae High Court. Until the last few Turns... In the last twenty Turns the Platinum family line, the Gilund, had grown weak and poor, decadent and philandering. The current Head of the Iron Line, Lord Oerl Ferrastis, had surprised them all, attacking the Gilund Court in the dead of night, and slaughtering every male of the Platinum line, before claiming it for his own. His was the statement which had shook the High Court, a proclamation of his Line’s strength, his impatience with the status of his familial line, and his intention to claim the throne of Tesian’Fara itself. His attempts to breed his blood into the Platinum Line resulted in the strangely-colored Duke Lexian--who was one of many ‘unsuitable’ babes thrown out to the Verrutt, before one of the hundreds of forced unions produced a suitable ‘heir’-- a girl-child born with pure Iron coloration, and the blood-gifts of both races; the Unbending Eye of the Iron line, and the Chill Touch of the Platinum. She would be able to force obedience with a glance, and cause sickness or even death from her icy touch. Lady Laelri shuddered. Verrut were common enough, but to forcibly, intentionally try to create a mutation, and then to claim the child, creating a new bloodline…It went beyond belief! Farrastis meant to force the Aunas High-prince to take this mutated monstrosity as his Queen-mate. It would raise the status of the Iron clan to that of the Aunas themselves. It would also break the Blood Law forever, blending three bloodlines together and placing a Verrutt on the throne, which was unheard of. Nurandor smiled to herself, glancing down at the large, clear gemstone ring on her right hand. It wasn’t the first time a mixed-blood sat in the High throne, though only one person remained who knew of it. King Velmenth was indeed her cousin by blood, and the leverage this secret had given her in Tesian’Fara had enabled her tenuous sources of information in the High Court. She glanced at the sun on her way down the stair from the Aviary, stopping on her way to ring the half-day bell. It was late to send the Katel for their midday meal, almost halfway through the afternoon, but today she had wanted them to keep working. It gave her the privacy she needed, to send her Flutterbies. She lifted the latch to her study and paused, her eyes wandering as she caught the scraps of thoughts from Katel passing her door; “she’s sending us late. Wonder why?” “It’s about time she rang, I’m starving…”“She’s so thin, probably doesn’t eat a thing…no wonder she forgets we need to!” “I think she just received a flutter from the Front…I wonder if she’s heard anything from my brother?” The scrap about the Front snapped her back to reality. She had to concentrate on the present, not the past. The Front. For Lord Ferra’s arrogance, the High King had stripped him of his status, casting his bloodline out of the Blood Records, as one might a Verrutt. But Lord Ferra was strong; he had proclaimed war on the High Court, and sent but one message to the High King, an offer of reconciliation which would be carried out only after his daughter, Faliet, was wed to the High Prince, and they produced an accepted Heir. If he won the war, that might actually happen--and if the Blood Law was broken like that, all of the courts would fall. The claim of all the ruling families was at stake. Lady Laelri had ruled over Laelri Keep for fourty years--she had no intention of allowing a Verrut rule of her! Especially when she had her own ideas for the throne… Among the lower pure-caste members of the Aunae line, a few had Mate-Bonded in secret with Laelri. Their golden-skinned children were Blended dominantly towards the Aunae line, their blood rejecting any trace of the Laelri traits and colorations. All were accepted as lesser-caste Aunae, much to the Lady Laelri’s delight. This kind of Blending was acceptable, even condoned, in Tesian’Fara‘s outer courts--as long as the children displayed only one bloodline, they were adopted into that line. But even if they showed only one bloodline, no-one would dream of trying to bring a mixed child into the High court. That was forbidden. Lady Laelri smiled. Yes, it was best that not even the Katel know of her messeges. The last thing she wanted was for a Flutterby to be intercepted…She didn’t finish the thought. If even one of the Flutterbys gave her away, she’d lose a great deal more than her position in battle.

Chapter one: Sara Katel “Sara KATEL! You come here this instant!!” The corridor rang with Lady Laelri’s call as Sara picked up her skirts and ran. Sara knew that if she didn’t do exactly as her mistress, Lady Nurandar Laelri, wished, she could lose her position—and that meant losing her family’s only honor. That was a disaster she could not risk, even now… She entered the grand study in a rush, hair flying, hastily smoothing the wrinkles from her apron. She stopped in the center of the room and curtsied deeply, frozen in submission until the Lady sighed a release. “Yes, my Lady…?” The Lady Lealri was perched precociously on the corner of her high wooden desk—a position which did both the somber desk and the bone-thin Lady a disservice. The Lady’s cold, pale face turned, her ice-blue eyes flashing a contempt which her voice did not show. The voice which spoke was soft, melodious, and almost kind, even though her words were sharp. “Now, then—Stop cowering like an imbecile! My ladies’ maids must walk with grace! Come, look up. I understand that even a…er, person of your sort has feelings. I have heard that you have a relative at the battle-front. I release you from your afternoon duties, for today only…Now you may go. Gently!” Sara made as if to rush out, and earned another reprimand. “I do not wish to disgrace myself before my household by allowing one of my own ladies’ maids to race about the castle like a hunted deer!!” Sara curtsied and was out the door before the Lady had finished her sentence, but slower this time—making sure to tuck her skirts back into their usual tidy shape. Her heart raced ahead of her feet as she made her way to the servant’s quarters of Castle Laelri. Once she reached the lady’s maidservants’ rooms, Sara gathered up her copper coins, hoping to pay the gardener for a lift. She was going to see her Ma, and she didn’t care how much trouble it caused her. Her Farsense was telling her that her father was terribly hurt, possibly even dying. The Herald had said that the third gate at the capitol, Tesian’Fara, had fallen—but though they had won the gate, they had lost the battle. Sara knew that Pa was dying out there, he must be, somewhere on that awful marsh—the pain of her Farsense was too intense, and when she reached out to her father, she received only a blurred darkness. Ma had to know something had happened to Pa, too. Perhaps she would know even more than Sara did… Several hours later, Sara’s mind was filled with confusion as she drew herself up, gathering her breath outside her parents’ cottage. She had not been successful in bribing the gardener, and had had to walk more than half the fifteen Lamp-Lengths to her mother's cabin. The sun was setting by the time she arrived. She heard her mother singing softly over the baby’s sleepy wails. She shook her head at the sound and entered, closing the door gently. Sara sternly told herself to be calm—but at the sight of her mother sitting there so serenely, she could not control herself any longer. “MA! Pa’s hurt! I can feel him out there, somebody’s hurting him! I feel him dying…Oh, Ma, we have to do something!!” Ma Kirett turned her head in her gentle way, tucking an errant strand of hair aside. “Hush, child! You’ll wake your sister!” Sara closed her mouth, but her eyes burned hot with unshed tears. She lashed her anger into her mother’s mind to spare the baby’s ears. “Ma, you’re so quiet. Don’t you even feel him? How can you be so cold?” “Now then, stop right there, dear one. I can feel him too. But what would you suggest we do? We cannot project our bodies to him, as we do our minds; all we can do is support what we can feel of him, and hope it will be enough.” Sara just couldn’t stand it. That awful Lady Laelri, to give her this ‘honorable job’ and then send her Pa away to pay for it! Try as she might, a rebellious scrap of thought broke free. Laelri should be paying me, for having me wait on her all the time! Why do we have to pay to work, anyway? Ma’s eyes widened, and she frowned as Sara snatched back the thought. "Sara! Even here at the cottage, it is dangerous to think of such things." And Sara already knew why they paid; it was the Great Peace-Pact, the agreement of all the Katel to be the slaves of the Al'dhi, in exchange for thier honor--and a place to live, an allowance of land and goods on Al'dhi lands. They must die, or pay and pay again, until a prophesied 'Golden One' would break the Pact's magical seal. Then all Katel would be free to rise up and refuse the Al'dhi High King their homage, and restart the ancient war beteen their races. Sara sniffled, made an extreme effort, clenched her fists, blinked, and stopped crying. The cottage wavered back into focus, and she spoke aloud—quietly this time. “Ma, Laelri let me off of work this afternoon. May I stay here tonight? I’ll go up to the castle early tomorrow, and be there when she calls…” “Of course you may, dear—and it is Lady Laelri. Do not forget, she is our Honor! I’ll wake you early tomorrow so you won’t be late. Would you mind sleeping under the table? The fire is closer there, and it will keep you warm. Besides which, I’m afraid your old nook is quite occupied.” Ma gave a smile and nod at the deep wicker cradle, which looked huge in the one-room cottage. As she did so, the still-mewling baby gave a huge sneeze, and began to cry again. Ma sighed and picked her up. “Sara, your old mattress bag is next to the butter-churn. You will have to refill it—there’s fresh hay in the mow. Will you do me a favor and feed the goats while you’re out? I must get your sister back to sleep.” Ma settled herself comfortably on a three-legged stool by the hearth, the now-screaming baby tucked into the crook of one arm. Sara’s feet ached horribly from the long walk, but at least she was home. She slung the goat’s feed-sack and her mattress-sack over her shoulder with a tired smile. The sun’s last rays poured themselves over the pasture grass and gilded it with purple and gold as she poured the feed into the goats’ trough. She stood for a moment, enjoying the sweet scent of hay and grass, and the warmth of the sun on her face. The baby had hushed again, and over the bleating of the animals the words of her mother’s cradle-song came soft and sweet on the evening breeze— Candle-light Bringing with it shadows dark and dim… Memories Of a time when we were free… Silent now For our troubles only time can right… Candle-light Bring us now a way to live…

Amazing! please continue, I am enjoying story greatly.

Sweet.

Time's touch is soft and very kind, a gentle taming of the mind and those who accept Her caress, shall sleep in sweet forgetfulness.

Harmony glares meaningfully at the prostrate Wyvvern, then blushes a dark brown, grimacing. "Yes, the silk did have that little mishap once, in the earlier stages of production...I should have seen those two tailors coming, but they were just so cute!!" She sighs dreamily, gazing up at the ever-increasingly visible stars. "Ah, good times...you should have seen how adorable they looked at MY barbecue. And so tasty, too! Who knew those who sew could be so delicious?" She pulls a swathe of her skirts out of Wyvvern's reach, as he is still plucking at the seams...and turns to Kikuyu. "You know, Sprites are very tasty too, baked, with a garnish of Lemon. So, you guarded this designer clothing, er, clothing designer? How wonderful! And he is gone now, yes? How wonderful! So you could, say, be persuaded to tell me of these designs, for a price, perhaps? Heh heh...not that I need them, of course.." She mumbles and giggles absently, digging around in the many pockets in her skirts for a chequebook, and comes up with a live purple rabbit, a wooden hatstand, a cell phone shaped like a full-size, anatomically correct crocodile skull, a huge wad of half-chewed bubble gum, a naughty lawn gnome, a large predetory tooth, a green balloon, and a large black velvet sack filled with something that appeared to be smoking. She puts all these items back into her pockets one at a time, apparently unaware of the stunned/amused expressions of the other guests around her, and finally brings out a sparkly green notebook and pen. She turns back to Kikuyu. "Ah, there we are...heh heh. So tell me more, dear! I want to know all about this Sprite invasion, and Haiku, and other things...like the clothing designs...*ahem* I mean, clothing designer, of course!"

*is so tickled by Wyvvern's idea that she has on of her own, and rushes off to make a whole new line of Almost-Magical Brand Ladies' Silk Handkerchiefs, for lovers of duelers*

It's a beautiful untapped resource, an as-yet unplumbed source of creativity...this new country I've found. The stories of the people, of the creatures, of the vibrant relationships and strange new cultures...and new spins on old cultures which have been twisted into this new reality. But I haven't got a name for it, this new land I've found. I need a name. It's an island, lost somewhere deep in the magic of time and sea, hidden by salt mists and strange enchantments...but it's not just an island. It was once a peninsula, connected by a Veil at one end of the land, a Veil deep in a forest which the simple country folk call, appropriately, the Deep Green. The Deep green stretches to the Razor of Arvinaah, which are a rock formation that shoot straight up, hundreds of feet, and protect the Forest from the magical winds and sands of the EverBreath. The other side of the Razor is the border of the Plains of Starfire, and inside this canyon the Everbreath rages. The Everbreath is a magical sandstorm, with winds that never cease, and circle the canyon, blowing one direction on one side, and the opposite direction on the other side, leaving a small area of stillness in the center. The Breath is not harmful to living creatures, but it allows the spirits of the Dead whose artifacts are placed within it, to stay there, and be visible to, and communicate with the living freely. It is also the home of the Spirit Sentinels, or Air Dragons. They serve as guardiens and caretakers, hosts you might say, for the spirits of the dead who stay there, (and will occasinally impart thier wisdom on the living as well, if they are appropriately asked). On the side of the Canyon (which is called the Canyon of Arvinaah), there is a giant petrified plant, which looks like a thistle crossed with a vine. In the stony vines and buds of this plant, the 'Mother Thisstle', live tiny, golden-skinned elves, whose full adult size and hight are about four feet tall, by our standards. They have a standing bargain with the Spirit sentinels, for an ancient favor to the Queen of the Air Dragons. (they saved her life from a band of Sterling Bandits, who I'll tell you about later). In return, she and her daughters and grand and great- grand daughters have extended the hospitality of thier Breath to the Spirits of the dead elves, thus allowing them to stay with, guide, comfort, etc, thier living loved ones as long as they want, as long as the living Elves build each Ancient One(which is what they call their dead) a shrine on one of the many ropy-looking petrified vine bridges which stretch across the canyon. Some families own a whole Bridge, and have it spotted with the tiny shrines; some rent space on other's Bridges, and have to pay monthly for the privilege of speaking to thier Dead... At one end of this canyon, stands the Needle of the Gods. It's a rock formation, smooth as polished marble, and a thousand feet tall. The very tip of it stands at the top edge of the winds (the Breath), which circles the tiny peak completely before turning back on itself and pouring back into the canyon. A small hole in the top of the peak give it its name, Needle, and beneath it, a small patch of sand hosts a strange, soltary old man who rents out gliders to tourists wishing to ride the winds to the top of the peak...for legend has it, that each who enter the Needle will be guided to thier own special treasure... The sand flattens out to grass, high grass with short trees, and among the trees live the scientists of Crackpott Village. The host the annual Crackpott Science Gala, which is a contest for the people of the village only! And they will not sell or share the secrets of their inventions...And somehow they believe their inventions are the best in the world... Their country borders the beach, which runs around the entire island. The village is on one side of it, which is horseshoe-shaped. On the OTHER side of the canyon, the Plains of Starfire reach up and up, almost into space. The air is thin and here grow the Aire Bamboo...and here salk the Sabre-Toothed Girante, which look like a cross between a tiger, a giraffe, and an elephant. (feet and legs, elephant--head, tiger--body and neck, giraffe). The bamboo waves in a constant breeze, which is never felt by the creatures who live and work and travel down below. a road lads through the Plains, from the town of Thisstle to the great central colony of Wyndi City. Before it reaches Wyndi City it passes though Mysti Village, which is the shopping district of the City, where all of the inhabitants of this great Land come to trade, sell, and buy whatever it is they need. Anything and everything is sold and traded here, most of it by and to the inhabitants of the Wyndi City. The Village and City are situated directly over the River of Aaindop, which means 'blood of the ancient ones'. This river flows into the Lake Myst, which is totally covered by the iron roads and buildings of the City...all its waste flows into the lake, because somehow(no-one can explain why), anything that touches its waters becomes purified instantly. The braver residents of the city dive in the sewer holes, and swim to the depths of the Lake looking for fortune...the fish that live in the Lake are worth a lot of coin as pets, materials, food, or even clothing at the Village. At the edge of the City, a great wall is built up to protect the people from falling, for here the River rushes over the many steps of the Staircase of the Gods(like Needle, only it's stairs). Huge, stone, stairsteps over which the river flows in a giant waterfall until the last 50 or so feet, and then it plunges into the horse-shoe shaped bay. Beneath the waterfall lies a deep, dark patch of water which noone dares to travel...for something evil rests there, and all who venture there wash up, dead, on the shores of the Crackpotts... On the other side of the City, the land slopes away to the right, down into the dreaded Valley of Sorrows. Here the Black Forest grows, and it is where the good land and evil spirit meet. Here many evil creatures roam, and reach out to try and drag the rest of this good land in. On the far side of this valley lies the evil Mount Soeol. Here lies an evil so dense and dark, that it cannot even be called a spirit--only an evil. At the top of this mount lies the Brotel of Shabaniel...which is a paradise-appearing trap for all things good and pure. All who are tempted and enter it, are trapped forever in its hold, and become gradually more and more evil until there is nothing good left in them. Here there are the impurities of every shade, shape, type, and kind that can be imagined...from the small and petty to the incomprehensibly evil, each represented by a different person or creature.... and on the far side of Mount Soeol, lies the White Sands, which are simply pure, clean, dead beaches where nothing lives--or can live. The white sands are deadly to everything it touches, living or spirit. This is my Neverland, which I have discovered in my dreams; it waits for my call and hovers in my mind, resting gently until I becon it near. THere is still so much there, for me to explore... But I have not yet found a name for this place. Anyone have a good idea what it could be?

*Harmony shudders as the shadowy furred creature creeps under her skirts and past her*

Aha..I have stolen your muse! j/k