Lucent "Do we not?" He is whistling, whistling a melody known well in Malfeas. The Melody of Gervesin, a soul of ligier, one who killed a Mortal and fell in love with him, for all eternity, the one he had brought the end to. A Demon and a Mortal. "Are you going to kill us, because we know nothing? Is that?" The Melody never stopped, and he would not break the Melody, would he?
Ligier brings his sword to bear immediately before the group, and his face is marked by rage. "I am going to kill you because you are my enemies," he says, "and you have disrupted my work."
Spring "I do not think so."
Spring leaps forward from the entrance to the smithy, landing neatly on one of the anvils before the group, where he picks up the device under construction and examines it idly.
zahara "We are not your enemies at this moment, we are here under diplomatic truce."
Ligier The one Spring picks up is a spiralling, elegantly curved bar of silver, clearly about half completed. It has no obvious use of any kind.
Spring eats it, of course.
zahara eyes Spring disapprovingly
Ligier The single Ligier's attention snaps over to Spring with visible exasperation. "How dare you," he says, but it seems like the additional insult has hurt even his ability to successfully hide his sadness under the mask of anger, and Lucent can see the water starting to come to his eyes.
Spring "Is something wrong?"
Imrama "He is ashamed, and afraid and top-full of remorse for what could have, should have, would have been. Today the sun of Malfeas hangs very low in the sky, indeed."
Ligier "No," he says, and one doesn't have to be Cerin to tell that he is lying. "Nothing is wrong." He looks at Spring as if looking very hard at him will force him to cough up the stick he swallowed -- and, in fairness, Spring can't be certain that it can't.
Spring "You seem upset."
Spring "Is there something you wish to talk about?'
Ligier "That is... the past," he says. "Those days... are long... gone..." He sits down on the floor, dropping his sword carelessly on the ground.
Lucent "And yet, they remain with you. We never forget about them. Long past their deaths, and our own."
Lucent "But if you never tell anyone, it devours you. Heavier and heavier..." He nods, "We should know. That is how you and yours' made us."
Spring "There, there." Spring walks over to him and pats him comfortingly on the shoulder, casually putting his foot on the sword.
Imrama "...But the heaven's vault has not space enough for day and night to live." Imrama quotes from a poem penned by his predecessor. "You see, Ligier, both of us know what it is to be a sun, and yet to love a star."
Ligier Imrama's words, and the haunting melody of Lucent's tragic love song, unite in intense and dramatic purpose, and what seems impossible comes to pass:
Ligier A single tear wells up in each eye of Malfeas' sun, tears of green to match the brilliant fire that glows within him, and slowly, surely, they slip out onto his cheeks.
Lucent pulls the tears from his cheeks from far away, placing them on a little flask and hiding it on the cape of stars.
Lucent "Love hurts." He adds. "That is just how it is."
Spring "Well. You have a lovely place here, but unfortunately we must be going."
Cerin "Indeed," says Cerin, apparently with everyone once more.
Ligier Ligier looks up at the group, the complex emotions of a world-bestriding immortal god who is himself the centralmost expression of the inner thoughts of a yet BIGGER god playing across his face in rapid strokes. "The rest of you go," he says, "but you" -- he indicates Imrama -- "stay."
Spring glances at Imrama with some concern.
Imrama walks over to Ligier and sits down beside him. "We are cousins, you and I." He places his hand on Ligier's shoulder, in a manner radically different from Spring's recent motion.
Lucent ::We ARE going to storm Hell if need be to get you out.:: Lucent says as he turns around, puts a hand on Varanim's back, and begins to get out as fast as he could without appearing to be in too much of a hurry!
Spring ::Imrama. Perhaps you might remain here while accompanying us out?::
Imrama A second Imrama stands up out of the sitting Imrama's form, and accompanies his friends solemnly in their departure.