Frederick Austerlitz

2nd of Hakim 242 AC   As we finished our brief respite, the fact that each of us had their own unique strengths and talents became abundantly clear once more. In the time it had taken me to rest my aching body and briefly summarize the day’s events, Alizée had apparently liberated everything that had not been nailed down from the remains of our slain foes – and, in the case of the wooden constructs, quite a few things thad had, in fact, been nailed down. I suppose when one is born into fame and fortune, acting on opportunities wherever and whenever they may arise quickly becomes second nature. Speaking of resource-oriented division of labour: Yuri, Siham and Oro’thion utilized their combined brains and brawn to open the needlessly enormous central door by activating hourglass-like structures scattered across this level of the tower. Thank the gods that they did, for if it had been up to me, we would still be sitting there. Like I have mentioned previously, I am profoundly useless at riddles. They are annoying, obnoxious, detract from the main narrative (but not in the flowery, elegant way a bardic hymn does) and, worst of all, they hardly ever rhyme properly. If you, constant listener, have been following my accounts for any appreciable amount of time, you might have inferred by now that I am stalling for time again. You are, of course, correct. I would love to tell you that I joined the ensuing battle with a war cry on my lips and an eruption of valor bursting from my heart. That I delved into the darkness of the sanctum in which Dibarra was expecting us, illuminated only by my trusty bullseye lantern, with fierce determination to save the seven abducted children being imprisoned therein. That I used all my cunning and strength, utilizing magic and weaponry and even my bare hands to fight off Dibarra and his shadowy minions, all the while encouraging my allies and healing my fallen comrades. All of those things could be construed as true from an outside perspective. Any bard worth their salt would consider such an account a fair, if not downright mandatory, enhancement of the truth. A mere week ago, I might have been among their number; and in regards to anyone other than myself, I still might be. Alas, the truth of the matter is this: I found myself, woefully unprepared, thrust into a battle which, in all honesty, I was not sure we could win; the capabilities of my mighty allies notwithstanding. The darkness and the terror, the screams and the shadows, the wounded and the slain. Alizée recklessly charging into the fray with her elementally charged acrobatics. Siham’s fists, flickering too fast for my eyes to follow. Oro’thion doing… something to his own face, allowing him to charge at our foes with renewed vigor. Yuri summoning a trident-like weapon from Gods-know-where to drive the enemy back. Aurelie casually constructing a cannon out of whatever materials were around – and, anyway, she started blasting. On the flipside: the shadowy things, tearing at our very essence and sapping our strength; the children in desperate need of (but, sadly, sometimes beyond) saving; Dibarra bearing down on us with waves upon waves of magical destruction. What was I, a lowly bard, to do, faced with such a rondo of death? I had fought battles alongside my compatriots before, of course, but this made everything I had encountered before look like mere child’s play. As I stood there, frozen to the spot for what seemed like an eternity (yet which could, realistically, not have been much more than eighteen or twenty-four seconds), a sudden thought flashed through my paralyzed brain: a quote from one of the B’n’B characters Aeris had once played for a one-shot, “Do, or do not. There is no try.” On the one hand, that had been an off-the-cuff remark from a silly make-believe role-playing game. On the other hand, why the fuck not? So, I finally got my (as a reference for any other bards singing of this: rather handsome) posterior into gear and, as one of my Dramatics 201 instructors would have put it, got busy livin’. We did, in fact, get busy livin’; successfully banishing Dibarra into the pompously ominous hourglass dominating the sanctuarium – although we did not manage to save all of the imprisoned children. While all of us were, naturally, saddened by this suboptimal turn of events, Oro’thion seemed to have been affected by it the most. Apart from some lip service to Gond in my youth, I have never been a particularly religious man, but while I am a part of this particular group, it does occassionally occur to me how difficult it must be to continuously align one’s own beliefs with the harshness of reality. At any rate, after we successfully banished Dibarra into that weird (and, as an aside, not particularly stable looking) hourglass device, we got our lay of the land (i.e. looted everything) before returning home, following the rescued children’s example (i.e. remembering where we ought to be). Awash with relief and happiness and joy to be alive, several background facts were shared within the as-of-yet unnamed group. None of which, dear constant listener, should be of concern to you for the time being. I will sing of all my companions, according to their respective permissions, in due time. I will, however, point out the fact that Yuri is spending the night in my humble abode. I think he would do fantastically in any BnB session; but I would never try to persuade him into joining me in such hopeless an endeavor. I think. I realize that I am, once again, rambling, but I do beg your, constant listener’s, forgiveness – it has been a very long day indeed.

It is truly remarkable how invigorating a good night’s sleep can be – if it is spent among family and friends within a safe and cosy environment. Yesterday’s tumultuous events still weighed on my mind, of course, but I was looking forward to today’s (literal and figurative) trials and tribulations with a strange mixture of anxiety and anticipation, nonetheless. I imagine Katalina would understand – as a matter of fact, I am almost certain she would agree wholeheartedly. After I had unveiled my Song of Remembrance during breakfast – I am still not entirely happy with the melody as a whole, but it will do for now – and Yuri had left Te’Sarim in my parents’ care for the time being, we made our way towards Eatifat to stand trial. Upon arriving at the courthouse, we reunited with Alizée once more, and I must admit that I was profoundly glad to see her again. While I am not exactly well-versed in Shal’Azura’s political intricacies, I am almost positive that the Tamasha would have had little to no trouble walking away from any accusations levelled against her while hanging us out to dry. The fact that she chose to stand with us instead was laudable indeed; and while I would like to think of myself as a person who would have done the same in her shoes, I cannot in good conscience say so with absolute certainty. After we had entered the courthouse proper, we were introduced to our designated defense attorney Hadiyah Flamescale, who in turn informed us about the proceedings during the trial and the other major participants: the prosecutor Yasmin Djinnborn and the presiding judge Zsetszathuss al-Ssahn.   [several moments pass in silence, followed by a series of coughing and choking noises as if someone tried to unravel their bruised tongue from around their uvula]     Ahem. Anyway, justice prevailed, and we were cleared of all charges. If my description of the actual trial seems a bit lackadaisical, it is due to the fact that the vast majority of it was taken up by Brielle’s witness testimony, which I cannot bear to repeat here in its entirety. Or, you know, at all. Our next order of business was to pay a visit to PRT H.E.L.I.O.S. – a possible lead we had picked up quite a while ago. As such, we made our way to the Bennain Guildhall – a fascinating, yet utterly confusing place indeed. With a little guidance from a student (whose cooperation had, in turn, been mostly contingent on Alizée’s presence), we managed to have a rather enlightening discussion with the Helpful Founder. It bestowed upon us, among other things,  

a few pointers about the nature of and the conditions relevant to conjuration magic in general;

far too many facts about carp;

the area where the next murders were most likely to occur;

and the realization that the great Component Conundrum™ would not be settled anytime soon.

One of those things seemed ever so slightly more important than the others, so we immediately sprang into action and… picked Yuri up from his sculpting class.   ...If we ever become famous, I should probably embellish this sequence of events a smidgen.   As soon as we arrived at the location H.E.L.I.O.S. had pointed us towards, we immediately understood that we had come too late. The crime scene – which it indubitably was – was awash with members of both the Order of the Vigilant Eye and the Separ Talsam. The Living Echoes had claimed their next victims, and the fact that Shal’Azura’s brave defenders had managed to slay one of the assailants in turn seemed like cold comfort at best. One of two survivors, the lady of the house, soon passed away despite Aurelie’s commendable efforts to stabilize her, whereas the other survivor – her brother, it seems – made a physical, if not mental or emotional, recovery. I readily admit that I was of very little help during this entire ordeal. I am just a simple entertainer and performer – how would I possibly go about counselling someone regarding their grief over a loved one? Me, of all people; knowing what I know now? I felt overwhelmed and helpless, and without my new compatriots I most certainly would have felt utterly alone in the dark, as well. Of course, after all was said and done, we still had an objective to achieve, and I clung to that thought – that purpose – like a drowning man to a piece of driftwood. Unsurprisingly, we found another arabesque knot under a windowsill and, under Oro’thion’s tutelage and with H.E.L.I.O.S.’ elaborations in mind, continued our experimentations with it. As it turned out, we were now in possession of the missing puzzle piece that had eluded us before – we had seen (and, perhaps more importantly, remembered) Dibarra himself. That being the case, our efforts proved fruitful this time around, and we were transported to a most unusual location. The courtyard we suddenly found ourselves in was truly a sight to behold; beautiful and terrifying in equal measure. Surrounding a magnificent palace which undoubtedly included Dibarra’s abode, it radiated a sense of dark foreboding, mainly due to the fact that its residents – mostly animals, but also the servant approaching us upon our arrival – had their eyes scratched out and their mouths sewn shut. Said servant spoke to us in a tongue almost none of us could understand. Aurelie managed it, but it seemed to take quite a bit of effort on her part – akin to someone learning a language trying to keep up with a rather verbose native speaker, or to myself trying not to fall asleep during one of Leonardo’s rules lawyering diatribes. Given those circumstances, I was rather dumbfounded when Yuri suddenly started to converse with the liveried gentleman like he had spent his whole life doing it. I have been well aware that Yuri possesses hidden depths, of course; even without factoring in his hesitation to talk about his past, but between this and the masonry class, I am beginning to wonder whether I know anything of substance about him at all. The servant offered little in the way of useful information except for the fact that the Sixth Prince was, at present, residing in his tower and that the way ahead was littered with traps. Yuri seemed to be able to convince him to refrain from announcing our presence to everyone who would listen, after which the poor, probably severely underpaid, servant started his spiel once more from the top. We left him to his own devices and pressed on, guided by Aurelie’s glove – which, inexplicably, now seemed to function as a compass pointing towards the Sixth Prince’s tower. As we continued onwards, we had to pick our way across a myriad of small coins, knick-knacks and other assorted trinkets that were strewn across the cortyard – a multitude of things lost or forgotten. We thought it prudent to abstain from taking anything with us, although I must confess that I briefly toyed with the notion of stealing rehoming a magical broom autonomously sweeping the courtyard. Its allure was difficult to withstand – it sang to me with a melody I had never before encountered within the scope of the Great Music, almost as if it were one of a kind in every conceivable way. Ultimately, though, I resisted the temptation, and we forged ahead. Continuing our journey we came across a weathered brass brazier sitting in the middle of a square and, more importantly, a mangy fennec right next to it. The poor creature had clearly seen better days, and we speculated that we might be looking at someone’s erstwhile familiar, now lost and forgotten after its master’s presumed demise. Yuri, following his penchant for rescuing animals against their will, decided to take the fennec with him. Objectively, this might not have been the best of ideas in the grand scheme of things, but I honestly cannot fault him for his decision. Such an attempt to deliver a soul from eternal oblivion is utterly commendable, and it occurred to me at that point that, apart from being a tremendously competent brother-in-arms, Yuri might be a significantly better person than others, including himself, give him credit for. On the more practical side of things, Oro’thion seems to have some inkling of how to try to stabilize this newly-forged connection once we have successfully returned to Shal’Azura, and I am happy to defer to his wisdom regarding this matter for the time being. This might sound strange coming from me, but the quintessence concerning my relationships with familiars is that Betty and my humble self are not master and servant (and even if we were, our respective roles might not be what one would expect) but more like partners in crime (and dance and obviously neither of us has, to date, ever had the displeasure of outliving the other. We pressed on into the palace proper, briefly – and rather unavailingly – interacting with an old man who seemed intent on picking up a particular stone (his own Tasmia, perhaps), but was utterly incapable of doing so. There was precious little we could do for him at this juncture, but I am hopeful that we will be able to rectify his – among many others – conundrum if – nay, when! - we manage to cut off the head of the proverbial snake. As we continued to follow Aurelie’s heading, we came across a music box containing a ballerina endlessly tiptoeing accompanied by a variation of the First Song of the Founding. I do not appreciate creepy porcelain dolls at the best of times, even without their own dramatically appropriate theme music, so I was quite happy to forge ahead as soon as possible. Of course, doing so required me to clamber down a rope from a window into what may or may not have been poison sumac, because when it rains, it pours and/or pelts you with Meteor Storms from clear skies. At this point, do I even need to mention that our next encounter was a potentially cursed child on a swing trying to invade our minds with maniacal laughter? Because of course it was. Fortuitously, none of us seemed to have been significantly affected by the apparition’s shenanigans, and we continued our journey relatively healthy and hale. And then, in a twist worthy of a ballad (if I could actually compose one to save my life), we came across Ibn-al-Hadibi, The Forgotten Founder; lost in a seemingly never-ending elegy concerning his true love, Salome Boethos. After some back-and-forth, with great efforts from Alizée and Oro’thion, Siham ultimately managed to break through the thick fog of oblivion by recalling and mentioning Hadibi’s, a bar in Karam adorned by a portrait of Ibn. Astoundingly, this seemed to rejuvenate Ibn – now more appropriately designated as Ibn-Ice-Hadibi, Djinn of the Elemental Court of Ice – and restored most of his memories. In gratitude, he presented Siham with a special snowflake™ facilitating a singular escape from almost anywhere. As an aside, Ibn and Oro’thion hashed out some manner of nondescript deal, but neither of them was particularly forthcoming about the details. It is, of course, no business of mine, but I will ask Oro’thion about it later, anyway. It might help fit “Ibn-Ice-Hadibi” into the meter of the Song of Remembrance somehow, although I am not exactly holding my breath in that regard. At any rate, Ibn graciously offered to teleport us in front of the Sixth’s Prince’s tower. We accepted and found ourselves in front of a massive marble gate – which, unsurprisingy, did not budge to neither physical nor magical assaults. Happily, Aurelie had the bright idea to present her hairband – akin to the multitudes we had encountered on our way – as an offering, basically ‘losing’ it voluntarily to coax the gate open. It worked! We entered the tower proper, whose ground floor consisted mostly of a series of wall paintings and mosaics encircling the room; the center of which was dominated by a gigantic apparatus that, as Aurelie explained to us, was some sort of elevator. She immediately devoted herself to studying its underlying mechanics, exhibiting a level of excitement we had never seen from her before. That is to say, not a lot by any objective measure; but by her standards, it might as well have been her birthday. Heck, for all anyone – including herself – knows, it just might have been. As for myself, I am barely competent at playing my bandora, so messing around with intricate mechanical devices is right out. As such, I contented myself with sneakily (in the truest sense of the word, for I had rendered myself invisible via the power of my beloved instrument) examining the paintings, carvings and tapestries encircling the room. They seemed to depict a history of times long gone by; and it pains me greatly that I, being who I am and what I do, could not make heads or tails of it. Alizée seemed to fare better in that regard, muttering something about ancient beings called the Weaves of Twilight (or Weavers? She does not tend to bother as much with her accent when she thinks nobody is listening) spinning the fates of all mortal races. This is, without a doubt, a most fascinating tale which certainly should be enshrined in song, but, alas, it was not to be at that particular moment. Aurelie had, by now, figured out how to operate the elevator and beckoned us to join her in glory and/or death. Naturally, we complied, and found ourselves whisked past a vast library on the first floor, a dusty hall filled with altars on the second floor and a third floor filled with terribly dissonant… stuff (it certainly was not music, but I am loath to even deign it with a designation as esteemed as “noise”) before reaching what seemed to be the topmost floor. As we made our way forward, we were accosted by the same manner of creature Aurelie had described to us following her brief foray into this realm; four in number, and one of them obviously significantly more competent than the others. Battle was joined! I am, first and foremost, a bard. I sing of great deeds and acts of bravery, and few, if any, will contest me when I tell you that I have never seen anyone rush into danger as recklessly – and bravely – as Lady Alizée did at this moment. If there were ever any doubts that she was committed to forging her own path, they would have been blown away (alongside a good chunk of her enemy’s organs) in that moment. Following her inspiring leadership, we managed to vanquish our foes. I must admit that, despite my lack of active contributions to the fight, I was beginning to feel the relentless teeth of exhaustion gnawing upon my body at that point. I was utterly incapable of facing another strong foe; such as, let’s say, a basilisk. In the next room, we faced a basilisk. On the plus side, even accounting for the reinforcements heading our way, we could maybe try to hold a chokepoint against a basilisk and friends. On the flipside, it had been a very, very, very log day, and I really did not enjoy the idea of such a creature ruining it any further. So I tried telling it the worst joke I know. It worked. Miraculously, the tale of the animals of the woods floored it long enough for my companions to deliver the killing blow, and its reinforcements were easily dispatched. This seemed like an appropriate time to take a short break – and here we are now; although I must confess that I have never felt quite so exhausted. I shall conclude my account for the time being with an amended version of the Song of Remembrance; since it feels of greater importance now than it ever did.

This music sings of Ann, who will never let you down, a loving wife and mother, and a seamstress of renown.   This music sings of Fritz, both strong of body and of will, whose gentle soul and loving heart are even stronger still.   This music sings of Katalina, gone before her time, a girl of boundless charm and cheer and spirit nigh-divine.   This music sings of Leonardo, true and loyal friend, whose trust, once earned, ensures he will stay with you to the end.   This music sings of Aeris, quick to anger, quick to calm, encouragement from her is like a gentle, soothing balm.   This music sings of Siham, ever curious and free, who talks of deeds most fanciful and gorgeous sights to see.   This music sings of Oro, who has travelled far from here, and who, through any perils, to his tenets will adhere.   This music sings of Yuri, bravely challenging his past, and thus strives for a future where peaceful times may last.   This music sings of Alizée, noble in many ways, who always says what’s on her mind – and then does as she says.   This music sings of Aurelie, whose introspective strife makes her a true embodiment of living a good life.   This music sings of Snoodle, who will stare into our souls, your body, should you mess with him, will soon develop holes.   This music sings of Te’Sarim, a cute and cuddly bloke, all sadness shall evaporate whenever his fur you stroke.   This music sings of Betty, majestic queen of night, a gentle spirit full of love, yet not afraid to fight.   This music sings of Ibn; Djinn of Elemental Ice; Long forgotten, now remembered, he is actually quite nice.   This music sings of Nivis, seemingly just a carte blanche ignore them while you're busy being buried in an avalanche.   If any of you should wish for someone’s memory to stay strong, you are most cordially invited to amend this song.

To describe today’s events as tumultous would be an understatement akin to “death is a mild inconvenience” or “Yuri is a bit reluctant to talk about his past”. It started off innocently enough, with a hearty breakfast and an only moderately earth-shattering revelation by Oro’thion, who suddenly recalled having seen strange frosty markings under the teacups back when we were at the Ta’alaq. They apparently invoked the following poem:   Markings on the ice read in script of wind-blown snow. Your skin like lilac, mine like teal. One paints the beginning of a certain end. The other, the end of a sure beginning.   We tossed around some ideas regarding the potential meaning of these verses, but ultimately failed to come up with anything substantial. I am not terribly surprised by that – I almost flunked out of Poetry Analysis 101 back at the Amphitheater, and headache-inducing riddles such as this are one of the many reasons why. I take solace in the fact that we have obviously only just begun to reveal this grand mystery, therefore any further information we uncover in the course of our journey together may help solve this enigma. Speaking of information gathering, it was time to pay a visit to Bahara Library. Siham generously offered to fetch Alizée’s snowflake drake – who, as an aside, really needs a name; because the phrase “snowflake drake” is an absolute nightmare to try and fit into a reasonably metered stanza of any kind. If Alizée wants me to sing his praises anytime soon – and I am almost positive that she does – she should name him something short and, preferably, rhyming with “end”, “hope” or “heart”, because those evergreens always work out somehow.   Ahem… I apologize for the digression.   On our way to the library, we encountered Neriah Brielle and Cravine, two members of the group trying to frame us for the previous murders. I am stressing “previous” here because they helpfully informed us that another set of murders had occurred during the past night; again in Karam. We were not implicated this time, they assured us, because they had been following us around the entire time. Cravine even seemed ready to testify on our behalf regarding that particular matter. I am not exactly thrilled to be shadowed like that, but then again, it is not like I can help it. I am not accustomed to sussing out strangers in the night – heck, I can barely see anything in the dark as it is – and I am extremely used to having eyes on me. Spying on me must be the easiest job in the world. On the topic of jobs: we had one to do as well, did we not? Thus, we approached the library, followed by our new (temporary?) travelling companions: Neriah’s ego, Neriah, and Cravine (in descending order of perceived importance). On the way there, Siham rejoined our group, bringing with him Alizée’s snowflake drake in a condition that I, bard by profession, am utterly unable to adequately describe. I am certain that Siham’s heart is, generally speaking, in the right place, but I solemnly swear to never leave Betty in his care if I can help it.   At long last, we entered the esteemed halls of the library proper. I had been there before during my student days, of course, chiefly to find ways to cheat at aforementioned Poetry Analysis. As such, Alizée and my humble self were able to vouch for the others (although I suspect her participation carried several orders of magnitude more weight in that regard than mine), and we were allowed inside. “Know you the words that have travelled far?”, an acolyte intoned the familiar greeting, and, as usual, I respectfully nodded my head in acknowledgment while progressing further. Oro’thion, in contrast, echoed the words back at the acolyte, only to be answered with what could best be described as polite indifference. I must admit that I found this interaction rather intriguing. There had always been rumors, of course; rumors of an appropriate answer to that phrase encountered by anyone seeking knowledge from the library. Nobody knows what consequences such an answer would have, and nobody – that I have spoken to, at the very least – seems to know what the answer would actually be. Leonardo once confided in me that, in an effort to be banned from the library in order to escape research duty, he once tried something along the lines of “verily, not as far-travelled as your mother” as a response, only to be met with approximately the same reaction as Oro’thion at that time. Honestly, Leo is the most insufferable jerk I have ever had the displeasure to meet. Gods help me; I sincerely hope he is okay.   Our research within the library itself bestowed upon us a modicum of information about the Abraj A’Malounaton, the – allegedly cursed – stone spires surrounding Shal’Azura in the sandy depths below. By sheer luck, we came upon a single scrap of paper – more of a half-forgotten bookmark in the grand scheme of things – describing how an expedition to one of these pillars tried (and, for the most part, failed) to leave their exploits and findings for posterity. The writings were illegible for the most part, but they did give us some sparse clues about what to look for in the future. I made a quick copy of the woefully incomplete account, for I can be a bit forgetful at times.   ...please excuse my trembling voice. It will make more sense once I have finished my tale.   At any rate, Oro’thion, Alizée and Aurelie split off to explore a seemingly empty section of the library that had been built to store information about the Abraj A’Malounaton, while the rest of us stayed behind. Yuri heroically took it upon himself to distract Neriah by, truthfully, just enabling Neriah to entertain himself; while Cravine fell asleep in short order. I cannot exactly fault her for that; I assume she took Poetry Analysis at some point in her life as well. Upon reconvening, we gathered that there was little information to be found about the topics we were trying to research – which, obviously, was a useful bit of information in and of itself. Previous experiences had already taught us that memory was a fickle and unreliable thing these days (and, apparently, had been so for quite some time), and thus, forging ever forward to (re-)discover things for ourselves seemed to be a very appealing prospect – even apart from the whole “being accused of murder” situation, obviously. Clearly, we had to investigate the site of the most recent murders, but we desperately needed a short break for the time being. We talked a little about ourselves – it seemed only appropriate after witnessing how fleeting memories can be – and learned, among other things, that both Yuri and Oro’thion had some sort of tree house when they were young. Frankly, this seemingly random tidbit stuck with me the most out of the entire conversation. For obvious reasons, tree houses are rare within the confines of Shal’Azura; to say the least. To have two humanoids who just so happen to stumble into co-ownership of the Ta’alaq also be two of the only creatures I know to have owned a tree house in the past seems like an impossible coincidence at first glance. Yet, while ruminating on this, it occurred to me that everything I just pondered was colored by my woefully limited perception of the world. What if tree houses were nigh-omnipresent everywhere else? What if slavery and monarchy – another couple of topics that were briefly touched upon – were the norm, and Shal’Azura was the exception? I had picked up bits and pieces from travellers while performing in the vicinity of Daggerpalm Station or Westwind’s Vantage, of course, but at this point in time, the sheer volume of what I explicitly did not know about the world weighed heavily on my mind. Gods be willing, though, it will never weigh as heavily on me as the (in)famous Red Banana Stew weighed on Siham’s intestines. He assured us, heroically, that he was not suffering in the slightest, and since I am neither a judge nor a cleric I chose to believe him wholeheartedly.   After replenishing (or, in Siham’s case, sapping) our strength, we travelled via dragonfly to the site of the most recent murders. Our investigations confirmed most of our findings in regards to the first crime scene, with the slight deviation of us suddenly being attacked by shadowy creatures seemingly fashioned after the male murder victims. We were still in the process of pacifying them when, all of a sudden, a mystifying creature showed up and assaulted us as well. Small and shrivelled as it was, it was frightfully strong nonetheless, and it was all we could do to drive it out for the time being. This… thing, for lack of a better term, seemed to carry with it its very own melody unfettered by the Great Music, and it is this notion, even moreso than its power, that frightens me to the core. At any rate, through luck or skill or any combination thereof, we defended ourselves successfully, and Siham scooped up some of the ectoplasm left behind by our assailants for further analysis. Meanwhile, Oro’thion, apparently the keenest amongst us in regards to magic and arcana, annihilated another of those ominous portals that had just begun to endanger another family living nearby. In the process, however, he suddenly began to speak in a strange voice whilst crying black tears. The voice spoke of the Sixth Prince, brother to the Seventh Prince whose legend we already knew, known as Dibarra the Collector. Dibarra, apparently, was a collector of things and their associated stories and memories as well as the first of the royal offspring to realize what had happened to his younger brother Su'Alhazi. At this point, where the fairy tale concludes, reality turns darker still. The curse, lifted from Su’Alhazi, now afflicted Dibarra and twisted what once was the most loyal of brothers and friends into a terrifying devourer of memories and seeker of forbidden truths. Su’Alhazi is possibly the only one to remember the Sixth Prince’s true name, and thus might be instrumental in bringing about his eventual defeat or redemption.   To the surprise of absolutely noone, this was a lot to take in at once. So, since, it had been a long and utterly exhausting day, I suggested to spend the night – which was slowly but steadily approaching – at my parents’ house. Fortuitously, everyone agreed, and so – after I had sent Betty ahead for at least some semblance of an advance notice – we all entered my childhood home. I had always known my parents to be fantastic hosts, of course. They had welcomed Aeris – and, much more momentously, Leo! - with open arms back in the day, after all. Nevertheless, I must confess that the sheer amount of goodwill and hospitality with which they greeted our motley crew consisting of several animals, a wide variety of skin colors and various states of aliveness surprised even me. I took the opportunity to sneak my recent earnings into the cookie jar, as I always do. And, as she always does, mom pretended not to have noticed.   I do not know what the Great Music may have in store for me, but even if I ever were to become a hero of legend, a bard of worldwide renown or the ruler of an empire, nothing could ever be so grand as to make me worthy of having parents such as mom and dad. Their own parents, wherever their spirits are now, must be so very proud of them. In hindsight, it seems like a logical consequence that the conversation turned towards the topic of grandparents at that particular moment. It was a turn of events that I would not have dared to formulate during any of my Scriptwriting 101 classes, for fear of sounding too clichéd. Life, however, is sometimes – perhaps even frequently – stranger than fiction; and thus we discovered that noone born within the city of Shal’Azura could remember their grandparents. Mayhap the strange phenomena surrounding memories, or lack thereof, could be connected to this in some way? If that were the case, it seemed entirely plausible that we might have forgotten other deceased ones as well – distant aunts and uncles, for example; dear friends or siblings or…   Katalina! I have stalled long enough! I have meandered long enough! I have taken the garden path through…   No! No more purple prose! No more excuses! No more digressions! Her name was – IS, in my heart and soul and memory – Katalina, and may the Gods I never truly relied upon strike me down if I ever forget her again!   Katalina – Gods help me, I was so young when she was suddenly, violently taken from us that I am not even sure how to spell her name, for I did not yet know how to read and write – was my older sister. She was stronger than me, and her arms were my fortress. She was smarter than me, and her wit was my blade. She was more graceful than me, and her flittering steps across Austerlitz’ Assorted Accoutrements’ floorboards were my inspiration. All those things were true. All those things are still true. And all those things will still be true once the new dawn rises, for I will not – I cannot – allow them to be forgotten once more.   The soft, yet heartbreaking sobbing resounding from my parents’ bedroom told me all I needed to know in the wake of my sudden realization. If there was some quantum of solace to be had from this truly earth-shattering moment, it was the fact that, as I watched with wide-eyed amazement as the family pictures scattered about our living room materialized Katalina’s likeness out of thin air, I knew in my heart that the pictures on my parents’ nightstands would be doing the same at this very moment.   And so, here I am, staring at the familiar ceiling for what will presumably be a long time, trying to process even a fraction of all that has happened today. My heart is overflowing with sorrow about having forgotten my sister and joy about having finally remembered her in equal measure. There are terrible powers at play twisting and turning our memories at their leisure, and it seems as if there is nothing we can do to stop them, apart from going where no humanoid has (apparently) gone before and tackling powers far beyond our understanding.   I am just a humble bard, tagging along with companions immeasurably stronger than me, and the only thing I could possibly offer them is an occasional word of encouragement. When great things are at stake, what use is there for a dancer whose only accomplishment would be to sing of the great deeds of others; who is only fit to preserve the memories of heroes long gone and battles fought in the distant past?   The… memories.   This is what it boils down to, is it not? This is what I can contribute. As long as I draw breath, I shall chant every day’s memories that I have managed to preserve (which, as we have learned, is not a sure thing by any stretch of the imagination) into the Great Music. Paper and ink, as we have learned today, can sometimes be untrustworthy at best and treacherous at worst; but oral tradition – via song or poem or fairy tale – endures throughout the ages. I am weary and tired of my long account now, but I still need to take a bit more time to compose a little scherzo. It will be a simple thing, almost resembling a nursery rhyme, and very much bereft of my usual sesquipedalian loquaciousness. This is by design. Everyone can – and is very much invited to – add to it as they see fit. This could potentially be a project far greater in scope than I am anticipating right now, but these seem very much like future me’s worries at this particular moment in time. There is a substantial chance that I am no longer alive this time tomorrow, and for now, I am far too busy being emotionally and physically exhausted to care about anything else. … ...is Siham okay?

The good thing about being accused of committing a capital crime first thing in the morning is the fact that things can only go uphill from there. (Or is it downhill? Which is the positive one again? This is precisely why I am a dancer first, a musician second, and a poet not at all.) Last night’s events, as revealed to us by Noonblessed Captain Maria Goldenlight Turinya , included not only the complete and utter destruction of the Market of Melodies that we had witnessed, but also the murders of six people within Shal’Azura; unfortunately – and disturbingly – including the Majilisun himself. Four of the murders happened in a corner of Karam we happened to pass by during our escape last night, and as such, we are now wanted for the crime. Since the various executive branches of our grand city are nothing if not pragmatic, we were given three days to try and clear our names, and we started that endeavor immediately. I, myself, am woefully unsuited for crime scene investigations, so it was all I could do to offer a few words of encouragement while my capable companions uncovered that the men of the respective families – next-door neighbours, as it were – had fallen victim to something that caused their muscles to atrophy rapidly, resulting in their untimely demises. The women, on the other hand, had their very souls wrested from their mortal bodies, apparently condemning them to a fate worse than death. Oro’thion seemed particularly disturbed by this specific circumstance, and I cannot say that I blame him. The mere notion of someone’s music being so abruptly and irrevocably ended – nay, silenced – chills me to the bone. The women’s bodies bore reddish-purple lines around their necks – markings left by something akin to implements called soul knives, as Yuri suggested to us – as well as a curious knot-like symbol. We soon found another instance of the latter outside the window where some creature – a creature with fearsome claws, from the looks of it – seemed to have entered the house. Those particular symbols seemed to be portals of some kind, and might very well have been the means via which the families’ unfortunate children had been whisked away. We had found some positively ancient sand at the murder scene earlier, and Oro’thion, in a stroke of frankly impressive genius, sprinkled some of it on the portal and channelled his magic through the symbol in order to induce the teleportation effect. It worked; alas, Oro’thion himself could not utilize the connection in the same way. Since non-living matter makes for notoriously poor spies, we tried to use the next-best option we had available: Aurelie. She volunteered to try making the selfsame journey the sand had made; and if I were a better wordsmith, I would interrrupt my narrative at this point to sing her praises and extol her bravery. Aurelie promptly vanished through the portal and returned to us just a few seconds later, but said few seconds seemed to encompass the totality of time since the dawn of creation. She spoke to us of a stone room – more of a mausoleum, really, going by the impression I got from her account – littered with statues that came to life as soon as she appeared and bore their stone-hewn weapons against her. Luckily, her journey back occurred just in the nick of time, but not before she perceived a deep and ominous voice intoning, “Come now, my little ones! We are building a new kingdom!” The whole experience must have shaken poor Aurelie to the core, because it took quite a few tries for me to decipher what she was trying to tell us. It is a testament to how earth-shattering all those revelations were that the fact that another group of survivors from the Market of Melodies was also present at the crime scene and actively trying to frame us for the murders with wildly divergent levels of competence seems almost an afterthought to me. One of their chattier members informed us that they were acting under orders of a mysterious woman whose description matches the aforementioned Lady Diamanté rather closely. Well, as the old bard saying goes, one stanza at a time. We had other matters to attend to, and we would turn our undivided attention to them immediately! In this particularly context, “immediately” translates to “after stopping by Alizée’s shop, where Oro’thion, Siham and Yuri proceeded to wreck her inventory with gleeful enthusiasm”. I tried my level best to clean up after their shenanigans, but neither might nor magic is ever a match for sheer, unbridled tomfoolery. On the plus side, this brief interlude gave me the opportunity to observe Alizée’s spidery companions at work – a truly marvelous spectacle to behold! As we were planning our next steps, I called Betty back to me. I had surreptitiously tasked her with checking on whether mom and dad were okay after last night’s cataclysmic events. I have never shared my parents’ faith in Gond, and I certainly would not call myself religious in any sense of the word, but I did – briefly, but intensely – thank each god I knew and, to be safe, each god I had yet to learn about, after learning that my parents were fine. I did not deem it necessary to check on Aeris or Leo. Aeris would scratch out the eye of The Whispered One himself if he pissed her off too much, and if Leo were in her vicinity at that point in time, death and damnation would be the least of his worries. After some consideration, we took the scenic route to Siham’s current accommodation – the estate of Lady Zahara Jal'Zuun and Tholim Coppermantle. Fortuitously, the more learned ones amongst our group (i.e.: not me) took it upon themselves to broach the subject of the ancient sand we had found to Tholim, who immediately and eagerly excused himself to study that strange phenomenon. In the meantime, Alizée took her leave to visit her family, whilst Oro’thion and Siham engaged in a scouting mission of the erstwhile Market of Melodies and the site of an elemental rift Yuri had spotted before. During that time, I kept ruminating on the tumultuous events of the day and considered contacting Leo, but ultimately decided against it. Either things would go back to normal soon enough, and there would have been no reason for undue alarm, or – which seemed more likely by the minute – things would go downhill (or uphill? Re: my earlier thoughts on the matter) very rapidly, in which case I would be, at best, a liability. I might ask Betty to give them a once-over later anyway, just to be sure. Eventually, Alizée, Siham and Oro’thion rejoined us, albeit without any new information to further our cause. I was, in all honesty, just glad to see them safe and sound. During the magnificent supper of which Lady Zahara had graciously invited us to partake, Tholim entered the dining room to inform us just how utterly, impossibly old the sand we had found really was, and I must admit that I was getting disheartened by this point. There were forces at play here for whom concepts like time and memory were mere playthings. Even the strange symbol we had discovered seems to relate to one of the stone pillars surrounding Shal’Azura, deep within a land so cursed and fearsome that none who ventured there ever returned. How could a bunch of helpless mortals such as ourselves possibly stand up to that? Then again, this might be an exciting new opportunity to experience something few, if any, have done before. Who said bards were only allowed to sing the praises of others instead of carving out their own place in the Great Music for themselves? At any rate, we have decided to spend the next day at the Bahar Library to do some research, potentially followed by a visit to PRT H.E.L.I.O.S. I have never met them in person, and I must admit I am a little nervous about the prospect of doing so. It is getting late now, and I will momentarily lay myself to rest. What a day it has been; strange and frightening and exhilarating all at once. In spite of – or maybe just because of – all that has happened to us, I feel like my companions and I have grown a bit closer in the short time we have known each other. It really seems to me that our individual leitmotifs are starting to merge into a rather enticing symphony, and I must admit I rather like the idea of that.

Alizée Aella Zephyr has already been known to me both by name and by reputation; a distinction I presumably share with each and every citizen of Shal’Azura. Getting to know her on a more personal level, however, has been rewarding indeed: She is a kind and generous soul; quick to anger and equally quick to placate, and her laughter and bubbly personality soothes one’s spirit like the finest nectar. Alizée defines herself not via her name or her status, but via her actions and decisions, and her affection for and devotion to her friends (including her utterly adorable pet Snowflake Drake) is truly a sight to behold. Alizée’s music is a grand concerto, booming and bombastic and unaffected by the confines of score or notation. Every now and then, a few tantalizing triangle rings hint at the existence of another secret motif hidden deep within the grand scheme of things, but they are, as of yet, elusive.   Oro’thion is a colourful fellow in every conceivable sense of the word. Well-versed in both physical prowess and magical ability, he is a dependable defender and ruthless hunter of those he deems wicked. He also happens to be the co-proprietor of the finest tea house in all of Shal’Azura (a judgement I would deem myself qualified to make) - a fact that, at times, seems to take him by surprise just as much as it did me when I first heard about it. Oro’thion’s music is a relentless march, almost military in tone. It is punctuated by surprisingly frequent melodic flights of fancy, seemingly breaking away from the rigid confines of the underlying leitmotif. All the while, a contingent of horns consistently remains in the background; subtle but omnipresent, as if to symbolize an ongoing hunt that cannot and will not be stopped for any reason.   Aurelie More’ta is a lovely young woman of 4+[solve for x] years. She is the proprietress of M.O.R.E., a shop offering gadgets and knick-knacks and wonders galore, which I absolutely must visit at my earliest convenience. As skilled and capable as she is, she seemingly remembers very little of her past; a circumstance that she takes in stride quite admirably. I have suggested to her that keeping an open mind and trying out new and perhaps unfamiliar things might jog her memory in that particular regard, and she seemed receptive to such an approach. Of all the creatures I have encountered up to this point, alive or otherwise, Aurelie is the one I feel most connected to. Wer immer strebend sich bemüht, den können wir erlösen – excuse my rusty Old Zemnian; I cannot actually speak the language, just regurgitate bits and pieces of it at dramatically opportune moments. Aurelie’s music is a steady, slow metronome; freqeuently interspersed with soli of piccolo flutes and oboes fluttering hither and thither, searching for new (or forgotten?) themes to add to the melody. In general, there is a clear emphasis on da capos and variations of earlier motifs, signifying an overarching emphasis on rebirth and renewal.   Siham “Steam” Jal’Zuun is a water genasi from Ayn Almara, an oasis in the deserts beyond Shal’Azura. Besides M.O.R.E., said oasis is possibly the place I want to visit the most, not only – but admittedly also – because of Siham’s vivid narrations. Siham is a quirky and inquisitive fellow, expressing just as much curiosity about my birthplace as I would if our roles were reversed. The wisdom he bestows upon us is absolutely invaluable, but it might benefit us and him to keep him away from the shadowier and slightly more unsavory side of Shal’Azura. Siham’s music is a steady leitmotif that recurs unto itself; referring back to a definite point of origin. Beyond that, a multitude of instruments bursts outward to navigate new and unexplored territory; seemingly eager to learn and adapt and encapsulate. This entire scherzo is tempered by a sonorous, almost imperceptible drone that evokes images of strict discipline and hard-earned lessons.   Yuri is a humanoid™  hailing from the depths below – or so we think. He is not particularly forthcoming about his past. He also happens to be the second co-proprietor of the Ta’alaq, for better or for worse. Yuri’s music is difficult to grasp. It certainly is a multi-faceted affair, including a wide variety of musical instruments I know as well as, even more interesting, some I have never heard. There is a somewhat steady rhythm there; possibly referring to his recent co-ownership of the Ta’alaq, but the tune beyond that is, for now, bland and non-descript – possibly intentionally so. At any rate, Yuri’s music does not incorporate much in the way of reprisals – almost as if the music itself were afraid to recount its own past.

As I made my way to the Market of Melodies this fateful day, I kept checking my pocket for that ominous vellum card time and time again. A supremely useless gesture, of course - I did not need to see or feel it to be sure of its continued presence. I could hear it perfectly fine - its ceaseless siren call of intrigue and foreboding; of mystery and danger and, quite possibly, death. Nevertheless, I knew I had to go - as sure as I knew that night followed day. The Great Music called to me, louder and more unyielding than ever before, and it was time I played my part, however minuscule, in its grand chorus. I was not terribly surprised to learn that others had followed the call much the same as I had, even though some of them seemed to remember the circumstances surrounding their respective invitations a lot clearer than I did. I did not pay that fact any particular mind at the time - there would, after all, be plenty of opportunities to make heads or tails of this nebulous situation later. Gond help me; never have I been so wrong. I paid the ferryman not in coin but in song and dance, as is my wont. Silver is precious for simple folks such as myself, of course, and dad could certainly use a new set of tools sometime soon, but primarily I wanted to use the opportunity to observe my temporary travelling companions. The good part of being a bard is that everyone around you tends to view you as nothing more than a mobile piece of light entertainment clad in fanciful robes. (The bad part, as it were, is the exact same thing). We were a colourful bunch, to say the least; a dazzling array of wildly different melodies that seemed to have been haphazardly thrown together without much rhyme or reason. But of course, life - much like music - is seldom this random and never this easy. I really should have known better - listened better - even back then. When we arrived at our destination, a magnificent tent was conjured in front of us. I had heard of such magic before, but this particular phenomenon honestly took my breath away for longer than I care to admit. There was a notable shift in the Great Music at that point - we were on the precipice of something grand, indeed. Inside the tent, the Blind Storyteller awaited. He spun a tale reminiscent of the fairy tale of the Forgotten Prince, well-known all across Shal'Azura and beyond, but with an air of verisimilitude and, for lack of a better term, finality, that had been unknown to me before. The tale ended in a suitably dramatic fashion when one of the audience members, a woman named Diamanté, slew the storyteller on the spot. (Now that I reminisce about this, I recall her calling him a "traitor" before freezing him from the inside out, presumably via magic. I wonder why this gruesome and vivid memory only now makes its way to the forefront of my mind?) At any rate, we exited the stage left, pursued by ̶a̶ ̶b̶e̶a̶r̶ a sudden onslaught of snowflake-like creatures eager to welcome us to an early and decidedly cold grave. My humble self and several other attendees of the Blind Storyteller's final performance manned one of the boats and rowed/roasted/panicked our way to safety. Beating a hasty retreated seemed even wiser in retrospect, for it was not long after our departure that Shal'Azura deployed appropriate countermeasures against the sudden elemental incursion (read: fiery death and destruction from above). Improbably, two of my new-found acquaintances turned out to be the proprietors of the famous Ta'alaq, where we finally found a few brief moments of respite. There was not much sleep to be had, but there were stories to tell, memories to share and experiences to ruminate on. I have certainly fallen in with a fascinating crowd today, and I will try to briefly characterize them in the follwing few paragraphs – although they really must be seen and heard to be believed. What a day, indeed!