H130, Day 189, 8AP [Open]

[Uathach Blackmantle]

As was the norm, once nightfall fell like a black haze over the Cage, the Lazz School's immediate neighbourhood was a riotous, festive clash of wannabee musicians, controversial art, and Sensate revelers.

A small unit of lower ranking Harmonium officers, fronted by a seasoned Captain, patrolled the streets around the garish compound, while a pair of Dabus briefly watched the festivities, before returning to their hedge-trimming. But for the most part the crowd remained contained, keeping their rowdiness under control... at least until the Hardheads were out of sight.

Uathach sat in the wings of the impromptu stage, watching and waiting for the last performance to end. She emptied her mind of conscious thought, and sat there, focusing on her breathing, and keeping it even. Her hands folded in her lap, trembled visibly.

No stranger to public performances, for some reason she felt anxious tonight. As there was no logical conclusion to explain it, she chalked it down to the events of the past few days that shook her up so much...

The previous performer, a knife and fire juggling acrobat, bowed to the rauccus applause of a jubilant audience, and strutted off the stage.

Okay... I'm next... Uathach counted to ten, breathing slowly and evenly. But she broke out into a sweat as soon as her stomach knotted, her hands trembled, and her throat threatened to close over. Not now... not now! Apollo, I implore thee, please don't let my voice fail me. She closed her eyes, chanting silently to herself.

She didn't hear her name called out, until a few leatherheads in the crowd began to boo and jeer, shouting obscene remarks about the Dead that drew scattered laughter, and more jeering.

Mortified, Uathach's stomach clenched as a sudden wave of nausea swept over her; she'd foolishly skipped breakfast, having overslept by an hour or two, and dinner, though delicious, failed to sustain her for long. She contemplated leaving then, and running back to the Open Shell, until her name was called out again. This time a pair of hands roughly pushed her onto the stage.


[ooc note: the song lyrics I'll post separately, to keep this post from being too long.

[Uathach Blackmantle]

The tiefling Dead was received by a laughing audience. She shut out their condemnation, sinking inside herself, to find that incandescent flame, the dark chords that twined and spun together in harmonious song.

Steeling herself with a breath, reminding herself that there was only one way out of this - without humiliating herself further - she fell instantly into her aria; a dark hymn inspired by half-remembered dreams and haunted daytime reverie.

"Sigil the Gray, gate to the planes;
of Celestials, Fiends, and the Dead's remains;
But beneath her facade, lies a sinister face,
A cage of Souls, bound to this place.

And now the time hath come to say,
the fiendling blood doth pass away.
Not unto life, nor unto Death,
His soul remains with his dying breath.

The Cadence calls His child to the fore,
To tumble to his Fate, but not by law.
Now her tale shalt unravel its web,
To lead, to search; New paths to tread.

Paths of the lost, paths of shame,
Imprints of treachery, best left to fade;
onwards, she's urged, to uncover the dark;
His enemies abound, to make their mark.

Paired paths merge, becoming one;
They fornicate their union beneath twilight's Sun.
Cadence of Dead passion, echoes through the Night,
Her new life quickens with the Rising light.

Her innocence unborn, a key to hide,
From Unity's Hammer-fist: They doth decry
the Hell-spawn whore. Our gate, thou shalt be;
Unchain thy Cage, and set them free!

Your father's crime, thy mark of shame,
Mantle of retribution, thou shalt share his blame.
Exacting our vengeance, the toll doth ride
A harvest of Souls for war, she cried.

Fell by name, the Dabus defrocked,
Pastor of a Power the Cage forgot;
His rebus-words, etched in air
Settles on skin, a warning bear:

Ride the portals to the city of shame,
Find the cutters you dare not name.
But mark my words, and listen well;
The reach of the hammer shalt find it's shell:

A Key to the seal, the gate Below;
In the Heart of the torus, it doth grow.
At the nexus of the planes, the Echoing Wall,
Heed my words, and follow the Call.

Barbed in malice, a force to dread,
Thou shalt not rest, until thy blood is shed.
A patch of vine, razor-edged,
Return to thy path, thou chose to tread.

Path from the Cage, to it's bitter, barbed end;
the cross-trade of Anarchy, they doth wend
the Dustmen; Find the umbra, the cage within,
A father joined by a masked Razor's sin.

He doth know the Cambion's Fate:
Seething with rage, and righteous hate,
to the Cage with war, he sundered their line,
decimated numbers lost, and trapped in time;

He fell to the spurt of their sanguine wake,
A slave-soul, a pawn for war, he waits:
For the Dead to fornicate, unsealing the Gate;
To breach Her virginity, He giveth and take.

Secrets unveiled of Her undying faith;
the shattered Dead betrayed the living wraith.
To find his heart; his mind; his sundered soul;
For this, He sacrificed, to heal the hole.

Plunge into darkness, inverse vista unveil
Cruel travesties exhume a sinister tale.
The Dead forged the weave; a cloth of Souls
Smother the Cage and Collect their toll.

Living Wraith reborn, bound to her cage
Uncharnel memories betray the Dead's dark Age;
A prisoner once released, chained here still,
seeks the dark of Her Destiny, soon fulfill

Their wretched purpose; thrice-fold eternally
her enemies bound by bloodsoaked enmity.
Yet the cage doth release, disgorge her from the fold
battered and broken; Her babe anchors her soul.

Into the Mortuary, let treachery start,
"Even unto Death, we doth not part."
decree former allies, friends of thine,
A Faction as old as the Cage's time.

And now the time doth come to fly,
Her spirit ride the Ring so high;
Through Arborean glades, Her muse is borne,
Unshackling His spirit with the Rising Dawn.

Her sacrifice spent to the Quintessential Fire,
Her spirit rises to join the Higher.
Father and Child watch the Dustman soar,
Bearing testimony to Her just reward....


Uathach's voice fades with the final, lingering notes, and she sinks into a melancholy silence. Having spent her passion, her sorrow, to the heat of her music, all that remains within is a dull ache, punctuated by the stab of hunger pains.

She no longer cares about the audience's stares, or their thoughts of her music. She longs to return to the comfort of her inn room, and slip into the deep, dreamless slumber of the Dead.


[OOC: Stix, for this performance, shall I use the first skill check posted in my private board?

Also, I'm not entirely sure of the date. Would it be better to have this set for day 192, or doesn't it matter too much?]