In a demonstration of his strength, Daedalion destroys the Ebony Mandolin of
Mahalla in his hands.
Daedalion grips the Ebony Mandolin of Mahalla in both hands before bringing it
down harshly upon his knee. Bits of ravenwood go flying in all directions as the
delicate strings snap without a sound

Clumps of dirt fall from the roots above as a haunting melody falls down upon
the cavern like a heavy rainstorm. In a flash of violet light the Voice of
Mahalla swirls into the room, thrumming angrily with sparks of power.

In a demonstration of your strength, you destroy the Argentine Lyre of Trialante
in your hands.

A gentle rhythm suffuses the air as the Voice of Trialante suddenly bursts
through the dirt above, filling the room briefly with her characteristic
cadence.

The Voice of Mahalla exclaims, "..it is here.. It is here!"

The Voice of Trialante says, "...the song..."

The Voice of Trialante contracts in upon herself, spinning through the air in
agitation.

Wailing, The Voice of Trialante says, "...Mahalla...what shall we do?"

Her voice icy, The Voice of Mahalla says, "By us... alone it cannot be healed."

The Voice of Trialante says, "...the mortals..."

The Voice of Mahalla says, "Mortal mind... cannot see the Song as it is here."

The Voice of Trialante says, "...we must... we must make it manifest..."

The Voice of Trialante brings to sing in a low alto, surrounding you like a
warm, soothing blanket. Carefully, she crescendoes, her song aimed at the
strangeness lingering near the roots.

The Voice of Mahalla flashes a brilliant violet as she sings in high pitched
soprano. The cold, piercing words lashing out at the malformation centered
around the roots.

Briefly a shiver runs through the room, piercing your being. The strangeness
pulses slightly and then stabilises, uneffected by the Voices' song.

The Voice of Trialante says, "...oh, Mahalla... we are not strong enough..."

The Voice of Mahalla says, "Our song... it must be amplified..."

Pointing to the Thistle Child, Heiress Sarrasri Talnara, Arrow of the Hunt says,
"Perhaps she can help."

Raising a brow, The Child of Thorns, a little fae girl says, "Perhaps your nexi
can bolster your strength. For all that you sing the great Song, you do seem
rather attached to one place or the other."

The Voice of Trialante says, "...yes... perhaps... Mahalla...?"

Heiress Sarrasri Talnara, Arrow of the Hunt says, "Perhaps if we place the
broken instrument into the nexus."

The Voice of Mahalla says, "..material from the nexus' manifestation... it may
increase our strength..."

The Voice of Trialante spins more slowly, coming close to Xiel as though for
reassurance.

The Voice of Trialante says, "...I ask for... I ask for the little changing
creatures..."

Heiress Sarrasri Talnara, Arrow of the Hunt says, "Cheuped."

Heiress Sarrasri Talnara, Arrow of the Hunt says to you, "I'll get them."

Sarrasri spreads her arms wide, and the air between her hands begins to warp and
twist, dancing with brilliant multicoloured light as she bores a hole through
the fabric of the planes.

The Voice of Mahalla says, "Glass... that resonates..."

You smile softly at the Voice of Trialante.

Kaervas nods his head emphatically.

Kaervas d'Murani, the Tenebrous Wrath says, "The glass spiders."

Princess of Shadows, Leiliadhe d'Illici says to Kaervas, "Glass widows."

Kaervas spreads his arms wide, and the air between his hands begins to warp and
twist, dancing with brilliant multicoloured light as he bores a hole through the
fabric of the planes.

Halting, jerking notes drift down from the roots above, filling the room with an
erratic melody.

The Voice of Mahalla churns and shifts quietly, circling around the cavern
menacingly.

--turn in spam--

The Child of Thorns, a little fae girl raises her arms, letting the mixture of
glass and moss body parts rise up into the air, forming a circular chain at the
centre of the roots. The Voices of Mahalla and Trialante sing out, the haunting
duet causing the chain to swirl faster and faster. As the song reaches its
terrifying climax, the ring explodes into a swirl of emeral light and dark
shadow that collapses upon itself before exploding into a manifestation of a
discordant beat in the Great Song.

The aether bends and distorts around the vague shape of something hovering in the
air, erratically emitting strangled strains of music.

"music178425"             a discordant beat of music
Number of objects: 9

The edges along this sphere are soft, shifting and blending into the surrounding
area as the aether bends and distorts. The music itself is nearly intangible,
seen more by the shifting outline around it than by any physical barrier that
separates it from the rest of the world. The air is opaque where the beat of
music is centred, though not dark so much as full of energy and life, pulsing
like a heart while waves of nearly-imperceptible energy sparks off its ragged
sides like flame and burns holes into the fabric of reality that briefly flare
open to reveal a glimpse of emptiness before convulsively closing again.
A discordant beat of music almost glows with nearly god-like power.
He is strangely weightless.
You cannot see what a discordant beat of music is holding.

The Voice of Mahalla says, "That... is it, mortals..."

The Child of Thorns, a little fae girl says, "I guess we ought to take care of
that..."

The Child of Thorns, a little fae girl gives a string from the Ebony Mandolin of
Mahalla to Lord Deathchord Daedalion d'Murani, the Prince of Mourning.

The Child of Thorns, a little fae girl gives a string from the Argentine Lyre of
Trialante to you.

The Child of Thorns, a little fae girl says, "You might be able to use those to
bind the thing back into place."

You clutch a string from the Argentine Lyre of Trialante firmly, preparing to
use it.
You stretch a string from the Argentine Lyre of Trialante between extended hands
and lunge towards a discordant beat of music in an attempt to bind it. The air
around a discordant beat of music warps and twists, throwing you painfully away
from it.

You say, "Tricky little bit of music."

The Child of Thorns, a little fae girl says, "I guess you have to weaken it."

--people attempting to influence spam--

Skeptically, The Child of Thorns, a little fae girl says, "It doesn't seem to
have much of a personality..."

The Voice of Mahalla says, "Slaughter.. murder... destroy that which disrupts
the Song..."

The Child of Thorns, a little fae girl says, "You people seem to be violent so
often, why don't you beat it up?"

--disconnection spam--

The Child of Thorns, a little fae girl gives a string from the Argentine Lyre of
Trialante to Heiress Sarrasri Talnara, Arrow of the Hunt.

Sarrasri clutches a string from the Argentine Lyre of Trialante firmly,
preparing to use it.
Sarrasri laces a string from the Argentine Lyre of Trialante carefully through
her fingers and steps forward. As she holds out her hands, the simple weave
flies from her fingertips and begins to wrap around the discordant beat of
music.

The aether flickers and bends around the weakened beat of music as the lattice
of strings snare it in tangles of silver. A weak, panicked chiming fills the
air, easily overwhelmed as song pours from the netting, the raw voices of
Mahalla and Trialante combined.

The roiling aether outlining the music begins to disperse, the beat folding in
upon itself and shrieking even as the surface flares with fiery streams of
energy, struggling against the encompassing forces. The low, stabalising alto of
Trialante's voice strengthens the searing, clear soprano that is Mahalla's.

The Voices crescendo, darkness and light, pure and wyrden influences bolstering
and accenting each other. The beat roils violently, and suddenly the aether
snaps into place around its shape as it pulses in time with the life of the
forest, with the heartbeat of the Tree of Trees, and the song of the fae sounds
from root to limb to leaf as the irregularity fades away into nothing.

With great pleasure, The Voice of Trialante says, "...it seems.. healed..."

The Voice of Mahalla says, "...the song... restored."

The Voice of Trialante envelops you in her gentle cadence.

The Voice of Trialante says, "...home, Keyll Arrane..."