The Greatest of All Possible Triumphs

 

Cast:

Etorix Roko, a scientist of Hallifax

Selluhani Valush, a princess of Celest (the bride)

Sir Okero Kamore, a knight of Celest

Phabgafo Fibudo, an aetherchannel personality

Lord Harolin Snowplume of Hallifax (the bridegroom)

Miss Iladreh Brightfeather, a member of the Symphonium

Crui Xoa, a Master Scientist of Hallifax

 

Act I

The stage curtains open to reveal a grand Hallifaxian ballroom built from sparkling crystal of many hues. The great chamber is decorated for a party, with velvet bunting, thousands of flowers and an enormous buffet table. The room is already filling up with guests of all races, and more are streaming through the double doors. An orchestra at the far end of the room has almost finished tuning up; any moment they will begin to play.

An elegantly-dressed mugwumpi woman takes up a station just inside the door, where she can see all of the guests as they come in. She clears her throat, adopts a wide, dazzling smile, and begins talking in a clipped but clear, practiced voice.

Phabgafo Fibudo: Ladies and gentlemen, here we are at Snowplume Towers for THE event of the season! It's the betrothal party! Our very own Lord Harolin Snowplume has JUST got engaged to the lovely Princess Selluhani of Celest and it's time to celebrate! What a bash! It's going to be quite the crush - everyone who's anyone in Hallifax OR Celest is here tonight.

Phabgafo Fibudo: The Princess has yet to arrive, of course - she's got to make a suitably grand entrance, hasn't she? Haha! But his lordship is here with his father, Lord Deein - don't they make a handsome pair? - and they're standing with lovely Lady Aiken. Excellent taste, boys! Ladies Reii and Xaneke have formed a huddle with Lord Kret Krelaw, I wonder what they're talking about? And - oh, my! Here comes the Celestine delegation! Celest is arriving, ladies and gents, and they DO scrub up well.

The Celestines sweep into the hall as a group. Mostly comprised of merians, they are all wearing similar robes in white, gold or black, and their heads are held high. Immediately afterwards an imperious-looking merian woman enters alone, wearing a sumptuous gown of sea-blue velvet winking with gems. Her regal bearing and the sparkling crown atop her head proclaim her royal status.

Phabgafo Fibudo: It's the princess! Princess Selluhani has arrived! And there's her mother, the Lady Nalthi Valush, coming after. What a beauty. We all know there was some little consternation when the engagement was announced - and who can wonder? Hallifax loses a fine, eligible bachelor in Lord Harolin! But they make SUCH a handsome couple that I confess myself quite reconciled.

The princess's grand entrance over, the orchestra strikes up a sedate tune, signalling the beginning of the ball. Lord Harolin Snowplume bows over the princess's hand and leads her to the floor, and the rest of the company follows.

Phabgafo Fibudo: Oh my, the dancing's started! What a spectacle! I believe EVERY couple here tonight is currently whirling about the ballroom. I wish you could all see this! What a perfect, romantic story! My heart is positively MELTING with delight.

 

The orchestra music suddenly fades and the scene onstage dissolves into a new image. A crystalline laboratory appears, its lack of windows proclaiming it to be situated underground. The laboratory is spotlessly clean and extremely neat and tidy, except for one large desk in the centre of the room.

A lucidian scientist bends over the table, hard at work among a collection of flower pots. Half-grown rose bushes occupy the majority of the pots, most of them wilting or dead. One pot, however - the one enjoying the scientist's very particular attention - boasts a flourishing rose bush, much larger than the rest. All of the plants glitter strangely, as though they were made out of crystal.

The scientist fiddles dextrously with the flourishing bush for some moments, though it is unclear what she is doing to it. Then she steps back, picks up a simple lyre from the desk and beings, very solemnly, to play sequences of notes one after another. There is no discernible pattern or melody, and some of the notes are very discordant.

Etorix Roko: (Muttering under her breath) This must be it, this time. It has to be. I can make it work. I've given them life - look at them. They grew. They died afterwards, but they grew. A little. Come on, roses. This time, please - for me.

 

The scene changes once more, melting back into the ballroom. Its gentle upward drift suggests that the ballroom and the laboratory may be situated rather close to one another. The party remains in full swing; even Phabgafo Fibudo is dancing now, with a huge krokani dressed in the burnished armour and sweeping cloak of a Paladin. The princess and Lord Harolin, however, have retreated to a corner, where they appear to have little to say to one another.

A commotion begins at the entrance to the ballroom. Someone pushes their way through the gathered attendees, shouting at a such a volume even to be heard over the orchestra. The musicians falter and then stop playing, leaving the ballroom in sudden silence. In another moment, the intruder is revealed as a large taurian male, his polished armour proclaiming him a Paladin.

Sir Okero Kamore: This is an outrage! It cannot be allowed to continue! Selluhani! SELLUHANI! Where are you? How could you forsake me for THIS? What of your promises? What of our LOVE?

The princess exchanges a look with her startled fiance and reluctantly steps forward.

Princess Selluhani: Okero. We have discussed this.

Sir Okero Kamore snorts in a particularly vulgar manner and levels a murderous stare at the princess.

Sir Okero Kamore: You're speaking of the letter you sent me? That is not discussion! If you expected me to meekly accept my dismissal in favour of this -- this -- POPINJAY --

Sir Okero Kamore dissolves into incoherent splutters and then charges suddenly at Lord Harolin, who swallows visibly and backs away. Fortunately for him, several Paladins manage to insert themselves between the irate Sir Okero and his prey and are successful in holding him back.

Princess Selluhani: I am sorry if you were unhappy with my communication, Sir Okero, but this is hardly the time or the place to --

Sir Okero Kamore: Oh, it is! It's exactly the time and the place!

Princess Selluhani's lips twist in contempt and she turns away, returning to her station beside Lord Harolin. Her fiance, his face pale and his brow damp, is largely oblivious to her return, so intent is he on the difficult process of breathing.

The assembled Paladins surround Okero and there follows a few moments of furious consultation, pitched too low for the audience to hear. Okero shakes his head repeatedly, casting many more murderous glances at the princess and Lord Harolin, but at length he is persuaded to retreat. All seems restored to peace; except that the majority of the Paladins leave the ballroom with Sir Okero, and after a moment most of the rest of the Celestian delegation departs as well.

Phabgafo Fibudo: Well, my goodness, what a commotion! Did you hear all of that? It seems the princess has left a jilted lover behind! How salacious! But it's news to Celest as well, I'd say, as most of them have gone with the rejected Sir Okero in an unmistakeable show of solidarity. What will Hallifax think? Could this be the end of the betrothal already? Goodness, but Lord Harolin's looking peaky.

The mugwump's voice fades along with the ballroom and the laboratory appears once more. Etorix Roko's playing has increased to a feverish pace, and her lavender crystalline skin is roiling hectically with colour.

Etorix Roko: So close! I can feel it! Almost the right combination -- try THIS, and THAT instead -- and -- YES -- only a little growth would satisfy me, only grow a little, and a little more, and keep on growing -- like real plants do -- you can do it!

All at once, something begins to happen. The flourishing rose bush twitches and shivers, its leaves and petals tinkling against one another. And then it begins to grow, slowly but steadily, putting forth new emerald-and-jade leaves as flower buds begin to form. The buds open into fat rose blossoms of ruby, amethyst, diamond and beryl hues as Etorix Roko begins to laugh with delight.

Etorix Roko: Yes! YES! AhahahahaHAHAHA! I knew I could do it! I AM a Master Scientist, no matter what they say! Ahahhahaha!

Etorix Roko plays the lyre faster and faster and the bush's growth speeds up noticeably. Some of the other bushes begin to respond as well, recovering rapidly from their wilting dejection and putting forth their own profusion of sapphire, turquoise and garnet blooms. Soon they spill out of their pots and begin to trail over the desk, down the legs and over the floor, covering everything in a carpet of lush crystalline vegetation.

Etorix Roko: This is it! The greatest of all possible triumphs! I will be a LEGEND!

Her fingers pluck even faster at the strings until they are a blur of motion and she is beginning to pant for breath. The roses grow and grow, spreading rapidly over the floor and starting up the walls. When they reach Etorix's legs they begin, to her consternation, to climb those as well.

Etorix Roko: Er. What? No, no. Not ME, you silly bushes.

Etorix Roko steps back, but the roses follow, grasping stems reaching for her. She stares, eyes widening with alarm, and abruptly stops playing the lyre.

The roses continue to grow even without the music, faster and faster, and Etorix is forced into a stumbling backwards retreat as the walls of her laboratory are quickly subsumed under a cloak of roseate greenery. She howls in frustration and alarm and drops the lyre, jumping up and down on it until it breaks with a resounding crack. But the roses continue to grow; they grasp her at last, coiling stems reaching for her from several directions at once, and soon the hapless scientist is entirely swaddled in crystalline leaves.

Etorix Roko: Mmmpf! MmMhOHEOLHlbnf!

Soon nothing can be seen of Etorix Roko except her amber eyes, staring out with a mixture of anger and fear. The crystalline vines reach the stairs and begin to climb.

 

The laboratory dissolves back into the ballroom once more. The upset caused by Sir Okero's entrance appears to have been got over and the dancing has resumed, although the ballroom is noticeably emptier. But is that a flicker of emerald-green peeping around the grand double doors?

It is indeed, and more than a flicker; it is a grasping vine curling around the doorframe and reaching for the denizens inside. Others swiftly follow until there is a veritable carpet of crystalline greenery spreading out over the floor. At first no one seems to notice, but then a rose-vine reaches out and grabs the ankle of a passing dancer, sending her hurtling to the ground, and all at once a second great commotion breaks out.

Phabgafo Fibudo: What in the...? Oh, my goodness! As if this ball hadn't been eventful enough, something VERY strange is happening over by the door! It looks like -- I mean to say, if this weren't Hallifax and such a thing wasn't, therefore, totally impossible I would say that -- it certainly looks as though -- is that a SCRUM forming by the door?

A pile of tangled bodies now lies in a crush near the doorway, writhing and shrieking and scrambling over each other in their haste to right themselves from a most unseemly posture. But the vines hold them fast, and every moment more dart out and grab others, sending them toppling. The roses have streaked up the walls by this time and are busily claiming the ceiling; fully half of the grand ballroom has disappeared under the greenery.

Phabgafo Fibudo: (beginning to sound alarmed) VERY strange indeed! What are those plants, and what in the world are they DOING? Somebody needs to stop them! This could end badly otherwise!

Phabgafo Fibudo gives a nervous laugh and backs rapidly away from the approaching carpet of vines. Those guests as yet unscathed follow her example, and soon a knot of anxious ball-guests has formed near the back of the ballroom. Their number includes the princess and her fiance, the latter of whom half-heartedly pushes the princess behind him.

Princess Selluhani: (in tones of great disgust) Just WHAT is going on? Okero, is this your doing again? Stop it at once! My party, utterly RUINED!

Nobody pays any attention to the princess, for the vines have reached the huddled knot of refugees and they are rapidly, inexorably being claimed. The princess and Phabgafo clutch at each other helplessly as the vines reach their feet and begin to climb.

Soon, not a hint of mortal flesh can be seen across the entire ballroom. The decorations have vanished, the buffet table has disappeared and even the crystalline shimmer of the walls has been smothered to death. The ballroom stands in eerie silence, utterly choked in emerald-and-jade leaves. There is such a profusion of rose blossoms in every conceivable colour that the effect is undoubtedly beautiful; but the occasional twitch of movement from beneath the carpet of green offers a disturbing reminder of what lies beneath.

Silence falls over the stage and the ballroom gradually fades from view. It is replaced by a scene depicting a grand palace with multiple spires: Snowplume Towers. Rose-vines are climbing the walls and reaching for the turrets; the manse disappears with astonishing speed and all that remains is a towering, leafy edifice smothered in colourful roses.

THE FOLLOWING DAY

A contingent of Paladins rides up to the towers, their horses' hooves clattering noisily against the rosy vegetation that covers the ground. They are led by Sir Okero, his white cape billowing impressively behind him.

Sir Okero Kamore: (in a great, resounding bellow) Princess Selluhani! PRINCESS! Fear not, for I have come to rescue you!

Sir Okero draws breath for another shout but one of his companions elbows him mightily in the ribs, and his words dissolve into a harsh cough.

Sir Okero Kamore: What I mean is, WE are here to save you! All will be well! Trust in our love!

One of Sir Okero's entourage discreetly rolls his eyes and begins to hack experimentally at the vines around his feet. They have hitherto shown no particular signs of life or growth, but at this most ill-natured interference they begin at once to stretch and grasp, grabbing the Paladin's sword and swallowing it whole. The unfortunate knight blinks in surprise but he has no time to speak or move; in seconds he, too, has been swallowed whole by the plants.

His associates have noticed nothing amiss, for they are too busy charging off in the direction of the Towers. Once they reach the walls they dismount en masse, in a synchronised move that is undeniably impressive. Immediately they begin hacking at the vegetation around the door, with predictable consequences.

Silence reigns once more over Snowplume Towers.

ONE MONTH LATER

A second party of Paladins rides up to the walls of Snowplume Towers, flanked by a company of Sentinels. This time they have come equipped with axes, sharp and polished and gleaming brightly in the sun. This second expedition rapidly goes the same way as the first, and soon these noble warriors have also discovered a new calling as topiaries.

ONE YEAR LATER

It is the turn of the berobed Celestines, together with a grand company of Aeromancers. The Celestines do something impressive and unfathomable involving golden light, which has no effect whatsoever upon the choking greenery.

The Aeromancers mount a credible effort at blowing the vines away, but they merely tinkle elegantly beneath the howling gale and beam rosily back at their assailants, untouched. The counter-attack is launched, and soon there is neither hide nor hair of a Celestine or an Aeromancer to be seen.

TEN YEARS LATER

A motley assortment of Celestians, Hallifaxians  and others spills into the grounds of Snowplume Towers. Time has obviously dampened the tales, for the wariness of the earlier crews has been replaced by a jocular eagerness. They have brought large cans of something foul-smelling which they are optimistically sprinkling all over the vines. But weed-killer can hardly be expected to have any effect on the crystalline, other than to enrage it, and soon the Towers are in proud possession of another collection of leafy bumps and protrusions.

FIFTY YEARS LATER

A single loboshigaru enters the grounds of the manse, dressed in the leathers and hues of a woodsman. He is carrying an enormous hammer, and he immediately begins laying about with it, smashing it mightily against the rose blossoms. This proves to be rather more effectual than any previous effort, for several flowers and a great many leaves splinter into pieces and fall away beneath the onslaught. But he is not permitted to get very much further with this admittedly fine idea before he, too, is swallowed whole.

ONE HUNDRED YEARS LATER

Silence reigns over Snowplume Towers. Nobody steps into the grounds, ready to do battle with the roses. The plight of Princess Selluhani's ball has fallen from living memory, and no one will now arrive to rescue the damsel, her wilting fiance or her belligerent, jilted lover. There is no movement whatsoever, suggesting that the denizens trapped beneath the vegetation have fallen into a profound slumber.

Except for Etorix Roko. The stage cuts to a sudden, horrific image of the scientist's amber eyes, still wide and staring vacantly out at the rose-choked walls of her laboratory. The curtains slowly close until only those eyes are visible, and then they, too, are obscured behind thick velvet drapes.

 

Act II

The stage curtains drift elegantly open to reveal the grand edifice of Snowplume Towers viewed from some distance. The castle labours under a choking blanket of crystalline greenery dotted with a profusion of bejewelled roses. The vines have crawled up the walls, wound around the towers and stretched their grasping fingers into the air above. The grounds, too, are covered in emerald-and-jade vegetation as far as the eye can see. Silence reigns.

Until it is suddenly broken by a gently trilled note drifting up from somewhere near the great gates. The scene enlarges as the song grows louder and stronger, focusing at last upon the lithe, dainty form of a young trill girl who is wandering about the garden. She is wearing a gown of white brocade lace, the hem of which trails prettily over the roses as she walks. She does not seem to notice the way the blossoms lean dreamily after her, or the way the vines begin to twitch and reach after her train.

Iladreh Brightfeather:

Ohhhh, a castle so serene

Oh, morning so sublime

Oh, greenery so green

Oh, palace lost in time

What fate, alas, was yours?

How came thee by thy doom?

Come, throw open your doors!

Awaken from thy gloom!

 

Iladreh Brightfeather stops and frowns a little over the last line, her fingers faltering on the strings of her lyre. She thinks for a moment, obviously without inspiration, for at last she continues on:

 

Oh! Rosy-blossomed vines,

Oh crystalline array,

I bid thee merry-meet,

It is for thee I play.

 

A new voice suddenly interjects, a voice full of waspish irritation and harsh disgust.

Crui Xoa: Just WHAT is all that racket?

Iladreh Brightfeather stops abruptly, her lovely face falling at such a reaction to her song. She stares in amazement at the vision of scientific glory before her, for the speaker is a lucidian, her skin as crystalline as the roses around her, and she is either wearing, carrying or surrounded by every conceivable variety of gadget or scientific instrument. Her skin, unfortunately, is glowing bright, angry red and her eyes flash with fury.

Crui Xoa: I am TRYING to work here. I almost had it, too, and then YOU walk in here trilling like a sparrow with your silly little song and --

Iladreh Brightfeather: (tears welling in her eyes) I'm sorry! I didn't mean to interrupt. Only it is so lovely a morning, and so melancholy -- and yet so beautiful -- a scene, I couldn't help composing a song.

Crui Xoa eyes the trill girl suspiciously, completely unmollified.

Crui Xoa: You thought you only had to sing an entreaty and the thicket would part for you? Was that the idea?

Crui Xoa rolls her eyes and returns her attention to some complicated-looking thing in her hands, muttering under her breath.

Iladreh Brightfeather sighs, her shoulders drooping elegantly as the pretty white plumage atop her head stirs in the breeze.

Iladreh Brightfeather softly sings:

 

Ohhh, grouchiest of grouch,

Oh thorniest of thorn,

Oh grumpiest of grump,

Thou leavs't me so folorn.

 

Crui Xoa sighs loudly.

Crui Xoa: Leavs't? That isn't even a word.

Iladreh Brightfeather: (folornly) It... is.

Crui Xoa: It is not. Now go away.

Iladreh Brightfeather: And leave this poor castle so enshrouded? So Enchoked? You must not have heard the tale. Twas once the site of the greatest love story that has ever been told; the tale of the fair Princess Selluhani and her betrothed, Lord Harolin Snowplume. Passionately did they love, but their love was opposed! And so cursed were they, and so they remain unto this very day.

Crui Xoa: That's a ridiculous story. And completely untrue. Nobody knew about this place, except for me! And I spent years -- YEARS -- sifting through revolting, mouldy, dust-covered books to find out about it. You made all of that up.

Iladreh Brightfeather: (earnestly) But, no! I did not! My great-grandmother was a Snowplume and her poetry has been passed down in the family for generations. It is beautiful. I will quote some of it.

Iladreh Brightfeather draws herself up into a proclaiming posture, casts a hand to her brow and opens her mouth.

Crui Xoa: What? NO! Gods, no more rhyming. Please.

Iladreh Brightfeather: B-but -- it does not rhyme. Well, not all of it does.

Crui Xoa: NO POETRY.

Iladreh Brightfeather wilts visibly, her slender white fingers plucking a series of mournful notes on her lyre.

Crui Xoa: And for the love of the gods, please STOP TWANGING THAT THING.

Iladreh Brightfeather retreats into wounded silence for several moments, but her curiosity obviously overcomes her dismay, for she draws closer to the lucidian and peers at her array of gadgets in obvious puzzlement.

Iladreh Brightfeather: What is it that you're doing?

Crui Xoa: I am preparing the device which will release this castle from its unfortunate state. Or I would be, if I were not surrounded by infuriating, limpid Symphonists who insist on singing things at me.

Iladreh Brightfeather looks around in puzzlement, her delicate brow prettily furrowed.

Iladreh Brightfeather: But there is only me.

Crui Xoa: And you are annoying enough to count for at least ten. Did I not ask you to go away?

Iladreh Brightfeather: I cannot leave until I see this noble place restored to its former glory!

Crui Xoa groans mightily.

Crui Xoa: I assure you, that process will be completed much more efficiently without your interference.

Iladreh Brightfeather: (primly) My assistance, I think you mean.

Crui Xoa: (snorting) In what way were you expecting to assist? I think we have already established that singing to the vines does not help.

Iladreh Brightfeather: Oh, but it might! You see, in the thirty-seventh stanza of Great-Grandmother's epic poem (entitled, as perhaps you may already know, "Oh Snowplume, My Snowplume,") she specifically mentions music.

 

Iladreh Brightfeather:

How the walls resounded, that fateful night,

As enchanted music rang o'er the grounds!

How glorious the ballroom's gentle light,

As orchestra made soft and dulcet sounds!

 

Crui Xoa makes another sound of complete disgust, all but throwing her delicate gadget onto the ground.

Crui Xoa: That is the WORST thing I have ever heard. Walls don't resound, you nincompoop, and dulcet sounds? SOUNDS? Oh, but no! It rhymes with grounds! How witty!

Iladreh Brightfeather draws back from the irate scientist with a horrified gasp, her flower-like face creased with a profound sense of injury.

Iladreh Brightfeather: My great-grandmother won a prestige award for that poem! It was PRESTIGIOUS!

Crui Xoa only makes some kind of frustrated growling noise and returns to her work.

Crui Xoa: If I cannot persuade you to leave, could you at least observe my VERY delicate work in silence?

Iladreh Brightfeather: (doubtfully) I ... I suppose so.

Crui Xoa: COMPLETE silence.

Iladreh Brightfeather steps back a pace and sighs, the picture of wounded patience.

Iladreh Brightfeather: But what are you doing? You never did explain.

Crui Xoa looks ready to scream, but instead she takes a deep, calming breath and glares at Iladreh with only moderately murderous intent.

Crui Xoa: Fine. See this? It is a Vibrational Frequentifying Obfuscationer. If combined with an upgraded Tonal Murtationery Sequencer, and modified with a particularly brilliant Gurpatory Oscillationer (if I do say so myself), I have some hopes that it will effect a rotational circumvolveration among the genatory crystallisation of these blasted rose bushes and ultimately effect a complete transformatory revolvulation in the rosarian matter.

Iladreh Brightfeather stares blankly at the scientist, her fine eyes very wide.

Crui Xoa rolls her eyes again.

Crui Xoa: In layman's terms, my diverse and very brilliant machines will work perfectly in concert to make the roses grow backwards -- or, effectively, unmake themselves. Thus reversing the unfortunate effects of the long-ago event, whatever it was, and releasing the castle from its -- what did you call it? -- its doom. Or was it gloom? Or both?

Iladreh Brightfeather brightens at once, her face lighting up.

Iladreh Brightfeather: Oh! Oh, you are so clever. I do SO admire you.

Crui Xoa waves these gushing compliments away, frowning fiercely down at her Vibrational Frequentifying Obfuscationer.

Iladreh Brightfeather begins to pluck a new, rather more upbeat tune upon the strings of her lyre.

 

Oh, scientist so fine!

How clever is your brain.

Your ideas are so divine,

I don't care that you're plain.

 

Crui Xoa: Shut up.

Iladreh Brightfeather: (frowning) No... no, you're right. That one will need some work.

Iladreh Brightfeather continues to pluck away at her lyre, rearranging the melody into various different patterns. As she does so, some of the crystalline vines near her feet begin to slacken and droop, as if lulled into a half-slumber.

Iladreh Brightfeather: (dreamily) Mmhmmhmm, HUMMMhumhumhumHUUUUM, lalaloolaa...

Crui Xoa: Wait! Something's happening.

Iladreh Brightfeather immediately stops singing and playing and looks around herself in every direction, startled and excited.

Iladreh Brightfeather: What? Where?

Crui Xoa: No! Don't stop singing!

Iladreh Brightfeather: But I thought you said --

Crui Xoa: Forget what I said! Carry on.

Iladreh Brightfeather begins to hum once more as her fingers take up the tune precisely where she left off. After a few more moments, even she notices the effect it is having as a large, amethystian rose-blossom begins to droop heavily against her leg.

 

Iladreh Brightfeather:

How the roses love me,

Me and only meeee!

We'll sing and dance together

Until we--

 

Crui Xoa interrupts the song by suddenly dashing forward and grabbing at something that has been revealed beneath the foliage. It is a large, male hand, which is soon revealed to be attached to a large, male arm.

Iladreh Brightfeather blinks down at the hand in astonishment, her surprise increasing as the roses' relaxation gradually reveals a large and very prone taurian form encased in rusting armour.

The deplorably horizontal knight blinks up at the singing girl dazedly, and a slow smile curves his lips.

Sir Okero Kamore: And who is my deliverer? Here she stands before me: a complete angel! Tell me your name, lovely maiden, I implore you.

Iladreh Brightfeather blushes prettily pink and smiles down at Sir Okero.

Iladreh Brightfeather: I am Iladreh Brightfeather. I am no angel, merely a bard.

Sir Okero Kamore pushes himself up onto his elbows and slowly, unsteadily gains his feet. He uses the kneeling Crui as a prop to lean upon, without so much as glancing at her.

Sir Okero Kamore: I must beg to differ! An angel you are, and no lovelier angel have I seen in all my days.

Iladreh Brightfeather blushes again and gazes up at Sir Okero, starry-eyed and dewy-skinned. The moment stretches.

Crui Xoa: Oh, stop it. This is completely absurd.

Sir Okero Kamore blinks down at Crui, the spell broken. His face clears of its dreamy expression and he blinks again, hard, as though several things had just occurred to him.

Sir Okero Kamore: But what am I...? I am sure there was something... how long have I been...?

Sir Okero Kamore: (with a horrified gasp) The princess! Princess Selluhani!

Iladreh Brightfeather: The princess is real! I knew it! Is she in there, with her true love?

Sir Okero Kamore stares blindly at Iladreh, distraught.

Sir Okero Kamore: Her true love? Why, no! Never! I am her true love.

Iladreh Brightfeather: (crestfallen) Oh. Oh, I-I see.

Crui Xoa: (with a low snicker) The plot thickens.

Iladreh Brightfeather casts Crui a look of annoyance, and turns a look of irritation upon poor Sir Okero.

Iladreh Brightfeather: Well, really! Then I think you might have spared me all that talk of ANGELS, Sir Knight. One should never speak so to a lady unless one speaks with perfect sincerity.

Sir Okero Kamore does not appear to hear her, for he has set off in the direction of the towers with a manly and purposeful stride. His broad shoulders, towering height and determined posture are impressive, even if he does rather resemble a perambulating and sadly rusty tea-kettle.

Crui Xoa: Little singing-thing, it occurs to me -- which it has not, apparently, to you -- that the many and various protrusions which decorate these peculiar gardens probably contain rusting taurian knights as well, or perhaps other beings. Could you possibly put aside your pique long enough to produce a little more music?

Iladreh Brightfeather stares sadly in the direction of Sir Okero's retreating back for a long moment, and then heaves a great, wounded sigh. Raising her lyre, she plucks out her melody once more, rather more slowly, with the air of a woman playing a dirge.

The melody remains effective despite the lack of zeal with which it is played, and the roses begin to drift and droop once more. Several more recumbent figures are revealed, and then more, and more; they recover from their deep slumber slowly, but at length some fifty or sixty Paladins, Celestines, Aeromancers, Sentinels and assorted others stand blinking dazedly in the sun.

Iladreh Brightfeather claps her hands together delightedly, almost dropping her lyre in the process.

Iladreh Brightfeather: Oh, welcome! Welcome, all! You have been sleeping for a very long time, I fear, but never mind it, for you are in time to rescue the princess!

A murmur of conversation begins at her words, and it seems that the general opinion of the assembled company is not entirely in favour of the project. Several of the dazed sleepers stumble in the direction of the gates and disappear, and then several more. Eventually only ten remain, most of them wearing rusty armour.

 Iladreh Brightfeather: (forlornly) Your comrades are not quite so brave, Sir Knights. Alas that they should desert their princess at such an hour!

Crui Xoa: They've been sleeping for a century, idiot. I imagine they want to get back to their lives, and who can blame them?

Iladreh Brightfeather: But the princess!

Crui Xoa: Forget the princess. Help me with this thing.

Iladreh Brightfeather blinks vacantly down at the contraption Crui has put together, which the scientist is struggling to lift.

Iladreh Brightfeather: Oh. Is it finished?

Crui Xoa: Yes, and it is damned heavy, IF you don't mind.

Iladreh Brightfeather bends and slips her delicate hands underneath one side of the device, while Crui takes the other.

Together, the two women heft the contraption, with an assortment of unladylike oofs and groans, and begin to shuffle towards the castle.

Iladreh Brightfeather: But where are we taking it?

Crui Xoa: By all accounts the affair began at the castle -- probably somewhere near the ballroom -- so we're taking it there.

The two women stumble on, gaining upon the castle slowly but steadily. The distant figure of Sir Okero Kamore can be seen ahead, gazing moonily up at the castle walls. He shouts the princess's name a few times, but nothing happens.

Crui Xoa: (in a strained voice) It would really help if we had -- just for example -- a large, muscular TAURIAN around to help us carry this thing.

Sir Okero Kamore patently does not hear, and the ladies are obliged to struggle up to the doorway unaided.

Iladreh Brightfeather: The door is impassable.

Crui Xoa: Yes, I noticed that. Sing on, Symphonist.

Iladreh Brightfeather releases the contraption with a sigh of relief and plucks away at her lyre once more, watching in satisfaction as the roses droop and slip gently, releasing their choking grasp on the doorframe.

The door is slowly revealed and, at a light push, swings ponderously open. The hallway beyond is dark. The two women secure Crui's device once more and stagger inside, Sir Okero Kamore stumbling hastily after them.

Sir Okero Kamore: But, ladies! You should not be taxing your delicate limbs when I may lend you mine muscular frame for the purpose. Allow me.

Crui Xoa: (her teeth gritted) Don't bother. We've got it.

The whole party stumbles inelegantly through the hall and to the rear, where a yawning hole seems to suggest the presence of a flight of stairs. Iladreh Brightfeather wields her lyre once more, her sweet voice joining it in song.

 

Iladreh Brightfeather:

Rosy-rosy-racious,

Truly thou art gracious,

Gorgeous is thy jewelled array,

But thou art somewhat in the way.

 

Rosy-rosy-racious,

Wouldst thou be so gracious,

Please to move thy tangled rear,

And leave the lovely staircase clear.

 

Crui Xoa's lips twitch in an involuntary smile but she says nothing, waiting with tapping foot until the staircase is revealed.

Sir Okero Kamore darts forward and grabs the contraption before the ladies can reach it, and lifts it up. His complacent smile fades as he staggers a little under the weight.

Sir Okero Kamore: Long slumber appears to have adversely affected mine musculature.

Iladreh Brightfeather: (with great concern) Oh, Sir Knight! Pray, do not injure yourself.

Sir Okero Kamore: (in a strained voice) No, no. I am perfectly able.

Crui Xoa watches impatiently as Sir Okero staggers down the stairs and Iladreh Brightfeather trips daintily after. She brings up the rear, rolling her eyes as a gruff OOF resounds from below.

Crui Xoa: Do, please, try not to break it. If you do, I will personally ensure that you spend at least another hundred years sleeping out in the courtyard.

The laboratory at last is gained. The room is as green and choked as the rest of the towers, but the presence of a pair of amber-blinking eyes in the middle of the room reveals it to be the resting place of poor Etorix Roko. Those eyes are clouded with slumber, but they clear somewhat as the inelegant party staggers and stumbles its way into her laboratory and Sir Okero sets down the device.  A few rusty Paladins trail in behind them, belated and still dazed.

Iladreh Brightfeather: (squealing in excitement) Make it happen!

Crui Xoa casts Iladreh a look of pure annoyance and gets down on her knees before her remarkable contraption. She fiddles with a couple of dials and pushes some buttons, and suddenly a low, vibrating tone emanates from the machine.

The tone is not remotely melodic.

Iladreh Brightfeather claps her hands over her ears and shrieks.

Iladreh Brightfeather: Make it stop!

Crui Xoa: (shouting) No! This is what we need to do!

Etorix Roko's amber eyes widen in utter horror. The leafy protrusion that is her enshrouded form begins to shake and a second low, muffled tone chimes in with the first.

Etorix Roko: Mhdfhoneoanj! YehhaehaoWHEOWHEO!

Crui Xoa looks around, startled, and quickly switches off the machine.

Crui Xoa: (pointing imperiously at the shivering protrusion) Singer!

Iladreh Brightfeather begins to play.

Iladreh Brightfeather:

Hail, indignant stranger!

We come to thee in peace,

These unseemly struggles may

Thy sorry plight increase!

Relax thy quivering muscles,

And soothe thy restless mind,

The roses love me better but,

They'll leave thee disentwined.

 

Crui Xoa sighs loudly.

Crui Xoa: They don't love you. They just like your music. It's not the same thing.

Iladreh Brightfeather: No! They love me. I can feel it.

Crui Xoa: Whatever.

Etorix Roko emerges from her confinement with a shudder and draws in a huge gulp of air.

Etorix Roko: HOW LONG HAVE I BEEN IN THERE?

Crui Xoa: About a hundred years. But there's no need to shout.

Etorix Roko: A HUNDRED YEARS?!

Etorix Roko falls backwards in a dead faint, but she is speedily revived as her head clangs horribly against the crystalline vegetation that still covers the floor.

Etorix Roko: (miserably) OUCH.

Crui Xoa: Who are you, anyway?

Etorix Roko: (with great dignity) I AM A FUTURE MASTER SCIENTIST OF HALLIFAX.

Crui Xoa: Could you please stop shouting? What's your name?

Etorix Roko: ETORIX ROKO.

Crui Xoa I suppose that's a no, huh? What are you doing down here?

Etorix Roko: THIS IS MY LAB. I WAS WORKING IN HERE.

Crui Xoa: Oh? Working at what?

Etorix Roko: A VERY IMPORTANT AND SECRET PROJECT.

Crui Xoa: (suspiciously) It wouldn't have had anything to do with, oh, I don't know... CRYSTAL ROSE BUSHES, might it?

Etorix Roko: YOU DO NOT HAVE THE APPROPRIATE SECURITY CLEARANCE FOR THAT INFORMATION.

Crui Xoa: I'll take that as a yes.

Crui Xoa: (in a whisper to Iladreh) We've got a crazy on our hands. Handle with care.

Iladreh Brightfeather nods gravely, her eyes wide and positively dripping with compassion.

Crui Xoa: Right, the sooner we fix this mess and get the Nil out of here, the better. I'm switching it on again.

The horrific tone fills the room again, and Etorix Roko gives a high, piercing shriek and covers her ears.

Etorix Roko: NO! NONONONONONO! THE TONE IS ALL WRONG!

Crui Xoa blinks in surprise at the deranged scientist.

Crui Xoa: What?

Etorix Roko: LET ME LOOK AT IT.

Crui Xoa hugs her device close to her body and shakes her head violently.

Crui Xoa: You stay away from it!

Etorix Roko: I KNOW WHAT I AM DOING.

Etorix Roko roughly shoulders Crui aside and falls upon the device, her clever fingers twiddling buttons and turning dials as though she, not Crui, were its creator. The horrible tone melts into something much more melodic, and a few others join it in a clear harmony.

Etorix Roko: THAT IS MUCH BETTER.

Iladreh Brightfeather: That IS much better.

The roses appear to agree, for the melodic notes strike each leaf and petal and echo in a tinkling, harmonic wave. The vegetation shivers and sparkles, and there is a sudden feeling of ease as the whole mass relaxes a fraction.

Crui Xoa looks about herself in surprise.

Crui Xoa: Okay, maybe not so crazy.

Etorix Roko: (barking at Iladreh) CAN YOU PLAY THAT THING?

Iladreh Brightfeather looks down at her lyre lovingly.

Iladreh Brightfeather: Of course I can, my beautiful lyre, my lovely--

Etorix Roko: OKAY PLAY IT THEN.

Iladreh Brightfeather: What am I playing?

Etorix Roko: WHATEVER IT WAS THAT YOU PLAYED BEFORE.

Iladreh Brightfeather plucks out the melody, adjusting it to harmonise perfectly with the shimmering tones already filling the room.

The effect is immediately magnified, and the vines begin, collectively, to slump ever-so-slowly towards the floor.

Crui Xoa adjusts a dial on her contraption ever so slightly, and something else starts to happen. The outermost vines begin to shrink in upon themselves, gradually retracting as though their earlier growth process is indeed being reversed.

Crui Xoa: IT WORKS! Rahahahahahhaa!

Etorix Roko: NOT BAD AT ALL. BUT IT WILL TAKE ANOTHER CENTURY TO REVERSE THE PROCESS AT THIS RATE.

Crui Xoa: Ah... yes. The process IS a little slow.

Crui Xoa paces about for a moment, deep in thought.

Crui Xoa: What we need... is... speed.

Etorix Roko: AND VOLUME.

Crui Xoa turns to Sir Okero Kamore and his entourage of weary paladins and points an imperious arm up the staircase.

Crui Xoa: Paladins! FETCH THE SYMPHONIUM!

Sir Okero Kamore blinks in surprise at Crui, but nods his great horned head and departs, trailing his Paladin companions behind him.

Crui Xoa: (calling up the stairs after him) And the Cantors! Nil, get the Minstrels and the Spiritsingers if you can! BRING EVERYONE!

Etorix Roko: SOME SINGING WOULD BE GOOD.

 Iladreh Brightfeather nods and straightens her shoulders importantly. She opens her pink rosebud mouth and warbles in delightful harmony.

 

Roses are red and roses are blue,

Roses are yellow and purple too,

Roses are orange, roses are green,

The loveliest flower we've ever seen.

 

As Iladreh sings, a few lucidians and trill wearing sweeping robes and carrying lyres, violins and mandolins come spilling down the stairs and form up behind her. They lift their instruments, open their mouths and continue the song.

 

Roses are scarlet, roses are brown,

They're spreading themselves all over the town,

Roses are violet, roses are gold,

It's the bloomiest tale that's ever been told.

 

Crui Xoa slowly turns a dial, and the tempo increases. The assembled Symphonists play and sing faster in response, and the reversal of the roses' growth increases its pace accordingly.

Several more Symphonists come clattering down the stairs behind them. They are followed by merians, elfen, dracnari and several other races, all berobed and bearing their own instruments. Soon the laboratory is packed with singers and the music rises to a deafening volume.

Etorix Roko begins to spin in time with the music, turning faster and faster on the spot. It is dizzying to watch her, but she is a surprisingly skillful dervish and seems untouched by giddiness.

 

Roses are red and roses are blue,

Roses are yellow and purple too,

Roses are orange, roses are green,

The nastiest flower we've ever seen.

 

Roses are pink and roses are white,

The colour of day, the colour of night,

Roses are ivory, roses are black,

Take thyselves off and never come back!

 

The tempo increases more and more until the assembled bards can barely keep up; but they battle on, chests heaving, beginning to sweat with the effort. The scene cuts to a distant view of Snowplume Towers, from which perspective the hasty retreat of the clambering rose-vines can clearly be seen. They crawl back at a rapid pace, swallowing themselves whole, leaving an expanse of brown, withered grass in their wake. Soon the crumbling stones of the building itself begin to appear, and at length the whole castle has emerged from its captivity and stands proudly, shining in the sun.

The retreat begins in the ballroom, the green carpet of vines peeling back to reveal the crystalline floor littered with slumbering bodies. The long-lost guests of the betrothal party stir themselves to wakefulness and stagger clumsily to their feet, blinking dazedly at each other.

Back in the laboratory, the tempo has increased to such a frenzy that the musicians are failing to keep pace with it; but the task is almost complete. The last few grasping vines shrink and retract, leaving an innocent-looking collection of rose bushes neatly housed in pots atop the desk. The music stops abruptly, leaving all the singers panting for breath.

Etorix Roko sways and topples slowly to the ground.

 

The laboratory dissolves into the ballroom once more, where Princess Selluhani has regained her feet and her fiance. She and all the other guests are standing in a confused huddle in the centre of the room, their clothes ragged, hair askew and ornaments broken or lost. When the grand doors suddenly fly open and a swarm of bards spills into the room, they begin, in their confusion, to back away.

Iladreh Brightfeather: Welcome back, welcome back! Oh, look, there's the princess!

Iladreh Brightfeather waves cheerfully at Princess Selluhani.

Princess Selluhani: Wh-what happened?

Iladreh Brightfeather: You slept for a hundred years, but it's all fine now.

Princess Selluhani: A hundred YEARS?

Phabgafo Fibudo blinks and sways unsteadily, and mumbles a confused jumble of words.

Phabgafo Fibudo:  L-ladies and gents... must apologise for unscheduled break in the programme... something VERY untoward... is that the princess?

Crui Xoa wanders into the room in the bards' wake, her shoulders slumped in exhaustion and her crystalline face fixed in a scowl. But her gaze falls on the regal form of Princess Selluhani and she stops, staring.

Princess Selluhani stares back.

Crui Xoa begins to drift in the princess's direction as if inexorably drawn, her mouth slightly agape.

Iladreh Brightfeather: Oh, Crui! That's the princess. Um, have you two met or something...?

Phabgafo Fibudo: (her voice gaining in strength) It IS Princess Selluhani! Looks like she has a new suitor... or something? Who is that anyway?

Lord Harolin Snowplume appears inclined to take offence at his fiancee's wandering attention, until one of the other guests -- a very handsome male trill -- sways and stumbles heavily against him. The two go crashing to the floor, the trill muttering a confused apology .

Lord Harolin Snowplume lies prone upon the floor, squashed beneath the body of the trill, with the widest of all possible smiles upon his face.

Lord Harolin Snowplume: Oh, no. No really, it was my fault.

Lord Harolin Snowplume: Don't trouble yourself to get up.

Phabgafo Fibudo: Ohhh my, love is everywhere. Charming. Even when it is unscheduled, unexpected and going in entirely the wrong direction... erm. Erp? Who are all these people? Why can I hear music?

Iladreh Brightfeather blinks incredulously at the recumbent form of Lord Harolin, but before she can speak her attention is claimed by Sir Okero Kamore, who bows to her and takes her hand.

Sir Okero Kamore: Dear lady, your talents have saved the day. How can we ever repay you?

Iladreh Brightfeather: (blushing) Not mine alone, Sir Knight.

Sir Okero Kamore waves a hand dismissively and smiles down at Iladreh, who smiles dreamily back.

Etorix Roko finally makes her appearance in a decidedly unsteady gait. She collapses against the wall and surveys the room, her amber eyes wide and staring.

Etorix Roko: WELL ISN'T THIS LOVELY. HOW GLAD I AM THAT YOU ARE ALL OKAY.

Iladreh Brightfeather begins to play her lyre again and starts to sing.

 

Etorix, oh Etorix! How strange a sort you are,

The hero and the villain both, it's really quite bizarre.

 

Etorix Roko: OH GOOD YES, I LIKE THIS NUMBER.

Crui Xoa raises her eyes heavenward and sighs, her fixation on Princess Selluhani temporarily broken.

Crui Xoa: Oh, you're singing again? AGAIN?

 

Iladreh Brightfeather:

Crui Xoanatious,

She's really quite vexatious,

She's had her way and saved the day

So let's not be pugnacious.

 

Crui Xoa: No, really, you can stop. Please. PLEASE.

 

Iladreh Brightfeather draws herself up, opens her mouth wide and sings high and grandly,

 

Ohhhhh.....!

What a merry day, what a merry, merry day,

The glittering roses have all gone away,

The Princess is back, her fiance is gay

(And so is she, just by the way)

It's a very, merry, merry old day.

 

Crui Xoa claps her hands over her ears and shrieks. Grabbing the princess's hand, she dashes from the ballroom, the sounds of her screams fading with her retreating footsteps.

 

Iladreh Brightfeather: Sing with me!  Ohhhhh....!

The assembled bards suck in great breaths, throw back their shoulders and take up the tune.

 

Ohhhh....!

It's a wonderful, merry old day!

The sun is shining, the grass is grey,

We hope it will be green someday,

And Snowplume Castle's back to stay.