<~Sarb|Meanwhile> Malfeas. The city of blasphemous intent. The birth and death of demons of all shapes and sizes. Many came here to find the riches untold by Creation but find many other things; Horrors, death and all that's unholy, sealed away between an endless desert and their beloved home. Ligier hangs in the sky, a testament to his ego and power.
<~Sarb|Meanwhile> The Dragon comes and circles the sky, shadowing it with laps and waves of Darkness. He twists and curls, thrusting away the light and cleansing Malfeas of everything bright and noble. As his body stains the sky, he too shows no remorse for his actions, Erembour below following his wake and playing her sweet chorus to the damned.
<~Sarb|Meanwhile> And then, he stops.
<~Sarb|Meanwhile> And all of Malfeas stops with him, staring up as the mighty Wyrm rests in the sky. No expression can define his face, no movement springs from his once writhing coils. Even the destruction of Malfeas comes to a halt, the only sound in the distance is of Kimberry's waves eroding the shores and the laugh of Adorjan, who's voice echoes destruction.
<~Sarb|Meanwhile> Malfeas froze, what was a minute felt like an eternity. And the Dragon continues, Erembour continues, but Malfeas does not. Malfeas starts to thrust an unholy spire, of molten brass, lead and vitriol in the center. An unholy mirror of Mount Meru that pierces the sky, a pavilion of frozen stone decorating the peak.
<~Sarb|Meanwhile> And there, the Dragon vanishes from the sky and leaves only night time. From the shadows he emerges in his Jouten, hands held behind his back. Next to him is Malfeas, with a crown of obsidian and no clothes to hide his broken glory.
<~Sarb|Meanwhile> And the other three of the Reclamation are also present. Cecelyne; a statue of sand that endlessly crawls in the guise of a woman, sand constantly flaking and growing on her skin. She Who Lives, an androgynous figure of crystaline fire beneath a perfect robe, and even Adjoran.
<~Sarb|Meanwhile> Adorjan is a manifestation of her own wind, that glow with a baleful warmth, her voice a mirror of her destruction in the past.
<~Sarb|Meanwhile> The Dragon steps forward. "They... they've blown it."
<~Sarb|Meanwhile> Malfeas, for once in his miserable existance, looks shocked. A deep, almost horrific look over his face. She Who Lives shows nothing. Cecelyne smiles quaintly, Adorjan bellows out a laugh.
<~Sarb|Meanwhile> The Dragon raises both hands in an arc and draws shadows to the middle. A mirror in pure black and white, reflecting... something coming into view. The entire area is bathed in Shadows, and all five of the Reclaimers peer inside.
<Astra> (I hope not.)
<Astra> (We are actually getting the hearts.  Slowly.)
<~Sarb|Meanwhile> The lands are torn and cratered, filled with knicks and debris. Whilst this goes on, the Jouten of the dragon seems to freeze immobile, as his animated form appears on the other side. He walks, stepping freely into the deep black of this new plane.
<Astra> (And Ash is supposed to delay the guy sending a message while Hasab and Salen dose like a mofo.)
<~Sarb|Meanwhile> Before them is a speck of light that the Dragon keeps approaching. It's soothing, yet utterly chaotic, and something Adorjan seems to grow interested in. "If only the Mother was here, ge... geheheee!"
<~Sarb|Meanwhile> The Dragon keeps walking, walking, never stopping to pause for a second, his hands held behind his back until the figure comes fully into view.
<~Sarb|Meanwhile> The light is an Ardent one, and gives a soft, pale blue glow against the mirror of Shadows. The face is utterly androgynous, wearing clothes that reflect its glow, holding both hands over the bump on its stomach.
<~Sarb|Meanwhile> Ebon Dragon: "How did you get the Clarion?"
<~Sarb|Meanwhile> The figure shows no expression, but does hold up something incredible. All of the Joutens look shocked without a doubt, as she holds up a magnificent horn in her hand. And it vanished, put back into her clothes. "You won't know that. You will tell me information. Nothing more, nothing less. You will not lie to me."
<~Sarb|Meanwhile> The Dragon's hands behind him seem to grip tight at the last words, as if he's repressing a shudder. "I am bound against it. Tell me something in return, before you dismiss me." "We'll see."
<~Sarb|Meanwhile> Ebon Dragon: "What are your questions... what do they call you now? The Ardent Madonna? Creation's Whore?"
<~Sarb|Meanwhile> They both stare. Neither can attack the other it seems. Luna is the first to blink. "You know what to call me. Do not make me bring the Sun out here-" "Or else what, he may realise how much damage has been caused to our precious lands in his absence?"
<~Sarb|Meanwhile> Luna: "Be quiet." That was a command, not a suggestion. The Dragon stays silent.
<~Sarb|Meanwhile> And Luna raises a hand. "They're not watching. I know they are. These questions are between you and me." The portal goes pitch black for a second, every bit of colour and life drained, and then it flickers back on.
<~Sarb|Meanwhile> Ebon Dragon: "You wish to know such inane things. Have I been good enough to ask a question in return?"
<~Sarb|Meanwhile> Luna nods.
<~Sarb|Meanwhile> Most people who've met him know the smile on his face. It's so calm, trustworthy, butter wouldn't melt in his mouth, and the largest problem was that it didn't seem to lie or show any insincerety.
<~Sarb|Meanwhile> Ebon Dragon: "How many times do you steer this Chair to the Wyld in the hopes she will see your light and properly return, in the hopes that you can quieten down those pitiful feelings of love and regret that you could not tell her all of how you felt?"
<~Sarb|Meanwhile> That pause is enough for the Dragon to go into a full sinister grin, running a hand through his hair. Luna replies. "About as many times as you've tried to escape and failed." Emphasis on failed. It wipes the smile off his face quickly.
<Astra> (Burrrrrn.)
<~Sarb|Meanwhile> Ebon Dragon: "You will eat those words." Bampfh, in a blot of Shadows, his body vanishes from the Silver Chair of Night.
<~Sarb|Meanwhile> The Dragon takes back his body. The others start to mercilessly question him on what happened, and he simply does not answer. They can see something going through his mind, and his jouten slinks to the shadows. The spire recoils back to whence it came, and Malfeas returns to chaos once more.
<~Sarb|Meanwhile> The pregnant man, Luna, goes back to her throne and sits down, free from the Games for just a small while. Resting his hand on his chin, and elbow on the armrest, he stares outwards as he guides the moonlight into the chaotic tides of the Wyld. He searches again, and knows this will not be the last time he sits and waits.
<~Sarb|Meanwhile> --