[centre][img]https://static.zerochan.net/Austria.full.591195.jpg[/img]
[h1][color=8882be]Pyotr Illych Tchaikovsky[/color]  [/h1]
[h2] Rich District [/h2] [/centre]

The turning of the page. Turn the page to continue reading the music, to continue the symphony. That was how life worked. Many were aware of this and knew there was always crescendos and diminuendos. 

Yet where was the crescendo of his life? Sure he always got close to forte yet he never got his fortissimo. The country rode the coat tails of his success and he was forced to live in the shadow of his crumbling life. If only he could leave something that was only him. Enitrely him. Leave a proper mark, with the right method.

Yes, that would be the way. His ending was ambiguous, the disease killed him right? The awful poison running through his veins, was that the disease that reached his heart? Or was it the poison he had digested. In this eternal realm, he did not know. Yet he could feel it. Finally. The calling he had been awaiting.



The smoke around the circle cascaded around the shadowed figure as his robes brushed against the floor. Looking down upon his hands he smirked and ignoring the obnoxious obviously American dialect being thrown at him, he began to laugh at his fate. Here he was. The esteemed conductor and composer, a young heroic spirit and one who was considered youthful and immature in his exploits. What a curse he was given. The smoke began to swirl and from it a baton was swished suddenly to make the final whisps disperse.

[color=8882be]"Boy you say? Very well if that is how you will treat me so be it"[/color] The young Russian boy stared up at the taller more rounder American man dressed ridiculously which caused him to squint his eyes a little behind his spectacles. [color=8882be]"I suppose you are the one to be my Master in this grand Ritual? Very well. Allow me to make my introduction as you seem polite enough to allow me that privilege. I am Pyotr Illych Tchaikovsky, summoned in that of the Caster class as expected with the reputation of my many works. Now I ask of you master, are you prepared for this war and if so, will you allow me to make some alterations to this abode you have set up for yourself here."[/color]

He turned with a cold gaze to Dimmadome, looking his master up and down. In the end, he could tell this was a man of ambition and drive. Besides the classic American attitude, he could tell this was someone who had victory within his grasp with the right means. A nod to him was a last thought as he gazed around the room. yes, this would do nicely.