[center][b]The Abacadarium. I[/b][/center] The stream of Spitfires flowed like a skyborne river, a thin trickle of shapes that flashed their hidden colours with odd rhythm as they flowed down on the wind to the spire. They moved with a pattern of organic randomness, the way a twig takes as it becomes a branch, and their voice carried much the same: scratching back and forth, pulsing high and low, transmitting a wave of conversation trapped within itself. Lanternhead X4B watched them with little intrigue. She knew where each flurry of wings and fire would turn their path, and expected each turn of their distant hubbub. She watched and waited and fanned the bonfire she was building, and spoke the 3k46l8s0.1-40ls.53se291.5o03rd sentence. The 3k46l8s0.1-40ls.53se291.5o03rd sentence was a short one, but filled with poetry. Some might say melodrama. The 3k46l8s0.1-40ls.53se291.5o03rd sentence suited nights of cool rains and grey skies, with sparse company and much introspection. But there was no time for such sentences. [i]We must away. We simply must away.[/i] The Spitfires flurried over the bonfire X4B had built, relishing its steam and soot. Its branches numbered 43, of 67 originally piled on, and the Spitfires who saw this number were 30, four of them freshly dividing. She could hear their words clearly now, did X4B, she whom had been called Sparky by God. They buzzed and chattered, things like [i]'77 degree turn from the Sphere Lamp to the Home Lamp via Camel's Bluff'[/i] and [i]'Spray catches you fast if you show off when the south wind hits'[/i] and [i]'Blue Triple Eyes didn't eat too much she was mating Serpent Flare, now she’s Triple Eye Flare'[/i]. Those were the best these chittered sentences could be translated, descriptions and comments and gossip of little interest, carried in emotions X4B did not fully understand. X4B heard a few rounds of [i]'Who is the glass bronze cagefire?'[/i] and an answer, [i]'She's the basket carrier, the one who laughs in embers'[/i]. Sparky it was, then. The Spitfires always returned this time of day, some small detachment of them flying back over the course of several nights from the Saluran to the south, where a colony in eternal rotation nibbled fine threads of steely parasitic metal that grew on the lava lamps whose submarine vents had closed and whose systems were waning. The Spitfires had named everything in their favoured grove of lamps, and numbered every tree from here to there. As long as they kept cycling back and forth, those names would be remembered, much like Sparky's own had been- by one, then another, bounced back and forth across the group like a rubber ball until it was time to be shared again. She could not indulge these flames forever. [i]I must away. I simply must away.[/i] [hr] [center][b]II[/b][/center] The Lanternhead 2AZ, unto whom had been given the title Gourdface, gazed out upon the Feasting Forest, gazed deeply within it from three hundred yards up in the air. He saw its groves and altars, streams, spirits, and outcrops of stone. He saw the subtle curves of the terrain his Lord had sculpted so carefully long ago, and he saw the Mar that was tearing it to pieces. Everywhere the motes were floating, like the ghosts of moths that never were. Often they were sparse, lonely. Elsewhere they rose like snow flurries. There were patches in the forest where the moon did not have to be full for the twigs to shine in the dark. There were patches where the magic had died with the forest. 2AZ spoke the 79-3ms13g6.p.j9d65-xh21st sentence. This sentence was a personal one, and 2AZ did not regret that no other Lanternhead was present to hear it emanate from the flashing mouth carved into his gourd. Such a sentence is said during times of solitude, when the body is being tempered by the chill of water and the weight of stone, and the mind returns stronger from its hour of weakness. It was cathartic. It was brutal. 2AZ gripped the hilt of his long, straight-edged cane and twisted it, unsheathing the épée that lay within. It was light. So, so very light. It flashed faintly in the fire of his eyes, and he spun it in his hand. A tiny sprig of cottontail grass fell down onto the garden path, cut clean. Yes, thought Gourdface. Even he could cut. [i]All hail the Skewer Lord.[/i] [hider=Bits and pieces] Lanternhead post. Sparky watches some Spitfires return from the Saluran Mendidh, where they have learned to satisfy their need for steel fibre using small growths that form naturally on the sides of the organometallic lava lamps. We see a little of their behaviour. Gourdface watches the descending Mar plague begin to destroy large swathes of the Feasting Forest, which displeases him greatly. He reveals a type of sword cane given to the Lanternheads as a one-off, with a light, thin blade to compensate for their lack of muscle. This cost 1 Might from the Age of Lords pool. Where are these questants going, I wonder? [b]Chopstick Eyes | Butterwort in Midsummer 2 Might (Native) 9 Might (Age of Lords) Markets | Knives Kites (5/5) Lanterns (5/5) Cuisine (5/5)[/b] ----- [b]Lantern Heads Knife-Eyed 5 Prestige[/b][/hider]