It has been a hard and trying day for a certain black Vartan (and, rest assured, there are not many of them) on the Freedom's Dream. Still in Shokar's old cabin, having received less-than-entirely-favorable news from Roho, Zoltan has resolved to take action … but endurance has its limits, and he succumbs to exhaustion on the bed. After all, he's been having to sleep on the floor for so long, thanks to Jezebel…

Zoltan sighs softly as he drifts off.

The sounds of the ship give way to a buzzing drone of snippets of sounds from the day, and from days past, and the darkness promises refuge from the cares of the present. It promises. It does not deliver.

Spotted cats – all of them duplicates of Janus – run about, waving golden branches, driving everyone insane, while other spotted cats, too many of them clones of Jezebel, wreak havoc as well, all under the shadow of an approaching, black ship that seems unhindered by the hazards surrounding the sky island. "Warning – Neural matrix profile not registered. Prolonged usage of this interface may result in irreparable psychic damage. State the nature of the emergency, or initiate control sequence."

Zoltan blinks, looking at everything around him. "The cats! What are they doing? And the ship… is it attacking us?"

Shokar's Silver Bell strains against its moorings and the winds that hold it to the island. It breaks free, and begins to rise. Zoltan now notices that the Eeee are all gone. Instead, the ship is crewed only by himself … and the phantoms of Shokar's crew.

There is something different about the ship, though. Toward the center of the main forward deck, there is a simple wheel, like that which would be used to steer a waterborne vessel, rather than the somewhat more complex maneuverings required for an airship such as this. It spins freely, turning this way, and then that, as the ship continues to rise, pressing forward, breaking through the mists around the island … and passing through the black ship as if it were nothing more than a shadow, though a cold chill marks its passing.

Zoltan divides his attention between the ship and the spotted felines below. Trying to find answers… any answers in all of this. He looks to the wheel and rushes up to it, perhaps he can steer the ship so he can at least see what's going on below.

Zoltan thinks, ( Mind mages… maybe the cannibals are mind mages. But why would they want to drive everyone mad? )

As Zoltan approaches the wheel, he can see something strange happening outside the ship. The island is no longer visible. Instead, the ship passes through a sea of clouds … but the ship is flying through a tunnel formed within the clouds, as if there is only one way to go, and that is forward. Ahead, a much smaller "sky island" can be seen … a floating boulder, spinning in place, against which the ship will surely smash itself.

Zoltan looks forward sharply at the boulder. He grapples the wheel and tries to steer out of the path of it.

Seeing this, the bird cannot help but almost trip over a decorated box sitting on the deck. It has a little key in one side, turning about. A curious device. Like … an oddity he saw in a certain Cervani-Vartan's store so long ago? It lets out a chiming melody, though its lid is closed. It slides to one side, across the deck, as the ship careens under Zoltan's guidance.

The ship turns sideways, plunging toward the wall of cloud that forms the side of this misty "tunnel".

Back at the navigator's station, untended, a book of charts lies open, its pages flipping in the wind.

Zoltan frowns. The wheel or the box… the wheel or the box? He releases the wheel for a moment and dives after the box.

The ship shakes again … but this only serves to make the ship tilt the opposite direction, causing the musicbox to skid back towards Zoltan, and into his hands.

"It's only a toy," comes a voice on the wind. "Who would care about such a thing? What does it matter to anyone else?"

Zoltan scoops the box up again and rushes back to the wheel. "Brace for impact!" he yells to his phantom crew, in case the boulder is about to hit them, also glancing back at the charts in the flipping book. Dagh… too much happening at once! At the sound of the voice, he looks back down at the box and tries to open it.

Too much happening at once…

While Zoltan tries to open the box, part of its frame – made of metal – pricks at his fingers, talons as they may be. But it opens, revealing a pirouetting figurine amidst a little diorama that is filled with many barbs and spikes. Meanwhile, the ship careens again … and nearly misses the floating boulder. Instead, the ship bursts into the wall of mist, turning all to white.

In the mist, for the time being, Zoltan can see nothing, but white, though he can still feel the solidity of the deck beneath his hooves … and a new presence … somewhere nearby.

Zoltan squints in the mists, wishing he had the bats' ability to see things in the dark, or Roho's nose and ears. "Who's there?"

Zoltan idly feels around the edge of the box, wondering if there's a key to turn to make it play.

The mist clears, as the ship breaks through, into blue sky, out of the tunnel of white. The box is still in Zoltan's hands … There's a key to one side, but the Vartan's hands are getting more scratches. And, the key is already turning, the music already chiming. It's a pretty, chiming melody. But there's something wrong. It's being played too fast. And it shouldn't be played with such delightful little chimes. It's … a funeral dirge.

The little figure continues pirouetting inside, running along a track, amidst a complex jumble of gears and springs. The track spirals, ending at a particular point – a hole with a little tombstone before it. How morbid.

The Vartan's bleeding hands shake. He looks closely at the tombstone.

"Hand over the box," comes a voice, its quality defying any attempt to place. A dark, indistinct figure stands on the deck, holding one gauntlet out toward the Vartan. Details are hazy, but somehow the Vartan can tell this is someone dangerous and serious, and heavily armed.

The tombstone only has a rune on it. It's a rune that looks like a stylized lightning bolt. Where has the Vartan SEEN that before?

And, the lightning bolt is inlaid with tiny pieces of blue stone – Lapis lazuli.

Zoltan gulps. "It's only a toy." he says to the figure. "Why do you want it?"

No face appears, but the dark figure somehow smiles nonetheless. "Just give it to me, and I will let you go. It is worthless to you. See? It only brings you pain. Why do you waste your time?"

The gears continue spinning. Metal. Rusty. Dark. The whole box is rusty, and even the tiny dancing figurine has been tarnished from all the corruption it pirouettes across.

Zoltan's breathing quickens as he recognizes the mark of the sphere of air. He looks closer at the box, hoping to find some justification for why he should keep it. "But… I can take it with me. File down the sharp points… polish it… change it's song. I could make it something beautiful. Please… let me take it with me and make it beautiful. I know I can do it."

The mists close in as the Vartan speaks. Bits of the rust fall away, and something springs out of the box. But as the spikes fall away, they sting the Vartan even more.

"It is of no value. Give it to me," the dark one says from somewhere in the mists. "You cannot keep it."

Zoltan winces as the music box opens more wounds. He tries to look and see what came from the box. "Please. Why can't I? Why do you want something of no value?" He voice shakes. Could the box be Jezebel? Or maybe the magic of the mages? Or something else…

What came out of the box isn't evident. The figure is still there, as can be seen as the mists part again, but something else is missing, and it's too hazy to tell just what. Where the Vartan's bloody talons hold the box, the rust has crumbled away, the metal catching what light struggles to pierce the fog.

"It will cost you far too much," the dark one says. "You cannot regain what you will spend on such a worthless thing."

The Vartan looks at one of his hands, then back at the box. He tries to clean away more of the rust, even if it wounds him further.

Zoltan backs away just a little. "Who are you?" he asks the figure.

The sun has gone down. The only light now is from the Procession … without any stars in the sky. No stars, that is, save one, which twinkles high above. By the faint light, it is so hard to see any progress at all, save for the pain in the wounded Vartan's talons. The music slows… then stops. Several spikes fall away from the turn-key.

The dark one says, "I am too many to tell you just one name."

With a shaking hand, the Vartan reaches out and turns the key… hoping to bring the song back. Maybe it will be different this time.

"Then tell me what you are… please." Zoltan says. "I'm unarmed, wounded. I'm no threat to you."

The key slowly winds. No sound comes from the box as the key turns. But the star above shines more brightly, bathing the Vartan in its glow.

The dark one hisses, "No threat indeed."

Zoltan blinks and looks back down at the box again now that the light is shining. He also looks to his nemesis, hoping to see whomever it is in the light.

Zoltan squawks, "Am I a threat?"

The Vartan may look … but the deck shakes beneath him, and the light of the star grows ever brighter against Zoltan's eyelids … Eyelids?

The Vartan nervously holds the box to his chest, this time taking the slightest step forward. "What will you do with the box if you take it from me?"

"Destroy it… "

The dream dissolves like mists, as the waking world slowly returns.

Zoltan squawks, "WHY?!?! Please… tell me that much. Why is it dangerous? What are you? Answer me that much before it's too late. If you have a good reason for wanting to destroy it, I'll surely give it to you!"

No answer reaches Zoltan's ears from the dark one. Only the faint sound of a chiming melody of some song Zoltan can't place … except that it's not the one which was playing before.

Zoltan listens to the melody of this song. Is it coming from the box? Is it a dirge… or something… better?

It sounds like … no, it's gone. The black Vartan awakens, finding himself lying on the bed in the cabin.

Zoltan blinkblinkblinks. He looks around the room. Dagh… another dream?

The cabin is back the way it ought to be. And by the view from the porthole, Paradys is right where it was before. At least, from this angle, no sign of any black ship or dark figures or any such thing…

Zoltan pulls himself up to a sitting position and rubs his head. ( Urgh. I had hoped that whatever magic the cats used would be beneficial… but instead it drives others mad. Just when I start to put a little bit of trust in magic… bah. Serves me right. This whole mess… serves me right. )

Zoltan idly looks at his hands.