The great hall is abuzz with activity and chatter, as Rephidimites and a few visitors from abroad find their seats. Even though the plots of many of the productions at the opera house have been … less than inspiring since its refurbishing, the quality of the props and costumes and the musical accompaniment is not to be questioned. If one doesn't think too hard, it can be quite an enjoyable experience, and many Rephidimites are quite adept at that.

The orchestra tunes its instruments, adding to the cacophony that hides the sounds of chaotic last-minute preparations going on back-stage.

Up in one of the smallest of the private booths, a lupine Arch-Inquisitor, his face obscured in a hanging cowl, is seated. Contrasting with his somewhat sinister appearance and dark apparel, a white alien with golden-tipped wings sits beside him, a spy-scope at hand.

In another private booth, a white kitten is seated in a chair with a heart-shaped back. She's adorned in far too gaudy of attire, with far too many jewels (or cut glass, perhaps). She looks like a princess out of a little girls' fantasy book – and she looks more than pleased at the opportunity to look that way.

The glitter of gems attracts the attention of a pair of Vartan eyes from backstage. A yellow beak pokes out from the curtains and peers around before vanishing again.

Envoy gets comfortable in her chair next to Brother Azrael, and looks out over the audience for any familiar faces, spotting Eve Kurai so far.

A garishly-adorned poodle elbows the Vartan. "Well! I'm all ready. Looks like you won't be having to work tonight. A relief, eh? But, I assure you, I greatly appreciate the opportunity to have you as my understudy." The spoiled poodle smirks, quite pleased with himself, then peeks out around the curtain as well. "Hmm. I see that associate of my father's out there … with his strange alien assistant. I hope they don't cause any trouble."

Amongst the many members of the audience, a female poodle in Templar garb elbows her way through the crowd. Apparently she's not of high enough station to warrant a private seat … though she acts as if the general seating were her domain alone. She at last finds a place and sits down, looking generally annoyed with the world.

The Vartan peers out of the curtain again, "Wow… lots of people here tonights. There is Inquisitrix Vindicta… Ohh! And is thats Mage Van Kabril I sees?" He glances back at the poodle.

Eustace's ears drain pale. "Vah … vahvahvah … Vindic… duh … dah … and … Ka-ka-ka-kabril?" His eyes go wide.

Near the orchestra pit, there's a small amount of muttering from the prompt box. Maybe it's line rehearsal. Rather nonsensical line rehearsal, but this is a poodle's play, after all. "Drath nahkkala ordo szz'arh… "

Eustace suddenly falls face forward, pushing through the curtain … "Guhhhh… "

"Ohh… they sittings together! Hrr, wonder what they goings to think of you big kissy kissy scen-… HRRK!" A yellow scaled hand reaches out to snatch the fainting poodle before he tumbles too far.

Vartan reflexes – and, more importantly, muscle – are enough to stop the poodle from doing more than pushing out the curtain a bit. He slumps in the hippogryph's grip, falling quite unconscious.

( Thank the Star his father's not like this… ) The Vartan hoists the poodle over his shoulder and vanishes from the stage for a moment to deposit the "star" in his dressing room.

A raccoon walks by just as Zoltan comes out of the dressing room. "Tut, tut. I suppose Master Eustace will be needing his understudy after all." The raccoon looks Zoltan up and down. "Well! I suppose you're presentable enough. I'll make sure that the cue-card snake is told to scratch out all references to 'Gallee' and replace them with 'Vartan', naturally." He trundles off, not looking the least bit surprised about this development.

The band strikes up the music for the introduction to the play – a rather dramatic, uplifting piece that is probably quite wasted upon the excesses of Master Eustace's self-indulgent play.

"Places! Places, everyone!" shrieks the stage-raccoon, as he rushes about, shooing prop-men out of the way.

Heavy hoofsteps rumble as the Vartan rushes across the stage. They stop just as abruptly, although the sound echoes across the Opera house like thunder.

The audience hushes, and the hall is dimmed as lanterns are shuttered.

The music drops to a lull, in anticipation of the opening line…

From the mists on the stage, a black shape emerges. The mists part to reveal a black Vartan dressed in a nobleman's fineries. He bows to the audience and then spreads out his hands. "Welcome, ladies and gentlemen of Rephidim and of Sinai. Tonights, I am proud to present to you a tale of bravery, of valor and hope… and of evil, deceit, and lies. About truth and glory, and of the battle between light and darkness. Although we show this for your entertainments, we hope you take the lessons it show to you heart and learn, for tonight's play is about how we take what life gives us and how we uses its. For good, evil, ourselves, or selflessly." He folds his hands behind his back. "Listen well, for in our words you can know how the lowly rise and the great fall, and how the potential to be both and do both is in us all."

Zoltan bows again and nods in the direction of the orchestra pit.

Envoy blinks at the sight of Zoltan playing Eustace's role… and blinks again at the dialogue.

In a private booth near the one holding Envoy and Brother Azrael, a couple of poodles murmur to each other. "What happened to darling Eustace?" "Oh, I have no idea whatsoever, my dearest. Perhaps he caught cold?" "Oh, poor darling! How dreadful, and on opening night!"

The orchestra kicks back into action, bringing up a theme that crescendos, as multiple layers of curtains lift or part to the side, to reveal a representation of some generic street in Rephidim…

The black Vartan steps back, vanishing off the stage as the scene sets up.

A fox in brightly-colored attire – and with bright red fur and only one tail – steps out onto the stage. He strikes a pose, and begins to sing…

"Alas!"

"I have fallen upon hard times, the bell of fate, it darkly chimes,"

"I have been reduced to worthless slime, for all life is out of rhyme!

"Alas!"

"I have fallen from greatest power, I have fallen into my darkest hour,"

"All the grapes are truly sour, I once was mighty, but now I cower!"

And so continues the fox's song of woe, as the orchestra plays a lonesome, sorrowful melody. Miscellaneous citizens walk this way and that, and booths are set up, in a semblance of activity in the Bazaar. (It's just minus the vagrants and paupers, or anyone who looks like they really should belong in such a place, as opposed to the high-class part of town.)

Actually, the set looks fairly nice, although perhaps it might have been a good idea to do something about the large and – admittedly beautiful – crystal chandelier that hangs over the semi-circular "runway" that juts out from the stage – where, presently, only 'Nasniza' (played by Cincaid Canard, according to the programs) stands and sings.

"Alas!"

"By wretched rivals, I've been hurled, into this poor excuse for a world!"

"By the fates, I have been twirled, and … my, what a lovely girl!"

A beautiful vixen strolls out onto the stage, dressed up in attire that suggests a mix of Himaatian and Rephidimite concerns, made of fine zolks.

As the play progresses, Nasniza – the woeful fox – and the lovely Aschar meet in the Bazaar, and immediately fall in love. They sing and profess their adoration of each other, but Aschar, a humble working girl (albeit a richly attired one) must go her way, to do chores for her father. So, there is a sad parting, and the curtain closes on the first scene.

The curtain opens again, after a pause, revealing scenery that has been cleverly flipped around and otherwise rearranged, now forming not a bright and cheery Bazaar, but the decrepit ruins of the Old City and the cenotaphs and mausoleums of the Old Cemetery. In the center is an altar, upon which Aschar has been bound, surrounded by hooded persons in dark robes covered with all sorts of wicked-looking sigils and signs.

"Rise forth, Namtha-RA! Rise forth, Namtha-RA!" sign and chant the hooded figures.

"Come, ye with heart of ice, to accept our sacrifice… "

Meanwhile, Aschar sings her own laments. "Save me, save me! Set me free! Oh my darling, come to me! I'd pledge my heart to only thee! Not to be sacrificed to a wretched zombie!" Well, so the lyrics are a bit weak, but the vixen does have a nice voice.

Nasniza leaps out onto the stage. More singing follows … and then the fox proceeds to trounce the cultists gallantly, then, having freed the vixen … they sing some more. While they're busy singing, a sinister-looking female rises from behind the tombstones – another vixen, golden-furred, in tattered garments that … well … flatter her, it could be said. She just stands there silently, watching over the two vulpines who seem to be completely unaware of her presence.

Nasniza and Aschar dance out onto the semi-circular runway, gleefully celebrating their love for each other and the fact that Nasniza just pummeled a bunch of wicked cultists to save the vixen.

Meanwhile, in the background, robed figures move the scenery around, rearranging it to resemble the Bazaar setting, but at night – as Nasniza guides Aschar back to her father's home. An elder Zerda comes out to thank Nasniza profusely for his heroism, and to hug his daughter. The father departs, so that Nasniza and Aschar can sing their love for each other … again … and then Nasniza bids his farewell. The stage lights darken, leaving only a spotlight focused on Aschar in the center of the semi-circular runway. The music changes, as she begins to sing her solo… a song of hope in the basic goodness of all people, and how heroes are those who have just a little more goodness than most. And so on and so forth.

The lady poodle in the booth beside Brother Azrael's booth dabs at her eyes. "Oh! That's so beautiful!"

"Greater than any demon, greater than any ghost,"

"More than any seeming, than any evil host,"

"It is true, I find, that immortality is mine,"

"But not by magic or curse, or enchanted verse,"

"But by something as wonderful … as loooooooove!"

The music strains on the last line, and the spotlight begins to fade. The crystal shards of the chandelier sparkle in the dimming light.

There's a small, nearly inaudible cough from the prompt box during the trilling of the word "love".

The spotlight fades entirely, as the music softly does likewise. Jazmine's form is briefly limned by the ambient light from the shuttered lanterns about the room.

During the interlude, Envoy wonders about the acoustics of the theater, and wishes she could see the expressions of the audience.

A soft yellow glow from the prompt box flickers, casting short, odd shadows for a moment as if someone inside were fumbling with a lantern.

There's movement on the stage as someone walks across from the edge towards the central figure.

There's a *snap* audible from somewhere above. *snap snap snap snap*

A dim light can be seen from the prompt box, which illuminates the actress's wide eyes as she looks at the prompter … and then up.

The Aeolun turns her attention back towards the chandelier, eyes straining in the dim light.

"It's here!" comes a hiss from the prompt box. "Move!!"

The flutter of movement suddenly becomes a streak as the shadowed form dashes for the fox.

The dim light glitters as it reflects off of something that descends quickly upon the stage … something crystalline … the chandelier! The vixen lets out a startled shriek, freezing in place … but just then, a shadowy shape shoots across the stage, and knocks her clear, in a flurry of wings. Musicians in the band-pit scurry to get clear, with a cacophony of upset instruments, as the chandelier smashes into the stage … right where "Aschar" was standing. People scream.

Wings cocoon around the fox to shield her from spraying bits of glass and crystal as the Vartan and "Aschar" tumble away.

Envoy turns to whisper to Brother Azrael, "I doubt that was an accident, sir. It might be wise to place guards at the exits."

Brother Azrael nods and rises from his seat. "You are free to go, Citizen Envoy. There is no need for you to stay, if there is any danger."

"Circle of Clarity, I invoke thee… draw unto me all that is unworldly; disperse that which is of the higher plane." Thin violet-blue lines suddenly criss-cross the stage, defining geometric shapes that in turn surround odd-looking sigils. The lines flare, casting short streaks of illumination upward for about a foot, like a short aurora borealis.

"Are you alrights?" the Vartan asks the fox as he tries to help her to her feet.

Instead of leaving, Envoy leans over the rail of the small private balcony. "That must be Mage Qing. He and Zoltan must have been expecting this to happen."

The vixen, meanwhile, once she stops screaming and digging her claws into her rescuer's adornments, gathers her wits and looks about. "You … you saved me!" *smack* Right on the beak.

Someone shouts out, "There's no need to be alarmed, ladies and gentlemen! It's all part of the show!"

Zoltan jerks his head back, sputtering and blushing. "You welcomes; now careful you no tear nice costume Eustace gave me. He probablies make me pay for it if it get torn."

The Aeolun's speculation seems on the mark, as a familiar white Rokuga erupts from the prompt box to the stage. He looks none too happy, and his head whips to face the direction the shout came from. One hand holds a circular piece of crystal, draped with something filmy, and he begins hissing strange, slushy syllables.

"Ooo!" The vixen withdraws her paws. "So sorry!"

Qing hisses, "Aaradath nao r'ssorla… Eye of Illumination, gaze down from the apex of your ziggurat… Reveal to me that which is plain to you."

The lanterns about the grand hall are un-shuttered, bringing the light back up. "End of Act One!" cries out a stage hand. "Ah … Intermission time!" Funny … an awfully short first act.

Zoltan pats the Vixen's shoulder. "I need to get somethings. You should find some guards or stage men to keep close to."

Watching the irate Rokuga, Envoy makes another speculation. "It was a ruse to reveal the Spirit Mage's preparations," she mutters to herself. "Zoltan was so curious about the understudy for this role the other night. But this was too gaudy an attempt on the actress' life … hmmm."

The vixen clings to Zoltan's arm. "I'm staying with you! How could I be more safe?" she pleads.

With his odd mutterings said, the witchdoctor removes his glasses, and places the lens over one of his eyes, gazing in a baleful, circular sweep.

Sighing, the Vartan nods and starts across the stage, heading for a pile of props.

Upon reaching the pile, Zoltan kneels down and pulls out a large wrapped banner for one of the final scenes in the Bazaar. He hastily begins unrolling the fabric to get at the object inside.

After peering around for a few minutes, the Rokuga halts, then stuffs the lens into a pocket. Though his face betrays no emotion, the muscles of his throat look rather tense, and one pair of his hands are tightened into fists. He looks over at Zoltan, and shakes his head, then replaces his glasses and tugs his broad hat down to shade his face again.

Qing starts to turn around, but then halts again, looking up suddenly. "Wait. … something's happening again. Zoltan, everyone … get on the stage, within the protection of the circle. Now. Guards, ushers, get the audience out of here!"

"Jazmine, where is you understudy?" Zoltan scrawks, pulling out a strange looking sword tucked away in a black leather scabbard. He slings the weapon across his back and at Qing's words, he grabs the vixen's arm and yanks her towards the serpent mage, eyes scanning wildly for anyone that might not be able to make it.

Several lupine guards start leading audience members out of the grand hall. The magical effects on the stage are still in play.

Envoy begins looking around at the upper levels of the theater as well, wondering what the mage saw. She doesn't move from the balcony however, where she has a good view of things…

Zoltan smacks his head, "Eustace is passed out! I gots to get him, and Maza!" He roughly shoves Jazmine down and rushes off.

The vixen squeaks, and falls flat on her tail. "Why, of all the – HMPH!"

The mage immediately slithers to the center of the stage, underlit in blue and purple by the slowly dimming lines of his spell. His lower arms produce pieces of chalk from beneath his mantle, and begin making white slashes on the floor around him, a strangely decorated circle forming around him as if drawn by two people at once. Even as he does so, he begins murmuring.

Envoy watches Qing and shakes her head slightly, wondering if Nagai ever prepare contingency plans…

The lanterns and candles about the room abruptly snuff out, as a chill breeze whips around the room.

Meanwhile, Zoltan makes his way back to the dressing room. The door is open. The room is empty.

Hissing, the Vartan tries to track down where the vixen and poodle vanished to.

Hmm. By the smeared bits of makeup and dust on the floor … it looks like someone might have been dragged … this way…

Zoltan draws his sword and starts to follow the trail.

The doors to the opera house slam shut. Burly guards and frightened audience-members wrestle with the doors, but to no avail.

Envoy taps her claws on the balcony rail. "Darkness, air conditioning, and locked doors," she mutters. "The moaning and rattling chains should come next."

The cold breeze in the air is amplified for one quick gust of a moment as a black Vartan rushes out from backstage, spreads his wings and shoots upwards toward the catwalk overhead.

With both pairs of lower arms working, the circle beneath Qing soon completes itself. The Rokuga himself seems to barely pay any attention to it, his head rising up as the doors slam shut. Gritting his teeth, he begins chanting again, pointing at a pair of the mysteriously shut doors, and looking slightly more weary. "Ossarahd… oaz lordora sah… Knights of the Ethereal Reaches, I direct a Brother of the Lance… "

As the Vartan flies higher, he can see several figures up in the catwalks and rafters over the stage. Some of them move. There's a flash of gold, and a flash of white … and a flash of something chitin and sharp-looking.

A strange translucent shape, suggesting a figure astride a Drokar charger and pointing a spear, rushes away from the witchdoctor, over the heads of the gathered guards. As it passes from the blue circle to the surrounding theater, it trails vapor, and the air gets slightly warmer. The charger disappears as it collides with the doors. With a loud banging, the doors fly open of their own accord.

The frightened opera patrons burst out of the doors as soon as they open … doing much damage in their haste to vacate the premises.

Not having much room to maneuver, the Vartan considers his options as quickly as he can – and then makes a power-dive right into the group of cloaked figures.

A flash of chitin zips past the flying Vartan as a bladed disk barely misses him and imbeds itself in the wall. The hippogryph counters by increasing his dive and slamming into the robed figure with a sickening crunch, as Zoltan lands up on the catwalk.

The pallid reptile center-stage rubs his temples for a few moments, then looks up to stare at the catwalks uncertainly. He then glances at his rapidly waning circle.

A pathetic "yip!" emits from the crunched cultist – wearing a costume from the play, it seems. Two of his comrades draw large and wickedly-curved daggers, lunging at the Vartan!

Envoy sniffs at the darkened lamp in her booth, trying to tell if it's safe to re-light. She's never dealt with gas lamps before, which she assumes the ones in the theater to be if they need to be controlled from a central source.

The exile finds a flint sparker built into the lamp case, and uses it to get the lamp lit again. Once lit, she examines the sparker to see if it's connected to some mechanism that would let all of the lamps be re-lit.

Perhaps not. That might pose a safety hazard. As if gas lamps aren't bad enough.

In any case, only the one lamp is going. Brother Azrael seems to have disappeared in the confusion. (And there's plenty of that to go around, to be sure!)

Qing stares back up at the catwalks, his coils shifting beneath him in agitation. He raises all six of his arms into the air again, contorting them into strange shapes and hissing something garbled. This time, there's less muttering, none of it understandable, but the snake's myriad limbs twist around in an odd fashion, as if in some bizarre mockery of a dance.

As the Rokuga's muttering ceases, his arms continue to twist around, as if they were snakes attached to a larger one. The shout from Qing is perfectly understandable, however. "Zoltan, beware! Fire magic is being worked from somewhere in the seating area!"

The two cultists next to Zoltan swing with their chitin blades, but their attacks are just barely evaded…

Deciding that the best way to quell some of the panic is to get the lights near the exit lit, Envoy prepares to launch herself from the balcony towards their remembered positions… but pauses at the mention of fire magic.

Zoltan crouches to meet the two attackers. His sword slices out, and then the sound of gunfire erupts from the catwalks. Moments later, four robed forms fall to the stage below… or make that three. One of them looks to be in two pieces – a crushed poodle, an Eeee with a bullet wound, and a Skeek in two halves.

A bolt of fire shoots up from somewhere in the midst of the audience … and a moment later, one of the cultists – his species unrecognizable at this point – shrieks and falls in a flaming heap, down toward the stage!

Seeing that the fire mage isn't attacking anyone on the stage, Envoy calls down, "Fire Mage! Can you get the lamps lit again?!"

"Where, Qing? I don't… YAUGH!" The Vartan exhales a bit, thinking he knows the fire mage. He salutes in the direction of the audience where the bolt came from, and goes rushing off in the direction of the remaining cultists. "Surrender you prisoners or die!!" he shrieks.

The bolt of flame elicits a rare look of surprise from Qing, whose eye-ridges rise enough to slightly nudge his hat backwards. His hands spread apart again anyway, except for the top two, which point at the cutting disk embedded in the wall. He seems to have to lean forward as he stares at it, though… it looks as if Qing would be squinting, if he had eyelids.

"For those that follow me … there is no death," comes a sound like a whisper … but one that somehow carries across the room.

Envoy blinks at the voice, and calls out, "I think Francisco would disagree!"

The magical field protecting the stage shakes as if hit by an unseen force … and then it collapses, fizzling into nothingness.

Zoltan freezes in his steps, trying to find the source of the noise. "Amaranth I presumes? Come out!"

A yelp comes from a poodle, dangling by his feet from one of the catwalks … trussed up like a yiffle. "Help! Help me!" It's Eustace.

The witchdoctor curses under his breath as his circle gives out, and he glances away from the disk reflexively, his concentration ruined.

On one of the far catwalks, a silhouette of a vixen can be seen … scandalously attired in tattered robes, swaggering along, seemingly careless of the sheer drop to either side if she should stumble.

The Vartan clenches his beak and starts to move towards the poodle, "Is this how you works? You use hostages and hide behind mortals? Is Amenlichtli so weak that she need barricade herself with mortal flesh?"

Zoltan freezes at the sight of the vixen. The rope would need to be cut for the poodle to fall, but one misstep would send the fox to her death.

Deciding that the fading of the light from the magic circle means Qing is in trouble, Envoy launches from the balcony, gliding towards the edge of the stage.

"Baka! I am Amaranth!" comes a harsh whisper from an unknown source. "I am Kitsune! We are masters of our world … and soon you shall recognize us as the masters of yours, as well!"

Paying no attention to the Aeolun, Qing begins muttering again, in an attempt to salvage whatever he can of the circle. He touches the center of the hurriedly placed chalk one with one palm, and whispers gibberish.

"Envoy! Get Eustace, Envoy." The Vartan moves to stand between the poodle and the vixen. "Kitsune, hrrr. Maybe so, but maybe no… After being banished by the Savanites, you fall to wearing the skins of dead dogs? Some master – all that power you brags, and you can no even keep you own heart beating on you own, except that heart you puts in other people and steal they lives."

Envoy back-wings and tries to reorient herself towards Zoltan's voice, knowing only that he's somewhere up above the stage. "Eustace, where are you?"

"Dead … dogs?! How dare you! Baka! What is this nonsense?" shrieks the ghostly voice.

A poodle in a costume that mirrors Zoltan's dangles by his feet from the catwalk, swinging on the cable that holds him suspended from a three-story fall to the floor. "H-h-here!"

"Seraph Guardians of the Seventh Plane, I ask of thee a sanctum, given in the Great Serpent's authority." The witchdoctor bows his head three times. Despite nothing happening, he seems satisfied, and takes the time to stare up at Zoltan and the vixen, watching carefully.

"Silence, dog!" shrieks the voice. "You, tormentor of Kitsune, shall pay for your sins … in the presence of all assembled!"

Envoy flies up towards the rafters, focusing on the dim figure of Eustace. In Vartan, she squawks, "Zoltan, insult her tails!"

"Dogs!" Zoltan screams back, holding his sword out. "Or did you prefer the diseased skin of that slave you wore when you tried to kill Third-Eye? Hrrr… Tormentor, you kill one of you own! What abouts Guy Fox? Who the tormentor?"

"Silence! SILENCE!" shrieks the unseen ghost, her voice crackling and breaking, and becoming more distorted as she screams.

The vixen wavers, looking unsteady. She stumbles to one side.

Zoltan's eyes widen and he starts to move towards the fox, his wings curling open. "Murderer of you own! Banished! Failure!" He barks out one final word in an odd language, the last one louder than all the others.

Finally reaching the dangling poodle, Envoy clings to his back and keeps her wings spread. Eustace is too heavy for her to hope to carry down, so she cups her wings into a sort of parachute… then realizes the young noble is hanging head-down.

The witchdoctor's hands come together in three loud claps, and he begins droning again. "I call upon the sanctified blades of the Holy Dervishes of the Crystal Star. Strike true, lay waste to the scourge that plagues us, and guide the righteous wrath of one of your soldiers… " At the mention of the word 'soldier', the grim snake points at Zoltan.

At once, a disembodied shriek blasts through the room, shattering glass and crystal, and setting the catwalks to shaking violently!

Envoy crawls around Eustace's bound form until she's facing head down as well, securing her grip again just as everything starts to shake!

Zoltan rushes forward to catch the fox before she falls.

A few of the remaining cultists cry out as they are shaken free from the catwalks, falling toward the floor far below, while others cling on for their dear pathetic lives.

The vixen falls as well … but Vartan wings are wonderful things to have. The golden vixen is snatched up in mid-fall … and a few cultists' fingers are stomped, incidentally, during the rushed dash over there.

A couple of catwalks fall to the floor, smashing apart as they collapse against the facades of the graveyard and Bazaar.

Zoltan puts his blade away, and angles his flight towards the poodle, lest he fall as well.

An apparition appears, floating in mid-air … a vixen with eight tails, dressed in tattered robes, her face covered with a cracked porcelain mask, her hair floating about and tousled by unnatural currents. "DIE, MORTAL!" shrieks the creature, as she raises wickedly-clawed hands that crackle with unholy energies.

Meanwhile, the torso of the Skeek that Zoltan sliced in half begins to move … then slowly rise off of the floor.

The snake skirts to the side slightly as robed figures rain from above, his droning interrupted again. Hurriedly, he shouts the completion of his lesser circle, then hisses, "Amaranth! Test your powers against someone who knows spirits!"

The renewed circle – admittedly smaller than the first – crackles to life, as the floating creature spins about to face the spirit mage. "My minions … attack the snake!"

Seeing this, the Vartan hastily changes his flight. He dives down and drops an unconscious golden vixen next to the Spirit Mage. "The zombies, Qing!" The blade reappears in his hand and his flight abruptly changes, directly towards the floating apparition. "This ENDS, Amenlichtli!"

The cable holding the poodle from the catwalk suddenly snaps. "YELP!"

The eight-tailed monster spins around yet again to face Zoltan, while her reanimated cultists shamble over toward the snake. At least it'll take them a little while to get there.

Envoy flaps her wings hard, trying to get herself and Eustace right-side-up before crashing…

It's terribly sudden … but Envoy's wings catch air, and … well … the landing isn't pretty, and the Bazaar booth they land on is smashed to bits … but despite the poodle's whining, it appears that no bones have been broken in the fall.

From Amaranth's claws, several bolts of ethereal light leap forth … no, not mere lights, but writhing, howling spirits that flutter toward the Vartan, slashing at him with ghostly claws and fangs.

After checking on Eustace, Envoy pulls herself from the wrecked prop and looks for something to whack zombies with while her minor injuries heal.

The half-Skeek shambles over to the edge of Qing's magic circle, its eyes alight in a reddish glow … and then, as it crosses the threshold, it begins to gibber and quake uncontrollably … and then it starts to fall apart! The scene is not pretty … but that's one zombie down.

The Vartan swings at the entities with his blade, chanting that word he screamed over and over and over as he does so.

Qing stares at the undead rodent creature, still droning words of protection, and occasionally looking helplessly up at the fight above his head.

The spirit-creatures attacking Zoltan keep slashing at him … but if they do any damage, it's unseen. As the fight progresses, their aim seems to worsen, as several of them spin off to impact into dangling catwalks or walls, dissipating with no effect.

Envoy selects a broken piece of wood with a nasty jagged edge and looks for the closest undead critter. Spotting the ex-Skeek, she jeers up at Amaranth, "Ha! A three-tail could have made a better zombie than that!"

A couple of zombies – the Eeee and the poodle – turn away from Qing, and pick up broken pieces of wood, lumbering toward Envoy.

The Vartan's tone becomes forced for just an instant, as though something hit him, but he's still in the air. He glances down at the fight below and then steadies his gaze on the Kitsune. He dives in, slashing at her neck.

The Aeolun tries to lead the pair of zombies further away from Qing, angling towards the orchestra pit.

The eyes behind the porcelain mask light up in blazing fury, and the barrage of spirits stops coming from Amaranth's claws … as she soars to meet the Vartan, her own claws forming into talons hungry for flesh to tear…

The zombie poodle and Eeee stupidly shamble after Envoy, occasionally swinging with their bludgeons even though they're not even close to being within range yet to actually hit anything.

With the attention of Amaranth's minions distracted by Envoy, the snake releases his circle to draw away from the fight, watching the battle overhead. He frowns slightly, and murmurs to himself, once more drawing out his crystal lens.

Vartan and Kitsune slash past each other in mid-air, in a flash of fur and feather, sword and claw. They fly on, a crimson spray showering in Zoltan's wake. But as Amaranth sails on … her head begins to dip forward … then fall free.

Black ichor spews forth from her neck … and her body rapidly begins to disintegrate.

Envoy spares a few glances up at the aerial battle as she keeps out of range of the zombies' swings. "Zoltan!" she cries at the sight of the blood.

The serpent watches the Kitsune's fall through the circle of crystal, his face expressionless.

The zombies abruptly drop, like puppets with their strings cut.

Envoy leaps into the air and starts beating her tired wings, trying to intercept the Vartan before he runs into something.

The Vartan's flight becomes erratic as he clutches at his bleeding side and stomach. His wings fan madly as he tries to land near Qing. "Her neck… the heart!"

The shriek of the Kitsune withers into a pale whine … as her body collapses to the floor like a rag doll. The porcelain mask falls free from the face of the vixen whose body she stole … and shatters as it strikes against the floor.

The Rokuga drops his lens into a pocket once more, allowing a split-second hint of satisfaction to cross his face at the sight of the dispersed apparition before looking back toward Zoltan. "Destroyed. … You are hurt … let me see your wounds."

Seeing Zoltan land safely, Envoy changes course to land near the remains of Amaranth. "I don't get it," she murmurs, looking at the quite corporeal head.

Zoltan hits the ground roughly and waves a bloody hand at the Spirit Mage. "Make sure… heart destroyed."

The head is that of a fennec. In life, it might have been a beautiful girl … but it's hard to tell in death … and the corruption of un-death.

The Vartan starts limping towards the head, his eyes fixed upon the stump of the neck.

Qing looks over the body, then eyes Zoltan. "Lie down, before your wound worsens. I will look."

Envoy turns the head over to look at something within the exposed neck. She pokes at the organic, black protrusion with a claw-tip.

Zoltan shakes his head and draws out his sword again. "I know battle wounds; I alrights for now." One arm stanches the bleeding from his side; the other guides the sword towards the neck. "ENVOY! No touch!"

The witchdoctor makes his way toward the corpse near Envoy, and inspects it with clinical detachment. He stares intently at it, then as it begins moving, murmurs to himself almost off-hand.

The black organ quivers … then lurches out, small tendrils whipping around Envoy's hand.

The Vartan stabs down at the black lump.

Envoy startles from both the shout and thing attacking her hand. "What is it?!"

The sword slashes into the black pulp, ripping it to pieces! The tendrils snap off … then go limp, sliding off of Envoy's hand. A quick check reveals that she still has all her fingers.

The black organ slowly begins to turn into an oily ooze, melting away.

"Wait, I … bah." Qing slides over to the black lump, and watches as it dissolves, looking faintly annoyed.

A disgusted look hanging on his face, Zoltan pulls his sword out and wipes the blade against some bits of cloth in the fallen debris. "I wondered why head stay whole and body dissolve."

The mage crosses his arms. "We should have taken it for study while it was incapacitated. Perhaps a weakness could have been found. That… thing looked organic, not spirit at all. Yet, it was manipulating spirit energy."

If the head was recognizable before, it most certainly is not now, as it quickly succumbs to decay. The zombies do likewise, even if they were only recent "converts" to the ranks of the undead.

Envoy just sits down and blinks at the Vartan and Rokuga.

"I woulds rather Amaranth no find a new host." Zoltan sheathes his sword and turns away, limping towards Maza. "Someone untie Eustace."

"So that black thing was a transceiver?" Envoy asks Qing.

"Based only on what little we've observed, it seems like that 'Black Heart' is a creature in and of itself," muses Qing thoughtfully, ignoring the bound poodle. "A creature with the ability to manipulate magic on a level of mastery rivaling the most powerful of mages. No need for chanting, no time wasted, simply willed effects."

Eustace is easily located, by his poodle whining. After all, he's on stage, and the acoustics are great in here. Perhaps it is best that his audience is greatly diminished, as all but the combatants have had ample time to flee by now.

Maza is still lying prone on the floor, quite unconscious. There's no sign of Jazmine … but then, she has legs, and knows how to use them.

Zoltan kneels down next to the fox and shakes her gently. "Envoy, I sure that Inquisitor Azrael will have a reports for you all abouts it, with things from Qing and myself in its. If you can wait until then, I suggest that since you one of few people here no hurt and with wings, you go gets a doctor and some guards."

Qing nods absently, half listening to Zoltan's words to Envoy. "Yes, a doctor… Those wounds could be infected."

The mage turns to face Zoltan again. "Baron, what was that word you were shouting over and over again?"

"The guards should be outside by now," Envoy says, getting up, and heading for the nearest exit. "I hope you two didn't know about this mess too far in advance."

Indeed, once Envoy gets to the door, it is immediately evident that the whole opera house has been surrounded by everything the Temple could roll out on short notice. Well, at least the zombies wouldn't have gotten very far, had theyventured outside of the opera house.

"Aeztepan," the Vartan replies. "Was the word for 'puppet'."

Qing nods. "I see. I have some theories with this newfound information. I will present it to the Collegia, and you will have access to it."

Envoy lets the first guard she encounters know the situation inside, and starts asking for healers or anyone with first-aid training…

Zoltan winces a bit and looks out after Envoy, "Want to know something interesting, Master Qing? I don't know Aeztepan."

One eye-ridge crooks upward. "Don't you? Most interesting indeed… " Without elaborating on that, the serpent slithers his way carefully around the fallen debris, to make his way outside.

As the guards outside come in, Zoltan sets the vixen down long enough to get Eustace untied. Then, with a poodle under one arm and a binging vixen under the other, he limps after the Spirit Mage.