Epilog One

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Ian took a deep breath as the muses faced him and smiled.

“Have you decided on your path now,” they asked.

Ian nodded. “I have always followed where the music leads. For now it is leading me to the hall of the Long. Minh has promised to teach me their songs, and to write the new ones. There is no one telling the stories of the Long is this current age, only from ages past. So she will teach me the old, and I will teach her the new.”

“It is good,” the told him. “Sing to us of the new.”

Ian nodded. He didn’t have to be asked twice.

Listen now as I tell the tale,
of pathways lost and wisdom gained
Of fires sparked by guardian blood
and quenched by dragon's tears.
Of mystic sigils, age old vigils
Of ancient wounds, now finally healed.
A tale of sorrow, pain and fear
yet one of joy, rebirth and light.
Where genius and insanity
still dance within the night

The story starts with a simple scene
and grows at a frightening pace.
A descendence into hell,
An ascendance into heaven,
It begins with a simple thread..

The weaver sits by an empty loom,
and waits for the story to start.
While visions of what is,
all dance in her head
she waits.

The musicians arrive unsure of their part
and wait for the dance to begin
The melodies, rhythms all slowly evolve
and build to a thunderous crash
They wait.

Slowly slipping through the cracks of time
an ancient terror lurks
slowly preparing his age old plan
he moves his pieces with ease...
And waits.

The Guardians follow their ancient course
and quietly wait on the side
Patiently watching the story unfold
and quietly counting the loss,
they wait.

At last the play is ready to start
and the player's take their place
each one slipping into their rolls
as the conductor sets the pace.

The story unfolds like Dragon's wings
and ends with Angels’ fears,
but it's really the scenes that fall in between
that move a man to tears.

A Dark Sphere taunts a haughty lad
and starts the tale to spin.
Pride damns him to eternal hell.
as his anger draws him in.

A woman of grace heeds an ancient call
And joins with the side of light
Their champions chosen, the battle declared
and now each one joins in the fight

She calls on the singer, the dancer the weaver,
he calls on the souls of the damned
She calls on their hearts, depends on their dreams
he smiles and the fires are fanned.

She stands in the fight, and puts things to right
he slowly tears them apart.
She gathers them up, he throws them away
and twists each one by the heart.

Slowly he plays at the games he has laid
and slowly his power grows
she suffers the losses, feels the cost
and quickly forgets what she knows.

He strikes at her slowly over a course of years
feeding her anger he nurtures her fears...
She loses her way and he's finally won
But that's when he learns, its only begun.

For the knights are plenty if you know where to look
And the wizards still laugh at the dark
Electronic mages, fly through the pages
and follow the electron's arc.

They are the ones who rescue the lass,
and her guardian finally smiles
For they find the way, to bring back the loss
while the enemy slowly riles.

So he strikes at her saviors and rips at their souls
and slowly tears them apart
His legion is many, but still he's no match
for a family that fights with one heart.

The battle is called and the war it is waged
and the losses too many to mourn
But still at its end, he's banished again
and from the fabric he's torn.

He strikes one more time, in a desperate blow
and captures the maiden fair
The guardian comes and ransoms her back
by taking her place in their lair

But hell doesn't want an angel of light
and finally a bargain is struck.
Hell keeps its own, while the angels go free
and for that we all can thank our luck.

For still at its end, its beginning again,
as the spiral slowly spins round.
The pieces are placed while the stage is reset
and the audience cleared from the grounds.

Now weaver cuts the final thread,
and the cloth is finally done.
A tapestry of pain and joy,
a minor victory won.

For even as the cloth's removed.
The start of the next is set
with the threads of another tale...
That none of us can forget

A tale lived and now retold
to remind us who we are
Dancers, weavers, actors all
in the tales of our lives.
Look not into the setting sun,
but at the ones you love.
For that is where we're truly strong,
not in our dreams, but in our hearts
and in the hearts we touch.
For nothing ever truly dies
when remembered with a song.

Copyright 1998 - M.T. Decker

Epilog Two
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