The crystal casket of Queen Mera makes its way down the streets. Grown men are seen collapsing to their knees and rending their clothes in grief. Women wail and children are silent. In the turbulent waters of Atlantis, there seems to be a unity only in grief
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Yes, as quickly as possible. My thanks, old friend.
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Shops are being looted. A beggar scoops expensive diamonds and corals from a jewelry store's broken cases. Ornamental gilding and stone work are being broken into pieces or ripped away.
There are provisions in place for such things, evacuating the leaders and the priests in case of attack. However, Kostan never imagined he would be fleeing his fellow Atlanteans. His instinct is to stay and fight, but the soldiers and the priests overrulled him. He is Regent until Garth returns, they say. They cannot risk him being killed, they say.
A sub is being prepared now, but Kostan takes the necklace he managed to take from Raven and the elephant toy Dolphin left with him for luck.
"If you can aid us, Dark Angel, then I'm calling on you. We need Garth's swift return. We need the spell upon him broken - more than ever!"
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Panic is so easy to enduce. Just set up the right factors...or in this case wait for the inevitable and heighten it just a fraction. Make the deceit and despair just a little more. Potential like his was worth a city of useless lives. Kostan believed Raven was casting a spell over her fellow Titan! Delicious!
She sends out a thought to him as she appears a dozen times over in shattered glass.
You wish to have your world saved from surface world sorcery and temptations, Lord Kostan? Do you have what I have asked for?
It's a formality. She can sense the toy and the necklace on his person.
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"It is temporary. i have calmed them," she lies. "I ask of your aid, dear duke. I cannot bring peace to Posiedon's realm on my own. I lack that power." She reaches out a hand. "You do not."
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the shadows of a pod of blue whales, the largest dwellers of the sea, the great drifters. Atlanteans revere the great blues like they revere few other things, and as the blues rise in mournful song, a chorus of sad clicks and moans, their statement cannot be ignored.
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Thank you, Kwaamor. Your pod does me great honour.
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It is nothing, swimmer. We mourned you the loss of your mate and wished to convey our respects. One day she will realize her true self and be born again in the waters.
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Its not much, but he does what he can, wishing he didn't have to. At a funeral of all things.
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This is truly pissing her off.
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