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Message: <blockquote data-quote="GnomeWorks" data-source="post: 1843061" data-attributes="member: 162">...and then the soul of the wanderer is moving again, stirring against the darkness, fighting with a determination born not of hope, but of desperation......a great field looms before him, stark and rough and jagged edges, with but a single path before him.  The dark clouds rush past overhead, lightning striking between them in brilliant flashes of white and blue and purple.  In the distance a single star glitters impossibly through the clouds......and the star becomes the eye of Shiva, and Troi gazes at her from afar, his spirit lifting - a rise born of hope, not of desperation - and a single thought comes clear to his mind......and his thought turns, suddenly, to that of Zidaniel, once more as his teacher: "If you overvalue posessions, men begin to steal." He laughs, a bleak sound against the background of the rumble of thunder, as he pulls a small book from the folds of his cloak......and the book becomes a sheath, and Zidaniel draws his longsword, swinging it into the darkness of the night in the alley so long ago. "The master knows that he is going to die, and he has nothing left to hold on to.  He holds nothing back from life; therefore he is ready for death." He smiles grimly as he swings the longsword again, and there is no laughter in his voice......and once more the soul of the wanderer finds itself in that dark and lonely city, sight blurred from the wound that had been torn in his shoulder unknown hours before.  Rain patters onto the street, wetting his face, hiding his tears from the world as he looks into Shiva's empty room......and suddenly, it all makes sense.  He understands......and the great field lies before him once more, the star in the distance beckoning to him, calling for him to return to that which was and make right that which was made wrong......and now the soul waits, biding its time, waiting for its chance to redeem itself...</blockquote>

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