[ opens his closed eyes, with a sort of dreamy daze to his everything. _{sorry God and everyone but angie absolutely has mentally eroticized the super attack mode game mechanic of final fantasy ix} ]

That wondrous power is what we call "Trance."
A light only called by fate's choice to defend...
Or so it is said, in the common parlance.
The truth? Pure desire, in the face of one's end.

The weak of soul can never know the dance,
Percieved, that lack, I sought to mend.
My conclusion, thus: take the fighter's stance,
At a proxy's hand, lest my master forfend.

I sought aid of the dead... those Gaians, trapped,
Left to rot in the brig of the dread ghost ship.
I appealed to their rage, with a target most apt,
And together made Garland take a little... trip.