Roman slides off his mount easily.  The people want to see the caravan, so a few moments to effect his transformation without attracting too much attention should be possible.  He slips into a nook, behind the crowd.

He experiences a moment of concern when Banglen-Yp jumps, but quells that with the knowledge that it's only social activities that she seems to have problems understanding.  Especially as she can change shape quickly and claimed to have a flying form.

If anyone was watching they would see Roman's clothing start to shift, as if whipped by the wind.  Then his form fades to monochrome grey, expanding and blurring as it does so.  Where Roman stood there is a curious sight, a localised storm of wind and rain.  He keeps his lighnings leashed, his thunder silent.  It is not yet time.  He slowly drifts into the sky, showing no sign of intent or purpose.

Berd hangs on high, a nearly invisible presence watching those on the ground below.

Banglen-Yp falls.  From her place on the battlement, to the ground below, it's some twelve hundred feet.  Five and a half seconds later she unfurls her wings, with a snap, and levels out.  The wind whips through her plumage, as her taloned feet skim less than a foot above the road surface, and she starts a long, gentle climb.

She lets out a screaming cry, and, high above, one of the ormvråkar answers her in kind, as it launches itself into the void.


Roman's exit from the parapet doesn't result in a fall... quite the opposite in fact, as he rises into the sky, passing the great winged forms as they emerge from the mews, their riders clearly having some difficulty maintaining control.

Higher the Chaosite climbs, passing Berd, who is barely visible, save as a small ripple in the air, like heat haze on a summer day.


A few of the residents of Charyk notice the departure of the two strangers, but too many eyes are fixed on the forest, and the roads, for their strange behaviour to be generally noted.



On the road, brighter daylight starts to appear ahead of the caravan, as the forest opens out into a large, man-made clearing, several miles in diameter.  The stumps of the felled trees still stand in place, sharpened into spikes.  And there, clearly visible from beneath the forest trees, stands Charyk itself... a single tower, broad enough to appear short and squat, even though it reaches over half a mile into the air.

Every stone of that tower blazes with light, carved as they are with sigils and symbols of power.  High overhead, great winged forms wheel and soar, the ormvråkar, guarding the citadel, and watching for any attack on those who travel the roads.

Near the base of the tower, a fast-moving form follows the road, climbing higher as it moves towards the forest edge.  It appears to be a great eagle.


Tahira expands the field of her reading, adding extra cards to it.  The pattern spreads across the table, and the locals who are close enough to see it try their best to be looking elsewhere, as if concerned that they might suddenly gain the ability to perceive some indication of their own fate in the cryptic glyphs.



Seeking solitude in the face of the coming storm, Aaron waits, watching for the caravan, and the attack that he knows will be heralded by its appearance.

Even the animals fall into an agitated stillness.

Trista looks up at the young woman showing concern. She’d rather stay down on foot, able to act freely, and certainly she can move as quickly as the lumbering draft animals. However, boarding the wagon would give this girl a bit of peace, believing Trista to be safer. Jumping down again, if needed, wouldn’t be a strain.

Before the woman accepts, a glint of light catches her eye, yanking Trista’s head around to the grasses off the trail. The something vanishes so quickly a lesser mind might wonder if there was anything at all. A furrowed brow scans the trees again, but she neither sees nor feels a nameable threat. It will do little good to go chasing after skittering light and so the she turns back and takes the proffered hand, “Perhaps you’re right, thank you.”

After hauling herself up, Trista looks over her fellow travelers, bestowing an almost smile (purely for comfort) on the girl who worried. Sitting on the edge of the bench as the Caravan breaks from the woods to an open field of jagged stumps, her eyes flash up at a screech rending the air as a mounted animal takes flight. She indulges a moment admiring the creature’s strength, barely contained. More than one makes an appearance and Trista knows they are for protection.

Which will certainly be needed.

Besides the ormvråkar high in the air, an eagle swoops towards them. Then another something catches her attention high in the tower: their audience, perhaps. A figure watches…and waits? Her body taut with readiness, a hand quietly slips a plain, gleaming knife from its strap.

"Corwin," Luke stated quietly, "is more dangerous for knowing what he wants, and ignoring pressure from upbringing to pursue it.  A man who knows what he wants, and is willing to set aside other things in order to...."

His feet came off the table, hit the floor...silently.  Luke slowly rose.  His brows knit together, and he focused harder, eyes narrowing.

"That can't be right," he muttered.  "The disturbance in the Underflow...."  Another moment passed, and then Luke's eyes widened as the colour washed from his face.  When he spoke, it was almost in a whisper.  "James...you may as well tell them to open the gates.  In the end, I doubt it will make any difference."

Now his voice echoed again, throughout the Inn and beyond, reaching Aaron, Berd, Dorian, Morgan and Roman, despite the distance.  Banglen-Yp, shielded, perhaps does not receive it.

"Something comes through the Underflow, bearing on this world.  Quick, powerful, and...Father, interdict this World, prevent them from arriving!

 

Falling freely the blond girl was no longer a blonde girl but a huge eagle with a wingspan of several metres.  Not a match for the Ormvråk that had answered her shriek, but still larger than anyone would want landing on their shoulder, or see swooping down at them.

Turning her head the eagle scouted around for anything that could pose a threat to the caravan and the city itself, ready to report any findings with a shriek that would alert the Ormvråkar above.

Using the speed and momentum from the fall the great eagle rose up as if flew with speed towards the caravan.  Huge wings began to flap to keep the velocity and the eagle quickly began to rise.

Of Luke's warning nothing was heard.

 

Roman drifts upward, watching.  He sees the eagle and thinks it an odd choice.  Not obviously a match for these Archons.  He refrains from accessing the Logrus, in case the scout marks it - best to be nothing more than an odd meteorological phenomenon.  Until he hears Luke's warning.   Power will be needed.  He calls on the Logrus, for physical protection.  With that, maybe even the firey Archons may not pose a threat to his current form.  And there are other possible tactics, if the fight should go well.
This message was last edited by the player at 18:46, Sun 10 Dec 2006.

Berd, hidden within twisted rays of light, hears Luke's words clearly.  He reaches forth, into the vague area between the worlds, and realizes that to attempt to cut this world from the others would strand those on the path and ensure their deaths.

That, he will not do.  Not so long as there is a chance.

A moment of consideration more, and he abandons the idea completely.  This World is too open - to seal it would not be impossible, but might prove extremely difficult, and in any case, Cyan holds a ram that would shatter any gate he might close against her.

Gurthang.

And so he reaches out with his own senses, hunting in his own way for the enemy as they close, seeking to verify Luke's sighting.

Aaron snapped his sheathe, making sure it was tight against him as he bolted along the wall. He would not be the last to reach this battle, and for that he needed a ride.

Constant in his mind was Serena's portent, and he knew he was hastening the probablity of fate. Honestly, it wasn't that Aaron didn't care, so much as he'd accepted such things. With great haste, he headed for the tower, for he would need one of the ormvråkar if he were to make pace.

Arianne receded into her bladed shell, surrounding herself with razored flora. There would be danger, and she would be the first to sense it, there to enhance his reflexes with even a second of precognition. For that, she needed focus, and he let her be.

The caravan would be the flashpoint, and Aaron was surely an incendiary. His mind flickered, finding the bridging.

"How much time, Luke?"

Chance rises slowly from the table, leaving his vodka where it sits. "I have a bad feeling about this," he muses, as he turns to find a way into the higher parts to watch the battle and see where he could help. As he walks, his clothing flutters and becomes black high-tech armor, though he forgoes the helmet for now.

Dorian stood as Chance left. Everyone else was going for the high ground, so he would, too. It mattered little where they chose to stand, considering Luke's messages. That part didn't surprise him, though. He had wondered all along if the Archons would be able to simply appear in the fortress. He predicts that nothing in this battle will go as planned.

It made sense.  A battle inside the walls was exactly what James had hoped to avoid since coming here.  Cyan would surely anticipate the damage that could be caused by simply circumventing the strongest defences of the tower.  In the chaos she could direct her efforts to her objective with the least organised resistance.

Still he couldn't help wondering in the change wrought on Cyan, that she could contemplate the massacre of innocents and civilians.

"Forget that, Tahirah.  We need to warn the defenders of a possible strike within the walls.  Mobilise some defensive patrols.  Get civilians off the streets.  Secure any internal strongpoints."

James pauses, his conviction shaken by the magnitude of the task.  He hoped that the local commanders were up to the task.  It was far too late to try and take command.

"So much to do and I don't have the least idea where to start."  James reaches a decision and stands.  "If it's okay, I'll stick with you Dorian.  I've a feeling Cyan will strike against us, to kill or to capture, and we're spread out enough as it is."

"Time?"  Again, Luke's voice was heard by all of the Questors, save those shielded completely from psychic intrusion.  "It might take them some time to get ready, Aaron.  When you're dealing with numbers of this magnitude, and you're a stickler for order, it takes a while to get your people properly lined up."

His smile was sickly.  "Perhaps several minutes.  Perhaps less.  They come, quickly now."

He turned his face toward James, Dorian, and Tahirah.  A bemused smile suddenly lit his sharp features in a very un-Luke way.  "Understood, James.  I shall deal with the 'civilians'."  He chuckled.  "And now I stand in defense of a mighty fortress against these so very misnamed 'Seraphim'."

"How odd.  The circle of my life seems appropriately complete."

Closing his eyes, Luke once again spoke, and this time his words echoed throughout the gigantic fortress, into the minds of those people who still milled around outside their homes.  "Citizens - in an orderly fashion, seek shelter.  Seek shelter - to remain without is perilous.  Seek shelter - find your deepest room."  He breathed out, opened his eyes.  Perhaps there would be panic.  But better panic now, than when the Archons came.

He sent one final message, this one to Chance as the man left.  Chance...be careful.  Please.

He didn't have many friends left, now.
This message was last edited by the player at 12:42, Mon 11 Dec 2006.

"More than welcome, James," Dorian agrees. "If she comes after me, your presence may give me the seconds I need to aid in the battle. I imagine Berd might be her first target, though.

"And James is right. We are too spread out, especially if we are to attempt moving Cyan to a central place where we may deal with her. If that is the plan, it would require all of us. Are we to attempt this, or merely fight her and her entire army? If they are to appear inside, it may matter little. However, if we can have a prepared area of some sort…"

A humorous chuckle rolls back to Luke. If you'd wanted me careful, you shouldn't have given me Vodka. Don't worry, I'll watch my step.

Tahirah sweeps her cards into a pile, squaring them in the same movement, and drops them into her box.  The box then disappears back into a sleeve, as she stands as well.  "Fate follows closely on your footsteps," she says.  "That which you seek will not be easily lost."

"Charyk is well warded against entry; if the outer Walls will not stop them, those within will be as nothing," she points out, as Luke's voice echoes througout the stronghold.

Turning somewhat towards Dorian, she says, "I think you speak of the Gates.  The Inner and Outer Gates are separately Warded, as are the stones of the Gateways.  They're not exactly intended for entrapment, but they are by far the most `prepared' area you will find within the Walls.  This morning's caravan arrives from the west, leaving three Gateways open.  Which would you like cleared for your purposes?"

Morgan shared a bemused look with Leareth as the pair of shifters flew off. "That was odd. Guess we'd better go back, though. Sounds like they've found something." Turning around, they headed back for the Sanctuary Inn. Maybe it'd been foolish to come, anyway.

As Aaron made his way to the tower, carefully passing people by, he narrowed his eyes.

"We should still try to isolate Cyan and take her alone - that is our primary objective, and thus requires our proximity. Her army is a secondary nuisance, but it still needs to be stalled if we can't stop it completely. Charyk must be protected."

Over the link, Dorian says, 'Tahira, the new one here, says that the Gates may be best for that purpose, then. Her judgement seems sound, and she is a local so she would know better than we. I will be there. Anyone who wishes to help can meet there. I'll give warning before I make the attempt.'

Chance stops half way. "It sounds like the main battle won't be outside, anyway, though caution is advised. I think I'll join Dorian, too. If he manages to snatch her, then we'll need all the numbers we can get. Besides, if enough key players gather there, she might show up there anwyay."

He couldn't shake the bad feeling about this whole situation. They should be doing something else- but what?

Luke's eyes cleared and he laughed, a jagged, bitter sound that went out to all the Questors, as did his voice.  "Isolate Cyan?  Her army, a nuisance?  Stalled?  Charyk, protected?"  He glanced around at the fortress as they walked, and slowly shook his head.  "I see them coming, Aaron.  Not yet clearly, but but not by their doing.  They don't need to hide.  They create a...wave before them in the Underflow.  We thought we would face a handful of Archons and the Army of the End of Time?"

"We were wrong.  And because of that, because we underestimated their resolve, their desire, this world is doomed."

The man began to draw in strength from the world around him.  He knew Berd was doing the same.  "Gird yourselves," he said, suddenly calm.  "Fleeing now would do nothing more than leave Charyk to their mercy.  We must hold out for Jonnee Kay's army, and hope it is enough to convince them to pause."
This message was last edited by the player at 12:27, Tue 12 Dec 2006.

Dorian continues to find the right spot. "Tonight we dine in hell, Luke?" he says. "Numbers are not the battle. I've won more battle than I should have by making my own odds- and I am no tactician as some here are. If we can do so here, then we shall."
This message was last edited by the player at 13:18, Tue 12 Dec 2006.

 

Outside the giant eagle soared higher and higher looking for trouble.  It called out a long cry again, but not of warning, but of greeting, as it saw its bigger relatives circle up above.

Down below the caravan kept creeping along and the sharp eyes spied each individual in detail.

The battle ahead would come soon, but not in the air, not for the eagle.  There were still more in there than met the eye.

 

The first of the wagons moves out into the open, moving forward across the Killing Ground, and the weapons of the fortress swing towards that area.  Attacks have always come in the vicinity of the caravans.  They act as bait, of a sort, though the merchants, drivers, and passengers would probably be horrified to hear themselves described thus.

The majority of the airborne ormvråkar, and the large eagle, are circling there now, above the western road.

Higher still, the wind is gathering force, and clouds are hurtling across heavens, moving from east to west.  With each passing minute, the sky grows darker.


By the time the sixth wagon is into the open, and the first is almost a quarter of the way to the gate, Aaron has reached the lower part of the mews, and is arguing with two of the grooms, "No, we can't let yer take one of 'em.  They's vital ter the defendin' o' the city, an' we don't let just anybody take one out fer a spin.  Yer shou'n' even be 'ere, mate."  His colleague keeps pulling at his sleeve, and the speaker gives him an irritated glance, before turning back to Aaron, "Now get out, 'fore I calls...  What?  What the bloody 'ell is it?"  The question is directed at the annoying sleeve-tugger, but it is somebody else who answers, a incredibly old-looking, one-eyed man, dressed in plain, dark robes, who is barely visible in the pools of shadow which lay well away from the external doors.

"It is the Lord Ferenc.  If this man wants one of the birds, give him one.  Surely we can spare at least one, or else why do we pay you so much money to see to the breeding of them?"

"Yes, my Lord.", and then he beckons to Aaron, "This way... Sir.  Jess, run 'head an' get one of 'em ready."

Ferenc fades back into the darkness, with one last, baleful glare at the open sky-doors, muttering, "It is done.  Now we will see."


Between the high pinnacles of the city, and the lowest of the clouds, Berd and Roman hang... each is keeping watch in his own way.


Aaron is led into another chamber, where the great birds sit, their yellow eyes filled with madness and malice.  "There, that'n.  Spite, 'er name is.  Don't get too close ter 'er beak, else yer'll lose a bloody 'and."


The tenth wagon emerges from the trees... almost a quarter of the caravan exposed now, and still no attack.  Trista sits with the nervous travellers, many of whom seem scared of the ormvråckar, perhaps not realising that the great birds, wheeling overhead, beneath the gathering storm clouds, are there to protect them.


Chance and Morgan both move down, through the city, seeking Dorian and the place where he will attempt to trap Cyan.  Morgan is accompanied by the panthers, as they wait for Dorian to decide which of the four gates he will use for a containment area.


James, Luke, and Dorian, accompanied by Tahirah, move away from the Sanctuary Inn, through the Trade Ward, towards one of the gates.  Most of the locals seem to be moving in the opposite direction, towards the great cathedral at the very foundation of the city.

As they move, there is a sudden flow of shadow from a nearby ramp to the stables, and Devlin is running with them, still in wolf form.
This message was last edited by the GM at 13:10, Tue 12 Dec 2006.

"I cheated...." Dorian shakes his head in dismay.