"Thanks, I think." Aaron said to the groom. He took a few moments to let the insane beast get a good whiff and feel for him before mounting. Somehow, Aaron felt that he'd probably end up liking this thing.

Soon he was mounted and airborne.


And he flew on, eventually circling the caravan from above with the other riders.

"My name's Elean, Miss." the girl says, smiling weakly at Trista, "That's my Da, and my brother, Tobe."  The two men nod in greeting, then look up quickly as one of the great birds hurtles past, low overhead, the rider seemingly struggling with the harness.

Far above the birds, the stormy sky continues to hurl clouds into the west at a worrying speed.  Oddly, though, there seems to be little wind at ground level.  Certainly not enough to account for the rapid movement of the clouds.

"We're hoping to change to another caravan here, one bound for Icewall, or one of them places.  Don't much mind where, as long as we're away from there" Elean continues, jerking a thumb over her shoulder, to indicate some place back along the road.  Her father and brother say nothing.  The older man, in particular, looks tired.  Elean doesn't seem to notice, "We could stay here, I suppose, but we heard some bad things about it.  We wouldn't have come here, if there was any other road to travel."

"Oh... hark at me, rambling."

She reaches under the bench and hauls out a knapsack.  "Are you hungry, Miss?  Only I noticed you haven't got much with you.  I've got a little bread, and some cheese, that I can spare some of.  A couple of apples too."

It’s almost disappointing, this lack of something happening. The stories circulating about Charyk and its caravans seem to be heightened myths. Yet, most myths have some basis in fact somewhere in Shadow. Trista’s nerves calm even though she still feels the attentions of someone in the tower. Her eyes lift to the riders in flight and the glorious eagle sailing overhead. Beautiful.

Above the birds, the sky swirls and darkens. Odd, considering the lack of air-flow at ground level, but then again weather can be unpredictable in Shadow, particularly where Shadows meet.

Then the girl unexpectantly speaks. Apparently, she’s not as nervous as many in the traveling troupe. Courageous or oblivious? It doesn’t matter, either way the girl takes an interest in Trista. The sad-eyed woman offers a gentle smile, “It’s good to meet you, Elean. I’m Trista. I’m just… traveling for the sake of traveling, you could say.” True on some levels; false on others.

Her eyes flick to the pinnacled city before them, before meeting the girl’s eyes once again. “This is my first visit to Charyk,” her voice lowers to a conspiratorial whisper as she dips her head closer to the girl, “I’ve heard the same stories I suspect you’ve heard.” Straightening back up, her voice returns to normal, “I suppose we’ll find out if any of them are true soon enough. But so far, I’d say those magnificent birds flying through the air will do much to scare off any threats.” She manages to keep her voice uncharacteristically light.

At the girl’s rambling remarks, Trista almost chuckles, “Rambling is good; it keeps the mind entertained and far from unwanted thoughts. Feel free. As to the proffered food, an apple would be nice, thank you.” The woman's not hungry, but it will do good to make the girl feel she's contributing more to Trista's well-being.

After the girl produces the apple, Trista looks back to the men in the cart, somber and tired. Elean’s father needs rest, that’s clear to see. Perhaps after the wagons are inside the city proper and any unrest is put behind them, he can find a few days for himself. Although, that time may be better spent departing Charyk. Trista makes note to keep an eye on this family once inside and see them off safely to their chosen destination.

In the mean time, they still have this open field of spiked trunks to traverse. Talk might be best. Even if the men do not participate, perhaps their minds will be entertained in the ramblings of their daughter and friend. “So tell me, Elean, what do you hope to find in Icewall that will be different from,” Trista bobs her head towards the West, “back there.” With that, Trista takes a healthy bite from the shiny apple, her dagger still at the ready, but loose in her hand.

 

Spotting trouble, of sorts, the great eagle swooped closer to the latest addition to the Ormvråkar - the one carrying the man whom she met earlier.

Giving the wings a few powerful flaps it carried the eagle up and closer to the man called Aaron.

Coming in close enough to nearly touch him and the huge bird upon which he rode, but not close enough to bite his nose off, she let out a low shriek that sounded very much as a question as if everything was all right, especially when combined with the look in the eagle's eyes.

Hopefully she would not decided to try to land on his shoulder or wrist.

 

Tahirah walks silently behind those headed for the Gateway, as Charyk's deliberate layout and the prominance of the Gates make a formal guide unnecessary.

Berd, a shimmer of light hanging in the air, slowly turns away from the caravan (though part of him still observes it, watching an apple slowly give up its life to feed others).  He faces away from the direction of the clouds' flight.  They boil and churn as they pass by above him.  After a moment, it becomes apparent that even in passing they slowly begin to swirl, beginning to form a titanic, inverted whirlpool above the little dragon, responding to the increasing tempo of the energies he draws.
This message had punctuation tweaked by the player at 22:10, Tue 12 Dec 2006.

Aaron was firm with Spite, and he banked the ormvråkar around, heading East. He hoped it wasn't a feint. He watched the caravan dwindle behind him as he moved in the opposite direction.


And then there was silence, his mental monitor active and only listening. Aaron took these last few moments to embrace this new feeling, flying high with an insane ormvråkar as his mount.

He flexed his hands, the right first, then the left.

"Been nice knowing you," he whispered to them, his words sucked into the wind.

"They come from the east.  In force.  I suspect the direction of the attack will soon be meaningless."

Still, James feet led him towards the east gate, if those with him agree.  Even before Berd's warning, he had thought it the best ground.  The crush of people watching the caravan strengthens the defence at the same time it hinders re-deployment.

James sighs heavily.

James turns to those questors that remain nearby.  "I have to say, I'm tempted to go looking.  Set my heart on what is needed to defeat this army and let the Pattern lead me.  But is that a forlorn hope?  Do we have time or would that merely be running away?"

Luke shook his head, but with a smile.  "No time, James, I would guess. But who can say?"  He looked up into the sky.  "Running away?  Not hardly.  No one, no one questions your courage, or your resolve.  And frankly?  Even with Jonnee's strength added to what is here, our odds are poor.  It may be, in the past, mind, we have been counting too much on the easy paths - using brute power and quick methods of travel - when the slower, more introspective method of travel through the Pattern would have served us better in discovering what we need."

He reached out one hand, placed it on James' shoulder.  It seemed heavy, even to James' titanic physical power.  His eyes were dark pools.  "If you go, take with you my blessing, poor as it may be.  As long as I stand, I shall hold here and await you."  The weight lessened, and he grinned, a devil-may-care expression.  "Oh, and you might want to take Chancey with you...assuming you agree, Chance old boy.  It's just a guess, but his ability, properly used, might aid your hellride.  And maybe, just maybe, what you seek is closer than any of us suspect."
This message was last edited by the player at 12:16, Wed 13 Dec 2006.

Chance scowls at Luke. "First you tell me to be careful, and then you want me to leave. You know something your not saying, Luke? Because if there's some reason I shouldn't be here, I'm more than happy to leave."

Dorian turns towards the East gate, the one he'd been avoiding.

Luke slowly turned toward Chance, and for an instant the expression in his eyes was murderous.  Then it faded.  "Know something?  I've been telling you.  What's coming, we can't fight."

He slowly reached out and placed a hand on Chance's shoulder.  The fingers tightened, and he drew the man closer.  "Aaron says an army is coming - the Army at the End of Time.  I've seen that army, Chance.  You were there.  They're not coming, oh, no."

In his eyes, stars burned.  Below lay the glow of the Underflow.  And within it, a massive bow-wave, as if that of an enormous serpent swiming below the surface.  Then fire blazed over the image - fire, burning forever in Luke's eyes.

"Cyan leads the Seraphim against us, Chance," Luke whispered.  "Berd held firm against twelve.  How many do you think he can stand to fight?  Will Dorian summon every drake to the slaughter?  Shall James and Aaron smash their way through a dozen danioti, in the midst of an army?  Will you watch them blast this fortress to rubble?  I have seen too many friends die, Chance."  Now his eyes were empty, bleak.

"James has the right of it.  There is no fighting this army.  There is only delaying.  And you...unless the one-eyed master of this place is Odin himself, with plans beyond our ken, you and he may be our best hope."  His fingers loosened.  "Our best Chance."

Chance shrugs. "Is that all? For a moment I thought you'd seen my demise or soemthing. But yeah, not being here sounds like a good idea. Care to go for a ride, James?

Spotting the moving party, Morgan's group joined them. With a nod for his new companions, he gestured backward. "Got a bit of a message, strange that there wasn't anyone around to say it. Have to say its better than sending runners, though. Roman and Banglen have gone flying, so I came back."

Cocking his head, he listened attentively, and followed them.

Dorian glances at Luke.

"It's not so much what I'll find," Elean replies, quietly, "as who I won't find there.  There was somebody at home, and my other brother, Calen, owed him money.  So this moneylender said he'd forget the debt if I agreed to marry him."

"Calen stayed there, to work off what he owes, but Da said we should move away.  If we... " and her words are drowned out by a thunderclap, loud as the sundering of worlds.  People scream, as their hair stands on end, crackling with electricity.

To the east, beyond the city, the clouds bulge downwards and start to spiral tighter, and faster, until sky and ground meet, and trees are torn from the earth, roots and all.

And now the wind grows, gale-force gusts blasting past the wagons, and startling the beasts.


Time has, it seems, run out.


As the storm winds rise, Aaron finds it increasingly difficult to control his mount.  The bird struggles to fly towards the tornado-like funnel of dark, howling air.  At the top of the twister, light grows, a circle of brilliant whiteness, almost impossible to look at.

Banglen-Yp follows Aaron, but being somewhat lighter and smaller than the ormvråk the winds force her to turn aside.  Brightness bleeds down the sides of the vortex.

Above the city, Roman and Berd watch.  Above them the sky boils, a miniature replica of the storm growing to the east.  They too, despite their own power, have difficulty maintaining their positions, in the face of the raw elemental fury being unleashed around them.


Inside the city, the group gather at the East Gate, preparing to do battle with an enemy that most of them know well.

There is a rippling in the air around Dorian, and twelve, sleek reptilian shapes wink into existence around the man, hissing and snarling, as their attention is drawn to the increasing howl of the wind beyond the outer gate.  Fortunately there are few citizens in the area, to be startled by this sudden arrival, and those that are about seem oddly calm.


The brilliant light flows downwards, enfolding the column of rotating cloud, and then it shimmers and... freezes.  The wind drops to a dead calm in a moment, and a pillar of light towers above the forest.

For just an instant, it is blindingly bright, and then it bursts, sending a wave of force outwards.

The Archons are there, swarming outwards in the wake of the wave.  Wheels of fire, steel, and lightning, howling as their sheer numbers blot out the sun.

Within the blinding light, impossible to see with the naked eye, armor of jet and gold refracts the brilliance.  Supported by her guard, the Warrior hangs within the cataclysmic tear.

"Seraphim."  The General's voice echoes within their ranks.  Protected by the minds of the Archons, she has dispensed with the aegis.  Should any wish to try their strength against the massed minds of the Host, they are more than welcome.  "You have your tasks."

"Carry them out."

Roman has no illusions about the magnitude of the task.  It was certain that there would be more than a dozen Archons, but even with Luke's warning the number is far greater than he had feared.

Only one tactic suggests itself.  Infiltrate.  Kill quickly and by surprise.  Try to eliminate key personnel if they can be identified.  Protect Banglen-Yp and Berd if possible.

The Danioti are most obviously vulnerable, they can be grasped by Logrus tendrils, their cutting blades pose no threat to the wind and the rain.  But the others may not be invulnerable.  Wormwood has another form, and the deadly Chaotic energies she carries may prove to be adequate to the task.

Roman moves to slip into the Archon's ranks.  Now the killing begins.
This message was last edited by the player at 16:34, Wed 13 Dec 2006.

Tahirah remains where she is; if she has any reaction to the shuddering Gate, it's well hidden in her robes.

The sleek black forms appear around him, calming him in a way no one else will understand. Though mere shadow-constructs, they are a piece of Samhain, a piece of himself. For a moment, he places a caresses one along its flank, his hand gliding over sleek black scales. He closes his eyes and he is home, standing on the cliffs of Triantafyllo with the wind whipping his cloak like a dark flag fluttering in the wind.

Then he hears it and his eyes open.

The numbers don't surprise him. This is how it will be for all worlds. The only surprise is that it took this long for it to come to this. In truth, he has but one stratagem to execute. All else is just stalling the inevitable. This world will die, as he knew it would. The temptation to do to this world as he did to the breeding world was great. The enemy losses would be great, but likely only fractional in the overall scheme, just like the breeding world.

But no, he would not destroy worlds. Not for her. Not for anyone. No. He did it once in rage. If he were to do it in cold calculated blood, he would be no better than... Cyan. This Cyan, that is.

"Prepare yourselves," he says. "It is now." He sends the same orders to the drakes. Should she appear, they have their orders.

He worked on the spell like an artist works on a masterpiece, the capstone of a career. It was sleek, like the scales of the drakes the hissed at this side in expectation. It was razor sharp like their claws, teeth and bony ridges.

The spell had only one lynchpin, and he spoke it, slapping into place the bolt on a rifle and metaphorical coin was flipped- his coup de maitre done. Lose or succeed, he had done his best.

And even in success, it was the first step in a harrowing series of steps required to truly achieve success here. One coin had been flipped. Nine more would need to be flipped. One success was fifty-fifty. They needed ten in a row, and the odds of that were laughable, but he wasn't laughing. He had set out to do the impossible and he meant to give it every ounce of his being.
This message was last edited by the player at 04:04, Thu 14 Dec 2006.

Anger flashes across stormy eyes at the thought of this girl being forced into marriage. Thank the provincial gods her father didn’t choose to accept the moneylender’s conditions.

Before further discussion ensues, the girl is cut off by the crack of a thousand thunderheads. Wild sparks fly as electricity fills the air. Trista’s protective hand comes down on Elean’s shoulder, firmly but not to hurt the girl. The forming funnel cloud beyond the city grabs the woman’s attention, pulling Trista to her feet.

Wind whips the traveler’s hair and tugs at loose clothing of those around her. Holding her own against the wind, Trista’s narrowed eyes widen as the cyclone freezes and a pillar of light envelops the stillness. The woman wobbles under the sudden abatement of winds. Her eyes almost shut against the brightness until she feels a pulsing energy move through her, attempting to knock her off her feet.

But it is what she sees next which drops her jaw and sends fear up her spine: machines of metal and fire pouring out of the brilliant column. Even at this distance, she can see them. Massive in size, at least those she can see, the frisson echoing up Trista’s spine tells her Charyk is being invaded.

After what seems an eternity of gawking, but in reality is only a moment in time, Trista’s attention turns to the first wagon which seems to be spiked at an awkward angle. The frightened animals have gotten their charge stuck in an attempt to turn away from the Eastern calamities.

What to do. Charyk certainly is not a safe haven from the invasion of whateverthosethingsare. Yet, the woods behind hold their own dangers. Perhaps deep within the pinnacled city lies safety, but getting there would prove dangerous, at best. Trista’s eyes turn behind them, to the woods. “Safer there, the better choice between two evils.”

She thumps down on the seat again, her arm folding over the back of the wooden seat to gather the attention of the family, “If you have any weapons of any kind, ready them. All of you,” Trista’s eyes includes Elean in the order, “There’s some sort of force up ahead which does not bode well for Charyk or for us.”

She eyes the caravan again and the birds which had fought the wind and now abandon the West for the East. Looking back over her family, she adds, “Stay together. There is strength in unity. We should head back into the woods, but we need to get everyone to safety, so I will see if I can help that first wagon get unstuck.”

She looks at Elean and sadly smiles, “I’ll be back.”

Trista once again stands and sets out toward the first wagon, the discarded apple rolling on the ground.
This message was last edited by the player at 18:03, Wed 13 Dec 2006.

When the universe is full of possibilities you never imagined, you see the birth and death of worlds and universes in the flowers, the rocks, the smile of a child and the night sky.

To see the world in a grain of sand, and to see heaven in a wild flower, hold infinity in the palm of your hands, and eternity in an hour.

Chauncey had alrady died. They didn't understand that. Ten years ago the boy had left his world and tripped into a dreamscape reality where he was a muse shaping reality by chord and note.

He had seen more than he meant to see, and done more than he thought to do. He had become action without thought, because he'd gone beyond thought and even dream.

None of this was real, until the archons showed up and brought him back to reality, to a place where he wasn't the musician who danced through scenes and interludes like a child in a room of infinite and inexhaustable toys. Today he was real again, mortality tasted like a fresh water to a mouth dried out on stale and bitter pondscum.

He heard the Archons. He saw death, the destruction of worlds and lives.

And he smiled. Happiness at last.

"I guess we missed the bus, James."

Armor flutters again with the sound of ruffled chainmail, and the black composite plate armor oozes over his form like refined oil. It rolls over his head and hardens into a helmet with a reflective faceplate. A display based on technology that might not work here comes to life before his eyes. The weapon in his hand melds into a blast weapon and powers up with a low hum.

"No worries. I wouldn't miss this for the world."

Aaron whipped his beast around in a tight arcing turn, now controlling Spite unconsciously. If he had any doubts about whether the animal would attempt to flee in fear when their enemy arrived, those fears were put at bay.

The bird, it seemed, was just as mad as he.

For a few small moments, Aaron and Spite (and Banglen, he noted somewhat absently in his constantly-active mind), hung in the air, watching their enemy carve a hole in reality and crash down upon this sad, hopeless world.

"We are here, now, you and I, Cyan. Now comes my final test, now is when the shell breaks and I realise the truth." He turned then, and spoke aloud, and his voice was not only his own, but that of he and his sword together.

"Banglen-Yp. They will strike us from the sky as soon as they realise we're a threat. If we are to strike, we must strike hard, fast and with utmost fury. I may have a plan."

He turned Spite so he drifted in the space between the Army and their eventual target. He did not yet feel the inevitable descending of the power of Broken God that would disable the majority of his abilities.

Aaron figured he'd have to make time. When the Army descended, he would hit them harder than he'd ever hit anyone or anything. Aaron wasn't even sure he'd be able to do it... but he was willing to test the theory, if it was at all possible. In small doses, if necessary.
This message was last edited by the player at 02:53, Fri 15 Dec 2006.

Shock, awe, or both, Morgan froze in place, mouth gaping at the sky darkened with the enemy host.  Out of habit, the panthers surrounded him and the group, though he was sure they, too, were stunned. Almost idly, he spared a thought to be grateful that with the enemy's choice of weapons, the panthers would survive the damage when left for dead.

Berd hovers in the sky beneath the whirlpool of his power, nothing more than a bright shimmer in the blinding glare of the Seraphim Host.  He studies them, one of his minds keeping a rapid tally as they continue to pour forth.  Thousands, literally.  Inside, the parts of his mind not desperately running through their tasks are utterly horrified.

So...many.

They had not counted on this, had not figured the response would be so vast.  Perhaps they should have - when have the Archons shown any knowledge of subtlety?  To date, their idea of a complex battle plan was to pour more power into their attacks.  They had not needed more, until now.  So why would they bother to change their tactics?

Impossible.  How....

Luke had been correct.

All the while, though, parts of his mind continue to prepare, siezing hold of energies.  And then others enter the fray.  His allies prepare to attack...foolishly, perhaps, against thousands upon thousands of the enemy.  Perhaps they do not comprehend the power of the Seraphim.  Perhaps they, as he, look down below, and see a world about to die.

That cannot be allowed.

One of his minds reaches out, forms a bridging between all who choose to accept, including the newcomers, Morgan, his 'associates', and Roman of Chaincut.  The choice is theirs.

Aaron, Banglen-Yp cannot hear you.  Coordinate with another - Roman of Chaincut is in the air.  Luke - hold this bridging, and keep me separate.

They know me.  I shall draw their flames, and the ire of my daughter.

Fear grows.  Like the world, Berd does not wish to die.  But he has little choice in his actions, here - there are innocents, below.  And so....

I AM HERE, SERAPHIM.  FACE ME.

As if they feared to do so.

And another mind, slipping in on a different level of the spirit, crying out a name amidst the aetheric roar.
<sub>Cyan...my daughter.  Please.  Do not do this.

I am here.  Leave the others.</sub>

*flicker*  And he moves.