Re: Part 67a - Meeting and greeting
"Well, for those of you amenable to a download..." With a hint of concentration - his skill in these matters not the equal of the drake's - Luke opened an offering of a bridging. For those who accepted, the memories flashed through their minds with lightning speed.
...The bottle...Dworkin...and then -
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Luke isn't dead, but he is not in the situation he expected to be in. He has, of course, heard all the comments about Hell freezing over. The inside of the bottle is a good representation of what that would be like. He stands upon a plain of ice, which stretches away, flat and unbroken in all directions. Off in the distance, he can see a humanoid figure, but he can't make out details from this range.
Luke first tested the 'prison' in which he found himself, reaching out with his preternatural senses to determine his location. Inside the bottle seemed unlikely, unless the bottle itself contains a world. Something he wouldn't put past the old man, come to think of it.
"A little bit like the ninth circle, if we believe certain famous authors," he muttered. "I suppose I should make my way to the center, then, in the interest of drama. And appropriateness." He eyed the distant figure. "And that thing seems the closest I can find to an axis."
Slinging the axe over his shoulder, he broke into a trot - it seemed more intelligent to approach slowly and thus give away his own presence rather than simply transport himself to the being's side. It might react poorly, they'd fight, he'd end up with a dead body and no answers, and it would all be a waste. Except for helping Aaron.
It never occured to Luke that he might be the one to fall. It never really did when it came to one-on-one, his confrontation with Dworkin being somewhat of an anomaly.
The place does seem to be a world of sorts, a featureless sheet of ice, flat and endless, stretching away in all directions. It definitely seems too big to be inside the bottle.
As he walks towards the distant figure, he finds that he's getting no closer. The figure is actually moving away from him, keeping pace with him, so that the distance doesn't change.
Pausing in his march, Luke glared at the distant figure. "Someone's playing games," he muttered. "I hate games." Then the tall man shrugged. "Other people's games, anyway."
There were, of course, ways for him to reach the other person not requiring him to chase it - forms of transportation that might take place instantly. Raising a hand to enact one, Luke paused. "Wait, now." Suspicion crept into him as he studied the distant form. "I wonder. Bigger on the inside. Folded space. If that's the case, then it's possible what I'm looking at..."
With a thought, Luke shifted his perceptions to the figure in the distance, reaching out with his psyche to bridge the gap between them and see it clearly.
Luke reaches out with his senses, trying to see the figure more closely. It has its back turned, so he can't see its face but, oddly, it appears to be dressed in an identical fashion to himself, right down to the colours and the materials used. It's hair even looks like his.
And then there is a blast of intense cold, and a voice like the sound of icebergs calving comes from all around.
+ WHAT ARE YOU? +
Yes, it was him. "Everything folded around," Luke mused. "Good thing I didn't try to shift myself there - an exercise in frustration."
Then the world grew a good deal more chilly.
For an instant, there was another thing standing in his footprints, a tall, blindingly brilliant figure surrounded by shining wings - how many, it would be difficult to say. Then once again, it was only Luke, slowly turning in place to study his surroundings with his eyes even as his more esoteric senses reached out.
"I am many things, most of which are difficult to define or quantify," Luke answered. "But here and now I might be a rescuer - I did come in here to find you, after all." The axe faded, twisting into a self-lighting cigar, and Luke blew a small ring of smoke - in mid-air it chilled, first to mist, then ice, hanging and wobbling before him, reminiscent of an Archon in flight.
His smile slowly broadened. "Sencathi."
The icy plain erupts all around Luke, and a spinning wall of ice chunks rises from it, glittering in the the directionless light. The sencathi, for such it is, lifts into the air, until it is a few inches clear of the surface.
+ HOW DO YOU KNOW THAT NAME? + The voice, this time seems to carry more than a hint of curiosity.
That struck a chord. With a wave of his hand, Luke banished the false archon, leaving the real one before him, alone. "I get around," he replied, that half-smile still on his sharp features. Settling his hands behind his back, he eyed the brilliant ring for a long moment.
Much as it pains me...
"The truth, then." Nodding, Luke took a step forward, his arms falling to hang at his sides. "An enemy - or rather, a former enemy - of mine handed us information regarding your people. Their existence. Their persecution. Their possible flight from destruction."
He leaned forward. "Destruction at Harbonah's fiery command. Nothing 'former' about Harbonah, I note - not for me." His grin widened. "Though I'd be happy to make him 'former', permanently."
Yes, we know of your kind. Yes, we know of Harbonah. Yes, we are his enemy. Does your curiousity grow? Would you hear more?
Nevertheless, Luke did not let his guard down.
The Archon climbs higher, reducing in size, until it hovers above Luke, briefly, and then moves away a short distance. + HARBONAH IS NOT OUR ENEMY. MORE LIKE A MISGUIDED CHILD, WHO CANNOT SEE THE HARM IN ITS ACTIONS, AND MUST BE PREVENTED FROM CONTINUING WITH THOSE ACTIONS. +
The sencathi starts to circle Luke. + WOULD YOU ASSIST US IN STOPPING THIS CHILD? +
Luke paused a moment in thought. His eyes followed the Archon as it moved, though he did not shift to watch it when it passed from his field of view - other senses compensated. Pursing his lips, he considered the Archon's words. In the grand scheme of things, it was not so long ago that he, himself, had committed terrible acts. Had fought a war for childish (and not) reasons. Had split eternity in twain.
What would his father say?
Stupid question. Easy answer.
And the others?
Finally he nodded. "Yes." Something shifted, something twisted, and though Luke's feet never moved, for all the Sencathi's circling, the lean man always faced it. "Others won't see it this way. Your Harbonah has inflicted grevious harm upon the infinite worlds. Uncountable beings have died. Universes have shattered. Reality itself stands in danger of falling." His eyes glittered. "There are people I...respect...who have suffered. Some of them terribly."
He let his hands fall. "And yet I leave Harbonah's judgement in your hands, though, once he is stopped. An associate of mine wishes nothing more than the same as yourself - to open the Seraphim's eyes to what they do. She has a plan. I believe it might work. But we require assistance." He breathed out a sigh, frosting in the chill air. "This war needs to end. I grow weary of such things."
Is this wisdom, I wonder?
The sencathi stops circling, and Luke gets the impression that it is watching him very closely. + YOU SAY YOU NEED HELP? WHAT MANNER OF HELP? AND DO YOU HAVE A PLAN TO ESCAPE THIS PRISON? +
Luke eyed the Archon for a long moment. "I have many names," he finally said. "But here and now, I am known as Luke." It was his turn to circle, slowly pacing an icy ring around the icy ring. "What assistance? An associate of mine was...taken by the Seraphim. In her time with them, she realized that they, like the children you describe them, could grow. My father has seen similarly - confronted with options beyond survival and control, a herenethi of his acquaintance evinced a loss of heart for Harbonah's cause, commisurate with its naescent interest in artistic endeavors. And then there are the Nephillim to consider - do you know of them?"
He ceased his walking. "My associate believes that she can show the Seraphim something beyond their ego-driven concerns of control and subjegation. Give them a chance to grow. What she needs are three things."
He raised a hand, thumb and first two fingers extended, and tapped the tip of the thumb. "First, a reason for the Seraphim to move against her as one. She, herself, and my father are considered some of their greatest enemies. Another in our midst is also greatly desired by the Seraphim. Perhaps your own presence would incite Harbonah to a greater fury."
The index finger. "Second, the power to offer her memories to the Seraphim - not just a giving, but to open her mind to the massed spirits of their Host. She believes they will enter it, if offered - she holds much information, about the Myriad Worlds and about Harbonah, and the Seraphim are nothing if not greedy for information. But..." His lips tightened. "She requires the strength of mind to survive, at least long enough for them to drink their fill of her experiences."
The middle finger - none of the fingers had dropped, Luke careful not to offer the sencathi a digitus impudicus. "Finally, defense. My associate is not so naive to believe her plan will work perfectly. Even if it succeeds, how many of the Seraphim will reject this? There must be sufficient forces present to forestall them from escaping, carrying out their plans. If that is by capturing them and delivering them to you, so be it."
He sighed, taking a pull on a lit cigar. "Better than decimating the archon race, I admit. I've seen enough of that sort of thing. Abby would say I've grown soft..." Ah, little Abby, with eyes like the void itself.... Abandoning his musing, he focused a sharp gaze on the whirling ice. "So. Whatd'you say, sencathi? Thoughts? Criticism? As for getting out of this place, well...I have friends on the outside right now, and I must say there hasn't been a prison I haven't been able to break."
Except that of my pride. Though perhaps I've managed to slip the lock on that one, too.
A high-pitched whistle. + AN INTERESTING PLAN. DRAW THEM INTO A SINGLE PLACE, PRESENT THEM WITH A NEW VIEW OF THE WORLD, AND DESTROY ONLY THOSE WHO DO NOT EMBRACE THE NEW. VERY INTERESTING. IF ONLY MY PEOPLE HAD HAD THE FORESIGHT TO CONSIDER SUCH A SCHEME LONG AGO, PERHAPS ALL MIGHT HAVE BEEN DIFFERENT. +
+ INSTEAD WE CHOSE TO IMPRISON THESE... CHILDREN. IS IT, THEN, SURPRISING THAT SO MANY CAME TO HATE US? TO WIPE OUR MEMORY FROM THE MINDS OF THEIR OWN YOUNG? +
The whistling reaches an almost unbearable pitch, and there is a loud *crack*, followed by silence. A woman stands, naked, before Luke. Or, rather, a statue of a woman, sculpted entirely of translucent ice.
+ We believe this plan has merit. We would be glad to assist in whatever way we can, and to speak to our people regarding it. +
+ Just as soon as your allies effect our escape. +
"Well, then." Luke bowed to the sencathi as it worked out the merits of the plan. "I am heartened by your approval." He watched and waited, evincing a hint of surprise when the being finally chose to shift into a more anthropomorphic form. "Not really necessary...for me, in any case," he muttered. "But your choice of bodies will no doubt quell the concerns of my compatriots." He paused. "Of course, you might want some clothing, or despite your chill you may inflame something else."
While he no longer thought of humans as mere animals, he had a realistic view of how much their chemicals controlled them.
"I am gratified by your choice to assist. My thanks. Perhaps we might yet succeed, and save all." He thought upon that, then temporized. "Mostly." Luke turned away, searching the 'horizon' then staring into the 'sky'. "Do you have a name, Sencathi?" If not, so be it; he had more than enough for both of them, and her entire race to boot. "We could wait," he admitted. "But myself, I've always been impatient."
A prison of ice. Elegent in its simplicity, the one thing a sencathi might not escape. How could it? It could produce no fire, no heat. Luke, on the other hand...
Reaching out with his own might, he sought the walls of this prison - even a circle had an edge, a circumference. No corners, of course - clever Dworkin - but a weak point? Somewhere thinner? Or simply a wall against which I might press, or seek to discern its makings?
+ A name? Yes, we are called Amabael. +
Luke can feel patterns in the ice, faint lines of energy, radiating out from him in all directions, and concentric circles, with him standing at the exact centre of the mandala. Coincidence? Or something else? He starts to push against the design, and there is a little give...
Luke paused at the name, his eyes distant. "That would fit," he muttered, and a muscle in his jaw twitched. "Perhaps this makes up for the past?" His smile was raw, a jagged slash in a pain-shadowed visage.
Rafe charges, screaming in wordless fury, his flaming sword upraised - too late. Luke's hands blaze like stars, Amy burning in their grip. "I'm sorry," he whispers as that terrible Light sears her from the universe. Truly sorry. But as always, he does what he believes is right, regardless of the cost.
His greatest failing.
"No. Some things cannot be pardoned," he muttered, the customary twisted smile returning as his voice rose. "Hang on, Amy. The ride might get a little rough."
The cigar fell to the snow, hissing out. Forces boiled the air around Luke as he focused, beginning to press harder against the skein of energy imprisoning them. "You cannot hold me, Dworkin." No gestures, no grand motions - he stood like a dark statue in the midst of the icy plain. But within that shadow, his eyes ignited. "I swore I would never be a slave or a prisoner again." He put forth his hidden might and his body burned, falling away.
A shining, many-winged figure rose in its place, crowned with light.
NEVER AGAIN!
The bottle rolls to the edge of the table, the rumbling sound of its motion growing on volume.
Then silence, as it drops off the edge.
It hits the floor with a sound like the breaking of worlds, and bounces. Once. Dworkin lets go of Banglen-Yp's hand, and turns towards the sound. The second impact, the bottle strikes at a different angle, and shatters.
And two people are standing there, while fragments of glass (too many for that small bottle, surely?) are still spinning and skittering and dancing across the floor around them. One of them is Luke. The other is... not.
Dworkin glowers at Banglen-Yp. "You shouldn't have distracted me. Now it's out."
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"And done." Luke cocked an eyebrow. "We've been wrong about so many things. On top of all our past assumptions, we thought the Trumps poisoned by the enemy when it was Dworkin, in an attempt to protect Amber. We thought the Seraphim imprisoned by an Amberite, when it was the Sencathi.
This message was last edited by the player at 12:42, Tue 27 July 2010.