The journey through the Underflow had been... unpleasant.  Like a sea voyage in bad weather, except that the turbulence had been in a lot more than a mere three dimensions.  The further they had gone, the worse things became.

And the... for want of a better word... creatures!  Horrific things as large as worlds had swum around them, brushed past them, apparently revelling in the storm.  Or perhaps causing it...

Now, tired, miserable, and sick after the seemingly interminable trip, the group crouch in the shelter of a vast ruin, recovering.  Overhead the sky burns, generating a heat which feels like the touch of summer sunlight against their skin.  The air is filled with a ceaseless screeching howl, and the roar of thunder, and the ground beneath their feet trembles under the force of constant impacts.

There are Archons fighting here.  The sound of their voices can occasionally be heard through the cacophony.  Their weapons are fire, lightning, and their own bodies, and their combat only adds to the raucous din, which penetrates even the bubble of relative calm which surrounds the group of weary travellers, courtesy of Berd.

Wheels of fire scream by, above them, and a few moments later a distant structure is engulfed in flame, further adding to the destruction.

All in all, this is not a good place to be.

Tahirah stands, as always, a picture of calm, although it may be admitted that there are deeper breaths coming out from her hood than usual - enough, at first, that those closest to her can catch them within Berd's bubble, even with the tumultuous racket.  Somewhat unsteady at first, they quickly smooth out into practiced patterns, and then quickly disappear in the ambient noise, leaving her seeming entirely untouched by the wild journey.

She tilts her head back, looking to the sky.

Berd hangs his head, weary from the effort of the journey.  The Underflow had rippled about them, bow-waves of pressure striking from different directions, currents where before there had been none.  And its inhabitants?  He had been forced to use every ounce of his strength simply to keep his charges from being crushed.

What were the Seraphim doing?

Beside him, Cyan slowly rises to her feet, glassy eyes staring out from a pale, pale face.  Shaking her head, she raises the palanquet of the Weary Soldier, and makes another attempt.

+ James...James of Amber, are you there? +

Dangerous, surrounded by so many of the Archons, but they need the man - this is war, his balliwick.

Her gaze flicks from battle-pocket to battle-pocket, Cyan's instinctive capacity for battle struggling to make sense of what she sees.  "Berd!" she cries, still waiting for an answer, still analyzing the war before her.  "Find Right or Left!"  The mental signature passes from the bard to the Berd, and the drake raises his head, strengthening the shield about them, shrouding them from easy detection even as his mind reaches out.

Simultaneously, he offers a bridging to all those in the group.

"Tell me what you see!" Cyan cries to the others, both aloud and psychically to those who accept Berd's offer.
This message was last edited by the player at 19:23, Fri 28 Jan 2011.

A wave of sound rolls over the huddled group, and the source soon becomes clear - Archons, a mixed group of herenethi and eshurianti, moving fast.  One of the massive ruins topples, and they veer to avoid it as a swarm of danioti spring up from the ground beneath them, only to be met with a rain of fire and lightning.

Battle is joined, though it is scarcely noticeable amid the turmoil.  Archons are burned and cut and blasted, and their shrieks of rage are like the shattering of worlds.

One of the Banglen-Yps holds out her closed fist.  As she opens it, Amabael emerges, no larger than a wedding ring.  The Archon says nothing for a moment, seeming to regard the war which rages around them.

Then, + ALWAYS OUR MOST FIERCE WARS HAVE BEEN WAGED AGAINST OUR OWN KINDRED.  WORLDS HAVE DIED, UNNOTICED, IN THE FACE OF THE FORCES OUR PEOPLE HAVE UNLEASHED AGAINST EACH OTHER. +

Cyan nods as Amabael 'arrives' from the hand of Banglen-Yp, pleased that the archon has chosen to accompany them.  "I fear it is little different with other races," she cries over the cacophony.  "Our most terrible hatreds are reserved for those who should be like ourselves, but who have chosen to be different.  A curse of reason, I fear."

She slowly turns in a circle.  "I see no pattern to this - factions break apart at a moment's notice and turn upon themselves.  It..."  Her emerald eyes narrow.  "I would almost guess Harbonah has died and the Seraphim have fractured."

Once, she would have prayed for that.  Now, Cyan knows Harbonah keeps the Seraphim focused, giving her plan a chance to succeed.

"The unit that cross the Myriad Worlds to here, possibly bringing something - they have not yet arrived," the bard continues, studying her palanquet for a moment.  She hisses in frustration, still unable to receive reply from James.  "I think...one group awaited them here to do battle, the other came to prepare the way, but in the chaos of the war your people have exploded into rage, Amabael - their purposes have been forgotten in favour of old grudges and hatreds, and now they battle in madness."

She closes her eyes.  "Berd, I must speak with Right - he will know what transpires."

A thread of the bridging reaches out toward Right's distant mind, but Cyan speaks her words aloud so that all might here.

"Right - I am here, on this world."

Her eyes open, their sapphire hue deepening into indigo.  And darker.

"Report if you can," the General requests.  "I need to know how we can assist."
This message was last edited by the player at 12:39, Wed 02 Feb 2011.

+ WITHOUT STRONG LEADERS NEARBY TO HOLD THEM TOGETHER, THEY BICKER AMONG THEMSELVES. + Amabael observes, + THE BICKERING BECOMES AGGRESSION, THE AGGRESSION DEVELOPS INTO VIOLENCE, AND THE VIOLENCE SPREADS AS OTHERS SEE AN OPPORTUNITY TO SETTLE GRUDGES WHICH HAVE BEEN LONG NEGLECTED. +

+ YOUR ASSESSMENT OF THE CURRENT SITUATION SEEMS CORRECT. +

Cyan asks Berd to link her to her former servant, and closes her eyes...

From far across the ruined city comes a distant sound, like a clash of cymbals, and an booming roar of thunderous laughter which rattles the building where the group shelter, peppering Birds defences with gravel and dirt.  The voice which follows it is loud here, so it must be truly deafening closer to its source...

+ FLEE SERAPHIM!  HARBONAH'S FORMER GENERAL IS HERE WITH HER NEW ARMY!  HERE TO DESTROY YOU ALL!  HERE TO DEVOUR YOUR ESSENCES! +

In the distance there is a sudden explosion of motion.  Archons are hurtling upwards, pursued by others.

One though, veers aside, heading directly towards Berd's defensive barrier.  Metal blades glitter as it speeds closer, in total silence.

And it arrives, in a blast of wind and a roar like thunder, stopping just beyond the shield.  Unlike others of its kind, this Archon is as colourful as a tropical bird.  While many of its blades have the hue of polished steel, more are tinted in shades of red, yellow, and blue, or in simple black and white.

Its voice, when it speaks, is the clash of metal against metal, + GENERAL.  IT IS GOOD TO SEE YOU.  I AWAIT YOUR ORDERS. +

In the distance, high in the air, the Archons have joined battle once more...

Cyan makes a small moue of distaste as Ambael confirms her guess.  "So much pain and anger," she murmurs.  "If only they could set that aside."  Some have, she knows.  Some have in fact become caretakers of the Myriad Worlds, or observers.  Scientists, almost.  Some have come together, Ambael's people being a prime example.

There is hope.

At Right's enthusiastic declaration, the Warrior slaps her forehead with a palm.  "There he goes again," she mutters, shaking her head.  Upon her shoulder, Berd studies her with some concern, then returns his burning stare onto the battling Archons.  For an instant the General's eyes unfocus, and she speaks to those with her inside the protective sheath.

"The battle went too long here.  Right informs me that the leaders of both sides were slain, and both forces began to fragment."  A small smile twitches at the corner of her mouth.  "He expects me to take charge of his forces.  I expect I shouldn't disappoint."

Her eyes - deep, dark amethyst - sharpen again.  "Well done, Right."

Then the danioti arrives, full of sound and fury, signifying a great deal more than nothing.  The Warrior breaks into delighted laughter at his colourful arrival and raises a hand in a casual salute.  The salute becomes a gesture, and the shield opens sufficiently to allow him entry in a smaller, more compact form.

"The sentiment is reciprocated, Right, but I fear that the army I bring you see before you.  Quality over quantity."  She doesn't yet mention the full force of the sencathi, having promised her silence.  An ironic smile touches her lips.  "I will have to co-opt yours, I'm afraid.  Quickly - what is the designation of your forces?  Nephillim?  Or something else entirely?"  Then the General's eyes narrow.

"And where is Left?"

Sensing her desire, Berd begins to seize control of the world's reality, slowly gathering up the reins that direct its flow.

The Warrior glances at the others within the bubble.  "In a moment, I will attempt to rally Right's allied archons to me and end at least one side's infighting - any influence you can bring to bear, any shows of power you can muster, would be appreciated."  The archons follow leaders who can hold them together and command their loyalty, who can both force and persuade them to set aside their petty differences and work toward a singular goal.  Perhaps in time that will change, but for the moment she must work within the system.

Which means getting their attention.

Beside her, Berd's eyes begin to burn, and the air above the little dragon warps and twists as heat bleeds from his tiny body.  And the General continues to finger the palanquet in her hand, a fraction of her mind maintaining the pressure upon it.
This message was last edited by the player at 13:21, Wed 09 Feb 2011.

+ LEFT IS WORKING IN ANOTHER PLACE, ONE THAT I HAVE BEEN TOLD I SHOULD NOT NAME. + Right's harsh screeching voice booms.

+ I FIGHT, STILL, FOR THE NEPHELIM, GENERAL.  I LEAD NEARLY FOUR HUNDRED ARCHONS, OF ALL... + the danioti pauses, and tilts slightly towards Amabael, + ... OF NEARLY ALL TYPES.  WE FIGHT AGAINST THE SERAPHIM, IN AN ATTEMPT TO THWART THEIR SCHEME HERE. +

+ THERE ARE, I JUDGE, CLOSE TO TWO MILLION ARCHONS HERE, BUT I BELIEVE MINE IS THE LARGEST SINGLE FORCE IN THIS WORLD, AND THE SERAPHIM WILL LOSE HERE.  WE ARE, OF COURSE, OUTNUMBERED, BUT THE OTHERS ARE DISORGANISED AND MANY OF THEM ARE HELPING MY CAUSE, WITHOUT KNOWING IT.  THE ONLY GOOD SERAPHIM IS A DESTROYED SERAPHIM, NO MATTER WHO IS RESPONSIBLE, AND THE ONLY THING BETTER THAN A DESTROYED SERAPHIM IS TWO SERAPHIM CUTTING EACH OTHER APART BECAUSE OF AN ANCIENT DISPUTE. +

Right begins to pulse, larger and smaller in a rapid sequence, + I WILL TAKE THIS WORLD IN YOUR NAME, GENERAL. +

Two million...

Cyan's pain echoes through the Warrior as she considers Right's description.  A better Seraphim is one who understands and changes...but the Warrior ruthlessly quashes that idea.  If they are to change, she reminds herself, we must first survive.  And to do that, they must disrupt the Seraphim's control of this place, possibly even drive them away.

If Cyan's endgame is to work, it must come with surprise.  It will not function a second time.  Thus, in this place they must do battle.

"You've done well, Right.  Exceedingly so, especially in holding together such a large group of Nephillim."  The Warrior nods again, glancing around at her compatriots with her onyx eyes.  None have yet offered any thoughts on the matter, and time is critical - she will act, and trust them to follow suit.

"Berd.  Battlefield projection, if you would."

The drake acknowledges, allowing Right to enter the bridging through the Warrior and opening up a Berd's-eye view of the war into the minds of those involved, placing forces and smaller conflicts, showing the ebb and flow of the battle.  He has, of course, done this before.

"Amabael - we are about to become the focus of many archons.  It might be wise to continue to appear singular for the moment."  A hole-card is always useful.  "Berd...another kind of battlefield projection, please?"

The drake responds, and when the Warrior speaks, her voice echoes through the firmament.

"Nephillim - I am the Warrior in Jet and Gold, broken free of Harbonah's tyranny.  I know his strengths, his weaknesses.  I call you to battle in the name of the Myriad Worlds - set aside your animosities and old quarrels, and rally to my banner.  Your might is needed to break the tide of the Seraphim, or all will be lost."

Her lips peel back in a savage smile as Berd strengthens his hold on her, and the black sword comes free of its sheath, inscribing an arc of ghostly flame as it settles into position.

"Those who stand against me will die."

A good start.  Unfortunately, Archons need convincing of such things.

"Berd.  Right.  We move."

The Warrior strides into the sky upon a staircase of solidified air, opening herself up to view and to attack.  Without armor, she has only Berd and the Deathiron for defense.  They will, she suspects, suffice for the moment.

Splitting his mind again, Berd maintains the shield about any of the questors who choose to remain below.  Simultaneously, he reaches out to where Right had battled, his mind picking out the signatures of those who had fought beside the danioti against others.  That gives him a lock on their opponents.

And he strikes.
This message was last edited by the player at 14:11, Mon 14 Feb 2011.

For a moment, the world seems to hold its breath.  The air stills, and the only sound is the distant noise of battling Archons.  And then...

And then the moment is over.  A line of light, bright as the noonday sun and thin as a razor's edge, reaches out from Berd.  In an instant, everything it touches burns, even the air itself.  The ray sweeps across one of the danioti, and the Archon sparks as its form is cut.  Molten metal is hurled in all directions, thrown outward by the Archon's rotation.  In seconds the Archon can no longer hold its form together.  It explodes in a hail of jagged, burning shards.

And with that signal, the true destruction starts.

The Archons scatter, but many still succumb to the touch of the deadly ray.  Or to the sudden pulses of magnetism which tear them from the sky.  Or the oddly selective rainstorms which only seem to strike the seraphim.

One of the herenethi holds its ground, and its voice carries on the wind, loud enough to be heard even above the raging destruction, + THE GENERAL IS HERE, AND HAS BROUGHT THE DESPISED ONE WITH HER!  TAKE THEM!  HARBONAH WILL HONOUR THE ONE WHO BRINGS THEIR HEADS BEFORE HIM! +  No sooner as the Archon finished speaking than it is overwhelmed by a swarm of nephelim and torn apart.

In a matter of minutes the skirmish is over.  Right's enemies have fled the field, or been utterly destroyed, at least in the immediate vicinity.

The danioti moves closer to Cyan, + I HAVE TAUGHT THEM TO FIGHT, GENERAL.  TO FIGHT TOGETHER.  LIKE MY OWN BLADES THEY ARE, EVERY ONE DIFFERENT, BUT WITH THE SAME PURPOSE. +

Amabael's laughter is filled with the sound of icebergs being calved, + YOUR PUPIL HAS LEARNED WELL, HUMAN.  WE BELIEVE HE HAS CONVINCED THESE NEPHELIM OF THE VALUE OF LONG-TERM COOPERATION. +

"Indeed, Amabael" the General whispers. "A fine beginning."  Cooperation, counting on one another to guard one's back without stabbing it - even if only against an enemy - is a seed in fertile soil.  It can lead to a great deal if carefully cultivated.  Her voice rises, its strength multiplied by Berd.  "You and your warriors are to be commended, Right."

Berd hunkers down upon her shoulder, his eyes darkening.  The drake's feelings come clearly over the bridging to all connected - not yet weary, for he draws his strength now directly from the Underflow, he is distressed by the killing.  A necessity in this war, but a terrible one.  Cyan's hand rises to touch his drooping head, then the Warrior returns, her eyes as dark as coal.

"We must secure this place - the world itself - in preparation for the arrival of the Seraphim's intent.  Whatever it is, it must fail.  The endgame approaches, and we will either succeed, or be torn apart by Harbonah's plans."  An image flowers within the bridging - the image of the world, the approaching Seraphim, and the forces and battles already taking place upon it.  "Have you discerned aught of the Seraphim's plans?" the Warrior inquires of the Archons within Right's forces, even as she searches the image for the next place for their army to attack.

She needs to find the throat of the enemy upon this world, and tear it out - shatter whatever cohesion remains of the Seraphim and draw the remaining Nephillim to herself.

+ I DO NOT KNOW WHY THE SERAPHIM WANT THIS WORLD, GENERAL.  IT SEEMED IMPORTANT TO THEM, SO IT SEEMED EQUALLY IMPORTANT TO PREVENT THEM HAVING IT.  WHICH IS WHAT WE HAVE DONE FOR SOME TIME. + Right replies, with a definite hint of pride.

A number of right's Archons climb higher into the air, and dash off in all directions.  Soon they are out of sight...  Others start to close in on the place where their leader talks to Cyan and Berd.

+ THERE IS ONE PLACE THAT THE SERAPHIM HAVE DEFENDED WITH GREAT VIGOUR.  NOW I HAVE INFORMED MY FORCES OF OUR IMPENDING VICTORY, AND THEY HAVE HURRIED TO SPREAD THE WORD.  SOON EVERY ARCHON ON THIS WORLD WILL KNOW THAT YOU ARE HERE WITH THE DESPISED ONE. +

+ THE SERAPHIM WILL FLEE! +

 

Having mostly been watching events unfold with untold curiosity most of the Banglen-Yps now moved over to the ruined remains that made up a large portion of the scenery.  Some of them sank their teeth into pieces of the stone-like material, others touched blocks of it and watched their hands slowly sink into holes, yet others drew a finger or more over surfaces, leaving grooves behind.

The mass of clones, for lack of a better word, moved about in a seemingly haphazard manner.  Only the observant would note that their numbers seemed to increase with the disappearance of ruins and the passage of time.

Then, as some of the Archons climbed into the air others arose, different from those around, from the midst of the Banglen-Yp congregation, some quite sombre, others whizzing about in a more upbeat fashion.  Their numbers grew slowly and yet the Banglen-Yps appeared to retain theirs, possibly even still increasing.

 

Berd crawls about uncomfortably upon Cyan's shoulder, more than a little piqued by the sobriquet the Archons have chosen for him.  He keeps his silence, though, fully aware of the delicacy of the situation.  Thanks to Harbonah, he stands roughly a step below Dorian on the Archons' Most Wanted chart.

The general clenches her free hand, knuckles whitening.  She notes the every-increasing forces of Banglen-Yp's army, and turns to raise an eyebrow at Tahirah.  "I think," the woman thoughtfully decides, "I would like to see this place."

Her dark eyes again focus upon Right.  "You seem to have the Seraphim on their heels, but I wouldn't count on them fleeing just yet - I suspect my arrival at the place you describe will galvanize some of them into action, force them to remember their orders and purpose.  Likely as not, they will make a final push.  When they do, we must break it." Knowing full-well Banglen-Yp can make her own way, Cyan slowly drops back to stand beside Tahirah.

Her gaze rises to the Archons Right has summoned.  The black sword sketches a burning salute in the air as Berd echoes her voice.  "I greet you, Archons of the Nephillim.  Glad I am to meet with you again; I bring allies, news, and a plan for victory." Her smile is as bright as a sword's blade. "But first we deny the Seraphim whatever they wish upon this world!"

She lowers the sword.  "Take us there, Right." Half-turning, she faces Amabael.  "Will you join us, Archon of the Sencathi?"   

Right drops like a stone, and when he rises again (leaving a shallow ring etched in the ground, somewhat deeper where it cuts through obstructions), Cyan, Tahirah and Berd are gone...  The Archon races away at high speed, followed by Amabael, and a increasingly large group of Archons, some of which have odd variations in colour and materials...

The last hundred miles of the approach are made using stealth, the danioti falling, to tunnel through the ground beneath the ruins as easily as they can cut through the air above.  The herenethi and eshurianti follow them, together with Amabael and the Banglen-Yps.  The tunnel turns upwards, and emerges into a large room atop a towering structure which is missing its roof.

Right ejects Cyan, Berd and Tahirah, and reduces to the size of a coin.  The other Archons follow suit.  The colorful danioti moves cautiously towards a broken window.

+ BELOW IS THE PLACE THEY DEFEND.  THEY EVEN FIGHT AMONG THEMSELVES TO POSSESS IT.  IT IS CLEARLY IMPORTANT TO THEM. +

There is a bowl like depression visible from the window, scraped perfectly smooth, and subjected to great heat until the earth within it has become like glass, glittering with a brilliance which rivals the sun overhead.

Vast, cyclopean buildings surround the bowl, and those parts of them that intersect the rim have been neatly cut away, so that nothing mars the perfect symmetry of the circumference.

There are no Seraphim in sight down there...

"It has been a while," Cyan breathes, adjusting her hair reflexively.  "Was it easier with Left and you both?"  She shakes her head, smiling slightly as one of the danioti passes by her face, its blades sparkling in the dim light: steely, chrome, and electric blue.

Banglen-Yp?  Or a follower of Right?

Edging up to the window, she looks down, studying the land before them.  Interesting.  Something has come here - an opening in time and space, an instant of perfect destruction, a sphere of the void?  Who knew?  Perhaps Berd.  She glances his way, but the drake is currently chewing on his claws.

"No help," she mutters, looking back at the vista before them.

"Where are they?" Cyan whispers, pitching her voice low, to the limit of danioti hearing.  On her shoulder, Berd reaches out, questing for signs of the enemy.

+ WATCH. +

One of the danioti reduces itself in size and hurtles upwards through the broken roof, angling away from the strange depression.  It travels fast and far, and is soon lost from sight.  Moments later there is a streaking gleam of light dropping from directly above and into the pit, where it stops in an instant.  The danioti.

The reaction is instant, like driving a knife into an anthill.

The buildings around the rim of the bowl disgorge hundreds of Archons of all sorts.  Right's follower darts upwards, and many of the Seraphim follow, though most remain, milling about in the hollow below.  Every so often two, or more, of them move too close to each other, and a brief skirmish ensues...

+ THEY ARE HOSTILE, AS YOU SEE. +

"Indeed," the General replies.

Archons being what they are, it's unlikely there are more of them squirrelled away hiding; even so, she silently inquires of Berd, hoping for an accurate assessment of their numbers.  "We could simply annihilate them," the General muses (the drake gives her a startled look, then goes back to his work, abruptly unconcerned), "but I would rather give them a chance to flee.  It would spare our strength."  And leave them alive for the endgame.  Shuddering at the thought, she leans back against the wall to consider her options.

A memory rises from the broken well within her, spiderwebbed with cracks but still clear enough to grasp.  The general nods.  "Yes.  Give them the chance."  Her eyes focus upon the drake, still sensing.  "Berd, do you recall the Lighthouse?"

The drake slowly nods.  He has no Kia here, pouring the power of four worlds into his insignificant vessel.  But thanks to her, Berd has grown.  Regained his old strength, or some of it.  And now he has access to greater power than that.

"Time for a speech, then."  The General's smile is cold, and dark as her eyes. "Your time, that is - I would like to hear you for once, father."

In the room, it seems as though Berd does nothing... and yet, for those with skin to feel it, there is a prickling sensation over all exposed areas of their bodies.

Tahirah raises a hand, and small sparks play across her fingertips.  One of the Banglen-Yps, possibly the one who has been with the group longest, giggles quietly as her hair starts to stand on end, fanning out around her head.  Others join in as they notice their own hair doing the same.

Tahirah quickly pulls her hand back into her sleeve, folds her sleeves into each other, and drops her head, the hood hanging fully over her face.

When Berd battled for Prime's world, he did so with the power of worlds flowing through his tiny body.  Tapped by Jack, directed by Kia, and poured into his weak vessel, it had broken locks and chains about his spirit, opening old pathways cluttered by the debris of injury and time.  In that moment, he had awakened to something closer to his ancient self; with that power flowing through him, he had briefly reached for his old, lost strength.

That power no longer exists for him to draw.  But time has passed since the battle for Prime's world.  The scarred, clogged flows of strength within him have swept partly clean.  And Berd has dragged himself up by his boostraps, limping his way up the infinite staircase separating him from his past.  He knows he can never achieve the perfection he once held.  But...

Time is the key.  Capable of vast displays of force when pressed, given a span of minutes to prepare Berd can achieve so much more.  Slowly, he weaves his spirit into the world around him, subjugating it to his will.  Delicately, he dips a claw into the Underflow itself - his own well of power is deep, and the energies of all creation to aspect as he chooses dwarfs what Kia once bestowed upon him.

"Gather close," Cyan whispers to the others.

Berd's eyes open to small orbs; within them dance swirling galaxies.

At first, the changes are small.  The localized air begins to cool, and a dull drizzle springs up outside.  Then magnetic forces of the planet itself begin to warp and twist, gathering strongly around metal fragments buried deeply within the ground.

Water for the ashurianti; magnetics and grounding points for the danioti and herenethi.

Clouds have begun to scud in, unnaturally quickly, and the sky boils above.  More seconds tick by, and the motion takes on a pattern - a devouring funnel slowly opens, a hole in the clouds, that swirl about it, a vortex dragging the howling winds up into itself.  Lightning crashes within the dark hole, dancing around its edges like a brilliant iris surrounding a devouring pupil.

A great eye stares down at the bowl the Seraphim hold.

Now lightning lances down, drawn to strike the ruins.  Harmlessly, at first, but the thunder rolls unceasingly.  The sound twists, warps as the brilliant spears fall, thicker and thicker.  It takes on a cadance.  Becomes a voice.

YOU CANNOT HIDE FROM ME.

The sky flares white as a massive blast of lightning cleaves stone - impossibly, the arc holds steady as the seconds pass, linking the ground to the sky, a building shattering under the force and sudden heat.  Nature screams its fury in the endless thunder, and the thunder holds words.

I SEE EVERYTHING.

Now fire blooms withing the gaping maw of the maelstrom above, burning its way down the dark tunnel, fanning out along the lightning-wreathed clouds.  Within seconds, the entire sky ignites, and yet the rain continues, now pounding down quicker and quicker.  The magnetics warp and twist within the earth and buildings around the bowl, slowing the danioti, dragging the energies of the herenethi toward the lethal groundings - not enough to kill, but making this place decidedly painful for the hidden Seraphim.  Water seeps into cracks, pools, infiltrates the ground, all impossibly quickly - again, not lethal for the ashurianti, but like liquid blades to whatever fiery rings it finds.

Still hidden within his cloak, Berd prepares.  Upon Cyan's shoulder, the little dragon has risen to his feet.  He breathes out a plume of pure heat, the air warping about his mouth, and the bard turns her face away.  Above, the thunder still rolls, and another building begins to die beneath the lightning.

THIS PLACE IS MINE.  LEAVE IT AND LIVE, OR STAY AND PERISH.

On the fringes of the area though they are, Right and his small army of Archons recoil from the powers which Berd is directing into the pit.  The effect on those Archons below is far worse...

Steam boils up as rain pours onto the eshurianti.  The danioti move sluggishly, colliding with other Archons and with the surrounding buildings.  And in the midst of it all, the herenethi find themselves drained of power, and they too become slower and more erratic in their movements.

The howling which echoes up from that place is terrible to hear.

As time passes, the noise becomes more intense.  Some of the Archons rise from the bowl, slow and painful in their movements and scatter once they are clear of the ruined buildings, expanding and fading as they move away.  With each passing minute, more of them flee.

Not all of them do so.  More than a few of the danioti fall, motionless, before they can escape.  Many of the eshurianti and herenethi are simply extinguished.

And a handful of each type climb painfully out of the pit, but instead of fleeing, they choose to fight back, hurtling down towards the source of their torment... the Despised One, and its Traitor General.

"Berd?" Cyan whispers.

Within, the drake is agnonized.  So many archons slain.  Many fled, yes, but...once again, despite giving warning, he has killed.  He knows the Seraphim's stubborn nature.  Should he have proceeded more slowly?  Chosen a different path?

No time now.  And no choice.

Lightning and rain lash at the Archons who flee, chivving them onward with pain rather than killing.  But the greater part of Berd's attention falls upon the Archons rising toward the group.  He could let Right's nephillim deal with them, the drake supposes.  He could allow Banglan-Yp the opportunity to battle.  He could let others fight and die.  He could...

...continue to dodge responsibility, continue to wallow in inaction.

Much/completely as I/Berd {havedone} all/for (timeasself/existence)...

Here and now, he is prepared, and power burns the air white as he levels his strength upon the paltry force staggering in the air above the pit.  For an instant, the air screams like ripping steel and a heavy concussion hammers the watchers' chests.
This message was last edited by the player at 12:35, Thu 15 Feb 2018.

The forces being poured into the bowl intensify - torrential rain hammers down, and is twisted into a vortex by magnetic fields powerful enough to tear metal ores from deep within the earth.

Some of the less stable structures start to tumble into the depression... but somehow the one where the attackers hold position still stands, though it does start to sway beneath the impact of the powers being unleashed so close to it.

Right and his followers begin to move away from the side of the structure closest to the maelstrom of destruction.

 

New sensations.

Some giggled in confounded incertitude.

Others froze in place, nonplussed, unable to settle on whether it was uncomfortable or not.

Yet other howled in pain wobbling towards the ground like birds winged by hunters poorly aimed shots.

Those who stood in the shape of a blonde, and more so the one who had followed along the longest, shared it all.  They giggled and cried at the same time, reaching out to whoever or whatever was nearby for support.

For they were one, and one they were.

 

The energy in the pit continues to build, and there are several loud impacts against the building.  One tears straight through the stonework and is followed by another, inside the room.  A twisted and buckled, yet still recognisable danioti blade is imbedded, quivering, in the ceiling.

The howling outside increases in intensity, and is echoed inside - Right's followers and the Banglen-Yps are, unavoidably, feeling the effects on the fringes of the storm.

Fortunately, perhaps, the carnage below is concealed now, as vast clouds of steam billow up from below...

And suddenly the enemy Archons fall silent. 

The only sounds are the continuing expressions of discomfort inside the building, the collapse of massive stone structures all around, and Berd's storm.

"Enough, Berd," Cyan whispers, touching the drake on his forehead with a worried look to those surrounding them - Right and his followers, the various forms of Banglen-Yp.  If the blond woman is any indication, they suffer great discomfort.  "It is over, father."

The power below dies, virtually instantly.  Berd hunches on Cyan's shoulder, his tiny body breathing heavily.  The drake opens his mouth wide, and a plume of heat gushes forth, the air warping wildly above him and his daughter.  A breeze springs up, beginning to carry away the steam below as the two share a moment's silent communion.

"Berd apologizes for any pain," the bard quietly explains.  "At this range, there was bound to be some spillage - he worked hard to avoid harming our people."  She stares down into the bowl as the obscuring mist begins to clear.  "And gave the enemy every chance to flee."  It has hurt her father to lash out like this, hurt more in spirit than body, but better that than a battle, with terrible casualties on both sides.  A swift, overwhelming victory is far preferable to a drawn-out conflict where both sides fight with 'honor'.

While Cyan suffers from one of the five possible failings of a general, it is not a sense of 'fair play'.

Her fingers again twist around a card, and she rubs her thumb against its cool surface.  "They will not be gone forever.  I expect those driven away seek others of their kind - nearby, or perhaps Harbonah himself - in order to begin a counterattack.  But hopefully those Seraphim coming here will arrive before any great force can be mustered - between them and examination of the area itself, we might well discover what they wish in this world."

She glances at Right, at Tahirah, at the Banglen-Yps.  "Shall we go down?"

And she focuses again on the palanquet  James...James of Amber, it is Cyan.  Please heed my call.

 

Banglen-Yp smiled at Cyan and shook her head.

•• Fear not • we did learn from this •• The other parts of me have not experienced pain before so it was new to them • but it did show us that we can isolate in the same manner I was isolated from you all before ••

The other parts of her is already recovering, although some are still giggling and trying to get their hair under control.

•• I • ah • we can still communicate freely • merely shutting out things that will hamper us ••

With that the Banglen-Yps form up, the flying Archons forming a sort of shield at a good distance and the others gathering around as best they can, each one experimenting with altering their appearance, becoming slightly more individual.

•• I am learning from myself • diversifying • and thus exponentially increasing our awareness • like back home where I was all • but with new experiences ••

A little explanation to none and all that may or may not be interested, potentially adding more questions than answers.

 

The steam clears gradually, revealing that the bowl is littered now with rubble and jagged shards of metal.  Deep vents open in the ground now, where chunks of ore have been torn from deep in the earth.  Charged fragments tumble from precarious positions occasionally, releasing the contained energies in bright detonations which dislodge and unbalance other fragments.

The frequency of the discharges is dropping gradually.

There is a loud roar, and one of the nearby buildings collapses in on itself.  Most of the rubble falls outside the ruined bowl...

"Accursed cards," the bard murmurs, sliding James' palanquet up her sleeve.  Evidently Amber's scion is still busy - and still alive, or the card itself would be dead in her hands.  A relief, that.

"Individuality.  A desire to be yourselves," Cyan muses at Banglen-Yp's words.  "I can understand that."  On her shoulder, the weary Berd hangs his head and she taps his forehead.  "Oh, enough - done is done, and you were not yourself."  Her voice wavers slightly, but holds the ring of truth.

Berd's betrayal still wounds her, but Cyan has come to terms with it, at least in part.  A good thing, given how her plans will likely end.

Moving to the edge of the window, she peers downward.  "We should be wary of returning Seraphim...those who can, please watch for them."  Berd immediately sets up a probe in the Underflow, keeping an 'eye' out for Seraphim looking to come at them from an unexpected direction.  "Right, shall we and your followers examine the site more closely?  Your senses will likely tell us what we seek here before mine do..."

The Seraphim wanted this place for a reason.  Why?  For something they are bringing?  If so, why?  What makes this place special?

Or is what they seek already here?

Right moves closer, seeming to peer into the rubble-strewn bowl below.

For long moments the Archon says nothing, until, finally, he reduces quickly in size until he is no more than a foot in diameter, and moves to hover close to Cyan's shoulder, near to where Berd sits.  + FAR MORE TIME WAS SPENT ON SMOOTHING THE AREA THAN WAS SPENT ON UNSMOOTHING IT.  FOR ONE WHO WORKS SO FAST, YOUR WORKMANSHIP IS OF THE HIGHEST QUALITY. +

His words are followed by harsh metallic laughter.

Amabael spins on her vertical access, as if turning to face Right, + PERHAPS THAT SMOOTHNESS WAS PART OF THE REASON THEY DEFENDED THIS SITE.  HAVING PUT SO MUCH EFFORT INTO PERFECTING THE LOCATION, THEY WERE LOATH TO ABANDON IT? +

Berd shoots Right a heavy-lidded look, half of amusement, half of exasperation.  He does not, however, wince at the jarring laughter - clean amusement of any sort is always welcome.

But Cyan freezes at Right's words and Amabael's reply.  "Wait.  They created this?"  She turns to regard the bowl.  "They made the depression?  Then...they are bringing something.  Something spherical, that must sit solidly, securely.  Something huge.  Something that needs to be in a specific place - possibly matched with four other places."

The bard closes her eyes.  "A sphere?  One of their orbs?"  Aaron, curse it, why did you not come?  You know the most about this!

"Amabael, are you familiar with the Orbs?  Right, their function was to gather a world's aspected energies - but is there another function to them?  Do you know?"

Her fingers slide along the card she holds, and Cyan again reaches forth, hunting for contact with a mind.  James...James of Amber...

And finally it happens.

James!  Glad I am to see you whole and well.  With this the case, and you with time, I take it the battle goes well?

We stand upon a world where Nephillim battle Seraphim.!  It is one of five places upon which the Seraphim are concentrating their efforts, and holds a depression *IMAGE* they wished to defend!

James, more Seraphim are coming - perhaps bringing something they have retrieved from elsewhere.

It may be an Orb.

"Perfection is easily broken," Tahirah points out, finally shaking herself out of her quiet.

She settles down, then, sitting on the ground, and pulls out her own cards, beginning to flick out quick triads, easily trusting in the others enough to allow her attention to be drawn into it even here.

Right replies first, + YES, GENERAL.  THEY CAME HERE AND SELECTED THIS LOCATION VERY CAREFULLY.  THEN THEY SPENT DAYS SCRAPING AND DIGGING AND BURNING THE HOLLOW AREA TO EXTREMELY PRECISE SPECIFICATIONS.  TWICE I SAW DANIOTI DESTROYED FOR CUTTING INCORRECTLY.  ON BOTH OCCASIONS THE GROUND WAS MELTED SO THAT IT FLOWED IN TO REPAIR THE MISTAKES, AND THEN IT WAS CUT AND SMOOTHED AGAIN. +

Amabael takes over, + THE ORBS, AS YOU NAME THEM, ARE CREATED TO DESTROY WORLDS.  THEY DRAIN ALL OF THE ESSENCE FROM A PLACE, UNTIL NOTHING CAN LIVE THERE.  EVENTUALLY THE WORLD ITSELF CRUMBLES TO DUST, AND THEN EVEN THE DUST IS DESTROYED.  WE KNOW OF NO OTHER FUNCTION.  THOUGH IT IS POSSIBLE THAT OUR PEOPLE HAVE DEVISED SOMETHING. +

+ I KNOW OF SOMETHING, I THINK.  HARBONAH SPOKE OF IT ONCE, IN LEFT'S PRESENCE, AND LEFT TOLD ME.  ORBS FROM A HUNDRED WORLDS PUT IN FIVE PLACES.  THE STRONGEST ORB WOULD FEED UPON ALL OF THE OTHERS, AND UPON EVERYTHING THAT THEY HAD DEVOURED.  IN THE END, ONLY FIVE ORBS WOULD REMAIN.  HARBONAH BELIEVED THAT THOSE FIVE COULD BE POSITIONED SUCH THAT THEY WOULD DESTROY EVERYTHING - ALL WORLDS.  PERHAPS THIS IS THE POSITION FOR ONE OF THEM. +

Still awaiting James' reply, Cyan slowly absorbs the knowledge imparted by both Ambael and Right.  Finally she nods.

"We know the orbs grow as they absorb power - quite large, by the point where they have absorbed the life of an entire world, but not nearly this size, not by degrees of magnitude."  She waves down at the bowl.  "And there you have it.  The size.  The five different areas to which Harbonah's archons travel.  The apocalypse Harbonah wishes."

Her eyes are dark, near to obsidian.  "The orbs must be destroyed.  Safely.  Were Aaron only here..."  A grimace of annoyance crosses her face.  "He knew of a method."  She hefts gurthang thoughtfully, then shakes her head.  "Amabael, Right - do you know anything of how to destroy such a thing...safely?"

+ THERE ARE WAYS TO DESTROY THEM... + Right confirms, only to have his answer immediately qualified by Amabael, + BUT SAFETY IS NOT GUARANTEED. +

+ DESTROYING ONE WILL OFTEN RESULT IN A CATASTROPHIC RELEASE OF THE ENERGIES IT CONTAINS... THE ENERGIES OF WHOLE WORLDS UNLEASHED IN AN INSTANT. +

Right agrees, + SO, YES, AS I WAS ABOUT TO SAY, IT IS EASY TO DESTROY ONE.  UNLESS CONSEQUENCES CONCERN YOU. +

James is slow to respond, his attention still clearly divided Sorry, still a bit distracted.  We've taken a few prisoners and Kallum *IMAGE* is just starting to question their officer.

The import of Cyan's message, particularly the scale of the image sent, belatedly begin to register with James and abruptly the link has his entire attention.

But that depression is huge!  An Orb that filled it would be monstrous! James thoughts go to the strategic options.  Do you plan to destroy the 'mount' or the Orb?

Just a skirmish here.  I ran into the raiders when I was doing some recon.  Kallum brought up some reinforcements and we managed to head them off before they reached the stair.  We've broken the first attack but there might be more about.

Still, I reckon I've had my share of excitement.  Somebody sent me a gift, my old armour and my gun.  The connection 'broadens' to show James clad in armour that covers him from head to foot.  It most closely resembles half-plate but is a green so dark as to be almost black and is clearly of more advanced manufacture than simple steel.  Fangmir is held loosely in his right hand, its edge still bloody.  He is standing in a clearing.  From the slope of the ground he looks to be standing on the side of a steep hill.  You wouldn't... The connection cuts off abruptly as James fits his helm and resumes just as quickly as James takes it off.  Cyan gets the barest glimpse of a visor fashioned like a dog snarling. ...more.

But that's not the best bit.  I touched the unicorn, Cyan!  I healed it!  Or I helped anyway.  When we got to the stair the unicorn was here and in a bad way.  An image of a distressed and grievously ill unicorn comes through, coloured by James' concern and a dull sense of dread.  And I tried using the Pattern healing technique I've been working on and it worked. Another image, this time of the unicorn standing on high ground, all but glowing in a beam of sunlight, this time coloured by James' pride and elation.  It seems all but impossible that the images are separated by a matter of minutes.  And the forest animals fought with us.  The bears and a stag and I thought I heard wolves.  It's like I've walked into a fairytale. James enthusiasm is obvious, almost overwhelming.

"The energies of whole worlds unleashed in an instant," Cyan whispers, considering the possibilities.  She glances at Berd, who immediately shifts part of his hydra-mind into cogitation.  Could he, perchance, funnel such energy?  Safely?

Use it?

Or if not, dispose of it?

Worth consideration, to be sure.

"Berd.  Clear the wreckage, if you would.  If there is nowhere to place it, they will take it elsewhere.  And track their progress."

With a deep sigh, the little drake turns to the task.  Another of his Hydra-minds shifts away to seek the progress of the archons heading in this direction, still another brings up his memories of the bowl - calculating and cross-referecing its shape from several different angles of view - and a third begins to work on the bowl itself.

Frustrating.  The drake hungers.

"Ah.  I have James," Cyan notes, her eyes a pair of glittering rubies.  "A moment, if you would."

She turns her attention to the palanquet in her hand.

Down in the bowl, debris starts to move, shifting position and form and slowly, slowly, blending in to the surface or simply vanishing...

Cyan, meanwhile, seems distracted by the image of james that she holds in one hand.

Tahirah gathers her cards with a snap.  "Perhaps perfection is not so easily thwarted afterall," she mutters.  Even as her deck disappears into her sleeve, a single card remains in her hand, held easily between two fingers.  Holding it up in front of her, she flicks it through a rapid series of shapes, concentrating.

Berd sighs.  This isn't going as easily as he hoped.  It's not a simple thing recreating the bowl perfectly - oh, he could slap something into place, but it wouldn't fit correctly, and who knew what that would do?

As for the other issue...

The amount of energy an orb this size could hold would be staggering, even for the drake.  Certainly his own body would not be capable of carrying such power, or even acting as a lens to channel it.  And without knowing the nature of the energy, he has no idea how to go about dealing with it.  Rupturing the orb could release power far in excess of what he might safely handle.

The drake conveys this information to his daughter, who sighs.  "Aaron.  You know how to deal with these things...where are you?"  The edge in her tone goes beyond simple frustration; Cyan has lost too many people on this quest.

Still awaiting James' reply, she turns back to Tahirah.  "Something, Tahirah?  Please tell me you have a plan or a method for dealing with this."

While Cyan finally manages to contact James, Berd continues to work on reshaping the bowl.  There is, however a small problem, as he is discovering.  The Archons had sculpted it to very precise dimensions and, with the amount of damage his own attacks had done, it is difficult to be sure that he is reproducing those exact dimensions.

Alongside him, Tahirah starts drawing patterns in the air, using one of her strange cards, with the bizarre design inscribed upon it, to trace invisible forms before.  Her strange movements are watched, with considerable interest, by an attentive audience of Banglen-Yps.

Berd pauses a moment, staring at Tahirah.  His mouth cracks open and he utters a single, small peep.  Then the drake redoubles his efforts, straining to get as much finished as possible.  With Tahirah's assistance, he might be able to pull off something that at least looks proper and won't puncture the Orb.

But what to do with it once it is captured?  Destroy it, perhaps, but how?  A number of options spring to mind, but without some knowledge of how much power it might release, even shattering it within the Underflow might have catastrophic results.

Channelling it, though.  Using it.  He studies Cyan for a moment, and a plan begins to form in the recesses of one of his minds.  Tahirah has shown great potential.  There is the matter of James' newfound ability.  The Banglen-Yp's have untapped depth....

Worth consideration.

Cyan continues to focus on the palanquet, nodding slowly.  "Right...I might require you, and one other of your unit.  Briefly.  Berd?"

Berd catches a picture from her mind, and a look of disgust flows over his reptilian features.  Nevertheless, he prepares himself, one mind peeling away from the work.  Moments pass, then her clothing begins to shift, blurring and changing.  Slowly it becomes armor, solid, black, heavy, with a nightmarish face on the breastplate.

The armor of Ares...and the Warrior in Jet and Gold.
This message was last edited by the player at 12:11, Tue 12 Apr 2011.

Right laughs, and calls out, + APPOLYON! +  One of the other danioti spins forward to hover alongside him.  Cyan, clad suddenly in ornate gold and black armour extends her left hand, and the two Archons reduce in size and slide carefully over her index and middle fingers.

Then her right hand reaches out, and something seems to pull her, and she vanishes...

Berd returns to his work on the bowl, assisted by Tahirah.  Between the two of them, they seem to be making good progress.  The depression is looking more and more like it's original form, at least in the mind of anybody who looks at it...

 

Group hug.

Huddle.

Whispers unheard.

Seemingly all of the Banglen-Yp's had gathered together in silence communion without a spoken word, Archon-impressionists and others alike.  Countless identical faces looked at one another and then the sea of bodies parted to let a single individual approach the little drake and the hooded woman.

•• I • we • will help ••

Assertive words spoken as the group behind her seemed to lose coherency, as if they became out of focus.  The single Banglen-Yp turned around and rejoined the others who closed up behind her, losing her in the crowd.

Moments later the group began to blur, slowly fading around the edges until naught but a cloud of blackness remained, constantly shifting and pulsating.  No shadow gave shape to the cloud into which light itself appeared to be absorbed with a vengeance.  Billowing it began to move into the seeming perfect bowl, as if trickling into place.  Once it all had entered the bowl, more than covering it, the cloud seemed to settle, slowly, upon the surface until nothing remained visible, as if were it not there at all.

 

Between the efforts of Berd, Tahirah and the Banglen-Yps, the bowl now closely resembles its original self.  So closely, in fact, that none of those observing it can see any obvious differences.  A large piece of rubble suddenly slips, and falls into the hollow, where it crumbles to powder, and is quickly absorbed by the stone surface, which isn't really stone...

With a small shudder, Tahirah lowers her arm, and steps back from the bowl.  She folds her arms in, and looks around.  Banglen-Yp...she assumed was still... more or less whatever she usually was, or had been before -- she assumed that Banglen-Yp still was.

But for the moment, it seemed to be just...her and Berd.

Her arms pull a little bit tighter, and she wraps herself in silence.

Berd settles himself into place upon the windowsill.  He glances out into the altered bowl, studying it for a long moment, then cocks his head at Tahirah, letting out a small chirrup of interrogation.

The drake settles in to preen himself, glancing around at the other archons - Amabael, Right's troops - with a touch of nervousness.

Then he glances again at Tahirah and blows a small cloud of rainbow smoke her way.  It billows as it flows through the air, flowing to a stop about three feet from her and warping into a crosshatch, almost like a '#' sign.  Berd grins, his eyes glittering, and breathes a smoke ring that floats to hang in the top-right corner.

After a short pause, Tahirah reaches out and traces a softly glowing circle in the center.

Berd closes his eyes sleepily, slowly opening them again.  He blows out another small smoke-ring...it floats across the gap to the opposite corner to his first, the bottom left.

Tahirah's center X is now bracketed top right and bottom left.

There comes a gentle tap, tap, tapping at her mental walls.

Without a pause this time, almost as if she had already known his response, Tahirah quickly sketches another circle in the bottom center, below her first.

There is a pause after the mental tapping; after a little while, however, her hood seems to fade back from where it hangs before her face.  She doesn't exactly `open up', let alone `reach out', but there's a quiet relaxation of not-actively-defending that seems to be as much invitation as she's prepared to offer here.

Ah.  Game over, then.  Berd shrugs - there is no possible win now unless one of them actually throws it to the other.  He coughs out another smoke-ring to block Tahirah's potential 3-in-a-row, top middle, leaving only one option for her to keep him from winning - top left.

Interesting/curious your (solution/overlay) to (problem/issue) of (landingzone/smoothbowl)....
This message was last edited by the player at 17:24, Tue 26 Apr 2011.

Time passes, as Berd and Tahirah engage in a game of strategy.  Down below, the Banglen-Yps keep their own counsel.  The Archon, too, seem to be involved in a discussion of sorts, reduced in size until they are no bigger than small flying insects, their voices a quiet buzz and whine which completes the illusion.

Suddenly the majority of the Archons dart away, leaving only one behind.  Amabael grows in size, until she is more easily heard, + THEY HAVE GONE INTO HIDING, SCATTERED AMONG THE RUINS.  WE HAVE INSTRUCTED THEM NOT TO MOVE TOO FAR AWAY, BUT FAR ENOUGH THAT THEY WILL NOT BE SO EASILY DETECTED. +
This message was last edited by the GM at 06:24, Mon 25 Apr 2011.

Tahirah resolutely makes the logical response.  She is, again, quiet for a moment, and when she does respond, it's brief, and perhaps not really an answer.

Overwhelmed.  She shakes her head, sharply.

Amabael starts to move away, then stops suddenly.  + THEY APPROACH. +  For a moment she holds her ground, and then she darts away, dwindling as she goes...

This...could be a problem.

Berd sends out an urgent message to Cyan on the specific 'frequency' only they share.  Simultaneously, he focuses one of his minds upon the approaching Seraphim, scanning them as best he can while opening an image of what he senses in midair, through the convenient use of a cloud of smoke.

...a small group of Archons approaching through the Underflow.  They are still far enough away that he can't make out details, but they have something with them.  Alarmingly, perhaps, at this distance it doesn't feel like an orb...

Not good.  Not good at all.

Minutes pass.  Right's force, and Amabael, are all out of sight, reduced in size and as still as an Archon can be without harming itself.  Even Berd is having trouble detecting them, and he knows where to look.

Gradually something starts to happen, high overhead.  Clouds are moving fast in the sky, and all are moving away from the location which the Seraphim have prepared for their scheme, until the sky directly above the bowl is completely empty.

But only briefly.

A danioti appears, hovering over the hollowed area, far enough up that the sound of its blades do not reach those on the ground.  It hovers, seeming to assess the area, and then two more come, silently, into view, along with the crackling lightning form of a herenathi.  For a space of five or six heartbeats, nothing further happens, and then the sky is alive with Archons, all of them circling around a single eshurianti, which starts down towards the ground, the hoop of flame growing larger as it descends...

Oh, no.  Not good at all.  Berd sends out a stronger summons for his daughter, impressing upon her the need for haste.  Another of the hydra-mind cloaks his presence as best he can - he assumes Tahirah has her own methods for such things.  Certainly Banglen-Yp is capable; this he knows as fact.

And there, amidst the group, is the Archon carrying...whatever it is they plan to land.  He knows they can do so.  The question is - will it be an Orb, or something else?  What else could it be?  What have they not yet seen?

For the moment, the drake can only speculate.  One of his minds delicately reaches out, probing the formation for numbers, for strength, seeking to assess any leaders.  Another carefully studies the eshurianti that grows amidst the group.  And he waits, preparing for Cyan's touch.  Preparing to act.

The eshurianti descends, slowing as it does, and rolls until it is horizontal.  And it continues to expand, until its diameter matches that of the bowl.  Finally, just above the ground surface, it stops, and something starts to emerge from it.

Disaster!  The Archons have brought a Cube - a monstrous one, with thousands of 'faces'!

Appalled, Berd sends the image to Cyan along with an urgent request for her presence.  Simultaneously, he transmits to those nearby - Right, Amabael, Tahirah, and Banglen-Yp (though the latter may not be capable of reception).

A Cube!  A gateway to other worlds, utilizing the forces my daughter names palanquet and those of Amber name 'Trump'!  This one contains thousands of potential doorways!

His minds race, seeking an answer.  Do they wish to open a thousand gateways to a thousand worlds, all at once?  For what purpose?  What affect will that happen?  One mind peels away to examine the hypothisis, seeking an answer.  What if they open to dozens of worlds that have grown thin, through the depredations of the Orbs?  Another mind shifts away to study.  They have created a line of breaks, stretching from pole to pole of the Myriad Worlds - a third mind begins a scan of the worlds imaged on the Cube, seeking matches among the line of damage strung between Chaos and Amber.

But there is no time.  He must bring his daughter here - palanqueti are strong, but she carries a weapon capable of destroying even this enormous device.  Another mind prepares to receive his daughter's request.

Four minds occupied.  Twice as many more gird themselves for battle.

Yes, is Tahirah's only reply, as she looks up at the emerging orb.

And then, having only one mind to work with, she goes quiet.

The object descends from, not falling, but but floating as if it was entirely without weight.  The eshurianti, deprived of its burden, begins to shrink.

It's a cube, not an orb, and every face bears the image of a different place.  But they are difficult to see clearly, for there is a wrongness about this cube.  It has, in point of fact, far to many sides for its angles to contain.

It drops into the bowl, but stops before it contacts the ground.  And then it starts to rotate, spinning on three different axes, while hovering.  With each passing moment, its rotations become faster...

 

Over the link came countless voices as one.


» Oh, _pretty.  ^Shall I _eat it ^or is _it of ^value?  _It looks ^tasty _too! «


Oh, it did look tasty.  Oh, it did feel tasty.  Oh, how Banglen-Yp could devour it with pleasure.

And yet, holding back, waiting for an answer.

 

Berd makes his decision, studying the cube.  Even as Cyan's call touches his open mind, the others come to a concensus and his attention falls upon Banglen-Yp.

Yes.  Feed.

The cube must be destroyed.  If the shapeshifter has a means...if she can consume it...

The drake turns his attention (in part) to the leader of the Archons, the one who carried the cube.  Cyan would, no doubt, have a clever strategem, something to have the Archons fight among themselves.  Berd does not.  Instead, he takes a page from the book of his son.

The polarity of the air below the eshurianti alters, linking it to the metals buried in the rubble.  Grounding it.

And Berd's tiny body reaches a claw out for his daughter.  Touches her hand.

The eshurianti does not notice the changes in the air, or if it does, it does not deem them important.

As the cube revolves faster and faster below it, the burning wheel starts to climb again, rising towards the danioti and herenethi circling above.  The circling of the other Archons looks random.  The circles they are describing in the air are canted at many different angles, and yet there is something about their movements...

As the cube turns more rapidly, so too do the Archons loop and gyrate more rapidly.

Yet for all their seemingly wild motion, the eshurianti rises into their midst without collision, and without any deviation in the paths of the madly dancing Archons.

And then, as one of the herenethi passes below the eshurianti, it stops spinning, and lightnings discharge from it, striking the ground around the pit.  The Archon falls, the brightness of its form dimming...

 

                             Yes.  Feed.

No sooner had the words reached Banglen-Yp than the mass previously hidden in the rounded pit arose like a gigantic hand of dust, reaching out to encompass the entirety of the spinning cube.

                                                          Energy.  Matter.  Absorb.  Unite.

As the corners brushed against the dust the cloud seemed to thicken, streaks of darkness ran along the undisturbed dust that still rose up, all but completely enveloping the cube.

                                                                                       Delicious.  Bountiful.  Strengthening.

Then, the by then pitch black cloud sealed around the cube and everything seemed to pause for a moment.

                One.

 

Tahirah looks on, impassively.

The dust cloud coils around the madly spinning cube, and flowing patterns of light and dark appear in the cloud.  For an instant, all hangs poised... and then the cloud starts to diminish in size, seeming to become more like a viscous liquid.  Long streamers and rivulets of the stuff are thrown out from the central mass, clinging to the walls of the pit and anchoring what has now become a globe of bubbling, boiling fluid.

The globe shrinks, smaller now than the cube itself had been.  The cube does not, however, jut out of the liquid.

Overhead, The Archons begin to realise that something is wrong.  The whirling patterns of motion start to break up, as they move to prevent whatever is happening.

Two more herenethi die as their energies are suddenly discharged, and a danioti, unfortunate enough to be in the path of the discharges, also falls into the pit.  The blade Archon strikes the semi-liquid sphere, and is slowly absorbed into it.

And Right's troops burst forth from their hiding places to attack the Seraphim...

With the Archons moving to attack, Berd strikes.  Waves of mental force roll out to assault their formation, seeking to confuse and delay, no more, precisely targeting the Seraphim and ignoring his allies.  Pinpoint bursts of energies unknown to science strike at danioti and herenethi.  Water forms in areas where Seraphimic eshurianti congregate.

Here, he seeks to give support to his allies - he cannot strike with full force when they are enmeshed in the battle, but he can apply a tremendous weight to their efforts.

Simultaneously, his clawed foot grasps Cyan's hand.

Tahirah continues to stand where she is.  If she's worried about war beginning just over her head, it doesn't show through her robes.

The Archons join battle, with a ferocity that few have ever witnessed before.  And amid the flame and lightning and the clashing of metal on metal, far stranger energies are released, adding to the chaotic maelstrom.  The barrage of forces rips the air assunder, and Seraphim are torn from the sky, cast down into the now-shrinking, bubbling, fluid mass which is Banglen-Yp.

Spheres of water form briefly, and explode as englobed eshurianti boil them and die in the process, and the water falls as localised rain storms.  The bowl is soon a foot deep in water which swirls around Banglen-Yp.

And still the forces build...

In a flash of rainbow light, Cyan and James appear, the former gripping Berd's claw in one hand, and the latter holding onto the Bard's arm.

... the powers unleashed by the combatants open a hole in the sky, twisting the very fabric of Time and Space and Reality itself.  There is a flicker across the heavens, heralding the brief appearance of a bowl of petunias and a surprised-looking sperm whale, both of which fall several dozen feet before winking out of existence again...

Tahirah watches all of this, seemingly unperturbed by the war overhead, the unleashing of so much raw power, and the bizarre events taking place in the pit. 

Suddenly a sound emerges from the globe of fluid, •• BANG •• and it starts to expand explosively, but stops just short of the surrounding walls and •• len •• shrinks to an eye-searing point of actinic light and •• -Yp! •• when the light fades the pit is filled with... creatures.  Many hundreds of them, every one different in form and size, but all of them with one common feature.  As one, they all open their mouths, or mandibles, or reasonable approximation thereof, and hundreds of voices speak in perfect harmony... •• Banglen-Yp! ••

"Berd!" Cyan gasps, her ruby eyes taking in the madness.

Information passes to her as the Bridging opens.

Linked to James, Cyan watches the events unfold with impossible speed.  Simultaneously, Berd codexes their enemies and allies, mentally 'tagging' them for her like a holographic map overlaying her mind and vision.  In microseconds, she absorbs the situation completely, a capacity arising as much from the method of Berd's link to her as from her mind's own structure.

Given James' tremendous skill and powerful spirit, it would be something well-within his own capabilities.

Releasing Berd, Cyan wraps fingers around her blade's baroque hilt.  As Banglen-Yp's victory-cry heralds the destruction of the Cube, the deathiron comes free from its prison, edge igniting with the ethereal fire of cloven air, the obsidian blade's weight felt more by Cyan's spirit than her muscles.  But it is only the secondary weapon in this battle.

"~Seraphim!~" she cries through Berd, the shout echoing through the air and the ethers of the mind.  "~You have failed!  Either face Harbonah's wrath, flee into obscurity, or join with the victor - me!~"  Not precisely true, but the Archons require focus, require a strong leader to present itself.  "~Join, and gain experiences as you have never imagined!~"

"~Oppose, and find an end, either here or at Harbonah's hand if you flee!~"

A simple, straightforward choice - the sort to appeal to the Archon mindset.

Using palanquet, or Trumps, still seems very surreal to James.  Somewhere, straight through a rainbow.

Upon arrival, the din of battle puts a sudden stop to James' musings.  His link with Cyan exposes him to the streaming flow of information that Berd is simultaneously compiling, processing and distributing.  The quantity of data is literally mind-boggling but James does his best to take it all in.

The single most striking aspect of the information Berd conveys is Banglen-Yp's interaction with (consumption of) the Cube.  As much as James would love to investigate, the information gets filed in the growing list of "things I can't do anything about just now".  Instead, James focuses on things he can do to help, like shooting Seraphim.

James hurriedly sheathes Fangmir, readies his gun and dons his helmet.  At which point he inadvertently breaks his link with Cyan and Berd.  This time, James can't help but notice the effect. A short series of 'experiments' follow, which end with James cursing and throwing his helmet away.

James starts to move towards the window, for a better firing position, then stops abruptly.  His gun (safety on) follows his helmet across the floor.

"Stupidest thing.  I put the armour on and start thinking like a grunt again."

Chagrined, Cyan pauses, Berd keeping her uncertainty hidden behind the link.

Apologies, James...I only thought to catch you up swiftly, I never...I mean...it was not my intent...

Her topaz eyes glance in Berd's direction as the drake lands on her shoulder.  "Why am I such a fool with those I know?" she mutters.

Berd devotes one mind to answering the question.  Ponders.  Shrugs.  The mind of his child is often a confusing place for the drake.

Tahirah takes a careful step backward, head tilting slightly, looking down at all the Banglen-Yp.

Cyan makes her pronouncement, and nothing happens.  The war in the heavens continues.  At least for a few moments.  And then there is an almost imperceptible shift... several Archons break off and start to flee.  Elsewhere, the balance of the battle appears to be changing.  A number of the Archons which Berd had flagged as enemies start fighting among themselves...

James starts to act very strangely.  He suddenly appears to be unable to make a decision.  His helmet and weapon are dropped, as the man starts pacing rapidly around room... 

Right, hovering close to Cyan, laughs like tearing metal, + VICTORY WILL SOON BE OURS, GENERAL.  THE SERAPHIM ARE COWARDS.  MAY I HAVE PERMISSION TO JOIN THE BATTLE? +

Banglen-Yp, in all her mulitude of various forms appears to be trying to rally some semblance of order.  A number of herselves start shifting form, trying to achieve the blonde female configuration that is so familiar to their companions.  They seem to be having some trouble keeping a grip on their shape...

 

A low rumbling noise began midst the Banglen-Yp's, reaching a near deafening crescendo about the same time it was evident that is was a uniform, super-sized belch.

Then, in one voice, if different pitches due to the fluxing nature of her/their state, she spoke two words, in a manner never before done by her.

• 'scuse me! •

A multitude of giggles and disapproving sounds alike arose briefly before they all looked up at the sky, seeming to ponder something.

Then they seemed to literally merge, growing in height and width as each of her joined with another her.  Soon stood there a gargantuan blonde that apart from the sheer size was looking exactly like the Banglen-Yp first introduced to her fellow travellers.

A booming voice ensued.

• Yes, you had best listen to her or deal with me.  I can still eat a bit, just need to pace myself, ha! •

She swatted a hand at an archon that ventured too near, sending in reeling away before it regain its composure, if perhaps not its dignity.

 

"Go," the General affirms to her Right Hand, releasing him to the battle.  But the lion's share of her attention is upon the brobdinagian figure of Banglen-Yp, standing above the battlefield.  "Not quite Queen Xiombarg," she murmurs, shaking her head in amazement, "but cursed impressive nonetheless."

An understatement, in truth.

The Seraphim have begun to wilt.  Some have turned upon their erstwhile allies, while others flee.  With Cyan's forces gaining more power by the second, the cube destroyed, and now these frightening new allies, it's only a matter of time.  Berd, linked to both Cyan and James, pulses another of his indecipherable messages to her on the wavelength father and daughter share, and she turns to study the Patternlord as he paces.

"Of course," Cyan murmurs.  Two steps bring her closer to James, the heavy, oil-slick blade burning in her hands, her eyes paling as she prepares to defend him from desperate Seraphim.  He's working, after all, and it requires his full attention.

On her shoulder, Berd feels the power of Order's Sigil bear down upon his control over the world like an avalanche of crushing boulders.  He cedes hold over the areas it seeks to dominate, smoothly working around its colossal force to maintain his own levers upon aspects of the reality around them.

And to use them against the Seraphim, whom he continues to assault with mind-numbing, potent psychic waves.

Right laughs, and hurtles skyward, and Archons gather around the brightly coloured Archon.  The whole swarm vanishes, and reappears a moment later in the midst of the remaining enemy, seeming to explode out from a central point.  The Seraphim try to scatter, with little success.  Right's forces pursue them with dogged determination.

Banglen-Yp lashes out, and one of the Archons is batted aside as easily as a cat strikes at a dangling length of wool.  The Archon, a danioti, recovers and drives itself into the side of one of the ruined structures amidst a cloud of dust and rubble.  The building starts to topple towards the giant blonde, even as she closes up the cuts in her hand caused by striking the bladed wheel...

James continues to pace around the ruined chamber, and there is a definite change in the place.  One of the herenethi erupts from the floor beneath the man's feet, a hoop of lightning which flares brightly for a moment, surrounding him, until Cyan simply brings her blade down to cut through one side of the hoop.  She is thrown backwards, but manages to retain her footing, her hair fanning out as electricity sparkles across the tips of it.  The Archon seems to... unravel... scattering orbs of ball lightning in all directions.

Berd refines his own attacks, taking into account James' efforts.  Overhead, small darting forms, like deadly wasps, are suddenly flitting about among the combatants.  Whenever they touch an Archon, they die... but the Archon is injured as a result of the contact...

And in the heart of all the chaos, Tahirah stands, calmly watching the sky...

 

• Ah, you offer to feed me, how nice! •

The tall blonde's voice rolls out like distant thunder as she holds out her arms to embrace the falling building.

As it touches her it does not impact but appear to sink into her, leaving but a fine dust where the two should have met.

• Now, behave.  I could as easily have eaten you, little one.  I recommend not to attack me directly.  Indirectly, well, I can still eat some more! •

A rolling laughter bellows out even as the consumption of the building continues.

 

Having discarded his helmet and gun, James actions become more precise and deliberate, though no less puzzling for those not versed in the use of the Pattern.  He walks around the room in a neat square, turning sharply as he reaches each corner.  Anyone looking closely would notice that his eyes are closed.  He is deliberately excluding visual input to concentrate on the information Berd is sending over the bridging.

He breaks step momentarily as one of the herenethi bursts through the floor but promptly resumes as Cyan dispatches it.  The sight of gurthang cutting a being of energy causes a small shiver, James still remembers just how easily that blade cuts.

From the slight smile that teases the corners of James' mouth it seems he is pleased with the course the battle is taking.

Quietly, Tahirah folds her arms together.

The falling building strikes against the giant woman, with no more apparent impact than a mote of dust.  Banglen-Yp simply absorbs the additional material, and continues to grow as she does so.  A nearby building quivers, and starts to collapse under the impact of the blonde's laughter, which echoes across the sky like thunder.

The danioti rethinks its chances, and spins away, only to collide with another of its kind.  Both Archons are damaged by the impact, scattering shards of metal in all directions.  Recovering, the two start fighting, even though Berd had previously marked them both as Seraphim, and thus , in theory at least, on the same side.

High above, more such collisions are taking place, not all of them between opposing forces, further thing the numbers of fighting Archons.  A herenethi strikes at Berd from a distance with blazing a arc of lightning, and in that precise instant, one of the danioti sweeps past, takes the full force of the discharge and is destroyed by one of its own allies.  Twisted fragments of red-hot steel rain down into the pit, generating clouds of steam as the strike the last of the water laying around Banglen-Yp's feet.

Berd grins, and a bubble of force enfolds his would-be attacker, dragging it out of the sky and slamming it into the side of one of the ruins, where its remaining energy is discharged into the metal internal structure.  Girders rip free of the masonry, stretching and coiling around the wounded Archon to form a sort of makeshift Faraday cage.

Moving constantly, James produces subtle changes in the environment...  A nudge to the laws of chance here, and a wall, high up on one of the broken towers collapses at just the right time to dump several tons of rubble onto a pack of danioti who are attempting to rally.  A slight twist of probability there sees a herenethi forced to dodge a collision and flying directly into a jutting steel bar.  An imperceptibly small tug at causality, and two danioti scrape past each other, before swinging around to join battle, their rage driving out all reason.

They slam into a third, which joins the battle, and a fourth is added to the melee moments later.

Across the area, the chaos of battle seems to grow exponentially.  And somehow, its negative effect on the Seraphim is becoming much greater than that on the Nephelim.  Suddenly it seems that every time one of the Seraphim tries to engage in hostile action, then the terrain blocks it, or the environment opposes it, or there are two of the Nephelim in its way...

And as James continues his bizarre waltz with the Laws of Nature, Cyan follows him, careful to watch in all directions, and use Gurthang to protect the man.

Tahira, meanwhile, keeps her own counsel...

Perfect.

It's not hard for someone with Cyan's skill to spot the impossible twists of chance, and how they're affecting the entire Seraphim host.  Berd is not to blame; hence, it must be James.  Receiving confirmation an instant later from her father, the bard shakes her head in amazement, still tracking the man as he walks through the room.

Reality twists about him.

Above them towers the monstrous form of Banglen-Yp, growing bigger by the moment.  There are parallels between her and the Devourer, looming large in Cyan's fragmented memories, but only in size and capacity to consume.  The woman - being? - maintains her control, only proving her superiority.

Between her, James, and the Nephillim, the battle is almost won.

"Berd," Cyan whispers, her eyes all-but diamonds now.  She's close, too close; the stress of protecting James is telling, the fear of failure too great to ignore.  "I need you."

Berd's eyes burn like tiny suns.

Psychic power washes over the battlefield, buttressed by aspected energies of the Underflow, tamed to bolster Berd's mental tidal wave.  It strikes the Seraphim, seeking only to pull their focus away from their personal vendettas long enough to hear Cyan's words, to force them to see how poorly they fare, how close they are to complete and utter loss.

"Seraphim!" she cries, her voice amplified through the air and the aether.  "Look about yourselves!  You have LOST!  Only death remains here for those who fight - surrender and join the winners, flee...or die!" 

James continues walking his circuit.  It seems almost to be a form of walking meditation.  His movements, though inconsequential of themselves, are precise and controlled.

Tahira's head tilts slightly, and the hood of her robe seems to draw back - very slightly - of its own accord.

She reaches out a hand, to the very same spot where, not long ago, she was tracing circles in the air, and reaches out for that same mental connection, as well.

Eyes burning, Berd stares up into the sky above where the battle rages....
This message was last edited by the player at 11:10, Wed 15 June 2011.

Tahirah lowers her arm to her side.

Something watches from beyond, she thinks, projecting the thought forward.  I sense a touch of Cyan within.

As Cyan yells her challenge, amplified by Berd, the majority of the Seraphim give up the fight.  A few cluster together, circling each other, and fights break out between them as they come into close proximity, but they are half-hearted affairs (or half-whatever passes for a heart in an Archon) and unenthusiastic.

Others fade away into the Underflow, racing away from the world at speed.  A command from Right sends a swarm of Nephelim in pursuit...

Only a few Seraphim now remain aggressive.  One of them is the large eshurianti, which starts to rain flame down into the pit from high above Banglen-Yp.

And still James continues his own efforts to disrupt the Seraphim...

 

Spreading her arms wide the colossus that is Banglen-Yp does her best to actually catch all the fire dropped from on high, sending waves of laughter back up towards the eshurianti.

• Ah, more food!  Keeping feeding me and soon I can reach you without sprouting extra body parts!  Then I shall taste you as well! •

Over the link came another message at the same time; "I would not really eat it, unless given no other choice, but I figure a bit of sugar on top cannot hurt, ha!"  She seem to indeed be enjoying this whole event.

• The more you feed me, the more I return back to my true power! •

"Was that over the top?  It is a tradition among Bad Guys to reveal their plans, according to The Screen.  Which I know also know what it is, silly me!  But it did give some good advice among all the junk!  Ha ha haa!" the link laughed, almost in unison with the resumed laughter aimed at the wheel of fire above.

 
This message was last edited by the GM at 14:51, Sun 19 June 2011.

With Banglen-Yp holding off the flames - no, seemingly feeding on them - Cyan takes a moment to study the eshurianti.  "Berd?  Can you...?" she questions.

Berd's reply is to rise up on her shoulder to his full height (not terribly impressive) and turn his blazing eyes toward the Archon.  The waves of psychic confusion radiating from the drake fade to nothing, and his tremendous mental strength lances out, now focused.  He seeks to penetrate the Archon's defenses and seize control; difficult, but not impossible.

Tearing her gaze away from the terrifying sight of Banglen-yp's tremendous form, Cyan again calls out over the battlefield.  "Right - your assistance?"

You have most certainly done well, she assures the giantess over the battlefied, uncertain of some of the meanings of her mental notations, but garnering the general gist of them.

James continues to pace the room.

Right is nothing, if not fast.  He blurs as he moves, and there is a loud boom as he drops towards Cyan, only halting at the last possible instant, his blades revolving only a hand's breadth from her.  + COMMAND ME, GENERAL! +

Two of the Seraphim danioti swoop towards Banglen-Yp, while the giantess is distracted by the flame.  They swing around in a long arc, and one of them seemingly makes a sudden miscalculation.  Their collision sees one of them disintegrate into a rapidly expanding storm of metal shards, while the other, now bereft of half its blades turns away, heading for open sky in an aerial drunkard's walk...

And there is plenty of open sky to choose from.  The numbers of Seraphim are diminishing rapidly.  A good three fourths of the remaining Archons are now Nephelim, and of the remaining fourth, the vast majority appear to be fleeing.

Of the few who aren't, the eshurianti appears to be the only one intent on attacking anybody on the ground.  None of the herenethi are still fighting for the Seraphim cause...

 

Raising her arms high Banglen-Yp, somewhat larger than usual, called out at those still fighting, the volume nearing the threshold of pain, but not quite.

• I AM BECOME THE DEATH, THE DESTROYER OF WORLDS! •

More arms sprouted from her sides and from her now numerous fingertips sprung tendrils of hazy smoke towards those who still seemed intent on fighting, like twisted fingers or tentacles.  To those having seen Banglen-Yp in her form as she settled into the bowl the sight was familiar. 

Over the link came "Why thank you!  Glad I could help!"

 

"Shiva," Cyan mutters, staring up at Banglen-Yp's enormous form.  Shaking her amazement away, she turns her attention to Right - loyal Right, skilled Right...and these days?  Righteous Right, it seems.

"Pull your people from pursuit, Right - I do not wish them caught in a Seraphim trap, for reinforcements will no doubt be on their way, and there is something more."  The General waves in an absent gesture toward...well, the aether itself.  "Something lies beyond the world, watching." Her lips thin.  "Something that echoes of myself."

Information flows between her and Berd, and Cyan pales.  "A creation of Harabonah - hunters, each carrying a fraction of my...my essence, using the resonance of that essence to seek me out.  Their presences feel slightly akin to the vhuul.  Do you know of this?"

Upon Cyan's shoulder, Berd tenses, his eyes narrowing.  And above, the great, burning Archon hangs in place, its fires no longer falling.  A brilliant cage of forces springs up around it, more to protect it from overzealous Nephillim than to hold it - Berd's mind is proving adequate to that job.  He allows it to continue to spin, to live, but not to move.

His voice echoes through the bridging.  My thanks, Tahirah.  I have met these hunters before, in the presence of an Archon who explained their purpose to me.  They seek my daughter and all those with her - I know not their strengths, as yet.

He eyes the Nephillim, high above.  The herenethi - were some of those still here, not fighting, amoung the Seraphim before?  Have they changed sides?

I hold the eshurianti in my mind's grip, and I will peel away his secrets.  Painlessly, though he battles me with considerable might and stubborness.

The last of the Seraphim either switch sides or flee before the display of power they are witnessing, leaving only the captive eshurianti.  Right holds his followers from pursuing the ones which have fled, while he discusses other matters with Cyan.

+ I HAVE HEARD RUMOURS OF THESE THINGS.  "HOUNDS" HARBONAH NAMES THEM, BUT I HAVE NEVER SEEN ONE. +

Another Archon, a herenethi, spins in closer, + WE HAVE.  THEY ARE CREATURES OF FORCE AND FLESH, AND THEIR DETERMINATION IS WELL KNOWN.  IF ONE OF THEM IS HERE, THEN HARBONAH, OR HIS ARMY, WILL BE CLOSE BEHIND. +

+ AND ARIEL SHOULD KNOW, GENERAL, BEING BUT RECENTLY PART OF THAT ARMY. +

Finished!  Her friends and Right's soldiers have defeated the enemy.  Relieved, Cyan allows herself to begin to relax, though she still wards James as long as he continues to walk.

But the news of the Hounds is most disquieting.

"Creatures of force and flesh," the General murmurs.  "Welcome, Ariel.  Glad am I to see you have chosen the winning side."  She waves a hand over the battlefield as Berd continues to feed her information.  "I have questions...the first being, your people, the herenethi, seem less attached to Harabonah's cause.  I saw little of them in my time with him.  Those few I see now seem almost eager to abandon his side."  And there seem to be many among the nephillim, but she does not speak of this.

"Is this true?  If so, why?"

Then her lips thin.  "And I see there was a Gatherer here recently...does Harabonah have only five of these particular cubes?  Or does he keep more in hiding, for use if this gambit fails?"

The herenethi crackles with the energy of barely constrained lightning as it considers Cyan's questions, + WE, THAT IS ALL HERENETHI, HAVE ALWAYS BEEN... INDEPENDENT.  OTHERS MIGHT DESCRIBE US AS FICKLE.  WE DO NOT TAKE ORDERS WELL, AND WE ARE QUICK TO SEIZE ADVANTAGE.  IF WE SEE SUCH ADVANTAGE IN CHANGING ALLEGIANCE, THEN WE WILL DO SO.  THE SERAPHIM HAVE SUFFERED LOSSES RECENTLY, AND MANY HERENETHI ARE SENSING A SHIFT IN WHERE ADVANTAGE LAYS. +

The Archon does not seem in the least uncomfortable or embarrassed to speak of lack of loyalty.

+ WE BELIEVE THAT HARBONAH HAS MANY SUCH GATES, PERHAPS THOUSANDS, BUT FEW ARE OF THE SIZE YOU SAW HERE.  IT TAKES TIME TO GROW THEM SO LARGE, AND BY DESTROYING THIS ONE YOU HAVE HINDERED HIS SCHEMES.  WE KNOW NOTHING OF THE GATHERER, BUT WE SENSE RESIDUAL TRACES OF ITS PRESENCE. +

With the battle won, James stops walking.  He stops patrolling the room, anyway.  One of the first things he does after breaking his trance is to retrieve his helmet and his gun.

Other than that, James is content to listen.  He doesn't know enough about the situation yet and he has a profound respect for Cyan's tactical acumen.

At Cyan's greeting, James thinks We're not the winning side yet.  It comes across clearly on the bridging, which James had not yet thought to leave.

At Ariel's response, he adds, And there's why your plan must succeed, Cyan.  Military victories are all well and good but Harbonah is obsessed.  Given time he will just grow more mega-cubes and we'll be back here again, count on it.

Interesting news about the herenethi.  The General had little contact with them, back in the day.  Cyan bobs her head in understanding - one thing she does know about the Archons is that they know what they are and accept it without shame.  Indeed, they view as strengths what other races might see as flaws.

"So with each of these cubes we destroy, Harbonah's immediate plan crumbles further." If they could shatter the other four...it likely would kill this particular facet.  Confirmation of the Archon's words arrives from Berd, but Cyan does not require it - Right believes Ariel, and that is enough for her.  "Four more cubes, Right, in various places of the Myriad Worlds.  We'll have to hurry."

Berd immediately relays the locations to Cyan, their relative positions in the Myriad Worlds, and she passes them along to Right.

She slowly turns to face James, a lopsided smile growing on her face.  Indeed.  The plan must succeed.  First, we crack these five cubes, gathering forces as we do.  Harbonah has made a tactical error - yes, we <i>must succeed against all five forces, but he has split his people, weakened his army.

With your help and the help of Banglen-Yp, we may be able to defeat them in detail, James.</i>

A hint of fear echoes across the link.  Fear of failure.  Fear of facing Harbonah.  And fear, oddly, of success.

Her eyes narrow and she studies Tahirah for a moment.  The woman had been doing...something...during the battle.  Helping them, no doubt, by the General cannot begin to fathom how.  A mystery.  Then Cyan stares up into the sky above, almost as if seeking the creature that tracks her.  The hunter.  "I can spare no time to deal with you," she whispers.  It's a risk.  More and more of them will gather.  Soon there might be enough for them to attack.

But they have no time.

Berd rises up on her shoulder, his bell-like cry echoing across the bowl, hopefully garnering the attention of the gigantic woman.

"We must go!" Cyan cries.  "To the next destination of the cube, and swiftly!"

They may yet catch the forces there unawares.  This time.

The Archons, Right's force, the new recruits, and Amabael, all spring high into the air, and into a wheeling, rotating pattern overhead.  A complex aerial ballet as the allies in the ruined tower prepare to leave.

Suddenly a roar of triumph sounds, echoing down from the massed Archons.  Amabael is at the heart of the gyrating formation, and from the void in her core, more Archons are spewing out into the world to join the dance - the sencathi have returned, daylight glittering on a veritable blizzard of ice.

Berd plots his course through the Underflow to the next destination, and the giant Banglen-Yp starts to crumble, breaking into smaller copies of herself, though still much larger than human size.  The copies begin shrinking, surrounded by clouds of expelled dust and water vapour.  And even as they shrink they are clambering up the sides of the shattered tower towards the aerie where their companions await.  By the time they reach the top of the tower, not quite reduced to their original size, it is readily apparent that there are more of them than when they left Amber.

James, having already collected his helmet and gun, is ready to leave.  There is one more thing he would like to attempt, though, before the assembled strike force moves off.

This world is...thin.  The underlying Pattern is frayed.  I have quite a lot of control here, if I need it.  I can make a few minor changes to conceal Cyan's presence, I think.  It might put the hunters off the scent.  But there's a risk of damage if I overreach, so I'd like Berd to...supervise, I guess, if I'm going to attempt it.

A piece of her resides within, Tahirah reminds.

After a short pause, she turns more towards Cyan.  I believe I would serve best in returning to Amber.

Cyan stares up into the wild dance above, committing its awesome, terrifying, beautiful display to memory.  She will never see the like again, the bard suspects - it isn't something to pass up on.  Then comes the crescendo; Amabael, at the center, unleashes the sencathi to a sky-shattering cry of approbation from the Archon host.  The dance and the arrival are a song made manifest, a glorious orchestra.  Tears in her eyes at the sight, Cyan raises one hand in salute to the sencathi's return.  And her tears are not only for the vision stretching before her, but for what it means.

The Archons care about one another, in their own way - it proves their worth to her, once again.

The giant Banglen-Yp becomes a mob, its numbers swollen by consumption.  Berd makes ready to travel.  But James has a final task to carry out.  Of course, James!  Make haste, but do not rush - we will travel the moment you are done!

Raising her voice, echoing with Berd's strength, Cyan cries out to the Host.  "Make ready to travel - another battle awaits, the second of five!"  Five that she knows of, perhaps with a final one after that.  On her shoulder, Berd prepares, sinking his strength into the Underflow; one of his minds peels away to observe James, power rippling into the drake through his connection to the forces of creation and trickling across the link to the Patternlord.

Very well, Tahirah, Cyan agrees after a moment, perplexed but not willing to press the issue with the woman.  Have you a means to travel to Amber?  Or shall Berd send you?

The hunter still watches above - for the moment, Cyan ignores it.  A potentially costly choice, but there is no time.  They must push onward.

OOC - Cyan will wait for James to finish - Berd offering whatever assistance he requires (that Berd is capable of providing) - then give the order to go.  Her target is simple - the one world of the remaining four to which the Archons carrying their cube are closest.  Berd has been monitoring the situation, and now he knows to look for the energies of a cube...

The Archo host, its numbers swolen by desertions from the enemy and the arrival of the sencathi continues to revolve overhead, in a pattern which is like themselves, written large - a vast hoop, made up individual Archons.  And something is happening there, as air and clouds are pulled into the formation and swept along by the motion of the Archons.  A storm starts to develop, powered by wind and lightning, heat and cold...

And its eye, clear and blue, stands directly above their General.

With Cyan's approval, James starts walking again.  This time he keeps his eyes open, but his attention is definitely elsewhere.

James begins to walk in circles again, occasionally varying the track he takes, almost as if following a path through rough terrain and stepping aside to avoid obstacles.  His eyes seem to be fixed on some distant object, which moves from time to time...

Masking Cyan's presence?  Curious idea.  With his daughter unaware of the details of James' plan, Berd studies the Patternlord, his eyes sharp, bright, and cold.  The Pattern is a potent tool for restructuring reality...and Cyan's own reality is malleable to such things.  While Berd has no moral leg to stand upon when it comes to such things and he holds a great deal of trust for James, he has grown...touchy with regards to that subject.

But the man seems to only be masking his daughter's identity, despite the focus of the forces gathering about him being Cyan herself - like a fine-steel wire, wound between both he and Berd's daughter, twisting more and more as the man walks.

The tension builds.

Regrettably, that is not possible James.  When we go, we shall go with speed, through the Underflow itself - I doubt very much you will be capable of continuing your work, given you will literally be beneath the Pattern at that point, and not truly 'moving' as we understand it.

You seem easily capable enough now, though.

Berd begins to summon his own strength, charting a course through the underflow - the quickest possible route to his next destination.  Within the Underflow, he is in some ways more swift than even the Archons; the time taken for his own journeys is vastly shorter than their own, despite their facility with its swirling, unaspected energies.

It has to be - they have four more disasters to prevent.

When they travel this time, he will cut a wake through the river, allowing the Archons to follow at speed, hopefully swifter than the norm.  Dangerous but necessary, he notes.  With his full power unsheathed, even the monstrous, shadowy denizens of creation's font must be wary...as he must be of them.
This message was last edited by the player at 16:52, Tue 12 July 2011.

James continues to walk.  His movements almost seem to be a dance in slow motion.  He takes a few steps forwards, a step sideways, turns, another few steps.  He changes direction regularly but is always moving.

The Archons, their numbers augmented by the arrival of the sencathi (though they were, in point of fact, always there) contine to wheel and gyre overhead, and a pattern becomes more apparent in their movements.  Those on the edge of it start to descend, dropping towards the war-ravaged city, until eventually the form a dome of hurtling forms, each extending itself until it almost contacts its neighbours.

between them they form a rapidly rotating cage.

+ WE ARE READY! + Right's voice calls down from the apex of the structure, and is joined a moment later by the voices of all the assembled Archons...

+ WE ARE READY! +

Cyan restrains a groan at the sight of James' 'decoy'.  Lords of the West, James...if you ever, ever speak of this, I will find I way to make you pay.

And if ever they write a story about this quest, I would request also that you edit it fiercely to avoid my part being played by anything resembling this...thing.  *pained amusement*

As for that...it is me?  That tiny gyre?  *amazement, tinged with sadness*  Beautiful...yet so tiny!  But of course...I am not as solid as you, Berd, or others, James.  I am like the others within these Myriad Worlds.

Ah, well.  If my ego requires pandering, I need only recall your 'image' of me, created for the hunters...

For his part, Berd prepares a simple method to send Tahirah back to Amber, one mind taking charge of that task.  The other minds bend toward the journey.

WE JOIN YOU, ARCHONS.

James is ready.  Berd is prepared.  Banglen-Yp - the mad crowd of her - is also ready.  Cyan raises her blade, ghost-fires running up its edges toward its tip.  "Another step forward!" she cries, her voice echoed further through Berd.  "To war, my army - to war, and to final victory!"  Berd's power takes hold, and the last of the Questors rise toward the safety of the eye of the Archon hurricane.

"To war," Cyan whispers, the amplification gone.  The wheeling storm of light catches in her ruby eyes and glitters in the tears on her cheeks.

Forgive me...
This message was last edited by the player at 15:54, Mon 18 July 2011.

They fall, one and all, into the Underflow, and the Archons curl around them, a complete globe of wildy spinning death, moving through the dark, gleaming currents.

Cyan travels with them, her form surrounded by a faint, shimmering outline - a towering Amazon the size of Banglen-Yp, clad in glass full plate that is so dark as to be almost opaque and bearing a sword that resembles Fangmir but seems to imply the cutting edge of Gurthang.  Beams of fire and force shoot from her eyes and when she speaks the power of her voice is sufficient to level buildings.  And as they plummet into the depths of the Underflow, Berd seems to have his attention focussed on their point of origin, rather than the destination.

Suddenly the drake grins at Tahirah, and his eyes glow with a white light which flows to surround the woman.  When it fades, Tahirah is no longer in the cage.  The Banglen-Yps peer out of the cage, watching the... shapes... which move in the burning darkness of the Underflow  They don't even notice that Tahirah has gone.

And James... James can rest, now that they are no longer in the worlds of the Pattern.  Though whether his work has had the desired effect he can not yet tell...

James releases his connection to the Pattern as Berd starts to move them.  The possible effects of Pattern-use in the Underflow concern him and, in any event, his work is largely complete.

Relaxing slightly, James turns to Cyan and is startled to find that she is accompanied by a ghost-image of his "not-Cyan".  He is not entirely sure whether anyone else can see it or, indeed, whether the surrounding Archons would notice.

Berd?

Um, Cyan, I didn't mean for that to happen, okay?  So it doesn't count as telling anyone.

The thought is half in jest, but only half.

The Underflow surrounds them in all its silent, terrible beauty, but for once the bard is not entranced.  It takes Cyan a moment to understand what Berd is laughing about - a long moment - but once the drake shows her an image of what she looks like from 'the outside', she slaps a gloved hand over her eyes and groans.  Silently, of course, for the Underflow carries no sound.

James...I blame you both.  Rest assured, my vengeance will be terrible.

+ WELL DONE, MESSENGER.  THE GENERAL NOW LOOKS FAR MORE HERSELF. +

...and trifold.

Right, Cyan concludes, has been taking lessons in humor from Left.

In a flare of brilliance, Tahirah leaves them for Amber.  Cyan wishes the seeress well with her tasks, then rolls her eyes at James.  Berd informs me of your success - the Hound remains at the previous world, caught in confusion.  I believe I can thus forgive you, James, for this...words fail me, James.  Then she bows her head, growing more serious.  I thank you, James.  For your protection and company, both.

Cyan turns to look ahead, a smile creasing her lips.  She can't help it - her friends bring joy to her heart, despite her embarassment.  Berd sits upon her shoulder.  Banglen-Yp's surround them, like a school of curiously formed fish.  James stands to her right - she reaches out, places a hand on his shoulder.  The Underflow burns around them as they navigate its currents, the energies of creation flowing through her hair.