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Visitor :  Dice Roller| Game Info| The Cast |
| Part 69 - War of the Wheels. Posted by Dworkin. | Group: 0 |
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| Author | Message | Page: 5 4 3 2 1 [all][bottom] |
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... | |||
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. | |||
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. + | |||
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." | |||
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. | |||
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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. | |||
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. | |||
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. | |||
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 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. | |||
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 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... | |||
"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? | |||
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? + | |||
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. | |||
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. | |||
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. + | |||
"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?" | |||
+ 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. + | |||
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. | |||
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. | |||
Cyan, meanwhile, seems distracted by the image of james that she holds in one hand. |
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