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?"