In the starlit night, Harper was one of the few who could see ahead with any clarity. Her goggles provided an ultraviolet view of the terrain beyond: the mountain crest broke into a downward slope which wound crookedly between the rocky highlands and descended through the foothills toward the lowlands. The lowlands quickly rose into the mountains at the base of the eastern canyon, which separated the Zos coast from the Istal valley. Visible across the lowland stretch was the mouth of the eastern vale that would lead them to the ravine, less than five kilometers from their current position.

The Scryer that the Manifest Light platoon had dispatched came up beside Harper and paused, staring out across the eastern expanse as if caught in some sort of fixed trance. He remained motionless for several moments.

Her gaze flicked from the scene below - the ridge, the lowlands, the ravine - to the Manifest Light Legion's Penitent Scryer.  Another place, another time, and Chance wouldn't be 100% comfortable with the Scryer at her side.  She had her reasons.  They were good ones, too.  But here and now?  Here and now, kooky trance and Hazat superior aside, he was just another person she didn't want to see die -- or worse.  Death is not the worst thing that can occur to man.  And she could imagine, perhaps with more precision than most, what it would feel like to be fixed in place while one's eyes saw something real but else.

The Scryer's eyes refocused and he raised his wrist to speak into his transmitter. "Enemy unit located, proceeding northbound on the east coast, approximately fifty kilometers south of the Zos delta."

Back at the unit, Lieutenant Eduardo's sergeant heard the Scryer's message over his squawker. "Roger, Scryer-One." he answered, then looked to the Lieutenant. "They've reached the coast, estimated fifty kilometers south. They're moving north now."

And that was her cue to be a ghost again -- a movement in the dark.

But first!  some military redundancy.  The Ghost-Runner thumbed her wrist-radio on and echoed the Scryer's information.  Added a colorful epithet.  Then, off-the-record, off-the-radio: "Hey," she said.

That was going to be a question.  The hell are you even doing out here.  The hell aren't you sitting somewhere high-and-dry-and-safe.  But she decided not to voice it like some rookie.  Turned it, instead, into a hey, good luck sort of hey, a hey, thank you for being a filthy freak kind of hey.  Elsewhere: even a Penitent pervert would be eyed askance.  Elsewhere:  theurgists were respected but feared.  Here:  Manifest Light was manifest hope.

Then: "Stick close if you can.  I'll watch your back when you're all sparked out."

There was a lot of ground to cover, and not a lot of time to cover it in.  Chance jogged along the ridge until it was easier to jump a couple of stones and free-fall-tumble-almost-flying-now-it-seemed like down a slope.  The single-minded silence of this was eerie; what were the sounds of a night on Stigmata?

The world's moon, Martyr, was dark in the sky; nowhere to be seen.  The superstitious might have taken this for a sign:  no martyrs would be made tonight.
This message was last edited by the GM at 07:29, Thu 01 May 2008.

The Scryer nodded to Harper's instructions, then pulled his balaclava back over his face and lowered his night-vision goggles over his eyes. With a touch of a button on his wrist-pad, his suit's colors warped and fluctuated until they matched the darkened surroundings and he became part of the terrain. His ghost-like form dashed stealthily down the rocky slope after Harper's, two watery shimmers in the night.

Music: http://media.putfile.com/Onward

"Progredior!" ordered the Captain from the front of the unit.

The company's ranks began marching onward once more, following in the wake of the two advance scouts. With no torches lighting their path, the only telltale guide for each row's steps was the movements of the next row's silhouettes as the unit proceeded all but blindly through the darkness.

Down the steep, uneven slope they treaded, placing their feet carefully on their descent from the high crest. Their footsteps pattered lightly on the rock, each trooper making an effort to step briskly and quietly down the trackless hillside.

Little by little, the unit wound its way lower and lower down the mountain, their night-sighted pathfinders serving as both their eyes and compass.

Steadily they marched between the arching escarpments and stratified rock walls of the descending slope, down along the zigzagging foothills at the base of the mountain, across the rolling plains and knolls of the Istal lowlands, and up through the wide gaping mouth of the vale in the east canyon, drawing closer and closer to their destination as they disappeared into the winding channel in the canyon's rift.

Less than a kilometer from their destination, the company halted suddenly. Lieutenant Eduardo could not discern the cause of their abrupt stop, but she could just make out the Captain's voice from the front of the unit, his words barely audible in the silence.

"Roger, Command. Primus is standing by. Awaiting confirmation from recon units."

Then Lieutenant Eduardo heard the Captain's voice once more, this time over her squawker on the lieutenants' shared channel.

"Attention all units. Command has informed that they have reason to suspect our force may be entering trapped ground. We have been instructed to halt our advance until we have confirmed the area is clear. Lieutenants Baurus, Quintus, and Ferris, dispatch all Ghost-Runners to search the area and report any findings. Form two squads - send one to the north ridge, the other to the south. Lieutenant Eduardo, send a team of theurgists to assist both groups. Each team is to report clear zones upon positive confirmation. We have less than fifteen minutes before the enemy reaches the east end of the ravine. Move out."

"Roger, Captain." answered the company's lieutenants in rapid succession.

Each platoon hurriedly assembled their Ghost-Runners and formed scouting units, which proceeded swiftly up to the north and south ridges of the ravine to search for Symbiot-planted booby-traps.

Meanwhile, Private Harper had reached the ravine several minutes ahead of the unit, and was proceeding to scout out the southern ridge when she received a transmission from her sergeant.

"Ghost-Runner Four, we've just received warning from Command that the ravine is suspected to be a trapped zone. Proceed with extreme caution and report any suspicious findings immediately. Confirm all cleared areas, over."

The transmission made Chance take pause. For a moment. Then her mouth curved.

Was a pity no one was around to see it. And if they had been, well, they probably wouldn't've had a clue anyway. As far as wry smiles go, it was a masterpiece; not just wry, understand, but also wearily amused. Not really sharp, either -- faint, like seaspray, just a little of it, and how the kiss of something so cool could be welcome on a certain kind of day but also sting. What with the salt.

Low, into the radio: "Really.  And just who told Command that, eh?  The whole - "

The whole goddamned world is a trapped zone.  But Chance didn't say that.  Instead, Chance turned her gaze toward the other ridge for a second.  Even though she'd paused, she didn't stop looking around.  She didn't stop looking at the stones and the rocks as if any shadow, every shadow, was on the other guy's side.  Because any shadow, every shadow, could've been on the other guy's side.

Chance squinted, as if that would bring anything and everything that was dangerous into sharp relief, as if it would turn the world into one of those visual games where it only took a certain way of looking, and then suddenly the shape of hidden things and secret became plain to the naked eye.

"Hey.  More details or're we batblind and echo-y?  Over."

Chance palmed a couple of stones.  The whole goddamned world was a trapped zone and a trap.  With that in mind, Chance kept an eye out for anything that looked suspicious, or worse -- felt, in the pit of her stomach and the marrow of her bones, dangerous.  When, and if, she found any such thing, she'd investigate it further.

She liked a challenge.  It would've been a challenge to lay traps along the ravine, so it fit that it would be something of a challenge to find the traps without actually setting them off -- or setting them off when she was near enough to be felled by them.

"No further details at this time, Ghost-Runner Four." Came the sergeant's reply on Harper's squawker.

Within moments, squads were dispatched to either ridge of the ravine, composed of scouts and Manifest Light theurgists. The whispered prayers of the theurgists' rites were scarcely audible as each team fanned out to cover ground.

Meanwhile, Private Harper investigated her area of the south ridge for all the usual signs - raised mounds in the ground where spore-pods could be buried, long weeds or masses of fungi on the rocks, fertile soil, anything the Symbiots might use to plant a trap.

But strangely enough, she encountered no such indicators. No traps sprang as she crept along the rocks and traversed her zone. No apprehensive feelings flooded her senses to warn of impending danger. In fact, the area appeared quite bare and ordinary.

"North zone one clear." announced one of the Ghost-Runners over the channel within a minute of the search.

"South zone one clear." reported another soon after.

Another minute passed.

"North zone two clear." confirmed another.

"South zone two clear." followed a fourth.

And another minute.

"North zone three clear."

"South zone three clear."

One by one, various teams within each squad reported their cleared zones, until after nearly five minutes of searching, Harper heard the north squad leader's confirmation over the channel.

"North ridge is clear."

"Roger, north squad." came the reply.

Then she heard her sergeant over the radio, "South squad, report."

"Zones one through five cleared." answered the south squad leader. "Awaiting confirmation on zone six."

Silence returned as the squad waited for Harper's report.
This message was last edited by the GM at 08:17, Fri 20 June 2008.

They waited another second, maybe two, before Chance replied. False starts, double checking tech that was likely to explode -- she understood that. But if Command, as mighty and powerful and chalk full o' voodoo as any organization she'd ever been acquainted with, thought there was a trap, surely there'd be something?

The fourth Ghost-Runner crouched at the very edge of the ridge and contemplated the cliff-face. Were there caves? Were there fliers inside, full of doom and poison, just waiting for the clomp of heavy Brother Battle troops frolicking aboveground?

"All looks as tight as a grayface's ass. Over."
This message was last edited by the GM at 01:52, Mon 23 June 2008.

"Roger, Ghost-Runner Four." answered the squad leader. Then after a moment, his confirmation was issued over the channel, "South ridge is clear."

"Roger, south squad." answered the Sergeant. "Maintain your position until further instructed."

"Roger." the squad leader replied.

Back at the unit, a moment passed while confirmations were reported to the Captain. Then the Captain raised his squawker and spoke, just audibly enough for Lieutenant Eduardo to overhear, "Command, this is Primus. Recon units have swept the north and south ridges of the ravine. All zones are clear. Repeat, all zones are clear. Over."

Then they waited.

A moment passed. Then the Captain's voice was heard again from the front of the unit.

"Roger, Command. Primus is proceeding to intercept."

With a raised arm, the Captain signaled the company to advance. The unit resumed their march sharply, their lines moving as one as they proceeded quickly toward the interception point of the ravine.

"North and south squads, we are cleared to proceed." came the Sergeant's voice over Harper's squawker. "Move into position and await our arrival."

"Roger. Moving into position." answered each squad's leader in quick succession.

"Ghost-Runner Four," the Sergeant went on, "resume surveillance of the enemy's movements and report updates on their location and bearing, over."

"Will do, Sergeant," Chance replied.

Her gaze went to the skies; scanned them.  Then the scout, on a whim, knelt even closer to the ground, and put her ear to it.  Listened hard.  Then she clicked off her radio, and pushed on.

Chance was a woman of her word.  Such as it was.  When she wasn't lying.
This message was last edited by the GM at 20:42, Tue 24 Mar 2009.

Music: http://media.putfile.com/Arrival-at-Mark

Within minutes, the company's bulk marched into view around the ravine's bend and advanced steadily through the winding channel to the interception point.

"Primus arriving at mark, prepare to regroup." came the Sergeant's lowered voice over the radio.

"Confirmed." replied each squad leader.

From their obscured perches atop the ravine's ridges, the scout teams watched as the unit finally arrived and bifurcated to ascend the north and south slopes of the ravine.

Up on her elevated perch, Harper surveyed the coast through her macrobinoculars, scanning for signs of the Symbiot cavalry. She soon spotted them - heading straight north across the southeast delta. At the speed they were going, she estimated they would reach the east mouth of the ravine within five minutes.

Once all units had regrouped, the Captain signaled sharply toward each zone and teams rushed swiftly and stealthily to take their positions. Lieutenants directed their platoons, sergeants distributed fire-teams to tactical areas along each ridge, and sharpshooters and theurgists rapidly set up defensible lines of fire.
This message was last edited by the GM at 07:15, Tue 06 Jan 2009.

Chance activated the radio at her wrist again.  She was, perhaps surprisingly, completely calm; she'd almost always been real calm before a take, during the wait, back before.  The waiting could be fun.  Well, the waiting wasn't usually fun here...

Quiet, then, into her wrist:  "The targets are heading North 'cross the South East Delta--straaaaaight as a Hawkwood's pecker and just as true."  If she got even one of those Brother Battles to blush, even once, she'd consider her life well-lived.  "I'd say about five minutes until.  Over."

Alejandra took a moment to absorb the situation and reflect upon the information given to her at the briefing before they left. It would take too long and spread them too thin to try and send anyone around the back of the column to channel the symbiots forward so they would just have to rely on the creatures not to turn tail.

"Sergeant, divide off a third of our platoon to join the other flanking units. We will keep the rest back ready to move in and block the end of the ravine. Get everyone to take cover out of line of sight until we need to move."
With any luck they could hold the symbiots under the fire of the units along the ridge and gain cover from their comrades on higher ground.
This message was last edited by the GM at 05:05, Tue 06 Jan 2009.

"Roger, Ghost-Runner Four." came the Brother Battle sergeant's reply over Harper's squawker.

Meanwhile, Lieutenant Eduardo directed her sergeant over her radio as the Primus' units took up positions along each ridge.

"Roger, lieutenant." answered Eduardo's sergeant.

The Manifest Light units quickly repositioned themselves to form up with the rest of the company's fire-teams. Theurgists and psychics rushed to join Brother Battle troops and took cover on both flanks of the ravine. The lieutenant's reserve units concealed themselves atop the ravine's ridges and prepared for ambush. In a matter of minutes, all teams were in position and ready to strike.

"All units, stand by." came the Primus Captain's voice over the radio.

"Standing by." echoed each team's leader.

All became still. The ravine fell utterly quiet, save for the distant rumbling of the Symbiot cavalry's riders. Lying secreted in their niches, the strike unit awaited their prey in silence.
This message was last edited by the GM at 03:39, Sat 17 Jan 2009.

Alejandra breathed deeply, focusing on their enemy's approach. Everything was in place and they would do their damned hardest to make it work. Not one of her dervishes would go down easily and she tried not to think about how many would go down. It was no use worrying about it now.

All around her in silence without the slightest whipser people would be praying. 'Let me through this one', 'Make it quick', or the more dedicated prayers with lines for mercy and triumph. There was only one thing Alejandra wanted, and not the whole army of Symbiots would keep her from her brother.
This message was last edited by the GM at 11:30, Thu 29 Jan 2009.

Music: http://www.houndbite.com/?houndbite=8364

In the still night, the distant trampling of the Symbiot cavalry drew gradually nearer. Through her macrobinoculars, Harper observed the beasts as they progressed steadily north across the east delta, farther and farther up the coast toward the eastern mouth of the ravine nestled in the delta's valley. In moments the Symbiots would reach the canyon's entrance and head down the ravine into their trap. The air was tense with anticipation.

Soldiers looked on into the darkness with stoic conviction, swords and shields grasped tightly in readiness. Marksmen trained their sights on the ground below, zeroing in their focus. Theurgists prepared themselves with prayers and meditations.

Lieutenant Eduardo's Scryers monitored the east delta remotely with their farsight powers, casting their vision into the distant areas obstructed by the canyon's peaks. From her position on the southern ridge of the ravine, Eduardo could see nothing but starlit darkness across the canyon. She and her sergeant relied on the Scryers for surveillance.

"Enemy in sight." came the periodic report from one of the Scryers over Eduardo's squawker. "Nearing the ravine."

Moments passed by in silence as the lieutenant and her sergeant listened.

. . .

"Two hundred meters and closing."

All was still now as the unit waited. Everything was riding on this moment.

. . .

"One hundred meters."

Seconds ticked by and tensions mounted...

. . .

Then suddenly --

"Enemy is...passing..." The Scryer's tone was perplexed and disquieted. "Proceeding north...passing the ravine..." The tone grew more and more concerned.

Lieutenant Eduardo's sergeant looked across at her warily as they each heard the report over their squawkers.

. . .

"Enemy has passed the ravine, moving north along the coast. Exiting the delta..."

The lieutenant's sergeant shifted uneasily as he looked to her. Now what? his eyes seemed to ask...

To say it was unexpected was a gross understatement. Was there another route further north that they were going to turn down or had they misinterpreted their destination? Either way they couldn't just sit here doing nothing. It was a waste of time.

"I have to call it in to the other units. Keep an eye on them, they might still turn back."

What were they doing? There was no way they could have known about the ambush, that was the entire point, so the only reason they would move away from the pass was if they had no intention of using it in the first place. They would lose days moving around the canyon and the city would be well defended by then.
This message was last edited by the player at 14:51, Wed 18 Feb 2009.

"Yes, sir." nodded the sergeant. He raised his squawker to speak. "Roger, Scryer One. Maintain surveillance and report all further activity."

"Roger." the Scryer confirmed.

Alejandra sighed, taking a breath and calling in to the Brother Battle captain when the Symbiots failed to change course in those three or four seconds.

"Captain," she paused for a moment for a reply, "Captain, this is Lieutenant Eduardo de Aragon. We have a problem. Acknowledge." Again she waited for a reply before continuing. There would be no point explaining it all if he wasn't listening.

After a moment, the Captain's voice answered through her squawker, "Roger, Lieutenant. What is the situation?"

"My Scryers have called back. The Symbiots are passing the ravine. They are not coming our way." she enunciated the repeated phrase clearly to make sure he caught it over any interference or noise. There would be no battle today, which seemed to be good for them in the long run. She just didn't trust the Symbiots to do what made sense.

A moment passed.

"Roger, Lieutenant." came the Captain's reply, considerably embittered. "Hold your position and maintain surveillance. I will inform Command of the enemy's movements and receive further orders. All units, stand by."

"Standing by." responded the other officers, one after another.