"I suppose that falls to me," Laila said to no-one in particular. She made no effort to hide her displeasure.

Before departing with Rashana she looked to draw Alavatter's attention once more. Laila took a step or two to close the gap, her hand raised to her shoulder to better catch his eye. It was a deliberately restrained effort, lackadaisical even, but doubtless enough in so empty a space. "We move at your pace. I seem to have a little business to attend to, but given adequate notice I should be able to make myself available at a moment." She gave a slight tilt of the head in Sani's direction. "And see that she is ready for the journey. Confer. See how you can aid one another."

At that she stepped away to walk with Rashana, and with the motion some of that steel slipped from her posture. Even if they were strangers cast in different shapes there was still a certain underlying bond born of class. It felt natural to speak with her as an equal rather than an associate of temporarily aligned purpose. A wry smile crested Laila's lips and brought a note of self-assured arrogance to her voice. "Oh, I can teach them. Not yet perhaps, but that would be where you have a part to play." A beat. "I have never held a sword, you understand. Not in this life, and perhaps not in any before it. Yet I feel a strange certainty that may change in an instant. I need only take one up and I think I should know it better than myself. I think that is my calling."

Laila looked Rashana plainly in the eyes, her voice earnest. Honest."So please: a sword. If it is your work then I know it will be fine, and that is all I ask."
This message was last edited by the player at 04:53, Wed 15 Apr 2020.

Once she and Laila were on their way from the old courthouse, Rashana motioned her to follow across the open plaza toward what had been, effectively, rendered into her workshop. The place didn't have many of the amenities one might've expected, however. Standing where one of the public buildings had once stood, the multiple floors had collapsed down into the central lobby, though, it seemed like a whole platoon of construction workers had passed through recently - an entire crew, or perhaps one single woman blessed with remarkable speed and talent.

So, the workshop was at least sheltered from external eyes, with holes in the wall to allow for materials and supplies to pass in and out - easily one the size of the wagons she would need to build.

"I actually have a few ideas for your blade... Something suitable, if you intend to try and inspire the people." She said quickly, meeting Laila's eyes at a glance. "In that light, would you mind showing me your radiance. I've heard of the talent, but I haven't seen it in action directly?" her grin revealed that she had been well aware of the pun when she'd spoken it, a casual tone at odds with the seriousness of the moment.

As she asked, she moved over and sorted through metal beams, destroyed mechanical artifacts, and stripped by hand pieces of metal. From a shattered, stained-glass window, she selected an assortment of shards, and scraps of wood that were once the handle of a desk. And, with her hands seemingly wreathed in - not quite fire, but a strange, starlike blaze, the smaller bits of more delicate gold seemed to glow with heat in her hands as she used her hands to directly shape the metal. She had the finesse of an artist, and seemingly the vision. And it was work that would've taken your typical artist hours, but already what was to be the handguard was underway - with a backbone of steel and golden filigree, it was sure to catch the light...

The salvaged wood and steel waited on a stone slab nearby, while Rashana carried the piece in progress over toward Laila.

Laila regarded the cornucopia of scattered and broken things, the esoteric and the mundane, with a measured sort of interest. Even had Rashana’s gifts not turned the place into a house of wonders, the workshop represented a corner of their world that she had never had cause to visit. It was all strange to her – likely all the more thanks to its occupant. It felt a little like being given a window into someone else’s mind to see all the fragments of ideas just waiting for that one spark of inspiration to grant them life.

On the subject of sparks…

“Of course” Laila agreed, perhaps a little too insistently as she looked to push that childish fascination down. She drew closer to Rashana as the work took shape only to find the piece instead making its way to her. An awkward sort of dance between two partners not yet in sync. She let out an amused hum. “I will go slowly, though you should look to shield your eyes. I would rather not have you blind for curiosity's sake.”

Taking another small step back, Laila smoothly removed her right glove. She had the delicate uncalloused hands of one who had seldom seen a proper day’s work in their life, not those of a seasoned warrior. Her thin fingers splayed a moment before balling into a closed fist. She gave Rashana a curt nod.

Under her intense gaze the flesh of Laila’s arm began to flush. At first it could conceivably have been the early onset of a rash, the light within granting her skin a pinkish hue, but with each passing moment that blaze grew every brighter. She stoked its aura through through reds and oranges until it reached the gleaming gold of sunfire. Then further still – a corona of pure and brilliant white light bursting forth to cast stark shadows on the walls.

And then with a casual flick of her hand it was gone, all that power dissipating into nothingness like dust upon the wind.

Alvatter traveled Irohn by foot, attempting to reach as many of the Roads as he could. It wasn't a great journey but one he made with no shortage of apprehension. He brought with him a wax tablet and stylus so that he could take notes on any of the qualities on the Roads that revealed themselves to him during his investigations. However, truth be told he wasn't truly sure what exactly he was supposed to be able to see. If danger presented itself he simply fled, unwilling and unable to counter any threat upon his life.

Rashana didn't look away, when Laila encouraged her to. At theleast, not at that particular moment, as the piece held in her hand was held up to the presented hand, and as the light grew, she made simple, quick adjustments - the stained glass shards were reshaped, repositioned, and as Laila's light intensified, it cast a refracted pattern of color through the forming pommel - at least, it did until Laila's light flared so brightly that Rashana did have to flinch away from it.

"Ah, impressive~ That's a start, at least.  The rest is easy." She turned her back to the other noble, returning to her workspace and grasping the salvaged steel. That same glow poured over the metal from the hand that held it, as another formed a hammer of gleaming starlight, and the air was filled with the sound of ringing metal for a few seconds - indeed, her first and final strikes were slow, strong, and deliberate, but in between, she accelerated her work into a living blur such that it was impossible to actually tell apart the separate strokes of the hammer by both eye and ear.

Laila could see the metal deforming almost like she were molding clay, under the heat of a star and a hammer that seemed just as brilliant and dense. More came - she moved aside, to a... structure that Laila felt sure hadn't been there a moment ago, sliding the blade into oil to quench it, a series of temperings, refinements to the edge, the form.

In the end, she assembled it all, using leather straps to form a grip for the handle - and, in the process, she did reach out to lightly touch Laila's hand, perhaps checking the contours of it in the process. It seemed she was sparing no effort on this particular piece.

When at last it was done - barely five minutes after she had begun, she drew the blade from a decorated but subdued scabard, holding it out by the handle and blade to Laila.

It was expertly formed - a single edged blade with a curve that suited a style of elegance, but it was straight enough to be viable for both thrusts and slashes, the curve slight enough that it wouldn't take a great deal of practice to become accustomed to. The golden pommel was backed by steel, durable, but still impressive without having any points to disrupt combat or snag on obstructions. The stained glass decorated the grip, and... "Try channeling your light through it. If I've got the measurements right, it'll be quite a show. It won't be anything your light isn't already, but it's sure to help you make an impression - I get the feeling that's going to matter. Give it a few swings - does it feel good in your hand? I made it a bit shorter - your light is a worthy weapon for distance, and this seemed the right size for you. Lighter, too, that's why it's got the curve, extra strength, so I could make it thinner."

Even so, all of the designs Laila had seen of her work reflected a sense of aesthetic qualities - even the ballistae she constructed earlier. It seemed she was an artist first, and the full scope of practical creation was, to a point, an aspect of her gifts.

Miraculous. Truly there wasn’t any other word for it. Laila could only look on enraptured as the work of an entire team of artisans played out before her eyes, a project that might have taken weeks to refine and perfect reduced to a matter of mere minutes. She replaced her glove, leaned back against a nearby trestle table – not before gingerly testing its stability – and simply watched the master ply her craft. It made for quite the show.

She flinched just a moment when Rashanna unexpectedly touched her hand, but that was all it was.

Laila graciously accepted the generous gift, handling it with the sort of care reserved for holy relics – which she supposed one could argue the weapon was. She ran two fingers along the flat of the blade as she admired its polished mirror sheen. It was a thing of beauty as well as a tool of death, so much so that the thought of sullying its perfection carried with a hint of displeasure. She pushed the thought aside. Ultimately it was but a weapon and a tool. To make it anything more than that was to lose sight of the part they had to play.

“A little room,” she gently urged as she took her own step back. Then another. Laila allowed herself a single calming breath, eyes closed, and then began.

Her fingers traced the blade once more, but this time they left a cold silvery glow in their wake that stretched until the weapon was alight from guard to tip like gleaming moonsilver. She pushed further. It looked for all the world as though the blade was no longer mere metal but formed of brilliant light that flickered beyond its bounds like a living flame. Fractals scattered through the air and wreathed the sword in the memory of a rainbow. It did not outshine its bearer but it was a different kind of light, ordered and forged into a beauteous shape while hers burned wild and free.

In one smooth movement, with the ease of a practiced hand, Laila raised the blade before her. She held it aloft a moment before transitioning through her guards – medium, outer, high, low, tail. Seemingly satisfied she let dropped all pretences and simply brought the weapon about in a series of lazy arcs to watch the way its image lingered on the air. Finally she returned it to the scabbard and let out a satisfied sigh.

“This is a very fine thing. That you made it so quickly and with such ease … even I must say I am impressed. It does you credit.” Despite her measured words the childlike grin threatening to claim Laila’s face was plain as day. She absolutely adored it. “If there is anything I can do for you – now or at a later time – then ask it of me and I shall commit myself. This deserves no less.”

Finally that facade broke. She smiled without restraint. “What I mean to say is thank you.”

Alvatter studies the Roads, cross-referencing the observed qualities with records kept by Anaya's inner circle of priests. Strangely, he finds he rarely needs to actually consult the records - simply asking the question is enough to bring the answer to the front of his mind.

After a day of work, a day of losing the realm to Night, he has an answer. A Road out on the edge of the remaining territory matches the description, rough location, and qualities of one recorded in the texts. It apparently is safer for travel than most, and leads to a place called the Nexus which is a stable realm, uninhabited at the time of writing.

The artisan stepped back, giving Laila time to bond with and test her creation with a flourish of slashes at air, to get used to the weight. She watched with keen eyes, and, once she finished, she reached a hand out, taking the blade gently, and softly molded a softer curve into the handle to better suit the contours of Laila's hand. "... There~"

Seeing Laila metaphorically light up rather than actually still made Rashana smile. "Well, it's just an ordinary blade, just made with your light in mind. If you shine it through those crystals it'll look pretty impressive. If you want some magic to it, later, I'll be happy to improve it. But, that's for the future." She lowered her eyes, looking away with an almost shy blush to her cheeks at the gratitude, before nodding a bit. "It's the least I could do. You needed something suited to the position you seem to be taking. If you need armor or other gear, please let me know." She paused and then chuckled, shaking her head. "I might call a favor later, but, really, there's no need to keep an account on this right now. Maybe you can help me get some people organized and trained to use my weapons."

  Having left the presence of the godlings, La does not return to the Great Hall that day.  Instead, she takes her notes back to the Dreamers' main temple and, a few hurried messengers later, brings them before the Most Sagacious Intermediaries. The elder priests are uncommonly discordant under the stress of the unfamiliar, and are actually in the midst of a heated argument when La arrives.  She manages to silence them all at once with a soft, but clear announcement: "Holy Ones, this one arrives with the designs of the Inheritors, as you instructed her."

  "Well come forward, girl!  Don't just stand there."
  "Yes!  Yes, what are they going to do about the damage to the estuary?"
  "Sod your estuary, Sangnam!  This is an emergency!  We need to establish safe places for the populace and organize a, a, a rebuttal!"
  "You mean reprisal, Boryat, and we can't even consider that until we can reclaim the forges and begin—"
  "I've told you twenty times, Intermediary, I will hear no further talk of weapons!  The scriptures in the Order's vaults are very clear about—"
  "With all available respect, Chairman Peilong, there is clear evidence from the Wind-Water Monitoring Stations that the Order's vaults have become a spawning ground for those creatures, so I hardly think..."

  La waits another awkward minute while the sages' fear breaks its shackles and pulls them back down into useless quarreling.  Truth be told, it has her at something of a loss for direction: these are her role models and spiritual guides, and here they are panicking incoherently.  In a moment's silence, she interjects, "They mean to guide us into the night, to find a safe new world," and then chaos reigns.
This message was last edited by the player at 04:46, Sun 19 Apr 2020.

Meanwhile, the Keepers were organizing the people.  They had long turned from abstraction, out of necessity -- their interest was in mending wounds, souls, and the land -- and these needs did not allow for high debate.  Indeed, as they had turned more and more to wealth and profit, the Keepers had only organized the more, and their system of tithes had produced ledgers and records of people and places, lines of communication... in short, all the bureaucracy of a mature religious institution.

And so, Sani, with the High Keeper, activated the intermediate and junior priests.  People sprung into action, preparing for the journey, making lists, organizing wagon groups, packing.  Funds were drawn down -- the Temple's secret cache of gold and drugs, not the old fiat.  Promises of positions in the new world were made, and hands were shaken.  Rivalries and alliances were reevaluated.

For the large majority, there would be no more inaction or hiding in houses.  A gathering was organized -- for the Hour of the Lotus.  Who would speak, Sani did not know -- but it need be, she would do it, Anaya willing.  She couldn't shake that habit, no matter how she tried.  Anaya was gone, but not gone.

The High Keeper, for his part, was a pragmatic and deeply spiritual man at once, with greying hair, and features more youthful than one would expect.  He was a financial genius, and when it came to bureaucracy, he was an expert.  That he had been corrupt was of no consequence.  He saw in Sani a key to survival, and he was by no means a fool.

So it was that a Senior Keeper knocked on the gate of the Dreamers' temple and invited them to join their efforts.  There were some -- of the Dreamer persuasion -- who refused to leave their homes, quarreling with the Keepers who came.  Would the Dreamers convince them to begin packing for the exodus?

After the others had left, Joshua sat alone, considering what all had been said. He agreed with them, haste was not wise, but soon it would be the only way left.
But enough of that, those thoughts wouldn't help now. The others had their own preparations to attend to, as did he.

He left the building and walked with purpose through the city, following the sounds of panic and chaos to find the largest riot. When he found it, he did not act immediately, instead simply observing. These people, they had lost themselves, looting and pillaging with no heed to the problem at hand. A lesser man would have left them to their fate.

Fortunately for them, Joshua couldn't just leave them. Drawing his pistol, he fired three shots into the air to gain the mob's attention before speaking, restrained anger evident on his face and in his voice. "Look at yourselves, stealing and destroying like common thugs. Times are dark, but that does not permit you to behave like wild animals. Listen to me, you are all to calmly return home and pack essentials in preparation for evacuation. Food and clothes primarily, anything you can easily carry. Am I understood?"

He watched the crowd disperse before sighing and going in search of the next one. The work was never done.

Joshua dismisses the rioters, who scurry off to their homes with expressions of shame and shock and fear. None of them raise hand or even voice against him, and he leaves the great city in, if not peace, at least better circumstances than it might have been. The Dreamers and the Keepers take a central role in coordinating the evacuation. In the halls of the great and powerful, harsh words fly, but in the end, an agreement is reached, a quiet handshake over a glass of wine.

Elsewhere, hands are being trained rather than shaken. Under Rashana's guidance, a volunteer militia is being instructed on the use of the weapons she is crafting. The work goes by in a blur, the militia learning far more quickly than mortals ought to. It simply feels...natural, they say. It feels like they were born for this moment.

The next morning, as such things go in a world of eternal twilight, Alvatter speaks to the Order. The discussion grows heated, arguments over what portions of the vast archive are most important, and what can be abandoned to the Night. Ultimately, though, an agreement is reached here as well, and the work of packing books and data drives alike begins.

And in the end, by midmorning of this day, all are agreed: they are as ready as they will be, and there is no more time to spend. The Uncreated are beating on the walls of the city, the Night has almost reached the opening of the Road Alvatter found, and the natural laws of the world are beginning to degrade. It is time to leave.

---

The group gathers again at the head of the column, leading the march out to the edge of the world. The march is quiet, filled with anxiety, though Rashana's siege enginges make quick work of the few Uncreated you see. Only a few hours later, around midday, you reach the Road. It hangs in midair, an ellipse twenty feet high and ten feet wide, a foot off the ground. On the other side...darkness, a dark so deep that it eclipses any mere absence of light, that it swallows light up like a whisper in a hurricane, a dark that hurts the eye to consider.

Uncreated Night.

After a moment, you can make out the Road. It is made of tiny tubes of glass, or something similar enough to glass that it is hard not to think of it as such. They are woven together like threads in a tapestry, creating a mesh of glass twenty feet wide. Over and beneath and all around, the Night looms close - but the glass is faintly luminous, and on the Road itself, there seems to be a margin of safety.

  Sani is not there long at all before an initiate comes scurrying up to welcome the visitor.  That the visitor is among the Inheritors only adds to her haste, and she nearly trips over her vestments on her way to greet the chosen one.  "Oh!  Honored Inheritor!  You bless us with your presence here!" she exclaims and holds up her robes a few inches for the last few paces.  "Do you come to meet the Dreamers?  They are in counsel, but I'm sure they will welcome you."

  On hearing that yes, Sani is there for an audience with the Most Sagacious Intermediaries, her enthusiasm almost gets the better of her again, and she has endless questions to ask as they walk.  Far too soon for the initiate, they arrive at a set of tall, fancifully-carved jade doors, where she asks Sani to wait.  There is a smaller, simpler door off to the right, disguised but its brass inlays as part of the wall mural, and it makes no sound as she slips through.  The larger doors do make a bit of noise when they open a minute later.  It's the girl from the meeting earlier who parts them, and she is bowing even as she spreads them.  Beyond is a lavishly-appointed room that blends elements of an office and a salon, with close to a dozen elder priests at considerable leisure within.  They look precisely as though they've paused an ongoing discussion.

  "Chosen among the Keepers, please come in.  The masters wish to hear from you."  La drifts sideways, out of the center of the portal, without raising her head and closes the doors behind Sani.  The Intermediaries, it turns out, are extremely receptive to the demigod's encouragement.

---

  "Honored ones," La begins, approaching from behind.  The Dreamers have been sending her as a messenger since the column of refugees began to assemble.  Her gentle surety has an uncanny way of quelling unrest wherever she goes, and by the time the Inheritors reach the Night Road, the population of Irohn is as unified in purpose as could possibly be asked, under the circumstances.  That is not to say pacified, though.

  "Rumors are spreading through those who have not yet seen this..." She frowns at the opening and gestures with one broad sleeve when words fail to come.  And then, of course, she lowers her eyes again.  "And those who have seen find salvation nearly as terrifying as doom.  Please do not fault them their weaknesses; they have never been asked to trust so profoundly."

  And a murmuring is growing in the crowd behind her, which nonetheless gradually presses closer in a semicircle some fifty feet back from the ominous hole in the world.  A quick look at the faces shows enough to make her point: they would soon be teetering on a knife's edge between hope and terror, if they are not already.  "Our Intermediaries and priests are raising spirits as they are able, aided by the Bower of Keepers, but they are familiar, and the danger is unknown.  If you wish to maintain order, the people may benefit from periodic reassurances."
This message was last edited by the player at 01:15, Fri 08 May 2020.

Alvatter stood beside the other Inheritors and did his best to appear calm and in charge. In reality a cold sweat had broken out across his body and his throat had run dry. He had lived through countless incarnations in this plane with no conception of places beyond its boundaries or desires to reach them. Yes their had been discussion within the Order about such things but it was never more than the idle chatter of intellectuals. Now it was their own chance at survival. He looked to the others and nodded.

"Time is of the essence. We must advance quickly if we are to survive. If you have any mechanisms or powers which might increase the likelihood of us surviving I believe now would be an opportune moment to enact them."

"I'm all set on that front~!" Came Rashana's call. She was in constant motion during the march, seemingly moving between her various engines, checking up whenever one fired, to further spur the crew onward - and to replenish their supply of ammunition - she only provided room for carrying a few shots on each wagon, given the weight - since she could manufact them on demand, it was strictly a mechanism to give each a few shots without her attention. It seemed that whatever metaphysical techniques would be invoked, they were not in her sphere of expertise.

The sight of the gateway, the road, though, drew her curiosity. Glass-like, but not quite. She resisted the urge to tear free a sample of the material - later, perhaps, when they had crossed the road, she could break free a piece the better to examine it.

La's approach prompted the hard-working noble to turn and cast a glance over her, then back to the dark and gaping entry of the road. "It... hadn't occurred to me, but, hmm... Laila might be able to help with that, being the whole light in the dark... Might help with their nerves at the least."

Rashana seemed eager to move inside, though, and headed up for the front and center siege wagon, vaulting up and displacing the current gunner, settling herself to be on guard for what might emerge - or be waiting for their advance.

The column moves onwards, shambling and stumbling at times, but always with a clear sense of purpose about them. The first few steps onto the woven-glass mat that makes up the Road's surface are hesitant, unsure whether it is safe. Or rather, unsure how it is not, for there seems very little chance that this place is truly safe.

But the glass proves to be a perfectly viable, albeit strange, walking surface. It has just a touch of give under one's foot, a little like walking on a trampoline, but after slight adjustment it becomes simple to move on. Far more unsettling is the Night that presses in all around, close and hungry. There's simply no getting used to it, no way to become accustomed to the too-dark blackness that swims on all sides of this Road. The glass seems impossibly frail, to stand as your only protection against Uncreated Night's eternal hunger, and yet you walk on, unharmed. The refugees quickly learn to not look at the darkness, but rather to focus only on those in front of them, on walking in time with the mass, on the next step in front of them.

Time seems to be a strangely malleable creature, out here in the Night. Those clocks you might have are disagreeing with each other on how much time has passed, and the people are in the same condition, with some growing tired and hungry, while others seem able to simply walk on and on, with no need for respite. There is no rhyme or reason, no method to the madness, that anyone can ascertain.

Between this and the constant, alien nature of the surroundings, it is hard to say how long you have been walking when the eerie stillness of the Road breaks. When it does, it happens fast, terribly fast. One moment, you are walking through a sea of darkness upon a Road of glass, with no greater threat than the disturbing nature of the trip and the constant unease born of wondering when the other shoe will drop. The next, it has, all at once and with no warning.

The Uncreated are the same blacker-than-black void as the Night that they inhabit, in this space, and as a result there is no way to see them coming. The first awareness of them does not come until they are descending into the small tube of light that surrounds the luminescent Road. They come from above, and beyond that fact, it is very difficult to say anything about them with confidence. They are moving through the air, but not in the fashion of winged creatures; it seems as though they are simply walking on something that you cannot perceive and suspect you do not want to. They do not closely resemble any mortal creature that you could name; they have the long, lithe bodies of hunting cats, but too many legs arranged without any sense of symmetry, like a nightmare of a spider.

How many are there? That, too, is difficult to tell with any confidence. They seem to split from one into many, and to merge back again. After examination it becomes clear that there are two such...clusters, perhaps, would be the word, if words existed that could capture the nature of Uncreated Night. One is at the front of the convoy, one at the rear.

It's the former that deals the first great blow. They had seized several of the refugees by that point, of course, in the first few moments of their attack; the hapless victims were torn to pieces or thrown off the Road to vanish into the darkness. The Uncreated, it seemed, had no need to devour their prey, and indeed, it was not obvious whether they even had mouths with which to consume.

Then Joshua Smith, the heritor who had stood as the hand of Justice in a world spinning itself to pieces, stood up to face the hunters. He had his pistol in hand, a battered tool that like the man and his world had seen better days, but which was still functional. Shot after shot rang out, each one piercing the darkness like a ray of burning light, and where they struck, the Uncreated faltered and fell.

But then one of the components of that front cluster attacks from below, passing through the Road as though it is an insubstantial thing, naught but shadow and mist. Its long legs sweep down upon the Judge, and in a moment, he stands no more against the darkness, but falls like a dying star. The front cluster of the Uncreated falls with him, as his soul in death brings the power of vengeance that had been granted him to bear upon the monsters.

Behind, the Uncreated fall back to the edge of sight, still present, but not immediately attacking, and hanging back far enough that they are difficult to see clearly or target with weapons. Ahead...the Road is open. The people of Irohn shift and mutter, fear plain to see upon their faces. It seems obvious that the Uncreated are in some fashion herding you, now. Pressing from behind, with one path open in front. But what are they chasing you towards? And do you have a choice in following that direction? After all, even if you could break through the Uncreated behind without terrible losses, this Road was your best chance, and there have been no branches that you could perceive - it seems there is only one direction to go, on the Night Road. No way out but through.

Paralyzed, rabbit-like, Sani watched Joshua's fall, and it was cataclysm again, like losing Anaya again, a pang too hard to bear. A cold chill washed over her heart, tightening like a vise, grasping, deadening limbs and motives, snuffing, and.

Just as she was about to burst, she saw a warm glitter was on the road ahead.  It was Joshua's pistol, all that remained, and Sani sprang forward, cradling it protectively in her arms, as if it represented the man himself, as if it promised safety. Still warm from use, reassuring, not cold like the void, but of the patient, stern craft of Anaya.

And suddenly she was handing Joshua Pistols to others: whence they came, she could not say.  "Take one; pass it on; protect the others; keep moving, " she whispered, giving in to instinct and the rumor of quiet, somber whispers, a wind in a tunnel where nothing had stirred but darkness deeper than night for both years and instants.

Who can say if the pistols would work against the night, but perhaps this wasn't a fight for weapons anyway.

She took a step forward.

Alvatter looked on in stunned silence as his blood ran cold and moisture fled from his mouth and throat. He could only gasp inaudibly as the nightmarish night creatures descended on the group of survivors. He watched with horrid fascination as the mouthless abominations killed and cast aside the frightened masses. Their deaths brutal and meaningless, the unearned fruits of savage madness and malice. It was only the sounds of gunfire that brought him back to himself and he saw Joshua bringing forth blasts of blasting fire-light against the cluster of arachnoid felines.

Looking around he saw the second cluster passing through the bridge as it were immaterial and attacked Joshua. It was a suicidal strike but one which claimed the Inheritor. Alvatter grimaced as the man fell into the infinite darkness beyond. He did not know Joshua well but he did not deserve this. Had Anaya given them power just to sacrifice them? Or were they truly beyond her merciful grace?

He didn't know, nor could he, but he hoped that Joshua's death was swift and merciful. Instead he moved to the front of the group, speaking to any of the Inheritors at the lead.

"We must move forward. There is no turning back. If the Uncreated attack again I may be able to bar them from this Road with magic but I will need an arcane connection. Otherwise my powers are limited."

  La really seems to have a knack for showing up just when doubt is peaking.  She approaches the new leaders of their people with a trace of hesitation, the most shaken they've seen her yet, despite everything.  She carries a small tray with a teapot and a handful of empty cups, and manages to bow without rattling it when they notice her.  "Have some tea, my lords—some chrysanthemum tea.  It's an old remedy for nightmares."  Her voice is strained, too.  But compared to the rest of the common folk, she is a pillar of confidence, or resolve, or whatever she's drawing on.  She lifts the pot and begins pouring before anyone can demur.

  "This one regrets that she must trouble you with unpleasant news, Honored Ones.  But the rearmost of our people are very nearly in a panic.  The Keepers are doing their best to soothe troubled spirits, but... many have died, my lords, and many more have witnessed it." She fidgets uncomfortably, and the heart breaks to see her pain. It takes an exertion of will to not leap to comfort her immediately. She turns toward Laila, though still does not raise her eyes to improperly meet theirs.

  "Most puissant sun who guards the horizon, this one cannot help but think your light would be a great reassurance at the head of our march. The dark is full of terrors here, and our people's feet would quicken toward your warmth and safety. And, if it is not too bold of this one to suggest—”  La turns to look at Alvatter's feet the same way someone from a more worthy caste might sternly meet his eyes.  "The guidance of the insatiable knower may...  The Dreamers have many rituals for keeping nightmares at bay. They believe the greatest of these may be adapted to drive off the nightmares that stalk us, but with your greater understanding of magical theory, we could be assured of success. I could bring you to them."

Rashana had been ever-busy as seemed normal for her. She is a rush of quiet speed as she slips from one side of the mass to the next, barely noticed by the people she slips past.  Quiet, hidden maintenance on the axles of wagons or resupplying the ammunition for the various ballistae. The work of a thousand people, carried out across the force almost unnoticed.

When Joshua stood against the Uncreated at the fore, she wasn't there - no, she was a distance back, and she shoved aside the crew of one of her Ballistae, offering fire support to help him at range, so far as she could. But even that wasn't enough to turn the odds. She stayed with her aim trained, as Sani rushed out to collect his fallen gun, and she exhaled in relief, once she made it back with the weapon.

Leaving the weapon back in the hands of its assigned crew, she worked her way back to the remainder of the Inheritors, and that same particular servant... Unusual, especially given how collected she was managing to be in the moment...

She arrived as Bire was encouraging Laila to stand up and guide the group. "Easy to say. I've had my suspicions, but seeing how that played out with Joshua confirmed my theory - they seem to be trying to intentionally direct or herd our travel - mind, I've seen only the one possible route, so unless there's some potential to divert our course, they really need not bother." She considered. "Perhaps the group ahead is severing or blocking connection with alternate routes. This place operates on strange laws." She looked to the mystic. "I would think perhaps taking a firmer hand of this road would be wise. If that's something you or the old texts can achieve, it would be a good decision, I think. I've been making sure none of the wagons break down, and keeping the ballistae in ammunition as I can."

Laila had made a point to station herself near the head of their column during the journey. Perhaps she wasn’t truly leading the expedition but she certainly felt it necessary to present that image, firm in the belief that that people needed to see that vision of confidence even if the ground she stood on was no less shaky. They needed someone who would step up, take responsibility and be ready for whatever the Roads might throw their way. And that would be her.

Of course when the threat finally came she wasn’t ready for it at all.

Something had sung in her blood, a sudden primal urge to throw herself into the fray. It was a familiar sort of feeling, a rising heat that was always there on the cusp of violence, yet she once again did her best to clamp it down. The enemy was unknown, the environment unfamiliar and potentially treacherous, and the safety of their people was undeniably the most pressing concern. This wasn’t a situation where she – they – could afford for her to blindly hope to throw herself into the fray and bludgeon the foe down through raw force and power. There was no path without risk, and a cautious defense seemed far more advisable than rushing in and leaving their rear undermanned.

Naturally she could only curse under her breath when Joshua rushed in alone. It was exactly the thing she’d cautioned him on before: action for action’s sake. She had been readying herself to back him up and then …

Stupid. Stupid wasteful idiot.

---

Laila accepted the offered cup, and the plea accompanying it, with a slight nod but no further acknowledgement. Bire La’s assessment was certainly one she could agree with. The people needed hope, needed something they could cling onto, now more than ever. That was her burden to shoulder.

She did her best to show Rashana a smile but the tension she was holding robbed it of warmth. “Your efforts are appreciated of course. Any defence is welcome even if we cannot be sure how useful it will prove.”

A sip from her cup as she considered her next words. Laila had a certain feeling they might be taken poorly, not that such would stop her.

“We will mourn Joshua, mourn all our fallen, when it is safe to do so, but for now you should all remember this...” she lowered her voice, a heaviness to the look she gave her fellow inheritors. “No matter what we do, people are going to die. We cannot save them all, and Joshua fell in vain having chosen to put their lives before his own. A noble effort, certainly, but a foolish one. A waste of power and faith that will hurt us more in time than the deaths of those he hoped to save.” A bitter little sigh. “Call me callous if you wish but that will not change the truth of it. We are Anaya’s chosen, and if we die then any hope of saving her people dies with us.”

“I will do all I can to give them the promise of hope, but I will not risk the many for the few. We must learn what we can from this all loss – and quickly.”

Her voice rose again without that weight. “For now, I shall give them my light. It will not drown out this darkness but I am sure any beacon in this storm will be quite welcome.”

When Laila spoke up, at the gathering, Rashana went quiet, answering her brief address with a firm nod. Then, though, she had more to say, and Rashana stayed quiet for that, too.  Rashana was... eminently practical. Even after what she'd seen, she was still focused on practical solutions, not the losses suffered.  Laila's address was enough to give her pause. She should, maybe, care more than she did. Maybe she cared more than she was able to let herself register, now, in the moment. Part of her hoped that was we case, anyway.

Her head gave a slight shake, and she moved over to Laila, putting a hand on her shoulder in a gesture of support. "I think I get the idea. From a practical point of view, anyway. It's important that people trust and follow us, and seeing one of us get taken down like that gives them room to doubt us. I don't claim to be infallible, either, but leading people is easier when they're willing to follow you." She said, perhaps softening Laila's hard commentary into something others might understand better.

"If any of you need something, let me know - I'll do my best to provide." She said after a moment's pause, pulling her hand back, and taking a sip of her drink in turn, followed by a sigh. "But, for now, I should concentrate of maintaining our convoy and manning the ballistae, and manning them should trouble come."

Sani drank the tea with shaky hands, sloshing some over the odd path below, and whenever she seemed ready to speak, she thought again, and drank another mighty gulp -- as if that solved all problems.

But at last, she could not be quiet, and Laila's words drove tears to her eyes, perhaps, perhaps because they were too true.

"If Joshua hadn't... hadn't tried, so many more people... would have died.  How can you place his life over theirs, if that was his choice?  Anaya herself died for us!  Would you rather she had left us to the darkness?  Then she could live another day... to save others.  Was her choice wrong?  That's... That's what you are saying!"

Surprise blossomed on her features - the anger was so hot, hotter than the tea, as hot as Joshua's gun had been in her hands, as hot as the tears that fell faster and faster. She was a mess, and she felt the heavy weight of a grief that was so akin to despair. And yet she knew it as a power against the Road and kept it close to her heart.
This message was last edited by the player at 16:47, Sat 08 Aug 2020.

Alvatter considered Bire La's words.

"If I can be of any assistance to the Dreamers and their rituals I will. There are others of my order that have survived the journey, they can assist me as well."

He then turned his attention to the others as they discussed the events, the corralling of the survivors on this Road, and the lose of Joshua to endless Night. He was going to speak until Laila's outburst and then decided it was best to give things a moment. Once that had passed he spoke in a calm, even tone.

"I personally researched this Road, selecting it from among countless others. It is by far the most stable and traversible of those that were available to us. If these...things have any cunning or intellect it would not have been a hard deduction to make that we would follow this path. If anything given the number of beings we have encountered I believe this to be more a matter of ill providence rather than intentional machination."

"Regardless our options are singular: forward. If we do not move to a stable plane before Irohn collapses we will all die. I do not know how stable this Road will be or what lies ahead but death is guaranteed if we do not move and quickly. Nothing else is of consequence. Nothing beyond the survival of these people."

With that he turned to Bire La.

"Help me gather the Dreamers and the acolytes of the Order. We must mount some magical defense, if only to buy us moments."

A moment of calm, in the midst of the Night. Decisions made. Sacrifices mourned, but only briefly, before the needs of the living take precedence over the loss of the fallen.

Alvatter, working in conjunction with the seniormost of the Dreamers and learned arcanists of his own Order, devises a ritual. It's of necessity a rushed thing, cobbled together in the back of a wagon rolling down the Road. The diagrams and power structures are less precise than one would hope, and there wasn't time to triple-check that the two disciplines are working together in a way that will not tear the spell apart. But the invocation is spoken, voices and wills raised in defiance of the Night, and...it works. Not perfectly, not a flawless protection, nor one that can be guaranteed to last indefinitely. But for now, the light of the Road shines a little brighter, pushing back the darkness just a little further. And the ballistae, which had been occupied forcing back intermittent approaches by the Uncreated from behind, are afforded a time to rest.

That light is met by another light from the front of the column, where Laila stands as a beacon to lead the column onward. The radiance pouring from her is not quite bright enough to make it painful to look forward, but it is bright enough to be visible from far back in the column. Those closest behind her move a little faster, emboldened by the sight of this divine illumination.

The contributions of the other heritors are, perhaps, less easily adapted to a heroic epic. But they are no less needed. Coordination, supplies, and repairs are all essential, to keep an exodus of this size moving. None of it happens on its own, and with so much of the infrastructure being divine in origin, it requires constant attention to keep everything and everyone working together.

Time being what it is, in this place, it is difficult to say with confidence how long passes before another change happens to break up the monotony of the endless march. When it does, it becomes visible to those in the front of the column first, as suddenly as flicking a switch. One moment, there is nothing but the glass road leading forward. The next, a sort of palatial structure looms in front of you, perhaps a hundred feet distant, or a little less. It is grand in scale, a hundred feet tall or so and broad. The walls are the same glass mesh that you've been walking along, but here the glass is colored, swirls of vivid color that obscure vision deeper into the structure.

A low and steady hum can be faintly heard coming from the building. It is not entirely clear what is producing the sound.