NationStates Jolt Archive

Grand Duchess Beatrice steps quietly into the Eiluned throne room. A faint frown creases her elegant features as she looks up to the throned ruler in whose court she stands. “Your Majesty, you know as well as I that forces within House Balor, forces loyal to High Lady Aoibhell, are making moves to seize control of the dreaming, or that part of it accessible from the empire. Aoibhell plans no mercy for the Seelie Court, not even for the house of the moon.”

King Terry ap Eiluned frowned a little down at Beatrice. “If it were not for the death of your husband, we would not be facing this impasse. You do not seem to be in mourning, Your Grace.”

Beatrice shrugs lightly. “You know what manner of man Sebben was.”

Terry nods a little. “We do. Still, you ask a great deal. It is not out habit to interfere in the affairs of other houses.”

“A great deal for the prize of Garmar’s participation in the Council of Crystal?”

“If we believed you could deliver on such a promise. We do not.”

“I do have a greater claim than any other. I am the only Balor of Imperial Blood.”

“You are also one of very few Balor of not true Balor blood, which is rather unique among houses. You will find that your title from the mortal realms...”

Beatrice opened her mouth to protest.

“The Empire might be ruled by sidhe but it IS in the mortal realm.”

Beatrice nods a little. “I believe I can win. There is dissatisfaction in the house and among the people of Garmar. If Garmar moves against the free realms of the dreaming, I can use a rather powerful claim to mobilize the support of the dreaming behind me. As for the holdings of House Balor in the Empire, Aoibhell’s loyalists hardly stand a chance. You know this as well as I.”

Terry nods. “We will summon the Council. We will also allow you to invite the allies of your empire, though we doubt the might any power of the world could bring to bear in the mythic lands would have much effect in the matter. However, we make no promises for the council’s findings.

Beatrice curtsies. “Thank you, Your Majesty.” Slipping from the room, she sends quiet invitations to all those nations she considers friends. She explains that she is dealing with things in a field where few modern nations can have much effect but kindly asks their attendance at a council regarding the situation in the dreaming.

Terry, for his part, has runners sent through the dream lands. He summons his most ancient allies and all other free peoples of the mythic realms to attend Council of Crystal. Politely, he sends invitations to the six kingdoms of the empire as well, and even one to Akaton.

Messages of this sort travel slowly in the Imperium. Arriving through the diplomatic channels, it is directed in a complex system, depositing the invitation in a massive data engine. Upon receiving the message, the ancient machine grinds into motion. Wheels and gears click and whirl, running context searches and numerical translations on the text of the document. The machine filed the message with the diplomatic arm of the Imperial Navy, archiving it on a spiral-etched platinum cylinder and storing it within the Imperial Library. The process takes exactly six hours, seven minutes, and fifteen seconds, each instant of the process recorded and measured. Though not as efficient as the integrated circuits of a digital computer, the data engine was reliable and accurate beyond compare.

The following day, Lord-Admiral Varrus Rayne found an unusual message sitting on his desk. He was the commander of the Imperial Third Fleet as well as Akaton's diplomatic envoy during times of war. Reading the message, he quickly pens a response.

>>>
To: King Terry ap Eiluned
From: Lord-Admiral Varrus Rayne
>>>
Your majesty, the Imperium of Akaton is honored by you invitation. As a sign of our commitment to securing the future of our allies in the Resurgent Dream, I will personally attend this meeting of the Council of Crystal. The Imperium will be glad to offer whatever assistance it can.
>>>

The road to the Citadel of Crystal begins in an ancient and long abandoned temple. The temple is overgrown with vines and weeds, the aged grey stones cracking with the wear and tear of time. No one has set foot in this temple for countless ages. Few now live who could remember the last time men and women from the mortal world, even from the fairy kingdoms who make their homes on earth, had been called to the Council of Crystal.

The deepest chamber of the temple is a simple room with unmarked walls. In one wall, opposite the entrance, is an ancient bronze gate with writing in a forgotten alphabet carved around it. Through this door lies an ancient trod, shining as bright as the day it was laid. It is a silver road, shining with a faint radiance.

The trod starts in a dismal swamp with thick overgrowth on both sides. The ground beside the road looks damp and muddy. Quicksand would not be out of place. The swamp is almost dry in places and is simply water in others. The life seems normal, at least at first glance. Frogs and turtles are present in abundance and the occasional alligator can be seen sunning itself. The trod, old as it must be, remains pristine throughout the swamp. To the west lie tall mountains, purple and majestic. Their tops are peaked in clouds and touched by snow. A journey of many miles leads from the gateway into the dreaming to the mountains, where the swamps end.

The mountains are rocky and largely bare. The trod climbs through a pass, surrounded by arid rock on either side. The trod remains as pristine as it was through the swamp, though the way is steep. Cliffs rise on either side of the trod and mighty peeks can be seen above. The trod passes down the mountainside into a thick forest.

Strong trees rise on either side. The song of birds fills the air. The woodlands contain animals of all sorts: Chipmunks, squirrels, badgers, and birds of every shape and size. At one point, the trod passes a place where the sounds of loud martial song can be heard.

“Forward ants to victory!
The grasshopper armies shall soon fall dead!
Forward ants to victory!
Only we shall be standing when all is said!
Forward ants to victory!
Feel the call of war in your veins!
Forwards ants to victory!
The strength of our people, won with our pains!
Forward ants to victory!
Our foes shall fall to the touch of our blades!
Forward ants to victory!
We win honor in martial crusades!
Forward ants to victory!”

Nothing really prevents the delegates to the Council of Crystal from investigating the singing. Nothing really drives them to do so either. It is merely a possible diversion on a rather long journey.

After some time, the trod passes out of the forest into an open plain. In the distance can be seen a great towering city, seeming to glow with a radiant light, the crystal city where the council is to meet.

Lord-Admiral Varrus Rayne stood within the empty temple, wondering for a minute whether he had received the wrong coordinates. The Admiral was dressed in all the finery associated with the highest ranks of the Imperial Navy. His high-collared naval uniform was partially obscured by a flowing dress coat, a cross between a cloak and a trench coat. His right hand held a cane of sorts, a three-foot long obsidian staff with a spherical mithril grip, it come to a razor sharp point which dug into the ground at his feet. He was half elvish, though little of his human ancestry was visible except in that he seemed rather aged, with thinning gray hair and an almost imperceptible limp.

A few meters behind him, the vortex of an etheric portal flashed out of existence, the last of his assistants having teleported from Akaton. Though Admiral Rayne preferred to travel via sky ship, the grav drives weren't reliable this close to the Dreaming. Among his assistants, an Imperial Archivist verified the coordinates, directing the group to proceed through the bronze gates.

The scene on the other side was one utterly alien to the Admiral. For a moment, he simply stood, staring at the vibrant scene of life. The sounds and creatures of this place are largely unknown in the industrial wastes of Akaton. He stares at one of the large reptiles, wondering silently what it was. The archivist follows the Admiral's gaze, calling up a file on his data pad.

"Alligators, sir. It says here they are a predatory reptile, once inhabiting southern Akaton."

Varrus speaks as he begins to walk along the road, looking in the direction of the strange singing rather than at the Archivist.

"Quite fascinating. However, it would be nice if you found out how far we have to walk before that little data pad stops working."

The alligators lounge lazily, not reacting to the travelers in any way. The datapad flickers off almost as the admiral speaks.

The archivist hits the malfunctioning datapad a few times before tossing it to the ground, swearing to himself. Admiral Rayne sighs slightly, turning away and beginning to walk, cane clicking against the silver road. The rest of his diplomatic staff, along with half a dozen bodyguards form into two single file lines, marching behind the Admiral with military precision.

Dark shapes appear in the sky overhead. A loud, horrific shrieking sound pierces the night. The figures swoop near the trod, passing far over head and casting shadows upon the travelers. For some reason, the passing of the shadows sends a shiver down the spines of mortal men.

The rest of the journey passes uneventfully. Things are quiet. Almost too quiet. Aside from the singing heard in the forest, there is no sound or sign of intelligent life. A shadow seems to hover over the landscape, a sense of gloom and forboding linked to some nameless fear.

It is only as the travelers begin to approach the Crystal City itself that they hear a loud roaring. From the tall grass, a hideous form emerges. The creature looks to be a rat of some kind, though it is monstrous in size. The rat is about ten feet high and forty long, swinging its horrific naked tail. The creature snarls, rushing the travelers.

Admiral Rayne had found the trip rather enjoyable, the grim darkness was more familiar to him than the vibrant woodland, if not quite as cheery. A few of his attendants looked around uncomfortably, finding the brooding silence more ominous than peaceful.

Even as the journey seems nearing an end, the horrible sounds coming from the grasses capture the Admiral's attention. He stops, ordering the guards to investigate. No sooner had the guards stepped forward than the rat-monster charged them. The guards raised assault rifles to fire on the beast, but found that their largely electronic guns were inoperative. Realizing the guards were doomed, the Admiral and a pair of his assistants scattered, fleeing from the road in search of cover. The guards tried to fix bayonets onto their rifles, but it was too late for them...

OOC: Glorified TAG..dunno if this is still open and whether this sort of intro is acceptable.....

It was said that The Tower heard everything. Perhaps this was an overstatement. The Tower did hear a lot of things, and most of those things ended up filed away on a cycler -- a giant thaumaturgic cylinder -- in the depths of that massive spire. This time might have been no different, had the message come by ordinary means.

There were ties forged long ago with other realms and reflections of realms. Some of those ties had been lost. Others were forgotten. Still others had been broken and never mended. Within the depths of The Tower there were rooms that once led to other planes, were then used for classrooms and storage, then sealed shut and forgotten.

Somewhere in the depths of the Tower of Kings, possibly in one of the sections built when it was founded a millenia and a half ago, something crackled. Spiders and warped pseudo-spiders skittered, hobbled, and flew out of louder darkness and into quieter darkness, wedged themselves into crevices and corners. Shadows gathered, though only very keen eyes could have seen that change in the gloom accented rather than driven away by a single failing sunlamp. The metal table groaned. Bookshelves lining the walls shook and trembled. A tome fell from the shelf, turning to dust upon hitting the cracked eternastone floor. Another followed. The sunlamp flickered, its thaumaturgic matrix disturbed by flux. Little bits of eternastone fell from the low ceiling.

Some time later

The small group of alchemists and magi'i cursed and muttered, stepping/flying over fallen clutter and debris. Little waifs of light went ahead of the party, casting strange etheric illumination upon the long-abandoned corridors, halls, and rooms. Someone cursed. A yelp, followed by mutterings, pierced the strange silence.

"I hate this.."

"..could've [expletive] broken my..."

"Quiet!" Bloom Alchemist Naomi Gray's soft voice pierced through the curses. The sprite licked the tip of her finger, raised it, watched it shimmer for a moment with the color of flux distrotion. "Magros, get your flux scanner up. Shields on." The others nodded. Spells crackled. The flux counter began clicking rhythmically. "Alright, let's see what we got."

She leapt up, translucent, feathery wings beating silently in the still air. her fingers danced in complex rhythm. The waifs of light surged forward, around a bend in the corridor. The flux counter clicked faster. She turned cautiously around the bend. The light waifs were at the entrance to the room, shinign ligh over the broken wooden door. Cracks traced spiderwebs along the eternastone floor, walls, and ceiling, visible even beneath the resettled dust. What the..."

((OOC: Yes to both questions, Weyr))

The rat creature falls among the guards, tearing into them. The creature seems to have a great lust for human flesh, devouring the poor men while they still live. Looking up, it bolts after the other two humans.

The admiral and his assistants run to the crystaline gates of the city. The city seems to tower in shimmering glory farther up than they can see. The gates, which manage to shine with light coming from somewhere, while remaining quite opaque, swing inward to reveal a dazzling courtyard with a large, clear fountain fed by a statue of a great silver dragon. As the gates open, two sidhe dressed in simple robes rush out, heading towards the rat.

Another sidhe, another male in white robes, approaches the three. "I take it you are here for the council. It is very long since I have laid eyes upon mortal man."

"...It's a containment failure. Must be a few centure sold, at least..."

"...Yeah, look at the patterning decay. I'm surpirsed it held this long..."

"...Must be the other suide of the link. Unless we got a rogue magus hiding here..."

Quiet comments echoed through the halls and corridors and rooms. Sunlamps hung in the air, illuminating the darkness, driving away the critters that had taken over this section of The Tower. Alchymical and etheric seals traced their paths along the ancient, gray stone walls, glowing or pulsing in a myriad of colors, put up by master magi'i and alchemists, establishing a sort of containment barrier to prevent further flux decay. More seals were going up every minute, and even then few thought it would be enough.

Naomi wondered when the table in the corner would come alive, or when the young alchemist next to her would transform into an ectoplasm, and amoeba, or something straight ut of a nightmare. Fluc could not be controlled, it could barely be contained, and it was in The Tower.

"...Doubt it..."

"...Databe request's come through..."

"...Damn..."

Boots clicked in the corridor, piercing the soft incantings and murmurs of a dozen alchemists and magi'i.

"Lieutenant James Shaw, reporting for duty," the officer salued stiffly.

"Sergeant Haro Chen, reporting for duty," his companion repeated the motion.

"At ease," Alchemist Gray shrugged. The officers looked down, blinked. "TYou brought everything?"

"Ah, yes, ser," Shaw nodded, "Any idea of what we'll be up against?"

"None. Something's eroded the seal. We'll go through, see this...Crystal Council, and find out if there's anything on the other side causing the erosion. I'd hate to waste effort making a new patterning, then find out that someone's going to destroy it again. I doubt it. This seal is older than your great grandparents," the sprite responded. [oi]'Any second thoughts?"{/i]

'No, ser," both officers responded at once.

Alchemist Gray did not think there would be. These soldiers were proffessionals, hardened by decades of patrol nd combat against demons from the Battlespire and monsters from the ruin that was Southport. Their weapons were...old, to an extent, lacking scopes and electronics, using pure mechanics and thaumaturgy to fire low-velocity subEtheric rounds. Their armor was battered from years of use, but it worked, and worked well, and contained seals and wards against spellcraft and warping.

"Let's go, then," the alchemist stated lightly.

Some time later...

"It is...a temple."

"A pretty temple."

"Well..no-one's here."

"Shall we?"

There's nothing really preventing the Weyreans from simply wandering off, but nor is there a reason to do so. The path calls, the alchemist has a duty, and so do the two High Guard with her. The sprite wonders what this place is -- the archives have little information on the old gateways -- but whatever it is it looks peaceful enough.

The High Guard shoulder their battlestaffs -- magicked weapons dating back to the Fall, if the legends are true. Their boots click softly on the road, though the sound does not really sound menacing. They can have their weapons ready in seconds in any case.

Queen Nianki rides a huge horse over the plains, approaching the Crystal City. Her great muscles are outlined in her shining mail. No attendants accompany her besides the heavy sword she wears on her back. As she arrives at the door, she leaps from her horse, casually handing the reins to an attendant at the gate. Nianki strides into the courtyard, nodding slightly to the already present Akatoni delegates.
~
Thousands of miles away, Eleanor sat upon an obsidian throne in a dark room with no windows and but one door. She was flanked by no less than four dozen redcap guards, all glaring with the natural terror of their kith. Eleanor herself radiated an aura of pure power and intimidation, a sight of great beauty and terror, even by sidhe standards. Inside, she was terrified. To her core. Just keep your cool, Eleanor. She won’t even be here in person.

An image appeared in the air before her and every redcap in the room bolted back, cowering in abject terror against the wall. The image of a raven-haired woman stood in the center of the room. She wore shimmering, black armor, finely forged plate outlining her powerful form perfectly. The ‘armor’ on the woman’s left arm seemed different, more solid and thicker. “Hello, Your Majesty.” She pronounces the word in an almost mocking tone. “I will not waste your time with things we both know. There is a usurper in my House. I assume Ailil plans to honor his alliances.”

Eleanor managed not to flinch, somehow. Her gut told her to say anything, promise anything, just to get this woman’s eyes off her. She imagined herself cut down in all sorts of horrific ways, something Aoibhell would no doubt see done were the gamble Eleanor was about to make to prove mistaken. Gathering herself inwardly, the Queen of Wintermore spoke. “Lady Aoibhell...the Kingdom of Wintermore and the House of Ailil acknowledges the Grand Duchess Beatrice ni Balor as the High Lady of House Balor.”

Aoibhell said nothing, did nothing. She simply gave Eleanor a glance that spoke more than a thousand words. “I do not believe I heard you.”
Eleanor whimpered inside. This would be her death. “The Kingdom of Wintermore and the House of Ailil acknowledges the Grand Duchess Beatrice ni Balor as the High Lady of House Balor.”

Admiral Rayne hurried through the gates, looking back to see how many of his assistants made it in. The archivist and another, an envoy from the Ministry of the Occult had followed, the other few having probably fallen victim to the monster. He turns back to the scene of radiance before him.

In the bright light and pure white of the city, the Admiral, all in black with a grim expression looked rather out of place. He straightens his uniform, then bows to the sidhe before him and to the newly arrived Queen.

"I am indeed here to attend the Council. However, forgive me if I sound too direct, but what exactly was it that devoured six of the Imperial Guard's finest troops and half of my diplomatic staff?"

The male frowns. "I do not know. A monster from the wastelands, no doubt. They have been coming ever further north as things have worsened. I must confess, I have never seen such a monster so close to the Crystal City before. Still, I doubt it will be much longer before Aoibhell puts all the forces of darkness into motion. Come."

The man turns, leading all there to an open air garden with finely carved benches sitting in a circular pattern. He sits quietly on one, Nianki following suit. The Gwydion queen focuses her gaze somewhere on the dark horizon, frowning.

Beatrice glides out shortly after, taking a seat next to her sister. The Grand Duchess's eyes are lowered. She does not speak of greet any, even her sister, as she quietly awaits the gathering of the council.

"A swamp, mountans, a forest, and now fields with a shining [expletive] city at the end. We're in [expletive] Oz," Shaw muttered. He lowered the visor on his helmet, shielding his eyes from the reflecled light. Standard High Guard helmets had polarized faceplates with full spectrum overlays. His had a visor. There was not even a

"Try and watch your language," Gray responded. It was a long walk, but she was in fairly good shape, and was in a fairly good mood, but her tone became darker nonetheless. "There's something.....strange here."

The two Guard nodded in response. Their long, pointed ears were slightly perked up, listening, although their stance or pace did not change at all -- showing alarm was just another way of drawing attention. Maybe they would reach the crystal city/palace/council with no problems, and maybe not, but they knew that something was wrong here.

The great green dragon soared through the dreaming sky. Queen Elayne smiled ever so lightly as she looked down over the dreamscape, directing her mount to swoop downwards as she approached the Crystal City. Elayne was not scared of the gathering gloom. Lest a loved one be threatened, fear was foreign to the heart of a Fiona. Still, she was lonely. It was the first time she had been far from Catherine since the wedding. Landing, the lovely queen leaps from her dragon’s back, heading inside and moving to join the others at the meeting.
~
Quarreling Hens walked alone across the Plains of Light, coming north from Kalchena to the south. As she approached the City of Light, the being tossed her long, black hair as she approaches the city. The May-may-gwya-shi adjusts her tanned leather and ran one hand over the dignified wrinkles of her dark face. She smiled, raising a hand to the approaching troops from Weyr.

Admiral Rayne follows the man inside, his surviving assistants following. He takes a seat next to Queen Elayne, his cane remaining perfectly upright even without his hand holding it. With only the wastes of Akaton as a means of comparison, the Admiral barely notices the gathering darkness.

"I have been instructed to inform the Council of the Emperor's support of Grand Duchess Beatrice ni Balor's claim to the throne of house Balor."

Elayne smiles. "I concur. But I believe we are still waiting for the Weyreans to enter the council chambers, and a few others."
~
Queen Elizabeth guided her white horse over the plains, heading towards the Crystal City. A small group of boggans and nockers on smaller and less impressive mounts traveled in her wake. The sidhe queen’s face was set in the stern expression it always bore as she quietly regarded the others approaching the gate. She leaped from her horse, handing the reins off. Her attendants do likewise, moving to bedding areas as Elizabeth moves to join the others in the conference area.

As Elizabeth sits, King Frederick simply seems to appear in the council area, arm in arm with Queen Eleanor. They bow politely to the gathered monarchs and foreign dignitaries, taking their seats quietly. Frederick’s gaze seems far off, distracted. Eleanor takes a moment to examine each delegate present, smiling politely to each in turn. “I do hope everyone had a pleasant trip. Things do seem to be worsening by the moment.” Her lip turns downward slightly in apparent concern for their welfare.

King Gregory arrives on the back of a small grey pony. The Liam rides alone, leaping from his horse at the gate. He too glides to the council area, sitting among his peers. “I take it we’re all waiting for King Terry.”

High Lady Sascha ni Aesin rides across the plains on the back of a large dire wolf. The great beast keeps up a speedy trot as he approaches the Crystal City. His mistress is dressed only in furs covering her chest and her womanhood. Her feet are protected by thick leather boots, ankle-high. Her legs and back are left almost entirely exposed, revealing a figure that, while certainly carrying the beauty all sidhe seems to have, is also quite formidable, simply bristling with muscle. Her hair is golden and her complexion that of a fierce Nordic shieldmaiden. She brushes her hair behind her elegantly pointy ears as she dismounts. The wolf, ignoring the men who reach for him, trots off to go sleep nearby. Sascha walks quietly out to the Council area. She only deigns to nod to the other sidhe and not all of them, not seeming to even notice people of other races or Beatrice, the one Balor. Sitting quietly, she turns her gaze to the door, awaiting King Terry.

Quarreling Hens walked alone across the Plains of Light, coming north from Kalchena to the south. As she approached the City of Light, the being tossed her long, black hair as she approaches the city. The May-may-gwya-shi adjusts her tanned leather and ran one hand over the dignified wrinkles of her dark face. She smiled, raising a hand to the approaching troops from Weyr.

The two Weyreans and the sprite halted about ten paces away from the woman, and the alchemist inclined her head in greeting. The motion might have passed unnoticed -- she barely came up to the waists of her two escorts when standing. "This -is- the council, I assume," she asks.

As Quarreling Hens gets closer, it becomes apparent that her arms and legs are covered with the fur of otters. "Yes, this is the Council." she answers succinctly. Turning, the woman heads inside, leading the Weyreans with her. When all have arrived, she sits near the others.

King Terry glides out onto the balcony where the others were meeting. He looked over the gathered delegates with a light smile. “Welcome. Think you all for coming.” The king sits gracefully, looking to Beatrice. “Your Grace, perhaps you would begin?”

Beatrice nods, standing. “Lady Aoibhell wants to destroy everything that our people have built. She wants nothing but to dominate all that is and to obliterate the balance between the courts. I offer a different vision, but it is not merely my House that is in conflict. With the death of my late husband, Lady Aoibhell feels the need to secure lands more directly than those Sebben forced from me. Even now, she is rallying armies to march north upon Kalchena. Should you choose to turn a blind eye to her quest for power, your lands will come next. There is no limit to the strength of her ambition.” At that, she sits.

Nianki rises next. “Shieldcrest would rather not support any Balor, nor will we formally become involved in an internal power struggle of that foul House. Nonetheless...”

Elayne leaps to her feet, her expression flaring angrily. “You are speaking of your sister ”

Ignoring her, Nianki continues. “Nonetheless, we shall send troops to keep either of the Balor warlords from expanding their forces beyond Garmar proper.”

Beatrice looks at her sister, bearing a calm, resigned expression. She lowers her eyes to the ground, folding her elegant white hands softly in her lap. Her full lips start to open but the she closes her mouth and looks over towards Eleanor, quiet.

Eleanor rose next, speaking simply, precisely. “We cannot afford to quibble over legalities or to argue among ourselves over petty feuds between Houses. I have been to Garmar. I know what Lady Aoibhell has done to the lands entrusted to her. We have responsibility to our subjects. As nobles, rather than tyrants, ours is a sacred trust. We hold under our protection the sacred freedoms of our peoples. We are dealing with a clear and immediate threat to our people’s freedom and way of life. Can we stand idly by? Can we refuse to help because the Her Most Excellent Grace..” Eleanor pauses, gesturing to Beatrice “...happens to bare the last name of Balor? We can only if the game of Houses is more important to us than the life, the liberty, and the happiness of our people. You can do as you wish. But as for oursel...myself, I would not sit on the throne of Wintermore if I did not take seriously my oath to my people.” Eleanor’s voice trembles with emotion, forcing her to pause and collect herself. “The free lands of the dreaming will not fall. The Empire will not fall. Honor and love and beauty will not fall. Not while I yet draw breath.” Catching her breath, Eleanor resumes her seat.

Elayne rises next, smiling broadly. “We shall prove our honor on the field as we have before and as we shall again. If the Council decides to fight, we will come. If the Council seeks only escape from the forces of Aoibhell, then we will fight with our own arms alone. Farinor does not allow evil to flourish.” Elayne sits, crossing her legs authoratively.

Quarreling Hens rises, speaking with a quiet dignity. “My people bleed along the southern border. We are hunted and killed in cold blood by the soldiers of the enemy. Our culture is disparaged and our children frequently taken from us. With all due respect to the Grand Duchess, it is not for any noble that we ask you to fight. We wish only justice and peace for our people.” She sits.

The Alchemist takes an empty seat. She listens quietly, and her interest grows with each word. There are many civil wars in the world, and The Tower has never bothered to track them all, but thaumaturgic nations are different. There are few of them, and a civil war in one may easily spill over into others. The Tower does not like stagnation and utter peace, but neither does it want to have to counter a powerful empire and face thaumaturgic warfare. For now, the alchemist chooses to listen, and wait.

After listening to the others and considering their statements, Admiral Rayne stands, addressing the assembled rulers.

"The Imperium of Akaton supports Grand Duchess Beatrice's claim in order to contain this war, an interest I'm sure all of you share. We fear that if Lady Aiobhell is allowed to overrun this land, the war will spill over into the Empire and thus into our lands as well. Though our weapons are ineffective within this realm, the Imperial Navy will hold the border between the Dreaming and the Mortal World."

The Admiral sits, wondering silently what manner of war he was being drawn into.

Terry nods, turning to Admiral Rayne. "We can certainly provide you a map of known raths in the Empire. There are believed to be roughly nine hundred. Some are in use, some out of use, and some believed ineffective. But we cannot be sure Aoibhell will not be able to open them again. Of course, there is no discounting the possibility that she shall be able to open others. Still, we will provide you with the map."

Terry rises, walking to the entrance and speaking quietly to an attendant before resuming his seat. A few moments later, the attendant returns with a map, which he lays in Admiral Rayne's hand. "The map you desired, sir." The map details the location of quite a few raths. The marks seem densest around Bilbtoria and there's only one in Holista. The other kingdoms all far somewhere in the middle. Despite the density, most of the raths are located in Shieldcrest because it is so much larger than the other kingdoms. The Admiral will note that there are quite a few raths located off-shore.

Beatrice sighs a little. "I would not be surprised if actual fighting broke out in the Waking World as well."

((The actual fighting will be here http://forums2.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=378728 ))

"If the fighting does spill out of the Dreaming, will the Dreaming follow it?" the sprite alchemist inquires, standing up on her seat, which gets her almost up to eye level with most of those seated in the Council. This is the key question to how extensively The Tower will become involved in the conflict. "The Tower will support the claim of the Grand Duchess Beatrice, but it will need to know the nature of what we are facing."

"No." Frederick answers concisely enough.

Eleanor smiles lightly at the creature. "Well, not more than it does already. In truth, every fae is made of the stuff of the dreaming. In a sense, the entire fae population of the Resurgent Dream constitutes the dreaming...spilling out, as you put it."

Elayne tilts her head at the sprite, studying her. "Do you have metaphysical concerns about the dreaming, madame? I do believe it would be to the benefit of all here if you were to share your worries."

Admiral Rayne accepts the map,

"Thank you, this will be most valuable in planning the defense."

He spreads the map, examining the locations of the raths. The archivist looks over his shoulder, plotting coordinates with a very mundane pencil and paper.

"This is excellent, the Imperial Navy and can patrol much of this area."

Gesturing to some of the outlying raths, specifically the off shore locations, he continues.

"Fighter squadrons can patrol here, here and here. However, I am concerned that there are too many points of entrance to protect them all with ground forces. If the enemy brakes through there will be a several day delay before the full Imperial Army can be directed against it."

Nianki shakes her head. "It might be, if you had to guard them alone. But, remember, the limitations on how many raths we are currently able to open and use from our end, the increasing number of Imperial Army Units and Royal Units made up primarily of humans armed and trained by modern methods, and the presence of a strong local militia system, means that the Kingdoms of the Empire will also be able to put strong ground forces at the various raths. Between us, I believe the entire system can be mostly, if not entirely, covered."

Admiral Rayne considers a moment what Nianki proposed.

"Ah, a joint operation. This should help compensate for the issues of deployment and troop numbers. As they become available for redeployment, divisions of Imperial infantry will be sent to reinforce the defensive lines. For deployment purposes, what sort of army can we expect Lady Aiobhell to deploy?"

Everyone in the circle frowns at this. Eleanor and Frederick both look away. Beatrice studies her feet. Finally, Quarreling Hens opens her mouth to speak. "Well, that is something of a problem."

Gregory sighs, nodding. "The thing is, no one exactly knows. At the least, it will include sidhe of House Balor and nightmare beasts. But that is likely to be only a tiny portion of her total forces. She controls a gate leading deeper into the darker parts of the dreaming. It has been countless ages since any have seen what's on the other side."

Elayne tilts her head at the sprite, studying her. "Do you have metaphysical concerns about the dreaming, madame? I do believe it would be to the benefit of all here if you were to share your worries."

The alcheist thinks for a long moment. How does one exlain what has been happening lately to those who have probably never seen it. "The fact is," she said after a long moment, somewhat uncertainly, carefully choosing ehr words, "There have always been demons and shadows coming from our old portals, when their seals fail. Most we can repattern and close again, but lately...they're eroding faster than we can repair them....But that's not really the problem. Demons and shadows we can deal with, hve dealt with, but now we're been getting flux monsters and leaks, and that means something's corrupting the fabric of the mundane world. Maybe it's related, maybe not. There are theories that flux itself is a manifestation of dreams and nightmares. In any case, we will help in this enterprise. We are allies, of a sort, after all," she tried to smile.

The Tower, main spire

There was a rending, as though the folds of reality were being ripped apart. The alchemists backed away.

"Containment field's not gonna hold."

"Everyone back!"

"Shoot it!"

A claw, sharp talons, skeletal torso, leathery folds opening to reveal long tendrils. It might have been human. Once. No longer. SubEtheric rounds ripped into its flesh, if it was indeed flesh. Azure streamers tore out chunks of eternastone, blasted gaping holes in the monster's flesh. The pile of steaming flesh and sinew twitched.

[i]"Buffer's at point-ten. One more and we're gonna loose this entire section.

Nianki frowns darkly. "We consider the barrier between the dreaming and the Waking World to be harmful, not helpful. We have no desire to preserve it if it is in danger."

Frederick sighs lightly. "Perhaps you could tell us exactly where these portals of yours leads and what exactly is happening." His tone is one of exasperation.

Admiral Rayne looked rather concerned by Gregory's statement. A gate? he thought, the memory of Akaton's recent demonic invasion coming to mind.

"This is most disturbing. It will prove difficult to plan a defense against an unknown foe."

The envoy of the Ministry of the Occult stepped forward, their identity hidden beneath a dark hooded cloak.

"Admiral, do not think you will be fighting this force alone. The Ministry's disarmament and collapse was little more than a illusion to appease an angry public. We can still field a sizable force for the destruction of the creatures of darkness. The Ministry will fight to contain these creatures, both within the Dreaming and if necessary, in the mortal world as well."

"We don't know," the sprite responded. "The portals were sealed a millenia ago, and all records of them were purged from our archives. I do not think anyone within The Tower would willingly try and find out where they lead in any case. If our portals do lead into the deeper Dreaming," the alchemist shrugged "then it changes nothing. The Tower will back the claim of Beatrice no matter what happens."

Terry nods. "Then we are all agreed. I suppose we should spend some time going over the geography of the region. We seek to rally most of our forces on the Plains of Light."

Quarreling Hens frowns. "And leave Kachena undefended?"

((OOC: Remember, the war is at the above link))

"The Tower can defend Kachena while the others concentrate on greater things," the sprite offers. The Tower does not have a large force, and so can't send large numbers of alchemists and magi'i to two fronts at once, but it can defend a small region while others fight the big battles.

Quarreling Hends furrows her brow. "You can defend all of Kalchene? If so, we would be more than honored. We are raising our own forces as well, of course."

Terry frowns. "The most direct attack is likely to be upon the Plains of Light."

"We can try," the sprite states. "The purpose of war is to protect the people. If you don't do that, then what's the point in fighting?"

(( http://forums2.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=378728 Again. And check your tgs, Weyr))

Quarreling Hens nods. "Of course. I was not disputing you."

Nianki looks to Terry. "We shall deploy our forces on the Plains of Light within the next day or two."

Beatrice pauses, thinking. "I am not sure I should. Actual fighting within Garmar might be more effective."

The Ministry envoy hesitates a moment before responding.

"The Ministry will deploy its forces where the fighting is fiercest. If the battlefield is to be on the Plains of Light, then that is where our troops will be deployed. Our armies are at your disposal."

Admiral Rayne briefly consulted the map before turning back to the group. He spoke in a confident tone, though whether this was based on his unshakable faith in the power of the fleet, or simply ignorance of the horrors they would be facing, is impossible to tell.

"I can deploy a three ship cruiser squadron immediately with the full Imperial Fleet arriving within the week. They will serve well, but cannot do battle within the Dreaming."

Terry nods. "Then we shall adjourn for now and take word to our respective peoples."