NationStates Jolt Archive

The trolls from Shieldcrest marched through the rath. The line stretches out over the Plains of Light as an army enters. Marching two abreast, it takes the great warriors quite a few hours to enter. Of course, the first few dozen immediately assume watch positions and defensive posts to assure the safety of the troop movements. As all six thousand troops arrive, the trolls begin to arrange themselves into a proper formation, awaiting the arrival of the knights.

The line of knights, in literally shining armor, with lances, shields, and all the other accoutrements of the position, slowly makes its own way through the rath. The two thousand mounted knights split into two wings. One rides to the either flank of the infantry, standing at the ready.

The troops stand alert for quite some time, while a few satyr scouts move swiftly over the surrounding area. Only after the reports come in that no enemy troops are nearby do the troops, save for a hundred posted guards, begin to set up a long term camp.

St. James dismounts from his horse and bows to Aiwyn. He wears the armor of Highport and after bowing, stands at attention. "As you may or may not know your Grace, I am but recently appointed the position of ambassador. Though I do my best, I have to admit that I'm a stop-gap until a real diplomat can be sent. I was formerly General Ian St. James, leader of the armies of Highport. When I heard your announcement I came to offer my assistance in whatever way I could. This at least is something I know about."

In the meantime Ferranifer, carrying Serenia gently, exits the blimp, keeping out of sight of St. James.

Aiwyn nods. "Very well." She doesn't even say anything about being called 'Your Grace'. Stepping through the rath, she is handed the reins to a shining white stallion. Leaping onto its back, Aiwyn rides across the front lines of the troops that have assembled her before her arrival. Under Aiwyn's command stand five hundred sidhe cavalry, one thousand troll infantry, and ten thousand human infantry. After making the rather long tour of the front lines, the Empress rides to a small hill overlooking the field where the armies are camped. Not dismounting, she awaits Ferranifer, Serenia, and St James there.

Ferranifer approaches, carrying Serenia and stands by the Empress. St. James, leading his own horse so as not to sit taller than the Empress, looks at Ferranifer with surprise but says nothing, standing beside and slightly behind the Empress.

The forces of the Ministry of the Occult were the first of Akaton's armies to arrive. Their arrival was heralded by the roar of turbine engines above the mortal side of the rath. The dropships were pure black, identified by the pentagram-and-sword symbol of the Ministry's military. Engines flared as the dropships pulled out of their sub-orbital dive, touching down lightly upon an open field.

From the lead ship steps Major Iyanna Fayde. Amongst other things, the elf is the commander of the Ministry's military and a veteran of Akaton's demonic war. She wears a form fitting mithril power armor and a black leather trench coat along with a faintly curved sword seething with arcane energies. On her hip, she wears a holster with a flintlock pistol loaded with iron shot. Though she doubts it will function within the Dreaming, it never hurts to come prepared.

As the other ships land, the full army of the Ministry assembles on the field. They are an odd lot, not resembling a disciplined, organized army in the least. They number only five hundred, ranging from magi to professional killers. They carry a wide variety of weapons and armor, a few even bringing crossbows. The "army" forms itself into two columns, Major Iyanna leading them through the rath.

As Major Iyana approaches the rath, the gate begins to flicker and waver. One of the locals runs towards her. "Ma'am, you can't bring that into the dreaming!"

Meanwhile, Aiwyn issues order to her army to set up camp for the night and for a guard to be posted. Dismounting and leading the three accompanying her to the command tents, she asks "Any thoughts, ladies and gentleman?"

"We need scouts", St. James said immediatly, "we need to know who and how many we're up against, how are they arrayed? Are they trained? Hired? Bands?"

"An infiltrator, if possible, would provide invaluable information", Ferranifer offered on the footsteps of St. James words. "We might also be able to sabotage operations from within thier own ranks then."

"That is a DISHONORABLE form of combat", St. James said in low, dangerous voice, "no honorable army would stoop to such means."

"No they wouldn't, but you can be sure that the enemy will. How do you think I defeated so many so long ago?" she asked in a sickly sweet voice.

"Empress", St. James said, "this woman led the forces of the black mages in the mage wars. She killed thousands of innocent people and good men. I'm not sure having her here is such a ...", he stopped, realizing his place, then continued, "that is I would advise against her tactics. USEFUL as they may have been", he finished, sneering the last.

Pain flickered across Ferranifer's face, but she said nothing in her own defense.

Aiwyn smirks. "We have scouts, sir. Every army has scouts."

She listens quietly to the conversation, thoughtful. Serenia strides over and stands between Ferranifer and St James. "Who cares what Ferranifer used to be? That was a million billions years ago and she's been to the stars since then. Now, she's a knight and a priestess and my best friend." Serenia takes the vampire's hand, clutching tightly and glaring protectively.

St. James nods as Aiwyn speaks and seems about to say something when Serenia steps forward in defense of Ferranifer. Both are silenced by the woman's words. St. James because, though he had heard tales and caught fleeting glimpses in the woods of the westlands he had never actually SEEN one of her kind and always assumed them to be a myth. Ferranifer because, aside from Laura, even most of the people in her own house would have never defended her and her eyes grew dim red as blood tears of joy filled them and all she could do was reach down and hug Serenia tightly.

St. James was a hard man. He had to be. He had served in many bloody campaigns, one of the bloodiest against Ferranifer herself. He could still hear her mocking laughter as she slaughtered without regret. 'Yet', he thought in reflection, 'wasn't that regret I just saw in her face a moment ago?' He was a hard man, but that didn't mean he didn't care. In fact he did care, and he cultivated the hard nosed persona in order to deal with the conflicts he knew he would have to face and the deaths of his own. He fought because he cared.

"I ..", he stopped as he turned to face the Empress, searching for words after what he had just witnessed, "that is I didn't mean to question you. I meant that we need that intelligence, if we don't have it already." His voice was much softer now and his flicked to the vampiress and back to Aiwyn as he tried to compare the bloodthirsty enemy he had fought three hundred years ago to the woman who shed tears for one woman's defense of her now.

Aiwyn sighs lightly. "Our scouts indicate that the enemy has not yet come forth from Garmar. The army of Shieldcrest is already deployed some miles to our west. Farinor should be coming in to the north and Wintermore to the east. Thus, we shall have four armies on the Plains of Light. Fireforge is deploying far east in the Farl Mountains. Bilbtoria is entering the United Realms, to our north and west. Holista is entering in the Forgotten Lands, on the other side of Garmar. Akaton was supposed to have entered the Plains of Light but something seems to be holding them up at the rath. There's no sign of Weyr. All other armies are in place.Our allies here are still mustering. My reports indicate the enemy has not yet moved."

Aiwyn pauses to take a breath. "I will ride with a small party to gain permission from the Kalchena elders to enter their lands. Meanwhile, the rest of our armies will assemble here, prepare to march into Kalchena and meet the enemy there."

Serenia hugs Ferranifer tight. "Why are you crying? Did I make you sad?" She reaches up, worriedly trying to wipe her tear soaked face.

St. James considers the sheer number of forces involved. coordinating such an effort is difficult at best. "I would be happy to ride with you, as a representative of Highport at least", he says, looking at the Queen of Dragonsreach high advisor as he finishes.

"Actually, little one, you've made me very happy. More so than I have been in a very long time." She looks up at St. James then, "You may represent Dragonsreach as well. I'm no fool General, I know that diplomacy was never my strong suit."

'Actually', St. James thought to himself, 'it's never been mine either.' He looks at the Empress. "Then I'll represent both, if you wish to have me along."

Ferranifer stands up and faces the Empress, "Perhaps I can call on Dragonsreach for SOME aid at least. I'm sure the Queen could spare a few dragons."

Aiwyn nods a little. "I wish all of you along. The way is dangerous and it is not only diplomats that are needed. Surely Her Majesty might be reached by magic."

Serenia smiles up at Ferranifer a little before winking and beginning to mercilessly tickle her. She knows the vampire isn't ticklish but...maybe she'll humor her.

Ferranifer grins at Serenia and begins tickling her back. St. James watches for a moment then glances at the Empress and back at Ferranifer. "I don't think we have time to play Mistress Ferranifer."

Ferranifer looks up at St. James, "We most certainly do not."

In exasperation St. James steps toward her, "Then may I suggest you get the message to the Queen, sometime before the enemy is upon us preferably."

"General St. James .... the message has been sent. She'll be sending a flight of Dragons immediatly, led by her own mount, the oldest of the Silvers. You forget General, the Queen was created by my own blood. I have but to think of her and the link is opened."

General St. James stood in impotent fury, angry for having been made a fool of, but knowing it was his own fault. Aside from combat and strategy he was outclassed and he had no problem admitting it. He only hated when people made it so obvious.

Ferranifer looked down at Serenia, "And my own black will be coming as well, how would you like to ride?" She looked up quickly at the Empress, "I have requested a Gold for you, Empress, I hope that would suffice?"

Major Iyanna arches an eyebrow, briefly wondering what could be the problem. Her glance falls to the rather conspicuous pistol she was carrying, realizing the problem. She withdraws it from the holster, handing it to the person alerting her to the problem.

"I see. Please take care of this. There is a certain museum curator who would be most unhappy if this gun was not returned."

The rest of the troop column starts marching forwards again, the Major returning to her place at the head of the line.

Aiwyn nods. "Convey my thanks to Her Majesty, Ferranifer. All of our dragons are under Elayne's command. Well, I should say all of our good dragons. Aoibhell has...quite a few, or so it is believed."

Serenia squirms as she's tickled, laughing wildly and flailing her extremely strong body. "Eek!" The pooka woman collapses into a pile of squirming fairy on the ground.

Aiwyn shakes her head with a light smile and looks to St James. "Pooka...so ridiculous at times and yet...and yet that kind of innocent affection...that's what we're fighting for."

Thew farmer steps back as the troops from Akaton move forward. They find themselves in an open field. In the distance, they can barely make out the City of Crystal, somewhere to the north.

The general looked at the Empress but said nothing. He knew damn well what they were fighting for, the same thing he always did. The question was, did Ferranifer know.

"You know", Ferranifer said as she gently picked up Serenia, careful of her wings, and looked at the Empress, "I think I begin to understand what the Queen is all about. Why she pushes herself so hard for others. That so small a creature", she said as she looked at Serenia, "can bring such warmth to the heart." She gently kissed the pooka on the forhead and smiled.

"So begin to understand", St. James replied instead. "Now you know we fought so bitterly. I'll tell you this Mistress, I feel a damn sight better knowing your on OUR side this time."

Ferranifer raised an eyebrow, her eyes shifting to the Empress and back.

St. James looked over at Aiwyn, "Ehh, that is to say, I feel MUCH better about it."

"The dragons will be here shortly", Ferranifer said to Aiwyn, "do we wait or begin our journey? They can find me easily enough."

((Serenia doesn't have any wings.))

The knight giggles as her hugely muscled body is hoisted up by the witch. She faux pouts at Ferranifer's words. "Who are you calling little?"

Aiwyn pauses. "We wait. It will do the troops good to see more dragons on our side. Besides, there might be last minute messages from my vassal kings and queens or from the Akatoni forces. Let's wait and see if anything comes."

"As you wish", Ferranifer says. She looks at Serenia, "Good question that. I picked up the habit several hundred years ago. I can't remember, offhand, from whom." Lying was a trait that Ferranifer hadn't lost. She knew full well who she got it from but wasn't about to bring it to anyones attention. The body of the little girl who she possessed had served her well and the man who was teaching the child the ways of the court passed on to Ferranifer, through that body, invaluable information. Of course, they both had to die afterward.

She looked back at Aiwyn, "Only a few moments, they'll use magic to cover most of the distance. Pity we can spare only one flight."

Aiwyn nods. "It's alright. Elayne has one. And Elizabeth has ornithopters and balloons. I believe we will fare well enough in the air."

Serenia giggles lightly before freezing, turning her gaze southward. Aiwyn follows her gaze, also freezing.

In the far south, visible to St James, to Ferranifer, to the Akatoni forces, to almost everyone readying for war, great plumes of smoke rise up towards the heavens. Behind the smoke are clouds of pitch darkness, seeming to form a solid wall of impentrable shadow. Somewhere, a wolf howls.

St. James freezes as he sees the spectacle. He remembers all to well a similar sight.

Ferranifer smiles slightly and begins to relax before she realizes the sight before her is a darkness that isn't her ally, but her enemy. "If you can't see you can't fight. Oldest trick in the book. In most cases such displays aren't needed except for that advantage and to strike at the moral of troops." Ferranifer looks at Aiwyn, "Are the forces arrayed against you capable of seeing in the dark?"

Aiwyn shakes her head. "I have no idea. However, I highly doubt that the smoke is simply there to prevent us from seeing or that the darkness was created purposefully to reduce visibility in combat. I would bet you anything you're wrong on that, Ferranifer."
~
Meanwhile, Frederick is mounted before his own troops, some distance away. Frowning, he murmurs under his breath "She opened it. That lunatic actually opened it."

A young sidhe lieutenant, shining in his first set of armor, tosses back golden hair and turns to the king. "Opened what, Your Majesty?"

Frederick utterly ignores the man, turning his horse and riding along the front of his lines with a keen eye. One last inspection before it begins.

"Then something big is happening", Ferranifer replied, "Shall I try to find out what it is?"

As the darkness rises up from the south, Iyanna brushes purple hair from her face, focusing her unnaturally keen elvin eyes on the smoke. She speaks to her troops without turning, her voice taking on a loud, commanding tone.

"Let's pick up the pace men! We don't want to be late for the battle."

The army doubled its pace, marching swiftly across the plain. They keep up the pace for some time, finally arriving at the military encampment.

When The Tower does something, it does so in a capital manner. Soldiers are moved halfway across the universe. Magi'i and alchemists are recalled from across the known planes. Craft as advanced as anything known to Weyreans are used for mundane tasks like shifting a few companies to the other side of a planet.

The twelve sleek silver craft dropped rapidly, seeming to halt in a split second, to hover a meter above the ground, a hundred meters away from the rath. Hydraulics whined.

There were a hundred alchemists, and perhaps six hundred soldiers in the initial host that would come into the Dreaming. Deep blue uniforms mixed with the blacks of magi'i and the dark greens of the High Guard.

Behemoths snorted in the night air, breath sreaming, armor plating shimering slightly in the starlight, the great shaggy beasts pawing the earth worriedly. Weyrin -- massive insectoids twice the height of a grown man -- passively watched their surroundings with jet black composite eyes.

"Shall we?" Flame Alchemist Majora Hawksblood muttered, then, in a louder voice. "Form up! Kasters in the rear! Infantry to the fore! Thaumaturgs to the center! Forward!"

The earth trembled slightly as the small host moved towards the rath, while the sleek vessels rose quietly into the sky behind them.

((OOC: Whose encampment, Akaton?))

Aiwyn nods. "Yes, please." She glances up. Ferranifer had said the dragons would be here almost instantly.
~
The Weyreans are greeted by the same gathering darkness as the others, becoming thicker and thicker in the south. Meanwhile, in the seven camps from the Empire, soldiers bed down. Guards stand alert. They know they'll be moving out come morning.

The dragons begin coming led by a Huge Silver with a Gold and Black just behind it, followed by the others. The skies seem to darken with the flight as they seek a place to land the lead three landing close to the small group on the hill. There are a hundred in all, one full flight.

The huge silver nods it's head, the dragons closest approximation of a bow. "I'm Silverclaw", he says in a deep thundering voice. "Goldscale", he says, nodding toward the large golden dragon, "has agreed to allow you to ride him."

The medium sized black lowers it's head toward Ferranifer, "I'll return directly", she says as she climbs into the dragon saddle.

The large gold nods it's own head in a bowing gesture to Aiwyn. "I greet you", he rumbles, "may your claws be ever sharp and your wings never tangled."

Aiwyn nods to Silverclaw. "It is an honor, Silverclaw. You are commander of the flight, then?"

After speaking with the silver, Aiwyn walks to the gold. "Greetings. I am Aiwyn ni Gwydion, Empress of Mists. I thank you for this honor." With that, she climbs carefully onto the dragon's back, settling in.

"Lighters up," Alchemist Hawksblood commanded. Flares of strange, eery half-light shot over the heads of the small Weyrean vanguard, to illuminate the path ahead. "Make camp. You know the drill," the alchemist states. This place was strange, but he would wait until morning to investigate the disturbance he felt to the south.

The encampment was a quick affair. Thaumaturgic wards were quickly set up, watchers were posted, behemoths and weyrin were herded into the center of the small camp, their heavy kasters facing outward. Few would really sleep that night -- the thaumaturgic flux could have distrubed even the most thaumaturgically-insensitive Weyrean.

Ferranifer takes to the air, flying toward the darkness as the huge silver responds.

"I command the wing, Empress, yes. I bring you greetings from Queen Silverlief of Dragonshome. Or Dragonsreach, as the bipedals refer to it. She sends her best wishes and her regret that she cannot come herself."

Serenia clings tight to the black as Ferranifer flies towards the darkness. As the vampire gets closer and closer, she hears a terrible roar from below. About a dozen large dragons, green in hue though not the same race of greens as Dragonsreach knows, are launching towards them. Gaping, tooth-filled maws open wide, ready for battle.

Meanwhile, Aiwyn guides her gold through the heavens, heading over the broad plains of Kalchena. As they approach the village where the elders are gathered, they spot fire, smoke billowing heavenwards. Aiwyn guides the dragon downwards, soon coming into view of a village in flames and mounted figures cutting down the survivors.

"Evasive", Ferranifer says calmly but loudly enough to be heard as she begins to call he spells to mind. She reaches back pulling Serenia in front of her on the Dragonsaddle. "Warning", she says out loud then. The black wings up to gain altitiude before flipping over as Ferranifer holds tightly to Serenia. The dragon stalls then begins a rapid dive straight toward the dragons reaching for the skies before veering at the last moment and streaking at a down angled dive for the closest encampment.

Three of the dragons let loose great spouts of firey death upwards, targetting the black. As the dragon swoops down again, the others continue to rise with gaping maws. All but one fly past for the moment. The fastest of the great wyrms manages to turn with the black, unleashing another spout of breath right on the heels of the black and its riders. The flames lick the tail and back of the other beast.

Meanwhile, the other eleven dragons dive again, targetting the black. They let gravity aid them in attempting to keep up, even as the beast dives for the nearest camp, the Weyrean.

The black turns it's head and lets out a long stream of acid, letting it's momentum carry the lethal fluid back toward it's aggressor.

((tgs Dragonsreach))

The great wyrm screeches in pain as the acid eats at its skin. It swerves off, howling in pain. The other eleven continue to tail the black as it swoops down towards the Weyrean camp.

The black veers again to the right of the camp, continue it's downward dive.

((Please respond to your telegrams, Dragonsreach. I'm waiting on that and hopefully some post editing before I post.))

The gold carrying Aiwyn begins to dive for the attackers of the survivors of the village as silverclaw lets out a loud call and the rest of the flight take wing. Spearing down the wind whips about Aiwyn as Goldenscale and Silverclaw dive towards the attackers.

Fleshmelt veers at the last moment a bit wobbly and Ferranifer looks back over the dragon seeing the long scars from the oncoming dragons attacks. He skims the ground, reaching down with taloned feet to throw dirt up behind him, followed quickly by another gout of acid as he hopes to blind the oncoming attackers.

((Silverclaw should be some distance away. This is at the village where the elders meet, in central Kalchene and a fair flight from the Plains of Light.))

The figures clarify into sidhe knights in purple, red, and black. May-may-gwya-shi bodies can be seen all over. Babies with their brains dashed out on the ground. Old men and women, elders, lying in pools of blood, beaten to death. Young women and even girls lying in positions indicating the most brutal rape and abuse. Young men lie dead, their bodies hacked to pieces and their hands cut off.

About a quarter of the mounted figures are carrying bows. Quickly, they notch their arrows, letting the arrows fly at the gold, liklely ineffectually. A few aim for the rider, several arrows glancing off Aiwyn before one lodges in her calf, illiciting a groan from the Empress. Shoving the pain to the back of her mind, Aiwyn draws her blade. "Have at you, swine!"

A few sidhe peek out from cabins, arms laden with stolen knick-nacks. Seeing the dragon, they duck back inside. Three or four of the knights take off on horseback, heading south. The rest ready for a fight.

The oncoming dragons let out a vicious snarl before they spot the wing rising in the distance. Bellowing loudly, the dragons take to the sky in temporary retreat. The twelve great wyrms beat their wings madly as they dash through the dark sky. They roar a warning to their comrades, flying into the darkness.

(OOC - Okay then Silverclaw would have moved to help Fleshmelt)

Goldenscale veers towards the largest cluster where no survivors are about and lets out a gout of chlorine gas before rising and turning for another pass.

Kalchena is immediately southwest of the Plains of Light. Garmar is due south of the Plains of Light and southeast of Kalchena. Kalchena is quite long along the north-south axis.

The encampment from Weyr is in the southwest Plains of Light. The forces from Shieldcrest are in the west of the Fields of Light. The forces from Farinor are in the north. The forces from Wintermore are to the east. Aiwyn's personal troops are in the southern Fields of Light. The forces from Akaton are arriving at one of the encampments from TRD, not sure which one.

Aiwyn and Goldscale are diving to a village in central Kalchena. Ferranifer, Serenia, and the black are arriving at the Weyrean camp. The flight of dragons from Dragonsreach are heading southwest across the Kalchena-Plains of Light border. The twelve enemy dragons are flying south across Kalchena to Garmar. About four Balor knights are fleeing to Garmar. A troop of Balor knights are in central Kalchena.

Several knights are hit by the gas, falling to the ground, screaming as they die. As another knight tries to attack from the side, Aiwyn slashes down with her blade, piercing his throat. No may-may-gwya-shi survivors are in evidence.

Silverclaw spears toward the fleeing black, knowing he won't reach it in time if they continue to pursue him. Seeing the dragons fleeing into the darkness he calls off pursuit, leaving the darkness for another day and orders Fleshmelt down. He leaves a score of dragons to circle and orders shifts in the sky above the closest camp to the darkness befor landing himself.

Ferranifer climbs down from the black and reaches up for Serenia, "Nice work Fleshmelt, I congratulate you."

The wounded dragon lies down, waiting to be attended by some of the other dragons.

Silverclaw lowers his head, indicating that Ferranifer should climb up. "We need to inform Aiwyn." Ferranifer climbs up as Silverclaw gently takes Serenia and places her on his back, then thrusts upward and begins to follow Goldenscale.

Goldenscale climbs and looks around, searching for another group as he looks back at Aiwyn. "How is your wound?"

The forces of the Ministry had arrived in Aiwyn's encampment just as the dragons lifted off. As promised, they would go where the fighting would be fiercest, and as such, the most southern encampment in the Plains of Light seemed a logical choice.

Iyanna watched in dismay as the very people she had wished to coordinate with flew off into battle aboard the dragons. She felt a certain envy of the freedom flight offered, missing the jet bike she wrecked during the demonic wars. Her troops were already setting up camp with the small collapsible tents they had brought with them. As for Iyanna she looked around the encampment, attempting to find who was in charge.

A man in black full plate with a red dragons diving breathing fire and with a slim elven longsword on his hip approaches Iyanna. He has a number of decorations on his chest that appear to have been attached to the armor itself and five claws on both shoulders. Before even greeting her he holds up his hand, "I'm not in charge, but I can tell you that the Empress flies to a meeting. My name is General Ian St. James of Highport presently assigned as diplomatic attache to Resurgent Dream as a representative of Highport and Dragonsreach."

A large silver notices the General speaking to someone and takes to the air flying toward him.

What could be seen of Iyanna's armor behind her trench coat lacked much of the regal decoration of St. James'. Her armor was a combination of light plate and metal scale, a sort of mithril. It was an armor designed for agility rather than ceremony. Her sword gives of an unnatural glow, with little bolts of energy occasionally arcing across its surface.

"Greetings General, I am Major Iyanna Fayde. I lead the forces of the Ministry of the Occult in the service of Akaton. What do you know of our strategic situation at the moment?"

Aiwyn shrugs. "My wound is not important. The fact that Aoibhell seems intent on launching a war of extermination against Kalchena is. It's tempting to make these men pay but useless. One company of horse won't matter much. What we need to do is return to camp. I intend to order my encampment immediately into Kalchena to force the enemy to a halt. I'll send runners to the four other armies and have them meet us there."
~
Serenia hops down. "What does a girl have to do to get a sword around here?" She follows Ferranifer and blinks as she's placed on the dragon's back. "I've climbed up on plenty of dragon's all on my own."

(OOC - Up close you can tell that the armor isn't ceremonial, it's heavy plate. The decorations are welded to the breastplate. An irritating tradition in St. James eyes.)

"Scouts had indicated that the enemy had not yet come forth from Garmar. That situation seems to have changed. The army of Shieldcrest is already deployed some miles to our west. Farinor should be coming in to the north and Wintermore to the east. Thus, we shall have four armies on the Plains of Light. Fireforge is deploying far east in the Farl Mountains. Bilbtoria is entering the United Realms, to our north and west. Holista is entering in the Forgotten Lands, on the other side of Garmar. Akaton was supposed to have entered the Plains of Light but something seems to be holding them up at the rath. There's no sign of Weyr. Unless your one or the other of them. All other armies are in place. Allies here are still mustering. Reports had indicated the enemy had not yet moved. Again, this situation seems to have changed. "Empress Aiwyn flew to gain permission from the Kalchena elders to enter their lands. Meanwhile, the rest of the armies were to assemble here, prepare to march into Kalchena and meet the enemy there. Such was what the Empress had said before she left."

St. James looked up as the large silver lands nearby. "One flight from Dragonsreach", it rumbled, "but we couldn't bring any riders with problems at home. Silverclaw has spoken with the others. If the Empress would like we are willing to take riders. Let her know when you see her."

Goldenscale eyed the horsemen and took a moment to consider the woman's words. Finally deciding it was bipedals best chance he banked and headed back toward the encampment, catching a glint of silver in the distance. "Someone's headed this way, one of ours, a silver."

Ferranifer smiled at Serenia, "I'll see if one can't be provided for you", she said, and then shifted uncomfortably as the burnt material on her back pulled away from her rapidly healing skin.

Aiwyn nods, not that the dragon is likely to see. "Hail!"
~
Serenia frowns ever so faintly. "You know, just occasionally, you do treat me like a child."
~
An older troll with a thick grey bears approaches St. James and Iyanna. "Sir, ma'am, do you require assistance? I am Major Bolverk, one of Her Imperial Majesty's tactical officers."

(OOC - I assume you mean Serenia frowns.)

The gold hesitates in flight, holding position as he recognizes Silverclaw. "Ancient one", he rumbles.

"I don't know what you mean", Ferranifer replies, "you said you wanted a sword, I simply meant that I would see if...", she stops and then chuckles a little, embarrassed, "I'm sorry, I forget these are your lands and not my own. I beg your forgiveness, truly."

"Ill tidings", Silverclaw says, "within the blanket of darkness are dragons, a dozen at least. Fleshmelt is wounded, though he'll survive. We should have him ready to fly again soon. The Mistress Ferranifer was also wounded in the attack, though she is healing quickly."

Ferranifer stiffens as Silverclaw reveals what she was trying to hide. "I'm fine, no need to worry."

"Ill tidings indeed ancient one, but we couldn't have expected the best winds in this place."

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

General St. James turns to the troll, "Recent arrivals. I came to meet them." That said he steps back, knowing his place, removing himself for the Major to do his work.

((OOC: Obviously))

Aiwyn frowns. "So she's unleashed her dragons. If there's a dozen, there's a thousand." She looks quietly to Ferranifer, waiting for the woman to acknowledge the hail.

Serenia looks off a moment, frowning a little but not saying anything else. Idly, she moves to rearrange her dress. "Hail."

Ferranifer looks at Serenia then to Aiwyn, "Hail", she says, "As Silverclaw said they have dragons. Larger than Fleshmelt to be sure. I don't recognize the species, though I suppose they may developed differently here. Fire breathers, if that means anything."

Aiwyn nods. "I'm flying back to camp. We're moving now as far south into Kalchena as we can make it tonight. The others will have to join us there."

Serenia kicks her legs a little, frowning down at her gown. "Let's go then."

"Empress", Ferranifer called as Silverclaw turned to head back with Goldenscale, "Might I ask a boon of you?"

Aiwyn nods. "You may ask, Ferranifer. What would you wish?" As she speaks, blood leaks down her calf over her foot and ankle. The faint sunlight reflects off her gleaming golden armor and off the red of the blood, casting an interesting reflection.

Serenia looks off to the south, her huge muscles tensing faintly. She runs one hand over the scales of the dragon's back, thinking about the situation. She turns, looking back north to try and spot some sign of friendly armies.

Ferranifer's eye teeth slip from their gum sheaths as she spots the blood. Her own injury, the pain, the excitement and the blood form a heady mix and it takes her a moment to gather herself.

"Wish", she says and then forces the eye teeth back into the sheaths as she raises her eyes, the hazel eyes now reddish in color. "Wish", she says again and her eyes slowly revert back to normal. "Ah yes", she nods, "I was wondering if Lady Serenia might be provided a weapon. Some armor as well if she wears such. I was also wondering", and she looked at Serenia, "if it is alright with her, of course", then she looked back at Aiwyn, "if she might act as my bodyguard. I wasn't anticipating anything more than a discussion of Sidhe physiology when I came and I didn't bring anyone with me. I .... I trust her."

Aiwyn nods. "Both granted, of course." She smiles ever so lightly. She guides her dragon down towards the camp as they arrive.

Serenia grins and kisses Ferranifer on the cheek. "Thank you, Queen Ferranifer. I'll make sure I kill a hundred million enemy dragons for you."

As they land, officers come up, awaiting orders. Aiwyn leaps from the dragon's back. "Get the troops ready. We're marching into Kalchena tonight."

Officers scurry off, barking orders. Tents are wrapped up and fires are put out. Troops hurriedly scramble into armor, preparing for war. Aiwyn herself makes her way to the troops from Akaton. "You are my husband's forces?"

Ferranifer smiled at Serenia, "I spoke only the truth li ... Lady Serenia. I was hoping it wouldn't be taken the wrong way. Understand that with me, trust doesn't come easy." She slipped from the dragon saddle to be steadied by Silverclaw as she winced again and stumbled. The wounds would heal but fire took longer than almost anything else except acid. It would take days.

"Be cautious, Mistress Ferranifer, your wounds are deeper than you know and some scars take a long time to heal", Silverclaw said.

"I have no scars", Ferranifer said.

"Don't you?" He asked. He moved toward the large silver near the group gathering around a troll and the Empress as Ferranifer watched him go.

"You [expletive] saw a pack of dragons, and thoight it was a dream..." Hawksblood's eyes flashed dangerously. She was not happy -- Majora Wars taught her just how much damage even one dragon could do. "We're moving south in one hour..."

A low thundering and soft clatter of plate armor announced the arrival of two score behemoths from the rath. The weyrean forces were arriving in pieces. The beasts came in, their armor shining in the low sunlight. Watchlights were put out. A quick meal and the small army was on the move,

"Dragons," Hawksblood muttered. She wished she had some of the old skyships and skyknights under her command, but those had to either be borrowed from Kirhavven, on another plane, or built from scratch. Kirhavven was not happy -- The Tower was calling in on many favors to get the behemoths and weyrin into the Dreaming on time.

Iyanna bows deeply to Aiwyn. While such respect might be expected, it was a rare thing coming from her.

"I suppose you could say these are your husband's troops. While technically the Ministry is subject to the Emperor's will, it is completely independent of the army. The Imperial Army will arrive in time, with them will come thousands, maybe millions of troops. However, whether they will venture into the Dreaming is not something known to me."

Before Iyanna's forces could even set up camp, they were preparing to march again, a problem commonly faced by the Ministry's army. They were a force famed for devastating rapid assaults, a combination of the most violently inclined magi and the elite of the Imperial Guard. While they excelled at fast moving close combat, they were utterly useless in the drawn out sieges and trench warfare common to Akaton's five million other infantry men.

Serenia is fully armed and armored and given a mount. Aiwyn takes her place at the lead of the forces. Riders are sent to the other armies. And then they are off, thousands of troops on a rapid march through the open plains of Kalchena. They head due south, towards the billowing darkness. By the end of a day's march, they are past the village where the elders had been slaughtered. All the lands south of them seem ravaged and burnt, though the enemy is not in immediate sight. Aiwyn looks from Ferranifer to Iyanna. "This is...we should have come here first."

Ferranifer doesn't seem the least bit winded by the long, quick march and looked around her idly. St. James approaches the Empress, "Empress, the dragons have agreed to allow riders, you have only to choose who you will honor."

Aiwyn nods. "I will ride, as will yourself, Ferranifer, and Lady Serenia. Beyond that..." she looks to one of her aids "Might I see a full duty roster?"

Aiwyn takes about thirty minutes to examine the roster, underlining names delicately. Finally, she hands it back to the man. "I have selected the riders. We shall camp here tonight. I expect we shall see action tomorrow."
~
Meanwhile, three other fairy armies march rapidly to catch up with Aiwyn's. They march longer into the night, joining with the empress's troops in the dead hours of early morning.

Pity was not an emotion commonly associated with the ruthless commander of the Ministry's army, but the total devastation here had an effect on Iyanna. She had not seen such a thing since the destruction of her homeland's capital at the hands of the demonic legion. Her troops quickly set up camp, taking advantage of every moment of sleep available to them.

At the mention of combat, Iyanna's eyes flash a dangerous bright blue. Obviously, her pity had been exhausted on the people of this destroyed land. For the time being, she retired to one of her army's tents to plan the deployment of her forces.

The Tower

The Hall of Patterning was unusually crowded that night. Classes were normally over by six, so that students and professors could both regain their sanity for the next day's lessons, lectures, and experiments. Flickering sunlamps reflected off ancient eternastone walls and ornate tapestries. Hundreds of eyes watched the etheric crystal projections, or the aperture looking directly into the machine that was the reason for this hall's very being.

The massive patterning engine, costing almost s much as an entire planet, hummed and whirred. Great arms spun and moved with incredible precision and speed within the construct's main cylindrical chamber, as block after block of farel wood and mithril-steel were fed into it. Thaumaturgic energy crackled and flashed in a myriad of colors. Only a wall of warding and shields prevented the entire hall from being subject to a million thaums of flux.

"Hmmm. This is your Patternuing class?" Alchemist Li inquired, watching progress on one of the status displays. The projection flickered from nearby massive energy discharges.

"Yes. Amazing, isn't it. Took them three days to get the equations up," Alchemist Bates nodded, glowing with apparent pride. He smoothed the front of his flowing blue uniform. Students murmured around the pair, taking notes or simply watching the work of their classmates.

"How fast can you get the production up?"

"We will have to see if any problems remain," Bates responded. Li was the de facto Grand Alchemist, even if that post was not officially filled. He was capable of pulling funds for the Institute of Patterns, and consequently Bates' own classes. "The students are confident they have everything correct, and so am I."

"We will see," Li responded calmly, watching the skyship take shape within the great patterning engine via projection crystal.

-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*
The Dreaming

OOC: I'm assuming that I'm somewhat farther south than the other armies.

A single moonlamp burned within the tent near the center of the Weyrean encampment. The seven hundred soldiers and alchemists were bedding down after a day's march over increasingly desolate terrain. A double guard had been posted as a result of the incident of the night before. There were no watchfires -- they only attracted attention and ruined everyone's night sight. Hawksblood traced a slender finger along the newly-filled map laid on the ground -- they were filling in blank spaces as they advanced. The elven commander wished that she had a local around to give her some idea of what was ahead. Her scryers could not see very far without a specific point of focus; her scouts could only range so far ahead of the main host.

"How many riders do we have?" she asked. She knew the rough number, but there was alsways the possibility that she had made a mistake.

"One company. Four haweyr, and one horse," Major Alessandro Dren responded instantly.

"How far can you ride," the alchemist asked.

"Depends on the terrain, and the equipment. We double-time, but it'll cost us."

"Alright. Scouts?" the commander nodded.

"No sign of anything. Just a load of pillage and rape," the scoutmaster shook his shaggy head. "If they're ahead of us, then we're not going to catch up. If they're behind us, then I suggest we slow our pace until they catch up."

"What if they are to our flanks?"

"Then we're quite alone, and better hope we don't get jumped by a real army," Elsinore chuckled grimly in response. She was the head of the Weyrean host's infantry, and didn't expect to live through the campaign. On the side, she never really expected t live through any campaign.

"We'll go forward, but at half-march. Dismissed. Get some shuteye, and make sure no-one touches anything," Hawksblood commanded after a moment of slience.

"They're not idiots, ser alchemist," Elsinore responded.

"Just...make sure of it," the elf looked sternly at the tall Weyrean woman. "We don't want any accidents." Whomever was hered had done a thorough job. The Majora Wars were the only wars she knew of to have more than matched this level of destruction.

Eventually, a large crowd comes into sight for the Weyrean troops. The crowd seems to consist of rather virginal looking innocent girls, elderly men and women, and small children. They're all dressed in rags and there's not a male in his prime among them. Some of them hobble or limp. They speed up slightly when they near the troops, moving desperately forward.

(Aiwyn nods. "I will ride, as will yourself, Ferranifer, and Lady Serenia. Beyond that..." she looks to one of her aids "Might I see a full duty roster?")

St. James pales a bit but says nothing. Walking into battle with troops was one thing, but flying was another. He didn't like flying, not one bit. He had considered refusing, after all, what did it matter the impression of the Empress? He had stood beside the King in battle. He wished the King was here now.

Ferranifer nodded and walked over to Silverclaw to tell him who would ride after asking the Empress to have the riders meet with the dragons to introduce themselves. She spent the rest of the night walking around camp in her just less than formal gown. She would change in the morning, once she had healed more, rather than tear at the charred flesh mixed with fabric. Her reddish hair caught the light as and her teal colored dress reflected it as she walked and looked about in amazment. Her Hazel eyes took in everything. She had fought against mortal armies before but her own were typically summoned creatures or mages who would save one teleport spell to return to more comfortable quarters. A veritable portable city was going up around her and she couldn't believe the speed and precision that she witnessed. She caught sight of Iyanna entering her tent and walked over near the forces. This force interested her.

'Not imperial', she thought and wondered if they were like the free corps back home. She stopped, a bit surprised at the thought. 'Home' was not a concept she had had for a very long time. She stood near Iyanna's force staring off into the distance, contemplating the long and lonely road that had brought here.

"What the?" Elsinore mutters, pushing up the flap of her small tent. She hasn't been sleeping -- something was making her nervous -- but the disturbance was still annoying, especially since she felt that sleep was finally coming at the moment.

The sergeant leaps back. The commander seemes ready to skewer someone.

"Party of reffuges on the southern side," he mutters.

"Well, let's go see what they're doing, then," Elsinore chuckles. In the starlight, the sergeant can see that the tall Weyrean is already in full gear, as though she had slept ready for battle.

"Problem," Hawksblood inquires. The alchemist's bright eyes shine in the darkness. The sergeant wonders if something is up, decides not to ask.

"Yes," Elsinore nods.

"Get the soldiers up, quietly," the alchemist commands. "Let's see what the big deal is," she chuckles, turning to the sergeant.

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

The burst of moonflare is hard to miss. Flame Alchemist Hawksblood can clearly see the men, women and children, still a hundred meters away from the camp. They were almost upon the watchers when they were spotted. "Glamour," she mutters under her breath, turns to the sergeant. "Make sure everyone has their weapons at ready. I'll handle this."

"Yes, ser," the man bobs his head, vanishes into the starlit darkness.

"Halt! Identify yourselves!" Hawksblood calls out, standing on the edge of the Weyrean encampment.

As Ferranifer stands about, Serenia walks up beside her. The pooka silently kisses her on the cheek and stands quietly beside her, no silliness for the moment. "Hi."

Meanwhile, Aiwyn has retired for the evening. She tosses fitfully in her attempt at sleep, her dreams plagued by nightmares of the dead and dying.
~
There does seem to be something strange about the crowd. Some sort of illusion. An old man approaches first. "We are simple refugees, fleeing the destruction of our homes."

There does seem to be something strange about the crowd. Some sort of illusion. An old man approaches first. "We are simple refugees, fleeing the destruction of our homes."

Sure you are, Hawksblood thinks. The elf's eyes glint, staring straight at "There are no tracks coming from the south for days around. How is it that you're the only survivors, and why haven't you left earlier?" she asks.

A small platoon is assembling a hundred meters behind her, where the first Weyrean tents begin, hidden by shadows -- the are no real lights in the camp.

Ferranifer smiles and places and arm around Serenia, "Hello". She looks around and then outward again. "I think", she says in a subdued voice, "that I begin to understand what it means to have a place called home."

((OOC: Weyr, when I said they came into your sight, I meant into sight for your southernmost scouts. They didn't magically appear from anywhere.))

*edits* They came through the scouts, who reported their passage to the main camp, and while the 'people' were coming towards the camp, the Weyreans were getting together.

The old man blinks. "How is it we're the only survivors? We had to flee when the set our homes to the torch. The young men went off to fight the Garmarans and they had us hide a mile or two outside of the village while they went. Not a one of them came back. When we saw smoke rising from where our village used to be, we began to head north. Our hope is to notify the rock giants of the situation. Please. We are in desperate need of food or shelter. There are children here who have not eaten in days."

As the man tells the story, the tale seems to bind those unable to resist its magic. His voice is hypnotic, with a tendency to lull listeners into rapt and inactive attention.

The elf mutters something under her breath. Thankfully, most of her people are out of earshot. The two scouts standing beside the alchemist blink dazedly.

"Enough!" Hawksblood cuts the old man off after a moment. "Try another glamour and I'll use you for target practice. Again, who the [expletive] are you and what do you want?"

"But, ser.." one of the scouts begins slowly.

"Shut it," Hawksblood's eyes flash dangerously. That was a good bit of thaumatrgy, but her genetic and entrained resistances hold against it. "You have five seconds to tell me the truth," she states cooly to the old man. In the starlight, one can just distinguish her while gloves, each marked with an alchymical rune and salamander.

The old man ignores her, continuing the story. So the elf woman is immune? There are many more soldiers to still than her. If even a dozen of the Weyreans are spellbound, it's a reduction in enemy fire worth the story.

"We walked quickly. The darkness is billowing in the south and sent a chill to our spine. We don't know what to do. All is lost. Kalchena is lost. Enemies on great winged beasts swooped down upon us from the heavens. We tried to fight but to no avail. Dozens were taken off on their flights south, never to be seen again. We come seeking food and aid. Our men are dead. We have no more warriors to protect us."

The crowd continues advancing, their gait speeding up as they approach. There are about eight hundred all told, moving rapidly forward. The virginal girls bear pleading, adorable looks, every bit damsels in distress. The old men and women seem to limp, broken with age. The children half-scurry and half-crawl, tired and worn.

Five...four...three...two...one... there is a loud crack, a flash. Jet-blue flames spiral towards the old man, so hot they burn a brilliant blue-white, piercing the night. The elven alchemist has her right hand up. A curl of smoke rises from between her fingers. It will cost her, Hawksblood knows, but the alternatives aren't that much better. She is the flame alchemist, the destroyer. The flames will kill the old man, hopefully, then shoot sideways into a eight-foot wall to block the advancing mob.

"I warned you," the two scouts' battlestaves shoot up as the flames rush forward. "Please, don't." she sighs, though some part of her knows she will have to kill the two, maybe more, before the night is over.

"Everyone back," Elsinore commands. She can hear some of what the old man is saying from a few dozen meters away, and barely maintains her will over his spellwords.

"But.."

"No buts," she growls. "Get back." The sixty soldiers reluctantly back away from their captain.

"They're just kids, captain," one of them exclaims.

"Remember the demons of Fairhavven, Akhrod. You were there, I know. Don't forget my brother." Elsinore responds bitterly. "Whatever these guys are, human or not, the Commander knows what she's doing. You want to die?"

The old man dies in a blaze of fire as an eight foot wall rises to prevent the approach of his companions. For a long while, there is silence. Then the mob finds its way around the edges of the wall, moving back towards where the scourts must have been. No longer are they disguised. They are short creatures, tawny in complexion. Their ears are strange, like they were once pointed but have been crushed. Their dirty and give off a faint odor. Each holds a curved blade. The creatures rush the center, moving to attack with their blades.

The scouts stand paralyzed as the flames shot forward. Their hands seem to move of their own accord. Azure lances shoot towards the alchemist. She twists out of the way, barely. There is another crack, a strange sound, and the scouts vanish, incinerated. The elf falls to the ground.

The old man dies in a blaze of fire as an eight foot wall rises to prevent the approach of his companions. For a long while, there is silence. Then the mob finds its way around the edges of the wall, moving back towards where the scourts must have been. No longer are they disguised. They are short creatures, tawny in complexion. Their ears are strange, like they were once pointed but have been crushed. Their dirty and give off a faint odor. Each holds a curved blade. The creatures rush the center, moving to attack with their blades.

Elsinore knows something's wrong. She turns around, her blade coming out of its scabbard. The soldiers stare at the creatures. "F**cking dammit. Form up. Schiltrom!"

There's a wavering in the hundred or so soldiers. Elsinore doesn't check to see if anyones following. Her blade glows azure, and she charges towards where the alchemist had been. "Double line formation! Cover fire on mark!" the lieutenant shouts behind her. After precious moments, the first azure icefire lances shoot past her, at the strange creatures. "Mark! Fire!" another two score lances shoot out. The Lieutenant knows he can't ignore the creatures charging at his own soldiers, and so has to shift fire away from Elsinore. Seventy meters is fat less than the normal engagement distance.

There are several hundred soldiers and alchemists in the camp. There's commotion. Some didn't follow the sergeants' warnings. Behemoths moan and growl as crews race to the heavy weapons mounted on their backs. If the heavy kasters can open up.....before the small force is overwhelmed.

((OOC: An aithu's story doesn't make the victim loyal, just makes them passive. See http://forums2.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=380053 ))

The strange little men snarl, rushing onwards. They fall by the dozens beneath the icefire lances of the Weyreans, but dozens more remain. They strike at the troops with their vicious blades, slashing recklessly with no intent beyond that to hurt and to kill, no care for life, even their own. About eight of them fall on Elsinor, moving in with violent swings of their blades to taste the elf maiden's flesh.

About twelve of the little monsters charge one of the behemoths, drawing blades and screaming as they attempt to move between the great beast and its crew.

Iyanna didn't sleep that night. She rarely slept at all anymore, too many deaths on her conscience. Instead, she simply stared into the night, contemplating the next day's battle. The distant lights of the Weyrian weapons caught her eye, but didn't concern her very much. As she watched the darkness, her sixth sense detected the presence of another magickly inclined mind near her. Iyanna turns to see Ferranifer lingering at the edge of the Akatani encampment. She walks to the vampire,

"Hello. Can't sleep either, eh? The anticipation on eve of a battle can seem worse than the battle itself, can't it?"

OOC: It's not so much loyalty as the fact that the alchemist has apparently incinerated helpless villagers for no reason. Elsinore isn't an elf. She's a generic Weyrean with too-long ears and a habitual swearing problem. Hawksblood is an elf. Everyone else is either human or Weyrean, with maybe an odd dwarf thrown into the mix.

"Blades ready!" the Lieutenant shouts after only a few volleys. The many battlestaves click. Long, curved blades protrude from their bottoms and tops. "Charge!"

The outnumbered Weyreans scythe through the press, are overwhelmed by sheer numbers, or cut down when the little men get under their guards. "Retreat!" The small group fights a dogged retreat, back into the Weyrean camp. Magi'i and alchemists invoke their more-powerful spells at point-blank range. Azure streamers rip at the attackers. Explosions, the ring of mithril-steel, the crunch of sword on arachnoweave and breaking bones, the clash of blade on hastily-donned armor plate are heard between the tents and piles of pack bags. More soldiers join the fray, twin blades of their battlestaves glinting in the starlight, to be quickly darkened with blood. The entire camp becomes a field of battle. The Weyreans are outnumbered, but alchemists and magi'i are worth more than any soldier, even if their skills are not as efefctive at such close range.

Behemoths bellow, enraged, as little men cut through gaps in their segmented armor, to strike at their thick, shaggy hide. The crews try getting around the little creatures, defend with knives or long swords, fall back, are helped by alchemists or errant soldiers. Weyrin -- insectoids twice the height of a man -- screech as cruel weapons cut into their vulnerable joints. They rear up, attack back with razor-sharp chitinous forward claws, harming both friend and foe in the confusion.

Elsinore's blade is ready, coming down swiftly as she charges forward, separated from the main Weyrean host. A meter and a half long, made of patterned mithril-steel, the blade is capable of cleaving off three heads in one blow. She feels the blades cut through her chain mail, shuts off the pain, strikes a small man with the heavy hilt, swings around, blade coming down in a deadly arc. A crack, a blast of flame, rises skyward a dozen meters away. Hawksblood staggers up, blood running down to obscure her vision.

Ferranifer looks at Iyanna and smiles. "Too many battles to count. I don't sleep. I don't need to. Your mortal though, yes? Shouldn't you be getting some rest?"

((OOC: Not iron. There's absolutely no iron, not even a filing, anywhere in the dreaming. If it did, it would have the same kind of effect as an equivalent mass of unshielded antimatter.))

The creatures pile up. Struck down by magic and blade. Their heads collect beneath Elsinore and Hawksblood. They fall back before the behemoths, blades swinging desperately. The attack breaks over the forces of Weyr. The onslaught, while lethal, is disorganized and incapable of pursuing as the Weyreans retreat.

The creatures dart about in the confusion, diving after retreating soldiers, slashing at hamstrings. The aithu grasp the hairs of the behemoths, scrambling onto the creatures to stab more deeply, even as others rush any tends still inhabited, struggling to slay the helpless as they arm themselves.

OOC: Sorry. *Edits*

"We better get put of here," Hawksblood mutters, back-to-back with Elsinore. She can't keep up this amount of thaumaturgy for long.

"Good idea," Elsinore responds.

"Now!" the alchemist draws on whatever energies she can tap, makes a spark. The resulting shockwave blasts the pair off their feet. Elsinore lands running, grabbing the elf's limp body with one arm -- she's so light, as though the thaumaturgy used the alchemist's own body for fuel.

Behemoth crews scramble up ladders, trying to get into the armored pits built into the top plates of the behemoths' armor. A soldier retracts his staff's blades, flames at the creatures while humans and Weyreans scramble up, falls with an enemy's blade embedded in his neck. "Keep them off!" the gunner and driver shout, leaping into the protected space. Their beast is almost maddened with rage, though the enemy blades do not appeaer to truly harm it. Their comrades get to work with long swords and scavenged battlestaves. The massive kaster turns, targets a group of enemies. The backlash makes the behemoth's mithril-steel armor reverberate and pulse, illuminating the surrounding area in a brilliant flash of light. The driver can't do much -- there are too many friendlies around. He grabs a fallen enemy's blade, climbs out of the protected pit, is dragged down by many hands.

Soldiers and thaumaturgs gather around the massive animals. They can't abandon their camp -- they do not have the supplies for a return journey. They stand, or they die. Icefire blasts and magick discharge pierce the night, interrupted by cries of the wounded and dying.

The little men attack wildly, slashing and stabbing at the Weyreans. They fall back before the guards on the behemoths, struggling valiantly to get at the great beasts. Those who get through scramble up the sides, heading for the pits, for the drivers.

The blast from the large kaster leaves a smoldering pile of flesh where a dozen aithu were before. Eventually, the last of the little creatures lies slain in the ruins of the camp.

General St. James returns to his horse and removes the saddle and bags. He walks over to the nearest fire and nods to the soldiers, dropping his saddle and bags. Kneeling down he removes the blanket from the back of the saddle and lays down, using the saddle as a pillow. "Who has next watch? Anyone here?" he asks in general.

Iyanna smiles bitterly, gesturing to pointed ears.

"Mortal? I don't age, if that's what you mean. I celebrated my one hundred and seventy fifth birthday last month. Aside from that, death can claim me just the same as anybody else. I haven't slept for years. Still, I doubt that a lack of sleep will be what claims my life."

((note: For anyone who wants to know, Iyanna appears to be in her twenties. Also, (though I thought I already mentioned this) Iyanna is an elf.)) http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v379/DraconisX13/AkatonCitizen3.bmp

'So young', Ferranifer muttered, wondering to herself why that mattered to her. "The elves where I'm from are long lived but not immortal. We've only recently opened our borders, the people and ways of other nations are strange to us or unknown. From where do you hail?"

Iyanna's smile grew a bit more genuine as she found herself coming to like the vampire.

"I hail from Akaton, Archenhiem City to be specific. As for immortality, the techno-magi kept going where evolution left off. With a some help from genetic alteration, little things like physical aging are easily prevented."

Ferranifer looked at Iyanna, muttering. 'Akaton, akaton.' Her hazel eyes were locked on Iyanna almost as if she could summon her own remembrance from the elf's mind. "AH, Emperor Draconis is of Akaton, yes?" She already knew the answer after a brief consultation with Lauralin through her link. She nodded as though someone had just said something then frowned as though something was wrong. She sighed, "What was that expression?" she said, "It never rains but it pours?" She looked directly at Iyanna again, "Queen Silverlief sends you her regards. You may ride her own Dragon she says, assuming Silverclaw gives his permission, if such is your desire. It seems she will be delayed far longer than anticipated but bids me remain here under our circumstances."

Serenia bounces up on her toes a little before settling back down, looking at Iyanna. She stands next to Ferranifer, still holding her best friend's hand.

Ferranifer wasn't accustomed to having a friend and looked at Serenia smiling. "Sorry, I'm still learning the intricacies." She turned back to Iyanna, "This is the Lady Serenia, My dear friend."

Serenia nods. "I saved Ferranifer from a giant star dragon on the eighth moon of Pluto and we're been best friends ever since." She grins at the elf. "I've never met an elf before. You look kind of like a sidhe only prettier. Ferranifer says you're a different race, though, because you never spontaneously combust."

Serenia then frowns slightly, examining Ferranifer more closely. "They hit you with a boulder." Very gently, the pooka puts a hand against the back of Ferranifer's gown. Slowly, the spell begins to take form. Barring the unforseen, it should heal the damage from the dragons.

(OOC - Depends on what the basis of the spell is. If it's holy then it'll do more harm. If it's just a natural talent or some other type of magic then it'll work.)

((OOC: Dream magic))

(OOC - I'll leave it up to you then, I don't know anything about dream magic)

((OOC: It works then.))

Ferranifer smiles at Serenia with obviously no clue what she's talking about until she mentions the exploding part. She looks at Iyanna, "You see", she says, then she feel her body healing faster than it should and opens her eyes wide in shock.

Serenia gives Ferranifer a hip bump, smiling broadly. "Sorry, I had to hit you, Ferranifer. I was mad because you stole all the biscuits. I never knew vampires liked biscuits so much. It's all right though. Some of the trolls are making more. Trolls are really good cooks even though no one knows it. I could eat troll cooking all day. Do you eat trolls?"

Ferranifer again looked Serenia in complete confusion. "Biscuits? Trolls? I don't eat trolls. Rock Trolls? I don't EAT anyone, I simply drink thier blood and actually it's human blood, though almost any would suffice for at least a short time."

Iyanna stares at the spectacle unfolding before her, an amused smirk on her face. She had never really met a pooka (assuming that is what Serenia is), and understandably, she found the creature quite unusual.

"It's nice to meet you, Lady Serenia, but spontaneously combust? I'm not sure I understand, I've never met a race that bursts into flames at random. Seems rather challenging to survival. Besides that, you flatter me. I've never had anyone compare me so favorably to a sidhe. I don't know whether it's the purple hair or my habit of killing people at random, but there aren't that many people who actually like to see me."

Iyanna's look of amusement quickly becomes one of confusion, and she gives up on making sense out of Serenia's commentary when the conversation turns to troll cooking. Instead, she turns back to Ferranifer.

"Ah, I see you know something of my nation already. As for your Queen's regards, I am honored. I will make a point of asking Silverclaw if he would wish to carry me. I have only ridden a dragon once before, and then it was one in the service of Queen Elayne. Is there anything in particular I need to know of this dragon?"

Serenia wrinkles her nose and kisses Ferranifer on the cheek, by way of an answer. She then turns her attention to Iyanna. "Are you going to randomly kill me? Ferranifer needs me watching her back, though. Otherwise, she'd always be getting into mischief. I'm kind of the mature, responsible one. I keep her from eating too many trolls and getting fat. What's a rock troll anyway? Is that like a cross between a troll and a rock giant? Rock giants scare me. I guess they have a right to be mad because General Custer stole Alcatraz from them and all though."

Ferranifer smiled at Serenia, answering the only question that made sense, "Actually Rock Trolls are a somewhat of a mix between stone giants and trolls. Pebbled skin like stones, over nine feet tall, Dense skin of course, strong, if not stronger than stone giants and the regenerative powers of trolls. They can be quite formidible."

She then turned back toward Iyanna, "Keep in mind that Silverclaw is the leader of the dragons of Dragonsreach. Treat him with the respect you would a King or Queen. He is quite reasonable otherwise, unlike my own who can be quite difficult at times. My own meaning only that he permits me to ride. As for your reputation I know the feeling all to well. Most don't care to have me around, though I have been blessed with recently", and she looked at Serenia, "with friendship." She turned back to Iyanna, "Typically only the Queen would speak with me."

Iyanna turns to Serenia, smiling wickedly.

"Of course I won't randomly kill you. You're far too interesting to kill at random. If I killed you, it would be carefully planned. But, don't worry, you're safe with me."

Looking back to Ferranifer,

"A friend? You are lucky, even if that friend happens to be this rather insane creature. Oh, and thank you for the advice regarding Silverclaw. I will be certain to treat him with respect. I wouldn't want to be eaten or toasted, now would I?"

Serenia wrinkles her nose and thrusts out her bottom lip. "Creature?" she says meekly, lowering her light brown eyes down to stare at her steel boots. She squeezes Ferranifer's hand a little, looking from the vampire to the elf. "Well...still...she'd have to be Hercules himself to kill me. I'm the greatest warrior in four kingdoms."

"The dragons of our region even are different. Though eaten would be a possibility, the metallic dragons have two breath weapons depending on the type. The silver's are a freezing breath attack or a paralyzing gas. If I were mortal I would prefer the freezing. At least the cold could me. It would be better than being paralyzed and eaten alive, as I've seen him do." Ferranifer spoke matter of factly, not with threat or boast. "But you are right about what you said. I am lucky for such a friend", she said as she put an arm around Serenia.

Iyanna looked to Serenia, surprised that she cared whether she hurt Serenia's feelings.

"If you want to be called something besides a creature, I'll need to know something of you. You see, just as you have never met an elf, I have never met one such as yourself."

"Well actually you should start with by treating any sentient with respect. How one continues to treat another then becomes dependent on the other in question. Serenia has made me see some things about myself", she looked down then away.

Serenia leans into Ferranifer, narrowing her eyes at the elf woman. "How about 'lady', Major?"

Ferranifer can't help but grin, though she manages to repress her laughter. She nods amiably, "I think that would be a good start."

Iyanna shrugged. If Serenia didn't want to talk about her species, then Iyanna wouldn't press the matter.

"That would work for me, Lady Serenia."

The sun rises the next morning on the broad fields before the camp. Soldiers awaken and arm themselves, moving swiftly into formation. Seven armies united. Aiwyn, Serenia, and the other warriors assigned to ride upon the backs of the great dragons, approach the beasts.

Meanwhile, the enemy can be seen advancing in the distance. Figures, whose kith can hardly be made out in the distance, seem to be advancing swiftly and in great numbers. The enemy army is a vast one of many thousands upon thousands, both mounted and on foot. Yet, the greater terror lies in the sky, where great flights of dragons wheel and roar, in preparation for death and for destruction.

"I think I am speaking for all of us when I say we run," the Lieutenant grinned.

"No," Hawksblood responded evenly. She was in no mood for jokes. "Are all the alchemists here?"

"Excepting the dead ones? Yes," Elsinore nodded. "Sergeants and corporals, too."

"Thank you," the Alchemist nodded. "You'll pardon me if I remain seated. We can't exactly move back wthout leaving the wounded, so we have to make a stand. We have, maybe an hour, so we'll need the base fortification here, here, and here. Basic wall, do towers if we have time. No gates. We'll be using the Igraeus circle array. The behemoths and knights are to move back one kay and wait. All soldiers are to position one hundred meters from the main array. Any questions?"

"How will they be getting in?" Elsinore asked.

"We'll figure it out," the elf responded tersely. "We're not going to live long if you just stand there. Dismissed."

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

The power lf Weyrean alchemy did not rely on any one person. Even basic arrays required several people to activate safely. Hawksblood knew all sixty of the significantly reduced host's alchemists would be needed to make this project work, and even then the energies required would stretch the alchemists' limits to the brink. But, there was not real alternative that the elven commander could see.

The alchemists traced complicated designs in the scorched and trampled earth. From the sky, an observer could have seen a large circle quickly emerging. All the while, rangers and scouts watched the progress of the massive enemy army.

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*
BattleSpire, Western Weyr, Central Pacific,Terra

The low sun was already scorching the desolate wasteland, making humid air steam, glancing off the behemoths' armor and even somehow reflecting off the black obelisk that was the Battlespire, which loomed over the flat desert landscape from ten kilometers away. The soldiers craned their necks, still walking forward to the steady cadence, coming ever closer to the huge gray mithril-steel craft. Behind them were the four streamer trains running from the Battlespire's portal network, still disgorging behemoths and pack trains and soldiers.

It had taken this relatively small force four hours to travel via steamer from the Kirhavven gate to the Weyr gate within the Battlespire network. It would take until the end of the day for them to get to their next destination -- the rath and the Dreaming.

Goldenscale bows it's head to allow the Empress to get into the Dragonsaddle. Ferranifer climbs up onto fleshmelt and waits for Serenia to board. St. James, looking pale, climbs up into the saddle of Silverclaw. After the four board the other dragons bow down, allowing the other riders to climb up.

As the day dawned, Iyanna stood before her tent, surveying the field of battle in her glistening armor. Every one of the hundreds of plates was perfectly crafted, from the high neck plating to the fully articulated fingers. Her glowing sword still rested at her side, though it was now joined by a myriad of cruel looking knives and a miniaturized crossbow loaded with six-inch long darts.

Iyanna watched as St. James boarded the dragon that Ferranifer had offered her. It mattered little to the Major, who preferred to fight beside her troops on the ground. Thinking of her troops, Iyanna glanced at her encampment, watching as her small army prepared itself for the coming battle. Looking back at the vast army marching up from the south, she considered her strategic options. The foe was far too numerous for a frontal assault, making a flanking move the more logical choice. As the main armies clashed, the elf would lead her troops around to attack the sides and rear of the enemy, where her elite troops could cause the most damage.

"Empress", Ferranifer said before they rose, "All due respect, I know that you wanted General St. James to ride with us. But I'm afraid he's not very good with heights."

For once St. James didn't let foolish pride get in the way. He simply nodded the truth of the matter and looked over at Ferranifer.

"Iyanna of the Akaton forces is willing to ride and Silverclaw is willing to carry her. The Queen, herself has given permission. If that is alright with you, of course."

Aiwyn mounts the dragon with a light smile. "Thank you, lord." she murmurs as she settles onto the great beast.

Serenia peers up at Ferranifer, now fully armored and with a lance. "Didn't Her Imperial Majesty say I could have my own?"

Meanwhile, the enemy armies come within range to be easily identified. The cavalry are sidhe in the purple and black rainment of Balor knights. The infantry are redcaps, row after row of the fearsome cannibalistic warriors.

Aiwyn gives a few orders to some runners. Within moments, the three armies are lined side by side on the battlefield. At the moment, the armies of Nianki, Aiwyn, and Eleanor form one straight line of battle, ready to meet the enemy head on.

"Things are bit befuddled at the moment", Ferranifer said, "Don't worry, they'll straighten out in time."

"Up", Silverclaw rumbled, and the Dragons took to the air, taking a postion over thier own forces.

"Besides", Ferranifer said, "I would rather have you here with me, I can't do much in close quarters should it come to it."

Serenia shrugs, climbing up with Ferranifer. "You're the queen."

The enemy dragon's dive straight at the good dragons, outnumbering them many times over. They dive and spin, circling and weaving, attacking with claw and fang and fire. The enemy dragons try to circle around, enclosing the good dragons.

Meanwhile, as the enemy attacks Aiwyn's forces in the center, the cavalry and infanty seems to break. The lines seem to shatter everywhere at first contact, leaving the Empress's armies fleeing from the assault of the Balor forces.

The three hundred odd Weyrean soldiers are arrayed in a tripple line, each soldier's battlestaff pointing directly at the mass of enemy knights, projector heads glowing slightly in the morning light, a half-crescent protecting the three score alchemists a hundred meters behind them. Heavy blue and gray arachnoweave uniforms are lighter than plate armor, and are impossible to slash through, but a good blow from a battlehamer or an enchanted blade will still go through them or grievously hurt their wearer, and the soldiers' faces are left unprotected.

They cannot see the friendly armies on their flank, but they know they are there. It has been deemed impossible to join them, so the Weyreans are making a stand.

"Hold the line!" Elsinore commands. Her order does not have to be repeated -- the are not enough soldiers on the line for that. "Weapons ready! Take Aim! Fire!" the first volley of azure beams shoot towards the enemy knights from half a kilometer away. It is a beautiful day for a firecaster battlestaff -- clear skies and no humidity let the soldiers use their weapons at full range. The soldiers might not beable to see thwir individual targets, but with so many enemies it is difficult to miss. "Fire at will!"

"How are the alchemists doing?" Elsinore turns to the runner who popped up by her side. Firecaster battlestaff bolts lance forth around them. There is a staggered pause as discharged thaumaturgic sells are discarded, replaced with new ones.

"The commander needs, twenty more, minutes," the youth gasps for breath.

OOC: I wasn't sure if the next lines are acceptable, of if I should wait for a response. Ignore them if I shouldn't have posted them.

"Dragons incoming!" someone shouts.

"Shields!" Elsinore responds instantly. Azure bubbles encase the Weyrean line. Fire washes over the shields. Black-robed magi'i stagger, trying to hold the protective wards in place. "Down, retreat!" The Weyreans move back, but the enemy knights are faster. "Staves ready!" Blades glint. In seconds, sword and plate contact bladed staff and soft arachnoweave.

Enemy knights fall fried to the weapons of the Weyreans, yet more continue to come. The troops from Weyr are beset by lances driven at them with the strength of strong and fast horses. Knights learn quickly to aim for the face as they dart around, seeking to take the Weyrean encampment.

The dragons fly hard against the shield. The lash at it with great tails and breath their deadly fire upon it. About three dozen enemy dragons can be spared from the battle in the sky, where the Dragonsreach dragons are badly outnumbered.

The azure shield bubbles thin at the bottom, letting firecaster blasts and soldiers pass uninhibited. Dragons can pound on the shields as long as the magi'i hold them, but knights can kill the preoccupied thaumaturgs. One magus falls. The shield weakens exponentially, straining to replace the loss.

Elsinore's great blade glints. She picks a knight, ducks, slashes at the mount's knees, sending the beast and rider down in a screaming tangle. The xumbatou was made for killing charging cavalry.

"Sound the behemoths," Hawksblood says softly as the Weyrean line begins to waver, outflanked, blue-gray clad soldiers falling to well-aimed lances, or trampled by well-trained steeds.

The knights charging at the alchemists beuind the main Weyrean line will be met by scattered sharp stakes and hastily-crafted pits, but those can be overcome by skilled foes.

Horns ring out. The two score behemoths charge, belowing, their heavy firecasters trying for enemy from a kilometer away though they cannot truly aim until half that distance, mithril-steel spiked helms lowered to gore and skewer all in their path.

Knights charge beneath the shield, slashing and stabbing with lance and sword. They charge the distracted alchemists, aiming to cut down the temporarily defenseless thaumaturgs.

Horses fall around Elsinor and her superior blade. Her skill seems to attract enemies, one knight coming at her, after another, after another.

A few screams are heard as knights fall into pits, skewered upon the cleverly prepared traps. The remaining knights charge past them, avoiding the traps marked by corpses.

Dragons roar at the behemoths, circling and awaiting the fall of the shield. Meanwhile, knights charge towards them, dozens falling before heavy casters.

The golds let loose with thier fire and chlorine gas while the silvers let out thier frost and paralytic gas in the skies. The bronze dragons did thier best to support the ground troops with thier repulsion gas and lightning bolts.

The dragons who serve Balor screech and dive away as breath weapons wound them, knocking some from the sky. But more keep coming. Their numberical superiority is overwhelming as they assault the good dragons.

Serenia sets her lance, pointing to a particularly large enemy. "Let me at that one!"

Aiwyn guides her dragon towards the largest of her foes, lance at the ready. "Let's take out their leader, Goldenscale."

((This will be starting where my last post left off.))

Iyanna walked to Silverclaw, bowing in respect. After some last minute planning, she had decided to accept the offer to ride the dragon.

"I have been told that the Queen has given her permission for me to ride you, if you wish it. I shall not burden you long, I need nothing more than transport to the Weyrian battle lines."

Meanwhile, the five hundred soldiers of the Ministry moved into marching formation and began advancing southward to reinforce the Weyrian position. Though most carried various types of swords or other blades, a few were dragging along a compressed steam cannon, the odd weapon clanking along on spiked wheels and leaking smoke from its boiler. With the exception of this ancient artillery weapon, the force moved quickly, marching along open ground at double speed.

Ferranifer nods to fleshmelt and he dives at the designated dragon for Serenia to battle. Ferranifer points at another dragon, testing her powers in this place. She calls on her necromantic magic and points at one of the enemy dragons, "Die". Magic flows as she hopes the spell will work as it should and stop the heart and brain from functioning.

Goldenscale spreads his lips and the dragon version of a smile and flies for the leader, spearing in, twisting and turning as he goes.

St. James looks at Iyanna from the Dragonsaddle. "There is a diety, I HATE heights. Silverclaw chuckles and bends down allowing St. James off. "I'll join with your ranks."
Silverclaw looks at Iyanna. "No burden, but an honor will I accept. And I do accept it. In HER stead shall you stand. In HER place will you bring valour as SHE does."

Serenia sets her lance carefully, burying it in the heart of the targetted dragon. "Damn! I missed!" she yells with joy as the great beast plummets from the heavens.

The dragon Ferranifer targets...simply ceases to exist. It doesn't seem to die. There's no body. One moment it's there. The next it isn't.

Ferranifer's laugh resounds as her claws extend and her teeth slide from thier gumsheaths. Old ways set aside come to her, she points at another dragon summoning her dark power and another, laughing as killing begins .... Just as it used to be.

The next time, the exact same spell does absolutely nothing for Ferranifer. The time after that, the dragon explodes, taking a dozen of its friends with it. Serenia looks to another dragon. "Let's get that one!"

Meanwhile, on the ground, the Weyrean lines were never long enough to fully block the attack. The redcaps and Balor are in full contact with the main lines and Aiwyn's forces are fleeing in apparent defeat. The troops of Nianki and Eleanor remain firm, the enemy pouring into the lines where Aiwyn's troops are fleeing.

OOC - Resurgent Dream, could you check your telegrams?

-- All was coming under control and Laura had been evaluating the evidence of the vampire's uprising. Suddenly all went white, then all went black --

The Raths begin to crackle with energy, lightning flashes from entranceways to earth and power can felt as static charge in air around the forces of light and darkness. Bright light pierces the sky as darkness breaks forth from the ground. The flames of the dragons turn from thier marks and swirl in the column of light and darkness. It condencses. Light and darkness and flame and then bursts forth leaving a figure darkness and light encompassed by flame. It hovers for a moment, indistinct in the mix of light and shadow and fire.

Finally it materializes into a woman of pale complexion and flame red hair with emerald green eyes. Flames encompass her body and she floats to the ground between the forces. She looks about her, her face filled with saddness at the death about her. Vampiric fangs protrude from her from the gumsheaths and her eyes lock with the forces of darkness. "So here is to be my battlefield. Oh god of my Father and Mother, let me win here that I may return to battle in which my peoples lives lie in jeapordy." Strangely her voice can be heard by all.

She looks up at the woefully outnumbered dragons of light and raises her hands. Flames fan outward reaching toward the dragons of darkness.

Goldenscale ceases it's flight, looking down. "The Queen of Dragonsreach", he says with wonder.

Ferranifer drops her hands, sanity seeming to return at last. She looks down. "SERENIA, THE QUEEN! FLESHMELT TO THE QUEEN, MAKE HASTE!" The black dragon dives toward the queen with reckless speed.

Silverclaw wheels from it's flight toward Weyr. "The Queen. Forgive me Lady Iyanna but we must to her."

Aiwyn glances down. "That will need some explanation, but, as she seems to be in no immediate danger, we must greet her after the battle. Keep after the leader."

Serenia blinks, tugging at the reins wildly. "Ferranifer, we just started this battle about ten seconds ago or so. We can't fly all the way to Africa and abandon our orders." Her muscled arms keep firmly struggling to guide the dragon back upwards.

A fell dragon is struck by the flames from the queen's hands, screaming as he falls from the sky, bursting upon the ground. Inspired by Lauralin's tactic, about a dozen or so balls of fire are flung heavenwards down the line, glamour filling the air as the minor working is done. About half hit their targets, burning and scarring, but none slaying as Lauralin's had.

Nianki blinks, looking over at Lauralin. The muscular woman rears her horse up, galloping over. She swings her sword almost casually, swiping the heads from about six redcaps as she rides. "Queen Lauralin!"

Iyanna nods to Silverclaw.

"No apology is necessary, your Queen deserves your help more than I. It has been an honor."

Iyanna looks to the battle below, fixing her miniature crossbow to clamps on her wrist armor and loading it with razor sharp poison darts. With a flick of her wrist, the bow launches a poison tipped dart into the throat of an enemy on the ground, the bow's own inertia reloading it and drawing another dart into position.

On the ground, Iyanna's army finds itself drawn into the battle even as they march, the vast melee of battle swirling past the Weyrians. The enemy is upon them only moments after they realize their peril. Dozens are cut down before they even have time to draw their weapons. The majority of the army forms up around the steam cannons, defending the precious weapons from the onrushing horde. Between the sounds of steel against steel and the screams of the dying, the ancient cannons thunder. Their blasts of flame and molten copper shot slay many, but it soon becomes obvious that the guns are far too few.

Goldenscale resumes his course as the Empress wishes, glad to finally be carrying someone worthy of him.

Lauralin lets forth another burst of flame into the skies and then suddenly a sword appears in her hand, gleaming with power. She looks around seeking the one who called her name.

Ferranifer looks at Serenia and then Lauralin, her face torn woth indecision. "You don't understand Serenia. She was born to a mortal mother and father but it was my blood that gave her the dark gift. She is my dark daughter." Fleshmelt began to grow irritated at the conflicting orders coming from the reigns. Ferranifer looked at Serenia, knowing that she was ill equiped for these kinds of emotional decisions. "What should I do?"

Suddenly all the dragons begin to rally to the Empress, making a push for the leader and Silverclaw banks again, heading back toward his original destination with Iyanna.

Goldenscale glances back at the Empress. " 'There can be only leader and here is not my place to command. The Empress word is to be heeded and I shall myself bend knee to her here.' ", he said to Aiwyn over his shoulder, "the Queen's exact words to the dragons. She always was a wise woman."

Aiwyn sets her lance, slashing at the side of the enemy dragons' leader. Blood drips over the lance, though the wyrm wheels away. It lets out a great roar, preparing for another run. "I don't want her to kneel. She's much more useful launching fire."

Serenia keeps tuggging the reins. "What helps your queen more, flying down to greet her or helping in the fight?"

The next burst of flame from Lauralin misses its mark. Nianki gestures to the horse. "Your Majesty, please ride with me to the right flank."

Meanwhile, the Weyreans and Akatoni hear the buglers of the center army sounding the official retreat. Riders from the empress press towards their ranks, a few falling to the enemy. "Fall back! Fall back!"

The evil dragons fall back a little before the increased vigor of the good. Several of their number crash to the ground in firey carnage. Their great leader wheels in the sky, roaring loudly to rally them before he again makes eye contact with Goldenscale.

"Oh have no fear, Empress, the Queen will fight while fighting is called for." He wheels diving toward the leading and letting out a gout of chlorine gas, hoping to catch it in the cloud or stop or slow it long enough to wheel and expel a great burst of flame then manuever for the rider to strike.

Lauralin leaps into the saddle with the ease and grace of an experianced rider and follows Nianki. As she rides she extends her right hand realeasing a ball flame at the next target. Her blade seems to almost act of it's own volition on incoming melee attacks to block the attacker.

Ferranifer pulls Fleshmelt back around and returns to the frey after one last worried look at Lauralin.

Three more dragons join Goldenscale in the attack on the leader, the rest working to protect the Empress and the great gold dragon from other evil dragons.

The leader roars, slamming firmly into Goldenscale and attempting to dig in with claw and fang, even as Aiwyn lets her lance hang in its harness and hack at the great beast's side with her blade. The chlorine burns at the fell wyrm's skin, scales peeling off. He bats at the other three dragons with his great tail.

Nianki rides swiftly towards the flank, deftly fending off the redcaps on one side while Lauralin handles the other. "We weren't expecting you." The flame strikes another dragon, illiciting a pained scream but not bringing the monster down.

Serenia sets her lance, guiding Fleshmelt towards another enemy, one trying to fight through the good dragons to get at Goldenscale. "Strike!" she cries.

Goldenscale had fought many battles and in his time had learned the tricks. He lashed out, but not at the protected neck, legs and body. His mouth sought the softer flesh just behind the mouth joint to try to disable the jaw. His front claws plunged for the more vulnerable area at the base of the front legs while his back legs were brought into play to rip at the less protected stomach. He didn't use his tail on others, relying on those closest to deal with them, instead he used it to try to tangle or tear the wings of his opponent.

Lauralin heard the comment. She didn't know where she was exactly but she knew insctinctively, as any vampire of royal bloodline did, that she was in a fight for her soul. If she lost here, then she would lose herself to dark forces of her vampiric nature. But the victory conditions were at question. Did the war have to be won? Would there be a personal victory to made? "Don't feel bad", she said, "I wasn't expecting me either." She scanned the skies, a fireball ready for the next open target. Jenny had always told her that a victory on the ground was a defeat if there was no victory in the air. 'Defender' lashed out at incoming opponents, protecting it's wielder.

Fleshmelt struck as ordered, though not in the way intended. He had always carried Ferranifer and she never engaged in personal combat. Acid streaked out toward the wings of the dragon they were targeting and then he quickly turned. Aside from the white dragons the black were the smallest of dragonkind in Dragonsreach. The other dragons hated to fight them, even with thier smaller size. The acid was devistating and the small dragons were very manueverable in the air in comparasion to the much bigger dragons.

Iyanna picks off a half dozen more soldiers with poisoned darts. She strikes them down with unnatural accuracy, each dart claiming another foe. The calls to retreat draw her attention away to her own troops, fighting for their lives against the overwhelming horde of foes. Though it is against her nature to retreat, it is clear to the elf that this battle was becoming a slaughter. Reluctantly she looks to Silverclaw, sighing.

"Take me to my troops, that I may signal the retreat. This battle is lost, no more of them need die for this lost cause."

She looks away, shouting into the battle below.

"Fall back, men!"

The formal call of retreat was hardly necessary, the small Akatoni force was already retreating in disarray. Nearly a hundred were dead, their blood soaking the earth. One of the steam cannons sat in ruins, its dead crew lying around it. Without the crew monitoring it, the over-pressured boiler exploded spectacularly, incinerating friend and foe alike in a storm of flame and shrapnel.

Silverclaw wheels and swoops low, letting out a killing cold just behind the enemies front line in an attempt to buy the Akatoni forces time for retreat then rises, preparing to bank and swoop for another run.

The wing on the lead enemy rips as claws tear into the soft underbelly. Gasping, the great beast sinks his teeth as deeply into Goldenscale as he can, his jaw locking in teeth. Aiwyn blinks once, beginning to unfasten her saddle.

Nianki nods to Lauralin, slashing at redcaps as she goes. "We just need to hold the side flanks a little longer. Everything is going according to plan, except the air battle. We can only hope that Elayne and Elizabeth are freed up to join us. Who knows what Aoibhell is unleashing elsewhere in the dreaming against them?"

The dragon targetted by Fleshmelt screeches, diving downwards in pain, smoke coming from its burning sides. Another lets loose a gout of fire near Fleshmelt, burning into the straps of the saddle, loosening them.

OOC: The easiest way to kill behemoths is with dragons. That armor is like an oven. And the redcaps can eat the beasties afterwards...

Erm...so the raths are closed now?

For Weyreans, retreat is finally a reality. Behemoths trample to the front of the retreating Weyrean line, trying to link up with the Akatani. Lances and swords dent their thick mithril-steel armor, but few get between the chunks, and fewer still do more than scratch thick and shaggy hide. The bellies are protected by thick arachnoweave. The eyes are covered by protruding grating. Climbing up their flanks is almost impossible -- the ladders left overnight are stowed inside the heavily-protected pits at the top, nearly four meters above the ground. A good archer might be able to down the crews inside. Still-standing Weyreans rally to the great beasts. A few ladders are hastily sent down, covered by pit crews, allowing some opn the ground to clamber up to ride on the behemoths' backs, sniping at enemies from relative safety. A knight's lance reaches up, knocks a blue-clad soldier down, to be carved up by redcaps.

Shield bubbles go down one by one, allowing the dragons to attack. The behemoth crews train their heavy firecasters up. Dragons used against Kirhavven have their scales painted silver to better reflect 'caster bolts. In any case, the crews have to try, or risk destruction.

Meanwhile, the Weyreans and Akatoni hear the buglers of the center army sounding the official retreat. Riders from the empress press towards their ranks, a few falling to the enemy. "Fall back! Fall back!"

Hawksblood stands at the forward end of the now-completed alchymical array. She raises her right hand. There is a crack. Flames surge towards the nearest enemy knights that are flanking the small Weyrean crescent. Blasts of flame shoot at the knights. Spikes pierce the earth, going for the bellies of horses. Alchemists and magi'i fall beneath their enemies' blades, even as the retreat sounds.

"Fall back!" Elsinore shouts over the din of battle, skewering two redcaps with one swing. The army is already following her orders, maintaining an appearance of order. Bheomoths pound along the front and flanks of the retreating line, covering the footsoldiers, whosre ranks have been reduced by more than half in the melee.

((OOC: Yes, for the moment))

The dragons dive towards the behemoths, spouting flames upon them before soaring back into the air to battle the other dragons. A few knights are obliterated in the blasts of the alchemists even as a dragon or two falls crashing to the ground before the heavy casters.

The retreat continues in full...right into the ranks of Elayne's waiting troops. Officers ride up and down the line, reforming Aiwyn's armies into the waiting arms of the soldiers from Farinor, forming a much stronger line. Nianki's soldiers and Eleanor's move forward, circling around the back of the Balor army. The cavalry rides first and swiftly, closing the circle. The footsoldiers move swiftly to thicken the trap. While friendly soldiers still have enough room to manuever, the sudden encircling movement presses the enemies together, allowing only the outer circumference of their army, by definition smaller than the front lines of the encircling forces, to do battle.

The wing on the lead enemy rips as claws tear into the soft underbelly. Gasping, the great beast sinks his teeth as deeply into Goldenscale as he can, his jaw locking in teeth. Aiwyn blinks once, beginning to unfasten her saddle.

Goldenscale continues it's rending assault but locks it's own jaws on the great beast. The dragons assisting wing and come in as an arrow assault but veer at the last minute as Goldenscale releases the saddle himself. The front diving and faster silver grabs the Empress and under protection of the other two makes it's way toward a point where it can land, so the Empress can resume her seat with a new dragon.

Nianki nods to Lauralin, slashing at redcaps as she goes. "We just need to hold the side flanks a little longer. Everything is going according to plan, except the air battle. We can only hope that Elayne and Elizabeth are freed up to join us. Who knows what Aoibhell is unleashing elsewhere in the dreaming against them?"

'Pity' Laura thought, 'so recently married only to be thrown into the midst of battle.' "Then hold them we shall", was all she said out loud, unleashing another ball of fire into the air.

The dragon targetted by Fleshmelt screeches, diving downwards in pain, smoke coming from its burning sides. Another lets loose a gout of fire near Fleshmelt, burning into the straps of the saddle, loosening them.

Ferranifer felt the lurch and cast the mending cantrip, hoping it would work right, remember how her death spells had had random effects. Fleshmelt veered, it's one wing causing it pain where the saddle strap had been struck. Again it made away from the enemy, this time in self preservation.

Silverclaw made a second pass, this time using a paralytic gas on the enemy line. He climbed back into the sky, knowing that one pass was a surprise and two were lucky, but a third wouldn't go unhindered. "Do you wish to return to the ground?" he asked of Iyanna, almost keeping distaste at the thought out of his voice, "or stay with me?"

As the saddle comes loose, Aiwyn jumps from it, digging her nails into the scales of her mouth. "Like hell I'm leaving you!" she yells, in mixed anger and fear as she drags herself towards the jaw of the dead beast, drawing her blade and starting to cut at tendons of the creatures jaw, hoping to free Goldenscale.

The mend spell backfires horribly. The saddle unravels completely, beginning to slide off the back of Fleshmelt. Serenia yelps slightly, slipping and starting to slide down the dragon's back, thrown loose with the saddle.

Another dragon fell to Lauralin's attack. The great beasts had noticed her by now and two dived towards her and Nianki, unleashing flames. Nianki held a hand up and the dragons paused, flying up again. She then turned back to the encircled redcaps and Balor, running one through with a strong blow from her sword.

Elayne's dragons swoop in from behind even as the troops from Farinor charge forward. The Queen of Farinor sets her lance, driving it into an evil dragon. All told, there are about a dozen new good dragons in the air now.

As the saddle comes loose, Aiwyn jumps from it, digging her nails into the scales of her mouth. "Like hell I'm leaving you!" she yells, in mixed anger and fear as she drags herself towards the jaw of the dead beast, drawing her blade and starting to cut at tendons of the creatures jaw, hoping to free Goldenscale.

Goldenscale releases her jaws (Goldenscale is female by the way, I'm used to dealing only with Silverclaw who is male.) shocked by the Empress actions. "The Queen has done these things against our wishes and you should not do these things either Empress. Save yourself. Like her you're far to valuable."

The mend spell backfires horribly. The saddle unravels completely, beginning to slide off the back of Fleshmelt. Serenia yelps slightly, slipping and starting to slide down the dragon's back, thrown loose with the saddle.

Ferranifer grabs Serenia and leaps from the saddle, cradling the Knight in her arms. She falls to the ground, absorbing the impact and remains standing, setting Serenia down and looking about her to survey thier current situation.

Another dragon fell to Lauralin's attack. The great beasts had noticed her by now and two dived towards her and Nianki, unleashing flames. Nianki held a hand up and the dragons paused, flying up again. She then turned back to the encircled redcaps and Balor, running one through with a strong blow from her sword.

Lauralin was about to unleash another bolt but lowered her arm and unleashed a fan of flame at the enemy around them. "Some heed you, some do not. How can I tell yours from the enemy?"

Elayne's dragons swoop in from behind even as the troops from Farinor charge forward. The Queen of Farinor sets her lance, driving it into an evil dragon. All told, there are about a dozen new good dragons in the air now.

The metallic dragons froms Dragonsreach begin to look around in some confusion now as the new dragons enter the frey. They all look the same and they begin to fight defensively so as not to attack the ones on thier own side.

Aiwyn ignores the words of the dragon, getting one tendon cut. The corpse's jaw loosens considerable on one side, perhaps enough for the dragon to pry it off. Just in case, Aiwyn begins to climb towards the other jaw.

Serenia grunts as they hit the ground, blinking as she looks around. "How did you do that?"

There aren't enemies around them anymore. They're around the enemy. Nonetheless, the flame does cut deep into the enemy lines. Nianki cries out. "Ours are the ones with riders!"

The armies continue to dig into the troops from Garmar, slaughtering the redcap forces. However, the enemy dragons seem to be gaining, even with Elayne's additions which seem to cause more confusion than aid.

Aiwyn ignores the words of the dragon, getting one tendon cut. The corpse's jaw loosens considerable on one side, perhaps enough for the dragon to pry it off. Just in case, Aiwyn begins to climb towards the other jaw.

Goldenscale begins tearing at the corpse to free herself. "I should be able to break free Empress. Please. Climb onto my neck and hold on I beg you."

Serenia grunts as they hit the ground, blinking as she looks around. "How did you do that?"

Ferranifer looks for friendly troops, but takes a moment to smile at Serenia. "Vampires cannot die by such means. Our bodies are far tougher than they look."

There aren't enemies around them anymore. They're around the enemy. Nonetheless, the flame does cut deep into the enemy lines. Nianki cries out. "Ours are the ones with riders!"

Lauralin sends out a telepathic message to the dragons then lets out a chain lightning spell into the enemy, it's electricity jumping from one armored opponent to another, careful to cast in an area where there are no friendly troops around.

The armies continue to dig into the troops from Garmar, slaughtering the redcap forces. However, the enemy dragons seem to be gaining, even with Elayne's additions which seem to cause more confusion than aid.

The dragons of Dragonsreach suddenly seem to end thier confusion. The telepathic strategy of the Queen is implemented and the confusion as to who the enemy and friendly dragons are is made clear. They gather and then dive, the golds first, unleashing chlorine gas, followed by the silvers with paralytic gas. The bronze dragons follow last with repulsion gas to drive off pursuers as the golds turn to unleash thier flames into the chaos left behind by the strikes, then the silver follow with thier lethal freezing breath, targeting the overheat survivors of the golds attack first. The bronze follow the first two group, using thier lightning bolts to cover the golden and silver dragons.

Goldenscale smiles, "The Queen sends her apologies for overstepping any bounds but she has issued a strategy to the dragons of Dragonsreach. It should have a rather spectacular effect. She says the once there is a reprieve she will explain the abilities of the metallics so that you can command them with better effect, since your own dragons seem to be of a different species. She again apologises for any preceived usurping of authority, it's not intentional."

Aiwyn climbs to the dragon's neck, holding on tightly. "Very well."

Serenia nods, hopping to the ground and drawing her sword. "But why am I alive?"

Redcaps shriek as lightning moves into their tightly packed ranks. They shriek, skin flying, as friendly forces continue to systematically cut them down, working their way towards the center.

The knights continue to try and guide the dragons to allow for lance attacks, reveling in the breath attacks. A number of enemy dragons fall before the new push by the metallics but not enough and not quickly enough. The enemy still has the advantage in the air.

Aiwyn climbs to the dragon's neck, holding on tightly. "Very well."

Goldenscale rips free tearing the head of the leader from the body. "Shall we deliver our gift?" she askes the Empress.

Serenia nods, hopping to the ground and drawing her sword. "But why am I alive?"

"I protected you, now it's your turn, at least for a few moments", she says gestering to her broken legs. Even as Serenia watches the begin to shift and mend.

Redcaps shriek as lightning moves into their tightly packed ranks. They shriek, skin flying, as friendly forces continue to systematically cut them down, working their way towards the center.

Lauralin steps forward then stops, curtseying to Nianki. "Shall we join the others?" she asks, placing herself under Nianki's command.

The knights continue to try and guide the dragons to allow for lance attacks, reveling in the breath attacks. A number of enemy dragons fall before the new push by the metallics but not enough and not quickly enough. The enemy still has the advantage in the air.

The dragons of Dragonsreah form up again. Almost half thier number gone. They know they have one last pass before the fighting turns desperate.

Aiwyn nods. "We shall. Shall I continue to hold on like this?"

Serenia winces, moving to a defensive position near Ferranifer. Not that any enemies are free enough to attack at the moment.

Nianki nods, moving towards the circle of enemies with her blade drawn. She begins to hack viciously into their number.

The riders urge their mounts to the final pass, lances set in grim anticipation of likely death.

Aiwyn nods. "We shall. Shall I continue to hold on like this?"

Goldenscale stretches her neck, moving the muscles so that the scales on her back provide a seat of sorts with a scale in front and behind. "The prefers to ride like this though the other riders prefer the saddle. Just be alert and ready to grab the edges for balance on tight turns." With that she flies ahead of the assembled group, hoping the head of thier leader will disrupt thier moral.

Serenia winces, moving to a defensive position near Ferranifer. Not that any enemies are free enough to attack at the moment.

Ferranifer shifts now and then as the bones mend themselves, wanting to scream in pain but not wanting to alert the enemy to thier presence. She wonders about the fact that for the first time in her life she's more concerned about someone other than herself as she looks at her stalwart companion.

Nianki nods, moving towards the circle of enemies with her blade drawn. She begins to hack viciously into their number.

"I'll take that as a yes", she says grinning. As she step forward 'Defender' moves in her hand to parry the incoming attacks. A staff has appeared in her right hand. It's made of ebony black wood with a golden dragons claw on the top holding a huge diamond. From it she unleashes one bolt of flame after another, taking any opportunity that presents itself to attack with sword, otherwise using it only for defense. She dodges with an experts martial arts skill. Movement and soft form combining to make her difficult to hit, the sword blocking as much of what she can't avoid as it can. Her beauty and elegance makes it look like a graceful dance, though a dangerous one.

The riders urge their mounts to the final pass, lances set in grim anticipation of likely death.

The dragons turn to instruct thier riders as they wait for Goldenscale to take her position. "Same tactic, but this time we won't fly by on the return attacks. We'll unleash our second attack form and then charge into them in order to bring your weapons to bear." Once Goldenscale is in position they begin thier run.

"Withdraw the behemoths," Hawksblood commands as the retreating Weyreans merge with the alchemists. The beasts can't do much good just standing there. The horns sound again. Half of the behemoths had fallen to dragons and knights. The rest wheel about, trampling the living and the dying in their retreat. They aren't heading for the Imperial lines, but for their former camp. Azure bolts lance towards the enemy knights, but they are staggered and many go astray.

The heavy firecaster fizzles, thaumaturgic energy crackling about the irregular tube. The behemoth bellows, its driver goading it to turn back. The gunner opens the breech. A small, drained, ghostly-gray cylinder falls to the 'floor' of the pit at the top of the behemoth. An acrid smell fills the cramped space. The loader slams a fresh azure cell into the caster, slams shut the cover even as the gunner is already aiming for another group of enemies. Energy crackles along the barrel.

If the Weyreans can get behind their alchymical array, then they have a chance. There are more than one way to make a fortified place, after all.

Silverclaw made a second pass, this time using a paralytic gas on the enemy line. He climbed back into the sky, knowing that one pass was a surprise and two were lucky, but a third wouldn't go unhindered. "Do you wish to return to the ground?" he asked of Iyanna, almost keeping distaste at the thought out of his voice, "or stay with me?"

Iyanna laughed cruelly as she shot a dart through another infantryman, enjoying his death far too much. Her eyes flashed bright blue as she looked back to Silverclaw.

"How about neither? As I said before, it's been an honor."

Iyanna returns her crossbow to its holster. Looking down at the battle below, she picks a spot in the midst of battle and leaps from Silverclaw's back. Upon impact with the ground, the leg joints of Iyanna's armor become rigid for a split second, dissipating the force of the fall. In a split second, the elf's sword is out, wreathed in arcane flame. No sooner had she landed than an enemy soldier slashed at her. Iyanna deflects the blow aimed at her head, though not dodging the attack quite fast enough. The blade strikes her upper arm, and finding a weakness in the armor, slashes into soft skin. Even as bright blood runs down from the wound, she exacts her revenge, removing the head of her foe and reducing them to an almost unidentifiable fleshy ruin. Iyanna makes her way through the melee towards Lauralin and Nianki, slaying all who stand before her with strikes of her burning blade.

The Akatoni army rallies as the enemy is driven back, reforming proper battle lines and joining the battle once more. The remaining two steam cannons fire again, sending thunderous volleys of molten metal towards the massed enemy troops.

The redcaps, crowded, desperate, and nigh defeated die by the score as the Weyrean and Akatoni forces join in the slaughter, barely taking a dozen friendly forces with them, if that many.

Nianki raises a hand to Iyanna. "Hail!"

The enemy dragons seem to be winning in the air. Suddenly, they pause for a moment. Three of them charge at Goldenscale. One of the smallest and fastest of the enemy dragon's dives while the gold is distracted, forcibly snatching the empress from his back and taking off south at near lightning speed.

A group of black robed figures appear in the distance, performing some kind of ritual. They are guarded by a small shock troop of two hundred odd redcaps. They sacrifice a goat, pouring the blood onto the ground. As they go through their strange manuevers, magical forces take hold of Lauralin. If all goes as they plan, the spell should cause the queen of Dragonsreach to vanish from sight.

Goldenscale is forced to fight for her life, to close to the enemy dragons but her mind sends the sad message, 'I've failed Queen Silverlief, the Empress has been taken.'

Lauralin gasps and looks up at the skies just as the spell takes affect ... and vanishes from sight.

Lauralin rematerializes in a dark dungeon, surrounded by tall, brutish men with antlers. In their hands are rather large spears levelled directly at her. The leader speaks in rather sharp, grunting words. "Alright, Your Majesty, we can do this the easy way or the hard way. There's no chance of you ever walking out of here without Her Glory's permission so why don't you just cooperate and you might live to see another night. Put your wrists together for me, alright?"

Lauralin gasps as 'Defender' twists her arm unexpectedly and painfully attempting to parry away the spears. The staff vanishes as she lets it go, it's power to much for the close confines and she extends a hand releasing a gout of flame into the face of the speaker.

The speaker stumbles back, crying out as his face is badly burned. One of the spears swing to catch the sword between them, slowly forcing it from her hand. Another presses the tip of his spear to Lauralin's neck and another to her heart. The leader, now seemingly already healed from his wound, grunts again. "I repeat. Put your wrists together...Your Majesty." He pronounces the title with clear mockery.

As the sword falls it vanishes. Lauralin gazes at the speaker without anger or fear, only calm acknowledgement and places her hands together.

((OOC: Dragonsreach and I did this over AIM. Enjoy.))

One of the strange brutes approaches Laura, shackling her wrists tightly. "So what are you, exactly?"

"I am not sure I understand the question"

"You're not anything I've ever seen."

Lauralin raised an eyebrow, "You have never seen an elf or half elf?"

"Why would I worry myself looking at inferior races more than I have to?”

"If you consider me inferior than why bother asking questions?"

"Because Her Glory won't let me cut you open."

"Then I suppose her glory has her own reasons for keeping you in ignorance. I would be out of place to give you knowledge that she will not."

"She's not trying to keep me in ignorance." He rolls his eyes.

"Then why not ask her what I am. If she has not told you then I shall not overstep my bounds by revealing things to you." He kicks her savagely in the gut. A grunt escapes her but nothing more. "Yes", she says, "I do think you ignorant after all. Violence such as that is the last resort of a weak mind."

He grabs her by the hair, pulling it back to look into her eyes. "I am more subtle with people, but this is how you teach a beast to know its master."

"Then I suggest you find a beast to master, for I shall not bow down to you." He nods to two of his colleagues, who violently kick the backs of her knees, knocking her into a kneeling position. Patiently she stands back up again. They repeat. This time he grips her hair, holding her down. She forces herself back up again, allowing her hair to rip itself out in his grip. As he watches the scalp wound heals and the hair immediately begins growing back. "I see you need a dictionary. I said will not BOW to you. And you force me to try and KNEEL. There is a difference between the two."

"Someone shut this THING up!" As he speaks, one of his colleagues grabs a filthy cloth, shoving it into Lauralin's mouth.

Lauralin sends out a telepathic message to him. "Trust me, there is a difference. You have but to get a dictionary and I can show you.", but she doesn't resist the cloth being put into her mouth. He just slaps her again. Two of his friends grab her by her arms, moving her to a cell and tossing her in. Having made her point, Lauralin gets to her feet and stands facing the door. The barred door is locked and bolted. Lauralin waits to see if there are any guards left right outside her door, just standing and watching. Two guards stand on either side. They stand in silence for an hour or so, not moving an inch. Lauralin kneels down, placing her hands as close to the ground as possible and then turns to mist, reforming immediately after the shackles fall. She picks up the cloth and shackles and walks over to the door, placing the shackles on the ground within easy reach of the guards. She then stands up and waits for the guards to look in before politely replacing the cloth into her mouth and tying it in place.

The guards look down, frowning. They then look in at her, tilting their heads at the cloth. "That supposed to show you'll be a good creature?" She walks away, giving no response or indication that she even heard. One of the guards walks away quietly. : She sits down, closes eyes and extends her senses. A passive mental scan, undetectable except to another psionic, just enough to tell her when someone comes near her door.

Two minds approach the door. One of them is a being like the others, only cloaked in thick black robes. The being produces a green vine from the robes, tossing them into her cell. He makes a sharp gesture with his hand and the vine flies into the air, wrapping tightly around her hands. "Better." She doesn't acknowledge the presence, only sits quietly, waiting for the black robed one to leave. He leaves her restrained, the guards resuming their posts. Lauralin turns into mist again. The vine remains and she finds it restrains the movements of the mist as much as it would a corporeal being. Lauralin sits waiting patiently.

Hours pass. After a long while, Aiwyn is dragged to her cell in steel shackles and tosses in, ungagged. "Queen Lauralin..."

Lauralin opens her eyes, raising her head to show the gag. Taking a moment to get over the unnatural beauty of the Sidhe woman she finally opens a telepathic link. "Well, I see you still have the wonderful steel bracelets that they decided to gift us with, I suppose you didn't get a mouthy with them as I did or you would have gotten a fine cloth like me. I was bad, so I lost my steel bracelets as well." She says through the mind link smiling at Aiwyn.

Aiwyn reaches up with her bound hands, untying the cloth. "I figured they weren't worth addressing. We'll have a chance to be mouthy with Aoibhell."

After the cloth is removed she smiles again at Aiwyn. "Thank you, Empress" she says bowing slightly from her seated position, "I just cannot help myself sometimes, especially when I have a beast calling me a creature. May I say that you look just as stunning in armor is in a dress?"

Aiwyn blushes lightly. "You flatter me. These creatures think they are the master race. They think of my people as a human might think of a Neanderthal and of the non-fae races as...well, I gather he made that clear."

"Oh, quite clear. But if he persists in striking me then I WILL begin to give blow for blow. And I can do that all day.

"Until they used more of those vines."

"I will not be struck repeatedly without taking recourse. I am patient, but it does have limits. If they wish to persist then they may as well use they vines now and be done with it."

"They want you to fight and fail."

"Who is this Aoibhell? You mentioned the name when you entered."

"High Lady Balor."

"Where I come from a Balor is a Demon."

Aiwyn shrugs. "She might as well be."

"I hope not. A little over a hundred years ago my father defeated Orcus, Demon Lord of the undead in our region. A few years ago he returned to our region for vengeance and was defeated by me and my companions. If she is a demon and he finds that I am here then I do not have the strength to fight him alone.”

Aiwyn shakes her head. "Not what I mean. I doubt she knows this Orcus."

"Ah good", Lauralin gives a genuine sigh of relief. "Did Goldenscale give you my message by the way?"

"I don't want you to kneel. I have subjects enough. I have more use for a friend."

Lauralin chuckled, "What I meant was that I would yield to your authority in any matters here. Unfortunately I do not have full comprehension of the dragon language. Is that what I said? Kneel? I shall see what the word is for yield to authority." And she chuckles again.

Aiwyn laughs lightly, settling back. "How do you think the battle's going?"

"A tactical evaluation or a hopeful one?"

"Whatever you honestly think."

"Unless we can get more dragons then I think we will lose. If we cannot hold the skies then eventually we will lose the land battle. I truly wish I could spare more of my own dragons to your cause but with things as they are at home I dare not."

"What has happened in Dragonsreach?"

"Well it is believed that there is a vampire uprising. That the vampires wish to destroy the mortals."

"That is rather dreadful."

"From the information that Arleena and I have been gathering it is my opinion that someone is orchestrating this. I believe that they want US to believe that this is happening in order to get us to fight."

"Oh?"

“But why and for what end I do not know, unless it is to weaken everyone in general so that whoever is doing this can move in afterward.”

"Perhaps that is it."

"Well the Velmoran known as Kain seems to be the one implicated in the whole affair. Yet from the information that Arleena gathered Kain would have to be in multiple places at once in order to be doing all that it is said that he is doing."

"There are powers in this world who could do so."

"I do not question that. I do not believe Kain can do this, however." Aiwyn nods slightly, listening.

"The whole point being that if it comes down to fighting then I shall need my dragons at home for defense. Were it not for this then I am sure I could ask three or four thousand to volunteer to assist here."

"How many do you have?"

"Eight to ten thousand in Dragonsreach. And allow me to correct myself, they are not MY dragons. Silverclaw has grown used to that but others would take offense. You see there are more than that in the region. When they get older they tend to migrate to Dragonsreach, thus its name, because the warm springs nearby are comforting to the older ones. They will defend the area, thus my city and my people, and we have an agreement of mutual cooperation." Aiwyn just nods quietly for the moment.

"Some will not leave the area at all; only give assistance in the area itself. Others would agree to work with us. The bronze ones especially love a good fight for some reason."

"I see."

"The whites, blacks, greens, blues and reds are less cooperative. Especially the reds. But the metallics seem to enjoy the company of other races." Aiwyn listens quietly, looking through the bars.

Iyanna delights in the slaughter of her foes, impaling another redcap with her burning sword and watching as the creature catches on fire and immolates. Several more suffer similarly horrific deaths, unable to resist the murderous elf. As she slays the enemy, Iyanna's sixth sense picks up the spell being directed in close proximity to herself. She turns just in time to see Lauralin vanish. The sounds of chaos above attract her attention as Empress Aiwyn is abducted. Before Iyanna could draw her crossbow, the lightning quick dragon was out of range. The elf curses, decapitating another redcap and shouting to Nianki.

"Where is the Empress being taken?"

Nianki blinks once, looking up. "Dana! Probably back to Garmar, to the Palace of Lies. There's more armies than this between us and her." Nianki looks crestfallen as she slices into yet another redcap. "I will save my niece, Major, I swear it."

The redcaps, crowded, desperate, and nigh defeated die by the score as the Weyrean and Akatoni forces join in the slaughter, barely taking a dozen friendly forces with them, if that many.


They just keep on coming... Elsinore curses. Her senses pick up something happening. She supresses the thought, neatly slicing a redcap in half, her curved blade beginning to glow a strange, ghostly azure. A magus presses forward on her right, twin katanas shining red. A small squad of soldiers, veterans from Kirhavven's continuous wars, scythe onwards to her left. "j'Akhrai! n'Awe nai echi!" the soldiers around her press towards Iyanna. Hopefully, the enemy does not know High Weyrik. If they can link up with the Akatani...

"What the hell was that?" one of the alchemists standing by Hawksblood shudders.

"Big thaumaturgy. There. Prepare to sound the charge," the elf commands. With the redcaps pinned, she doesn't have to really worry about getting overrun, for now. The dragons were going to be a problem, though.

And in the meanwhile, the remaining behemoths slowly reform behind the general melee, and wait for the charge to sound.

Iyanna casually slashes the throat of a passing redcap, shouting back to Nianki over the noise of battle.

"You won't be saving her alone, Duchess. I owe my allegiance to the Empress, and I would fight through Hell itself to secure her return."

The elf thinks to herself that Hell would be a mercy compared to what Draconis would do if the Empress was lost.

((OOC: Weyr, you're not being overrun by anyone. All the enemy forces are pinned and none of them are free to be charging you on the ground.))

"Duchess? I'm the Queen of Shieldcrest!" Nianki clarifies, not that that's important right now. Her blade continues to cleave through redcap after redcap.

The enemy dragons continue their near victory in the air. Resignedly, they break away from the air battle and launch a massing strike at the forces of Nianki and Eleanor pinning the Balor army in to the south. The dragons dive at the troops, spewing flame upon the sidhe, trolls, and friendly redcaps. The attack of the dragons opens several holes in the Imperial troops and they attempt to do the same in the Weyrean and Akatoni forces.

As the holes openup, the enemy forces dart through, heading for a rapid retreat southwards. A few of the cavalry start to ride after them but Nianki and Eleanor hold up their hands, halting the chase, at least so far as cavalry from TRD is concerned.

Iyanna shrugs, deflecting an attack, then skewering the redcap.

"Forgive me if I haven't kept up on overseas nobility, Queen. I meant no offense by it."

Elsewhere, the dragon fire burns into the Akatoni forces, scattering the front rank and consuming many soldiers. Slowly, the steam cannons angle themselves upwards, expelling blasts of molten metal shot into the skies. Though the clouds of burning pellets are probably not enough to slay the great beasts, they are hideously painful.

A score of Dragonsreaches metallic dragons return the evil dragons assaults in kind, breathing thier fire, ice and lightning in long sweeps along the enemy lines.

Nianki lets the further breach of propriety slide as there are more important things to worry about. She parries a blow from a redcap, pressing her blade into his gut, as a couple more dart past, eventually holding up her hands to stop pursuit.

The enemy dragons whelp and dart about when struck with painful attacks, though they continue south.

Silverclaw lets out a loud bellow as he sees the lack of pursuit, calling back the dragons. The dragons land to begin thier healing.

Ferrinifer begins to make her way back toward the lines, slowly at first but with growing speed as her legs heal. She never moves too fast for Serenia, looking over from time to time as if to assure herself that her friend is still near.

Serenia rushes after Ferranifer. "Where are we going? Didn't Queen Nianki say for us to wait here?" Nonetheless, the knight makes no move to slow down or stop Ferranifer. It seems the two are off on a mission to save no fewer than two monarchs.

The last of the survivors makes it few the lines, leaving vast redcap casualties on the field. The armies begin to move south, setting up a camp about two miles south of the battlefield proper.

"No offense, dear friend, but Nianki is not my Queen. She has been taken, and I intend to find her", Ferranifer says heading toward where the dragons have landed.

The Akatoni army does not attempt to pursue the fleeing redcaps. They had suffered too many casualties and become far too disorganized for another immediate battle. Instead, they return to their encampment to plan the next attack and to treat the wounded.

Serenia shrugs, running after Ferranifer Ferranifer makes her way to the dragons, weaving through them until she reaches Silverclaw. "She lies beyond their forces and there's too many."

Silverclaw looks down at her, "Nothing can be done for it. We must make our way through and hope she survives."

"Then wouldn't it be easier to sneak in than to fly a dragon there?"

Ferranifer looks down at Serenia, "Do you know a way?"

Serenia shrugs. "Do you?"

"No, I'm immortal, not omniscient", Ferranifer says in frustration.

Serenia tilts her head at Silverclaw. "Are you a shapeshifter?"

Silverclaw arches his neck and tilts his head. "I am." Nodding, Serenia begins to proceed south on foot. Ferranifer, curious, begins to follow her. Silverclaw looks over at Goldenscale who gives a quizzical look. She suddenly begins to morph as Silverclaw quickly follows. What appears when they’re done is a woman in golden armor with golden hair and a man in silver armor with silver hair who begins to follow the two.

Serenia glances at Goldenscale. "You're coming too?"

"Your empress fights with valor and it was for me to carry her. We who choose to serve take responsibility for those who ride."

Serenia continues to move swiftly along the plains. "I am pretty sure we're going to die." She shrugs a little.

"So be it", Silverclaw says and Goldenscale nods. They walk across the fields for hours upon hours before Serenia finally begins to get a little short of breath. She sits slowly in the high, golden grass.

Ferranifer looks around then down at Serenia. "Is this the place? I see no entrance."

Serenia looks up with a tilt of her head. "We have a few more weeks to go." Ferranifer looks at Serenia, only then remembering the fatigue of mortals.

"So long?" Silverclaw asks. "This is slow."

"Yes, it'll really take weeks." Serenia rolls her eyes a little.

Ferranifer nods, "Slow yes, but at least you won't be seen for miles, Silverclaw. Serenia acts wisely. She IS a KNIGHT after all." Serenia smiles faintly.

Silverclaw looks down at Serenia, "Forgive me, Lady Knight, I did not know."

Serenia shrugs. "Don't worry about it." Ferranifer, Silverclaw and Goldenscale crouch, waiting for Serenia to procede. "Aren't you three bedding down?" she asks.

"I don't need to sleep", Ferranifer replies. Serenia shrugs, starting to nod off.

"We could use some rest", Silverclaw responded and Goldenscale nods. They lay down in the grass.

"I'll watch", responds Ferranifer. Serenia sleeps through the night, seeming to sleep heavily and deeply. Ferranifer watches through the night. Serenia wakes up the next morning, yawning and starting to rise. She takes a short while to stretch her muscled limbs. Ferranifer awakens the dragons who stretch to prepare themselves.

"Everyone ready?" Serenia asks, starting to walk again. They nod as they follow her.

The Weyreans spend the night getting rid of the dead, and digging in for the night, the behemoth crews sleeping inside their mounts' armored pits.

"We have munitions for another day, if the recharge rate here is the same as in normSpace," the senior magus states. Hawksblood nods, thinking. The elf looks tired, but that happens after every battle. Weyreans have been cursed with high attrition rates in every battle, ever since the general Majora decided he hated not just the High Kings, but all of Weyr, too. In return, Hawksblood hates Majora, even if the man has been dead for a millenia.

"And if it's not?" someone asks.

"We'll deal with that when it comes," the elf responds.

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*
The Tower, Wye City, Weyr

"What do you mean we lost contact?" Alchemist Li sounds worried. The senior alchemist does not often show emotion, which is why the messenger almost steps back before recomposing himself.

"The portals are closed, ser," he stammers. The alchemist before him has designed the most powerful weapons in Weyrean history -- he can certainly turn a messenger into ash.

"I know that. Why are they closed?" Li sighs. HE wonder swhy people seem to fear him. He worked on weapons projects, but he wasn't the only one on the teams that made them, and he certainly couldn't match alchemists like Hawksblood thaum for thaum.

"Maybe flux distortions..." the junior alchemist begins.

"So you don't know."

"No, ser."

'Very well. Keep me informed."

"But...what about the reinforcements?" the messenger has been told to ask about that, too.

"Set up a base camp, and be ready to move once they can get through again," Li responds, already adjusting his plans to fit the new situation. Life is life, and he has a job to do. When the raths open, he'll be ready to send thousands of soldiers and skyships into the Dreaming. Hell need to contact Alchemist Ren li'Wye of the Battlespire. Maybe he can get one of the massive portals likned into the Dreaming, though trying to find the planar coordinates of the place will be almost impossible. They have to try, after all.

"Ah...yes, ser," the junior alchemist nods.

Lauralin looked up as the Empress stood in at the door to their cell.

"I can sense when someone comes", she said.

"Really?", Aiwyn asked

"Really", Lauralin replied.

Aiwyn took a seat on the bench against the wall.

"What sort of Demoness is this woman?", Lauralin asked.

"She isn't a Demoness", was Aiwyn's reply.

"My apologies, when you refer to Balor I cannot help but think of the demon. why does this woman wage war?"

Aiwyn looked over at Lauralin, "Because of Sebbin I would think.".

"Who is Sebbin?", Lauralin asked.

"It's not important", came the Empress reply.

"I am held hostage to await this woman's will. I would consider it very important."

"Queen Silverlief...please..." said Aiwyn, looking at Lauralin.

"As you wish", Lauralin replied and then sat back, her senses extended.

After some time a dozen beings enter the range of her senses. 'A dozen beings are heading
toward our cell' Lauralin informed Aiwyn, sending the message directly to her mind.

"I see", the Empress said out loud, somewhat upset at the intrusion.

A dozen Fir-bolhg entered and pointed at Laura, "Come with us".

Lauralin nodded and stood, exiting the cell. Once out one of the Fir-bold kicked her in
butt. she turned throwing out searingly painful waves psionic power. The Fir-bolhg dropped
to the ground writhing in agony.

"I shall go willingly, but if you touch me again then I can kill as easily as I can cause
pain." Immediately after he statement the pain stopped.

"The hell you can!" cried one of the guards, but they didn't touch her again as she was
lead up a long series of steps.

After some time they reached the top. Lauralin didn't even seem winded by the long climb.
They opened the a large set of double doors and she was thrust inside. As soon as she
crossed the threshold she was assaulted be pain. Her latent powers leaped to her defense
as her body seemed to be enveloped in flame and darkness. Her own darkness assaulted her
mind as her vampiric nature tried to take held. She fought against it with all her will,
finally suppressing it and regaining control.

"Welcome Queen Silverlief", said a female troll who sat on a chair nearby sipping from a
goblet.

Lauralin nodded politely.

"I'm sorry for the greeting you received but I had to teach you who is in charge here after
that childish display with the Fir-bold."

Lauralin said nothing.

"What? Will you not use your mind tricks on me as you did them."

"I grow weary of these childish games" Lauralin replied.

She was assaulted with pain again as again her natural powers leapt to her defense. Fire
and darkness wreathed about her and the attack of her vampiric powers started anew. This
time she was forced to fall back into a corner of her mind, holding against terrible onslaught
of her inherited dark powers.

Several minutes passed as the trolless idly waited. Lauralin broke out in blood sweat as
she struggled to regain control, finally bending her will against the dark tide.

"Come", the troll woman said, "sit."

Lauralin looked at her in confusion.

"Is there something wrong?"

"I see no place to sit", Lauralin replied.

"At my feet of course."

Lauralin stepped forward and crossed her legs, lowering herself to the ground.

"Good slave", the trolless said, patting her on the head.

Lauralin stood again, "I am no slave."

The troll guards forced her down and vine covered her legs, preventing her from rising.

"Talk to me", the woman said.

"About what?" Lauralin asked.

"Anything", the trolless replied.

Lauralin was thinking of something non-important when the troless placed her feet on
Lauralin's back. She straightened shrugging the feet off, only to have them replaced.
Lauralin called on her power, her body seeming to burst into flame. The pain came back and
Lauralin gasped, the darkness rising about her body and her mind retreating, yet again,
before the onslaught of the vampiric powers that saught to dominate her will. Again, more
quickly this time, she broke out in a blood sweat as her mind faught against the terrible
power of her nature. This time an hour passed before she could recover. She had stopped
breathing, not she needed to, and had fallen to the floor, her strength gone.

"You have an aversion to talking?" the trolless asked conversationally.

"I .. am no .. one's slave .. or footstool."

The trolless walked away and Lauralins preternatural power slowly replaced the strength in
her limbs. The vines moved away and slowly Laura regained her feet. The female troll placed
a gag in Lauralin's mouth and tied it. "She's useless", the trolless said, "take her back
to her cell."

The guard took her back and dumped into the cell with Aiwyn again then closed the door and
locked it. Lauralin walked slowly across the room, collapsing to the floor against the wall.
The blood sweat had dried and caked her skin and she sat, weary.

The next morning, the armies awake and arm. Swiftly, they begin moving southward, hoping for force a final battle and to flee the Empress and the Queen.

Meanwhile, Aiwyn lies barely awake in her cell, murmuring over to Lauralin. "What do you think they'll do to us today?"

"Well", came the reply into Aiwyn's mind, Lauralin's gag still in place, "one of two things I would surmise. One, try breaking me again, as they got nowhere yesterday, or two, try breaking you, since I wasn't entertaining enough it seems."

Aiwyn paused a moment, thinking. "They will most likely attempt..." Whatever the side was about to say was cut off by the return of the creatures.

As it turned out, the Fir-bolg were there for both monarchs, dragging them off in opposite directions. Aiwyn's morning was spent in a Balor torture chamber. Stripped and chained to the wall, she was first flogged severely before serious torture began. Time seemed an eternity of agony inflicted by thumbscrews, racks, heated metal, ice, bamboo stalks, water, and quite a few things too odious to mention.

Lauralin, for her part, was brought to a cozy room where a lovely sidhe maiden, dressed in finely fitted, shining plate that seemed to match her every line, sat quietly on a large, high-backed chair. She stood as Lauralin entered with a charming smile. "Your Majesty, I am terribly sorry for your treatment thus far. I'm afraid my people can be rather hasty at times."

Lauralin could only stare in wonder for a moment at the beautiful woman. Once she managed to gather her thoughts she curtseyed as best she could with hands and feet bound and bowed her head politely, unable to speak with the gag in.

Aoibhell looked down at Lauralin with a smirk. "As pleasant as that must be for a woman of your...tastes, it does make conversation rather difficult."

The sidhe bends over, ungagging Lauralin before resuming her seat. "You are a natural power, you know? A force of nature. You have it in you to do great things, to be something great. Why do you keep your own nature bottled up so deep inside you? I would give you a seat by my side. Would that not please you? I would let you rule with me."

"You are a natural power, you know? A force of nature. You have it in you to do great things, to be something great. Why do you keep your own nature bottled up so deep inside you? I would give you a seat by my side. Would that not please you? I would let you rule with me."

'Define please', Lauralin thought as she looked at the beautiful woman.

"I am not sure I understand. You mean the power of my magic? I do not suppress my sorcerous nature. Besides, I do rule and I find that I prefer it not. I simply have no choice in the matter. I grow weary of the responsibility of caring for so many."

Aoibhell smiled gently at Lauralin. "I think you know what I mean, my dear queen. I would like to share this with you. I really would. We could be great friends, you and I."
...
Aiwyn screamed as the whip struck her again and again. She gritted her teeth, suspended by her thumbs from the ceiling of the dungeon. "What is it you want?"

The Fir-bolg laughed a little. "This is just fun." He struck once more, wearing a gleeful smile.
...
Judge Carter ap Dougal frowned as he moved forward with the rest of the armies. Nianki had assigned him to make the case against captive Balor leaders for all sorts of crimes and he had to travel with the troops to keep an eye out for them. Still, although a sidhe, Carter had never loved war and now he felt not but fear as the armies headed for Garmar.

Lauralin was beginning to think she understood what the woman meant. But the vampiric powers within her frightened her. If she allowed them to take her over then she would truly be lost. 'Yet why shouldn't I', she thought. 'I'm so tired. So desperatly tired. I have fought all my life and for what? People who turn on me the moment things look bad. Here I wouldn't have sole responsibility.'

She dropped to her knees, her head bowing. 'So tired. What do I fight for?', she thought.

Aoibhell leaned forward, running her fingers through Lauralin's hair. "So silent..."

((OOC: I'm waiting for Akaton and Weyr to post before I do more with the army.))

Laura visibly relaxed as Aoibhell ran her fingers through her hair. The subtle and simple gesture that her unconscious mind remembered from so long ago. She had two and she had been crying. Why she didn't remember. Then the huge gentle hand ran it's fingers through her hair to quiet and comfort her. The hand was scarred and calloused, her father's hand.

Her father who even now lay bleeding on the floor in the study, believing in his cause, so much so that he spent almost all of his 250 years fighting for his people....

And upstairs, Chrissy, her adopted daughter, who had already watched as her parents died in a freezing cold snap as the huddled over her trying to keep her warm....

Baghtru and Rayanna, to whom life had been so unkind. Both following her because she didn't give in, didn't give up. To do this now would be a betrayal to them all....

Lauralin looked up at Aoibhell, a reddish-orange in her emerald green eyes as a fury built in her soul. "NO. NEVER!"

(OOC - The fingers through the hair was perfect. I couldn't of planned that better if I had tried.)

The Weyrean force began to roll, sort of. At least, the soldiers able to fight piled onto the Behemoths -- sitting on top of the armor, and set off alongside the friendly armies, which were both significantly larger and more impressive. Not particularly threatening, by Weyrean standards. The wounded got 'dumped' at the campsite along with half the force's supplies -- there didn't seem much point in bringing them along into combat.

The Akatoni army moved in a less than perfect manner. A half of the troops were either dead or too badly wounded to fight. The wounded were left behind in the camp to recover. Those that remained assumed marching formation and moved out along with the other forces. Two hundred soldiers and two steam cannons marched and rolled across the plains towards Garmar.

Iyanna rode upon a horse taken from a dead soldier, leading at the front of her army. It was not much of an army, but it was only meant as a temporary solution. As she rode, the elf imagined the forces that would now be assembled in the Waking World, awaiting only a means of crossing over into the Dreaming. There would be a million soldiers of the Imperial Army, arrayed in glorious formations of one thousand. She imagined the sun shining on the banners and gun barrels, the gas masks and officers' uniforms. The full force of the Imperial Army marching to war was a sight not seen in over two centuries. It was a sight both awe inspiring and terrifying at once, the power to cause unimaginable destruction.

However, at the time, it was a meaningless fantasy. They were not here, and Iyanna knew it. She brought her thoughts back to the present to formulate a strategy to prevent the next battle from becoming the slaughter the first one had become.

General St. James walked forward with the rest of the forces, his face grim. He wouldn't leave here without the king's daughter. At least he wouldn't leave alive without her.

The dragons took to the air, flying low over the troops as they moved forward.

Aoibhell laughed a little at the furous vampire. "I will show you the source of my power tomorrow. Perhaps, then you will reconsider." She waved her hand and guards entered, taking Lauralin to her now empty cell.

Meanwhile, the armies moved through the ruins of Kalcheena. They marched through burnt villages and over the corpses of children and elders. They marched over the dessicrated bodies of warriors and over ruined and salted fields. As they marched, their ranks gradually swelled with the survivors, strange, dark-skinned fairies from all the Nunnehi races, burning with anger at the destruction of their lands.

Lauralin waited, wondering what had become of the Empress. Her thoughts were on the forces that she had seen fighting and wondered how they fared.

The next day, guards came and brought Lauralin from her cell. She was led to a huge, obsidian throne room packed with Balor, redcaps, thallain, and adhene of nearly all kinds. Aoibhell sat on a huge throne towering over the crowd. A tall platform, facing Aoibhell, and only slightly lower, rose from the floor. It was on this platform that Aiwyn stood, nude, chained, and bearing the marks of hours upon hours of torture in bruises, blood, and twisted joints. Lauralin was marched to the same platform and chained in place as Aoibhell turned her attention to a large, glowing red stone set into one wall of the chamber.

Meanwhile, Serenia led her small party towards the large obsidian fortress. Off to the side, they could see a large army of many-armed, fire-breathing Naraka amassing, but none had seen them as of yet.

Laura pulled, testing her chains as she looked at the glowing stone. 'This couldn't be it', she thought, 'this would be to fast and easy for this one'.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

Ferranifer and the dragons continued to follow Serenia, trusting the skill and instinct that had gotten them this far already.

The large Naraka army crossed the border into Kalcheena. As they slowly came into sight, it became apparent that the forces of Weyr, Dragonsreach, Akaton, and TRD were vastly outnumbered. Nonetheless, Nianki kept leading the troops forward, moving for a frontal clash.

The dragons followed Serenia, looking around. Suddenly from nowhere a man appeared. He was in full plate armor, black with a red dragon diving breathing fire emblazoned on his breast plate. In his hand he held a crystalline sword that seems to glow with it's own inner light.

Serenia blinked, looking over at the man. "What the...?"

Ferranifer smiled as the she and the two dragons dropped to one knee. "King Buccannah." They intoned as one.

"I've come for my daughter he said in a deep gravely voice, obviously accustomed to giving orders.

"There's a problem with that." Ferranifer replied, "She's being held a prisoner within."

The King looked towards the castle, "We'll see about that."

Ferranifer gestured towards Serenia, "This is a dear friend of mine, Serenia. she's a Knight."

The King bowed his head politely, "Greetings fellow knight."

Serenia bowed to the king, turning back to look at the dark spires, drifting into thought. The king made a gesture and the other three stood up. "This is the place she's being held I take it?" Ferranifer nodded. "Very well then", he replied, "let’s go. Unless I'm interfering in a planned entrance?"

"We were planning when you arrived, Your Majesty" Serenia answered.

"Turquine", he said, "let's drop the formalities. Are you familiar with this place?"

Serenia shook her head. "Nobody goes to Garmar willingly."

"Then let's go knock", and he started toward the spires. Ferranifer looked at Serenia while the dragons looked at each other.

Serenia blinked. "Why don't we come up a plan geared more towards rescuing her and less towards being killed?"

Turquine stopped and looked at Serenia. "Then now is the time. I'm afraid I'm a battlefield strategist. My daughter was the one who specialized in infiltration.

Serenia nodded lots. "Let's see if we can sneak in through the toilet." At that, she started towards the fortress at a side angle.

Turquine hesitated, wondering why they would go to the outhouse, but didn't question one he thought was a denizen of the place and followed. The dragons followed them silently and Ferranifer brought up the rear. 'Lovely', she mumbled, 'I'm sure the stench it wonderful this time of year.' "Silence", Turquine rumbled and she fell silent.

As they approach, Serenia held her hand up to everyone else to wait, moving forward. Turquine held up a closed fist as he stopped even though the others were already stopping. Serenia was gone for about an hour. Ferranifer, accustomed to long study, waited patiently for her to return while the dragons and Turquine fidgeted impatiently. When she did return, Serenia was frowning. "They said my plan wouldn't work."

"Who did?" Turquine asked.

Serenia blinked once. "The rocks."

Turquine nodded, not questioning. "So have they any suggestions?" he asked while the dragons simply looked on unbelieving.

Serenia pondered. "They said you guys should pretend to be taking me and Ferranifer prisoner and get in that way."

"Alright, lets go", he replied. He pointed to Silverclaw then Serenia then Goldenscale then Ferranifer. Silverclaw gently took Serenia by the arm while Goldenscale took Ferranifer, then he looked at Serenia, "Which way?"

"Because Balor soldiers are always this gentle with their prisoners," Serenia said dryly. Turquine looked at Serenia quizically. Serenia waited.

"I don't know the way", Turquine told her. Serenia breathed in deeply, really trying hard not to say something rude, and looked to Ferranifer. Ferranifer was smart.

"I believe we need to be bound", Ferranifer replied.

"And beaten to death." Serenia added.

"Absolutely NOT." Turquine replied and started walking toward the spire again.

"He's a holy knight Serenia, I think we need another plan. He won't even beat prisoners."

Serenia blinked and looked helplessly at Ferranifer again. "I didn't say he should beat us."

"Wait" Ferranifer said as she pulled roughly at her dress. The silken fabric ripped away and she visibly winced. She then tore strips and dropped them to the ground. She stood in her corset and petticoats, "Bind us and drag us along." Silverclaw did as she told him while the King looked on in disgust but started to lead the way after they were bound. Serenia winced lightly as her wrists were bound, walking with the dragons towards the gate to the fortress. Turquine sheathed his blade, it's power less noticeable in the special sheath that looked normal. He approached the gates with a stride that seemed to indicate that he knew where he was going and belonged there.

The Fir-bolg guards snapped to attention. "State your business!" one bellowed.

"I bring prisoners", Turquine growled, his voice low and dangerous. The tone was less by intent than by his natural vocal pattern.

They waved him inside, to vast, dimly lit halls. They were mostly empty, though noise seemed to come from a great chamber.

Once past he muttered, 'Now where?' Serenia walked towards the noise. Turquine walked beside her, 'When should I release your bonds?' he asked in a low voice. Serenia shrugged. Turquine made his way toward the chamber, careful to look in before entering, to decide if he should release Serenia first or not. Turquine stopped and turned, standing in front of Serenia. He pulled a knife and loosened the bonds enough for Serenia to free herself when the time came. He then retired the knife and leads them into the room, knowing that Ferrainfer could easily break her own bonds. The new entry is not noticed, as the crowd watches the events unfolding on the platform. Turquine spotted the platform, his daughter and the badly injured Empress and moved toward it heedlessly. Serenia sighed. He turned, seeming to glare at her from his helm. 'What?' he mutters somewhat viciously, obviously not liking this skulking about and fast losing his patience. 'If you have suggestions' he said in a low voice, 'then DAMN WELL SPEAK them.' Aoibhell rose from her throne, preparing to address her troops. The stone in the wall grew ever brighter. Serenia just scowled at Turquine with growing distaste and made no answer.: Silverclaw and Goldenscale continued to follow the King, pulling Serenia and Ferranifer with them. Ferranifer studied the bindings as she approached the platform.

Aoibhell spoke to Lauralin, her voice gently. "Come, Laura, my dear. Think of all the good you could do the world with the wonders of the deepest dreaming..."

Lauralin snapped out of her calculations of numbers, distances weapons, odds and looked at Aoibhell. "Good. You call the torture and murder of innocents good?"

"No."

"Then what good do you refer to?"


Aoibhell just blinked, confused, before ignoring Lauralin and turning to her troops. "Tonight, the last armies come! Tonight, we shall make the final push!" Turquine tried to move faster toward the platform with the dragons following. Serenia looked at Ferranifer.

"No answer? Nothing at all?" Lauralin asked.

'Soon, as soon as they see us' Ferranifer mouthed.

Aoibhell turned to her. "After an idiotic question like that, I no longer want you."

"No loss on my part I assure you", she quipped. Aoibhell continued to ignore her, though the troops laughed at Lauralin and a few satyrs stepped upon the stairs to the platform, leering. Lauralin said nothing further as she began studying the glowing stone again. A cloaked figure peaked briefly out from a side door and raised a hand. Serenia turned, waiting for the dragons. As she stopped to turn Silverclaw continued forward, stopping only as the binding went taught. He turned, looking at her as Goldenscale looked at Silverclaw. She waited, as did the cloaked figure. No one else could really act until they changed. Silverclaw tugged on the binding, trying to get her to move faster without being to forceful. Serenia never stopped moving, though she was growing impatient for them to act. They continued forward, waiting until they were noticed until taking action, trying to get as close to the platform as possible. LauralinSlverlef: As the five approached the front of the room near the podium the dragons changed suddenly, growing to full size and crushing those closest to them. Ferranifer grabbed Serenia and attempts to teleport near the Queen and the Empress while Turquine, in the confusion of moving bodies charges for the platform.

The cloaked figure made a gesture and the chains fell from Aiwyn and Lauralin. Some dozen thallain were crushed by the dragons and the others backed away, gawking in the presence of dragonfear. The walls trembled at the shift, the stone dislodging and falling among the crowd. Aoibhell leapt to her feet. "Recover it!" The dragons let loose their breath weapons, aiming toward the back of the room. Flame from Goldenscale and frost from Silverclaw sweeping the crowded room. Turquine drew his God forged blade, it's crystal gleaming with bright holy light and let out a loud bellow as he leapt to the podium.

Aiwyn leaped from the platform, landing on the ground below and diving between slashing swords, ignoring them as she scrambles for the red stone. Aoibhell followed from her throne. Several adhene were attempting to lift it and dropping it with screams. "FATHER!" Lauralin cried as she saw Turquine. She turned quickly as a hand touched her shoulder and awe Ferranifer.

After landing on the platform Turquine sees that it's already been vacated and moves toward Lauralin, Ferranifer and Serenia. "FATHER!" Lauralin cried as she saw Turquine. She turned quickly as a hand touched her shoulder and saw Ferranifer,

"Troublemaker", Ferranifer said smiling. Turquine reaches them and taking Laura's hand moves toward the Empress.

The large Naraka army crossed the border into Kalcheena. As they slowly came into sight, it became apparent that the forces of Weyr, Dragonsreach, Akaton, and TRD were vastly outnumbered. Nonetheless, Nianki kept leading the troops forward, moving for a frontal clash.

"Oh, damn," the Weyrean commander muttered. She summoned a messenger, which on the back of a behemoth involved turning around and saying something along the lines of "find whoever commands the main army and ask them where they want us to charge."

As the Naraka army came into sight, Iyanna turned to her small force, shouting orders with military precision.

"Form battle lines. Archers to the rear, swords to the front. Fire up the steam cannons and prepare for battle."

The naraka army charged, thousands of the many armed creatures rushing forward with fire spurting from their mouths. The let loose a furious roar as they moved towards the gathered armies.

Serenia shoved her way towards the stone, picking it up with a loud scream of pain.

Ferranifer and the others followed Serenia and as she screamed Ferranifer asked, "What is that?"

Serenia turned, racing for the door as swords and arrows dug into her flesh, the horde of enemies swarmng over her.

Lauralin spread her hands before her, flame and electrical discharges streaming from her hands into the midst of the enemy. Turquine began cutting into any enemy that got to close to his daughter while Ferranifer followed Serenia toward the door. The dragons continues thier assault, lashing out with breath weapon, tail, claw and wing.

The arrows continued to fly up towards the dragons, the great host slowly but surely mastering its collective dragonfear. Several naraka unleashed fire breath on Lauralin. There was little sign of Serenia beneath the writing mass of the enemy.

The dragons take little note of the arrows for now, continuing thier attack. The flames that assault the Queen seem to have no affect as she continues her relentless attacks, looking around for the Empress. "We need to go", Turquine said, cutting into another of the creatures with his god forged blade. Ferranifer casts invisibility upon herself as the mass begins to gather itself.

Aiwyn continued to push her way towards the pile where the stone had been buried as Aoibhell reached it first, ordering her minions from the pile with a curt hand gesture.

Lauralin moves toward the Empress, her father following. Her attacks lessen as she focuses on getting through to Aiwyn. Ferranifer continues her search for Serenia, looking for any commotion outside the area's of the dragons and the small group. The dragons begin to look toward the others as the arrows start to take thier toll.

The corpses pile upon the ground as Serenia leaped to her feet, her hands and belly a burnt, bloody mess, her face contracted into a grimace of pain. She stumbled forward once before Aoibhell's blade dashed into her belly, spilling blood and the stone on the floor.

Laura moves to Serenia as Turquine stands to face Aoibhell, his sword held before him. "Get them out", he said over his shoulder as he prepared for his fight against Aoibhell.

Aoibhell started walking back towards her throne as Turquine continued to be attacked with blade and arrow from all sides. Serenia blinked once or twice at Lauralin, wondering where Ferranifer was. Aiwyn pushed towards Aoibhell, blood dripping from her wounds.

Lauralin casts upon Serenia in an attempt to heal her, while Turquine stands protectively over the two. "We must get out", Silverclaw rumbles loudly as the two dragons continue to fight, but thier wounds become more telling.

Serenia just whimpered as Aiwyn fell forward, an arrow in her wounded back. Swords continued swining at Turquine and Lauralin from all directions.

Ferranifer continued looking for Serenia through the mass of the enemy, not daring to call out in her invisible state.

Aoibhell, unimpeded, continued her race back to her throne.

"I'm going for the Empress", Turquine said and Laura stood up, moving and dodging as best she could in the press while still standing over Serenia. She began unleashed the fire and electricity again as she tried to wait for her father. Turquine pressed toward Aiwyn in an attempt to reach her. Ferranifer, saddend moved back toward the group while the dragons did the best they could to try to clear the area around the combatants.

Serenia gritted her teeth. "STOP HER!"

Laura looked up toward Aoibhell and left the Knight, making her way toward the woman. Silverclaw reached down to pick up the wounded knight while Turquine, wounds now becoming evident signaled for Goldenscale to pick up the Empress.

Serenia half-sighed, half-whimpered as Aoibhell rushed up the stairs to her throne, an army between her and Lauralin.

Laura saw there was no chance of gaining her and teleported to the front of the throne. Silverclaw lifted the wounded Serenia while Goldenscale lifted the wounded Empress. Turquine began fighting his way toward his daughter.

Aoibhell drew her sword, rounding on Lauralin.

As she rounded Laura unleashed another gout of flame and electricity into the woman. Ferranifer saw the small form of Serenia lifted out of the press and was thankful. She looked around and saw the events unfolding on the platform and tried to teleport to it herself.

Aoibhell gasped, falling backwards as the stone fell from her hand. The robed figure, casting off her robes to reveal the armed and armored figure of Beatrice, stepped forward and grabbed it, holding it up high.

Laura turned to face Beatrice, preparing another attack as her father got the steps and began climbing.

The stone began to glow with a brilliant red light, almost blinding.

Lauralin glanced at Aoibhell to gauge her reaction as her father cleared the stairs to reach to platform itself.

Aoibhell drew her sword, lunging at Beatrice

Lauralin moved with preternatural speed, slamming herself into Aoibhell. Turquine moved quickly across the platform, striving to put himself between the woman who had held his daughter and the woman that Laura seemed to be trying to protect.

The armies began to scatter, racing out the gate and heading for the portal severl miles from the fortress. The naraka army miles away, without any visible communication, followed suit.

St. James, wounded, lay on the field of the battle and watched as the armies moved away. He wasn't sure what was happening, nor did he particularly care at the moment.

Beatrice sat quietly on the throne as the raths opened once more. Serenia whimpered on the floor. Aiwyn moaned, bloody and battered.

Turquine took a position in front of the seated woman as Laura rolled to her feet, eyeing Aoibhell.

Aoibhell fled for the door. Beatrice ignored her.

The dragons moved toward the platform, gently setting the two, they carried in front of the others.

Turquine moved to the Empress side and sheathed his blade, kneeling beside her. "Be still", he said as softly as his gruff voice would allow, and gently laid his hands on her shoulders. Soft prayers issued from the Holy Knight and a gentle warmth filled the Empress as the healing powers of his god flowed into her. He then turned to the wounded Serenia and did the same, but her wounds didn't close, his powers apparently having no affect on her.

Victorious, though weary, the forces cheer thier victory. But time and continues it's own wearying march and the victors return from whence they came to face whatever new perils might await them.

FIN