Soulriders 5.0: Legend of the Unending Games

From Chapter Two -- for Bjorn

You come to your senses shakily, almost falling over.  Someone seizes your elbow, however, and steadies you.  The sky overhead is blindingly bright, though there isn't a sun in sight, or any clouds, either.

At your feet is a wide stone circle, pebbles and rocks placed over the course of hours or days into a mandala with intricate swirls and shapes throughout.  The man supporting you is a swarthy fellow, just a bit taller than you, wearing nothing more than a ruffled collar of feathers, and a loincloth.  A staff lies just outside the circle at your feet.

Nearby, several others -- all looking like African villagers, with the exception of the fact that there's no tatooing, no ritual scarring, no piercings, and everyone is wearing just enough to maintain decency.  Loincloths for the men, and simple tunics with abbreviated skirts for the women.  A good number of men and women lean on spears expectantly.

Beyond the circle is a collection of grass huts, and past that ... grasslands as far as the eye can see, studded with the occasional tree, and a few birds dotting the sky as they wheel about.

"Bjorn?" the man steadying your arm asks.  "Was the medicine strong enough?  Did the spirits speak to you?"

This is only the second time this has happened to Bjorn, which just goes to show: you adapt really quickly to waking up in a stranger's body.

Instinctively, now, the first thing he does is to reach out for his waking connection to the Dream.  Here, though, it works... oddly.  There is no double-awareness, no duplication of any perception; it is, instead, if the world becomes more real, no different, but filled with brighter colours and crisper sound.  Within seconds, he feels, rather than just knowing, the truth of what the Brotherhood said.  This is a Dream severed from reality.

On a subconcious level, Bjorn starts to process what this means, and how, with his new awareness, he will be able to take advantage of it.  But in the meantime, he has more pressing concerns.

Bjorn looks up from the horizon, and his other-self's eyes have changed into the pools of mist that mark the connection the Dream.  "The spirits spoke to Bjorn," he announces gravely, "and they asked of him a favour.    Bjorn has agreed to be my vessel, that I may fulfil my purpose and his."

There's a shocked silence, and then the one who is holding onto Bjorn's elbow says, "A spirit walks among us in your flesh?" in utter amazement.

"It is mighty medicine indeed," someone from the crowd remarks.

Then the elbow-holder says, "O, spirit who walks among us!  We beseech you for aid!  Will you tell us how to answer the Church-men's demand?"

"Speak more," Bjorn says.  "While I ride Bjorn's flesh, Bjorn's mind sleeps.  What he knew is closed to me.  But tell me of your worries, and what is in my power to do, I will."

An uneasy glance is shared among the crowd, but finally, the elbow-guy says, "I am Din, and I am Bjorn's student.  Bjorn called to request your aid because the men of the Church have asked that we change our ways.  They don't want us to roam the fields, as we have for generations beyond the sphere's edge.  They wish that we would join their folds, their cities.

"That we would follow their ways.  And then they promised us that if we did not come to them for salvation, they would send their soldiers against us, to rid us of the pestilence of our heretical ways."  Din's anger becomes more and more apparent as he goes on, and the rest of the men and women nod unhappily.  "But," he continues, trying to sound polite, and keep the anger from his voice, "we have always been friends with the spirits.  We don't want to turn away from them.  So we request your aid.  How can we answer the Church-men?  What can we say that will not destroy us?"

"It is not what you might say that will prevent your destruction," Bjorn replies, "but what you will do.  To submit to their demands will end what you are.  To say no will bring war.  So then, war it must be.  But the fight must be on your terms, and not on theirs."

"But....  The Church-men have soldiers, guns....  They have the Templar, too! How will we fight them?" Din asks anxiously.  He swallows.  "Can you lead us, and show us how to do this?"

"Yes," Bjorn replies.  "I cannot guarantee victory; the future is not fixed.  But I will fight alongside you, and your dreams will be mine."

As he has spoken, there has been a niggling sensation in the back of Bjorn's mind, a connection to the Dream that is new to him.  Through the conversation, he's been probing at that link, trying to make sense of it, and his efforts have finally succeeded.  Looking about, he asks, "Is there a source of fire nearby?"

OOC: Default Influence spending: 3 CP on Eyes of Supernatural Possession, 6 CP on Anchor Sense, and another 6 CP on Mental Defenses.

There is quick nodding -- the crowd parts to reveal the camp's central firepit.  Right now a large, very beaten brass cauldron hangs from a tripod over it.  "This way ... uh ... mighty spirit," Din says, indicating the barely-smoking flames.

"You might call me Gestur."  Bjorn's lips almost quirk. Disturbingly appropriate.  He kneels down by the firepit, and fans into a decent blaze.  When the fire is of a decent height, he closes his eyes, and reaches out through the Dream, calling to a spirit of Fire.

"Gestur," the people say in a single voice, awe evident in their tone.  The summoning is easy, simply reaching through the dream -- and the fire -- and finding a spirit.  The fire flares up abruptly, eyes like holes in the flame, and a mouth of flickering embers peering intently at the witch-doctor.

"I am summoned," the fire-spirit crackled.  "What is it that I am called to do?  What price do you offer me for my favor?"

Concious of his audience, Bjorn switchs to Japanese -- since he really doubts his French is up to the task.  "I would like information, friend.  I come from outside this world, and there are things I must know; and this is a world whose totem is fire, and so I would ask them of you.  What price will you ask?"

The fire flares briefly, then in perfectly concise (crackling) Japanese, it replies, "You please and flatter us!  We would have your people sing us praises, and we will tell you of this world."

Bjorn nods and stands, turning to Din.  "I have asked this spirit to speak to me of secrets, which I hope will help us in our fight.  Graciously, it has agreed to aid us.  Would you and yours sing a song of thanks for it?"

Din blinks, then nods, speaking quickly to the children and the women.  The men go off to the side -- it appears that this is a well known ritual.  The song sounds appropriately tribal, but has subtle and complex resonances, and even without actual words seems to convey some meaning....  For some reason, it reminds Bjorn of the rising sun.

"The best song," the fire spirit says in satisfaction, still crackling in Japanese.  "What do you wish to know, you who have called me?"

Returning to Japanese, Bjorn replies, "Being from outside this world, I know nothing of this realm of Fire, except that there is a deed which needs doing, a wrong that must be righted, which will draw the attention of the great Fire upon me.  If there is anything you can tell me which might illuminate my way, o Flame, then my gratitude will be yours.  

"If it would be of any assistance, these humans here have spoken of a Church, which strives to cut them off from the spirits.  I think, but do not know, that this Church will lie at the heart of that which I must do.  If you can tell me of this Church, the words they speak and the actions they take, then too, I will be grateful."

"Hoo, hoo," the spirit chuckles, sending bright sparks to lick against the cauldron overhead.  "Such a simple thing.

"And your questions share an answer; it is the church that you must stop.  They corrupt and separate us from the people, they misuse the gates."  The fire dies down, thoughtful.  "You will need to learn enough of their ways to understand what they do," it says with another mild flare.  "You must know what the gates mean, and how the worlds are tied.  And you must find those who I feel are tied to you."

The ember-maw twists into a grin.  "You must open the gates for all.  Advancement is not always Progression.  This, I am allowed to speak.  These clues will tell you more.  Enough, when the time comes.  Then, you must find a man in Anabara.  He calls himself...."  The fire hesitates.  "He was built, sent here as a beacon.  His name is Holmes."

Bjorn bows his head.  "Your words will be my guide," he says simply but with gratitude.  "Though I have no right to ask more of you, would you speak more of the gates?"

"Flux points, where the veils between the many shadows of this place lie.  Masks, behind masks.  A string of pearls, illusion, with a truth buried deeply within the shroud," the fire crackles cryptically.  "This is what I am allowed to offer you."

"Thank you," Bjorn replies gravely.  "I am called Gestur Bjorn.  Might I know the name of the one who has been of such assistance, before you return?"

"The name I am called is," and then he says something that it takes Bjorn a moment to figure out translates into, 'the light of a flame against the darkness before a dawn', which is pronounced something like 'Kerwhizzle'.  Then the spirit fades away, leaving only a mortal fire behind.

"What....  What did it say?" Din asks anxiously.

Bjorn squats still, gazing thoughtfully into the fire.  "The spirit told me that there is no easy peace with the Church, and that their quest must be stopped," he says, slowly.  "The key lies in the gates; to know them and to free them is to win.  I was also told that other spirits like myself walk this world, and I must find them if success is to be ours.

"But before we might deal with the demands of the future, we must face the needs of the now."  He stands, brushing his hands, and turns about to face Din. "Let us go somewhere and speak of the situation you face.  To know how we might earn us a tomorrow, we should consider the exact demands of the Church, and their strength in this place."

"Y...yes," Din says, nodding quickly.  The crowd parts around a single elderly looking man.  He's probably in his late sixties ... which would seem to be a good lifespan, given the relatively simple-looking living conditions.

"Welcome," the man says in a creaky voice.  "Gestur, I am the one who is often," he gives a wry smile, "called the leader of this village.  I am N'Boru.  Let us retire to my lodge with Din, to discuss this."  He turns his eyes on the rest of the villagers.  "This is no simple undertaking.  I think hunting needs to be tended.  And are there not other chores...?"  He trails off with a pleasant, grandfatherly laugh, dismissing and reassuring the people that all will be well.

The men and women melt away to tend their chores, but a number of flowers are tossed to Bjorn's feet.  Despite his tired voice, N'Boru has a spring in his step as he leads the way to his lodge -- one of the grass huts, not really distinguishable from any of the others.

The interior of the hut is dim, but the light coming through tiny gaps all throughout it make it look like the walls and cieling are speckled with tiny constelations.  There's a few clay pots and woven baskets filled with various things.  Herbs, a stack of arrow-heads, some twine....  All sorts of things.

There's also some bedding -- furs, looks like.  Aside from that, some simple cushions protect sitting tribals from the ground.  N'Boru sits first, and Din waits for Bjorn to sit before joining.

"What has Bjorn told you so far, Gestur?" N'Boru asks.

"Bjorn and I have never spoken.  It was through another spirit that the pact was made, that I would ride his body.  What I know comes solely from Din and from the words of the fire spirit."

"The church men," N'Boru says simply, "want us to become more like them.  They want us to build towns like theirs, and give up our lifestyles.  They say that we must accept their offers, and pass through their terrible gates."  Din shudders, while N'Boru's lips compress together in a flat line.

"The gates," N'Boru says after a moment, "are possessed by mighty spirits.  They have the power to change men, to make them more, or make them ... less.  We fear that this is a ploy on the part of the Church men to make us into something else entirely.  Something simple that benefits them, like the thralls we know they turn their criminals into."

"Do the Churchmen already have a foot in this land?"

"It is perhaps two days walk to their towns from here," N'Boru says with a shake of his head, gesturing, well ... some random direction.  With no sun, it's hard to way which way is north, or east.  "They have great numbers and strength, but until recently stayed in their lush, forested area.  We don't know what's driven them out, and why they persecute us."

Tilting his head back to consider that, Bjorn makes a clicking noise with his tongue.  "Have they given you a time by which you must answer their demands?"

"We have two more weeks before they bring their warriors and their ... guns," this word comes somewhat awkwardly, "against us."

Guns.  Muskets?  Repeating matchlocks?  Thin red line, or have they learned the machinegun lesson?  Hrm.

Out loud: "Have you seen them wage battle?  And what arms do your people carry?"

"We have," N'Boru says with a grimace.  "They attacked the people closer to their border, the traders, when they claimed their lands and economy were being threatened.  They said that our way of following the spirits was wrong and corrupt, and then they drove the traders away.

"That time, they didn't have any desire to take those who were different and make them join the Church-men.  I don't know what has changed now ... but it must be something.  There has to be a reason for it, and, well....  We're lost.  That is why we turn to you for guidance, Gestur.

"They have guns, and we have only spears.  We are not warlike, beyond hunting, and man is a dangerous beast."

Shaking his head, Bjorn replies, "I must see the Churchmen, I think.  To hunt one must know the prey, and so it is with war.  But you might tell me: did you, or any here, see them fight?  Do you know how they went about using their guns?"

"The mouths of the gun have to be fed," Din says slowly.  "Bjorn told us this, from the spirits; none here saw directly.  They have a powder, and then a bullet, and both must be given to the gun.  The Churchmen themselves send knights armored in steel, carrying those guns to do their bidding -- or worse, men they've twisted with their gates to have skin like red stone."

"They sent a single man on one of their horses to warn us yesterday.  I suppose it might be possible to catch him before he returns," N'Boru says thoughtfully.  "Beyond that, you would have to go to their lands to speak with one."

"Muskets," Bjorn muses out loud.  "Almost certainly a gun-line, then.  Terrain favours them.  Bows might have a chance, but..." He trails off, thinking of guerilla tactics, and possible bargains with the spirits.

"Well.  Information must be collected quickly, then, for it seems to me that should we need to war, we may well need to seize the initiative.  Perhaps we should begin with this knight.  Shall we see if we might catch him?"

"This can be done," Din agrees, jumping to his feet.  "I can have things ready for travel within ten minutes, Gestur."  Without waiting for confirmation, he dashes from the lodge.

N'Boru nods slowly.  "You are decisive," he says, slight anxiety stressing his voice.  "Our faith is in Bjorn, and so, you, too.  I wish you luck, and hope that the....  Er, that the other spirits guide your path."

His lips quirking slightly at the last, Bjorn quickly becomes serious again as he rises.  "My eyes see the end of our quest," he tells N'Boru.  "With that, the path through the obstacles is clear.  So, too, must your eyes see.  Know what you and your people desire, and feel no doubt as you protect your hopes."

Before following Din out of the lodge, he pauses to look N'Boru straight in the eyes.  "To end this, the Church as it is must die," he says.  "So my heart tells me, and so too did the spirits.  To accomplish this, it may be that I will need to travel far.  With whomever travels with me after this knight, I will send advice back, on how to fight and hold the Churchmen back should they march forth and I am yet to return.  I beg you, do not lose faith in me.  

"Now, just arrived in this flesh, I am weak.  As time grows, I will grow stronger, and more able to draw on my power."  He holds out his hand.  "If you take my hand, then I will know the touch of your dreams, and will, in time, be able to speak to you no matter the distance between us.  As a mark of the duty I owe you, I ask this of you."

N'Boru grasps Bjorn's hand firmly, and without hesitation.  "Our song travels with you," he says with conviction.  "Be well, and return safely."

Grasping N'Boru's hand -- and just coincidentally anchoring him to his Dream -- Bjorn nods once in recognition, and then steps out of the lodge.

Which is the first time he really stops to take stock of himself, in a physical sense.  Loincloth.  Dark skin colour.  Hope that's universal.  I wonder what my options for disguises are.  Any tattoos?  Loooks like not.  No weapons.  Hope I remember how to fight soon enough.

With these issues in mind, he looks around for Din.

Not long after Bjorn stops outside of N'Boru's lodge to take stock, Din rushes over, carrying four spears of various sizes -- two of them are medium, and he is carrying one of them for himself.  The rest he presents, saying, "If we travel, Gestur, you should take one of these for yourself."

Beyond that, he's also carrying a brace of a dozen javelins over his shoulder, along with two packs (hide) that look like they've been stuffed with travel supplies.

Bjorn reaches out for one of the longer spears, about 9 feet in length, appraising it for workmanship as he does -- metal or stone tips?  socket or tang fit?  if rope is used to bind it in place, what material is the rope made from?

Tucking the spear under his right arm, he says, "Let us go, then.  Will it be the two of us?"

The spear is of worked wood, carved from some longer tree ... which is interesting, since there don't seem to be any around here.  The spearhead is the tip of a straight double-edged sword, broken off somewhere, and fitted into a socket reinforced with a tight leather binding cord.

"It will be," Din agrees.  "The hunters will practice their craft, and gather more spears in expectation."

At a glance, Bjorn has chosen the best spear of the lot.  While the wood is of identical quality, the other spearheads are made of stone.

Hefting the spear in one hand to test its weight, Bjorn asks, "This wood... it comes from the forest where the Churchmen have built their place?"

"It does," Din says, offering one of the packs to Bjorn.  "We may reach it before we find the knight we seek."

"Then let us go," Bjorn replies, following Din as he sets out.

Din begins marching into the tall grasses.  Almost all of the villagers watch, and many of them wave.  Just before they vanish from earshot, another one of those haunting songs drifts over the waving sea of grass.

After a few dozen yards, Din bends low and starts searching through the grasses.  It doesn't take him long to find what he's looking for before he sets off at a brisk pace.

His other-self seems to know what signs Din should be looking for, and so Bjorn plays a game as he follows after Din, trying to spot the signs before Din does.  And, at the same time, trying to make sense of exactly what the signs say -- if it isn't a horse they're chasing after, he'd like not to be taken by complete surprise.

At the same time, he fishes through his newly acquired memories, trying to find out what he can about the way the world is arranged.

OOC: Tracking at 12- to make sense of the trail; KNO: Cosmology at 15- for whatever the hell it will tell me!

The signs appear to be hoofprints.  Din is much better at spotting them, but Bjorn manages to find a few first.  It's not too hard -- they pretty much go in a straight line.

Cosmology reveals interesting things, mostly the locations of spirits and where to draw them from.  The world is a bubble, a tiny one, and one of many that are strung together like beads of dew on a spiderweb.  The vast majority of spirits lurk in the area outside of the bubbles, occasionally being pulled in by a witch-doctor/summoner, and occasionally of their own volition.

The line that the spiderweb represents would be the connection between the bubbles, which Bjorn's otherself doesn't seem to be as aware of.  Most likely it's those 'gates' that were being mentioned.

Talking comes suprisingly easy while running.  The benefits of another body, apparently.  "This emissary from the Church -- what sort of man was he?  Arrogant?"

If I have to fight, this could be rough.

"Supremely," Din agrees.  "And not just because of his demands; he struck Bjorn.  He was trying to goad us into a fight, perhaps so he could die, and the Church could call us savages and be done with it.  Perhaps so he could strike us down and show us his true strength."  He shrugs.  "We have no way to know how long they have been preparing for this, but we have never prepared for it."

"Well," Bjorn replies, "we'll have to see what we can do about that, will we not?"

And then he shuts up and concentrates on running.

More time passes in this odd, sunless land.  It begins to get dark before Din begins to slow, shaking his head.  "These tracks are fresh, but I do not think we want to come upon this knight by dark.  We should rest here, and meet him tomorrow," he says, turning to look at Bjorn.

This is the first time that the sunless nature of the land has really hit Bjorn.  Where was the light coming from?  Are there stars now that dark has fallen?  What's in the sky, if anything.  If I'm in a Dyson Sphere, I wouldn't know whether to laugh or cry.

"Why not come upon him in the dark?" Bjorn asks.

"He might take that as excuse to attack us," Din says slowly, uncertain of Bjorn's plan.

No stars are visible yet, but the light hasn't fully faded.  There are some clouds to the ... whichever direction the village is in, but they seem to be moving to the....  Well, if Bjorn and Din have been headed North, then the clouds are moving East.

A thought strikes Bjorn, and he scans the horizon, checking to see if the world curves away, or if instead it curves upwards, as would be expected from a Dyson Sphere or ring world.

To Din: "Possibly.  On the other hand, though, the dark will make him hesitant, and likely give the advantage to us.  I would, I think, prefer to see him before he sees us.  If you think we might approach under the cover of the dark and have him unawares, then let us do so now, and then make a decision on when to approach him."

Din hesitates only a moment before nodding, but not increasing his pace.  Moving faster would probably make more noise.  Bjorn's study of the horizon doesn't reveal curvature of any kind -- it's perfectly level as far as he can tell.

The air here is really clean compared to back on Earth, though.  And much warmer than the Earth Dream.

It's another hour before Din raises a hand to indicate that Bjorn should stop, and stops himself.  Ahead maybe a half mile, flickering light can be seen from a fire.  Now it's full dark, and for whatever reason, there aren't any stars at all.

There's soft light, as though from a moon, shrouding everything in gentle silver ... but no obvious source for that illumination.

Pity about the light.  Indirect moonlight is almost impossible to hide in.

More pressing concerns abound, however.  Such as, for example, "how to get close to this guy?"  Taking Din's word, Bjorn had expected not to reach the Churchman until he'd reached tree cover; but approaching over the plains doesn't promise any sort of chance at success.   After a few seconds, he gives a mental shrugs.  Might as well shoot for gutsy.

"Follows as closely as you might without being seen," he murmurs to Din, "and we shall see if fortune favours us."

With that he stands up, and without making any particular efforts to conceal his steps, makes his way towards the fire.

Bjorn approaches the campsite.  Din's attempt to follow is ... interesting.  The witch-doctor's apprentice skulks forward perhaps three steps, catches his foot on something, and vanishes beneath the grass with a muffled groan.  At least it wasn't likely to go far through the grass....

The Templar Guild man has a campsite that he's cleared the grass from -- for a wide enough space to have a fire, anyway.  Mostly there's just grass on the flame, but he's either found, or brought some of his own wood, too.  A pair of horses stand to one side, hobbled against running off.

This is Bjorn's first chance to see the Churchman, who is sitting before the fire sharpening his sword (looks like a broadsword, at a glance -- straight, double-edged, sturdy) and hasn't bothered to remove his armor.  His armor is plate, not as well designed as the Church of Hammar's, but probably still effective.  This also makes Bjorn wonder about his relative size.  If the Guildsman, sitting, is about six feet tall, then Bjorn is about four and a half.

Bold as brass, Bjorn walks up to the fire.

The guildsman looks up at Bjorn, blinking, then narrows his eyes.  "What?" he demands in a harsh voice.  His helmet, a smooth domed cap of steel, sits at one side, and he doesn't move to raise his sword in a threatening manner, though he does stop sharpening it.

Noticing the man's Hispanic accent, Bjorn thinks, Carriage is more English, though.  Okay.  Let's run with this, and hope for a safe bet.

Reluctantly, he lets go of his connection to the Dream; it might put him at a disadvantage, but eyes full of mist is a bit of a tip-off.  At the same time, he tries to make his accent slip into a smoothly cultured tone, vaguely aristocractic British -- a task, he finds, made suprisingly easier by his other-self's worrisome familiarity with acting.  "This is, in fact," he replies, frostily, "much the same question, though considerably less eloquently-put, that I was about to put to you."

OOC: Losing Eyes of Supernatural Possession, and therefore by default losing Anchor Sense and Mental Defenses.  Instead bringing through Conversation (3 CP), 2 CSLs HTH (10 CP), and, uh, 1 STR and 1 ED.  Might as well.  Not using it anywhere else.

"Didn't you get your message last time, heathen dog?" the man growls.  "The Church of the Gate demands that you surrender your depraved ways, or we shall end you.  How could this message be made clearer?"  As he says this, he shifts his sword to a ready-position, though he does not visibly tense.

"Yes, yes," Bjorn snaps back in return.  "But there are none of these 'heathen dogs' about at the moment, and as such I expect quite a bit more of you, both in terms of respect and of explanations.  Now, put your sword down, and tell me what your orders were!"

"Yes, yes," Bjorn snaps back in return.  "But there are none of these 'heathen dogs' about at the moment, and as such I expect quite a bit more of you, both in terms of respect and of explanations.  Now, put your sword down, and tell me what your orders were!"

The man squints, as if in confusion.  "Very simply, to warn you before we liberated your people from the yoke of your uncouth ways.  To give you that chance to convert, and accept the authority of the Church of the Gate."

"Do not speak to me in that tone," Bjorn replies frostily.  "I am fully aware of the goal of conversion.  But you, you blithering incompetent, you have managed to take the one approach that might actually put some spine into the backs of these heathens.  Were you told to come barging in here, antagonizing matters?  Under what bleeding authority?"

"I don't care if you're compliant or not," the man sneers, lumbering to his feet, sword in hand.  "Your loss is inevitable.  Either things will be faster with threats of force, or through use of force.  Now unless you want to fight, leave.  I'm not in a mood to argue semantics with a man who doesn't even understand the value of wearing a shirt."

Bjorn sighs heavily.  "Oh, sit down, you brute," he says in a disgusted tone.  "We're working towards the same end.  Weren't you told I was here?"

OOC: Even in the face of absolute failure of the plan, NEVER GIVE UP! NEVER SURRENDER!

"The...."  He blinks, obviously taken aback by this approach.  "Same end?"  He looks totally puzzled.  "What are you talking about?"

Rather than puzzled, Bjorn's expression is purely incredulous.  "You don't know?"

The churchman is off guard.  "I followed my orders," he says with a snap.  "They said to intimidate you, to make sure that compliance was demanded."  He pauses.  "What were your orders?  Who gave them to you?"

Now it is Bjorn's turn to be hesitant, as he appears to mull over the question.  "I... my mission was to be a secret," he says.  "I never thought they'd send someone through without...I'm probably not even supposed to be talking to you."  He scowls.  "Who gave you your orders?"

The knight grunts, his expression twisting into a grimace as he drops the sword.  "High Priest Kerrik Powel," he answers, though he still looks confused.  "What....  What are you here for?"

"I was supposed to convert the heathens," Bjorn lies glibly.  "To make them trust me, and then to show them that the only true way was that of the Church."  He scowls.  "If I'd had only one more year... where are you headed now?"

"Back to the garrison," he says slowly.  "We're gathering knights to prepare for the battles."

"Is the high priest there, or...?" Bjorn asks, rubbing his temples.

"Kerrick is at the High Church," the knight says, squatting back by the campfire, and starting to sharpen his blade again.

Bjorn nods, as if that means something.  "Is he going to come to supervise the conversion?  Or is it entirely in your hands?"

"I was merely told to send a message," he says thoughtfully.  "It seems that you aren't working for him, though."  The knight sets his sword on the ground, eyes narrowing.  "IT must be Tritheim," he snarls, almost under his breath.  "This is a breech of protocol...."  Then he trails off, frowning.  "I don't understand," he finally says.  "This makes no sense."

"Nor to me," Bjorn says.  "I think I must consult for further orders."  He grimaces, then.  "First I have to return to the savages.  I managed to slip away this night, but if I'm supposed to still work from inside, then I'll need to make some excuse for a protracted departure."

Checking over his shoulder, he adds, "For that matter, I should leave now, before one of them takes it in his head to come looking for me.  Once I understand the situation, with your permission, I'll be in touch."

"O...of course," the Templar says, nodding.  "By the Creator's grace."

"By his Grace," Bjorn echoes, nodding back.  He turns to leave, but stops, looking back with a slightly sheepish grin.  "Might I have your name?  I imagine that I might find some difficulty when I visit the garrison, and I would hope that you could perhaps vouch for me when the time came."

"I am Rinaldo, Second Captain of the High Church, here," he says with a frown.  "And your name?"

"For the moment," Bjorn says with a bit of a grimace, "I am using the name Bjorn.  My orders, unfortunately, prevent me from properly introducing myself at the moment."  

Inclining his head, he repeats, "By the Creator's grace," before slipping back into the darkness.  Assuming Rinaldo does not try to stop him, he makes for a good safe distance before hunting around again for Din.

Din is found some distance beyond earshot of Rinaldo, though he looks very troubled.  He says nothing, merely falling into step behind Bjorn with a weary trudge.  He's following silently for almost a minute before Bjorn even notices him.

Safely away from Rinaldo, Bjorn relaxes, and once again lets himself perceive the Dream, with the change of his eyes following.  He studies Din's face for a moment.  "You fear that I spoke the truth to the Churchman, and that I lied to you and your people."  It's a statement, not a question.

OOC: Back to Possessed Eyes (3 CP), Anchor Sense (6 CP), and 6 CP of Mental Defenses.

"Yes," Din says unhappily.  "That is just so."

There is a thoughtful pause.  "You have seen me arrive," Bjorn says gently.  "It must either be that I am a spirit, or that I am still Bjorn, and Bjorn was a servant of the Church.  You have seen me speak to the spirits, which the Church says must not be done.  I have spoken no words that have been flattering to the Church, tried no deception such as I described.  You have no reason to believe the words I spoke to your enemy were true."

He looks over at Din, and in the poor light, his eyes are simple cavernous pits of dark.  "I am a warrior spirit.  To vanquish my foes, I will lie and treat as well as fight.  Tonight I have sown confusion in their minds, and I have taken information while giving none.  There is a path now for me to strike through where there was none before.  Tonight I fought for you and yours, and tonight I won.

"But these are words."  He looks away.  "I only say out loud what the world already is.  I think that perhaps you feel doubt not because you cannot see the world, but because you are afraid.  The Church threatens all you hold dear, and your only hope is a spirit unknown to you who rides the flesh of your teacher.  Who would dare to feel hope in such dark times?  It is easier to reach for despair, for then the worst would come as no surprise.

"My words cannot end your fears.  I cannot make you trust me.  But then, I do not need your trust.  Whether you heed my words, whether your shun me, I will fight the Church and I will protect your people.  That is why I am here.  Your death is mine."

"I follow," Din replies simply.  "Where do we go next, war-spirit?"

Bjorn glances over his shoulder.  "Not far, I think.  Let us go off some distance where the Churchman will not see us, and then rest for the night.  In the morning, I think we must part ways: I to hunt, and you to tell yours how you might hold off the Churchmen."

"Very well," Din says in a tight voice.  "What do I tell the people of our village?"

Bjorn looks over at Din and grins.  "That," he says a bit lightly, "is the reason we must rest.  So that I might think on what I have seen, and ask you about your village, and, perhaps, speak with the spirits."  His expression grows more sober, though not oppressive.  "Understand, Din, that the task we have before us is not a simple one.  To defeat an enemy strong and skilled with war, with this little time... it can be done, and it will, but we must not rush.  So.  We will find a place where we might sit and talk.  Together we will turn the thoughts I have into plans.  Then we will rest, and if the plans are still strong in the light of the morning, we will begin upon them."

Din nods reluctantly.  At about that same time, a well-dressed apparition comes into being just to one side of Bjorn.  Brown hair, handlebar mustache, nice hat, very Victorian-era clothing.  He blinks a few times, then brings a pipe up to his mouth.  "I say," he says, causing Din to look at it sidelong.  "You would be Dr. Christianson, yes?"

This throws Bjorn.  Despite everything he has dealt with up to this moment, he had never really anticipated dealing with old English gentleman appearing out of nowhere.  "In a manner of speaking," he manages.  "But I'm afraid you have the best of me."

"Ironic, that," the apparition says in a low voice.

Din crosses his arms over his chest and raises one eyebrow.

"Anyway," he says, more loudly, "I was asked to relay a message to you.  First of all, you owe the one I bear a message for cookies."  He pauses, waiting for some sort of recognition.

A look of resignation crosses Bjorn's face, and he closes his eyes.  "Go on," he says wearily.

"Ah, yes.  Nathan is waiting for you in Anabara, but he expressed concern that you might also require assistance.  He asked me to serve as a messenger between the two of you.  The trip takes me a bit more than an hour anti-spinwise, I'm afraid, so it won't be swift.  But I can pass what you need him to know along.  Oh, he also asked me to tell you about his situation.

"He's just been freed from the insane asylum and should be reclaiming the ancestral homestead with Inspector Holmes right around now.  As part of the goal that you," and here, the specter puffs on his pipe, "are working towards, Nathan has agreed to support the king politically.  And that means offering information on the Church.  Information Nathan doesn't have, but which you might be able to collect."

"At the moment, the Church is making a concerted push here, to convert or destroy Din's people," Bjorn says, nodding at his companion.  "This push is at least in part being lead by someone named High Priest Kerrick Powel.  Din's people were given two weeks to respond.  I hope to have created some confusion, which might slow things down, but I am not sure.  Another name that came up in this is 'Tritheim,' though I'm not sure of the significance.

"Tell Nathan that stopping the Church, while part of our goal, is not all of it.  We also have to make the gates open to all, and find out what their full nature.  He can trust Holmes.  Tell him I spoke to the spirits to find this out.

"My first priority is to help Din's people set up some plan of defence, in case the Church can't be diverted before they start their action here.  After that..." he hesitates.  "How long would it take me to get to Anabara, would you wager?  Ignoring human complications."

"Well, judging by our position along the Meridian, two weeks, but that doesn't take into account the fact that we're a good distance Edgeward.  I'd say three weeks at the earliest.  Perhaps just under two, if you didn't sleep."

Bjorn shakes his head.  "Too far, then.  I won't come to Anabara yet, then.  I'll scout the Church out here, and do what I can to stall or divert them."

"Any message for me to take back, then?" the man asks.

Din watches this all patiently, but with a look of slowly dawning comprehension.

Rubbing his jaw thoughtfully, Bjorn replies, "I don't know enough about the technology level or psychology of the Church.  If Nathan can get me something, anything along those lines, it will be a huge help.  Unless you happen to know something of them?"

"Well, not entirely," the man admits.  "I only began following my son after he returned through the Gate, understand.  I can find out for you, though.  Anything else, then?"

"I haven't seen any of the others yet, nor any sign of our opponents.  Beyond that, nothing for the moment."  Bjorn frowns for a second, and then tries to summon the ghost of Nathan's Dad.  "Can you feel that?"

"Absolutely," the specter says, blinking in confusion.  "What a strange compulsion."

Bjorn nods, releasing the summons.  "Good.  Then we don't have to worry about constant contact; if I'd like to speak with you, then I can let you know.  It's not as good as the alternatives, but it will work until I can better control my Dream."  He looks at Din quickly, to check if he has anything to say.  Assuming not, he looks again at the ghost.  "Thank your for your assistance, Dr. Shuker, and give all of my very best to Nathan.  He will soon get what he's asking for."

"Excellent," the spirit says, before vanishing.

"Many spirits know you," Din says, impressed.  "You must be very powerful.  Maybe it is not so bad, this war thing."

"No," Bjorn disagrees.  "War is never a good thing, Din.  It brings death and suffering.  War is necessary, for there comes times when the alternative is far worse.  And even with the greatest advantages, war can always be lost."  He looks around, studying the horizon.  "But now war is necessary, and I believe that it is ours to win.  So let us make plans while we rest, and do what is needed for victory."

"Okay," Din agrees.  "Where do we begin?"

"Let us set up camp," Bjorn says, "and as we do so, you shall tell me how your people hunt."

Din goes about setting up a camp -- clearing enough space for a small fire, gathering grasses that burn with minimal smoke, and then explains the process of the hunt for Bjorn.

For ceremony, on certain days of the year, Bjorn would apparently summon a spirit related to whatever the goal of that hunt was -- typically wildebeests.  Then the spirit would be asked for assistance, and Bjorn would bargain; the people of the plains have the best voices to please spirits, so this is typically not difficult.

The rest of the year, if an opportunity for a hunt arises -- such as when a herd is threatening to graze away one of the plainsmen's groves -- then hunts are made to scare them off.  And of course, the hides are the animals' payments for the incursion on the groves that the spirits have granted.

Therefore, because it's done so rarely, the hunts have to center around activities and exercises that the plainsmen can practice at other times.  This means that the men and children (and many women, too), spend a lot of time practicing the art of sneaking around, masking their scents, and creeping up on the local animals.

The hunt is a contest to take the prey unawares, with slow patience, and determined aim.  It can often take a skilled hunter more than an hour to take down a kill ... but almost all hunters are skilled.  It's a rarity, Din says with evident pride, for anyone who can call themselves a man to make a mistake when going after prey.

When Din is done, Bjorn nods.  Good.  This is very workable.  He gestures to Din, calling him closer, and squats down in the dirt.

"First," he says, "we must think about how the Churchmen will fight.  This I do not know for certain, but based on what I have seen, it is likely they rely on two things.

"Their muskets will be inaccurate and slow to reload.  Enough men shoulder by shoulder, however, with enough men to keep a ready gun in their hands, and the result with be a storm that would tear any opponent apart.  For this reason, they cannot be attacked directly.  Their guns will be of little use when mounted; it is difficult to train an animal not to panic at the sound of gunfire so close, and it is nigh impossible to reload a musket while mounted.  Horseback, they will use swords, and charge at their enemy to break them, and chase them down when they run.  For this reason, one cannot try to stand against them.

"The key to victory begins with taking their weapons away from them.  Once they begin their march, your people must vanish.  The lodges must be abandoned, and all must slip away into the plains ahead of their army.

"When they are deep into the plains, and far from their strongholds, you may begin.  Come upon them quietly at night.  Take away their mounts; kill them, or drive them off into the wilds, or stampede them through their camp.  Take away the powder which powers their guns.  It is dangerous, and will explode when touched with fire; you may try to burn it, but this is risky.  Better, perhaps, to ruin it.  It must be pure to work well.  Mix in dirt, salt, or dung.  Spread it out over the ground, or mix it with their food, for it is noxious.  This, too, you should also do: destroy their food and water.  You may kill some few of them, but do not kill too many.

"Too great a show of strength and they will flee, and the Church will return with strength redoubled.  Instead, we wish to plague them, to remove their teeth so that they might not harm us, but to leave them with the thought that the might yet succeed.  Doing so will they press on, unwilling to return to their masters and admit failure, and so that then when they do flee, their masters will think them incompetent, and not think us a risk.  If the Church becomes wary, if it uses its full might wisely, then the path to victory will be dark indeed.  

"When they have no mounts or guns, you may appear before them during the day.  Never stand to fight.  Always stay just beyond their reach, drawing them to chase after you.  Lead them away from water, from food.  If they stop to rest, then turn upon them.  From hidden places, throw spears and rocks at them until they must return to their chase or perish; and then again lead them on.  

"At night, continue your campaign.  Destroy their weapon, and any food or water they might have found.  Kill a few men, every night, so that they will feel fear and not dare risk sleep.

"An army such as theirs depends, necessarily, on caravans that bring to them supplies, replacement weapons and mounts, and new soldiers.  These must not be allowed to arrive, and it is for this reason you will have lured the army deep into the plains.  While some continue to harass the Churchmen, others must stalk the plains between their army and their strongholds, finding all of these caravans.  At night, come upon them and destroy them.  All of these men, if you can, you might kill, for silence of their replacements will strike as much fear as their stories of devastation.  But always will the priority be on their equipment.  Do not let them regain their strength.

"Now.  Their will come a time when their leader will realize that their tactics are futile.  There are three courses of action he might decide upon.

"If he is foolish, he will choose a place and begin to build a fort.  Let him do so.  Do not attack the fort, but instead redouble your efforts upon the supply caravans.  If you come across hunting parties sent out from the fort, do away from them.  Let them stay in their hole and rot for it.

"If he is wise, he will realize that he must close the distance between himself and the strongholds, so that the supply caravans might reach him without perishing.  Should they begin to withdraw, and ignore your attempts to lure them away, attack!  Lay hard upon them with spear and stone, striking always from a distance, and leaving the paths behind them into the heart of the plains clear.  If they reach the woods, fall back.  

"Most likely, though, it will fall to the third option: the army will break, and run for fear back to their homes.  If this should happen, harry them along.  This is the end we desire: the army to return humiliated, seemingly incompetent.  In their pride and arrogance, the Church will likely attack again, with more men, but without changing their tactics.  The attack will not come again soon, and much time will have been earned, for the end of this battle will not have come quickly; when the attack does come again, it may be defeated by the same tactics."

From the sketches he's etched into the dirt, he looks up at Din.  "Is this clear to you?"

Din nods slowly.  "It will take time," he says, "but it makes sense.  We can keep our young ones and the chiefs far away from danger.  This is a good plan."  He looks up from the sketches in the dirt, to Bjorn.  "Where will you go?  When will you return Bjorn to us?"

"This plan will not stop the Church," Bjorn explains, "but only slow it down.  That it will take time is its goal.  So I must away from the plains, towards the Churchmen's strongholds.  I must learn more of them, their strengths and their weaknesses, so that final victory can be won.  There are other spirits like me in this world; some of them work towards our end, and some, perhaps, are hear to forestall us.  All of them, too, I must find.

"I do not yet know exactly where I will go.  I am hunting; I head towards where prey should be, and when I find its trail I will follow it wherever it might go."  He shakes his head.  "Nor can I tell you when Bjorn shall return to you, other than that it shall come when your people are safe."

"Are you....  Will you be safe, traveling alone?" Din asks, poking a stick he found somewhere at the fire.

"I will be fine," Bjorn reassures him.  "This is a mission of stealth, and I will need to walk among the Churchmen and their like.  We cannot easily pass without notice, especially not if we are many.  Alone, perhaps, I am strong enough already to disguise myself."

He concentrates, letting go his hold of the Dream once again, and concentrating on his own body.  He then glances down, to see what he's managed to accomplish.

OOC: Reassigning all my Influence: 1 CP to bring my STR up to 14, 6 CP to bring my CON up to 14, 4 CP to bring my REC up to 8, and 3 CP to bring over my Light Sleep talent.  Hopefully this is enough to make me look less like a voodoo midget.

The effect is almost instant.  Bjorn gains a few inches in height, and becomes slightly paler.

Din backs away, rubbing his eyes.  "You are a very powerful spirit," he determines.  "I will return to my people, now."  He salutes with his spear, then hesitates, and drops his javelins before turning to run off into the grass.

Releasing his hold on his other self, Bjorn reaches out to stop Din.  "Hold one second, Din.  There is one other precaution I would take before you leave."

Turning his attention back to the fire, he reaches out for Kerwhizzle, or another of his kin.

OOC: Back to default Influence spending.

Kerwhizzle is the first to reply to the summon, situating himself comfortably in the firepit that Din had arranged.  "I am summoned," he says, in Japanese, sounding vaguely pleased.  "What bargain shall we make today, Bjorn?"

"With your agreement," Bjorn replies in English, so that Din will understand, "I will tell you of our need, and then you may set the terms of the bargain.

"Shortly, the people of the plains will go to war with the Church, that they might keep to their ways and honour the spirits.  But I am afraid, friend, that when they feel the sting of defeat, the Church may choose to set fire to the plains, rather than stand and fight.  I do not know that they will do this, o Flame, but if they do, then it will be a heavy blow to us.  And so we implore you: is there ought that might be done to make sure that such an end does not come to pass?"

"I am but a fraction of the spirit of fire," Kerwhizzle replies after a moment of thought.  "And songs are pretty, but nature's rule is nature's rule.  To oppose it in your favor is a possible thing, but I would require ... leverage against the other spirits of fire to make it happen.

"This will require more than your people could offer easily.  It can be done, however."  The coals dim a bit, then flare up, "If you are willing, you could bargain with the spirits of the void.  Their word is law to us, they who sit in the shroud beyond the spheres, and if you could get one in your debt, and give even some of that debt to me, then I would be able to accomplish what you ask."

Bjorn bows his head.  "I thank you for your words, o Flame.  If it should come to be that I might pay the price you ask, then surely will I gladly do so.  I thank you for heeding my call."

When Kerwhizzle has gone, Bjorn sits still, staring at the fire with narrowed eyes, deep in thought.

Din sighs heavily, then shakes his head.  "You are going on a journey," he says, opening his pack up and sorting through it.  "You may be a spirit, but Bjorn's body will need food."

Focused on his task, Din gives Bjorn several parcels of dried meat, a number of vegetables, and two waterskins.  Then he looks up.  "Much of what spirits do is beyond me.  But should you need it, take this also."  And then he hands over a gourd sealed with a carved wooden stopper.  "It allows mortal men to see spirits; the same gift that Bjorn gave to the man who came from beyond the church lands to speak with him."

"Thank you, Din," Bjorn says, shaken from his reverie.  He frowns.  "Before you leave... does it rain often upon the plains?  Do your people hunt well in the rain?"

"It rains on occasion," he answers, shaking his head.  "Mostly at night; we don't hunt, then."

Bjorn nods at that, his eyes sweeping the terrain.  "Then were it to rain without end for many days, it would not be good for your people.  So be it.  I will see if I might bargain with the spirits of the void."

He ransacks his other-self's memory, trying to figure out what the spirits of the void might be.

OOC: KNO: Cosmology at 15-.

"I have one question, though," Din says hesitantly.  "What is a spirit of the void?  I don't recall Bjorn ever mentioning them."

Utilizing his Cosmology skill, Bjorn reasons that Void spirits are:
OkibiOhki rolls 3d6 cosmology for Bjorn and gets 10.

The void doesn't fit into Bjorn's mental map of the cosmos as given to him from Fire-Bjorn's memories.  But with a little thinking, it makes sense that as the spirit implied ... they live outside the shroud that protects each of the spheres.

Something like the great spirits from beyond.  At Bjorn's strength, he could only pull a small one over -- but maybe that's for the best.

"An excellent question," Bjorn replies, looking over at Din with a crooked grin.  "Would you like to find out?"

"I...."  Din licks his lips nervously.  "Will it be dangerous?"

Memories from his other-self let Bjorn answer.  "No," Bjorn replies.  "The spirit may not act without a bargain to give it access."

"T...then, yes.  I am curious."

Bjorn nods at him, and reaches out, calling for a spirit beyond the edges of the shroud.

A winking mote of non-light appears, shimmering in the air overhead.  To Bjorn's eyes (and presumably Din's, as well), it looks like a three dimensional model of a black hole, complete with motes of shimmering energy being sucked into it.  It doesn't produce any actual draw of wind, though.

"As I am summoned, I arrive," the spirit says in a curiously chiming, breathy voice.  "From beyond the shroud, I am called.  It has been rotations beyond counting since we have been reached for; tell me, shaman, why is it that I am summoned now?  What bargain do you seek?"

"O spirit," Bjorn replies, "those in this world who know of the spirits, who listen to them and speak to them, are sore-pressed by those those who would tear them away.  To see that this not happen, I have need to ask of the spirits of this world that they do things against the laws of nature.  This they might not do, except by your command.  What might I do to convince you to aid me in this cause?"

The void spirit wobbles in consideration for a while, then says, "Everything spirits do should in some way work towards furthering the greater balance of nature, except by bargain.  Only be undoing damage against nature can such a favor be bestowed."

A humming noise is emitted from the void spirit.  "However," it says slowly, thoughtfully, "there is an imbalance in the void.  A thing there that is not of the void, beyond the shroud.  If you bargain to receive this thing, and place it within the confines of this sphere, then a greater service will be done to restore nature.  And then, perhaps, we can see to addressing your desires to alter conditions here within a reasonable limit."

"I work towards balance, o spirit," Bjorn replies prompty, "at all times and in all ways.  If there is something I might to do restore symmetry, then I would do so willingly."

"So be it," the spirit replies genially.  "I will tell the great spirits of the void, and we shall do as agreed; you will take this obstruction, and in return, be granted our favor."

And with that, the void spirit floats upwards, high enough to diminish into nothing more than a shimmering point of light.  Then, with a screaming and tearing sound, it expands into a ring -- through the ring, the vast inky star-studded blackness of space is clearly visible, along with an enormous swollen sun, blood-red and wreathed with leaping solar flares which arc back inwards, like a half-born tentacle-covered monstrosity threatening to eat the sky whole.

But the vision is only there for a moment, and then the space is filled with a gigantic silver cylinder.  Lights wink on at regular points across the length of the thing, and smaller sections appear to be rotating in different directions.  The flare of brisance escapes the rear of the ... craft?  It is a craft, Bjorn realizes distantly, just able to make out the plaque reading, H.M.S. Starflare near the prow, beneath a bridge that looks down on the ground, glass windows reflecting the bloody red sunlight.

Then the void behind the ship vanishes, and a klaxon sounds from the Starflare.  The central ring about the ship appears to be dotted with canons, and one of these begins to move around as though searching for a target -- a second later, beams of light spear down through the moonlit (though moonless) night, searching across the grass.

Shutters half-close across the ports at the rear of the ship, spraying the thrust of brisance backwards to brake, as the craft -- somehow -- stays aloft.  The klaxon doesn't diminish, and Din falls flat on his rear, gawking at the sight.

The void spirit, momentarily vanished, reappears, emerging from the light and reflections scattered across the Starflare.  "We are glad to be rid of it," the spirit says happily.  "What do you wish?"

Bjorn is nonplussed for a second, but rallies quickly, and as he begins to speak, calls out through the embers for Kerwhizzle.  "I would ask of the fire spirits -- Kerwhizzle in particular," he does his best to reproduce the name properly," that they prevent fires from breaking out over this plain.  And so I ask that you lend your voice to that of Kerwhizzle, so that none of his brethren shall argue when he speaks against the rules of nature."

Kerwhizzle appears in the lingering flames, ember-like-eyes blinking at Bjorn in interest.

"This is agreeable to me," the void spirit replies.  "And to you?"

"The bargain is struck," the fire spirit concludes.  "You are wise and faithful; the spirits know now that your bargains are desirable to their causes."

Both spirits shimmer for a moment, then the void spirit dwindles.  "I return now," the void spirit says.  "Unless further bargains must be made."

"In time, I hope," Bjorn replies, "we might speak again, and forge bargains to both our joy.  At this time and place, however, there is nothing of you that I would ask.  Unless there is service I might do you, then, go with all of my gratitude."

The void spirit winks away.  Kerwhizzle makes a chuckling noise.  "Good," the fire spirit says.  "And for our bargain, I shall restrain the fires from hurting your people, or your land?"

The Stareflare's klaxon shuts off, one of the beams of light centering on Bjorn, Din, and the fire spirit.  Four anchors begin ratcheting towards the ground at points near the prow and stern.

Din continues to gawk.

"Let it be from harming the land," Bjorn answers.  "The people will be swift enough to keep the fire from harming them, and so long as the land lives, so might they."

He waves casually at the massive ship, and then looks over at Din.  "This would not be a prudent time to leave," he advises.  "The men aboard the ship might be nervous."

"Very well," Kerwhizzle replies.

The anchors hit the ground at roughly the same time, eliciting a quartet of ground-shaking impacts.  Din can only stare in a stupor as the the ship lowers itself.  It's going to take a bit to get closer, but now Bjorn can get a real sense of the thing's scale -- it's 500 meters long, at least.

"W...what," Din finally manages after the ship has come closer.  "What is that?"

"I am no entirely sure," Bjorn replies, his eyes sweeping the ship, studing it to the best of his ability.  "But it is not of the Church, I am certain.  Had they even half of the skills to build such a thing, then their attempts to cow us would have been much more dramatic.  And it is named 'His Majesty's Ship the Starflare,' which makes me think that the craft comes from Anabara, of which the spirit of Mr. Shuker spoke.  While they might not yet be our allies, they should become so."

Looking back to Kerwhizzle, he bows.  "To bargain again with you, o Flame, has been a pleasure of which I am unworthy.  If there is ought that I might do for you, you have only to speak; if you would leave, then you go with my thanks."

"I will leave, then," Kerwhizzle replies.  "I think we shall meet again; it is well to bargain with you."  And with that, he winks out, leaving nothing more than glowing embers behind.

Shortly, the ship comes to a halt some 20 meters overhead -- and then, one of the cylindrical portions unfolds like a ramp, spilling light out onto the grass.  Three men in crisp military uniforms troop down the ramp -- the one in the lead is wearing some medal (likely of rank) on each shoulder, along with a slightly cooler general's hat (the other two have what look like sailor's caps).  Their coloring is all gray, and the leader has a pistol holstered at his side.  The other two have rifles slung over their shoulders.

"Sweet release," the leader says, looking around at the bottom of the ramp, probably fifteen meters or so away from Bjorn.  This man has glittering, pale green eyes, and a thin mustache.  His hair is dark, where it peeks out from beneath his cap.  His eyes go to the witch-doctor.  "Now, you don't look like a churchman to me.  So, where are we, if you don't mind me asking?"

The two men with the apparent leader peer into the darkness, where lights continue to search for other targets.

"I'm not entirely sure what you'd call this place," Bjorn says, dropping into a proper english accent.  "You're some distance from Anabara, though.  The Church is trying to make a strong push into these plains."  He nods off in the direction of Rinaldo.  "There's a knight of the Church, travelling by himself, not too far off that way.  You're likely to draw his attention with all this, I'm afraid.

"Gestur Bjorn Christianson, at your service, gentlemen," he continues, proferring his hand.

The man with the general's hat smirks.  "How about that," he says with a sigh.  "Well, he is no threat to us.  Let a single knight come after us."  He takes a deep breath.  "You're right, and we are from Anabara."

He marches right up to Bjorn and accepts the hand, offering a hearty shake.  "I am colonel Westley Riggins, theoretical leader of this expedition.  Equally at your service, if it's possible.  Captain Vega runs the ship.  Sorry for bursting in like this, it's rather a long story ... but we've been adrift a bit too long.  We need to find a place to restock.  Our water and food supplies won't hold out much more than two months, but we are equipped for trade; would you like to come aboard and discuss the layout of the land?  Perhaps where we might find a nearby trading post that's not controlled by the church?"

"The one concern with the Churchman, I'm afraid, is that we've put ourselves in the position of having a rather direct disagreement with the Church, and your rather abrupt appearance here might lead them to draw certain conclusions.  Mind you, Colonel, if you're not particular perturbed by the Church following those lines of thought, it might be that we have quite a bit to talk about.

"But as for your need for supplies, I feel quite confident that something can be arranged."  He beckons Din forward.  "This is Din, a representative of the local people.  You'll understand, I'm afraid, that my own position is something in the lines of 'military consultant,' and I can't really authorize anything in my own right."  He shrugs, looking apologetically at the Captain.  In the spotlight, it's unlikely that the mist in his eye sockets can be mistaken for anything else.

Westley doesn't seem the slightest bit perturbed by Bjorn's appearance.  He rubs his chin.  "Well, if he's alone, I'm afraid for political reasons we may have to capture him.  Wouldn't really do to have him letting everyone know we're here--"  He snaps around to one of this two guards.  "Get those lights off!"

"Sir," the left guard says, saluting quickly, then dashing up the stairs.

Turning back as the lights wink out, leaving only the dim non-moon illumination, Westley continues, "We're on a mission of exploration and discovery, but as I guess you've noticed, the ship is prepared for a less warm reception, too.  Still, we aren't here to precipitate an act of war, so we'll try to be reasonable about things."  Then he turns to Din.  "Master Din, might we arrange some sort of trade?"

Din blinks.  Repeatedly.  Finally, he says, "N'Boru, the eldest of our village could answer that question."

Westley nods.  "Well, if there's a knight out there, no reason to stand around.  Care to come aboard so we can discuss this in more comfortable quarters?  I've a bottle of brandy I was saving for our arrival ... well, here, hopefully.  But after so long, any arrival is a welcome arrival."

Bjorn quickly looks over at Din to gauge his likely reaction.

Din seems amiable, if totally blown away.  Likely to him, even knowing what Bjorn does, it's easier to accept that these people are just very odd spirits, with some funky spirit-house that flies.  And is made of metal.

"We....  We will bargain with you," Din agrees, nodding.

"Capital!"  Westley wheels around and begins marching up the stairs.

The craft is metal, but treated somehow so that the stairs are white.  The outer hull gleams silver, but the inside is sterile and clean -- at least what can be seen when looking up.  The guards motion Bjorn and Din to follow, heading up the walkway themselves.

Pausing only to scoop up the supplies left on the ground, and to kick dirt over the last of the embers, Bjorn follows the colonel into the Starflare, nodding politely at the guards along the way.

Once the top of the stairs is reached, the ship shudders slightly, the walkway folding back up into the vessel.  From here, sterile white corridors go either left or right, towards the prow and stern respectively.  Westley doesn't hesitate, moving towards the front of the craft.

The guards relax, one of them following Westley, the other turning the other way, back towards the rear.  "I've some charts and maps in the officer's library.  They're not likely to cover this area, outside of Anabara, but perhaps you could help us fill in some blanks."

"We'll see what we can do," Bjorn replies pleasantly.  "So you said the purpose of your expedition was exploration?  You'll understand, I hope, if that strikes me as rather a bit strange; you've had contact with the Church, and they've spread this far, and you do rather seem to have a bit of a technology lead on them."

"Yes," Westley says, leading the way past a handful of crew dressed identically to the guards -- except, without the guns.  They salute sharply, as the colonel passes.  He salutes back.  "As it happens, however, the Church controls the Gates.  We can't get through to any advantageous pursuit without risking giving them our technology until we have a better understanding of them.

"And we've been striving for years and gotten no further than simple anabarists.  We don't even have the capability for healing that they instill all their higher ranks; it's lucky for us that Lucien could reason how to manifest ascorbics.  As it is, our realm is utterly unassailable to them.  Anabaric brisance projectors see to that.  But we're not able to move enough force through to make a meaningful claim.

"Until now, at least," he adds.  "The Starflare demonstrates that it's possible to pass through the Shroud, leaving one sphere and entering another -- exactly as his imperial majesty the King, long may he reign, proposed."  The crew in earshot all echo, 'Long may he reign!' with the colonel.  "Obviously, our navigation leaves something to be desired, but the potential is there.  Now the Church will have to bargain with us, and if they do not ... well ... war is a viable option."  He shrugs apologetically.  "You may not know much of them, if you live far from the Meridian, but from what I know, the Church is a terrible, oppressive force.

"So, yes, it is strange that we are exploring.  But we aren't exploring this territory, truly.  Just the possibility of travel to this point."

Then Westley stops before a door, and holds it open.  "Please," he says, gesturing into a well-lit room surrounded with bookshelves.  There's a high table in the center of the room, bolted in place, with chairs on short rails.  A glance at the bookshelves shows straps to keep the books from falling, presumably when the craft is in motion.  Two other doors lead out, but are currently closed.

The doors are of a highly polished, pale wood, and now that Bjorn pauses to take note, the ship apparently has some form of power for lighting.  Aside from the one they were using to search the grassland, anyway.

Bjorn makes his way over towards the table, eyes scanning the books as he goes.  "So what have you learned of the Gates to date, then, if you will pardon my scientific curiousity?"

"Well," Westley says, producing a quartet of glasses tumblers from a cabinet, along with the vaunted bottle of brandy.  It's a pretty big bottle, too ... but maybe it's just made of thick glass.  "Most of what we've learned is through cautious experimentation, but even then...."  He trails off as he pours the brandy, gesturing Bjorn and Din to be seated.

Once all four glasses are full, he continues, though he doesn't hand the drinks out yet.  "Each gate has two functions.  Progression, and regression.  Progression tends to elevate minds at the cost of bodies, and regression does the opposite.  This isn't always true, of course, but my understanding is limited; I'm told it's frightfully complex, and a good half of all who volunteer to become anabarists end up becoming sickly, or going mad.  So it's not something we're eager to experiment with ... but it is unfortunately necessary if we want to leave Anabara.  The Church undoubtedly knows more, but they don't share that information with us."  He shrugs, as two people stride through one of the other doors.

While Bjorn looks them over, Westley fetches another tumbler and fills it, too.  "I'm Captain Sibley Vega," the first says.  He's a short man, but a wide one -- broad shoulders, too much muscle, an eyepatch, a grizzled beard that fans out wildly from beneath his chin, and a very hard glare in the one gray eye showing.  "Pardon the intrusion, if you don't mind."  His uniform is identical to the guards, save where the colonel has a medal of rank, he's got a different insignia.  It looks like a thread-of-gold anchor with a pair of wings.  There's one on each shoulder, and the hat he wears could have been stolen from from the first Robotech anime -- Captain Glovel will undoubtedly want it back.  Equally gray hair protrudes from beneath the cap.  If it weren't for the salt-and-pepper aspects of the beard, the Captain might be able to stand in front of a gray wall and vanish.

Gesturing to the next man, a taller, thin gent in drab brown robes marked with a cloth-of-silver sash (no hat), "This is our chief anabarist, Hugo Gaerston."  The drab anabarist nods, his unruly mop of blond hair shining in the light from the ceiling.  "Please, have a seat."

Captain Vega goes to the head of the table and flips a switch on the arm of the chair, sliding it back.  After making himself comfortable, he flips the switch again.  Presumably, it's a lock to keep the chair from sliding around when it's not desirable.

After a salute, both Hugo and Westley take seats, on either side of the Captain.

Din looks to Bjorn for guidance.

"Captain," Bjorn greets the man with a polite nod of the head.  "Mr. Gaerston."  Following Vega's lead, Bjorn takes the seat at the foot of the table, and motions to Din to take the seat to his right.

Din fumbles with the switch for a minute, but seats himself comfortably.  The colonel parcels out the glasses, and the captain spends a moment studying his.

"Well," Captain Vega finally says.  "Here's to hoping that wherever we're at, we've come among friends.  For what it's worth, I'm gathering you're already no great friends of the Church, and that counts for a fair bit to me.  But what I really need to know, if you happen to know it yourselves, is where Anabara is from here."

Westley sniffs his glass and allows himself a smile, but doesn't drink yet.  The anabarist eyes his drink without touching it.  Din seems fascinated; he's never seen glass before.

Bjorn picks up the brandy and drains it off in a single go before stopping to think.  "Quite nice," he compliments the Colonel, before looking back at the Captain.  "Anabara is spinwise of here, though we're a bit Edgewards of the Meridian.  Perhaps about three weeks away, by foot," he says, parroting off the words of Natha's other-dad.  "How did you plan to return?  Directly overland, or were you going to try to travel through the shroud again?"

The liquor tastes decent for brandy, but not spectacular.  It's probably like ambrosia to people who've been dry for who-knows-how-long, though.

"This ship won't fit through a Gate," the Captain protests, before tossing his drink back just as quickly.  The colonel nurses his for a bit, obviously savoring it.  "Fine brandy, by the way," the captain adds, though this seems more aimed to placate Westley than from any real conviction.

Westley merely nods happily in response.

"But here we've got a problem.  We were supposed to be traveling with the shroud, and it seems we did.  But if we're here, in what I'm taking to be Meadowgreen, when we were trying to reach Highridge ... either we plum went the wrong way, or we done missed every sphere in the circuit until we got here -- almost all the way back to Anabara.

"We can't risk the Shroud, even though it's our only option.  Not until we've at least had a chance to restock."

"Even then," Hugo says with a rasping voice, "we cannot do without better navigation.  The journey -- spinwise -- would be much faster between two adjacent spheres, correct?"

"That is the theory," Westley agrees, setting his empty glass down.

"Aye, but if we missed every sphere ... and then, it was only blind luck that brought us here, nowhere near the Shroud."  Captain Vega shakes his head.  "We'll not be going anywhere away from this place until we can be confident of our course."

Din takes a cautious sip of his drink, before grimacing and setting the glass down.  "This water has fire in it," he coughs.

"It would probably be best if you left it be," Bjorn mutters quietly to Din.  "It is an experience you may not be ready for."

In a normal tone of voice, he says, "Well, then, Captain, I would say we have a bit to talk about, because I suspect I might be your best chance of bringing the Starflare back to Anabara."

"Oh, aye," the Captain says with a nod.  "I figured as much.  We'll be needing supplies, of course.  And...."  He pauses, squinting.  "You carry a spear, but are you an anabarist?  Is that why the Church is threatening you?"

"It's a bit more complicated than that," Bjorn replies with aplomb.  "The Church has set its sights on Din's people, though partly due to their own distate for those who don't heed their words, but in larger part because Din's people can talk to those spirits, if you will, that live in what you, in turn, call the shroud.

"I can't guarantee that I can easily get you back to Anabara, I'm afraid.  The spirits didn't seem entirely happy with your presence.  It might illuminate things if I explain that pulling you through here was a favour I did them, rather than the other way around.  Nonetheless, I'm confident that an understanding can be reached, and a much more pleasant journey arranged for."

The Captain runs one hand through his beard, and then produces a pipe from his pocket, while Westley tops off his glass with another round of brandy.  "So," he says, once his pipe has been packed, and he's had a chance to draw from it, "you know how to get through the Shroud, and the Church wants to stop you.  I think that makes a good deal of sense, then."  He glances at Hugo.  "You've something to say?"

The anabarist explosively bursts out, "You can speak with the Shroud?  It's truly intelligent?  Theories have been posited, but we've never managed to have an anabarist of our own sphere prove it!"

"Well," Bjorn says thoughtfully.  "I don't know for certain that the shroud itself is intelligent.  There are most certainly sentient beings that I can speak with who come from the shroud -- and beyond, in point of fact -- but I would not dare to speculate at this moment whether they are residents of the shroud, or manifestations of a greater intellect.  Perhaps a bit beyond the scope of the discussion at the moment, however.  I do suspect, though, that you'll find Dr. Nathan Shuker might have some more solid insights at this point."

The men exchange a glance.  "Who?" Westley finally asks.

"Minor officer of the old King," Captain Vega says thoughtfully.  "I think he'd been affianced to a distant niece of the royals.  'Course, I'm afraid we've been drifting for more than three years, now.  Our information is not exactly up to date."

"Mine, while perhaps more current, is quite a bit more patchy," Bjorn confesses.  "So, then.  To business?"

"Aye, but now we've got two business interests to pursue," Captain Vega says.  "First, we need provisions.  No working round that."

Westley interjects, "Master Din, here, has explained that he will be our liaison with his local authority.  Master Gestur is here in the capacity of a military adviser."

The captain rubs his chin.  "Okay," he says with a nod.  "We'll wait till daylight to try and reach a trading post.  No reason we can't stay here overnight.  I suppose that means we'll attend navigation issues first, then.  Master Gestur, our pressing concern is to find a way back home, to present our discoveries to the King, and then, to the Council.  How difficult and what cost would you append to this journey through the shroud, spinwise?"

"Difficulty, and the majority of the price, I'm afraid, is not entirely up to me," Bjorn replies.  "I will need to speak with the spirits and drive a bargain with them, and I would not care to hazard a guess as to what price they might seek.

"As for myself, however, the only price I will charge will be passage to Anabara -- and I hope that you gentlemen might find it within yourselves to provide me with some assistance and introduction whilst I get my feet underneath myself there."

Westley refills Bjorn's glass without asking if the witch-doctor wants more.

"If that's all," Captain Vega says with a snort, "you've got yourself a deal.  Though unless I miss my mark, you're saying that the ... these spirits may charge another price, eh?  Well, I shouldn't have expected it to be easy, but that's a fine deal.  Better than I expected.

"We'll worry about that after we resupply.  Do you know the lay of the land, at all?  I'd like to update our charts -- find any notable landmarks."  He pauses, considering.  "Though, at this hour it may be best to wait for light."  He shakes his head.  "Morning," he decides.  "Everything can wait that long, at least.  Hugo, see that these men are given comfortable accommodations."  Downing his second glass of brandy, he slides his seat back and rises.  "Thank you for your patience and generosity, Masters Gestur, Din."

Bjorn finishes off his glass as the Captain does, and rises at the same time.  "Til morning then," he replies cordially, bowing slightly.

The anabarist rises, not quite as smoothly, and ducks his head as the Captain strides out the same door he came in.  Westley shrugs, sealing the bottle of brandy again and placing it reverently back in its cabinet.

"This way, if you please," Hugo says, leading the way back into the ship's passageways.  After passing the (now retracted) stairs, the pair of apparent savages are led to a reasonably sized room with two bunks built into the walls.  A closet near the entrance runs the length of one wall, and Hugo suggests, "You may want to leave your weapons there; if the ship begins moving, they could tumble around."

The room has no windows, but a tiny washroom (complete with a shower!) at the far end.  Also, an empty but functional looking desk, built into the wall opposite the bunks.  At the head of each bunk is a small cabinet, presumably for personal effects -- though these are all empty at the time.  A panel with buttons controls the lights, as Hugo demonstrates for Din's benefit, and when the lights are off, the buttons glow enough to be lit.  After showing Bjorn and Din around, Hugo nods, excuses himself, and says to ask any of the crew if you need anything.  Otherwise, he'll come to collect the pair of you for breakfast with the officers.

Bjorn stows away his weapons, and makes sure Din is comfortable -- giving him the top bunk in the outside chance, as he explains, that the Anabarians are not as friendly as they seem; any attacker would go after the lower bunk first.  

Setting himself down upon the bunk, he summons the spirit of the elder Shuker.

It takes only a minute for the elder Shuker to arrive, though he appears a bit baffled initially.  "Ah," he says, smiling broadly.  "Dr. Christianson!  And...."  He trails off, examining the surroundings.  "Where are you, just now?"

"The H.M.S. Starflare," Bjorn replies quietly, in case Din is sleeping.  "There have been some... updates in the situation.  With any luck, I'll be coming to Anabara very soon aboard this vessel."

"That's...."  The specter rubs its eyes, then puffs on its pipe.  "Fascinating," it says after a moment.  "I'll be sure to pass that on to Nathan, then.  Anything else?"

Bjorn scrubs at his eyes.  "I don't think so.  Do you know how long the Starflare has been gone?"

"Just a few months past three years, I'd say," the specter judges.  "I remember it leaving very clearly.  The King was absolutely confident it would return."

"It still will," Bjorn replies confidently.  "And now I know that the passage of time is about the same for them as it was for you.  Excellent."

"So it would seem," the specter muses, looking around in admiration.  "Fine construction, I must say.  Well, anything else then, Dr. Christianson?"

"I think not," Bjorn replies.  "I apologize for pulling you over for such a short message, but I'd rather that Nathan was on the look-out for me when I arrive."

"Perfectly reasonable!" the specter agrees.  "Well, if there's nothing else, then, I'll tell him right away."

"Please do," Bjorn says, nodding his goodbyes.

And then, when the spirit leaves, Bjorn tries to get some sleep.  Maybe he talks to one of the seemingly thousands of people that appear to have time-shares in his dreams.  Probably not, though.

Bjorn lies back and tries to rest.  The mattress is decently comfortable, and the sheets are crisply cleaned.  Except for the glowing button that shows where the light switch is, the room is comfortably dark.  A ventilation shaft near the door hums as clean air filters in, smelling faintly of ozone ... but the scent fades after a few minutes.

Shortly after that, Bjorn finds himself lying on a bed beneath a seemingly endless panorama of catgirl posters.

Bjorn sits up, looking around for whichever Brother of Morpheus had picked him up this time.

Judging by the decor, it's Nick again.  And sure enough, he's got his ancient Apple computer humming away on that rickety (card-covered) table across the room, kind of humming to himself absently as he taps away at the keys.  "Heyo," he says, without looking up.  "We've got kind of a bad window this time through, so I won't be able to chat for too long.  Let's get down to business -- got any questions for me?"

"Not in particular," Bjorn says, standing up and moving closer to the computer.  "I assume there's nobody else in the Dream at this point, no Pax or Cabal or Independents, from Prometheus said.  If that's true, then my only question is: what do you have to tell me?" He smiles crookedly.

"That we're still here for you, mostly," Nick says with a shrug.  "And ... I can't patch you through to an oracle right now -- connection's pretty weak.  But I can pass them any questions you have, and get those answers back to you."  He pauses, then frowns, before Bjorn can reply.

"Actually," he says slowly, "some parts of the Fire Dream are closer to the Dream than others.  So reception may improve depending on where you go.  No idea what the Fire Dream is physically shaped like ... but I can also tell you that Alan's not strong enough to get through, so it's a good thing no one else is in yet; he couldn't help you out."

Bjorn nods.  "I'm getting closer to being able to see this Dream.  It's... odd, but hopefully soon I'll start to become it."

He frowns.  "Actually, there's a question.  What do we need to do here to make the Fire Dream rejoin with our Dream?"

"Well, last time you had to win a war.  This time, you need to establish some sort of lasting peace," Nick says.  "At least, that's what I'd guess.  This one's kind of tricky -- you basically need to establish some form of goal for the Fire Dream that the waking world would benefit from.  And if that's not it....  I dunno.  Maybe you can figure something better out.  But from what I can see here -- which I'll admit isn't much -- this place has severe issues with information flow control and authority.  Also...."  He hesitates.  "Shoot.  Time's running out.  Anyway, knowledge is power, and advancement requires everyone to be empowered somewhat, right?"

"Right," Bjorn says.  "So whatever the story is about the Gates, it needs to be made available to everyone?"

"That's right," Nick says with a nod.  "Information wants to be free, you know?  And-"

But that's lost as Bjorn wakes up, not as rested as he would have liked.  There's an urgent knock at the door, and Din is sleepily leaning out of his bunk.  "What is it?" he asks tiredly, though his voice doesn't seem to go through the door.

Bjorn springs easily out of bed and opens the door.

An unfamiliar guard with a rifle (slung over his shoulder) nervously spits out, "The light of day has come; the Captain requests your presence on the bridge."

"What is a bridge?" Din asks, his hands going to the gourd in his bag even while he's rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

Bjorn nods at the guard and replies, "Thank you.  Would you lead the way?"

When in motion, he explains to Din, "The bridge is the place where this craft is commanded."

Din nods, taking something from the pack and putting it in his mouth.  He grimaces, but offers some to Bjorn as well, before following the guard.

The guard nods wordlessly, marching quickly through the corridors.  Light spills in from outside, numerous shutters left open to allow the illumination within.  Outside, from this height, Bjorn glimpses distant mountains, a smudge of forest, a blue smudge that may be water, simply unable to reflect sunlight that isn't there....

Shortly, the bridge is reached.  The corridors all run to one end of the ship or another, and the bridge is nearly at the very prow, though set low enough to offer a commanding view below.  Windows stretch from just above Bjorn's head to curve away below, vanishing below the grating that makes up the floor.

The Captain has a seat in the center, surrounded by speaking tubes and instrumentation.  Eight other seats probably represent command posts for various stations, each hosting a technician in uniform who is intently studying the gauges and dials there.  The techs occasionally whisper a command through their own speaking tubes, or adjust the dials slightly.  Two other seats without the benefit of a console are near the Captains, one of which is holding the colonel and another of which is holding the anabarist.

Directly ahead is a large magnifying lens -- probably a meter across -- currently focused on a mirror that's relaying an image from ... somewhere.  It looks like a forest, with a plume of red smoke.  "Greetings," the captain says, eyes fixed on the column.  "Master Bjorn, I'm sorry if your rest was disturbed; do you know the importance of this signal?"

Still chewing on... whatever it was Din gave him, Bjorn looks at Din quickly.

Din squints.  "I believe the Church men use that as a signal," he says slowly.  "But that eye shows something far away.  I do not know what it means; I know nothing that burns with red smoke."

The thing that Din handed Bjorn was some sort of anise-tasting root.  Something of a bitter aftertaste, and a slight headrush, too.

"Aye, I guessed it might be that," Captain Vega murmurs, running fingers through his beard.  "The question is involvement.  Is this territory where your friends live?"

"The trees?" Din replies, almost laughing.  "We live in the plains.  The trees all belong to the Churchmen, now."

Bjorn rubs his jaw thoughtfully.  "If you could take us a bit closer, Captain, and let us see a little more, I'd be quite appreciative," he says, slowly.  "While I understand you have a rightful desire to be circumspect, I have a bit of a concern that the Church might be choosing to steal a march and start their invasion before the time they promised is up.  If we could see any more, check for any sign of armies or the like, it wouldn't be something to pass up lightly."

"We'll get nothing from here," Captain Vega says with a shake of his head.

The colonel grimaces.  "Let's get a closer look, Captain.  As you see fit."

"Very well."  He reaches for his speaking tubes and barks out a long string of orders into various of them:  "Raise anchor!"  "Brace for movement."  "Steady rise."  "Prepare thrusters for one quarter brisance."

Then he nods to one of the men at the controls.  "Helm, I want you to follow the orders from observation."  Now the sounds of the ship at work begin to echo about; the giant anchor chains slowly winching up.  "Observation, try and keep us hidden in the clouds -- we're going up, but I'm happiest keeping well shy of the Shroud.  Weapons -- I want you to be prepared, but not obviously; stop armament rotation and give me a standard canon ready to bring to bear on either side, with a charged brisance projector topside where it can't be seen."

"Understood," the crew replies from their stations, eyes fixed on their controls.  At that, the bridge explodes into activity, everyone focused on their dials and speaking tubes, and dozens or orders are relayed from the consoles to the rest of the ship.

As the Stareflare begins to drift upwards, Captain Vega says, "Most interesting day I've seen in the last three years, I can tell you that much."

"I imagine," Bjorn replies politely, "that whatever novelty the Shroud had to offer you grew thin after the first year or so."[/list]

The anabarist snorts at that.  The Captain nods, offering, "I'd really rather get fresh supplies first, but if these people mean to do away with those who we would trade with, well....  Best act responsibly."

"On the other hand," Hugo muses, "this could be a vulnerability of the churchmen of some sort -- perhaps a distress signal, not a call to battle."

"Then I'm curious to see what they're frightened of," Captain Vega counters.

After that, silence rules the bridge for a period of time, the only noticable changes being the ship's movement, and the location of the magnifying lens -- which switches to various mirrors, all of them showing startlingly clear views of the grasslands below.  As for movement, the most of it is up, initially, until the helm heads into a cloud bank at observation's direction.

This causes the optics to become muddled and harder to see, but doesn't eliminate them entirely.  Some more time passes, before the clouds begin to clear, and the magnifying lens flips around, reflecting off (now) a series of mirrors before showing a thin woods, not quite a forest.

From overhead, the trees provide surprisingly little cover.  The mirror seems to be fixed on a largish group of men in cloaks, with no shirts.  They have reddish, almost brown skin -- if it weren't for the sweeping cloaks, they might blend into the clay and fallen leaves below them.  There's a man in normal clothes with them, along with a stumbling priest.

"This lot," observation announces, unasked, "seems to be separate from those going towards the smoke signal."

"Interesting," Captain Vega muses, rubbing his chin through his beard.  "And ... are these thralls, then?  Pushed through Gateways?"

"They're as uniform as those convicts that the King's father sent to Hathoway," Hugo says after a moment, squinting.

"What do you make of it?" the Captain asks Bjorn and Din.

"Almost nothing," Bjorn admits candidly.  "Nor do I think we'll be able to figure out much more from here, unless something should happen.  Getting closer might be a poor risk."

The ship is brought to a halt, theoretically hidden in a passing cloud.  Vega makes a hand-gesture, and observation swings the mirror/lens array around.

Shortly, a number of churchmen and Templars (unarmored, but left in the batting worn beneath their plate) are picked out, making their way towards the smoke.  At the source of the signal, a lone, anxious looking priest awaits, and nearby a number of horses are tied to a tree.

"Wait," Captain Vega says, shaking his head.  "That's not right.  Those men lost their armor, eh?  Where did it go?"

"Sir," observation replies.  "I ... think I have it."  The view swings around again, now showing a heap of armor peeking out from the edge of a leafy tree branch, near the amassed thralls.  In the center of their crowd, one of them appears to be in conversation with....  And then it clicks for Bjorn.

One of those 'thralls' is Tom.  The man in plain clothes is Phil.

Bjorn considers for a moment.  "Captain," he says eventually, "do you think it would be possible to pick up the group of thralls?"

Captain Vega blinks, looking at Bjorn askance.  "Seems it'd be difficult," he says.  "I suppose we could level enough of the forest to get the ladder in place, but there's no question about it -- no way to do it subtly."  Observation begins scanning around for reasonably level areas without too much tree cover.  "Friends of yours?"

Din looks to Bjorn at this question, and says nothing.

The colonel taps his fingertips together.  "We'd be taking a substantial departure from our assigned mission," he warns.  "I'm not unwilling, however.  I'd simply like something in exchange for the obvious risk of revealing our presence to the church.  Namely, assurance that we could navigate back to Anabara with your assistance."

Bjorn nods at that.  "A reasonable request," he replies, "especially as there is little point in collecting them if we can't make it back to Anabara.  And so, if you'll pardon me...."

With no further ado, he concentrates, reaching out for a spirit of the void.

"Oh, my," Hugo murmurs, as space dimples.  None of the other crew seem to see the effect, but take it at face value that if their anabarist can, it must be real.

In the meantime, the same void spirit that Bjorn spoke to last time reappears as summoned.  "As I am summoned, I arrive," the spirit says the same chiming, breathy voice.  "From beyond the shroud, I am called.  We know you, shaman.  Do you wish to bargain again?"

One of the men at the stations, the one controlling the mirror/lens arrangement, Bjorn thinks, says, "The men are moving; some of them have horses.  Not sure where they're headed yet -- looks coreward."

"I would, O spirit of the void," Bjorn replies in Japanese -- just in case this conversation should get sticky.  No point worrying the crew.  "This thing that I have received from you I would move, to take it to the sphere that men call Anabara, but our foes lie between us and the Gates.  Should you consent to aid us, I would have this thing again pass through the Shroud, and then from there into Anabara.  This is no minor favour that I ask, I know.  What might I offer you, O spirit, that you would lend us your might?"

As he starts the bargaining, though, his mind also reaches out.  The anchors are... strange here, reaching out not through what he is beginning to be able to see as the Fire Dream, but out of it, to be lost in the Dream of the real world.  In the real world, following the anchors to their source to tie them into the dream that is his awareness is a trivial task.  Here, though, it is all he can do to chase a single anchor, following it as its thread winds from the Fire Dream through to the real Dream, only to wind back and return in a different place.  There is a bit of an irony in the fact that it was easier to do in the Earth Dream, where he had no idea what it was he was doing.  

But he does succeed, and touching Philip's mind, he whispers, You probably want to stay in place for a few minutes.

OOC: 15 CP of Influence gives me a one-person-at-a-time Dream Voice (5 CP any one mind, +10 CP no LOS needed).

The void spirit shimmers for a moment, simply hanging in the air.  When it does speak, the crew starts, turning to look for the source of the voice.  "Passage through the void disrupts our harmony," it murmurs.  "Our contemplations of Sun and Luna become disrupted.  However, we are grateful to you for your assistance, and will agree to do this thing -- in exchange for your sight while within our realm.  Your perceptions will be added to our own, and perhaps repair the damage done to our contemplation.  Is this bargain agreeable?"

"It is agreed," Bjorn replies, this time in English again, "and for your forebearance, I thank you, o Spirit.  With our bargain struck, I take your leave, unless there is more that you would ask of me."

"The deal is done," the spirit agrees, before vanishing.

"Well," Captain Vega says.  "If that's that, we've got to get to work.  You'd best hang on tightly."  Then he begins barking orders to his crew -- almost too fast to follow.

The mirror-and-lens assembly sweeps across the front of the bridge, panning out across the forest, while the men begin snapping orders to one-another and into their speaking tubes.  The ship begins to shift, sinking noticeably as it comes about.  A high-pitched whine begins to sound from somewhere deep in the ship.

Hugo is staring intently at the moving lenses, eyes flicking between them as they flash about seemingly at random.  The colonel seems equally interested, though they both stay firmly in their seats.

Bjorn stays quiet, and out of the way, but adds another thought to Philip: Big damn starship headed your way.  Ought to be pretty dramatic.  Heads towards it when you can.

The ship shifts about, and the orders reach a rising tempo.  Very swiftly, the Starflare comes to a halt a short distance above the hilltop.  Beams of energy sweep out and level a section of the forest large enough to provide a landing spot.  Further beams shoot out and -- if the mirror/lens arangements are accurate -- obliterate all of the Templar Guildsmen and priests running around the forest.  Including whoever started the fire.

After that, Captain Vega barks some orders to the men on the hill to prepare to board, then brings the ship about over the blasted area to lower the ramp.  The colonel climbs to his feet and says, "I do believe I should greet our guests."

"Don't go alone," Captain Vega says without a backwards glance.

The colonel nods and motions Bjorn and Din to follow.  Din dazedly does so, his eyes very large at the weaponry the Anabarans have on the ship.  "The sky-lords are mighty," he whispers to Bjorn.  "Their spears would win any war!"

Bjorn now moves to Uphill Battle (http://www.soulriders.org/phpBB2/viewtopic.php?p=1003902#1003902).