Soulriders 5.0: Legend of the Unending Games

From Chapter Two -- for Tom

You find yourself blinking sand out of your eyes, and with the taste of soil in your mouth.  Spitting, you finds yourself lying face down in a pen of some sort -- dirt beneath you.  Ruddy, almost red ... close to clay, really.  The pen's walls are low, crudely slapped together wooden barriers.  They could be stepped across easily.

The fenced off area is probably about three acres, and there's a hut and a firepit within the confines.  There's also a gate, currently lashed shut with a leather(?) cord not too far away.  Directly across the barrier, maybe seven feet away, are a pair of well-dressed gentlemen who seem to have stepped out of the Victorian age.  Very foppish, elaborate, black outfits liberally festooned with lacy cravats and cuffs.

One of them is tall, whipcord lean, clenching a cigarette holder with lit cigarette between his teeth, eyes locked on Tom's.  The other is shorter by a good two feet, and hugely corpulent.  "I told you so," the fat one says in satisfaction.  "Bred for generations, thrown back through regression gates whenever they grow too far from our ideal....  And now you have it.  Loyal, able to follow orders, and they know not to question anything you say."

"I see," the tall man says in a very rusty, disinterested voice.  "I require a legion.  My needs are complex, and I suspect you don't have the forces I require."

"Poppycock!  I can supply you with all the thralls you need -- and trust me, you won't need many.  Your house will be safe with a dozen, I assure you."

"I require an assault force."

This causes the fat man to pause.  "May I inquire as to why?" he asks pointedly, turning to face the lean man with narrowed eyes.

Lips twisting in a smile, the thin man pivots to face the fat one again.  "My business.  I'd rather not discuss it before these creatures.  Let us retire to a more appropriate venue for discussion, shall we?"

"Of course...."  Frowning, the fat man leads the thin man away, at about the same time you lever yourself to a sitting position.  Your mouth has too much dirt in it to speak at the moment.  By the time it's out, the men are out of earshot, down a tree-lined lane.  The area has a clear sky, but there's no sun in sight.  Despite that, there seems to be some sort of omnipresent light, leaving only minimal shadows beneath anything.

Looking around, you see a few men dressed as you realize you are -- in sturdy looking pocket-less work pants, with no shirt.  The others are standing in a row, carefully not making eye contact.  They all are of about the same height, burly looking guys, with square jaws, solid looking features, and you'd guess about six and a half feet tall.  Their skin is ruddy, much like the clay, and the pants are a uniform stained red with clay/dirt.

Wiping the dirt and grime off his face, Tom wipes his head, and stares bleakly at the surroundings. Pushing himself raggedly to his feet, he has a sudden epiphany;

This is, quite possibly, the worst moment of my life... alright. Alright. I.. will be leaving. Fuck...

He twists his head, glancing across the other men nearby, doing his best to.. test this body. "Ugh.. what happened?" he asks, as an open question.

The other men look at Tom dumbly for a minute, and then one says, "You followed orders."

The others nod, as though this explained everything.

Then shrug, looking around and seeing no obvious overseer or the like.  With no one to push them around, they all head towards the barracks.

"Oh... yeah. Orders. Right. I think I hit my head on something," he mutters, trailing after the other men towards the barracks-

-but he said I'm a goddamn thrall.. what's with that? No way am I going to get shoved around.. no way. Yeah. Gotta find out more for now. Looks like I can rat out anytime...

"What do you think's going to happen next?" he asks, cautiously.

The barracks a crude, but clean.  And unfortunately, completely empty of anything interesting like cards, books, or personal property.  There's a table, and a kitchen-like area with a sink and some dishes, all neatly washed and in a drying rack.  There are beds, with clean sheets, all neatly made up.

And once they're all inside, two men go to each door (the building is a long hall, with a door at each end; one end is the kitchen, the other is the beds), and keep watch.

"Dunno," the man who spoke the first time sighs.  "Sell us.  Use us as tools."  He scowls.  "Maybe give us better food."  The other men nod unhappily, with the air of those who have been pushed around so long that while they resent it, they no longer remember a thing they can do about it.

"That guy wanted soldiers," mutters Tom, trying to get his bearings.. and wondering which bed is his. If it matters.

"What the heck for? I.. it.. I just- this is so messed up. Where'd they go off to?"

"Stupid non-bred war," the speaker says again, this time with a touch of anger.  "Just because they didn't go through program.  They all go to big, non-bred house, for real peoples.  Leave us here."

"They'll come back," mutters Tom. "Then they're just gonna use us... but it's not like they're watching us right now. We.. could go anywhere, right?"

Shit, this is dangerous. Fuck.

"They say, 'Don't touch fence', and 'Don't open gate'.  How we leave?"  They all nod at this pressing, amazingly difficult to answer question.

"Man, who gives a fuck what they say?" snaps Tom. "They're just WORDS. I could do it right now."

"But...."  They seem confused, at a loss.  "But they said not to."  The others nod unhappily.  "And you go....  But we stay?  Only a leader can say to go."

The one who's been speaking sighs.  "They say, me or you make leader.  But don't know if it true.  Say, use smarter ones.  But not too smart, or go back through gate again."  All of the men shudder at this.  "Dangerous words," he whispers, to a united, solemn nod.

"What's the.. what's this 'gate'? Regression gate, he said," replies Tom, stepping apart from the group so that every one can get a clear look at him.

Projecting his voice to speak to the men serving as guards, he also adds- "And if they're coming back, let me know."

"'Kay'," the guards respond without hesitation.

The theoretical challenger for leader cocks his head to one side, blinking.  "Regression gate makes ... uh ... less.  And more.  Too smart, too weak?  Fixes."

Barbaric!

"There's.." Swallowing, Tom nods. "Ok. So they went up to some house. Do they have.. soldiers? Guards? Anything like that? That's what they wanted us for, I think, but..."

"Oooh," he says, nodding.  "Always have guards.  Two, at least.  Carry muskets, sometimes swords."  He thinks.  "Horses, too."  Then he says, "Make plan?  Practice, like training time?"  At a glance, these people are practically starved for leadership.  Tom is quickly glad he can draw on his stubborn and innate independence from the real world to fight off the urge to be as docile as them, though a newly formed simmering temper is hard to quell.

Whether it came from this body or from his own is pretty meaningless.

"Two? That's nothing. They're just non-breds, surely," snorts Tom. "Alright. I am the leader here. And soon enough, we're going to do in with their bullshit once and for all."

He briefly surveys the numbers avaliable to him!

Counting himself, there are twenty soon-to-be-liberated thralls here.  They seem surprised at the idea of one of them declaring himself a leader, but they accept it.  "Okay," they say together.  "You are leader now."

The former leader contender smiles, as though the burden of thinking were taken from him.  "Now what?"

"There ARE no other leaders but me," continues Tom, pacing back and forth.
"You don't take orders from those others anymore, only me. You all hear that?

"We're gonna get together, head up to their.. house, and I will *personally* find those two bastards and cave in their faces. We've got work to do- and they can't stop us.

"Grab anything you can use as a weapon- a knife, a solid fence or bedpost- anything, and rip up the sheets- get pieces of them and curl them up into little balls, about big enough to fit in your ears. Hurry!"

The other thralls quickly comply with Tom's commands, swiftly assembling earplugs and a good stack of cudgels.

OOC: A cudgel is a weapon anyone can use without a familiarity.  It gives +1 O.C.V., and deals 4d6 normal damage.  It's STR requirement is 10, so every 5 STR above that adds +1d6 normal damage.

"You all listen to me!" yells Tom, gripping a heavy wooden joint of some kind, and pointing outside the door.

"We're going after them, to that meeting place! Nothing will stop us! When I point and scream-"

He demonstrates, pointing towards the exterior of the building- "We charge and beat those fuckers down! They'll break and scatter! And more importantly, when I hold up my hand-" He holds up his hand, with a stern expression, with the palm facing towards the men- "-then, that's the sign to STOP the violence and take out the earplugs."

"That's it. That's all there is. We can't be stopped by bullets or swords-" he thumps his chest- "-so there's nothing to fear- but their orders. And we will not hear their words!

"When we fight, we scream! So loud that it's all you hear!"

OOC: Dumping my influence into presence for this one, making it PRE 14.

[20:13] <Chibi-Suu> Carthrat throws tama for 3d6 for presence hilarity! --> [ 3d6=9 ]{9}

While stupid seeming, the men are able to follow orders, and nod vigorously, doing exactly as instructed.  Then they follow Tom.

Tom.. heads outside, club in hand, and begins marching off in the direction he saw those two well-dressed fellows travel!

The first obstacle is the gate, but the men follow Tom's lead, and that means ... walking through the gate.  Past that is a lane running parallel to the barracks area, and another leading off towards where the bargaining Victorian gents ran off.  That path is about fifteen feet wide, dirt, lined with white stones, and tall hedges.

Ahead is a wrought-iron gate, and behind that the looming bulk of a mansion, mostly hidden behind some very full oak trees.  There's a pair of guards at the gate.  Or, presumably they're guards.  They're chatting and smoking cigarettes, though both break off and stare (at about one hundred feet away) when they see their thralls marching on them.

"Earplugs," instructs Tom. "Take 'em off when I make the signal to stop- and be ready to charge."

Oh shiiiiiiiiit this is going to be bad.

Not bother to stick in his own, and after giving the people behind a few moment to bolster their ears, Tom.. points at the guards, and yells in this burly, unfamiliar voice-

"CH-YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARGE!"

Hefting his club, he tears out in front, face a beacon of indiginant fury!

OOC: I'm doing a presence attack (more to freak out the guards at this point), then sinking 10 points into not-being-vulnerable, and four into Martial Strike!

Of the two guards, one manages to keep his cool in the face of thirty charging, and apparently berserk, incoherently screaming thralls.  He swiftly draws his sword, takes up a defensive stance, and before Tom is able to attack, expertly slashes his saber across Tom's uncovered chest.

Tom flinches at the painful impact that feels like it's going to bruise, but doesn't even break the skin.  And then it doesn't matter, because no amount of bravery is going to stand to twenty huge and angry men with clubs, if there's only two defenders.

By the time the fury ends, the gate has been smashed down, and the guards are thoroughly dead.  The cry has been raise, however, and the fat man -- some sort of administrator? -- rushes out of the house, screaming bloody murder.  Probably.

Hard to hear him over the charging, howling men.  He doesn't hold up long, either, though when his thin companion emerges, his mouth compresses into a tight frown, and he barks something -- also lost beneath the tide of noise -- and produces some strange sci-fi looking device from beneath his cloak.

It's probably a talisman.  It looks like it's got a handle, and some switches, and a number of antennae protruding.  He punches some of the switches, there's an abrupt (and truly deafening) *crack* noise that causes the windows of the house to burst outward in a shimmering spray of glass, and then ... he's gone.

Before giving the order to cease, or the like, Tom glances from side to side, quickly taking in the interior of the mansions grounds- especially for, say, a barracks, or other human figures...

It doesn't take long to find the guards; there's a small building within the gates that serves as their barracks, most likely.  At the commotion, five of them rush out, all wearing what look like eighteenth century military uniforms, two with muskets, three with sabers.

"You, there!" calls Tom, stepping ahead of his mob and addressing the guards.

"Throw down your arms and run, or you'll all meet your end today! We are free- you cannot stop us!"

OOC: dropping 5 into presence for presence 10, keeping my vulnerability down as usual. Additionally, I hope to have recovered my STUN by now.

Tom attempts to intimidate the guards.  Three of them -- the saber-wielders -- do bolt.  The musketeers drop to firing stance with trained precision, aim, and fire.

There's the 'crack' of a fired shot, and two musketballs go wide.  One slams into the earth, bounces up from the yard, and bounces harmlessly off the chest of the 'subleader', the other simply goes off into the sky.

And then it doesn't really matter, because the musketeers throw their guns and run.  It'd take too long to refill the guns with their powder horns.  Still, their true purpose comes to light:

A procession of fleeing servants, chambermaids, and one young woman in a frilly gown run across the yard.  The guards were just trying to buy them time to get away, it looks like.  There's probably not enough time to reach them before they reach the carriage house, but at least no one seems interested in staying around.

Tom holds up a hand to his men- he wouldn't have chased those people anyway, though the soldiers wouldn't have any idea of that at all.

Once the earplugs are gone, he approaches the 'subleader'- "Alright. First, take half of us and head over to the barracks; try and get everyone some decent clothes.. if any, uh, fit, I guess.. and gather up any weapons or equipment you find there. Check around the building, too, see if you can find any horses, for that matter. If you find any soldiers still running around, don't hesitate- knock 'em out."

He glances down at the body of that fat man, swallowing rather harshly, but he steps over it and looks at the rest of his troop. "All of you, you're coming inside this place with me."

The freed thralls comply quickly, organizing into squads of ten.  The subleader leads the rush towards the barracks, while the rest of the men follow Tom.

The house's front door is a double door, nice, dark wood.  Inside is a Victorian-looking entryway, nice carpet, some hooks for cloaks to hang (some cloaks are indeed still hanging), a low end-table with a nice vase.  Some recently cut roses are arranged carefully within.

Beyond that is a stairway leading up, and halls leading deeper into the house.  Windows let in a generous amount of light, and gas lamps are placed about the walls.

Certainly it's better than the shack that Tom started out in.  The men poke around, and find the place empty of people.  A lot of clothing and furniture are left lying around, though the house has little in the way of weaponry.

Tom grabs a cloak (who wouldn't?), and throwing it around his shoulders, he starts looking around for.. a study, or a library. "If you find any books or writings.. or any people, let me know," he instructs the men.

The library is obvious, though the men who are left to patrol the house also bring a collection of other books to Tom.  Before they return with them, the sub-leader reports that the barracks have been ransacked, and the men have guard uniforms, though everyone is too barrel-chested to fit into them.  They've also taken to arming themselves with a collection of sabers.  The muskets are weapons, so they're brought, too, though no one seems to want to use any of them.

"We found clothes," the sub-leader reports happily.  He's got a cloak, too.  "Also, powder.  The barrels are still in the guard house."  He looks suddenly curious at Tom's reading.  "You can make pages talk?"

The library is a good sized room, about twenty feet by fifteen, lined with shelves.  Books on all manner of topics fill the shelf-space.  Bird-watching, hunting, history....  Then the other freed men begin to bring their finds.  A few copies of a book that looks suspiciously bible-like, with a gate on the cover.  A handful of ... diaries?  They look like diaries, at any rate.  The men (most of which have cloaks, now), have piled their finds on a writing desk in the center of the room (facing the doorway).

"Read? Yeah... I'm not quite.. normal, I think," manages Tom, shrugging. Glancing at the diaries to start, he begins to flip through those collections of pages. "Were there any horses?"

"They took the horses," subleader says sadly.  "Even when they couldn't ride.  Tied to the back of the carriage."

The first diary is a girl's.  It appears to be for one Emily Vladimere.  Flipping through the first one, this girl has a very boring life.  The few tidbits she drops about her father -- Evan -- does help round out what this operation is about.

The thralls are apparently trained and raised here, relatively near the Windhurst gate.  Then Evan sells the thralls into service for people who need strong, tough workers.  Or disposable infantry.  She doesn't really seem to care, or see the thralls as human, at any rate.

Rifling through the diaries, Tom searches out this Evan's, but before that, he addresses the men-

"Alright. Did you find much in the way of food and water? Living supplies?"

"Well around back," one of the men says.  "Lots of water.  Kitchen has stuff, too.  Apples, porridge."

Evan's journal isn't in the stack, though the writing desk turns out to be his.  One of the drawers holds it.

The guy's got good handwriting.  Essentially, Evan seems to take criminals who've been 'regressed' into ideal servants, and then sell them.  The only thing is, reading between the lines, it seems there's hints that not all of the thralls were genuine criminals.  The most interesting segment refers to a traveler from 'Anabara', which Evan hints is some sort of forbidden city.

The traveler had three assistants, two of which are among the current crop of thralls.  Their names were Simmons and Alexander respectively.  The traveler himself -- a Dr. Nathan Shuker, interestingly enough -- was not captured, but Evan wasn't worried about that.  According to his journal, they were worth capturing and converting without any sort of trial, simply because they came from a forbidden 'sphere' (whatever that means).

There's a thought.

"Oh. Do we have, uh, names?" he asks, glancing back at the assembled thralls. "Like, anyone here named Simmons? Alexander?"

"Names are lost in the gate," sub-leader says, somewhat sadly.  The others in the room (most of them are trying to keep Tom in sight at all times, it seems), nod sadly.

"Then we shall have new ones," replies Tom, firmly. "We won't be staying here, I think."

He starts to set aside books he thinks will make for interesting reads- anything to do with these 'gates', history books- if there's an atlas, or a globe, or any similar kind of map, he makes sure to note that, too.

"Names are important," he adds, hoping to find a book of names, too- or at least a novel or two. "I want each of you to pick a name- something unique. No two of you should have the same name. I-" he pauses, for effect- "am Tom."

The men look among themselves.  "I am called Seven," the subleader says slowly.  The other men nod and give their own numbers, then set about trying to figure out names.

Among the library's books, the vast majority seem to be histories.  No fiction to speak of, just a few reference books.  Some of the history books have maps in them, but it's hard to guess where you are, and some of the maps are wildly divergent, with no evident common areas.  No globes, unfortunately.

"Do you know the lay of the land? Do you know where these gates are, or how to find them?" queries Tom, rifling through Evan's desk for.. scientific reports, an instruction manual, anything. He briefly skims through the bible-like book, while he's at it.

The bible-like book is hefty.  It's going to take some time, or speed-reading to get through it briefly.  What Tom is able to glean at a glance is that it seems to be centered around these gates.

"There are roads to the gates," Seven says slowly.  "I remember ... led along road to here.  Is...."  He hesitates, then points in a direction.  Which could really, mean anything.  "That way," he announces, nodding.

Evan's books specifically aren't scientific except for his interests, which outside of raising and selling thralls (that sounds suspiciously like slavery, to Tom), is limited to birding.  However the thralls are tweaked with the gates isn't clear -- he says he gives the thralls over to some group called the 'Templar Guild', and they handle the rest.

Rifling through the collected maps to see if there's one with these 'gates' appearing on them, the somewhat uncertain leader eventually closes all the books, keeping a pile of those that appear most useful- most certainly the bible and Evan's diary.

"I think I've learned all I've got time for from these," he announces. "Gather up as much food as we can carry- Seven, did the barracks have any backpacks or maps in it? If it did, we can make use of them.

"Once we've packed up, we're heading out!"

He pauses. "If we stayed off the roads, do you think we'd be able to find our way back to the gate anyway? I want to avoid meeting anyone for now. Also, how far was it?"

All of the maps have exactly two gates labeled on them, or none (though, there are only two of those that Tom has flipped to).

Seven concentrates.  "No maps," he says.  "Maybe get there okay off of roads, but two weeks to walk."

Another of the thralls runs in quickly, announcing, "Someone coming up the road."

"I'm not certain, but I think we'll be abl- ah. Just one?"

Upon the assent, Tom nods. "We'll speak to him at the gate, then- come on."

Setting aside the books for now, Tom starts to head to the front of the mansion...

The others all follow Tom to the gate, where a single traveler is trudging down the road.  Despite being a dashingly handsome man who really doesn't look that much like Phil, Tom instantly knows that this is, in fact ... well ... Phil.

"Ah. I think I recognize him.. somehow," states Tom, sheepishly. "He should be alright."

Stepping forward, he calls out; "Hey, you! You going to take all day to get up here, or what?"

"Possibly, Tom.  What's the situation up here, beside the fact there is not much time?"  Dracos hurried on up towards where the crowd with tom was gathered.  "Friends of yours, I presume?"

Dracos

"It's a.. well, no, it's a short story," mutters Tom. "But what are YOU doing here? It hasn't even been an hour since we stopped being thralls and.. well..."

He eyes the corpses that are strewn across the front porch rather guiltily. "We were just preparing to leave, but to be honest, all I can be sure of is that staying here is a bad idea."

"I work fast.  You know that.  What's been going on here?  We should have enough time to bandy about and trade information before we get moving.  The closest church questioner they could be sending out here is unlikely to be less than one day's travel from here to begin with.  Assuming they're not driving cars or some such," Dracos explained and questioned in a single breath.

Dracos

"I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about," affirms Tom. "Anyway, look, as far as I know, we were all being.. bred, like dogs-" this comes out with a guttural growl, and Tom clenches a shaking fist. "-to be the perfect worker, the perfect manual slave.

"'course, I didn't think to stand for that, and the guy responsible isn't getting up again. It's to do with these.. gates. Somehow they.. change people."

"Yeah, they're kind of important in a lot  of ways.  They change people by either progressing or regressing them through the stages of evolution, or at least, that what the books say.  I might be able to figure out how to fix that, if I could see one of them.  Slavery doesn't surprise me though.  Culturally, we seem to be in about the puritan era, though I suspect there's more to it.  So, there's slaves, crazed superstitions, and most relevantly to us probably in short measure, an exceedingly powerful church authority that controls said gates and pretty much all travel through them.  Deacon Bloom" he gestures to himself, "Used to be one of them before becoming a heretic and obsessively trying to figure out how to share the secret of traveling through the gates safely with others outside the church."


Dracos

"-wait, you actually use them to travel?"

Tom scratches his head, and nods. "I.. wasn't sure. Sounded like they might be multi-purpose, right?

"I found mention of Nathan, by the way. It seems he was some kind of traveller from.. somewhere else, some forbidden city. His friends got caught or something, and ended up.. well, they're in this group, but nobody can recall the past."

With a bit of a helpless shrug, he starts to lead Phil back into the mansion- but not before directing Seven to continue making preperations to leave. Not that there's much to be done, he reflects.

"Anyway, my plan was to head to one of these gates, but I'm glad I ran into you, because I wasn't sure what I was going to do when I got there."

"That's not too surprising with Rez, and more..mmm.  And I'm also glad I found you, or more specifically you and your metric ton of strong friends as I wasn't sure when luck was going to run out with those trying to track me down.  Mmm...  We definitely need to study these gates.  We also need to raid the church area near by in some capacity.  I'll have to think upon that."

Dracos paused a bit, considering something rat probably didn't have enough information on to work with.

 "You may or may not have figured it out.  But patternwise it is clear to me that we're always placed at pretty critical and world changing junctures when we enter these dreams.  It is not random or accidental who we end up as or where and what we are, though it may not be evident to begin with.  My placement is pretty obvious as fulfilling the Deacon's goals would undoubtedly be a world changing event, possibly bringing the world out of the dark ages by breaking the church's hold on both governments and people.  Yours I don't think is merely as simple as leading the thralls to freedom and upsetting the world order in such.  It is likely something deeper.  Have you found anything referencing who you might have been before they threw you through the gate?  If not, we need to bring all possible information with us as we go.  It's our great weakness right now.  We're not really in a battle of physical danger so much as knowing enough to outmanuver the hostile presence already in existence to stabilize the status quo.  It is likely there was a higher reason than just enslavement for your presence here.  Finding that out is almost certainly to be as important as figuring out the secret of the gates.  Which one are we planning on heading to?... And do we have any idea where they took Rez?"

Dracos

"Well, it might be clear to you, but I haven't been doing this very long," replies Tom, sounding rather sulky.

"And look, I still barely know a thing about this place! I've no idea who I might have been- the guy's journal mentioned that Nathan had some assistants when he came here, but they were caught and ended up like this- aside from that- damnit, nobody here even remembers their name! I can't say I know which gate, either- I couldn't find many specifics in the library. I did get together a pile of books that I thought might be useful.

"All I know is that slavery-" Tom spits on the ground "-is abhorrent, and if ending the practice isn't something I should be trying to do..."

"I know, I know, that's why I thought to bring it up.  You don't have the 'second time around' thing to provide the pattern and preparation," Dracos mused.

"Feel free to jab if I go somewhere weird, I'm in brainstorm how to win with sidepoint brainstorm how to flick church in nose  mode.  I sometimes go a bit fast there, admittingly."

Tapping his chin, Dracos was in thought as he caught Tom's last words. "No, No.  You should be doing that.  I'm saying there's MORE to it.  And same with these others most likely.  Some were criminals you said and some were captives...  the captives are probably important, they're probably people that someone had a NEED to make disappear and you were probably someone that they had a NEED to make disappear.  And we need to know why.  It's could be an ace in our hand later if we know."

Dracos considered the plan ahead, "Good planning so far.  We can read them as we travel and more specifically hide from our pursuers.  How many are with us anyway?"

Dracos

"Twenty or so," replies Tom. "I already looked for reasons why, but I didn't find much. Not sure I will, either, but who knows?

"Anyway, what's your story?"

"Hmm, didn't I already say?" Dracos shrugged.  "I, Deacon Bloom, am a heretic on the run for breaking with church doctrine and attempting to give the secret of safe transmission through the gates to everyone."

He paused a second as if in thought.  "It might've been just through the gate of progression or something.  I'm not sure though, and I wouldn't be surprised if there wasn't some special rule the church kept on that gate.  We'd have to see to be sure."

"Anyhow, the local inquisitioners, called Questioners here, were after me and I escaped up here in disguise.  Came here when I heard of trouble happening with the 'thralls' and figured one of us would be at the center of it."

Dracos
Is it metagaming if it is almost all based on prior game facts? =P

"I'll show you the books we discovered," states Tom. "But nonetheless, let us set out shortly."

OOC: Don't look at me. >.>

"We'll read as we go, I don't want to be surprised here.  It wouldn't be good.  Let's just make sure we're taking enough supplies and are well prepared for the eventuality of encounter.  What tools did they use to keep all these slaves in line anyhow?"

Dracos

Tom glances at the ground, wiping a hand over his head.

"We've been 'bred' to follow orders. Any orders," he replies, harshly. "It was lucky I woke up, so to speak, before there was.. further indoctrination."

"Hmm, Found a solution to that?  Last we need is our friends here suddenly being told to kill us brutally," Dracos voice was considerably calm, given the explained circumstances.

Dracos

"Well, it doesn't work on me," replies Tom, proudly. "Anyway, I haven't got a sure solution, but I'm hoping that we'll develop enough of a.. hmm, sense of self to just ignore stupid commands."

He turns to the rest of the group, looking rather thoughtful. "Alright, everyone. What happens if two people give us.. two seperate orders, but we can only follow one?"

"We follow our leader," Seven says, blinking.  "Then we follow that leader -- you -- until they make us go through a gate again."  He says this like it's the most obvious and natural thing in the world, then shakes his head and gestures towards the house.  "Locked door, inside."

Tom nods.

Though he sounds a little nervous as he replies; "Alright. Let's hope it doesn't come to that, eh? Show me where this door is, then."

"Hmm, what's your name?"  Dracos wondered.  "Anyhow, so if I told you to touch your toes, you'd ignore me?"

Dracos walked along with them, agreeing with Rat's goal of the moment.

Dracos

"Seven," he replies, turning around and leading the way into the house.  "Does Tom tell me to do what you say?"

The locked door is in the basement -- small wonder it didn't turn up initially.  The basement's a wine cellar, and barrels had been stacked in front of it.  Empty barrels, at a glance, but still.

"You don't *have* to do what Phil says," interjects Tom, grinning at the shorter man. "Or even what I say, for that matter. But if you're not sure what to do, then Phil probably has the right idea."

"Mmm, he didn't immediately react and follow, so that's a good sign.  Not sure if it's truly safe, but we'll find out eventually I suppose.  Up with the ripping open?"

Dracos

"Yeah," replies Tom, sounding a little put out. "Yeah, alright."

Shoving the barrels out the way, Tom shoulder-rams the door! Once, twice, as many times as needed to break it down.

The door resists, but not for long.  After the fourth strike, it finally goes down.  Inside is an office, though it's dark, and requires the fetching of a lamp (gas, looks like) to spread illumination inside.

And inside is the information that Tom was looking for.  It appears that the reason the information in the library was so sparse was because the man who ran the operation wasn't the man who was responsible for training them.

That man is in this room, though someone else has killed him.  He is lying on his back in front of his desk, eyes wide, but clouded, mouth open in a scream that it seems no one heard.  A knife is protruding from his throat, and blood has stopped flowing, now merely pooling beneath him.  The knife is jet black, the blade, the handle, every bit of it, even the leather-wrapped (is that leather?) grip.  It's a perfectly uniform color, and the blade is slim, almost elegant.  It's also long enough to have a good three inches of blade free when thrust through someone's throat so hard it nails them to the floor.

Behind this man, probably an overseer, are loose sheafs of paper, a few personal effects (a rock?  Probably a paperweight.  A very fine musket that's been polished until it shines.  A sturdy looking but dependable dagger.  A flail with hooked talons on the ends, stained long ago with red blood that was never washed off), and the signs that someone was here first, and ransacked the place.  Most of the papers are just scattered everywhere, except that they're clear of the blood.

"This cannot have  been done very long ago.  In fact, someone might still be here... worse, someone very skilled in assassination, given they must have done this after the revolt but before the our arrival in this room.  Seven, no one else but me has arrived here that you know of since following Tom?"

Dracos almost reflexively goes to work, gathering the papers that were left up quickly into a stack, ignoring the weapons for now and looking for any chance that something was missed or more specifically any signs left behind by the ransacker.

OOC:Switching points to use enhanced perception.

Curiously, Phil isn't actually certain that the man was killed after the revolt.  The timing is hard to gauge....  But the body has had enough time to cool, slightly.  Realistically, if this man was the overseer -- which the papers suggest he is -- he should have been on hand to deal with the revolt.

But instead, he was in his office.  But, why?  Or had he already been killed?

Without accurate clocks, and with Tom's somewhat confused memory of the affair (it was pretty brutal), it's difficult to say.  The dagger is not what did the man in, though.  It probably killed him, but to nail him to the floor ... he had to have been lying down in the first place.

Obviously, by the bloodflow, he was alive when he was stabbed ... but the lack of blood elsewhere raises some questions, too.

The paperwork is easy enough to gather up, but may take some time to sort out and read through.

"No one," Seven says stalwartly, before looking back over his shoulder.  His expression is troubled -- one of the others ran a message for him.  "Dust on the road," he says, shaking his head uncomfortably.  "Many people, probably, coming this way."

"Already?!  That was way too quick.  We need to be long gone from this place now," Dracos snatched the papers and on second thought, grabs both daggers.  "His death is very odd.  Almost staged.  But we need to get out of here and finding out the details is for later."

Dracos hurried up the stairs, waving those who were near the supplies to grab them and get moving.

Dracos

The former thralls had already followed Tom's orders well.  Everything edible has been rounded up, wrapped in torn-up bedding, and each of the red-skinned men has a satchel over their shoulders with what food was lying around and available.  Most are also armed, either with sabers, or with cudgels -- they seem to have no interest in muskets whatsoever, though there is a keg of powder in the main room at the bottom of the stairs.  It's about two feet tall, and a foot and a half around, currently sealed.

All of them except for three have cloaks, none of them have shoes.

"Where we going?" Seven asks, sounding a tiny bit frightened.

Grabbing the musket and the rock (the flail can stay where it is, it's kind of creepy, and Tom has a sneaking suspicion he's more likely to hurt himself than anyone else with it), Tom doesn't think long before answering-

"Away from them," he responds. "We'll head out in the opposite direction to where they're coming from and move as quick as we can. Phil, you think we can hide this thing-" he gestures at the barrel-

"-near the entrance they're approaching? If I find a good spot, I'll be able to shoot it when they get here, and that'll solve a few of our problems, I think."

Dracos grabbed a saber as well, considering his request.  "Nothing comes to mind.  Let's just take it with us and run.  We can shoot at them as we go.  If we can get to cover, I would bet significantly on our group versus theirs, and frankly, we'd have to be entirely too close for such.  Unless we do it by candle.."

Dracos continue to ramble out a hacknye solution while the others were getting out, grabbing nearby oil and spreading it over much the entryway, pouring thick line of gunpowder down leading from it to what he thought was a support column (or at least near the front door), basically leaving an exceedingly dangerous fire/explosion hazard behind before very carefully getting a candle and placing it precariously set to get knocked down into the oil on the opening of the front door.  He then fled with all speed to the other exit, chasing after his companions with the fear born from "I have no fuckin' idea what I'm really doing!"

Dracos

Phil leads Tom and the others out the back door, where the house has an expansive yard.  There's a corral for horses, but the gate's hanging open, and it's empty at the moment.  Beyond the yard is a thin woods, though judging by the higher trees in the distance, it thickens.

The yard has a nice lawn, probably well-tended.  Whoever took care of it left a scythe by the corral gate, lying on the ground.  Past the lawn, the woodsy area is filled with twigs and leaves ... looks like the trees are primarily oak, here.

Tom is glad to find out that the soles of his feet are too tough to cause discomfort on the rocks hiding beneath the leaves of the forest floor.  Especially since he couldn't find shoes in his size.

"I always wished scythes were as good as random games tended to make them out to be.  They're really not that much fun outside plant cutting," Dracos yammered while maintaining his run.   "To the trees, everyone."

OOC:
Shifting 10 influence to bring across a point of speed.

"Focus, Phil. Less game, more running," responds Tom, hightailing it towards the woods.

In short order, the safety of the woods (such as they are) is reached.  Behind the group is a menacing plume of smoke, though there wasn't any satisfying 'boom'.  Maybe the powder keg just wasn't big enough?  Either way, with no sun in this land, it's going to be very easy to get lost.  No one is especially good at not leaving footprints, but there are supplies, everyone's armed, and the land seems to be rising as the group presses on.

Shortly -- maybe a mile into the trees -- the land turns much more sharply uphill to the right.  To the left, the land seems level, though through the trees it looks like it begins to drop.

"Seven," states Tom, calling the group to a half for a moment.

"Can you tell me anything about the lay of the land? I think our best bet is to head towards the gate, but-" he shrugs helplessly- "I don't really know about any other places to go."

"You had a map, Tom.  Give me it for a bit?"

Dracos

"When did I tell you tha- er, never mind. Anyway, yeah, there were a couple from the library, but I had no idea where I was on them, I guess you might make better use of them."

Digging around in his own satchel, Tom hands a couple of the relevant books to Phil.

"Mmm," Dracos turns to the maps, crossreferencing landmarks he knows of such as the paths, crossroads, creak, house and forest to get a good idea where they are on it and which would be the best route towards intercepting one of the roads heading to the gate.

Dracos

One of the maps actually seems to be of the area.  It's got 'Darby' listed, at least, so that's something.  Tracing it back to the crossroads gives Phil a reasonably good idea of where he started out, and where poor deceased Master Vladimere lived -- a few miles along the road would have taken Tom and Phil to another village.  There's no actual compass on the map, but if the writing is oriented correctly, then Phil was heading to the left -- which might as well be considered 'West'.

Further in that direction, past something labeled 'Edging Garrison', is the grasslands Phil heard mentioned.  On the map, it's marked, 'savages: BEWARE!'.

The gates are both on the map -- probably a week to the Windhurst gate.  A week and a half to the Anabara gate.  The Anabara gate has another garrison near it, and between the Windhurst gate and the present location is the High Church, which also has a garrison.

Judging by the map, the hill that Phil and Tom are facing is a pretty notable feature in an otherwise mostly flat valley.  It might offer a decent vantage ... if you didn't already have a map.

"Always used the roads before," Seven says with a helpless, apologetic shrug.

While Phil inspects the map, Tom digs out the papers of the unfortunate man who was deceased *before* he got there, and has a more detailed read of the things.

"Well, we have to keep moving.  We should probably head along the woods, towards the winderst gate," Dracos considered, pointing out while he was so the various routes he's taken and where  their chasers likely were to Tom so that he could also intelligently consider where to go.

Dracos

"Anabara? We should head in that direction," replies Tom, thoughtfully.

"I think that's where Nathan is. The papers I read- not these ones-" he waves the foremans notes for effect- "mentioned that he was some kind of traveller from thereabouts. They tried to capture him, but apparently didn't.. so I'd figure he's found a way back home."

"That's also the center point of the church though.  I don't feel too comfortable about heading there before we either have an army or know a lot more about what's  going on with the gates," Dracos admitted. "Not that I particularly want to leave Rez in their hands either though.  Maybe do both?  Let's scout on Winderust and then make a long loop around the garrisoned areas to come near the church?  It has its own garrison but it'd be better than going through two I suspect.  And we might be able to use one gate to get to the other actually."

Dracos

"I don't much want to waste time," replies Tom, shortly. "I don't really see the value of going to Windhurst, and Rez wasn't captured- the papers said he escaped. His friends, apparently, didn't fare so well, and are now.. like us.

"Look, we've still got these to read, and we won't make much further tonight- I don't want to travel while it's dark. We may as well check these papers out and see if there's more info."

"The value is we get to see a gate WITHOUT walking into the heart of the church power.  I'm pretty sure it is the gate of Regression that is there, which is what caused the problems for your friends and you here," Dracos argued, but noticing the darkness. "As long as we set some guard schedules, I'm fine with stopping here to study though."

Dracos

"Well, it's a no-brainer," reflects Tom. "We'll head up the hill a bit, that should be more defensible or whatever. I guess it has merit, but it seems obvious to me that each of us is going to know something *important*- and if we don't get all the information together soon, we might wind up hindering, rather than helping each other."

He starts directing everyone up the hill, packing the papers away for now.

"Fair enough.  Let's be careful though," Dracos followed, switching back in speed reading when they came to a halt and beginning promptly trying to figure out what information was there.

"We also have the problem of that murder.  Specifically what information was taken with it," He murmured, leaning against a tree as he read.

With little to say to that, Tom takes his own share of papers and starts flipping through them.

The freed thralls quickly set up a camp, along with a guard rotation.  Even though they can't express themselves well (Seven is the most well-spoken among them, aside from Tom), they seem reasonably intelligent -- or at least competent.

The top of the hill is gained just as it gets dusky, so there's enough time to find a hollow across the crest -- which should shield the fire from the direction of most-likely pursuit.

Scanning through the papers yields a bit more, too.  Because the overseer worked with the thralls more closely (he makes Evan look like he was just the owner/broker, really), he knew them much better.  And he mentions two things of import:

At some point while he was with the Church, being changed at the Windhurst gate, Alexander was killed.  Either Evan was unaware, or didn't care of this fact.  Beyond that, Simmons was 'number seven'.

The rest is just outlines of training practices -- what the thralls were going to be used for.  There's nothing in the papers that remains to suggest what the eventual goal of training was, just that this batch of thralls should be sturdy, survivable, and especially compliant.

Reading through the books a bit more lets Phil put together a reasonable theory of the structure of the worlds here.  The reason any of the maps only have two gates is because that's where the worlds are connected.  But there's no real mention of Anabara beyond the letters and notes that Tom found earlier.

Checking supplies, it appears that the group can stay on the run for two weeks, as long as fresh water can be found regularly.  Three more days of water, otherwise.

After this is established, Tom reaffirms his decision; "We should head for the Anabar gate. While I'm pretty sure we don't want everyone to go *through* it, necessarily, I think it's our best bet for hooking up with Nathan. Never mind that the *entire infrastructure* of this place seems pitted against us- since they call Anabara a forbbiden sphere, that means the guys there will probably be friendly to us if we're unfriendly to the guys here.

"Which, uh, I guess we are."

"Mmm...Reasonable," Dracos ceded.  "Though it could be other things, we'll know more when we get closer."  He glanced about for 'seven', getting up for a minute to head over to talk to him.

"Seven, got a moment?"

Dracos

While Phil does that, Tom starts trying to track down his *own* name, not to mention number; he figures out his own by the process elimination, if need be, and sees if it appears at all in the foreman's documents.

"Yes?" Seven asks, looking at Phil curiously.

Tom does find no mention of his own name.  After carefully searching, there's 19 backstories -- criminals, vagrants, etc.  There's also 19 men, plus Tom.

Hmm.

While Phil talks to Seven, Tom asks the nearest Thrall.. Eight, was it? Why did they all have to look the same-

"Eight, was I put through the gate at the same time as the rest of you all?"

Eight looks thoughtful for a while.  "Nope," he says with a shake of his head.  "Came later."  Dang, almost the same voice, too.

Though realizing that all of the men have numbers, Tom does realize that there is no number one -- or it's himself.

"When?" queries Tom, thinking. "Can you tell me just what happened at all? Or, better yet, what the men in suits said at the time?"

"Seven, when I was checking through the books, it turned out you used to be called "Simmons" before they got to you," He shared.

Dracos

"Did a bad thing," Eight says slowly, visibly struggling to remember.  "Broke church.  Got caught.  Then...."  He frowns.  "Don't remember," he says, apologetically.  "Men say, 'Use white door' and 'Use black door', and push Eight.  Remember someone before Eight -- steps through door, falls down and doesn't move after."  He shivers.  "Bad thing."

Seven looks thoughtful.  "Simmons," he repeats slowly, as though testing the name out.  "I ... am ... Simmons?"

"Pretty sure that's your name, Simmons," Dracos reiterated, vaguely hoping it would be of help.

Dracos

Unsettled by the lack of much idea of who he was, Tom just shakes his head to himself, and sits himself down somewhere, packing the papers back into his bag.

"Say, Eight. Is there anything you want?"

"Simmons," the newly rechristened thrall says, nodding.  "Okay.  I am Simmons."  He pauses, brow furrowing.  "Will I remember?"

"Want to know why," Eight says to Tom with a shrug.  Many of the others nod  in agreement.  "Don't understand why.  Can't remember."

"Well, we'll help, Simmons," He said, turning to see what the minor ruckus was with Rat.

Dracos

"We were.. used, by people who thought us conveniant tools to gain power," replies Tom, head bowed. "I don't know what each of our pasts were-"

Yeah, real smooth THERE...

"-but it's clear that.. someone merely thought to profit at our expense. That's it."

"Seems both the church and probably the aristocracy is pretty good at that,"  Dracos chimed in.   "But it's probably not the time to get angry at them for it.  At least, with any good representative outside of squishing distance."

Dracos

"Ugh. Well, I'm through thinking about these difficult things tonight," proclaims Tom. "I'm turning in; Phil, we'll take last watch and get things ready to leave."

With that said, he finds a relatively flat piece of ground, and starts to doze off.

"Fair enough," Dracos does the same, taking his sleep when he can get.

Dracos

It's cold outside, but not uncomfortable.  The cloaks that Tom and the others grabbed weren't really ideal for all weather, or overnight ... but resistant skin ensures that the only one who shivers is Phil.

Morning comes around with an unsettling unidirectional dawn, and then it's light again.

Dracos keeps his grumblings silent at the obviously unbothered  individuals as they get moving in the morning, the group making its way carefully through the woods, heading towards Anabara with the intent of avoiding major population centers and roads for now.

Dracos

Likewise, Tom sets about leading the mob.

"We'll need to take every second or third day or so to find water, if we haven't come across a lake already," he states. "What I wouldn't give for Bjorn's telepathy-thingy right now..."

"Well, technically, I could probably do that if we needed it...  though I'm not sure there's a problem with talking at the moment.  Need something private?"  Dracos wondered, not really catching the need.

Dracos

"It's useful for talking long-distance," replies Tom, chuckling. "We'd be able to split up without getting lost or seperated for good."

"Ah, that, right.  Couldn't imitate that.  And I suspect that  wouldn't be too big an issue.  No matter how big this world is, with the culture level where  it is and our general goal to make major differences in the world, it's pretty easy to catch up," Dracos commented back.  "That said, company that knows what you're talking about is much better anyhow."

Dracos

"I guess. No point taking any chances now," replies Tom, leading the freed-men onwards!

According to Phil's map, away from the hill is the grasslands to the....  Well, their directions are funny.  Their worlds (each of them) have two poles, one 'spinward' and one 'counter' or 'anti' spinward.  The Anabara gate is spinward from the hilltop.

Going straight there would be on the roads, which would take the group through a number of farming communities and small towns.  Trying to cut across the arc of road that connects the two gates would entail passing through the farming communities briefly.

Swinging wide and going around the arc of road/civilization(?) will take longer, but also not encounter any villages or garrisons, aside from the last garrison before the grasslands.  The choices are between speed and safety, but to be perfectly safe, it's going to require major detours.

And there's no guarantee of safety at the gate itself, either.

"Mmm... I'm more for this route," Dracos gestured along the longer one, taking the safeway even if it involved going near a garrison. "If only to hopefully lose the questioners on our tail or, if not, not  deal with them in the middle of a village or some sort."

Dracos

"Then we're blind," replies Tom, frowning. "We need to try and keep an ear on news- we might hear about Bjorn or Hal, if we're all going to be doing great things.

"If we just cut across this arc here, we'll pass through civilised areas briefly, which might be enough time for you to have a quick meet'n'greet of the populance, find out if anything is going on."

"Mmm...  If we're going to go that way, I wish we could set up some kind of ambush for our trackers.  Get them out of the way so we're not risking a fight in the middle of someone's town on it."

Dracos

"To be honest, I think we're outpacing them," replies Tom, thoughtfully. "I.. don't really know how we can easily set one up. But I don't think all of us will go into a town- I figured that honour might go mainly to you- you could take a couple of us with you and pass yourself off as an.. owner."

The last words comes out harshly, and Tom's fist starts to shake.

"By a couple, you mean pretty much you.  Of course, even that's dangerous since it leaves them vulnerable, but who else would be quick witted enough if trouble actually occurred?  And yeah, I was thinking that there, but still... they caught up to us at the slave house far faster than I would've expected."

Dracos

"Well, actually, I would stay with the main group, and you'd have to direct those with you," replies Tom, sighing. "They're not stupid.. it's more like they're autistic. They're just not good at expressing themselves. I'm wondering if we could teach them to read."

"Yeah, I'm not hugely comfortable with that, but we'll cross that bridge when we come to it.  I really think we should stay here though and deal with our chasers now rather than later.  We can learn a lot from them and secure ourself from trouble later.  We can also take the time to gather supplies and try and rehabilitate Simmons and the others."

Dracos

"Alright," replies Tom, standing up and addressing the men once again.

"We're holing up here for a while," he states. "The.. churchmen are coming after us, and we're thinking of setting a-, well, we're thinking to ambush them in the forest.

"Most of us are going to have to stay around here, in hiding. But we'll need some people to serve as forward watchmen, and some people to forage for food and water in the meantime. Before we commit to this, I want to ask everyone what they know about the church, and what they can do."

Collectively, the freed thralls know very little about the church.  Except that all of them think that crossing the church is an easy way to get into trouble. What the church can do on the other hand, is obvious.

They control the gates.

Beyond that, the freed thralls aren't able to offer anything that Tom and Phil didn't already know.

Dracos considered, drawing forth his tactical knowledge from the real world and began discussing with Tom and the group a plan of action to rid themselves of their Questioners.  Four would be alternating on keeping watch from atop the hill in pairs of two with the core job of letting Tom know when the Questiioners were within eyesight.  Four more were assigned to hunting duty, taking advantage of the natural forest and their own innate instincts to gather as much food as possible for the long haul.

The rest set about creating a fake camp with most of the non weapon stuff taken from the manor about halfway up the hill.  Then they set about building various traps, primarily taking advantage of the thick wood cover to place plentiful sharpened wood sticks positioned among the leafy bushes and firmly implanted into the ground to provide a dangerous surprise to someone walking through them unaware.

The plan as stood was to wait until they either saw them or heard their screams, hopefully luring them to the fake camp where they would be surrounded, the rest of the group leaping out  screaming from all directions as they entered.  Meanwhile, between the roaming hunters and the scouts  having the high ground in the area, they hoped to keep track if the circumstances demanded instant change.

Dracos

"We should plan a place for us all to easily meet up in case we all get seperated," adds Tom, scanning the map for a spot both distinctive and easy to reach- heading in one direction until they reach a road or the edge of the forest or some such, and then heading along it to some rendevous.

"And I don't plan to wait here too long. If they take more than a couple of days I say we pack up and leave; they've probably gone to get reinforcements more suited to handling a mob of ex-thralls. As far as luring them into the camp goes... we've got to be careful that *they* don't surround us, too. We should stick to the more dense areas of the forest- I'm pretty sure they'll favour us over them, and be ready to scatter if necessary."

He doesn't sound at all comfortable with this arrangement, and whenever he's instructing one of the other thralls on what to do, there's marked guilty edge to his tone.

"For the record, I kind of hope they don't come, y'know."

The map that Phil and Tom have found of their area doesn't enjoy many distinctive features that aren't also close to civilization -- and therefore, trouble.  The current position on a hilltop isn't terribly far from being centered on the Meridian (Anabara is spinwise, from here), though it's a few days travel edgeward.  The best location that can be discerned is a lake that's anti-spinwise, and further edgeward -- not far off the route that would swing wide to avoid most encounters.

The freed thralls do manage to perform the tasks of sharpening stakes, setting the traps Phil and Tom describe to them, and also locate a source of water.  Luck is also with the party; Twelve and Eighteen managed to bring in almost a dozen rabbits together, which will roast up quite tastily, given the prevalence of bread, cheese, and apples in the existing stores.

Everyone has time to enjoy a hearty meal, and then settles in for the wait -- which is not as long as anyone would have liked.  The freed thralls conceal themselves behind screens of brush and trees as much as they can -- the forest floor is a ruddy brown color which isn't too far from the reddish tint of their skins.

The first of the Questioners is following the party's trail slowly, bent low to examine the terrain.  Leaving a trail is almost unavoidable for a party of twenty men, so it's not terribly surprising.  Still, from behind his shrub Phil gets a chance to see the Questioner uniform.  It's pretty similar to Phil's own priestly vestments, save that the gate symbol on his robes is surrounded by a ring of bright red broken chain-links.

Directly behind him are two very tall men in full plate armor, each with a nice musket hanging across their backs, and swords at their sides.  The sounds of more men approaching from behind them carries -- though their numbers couldn't be determined, it's easy to say that there have to be at least ten of them, probably more if any are quiet.

Sounds indicate that there are horses somewhere in their group.

Hiding somewhere in the bushes, Tom reaches for the musket over his shoulder, trying to remember how the thing is supposed to work on the spot.

OOC: Inspecting the rifle and grabbing my +1 OCV all ranged~

The musket is, unfortunately, not loaded.  In fact, it hasn't even been reset properly after its last firing.  And while there were bullets back at the house, all of the gunpowder was used to explodify said location anyway.

And, thusly, putting it away again, Tom takes up a more familiar weapon; the same cudgel he used to cave in Mr. Vladimere's face.

"If they fall into the traps, that's when we strike," he whispers to his comrades. "If not- when the cavalry are in view, we'll flank them quickly."

The tracker slows as he reaches the first of the traps, and hesitantly begins poking his way through, though as intent as he is on tracks, he walks between two of the stakes without noticing them.  The second of the men in plate stumbles into one, which punches through his armor with a very moist noise.

He screams in pain, and the tracker jerks upright, turning to look at the man in concern.  The other armored figure swears loudly, and tries to help him upright.  The stake went into the wounded man's thigh, and thick rivulets of blood flow from the wound.  "Creator-damned thralls shouldn't be this smart," he snarls, before he dissolves into quieter, incoherent rumbling.

"They've set traps," the questioner replies, kneeling to inspect the wound.

"We hadn't noticed," the uninjured knight says sourly.  "Looked like a bug-bite, eh, Garcia?"

"Kill every last creator-damned one of them," Garcia shoots back, giving the priest a dark glare.  "Should never have agreed to raise them out here.  Why here?  Why not Windhurst?  Vladimere was a nothing!  The church had no reason to-"

"If you want that wound healed, you'll mind your mouth," the priest says absently.  "It is the Church who decides what the Church's reasons are.  Not the Templar Guild."

Garcia visibly grinds his teeth, then slams his visor down as the Questioner begins chanting, and reddish light begins to emanate from the fingertips inspecting the wound.  "Better?" he asks after a moment.

Blood is still running from the wound, but far less, now.  "I can fight on it," Garcia agrees.  "Now lead the way, and not into traps, this time."

"I'm not the one who walked into a sharpened stick," the Questioner counters, turning to face the hill again.

Behind the three forward scouts, more troops begin to come into sight.  Four more priests, and six more knights -- all on horseback.  Three more horses are tethered in a chain behind the rearmost Questioner.

Restraining a heavy sigh- which may have been too loud, Tom waits for the moment when the questioners are aptly surrounded by his men...

...and lets loose a fierce war-cry, rocketing from his crouched position to storm towards the mounted knights! "You will fall this day, churchmen!" he snarls, loud enough to hear over what will surely be a wave of screaming men behind him- "Our shackles are broken now, for all time!"

OOC: I am putting 10 points into presence to make a presence attack with (PRE 15 when I make it) and putting the other 5 into martial strike, to hit someone with. After I've made the P-attack, I want to put the 10 points back into protecting *me* from presence attacks.

OOC: Pulling 9 points from dex (bringing it to 14, OCV/DCV of 5) and 6 points into swordsmanship.
IC:

Dracos, not much for screaming in battle, particularly with not being a barbarian king, moved in a bit slower.  Primarily because he wanted to avoid being crushed by accident in the charging wrath of the nineteen former slaves.  Slipping in though towards the rearmost priest, he lashes out at the harness supports that run along the side of the horse, seeking send the man sprawling to the ground.  His goal at the moment was to try and take this one alive, if possible.

Dracos

The battle does not go quite as hoped.  The priests and knights were on their guard from the trap, so they're not quite encircled when the fight begins.  The Questioner in the rear manages to wheel his horse around and drive it out of reach before Phil can reaches it, though the rest of the Questioner's force is enclosed.

"Destroy the heretic!" the fleeing questioner screams as he gallops away.  Phil finds himself being targeted by three of the men on horseback, even as the thralls leap to tear the men from their saddles.

One sword slash from a heavy blade nicks Phil's upper arm deeply -- another scores him across the chest.  A third slash comes short, when Phil falls backwards over a tree stump, just before everything goes black.

Tom sees his friend fall, distracted just in time to catch a wildly swung sword to the jaw.  His skin isn't pierced, but that one felt like a tooth-loosener, and another, ineffectual blow lands on Tom's back immediately afterwards.

But that's the fight -- after that, the knights can't do enough damage to stop the freed thralls, and the questioners (except the one who fled) are all dead, except for two that were simply knocked out.

Phil regains his senses a few minutes later.  The wounds aren't lethal, but they are ugly.  By that time, the thralls have rounded up all but three of the horses (and the four that the fleeing Questioner took).

Tom is unable to entirely contain his disgust at the scene (that he's created), pointedly looking away from it all once he calms down from the inevitable battle-fury.

Still, he manages to keep it together.. until he sees Phil.

"Fuck! Fuck. I *knew* I should've got you to stay back before we did this stupid thing," swears Tom, kneeling beside the wounded man. "Are you alright? Do you think you can walk? Shit. Fuck."

Dracos groaned, in more than a fair bit of pain as his hands began to glow, the wounds closing up as strange syllables he knew but did not know, left his lips, sounding as if a prayer in old latin.

"That...was not one of my smarter moves...  Did we get them all..." He winced. "And preferrably some alive?"

He stood shortly afterwards, wincing but clearly alive and able to move.

OOC:
Putting all 15 to borrowing healing.
<Drac-sick> roll 3d6 healing
<Hatbot>
ACTION --> "Drac-sick rolls 3d6 healing and gets 12." [3d6=5, 1, 6]
Going to assume since I was alive and i rolled my entire body and most my stun that I'm probably in pretty good shape now.

"Hell, I don't know. I think a couple were left unconscious, and the one you ran after got a- shit!

"I don't think I can catch up," he mutters, striding for one of the horses and roughly trying to gauge his odds.

The priest's got more horses, and the one Tom grabbed isn't winded, but is restless.  It's the kind of thing it's more effective to act on than think about, though.  Tom thinks it's reasonable to chase after the escaping priest, but he'd have to do it quickly.


Phil's wounds look messy, and were severe enough to take him down for a few seconds.  Shortly after that, he begins mumbling about gate access, and his hands glow.  Spinning wheels of blue light with oddly curved crossbars appear in each hand, with further red wheels inside them; around the outermost wheel appears the outline of a gate -- just like on the local bible.

The wounded and torn flesh weaves itself together, leaving thin scratches atop nasty bruises.

OOC: Dracos is down 6 body, before healing.  Three dice of healing is NORMAL, so three body are restored.

Well, no time to think, then- Tom jumps on and charges off after the priest, doing his damn best to avoid crashing into a tree (or falling down a pit).

The horse is very resistant at first; by the time Tom gets it sorted out, the chances of catching the fleeing Questioner are faint, at best.  He has to stop for sleep some time, but on a horse, he could probably reach a road long before that happens.  Most likely, while Tom could push on, the man is going to get away.  Aside from which, Phil is still wounded, or at least recovering, back at the camp with the other freed men.

Tom gives up, thusly; if it was just him, he'd probably do it, but there are others to take care of.

Heading back to the camp, he quickly dismounts and takes stock of how the numbered men are looking; any injuries? Or, for that matter, any signs of apprehension?

The freed thralls look nervous, but the worst they have is bruises -- less when Phil gets a chance to go over them.  He seems to have taken the time to fully mend his own wounds, as well.

Tom just shakes his head- what if these people got into the wrong hands?

Then he remembers that chances are, others like them *already have*.. never mind the obvious joke.

"Let's start stripping their supplies from them," he manages, giving Seven a brief nod and starting about the task himself. Never give an order you wouldn't do by yourself, and all that- he particularly keeps an eye out for gunpowder and shot.

First of all, status of the defeated:

Thanks to healing magics, none of the survivors (even those in critical condition) need to be left to die.  Phil hasn't bothered sparing any healing attention for the defeated yet, and their own hands are bound.  That being said, two Questioners (of the original six, minus the one that fled), and three knights (of the original nine) are still alive.

Each of the knight figures carried a musket, and each of them also had a horn of powder and a pouch of bullets.  None of their guns were loaded, so they obviously were expecting to use their swords, which are heavy, and of sturdy construction.  The total volume of powder is probably near two kilos, and there's a good 162 bullets total.  In addition, there's nine suits of armor that are too large for Phil.  Taken apart and reassembled, discarding the parts that have been smashed and debliterated, Tom could get two former-thrall-sized suits of armor.

Beyond that, it appears that a good deal of their gear was on the horses that were being led away.  Each horse (there are six of them) has a bedroll, all the normal horse equipment (saddle, bridle, etc.) and a saddlebag with water and grain in it.  The only other items are clothing, grooming supplies (combs, soap), and writing materials -- all of it either blank, or more copies of the church bible.

The freed men have tied up the captives, and then gone so far as to gag them with strips of their own clothing.  Maybe a good idea, all things considered.  If Phil doesn't intervene, or Tom doesn't allow one of the priests to, one of the knights is going to bleed to death within the hour.

"Phil, take care of the wounded- as well as can be done, I guess," permits Tom. "Simmons, distribute the swords- they're a better fit than the sabers. See if you can get the armour cleaned up, too."

Curiously, Tom's eyes flicker over the knights- was Garcia one of the survivors?

Garcia was in fact a survivor.  His armor wasn't, really, thanks to a large, cudgel-ey dent.  At the moment, he's unconscious, with a rather large welt on his forehead.  His helm is one of those in the heap of armor.

Seven approaches the armor and begins wiping it clean with spare clothing from one of the dead knights.  Nine asks, "What about bodies?"

"Good question.. I guess we should bury them," replies Tom, at length. "Or whatever the local customs say. Phil?"

"Mmm, not as well as hoped at all," Dracos began his chant and touched the man with his hands of glowing healing, only using a minimum amount to ensure that he would not die pre-emptively.  He looked over the others, healing as needed to ensure none would die, though being somewhat spiteful from being stabbed, he didn't spend his energy to ensure they were all completely healed.

He briefly consulted with Tom, considering what to do and letting them stew for a moment.  "They don't seem to have anything important written...  Nor any means of quickly communicating between places outside of horseback.  I may pull from them the details of their chase of me...  but what else do we want to do?  I could try to lead them upon the path of righteousness or whatnot, but somehow I doubt that'll work with heretic hunters."

OOC:
Dracos> roll 1d6 healing
<Hatbot>
ACTION --> "Dracos rolls 1d6 healing and gets 2." [1d6=2]

Phil is able to stop the bleeding, and curb his healing power to make sure that the wounds aren't gone.  The unconscious knights still don't wake up immediately, but the Questioners are now glaring daggers at Phil.

"What *were* you hoping?" mutters Tom, rolling his eyes, which continue to bulge out of their sockets by the time Phil's done.

"Anyway. Can't you use your psychic powers on them? Then we can save the questioning and just keep them as prisoners. Maybe ransom them for safe passage somewhere... I dunno, I don't wanna just kill them or let them go."

"I can try...harder to pull it over," Dracos agreed.

Answering Tom's question, he continued "And really, I was hoping to silence them.  We found out a fair bit already about the church's capabilities.  Notice that they were wielding muskets, rather than anything more advanced.  It could be there's a strict ordianance they hold to as regards what tech goes where, but I didn't see anything like that in the scrolls.  They also have no technology to allow rapid communication.  So even though they'll know due to that escaped priest, we can know that when we do things, it will take time for their leadership to even receive that knowledge before reacting.  It also means we're in a lot safer position as a mobile target, since the best they can do is identify places we were several days ago, rather than get immediate notification of where we are now.  We also know two forms of their arsenal, the templars and the thralls, alongside a bit on how they tend to work.  It isn't  pleasant, but we're loads more informed already than we were a few hours ago and now they don't have anyone cleanly on our tail, though that won't stick."

"One of them already got away," replies Tom, through gritted teeth. "So letting a few more go wouldn't matter... and call me whatever you want, but I find that preferable to slaughtering them now.

"I'd much rather keep them as prisoners. It's doubtful they'll escape, and- hell, what're they going to do to *us*?"

Over his shoulder before walking over to the prisoners, "Being the one most likely to be shot over such, I would rather you not say such lines."

Dracos finished heading back towards them and considering which was the highest ranking one, if there was any notice. If not he sits by the one most undamaged, looking over him for starters and taking in the small hints, is this a man wrathful, is he frightened or confused...

He watched with his eyes the man's thoughts, attempting to listen in on any surface thoughts or reflections on the path recently traveled.

OOC:
<Dracos> roll 3d6 analyze (social)
<Hatbot>
ACTION --> "Dracos rolls 3d6 analyze (social) and gets 14." [3d6=3, 5, 6 : Versus 13

Bringing over 3 dice of telepathy real quick

<Dracos> roll 3d6 telepathy
<Hatbot>
ACTION --> "Dracos rolls 3d6 telepathy and gets 7." [3d6=1, 2, 4

Man I wish those dice rolls were reversed.

edit splitting to make rat's comment less confusing

The first man Phil eyes, though they don't have any obvious symbols of rank to indicate that one is higher, looks frightened and angry.  Hard to read, socially, but then, this is a very atypical social situation.  Him being bound and gagged, and all.

Trying to read into the man's thoughts reaches directly into an iron wall of mental resistance -- Phil can't even get a surface emotion.

OOC: Switching to pulling 3 points persuade, 3 points deduct, and 3 points conversation.

IC:
"It would be best to prevent unnecessary bloodshed," He remarked in almost a sad tone.  "Perhaps instead... we could talk?" Dracos ungagged the man, and watched his response.  "On right and wrong..."

OOC:
Let me know whenever you want me to roll stuff.  Figure I'll be using some mixture of conversation, oratory, and persuasion through this, with possibly a bit of deduction to lead him into dialogue traps.

"Right and wrong?" the man says, trembling.  "Deacon Bloom, you are a blight and a shame upon us!"

"I am a blight among a church that has lost itself in excess and savagery.  Who would take a man from his home and rip his very being from him," He intoned, his eyes penetrating as he solemnly continued.  "I break from this because it is wrong.  Because we have lost the way.  We have the knowledge, but not the divine understanding or right."

Dracos is keeping very close track of the man through every word.  Primarily, one of his concerns is seeing how very deeply these concepts are ingrained within the clergy.

Dracos

Well, in this priest, at least, they're very firm.  That doesn't mean that non-Questioner priests might be more open minded, of course.  At a glance, however, all Phil is doing is stirring up his ire.

"The Church has a duty to protect its people!  With our power comes a grave and terrible responsibility.  Would you have us allow the holy shroud that protects us be torn down, as those heathen Anabarites do?  Then we'd all be damned -- lost to the eternal fires of Sun and, the ices of Luna!"

These are interesting words; they did not appear in Phil's bible, but this man puts peculiar stress on them.

Dracos filed them away for later in the conversation. "Is this protection?" He waves back to the men behind him. "Or is it judgement?  Not that we should be unfamiliar with judgement...  when it is not our own skins on the line," He said harshly.  "Perhaps if we too were to taste of such fare, we would begin to see wisdom beyond a single minded following, controlled by fear and lying to those who trust in us."

Dracos

"Are you mad?" the man asks, his face coloring.  "We have!  You have, as well!  You use the powers of the Gates for healing, but for a twisted and wrong cause!  It's a divine power with an entirely human decision controlling it; we can't allow such a gift to fall into the wrong hands -- look at what you've become already!"

Dracos leaned back.  "Clearly, a twisted man, trapped by my own power and unable to see beyond my own nose?  It is simple to think like that.  To denounce instead of consider what we really do.  To treat your fellow men like bugs because of the divine power of the gates...  The gates are IN the wrong hands.  Hands that have already chosen time and time again to abuse the divine trust they represent.  You are a bloodhound, out to protect the people and ever so blind to their pain at the hands of those who hold your chains.  Have you forgotten what is in our own books?"

The discussion was at least proving to be informative.  The mystic powers he had as Deacon Bloom were clearly not internal nor as a result of true worship, but likely an exercise to draw out the energies of the gate...  possibly progressing wounds to a point of healing?  Moreso, these Anabarians needed to be talked to, to get a full picture of what was going on.  The church of current was clearly concerned more with this holy shroud, possibly a place beyond the gates that sealed off other areas.  Indeed, that could well be the original purposes of the gates, as a mechanism to bind such things, the unsafe travel through without...a shroud resulting in being exposed to either...progressive heat or regressive cold?  Too much assumption there though, he'd have to stew on it longer.

Dracos

"I have not," the bound man snarls.  "Do you forget the hidden texts we cannot share?  The terrible price at the loss of the shroud?  Or have you gone completely 'round the bend, you ... you ... you dark heretic madman!"

Dracos schooled his face, indeed only barely maintaining it as the man nearly drove him to laughter, his own consideration for world shaking disasters long since worn down by signs that they rarely were any such thing.  He did need to know more about what they believed though, so he sought to anger the man into saying what he wanted to hear, into lambasting him with what would happen.

"The price is false," He said calmly.  "You misunderstand the texts."

Dracos

"You can come back," the priest says instead, his voice sounding sick, wounded.  "You read the texts -- you misunderstand the truth of them, but you can't be so far gone that you can't realize the necessity of our order."

At this point, Garcia begins stirring, the knight shifting slightly, eyes fluttering open.  He makes a few sounds against his gag before blinking the sleep from his eyes, though his gaze is still vaguely unfocused.

"I do not find the church a necessary institution," notes Tom, dryly. "Perhaps you would care to enlighten me."

The Questioner looks very confused at Tom's comments.  "You let them speak freely?" he asks Phil.

Tom slaps the inquisitioner across the face. Well, to a regular guy, it's more like being hit with a truck to the skull.

"You are gravely mistaken if you believe that I am a slave to any man," he growls. "Don't think for a moment that Bloom is contributing towards my emnity with your kind- the words you spew forth are doing well enough themselves. Answer my question, holy man, and perhaps you'll see your paper church once more."

The Questioner's jaw works a few times, but no sound comes out at first.  Finally he slumps (very slightly; he's bound very tightly).  "I have to cling to faith," he whimpers.

"You have none to cling to.  Faith comes from understanding, not fear.  Wisdom, not blind acceptance.  A man of faith would be able to communicate the divine to one such as him," He waved to Tom.  "And have him understand why his purpose was such as a slave.  Why this was a necessary facet of our faith and for the good of all.  I would suggest you hurry... you know primitive folks have a tendancy for outrageous violence.  It's why they need to be controlled, yes?"  He bluffed, hoping the fear of being torn apart by an angry slave would get him speaking.

Dracos

Garcia makes an angry noise, and the other knights begin rousing.  The Questioner just shakes his head.  "You've fallen," he whimpers.  "Fallen."

Frowning, Tom turns back to Simmons. "Seperate the knights," he instructs. "If any try to escape or make any sudden moves, knock them out."

He glances at the other questioner, wondering if he's showing less signs of falling into a faith-based catatonia.

The other questioner is mute, and wide-eyed, but seems confident enough.  Well, confident enough for a guy who's outnumbered, bound, and gagged, anyway.

Simmons does as instructed.  Shortly, each of the knights (and Garcia does try to put of a fight, which is pretty pathetic -- it doesn't last long) is bound to a separate, reasonably sturdy tree.

Pursing his lips, Tom reaches forward and rips off the gag, kneeling down to the same level as the questioner, in all of his bare-chested, red-skinned glory.

"You, then. Tell me of these secret texts, and of this Shroud. Tell me why the church should not be allowed to fall, and why those like me must endure a life of empty minds."

OOC: Influence = PRE 15, presence attak~

The first questioner was probably the leader.  The second one folds under the pressure of Tom's glare: "The texts say that the gates are to be used primarily for travel!" he squeaks in alarm.  "That the ability to change things is a gift!  But if we hold the secret of safe travel, we can guide and protect people!  Men are beasts, in all forms.  It's the duty of the Church to make them more, and greater!"

Dracos tapped his cheek, eying the catanoic priest and watching the other one as Tom questioned him.

Dracos

"I suppose he's a beast too?" Dracos gestured at the leader of the bunch.

Dracos

"Why can this secret not be shared?" replies Tom, impatiently. "What is wrong with the freedom to know one's own way?"

"He's....   He's no beast!  He follows the laws of chivalry; we all do!"  He grimaces.  "Except for you lot.  We were given this power by the Creator.

"Why would he tell us, and us alone, the way to travel the Gates safely, if he meant for everyone to know?"

"For us to be the messangers to the people.  The prophets showing them a way to climb above where they stand by their own strength and divine providence.  Now...  You raise an interesting point.  The Creator, blessed with wisdom beyond our ken, has given us such things.  Simply, he could also take such away.  I, as your friend suggests, have taken the wrong path... yet the gates answer my call as readily as ever, perhaps even more so.  And this man here has the light of reason shining in his eyes and is questioning, seeking to understand rather than releasing the rage inherent in being treated like an animal, while he," Dracos gestures back, "when faced with something contradicting crawls back upon himself like a mewling babe."

Dracos

The Questioner -- he looks younger, on closer inspection -- is struck dumb for a minute, before he spits out, "I don't understand.  He's....  We're...."  He trails off, then asks, "Then why were we alone given the knowledge?"

"But consider where you learned your knowledge in the first place," replies Tom, frowning. "From books, you say? But anybody can write a book, as long as they know letters."

"You wouldn't know," the priest says, recovering some of his conviction.  "No man could shape that stone -- only the hand of the Creator.  Nothing else can make a mark on it."

The dazed priest that Phil reprimanded into submission first nods weakly.

Dracos shakes his head.  "It is so simple.  It is a test... not only for us who have it, but for all of us.  To see if we can progress beyond our base urges.  If we can share and find more plenty than any alone would have.  To show that we are beyond simple primates at a spiritual level as well... that we would not walk by a starving man caring food yet unwilling to give.  We were given a solemn duty to better the lives of those around us, to be the messangers of hope and of the creator's glory, and instead we have hoarded this knowledge for ourselves."

Dracos

"For the greater good!" pleads the first priest.  "We are ready!  This is the truth -- but the world outside of Stonehold isn't!  The Church's word should remain there, until everyone is together, united.  And that can't happen if we're fractured; then we're just waiting for the Anabarans to destroy us!  They use imperfect knowledge of the Gates, but they improve, bit-by-bit.  Some day, they may learn the secret of crossing safely.  And then we are doomed, if we are not together.  What weapons are more devastating than those that destroy the Shroud itself?"

Dracos pulled back on reflexes he hadn't used in ages, turning and going face to face with the man as he thundered.  "They are not ready because WE have not made them ready.  The Anabarans move towards our 'destruction' because of ignorance of the wisdom that we alone could share with them.  We were given the Creator's message for a reason.  Understanding is a sword that cleaves such, a shield against such disaster.  We must not simply share knowledge...but the wisdom behind such knowledge.  We need not to hoard it in fear of misuse, but to be shouting it out until our voices run hoarse to make those who are not ready to understand reach understanding."

Dracos
OOC: This may possibly be more an oratory thing than a persuasion thing.

Tears run down the younger priest's face.  "Why?" he moans.  "Why did they choose to hoard this information?  It's true!  We wouldn't have suffered for years if-"

"Silence!" the elder questioner shouts.  "Silence!  I won't have you listening to this heresy!  If this knowledge was shared, we'd have been exterminated by every army willing to destroy the shroud!  That information is wicked, and the gates don't control travel, they control information!  We can't allow knowledge like that to be free!"

"Lies," the younger priest whimpers.  "Lies, all!  We've done nothing but worsen our lot!  Deacon Bloom speaks the truth -- and that man there -- that Anabaran who retains his memories, he proves it all beyond question!"

Focusing entirely on the older priest, Dracos continued, tying back to early arguments he had made, to maintain somewhat of a consistent image placed  in the man's head.  

"So trapped in your fear, you would hoard it until, like a chain it strangled you.  The knowledge, the wisdom dividing you from others leaving those who are frightened of us on one side, who beg for every crust of bread we would spare, and those who want to kill us on the other.   Not only scared to share the Creator's word, but willing to come and cut down those who would."

Dracos

"For the greater good!  Others would make poorer choices!" the older priest protests.  The younger shakes his head in denial.

"Poorer choices?" His sarcastic nature coming out for a moment. "I suppose it was only the superior wisdom we are endowed with that lead to you being tied up on the ground in a forest listening to heresy?"

Dracos

"I'll listen to no more of this," the older priest groans.  "Give me death, or give me silence.  But end this mockery!  You've seduced one sworn brother enough away from the path -- I won't be another one.  Not today."

The bound knights offer their own grunts and wordless headshakes -- except for Garcia, who is still soundly out.

"Hmph. Cowards all," spits Tom, derisively. "What's your name, boy?" he queries the younger, more pliable Questioner.

"Quincy," he squeaks out in reply.

"You shame us," the elder priest spits.

Ignoring the head-priest, Tom starts undoing the ropes around this.. Quincy.

"My wits are mine, Quincy, but it seems my memories remain fractured. I know I was transformed by the gates.. is this a common occurence? Are there others like me across the world?"

Quincy nods, glancing at the other freed thralls.  "Y...you are the only thralls being trained here," he says, not quite flinching away when he's freed, but obviously very nervous.  "The rest already serve another.  More are trained in Windhurst."

Dracos shook his head.  "As you wish.  But you've failed again.  You could not even convince an open minded man," He gestured to Tom, "That such fear was warrented.  You had the chance to show the wisdom of the church and yet again you squandered it.  Know though, that we won't kill you as you would have surely slain all of us.  Consider that carefully."

Dracos paused a moment in thought.  "I would know one thing, if you know of it.  Before I arrived...and before the thralls revolted, the man responsible for training them had already been murdered.  With this," he pulled forth the blade he'd taken from there, pausing but a breath to see if the man would simply be out with it.  Not expecting it though.

Dracos

"Wh...."  He shakes his head, blinking.  "That's steel with an anabaric-treatment," the head priest says, bewildered.  "It's illegal to.... Anabaran spies!  There are traitors among us already!  We are doomed!"

"Mmm. And, another thing.. how did you know I was from Anabara?"

Quincy flinches.  "I ... was at the Windhurst gate when you were being regressed," he says in a meek, frightened voice.

Tom frowns, leading Quincy away from the head priest.

"I checked some papers earlier. Every man- except for me- had a name and some crime that they had allegedly commited. Numbers from two to twenty were listed.. but no number one, which I have discerned to be myself.

"In other words, I'm asking you if you know who I am, or, at least, why."

"Y...you came from Anabara," Quincy says, meekly following Tom's guidance.  "I was told you were plotting to destroy us all, and ... it was for our own safety.  I know you met with the other Anabaran -- the one we had to let back through to his own sphere.  His friends were kept behind...."

Dracos hid his inward pleasure at how readily the man proved to be a source of information despite his evident hostility and indoctrination, continuing to slowly push for more.

"What's more...is the man who did this seized much of the information that was kept there," He watched further.  "You know what this means," He said meaningfully.

Dracos

"That would be.. Nathan Shuker? So he DID return to Anabara.. wait, why had we come here? And why was he permitted to go back?"

The elder priest shakes his head again.  "It means that you're toying with me," he groans.  "They've already learned the secret of the Gates!"

Quincy winces at the elder priest's words.  "Nathan was released because he agreed to give up your location in exchange for safe passage.  Even then, the knights were prepared to seize him at the Gate itself ... and only he escaped.  Nathan alone made it back through."  He looks away.  "I don't know more about the circumstances.  I was just told you were a spy."

"One of a great many," the elder priest snarls.  "We obviously didn't do enough!"

"I guess that makes our next goal clear," murmurs Tom. "Well, the only other thing.. where would the other Thralls be around here? Can they be.. released from their service, so to speak?"

"Have they really...  If that is what we kept there, then yes...they have... if they were actually anabarian and if that was really what we were keeping there," Dracos considered. "Was it?  And if so...why would one of these barbarians go through all the effort to stage a clean murder, prepare the body to look murdered,...and then leave something that would immediately cause us to believe our 'hated enemies' the anabara did it.  Isn't that...fairly sloppy for a spy that managed to get all the way there and then out without anyone knowing?"

Dracos attempted to pull him into solving it as well, letting the priest's own facilities work towards his benefit.

Dracos

"The garrison," the elder priest offers weakly, shaking his head again.  "I don't understand."

"Y...yes.  They're common everywhere, though.  They're the workforce of our spheres."  He frowns.  "I don't suppose you have any in Anabara?"

"I am not toying with you," Dracos acknowledged to the man, attempting to instill calm reason by using the same. "This is a mystery.  A reality that does not add up and is meant clearly to confuse and misdirect good men into hating more.  We are men of knowledge.  Let us see past what lies before us...  what does this really mean?"

Dracos

"I don't know!" the elder priest snaps.  "The world has gone mad, I can make sense of none of it!"

Dracos sighed and shook his head, standing and leaving the man tied there for the moment as he went to check the notes he'd found earlier in his bag, hunting for any knowledge on both enemies and allies of the church.

Dracos

The church doesn't seem to have allies, as much as subordinates.  Chief among them, the Templar Guild -- which would be the knights.  As far as enemies ... all heathens, heretics, and those who refuse the Creator's grace, and all who would deface the divine Shroud -- Anabarans chief among them.

Dracos looks for any details on the relationship with the templar guild, leaders in such, or specifically, notes of suspicion, assuming his alternate persona would be up on such details.  Though knowing him, he probably kept it to himself.

Dracos

Phil doesn't find much of what he's looking for.  All he's really able to determine is a bit of Templar Guild history.  Apparently, the Church and the knights came from the same sphere, and used their control over the Gates to expand.

That explains some of it, but there's no clear reference to leaders that Phil hasn't already heard of.

Making sure he's out of earshot of any of the other questioners, Tom continues to question the priest; "And while we're at it, have you heard the names Bjorn Christianson? Or Timothy Maus?"

"N...no, I...."  But Quincy pauses, squinting as he considers.  "I think Christianson is one of the savages," he whispers.  "A heathen who speaks with spirits, in the grasslands.  But I don't know anyone named Maus."

"Hmm. So we know where two of them are.. oi, Phil, get over here," he calls for his friend.

"We've got a bunch of horses, now, so a few of us could move really fast. I'm tempted to head over to these so-called savage lands and see if we can't find Bjorn, while you keep on towards the gate."

OOC: Drawing telepathy, 3 dice.
IC:
"Did you remember something, Tom?"  Dracos gave a slightly surprised look, "Let's continue as a group until the road."

~Hsst, what are you doing, man?  That should probably be discussed outside of the guy's ear-range.  Even if we play off you remembering it, I'd rather consider what we share closely.  We never know when someone nearby will become someone we can't trust later or say something they shouldn't.  Not that we shouldn't say anything but we need to be careful...and you should probably learn more from him on inner church doctrine...  for your sake AND so that I know it if I'm going to be moving by myself.~

Dracos

~I get that, man, whatever. I don't really know what to ask about the church, though. Apart from the most general of questions. Though, I know...~

"On a different topic, tell me about this Shroud," continues Tom, bowing his head a little. "And how the Church claims to keep it back."

"Quincy...  this would be good practice, if you truly wish to help the church change.  The men here have mostly lost what memories they held, and thus they will not be as judging as others that may be come across," Dracos suggested, trying to lead the man to 'taking the opportunity to teach Tom about the religion.

Dracos

"But I don't know where to begin!" Quincy protests.  "I....  You see things more clearly than I do.  I don't want to teach anything wrong."  He flinches into himself a bit.  "Anything more wrong," he mumbles.

"Let every man be a priest in knowledge, but this is too soon..." Dracos considered,  "come, you and I will talk as we make our way towards the roads."

~Too much too soon, I'm going to try and calm him down and then hopefully you can ask later about the basics, or rather...what's outside the basic bible.  you have an amnesic state to work from~

Dracos talked slowly with Quincy as they walked, inviting him to ask the questions on his mind and explaining that it wasn't about teaching right or wrong, but about sharing the knowledge that allowed people to make decisions and understand more truly the Creator's plan.  It was about going further than simply saying things were taboo but being able to share the wisdom on why that is the case in a way that the laypeople could understand.   It was questioning the taboos that we did not solidly understand and gaining either the wisdom that was lost or overcoming the fear that paralyzes.

Dracos
OOC:
Tom, your choice on what we do with our prisoners.  Intending to move us from forest to road here.
Brian, if you want to play out this conversation, irc would probably be good there or I can delete this ender and we can just talk it over.

~We should probably keep off the roads, man. We're all still here... and we can find our way across the wilderness well enough. But where there are roads, there are.. others.

And I still think we should try and head over to Bjorn. We've got horses; let's freaking use them! If Quincy tells us everything I think he can, I'd take him with me, too. That healing stuff is too good to go without.~

"And for the prisoners... ugh. God help me, I'm going to let you go. One of you idiots is already loose... hmph. Let's see if you can find your way out a fucking forest before dying. A sporting chance, eh?"

Tom blindfolds each of the prisoners, spins them around a heck of a lot, and then sets them all to start running with one thrall alongside in seperate directions (each of them away from where his group is going), who has instructions to knock them out again before returning (and covering their tracks.)

~In time, Tom, let's calm him down and give us a chance to orient ourselves better.  We'll decide when we get  there...but it's probably better to go to Anabara since it gives us, more specifically YOU, a chance to also learn how to use the gates and frankly that might come up if we split later.  And we need to stop being as sudden as we both are being... it's going to confuse any converts we get.~

Dracos

Not long after the thralls return to the base camp, a problem arises.  There's a plume of bright red smoke wending upwards through the air in the direction that the original escapee disappeared in.

~signal fire?  Crud.  Tom, want to go on horse find, and off him quick so at least they don't know what they're hunting?  Or should we just get running so we're far away?~

Dracos

"We....  We're going to be in trouble," Quincy says, gazing up at the smoke.

"Quite a bit of it," Dracos agreed.  "Let's get  moving, we need to be as far away from here as possible."

Dracos

"Yes, let's go. They're probably just using that to meet up again anyway," remarks Tom, sighing, and hopping on a horse to start leading the thralls onwards towards the Anabara gate.

Dracos grabbed a horse as well, the crew moving with all speed.

~Actually,  I suspect that's more a call for the big guns rather than regrouping.  Like the garrison.~

Dracos

Just as Phil is about to ride off, Bjorn's mental voice comes through the void, feeling as though it were from somewhere far away: You probably want to stay in place for a few minutes.

The men quickly ready themselves to move -- even Quincy, who's staring at the plume of smoke and trembling -- but await Tom and Phil's orders to do it.

From above, a thin, keening noise can be heard.

Following on the heels of the last message, Bjorn adds, Big damn starship headed your way.  Ought to be pretty dramatic.  Heads towards it when you can.

Dracos thinks back at him, Good to hear from you Bjorn...  And I take it said starship will be yours?

Dracos turned, looking over the others.  "Stay calm a moment...  Something is strange here, that I did not notice before."  He attempted in a lame even to his own ears fashion to explain the lack of rushing off.

Dracos

"I don't see anything..." mumbles Tom. "Well, apart from the smoke."

Bjorn's voice through the Dream remains faint.  On loan.  We'll pick you up, then go off to meet Nathan.  Can't keep this conversation up long, sorry.  I'll get back in touch with you if something comes uip.

And then he's gone.

Dracos glanced at Tom, ~You did hear that right?  Hopefully he'll be quick about it...but that's a bit more of a stretch in tech levels than I was expecting.  Though I suppose it fits, man going from the barest of cave living all the way up to seizing the stars.  The very dream of discovery.~

Dracos

Tom doesn't know what Phil is talking about, but it rapidly becomes clear.  A silver needle flashes down from the sky -- no, wait.  That's not a needle.  That's a gigantic length of hand-crafted space-vehicle, complete with glowing energy apertures.  They appear to be emitting the hum, as it turns out.

The thralls (and Quincy) all look up in alarm as it rumbles through the atmosphere trailing a stream of brisance.  That bright stream quickly fades as it comes nearer, perhaps 50 meters overhead, almost brushing the tallest trees.  Then it reforms from the barrel apertures around the central rotating ring of the cylinder, and a meters-wide blast of energy blinds everyone as it vaporizes a section of forest probably a half a kilometer away.  Another shaft of energy licks out just as everyone is recovering their vision, picking off some distant target, along with a few others -- but these are all narrower, tamer cousins to the one that reduced a neighboring vale into a streak of ash.

A klaxon sounds from above -- or actually, has been sounding this entire time come to think of it.  But then it cuts off, and a voice thunders through some amplification device on the ship: "Prepare for immediate boarding and retrieval."  Then the ship slowly comes about, hovers over the blasted area, and sinks until it can lower a ramp.  Belatedly, Phil and Tom realize that the craft is named, Starflare.

You know, Phil, when there's going to be a gigantic motherfucking spaceship coming to pick us up, it'd really be nice if you'd let me know before the fact. Not ALL of us are psychics, you realise!

"Ah. Yes, I see," he replies, dryly.

"something tells me we should accept their invitation," Dracos glanced about before settling on Tom.

~Actually, I thought you heard Bjorn's greetz as well.  Guess he couldn't transmit to all of us at one go.  Anyhow, I'm curious as to what kind of Space  Captain Harlock figure he's ended up in.~

Placing a hand on Quincy shoulder he steadied the man a bit, "A surprise this might be...but let us see why it has appeared here.  It will be safe."

Dracos

Bjorn's in there? How did he find us?

With some trepidation, Tom nods at Phil's words. "A few of you should stay back here, but we'll go see what's up for now."

~When you've had enough bullets fired at you, you will stop asking how allies show up,~ Dracos dispensed with painfully garnered wisdom of the ages.

"Doubtful...  If it was hostile, we are standing targets...if it isn't, odds are even a man on horse would have trouble keeping up," Dracos tries steering his horse gently towards the on ramp.

Dracos

You lost me, but alright.

"Call me picky, then," shrugs Tom. "I'd just like to know what's first."

Dracos shrugged, continuing on, clearly years of deadly attacks had primed him to truly act cautiously.

Dracos
Ya roight.

On Riggins' heels, still in the Starflare's airlock, Bjorn waves to Tom and Philip, at once managing to convey "hi" and "hurry the hell up."  It might be difficult to make out his pygmy frame next to the much larger colonel, however.

Tom heads on board, peering up at Bjorn.

Dracos waves the others on board behind him.  "So...Bjorn Christianson, I presume,"  He asks more for the benefit of others and to encourage the getting of whatever story involved this.

Dracos

While he's still Bjorn, he's also shorter and darker than anyone remembers him being.  The man in military dress (there are several, actually -- eight, plus one of obvious rank) smiles warmly.  The ramp's steps won't accommodate a horse, so he says, "Greetings, indigenous peoples!  I am colonel Westley Riggins, and would like to welcome you aboard His Majesty's Ship, the Starflare."  He pauses, frowning, as he eyes the obviously dressed priest.

The men surrounding him are all carrying rifles (but they aren't aimed at anyone).  At a glance, they are of vastly superior quality to the muskets, with a bit of a steam-punk feel to them.  Cannisters of glowing electrical energy seem to be screwed in as ammunition, flickering occasionally as the charge moves towards one end of the cannister or another.

"Er.  I'd like to ask you all to come aboard.  If your horses are a must, we'll prepare the gantry; shouldn't take more than a few minutes.  All the same, we should withdraw from this territory before anyone arrives.  That smoke flare will be visible beyond the Meridian."

Dracos nodded and dismounted his horse, taking his stuff and not pressing the point, letting them handle the animal how they would. "Thank you,  colonel.  I suspect once the surprise dies down, we will come to appreciate your gracious welcome."

Dracos

A segment of the ship folds down from above, and a crane lowers a platform.  It looks big enough to carry two horses comfortably, and the pair of technicians handling it have hobbles and hoods -- all the gear required to load horses without them spooking too much.  Still, the operation will probably take a few minutes, all told.  Enough time to fetch the men left at the hilltop and bring them to the ship, at least.

"I do hope so," he says brightly.  "Please, this way?  Unless you need to fetch your friends...."  He glances pointedly at the hilltop, where about half of the freed thralls are still waiting uncertainly.

"Tom, are you satisified?  Why not get the others and get ready?" He suggested, hinting tom off to gather the others and return, even as he walked on, resisting the urge to let his mouth run with the questions on his mind for now...

Instead letting his eyes do the talking for him as he caught Bjorn's gaze.  ~So...  shall we begin the debriefing?  Via your giant spaceship, I suspect you have more interesting things to share than I.~

Dracos

"I'm afraid I'm not entirely Bjorn Christianson," Bjorn replies gravely to Philip's earlier question.  "But if you'll come aboard, with all your friends, we can set forth for Anabara -- after we stop to pick up some provisions."

In response to the telepathic probe, Later.

"I guess we're lucky we don't need to go on food," remarks Tom. "Ah, right. I'll go and get them." He does just that, having them bring along all the gear, as well.

Tom and the thralls aren't moving as quickly as their massive musculature might suggest.  Bjorn, who has been watching quietly, his brow furrowing as time goes on, finally draws himself up, crossing his arm across his chest, and begins to chant:

Quote
"OOMpah LOOMpah DOOM pa dee doo
I've got a pretty puzzle for you.
OOMpah LOOMpah DOOM pa dee dee
If you are wise you will listen to me!

What do you get when you slack off at work?
Trudging and moping in the morning's murk.
What are you at, working terribly slow?
Do you not think it's time to go?

I don't like the look of this!

OOMpah LOOMpah DOOM pa dee da
If you're not lazy, you will go far!
You will live in happiness, too,
Like the OOMPah LOOMpah DOO-pa-dee-doo!

There is a silence while everone stares at him.

"It's, uh, traditional," he mutters.  "Very ancient custom for my people."

~This will be remembered until the end day~, Dracos succinctly replied in thought.

Din looks puzzled, but says nothing, merely shifting his eyes to the Colonel.  Westley blinks a few times, then says, "Fascinating."

Not long after, the rest of the gear is winched up -- though, the horses don't seem particularly overjoyed with being hauled into the sky.  All of Tom's purloined goods are also taken aboard, though the muskets look kind of trivial next to the energy rifles.  Once everyone is aboard, the Starflare begins rising.

The halls of the ship aren't quite wide enough to accommodate the crowd, so Westley has everyone brought to the ship's cafeteria (separate from the officer's dining quarters).  Hugo, the anabarist, is also there, and introductions are made.

"Now," Westley says, clapping his hands together and not taking a seat, even though he urges the thralls to sit and make themselves comfortable (they all do, except for Seven, who is staring with a look of concentration at all the shining brass and steel).  "From what we've been able to tell from the mirror assembly, there are Church holdings between here and the Meridian.  We can rise high enough to try and remain out of sight, and possibly see if it's clearer Coreward, but it seems that the edge is the furthest point from their control.  Where do your friends need to go, Bjorn?  And what do we do with their prisoner?"

Din looks like he'd like to say something, but then he looks at all of the (taller, stronger, better armed) people around him, and instead stares at Quincy, who is a bit out of place in his Church garb.  Quincy just pales and begins shaking.

Dracos followed the glances and shook his head.  "You are mistaken, Quincy is not a prisoner.  Though it may be complicated circumstances, I ask that you believe me," He glanced at bjorn.

~I would really like to know more  about what is going on...~

Dracos

"Anyhow, we were planning to try and go to Anabara," supplies Tom, furrowing his brow.

"Ah," Westley says in a knowing voice.  "A spy, then.  Very well."  The Starflare continues to rise.  "Smashing!  Simply wondrous!  Are you seeking asylum, then?  I'm certain that the King and Council will be very interested to meet natives from beyond the gate!  Only...."  He pauses, glancing across the assembled freed thralls, churchman, and Phil.  "This is an unexpectedly goodly number of people to take aboard.  You aren't needed here, anywhere?"

"We were slaves," replies Tom, bitterly. "'Bred' through the gates, however that works. So, churchmen aside, you'll find us not too talkative about matters on this world. We simply don't know anything, and Anabara sounded like a better place.

"So.. yes, we would be seeking asylum, in the end. Emancipation, even."

"For my purposes," Bjorn replies to Westley, "these two," he indicates Philip and Tom, "must come with me to Anabara.  I cannot speak for the others, but I think we can trust the judgement of Bloom and Rees-Lee."

He hesitates, and turns to Tom.  "Though, I will suggest: Din's people are on the verge of war with the Church.  Your friends would be of great assistance to them in that fight.  I think I might speak for them and say that they will be treated with the greatest of respect and courtesies, and I can guarantee that you will be able to speak with and watch over them no matter the distance between you."

Not only does he not reply to Philip's telepathic prompt, he rather pointedly lets his mind shift across the Dream, weakening the connection between them.

OOC: Back to standard spending on Influence, which includes Mental Defenses which are now up -- if Drac wants to talk to me that way, he's gonna have to roll.

"We've already begun fighting against the Church, simply because it condones such inhumanity," replies Tom, glancing over his people- Seven in particular.

"How can I say this? We're defined by our experiences, and I don't want all we do to be war- there's more than that to life. I'd be happy for my men to join Din. In what time we have before the war, we can assist with work; and, if all goes well, partake in every aspect of life before fighting must be done again."

Bjorn glances again at Din.  "Any help, in any area, that they would provide would be received gratefully.  And I think Din's people would happily provide an opportunity to give your friends a chance to learn of life from under the Church's thumb."

Turning to Westley, he continues, "Then, Colonel, perhaps we should set forth for Din's village?  You can then re-provision, and we can start these former thralls on their new life."

"Captain Vega should already be bringing us back where we first arrived, so that's no matter --  there's still the question of supplies, after all."  The colonel glances at Hugo, who nods and walks to the hall.  "We'll follow Master Din's directions and stop there."

Din shrugs and says, "I am sure my people would welcome warriors who wished to join us, and were not friends of the Church."

"Wonderful," Westley says, nodding.  "We should be there in a few minutes, if all goes well."

OOC: Just being..there, since it seems like we're going and I don't have any disagreements  =D
IC:

Dracos nodded in agreement.  "Quite an incredible ship," He admired.

Dracos

As suggested by the colonel, before anyone even really has time to ask any serious questions, the ship can be felt drifting downward.  The ratcheting of anchor chains lowering rumbles through the ship softly.  "This should be it," Westley says cheerfully.  "Shall we have a look around?"

"Home?" Din asks cautiously.

Shortly, the ship has come to a halt, the ramps being lowered, and the first of the horses being set back via the gantry -- good thing, too.  They don't look to have cared for the journey.  All around is grassland, with the distant smudge of forests to one side.  The only point of interest nearby, other than the occasional tree, is a small village of awestruck people who stare at the gleaming ship.

Din trots over to the village -- probably about two hundred yards away.

Westley's smile fades a tiny bit.  "I do hope your village is able to provide without undue strain on their own wellbeing," he murmurs to Bjorn.

The freed-thralls mill around, glancing at the area, but mostly just the village.  The villagers do a fair bit of staring at them, too.

Once again, Bjorn reaches out through the dream for a mind  This time it is for N'Boru's -- time to show off some spiritual power.  No need to try and chase down back to the reality to follow the anchor, but it's no easier.  The Fire Dream has a different feel, and minds embedded in it flicker and dance.  I have returned, N'Boru.  With allies to aid you in your cause.  Will you come and speak with them?

Out loud, he replies, "I hope that you won't need much in the way of supplies, Colonel; both for the sake of the villagers, and for our own.  My schedule doesn't afford three years to return to Anabara.  But rest assured, one way or the other, we'll see you back home."

Westley chuckles at that.  "Good, good," he murmurs.

N'Boru's reply is confused, but swift: I come, great spirit.

Supported by Din, the elderly man works his way from the village to Bjorn, peering up at the Anabarans and the freed thralls in astonishment.  "Greetings, Sky-lords," he says, bowing low to everyone.

The freed thralls merely look confused, and bow back.  Westley chuckles and also returns the bow.  "We're no lords of this sky," he says wryly.  "Just visitors, for a time.  But I digress; I am colonel Westley Riggins, the leader of this journey.  As you may have guessed, we're from far away."

"Beyond the void?"

"Indeed!  But the journey was long, and wearying.  We've come to ask if you are willing to trade; we are in dire want of food, perhaps some medicines if you have them.  In return, we offer our friendship, and...."  He pauses, squinting, assessing the village.  "Items of worked metal that you may desire."

N'Boru and Westley hem and haw for a bit, but rapidly hash out an agreement.  The village is willing to give all the food they have on hand (Din seems unsurprised by this) in exchange for metal cookware, since Westley is reluctant to trade weapons.  The deal is sweetened by the fact that all of the freed thralls except for Tom and Seven want to stay and help the villagers out.

And with almost anti-climactic ease, the deal is done, the freed thralls transporting heaps of what look like potatoes and onions, as well as a fair amount of dried meat.  After considering the supplies, Westley comments, "This should suffice for a month or two.  With the remaining stores aboard, we'd manage for some six months, if we had to.  Longer, if Hugo was clever.  Do you think the journey could be made so quickly?"

In the meantime, Quincy asks Phil, "What's going on?"

Bjorn frowns at the colonel's question, rubbing at his jaw.  "I think less than that," he says eventually, "but I'm not sure, and I think this is something to sort out before we set out."

With a mental sigh, he reaches out to summon a void spirit.

The spirit appears as before -- likely the same one, since it has the same voice.  Except for Din, and Bjorn, it also seems no one else can see it.  "As I am summoned, I arrive," it says in what sounds to English to Bjorn's ears.  "Is the time of departure to be now?"

Phil gets a tingling sensation in his hands, though he can't actually see the speaker of these words.  The feeling is oddly reminiscent of the energy that passes through him when he uses his healing power.  Quincy looks unsettled, too, his eyes widening as he looks around for the speaker.

"It will be soon," Bjorn reassures the spirit.  "First, though, I ask of you: how long will this journey take? For we must provision and prepare ourselves."

Dracos turned towards Quincy and shook his head. "I'm not entirely sure myself.  Let us both listen and watch and things here should become clear in time.  I know they do not mean us harm, at least."

He looked around for the voice as well, drawing over his ability to see magic and perceive things outside the normal spectrum.

Dracos

Phil's other-worldly sight (literally!) lets him see the ephemeral outline of ... a three dimensional model of a black hole?  Bjorn's hanging out with weirder people by the day.  Quincy looks uncertain, but nods.

The void spirit hovers for a bit, an extended pause before answering.  When it finally does, it says, "One hour, by your senses, in the direction of flow.  One week, otherwise."

Dracos frowned slightly, his grasp on the world they were in seeming more and more tenuous.  He eyed bjorn, much wanting to find the time to seriously touch base.

Dracos

Bjorn nods at that.  "Then, great spirit, we are prepared.  Let us board our vessel, and then we will commence our journey."

He nods at Westley, and hopefully everyone gets on board the damn ship.

Tom boards the ship, giving Westley a thoughtful eye. He's got questions, but they'll wait for the moment.

"One...hour," Westley says, for the first time looking rattled.  "And....  Three years...."  He hangs his head and sighs, then claps his hands together.  The crew races to set things right -- unload the freed thralls, the horses, and so on.

But the crew is precise, much in the manner of men who live on a military enterprise and have no where else to go.  Very shortly, the Starflare is underway, moving up and forward (away from the road; the crew calls this direction 'Edgeward').

"The Shroud will be closest this direction," Captain Vega muses over his shoulder.  "We're not terribly used to passengers, so please make yourselves at home.  Be sure to brace yourselves before we cross the Shroud; you'll have warning.  But once we're through, 'tis all wonder and boredom."

"Then if you don't mind, Colonel," Bjorn replies politely, "I'll take these new passengers aside.  I have messages I should rely to them, somewhat privately I'm afraid."

Assuming Westely raises no objections, he beckons to Philip and Tom to come with him -- and holding his tongue until he sees whether the unanticipated Churchman is coming along, as well.

Dracos raises an eyebrow and glances at Quincy. "Apologies, but I think I must hear this privately...perhaps it would be a good time to get to know our odd traveling companions?" He suggested and headed off, or at least, does so if the man doesn't look totally floundering.

Dracos

Tom puts a brief hand on Quincy's shoulder. "Take it easy, it's been a difficult day." Understatement of the year, at that- Tom himself trails after Bjorn and Phil.

"R...right," Quincy says, swallowing nervously at finding himself surrounded by forces from Anabara.  Bjorn, Tom, and Phil find their way to a small conference room, currently abandoned.  It's like a smaller model of the officer's mess, without any bookshelves -- there's seats for eight.  A single window offers a view to port, though from here it looks like an endless sea of grass only interrupted by distant mountains and forested smudges of green.

"Talk to me," queries Tom, glancing at Bjorn. "I thought we were doing pretty well when we broke out the slave pen, but our wheels weren't *quite* so shiny."

"Room actually private?" Dracos asked as they settled in to talk, sitting down in one of the conference room chairs.

Dracos

From what Phil can see, once the door is closed it's private.  There are some speaking tubes in one corner -- just next to the door, actually -- but they are capped at the moment.

The clear sky out the window is suddenly foggy for a second.  When it clears, there's a wall of cloud to the rear, with patches of clouds ahead.

Bjorn spreads his hands.  "Not much to say, really.  Showed up here.  Din's people are under attack by the Church, so I set out to help 'em.  Alogn the way, I cut a deal with the void spirits, and the price was that I'd take this," he waves at the ship about them, "off their hands.  It's one of a kind, as I understand, and might be of limited use, since I have to talk pretty fast to get the void spirits to let it work."

He frowns.  "According to the spirits here, our job is to break the monopoly on the gates, to spread the information on how to use them.  That mostly means taking down the Church, as I get it.  We're off to Anabara now, to pick up Nathan. Haven't heard anything about Tim.  If Nathan doesn't know anything either, then it's back to the bargaining table to see what I can get out of the spirits."

"That was the prior me's task as well.  A heretic priest and all that setting forth to bring enlightenment to those oppressed by the church.  Though oddly, there's a prophecy in the church's own doctrine that this will happen, but they think there's some dire need to them maintaining their monopoly based on hidden literature and some mystical stone.  Haven't yet managed to find one of these gates  to look at it or any sign of the hidden literature.  This kind of took precedence," Dracos smiled.

Dracos

"Anabara... I wonder what it's like?" remarks Tom, frowning. "It seems I actually come from there, I think I was some kind of spy.

"From what I know, Nathan actually sold me out to get away. But I've no idea what the circumstances were. In any case, seems unlikely anyone'd recognize me, eh?

"Hmm. There was one piece of technology I saw that I think game from Anabara- some kind of teleportation thing. Me and those slaves, we revolted- when we got to the mansion of our so-called breeder, this other guy came out. Heard him talking about putting together some kind of assault force of thralls earlier, but when he saw us coming, he just zapped himself away..."

Briefly, Bjorn expands on the details of everything that has happened to him since arriving in the Fire Dream, and listens to Philip and Tom do the same.

OOC: Hopefully this isn't stepping on anyone's toes.  I'm a bit distracted by work at the moment, and not up to going back through my thread to think of the things that I should mention.  So here's some IC-placeholder to justify saying, "Go read my thread if you got questions," and we can go on with the show!

OOC: Okay, much delayed, but I have now caught up!
IC:

"This seems reasonably straightforward then, though I wonder of what other players we are unaware of.  We know of anabara's sphere and of this one.  There's the church and their soldiers, the peasantry subservient to it, the plainsmen, the anabarians, the spirits of each sphere, and the spirits of the void.  The abilities of each group vary vastly...enough by which knowing one sphere gives little indication of another.  So while we have no aid for it, there may be much we don't know in the other spheres.  We believe this to be the church's power center, and that's likely the case, though we also know they're likely spread out more than any other group.  The church, as we know, also believes rather fanatically in certain dangers to the masses going through the gates," Dracos considered in a wavering mental diatribe.

"I'm curious what the spirits, particularly of the void, think about the gates and their usage.  Does that pass through the shroud strike them as normal...or is it also an annoying abomination?  Also the Anabarians are clearly of a scientific and analytical bent...which I've not seen out of any churchman we've come across.  Equally, they are paranoid and aggressive against those that would commune with the spirits.  Which raises another question, how did such people come to hold such knowledge of the gates? They mentioned some stone...  But I can't help but think that they may have been a result of prior interference."

Leaning back, Dracos tapped his fingers together. "Perhaps even a prior interference from the real world.  Unlikely as that may be."

Dracos
Gives a chance to get in a word edgewise

Bjorn blinks at some of that.  "This sphere definitely isn't the centre of the Church's power.  They're just recently making inroads into it, according to the plainspeople.

"The spirits understand the Gates, and disapprove, as I understand it, of how the Church is using it.  Passing beyond the shroud, though," he waves a hand at the ship around them, "is new, and the void spirits don't like it much at all.  I'll be struck blind when we cross the shroud, for an understanding of the sort of price I have to pay to get this to work.

"As for outside interference... none yet, confirmed by the Brotherhood of Morpheus.  We're the first ones in."

"I was thinking of a prior contest.  Anyhow, it still bears consideration, though admittingly, it may be a result of the spheres...  I wonder how different the environments are to have caused such massive differences in civilization growth patterns.  Anyhow, I think the biggest thing we don't know and probably can't deduce is what group sent an assassin after the breeder and what they stole there."

Dracos commented before pushing that aside.  "What about your people, Bjorn?  You mentioned that the church was getting ready to move.  Ignoring that this is definitely able to outclass likely the entirety of church forces here, will they be alright with us heading to anabara?"

Dracos

"Asssassin?  Breeder?"  Bjorn is clearly lost.

"Don't worry about the plainspeople, though.  I taught them basic guerilla tactics, and from what I can deduce about the Church's military strategy, they ought to be able to hold out for months or more.  If the conflict is protracted, then the Church would eventually win just by sheer numbers, but that's what we're here for."

"Slaver, I meant... the one who was raising/training the thralls for the church's uses," Dracos clarified.  "As I mentioned, someone assassinated him prior to my arrival...possibly prior to the entire revolt Tom lead and pillaged his place for information."

"And that's good at least... though I don't like leaving tribesman versus the church.  That's a traditionally bad matchup, if games or history have taught me anything," a touch jokingly towards the end. "We'll have to be conscious of time and of the overall strategy of the church."

Dracos

Bjorn shrugs.  "Traditionally, tribesmen versus an organized modern society is bad, but that's because of tactical mismatch more than anything else.  Guerilla warfare is a great equalizer.  Primarily, they're going to avoid conflict, and try to starve out the Church.  I've got confidence."

"Heh. If it works on our world, against planes and artillery..." muses Tom. "I'll bet the church doesn't promote based on merit, either.

"But you know, as far as outside interference goes. We've really no idea how long this world has been around," remarks Tom. "The stone we heard about, I think it was probably here long before anyone from our world came along."

There's a shudder throughout the ship, and those glancing out the window watch as clear, light blue skies over plains as far as the eye can see....  Though, come to think of it, there is something funny.  At the edge of the horizon, it appears that the world abruptly stops in a curved line.  Maybe an illusion ... maybe actually the edge of the world ... but before anyone can think about it, all the sky is torn away in the shudder, and then there's a view of the sun.

The sun is almost blindingly bright, huge, swollen, and orange -- it fills easily a quarter of what can be seen through the window, sending out flaring arcs of plasma like some dying thing's death-throes.  The space around it is filled with flashing energy in streams that flow about in a torus.  Below, the sphere that was just left behind is visible for a bit -- but swiftly melts into indecipherable visual background noise.

Leaving the sphere is times exactly as everyone feels a second lurching sensation in the pit of their stomachs, one that doesn't seem tied to the ship itself.  Perhaps that was the Shroud?

The view is pretty impressive to everyone except for Bjorn, who is now blind.  A click sounds, and one of the speaking tubes uncaps itself.  "We're now through the shroud," Captain Vega says, sounding tiny and far away, "if our instrumentation is to be trusted, we're on our way back to Anabara."

Bjorn hears another voice say, "Jolly good, jolly good!  On your way back already then, lad?  How long should I tell my son to wait for you?"

His eyes might be denied to him, but Bjorn's perceptions aren't just limited to the physical plane.  It's time to test the gamble he made, and he concentrates upon the fabric of the Dream itself.

To the elder Shuker, he replies, "We should be about three hours, I believe.  Hopefully this won't be too much of an inconvenience."

OOC: New Influence allocation: 6 CP Clairsentience (Sight only); 6 CP Anchor Sense; 3 CP Mental Defenses.

OOC:Assuming we cannot see the elder shuker
IC:
"Who are you talking to?" Dracos wondered, taking his eyes off the amazing sight out the window and looking briefly for whoever had made the comment.  Taking a guess from Bjorn's story, his eyes shifted drawing upon the ability to see magic.

OOC: Moving some influence to see magic

When he focuses, Phil can vaguely make out a glowing, mostly see-through figure standing before Bjorn.  Bjorn finds that his perceptions are a bit ... awkward, as though he were looking into the Dream from outside.   It does work, other than the fact that items in the periphery of his vision seem to slide and stretch, snapping back into place when he looks elsewhere.  Interestingly, he notes that his physical eyes blink exactly once every ten seconds, and are locked on the windows -- conscious control seems to be lost.

"Three hours," the elder Shuker muses.  "I'd best hurry, then.  Any urgent messages?"

"Don't shoot?" Bjorn replies, a bit drily.  "Not other than that, I think."

"Sounds about right to me as well...."

OOC: Yo brian, while I should check on my follower...I'm thinking in the interest of brevity for hal's sake we wave over that.  I'd be glad to play it out quick though in an irc session or something.

The trip is silent, for the most part.  The view is spectacular, too -- shifting shrouds of glimmering light, veiling ... something.  The bloated sun unleashes two more solar flares while the passengers watch -- it raises questions on relative distance, among other things, if it happens quickly enough to observe without time-lapse.  Another of the existing loops of plasma dives back into the star -- and then there's an unsettling lurch, a passage through a thick bank of cloud -- and klaxons are sounding across the ship.

This thread is now closed; action moves to Space Oddity (http://www.soulriders.org/phpBB2/viewtopic.php?p=1004496#1004496).