Fantatic Waltz

[Brian]

The ceremony is set to begin.  Bjorn is there, at Brekes side, along with Lord Kevin, Sir Lammermore, Radagast, Mirellia, and (they arrived earlier that morning) the followers of Aestock.  Apparently, the storm-riders and the second priestess never arrived.

   Either way, everything is set for the ceremony.

   Lord Kevin stands in the doorway of the keep, Radagast and Lammermore behind him and to either side.  Breke is off further to the west side, Bjorn standing next to him, and the elven archer standing opposite him on the other side.  Between them is a broad avenue clear of people that leads to the strange perch in the middle of the courtyard, and beyond that, to the gate.

   Mirallia is standing directly in front of Lord Kevin, and the other priestess is standing to one side -- opposite her (and her retinue) are Paul and Parthipan.  A small giant made of living stone with steel-wool for hair stands nearby, everyone around him giving a wide berth.

   Torches have been lit all across the courtyard in anticipation of the setting sun, and the sides of the courtyard are flooded with soldiers who wanted to get a look at the ceremony.  The ramparts are full too, but at least the people up there are spending half of their time looking out across the wastes to the north.

   After a minute, everything goes dark, as the sun sets, and everyone is left with the light of the torches to see by.  Then, the sound of wings beating sounds through the night air, and a cheer is raised, starting from the battlements, and then creeping south through the crowd.  Looking up, as you're right in front of the keep, you can make out a massive flying creature, which makes for the perch in the center of the courtyard.

   It comes down, and makes a landing -- the wind from its buffeting wings knocking many of the foot-soldiers back, and into one-another before it settles onto the perch.  The flying creature is a light brown, almost golden color, and you can make out some of the scales from where you are.  Huge, leathery wings fold up as it settles itself comfortably, four sets of claws gripping the perch.  It's got a broad, flat snout, and three horns -- two on its head, one at the tip of its nose, right between two nostrils which emit very faint plumes of smoke.

   Astride this beast, standing a good three meters at the shoulder is the tallest, and at the same time, skinniest being you have ever laid eyes upon.  This Archon looks like a normal person, stretched to double their normal height, without being given any extra mass.  He climbs down from a saddle on the beast's back, and steps carefully onto the avenue leading towards the door of the keep.

   You think he's a he, because he's got a beard that flows almost all the way to his waist, black, but run through with silver.  He's wearing fine-looking armor, ring-mail that flows across his stick-like limbs, and hangs there as though to emphasize his slender frame.  A pouch large enough to contain a human head is strapped to his belt, and he spends a second opening it.  His inordinately long fingers quickly untangle the knot, and he delves into the pouch, pulling out a large crystal.  It's rough, and irregular, very like a chunk of quartz.

   It emits a brilliant golden light.  He speaks, then, and his voice is high and breathy, but resounds throughout the courtyard.  "And the oracle spoke, and in the years of our counting, she said to us:

   "'And lo, through the deeping days of dark in winter,
   when the night of dread draws near,
   it shall mark the end of an era,
   and there shall be one hundred years and one hundred days left for the rule of the Archonae.'

   "We fear the end of our reign," he says, slowly stalking forward, but with great, ground-eating strides.  "For when we are gone, who shall protect?

   "But we bear you this, our light of hope, that we may stave off the destruction of our kind, and protect your own," he finishes, reaching forward with the crystal, and bending down low to place it in Mirallia's outstretched hands.

   Mirallia reaches up to take it, a slight nervous tremble in her wrists betraying her true emotion, as her expression is placid.  Both hands rise, cupped gently to accept the crystal ... but before she touches it, the golden light flickers, motes of red rising through the spectrum.

   The Archon slows his delivery, now reluctant to entrust this artifact to Mirallia, and she freezes, as well.  A flash of red lightning bounces around the interior of the crystal, until it glows red, not gold.  "No," the Archon says.  "No!  The Great Sin!  You!"  He draws the crystal back, and points an accusing finger at Mirallia, "You have doomed us all!"  He raises his voice in a shout, and holds the crystal directly over his head, shedding blood-red light across the courtyard.  "Hope has fled this place!  Your kind has one hundred years from this day!  Hope has fled!"  With that, he turns around, double-timing it to his dragon, as the courtyard erupts into panic.

[Bjorn]

Quickly, Bjorn surveys the panic in the courtyard.  If we leave it like this....   "Parthipan!" he barks.  "The crystal from the pass!  Get it out!"

And then, pausing only to mutter, "Excuse me a sec," to Breke, he breaks into a sprint after the leaving Archonae.  The goal is to prevent him from leaving -- even if it means tackling the fragile-looking bastard.

[Brian]

Code Select Expand

<@Bjorn> roll 3d6
<Chibi-Suu> Them bones was tossed for Bjorn ... : 3d6 --> {11}Weaving through the panicking soldiers, you manage to slip through them faster than the Archon can.  No one else will step within two meters of him, so you leap the final distance and tackle him to the ground.

Or, at least, that's the plan.  What ends up happening is that you latch onto him, and he freezes, as though he can't believe one of those tiny humanlings would even try to sieze him.

Everyone in the courtyard falls silent at this, turning to look at you and the Archon.

At about this time, Parthipan manages to free the crystal you liberated from the cursed pass out, and it flares a brilliant blue, pulsating with someone's heartbeat, and drowning out the red light that the Archon is still holding.

[Bjorn]

"If the rule of the Archonae has come to an end," Bjorn growls in a low voice, "then the time has come for Man to rule instead, and I will not let you doom us.  Either way," his voice rises, to a more normal and conversational level, "perhaps, My Lord, you should not be so hasty?  There is another crystal here, and it is not so pessimistic."

[Brian]

The Archon makes a noise that can best be described as 'unhappy', and then a wave of some force -- you can't see it, but you can sure feel it -- picks you up and throws you back towards the keep.

Code Select Expand

<@Bjorn> roll 3d6
<Chibi-Suu> Them bones was tossed for Bjorn ...: 3d6 --> {8}Your armor protects you from the worst of it, and you manage to land well enough, near Breke, without seriously injuring yourself.

The Archon turns around to look at you, and the dragon leaps off the perch, scattering men across the courtyard as it stalks to the Archon's side, at about the midpoint between the perch and the keep.  "Hope has left this place," the Archon repeats.

Lord Kevin draws his sword, and yells, "Hope is never lost!  Mark your days, Archon, once we stop the Dreadmarch, we grant you your one hundred years and one hundred days to live, and no more!"

Everyone else that's still standing readies their weapons, though the majority of those in the courtyard are bearing spears.  The elf nocks an arrow, and directs it at the dragon.  Looking arounds somewhat nervously, the Archon's elongated facial features twist in distaste.  "I cast you to your fate," he declates, mounting his dragon.

"Flee while you can, coward!" Lord Kevin yells back.  "No more will you use us as a shield and a sword against your foes -- we fight for ourselves!"

[Bjorn]

Bjorn rolls smoothly to his feet, but his face is twitching, trying to suppress the snarl building below it.  Fuckers trying to rule us.  Fuckers use us as toys.  Fuckers think they know better.  Fuckers... no.  Gotta keep calm.  Gotta do something.

Snapping his head around, inspiration strikes, and he falls to one knee, bowing towards Lord Kevin.  "My lord Kevin!" he calls out -- not shouting, but pitching his voice to carry.  "The Archonae might try to deny us his hope, but there is another hope here!"  He points to the crystal carried by Parthipan, and continues, "A hope for man, brought by man!  With that hope, and by your command, we will prevail!"

Edit:  Must keep anatomy straight.  As it were.

[Brian]

With a snort, the Archon takes off, his dragon's wings throwing nearly everyone in the courtyard onto the ground before winging south.  Lord Kevin nods, and Sir Lammermore breaks off from his train.  After some quickl shuffling around, the newly arrived priestess (you don't know her name yet) accepts the crystal from Parthipan, then Lord Kevin, Radagast, the priestess, and her four attendants enter the keep.

"They'll place the stone," Lammermore says to you, nodding.  "I've a dark suspicion we need to see about securing the gate.  Follow me."

Paul and Parthipan hesitate, but fall in behind Lammermore as he jogs across the courtyard.

[Bjorn]

"This way, Sir Breke," Bjorn says.  Taking up the chains, he adds, "We'll need to run.  Be careful."

With that, he jogs after Lammermore, making sure to keep the way clear for Breke.

[Brian]

Breke has no trouble navigating around living creatures, so you lead him around the dragon-perch, and to the gatehouses.  The gates are open, but Lammermore is already slowly working the massive wheel that actually closes the exterior gate.  With the help of everyone (save Parthipan, who Lammermore sends up to the battlements to scan for the Dreadmarch) you manage to wheel and lock both gates shut, and then lock the doors to the gatehouse with Lammermore's key.

At about the same time this is finished, Parthipan breathlessly runs down the stairs and reports that there's an ocean of lit torches on the horizon, drawing closer.

"We'd best see for ourselves," Lammermore says grimly.

[Bjorn]

Bjorn nods, grimly.  "As you say, Sir."  He stares at the gate, as if he could see through it.  "I hope Sir Bloom got to the storm-riders.  If he did, they might not be lost to us entirely."  Shaking his head, he follows Lammermore up to the battlements, taking more care this time while guiding Breke up the stairs.

[Brian]

Breke slows a bit on the stairs, and you doubt he'll find the view as informative as you will, but he follows.  "Some display," he whispers, when no one else is immediately near you on the staircase.  "How big was that thing?"

[Bjorn]

"The dragon?" Bjorn whispers back.  "Ten men from snout to tail, I think."  He snorts.  "Big enough to prove that the Archonae don't give a bloody damn about men.  If we had even one of those dropping rocks on the Dreadmarch, this would be easier than picking daisies."

[Brian]

"Unruly and tempermental beasts, from what I hear," Breke whispers back, nodding.

At about this time you reach the top of the ramparts, and can see across the northern wastes.  Aside from a few small fires (most of them keeping medium-sized cauldrons of pitch warm, ostensiably for dousing arrows with) there's not much light on the ramparts.  You have to see by the stars to make out what's going on, and it takes your eyes a bit to adjust.

Once they do adjust, you can see the horizon, as Parthipan mentioned, completely lined with distant bobbing flames, which appear to be handheld torches.  As your eyes adjust further, you realize there are more, and more behind that.

There has to be more than ten thousand flames out there.

"By Hamar!" Lammermore swears, his jaw dropping open.  "This...."  He trails off, and you see one of the nearby bowmen drop his arrow, staring at the approaching army in mure horror.

A few second later, you hear more bowmen drop their arms, a few of them falling to their knees.  You feel despair gnawing at you yourself, but having grown accustomed to people entering your mind, you recognize it as something foreign that's being forced into your head, not something entirely of your own devising.

[Bjorn]

There's probably a subtle, gentle way to handle this, Bjorn reflects, in keeping with the social status of his other-self.  But aldrenaline and rage are still pumping through his system, and he's always been a fan of the tough-love approach.

"Stand up," he snarls at the bowmen.  "Pick up your bows!  Are you soldiers, or are you children playing King of the Hill?"

He turns to Lammermore.  "Fight off the despair," he says, flatly.  "It's not real.  It's magic, forcing its way into your mind.  There may be ten thousand of them, and there may be more, but they are outside these walls.  This Keep will not fall while we fight to defend it."

[Brian]

Lammermore shakes it off, but the bowmen don't, more and more of them giving into despair.

"Uh," Paul grunts, unslinging his lute.  "Got this one ... from the book," he mumbles.

Code Select Expand

<Brian> roll 3d6
<Chibi-Suu> Them bones was tossed for Brian ... : 3d6 --> {7}
<Brian> roll 6d6
<Chibi-Suu> Them bones was tossed for Brian ... : 6d6 --> {28}
His fingers cross the strings in a simple scale, and then a sound comes out of the lute like audible silk, or maybe more appropriately, it's like someone just played the sound of a shield to stave off the despair.

The bowmen shake their heads, and pick up their weapons, climbing to their feet again.  You can feel the despair warring with the music at the fringes of your mind, and aware of both, you can ignore them entirely.

Also, the song is kind of catchy -- after a few seconds, the men start singing along.  You don't recognize the lyrics, but it's about a battle against hopeless odds, and never giving up, and then winning anyway.  Formula for what you're about to face, you hope....