March of the Legion Sanguinary IC: Khydaka Pass (Group A)

[Aevylmar]

Opening Music (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HX5onBw9Hbs)

OOC Thread (http://www.giantitp.com/forums/showthread.php?p=16058542#post16058542)

Few know that, hidden in the Thousand Peaks that run along the western edge of the Southern Desert, there sinks an ironclad fortress. Hewn from dead rock by the souls of the dead, it houses one of the finest collections of artifacts and one of the finest forces of soldiers in the world. For he has one cause, and one cause alone: Total domination of Creation, both the world of the living and the underworld. Only when that is completed can he rest, and until that blessed day arrives, no sacrifice is too great for his warriors.

Not even abandoning the only working ice-cream machine south of the Blessed Isle to go to yet another war-council.

March of the Legion Sanguinary: Loyalist Abyssals, Ice Cream, and True Love.

For several thousand years, it was agreed that the chain of logic that bound the Legion Sanguinary to Merciless and away from action had not a single weak link. In order to take control of the Underworld, the First and Forsaken Lion must control large shadowlands. In order to control large shadowlands, he must destroy the cities of Creation. In order to destroy the cities of Creation, he must have an army that could manifest in Creation to fight for him. In order to have an army that could manifest in Creation to fight for him, he must control large shadowlands…

It was only after the Balorian Crusade that the first crack showed, and the terrible gaze of Oblivion’s General turned south. Only then when the border of habitability came so close to the Wyld that a city was founded - a city with a thousand weaknesses and a thousand armies, a city of gold and dust, a living testament to the power and the madness that greed inspired in mortals. Surely it must be so easy to stretch out a single hand and sweep that Gem into the darkness...

Prologue: Gem Must Die
7:27

There were twenty-two campstools at the work-table of the war-council of the First and Forsaken Lion, a fact that told you two very important things about him: First it spoke of his total lack of any throne for himself or for any of the deathlords, and second his mix of ambition and pragmatism. When she deigned to attend, the seat at his right hand belonged to the Princess Magnificent. The rest were for his generals - not the fourteen deathknights he now possessed, but the twenty he felt he would own soon. In its own way, that confidence was more chilling than the empty soulsteel helm that was the Lion’s face.

But there were only four deathknights invited to this council - four deathknights and an ambassador - and the remaining stools would remain empty. Around the great council chamber stood ghosts in one great ring; famous heroes who went to their death with songs in their hearts, great gladiators schooled in victory. All had surrendered name, cause, and will for the single cause of the Lion’s victory. The First Regiment was ready to fight, ready to die, and most of all, ready to kill in the Lion’s name, and they were the only ornament in his council of war.

The door stood open, and the five he had summoned trickled into his war-chamber.

If he had lips, they might have drawn back in a mirthless smile. If he had a heart, it might have beat faster. He stood, impassive. Soon enough, his armies would march - and then the world would know his name.

Khydaka Pass. That was where it would begin.

Part One: Khydaka Pass

[Ifni]

She walks with a spring in her step, and the grace of a dancer or an assassin. Her smile is eager and cheerful, though the lips that shape it are the crimson of fresh blood. For this formal council she has donned her whispering armor and her silent sword, and her skeletal wings of amethyst and black bone are folded tight against her back. Beneath her armor her clothes have something of the look of a military uniform, albeit solid black and without insignia. Her pale sand-silk hair is braided in tight coils, barely visible beneath the smooth old-ivory curve of her helm.

Is this, then, the moment? When she sings the final dirge, is this where she will say it began, the war to end all wars?

Remembrance of Uncounted Sorrows salutes her liege formally as she steps into the room. She stops for a moment to gaze around at the gathered ghosts, to incline her head to them slightly in respect, to fix in her mind the memory of this hallowed convocation. Not the legion she left behind, but not, for that, less...

After a moment she strides over to the work-table, glances briefly at the Lion for permission, and seats herself. She seems comfortable on the simple campstool, at ease with her surroundings. Despite the bleak chamber and the empty soulsteel visage of her commander and the grim audience of ghosts - she knows her skills, and her purpose, and this is her place as much as anyone's, even if she is the newest of the Lion's knights.

She glances at the maps laid out on the work-table and then up at the Lion, midnight eyes bright with curiosity and enthusiasm. She suppresses her questions; best to wait until all the participants are present.

[GryffonDurime]

Inktongue enters like a rainbow: all silk and cloth-of-silver, his doublet trimmed in red and blue and his cuffs glimmering with shards of topaz. His black, unruly hair falls to his ears in shapely waves, cheeks powdered and pinked. It was, in part, a pantomime of life, a way of reminding all around that he was not yet a subject in the kingdoms of death. Oh, the stares from the ghosts whenever he walked through Merciless--but it was a choice he had made long ago, and given all the cunning of the Lion and the stubborn insight of the Princess, it made sense. If he went about in blacks and purples, preening like a deathknight, they would only see a cuckoo in their nest. At least as a demon and a fop, there was no pretension of any honor he had not earned.

He bowed deep in dancing, Malfean fashion as he entered, setting eyes on Remembrance. If she allowed, he'd kiss her hand and then stand, prim and straight beside her. He would not look at the Lion, not until the Deathlord called for their attention. Instead, he looked to the ghosts of Merciless, their scarred and gory shapes.

How many summer days had he spent praying to the ghosts of the First Horde? It had been the greatest shock, beyond the horrors of the Demon Realm, to realize that every prayer he'd ever uttered had been made to these creatures of shadow and vapor.

But now, to be called to a council with Remembrance and, who knows who else? It was exciting. He had to quiet a smile, force himself to smile inwardly.

[Guancyto]

Steady, even, punctual, these are the footsteps of the Queen of Ice and Fire, the queen who arrives precisely when she means to. One could put a tray on her head and it would arrive at the Lion's war council without so much as having shifted. It would naturally take the authority of the Lion himself to bring such a thing about, but it doesn't stop anyone from thinking it. Her light golden hair is drawn up in a tight bun.

She is unarmored for now; her garb can hardly be called baroque, although purple and black it is well-cut and the only sign of anything deathly are the insignias reminiscent of thaumic talismans - the sort one would lay upon a body to keep it from rising again. One might call the flowing cape a burial shroud, but who would bury such a thing? Someone who intends to command attention among the dead, perhaps - and among the tomb robbers.

It is thick cloth, and covers the sight but cannot cover the scent of a fresh wound (particularly to the ghosts of Merciless). She has been instructing the Lioness again, and has come away worse for the exchange. That, or they had achieved a particularly notable milestone and the child had decided that it was the best time for a hug, in which case the Queen had been lucky to walk away with only one wound.

Although the Queen is composed, she cannot hide the glimmer of anticipation in her red eyes as she crosses the threshold and sees those already gathered. Will this be the bursting of the dam, when all things are set in motion and the world is turned upon its head? She is interested in seeing the work of the Lion's newest knight as well, and the presence of the ambassador at a war meeting seems hopeful for the... direction of his continued influence at Merciless.

She performs a formal bow complete with presentation of her golden spear to the Lion, the usual gesture of fealty with her, and takes up her place with her fellows.

She has waited a long time for this.

[Lix Lorn]

There are many things that make the Ebon Lioness stand out.

Her age, perhaps, is one of the most obvious. Appearing barely ten, with skin like porcelain, and acting noticeably younger, she is not one you would expect to see at any war meeting, let alone in the ranks of the dead.

Her garb, too, is slightly out of place - for who would wear spiked armour to meet their unquestioned lord?
Of course, the answer to that question is 'anyone for whom that lord is the Lion.'

Perhaps the strangest thing would be her face, a cheerful smile out of place in this hellish locale.

But no.

Most people would agree. The strangest thing was the way the deathlord's daughter skipped along, not a care in all the world. The way she span around the stall, and took her seat, smiling widely.

[Guancyto]

Their Lord has not yet spoken, and the Queen has no desire to speak out of turn. That doesn't mean she can't look, though. She fixes the Lioness with one of those stern finish-your-vegetables-and-go-to-bed-on-time looks that indicates that this is not a casual gathering.

One of those important-things-are-happening-here-and-she-is-a-part-of-them-and-she-should-take-this-seriously-and-pay-attention looks.

The last time that actually worked was... when was the last time that actually worked?

[Lix Lorn]

:O

It's the queen!
The Lioness hasn't seen her in hours. Days. CENTURIES, at least.

And she's looking at her! She must miss her too.

She raises a hand and waves happily, smiling.

[Ifni]

A flicker of a frown crosses Remembrance's face as Inktongue enters. What is he doing here? The answer is obvious, and that begets another question: why does the Lion trust him so? This powdered and painted courtier, with no sword at his belt...

But clearly he does, and like that the faint frown becomes a smile. His bright silks look so out-of-place here, like a butterfly in a field of ash: the incongruity is delightful. And reflects a courage she hadn't expected.

She looks rather taken aback as he moves to kiss her chilly hand, but allows it, if only because she fails to think of a proper reaction in time (other than snatching her hand away, and that seems unkind). She's distracted quickly enough by the entrance of the Queen and then the little Lioness. She nods companionably to the Moonshadow, a hint of curiosity in her eyes.

The Queen is very good with that spear, from what she's heard, and a skilled war-leader as well. Someone she could learn from, even if she is more warrior than soldier. She doesn't look much older than Remembrance herself, but that can be deceptive, in Merciless. And the Lion trusts her to teach his daughter...

She grins at the little girl, warm and amused. She remembers being that age, remembers half-skipping half-running like that when her legs seemed too short and her steps too slow to take her where she wanted to go. It's a reminder that for everything else she is, Ebon is still just a child.

The Lion's daughter. So why is she here? To learn, as well? Does he mean to send her on campaign?

She curbs her impatience with some difficulty, and waits.

[Obscurejones]

In a distant corner of Merciless a doddering old fool looks up. His eyes go distant for a moment, clouding over with confusion. He taps his fingers along in the air counting out the rhythm of his schedule. He mutters under his breath, rolling the word around like a marble clattering against the back of his teeth.
"Sceed... Shool... Sched... Oul... Schedule. Right. That's it."
Was there something we were supposed to do today? There couldn't have been. Or we would be doing it. Obviously. So alright then. With a smile of contentment that he is exactly where he needs to be, the Tattered Madman Clad in Funereal Rags goes back to his studies. This recipe won't learn itself. Actually, make a not of that. Self learning recipes. Might be useful.

[Aevylmar]

There is a pause as the Tattered Madman Clad in Funereal Rags does not arrive. The Lion remains calm and silent, and one of the ghosts in the regiment slips quietly out the door.

Several Minutes Later

A polite but very heavily armored ghost walks through the library door, walks up to the Madman, taps him on the shoulder, and says, "The First and Forsaken Lion requests your presence in the War Room."

[Obscurejones]

The Tattered Madman fixes the ghost with a suspicious glare. His fingers crook and bend themselves into arcane shapes, at the ready to fling deadly magics. Double deadly, for killing things that failed at dying right the first time.
"Who?"
He turns his head suddenly as though listening to a far off voice. As he realizes what he forgot the blood drains from his complexion and he jumps to his feet. Moving in a frantic blur he pulls books from the shelves and piles them in his arms, a small mountain of heavy iron bound tomes. He glares at the ghost.
"Out of my way! Can't you see I'm late?"
Bursting down the hall the madman sheds manuals as he runs, leaving a trail of paper, leather, and old dust behind himself. Careening into the meeting room he leaps onto a stool, only to find himself facing away from the circle. As quietly and subtly as he can he scoots around until he is facing the right way. He inclines his head in grave respect to the Lion. His salute done he starts digging through his layers of sackcloth, finally pulling out a small satchel. He holds it in his lap, occasionally stealing glances at the Cub.

[Aevylmar]

The soldier trails behind the Madman, trying to prevent any of the leaked tomes from coming to any serious harm, before stopping just outside the door and closing it behind him. It seals with a very final noise, and all sound from inside abruptly stops.

- - -

As the last of the summoned Abyssals trickles in, the Lion remains calm and stern. He returns Remembrance’s glance, and waits for her to sit; accepts the Queen’s gesture of fealty and his daughter’s cheerful arrival.

“Queen. Daughter. Remembrance. Madman.” He spares a nod for the Fiend. “Ambassador.”

There are maps on the conference table, yes; specific, highly detailed, of specific locations. But there is also the map that is the conference table - many-colored, topographic, shifting, an artifact whose design is as old as the Primordial War and whose execution was perfected in the First Age, crafted by the Lion for his dominion - regularly updated with new information brought in by the Lion’s spy network, targeting whatever part of his domain he wishes to observe.

“Welcome to the last war.” His gaze remains steady, looking not at them, but at the world he hopes to conquer. The table shifts, flowing into a precise, detailed map of the southern Thousand in Creation - centered on Gem.

“For hundreds of years, the key obstacle between us and domination of the South has been the city of Gem. Within the month, that obstacle will be brushed aside.”

Topography rises and falls, and now what the map shows is the border of the Wyld, where the sand is gemstones and the wind is joy and the sunshine hate. “There are those among the Raksha who feel that the present arrangement they have with Gem is insufficient, and who would rather sack the city than simply accept trade and tribute.”

The Wyld shrinks towards the southern end of the table, and the picture grows to encompass more and more territory, until the northern edge touches on Gem. “They have persuaded the peaceful faction among them to send an expedition to demand additional concessions from Gem. Left alone, these will be granted and the city will stand.” A red line runs up from the Wyld towards the city; tracing the embassy's path.

“If the expedition never brings word back, the Raksha will blame Gem. Fearing that their time of profit is at an end, they will treat the fate of their ambassadors as a violation of the Old Laws, and they will destroy Gem for us.”

Fire consumes the tiny model of the city, and a black circle spreads, wider and wider. Then all is as it was.

“Their expedition is passing through Khydaka Pass, a short distance north of the Bordermarches.” The map zooms in to a single point; a narrow pass through the Thousand, a thin knife-line between two great peaks. Long, narrow, empty - a perfect place for an ambush. “Queen of Ice and Fire, I wish you to take a force and annihilate the party. One friendly to us, Hasasai of Seventeen Sorrows, is with the expedition. He is of some value. None of the others must be permitted to bring word home.”

He looks from one deathknight to another. “Remembrance of Uncounted Sorrows, I am seconding you to her for this mission. Tattered Madman; the Queen has need of your sorcerous powers against the Raksha. Take what you need and accompany her. Overwhelming force is a necessity.”

His glance flickers to Inktongue. “Ambassador. I felt you might wish to accompany them. It could be… of value to your cause.” ”An opportunity to prove yourself,” that might be interpreted as. Or perhaps, ”Information I wish to give you.” Or “A test of your ability to work with my men.” Or perhaps all of them.

“Daughter. Accompany your tutor. Do as she says; win glory, make me proud.”

He returns to details; a soldier near his throne steps forwards, bearing vellum rolls, presenting one each to Remembrance, to the Queen, and one to the Lioness. “There are six noble Raksha with the expedition, including our friend. Two of them are warriors. The remainder are diplomats, possessing limited shaping abilities. Dossiers for all of them are included. They travel light; no commoners, one hundred figment soldiers. Thirty mortal slaves, transported by a fast-moving daikaiju. The mortals are unimportant, as are the figments. Do with them as you will.”

The dossiers are handed out, and he waits for a response from his champions. What do they have to say; what do they think about their company; what do they need to requisition?

Each dossier contains detailed information on the six Raksha nobles and the military forces they control. Int+Occult to understand the Raksha as supernatural entities, Manipulation+Socialize to understand them as a bunch of feuding nobles, or Int+War to understand the tactical implications of the information contained therein.

For the version that anyone, absent a botch, can understand: There’s six Nobles, two of them are good at fighting and four of them are mediocre at fighting and one of those guys is supposed to live, and they have a giant monster thing following them around.

[Guancyto]

The Queen smiles thinly and raises a hand at the Lioness' waving to her. Yes, that was a message that had certainly not been received. The barest flash of anger is her reaction to the Madman's tardiness, a glance at her Lord and the smile growing thinner if that were even possible.

It is one more burden. She accepts this, as she has before.

She scans each dossier quickly, taking note of military forces, and referencing with the maps. The ambassador might have some subterfuge in mind, but the task of leading the charge falls to her. Figment soldiers, a fang for each. Six hundred fighters in a small pass, four war leaders, two of which were exceptional at their trade, one wyld war beast. It would be far easier if it were only five hundred men they faced.

Her eye settles on the dossier of the raksha 'friendly' to them. Did such creatures even have such a state? She knew less of them than she ought, but they were eternally fickle creatures, weren't they? "How much of a friend is this Hasasai of Seventeen Sorrows? Is he able to provide support in this endeavor, or can we count on engaging his retinue as well?"

Int+War, full excellency.
[roll0]
Any possible stunt
[roll1]

[GryffonDurime]

The Ambassador Plenipotentiary of Hell smiles at the Lion's assignment, looking over the Queen with a scrutinizing eye. The hierarchy was not as he'd expected, but it would serve.

He'd made the barest beginnings of a motion towards one of the dossiers until it became instantly apparent that they weren't meant for his eyes. Inktongue swallowed his pride, considering it all a part of the test set before him.

Oh, but he thought, how good it would be to walk the sands of the Far South, to feel its beautiful, desolate heat. To burn in the world of the living, a short reprieve from his time in the Underworld. He hadn't thought he would miss it as much as he did, but he was a creature of the desert and the wastes now, and he needed sand and light like a tree needed water and earth.

"I am afraid my education in affairs necromantic is still lacking. If the Raksha destroy Gem, will it still afford you a beachhead in Creation?" he asks, ostensibly to the Madman but implicitly to all gathered. "They are creatures of possibility, and the Wyld seems at odd with the Void."

[Lix Lorn]

"Blood is always blood, whoever spills it." says the Lioness cheerfully, looking over the documents carelessly, the delicate interplay of personal politics passing her by - but the nature of the raksha as clear as day. "I mean, killing poxy fae might not make the shadows, but they can sure make them by killing people."

[Obscurejones]

"The child has the right of it. Human blood does not distinguish who was responsible for its spilling. We might as well open a gate to the living world with aardvarks. Or a legion of obese pigeons."
The Madman holds his hands apart about a foot to indicate possible pigeon girth. He rotates his hands to indicate the general roundness of the pigeons. And then folds one hand into a little pecking beak.
"Peck peck peck. Right in the bloods."
He nods twice. Right in the bloods.

[Guancyto]

Even the most forthright, noblest lord has a man with less honor to keep him safe against subterfuge. Those that do not have short reigns punctuated by poison in their wine-cup or daggers in their back. Thus, while she doesn't generally approve of Inktongue, that is not to say she does not recognize the value of his expertise. When he meets her eyes, she makes a pair of slight gestures, head and hand, indicating he should come over to her side of the table and examine her dossier as well.

[Ifni]

Remembrance takes her dossier but pauses for a moment before opening it, to offer the other woman a polite friendly smile and a quiet, "I'll be glad to serve with you, Queen of Ice and Fire."

She hesitates for another moment at the realization that not everyone has been given dossiers, but the Queen is already beckoning Inktongue over. So. A mark of displeasure, perhaps, that the Lion hadn't handed one to the Madman, but not a security issue. She moves her stool along so the Madman can look over her shoulder, opens it, and begins reading.

She's gotten better at reading, but she's still not quick at it, especially in Old Realm; she has to pause at some of the more complex pictograms. She's grateful for the Lion's summary: at least it gives her a sense of what to look for.

"The soldiers in the Twelfth assigned to caravan guard duty sometimes talked about the Fair Folk," she murmurs, as she reads through the dossiers. "Iron burns them, yes? If so, would it work on their creatures as well?" She glances at the Madman; he seems likely to know such things.

Her gaze returns to the dossier; she flicks through the heavy sheets seeking details on the rakshas' forces. The pass looks like such an ideal ambush location, surely they'll be taking precautions.

"I have means to stop them from fleeing the battle, if I can arrange for them to hear my voice," she offers after a moment. "Queen - if I may call you that? - what sort of troops do you intend to bring? Archers might be useful, given this terrain. Although I suppose sorcery may substitute."

That the Ambassador has been dispatched on this mission... suggests either that he is more of a warrior than she'd thought, or that the Lion intends an approach more complex than simple overwhelming force. She lowers her eyes to the dossier again, studying the diplomats' profiles: one traitor at least, among the raksha, but is the Lion hinting at deeper disunity? It's a gift if you can get your enemies to fight each other...

Int+War [roll0]
Int+Occult [roll1]
Manipulation + Socialize [roll2]

Possible stunt: [roll3]

EDIT: ... oh my. If that wasn't a 2-die stunt I think that's a botch on Int+War :smalltongue: Rem clearly has some things to learn about generalship.

[Obscurejones]

The Madman smiles brightly as Remembrance moves closer, peering over her shoulder. His eyes dance across the pages, sometimes seeming to move independently of one another. Where most new information will send him into bickering fits with himself he does his best to be calm in the presence of his master and his split intellect concurs, each doing their part to parse the briefing and separate each new bit of data from the useless chaff.
"Well they certainly never like it. And honestly Fae are stories and possibility. And we are the purest negation of that potential. Our iron should strip the fleshy narrative details from the bare bones of their plot. Or to put it less poetically, yes. We can hit them with big metal sticks. Maybe even sharpened sticks."
As he speaks the Madman moves his stachel as subtly as he can and opens the top, leaving the contents visible to Rem, but hopefully not to the lion.
"Snack? A new recipe. Their made of powdered bone and sugar mostly. Quite tasty. I thought they might look pleasant as little happy maggots."
Would Remembrance like a gummy worm?
Int And Occult[roll0] Full First. 8 Sux total.
Stunt[roll1]

[Aevylmar]

"Hasasai," says the Lion, "Is under our sway, but has no loyalties. He wishes to destroy Gem and to avenge himself on those he travels with, but not so much as he wishes to survive."

The Lion is not paying attention to the gummi worm bag. This may be because he hasn't noticed it, or it may be because he is not interested.

The dossiers have quite a lot of useful information...


Everyone gets a stunt die!

Sorted into categories depending on how well you did at the individual rolls.

There’s six Raksha; Joy in Joy, the leader, who is a dedicated diplomat and has no combat abilities whatsoever; her bodyguard Descending Fire Falcon; the commander of the military force, Thrice-Drawn Bow; and then the other three non-combat diplomats - Hasasai of Seventeen Sorrows, Milith Limthi, and Sekrith the Eternal.


Socialize Botch
They’re all the best of friends! If the Lion says Hasasai is on your side, he is. But you don’t see why - they have no reason ever to dislike each other!

Socialize 1
They all get along pretty well, is the short version. Descending Fire Falcon is absolutely loyal - bound to - Joy in Joy, but the others are all part of the same faction, except for Hasasai who’s betraying them to you.

Socialize > 5
The dossier goes into some detail with the absurd Raksha soap operas they’ve been up to. The reasonably short version is that Descending Fire Falcon is absolutely loyal to Joy in Joy, who all the others respect / are terrified of, but Milith Lemthi, Sekrith the Eternal, and Thrice-Drawn Bow all have lots of reasons to hate each other, and are kept from killing each other partly because hating other Raksha is fun and the fun would end if the other Raksha died, and partly because none of them wants to give up trade with Creation by sacking Gem.

Hasasai is secretly a member of the pro-”Kill Gem” faction who has infiltrated the other side. He wants to sack Gem to fulfil an oath he made when he was young, and also because he really, really likes betraying the Raksha to the Lion. This may have something to do with UMI.

If there’s any details you’d like, ask away. The dossiers are fairly complete, and you know everything in them.

War Botch
This feels like a trap. Everything is too good; the pass is a perfect position for an ambush, and the Raksha are taking no precautions whatsoever. All the little details make this single point absolutely clear - either you’re dealing with utter, absolute idiots, or you’re being fed false information.

War 2

The four Raksha diplomats have military functions only as sorcerers, working magic from safety. The army is, like most figment soldiers, perfectly loyal, almost infinitely brave, and about on a level with elite mortal troops - good skill, good discipline, no magic whatsoever. It is bound to Thrice-Drawn Bow, who commands the entire force of one hundred.


War > 5
The four Raksha diplomats have military functions only as sorcerers, working magic or throwing fire from safety. The army is, like most figment soldiers, perfectly loyal, almost infinitely brave, and about on a level with elite mortal troops - good skill, good discipline, no magic whatsoever. Around Drill 4. It is bound to Thrice-Drawn Bow, who commands the entire force of one hundred.

Thrice-Drawn Bow is recklessly brave, but very dangerous in combat - the way most Raksha can be. He’s unlikely to go for complicated strategy, but can execute precise tactics very efficiently. Both he and Descending Fire Falcon have access to magic that can create reinforcement soldiers, but you’re not sure precisely how the details work, aside from ‘If they die, they can’t use them.’

Descending Fire Falcon is absolutely loyal to Joy in Joy, who isn’t at all brave - she’s smart, very good at manipulating Raksha, and likely to run for home, abandoning everything. Falcon can fly, but Joy can’t, so that’s unlikely to matter. If Joy dies, Descending Fire Falcon will go berserk and either avenge her or die trying, regardless of strategic constraints. Milith Lemthi and Sekrith the Eternal have no tactical ability and no tactical intuition; if confronted by an obviously and hugely overwhelming force, they may try to run. Otherwise they’ll stick with Thrice-Drawn Bow and trust in his intuition to win victory.

In a fight, Hasasai will probably not help you, but he’ll instead remain perfectly ineffectual to avoid sabotaging your side without giving away that he’s actually on your side.

The Daikaiju is known as a ‘Ruby Champion’; it vaguely resembles a cross between a gryphon, a panther, and an ant, with very large, very sharp mandibles. It cannot fly, but it really, really large. It obeys the orders of Thrice-Drawn Bow.

If there’s any other questions you’d like to know the answer to, ask away; the dossiers are fairly detailed and you can get all the information in them out of them.

Occult 3
The four diplomatic types have social abilities, of the sort that tend to work very badly in combat, and shaping abilities, of the sort that only work inside the Wyld. Descending Fire Falcon is a young, supernaturally weak, Cataphract focused on Valor charms and hand-to-hand abilities, and Thrice-Drawn Bow is an Imperial Raksha, somewhat older, but they both have access to Transient Work of Flesh and Bone - and you know what that charm does.

Occult > 5
You know the way most Raksha charms work. In terms of vitally important strategic charms, Descending Fire Falcon is a young - Essence 2 - Cataphract focused strongly on Valor charms and hand-to-hand combat-in-creation abilities, and Thrice-Drawn Bow is an Essence 3 Imperial Raksha focused on diplomatic and military abilities. Both of them have access to “Transient Work of Flesh and Bone,” a summon-an-army charm. Joy in Joy is a powerful - Essence 4 - Courtier, but she has no combat ability aside from the ability to inspire emotions with a look or drink virtues with a kiss. On the other hand, if she starts talking, there’s going to be problems.

The Daikaiju is bound to Thrice-Drawn Bow, drawing off of his powers.

Hasasai is an Essence 2 Panjandrum with access to the Essence 2 part of the Assumption of Cerements and Bone tree, but he’s supposedly on your side. He’s quite weak compared to the others.

Milith Limthi is an Essence 3 Artisan. Her powers are focused on helping and supporting her fellow Raksha, and she serves primarily as an observer and diplomatic support. In combat, she can do essentially nothing.

Sekrith is Essence 3, and has some moderate combat powers, focused on the Assumption of Earth Shape tree, but is, like Joy, very diplomatically specialized.

Aside from the single Daikaiju, they have no other behemoths or oneiromantic spells with them; they’re travelling very light.

While they all have considerable shaping abilities, those mean just about nothing outside the Wyld.

If you have any more questions, ask away. There’s a lot of information in the dossiers, and you have access to all of it.

[Guancyto]

The Queen nods to the Lion, acknowledging this and adjusting priorities accordingly.

"I look forward to seeing your skills in the field, Lady Remembrance," she says, only a little gesture of assent indicating that she may be called Queen, "their junior warrior is capable of flight, so archers will be necessary. Bows, spears and..." she steeples her fingers, examining the pass, "boulders, I think, to pin them in place until we can close into vocal range."

"Their diplomat leader, Joy in Joy, is the lynchpin in this. The most dangerous to our cause if she escapes, and the one who - together with her pet - keeps them from tearing each other apart.

The war leader is the one who commands their retinue and the beast, and his removal will both make them easy prey and cause them to flee with all haste. Better to kill him while staring him in the eyes."

[GryffonDurime]

Inktongue takes the Queen's invitation with a minimum of surprise--though he is, rather impressively. Still, it would not do to balk at her generosity, or to seem ungrateful. He slid beside her, looking over the dossiers with care. Some part of him--desolate, silvered, and older than the world--knew people. It knew hearts and minds and spirits. It bought men on the coin of secrets and sold their souls at a profit.

What unsettled Inktongue, though, was how much of that part came only from him, and not his patrons. It wasn't a new trick, knowing hearts. But it was as good a trick as he had ever learned, and it had bought him his Exaltation, all things considered.

He taxed his mind, opened it to the whispers of the Yozi and his own worst instincts, careful not to so much as display his caste mark--not in the Lion's company.


Full Cecelynian Excellency, which I assume is copasetic because this all goes towards amassing information about his foes and raising his stock in the Lion's eyes:

Int + Occult
[roll0]

Excellency 1:
[roll1]

Man + Soc
[roll2]

Excellency 2:
[roll3]

Stunt if needed:
[roll4]

[Ifni]

"..." Remembrance eyes the gelatinous worms rather dubiously.

But then again, she's already died once, how much worse can it be? She shrugs, and accepts a worm, chewing thoughtfully as she continues to inspect the dossier.

"If we can keep pressure on Joy in Joy, we can probably keep Descending Fire preoccupied," she says, thinking out loud. "If he's bound to her, we may be able to trap him into taking actions that are less than optimal for his side as a whole. It might be best not to kill her right away, to keep him pinned down... but then, as you say, she's the most dangerous to us. And if she holds them together - perhaps focusing fire on her would be a good early goal. With regard to vocal range -" She nods to the Queen, "My range for clear speech is a hundred yards or so, with my helm, and I can probably cover the battlefield for a way beyond that."

"And I can fly -" She touches the dark bone of her folded wings briefly. "For short periods, at least. Still, bringing archers would be a good idea." She taps one of the pages. "I've heard of this magic, that the two warriors possess - to summon up a talon of troops out of dreams and Essence. Best not to assume they can't fill holes in their capabilities and defenses."

The Midnight shakes her head slightly. "Still, does this seem... easy, to anyone else? The terrain is very much to an ambusher's advantage, they don't seem to be traveling with much strength. If raksha are creatures of stories... wouldn't they expect something like this?" She glances up at the Lion. "Sir, how reliable do you consider this information?"

[Guancyto]

"They will certainly expect an ambush," the Queen says, considering it, idly tracing a finger over the pass, figuring out which nook or bend seems the most likely position, "they may even receive one. This pass seems like a breeding ground for thieves and raiders. Our Madman should find no shortage of sun-dried bodies to work with." There is just the little inflection in his name, like she would spit it were she not too proper to spit.

"It is quite another matter to expect us. It will help us, I think," she continues, as thought it hadn't happened, "for them to expect thieves and not realize their doom until it is too late."

[Aevylmar]

To Rem's question: "Sufficiently," said the Lion. "Meticulous Owl has been at work among the Raksha. He is reliable."

His glance turns towards the Queen. "The pass is desolation amid desolation. Bandits could not gather the numbers to hunt Raksha, and they know of no Power that would destroy them save their own. They expect an ambush - when they return. Yet to their rivals, they outspeed the news of their departure."

[Ifni]

"... all right, then. Thank you, sir." Remembrance puts the unease out of her mind; the Lion would not be sending his daughter on this mission if he wasn't confident in the intelligence.

"If you mean to bring archers and spearmen, Queen, can we equip them with iron-tipped arrows and spears? As opposed to steel, I mean. Or is it just superstition that iron sears the Fair Folk?"

She takes another gummi worm. "Mmm. These are good..."

The Midnight studies the map, and then looks to the Madman. "What kind of sorcery are you planning to bring to bear? That might influence where we should set our ambush."

[Obscurejones]

Hesitation is a killer as much as any blade. The urge to pause, to think slowly but surely, while admirable, has led to many a death. Fortunately for the Madman, he is already dead. Or at the least, deadish.
"..."
Reaching over Rem's shoulder he taps the dossier. Traces a few tell tale lines with a finger.
"We cannot allow their diplomat to speak. Letting her argue for her cause, even against a force as formidable as ours, would be folly. Thankfully if combat is joined she will nearly useless. I think... I think I will call a reaper upon her. If they manage to raise an army I can respond with one of our own. Other than that... Perhaps an Agata. Steeds for war. I defer to our noble general.
With a stern and serious expression he grabs a gummy worm. It dangles from the corner of his mouth as he thoughtfully chews.

[Guancyto]

"Ah," the Queen acknowledges the Lion's correction and adjusts her plans accordingly. Her thread of mentally weaving through the pass shifts in location; where once an excellent ambush spot was passed over as likely to be already occupied, now it will serve them well.

Desolation. Not exactly common along the Inland Sea, even in the South. She is still getting used to it.

She folds her hands in her lap, not trusting them to reflexively ball into fists. "The work of The Tattered Madman Clad in Funeral Rags is sufficient for the turning of rivers to blood, the shattering of densely-packed armored columns, the calling of the reaper upon single individuals, the summoning of demons and the raising of the dead," she recites from memory, "this is a battle where the leaders are critical and the armies ephemeral, so to eliminate Joy in Joy singly and at a distance is acceptable." Her eyes fall back upon the pass, "if Descending Fire breaks from their ranks and tries to engage without his fellows, he should be easier to fall upon and defeat."

Even better would have been a way to remove Joy in Joy and give Descending Fire no outlet for his rage, but the Madman's sorcery was much more conspicuous than a sniper's arrow. Much more certain, as well.

She mulls on it, "iron weapons, yes, and camouflaged cloaks for the men. The gem-wasps are large and conspicuous; the mist arsenals might provide better support."

[GryffonDurime]

"Not that I believe it necessary," Inktongue says, "but I would be remiss if I did not offer: if you require a lure, I can appear as anyone or anything you may require. A rival raksha lord, a confused orphan, or the God of Good Intentions. Whatever the need, I am yours," he says to the Queen, eyes darting briefly to the Lion.

"And in the wastes, they will not be able to find me if I do not wish to be found. I am a creature of the sands, through and through. I am no tactician, but I put myself into your lovely, dead hands," he adds, ever the flatterer. He goes so far as to bow lightly, palms revealed in an old Delzahni show of friendship.

[Lix Lorn]

"Should I just jump on one and tear him apart?" says Lioness, tilting her head hopefully.

[Guancyto]

"Yes, my ward," the Queen says to the Lioness, "mark Descending Fire well, for he should be the first of your targets. Unless our magic is unable to destroy Joy in Joy; then she is yours, and you should keep her from speaking."

To Inktongue, the corners of her mouth turn up in the hint of a cruel, mirthless smile. "I had an idea for you, if you feel up to the task. To send you among them as a viper in their midst seems like folly with their numbers intact; they are united in respect and fear of their leader and her pet, and I do not doubt that speaking with her is indeed peril. Destroy these, however, and they have but three mortal enemies bound together by greed and spite, and a traitor, and a need to take whatever path they can find, and a need to find betrayal in their midst.

I have no taste for crafting the ruin of a man or faerie from whole cloth, but to let these fae but reap the hatred they have sown with their constant, petty treacheries... there is a certain justice in that, is there not?

That would be, of course, if our first ambush eliminates the primary targets but not the rest," she thinks on it a moment, "does that seem within your power?"

[GryffonDurime]

"Whatever subterfuge your mind can imagine, I can actualize," the Ambassador says, nodding lightly. He doesn't bother to hide his tiny smirk.

[Ifni]

"I'm a little worried about Thrice-Drawn Bow," Remembrance says thoughtfully, tapping one dossier. "He's older than Descending Fire, likely more cunning, and without the exploitable weakness of Joy In Joy. Commander of their forces, he can create a talon of troops from nothing, and from his name... perhaps an archer? It looks like Descending Fire is focused on hand-to-hand combat. I think Thrice-Drawn Bow could potentially create more trouble for us."

"And this... daikaiju. Are any of you familiar with such beasts, and their powers? It's largely an unknown quantity to me."

[Obscurejones]

"Imagine if you told everyone your bravery was a giant monster. And your bravery obliged you. Now imagine your obliging bravery liked to eat faces. And trample Tokyo beneath its impenetrable hooves of hate and great justice. And had a face made of ants. And did not care for my use of imagery. In any case, that'd be fairly close."
He grins and taps Remembrance on the forehead.
"And of course if we bored out your skull and used it as a snack case with our iron tipped spears, well your bravery would be up a certain creek without the relevant paddle, wouldn't it?"
The Madman turns suddenly to Inktongue and narrows his gaze suspiciously.
"Can you be a penguin? Preferably a pink one."

[Guancyto]

"Very much so," the Queen agrees with Remembrance, "with Descending Fire's mobility and conjuration of expendable warriors, Thrice-Drawn Bow can freely fire into a melee. If he so desires he can play the hammer to Fire's anvil, and he and the diplomat-sorcerers can cover any retreat before the phantom army becomes depleted. They could destroy a vastly more numerous force through repeated re-engagement. Their diplomat has chosen her war-leader well."

She hovered her finger over a point on the map, cross-referencing with the dossier, "for fighting their rivals and the men of Gem, at any rate.

Unless their beast floats on the wind, they will have to pass through this canyon, with sheer walls on either side. If we attacked here we could rain down stones and fire while he cannot effectively return fire. Finding a path up would take him hours at a fast gallop, at least."

She put a chin to her palm, thinking on it, "no, gem-wasps will be better demons for this. To get up to eye level on their war beast, to pick off stragglers and to go between the canyon walls and the floor if necessary. Take special care not to be dismounted.

Short spears and iron shields for the Lady Remembrance's unit, to weather what storm they can muster while the Madman unmakes their leader. Longer spears for mine for fliers, beasts and bowmen."

[Ifni]

"... huh." Remembrance listens intently to the Madman's explanation, and takes another gummi worm. "What's Tokyo? No, never mind. But so you're saying if we kill the one who owns it, it'll vanish? So perhaps we should prioritize that."

She looks to the Queen. "Even if it cannot fly, though - can it climb? I once... there was another situation like this, fighting a monster from above with archers and fire. It scaled a cliff I would have called sheer in moments. If it is very large... perhaps we can hamper its movement with boulders and rockslides, in narrow quarters, or maneuver it into some kind of blind canyon or overhang?"

She leans forward to study the point on the map the Queen has indicated. "And Madman, do you know... when the raksha summon their armies out of dreams, can they place them where they wish, or only around themselves? I suppose we could likely rout unled troops easily enough, but being flanked might be unfortunate."

[Obscurejones]

The Madman shoots another warning glare at Inktongue.
"I'm watching you, Penguin man."
Whirling on Remembrance he tosses another gummy worm towards her mouth.
"Any army would have to be fairly close. Perhaps a few yards away, definitely within the space said army would occupy. But atop a cliff? Not within their ability while in Creation."
Flopping back onto his stool he uses both hands to slide the cache of worms towards the Lioness.

[GryffonDurime]

"Exactly so," Inktongue responds to the Madman with good humor, "for if I could, it would still be in the size and proportions of a man. I change my face, my skin, my destiny--but my bones aren't made of moonsilver, Madman," he adds.

A dark fancy crosses over his countenance, and the Ambassador turns to the Madman in earnest, suddenly intrigued.

"Do raksha slain in Creation proper leave behind a corpse? I may have a few experiments of my own to essay."

[Ifni]

Remembrance's hand moves reflexively, snatching the projectile gummi worm out of the air with almost inhuman speed. She examines it, shrugs, and offers it to Inktongue. "Snack, Ambassador?"

She studies the Fiend for a moment, thoughtful. "I'm trying to think of how we might best use your skills. It would be nice if we could promote infighting in the group, but the trick is to do that without either causing them to splinter in all directions - we don't want to have to chase down multiple parties of raksha - or putting them on high alert. And we should avoid inordinate risk to you, as well. If we could quietly assassinate Joy In Joy, and either use her disappearance to sow discord, or send you in to take her place, maybe that would be useful - but it seems very risky."

She shakes her head. "But that... isn't a kind of battle I know well, in any case. It seems to me that it might be best to give them nothing that could serve as a warning; strike once and quickly and with overwhelming force. The Madman's 'reaper' for Joy In Joy, ideally drawing Descending Fire up to face us in vengeance - archers with iron-tipped arrows, boulders or fire to keep the rest pinned down in the canyon. Although... if we want Hasasai alive, we may want to be a little careful with those volleys." She glances at the little girl. "For targeted attacks, then - I could carry you, Lioness, or you could wear the wings your father loaned me; if I'm to stay with my unit my mobility will be limited by theirs in any case. Or if we are to ride demon-wasps..." She glances at the Queen and for the first time her voice becomes a little hesitant. "I'm not objecting to that plan, but I don't know how to ride."

Her gaze goes back to the Ambassador. "But thinking about alternatives to the direct approach - if you were to infiltrate their camp, as one of the mortal slaves might be easiest. I don't know how closely they're watched? We've been disregarding them entirely... but something that looks like a slave revolt might be a useful distraction. Unless the slaves have already had their spirits eaten?"

She taps a dossier lightly with one finger. "Maybe the mortals are not at all useful, but let's think about all possible resources. If they are still themselves, they might be easy to persuade to courage, for any hope of freedom. In any case, if we take nemissaries, we can spy through them, and use their bodies when they fall."

[GryffonDurime]

"If subterfuge were not our aim, I could litter the walls of the pass in blasphemous words that would convince our raksha compatriots to hate one another," the Ambassador says, his voice casual and practiced. "Such as it is, it may be prudent for me to prepare a few discrete...tracts, just in case. Beyond that? If we attack them and they break, I am confident that I can further poison any of them against the others, even against Joy in Joy," he says, nodding to Remembrance and then to the Queen.

He takes the worm that Remembrance offers and nibbles at it, delicately. There were some things that even a hell-bred palette balked at in the Underworld, but this reminded him of the sugar-rain of Hegra, albeit with fewer hallucinations. "But that is all it seems I can offer you: contingencies and intrigues and my sword in battle, such as it is."

[Guancyto]

"That will be sufficient," the Queen says to Inktongue, "I do not expect complete victory with one ambush; the more you can do to ensure that the attacks following it are more thorough and more precise, the better. Mortals figure occasionally in their... pathetic dramas; we will see how they react during the first ambush to see if they are suitable for your purposes."

She looks thoughtful as she turns to Remembrance, "if you can carry the Lioness while you fly, then yes. Draw Descending Fire up to you, and get her in position to pin him down before he can summon his host.

Although they have no fondness for each other, they value their own far more than the other members of their entourage; they will use the figment soldiers and the beast to shield them against rockslides and fire and arrows. If they try to climb the cliff face on the beast..."

She steeples her fingers, looking critically at Rem. "The sword and shield you carry were the doctrine of the Legion you served? It might have gone differently had it tried to climb up into a forest of pikes. Even so, we should test the strength of the rock; softer means using rockslides to keep it from climbing. Harder means we can pound spikes into the cliff face.

In either case, we will want chisels, spikes, ropes, climbing equipment, in addition to supplies. A talon of archers with commanders. A shield-bearing unit for protecting the Lady Remembrance, the Lioness and the Madman. For myself, I will requirethe Limb Rot outfitted with pikes. Iron-tipped weapons for everyone. Iron-inlaid shields for weathering their sorcerers, perhaps?"

The Queen's requisition orders come to: a bunch of weapons and equipment, Abyssal Command 2 worth of archers, plus Henchmen 1 for a heroic archer commander. Iron for everyone!

Edit: Shadowland mortals. Shadowland mortals are awesome.

[Aevylmar]

The First and Forsaken Lion stirs for the first time. It is best to let his deathknights make their own preparations while he makes his own schemes... and observes their actions. But now he turns to look at the Queen of Ice and Fire.

"Acceptable," he says with perfect calmness in his voice like a hammer on a steel sheet, and turns his gaze to the others at the table.

Mortal archers, or something special?

[Ifni]

Remembrance smiles down at the Lioness. "I bet I could carry you - you're not much bigger than my oldest niece was. We can practice flying beforehand, if you'd like." She pauses. "Although the spikes may make things a bit challenging, but I'm sure we can work it out."

"I can lead a unit with shields, if our lord provides it." She glances questioningly at the Lion. "My wings are already a loan, from the necrotech labs - but I think they may be useful, especially if they have a flyer." She turns back to the Queen. "I was a sergeant, in the Legion. I have experience leading small units, and once or twice I had to step in to take command in emergencies, but I've never planned a battle before. So I'll follow your lead, lady Queen, and try to learn."

"So the plan, as I understand it... rain arrows and fire and rocks down on them, figure they'll shelter behind the beast while it climbs up. Use sorcery to target Joy In Joy, to force Descending Fire to come up to fight us in order to defend his lady. The Lioness and I will aim to take him out, while your unit lady Queen deals with the beast, possibly with the aid of rockslides and spikes. We'll hope that Thrice-Drawn Bow's lesser mobility will keep him from engaging during that first battle, and that if he's down at the bottom of a ravine then archery will be difficult. Is that about right?"

"If so... will they be able to use sorcery in return, then?" She looks at the Madman. "I don't know if it works like arrows. Do they have to see us? Is there a way for you to stop it? Is there a way for them to stop you?"

[Lix Lorn]

"...okay..." says the Lioness, dubiously. Flying with Remembrance.

Well, the Remembrance part might be nice but she's not at ALL sure about the flying.

[Ifni]

"... hey now. Flying is fun." Remembrance reaches out to touch the girl's shoulder. "It can be a bit scary at first, but I know you're brave."

"But if you don't like it, I'll draw him over to the cliff for you. It says in his file he uses a lot of Charms based on courage, so he can probably be taunted into closing with us, especially if we can take down the one he's sworn to protect. Okay?"

[Lix Lorn]

"If you say so..." she says dubiously.

[Guancyto]

"Your assessment of the battle plan for the initial assault is correct, Lady Remembrance," the Queen acknowledged, "you are destined for a higher station than a fanglord, I think. I suppose the first principles are ones you have probably already heard; no plan survives contact with the enemy, but planning is indispensable."

"You should practice flying regularly as we travel," she says sternly to the Lioness from across the table, but she radiates confidence in the idea, "so you will be accustomed to it by the time you need to put it to use in battle. It's more complicated to act unfettered in three dimensions, but you'll adapt quickly.

As always."

[Obscurejones]

"You'll love them, Lioness. They're magical giant sparkle ponies. Made of wasps. Or maybe flies. Mostly wasps. They're very pleasant."
Racking his minds the Madman comes to a decision.
"If it would not trouble you my liege, I think I may leave my robotic assistant here for the duration of our journey. Perhaps a few vassals that my fellows can lead into battle on your behalf instead. Provided your willingness of course. Sir."

[Lix Lorn]

"...I like proper ponies more." nosewrinkle. "...maybe we should bring ponies? :O Maybe we should bring some armored knights! Doom cavalry! Death riders!" glee!

She's just spouting different buzzwords now.

[Obscurejones]

"If you ride the nice wasps I'll give you a whole pack of sugar maggots for yourself, alright?."

[Guancyto]

"There's no space for horses in this terrain," the Queen says sternly, "and cavalry perform poorly on difficult ground. We went over this before in lessons. The wasps will be adequate for your needs."

[GryffonDurime]

The Ambassador stifles a small laugh at the Lioness, a laugh that's both refreshing and at the same time, sad. He finally turns to the Lion and steeples his fingers, consumate showman still.

"All I require for my plans are mundane goods--some vellum, whatever's on hand will do, and a few pots each of inks and paints. But beyond the realm of necessity, it would certainly be an easement to have something just a bit sturdier on hand," he adds, looking down to his robes. "Do the Weavers of the Far Southeast still send their tributes in Essence silk?"

[Ifni]

"I can command your support troops, Madman, if you wish," Remembrance says politely to the sorcerer. She looks down at the map, studying it for marked shadowlands. Her lips move wordlessly as she tries to estimate distances. "We should work out lines of retreat in case they become necessary - we may have wings and wasps, but our troops won't."

Can I tell what shadowlands are closest to the ambush site?

[Aevylmar]

"Perhaps a few vassals that my fellows can lead into battle on your behalf instead. Provided your willingness of course. Sir."

The First and Forsaken Lion nods his acceptance to the Madman. "As you wish. They are yours to use as you wish."


"Do the Weavers of the Far Southeast still send their tributes in Essence silk?"

"You remember correctly," says the Lion. "They do. What is your preferred cut?"


Ifni: Yes, the shadowlands are clearly marked on the map. There's none very near it, though; fast travel and use of ghosts means you can probably carry enough supplies for a quick ambush, but there's at least a few days' march at infantry speed between you and any nearby shadowland. The nearest are to the north of the pass, roughly between you and it, with it between you and the Wyld.

[Ifni]

Remembrance waits for the Lion to finish speaking, then taps the map with one finger. Her fingernails are short and blunt, unadorned. "Do any of you have means of fast travel? I have my wings, but I doubt I can carry more than one other small person. It looks like a few days march between the closest shadowland and the ambush point - if things go badly, falling back won't be much of an option, and harrying the raksha for an extended period may also run into supply issues."

If I remember correctly, magic demon ponies also know quite a good version of Portal, which will probably help with transport :smallwink:

[Obscurejones]

The madman grins wildly as his brain plagarizes information from beyond the fourth wall. Don't try this at home. It's only for crazies.
"If I remember correctly, magic demon ponies also know quite a good version of Portal, which will probably help with transport."

[GryffonDurime]

"Anything cut in the styles of Gem will do nicely," the Ambassador says, with a small bow. "And if all does go poorly, I suspect that I can make a passable tail on the raksha," he adds, turning to Remembrance. "I would not relish the thought of endangering myself in that way for very long, but as I said earlier--I am a desert creature. I leave no footprints in the dunes, and I do not burn in the light of day."

[Guancyto]

"Very good," the Queen manages to look pleased at Remembrance without quite smiling; it's a trick of the eyes that she's long mastered, "you are thinking like a general."

She contemplates the map for a long moment; it is an exquisite tactical aid to have such an accurate layout. "If things go quite poorly... there are several narrower passes, here, and here," she points out the features, "they cannot bring their beast through them, and the advantage of spears will let us make a fighting retreat through them in order to regroup. I can keep any reserve informed of our situation and whether or not a resupply will be needed; a little trick of speaking on the winds.

The columns here can provide shelter from arrow fire if our enemy is exceptionally accurate." She draws out a path between their first ambush site and their presumed path of retreat. "And Ambassador Inktongue can doubtless be of service in leading them astray. And they do have business to attend to other than our demise; we have a great advantage in the opposite not being true."

[Aevylmar]

"Certainly."

He does not move, but one of the ghosts by the wall silently bows his way out, opens the door, and closes it behind him. Presumably, fetching the silk.

[Ifni]

Remembrance smiles at the Queen, a flush blooming in her cheeks in obvious pleasure at the compliment. "Thank you, lady Queen. And that is very good, that you have fast communication powers - as the Dragons' own do? I've often wished for such skills. I can report back to our lord from anywhere in the worlds -" She inclines her head to the Lion, "- or speak with weak ghosts and call them to my side. But it doesn't work with my fellow knights, unfortunately."

"Your plan for retreat sounds good. This region of columns might be vulnerable to attack from the air, but hopefully we can destroy Descending Fire quickly, and if not, we and our... magic-demon-pony-wasps -" She gets it out in a rush, sounding a little uncertain, "- can presumably provide an aerial screen for our troops."

"A 'portal' is like a door, Madman? Where do the doors go?"

Some discussion of the properties of portals later...

"And anyone can go through these portals? And they last how long?"

"... oooooh."

After five minutes of very enthusiastic explanation and marking off distances on the map (interspersed by pauses for Remembrance to count on her fingers)...

"... and we may not need much in the way of supplies in any case, then. If we leave a large cache in the shadowland, and equip our troops only with what they can easily carry... yes? Madman, you can summon one of these every evening? So even if they are slain, we should not need food and water for our troops for more than a day or so."

She taps her fingers on the table. "Still, we should all try to keep the... magic-demon-pony-wasps... alive, if we are relying on them for both flight and long-distance transport."

"If they can do this sort of thing... it would also let us get quickly down to the canyon floor, without having to fly through arrows. Just make a door down there. Say, right behind their sorcerers..."

The Midnight shakes her head, and looks back to the Madman and the Queen. "Oh! I meant to ask, when these dossiers talk about their morale... do you know if that means they won't break no matter what we do, like dead without minds of their own, or can we still make them run if we frighten them enough?"

[Lix Lorn]

"..."

The Lioness turns to look towards the grand figure of the lion, and, with all seriousness, says
"Can I have a pony?"

There's the briefest of stunned silences.
"One of the metal ones. That way it won't be scared of me or of the icky fairy things... can you make a pony out of frozen iron?"

[Aevylmar]

The First and Forsaken Lion looks at his daughter. If he had had a face, it might have shown some small apprehension. Ancient ghostly warlords tend not to develop resistance to the charms of psychotic children. "As you wish, daughter mine. A coldsteel horse has been crafted some time ago. For this task, it is yours."

The ghost he had sent quietly returns, wordlessly proffering an elegant suit - trousers, tunic, tabard and coat - in red-and-black essence silk and the most fashionable Gem cut to Hell's Ambassador.

At this point? If people want to do reaction posts, that's fine. If not, we can skip to the next scene. Aside from Rem's question about morale, which was answered OOC, we've got everything settled.

[Ifni]

Remembrance blinks. Looks at the towering armored figure of her liege, the terrible steel visage of the Deathlord who seeks dominion over two worlds. Looks at the Ebon Lioness, and the sheer glee in the little girl's eyes. Looks at the Lion again.

I think you are caught on terrain that does not favor you, my lord.

She tries very hard not to smile, but she's never been good at hiding her reactions.

"If that's everything, we should probably collect our troops and supplies - and the Lioness' coldsteel horse - and depart as soon as may be, to maximize our chances to strike at them on the road. If everyone is in agreement...?"

I'm happy to move on.

[Aevylmar]

Three Days Layer (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_scbziJUEog)

The First and Forsaken Lion nods, once.

"May the favor of the Neverborn follow you."

"You are dismissed."

And with those words, the meeting breaks up...

- - -

It took three days for the Madman to summon the demons, which days were not spent idle by the other Deathknights. The delivery of a magnificent (if slightly small) clockwork steed, charcoal-black with a mane the red of royal jade, provided an appropriate pony for the young Lioness to practice flying - under the Queen’s instruction, of course, when she could spare time from helping Remembrance with the preparations for the campaign. Gathering supplies, preparing soldiers, pulling men off leave - there were always some troops at a day’s readiness, but this was more efficient.

The commander of archers was old and dead and, as was made clear by the Lion, a man of Absolute Loyalty. What the first conversation with him also made clear was that Kallias Thonou was a man of due diligence, proper discipline, and sharply limited imagination, given the sheer amount of effort it took to explain to him just what the plan for near-instant transport was, and the correspondingly immense amount of effort he went into to try to explain that this wasn't part of the Official Military Doctrine without disrespecting his superior officers.

In the end, only Inktongue had nothing in particular to do; technically not part of the Lion's army though he had the run of Merciless. He wasn't ordered on the mission, his "presence was requested." What information he requested was his, but… no orders were given.

And time passed, and troops prepared, and in three days, the rituals were finished…

There was no grand procession out the main gate. The troops were readied, the order was quietly given, and, with little fuss, three beautiful demons, four Deathknights, Hell's Ambassador, a talon of nemissaries and a talon each of archers and spearmen assembled outside one of the side gates, as the Madman and his last monster finally arrived.

It was time to fly.

[Obscurejones]

The sorcerer leads his steeds in front of the army, soft comforting murmurs bubbling up from beneath a shabby threadbare false beard. He's girded himself for war, which for him only means a slightly less torn set of baroque clothing. From time to time soulsteel spiders can be seen peeking out of his clothes before skittering back across his body to hide in the dark.
"Now who are my beautiful lovely magic sparkle ponies? You are! Yes, you are. And we're going to go for lots of nice rides through the sky, raining down hell on Rakasha. You'll like that. Lots of aerial trickery and general wonderfulness. But first, the nice dead lady has a job for you, yes she does. We're going to take all those peons... See them over there?"
He points out the rather noticeable army to his demons with a sweep of his hand.
"Those are the peons. We're going to take them, and move them realllllly far away. We have maps and such to show you where. And then when you've moved all those peons for us, we get to fly Darlings. And kill lots of Rakasha. But mostly the flying."

[Ifni]

It is strange to Remembrance to be given command of unfamiliar troops. Always before, her fellow soldiers' respect and willingness to follow her improvised battle-plans had come first; official rank, if it came at all, came later.

It is strange, and discomforting, for it to be otherwise, and so when she is not organizing supplies and weaponry and checking troop rotation schedules, she spends much of the intervening three days drilling with the ghosts who will be her soldiers. The nemissaries' shields are differently shaped than those of the Legion, and their axes not much like the swords she's accustomed to; it's important that she understand the implications, so she can best order their formations. But just as important, she feels, is that she knows the soldiers, and they her; perhaps the trust she had in the Legion can't be built in three days, but it's better than nothing. They may be bodiless wraiths of Essence and malice, but they are still, in the end, her troops. (She's honest enough to admit to herself that she misses the trust and camaraderie she had in the Legion, as well.) And drill is fun; it's always been a joy to her.

The organization of the troops and their supplies is not so much fun as fascinating. It's not something she has a great deal of experience with, and she suspects the Queen of checking in to make sure she's doing it right. That's slightly embarrassing, but she's grateful for the help.

She stands with her troops as she waits for the Madman to arrive with his newly-summoned thrall. Her gaze keeps drifting to the - agatae, that's the proper word, she'd finally found it in one of the texts from the library. Granias' grace, she had never imagined demons could be so beautiful. Like the first sight of snow.

The Lioness' black iron pony looks a little drab by comparison, although she would never say that to the little girl, who's clearly delighted with her prize. And it is admittedly a steed worthy of legend, with its flame-jade mane and winged body as dark and gracefully flowing as if it were sculpted from inky smoke.

Remembrance glances over at the Queen and takes a step closer. "I'll suggest I go through first, once the portals are open," she says quietly. "It should be one of us, in case we've misjudged and there is something nasty on the far side; the little Lioness is good at personal combat but I doubt she'd know how to handle an army, even if it's just a matter of defending oneself while beating a hasty retreat. And your organizational skills are better than mine, and I wouldn't risk getting my mount shot out from under me."

[GryffonDurime]

Inktongue bristles, clearly and noticeably, at the Madman's infantalization of the agatae, but he suppresses whatever Infernal instinct he possesses, choosing instead to stay as much out of their sight as possible. Even with the Dragon's "blessing," even with his duties as the Ambassador of Hell, he had no doubt that information about his whereabouts or actions would fetch a high price in the courts of Malfeas.

Still, it was tempting: to reach out and touch one of them, to feel their shimmering bodies, still green sun-warmed. He had ridden horses in his mortal life, because he had been--and was, and would ever be--Delzahni, but there was no steed quite like a hellwasp.

But then, who was there to talk to? If not demons or their summoner, then--well, the Queen and the priestess were conversing, and it hardly seemed the sort of thing that he was likely to interrupt. Which left only...

"Have you seen the raksha before, my little Lioness?" he asks Ebon, hands folded behind across his chest, eyes set forward to the horizon and the future. "They are a curious species."

[Lix Lorn]

"I know lots about them." she says, with utmost seriousness. Her eyes fix on the Ambassador's. "I know they like pain and pleasure and sadism and love just the same. I know they kill for fun and burn cause the ash smells nice, and is tastiest when it's made with blood. But I also know they bleed too, and they bleed rainbows and lies."

She smiles widely. eyes wide open and fixed.
"They bleed good. It's the only thing they do right."

[Guancyto]

The Queen has wasted precious little time in preparation; she has three days in which to teach her men, her auxiliaries and her fellow commander. Drilling and discipline are a large part of it. Coordination between the pike and archer troops needs to be both fluid and exact; they are not accustomed to closely combined warfare, and she will accept no men lost to friendly fire.

Of course, if one wants to argue that the Queen is enjoying her work, one might only need to point to the rock wall she has hastily arranged construction of to train the men in climbing and rappelling while the Lioness streaks overhead on a magnificent necrotech pony.

Lady Remembrance has instead opts for ghosts, which the Queen has less taste for. Her fellow is nonetheless expert at her work, as she notes with some measure of mixed pleasure and concern when she surreptitiously keeps an eye on proceedings. It is as she suspected; that one will go far. But in whose service?

So when they are assembled and ready, she is confident that they are ready, and they feel as a mighty host rather than a skirmish force of a few hundred. The Queen is armored in a thick and all-covering suit of soulsteel plate, more reminiscent of a humanoid battering ram than a person. Spear, bow, blade, climbing axe. Now she gets to see if this particular idea even works at all.

"Your request is granted," she says to Remembrance; the little sergeant is the only one that can fly under her own power and provide an effective defense of their transport. "If you run into trouble, defend the wasps and then retreat."

[Aevylmar]

There were a great many things that Remembrance of Uncounted Sorrows could have seen, would not have been surprised to have seen. Desolate wastes, utterly abandoned. Bandits, yes, or an ambush by some of the Raksha for the other Raksha. Maybe they might discover that they had already been passed by the ambassadors they were hoping to ambush. And yet, as she flew through the third portal, what she saw was rather too absurd for plans.

The pass should be desolate; the Lion’s map showed that. A thin track, running through the mountains, abandoned by all but the most desperate outlaws or the richest caravaneers, and yet instead it thronged with life - all life that one might find in a desert, except far more… concentrated. Snakes and lizards, camels and austreches, mole hounds and sand swimmers - beasts small and large, predators and prey… all of them waiting, quietly, without eating each other. Some lurked on top of the cliffs above the pass, while others stayed out of sight on the far side of a bend in the pass.

You wouldn’t expect there to be any food for them, but artificial oases basins seem to have sprung up, or been dug (though where did the water come from) - out of sight from the main road, over the cliffs - and heaps of vegetable matter have been piled up next to them.

This can’t have sprung up naturally, and it must still have been made recently…

Feel free to make an Awareness roll if you want more information.

[Ifni]

Remembrance's eyes widen in surprise, and then in delight. The Neverborn's blessing has not stripped away her joy in puzzles, it seems, nor her fascination with the unexpected.

She knows little enough about the animals of the southern deserts, but she is almost completely certain those creatures are not behaving naturally. So are they an illusion, or controlled somehow? She glances at the ground, looking for tracks and ordure, signs that real beasts would leave.

If they are controlled... she focuses for a moment, drawing on her icy Essence - so precious, in this sunlit country - and cupping her wings to hover in the air. The wind sighs about her, telling tales to her trained ears, as it rises in warm thermals from the heated ground below.

Their formation looks almost what she would expect of an ambush. So do our raksha have other enemies? An Exalt, perhaps, with an army of animal servants? If the Madman can summon rivers of blood, perhaps another sorcerer might summon rivers of clean water.

She banks to head back toward the portal, studying high outcroppings of stone as she circles, looking for the places where a general might stand to oversee a battle. Extended flight is inefficient with these wings - or at least, extended maneuverable flight - and her job is to scout.

Oh, dear, Awareness. Rem's earlier incarnation as a Solar was known as The Oblivious...

Putting up Air Dragon Sight for surprise negation, from Personal.

[roll0] Perception+Awareness
If it should be Wits+Awareness it's one extra die: [roll1]

If the thing she's looking for/at is within 20 yards, [roll2] bonus dice from Air Dragon Sight.

Possible stunt: [roll3]

[Aevylmar]

They certainly... look real enough. There are tracks, yes, there is manure, yes. They really do look like real animals, aside from the fact that, as Remembrance correctly realizes, they are plotting an ambush.

The bottom of the pass is below the range of her Air Dragon's Sight, and she can't see any general-looking people on the ridge looking down.

Some of them do look up, but she isn't pursued as she returns back through the portals.

Give yourself a stunt die!

[Ifni]

Remembrance flashes back through the three portals, the space between them only a brief flicker of barren stone and sand and sky. She folds her wings and drops quickly to the ground in the shadowland, landing before the Queen. She dips her head to the mission's commander and then says cheerfully, "Someone seems to have gotten there before us."

She drinks in the Essence of the shadowland as she gives a full report on what she saw. That's better. The trickle of power from her hearthstone is constant even in Creation, but it feels oddly vulnerable to have nothing else, like being unable to breathe.

"Some of them looked up at me - there wasn't really anywhere to hide - but nobody shot me. There were large tracks and manure, so if it was just troops disguised as animals for some reason, or nothing but illusions, someone went to some effort."

She glances to the Madman, and the Ambassador. "I thought maybe it might be another Exalt, with a grudge against the raksha. Or a god maybe? I don't know enough about who could do this, to control the animals and use them as troops. They seemed to be set up along the cliffs and around the bend, ambush formations. It wasn't only predators, though, which suggests for a certain lack of selectivity in whatever magic was used to draw them."

Her hand is still on her blade, and she keeps glancing back at the portal.

Thank you for the stunt, I'll use it to pay back 2m of the cost of activating my wings. Air Dragon Sight motes are committed, of course.

[Guancyto]

The Queen's eyes narrow as she looks at the portal, as curious as Remembrance is.

"Interesting..." she says, "if that is as it appears, then our mission will be getting our Lord's associate out alive. That is preferable."

She points her spear at the gate, raising her voice, "nonetheless, we are committed. We will go through, find the one causing the disturbance and find their intentions, if we can. If they would be our ally, then so much the better. If not, then the day will be decided not by speeches but by iron and blood.

Knights, then spears, then bows. Stick close. Defend the wasps if the animals turn hostile. Let's go."

This time the Queen is the first one through, borne by one of the agatae! Although she has the sneaking suspicion that there will be a pony streaking over her head. That's just how things work.

[Ifni]

"Lady Queen -" Remembrance lowers her voice. "Perhaps the troops should hold back for the moment? We don't have a secured landing area on the other side, and just because I didn't see archers doesn't mean they're not there. If negotiations go poorly then we can make new portals to a landing site some distance away, and bring our units through there. The more people we send through the messier any withdrawal will be, and it'll give them an incentive to attack rather than talk if every minute they talk means more troops for us. It'd show them our capabilities - and limitations - as well."

She looks a little uncomfortable to be questioning the other Abyssal, but the thought of putting her troops in such a vulnerable position is worse.

[Guancyto]

"Lady Remembrance," the Queen said, severely but without malice, "you are a champion of the First and Forsaken Lion, possessed of strength that sets you above even the Dragons. If there is need to secure the landing area against anything up to and including the Kukla itself, I expect it to be secured.

That said," she raised a hand to signal a halt, "an honor guard is more appropriate for an offer to parley. Twenty of the best go with us. I will call for the rest shortly."

[Ifni]

Remembrance smiles, tosses a salute to the Queen, and turns to the Madman. "I'll ride double with you, sir, if you don't mind. I can defend you and your wasp, and jump off to fly myself if there's need. Ambassador, perhaps if you ride with the Queen? Then the third agata can begin moving troops."

She considers for a moment, but given the Queen's soulsteel plate, they're unlikely to conceal their nature. She points to six of the nemissaries, who she remembers favorably from drill - "Follow once the Lady Queen's chosen spears are through. Commander Kallias, if you would supervise the transfers from this end, and join us if the Queen gives the order."

She respects the old ghost, but he does seem rather set in his ways; she's not sure he would do well in negotiations. And someone needs to be officially in charge on this side of the portals.

A few moments later she is back in Creation, shield strapped to her arm but sword sheathed for the moment, looking down on the sunlit scene from the dizzying perspective of an agata's back.

[Lix Lorn]

"...I'm bored."
The Lioness kicks a stone in frustration, waiting with the rest.
"Can I go?"

[Ifni]

Remembrance twists around on the agata to give the Lioness a serious look. When she speaks her voice is unusually grave, even raised to be heard over distance and the hum of the wasp's wings. "Ebon Lioness, we are going onto what may become a battlefield. Decide for yourself: can you obey your commander's orders, and wait until after the situation is resolved to try to make friends with the animals?" She might be suppressing a smile, but if so there's no hint of it on her face or in her tone.

[Obscurejones]

The Madman's constant slight twitching calms for a moment, and when he speaks his voice is even and cool.
"If it is a spirit of some sort you may need someone properly trained to identify and deal with it. I would volunteer my services if they are desired."

[Lix Lorn]

Blink.

The Lioness' head tilts slowly to an angle, deeply confused.
"Why would I make friends with animals when there's a battle like five minutes away?"

[Ifni]

The Midnight nods to the Madman. "Ahead of you, sir. Fly with me. You can advise me on spirit etiquette and I'll shield you from any inconvenient archers."

At the Lioness' protest, Remembrance gives the cold iron pony a meaningful look.

"Good girl. Come on through then. But no spike-hugging people until the battle actually starts."

[Lix Lorn]

Pout!
"I know that! If I spikehug the people too early I don't get to do it later." scowl.

This has happened before.

[Aevylmar]

Kallias saluted. He was used to saluting; it was a comfortable way of life, and meant he needed to wonder what to do very rarely. He knew that the Chosen of the Neverborn were intelligent and wise and knew precisely what they were doing, and this meant that he, with firm determination, shoved his doubts about demonic magic firmly down and began barking orders.

- - -

Three Agatae and a cold iron horse went through the portal as out of Khydaka Pass rose a vaguely humaniform monster. Vulture-wings sprouted from armadillo-plated hide - thick, brown like dust, covered in layers and layers of plates, covered in swirling silver tattoos. Thick clumps of porcupine spikes stick out behind the shoulders, rush behind the head as hair, and grow along the hands and long, apelike arms, running along the backs of the hands and then extending claw-like from the fingers.

It wore long, baggy trousers, a tattered, sleeveless shirt, and a thin black silk veil, and was followed by the worshipful eye of every animal in the pass. Arms crossed, it ascends to match the Queen's eyes and then stops, arms crossed.

The voice is soft and sweet and lovely, so little like the body.

"The killing knights of the First and Forsaken. What do you will with the world of the Wyld?"

[Ifni]

Remembrance waves a cheery salute with the arm that doesn't have a shield attached to it. (That is, her sword-hand. She manages to avoid decapitating the Madman in the process.) "Greetings, Chosen of Luna!"

She inclines her head in acknowledgement of the other Exalt's words. "We might ask you the same question, but since you seem to have beaten us to the punch..." Her smile down at the animals is approving. "Although as a technical point, my understanding is that we are not currently in the Wyld."

"But what we will - death to our enemies, Chosen. In short. Not an original goal, but our own. But from your ambush formations, I might infer you have a similar objective in mind?"

1m to Exquisite Etiquette Style to get App to 6, avoid social missteps, and encourage people to do small favors; also does an automatic read-motivation action with 3 successes on our friend here (so won't work if his/her Manip+Socialize is 7 or higher). I really should have put a Presence specialty in Disturbingly Cheerful :smallwink:

Let me know if you would like me to actually roll social attacks, Aevylmar. (She is Charisma 5 + Presence/Performance 5 + currently App 6, for an initial calibration.) Rem may be slightly exceeding her authority here, but it's pretty obvious from their presence and the troops they're bringing through that they were here to kill somebody. And, well, Manipulation 1.

[Guancyto]

The Queen rides out with Inktongue with her, as much to keep him secure as to keep an eye on him. The transition through four sets of scenery in rapid succession is disorienting, and she keeps a tight grip on her mount. It's not supposed to let her fall, she knows that, but she doesn't trust it overmuch.

She is surprised at Rem's immediate recognition of the other party that rises to greet them (although not quite so much so as his immediate recognition of her), although she does her best to hide it.

"It is indeed," she waves a much more formal salute to the Lunar, "I hope we can discuss the who and how of it when we have our feet on the ground. I can swear that no harm will come to you while we speak."

Tossing down Exquisite Etiquette Style as well, for good measure. We are so damned cultured it hurts.

[Aevylmar]

The probably-Lunar's eyes flash from one to the other.

Its eyes open very slightly when they match the Queen's, and then studiously return to Remembrance.

"The Wyld wanders where it wills, regardless of whatever it wrongs."

The hair flexes, curling towards the face, quills pointing like the spears of a phalanx as the voice sweetly sings. "And they have wronged me, and I will be revenged." The lips tighten. "You need swear no oaths. Land what you will, and honor will be earned as it is deserved."

[Guancyto]

"Ah," the Queen says quietly, "to take retribution for injury is the right of all beings. It is an honorable cause, and it would be well for us to come to an accord."

She nods to the Lioness and Remembrance and spurs her wasp toward the ground. "We will land the honor guard," she says as much to the mount as to them. "I am the Queen of Ice and Fire, Bled of the God's Blood, Who Beheld the Reaper, Sworn Vassal of the First and Forsaken Lion; my companions may make their own introduction."

[Ifni]

"Remembrance is my name," the Midnight says calmly, as she steers the agata toward the base of the canyon. (Really it's more a matter of her waving hopefully at the ground, and the demon picking up her inexpert cues.) "Would you honor us with yours?"

"And I quite agree. May I ask if your revenge seeks particular targets, or is it their court as a whole?"

[GryffonDurime]

"I am Inktongue," the Ambassador says, his stony demeanor marked by strangeness--curious little tics, as if he were suddenly hiding in plain sight from all those that he traveled with. His eyes met with the could-be-Lunar's own, then flickered down and across its tattoos, greedy and clever and grateful. "A humble traveler in the in-between places."

Whatever plan had hatched in the Ambassador's head, it turned on the axis of his strange, startled, uncomfortable behavior.

[Aevylmar]

As the agatae circle down to land, the Lunar's eyes flash behind its thin veil, moving from one Abyssal to another, and then to Inktongue.

"I am the Thousand-Talon Tyrant, hunter of the hobgoblins of the hundredth horde, breaker of the unbreakable steel of Syrieth Sithisith, and I am the Sword of the Silver Pact. I greet you, Queen of Frost and Fire, and I greet you, Remembrance, and I greet you as well, Inktongue, and your companions. He that calls himself Hasasai of Seventeen Sorrows and all his companions have laid hands on my mortals, and blood shall pay for blood."

They touch ground, and the Tyrant lands, as well, wings shrinking into its back as it suddenly turns to Inktongue. "And what wounds will you will, humble traveler? Who shall it be when you kill?"

[GryffonDurime]

"Were that the world welcoming, I would wreck no wounds and wield no weapons, but deliver only weal," Inktongue replies, sinking downward on his knees to let the folds of his linen cloak drape low across the rock and sand. He pulls hems and hood tight for only an instant--just long enough to conceal the single moment when his shadow slinks up his lean form, sinking into his skin to leave him transformed.

When Inktongue rises, and lowers his hood anew, his face is strange, serpentine: glittering scales the color of sand and snow and gold, and a crest of great feathers where his hair had been. Silver tattoos--swirling, entrancing, ancient--swim across his new face as he bows low, hands folded in some show of respect.

"Strange tides bring strange fellowship, brother," he says at last, long snake's tongue flicking at the tips of his new lips. Against all instinct, the Ambassador does not betray the newness of his form, wearing the disguise like a familiar set of clothes.

[Ifni]

Oh, he can shapeshift! Or at least craft an extraordinary disguise. The widening of the Midnight's depthless black eyes, the tilt of her smile, the shift of her attention from the Thousand-Talon Tyrant to the new "Lunar", all betray her fascination. But after a moment she manages to stop staring, inclines her head to Inktongue, and settles back on her agata - content, apparently, to listen.

[Lix Lorn]

awed gasp

Perhaps the lunar who has taken so much in stride will be a little more impressed by the heavily armoured child, staring with wide eyes at Inktongue.

[Guancyto]

Perhaps in contrast to her companions, the Queen's face shows only a thin frown at Inktongue's latest revelation. The look in her eye says only, 'is this necessary?'

On the one hand, it doesn't seem needed to mislead this Thousand-Talon Tyrant; on the other hand, she reminds herself, she isn't even properly certain that it is actually a deception. If there is one Chosen of the Moon in the Lion's service, why not two? And if such a being will serve a deathlord, why not a yozi?

She will question him about it later.

For now, she looks between the two of them. "There was some mention of mortals traveling with their group. Are they yours?" She doesn't quite sound hopeful, but there is a certain note of optimism; a rescue and deliverance of rightful vengeance sits much easier with her than their original purpose.

[Aevylmar]

There is a pause of perhaps half a second, and then the Tyrant laughs.

"Bare is brotherless back," it says, clasping Inktongue's hand in a firm grip, "And silver tides are ever strange."

And turning to the Queen. "Of the faerie feast, some small share was stolen from my mortals." There is a possessive tone in that voice. My mortals. "Inktongue, indeed? Why will you and yours wreak ruin among the Raksha?" And suddenly, turning to the Lioness. "Child - why carve chaos here?"

[Lix Lorn]

She blinks, tilting the other way and looking up.
"Depends... 're you asking why carve THIS chaos, why carve chaos at all or why's it me doing the carving?" blink blink blink.

[GryffonDurime]

"What need is there for reason in dealing with the Raksha? Their ruin is delight enough in itself," Inktongue pronounces with certainty, every syllable stressed just enough to seem like he was trying to convince Tyrant of its truth while being, quite to his comrades' surprise, a terrible liar. "But it seems you have reasons enough for your own feud. Tell me the tale, brother. Was it glorious? Did you slay them all while singing a moon-hymn? In what forces were they arrayed against you?"

[Ifni]

Remembrance, unaddressed by the Lunar, is thoughtfully studying the animals assembled in the canyon bottom. A lot of these should be faster than our troops. Use them as harriers? If they're trying to keep the mortals alive, their battle plan will need revision: arrows and fire flung down into the canyon will not discriminate between raksha and humans. She might be able to make the mortals bolt as one, while holding the raksha in place by the strength of the story: her tutors had mentioned the increased efficacy of that Charm against the Fair Ones. They'll need to defend the humans' retreat, in that case - perhaps the pikemen might provide a wall for them to shelter behind. The Midnight's gaze flicks along the canyon, mapping out its twists and turns.

She interjects, apparently on the spur of the moment, "Thousand-Talon Tyrant, will your beasts mark the mortals, and withhold from wounding them? Or do you not seek to reclaim them, only your revenge?"

A beat later she lowers her eyes, looking a little abashed. "Sorry. I too would hear the tale of the theft and your proud pursuit. And these mortals, and what they are to you - your kin, your liege-sworn, your slaves? How gained you your name?"

I was waiting for a reply from the Tyrant, but nobody had posted in four days, so thought I would poke :smallwink:

[Aevylmar]

The Thousand-Talon Tyrant looks back and forth between the three that spoke, and draws breath to speak, pausing a moment to answer Remembrance.

“The mortals will have mercy. I called these packs to heel to hunt; only their true targets their teeth will feel.”

It holds its head up high. The spikes along its shoulder rustle in the slow wind. “My purpose, in the short - for wrecking Raksha myriad by myriad, I was chosen by cunning clans as chief. Some scores of years passed and then the silver summons sounded. When the council concluded, mine own subjects were stolen. So - steel sings and the thieves tremble in terror. Among these captives is one who was of my kith; killing his captor clears deep debts. Seven swordsmen and six speakers sleep in stone or stomach; five foes still to fall.”

“Now, Knights. I pray your purpose, speak and not be silent.”

The look it gives to Inktongue is very clear, eyes flashing between sentences.

"We will speak later."

[Guancyto]

The Queen shoulders her spear as she listens, considering his words. Scores of years; as a being that can look however he wants, the Tyrant is quite experienced. Even if his choice of troops are less than useful for their purposes, he himself has slain a number of fae. So much the better. They have enough troops for a combined engagement, and the mobility of their enemy will quickly leave the mortals behind once battle is joined, if they are flexible.

She can't tell him everything, of course, but she can provide the essential details.

"The Lady Remembrance is quite succinct in saying that our purpose is death to our enemies, but not quite completely accurate. Our Lord requires one of these fae, alive if not well, for his own purposes. A specific one. The rest will be slain."

Of course, it will have to come out that it is Hasasai eventually, but she will assess the strength of his conviction first. Decide the specifics of how to proceed when she sees the hatred in him.

"There is precious little room for negotiation on this point. However," there is a measure of understanding in her crimson eyes, "there is a saying, 'a man waited one hundred years, then took his revenge. It was quick work.'

I will not ask you to give up your vengeance against the one our Lord has ordered us to leave alive, for that one has transgressed and will pay for it. But if you will but forestall it for a period of some years - less than one hundred, of course - I am prepared to offer the assistance of the First and Forsaken Lion's finest in retrieving your kith and carrying out your vengeance against the others."

Using Scathing Cynic Attitude to get a bit more insight as to his motives, and hopefully pick up if he's not telling us something. But maybe not!

Let me know if I need to roll a social attack as well.

[Ifni]

"Magic is mine to bind the raksha to a song of strife, of victory or death." Remembrance shrugs, smiles. "I can help ensure that none flee your fury to die another day, Thousand-Talon Tyrant. Save for the one whose life - at least for now - our lord requires, as the Queen has said."

She settles back in her saddle and watches the Lunar curiously, waiting for their (her? that lovely melodious voice...) reaction.

[Aevylmar]

The Tyrant bristles, pauses, considers slowly... and nods.

"And he who you will my hunt halt is Hasasai. Hah. All shall be as you ask, Queen. I will wait, and another day death's dominion shall hold Hasasai. Nonetheless - spin your song, singer. If one lives, let it be so. Only - one."

It lowers its claws, hands at its sides, as the demons land once more, the soldiers climb off, and they return to fly back through the portal.

Is there any more conversing we want in this scene, before we move to one with Inktongue and the Tyrant talking, while the others discuss the situation?

[Guancyto]

"Very good," the Queen is pleased, the respect in her tone more obvious now. There is something about the Tyrant that seems familiar, although it might be the fact that he's one of the very few people (and nearly the only living one) she's met with a similar code of honor to her own.

"I do not ask it lightly. A period of... one year, should be sufficient for our Lord to make what use he can of that particular tool. When next this season comes," she meets his eyes, "I will trust that not even death will save Hasasai of Seventeen Sorrows."

[Ifni]

"So may it be," Remembrance smiles. "Now. We have spears and bows, ghosts and sorcery. You have your beasts. We should determine a battle plan. You have more experience against the fae than any of us, Tyrant - how would you proceed?"

"Since you need to save your kith - I wonder if we can stampede the daikaiju they ride? We had intended to rain down arrows, but best if we can get the mortals clear first. Are your stolen ones battle-trained, Tyrant? Are they likely to realize what's happening when we attack?"

Wouldn't mind some brief tactical discussion, but then I'm okay letting the "Lunars" chat.

[Aevylmar]

The Tyrant's cheeks drawing back into what may be a smile, under the veil.

"Have I Hasasai's head, all will be well. Else, blood bays for blood, and dishonor will be avenged."

It shrugs with a clatter of spikes and then moves in a blur to the edge of the pass, to survey the battle-site.

"Allies' arrows will wound only others; mine own are guarded. The Raksha behemoth bears a cage of unbroken, barless bronze, and in it are my mortals. Its soul is ironbound, heart held in the handler's domain, sealed into service. Stampeding might seldom succeed. Sorcery - perhaps. Mine own is petty; water in the wasteland and food for the famished."

It considers. "When I went my way to Khydaka Pass, I thought to hurl my horde, to distract the fragile phantoms while I fly to wreck the winged Raksha, before descending to destroy the faerie themselves. Angry animals are hardly a match for phantoms, for all their fangs and furies." It surveys the lines of soldiers now being drawn up with a grudging respect.

"Dead-iron discipline dares where bestial brawn breaks," it admits softly. "Your command can conquer."

[Ifni]

"Entirely excellent," Remembrance smiles. "We had thought to rain down arrows and fire and stones from the cliff edges, and target sorcery against Joy in Joy, to try to draw Descending Fire up to face us in the air. Thrice-Drawn Bow commands the daikaju, we believe. Once their warmasters are vanquished, the diplomats should be easy enough to slay. I can silence their voices if that is necessary - I do not know to what degree they can exercise their arts even in battle."

"If you would help Ebon and I take the flying raksha, that would be most welcome - my wings are transient, and it would be well to keep the agatae out of the thick of combat." She strokes her demon-wasp's glittering chitin wing-casing, somewhat fondly.

"And do you mean all your own are warded against allies' arrows, the animals too? Or only the mortals in their cage? If the former... how do you do that? It sounds very useful."

[Guancyto]

The Queen is entirely glad to not be the one to criticize the Tyrant's rather dubious choice in soldiers; if it had been his intention to find honor in flinging himself upon the spears of his enemies, she would not have been surprised. As the soldiers fly through portals and are arrayed before her, she strides along the battle line, cape billowing in the wind.

"Solid bronze will keep out our arrows and stones without trouble," she announces, "moreso with them separated from the raksha, there is little chance of accidentally firing on them. Our sorcery should suffice for their leader and their war-beast both, and if not," her golden spear catches the sun as she points it toward the pass, "then the arms of the Lion's champions will rain down upon them like the talons of the shrike."

She stands closer, her voice softer. "You wish to speak with your brother, I trust. If our accord is made, we will see to our dead-iron discipline."

[Aevylmar]

The Lunar nods, silently. "Wings we'll break before descending on the diplomats? So shall it be." Then shakes his head. "Only the mortals are warded, but only they am I sworn to shield."

It looks back and forth between the Abyssals. "We are in accordance." It reaches out to gouge a gash into its right hand with the left, then holding it out to the Queen of Frost and Fire. For a moment, the blood still drips from the wound.

[Guancyto]

The Queen hesitates, looks at the Tyrant's hand for a moment.

"Once, my blood was my right to rule, granted by the gods," she says, apprehensive, "and for it to be mixed with another's was a grave sin."

Closing her eyes, she decides. "That blood was taken from me. What remains will be but half of our bond." A quick slice with a dagger and a clasp of his hand is all that it takes. Even so, she has to focus on looking at the Tyrant so that she doesn't back out. Another transgression. Another step away from the queen that was.

"I-I will see to my troops."