Quest I. Vox Populi, Vox Dei [Priskil marked + Torc]

[Tarot]

Now that they knew where they stood, it was time to discuss the details, the strategy. In fact - although the Order didn't know it yet - Kelwyn would take care of a lot of that, tracking down Krigel Avisata and taking him to Zagaria... where everyone would see how strongly he differed from the hype and expectations. This night had unexpected things in store for Priskil's marked, and it all began with the massive double doors opening with such violence that they turned a full 180 degrees and slammed into the walls. Plaster crumbled from the impact. The air tensed suddenly, electricity almost tangible on the tip of the tongue. No-one seemed to have pushed the doors, but a diffuse glow invaded the room from the corridor beyond. Even Priskil was taken aback, completely ignorant as to what was going on. Several men had their hands gripping the hilts of their weapons, but when the apparition crossed the threshold all killing intent left their minds. Was it a ghost or a man? Too incorporeal for the latter, but also far too grandiose for the former. He floated in the air, surrounded by a yellow aura of immense power. The contours of his figure could be barely made out, but he was middle-aged and dark-skinned, with a sagely face framed by a salt-and-pepper beard. This was a ghost, yes, but the ghost of a god. He looked somewhat distressed, but his features flickered in and out of reality all the time, making a full reading impossible. “Aquiras...?" Priskil said wide-eyed. The apparition opened its mouth to speak, but the sound that came out was like an indistinct chorus in an unfamiliar language. The face was looking very frustrated now. “My love, what are you trying to tell me? It's too dangerous, your life is hanging by a thread!" But Aquiras tried again, and this time a few words could be made out in the resulting cacophony. “... new heart... you'll face a choice... wrong... both undone... very careful." “Very careful about what? I can't understand!" Aquiras' simulacrum faded almost all the way out, but managed to stabilize itself once more. It shook its head. “... no more time... used too much energy... will cause you trouble... the Platform... weakened... under attack... love you." And with that, the divine specter simply collapsed into a point-sized singularity that vanished from the world like a cooling ember. “The Platform?" Priskil murmured, “Did he use energy from the Platform to summon himself here? How reckless. If the Platform falls his life is forfeit. The Watchtowers too..." The ground shook violently, and paintings fell from the walls. Several of those who hadn't been sitting lost their footing. A huge crashing sound broke many windows upstairs. It came from the nearby Watchtower.

[Torc Ironwood]

OOCHey everyone… I know its been a while, but since starting the new job I have been working doubles a lot. Most of the time I am exhausted and my mind is in overload. For instance, the whole phasing of light from energy and matter came to me in a dream. Which tells you how crazy and mixed up my life is right now. I promise I will try to start posting on the weekends, but I am not sure about the quality that will come out. Thanks for understanding and Xalet thanks for not giving up on me. For a brief moment Torc felt blood rush to his face as he looked at the Nuit. Of all the petching things to say! Torc, had the overwhelming feeling of walking over to Jiliste and putting his half-Isurian fist through her face. The vivid image of her face caving in like some kind of rotten pumpkin, made him all the more angry. He had come here to give Priskil’s hope a reality. What did it matter his reasons? For all her years, Torc felt like Jilitse was some kind of young girl trying to get all the attention. Look at me! Look at me! I think your ideas are horrible and aren’t even well thought out! Everyone I am a great thinker because I can tear down a new idea, and not replace it with one of my own! Don’t worry, I will make sure that he doesn’t do anything, because my whole job will be to tear him down and do no work at all! Torc thought in a high whiny voice. Just as he was about to finally break down and yell at Jilitse, Priskil spoke up. Torc turned to the goddess with anger in his eyes and as he looked at her, the message that Lhex had given him came home. There is no way of around it: for you would make and therefore you must risk your own unmaking. I must risk my own unmaking… Lhex voice sounded again from deep in his mind. If you should stop being true to yourself, this ‘two’ will invariably catch up to you. Anger was not his way, logic was not his way. His true self dealt with knowing and belief, it dealt with meaning and understanding. All the good things he had ever created had come from feeling the very thing that he made. Knowing its essence in his mind and then bring it out through creation. The material construct of his creation was imperfect just like everything else, yet when he held it in his hands, when he felt its presence in his mind, it was his ideal come real. Aquiras cared little about destinations, he had cared for the journey. Torc looked down at his feet and felt the restless energy in them. Aquiras knew all roads lead to one place… home. Where ever Priskil was Aquiras was home, for all roads had connected her to him, and as he walked them and absorbed the stories of fellow travelers, he found her in the meaning of them. Aquiras traveled because in his life the meaning of the journey brought him home. Within Torc mind he felt the spread of thousands of lines spread out from him. He was separate of these roads, links, events. Just like Lhex was separate and apart of every connection. Everything was a traveler, and Priskil felt lost without her guide, friend, and lover by her side. For her, the meaning of the journey was lost behind her. She had become stalled in hope for his return, and yet knew no way back to him. She had surrounded herself with hope, with people who were searching and doing their best to bring back meaning to something that had been lost. Torc felt some pathways lighten and slowly rise, the thought had brought them in harmony with his mind. Torc began to feel them stretch onward, Kelwyn was present in some of them, for the god and goddess of lost causes treadled the roads of hope. Yet, down some of those pathways, darkness and evil could be found, just as light and goodness could be found else. Yet as people made their way down those pathways Lhex had brought some of them together in a strange crossroads of sorts. The god of fate, cared not how one arrived at his crossroads, because he waited and shaped the landscape to bring many paths to him. Nor did he care about the decision that one made when they left the crossroads, his power was to bring those things together for one instance and allow them freedom to choose their own path afterward. That was why Aquiras didn’t want worship, because he wanted the people to enjoy the journey and find their own path to him. He looked back at Jilitse and realized that she was focus on the result and making sure the path they took was the right one for everyone. Torc had believed in the meaning, knowing that whatever path they would take would be filled with imperfections. Be true to yourself… what was the meaning behind the ingredients? It was beyond a doubt that each ingredient added power to the heart and yet what was the meaning behind them all. The first ingredient had been to melt a thousand mountains, the size of Mt. Skyinarta or greater. Though it sounded very logical to find a material world that contained such a thing, and yet what was behind it? If Torc needed only five pounds why lay waste to a mountain range? Yet it wasn’t just about the power it took, nor the release of it, it was about the meaning behind it. Torc scanned the crowd again. Each person here had a will the size of a mountain and faith in there goddess just as big. Torc had planted a seed in them just as he had planted a seed of hope in the goddess. Their mountains of will melted as their goddess spoke her command, and yet they had to choose the right five pounds of faith and will that would carry them to their destination in which the meaning translated into reality. Torc took a cleansing breath and inhaled the scent of the room. Heat from the crowded bodies had been to build in the room, just as the smell of meat and humanity mingled. Yet with it he felt that connection rise back in him. The pathway that Torc wanted to take also lead to Lhex’s fated crossroads. At the thought of the road before them, Torc turned his head to see the doors burst forward by energy. Had Torc not been so in tune to feeling the world he would have wondered if it was a fate or random chance, that made him turn his head and eyes to the doors before they had opened. Instead if felt right, because a part of him felt the watchtower energy pulse and then solidify. Light was a wave of energy and reality, Torc knew this like he knew his arm contained bone, blood, and yet also molded the energy of his self. When Aquiras appeared and began to speak, Torc began to understand the problem that he was having as he faded away. It wasn’t just that Aquiras spiritual being had been dying for five centuries, but it was also because he was using light to convey his message. It’s power needed to hit in different waves to carry the full meaning. Aquiras was dying and the roads that he could have used to channel the light into reality and then back into energy were slowly become lost. Torc felt that if Aquiras had taken countless thread of light and had them insect at the place he wanted, they could have moved in the wave that was their nature, but he would have presented an solid image. Torc felt the meaning of what was happening, Aquiras couldn’t use multiple pathways to send his message through, so like a bunch of rolling hills Torc and the rest of the group only saw brief moments the god and heard fragments of his message. The entire message was there, just out of phase to all of them. Time, roads, and light were fragmented and therefore gave them a fragmented message as the rest of its energy transitioned and was lost to the shadows. For light was like a man running and then walking again on a road. Get enough people together doing it in an orchestrated moment and it looked like everyone was running. Only have a few people doing it and many different roads and you saw them running and walking. The meaning behind the message was clear, the roads of choice would bring them to a crossroads of fate. The choices they would face would undo their meaning of the journey. When he spoke of the Platform, Torc began to have a vague uneasy feeling, and then when a huge crashing sound occurred the feeling began to rip through him and shatter the intense feeling of the world around him. “Priskil?! Did we just lose the watchtower outside?” Was it because Aquiras was using the road of light to reflect his image? “Priskil, was it because of something reflected from this platform that rippled out? Or is someone trying to use or attack the roads of light?” Torc didn’t really know how he knew, but his feeling was that the Platform was not just a big junction point for all the watchtowers, like some weave of cloth entwining all the roads of light together, it was also the place where the material could keep physical presence without dispersing, allowing the travel by the watchtowers to be safe. It made sense because the meaning of Priskil words brought it out of Torc’s mind. Aquiras was linked to the platform because it provided stability for this being to exist and still phase out of existence at the same time. Torc, also began to feel a massive headache starting to come into existence over his left eye.

[Xalet]

Xalet was one of those who moved his hand toward his weapon in the first few moments of the doors bursting forth. Constant drilling involving high stress situations had taught him to over-ride common reasoning with muscular memory. That memory usually said, 'arm yourself!' The thought didn't last long as his eyes watched the various fluctuations within his spectrum of vision as the spirit-like entity moved through the hall. As things began to solidify, he realized the spectral image before him had a very particular look, not to mention a powerful aura that Xalet had not felt in even the most skillful Mage Knight.

"It can't be..." was said in a whisper, her dared not say it too loud. Priskil called the Gods name with similar surprise. Had the impossible become possible again? No, that wasn't Aquiras, at least not in his full glory. It was just a remnant, the slightest bit of power mustered in order to make this appearance. Xalet had never heard of such an incident, what could the Lord of Doors possibly have wanted to say so much? Xalet could make out bits and pieces, but it was too cryptic and garbled to force any meaning through.

The second bit of information carried more coherency to it, but none of what he heard was good news. Especially the last part. "Under attack, does he mean--" and then the ground beneath his large plated feet shook, causing a side to side wobbling motion to travel up his body until he splayed his arms out to catch himself from falling. His gear pack nearly shuffled off of his shoulders and his shield fluttered against his backplate, creating a resounding clang of wood on metal. Pieces of artwork clamored down from the walls and it seemed he wasn't the only one that almost took up a horizontal position upon the ground. Luckily in the commotion the curse he let out in his nature tongue was shielded by other noise. It was a long one too.

The first thing that crossed his mind was those last few words, 'under attack'? Though Xalet wasn't much of a strategist himself, attacking while all Priskil's marked were in the same area seemed like quite the plan, but everyone was still alive, that much was clear simply by looking around the room. So then what? Quickly he carried himself over to one of the windows if he could even make it through the crowd in an attempt to see just what had caused the ruckus. If it wasn't possible, then the only other option was to step outside.

[Jilitse]

Jilitse was rather disappointed that she would no longer have the time to toy with the feelings of Torc Ironwood. He had followed the words she said: defended himself whenever threatened, reacted when nudged with pointy opinions. Pulsers, so transient with their emotions yet rather predictable. IIn the end, she knew, that they will learn how to agree to disagree, and at that point she would have added a friend to her friends list (though it would not come until much, much, much later, after a few dozen arguments). She was slowly beginning to see the good in speaking up, in stepping forward. And then the doors opened abruptly, shocking even the flat-faced Nuit. Terror crowded Jilitse. The first instinct was to hide, shield herself from harm. There was a form of power in the surroundings, it was so strong that even without personal magic, Jilitse felt like cowering. She was a spooked Nuit, terrorized. Her initial instinct was to preserve herself, and in her near helplessness she snuck beside Xalet - tall and alive on top of being a Squire. She loosened her headgear, adjusted her cloak, and let out a croak, almost as if she was being suffocated. Her eyes slowly widened as they took their time to choose if what was happening was the end of the world or the 'ghost' of Aquiras barging into the room. At Priskil's confused words, she lifted her head, eyes fixated onto the form of Aquiras. She had seen the god before in his 'deathbed'. The awe of witnessing his ethereal self out of coma pinched at her soul, tugged at a forlorn feeling that was long lost. Without thinking, she stepped closer to the ghost, fear and a novel feeling she couldn't yet pinpoint revolting inside her decaying body. Her ears strained to listen, but her eyes did better. Reading lips was something she had done before, but only to watch a moment's revelation of feelings. A slight smirk, a smile, a tremble. She had gotten used to watching people that it was nearly mechanical. Today, maybe her faultless memory could serve some purpose. While she was not able to memorize it all, as Aquiras kept on flickering like candlefire dancing, she managed to remember the some of his words - or at least, how his mouth was shaped like. Those last few words. What the-- She tried repeating it to herself before telling Xalet. Oops, too late. Before she was able to parrot Aquiras, the ground shook and she lost her footing and tumbled on the floor. An overwhelming sense of self-preservation ran over her, and the thought of not wanting to die flared within her soul. The feeling enveloped her, threatening to crush her skin. Her gnosis mark glinted, but the energy that surrounded her hands were not Priskil's power. She moaned as her hands shivered. Not-going-to-die. She repeated it to herself. Not-going-to-die-here. And then there was a blast of pain on her arm, a bittersweet sensation flowing through her skin. NOT-GOING-TO-DIE-HERE. It was her mantra. Surely somewhere in the Ukalas, Dira would be smiling at the Nuit's insistence about not dying (yet). The windows broke and the room danced. The Nuit's pupils dilated (even more than they already are) and she realized something she had always feared to admit: She could feel her own djed, even without her animation circle. Jil shut herself away from panic and embraced the power of magic that spread along her arm and fingers. It hurt to wield djed - for her, at least - she grimaced at the ebb and flow of the energy from her body as it escaped outward. Compounded with the pain was the knowledge, or the lack of it, of how to put the djed to good use. She struggled to hold the djed close, coiling her fingers as if the power was a sheet of cloth that she could grip at. The earth shook, her vision swirled and she didn't have time to think. She had released djed, wasted it, and soon she would be privy to the secret of "how-do-the-other-Nuits-in-Sahova-burn-out-their-bodies-quickly". The dead had no renewable source of magic, except perhaps their ichor, and even that was not much of a power source - use too much of it and you'll die. For now she managed to cling desperately at her raw magic force, which said a lot for a one-sided mage. She pulled her arms close to her chest, felt the vibrations of her soul. The pain was a dull ache now, and the djed was humming. "... no more time ... used to much energy ... will cause you trouble ... the Platform ... weakened ... under attack ... love you." What were the words in-between? She tried to envision Aquiras' again, his lips, their movement, his words. I love you, to Priskil. That much she knew, even without trying so hard to interpret and translate Aquiras' voice. I love you. The djed was humming, and she willed herself let it go. OOCAmarhyl, where are you? On another note, I will make my Nuit learn Shielding (if the opportunity presents itself), and in here I'm just making her learn how to use personal djed. Um, more for Tarot than for me (if I'm doing it wrong, feel free to correct me)

[Amarhyl]

OOCI'm here, sorry. I had to take an unplanned hiatus. Also, excuse my post, it's been a while and I was just getting caught up with everything that had happened since my last post.

Amarhyl was quite content to stay standing slightly behind the others, tucked neatly out of sight for the time being. She seemed to have landed herself in the only group in the room that actively voiced their thoughts and concerns. Of course, they were all valid, and while there were things she couldn’t comprehend, she was starting to fully understand what they were working with and against. She was not used to thinking so hard about consequence; her father had always told her ’what will be, will be’, and he had never hesitated to jump feet first into whatever task he was faced with. As cheers from the Order rose, she nodded and clapped along lightly. By his words, it seemed that Xalet thought along the same lines as her father had done. As Jiliste spoke again, not to the room but to the small group around her, the girl caught her gaze. Another nod was given, this time in response to the Nuit’s question. ”I have time. I’ll always have time to help Priskil.” She paused for a moment. ”I just… this is so much bigger than anything I’ve ever had to understand before. It’s a little overwhelming.” Amarhyl certainly spoke properly, like someone much older than herself, but really she was still a child. Amarhyl was among those who jumped violently when the doors slammed open. Wide eyes glanced over to the entrance and she squinted in confusion. She took a sharp intake of breath as the apparition moved into the hall. Surely it couldn’t be him? It seemed the Goddess herself was equally stupefied. The information that he was trying to convey was difficult to make out. ’Under attack’? She took a glance around the room. Everything seemed as it had been, though panic was starting to creep in. Before she had time to try and work it out, the ground beneath them shook violently. Caught completely off guard, the girl stumbled before loosing her footing completely. From her new position on the floor, she could see several others had fallen too, including the Nuit, Jiliste. She managed to struggle back to her feet as the sounds of crashing filled the room. The Watchtower? Curiosity and worry eclipsed the raw fear, and she made to follow Xalet to one of the windows.

[Tarot]

Lost in distant thoughts, Priskil hesitated over her answers. Thankfully, Weliardina filled in for her like so many times before. No-nonsense and efficient as ever. “The Platform,” she explained to a shocked audience of marked followers, “links all the Watchtowers together. I don't really know all the details, but for any two towers to connect, they're supposed to see each other or something. As that's obviously impossible to do given the distances and landscapes involved, there's a middle link that watches over all the towers at the same time. And the only place it can be is...” The priestess pointed a finger up, but naturally it wasn't the ceiling she meant. “Above. Above the mountains, above the clouds. Probably above the sky as you know it. It's some kind of eye, some nexus of great power. A stepping stone for any and all Watchtower travel.” It was difficult to imagine being turned into ethereal Djed, shot towards a speck in the sky at near light speed only to be reflected back to Mizahar and towards another Watchtower, and there was much more to it, but it was probably the closest thing to an explanation. The Watchstones on top of the structures therefore doubled as beacons for interacting with this cosmic middleman. Priskil bit on her lip, frowning, her concentration broken. “There's... something... up there. Something old and hungry.” She looked at Torc. “I think Aquiras drained light from the Platform's warding barriers to manifest here. It was so important to him that he risked it all... but something must have been waiting for it. And now it's making its move.” Meanwhile, those who rushed to the windows had to exit the meeting room and peer out of the corridor. The Watchtower was still standing, but the Watchstone on top had turned a midnight black in the falling shades of evening. Moreover, dark clouds were amassing far away in the distance, strange lightning storms lit up the horizons with sick, unnatural colors. Priskil shook herself into action. She cleared her throat and tried to address her faithful. “My friends, it would seem there is a great danger upon us. Our Watchtower is taking a voluntary nap from which I can rouse it with a little effort. The others, though... they're acting on one of Aquiras' ancient directives. He mentioned it a few times, a long time ago. I think they are basically abducting random people and transferring them to the Platform to confront whatever's up there. The unpleasant thing is, at least one with our marks is supposed to be there to trigger its defenses. And we... we're all here. Meaning that we don't have a single soul up there who can truly turn the tide.” The pain was apparent on her face. She'd basically admitted that people were being abducted and flung skyward as little more than fodder. On top of the fact that Aquiras had risked so much to deliver that sliver of a message... just how crucial could it be? “We must correct that presently,” Dina concluded. “You get the tower working again. I'll pick a few volunteers and get them there as soon as you can.” The iron lady of Priskil wheeled on the balls of her feet and slammed her hands on the table. “You've heard her. I'm looking for a handful of people with balls, real or figurative. We're going somewhere people are not meant to be. Priskil told me it's a cold, dark place. It's a dot of light in an ocean of black void... an empty cold so alien it makes your blood boil. If we die there, our frozen bodies will float around this world long after our children are gone. But if we don't go, Aquiras and the Watchtowers are done for - and everything we've done will have been in vain. So, who's with me?” And this time, to be truthful, there was no unison, no rush to step forward. It was one thing to volunteer in principle, with abstract dangers looming somewhere in a misty future. It was another thing to fly towards cold, unknown death among the stars in a matter of chimes. This was a thing for lions.

[Xalet]

OOCYou can count on me to ride the Priskil roller-coaster to the end!

Xalet had learned things he couldn't have ever dreamed of. Beyond the simple land he knew was more. High above, it felt like somewhere out of reach was the realm of the Gods. Much of it was foreign to a young Akalak like Xalet, far too deep for his shallow eyes to fully observe. It was always told to him, no matter who the Knight, that when the path became clouded and the mind was confused you had to follow your heart.

The things that were wrong he could plainly see for himself. The beautiful colors that normally graced the watchstone had changed. Darkness spread, and brilliant shots of lightning traced their way both near and far. It almost appeared as if Xalet was witnessing an infinite storm. The very sight made his palms sweat and his breath stop. Despite the lack of oxygen being brought in, his heart still raced. It sped on ahead, sucking up the resources throughout Xalet's body. Was this sort of visage meant for the eyes of a squire?

Backing away slowly from the window, his mind still struggling to process the changes to the outside atmosphere, Xalet found himself moving back into the meeting room, catching some of Priskil's explanation. Random abductions to face an unknown entity? That was truly desperate, even in the mind of one with such limited battle tactics like Xalet. When faced with an obstacle he pushed, and when pushing didn't work he pushed harder. What then would happen when even that resulted in nothing? What would he do when total desperation was all that was left?

The lady cloaked in metal spoke and his focus changed. Frozen darkness in the middle of nothing. Was that a type of oblivion? Something beyond all the world as it was known to Xalet? He found his hand tightening around his pack as he moved the strap further up his shoulder, the leather bracing having slid downwards through the rumbling of the tower and his own movement. The request was ludicrous. When you faced an inferior opponent you attacked, when you faced a superior opponent you defended, but what did you do when you faced an unknown opponent? Even for Xalet the decision wasn't so easy. Until he remembered something.

How many times had he lost to the other squires? The other Knights? His own Patron? And what of the times he had won? There was one thing about Xalet that could be said, he was consistent. When he faced an inferior opponent, he attacked. When he faced a superior opponent, he attacked. When he faced the unknown...he would attack. So much for being as good at following the lesson plan of battle tactics as he had thought. Time to do what he did best, push. "I'll go." he stepped up, raising his hand. A simple enough statement as always. Inside his thoughts crept toward that first time he had met Priskil, a friend in an ocean of fear and animosity.

Those feelings kept him from backing out of a situation where fear wasn't exactly an option. There was a tension he couldn't have rid himself of even if he had fought a thousand battles. His stomach twisted and his musculature tensed. Inside he tried to calm himself, sooth his body, keep it as cool as his outside appeared. Xalet wasn't one for large speeches, even getting more than a couple of sentences out of him was difficult. A certainty existed that kept him moving forward as his huge sollerets clanged against the floor until he stood near the table, all seven feet of blood and bone covered in hand-me-down mail and plate. When it came to the things he believed in and the people he cared about, his reason was simple enough, "I don't like to lose."

[Jilitse]

As the dark clouds gathered above, a different maelstrom started to build inside Jilitse's heart. Nuits lived long after their original deaths, and they'd learn to forego pulser inconveniences. For the most part, they will always be the soul that they once were. Something constant that Tanroa couldn't change--immaterial qualities, personal morals. One could forego euphemisms and declare Jilitse a lost cause, a person who lived in the past. But was unwavering loyalty that undesirable? She chose to sacrifice her life and all that she can in seeing Sagallius' end day before yesterday, and she swore her fealty to the Goddess of Hope yesterday. Jilitse was someone who did not turn back on her word, she would remain devoted even if it caused her life to be forfeited. That was her defining quality, her crowning glory. The answer to Dina's question had already been answered a long time ago. "My life is yours," Jilitse had declared to Priskil. She meant those words then, and still mean it now. There was no hesitation to stay true to that promise, but Jil did not arrive at that conclusion without difficulty. Compared to those who fought with their hands and their soul, the power that Jil wielded against the enemies of her faith was intangible. It could not be measured with punches. It did not come with fancy displays of magical prowess. She was Nuit, a rotting corpse, all that she had was all the flesh and bones and soul that one could offer. Jilitse would not be here if not for Priskil, hence she was here today for Priskil. As the gears of fate twisted and turned, the gale within her heart unleashed and unleashed again. If anyone with an Aurist eye would look upon her, she was vibrating with wild magic of true Alahean lineage. It was ugly to say at the very least, untamed and excessively wasteful. Her eyes were vacant and she was mumbling, complaining and arguing against herself. Perhaps it was not time for her to wield personal magic, but the urgency to protect herself had brought out the ability that she had long suppressed. She pulsed with her djed, her heart pinched and clamped upon by the gravity of the situation that lay before them. Had Jilitse known beforehand that what lay in front of her was the ancient Ravarisk, members of the Black Sun, and deranged dangerous adventurers, she would have backpedaled on her decision. Not even a fool's courage would propel her to a dance with Dira. But she was blind to this: she continued relishing the power in her hands, drinking from it like a parched dog. Perhaps it was better this way, a brave and fearless Jilitse was better than a coward Jilitse. She answered after Xalet, "I, too, shall go where light is needed." That was all the Nuit said, she had talked enough. No matter what dissenting opinion she expressed against Torc Ironwood earlier did not matter in the face of peril. The bottomline was that she was the Goddess' friend, and friends stick together through the thick and thin. As she absorbed Dina's words, her djed slowly retreated and solidified, taking the form of a second layer of skin. It melted on her, like a viscous fluid crawling against her cold body. If she had known better, the Shield would have evenly covered her from head to toe, not lumps on patches of skin and sections of her arms and torso. The djed hummed quieter now, but there was fierceness in her eyes. The need to be protected rang in her eyes and vibrated within her being. It manifested into a weak discontinuous jagged Shield. Better than going to war naked. She turned silently to Xalet, mirroring his strength of spirit. Wrapped in her Benshiran clothes she was nothing but a dead woman, she was fragile when compared to those pulsers in plate and mail. She looked at Dina, searched the other's face for recognition that she was fit to go to battle. If anything, she stared back at every able body in the room who hesitated or refused the call. She challenged them with the bearing of a queen - if a frail undead would volunteer to rush into war, then what does that make you? Jil pointed her gaze at all of Priskil's friends, thrusting her challenge: Do you lose hope now in the presence of our Goddess? Really, the warriors of the light should start assembling. Also, somebody better get her a weapon.

[Tarot]

Dina scrutinized Xalet as he spoke, her eyes running up and down his figure several times. "That's as good a reason as any," she gave a curt nod, "and we can certainly use a good sword up there. Just remember, when you're in the dark, the light cuts sharper than any blade. Be prepared to use yours." The woman turned to face Jilitse. There was still something incredulous about her gaze; not that it was difficult to explain why. Simply put, Jilitse was the only Nuit in the room, and chances were things had never looked much different until now. Still, Weliardina cracked a tiny smile. "A solid choice. You're better suited to that place than all of us combined. If worst comes to worst and we all croak from lack of air or heat, we can still count on you to finish the job." The priestess, like Jilitse, gazed upon the crowd and searched for more volunteers, but no-one else stepped forward. For Priskil's best friends, the ratio was appalling, but that spoke of the danger they were about to face. "The three of us will do. I'll let you spend these remaining chimes as you prefer." Which was an invitation to make peace with their souls and pray. Priskil had laid a gentle hand upon the Watchtower and was seemingly whispering things to it in some mysterious language. Every now and then the Watchstone on top of the tower would start blinking a few times in muddy colors never seen before on any season change. Weliardina stepped close to her, but did not interrupt the goddess as she worked on her tower. "I wish I'd asked Aquiras more about the inner workings of these things," Priskil muttered, biting her lip, "stupid, stupid, stupid. If it were my heart being stolen, he'd know exactly what to do." "He was certainly very resourceful," Weliardina replied, "but he couldn't have moved the hearts of people the way you do. You can have all the tools in the world, but they'll do you little good without hearts behind them. So shut the petch up and get this thing working." "Language!" Priskil protested then waved her hand to dismiss the topic and went back to her work. Within a few more chimes the Watchstone was flaring a bright blue, yellow, red, green cycle as it rebooted from inactivity. "It's done. Move under the arch, if you would." Dina nodded and issued a silent call to Xalet and Jilitse with her eyes. As they walked past Priskil, the goddess murmured a "Thank you" to the three of them. She had to stay firmly on the ground to make sure everyone could go back once the deed was done, but her heart would be with them always. And when they'd settled themselves into position, she closed her eyes and the Watchstone lit up with the brightest colors any of them had ever witnessed. Their bodies started to glow and they turned into pure light. Their world became a floating ocean of white where gravity had no meaning. They were shot up into the sky like weightless meteors, shooting stars for other worlds to wish upon. A dream before a nightmare.

OOCYou can post here once more and then in the linked thread after my next post there.

[Xalet]

Just three? Things were worse off than Xalet had previously thought. There was no backing out now. Despite how rigid his body was, a thin film of sweat was very quickly accumulating beneath his gambeson. He wasn't sure how to spend the last few chimes, especially when Weliardina affirmed that this may be the last time Xalet got the chance to see this normal realm. Where were they going again? A place man was never meant to go, was it? No time to think about that now. Digging into his backpack Xalet removed his arming cap and slid it onto his head, dying the strings beneath his neck securely. His helm came next, a sallet with a narrowed visor. Perfect for close combat. Ample protection to the head and rear neck.

"Steady...stay steady..." he tried to remind himself. He kept preparing his equipment, that kept him occupied. Allowed him less time to worry about just what they were going to be attempting to do. His short swords were prepared, his shield was still sturdy enough. The rivets on his straps were in good repair. The links of his chainmail had seen better days, but they were worthy enough to be used in battle. Battle, real battle. He had not had so many of those. Training, sparring, and drills filled his body with the muscular memory to produce his fighting movements. If he were to apply them to another person with the intent to kill them he wasn't so certain how well he would fare. This was what the Syliran Knights were meant to do, protect others by preparing for war. Fighting, killing, and dying so others did not have to.

Xalet noticed the motion from Dina. Those chimes had moved by so fast. Slinging his geige strap around, his left forearm slid through the first strap upon his wooden shield, and his hand held fast onto the grip situated a short distance afterward. He was faced with an interesting problem. Breathe too quickly, or don't breathe at all? No, that wouldn't do, he had to get rid of all that nervousness. Complete the task, accept no failure, do whatever it took. He gave a quick nod to Jilitse, both surprised and somehow comforted to see her coming along for a ride. Then the lights came after they were situated beneath the archway. For a moment he felt closer to Priskil than ever before. This wasn't the end, this was just the beginning, and an honor. That would perhaps help to subdue the knots in his stomach. Then, the travel began. "Oh shi--" and with that he was gone, speeding away to a literal no man's land.