Action, Adventure, Excitement, Part 9: Middle Earth / High Fantasy
                               Chapter 1

Subject: AAE9m: Interludes Among Enemies III (high fantasy)

On Sun, 23 Nov 2003 00:00:44 -0800
Roland X Said As CAoL Message # 00011550

   Saruman was dead. Dead.
   And yet, he was not.
   Looking out through unblinking eyes, wearing a cold, lifeless
shell, lesser beings would have broken from the horror of the
insensate existence. Saruman was no lesser being. Where others would
know torment, Saruman knew opportunity. One of the Nine Rings was his,
now on one more worthy. Of course, Saruman was no mere human, as the
Rings had been forged for. As a ringwraith himself, he was now beyond
death in a way that even that meddler Gandalf would never know.
   A touch of servitude was a small price to pay for such knowledge,
such opportunity, and such power.
   An enormous reptilian head covered in glittering blue-white scales
snaked out to Saruman's side. "What word from the Eye, o wizard?" the
great dragon asked.
   "Now that we have taken sufficient land for stability, we wait,"
Saruman intoned, his voice as rich and powerful as ever in spite of
his condition. "This world has fools enough that would resist his
might. One you know is among them."
   "Tolllwyn," the dragon rasped in a drawling, hateful snarl. "I will
use her bones to clean my teeth."
   "Patience, my friend," Saruman replied in a tone that was almost
amiable. "There is a dragon among them as well. Your power may be
needed to counter his."
   The dragon barked a harsh laugh. "The Gaunt Man has provided us
with information of this 'Darklance' creature. For all his toys and
dwarfish designs, he is but a wyrmling." The tremendous beast curled
his claws; small boulders shattered from the reflexive act. "I will
burn his heart on Corba'al's altar to win the Entity God's favor."
   "We are not in your cosm now, Uthorion," Saruman warned. "You may
find your god's reach less than you may wish."
   "Then perhaps mighty Sauron will have some sorcerous use for a
dragon's heart. It matters not to me," Uthorion replied dismissively.
"It is Tolwyn that I desire. Her, and Ardinay -- may the gods grant
she be foolish enough to come to the aid of that stormer knight-errant
who defends this world."
   "Roland Phoenix," Saruman noted.
   Uthorion nodded with his gigantic dragon's head, which was larger
than Saruman himself. "Mobius and Thratchen can obsess about him all
they wish. He is of little concern to me. Though like many men, he
felt a strong desire to protect Lady Ardinay, he is merely one of
Honor's many fools."
   Saruman nodded. "What of his woman?"
   Uthorion considered this. "Of possible concern. I have never met
her. The Gaunt Man's briefing marks her as dangerous, however, skilled
both in magic and swordplay. This 'Army of Light' seems to have many
skilled in one or the other, but she wields both well."
   The powerful wizard considered this for a moment. "Perhaps. Still,
I think that we have enough forces to deal with a handful of warriors
and magicians." He stepped forward and looked out onto a vast field.
   Gospog and orcs stood together in row after row. Second and third
planting gospog bore a fair resemblance to wargs, and the uruk-hai
were massed with these deadly monsters. The fourth and fifth planting
monsters were especially useful; the winged super-wolves of the fourth
planting (several meters in length) were used as air-cavalry for the
greatest uruk-hai lancers and bowmen, and the draconic fifth planting
behemoths had replaced wyverns as mounts for the ringwraiths
themselves (save for Saruman, who had an even more impressive steed).
They had brought little else from other cosms; a wizard here, a priest
there. There was little need for more.
   "Soon..." Saruman whispered, gripping his staff. It was shimmering
with many colors, each off of the 'true' color in some way, always
disturbing, always _wrong_ somehow. "...soon..."
===========================

Subject: AAE 9m: Irish Solitaire

On Sun, 28 Mar 2004 00:28:48 -0800
Morgan and/or Roland Said As CAoL Message # 00011877

Having finished coordinating with Eden, Morgan goes off to gear up.
[Replicators are a wonderful thing,] she muses as she plans out her
kit. Then it hits her -- this will be the first time since, goodness,
since she left Scotland, that she'll be facing combat like she was
first trained for, before the CAoL, before even finding Callahans. But
how to describe it to the computer?

Recalling her reaction to Roland's garb, she calls up several screen
shots of "Return of the King," pointing out a chain hauberk,
breastplate, helm, and the clothing to go with them. [The sword I
don't have to worry about,] she thinks, hand straying to the
currently-miniature claymore hanging from a chain around her neck,
though she does order up a large dagger to go with the rest of the
outfit, and a sheath for a long-sword sized version of Aramegil.

When she walks back into the main control room, she looks like she's
been to New Zealand ;-). The only thing that keeps her from looking
like a Rohirrim shieldmaiden (sans shield) is the use of grey instead
of brown on the armor, and the wolves in the knotwork instead of
horses. The helm hangs at her back, and a pouch with, presumably, the
rest of her gear at one side. Long-time members of the Army of Light
will realize that, for the first time in a very long time, her
enchanted torc is visible around her neck.

[Yes, this is modeled on Eowyn in RotK. See
http://www.elfenomeno.com/peliculas/multimedia/verimag_noticias.php?id
=5086
-- warning: it's a 900+ KB JPG]

   Roland does a double-take, then smiles appreciatively. /Enjoying
yourself, love?/

/Grrreatly,/ Morgan replies with lupine satisfaction.

   Jaguar, Obsidian, Seeker, and Quantum all blink and stare, never
having seen 'Solitaire' looking like a deadly medieval warrior, as at
home in her armor as they are in their uniforms. Neither has Orchid,
but her expression makes it clear that she thinks it's unbearably
cool. <G>
   And now the time has come, as all times do. Everyone has made their
preparations, gathered their weapons and/or magic and/or fortitude,
gathered together, and prepared to depart.
   Roland and Morgan, having to go their separate ways, have one of
the most difficult departures, because they are separating from each
_other._
   "I suppose I don't have to tell you to be careful," Roland
chuckles, "but I will anyway."

"That works both ways, you know," Morgan replies.

   Roland sighs. "Eden's great, and the Fianna and the Lodge are
decent folks, but you're not going to have any CAoL or Champions with
you. It's not the same." He gives her a fierce hug. "Be careful,
m'eudail."

Morgan returns the embrace as fiercely. "You already said that," she
grins.

   "I'm an obsessive-compulsive mother hen," Roland replies, rolling
his eyes at Seeker and Quantum. "Hadn't you heard?" The two referenced
Champions sigh and share a glance as Roland returns his full attention
to Morgan. They kiss, a long and passionate one that leaks pure love
into the lens-link despite their shields.

Rio whispers to Orchid, "The Ecstatics in their neighborhood just
_love_ them," she grins. "I know of a few who've moved just to be in
the radius."

As the Immortals come up for air, Morgan strokes Roland's
newly-covered chin. "It's been a while since I've kissed a man with a
beard," she quips lovingly. "It kinda tickles."

   Roland rubs the beard in mild annoyance. "Rassm frassm resonance,"
he sighs good-naturedly. "Aragorn has a lot to answer for."

"Yeah, like it's his fault," Morgan retorts.

   Roland looks up at the demi-crown, then down at his transformed
armor, then back at Morgan. Then he gives her one last kiss. ^I _mean_
it, love. Watch yourself. Saruman was dangerous enough when he was
_alive._^

^And Sauron was worse,^ Morgan replies pointedly.

   Roland sends a laugh privately through the link. ^Who cares?^ he
replies in his best Inigo Montoya. ^We've got heem,^ he notes,
'pointing' at Hydra with an astral arrow.

Morgan joins the laugh. ^And I'll have a pack watching my back.^

   Roland nods, and they back off to holding hands. There's a long
pause as they face their reluctance to let go. Finally, they do, and
Roland turns, putting his 'game face' back on. "So, I guess we should
acquire some steeds," he says to the Middle-Earth group.

^I love you, my heart,^ Morgan sends, hearing her husband return the
sentiment as she 'ports out.

Moments later, in a woodland clearing in County Meath, a large grey
wolf appears as if out of nowhere. Two more wolves emerge from the
shadows to greet her, one dark grey, the other almost silver.

*Cutter? Leetah?* The first wolf sends in surprised greeting. She
nuzzles each in turn. *What are you doing here?*

*Helping you defend your territory,* the darker wolf responds.

*When your cubs arrived in Arcadia and we found out what was
happening, Cutter and I decided to come help,* the silver wolf adds.
*Titania heard through the fae grapevine you were coming here, so it
seemed like as good a place as any to meet you.*

*Word sure gets around,* Morgan the grey-wolf responds with a lupine
chuckle.

   =Indeed,= an eight-foot-tall half-woman, half-wolf being says in
"wolf." =Even the caern's guardians sensed them as friends/allies, and
they are very vigilant.= Then wolf fails her, and she switches to
dream-speak. *I am Eden, world pack-mistress for the Lunar Exalted. I
hear you, and you are welcome to run with the pack.*

*I am Leetah of Arcadia, companion of Morgan Greywolf and "aunt" to
her cubs,* Leetah replies, though the term "aunt" is not an exact
translation -- co-mother, perhaps, or "godmother." It's the relation a
female in a pack would have to the cubs of another female in the same
pack, in a pack where more than one female had young.

*And I am Cutter, mate of Leetah,* the dark wolf replies simply but
with no less dignity. *We thank you for your welcome, and wish to join
you in removing they who do not belong on your lands.*

   Eden nods and wolf-'purrs.' Then she turns to Morgan. =Come. I
believe that you should see this.= Shifting to Dire Wolf (Hispo) form,
she gestures with her great muzzle and lopes forward. The three wolves
follow.
   Before long, they enter an encampment of many heroic warriors
interspersed with a small army of resistance fighters. Many of the
ordinary humans seem dispirited, though the Lunars, fae (who are fully
revealed to those around them), and mages are all energized, albeit
arguing in small groups throughout the camp.
   One of the Lunars, in human form but clearly identified by his many
markings, turns to look at the foursome. "Hey, Ede! Is that..."
   Eden shifts to human form. "Yep, the Greywolf herself. Maybe you'll
stop picking fights with the Brit Fianna now, eh, Walk-with-Lions?"
she replies.
   "Call me Peter," Walk-with-Lions grins. Eden sighs, realizing the
Garou didn't answer her question. There are brief introductions and
reintroductions (Morgan met some of the Fianna and Verbena here during
her last trip to Ireland's wild lands).
   "Just keep a lid on things until I get back, okay, Mr. Lawrence?"
Eden snaps with a roll of her eyes. "I'm taking them to see the
Tower."
   All conversation near them stops. A Chorister crosses herself. "The
One be with you all," she prays quitely.
   The Lunar nods. A moment later, she's flowing into her dire wolf
form, gesturing them forward with a nod of her head. They run.
   Wolves make good time over some long distances. Soon, they stop at
the edge of a clearing.

=*Sweet Mother of Light,*= Morgan gasps. [If this is what it's like
_here,_ what're Roland and the others getting into?] Cutter and Leetah
stare in confused amazement, and Morgan fills them in telepathically
on any literary references they're missing.

   Brooding on a great hill is Isengard reborn. The dark metallic
tower looms over a smoking circle of machinery, which combines
Saruman's archaic gear-tech with more modern...refinements.
Underground smokestacks spire out of pits, peeking out above ground
level just far enough to spew their filth into the sky. Clanking
pseudo-tanks carry orcs with automatic rifles, which share ground
space with uruk-hai cavalry riding wargs. Some of the tainted wolves
are even more obscene than the usual wargs -- thorns mixed in with
fur, and a few fifteen-foot behemoths with scales and tentacles.
Patrolling the skies are bluntly armored gyrocopters adorned with the
script of the Dark Tongue, which glows in the smoke-darkened sky, and
even larger, winged warg-dragons nearing twenty feet long, ridden by
uruk-hai lancers. The land is scarred and barren for nearly a
quarter-mile around the tower.
   Eden shifts to human form once again, and even having seen this
before, sags against a tree in sorrow.

Morgan shifts as well, though Cutter and Leetah of course do not (them
being wolves, after all, and not shape-shifters). Her eyes blaze at
the blasphemy before her, and several possible fates for Saruman come
to mind -- each worse than the last, and each dismissed as totally
insufficient payment for his crimes.

"Welcome," Eden says, her voice thick with bitter irony and her eyes
filled with tears, "to the ancient seat of the Irish kings. Welcome to
Tara."
===========================

Subject: AAE 9m: Minas London

On Sun, 28 Mar 2004 19:09:55 -0800
Roland X Said As CAoL Message # 00011881

>Finally ... and Roland turns, putting his 'game face' back on. "So, I
>guess we should acquire some steeds," he says to the Middle-Earth
group.

   (OOC: Since Aurora and Hydra are capable of all sorts of obscene
power stunts, and have proven willing to do so at the drop of a hat,
I'm going to assume that they provide "perfect" mounts for Roland and
Tolwyn. I leave mount discussions to the other players of humanoid
characters -- presumably, Moonstone doesn't need a ride unless she
wants to travel in human form.)
   Roland gapes in wonder at the almost-gryphon gazing at him
equanimously. Its only real differences from a standard gryphon are
the dimly flickering flames around its raptor half, which do not harm
Roland or its environs, and the powerful glow of magic it shows to
those with the senses to see it. Roland gives the gryphoenix a
tentative rub on the beak; it preens. The area where its feathers meet
its leonine fur forms a natural saddle.
   Tolwyn, being more the "meat-and-potatoes" sort of knight, pats a
horse that looks like a Clydesdale in faintly glowing barding.
"Steelmane! It has been too long," she says, patting the magnificent
creature on the neck. Steelmane neighs appreciatively.
   Once everyone is mounted (or not), Roland holds out his hand, and
the katana that Dhyrclhanc gave him as a gift appears in it, sheathed
in a blue force field that makes it larger, less instantly lethal, and
more Western-looking. "Let's go. Aurora, if you would do the honors?
Unless something has changed, Lady Ardinay will be meeting us outside
London, with some local leaders."
   OOC: Again, presumably, transportation is not a problem. Esp. since
it was offered in this case. 8^)

   The Middle-Earth realm. Just outside London.
   Roland never imagined that he would take well to riding. His
occasional rides with Morgan in fictons more familiar to her had only
reinforced this belief. His "Gryphoenix," however, seems to suit him
perfectly, and he gently prods the creature forward with his heels.
The immediate area is peaceful enough, giving Roland a moment of
relief. /"I'm guessing the topography has changed somewhat,"/ he tells
the others as Gryphoenix quickens its pace. The urban sprawl is
absent, with only the occasional village breaking up a beautiful
pastoral landscape, a mixture of forest and grasslands that eases even
Roland's city-boy heart.
   The myraid sounds of metal crashing on metal, however, soon shatter
that peace.
   /"Light,"/ Roland whispers, then with a "HYAH!" spurs Gryphoenix
forward. He races forward, Tolwyn following close behind. In moments,
both crest a hill.
   Below them, Hell unleashed crashes against mighty fortress walls.
   Orcs, goblins, and uruk-hai are massed before the city in
tremendous numbers, surging in waves to alternately climb over or
undermine the city's defenses. Enormous trolls -- apparently not the
kind vulnerable to sunlight -- provide massive muscle, used on walls,
siege towers, and battering rams. Warg cavalry and oliphaunt "armored"
units patrol the edges on the ground, while dozens of the wyvern-like
beasts ridden by the Ringwraiths patrol the sky. Mercifully, only
three actual Ringwraiths are in the sky; uruk-hai ride the others.
There are also winged warg-like things in the air, approximately three
score "smaller" ones (twenty feet in length) that are still mostly
warg-ish, and half a dozen larger ones (nearly thirty feet each) that
seem part-dragon. One actual dragon, roaring in laughter, circles in
the rear ranks, apparently waiting for some order to surge forward.
   And yet, the city stands. Some mixture of Gondor's capital and
ancient Camelot combined with the metropolis' roots, "Minas London"
may still be on a plain, but its mighty walls, only off from pure
white from the grime of battle, yet stand. Seven circles of defense
ensure that they will not fall easily. Massive numbers of archers are
interspersed with magicians of some sort, firing tremendous volleys
into the ranks of the siege. Catapults fire chunks of masonry into the
enemy, and their own air cavalry (great eagles with archers -- elven?)
holds back the wyverns and flying wargs. Native faerie, ironically
empowered by the invading reality, use various magics to shore up the
walls. A tower facing the main brunt of the assault sparks with a
magical light, glittering with every color of the rainbow.
   Those with keen eyesight (or other senses) can make out an
exquisite woman as the source of this last magic: human, but matching
Galadriel for beauty, vibrant and strong where the elf-queen was fey
and lithe -- ageless, but eternally young whereas the Aes Sedai are
beyond time -- magical, but flowing with the wizardry rather than
commanding it. This is Pella Ardinay.
   Tolwyn and Roland gasp as one.
   For all the skill and courage of the defense, they are horribly
outnumbered.
   "Go to her," the Phoenix says to the Knight Protector, who needs no
encouragement. He turns to look at his small contingent. So few,
against so huge a force...
   His face hardens. [They know what to do.] Each knows what he or she
is best at. Somewhere, somehow, they will find a way -- and so will
he. Shocked at this sudden burst of confidence following his
all-too-predictable doubts, he accepts it, rides it. He rears
Gryphoenix into the air, and its cry pierces the din of battle. Roland
raises his sword, which shines through the haze.
   "ATTACK!" he bellows, then he and his steed turn and launch
themselves into the sky, both roaring their defiance. /Make as much of
a mess as you can, then get into the city to help bolster their
defenses! I have an idea. And someone pass this on to Harlock./
   OOC: You want crunchies? We got crunchies! Big crunchies! Little
crunchies! Blade-swinging crunchies! Bow-wielding crunchies!
Warg-riders! Oliphaunt-riders! (Remember, they still only count as
one.) Getcher brute squads, right here, six fer a dime, everyone's a
winner! And Dane...don't bogart 'em. <G>
===========================

Subject: Re: AAE 9m: Minas London

On Mon, 29 Mar 2004 00:57:44 -0800
Harlock - Bard Extraordinaire Said As CAoL Message # 00011887

>On Sun, 28 Mar 2004 19:09:55 -0800
>Roland X Said As CAoL Message # 00011881
>
>>Finally ... and Roland turns, putting his 'game face' back on. "So,
>>I guess we should acquire some steeds," he says to the Middle-Earth
>>group.
>
>   (OOC: Since Aurora and Hydra are capable of all sorts of obscene
>power stunts, and have proven willing to do so at the drop of a hat,
>I'm going to assume that they provide "perfect" mounts for Roland and
>Tolwyn. I leave mount discussions to the other players of humanoid
>characters -- presumably, Moonstone doesn't need a ride unless she
>wants to travel in human form.)

(OOC: Works for me...er...us. <g>)

>   Tolwyn, being more the "meat-and-potatoes" sort of knight, pats a
>horse that looks like a Clydesdale in faintly glowing barding.
>"Steelmane! It has been too long," she says, patting the magnificent
>creature on the neck. Steelmane neighs appreciatively.

Harlock's eyes bug a bit at the sight of the magnificent white pegasus
standing before him. It tosses its head in a clear invitation to
mount.
 The Bard smiles and hops into the saddle somewhat awkwardly.

^Greetings, Bard. My name is Windrider.^

Harlock blurts "Windrider?!?" The pegasus nods his head and takes to
the air, leaving the Bard no choice but to hang on for dear life. As
Windrider ascends, those remaining on the ground can see metal bands
around all four of his fetlocks with a short bit of chain dangling
from each.

(OOC: Apologies to Mercedes Lackey, but I couldn't resist that one...)

Erindrea grins as a horse materializes before her. It's built like an
Arabian, only about 10% larger, and is wearing a brightly polished set
of mithril barding. Erin frowns slightly in concentration. The
ballgown that she has been wearing since she arrived in New York
shimmers, then vanishes to reveal an elaborate suit of plate armor,
also made of mithril. She plucks a helmet off of the cantle of her
horse's saddle and straps it on. "Somehow, Ah don't think this is the
tahm to worry about appearances. Thank you, whoevah picked up Blaze
foh me." With that, she mounts.

Marivale and Geoffery, when asked their preference, shrug. Marivale
explains, "actually, we both have magic boots already, and neither of
us is an especially talented rider. We'll be fine."

<snip to the battle scene>
>   And yet, the city stands. Some mixture of Gondor's capital and
>ancient Camelot combined with the metropolis' roots, "Minas London"
>may still be on a plain, but its mighty walls, only off from pure
>white from the grime of battle, yet stand. Seven circles of defense
>ensure that they will not fall easily. Massive numbers of archers are
>interspersed with magicians of some sort, firing tremendous volleys
>into the ranks of the siege. Catapults fire chunks of masonry into
>the enemy, and their own air cavalry (great eagles with archers  
>elven?) holds back the wyverns and flying wargs. Native faerie,
>ironically empowered by the invading reality, use various magics to
>shore up the walls. A tower facing the main brunt of the assault
>sparks with a magical light, glittering with every color of the
>rainbow.

Harlock turns to Erindrea. "I should like to get into the city, if
possible, to bolster the defender's spirits. Canst clear me an aerial
path?" Erin nods, then begins to take careful aim at the airborne
uruk-hai. Her first shot catches an uruk-hai in the throat, then
explodes in a ball of flame some forty feet in diameter. After the
initial shot, though, there's no time for such fancy tricks and she
simply concentrates on firing as rapidly as possible while urging
Blaze to a brisk trot. Still, while she may not be hitting any more
throat shots, her arrows rarely fail to find a mark somewhere. And
through the middle of the column she is clearing flies Windrider,
carrying the Bard toward the city's defenders.

>   "ATTACK!" he bellows, then he and his steed turn and launch
>themselves into the sky, both roaring their defiance. /Make as much
>of a mess as you can, then get into the city to help bolster their
>defenses! I have an idea. And someone pass this on to Harlock./

Marivale looks at the battlefield with a frown. "There are rather a
lot of them, aren't there, Geoffery?"

"Yes, Milord."

"Well, the standard tactics aren't likely to work, then." Marivale
sighs, and pulls his necklace off. "All right, give me my usual
Periapt, then teleport to the city and see what aid you can give the
defenders. I'll be along as soon as I can."

"Milord?"

"_Now,_ Geoffery."

"Yes, Milord." Geoffery pulls a necklace out of his backpack and
exchanges with Marivale, then gazes intently at the city while
chanting.

(OOC: And here's hoping his teleport spell doesn't get bounced by the
defenders. <eg>)

Marivale, meanwhile, has pulled out his rapier and parrying dagger and
sprung to the fray. The first several orcs he encounters are disarmed
by the parrying dagger before they realize they even have an opponent,
then dropped with a lightning rapier thrust to whatever exposed vital
spots they may have.
===========================

Subject: Re: AAE 9m: Minas London

On Wed, 31 Mar 2004 03:41:05 -0800
Dane Said As CAoL Message # 00011895

>Roland X Said As CAoL Message # 00011881
>
>Finally ... and Roland turns, putting his 'game face' back on. "So, I
>guess we should acquire some steeds," he says to the Middle-Earth
>group.

Aurora quickly devines the optimal mount for each member of the ME
task force, based upon the powers and abilities and fighting style of
each. An instant later with a small twinkle the envisioned animals and
fantastic creatures appear complete with appropriate tack and armor.
Just looking at them, it is clear that these are NOT complacent gentle
creatures, but it is equally clear that they will be aminable to
carrying their riders into the very teeth of Hell itself if necessary.
For herself a peregrine falcon fully half again the size of the Giant
Eagles of Middle Earth. The ONLY member of the task force without a
mount is Hydra.

/*"I will provide my own mount."*/ He says as he steps well away from
the rest. He raises his hands clasping his Glaive which now looks
somewhat like Gandalf the White's staff might look if it had a four
foot long, 1 foot wide, knife edge along one edge. For those who have
the ability to sense it, it is clear that he is employing trememdous
magical energies to SUMMON something. With a powerful preasure wave,
as the air is displaced, his mount appears. An ancient bronze Dragon
looks about seemingly puzzled. Then it spies Hydra. It's eyes narrow
for a moment, then what passes for a draconic smile graces its
countenance.

*"I assume you are once again in need of a mount Hydra?"* It asks.

/*"Yes. What price would you have of me for this service?"*/ Hydra
responds.

*"Bah! Price! You know as well as I that tis I who owe you. And far
more than I could ever possibly repay. Did you not save Me, my Mate,
and my descendents from slavery and worse? I assume that your mission
calls for you to be mounted, and that any normal mount would be slain
so quickly as to be utterly useless. Very well, I accept! I take it
these others are 'allies' and are NOT to be considered morsels to be
snacked upon?"* The Dragon answers.

/*"I will not insult you, but you know I consider what you call your
'debt' to me to have been paid in full many times over. Yes, we may
NOT snack upon these, or those they choose to name as allies. This one
is called Roland, also Defender. He leads this band of allies. I ask
that you honor his requests as you would my own."*/ Hydra says.

*"Pity, some of them look delicious."* The Dragon sighs as it licks
its draconic lips. Those familiar with draconic expressions are
certain it is smiling in mild amusement. *"Roland Defender, I am at
your service. You may, if you wish, call me .... Clash. That of course
is NOT my real name. I doubt your human tongue could pronouce THAT.
But is something that many humans have called me."* Clash directs in
Roland's direction.

>   Once everyone is mounted (or not), Roland holds out his hand, and
>the katana that Dhyrclhanc gave him as a gift appears in it, sheathed
>in a blue force field that makes it larger, less instantly lethal,
>and more Western-looking. "Let's go. Aurora, if you would do the
>honors? Unless something has changed, Lady Ardinay will be meeting us
>outside London, with some local leaders."

With a smile, Aurora, and Hydra raise one hand to the zenith. The task
force vanishes from Champion's Island, to reappear in the Middle Earth
realm, a few miles from London. Or what remains of London.
===========================

Subject: Re: AAE 9m: Minas London

On Fri, 2 Apr 2004 20:47:16 -0500
"David McMillan" Said As CAoL Message # 00011905

>Roland X wrote on 3/28/2004, 10:27 PM:
>
>   Tolwyn and Roland gasp as one.
>   For all the skill and courage of the defense, they are horribly
>outnumbered.

   Rogias draws his bow from the sheath on his back, and grips air
where the string should be. A thread of light bursts from his fingers
to each end of the bow, which curves as he puts a bit of tension on
the "string." An arc of energy jumps from his drawing hand to hole
through the center of the bow just above the grip....

>   "Go to her," the Phoenix says to the Knight Protector, who needs
>no encouragement. He turns to look at his small contingent. So few,
>against so huge a force...
>   His face hardens. [They know what to do.] Each knows what he or
>she is best at. Somewhere, somehow, they will find a way -- and so
>will he.

   Rogias brings his bow back to full draw, and the energy "arrow"
becomes a blazing bar of light, crackling with its desire for release.
He holds it, charging the bolt to even higher levels of power.

>   "ATTACK!" he bellows, then he and his steed turn and launch
>themselves into the sky, both roaring their defiance. /Make as much
>of a mess as you can, then get into the city to help bolster their
>defenses! I have an idea. And someone pass this on to Harlock./

   With no sound other than the rush of air as the arms spring
forward, Rogias releases his bolt. The arrow-construct streaks along
the ground, "trenching" as it goes, growing into a large sphere as it
nears its designated target in the line of enemies ahead.
   (Somewhere, Sailor Uranus is bitching about copyright infringement.
And are those *holes* in the sphere?)
   The bolt streaks into the enemy's ranks, plunges several files
deep, and then detonates like a 500-lb bomb. Uruk-hai and orcs go
flying like tenpins (and, very faintly, one might hear appropriate
sound FX to match, almost lost under the din of battle. Hey, I said
the Weird Factor was toned down, not *gone* (:) ).

>   OOC: You want crunchies? We got crunchies! Big crunchies! Little
>crunchies! Blade-swinging crunchies! Bow-wielding crunchies!
>Warg-riders! Oliphaunt-riders! (Remember, they still only count as
>one.) Getcher brute squads, right here, six fer a dime, everyone's a
>winner! And Dane...don't bogart 'em. <G>

   Rogias draws again. This time, the bolt is thinner, and writhes in
the space between string and bow like a snake. He picks out a target
overhead, one of the lesser flying crunchies, and releases.
   The bolt strikes home, wreathing the flying warg and rider in a
coruscation of eldritch electricity, and *caroms* off to strike
another target. And another, and another... This time, the
barely-audible sound FX are pinball. Althought there are *not* any
scores floating above targets struck, and no TILT signs.
   Leaving the bolt to its work, Rogias fires several more in quick
succession, like a Medieval Gatling Gun. These bolts do fairly little
damage compared to the <ahem!> "bowling bolt," but rebound and
ricochet like an internet traffic map, striking and stunning between
ten and twenty targets apiece before expiring.
   Having cleared local airspace for the moment, Rogias follows the
general charge toward the walls, firing another arrow into a
counter-charging line of enemies. This arrow splits into a half-dozen
bolts, which suddenly lengthen just before impact into flying *pikes,*
which impale the charging Uruk-Hai and Orcs up to a dozen deep,
turning the immobilized enemies into roadbloacks for their
reinforcements.

   OOC: Green Arrow, Hawkeye, eat your hearts out!
===========================

Subject: Re: AAE 9m: Minas London

On Sun, 04 Apr 2004 20:43:19 -0700
Roland X Said As CAoL Message # 00011911

>On Mon, 29 Mar 2004 00:57:44 -0800
>Harlock Said As CAoL Message # 00011887
>
>(OOC: And here's hoping his teleport spell doesn't get bounced by the
>defenders. <eg>)

   Magick here is both more primal and intense, and (by D&D-verse
standards) more primitive. Teleport defenses seem to not be a problem.
What this world's wizardry does, it does very well...but the
repertoire seems far more focused. Mostly, but not entirely, subtle.
The defenders are briefly astonished by Geoffery's arrival, but (since
the bad guys haven't shown any inclination to teleport) quickly accept
any intimations of alliance. (Of course, if Geoffery doesn't account
for himself at all, that could be another story...)

>Marivale, meanwhile, has pulled out his rapier and parrying dagger
>and sprung to the fray. The first several orcs he encounters are
>disarmed by the parrying dagger before they realize they even have an
>opponent, then dropped with a lightning rapier thrust to whatever
>exposed vital spots they may have.

Then...
>On Fri, 2 Apr 2004 20:47:16 -0500
>SkyeFire Said As CAoL Message # 00011905
>
>   Having cleared local airspace for the moment, Rogias follows the
>general charge toward the walls, firing another arrow into a
>counter-charging line of enemies. This arrow splits into a half-dozen
>bolts, which suddenly lengthen just before impact into flying
>*pikes,* which impale the charging Uruk-Hai and Orcs up to a dozen
>deep, turning the immobilized enemies into roadbloacks for their
>reinforcements.

   At first, the heroes' combination of surprise, prowess, force, and
unusual tactics overwhelm all local opposition to them.
   Then, the one Ringwraith on a "classic" flying steed (those
wyvern-things they ride in the movie), albeit wearing some strange
barding, takes in the battle. "FOOLS," his voice booms, "TO DEFY THE
MOUTH OF SAURON." His beast turns its head to face Roland and
screeches.
   Roland, who has just decapitated one of the wolf-horrors (his code
against killing only applies to sentients -- he's not a vegetarian,
after all) howls in agony, clutching his head. Gryphoenix does better,
but not much; they manage to fall with relative grace toward the
ground. Then the Mouth wheels in the sky to watch Hydra and Aurora,
doing nothing more than watching for the moment.
   The other Ringwraiths (two are present, aside from the Mouth) fly
at airborne heroes, one for Roland and one toward Harlock! Though they
ride the wolf-dragons now, those enormous beasts seem only marginally
less deadly than the Mouth's steed.
   Meanwhile, more elite uruk-hai, trolls, and particularly humans on
oliphaunts start heading for the ground-bound heroes. The oliphaunt
riders release hideously large and thick volleys of arrows the moment
they're in range...
===========================

Subject: Re: AAE 9m: Minas London

On Sun, 04 Apr 2004 23:02:09 -0700
Harlock - Bard Extraordinaire Said As CAoL Message # 00011912

>On Sun, 04 Apr 2004 20:43:19 -0700
>Roland X Said As CAoL Message # 00011911
>
>   Magick here is both more primal and intense, and (by D&D-verse
>standards) more primitive. Teleport defenses seem to not be a
>problem. What this world's wizardry does, it does very well...but the
>repertoire seems far more focused. Mostly, but not entirely, subtle.
>The defenders are briefly astonished by Geoffery's arrival, but
>(since the bad guys haven't shown any inclination to teleport)
>quickly accept any intimations of alliance. (Of course, if Geoffery
>doesn't account for himself at all, that could be another story...)

Well, Geoffery doesn't _say_ anything in particular, but since his
first action upon reorienting himself is to pull a wand out of his
sleeve and start pelting the orcs with fireballs, I doubt he'll have
much of a problem with his reception.

>   At first, the heroes' combination of surprise, prowess, force, and
>unusual tactics overwhelm all local opposition to them.
>   Then, the one Ringwraith on a "classic" flying steed (those
>wyvern-things they ride in the movie), albeit wearing some strange
>barding, takes in the battle. "FOOLS," his voice booms, "TO DEFY THE
>MOUTH OF SAURON." His beast turns its head to face Roland and
>screeches.
>   Roland, who has just decapitated one of the wolf-horrors (his code
>against killing only applies to sentients -- he's not a vegetarian,
>after all) howls in agony, clutching his head. Gryphoenix does
>better, but not much; they manage to fall with relative grace toward
>the ground. Then the Mouth wheels in the sky to watch Hydra and
>Aurora, doing nothing more than watching for the moment.

"If you can't sing on key," mutters Harlock, and the pseudo-wyvern is
enveloped in a globe of silence. The rider can hear itself and its
beast, but nothing else. Others on the battlefield can hear neither
the rider nor the beast.

>   The other Ringwraiths (two are present, aside from the Mouth) fly
>at airborne heroes, one for Roland and one toward Harlock! Though
>they ride the wolf-dragons now, those enormous beasts seem only
>marginally less deadly than the Mouth's steed.

"And as for you," the Bard continues, "how well can you fly when your
wings won't flap, I wonder?" With a mutter and a gesture, he attempts
to paralyze the wolf-dragon.

>   Meanwhile, more elite uruk-hai, trolls, and particularly humans on
>oliphaunts start heading for the ground-bound heroes. The oliphaunt
>riders release hideously large and thick volleys of arrows the moment
>they're in range...

Erindrea sees the archers readying themselves up on the oliphaunts'
backs and pauses in her archery for a few moments, muttering to
herself and patting Blaze's neck. She then turns to picking off
oliphaunt riders from a preposterous range, thinning out their ranks
before they can get close enough to release their own arrows. She
can't get them all, of course, but she gets enough of them that the
volleys closest to her aren't nearly as thick as they should be. Most
of the arrows that hit merely deflect off of the true-silver that Erin
and Blaze bear. The few that strike squarely suffer an even more
surprising fate: they visibly strike sparks, then bounce off.

Marivale, meanwhile, is practically dancing through the orc lines, not
even bothering to disarm any of his foes at this point. The carnage he
wreaks on them is indescribable...but the carnage he forces them to
wreak upon themselves is, if anything, worse. An orc will be within a
split-second of landing a killing blow when he suddenly realizes that
Marivale has somehow switched places with another orc. A troll will
reach out to grab him and overbalance, squashing several orcs as it
falls. A volley of arrows will sing from an oliphaunt's back toward
his location, but by the time it lands, he is no longer within the
kill zone.
===========================

Subject: Re: AAE 9m: Irish Solitaire

On Mon, 05 Apr 2004 00:43:36 -0700
Morgan and/or Roland Said As CAoL Message # 00011913

>On Sun, 28 Mar 2004 00:28:48 -0800
>Morgan and Roland Said As CAoL Message # 00011877
>
>"Welcome," Eden says, her voice thick with bitter irony and her eyes
>filled with tears, "to the ancient seat of the Irish kings. Welcome
>to Tara."

   "Do not grieve," a voice says from behind a tree a moment later,
setting Eden spinning around in Crinos (hybrid) form. "What has been
done can yet be undone." And a magnificent elderly figure all in white
steps out from behind the tree, wielding an exquisite staff. Eden
gapes, shifting back into human form instantly.

Morgan, whose combat instincts are different from the garou's, takes
her hand off her sword hilt. "Gandalf," she says, her voice expressing
wonder, but neither question nor real surprise as she inclines her
head in respect.

   "Ms. Greywolf," he replies with a smile, returning the bow (of
sorts). "Elder Fallon," he continues, inclining his head to Eden in
turn, which the Exalt reciprocates. The wizard then holds his hand up
toward Cutter and Leetah, who bark amiably and trot over. His staff
floats behind his back so he can give each a good scratch. "While I am
certainly grateful that the name 'Gandalf' carries a certain respect
here, I hope that you will not dwell overmuch on it. I am a servant of
Light, striving against Shadow, as are you both."
   "Nevertheless, your timing is most welcome," Eden says, regaining
(most of) her composure. "I don't have to tell you what _that_ is, I'm
sure," she adds, waving contemptuously at Saruman's tower, "but that
may be the most sacred ground on this island, and Saruman rules from
it."
   "Then his rule must be undone," Gandalf replies simply, his smile
never faltering.

"Easier said _than,_" Morgan quips dryly.

   Gandalf chuckles, plucking his staff from the air as Cutter and
Leetah return to Morgan's side. "Indeed. Let us return to your camp,
then, that we may take counsel." The great wizard whistles, and a
magnificent white stallion trots from behind a hill to his side. It
whinnies and tosses its mighty head, which Gandalf pats and rubs.

Morgan grew up in an era where horses were the standard rather than
the purview of a few enthusiasts. But (unsurprisingly) she's never
seen the likes of this magnificent beast. She approaches him slowly,
hand raised to pet his nose if he permits, knowing this animal's
reputation for being particular about humans. He nuzzes against her
hand. The druidess smiles, and gestures with her other hand, conjuring
an apple and holding it on her open palm.

   Gandalf laughs quietly as Shadowfax crunches regally at the
offering. "A companion of quality, indeed," he chuckles as the paragon
of horses enjoys himself. "Shadowfax has...discerning tastes."
   "He doesn't seem to have any trouble with wolves, at least," Eden
notes, leaning against a tree.
   "Not wolves such as we travel with now," Gandalf replies with a
knowing grin.

"A good thing, if we're going into a Garou encampment," Morgan says.

   Gandalf's demeanor becomes serious. "More than your wolf-changers
are gathered, if I am not mistaken. And well it is, that you have
brought your forces together to resist Saruman. Let us hope that they
are united in fact as well as in name." Eden clears her throat in mild
embarrassment as the White Wizard mounts.
   Between wolf speed and Shadowfax, they are back in camp before
long. There is, of course, a long period of adjustment as most of the
supernaturals present either resist or succumb to hero-worship. Once
Gandalf has sorted that out, he leaves Eden to restore order (much
less difficult with everyone still dealing with Gandalf-shock 8^). He
wanders off, soon making his way to a large, central tent that serves
as central command for the resistance. At the moment, the only beings
in it are Cutter, Leetah, and Morgan, the last of whom is poring over
reports and maps.
   "What you are doing is important and necessary, of course," Gandalf
notes. "But is it what you need to be doing for yourself?"

"This cosm is not unfamiliar to me, especially..." she decides not to
deal with whether or not the wizard knows what a "movie" is,
"especially with recent versions of the story my world has enjoyed.
And it is more like my home reality than any I've been in in a long
time. But it wasn't that long ago that I was in the middle of an epic
superhero battle, and, well," Morgan smiles and shakes her head. "I'm
still adjusting my mental gears, as it were."

   Gandalf is a touch quizzical at the term 'superhero,' but nods at
the rest. "Ah. With the very nature of reality shifting beneath us
like sand, it is important to have some solid ground from which to
battle, correct?" At Morgan's nod, he rounds the table and scratches
Leetah as he examines the maps in turn. "It is interesting, your
choice of phrase: 'mental gears.' Saruman was once very wise, you
know. Now, however...Treebeard said it best, I think. His mind is one
of steam and metal, clanking wheels and burning powders. This 'mixed
realm' suits his new, befouled existence. Still, he does not adjust
well to the unexpected." He turns and smiles at her. "I think you will
find that you have the advantage there."

"Considering that the reality I've been living in for the past few
years is several centuries advanced from the technology in this
realm?" Morgan chuckles, then looks the wizard in the eye. "You know
my name, and you have a reputation for knowing more than you are often
willing to let on, but if we are to go into combat together I think we
should know each other's capabilities." She pauses. "Though I may be
getting ahead of things -- are you here to advise us, or are you
planning on helping us take on Saruman more directly?"

   Gandalf can easily tell that Morgan's question was sincere rather
than confrontational. He takes a step back, stroking his beard. "To
answer the last question first -- yes, I am indeed here to assist you
in battling Saruman's power. For now that he wears one of the Nine
Rings, his raw power exceeds mine, and indeed any battling here. While
he could be overwhelmed by your numbers, that advantage he has as
well. What he does not have is an alliance such as you have,
possessing both numbers and prowess. As for the rest..."
   Gandalf sighs. "In many ways, I cannot avoid knowing what I know.
It is one reason for my circumspection. Imagine that you are literally
incapable of respecting the privacy of others on one level. I
suspect," he continues, "that you would find another way to respect
privacy. Thus I do as well. Even this, I tell few, yet I believe that
you can understand my...situation." Morgan lightly runs her fingers
over her left wrist and nods in understanding. "And yet, I do not know
all -- far from it," he continues with a wry chuckle. "As for my other
capabilities, you know them well. They are, after all, as your own --
aside from the knowing that I have described to you."

This takes Morgan slightly aback. Being familiar with the saga of
Middle Earth, she figures she has as good an idea of Gandalf's
abilities as he's likely to admit. She'd been thinking primarily in
terms of what _he_ knew of _her_ skills, so that she wouldn't be
caught wondering at a critical moment if he knew what she was capable
of. She smiles. "Nothing in the tales I've seen credits you with the
likes of, say, shapeshifting," she says. "Your magics are usually
portrayed as quite subtle, the battle with the Balrog being a notable
exception."

   Gandalf chuckles. "Indeed. And you are 'not capable' of altering
unliving matter, or changing your size beyond certain strict limits,
or of...how did Benjamin put it...'having a strong effect on the
weak-minded?' We accept limits on what we can do out of respect for
the world around us. Yet we exceed those limits when necessary, as
your example of the Balrog illuminates. How many times have _you_
'faced the Balrog,' Morgan Greywolf?"
   Morgan starts to consider this, recognizing the truth in his words.
Before she can answer, however, Eden and a massive golden-furred
wolf-man Lunar walk in, all but snarling at each other.
   "Puling cowardice! Trickery and deceit are the ways of our enemy!
Let this Saruman mass his armies and send his foul weapons! My Fenrir
will tear his wyrmspawn to shreds, your mages can counter his
deceptions, and--" the golden Garou barks.
   "And NOTHING!" Eden snaps back, slamming one slender (yet
surprisingly strong) hand into the behemoth's chest. "I will _not_
allow you to march an army into Saruman's maw, is that CLEAR, Gnuris?
If you think a Ringwraith is some sort of weakling who will break the
moment we throw real force at him, I won't just relieve you of your
command -- I'll throw you back to the States myself!"
   Gnuris glares down at Eden's fragile-looking human frame. "I'd like
to see you try."
   Eden glares right back at him. "No. You. Wouldn't."

"A-h-hem," Morgan clears her throat pointedly. Gnuris and Eden look
back at Morgan, then at each other. "Do I now have to quote platitudes
about being stronger together than separately, and not doing the
enemy's work for him?" she says with a faintly weary note in her
voice.

   Gnuris rumbles in the back of his throat. "If you were not the
Desperate One..."
   Eden's expression goes flat, and even as a human, her ears going
flat is visible. Gnuris stops in his tracks. "I am a pack leader.
'Desperate One' is just a damn name. Challenge me, if you've got the
stones for it. You win, and I'll follow you into battle. Simple as
that. Until then, however..."
   Gnuris glares for one more moment, then he bows his massive head in
defeat. "Very well. We shall follow your plan." His head snaps up
again. "Fail, however, and I just might take your advice."
   Eden grins insouciantly at him. "Gnuris old dog, if I fail and any
of us are alive to whine about it, I hope you do." The giant Lunar
turns on his heel and strides out. A second later, the Gaian is
leaning on the table, exhaling in relief. "Whew. Thanks, Morgan. That
was one fight I did _not_ want to have."

"Especially not _now,_" Morgan agrees.

   "Bingo," Eden says with a nod. "Now. I doubt you two have been
discussing the Red Sox's chances in the Series this year, so..." she
strides over to the maps. "What have you come up with?"
===========================

Subject: Re: AAE 9m: Minas London

On Wed, 7 Apr 2004 21:16:32 -0400
Mike Knight Said As CAoL Message # 00011936

>On Sun, 04 Apr 2004 23:02:09 -0700
>Harlock - Bard Extraordinaire Said As CAoL Message # 00011912
>
>>On Sun, 04 Apr 2004 20:43:19 -0700
>>Roland X Said As CAoL Message # 00011911
>>
>>>   Having cleared local airspace for the moment, Rogias follows the
>>>general charge toward the walls, firing another arrow into a
>>>counter-charging line of enemies. This arrow splits into a
>>>half-dozen bolts, which suddenly lengthen just before impact into
>>>flying *pikes,* which impale the charging Uruk-Hai and Orcs up to a
>>>dozen deep, turning the immobilized enemies into roadbloacks for
>>>their reinforcements.

With the air momentarily free, Moonstone's body shifts. She had
entered this world as a human, staying out of the way, looking to
guage the lay of the land. But now she was free to stretch her wings
and take to the air, and this she did, scales gleaming brighter than
Minas Tirith's towers. Fuzzy's amulet was still set for flight and
kryptonian strength, thus while only a mere twenty-six feet from snout
to tail tip, she felt herself a physical match for anything in the
air.

However powerful she was, Moonstone still knew through coordination in
numbers she was well matched. These creatures were well trained in the
arts of war, a subject she only knew sparingly. And dragonkind of the
Tolkien variety were far larger, older and wiser than she.

Thus, as she began to engage the aerial foes above her, she wished for
perhaps the first time since she left home that her parents were here
with her.

But at the thought of Leac'him and N'nairda and her little sibling
hatchlings, who were likely only four feet long at this point, she
felt a ferocity of spirit that demanded her actions make them all
proud.

>>   The other Ringwraiths (two are present, aside from the Mouth) fly
>>at airborne heroes, one for Roland and one toward Harlock! Though
>>they ride the wolf-dragons now, those enormous beasts seem only
>>marginally less deadly than the Mouth's steed.
>
>"And as for you," the Bard continues, "how well can you fly when your
>wings won't flap, I wonder?" With a mutter and a gesture, he attempts
>to paralyze the wolf-dragon.

Moonstone dives out of the sky after the wolfdragon racing after
Defender. Tooth and claws rip into the body of the Ringwraith's mount,
but the dragoness's desire is to do no more than dismount the rider
while in midair. It is a Ringwraith after all, and would "survive" the
fall. Though her intended fate for the wolfdragon is more heinous, she
plans to eat the creature. Or at least take a very healthy bite to
sample its flavor. This is how her kind deal with enemies, and though
she finds human flesh revolting, wolfdragon might prove palatable.

--
Moonstone
"Tastes like chicken."
===========================

Subject: Re: AAE 9m: Minas London

On Wed, 07 Apr 2004 21:00:29 -0700
Roland X Said As CAoL Message # 00011938

>On Sun, 04 Apr 2004 23:02:09 -0700
>Harlock Said As CAoL Message # 00011912
>
>>On Sun, 04 Apr 2004 20:43:19 -0700
>>Roland X Said As CAoL Message # 00011911
>>
>>   Then, the one Ringwraith on a "classic" flying steed (those
>>wyvern-things they ride in the movie), albeit wearing some strange
>>barding, takes in the battle. "FOOLS," his voice booms, "TO DEFY THE
>>MOUTH OF SAURON." His beast turns its head to face Roland and
>>screeches.
>>   Roland, who has just decapitated one of the wolf-horrors (his
>>code against killing only applies to sentients -- he's not a
>>vegetarian, after all) howls in agony, clutching his head.
>>Gryphoenix does better, but not much; they manage to fall with
>>relative grace toward the ground. Then the Mouth wheels in the sky
>>to watch Hydra and Aurora, doing nothing more than watching for the
>>moment.
>
>"If you can't sing on key," mutters Harlock, and the pseudo-wyvern is
>enveloped in a globe of silence. The rider can hear itself and its
>beast, but nothing else. Others on the battlefield can hear neither
>the rider nor the beast.

   The ringwraith looks around, its opinion of this magic unreadable.
It does nothing for the moment, continuing to watch Hydra and
Aurora...and wait.

>>   The other Ringwraiths (two are present, aside from the Mouth) fly
>>at airborne heroes, one for Roland and one toward Harlock! Though
>>they ride the wolf-dragons now, those enormous beasts seem only
>>marginally less deadly than the Mouth's steed.
>
>"And as for you," the Bard continues, "how well can you fly when your
>wings won't flap, I wonder?" With a mutter and a gesture, he attempts
>to paralyze the wolf-dragon.

   There is a long moment where the wolf-dragon's resistance clashes
with the spell, a tense second where it wouldn't move anyway.
   Then it begins to plummet. The ringwraith lets go, floating in
mid-air and watching Harlock, its face and body language unreadable
but the spite and malice palpable all the same. Then it _slowly_
begins to float toward another wolf-dragon, which flies down toward
it. (OOC: Now you know why they need something to ride. <G>) Three of
the "lesser" flying wolves dart toward the bard at the same time.

Then,
>On Wed, 7 Apr 2004 21:16:32 -0400
>Mike Knight Said As CAoL Message # 00011936
>
>Moonstone dives out of the sky after the wolfdragon racing after
>Defender.

   The knight-Champion shakes his head, trying to clear it, as
Gryphoenix rights itself and cries out raptor-style. The pair attempts
to turn and engage, but sees:

>Tooth and claws rip into the body of the Ringwraith's mount, but the
>dragoness's desire is to do no more than dismount the rider while in
>midair. It is a Ringwraith after all, and would "survive" the fall.
>Though her intended fate for the wolfdragon is more heinous, she
>plans to eat the creature. Or at least take a very healthy bite to
>sample its flavor. This is how her kind deal with enemies, and though
>she finds human flesh revolting, wolfdragon might prove palatable.

   Actually, no. There's some kind of plant material in there,
elements of undeath magic (though the wolf as a whole is alive), it's
'warped' in a way reminiscent of wargs, and the metal-rusting acid in
the throat sacs...ew.
   As the wolf-dragon, at 25 feet in length, is almost as big as
Moonstone (and be glad I shrank them; the Aysle book lists them as 10
_meters_ long), this would have normally been a vicious battle of
claws and teeth. With Kryptonian-class strength, however, the
gospog-thing is soon mulch.
   Unfortunately, there _is_ a ringwraith riding the creature, and
Kryptonians are notoriously vulnerable to magic, meaning Moonstone
only has her own defenses to protect her from a wraith-blade...
   Roland wheels Gryphoenix around, wincing briefly at the carnage,
then saluting Moonstone with his sword. /Thanks,/ he sends, tapping
Gryphoenix on one side of its neck (unless Moonstone suddenly has
Ringwraith problems, which will have him charging in). The great beast
turns on one wingtip, heading for the city while the knight-Champion
fires bolts from his energy-sheathed sword down at the attackers (code
against killing in effect even here...sigh).
   Hm. Then again, the unconscious bodies _are_ creating an effective
roadblock...

(Back to Harlock's post...)
>Most of the arrows that hit merely deflect off of the true-silver
>that Erin and Blaze bear. The few that strike squarely suffer an even
>more surprising fate: they visibly strike sparks, then bounce off.

   Insert warg charge here. Those bloody beasts are damn fast...

>Marivale, meanwhile, is practically dancing through the orc lines,
>not even bothering to disarm any of his foes at this point.

   As he's having fun carving through hordes of orcs, I leave him to
his own devices for the moment. Between the two, they're almost
holding a flank themselves.
   And the Mouth's hood explodes, revealing...a miniature of the
burning Eye, glaring hatefully out at everything.
   "EYE...SEE...YOU," intones across the battlefield, the silence
field shattered as the merest side effect. A beam of pale crimson
light strikes Roland (doing no harm, mercifully), keeping the
knight-Champion spotlit as he continues to harry the front of the
siege.
   "Bully for you," Phoenix shoots back. "When you have the courage to
_face_ me, perhaps then I will _care_ what you...see...Light have
mercy..."
   A storm front appears in the distance, approaching with incredible
speed. Though not a reality storm (thank the gods), it seems even more
menacing, if possible. Within seconds, a figure can be seen at its
head.
   At first, it looks like the fabled Horned Hunter, complete with
antlers, bare chest, and a stag's lower body. He rides a raven even
larger than Aurora's Great Falcon, and carries a sword in one hand and
a horn (whose howl freezes even the blood of heroes; those on the
mini-lens link can feel the cold chill running down Roland's spine) in
the other. Soon, however, it is clear that he is an impostor. His
antlers are fixed on a helm and the furred, hooved lower body is
actually some obscene garment. And the whole image _flickers_ when
lightning strikes.
   A few seconds later, he is close enough for the non-cosmics to see
what he truly is, for the light of the bolts reveals his true form: a
hideous, horrific, rotting corpse, and his "raven" is a misshapen
demon with batlike wings. More ravens (which are "only" the size of
condors) fly in the storm behind him, as do hounds, stags and horses
which "run" through the air. Monstrous hunters (and some mockeries of
squires) ride most of the horses. They are aimed directly at the tower
holding Lady Ardinay. The Bright Lady of Aysle stares back fearlessly.
   [Would that I had the Phoenix Claw,] Roland thinks. Then, [I love
you, Morgan.] He shows none of this to those present, instead holding
up the katana and spurring Gryphoenix with a gentle nudge of his
heels. They rise to interpose themselves between the demon and the
tower, facing the leader of the Hunt defiantly. "WOTAN!" he roars.
"FACE ME!"
   "Roland, NO!" Ardinay cries out.
   The demon-leader...laughs. The sound of his voice, ragged and
cruel, tears the wind around him. "With pleasure," he chuckles in a
rasp. Pointing his own great sword forward, 'Wotan' spurs his own
steed ahead. "Charge."
   ^Have you so little faith in the gifts of Arcadia?^ A voice
suddenly rings in Roland's head.
   ^Wh-Lord _Oberon?_^
   ^I gave you an enchantment. Your blade would always return to you.^
   ^But...^ Roland is flabbergasted. Wotan snarls in pleasure,
thinking his prey frightened, and drives his steed even faster. ^...it
was destroyed! What difference will calling a broken blade or staff
make?^
   ^THE PHOENIX CLAW WILL ALWAYS RETURN TO YOU. SO I SWORE. CALL YOUR
BLADE!^ Oberon commands.
   Roland, not having any better ideas anyway, holds up the katana.
"Phoenix Claw, RETURN!"
   There is a flash of light. In any other gathering, it would be
called blinding -- and indeed, many orcs and evil Men are. Several
trolls are 'sunburned;' one even turns to stone. A ball of quicksilver
is now around the hilt of Dhyrclhanc's gift; a split second later, it
flickers out over the sword, becoming a (Western-style) blade to rival
the Sword That Was Broken itself.
   "The sword reforged..." Roland whispers. [By the Faerie King, no
less. That's got to be at _least_ a match for Elrond.] "Gryphoenix!
HYAH!"
   And Roland charges straight at the obscene mockery of a Wild Hunt.
   (OOC: Feel free to take out Wild Hunters. OTOH, while my
_character_ wouldn't mind some help with Wotan, _I_ would like to take
him on myself. You folx have fun with ringwraiths -- I'm sure you know
enough about their abilities to handle them yourselves. 8^)
   (OOC 2: And at Morgan's request, a clarification: only the Witch
King of Angmar [deceased] could not be killed by a man. They're tough,
but not invincible -- sufficient force and/or Cool Combat can destroy
one's form. The rings themselves may be another matter, as Saruman can
attest...)
===========================

Subject: Re: AAE 9m: Minas London

On Thu, 08 Apr 2004 02:19:17 -0700
Harlock - Bard Extraordinaire Said As CAoL Message # 00011941

>On Wed, 07 Apr 2004 21:00:29 -0700
>Roland X Said As CAoL Message # 00011938
>
>>"And as for you," the Bard continues, "how well can you fly when
>>your wings won't flap, I wonder?" With a mutter and a gesture, he
>>attempts to paralyze the wolf-dragon.
>
>   There is a long moment where the wolf-dragon's resistance clashes
>with the spell, a tense second where it wouldn't move anyway.
>   Then it begins to plummet.

"Not very well, apparently."

>The ringwraith lets go, floating in mid-air and watching Harlock, its
>face and body language unreadable but the spite and malice palpable
>all the same. Then it _slowly_ begins to float toward another
>wolf-dragon, which flies down toward it. (OOC: Now you know why they
>need something to ride. <G>) Three of the "lesser" flying wolves dart
>toward the bard at the same time.

"Erin," says Harlock, "now would be a good time to..." He spots his
daughter being swarmed by warg cavalry. "Never mind, I can see thou'rt
busy." [Hmm. Three flying wolves and a wraith. Heh. The wraith is
moving slowly enow...] The Bard gestures and sings a rather discordant
melody. The flying wolves look blank for a moment, then start
attacking each other. By the time the spell has taken effect, however,
the ringwraith has remounted. ^Windrider, canst fight that
monstrosity?^

^Nay. But no creature born can match my speed in the air. 'Tis how I
came by my name, in part. Where away, O Bard?^

^To the city. I needs must boost the soldiery's morale.^

^Do thou hang on, then.^ With that, Windrider accelerates to a pace
that would shame a stooping falcon.

Despite the buffeting winds, Harlock looks down at the ground battle
and spies Marivale dancing about, wreaking havoc. The Bard smiles and
starts singing "Macavity" under his breath. Coincidentally (yeah,
right <g>) every time he sings the line "Macavity's not there,"
Marivale pulls off another impossible evasion.

(OOC: So, can Harlock make Minas London ahead of the nasties?)

>>Most of the arrows that hit merely deflect off of the true-silver
>>that Erin and Blaze bear. The few that strike squarely suffer an
>>even more surprising fate: they visibly strike sparks, then bounce
>>off.

Then the warg riders arrive. Without armor to weigh them down, they
move noticably faster than Blaze, and the wargs have sharp teeth. They
quickly hem Erindrea in, denying her the use of her bow. She snarls at
the tactic, expected though it may be, and reaches into a pouch
hanging from her belt. With a few words and a savage gesture, she
flings a fine black powder at her foes. Every warg within twenty feet
of her drops dead in its tracks, as do most of the orcs riding them.
The surviving orc rolls to his feet, sword at the ready, to see Erin's
bow trained on his eye. "Yield or die," she snaps in Orcish.

>>Marivale, meanwhile, is practically dancing through the orc lines,
>>not even bothering to disarm any of his foes at this point.
>
>   As he's having fun carving through hordes of orcs, I leave him to
>his own devices for the moment. Between the two, they're almost
>holding a flank themselves.

(OOC: Which two? Marivale and Erin?)

Marivale, meanwhile, has evidently decided that the best place to
avoid the next arrow volley is underneath one of the Mumakil. [Now how
do those fellows get up atop this beastie? Ah, I do believe I spy a
bit of trailing rope.] With his customary grace, he grabs the rope and
starts climbing. This makes him a target, of course, but...

"Macavity's not there!"

...he spots the volley of arrows being aimed his way and kicks into a
sideways arc just in time for the arrows to crash into the Oliphaunt's
hide. The Oliphaunt swings its massive head in annoyance at the
(relative) flea-bite, sweeping dozens of orcs off of their feet, many
of whom don't manage to get back up before becoming Mumak Toejam.

Once aboard the howdah, Marivale begins dispatching bowmen with brutal
efficiency. After the first few moments of surprise, the bowmen, too
well trained to fire into each other, drop their bows and yank
scimitars off of their belts. Of course, they're trained _archers,_
not trained swordsmen. If anything, Marivale's kill rate increases as
he fights his way towards the Oliphaunt's head. As he stands there,
exposed, a volley of arrows sings out from a second Oliphaunt's
back...

"Macavity's not there!"

...just as Marivale starts "grinding" down one of the Oliphaunt's
tusks.
 Most of the arrows don't do any particular damage, but several strike
one of the beast's vulnerable eyes, one of which finds its way to the
optic nerve and thence to the brain. The Oliphaunt collapses, crushing
several orcs and impaling a troll on one of its tusks.

Marivale races his way over to another Oliphaunt and again finds a
rope to climb. This time, however, he stops when he reaches the
beast's belly and starts sawing at the harness that holds the howdah
in place. A troll reaches up to grab him...

"Macavity's not there!"

...just as the last strap of the harness parts and it starts to fall.
Marivale grabs for the strap, getting a free ride up as the Haradrim
plunge screaming to the ground.

(OOC: I'd try to finish the song, as 'twere, but it's late, and that
line crops up _eight_times._ As you can see, though, for a master of
Macavity Fu, "target-rich environments" are a _good_ thing! <EG>)
===========================

Subject: Re: AAE 9m: Minas London

On Sun, 11 Apr 2004 18:18:25 -0700
Roland X Said As CAoL Message # 00011986

>On Thu, 08 Apr 2004 02:19:17 -0700
>Harlock Said As CAoL Message # 00011941
>
>>On Wed, 07 Apr 2004 21:00:29 -0700
>>Roland X Said As CAoL Message # 00011938
>
>Despite the buffeting winds, Harlock looks down at the ground battle
>and spies Marivale dancing about, wreaking havoc. The Bard smiles and
>starts singing "Macavity" under his breath. Coincidentally (yeah,
>right <g>) every time he sings the line "Macavity's not there,"
>Marivale pulls off another impossible evasion.
>
>(OOC: So, can Harlock make Minas London ahead of the nasties?)

   OOC: Snicker.
   Can a wolf's jaw drop? If so, the nearest flying wolf-thing does
just that as Windrider shoots away from the beast.
   As the Ringwraith watches Harlock's flight, however, it makes a
disturbingly satisfied-sounding hiss. Then it gestures after Harlock.
   Several uruk-hai air cavalry give chase. They certainly won't
_catch_ Harlock and Windrider while they're in flight, but when they
reach the city...it's not hard to figure out their tactic. He has to
stop sometime. If Harlock just flees, he's not their problem any more.
If he slows to help...

>Then the warg riders arrive. Without armor to weigh them down, they
>move noticably faster than Blaze, and the wargs have sharp teeth.
>They quickly hem Erindrea in, denying her the use of her bow. She
>snarls at the tactic, expected though it may be, and reaches into a
>pouch hanging from her belt. With a few words and a savage gesture,
>she flings a fine black powder at her foes. Every warg within twenty
>feet of her drops dead in its tracks, as do most of the orcs riding
>them. The surviving orc rolls to his feet, sword at the ready, to see
>Erin's bow trained on his eye. "Yield or die," she snaps in Orcish.

   The orc looks at her oddly. "Where you learn Orc?" he snarls,
laughing a gallows-humor laugh. Not waiting for an answer, he
continues, "Better you kill than the Eye." He leaps.
   OOC: This has _got_ to be Erindrea's easiest kill in a while.

>>   As he's having fun carving through hordes of orcs, I leave him to
>>his own devices for the moment. Between the two, they're almost
>>holding a flank themselves.
>
>(OOC: Which two? Marivale and Erin?)

   OOC: That'd be them. 8^)

<snip Maricavity's cool stunts>
>"Macavity's not there!"
>
>...just as the last strap of the harness parts and it starts to fall.
>Marivale grabs for the strap, getting a free ride up as the Haradrim
>plunge screaming to the ground.

   Roland's sword crashes against Wotan's, lightning exploding from
the contact. The knight-Champion looks down to where Erin and
Macav...er, Marivale are making such an impressive dent in an entire
flank of the invasion. "Care to fall back?" Roland asks with a
maddeningly confident smile.
   Wotan snarls. "Fool prey. Your interference was expected." The
clouds around the Wild Hunt part suddenly and briefly, sending two
shafts of deep red light (rather like tainted sunbeams) down towards
the area where Erin and Marivale are tearing into the siege.
   "You missed," Roland notes dryly. And indeed, the beams aren't
actually touching either warrior.
   "Did we?" Wotan laughs horribly, as two wolf-dragons explode down
towards them. Each is carrying another Ringwraith!
   "NO!" The Champion spins Gryphoenix around, but that just leaves
Wotan free to attack, which he does -- a ripple slashes through the
air, and Roland shudders and bites back a yelp of pain.
   "You," Wotan laughs again, as the Ringwraiths descend, "can face me
and die, or flee and die. You cannot help them, Phoenix-whelp."
   Roland gives Gryphoenix a tap on his neck, and the great steed
whirls around, coming out of the clouds' shadow into real light.
Though still dim, his armor gleams as he once again places himself
between Wotan and Minas London. "You assume too much, 'Wotan.'"
   */Erin! Marivale! Bogies coming in -- I mean, foes approach from
above! Ringwraiths!/* Roland 'points' them out mentally, then turns
his attention back to Wotan.
   */We're making a dent in these things,/* he adds, as the Phoenix
Claw flows and extends into a lance, */but there's too many of them to
do anything just cutting through them. We need to stop their assault.
The main targets are the siege towers and the battering ram./* if
you've seen RotK, you know what these look like -- the towers are
massive, sturdy, brutal constructions of wood and metal, each with a
two trollpower "engine," while six trolls push the battering ram into
place, and dozens of orcs guard the ram itself with shields as they
prepare to swing it. The front of the ram is a warg's head with a
mouth filled with some sorcerous flame. While the ram is not quite at
the main gate yet, the invaders are perilously close. */If we can keep
them from breaching the walls, all they can do is provide target
practice for the city's archers. Try to avoid the Ringwraiths if at
all possible; aside from the danger, their sole purpose here seems to
be to counter heroes./* Roland glares grimly at Wotan. */I'll join you
when I can./* Everyone can hear the unspoken 'if' beneath the 'when'
in that last sentence.
   "HYAAH!" Roland roars, and Gryphoenix surges forward.
   "CHARGE!" Wotan howls, and his demon tears the air before them. His
entire obscene Wild Hunt follows...
--
(/) Roland X
"...a day may come when the courage of men fails, when we forsake our
friends and break all bonds of fellowship, but it is not this day. ...
This day we fight! And for all that is dear to you in this world,
stand your ground, men of the West, and fight!" --Aragorn son of
Arathorn
===========================

Subject: Re: AAE 9m: Minas London

On Tue, 13 Apr 2004 01:38:51 -0700
Harlock - Bard Extraordinaire Said As CAoL Message # 00012003

>On Sun, 11 Apr 2004 18:18:25 -0700
>Roland X Said As CAoL Message # 00011986
>
>>Then the warg riders arrive. Without armor to weigh them down, they
>>move noticably faster than Blaze, and the wargs have sharp teeth.
>>They quickly hem Erindrea in, denying her the use of her bow. She
>>snarls at the tactic, expected though it may be, and reaches into a
>>pouch hanging from her belt. With a few words and a savage gesture,
>>she flings a fine black powder at her foes. Every warg within twenty
>>feet of her drops dead in its tracks, as do most of the orcs riding
>>them. The surviving orc rolls to his feet, sword at the ready, to
>>see Erin's bow trained on his eye. "Yield or die," she snaps in
>>Orcish.
>
>   The orc looks at her oddly. "Where you learn Orc?" he snarls,
>laughing a gallows-humor laugh. Not waiting for an answer, he
>continues, "Better you kill than the Eye." He leaps.

Erindrea fires, striking him squarely in the eye. He collapses. She
shrugs. "Your choice," she says, still speaking Orcish. She looks
around. The Oliphaunts seem to be focusing more on Marivale than on
her for the moment, and the next wave of warg cavalry is milling
about, evidently discussing what happened to the first wave. She urges
Blaze into a canter, heading for the nearest siege tower.

> <snip Maricavity's cool stunts>

(OOC: Heh. Thank you. I do try.)

>   Roland gives Gryphoenix a tap on his neck, and the great steed
>whirls around, coming out of the clouds' shadow into real light.
>Though still dim, his armor gleams as he once again places himself
>between Wotan and Minas London. "You assume too much, 'Wotan.'"
>   */Erin! Marivale! Bogies coming in -- I mean, foes approach from
>above! Ringwraiths!/* Roland 'points' them out mentally, then turns
>his attention back to Wotan.

Erin's head turns to track the diving wolf-dragon. Despite the fact
that she's riding at a canter, she brings her bow to bear and starts
firing a hail of arrows at the ravening beast. No single arrow is
enough to kill it, of course, nor even wound it appreciably, but by
the time it reaches her it will have been struck by dozens, even
scores of arrows, each of which is numbingly cold. Were the beast the
equal of Smaug, even this would not be a problem, but as it is not...

Marivale, meanwhile, is contemplating his own opponent. [Hmm. It can
fly. I can not. This could prove a rather interesting test of
ingenuity...] He makes his way to the head of the Oliphaunt, staying
low to avoid further arrow volleys. When he gets there, he starts
"grinding" down one of the tusks, away from the view of the other
Oliphaunt riders. Just as he reaches the low point of the tusk's arc,
he flips a dagger back behind him into the Oliphaunt's eye.

The Oliphaunt tosses its head in pain. Marivale uses the added
momentum to leap toward the diving wolf-dragon, another dagger in
hand. By some impossible acrobatic contortion, he manages to avoid the
wolf-dragon's jaws and bury his dagger to the hilt in the beast's
neck, hanging on for dear life.

>   */We're making a dent in these things,/* he adds, as the Phoenix
>Claw flows and extends into a lance, */but there's too many of them
>to do anything just cutting through them. We need to stop their
>assault. The main targets are the siege towers and the battering
>ram./*

Geoffery looks down at the city gates. He chants something and
gestures and a white fog billows up just in front of the gates. The
battering ram enters the fog and immediately slows down. 'Twould seem
the fog has roughly the consistency of gelatin. The trolls, undaunted,
continue to push it forward, but now a hissing sound can be heard from
within the fog. An orc, more daring or curious than the rest, tries to
shove his way into the fog. "AAIIEEEE! It burns," he cries, as he
pulls the stump of his arm back, the flesh still bubbling from the
caustic vapors.

"That should slow them down, although I doubt it will completely
dissolve that massive a ram. Still, 'twill be hard to swing a ram
through that muck. Have those big brutes any particular weaknesses? If
we could but eliminate them, that would slow things considerably,
methinks."
===========================

Subject: Re: AAE 9m: Minas London

On Thu, 15 Apr 2004 02:09:55 -0700
Harlock - Bard Extraordinaire Said As CAoL Message # 00012023

>On Sun, 11 Apr 2004 18:18:25 -0700
>Roland X Said As CAoL Message # 00011986
>
>   Can a wolf's jaw drop? If so, the nearest flying wolf-thing does
>just that as Windrider shoots away from the beast.
>   As the Ringwraith watches Harlock's flight, however, it makes a
>disturbingly satisfied-sounding hiss. Then it gestures after Harlock.
>   Several uruk-hai air cavalry give chase. They certainly won't
>_catch_ Harlock and Windrider while they're in flight, but when they
>reach the city...it's not hard to figure out their tactic. He has to
>stop sometime. If Harlock just flees, he's not their problem any
>more. If he slows to help...

Harlock glances back at the uruk-hai. They're losing ground, yes, but
slowly enough that slowing down to land in Minas London could
be...tricky. He grins. [Marivale needs not the extra help,
methinks...] With a few gestures and a mental twist to the song he's
still singing...

"Macavity's not there!"

...Windrider and the Bard both vanish into thin air. The uruk-hai
slow, obviously baffled by this development. The ringwraith, however,
vents a long, high, spine-tingling wail. Harlock has just enough time
to get his twitching spine back under control and think [what was that
all about?] when the uruk-hai ahead of him wheel and start heading in
his direction, the wolves' noses twitching. [Damn! I thought that was
too easy. Hmm...time for plan B.]

^Thou _hast_ a plan B?^

^Aye. We'll need to loop a bit to avoid flying right into that batch
ahead of us, but...canst feign exhaustion?^ Windrider's response is
more of an emotional blast than anything in words. The gist of it,
though, is that he's barely warmed up. ^Feign, I said. Enough to get
them a little more focused on the chase, belike?^

^Aye. I like it not, but aye.^

[I seem to be getting that a lot, lately...] Harlock dismisses the
invisibility spell as being of no further use, and he and Windrider
veer sharply to the left to avoid the oncoming uruk-hai. The uruk-hai
behind him pick up the pace again. Windrider leads them on a wide loop
towards Minas London, barely keeping ahead of the pack leaders.

And as Windrider does his part, the Bard weaves a subtle spell--barely
more than a whisper on the wind. The uruk-hai behind him realize that
the flying horse is tiring. They've almost caught it. They don't need
to worry about the eagle riders over Minas London--somebody else will
take care of them. They don't need to worry about the archers of Minas
London--they're too busy firing at the trolls. All that matters is
catching up to the flying horse. They have their orders.

(OOC: Like lambs to the slaughter...<eg>)
===========================

Subject: Re: AAE 9m: Minas London

On Sat, 17 Apr 2004 03:35:10 -0400
Mike Knight Said As CAoL Message # 00012028

>On Wed, 07 Apr 2004 21:00:29 -0700
>Roland X Said As CAoL Message # 00011938
>
>>On Wed, 7 Apr 2004 21:16:32 -0400
>>Mike Knight Said As CAoL Message # 00011936
>>
>>Tooth and claws rip into the body of the Ringwraith's mount, but the
>>dragoness's desire is to do no more than dismount the rider while in
>>midair. It is a Ringwraith after all, and would "survive" the fall.
>>Though her intended fate for the wolfdragon is more heinous, she
>>plans to eat the creature. Or at least take a very healthy bite to
>>sample its flavor. This is how her kind deal with enemies, and
>>though she finds human flesh revolting, wolfdragon might prove
>>palatable.
>
>   Actually, no. There's some kind of plant material in there,
>elements of undeath magic (though the wolf as a whole is alive), it's
>'warped' in a way reminiscent of wargs, and the metal-rusting acid in
>the throat sacs...ew.
>   As the wolf-dragon, at 25 feet in length, is almost as big as
>Moonstone (and be glad I shrank them; the Aysle book lists them as 10
>_meters_ long), this would have normally been a vicious battle of
>claws and teeth. With Kryptonian-class strength, however, the
>gospog-thing is soon mulch.

   Moonstone tears the wolfdragon asunder, creating mulch worthy of
your every evil gardening need. Then she pauses in midair, just
hanging there, jaw agape, something dark, brown, green, earthy and yet
tainted spilling from it. Then she coughs violently, her entire
serpentine body whipping around, shaking violently, like a wet animal,
attempting to disgourge every last bit of the creature's innards from
her.
   /Whugh-what in the name of vegan was that?! Soy and textured
vegetable protein salad with synthetic lemon-lime vinegrette? Yeugh!/

>   Unfortunately, there _is_ a ringwraith riding the creature, and
>Kryptonians are notoriously vulnerable to magic, meaning Moonstone
>only has her own defenses to protect her from a wraith-blade...
>   Roland wheels Gryphoenix around, wincing briefly at the carnage,
>then saluting Moonstone with his sword. /Thanks,/ he sends, tapping
>Gryphoenix on one side of its neck (unless Moonstone suddenly has
>Ringwraith problems, which will have him charging in). The great
>beast turns on one wingtip, heading for the city while the
>knight-Champion fires bolts from his energy-sheathed sword down at
>the attackers (code against killing in effect even here...sigh).

   /No problem, though next time, you get to eat it. Ick,/ Moonstone
sends with a shudder.
   Meanwhile, the ringwraith moved back to avoid the thrashing spined
form of the dragoness. But now that she seemed calmer, he swept back
in, blade ready to cleave through her head. Only the wind gave him
away as he fell almost silently at her.
   The dragon dodged the blade at the last second, suddenly
disappearing in a boom of sound. The ringwraith spun to see an albino
woman in a long white dress hanging in midair as he was some distance
away. She smiled at him, drawing a sword from a purple, fur-lined
cloak. At her belt was a gold amulet with a black gem in the center, a
deep blue gem, a yellow gem, and two green gems surrounding.
   "I think you may outclass me in strength and skill, but I'm willing
to give it a try if you are," Moonstone said, raising her roman
centurian's sword in her right hand, her left gesturing in a small
rolling circle to come forward.
   TBC
===========================

Subject: Re: AAE 9m: Minas London

On Sun, 18 Apr 2004 16:38:57 -0700
Roland X Said As CAoL Message # 00012031

>On Tue, 13 Apr 2004 01:38:51 -0700
>Harlock Said As CAoL Message # 00012003
>
>>On Sun, 11 Apr 2004 18:18:25 -0700
>>Roland X Said As CAoL Message # 00011986
>>
>>   Roland gives Gryphoenix a tap on his neck, and the great steed
>>whirls around, coming out of the clouds' shadow into real light.
>>Though still dim, his armor gleams as he once again places himself
>>between Wotan and Minas London. "You assume too much, 'Wotan.'"
>>   */Erin! Marivale! Bogies coming in -- I mean, foes approach from
>>above! Ringwraiths!/* Roland 'points' them out mentally, then turns
>>his attention back to Wotan.
>
>Erin's head turns to track the diving wolf-dragon. Despite the fact
>that she's riding at a canter, she brings her bow to bear and starts
>firing a hail of arrows at the ravening beast. No single arrow is
>enough to kill it, of course, nor even wound it appreciably, but by
>the time it reaches her it will have been struck by dozens, even
>scores of arrows, each of which is numbingly cold. Were the beast the
>equal of Smaug, even this would not be a problem, but as it is not...

   The wolf-dragon's movements slow as Erin's arrows pierce it again
and again. While phenomenally tough, the sheer number of attacks is
weakening the beast. On the other hand, the's a problem.
   Even if she kills the thing, it's still descending towards her at a
decent clip, and there is still a Ringwraith riding it.
   The wraith's mailed hand clutches the monster's head, sharp
gauntlet tips sinking slightly into the beast's skull. It snarls in
pain and anger, but does not turn on its master. The wraith chants in
the Black Tongue, and the wolf-dragon continues to descend, flecks of
frost trailing in its wake as it dives on Erin like a hawk on a
rabbit...

>The Oliphaunt tosses its head in pain. Marivale uses the added
>momentum to leap toward the diving wolf-dragon, another dagger in
>hand. By some impossible acrobatic contortion, he manages to avoid
>the wolf-dragon's jaws and bury his dagger to the hilt in the beast's
>neck, hanging on for dear life.

   The wolf-dragon roars in pain, trying to reach Marivale with claws
and teeth. None avail it.
   Unfortunately for Marivale, the wolf-dragon is merely the lesser
danger. The Ringwraith hisses...is it laughing? Then, it curses in the
Black Tongue -- a literal curse, which shatters the "Macavity" effect!
   Only then does it draw a broadsword from its voluminous ebon robes,
a deep gray metal forged in Minas Morgul itself, and stabs at
Marivale...

>Geoffery looks down at the city gates. He chants something and
>gestures and a white fog billows up just in front of the gates. The
>battering ram enters the fog and immediately slows down. 'Twould seem
>the fog has roughly the consistency of gelatin. The trolls,
>undaunted, continue to push it forward, but now a hissing sound can
>be heard from within the fog. An orc, more daring or curious than the
>rest, tries to shove his way into the fog. "AAIIEEEE! It burns," he
>cries, as he pulls the stump of his arm back, the flesh still
>bubbling from the caustic vapors.
>
>"That should slow them down, although I doubt it will completely
>dissolve that massive a ram. Still, 'twill be hard to swing a ram
>through that muck. Have those big brutes any particular weaknesses?
>If we could but eliminate them, that would slow things considerably,
>methinks."

   *Well done,* Roland replies. *Middle-Earth trolls are supposed to
be vulnerable to sunlight, but these seem to be influenced
by...another variant of the tale. Fire might work, but the only
vulnerable spots that I'm sure of are the eyes. If Erindrea can pull
back to support you, given her skill, I imagine she can slow them down
quite a bit.*
   [Not to mention getting her out of Ringwraith reach. I'd recommend
the same for Marivale...] he spares a glance downward after
straightening his lance, which clashed against Wotan's shield mere
moments ago, [...but there's nothing for it with him for the moment.]

Then...
>On Sat, 17 Apr 2004 03:35:10 -0400
>Mike Knight Said As CAoL Message # 00012028
>
>>On Wed, 07 Apr 2004 21:00:29 -0700
>>Roland X Said As CAoL Message # 00011938
>>
>   /Whugh-what in the name of vegan was that?! Soy and textured
>vegetable protein salad with synthetic lemon-lime vinegrette? Yeugh!/

   /You don't want to know,/ Roland replies grimly.

>>   Roland wheels Gryphoenix around, wincing briefly at the carnage,
>>then saluting Moonstone with his sword. /Thanks,/ he sends, tapping
>>Gryphoenix on one side of its neck
>
>   /No problem, though next time, you get to eat it. Ick,/ Moonstone
>sends with a shudder.

   /I strongly recommend not trying to eat gospog of _any_ sort,
though. All of them have ties to the Gaunt Man's realm, and they are
all, to some extent, powered by undead magics./ Roland chuckles
grimly. /Not exactly a garden salad./

>   Meanwhile, the ringwraith moved back to avoid the thrashing spined
>form of the dragoness. But now that she seemed calmer, he swept back
>in, blade ready to cleave through her head. Only the wind gave him
>away as he fell almost silently at her.
>   The dragon dodged the blade at the last second, suddenly
>disappearing in a boom of sound. The ringwraith spun to see an albino
>woman in a long white dress hanging in midair as he was some distance
>away. She smiled at him, drawing a sword from a purple, fur-lined
>cloak. At her belt was a gold amulet with a black gem in the center,
>a deep blue gem, a yellow gem, and two green gems surrounding.
>   "I think you may outclass me in strength and skill, but I'm
>willing to give it a try if you are," Moonstone said, raising her
>roman centurian's sword in her right hand, her left gesturing in a
>small rolling circle to come forward.

   It hisses, gesturing savagely with its free hand. Another flying
wolf -- one of the smaller ones, fortunately, as the draconic things
seem to be thinning out -- arcs toward them. Without another word, the
Ringwraith glides in, its blade lashing out with power and speed.
Though long dead and corrupted, this was still a mighty warrior-king
of Men once. It shows.
   [Damn. I obviously wasn't clear -- gnn,] Roland thinks, shuddering
as Wotan's blade slips under his shield, drawing blood.
   "Heh heh heh heh heh," Wotan chuckles terribly, extended chain
lightning revealing the false god's rotting form for several seconds.
"You are brave, boy, but never were you a match for my Wild Hunt."
   "Times change," Roland growls. "HYAH!" So quickly that even Wotan
is startled, Roland and Gryphoenix burst forward, clean blue power
spiralling around his lance. Wotan, immensely powerful and skilled,
manages to brace, but then the hero does the unexpected -- he
_shortens_ the lance, shifting at the last minute, and driving the
silvery metal straight through his foul heart. Jet black ichor flows
out of his back, as the lance flows again, becoming a sword. Roland
yanks it out savagely through the demon's torso, leaving the creature
half torn apart.
   "Fool. I cannot die," Wotan growls, even as he and his beast
retreat to his stormcloud.
   "More the fool _you,_ to think that immortality would give you an
_advantage_ against one who does not kill," Roland spits back,
grinning savagely (and probably shocking anyone who knows him in the
process). "Now take your mockery of the true Wild Hunt, and GET OFF MY
WORLD."
   The collection of fell men and beasts swirls around Roland briefly,
when a burst of incredible magic power crashes into them. The
knight-Champion looks over his shoulder, saluting Lady Ardinay with
his blade. Seconds later, when the disrupting spell ceases, the entire
mass flies up, all following their master into the sky. Within
moments, the Wild Hunt is gone.
   */We need to get rid of the Ringwraiths,/* Roland sends, turning
with Gryphoenix toward the rightmost siege tower. */If anyone needs
help, give a holler. After that, our best strategic option is to take
out these siege engines, especially the battering ram. Geoffery has
done a good job of slowing them down, but now we need to bring them to
a halt./* There is a pause. */M'lord wizard, does your destructive fog
affect wood as well as flesh?/* Even those unfamiliar with the
Champion can all but hear the gears turning in his head.
===========================

Subject: Re: AAE 9m: Minas London

On Sun, 18 Apr 2004 21:12:18 -0700
Harlock - Bard Extraordinaire Said As CAoL Message # 00012035

>On Sun, 18 Apr 2004 16:38:57 -0700
>Roland X Said As CAoL Message # 00012031
>
>>On Tue, 13 Apr 2004 01:38:51 -0700
>>Harlock Said As CAoL Message # 00012003
>
>   The wolf-dragon's movements slow as Erin's arrows pierce it again
>and again. While phenomenally tough, the sheer number of attacks is
>weakening the beast. On the other hand, the's a problem.
>   Even if she kills the thing, it's still descending towards her at
>a decent clip, and there is still a Ringwraith riding it.
>   The wraith's mailed hand clutches the monster's head, sharp
>gauntlet tips sinking slightly into the beast's skull. It snarls in
>pain and anger, but does not turn on its master. The wraith chants in
>the Black Tongue, and the wolf-dragon continues to descend, flecks of
>frost trailing in its wake as it dives on Erin like a hawk on a
>rabbit...

Seemingly unaware of her peril, Erindrea keeps shooting the great
beast, peppering it with arrows. Mere instants before impact, she
snaps out a phrase in a tongue unknown to Middle-Earth and vanishes,
to reappear some hundred yards closer to Minas London. The weakened
wolf-dragon meets the ground with predictable (and extremely messy)
results. Erin turns in the saddle to launch a few arrows at the
wraith, but soon returns to the task at hand, which is to say getting
close enough to the siege towers to interfere with them.

>   The wolf-dragon roars in pain, trying to reach Marivale with claws
>and  teeth. None avail it.
>   Unfortunately for Marivale, the wolf-dragon is merely the lesser
>danger. The Ringwraith hisses...is it laughing? Then, it curses in
>the Black Tongue -- a literal curse, which shatters the "Macavity"
>effect!

(OOC: Of course, the "Macavity" effect was only _enhancing_ Marivale's
natural prowess...)

>   Only then does it draw a broadsword from its voluminous ebon
>robes, a deep gray metal forged in Minas Morgul itself, and stabs at
>Marivale...

Despite the fact that his left hand is effectively pinned by the need
to hold onto the dagger, Marivale still has the agility and skill to
fend off the first sword thrust with his rapier. The wraith's body
language betrays its surprise, but it tries once more. This time
Marivale manages to duck to one side, barely avoiding the thrust, and
launch a counterattack. Inhumanly strong or not, when your blade
twists just _so,_ there is no way to hang onto it, and the Nazgul's
sword goes tumbling to the ground.

Marivale uses the brief respite to swing himself up onto the
wolf-dragon's neck, kicking the ringwraith aside as he does so. The
wraith, having been deprived of its sword, pulls a dagger out of its
robes and faces Marivale with wary respect evident in its posture.

>>"That should slow them down, although I doubt it will completely
>>dissolve that massive a ram. Still, 'twill be hard to swing a ram
>>through that muck. Have those big brutes any particular weaknesses?
>>If we could but eliminate them, that would slow things considerably,
>>methinks."
>
>   *Well done,* Roland replies.

[Thank you, Lord Roland.]

>*Middle-Earth trolls are supposed to be vulnerable to sunlight, but
>these seem to be influenced by...another variant of the tale. Fire
>might work, but the only vulnerable spots that I'm sure of are the
>eyes.

[Ah, they can be blinded, can they?] Geoffery starts chanting and
gesturing anew. Unfortunately, the spell he attempts to use is
resisted by the creature's physical toughness, and trolls are
undeniably tough. [Ech. So much for that strategy. Lord Roland, how
vulnerable would you say those brutes are to mind-influencing
effects?]

>   */We need to get rid of the Ringwraiths,/* Roland sends, turning
>with Gryphoenix toward the rightmost siege tower. */If anyone needs
>help, give a holler. After that, our best strategic option is to take
>out these siege engines, especially the battering ram. Geoffery has
>done a good job of slowing them down, but now we need to bring them
>to a halt./* There is a pause. */M'lord wizard, does your destructive
>fog affect wood as well as flesh?/*

[Aye, but 'twill dissipate soon. I'm afraid it only lasts a little
under two minutes per casting at my level of expertise, and I only
prepared the spell once today. I have other spells that might hinder
them, but none that are like to be directly effective 'gainst the
ram.]
===========================