Action, Adventure, Excitement, Part 9: Middle Earth / High Fantasy Chapter 2 Subject: Re: AAE 9m: Irish Solitaire On Mon, 19 Apr 2004 00:54:22 -0700 Morgan and/or Roland Said As CAoL Message # 00012036 >On Mon, 05 Apr 2004 00:43:36 -0700 >Morgan and Roland Said As CAoL Message # 00011913 > > "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?" Much later. "As a Ringwraith, Saruman cannot be permanently destroyed by any power available to us now," Gandalf's warnings echo in Morgan's mind... The portal closes behind them as their changeling master of stealth grins insouciantly. Outside, Gnuris' assault force engages Saruman's uruk-hai army, the magic of the West and the science of Earth-9 combining on both sides. "You can forget your troubles with those Imperial slugs," the half-faerie quips. The others suppress chuckles and groans. ... "Only Sauron can do that, by giving the ring of Men to another." ... The first level of the Tower is fairly quiet. Eden, Gandalf and Morgan follow Ismail, a well-traveled eshu, through corridors and doorways. While he chooses some very odd directions at times, they come across no traps or patrols. ... "However, Saruman _can_ be overcome; by destroying his manifestation, his ring returns to Sauron's monstrous Crown." ... Ismail puts his fingers to his lips as the approach a stairwell, then flits up silently, almost invisibly even to these three worthies. ... "Alas, this will not be easy, for Saruman's cunning allows him to draw power from his existence as a Ringwraith." ... There is a *thump* so silent that, even expecting it, the others aren't sure they heard it until the changeling returns, hauling an uruk-hai down with him slung over one shoulder. ... "I fear that the thing he is now -- Saruman the Black, Death-King of Angmar -- is more powerful than I, for he now wields forces of both life and death." ... After a brief discussion, they decide that they could not pass for uruk-hai believably (perhaps Morgan could manage, with her magic, but the armor is not conducive to sneaking) and, leaving Ismail's victim behind, they continue. ... "Yet power is not everything, and Saruman's thoughts become ever more rigid and unchanging." ... Again, Ismail takes the lead, the others following. Though Eden occasionally fingers her Klaive, the faerie-kin's luck continues to hold, and they ghost through the second floor without incident. ... "We will yet defeat him, if our courage is strong and our wits are sharp." As they prepare to ascend to the third level, however, Eden sniffs the air and frowns. "Something's wrong," she whispers, her petite human frame flowing and expanding until she is an argent-furred mass of destructive power. Ismail sighs, rolling his eyes to glance back at her. "Rest assured, wondrous lady, that the situation is --" A scythe flies silently towards the eshu, blade aimed unerringly at his neck. Instead, it meets fae-enchanted steel as Morgan quickly extends Aramegil to its full length to block the blade. It had come from a cunning panel worked into the black metal wall. "You were saying?" she whispers. Ismail nods, eyes as wide as saucers. "I am listening most intently." "Good," Eden replies dryly. "I'd guess that Saruman's mechanical traps are carefully greased. The smell is faint, but nasty and unmistakable." The Exalt shakes her muzzle in disgust. "And I thought it was bad with a human nose." "Saruman's craft is indeed cunning," Gandalf notes. "However, his style has become crude and direct." Ismail rubs his neck nervously as the ladies force the scythe to lock safely against its own slot. "Looked effective to me." "Indeed," Gandalf admits. "Shall we continue, master Ismail?" The eshu glances at the trap one last time, then beckons the others forward with rather more care. He can no longer take them through areas that are entirely without traps, for this high in the tower there are none. However, his talent and luck allow him to lead them through the least dangerous areas. Trap doors, spinning fan blades, and the occasional uruk-hai patrol are easily dispatched, until they are at the tower's apex. "Gandalf?" Ismail asks silently, nodding sideways towards ornate double doors. The wizard nods. Eden draws her Klaive, the claws on her off hand becoming longer and gleaming like silver. Ismail slides a thin scimitar and a short, cunning dagger out of sheaths. Aramegil, never having been sheathed, is still at the ready. Gandalf approaches the doors. They swing inward of their own accord. "Greetings, old friend," a deep, powerful voice intones ironically from within. "Alas, your silence has prevented me from providing a suitable welcome until now..." Uruk-hai and wargs approach the four from the other three directions, as two corridors meet just before the entrance. "...but rest assured that I will not neglect you any longer." "The Eye!" Leaders from each direction shout. "THE EYE!" Their massed warriors roar as one. The wargs howl monstrously as well. Eden smiles ferally. "Oh good," she barks. "I was afraid I wouldn't get to show your wargs my opinion of them before we killed you, wraith." Then all hell breaks loose. Wargs charge in first, snapping and snarling as the uruk-hai press in. Morgan's claymore draws first blood, being the longest and most puissant weapon on the field. The others are only marginally less skilled and well-armed, however, and all have impressive magics. Eden is able to fulfill her promise quickly, and wargs fall around her in rapid succession. Gandalf provides more support than offensive might, protecting others with flashes of light and fire as well as staff parries, but he too brings down a respectable number of wargs. Ismail is the fastest of them all, even in this group, laughing as he dances past a warg's jaws to stick his dagger in one, freezing it in place, then lopping off the head of another with his scimitar. He seems to be everywhere at once. Then the uruk-hai charge. Though the wargs were in fact tougher opponents, the orc-things are far more numerous. This time, Morgan's skill proves supreme even over Eden's, as her sword changes shape to the ideal length at any given moment. One second it is the full, magnificent claymore, slicing through a torso; the next, a dagger, instantly free of the dark, hooked metal that could bind a normal blade; then, a longsword, parrying a spear coming at her back with an over-the-shoulder block. Gandalf's efforts prove more effective against these foes as well, for where a staff blow would only stun a warg, it can stop an uruk-hai entirely. Eden and Ismail are no less effective than they were, the wolf-woman tearing through their ranks with a savage power while the fey swordsman spins like a dervish, dropping warriors all about him. And all the while, Saruman merely watches. Finally, it is over. All four stop to catch their breath as the necromancer claps. "Well done, well done!" Saruman, his hair still a yellowed ivory but his robes as black and menacing as any Ringwraith's, stands and steps down from his throne, walking toward them. He stretches out his hand, and a staff made of the same metal as the tower, topped with a design reminiscent of Isengard's peak, shoots into his palm. Gandalf's own staff glows as the wraith summons his weapon, but the wizard can only frown at his ineffective effort. "And yet, all your great efforts lead you to naught. You cannot stop the tidal wave that Sauron unleashes, any more than you could stop the staff from coming to my hand, old fool." The last, bitter and hateful, he spits at Gandalf. The great wizard, who had been stooping to rest from the effort of battle, draws himself up to his full height. He glares imperiously at Saruman. "For all your might and force, Saruman the Black, you have learned nothing. You failed against Rohan, and you will fail now for the same reason -- you see nothing but what you _want_ to see!" With that, all four attack. Ismail, as the fastest, reaches Saruman first. Or, more accurately, reaches Saruman's defenses first, clashing against a dark red force. Saruman smiles cruelly, clenching his free hand as if it were convulsing. Ismail convulses in turn, spasming terribly as the wraith's force throws him against the wall. By then, the other three have reached Saruman's defense, and strike as one. Mithrandir's staff blazes with light, striking head-on. Eden howls rhythmically, making a throwing gesture with her free hand. Morgan brings Aramegil down on the field, channelling her own magic (the equivalent of Prime) into the blade to sever the field both physically and magically. The combined attack causes the shield to pop like a bubble. All three charge. Saruman's smile never wavers. His twisted hand becomes a far more sublime gesture, forcing Aramegil to one side. The staff clashes with Gandalf's, light battling shadow. Eden strikes with claw and blade, however, howling triumphantly -- for a moment. Then a burst of dark power explodes from the tears in his robes, crushing her against the wall opposite Ismail's prone form. "It will not be so easy, Wyrmspawn!" Eden cries, shifting to human form and slipping out from the grasping force before it can close on her slender frame. Gandalf fires a shaft of light directly into Saruman's eyes, but the hateful glare does not change. The odd duel between Morgan's blade and the wraith's grasping hand continues, when his body convulses. "I do not need to breathe, woman," echoes hollowly through his wounds, though his movements are jerky. Eden looks impressed, shifting back to wolf-woman form as she dances sideways. *Nice. What _was_ that?* *The bends,* the highlander quips back. She continues to observe the wraith with magical senses as well as physical. The Lunar's wolfish laugher follows her in as she attacks again, this time careful to only strike with her blade. "Enough!" Saruman roars, throwing Gandalf back with a burst of force and turning his staff on Eden. Despite her strength and speed, the power of his blow is enhanced with magic and the strength of the mightiest Ringwraith. Again, she flies across the room, but this time Eden is slow to rise, her body smoking from the blast. Saruman then glides back, defending himself from Morgan and Gandalf as they press their attacks. "Your pet is impressive, Stormcrow," the fallen wizard mocks, "but she cannot save you from my wrath." Gandalf, inexplicably, grins. "If you think that you are fighting pets rather than friends, Saruman, this will be easier than I thought." Morgan's awareness reads the unholy energies within Saruman as he screams in rage. The blast that flies at Gandalf is the dark mix that Mithrandir described earlier, wizard's power and Ring sorcery combined. Saruman himself is the same mix, with a great deal of unliving power animating a corpse that has just a touch of life energy in its core, almost as a mockery of the life he had once known. Scanning the magical state of his mind is more...interesting. While it is mostly identical to a living being's mind (albeit the mind of a brilliant and powerful being with experience in mental prowess), there is a sorcerous 'rigor mortis' of sorts that would explain the increased rigidity of his thoughts. And his spirit... "Eeuww. Don't you _ever_ take that soul out for a good wash-and-wax? That's just disgusting." Meanwhile, her physical attacks vary at random, different styles, blade changing to suit, never settling into any discernable pattern and with the occasional magickal blast tossed in for even more variety (not to mention analysis of the responses). "I prefer to wax poetic, myself," Gandalf adds with a smile, his faint blue screen protecting him from the worst of Saruman's fury. "Your words are clever, but that is all either of you have against my might." He turns to lock eyes with Eden as she leaps. Morgan and Gandalf both feel a burst of mental force, a power that the Lunar is not as adept at defending against as physical attacks. She crumples, but not before one last throw of her Klaive. It buries itself into his chest as Gandalf throws off Saruman's assault with a cry in ancient Elvish. "And then there were two," Saruman intones, his body spitting out the Klaive as he turns his attention to Morgan. "You, woman, have inconvenienced me impressively thus far. But as your wits cannot encompass your talents..." he smiles again, more cruelly than ever, "...this should be rather simple." With a gesture, he forces Morgan back, the druidess straining against a power that assaults her on every level. "NO!" Gandalf roars, a shaft of fire and light striking Saruman in the back. The Ringwraith-wizard screams in pain for the first time, and is then swallowed by a sphere of darkness. The attack on Morgan stops. The white wizard rises unsteadily, leaning on his staff. "Well. That was unexpectedly effective. Rather sloppy of you, 'old friend,' to exclude a ward against fire. Are you all right, my dear--" The sphere explodes, to reveal a badly burned Saruman, whose towering rage can be felt as much as seen. "YOU!" he roars, crooking a finger at Gandalf while he thrusts his staff at Morgan, pushing her back. "THAT...WAS...THE...LAST...TIME!" Gandalf curls into a fetal position from agony, but still manages to quip, "I should be so fortunate." Saruman smiles again, and if it was terrible before, the burned rictus-grin of exposed muscle is horrifying now. "Oh, you are, 'old friend.' Rest assured, you arRRGH!" He looks down at his arm, where Ismail's dagger just grew. A glance slams the eshu into the wall _again,_ driving away his consciousness if not his rakish grin. Then Mithrandir looks up at Morgan, who is desperately trying to reach Saruman. "Morgan. It is time to face the Balrog." Saruman sneers. "It is better this way. I can thank you later...at length." A final, savage gesture, and Gandalf collapses. He turns, floating in place, to face Morgan. She can tell that the dagger slowed him, and the Ringwraith is badly ravaged both physically and magically, but his power is still great, and there seems to be no limit to what he can do when he wants to. "And now...for you," he snaps. Grasping his staff with both hands, he raises it to the sky, then brings it down like a headsman's axe to point at Morgan. TBC... =========================== Subject: Re: AAE 9m: Irish Solitaire On Mon, 19 Apr 2004 01:20:06 -0700 Morgan and/or Roland Said As CAoL Message # 00012037 >On Mon, 19 Apr 2004 00:54:22 -0700 >Morgan and Roland Said As CAoL Message # 00012036 > > Saruman sneers. "It is better this way. I can thank you later...at >length." A final, savage gesture, and Gandalf collapses. He turns, >floating in place, to face Morgan. She can tell that the dagger >slowed him, and the Ringwraith is badly ravaged both physically and >magically, but his power is still great, and there seems to be no >limit to what he can do when he wants to. "And now...for you," he >snaps. Grasping his staff with both hands, he raises it to the sky, >then brings it down like a headsman's axe to point at Morgan. The highlander flies, not into a wall, but into the air, floating there as power pulls at her arms, legs, thoughts, senses, and spirit. Morgan's defenses keep him from tearing her apart -- now her shoulder _does_ bend that way, now her mind _can_ handle "hearing" purple. "You will suffer!" he snarls, twisting her body. "You will beg!" he cries, driving spikes of sorrow into her mind. Morgan is pushed to her limits. Dealing with one intensity, such as the time the Controller had poisoned her, was child's play compared to the onslaught Saruman pounded her with. Even Byron Gaunt's use of pleasure and pain, which _had_ broken her (though she'd grown much since Roland had saved her from the psion), was shades of grey between extremes of black and white. This, by comparison, is a full spectrum of sound and light and more. "And when I am through with you," he continues viciously, "you will _wish_ you faced naught but a Balrog!" Balrog. "Face the Balrog," Mithrandir had told her. "How many times have _you_ 'faced the Balrog...'?" he'd asked. And other voices spill through her consciousness. Omen saying of the CAoL, "...if you had the slightest idea how you do what you do." "...merely a straightforward warrior without knowledge of the tenth part of her potential," Destroyer called Solitaire. "...a predilection for developing new, inexplicable skills under great duress..." Ganthet pointing out when he told her of the training the Oans had given her to fight the Shadow at Epsilon 3. Fighting Shadow. Under great duress... "Enough!" A silver-grey bubble of...force? energy? magick?...explodes around her, blocking and knocking back the Ringwraith's attacks. Morgan floats in the center, eyes blazing (metaphorically at least). Saruman flies back, stumbling and flailing, barely holding onto his staff as his own multi-burst of power crashes back into him. "What?!" he cries, stunned, at the druidess' wrath. He creates a shield of his own, dark red and multifaceted, but his next assault is half-hearted at best. "How..." Morgan smiles. If Saruman is a thing of darkness and death, she is every inch a creature of light and life. "How?" she asks as she floats lightly to the floor, and chuckles. "The great and powerful servant of the Eye asks a 'pet' for answers. Apparently your reputation is undeserved." Saruman's eyes narrowed hatefully, but the smile returns as he realizes that she is attacking with her sword again. He brings up the staff to parry... ...and the magic she flows down her blade as they strike shatters it! "NO!" he roars, thrusting her back with an 'edged' spacial ripple, two-dimensional spike-blades cutting her as the three-dimensional distortion forces her back. "Impossible! You have no power over the inanimate!" The highlander's head cocks to one side, the smile still playing on her lips. "Says who?" she asks simply. A moment's concentration, and an interference pattern counters the ripple, it's "edges" blunted. Assessing her own condition takes no conscious thought, however -- she knows the extent of every wound, how much each has weakened or otherwise affected her (and they have), and none seem to require attention at the moment. Even so, Saruman is also aware of her injuries, albeit without her perfect knowledge of each blow, and he has gathered his willpower again. She has been pushed back and out of sword range. The Ringwraith sneers, gesturing, and the pieces of the staff vanish. "I will repair it later. Easily." He stretches out his hand, and behind his shield, terrible assaults prepare -- not a single unified blow this time, but a dozen writhing spirit-fields, each carrying its own debilitating attack. He builds each carefully as he fortifies his defenses. "So the pet has learned a few new tricks. Why do you think you can stop me from bringing you to heel?" "Because my wits encompass my talents." Morgan draws on the energies that exist around her -- what Eric might call "Essence," and Seeker "Prime," and Suli "the Source" -- and sends a blast down Aramegil to disrupt the building attacks. She knows she does not need the sword for a focus, but she uses it anyway because the effect pleases her. Saruman's eyes go wide as her counter-effect disrupts his building attacks, one by one. He tries to adjust for the way he's underestimated her, but he does not revise his opinion, or his strategy, quickly enough -- his shield, too, vanishes. Now a little desperate and more than a little furious, he tries to create a new defense -- again, too late. His entire left arm...unravels, almost literally undone by her power over Possibility itself. "AARRGGgghhh..." Saruman roars, what's left of him collapsing into a pile of torn, tainted, empty robes. The ring falls, chiming as it strikes the marble floor, then vanishing before it can finish its first bounce. Amazingly, Morgan might have even been able to destroy this ring, in spite of its vast power, if Sauron hadn't snatched it away. Instantly Morgan assesses the condition of her comrades...and is rather surprised to find out that _she_ is the most seriously injured of the four. Having reminded her husband often enough that one cannot pour from an empty cup, she begins healing her wounds, speeding up blood replenishment, and smiling to herself as she mends the corresponding damage to her clothing. Her cup refilled, so to speak, she goes to Ismail to see to the fae's injuries. "Well done," Gandalf says proudly as he kneels, a bit unsteadily, by Eden's side. He places his fingers on one temple, and in moments the wolf-woman awakens. "Wh..." Eden sits up, shifting to human form. "What did I miss?" She looks at the pile of Saruman with a lopsided grin. "The good part, from the looks of things." Then she bolts upright. "The battle!" "I suspect you needn't worry about that," Gandalf replies, gesturing over to a balcony just as a great cheer of human, melodic, and roaring voices rises from below. "I don't even have to look," Eden chuckles. "Gnuris must be having the time of his life out there." "Without Saruman," Gandalf explains, sparing a smile for the Greywolf, "his forces are rudderless. Our allies will put paid to them handily, I think." Ismail sits up woozily as Morgan's healing restores him. "We're alive?" Morgan chuckles. "Unless you think the afterlife is this tacky," she says, gesturing around Saruman's inner sanctum. Gandalf laughs so hard he has to sit down as Ismail grins, his eyes still unfocused from dizziness. "Then I guess we won," the changeling quips. "The battle, at least," Morgan replies, sobering them all. "The war goes on." Ismail nods and stands, stumbling to a table. Suddenly, his eyes focus. "Hel-lo..." he takes a cylinder, pops open the end, and unrolls his find. It is a map of western Ireland...including very precise coordinates for the stelae that keeps Ireland overlaid with Middle-Earth reality. "I love being an eshu," he says jauntily. ----- Epilogue: "HEAVE!" Eden roars. Achill Head. Several heroes, including Lunars, troll-kith, and a surprisingly muscular Morgan, are pulling on silvery ropes wrapped around a four meter tall piece of sculpted stone-metal. Above them, the storm rages, blue and red lightning crackling above them. It begins to rain. The foul thing, inscribed all about in the Black Tongue, looks like a miniature version of the tower at Barad-Dur, the one from which Sauron looked over all of Mordor at the height of his reign. Though the physical effort is great, there is a spiritual one as well, a battle of true possibility. With their first pull, they had known -- KNOWN, with a certainty that stunned them -- that their battle against Saruman had restored hope and possibility to those they were about to liberate, so that they can survive the fall of the stelae. Ismail looks sadly at the model of the Dark Tower. "I know that this invasion is evil. I can feel it in the very Glamour, the Banality of the energy here. And yet..." "There is a glory, a Glamour, in our world, one that not even Sauron can extinguish," Mithrandir agrees, placing a hand kindly on the changeling's shoulder. "Though the Fourth Age is diminished in some ways by the loss of Elves and Wizards, it is still a glorious time, and Sauron cannot rid himself entirely of its grandeur." "And science still works," Ismail continues, as the heroes pull harder. The stelae begins to pull free of the ground. "I know that's not true of the rest of the realm, save in a few places of the North, but here, in Erin..." "Oh yes. Saruman still loves his machines," Gandalf replies darkly. "However, think on this, my friend. Would it be worth the theft, the loss, of the freedom of destiny for so many, to restore the glory your people once knew?" Ismail bows his head as the stelae slides further from the ground. "Bloody thing must be a meter deep," a thick brogue notes. "I know. I know. I just wish..." he looks up, and the stelae slides out a touch further. "...I just wish there was another way." "NOW!" Morgan cries, sensing the shift of power. They pull as one. The stelae flies out, rising a few inches from the ground, and crashes, fallen and inert, to the ground. The gathered heroes cheer as the storm front shifts violently, rain and lightning raging around them. Then, with a swiftness that astonishes even the wizard, the dark clouds retreat, leaving only natural weather. The 'normal' clouds break above them, favoring the heroes with shafts of golden sunlight. The changelings gasp. "The Glamour..." one troll breathes. Morgan, having let her muscles go back to their "normal" configuration, laughs and throws her arms around a stunned Ismail, dancing him around. Eden wipes her brow as she shifts to human form. "Hell, this is _better_ than the mixed realm was," she says, eyeing Gandalf as suspiciously as happiness allows. "Did you know, you old bandit?" Gandalf joins in the laughter. "Oh no," he assures her. "I did suspect, however. And I do like to offer the occasional _pleasant_ surprise, you know." He waits for a few moments for the most intense of the feelings to ebb, then approaches Morgan. "My dear, it does this old heart good to see you laugh. As you said, however...the war goes on. I believe that your husband would be very happy to see us now." Shadowfax trots up, nuzzling the wizard's arm. A great grey mare, almost of a size with him, tries to stick her nose in Morgan's pocket. *Looks like your rides are here,* Cutter quips. *"Our mounts, at any rate,"* Morgan replies. *"I'll not be asking them to swim St. George's Channel."* She gives Cutter and Leetah each an ear scritch. *Tell my babies that Mommy misses them, and that 'Momanpop' will see them as soon as we can. And make sure someone's keeping an eye on them so they don't decide to come try and 'help,'" she adds, smiling but knowing her children enough to worry. *We will,* Leetah says. *Take care.* And the wolves disappear, returning to Arcadia. Gandalf is already astride Shadowfax as Morgan swings up onto the mare's back. Brightwind -- she knows her name as she settles in -- is eager to be off. "Shall we off, then?" Gandalf salutes her with his staff. "To London?" "To London," Morgan replies, and the cream of Rohirrim stock gallop across the Irish countryside. =========================== Subject: Re: AAE 9m: Minas London On Mon, 19 Apr 2004 20:38:14 -0400 "David McMillan" Said As CAoL Message # 00012038 >Roland X wrote on 4/18/2004, 7:49 PM: > > */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. Rogias, still on the ground, has been a bit swamped while all the major excitement was going on. He is surrounded by a thin swarm of circling energy arrows to keep the masses of orcs and other minor enemies at bay, which he "recharges" periodically with another cluster-shot. In between, he's been progressing towards the wall while methodically sniping war-oliphaunts (in the eyes) and siege towers (in the axles) with heavier, more precise bolts. */If I may, Father, I do seem to recall that the Ringwraiths are rather vulnerable to fire. Allow me to test that recollection./* Suiting action to words, he takes a moment to charge up a (very) heavy energy bolt with a strong incendiary slant, and pegs it at the nearest Ringwraith. Two more follow at one-second intervals. It's a long shot, but the arrows track their targets like bloodhounds. The 'wraith, seeing its peril, rolls its mount at the last moment to serve as a shield, badly wounding the beast. The next two bolts split up and arc around to bracket the 'wraith from opposite directions as Rogias, no longe firing, takes direct "remote control" of them, using the bulk of his concentration. The Ringwraith, in a not-totally-uncontrolled dive on its expiring gospog steed, manages to block one magically, but the other corkscrews epileptically past its defenses and strikes home... ...effect to be ruled on by Evil GM-san. =========================== Subject: AAE 9m: Rallying the troops On Tue, 20 Apr 2004 16:10:10 -0700 Harlock - Bard Extraordinaire Said As CAoL Message # 00012045 The orcs having been dealt with, Harlock and Windrider slow to circle above the city. Harlock mutters a bit and gestures and... "Warriors of Minas London," the Bard's voice rings out (magically amplified so the whole city can hear) "Long have you labored under the shadow of the East, unpraised and little noticed by your fellow man. But that changes today! For today out of the West rides your champion and saviour: he who bears the Sword Reforged. Already he has bested the Savage Hunt. He rides even now to combat the fell wraiths that once were men." [??? I was expecting a rallying _song,_ something along the lines of "March of Cambreadth." Ah, well, they do seem to be responding...] "There remains a mighty army before the gates of Minas London, 'tis true. But the true measure of Minas London's defense lies not in her walls and gates, cunningly wrought though they may be. Nay, the true measure of Minas London's defense lies in the hearts of her defenders. In those stalwart warriors whose might has earned renown for years beyond counting. It is you who make Minas London the rock upon which armies break themselves in vain, not the walls and not the gates." "So fight, valiant warriors! Fight for Sir Roland! Fight for your families! Fight for the honor of the West! And fight for Minas London!" =========================== Subject: Re: AAE 9m: Minas London On Tue, 20 Apr 2004 17:58:29 -0700 Roland X Said As CAoL Message # 00012046 >On Sun, 18 Apr 2004 21:12:18 -0700 >Harlock Said As CAoL Message # 00012035 > >>On Sun, 18 Apr 2004 16:38:57 -0700 >>Roland X Said As CAoL Message # 00012031 >> >> 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. Interestingly, the arrows hadn't killed the gospog when it crashed. The landing, however, cracks its long neck and much of its chest. The Ringwraith casually tears aside a broken, folded wing to turn and face Erindrea. Though its face is covered, she can almost feel it glaring at her. Then it begins to screech a hiss in the language of Mordor. The spell Erin just used begins to slowly...reverse. In a bad way. An _incomplete_ way. Given that she just teleported, I presume I don't have to explain why this is a problem... >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. This makes the situation very...interesting. The wolf-dragon's sinuous neck whips around, leaving Marivale fighting on two fronts (displaying a distressing amount of intelligence, the monster is circling at a safe distance from other threats). The giant wolf head snaps at the swordsman, furious, while the wraith attempts to slide past Marivale's guard. Despite the horror's slow, deliberate movements, it is clearly quite skilled. >>*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?] Roland snickers. *If they have any resistance to same, it would be because there is nothing to influence.* Pause. *That's a joke. It should work.* >> */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.] */That, my friend, is why we call it teamwork,/* Roland replies. Firing stun bolts from his blade at several siege towers as he passes, anyone paying close attention can practically hear the clock ticking down in his mind. When the fog disappears, Roland and Gryphoenix are practically on top of it, diving like striking lightning, the Phoenix Claw again a long, respectable stand-in for the Sword That Was Broken. The ram tower is smoking and cracked in places, which those who have the senses can feel some force (TK? naaaah) pressing on to worsen. With a pivot that physics says is impossible, Gryphoenix turns as if the point of a wing were on a hinge, and Roland slashes through the primary supporting beams just below the ram platform. They swoop up and out just as the entire thing starts to collapse to one side. Minor miracles conspire to save the lives of all the creatures within, but the ram tower itself... ...falls neatly onto the nearest siege tower, knocking both over and taking a _lot_ of orcs out of action. */Convenient, that the wood was rotted just so, wouldn't you say?/* the knight-Champion notes innocently. But then... >On Tue, 20 Apr 2004 16:10:10 -0700 >Harlock Said As CAoL Message # 00012045 > >The orcs having been dealt with, Harlock and Windrider slow to circle >above the city. Harlock mutters a bit and gestures and... > >"Warriors of Minas London," the Bard's voice rings out (magically >amplified so the whole city can hear) "Long have you labored under >the shadow of the East, unpraised and little noticed by your fellow >man. But that changes today! For today out of the West rides your >champion and saviour: he who bears the Sword Reforged. Already he has >bested the Savage Hunt. He rides even now to combat the fell wraiths >that once were men." The battle grows silent as orcs look around them to figure out what the heck is going on, and tired Londorians look to Harlock, seeking inspiration. [Wh--oh, NO,] Roland thinks. [Light, and the Phoenix Claw _was_ broken -- epically -- and was 'reforged.' I'm in trouble.] >"There remains a mighty army before the gates of Minas London, 'tis >true. But the true measure of Minas London's defense lies not in her >walls and gates, cunningly wrought though they may be. Nay, the true >measure of Minas London's defense lies in the hearts of her >defenders. In those stalwart warriors whose might has earned renown >for years beyond counting. It is you who make Minas London the rock >upon which armies break themselves in vain, not the walls and not the >gates." > >"So fight, valiant warriors! Fight for Sir Roland! Fight for your >families! Fight for the honor of the West! And fight for Minas >London!" The cheer that goes up is deafening. The entire mass of the Shadow's army shifts away, as if every orc, goblin, man, and uruk-hai on the field just took a step or two back in fear of the response. "For the Queen and the West! ATTACK!" Arrows pour forth like rain, men throw themselves into siege towers to counterattack, and the RoF of the catapults nearly doubles. */Whoa. Well done, Harlock. But try not to cast me as Aragorn, would--"OW!"/* The crown on his brow pricks his skin. "Oh, great." -- Roland Phoenix-Son "...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, 20 Apr 2004 23:20:55 -0400 Mike Knight Said As CAoL Message # 00012048 >On Sun, 18 Apr 2004 16:38:57 -0700 >Roland X Said As CAoL Message # 00012031 > > 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. Moonstone eyes the flying wolf warily, but not long as she parries the dead king's first blow. Her counterattack, a stabbing thrust with her gladius, is just blocked by the nazgul's longsword, and Moonstone has to back up to avoid being cut herself. She arcs around, attempting to keep both the ghostly man and the winged lupine creature in her sight. Her opponent speeds after her, aiming a blow for her left shoulder and, raising her blade to block, she finds herself cast downward with the force of the blow. But she does manage, as her blade passes the nazgul's ankles, to land a blow to his foot. The nazgul hisses, rotating vertically to follow after her, then twists to right himself as he sees her retreating slightly away from him again. The dragoness blocks his blade again, rotating to keep the flying wolf, which had been encrouching on their duel, behind the nazgul and not behind her. But the undying wraith uses this opportunity to draw a knife, which he stabs at Moonstone's breast, straight toward the heart. The point of the blade stops at her skin, not drawing even a drop of crimson against her pale flesh and ivory white gown. Instead it collides with an unseen barrier beyond which it can not pass. While this is not what the black rider had in mind, he recovers almost immediately, bringing his sword pommel down on her. This does strike home and Moonstone moves away with an explosion of sound. Clutching her head, Moonstone winces in pain, a healing spell already working to undo the injury. The black rider takes to his new mount, charging toward her, sword raised. TBC =========================== Subject: Re: AAE 9m: Minas London On Wed, 21 Apr 2004 01:24:10 -0700 Harlock - Bard Extraordinaire Said As CAoL Message # 00012050 >On Tue, 20 Apr 2004 17:58:29 -0700 >Roland X Said As CAoL Message # 00012046 > >>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. > > Interestingly, the arrows hadn't killed the gospog when it >crashed. The landing, however, cracks its long neck and much of its >chest. > The Ringwraith casually tears aside a broken, folded wing to turn >and face Erindrea. Though its face is covered, she can almost feel it >glaring at her. Then it begins to screech a hiss in the language of >Mordor. > The spell Erin just used begins to slowly...reverse. In a bad way. >An _incomplete_ way. [OW! What's goin' on, heah?] Erindrea turns to face the Ringwraith again, and her eyes narrow behind the visor of her helm. She reins Blaze in, then calmly shoves her bow into her quiver and pulls another bow out of her quiver. Within moments, the bow flares with a crackling blue light. Erin nudges Blaze back toward the wraith at a slow walk while she starts launching arrow after arrow at the unholy mockery of life. Each silver arrow that connects--and most of them do--flares with crackling blue light as it does so, tearing at the Nazgul with the power of goodness itself. >>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. > > This makes the situation very...interesting. The wolf-dragon's >sinuous neck whips around, leaving Marivale fighting on two fronts >(displaying a distressing amount of intelligence, the monster is >circling at a safe distance from other threats). The giant wolf head >snaps at the swordsman, furious, while the wraith attempts to slide >past Marivale's guard. Despite the horror's slow, deliberate >movements, it is clearly quite skilled. Marivale dodges the wolf-dragon's first snap barely in time to avoid losing his left arm. [Damn! I thought I was too close to the beast's head for that. On the other hand...] He watches the wraith with one eye while keeping the other on the wolf-dragon's head, balancing on the creature's whip-sawing neck with no signs of distress. Within moments, he can tell that his foes are coordinating their attacks, which gives him all the opening he needs. The next time his foes attack, Marivale binds the Nazgul's blade long enough to step _into_ the horror's reach and thrust it violently toward the gaping jaws of the gospog. >>[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?] > > Roland snickers. > *If they have any resistance to same, it would be because there is >nothing to influence.* Pause. *That's a joke. It should work.* [Excellent!] Geoffery starts chanting and gesturing. One of the trolls stops in its tracks. A somewhat longer chant, and another troll falls asleep. A third chant, and a grand melee between orcs and trolls erupts around one of the siege towers. >>On Tue, 20 Apr 2004 16:10:10 -0700 >>Harlock Said As CAoL Message # 00012045 >> >>"There remains a mighty army before the gates of Minas London, 'tis >>true. But the true measure of Minas London's defense lies not in her >>walls and gates, cunningly wrought though they may be. Nay, the true >>measure of Minas London's defense lies in the hearts of her >>defenders. In those stalwart warriors whose might has earned renown >>for years beyond counting. It is you who make Minas London the rock >>upon which armies break themselves in vain, not the walls and not >>the gates." >> >>"So fight, valiant warriors! Fight for Sir Roland! Fight for your >>families! Fight for the honor of the West! And fight for Minas >>London!" > > The cheer that goes up is deafening. The entire mass of the >Shadow's army shifts away, as if every orc, goblin, man, and uruk-hai >on the field just took a step or two back in fear of the response. > "For the Queen and the West! ATTACK!" > Arrows pour forth like rain, men throw themselves into siege >towers to counterattack, and the RoF of the catapults nearly doubles. > */Whoa. Well done, Harlock. But try not to cast me as Aragorn, >would--"OW!"/* *An thou wouldst tell me who this 'Aragorn' be, I could but try.* Roland notes honest puzzlement in Harlock's mental voice. *Now that the troops have been rallied, what may I do to further our cause?* =========================== Subject: Re: AAE 9m: Minas London On Sat, 24 Apr 2004 19:52:41 -0700 Roland X Said As CAoL Message # 00012059 >On Mon, 19 Apr 2004 20:38:14 -0400 >"David McMillan" Said As CAoL Message # 00012038 > >>Roland X wrote on 4/18/2004, 7:49 PM: >> >> */We need to get rid of the Ringwraiths,/* Roland sends, turning >>with Gryphoenix toward the rightmost siege tower. > > */If I may, Father, I do seem to recall that the Ringwraiths are >rather vulnerable to fire. Allow me to test that recollection./* >Suiting action to words, he takes a moment to charge up a (very) >heavy energy bolt with a strong incendiary slant, and pegs it at the >nearest Ringwraith. Two more follow at one-second intervals. ^I recall the same, but it's possible that Sauron has...refined their magic. Be careful, son,^ Roland replies. > It's a long shot, but the arrows track their targets like >bloodhounds. > The 'wraith, seeing its peril, rolls its mount at the last moment >to serve as a shield, badly wounding the beast. The next two bolts >split up and arc around to bracket the 'wraith from opposite >directions as Rogias, no longe firing, takes direct "remote control" >of them, using the bulk of his concentration. The Ringwraith, in a >not-totally-uncontrolled dive on its expiring gospog steed, manages >to block one magically, but the other corkscrews epileptically past >its defenses and strikes home... ...exploding, turning the Ringwraith into a horrifically screeching bonfire. "Hnn. */I think that worked,/*" Roland notes dryly. */Folx--/* >On Wed, 21 Apr 2004 01:24:10 -0700 >Harlock Said As CAoL Message # 00012050 > >>On Tue, 20 Apr 2004 17:58:29 -0700 >>Roland X Said As CAoL Message # 00012046 >> >> The Ringwraith casually tears aside a broken, folded wing to turn >>and face Erindrea. Though its face is covered, she can almost feel >>it glaring at her. Then it begins to screech a hiss in the language >>of Mordor. >> The spell Erin just used begins to slowly...reverse. In a bad >>way. An _incomplete_ way. > >[OW! What's goin' on, heah?] Erindrea turns to face the Ringwraith >again, and her eyes narrow behind the visor of her helm. The Ringwraith, which is facing her direction (she can feel the eyes boring into her, even through the impenetrable blackness of its hood), hisses something inhuman. >She reins Blaze in, then calmly shoves her bow into her quiver and >pulls another bow out of her quiver. Within moments, the bow flares >with a crackling blue light. Erin nudges Blaze back toward the wraith >at a slow walk while she starts launching arrow after arrow at the >unholy mockery of life. Each silver arrow that connects--and most of >them do--flares with crackling blue light as it does so, tearing at >the Nazgul with the power of goodness itself. There is a very brief, tense pause after the first arrow strikes home where the Ringwraith is still, and nothing happens. Then it shrieks in pain and fury, 'burning' more fiercely and terribly than Rogias' target did from the flame. The blue light becomes a beacon of a bonfire, reaching up higher than the walls of Minas London. Each arrow sends the horror into paroxysms of flailing rage, though after a brief burst of (relative) speed, it stops trying to reach Erindrea and just spasms wildly. By the time Erin reaches it, or at least gets as close as she wills, there is little left but a helm, gauntlets, and scraps of cloak. Quick eyes will pick up the ring lying on the ground for just a second before it fades away. */...huh. You appear to have the right idea./* Roland salutes Erin with his blade, wheeling Gryphoenix to knock another winged wolf out of the sky. >>The wolf-dragon's sinuous neck whips around, leaving Marivale >>fighting on two fronts (displaying a distressing amount of >>intelligence, the monster is circling at a safe distance from other >>threats). The giant wolf head snaps at the swordsman, furious, while >>the wraith attempts to slide past Marivale's guard. Despite the >>horror's slow, deliberate movements, it is clearly quite skilled. > >Marivale dodges the wolf-dragon's first snap barely in time to avoid >losing his left arm. [Damn! I thought I was too close to the beast's >head for that. On the other hand...] He watches the wraith with one >eye while keeping the other on the wolf-dragon's head, balancing on >the creature's whip-sawing neck with no signs of distress. Within >moments, he can tell that his foes are coordinating their attacks, >which gives him all the opening he needs. The next time his foes >attack, Marivale binds the Nazgul's blade long enough to step _into_ >the horror's reach and thrust it violently toward the gaping jaws of >the gospog. The ensuing mess is...ugly. The Ringwraith's form is badly torn, but in a fit of pique it slashes at the wolf-dragon's maw with the Mordor dagger. The head begins to rot as Marivale watches, the long neck whipping away as the gospog dies. The wraith tries to turn, but, well, you're on a dead wolf-dragon which doesn't much care about its stability any more. The creature looks at you, looks over the side, turns back, and...makes a sound that seems vaguely like a chuckle. The wolf-dragon doesn't much care about its _altitude_ any more, either... OOC: "It's not the fall that gets you, it's the sudden _stop_ at the end! Most others, Roland would be immediately concerned for life and limb, Having seen Marivale escape equally deadly situations in the last several minutes (though of different sorts), he just asks, *Marivale? Are you going to need an evac -- ah, require assistance leaving your present situation?* >> The cheer that goes up is deafening. The entire mass of the >>Shadow's army shifts away, as if every orc, goblin, man, and >>uruk-hai on the field just took a step or two back in fear of the >>response. >> "For the Queen and the West! ATTACK!" >> Arrows pour forth like rain, men throw themselves into siege >>towers to counterattack, and the RoF of the catapults nearly >>doubles. >> */Whoa. Well done, Harlock. But try not to cast me as Aragorn, >>would--"OW!"/* > >*An thou wouldst tell me who this 'Aragorn' be, I could but try.* >Roland notes honest puzzlement in Harlock's mental voice. *Forget it,* Roland replies ruefully. *The realm seems to have cast me in the role. I'll explain later.* >*Now that the troops have been rallied, what may I do to further our >cause?* *Work on the siege towers, unless an ally needs help against a Ringwraith. Shore up any weakening defenses first, if orcs are using them to enter the city anywhere, then aid counterattacks. I leave the specific methods to you,* he replies. >On Tue, 20 Apr 2004 23:20:55 -0400 >Mike Knight Said As CAoL Message # 00012048 > > But the undying wraith uses this opportunity to draw a knife, >which he stabs at Moonstone's breast, straight toward the heart. > The point of the blade stops at her skin, not drawing even a drop >of crimson against her pale flesh and ivory white gown. Instead it >collides with an unseen barrier beyond which it can not pass. > While this is not what the black rider had in mind, he recovers >almost immediately, bringing his sword pommel down on her. This does >strike home and Moonstone moves away with an explosion of sound. > Clutching her head, Moonstone winces in pain, a healing spell >already working to undo the injury. The black rider takes to his new >mount, charging toward her, sword raised. */Moonstone!/* Roland races down to catch up with the Ringwraith, urging Gryphoenix forward. (OOC: FD post coming if Moonstone needs help; otherwise, to quote Shang Tsung, "finish him!" ;^) As the last Ringwraith falls (literally), save for the apparently occupied Voice, Roland looks over the battlefield with grim satisfaction. "To the city! Rally to the city!" he commands, waving with his sword to motion them back. As the heroes head toward Minas London (or whatever 8^), the armies of the Shadow fall back, ringing the city in a more traditional siege. The attacks cease -- for the moment. The defenders of Minas London cheer. Where the day seemed lost, now there is hope. And Sauron has quite the bloody nose to show for it. Roland lands Gryphoenix on the wall's great tower, where Tolwyn has racked up an impressive pile of uruk-hai around her. Lady Ardinay welcomes him with a warm smile. "Your assistance is as timely as ever, Lord Roland," she says in a rich voice. The Champion kneels and kisses her hand. "And it is as much an honor as ever to serve Honor's Lady, Ardinay." Tolwyn grins. "I hope that lady of yours is not the jealous type, Phoenix-son," she quips. Roland stands and grins back, clasping her on the shoulder. "I think Ardinay has protectors far more devoted than I," he says, not blushing at all for once. "Besides, Morgan and I trust each other utterly." "Then she is a very lucky woman," Tolwyn says earnestly, returning the clasp. "Nay, my friend," he laughs, "_I_ am the lucky one. Come! We must gather and prepare council. For counsel," he chuckles, unable to avoid punning even in this incarnation. Then he pauses, _now_ blushing (tm), and bowing to Ardinay. "By your leave, of course." Lady Ardinay laughs, an exquisite sound. "Oh, my dear lad, you are more a natural leader than I, now." At his doubtful expression, she laughs again, more kindly than ever. "At any rate, I do not rule here. I merely came to advise. You will want to speak with the Prince, I think." Roland blinks at her as they descend to join the others (unless the others are already with them, in which case all head into the city). "The Prince?" "Aye," she explains. "The royal family was transformed as well, and though there seems to be some controversy around what they were, Honor becomes them." As the heroes gather at the base of the tower, British troops -- now knights and men-at-arms, though occasional modern soldiers are also among them -- are led forward by a magnificent young man on a fantastic white charger. He is dressed regally, with lightweight metal armor cunningly worked into his rich garb. A sword that even the most mundane figure can feel connected to the land itself hangs on his right hip. (OOC: He's a lefty.) A standard bearer rides up beside him and announces, "His Royal Highness, Prince William Arthur Philip Louis Windsor." "William will do," he adds lightly, "or Prince William if you must. Welcome to Minas London, noble warriors," the young hero says, bowing respectfully from his horse. Roland bows deep and low in response. "I would be honored if you would accompany us to the palace. Her Majesty would very much like to meet you all." TBC =========================== Subject: AAE 9m: Enter The Dragon On Sun, 25 Apr 2004 00:48:49 -0700 Roland X Said As CAoL Message # 00012060 Big Ben remains, though now of the same gleaming 'Minas Tirith' white stone as the walls and much of the city. Westminster Abbey and The Tower of London, also, are not much changed -- even less so than the great clock tower. Buckingham Palace is another story. Though still very richly appointed, the Palace is no longer solely a residence, living up to its name. A castle in truth as well as name, the faces are now magnificent walls, with brilliantly angled turrets designed to rain arrows on attackers, faintly glowing arbalests topping them all. Spiring towers gleam in the now descending sun, and practiced eyes can see cunning traps and ambush zones as they are led into the Palace. The throne room is, if possible, even more spectacular than ever, with great statues, bas-reliefs, tapestries, and frescoes adorning the walls and ceiling. An honor guard and a handful of courtiers are also in the room, but a walkway remains clear from the door to Her Majesty. While the Queen has always borne her royalty well (IMO, natch), the current reality seems to...suit her. A deep power resides with her now; perhaps it was always there, but it is certainly stronger in this paradigm. "Greetings," she says seriously to the heroes. "Your assistance has proven most timely, and for this we are grateful." "It has been our honor, Your Majesty," Roland replies, bowing and kneeling. The 'NPCs' do the same. The Queen nods. "Please rise," she says, and they do. "If there is aught in our power to aid in your defense of the city, name it and it shall be done. Thence, we shall retire to bolster morale amongst the populace." Her Majesty looks grim. "Our mother did so once, in a time we hoped never to see again for our kingdom. His Royal Highness, Prince William of Wales," she gestures to her grandson, "will coordinate with you on the breaking of the siege, as will our Lord Marshall, Sir Hoon." Sir Hoon steps forward, bowing formally. As Her Majesty retires, her guard accompanying her, Prince William and Sir Hoon immediately fall into place together, talking briefly before turning to the heroes. "If you would follow us, please," Hoon says, beckoning them down a side hall. Soon, they are in a faintly magical situation room, with Tolkien-esque maps replacing computer screens and satellite imagery. The primary map of the city area, however, shows small amounts of movement among the massed forces around the city. A larger map of the British Isles shows considerable activity around eastern Ireland. "We are expecting reinforcements from Scotland at about daybreak," Hoon explains, "which is why those foul things are so desperate to break our defences." "As you have seen, our warriors are not so easily broken," William adds proudly. "Still, strengthening morale never hurts," he adds with a wink to Harlock. "Your Highness, please." Hoon clears his throat. "Even so, strategy changes when exceptional warriors wield the power of an entire division, and magic makes possible what was once impossible." He jabs the tower dominating the west wall with one finger. "I would have thought they'd concentrate their forces in the south, but instead, they seem to be focusing on the western gate, where our defences are strongest. Of course, if they _can_ cause a significant breach there, the city will be in grave danger." "Perhaps they were targeting Lady Ardinay, Sir Hoon," Roland offers. "Her powers are considerable." "We noticed," William replies dryly, to chuckles from several staffers. "It is possible. There does seem to be more to it than that. It is as if...well, to be honest, it seems as if the very ideas of Light and Shadow, good and evil, walk the battlefield. They act as if breaking that wall will break our defence." "There may be some truth to that," Hoon adds darkly. "The fall of that tower would have massive repercussions even from a strictly strategic standpoint. Its collapse would damage other defences as well, and the Palace itself would be in jeopardy -- they could just follow the Thames right into the heart of London. Our morale might fall with it as well." "Unlikely," Roland and William say as one. They grin at each other. "If I may, Sir Hoon?" Hoon nods, and the Champion steps to the map. "Barring a return of the Ringwraiths or a like threat, I believe my small force can do the most good harassing and dividing Mordor's forces, making them easier prey for your reinforcements." "Hm. Risky," Hoon replies. "But bold," William says. "You should wait as long as you can, I think, as I suspect even warriors such as yourselves can tire." "Most of us, I believe," Roland admits. "By your leave, Your Majesty, we'll spend such time resting as Mordor allows." The larger map reacts suddenly, almost all of Ireland suddenly reclassified (its map shade brightening). After a moment of comprehension, the British forces cheer, as does Roland. "If you'll all excuse me for a moment," he says, nodding to William and Hoon before exiting. (OOC: Okay, talk amongst yourselves... 8^) (OOC 2: Yes, Rogias, you can come too if you want. ;^) Roland (and perhaps Rogias) ride off toward the Thames, Gryphoenix almost chirping as they head toward one of the Underground's many tunnels, though there's no Underground there any more -- trains and tracks alike vanished during the axiom wash. The warrior dismounts. Curiously, a fog has formed within the tunnel, obscuring it almost entirely. Deep within, however, distant hoofbeats can be heard -- too distant for what disturbance in the fog they can see. As the movement grows closer, the sound grows louder until the two catch up -- then a pair of avatars of horse-kind burst out of the tunnel, their riders laughing as they emerge. Several Brits gape at the taller arrival riding his fantastic white stallion. "Gandalf! Mithrandir! The White Wizard!" the cries go out. "You know, this is a lot better than shifty eyes and mutterings of 'Stormcrow.' Wouldn't you agree, old friend?" he asks Shadowfax, rubbing his great neck as the horse 'harrumphs.' "You can definitely get used to it," Morgan smiles. The horses slow to a trot as the two ride to where Roland (and whoever's with him) stand, and the grey-clad woman leaps from her grey mount and into her husband's arms. They embrace fiercely as Gandalf speaks with some of the gathering crowd. Then Roland chuckles as an older child peers out from the crowd, looking at Morgan and asking, "Is that a Rohirrim, mommy" "No, sweetie, she has wolves on the designs, see?" "You certainly know how to make an entrance," Roland laughs. "'Tis partly the realm and partly me travelling companion," Morgan replies. At the sound of her voice, one of the men-at-arms slides through the crowd. "Are you with the Scottish reinforcements, milady?" As Morgan's confused look, Roland steps in. "No, my good man, though these two are reinforcements enow for the moment. Rest easy, we'll put paid to those devils come the morning." He nods at the man's relief, then turns back to his beloved. "Come. The others will be glad to see you as well, I think, and His Highness will certainly want to hear your tale." "His Highness? Oh, do tell." Morgan raises an inquisitive eyebrow. They ride in relative silence, depending on who accompanies them, though Roland makes sure to brief Gandalf verbally as well as Morgan in greater detail mentally. For some time thereafter, Morgan and the wizard update the other CAoLers present, though Gandalf and Ardinay soon become embroiled in a technical discussion of different magical techniques (which magical experts from the D&D-verses might also end up in). OOC: Feel free to add kibitzing here. 8^) "/^And what happened to _you?_^/" Roland asks when the strategic briefing winds down. "/^Even in the middle of fighting Wotan and Ringwraiths, I could sense the change, and I can _feel_ the difference now.^/" "/^I 'faced the Balrog,'^/" Morgan says with a not-quite-impish grin. "/^Saruman had a _Balrog?_^/" Roland asks incredulously. Morgan giggles. "/^No, love. Gandalf had mentioned how sometimes, when in dire circumstances, I'll do something I didn't know I could do. The way his power was greater than usually seen when he was facing the Balrog, for example. Saruman taunted me with how I didn't know what I was capable of, and it all came together. Destroyer, Omen, even what the Oans told us. I don't have to limit myself in terms of Spheres, or spells, or techniques... I can just...do.^/" Roland says, "/^Whoa,^/" sounding very much like Keanu Reeves. "/^Do you even _have_ limits any more? Besides power, of course, or I'm sure you would have just banished the Darkness Devices or something, but still...^/" Morgan thinks for a moment. "/^I'm not sure. I _must_ have upper limits, if only because I don't feel like I can just drive out the invasions on a whim. And I think I'll always be better with the things I'm more familiar with -- like Life and Weather -- but even that may change.^/" She touches the hilt of the sword at his side. "/^But it looks like I'm not the only one with a tale to tell.^/" "Hm?" Roland asks, distracted enough to lose the mental links, then looking at the Blade That Was Broken and grinning. "Phoenix Claw here did its Narsil impression." Growing more serious, he continues. "Oberon reminded me that he said that the blades would always return to us, no matter what. Perhaps the resonance here made it easier..." To make the matter simpler, he shows her the scene psychically. "/^And this,^/" she runs a finger along the crown on his helm, "/^do I need to rethink the Rohirrim motif?^/" Roland blushes (tm). "/^You're changing the subject.^/" "/^_You're_ avoiding,^/" Morgan quips back. "/^_I_ won't be Aragorn when we leave this realm,^/" Roland notes pointedly (albeit without heat). "/^Just as well. Arwen's not my thing.^/" Roland considers a response, rejects it immediately, then gives her a kiss. "/^Later, then.^/" He stops suddenly, looking over at Gandalf, who has gone quiet. "Gandalf? Sir?" "Something...is moving..." the wizard warns cryptically. They look up to see Tolwyn riding hard to catch them up. "Roland! Ardinay's had a vision! We have a--" A terrible roar comes from the west, where the setting sun frames the invaders in the color of blood. "Damn. */To the tower,/*" Roland sends, spurring Gryphoenix. Soon, they reach the western gate. A whirlwind has formed behind the massed army, which is howling, chanting, and beating their shields in a wild frenzy. Something slowly rises from the storm, as a light flurry of grayed snow wafts toward the city. The cold spreads with the wind, and that something grows as it rises. It is a dragon. A wyvern, it looks like at first, for it has no hind legs, only two foreclaws and a long, long tail. But it grows more terrible as it reaches its true size, dwarfing anything else on the field. As it manifests fully, a hundred and fifty feet long if it's an inch, it roars its defiance to the heavens, blotting out the setting sun and casting the entire city in shadow when it spreads its massive wings. Foul, ugly magic courses around its fists as its attention turns to Minas London. "TOOOOOLWYYYYYN! I HAVE COME FOR YOUUUUU!" it screams, almost shattering the air. Its hate is the only heat around the beast as water vapor rises from its mouth like billowing smoke. "Uthorion," Tolwyn and Roland gasp as one. "*/Rally the defenses!/*" the Champion sends. "*/Be ready for wall breaches, and to protect the soldiers from his powers!/*" Then, his face a mask of grim determination, he spurs Gryphoenix into the air. After a brief pause (to consult mentally with Roland), Morgan leans over Brightwind's neck. She appears to be whispering in the horse's ear, though those with the senses for it would know she's communicating telepathically as well. The beast seems to nod, and Morgan shifts her seat as feathered wings grow from Brightwind's sides. Another moment of conversation, and they leap into the air to follow Roland and Gryphoenix. The massive dragon takes to the sky as well, peering with enormous eyes at the two comparatively tiny objects flying towards it. The monster laughs. "Roland? Roland _Phoenix?_ Are you really playing Honor's fool _again,_ risking yourself to save those pathetic witches Tolwyn and Ardinay?" "You invaded my _world,_ Uthorion!" Roland shouts back. "I'm here to kick you off!" Uthorion laughs again, more mocking than ever. "Then _come,_ little storm knight! Come, and end your days in my belly!" =========================== Subject: Re: AAE 9m: Minas London On Sun, 25 Apr 2004 02:24:28 -0700 Harlock - Bard Extraordinaire Said As CAoL Message # 00012061 >On Sat, 24 Apr 2004 19:52:41 -0700 >Roland X Said As CAoL Message # 00012059 > >>Erin nudges Blaze back toward the wraith at a slow walk while she >>starts launching arrow after arrow at the unholy mockery of life. >>Each silver arrow that connects--and most of them do--flares with >>crackling blue light as it does so, tearing at the Nazgul with the >>power of goodness itself. > > There is a very brief, tense pause after the first arrow strikes >home where the Ringwraith is still, and nothing happens. > Then it shrieks in pain and fury, 'burning' more fiercely and >terribly than Rogias' target did from the flame. The blue light >becomes a beacon of a bonfire, reaching up higher than the walls of >Minas London. Each arrow sends the horror into paroxysms of flailing >rage, though after a brief burst of (relative) speed, it stops trying >to reach Erindrea and just spasms wildly. By the time Erin reaches >it, or at least gets as close as she wills, there is little left but >a helm, gauntlets, and scraps of cloak. Quick eyes will pick up the >ring lying on the ground for just a second before it fades away. > */...huh. You appear to have the right idea./* Roland salutes Erin >with his blade, wheeling Gryphoenix to knock another winged wolf out >of the sky. [Thank you. Ah think Ah'm gonna need a healer soon, though. Ah don't feel well.] As she wheels Blaze back toward the city, she raises her visor and coughs violently, spraying herself (and Blaze) with blood. [Not at all well, actually.] She switches bows again and urges Blaze to a canter as she starts firing at anything that doesn't look like Blaze could trample easily. >>Marivale dodges the wolf-dragon's first snap barely in time to avoid >>losing his left arm. [Damn! I thought I was too close to the beast's >>head for that. On the other hand...] He watches the wraith with one >>eye while keeping the other on the wolf-dragon's head, balancing on >>the creature's whip-sawing neck with no signs of distress. Within >>moments, he can tell that his foes are coordinating their attacks, >>which gives him all the opening he needs. The next time his foes >>attack, Marivale binds the Nazgul's blade long enough to step _into_ >>the horror's reach and thrust it violently toward the gaping jaws of >>the gospog. > > The ensuing mess is...ugly. The Ringwraith's form is badly torn, >but in a fit of pique it slashes at the wolf-dragon's maw with the >Mordor dagger. The head begins to rot as Marivale watches, the long >neck whipping away as the gospog dies. > The wraith tries to turn, but, well, you're on a dead wolf-dragon >which doesn't much care about its stability any more. The creature >looks at you, looks over the side, turns back, and...makes a sound >that seems vaguely like a chuckle. > The wolf-dragon doesn't much care about its _altitude_ any more, >either... > OOC: "It's not the fall that gets you, it's the sudden _stop_ at >the end! > Most others, Roland would be immediately concerned for life and >limb, Having seen Marivale escape equally deadly situations in the >last several minutes (though of different sorts), he just asks, >*Marivale? Are you going to need an evac -- ah, require assistance >leaving your present situation?* [Nay. I wanted to retrieve my dagger in any case.] Marivale stands on his guard against another attack from the Ringwraith, not paying any apparent attention to their precipitous descent. Then, at the last moment that such a maneuver would be possible, he leaps out and grabs the dagger still stuck in the gospog's neck. Between the beast's rotting flesh and Marivale's 160 pound form grabbing hold, the dagger comes loose...but not all at once. It lodges long enough for Marivale to swing under the wolf-dragon's neck and up into what would have been a high arc to nowhere--but under the circumstances is a shallow arc into a bruising, but not bone-shattering, landing on the ground. As he dusts himself off, he notices the battered Nazgul pulling itself from the wreckage of the gospog. He sighs. "Stubborn, aren't you? You saw what Erindrea did to your companion, I trust?" His rapier flares with crackling blue light as Marivale smiles coldly and comes en garde. "You may flee, or you may experience it for yourself. I can't say as I particularly care which." >>*An thou wouldst tell me who this 'Aragorn' be, I could but try.* >>Roland notes honest puzzlement in Harlock's mental voice. > > *Forget it,* Roland replies ruefully. *The realm seems to have >cast me in the role. I'll explain later.* The Bard shrugs. *As you will.* >>*Now that the troops have been rallied, what may I do to further our >>cause?* > > *Work on the siege towers, unless an ally needs help against a >Ringwraith. Shore up any weakening defenses first, if orcs are using >them to enter the city anywhere, then aid counterattacks. I leave the >specific methods to you,* he replies. *Hmm... Erin hath downed hers, as has Roger. Marivale looks to have his well in hand. The one with the flaming head does naught that I can see, and Moonstone...I am unsure, but I think she needs not my aid.* Harlock urges Windrider to pass close to a siege tower, casting a spell as they go by. The tower shakes itself to pieces not twenty seconds later. The next two towers he treats to a Confusion spell, causing the orcs to start pummeling each other...and the trolls...and anything else within pummeling range. The next tower they fly by is one of the ones that the Londorians actually counterattacked, so Harlock uses just a touch of magic to urge the orcs within to surrender. When the Bard reaches the next tower, an impossibly loud shout erupts from his throat, actually killing most of the orcs within and severly weakening the tower itself. And all the while, orcs and trolls in their wake (mostly trolls) clap their hands to their ears in useless reflex before they collapse as Windrider hits them with psi-bolts. > As the heroes gather at the base of the tower, British troops >now knights and men-at-arms, though occasional modern soldiers are >also among them -- are led forward by a magnificent young man on a >fantastic white charger. He is dressed regally, with lightweight >metal armor cunningly worked into his rich garb. A sword that even >the most mundane figure can feel connected to the land itself hangs >on his right hip. (OOC: He's a lefty.) > A standard bearer rides up beside him and announces, "His Royal >Highness, Prince William Arthur Philip Louis Windsor." > "William will do," he adds lightly, "or Prince William if you >must. Welcome to Minas London, noble warriors," the young hero says, >bowing respectfully from his horse. Roland bows deep and low in >response. "I would be honored if you would accompany us to the >palace. Her Majesty would very much like to meet you all." Erin rides up on Blaze and practically falls out of the saddle. "Momma? Ah don' feel so good," she mumbles as she collapses. Harlock rushes to her side, muttering a spell as he goes. He looks up, bleak despair in his eyes, but his voice is level as he says, "is there a healer present? My daughter hath suffered grievous internal wounds, and I have not the skill to set them right." About this time, Marivale staggers up to the group, painted all over with his foes' blood. "Methinks I need to rest a bit," he says as he slumps against the nearest wall and passes out, pale as a sheet. Geoffery comes over to examine him, looking worried as first gentle cheek-slaps, then a splash of water fail to evoke any response. (OOC: Going corps-a-corpse with a Nazgul...ya think he could be suffering from the Black Breath?) =========================== Subject: Re: AAE 9m: Minas London On Sun, 25 Apr 2004 17:12:32 -0400 Mike Knight Said As CAoL Message # 00012062 >On Sun, 25 Apr 2004 02:24:28 -0700 >Harlock - Bard Extraordinaire Said As CAoL Message # 00012061 > >Erin rides up on Blaze and practically falls out of the saddle. >"Momma? Ah don' feel so good," she mumbles as she collapses. Harlock >rushes to her side, muttering a spell as he goes. He looks up, bleak >despair in his eyes, but his voice is level as he says, "is there a >healer present? My daughter hath suffered grievous internal wounds, >and I have not the skill to set them right." Moonstone's human form emerges from the crowd, the wound on her forehead gone entirely. "I'll see what I can do for her," she says, reciting a few incantations of her own before laying her hands on the archer. >About this time, Marivale staggers up to the group, painted all over >with his foes' blood. "Methinks I need to rest a bit," he says as he >slumps against the nearest wall and passes out, pale as a sheet. >Geoffery comes over to examine him, looking worried as first gentle >cheek-slaps, then a splash of water fail to evoke any response. Moonstone glances up, "I can try to help him as well, but I think our king can be of more assistance. Boiling water and athelas, crushed, also called kingsfoil." Moonstone stops, blinking, "Okay, I dunno where that came from. But it feels right." =========================== Subject: AAE 9m: Minas London, plus dragon On Mon, 26 Apr 2004 23:07:10 -0700 Morgan and/or Roland Said As CAoL Message # 00012068 OOC: OK, this took a little discussion on our parts as to how to both respond to downed comrades in a manner appropriate to our characters without having to re-write large chunks of "Enter the Dragon." This seemed like our best way to paradoctor it. :-) >On Sat, 24 Apr 2004 19:52:41 -0700 >Roland X Said As CAoL Message # 00012059 > >>On Tue, 20 Apr 2004 23:20:55 -0400 >>Mike Knight Said As CAoL Message # 00012048 >> >> Clutching her head, Moonstone winces in pain, a healing spell >>already working to undo the injury. The black rider takes to his new >>mount, charging toward her, sword raised. > > */Moonstone!/* Roland races down to catch up with the Ringwraith, >urging Gryphoenix forward. The Ringwraith, sensing victory, dives, sword aimed at Moonstone's neck. With a *CLANG,* the blade stops less than a foot from its target. The wraith looks along the offending weapon up to a grim-faced Roland, who pushes the blade slowly back. Gryphoenix beats its wings furiously against the gospog, who lazily slides back to allow Gryphoenix to do all the work. Roland grunts as the fiend pushes back, foul energy radiating from it as it hisses at him. "foooool," it whispers ominously. The Champion grins, the blade's hilt suddenly growing vastly more ornate as it locks with the Mordor blade. "Me?" he asks with an insolent confidence to do Errol Flynn proud. "_You're_ the one who turned your back on an enemy." The wraith and the winged warg both shudder with surprise, but Gryphoenix has a firm grip on the warg's forepaws and Roland has pinned his foe just as effectively. (OOC: Okay, _now_ you can finish him. 8^) >On Sun, 25 Apr 2004 02:24:28 -0700 >Harlock Said As CAoL Message # 00012061 > >>On Sat, 24 Apr 2004 19:52:41 -0700 >>Roland X Said As CAoL Message # 00012059 >> >>Quick eyes will pick up the ring lying on the ground for just a >>second before it fades away. >> */...huh. You appear to have the right idea./* Roland salutes >>Erin with his blade, wheeling Gryphoenix to knock another winged >>wolf out of the sky. > >[Thank you. Ah think Ah'm gonna need a healer soon, though. Ah don't >feel well.] As she wheels Blaze back toward the city, she raises her >visor and coughs violently, spraying herself (and Blaze) with blood. >[Not at all well, actually.] She switches bows again and urges Blaze >to a canter as she starts firing at anything that doesn't look like >Blaze could trample easily. [By the Source.] Roland fires covering stun-bolt fire to help clear her field. */Get to the city. Rogias, watch her back./* ^And no wisecracks. Erin's not doing well.^ >> Most others, Roland would be immediately concerned for life and >>limb, Having seen Marivale escape equally deadly situations in the >>last several minutes (though of different sorts), he just asks, >>*Marivale? Are you going to need an evac -- ah, require assistance >>leaving your present situation?* > >[Nay. I wanted to retrieve my dagger in any case.] Roland snorts a chuckle, but merely observes as he continues to provide cover fire for the withdrawal. >As he dusts himself off, he notices the battered Nazgul pulling >itself from the wreckage of the gospog. He sighs. "Stubborn, aren't >you? You saw what Erindrea did to your companion, I trust?" His >rapier flares with crackling blue light as Marivale smiles coldly and >comes en garde. > "You may flee, or you may experience it for yourself. I can't say >as I particularly care which." Predictably, the wraith attacks. It's highly unlikely that any being with something resembling a conscience could possibly threaten it with a fate worse that what Sauron does to punish the disobedient. Then... >On Sun, 25 Apr 2004 17:12:32 -0400 >Mike Knight Said As CAoL Message # 00012062 > >>On Sun, 25 Apr 2004 02:24:28 -0700 >>Harlock Said As CAoL Message # 00012061 >> >>Erin rides up on Blaze and practically falls out of the saddle. >>"Momma? Ah don' feel so good," she mumbles as she collapses. Harlock >>rushes to her side, muttering a spell as he goes. He looks up, bleak >>despair in his eyes, but his voice is level as he says, "is there a >>healer present? My daughter hath suffered grievous internal wounds, >>and I have not the skill to set them right." Roland and Gryphoenix dive in a perilous-looking stoop towards his comrades. > Moonstone's human form emerges from the crowd, the wound on her >forehead gone entirely. > "I'll see what I can do for her," she says, reciting a few >incantations of her own before laying her hands on the archer. Erindrea stabilizes for the moment, but she's going to need _massive_ healing magics. Gryphoenix somehow skids to a halt beside them without turning both steed and rider into a thin paste. Roland leaps off, flinging off his gauntlets with a savage gesture. [Damn. Damn. Damn.] He gently lays his hands on her shoulders. "Rest. Rest easy. Calm." Though nowhere in the same league with his wife, the scion of Phoenix has healing powers of his own, capable of sharing his regenerative capabilities. [Damn.] Unfortunately, regeneration can only do so much when organs are in the wrong places. He's helped the situation, but mostly has just improved her stability. "Here," he says calmly, reaching into a pouch, crushing some leaves, and easing them into her mouth. They taste faintly of mint, and ease the pain. "This will help." >>About this time, Marivale staggers up to the group, painted all over >>with his foes' blood. "Methinks I need to rest a bit," he says as he >>slumps against the nearest wall and passes out, pale as a sheet. >>Geoffery comes over to examine him, looking worried as first gentle >>cheek-slaps, then a splash of water fail to evoke any response. > > Moonstone glances up, "I can try to help him as well, but I think >our king can be of more assistance. Boiling water and athelas, >crushed, also called kingsfoil." > Moonstone stops, blinking, "Okay, I dunno where that came from. >But it feels right." Roland nods. "I have him. Keep Erindrea stable." He slides Marivale to the ground, checking to make sure he didn't crack his head falling over. [Source. His head's harder than mine.] He reaches into the same pouch he did to help Erindrea, breaks some of the leaves between his fingers, and both feeds a few to him and applies some to his brow. "Calad ea och. Cuinach." (OOC: Roughly: "Light be with you. Live." Translated from Sindarin, though Tolkien is probably twitching, if not spinning. 8^) *Ardinay?* He sends to that worthy, only to look up to see her approaching. He sags in relief, not realizing that he all but walked into the role of 'king' that Moonstone set up for him. "Here," she replies verbally, looking over the two. At Marivale, she smiles in relief, and bathes him in light. "He will be fine. Make him rest for a few hours, no matter how much he whines about it." She looks at Erindrea, and her smile vanishes. "Dunad and Shali," she whispers, then chants and gestures repeatedly. Finally, Erin looks a touch less grave and Ardinay leans back with a sigh. (OOC: If Erin is conscious, she pulls Roland and Harlock aside.) "She will live, at least for now. I can create a cradle of light that will maintain such health as she has, but she needs greater healing than I can provide." "Morgan," Roland mutters. His mind reaches out. "She is...occupied," he tells the others, "but might be able to come soon. If complications arise, I'll do what I can to expedite matters." He nods to Harlock. "Either way, I will be back." He clasps the Bard on the shoulder. "Erin's tough. Hang in there -- she will." Then he remounts and rides. Later: >On Sun, 25 Apr 2004 00:48:49 -0700 >Roland X Said As CAoL Message # 00012060 > Then Roland chuckles as an older child peers out from the crowd, >looking at Morgan and asking, "Is that a Rohirrim, mommy?" > "No, sweetie, she has wolves on the designs, see?" > "You certainly know how to make an entrance," Roland laughs. > >"'Tis partly the realm and partly me travelling companion," Morgan >replies. > > At the sound of her voice, one of the men-at-arms slides through >the crowd. "Are you with the Scottish reinforcements, milady?" > As Morgan's confused look, Roland steps in. "No, my good man, >though these two are reinforcements enow for the moment. Rest easy, >we'll put paid to those devils come the morning." He nods at the >man's relief, then turns back to his beloved. /We need to go, now. Erindrea and Marivale are unwell, and Erin's wounds are serious. I think the accursed Nazgul used its power over magic to reverse a transport spell erratically,/ he explains. /Ugh, a 'transporter malfunction'?/ Morgan queries, keeping the anachronous question unspoken. At Roland's nod, she says, "By all means, let us to her, and swiftly." The three (plus whoever else retcons themselves in later *g*) ride hard to the House of Healing, and people part easily before Morgan's purposeful stride as she goes to Erindrea. A preliminary examination is enough to make her scowl, but the scowl turns into a worried frown as she determines more detail. [Light, it's a wonder she lives.] Relatively minor injuries, like ruptured pulmonary blood vessels, had been repaired, though Erin's body had yet to pick up where the magical healing had left off. She looks up at her husband, hovering worriedly near. "Your work?" "Aye. After laying on hands, I gave her some athelas -- there was no time to boil water, so I did add heat myself." Roland pauses. "How did I know that?" Another pause. "An' how did I come to have kingsfoil?" He sounds faintly worried. "This realm does seem to have that affect, does it not?" Morgan replies with a somewhat cryptic smile, then returns her attention to her patient. Roland and -- she assumes the other healer was Lady Ardinay -- had repaired what was simply broken, but Erin's injuries went beyond simple damage. Things are...not where they were meant to be. The gall bladder is attached to a kidney, pouring bile almost directly into her bladder. The main pulmonary vessels have been switched around, and one of the bronchial tubes is partially blocked by...something which belongs elsewhere. Morgan looks worried. _Morgan._ Roland keeps his face a professional mask, but across their private link, he asks simply, ^My love?^ ^She's a right mess, no denying,^ Morgan acknowledges, though she too is schooling her face for Harlock's benefit. (OOC: and Erin's if she's _awake_ through this, but I think it's safe to assume she's either passed out or been sedated by this point.) ^I can heal her, but it needs to be done carefully, and not too quickly, lest something cause further complications.^ The closest analogy that comes to Morgan's mind as she carefully sets Erin's body right is a puzzle, holding this organ in stasis while moving that bit, keeping that part working through sheer magic while putting it's connecting parts back in their proper places. Finally, though, she relaxes, and the Bard will no doubt be relived to see his daughter's color return to normal and her breath come normally and easily. "She should still rest as long as possible, but I doubt Sauron will give us much leisure so I've added a bit of magic to speed her healing a touch." She looks at the others gathered around. "I take it she was the worst of the wounded?" "No. All who lived had more normal injuries -- some were rather dire, but naught that the House of Healing could not use their Arts to heal." Roland nods sideways for them to leave Harlock and his daughter [I am going to _have_ to learn how he managed to be her mother some day --] his medulla oblongata aches vaguely -- [so long as it doesn't get me in trouble with Fast Eddie --] for some privacy while he confers with his beloved. "Now. Let us withdraw. There is much to discuss, >and His Highness will certainly want to hear your tale." > >"His Highness? Oh, do tell." Morgan raises an inquisitive eyebrow. OOC: The rest of "Enter the Dragon" continues as written, aside from references to riding, Ardinay being with Gandalf, etc., up to... > Roland stops suddenly, looking over at Gandalf, who has gone >quiet. "Gandalf? Sir?" > "Something...is moving..." the wizard warns cryptically. The two immortals look at each other briefly, each sensing the change (in their own ways), then stride purposefully outside. As they reach their mounts, they see Tolwyn riding hard to catch them up. "Roland! Ardinay's had a vision! We have a--" (OOC: Insert blood-curdling roar and requisite defiance here. 8^) =========================== Subject: Re: AAE 9m: Minas London On Tue, 27 Apr 2004 15:19:40 -0400 Mike Knight Said As CAoL Message # 00012070 OOC: Mike: Whoops, missed Morgan and Roland's posts, this didn't happen. Moonstone: What? Mike: Sorry, your healing didn't happen. Moonstone: But-- Mike: *holds up a print-out* Have a look for yourself. Moonstone: *reading* Oh, alright, so they posted first and mine's in the way. What happens now? Mike: *slipping on a pair of Ray-bans and withdrawing a neuralizer* Now, you just need to have a look right here at this little light. Moonstone: *peers* Why do I have a bad feeling about this? Neuralizer: *flash* =========================== Subject: Re: AAE 9m: Minas London, plus dragon On Tue, 27 Apr 2004 18:57:19 -0400 "David McMillan" Said As CAoL Message # 00012071 >L.J. Wolfe wrote on 4/27/2004, 2:21 AM: > >>[Thank you. Ah think Ah'm gonna need a healer soon, though. Ah don't >>feel well.] As she wheels Blaze back toward the city, she raises her >>visor and coughs violently, spraying herself (and Blaze) with blood. >>[Not at all well, actually.] She switches bows again and urges Blaze >>to a canter as she starts firing at anything that doesn't look like >>Blaze could trample easily. > > [By the Source.] Roland fires covering stun-bolt fire to help >clear her field. */Get to the city. Rogias, watch her back./* ^And no >wisecracks. Erin's not doing well.^ */Understood, Father./* Rogias replies crisply. Across a fair chunk of the battlefield, he wheels his black horse in a tight circle worth of the Spanish Riding School (OOC: Okay, I couldn't remember how to spell "Lipperzanner") and heads in Erin's direction at a full gallop... and then *more* than a gallop, as they suddenly begin covering several meters for every one meter of stride, like a cascading series of short teleports. ^By the way... wisecracks?^ (OOC: Seven-League horseshoes. Ppppppp! And Rogias's sense of humor is severely understated, compared to Roger Prime). Falling into formation near Erin, he begins alternating rapidly between heavy "road plowing" bolts and keeping up a shield-swarm of lighter arrows around them both. =========================== Subject: Re: AAE 9m: Minas London, plus dragon On Tue, 27 Apr 2004 21:07:14 -0700 Harlock - Bard Extraordinaire Said As CAoL Message # 00012075 >On Mon, 26 Apr 2004 23:07:10 -0700 >Morgan and/or Roland Said As CAoL Message # 00012068 > > [By the Source.] Roland fires covering stun-bolt fire to help >clear her field. */Get to the city. Rogias, watch her back./* ^And no >wisecracks. Erin's not doing well.^ [Ah'm goin', Ah'm goin'.] Despite the fact that she's pausing every few seconds to cough again, Erindrea is still doing her share of orc-clearing. Of course, having Rogias backing her doesn't hurt... >>As he dusts himself off, he notices the battered Nazgul pulling >>itself from the wreckage of the gospog. He sighs. "Stubborn, aren't >>you? You saw what Erindrea did to your companion, I trust?" His >>rapier flares with crackling blue light as Marivale smiles coldly >>and comes en garde. "You may flee, or you may experience it for >>yourself. I can't say as I particularly care which." > > Predictably, the wraith attacks. It's highly unlikely that any >being with something resembling a conscience could possibly threaten >it with a fate worse that what Sauron does to punish the disobedient. [Note to self: either learn the finer points of intimidation or don't bother trying.] Marivale sighs. Despite a bruise running from his hip to his shoulder and a sense of fatigue that he can't quite explain, he's still obviously in better shape than the Ringwraith. He parries the wraith's blow with his rapier, then disengages. His dagger, which is now buried to the hilt in the Nazgul's gut, bursts into crackling blue light. "I know not why Harlock refers to that maneuver as the 'bait and switch,' but it has proven useful from time to time. Now, if you would be so kind as to die, I'll retrieve my dagger and be on my way." The Nazgul promptly bursts into heatless blue flames. It still attempts to attack Marivale, but its increasingly desperate attacks are easily parried. Finally it burns itself out and Marivale retrieves his dagger and heads once more toward the walls of Minas London. >Then... >>On Sun, 25 Apr 2004 17:12:32 -0400 >>Mike Knight Said As CAoL Message # 00012062 > > He gently lays his hands on her shoulders. "Rest. Rest easy. >Calm." Though nowhere in the same league with his wife, the scion of >Phoenix has healing powers of his own, capable of sharing his >regenerative capabilities. > [Damn.] Unfortunately, regeneration can only do so much when >organs are in the wrong places. He's helped the situation, but mostly >has just improved her stability. "Here," he says calmly, reaching >into a pouch, crushing some leaves, and easing them into her mouth. >They taste faintly of mint, and ease the pain. "This will help." "Thanks. Ah nevah did...lahk the taste of...blood in mah mouth." >> Moonstone glances up, "I can try to help him as well, but I think >>our king can be of more assistance. Boiling water and athelas, >>crushed, also called kingsfoil." >> Moonstone stops, blinking, "Okay, I dunno where that came from. >>But it feels right." > > Roland nods. "I have him. Keep Erindrea stable." He slides >Marivale to the ground, checking to make sure he didn't crack his >head falling over. [Source. His head's harder than mine.] He reaches >into the same pouch he did to help Erindrea, breaks some of the >leaves between his fingers, and both feeds a few to him and applies >some to his brow. "Calad ea och. Cuinach." Marivale's eyelids flutter, but he doesn't seem to be truly conscious yet. > *Ardinay?* He sends to that worthy, only to look up to see her >approaching. He sags in relief, not realizing that he all but walked >into the role of 'king' that Moonstone set up for him. > "Here," she replies verbally, looking over the two. At Marivale, >she smiles in relief, and bathes him in light. "He will be fine. Make >him rest for a few hours, no matter how much he whines about it." "Whine?" A faint whisper escapes Marivale's lips. "I am a Saevil of House Saevil. Whining is beneath me." A hint of a smile appears. "Now, fretting over enforced inactivity, on the other hand..." Of course, since he currently has about as much range of motion as Westley had just after Fezzik fed him the miracle pill, it's obvious that he's (mostly) kidding. >She looks at Erindrea, and her smile vanishes. "Dunad and Shali," she >whispers, then chants and gestures repeatedly. Finally, Erin looks a >touch less grave and Ardinay leans back with a sigh. (OOC: If Erin is >conscious, she pulls Roland and Harlock aside.) (OOC: by all rights, y'all _should_ be fitting her for a pine box right now, but somehow she's still awake, although her eyes do look more than a bit fever-bright.) > "She will live, at least for now. I can create a cradle of light >that will maintain such health as she has, but she needs greater >healing than I can provide." > "Morgan," Roland mutters. His mind reaches out. > "She is...occupied," he tells the others, "but might be able to >come soon. If complications arise, I'll do what I can to expedite >matters." He nods to Harlock. "Either way, I will be back." He clasps >the Bard on the shoulder. "Erin's tough. Hang in there -- she will." >Then he remounts and rides. "Oh, aye. Tough." Harlock can't seem to meet anybody's eyes. Maybe because he couldn't possibly see anything through the tears anyway. "Momma? Sing me a song?" Erin struggles up on one elbow, cold sweat breaking out on her forehead. [Gods, she'll tear herself to bits proving to me she isn't hurt _that_ badly!] Dashing tears from his eyes, the Bard starts singing a hoarse lullaby. Tough Erindrea may be, and stubborn to boot, but in her current state the magic behind the music hits her like a sledgehammer and she drifts quickly and gently into slumber. > Morgan looks worried. _Morgan._ Roland keeps his face a >professional mask, but across their private link, he asks simply, ^My >love?^ > >^She's a right mess, no denying,^ Morgan acknowledges, though she too >is schooling her face for Harlock's benefit. (OOC: and Erin's if >she's _awake_ through this, but I think it's safe to assume she's >either passed out or been sedated by this point.) (OOC: Well, after a fashion, anyway... ;) And you could probably stick a needle in Harlock right now and he wouldn't pay any attention to it) >^I can heal her, but it needs to be done carefully, and not too >quickly, lest something cause further complications.^ > >The closest analogy that comes to Morgan's mind as she carefully sets >Erin's body right is a puzzle, holding this organ in stasis while >moving that bit, keeping that part working through sheer magic while >putting it's connecting parts back in their proper places. Finally, >though, she relaxes, and the Bard will no doubt be relived to see his >daughter's color return to normal and her breath come normally and >easily. For the first time since Roland and Morgan entered the room, Harlock takes notice of them. "Morgan? Oh, thank the gods!" The Bard staggers up out of the chair he had been sitting vigil in and kisses Morgan's hand with a bow that currently lacks the grace to be truly courtly. "I am forever in thy debt, gracious lady." ===========================