Action, Adventure, Excitement, Part 9: Finale Chapter 2 Subject: Re: AAE9: A World of Horrors On Thu, 14 Sep 2006 01:59:06 -0700 Harlock - Bard Extraordinaire Said As CAoL Message # 00012817 >On Sun, 03 Sep 2006 19:24:20 -0700 >Roland X Said As CAoL Message # 00012811 > > When space and time are restored, the CAoLers are at the base of >an enormous, largely barren mountain. The mountain is wreathed in >strange fog that moves independent of the wind. (Doc Energy instantly >knows that the mountain's presence is supernatural; no terrain in >this part of Siberia looks like what squats before the CAoL.) A chill >pervades the air, one that has nothing to do with the temperature. A >few small villages -- more like tiny clusters of huts, really -- dot >the mountain, with a large, lightly fortified manor visible at the >mountain's apex. Perhaps most disturbingly, not a single foe appears >to be present. That includes supernatural senses of all sorts, but >precogs and cosmic-awareness types can feel an oppressive menace >hanging over the entire conquered region, like a gigantic Sword of >Damocles waiting to fall. [Ohhhh, boy. This will have going to hurt.] The Bard blink-blinks suddenly. [Wait--'will have going to?' Don't tell me I'm going to have been involved in a--] ^Greetings, my younger self. I had to cut a deal with Chronepsis to do even this much to aid you, but for the next hour, you have the ability to create two avatars. Just remember your sense of timing and you should be fine.^ Harlock facepalms. [--chronal loop. I may have to created one of those avatars just so I can strangling me.] > /*"Yep,"*/ she replies, her smile steadying. /"By the way, I _am_ >on the lens-link, you know."/ She has her hands clasped behind her, >staring up with a mix of adoration and frustration at being thought >of as a child. /"And these days -- um, 'when' I come from -- I go by >Blaze."/ Roland sighs. Harlock's ears prick up. > "Anyway, Timemaster activated a temporal distortion field on top >of Roger's warp, and _that_ brought Uncle _Wrinkle_ in, and I didn't >have a lot of personal time to fix it, so I just kind of...fudged >it." At this point, Roland isn't even bothering to be thrown by this >explanation. He gestures, and she continues. "Barry taught me how to >absorb time vibrations, so I 'ate' the anomaly and did the drunkard's >walkabout." > Defender raises an eyebrow, obvious even through the orichalcum. >"And it brought you here. Now." The Bard looks somewhat dyspeptic by now. [I'm in a chronal loop, Rachel/Blaze is in a chronal loop, Roger _is_ a chronal loop...this will have getting ugly, when causality is to have been determined.] > Rachel shrugs. "Looks like. This is the Reality Crisis, right?" > At that name, Roland groans. [^Not 'Crisis.' Please, Source, not >that.^] Morgan replies with a sympathetic mental hug. "We're going to >face the Gaunt Man," he says prosaically. > Blaze pales. "oh." > Roland nods. "You should go home now." He turns to face the >citadel ahead -- those on the lens-link immediately get its name, >Illmound Keep, from the Champion's mind. "Is everyone ready?" > Rachel swallows. "Um, sir, I can't. Go, I mean." Roland glances >slightly behind. > >"What's wrong?" Morgan asks. > > Rachel grins sheepishly at her mother. "Time's been hard-synched. >I think Wrinkle's set the whole hyperline on lockdown." Harlock pales a bit at this, then looks marginally more cheerful. [While methinks that means any mistakes I will have make are foreordained, at least I know _I_ have been lived through it. Oww. Chronal loops and grammar don't have mixed.] > Defender snorts. "You know, I thought you were epic, like >Darkseid, or glorious and terrible, like Mobius before he redeemed >himself. I was wrong." The Gaunt Man's placid demeanor vanishes, and >he becomes more furious with each of Roland's words. "You're nothing >but a sick, twisted mockery of a man, a mad slasher with pretensions, >too afraid of judgement to let go of your folly and your pathetic >shadow of an existence." His head inclines slightly as he addresses >the CAoL. "The rules are, whoever duels the Gaunt Man must do so >alone, one on one. We can stay in mental contact, so if his forces >try anything, I can still throw gospog around, and you can warn me if >he tries something desperate and stupid. Physically, however, this >has to be him and me." He grasps at something within his cape. > His hand closes on empty air. "Wh--?!" Erindrea looks at Veren. Veren looks back. "Uh-oh," they chorus. > The Gaunt Man laughs, cruel and terrible. "Fool. Arrogant, >witless fool. Did you think I would permit you to draw the Sword of >Apeiros in my presence? Did you think I would not know that you had >claimed it?" Space screams, begging for mercy but receiving none, as >holes open around the CAoL, above them, ahead of them, in every size. >Some of them bleed, others scream, still more gape as dark, horrible >maws with nothing visible but a black disk. Roland Dracul steps out >of the first, grinning viciously as his Champions of Evil follow >almost instantly. Villains and monsters of every stripe follow: > /Looks like the 'spandex brigade' is rubbing off on you, love,/ >Roland sends to his wife. "Is there a reason we're not fighting yet, >Fury?" > "Sure. I'm offering you the same chance you offered High Lord >Stephenson," Dracul replies. "As much as I hate to admit it, I feel >kind of sorry for you, still buying into all that garbage about truth >and justice." He waves them away. "Go. Live. Take your Morgan and >your kids, find some other reality, grow some brains." > Morgan's growl, subvocal and very lupine, is clear to anyone who >'speaks' wolf (or is on the lens-link) as the Alpha Female protecting >her pack and territory. An answering growl rises from Veren's throat: just the right mixture of submission and challenge to mark the pack-second being called to defend his pack. The "accent" is a bit off, but it's remarkably servicable for someone without a drop of wolf-blood in his veins. > "...I have a harem of women bound in orichalcum, a gallery of >skulls taken from my deadliest enemies, and the most dangerous rogues >my world has to offer for a team. You think you can tempt me with >'redemption?' ME?!" Dracul blazes with crimson fire. "KILL THEM!" "A harem of bound women, a gallery of skulls, a team of dangerous rogues," a voice whispers into Dracul's ear, "and yet still you search for something, do you not? Something you have not yet found, and you know not for certain what it is, but it plagues you like an itch 'tween the shoulder blades. Ironic, that what you have been trying so hard to acquire is that which can be freely given, but never taken." =========================== Subject: Re: AAE9: A World of Horrors On Thu, 14 Sep 2006 16:38:09 -0700 (PDT) Ziactrice Said As CAoL Message # 00012820 >>On Sun, 03 Sep 2006 19:24:20 -0700 >>Roland X Said As CAoL Message # 00012811 >> Perhaps most terrifying, however, is the titanic, sickly green >>figure of Cthulhu, ululating with some alien emotion as its >>tentacles flail in the air. Two armies, one of gospog and one of >>Deep Ones, march beneath the Old One, taking impressive casualties >>beneath the feet of the uncaring eldritch horror. Somewhere else in Shadow, Ziactrice scrambles on a ragged but razor-sharp cliff of obsidian, the latest of many unavoidable cuts beginning to heal. Her breath comes forced and quick, but her eyes show an anger uncharacteristically nearing rage. "Can't. Believe. A Shadow-villain. Made me MISS a cue. By House and Blood, he'll be the _Pancake_ Man before (gasp) I'm done." With an inhuman growl, she loosens the long prybar from the rope holding it across her back. She pries - urgently but still with care - at the Elder Sign carved in a single, impossibly-large ruby inset into the obsidian moutain. Blood slithers down the bar from her hands,but she does not pause or lessen her straining effort. > /"Julie,"/ Eric growls. He's been able to largely suppress IR's >'enhancements' until now, but in that moment he is all but consumed >by them. His skin pales almost to translucent. His fangs grow until >they jut over his lips. Fingernails become crimson claws, and his >entire body shifts as muscles bulge. > >"Whoa. Vampire Hunter E," Rio quips a bit nervously. > > Anathema shares Rio's concern. "Come for her then, if you dare." >She retreats even as she says so, however. > @Speed. Luck. Power.@ It is clear that these comments are not for >Rio alone. Still, Time itself weaves around him, and an ebon blur >explodes towards Anathema. The Tainted Immortal draws her greatsword >one-handed just in time to face Eric with it. The Hunter blurs around >his prey, tearing at her forcefield, and after that, little can be >seen of either one other than sheer motion. In all of these entrances, with forces of such might and power, three relatively small doors of simple, polychromatic light - given the overwhelming darkness of sky and spirit here - appear and wink out virtually unremarked. A petite slip of a girl-woman in silver and black armor, shielded and caparisoned with Zia's only-once-witnessed heraldry, scurries out into the very midst of the Deep One army, being instantly surrounded by such numbers as to overwhelm even a Princess of Amber. From her pack, she manages to slip a large disk - a gem bearing a Elder Sign of great strength. Ziactrice flings the precious artifact carelessly to the ground, a mere split-instant before a knot of foes buries her with the sheer press of scaled bodies. She had no time to even draw a weapon. > Roland swallows. "I don't suppose," he says as confidently as he >can manage, "that you ladies would be willing to surrender." >Bloodwolf actually laughs throatily, but Blake's eyes tighten. > "You cost me years of prestige and reputation among the Nephandi," >Jodi says, stroking the side of the octopus' bulbous head as she >moves to flank him. "I mean to hear you scream for as many years in >repayment." > "No one escapes Viper," Viperia adds a bit mechanically. > "I see Viper's mentalists are as subtle and considerate as ever," >Roland notes dryly. > "Defender," Bloodwolf says huskily, "moonsilver chains are much >less onerous than what the barabbi has in mind for you." She gestures >with a nod towards Blake. "Give yourself to me. Make this easy on >yourself." > "Sorry," Roland replies, a hint of genuine sympathy creeping into >his voice, "but I already belong to a Solitaire." His face and voice >harden, and the Phoenix Rod spins like a tornado in his hands. >"Let's see if you dance as well as she does." > A trio of amazonian battle-cries echo around him, and they >charge... "Sorry, old bean, but I really must cut in," an upper-class British accent comes merrily from just behind Defender, as James steps around to flank Defender facing Jodi Blake, "Octopussy is on my dance card. We didn't finish the last tango." The tuxedo looks as good as it always does, if _enormously_ out of context in this battle. The Walther and James' famous smile are directed to Jodi Blake, but his other hand points unwatched. A beam of psionic energy somehow made coherent - and visible - leaps from his poiting finger to Viperia. As it strikes, the power becomes a static-lightning-like display. Viperia is launched back a good 20 meters before making a connection to ground once more. Thirdly, escaping most notice (except of course all the Huge Gun-entities), the last figure strides with the confident tread of a veteran warrior from her own shifting-colored door of light near the vanguard of the heroes. This figure is clad in full samurai battle armor, from demon mask, with rising standard-poles borne proudly strapped to her back showing the exact same device as Zia's own. The sprawling conflict is appraised with one keen, sweeping glance. The samurai-lady draws her daisho. She runs with an oddly smooth, almost sliding gait to a position on Rio's rear flank, leaving a trail of severed limbs and heads to fall like a gory rain behind. Princess Ziactrice of Amber, Heir to the Throne of Chaos "It was an illustrious escort into Hell. Only trouble was missing my cue - and not being, you know, actually _dead_ yet." - her reply to summarize the strategy for the final battle for Earth-Shadow-9 =========================== Subject: Re: AAE9: A World of Horrors On Fri, 15 Sep 2006 01:00:24 -0700 Dane Said As CAoL Message # 00012822 >Roland X wrote As CAoL Message # 00012815 > > That's when a tall, muscular woman in combat fatigues, the only >weapon visible a greatsword strapped to her back, strides over the >hillside. Her hair is cut short, but lightning plays in it all the >same. Still, the most striking thing about her is what she's >carrying. > A child. She has a girl tucked under one arm, holding her easily >in spite of her struggling and wails of terror. A small shudder runs through the spacetime of Earth-9. Those with the senses to 'see' beyond that which separates the universes can 'see' a titanic being waiting just 'outside'. It is a childlike being. A child like being whose face puckers up into a visage of absolute, and barely controled, RAGE! The empaths on the field sense a wave of fury as the tiniest bit of the entity's anger leaks out. > Anathema shares Rio's concern. "Come for her then, if you dare." >She retreats even as she says so, however. > @Speed. Luck. Power.@ It is clear that these comments are not for >Rio alone. Still, Time itself weaves around him, and an ebon blur >explodes towards Anathema. The Tainted Immortal draws her greatsword >one-handed just in time to face Eric with it. The Hunter blurs around >his prey, tearing at her forcefield, and after that, little can be >seen of either one other than sheer motion. *"Pray that the Hunter defeats you, Anathema. The worst HE can do to you is kill you. My punishment for you will teach you what TRUE agony is. A lesson you will learn for ten million years, at least."* The Stardragon's voice bellows across the field of battle. *"You will be an example, for the Macroscopic All, of what one earns when one treats a child so in MY presense."* To Eric it sends. ^You may call upon my power at need Hunter.^ =========================== Subject: Re: AAE9: A world of horrors On Fri, 15 Sep 2006 01:14:17 -0700 Dane Said As CAoL Message # 00012823 >On Sat, 9 Sep 2006 20:06:25 -0700 (PDT) >Rob N Said As CAoL Message # 00012814 > > /Aurora - I can stall one of those groups for about a minute, as >long as it's non-magical. Any suggestions?/ As he sends this across >the lens-link, Rob whispers, "It's raining cats and dogs, hailing >taxicabs, and snowing reporters." A subspace gap opens, and he pulls >out three cards, quickly separating the index card from the others. /^Ming and his forces are not know for using much magic, and what little they did use tended to be extremely weak.^/ Aurora answers him. =========================== Subject: Greymoran and Hudzen On Fri, 15 Sep 2006 12:12:14 -0600 Greymoran Said As CAoL Message # 00012824 As battle looms, a fully recharged Greymoran and a polished and battle ready Hudzen look at out the seemingly endless waves of enemies mixed up of creatures and villians from various universes. Greymoran takes a deep breath, turns to his robot companion and says, "As my son would sasy, Deja frikkin' vu." =========================== Subject: Re: AAE9: A World of Horrors On Sat, 16 Sep 2006 15:30:49 -0700 (PDT) Hudzen Said As CAoL Message # 00012825 >On Sun, 03 Sep 2006 19:24:20 -0700 >Roland X Said As CAoL Message # 00012811 > > A gi-normous chunk of rock tears itself out of the ground. Clearly >showing off, Roland mimics "heat vision" to carve several chairs in >the slab, then leaps on. "All aboard that's coming aboard!" he calls, >then leaps to the "front" of the rock, and when everyone who isn't >traveling under their own power is aboard, he gestures upward. The >stone lifts into the air again, then skims along the mountain surface >quickly. > The trip is eerily uneventful. Eyes watch from the huts, beady, >gleaming and suspicious except for the occasional wide-eyed wonder of >children too stubborn to break under the weight of the Gaunt Man's >paradigm. Sometimes the fog *moves,* to obscure windows, huts, or >even entire clusters. Standing apart from the others with Greymoran, Hudzen rechecks his systems' status and inventory for the fourth time. Every gun, the single sword, every energy reading, each sensor and scanner, all checking out. For the first time, Hudzen takes in the group of beings with whom he and his captain have aligned themselves, the people Greymoran had always talked so mysteriously of (the few times he had brought them up), the organization about which the XDCA brass had kept quiet for so long. Hudzen could see why. They were a fascinating collection of sentients, most the likes of which Hudzen had rarely, or never, known. The readings various energy readings that his scanners could get, in several cases, were off the scale. If _these_ people were worried about what lay ahead, if their seemingly all-powerful leader was, the android could not help but wonder what use he and his, with respect, past-his-prime friend could possibly be. > Only one being is visible, however. The Gaunt Man stands placidly >before the gate to his manor, leaning on his ebon cane. His scarred, >just-marginally human face regards the heroes in a singularly >unperturbed manner. "Champions. Callahanians. Welcome to Illmound >Keep," he says in an almost polite, conversational tone. Hudzen wasn't sure what it was he had expected from the Gaunt Man. He was positive, however, that this was not it. Perhaps all the years of battling Goa'uld, Covenant, Imperials, Grey, Sith, the mirror Agency, and more comic-universe baddies than he cared to remember had spoiled him into frequently expecting some high level of megalomania. More likely, this one had yet to reveal its "entire hand", as Keith had occasionally put it. > Defender snorts. "You know, I thought you were epic, like >Darkseid, or glorious and terrible, like Mobius before he redeemed >himself. I was wrong." The Gaunt Man's placid demeanor vanishes, and >he becomes more furious with each of Roland's words. [There's an idea, torment the supreme all-malevolent entity. This should end cheerfully.] > Space screams, begging for mercy but receiving none, as holes open >around the CAoL, above them, ahead of them, in every size. Some of >them bleed, others scream, still more gape as dark, horrible maws >with nothing visible but a black disk. Roland Dracul steps out of the >first, grinning viciously as his Champions of Evil follow almost >instantly. Villains and monsters of every stripe follow: > Kagato, the Ruins Buster, emerges above an army of gospog marching >out a wide hole of nothing. > Manwaring the vampire appears near the evil Obsidian, a pack of >werewolves stalking in behind him. > Lex Luthor, clad in his green and purple armor, rockets through a >screaming slash "Captain," Hudzen whispers as he watches the event unfold, "I believe it is a distinct possibility that you and I are 'in over our heads.'" He turns to Greymoran, whom due to Hudzen's obscuring helmet cannot see that the robot's mechanical features are now at the closest they ever are to a hopeful expression. "The energy you once wielded... it has not just made a miraculous return, has it sir?" >Dracul blazes with crimson fire. "KILL THEM!" > "FIGHT!" Phoenix shouts back, force shields flying up to create >defensive emplacements. > His Army of Darkness roars and charges at Dracul's command. The >battle is joined. The end has begun. Hudzen raises his rifle, coming to bear on its first target, a distant Cylon Centurion. Without hesitation, he squeezes the trigger. =========================== Subject: Re: AAE9: A world of horrors On Sun, 17 Sep 2006 10:20:11 -0700 (PDT) Rob N Said As CAoL Message # 00012826 >>Rob N Said As CAoL Message # 00012814 >> >> "Crimson power, spells of force, strength to change a planet's >>course. Form the sphere to hold these back: CITADEL OF CYTTORAK!" >>The index card disintegrates as a blizzard of red triangles rushes >>forward, englobing Ming's forces in a geodesic sphere that could >>contain a 200 megaton explosion. [1:00.00.] As he rushes forward, Rob concentrates...and nothing happens. A quick glance at his bracelet shows something odd: everything outside of early twenty-first century technology has been shut down. [For me, anyhow,] he notes as blaster fire zips past his head. He "presses" against reality gently, and feels it pushing back, driven by the will of the Gaunt Man. [0:51.51.] Rob hits the leading gospog, and starts pounding his way through them. There's nothing alive about them as far as he can tell, so he has no complaints about lethal force. [Nothing overt works. Gaunt Man don't allow it, I guess...oh, dear. That's a bad joke...] [0:45.77.] "Gaunt Man don't allow no super powers here, Gaunt Man don't allow no super powers here. Well, I don't care what Gaunt Man don't allow, gonna beat these gospog anyhow, Gaunt Man don't allow no super powers here..." It's difficult to sing and fight at the same time, so he sticks to thinking the rest of the verses, while keeping track of how long he has before Ming's forces will be in the battle again... =========================== Subject: AAE9: Cosmic Conflict On Sun, 17 Sep 2006 15:41:29 -0700 Roland X Said As CAoL Message # 00012827 >On Sat, 09 Sep 2006 19:02:41 -0700 >Dane Said As CAoL Message # 00012813 > >/*"Your presence was NOT an accident, child. You were brought here >for a purpose. Though whether it was The Stardragon or That Which >Creates, who arranged it with Wrinkle,even -I- do not know. I do know >it was not Wrinkle alone who locked time travel. Too many paradoxes >are causing The Stardragon some distress, and it is TIRED of >'itching'."*/ Oracle offers. Wrinkle slowly fades into existence as he walks up the mountain, his cane tapping evenly against the sloped ground as he looks at his pocket watch. With a snap, he closes it and looks up, examining the CAoL. He says nothing, but nods respectfully to Oracle. >Six titanic forms apear above the field, dwarfing all save the Wyrm >and Cthulhu. Ignoring the less powerful entities, the four unknown >Starspawn move to counter Cthulhu. Two of them facing off against his >two armies, and the other two against the Great Old One himself. The >remaining two Starspawn, Hydra and Aurora, move to face the Wyrm, but >do not engage. Hydra's 'voice' rings out across the landscape as he >points to the Ebon Dragon. *"You are NOT our meat, but interfere in >this battle, and we will bring all the power we have available to us >down upon your head. Watch if you will. Defend yourself if you are >attacked, but do more and this day will be your last."* He tells the >Wyrm. With that, Aurora assumes her familiar form of battle, the >winged unicorn, and Hydra spins his glaive into battle ready >position. The Ebon Dragon...laughs. *"Such arrogance. I was old when this universe was young. I helped _craft_ it, and others like it. You, Hydra, like to think yourself powerful, but on this battlefield you are outmatched."* Ebon opens its claw, and a tiny but unimaginably intense red sphere forms, a ball of stellar fire that seems the very essence of WRONGNESS. *"I have awaited this moment for aeons beyond counting. This is my world. Now is my time. COME, BROTHER!"* The Red Star grows and glows, flying into the void above the sky until it grows to twice the apparent diameter of the sun, as genuinely large as a small moon. It cools, the flames becoming veins of plasma and lakes of torment as a cracked, encrusted organic "land" appears where the fires recede. It isn't entirely spherical any more, but it looks somehow familiar to those Earth-9 natives who see it, like a memory of a memory. Then it _unfolds,_ a previously invisible seam tearing with a gut-wrenching sound of ripping skin, and it rapidly becomes clear that the "sphere" was a humanoid turned inside-out. _Things_ fall from it: twisted humans, piranha-toothed fish-men, squid-like creatures that fly and wield True Magick with inhuman cunning and flee the titan reforming above them, mutated animal and insectoid horrors with skin that has flowed like wax until it solidified in new ways, and worst of all, monstrous warriors that both look and feel like someone bred Lovecraft's Deep Ones and Giger's Xenomorphs into an ideal of military terror. The "Xenodeep" fall, but neither the murderous cold of the void nor the searing heat of the friction seriously damage them as they plummet toward the battlefield. Far worse than any of them, however, is the gigantic humanoid shape that forms from the small world that has shaken them all off like so many fleas. It looks like a man who has been burned beyond recognition by both acid and flame, but whose skin would simply not burn away. Most of it is seared black as night, but parts of it are dead white, like ash burned beyond black. It moves with a slightly jerky motion...and radiates ancient and terrible power, bound no more. *"Since time immemorial, that was Malfeas, the prison-realm of my brethren, but before that he was known by other names. You may call him Malfael. You may call him death."* Ebon grins hungrily as Malfael descends, fingers the size of skyscrapers flexing in anticipation, a mouth the size of a lake smiling with ancient hunger and razor-teeth upon which his inhabitants still scramble in fear. *"'HYDRA,'"* Malfael booms mockingly. *"YOU KNOW NOTHING OF THE CONCEPT. COME, THEN, AND FACE MY HEADS."* The ancient thing reaches out, and heads grow on the ends of his fingers. Each opens its mouth, and power streams forth, ten different frequencies slicing at Hydra's existence in ten different ways. When Hydra blocks them, Malfael's smile grows, and grows colder. He grows two more arms, tiny compared to the real arms but still large enough to grip entire buildings, and their fingers fire bursts of equal power and obviation, but each of a slightly differing nature. Then two more. And two more. And two more... Ebon turns to 'look' at Aurora. "And now, lovely one, let us dance."* Ebon weaves its sinuous form in the air like a living sigil, almost literally dancing, and summons forth powers to beggar the imagination. Grand energies of the Abyss reach out to swallow her. Subtle forces of the mind weave out to weaken her resolve, never actually trying to subvert her will -- Ebon's too smart for that -- but causing distracting, disorienting dissonance. Transforming effects pour forth to poison and infect her very nature with the powers that cracked and crippled the evil Dragon long ago. Meanwhile, the battle against dread Cthulhu goes better. While the Great Old One is powerful, and made moreso by the Gaunt Man's towering occult powers, it is still one of the lesser lights of the alien pantheon, and two Starspawn press it heavily. The other two Starspawn find its armies easy enough to dispatch; though the Deep Ones have a limited protection via the Old One's power, it is hardly enough for this might. The Gaunt Man smiles again, cool and terrible, and reaches into an inner breast pocket. "That will not do," he says, pulling forth a tiny writhing figure/image. It holds no shape for more than an instant, and every cosmic entity on the battlefield immediately knows that something terrible has occurred. Both Rolands gape for a moment, their duel pausing. The Gaunt Man throws it up, and it expands, growing and shedding every imaginable appendage (and some things that humans cannot imagine) as it shifts and swells. "Azathoth," Roland Phoenix breathes. And it is. *"What now, boss-man?"* Seeker asks. */"Nothing! We leave that to the Starspawn and the cosmics!"/* Defender barks emphatically. *"But--"* Seeker begins. Azathoth primarily targets the lesser Starspawn obliterating Cthulhu's armies, sparing a few lances of power for Hydra and Aurora. */"BUT NOTHING!"/* Defender roars. */"He just pulled AZATHOTH! Out of his POCKET! You leave that to the CAoL!"/* He fights grimly on, even when he changes dance partners, trying to put the impossibilities above out of his mind. [Light and Source...is it time to call in the Stardragon?] >On Fri, 15 Sep 2006 01:00:24 -0700 >Dane Said As CAoL Message # 00012822 > >A small shudder runs through the spacetime of Earth-9. Those with the >senses to 'see' beyond that which separates the universes can 'see' a >titanic being waiting just 'outside'. It is a childlike being. A >child like being whose face puckers up into a visage of absolute, and >barely controled, RAGE! The empaths on the field sense a wave of fury >as the tiniest bit of the entity's anger leaks out. Roland considers the issue more carefully. Until today, nothing has shaken his mind and spirit more than the knowledge that the Stardragon would take his orders. Even with the sky filled with all the powers of darkness, it still gives him the shivers. Truth be told, he's not sure he should tell the Stardragon to back off; there's little Roland hates more than the violation of children, himself. >*"Pray that the Hunter defeats you, Anathema. The worst HE can do to >you is kill you. My punishment for you will teach you what TRUE agony >is. A lesson you will learn for ten million years, at least."* The >Stardragon's voice bellows across the field of battle. *"You will be >an example, for the Macroscopic All, of what one earns when one >treats a child so in MY presense."* To Eric it sends. ^You may call >upon my power at need Hunter.^ ^Thanks,^ is all that Eric replies, though that is most emphatic indeed. /Easy, Stardragon,/ Roland replies. /Remember, we're the good guys. Still.../ He glances over at the Gaunt Man...and his heart turns to ice. That's almost enough to end him, but fortunately it's James to the rescue (see Zia's post). /Off! Stay off the battlefield!/ The Gaunt Man, sensing this opportunity has passed, sighs and releases the monoblock floating next to Nyarlathotep in his 'pocket' universe. =========================== Subject: AAE9: First Strike On Sun, 17 Sep 2006 17:11:49 -0700 Roland X Said As CAoL Message # 00012828 >On Sat, 9 Sep 2006 20:06:25 -0700 (PDT) >Rob N Said As CAoL Message # 00012814 > > A transdimensional knight-errant, even a self-appointed one, tends >to collect favors. Some of them are small ones. Some of them are >saved for rainy days. And a very few are reserved for days when the >cosmic equivalent of a class 5 hurricane hits. > > "Crimson power, spells of force, strength to change a planet's >course. Form the sphere to hold these back: CITADEL OF CYTTORAK!" The >index card disintegrates as a blizzard of red triangles rushes >forward, englobing Ming's forces in a geodesic sphere that could >contain a 200 megaton explosion. The Metal Men, who were until a moment ago marching menacingly on UNTIL's forces (think Marvel's SHIELD for the grunts and the various agent-heroes, with a couple of super-teams thrown in), suddenly stop and stare in confusion at the shield. Ming scowls. "What manner of magic is this?" "Ah, it appears to be a cosmic-class imprisonment field, my Emperor," Rama-Tet intones with a dry hiss. "Then _do_ something about it," Ming commands. "Eliminate it!" Rama-Tet opens his mouth to speak...then closes it, realizing that 'I can't' is the worst thing he could say. And possibly the last. "It will...take a few moments, Emperor." When Ming gestures imperiously for Rama-Tet to begin, the ancient mathemagician swallows and hobbles to the dome. [Gods be with me...let us see. What...how...ah.] He senses the 'timer' on the field, but keeps that information to himself. He weaves mathemagics and chants a carefully timed spell, which will have no effect on the Dome -- but it does not need to, for its real purpose (keeping Rama-Tet's head on his shoulders). >On Thu, 14 Sep 2006 01:59:06 -0700 >Harlock Said As CAoL Message # 00012817 > >>On Sun, 03 Sep 2006 19:24:20 -0700 >>Roland X Said As CAoL Message # 00012811 >> /Looks like the 'spandex brigade' is rubbing off on you, love,/ >>Roland sends to his wife. "Is there a reason we're not fighting yet, >>Fury?" >> "Sure. I'm offering you the same chance you offered High Lord >>Stephenson," Dracul replies. "As much as I hate to admit it, I feel >>kind of sorry for you, still buying into all that garbage about >>truth and justice." He waves them away. "Go. Live. Take your Morgan >>and your kids, find some other reality, grow some brains." >> Morgan's growl, subvocal and very lupine, is clear to anyone who >>'speaks' wolf (or is on the lens-link) as the Alpha Female >>protecting her pack and territory. > >An answering growl rises from Veren's throat: just the right mixture >of submission and challenge to mark the pack-second being called to >defend his pack. The "accent" is a bit off, but it's remarkably >servicable for someone without a drop of wolf-blood in his veins. Morgan glances for just a flicker of a moment in Veren's direction (not takin' her eyes off the enemy long enough to give them an opening, don'cha know *g*), green eyes registering approval. >> "...I have a harem of women bound in orichalcum, a gallery of >>skulls taken from my deadliest enemies, and the most dangerous >>rogues my world has to offer for a team. You think you can tempt me >>with 'redemption?' ME?!" Dracul blazes with crimson fire. "KILL >>THEM!" > >"A harem of bound women, a gallery of skulls, a team of dangerous >rogues," a voice whispers into Dracul's ear, "and yet still you >search for something, do you not? Something you have not yet found, >and you know not for certain what it is, but it plagues you like an >itch 'tween the shoulder blades. Ironic, that what you have been >trying so hard to acquire is that which can be freely given, but >never taken." Dracul snarls, his efforts to chase Morgan disrupted. [...that Jarek godling, again? No...this is something else...] He locks down his memories of both collections. "Press the grunts! Force them to defend the mortals!" he barks. Phoenix, strangely, heard the exchange, he and Dracul linked more closely than ever. [A harem...a harem...something doesn't feel right about that, even for him...] He backpedals away from Bloodwolf as her sword swings in deadly arcs, her skill as deadly as another Morgan's. */Hit and run, bait and switch,/* he sends to the CAoL and Champions. Three Scarabi implode from a flicker of his power, and he dodges away from Bloodwolf right into a pair of Earth-9's super-villains, from a team called Eurostar. They're so astonished at his presence that they fire blasts at him, but he drops away and they take each other out. Defender grins briefly. Bloodwolf is there waiting for him when he lands, and a gash along his ribs ends the smile. "So," she says silkily, "there are _some_ forms of magick you remain vulnerable to." "Faerie enchanted," Roland grunts, backpedaling. Bloodwolf nods, grinning. [Great...] Meanwhile, Dracul continues to chase Morgan, but he seems distracted... =========================== Subject: AAE9: Shadows of War On Sun, 17 Sep 2006 18:58:42 -0700 Roland X Said As CAoL Message # 00012829 >On Thu, 14 Sep 2006 16:38:09 -0700 (PDT) >Ziactrice Said As CAoL Message # 00012820 > >>On Sun, 03 Sep 2006 19:24:20 -0700 >>Roland X Said As CAoL Message # 00012811 > > In all of these entrances, with forces of such might and power, >three relatively small doors of simple, polychromatic light - given >the overwhelming darkness of sky and spirit here - appear and wink >out virtually unremarked. > A petite slip of a girl-woman in silver and black armor, shielded >and caparisoned with Zia's only-once-witnessed heraldry, scurries out >into the very midst of the Deep One army, being instantly surrounded >by such numbers as to overwhelm even a Princess of Amber. From her >pack, she manages to slip a large disk - a gem bearing a Elder Sign >of great strength. Cthulhu immediately wails in -- frustration? anger? relief? hunger? something utterly alien? -- and the Gaunt Man's enhancements begin to unravel. >Ziactrice flings the precious artifact carelessly to the ground, a >mere split-instant before a knot of foes buries her with the sheer >press of scaled bodies. She had no time to even draw a weapon. The moment Zia appears, Eric and Anathema are already human blurs. A field of white-gold light surrounds Priscilla, who now only squirms and stares with wide eyes. The Hunter and the Immortal are all but wrestling, meanwhile, Eric shielding the child with his body while pummelling with one hand wrapped in the battle chain. Anathema can't use her enormous sword to full effect at this range (which is certainly why Eric has closed so completely). However, her powers and ancient skill serve well enough to keep Eric from ending the fight with the kusari-gama's blade, caught at the end of her sword by the portion of the chain attached to it. She hits him back with her pommel and quillons. Eric smiles at Zia's appearance, but says nothing, focused on the battle at hand. Then he sees what she's doing, and his heart misses a beat. The rest of him continues to move fluidly, enhanced by Rio and the Stardragon, but as her apparent danger increases, so does his concern. [I have to end this. Now.] Regretting that he can't eliminate Anathema just then, he performs a spinning cartwheel that should be starkly impossible for a human body, kicking the Immortal's arm and jaw while upside-down without touching the child, then regaining his feet with her cradled in his free arm before she's finished recovering. Priscilla immediately goes still, snuggling into his arm, contented and utterly certain of her safety. He dives away from her, chain whirling like a buzzsaw as he charges into the Deep One army. Every creature that comes near him simply comes apart, the gospog flying away like bits of tossed salad, as he approaches Zia's location. A sigil forms on the 'skin' of the protective Prime field as Eric prepares a final contingency. Anathema stares after him a moment, making certain that Eric truly is done with her for now, then turns and examines the battlefield. >> "Defender," Bloodwolf says huskily, "moonsilver chains are much >>less onerous than what the barabbi has in mind for you." She >>gestures with a nod towards Blake. "Give yourself to me. Make this >>easy on yourself." >> "Sorry," Roland replies, a hint of genuine sympathy creeping into >>his voice, "but I already belong to a Solitaire." His face and voice >>harden, and the Phoenix Rod spins like a tornado in his hands. >>"Let's see if you dance as well as she does." >> A trio of amazonian battle-cries echo around him, and they >>charge... > > "Sorry, old bean, but I really must cut in," an upper-class >British accent comes merrily from just behind Defender, as James >steps around to flank Defender facing Jodi Blake, "Octopussy is on my >dance card. We didn't finish the last tango." "James?!" Roland blurts. "Perfect timing, as always!" Jodi screams something unintelligible -- even the Lens picks up only mindless rage (and a little fear) -- and she spurs her bizarre steed backwards. >The tuxedo looks as good as it always does, if _enormously_ out of >context in this battle. The Walther and James' famous smile are >directed to Jodi Blake, but his other hand points unwatched. A beam >of psionic energy somehow made coherent - and visible - leaps from >his pointing finger to Viperia. As it strikes, the power becomes a >static-lightning-like display. Viperia is launched back a good 20 >meters before making a connection to ground once more. The former Viperia shakes her head in confusion, then looks up. "Ddd...Defender?" She looks herself over. "Not again..." *"It's okay, Lily, just get off the field,"* Roland says, then grunts as he barely holds off Bloodwolf. *{}* He sends her enough information to bring her up to date and direct her to safety. *Very nicely done, James.* Lily looks around...and scowls at the hordes of Viper agents on the field alongside the invaders. "Oh, no. Not this time. _This_ time, I remember. _This_ time, I know what I can do. And _this_ time..." She spins in place, drilling into the ground and back out again. "THIS time, I'm going to _do_ something about it!" When she emerges, she no longer wears the green-and-gold Viper costume, instead having a passable 'Defender Girl' outfit. Roland blushes rose-gold as the newborn heroine hammers into an entire Viper-Force superteam that was preparing to ambush the Champion, throwing them around like tenpins. Morgan sends him a smirk across the lens-link; Roland replies with a long-suffering sigh. /Still,/ he notes, /it's better to have her on our side, and able to use her powers, than the other options. Source, that man's good,/ he adds, 'that man' clearly being James. Meanwhile, Jodi doesn't waste time with banter or threats. She just tries to _kill_ James, using her Life Mastery in an attempt to stop every biological function in him at once. Her focus is a screeching howl of a chant as she claws the air, blood spreading across her fingernails simply from her tearing at the air. Most of the rest of her magick is defensive, weaving force and mind shields, entropic defenses and Primal guards protecting her abilities. The flying cephalopod flails its arms around its mistress defensively, seemingly at random, but its protection quickly reveals itself to be cunning and fairly comprehensive. Defender's combat with the enemy Solitaire is only briefly even, however, for Anathema quickly targets the Champion. She appears on his flank, and only a combination of ESP and sheer puissance with his energy powers saves him, TK deflecting her and Solitaire's thrusts so they end up looking like they're parring each other. They, of course, are too skilled to fall for the 'enemies nailing each other' trick, though, and turn on him as one. "You are skilled, little one," Anathema rumbles, "but you are clearly young, and no match for a Paragon." [Oboy.] > Thirdly, escaping most notice (except of course all the Huge >Gun-entities), the last figure strides with the confident tread of a >veteran warrior from her own shifting-colored door of light near the >vanguard of the heroes. This figure is clad in full samurai battle >armor, from demon mask, with rising standard-poles borne proudly >strapped to her back showing the exact same device as Zia's own. The >sprawling conflict is appraised with one keen, sweeping glance. The >samurai-lady draws her daisho. She runs with an oddly smooth, almost >sliding gait to a position on Rio's rear flank, leaving a trail of >severed limbs and heads to fall like a gory rain behind. Rio has been attempting to keep on the edges of the battle, but the constant flow of combat makes that impossible. /Thanks,/ she sends prosaically. In the distance, Eric nods, and the invisible Prime spikes he'd left around Rio vanish, allowing him to focus on his own battle. Then... >On Sun, 17 Sep 2006 15:41:29 -0700 >Roland X Said As CAoL Message # 00012827 > > Wrinkle slowly fades into existence as he walks up the mountain, >his cane tapping evenly against the sloped ground as he looks at his >pocket watch. With a snap, he closes it and looks up, examining the >CAoL. He says nothing, but nods respectfully to Oracle. The Time Mage registers the arrival of the premier temporal Paradox spirit, and is very glad she hasn't done anything to personally garner his attention. Wrinkle briefly glances at her. His knowing smile is almost friendly, as if sharing a secret with the battlefield's Mistress of Time. Rio finds it strangely comforting. Then Earth-9's supreme guardian of Time returns his attention to the field before them. > Far worse than any of them, however, is the gigantic humanoid >shape that forms from the small world that has shaken them all off >like so many fleas. It looks like a man who has been burned beyond >recognition by both acid and flame, but whose skin would simply not >burn away. Most of it is seared black as night, but parts of it are >dead white, like ash burned beyond black. It moves with a slightly >jerky motion...and radiates ancient and terrible power, bound no >more. > *"Since time immemorial, that was Malfeas, the prison-realm of my >brethren, but before that he was known by other names. You may call >him Malfael. You may call him death."* Ebon grins hungrily as Malfael >descends, fingers the size of skyscrapers flexing in anticipation, a >mouth the size of a lake smiling with ancient hunger and razor-teeth >upon which his inhabitants still scramble in fear. Rio's initial reaction to Wrinkle -- the ultimate boogeyman for Time mages -- before he put her at ease, was that of an honest student when they know the teacher is watching over their shoulder. They know they haven't done anything wrong, but it still makes them nervous. But this...she doesn't really know what Malfael is, not quite, but at the same time, she _does._ Everyone from Earth-9 does. Malfael is EVIL, the very embodiment of hate and fear, greed and envy, every foul and dark hunger in humanity, even moreso than the somewhat alien Ebon Dragon. If she didn't know somewhere in the back of her mind it would be lethal, Rio would faint on the spot, such is the terror gibbering through her soul. Even so, the Time Mistress freezes in fear long enough that the samurai's protection saves her life twice over. Still, need manages, and Rio therefore manages as well. Magick flows across the battle once more, aiding friends and impeding foes, saving the lives of several Champions and UNTIL forces among others. Such is the horror above that even Eric Lancer is shaken by it. The kusari-gama spins because his training won't let it _not_ spin, and his awareness won't let him ignore foes on the battlefield, but in the face of the horrors above, even the Hunter feels small. He has slain vampire progenitors millennia old and faced gods without flinching, but Malfael is simply..._beyond_ him, and all his training and ability are as nothing before it. His wavering is only momentary, however. He _is_ the Hunter, after all, and there is enough and more for him to do here. Zia needs him. That is all that matters. Deep Ones and gospog press at him, therefore Deep Ones and gospog die. When the...Things...falling from Malfael reach the ground, they will die too. Priscilla stirs. @Don't look, child. Rest.@ She coos contentedly and snuggles back into his arm. The heart of the battle. "How _now_, Defender?" Anathema says in her blunt voice, as she and Morgan Bloodwolf drive him back. "You see what you face. You cannot win." Defender snarls, baring his teeth in a very Morgan-like way. "I don't care if the Gaunt Man's got Darth Vader, Darkseid, Ba'alzamon, and the Seventh Circle _orchestra_ up his sleeve. His whole strategy hinges on keeping one object locked up, something that ought to be impossible to block me from reaching. Once he loses that advantage, all the cosmic horrors in the multiverse won't be enough to save him." The snarl becomes a grin, teeth still bared in a predatory way. "Which reminds me. _Darkseid._" Boom tubes open, and both sides of the New God war arrive to side with the heroes. The Gaunt Man frowns as Darkseid floats serenely over the battlefield, Suli at his side, while all the others charge forward. Kanto lands by Rio, slicing through horrors as if enjoying a day at Disneyland. Orion and Kalibak barely have time to sneer at each other as they tear through werewolves and immortals. Omega Beams lash out, and entire companies vanish. "You have no ace," the Gaunt Man intones, "that I cannot trump." Thanos appears directly above Darkseid, and Suli flows backwards as the two recognize each other immediately, Power Cosmic battling Omega Effect. Darkseid has the raw power advantage, but Thanos has versatility. The Gaunt Man seems unconcerned at the slowly evening numbers among the grunts. [Source.] Roland refuses to show it, but he's beginning to worry. A lot. Malfael's presence is as impossible as Roland's inability to reach his own katanaspace, yet there he is, freed from his prison, and Abyssal reinforcements literally raining down towards them, and he's even more shaken than Eric by Malfael's arrival. "We'll see about that," is his outward response, however, as he retreats under the dual assault. /Seeker./ He fires a bolt of energy into the trio of villains harrying the Akashic martial artist, scattering the evil Jaguar, Cheetah and Whitestar. This would be enough to let Bloodwolf and Anathema finish him, but Seeker of course returns the favor, his vast mental abilities disorienting them enough for Roland to throw them back. "Army of Darkness my _butt._ You've got a giant mob. We're the Army of Light. You're going down." The Gaunt Man's eyes narrow. "Dracul." "Wait for it," Dracul laughs, still chasing the wheelbike. A badly dented Grievous left in the dust, he and Gaiasbane still chase Morgan while she runs over gospog and uses the bike's legs to literally over-run enemy troops... =========================== Subject: AAE9: Pride Before The Fall On Mon, 18 Sep 2006 02:56:03 -0400 Mike Knight Said As CAoL Message # 00012830 >On Sun, 03 Sep 2006 19:24:20 -0700 >Roland X Said As CAoL Message # 00012811 > > When space and time are restored, the CAoLers are at the base of >an enormous, largely barren mountain. The mountain is wreathed in >strange fog that moves independent of the wind. (Doc Energy instantly >knows that the mountain's presence is supernatural; no terrain in >this part of Siberia looks like what squats before the CAoL.) A chill >pervades the air, one that has nothing to do with the temperature. A >few small villages -- more like tiny clusters of huts, really -- dot >the mountain, with a large, lightly fortified manor visible at the >mountain's apex. Perhaps most disturbingly, not a single foe appears >to be present. That includes supernatural senses of all sorts, but >precogs and cosmic-awareness types can feel an oppressive menace >hanging over the entire conquered region, like a gigantic Sword of >Damocles waiting to fall. Karma picked up the sense of menace in the air and recalled the last time she felt such a thing. It wasn't hard, it was only one lifetime ago. But she paid closer attention this time to what she had done in the standing circle of stones known as Stonehenge. And she recalled now where she had learned to do such things. The woman she had been had, naturally, not just spent her life looking for a man like David Seven only to fall into the clutchs of his only cognate in the multiverse. She had been a student of many sciences. And noteably, a student of the occult. [Thank you, Rene,] Karma thought as she dug out some of the tools from her pack. > Roland clearly feels it as well, but he puts on his game face, >turns, and grins at his comrades. His family. "Well. Seeing how Ol' >Prune Face went to such lengths to put out the welcome mat -- no >offense, Doctor," he adds to Destroyer -- "it would be a real shame >to disappoint him, wouldn't you agree?" With that, he turns and >raises his hands. > A gi-normous chunk of rock tears itself out of the ground. Clearly >showing off, Roland mimics "heat vision" to carve several chairs in >the slab, then leaps on. "All aboard that's coming aboard!" he calls, >then leaps to the "front" of the rock, and when everyone who isn't >traveling under their own power is aboard, he gestures upward. The >stone lifts into the air again, then skims along the mountain surface >quickly. Karma claimed a seat on the flying rock, but instead of sitting, she began tracing a chalk circle around it. > The trip is eerily uneventful. Eyes watch from the huts, beady, >gleaming and suspicious except for the occasional wide-eyed wonder of >children too stubborn to break under the weight of the Gaunt Man's >paradigm. Sometimes the fog *moves,* to obscure windows, huts, or >even entire clusters. Karma eyed the fog as she made runes within the circle around her chair. On her off-hand, a lens formed, glowing in polychromatic hues. [Creatures in the dark,] she thought, [Things of myth and legend roaming the countryside. Which is worse, I wonder? Knowing the monsters are real, or believing in them even when they aren't? [And do I want to be alone, again, in knowing what's out there? In New York, the only monsters are all too human and the only angels are as well. I knew that since I was five. But almost half of them statistically think a magical being is going to take them to a better place and turn out the lights on the universe in their lifetime. [And now I'm in the position of knowing such things are possible, but I see no signs of it there. As far as I can see, we're the only ones who can take us anywhere in our lifetime. [Well, there is Callahan's. But most people don't know about it. And I don't think most people would want to know. No one told me, after all. I understand why, there's safety in secrets, but what does that say about everyone not in the know?] Karma paused a moment, the circle's inscription complete. [I really don't -have- to go home, do I?] She looked up at Mobius for a moment. [Other worlds do look more promising,] she thought with a slight blush and smile to herself. The general gloom tried to wheedle its way into her mind again. [Go play in traffic, I'm having a moment here,] Karma told it, [You've got nothing on Times Square after the bars and strip joints close.] Into the stone chair, Karma threw her olive-green coat, bag and all it's contents, and what frills from her attire weren't required to be respectably covered and comfortable by modern standards; shirt, pants, shoes and socks. She would have loved an opportunity to change into something more 'practical' in her mind, but the saving grace of Theahan attire was that there was just so much of it to spare when she needed it. Granted, had she chosen a dress with peticoats, she could have had even more material to work with, but well, she just prefered pants. Putting her palms within the chalk circle, she closes her eyes. The circle glows and the coat, all of the gear and the chair disappeared with a flash of occult light and an inrush of air. Karma picked up the only item left in the place where the circle had been. Even the chalk had been consumed for the magic. It was a simple purse. A circle was embroidered on it, with occult markings stitched into the fabric. She considered it a moment, then looked at her attire. Kneeling on the stone surface, she hunched herself as low as she could, putting her knees to her chest, the purse in her lap. Her body was occulted by magical energy which, after it passed, had rewoven her Theahan garb into modern canvas shoes, jeans and a blouse, all pale blue. [I can't believe Rene made a point of learning how to magically make lycra. Then again, I'm vain enough to be glad she did.] The last of the journey to the top was spent quietly checking the contents of her handbag. As Defender and the High Lord spoke, Karma looked around the empty ground. Her hand held an tube of lipstick, her other hand resting on her purse. As the conversation turned, she frowned mildly. [I was sort of looking forward to hearing the rest of that, darn it. Okay, so, where's the first punch going to come from...?] > His hand closes on empty air. "Wh--?!" > The Gaunt Man laughs, cruel and terrible. "Fool. Arrogant, witless >fool. Did you think I would permit you to draw the Sword of Apeiros >in my presence? Did you think I would not know that you had claimed >it?" [The what?] Karma thought, before the sense that something bad was coming overtook her. She ran her hands through her hair, looking wildly about her as holes in space were torn all around her. As each new force entered the field, the panic built, until at last she found herself staring into the writhing, obscene form of Cthulhu itself. The lens on her wrist flared in a frenzied rainbow of pyrotechnics as it kept her emotions from the others. A small blessing, that. She wouldn't hurt anyone else. But the fires of her emotions; terror and panic; threatened to consume her. And then, the words came. Voices from her past, those who had lived in fear, died from fear, coped with fear and overcome fear, flooded up into her consciousness over her own fear and showed it to her. Dissected it, analyzed it, determined its place and function, its motives and goals. Her mind calmed. Her lens slowed to a stately display of ordered precision. Her head cocked to one side, the corners of her mouth turned slightly downcast, her brow furrowed slightly. She looked at Cthulhu. "Hmf," she mused, then dismissed it from her attention. > "Meet my Flaggesque Army of Darkness, Phoenix-boy," Dracul >cackles. "Some of the greatest forces of strength and superiority--" > "--you mean evil," Defender snarls. > "Whatever," Red Fury replies. "Your every ace has been trumped. >Ming's rocket fleet, the Cylon armada, Vader's Imperial Navy and the >Eddoran forces are blocking your Lensmen and Galactican allies. The >Wheel of Time's Forsaken, Old One avatars and an army led by Balrogs >block entry by your magical allies." Dracul leans forward and sneers. >"And my forces outnumber yours at least ten to one." > "Destroyer," Roland says quietly. > Far smoother gates open, letting in UNTIL agents and a small army >of irregulars from across Earth-9, joined by Skywalkers and what >remains of their rebel allies. Karma felt the windows opening, but these were polite by comparison. As she scanned the enemy forces allied against them, she was pleased to see far more friendly faces joining the fray. [If it's going to -be- a fray, anyway... They're -still- -talking.-] > "FIGHT!" Phoenix shouts back, force shields flying up to create >defensive emplacements. > His Army of Darkness roars and charges at Dracul's command. The >battle is joined. The end has begun. [Finally!] Karma thought to herself as she held up the tube of lipstick. The red tube of pigment glowed and extended into a brilliant ruby blade of energy as Karma seemed to partly move and partly flow across the battlefield to cross swords with Darth Tyranus. To be continued... =========================== Subject: AAE 9: Among the Stars, Beyond the Veil On Mon, 18 Sep 2006 00:17:26 -0700 Roland X Said As CAoL Message # 00012831 "Frack it!" Starbuck blurted, dancing among the Cylons. His Viper did things no Viper should be able to do, but that was par for the course for the freewheeling Lensman. On the other hand, he hadn't seen this many Cylons since...no, not even when the Colonies had fallen. Half the Alliance had to be there. @Apollo, what could make the Cylons commit so much of their fleet here? @This Gaunt Man of Roland's,@ Apollo replied. @He has some connection to Iblis.@ @Oh, great. Just what we need.@ Starbuck racked up another half-dozen kills, proud to beat Apollo by two, while they Lensed. @And what do you want to bet that Zia's in over her head?@ @"Lords of Kobol, Starbuck, don't you have enough to worry about between Cassiopeia and my sister?"@ Apollo sighed, racing through a squadron of TIE Fighters and obliterating them. @Still...no bet. Though I'd put good cubits on her coming out again with Baltar's head under her arm.@ He grinned again, which quickly vanished as he saw what was moving into position past the debris of the TIE Fighters. @Apollo to Commander Kinnison. We have incoming.@ @Roger, Captain. We see them.@ The Lensman fleet massed behind the Galactica as the Star Destroyers rounded Neptune, merging with the battered Cylon armada and providing support to the fantastic Eddoran capital ships. Bizarre, backwards-appearing rocket ships moved to flank the Galactica. Ming's fleet, however, had done enough damage that none of them underestimated the strange vessels any more. @Adama and I have conferred, Captain,@ Kinnison continued after a moment. @You are to take Blue Squadron in to deal with the Imperial command when our reinforcements arrive.@ @Reinforcements? What...@ Apollo's comment faded into ether as a respectable fleet of Rebel ships appeared from hyperspace, followed immediately by the SDF-1. He grinned. "Rogue Squadron, Skull Squadron, on my mark." "Rogue Leader, standing by," Wedge Antilles reported professionally. "Skull One, standing by," Rick Hunter added, fingers pulsing on the controls of his Veritech. "Now!" All three legendary squadrons charged into the heart of the enemy fleet. They were, Apollo noticed, outnumbered at least ten to one in their space. Their numbers weren't nearly enough, as the sudden blow sent the fleet into disarray. The fleet imploded after a fashion, fighter craft flowing into the center of the formation in ever greater numbers. The Lensmen moved forward, and it looked for a moment as if the battle would all but end on the spot. The Eddoran ships surged forward, blunting the Lensmen assault. Star Destroyers flared out, moving away from the devastating fighter attack (particularly the Veritech missiles) in an attempt to engage the larger ships. Basestars simply poured firepower into the smaller, heroic fleet. It blunted the assault, but victory was still within reach. Then the Zentraedi came. It wasn't the million-ship armada that had once formed the backbone of the Zentraedi empire. It wasn't even the significant fraction that had remained after the war with Earth. It was still massive, though, thousands upon thousands of ships jumping into normal space. "Starbuck, you seeing that?" Boomer asked, his Gunstar-Viper hybrid moving towards the center of a huge cluster of TIE Fighters, Cylon Raiders, and one-robot rocket craft. His finger hovered over the Death Blossom button. "Yeah. I wish I wasn't. Hey, Hunter, any ideas?" Starbuck asked. "Just one. I hope the SDF-1's up to it," Rick replied tersely. "Cut the chatter, Blue Two," Apollo snapped. "Silver Spar Squadron, what's your status?" "We're fine, Apollo," Sheba replied, her voice tight. "The...enemy isn't very thick around the Galactica. I wish the Pegasus were here, though." And it was. Just like that, before two goggle-eyed fleets, the Pegasus emerged from hyperspace. "Ask, and ye shall receive," Cain's distinctive voice echoed in the allied fleet's comm systems. Ragged cheers went up throughout the Colonial forces. "How are you war-daggits holding up?" "Not bad, sir," Apollo replied, "but we're a bit outnumbered here." "Then it's a good thing I found some help on the way in," Cain said, and his smile was almost audible. Jump gates opened all around the Pegasus as White Stars emerged, accompanied by cruisers from all four major races. Omega Dreadnoughts, Sharlin Warcruisers, G'Quon Heavy Cruisers, and Vorchan Medium Cruisers appear, surrounded by fighter craft from each species as well as others'. "This is Admiral Ivanova," a familiar voice cut in. "Kinnison, am I seeing what I think I'm seeing?" "About ten thousand olive green ships filled with fifty-foot-tall super-warriors? Yes, ma'am," he replies evenly. "Well, not having X-ray vision, I don't see any giants," Ivanova commented dryly, [and I really didn't need to know that part,] she added mentally, "but yes, I meant _that_ fleet. I don't suppose you have any super-weapons with you." "I might be able to help you with that," Captain Gloval replied, "but in our current position, we'd destroy half our own fleet as well." Kinnison examined 'The Tank,' watching the fleets move. Each of the squadrons in the heart of the enemy forces was a legend in its own right, and the damage they were doing was extraordinary even by Lensman standards. He frowned slightly as the massed Zentraedi fire glanced off the Directrix's screens harmlessly. The Zentraedi's numbers and power were phenomenal, however; eventually, even Patrol ships would begin to suffer damage. It was time to show them what Lensmen were made of. "Bring us in," he ordered. "Close with the Eddorans. Prepare to englobe. Ready all tractor beams." "Sir!" Men trained to the stark edge of perfection moved with a will. They weren't going to expect what he would do next, however. None of them would. It all came down to that tiny ship with the strange configuration system, and a weapon that was just this side of a Sunbeam. Which meant getting the ships on both sides maneuvered just right. Kinnison smiled, but it was the space-cold smile of a man doing an unpleasant job well. All these ships had great abilities, but none of them came even close to his fleet's tractor systems. He wanted to end this quickly. His side's ships all had living pilots in them, and even as enormous and sheerly staggering this battle was, it was not the true war. That was taking place on an Earth -- not his Earth, but Earth all the same -- and by Klono's tungsten teeth, he wasn't going to let some tinpot tyrant with a skin rash and a Victorian fetish harm it! Roland's ESP raced out and caught a glimpse of the battle beyond the stars. [...it's...] "Blood and ashes," Mat cursed. He hated fighting, hated it worse than work. If what Egwene had told them was true, though, letting the enemy through to this other world was the next-worst thing to losing Rand. That was bad news, because the Fades had found something as bad as Trollocs, something called 'orcs,' a whole race of horrors that had lost their master. Now they had a new one. The Dark One. "Hold fast! HOLD FAST!" It wasn't the Trollocs, though, or these orc-things, that really had the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end. It was the demonic things forcing the orcs forward, much the way Fades would do with Trollocs, but these fiery monsters were to Halfmen as Halfmen were to Trollocs. 'Balrogs,' the white-garbed figure had called them, ancient evils that should have remained buried for all time. Mat agreed wholeheartedly, but there they were, and worse behind them. Worst of all was the gibbering mass of a wall at their rear, an almost solid gray cloud with countless eyes and mouths, and sometimes horns. It spat out tree-things, like the trees from the Blight, only they could walk, and were marching forth. The white-robed man -- Gandalf -- called it Shub-Niggurath. All Mat knew is that it scared the flaming wits out of him. Fortunately, it didn't scare his battle sense away. The Red Hand held the line. Their allies didn't hurt, though. Aside from the Aes Sedai backing them up, and he'd never been happier to have them at his side, there were plenty of others. This Gandalf had friends of his own, some kind of Aes Sedai called 'wizards,' only male wizards weren't vulnerable to the Taint. And soldiers, of course. Light, what he could do with just a hundred of these 'elves' or 'dwarves' in the Red Hand... Then there were these 'faerie,' the natives of this weird miniature world of Hy-Brasil. This Hy-Brasil of theirs was something called a 'Horizon Realm,' supposedly a thing of spirit made solid, but the road that led to Gandalf's friends was real enough. A bright lord and a dark lady ruled the two factions of Hy-Brasil, but they were allied against the invaders and powerful with their 'glamer.' The wolves here were powerful too, and the light in Perrin's eyes shone all the more brightly for it, though Faile was jealous enough to turn green over the wolf-woman Eden. For all of him, Faile could fight with Eden until they were both black and blue, _later,_ as long as it meant Two Rivers men and Two Rivers bows _now._ "Long bows, crossbows, at the ready! Hold -- hold -- FIRE!" Trollocs and orcs fell by the hundreds. Mat grinned. [Take _that,_ you goat-kissing dice.] Strangest of all, however, were Prince Julian and Lady Alysande, with their silvery hunting hound-things, forest warriors, and ter'angreal horses. Alysande sometimes changed her shape somewhat, which reminded Mat unpleasantly of other things, but he'd met few highborn women nicer. Julian was all prickly honor, but he knew good soldiers when they saw them. Each had strange powers of their own, and seemed not so much to wield the One Power as work the very Pattern itself. Rand walked out of one of those flaming gates, and Mat nearly jumped off his horse. "Of all the -- can't you ride up like a normal man, Rand?" Rand shook his head, then glanced aside. "I don't care. We're not going to use it." Then he turned to Mat, whose skin was crawling worse than ever. "There's no time. Sammael is with them." [Light, I thought my skin wanted to leap off _before!_] "So Sammael is leading them?" Rand shook his head. "Only the armies. The Dreadlords, the enemy 'wizards,' the other Channelers, they're being led by someone else." "Who?" Perrin asked calmly. Mat wondered how the blacksmith could be so calm; luck or no luck, his flaming stomach wanted to climb up his throat. "I'm not sure." Rand scowled. "Not Forsaken. Maybe that cloud." "Even the wolves won't go near it," Perrin said slowly. "An entire pack would die gladly to kill a Fade, but...that cloud smells _wrong,_ Rand, wrong enough to make a Fade seem like an Ogier grove." Mat suddenly sat up straight in his saddle. "They're moving. And Rand...I think that's your man." Rand peered out, senses enhanced by saidin, at a strangely normal-looking man; though his garb was odd by the standards of the Third Age, he would have been completely mundane on this 'Earth.' Until you saw his eyes, and his smile. He whistled as he strode forward, looking over the armies. He had strange markings on metal disks adorning his hooded jacket. "Dark Man! Dark Man! Dark Man!" the orcs and Darkfriends chanted. The Trollocs mostly howled, but those that could speak chanted as well. "I'm just a walkin' dude," the 'dark man' quipped. Then he looked at the armies of Light and scowled. "Rolands. I'm so sick of 'em. Hope they kill each other. Still, Dracul's got taste, gotta hand him that. And his head, eventually, but first things first." He gestured at the amassed heroes. "What are you waitin' for? KILL 'EM!" Gandalf reared his magnificent white steed from the head of the army. "Forward!" He shot flame from his staff, Moiraine Sedai joining him as if from nowhere. "Gandalf helped rescue Moiraine," Rand muttered. "For that, I'd follow him into the Bore. Mat." Mat nodded. "Time to toss the dice. You heard the man -- FORWARD!" The armies marched, and powers filled the air. [...it's...it's too big...] Roland Phoenix shook his head and let his ESP go. He had to trust the others -- heroes like Kinnison, Ivanova, Apollo, Gandalf, Eden, Rand...they knew their jobs, and so did he. They had their battlefields, and he had his. Anathema's head rocked and sizzled from kinetic and electric blows, but she shook it off and glared. The war continued. =========================== Subject: Re: AAE9: Cosmic Conflict On Mon, 18 Sep 2006 04:19:07 -0400 Mike Knight Said As CAoL Message # 00012832 >On Sun, 17 Sep 2006 15:41:29 -0700 >Roland X Said As CAoL Message # 00012827 > >>On Fri, 15 Sep 2006 01:00:24 -0700 >>Dane Said As CAoL Message # 00012822 >> >>>Roland X wrote As CAoL Message # 00012815 >> >>A small shudder runs through the spacetime of Earth-9. Those with >>the senses to 'see' beyond that which separates the universes can >>'see' a titanic being waiting just 'outside'. It is a childlike >>being. A child like being whose face puckers up into a visage of >>absolute, and barely controled, RAGE! The empaths on the field sense >>a wave of fury as the tiniest bit of the entity's anger leaks out. > > Roland considers the issue more carefully. Until today, nothing >has shaken his mind and spirit more than the knowledge that the >Stardragon would take his orders. Even with the sky filled with all >the powers of darkness, it still gives him the shivers. Truth be >told, he's not sure he should tell the Stardragon to back off; >there's little Roland hates more than the violation of children, >himself. Karma sensed it faintly, and was dimly aware of the reason for it, though the battle was not permitting much beyond something about a child. Just that would drive her to distraction. [Gah, can't think about that now!] > /Easy, Stardragon,/ Roland replies. /Remember, we're the good >guys. Still.../ He glances over at the Gaunt Man...and his heart >turns to ice. That's almost enough to end him, but fortunately it's >James to the rescue (see Zia's post). /Off! Stay off the >battlefield!/ > The Gaunt Man, sensing this opportunity has passed, sighs and >releases the monoblock floating next to Nyarlathotep in his 'pocket' >universe. /No 'still'./ Karma thought at them, /I've got issues from this lifetime about the behavior of other people's deities. I don't want to have them about the ones I know. Ack, talk later! Fight now!/ =========================== Subject: AAE9: A Lesson in Humility On Wed, 20 Sep 2006 00:14:17 -0400 Mike Knight Said As CAoL Message # 00012833 Karma was surprised to be facing such an imposing figure. She had expected with her Bene Gesserit training that the Stormtroopers would have been easy pickings. And perhaps they would have been, if she had gotten within their ranks. But, no sooner had she made it halfway across the field, than a figure rose out of the Stormtrooper ranks, covering the intervening distance in a single leap. That distance was far greater than what Olympic long-jumpers could cover and the imperious figure had to be in his sixties at least. "Now now, my dear," his voice rumbled like distant thunder, "I can't have you doing that." Karma's body arced around his as she made to slip past. His lit blade came down as she was about to strike him along the knees with it, blocking the move. "That's an interesting weapon you're wielding," Dooku remarked conversationally, "I'm curious to see if it cuts as well as mine." "It doesn't cut," Karma said. Dooku's eyebrows raised. "A sword that won't cut? Now you -do- have my attention." Darth Tyranus was suddenly flying several feet back, his lightsaber held almost casually at his side. He smiled mildly. Karma was suddenly aware of a small squad of Stormtroopers behind her about to fire. She dropped, rolled to one side, struck the first one seemingly ineffectually with her sword of red light, which made no mark on his armor. He did, however, fall face-forward to the ground. Karma slipped behind him as he fell, slashing horizonally through three others as they were just turning to look at where she had been, and stabbed a fifth with the seemingly harmless blade. The last was bringing his gun to bear when the sword arced sideways out of the stabbed trooper and passed through his arm. Six Stormtroopers lay on the ground, not a mark on any of them, Karma crouched in their midst. Karma's sword whipped up over her head to guard her back just as Tyranus struck, having covered the distance easily. "That -is- interesting. They're not dead?" the Count inquired mildly as Karma spun and slashed. He parried easily. "Asleep for an hour," Karma said through gritted teeth as another move was blocked. Darth Tyranus laughed, "Your compassion is misplaced! They wouldn't hesitate to kill you." "No doubt," Karma said as Dooku's attacks pressed her back, back toward the long lines of enemy forces. Tyranus moved gracefully, herding her towards something, she knew, but couldn't afford to look. Suddenly, he lept away again, a broad, cold smile on his features. "And what of those things you can't cause to sleep?" Karma didn't even have to look, she could -smell- the stench of dead flesh and hear them shuffling towards her. As she turned, one of the gospog tried to stab her with his bayonet. Her sword cut his head off. Two more made a grab for her and she sliced through their midsections, the creatures falling in four neat pieces. The fourth charged her, bayonet at the ready. She parried the point, then as she stepped to the side, her blade passed harmlessly through the barrel and another gospog head left its body. The last two were ready to fire their rifles as she turned to face them. Her sword came up as their trigger fingers telegraphed the action. As she avoided one, the other was deflected by the swinging light blade. It cut through the air, beheading the last gospogs where they knelt in the old firing position of 19th century soldiers. The flap of robes made Karma roll to one side. Count Dooku's blade cut through the space she had just inhabited. She rolled away as Darth Tyranus strode after her, stabbing at the ground almost casually. "Don't get up," the Count said, "'The fallen should remain so,' wouldn't you say? That is the philosophy behind your sword, isn't it? At least in regard to the -dead.-" As Dooku stabbed to punctuate his point, and puncture Karma's abdomen, something caught his attention. Dooku whirled, sword raised blocking the green blade just before his turned face. "'The living should remain so' as well," Qui-Gon added mildly, "You're forgetting the other half of that philosophy." Dooku's force leap back was sudden, but Qui-Gon Jinn just adjusted the position of his sword. "Ironic words, coming from you, Qui-Gon," Darth Tyranus said. "And you," Anakin replied, helping Karma up with one hand, his sword ready in the other. "Karma, we'll deal with Dooku," Jinn instructed, "See what you can do to even the odds for our Rebel forces." Karma nodded and ran for where the Rebels were clashing with Stormtroopers. "My old Padawan? -You'll- -deal- with -me-?" Darth Tyranus said with a mocking laugh. "I don't think so!" And the duel began in earnest. (OOC: Seems too good a place to end it to not leave it at that.) =========================== Subject: Re: AAE9: First Strike On Tue, 19 Sep 2006 21:19:00 -0700 Harlock - Bard Extraordinaire Said As CAoL Message # 00012834 >On Sun, 17 Sep 2006 17:11:49 -0700 >Roland X Said As CAoL Message # 00012828 >>An answering growl rises from Veren's throat: just the right mixture >>of submission and challenge to mark the pack-second being called to >>defend his pack. The "accent" is a bit off, but it's remarkably >>servicable for someone without a drop of wolf-blood in his veins. > >Morgan glances for just a flicker of a moment in Veren's direction >(not takin' her eyes off the enemy long enough to give them an >opening, don'cha know *g*), green eyes registering approval. Veren doesn't seem to be paying any attention whatsoever to Morgan: his bow is out and strung, he somehow has five arrows nocked and pointing at the nearest creepy-crawly, and he's radiating enough sheer menace to make even gospog blink. Nevertheless, when Morgan glances his way, he bares his canines in what might charitably be called a smile. >>"A harem of bound women, a gallery of skulls, a team of dangerous >>rogues," a voice whispers into Dracul's ear, "and yet still you >>search for something, do you not? Something you have not yet found, >>and you know not for certain what it is, but it plagues you like an >>itch 'tween the shoulder blades. Ironic, that what you have been >>trying so hard to acquire is that which can be freely given, but >>never taken." > > Dracul snarls, his efforts to chase Morgan disrupted. [...that >Jarek godling, again? No...this is something else...] He locks down >his memories of both collections. "Press the grunts! Force them to >defend the mortals!" he barks. The whisper vents a derisive chuckle. "Lo, see the mighty Dracul, trying to run from his past." A chibi-Dracul, visible only to mage-sight, starts dancing around Dracul with its fingers in its ears, mouthing "La, la, la. I'm not listening, I'm not listening, I'm not listening." The whisper raises to a cutting lash. "You _can't_ run from your memories, fool! They made you, even as you made them!" The voice drops back to a whisper, almost a croon. "And behind the playground bully is a lonely little boy, desperate for his father's attention...maybe even his affection, yes?" =========================== Subject: AAE9: Silver Reflections On Tue, 19 Sep 2006 22:52:30 -0700 Morgan and/or Roland Said As CAoL Message # 00012835 "One side. One side. Let a hero through." A pair of silvery rabbit ear illusions vanish from above Sil's head as the spirit guide drives her synthezoid body through hordes of gospog and other creatures. On the opposite side of the mountain from the main thrust of the battle, Silver Phoenix and a small army of anime "refugees" keep a force many times their size busy. G-Force is taking her namesake into distant space to join Kinnison's armada (or was it Ivanova's?), but the rest remain. Voltron is desperately battling a pair of giant frog-creatures, human-sized versions of them battling a number of heroes. They aren't enough to hold off the likes of the Dirty Pair and the Knight Sabers, but these gospog things come in a wide and unpleasant variety, some of which seem nigh-unstoppable. Of course, there's a wide gulf between "unstoppable" and "almost," especially for heroes. Sil flies into the air, makes herself dense enough to weigh several tons, then lands on a goat-headed demon thing. It makes a satisfying crunch as it flattens. "What's our status!?" "Status?!" Kaneda blurts. "The whole universe's gone crazy!" From a Metro City flying car, he fires his military laser (jury-rigged to plug into the cigarette lighter) into monster after monster. "How's THAT for status!" "It'll do," Sil laughs, phasing through several more attacks, letting creatures tear each other, then turn on each other in a rage. Trollocs among the hordes make that almost too easy. Then she feels something pull at her spirit-self, and turns to see a humanoid thing with gigantic bat wings crooning at her. The daughter of Phoenix wavers for a moment in that seductive call. Then Bloodwolf's blade slides home against Defender's ribs, and something inside her hardens. Lasers flare from her eyes, and the thing turns to ash on the spot. #"Sylia! You're in charge!"# {"Right!"} the Knight Saber leader agrees. {"Voltron! Fall back and let those things come in between Astro and Locke!"} Sil grins. Mark was a good leader, but Sylia had a ruthlessness their forces would need. Besides, even with Orrorsh 'dampening' their disaster effect, she can't think of anyone else who would be as effective at keeping the Dirty Pair in check. With a last look at the battlefield, she plunges _through_ the mountain. [Ugh. Like skinny-dipping in raw sewage.] Racing past groping phantoms, Sil quickly emerges into the raging battle. Above her, Kagato slices through several UNTIL agents who'd been braver than they were wise. Grinning slightly, he looks over the battlefield, locking onto Quantum, who duels with two vampires and the evil Orchid. Just as he's about to fly/leap up, however, an azure lightsaber blocks his jade. Kagato's smile vanishes as he sees Tenchi parrying him. "I don't think so," Tenchi says grimly. Kagato laughs. "You have courage, boy, but not half the skill you need for _this._" He forces Tenchi back with a flicker of his arm, then crouches to attack. Sil reaches up from the mountain, grabs his leg, and slams him on his back. "Naughty boy. Mama spank," she quips as she finishes rising from the rock. Kagato's humor vanishes entirely, and a faintly fanged snarl gleams at the Phoenix spirit. "That was unwise, woman." He rolls smoothly to his feet, then easily parries Sil's eye beams. "Most unwise." Sil laughs, though she just barely dodges his slash. [I'd bet good money that phasing wouldn't help against _that_ blade.] A psychic blow is equally ineffective. However, Tenchi's next strike draws a thin trickle of green blood. Kagato's snarl becomes audible, but a press of gospog separates the villain from the pair. "Thanks," Tenchi gasps, slashing easily through the plant-zombies and octopoid Others. "Any time, cutie," Sil replies, winking. Tenchi blushes furiously, reminding Sil fondly of Roland. She laughs disarmingly and flies above the grunts, clearing some of the were-tigers away with more energy blasts before turning to look for Roland. [So that's what they see in him--] she thinks. For just an instant, Ryoko and Ayeka appear on either side of her, glaring more furiously than they have at any of the monsters. "Don't even _think_ about it," they growl in unison, then vanish to opposite sides of the battlefield. Sil can't help another laugh... ...until she sees Defender being pressed by both Bloodwolf and the dreaded Anathema, while the true Solitaire battles Gaiasbane and Dracul. Her synthetic blood runs cold. She stoops to dive towards Morgan's racing wheelbike, but instead finds herself grappled by four of the more powerful Tharkoldu -- [where did THEY come from?!] she thinks desperately -- and dragged towards the ground. Sil tries Vision's trick of partially phasing an arm into one of the techno-demons. It howls and recoils, but she feels as if she just stuck her arm into boiling water filled with razor blades. [Ow. This is going to be harder than I thought...] =========================== Subject: Re: AAE9: A World of Horrors On Wed, 20 Sep 2006 05:24:46 -0700 (PDT) Ziactrice Said As CAoL Message # 00012836 >On Mon, 18 Sep 2006 00:17:26 -0700 >Roland X Said As CAoL Message # 00012831 > > @And what do you want to bet that Zia's in over her head?@ > @"Lords of Kobol, Starbuck, don't you have enough to worry about >between Cassiopeia and my sister?"@ Apollo sighed, racing through a >squadron of TIE Fighters and obliterating them. > @Still...no bet. Though I'd put good cubits on her coming out again >with Baltar's head under her arm.@ Starbuck had his usual luck in making a bet. Somewhere both nearby and very far away on the globe below, Ziactrice found herself literally over her head - and buried. Her armor held, of course, being of Nemo's - or NEMO'S - manufacture, but even solid plate-covered lungs of Amberite strength could not draw breath beneath several tons of frogly horrors. Struggling with a Lensman's discipline against the panic of having her ability to move constrained, she switched on the cylinder within her body. That would oxygenate her blood. Nothing could be done about the gagging stench. It was worsening here as the Deep Ones began to die, packed like sardines and far too close to her pile of Elder Signs. The _idea_ had been to pinion the Old One in a circle of the things and then call on her link - or posession, if you like - by Gaia to put it back deep under the ground again. 'Battle is really not my thing,' the Petite Amberite forces the thought around the panic rising. 'Got to get out of here before His Huge Ugliness steps on me. Never had in mind going out as a smudge.' Every muscle strained, while her psionic abilities leveraged telekinesis, attempting to unbury herself. None of the slimy, decaying flesh around her so much as moved. A sound that simply should not be came loudly. Her brain refused to link a name to the terror, but she knew the Old One's sheer size. It was too close for her hindbrain to ignore; all her instincs began screaming to run away. Her psionics cut off, and her Lens flared to life, as she struggled internally to remain the master of her own mind and being as the writhing Chaos of the UnPattern within grew to blot out her surroundings. She had no breath to scream her anger and fiercely provoked pride as her mind and will were sorely tested by her internal enemy of old. >On Fri, 15 Sep 2006 01:00:24 -0700 >Dane Said As CAoL Message # 00012822 > >>Roland X wrote As CAoL Message # 00012815 >> >> That's when a tall, muscular woman in combat fatigues, the only >>weapon visible a greatsword strapped to her back, strides over the >>hillside. Her hair is cut short, but lightning plays in it all the >>same. Still, the most striking thing about her is what she's >>carrying. >> A child. She has a girl tucked under one arm, holding her easily >>in spite of her struggling and wails of terror. > >A small shudder runs through the spacetime of Earth-9. Those with the >senses to 'see' beyond that which separates the universes can 'see' a >titanic being waiting just 'outside'. It is a childlike being. A >child like being whose face puckers up into a visage of absolute, and >barely controled, RAGE! The empaths on the field sense a wave of fury >as the tiniest bit of the entity's anger leaks out. Tiny for the Stardragon meant something on the scale of universe to an empath of Zia's ability - or in this case, sensitivity. Her mind had already been pushed well past the usual limits. Now, even the Lens' additional help proved inadequate, as the wave of fury met and melded seamlessly with her own. Something slipped in the balance, and the struggle suddenly was lost. The UnPattern welled through her, as her consciousness warped and frayed apart, only dimly feeling terror as the wildshifting tore at her no-longer-solid flesh. >On Sun, 17 Sep 2006 18:58:42 -0700 >Roland X Said As CAoL Message # 00012829 > > Meanwhile, Jodi doesn't waste time with banter or threats. She >just tries to _kill_ James, using her Life Mastery in an attempt to >stop every biological function in him at once. Her focus is a >screeching howl of a chant as she claws the air, blood spreading >across her fingernails simply from her tearing at the air. Most of >the rest of her magick is defensive, weaving force and mind shields, >entropic defenses and Primal guards protecting her abilities. The >flying cephalopod flails its arms around its mistress defensively, >seemingly at random, but its protection quickly reveals itself to be >cunning and fairly comprehensive. James gives her the urbane chuckle that all his arch-foes can attest is maddeningly smug, as he utterly _ignores_ her attempt to kill him. He didn't stop her Life Mastery magics, but all the same these find no purpose nor purchase within the dapper Englishman. It takes even Jodi Blake a moment of shock to realize she has just attempted to kill a vampire - albeit one like none on her own world - with Life magics. His very nature absorbs her efforts, which serve only to strengthen him. With a supernaturally quick step and grip, he has a tentacle and forcibly whips her mount out from under her as if the flying cephlapod were no more than a tablecloth and he the magician. She flies off, managing to land somewhat ungracefully as she regains her feet. James uses those few seconds of her distraction to batter the octopus to goo Bam-bam style with a few casual flicks of his wrist on like it was a large, heavy whip. "You've been a very naughty girl." He comments as psionic bolts of serious power strafe and shatter her entropic defenses with the skill and precision of a sniper who loves his deadly art. He has already recast her own energies, making his shielding - after so thorough a tasting of her magic - impregnable to her efforts. He drops the tentacle and calmly advances on her, lowering the Walther to point directly between her eyes. >> Thirdly, escaping most notice (except of course all the Huge >>Gun-entities), the last figure strides with the confident tread of a >>veteran warrior from her own shifting-colored door of light near the >>vanguard of the heroes. This figure is clad in full samurai battle >>armor, from demon mask, with rising standard-poles borne proudly >>strapped to her back showing the exact same device as Zia's own. The >>sprawling conflict is appraised with one keen, sweeping glance. The >>samurai-lady draws her daisho. She runs with an oddly smooth, almost >>sliding gait to a position on Rio's rear flank, leaving a trail of >>severed limbs and heads to fall like a gory rain behind. > >Rio has been attempting to keep on the edges of the battle, but the >constant flow of combat makes that impossible. /Thanks,/ she sends >prosaically. "Pleasure. You're a dancer? Name one, so we can combine motion as they seek to overwhelm. I'll take the close ones. You try not to shoot me. Please." The voice is so much like Zia's Rio has to ponder it a moment to decide this one just sounds a trifle older - or at least, the delivery seems a bit more formal. The lady samurai continues to glide past, teasing in a few more enemy to cut down as they press her even as she shouts her words to be heard in the din of combat. > In the distance, Eric nods, and the invisible Prime spikes he'd >left around Rio vanish, allowing him to focus on his own battle. Then... >On Sun, 17 Sep 2006 15:41:29 -0700 >Roland X Said As CAoL Message # 00012827 > > Such is the horror above that even Eric Lancer is shaken by it. >The kusari-gama spins because his training won't let it _not_ spin, >and his awareness won't let him ignore foes on the battlefield, but >in the face of the horrors above, even the Hunter feels small. He has >slain vampire progenitors millennia old and faced gods without >flinching, but Malfael is simply..._beyond_ him, and all his training >and ability are as nothing before it. His wavering is only momentary, >however. He _is_ the Hunter, after all, and there is enough and more >for him to do here. Zia needs him. That is all that matters. Deep >Ones and gospog press at him, therefore Deep Ones and gospog die. >When the...Things...falling from Malfael reach the ground, they will >die too. Priscilla stirs. @Don't look, child. Rest.@ She coos >contentedly and snuggles back into his arm. The pile of Deep Ones bulges upwards as Eric nears it. Most of the Deep Ones here appear to be dead or in the process of dying, without a mark on them. In one step, he crosses a boundary. The feeling of the revealed Elder Sign - and four more of equally impressive power - sings through his senses. The next step, however, brings such a wave of palpable anger he can taste it in the back of his throat. It buffets against him like a poisoned ocean's wave as a demonic beast pulls free of the pile of dead Deep Ones in a grotesque parody of birth. His eyes can't seem to decide what he is seeing; something like a tiger, but scaled in black oil-slick shiny barbed nastiness at first, but then it moves with a twisty four-legged gait like a horse as it picks its way down. Eric notices those are not hooves, but three taloned, blunt toes, rather like a wolverine's. A wickedly sharp obsidian-gleaming horn curls up from between its eyes, and tusks - like whiskers - droop a fearsome length from its elongated muzzle. The twistiness of its power - even against a background of Lovecraftian beasts - makes analyzing its nature difficult. A demon - no, the power level is more substantial. Not even demon lords have quite this feeling of chaotic aura, as if reality itself cannot bear this beast's very existence. It stops at the edge of the body pile, lifting the fanged muzzle and scenting with a snuffle and a cat-like grimace - revealing the flash of far too many ivory fangs. The buffeting anger-wave comes again, this time with enough force it - for a split-second - drowns out Eric's dread of the horror above in red-eyed, berserker rage. It is only as the creature lowers the horn and charges like some thunderingly bad combination of rhino and saber-tooth cat that the glint of the purple stone on the solid metal torc around its neck shows. Zia had a necklace - much smaller - from Nemo that looked like that. ===========================