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When The Bough Breaks

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Realms: Bough Logs

Third Movement, Sixth Verse

Time moves on in the small public house, and it is wearing onto supper. The crowd increases as people arrive for dinner, in twos and threes and fours. Most of the people are vanara, though there are some mortals as well, and a few are as-et unrecognizable types; two seem to be naga.

The publican has served dinner to the group, some kind of heavily spiced rice and poultry served in a large bowl with a smaller bowl for each person. Tigernmus says, as he ladles some of the curry into his bowl, "I imagine we should find lodgings tonight before either asking around tomorrow about rakshasa or heading closer to Mount Meru."

Mikal's eyes widen at sight of not one but two naga! She watches them in silent, shy fascination.

Mikal brightens when she realizes one of them is the one she saw outside -- she can say hi! A moment later she blinks nervously, realizing she has no idea what to say. She huddles down a bit between Jareth and Norris, hoping she's not spotted.

At Tigernmus's words she blinks, straightening up a bit. Curiously she asks, "B-but, um... d-don't we want to g-go look at where the fight was?"

Jareth watches the people filtering in and on one of the publican's passes by their table, he stops the inn's owner and asks quietly if they would welcome entertainment for the dinner crowd.

Norris nods thoughtfully, nursing his drink. "Starts t' sound t' me like th' answers might not be so easy. Th' Rakshasa protect th' people, but stay scary and cryptic."

Norris blinks. "Fight? Whut fight?"

Mikal grins excitedly at Norris, "To see what kind of damage they do! Don't you think that'll tell us a bit about what weapons they're using?"

Tigernmus pauses, then nods, "A good point, I'd almost forgotten about that battle."

Jareth's hand keeps wandering over to Mikal's, as if he doesn't like going to long without touching her. He smiles at her excitement, glad she feels she has something useful to do.

Mikal beams as she leans against Jareth, "You want to go to, don't you? So you can see if there are any good stories?"

Jareth says, "I'm always looking for stories, Rabbit."

Mikal giggles, "I knew it!" She'll happily eat a bit of curry while she waits for everyone else to get ready to go.

Norris uhs. "oh...yew mean th' rakshasa fighting against th' angels. Wait, is that goin on right now? How d'yew know? They could be...like, restin' gathering forces, annat."

Norris's brow knits. "Plus, aint it not smart t' be walknig into a warzone between two powerful armies?"

Norris says, "Th' armor ahm makin fer Jareth aint done yet, an ah still have t' teach him t' wear it."

Mikal looks curiously at Norris, "You think it's a warzone? I got the feeling it was unusual for them to be there so close?"

The publican considers, then beams happilly and says he would be pleased to have entertainment for the other guests, and offers the group's dinner as wage for it.

Norris shrugs. "Yew're th' one that said 'fight'. Ah assumed there wasn't no specific fightin right naew, annat."

Mikal gives Norris a confused look, then simply smiles and shrugs.

Jareth grins broadly at the publican and says, "Let me consult with my companions and I'll be quite happy to tell a few tales and sing a few songs."

Mikal bounces with excitement, "Oooh, good for you, Jareth! Thank you!"

Norris looks at Tigernmus. "How far is th' mountain from here?"

Tigernmus mms, "I would say a good week's journey, give or take a few days.

Norris scratches his chin. "That's some time, at least." He looks at Mikal. "Ah think mebbe we *should* talk t' folks around here first, give it a day, at least. We's goin t' be talkin' t unknown folks, fellas that won't necessarily be instantly favorable t' us. We shoul' find out what we kin t' turn the odds in our favor, yeah?"

Mikal nods silently, glancing around a bit restlessly. She wanders off to get a refill on her drink. She doesn't want to miss Jareth's entertainment, but she's getting really bored -- inns are not her favorite place to be.

Norris glances over at the naga curiously, remembering his friend's earlier words...curious, wondering if he can see in them what she did.

Jareth leans close to murmur in Mikal's ear, "Will you watch the people for me, mon lapin? Maybe see if you can get close to the snake-women while I'm telling my stories?"

Mikal starts slightly as she's whispered to just as she's about to slide off the bench -- then she nods, giving Jareth a curious glance. She whispers in return, "What are you looking for, Jair? Er, what should I be looking for, I mean, and why the nagaina?"

Jareth smiles, "Because you were fascinated with them. And if they're supposed to be wise, hearing what they say might be important to us."

Mikal thinks about that, then grins mischievously, "Good point!" She stands, gives Jareth a quick hug, then patters off towards the bar, weaving with unconscious grace back and forth between the close-set tables, neatly avoiding the occasionally gesticulating patrons.

Jareth watches her go and says quietly to Norris, "Let me know if you see anyone acting strangely." After that, he starts putting on his bardic persona and moves toward the best area of the room to be seen and heard by the crowd. Jareth loves having attention on him and he starts out with a song. The one he chooses is a cheerful and rhythmical story-song with an easily followed chorus that invites singing along by the audience.

Jareth is careful not to choose anything too bawdy.

Mikal will wait until Jareth's been entertaining for a bit before she sidles a little closer to the nagaina -- carefully and nervously. Hopefully they'll be distracted by now.

Jareth's ballad quickly has the attention of everyone in the place -- this style of singing is not common in this part of the Dreamtime, and it is quite a novelty and that, combined with Jareth's skill, is very well-received. Though there's some singing along, most of the people present don't know the words until after the first or second verse.

Meanwhile, Mikal edges near the nagaina. They are quiet and still, but apparently talking animatedly with one another. Mikal appears to be unnoticed as she settles in near them. Their talk is quiet, their accent sibilant but otherwise understandable; they appear to be discussing the recent battle between the rakshasa and the angels, and, apparently, the allies that the rakshasa have garnered. There is apparently some concern over the quality of these allies, but an understanding that "there could be no better allies one could have against the King of Dust and Sand."

Meanwhile, Norris becomes quickly aware of a man who approaches the table that has him at it; Tigernmus seems entranced by the performance. The man -- short and with slate-grey hair done in a bun -- moves to lightly place a hand on Norris's shoulder, leaning down as if to speak in his ear.

Norris is focused, at first, on the performance...unlike Mikal, he has heard Jareth sing, and much enjoys every opportunity he has to delves into it. And then he remembers that his friend had asked something of him, and starts looknig around at those gathered, as asked. But of course, he has not eyes in the back of his head, so he freezes when he's touched.

The man says quietly to Norris, in a heavy, accented voice. "I have been waiting... for a very long time, blacksmith. It is a great joy and pleasure for me. If you would know more of your craft than you will learn by wandering the Dreamtime, come to the smithy in this town... when the hour is darkest. For only then may secrets of this sort be shared."

When the song seems well-received, Jareth introduces himself as Cat, a bard traveling to learn the ways and stories of this world. The introduction melds into a story, one about a tricksy rabbit caught by a fox that's more hungry and eager than wise and how he escapes by turning the fox's malice against him.

Mikal grins quietly at that story, but keeps most of her attention on the nagaina. She's curious as to what or who the new allies are. Will this affect the group's ability to persuade the rakshasa to focus on Azrael?

Norris blinks, and would look at the man, except that something in the way he was approached makes him feel he should not draw attention to this. "Ah dun understand." he says, at first, still watching his friend. "But...ah will come." he agrees, his curiosity, perhaps, outweighing good sense. Of all things that are important to him, his craft is high on the list, surmounted only by his friends.

Meanwhile, to Mikal's eye, the naga exchange, not information this time, but objects: one shows the other some sort of sigil or talisman, stating that it is a symbol of the 'mazikin.' Mikal does not recognize the elaborately decorated, circular brass amulet at all, nor does it ring any memories for her

The man smiles kindly, and pats Norris's shoulder again. "It is well," he says. "I will help you to understand. This I promise, on all the blades I have forged." And then the man withdraws, not without himself paying almost wistful attention to Jareth's singing.

Mikal silently memorizes the symbol and the name, so she can repeat it later for her friends. Maybe one of them know what it means.

Norris finally turns to look, after the man's presence has left him. He can't see the man now...which only makes sense, since he never really got a good look at him to begin with. He looks around for Mikal, now...as much as he wants to find out more about this matter, he feels he needs to discuss it with his friends.


That night, as everyone else is starting to settle down, Mikal casually mentions she's going to go check on the animals one last time. Interestingly, she shoulders her pack to do so, and slips silently out while cheerfully whispering to Raphael.

Later that night, the town is mostly asleep; there are a handful of restless mortals who wander the streets but most mortals seem to be content to rest and relax at the same time that the aethyrs require sleep and rest or at least inactivity. Iron Antlers and the horses are right where Mikal left them in the stables.

Mikal pats Iron Antlers' shoulder. As she's tacking up she cheerfully murmurs, "So, handsome, want to go for a nice wander with me and Raph?"

Jareth is a few minutes behind Mikal, but does along because he's keyed up from his success at the public house. He grins to himself as he hears Mikal's question and says, "A moonlit walk in an exciting new place? Of course I want to go."

Iron Antlers snorts a little in approval; while the stable is warm and comfortable, it's been a long time since he's been in a summer night.

Norris shows up a few minutes behind Jareth. "There y'all are! Shoulda known. Lissen...wait, where y'all goin?"

Mikal jumps and squeaks, whirling startledly to stare behind her in the darkness. A heartbeat later she recognizes Jareth's voice and giggles nervously, "Jair! Bright Lady, you gave me such a start!"

Mikal grins and gives Jareth a hug, "All right, we can all go-" She blinks at Norris's voice too, then laughs, "Is this a parade?!"

Jareth's eyes are twinkling when Mikal turns around, hugging her in return and grinning, "I couldn't resist, sorry."

Norris looks around and then behind him. "Dun see the big drums, r' th' horses done up all pretty. Dun think it's a parade." he says seriously.

Mikal laughs and gives Norris a quick hug too, then hastily leads the big fey stag out, with whispered admonitions to everyone to stay quiet and stick close. With Raphael's help the little party heads out of town, sticking to the center of the streets so they won't alarm anyone or trip over anything.

Norris follows along for a bit, and then remembers what he came out here for. "Lissen, some fella says he wants t' meet me at midnight, talk t' me about forgin secrets. Y'all think yew'll be okay without me a few hours?" And then he remembers that we're leaving town. "Wait, where ya...ah mean, where we goin?"

Mikal sighs in relief once they're out of the little city, stretching her arms over her head with pleasure, "Oof! This is nice -- much easier to breath now!" She reflexively looks up to the stars to navigate, murmuring quietly to Norris, "It won't be midnight for a few hours yet, Norr. Shouldn't be a problem. You might want to take backup for just in case though. If you're coming along, though, we're going to look at the battle site -- it's only 30 leagues away, after all. We can run that and back again in a few hours."

Norris nods agreeably. "Okies. Can dew that. Do mah best with mah poor eyes, promiss ya that." he replies.

Mikal explains the direction and landmarks they're looking for to Raphael, asking him to lead. She herself pulls out a small lantern, lighting it and hanging it on one of Iron Antlers' backswept tines. With the tiny light behind them, the group casts long, blurry, dancing shadows, but also has just enough light to keep track of each other. She sets everyone into a line, with Raphael first and herself followed by Iron Antlers last, "There we go! Now, everyone will be following the person ahead of them, and Raphael, with the best night sight, knows where we're going."

Norris had grabbed a couple spare torchs instinctively from his saddlebag, but doesn't light them yet due to Mikal's explanation: best to save them for searching of the battlefield. He nods agreeably to Mikal's orders. Or suggestions. Or whatever. He is in the back, as usual, to make a protective sandwich around Jair.

All the constellations are familiar to Mikal -- almost too familiar, in a way. They are very clear and easy to spot, though there are a few differences in some of the star positions; nevertheless, they are clearly recognizable, and Polaris burns brightly.

The trip takes less than an hour -- the battle must have been frighteningly close to the town. And once they get there, it isn't hard to see the remains of the fight. The ground is torn up -- cratered, in some places -- and there are spots marked with what must have been intense heat and fire. The battlefield has already been well-policed at first glance, and there are no bodies or broken weapons seen.

Mikal scrambles up onto a huge canted boulder, staring around in amazement with her little lantern held high by the calm fey stag standing over her. "Golly! What a mess... look, that looks scorched over there. And there -- something hit really hard there!"

Jareth's breath is taken away by the horrible devastation and he feels his eyes start to sting a little bit. The battle must have been horrible, and the death toll must have been huge. Quietly, he says, "Was it just the rakshasa and the angels or did the villagers fight and die here?"

Mikal frowns thoughtfully, considering what battle must be like. If a rakshasa or an angel was wounded and somehow fell unconscious out of sight... might now be about the time it woke up? She murmurs absently, "Nono, just the aethyrs, Jair."

Norris hnhs. "Wunder why no broken weapons n' armor. Course, mebbe th' Rakshasa an angels don't use weapons like we know em. Or, even iffn there was broken arms, they're dangerous enuff that they wouldn'a want em left around."

Mikal sighs, remembering it's been a whole week since the battle -- it's unlikely anything's been left unscavenged in that time frame. She relates that information to Norris as well, so everyone knows.

Norris ohs! "Ah see. So mebbe there wuz scavenging, then."

Mikal nods to Norris, then asks Iron Antlers if he'd be willing to stand there and keep the area faintly lit. After that she scampers down and starts curiously rooting around, wondering if there's anything at all left. If so, it'd have to be hidden, of course, so she's checking more for what lifts and what might be underneath, than what's immediately visible.

Jareth stays behind with Iron Antlers, heart aching a little bit. The story that's told here is a horrible one.

Norris leaves one torch with Jareth, just in case...and lights the other and goes out searching in the other direction.

Mikal cheerfully helps Raphael in searching as well. Between his keen nose and strength, and her eyes and agile fingers, maybe they can find something interesting!

Raphael stumbles onto it first: a plinth of marble so white it almost glows, smoothly-hewn and sunk into the ground. There are elaborate carvings on the corners, and on the front of it a bas-relief depicting tall, beautiful humans, with six pairs of wings, and armed with lances or pikes with decorative pennons.

Mikal and Raphael are digging at the front so they can see more, and Mikal straightens up enough to make a chirring nightbird's call to attract the attention of her friends, then wave them over. Her call is soft but excited, "Hey, we found something -- c'mon over, you guys!" Raphael's digging is much more effective than Mikal's.

Iron Antlers politely waits for Jareth to mount up if he wants.

Jareth climbs up onto Iron Antlers' back, since the stag will get him down there more quickly than walking.

Norris is studying something that he finally decides is just a rock when Mikal calls, and he trots over.

The big fey stag trots surefootedly over the lumpy, uneven ground, and the light around the plinth steadily improves as he draws near.

The plinth has an elaborate memorial written upon it in what Mikal recognizes as a language she can read -- "Greek." After trudging through the flowery language it is apparently a memorial established by the angels for this battle and for those angels who were slain by the rakshasa.

Mikal sits back once she's slowly worked her way through the language, a disappointed look on her face, "Well, fooie! It's just something that got put here later -- it's not from the battle at all." She sighs restlessly, looking around again, and mutters, "Things sure were more exciting back at home, what with all the monsters to watch out for. How're we suppose to stay sharp here, when we miss everything interesting?

Norris shrugs. "Lot more going on here than just us, yannow? Stanton wuz th' center of our world. But th' world has gotten lots bigger."

Mikal sighs, "I guess."

Norris says, "Mebbe whut Raven said wus right, an we's important. But dun mean that everythin' is about us."

Jareth crouches and touches the plinth, brows drawn together, "What does it say?"

Mikal glances at the others again, then quickly translates the plinth, her voice rather flat and emotionless.

From out of the darkness, almost certainly in answer to Mikal's question, comes a reply: "Interesting?" Would you call a battle between the powers of heaven and hell interesting? Be glad you missed it, daughter of Satyavrata! Unless you want to so quickly challenge the messengers of the King of Dust!"

Mikal almost teleports out of sight!

The voice is gruff, but not quite stern enough to be called 'reproving.'

Norris jumps ten feet in the air! Well, no. More like a foot.

Raphael crouches, growling, and Iron Antlers snorts and lowers his head. Mikal's voice is quavery but resolute, "I-if you hurt my friends I'll shoot you!" A moment later she adds -- almost in spite of herself, "Er... who are you?"

Norris turns to face the voice, not exactly pulling a weapon, but certainly on edge.

Jareth isn't quite as quick as Mikal or as stalwart as Norris and he falls over onto his fundament from where he was crouching a bit off-balance.

Footsteps come out of the darkness, and shortly the group's night vision can make out a large, oddly-human and yet not-human shape shuffling out of the darkness. It eventually steps into the light, but by then the group has seen it in full: Eight feet tall, ragged and unkempt fur, eyes like embers, most certainly not any sort of mortal but exuding some sort of primal power. If the descriptions are to be believed, then this creature is a rakshasa, and it's visage of otherworldly power and strength is only enhanced by the elaborate, most certainly not merely decorative yet somehow alien armor of steel and gold that it wears.

It seems to pause in one footstep at Mikal's challenge, before continuing to walk into the light, stopping at the edge of the lantern's throw. "Rest easy, I've no intention of harming any children of Satyavrata this eve. I come to pay respect to our slain, not to spill more blood. My rage is for the King of Dust and his cursed, winged androgynes. As for my name, you may call me Jatasura. That is the name I have held amongst the raksahsa for eons and kalpas before the Godswar brought low Lords Krishna and Rama."

Mikal straightens slowly from where she'd been crouched behind cover, her drawn bow still in hand but now pointed down towards the ground. She stares, open-mouthed, at the rakshasa for several heartbeats before her first thought comes tumbling out of her mouth without consideration, "Y-you're scruffy! Are you shedding, or wounded?" She blushes hotly as she suddenly realizes how rude that sounds, and hunches her shoulders, muttering in embarrassment, "I, uh, s-sorry..."

Even in fright, Mikal is a huntress at heart: her arrow is wooden.

Jareth carefully picks himself up off the ground and does his best imitation of nonchlance as he wipes the dust off his backside. He reminds himself that smiling might be a bad idea for someone who has come to mourn, "I'm sorry we interrupted your vigil, Jatasura."

Norris blinks. His brain, while not quite shutting down, has gotten rather flummoxed. "Uh." he says in greeting. He was no more prepared for this than Mikal, but fortunately, Jair has recovered faster.

That actually makes the rakshasa's burning-coal eyes blink, then he laughs, a deep sound that seems to shake the ground a little. "No, little dawon, no, I am not wounded or shedding. It was a rough battle, and recovering from it... will take some time. But your kindness is appreciated, even by this one." He turns his burning gaze to Jareth. "You've no need to apologize, mortal, for a vigil shared is a vigil made the more poignant." He gestures in front of him. "Would you share a fire with me afore the hour of Dawn?"

Mikal hesitates, then nods slowly, "I, ah, uh, okay? Er... what's a dawon, please?" She remembers her manners and hastily adds, "Uh, oh, right! I, um, I'm Rabbit, and that's Cat and that's Wolf and Iron Antlers, and over there is Bear. N-n-nice t-to meet you...?" She sounds a little uncertain at the end there.

Norris looks back briefly at Mikal, and then at the rakshasa. Tiger. Thing. "An who is this Satee-av-rat-a? People keep sayin that."

Jareth says, "I'm guessing it's the local way of calling us mortals. Just like those folks that called Rabbit a daughter of Eve."

Norris blinks. And then the light dawns. "Oh! Uh. Okay." Something clearly clicks, because now it makes sense/

Mikal reacts instinctively -- she stamps her foot and snaps, "Dammit! I am not of that nasty old religion!"

Jareth smiles at Mikal, "Of course not, ma chere. We know that."

Mikal blinks, half embarrassed at the fierceness of her reaction, and half emphatically agreeing with it. She glances around a bit sheepishly, then mutters again, "S-sorry, guys..."

Norris clears his throat. "Well...considerin who we's talkin to, ah figger 'e won't hold it against us, yeah?"

Mikal takes a deep breath and straightens, her chin going up, "Yeah, and that reminds me!" She tries her sternest glare on as she adds, "W-we already have challenged them -- so there!" She thinks a minute, then amends slightly, "Well... Cat did."

Mikal considers a moment more, then adds proudly, "Successfully, too!"

Jatasura sits, letting out a bit of a gusty breath as he does so. "The kalpas, the ages of the world... they've not been too kind. The days catch up to me. But all in good time. 'Dawon' is the sacred tigress, who served the goddess Parvati. Though she grew up to be a terrible and awesome creature to behold... like all tigers, she was once a cub.

Jatasura stifles another deep laugh. "And calling one a devotee to the King of Dust is a grave insult here, Rabbit. No, on the slopes of Mount Meru, Satyavrata was the name of the first king and father of mortals. Some call them children of Eve, but no insult is meant."

He rests his hands wearilly on the hilt of the curved, sheathed sword before him; if a near-godlike being can look tired, Jatasura does so, even as he arches a feline brow. "I'm sorry. Challenged whom, and successfully?"

Norris is sure the rakshasa is bemused by all this byplay. "Sir, uh Jatasura, we'd be happy t sit an share fire." he finally clearly answers the query posed them.

Jareth clears his throat and says, "Azrael.

Mikal tilts her head thoughtfully for a moment, then smiles -- he called her a tigress! That's... kind of a compliment, she thinks! She tucks away her bow and the arrow, then trots easily around the cover she'd been hiding behind and starts gathering up some splintered bits of wood. She drops them in front of the rakshasa, then kneels on the other side of the little pile, pulling out flint and tinder for a fire.

Jareth starts to settle down with the rakshasa, eyes roving over the awesome creature with a mix of curiousity and healthy nervousness. When Mikal kneels, he reaches out without thinking to brush his fingers along her back for a moment, reassuring himself. "It's a good name for our Rabbit, she is a fierce one." He sounds inordinately proud of that.

Mikal grins shyly up at Jareth from under her bangs, blushing slightly with embarrassed pleasure -- then she hastily goes back to lighting sparks.

Jatasura spits to the side at mention of that name. "Azrael!" he rumbles. "Every name of the Host of the Architect is like poison in my ears. They are kindling for the fires of rage." He gestures, taking in the battlefield. "I cannot fault them for winning this battle, but I can fault them for being created by the fell hand of a madgod."

Mikal blinks startledly up at the rakshasa, "They won here?! But then... why did they leave?"

Norris does not jump, but he is briefly startled. "Iffin y' please, sir, why d'ya call th' Architect the King o' Dust?"

Mikal answers that a touch grimly, "He's the Desert King, Norr. He sacrificed his own son to himself!"

Jareth leans forward a little toward the rakshasa at Norris' question. It's a good one.

Mikal adds disgustedly, turning back to the fire, "He's a god of death. Not death-to-life death. Just death death."

Norris is more startled by Mikal's vehemence. While he's not about to start an 'Up With The Architect' fan club, he's taken aback by Mikal's words and cutting assertions. He looks at the rakshasa, to see if he agrees.

Jatasura nods to Mikal. "You saw the plinth; their memorial to this victory. They did not stay because...." He smiles mirthlessly, a mouth full of sharp, snaggled teeth. "Because they were needed elsewhere, to deliver their lord's message to the raksasha of Mount Meru."

A little calmer, he says to Norris, "He was the god of a desert people. Elsewhere he is known as the Desert Lord. Here, where we see the embers and ash of his murder of our gods, we see what remains of the heavens, and we call him the King of Dust and Ash."

In a quiet tone, Jatasura says, "El-Amon-Re was never a god of death. Those Thrones of Death who were elevated to godhood, they are the ones worthy of being called such, for they knew death was not something for mortals to fear. As for his son...." He lets out a great, chuffing sigh. "I have seen enough kalpas to know that the death of the Anointed One was, once upon a time, necessary." His expression hardens. "Not to say that it was not twisted by the Desert King."

Mikal looks confused, "You're saying the angels came here on a mission of diplomacy -- and they stopped to fight a battle first? With the very people they were supposed to talk to?! That... that's moronic!"

More connections are formed in Norris's head. The Architect had more than one name? He was a god of the Egyptians and a god of their slaves, the Jews? The ones that rose up against the Pharoh? Talk about...confusing.

Mikal adds puzzledly, "How could he not be a god of death, if he was the hierophant?"

Jatasura shakes his great head, waving a hand -- it is an odd gesture, and it takes a moment to realize that the hands are backwards. "No, Rabbit. The message they were bringing was war and death to the rakshasa. It is a pun, you see. Angels -- angeloi. Messengers, once nothing more than messengers of the Architect's will and desires. Now and again they are messengers of a different sort... messengers with pennons inscribed with 'Holy! Holy! Holy!' upon the tips of their lances.

"Here upon this place a band of rakshasa intercepted them, and in kalpas long past the devastation wrought would have been glorious to behold. Instead it was but a pyre for my bretheren, though they were successful in at least delaying this group of angels."

Mikal still looks confused, "Um... okay." The talk of puns and holiness makes no sense to her, so she simply says, "Delaying them from what?"

Jareth says, "The battle at Mount Meru."

Norris gets it. "Th' angels came to fight. The message wuz 'we's still gonna kill yew all', an the rakshasa here wuz just to delay th' angels, give Meru time t' prepare."

Mikal gives Jareth a confused glance as well, "Er... was that important? I mean..." she sighs, then simply flops down on the ground, leaning back against Raphael, who's seated himself behind her, "No one makes any sense here! Are you saying the- oh!" She nods at Norris's comment, "Now that made sense. Why can't aethyrs talk clearly?"

Jatasura nods to Jareth. "Yes. Delaying them from reinforcing the other angels at Mount Meru. It was enough, and the bulwark remains strong."

"As for him not being the god of death... it is true, he consigned mortals to live in the Waking and to, in time, die. But the universe has it's own way of doing things, and lease over death was not given to him. Instead the Thrones of Death came into being, and it was they who governed that journey to Hades that mortals know as 'death.' Heh... El-Amon-Re loathed Anubis, barely tolerated him.

"As for speaking clearly... perhaps it is my age. Perhaps I have seen far too many kalpas, and have become entwined in my own thoughts, weaving verbal labyrinths. Perhaps, then, it is best that my time is nearly come."

Norris huhs. There *are* benefits to being simple of thought. No confusing metaphor getting in the way of communication.

Mikal tilts her head, her voice clearly dubious, "How do you know your time has nearly come? Rakshasa don't do fortune telling, if I remember correctly, after all."

Norris looks around. "Mebbe there's a fortune-teller in town?"

Mikal grins at Norris, then looks inquiringly back at the rakshasa. She's starting to think more and more that aethyrs are just constant dissemblers. Whether that's only when around mortals, she doesnt' yet know.

Jareth is listening to the Rakshasa, face as solemn as Jareth's face ever gets. He says, "You spit on the name of Azrael. How do you feel about Raven?"

Jatasura starts to say something, then reconsiders, and says instead, simply, "I am old, and there is only so much more I can give to Lord Krishna's command."

To Jareth he says, "Raven is the Throne of Death. She trained at the hand Ereshkigal. I would prefer her governing the migration of mortal souls over Azrael."

Jareth nods at the answers and smiles at last.

Mikal is silent, considering. She may be exasperated with the aethyrs in general, but that's no reason to be mean. Even if she doesn't understand them or agree with a lot of their actions, they are at least trying. She sighs, then says simply, "I'm sorry, Jatasura. I don't mean to be rude." She considers a moment, then adds, "Azrael is hunting Raven. We heard the rakshasa hated the angels, so we thought if you all knew that you might be willing to help Raven by hunting the angels back. But if you're all old and tired and beat up by the angels, I guess it's unfair of us to ask you that. I'm sorry."

Norris says, "By all means."

Jatasura straightens a little, his eyes narrowing. "Hunting Raven? How so?"

Jareth says, "That, sadly, is my fault."

Mikal looks inquiringly at Jareth -- this is his story, not hers.

Mikal looks indignant, "It's not your fault -- she helped you of her own free will, Cat!"

Jareth tells Jatasura an abbreviated version of the story, leaving out the reason he came to be in Raven's company. He drops his eyes when he comes to the confrontation with Azrael and his decision not to be judged by a god he no longer believed to be a just or loving god. The young bard also leaves out the more personal details of the emotions he felt at being taken to the Shores. "And because she gave me the information I needed to defy him and possibly because she allowed me back... he is hunting her."

Mikal shifts over to sit next to Jareth, leaning against him and hugging him. She doesn't like seeing him sad.

Jatasura watches Jareth as he explains, and is silent for a few moments afterwards. Then he looks down at his armor, and reaches up -- awkwardly, with his backwards-hand -- and with a wince yanks the circular emblem off of the breastplate of his armor. He holds it forward to Jareth. "Show this to Lord Ravanna," he says solemnly. "Tell him what you have told me. And we will help."

Mikal whispers curiously, "What is it?" She wonders why the rakshasa can't simply go to his lord himself -- but by this point she's leery of being rude again, so she says nothing else.

Jareth blinks in surprise, but reaches out for the emblem, voice quiet with the emotions stirred from the tale's re-telling and from the surprise of the rakshasa giving them the token of safe passage, "Thank you, Jatasura. I don't know your ways, but I have a feeling this emblem is... important?"

He says, "It is my symbol. He will know I have heard you and that I believe you."

Jareth looks at the symbol and runs his thumb carefully over it before tucking it away, "Will it cause you harm not to have it?"

Mikal smiles faintly as she glances at the token -- it's certainly not the one she saw last night. She looks up at the rakshasa again and asks, "Your new allies, the mazikin -- what or who are they? And is this," She takes a twig and scratches the mark she saw last night in the dirt, "their symbol?"

Jatasura shakes his head. "It will not cause me harm, no," he says simply.

To Mikal, he says, "The mazikin are like us and the angels -- sceptres, a type of aethyr. They have been called fallen angels but in fact they are simply adversaries of the angels, and always have been." He glances at the symbol, and nods, "Yes, that is one of their sigils."

Mikal casually brushes out the sigil, not wishing to accidentally invoke anything.

Jatasura continues, "They are secretive -- they were never great in number. Some believe they were wiped out during the Godswar, the first to fall to the Architect's angels. But ten, perhaps a dozen survived and came to us."

Mikal nods thoughtfully, "They must be incredibly sneaky. Do you trust them?"

Jatasura grins. "I? No. They are weak to cold iron as well as salt; I made it my business to know their weaknesses soon after they came to us. But they have proven reliable enough thus far; Lord Ravanna trusts them to a reasonable degree, meaning he will not trust them with the survival of the rakshasa. And they know it."

Mikal blinks, then says in some sympathy, "Poor things! That's an awful lot of common things to be weak to."

"That's one of the reasons they were almost wiped out, yes. They are not the hardest things to kill in the Dreamtime."

Mikal says, "I take it the rakshasa used the fire in the battle?"

Jatasura nods, "Yes. We have always appreciated fire. The angels, they tend to use pure, focussed light. But we use honest fire. There is something humbling about it as well -- to use fire, we must first use oil or wood as fuel for it, which gives us a greater respect for that which we wield."

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