| Logs |
2009 May 31
| When The Bough Breaks |
| Realms |
Retired
| Reality Fault |
General Info
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| Realms: Bough Logs |
Intermezzo: Choral Raksasha
The evacuation of the village proceeds apace, with the group trying to get out of the way of the rampaging sceptres. It sounds like more are joining the fray, as the sounds of battle are increasing. The villagers are moving away from the cataclysm as quickly as possible.
Then suddenly, in front of the mortals, a raksasha and an angel, wrestling together, crash into the ground before them snarling and shouting at one another.
Mikal gasps, jumping back and whipping her bow up. She's unwittingly trying to block her much larger friends back with her body. Iron Antlers and Raphael abruptly have their, er... hooves and paws full controlling the horses, which spook madly at the furor right in front of them.
Norris starts! "Well, that's not good..." he mumbles, and then acks as he tries to bring his own mount under control.
Mikal calls worriedly to her friends, "D-do we do anything? Who -- who do we help, if at all?!" She hesitates... then tentatively draws a salted arrow, although her hand is still back as if she's still not sure, but would like to help the rakshasa.
Jareth draws back, knowing that he would likely get himself and others hurt if he tried to get in between the two sceptres.
Norris looks at Mikal. "Ah mean...it's not our fight...an it's not like we have anyone t' protect...let's just, ah...ah mean...give th' two a wide berth..." He looks stricken. It looks like he wants to do something, but he had no idea what. He can't calm them both at once. And just trying to calm one would last until the other hit them.
Mikal hesitates, glancing back at Norris -- then her gaze falls on Jareth's pale face. Her expression hardens, "It is so our fight, Norr -- we're here t-to help Raven, remember?" She whirls around, drawing back the bow and firing the salted arrow at the angel.
Mikal sidles a bit closer, making room for her friends to pass her, "Get the horses by so we can run if we have to!"
Norris winces, and is about to tell Mikal to stop, that she's firing on someone that hasn't done them direct harm...but then the arrow is in flight, and it's too late...
Mikal calls firmly to Norris, "Calm the rakshasa down, Norr!"
Norris is shaken from his indecision...he reaches out with his mind and imagines a blanket to stiffle the rakshasa's rage.
In his desperation to know a little better what's going on, Jareth strains to try to see or hear a little better what's happening between the rakshasa and the angel.
The shot Mikal makes is good; it completely misses the raksasha. The angel's body, however, is preternaturally tough; she doesn't think the arrow hits with enough force to penetrate. However, the salt on it is another story. In the middle of the fighting with the raksasha, the angel -- an androgynous six-winged being whose lance is not much use in this match with the tiger-demon -- gets hit by the salted arrow and his intake of breath is audible even over the cacophony of the battle; it leaves an amazingly angry red welt across the angel's chest, far worse than any case of poison ivy or nettles that Mikal has ever seen, and clearly hurts. The angel is distracted by the pain, enough for the raksasha to violently clamp his jaws down on the angel's arm in a bone-shattering chomp -- or at least start to, before Norris's blanket of calm comes over him, and the young raksasha blinks confusedly.
Mikal shouts at the top of her lungs, despairing of being heard over the incredible racket, "STOP!" She keeps the bow up and ready for another shot, since she's not sure either entity will regard them with kindness.
Norris winces in amazement...he didn't think he'd be able to do it, but he does...barely. Trying to hold the rakshasa's mind is like trying to hold onto an angry cat, though.
Norris looks at Jareth with worry. "Prepare to gallup...just in case..."
Norris grimaces...the moment the angel attacks the rakshasa again, his hold will be broken, he knows it. So...maybe, just maybe, he can hold both of them at once? He imagines a new blanket, and tries doing the same to the startled angel...
Norris looks astonished..."Don't shoot! I got... I got them!" he murmurs, amazed. It makes his head hurt a little, but he has contained the rage of the two scepters.
Mikal looks relieved, lowering her bow as she calls to them, "You are too close to the village! Move out away from the town so you don't harm anyone else!"
The angel and the raksasha seem a little confused for the moment; the raksasha's almost legendary rage is toned down for the moment, and the angel's wrath at the raksasha is muted as well. The raksasha pauses then backs up slowly from the angel. "I will give you passage back to your lines if you leave these villagers be!"
The angel narrows their eyes, slowly getting to his feet and hefting his lance. "The pagans have naught to complain about for tying their destinies to that of a dead pantheon."
The raksasha looks incensed at that...
Mikal raises the bow, murmuring calmly, "Well, I know where I stand now."
Taking his fear in hand, Jareth steps forward, melifluous voice carrying to the angel. "Leave the rakshasa alone. Go back to where you came from. You put the people here in danger, and that is the action of a coward."
The angel seems to take Jareth's words to heart a lot more than one would think, and it clearly hesitates. Finally it brandishes the lance. "I will accept," it says arrogantly. "But only so that these people might someday know the glory and mercy that is the Architect's plan for them." With that, the angel leaps upward, and begins to wing its way away.
Mikal tracks silently with the bow for as long as she can see, making sure the angel leaves.
Jareth blinks, rather surprised that that worked. And then he looks nervously at the rakshasa.
Once she loses sight of it, she turns her wary gaze and the bow towards the rakshasa, "Friend or foe, sceptre?"
The raksasha holds out his hand. "Ally for the moment," he says easily. "And that only because I don't yet know your intentions. Thank you for the calming words; you are right, to harm those who still revere Lord Krishna was not his intent when we swore to fight the messengers of the Lord of Dust."
Norris lets out the breath he was holding...and he releases his grip on the rakshasa's mind.
Mikal cautiously lowers the bow, completely confused by the sceptre's words, but figuring the open extended hand is near universally a gesture of friendship.
Mikal says, "We, um, w-we..." she glances nervously sideways at Jareth and whispers, "Say something, Jair?!"
Jareth takes a step forward again, "We are on our way to Mount Meru." He has the medallion on his belt and he puts his hand on it for bravery, "It might be good to get the battle away from the village. Can you do that?"
The motion causes the raksasha to glance at the emblem; his eyes widen a little, then he looks towards where the fighting is. "I do not know," he says carefully. 'I will tell the captain we must move it away. We will do what we can, then." He looks back to the mortals. "If to the bulwark of Mount Meru you would go, then you should hurry. Angels will swoop down upon you like vultures if they think you are allied with us."
Mikal thinks, but carefully does not say, [Some bulwark!]
Norris looks at Tigernmus. "Let's do whut the feller say." he comments, grabbing the reigns of his and Jareth's horses.
Mikal says firmly, "Not like vultures. Those are Her birds to free the soul from the dead body." She doesn't hesitate, though, waving Iron Antlers and the others past her into the darkness.
Jareth nods to the rakshasa, "Our thanks for the warning."
The big fey stag snorts and hastily drives the nervous equines onward. Raphael lingers by Mikal's side, sniffing curiously at the rakshasa for a moment before he too fades into the darkness. Mikal smiles once at the rakshasa -- it's a curiously sweet smile, oddly enough -- then emulates the raptor wolf.
The raksasha nods to Jareth, then actually nods to Mikal. "Apologies; I had not thought you were one of Inanna's." He goes to find the captain, bounding up the side of the mountain with surprising agility and not using the path.
Mikal scampers down the path after her friends, darting off the road and trotting easily through the underbrush to pass, so she doesn't spook the horses. She emerges ahead of them and beams as she falls in next to them, "He wasn't so bad, was he?"
Norris Hmms. "Well, we did have alla th' aces. Rakshasa medallion prolly counts fer a lot, too."
Norris says, "Y'stack everything together, we did all right. Ahm just glad we didn't have t' throw down wi' th' angel."
Jareth is smiling in relief, "We're... getting to be formidable, I'd say."
Mikal nods gravely at that, "Yes, to both of you." She's silent a moment, then bemusedly adds, "Wh-why do you suppose the angels are so... so stupid?! They're so arrogant and self-righteous -- do they really feel they need no allies at all?"
Jareth's voice slides a little downward, "They have some justification, after all. Their god did win that forsaken war."
Norris is quiet for a moment. "They's the mirror image oh their creator. They is convince o' their ultimate power, and rightness."
Mikal glances curiously at Jareth, "So they feel might makes right? Interesting. Does that mean they'll follow the most powerful, then?"
Jareth shrugs, "I wish I could say, mon lapin. I haven't had a chance to really read one of them."
Norris says, "Think it's more complex'n that, Mikal. Architect made em. He's they's literal father, not just Holy Father. They's loyalty is absolute. Figger most of them woul' rather die than admit 'e might be wrong."
Norris says, "It's th' danger of a zealot. T' have your whole being tied up in the infallibility o' a person, or an ideal."
Mikal sighs as she paces along through the night with her friends, sheltered by the darkness against the invading angels, "I guess. It's just... well..." she struggles for words, finally bursting out with, "they're -- they're dull! I mean, with a rakshasa or whatever, I think, 'hey, how do I talk to this one?' With the angels, though, I don't think how are we going to communicate meaningfully -- I think, 'oh bugger, one of those tossers! How do we get rid of it quickly?'" She glances at her friends, adding wistfully, "You know?"
Jareth does his best not to let his lips twitch into a smile, "And I think: Can this one be reasoned with. I mean, that last one was an idiot, but I was able to reason with him eventually."
Norris nods ruefully. "I does, Rabbit. An none o' us are happy bout it. Ahm just glad we worked it out wi' Janiel. Ah may not like th' angels, but ah dun wanna fight them less ah have to. Cause there aint no middle ground. You's with em, or against em."
Norris says, "Rather not cross taht bridge less ah have to."
Mikal glances amusedly back at Jareth, "So we have to shoot them in the chest before we can talk with them? Might be easier if I just learned how to shoot better!"
Mikal looks more gravely at Norris, adding, "I don't know about you, but I don't want to be hesitating and waffling about what side of the bridge I'm on -- when we're at spearpoint next time, big brother."
Jareth shakes his head, "I'm not saying we should treat with them every time. But if we can talk with them, we should try. If they're coming at us, we fight back."
Norris looks grim. "Mikal...anneh one points a spear at yew, ah turn it into splinters. That's no question." he says firmly. "it's th' less certain sitch-e-ations that confuse me."
Mikal looks relieved at Norris's words, darting sideways to pat his thigh lightly, where he rides on the horse -- then she nods to Jareth, "Yes, I suppose so. I just..." She thinks a bit, then sighs, shaking her head, and murmurs, "Going to scout ahead. Stay on the road, everyone -- we should be fine in the dark."
The trip up the trail takes a long time; it seems like more than a day, surely, but Dawn has just stated to appear when they reach what looks like an elaborate gatehouse in a style similar to that of the buildings in the village. It is manned by ten to twenty raksasha; one holds up a backwards hand as the group approaches. "Halt!" she says. "In the name of Lord Ravana, state your purpose here!"
Jareth steps forward and takes the emblem off his belt, holding it up, "We come to speak with your Lord."
Mikal fades nervously back into the underbrush, glancing around her. She wonders what use a gatehouse is against flying attackers.
Norris uhs as Mikal hides in a bush. He doesn't draw attention to it, but just in case, he thinks up a good excuse. Wait. He's not good at thinking up excuses. Damn.
The raksasha lifts her head a bit. "Lord Ravana is busy. What is it you wish to speak with him of?"
One of the other raksasha sees the emblem, and nudges her companion. The lead raksasha glances at the other, then back to Jareth, seeing the emblem. Her eyes widen. "That... that is.... How did you get that?!"
Norris uhs. Distraction! Mikal's in a bush! "We wants t' talk to him about angels chasin th' throne of death. Th' one whose emblem 'e holds says Ravana's tricksy!" he babbles.
Jareth says, "We wish to speak with him about the way the servants of the Architect are ravinshing this world, and the way that their..." He trails off and his voice is solemn, "It was given to me by one that was making a final journey. We spoke with him at the site of what I believe was his last battle.""
He lowers his voice, "Norris, that mace..."
Norris huhs? Whu? Mikal's in a...wait, they don't care. "Yew want th' mace?" He goes to his mount, and grabs the mace from an improvised baldric, bringing it to Jareth.
The raksasha looks a touch thunderstruck at that news. "Jatasura really is dead, then? That's ill news, I learned the Veda from him when I was young." At sight of the mace the jaw of the other raksasha with her drops, and she lets out a wail that even startles the raksasha captain.
Norris jumps in place! "Ahm not attackin! Ahm just showin' th' mace!" he protests.
Mikal slips out of the underbrush to rest a gentle hand on Norris's back. Her voice is quiet, "They grieve, big brother."
Norris ohs. "uh. Okay."
The captain looks horribly confused but is trying her best to calm the wailing raksasha.
Jareth's voice is gentle, "The one to whom this belonged showed it to us." He addresses the wailing one, "I am sorry that we bring you grief. We wish only to try and set things right in this world and in the others that are being devoured."
The raksasha who is weeping says in between sobs, "He was my brother, he was... he was so proud of that mace...." Then iron sheathes her words. "If... if he gave it to you... then let it be buried in the heads of a hundred angels!"
Norris uhs. And internally, winces at the idea of crushing angel skulls. "I'll...see whut ah kin do about that." he mumbles uncomfortably.
Mikal looks very unhappy, sliding slightly behind Norris and resting her head tiredly against his back. This is not what she'd hoped for.
The raksasha is, shortly, calm enough to excuse herself, and the captain says quietly, "Come; I will take you to Ravana's court."
Jareth steps tentatively forward again and his voice is gentle, "Will you accept my condolences, sister?"
Mikal wistfully watches the grieving rakshasa, wishing she knew how to comfort the bereaved.
Norris clears his throat, and goes back to put the mace in the makeshift baldric, and then starts grabbing horse reins.
Mikal slides away to shelter under the fey stag, watching in silent worry.
Before she departs, the raksashsa looks at Jared for a few moments, then nods, sighing softly and bowing to him. "Thank you," she says quietly. "I am glad it is in the hands of the noble."
Mikal looks perplexed again; rakshasa sure talk funny sometimes!
Jareth nods and turns to his pack, eyes searching Mikal out, before he says to the captain, "Thank you. I regret that we bring so much bad news..."
Mikal looks up alertly at Jareth, wondering if she missed something she was supposed to do.
The captain shakes her head. "It was simply not expected. She knew her brother had died in that battle, but she had not expected to be reminded of it. Come; we will go to Lord Ravana. Show him Jatasura's emblem and he will listen to what you have to say."
Mikal looks very much like she'd love to sink into the earth itself just now -- she's making herself as small and unnoticeable as she knows how, as she follows the others in.
Jareth nods to the captain's words and falls in behind her. He slows until he can find Mikal and take her hand in his.
Mikal flashes a small, slightly shaky, grateful smile up at Jareth, then goes back to trying to look invisible.
The captain leads the group higher up the mountain. They are about two thirds of the way up when they reach a plateau, filled with fortifications, tents, banners, an army of raksasha in full panoply. Dawn breaking upon this scene reveals the rich colors in use. They are not as disciplined as an army might be -- individual raksasha seem given to rage and fury and personal bravery -- but there is little doubt that with the thousands of raksasha here, the angels must be finding it a difficult nut to crack.
Mikal wonders what magics the rakshasa have that protect them from a concerted attack from above. There must be such a thing, after all... or the angels would simply drop rocks from a great altitude.
Norris is looksing at the battlements and sparring quietly...he has no expertise in this sort of thing, but the rakshasa certainly look impressive. "How many rakshasa is there? Ah mean, in round figgers?" he's asking the captain as he leads them inside.
A glance to the side, over the edge of the plateau, yields a stunning sight, however. It is almost as if the entire Dreamtime is laid out before them. While the Mirror is lost in the haze of distance, the peaks of the four mountains can be seen; and deosil, the leafy branches of what must be a truly titanic oak tree. Even the bright spark of light that is Polaris can be seen up above, lower in the sky than when they passed below it.
The captain leads them to the central tent of the panoply, larger than most of the others, with brighter and larger banners. As they travel, more and more raksasha are watching them curiously, not threateningly but certainly the group is an unusual sight.
Within the ten, are dozens of raksasha in a wide variety of elaborate armors, all unique, and all very large and quite tough-looking. At the heart of the room, upon a raised dias and ceder seat, sits, not a raksasha, but an aethyr of large proportions with a human seeming. Even so, there seems to be little doubt that this is Lord Ravana.
Mikal makes a small hiss at Norris, her eyes wide, "Don't ask that, B-bear! That's militarily sensitive!"
Norris meeps and shuts up, especially now that they're in the presence of Ravana.
The raksasha captain smirks a little at Mikal's hissing insistence. "Smart one," she says cheerfully. To Norris she says simply, "Enough that the angels can't afford to commit to a direct assault."
Jareth looks over the being that must be Lord Ravena and finds himself squeezing the emblem.
Mikal ducks hastily behind Jareth, glancing around nervously. She's uncomfortably aware they're surrounded, and she can't see a quick, easy way out for her pack!
Mikal wishes unhappily she were properly dressed for this. Maybe she'd feel better then. Right now she still has twinges of an urge to have the earth open up and swallow her whole!
The raksasha lord notices them immediately and with arched brow he gestures to them to come forward. The captain comes up quickly to the dias, whispering quietly to him while the raksasha generals go silent, studying the mortals.
Jareth keeps himself to the front. This is supposed to be his forte, after all. He knows enough to know that he can be quite eye-catching and he knows his young mate doesn't want any attention on her.
Mikal looks momentarily panic-stricken as Jareth strides to the forefront of the little group.
When Jareth lets her hand go, she looks like she can't decide if she's more disappointed or relieved, though she does fade silently back to stand half under the big fey stag.
When the captain finishes speaking with Ravana, she backs away, and the raksasha lord is studying the mortals. Then he gestures to them. "Please, come forward, all of you!" His voice is even more heartily carefree -- if wrapped around a clear core of iron -- than Tigernmus... speaking of whom, he does not seem to be there. The group missed when they lost track of him. Undeterred Ravana continues: "Do name yourselves, mortals. Few enough come to visit us atop Mount Meru!"
Mikal literally does duck under the stag at that point, looking truly panic-stricken. She wishes desperately she could -- could, uh... could vanish like Tigernmus!
Jareth bows to Lord Ravana and says, "I am called Cat, my lord. With me are Rabbit, Bear and Wolf." His brows wrinkle as he realizes that Tigernmus is missing. The bard's face smooths again, "We bring tidings of one of your own." He holds out his hand, palm up with the emblem in it.
Raphael strolls casually forward, just happening to pause so he's partially blocking view of his panicking little half-sister.
Ravana's expression freezes a bit when he sees the emblem, and then he looks ever so gently pained, as he stands, and steps down slowly to Jareth, taking up the emblem carefully. He is astonishingly tall; Jareth has a good view of his abs. "Ah, Jatasura," he says softly, distracted from looking at Mikal at the moment. "A warrior of more wile and cunning there never was. And even in death you reach back to weave misfortune and stymie our enemies." He looks up then, his expression surprisingly gentle, and gestures to all the mortals. In a more subdued tone than before, he says, "Come, please. Speak to me of how you came by his sigil."
Jareth glances back at his little pack/family and says, "We were staying in a small town on our way here and took the night as an opportunity to survey the damage left by the angels' attack."
Jareth tells of the night spent speaking with the rakshasa whose emblem he has carried. He speaks of the angels' memorial and of Mikal's breathtaking memorial for the dead rakshasa. Emotion aches in his voice as he speaks of seeing the ghosts melting into being out of the mist and there are tears standing in his eyes by the time he tells of the rakshasa showing himself and Norris where to find the magnificent mace. He stops short of telling them about the confrontation with Janiel.
Mikal shakes her head unhappily, where she's silently crouched under the long-suffering Iron Antlers. Her thought initially was that it was a great plan: to send rakshasa to fight against the angels at Mt. Zion so there's more pressure on them so Azrael will lay off hunting Raven. But frankly, if Ravena's any kind of general at all he's going to laugh politely at best. He's besieged in his own home turf at this point -- he can't afford to send off a suicide sqad.
Norris is less concerned by all of this: from what Patasura said, it seemed to him that if Ravana had an idea, it would be less brute strength, and more guileful. But at the moment, he is caught up in the glory of Jareth's storytelling.
The young bard's face is solemn as he says, "The Throne of Death, Raven, is being hounded by one of the Architect's angels because she dared to defy him and gave a mortal information he needed not to be taken by the Architect when he died. We had heard of the rakshasa's defiance of the angels, of their battle prowess and ferocity. We had hoped to beg of you to send your troops to Mt. Zion to force Azrael to give up his vengeful stalking of Raven, but we have seen that you need all your forces here. We have seen the angels attack so close to a village as to endanger those that have no ability to fight back. For now, I think we are simply honored to bring you news of your bravely fallen."
Jareth's shoulders stiffen and he hopes that what he has just said holds true for his mate and his pack-brothers. He knows he should have consulted with them, but the story took on a life of its own in the telling.
Ravana listens carefully to the story, thoughtful and intrigued. He asks few questions; he seems comfortable with Jareth's weaving of the tale. At the end of it, he closes his eyes again, and touches the emblem to his forhead. "For the sake of an old friend," he says carefully, "and for the fact that, indeed, we were set against the angels by Lord Krishna for the benefit of mortals... I will think on this and consult with our generals and advisors. I shall have an answer for you by the next Dawn. Will that be acceptable?"
Mikal sighs quietly, relaxing a bit now she realizes it doesn't really matter. Curiously, that realization lets her get her panic under control, and as she listens to Jareth's calming, lovely voice she idly glances around, deciding to try dressing more appropriately for this locale. She closes her eyes and thinks hard for a moment, forming the outfit carefully in her mind: she wants to be dressed once more as Inanna's vizier, with her hair piled high with golden combs and tumbling in curls down her back, with the loose, colorfully decorated silk shift, high-slit and sleeveless and pinned with elaborate brooches at the shoulders... with jingling anklets and a golden twined belt and long, delicate earrings and her bow at her back. She takes a deep breath, opening her eyes to see it... then sighing in relief as she steps out from under her fey stag and stands straight and tall (for her tiny size) next to Norris and behind Jareth.
Norris speaks up then. "When Jatasura dun spoke with us, sharing tales back and forth, he also said that yew wuz the smartest of all th' Rakshasa, most clever. An if there were a way t' stymie the angels, that yew would know of it, knowin them as yew do. Annehthing yew kin think of r' advise, woul' be most welcome."
Mikal smiles up at Norris -- that's a good point. She rests a hand on Raphael's mane, feeling obscurely better now she's dressed correctly.
Jareth turns to look at Mikal and Norris, breath catching for a moment as Mikal steps forward arrayed in her priestess finery. "If my companions agree, that will be most acceptable, Lord Ravana."
Mikal smiles at Jareth and nods once. She thinks he's doing an amazing job!
Norris boggles at Mikal's new garb, confused for a moment. "Is th' goddess in yew agin?" he whispers.
Ravana laughs quietly, "He was being generous," he says. "He was by far the most --" He breaks off as he sees Mikal come from behind the stag, his jaw dropping a little. A faint wave of conversation goes throughout the tent.
Mikal grins at Norris, shaking her head once as she whispers softly, "Just... wanted to be dressed right for this." She blinks a bit uncertainly, glancing around herself as people seem to notice her. She checks internally -- could she be being ridden without noticing? Surely not... but then why are they staring?
Jareth feels a little pulse of pride as Mikal's beauty becomes the focus of attention for a moment. He has seen her face down an army wearing such clothes and he has seen her face down angels. For a moment, a smile crosses his face and he murmurs, "Our fierce golden lady."
Mikal blinks at Jareth -- then his words register. She takes a deep breath and her pack can almost see her pull courage on as she steps forward and takes Jareth's hand, smiling shyly up at him.
Norris winces...people are staring at Mikal again! That's not good! There's no bushes here! "Ah think mebbe yew doan dew yerself credit, Lord Ravana. Rakshasa iz known fer being fierce warriors...but also masters of magic an illusion. Considering your proficiency wi' that sort o' thing, and th' fact that force of arms woan work...mebbe th' latter is required. Could even dovetail wi' yer own home front, iffn' yew use illusion to stymie both their attacks on yew an on Raven."
Ravana beams -- positively radiantly -- at Mikal, as he bows slightly to her her. "Golden Ninshubur," he says coyly, "would you do us the honor of spending the day in our camp?"
There is a cough from somewhere behind the dais amongst the crowd of generals, the kind of cough that would be called 'polite' if it wasn't so pointed as to pierce Maximillian steel plate armor. "Lord Ravana," a sharp but quiet voice says, "if you intend to spend the time truly thinking upon the mortals' request to aid the Throne of Death, then perhaps you should spend that time actually doing so rather than in dalliance with one of them."
Norris chokes!
Mikal flushes hotly, hastily turning her head against Jareth's shoulder and hiding her face. She keeps a tight hold on Jareth's hand, and concentrates hard on remembering: she's not afraid, she's not!
Jareth blinks. Dalliance? His hand closes a little more tightly on Mikal's. He doesn't object, in theory, to Mikal having other lovers but there's rather a large surge of jealousy at the thought of Ravana being one of them.
Ravana rolls his eyes amusedly, "Lord Asmodeus," he says wryly, "Do be courteous to the lady. Should she choose to honor me with her time, why should I not give her my attentions?"
The crowd parts somewhat, revealing the one who spoke. It is a human-seeming aethyr, with dark, curly hair and a beard, wearing black robes and a black skullcap. He has a serene yet mildly sour look upon his aged face. He carries a large scroll tucked under his arm, and about his neck is a pendant much like what Mikal saw the naga sharing. "I sincerely doubt the young lady is here to share your tent, Lord Ravana," the man says.
Mikal is starting to fade surreptitiously behind Jareth, as the other man draws the crowd's attention.
Mikal blinks, straightening with a startled look in her eyes, and peeks cautiously out from behind Jareth -- Asmodeus? That's not a rakshasa name! This must be... one of the, um, what were they called... the other Fallen or something?
Jareth looks at the sour-seeming Aethyr, doing his very best to keep the relief out of his expression. Instead, he studies Asmodeus, eyes zeroing in on the pendant.
Mikal's eyes widen at the pendant also, and then her gaze flicks instantly up to check the creature's brow -- does he have a red jewel there between the eyes?
Norris ers, as he looks between Ravana and Asmodeus. He stays quiet for the moment, not wanting to get in between the two.
Asmodeus steps forward, a touch wryly but quite firmly. "You and your generals should discuss their request," he says easily. "I shall walk with them to ensure they have what they wish before the next dawn. You do not need me to decide upon such a matter as this."
Ravana looks disappointed, but he says teasingly, "And who shall protect her from your wiles, old Mazikin?"
Asmodeus rolls his eyes. "Please. I was old beyond such things when I left Ahura Mazda for good." He inclines his head politely to Mikal and the others. "Come. I will see to your refreshment and find suitable quarters for you."
Jareth smiles and does his best to keep his tone light, "Having her mate beside her may be protection enough."
Norris's brow knits. Mazikin. It sounds very familiar to him - perhaps he even heard of it spoken recently - but the meaning of it escapes him. He must ask his friends when they have a private moment. He inclines stiffly to Ravana. "Think yew fer your audience an attentions, Lord."
Mikal gives the Mazikin a wary look. This must be the leader of the so-questionable new allies the Rakshasa have... the ones who were the pantheonic enemies of the angels. The ones she'd privately thought must be devastatingly clever and good at hiding and fooling folks... in order to have survived even so decimated.
Ravana's brows shoot up as he takes in Jareth's words. "Ah, indeed?" he asks thoughtfully. Before one of the other raksasha generals nudges him and sets a map on the table. Even so, Ravana seems to have difficulty tearing his attention away from Mikal... or Jareth. He nods to Norris. "Thank you for returning the emblem to us. We will give all consideration to what you have said, this I swear on my oath to Lord Krishna."
Mikal's hand tightens slightly and unwittingly in Jareth's as she feels suddenly... stronger? Her pack may need protecting. She shouldn't allow these strange people to distract her.
Despite the studying Mikal gives him, Asmodeus appears more or less mild and simply awaits them following him or to decline the offer he made.
Mikal nods absently and politely at the rakshasa lord, then looks back at Asmodeus silently. She'll follow Jareth's lead, but be very sure to keep a wary eye on this Mazikin.
Jareth keeps his hold on Mikal's hand as Asmodeus joins them and begins to lead them from the tent.
Norris waits until Asmodeus has lead them from the war room. "An' what brings yew here, Lord Asmodeus?" he queries. He knows the name, and that there is usually something demonic associated with it. But he puts that aside for the moment, being polite.
Mikal rests her free hand on Raphael's mane and glances back, making sure Iron Antlers is following. She grins a bit tightly and nervously at Norris -- good, they're all together and covering each other! -then continues pacing silently and gracefully along with Jareth.
Asmodeus is not the fastest walker in the world, and it takes a little longer than merely dashing out for him to finally exit the tent. "My apologies, Ninshubur -- I mean, Rabbit -- for Lord Ravana's demeanor. He finds it hard to resist pretty mortals. But rest assured, he will think seriously upon your request." To Norris he says, "I am here for the same reason the raksasha are here: to fight the angels of the Architect."
Jareth says, "And what is your reason for fighting them?"
Mikal wonders if the old saying is really true: the enemy of my enemy is my friend. Maybe in the midst of battle she could see it... but she wouldn't turn her back.
Norris nods. "We knows why th' rakshasa fight, tho. We's heard that story. But mah friend speak muh thought: what's yer stake innit?"
Asmodeus is quiet for a moment as he walks along. "A long time ago," he says slowly, "the Architect was not how he is now. The rule of law meant something, and was not arbitrary. Karma was in balance, as the rakshasa would say. Over time, however, he changed. And eventually I could not countenance what he was becoming. I became one of the 'fallen' angels, and I fight him to in some way restore some semblance of sanity and balance to the universe."
Mikal murmurs softly, her lips barely moving, "Why is not Armaros counted among your number then?"
Jareth nods slowly and looks Asmodeus over, reflexively reaching out to try and see what is in the fallen angel's heart.
Asmodeus's lips twitch a little. "Armaros follows a different path. He was a guardian of mortals, and loved mortals more than he loved the Architect. That is why he left.
"He left almost at the very beginning of mortal history. He has been divorced from the Architect for so long, and refuses to identify himself in such terms, that few would think of him as 'fallen.'
Mikal says nothing, but her distrust is not alleviated. Wasn't there something about jealousy and... light, their light went out... "The Morning Star! Lucifer, that's it. What happened to her?" She blurts out her thought as she remembers the name. Jealousy of the mortals, if she's remembering correctly. She wishes abruptly they were in Ravana's tent. There, at least, she knows precisely what the tiger lord wishes.
Asmodeus looks mildly uncomfortable. "Lucifer Morningstar. Angra Mainyu. He loved the Architect more than any of us. Indeed, some believed that in time he would have been raisied up to godhood himself to be the consort and lover of the Architect. But the Architect's fascination with mortals... it made him jealous, it broke Lucifer's heart. He left, violently, taking a third of the Host with him, and waged war upon his lover for eons. He, like I, was painted negatively by the Architect's priests. He was finally killed at the start of the Godswar, murdered by the Architect's archangels."
Norris looks startled, at the idea of Lucifer longing after his own creator. It makes him look askance, like a confused dog. "Yew left wi' him? or left at a separate time?"
Mikal sighs softly, looking away for a moment as she breathes a soft prayer for that restless, tragic soul.
Jareth listens quietly, tucking this away with the other stories he's gathered about the godswar, hoping to be able to see the real story behind it by putting them all together.
Asmodeus and the mortals have finally reached a tent -- more of an open-sided tent, with the open side facing the magnificent vista the plateau provides. "No, I left well after Lucifer did. My duty was to ensure the rule of law. When I began to be villified for that duty, I rebelled myself."
Norris huhs. "Mebbe it's yew we should me askin then. About whut we kin use as a wedge 'gainst Azrael."
Mikal glances warily at Asmodeus and the tent, then whispers to Raphael and Jareth that she'll be right back. She slips swiftly away, studying the edge of the plateau with the eyes of someone searching for a quick escape route if necessary. The huge tree draws her, for some reason... but if the only way out leads elsewhere, that's what she'll visually examine, to see if a stag and three sturdy ponies can take the path.
Mikal glances over her shoulder, calling wryly to Norris, "Ask if he knows the angel's True Name, Bear!" She's smiling as she goes back to examining the vista -- she's willing to bet awen he doesn't.
Norris uhs. "Yeah, what she dun said."
Mikal can see a few discrete trails down; there are some fortifications, but mostly there are watchtowers and weapons-mounts. Walls would not block their way, but it would be hard to flee without being noticed.
Norris absently wonders if this is part of the whole reason we're going around with aliases...to hide our True names. Assuming these even *are* their true names.
Mikal frowns, examining the weapons-mounts for what sort of ranged weapons they have mounted. Depending on what's being used, different tactics would be necessary.
Asmodeus says, "Of Azrael? Mmm. I fear I do not know his True Name. Believe me, I would dearly love to see that one hindered." He pauses, considering. "I may, however, know where you may find it."
Norris looks boggled. "Really? Someone haz it written down someplace?" he queries in astonishment.
Mikal snorts in quiet amusement at that statement, guessing what the next part will be. Either 'for a price,' or 'but it's tooooo dangerous!' -- to goad them into doing its dirty work for it! She grins to herself -- she must really not trust this guy! She's going to have to meditate on this later, to try to figure out why, and if it's justified.
Asmodeus says, "Actually, yes. Let me do some research. There may be a way to find out Azrael's True Name.
"In the meantime, do make yourselves comfortable. If there is anything you require, I will send my apprentice shortly to see to you."
Mikal turns and heads back, musing on the weapons and ways to slip away without being noticed. Curiously she says, "Apprentice in what, please?"
To mikal's view, the weapons are a mix of what look like repeating crossbows of Qin make, and weapons that are not immediately identifiable as such, perhaps those lightning-throwers that the raksasha use, called vajra.
Asmodeus turns, looking amused. "Every lawyer needs an intern, Rabbit. Just because I have forsaken the Architect does not mean I have completely abandoned karma."
Mikal tilts her head thoughtfully, "Is not karma a word from the language the rakshasa speak, rather than from the Architect's pantheon?" She slips into the tent, looking around carefully as she does so. Lawyer... the word isn't familiar to her, but it makes her feel oddly uneasy.
Norris looks at Mikal. "Jus beacause th' Architect didn'a come up with sommat, doan make it a bad idee. In fact, ah think that speak sommat in an idee's faver."
Asmodeus pauses again, turning around and smiling quietly. "There is an even earlier word from a culture that the Architect was worshipped in. That word is maat. But does it matter what word is used to speak of an underlying sense of balance and justice in the universe?"
Norris looks wry. "Spect not. What yew call sommat is less important than what it is."
Mikal nods silently, watching the Mazikin leave. Not until then does she murmur, "That's not precisely what maat means, though." She gives Norris an amused glance, then murmurs softly, "There's one who seems to trim his sails to suit fashion -- and in reality has stolen from everyone there, and given naught in return." She smiles at Norris, adding, "You're right, of course."
Norris uhs? "I'm not...huh?" He seems confused by his friend's assertion. "Ah mean...trim sails?"
Mikal grins, patting Norris's arm as she says quietly, "I mean him, not you, Bear. He makes me uneasy, and frankly I wish we were in Ravana's tent -- with him, at least we know exactly what he wants, you know?"
Norris's brow knits, and he gets that confused puppy look again. "Why yew distrust him, Rabbit? You know sommat ah doan? Jus because he done been vilified by th' Architect doan mean beans bout who he really is."
Mikal frowns, pacing a bit restlessly around the tent, "I -- I don't know, Bear! I just... there's a part of me that feels we shouldn't trust him." She sighs, flopping back on one of the big piles of jewel-toned, comfortably stuffed pillows, adding wryly, "Going to need to meditate or something, see if I can figure this out."
Norris coughs. "An, asides that...dun think yew shoul' have t' give yer, ah...favor t' anyone, just cause they're handsome an powerful. An wan' it. Not sayin' ah dun like Ravana...jus sayin. Ah folluh yer lead, tho. Yew know that."
Mikal looks blankly at Norris for a bit, clearly not following... then she laughs delightedly, bounding lightly to her feet to wrap her arms as far around Norris as she can reach in a hug, "Oh, Bear! You're so sweet. No, silly, I'm far more likely to do so with you -- you're not scary, you know?" She grins cheerfully up at him, taking his hand and leading him into the tent, "Come on, silly. Let's sit and relax a bit, until they come with word for us."
Norris dumbly goes with Mikal into the tent. Largely because his brain just locked up at what Mikal just suggested.
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