| Logs |
2009 September 27
| When The Bough Breaks |
| Realms |
Retired
| Reality Fault |
General Info
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| Realms: Bough Logs |
Fifth Movement, Drums of War (II)
As soon as the shield protecting the raksasha encampment goes down, shattered like a dome of thin crystal when struck with the purest of notes, the angelic hosts descend upon the tiger-demons. No longer struck by the presence of Uriel, the raksasha raise up a howl of outrage at the betrayal and join battle. Storms of arrows rise up into the sky, like a cloud of quarrels, accompanied by the vajra-bolts of the elder raksasha. Naptha is thrust at angels who come too close, though the projectors are careful not to lob the arcing flame into their own.
But the strength of the air-strike is telling, and shows how so effective angelic strikes from the wing that a shield had to be made in the first place. As yet, the angels are not yet dropping anything large upon the raksasha, instead stooping down upon the defensive positions with their lances gleaming bright, and coming back up slick with raksasha blood.
Mikal nods grimly, weirdly unsurprised. She's already calling quiet orders as she turns, "Wolf, make sure Bear and Cat and I don't string out too far, and cover our backs. Everyone, follow me as exactly as you can -- I'm going to try stealthing to where the shields are maintained, to get them back up soonest -- and we don't want to be spotted from above. Don't assume anyone is an ally either -- someone dropped the shields and sent off Vibhishana's troops that were watching over the Mazikim." If anyone is listening quite closely to her, they can also hear a very soft, almost admiring, "Well played!" from Mikal as she immediately heads for cover en route to the mechanisms that maintain the shield.
Mikal glances around, searching to see who and what is near them... who might (accidentally or deliberately) draw angelic attack down on them. She's also keeping an eye out for confused or panicked entities -- if she can calm them down and get them focused, this can be turned from a massacre into, perhaps, at least a decent defense.
Jareth is struck dumb by the assault, and is horrified at how things have gone so very, horribly wrong.
Norris draws his weapon then, nodding curtly in response to Mikal...his heart does not sink. It is not his fault that the shield went down. His job is to protect the pack. And that's what he's doing.
Mikal sees her pack is still rather in the back of the rakshasa encampment. The mazikim are no longer behind, instead scattered uselessly while searching for their missing companion. In front of Mikal is a company or two of Raksasha who had been kept in reserve, but are now are moving up now to reinforce the perimeter. She nods silently to herself and continues towards where Vibhishana said the shields were... although she's a bit surprised at how divergent reality is from his apparent plans.
Norris squeezes Jareth's shoulder, trying to reassure the other man, since Mikal is busy leading. But keeping a close eye out, trying to insure no one sneaks up on them from behind, or flanks them.
Such is that chaos, that the attacking angels do not seem to notice or care about the movement of four mortals through the camp, though surely the six-winged sceptres would be seeking slaughter rather than simply battle. As the battle rages upon the encampment, with the clash of steel and the roar of naptha, and Uriel watching it like some terrible judge, the four reach the tent where the circles of raksasha had been sustaining the circle. As they arrive, several of the mazikim, looking stricken, seem to also be converging on the tent, though they seem a minute or two away.
Jareth feels as if he's being struck physically for every attack he witnesses. And deep inside, he wonders if it's their fault for standing up against the Architect.
Mikal pulls the bow and nocks an arrow, her coldly considering gaze flicking around. Interesting that the Mazikim are converging here. She heads for the tent swiftly, hoping against hope not everyone inside is dead -- and perhaps most importantly, that whatever the mechanism is has not been smashed beyond repair.
Mikal pauses slightly to one side of the tent's entrance flap, murmuring, "Cat, pull it open but stay well clear. Bear, be prepared for someone bursting out. Now!"
Jareth nods and reaches for the flap of the tent, yanking it open on the cue.
Norris raises his mace, nodding. Pulling his attention from the Mazikin, and focusing on the order given.
Mikal finds it even more telling the expressions on the Mazikim are worry, guilt, and horror. She is not going to be surprised if she sees the winged wolf-creature inside, and crazed.
Raphael turns to cover his pack, standing under cover and between them and the on-coming Mazikim. He crouches slightly, his jagged fangs bared.
Within, they see as expected: Marchosias looking crazed and mad, clawed hand upraised over a young raksasha whom he has brought to their knees, one demonic hand closed about the tiger-demon's throat. He pauses before bringing his claws down, dilated eyes flicking to the doorway. He immediately moves to hold the struggling raksasha up before him as a shield.
Mikal snaps, "Cat, calm him," then calls firmly, "Marchosias, you betray the Mazikim -- think on what you do!" More quietly she adds, "Bear, once the monster is stopped, see if the mechanism reparable?"
Jareth's eyes are bright and wide open, "Stop. You know they will not accept you back, even should you win them this battle."
Norris looks uncertain...while he's a crafter, and he can appreciate machinery, he's never tried fixing it before. But he doesn't give voice to his uncertainty. He waits, holding his action...
Mikal puts all the command she can into her voice and demeanor as she speaks.
Jareth's words make him hesitate before barking out his demands, if the crazed-eyed Mazikim has any. His mouth works a little. "But... but they will! They promised, he promised, long ago...--" At Mikal's words, then he visibly cringes, gritting his teeth. He visibly wavers. "I... I HAVE thought upon it! This is not... I belong amongst the Host again! I repented, countless times, this time they said they would take me back!"
The interior of the tent is dominated by what looks like a weird blend of magic and technology. It's certainly the generator that makes the shield, but it is also strongly influenced by magic. Fortunately, to Norris's surprise, he can tell that the mechanism is not damaged; it is merely switched off. Unfortunately, seven of the eight raksasha who had been tending the mechanism are dead or unconscious on the floor; the eighth is in Marchosias's grasp.
Jareth's voice is gentle, loving, "But they lied then. And they lie now."
Norris glances at Mikal...he can bull rush past the Mazikin. He's not afraid. Every moment, people are dying. But he won't, unless she gives him the order.
Mikal's voice is cold, "Did you truly believe the Host would accept back a betrayer?! They would kill you and laugh in your face, fool. Release your victim -- this tarnishes your honor." She adds quietly, "Bear, see to the mechanism."
Norris steps forward, calm, trying to give the Mazikin a wide berth... maybe they can still avoid combat. His gauntlets creak as his grip tightens on his weapon.
Marchosias's eyes flick between Jareth and Mikal, his panic clearly rising from their words. "They... they promised!” He says to Jareth. "What honor have I now, as it is? An outcast, a fool already, but with a chance to go back to what I once was, the Hound of God!
"Stay back!" he tells Norris, tightening his grip on the raksasha hostage, making the young one squirm a little. "I-I will kill him if you try to bring the shield up!"
His panic is not helped by the quiet voice that comes from behind the group. "He should be killed quickly, Rabbit." It is Asmodeus speaking. "We have not the time to negotiate with the likes of him. Each minute dozens more die...." He leaves the implication hanging.
Mikal snarls angrily, "Asmodeus, Wolf was to keep you and yours at bay. If he's been harmed so you can come in, I will take it out on you -- you had better be outside this tent!"
Norris stops. He is not afraid of combat, not even afraid of this one...but he is not the sort to sacrifice another.
Jareth shakes his head, voice sweet and reasonable, "Let him go. You know you do not wish to be the hound of an unjust god."
Asmodeus says nothing more. With a visible strain of sheer will, Marchosias shakes his head, quickly. "No! No, it... it will be over soon enough! L-let this happen and I will ensure they give clemency for you! Please." His voice drops to a hoarse, pleading whisper. "Please. Let me go back to them! I made a mistake, I rebelled when I should have stayed! Haven't these eons been enough time for penance?"
Mikal tries to aid Jareth with a Heart Shaping on poor Marchosias -- but it feels weirdly rebuffed by his zealotry. She frowns, then focuses, deliberately dropping her guard and trusting in her pack to cover her as she pulls all her attention to a single, fragile point in time and location... then she fires over the limp rakshasa's shoulder, aiming for the poor Mazikim's head.
Norris is frozen in indecision. Asmodeus says what he is thinking...but his friends are not getting Marchosias to back down. He is on the verge of grappling with Marchosias, thinking to break the Fallen's grip....
There is a whisper of sound that accompanies Mikal's arrow as it hisses from her bow, leaving a faintly glittering trail of salt motes behind it that hang in the air briefly before drifting down to the ground. A moment later there is a sharp, wet sound as the arrow buries itself somewhere in Marchosias's face -- where exactly is not immediately clear, as he has immediately grasped his face, staggering backward and screaming an unearthly shriek in pain.
(Such is the terrifying sound of the scream, that Raphael later tells Mikal that the entire battle stilled for a heartbeat as both angels and raksasha heard that horrible sound.)
He is both trying to remove the arrow and trying not to remove it as he staggers backward, crashing to the ground in a writhing heap. The raksasha hostage, freed, scrambles away to the side, out of any possible line of continuing fire.
Mikal nocks another arrow as she says calmly, "Bear, the shield -- now!" then turns so she's facing Asmodeus, "Go, get your comrade. Keep him alive, please -- he is owed to the rakshasa." More gently she adds, "Cat, can you see to the wounded?"
Jareth is already moving to do what he can for those that have been damaged, voice gentle.
Norris runs. Of course, it's not exactly a long run. No, getting there is easy...figuring out the mechanism is harder. He scans, trying to discern function...
Asmodeus nods and... simply disappears. A few moments later, he and Andramalech enter the tent -- Asmodeus's expression neutral, Andramalech's one of barely-bridled fury -- and move to Marchosias.
Mikal calls to the young rakshasa, although her stormy-grey gaze is warily fixed on Asmodeus, "Rakshasa! Are you able to aid Cat with your wounded?"
The raksasha nods, and moves to help Jareth tend to the wounded.
In a moment of perfect clarity, he remembers -- he isn't sure, or even from what life, or even it is from his time as the Smith of Olympus -- but Norris's hands hover over the machine for a moment, before moving quickly over various subtle controls. A moment later, the shield gives a thrumming sound, and from the heart of it a bubble of light rushes outward with a puff of wind, expanding quickly to go past the walls of the tent, and presumably to it's full size. He doesn't have all that much time to be proud of himself...except for one brief moment, he is, a small smile painting his lips. He did that. Not Hephaestus: he did. And then the smile is gone, and he goes to Mikal. "Cover the entrance?" he suggests.
As Andramalech and Asmodeus leave the tent with Marchosias, Mikal nods a bit grimly to Norris, adding quietly, "Stay in the tent, though -- remember silken walls can be cut so the entrance can be avoided. I'll see if we can get Vibhishana's folks here soonest." She calls, "Asmodeus! Have you seen Vibhishana?"
Norris does as asked..but he does peek out of the tent, to see how the battle rages, now that the shield is back up: angels might still have been caught inside the perimeter.
Mikal adds quietly to Raphael, "Wolf, help stand guard please?" The big raptor wolf trots to just inside the door so he can see inside and out, then shakes himself relaxedly.
Norris, seeing that they are not in imminent danger of attack, and hearing Jareth's expression of concern as he does his best, moves to assist his friend. "You do it like this." he explains kindly and calmly, giving Jareth a short tutorial in field medicine.
Jareth smiles wryly to Norris and murmurs a thank you.
Mikal glances over for a quick instant, relieved to see the rakshasa, Jareth, and Norris are all working on helping the wounded. With luck, only one or two were actually slain. She steps to the door after the Mazikim have exited, keeping half an eye on them as she searches visually for Vibhishana.
To Norris's eye, as he pokes his head out of the tent to glance around, the battle has indeed changed -- now, the angels must engage the raksasha along their defensive perimeter. Far too many raksasha bodies are upon the ground, however, impaled by angelic lances or seared by Zionic light. At least now, however, the six-winged crows may not stoop and strike at the interior of the lines. Even so, it is a titanic battle, though it is slightly more in the entrenched raksashas' favor now. Even from this distance, he can tell Uriel, still immobile after all this time, is displeased. For one mad moment, Norris thinks that Uriel can see him, even at this distance -- is that a glint of some kind in Uriel's eye?
Asmodeus, tending to the now-mercifully-unconscious Marchosias, replies to Mikal, "He was coming this way when Andramalech and I entered. He should be here shortly." Indeed, Vhibishana is already coming up as Mikal enters the doorway. "Rabbit!" he calls out, looking breathless. "What happened? We heard that... that scream all the way on the other side of the encampment -- I would swear Uriel himself winced when he heard it -- and then the shield came back up...."
Norris does not tell Mikal, or Jareth, of that moment when he and the Fire of God made eye contact. He is actually trying to forget it, because for a moment that hatred of the angel - as a representative of those who slew his family - burned hotly. Now he focuses on healing.
Mikal debriefs quickly, "Marchosias was deceived by the angels, and betrayed us all by bringing down the shield. We shot him and brought the shield back up -- thank Bear for that, later! Bear, Cat, and another rakshasa are seeing to the injured in there. I have told Asmodeus that Marchosias is by right yours after the battle. Could you please send your shield guards back, whoever they were?" She glances at the seething Mazikim, then adds gently, "And... send the Mazikim to the front lines, please? They deserve the opportunity to regain their honor in your defense." She adds briskly, "As soon as possible would be good, please, as I would like my pack out of here so we may move to where we are next most useful." Her cold gaze lifts to where Uriel glowers... like a promise.
Norris doesn't think Uriel can hear him. But as he binds the wound of another, trying to calm him, he speaks. "You don't get to win. Not after all you've cost us." he breathes.
Jareth is focused and very set upon what he's doing. And he prays that Janiel comes out of this in one piece.
Vhibishana looks taken aback and quite unhappy, as if he should have seen this possibility. "Blast. Yes, I will make it so." He turns and calls to a captain, who beings assembling her company to secure the shield. "We will take care of things here now, Rabbit. Thank you." He looks to Asmodeus. "Lord Asmodeus! The presence of you and the Mazikim is requested at the front lines, if you so desire."
Andramalech stands in a flash, pausing then only to glance at Asmodeus. The old devil nods once, then, and like a bull in full tilt Andramalech is roaring, charging forward to the front lines -- where the hell was he hiding that scythe, anyway? The other Mazikim, certainly the more combatant ones, see Andramalech charge past, pause only for a moment, then scramble after him in the weird, cacophonous chorus of fallen angels going to battle their once-kin. If Uriel's eye was drawn to the activity at the shield tent, and thus Mikal, those eyes are distracted then and widen slightly to see the red horned devil laying into the ranks of the angelic attackers.
Asmodeus by this time is simply standing, folding his hands in his sleeves as two of the raksasha who have arrived bundle up Marchosias to bring the once-and-always fallen to a more secure tent. Asmodeus begins to follow them out, looking a touch unhappy and thoughtful.
By now, Vhibishana's captain has brought in her troops, and the soldiers are split between those guarding the shield mechanism and those who gently take over the care of the wounded technicians.
Elsewhere, Mikal spots Lord Ravana, fidgeting unhappilly and with barely-contained energy, some ways back from the front lines, grasping the hilt of his sheathed sword. He shouts orders out to the generals and captains, and, obviously to Mikal, is keeping one eye upon Uriel, but does not charge into the fray as much as he looks like he wishes to.
Mikal grins coldly up at Uriel, murmuring softly, "Payment begun, assassin!" She glances over at Asmodeus, calling to him, "Asmodeus Mazikim Lord? I apologize for my sharpness. I did not know if Marchosias worked alone." She tucks her bow under one arm, brings her palms together, and bows her head once over them in a courtesy to the old demon.
Norris reaches towards Jareth...takes his delicate hand in his, and squeezes it. "Sorreh. Not trying to get sidetracked, just...feeling a little unquiet." he murmurs.
Jareth smiles slightly and squeezes Norris' hand in return, "It's an unquietening time." He rubs his eyes with his forearm, drying tears and sweat at the same time, "We'll do what we can."
Norris tsks and would knead the base of Jareth's neck...only remembering at the last minute that the armor gets in the way. So he just keeps tending to wounded.
Asmodeus pauses, and half-glances over his shoulder at Mikal. His expression is inscrutable. "This need not be said, Rabbit. I understand your concern. You did the right thing, and did it well." Then he is gone.
Mikal silently drats -- she'd hoped to get a bit more from the Mazikim leader. Ah, well. She turns, dropping her bow into her hand again and calling to Norris, "Bear, is Cat all right? Come out and let's see if we can wing Uriel next, so Ravana can enter battle as well."
Norris hmms? "Ah, I think Cat can take it from here, yes?"
Mikal gives Norris a puzzled look, then shakes her head impatiently, "What? Cat, Bear, come on! Let's go -- we're needed elsewhere." She pats Raphael absently as she waits, when the big raptor wolf circles around her.
Jareth pauses to make sure he's no longer needed and then he follows after Mikal and Norris, hand moving to take out his vajra as they go. Part of him wonders if there will be living angelic prisoners once they're done.
Norris ohs. He means for Jareth to come. That's....well, that's as it should be. He should stop trying to smother Jareth. He gets up and follows, with Jareth in tow.
Mikal turns and looks around, trying to pick a good place from which to shoot -- it needs to have cover so Uriel cannot immediately spot them and know he should dodge, and it has to have a clear line of sight to the archangel. She nods, spotting such a place. and briskly heads there, "Here! Come slide under this awning. Cat, can you aim with me? Bear, Wolf, you'll have to cover us both from ground attack, all right?"
Norris nods curtly, hands twisting on the handle of his mace thoughtfully.
Jareth nods to Mikal and moves to be under cover with his mate, murmuring quiet prayers for good luck.
Mikal takes her time, studying the archangel thoughtfully -- how he moves, where he looks, what behavior patterns (if any) he has. She murmurs softly to the bow as she watches, "So, Papaios... have you ever shot an archangel? Do you have enough juice by now to try such an arrow? They're susceptible to salt."
Uriel seems to be content -- if disgruntled by the reappearance of the shield -- to simply hover there, his six wings beating slowly. He is an imposing figure, seemingly unassailable.
Mikal's bow is quiet for a moment, then replies, [I have not been fired upon an archangel before. I do not know how much will be required to kill him in a single shot. I do not think it is entirely possible without a great deal of collateral damage.]
Mikal smiles coldly, her gaze still on Uriel, "We do not need to kill him. Simply bringing him down will vastly demoralize his people. Prepare, please, and I shall also. Let me know when you are ready."
Mikal adds quietly, "Jareth, will you work with me to strike together?"
Jareth nods, face grim, "I will, beloved. Though it pains me."
Mikal murmurs quietly, "I am sorry, beloved. I would not have you in battle if I could."
Jareth shakes his head, "It is something I have to do."
Mikal takes her time with Jareth, concentrating with him and getting him to follow her lead. She slowly focuses, drawing on her training to improve her ability to target and strike the arrogantly immobile archangel... she makes sure they're both utterly attuned, their backs protected by their pack and their attacks happening simultaneously... she draws back the bow, unsurprised as she feels the string and arrow form beneath her fingers... aims for a long, slow breath... then murmurs, "Now," as she releases at the same time as Jareth fires.
Jareth takes his time and lets himself concentrate only on aiming at the angel with the weapon. In his gut, he feels sick that it has to come to this. Still, he will do his best to protect these people that have helped him and his pack. His reluctance shows and his shot goes wide.
From out of the corner of his eye, Uriel sees the flicker of lightning that marks Jareth's attack. He has just started to contemptuously turn in that direction when, by some miracle -- of a deity other than his -- the searing, salt-encrusted arrow from Mikal's bow thunks into his side. His eyes widen, then an instant later, though some exertion of incredible willpower, he does not scream out but he is most assuredly, visibly in pain. The wound seems to smoke, the salt searing his viscera as he grasps hold of his side around the arrow's shaft. Try as he might, he cannot maintain the stoic stance... and the Fire of God falters in his stance, dipping in the air.
Uriel's smouldering eyes look up, narrowed in pain, at the bower where the four mortals are positioned. Then, he opens his mouth, and the command that issues forth seems to roar forth like a bonfire: "Destroy them!"
The sky in front of the four mortals is suddenly filled with stooping angels, eager to carry out their liege's command, lances gleaming wickedly.
Norris swallows. And he suddenly wonders, for the first time, if this was really a good idea.
Mikal smiles unworriedly -- the shield is there for a reason. She shouts back, "You have not yet paid in full, carrion crow!"
If a flying thing could be said to stagger, Uriel is doing so, and it is through some clearly superhuman effort that he is somehow stalking towards them even as he is flying. "Who are you who dare this affront?" he demands, eyes blazing. "What name does this hubris have which has clothed itself in mortal guise?" The angels who are seeking to do Uriel's bidding are plunging against the defensive lines in front of the motals' position, in increasingly growing numbers. Ravana blinks in startlement, and hastilly orders reserves to reinforce that section of the line. More and more angels are flocking to that section, as if lending proof to Mikal's mocking barb.
Mikal grins, stepping forward and shouting, "Call me Michael -- who is like unto god?" She laughs and brings her bow up, adding almost gleefully, "You make it too easy!" She starts pulling salted arrows, and fires directly into the mass of angels for as often as she can.
Norris stands firm against the tide, waiting for them to come within striking range. Lances give the angels much reach. But lances are far easier to shatter with a blow of his weapon...and breaking weapons is something he is practiced at.
From Lilith's heart, Jareth whispers, "Forgive me, my love..." And he begins firing with the vajra. He is not so much aiming at anything as trying to make sure not to hit allies.
Uriel roars. "Blasphemy! Destroy them, my legion! Teach them the price of the sin of pride!"
For the time being the lines are even; the weight of the angels' stoop crashes against the raksasha's lines. Then Raphael tells Mikal that one flight of angels is attempting to flank the lines, by attempting to penetrate through the lines on the other side of the encampment from the flocking ordered by Uriel. Neither Ravana nor Vhibishana seem to have noticed that attempted penetration.
Mikal laughs again, calling to Uriel, "If you dared check, you'd know I speak truth!" She nods to Raphael, then yells to Ravana, "There's a flock attempting to flank on the other side of camp!" She keeps calmly firing salted arrows into the massed, near-suicidal angels.
For a desperate moment, Jareth considers unleashing the me against Uriel.
Norris is split in twain. While he holds position, stalwart defender, calm and ready, one part of him looks on this blood-spilling assault with dismay. Wondering if Janiel is somewhere in there. And the other, while not glorying in the battle, watches each angel that falls with some sort of grim satisfaction.
Uriel says nothing more for the time being, narrowing his eyes as he watches the attack, remaining where he was -- perhaps the pain of his wound is starting to affect him. Ravanna for his part now finds his army split, one part facing the attempted flanking as he diverts reserves to that potential breakthrough; and the majority attempting to stave off the suicidal flocks of angels that have nothing but the mortals' blood on their minds.
Mikal is still smiling icily as she fires arrows like corrosive acid into the angels' lines. As far as she's concerned, they're either insane, or unable to think for themselves -- because they keep coming blindly to their deaths. She keeps half an eye on Uriel, waiting to see if he moves any closer.
Mikal is internally delighted -- her pack has managed to focus all the angels so completely on them that the crazed sceptres aren't even trying to dodge! Ravana must be singing internal hosannas to his deity for such a wonderfully target-rich opportunity!
Jareth does what he can with the vajra, heart breaking a little with each winged form and each rakshasa that falls. Tired as he is and horrified at the attacks and the slaughter, Jareth still tries to help his mate with her attack. Again, it goes wide.
Norris is relieved...no angel made it far enough to close with his pack. He did not have to deal out pain today. As the angels retreat, the anger in him has long since died down... and instead, he entreats Mikal for permission for permission to join the medics tent. That at least is something he can do well, helping to preserve life. And he does not have the stomach to look on the many angelic dead. Not after the carnage he just bore witness to.
Mikal continues firing with almost blinding speed into the massed angel attack, but she keeps half an eye on Uriel. At one point, when the ablative armor of angels that he uses shifts slightly, the young woman whispers to Jareth to work with her once more. The two of them again concentrate, brace, and aim together... and there's another delighted crow from Mikal as Papaios' dangerous arrows flies true once more, "Gotcha!"
Mikal murmurs quietly to Papaios as she aims, "Give it your best, my bow -- let the angels remember why you are named as you are!"
Once again, the lightning distracts Uriel, just barely enough; and once again, a salt-encrusted arrow strikes his side. This time there is no denying or hiding it: Uriel lets out a choked yowl of pain, and his flight falters visibly. "Withdraw," he snarls out. "Withdraw! To Zion, my angels!" The trumpets sound Retire, and giving one last venomous look at the mortals, the flocks of angels draw back, lances and fire-light poised to deter pursuit; a flock of the six-winged crows conceal Uriel from view, and thus (relatively) easy striking.
Mikal smiles and calls as the angels leave, "Next time, archangel, perhaps you should ask to talk first!"
Mikal pats her bow, adding quietly to it, "Well done! Thank you!" then turns and hugs Jareth -- she knows he's in emotional agony.
Jareth wraps his arms around Mikal and presses his face against her hair.
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