| Logs |
2009 October 25
| When The Bough Breaks |
| Realms |
Retired
| Reality Fault |
General Info
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| Realms: Bough Logs |
Fifth Movement, Eighth Verse
As Norris emerges from the forges of the raksasha, he is among the first to actually spot the ochre-hue dream-serpent winding its way through the sky, a pair of figures upon its back. One, even at this distance, he recognizes as Armaros, from the Winter Palace.
Norris, even in his current mental state, brightens at the sight of a familiar face. He waves to Armaros and the serpent. "Heyoa!" he calls out in his booming voice, trying to see where he might come down, that would have room for a dream-serpent to land.
The dream-serpent loops a little -- mindful of its passengers -- then comes down low enough to pass through the raksasha perimeter. The actual landing takes place just within the perimeter, and the wary Raksasha are already present in force to ascertain the identities of the arrivals. However, Vhibishana is shortly there, just as Norris arrives, and is clasping Armaro's hand. The sceptre almost immediately notes Norris, and Armaros smiles warmly to Norris. "Bear! It is good to see you again!" He moves to shake Norris's hand. "How are you? And the others, are they well?"
Norris clasps the sceptre's hand firmly. "All hale and hearty. It has been interesting times since we last saw you, Armaros. How does the siege go? Is there any good news in regards to the stalemate? And what is it you are doing here? If I was told you would be coming to the Rakshasa redoubt, I must have had other things on my mind." The words all tumble out of the young man's mouth, one after the other in stream of conscious. But interestingly enough, he does not revert to type in terms of his folksy language. Whatever he is becoming, it seems he is leaving old ways behind.
Armaros shakes his head. "The Palace endures, my friend. Mordred has been consolidating his forces out near Olympus for the time being. He has taken this chance to cull the least and weakest from his army, and to train the remainder. His army is leaner, now, but is costing him less to maintain, and they are much more highly motivated and drilled. I worry that when he does finally move upon the Winter Palace, it will be with a far more dangerous army
"In the meantime, however, the Palace believes that he will continue consolidation and training for a few more months, before moving them out again." He smiles. "As for why I am here, I was told you already knew. I was coming here to speak with Moroni."
Norris's expression looks blank, for a moment. Memory. He still has a problem with memory. What was it...oh yes. Moroni was the angel that attacked Mikal and Ravana during their hunt. And later, Mikal managed to convince the strange six-winged angel to forsake alleigence to the Architect. "Forgive me, I had been told...it just seems that it was so long ago, since that happened. So much has changed."
Amaros smiles. "I can imagine. We heard word of the assault on our way here, and we are glad to find you not only well but thriving afterwards!
Norris looks to one side, and then the other. He needs a friend to bounce his ideas off of, and Mikal and Jareth are tied up... not to mention they are not in any better shape than he to provide a more objective view. "Thriving, yes...that's one way of putting it." he murmurs, his eyes rolling around to look at the others. "Armaros, I should not divert too much attention from what has brought you here. But if you have time in the near future, I would appreciate a sympathetic ear, and your advice."
Jareth has finished speaking with the Mazakim and has left Mikal, for the moment, with Ravana after arranging to meet them again at a certain time to go speak with the jailed Janiel. His expression is serious, as has been standard just the last bit of strange, amorphous time, but he smile as he recognizes the sceptre and speeds up to join his friend and Armaros.
Armaros nods to Norris. "Please, my friend. I live to help mortals to the best of my ability. It is simply what I do, and I ache to see any troubled. There is little I can do for the vast majority... but I am here, now, and I am more than happy to listen to whatever ails you." He spots Jareth, and beams. "Cat! So good to see you again!"
Norris clears his throat. "Yes. Mmm. Mortals." he murmurs, and then suddenly glad at Jareth's intrusion to poke away the uncomfortable pause in their conversation. "Hey there, Cat. How yuh feeling." And here comes the folksy talk right back again, as he reaches out to embrace the other man.
Jareth steps into Norris's embrace, hugging the big smith unselfcosciously. He turns to Armaros, reaching for the sceptre's hands with a warm smile, eyes still a little tired, "Has Norris spoken to you about the allies the rakshasa have gained?"
Norris uhs. Right. Hum. Okay, this could be uncomfortable. "Yuh. Uhm. Got some folk here you might be well aquainted with. Buncha folk led by a fella called Asmodeus."
Armaros's expression drops, and he frowns. "Oh, dear," he says. "I was wondering what that lot had gotten themselves up to. I do hope that no... arrangements or deals have been brokered with them?"
Norris scratches the back of his head. "Dunno any specific arrangements or deals...alla us give em as wide a berth as we can, unfortunately, they dun keep cropping up. One-a them even made a big stink recently during Uriel's assault. Brought down the shield for a bit." He looks at Jareth. "What's th' update on the fallout from that, Cat?"
Jareth's smile goes a bit wry as he says, "Not so much an agreement on our side, Armaros, as a promise form them to me for a large mistake."
Norris blinks. "A promise to do whut, annat?"
The young bard take's Norris hand with both of his and squeezes it, "To be responsible. There's more to it than that, of course, but that is the ain gist." To Armaros, he says, "Have you had a chance to clean up and refresh yourself?"
Norris looks doubtful. On the other hand, Jareth has a silver tongue, and he's pretty sure the bard can convince a horse trader to buy a three legged horse, and feel he got the best of the deal.
Armaros says, "Well, I only just arrived, but I am well, it was not a terribly hard trip. A great deal of flying." He nods to the dream-serpent. "On the other hand, I'm sure Beatrice here is famished."
The ochre dream-serpent looks at the group with golden eyes and replies, "Like you wouldn't believe. There should be a melon patch or orange orchard around here, I hope?"
Norris isn't sure, but he smiles the the fruit-loving serpent. "We's find sommat appropriate, ayuh." he drawls, looking inquiringly at Vhibishana.
Norris looks back at Armaros. "We should done see t' the comfort of yer noble steed, and t' any needs yuh have too, Armaros. But once that done, like t' have yew join us in our tent, please." he requests, squeezing Jareth's hand, as if for needed support.
Vhibishana nods, "I'm sure we'll find something for you, if not here than further down the mountain. I will make the arrangements." He smiles to Armaros. "Lord Ravanna is in council will the generals, so he'll understand if you do not go to him immediately. Please, rest with your friends, I'm sure you've had a long trip and have much to speak with them about. I'll have lhassa brought to your tent."
Norris tugs Jareth over to one side, as Armaros is talking with Vhibishana. "Been havin' some issues-like. Of the past-life kind. Sorta havin, like, personality dissonance. Yew think Armaros is safe t' tell?"
Jareth lets himself be pulled aside and blinks at Norris, "I think that Armaros may be one of the people that will need to know."
Norris head-tilts. "Why yuh say that, zactly? Not like I disagree, just wonderin' your thought."
Jareth smiles, "Because he knew El-Amon-Re. And because he very likely knew me." He shrugs, "Do you feel that might be wrong?"
Norris shakes his head. "Naw, just I aint thought about it like that." He purses his lips. "It's difficult." he rumbles, more controlled again. "I see how Janiel was hurt, and my heart goes out to him. I want to fix this, make it right. But then I look at Uriel. Or think about how my sister died...hell, I see how Rabbit feels, when she's got her head full of steam, and she's not herself any more, but the Queen of Heaven. And I want vengeance, like I was Zeus's true son." The words come slowly, as if he feels uncertain about admitting this to his gentler friend.
Jareth shakes his head, smiling quietly, "I know. You feel the heat stirring in you and your heart longs to right the with the strength of your arm. It is your nature." He motions after the other two, "Let's catch up."
Norris does as Jareth suggests, making up the space between them and Armaros. "Is it?" he asks himself. He feels so confused. Norris was never violent except to protect those he cared about. And Hephaestus, he was strong, and a god, and could even be angry. But these feelings in him feel new and alien.
Shortly, the three are gathered in the mortals' tent, a pair of pitchers of sweet lhassa and several cups as well having been brought by, as well as naan and fruit. Armaros does somehow manage to look reinvigorated instead of exhausted from the long trip, and he talks easilly with them, bringing them up to date on news of what's going on with Mordred's Army.
Jareth brings everyone present up to date on what it was that the Mazakim promised. He seems to be a little abstracted about it, as if something is right on the tip of his tongue.
Norris makes sure to have the bail recording the details, so that his own fallable memory doesn't lose anything. But once that's done, he clears his throat and decides to bite the bullet. "There's, uh...there's recent developments that change the landscape a bit. You know about Cat's exchange with Raven, how she saved him from death and capture at the hands of Azrael, yeah?"
Armaros makes a quiet sound at news of the Mazikim, then he shakes his head. "They are... a bit of an unreliable lot. Rebellious by nature, it seems. But it does sound like you, somehow, managed to exact a promise from them that should keep them in check. I'm surprised they consented, however; while their promises are generally good, Asmodeus does have the reputation of being the Lawyer of Heaven for a good reason." He nods to Norris "Yes, I remember that. It still causes much worry amongst the mortals at the Winter Court. They are not quite sure who will come for them when they die, and so they are being exceptionally careful."
Norris winces. He hadn't even thought about that! And what with there being a war on their front doorstep. "We really need to try and do something about that." he rumbles, rubbing his forehead.
Jareth says, "As to why I was able to do it, Rabbit found a fraction of her true nature and was able to pass something important on to me. One of the me."
Norris point at Jareth. "Yes, yes that is entirely part of what I wanted to bring up. There is...it turns out that through Rabbit, and hammered home by an encounter at Angkor Wat, we have discovered that we are not entirely mortal. Or to be specific, more than just mortal. There was a plan hatched at Polaris, to hide the spirits of gods in the reincarnating souls of mortals." He gestures at himself at Jareth. "We, all four of us, were the ones chosen. And this truth is coming home to roost."
Armaros sets his cup down, his brow furrowed. "Hide the spirits of gods in... You mean, as Yeshua, son of El-Amon-Re, did? His was a rather harrowing journey through mortality. He did not return from Hades without help. Are you saying... that you four...?"
Norris spreads his hands, looking wry. "Guilty as charged. That, I fear, is part of the reason Azrael was so keen on Cat, here. Think that the Architect knows something."
Norris says, "We're like sleepers. made to forget what we are, to come out long past the end of the Godswar, to try and fix this whole meshuggas." He blinks. "Okay. I have no idea where that came from. As far as I know, none of my past lives were Jewish."
Armaros sits back, frowning. "If the entire Heavens hadn't been ringing with the news of what and who Yeshua ben Yosef was," he says slowly, "none in the Dreamtime would have ever thought him as anything other than a mortal. And I look upon you now and I can see to my own eyes that you are mortals. But if you are gods from the before time, hiding in the wheel of life... I have to ask, why?"
Jareth smirks slightly, "I'd say there are some you might not be aware of." He's sipping lhasa quietly. "Because we think that El Amon Re may not even be doing this. We worry about the one that claims to be his mouthpiece."
Norris grimaces. "Because of the Godswar. Because there needed to be someone left to stand up to the Architect. Because Lord Krishna is dead, and so are my mother, and my sister, and my wife, and many others. Because El-Amon-Re, or whoever now controls him would not stand to have any of us left to oppose him." His voice gets thicker as he speaks, angrier.
Armaros looks to Jareth. "You mean, Metatron? What is it you suspect about him?"
Jareth reaches out a hand to rest on Norris' knee, "I suspect that my old lover is imprisoned or otherwise bound and that this Metatron speaks not for El Amon Re, but for himself."
Armaros blinks between them both. "You are both speaking of family... and lovers... from your times as gods. What... what then, do you remember? Do you remember who you were, what Names you were called by?"
The smith's large hand cover's Jareth's, trying to find the calm that once came so easily to Norris. "We suspect, anyway, that the Metatron has some something to the Architect...improsonment, or subversion, or something like that. And memory has come in drips and drabs." He straightens at Armaros's query. "I was once the lame smith, Hephaestus, son of Hera."
Mikal stops in the entranceway of the tent, resting a hand on Raphael's heavy mane as she pushes the silk entryway open. Her hair is bound up into a long loose braid and wrapped in a sort of crown atop her head. She wears an over-large, thigh-length tunic she borrowed from a rakshasa, and her bow and quiver of arrows protrude behind her shoulders like spreading wings. Her voice is tired but still composed and proud, "My half-brother is also rightly Loki, Trickster of Asgard; and I am also an aspect of Inanna, Queen of Love and War."
Norris stares. Okay. "That's an entrance."
Mikal steps into the tent, letting the entry-banner fall back into place so she's no longer haloed by sunlight. A bit wearily she sinks down on the cushions next to the others, shedding her weaponry as she adds, "We would also both love a drink, please, Bear?"
Jareth stands up to go to Mikal and hug her. He's the last to give Armaros his old name, "And I, apparently, was the lady Lilith."
Norris gets up! "Course. Lhassa for everyone." He gets a cup for Mikal, and a bowl for Raph, and delivers them both in prompt order. Noticing, in passing, that his own cup was dented from his grip. He grimaces. "Bad form."
Armaros looks rather poleaxed, not only at Mikal's entrance, but also the revelations. It takes him several long moments before he fianally says, "It's... been many eons since I, er, bowed before gods. I think I've forgotten how to, actually." He shakes himself, smiling. "I'm sorry, a poor joke, posibly in poor taste. I'm... stunned, is putting it mildly! I'm also bursting with questions, needless to say!"
Jareth says, "I don't know that we will have many answers yet. Myself least of all."
Norris waves his hands. "Please, please. We're still the mortals you once knew, Armaros. It just happens that we're also more than that, now. Myself, I wasn't much for ceremony or shows of respect. Course, that has something to do with my own ignominious upbringing. It is this very problem that I have been concerned with, that we are still ourselves, but we are also remembering what it was, to be the gods we were. We are changing, and there are growing pains. Which is why I was hoping to have your council and guidance."
Armaros blinks, and says, consideringly, "Well... any help I can give, I will! Though my advice may be sore lacking."
Jareth says, "With as little as we know now, any help will be welcome."
Mikal returns Jareth's hug with weary pleasure, and accepts the drink with relief, curling up between her two packmates. She gives Armaros a silent glance, wondering why the angel feels the need to joke nervously, but doesn't care enough to bother him about it.
Mikal has a sip of the cool drink, strokes Raphael's head as he laps up quite a bit, then murmurs quietly to Norris, "What troubles you, dear?"
Norris is happy to provide a warm support for Mikal. "We're changing, Rabbit. I see it in you, too...becoming more like the Queen of Heaven. On the one hand the changes in you feel good, but it also unnerves, sometimes. And me...feel like I've got personality dyslexia. That I'm turning into something that's not Norris, not Hephaestus. Some strange conglomeration that's unpredictable, even scares me."
Mikal tilts her head curiously to glance up at Norris, "Isn't that what's required for us to succeed? To be, so to speak, flexibly mortally deific?"
Norris blinks. "I'm not even sure what that means."
Mikal says, "Our mortality gives us a unique perspective, does it not? Much like... the Annointed One, the Kristos. We can do things, understand concepts, speak to people, that we could not as gods."
Norris's lips purse. "I certainly cannot deny that bridging the mortal and the deific grant us a strength that we would not otherwise have. But it is not that we are neither and both that is my worry. More, I am concerned that our changing attitudes may complicate matters. It's easy for Norris to want to talk, to convince, to end this without bloody combat. I saw the bodies of rakshasa and angels alike on the field, and it chilled me. But then I think of those lost...our kin, our families, our blood, and it makes me want my own pound of flesh."
Mikal narrows her eyes thoughtfully as she studies Norris. Finally she rests a small hand on Norris's knee, murmuring quietly, "What bothers you the most, pack brother? What is it that scares you?"
Norris looks grim. "That I would scare others. That I would do harm unwittingly, in some sort of godly arrogance, or wrath, because of the pain that I cling to. There was a good woman, a rakshasa smith, that took food with me and talked with me after a long time at the forge. I crafted new armor, and it reminded me of the masked shield I crafted for Athena. I was filled with wrath. I told her that I would not bend, not yield before the forces of the Architect, that I would see to it that those responsible for my loss would know consequence for their action. And in that moment I became something that made the smith flee my presence."
He shakes his head. "This did not feel like myself. I do not know where it came from. But my legs ached, as if they were warped like Hephaestus's once were."
Mikal considers for a moment, then murmurs, "Do you want vengeance? or justice?"
Norris shakes his head. "I am not sure I know." He looks solemnly at Mikal. "Do you? I am not the only one that has suffered loss at the hands of the Architect. One might say you have been done a far worse harm."
Mikal runs a small fingertip lightly along the edge of her goblet, thinking hard for a long moment. When she finally starts speaking, her voice is low, but almost vibrating with intensity...
Armaros has been listening, quietly and in fascination at this conversation, not wishing to interrupt any of the mortals -- even if they are once-gods -- whom he considers friends.
Mikal says, "You speak of wanting your pound of flesh, and of making sure those who had harmed you would know the consequences of their actions, and you seem to fear that intensity of passion within yourself. But I say to you, Hephaestus the Smith and Norris Packbrother, that I am a goddess of passion, and passion itself is never wrong! It is what you do with it which can be twisted to evil, or turned to a greater good. This is why I try to eschew vengeance, for that passion consumes from the inside, and leaves nothing in its wake, and when you are done you are left hollowed and without purpose for life.
"Consider this: do you fear the passion of love? Why not? Is it not as all-consuming, in its own way, as the passion of battle? Do they not both make you feel, at least for that moment, one with the deities themselves?" She glances up at Norris, her gray eyes stormy and passionate as she continues, "Yes, I wish for justice! Yes, this is a passion I will fight for! But if it turns out El-Amon-Re was just an arrogant fool, will torturing him or slaughtering him bring back our fallen beloved fellow deities? I think not. Meting out justice to him, though -- ah, that is a bird of a different feather. Justice means he will not be able to do such harm again -- neither he nor any other. Justice means aid to those he has harmed, respect to those he has murdered, kindness to those he has deceived." She sits up straight, her eyes flashing as she adds, "But until we have him in hand -- until we can engage in the careful, thoughtful research which will allow us to discover what justice may be in this case -- then yes, we must fight. Fight I shall, with all the skill and passion and fire I have at my disposal, so I may stop this injustice, and though it grieves me I know innocents and the deceived may fall -- I may myself die -- but if it is in the cause of justice, and if I have engaged in this battle with all my passionate ability... then it is a tragedy, but the cause must go on." She takes a deep breath, then studies Norris with keen eyes, "Do you understand, Packbrother?"
Norris stares at Mikal as she is swept up in the firestorm that is herself, his eyes gleaming grey like steel. "I do, my Queen. That was an oratory nonpareil, and I would take it to heart as words to help control the storm inside me." His cheeks are flush, and his hand is on Mikal's, squeezing it. "My family would have liked you, I think."
Mikal blinks, looking a bit confused for a second, then smiles at Norris, squeezing his hand gently back, "Ah, the Olympians, yes?" She's slowly getting used to occasionally really strongly manifesting Otherness, so it's not weirding her out so much now. She leans a bit tiredly against Norris, adding, "I am pleased my words might be of some use to you, dear." Her thoughtful gray-eyed gaze drifts to Armaros, wondering what he thinks. She already knows Raphael is both supportive and slightly amused at her passion as he gives her a steady, strong back to lean against. [So that's where you hid all that passion I could sense inside you all this time, little sister!]
Norris smiles. "Well, my mother and sister, and the lady that stole my heart, yes, at least." His head tilts, his eyes still shining with the godself risen in him. "You are pack, Rabbit. You have helped me in many ways, not just your words. It is strange, but I see something of them in you, as well. The wisdom of my sister, the passion of my wife, and the kindness of my mother." His nose touches Mikal's, and he offers her a small kiss.
Armaros lets out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding. "I.. your words are truth, Lady -- er, Mikal," he says softly. "For what it is worth, I do not believe that El Amon Re knows of who you are. Had he or Azrael time to study you, in the Dreamtime or in Hades, then he might discover it... but though he is a god, I must say -- if I could not tell your past natures just by looking at you, I do not believe he could."
He adds after a moment, "Though after bearing witness to your speech, Mikal... there is no doubt in my mind at all that you are indeed the mortal manifestations of those deities." He finishes his cup of lhassa, and sets it down. "As always, whatever I can do for you, I shall. And shall not speak of this to any but yourselves. I take it, though, that the raksasha do not yet know?
Mikal smiles up at Norris, nuzzling gently.
Mikal chuckles after her gently exchanged kiss with Norris, her head still resting against Norris as she turns her gaze to Armaros, "Oh, they certainly know -- Ravana Lord was granted one of the sacred me as well when I was filled with sudden power."
Norris looks curious. "I thought it was only Ravana who understood the whole of it? That most of the rakshasa were still in the dark, due to the Mazikin being close at hand?"
Armaros ahs, and nods. "And Asmodeus and the Mazikim?"
Mikal nods to Norris, "That too. Your pardon -- I do not know precisely how the rakshasa took my standing in for their ceremony to their deity's lady." She considers, then adds slowly, "I think the rakshasa who are clever may have figured it out... but the Mazikim are not being informed?"
Norris glances at Armaros. "It would be a relief if Azrael was only acting then, on general orders from the Architect, and not from suspecting Cat's true self." His brow knits. "Unless Cat being lady Lilith, made the Angel of Death more likely to sense her, given her relationship with El-Amon and his get."
Armaros nods thoughtfully, stroking his chin. "That may be for the best. Though I suspect that Jareth exacting that promise from Asmodeus may have had some of Lilith's voice to it. In which case, Asmodeus perhaps suspects something. I do not think that he would go so far as to suspect gods who have subsumed themselves into the wheel of life, however." He looks to Norris, "I can only guess, my friend. Perhaps Azrael had a 'hunch' of some kind. Or perhaps he sensed some sort of interest in you inadvertantly expressed by Raven."
Mikal shakes her head, "Unless Azrael is an exceptional actor, he does not suspect." She smiles quietly as she adds, "Oh, Armaros recognized Her voice, aye."
Norris's brow knits at this scrap of knowledge. "Well, considering he's been geased, perhaps this revelation will not bee to harmful."
Mikal smiles quietly as she adds, "Oh, Asmodeus recognized Her voice, aye. But he stopped himself from addressing Her according to Her station."
She gives Norris an odd smile, "Why would you say that, Bear? The geas did not cover us." She adds thoughtfully, "Ravana has yet to tell me the abilities of the sword he gifted me as offering last night... and we're to meet Tawhaki of the Uluru as well, later. Oh, and I will be aiding Ravana Lord to discern who aided Marchorius in his betrayal, after we've seen to Janiel."
Norris opens his mouth, and closes it. "Crap. He is a lawyer. He could stay within the letter of his geas and still screw us."
Mikal says, "That is true... but he is also an astute individual, I believe. He will realize, I believe, that Lilith and I both could have made the geas much harsher... and not have exacted a similar one from Ravana Lord for his and his people's protection as well."
She has a sip of lhassa before she adds calmly, "I think that will influence his decisions somewhat." Her smile grows slightly cold for a moment as she adds, "Plus... he saw Uriel nearly struck down from the sky by us. I misdoubt he or his will soon forget that."
Armaros nods, though his smile is a touch lighter. "Aye, we heard of that on our way here, a few days before we arrived here. The news is spreading quite fast."
Norris says, "There's many ways Asmodeus could cause trouble. I doubt he would harm us, or sell us out to the Architect. That's completely contrary to his own goals. But there's every possibility he might try to use us some other way." Norris arches a brow at Armaros. "Hnh. I have mixed feelings about that message spreading."
Mikal's smile warms as she glances at Armaros, "I am glad it spreads. The notoriety will not be of assistance to us, but a reputation as freedom fighters against a no-longer-invulnerable enemy will."
Armaros says, "He may very well. Or at least consider it. However, considering the person who laid the geasa is on your side, there is likely little to worry about. I do not approve of Asmodeus or his role in mortal misery, and he can be something of a squirmy weasel now and then... but I do not believe that he will attempt to slip out of the yoke of this geas. It is in his best interests. Also, I imagine he is intrigued that a geas has been actually placed upon him. He will want to know more, and I imagine the best way to do that is while under it's strictures. And finally... the terms are not onerous to him. 'Behave, and you will be treated the same way.' 'Do unto others as you would have done unto you.' That was much of his case briefs in the time following Yeshua's sojourn in the mortal world."
Mikal glances curiously at Norris, "Of course he seeks to use us... just as we seek to use him. We're simply making sure he realizes we are formidable allies, and terrible enemies."
Norris perks. "I had forgotten this earlier, but you had just reminded me of it. We had completely forgotten that among the gods, there is still one besides us that may remain, because of his personal history. One that could be most valuable. Is there any tale of the fate of Yeshua?"
Armaros lets out a breath. "Yeshua is said to remain in Zion, in his Father's house. I cannot imagine him remaining there willingly. But it was long, long before the Godswar began that I was last on the peak of Mount Zion."
Norris shakes his head. "That helps no one...." he looks askance at Mikal. "Unless we can get someone who is welcome in Zion to talk to him. Like, say, an sceptre."
Mikal shakes her head, "We would do better to free him -- if he indeed still lives -- when we find out if El-Amon also needs freeing."
Norris looks back at Armaros. "You don't happen to know anything useful about the Metatron, would you? Or was his ascension after you had left?" He taps his fingertips. "Freeing Yeshua would be a noble quest, but also a difficult one. You yourself said, that we still crave information. If Janiel could be a pipeline between us and the sacrificed God..."
Armaros says, "He ascended somewhat after I left, though not long after.
Mikal shakes her head again, "He would be risking his life to do so, and I do not doubt Yeshua, if he still lives, is well guarded. I would think Janiel far more potentially useful in persuading angels to leave the Host, and maybe to join us." She adds amusedly, "Besides, which Sacrificed God do you mean? They are myriad. Mine was Dumuzi, the Bull."
Norris's head tilts. "I was under the impression he was all of them? Or maybe I remember wrong. That memory of the meeting in Polaris is hazy."
Mikal shakes her head, "He was a Sacrificed God, but there were several."
Norris smiles. "Well, this conversation certainly went in interesting directions...and some good has come out of it, so I declare victory, for now."
Mikal curls up against Norris and Raphael, and wishes Jareth were here too. She watches Armaros a bit sleepily -- she had a long and exhausting battle the day before, then a long but pleasant night with Ravana followed by an emotional morning of seeing to the wounded -- her beloved but heartsick Jareth among them. She's half entranced with weariness, and she simply listens silently to the others talking for now. Ravana or Vibhishana should be by soon, both to take Armaros to Moroni and to ask for the promised help of the four mortals... so she'll conserve her energy for then.
Norris sees Mikal fading off, and he tends to her fondly, stroking her hair as he makes some additional small queries to Armaros...
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