Reality Fault - Heartwood: Logs for 16June2000

How does one know it's finally morning, deep below the earth in the hollows of a broken temple? The air remains cool and heavy, the enclosed and collapsed hallways still so very, very dark. But Tashka

. Brisa

. They can feel the tug of their goddess as she breaks over the far eastern glaciers of the Black Mountains. They are the first to wake: Tashka looking across the hall, as if somehow Allena might not be there and this all another one of

vicious tricks; Brisa, to the soft scent and gentle presence of another in her arms. Anuje wakes at the lightest jangle of Tashka's chains; Roxanna next at the start of commotion, Benedict at the rising of Roxanna. The first dull gray shaft from the dandelion-strewn window awakens Trystan and Allena. And if Romana is awake she is steadfastly refusing to admit it...

Brisa smiles quietly down at Romana in her arms, then softly starts her morning prayer, looking towards the East as she chants, slowly and solemnly. Today will be a very busy day... she invests the prayer with all the sincerity and emotion she can bring to it. Roxanna rolls out of her sleeping fur and stretches. "So. Today?"

Benedict gives a bit of a start as Roxanna asks her question. It takes him but a moment to let it sink in that yes indeed, today is they day that they do something that most theologians, paladins, and scholars would universally agree would be extraordinarily stupid. But... "Today," he murmurs in agreement, stifling a yawn as he sits up. "I'd... mmph... I'd better talk to Lord Random... maybe there's something he can suggest."

Roxanna says, "If you can get out there safely. If they're still attacking the town... wouldn't want to attract their attention."

Benedict frowns and nods, standing and stretching. "Good point. Blast, I hope the townsfolk are doing all right..."

Roxanna says, "Either way, we should hurry."

Benedict nods to Roxanna and looks around, taking in a deep breath. "I should go now. I'll be back well before noon."

Brisa's words are softly echoed, the pattern and fall of the ancient prayer unchanging despite the two hundred and fifty year difference. A simple harmony, a sad reminder of what it must of sounded like when this Temple was filled with their sisters. Tashka just turns her head and nods when their words are finished. "It's been a long, long time, Sister." The words also stir the not-quite-so-sleeping easterner, her hands light upon Brisa as she lifts herself up, listening to each and every word. And then she leans back and just stretches, caught by a sudden yawn.

"Tashka... good morning..." are Allena's first words, followed by a simply pragmatic "-is there any water... please?"

Brisa smiles quietly back at Tashka, then just nods. She glances at Allena and smiles again, "Da, moment please, dama?" then looks down at Romana and says gently, "Mishka... must move, please. You can sleep more on my cloak if you wish?" Brisa will slip carefully out from under Romana, leaving the cloak's hood folded up for a pillow if she wishes. She offers Allena, then Tashka water from her canteen, and nods quietly at seeing that Benedict and Roxanna are awake.

Benedict nods quietly again before heading to the central shaft to climb his way out of the temple, intending to pause at the top to listen -- for sounds of chaos victory, for battle, for anything... Brisa says, "Benny, if you go to talk to Lord Random, may I have your canteen? I... am going to try something, and I will need water to do so? And..." she hesitates, then says a little shyly, "Roxanna... may I ask a favor of you? Someone should talk to Allena and Tashka, that can tell their story... could you do that, please?" Brisa adds to Benedict as he leaves, "Also, Benny, I know you must tell much to Lord Random, but I would ask a caution of you... of everyone here?" She glances around, then quietly adds, "I would ask that we all be very careful who we tell there is a temple here... that we tell as few as possible -- because I have no illusions that there are those who would cheerfully destroy it if they knew of it... and not just Easterners."

Roxanna gets up, her healer's instincts kicking her into wakefulness at Allena's plea for water. She helps Brisa give the prisoners a bit of breakfast. Benedict turns from the doorway, and nods to Brisa, handing over to her the canteen. "Of course... and please, feel free, Brisa..." With that, he is gone... climbing up the rope cautiously with Trystan, pausing at the top... listening...

Roxanna smiles at Brisa's request. "Of course. I would be honored." Brisa looks relieved, both accepting the canteen and giving Roxanna a grateful smile.

With a soft tumble Romana spills from Brisa's lap, continuing her yawning stretch to sit up and brush playful and unkempt hair from her bangs. She slowly stands, brushing out her skirts and tugging at her hair. "Morning always come too earlies..." Brisa grins quietly at Romana's plaintive comment.

Roxanna says, "They do that... Probably need to blame Brisa's folks for it, da?"

Brisa laughs! -then will, once Tashka and Allena are taken care of, turn to Romana, "Mishka, may I ask a favor of you also?" She gestures to the tunic that's been tied off to form a sort of sack, "Could I ask you to carefully gather all the bones here? I... am going to try reconsecrating the temple, and... I think that would be respectful, to gather up my sisters?"

Romana hugs herself once, and shakes out the last of her tangles in a wild flurry. When she looks back up her sapphire eyes are bright, sparkling like early morning stars. "Yes?" She looks at the ungainly sack of tunic and bones and frowns slightly. But then she nods her head, "What Romanas do with?"

Brisa says, "Bring it into the middle room when you're done, please?" She waits 'til Romana turns the corner... a slow heartbeat... then another... then she turns to Roxanna, saying with quiet urgency, "I have... one more favor to ask of you please, Roxy... if anything happens, someone must get out alive with the information about Tashka and Allena. Can I depend on you to do this? Please?"

Roxanna raises an eyebrow. "I... will try. If it comes to that, there may be no way to escape, although I might just barely fit into the crevice... but I won't throw myself into a hopeless battle, either. That much I can promise."

Brisa nods, "That is the most I can ask for. That will have to do." She takes a deep breath... then nods, turns, and strides swiftly out of the small hallway. There is far too much work to do... and far too little time to do it in. She heads for the central shaft, smiling at Romana as she passes her. Romana looks up from her task, being very careful and precise, even awkwardly scrambling up the broken walls to snare the bones nailed there. It is not a fast job, nor an easy one. Brisa is gifted with the lightest brush of fingers as she passes. Romana stands quiet, just watching until Brisa disappears around the broken corner to the center chamber. Once in the central room Brisa glances up to see if Benedict and Trystan are on the rope still or not. Brisa will, once she's sure the rope is free, shinny swiftly down the rope to the bottom of the well. There she tightens her belt, then carefully uses the back of her tunic as a makeshift sack to bring all the bones back up the well -- even the unicorn skull, which is carried as carefully as if it were priceless... which, in a way, it is. She works her way slowly and painfully back up the rope. Better to take a while, than to make a mistake with these bones.

The work is long, hard... and just as hard upon the heart as upon strained backs and worn fingers. Indeed Brisa is just bringing the last of the unicorn and his rider up to the central room as Romana slowly drags her funereal tunic behind her... while above, Trystan and Benedict have tried the door to Lord Random's Tower. It takes a while for the door to be unbarred and opened just a crack -- and for the two to be literally yanked inside by a pair of wrinkled and worn hands. Lady Kay sternly admonishes the two, "Were you born with a hundred bricks less than a tower? There's a

going on! She storms away, grumbling, "...stupid men.

Benedict bristles only a little, then sighs. "We know, Lady Kay; believe me, we know. Lady... I... I would like to talk with Lord Random again. We've... run into something extraordinary..."

The disgruntled Atteran just waves her hand at the two, indicating the stairs. "Shoo shoo shoo... he's up there somewhere."

Benedict inclines his head quietly. "Thank you, Lady," he says softly... and hesitates, then shakes his head and goes quietly up the stairs. Despite her brusqueness... he still prays that she'll be all right in the coming hours.

One floor, two floors, three floors, Benedict and Trystan return up into the tower, where every space is all filled with books and scrolls and kegs and barrels. On the fourth floor they begin to weave their way into the dangerous stacks. It is an incomprehensible array of zigzags until the room opens up a bit. Here there is a desk. And behind the desk sits the frail Lord Random, lost in his work. "Romana... Romana... Romana..." An absolutely huge stack of arcane texts and leather-bound books surround Lord Random. "How could that name escape me. She has to be here

Benedict heads up the stairs, remembering Brisa's warning just before he left. I don't know how I'll be able to avoid telling Lord Random that, he thinks morosely as he nears the top of the stairway. But considering what the Imperials do to the pagan cults, I understand. How odd... now why did I refer to 'Imperials' in the third person? Never mind... he should be up here somewhere. He frowns slightly as he hears what the elder Eye is looking for. The Eye doesn't seem to notice as the two approach, lost in his work. Benedict approaches Lord Random slowly, then clears his throat. "Lord Random...?"

"...what if... what if..." Lord Random leans back, biting on the end of his pen. "... what if she was not from Imperial lands... an exotic name, yes... Romana Romana Romana..." He drags out another book.

Benedict frowns slightly, mindful of Brisa's warning. "Lord Random!" he says, a little louder than normal.

Lifting his head for a moment, Lord Random blinks. "Must just be the wind. It's been kicking up lately..." He opens the book and begins to research, "Romana... not here, Romana... not there... where is this Romana... Romana who..."

Benedict takes in a quick breath and quickly approaches the Eye. He doesn't know how Random will react to discovering Romana is from the other side of the mountains, but he doesn't really want to find out. "Lord Random!" he says, somewhat louder than before, now an arm's length from the desk.

The old follower of Hastur starts, then looks up for a moment. Then he smiles, "Brother Matthewson! Good morning. Maybe you can help me? I am sure she has to be here somewhere. I seem to have misplaced this Romana person of yours."

Benedict smiles softly but worriedly. "Misplaced her? Not at all, Lord, she's with us; she's not misplaced at all." Easy with the humor, blockhead! This is a lord! His smile disappears. "We... we need your help, Lord Random. I'm sorry to make this so abrupt and panicked but... we... well..." Finally he blurts, "We need to know how to destroy Marin's rider."

Blinking quietly, Lord Random starts, his head cocked at an intrigued angle, his scholarly interest piqued. "You wish to kill who? Marin's Rider? Like the personage who figured at the fall of Bordertown, at the beginning of this fine Imperial Age?"

Benedict winces at the referral to this as the 'fine' Imperial Age. "Yes, Lord. He of the Red Scarf."

Lord Random nods quietly and rubs his chin. And then he stands, tracking through his stacks, vanishing into the literary canyons. Then he comes back, looking through a worn and faded scroll held up in front of him as he reads. "And the Four came from the sunrise to the walls of Bordertown... Marin's... who was he... Merrikha... Merrikha... Merrikha al'Triah-am-khesshanian... So fell, but the language does have a fluid tone, doesn't it, Benedict?"

Benedict opens his mouth in abject shock as Random utters the name, then closes his mouth with a snap, perking his ears for the sound of fire or destruction or lightning or even a creaking door. When none of that is forthcoming he blinks and recognizes part of the name. "Ah... yes, yes, it does." More than I can tell you right now, Lord. But I hope when this is over that maybe, just maybe, we can talk... oh, who am I kidding. Random is the perfect Eye: he takes in information, and yet what has he done with it? He's in a tower, on the edge of nowhere...

Is this what I want to be?

Benedict remains otherwise quiet, listening to the elder Eye. Sitting down, Lord Random carefully lays out the scroll, reading. He pauses once to rub the back of his neck. "Let's see... of the Four, this Merrikha al'Triah-am-khesshanian was the only one to survive the battle. But for some reason he did not travel on to the destruction at Silk Creek Bridge. Hammerblood he was called, Marin's fist..."

Benedict takes in a sharp, sudden breath, shivering. "Oh, no," he says softly. He closes his eyes briefly. "Hastur, Attera, Dayalla, all the Gods and Goddesses in heaven above, protect us!" He opens his eyes and says shakily, "Lord Random... we have to move from here, quickly..." Benedict looks around the room. Top of the tower... not the temple where it should be! Blast! "Trystan, run! Go to Brisa! Tell her Lord Random said his name!"

Lord Random looks up to Benedict, confused, "Is something wrong, Brother?"

Benedict looks back to Random, his face pale. "Lord Random... outside your tower there is the entrance to an ancient Dayallan temple, within which are a Dayallan priestess and a Covener from the close of the Second Age, cursed to remain there until Marin's avatar no longer walks the world. When... when you read that scroll... when you said his name, I felt... I felt as if an eye, a fell, evil eye, was turned to us, cast its gaze upon us." He hesitates. "Marin's avatar, He of the Red Scarf, comes. And he comes for you." Benedict takes in a quick breath. "We need to hurry. We were preparing for his coming in the temple, but this is far earlier than we had hoped. We need to get you into the temple though. It's easier to protect than your tower, and maybe we'll be able to defend ourselves against him there." He looks around. "Certainly not here..."

Lord Random just looks up, shocked. "And leave the Library, Bother Matthewson? Nonsense!. Just ask my sister to bar the door. We will be quite safe until he gets bored and goes away."

Benedict all but slams his hands on the desk, all of the patience he's had nearly gone. "In all the time you've been in this tower, with all the vast, vast knowledge here at your beck and call," he says grimly, "you've never learned that any of the avatars of Marin will come when called? That whomever says the name of one, is visited by them? And that Marin's in particular does not give pause, does not wait, does not get bored, but goes after whomever said his name? You know, you simply must know, why he is called 'He of the Red Scarf'! He will come here, he will take down your tower stone by bloody stone and kill both you and your sister!" He takes in a deep breath. "He won't care about the Library, Lord Random, only your blood. Which is why we must get you to the temple of Dayalla. At least there we have a chance of all surviving this."

Lord Random blinks, looking back to Benedict. "A Dayallan temple, here? And are you saying that we will have a better chance of survival in some pagan temple of a church that barely exists... than in a sanctified Library of our Imperial Lord Hastur the Everwatchful?"

In a tangle of panicked woodsman Trystan bolts down the tower stair, oblivious to the stacks of paper and rock paperweights... and it is with sudden surprise that Brisa sees the well rope jerk, too soon for Benedict and Trystan to have gotten any information. Dropping ungainly on the strange central stone, Trystan calls out his fell report, "Lord Random said

name!

Brisa blinks, then says slowly, with great feeling, "Tov yo mat." She goes still for a moment, thinking... then nods sharply, "Up the rope please, Trys, so we have warning for when he starts the path up the hill. Take Anuje, push rocks down on him and any he brings with him. Aim for the horses -- not all of them can be war-horses, and we only need to panic one for them to tangle, and hopefully they will turn on each other to keep a horse under them. Go!" Then she whirls and yells down the tunnel, "ROMANA! Need those bones NOW please, mishka! HE comes!"

Romana looks up from her corner of the room where she sits next to her careful collection. "Is heres, Brisa... oh my. Stupid Riders. Always showing up when not wanted."

Brisa coughs a short laugh, darting over to carefully grab up the tunic, and can't help grinning, "I'll just shoo them off then 'til we're ready, da?" She heads for the well shaft at a run, frantically trying to recalculate where trip ropes might go... then just sighs and shakes her head. "Looks like this is going to be a messy one..." She swarms up the rope.

The sight that greets Brisa as she crests out of the well is one of shattered nightmare. She has seen blood and death, but never such as this. The towns' forces turn and wheel on the plains below. The hoardings smoke, and in some places tall, ashen columns rise from the town. Black specks, below lie the dead, and even the finest banners are now tattered and torn. But what is worse is the single rider who has suddenly turned away from the front battle lines, cleaving a bloody path towards the shattered Temple... to Lord Random's Tower.

Benedict goes to a window, nervously looking out at the countryside. How soon will he arrive? Does it take a while? -or is his steed shod with the bone of those the rider has slain, making him fly as the winds of death? An idle part of his mind wonders where he picked that delightful little image from. "The Eastern Lords never cared one whit for other Temples, Lord Random," he says with as much patience as possible. "Yes, we would be safer in the Dayallan temple. Like I said, we've been preparing for his arrival, fortifying the temple. The Library, with all respect, has not been prepared." He looks back to Lord Random, eyes hollow with fear. "I am our Lord Hastur's Eyes, Lord Random," he says softly. "By his grace I have Seen much, much that is hidden from the masters of the Tarantal Temple. I have trod upon fey ground, spoken with children of the Second Age, seen with these eyes that should have stayed young, sights which have ripped from them the innocence of years." He shakes his head, looking out again at the world outside the tower. "Please, Lord... trust me, trust that Lord Hastur has let me See things for a reason, and that part of that reason may be to help save the life of you and your sister from He of the... Red... Scarf..." His voice trails off as he sees that single, lone rider break from the ranks of chaos.

Benedict whirls, eyes flashing. "If you would doubt me more, then look upon who approaches! Look outside of the window to your own tower, and see death, bloody death, riding here at speed! That rider wears a crimson scarf, a scarf stained red with his own blood when he cut his throat in adoration of Marin!" He almost dashes to the side of the Eye. "Lord Random, the avatar you called draws near, and he will by his own hand if need be bring this tower to the ground and bring scarlet death to you and your sister if we do not get you to a place prepared against his arrival."

Behind Brisa, Romana scrambles up the rope, struggling for a bit to pull herself from the broken hole. Brisa swears suddenly and viciously, then spares only a glance for Trystan and Anuje. They'll do their best. Time for her to try calling on this hill's rightful owner. She searches swiftly amongst the tumbled stones around the shaft on the hillside. She wants one that has a fairly flat surface, and which she can face east in front of. Should there be a bit of a declivity in it, that might hold water, she'll be even more pleased.

There are so many broken stones circling the well one might have thought there was an old structure there. The question is not finding a rock, but which to choose. Brisa can find three stones to serve. Each has a single different shattered remnant of a rune upon it. Horse. Water. Time. Her light cuts through the gray skies to follow Brisa's swift activities. Today only high clouds streak from horizon to horizon. Brisa simply picks the most east-facing one, with the best little declivity in it. Once she finds a suitable stone she kneels in front of it and swiftly dusts it off, gathering the dust into a small, neat pile next to the stone. Then she holds a full canteen in each hand and says a short but extremely fervent prayer over each of them, blessing the water and dedicating it to Dayalla. Next she makes a small declivity in the dust, then carefully pours a bit of the water into it, murmuring a blessing prayer for wells as she does so. Carefully, lightly, she mixes it into a paste. As she does so she adds a small, whispered prayer of her own when it's done, "Forgive me please, Lady, for how swiftly I do this. Were it not direst need for the innocents here I would give this the time and reverence it deserves. I swear, if I live past Your setting tonight, I will offer you a pyre for my fallen sisters here."

Brisa begins, her actions quick, her words swift and heartfelt rather than carefully ritualized, concentrating on Tashka's words in her mind, 'Strength, dedication, sound set of mind, oaths.' Order. She nods once to herself, "Dayalla, starry-eyed Lady of Wells, let Your blessings flow once again into Your temple." She carefully pours a little water into the hollow of the stone, then dips a finger into her writing paste. The wavy rune for water appears on the altar stone. Again she speaks, the language Ancient, "Dayalla, bright-faced Keeper of Time, let Your Order restore this temple." Gently she lays the tunic full of bones on the altar stone, then again dips a finger into the writing paste. The rune for time is next quickly written. The final rune: "Dayalla, golden-maned Lady of Horses, look once again with favor on Your temple." Brisa takes a slow breath, collecting herself, then with care lifts the unicorn's skull, setting it reverently on the stone so it faces east. She rubs her face once, her eyes very bright, then dips her finger one last time into the paste, and inscribes the simple rune of the Horse onto the stone. Brisa takes a deep breath again, bowing her head, then whispers, "Lady, a great wrong was done here ages ago... and now He comes again! Look upon our efforts with favor -- let me please help set it aright... and free my sister, your daughter, below!"

With a slow shake of his head Lord Random stands, and works his way towards the window. Climbing up and setting himself on a stack of paper, he blinks in the bright morning light. He spies across the landscape. The elder Hasturian just rubs his chin, looking at the panic below. "That is him, at the base of the stone? Working up the trail?" He mumbles, rubbing his chin again, "And what is your companion doing down there?" Then he sits back and begins to bustle through his wares. "What do I need... parchment... pen... ink..." He then makes his way through the stacks again, determined. But not to the stairs. To the wooden ladder leading to the tower top.

Benedict blinks. "Yes, that's him. And Brisa... she's... she's re-dedicating the Temple to Dayalla -- Lord Random! We need to go down, we need to get into the temple, we need to get to safety...!"

Lord Random looks down to Benedict and starts. "We need to do our Duty to Hastur."

Benedict looks as if he's been slapped. "Our... duty?" Then, louder, "Our duty?! As fascinating as being killed by Marin's avatar would be, Lord Random, we need to go to safety! We need your help to find a way to defeat him, to destroy him, so we... so we can live to relate what Lord Hastur has blessed us to See to others, that they might learn."

Brisa waits hopefully for a moment... then sighs softly. Poppy did always say proper preparation beat just about anything... and they're sure not prepared. Nevertheless, as always, she'll do her best. She rises, turning to stride over to the trailhead, drawing her bow and knocking an arrow, studying the distance to the galloping horse and its mad rider. Calmly she says, "Anuje, Trystan, go get the remaining spears we made, please." Romana stands nervously at the edge of the brambles, her stance both taut and nervous. One hand idly plays with one of her fancy earrings while the other is caught on her belly. Beyond... beyond the sound of clashing swords can be heard, at the base of the hill. Every now and then Romana blinks, perhaps picking up a different noise -- of someone getting closer and closer.

Benedict pleads with Random to come down to the temple, using every turn of phrase, every cajole, every veiled threat that he dares to make. Ultimately, though, it appears to be for naught; Lord Random is determined to do his 'duty,' as inexplicably as it might be to Benedict. It is a sudden turn, the small and wizened man in blue robes almost snapping around to face Benedict. One can almost hear his frail bones clatter beneath his skin as he turns sharply. He looks down to the shorter Brother, his wisps of white hair as if a wind had blown through them. "Brother Benedict Matthewsson! This is our duty!. We are Eyes of Hastur. We are about to witness the death of Marin's Child, and you would have us hide in the ground like runt merebeasts? By his Name boy, we are to witness for Him. We are the ones who See... and without our sight he is blind. Every single book in that Library, Benedict, was written by those who saw; and not a one by those who were told a story that had been passed along like an oversized tunic! Where should I be? Where my duty commands. Which, Benedict, is your duty too!"

Benedict bristles. All the frustration, all the pain, all the blood and tears from the entire journey ever since he left Tarantal comes to the fore, casting a hazy view to his eyes. "Lord Random! We are not by any stretch of the imagination guaranteed that spectacle! I'd like nothing better than to be able to go up to the top of this tower with you and be His Eye as witness to it, but frankly Marin's avatar is not going to be destroyed without a lot of help, a lot of luck, and a lot of the blessings of the Gods and Goddesses! I know the Library has tomes dating back to nigh onto the Second Age and I do not cast aspirations on the authors, on those who Saw for our Lord Hastur. But what do we do with that knowledge? Yes, we let Hastur see, we give knowledge to the Temple, we aid the Judges in their sentences... but what, in His name, do we do with that knowledge if we put it away in a Library?" Benedict takes in a shaking breath; his hands are trembling, clenched tightly. "Lord Random... Marin's avatar is here to kill you. I will do what I must to ensure that you and the Library survive his onslaught -- despite your best efforts to the contrary! And I will use the knowledge that Lord Hastur has blessed me with Seeing in His name to ensure that this Knowledge that we both have survives us this day!" With that, Benedict turns and dashes up the stairs, to the top of the tower, to see how close the rider is. Perhaps Lord Random will be safe, after all. Perhaps not. After today though, Benedict is certain that there shall be some sort of reckoning between him and the god he worships.

Lord Random simply watches as Benedict lectures him. He. The Master being lectured by the Brother. As Benedict turns his back on Random, the old man just frowns. Don't they teach respect for your Elders down in Grand Talantal anymore? Then again, they never sent the Knights I asked for... either. He takes a step forward. But what if the boy is right? The old man considers quietly. Then he just shrugs and makes his way to the stairs upwards himself. Even if I do die today, Hastur will see, Hastur will learn, I shall be taken to walk beside My Lord at last.

The tower top is a worn place, lost and lonely. The stones are loose, ill repair and time taking a dreadful toll. Bits of broken weaponry and rubble betray more desperate times, and the roof shingles are stained with sable ash and charcoal. Looking out, Benedict can see His carnage stretched out before him. The walled town and its tall columns of smoke, the wooden hoardings broken and colored with the occasional tongues of red and yellow fire. Horse and foot wheel at the base of the ruined temple, a bloody pavane whose cost can be read in the fallen bodies, like tossed stone, left in the shield walls' wake. And from here Benedict can see what no one else can, a lone rider swathed in black and blood making his way up the narrowed trail... making his way to the peak where Brisa and Romana stand. The temple top remains silent, waiting... waiting. Romana looks small, her midnight hair tousled upon the morning breeze.

Benedict puts his hands on the casement of the tower's top, sighing heavily. He looks around at the shattered landscape, his eyes eventually finding the lone rider. "There he is," he says softly. "Marin's avatar comes." He looks around, for some very heavy things that he can lob down upon the sod's head. "With some luck," he says quietly, "-the temple will be sanctified, and the avatar weakened." This stone should make a nice dent in that one's skull... Benedict frowns, then stands, looking over the parapet. Should he warn them? -or do they already know he comes...? He compensates by picking up a small stone, and lobbing it near Anuje and Trystan.

Brisa takes a deep breath, looking up uneasily... then she comes to a sudden decision. She turns, dashing over to the small altar she set up, pulling out her flint stones... and sets the tunic full of bones afire. It just takes one spark, just one, and the remains snap into a blaze so hot Brisa almost feels her face burn and her hair singed as she rapidly steps back. Behind her Romana gasps, her hand coming to her lips, caught as she watches the shaft of flame literally slam to the clouds above. A shimmer, a shattering, a silent roar that is almost blinding. Romana falls to her knees, bracing herself with one arm. And then like a dream, gone... just a memory. Brisa looks up. Looking east beneath Her gaze. Right into the eyes of a tall swordsman upon a destrier. Black and red is their garb. Barding shattered in places, armor showing the dark slashes of broken steel. A bloody scarf is wrapped around his neck, his eyes glazed; a long hammer, its cylindrical head almost a foot in diameter, black metal banded, its splintered head and foot embedded with cloth and shatterings of ivory shards. He seems twice as tall as real. And Brisa stands in his shadow.

Brisa stares for a moment... then yells in incoherent fury, the bow whipping up to fire directly into the horse's chest. The Horseman just laughs... and charges.

Benedict takes in a sharp breath at the spectacle... and another as the avatar appears. "It's him!" he shouts. Then, as hurriedly as he can, he dives for the stone he picked out earlier, taking it up and going to the parapet, the stone lofted high above his head. Unmindful of Lord Random standing there, he takes careful aim and lobs it with all of his might at the horseman. The Sunset Rider doesn't even notice the rock tumbling down from the tower top; he and his destrier smashing through the rubble directly towards the Dayallan. Her arrow strikes out straight towards the Rider's chest. Instead, however, it glances off the ribbed plates of the horses' neck armor, shattering. Brisa rolls just in time, and can feel the heat of the riders' passage above her -- and then hear the snap of leather and bridle as he overshoots and tries to bring his horse back around. Benedict bangs his hand on the parapet, stifling a vile curse. He grabs hold of another rock, a little lighter to help him aim it better, and hefts it, aiming and throwing once the rider slows to a stop and comes around for another pass.

Brisa glances around hastily, tucking her bow away as she weaves and runs between rubble... she needs a big rock near the one she tied the well's rope to. There's one -- she grabs the rope and yanks hard, flipping several feet of it up into the air and out of the tunnel. In Ancient she snarls quietly and intensely, "Now would be a very good time for You to show Your disfavor with a bit of a sun glare, Lady!" With a dramatic arc the Sunset Rider wheels his horse around, drawing up his great hammer once again... the Rider charges, his destrier's hooves slamming hard upon the ground... Brisa starts to head for the rock she has in mind -- then freezes between the two of them, as if caught by the sight of the charging Rider. She lets the hand holding the rope dangle behind her... just a little closer, just a little faster, please -- and maybe she can dive behind her chosen rock with the rope, and trip the horse and make a satisfyingly BIG crash! -and then all is lost in the most brilliant glare of white-hot light. Outside its radius Benedict cannot see; within, all is lost. Until Brisa is thrown out of the circle like a rag doll, her backwards path driven through brush and brambles. The front of her armor is shattered... and then, perhaps a quarter turn around the blazing circle the destrier tumbles out, slamming to the ground in an ungainly muddle of confused, riderless horse.

Brisa staggers painfully to her feet, one arm across her shattered chest armor, gasping for air. Romana is a scramble across the broken stones, seeking out Brisa, not looking into the glare, but looking to her companion. "Brish'khhya!"

Benedict blinks, leaning forward onto the parapet. "BRISA!" he shouts madly. He looks, or tries to look, back at the circle, and takes in a breath. The Rider's horse. The rider's riderless horse... And then he sees Brisa stand. Praise Hastur and Dayalla! he finds himself thinking. "Brisa!" he shouts. "His horse!"

There is a quiet on the temple top. Then slowly, with a scattering of rocks, the war-horse slowly stands, shaking out its head, its mane flying crazily. Benedict hesitates for a moment, then lifts another large stone, holding it at the ready to rain masonic wrath on anything that moves wrong down below. Romana wraps her arms about Brisa tight... and then immediately looses her grip. She steps back and looks about quickly, scanning for any sign of the Sunset Rider. Brisa winces at Romana's hug, then straightens painfully. She draws her sword, light flashing down the edge like fire, then heads doggedly towards the circle of light, not waiting for the horse to recover. Benedict pants as he sees Brisa cross the edge of Her circle. He decides at that point that he's too far, too far to do anything. And perhaps, too safe... He scrambles down the stairs, down towards the doorway, finding Lady Kay first, entreating her to strongly bar the door behind him after he dashes outside.

Crossing the circle of Her light is a treacherous affair. Once, twice, Brisa feels her feet just hit the edge of the well. Then rock and rubble and then the twist of her ankle upon a glare-covered stone. She lands and sprawls upon the ground, and is shocked when she hears the clattering of metal against metal. Beneath her must be the rider. But he is not moving. Brisa winces again from twisting wrong -- well, at least she's unlikely to go unconscious just now, what with all these agonizing twinges -- then just sighs wearily, feeling for the helmet as quickly as she can. If she can find it, she'll use both hands to shove her sword into it, as hard as she can... and then twist the sword sharply.

It is easy for Brisa to find the helmet. It is whole and sure. But the rider's head is at an extreme angle from his body. Brisa yanks her sword free, then hacks the head completely off. She closes one hand blindly on it, then carefully backs out of the blinding light. Then she stands slowly and carefully, bloody sword in one hand, the Rider's head in the other. She wearily walks over to the edge of the hill, so she can look over the town below... the town she and her sisters should be protecting... the town besieged by the mad riders. Let them see what's happened to their Sunset Rider... a moment to stare out over the carnage below... then she raises both arms high, sun-streaked sword and bloody head. She tosses her head back and yells at the top of her lungs, "DAYALLAAAA!"

Below, below, on the plains, the fighting stops. And something very strange happens.

The Riders upon the plains begin to turn on themselves...

As the carnage below becomes almost cannibalistic in nature, the white-hot shaft of light suddenly flares away and is gone, leaving all quiet upon the hilltop. Looking down from the parapets, Lord Random puts away his notes, making sure the ink is dry of course. Brisa lowers her arms and watches for a moment... then quietly tosses the head down the hill, watching it bumping and bouncing from stone to stone. Her voice is soft and doesn't carry, "That is for the unicorn..."

Benedict stumbles from the Library tower, sees Brisa emerge from the circle, hears her shout, a shout of defiance at not only the chaos riders but at the Third Age itself. Stunned into wonderment, he can only walk forward, looking out at the war-wracked plain as the riders turn against each other. The sight is more than he can bear, the portents and history of hundreds of years, of his own challenged faith crashing into him; as he collapses to his knees, He's dead, he thinks dumbly. Marin's avatar is dead... it's over. Allena and Tashka... they're freed. His riders fight among themselves to be the new Chosen One. And Dayalla... He looks at the circle as the ring of fiery glory flickers and disappears. And the faith of Dayalla... lives again, stronger than it ever has in the Third Age.

Brisa turns and heads back for the shaft into the ground, trudging slowly. She has a few more people she must check on. Romana slowly sashays towards Brisa, a small, bright smile upon her lovely face. A few feet beyond the destrier paces, looking for its master and not finding him. It does find a small patch of grass however. Brisa is moving like she's on automatic... she wipes her blade clean on the dead Rider's body, then looks up. She looks exhausted, sweaty, bloody, and grimy... but her grim expression does soften slightly at seeing Romana. She gives her a small, tired smile, then says softly, "Now we see... if it worked." She tosses the rope's free end down the well again... climbing's going to hurt, she suspects. She sighs -- duty calls -- she must head down to where she left the dama and the Verchovai chained. Benedict blinks, shaking himself to clear his head, standing quickly and managing to move over to the well. He is about to entreat Brisa to rest for a moment, he'll go check... but then he stops himself. Brisa would not be satisfied until she saw for herself. He'll wait until Brisa and others have started down the hole into the newly-reconsecrated temple, pausing before going down himself to look up to the top of the tower.

Deep beneath the earth in the shattered Temple, two prisoners wait. They can't hear what is going on upstairs, Tashka and Allena... and only Anuje and Roxanna for company.

Roxanna paces a bit nervously from the prisoner's hallway to the crevice and back again. "Bozhemoi... trust the old Eye to mess up. I hope they can pull it off." Anuje chews her lip and nods.

Tashka blinks, looking back to Roxanna. "You don't mean he's coming... now?"

Across the hallway Allena turns in her chains, looking away. "Not... again..."

Roxanna says, "We hope they're ready enough... but I'm afraid so. We'll just have to see, I'm afraid."

The elder Dayallan smiles, "So, once again we wait."

Anuje sits against the wall. "I wish I didn't feel so useless times like this. I admire Brisa."

Roxanna says, "She is rather good at what she does. I only hope she's good enough. At least the Avatar has been fighting already; with any luck maybe he's been hurt already... and he's been called to a rather difficult place to get into." Anuje nods quietly.

Tashka smiles, looking back, "And maybe they'll just get lucky. It could happen, you know."

Anuje says, "If she doesn't, I imagine we'll see him here." She shudders.

Allena looks across to Anuje and tilts her head. "What are you afraid of, Grandchild?"

Roxanna twitches an eyebrow at the 'Grandchild,' but waits for Anuje to respond. Anuje blinks. "Uhm... I've seen you both die. It looked rather unpleasant. I'm not too fond of the idea of experiencing it firsthand."

Allena looks across to Tashka and manages a soft smile. "It's not like we have a choice, little one."

Anuje blushes. "I'm sorry... I didn't mean anything by that."

Tashka tilts her head, looking up, her voice grim. "It's started."

Anuje blinks and listens. "I don't hear anything. You can tell?" Allena looks across to Tashka, her breath catching. For a moment there is a panicked look in her eyes, as both she and Tashka try reaching across the hall.

Roxanna says, "He is coming?"

Looking between Allena and Roxanna, Tashka begins to struggle. She pulls at the chains, as if frail flesh might tear through brittle darksteel... Anuje stands, not looking much less worried than the others, but moves to comfort Tashka, putting an arm around her. Tashka blinks in almost terror, trying to shake herself free from Anuje. "No, you don't understand! -if this ends it..."

Anuje lets go quickly, glancing at Roxanna and back to Tashka. "Tell me then..."

Roxanna looks concerned. "If it does...? What are you afraid of?"

Allena speaks up, her words a shiver... "We might be gone too..."

Roxanna's eyes go wide and she puts a hand to her mouth. "Bozhemoi..." whispers out from behind the hand. "After all this time..." She straightens up and tries to look encouraging. "At worst, you go to your Gods, then. Centuries delayed, but you have that chance. Better than staying like this until there's a Fourth Age, nyet?"

Anuje purses her lips. "Oh... yes... I hadn't thought..."

**KRACKSNAP!**

A link of darksteel chain snaps, ricocheting at so high speeds. She falls, she leaps, she twists, Tashka so desperately trying to cross the distance of the little corridor, her fingers reaching out, reaching... like reaching for the stars, so close, almost there, almost finger tip to fingertip, almost to her beloved... "Allena!..."

There is a silent swoosh, empty and forlorn. A pair of two hundred-year-old tunics just drift to the ground, gray fabric so worn and light; like dust they shatter upon the floor. The only thing left the forever stain of their blood...

Anuje blinks and stares at where they were standing. She sinks to her knees and whispers, "They're gone... free... do you think they're together?"

Roxanna stands in shock for a moment before the other meaning sinks in. "Anuje! This means they've beaten him!" She takes off for the central well as fast as she can run.

Silence is the only answer to Anuje's question. Anuje sits a moment longer and wipes her eyes. She stands, picking up the manacle from the floor and following down the hall. She remembers how dire the fight was going to be, and starts running after Roxanna.

As Brisa finally reaches the well, the pain in her chest making it hard to even breath, she looks down only to see Roxanna trying to climb up.

Brisa studies Roxanna for a moment with the blankness of exhaustion -- she was going to use that rope, why's Roxy on it? -- then blinks as it registers. She drops to one knee so she can give Roxanna a hand up onto the edge without stressing her chest any more. Roxanna scrambles up onto the lip. "What happened?" She looks around to see the headless body lying there. "That Him?"

Anuje waits for Roxanna to get to the top and then starts up after her, after tucking the manacle in her belt. Brisa pulls off her helmet and sets it aside, then sits back on a rock. She looks beat -- and it's a good bet by the horrific dent in her bloody armor that she's going to need it replaced. She nods silently... then husks tiredly, "Tashka? Allena?" Anuje arrives at the top shortly, the length of chain jingling at her waist. Brisa gives Anuje a hand up also when she's high enough, blinking at the manacle, one hand reaching as if to touch it... then she looks hopefully down the shaft. She sighs softly at seeing no one else below coming up, then looks wistfully at Anuje and Roxanna, "Did they... at least get... a hug?"

Roxanna sits down beside Brisa, and looks around for Romana. "They... didn't make it." Silently Romana walks up behind Brisa. Without a word, biting her cheek, she lays a gentle hand upon Brisa's shoulders. It slips, until she strokes the Dayallan's cheek. Anuje's eyes look a little puffy. She shakes her head and unthreads the chain from her belt. Roxanna says, "They... just faded out when He died. The links broke first, and they managed a touch, I think. But that was all."

Brisa closes her eyes for a moment, her face tight... then she pushes her sweaty hair back with one hand, leaving bloody streaks on her forehead, and just nods quietly, "I will look for a new star tonight then." She sighs, rubbing her eyes, then gives Romana a small, tight smile over her shoulder... then she looks back at Anuje and says gently, "May I have the manacle, kisa? To remember her by?"

Roxanna says, "I hope... I pray... that they're together now. But it's hard to say." Benedict blinks at the manacle, empty though it might be. It's not hard for him to feel sadness and yet, they are free, the both of them. He nods quietly in silent agreement with Roxanna.

Anuje nods and hands the manacle to Brisa as reverently as she can. "I thought you would." Brisa bites her lip at Anuje's comment... then takes the manacle carefully, and husks, "Thank you, kisa..." Tears slip down her cheeks, leaving streaks on her face, but she doesn't seem to care.

Roxanna returns to business. "And it looks like I'll have to put you back together, Brisa. Although... I'm quite pleased that you're not any worse off than you are. What happened??" Anuje looks anxious enough to hear, too, glancing at the body and towards the town.

Brisa blinks blankly at Roxanna, completely bewildered at the turn the conversation's taken... a moment later she shakes her head, pulling herself together, "Ah... da. The old one, Lord Random..." She blinks again, then looks at Benedict, "Goddess, Benny, why did he DO that?!"

Benedict looks to Brisa, and suddenly feels... embarrassed. He shies away. "He didn't know," he says. "Either he didn't know that saying the avatar's real name would summon him, or it didn't occur to him that he might need fear that one's wrath if saying the name would summon him."

Roxanna ponders this. "You know, Benedict... if it was the second, he was right. Maybe he knew more than you give him credit for."

Brisa looks around, taking a deep breath... she looks back down at the manacle, tracing it lightly with the fingers of one hand, then smiles quietly, "So... hate is not so strong after all..." Her smile is a little less shaky now, as she tucks it neatly into her belt, then rubs her face again... smearing it rather badly. She glances at Benedict, then shakes her head and grins, "When I was young my father would sometimes catch me doing stupid things for fun. He used to say that the Lady protects fools and children... and he didn't know which I was." She shakes her head amusedly at the tower, "Fools and children... Herself was watching out for him today, I think..."

Benedict opens his mouth to defend the old Eye... but then closes it forthwith. What else could describe Lord Random? he thinks. What else, in light of all that happened today? He only nods softly at Brisa's comment. "Yes," he says quietly. "I believe She was." The inflection, the subtle stress upon the pronoun is almost unconscious, but deliberate.

Romana gently kneels next to Brisa, and she seeks out Brisa's hand, to slip it between both of hers. She looks down to the ground for a long moment... and then to Brisa. Her words are soft and unaccented. "Two hundred fifty years. Long time to be in love, Brisa. For most, only a handful of days."

Brisa smiles down at Romana, her fingers curling around her friend's slender, pale hands, "I like to think love and faith defeated hate, mishka. I think that's how I'll see the manacle."

Romana smiles, looking into Brisa's eyes, mischievously light. "Love. Faith. And a big rock."

Brisa chuckles low, wincing slightly, then adds, "Don't make me laugh, mishka, please!" She takes a slow, careful breath before she answers Roxanna, "Well... I do not know, Roxy. All I know is that Trystan came tearing in, in a panic that the rider had been called already. Fortunately Romana and I already had all the bones together, so we came up here and made a makeshift altar, and then I set the pyre alight..." her voice slows, getting an awed tone to it, "...and there was a column of fire! And... when it cleared... there he was."

Anuje blinks. She gestures towards the body. "Him?"

Brisa nods, pointing over her shoulder at the horse, "Da, mounted. So... I called on Dayalla... and..." she blinks again, remembering, "...and it was... white, brighter than fire, brighter than I'd ever seen before... and only the horse came out of it. So... I went in after him... but I think he was already dead."

Benedict nods quietly at Brisa's story. "It was a miracle indeed, Brisa," he says, and looks significantly towards the tower. "And... it's been witnessed... and Seen. It won't soon be forgotten, as much as some at the Talantal Temple might wish it to be."

Roxanna says, "Seems to be missing a fairly important piece."

Brisa sighs softly at Benedict's comments, then just nods. She looks at Roxanna, "Don't think so? I took the head to the edge of the hill, and his troops turned on each other. That's about it, really. What did I forget?" She looks suddenly anxious, "You did get to talk to them, da? For the song for them?"

Benedict smiles at Roxanna's comment. "Indeed. And if you do not mind a young, foolish priest's comment, Roxanna... Brisa is too modest. What she did would make a good song, I think. She took the head to the edge of the hill, and held it and her sword aloft, and shouted Her name so that all in the valley below might hear her. And after a moment... the chaos riders started fighting amongst themselves."

Brisa blinks at Benedict... then grins a little shyly, "Benny... was Dayalla that did all the work, not I. And I would not have been there to ask for Her help were it not for all of you."

Romana quietly shakes her head. "Does Bennydict know why riders did that, Bennydicts?"

Benedict looks to Romana and shakes his head. "All I can think of was that they were fighting for the right to become the new avatar of Marin. Somewhere in that fighting one will emerge, one will cut his throat in the name of Marin, and one will become the new right-hand of that bloody-handed god." Then he looks to Brisa, grinning. "You underestimate what you've done today, Brisa. Perhaps Dayalla did all the work... but not a rider down there will soon forget the image he saw, the name ringing in their ears, shouted by you. Not too long ago, I was told that your faith was all but extinct. Today... you proved it was anything but."

Brisa chuckles quietly, "Benny, you are very kind, da... but I'll wager you crowns for stars that few in Bordertown will be glad to have been helped by a sword bitch." She smiles a little wearily, "Is the way of things, Benny... change is frightening for many."

Romana's brows just raise, "Change fun!" Then, looking to Benedict, Romana nods, "They always come back."

Benedict says, "Perhaps, Brisa. But they won't forget." He nods to the tower. "And also, the ones who most need to hear what happened today, will. If not from Lord Random... then from... another of Hastur's Eyes."

Brisa chuckles quietly at Romana, gently squeezing her hands... then looks up. "We shall see, Benny. I still think we do not need to advertise the temple here, so that some of my sisters may have enough time to come and re-open it... and I am also thinking we have a fine horse here... be a shame not to try to take him up. Pardon me a moment?" She'll rise carefully, patting her pouches until she finds one with a bit of oats in it. She shlooshles the oats a bit to attract the horse's attention, stepping slightly away from the others. "We still have to bring sugar to the Lady Kay also... we promised."

Benedict nods and sighs to Romana. "And I don't imagine there's an end to it." It seems so unfair. The Eastern Lords, the gods of chaos and change and entropy... they're as strong as ever. The Dayallans and the Coveners... they're shadows of how they were, all but names on winds... but at least that will change today. And speaking of names... No. Not yet. I can't tell Romana yet. I can't tell her that Marin's avatar had come from her mother's tower, not yet.

As Brisa stands the war-horse just flickers its ears, managing a dark whuffle. But the moment she shows the oats, quiet and peaceful as can be, the horse walks up to Brisa to retrieve the offered oats... Slowly Romana just turns, watching Brisa. Brisa feeds the horse, murmuring quietly and reassuringly to it. Romana's eyes widen a bit, and she just sits down. Brisa croons quietly to the big stallion, "Poor guy, bet you were tired of all that fighting without break, huh? There... let's get some of this nasty heavy barding off you, eh?" She turns to the others and sighs softly, "Wonder if we can go back yet... how's the battling going down there, anyone know?" With a single whuffle the oversized horse sets himself up, letting Brisa remove the barding. She unfastens some of the heavier pieces, letting them drop to the ground. It is light, easy to slip on and off, and the metal it is crafted from is black. Brisa studies it curiously... more of that darksteel, she wonders?

Upon inspection, once again Brisa is looking at a fortune. Darksteel, the black prince of metal. On both the destrier... and its Rider. She goes for broke -- she pulls all the tack but the bridle off, and that she almost takes off, lowering it enough to let the heavy, harsh, foam-encrusted bit out of the stallion's mouth, then hanging the bridle so the bit lays behind his mouth, so she still has something she can lead him with if necessary. She pulls up double handfuls of grass and starts scrubbing his sweaty hide as clean as she can, with the single-minded intensity of someone that's been hit with too many shocks at once, and now is concentrating on something straightforward that she understands. She says a little breathlessly over her shoulder, as she puts her back into the cleaning, "Think maybe we can sell the armor? I think it is darksteel, da? Not sure if we can sell this big guy though..." Brisa pats his shoulder affectionately, "Bit specialized you are, da?" then goes back to scrubbing.

Anuje walks over and takes a look. "Maybe it'll fit you."

Brisa blinks, looking down at the armor, and says a bit disgustedly, "Need a very good cleaning before I even try it!"

Romana sets herself down on a big rock, a lazy sprawl of Easterner. Leaning back comfortably, her brilliant blue eyes fall half lidded. "Sure? Would really want to wear His armor?" Mostly she rests her elbow on a branch and sets her chin in hand, to watch Brisa.

Brisa smiles a little ruefully, shaking her head, "Nyeh, not really, mishka. Think I'll take the hammer back for captain Garrick though... he might like it." Anuje kneels down next to the body and examines the armor. Brisa adds, "My colors-" She grins, looking down at her dusty, bloody, torn tunics, "-are... well, are usually white..."

Romana laughs, "Hang on wall in Dragonstooth, with Brisa's name."

Brisa chuckles at Romana, "If that's what he wishes, sure." She nods out at the hillside, "So... is the battling over or nyeh, mishka? Can you see?" -then smiles suddenly, looking down at the broken manacle in her belt, and murmurs softly, "Maybe now... now I have a device if I ever need. Like captain Koromov's dandelion."

Romana lifts her head. "It quiet seems, maybe?" She looks up then, her entire expression brightening, "Feather beds?"

Turning the headless body about, Anuje sees a stained and streaked set of darksteel plate. And while the finish is marred, the metal is unbent, its fastenings well maintained and recently polished. Anuje says, "Was he really two hundred years old?"

Brisa says, "Over two hundred, kisa, if he is the one we think he is... and by the shattered manacle I think he was. Two hundred fifty... from the Second Age." She grins cheerfully at Romana, "Da, mishka, feathers."

Anuje looks up at Brisa. "You'll be famous. That's not necessarily good."

Brisa smiles and shakes her head at Anuje, "Only if you tell, kisa... only if people tell."

Clapping her hands, Romana smiles, "And hot dinners?"

Brisa husks a soft laugh, wincing slightly, "Da, mishka... but please, only if you don't make me laugh!" She grins a bit ruefully, leaning against the stallion for a moment until the twinges go away.

Romana moves to stand, suddenly concerned. "Brisa... rest?"

Brisa nods quietly to Romana, "Soon, mishka... just a few more things we must do." She'll finish her somewhat rough cleaning of the horse, pick his hooves out, and then check his legs for any wounds.

Anuje frowns. "I think you should rest too, Brisa."

Brisa smiles a little wearily at Anuje and Romana, "My teacher Poppy says always a good knight looks to her horse and her friends first... just taking care of this fellow. He needs a little care, I am thinking, poor fellow..." She adds tiredly, "And... maybe he will not mind carrying a bit extra on the way down, da?" She decides to settle down on a rock though, once she's done checking the stallion, "Maybe... maybe I check me some too first, da?"

Anuje says, "Maybe Poppy meant when you weren't almost dead yourself, though?"

Brisa husks another soft laugh, wincing, then gives Anuje an amused glance, "Oh, mean, kisa, to make me laugh!" Anuje kneels down in front of Brisa and gently checks her. Brisa will, with slow, tired fingers, undo the buckles of her armor so Anuje can check her. Anuje purses her lips. She feels gently and then closes her eyes. She mutters a quiet prayer and a warm tingling suffuses Brisa's chest from Anuje's fingertips. Brisa sighs softly, relieved, as the pain eases.

Romana slowly raises herself, crossing the brambles to crouch next to Anuje, watching as Anuje heals her companion. She takes a breath quietly. "Wish that Romana could do that."

Brisa smiles quietly at Romana, "Like I tell Benny... we all have things we are special at, mishka." She smiles down at Anuje, "Spasebo, kisa."

Anuje sits back on her heels. "I'm sorry, that's all I can do for now."

Brisa says, "It is wonderful, kisa... trust me." She inhales slowly, not wincing, then grins, "You can tell jokes now if you want!" Anuje laughs. Brisa smiles, then tilts her head, listening... silence? or the continued sounds of warfare?

Romana smiles and then just reaches out. She lays her fingers light upon Brisa's throat, and then just lets them fall, tracing over sensitive curves until her hand tarries upon Brisa's belly. "Not hurt?"

Brisa smiles at Romana, "I'll need to heal more, mishka, but no pain right now, da." She grins, "And... I am thinking the healing I'd like to be doing is in Bordertown, with feather beds and hot meals, da? Shall we?"

Anuje nods. "Yeah... a warm bath sounds really nice, too."

Romana stands, looking to Brisa. "Why waits... Romanas want feathers and dinners... now!"

Brisa rises and will tack the stallion up again, after wiping off the worst of the grime... she's quite aware that the easiest way to carry armor is to wear it, after all! She'll tie the headless body, the helmet, and the hammer firmly behind the saddle, then give Romana and Roxanna a hand up into the saddle -- they're both slender, so it shouldn't be a problem on a monster stallion like this one. Anuje politely prefers to walk with the other young men of the party.

Brisa chuckles at Romana's words (with a faint look of pleasure that it doesn't hurt!), then takes the stallion's reins, "Then we're off!" She pats the stallion's shoulder encouragingly, "Hot bran mash for you tonight, eh?" Leaning back, Romana settles in to both the saddle and Roxanna, smiling... a hot meal and a warm bed awaiting the princess... Brisa mutters under her breath, "-and a steam cleaning for me, I think...!" She stands at the edge of the hill, carefully plotting a safe route to town that will take them past as many of the heaps of bodies as possible, so that they can look for survivors... but also keeping a wary eye out for continued battling on the plain.

And on the plains below the carnage of battle continues. Caught between town wall and far off forest, Marin's men turn on each other, cannibalistic... with the guard of Bordertown worrying the fringes of the self-destructive slaughter like war dogs on a wounded hart. Horses fall, horses scatter, and the bodies of the dead lie in a twisted pattern, a broken jigsaw puzzle.

Anuje picks her way carefully, walking alongside the mount. Brisa sighs and shakes her head, turning from the battle towards the big war-horse. She smiles then, gently rubbing his nose, and remarks wryly, "You know, big fellow, it's a shame you had to put up with brutal treatment and being considered expendable. Just think, if you and your buddies had just bucked off the Marinites, things would have been a lot easier all around! -for both you poor horses and my..." Her voice trails off and she blinks, looking up past the war horse's big head to Roxanna and Romana... Brisa blinks again, then murmurs softly, "The Lady of Healing... and her priestesses... and..." She stares at the war horse, her eyes widening with a sudden thought as she murmurs, "-and... the Lady of Horses...?!" She goes still... then laughs suddenly, turning and striding to the hill's edge again. The sturdy war-horse just whuffles, quiet and calm at Brisa's lead.

Brisa grins, tossing her arms up exuberantly as she stands in Her light, and calls out in an Ancient tongue over the battlefield! "Hey, you horses! You're Dayalla's children too! She didn't create you to be abused and brutalized! Throw off your cruel masters and come to us, and we'll try to find you riders that will care for you!" She stands and looks out curiously over the battlefield, half hopefully expectant... half-unsure.

There is silence. Absolute silence for a long heartbeat. A long, single heartbeat. Then the wind picks up again, snapping, tendrils of mist slipping through the underbrush, lapping at the broken stones. Until, until the tall and perfectly sculpted form rises high behind Brisa, between her and the sun, casting the Dayallan in shadow. Brisa turns slowly, one hand falling to her sword. Anuje blinks and turns towards Brisa and the shape, almost stumbling and catching herself.

Like a sculpted vision he stands before you. Easily more massive than the war-horse, the soft-gray-skinned creature is perfection in conformation, from hoof to wind-brushed forelock. Never has Brisa seen a horse like this, the ideal of horse, each ripple of muscle beneath his soft coat a symphony of motion. His glittering eyes simply capture the Dayallan, and she knows he is speaking to her, even if she cannot hear it. "Silly mortal, mislaid youth, thief of title, split in the hoof. How dare you. They aren't the little play-child's children. They are ours, of course."

Brisa's eyes widen, and she simply gapes for a moment. She has no idea who she's talking to... but she stutters, "I... I apologize... I meant it in good faith, I... uh..." She shakes her head, then adds cautiously, "Um... who are you, lord?" Anuje stands, rooted to her spot, staring and listening to the exchange. Brisa wonders a little frantically -- wasn't this ground hallowed to Dayalla a moment ago?! So... who's this, who apparently refers to Her as... 'the little play-child'?! She adds a little wistfully, "I just... wanted to help the horses..." then decides maybe shutting up is smarter here.

The tall stallion doesn't even drop its long, perfect face to look down upon Brisa. Instead he just tosses his head regally. "I am certainly not yours, filly." And with that he simply clipclops down the tall, broken hill, completely unconcerned for the harsh terrain. One heartbeat, then two, and the war-horse decides to follow. The strange stallion's path does not take him towards Bordertown, but into the plains below, straight for the battlefield.

Brisa wonders bemusedly why the horse thought she was inferring that... but shrugs and follows. If this er... deity? individual? can help her and her friends get safely to Bordertown, and maybe even gather up a few still-live horses and warriors... who's she to complain? Anuje blinks and moves to Brisa's side, saying quietly, "Uhm... do you think it wasn't talking to you... but to the horse here?"

Brisa smiles ruefully at Anuje, "Why would it be patronizing to the horse? I was the one that assumed Dayalla was the Lady of Horses. Come... I suspect he does not care to be kept waiting... few supernaturals do, from my extremely limited experience." She trots forward a bit, then takes a handful of the war-horse's mane to help her down the hill.

Anuje chews her lip and follows. "Brisa... do we really want to be going towards that mess?"

Brisa says, "No, not really... but I did say I'd help the horses if I could, kisa... and if my choices are to walk beside an obvious supernatural or make my own way past the battles..." she sighs softly, her eyes worried, "I... will walk next to the supernatural and hope even the followers of He of the bloody scarf will have some respect."

At Brisa's touch the great stallion just whuffles -- and the war-horse bucks! A squall and a tumble and two are tossed from its back. Harsh and hard Romana falls, a sudden and uncomfortable sprawl, while Roxanna meets the ground a bit harder, her head snapping upon a rock. Roxanna falls silent; Romana just looks at the horse, mouth open. Brisa gasps -- then dashes, horrified, to Roxanna's side -- goddess, she's heard of people dying from falls like that! Anuje moves quickly to kneel next to Roxanna's other side. Brisa snaps flatly, "Forget what I said... it can prance around all it wants on the battle field on its own. That was entirely uncalled for. We can stay on the hill for the nonce." Anuje lays her hands gently on Roxanna's head and mutters a soft prayer. She watches Roxanna's face for any signs. Brisa nods as she sees Anuje has Roxanna well in hand -- she turns swiftly to check Romana.

Obediently the war-horse follows his master. Romana just watches, eyes wide. Roxanna is still breathing most certainly; the harsh blow, however, sending the Atteran into the realm of sleep. Anuje's soft touch removes any pain from the Atteran, save perhaps a headache upon waking. Brisa sighs in relief that Romana is all right, and just settles on the hillside to watch quietly. Below, the Stallion makes a slow arc across the battlefield. And as he does, like a wave the other horses turn to follow him. All of them.

Anuje looks up in time to see the spectacle. "Oh... there goes your prize armor... but the fight will likely go with them, too."

Brisa shrugs quietly, "It was armor soaked in death, kisa. If that horse wants to really hurt me he'd take Khari... armor comes and goes."

Anuje catches her breath. "Brisa... careful what you say..."

Brisa sighs softly, glancing back at Anuje and says flatly, "I wanted to help, kisa. If this individual believes one must be punished for not saying the magic words correctly, despite sincerity in one's soul... then he'll know that already." Anuje nods and looks away. Brisa adds quietly, turning back to watch the battlefield, "And if he's really helping the horses, and wants my help... then... I'll keep my promise."

Anuje checks Roxanna again. "I think she'll be okay... not sure, though."

Romana just watches and follows, her eyes wide open, leaning against Brisa so lightly. below the carnage turns into confusion. Absolute confusion. Horses bolt, horses buck, horses drop and roll to get rid of their riders. A few hold on by some trick or another. But most, both Marin's and Bordertown steeds, break free, to follow the tall, pale stallion. Romana swallows again and whispers just one word. "Firstborn." Brisa nods at Romana's word, slow and silent, watching intently. She rests a hand quietly on Roxanna's still form, and puts an arm around Romana as she continues to watch intently. While she occasionally winces when someone gets caught on the horse as it rolls, she more often looks a little wistful as the horses gather. How lovely, to be able to speak to them so... she'd dreamed of being able to talk to horses as a child. A heartbeat after Romana speaks, the strange herd just seems to fade. To fade into the afternoon air, as if they just walked somewhere else.

Brisa sighs and shakes her head, then rises, her face carefully expressionless, "Well... looks like we will unfortunately have to bother the Lady Kay, I fear."

Anuje swallows. "What?" She glances to Brisa and follows.

Romana simply leans up into Brisa, answering the embrace by a slender hand placed upon Brisa's thigh. But as Brisa rises, Romana considers. "Garrick isn't going to be happy, no?"

Brisa glances quietly at Romana, then says shortly, "No. For trying to help the horses, I have effectively destroyed any good will we might have received from the town." She turns back towards the door, adding bitterly, "I won't make that mistake again." She heads for the tower silently, then hammers on the door, still carefully expressionless.

Anuje says, "Uhm... who's going to tell them?" She smiles weakly.

Romana's eyes sparkle, nodding to Anuje. "Anuje cunning."

Brisa is still staring at the door. She simply says bleakly, "I will. I did it." Anuje blinks at Brisa. Brisa's vision blurs a bit and she rubs her face roughly... then in sudden anger hammers fiercely on the door again before she collects herself once more.

Anuje says, "Do you intend to fight off the whole town?"

Romana looks back quietly. "If ask, tell what hearts say. If not ask, why hurt Brisas?"

Brisa doesn't answer... just leans tiredly on one arm braced on the door. It's been a really shitty couple of days. Anuje puts an arm on Brisa's shoulder. "Hey...you saved the town..."

Brisa shakes her head, turning away abruptly, "No. All I did was call on a goddess. She did all the work." She sighs, realizing Anuje didn't deserve that, and says tightly, "If the Lady Kay ever comes to the door, would you guys please make sure she checks Roxy? I... need a moment..." She strides quickly away to the far side of the hill from the town and the tower. She'll just sit on the far side of the hill. She's not able to forsake duty so much that she's out of earshot should she be needed... but she wants a moment alone.

Anuje stares at Brisa's departing back for a moment and sighs. She turns and kicks a stone across the courtyard. She speaks low, "How can she be so brave and strong, and silly stupid at the same time?"

Romana just stands there, her two steps towards Brisa caught short by Brisa's departure. She looks to Anuje and a sharp flash of hurt can be divined within her bright sapphire eyes. Then she takes a breath, to walk also to the far side if the hill. Anuje starts and grabs for one of her daggers. "Who...?" She looks around... then her hand drops from her dagger and she looks about in consternation, reaching up to run her fingers through her hair. "Should cut and dye again soon."

Sitting down behind Brisa, the tall easterner gently loops her arms about Brisa's shoulders. "Never... never see a Firstborn before. Thank you." Brisa is sitting tightly wrapped up around herself... she just nods shortly once, keeping her face hidden against her arms. Romana leans forward so she can kiss Brisa's cheek. Her kiss is light, her hair falling in silken waves across the Dayallan's cheek and shoulders. "One thing Romanas knows..." she rests her chin upon Brisa's shoulder, "-many more happy horses now, yes?"

Brisa blinks, thinking about that, vaguely distracted by silky hair... then sighs, relaxing slightly. Morosely she murmurs, "Did I do the wrong thing, mishka? I just wanted to help the ones with brutal owners. I didn't want to steal away the war horses of everyone... I mean, there must be some of them that loved their horses and were teams with them, like me and Khari?" She sighs tiredly, adding, "It would break my heart if Khari left... what have I done to the ones that really cared?"

Romana gently nuzzles, a soft kiss here and there, "Maybe... new friends they can now find?"

Brisa absently runs the fingers of one hand along the hair cascading along her arm and shoulder... she nods quietly, "I guess so, mishka... I just... I wish... well..." She falls silent, still bemused. Finally she sighs softly again, then smiles a small smile at her companion. Her tone is a little gently self-deprecating, "I guess... we should go back, eh?"

Romana hugs Brisa tight, refusing to let her up for just a long, long moment or two. "Not like Brisa can tell Firstborn what to dos." Brisa nods quietly at Romana's comment, her face going still again. Romana leaves her arm looped around Brisa's waist, letting out a long, long sigh. As they walk back they can see Anuje by the safely resting Rox, talking to herself. At the tower Benedict and Trystan care for Roxanna, helping Lady Kay finally take her into the tower... leaving Anuje, Brisa, and Romana alone among the overgrown foliage and the tall broken stones.

Brisa looks faintly puzzled as she walks over, then says gently, "Anuje? Kisa? Who're you talking to?" She looks around carefully, just in case, leaving an arm lightly around Romana's shoulders.

Anuje blinks and looks up. "Uh... who?" She laughs lightly. "The wind. Don't you sometimes?"

Brisa looks back at Anuje and shakes her head, "Nyeh. I talk to horses." She grins quietly in faint amusement, adding, "And once... flowers..." She looks up, then sighs softly, "Well... do we head for town or nyeh?" She looks out over the former battlefield with an assessing eye.

Anuje smiles. "So talking to the wind is different?"

Brisa smiles at Anuje, "I do not know, kisa. Animals don't talk back, but they do communicate. Does the wind communicate with you?"

Anuje says, "Do flowers with you?"

Brisa shakes her head quietly, her expression stilling, "Nyeh. Sometimes it's a mistake to try talking to strange things, I think."

Romana looks to Brisa and just gives her a look, "...promised feathers."

Anuje grins at Romana. "Maybe she intended we pluck them first?"

Brisa glances thoughtfully at Anuje... then shrugs slightly -- if she wants to talk about it she will -- and nods quietly to Romana, "Da, mishka, I did. I'm sorry it won't be as nice a return as I'd hoped for you... but we might as well start now while Herself is still above." She slowly and carefully heads on down the path. Brisa is more cautious now, now that there's no war-horse to help protect her friends. She's heading as straightly towards Bordertown as she can, not pausing to check for the living amongst the dead. Most important at this point is getting her companions to safety.

Anuje starts after and then stops in her tracks. "What...?"

Brisa glances over her shoulder at Anuje, "Da, kisa?"

Anuje swallows and glances around and then quickly catches up. "The wind is talking to me."

Brisa raises an eyebrow, but then only replies, "What did it say, kisa?"

Anuje's brows furrow. "Nothing important... just teasing... joking. I heard it when that... Firstborn arrived."

Brisa grins quietly, "Ah. Of course," and quietly continues along the path. She looks up again at the second comment, more curiously... but won't press her friend. Anuje thinks quietly to herself and follows along, keeping pace and looking around. Brisa shrugs again as Anuje keeps her own counsel, then focuses more carefully on navigating the recent battlefield.

The trail down the rubble is strangely quiet. the path to Bordertown even moreso. By the time the gates are reached She is high in the sky. Out on the fields there is no more battle, just the mercenaries seeking their wounded and finding their dead. Out in the field the funereal monuments arise, the Jvrillians raising their fallen upon the battlefields' trophies. The gates let them past, the general atmosphere of the town one of exhaustion. Brisa heads quietly towards Dragonstooth Inn... or rather, specifically for the barn. She has one driving worry she must deal with before anything else. The barn is still, well still for a barn. There is the occasional stomp and whuffle, the whicker and munck of feeding. The stable hand lets the three in before retreating to his own work. Anuje looks around. "Everything seems normal..."

Brisa trudges quietly and exhaustedly to the stall she knows, almost afraid to look... is Khari still there? The trim gray horse just leans out of the stall, her ears perked, recognizing someone's footfalls. Khari, however, just gives a Brisa a true you are three days late with my apples look.

Anuje smiles when she sees Khari. "See? Everything's fine."

Romana just walks past the stall, clapping her hands as she spies into the adjacent of "Dancer here too!"

Brisa sighs in intense relief, leaning on the stall door, resting her forehead for a moment against Khari's graceful head... then smiles ruefully, straightening, as Khari indignantly snorts and shifts. "Sorry, slatke..." She produces an apple from her pouch, breaks it apart, and feeds the pieces to Khari, almost greedily watching Khari's hungry snorting, her messy chewing, her imperious nuzzles for more... as if worried that Khari will simply disappear like a dream while she watches. Then she nods to the other two, "I must clean Khari up a bit or she'll never forgive me. Why don't the two of you get your baths now, and I'll have mine later?"

Anuje nods and heads up to the room. Romana looks to Brisa and shakes her head, "And Romana let Dancer go lonelies and without brushings?"

Brisa chuckles softly, then nods, "All right, mishka, we'll both clean up our friends, da?"

Disappearing into her stall, Brisa can her Romana whispering to her Dancer. Not in colonial, but in a soft, sibilant singsong. Brisa takes her time grooming Khari, pausing often to run her hands over the mare's smooth coat, her silky mane... she does a thorough job though, and part way through the process she starts to relax, even humming softly to herself. When she's done she looks pleased at how glossy and lovely her pretty lady looks... she'll feed her another apple, just for the good feeling of it. She leans over the stall door, dandy brush still in hand, when she's done, glancing to see how Romana's doing. She smiles quietly and lightly brushes Khari's soft nose once, teasingly, as Khari leans out interestedly to look also.

In her stall Romana has out her brushes and combs and is attacking her Dancer with playful vigor. She literally leans against her pretty mare, her palm upon soft fur following the stroke of a bush, as if just the touch were something to be treasured. Brisa smiles and leaves Romana to her enjoyment of grooming -- that's something she quite understands. She'll just spend some quiet time with Khari. If she knew of a place with grass she'd take her to go graze a bit... but just after a war she's leery of doing that. Finally there's the crunch of apple in the next stall, and Romana peeks into Khari's stall. By now, she is a very dusty and disheveled Romana. "How are Kharis and Brish'khhyas?

Brisa laughs softly, her eyes lighting up as she sees Romana, "We're fine, mishka... and you and Dancer?" She grins, gently rubbing a dirt smudge off Romana's cheek (if Romana doesn't seem to mind), "Ready for a hot bath now, slatke?"

Romana smiles, her smile softening as Brisa's fingers cross her cheek. "Dancers fine. Romanas fine... and hot bath so good sound, where find?" She loops her arm about Brisa's waist, leaning soft and gentle upon her, sapphire eyes once again sparkling.

Brisa blinks, watching Romana lean against her... she feels a little happily stunned -- Romana is leaning against her! -like she really likes her! -that is... so nice...! "Uh! Um, what, mishka? Oh! Baths, da..." She flushes faintly, hastily adding, "Da... well, they must have rooms here for baths, or even maybe we can have water brought up to our rooms? ahh... we should go ask, da..." She carefully and cautiously puts an arm about Romana's shoulders... then sighs in faint, pleased relief that Romana doesn't seem to mind. Romana nods, only snuggling closer as Brisa's arm wraps around her. Brisa beams suddenly, her tired and dirty face lighting up as Romana leans against her. There's nothing threatening them, she can relax a bit, finally... she has a bit of a silly grin on her face as she carefully walks next to the lovely princess. Slowly the two make their way back to their room, and Mordyn is passed in the hall. She just gives the two an odd look as she watches the them approach. Brisa blinks a bit at seeing Mordyn, her normal caution starting to assert itself, and gives Mordyn a politely inquiring look... maybe she has a message or something for them, who knows?

The tavern girl tilts her head. "Can I be a'helping you?"

Brisa smiles, remembering what Romana wanted, "Where might we get a bath, Mordyn?" Romana smiles, her head nodding, her softly tangled and disheveled hair drifting against Brisa's head and shoulders.

Mordyn shakes her head and laughs. "Public baths are down those stairs. They are always hot. Or we can have a big tub brought to your room. But that water will get cooled fast."

Brisa glances inquiringly at Romana, guessing she'll want to laze in the heat, "Public, mishka?"

Romana shrugs and smiles, "Hot, hot, and more hot."

Brisa grins cheerfully, then nods to Mordyn, "Public it is then. Spasebo, Mordyn."

The baths are located deep beneath the tavern, in a small arched room of very old construction. Not one pool, but a handful, are scattered amidst the dimly lit columns; each circular, each a different size. A mist rises from the water, and the floors themselves are warm.

Brisa sighs in relief as she enters the warm and steamy room... she's got some aching muscles that will really appreciate a good soaking! She grins as Romana exuberantly dashes ahead of her, following more staidly. Her step light, Romana slips across the tiles, tugging up hr tunic as she goes. Until finally it is loosed, a light-colored shadow drifting over the warm floor and a splash as she slips into the water, having claimed a small pool perhaps a handful of feet across. And while some pools are open and public, others are in niches for more privacy. It is into one of the latter that Romana disappears into. Brisa smiles, laying her things quietly on the far side of the pool from the general public, then slipping slowly, with a quiet groan of relief, into the pool. Her chest sports a truly horrific bruise from being kicked by the war-horse... she gives it a faintly rueful glance, then smiles quietly to herself again. At least she survived the blow... it will heal. and at least it doesn't hurt any more she reflects, her eyes half closing with the pleasure of the hot water.

Romana relaxes stretched out completely, just her chin above the water. She smiles though when Brisa's ripples tease her, her eyes opening just half way. Slowly she just, "ppprrrrrrrrrmmmmmmmmmmmsssss..." and then she stops. Her eyes go wide and she leans forward, her hand reaching out to follow the path of Brisa's black and purple bruise, "Oh, Brish'khhya!"

Brisa smiles quietly, gently catching Romana's hand in her own, her fingers twining comfortably with Romana's slender pale ones, "It's all right, mishka, truly. Anuje took the pain away. I'm sorry you saw it... I didn't mean to alarm you." She slides over in the water to sit next to the soap dish and sponges, deliberately trying to distract Romana, "Want your back scrubbed?" She blinks, distracted herself by the liquid spill of dark hair flowing with the steamy water... how pretty...

Drifting closer, Romana nods, slipping her fingers into Brisa's and gently squeezing. As she moves the water shifts over her lovely figure. Her sparkling eyes, though, are lost on Brisa, entranced by the fall of the Dayallan's own form, Brisa's eyes hypnotic for her. At Brisa's offer Romana just smiles and nods, turning and offering her pretty back. Brisa blinks again, shaking her head slightly -- she has just got to concentrate more -- this drifting off mentally is not a good sign! -although... she lets her fingers drift through the water, watching as silky ebony hair tangles on them... it is lovely... she blinks again a moment later, grinning at herself, and shakes her head. Soap. Right. She'll carefully brush Romana's hair aside over one shoulder, lather up a sponge, then gently start scrubbing. Three days' worth of grime... it'll be lovely to be clean again! Romana just sighs at the touch of Brisa's hands. Her eyes close as she curls her back, turning her head slightly so her neck arches, her hair falling to the side in a soft, sable cascade. Each touch, each stroke of Brisa's hands brings a smile or a sigh... until beneath the water her long fingers reach back to stroke Brisa's thigh softly, tracing little circles.

Tiredness is a gentle brake on passion... Brisa takes simple joy in just holding Romana close, Romana's wet hair clinging to Brisa's skin in soft sable curls, her pale lithe form cuddled close against her, wrapped in her arms, the peaceful scents of steam and soap drifting relaxingly through the dim, warm room. Sleep soon, she thinks with dreamy contentment... or am I dreaming now? -so sweet... her cheek rests against Romana's soft-hair, her head laid on Brisa's shoulder... and Brisa's eyes drift slowly closed.

Last modified: 2000-Jun-23 13:24:43

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