Zadown

Twelve Hammer fell through a protective field designed to contain only heat and fire, struck metal and shovered the air with sparks. It rose again and fell in a steady rhythm, each blow creating its own fireworks, sparks with a bang. The Dreamer reached into the fiery forge and grabbed the metal object he had been hammering with his heavily gauntleted hand and brought it up through the protective field to be examined more closely. It cooled rapidly in the dry, cool air of the Astral harbour and turned from a bright flame to a dim bronze-colored scale. For a passing moment a fiery rune gleamed on the surface, then it sunk deeper into the material and was gone from sight. He placed it deliberately on a blackened metal tray next to three other similiar scales, removed his gloves and turned unhurriedly around. "Ya, Janki? What is it?" The girl was wearing her practice armor, her wooden sword dangling from her belt, her long blonde hair tied up on ponytail. She had grown, but still looked tiny next to the tall planewalker - as close as she was, she had to look almost directly upwards to talk to him. "Heya, uncle. What are you working on?" "Oh, this? Ye'll need an armor if ye want to be my Grail carrier, young lady. Scalemail should do it, wrou'ht out of adamantium, neh? Hope ya like th' color." He gestured towards the forge as he spoke and picked up a finished scale, turning it around in the dusky lighting to show how it glimmered even without any strong light. "A metal armor, all for me? You know uncle, if I'd still be home I'd never been able to even see that much metal, unless I would've seen the Emperor some day..." Her cheerful voice turned wistful. Suddenly she seemed to remember something. "Ohhh uncle, remember that time when I was still small when I got my scar?" "Huh, when ye were still small? Yer still puny, mortal." He grinned at her, scars dancing across his face in a manner that would have been scary to most people. "But yes, m'lady, I remember. For me that was merely a few moments ago - time moves diff'rently for us immortals, Janki." "Well, then you remember the promise you made, right?" The girl had a hopeful look on her face and she was fingering the worn hilt of her old practice sword nervously. His playful tone changed to serious and his green eyes shifted quickly to deep, dark blue. "Ya, I do. I was wonderin' why ye never reclaim'd th' wish. So, what do ye want, then, m'lady Jankiize Towikae Vangaijuua?" She turned to look down, the nervousness now clearly apparent, and muttered something inaudible. The Dreamer kneeled down, his wards fading out around him, and gently grabbed the girl's armored shoulder. With his other hand he slowly, carefully lifted Jankiize's face to look at him by a finger under her chin. "Come on, now, m'lady. Ye have to learn to act yer position - a leader can never waver nor mumble, hmm? If ye have a request, say it, otherwise ye'll lose even b'fore th' game's played." "I wish ... I wish to visit my home, the Holy Tree." She stared at his scarred face and blue eyes and he looked back at her, completely serious, thinking his answer over before nodding. "Very well. We'll need a formal attire for ya, spirit-raiser's robes ... and we can't take yer warrior with us, I can't maneuver well enough on th' Lost Paths with two people in my tow, an' with th' war an' all, I need all th' maneuverability I can get." She looked suprised, her eyes growing wider. "We can go? You'll take me?" "I can hardly let ye go alone, now can I?" * * * The Dreamer sped along the Lost Paths, the slumbering girl trailing behind him in an emerald green sphere of protection that provided her with air and warmth. The Paths were crawling with troops, scouts, spies, refugees and couriers these days, but they made way for him, some of them even greeting him warily, some trying to flee or hide. He ignored both types with the same pure focus to his own travel, ran along the Paths with speeds only a few could match. His presence made the scouts of the Law frantic, but they could not foresee his erratic course and ran to their masters giving conflicting reports with only the fact that the Scourge of the Planes was on the move again constant in them. Finally, as his travel was approaching its destination, he arrived to well known narrow part of the Paths, a place where the various ways to travel Borderland-wards converged to one well-travelled road for a short distance. He accelerated, rushing forward at top speed to bypass the inconvinient spot as quickly as he could, as he sensed forces of Law ahead of him. A squad of high angels .. and a planewalker. I should have guessed. He unsheathed Pain, his eyes black, bottomless pits now. With a whispered word he conjured his two bodyguards to existence and moved forward again, this time slowly enough to allow the demon and the angel to keep up with him. The opposing forces slowed down as well as they noticed the Dreamer, the six angels flanking their planewalker captain. When they got closer, he suddenly recognized the other planewalker's aura and sheathed Pain again. "Greetin's, m'lady Faaye. 'Tis a suprise to meet ya so far from th' war front." Her voice was cold but she did not draw her sword or command her angels to attack. "Hei, Scourge o' th' Planes. Searchin' for more monsters to wake up? That another sacrifice ye trailin' behind ya?" The Dreamer shrugged and let Jankiize float closer, slowly turned the protective globe upright so Faaye could see the girl's face. His eyes faded to light grey. "She is hardly a sacrifice, m'lady. Lady Jankiize Towikae Vangaijuua asked me to escort her through th' Lost Paths to her home plane." "An' just why are ye escortin' mortals through the war-stricken Lost Paths, leavin' yer duties as a captain of Chaos?" "'S an old debt I'm payin' off, nothin' more nothin' less - an' that's the truth. I know better than to lie to ye, m'lady Faaye. Now, may I pass? I have no great desire to match my skill against yers with a mortal in tow, an' ye should know ye can hardly do much to me." She stared at him, gauging the worth of his words. "Very well, th' Dreamer, ye may pass. This time. Just remember it, will ya?" "I will, m'lady Faaye. Thank ye." He unsummoned his bodyguards and sped off again, without sparing a glance backwards, knowing that she watched him vanish into the depths of the Void. * * * Below them was the Tree of Life - a massive living being hosting a dozen cities and countless small towns and villages. The Dreamer and Jankiize stood in the empty air, the sphere she had travelled in gone now, unneeded here. He said nothing, watching the girl as much as the magnificient view in front of them. She was enraptured by the panorama, not noticing the careful attention the planewalker gave to her face. "Oh! We can see the Emperor's palace from here! That's a crime, watching it without permission or invitation." He grinned in not altogether pleasant way and the scars danced across his face, his eyes deep, dark blue. "Crime? As long as yer with me m'lady, th' only law ye are allowed to worry 'bout is the codes o' th' planewalkers, and as long as ye don't promise anythin' to my fellow captains of chaos, ye can't break any of em. I am above crimes an' laws, above jud'ment an' punishment." Her respone was a dubious look. She turned away to scan the Tree again, then turned back. "Can we go down now? It's cold up here, and I really want to see the capital and meet my relatives." "As ye wish." With a careless gesture the levitation cantrip that kept them up in the air was broken and turned into a flight, the pair soaring downwards with dizzying velocity. She screamed out of suprise and delight and he grinned in response, slowed them down and landed them artfully to an empty portion of a street. As she looked around curiously at her native but unfamiliar surroundings, he pulled a grey cloak with a hood out of thin air putting it on. When he was ready, he touched the girl's shoulder lightly and pointed to a direction. "This way, m'lady. At least if yer house is still at its old spot." She winced briefly, something that the already striding planewalker did not notice, then hurried after him. The short journey proved uneventful, even if people stared at the cloaked Dreamer who was a giant compared to the locals, and bowed to the girl who was wearing her spirit-raiser's robes. That made her feel both uncomfortable and elated - she felt their bows meant that she really belonged here, made her feel more sure of herself. In the end, they reached the house. It was still where it had always been, the colors of the House Vangaijuua flying proudly all around the gate. The two warriors guarding the main gate stood to attention as the Dreamer approached and grabbed the hilts of their swords, the senior of them stepping forward with a stern look on his face. "Halt! The servant's and courier's door is on the other side of the building, stranger." The response struck the Dreamer mute for a fleeting moment, giving Jankiize enough time to move to stand beside her protector. At the sight of her the two soldiers bowed deeply, saving them from the sight of the planewalker's crimson eyes and scowling face. The senior soldier turned to look at her with apologetic look on his face. "My apologies, spirit-raiser. You should teach your bodyguard not to walk in front of you like that - we did not see you at all. What name shall we declare to the mistress of the house, lady?" "Lady Jankiize Towikae Vangaijuua, warrior." The suprised look seemed out of place on his impassive warrior's face. "But ... as you command, spirit-raiser." He regained control of himself, bowed and hurried inside, leaving the junior soldier to guard the door alone looking forlorn and nervous at his new position of authority. The angry looking giant removing his grey cloak and revealing a huge sword sheathed on his back and both a metal crown and a metal armor, either alone worth a king's ransom here, did not make him feel any more comfortable. The Dreamer ignored the warrior's discomfort and turned to give Jankiize an annoyed, inquiring look. "An ill-mann'red bodyguard? That 's quite a step down from my usual occupations." "Just bear with it, uncle, please. For me." "Very well. As long as they don't try to tell me to hand over my sword, hmmm?" "As a lady's bodyguard, you are allowed to keep it." "Good .. for them." He scowled at the still gawking warrior, eyes narrowed and yellow, then relaxed and let himself fall into a light trance. When he resurfaced from it, there was a large company of warriors waiting for them, Jankiize looking anxiously at his direction. The Dreamer shrugged and moved to his new place behind the girl, took a few steps before the whole group halted again, everybody staring at the planewalker. "Ya? What?" "Err, uncle, you are supposed to take off your boots before entering a house here." He heard the warriors whispering as he took off his long black dragon-hide boots, but every time he turned to look at them they all seemed silent and impassive as stones. In his crimson eyes floated veins of yellow, but he did not say a word, only readjusted the sheath of his no-dachi before following Jankiize into the Vangaijuua house. It had not changed much in the last nine years - the walls were still decorated by old battle banners, tall and narrow paintings and ancient helmets made of bone and wood. Somewhere from the depths of the huge house the sound of a stringed instrument could be heard, but other than that there was an absence of noise, as if it had been a ghost house they were entering. The Dreamer and Jankiize, accompanied by their honor guard of ten warriors, sneaked through the house, both submerged in their own, different thoughts. They were ushered into a room with more warriors and a rather fat elderly woman wearing noble's robes. She had an unpleasant mien, reinforced by her too high voice. The Dreamer's appearance seemed to startle her for a brief moment, then she ignored him and turned her small eyes on the girl. "So, you are the girl who claims to be Lady Vangaijuua?" "Lady Jankiize Towikae Vangaijuua, oh revered elder. I was .. removed from this house at a young age, but all the required naming ceremonies have been held." "And what proof you have, little girl? You know wearing those robes without permission is a crime is punished by death by torture?" She raised her right hand. The candlelight glinted on her metal signet ring and the mood in the room changed distinctly, even if nobody said anything. "Well, well. May I see that, girl?" The sound of a sword being loosened in its sheath was suprisingly loud. The Dreamer, who could barely stand straight in the room, took a half-step towards the elderly noble. A dozen hands landed on a dozen hilts as a response, but he stopped there and growled in his thick accent that no number of translation spells seemed to ever make clear. His shimmering eyes seemed to burn in their sockets, his scars dancing across his face as he spoke. "Ye shan't address m'lady as 'girl', woman. 'Tis clear?" The woman struggled to ignore this breach of protocol but failed, turned to regard the planewalker coldly for a brief moment before talking to Jankiize again. Several warriors were having trouble keeping their faces impassive and were staring at the Dreamer with open hostility. "And who is this peasant? Your bodyguard seems rather lacking in the area of proper conduct, Lady Jankiize." "Uncle Dreamer is not a peasant! Things are different where I have been .. calm down, uncle. Please!" She was now almost distraught, trying hard to prevent violence that only could have one realistic outcome from ensuing. The repressed anger was making the planewalker drain too much ambient magic, the overflowing raw potential flickering around him in half-real shapes. Even the people of the Holy Tree, taught from little children to ignore anything out of ordinary, could not help but notice this last sign of danger. The local war magi were terrifying forces, and the warriors mentally categorized the planewalker as one of those, even if crazy and uncouth. They seemed to back off, removing their hands from the hilts of their swords. Even the elderly noble let her voice warm up a little. "Peace, Lady Jankiize, War-Magus Dreamer. Let us discuss these weighty matters over tea?" Jankiize hurried to answer, dreading what the planewalker, his purple eyes glowing with such a force they almost lit up the room, would say. "Oh yes, please, oh revered elder!" * * * Jankiize was staring at her food, looking dejected. The Dreamer was staring at her with his green eyes, scarred fingers softly drumming the restaurant table. "That didn't go as well as ye'd lik'd, neh?" "No. Not at all, uncle. How can they deny me like this, my own relatives?" "See, yer thinkin' mortal there, li'tl' princess, neh? Ye have to think power, that's what makes it all clear. This aunt of yers, Lady Uneeai, she's th' head o' a House now. If she'd accept yer claims, she'd lose her position, right?" "But .. but, she would still be the eldest lady in the House! This is not fair!" "Ya, but eldest lady isn't th' same as th' head. That's what even mortals are after, power, even if ye never reach our heights. Now ..." He felt it fly through the air, a malevolent enchantment, and reacted by a roared word of command that made his signature emerald green field of protection to bloom around the pair. The enchanted arrow bounced away as it struck the strongly woven ward, not even scratching it with its feeble runes of piercing and wounding, and vanished, flung beyond the eyesight. His mind expanded as a monster of a hundred tentacles, searching, seeking the source of the attack. The Dreamer found the assassin in a blink of an eye, sensed his dismay and astonisment. Leaving the bewildered girl behind inside his protective wards, he leaped the intervening 200 feet through the Astral and landed next to the assassin, disemboweling him with one fell blow before he had even had time to realize there was somebody next to him. His mind spread even further as he slowly glided back to where the girl waited, but found no more assassins nearby. "Well. As I said, think power. She wanted ye to vanish, it seems." "My ... own ... aunt?" She stood up looking almost as if the arrow had, indeed, found its mark. "It's not fair..." Jankiize's voice broke and she started crying. The emerald forcefield swirled peacefully around her, protecting her from any external harm.

Eleven B The Dreamer floated in the emptiness of the Void. This was the outter edges of the Borderlands and he could see the sudden chasm yawning after the last few pearly spheres of planes. Between him and those forlorn planes here at the edge of nothing was a small pearl, too small to be a real plane, at least to any casual observer. He knew however exactly what it was. It was the embryo of a new plane, the seed ... and it was about to wake up from its long slumber. It was already draining the ambient magic of the Void into itself with alarming rate, the unseen laylines of power bending themselves to funnel their raging rivers of raw mana into the small pearl. I've come here just in time. It is starting. The process escalated rapidly, by planewalker standards, and soon the small pearl was pulsing. With every pulse it grew first bigger, then a little smaller, then bigger than the last phase, growing slightly with every pulse. Around it flared a blinding display of magic, showing signs of potential, growth and creation with such strength the Dreamer knew he'd never be able to duplicate it. He floated a bit further, moving slowly in the pathless Void, not daring to chance the possibility of ending up too close to the corona of change. I am touched by enough Chaos already, as it is. A wry smile appeared briefly on his scarred face only to vanish as the pearly sphere the size of a small village in front of him seemed to explode to every direction, almost touching the Dreamer before halting its expansion. His eyes flashed yellow and his hand grasped the hilt of Pain, a reflex - then he slowly backed away and marveled the perfect sheen of the new plane. He stood there for a while, his reflection staring back at him with eyes of Astral blue, before he muttered a few words: "Farewell, master. I shan't meddle, as I said."

I'm pretty sure the people voting 'no' were using Almost Draconic Web-Browser and were actually trying to vote 'yes'. What goes around comes around... x_X

O_O

Whoaa... Google did not find any of the first three words Valdar used. Impressive!

Have you ever tried to claw your way through a floor because you were desperately trying to find a colder place? Have you ever thought "All it takes for X to happen now and the catastrophe is complete and total" seconds before X did, in fact, happen? Have you ever floated in a warm lake gazing to dark blue sky, suspended between two blue infinities, and felt like it should never end? Have you ever gone to buy booze with your face painted all white and while wearing odd goth clothes and escorting a young woman on a leash? Have you ever had your dream castles so badly gutted and crushed that it took years to get over it and the scars still make you wince, every day, almost every hour? Have you ever seen a movie so realistic and so horrid that you have almost passed out and you only feel better after a gin & tonic? Have you ever listened to russian radio because even the spoken bits between the music are better than the crap all the other channels broadcast, since ignorance is, well, bliss? Have you ever driven along a road so full of snow some of it comes over the hood and you feel like you are driving a submarine instead of a car? Have you ever come this close to having the last thought ever in this world to be "Oh man, dad's gonna be so pissed off I wrecked the car"? Have you ever laughed out loud to your own pain?

Congratulations!

Oh, and Salinye's Gwai-poem was, indeed, perfect!

Tall and thin warrior Hewing through planar soldiers Engraved with a history of scars Death capers in his wake Reaping the rich harvest of Pain Eternal life ending At his touch Myriad angels falling like snow Endless streams of blood Running over his armor * * * Vagabond of the Paths Archer and swordsman Lord of forests Dreamer's old apprentice Addicted to shinies Rue to any who disrespects the ears! * * * Edited to add a bonus poem: Zillion brothers All different yet same Dreamed shards Of a godslayer Waning to Nothing

Ten B "The tale of the Grayrim Chalice, you say, sir?" The librarian had an inquiring look on his old but well-aged face. He was almost as tall as the Dreamer and wore a grey, clean robe. His dark purple skullcap was the only colorful thing about him - his eyes and goatee were both of slightly different shades of grey and his skin the color of old parchments. "Ya, that should be th' one, librarian. It tells a tale of a city besieg'd by th' forces of Law an' the subsequent miracle of Chaos that saves them all, a cup with strong powers an' its own will, neh?" The old man frowned, disapproving both the odd accent the Dreamer used and the way he had interpreted the old tale. He turned to look towards the depths of the library and gestured slowly as he spoke with his exact, aristocratic old voice. "Well, yes, I can see it could be considered as an allegory of such events, if one would stretch one's imagination to such extent as to allow such deviations from the established truth, but ... we here, we merely store the information, we do not extrapolate upon the Facts. Not even the Facts of an old fairy-tale, as might be the case - not even then. As to law and chaos as elemental or manifesting forces actually influencing the history, present or future, I could point sir to a number of excellent works of philosophy that clearly state that that is not the case." He looked back at the Dreamer with a serious look on his face, clearly daring the planewalker to contradict him in some boorish manner. The Dreamer merely smiled wanly back, a gesture mild enough to not to offend the old man. "I am sure th' older of us two must be right in his judgement of these matters, librarian." He nodded to the librarian who nodded back, the librarian looking as smug as he could allow himself to be. "Neverth'less, I would be honour'd to see this particular tale, if at all possible. It is relevant to certain parts of my research, if ye can call my little project with such a grandiose name." "Certainly, sir ... if may I inquire as to what you are researching, sir? We do not often get the honours of seeing men with such a martial attire visit our dusty little library, so I hope my curiosity is forgiven." "No." The librarian blinked rapidly a few times, disoriented by the reply that crashed against his small mind as a huge tsunami of willpower, submerged his consciousness and was withdrawn. "Oh." He rallied, checked his robe and beard were in their customary perfect order and blinked a few more times. "Oh. Well, sir, this way, then." The two walked in silence deeper into the vast library, bookshelves that reached all the way to the gloomy shadows near the ceiling dwarfing both of the tall men effortlessly. For the Dreamer the silence was natural, a state in which he spent most of his time, but the librarian was still rattled by the odd turn the conversation had taken earlier and started speaking again to return to the comfortable, predictable world of academic small talk. "There is more to it than merely a fairly tale, actually, sir. Even if old fabrications and obscure folk-lore are not a fit subject for a real scientific study, they do connect to some known historical facts in an interesting manner. One of the other tales loosely attached to the same Mythical Janquevillian period of history and in particular tied to the chalice is a story of a brotherhood of knights - a sibling of the tale of the Grayrim Chalice, of sorts." The planewalker turned his head sharply towards the librarian and stopped. His voice sounded loud in the silent halls, loud and suprised. "Knights? Which particular knights would these be?" "Why, the knights of the Holy Grail, of course, sir."

The Lost Paths were on fire. Glowing red tendrils snaked through them, lead by bright pinpoints of power, planewalker captains and archdukes of various hells and abysmal planes, followed by their dogs of war. Some of the huge armies carried massive flags, the new symbol of the Chaos army blazing with brilliant colors against the darkness of the Void: the Holy Grail surrounded by the eight arrows of different lenghts, all of them pointing to different directions. And in the corner of the flag, almost impossible to see from this far, a small mage sigil - the Dreamer's mark, a burning flame in a broken triangle of Law from which two of the eight arrows of Chaos flee. It looks like the empty veins of the dead Void are pumped full of blood. And blood there shall be, rivers of it. It is time for the Eternal War to end.

Ten The usual drowsy silence of the Astral harbour was broken by the thwack of wooden practice swords. Two figures moved towards each other, fought for a while, disengaged and stopped to talk, then fought again. One was a tall, thin planewalker in shifting red armor, the other a beautiful young blonde girl in an armor made of wood and bones. Near the two stood a warrior in similiar armor as the girl, watching them from a distance. Above them hummed the portals, many of them dark and sealed now - behind them stood a large block of steaming ice, the faint outlines of a devil barely seen inside. The girl, Jankiize, attacked once again and had her sword flung into air by the Dreamer's clever parry. "'Twasn't that bad, but remember to hold on to yer sword, m'lady." "Yes uncle .. but you are too strong! If you really want to disarm me there's not much I can do." She pouted and kicked the stone pier before picking up her practice sword. The Dreamer shrugged in response, his eyes green. "Ah, I'm usin' but a fraction of my stren'ht 'ere. That particular move would've disarmed ya even if it'd been a li'tl' girl doin' th' parry perfectly, as I did. See, out there, out in th' Lost Paths, ye have to be able to trust yerself an' yer blade. Th' blade is yer life, an' ye are th' life of yer blade's - if it gets flung away ye shall be scarred." She sat down to gaze into the depths of the Void as he talked, glanced back up to the tall planewalker when he fell silent. "What is it like out there, uncle? And what is really happening that is keeping you away all the time these days?" He did not answer at first but turned to look where she was looking and let time flow past. She knew better by now than to pester for an answer and waited patiently. Eventually he turned to look down at her, his eyes astral blue. "Well, that is a long question. Given that ye lack th' patience of th' immortals ... th' Lost Paths are afire with th' flames of th' Eternal War, Law against Chaos. That much I have told ye before, but ... it is bad. Th' fires burn hotter than ever in my three thousand years of existence, an' where th' war used to be random skirmishes here an' there, now it has lines of battle, acts of war, wiped out planes, dead cities, places which have their potential crush'd." The Dreamer conjured up an image showing him and his two bodyguards as small dots standing on a desert floor, a massive triangle of Law burned into the sands, nothing living in sight. Her eyes grew wide. "That is what Law does? But that's ... that's just evil!" "That is among th' things they do, ya. Some of th' things Chaos does are even less pretty, to tell th' truth. We never kill th' potential however, th' chance for new beginings, as they do at their worst. Neverth'less, I'd never fight for Chaos if th' Law would stand still an' be content at what they have. As it is, there will be no neutrality in th' world soon. An' I've long since chosen th' side I cannot fight on." She looked troubled at the words. "Does that mean they could ... attack my home? The Tree of Life?" "Eventually, ya. However, 'tis not on th' path of the main war, not right now. At th' current rate of escalatin' hostilities, I'd say yer home plane might have 5 to 10 years before th' war gets close." "Oh." The silence grew between the two again, a comfortable, familiar thing. After a while, she poked him with her practice sword, a thrust he lazily blocked without turning to look. "Hey, uncle?" "Ya?" "So ... when do I get a real sword, uncle?" He smiled at the words, his scars dancing across his face, and turned again to look at her with his now milky white eyes, golden flecks of light dancing in them. "I was thinkin' of givin' it later, but I'm sure ye know well enough to handle one without hurtin' yerself or anybody else, hmm?" "Yes!" The Dreamer shifted his practice sword to his left hand. His right disappeared for a moment, then reappeared holding a sheathed katana. The black sheath was polished and ornamented with the thin lines of dark blue engraved oriental dragons on both sides. He let the wooden practice sword fall and grabbed the sheath of the katana with both hands, offered it sideways to Jankiize. "Here's yer sword 'Winter's Touch', m'lady - may it serve ye well." She accepted it breathlessly, slowly draw the slender blade out of the sheath. The katana had an icy sheen to it and the hilt felt chilly even through her glove. "Careful with it, Jankiize. 'Tis might not be an original Ammûrn Ôman-Ôa for I forged it myself, but it still is keen beyond anythin' a mortal smith could make, an' any blow with it will chill yer enemy to their very core. I hope ye like it, m'lady." "Oh uncle .. it is beautiful!"

Religion (or spirituality) is a tool for other people to annoy me. Or amuse me, sometimes.

Think I got all but one .. have to check out the original songs at some point, hard to 'hear' the songs without ever having heard them, if ya know what I mean?

Nine B The last of the sacrifices was finally drained of blood and was being prepared. The Dreamer frowned and turned to look up, through the ancient stone roof, to see the movement of the stars. He lowered his pale grey eyes and turned his gaze back to the here and now. "Hurry up, shadelings. We do not have much time." The dark shadows gliding around glanced at him with their dim green eyes but did not utter a noise, carried on with their own, slow pace. He ignored them knowing that they would not really react to an order like that and surveyed once more what lay in the ages old stone chamber. Out of the six stone altars on five each lay a woman's body covered in white burial shrouds, all of them perfectly white, bloodless, as if they had been made of marble. On the last middle one lay just a broken blackened dagger looking rather forlorn on such a place of honor. Around the middle altar on the stone floor had been made a circle of daggers, each of them pointing outwards so they made the symbol of Chaos. He could hear the moving around nearby in these ruins but for now this middle chamber only held him and his shades. For a brief moment he shifted his vision and the dark, rough stone chamber turned into a kaleidoscope of colors, the dagger blazing in the middle with the most vibrant of lights. It was connected to each of the dead woman via the aeons old altar system, not meant for this ritual but nevertheless perfect for it. All around the laylines of mana hummed with potential, the time of the heavenly conjunction drawing near. As he heard somebody speak next to him he blinked his vision back to normal but did not turn. "Ya, m'lord Yhelmiel?" "M'lord Dreamer, th' cards are without any question showing a conflict in near future. Th' possibility has finally fixed itself - 'tis unavoidable now, Law shall be here, very soon. I've dealt sev'ral variations, an' the spread of cards suggest they are here before or at th' time of the conjunction, alas." He turned his eyes to Yhelmiel and considered his serious but calm mien, nodded. Yhelmiel had the look of a very handsome, scarless man of about middle height wearing the garb of a wise man, small trinkets tinkling faintly every time he moved, his cloak being held in place by a brooch the shape of the mark of Chaos. He wore no visible weapons, but it was as common knowledge that his appearance was an illusion as was the fact he was one of the rare specialists in divining the will of the Fates with any accuracy. What wasn't widely known what he really was beneath that phantasm. The Dreamer turned away again and found what he was looking for in the ranks of the shades. His mere attention was enough - the shade called Zadown turned towards its master and floated to the planewalker, far quicker than the sluggish lesser shades. It was a black, colorless copy of the Dreamer himself, complete with a dark copy of Pain and strongly burning yellow eyes. "Yess masster?" "Divert all th' shades ye can from trivial tasks to defend this place. We are expectin' unwanted company, my son. 'Tis very probable ye'll be set free tonight." "Very well, masster. I sshall do my besst." The shade grinned and bowed, then floated away, redirecting lesser shades away from their more mundane tasks. The two planewalkers watched it go in silence, then Yhelmiel spoke softly with his raspy voice. "How do ye think it'll go, m'lord? No offence, but yer shades are hardly powerful enough to even slow down what Law has most likely sent against us, neh?" "Ya, but that can't be helped now, Reader o' Fortunes. We'll play with th' cards we've been dealt. If we can wake 'er up, this war might tilt to new direction, or at least slow down th' juggernaut of Law." "Perhaps. 'Ard to read th' fortunes of anythin' as chaotic as th' Maiden of Daggers - she defies th' cards and th' ways of Fate. So ... I cannot say if we succeed or not." Yhelmiel's eyes narrowed to show his dislike for undivinable futures. Him and the Dreamer were still staring after the long gone Zadown, both silent in contemplation, when an armored figure appeared from the direction the shade had disappeared to. His beautiful white and golden platemail was shrouded in constant transparent flames and he wore a heavy mace on his back. The third planewalker, for that who he was, had a full helm with a opaque plate of metal over his eyes, his own black horns sticking out from two holes. His demonic red skin was visible only where the helm left his maw bare. His greeting was loud and boisterous as his voice always was - it was made for battlefields and skirmishes, a voice to shout commands and challenges with. "Hoi ye two gloomy sages, how's the preparations going? And just when do I get to meet this feisty lady ya two promised to summon for me?" The Dreamer smiled wanly and answered, knowing that Yhelmiel did not like the demonic warrior much and especially loathed his humor. "Ha, I think th' Maiden o' Daggers might be a bit too feisty even for ya, Sir Golden. That aside, not sure if yer heard but our mutual friend the Law is going to give us a visit, sooner than later." "Yes, the gloomy sage of cards told me that already. My mace's spikes are ready, as am I. Too bad that ye forbid me to bring my army, as it seems we are found out even without .. what was it now, 'th' unmistakable trail o' a demon stampede that'd lead th' Law straight to our lap', was it?" Yhelmiel made a dismissive gesture and glared at Sir Golden. "They'd been 'ere ages ago if ye'd brought yer pack o' demon hounds with ya, and they'd sent an army as opposed to th' force they are sending now." The demonic maw opened up wide, showing the sharp yellow teeth that were in sharp contrast with the exquisitely beautiful platemail the demonic knight wore, and he laughed aloud. "Ha ha ha! Then we'd at least had a good fight, instead of this two sages and an army of shadows the ticks of my demon hounds could kill by accident, and me, against one of those Law planewalker parties. Well, I'll have fun until I have to retreat, but that'll be all. If they send the usual one with Patriarch and Faaye and Khalear, ha, that'll be a fight to sing songs about!" The Dreamer shrugged, almost as bored with the words of the demon knight as his associate. His eyes that had been a moment ago green were now almost yellow, and his tone had an acidic note to it. "Sages, ya? Ye could go ask th' Myrmidon about th' validity o' usin' that term with me, Sir Berserker. As to th' opposition we'll face, we shall see." "Ha ha! Aye to that! See we shall." * * * The stars were finally almost aligned, raw power flowing through the room with such a force even the planewalkers felt uneasy. Air shimmered blue, purple sparks flying now and then between the altars as the power tried to find a way to manifest itself. Yhelmiel was at the main altar, chanting a combination of a spell and a call as he had done for the last four hours straight. Sir Golden was nowhere to be seen, patrolling the outter limits of these old ruins. We've been granted more time than I thought. If they do not strike soon, we shall wake her up. And then ... let the Paths beware! A sharp, loud boom of spellfire and a sensation that told him his shades were mostly gone was the multiversum's mocking answer to his thoughts. At the same time the stars finally moved the last tiny step and the conjunction begun, Yhelmiel's voice raising to a frantic, shrill pitch. The Dreamer drew Pain and rushed to the direction he had heard the noise from. When he reached the mouth of the corridor that lead westwards, he cursed aloud at the sight: the demonic knight had been right in his guess and was now locked in joyful melee with one of Law's more accomplished knights, Khalear, both of them ignoring and being ignored by the outside world. Between the fighting pair were two of Law's brighter champions: the Patriarch, an unsurpassed master of the Art in all of its forms, and Faaye Khanthius. The Patriarch was clad in grey robes and wore a big, floppy wizard's hat. His outward appearance was that of an old, kindly man, but anybody could sense the power his words and gestures commanded. Faaye was wearing white from head to toe, a combination of platemail and leather. Fixed to her right thigh was a small crossbow and on her left side hung a longsword in a scabbard. The woman wore no helmet and her jet black, curly hair reached almost to her shoulders. The Patriarch looked angry, but on Faaye's open face was true fury. He stopped and spoke as he saw the Dreamer appear, lightning and thunder crackling around him. "I should have known this was of yer doings, Scourge of the Planes! To wake her up is madness even the Chaos should not touch, an insanity of the blackest degree!" "Save yer mutterings to yer fellow disciplines o' th' Law, Patriarch. Ye shall not pass!" The Patriarch brandished his staff as his response, roaring a true word with such power the world itself shook, the corridor around the Dreamer coming apart in an instant and his wards flickering, dimming. He reeled but unleashed a spell he had prepared earlier when he had been warned about Law's impending attack. Raw chaos appeared all around him, shapes without forms, colors from beyond the spectrum, violent currents that made the mass swirl and pulse. Through the chaos a single white bolt flew, but the concealing and misdirecting chaos-matter made Faaye's shot miss. The Dreamer pointed forward with an open palm, touched the chaos with his mind so he could control it, surged forward as a thousand different hands all made of raw possibilties. The attack swirled around the wards of the two planewalkers opposing him, hammered them with a thousand tiny blows. He sensed the Patriarch cleaving his way through the chaos and realized he would not be able to contain them both for long, shifted his assault to hammer on Faaye's shield alone while he let his body dodge drowsily the Patriarch's progress towards the central chamber. Another bolt blazed through the chaos, this one hitting his wards and bouncing off after weakening them. He let the chaos stuff to its own devices, knowing it would fade soon in any case, and muttered a quick temporary ward against psychic attacks. A hammering psychic attack hit the ward and crushed it apart, and the Dreamer let himself grin once for that small defensive victory while he danced forward through the fading but still opaque chaos. He thrust through the last feet or two of chaos with Pain and was rewarded by Faaye's parry, bounced forward to attack again. A complex series of feints and real attacks allowed him to scratch her wards with Pain, slicing the outtermost ones to oblivion. Still, he knew they were fairly evenly matched, and that Sir Golden and Khalear could fight for ages from the joy of it. A new series of booms of spellfire rocked the ancient ruins, coming from the main chamber. Yhelmiel is alone with Patriarch - definitely not an even match in combat. Hope he can chant very, very fast. He parried and feinted again, grinned to Faaye who grimaced back and tried to slice his wards wide open. He danced backwards, towards the main chamber, attacking enough to keep Faaye wary but mainly trying to defend himself. When he managed to finally enter the chamber and maneuver himself into a position that allowed him a glimpse of what was happening, he knew the battle was lost. Four of the five altars which had held sacrifices had been demolished by magic, and the sparks and shimmering lines of raw power were all wrong, crisscrossing the room in a pattern that spelt trouble. The fifth sacrifice was up and holding a dagger, but he could sense there was only a shard of the needed power in her, only an insignificant portion of the malevolent, chaotic Maiden of Daggers present in the bloodless corpse. Yhelmiel was held in the air by the Patriarch's magics, his usually impeccable illusion cracking, showing interesting things beneath it. So close ... ah well, time to go. This should give me the time I need, even against Faaye. A parry, a step back - and a small gesture that triggered the other spell he had prepared, a spell that powered itself with all the excess energy from the conjuction. The ruins exploded in a riot of light and shards of stone, the spell sending shockwaves along the laylines of magic.

Thanks, Yui! Ye poked me to this direction, ya know. As for the Dreamer going all mushy, that might be partially true .. but part of it is his concern how to protect his long-term time investment. How big a part, well, we'll see, neh? As we shall see how much of his hardness transfers to the little growing girl...

Prelude Eight B Slash. Pain bit deep into an angel, singing its song of ruination and death, the sword caring about its kill far more than the sword's master. Another slash, and a rare parry, something being actually bold enough to try to scratch the defenses of the planewalker. The war was wearing the Dreamer down, slash by slash, not wounds received but wounds dealt, blood spilt, armors, helmets and shields marred by the melody of Pain. A step and a slash, then a parry, a slash, a slash, a sweeping, scything blow that cleared some room to maneuver. And a slash. * * * ... a bit rough, but participation is not always about winning. Just wanted to give a short prose example of repetition, and lack of it - notice besides slash, parry repeats once, but song -> melody.

She lay sobbing in her bed curled into a ball much like the planewalker had been, out of tears by now. Despite what she had said, she fully believed him dead now. She knew the Dreamer was powerful, but all that had been so unlike him, so vulnerable, small ... so mortal. "Cryin' my funerals already, puny mortal, hmm?" "Uncle!?" She leaped up, hardly believing her eyes. The Dreamer was leaning on the doorframe to her room, looking wan and tired, dimished in some way but still unarguably alive, watching her with his very mundane-looking brown eyes. Jankiize bounced forward and gave the Dreamer a hug, tried to bury her face into his armor but backed off slightly when she realized how uncomfortable it was to touch the moving chaos armor. "Hey now, li'tl' princess .. I might've had my wards up by now, girl. Remember what I said th' wards would do if ye'd hug me, neh?" "Toast me! Ohh uncle, I thought you were dead!" He slowly and friendly disentangled himself, kneeled down to talk to the girl face to face. "'Ave more faith, puny mortal. Just b'cause I get a 'it roughn'd up doesn't mean th' end of me." "Am not puny, uncle. You just are tall." "There's more ways to be puny than height, m'lady." He tousled her hair, a very uncharateristic gesture, and then stumbled, having to brace himself against the wall to not to fall over. She tried to rearrange her hair to its normal perfect symmetry, her look and tone turning solemn as she saw his fatigue. "You should be resting still, uncle. Those wounds looked bad." "Ya. 'Tis true I was wounded to my very core, aye. I shall take yer advice, m'lady. Do not expect to see me for a week or so - an' do not try to bother me, youn' lady. I'll come see ye once I'm done ... an' I'll be askin' about yer studies, ya." The Dreamer stood up carefully, winced and bowed farewell. Jankiize finished arranging her hair and watched him walk away with the precise, slow steps of the old or grievously injured. When he was too far for her soft words, she whispered words only she heard. "Good night, father."

Nine Footsteps of smeared blood lead from the point of the stone pier, past the hapless devil frozen in primal ice, to the massive stone table that was kept here, out of the storage, all the time these days. The footsteps ended to a dark pool of blood that covered the whole floor under the Dreamer's large wooden chair. In the pool, its blade mostly submerged, lay Pain. On the chair, leaning to the scroll-covered table as asleep or dead, still bleeding from numerous injuries, lay the Dreamer. Some of the more serious wounds let out almost imperceptible rays of white light, as if something was glowing in the core of the planewalker and the wounds were deep enough to finally reveal his real nature. Or as if he was a fragile vessel to a star, now almost broken beyond repair. "Uncle!" There was real fear in the shrill wail. Jankiize tried to dash forward, was held back for a moment by his guardian warrior, but then freed herself and ran to the Dreamer. She paused briefly just before getting near him, then realized even his wards were out and reached forward to touch his cheek. At the touch the Dreamer opened his eyes, making Jankiize gasp in suprise - for she had thought him dead and the eyes were a color she had never seen before them to be, a rich, earthen brown. He smiled wanly and grabbed her hand, gently, smearing it further in blood and pushing it weakly away. Even his teeth were dark, covered in his own gore. "Hi, Li'tl' Princess. 'm sorry I've been .. so busy, lately, m'lady." His eyelids drooped, then he forced his eyes open again. Her eyes were wide open but she could not find any words to say, just stared at the Dreamer mutely. "L'sen, Janki ... 'f somethin' 'd 'appen to me ... go to th' Pen, an' ask ... for Valdar, or Yui, neh?" "No-o! You are going to be alright, right uncle? You need to!" "Mmm.. ya, 'm just t'red. 'akes m're than 'st th' most deadly planewalk'r o' all times to stop me, Scour'e o' th' Planes." The Dreamer smiled again and leaned backwards, hitting the backrest of his wooden throne with far more speed than necessary. The faint rays of light shining from his deepest wounds pulsed in sympathy, the brown in his eyes turned dimmer. Jankiize started to cry silently, tears falling from her pretty face. "N-need any.. anything, uncle?" "Mmm? Nah ... 'm goin' t' rest." He closed his eyes and drew his long, thin legs up, curled into a small, pitiful ball on his large chair. She did not move, stayed there to stare at the Dreamer and at the thin rivulets of blood flowing down his armor, his limbs and his chair. After a while, the red rivulets dried out but her tears still flowed, mixed with the pool of planewalker blood. Her tears dried also, much later, but she did not move before the warrior came and carefully escorted her to her rooms. * * * "Lady Jankiize, we should make plans how to leave this place." The girl raised her red eyes from the tome she had stared without managing to read a single sentence. The warrior was looking at her, worry etched on his worn face. "Whatever did that to .. him, will be far too powerful for me to defend you from, m'lady. And who knows what his servants will do now that he is dead, all those demons and angels? This place will not be safe." "HE IS NOT DEAD! He said he'll rest a bit! He can't die!" She slammed the tome shut, emphasizing her words with the loud bang and scowled at her guardian. He ignored her words. "We should go through that door to .. the Pen Keep. It can't be worse than this place, and if it holds any dangers I might at least be able to defend you against them, m'lady." "We are not going anywhere! Go away!" His look turned agitated at the direct order, but he bowed and walked away with almost open reluctance.

Eight B Pain sang a song of ruin, death, defeat, erosion and destruction. It split the helmet of an archangel, cleaved the shield of a dominion, then sank deep into the dominion's breastplate, soaking the Dreamer with bright blood and celestial dreams pouring out of the deep wound. He did not even notice, black eyes fixed beyond the battle. His body danced forward, swinging Pain in large, deadly arcs, blocking the rare counterblow with ease. Around the blood-soaked Dreamer the landscape was drowned in howling darkness, with frightening shapes forming and dissolving in the almost liquid gloom, rampaging demons appearing from the dark, vanishing again into the shadows with a grappled victim. It was one of the rarer battlemagics the planewalker used, part of its power the fact it was never expected. After this, it'll be useless for another 300 years at the very least... The wedge of demons, the Dreamer acting as the tip of the spear, sunk deeper into the white army of the Law. He slashed a leg away, crippled a wing, decapitated a heroic captain of which had been made a dozen songs. The flowing, gushing rivers of blood he created painted his armor deeper red than its usual wine red hue, turned his hair almost black. Without a pause he marched on, the long spectral blade of the Pain the only standard of his demonic troops. Almost bored of the slaughter, the Dreamer's eyes changed, shifted to the deep, dark blue of the Astral. His unique amalgam of dozens of different fighting styles reached a perfection as he forgot his hate and anger, killed the troops of the Law with calm, contemplative moves. The troops in front of him started to waver and crack, seeing the crimson furrow he scythed into their army, looking from afar into the depts of the seething black terror surrounding him. Then, from the sea of Law's troops rose up a heavy-bladed glaive, blocked one of Pain's flawless swings. The Dreamer swiftly stepped back, blinked his eyes effortlessly to red as a faint cheer rose up in the ranks of the enemy. The angels made way, creating an opening on the field of war. Muttering, growling and howling, the demons did the same, left their planewalker captain alone. For a moment he stood alone in the formed circle, inhaled hate and blood frenzy from the air to turn his eyes brighter red, armor, crown, hair all different tones of dark blood. Then the rows of angels opened and his opponent walked slowly to the ad hoc arena. He was a giant of a man, clad in dirty dark grey metal scale and plate concealed inside a white cloak, which he now tossed aside. That move revealed an assortment of weapons on his belt, a few more on his broad back. His neck was thick and his muscles could be seen even from under the armor - the horned helmet finished the image of an ox turned planewalker. The Dreamer saluted with Pain. "Hail, th' Myrmidon." The massive man opposite him made a vague replying gesture with his glaive, seemed bored of the whole affair. "Hail, th' Dreamer. Here t' get yet 'nother scar, Scourge o' the Planes, hmm?" The Dreamer struck Pain blade-first into the stony ground, grinned wickedly, his eyes fading to black in an instant. The gesture made the Myrmidon frown and the bored look vanished from his almost unscarred face. When the Dreamer spoke again, his voice was different, taunting. "No scars, Master of Arms. None whatsoever. To the permanent and utter death, Lord of Scars. Unless yer afraid to go against me, hmm?" The Myrmidon scowled and thrust his glaive to the ground. He raised his hands up cracking his knuckles, made a small insulting gesture. Seeing that, the Dreamer made a small gesture of his own. A mist rose up rapidly, swirled up to create a half-sphere over the two planewalkers, runes dancing wildly in the soldifying white globe. A few faint wails of those who had been caught inside of the phenomenon were heard from the inside, then eerie silence. The war ground to a halt all around the front, eyes turning towards the opaque sphere of mist everywhere. Claws were lowered, holy swords sheathed, as both sides fell silent, waiting for the unseen duel to finish. Time passed. Now and then light flashed inside the globe, barely seen from the outside, like faint stars seen through morning mist. No sound carried through the erected barrier, however, and no other senses could penetrate the pale veil. Chaos released parts of its unruly demon hordes as days passed, Law doing the same to maintain balance. In the end, only the planewalker captains remained, others joining the solemn vigil as they heard what was happening. Not much was spoken, even less across the gulf that separated Law and Chaos, the thoughts of permanent, irreversible last death quieting even the most noisy of the immortals. First month of the vigil was getting close to the end when the wild dance of runes over the globe of the milky mist turned first more frantic, then ceased. Earth shook once and something between a thundering boom and a low roar could be heard from inside the now fading sphere. The mist swirled and started to dissipate from the top to the bottom, slowly revealing a tormented landscape. The rock had melted and frozen and melted again, twisted to odd shapes by conjured storms and changed to the core by unleashed unrealities. Craters upon craters made up the ground, some of the holes burrowing to the depths of the earth. The air was full of smoke and vaporized stone, looked more like ash. As it flowed away from the vanishing bubble, it revealed a twisted glaive's blade stuck to the earth, the haft broken. And worn, tattered and wounded the Dreamer, leaning on Pain, standing in a wide pool of his own blood. Without a word, ignoring the crowd of planewalkers, he clumsily draw the Pain from the stone and sidestepped away into the Astral.

Wyvern's quiz, once again, shows what a genius Wyvern is - I rate it at least ROFL, possibly even ROFLMAO.

Eight The Dreamer sat at his table, reading a long parchment, his eyes dim yellow. Occassionally he glanced at Jankiize, who was reading one of his huge, leatherbound tomes. He had long since grown past the writings of that particular book but had kept it around, used some of the more difficult parts of it to teach Valdar. The warrior, silent as always, stood behind her chair. He did not look as worn as he had used to, but there was still a barely noticeable tormented quality on his face, the look of a mortal that had seen too much, whose duty had proven to be harder than bargained for. The comfortable, everyday silence went on, until the girl's voice broke it. "Uncle?" "Ya, Janki? Any difficulties with th' tome?" "Can't find any advice how to dispell protective runes, uncle." The planewalker gave the girl a sharp look, but could not read her impassive face. "What ya'd need that knowledge for, m'lady? I hope yer not plannin' to ruinin' the amulet I made for ya." "No, not that. I just want to know the basics. I ... need to know everything to become as great warmagus as my father was." "Well." He put his scroll down, frowning one last time at the news written on it, at the casualties and lost ground, at the still hostile tone of Owiric of Chaos, then turned towards the girl. "Ya see, th' high'r defensive wards need to be attach'd to a line of raw mana to power them. Some lower ones are self-sustained, an' as thus can, sometimes, be even harder to dispell than th' higher ones, if ye lack th' sheer power to crush th' fields they generate..." Transparent illusions flickered into existence around the planewalker as his voice droned on, explaining the finer points and weaknesses of different ward types with the thoroughness of immortals. * * * The stone pier leading into the depts of the Void was empty, both Herald and the Dreamer gone, all the remaining guards out of sight. The muted portals and the blue light from the runes marking the planewalker's vaults gave out their usual light - still, it was technically night, and her guardian the warrior was asleep, as she should have been. Jankiize grinned at the excitement she felt and turned back towards the door to the Pen. It was warded with very powerful runes and sigils ... to any attack coming from outside. This side had a simple lock and a basic ward set over the locking enchantment. She had already removed the ward and was now working on the lock, a few beads of sweat running down her face as she tried to master the powers she wasn't yet fully trained in. After a few tries she felt the lock give way and she mouthed a silent 'Yes!'. The door swung slowly open. Ahead her opened a dark, dusty, forgotten hallway. Few ever wanted to pass the door to the Dreamer's Astral harbour, and the twisty and confusing ways of the Pen keep allowed people to use other routes to move around the door if they so wished. Jankiize carefully looked both ways, pausing at the door, feeling suddenly doubtful about the whole venture. Then she looked back and realized walking back to her bed now would be admitting defeat, grinned again. She stepped out, still holding on to the door, then let it go. When the wooden door slammed shut and the circle of wards, runes of warding, destruction, distraction and reinforcement appeared on its mundane-looking surface, Jankiize realized her mistake in letting the door go. "Noooo!" She sniffed, moved forward to hammer the door with her fists but at the last moment shied away, remembered all too well what those wards would do to her if she did that. The dark corridoors that had looked like an adventure waiting to happen a moment ago were now gaping maws, ready to tear apart anybody foolish enough to venture into their depths. She looked first right, then turned and started dejectedly walking down the left corridor, her small hand wrapped around the hilt of her wakisashi. The hallways seemed endless, branching and crisscrossing without any logic. Jankiize leant on a stone wall, staring at the small globe of light she had managed to conjure. It had seemed such a great idea at the time, and now she was locked out here, lost in these empty, dead corridors that did not lead anywhere. Wallowing in selfpity, it took her a while to register what she was hearing - somebody was humming a beautiful melody, wordless tunes that reminded her of the dim memories she had about her old home on the branch of the Tree of Life. She stood up, her dim globe of light circling her small form, and saw a light behind the nearest corner, coming closer. For a brief moment she thought about running away, but the peaceful melody dispelled most of her fears. Then the man appeared from behind the corner, carrying a small lantern and humming to himself. He was clad in an assortment of black and green leather and metal, a pale-skinned man with pointy ears sticking out of his long black hair. From his belt two hung two scabbards, both holding a short sword. He stopped humming, took a few more steps towards the girl and raised his lantern. "And who do we have here, hmmm? You do not look like any of the Pen regulars, little girl." "Am not a little girl! I am Lady Jankiize Towikae Vangaijuua of the Holy Tree!" The man grinned, clearly amused, and bowed. His tone danced lightly between amusement and seriousness, taking some care not to anger the girl. "Right you are, miss. Jonathan Nor'Envar at your service, your highness. Now, what brings royalty like yourself to our humble dwelling, especially at this hour and without any servants?" His gentle words broke a dam inside her and she leaped forward, hugging his steel boot, desperate for somebody adult to take care of her problem. "I just wanted to .. *sob* .. explore a bit! *sniff* But the door got locked and I can't get back!" "Hey now, little miss, hey now. I'm sure it'll all be alright. Now, can't get back to where? There should be no doors in the Pen we can't get open, hmm?" She finished sobbing and turned to look upwards with her now slightly red eyes, looking suspicious. "You can open the Dreamer's door?" "Uh, that particular door might be a bit beyond my skills, miss. Why would you want to go there?" She gave Jonathan a look that suggested he was really stupid to ask such a silly question and detached herself from his armored leg. "That's where I live, silly." "Oh. Well ... as I said I cannot open that door, but I could show you where the kitchens are. Far better place than these cold corridors, miss." * * * Out of nothing, the Dreamer appeared, eyes black and Pain in his hands, flanked by both of his bodyguards. He bounced over a kitchen table and landed next to Jankiize, sword held ready towards Jonathan, the demon and the archangel staring at the terrified kitchen staff weapons drawn. She swallowed the piece of bread she had been chewing and stared at the Dreamer, eyes blazing. "UNCLE!" The planewalker's voice was unusually strained as he spoke, scanning the surroundings at the same time. "What, m'lady? Who took ye away? Was it him?" "He helped me, uncle. It .. was me who wandered out of the door, uncle." "What?" Jankiize sighed and grabbed her warm roll of bread again, gestured for the planewalker and the bodyguards to lower their weapons. She bit into the roll, muttering while chewing the bread. "... you really should've had a better lock in the door, uncle. Even a child could open it." She grinned.

Seven B Those narrow-minded fools! The Dreamer's eyes were two boiling cauldrons of bright blood, sheer fury manifesting itself as half-real demonic shapes around him as he in his anger draw more mana from the surrounding Void than he needed. Some of the excess made the runes of his warding spells burn with faint light, making them a visible sphere of words encasing the planewalker. He felt his control stretching and with effort he forced the anger deeper into him, painted a faint hue of purple in his eyes. "It was my decision - the owners object to the serving of blood in here" ... and yet they eat animals daily, who are almost as sentient as they are, live almost as long. Animals are far closer to those mortals than angels to me. He blinked, saw the raw chaos of uncontrolled magic swirling around him and snarled, sending some of the power and some of his anger into the depts of the Void as a bright crimson jet of hellfire. When he turned back towards the door to the Pen he saw Herald standing there with a case on his arms, a tattered scroll on the case. "Ya, what is it?" "I brought to you the rest of their stock, master. Also, Gyrfalcon sent you detailed instructions of how to contact his supplier of angel blood." Herald carefully set down both the case and the scroll and bowed deeply. The Dreamer frowned as a reply, then nodded. "Well done, Herald. Dismiss'd." The large archangel bowed again and moved away. The Dreamer walked to the table, lifted the case and pushed it towards the runes that floated against the dark background of the Void - the case levitated forward, disappearing abruptly just before touching one of the fiery blue runes. He did not pay attention, instead concentrating on the tattered, burned scroll muttering under his breath, eyes cooling towards vibrant purple. This is the devil who sent Gyrfalcon a bottle of demon's blood, yes, even if the ritual is far too complicated and ineffecient. It is time for somebody to pay... The Dreamer crushed the scroll, his fist bursting into a brief, bright flame. He tossed the ashes away, gaze locked forward, already muttering words of summoning and subjugation. Shouting aloud the last few words, different than any on the scroll he had destroyed, he tore open a portal to one of the Nine Hells. Without bothering to wait for the spell to finish dragging the poor devil through the portal, he thrust his arm in, grabbed his hapless target and pulled the devil out in a blink of an eye, the portal crashing closed almost before it had fully been formed. Suspended in mid-air by the Dreamer's strong arm was a short, humanoid creature of red and black hues, wearing a tattered and burnt cloak. His snake-like eyes were fixed on the planewalker's now again red eyes, a whimper escaping his wide mouth full of sharp, yellowed teeth. "Garbazak?" "Ghh .. ack .. yes, yes?" "Ye sold a bo'tl' of demon blood as angel blood to place I frequent, scum!" "No! Yes! It was a .. it was .. NOOOOO!" The Dreamer's eyes boiled with red fury again. Growling loudly, his voice reaching inhumane highs and lows, he uttered words of the only true language. Ancient winds, recalled by the chant, howled around the planewalker, carried with them the scent of ice and winter. The devil gasped for air, almost spoke but was rendered speechless by the unexpected display of high magic, stared as hypnotized at the Dreamer. He shouted loudly the last word, red extinguishing itself in his eyes to deep blue of Astral as the primal ice he had conjured grew around the devil. It opened its wide maw to wail, but the mouth froze open, ice forcing itself inside the creature. In a few more moments the process was complete, the devil wholly buried in transparent, blue ice, a look of horror and agony on its face. The Dreamer smiled now, his anger gone in an instant. He leaned towards the devil, smiling for a moment longer before his face returned to its normal impassive mien. "Think that'll teach ya, hmm?"

"Stand aside!" The warrior jerked to the side like a poorly manipulated puppet, forced to obey the words but not forced to do it with grace. The Dreamer brushed past him brusquely and knocked hard on the heavy wooden door the warrior had been guarding. He paused to listen, hearing first only muffled sniffing. Then Jankiize's loud voice penetrated the door. "GO AWAY! I HATE YOU HATE YOU HATE YOU! IF YOU COME IN I'LL KILL YOU!" "Hear me out, Li'tl' Princess." "Don't call me that! Go away!" "Listen to me, then, Jankiize Towikae Vangaijuua. Why..." "Go awayyy! I hate you, evil Dreamer!" His eyes flashed yellow and he grimaced, glaring at the door as if he had been ready to blow the whole door up. "Be silent! Open the door and listen to me, child!" There was a short silence. Then a sound of bare feet on wood, a door being unlocked. ".. yes, uncle." She stared at the planewalker, her eyes contradicting the words by boiling with such fury the Dreamer knew if that was him, his own eyes would be bright blood-red. He kneeled down, carefully grabbed the blade of the wakisashi Jankiize tried to stab him with and tossed it aside, never taking his eyes from the girl's face. "Now, see, Jankiize. 'Tis true, yer parent's being held here. Never thought why ye yerself are here?" He studied the girl, but she only scowled back. "No? Well, I was thinkin' to do this later, but yer forcin' my hand, child. There's a pact I wish to make with ya, m'lady Jankiize Towikae Vangaijuua of the Holy Tree, a pact I am offerin' of my free will an' by my true name - a resurrection an' new life for both of yer parents on the completion of a task. Ye interested, child?" "... you can wake up mother and father? Really, really wake them up?" She was clearly torn between believing and denying it all as lies, but the solemn face of the Dreamer woke up hope in her eyes. He nodded, slowly. "Yes, that I can. I can create bodies and knit spirits with dead flesh, give the gift of life. An' ye can hate me, if that 's what ye want. All I need that ye perform th' task I ask of ye." She looked suspicious again. "What task? What I can do you cannot? You are just fooling me!" "Naw, I'd never do that, Li'tl' Princess. An' as what ye can do an' I can't - yer hands can hold th' Grail. I need ye to be my herald, my beacon of sorts, my Grail carrier .. when I find it, that is." "When? WHEN!? I WANT MY PARENTS BACK NOW! I HATE YOU!" The Dreamer sighed again.

Seven Lines of power swam around the two like glowing rivers. Many of them fed their energies directly to the Dreamer, twisting away from their perfectly straight routes to attach themselves on him and his wards, some lesser ones powering Pain's wavering spectral blade. She is already tugging at them, unknowingly. Blood will tell, as it does with mortals. About time we started this. "Ready, Janki? This migth feel .. uncomfort'ble, at first." "Uncle, my ancestors has been warmagi and spirit-raiser for hundreds of years. Do begin." She was wearing simple dark blue robes that were a pleasant contrast against her pale skin and blond hair. Her features were faintly oriental, both the look on her face and the tone she used already imperial (and slightly impatient) despite her age of mere seven. On her otherwise immaculate face, a single, thin scar on her right cheek merely underlined the perfect symmetry of her countenance. From her belt hung a dagger in a jeweled, runed sheath - on one of her fingers was a large signet ring. Those two things were her only ornaments. With a shrug, the Dreamer tugged carefully at one of the tiniest lines of power, coaxed it to bend from its old route. Showing the last warning by narrowing his eyes at the last moment, he forced the narrow line of power to attach itself on the girl. She made a small noise, startled, then regained her composure, a concentrating look appearing on her face. Intoning clearly and loudly, she chanted aloud the words of a simple cantrip while pointing towards a candle. A bright jet of fire burst from her forefinger melting the whole top off the candle and hit the Dreamer's wards, winking out instantly. Her face lit up from a triumphant grin. "Ha, yer natural at this, just like ye said, m'lady Jankiize. Next time ye might want to use a li'tl' less force, tho'" "Yes, uncle - oh." As she fell silent, she turned even paler than she normally was and stared at something behind the Dreamer, was suddenly levitating a few inches over the stone pier of the Astral harbour. Alarmed, the planewalker realized she had connected two more lines of power to herself and was channeling the power without control through her. He could not see where all the power was going, but he had been aware something like this might happen and had a quick spell of anti-magic ready. The howling invisible vortex he summoned with a few muttered words jumped forward and engulfed the girl, severing her connections to the lines of raw mana. She fell back to the pier, stumbled but managed to stay upright, a confused look on her young face. The Dreamer moved forward and put a steadying arm gently on the girl's shoulder. She blinked a few times and turned to look at him, her mien slowly changing to something the Dreamer could not decipher. "Uncle..." "Ya, Janki? Did ya see somethin'?" The girl slowly removed his hand from her shoulder and took a half-step backwards. ".. I saw my parents, uncle." "Oh. ... well, ye've seen 'em during yer namin' ritual, neh?" She took another step backwards, the look on her face slowly transforming into a mixture of anger and fear. Her shaky voice was now chilled, carefully controlled, far too old for a little girl. "Yes, uncle. Then they were silent spectres, watching without a word. Now they had time .. no, now they could talk to me." He waited silently, stood up but did not turn his deep blue eyes away from the unwavering dark eyes of the girl. Her next words started as controlled as the previous ones, but her control started to crack, her imperial voice change into one of a betrayed child. "They said you hold them here against their will, uncle ... HOW COULD YOU? I THOUGHT YOU LOVED ME!" She sobbed over the last words, her breath gasping, tears running over her cheeks, over her thin scar. She draw her dagger, tearing it out of its sheath with difficulty, and shook it at the Dreamer, barely seeing him through her tears. The planewalker's small gesture, like slapping empty air, made the keen steel dagger fly through the air. As it vanished into the depths of the Void, spinning, she grabbed the hand that had held the dagger, turned and fled towards the bridge that lead to her own little castle. Standing alone on his stone pier, the Dreamer sighed. I was dreading this, but never knew she could use the tricks of the spirit-raisers on her own like that. Hmmm....