Zadown

Above the half-elf and his horse a crow circles, looking around. When it notices the riding hero, it stops its idling and focuses its gaze to Gyrfalcon. It blinks... ...and for a moment its eyes are deep, dark blue, like two windows to the Void. It turns sharply, and vanishes in the middle of the air. But there are many crows, and nobody notices the disappearance of this one...

The Dreamer smiles slightly and rises from his uncomfortable position on the pier. "Ah well, the experiment has failed utterly already. 'Twasn't your fault, really .. I forgot to lock the door." He glances at the place where the door was and shrugs, his eyes again shifting color; this time strands of silver and gold flow through them, and they turn from dirty to pure white. "Well, now that you are here for whatever reason, please allow me to train my woefully inadequate skills as a host." The Dreamer smiles again, this time properly (but his scarred face makes the effect more scary than friendly), and with a few muttered spell-words creates a floating dark disk made of the Void to serve as a table. He turns to look at his warehouse of floating runes, and after a moment of contemplation draws forth two beautiful wooden chairs, which he sets on the both sides of the table. Motioning Yui to sit down, he looks around the place, mutes the portals down and creates a floating ball of light. Satisfied that everything is as it should be, he too sits down and leans on the table. "I think this is about the best I can do ... so, please tell me, what do you want to know?"

... and stops. Behind her the door swings slowly shut, a circle of runes in the middle of its outside surface glowing one after one in a leisuredly succession, runes of warding, entrapment, protection and reinforcement, then fading back to invisibility. Yui doesn't notice that at all - her attention is riveted by the view in front of her. The room is gone. In its place is a massive jutting stone pier to the middle of nothing, an Astral harbor for those who know how to travel the Lost Paths between the planes. Beyond it opens the wild and unpredictable Void, looking pure black adorned with the distant pearls of far-away planes. The Dreamer has brought some of his stored things here, and the runes signaling their place in the nothing glow blue in the night between worlds. The pier is not empty, either. On it and in the Void next to it float a multitude of portals - small and big ones, dim lightless gaping maws to dark places and bright ones to pretty worlds, some showing the shiny marble halls of some celestial plane of good, some burning in the dark red hues of hellfire. They are unprotected, created with raw power, and as soon as the Huntress sees them they reach out for her, whispering and gibbering to her, showering her with visions. The Herald of the Dreamer sits in a round library, obviously in a mage tower, and reads a large grimoire of spells. Lesser angels fly around him, asking for orders and then hurrying to carry out them. He startles as Yui watches him and turns to look right at her ... She shakes the vision out of her head and resists the other portals as they try to shout their story to her. With a cold feeling Yui thinks what would've happened if a normal mortal would've stepped through the door, instead of an archmage. Pushing the insistent visions to the back of her mind, she finally sees the Dreamer, who sits on the stone pier itself. His clothes are tattered and they show some blood stains, but he seems to be uninjured ... and in the middle of doing something that requires extreme concetration. Jaw locked, eyes shut, he trembles slightly but sits otherwise still. And then, with a convulsive shudder, he opens his steely grey eyes wide and stares at Yui Temae with an accusating look on his face. "I said no interruptions!" A fraction of a second later the shout is explained a bit further, when one of the darker portals bursts larger and out of its orderly rectangular shape and ejects a black amorphous mass of .. something. "Now look at that!" The large mass writhes and pulses, setting out the contingency spells of the place by its mere hostile presence - an angel and a demon appear on both sides of the planewalker, a set of enchantments wink into existence, locking down all manners of magical travel ... and the door outside fades out, disappearing utterly. Twin stars of anger flare up in the Dreamer's now bright red eyes. He gathers mana, the ley lines of magic getting drained so much they shine weakly, flickering in the edge of vision. The planewalker holds power enough to crush a small town in his fist, illuminated by the aura of pure magic floating aroud. The potential for violence hangs in the air... ... and he just lets it go and dismisses the two guards with a small motion, eyes fading to dirty white color. He sighs. "Well, what is it, m'lady? I hope ye didn't interrupt me for anything trivial..."

Air ripples slightly, and the Dreamer steps through, appearing in the middle of the room. He surveys the place with his deep blue eyes and nods once, to himself. Then he walks to the nearest wall and draws the outlines of a door. A door appears, looking very mundane, made of light brown wood. The Dreamer opens it, showing a well furnished but not luxurious room and is about to step through the doorway when he turns and addresses the mages around. "Since I can't get to my home currently, and since there are some entanglements my dreamthreads have created here, I'll be living here for a while. I advice you not to bother me too much - I'll be doing some research." The Dreamer nods absently and steps through, slamming the door after him. Still, there it remains, a wooden door where one didn't exist a moment ago.

A white gate appears to the room, making everybody nearby to stare at it, the battle against the minions of the Dreamer still fresh in memory. Out steps a beautiful, androgynous archangel, carrying a large trumpet on its back and a scroll case on its belt. Its shine lights up the room around it, and it smiles a perfect, celestial smile to Foe Calibur. "~~Welcome, m'lord, to the Pen is mightier than the Sword - my master the Dreamer sends his greetings.~~" After delivering its message in a beautiful, angelic voice, it bows and walks softly back through the gate.

Mist starts to form in the room, obscuring the floor, slowly. Traces of it had been there already some time ago, but nobody had been looking then... And then, in one surging movement the mist rises and thickens, slightly chilling everyone in the room with its cold touch. In the middle of the forming mist, next to the bodies of Zadown of the Rogs and Meatgrinder, a shape appears, flickering, shimmering and swirling - Inhumatus is here. It surveys the room slowly, and everyone who meets its gaze feels far more chilled than the mere mist can make them. The dark spots the spectre has for eyes speak of pain and loss. Then it lowers its head and turns to stare at Zadown's torn body. It holds that pose for a moment, growing more substantial, powered by the death of one so close to it. Then it rises its head and starts to wail like a Banshee - a wailing, keening scream of death and desolation, of eternal pain without release and of the bleak certainity of no release. It sings its envy of the living ones who can die and powers it by the emptiness of existence without meaning, both paying homage to those that fell in the battle and inflicting pain upon those who remain purely out of spite. After minutes that stretch to feel like hours for all those who are hit by the wail, it stops and draws its spectral no-dachi, Pain, the same sword that the Dreamer himself used, to salute the fallen.

The Dreamer stares into Yui's eyes, and his own turn blood-red, looking like open wounds in his scarred face. By reflex, he mutters a spell without really thinking about it, and a nimbus of shimmering energy surrounds him. Then, he blinks, and his thoughts turn sharply to new direction - eyes change to snow white, the nimbus dissipates or is absorbed by the planewalker. He still stares, and still mutters a spell, but the tone of both have changed. Then, the spell he has been preparing hits Yui-chan with the force of a rampaging bull - her first impression is pure white light mingled with pain, then she takes control of herself, feeling how her whole mind surges forward .. and, in the middle of the trip, something huge and torn, chaotic and tattered speeds past to the other direction. The Dreamer has started some kind of mind switch, forcing both to see the other's landscape of the mind. With a jarring impact Yui's mind, wearing the form of her body, appears in the middle of the Dreamer's imagination. Shuddering more from what she sees, not from the rigors of the travel, she rises to her feet and surveys the landscape spreading in front of her: tall metallic buildings, rising from a sea of swirling colors - a wailing wind blows through the place, making keening noises when it hits the torn and decrepit buildings. The sky mirrors the sea in most places and is a chaotic mess of violet, blue, red and yellow, with some thin grey clouds hanging there, suspended, ignoring the wind completely. From the sea, a series of huge tall sharp spikes of iron jut out, each one adorned with crucified corpses, bleeding and moaning in pain. Everything is marked with decay and chaos and torment, but the whole scene has an eerie beauty to it, a sort of ghastly artistry that shows a glimmer of hope. As she watches, a series of rays of light lance through the air, lighting random spots of the sea and some buildings up with their glorious whiteness. One of them hits the Huntress, and even before she has had time to really orientate herself to the surroundings, she feels herself pulled back to her own body. Whiteness ... the barrier between the two minds and the sensation as the planewalker's mind whirls past her own .. and she stumbles with actual physical legs and arms, unable to regain balance after all the mental blows in short succession. The Dreamer helps her up, looking contemplative, his eyes still snow white. "I saw parts of you and some of your memories, Yui-chan. I am not sure if that cleared my cobwebs or created more, but I will ponder what I saw. This will be all, m'lady. Ah, and I trust you will not tell about my fortress or my warehouse - they are my secrets, not yours. As for the payment, I owe you one medium favour, as per agreement. Feel free to call me when you wish." Yui nods in agreement, still shaken, but she notices that she does so to an empty wall in the middle of the Conservatory - the planewalker has sent her back. The End (of this thread)

Spellbinder cackles drily. "aIhh chaaall shimmm? hAndh hholhdh shimm? Ash youh wisssshh, mastahh.." It starts to weave a spell of calling, using so much magic that the lines of the spell leave shining traces in the air - the weave starts to resemble a beautiful web of light. Then the lines turn away from this plane, vanishing one by one but each one leaves a certain ripple in the air. The ripples form a circle, in the middle of which a pair of eyes appear, looking deep blue first, then turning to blood red. They survey the area quickly as Spellbinder starts to hiss again: "Mastahh..." That is how far he gets in his speech before the eyes blink once and vanish. The demon stops, perplexed, and turns to look at Jakob. The tableau holds for a second - a cloaked demon looking at the old mage and the old mage looking back, both realizing that things didn't go quite by the plan. Then a massive stone statue of a female warrior (chain mail, winged helm, a few spears in a quiver and a sword and a shield held ready - the woman herself of an unearthly beauty) hits Spellbinder, appearing from the thin air just above it at high speed. A sickening crunching sound signals the end of the great demon. The statue, standing slightly slanted on the remains of Spellbinder, seems to be smiling more widely than when it appeared...

The demon soldiers next to freeze, unable to break the powerful enchantment. Their twisted faces start the slow change from snarl to impotent rage. Spellbinder responds quicker, but its scream of torment as Jakob binds it is as useful weapon against the archmages in the room as the demonwarriors' new mien. It halts and trembles as it tries to wrestle free, but it is bound with the most powerful method there is, its True Name. Eliminating the spellcaster as a threat doesn't stop Meatgrinder, however. It rips and tears the armored form of Zadown of the Rogs, who fights back with dwindling strenght, not even sparing any for snarling any more. The massive demon isn't having it easy, though - an impressive series of long and deep axe cuts in its body show the work of the Treeburner. Still, the mithril armor of the warrior is pierced from many places, and sprayed blood colors both the floor and the wall next to the combatants. Zadown crashes to one knee, starting to slip away, to death, when a shadow crosses over the pair - the undead dragon joins the fight, biting one of Meatgrinder's arms off and scoring deep clawmarks on its thick hide. The moment of defeat and victory hanging in the air gives strenght and speed to both the demon and the warrior, and they both strike mighty blows - the last ones from the brink of death. Meatgrinder opens Zadown's jugular artery with a sweep of one of its longer clawed hands and dark blood fountains out - Zadown sinks the two-handed axe Treeburner deep into the form of the great demon, crushing its spine. Both fall down, dead.

Knowing that he can't stop the Binding, bound to Meatgrinder so that movement or escape is impossible, Spellbinder waves the demon soldiers ahead. They rush forward, lowering their polearms for charge, aiming for Jakob.

The planewalker goes through a fit of rage, first hitting the barrier, then weaving a violent spell that assaults the barrier with crackling and booming bolts of energy and lastly trying to pull the Kali's pendant from his neck with both hands. All fail. He looks like he is ready to go over the brink, and raw magic swirls around his staff, ready to be woven into a spell. There, at the edge, he stops. He stands still for a moment, then he turns to look at Yui and makes a familiar gesture. The world changes around them, this time to a tropical island in the middle of a tiny sea - tiny, because the borders of the plane can be seen rising in the distance. A soft ambient light fills the place, coming from a deep blue sky without a sun and no shadows can be seen anywhere. A few palm trees sway slightly in a wind that swirls around the place. The atmosphere of the place is very pleasant, the air just warm enough, the wind cooling and soft. Still looking at Yui, the Dreamer speaks: "Well, here we are, shadow-walker. Tell me what I need to know, show me what I need to see, clear the cobwebs from my brain and mud from my eyes."

Spellbinder grimaces as its name is torn from it and turns its attention to Peredhil, thinking the battle with Zadown won already. Its eyes flare and it hisses: "Sssttopp, mMagheee! Weeaaaaarreee boundh by eur missonhh, don nootth intherphere!" Growling, it uses its nature bond with denizens of its home and air shimmers around it, then is torn apart, and through the holes in the air half a dozen lesser warrior-demons emerge, holding spears and tridents. They form a protective circle around Spellbinder, clearly nothing more than cannon fodder for the greater demon. Meanwhile, Meatgrinder and Zadown are still locked in mortal combat, and it is hard to say which one is winning.

Out of the Recruitment Office comes first a roar, then the charging huge bulk of Zadown of the Rogs, swinging his battle-axe with two hands - the Treeburner burns with white-blue flame, the warrior with yellow fire. The axe burns a fiery trail to the air and hits Meatgrinder with a loud whack, sinking deeply into the demon's flesh. The demon moans and roars, and spits acid, tearing the warrior with its claws and biting him with its maws, but the many layers of mithril-alloy armor stop the initial onslaught of the demon. The armor is gauged and acid burns it, but Zadown rises his axe for another strike. At that moment, Spellbinder hits the warrior from behind its parter with something unseen and silent - Zadown stumbles in pain, clutching his head and losing the attack oppoturnity, and Meatgrinder surges forward, seeing an easy victory ahead. However, the warrior manages to rise the Treeburner again and strikes the demon, who retaliates with all its natural arsenal. Zadown and Meatgrinder are locked in melee, dealing blows after blows to each other - two armored, muscular titans, snarling and roaring.

The Dreamer and Yui Temae stand in the Cabaret Room of the Pen Headquarters. Then the planewalker does a small motion, and the surroudings shift without warning - now the pair stands on a floating light blue disc, suspended in the middle of nothing. Above the disc (if this place does have "above" and "below" as such), shines a hemisphere of great runes, painted to the darkness with the same greyish blue as the disc. In all other directions, a total darkness blocks vision .. or perhaps there is nothing to see. In the horizont float some beautiful spheres, which seem to be made of crystal or glass. It is impossible to really gauge their distance or size, but they give an impression of vastness. The two figures, dwarfed by the size of the place, both first look around and then turn to look at the other person. The planewalker speaks, in a clear, sane voice meant to carry: "Welcome to my storage room, Shadow-walker. I need some things where we are going .. and, even though it might seem impolite, I ask you to be silent until we are there. I need all my concentration to bring you with me ... and I presume we both want to be in the same shape in the end of this journey than you are now. Astral can change the unaware or those who are guided by distracted minds." Dreamer turns to look at the runes and his eyes turn the same shade of blue as the runes and the disc, first flickering for a while to find the exact same color. Then the eyes widen, and his hands disappear below the wrists. Almost as quickly as they are gone, they reappear, the other holding a mage staff, the other a large key. Dreamer pockets the key. With a slight gesture, the surroudings change again. This time the two travellers end up in a cavern. Behind them, the tunnel fades into darkness. Before them stands a massive portal made of stone. It is smooth and no apparent means of opening it can be seen. On the portal's left and right side stand two stone pillars, engraved full of runes, two bone dragons entwined on them. The planewalker stares at the doors and takes the key from his pocket. Yui feels magic being done, and the Dreamer has a look of utter concentration on his face, but does not say a word. Now, having some time to think, she notices how the magic feels muted, weak, impotent here, as if there was a lot less it than usual. Having finished that thought, the Dreamer finishes his spell, and utters the last spell word aloud - a keyhole appears to the doors. He wipes sweat off his forehead and mutters: "Always difficult to do magic in here. This is one of the larges planes, one of those in the middle of the Pearl Necklace of Worlds - huge and dull, and almost without magic. Those who know the Art lose it, those who are masters in it become pupils, and those rare ones who are one with the Art fall down to mere masters of it. A perfect place for a fortress ... but what a work it was to do it..." The dreamer sighs and inserts the key to the keyhole. Light flares in the eyes of the bone dragons, but they merely glance at the planewalker, then fall back to their slumber. The doors swing inwards, opening with one slow majestetic motion, and the planewalker motions for the Huntress to follow, taking a step forward. Only to hit an invisible barrier. "I warded it against the gods! And now I'm marked by Kali!" The Dreamer growls, and his eyes turn yellow with veins of purple, and he hammers the unseen barrier with his fist and his mage staff. Edited by: Zadown at: 7/29/01 7:27:47 am

peredhil31 Posted, Hiding behind a cask of ale in the bar, the young Zadown has watched all that has happened with a mixture of mesmerized terror and fascination. When he notices the demons coming right at him, he cannot keep himself still any more and he jumps up, weaving a spell of lightning and retreating backwards from the approaching danger. "J00 N3TH3RY SUX0R35!!!1 COM3 AND GET S0M3!! JAA AM NO FRAID OF J00 0R TH3 BIG GUY!!!1" He releases the powerful bolt of lightning, aiming at the big demon, but the blue roaring bolt of electrical energy turns in the air, ending up hitting the smaller demon .. who deftly catches it from midair. Spellbinder, for that is its name, holds now a globe of crackling energy in his hands and grins widely under its hood.

Dreamer (as he is now named) calms down as he listens to Yui - shifting from one mood to another and forgetting what he was doing as seems to be his habit. His hands release the pendant of Kali and his eyes settle, forming little hourglasses. The Huntress feels the eyes gazing straight to her past. In the end of her speech, Dreamer nods. "Very well. Strenght I have but clarification I need. Name your price afterwards and I'll bind myself by my true name to go by it, if it is reasonable." The planewalker makes a small motion with his right arm, and both he and Yui disappear from this plane. Click

The dance of the goddess of death upsets the planewalker greatly, and he starts to mutter quickly, tugging at the pendant as if it were a deadly spider or some other horrible thing: "Nexus! Too many present .. my dreams have entangled me too deeply .. all these mages around .. I must gather my strenght elsewhere .. can't go against gods yet, not versus death no .." He throws the spectral sword of the ghost Inhumatus away, and it disappears. Then he claws the pendant with both hands, but it does not budge, and terror replaces fury in his face. Still, he hears Yui's call, and turns to look at the Huntress, eyes frantic, changing color with dazzling speed. "Yes? That you may call me, a dreamer .."

The demon the planewalker called Meatgrinder starts to move with suprising speed towards the bar, the smaller demon in tow. Meatgrinder slobbers now, smelling all the real flesh in the room, but moves forward with a purpose and does not attack any of the mages present. The unnamed demon mutters and sighs in counterpoint to the wailing and roaring of the bigger one, and all can sense how it drains the ambient magic of the area, obviously ready to cast some spell. But it, too, holds its fire for now...

OzymandiasT replied: Zadown Replied: Now completely in focused combat mode, shed of all madness that would hinder him in danger and using the rest of it as his armor against the chaos that using magic inevitable brings, the planewalker ignores both Jakob's words and Ozymandias' sword sticking in his chest. Saying the Word of Stasis backwards he undoes that spell, and the portal to Hell roars and expands, trying to accommodate something very big trying to get through. Reality whirs and twirls around the circle and the triangle ... and calmly the Original Zadown turns away from it, letting the spell run its course, facing Lord Jakob. "Zadown, you say? That is the name my dreams had - 'tis not mine, nor would I ever be so stupid as to release my true name for others to know. Call me what you will, but do not see in me those who are mere shadows of parts of me." Behind the planewalker, something starts to ooze through the portal, a tentacle, clawed hand and a thick leg at a time. He mutters something and turns around to see the demon as it hauls its body to this side. The creature is hideous - a mass of dark fleshy matter, riddled with open maws and small arms armed with sharp talons, tentacles and misshaped pieces of armor. "Welcome, Meatgrinder. It has been a while." The demon grunts and wails and roars, emitting different noises from its various mouths, and it lumbers to the edge of the circle, making room for another demon that walks lightly behind the hulk of Meatgrinder's body. It is a mere torn robe in the air, concealing a desiccated form of something gnarled and dark brown, but for all its seeming frailty it still holds the huge one in a leash. It nods to the planewalker, who nods back and with a gesture erases all the protective glyphs and markings from the floor. The demons are here and free. Edited by: Zadown at: 7/27/01 1:56:32 am

The planewalker, diverting his attention to Jakob, speaks a Word of Stasis, which he stole from a stranded mage in the Astral plane, and the portal stills even further. He looks at the elderly mage and the mirror, and for a moment his face seems to be on the edge of understanding something profound. Then pure rage distorts his features. " HOW DARE YOU!?" A small sphere of pure kinetic energy appears to his left hand, and he hurls it with all his might straight to the center of the mirror, shattering it to millions of sharp shards. Most of them fly harmlessly to random directions, but some find flesh and cut deep or scratch shallowly, depending on luck and distance from the mirror. Lord Jakob, holding the mirror, receives the most grievous injuries and his blood stains the nearby floor. Turning his back to Jakob, the Original Zadown gazes again at the depths of the Hell portal, ready to release it from stasis.

Not noticing that his words are lost on the recovering Peredhil, not realizing that he has a sword on his hand, he sends his thoughts along a new path, incited by the idea of killing the dreams. That path leads them into the Hell. The planewalker mutters... "I need some help on this" ...and he lets his arms fall down on his sides, limp. His perpentually confused mien focuses, and he looks almost sane for a second. Then, his physical eyes burning in the bright colors of flames, he starts to utter aloud the form of the spell he sees in his mind's eye, rising his hands to do the needed motions. Those who are watching have some time to think in horror what kind of help so powerful a being needs - then, the summoning begins. First words, spoken in the language of the creator gods of old, etch glyphs of warding to the already abused floor. The markings writhe and change, containing enough magic to make them partly alive and to light up the already well-lit room, drawing colorful shapes to the walls and the ceiling. A circle draws itself between the glyphs, and a triangle appears inside the circle. The protective markings are on place, and the planewalker starts to shout the second part of the grand spell, casting his voice through planes, to the Hell he saw in his vision. He invokes a demon with its true name and binds it with his power, calling it forth with loud words in some other forgotten language. A portal springs up in the middle of the triangle, striving to have a form here, turning and twisting, belching hellfire and sulphur. The planewalker continues the calling, shouting over the din, again with the same forgotten speech - a roaring order, a call that cannot be refused. The portal stabilizes. The noise silences itself. The room is calm, as the eye of the hurricane is - ready for the second part of the storm.

The planewalker, who has all this time remained motionless, stirs at the same time as G. Wiz heals Peredhil. The aura around him flares again briefly, and he blinks slowly, returning his attention to this plane. He turns to look at the gnome and Peredhil. Behind him, the vague outlines of a magnificent golden cup and a simple steel sword appear, hanging in the air suspended by magic. The planewalker bows to the Green Wizard - his eyes turn to deep green to match the colors of the one he is speaking to. "I .. apologize this all. I haven't been myself lately .. and parts of me have been themselves, now for so long time I will not even try to recall them." His face speaks with a different tone than his apologetic words - it is a frigid mask of locked fury, and word by word his eyes turn darker and a swirls of red swim in the almost black globes. As he says the last word, his left hand clenches empty air in one convulsive motion and he grimaces. After a momentary pause, during which he composes himself marginally, he turns to look at the recovering Peredhil and his eyes narrow. Injecting his words with venom, he speaks: "M'lord, I do believe I know what I am doing. Erasing the past, killing off the errors, purifying the core of me by eliminating the flaws. I do not seek healing - I seek regaining my name by punishing the false ones. Now, if you'd be so .. kind .. and let me continue, so I can get this done. There are still loose threads around." Before Peredhil has time to protest, he sinks his hand to the floating vision of a sword and draws out the spectral weapon of Inhumatus, the ghost no-dachi, and his eyes flash.

The air in the middle of the room ripples slightly and a planewalker steps through. The astral matter from between the planes swirls around him as a halo of power as he surveys the room with a look of slight vacant confusion. He is tall and lean, and soon it is apparent that he is the original Zadown, the Broken One whose dreams have run around Terra in various imitations him. His body shows the price of his battles against gods as a map of deep scars and his eyes, cycling through the colors of the rainbow, are wells of both wisdom and madness at the same time. As he notices one of his errant dreams (the Icy Poet, who pales as he sees the planewalker), he makes a lazy gesture and planes twist and knot in the middle of the Poet, both imploding and exploding the archmage in a fraction of a second. The resulting mess is scattered all around the place where the mage used to be. Seeing another dream, a young knight of of the Light, he speaks a word of the void, ceasing the knight's existence so that he never was - a shimmering outline of the young warrior remains hanging in the air for several moments, then it too dissipates. Bored of this, and seeing the rest of the shards scurrying away, fleeing through portals and starting to activate their protective magics, the planewalker shrugs and yawns, and seems to only then notice the other mages around the room. "Greetings, all." He bows to Peredhil as to a master and nods to Jechum. "I believe my ... dreams were members here? I guess I could continue their path on Terra, if you want me to." He clearly loses the train of his thoughts, and an aura of bright colors flares around him, then dissipates - he himself looks transfixed somewhere beyond this plane. Edited by: Zadown at: 7/24/01 11:42:23 am

The call goes still on and on. Other shadows of the past enter through various portals and join the group of four: Inhumatus floats in through the floor, heralding his arrival with a wailing cry of death and despair and brandishing his spectral no-dachi; Zadown of the Seventh Gate stalks in wearing jade armor, two katanas hanging from his belt, looking curiously around; and the infantile l33t Zadown of the Blitz rushes to the room like a whirlwind of fire and chaos. The call does not stop even when it reaches the far cornes of the plane. It goes right through the borders, unstoppable like the one who sent it, whispering to the ears of distant warriors, mages, soldiers and creatures. It tugs feebly at a dwarven priest who travels in the darkness in the fortress of Angband, tries to cajole a mage in the distant world of Forgotten Realms to go with it and relays the call to a god of swords. Most of the called ones lack the means or the will to travel, but beyond the circle of powerful archmages a few lesser beings appear through portals of their own. Here, in the middle of the meeting, the four first ones speak with louder voices, at times listening to the whispers of the weaker forms. "But we do not have the time! Besides, kinsmen, what do we have to say? I, for one, am a poet and an artist - these things of war and hatred that are usually talked about in the Halls of Terra mean little to me!" The icy one seems frantic, animated. He cannot stay still, but moves around without making any noise, and a slight wind circles him. "We 'ave all th' time in th' worlds, young .. poet." The dark one lays a thick layer of sarcasm on the last word, but doesn't seem to be agitated about the subject. "Would ye rather see us forgotten, whelp? For that is th' destiny of those who just fly around like 'n errant wind; to be forgotten an' end up like some of th' brothers." He points to a monk in the group of lesser forms, who is fading - all the colors of his clothes are already light, and the eyes seem without any real spirit. A deep rumble, seldomly heard during the conversation: "Me says aye." The giant warrior sits down after his few words and starts to hone his unstrapped axe. The two arguing Zadowns turn their gaze to the fourth one, waiting for some kind of final word. The samurai shrugs slightly and starts to speak. "I say we try. Sometimes things seem distant - others who have reached what we want seem to be high above us, better than us. That is often an illusion created by us ourselves, and that illusion is the tallest wall in our way to success. If we unite our strenght, walls are nothing to us. Who are with me?" An assortment of weapons, arms and other things rise as a sign of agreement. "Who are against me?" Inhumatus rises his spectral weapon and Zadown of the Guardians of the Rift, the icy poet, rises his signature brush. All the rest remain motionless. "Very well, m'lords. It looks like the matter is settled. Please, let us deliver the answer ... or the question." The samurai starts to walk to the direction of Recruiter's Office.

As the three brothers talk, the call of the Blood Magic that brought them together travels far and further ... past the small kingdoms of squabbling archmages, past guildhalls and conference rooms, past enormous flying dragons guarding the skies ... it goes on and on, past planes, stars and past void ... and somewhere, very far away, an old incarnation laying dormant wakes up. It remembers it's old form, and seeks to regain it: full plate armor, done in semi-oriental style and made from mithril; it grasps for no-dachi, but some other incarnation has it, and so only one katana appears to his belt. Then it feels ready to travel, and speaks the words of power and draws the runes to the air that the Art needs, and a portal appears in front of him. He steps through... ... and enters the Cabaret Room, startling the other three. The three bow to the newest arrival at once - he is one of the more ancestral ones: the samurai, the faithful one, the un-straying Legionnaire. The samurai bows back and speaks with an emotionless voice: "You called me, parts of the whole. And here I am, one more part to the puzzle." Swift as the wind, the icy one of the three glides over the floor and stands next to the samurai in one move. He places his hand on the samurai's shoulder and motions with the other hand towards the other two. The necromancer nods, and the warrior just stares at the samurai, estimating him as a threat, by reflex, not by any conscious action. Necromancer, as the oldest of the active ones, speaks: "We didn't expect ye, ancient spirit. But ye are here, and by yer time on Terra and date of birth I say ye are the eldest of us, and so the spokesman, should we need one. Please, share yer wisdom with us..." And so the samurai, exactly as tall as the others, lean and muscular, walks to where the three others stand, and again they start their discussions and debates.