[Mkguild] MK: Homecoming (1/3)

[C. Matthias]

>Homecoming
>
>     by Hallan Mirayas
>
>
>Heartbeat.  Falling.  Joy.  Rage.
>
>I know you were waiting for something.
>
>Heartbeat.  Falling.  Glee.  Sorrow.
>
>Hoping for something.
>
>Heartbeat.  Falling.  Obstruction.  Shattering.
>
>Find it.
>
>Heartbeat.  Falling.  Pain.  Fire.
>
>And when you find it...
>
>Heartbeat.  Falling.
>
>
>
>Kill it.
>
>
>
>Impact.

A beautiful way top open this chapter in the tale!  It's like reading 
a poem by e.e. cummings.


>     The day closed unspectacularly in the city of Lik, the sunset 
> obscured with a dull overcast and a clammy drizzle that set the 
> ground squishing underfoot.  The hard-won flickers of late spring's 
> warmth washed into the gutters like the blood of killed 
> prey.  Aside from an occasional grumble, no-one remarked on its 
> passing.  This was the edge of the Giantdowns tundra, in the shadow 
> of the Great Barrier Range, and spring was always late in 
> arriving.  This was normal, and there were more important things to 
> do than wish it were otherwise.  The vampires emerged from their 
> crypts, attended by their retinue of skeletons and zombies.  The 
> werewolves shrugged out of their human forms, preferring their 
> shaggy lupine coats.  The moondogs prowled the forest edges, 
> keeping watch for prying eyes.  The drakes and gargoyles patrolled 
> the skies for the same purpose.  The lutins and men honed their 
> weapons and burnished their armor.  The army prepared for war.
>
>     For that is what Lik had become since the collapse of Nasoj's 
> empire: the home camp for a growing army of invasion.  Lilith, 
> daedra goddess of predation, had visions of succeeding where the 
> prince of the daedra had failed: the destruction of Metamor Keep, 
> and the army she'd gathered at Lik was her weapon.  It was almost ready.
>
>     In another world, it might have struck hard and well.  In this 
> one, it would not live to see the dawn.

A wonderful description of Lik here; the last line just ends the 
scene perfectly.  Very effective setting the mood.

>     The same evening ended in a clear, gentle twilight a few hours 
> later in Marigund.  Lamplight glowed golden in the courtyard of the 
> World Bell as a productively busy day neared its successful 
> conclusion.  Workers heaved on thick hempen lines attached to 
> pulleys hanging from an iron frame, straining to settle a silvery 
> statue of a toga-clad woman onto a tall ivory pedestal.  "Blast, 
> this thing's heavy!" grunted one of the workers over the creaking 
> of the ropes.  What's it made of, lead?"

Minor nitpick: I suspect the evening ends earlier in Marigund as it 
is further to the east and south during a time of the year when the 
days are getting very long up north.

>     "It's a temporary replacement for the World Bell.  More 
> accurately, it's the predecessor to the World Bell, made during the 
> latter days of the Empire.  Master Thadeus has studied the device 
> in detail and can tell you more than I.  Thadeus?"

I really liked the device you crafted here to take the World Bell's 
place.  Very intricate and it has an elegance that suits it well to 
the vagaries of wizards!

>     Melissa Marcus, a dark-furred cat-woman from distant Metamor 
> Keep, finished closing the largest dragon's claws around its pearl, 
> pausing in her reply only long enough to buff a spot of tarnish 
> from the old drake's face.  "Yes, Master Thadeus."  Her whiskers 
> arching into a faint, playful smirk, she brushed the drake's 
> articulated whiskers into place with the backs of her fingers and 
> then playfully kissed it on the cheek.  "There, Grandfather.  Now 
> you look properly dignified."

Metamorians are starting to get out and about I see.

>     "That is correct.  It's a one-to-ten scale, each step ten times 
> stronger than the last."

Like the Richter scale for earthquakes.  A nice parallel there, 
intentional or not.

>     "Ten steps, Guildmaster?  But there are... eleven..."   The 
> workman trailed off as the statue's pointing hand swung round, 
> ignoring the blue flare rising in the northeast to lock steadfast 
> facing northwest.  One by one, the dragons awoke.  One, two, three, 
> four...  Eyes began to widen.  Five, six, seven...  Was it 
> broken?  Eight, nine...  It had to be broken!  A ninth-level event 
> occurring the moment the statue activated?  Ten...  Tenth level?  A 
> breathless pause followed, and then the old drake roused himself 
> and lifted his head, casting his gaze to the northeast along with 
> the others.  Alarmed gazes all across the courtyard turned as one 
> to Guildmaster Demarest.  "What does it mean?" asked the workman.

Silly workman not understanding the laws of dramatic timing!

>     "That's the biggest problem with this in comparison to the 
> World Bell... all it tells is direction and strength.  I only hope 
> the one we sent to Metamor is complete enough to 
> triangulate."  Guildmaster Demarest turned.  "Elizabeth?  Contact 
> your brother.  Thadeus, plot that line on the map.  Even if Metamor 
> isn't ready, we might at least get some information from a direction."

A good touch there by noting its limitations compared to the World 
Bell.  After all, why replace it with the World Bell those 
generations ago if the dragons were just as good?

>     The dark stallion shook his head, his tousled mane still 
> rumpled from a recent and hasty waking.  "This is an emergency," he 
> corrected.  "Before you ask, your brother tells me that the 
> detector your Guild sent is not yet operational.  However..."  He 
> gestured, and a double door was opened in the side of the 
> room.  Beyond lay an open balcony from which Madog and the Duchess 
> of Metamor watched a storm raging over the mountains to the 
> north-east.  "Something tells me we won't have a problem suggesting 
> a direction."  Cascading lightning exploded across the storm, 
> turning night into day for more than a quarter of the sky.

Good thing Carcarak's entrance reached the stratosphere, otherwise 
the curvature of the earth would have defeated them!

>     Whimpering, Madog jumped down from the balcony ledge and tugged 
> on the Duchess' skirt with his teeth.  "Inside!  Inside, 
> hurry!"  Almost dragging her off the balcony, the metal fox then 
> knocked the Duchess down and stood stiff-legged astride her as if 
> to shield her with his own body.  All of the doors and windows 
> slammed shut, vanishing into solid stone as the Keep sealed the 
> room.  A growing rumble began to shake the building.  "Protect the 
> Duke!" Misha and George yelled at the same moment, and the lord of 
> Metamor found himself tackled under many bodies and shoved beneath 
> the heavy oak map table as the rumble outside became a roar.

Is this from the image of the storm brought closer or from the storm 
itself?  Either way, this visible light will be for Charles the sign 
he needs to come straight for Metamor regardless of the hour.

>     "Not in the Hells, your Grace," replied a dark-clad figure who, 
> until now, had remained silent in a corner.  The crescent moon 
> medallion of a priest of Nocturna gleaming silver on a chain of 
> gold around his neck, Malger Sutt picked himself up off the 
> floor.  "Not in," he repeated as he tugged his disheveled waistcoat 
> back into place. "Out of.  Doom has come, but for once not for 
> Metamor."  Dark musteline eyes narrowed and fixed on Misha.  "Not 
> unless you fail to get there first."

And Malger shows he knows how to make an entrance too. ;-)

>     "One answer will satisfy both questions, Misha, and it is this: 
> the War Wolf of Revonos is un-leashed, and has been ejected from 
> the Hells."  Malger paused just long enough to let his very 
> deliberate phrasing sink in, and then stabbed a finger into Misha's 
> chest.   "Prepare well.  Know without question that you will not 
> overmatch him in a direct contest of strength, so choose your 
> companions wisely.  And above all, do not be late."

And yeah, because prophecy is just so darn cryptic, I won't tell you 
who you need to choose. ;-)

I make light, but i do quite enjoy the gravity you are giving this 
and the power it conveys.  Everything feels rushed because they truly 
are in great haste!


>     What remained of the army at Lik stirred only slowly in the 
> sudden silence, deafened ears just beginning to register the moans 
> of the injured and dying.  The werewolves and the vampires, gifted 
> by Lilith with supernatural strength and healing, were the first to 
> push free of the wreckage and even they, hardened killers through 
> they were, gaped in shock at the absolute devastation they 
> beheld.  The city of Lik was, quite simply, gone.  Its buildings 
> had been almost uniformly leveled into smoldering ruin.  Of the 
> temple at its center, only a smoking crater remained.  Still, 
> discipline under pressure and obedience to hierarchy remained 
> fundamental to Lilith's ethos, bred into the very marrow of her 
> servants and slaves, and a chain of command was soon salvaged and 
> put into action.  The werewolves, with their sharp noses and 
> sharper claws, started searching for survivors.  A pair of giants 
> who had survived the bludgeoning hail, the searing lightning, and 
> the rending shrapnel heaved themselves from the rubble and began 
> digging where the werewolves indicated.   The vampires, in imminent 
> need of shelter from the coming dawn, investigated the smoking 
> crater where the temple had been.  Perhaps somewhere amidst that 
> sulphurous haze, some remnant of the catacombs had survived.
>
>     Some remnant had, but that was not all to be found 
> there.  Something stirred, hidden in the haze, battered by a long, 
> pain-filled fall, but blazing with power from back-to-back 
> victories over two hated foes.  The pain was ignored.  Ears pricked 
> in anticipation.  Devastation incarnate waited for his third battle 
> with golden eyes alight.

I suspect Lilith is going to have even fewer survivors in a 
moment.  I suspect the next council of Daedra is going to be an unhappy one.


>     The cold wind of dragonflight stabbed through Misha's fur, and 
> he tugged the parka he wore tighter around him to block it.  If 
> only he could protect himself from memories so easily.
>
>     "Stay down, Drift!  You're not getting past me!"
>
>     "Whatever the price, whatever the cost, give me the strength to 
> destroy my enemies!"
>
>     "Don't follow me, Misha!  I won't spare you twice!"
>
>     He closed his eyes against the wind, and immediately snow 
> swirled around him.  A red glow pierced the night.
>
>     "Stop this madness!"
>
>     "No!  This isn't what I wanted!  She didn't deserve to 
> die!  She wasn't supposed to-"

It is a testament to how well you managed the story of Drift's taking 
that these mere lines are enough to evoke the image of snowswept 
streets, carnage, a blood red sword, and Drift's undoing.

>     A strong gust of wind buffeted Saroth and the blue dragon 
> Tychicus, forcing them to swerve out of formation to avoid being 
> pushed into a cliff.  {It is difficult enough cajoling the winds 
> into our favor without the screams in your mind to distract 
> me.  No, I'm not intentionally reading, but please direct your 
> thoughts to another topic.}  The buffeting lessened and the dragons 
> eased back into a streamlined offset, the larger Tychicus taking 
> the point.  {The sky is in pain, Misha, and the winds off the 
> mountains are even wilder than usual.  I wish Electra were here so 
> I could focus on flying.}

I'm delighted you used Saroth and made reference to Electra.  Those 
two are characters I cherish and wish more had been done with by Jetfire.

>     The snow-capped heights of the Great Barrier Range had always 
> served as a nigh-impenetrable guard to Metamor's 
> flanks.  Torturously high passes, thin air, bitter cold, and 
> sudden, savage storms made crossing in large numbers, whether by 
> ground or by air, almost unthinkable.  Only dragons flew this high, 
> and not without effort.  But it was the safest way to get quickly 
> to the area where the storm had been, without the danger of running 
> into an air patrol from Nasojassa or Lik.  The 'nobody goes here' 
> mystique of the Great Barrier Range worked both ways, and Misha's 
> reconnaissance didn't need large numbers.  It just needed a 
> dedicated weather mage to cope with the maze of storms and shifting 
> winds that barred their path.

Charles, having been here once before, will be forced to admit its 
worse than last time; last time he was stone and couldn't feel the cold!

>     Unfortunately, they didn't have one.   The storm shield that 
> protected Metamor's southern reaches, still recovering from the 
> Marzac Shockwave of the winter before, had had its freshly recast 
> anchors damaged again by whatever had shaken the skies to the 
> north.  Xavier Marcus had abruptly left Metamor for parts unknown 
> bare weeks after Drift's fall to the daedra, which left the Duke 
> caught between two fires with only one storm mage apiece.  Thus, 
> Saroth had to pull double duty as flying transport and weather mage 
> in difficult terrain, and the strain was beginning to show.  Even 
> threading their way through mountain valleys for much of the day, 
> they had not been able to avoid crossing any fewer than five high 
> passes, and each took a visible toll on the bronze-scaled 
> dragon.  An overnight rest in the forested valley just behind them 
> had given both dragons a chance to recover before the final push, 
> but even so Misha fingered the teleport disk in his pocket, glad 
> that he would not have to ask for a repeat performance on the way home.

Had we heard that Xavier had left before?  This is the first I recall 
seeing it.

>     Tychicus, who had scouted this route before, promised that this 
> was the last high pass before the way out.  It was also the highest 
> and the most dangerous: the snowscape buffeted and swirled under 
> the dragons' wings only a rooftop's height below, but the air was 
> too thin to climb any higher for safety.  Too thin even for 
> dragons.  Misha looked up, up at the mountain peaks looming still 
> higher above and felt something in him quail.  Never in his life 
> had he felt so small.  There was great beauty here: the snow 
> gleamed and glittered like a field of diamonds in the light of the 
> rising sun.  Dark cliffs and crags lanced through the white cover, 
> carved by time and cold into razor-edged perfection.  But it was a 
> hostile and deadly majesty, and the mountains guarded it 
> jealously.  Outsiders trespassed at great peril.  A mistake now 
> would mean a slow, cold, torturous death.

Too thin even for dragons means its probably already too thin for the 
Keepers.  They would be feeling some euphoria and dementia if they 
stay in it too long.

>     Arms tightened around his waist as the dragons slewed around 
> another rocky outcropping.  Behind him rode the rat Charles 
> Matthias, his face burrowed into the back of Misha's parka for 
> protection from the wind.  The arrangement mirrored itself on 
> Tychicus' back with Wolfram and Merai, the other companions Misha 
> had chosen to bring with him.  Wolfram had worried that pausing at 
> Glen Avery to pick up Charles would delay them too long, but the 
> rat had shown up at Metamor's gates that very dawn, 
> uncalled-for.  "I had a dream, Misha," he explained when 
> asked.  "Shattered manacles, dipped into a crystal pool.  They 
> didn't come out as manacles, though.  They came out as a brilliant 
> sword, gleaming like the sun.  You know what I'm talking about, don't you?"

I hope you like the way I brought the image to Charles in my latest. :-)

May He bless you and keep you in His grace and love,

Charles Matthias