[Vfw-times] MK Winter assault part 39

COkane8116 at aol.com COkane8116 at aol.com
Mon Oct 8 23:00:51 CDT 2001

  Sorry for the delay but was still coping with computer problems.



Getting into the wall tower was simplicity itself; there was a very 
convenient door through which they could pass easily. The Lutins weren't a 
problem either; Jono was able to use his whip (having retrieved his clothing 
and supplies after the earlier adventure), and Jo kept her daggers flying, 
and Dana even got a chance to take a few down. None of them even broke a 

Perry did not get involved in the fighting. Perry is still looking down at 
his son, still asleep from his apparent ordeal.

Derek, when he realized that what had happened wasn't some kind of dream, had 
told them all about what had happened to them while he and Daemion and Samuel 
were under that mysterious globe, and Samuel was able to confirm a great 
deal. Perry is still stunned from the ordeal. He'd recognized the description 
of the apparition almost instantly. Revenos. The Daedra of Rage and Death. If 
what Derek was telling them were true, then his son managed to defy one of 
the major dark powers of the realm - and not only survive, but bring his 
friend back from the abyss.

Perry doesn't really know what to think with regards to that. Perhaps it was 
some kind of illusion; a few of the daedra get mentioned during ceremonies, 
and perhaps the three of them somehow imagined it all collectively. But that 
still doesn't explain the globe, or how Samuel and Derek's wounds were healed.

"Well, you've gotten what you wanted, anyways," he says, whispering, to his 
son's sleeping form. "You're a healer for sure, Daemion."

"...really?" Perry startles, then calms as he sees his son's eyes open. 
"Derek and Sammy... they're okay?" he asks in a sleepy voice.

Perry grins and nods. "Yep. They're all better. Whatever it was you did, you 
did good, son."

"I did..." Daemion manages to get out before he slips back asleep again.

Poor boy's exhausted. Perry picks him up, then takes him over to a corner 
where most of the rest of the kids are resting, down in the tunnels. The 
entrance was easily found towards the bottom of the tower, and as soon as 
they'd all gotten through it mysteriously covered itself over again. Kyia, of 
course. Always good to have your home on your side, he thinks, patting the 
side of the tunnel.

He can almost swear he hears a woman's chuckling in reply, but dismisses it. 
Could be just imagining things.

Then he catches a glimpse of a slightly scarred bovine. "Kirk, you doing any 
better?" he calls to his comrade in arms. He gets a stiff nod. Kirk has not 
been in a very positive mood ever since he got the news from Jahnsen - the 
Inner Gates were taken over by Lutins several hours after they left, and he'd 
survived only because he'd landed in a snow bank after being tossed off the 
wall. Apparently it was the merest chance that he'd shown up when he did. 
Fortunately for Kirk and Jono, anyways.

Jahnsen himself is curled up in a corner now, he sees, trying to warm up 
using the blanket Kevin managed to put a heating spell on. Evidently he'd 
been wandering through the snow for hours; it was a miracle he hadn't frozen 
to death already. Jo had a healing draught prepared for him fairly quickly, 
though, and the blanket seems to be doing him a lot of good. They ought to be 
able to move out within, oh, about another hour or so. Hopefully Daemion will 
be awake by then.

Jo, interestingly, has taken off her clothing and shifted to a more 
animalistic form, and curled up around and under a blanket of hers to catch 
some rest. Perry got a bit puzzled by that, but Jono had a ready explanation 
when he'd asked. "It's how she likes to retreat from the world, sometimes," 
Jono had said. "Don't worry, she'll be back up and at 'em after a while." 
Jono's worried that she's blaming herself for nearly losing Derek and Samuel; 
she almost certainly is wishing she could have done more. Perry can easily 
understand that; she obviously considers protection and healing to be her 
Duty, and being unable to perform one's Duty when it's needed is obviously a 
very serious thing. And - he looks back down at his son - it's pretty certain 
that if not for what Daemion somehow did, Samuel would most certainly have 

Jono is still recovering from his own ordeal, it would seem. Perry himself 
has never understood the berserker rage, and so can't really fathom what Jono 
must have been going through. Evidently it's shaken him a great deal, 
however, which is probably why he proposed this resting period for everyone 
to get their bearings. Of course most everyone agreed even though they're 
almost certainly at the final stretch, the past few events have been rather 
nerve-wracking for all.

Perry shrugs, leaning back against the wall, his paw on his son's head, 
careful not to stick him with any of the spines, and closes his eyes, trying 
to get some rest while he can. They're not out of this yet, but they're at 
the final leg, and he intends to be ready for it all the way.


December 25, 1pm

Fox slipped through the back hall of the Keep, staying hidden from the lutins 
that were swarming the place. Loud, smelly and noisy, it was a simple matter 
to stay out of their way well before he could even see them. 

He had been on his feet all night, since the assault on his home had begun. 
Moving freely throughout the Keep, while others were pinned down, he was 
attempting to locate the major players of the Keep, hopefully to bring 
everything together so this battle could be ended.

The corridor he was currently in was lit by the soft light of the winter sun. 
Just past mid-day, and starting to set in the sky, it gave an eerie quality 
to the stones.

He rubbed his fingers along his neck, where the small dagger hidden inside of 
his collar was chaffing against his fur. He hadn't worn these clothes in the 
years since he had arrived at the Keep, and they no longer fit him.

Nor did he fit them. He had become his new self of the Keep librarian so 
thoroughly that he no longer thought of him self as an assassin, or even an 
ex-assassin. To return to the reins of the job at this time was startling to 

It was necessary, though. The lutins in the Keep had most of the people 
pinned down, and someone had to do reconnoiter. Fox had yet to find anyone to 
report to, but he suspected that wouldn't last much longer. He had to run 
into someone with authority sometime soon.

Slipping past another wandering lutin, he started down a short stairway. 
About halfway down he heard voices in the distance. Nothing he could make 
out, but they sounded urgent, hushed, and definitely not Lutin.

He moved slowly down the rest of the steps, the pads of his bare feet making 
little noise. He stood in the shadows at the bottom, eyes narrowed, glad for 
the improved night vision his form gave him. 

Five humans were huddled a hundred feet away. Crowded tightly around each 
other, they whispered with some force.  Each one was armed with swords, and a 
few looked dangerous.  Help from outside perhaps? or was that too much to 
hope for.

The group pulled back, and a woman behind the group started giving orders, 
pointing in different directions. One person went down each hall, for a 
second leaving the woman standing by herself.

In that instant Fox got a reasonable look at her face; a face which was more 
than familiar to him, but one he had not thought he would ever see again. He 
almost panicked, and did jump back slightly, but landed smoothly enough that 
he made little noise. If she was here,
this was not help! He suspected it would be a direct attack against the Duke.

And one of her men was coming right towards him. He took a deep breath, 
steadying himself as he pulled a long dagger from his belt. He had no choice, 
he had to kill all five of these. He was counting on his ability to navigate 
the Keep to take him to each one. She would be the last, though-she had to be.

Slowing his breathing down, he pressed himself against the wall. Holding 
perfectly still, he starting counting his heartbeats. The man came closer, 
and closer, then walked past without even noticing that he was there. With a 
single move, so practiced that it was an act of thought, not will, he lunged 
forward, grabbed the man by his hair, and stabbed
his knife through his neck, severing both the artery and windpipe in one 
swift move.

Still, there was much more than the normal amount of blood.  That was to be 
expected, he was years out of practice. It had been so long since it had been 
on his hands that Fox started to feel a bit ill. Placing a paw against the 
wall, he took deep breaths, calming himself. Now was not the time to go about 
getting sick; he had a job to do.

Wiping the dagger clean on the back of the man's shirt, Fox started down the 
hallway. Reaching the intersection where they group had split up, he picked 
one semi-randomly, and started down it.


12/25 past 1:00pm
The blizzard blew harshly against the low cluster of tents, slamming jagged 
peaces of shale-like sleet and snow against the thick hide.  The wind 
screamed as it clutched the smoke coming out the top of the largest one and 
sent it sprawling to the ground.
Inside, things were relatively quiet, as people hugged themselves tightly, as 
the heat of the fire spread throughout the self contained world, filled with 
the banging of cloth and shrill shrieks of the wind, as they all attempted to 
regain the heat they had lost that day, which consisted of a nearly four hour 
forced walk.  The only blessing they had was that the wind screamed against 
their backs, but they still were nearly blinded by the stinging snow.  A 
baby's cry pierced the incessant, yowling calm of the blizzard, as the mother 
huddled over her, hushing softly, tears coming down the adult's cheeks, 
finally able to feel again, but only fear.
"She's cold?" a hushed voice said behind the mother, as she jumped looking 
back at the speaker, nodding at the quiet wolf-armor clad 'savior'.  The 
mother huddled around the child, keeping her body between her baby and the 
stranger.  She shivered, whether the cause was fear or the cold, she did not 
know, but she nodded in reply.
    "How old is she," he said, kneeling down beside her, his hood thrown 
back, his lupine features, although inanimate, somehow conveying a sense of 
concern, sadness, and perhaps paternity.  He peaked over the mother's 
shoulder, eyes gleaming happily from the firelight.
    The crying baby's voice trailed, and then squealed in pleasure as it 
glimpsed the metallic wolf.  The stranger cocked its head to the side, and 
the baby giggled.  The mother looked up, turning toward him.  As he took a 
glove off, a golden talon touching the blanket around the baby as he hugged 
the mother again, and she closed her eyes and takes a deep breath, feeling 
warmth moving through her body.
    "Not even 5 months old," she said, relaxing.
    He motioned with his hands, "May I . . .?"

    She again nodded, and offered the fragile bundle to the guide, who took 
it in golden talons very carefully, making sure to support its head.
    "Hello there little one, how're you doing?" he asked, as if carrying on a 
conversation, his voice still hushed.  "I see you're doing well, and mommy, 
how's daddy doing?"
    The mother answered, "He's cooking food at the moment."
    The man's shoulders slumped with a relieved sigh, holding the baby in the 
crook of his arm, stroking her face with an ivory talon, "You're an awfully 
lucky child, honey.  Don't worry, I'll look after you, and mommy, and daddy, 
and you'll have a very happy life."  With a yawn the baby fell happily 
The guide scooted back over to the mother, gently placing the baby back in 
her arms, nodding to the man approaching.
"I see you've met my daughter and my wife, Susey and Rachel," he said, 
sitting down, his tail curling under on the ground.
"Yes Mr. Mason, and you were right, I envy you," the stranger got back up, 
"If you three well excuse me, I have some business to do, we have to leave in 
a moments notice, I don't want to be around here five hours from now, make 
sure you're well rested.  He walked off to another corner of the tent, 
squatting down next to a boy as the mother watched on.
"You know him?" Rachel asked, the husband shaking his head.  The boy talking 
to the stranger, no older than 11, a gangly youth, suddenly broke down in 
tears and hugged the black clad, cloaked guide, who hugged back, rocking him 
gently back and forth, muzzle protectively draped across the back of the 
boy's neck.
"No, I don't, oddly enough, but he talked to us as we prepped the fire, very 
friendly.  When he left, I felt extremely hopeful.  I watched, and he's been 
walking around to everyone, and every person he talks to, they seem more 

   "He's going to help us."

   There was no doubt in his voice as he said so, and no other possibility in 
his mind.
   The wife looked up, smiling at her husband, as if there was nothing wrong, 
as if the attack hadn't happened, as if their home hadn't been gutted, or 
chased off by lutins, or a thousand other terrors that had happened.

   She looked over to the boy and the guide, who pointed back at the couple, 
waving to them.  The boy got up, and walked over, stopping by the father, 
standing there, as the two looked at each other.  Without a word, the boy 
hugged the man.

The wife smiled, and had a feeling they just received another family member. 
"I know what you mean," she said, looking at her baby, a happy tear rolling 
down her face.


End part 39
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