<HTML> 12/24 - 8:45pm As Ryuo approached the gates he found them slightly ajar. Rushing forward, he sensed an aggressive presence to his right side. Unsure whether it was friend or foe, he blocked upwards, twisting around and rolling into the Keep. Metal caught metal and flashed briefly. As Ryuo rose, the attacker pushed his advantage, and Ryuo had no choice but to defend himself. The man appeared to be a human, although he was dressed in furs from head to foot. In one hand was a broadsword, the favored weapon of most westerners, it seemed. This one was slightly larger than others Ryuo had seen, and the man wielded it with two hands. One of those hands had a small, round shield attached to it just below the wrist, as Ryuo deflected the blow with a wrist cut, the shield caught his blade, the man then raised his arms to block the blow to his head. However, his arms were out too wide, and Ryuo's sword was deflected only partially, cutting into the upper flesh of the muscled appendage. The man screamed--whether in rage or pain, Ryuo could not tell-and brought down his sword with a speed that almost caught Ryuo off-guard. Built-in reflexes saved the eastern warrior as he stepped to the side, letting the great sword miss him by barely an inch. Taking the warrior's momentum, Ryuo reached out with his hilt and pulled slightly down and back. Arms foundering, the warrior's eyes opened wide in surprise as his center of balance was lost. Pitching forward, he had to throw his hands out to catch his fall. In this moment of weakness, Ryuo struck, his sword cutting deep into the man's neck, as though he were the second at a ritual suicide. The man's head bowed forward, the vertebrae disconnected, and his head hanging on by no more than a flap of skin and his exposed trachea. His arms went limp, and he fell completely to the floor. Ryuo took only a brief moment to close the doors, of the gates. He could see that the doors had been forced in, and could not now be properly barred against intrusion. Cursing under his breath, Ryuo toppled a nearby statue in front of the doors, hoping that would hold any more invaders for at least a while. He then headed off into the belly of the Keep. As Ryuo ran through the halls, he could see they were soaked with blood. Lutin and Keeper bodies littered the floor; most of the Keepers appeared to have been caught completely be surprise. Glancing down at the blood-soaked floor, Ryuo could see some faces that he recognized; almost all of them people he had seen on patrols, or guarding the walls of the Keep. He didn't know their names, but the death of each one was another blow to his sense of honor. It was not that they were gone that upset the bold Inari; he had hardly known most of them, and besides, death was only the inevitable conclusion of Life that all warriors shared. It was, instead, how each death seemed an affront to him and the promise he had made when he had first arrived at the Keep. He felt somehow responsible--perhaps if he had only paid more attention to the signal, and recognized it for what it was, he could have stopped some of this. A grunt ahead of him brought him to a halt, his battle-sense freeing him from his moment of self-deprecation. Ahead was a band of Lutins, licking their bloodied weapons. A pile of Keeper bodies lay beneath them. They seemed to be trying to decide which passageway they should follow when one turned to see Ryuo. Twin golden orbs of hateful spite turned towards the fox, and a sadistic grin exposed bloodstained teeth. Laughing, it knocked one of its companions with a backhand, and the rest of the Lutins turned to look down the corridor as well, the grin spreading to all of their faces. Gleefully, they advanced, hoping that the Keeper would run, so that they could revel in the chase. Ryuo stood his ground. The first two creatures that approached carried short spears, just small enough to be of use in the tight confines of the inner hallways. Working with amazing coordination, for Lutins, the pair advanced, causing Ryuo to take a quick step backwards. The retreat only encouraged the bloodthirsty fiends. Shooting out from the left, the first Lutin lunged at a perceived opening in Ryuo's defenses. Having anticipated the move, Ryuo pivoted to his right, opening a path for the spear to continue forward unimpeded. Grabbing the haft of the spear with his left hand, Ryuo extended along its chosen path. Using the creature's moment of imbalance, Ryuo pivoted once more, coming behind the creature and throwing an arm around its scrawny neck. His right hand struck with his long sword at the second spear-wielder. As the Lutin's skull split open, Ryuo twisted quickly, breaking the first Lutin's neck. Yet even as their comrades fell, the others rushed forward. The hallway left precious little room for any lateral maneuvers as a third Lutin's sword struck down. Ryuo raised his right hand, dropping the katana's blade as he did so. Stepping forward, he caught the Lutin's blow and used its momentum to turn his own in a wide circle. Bringing up his left hand for added power, Ryuo stepped forward and to the right, bringing the blade down to cut into the flesh of the Lutin's back. Raising his sword to the ready once more, Ryuo was forced to step back again to dodge a spiked mace. As the mace swung past, Ryuo reversed his momentum, taking the offensive. His sword trailed off to his right as he stepped into another Lutin's sword, catching the attacker at the hilt. Drawing the sword and wrist down and around, he brought it up to parry a second swing of the spiked mace, trapping both weapons in the air. Pressing both weapons high, he shifted his grip on the katana and turned, simultaneously slicing through both bellies, spilling gray-green intestines onto the floor like a nest of writing worms. Standing victorious above the five bodies, Ryuo spared only a moment to look at the many bodies lying about. A fair number of Lutins had been killed before Ryuo had arrived, but it had not been enough. Looking over the dead Keepers, he saw there was nothing he could do for them anymore. Quickly and smoothly he wiped clean the gleaming steel of his death-dealing blade, and continued on into the Keep. ** Oren was still small when he came bounding down the stairs. He motioned for Gornul, who followed him into the minister's chamber. Once inside, Oren closed the door and shifted back to his taller, humanoid form. "Gornul," he said. "I want you to go into the Keep and to the Follower sanctuary. Find Father Hough. Tell him that I will be sending our congregation in a few minutes. They will be arriving believing that he has sent us a special invitation to meet together." Gornul projected an image of a knife held by a clenched fist; his symbol for danger. "Yes." Oren replied. "Although we don't know the nature yet. I don't want to panic anyone. Tell Father Hough to get ready to receive visitors. I'll send them over in a few minutes." * * * "Attention everyone! Can I have your attention, please? I've just received word that our brothers, the Followers, have asked our Immerser congregation to join them for a special celebratory service. They'll be starting in an hour or so. If anyone wants to attend, I'd recommend heading over now." As Oren had hoped, the assembly began shrinking as one by one, the celebrants made their way to the door. Each time one of the Hipocci warriors came by, he'd politely ask them to wait around a bit. There were a few stragglers who simply wouldn't take the hint. Blake and Shamgar stood around being snugly. Desuka stayed behind, demanding to know why, as the worship leader, he had not been informed of such an invitation. Oren, when he was satisfied that all had left who were going to, got set to announce what he had learned from Leo. He didn't speak, he was silenced by the ringing of a distant bell. "The alarm!" cried Shamgar. "We're being attacked!" "TO ARMS!" Oren ordered, but it was too late. The door gave a sudden thunderous crash and burst open, spilling a disjointed flood of little green murderers into the building. Oren was cut off from his friends by the lutins. There was no way he could fight them all, especially unarmed. He had no choice but to flee up the stairway and hope that the others found their own way out. Upward the otter ran, lutins hot on his heels. There was no time to even stop at the armory to obtain a weapon. When he reached the sixth floor, the tower shook, as though it had been thumped by a giant hand. This made the lutins stumble, allowing Oren a few precious seconds to put distance between himself and his attackers. "Oren!" called Natalie from the top level. "What is going... OH!" "MORPH! QUICK!" The lass obeyed, rapidly changing from a small draconian to a ten-foot tall dragon. Oren trusted her to read his intentions, and so, becoming as small an otter as he could, he ran and leaped out over the side of the tower. Fear gripping his heart, he could only watch as the snowy ground loomed ever closer. A pair of enormous hands saved Oren from certain death. He let out an adrenaline-powered whoop as he zoomed over the landscape, hang-gliding from a dragon. "Where do we go?" called Natalie, her voice quaking. "To the river! There's an emergency meeting place there!" She soon saw what the otter meant. He directed her to a very carefully concealed cave near the bank of the river. It was so covered in growth that, even with the leaves long gone, it would have been impossible to spot from any distance. Inside they were relieved to find their friends and allies. A few were trembling with fear, Blake was holding a little green hand in front of her face and chanting "I got one! I got one!" like a mad woman. "Oren!" called Jesse. "Thank Yahweh you're all right!" "Me? I was afraid I wouldn't see YOU again! That earthquake..." "Was me making an escape route." Jesse said with a smile. His smile quickly faded, however, when he looked past Oren at the keep. The others came to stand beside him, one by one, gawking at the sheer horror of the scene before them. Metamor Keep was being invaded by the armies of Nasoj. And in the lighthouse which the Hipocci called home, the light flickered and died. "Our home." whispered Sambrea, one of the younger warriors. "It's the fall of Hipocc all over again, and we were powerless to stop it." "NO!" The cry came from Alyxander, Oren's nephew, a lad even younger than Sambrea, who was not even of age to be changed by the curse. Finding all eyes upon him, Xan explained his outburst. "When our village fell to Devil's Strand, we ran away and hid in caves in the wilderness. What did that get us? Nothing! It sure didn't do a thing to rebuild Hipocc. Now we have a second chance. I for one know what I'm going to do. I'm going to get me a weapon, and I'm going to go in there and TAKE BACK OUR LIGHTHOUSE!" "He's right." Said one of the older Hipoccians. "We've got to take it back. For Metamor!" "For Metamor!" Shamgar echoed. "For Metamor!" voices chorused. "Heh heh!" Blake chuckled as she waved her trophy about. "Let's stick it to them little green guys!" And so the planning began. ** End part 11b </HTML>