Zadown

A tiny sugar golem (called ||`, if anybody is curious - a name that means "John Smith" in the binary language of the sugary things) falls down from the ceiling like a clumsy Tarzan and lands exactly between Peredhil and Annael, does an impressive somersault and joins the line. dut-dut-dut-dut. dut. KICK!

*hugs*

born at night I was born at night cried out and sucked in shadows a seed of gloom and idle despair and now I am weary enough to exhale breathe out little clouds of ink old enough to toast my tenebrous twin a glass of wine and a cynic smile Edited to delete two stanzas.

“The sentient metal constructs were already angry, and now the Fates had provided them with a legitimate target.” She paused her story, at first not quite sure why. Most of the children were still staring at her with rapt attention and the room was as usual, the fountain to her left gurgling softly, the long and heavy curtains swaying in the warm breeze and the pleasant fragrance of the different flowers floating in the air. Jankiize shifted her position on the pillows she was sitting on and frowned, concentrating. Very swiftly her frown vanished from her youthful face and was replaced with a surprised smile. When she spoke again it was with a slightly faster cadence. “Thus, the Fortress of Bhalbet was saved and the first round of the Grail War was finished with Chaos as the winner, if by a slim margin. That battle was near the end of my first year as the Grail Carrier, and even with all the turmoil I’ve described, that first year was the most peaceful of the five for me. The tales of the next four years are longer and darker, and I will tell them some other time, little ones.” This declaration was met with a chorus of stunned outcries but Jankiize merely smiled placidly and gestured the children away. Eventually they left, the guard posted at the door leaving after them when he saw her gesture. She stood up, feeling suddenly nervous, and straightened the loose outfit hiding her slim body needlessly. Jankiize looked slowly around and then focused her gaze to a pair of the tall, heavy curtains. “Uncle?” A sphere of refracted light giving the illusion of invisibility first turned into a mirror and then flickered out of existence, revealing a tall, thin figure shrouded in shadows. The darkness clung to him like a cloak, masking everything except a pair of golden white eyes, and around him shimmered the luminous green sigils of his wards. “Heya, Li’tl’ Princess. I see yer farin’ well enough fo’ a mortal. So, tell me – how are yer grandchildren?” She smiled. The End (for now)

Thank you for the review, Wyvern - I'm glad you enjoyed 'Ward'. As for the potential editing (which I never really do): The Dreamer is more than anything chaotic and ready to adapt to new situations at short notice. To him keeping Jankiize on his side was the most important thing - as long as she stayed on his side, there was hope for the Grail, and he has never been very good with people. It was easier for him to switch his battle plans than to find a certain way to persuade Jankiize, especially since he already had a plan B that involved fighting. Not everything the main characters say to each other is 100% truth. People of Arkstâd regarded the Dreamer with a mixture of admiration, awe, fear and suspicion - he had been heralded as their savior in the myths, but those were old. For me he symbolizes the normal life she can't get, and is the sort of dead-end detail that happen in real life all the time. By not always using everything to fuel the story is my own private tiny rebellion against the streamlined Hollywoodian storytelling where every detail is there for a reason. Foreshadowing and recycling details is all well and good, but when overdone it can get tiring. The chapter numbers mean Jankiize's age - she is only 15 at the end of Ward, not quite adult.

Hides behind NaNoWriMo project

More official happy birthday wishes, Apster. *hugs(1)* (1) may contain cooties

It shows you haven't posted in a long time, Cheyenne. Be thankful you are not a mollusc! PS. Welcome back!

Beautiful. It's always a wonder how the same words you use turn into a piece of art when they are written in the right order, with the correct rhythm.

Oo happy birthday Ayshela! I'm already 5 hours late, meh. Still ahead of the US people I guess. *big hug*

He was around the EzBoard days for a bit, not very active but there, and then he vanished. I'm not sure if he ever came to this new board at all - don't see him on the registered member list.

Yeah, we all make mistakes but if we recognize them and say we were wrong, hey, gotta respect that. All's forgiven.

Heh, that's easy - deafness. I'd still operate at 95% effeciency at the computer and what's best, I could finally get rid of my cell phone. Of course, talking with RL friends would get kinda difficult.

Yeah I know, no Oblivion, but I'm not really working on it right now anyways, so... just lost my drive on that storyline for now. Besides, I really want to try something completely different (no llamas, though). The liberating fact that it is allowed to be crap means I can try something that I'm fairly sure is not my forté (forte? fortè? fortë? bah...).

1700 words per day, ouch. Guess I'll have to give it a try anyways, and later subject ya'll to the painful experience of actually reading it.

Beck wasn't that bad, it just wasn't my style. Anyways, my comments on Isachar's recommendations: Planetes - My favourite anime ever, 10 points, 5 stars, A+ etc. It could easily be made with live actors, and nobody would recognize its anime roots unless they were told so. Very mature, very realistic, multifaceted, believable characters. Mmmm HC scifi goodness with romance and drama! Infinite Ryvius - I watched it the first 7 episodes, and while I liked it, it lacked something that'd made me go all the way through the series. Still, I can recommend it as well. One of the most memorable opening songs in all the anime I've watched, for me. Voices of a Distant Star - Anime poem. Beautiful in more than one sense. *sniff* Crest of the Stars - Well, um, haven't watched this, but I'm watching the sequel. Just seen first three episodes and so far it seems very very good, with excellent dialogue and vivid characters. I absolutely loved the start of the sequel where for minutes all you hear is alien language shouted over the panorama of exploding ships, hee hee. If this is same quality, I can recommend it and the sequal, Banner of Stars. Paranoia Agent - Just finished this. I'm not quite sure what to say about it. It didn't sweep me away and give me the "must watch all episodes in a row without eating or sleeping" feeling, but it did have its moments, and it did make me think. A few filler episodes. That's it for now. *kicks his ADSL to download faster*

*waves* Still remember me? Nice to see ya here, even if ye don't.

“Wake up, m’lady.” The room lit up with the faint green glow of the Dreamer’s mageflame. Jankiize mumbled something inaudible and incomprehensible, then sat up blearily. She brushed her hair away from her eyes and turned to look at the planewalker. “What is it, uncle?” “I know yer still feelin’ unwell, Janki, but th’ Law’s mountin’ a counterattack, an’ th’ Kalash are concerned, sayin’ we’ve killed ya an’ are tryin’ to control them to our own ends, tho’ not in so many words.” The girl blinked and rubbed her eyes with her arm, then got up unsteadily. She shivered in the cool air of the stone room, wearing only her nightshirt, the cold floor under her bare feet invigorating. Jankiize tiptoed to her wardrobe and selected her light robe that had been made to look vaguely like her armor, a scale-like pattern covering the brown fabric. She sensed the Dreamer’s impatience, saw his yellow eyes burn in the gloomy room, and put her leather boots on with haste. As soon as she was finished, an emerald green field of force appeared around her and lifted her up to float a few inches above the floor. She felt irritated at this and growled at the planewalker, the effect spoiled by her feeble voice. “I am old enough to walk, the Dreamer.” “But not old enough to realize when yer too sick to walk, ya? We have to hurry, Li’tl’ Princess.” She had been expecting they would go out, but they travelled up the stairs instead, the Dreamer with his long gait trailing the green globe behind him. Behind them, Jankiize’s two bodyguards joined the progression, both back to their old guises of nodescript men in grey and brown instead of mercenaries. The four of them walked through the Dreamer’s map room and up the next stairs, to the room of portals. To her surprise, there was a new stairway going still upwards. It was made of the same black stone the workers used for the fortress, and it had not been there when she had last seen this room, shortly before they left for the raid against Law well over a month ago. Jankiize did not have more time to dwell on the fact before the Dreamer had stridden to the next floor. It was wider than the previous three floors, and there were far more demon and angel guards here, some watching what happened below through the portholes, some honing their weapons or checking on their armor. Sir Owiric of Chaos was also here, conferring with one of his demon lieutenants as they entered. He whirled around as he realized the Dreamer had arrived, his body language shouting out his relief even through the thick armor he wore. “Wodzan, ye old scoundrel, ‘s ‘bout time! M’lady, think ye can convince those ‘eartless metal monsters out there to stay on our side, ya?” She swayed when the emerald globe keeping her levitating and upright dissipated and lowered her down. Jankiize felt oddly naked without her katana and armor, was suddenly nervous after spending so much time alone or with only the Dreamer, and she averted her eyes. “I can try, m’lord.” Jankiize felt dizzy and her fingertips brushed the new stonewall of the tower, ready to receive her weight if she’d need the support. Her head tipped lower and she muttered the words again. “I can try.” “Good, good, that’s all we want, li’tl’ mortal. Now, let’s go to th’ top of this tower before they do th’ work o’ Law fo’ them an’ rip this place t’ shreds with those wick’d blades o’ theirs.” Owiric wasted no time before leading the small group onwards, to the next set of new stairs going up. The stairway seemed steep and long, her weariness adding extra heigh and length to each step she saw. The sight brought to her mind an idea to use the endless strength of the Grail to steady her for the walk, but as soon as the thought had entered her head she noticed the Dreamer watching her with disconcertingly sharp look in his eyes. “What!?” “Ye’d better not augment yer strength by tappin’ into th’ fires of creation in th’ depths o’ th’ Grail in yer present condition, m’lady. I can see th’ golden sparks in yer eyes, youn’ lady. Ye’ll float up, th’ same way ye came ‘ere.” She gave the planewalker a glowering look, but said nothing as the emerald globe once again sprung into existence around her. The next room they entered was smaller again, the same size as the original tower rooms had been. It somehow reminded her of the Dreamer’s various rooms: there was no bed, no signs of food or drink anywhere, but there were books, weapons and small portals littered around the space, and a few demon guards wearing the sign of the Chaos on their armor. In the middle of this room was a set of spiral stairs made of metal, its intricate design in contrast to the Spartan and bulky furniture of the room itself. Owiric stayed at the point of their small group and marched up the thin, fragile-looking stairs, paused at the top to mutter some words that unlocked the trapdoor that lead to the roof. When he vanished from sight, a metallic roar answered his appearance on the top of the tower. Jankiize knew that had to be the Kalash, but she had heard them to make a noise like that only once: when they charged the Law’s fortress at Heerfrast. A tingling sense of fear penetrate her sick person’s egocentric shell. She turned to look at the Dreamer, searching for some sort of last moment’s explanation of what was expected of her, but he was already taking the steps up and she felt the emerald globe of protection around her start moving again to follow him. When they first reached the roof, her trepidation was forgotten at first. The fortress was now almost complete, black stone walls and towers raising everywhere around this centerpoint of the structure. The view was breathtaking from the height, even if the castle was not built for beauty. Then the ward around her faded in color to show her presence, and there was another metallic roar, load enough to be painful. Jankiize looked downwards and saw the Kalash arrayed in frighteningly exact rows and columns at the base of the tower, their crackling yellow swords raised in salute or threat, she did not know. They roared again, this time shouting words her translation enchantment was able to decipher. “The Grail Carrier! Show us the chalice! Show us the Golden Fire!” The words were angry, impatient, the last demands shouted for form’s sake before violence would erupt. Jankiize shivered in the hot air and beckoned in her mind, called for the Grail. It was something she wasn’t sure that would work, but she had no idea where the Grail actually was, its presence not anywhere nearby. She felt suspended above the limitless fires of creation burning inside the artefact, like a small fly hovering too close to an immense bonfire. Her hands closed on empty air, grasped the thick leg of the golden cup as it manifested itself. The Holy Grail lit up with its golden radiance, and the tower’s top turned into a lighthouse, the thick, brilliant rays of the artefact rotating around the chalice. Another metallic roar shook the slender tower. “The Grail! The Grail! The Grail!” At that moment, the first vanguard of the Law decided to charge through the planar veil. Angels created white clouds on the hellish sky, knights and celestial heroes covered the open ground near the castle with a glittering carpet of steel. The Kalash roared one last time, raised their yellow blades to salute the Grail they followed, and charged to defend the fortress.

I saw a funny thing today hoarfrost hiding in shadows asphalt burnt black by morning sun darkness glittering with white the spots of light dark as night

She woke up in darkness. It was as if she was supposed to remember something, something important, but a sudden wave of pain made Jankiize forget what it was. Her first reaction was to dig deeper into the bed, let the painful thoughts go and wallow in mindless, warm, black agony. Something made her grasp it tight, concentrate on the gossamer strands of the abstract ideas, despite the wrecking nausea it caused. He told me … to focus. I remember something… Jankiize sat up, grimaced as her body and soul vacillated in different rhythm. She muttered words of a spell, tried to enchant her eyes to see in the dark, and failed miserably in the attempt – the two of her gestured and spoke differently, ruined the intricate ritual. The headache the failed attempt sparked almost made her lose heart but she stayed upright, her small hands curled into fists. Cold sweat poured down her forehead, plastered her blond hair to her head. She stared into the dark, trying to remember what was so important she had to suffer all these pains of wakefulness when she could’ve just sunk back to the welcoming, warm embrace of sleep. Unite myself? How … do I do that? Even in the dark she could see a little. Her fists on her lap, ghostly versions of them hovering unsteadily around them. The unnatural sight made her shut her eyes and shiver, wish that what she saw wasn’t real. It was getting harder and harder to stay awake. If I let myself go … nobody will save my parents. I’ll never get to see my mother again. She steeled herself, imagined a core of bronze that extended to serve as her spine, an old mental trick she had used during the horrors of Arkstâd’s battles. Jankiize opened her eyes again and stared at her now open hands. Another pair of spectral open hands flitted around them. This time, instead of letting the frightening sight daunt her, she swallowed, tried to forget the sickness and focused on a vision of her ghostly hands perfectly overlapping her real ones. I will see you with us both alive, mother.

She woke up in darkness. Thoughts like shouts from afar, distorted by the distance, rose up to the surface of her mind, but she could not understand them. Jankiize tried to sit up and managed in it after a few tries. She leaned on the stone wall next to her bed and felt relieved by its cool surface, could almost think coherently when she pressed her forehead against it. What happened? I feel … sick. A dim light lit up the room. She half-opened her leaden eyelids and saw the face of the Dreamer, a flickering mageflame illuminating him and her small room with a faint greenish light. He was frowning, his eyes dark grey, almost black in the dark room, and his scars crawled across his ruined face with nauseating moves. “Jankiize? How do ye feel, m’lady?” “I feel … sick, uncle. How many times … have I woken up, so far?” Her speech was halting and she mumbled the words to the wall, feeling too weak to move from the friendly, chilly stone. “’Tis th’ seventh time, m’lady. In almost three weeks. Try t’ stay awake an’ listen, can ye?” “… what?” “Ye have to focus, m’lady Jankiize Towikae Vangaijuua. Unite yer body an’ mind, stop driftin’ like that. We’ve done what we can, an’ I know of no greater healers who’d come here, so th’ rest is up to ye.” She blinked languidly and tried to concentrate on the maddeningly abstract ideas. They seemed to make some sense, but it was hard to think when all of her real strength was used up to fight the nauseating feeling, spirit and body vacillating in different rhythm. Suddenly even the wall wasn’t cool enough, and after a few seconds of mindless scratching to dig into the stone, to the source of the coldness, Jankiize gave up and flopped back to her bed. The following convulsions robbed the last of her energy and pushed her back to unconsciousness.

She woke up in darkness, feeling as she was loaning the body of somebody else, the taste of vomit in her mouth. Her chest hurt, but the ache was detached and strange, the pain of the person whose body she was wearing. Jankiize raised her fingers to her face and traced the familiar things that marked it as hers: the two scars, the hair, her nose and her lips, she was aware of her legs and toes somewhere under the blanket. When she tried to sit up the gap between her spirit and her body grew – she felt as a spirit-she and body-she both tried to do what she asked, but the two wavered, did not manage to occupy the same space. Jankiize curled up in foetal position, nauseous and afraid. A dim light lit up in the room. “Mornin’, Li’tl Princess. How are ye feelin’?” Jankiize did not look up. She would recognize that voice, low and hard to understand because of the peculiar planewalker accent, anywhere. She did whisper back, fighting against the nausea and tiredness, hugging herself. “What happened, uncle? I don’t feel … well.” “Ye don’t remember, girl? I already told ya once, Jankiize. Jaq’s spell tore at yer spirit worse than th’ shard o’ ice at yer chest. Can ye recall anythin’, neh?” “I … I’m tired, uncle. Let me sleep.” The girl dug deeper into the warm, big bed, felt like throwing up but realized there was nothing in her stomach. She stared at the deep shadows obscuring the ceiling of her room, feeling a disorienting vertigo. Every thought required concentration, her memory oddly unclear. It was as if this all had already happened a dozen times, and she weakly raised her hand to her forehead to check if she had fever. The effort was too much and she drifted to sleep, listening the voice of the Dreamer. “Janki? Focus! Can ye hear me? Focus on yerself…”

She woke up in darkness, feeling as she was wearing the body of somebody else. Her chest hurt, but the ache was distant and eerie, the pain of the person whose body she was loaning. Jankiize raised her fingers to her face and traced the familiar things that marked it as hers: the two scars, the hair, her nose and her lips, she could sense her legs and toes somewhere under the blanket. When she tried to sit up the gap between her spirit and her body grew – she felt as a spirit-she and body-she both tried to do what she asked, but were in disharmony with each other. Jankiize curled up in foetal position, nauseous and afraid. A dim light lit up in the room. “Sshh, m’lady. Ye need more rest, Li’tl’ Princess.” Jankiize did not look up. She would recognize that voice, deep and thick with the peculiar planewalker accent, anywhere. She did whisper back, fighting against the nausea and disorientation, hugging herself. “What happened, uncle? I don’t feel … well.” “Th’ spear o’ ice Jaq shot at ya was intervowen with spells o’ soul searin’. He must’ve known who ye are, an’ he was tryin’ to kill ya permanently, so that no resurrection, no trip to th’ heavens, would brin’ ye back. I was slow, but yer bodyguards slow’d th’ bolt down, strip’d it o’ most of th’ mali’nant spells.” The girl crawled to the edge of her bed and vomited stomach acid to the stone floor, shuddering with the force of stomach cramps as she did so. She feebly wiped her mouth and rolled back, stared at the deep shadows obscuring the ceiling of her room. Every motion required concentration, flesh and spirit constantly disagreeing where the hand or the mouth was. She drifted to sleep, listening the voice of the Dreamer. “Listen, girl, ye have to focus on yerself, ye have to rejoin th’ spirit an’ the flesh yerself…”

The army of the Chaos flowed underneath them, insofar as there was such a direction here in the Void. It was a spear or one of those arrows in the symbol of Chaos, it’s tip made of demons and Kalash, the diversity of the abyssal creatures in deep contrast to the uniform metal constructs marching next to them. Behind them came the few Kalash commanders and barons of hell, the former secure in their command, the latter whipping and beating their unruly warriors into obedience. The shaft of the army was made of mostly human mercenaries, heroes and adventurers who had been powerful and celebrated in whatever home plane they had had. Now they were the lowest rank of this powerful army, the fodder for the greatswords of the angels. Behind even them came the small group of service troops, their lack of supplies marking this as a raid and not a full-blown attack. Jankiize and the Dreamer were floating above the path, both protected by faintly shimmering emerald fields. The planewalker grinned at the sight, his eyes light blue. “’Tis th’ hand o’ Chaos, strikin’ back at th’ Law, finally. An’ our work has made it possible.” “You should know by now, uncle, that I hardly care about this war. I’m not here for your Chaos, I’m here for me.” The Dreamer was unfazed by Jankiize’s words and nodded. “I used to despise both Chaos an’ Law, m’lady. I was neutral, concentrat’d on my quest to abolish th’ gods from th’ Paths. But th’ Law started this, an’ there’s no room in their white halls for th’ likes o’ me. So, cornered, I chose my side … an’ here we are.” Jankiize was silent and looked around. Even her augmented eyes did not pick up much to see if she turned them away from the army. Most of the worlds were so far away they looked like tiny, unwavering stars, and she could not see the far-away paths, only the one their raiding party was advacing on. Ahead, a world was slowly growing. It was their target, a minor fortress that had been fought over several times already and that was mostly in ruins. Their scouts had returned with reports of a moderately-sized army of celestials occupying the castle, an army close in size to their own. But they had the Grail. “So, how are you going to win this one, uncle?” “Ye shall see, m’lady. Ye shall see.” The enchantment keeping both of them suspended high above the path changed, and they fell through the blackness of the Void, a fall that swiftly changed into flight. The Dreamer brought them to a space just behind the lesser commanders, between them and the mortal mercenaries. Right after they had resumed their position in the army, joined the greater protective field that protected the mortals from the airless, cold Void, two nondescript mercenaries marched to the front of the mortals and took up positions right behind Jankiize. She gave them one long, cold stare before concentrating on marching forward at the same pace as everybody else. Eventually, they reached the first defenses of Harfrast fortress. The demons were let loose and they found the traps, blowing up, freezing and shattering, their spirits undone or their physical bodies broken by dozens of different spells. They also found the few skirmishers waiting in ambush and shred those of them apart who did not flee. When the outer defenses were breached, the Kalash charged through the planar crystal, their warcry a metallic wailing crash. They raised their psi-blade swords, mixture of malignant psionic power and crackling telekinetic energy pulsing raw yellow on the wicked edges, and Jankiize could feel the miasma of pain. They penetrated the crystal, vanishing from sight, and the tingling aura of agony their blades carried vanished with them. The demons followed in close, milling pursuit, leaving only the restless mortals to this side of the planar barrier. Then the Dreamer raised his no-dachi Pain, golden flames drawn through her from the Grail dancing around him as a fiery aura, and he yelled with a clear, carrying voice. “Charge! Fo’ th’ Grail! Fo’ th’ Chaos!” The mortals replied with a thousand different voices, a cacophony of warcries, and raised their own weapons. Minor artefacts, heirlooms of great power, swords and axes and maces forged of adamant, black iron, dragon’s bones or blue steel – they all were set alight with golden fire. The blessings of the Grail surged through the army, bringing strength and bloodlust and rage as it came. The heroes dashed forward, spittle and sweat flying, golden images of glory shining in their eyes. The Dreamer protected himself and Jankiize again with the emerald green wards and raised them up to clear the way for the mortals, who rushed forward below them. The mortal heroes also penetrated the planar crystal, and for a moment it was silent in the Void, peaceful on this side of the planar barrier. Then the last four of the army, a planewalker and a mortal girl with her bodyguards, entered the pocket plane. Jankiize had seen war. She had been there in all of the four defenses of Arkstâd, had seen planar armies crash when Law’s paladin had attacked the Dreamer’s astral harbour. This was beyond all that, a chaotic abyss of metal and blood and white feathers, a deafening chorus of cries and shouts, metal beating on metal or flesh. The pocket plane was a place of winter and coldness, the fortress made of packed snow and primal ice. Sky above them howled with a permanent blizzard, flying angels circling under the heavy clouds, almost impossible to see in the swirling whiteness. The ground armies were fighting over frozen landscape, demons steaming as their inner heat made contact with ice. Law had brough their warriors to the open plain, too confident of their strength, and the enraged troops of Chaos were slicing their way through. The Kalash were doing most of the bloody work, their psi-blades unexpected and deadly threat, their metal bodies resilent and unyielding. The mortal mercenaries filled the gaps the Kalash made, crushed the dead and dying angels with their stampede, and the demons tied up the flanks, gibbering, growling and roaring in their frenzy. Almost before it had properly started, the first encounter was over, Law’s troops retreating towards the fortress looming behind them, its hoarfrosted towers tall enough to almost touch the planar crystal beyond the stormclouds. The Kalash tried to follow, but a strong gust of frigid air flung their powerful warriors back, froze the front row and shattered them against icy rocks. Jankiize could see the strong flows of mana connecting to somebody at the front gates, felt the power of the almost casually uttered spell. Then the gates slammed shut and runes glowed on their frosty surface, ice covered them protectively in an instant, hiding the silvery sigils. The army of Chaos first stared at the gates, frozen shut, and then made way for the Dreamer and the Grail Carrier. The planewalker stood in front of the two tall doors, assessed the flows of magic and the unseen runes, and smiled, his eyes shining white and gold. He grasped empty air, slid his hand along an imagine handle. The powers of the Grail complied and flames burned soon in the frigid air in the shape of a mallet he lifted above his head. The weapon solidified in mid-swing and the red-yellow hammer, engraved chalice on its head, runes running along its shaft, roared towards the gate. It struck the point where ice was thickest and exploded, sending white rays of light and blue sparks everywhere. The gate shuddered but held. The Dreamer scowled at the unbroken doors, at the reformed head of his mallet, and sneering lifted his weapon up again. Jankiize felt how he drained more power through her and she felt weak, strained by the white-hot mana coursing through her. This time the planewalker shouted with a voice louder than his mallet. “Yield!” The head of the mallet, now as bright as a small star, streaked towards the gates as a comet and struck it with a thunderous boom. The tall gates yielded and were flung inwards, cutting down and crushing awaiting angels. Before the dazed defenders had time to recover, the triumphant Chaos troops rushed in, Kalash, demons and mortals in one force, united by their bloodlust or fanaticism. Jankiize could sense an opposing planewalker standing somewhere amidst the angels, but could not see him. The Dreamer, with his keener senses, leaped forward holding his fiery mallet. Both armies flowed around the two planewalkers and the receding angels finally exposed their enemy. He was slightly taller than the Dreamer but his muscular build made him seem far bigger. His skin and garments and staff were all white or light blue, the colors of ice and winter and snow. A cold mist hung over him, obscuring all except his quarterstaff and his glowing, blue eyes. Jankiize could feel power stored in the staff, trapped, ice-aligned mana pacing restlessly in the small confines of the artifact. The Dreamer shifted his grip on the mallet, held it with his right hand as a shield of golden fire appeared on his left arm. The ice giant spoke, his voice deceptively normal, soft but cutting through the noise of the battlefield by the power of some enchantment. “Lost yer blade, Scour’e o’ th’ Planes?” “Naw, but reckon’d ye might not like fire, m’lord Jaq. I figured ye might be here, th’ climate bein’ what it is.” Around them, the fight continued, but with slower pace as the warriors of both sides tried to see and hear what their planewalker captains did and said. They in turn ignored the lesser beings around them, concentrated on each other fully. Jaq did not waste his breath with more conversation, but focused his attention on his staff. Temperature in the hall lowered even further as some of the energies he drew to his own uses leaked out, created a dervish of snow and ice around the planewalker. The Dreamer danced forward, his eyes now almost black, and brought his mallet down with all his force. It smashed aside the outer wards of Law’s planewalker but lacked the strength to pierce the whole set of them, its head first exploding and then renewing itself when the Dreamer raised it up again. Undaunted by the loss of so many of his wards, Jaq aimed his staff and fired it as it had been a crossbow. The Dreamer moved to dodge the jagged shard of charged primal ice, then realized it had not been aimed at him in the first place. Faster than mortal eye could follow, one of the mercenaries nearby, clad in grey and brown, threw himself on the bolt’s way. It penetrated him but continued its inexorable journey, slowing further down when another mercenary in grey and brown tried to deflect it with an extended mace. The icicle struck Jankiize’s green wards, shattered them, slowed down further when it hit the passive protective field of her amulet and struck her in the middle of her torso, flinging her like a doll across the room. The mallet and shield started to fade, but the Dreamer aimed one last blow with the fiery tool at his opponent’s head. The resulting explosion sundered both the weapon and the wards, Jaq staggering backwards for long enough for the Dreamer to draw Pain. Wardless, faced with an enraged and armed planewalker famous of his martial skills, known for the slaying of the Myrmidon, Jaq did the only sensible thing and fled to the Astral. The remains of Law’s army broke as soon as they realized their planewalker captain had abandoned them and tried to run, their retreat turning into blood-coloured rout very fast. See you soon, mother…

“I thought ye’d come ‘ere, m’lady” The Dreamer moved away from the shadows he had been standing in, immobile and silent as a statue. His eyes shone dimly blue in the dark room, but other than that he was a tall, thin shade, barely seen against the background of black rock. Jankiize muttered and her vision altered, showed the room as if it was lit, her bodyguards with their two different shapes, real and illusionary, the flows of mana swirling around the planewalker and his wards. “What do you want now, uncle?” “After ye left with yer new bodyguards, me an’ Owiric discuss’d th’ near future. ’Tis soon time for our first foray into th’ depths of Law’s territory, an’ we’ll need ya there, ye an’ th’ Grail.” She frowned, surprised and displeased. “But this fortress is nowhere near complete. Or are you speaking in planewalker terms again when you say ‘soon’ and ‘near future’?” “Naw, I mean ‘n a few days, m’lady. Th’ mercenaries are restless, th’ forces o’ Law gettn’ too close. ‘Twas one o’ th’ reasons ye got yer bodyguards now, Lady of Bronze.” Jankiize’s eyes narrowed and her voice turned into a hissing, angry whisper. “Lady of Bronze was left in Arkstâd. I’m the Grail Carrier here, your own personal mercenary with a five year pact. Now, uncle, get out of my training room. I have forms to practice.” The Dreamer shrugged, the glow of his eyes dying and the scars on his face writhing. “Ye should practice ‘gainst Angrôthin, instead. ‘Tis beings of his power ye should fear, not those mortals mercenaries.” He turned and walked out the door with a slow and relaxed gait.