Several Nosferatu turn away from their fight with more modern looking teen vampires to race toward Gracie at super speed.
Calesvol's blade cuts through six of the long eared pale vampires, beams of light highlighted in the dust clouds of the dissolving bodies.
Max's bands wrap around the powered armor clad figure, pushing his weapon against his chest.
Cesarina steps forward and grasps her hands together, saying a brief prayer, ending with (what else?) "And the Lord said...let there be light".
And there was.
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This cavern has served as a refuge to evil for thousands of years, long before there was a Dracula, Lord of Vampires. Lilith herself took refuge here. And Sekmet, daughter of Ra, hiding from her father, Ra. The air reeks with thousands of years of spilled blood.
But the power that Cesarina calls on is older still than any of that. Older than blood, older than cavern, older than light, older even than darkness.
Like the One she serves, Cesarina says Let there be light. and there is Light. Light older than greater light to rule the day and the lesser light to rule the night, older than the sun and moon. Vampires might think that what they fear is the sun, that the light that burns is the the sun, but there is Light that is older and more pure than that, and it is that light that Cesarina calls forth.
The room is filled with Light. It is like the sun at the equator but so much more. It is light that fills the chamber and leaves no shadows. All of your life you have seen light that comes from the sun, from a lamp, from a source. But this light doesn't have a source, it is the source. The Sacred Bull has experienced such light before, for he has spent eons in Heaven itself, but the mortals among you have seen nothing like this. Even Cesarina is out of her depth.
A few of the vampires manage to wriggle into holes in the walls, or move as mist into vents beneath their seats, but the rest are blasted into nothingness like a well smoked cigar in a hurricane.
On the stage, the armored figure and the hellcat stand strong against the light, apparently protected. The massive winged grey furball, however, dissolves into ash in the wind.
The armored figure turns toward the interlopers .
"Most interesting. A priest and the rest take out the opposition. Your plan proceeds apace, Father."
The gatling gunned suit of armor and the Hellcat turn toward you, wary at your approach.
Back to you guys
The Bands of Cyttorak slam the armored figure into the ceiling, but the armor is tougher than its age would suggest.
Cesarina looks around in sheer rapture, thankful to be in the presence of perfection if but for a moment. Unfortunately, the purity of the moment can't last forever, as the presence of the unclean intrudes on her senses, bringing her back to the task at hand.
"Whatever plan you believe your father has concocted is as done and dusted as he is, creature. Submit yourself for judgment and I can ensure a painless transition to the hereafter. Should you truly repent even you may be forgiven as you pass on."
Grace stands next to Cesarina, pointing her blade at the creatures who remain. "I'd talk if I were you."
The Sacred Bull's brass hoof scrapes at the ground, impatient to bring desolation upon these abominations. However he takes the lead from the mortal Servant of the Holy See, her word and judgement were to be respected.
As the entreaty of a surrender is attempted the divine bovine snorts, spreading his angelic wings wide and lowering his mighty horns...
The Son of Dracula in his diesel punk armor laughs. The sound echoes through primitive filters and tubes, coming out as a phlemy rasp.
"Submit yourself...Repent. Listen to yourself, priest. You channel power, but you do not know power. There is power in rebellion. Lilith, Dracula, Arban-Ilu. Your god offers eternal life if you submit, but I have lived lifetimes in rebellion against the order that you proclaim. And yes, good knight, I will be happy to talk. Now that Eldritch has done the work set for you by my father." He gestures with a gloved hand. "Weakness had spread through the council of vampires. You have culled that weakness. And all that remains is strength. You have carried out the Master's plan almost without flaw. We isolated the Dream Warrior. You brought us the Child of the Valkyrie like a ripe fruit. And now look upon the totality of your failure."
As he speaks, tendrils of shadow flow across the stone stage on which he stands. The shadow pools and rises, forming a vaguely familiar shadow figure edged in rainbow scintillations that you recognize from Oz's nightmare form, now swollen even more than usual, 8 feet tall, clawed and spiked with darkness.
At the same time, the darkness spills forth as though from a silk sheet three women clad in tight flowing green dresses. They each appear to be wearing heels at first, but in fact they have deer or elk hooves. One of the four holds an urn that you recognize immediately as the receptacle of Dracula's ashes.
Gracie realizes that the fey-song has stopped, and must have been sung by these three women.
One of the baobhan sidhe holds a gold mask that is instantly recognizable to Eldritch as the mask of Malador the Mystic.[/ooc]
Gracie's about to ask what happened to Ragnarok when the even more twisted-than-usual nightmare form of Oz appears. She grimaces. "What did you do to him?"
Out of the corner of her eye, trained awareness makes her turn her attention to the feypires and their artifacts, and warns, "Those are banshees, don't let them sing at you."
But it is always foremost her nature and purpose to protect those from being dominated by bullies, big and small, and she turns back to the transformed Oz. "Oz. Oz! What happened? Can you fight him?"
She readies a defensive stance.
Cesarina seethes as the monsters reveal they've gotten their claws into Oz.
"Gracie, if I or Eldritch can hold him still, do you think you'd be able to dispel whatever magic they're using to turn Oz against us?"
The Sacred Bull casts a stern eye toward his companions as they mull a course of action;
The angelic bovine tilts its prodigious horns toward their assembled enemies and snorts in derision;
He flexes his brass-feather wings and takes to the air, hovering over the assembled heroes and vamps. Bellowing his challenge;
Grace nods. "It's worth a shot."
She says to the Sacred Bull. "The nightmare thing, that's our friend Oz. They got to him or are controlling him somehow. I hope you can have some mercy for a soul trapped in a dangerous form by external forces."
With the Crimson Bands of Cyttorak gripping the armored vampire son of Dracula who survived the divine light of Cesarina, Max tried to find the weakest seam in the armor. "Let the Crimson Bands of Cyttorak expose you, vampire."
Cesarina nods back at Gracie, then clasps her hands together. Shackles of constricting light appear around Oz and attempt to bind him. "If you have any control at all, Oz, fight off the urge to break free from these bindings. We'll have you truly freed soon."
Max's (or Cytorrak's) Crimson Bands compress to blade-like thinness and pry into the dieselpunk armor, tearing the now outdated tech apart. The breastplate clatters to the stone stage, revealing the chiseled chest of the vampire, pale and unblemished.
You see Oz's face for a moment as the chest of the dream peels away, "It isn't me, they have some control of the Nightmare. I can't stop it."
Cesarina's Shackles wrap around the Nightmare form that Oz is wrapped in, sending rainbow colors over the creature's rippling musculature and claws.
Gracie nods at Oz. "We've got you, Oz," she says, pointing her blade at him and activating her antimagic cone, selectively excluding Cesarina and Max's magic holding him in place.
The Nightmare form ripples under the assault of Calesvol's power, but does not give. The nightmare face smiles with a mouth full of rows of sharklike teeth in coruscating rainbows. Two other mouths, one diagonal in his torso and one just floating off to the side also smile.
As Max sheds the vampire's armoured shell, the Sacred Bull charges in, wings wide and horns low;
The vampire son's armor may be compromised, but he still has the speed and reflexes of a powerful vampire lord. He transforms into mist with the speed of thought and the armor falls to the stone stage as the sacred bull charges in.
The mist flows over the charging bull.
[ooc]Gracie recalls a story about a man named Macphee. His companions were killed by the Baobhan sith during a night of danger, but, accompanied by his black dog, Macphee survived. Cesarina is currently surrounded by several massive wolves, and it occurs to Gracie that the Baobhan sith don't apparently like dogs...{/ooc]
As she keeps trying to take in all that is going on, knowing there is not only Oz but other creatures, Grace says to Cesarina, "Ces... those wolves... if they do what you say, send them after the banshees. I'll keep working on Oz..."
My turn.
Oz's Nightmare form opens its eyes...all of them...all over its body. These strange nightmare eyes project your worst fears.
The Banshees clutch the urn and mask, seemingly waiting for something.
Cesarina feels Oz's nightmarish presence touch on her mind...and simply wash over her, Faith strong enough to repel the invasion of hostile power.
She gives Grace a nod, and turns to her lupine companions.
"Those fey are afraid of you, you know? Would you like to show them why they should be?"
Grace is already terrified of losing Oz, so it takes little influence upon her to hallucinate that the nightmare thing begins to devour him whole, the light of her blade slowly being drowned in dark shadows. Horrified by what she sees in her mind's eye, she kneels to the floor, shaking, tears streaming down her face. "No, Oz... I'm sorry Oz..."
Her armor and sword blink away from existence.
"Come back here." Max floats to reposition from any obvious melee and flares magic from his hands, "Be bound by the Crimson Bands of Cyttorak, son of Dracula!" Red ribbons reach out to attempt to bind the misty vampire.
The foul mist envelops the celestial bull, but he beats his wings fanning the worst of the cloud from his gleaming form.
Snorting in anger, the bovine hovers and bellows a challenge toward the winged behemoth;
The wolves lower their heads and lope toward the Baobhan Sith. Communicating in ways you can't understand, they decide that the one holding the mask is the weakest. One moves in directly, growling viciously and drawing attention as another comes in from the side. Though the women float just enough off the ground for you to realize that they aren't exactly tethered to the material world, the wolf's jaws clamp down, dragging her down to the stone of the platform. The last four wolves pile onto the now screaming woman, grabbing, heads tearing at pale flesh that dissolves into mist and then vanishes.
"Come back here." Max floats to reposition from any obvious melee and flares magic from his hands, "Be bound by the Crimson Bands of Cyttorak, son of Dracula!" Red ribbons reach out to attempt to bind the misty vampire.
The Crimson Bands snap into a sphere around the misty vampire as the Bull's wings blow it into place.
Cesarina looks on in approval as the wolves start ripping through the banshees, and continues restraining Oz; hopefully it will be enough.
The Shackles of Holy Light cut through the darkness of Oz's Nightmare form, wrapping around the man within and pressing him to the ground, simultaneously grappling and shielding him. The Nightmare pulls against the bonds, stretching like a balloon being squeezed.
Currently we have Oz in Nightmare form Paralyzed in Shackles of Light.
Son of Dracula grappled by Crimson Bands.
Hellcat not currently fighting anyone.
Two banshees facing off against wolves.
Gracie blinks through her tears, and as the nightmare form is wrapped in bands of light, she sees Oz is still clearly there, and tries to shake off the overwhelming fear that he was gone. She tries not to swear in front of Cesarina, but as she realizes she likely had been victim to some effect, she involuntarily mutters, "F#!#," as she stands up.
Figuring Oz is well in hand and that the bull is likely about to attack the hellcat, she runs over and grabs the mask that has fallen to the ground.
Gracie grabs the mask, a gold skull face with empty eyes and a massive ruby embedded in the forehead. The red stone glows faintly as she holds it, and Gracie has a momentary sense the the eye sockets are staring into her.
The Son of Dracula wavers between mist and solidity, seeking gaps in Eldritch's focus, but the nascent Master Mage has crafted his spell well, countering every movement.
The banshees howl as Gracie grabs the mask. The one holding the urn sinks her claws into it, crushing it as you might crush an egg. Grey ash pours out onto the fitted stone floor, the remains of Dracula himself. The empty handed fey vampire's claws might elongate, or perhaps it is a trick of shadow. She lashes out at the one who broke the urn, tearing the woman's neck. Bright red fresh blood pours over the woman's marble white skin, staining her clothes and dripping onto the floor.
The Hellcat leaps at The Bull.
The wolves turn to the next of the Baobhan Sithe, converging with a sudden violence, pulling the still whole woman to the ground and then covering her in a flood of bloody fur. She, too, dissolves into mist and fades away.