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Zephyr had been rising into the air under his own power, planning to actually transform a bit higher so that all of his students could witness the glory of the Sky. That planned changed. No one had ever seen Zephyr angry ...
The transformation was almost immediate, and Zephyr looked NOTHING like Fury. He somehow skipped the baseline wild shape, his anger cascading into the magic: Zephyr became lightning, and decended in rage towards the Moon Priest.
The priest is surprised by the tanglefoot bag, and flops onto the ground unceremoniously. His gaunt body seems to crumple at the mere suggestion of exertion.
"We're done there, we need to be free ... RUN!"
After a moment's indecisive agony, the younger members of your respective flocks flee past, running toward a towering sentry of silver. A few are shedding tears, but Gamberino still exults in the action-- he makes the others ready for one concentrated attack on the huge golem's flank.
"Agreed" calls Edmund as he finishes his charge towards the inquisitor
+ +
"Continue with the plan," Albert cheers to his portion of the group. "We'll protect your flank and join you shortly."
Albert changes his grip, taking his sword in both hands and reflexively pumping his wings to charge down at Ky La as they falls to the ground. They might not be able to end Moon's favored inquisitor here and now, but any injury to Moon's cause was sufficient. Albert swings his blade back and puts an extra spin just before impacting the inquisitor.
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Thin yellow blood--like the inquisitor's skin, unnatural in shade-- leaks from the wounds dealt by Albert and Edmund. Bizarrely, Ky La begins to laugh, a grating, stilted sound. "Ha. Ha. Ha. They didn't even see fit to protect me from blades, eh?"
All he does is stare at the three of you: alchemist, priest, and mystic. His spectacled gaze swings back to Edmund. "Do you have doubts regarding your precious Silver Bringer, dear fellow? Do you worship a tin can, now that your deity is revealed false? Ha. H-"
-like a popped balloon, the inquisitor bursts into a clear spray of icy needles, leaving no trace of skin, blood, or sinew. The ice pierces both body and magicks.
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Without fanfare, Ky La disappears in an icy burst. Albert feels the cold penetrating through to his essence, but is otherwise relatively unbothered. The transparent glass readout, however, on Albert's faceplate flashes red, displaying an error.
Error 504b: Insufficient celerity to modulate frequencies outside visible light spectrum.
Well, if Ky La had become invisible, then that was that. He hopes it was more like a recall, somehow doubting that Moon would so unceremoniously--and prematurely--slay one of their servants.
This one was a much stranger effect, though, and he isn't certain he'll be able to determine what had happened. But as long as one threat was removed, he's ready to move on. The professor looks over at Edmund. "You all right, me birdo? Let's catch up with the others. Do you want a ride, or would you rather let your feet carry you?"
The light modulator had kicked, but his wings still seemed to be functioning optimally. Albert gives them a test flap before taking off to catch up with the others.
The young ones fan out ahead of you. Fear shows in their eyes, but courage drives their feet forward. Your quick defeat of the inquisitor has given them the time to initiate your plan.
Albert shudders, planning to discuss his analysis with the others later. Moon was formidable and unpredictable.
While Gamberino has charged full ahead screaming and chucking bombs like the avatar of The Warrior, Iris takes another group. Iris had been a curious student, having secured scholarships to attend both the Northern Magerium and the University of Alchemy to achieve a dual title in an extended but still accelerated course of study. She had been taking a three-quarter load at both universities and had--in her third year--proposed a collaboration between one of Albert's colleagues in the Celerity Engineering Lab and the School of the Woven Spirit. She had been writing her thesis on the reversal of polarity to achieve differential results, whether overcoming a sylph's natural resistance, negating their innate ability to tap into the elements, or even using electricity to speed healing. It was the sort of thing that, as an external advisor, Albert had strongly encouraged her to narrow down. It was simply too broad of a scope. And yet she insisted that, if she just ran a few more experiments and could get the approval of the Joint Light Review Board, she might be able to find a common link and demonstrate that limiting her scope would prove detrimental to the whole project.
She reminded Albert of himself when he was her age.
And yet she was more of an innate leader. Albert watches as she strafes around towards a golem with a wave of peers from the universities surrounding her. Albert realizes in watching that Iris had transformed his plan into a multi-pronged assault. The pattern was difficult to notice at first, but only because the people were organized in such a way as to defy easy discrete pattern recognition, doing different tasks that might violate a golem's rudimentary processing power. Some of her peers are focused on spotting and providing increased defense, while others are peppering the golem with distractions. That seems to be what Gamberino is doing--more distraction.
And there is Iris, drawing ever closer to the golem and dragging a spray can of paint behind her. Albert watches as she and the others draw a glyph in sync with each other, egging the golem dangerously close while setting it up for an enormous fall. Then Iris sees her opportunity as the golem steps on one node of the glyph. She draws a dagger from her belt and tumbles to another glyph node, reaching the blade up and then stabbing it into the fresh paint.
As the chaos around Ky La occurs Fredrik one of Edmunds aids rushes ahead and gets underfoot of the massive golem. He tries to grab the behemoths attention. He pulls out a strip of metal he had made himself through an experiment in Metallurgy creating an alloy of Mithril and Adamantium. He then attaches it to the leg of the construct and runs around it trying to tie its legs together.
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Given the opportunity, your acolytes and apprentices do you proud. While the three of you deal with Ky La and take the brunt of the strange ice attack, the rest of your groups rush forward and initiate the plan with speed and competence.
The node network of the alchemists contains and amplifies the fire bombing and other force effects, concentrating them on knee joints and vulnerable counterbalancing structures.
At just the right second, Fredrik uses the flexible, absurdly strong wiring to loop the golem's legs together. The metal holds for just long enough to start the golem toward falling; the fire bombing and node-forces knock it even futher off kilter ;
and Zephyr and his followers finish the task with their various wind-summoning magicks...
Your eclectic group comes together for a moment as a team. You call wind, flame, alchemy (and a fair bit of luck and prayer) to topple a golem that could crush all of you in the blink of an eye.
It seems to happen in slow motion, but then all at once its bulk crashes to the ground, right into the city walls some fifty feet away from you. Some of your companions are knocked to the ground by the sheer concussive force of the collapse, but none of you are hurt. The cacophonous sound of bending and screeching metal finds your ears just a heartbeat later.
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The sheer force coming from the falling golem threatens to buffet Albert back to crash through the buildings behind him. As glass shatters, he holds his metallic wings forward to create a smaller target with less drag, concentrating fuel burn to the thrusters in his suit to counteract the gale-force winds coming his way. And as soon as the force lets him, he rockets forward, overshooting his pupils and peers alike as they pick through the rubble of the city walls. The professor raises a fist as he gets over the bulk of them in triumphant celebration.
But it wasn't over yet. He scans the area for any who might be struggling and sees a Caith athlete--Rowan--struggling to carry the young el they had found dazed with his feet frozen. Albert watches as a girder in the collapsed wall twists and creaks, threatening to fall in Rowan's path. He shoots down and bashes into the girder, peeling it back. Screaming, he clenches his chem-augmented muscles and with a keening tear rips the exposed steel beam off. He activates the thrusters, beginning a spiral through the air, at the apex of which he hurls the beam as an improvised weapon towards a golem approaching from further away down the wall.
Not waiting to see if the beam would make any impact, Albert dives down towards Rowan. "I'll get this lad over, mate. You focus on yourself and keep an eye out for those behind."
"Thanks, teach," the lad says, hoisting the still-out-of-it sylph into Albert's waiting arms. With a nod and another glance around, Albert takes off once more to get the injured to safety beyond the wall.
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Fly to Master Albert ... now! Be the wind, Child of Sky, it is your time!"
The Proclaimer decended to his disciple, shedding his veil of lightning, and placed his hands on the young man's shoulders: "go ... go now ... ALbert needs his hands free, carry the child with your heart" Zephyr gently squeezed Anan and whispered, "believe ..." and the power of the wild shape flowed into his student.
Anan raised his head to the sky in exulation, finally embracing all that was above. He looked like Fury, but so much more; he was man made Sky. He launched himself towards Albert and the young Slyph he was holding, closing the space almost as fast as his master might have. Fury followed him, sparking with excitment and surprise.
"Excuse me young man, we aren't done here." Zephyr appeared next to Natann with absolutely no warning, "you will provide us some cover lad, call our friends, call ALL of them. Tell them to cloud the golems vision, let them see nothing but the flocks surrounding them."
Edmund charges on, he refreshes his newly dispelled channel vigor and joins the mass of students and disciples as they run.
The sounds of screeching metal, shattering glass, and the echoing THOOM of the golem's fall mix with screams of pain and shouts of fear from all quarters. The arcing celerity lines that fill so much of Light's skyline seem to dim for a moment under the cacophony.
The other golems are slow to react; their programming does not seem to include this chaotic scenario. Peppered with alchemical shots to throw them off balance, and vision clouded by Zephyr's other disciples, the towering machines do not close quickly enough to prevent the group's escape. Could this be freedom?
The closest golem halts, and several of its eyes begin to blaze red-hot. You can only imagine the blast that is about to come forth --
Somehow, with a voice larger than the boy himself, the young rescued sylph bellows golem protocols in perfect Maker Script. For just a split second, the golem halts, trembling with restrained effort. Then it fires its blazing rays in the spot you were but a moment ago, leaving a house-sized area of smoldering wreckage behind you.
And now past fine silver city walls, traceries and filigree of Sky's ancient aspects; past the outer Spires, showering sparks in sudden alarum; sprinting down the steep hills surrounding the city, away from beaten paths and roads, plunging into the surrounding forest for cover.
You are free, alive, and sane.
Maker Script from someone so young? Albert grins: one to see that the boy had regained some semblance of consciousness, and two to see that rescuing him had proven so fruitful.
Albert maintains a flying patrol around the group until the last of them break through the tree line. Then, at last, the celerity exhausted from the flight, he lands and lets the suit enter its sleep protocol.
"Edmund," he says, chasing to catch up to his friend. "I know that wasn't our first test, but I dare say that was the most successful test of the latest modules yet!"
He glances over to Zephyr as well. "I know it's not the same as your flight, but I hope your gods would approve and not think it overly hubristic of us to have risen to the sky by other means!"
Albert is practically dancing as he goes around to the different people he knows in their escape group, exhilarated rather than exhausted, praising individual accomplishments than he had observed from everyone he comes into contact with. He also uses the opportunity to see whether anyone had sustained any debilitating injuries on the way out, and whether anyone could benefit from his healing protocols.
Finally, he comes around to where Anan has settled with the maker-script-speaking sylph, offering his teachers' praise to each of them. "Now I know Signore Anan's name, of course, but yours, young el? Your words on the Edge of Light were the first I heard you speak. Can you tell us your name?"
He glances over to Zephyr as well. "I know it's not the same as your flight, but I hope your gods would approve and not think it overly hubristic of us to have risen to the sky by other means!"
Finally, he comes around to where Anan has settled with the maker-script-speaking sylph, offering his teachers' praise to each of them. "Now I know Signore Anan's name, of course, but yours, young el? Your words on the Edge of Light were the first I heard you speak. Can you tell us your name?"
"Any sylph who yearns to fly is praying to our Father, any sylph who flies rejoices in all that we are as a people."
Zephyr alights next to Anan, and offers to help the young Maker Script Speaker to stand
"Long have I held the power of our heritage yet my love for the Sky never fades - you 3 however, what a day! Albert, I know that you can do practically anything, but that was a long time aloft for you! High praise dear friend! You young sir, spoke your power as a parlay for all of our freedom: that will not soon be forgotten." Zeph turns to Anan, wonder and love in his eyes "Anan, YOU have taken my breath away. I have prayed so many times about so many things ... but I did NOT expect that you would be so many of the answers. Wow. Go to your friends, let them see you. I will join you soon."
Albert continues beaming. He certainly didn't share Zephyr's religious fervor, but his excitement in this moment knew no bounds.
It might be the chemicals, though. Those did tend to promote altered states of consciousness in which almost anything could be dreamt of and manifested for the suggestible mind.
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Albert continues beaming. He certainly didn't share Zephyr's religious fervor, but his excitement in this moment knew no bounds.
It might be the chemicals, though. Those did tend to promote altered states of consciousness in which almost anything could be dreamt of and manifested for the suggestible mind.
As you sprint down the slopes away from Light, hearts beating in your chests from fear and adrenaline, you hear more shrieking, crashing, and yelling: the din of battle. Had other groups tried to use Moon's time of weakness to effect an escape? No time to worry now.
Perhaps most shocking of all, the red and blue celerity wires, their industrious glow normally visible up to fifty miles away from the city, temporarily go out. There is utter blackness left in its wake; it rudely shoves the fact of Sky's death and the Dark's dominion into the forefront of your mind. After a long five minutes, the celerity wires start humming again. The quality of the celerity seemed bluer, deeper now, but still an improvement over the dark.
You are far away from the city gates now. There seems to be no pursuit, but you allow yourselves no rest as you push farther.
You leave behind the alchemical, technological, and arcane center of the world. You leave behind friends, strangers, good els and eles that did nothing but fall under the spell of Moon. The leering proto-god Smiles over the city, smug in its feast of ideas.
Edmund busies himself with divination upon divination, as his disciples watch, and wonder at his actions. The priest has little time to direct his flock, as the preparations for the rituals are meticulous and laborious. The results are unmistakable - you take rests in safe locations; find easy and lucky paths; and finally fall upon a friendly (though wary) groups of magical crafters about two days' journey away from Light.
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**
A few candles after you have fled from Light, but before making your first camp for the night, Gamberino breaks the tense silence. With a note of bravado, he says, "We have felled one of their mighty engines of war. I daresay with proper planning, we could do more, perhaps even take back parts of the city!" The zeal (and short-sightedness) of youth shines in his eyes.
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The sounds of distant conflict quicken Albert's strides even as they threaten to give him pause. Could he have helped more--saved more?
Ah, there was little good to be had in wondering about could'ves or should'ves. Whatever one's beliefs about the flexibility or fixedness of the future, the past was stone.
The erstwhile (and hopefully future) professor gives a nod of recognition to the young Script-speaker and encourages Anan to continue to guide him, carrying him if needed.
---
For better or worse, Albert's ability to fly is limited. His armor's batteries need time to recharge, and it's not as simple of a process as merely waiting. Some of the zinc and copper plates would have burnt out and needed replacing, which required disassembly and reassembly. He gets to some of this work when the group stops for brief rests, but the chances of taking a full hour to stop before sleep seems foolish. Even if Moon's Maddened weren't following them, safety wasn't guaranteed.
When not tending to his batteries, Albert makes the rounds to check on the state of people, his eyes keen to notice faltering steps betraying fatigue or twisted ankles. He begins to sound like a broken record with calls to drink more water. But it's a role he doesn't mind. It's the role he had trained for, after all.
---
Albert smiles at Gamberino's proud declaration and lets it linger in the air before dashing it to the ground.
"Yes, proper planning," he begins. "And greater numbers and resources. Greater knowledge of the effects we witnessed. Without all this and more, casualties uncountable could occur. They might even with the best planning in all Volcano's Land."
His tone remains measured throughout--matter-of-fact with scant if any drama of reproachment, the way one might name days of the week. "We will not be able to do this alone, and none here should be forced to participate in any efforts. You all did admirably. But I believe the first course of action should be to retreat to one of the other great cities and regroup."
Gamberino (and the few that agreed with him) takes the mild reproach in stride; the medical profession demands analysis based on facts, and he sees the wisdom in your words with no hard feelings. "Greater resources." He agrees with his mentor. His gaze shifts from you to the young boy who spoke Script and golem commands with such fluency. More softly, to himself, "Greater weapons."
He bids you good afternoon as he tends to his other duties across camp. Gamberino has never shied from menial chores like washing bandages and bedding, and that is where he heads now.
Gamberino is a good sort. He would likely be able to rally support wherever they went next. "Gamberino," he asks in a quiet moment later underneath the twilight. "Are you originally from Light, or one of the other cities? Hearth? Forge?"
Albert offers to take the first watch: the more time to ensure that he has uninterrupted time to monitor his resources.
"Hearth, professor. The Brightfield Blazers played brutbreve right down the street from me." Gamberino has given you (mostly) playful mockery over the years on the superiority of brutbreve versus caith. "I loved the city, but not much future for a third son of the family, so I made my way to Light to learn medicine." He clasps you shoulder in a friendly way. "It was a good gig with a good teacher, 'til all that Moon merda happened." He smiles, optimistic about the road ahead despite the destruction you are leaving behind.
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Fury blows in Gamberino's face and musses his hair, disapproving as always of swear words, especially the cruder ifrit ones.
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"Hearth, professor. The Brightfield Blazers played brutbreve right down the street from me." Gamberino has given you (mostly) playful mockery over the years on the superiority of brutbreve versus caith. "I loved the city, but not much future for a third son of the family, so I made my way to Light to learn medicine." He clasps you shoulder in a friendly way. "It was a good gig with a good teacher, 'til all that Moon merda happened." He smiles, optimistic about the road ahead despite the destruction you are leaving behind.
"Language!"
No one missed the joke ... or the reference to folk hero Stevel Rogercano who once upon a time became so cold off the northern shores that he didn't thaw out for 100 years. The urban legends state that he was somewhat of a school marm originally. Zephyr often teased Fury about this, and yet, the little slice of divinity wasn't actually wrong either. The Moon Walkers didn't need to be called names tho, they needed to be saved.
Ciela, of course, was the first of Zephyr's students to laugh; she also conjured a glamour of a bar of soap floating towards Gamberino's mouth. They all thought maybe even Fury laughed at that!
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Albert had never understood the proscription that some felt towards coarse language but laughs gently at the spectacle anyway. In his experience, vulgarities had numerous benefits: pain reduction, social cohesion, and often profound accuracy when other words simply would not do. At least no one was clutching their pearls!
"Well," the professor says with a smile once the laughter reduces, "Perhaps we'll catch a game when we're there. Diversions are nice, especially for the third son of the family escaping Moon merda."
Anyone trying to conjure soap towards his mouth receives a swift gust of wind to knock it out of the way.
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Edmund volunteers for 3rd watch, leaving Zephyr to tend the lonely middle watch. "Up early, and prayers before bright," he tells his flock.
**
Albert, Gamberino keeps you company on your watch. He makes sure to stay downwind of you, knowing your distaste of his smoking habit. His leg bounces with nervous energy as he relays the action of the day, shaping it into exciting heroism rather than terrifying blundering. The ember of his cigarette emphasizes his gestures
**
Edmund, only the boy Drook joins you for your watch. A few of your flock also walk a wider patrol. Drook looks like he wants to ask you something, but "Nothing." is his sullen response if you inquire.
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**
Zephyr, your disciple Anan shares watch with you, but is content to listen to the breeze in the branches as night passes to bright.
Everyone wakes up, cleans camp, and, after a few tired groans from the younger elens, is ready to travel again.
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Maybe a god needs to 'die' to ascend to true godhood? Do you have ANY idea what its like to love the Father? Alive in your heart and your mind but the 'basics' can't see him or feel him? Anan knew. Zeph couldn't really express love for him, but he knew Anan knew the father the exact same why that Zephyr did. Zephyr loved him for that.
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Edmund was taken aback slightly by Drooks refusal to divulge his question early in the morning but the watch presses on.
As the peaklight of bright streaked over the horizon Edmund sounds the morning off with a hammer blow to his anvil ringing across the camp and the shouted "Bydded yr ergyd hon yr olaf a gymmerwyd heb waradwydd" That those who worked with him often heard him say. He then kneels down down and begins his prayers asking for guidance from his forge.
Sunsilver had many wonderful properties that Albert had begun to study, but it was not yet an endless source of energy. With the rising of the Sun, Albert begins checking on the status of his nearly three dozen battery stacks, large and small. Licking his index finger and thumb and then holding them to the positive and negative ends of each stack respectively lets him determine swiftly what is ready for the day and what might need plate replacements or cleaning. He finds a relatively level spot of ground and sets out an assortment of glass vials and heat sources, remixing reagents to prepare more effectively for the business of the day while he scrapes bits of rust off of spent plates into a separate vial.
Waste not, want not. One of the rules of both alchemistry and field medicine was that nothing was lost, merely converted. If you could effectively recapture byproducts of a process, then you might be able to put those to use somewhere else. Perfect systemic efficiency was almost impossible given current knowledge, but the more you could reuse, the better were your chances of achieving self-sustenance.
Nothing was lost, merely converted. Light was not yet lost. Moon might hold sway now, but this group of survivors were unintended byproducts of its takeover.
When each voltaic cell is prepared and each vial of augmentative chemicals is deposited into its appropriate compartment, Albert asks for Gamberino's aid to get into the sunsilver suit. The professor brims with magical and alchemical potential.
Albert, you see the small Script boy curled up next to your armor. Shortly after you don your suit, he awakens. "Why are you empty when you sleep?" He puts his small hand into your armored one.
You all overhear Gamberino regaling his fellow medical students with his favorite parts of Hearth. He invites Iris to tour the best restaurants. Iris, the only one to routinely score higher than Gamby on professor's tests, demurely replies she would rather see the libraries first.
Fredrik, quietly ambitious, handles more of the preparations and cleansings than Edmund has ever seen before. The el seems to be thriving under these conditions, where many of your flock are foundering. Drook stays close to your side, helpful but a constant presence.
Albert smiles at the boy, his facemask not locked down into place just yet. Such a curious sort, and prone to poetry. Did the Script-speaker mean the suit of armor, Albert, or both? Or more? "The better to rest and prepare," he says, answering for all of the above. "We empty ourselves of the previous day's burdens. We dream. We learn. We grow. We start again."
He looks down at the boy's feet, where he had been frozen stuck. "May I see how you're healing?"
"Yes, you may." You'd expect a boy speaking so formally to be either playful or scared, but here the young el is simply making a statement.
Albert nods, telegraphing his moves as he rolls the boy's pant leg up to take a better look. Coloration, temperature, moisture, edges, et cetera. His ministrations the day before should have helped, but it was always good to check, especially with the shock that the child had been in. As he goes, he asks basic check-in questions: on a scale of 1-10 (defining the boundaries) how much pain are you in, does it hurt when I press here, et cetera. And then, after establishing some rapport--
"I asked yesterday, but you did not answer," he begins. "My name is Albert. What is your name?"
"They always called me Gull." He looks at you, expression unreadable. He reaches into his pocket, and pulls out a small puppet, no bigger than his palm. A finely made creation, made of steel wires that connect pieces of sterling silver covered in chiseled whorls. You wonder how such a thing survived the chaos of the night.
The head is disconnected, fine wire snapped. He holds it out to you, expression now grave. "Can you fix her? She died when Moon came."
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Edmund, your divining spells indicate mild good fortune as you move farther away from Light. The hilly expanses of the sylph scrublands lie between you and the fertile ifrit lands to the south. Although you'll be exposed in such sparse surroundings, you will also be able to spot pursuit easily.
The professor nods. "Gull. Nice to meet you." The boy was doing well. As he reaches for the puppet, Albert looks at its fine craftsmanship. "Hmmm," he offers. "She's very pretty." Albert turns the doll around, appreciating the craftsmanship.
"I have something I can mix that would make her as good as new if she were made of wood, but you know who's a good el to ask? Mr. Edmund. He helped me build my suit."
Albert raises his hand and points to Edmund across the camp. "I'll introduce you if you like."
---
With the travel of the day, Albert conserves his resources for the possible outbreak of unanticipated violence. He's not swift, especially in this armor, but he moves around the perimeter of the group and throughout it, monitoring his charges. He has a ledger in his mind's eye with the names of each el and ele in the group along with basic observable signs of health. He makes pleasant conversation while keeping his eye out for signs of trouble as best as possible.
...He reaches into his pocket, and pulls out a small puppet, no bigger than his palm. A finely made creation, made of steel wires that connect pieces of sterling silver covered in chiseled whorls. You wonder how such a thing survived the chaos of the night.The head is disconnected, fine wire snapped... [/b]
**
Gull nods at Albert's words, and goes directly to Edmund. After the priest is done with his prayers, the boy approaches politely. He holds out the delicate puppet. "Mr. Edmund, Professor Albert thought you could help fix her. She died when Moon came."
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A hush settles on the camp as word spreads - Zephyr amir will talk to the birds this morning. The chores are mostly done, so there is a sizable audience for the event.
Fury works around the campsite, making a protective bubble of air, a pocket of stillness, the better to let Zephyr concentrate. The calm day, now devoid of any breeze, is slightly eerie. Portentous.
Eyes closed, Zephyr whistles in a complex, ritualistic way. Fury takes the sound and amplifies it, twists it into owl hoots and robin tweets and the chirra, chirrup, brrrrrreeeet! of swamp and glen.
You await a response in the still morning air.