2014.05.04:RevengeOfTheSidhe

Revenge of the Sidhe
The curtain is pulled back and the dark plan is revealed.
IC Date	May 4th, 2014
IC Time	Afternoon into Night.
Players	Sara, Connor, Oswald
Location	Oswald's apartment and the ruins of an dreaming side fortress.
Prp/Tp	Echoes from the Past.
Spheres	Changeling and Gaian Garou.
Theme Song	John Williams - Sith Theme

Connor would really need to fix that door, ah maybe tomorrow night.. yeah sure tomorrow, for now he was with Sara, knocking on Oswald's door

Sara adjusts the wicker basket on her arm, filled with the stuff of visiting. Good booze, cookies, a nice book.. She leans into Connor with a sweet smile that tells volumes about the love affair.

Oswald is grinning as he opens the door, having had a few days to recover from Beltane he's not even a little bit bleary eyed. "Sara! Connor! Come in, how are you both doing?"

Connor smiled warmly nodding to Oswald "Very well, though Sara has threatened that I need ta put a ring on it after all tha fun of Beltaine, as if I had any other plans." he grins squeezing Sara playfully "And how about you? Good parties?"

Sara smiles up at Oswald, stepping in to kiss his cheek and offer the basket.. in which is a black envelope with a red wax seal. She glances back over her shoulder at Connor and starts to open her mouth.. but instead lets it go as she covers a slight yawn, still not having completely recovered herself demo the parties. "Missed you Pappy.."

Oswald gives Sara a hug and says "Missed you too little one. Come in, come in." he says and leads the way back over to the couch and things, answering Connor with a smirk as he goes "Oh yes. A good lot of seasonal festivities."

Connor smiles closing the door behind him, making his way further into the apartment taking an empty seat. "Was a damn good evenin' though next year I'll be tryin' ta host a proper party once I learn tha right rituals."

Sara wanders in to settle on the couch, taking hold of a soft blanket and drawing it up over herself s if snuggling in for a comfortable nap. She yawns again, quiet distracted by whatever long night she must have had, eyes drifting to half mast as she watches the men-folk chat and greet one another.

Oswald grins and shrugs at Connor "I'm sure it will be quite the event." When Sara looks set to doze off he asks her "Still not sleeping too well?"

Connor cocked his brow, looking over to Sara, almost making a snide remark about not sleeping at all before catching himself "Actually no plenty of sleep, she even beat me on a run ta tha stairs from tha parkin' garage..." he trails off looking over to the basket "She forgot tha basket in tha elevator though and went back down ta tha lobby ta get it."

"Like.. a baby.." Answers Sara with a massive yawn, stretching and curling back up in the corner of the comfy couch. Her eyes close then and she smiles softly as she mutters to Connor, "Yeah good thing too- he had a message for Pappy, and I almost missed him." The words dribble away like a trickle of water drying out as a spigot is sealed.

Oswald frowns at Sara and asks "Who had a message for me little one?" he says as he reaches for the basket, looking through it to find whatever it was this person gave her.

A snore.. a little one, disrupted by the questioning. "HhhrrmmmmMM?" Sara cracks open one eye as she squirms in her cocoon of a blanket, "a shadow-man.." murmurs the kinain, a title she's used for the Slaugh since she was a little girl. Connor's watched them not and then from a distance as they two grew up, they seemed to show more frequently around the times of the Old Man's arranged deliveries. In the basket, Oswald locates the black linen envelope, with a red wax seal. He's seen one before, in April of 1970 - an invitation to which he bid men reply that never came home.

Connor cocked his brow, flicking his gaze from Sara to Oswald "Christ, I really got ta never let her leave my sight."

Oswald frowns as he pulls out the envelope and looks it over carefully with all his sense. "I've seen envelopes like this before. From the Royalists and their Sidhe masters calling the resistance to a peace conference that turned into a slaughter."

The envelope is peppered with magic.. a fading cantrip of lullabies. Sara's going to be comfortably out for a good long while unless someone reverses it. The contents of the envelope are something else entirely. Slaugh aren't harbingers of doom, they're just keepers of secrets, though every answer has a price. The envelope contains an invitation to an auction for information - the nature of which is undisclosed.

Connor sighs running a hand through his hair "Ah shit, and here I was dressed for a comfortable evenin' out, I would have wore more lays if I knew we were goin' ta walk into a slaughter." he settels down on the chair, resting a hand on Sara's shoulder

Sara's head lulls over comfortably into Connor's hand, her lips curling to a chaste, sweet smile of affection and adoration. For all the tradition, pomp, and circumstance the nobles try to drum up as necessary to romance, this young couple trumps it all. True love is a beautiful thing.

Oswald is going to attend to the Cantrip on dragging Sara to sleep, he's not one for slumber enchantments much himself but he knows enough of the ways of Glamour to make a good attempt at it. He'll start with using his knowledge of Skycraft to give the residual magic on the envelope a metaphysical static charge, intending to use that to lift the magic on her off.

Like little raindrops, moisture gathers from Sara's fingertips and forms flickering static charges.. then lure from the girl to the envelop, seating themselves inside. Although the casting has been removed, the mortal nature of the girl leaves her soundly, and peacefully resting. She'll wake from a natural sleep within a few hours no doubt.

Connor watches quietly, flicking his gaze back and forth "What about that message, a hot date ta fix this problem?"

Oswald nods and frowns "Its an invitation to an Auction. I've unwoven the cantrip, it wasn't really that hard she just needs to sleep it off. One of the Sluagh has a diary of one of the Royalists that planned the betrayal of the Night of Iron Knives. The invitation was sent because I'm mentioned in the diary. This might be a clue as to who was behind the kidnapping, the enemy they used as a pawn is from the same time in my life. Its all connected."

The clock slowly lumbers toward the witching hour as Sara sleeps peacefully. Whatever's to happen this evening, at least she'll not be underfoot and at risk.

Connor brushes his hand over Sara's face softly before turning his attention back to Oswald, his features hardening "Well then, you've got directions and an invitation. I won't mind being your plus one." he gave a wry grin "Belle of tha ball huh? Someone needs ta get their face punched in for this."

Oswald snickers and nods as he stands and grabs a blanket, tucking sleeping beauty in for a nap on his big comfy couch. He offers as he grabs his swagger stick to loop onto his belt "Sure she might wind up being a bit cross that she missed it but she could use a good nap."

There will be hell to pay - but sometimes it's better to face that music later. The heroes have a meeting to attend!

Connor brushes his hand over Sara's head, kissing her softly "Well, lets get to it then." he turns, nodding over to Oswald

The address is a forgotten freehold, long abandoned on the outskirts of the oldest part of town, tucked under the cliffs against the sea, and inside of a cave, down a flight of old stone steps - like an ancient pirate's chamber. You've passed through so many tunnels and barred doors - checkpoints and weight stations, that it's almost impossible to tell where you are anymore by the time you arrive where so many others are gathered. Inside the chamber is cold.. stone walls and dark wood force back the damn earth from the bowels from whence it's been carved out - allowing no natural light at all. Only torches flickering and dancing against the somber night. Benches like the room in a circle, none behind the next so that none in attendance must have another behind them. Prudent indeed, for they're all here. Most absconded in deep cowls, and hidden in folds of robe. There are novels, commoners, kith and kinain.. old and young.. and strange outsiders. some just like Connor.. though not Gaian in nature. Yes, you find yourself in the company of BSDs amongst other sorts of bizarre and twisted creatures. The Slaugh seem to have no shame at all i the guess list tonight.. and there are guards armed with silver, with iron, and with fire. No one is above being put down for the sake of the auction's security. The book in question hovers in the wire, gold leafed and hand worked leather(?) cover..

Connor visibly tensed as the scent of the dancers reached him, he supressed every urge in his nature to dive forward and the effort was noticable as he strode alongside of Oswald

Oswald knows that every outsider here is at the invitation of a fae sponsor and while he might be among the oldest fae still living there are others here who are not here in their parents or grandparents names. At least he hopes not, it'd be depressing to be the only one of his generation left.

Connor settles in, obviously aggitated, he lets his gaze wander over those gathered

Tonight there are Kith who are older than Oswald, and some younger, but with powers that make the youthful appearance a lie. There are generations, and small monikers of families that have not been seen in lifetimes.. there is a tension in the air as each potential bidder scope out the others. A yellow eye floats in the air high above.. watching all. One of the spirals adjusts his coat to better display some weapon or other on catching sight of Connor, but his partner, a scrawny looking woman, nudges his side. There are members of many houses.. Seelie, and Unseelie, and the shadowy Slaugh gather at the front as the auction is about to begin.

Connor was really missing the weight of his spear strapped across his back but he had other gifts to reassure him, he settles in, crossing his arms over his chest

Oswald knows he doesn't really have anything to bid with. He's mostly here to see and be seen, and find out who buys the diary.

"Welcome... brave ones." whispers the dark cloaked waif, wearing shadow as if it were a threaded garment. "Come in, come closer, see what we bring. The final chapter.. and the first chapter. The truth of the Night of Iron Knives. All have hear the rumors, but until now the truth has been buried to slumber. One of you will walk away with knew knowledge tonight. The rest will leave as lost as you arrived." He draws back as another steps forward, younger and softly spoken, a childling. "But truth costs - here are the rules of the bidding. No offer will be refused. A song, a secret, a slave, a bloodbath? They have all been coin of the realm through history. There is a great book on the table behind you.. make yourselves guests in the hold tonight. Enter your bid by speaking the oath of it out loud.. All bathed bids will be binding. The will of the seller will move your bid up or down in the offering per his pleasure.. when the sun rises, the offer at the top of the book will be accepted."

Oswald strokes his chin as the rules are announced, not in anyway inclined to be the first one to bid but rather content to keep watch for now.

Connor cocked his brow faintly, listening to the rules he lets his gaze sweep over the proceedings

"I offer the head of that Gaian dog!" Carps the Spiral out loud, boisterous and bold.. the room growing quiet, ominously so. The bodies begin to part away from the two pair of travelers, the floor becoming clearer. The old stones are stained with memories of deaths innumerable here, and the walls are no strangers to carnage. The air cracks with a violet light and the weight of an oath formed can be felt by every heart. The woman with him hisses and smacks the BSD in the back of the head, "You stupid cur!" But alias, too late.. an offer made, and the large book is aglow as the first bid is placed. The childing watches with amusement. "If you make a bid, you have to be prepared to pay.. or have that payment taken from you. So please Sirs. We do require a head for the first bid, per declare."

Connor cocked his brow faintly, glancing from the dancer to the childing "He said Gaian, but that one has forsaken his path. So if I drop that mongrel's skull at your feet will tha bid still stand but on my behalf?"

Oswald lets out a deep rolling chuckle that echoes through the chamber and draws his sword raising it in salute and beckoning it to light as he speaks "His head and heart are pledged to the blood of my line." Oswald turns to offer the hilt "Go get em."

"Yes yes.. as he bid your head, so will his do nicely as a counter." The hissed whispers of the girl sneak over the crowd with a snifter chill. The spiral roars, pulling a fetish dagger from his waist as he bursts into war form, with massive bat-ears, and a deformed jowl that has boorish tusks.

Connor grins reaching out to take up the burning blade, leveling it at his hated foe, his arm strains at the weight only for a moment though as he explodes into his war form, easily sweeping the blade forward as he strides into the ring

Connor shifts his weight, twisting the blade to the flat, moving to catch and deflect the dancer's dagger. He spins around twisting his wrist up to sweep the greatsword back around only to be knocked off to the side at the last moment

While the crowd watches in awe as the sword swishes and the dagger slashes at the air, werewolves battling it out is a bizarre sight for the far after all, one of the well dressed figures wearing the crest of the house Ailil, "M'Lord offers the full wealth of his Fife!" The young man boasts, hefting up a tapestried bag of jewels and coins. Another purple flash and the bag is hoisted from his hands, alone with the rings on his fingers, coins from his pockets, and even the chain of gold around his neck, and the pearl buttons off his clothing. Apparently one should be more careful when they oath a bid here. The young nobleman sputters as he ties to hold up his pants. The book flashes.. and a second bid is added.. Connor's head remains at the top of the page however.

Connor sneered, looking down over the already closing wound though it was edges with black taint, he would make a show of bringing the flaming blade up to cauterize the wound and to play his little trump card, moving to set himself completely on fire

Connor batters through the puny knife with the massive flaming troll weapon, stepping in close to apply his own gifts though he slams his teeth directly into the Dancer's throat ripping out most of the meat, and arteries with it, letting the mongrel fall to the floor to bleed out. He turns to make his way back to his seat before stopping himself "Oh! Excuse me! Tha bid of course!" he spins back around whipping the greatsword in an arc to neatly behead the beast. Only then does he begin to pat himself out and make his way back to the bench, offering the weapon hilt first back to Oswald

Respectful applause, some gasps, and a medley of grumbling all permeate the crowd as servants are brought in to clean up the aftermath.. the head itself is flashed over to the rack wherein lay the gems and coins. "Hey the bid changed!" The cry is raised from near the book, and sure enough, when Connor's head was replaced with the mongrel upstart's.. it dropped in value and the price is now the treasury of a small fiefdom.

Oswald laughs and the profound level of ass kicking Connor just dispensed on the tainted shaman. As he accepts his own blade back he nods over at where the body is already being laid hands upon and Oswald calls out to the chimerical servants "Stop. The meat you may have and make joy of, our gift to our host. The knife is claimed as spoils." And Oswald turns to Connor and says softly "I assume you won't want it but would rather it destroyed than in someone else's possession."

Connor chuckled a bit "His mouth wrote a check his ass couldn't cash." at the mention of the tainted blade he stalks back over to the still steaming corpse to retrieve it "No proper place for a spirit ta be callin' home." he tucked the blade into his belt staring down any who would try to approach and lay claim

The boggans scatter as Oswald strides over.. all due respect paid to the grey bread, and almost as much for Connor. The pair now definitely standing out in the dark little crowd. Whispers filter back and forth about the nature of whom they may be. There's certainly no one present about to challenge the theurge for his rightful spoils. When all is settled the little creatures drop back in and hoist up the corpse to cart it away.. some of the other guests have begun to feather off to explore the castle ruins. The book flickers and dashes again.. another bid to the top of the registry. Someone just bid a virgin kinain daughter. They people are some sick motherfuckers.

Connor snickered faintly as he heard the last bid, taking his seat, smoothly shifting back to his human form, watching to see which bid will win

Oswald gives a disgusted snort and leans over to whisper to Connor "I wonder if she's cute, I cold maybe do something about their ability to pay up."

Connor had to let that one sink in a bit before snorting faintly in laughter

Oswald is a dirty old man

The room empties a bit more and as the walls become easier to see, so does the presence of an archway on the far eastern wall become less obscure. Through the archway, the shadowy shapes of portraits on the walls and shelves of library books hunker in forgotten layers of dust. A bid is placed for a whole tract of land.. and then a promise of swords in battle. Someone gets creative and oaths a bid of ravaged glamour from a group of human children at a youth art school.

Oswald frowns quite deeply in fact at some of the bids, adding quietly as he makes note of faces and identities, making a mental list "I wouldn't call those bids, I'd call those folks a to do list."

Most of the faces can't been seen, they've moved off to other parts of the castle.. the only way one can know of a new bid is the odd flash of light and the calling out of the bid by some excited bystander reading off the page. The current high bid is for two fully outfitted armies and a bottle of pre-shattering spirits. Out of the corner of his eye, Oswald catches a flicker of light. A will-o-wisp.. they all look the same, no telling what's got this one in a tizzy, it flashes and bobs in the gloom of the adjacent library.

Oswald nods over in the direction of the library and asks Connor "Want to do a little exploring get an idea of who our host is, what things might influence bids."

Connor gives a simple nod of his head "Virgin woulda been a good one." he slips to his feet "Armies though, someone's got plans ta move, lets see what we can see then."

Not one Will-o-wisp, but two? And a pale blue, with a soft harmonic tinkling that comes a little familiarly. They zip around the pair of Heroes and then dart to the far side of the rather mundane room. On the walls are portraits of old Nobels, most of them from the Ailil, a couple oddly enough from the sister Seelie house Eiluned. The books are all quite old.. occult based, some on various types of lore or legend. The pale blue lights disappear into a crack between bookcases.

Oswald chuckles and shrugs as they make their way into the library, looking at the different paintings and trying to dig through his memories to figure out who would be interested in these particular assortments of nobles "You can always find a use for an army, they might not have a plan yet."

The ages are important, it seems that each was at a height of power before 1970, within one to two decades. As Oswald peruses the portraits, Connor wanders amidst the books. Everything here is pre 1970.. may 1970 in fact. It's as if this place ceased to breathe on the night of the event which brings such interest.

Oswald frowns as he looks around at the paintings and the dates on them "Its all drawing up a focus on the night of Iron Knives, its set dressing for the Diary but its.....got to be some sort of code, these dates are impossible. The Sidhe houses in these paintings were still in Arcadia at the time."

Connor padded quietly around the room, scratching at his chin, oh look a will-o-wisp, and he was off staring

Violent light.. two more flashes.. the bids continue to roll in.

Connor cocked his brow, making his way over towards the light, because thats always the best thing to do in those stories, he holds up his hand to the crack between the shelves testing for a breeze

Oswald spent a long time in the late sixties and early seventies, maybe he puffed and passed a little too much.

No easy to notice breeze... but there's definitely something to it. Just nothing that's going to budge. It seems to be well locked in place.

"Hrmm." he reaches out tugging out books, he saw this in a movie once, one of them might be the trigger to unlock the bookcase

Oswald frowns as he considers, walking back and forth. When Connor finds the breeze and starts fussing with books that puts the last piece in place. He points at the paintings "Hey Connor, which shelf would you say that painting is looking at?"

Connor shifts his gaze, staring at the painting, he walks up to it and stands under the painting, trying to see where it's looking at

As Oswald and Connor play librarian.. others move through the old castle.. occasionally basing through the library on the way to somewhere else. Mostly the two of you are left alone, with only the occasional purple flash to interrupt.

Connor points to fingers at his eyesm then looks up at the painting to make sure before pointing them off to the west bookshelf "That one right there."

Oswald nods encouragingly as he peers at the plaque "Find the book that is on....the third shelf and four books in and give it a little tug."

Connor quickly does the counting as he makes his way over to the shelf, tugging on the book indicated

At first the book feels still in Connor's hand, but then it gives with a soft click and some mechanism can be heard in the wall, leading back toward the shelf Connor was fussing at with the will-o-wisps.

Oswald quickly moves from that painting to the next, pointing to follow the eye to the next shelf. Making Connor do the running around and pulling as they work through the pattern.

The final book is tugged and the last lock is disengaged.. with that, the shelf slumps open, a musty scent pouring from the dark recess behind it.

Connor flares his nostrils a bit, taking in the scent before making his way towards the slumping shelf

The shelf gives way on creaking hinges allowing it t open into a dark hallway. The steps lead downward, the way briefly illuminated by a flash of violet light, and a pair of dancing will-o-wisps. There's some sort of fabric blazon at the base hung on a door with a massive bolt.

Connor turns his gaze over the fabric, his head tilting to the side slightly as he inspects it

Oswald steps up to the fabric to get a good look at it, seeing what he can figure out about the heraldry involved.

The door wedges shut easily behind the pair, blocking out the light from the main room, what little there was. Use of the walls to guide oneself result in off sensations of slick mold, claw-rent stone, and dried, flakey substances. The will-o-wisps hover together near the feet of the heroes to given them just enough light to descend by.. then slowly rise to illuminate the blazon. It is sanguine, a tower, or entwined by a serpent sable barring a door gules (a black wyrm entwined around a golden tower and barring a red door on a field of purple). The mark of the House Balor. The bold is sharpened iron, the locked hasp recently broken open and hanging askance.

Connor shifts his weight slightly taking in the details "Something get out? Or being kept in?"

Oswald frowns and shrugs as he looks around, he's no investigative genius but it shouldn't be too hard to figure out the answer to Connor's question.

Inside the chamber is a retreat in almost every sense of the word, the nasty stench from the hall is not apparent here, instead it's like fresh air, even a small garden of plants growing in a terrarium in the corner, lush and green. A tea set of fine china for one, accent texts, a massive, oversized leather wingback chair.. inkwell and parchment, a small chemistry set.. a crystal ball. The space is a scholar's sanctuary. A woman's portrait is hung in a place of honor above the marble mantle, and over the desk, hovers a gold leaf book with an etched leather(?) cover. It looks exactly like the one on auction upstairs. The air flashes violet again, and again. It must be getting close to sunrise. About now, the itch at the back of Connor's neck is at full fire.. the permeation of taint in this place is without equal. A low grade satiation.. what or whomever was kept or keeping themselves in this space, was/is a minion of the wyrm. But, they have absolutely exquisite taste in artifacts, academia, and .. a fascination with hourglasses.

Connor could only just barely keep the snarl from his voice "Well that explains why my head stuck ta tha list for a bit." his nostrils flare but he knows it's no stench, just that sense of...wrongness

Oswald frowns as he looks around the chamber and frowns "House Balor, he says gesturing to the crest. Sidhe who mixed blood with Fomorians. Your people fight them as well right?"

Connor would nod his head faintly "They're what we're born ta kill, this place...it reeks of...."he stops himself midstride, turning to look back up at the picture "...Son of a bitch...She was right infront of us tha entire time."

The book continues to hover over the desk, at soft rest in the magic which cradles it. Another violet flash and immediately after, somewhere far above in the castle you hear a horrific blood curdling scream. The journal throbs a moment and glows a little brighter. The woman in the portrait isn't really a woman, she's about sixteen years old. She's strikingly beautiful, with golden blonde hair and sea foam eyes, her lips curved in a permanently saddened expression that is reflected in her somber gaze. She's dressed in ritual robes of beautiful white. Around her neck is a seal of the house Balor. She's not quite a perfect twin for your Sara, there's nothing of Oswald's lineage in the woman. The date on the portrait is April 30, 1970. The Inscription ~Forever Beloved ~ Melinda ~ Forever Mine ~ There is an urn on the mantle with the same inscription, and some other odd scratches on it.

Oswald winces as he looks at the portrait and shakes his head "Well that explains why he hates me so much. So very very much." He says quietly as he looks around to figure out if this was her room or his?

Connor cocked his brow a bit, looking back the way they came, flicking his gaze back to the book "Oh, well that can't be good." then at Oswalds words he looks over "I seem ta be missing something here."

Everything in this room is masculine, one might surmise the urn on the mantle a more appropriate resting place for the "beloved" in the portrait? The book continues to hover in the soft glow of molten gold light.

Oswald looks over at the hovering book "The lady in the picture is Sara's maternal grandmother. Though I didn't know she had a child at the time. I just knew she hated the other Sidhe almost as much as I did....."

Connor turns his attention from the picture to the book and then back to Oswald "So...I'm goin' ta go out on a limb and say this -isn't- your room though. " he takes a step forward and reaches out for the book "And that tha one upstairs is a fake."

The book is warm to the touch, and the leather's true nature becomes entirely too clear in Connor's hands. The soft tanned material is human, or kithain, skin. The pages flutter apparent easily, each penned in by hand using a well of ink and a sharp bone quill. There are details of trials and errors, something about a project, and a relentless search for a lost tool necessary to put some sort of machine into operation.

Oswald nods and shrugs "Its the room of the nobleman she'd escaped from, Sara's maternal grandfather. She never told me his name, heck she never told me her name other than her autumn name was Melinda."

Connor frowned faintly as he felt the touch of the cover "Yeah, thought so.." he begins flipping through the book, the tip of his tongue sticking out of the corner of his mouth in concentration

You're reading.. quickly.. trying to sort out the incessant ramblings of a doomsday madman from the down and dirty of what happened here. It started the night of the iron knives. The cult knew it was happening, a perfect cover for them to begin the ritual they had prepared for over two hundred years. They had developed a machine to begin Winter - Connor may think it's a season, but Oswald knows better. The final rite required the sacrifice of a pure beloved, and the author offered his stolen Melinda. But something went sideways. She didn't die when she was stabbed, the woman gave both to a screaming, wailing female child. The group studied her and determined her to be of the blood, but not fully a Fae. The birth of Sara's mother - the Night of Iron Knifes. The prophecy was re-examined, and it was determined by the scholars that the child born of the rite would create the tool needed to start the machine in the Autumn world, so it was expelled from the house. Melinda went quite mad with grief.. and when she made an "unforgivable erring" she was "blessed with slumber" by the author. Somewhere in the way, the Troll that managed to steer his beloved wrong, had also managed to 'disrupt' his watching of the child responsible for creating the tool. The author was forced to travel to the city to find her. When he did, she was living in squalor, with at the seed that stank of that same meddling bandersnatch of a Troll. He thought he had done away with it forever with the aid of the Lady and the Ogre, but clearly not. He was furious, and he tore the child apart on the very spot. Ending all hope for the tool's creation. It wasn't until years had passed that it occurred to him here in this very room as he continues to search for new answers. The tool was not an object. The tool was that very child. The one who looked so very much like Melinda. She will finish the machine to bring winter. The author makes reference to preparing a place for her and a distraction for her protectors, including the meddling Troll that will never suspect he helped to birth the end of the world in his own Dishonor.

Even as your reading, the violet lights flutter and smash, an alarm is raised over something in the halls above.. "Cheaters! THIEVES! Swindlers!" Chaos and violence and discord spread like wild fire as you struggle to take in details.

Connor's eyebrow twitches a bit as he reads, atleast he thinks he understood "Fuck...Sara.." his lip curls up in a snarl and its a visible struggle to keep himself under control, which he manages to do. Though at the pounding and raised alarm he tucks the book into the dedicated satchel at his waist "Guess we overstayed our welcome."

Oswald frowns as he puts it all together, thinking that true or not putting something sharp where his eyes used to be might fix the problem. Then the shouting elsewhere starts and he looks to Connor and quirks an eyebrow "I think we've learned all we can here, want to check out what's making the comotion?"

In the dedicated satchel or not, that damned book glows like a beacon. There's just no hiding it. The thing throbs and seems to almost pulse as the hollering starts in the library coming down into the concrete hall.. "THIS WAY! GET EM! BURN THE OGRE! SKIN THE BEAST!"

Oswald draws his sword and lights it /again/ (not for weeks and then twice in one night) as he raises one foot and brings it down hard. Releasing a thunderclap that makes the whole ruins shake as he Bellows "MALCHIOR! The Flame that burns against the Cold comes for you Malchior, the Fimbulvinter will NEVER COME."

Oswald doesn't know if that's really his name, just knows that's what 'Melinda' said his name was

Connor growled faintly at the insults hurled at them, turning to face Oswald, he looks like he's about to say something before he snaps his mouth shut, guess we're going -through- them, he gives back into his rage and explodes into his war form, howling out his anger and frustration to match Oswald's

The rushing mob seems a little .. okay a lot more hesitant about rushing the pair in the room. Some of them undoubtedly still have remains of the last dumbass in their bellies from the kitchen. Thee's silence, then a collective bulrush -at- the door, and the sudden sound of iron bars slapping into place. "Seal them in! Seal them in and burn it!"

Oswald scores lines in the door, it doesn't have Iron on the inside, not where the fae would live. That would be gross. The door is thick heavy and reinforced as he makes his runespell on it. A massive swing of his sword and then it is suddenly less so.

The door explodes, and while the shards of wood are dangerous enough on their own, the shrapnel of iron is like a large hand grenade tossed into the center of the tightly packed crew. Flesh is flayed, blood sprays like raindrops and the screams are grossly inhuman. Only the old woman who was traveling with the dumbass Connor beheaded remains.. erupting into a large brutish looking crinos, scarred and ragged.. but clearly at one age, a well bred Silverfang.

Connor growled as he sees the other crinos, its like asshole whack-a-mole tonight, he would begin his ascent of the stairs coming up after Oswald

Oswald slams his sword against the walls as he charges up bellowing in fury as he builds up both momentum and the magic of speed, preparing a beat down of epic proportions.

And as you approach and the parties begin to square off.. you can feel another tremor in the walls, this one, unlike the thunderous trembling brought on by Oswald's decree, seems not to slow or stop.. it's as if the earth itself is shaking, pieces of stone beginning to rain from the ceiling, mixed with the droplets of blood and carnage..

Oswald is a malestrom of fire and righteous fury, the sparks of his blade trailing through the air speeds the gods of old would envy. The darkness of this castle and its master has woken the fury of an Ancient Dream and its guards pay the cost.

Connor howls up after Ozzy though there was no way he could even attempt to match the anger of a pissed off troll in motion, he lunged off to the side, circling around the silverfang bitch, keeping his body low before diving in to tangle himself up with her, making here that much easier to dispatch

Claws storm as all rage is spent.. nothing but a maelstrom of fury and hate, rage and apocalyptic violence.. the walls begin to buckle and cave.. rocks becoming stones, stones becoming entire blocks, and while the mutilated body of an old woman lay grounded at the feet of the enraged heroes, the castle begins to churn down in a threat of becoming their tomb.

Connor pants heavily, though there was that smile across his lips, translated as a savage snarl in this form "Hah! Worthy of tha epics, though this time tha heroes don't die, time ta fuckin' leave!"

Oswald nods and hurridly scribes a circle, even without crossing back into the human world, there are places in the dreaming he knows well enough to go.