That girl didn't believe in magic? Why, in his world, everything evolved around magic. Especially these special crystals of his call Caos crystals... but he needn't worry about all that now. Vincent agreed that this was the time or place for that discussion.

How did they keep getting side tracked? Well, at least they were getting somewhere now, having a small group to go to the village about a few things.

"Maybe you could ask if they have a map of this world, too," Vincent offered the idea, starting to dig around in his robe pouches and pockets that were hidden under his cloak.

"Though, it won't help anything if you can't even communicate with them. Trying might be hopeless. I've seen a few scenes turned ugly because of miss comunication," he said, pulling something out of a pouch on his belt. It was a small glass bottle with a cord tied to it like a necklace. Inside was a green liquid. Vincent held it up, and chanting incantations under his breath, shook it a little. The liquid in the bottle glowed slgihtly and turned red and dulled.

"This may help a little. A transelation charm. The wearer will be able to speak one other language than their native tounge as long at the liquid is red. That time could be an hour to a day. Hope this helps," he held the charm out to Merrim...

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(}--{)Imagination Inspires Ideas -Zandain(}--{)
Married Cloud Strife 9/17/08

Merrin took the tiny bottle with a touch of hesitance, turning it in her fingers before dropping the looped cord over her head. She offered Vincent a tentative smile. "Thank you."

Starting after Ryairon and Devarion, she managed to catch the tail end of the tall man's sentence. "...wish for me to translate?"

"Oh," Merrin began, "that's all right, I have -" but they were already ahead. She wondered, perplexed, how he could translate when - like the rest of them - he'd never been to this place before. In another moment, she realized that the dark-skinned elf was following as well. Surely if they wanted to be unobtrusive, he was not the one to choose?

Not about to point it out, particularly as he didn't seem at all amenable regarding opinions other than his own, she contented herself with following the other two. "I think," she said when the question of whether or not to approach the villagers was broached, feeling slightly out of her depth, "we should go to them."

---

Raign leaned against the broad trunk of a palm tree, frowning faintly in concentration. To the mainland, and then perhaps - well, if it were possible to come to this world, it was certainly possible to go back to hers, she told herself. Logically, it had to be. She ignored the fact that logic did not always play a part when it came to magic - indeed, in the stories she'd heard, it was a very volatile thing to meddle with - instead concentrating on what their next course of action should be.

The sun was uncomfortably hot even under the shade of the lush greenery. Raign slapped at a persistent insect and shifted her stance, lost in thought. There were certainly a few characters she'd do well to be wary of among the gathering; the dark-skinned elf, the man who called himself Devarion. Catching herself, she realized she was entering a mentality of spending an extended amount of time with them. No. We will find the mainland, and I will find my way home.

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His friends called him Geb. His children - all grown now - called him "Pa," and his wife called him akar, a word that he didn't care to repeat in front of his crippled mother. But his birth name was Geb - Geb the fisherman - and since he'd never aspired to be anything grander, even in his happier years, Geb the fisherman he would remain until the end of his days.

At the moment, he was trying to explain this to the four strangers who'd just sauntered up to his village.

"Geb," he said very slowly, poking a thumb in his chest. "I. Am. Geb. Who. The. Hell. Are. You?"

This probably wasn't a good idea. The four strangers looked ghosunk - supremely ticked off. The woman especially. The red-haired man looked calmer, thank Sori. His glaive in its blue sheath rivaled the sun in conspicuity. It didn't look like a cheerful weapon. Another masked man stood a little ways apart, his face shadowed by a hood. He didn't look cheerful, period. The only approachable person among them appeared to be the silver-cloaked girl. Geb wondered what she was doing among such barbarians.

The taller woman snapped something at the red-haired man. She sounded impatient. Angry, even, though she tried to hide it. Geb rolled his eyes. Why must the young be such idiots? "Geb!" he shouted, stabbing himself with his finger. "My name is Geb! Now tell me who in the world you happen to be or, by Sori, I'll - "

"Geb!"

He spun around, and his arthritic knees nearly pitched him over. "What?"

His eldest son, Orlek, was sprinting toward him. "Pa, come. Our friends are worried. You should be, too. I'll deal with these foreigners."

"Foreigners? Bah!" His face flushed red. "The nerve of you, boy! Who's your pa? Just because you grew a beard and married the ugly girl you call your wife and saved some idiots from heavy rains last spring and went off and landed himself as mayor does not mean - "

"Pa! Please!" Orlek leaned close, whispering, though the strangers surely couldn't understand him. "They're foreigners. They're not from the mainland. They're not even one of... one of us. Look at their hands." And here he demonstrated, turning his right hand over to reveal his palm. Seared into his flesh, even after all these years, was the sword and fire insignia of the Scarlet Supremacy. He dropped his voice to an even lower whisper. "I think they come from far away. The new enemies King Jyden speaks of. They're dangerous, Pa."

To father and son's mutual surprise, Geb was actually listening. "Enemies..." He glanced skyward, where Sori's golden fist - the sun - was beginning to sink toward the horizon. "Bah. What are you worried about, boy? If they're dangerous, the wyvern-riders will take care of them soon enough."

Orlek nodded. "Yes. The wyvern-riders." When he turned his gaze to the strangers once more, he couldn't disguise his pity.

-----

High above the island, where the sunset painted the clouds in pastel hues of pink and orange, the first of the winged shadows were already beginning to gather. Their mounts were restless, jittery. They scented something on the wind, perhaps. Something that shouldn't be. Their riders gripped more tightly the hilts of their weapons.

Bloodshed always excited them.

-----

Denaris had attempted make a quick escape as soon as the doors of the audience hall had slammed shut behind them. That was, of course, before Raen had shot him a glare that could curdle milk. Denaris had sighed and had fallen into step beside his fellow elf. The things he did for friendship.

Four corridors, eight comments on the weather, and sixteen more escape attempts later, the two elves found themselves standing alone in a drafty passage that someone had neglected to drape with tapestries. The corridor was deserted save for a single guard rounding the corner on patrol duty. The fully armored human clanked past them with a mumble of greeting.

"Excuse me," Denaris said. "Did you just grunt at me?"

The guard smacked nose-first into something completely invisible, utterly magical, and painfully solid. He turned around, wide-eyed, with a clatter of sollerets on stone. "I-I apologize... I d-didn't see you, m-my lord."

"How insulting. Don't tell me that you haven't yet informed yourself of Imperial Decree #573?"

The poor human's eyes almost popped out of their sockets. "Imperial Decree... what?"

"Tsk, tsk." Shaking his head, Denaris quoted, "'All subjects of lesser rank shall, from this third day of Harvest Moon forth, address the superior of King Jyden's advisors by the title Your Illustrious Eminence."

The guard's glance darted to Raen.

Needless to say, this annoyed Denaris to no reasonable end. "Obviously, that refers to myself. Or have you not had your fill of walking into invisible walls for today?" He would have added more, but Raen once again plucked him by the sleeve and dragged him away.

Four additional corridors later, Raen's glare was boring a hole through Denaris's temple, and the latter was beginning to suffer a headache. What was it that Raen wanted again? Oh, right. Excellent. A painful pain in the buttocks indeed. Denaris shook his head and eyed yet another drafty passageway. Poor Raen. The elf simply had no appreciation of style. Hammering military doctrine into the thick skulls of ten thousand humans could do that to a person. A pathetically thankless job. Truly, the High Vassal must hold a grudge against him.

Nobody else was in sight, but Denaris hadn't attained his position through carelessness. He mouthed a few syllables of magic, and a globe of silence descended upon them. Anyone eavesdropping would merely overhear a debate between two irritable advisors concerning whether or not Lord Langrish's son was man enough to keep his bride.

Denaris coughed. How to begin? Ah, well you see. I came very close to collapsing three years' worth of efforts around our pointy ears. Blame the dolt who calls himself the High Vassal. No, of course not. He musn't be impolite. "If you really must know, our esteemed ruler popped his head through my washbasin last night. Uninvited, I must add. With all the intelligence at his command, he informed me that if I didn't cast the spell within the hour, he'd turn me into a human." He frowned, trying to recall exactly what the High Vassal had threatened him with. Something about a fate worst than death.

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(I just finished reading all of pages 5 and 6. Whew.)

Kira had stopped looking for her purse a little while back. She had strolled from one end of the beach to the other dozens of times, it seemed, and, now that her legs were growing numb, Kira decided to join the small group of people.

Falling down upon the ground, Kira sat and muttered above all of the voices, "So, I believe I missed quite the magic conversation." She stretched her legs, lay down, put her hands behind her head, and basked in the sun. "Well," she continued, "I would love to put some input in my belief. I had quite the freak Star Trek fan in my Chemistry class, and I may be able to shed some light on this dilemna of yours."

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Ruth Ann sat in a tree overlooking the fishing village and the four who voted to go trying to communicate with the locals. She had her legs both dangling down, and her hands were grasping hold of the branches. She had heard every word that was spoken and decided that coming to this unknown village would be of more interest than lully-gagging on the beach.

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<center>

The first rush of alien words was difficult for Merrin to comprehend. After the man had attempted to introduce himself two or three times, growing more irritated with each try, she discovered that she could understand what he was saying with minimal difficulty. "I'm Merrin," she tried, stepping forward just as a younger man approached the first, gesticulating animatedly. "Could you tell us -"

But now they were engaged in conversation, and she appeared to be ignored. Merrin listened. She gleaned almost immediately that the younger was the son of the older, and when they got to the point where the younger was explaining his suspicions about this group of strangers, tried once more to get their attention.

The next series of rapidly exchanged words had her briefly interested - the word wyvern caught her attention very quickly - but in another instant Merrin had stepped back in dismay with a glance at the sky. When she turned back, the older man - Geb - had turned back to them once more. "Oh," she stammered, having lost all desire to inquire after directions or information, "could you tell us - how to get the the mainland?"

With this attempt at disguising her comprehension of what the two had just said, and completely disregarding anything the man might have said in reply, she whirled frantically on Ryairon and Devarion. "They're not friendly, they think we're enemies - there are wyvern-riders, we have to go, now!"

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Kith contemplated for a moment: should he join the group headed off to the village, or should he just stay put and hope for the best? He watched intently as a group of four walked towards the village. Looking around, he immedianty loped off after those headed towards the village. Nothing would be accomplished by sitting around. Besides, it felt good to run. Kith caught up the the group just as the young girl in the silver cloak turned fearfully. "They're not friendly, they think we're enemies - there are wyvern-riders, we have to go, now" she said.
Kith growled in anger. "We're not enemies!" He hissed, his dark eyes blazing. He didn't really care if they couldn't understand what he was saying. Kuri smite you, we are lost." He towered over the older man.

Ruth Ann joyful eyed the situation going on below her, and, once seeing things turn for the worse, decided that she might be able to help.

Hopping down out of the tree, she was sure her "thud" could be heard by each of the members of the group in front of her. Ruth Ann dusted the dirt and leaves from her hands and hauled herself up onto her feet and then slowly and confidentally approached the group. Eyeing one of the younger villagemen, she unsheathed her sword and placed it down at his feet, doing likewise with two daggers, a bow, and a set of arrows.

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<center>

"Stop it!" hissed Merrin in an undertone, turning on Kith in irritation. She forgot to be wary of him in her sudden alarm. "Do you want them to fear us?" What had possessed him to follow them? This was supposed to be peaceful -

She turned back to Geb once more, apologetic, and with difficulty managed to switch into his dialect. "You have nothing to fear from us," she assured him hastily, with a brief gesture at Kith. Ah, gods, they needed to get away before anyone made the delicate situation worse. She offered Geb a hopeful smile, cast a sidelong glance at Ryairon, and wondered what on earth had merited a threat of such severe retribution from what appeared to be peaceful villagers.

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[I wanted to say that it was fine by me LDM, but things moved on again. I'll wait and see where I'll jump in again ]

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O children, lift up your voice, lift up your voice,
Children, rejoice, rejoice..



It doesn't matter you don't believe in God, He believes in you.

"They're daft, all of them." Kith reasoned, as if that gave him the excuse to be harsh. But he silenced himself and drew back, with an expression that was the closest he could come to humility. He had let his anger get the best of him, again, and Merrin made sence. "We don't mean any harm" He said softly, a tone that his rough voice was not used to.

[Hold up for a minute. Is anyone else having trouble coming in or figuring out what's going on? We have lots of rpers here so it's hard to keep up.]

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(I believe I know what is going on, but a quick summary would not be a bad idea.)

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<center>

[Ryairon, Devarion, Xarw, Merrin, and now Kith are at the beach. Merrin used the translating charm Vincent gave her and found that the villagers are paranoid about foreigners, some kind of war, and wyvern-riders (which are hovering above the island right now). The rest of them are waiting for them to report back.

Over the hills and far away, Raen and Denaris are having a friendly discussion at the Supremacy's capital. Their conversation might reveal a few things about the situation.]

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“I surmise from your countenance that you did not have it fully prepared,” Raen said, his tone making perfectly clear his opinion on the matter. Even the simplest syphon spells were not something to be taken lightly. They took months, even years, to perfect, and potentially longer if they were too terribly involved. What Erydera was attempting could easily have taken even Raen half a decade or more to complete, and even then he would have been averse to casting it without first testing it in every way possible.

"Since I saw the smoke billowing from your study, I will also surmise that rather than accept responsibility for not having the spell prepared and attempt to explain to the High Vassal the intricate nature of such spells, you elected to rush an impossibly complex spell that not only has not been reviewed by another experienced magic-user - your fault, by the way; I only offer my aid once - but is quite probably incomplete, thus jeapordizing both our mission and our lives." He paused briefly before continuing with a barely audible sigh. "Dare I inquire as to the extent of the damage?"

"Star Trek?" Alanna, occupied in what was quickly becoming a face-off (as in, her against practically every single remaining person/alien/mutant/thing), swung round to eye the speaker bemusedly. Well, she was dressed a little more normally than the average person in this little party. Normally here meaning a century-turn or so ago. "Star Trek?" the engineer repeated again. It rang a bell...

"Oh, the old science fiction series! With the cheap soundstages and funky fx? You like that?" She shrugged. "Well, it's not quite as bad as magic. And you, sir -" Alanna turned back to the raw-cut, leather-clad Californian. "I really don't buy the 'believe it or die' routine. If you're going to convince me, you'd better cut down on the verbage and produce some concrete proof."

Better leave while she still had those last tart words slicing through the air. And she had just the excuse, too. Scouting out local villages was all very well, but there was a more immediate solution to their problem of orientation - and it was sitting on a tallish hill a quarter mile away.

"Now, if you'll excuse me, ladies, gentlemen, wannabes -" she inclined her head regally, then spun on her heel. She started walking, tossing back over her shoulder "- I'm going to climb a tree."

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<center>Nothing but the Rain</center>

Denaris quirked an eyebrow. All traces of his smile dissipated as if they'd never been. Raen's tone was disparaging, belittling of an experience far beyond the military advisor's understanding. If Denaris held his arms still, he could still feel his fingers tingling. He could still recall, with vivid ecstasy, the majesty of the spell's first moments. The fire, more scorching than the sun, pounding through his veins. The eldritch words rasping from his tongue. The harsh scrape of syllables so harsh that they'd drawn blood from his throat. The glorious union of mind and spirit, channeled through his hands - the divine power of gods.

And then the falling. The frantic confusion as his tongue slipped, as the pieces of his mind and spirit scattered to the four winds. He'd reached out for it, pathetically, as an infant reaches for its mother when the blankets are snatched by an arbitrary wind from its fragile body. And at last, the disappointment when he'd realized his failure.

He'd overestimated himself, yes. It certainly wasn't the first time, and it might not even be the last. But something about the way Raen had expressed it...

"Do not," said Denaris, his voice a silken whisper, "attempt to lecture me on the intricacies of my craft. I am perfectly aware of the consequences of my actions - consequences, I might add, that hardly jeopardize our lives. Your life and your own methods of preserving it concern me not at all. Nevertheless, you may thank me. The castle has not collapsed upon you, squashing you and a thousand other humans like insects beneath it."

A flourish of his hand, and the smile was back again. He'd produced a crystalline glass, fully filled with crimson elven wine, from the voluminous sleeve of his robes. "As for the extent of the damage... I find it rather amusing, actually. Would you like to see?" He raised the wine glass in mock toast and took a sip - the icy draft was seeping through his robes - before turning on his heel and, with a dramatic sweep of his black robes, leading the way down the corridor.

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