Dust Devils (6 Jun 2002) Thomas and friends face off against their enemies.

The trail to Galon Annwn was at one time marked clearly by stone pillars carved with winged angels, but over the Years these have worn down to barest suggestion, and many of the pillars have been cracked as if some enormous creatures had battered them. The travelers ride on steadily with hoods shading them from the noon sun, bright but without warmth, leaving the land cold despite its touch. Its light, reflected from the pale parched earth, still dazzles their eyes.

Here, this particular pillar reminds Thomas of the angel which guards the Siege des Anges, one hand pointing back toward town, the other placed upon the hilt of his sword, robes billowing in an unseen wind. The resemblance is uncanny.

"Curious," Thomas comments as they ride. "That one statuelooks like one from Ainigton, in the town square. I wonder if this location corresponds to the one in Ainigton." He then goes back to observing the landscape, sharp green eyes searching for anything that looks out of place, perhaps slightly newer than the old statues.

Sir Lefallon looks up at the statue. "It resembles the one in the Royal Siege," he says thoughtfully, examining the damage to it, "though this one is fair weathered, and has withstood more than the test of time alone."

"Which is very curious, indeed," Thomas adds. "I wonder if this was once a Siege as well."

"This cannot be where the Siege in Ainigton would be," Rachel says, frowning. "That matches the Royal Siege." She glances around, looking for the familiar circles that are the hall mark of a siege, but there are none to be seen.

"Unless multiple points in this world link to one point in the mortal world," Thomas points out. "Does anything else strike you as odd here?"

Thomas hmms quietly, then nudges his horse over to the statue to inspect it closer. It doesn't look like something that would represent the lack of water, but ... it does seem out of place. A possibility, perhaps, he considers.

Sir Lefallon looks puzzled as Thomas inspects the statue more closely. "It's an ancient architectural standard, milord," he says. "These statues were probably built by the ancestors of our people many Years ago. This place must have been special to them."

"You forget, I question everything," Thomas replies with a grin.

The young knight laughs, cheered unreasonably out of his recent depression. "Oh aye, I had!"

Thomas pulls back and says, "In any event, we move on. I want to see Galon Annwn with my own eyes."

A chill wind blows by, picking up dust and stirring it in miniature whirls about the hooves of the travelers' mounts, though the tiny tornadoes die away just as quickly as they came.

"Plus, I have to believe every stone holds a mystery, otherwise life would be unbearably dull," Thomas declares as he guides his horse back onto the main trail. He watches the dust swirls as they come and go, then shrugs.

Rachel shakes her head, freeing herself from her reverie, flicking the reins on her horse to follow Tom. She remains unfocused, glancing at one of the dust devils as they ride on.

"Never take a boulder for granite," Thomas quips as they ride in an effort to boost morale.

For some reason, the hairs on the back of Thomas's neck are prickling... But every time he looks back, there's nothing there, save for the trail back to town, and heat shimmers that make the sun-cracked sand look wavery.

"How's that, my lord?" Rachel asks, looking his way.

"How's what?" Thomas asks, glancing back at Rachel.

The young knight groans at the pun. "You are incorrigible, milord!" He does, however, glance at a rock the travelers are passing, to see what it really is made of. This one is a dusty yellow, chipped and cracked.

"What you said, about boulders and granite," the girl clarifies. She follows his earlier backward glance, and shakes her head again.

"It was my pathetic attempt at a joke, Rachel," Thomas replies, taking some time to look over the terrain behind them.

An icy wind whips at the hood of Rachel's cloak, and she shivers. "Sorry, my lord. My pathetic sense of humor must not be working," she jokes back, lamely.

Thomas reigns his horse back so it slows to allow Rachel to catch up beside him. "What's on your mind?" he asks her.

"Too many things," the girl answers, refolding her cloak across her chest to offer better protection from the north-westerly breeze. "I can not even sort them all out in my own head any more. My thoughts chase from one thing to another like frightened butterflies, not knowing where to settle."

Sir Lefallon steers his horse a little farther apart, to give Thomas and Rachel at least the illusion of privacy,smiling in embarrassment as he does so. His eyes are forward, looking at the cliffs as they grow larger, surveying where to begin in climbing them, for the vertical faces where water once fell in great quantity look difficult to surmount.

"Nothing too ill of me, I hope," Thomas says slowly, unable to look at her as he does so. so, he resumes scanning the area, looking for caves, outcroppings, or other such natural formations that could serve as a hiding place for some cursed artifact.

"I have been re-thinking everything, my lord," the fey girl answers. "I thought Ainigton was a guileless place. But it seems I am much deceived in that. I am much deceived in everything."

Thomas swallows. "Rachel, there was no intention of deceit. I have not lied to you," he says, trying to not sound hurt.

Here and there, ancient blocks of stone are set into the ground, some adjoining others, as if this area had once been a plaza of some sort. Perhaps a pile of rocks was once a wall; there, thin withered vegetation might have been lush bushes once. Barely visible from here is an apparent zigzag crack in the face of the cliff.

"It is only fair, is it not?" Rachel's voice is colorless, drained of emotion. She glances over her shoulder at the shimmer of haze, still on the road behind them. Another icy blast sweeps over them, stirring cloaks and horses' manes and tails. She shivers. "I came to Ainigton, with a false past and a constant deception. It is only repayment if I am deceived in return."

"Rachel, stop, please," Thomas replies, finally looking toward her. "I care about you and would not try to harm you or lie to you. I'm not perfect, I make mistakes. I don't always know what is right to do. But, I did not actively try to deceive you. Much has happened and Sir Lefallon's origin just didn't seem important in the scheme of things. I made a call to worry more about what we had to do and the dangers we had to face ahead. I was wrong. I am sorry for that and hope you will forgive me for my failings."

The raven-haired girl still does not look at Tom. "It is not that, Thomas. I am not angry at you."

"But, you are upset with me, if not angry. Rachel ... I ... I'm not very good at ... I'm not good at discussing my feelings about people. So, I'll just say it. You're important to me. What you think of me matters to me. I've cherished the moments I've spent with you. I fear losing that, because of all this. I fear I have hurt you," Thomas struggles to say.

Rachel finally turns her head to meet Tom's eyes. Her own glitter with unshed tears. "Don't," is all she says, softly. One hand slips from beneath her cloak to half-reach for him.

As the cliffs grow nearer, the zigzag becomes more defined. The crack is actually flight upon flight of stairs climbing all the way up the cliff, and if the perspective is correct, they would be easily large enough to lead a parade up their winding length.

Thomas reaches out towards Rachel. Gently, his fingers close around hers as he looks into her eyes. "You're the reason I'm here now. You gave me new hope for the people of Mirari. I mean that, with all my heart," Thomas says firmly, then offers a small, sad, smile.

Her fingers lace through his. Rachel squeezes her eyes shut, turning her face away. The cloak's hood hides her features. Her grip on his hand tightens as their horses match gaits, riders swaying with their rhythm.

Thomas watches Rachel for a short while, then turns to look back over the terrain. He tries to keep his horse steady and near Rachel so he can keep his hand with hers in reassurance I had not noticed this before, but, this makes me think this was once a palace. Like the statue back there similar to the Siege. Could this been an even older Palace of all Seasons? Could that be the significance of this place? This mystery runs deeper than a simple curse. Okay, Thomas, time to unravel yet another mystery.

There are, distinctly, the sounds of hooves behind the travelers. As Thomas looks back, the wavers that he had thought were heat shimmers are now torn away, as if by hands appearing in mid-air... To be revealed as lengths of gauze that concealed the faces of black-robed men of bone-pale skin and white hair, all riding gray horses. Their apparent leader calls, "I regret to interrupt such a touching scene, but I must ask that you surrender in the name of our master, Vanya, and we shall spare your lives."

He smiles toothily. "If you do not, my friends, then you shall regret your decision for long hours in which you will wish for death, before it blesses you with its kind embrace." The cold wind picks up, catching up pebbles and dust.

Sir Lefallon startles and reins his horse back in quickly at the sight of the mages. "Milord!" he calls in unnecessary warning.

Rachel looses her hold on Tom's hand, turning in the saddle and trying to pivot her horse about to face the newcomers. With her freed hand, she rubs at her eyes, half-snarling in response to the threat.

Thomas turns his horse slowly to face the riders. "And who, may I ask, are you, to demand such of me?" he shouts back.

The mage himself smiles more widely. "I? I am Master Abnegai of the Water Mages, and these are my friends, Emilio and Frost, who are here to see to it that your friends will not interfere in our charming discussion." His named assistants ride ahead to interpose themselves between their master and the travelers, their hands moving about in arcane gestures, their voices murmuring guttural syllables. "We couldn't help but notice that you seem to be carrying with you an artifact of some considerable power. No doubt it is useless to you, as you have none of the signs of warlocks about you."

"Do you know who I am?" Thomas says, eyes narrowing.

The raven-haired girl gets her mount turned to face the mages, and she unhooks her crossbow from the saddle. cranking it back, she says, "Mr. Frost and Mr. Emilio can stop chanting now, or I will see how well they can chant with only one lung." Her voice is deadly earnest.

Thomas smiles wickedly when Rachel draws her crossbow. His own hand moves to rest upon the hilt of his sword at his side.

The mage's apprentices only continue, and the wind picks up around them strongly, dust caught up to such quantities that the air darkens and hovers mist-like. Abnegai beams. "I have not the slightest idea, traveler, nor does it matter in the least to me. If you will kindly deliver over the artifact, we shall spare your lives and you may depart from this place unmolested. Otherwise..."

Rachel finishes winding the crossbow, and levels it at the nearest chanter. "Last chance," she tells him.

Sir Lefallon puts his hand to his sword hilt. "Over my dead body," he says, looking over to Thomas for his direction.

Thomas draws his sword slowly and steadily from its scabbard. The blade glints brightly in the sunlight and Thomas announces, "I am Thomas, Late of House November -- Lord of the field and stream. Those who rape and damage the lands of Mirari are my enemies. Those who torture the people, the heart and soul of Mirari, are my enemies. I am near twenty Years of age, so ... do you really think you are capable of taking me down, boy? Sir Lefallon, time to show them the valor of a knight of April. Rachel ... now!"

Fired even before Thomas's speech had finished, the bolt flies straight and true toward the heart of Emilio... It slows, and then stops before him, as the mage focuses both his eyes upon the bolt, and then it begins to whirl before him, as tiny pebbles are already doing. There now seems to be a whirlwind apparition of some sort standing before him, the height of one man standing on another's shoulder, a hazy, wavery form that keens like the wind. Another figure of the same proportions stands before Frost.

Abnegai's smile only widens again. "Thomas, is it? The one who was cast by the Jack into another world so many Years ago? I have heard the story, yes. But to me, it appears that you are the boy, not I." His voice goes flat. "Surrender or die, choose now, 'Thomas.'"

Sir Lefallon swallows as he looks up at the dust devils, but draws his sword, a bright shining silvery metal. "Give the word, milord," he says.

Growling under her breath, Rachel cranks back her crossbow despite the futility of her first shot. At her urging, her horse backs away a pace from the strange conjurations.

"For the people of Mirari, Sir Lefallon, fulfill your vow and defend it! To battle!" Thomas cries, answering both Sir Lefallon and Abnegai. He then snaps his reigns and kicks his horse to charge. He crouches down in the saddle, bringing his sword to bear, wielding it more like a lance to avoid the wind being able to knock it aside so easily.

"You have doomed yourself," Abnegai says softly, and then he begins chanting too. The air feels electric with the power he is drawing to himself.

A cloud of dust appears on the horizon, as a figure approaches at a fast gallop, following a flying black speck.

Rachel lowers the crossbow again, but this time she draws on Abnegai after she loads.

Sir Lefallon rides in for a charge as well, but aiming for the rightmost dust devil. "For April and Mirari," he yells. "For Thomas!" The young boy's battle cry is dwarfed by the keening of the winds as he strikes ... but his sword passes harmlessly through the dust devil, and a second later, one of its mighty hands reaches down to buffet him with a powerful wind, knocking him off his steed. Meanwhile, the other dust devil, placing itself between Abnegai and Rachel, interrupts her bolt with its body so that the bolt adds itself to its inventory of rocks and the other bolt. It stands directly in Thomas's path.

Thomas pulls back on the reigns, slowing down his horse to a stop. "Clever and cowardly," Thomas taunts, then dismounts from his horse so he can be more mobile. "If I'm just a boy, surely you can face me without supernatural assistance," he continues to taunt, starting to circle now to determine how fast the dust devils can react.

Off in the distance, the tiny figure is still approaching at speed behind the black-robed riders.

There is no answer from Abnegai, save for his continued chanting. Something feels different about the air now. It's dryer, as if it were sucking the water out of Thomas's body. The dust devils themselves seem unaffected as the closer one floats to put itself between Abnegai and his attackers, though the one next to Sir Lefallon is staying put and battering the knight's shield.

Rachel holds her crossbow with one hand, eyes narrowed. Taking the reins of her horse in the other, she maneuvers off the road, trying, like Tom, to circle around the dust devil nearest her. But she moves in the opposite direction from the explorer, so that the same opponent cannot move to block them both.

A flash of sunlight reflects off of the steel tip of a lance, as the approaching figure is close enough now to resolve into a girl riding a huge white stallion.

Thomas continues to circle. "Rachel, if you're carrying a waterskin, try throwing the water into the Dust Devil!" Thomas shouts, circling to make his way back to his own horse and the packed supplies there.

Emilio and Frost have continued chanting, however, and the wind begins to rise around them again, picking up more of what dust and pebbles have not already been swept up. The air feels electric, tingling over Thomas's skin and clothes as he reaches his steed. The dust devil that was following him pauses, and moves to interpose itself between Rachel and Abnegai; to the side, Sir Lefallon darts in an attempt to get around the dust devil and reach the mage named Frost.

Thomas retrieves his waterskin from the horse and heads back towards Abnegai. His thumb rests on the spout, ready to pop it free. "These things seem to like water, so a distraction may give me time if it comes back around," he decides. He approaches, sword drawn. If it comes back to me, so be it. If not, I can strike while it's busy with Rachel.

Hooking her crossbow back to the saddle, and controlling her mount with her knees, Rachel frees her hands to retrieve her waterskin. She unstops it and takes aim at the nearest dust devil.

Leaning forward against Ahearn's neck, Agatha whispers to him, "Let's take the one on the left on the first pass," and lowers her lance into a position to strike at the center of the Black-Robe's back.

With a snort that means, Understood, Ahearn lowers his head, hooves racing for the final charge.

As Rachel unleashes an arc of water toward the dust devil, it shimmers with light, as if it were liquid lightning, and then explodes against her dust devil's body interposed fully between her and Abnegai. There is a horrendous keening as dust flies in every direction, and then the dust devil vanishes. Emilio curses, and then chants faster, and another hazy form starts to rise from the ground beneath him.

Sir Lefallon engages Frost in battle, trying for a quick strike with his sword ... to no avail, as the dust devil closest to him twists his sword arm around so that he strikes the empty air. Frost's lips curve into a smirk as he continues chanting, heedless of the knight charging toward him.

With the dust devil momentarily gone, Rachel tucks her knees into her horse, and charges Emilio. She is more intent on ramming him than anything else.

As Agatha nears the mage called Frost, the dust devil seems to see her and reaches out with a huge swirling hand of wind to try to deflect her shot ... but at the last minute, she succeeds in swinging her lance back onto target, taking Frost below his right shoulder. He screams, carried off his horse by the force of the blow; what air there was stirring about him collapses as his spell is broken.

Abnegai continues chanting, and the air grows dryer yet. Thomas's and Agatha's lips grow parched, and it feels as if a storm were about to strike.

Thomas breaks into a run, gritting his teeth and growling softly. He grips the sword hilt with both and preparesto do a hard thrust into Abnegai's side, upwards to go through the shoulder. His muscles tense, and he goes for the strike, eyes narrow.

Bringing Ahearn to quick stop, Agatha tries to jerk the tip of her lance free while she searches for her next likely target -- and spots the dust devil fighting with Simon.

Emilio's chanting grows faster as Rachel closes on him, and the form grows larger, darker, until the young woman's horse slams into it-- and through it! The wind buffets her harshly, ripping her empty waterskin from her grasp, and for a moment, it seems as if her horse must surely slam down upon its side from the way it is tossed, but then she succeeds in bursting out of the other side ... and slams into Emilio, knocking the wind out of him and the mage out of his saddle. The dust devil roars as the spell, incomplete, starts to dissipate.

The oldest mage locks eyes with Thomas as he charges in, and he continues to chant implacably. It feels as if he were charging through a wall of electricity, from the way that his hair stands out on his head and the back of his neck, and even the hairs on his arm stands out, his skin feeling sandpapery. There is a moment in which Thomas sees that the mage sees his death coming upon him, and accepts it ... and then his sword cuts into the black robed mage's body, unleashing a gout of blood, sending Abnegai flying backward. A thunderclap accompanies the stroke, a flash of lightning from the clear, cloudless sky to the ground, and there is the stink of burned flesh.

The last dust devil standing begins to lose its cohesion, and the other one is already gone. Sir Lefallon stands wild-haired before it, as he looks over to where Thomas stands before the smoldering corpse of Abnegai. There is a faint moan in the air; it comes from Emilio, crouched across the battlefield, near Rachel.

Thomas lowers his blood-marred sword, breathing heavily and ears ringing. Thomas runs his hand through his wild hair to push it back down, then looks over the battle carnage.

After freeing her lance, Agatha guides Ahearn over towards Rachel and the fallen mage. "You need one of these guys alive?" she calls to Tom, sounding a bit hoarse from having a dry throat.

The young knight, Sir Lefallon, pants for breath. "Those monsters! Whatever they were, good Mirari silver did nothing against them. Thank you, Lady Redmane. Your aid was most timely."

Thomas shakes his head to try and clear the ringing in his ears, then replies raspily as well, "Yes. He can tell us where the curse focus is." He then turns and heads back to where he began his charge to recover his dropped waterskin, where he switched to holding the sword with both hands.

"Curse, eh?" Agatha replies, and dismounts from Ahearn after securing her lance. "So these black-robes are responsible for stopping up the spring as well?" she asks, and gives Simon an odd look.

Rachel, having brought her horse to a stop, standing over the fallen mage, pulled out her crossbow and cranked it back again. She levels it on the mage. "Looks like you get one more chance, after all," she tells him,

The mage scowls. "You may as well kill me, for I'll die before I reveal such a secret to any not of the Water Mages."

Agatha draws her sword, and brings it close enough to the mage so he can feel the iron in it. "Are you sure about that?" she asks with mock sweetness.

"I suspect so. At the very least, I suspect they know who or what did it. By the way, good to see you," Thomas replies, then takes a sip from the retrieved waterskin. Thomas then walks over to the scowling mage and kneels down, then taps the mage's nose. "Fine, but we won't kill you. You raped this land; the land will get its justice. We'll strip you down to your undergarments and stake you out here to die slowly from thirst -- like the curse you've helped continue on this once beautiful place. The pain you inflict, so shall you reap."

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This site serves as a chronicle of sessions in an online roleplaying campaign moderated by Conrad "Lynx" Wong and May "Rowan" Wasserman. The contents of this site are (c) 2001, 2002 by Conrad Wong and May Wasserman except where stated otherwise. Despite the "children's fantasy" theme of this campaign, this site is not intended for young readership, due to mild language and violence.