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"The Storm"Date: October 24, 1998  In the distance, the faint sparkle of moonlight and mist rises from Callisar's southern waterfalls. Otherwise, the evening night is clear, causing the moonlight to give the white stonework and marble of the actual Eyrie a ghostly glow. While most of the rest of the household sleeps, Oriane strolls along one of the walls overlooking the land below. Haven led her to seek solitude when she could find it, so often she found herself occupying the gardens after dark. Perhaps it has become a habit. Either way, only the occasional guard enters her vision. Yet there is little solace in this place. Not far to the north, the armies of the fierce Varati are already on the march, and the winds of war sweep past the doors of the Eyrie's inhabitants. Even as they sleep, minions of that dark folk approach the white stonework under the cover of night. They are not large in number, perhaps a score or so--scouts who have arrived from the south and seek food-stuffs and supplies to continue their journey northwards to the main group. Skilled in stealth, they move along the hilly ways with swift steps until they reach the border of the settlement. Signals have replaced words as they gesture between themselves. Three move forward, their blades drawn silently from their sheaths, yet reflect nothing, for they are covered in soot as black as night. A guard on the town's edge falls swiftly beneath the Varati's knife, his throat cut in a soft, gurgling sound. With a signal, the rest move forward once again.... Raven-black wings, nearly invisible in the darkness, flex and fold behind the girl as Oriane resists the urge to draw her wings around herself protectively. Something about the way the air moves tonight curls the hairs on the back of her neck. It is nothing she can place, but something she cannot shake. Tentatively, she lets her senses wander the breezes drifting over the Eyrie, while almost instinctively, she lets her feet wander closer to where one of the guards stays posted on the wall. The sound of the arrow cutting the air is a soft *whoosh* as it passes cleanly through the neck of one of the guards posted on the wall. He grips his spurting throat and falls to the ground; his wheezing is soft as the life drains from him. Without pause, iron hooks soar from the ground below to attach themselves to the stone there, and like so many ants, dark figures begin to climb the sheer face of barricade. Amid the flickering of the torch-lamps, the first of the Varati make it over the wall, settling onto the battlements in a crouch, their weapons drawn. Moving off to the side, they snake their way along the wall toward the ladder which leads downwards to the actual settlement. Soon, they are all streaming over the wall, like insects; they move with stealth towards their eventual target--a small set of houses set into the cliff face, their inhabitants resting peacefully. The winds carry to Oriane's nostrils the acrid scent of dirt and sweat accumulated through days of travel in the dry hills, fresh blood, mingling with the eerie silence of death. The sound of footsteps echoes as they make their way inside Callisar's Eyrie and violate it with their presence--a large number of invaders. The scouts are experienced men, and they know their business. Moving toward the houses, they are cautious to avoid the flickering pots of flame that illuminate the corridors of stone. Silent hand signals, and three break off for the interior of the nearest abode. Another signal and a second squad moves down the way and into a second domicile. There seems to be one who is in the lead--a tall, well-built Varati whose face is covered in a mask of black silk. The main group waits, huddled in the shadows, eyes watching the area around them for signs of a raised alarm. What transpires within the abodes is silent, and most assuredly fatal. Oriane gives the guard a frustrated look as he simply tries to soothe her fears with a few platitudes. As he continues his confident speech about the security of the Eyrie, her eyes turn toward the strange smells the winds dutifully carry back to her. Panic grips her for a moment, and she turns to the guard and orders, her hissing voice cutting through his stream of reassurances, "Sound the alarm, now!" Not pausing, she turns and moves toward the inner edge of the wall, sending a tendril of wind through the settlement to where the smells came from. The air whirls forward in a cone that stirs the dirt along the silent streets. At first, there is nothing but that smell--rancid and manly. Then Oriane can sense several figures huddled against the wall, the air sweeping over their features and the cold edge of drawn steel--perhaps fifty yards away. There is more movement, and that smell of death of again--of fresh blood that has just been drawn and even now pools on the floor of these homes. The black-masked figure's eyes scan the street with intent. They are taking too long in the homes. He rises a bit, and turns to look at the doorway just as the first group emerges, a heavy sack laden with supplies, their blades dripping with the blood of Empyreans. Making a signal, they plaster themselves to the a wall and wait for the second group to arrive. On the wall, the guardsman looks puzzled as Oriane commands him to ring the alarm. Yet her response leaves little doubt as to the sincerity of what is going on. He turns and grasps a large piece of wood, beating it against a chime of metal. The loud *gong* fills the air, rolling over Oriane's senses, the vibrations breaking her concentration and the exact location of the invaders. *Gong* He sounds it again, and around Callisar's Eyrie, the guard begins to stir from their slumber and the posts are alerted. Starting as the gong shatters her concentration, Oriane can't help but allow her panic to wash over her. Her family is down there--both her sister and her mother. And while they may be in a nicer, more secure home, they are still down there with the invaders. Steadily, the winds around her begin to build with the power that's within every elemental. Struggling to hold onto herself, Oriane once more sends her senses to the streets below, trying to find the invaders. They are moving swiftly now that the gong has been sounded. Even as the Eyrie is alerted to the presence of invaders, they are unseen, for their methods of penetration were indeed silent. Yet, one guard on the wall announces loudly, apparently having seen the whirl of dark cloaks and movement of feet, "ALARM! WE ARE INVADED!!" His shout carries through the air and his pointing draws the attention of some other guards on the wall. Arbalists are shouldered and bolts are nocked. From the small barracks within, several mongrels emerge, armed with gladii and prepared to do battle. The *whoosh* of two arrows from a spot along the farthest wall alerts Oriane to the presence of the force--the shafts contact one of the torch pots on the wall and send it sprawling over, flames leaping to life. The settlement is quickly thrown into chaos, and it is clear that without assistance, this small garrison of House guards will not last long. Called by a windling's wild panic, the once-clear night sky begins to fill with darkening clouds. A small storm that lingered over the mountains begins to take form with the existing clouds above the small valley. Black wings flutter nervously as Oriane moves along the wall and starts to send gusts of wind down among the streets toward the Varati. She is unschooled but powerful, as evidenced by the debris beginning to swirl with the gusts. The gathering of storm clouds causes the invaders' eyes to cast skyward. Some of them murmur amongst themselves in the tongue of the Varati. Words such as 'foul omens' and 'devil magic' come from their lips, and a few even cower slightly. Yet the leader stands up and shouts a few words, which come through despite the growing winds, and his eyes are ablaze behind that mask. He grips his falcare tighter and raises it, calling to those who would be cowards to remain here and die an honorless death, yet those who would be great to follow him to victory. Few resist, and by the time those words are finished, all have their blades and bows ready for a battle. Even now, the guards of Callisar's Eyrie have readied themselves and perhaps a squad of Velites and Empyreans, no more than twenty in number, have arrayed themselves against the Varati foes. The *twang* of bowstrings and the whistling of arbalist bolts herald the start of the skirmish--the seasoned scouts advancing with ferocity on the garrison's troops. As the battle begins on the streets below, the clouds above shout their disapproval with a resounding clap of thunder. Rain begins to fall while the winds build the storm up even further. Oblivious to what she unconsciously calls above, Oriane struggles to keep her panicked focus on summoning the strong gusts of wind. This is more than her limited training should allow, so the edges of her control begin to fray. With the flash of lightning, her eyes actually see the Varati below. With a fierce protectiveness for her family and home, she sends a powerful gust of wind at the invaders. Even as the wind and pelting rain buffets them, the scouts rush forward with a great battle cry, meeting the Empyreal and mongrel warriors with a clatter of steel. Those who remained behind fire arrows from their bows at the Empyreal guards who stand on the wall, their eyes focused. Several arrows and bolts are knocked away from their targets by the strong winds, and as the storm grows, the missile fire becomes almost useless, for it is so inaccurate. As the mighty gust of wind emanates by Oriane's will, it is so strong that it sends three warriors in the rear flying across the courtyard, helpless in the grasp of its elemental might. The screams of wounded men begin to sound as falcare and gladius alike find their mark in fleshy sides. As bolts of lightning streak the sky, warriors on both sides lessen their attacks for fear of this storm which has arisen so suddenly. Only the commander, his mask of silk now thrown aside to reveal a mass of scars, continues on, calling to his warriors to continue to fight. His weapon flashes once again, and makes a deep cut across a mongrel warrior's head. The Velite falls to the ground and lies still. Soon, silks and cloths are soaked, yet the struggle continues, if even half-heartedly. Building into a fury far beyond her control, the storm roiling and clashing in the sky above begins to try and seize control instead. Half lost in the power of the wind, Oriane sways on her feet as the rain soaks her as well as the streets and soldiers. Still, when the silk is pulled away, she sees the commander cut down the mongrel with bloody efficiency. Giving a strangled sound, her nearly consumed consciousness sends a pounding blast of wind in that direction. The wind seems to have a life of its own as it sends the Varati commander flying with a furious blast. He shouts curses in their tongue even as he impacts the hard stone wall of the house. The clatter of steel continues, but with their commander stricken, and this devil storm raging around them, the scouts begin to give ground, leaving at least half of their foes before them stricken or dead--a testament to their skill and prowess in the martial arena. Lightning splits the sky, revealing that there are perhaps fifteen warriors making their way swiftly toward the gate leading out of Callisar's Eyrie. They take those wounded who can walk, including the dazed, swarthy commander. Their blades are drawn aggressively, like a snarling dog who has been cornered. There is fear in the eyes of not a few, with each pound of the fierce bolts. The Empyreal garrison guards back off, watching the storm which saved them from certain death with a mixture of awe and terror--yet none suspect that the young Tritonides woman was its source. Another battle is being waged as the clash between Varati and Empyrean begins to end. Within Oriane, the winds call and beckon, offering to consume her and take full control. The storm rages with continued ferocity, and despite her distraction, much of the force is still directed at the retreating Varati rather than the village itself. Turning her face up towards the storm, Oriane's raven wings spread wide so that a gust of wind nearly lifts her off of the wall, but not quite. Internally, she battles with herself, struggling for control of a fury unleashed much greater than she could ever hope to control. Still, the storm builds. Back, back towards the gate the Varati move, their clothing pelted by fierce raindrops and sticks, slicing their skin with its force. The ones in front move to make a shield for those in the rear, choosing to take the brunt of this, and leaning into the gale winds to keep their balance. However, the storm is out of control, and sending things in all directions. The settlement starts to take damage as carts are thrown aside and nearly anything that's loose starts to soar around, carried off in the powerful winds. The gate behind the invaders flies open as it is released, sending several of them through the entrance as the gateway becomes a funnel of wind. The screams of those men die away as they are carried off, flung to fates unknown. The helpless guardsmen of the Eyrie do their best to take cover, but are likewise pelted with all manner of mundane materials. The rain begins to sound like metal against the ground, lightning streaking across the sky and exploding on the ground not far from the scouts. Still, they press onward, their only goal is to escape with their lives intact at this point. Oriane's eyes are bright and distant as her senses are far up in the clouds, triumphantly exulting at the power of the storm. Somewhere within her, though, a small voice screams that this will end her more surely than a Varati arrow. When the scream of an Empyreal soldier known to her reaches her ears, something in her breaks, and the voice of reason gains a foothold. Struggling against the powers of air wishing to consume her, she strains to send the storm away with the Varati. The storm is stronger than her, and this much Oriane can feel deep within her breast. That which she has summoned to destroy her foes she can feel slipping through her hands like so much sand from the desert. Winds howl across the face of Callisar's Eyrie as yet another bolt strikes the ground with a deafening roar and a flash of sparks. The Varati in the gateway weather things as well as they can, but one by one they are sucked through and carried to the corners of the earth. A few stagger through and seek shelter behind the wall, but soon even that begins to give beneath the raw force of this element. The screams of Empyreans now can be heard as the heavens themselves seem to be angry--the gods' force striking down on this small settlement and wrecking foes beneath it. Cracks begin to form along the wall where the Varati fled, chips of stone flying as it threatens to give way. She knows she cannot ever hope to stop this violent beast of her making, but still she struggles to nudge it away, to force its anger beyond her beloved home. Regardless of the winds, rain, and debris whipping past her, she still stands on the wall like some dark storm childling. Every fiber within her strains against losing herself to that storm or losing her home. It is not an easy task, but somehow the storm begins to gain shape and almost a distinction, which makes it more fearsome. The clouds begin to swirl about in a circular motion, spinning about like great tendrils of black, which flash bolts of pure energy. Cracking like whips, the bolts lash the ground, striking those hapless enough to be caught in their path and killing instantly. Suddenly, the mass of clouds seems to coagulate and roll forward with a great thrust that causes the main gateway of Callisar's Eyrie to explode outward and send chunks of rock flying everywhere. Those Varati that fled can no longer be seen, and one can assume they are dead or near it. The storm itself rolls forward, lashing out at the rocks of the cliff and the canyon, pulling wisps of water from the fall and adding to the strength of the rain which pelts all in its path and in the surrounding area. Slowly, it starts to pass from its location over the village and roll down towards the northern hills, laying waste to all those unfortunate to be in its path. Trembling from the exertion and fear, Oriane's knees finally give out and she collapses to the stones beneath her feet. Consciousness nearly slips away as she curls in on herself, still whipped by the rain falling over the valley. Though the storm's sounds become more distant as the thunderbolts lash the rocks and valley to the north, the rain which it left in its wake can still be felt. Falling from the sky in ever-lightening measures, the clouds grow a lighter shade of black, and then grey. The settlement of Callisar's Eyrie lies disheveled, but not destroyed. Things have been flung everywhere by the powerful gusts, and several small fires burn from the impact of the massive bolts of lightning. Slowly, as the storm passes, the citizens of this place peek their heads out to see what happened, spying the chaos which has ensued since the Varati assault. Those guards who remain emerge from their hiding places and begin to quickly douse the flames of the conflagrations, while the others simply stare, or begin to pick up pieces of their lives. Oriane recollects being gathered up by someone strong and carried to her home, where she was tended to with care and love until she grew strong once again. The storm's effects were felt as far north as fifty miles, and word even reached Haven of its ferocity. The fate of the Varati is unknown, but any who could survive that force of nature were hardy souls indeed.
FIN
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