At the Gate of Gold
18th of February 2007 A.D.
There are good sensible reasons to step back not to allow your reach to overcome your grasp, in magic especially in politics, knowing next to nothing about this place, about the Red Court and their machinations.
Yet the choice must be made now. Heavy is the head that wears the Crown, and never before had it felt heavier. To take a risk, expose those under your aegis to new dangers - Reds attacking, Nemesis infiltration, nuclear weapon strikes, all for the sake of your conflict, and to save one life? You almost turn away...
One thing you know for sure,
pain. The pain of immortal and mortal alike being made puppets in the games of the Red Court, of knowing that freedom can only be brief and slavery would be eternal. Not like this, not if you can help it,
no.
"Take my hand," you reach out, the gesture almost casual, a strange pairing to the clay hand that bursts from the soil as you watch, hardening to stone in defiance of sense and geology.
It feels warm and calloused, not stone at all, maybe the hand of a farmer or a fisherman, maybe even an artisan.
The world around you responds to your inner turmoil, the chill of the wastes permeating the air, causing condensation to gather on your armored shoulders, as it almost starts to rain. And yet, embraced as you are by the touch of the world of your soul, you remember - your subjects are not weak. From the first time you met, they have been eager to test themselves against the challenge of the wider cosmos. To boldly stride forward. And with that reminder, you cast out your sight, mystic senses and that which in mortal tongues is called Intellectus combining to select the best possible emergency point.
Fully sensory snapshots pass before your mind's eye:
A sleepy village on stilts above a lake of red with swirling iron dust...
It has to be alive, you realize,
alive as he knows it. The one you bear with you does not recognize the crystalline striders or the alien riders of the storm as akin.
....a trade post raised from mid-sized village to a town of thousands bounded by the circle of an extinct volcano. Scores of hanging lanterns shaded by the wings of sweeping pterosaurs shake to an oddly melodic din as wings uncounted take flight. This is where the shamans of the Deep Jungle so inclined commune with the sorcerer-technicians of the Seeker Cult, under the mediation of elemental powers. Close enough.
Inwards and through the fabric of spacetime bends and the wind flows through it, not cold, but warm and filled with the promise of alien smells. At the heart of a fortress Regina is already waiting, summoned by some call or premonition together with a company of her power-armored guard.
Molten metal, not steel, not even silver but gold shines half in the light of fading earthly day half by the light of the Ring of Fire and like an eye of gold its aperture five feet across floats in place, giving shape to indefinable transition.
"Hello me!" the voice you hear across is Regina. "I'm assuming from the feel of this that it's not an invasion, but what... who is it?"
"Former prisoner of the Red Court. I guess you could say he's looking for political asylum." As the presence of the once-bound god suffuses across the vampires, though some of them hardly look like vampires at all at this point start to follow across.
Carlos had already drawn his sword.
"Let them... just let them, we'll sort it out later, there's security on the other side." There are also a bunch of sorcerer-scholars who are going to need to be rehoused, but that's for later.
Connection Secured to Concord Carldera: Sorcerous Research facility in the Jungles of Sanctuary
What kind of Security do you want to enforce on the two sides of the gate?
[] Leave it to Regina, that is what she does best (Newborn Regent of Sanctuary)
[] Actually you have something pretty specific in mind
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OOC: Not quite a perfect response, but you also didn't crash the gate into a sleepy fishing village or something which a low enough roll would have done. It worked on sympathy after all.