10339/Path of Glory: Rings of Smoke Through the Trees

Path of Glory: Rings of Smoke Through the Trees
Date of Scene:	11 March 2022
Location:	The Astral
Synopsis:	The Justice League Dark finds another of Michael's astral tests and (after fighting a literal dragon) manage to find and secure another board for the Stairway to Heaven.
Cast of Characters:	Michael Demiurgos, Jonathan Sims, Cael Becker, Phoebe Beacon, Sara Pezzini, Asariel, Terry O'Neil
Tinyplot:	Path of Glory

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Michael Demiurgos has posed:
    The disturbance had started a day ago. Something was happening in the astral again. The feeling was most palpable near the Great Tree, but any peeking over there showed nothing was wrong in the vicitity of the Great Tree (or its golden, astral formed counterpart). Instead smoke and something was brewing to the north.

    Eventually, the disturbance leads to the Fort George neighborhood of the island. Attempting to peak over results in the spiritual equivalent of a bird hitting a window. It might be prudent to use alternative means of entry to the astral for investigation and -hopefully- stopping whatever is brewing on the other side.

    Sliding the Key from Uriel into the door of a Brownstone opens up on anything but the interior of an apartment complex. Instead a great plain spreads out before them. Not far from the door is a massive silver tree growing on a hill. Those who were there would recognize the shape and make of the Ginkgo in Isham Park. Beyond the tree are the gates of a massive fortress rent into the side of mountain that spewed fire and lava. It seemed that whatever or whoever built this place (it wasn't a long list by any means) had been quite busy.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon had gotten people on investigating the astral plane Wednesday, seeming jittery and irritable without explaining why. Starting from Central Park, the investigation ranges north until they reach Fort George. Once they head through the door of the brownstone and are in the Astral, he closes his eyes and glows teal and emerald for a moment. Yes, he has a transformation now, although it's more of a flash of that light. One minute he's his normal self, wearing jeans and a heavy jacket; the next he has wings and Ma'at's feather, red kurta and gold trousers.

    He frowns across the plain, toward the tree and the fortress and... volcano. "Well," he says, "Michael's been busy. I wonder what he has in store this time?" A pause. "This is obviously the Wellspring of Life, at the ginko tree in Isham. So why... a volcano fortress?"

Cael Becker has posed:
    "His Royal Godliness returns," Cael remarks with a grin as Jon's appearance alters, though she seems more interested in their surroundings than Jon's appearance. She studies the plain, the tree, the fortress - and the volcanic moountain, before she remarks in a dry voice, "The cracks of Doom? Do we have to throw the ring into the fire, Mister Frodo?" Apparently Cael is aware of at least SOME geeky pop culture. Who knew?
    Her own appearance hasn't changed since crossing over into the astral plane, and she sports predictable attire - SHIELD tactical gear, partially covered by blueish-silver armor over her chest, forearms, and shins and metallic black wings on her back, folded and out of the way for the moment. "To the fortress, I suppose?"

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    Phoebe had, of course, arrived to aid however she may. Today it was an orange hair wrap, a light, black jacket and a skirt over light leggings, tucked into boots, giving a disapproving look to the fortress.

    "And to think, we just walked here." she mumbles to herself, looking between the silver Ginko and the huge castle fortress, brown eyes going to Jon for a moment.

    "Maybe he's going for a cartoon badguy feel? Imitating Madam Pele?"

    She raises her eyebrows "Looking for lav-a in all the wrong places?"

Sara Pezzini has posed:
The real self entering the astral plane, Sara opts to armor herself before going in, just made life so much easier. Following Jon and Cael, she paused once inside to look at the world laid out before them.

"One thing is certain," she says as she looks around. "He really lacks imagination of any kind."

Letting her eyes settle on the volcano mountain fortress she chuckles at Cael, "We forgot the One ring Cael, should we imagine one up to throw in there?"

Asariel has posed:
Asariel is a reclusive face these days and given the aura she's putting off we might know why. The angel doesn't look happy about whatever her Uncle Michael might be doing, but she's come to see if she can help given things. The woman keeps quiet though, as she doesn't really have much to say in regards to the current situation. She didn't like that Michael was still being an annoyance and she wanted to punt him into another universe.

Terry O'Neil has posed:
The Cheshire Cat isn't attired any differently from his previous outing- same dapper vest, slacks and shirtsleeves, tastefully accessorized with a top hat and a cane- although there is something *different* about both. The inner band of the top hat lets off a gentle, almost imperceptible glow, and there is a slight haze that clings to the cane when it moves, but nothing more.

"To be frank, a volcano hideout is so very Evil Genius, I am surprised Michael is going for the medieval approach instead of going for the Bond approach. Missed opportunities and all," he says, leaning on the cane, "Considering I would look absolutely fantastic in a Bond Girl gown," he muses, smirking.

Michael Demiurgos has posed:
    A figure steps up to the parapet of the fortress' ramparts. In head to toe black armor complete with spike-like protrusions from the shoulder, elbows, and knee joints as well as the helmet. It's hardly practical for anyone who isn't massive to be wearing. But the figure on the parapet--given the distance--has to be well over 15 feet tall.

    In one hand is a staff of iron topped with a glowing crystal. A sweep of the other massive hand throws aside his cape, allowing the fabric to billow behind him and revealing a massive mace hanging at his side. One gauntleted hand rises and lifts the visor on the helmet to reveal the glowing golden eyes of Michael. The voice is also that of the Archangel as he speaks to those outside the fortress. "Welcome adversaries" he calls out over the mostly barren plain. "I am glad to see you have noticed the redecorating I have made" he says conversationally. "Do you like it? Drawing from the minds of mortals comes with a variety of surprises. Especially when the source material is a mishmash of unfinished works compiled by the child of the original author. But," he says, raising his free hand and smiling at it. "I find that I have a newfound appreciation for the dramatic these days. Much is due to Jonathan for giving us the ability to understand such things."

    He slams the staff down on the parapet, the sound ringing through the barren land and the gates of the fortress begin to open, revealing a massive army of mishapen creatures in a variety of sizes from just shy of four feet to double that of a grown man. "While I could give the field to an army of my creation..." Michael calls in that same cordial tone. "I feel the chaos would be too much to truly appreciate your specific abilities. Especially since you seem to have brought your own."

    As if in answer to his words, the silver tree glows and a massive army of tall, slender beings in leather and shimmering mail form ranks behind the gathering forces of the Justice League's mystic division. One in the lead calls out in a flowing, silken language and the ranks respond in the same tongue as they move into defensive postures of readiness.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon rolls his eyes at Cael, but says to the others, "I wouldn't say it's a lack of imagination so much as... gathering ideas? I mean, how many people have made various forms of Tolkien fanfiction? Even the movies count as that, technically."

    As Michael appears he notes, "Ahh--not the One Ring. That's Sauron. This would appear to be Morgoth, the original Dark Lord." He raises his voice and calls, "So, what, we need to get the Silmaril from you? Sounds like a bad idea. Nothing good ever came of those things. How about you keep the sparkly jewels and we'll just take a look around? We're interested in something else entirely."

    The piece of the stairway that's surely lurking near the Astral wellspring, is what they're looking for. Does Michael... know that?

Cael Becker has posed:
    Cael simply grins at Jon, though her attention quickly returns to the fortress as Michael appears - her axe appearing in her hands as she glares across the distance at the being. "...so. Are you telling me //not// to fly over there and give him what's coming to him?" she asks. The disappointment in her voice is almost palpable. No, it seems she never gets enough of handing Michael his ass, even if it never really holds.
    "Can you //see// where the next plank is?" she asks. "Like you did in the maze?"

Sara Pezzini has posed:
As Michael appears, the figure that he is meant to be portraying lost on her, Sara takes note that he's made himself larger than life and apparently, offered up two armies to fight with each other. It was obvious he was recreating something, matching up to something from human minds, but beyond the comment she had made, the rest was lost on her.

"Jon, I'd suggest that you and Cael see if you can find what we're looking for," she states, noting the placement of the armies. "I'll keep watch from the 'sky' for anything intent on getting to you. If we can avoid a fight, all the better, if not, then I'll try to slow down the approach with the help of our new found army. The item we seek is more important than anything else here."

Asariel has posed:
Asariel gives a look to her Uncle when he appears and there is a deeper frown as all too recent wounds are metaphorically ripped open, she wanted to bust his face with a hammer. She didn't want to get in a fight with anyone else. Just the blonde with the big ego.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    Phoebe was indeed a Giant Nerd. She sees the army in silver arrise from the tree and call out in defense, and she breathes out a moment as she stretches her hands, and she breathes out.

    "Dal tegi- nin u- astraui, emel ceri- u- awarth- nin." <Feet, do not lead me astray. Heart, do not abandon me.> she quietly mutters, and she looks to Asariel, and gives a wan smile to her.

    "Good to see you out and about." she mumbles to her, following a bit behind John and Cael.

Terry O'Neil has posed:
"Oh, god, /so/ predictable. Always with the combat. Wouldn't it be nice if this fucker decided to look up Jane Austen? Combat is /so/ overdone with this dude, I would at least look forward to the challenge of trying to teach Mister Darcy not to be a dick while slinging sober but scintillating one-liners while navigating the murky waters of social convention through a careful study of a subversive author's cunning periplus in an upside-down commedy of manners."


He sighs, tsks, and then says, "I guess we should acknowledge the existence of our army. Elves get touchy if you don't pay attention to them." Clearing his throat, he calls out to the elves: <<Most august host, be ready for combat, for my floating conveyance vehicle is full to the brim with ray-finned elongated fish!>>

Terry frowns, "I think my Sindarin is a /little/ bit rusty," he mutters.

Michael Demiurgos has posed:
    Michael may be grinning from the height of the parapet as his opponents. "No. No. This won't do at all. We've had enough of the large scale battles... let us focus more on what -you- can do against a single or pair of foes" he says and waves his hand. The army of mishapen things disappear and, as in in answer, the elven army behind the heroes also fades.

    "But it can't be something mundane. No. This figure... this Morgoth... created a great many things. Greatest of all those he created are..." he snaps his guantleted fingers and a creature of legend materializes behind the gates.

    The black scaled monster is well over two hundred feet at the shoulder and its serpentine form put it at three times that from tip of snout to end of a spiked tail. Two massive wings sprout from its back, crimson webbed between blackened joints. It focuses on the party and narrows one of its slitted eyes upon them before rearing up and spitting a gout of flame into the sky.

    Michael laughs. "I admit that sources are scarce on the exact size of Ancalagon so I had to make due with some level of hisorical accuracy." He leans forward eagerly and asks, "Do you like him? I believe he very much would like you... for a meal."

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon glances to Terry and says, "He's a warrior--that's part of his Purpose. He's going to include combat because that's who he /is/. Asking Michael to do a Jane Austen novel is like asking you to be quiet and well-behaved for an entire week; it's just not going to happen."

    The dragon's appearance makes his eyes widen. "Oh good /lord/. I can sense the next piece of the stairway beyond the gates of the fortress... but somehow we have to get past /this/ thing first. Or... /one/ of us needs to."

    He spreads his wings and launches himself into the air, considering for a moment. "I /can/ sense the thing. I think, if you all can keep it busy, I can dart in there and find the thing we're looking for." He chews on his lip, clearly not entirely willing to leave the rest of them behind.

Cael Becker has posed:
    "Man - I thought we were done with Apep," Cael mutters under her breath at the giant, fire-breathing, winged serpent. She lets out an exagerated sigh - then takes to the air.
    "We can keep it busy, Jon. Trust us. Yeah?" She flashes the man a confident grin then, eager to try herself against the beast, she flies towards it adding loudly, "Gee, it might be useful if I had my //sword// right now!" Subtle as a sledge hammer, our Cael.
    She attempts to dodge out of the way of its gaping maw, and the gouts of flame, flapping her wings furiously as she dives from above, to maximize on her speed, trying to swing her axe at she she hopes is a vulnerable wing.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "... Tim is going to be /so jealous/." Phoebe whispers to herself, and she pulls her hood up, stretching her hands again as she channels her power, her eyes glowing that rosy-gold color.

    "I've always wanted to fight a dragon..." she states, and she channels the energy along her back, into the tattoo inscribed between her shoulders as the orichilum and rose-cold wings errupt from ber back. She steps forward, and gives a smile.

    "You are as subtle as a *brick* Cael." Phoebe calls out, going up to make an excellent target of herself to try and keep Ancalagon's attention on her -- yes, look at the big flashy one with the pink-and-red wings!

    She reaches back for her Sumerian, holding both hands out.

    <I call upon the live-giving flow of water -- give to me to quench and freeze the fire before me!>] she commands, looking to unleash a torrent of water directly over the black dragon's head.

Sara Pezzini has posed:
Yeah, armies going against each other was pretty cliche at this point, even Sara was thinking that, though she'd been prepared to head into the throng without question. The change from armies to dragon however, that brings an actual smile to her face because it was something new.

"We got your back, Jon," she offers as the tendrils of metal begin to wrap more around around her body and she jumps into the air, spreading the massive metal wings on her back to gain height.

Let's face it, it was extremely rare in todays world, to have a chance to use a lance as a weapon, but that is exactly the choice Sara makes. Fire, magical, natural, demonic, draconic, it was the one thing Witchblade brushed off like water flowing over rocks. So once her body is encased once again, head to toe, a laugh can be heard as she positions her body into a dive toward the dragon's head, preferably an eye if she can manage it, with the lance held firmly in both hands.

"Anyone for shish-ka-dragon?!" she calls out.

Asariel has posed:
Asariel gives a bit of a look after Phoebe and there's a pleading look, "Don't get anything ripped off." she states. Then the woman gives a look up to Michael before she extends her hand out in front of her, her wings more on the darker side, in flash of white light the woman is armored in an exact match of Michael's armor, though it's silver in color, not the gold of her uncles. She pushes off the ground, completely intending on going to face off against the person her creator has an obsession with.

There's another flash as she gets halfway to Michael, when it clears there's no Asariel.

Technical difficulties!

Terry O'Neil has posed:
"Now now, Jon. All you have to do is reframe things for him. Jane Austen novels /are/ combats, they are just /different/ kinds of wars going on. He's not very creative, you have to paint the picture for him... Let's talk about marketing after this-"

Because now there is Giant Dragon. "Well. He has to be doing a bit better. He's learned to keep pets," Vorpal says with a smirk and vanishes down a Rabbit Hole, to better reposition himself in the field outside of the immediate reach of the Dragon, while he works at his own attempt at keeping the dragon busy.

His free hand moves, and summons a construct of chaos magic that looks like a floating lute, which he begins to pluck. "I think it's rather unfair for Ankie here to have no animal playmates. I remember there are some fellows who just /love/ to play with lizards like him..."

His fingering is pretty good. The claws that dance over the strings pluck bell-like tones which he elaborates with a liberal helping of accidentals (Musica Ficta or bust- because only 1455 kids will remember this! Kids, only losers practice safe hexachords!) and he sings out, in his best 'Authentic Renaissance Performance Vocal Practices Hahaha I'm Kidding Since It's All Just A Bunch Of Bull Some Academics Decided Upon Because We Really Don't Know How People Actually Sang Like In The Renaissance Change My Mind Fite Me Bro John Eliot Gardiner Can Kiss My Fuzzy Ass' voice:

~They came flying from far away
Now I'm under their spell
I love hearing the stories that they tell

They've seen places beyond my land
And they've found new horizons
They speak strangely but I understand

And I dream I'm an eagle
And I dream I can spread my wings

Flying high, high
I'm a bird in the sky
I'm an eagle that rides on the breeze
High, high
What a feeling to fly
Over mountains and forests and seas
And to go anywhere that I please!~

Not the most orthodox of summoning songs, but there you go: Vorpal to Manwe, come in, Manwe! Feed the birds- Dragon a bag. Or is that bag a dragon?

Michael Demiurgos has posed:
    The great dragon--because of course that's what this creature is--rears up on two of it's legs and bellows out an earsplitting roar of challenge as Cael comes for it. The woman's axe hits the bony extension that serves as part of the frame for a wing and the sound of metal on metal and sparks flare from the impact point. A flick of the wing slaps against Cael in retaliation and the sheer strength of the beast is evident to the FBI officer, turned SHIELD agent, turned Mystical Warrior as the wing buffet all but sends her to the ground. That will leave bruises for a little bit at least.

    The blast of water at the massive head of the beast is met with a gurgling roar of anger and he jerks as steam pours from the cracks between scales. There is a flurry of motion and the long whiplike tail strikes out at the rose-gold winged form of Phoebe, the whistle of the tail is the only thing before there is an impact of sharp pain flares over the midsection of the light infused woman.

    Sara's dive is met with resistance even as the lance strikes a scale plate just to the right of the left eye. The scale shifts just a touch but doesn't break. Unfortunately, the blow also leaves Sara open to the crushing slam of a clawed hand swatting her to the ground in front of the creature.

    Preoccupied with the trio as the dragon is, it doesn't hear the cry in the sky above them. A small silver moth flutters into Terry's view and a winged shadow covers the sun for a moment as another bird-like screech cuts the air. Three massive truck-sized eagles dive from the heavens and with quick powerful strikes they harrass the dragon. Even so the strikes do little more than draw sparks from the armored carapace that serves as Ancalagon's skin.

    As Asariel dons armor aking to Michael's original form and comes for him he stands proundly, ready to take the fledgling angel on directly and then she vanishes. He blinks and shakes his head. "A pity... the young ones are always so eager to use their power without understanding the strength of such things." He shakes his head again and looks onto the battle below to see how his pet is doing against the onslaught being forced on it.

    Jon--and only Jon--can see a thin ribbon of light that veers to the left of the open gate of the walls. Whatever it is that he seeks, it must be at the end of that trail. The way will be treacherous, with the conflict not far from the strip of light, but if he times it right and doesn't attact attention, he might just make it.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon hesitates for a moment, particularly as Asariel disappears. But the reassurances given by the others seem to convince him, and he nods sharply. "Right. Okay. Keep this thing busy... I'll be in and out as fast as I can." It's fortunate that he goes when he does, so he misses the others getting hit and possibly injured; that might have made him hold back.

    He pushes himself up higher into the air and then folds the idea of /invisibility/ around himself, disappearing from view. Unseen, he flies as fast as he can, past the dragon and the archangel, heading for the open gate. Once inside, he follows the trail of teal light, keeping an eye out for any potential resistance. Did Michael bother leaving anyone or anything inside to defend the fortress, or was he really depending on the dragon alone to keep them busy?

Cael Becker has posed:
    Jon is going alone - and honestly, that worries Cael more than facing a dragon.
    But such worries are a distraction she can ill afford when faced with such a foe. Glancing towards Jon for a moment is all the opening the creature had needed to catch her with a powerful hit from its wing, and she winces, tumbling out of control for a moment, before she instinctually figures out which was is up, and flares out her wings to arrest her fall.
    She hadn't even caught a glimpse of Jon. She'd have to trust that that was a good thing.
    "Okay, so - metal scales!" she calls out towards the other. What could they use against metal scales? Wasn't this place supposed to be a place of... imagination? And she can think of one weapon that cuts through metal.
    She tries her damnedest to imagine her axe is now a //lightsaber// - or rather a lightaxe - as she pushes herself close enough for another swing. "Insert witty quote here. Something something the Force is with me."
    Look. At least she knew something that approximated a line from the movie?

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    THis bought Phoebe knowledge: one, the dragon is going to be hot to the touch. Higher temperature reading, and if Pokemon had taught her anything, ice was a dragon's bane. Right? Makes sense.

    She gave a grin, baring her teeth as she formulated a plan, her mouth opening before she gives a sharp cry out, first in alarm and then at the sudden crushing whip from the dragon's tail.

    Ancalagon has used 'Iron Tail'!

    Phoebe's flight goes awry, her fings curling up as the world spins around her, and she manages to pull her shields up just in time before she impacts on the ground, leaving a crater in the ground as she grasps her fingers against her side, covering her midsection as she utters a curse. Ribs snap back into place as she draws her gaze back up to the dragon, and as Cael finishes her attack.

    Phoebe takes out her green-handled knife from her go-bag, and begins to carve into the Earth, keeping one eye on the dragon and Cael and Sara.

    "Right tool for the job!"

Sara Pezzini has posed:
Ouch does not do justice to the sensation of being slammed into the ground by a large clawed foot, swatted like a bug from the air. The protection of the armor keeps the more serious damage from occurring, but Sara finds herself bruised down the left side of her body. Apparently Witchblade also learned that the imagination of an angel in the astral realm was capable of making a substance his metal couldn't penetrate. In the past, something like that would have angered him, driven him into a fury which Sara would have had to fight to keep control of while trying to fight the enemy. The recent events with Barachiel, where in he geased Sara then beat the ever living shit out of her, had created a much stronger bond and understanding between the Witchblade and his wielder.

The anger was maintained by the artifact himself, shared with Sara only on the smallest of mental levels. "Oh so that's how it is," she mutters as she springs into the air again, ignoring the pain from her close, personal meeting with the ground. "Alright then, let's see how you like this metal imaginary dragon."

Lifting herself up higher into the air, she drew up the magical energies of the Witchblade and sent them outward in two blazing beams of pure energy from the palms of her left hand, while in the right her bastard sword appeared and she swooped in once more in an attempt to stab the dragon in the eye, but this time trying to use tendrils of metal from the armor to actually anchor herself to the beasts head. No more swatting, that hurt.

Terry O'Neil has posed:
The Cheshire frowns. The Eagles of Manwe aren't having much effect overall- but that is to be expected, considering who the Dragon is. His team-mates are fighting admirably. But they all need to do more.

He strokes his chin, observing things from this distance, and he ponders the nature of the world he's in.

As Donna would ask him: what do you know about your environment?

Well, everything in this world presumably sprang forth from song- the Auinulindale. Song has the power to shape reality- like Chaos magic can. Even Morgoth can be susceptible to the right song, right?

He stares at the dragon, watching the sparks glinting off the scales-

Wait.

Fingers moving speedily across the strings, he begins to play a new song, infusing the power of his chaos magic into the playing, allowing himself to tap a small amount into that reserve of power that he senses is some sort of birthright here, in the realms where Dream and Fae are but a small jaunt away. He begins to sing- a song of praise:



~For Ancalagon the black was mighty and grim,
with great breath aflame against which none prevails,
So strong on his frame to break Thangorodrim
was the might of his shimmering, glimmering scales~

Whose side is he ON, anyways?

But there comes the reverse. As the ode ends, he starts playing and singing the melody again starting on the sixth degree of the scale, and the accidentals creep in: a lowered third, sixth and seventh degrees. He has turned the ode to Ancalagon's mighty scales into a... minor scale.

Will the spell-song have any effect on reality? Will it be of any help to his team-mates, or is he just fiddling while Beleriand burns? These answers and more in our next episode of SOAP!

Michael Demiurgos has posed:
    The axe in Cael's hands turns to dreamstuff jelly for a moment before solidifying back into shape. It looks -mostly- unchanged... apart from the twin crescents being formed from actual superheated blue plasma. The next strike does bite into the scales, releasing a hiss of steam as the blade wedges into the thick metal carapace at the base of one of the wings. The dragon's screech is full of pain as the armor that has protected him for an Age meets its match. He shakes his frame roughly and the blade is torn free from where it cut into his hide. Just as the massive bulk of the monster (all 100 tons of him) slam into Cael as the beast attempts to crush it's assailant.

    This leaves the opening for Sara's beam attack to cut a swath across it's back. Blood erupts from the beast back like a torrent of lava, hissing and bubbling on the ground as it eats through the hard packed rock of the barren land. In retaliation the beast raises its head and spits out flame at the Witchblade, engulfing her in the fire. Unfortunately, the creature is unaware that there is no flame that can burn the shard born of Atum's fury.

    As the trio continue to work the eagles sweep in to harrass and annoy more against one of their oldest foes. But still, what can they hope to do against the greatest of the elder beasts of flame and darkness. Terry's song, infused with chaos and dissonance, washes over the dragon and chaos meets the order of Michael's will and the sound is beyond uncanny. When the discordant sound fades... the dull black of the dragon's scales has changed to something shining and blinding in the light of the smoky sun overhead. It also looks quite malleable... almost like aluminum foil.

    There is no resistance within the confines of the walls, not to start. The fortress looms large in the distance, built into the side of the volcano. As Jon approaches the fortress, a burst of black smoke erupts before him and Michael stands there in his Morgoth disguise, though he is his normal (still impressive) height.

    "I know you are there, Jonathan." he says, his blue eyes scanning the empty area. "You cannot hide from me. We have been through too many encounters together for you to think that a veil can truly disguise your intention." He shakes his head. "You need not fight me in this. Take the power I offer..." he extends a hand and in his palm is a curved shimmering gem, much like the one at the tip of his iron staff. The gem hums with power. "You know what this is... take it and join me and we can give the guidance this universe desperately needs -together.-"

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon lets the invisibility spell drop as he comes upon Michael, landing on the barren ground and frowning up at the angel. "I need to learn to hide my mind, too," he mutters in annoyance. Then he stares at the gem for a long moment.

    "You shouldn't be able to touch that," Jon notes quietly. "Not if you're playing Melkor. Why play the villains when you don't believe yourself to be one? Shouldn't you be Manwe, here? King of Arda, King of the Valar, the selfless leader. Why do you give in to the idea that you should be playing the kind of roles your brother does?"

    He shakes his head. "Why should I join with you, though? I've seen what you do to those who help you. You betrayed Caitlin Fairchild. Why would I help you, as you are now?"

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    Phoebe has always been fascinated with language. Learning Japanese, Latin, picking up Sumerian, smatterings and half-breaths of Hebrew and Yiddish, but there was one tongue that always fascinated her, to the point where if she and her newly minted brother wanted to have a conversation, they could have it in front of others --although Tim Drake's Klingon is *way* better than his Elvish, she was pretty sure .

    Which is one of the two reasons why this summoning seal was in Sindarian Elvish. She honestly hadn't thought anyone in the JLD was as big a LOTR nerd.

    <I Summon forth the Flaming Sword of Wrath - return to the hands burned by your weilding!> she commands, and Phoebe brings her hands down ot the circle carved in the dirt to power up the summoning circle, to send the dangerous item back to Cael, to return to its owner.

    Part two: Keep Moving. She moves away from Vorpal, and she summons her own weapon, theat brilliant staff of luminescence, dripping with the power of creation and Light, and she takes to the air again, unbinding her aura and becoming a nice, shiny, distracting Beacon.

    "Nice spellsinging, Cat!" she calls out from the air "Right Bard, wrong Laketown!"

Cael Becker has posed:
    "Yessss-" Cael's hiss of celebration, as her lightaxe cuts into the dragon, and her bastard sword appears in her hands, is cut off as she creature viciously slams into her, sending her careening into the ground this time with a painful thud.
    Yeah. As if she hadn't been hurting before.
    And now she's spoiling for choices, left with an glowing, blue-bladed axe in one hand, and a bastard sword in the other. You shouldn't be able to duel-wield weapons like this - but with her strength enhanced, she decides to give it a go. Her wings shove down behind her, putting her back in her feet, and then she leaps to the air - but she stays low this time, aiming for the creature's belly as she takes one sweep with the axe, and another with the sword, which is starting to produce flames in oranges and yellows - far from the deep, almost inivisibly purple tones of hellfire. The blows as clumsy, hampered by her injuries - but when does she turn away from a fight?

Sara Pezzini has posed:
Emerging through the flames into the face of the dragon, Sara hovers for a singular moment where the dragon can see her then she zips toward the head one more time. Not many would feel the need to stab a dragon in the eye, but for reasons unknown she is hell bent on doing just that. Perhaps that is the part of Witchblade that resides inside her, or perhaps she just has a sick need, either way the bastard sword remains firmly in her hand as she makes another attempt.

Terry O'Neil has posed:
"Always glad to help, bard none!" The Cheshire grins, satisfied with the damage done. With the dragon foiled thus, his team-mates won't have much need of him, he certainly doesn't have the magical weapons to cut into the dragon. He could try summoning the sword that has his namesake, here where his power is not as hindered...

But his role has been played for the moment, and he needs to hang back and watch in case an impromptu Rabbit Hole is needed to further combat the dragon, or move an ally away from a harmful blow. He has assumed the role of the Debuffer and magician for the time being, so he's going to do like a Schmendrick and keep out of the way, but keep his eyes and ears out.

Michael Demiurgos has posed:
    Michael frowns at Jon. "I am bound -as always- by belief" he says with sadness in his tone. "Even those not enforced by time have effects that I must conform to." He raises his free hand, the one holdin ghte gem and turns it over examining the dark armor. "I have been painted the villain by those of the world and thus I must obey their dreams here in this land. I am no betrayer or father of lies. But of the Valar, Melkor--He Who Arises in Might--was the greatest among them and the first born of Eru. How does that not fit me, Jonathan."

    He shakes his head at the man. "But perhaps you are right and the Dark Lord of Ea is not the right guise for me." He smiles at the man. "All the more reason for me to instill your assistance here and now." He offers the gem once more, his gesture urging Jon to take it up and grow in power. "Take it and we can end this whole charade. Free me of the confines of the shackles I am bound by and help me make the universe as great as it can be."

    Phoebe's blinding radiance grabs the dragons attention and, as the darkest power forged from the Darkest Lord he is bound to try and destroy it. He opnes his mouth and flame boils in the recess of his throat, ready to incinerate the Beacon that she has provided.

    And then Cael tears open his guts. He screams in agony and more of his blood spills unpon the earth, hissing and boiling under him in a trail of molten fluid behind the dual-weilding warrior. The flame he was going to spit upon Phoebe is directed instead to the sky in an echo of the volcano behind him. He stomps in rage, barely avoiding crushing Cael to the ground once more in his distress.

    The upturned face is a clear enough target for Sara and the bastard sword cuts down on the creatures eyeplate once more. Before the black scales had deflected the blade, but now, changed as they are by the Cheshire's spell, the blade shears through it with ease and tears open the right eye of the great beast. More blood and worse erupt from the socket in a hiss of acrid smoke and a vile plume from the boiling vitreous fluid.

    Half-blinded and in absolute agony, the creature starts to flail. His tail, claws, and wings all hammer the air and ground around in in a berserk fury, creating craters and tearing through the air with whip-like speed. It seems, even as damaged as he is, he will not go down.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon stares at the gem in Michael's hand for a long moment, seeming to think over the offer. "It's tempting," he admits. He serves Truth now, after all. "It's /terribly/ tempting, you know. Power, relevance... being taken seriously." He swallows. "And I'll admit... I hate to see Saint Michael the Archangel playing the villain."

    Then he steps forward and reaches out with his magically-summoned arm, the construct made of emerald light, to pick up the 'Silmaril' that he's offered.

    Thus, he doesn't /actually/ touch the thing.

    He regards the brightly-glowing jewel in his emerald hand for a moment, thoughtfully. "No good came of possessing these things, you know. They burned the hands of the unworthy, set their possessors to be paranoid and selfish. Maedhros threw himself and his Silmaril into a fiery pit. Maglor threw his Silmaril into the sea. But first... first, the Silmaril recovered by Beren and Luthien, passed to Elwing, was given to the Valar--who set it in the sky as a star."

    He looks right up at Michael. "And that's where this belongs."

    With all the force he can muster, he throws the gem up into the sky. Using whatever distraction this provides, he launches himself into the air again, darting past Michael and into the fortress, folding invisibility around himself once more. It may not work on Michael, but it should work on any creations he has patrolling the fortress.

Cael Becker has posed:
    "Oh FUUUU-!" It's hard to see Cael at the moment - but it's not hard to hear her as she barely manages to dodge a stomping foot, and shoots out the otherside of the dragon, laughing the giddy sort of laugh that comes with a jolt of adrenaline after what may have been a near-death experience.
    She doesn't dwell on it, though. As long as the creature is still thrashing around it's a threat to her and her allies - so while the creature is distracted by the agony of its injuries, she flies up around its form, coming up towards its head where Sara had just stabbed one of its eyes.
    She aims a deep stab with her own sword not towards its eye - but hopefully through the skull and into its brain. Presumming the way its thrashing in pain doesn't throw her aim off entirely.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    Phoebe can't help but feel sorrow and pity for the dragon; it's not the dragon's fault it was called into being as a servant of the enemy.

    And she breathes out a moment, readying her shield for a blast of flame that never errupts in her direction. She gives a sigh of relief, however brief, and as the dragon rears back its head, she brings her wings in to the aid of both Sara and Cael -- she brings her staff up and pushes to hold the dragon's head in place so the two can -- hopefully -- finish the job.

    "I'm sorry." she whispers gently to the dragon. "You shouldn't be used this way."

Sara Pezzini has posed:
Now that the sword has penetrated into the dragon's eye, to add insult to injury, Sara merely uses the metal tendrils to extend the length of the sword. Held in place by the grappling hook like bands of metal she sent into the scales, the thrashing of the dragon's head tosses her around like a piece of popcorn in an air popper, without actually being thrown off the dragon's head.

Whiplash might still be a thing, but this doesn't stop her from screaming out, "Ride 'em, Witchblade!" as the beast's head goes back and forth.

Terry O'Neil has posed:
"I am not a fan," Vorpal mutters. Even if this was a conjured construct, could the same not be said of Wonderland and its inhabitants, now that he knows - at least, according to the Lampad - that his world began as nothing more than a conjured dream of sorts? He was real. Very real. Was this dragon real? Was the Gmork?

Not being in the immediate line of fire but a safe distance away makes things less immediate. And he has been thinking about that wolf in the labyrinth, too.

"This Michael, he is not getting better," the Cheshire muses, "Everything Michael does is still cruel." And by forcing them to fight, made them participants of that cruelty. Even if it was by necessity.

So what could they do? By turning those scales to foil, the Cheshire cat had acted as an Alumin-aty. Perhaps there was something he could do to further make things take a turn away from the dreadfoil.

A thought, and he begins to strum again.

~Let all grief foil by the wayside
And let your heart be blithe and airy
on winds of song, like ships by the lakeside
sail on, fly free, don't tarry~

Foil is a common material for helium-filled balloons to be made of. It's a stretch, but he can perhaps shorten the creature's agony by divesting it of life and turning it into a balloon. The worst that can happen is that his song-spell foils flat on its face, so what can be lost?

Michael Demiurgos has posed:
    "NO!" Michael screams as the bead of his power is flung into the sky with enough force to send it hurtling for ages. The loss of that contained power causes the illusion of the fortress, the barren waste, the wall, and the dragon to all shudder and flicker as if their substance loses cohesion.

    It's enough of a distraction for Jon to fly into the fortress without harrassment. There are patrols within; made by twisted carichatures of men and elves, but they too seem distracted and confused as their physical make and the building around them flickers and fades intermittently.

    The path is clear to Jon as the ribbon burns ever brighter and in the throne room of the castle next to the massive throne of Morgoth is a pile of spoils.

    There, under coins and pieces of discared ceremonial armor, is the shimmering ashen board that will serve as the next step for the stair in Astral Central Park. But that's not all he finds there. Scattered among a variety of gems in another of the shimmering motes that serve as the Simaril. A third portion of the power of Michael, and enough to bring this entire illusion down and give them the chance they need to flee without an assault by the Archangel especially if his creation here is disrupted to the point of collapse.

    Outside the dragon screams in agony as Phoebe's might holds the monster's head fast and still, allowing Cael's sword to pierce the back of the dragon's skull in a gout of boiling blood. If she strikes the brain it's -still- not enough to immediately kill the creature. He opens his mouth and bursts of fire attempt to spill out only to be contained by the wrapping tendrils of the Witchblade as it strikes, tears, and pierces the beast's head like some sort of sword-like spider.

    More of its tantrum is mete out onto the ground, craters appearing in the earth beneath it as it tries to free itself and destroy anything it can, but then Terry's song flits by it and seems to lull it some. The movements slow, the fury ebbs and the beast suddenly just... stops fighting. The body shudders and the light under the scales fades to the dark of cooled obsidian as the legs simply fail to support the weight and it falls, life and energy and power all drifting away like the notes of a song forgotten to time.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon flies past flickering elves and twisted men without stopping, following the train of light right into the throne room. He remains invisible as he hovers there over the pile. The gem that holds Michael's power calls to him, pulsing with temptation and promise. He could destroy the illusion, to be sure. He could also, potentially, bargain with Michael to get that power back. Even, potentially, force the angel to listen to him--that's what he really needs to do, after all. Get Michael to listen, to give up the Demiurgic Force. And anyway, isn't it /useful/, to have powerful bits and bobs lying around to do magic with?

    His service to Ma'at forces him to admit, if only to himself, that it's the power that calls to him. The thought of all that he could do with it.

    He knows he should leave the thing there. Grab the board, fly back to the others, leave this place. He should resist the temptation. But they never could have fought the angels in Manhattan without Michael's blood. And it's not like taking /this/ gem will give Michael any hold over him.

    Right?

    Before he's really aware that he's doing it, Jon grabs the gem with his left hand and the board with his right. The gem he enfolds within an emerald casing to shield the power from getting out and then shoves into a pocket of his trousers--no need to worry the others with the thing's presence, after all. Then he turns to leave the fortress, hoping everyone else hasn't been too hurt in the battle with the dragon.

Cael Becker has posed:
    Cael drives her sword home - but the dragon continues to buck, and to scream, its every movement agony to her bruised and battered frame, but she rides it determinedly - until suddenly, the creature stops, and goes still.
    Breathing a sigh of relief, she turns away from it towards the fortress - calling towards the building, "Jon?" What sort of trouble was he getting into //alone// in there?
    "I'm going to look for him," she announces, pausing only long enough to see who intends to follow before she flies for the structure - wielding the dark metallic bastard sword in her grip.

Sara Pezzini has posed:
Sara didn't enjoy killing as much as Witchblade did, but she accepted that there were some creatures, monsters, and even people who couldn't be saved. As the dragon's life fade away and the thrashing comes to an end, she lets out a hard breath and gives herself all of thirty seconds to collect herself before recalling the bands of metal.

"Ow," she voices quietly, just once before lifting back into the air and looking around. As Cael announces she is headed to the fortress, Sara moves to follow. "I got your back," she adds, the same thing she always says really, and hopes to always be able to do.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "... no matter what we do, there's always suffering." Phoebe mutters, tiredly, hovering in the air a moment before she drops down, giving a huff of breath out, letting her wings fade away.

    "Thanks, Ters." she states, giving a look to the cat in the hat, and then hops to her feet, hopping a little on one leg as the other tries to heal a whipped-about knee, and calls out 'Cael! Wait!' as she goes to pursue.

Terry O'Neil has posed:
"No worries, Pheebs-- I guess we're all off to see the wizard, the horrible wizard Morgoth." As Phoebe follows Cael and Sara joins in, the cat naturally falls in step. "And here I am without ruby slippers and a fetching gingham dress. I guess we will simply have to make do."

Michael Demiurgos has posed:
    As Jon encases the stone in his own power the fortress, the barren landscape, the wall, the dragon, even Michael himself; all of it vanishes and the group stands in a tranquil field of greenery and untouched vegetation. This might be what New York was like before the settlers from across the Atlantic arrived. The great Ginkgo tree of Isham... or at least it's reflection is still there a silver beacon of life and growth in this land of dreams. Next to it, as if called there by the change is the reflection of the Great Tree Lydia conjured in Central Park.

    The two trees, both ancient and powerful symbols of life and light stand side by side like Telperion and Laurelin. At least here in this reflective world, their destruction was subverted by the heroes. A shimmering illsory staircase materializes before them leading up into the heavens. It's not complete and it still seems mostly intangible but it's a sign of something. A stairway to a single man who desperately wants to get home to his family. To his friends. And to make ammends for the wrongs he engaged in that placed him in his Utopian prison.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon blinks as the fortress disappears from around him, and flies over to the others as fast as he can. He looks over the group, trying to see if anyone's injured, and then says, "Thank the gods you're all alright. Michael tried to sway me to join him, but I, ahh... threw the jewel he offered up into the sky." He grins sheepishly, and somehow manages /not/ to mention the second jewel. It's not a lie, really; they just... don't need to know, right now.

    He holds up the board in his right hand. "This is the piece of the stairway... we fit it in, and it'll help build the thing higher." A pause. "I'm going to guess there's either six or seven pieces... this makes two."

    He offers the board to Phoebe. "Do you want to do the honors this time?"

Cael Becker has posed:
    Cael does not seem inclined to wait - but then the fortress disappears, and Jon is there - unharmed. She slows, and stops beside him, offering a nod of acknowledgement as she lowers the blade she was carrying, the flames flickering out. "It went well, then."
    She doesn't greet him with a hug - after all, they're in the middle of a mission.
    And besides. ...most of her body hurts.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    Phoebe comes up behind Cael, mindful of her aura as she crosses her right hand over her left wrist, and she then looks to the vanishing castle. Everything gone.

    She turns around, looking for some sign of the dragon, some crater from her landing or gush of blood but finds nothing. Her own bleeding has long since turned just to smears of blood and dirt on her skin, and she looks to the shimmering stairway.

    And she feels her heart climb to her throat. She turns to Jon, and she opens her mouth, and then closes it.

    This was the way to Chas.

    Though her muscles ached and she was fatigued, she quietly nods her head, and accepts the ash board, and goes to walk to the stairway to Heaven with it.

Sara Pezzini has posed:
The sudden change of scenery pulls an abrupt, "What the fuck!" from Sara, and causes her to fly in a circle for a moment in confusion. She just couldn't figure out how it happened that quickly.

Collecting herself, even though she was still confused as fuck, she flies over to Jon and lands beside him. That is of course when the pain from her rapid ground hugging starts to settle in, making her sound a little more pissed off than she actually is when she asks, "How the hell did that happen so quickly? How did beating the dragon make Michael leave and the scene change?"

Taking a deep breath, the armor unwrapping from her left shoulder so she can rub it a little, she quickly adds, "Sorry, didn't mean to sound so ticked, astral ground is as hard as real ground... faceplanted it."

Turning to watch Phoebe place the next board in place, she offers a slight nod. It was the right choice to let her do it, and they were one step closer to getting to Chas.

Terry O'Neil has posed:
The world changing around him is something Terry doesn't seem to be particularly fazed by. Then again, why would he? For some, it is the experience of total malleability of the consensual hallucination some call reality. For him? It was Tuesday.

There are, however, some things that are set in stone.

"Michael is still a dick," Terry mentions to Jon as he rejoins the team. That sage observation made, he hangs back to watch the placement of the step, and another step towards their ultimate goal.

Michael Demiurgos has posed:
    As Phoebe appraoches the Stairs, she can almost hear the words of her father echoing through the illusory framework. Words of encouragement, of enthusiasm, and even some of contrition. Placing the board in its slot sends a shimmering wash of light up the stairs, making the illusion reach higher than before. But, true to Jon's words, they are still intangible... the Stairway isn't finish just yet.

    Behind them is the door they used to get here standing slightly ajar with the sounds of the city's evening just on the other side: people speaking, cars rushing down streets, and so much artifical light. It might be a bit tempting to stay here in the calm tanquility of the unmarred dreamscape Manhanttan than to return to the day to day existence beyond that freestanding door.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    "I don't think it was defeating the dragon," Jon says quietly as he watches Phoebe place the board. "I think it was removing the portion of his power that he'd put in that jewel. Or maybe picking up the board? It was right as I picked up the board." He honestly doesn't realize that him warding the jewel he found is what crashed the illusion.

    He sighs as the stairway becomes more solid. "Let's get home," he says softly. "We can all get some healing, and rest, and..." He frowns, and then reaches out to take Cael's hand.

    "Hey, if I ever, umm... I mean, if I..." He huffs out a breath, and shakes his head. "Michael's trying to recruit /me/, now. And it's... kind of tempting. So if I wind up being /stupid/, you'll knock some sense into me, right?"

Cael Becker has posed:
    Cael's gaze studies Jon's face at this words - Phoebe and the staircase suddenly losing all interest to her at the thought of Jon //joining// with Michael was presented instead. "Jon... he tortured you. He tortured us both. He took your arm... He meant to take my hands and feet. Of course I'll knock some sense into you." The thought that he would even //consider// something like that- it sends an ache of fear, and pain through her. //That// would be the sort of thing that could potentially drive a wedge between them, and that's a frightening thought.
    She tugs at his hand, starting to pull him towards the door as she adds in agreement, "Let's go home." They can talk about that terrifying notion more in depth... Later. "Everyone's alright, yeah?" she asks as she walks - while trying to cover for a limp. Her hip aches fiercely.

Sara Pezzini has posed:
Turning her blue eyes back to Jon as he admits to being tempted by Michael, Sara has no words she could offer that are her place to say. Cael says some of what she was thinking, but stops short of stating the obvious that Sara felt was possible... that very wedge. Anything angelic, anything related to the god or Presence or whatever name he went by, Cael loathed it so entirely, so deeply, that she held onto hated for it no matter what good a person with those beliefs might other wise do. Johnny Blaze was a perfect example of that from Cael, so the mere idea that Jon was tempted to working with Michael, that had to have Cael internally panicking.

"I'm fine," she offers instantly. "Just some bruising, it'll heal up in in a few hours. Cael... I'm headed by to the house tonight, call me if you need /anything/." That 'anything' came with a knowing look for Cael to see and understand.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    It'd been so long since she heard Chas's voice -- his actual voice -- that it caught her offguard.

    She stares at the stairs for a moment or two, her arms wrapping around herself as she lowers her head, and just stands there a few moments. She doesn't cry.

    She doesn't feel anything but empty anymore.

    And as she turns away from the stairwell to go back to the right side of the world, she passes by Jon and Cael.

    "If you accept it I'm honor-bound to kill you and then bring you back to life. Friends don't let friends perform necromancy, Jon." she states cooly, taking her cellphone out of her pocket and shooting off a quick text.