9721/Fountains of Black Wings

Fountains of Black Wings
Date of Scene:	19 January 2022
Location:	White's Mill, West Virginia
Synopsis:	Mysterious mounds, dug up in the far west of West Virginia, proves a grave for a nameless nightmare horribly wounded by a group of mystic heroes as it attempts to manifest anew within the world. Horribly wounded, but dead? Time will tell...
Cast of Characters:	Atrun Rai, Eric Brooks, Kaldur'ahm, Zatanna Zatara, Nettie Crowe

---

Atrun Rai has posed:
    Dawn rises over the tree-crowned hills of western West Virginia. Not quite the primordial land of inbred yokels and warring clans that popular culture yet /still/, exhaustingly, portrays it, it is /extremely/ rural between the small towns and cities that dot the endless stretch of green that makes up that sprawling, quiet land. Out here, there are no coal mines, and the Ohio River is closer than the New; out here, you can go to sleep with the windows open on a summer night and listen to the hills breathe. Even if you might not know it. For this land is ancient in the extreme, and the hills are but the bones of mountains taller and more grand than the Rockies when once they stood, worn down by millions of years of wind and water. Out here, things still exist that knew those peaks when they were young.

    White's Mill is a town in the shelter of a number of those hills. Raised in the early 1800s, the town is host to a curious number of prehistoric monuments raised by the Adena people, also known to junior high social studies students as the 'Mound Builders' people. Centered on Ohio, the culture drifted out into surrounding states and was known for a complex system of ceremonial burial system. The eastern fringe of their territory is here, on the other side of the Ohio River - and White's Mill, with its single main drag, its paper plant, and number of houses radiating from the town's tiny urban center, hosts several as a historical preservation site. And it's here that Atrun-Rai has come, inviting young Kaldur'ahm to abandon the water for the land and others of the mystical community with whom he shares connection to investigate whispers come to him that something here is not right. The mounds belch clouds of birds, so say the rumor. Black clouds of starlings rising from the earthworks, and holes dug out of the tops from which they somehow emerged. The actual vandalism has been reported, of course - but birds? They did not make the news. These reports are only along the lines of the mystical grapevine.

    And so, sitting in the dining room of a little place on main street called the Crestview Diner with Kaldur'ahm at his side, sipping tea while looking into the surface of the table's battered formica surface, the Atlantean sorceror awaits for the rest of his fellows to arrive.

Eric Brooks has posed:
Blade pulls up on the back of a motorcycle, flicking down the kickstand with a heel. Does he wear obvious weapons? Yes, he does, he always does so he's not exactly blending in small town America. But, then, he figures an immortal black dude who doesn't take any shit is probably going to rile people up anyway. Might as well show the sword from the get-go, give 'em a little warning. From now on, there is an Eleventh Commandment to be followed.

Thou shalt not fuck with Blade.

His eyes are hidden behind a pair of shades as he moves into the diner, leaning casually against the wall. He's not going to order anything. "Pretty far from Atlantis," he says.

Kaldur'ahm has posed:
Sitting at a table with Atrun-Rai is a whip-thin black kid who looks like he could still be in middle school maybe. Next to him on the floor is a strange metal backpack. To further accentuate his oddness, he's wearing what appears to be almost a sleeveless wet suit, no jacket, and no shoes in this cold winter weather. He's frowning and he's looking over the menu. "I do not know, Atrun-Rai," he says. "Why does everything in this food book have bread? Do they serve fish without the bread on it? Maybe I should just get some vegetables." He blinks. "What is iced tea?" He knows /nothing/ about beverages. Nothing.

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
Zatanna is a city-slicker, a cosmopolitan used to having everything at her fingertips. West Virginia is a novelty - like camping or roughing it. So what does she know about it beyond vague notions of coal mines and backwater folk living in another time? At its best, it's the bucolic, simple life of people living close to nature. At its worse, she thinks of the underfunded poor, scraping a living from the dirt. But Atrun-Rai called, so with a little cantrip on her against ticks and biting bugs, she went, intrigued at what brought him here.

The homo magi strides into the cafe, wearing her notion of outdoor clothes, highly polished boots, fashionable stovepipe pants, and matching jacket covered by a long coat and dashing multi-colored scarf that wraps her raven-black hair.

"Hello," she nods a greeting to the kid next to Atrun-Rai and shoots a dubious look at the man in the sunglasses.

Nettie Crowe has posed:
    The mountains of West Virginia are older than bones, there are caves undiscovered without fossils inside of them for that very reason, and they have a certain enchantment for one who has lived so long.

    Nettie Crow arives, pale and green-eyed, her silvery gray hair bound behind her in a simple ponytail as the hidden crone steps inside the diner, wearing a simple patterned dress with gray overcoat and darker gray under-skirts, legwarmers and Granny-boots, coming in and having a seat as nicely as you please. The up-turn of her thin nose points as she picks up one of the laminated menus.

    "Do we have time for pancakes, Atrun-Rai, or shall we straight to business?" she asks in her thick Northern Brit accent, and she looks to Kaldur'ahm and to Blade.

    "And who are these two young lads? -- oh," she pauses, and she sets down her menu. "Oh my sweet child of the sea -- Iced Tea is a monstrous beverage, loaded with sugars and sickly sweet. Discrace, really, to call it *Tea* at all." she states, and she gives a brilliant smile to Zatanna.

    "Hello, Zee, darling! I do love the scarf! Did that come out of the *left* sleeve, or the *right*?" she asks with a jovial little poke of fun.

Atrun Rai has posed:
    As strangers pile in to the same table - including one who is very well-armed and /very/ black, some of the locals are staring, and not all are concerned so much as, well. Perhaps some hadn't gotten the memo that people are people all over the land. But since he /is/ very well-armed, for the moment, nobody's going near Blade and his crowd of fellows.

    "Thank you," says Atrun-Rai as folk take their seats, though Blade get a glance and a faint frown. He himself wears a black polo shirt under a black jacket, black jeans, and boots, and fulfills the imagined role of 'possibly an arab terrorist' in the minds of some who look on. The two white women are also marked, and somehow this just mkes things sour more in the faces of two men sitting on the other side of the dining room. Oh good. "I appreciate your joining me, all of you. The...defiling of these historical sites are of course of the utmost interest, being at least two thousand years old. Why would people pillage them? Obviously there's no treasure valuable to thieves."

Eric Brooks has posed:
Blade doesn't seem to be affected by the muttering or the stares. He expected them and responding would only encourage the kind of bad behavior they're likely to do anyway, because they're dumb hillbillies and that's just what dumb hillbillies do. Wouldn't be the first time he's had to chasten the locals on a hunt.

"Since when have folks around here needed a reason to fuck up indigenous things? Surprised they ain't built a Dairy Queen on most of 'em already," he says. Still, he's listening for sure.

Kaldur'ahm has posed:
This is...this is crap. This entire menu is just full of horrible food choices, none of which look good. So Kal closes the menu and tosses it in front of him. He sticks with the ice water that was brought out when he first sat. But a rumbling sound reveals that he's hungry. He peers around the table, looking at each person in turn. Ironically, Blade is the one he most seems to identify with. They might be the only two black people in, psh, the entire zip code. Sure, Atrun-Rai is a person of color, but that's not the same. Kal even goes so far as to offer Blade a friendly smile which is, you know, probably one of the biggest mistakes ever. But he'll learn.

He doesn't seem to have a whole lot to add about the historical sites. He came because Atrun-Rai asked him to come, and when an Atlantean Elder asks you to do something, you gods-damned well do it. So he is here, holding his tongue for the moment.

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
Zee unwinds the scarf, smiling warmly at the silver-haired mage, "Why from a boutique that you'll never see the insides of, darling."

The homo magi glances between the other four. Then, raises an eyebrow at the patrons giving them the evil eye, thinking the greasy walls of this cafe have likely never felt so much magic sizzling within its confines or so much diversity.

She takes her seat to the other side of the young man, hearing the distant rush of waves in his magic.

Looking around him at Atrun-Rai, "Defilement? Or someone using the mounds old magic for other purposes?"

When, the waitress behind the counter, stares at her with a pen poised meaningfully over her order book, "A sweet tea, please and a slice of apple pie if you have any, thank you.."

Nettie Crowe has posed:
    "You'd be surprised the places I could get into if I so wanted. Whether they're open for business at the time or not -- aah, that is the question, innit?" the dusty old Crowe replies to Zee, and sits down at her side as she gives a soft humph. "So... no time for pancakes or a cuppa -- I'll have a slice of apple pie with ice cream on top." The pale woman states, and she gives a soft sigh, her too-bright eyes peering around as she folds her hands, elbows on the table and she turns back to Atrun-Rai. "Language, dear. Wouldn't want to attract too much attention, emotions are already running quite high. And I doubt they would build a *Dairy Queen*..." she trails off "Far more important place, it'd be a Cracker Barrel." she states in a quiet manner, "-- but he has a point. The local populace may not have reason to tread where they shouldn't, but we cannot rule out an outside force without further investigation.

Atrun Rai has posed:
    Atrun-Rai exhales through his nostrils. "Well," he says, "We shan't have a problem with that; we're only here for the night. It is my understanding that the mounds here weren't on records...at all, until such time as they gave up these birds. With the three that have been damaged, a fourth is somewhere out there in the area of the others. My research points to a thing called the 'Night Which Flies' in the native records of people here, records which are similarly not translated by mortal agencies. The language of the Adena is not easily understood by modern people, but for those who can read such tongues..." He taps his brow.

    "The suggestion here is simple: three mounds, each one broken open over three at each phase of the moon. This is the fourth, and the full moon. We can assume that this is when...whatever is meant to happen...will do so."

Eric Brooks has posed:
Blade shows his teeth to Kal, which probably isn't exactly a smile so much as it is a predator showing his fangs. He can feel the bit of tension rising and recognize it's probably a problem. Without looking in the direction of the rednecks, he just says, his voice low, "Any o' you spellcastin' types able to illusion us or put some sort of calming mojo over these ignorant suckers so I don't have to break they god damn necks in the middle of our strategy session?" he says mildly.

"'Night Which Flies', huh? So could be vampires, could be demons, could be Batman."

Kaldur'ahm has posed:
Fortunately, Kal doesn't scare easy. He's not too far off from being as strong as any of the Big Three in the Justice League /and/ he knows magic /and/ he's a military-trained hand-to-hand combat expert. That's the trifecta. But he also doesn't like to show disrespect, so when Blade goes all predator on him, he simply looks away. Better to socially submit and avoid a fight than to explain to the Justice League why you broke a bitch into pieces in West Virginia.

"What...what is that?" he asks Zatanna, pointing to her piece of pie? He apparently has absolutely nothing to contribute to the strategy session, and if one wondered why Atrun-Rai brought him along in the first place, it would not be a ridiculous thing to wonder.

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
"Hitherto, unknown mounds from a little-known people in a difficult language to understand, am I good so far? Ah, probably Alconquan. Said mounds opening mysteriously at each phase of the moon. If that isn't a ritual building up to something, I will trade in my wand."

She nods deeply at Blade for his vampire proposal.

After another look at the regulars, Zee suggests, "Let's eat our food and get out to where you think the next part of the ritual might take place."

Nettie Crowe has posed:
    "Night which Flies, interesting, right up our alley." the witch replies quietly, and she accepts her pie with ice cream,a dn gives a smile, setting a fistful of cash on the table in a bunch of different coinage -- American dollar, Canadian coins, a couple of pesos, a Lire, and someone's wooden nickle from an arcade in the 1920's.

    "Right then, where we going?" she questions, and she looks at her apple pie, with Ice Cream -- and looks to Kal -- and then just nomfs a piece. Old witches don't share.

Atrun Rai has posed:
    "It was done before you came in, brother" says Atrun-Rai to Blade, giving the man a nod. "I'm aware of your usual defiant image. That would serve us poorly here. Bad enough to be three brown men with two beautiful white women." Now of course, it isn't nearly so bad as this in many other areas of the state, but some people just can't stop playing to stereotype. Atrun-Rai nods at the pie, then. "It is a sweet dessert, little brother. Fruit and sweet crust - more bread, but light and flaky. I expect that you will enjoy it."

    That said, Atrun-Rai nods to each in turn. "Well, then. Let us eat, and we will move to where I believe the magic is flowing now. There is absolutely some kind of current leading in the general area of the other mounds. Perhaps we might go at night, where the pull of the moon is most obvious. And in the meantime, there /is/ pie..."

Eric Brooks has posed:
Blade keeps his expression flat, "Ain't no image. Just me," he says. "I'm must saying, if they decide to make it violent, I'm going to respond, 'brother'. Where we go from here depends on how much of their blood gets spilled. So yeah. I'd say finish your pie and let's get the hell on the hunt," he says.

"I don't need details. We get there, you point it out and I'll kill it." he says. He moves towards the door casually, not backing down from a fight but maybe as close as he'll get to defusing the tension, not presenting as much immediate threat as he moves outside to light a cigarette while he sits on his motorbike.

Kaldur'ahm has posed:
Kal does end up ordering a piece of the pie. The waitress recommends a cup of coffee, so he gets one of those too. When the food arrives, he takes a nibble of the pie. The crust is a non-starter. More bread! What the hell is wrong with air breathers? He starts picking the crust away to get to the pie parts and that he does seem to enjoy. He also really likes the black coffee too. He drinks it all down and asks for more. By the time he's done, he has finished two cups of black coffee and eaten all of the apples out of the pie, leaving the crust behind. He simply does. not. like. bread.

As Blade walks out the door, Kal says to Atrun, "He seems very upset. Has something happened to him?"

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
The pie is surprisingly good, with a made from scratch crust and a light hand on the sugar. Zatanna polishes her plate in a few swift bites and chases it with tea. She lays out the money for it with an ample tip, and a nod and thumb's up to the waitress. Wrapping her scarf back around her neck, she rises and leaves the cafe.

Out on the street, she offers to ferry the group to their destination. She draws a purple line in the air, that glows and steps through it, leaving it open for others to follow at will. Nose in the air, illuminated by the rising moon, she follows the magic that moves thickly like a current of cold air down from the mountains.

Atrun Rai has posed:
    Subtlety, it appears, is not the strong suit of the magicians. Yes, with the day spent travelling and evening already falling, the way to go is relatively clear as currents of magic begin to surge - the way to go is east, and Zatara's magic can carry them all.

    Of course, she also does it in the middle of the street, further proving that sorcerors (and vampire hunters) are not the most subtle of creatures.

    The group step through and into a broad field, bordering the edge of a thick tangle of forest. The sounds of an interstate nearby can be heard, perhaps on the other side of the wood - it's always hard to tell, given how nature and modernity interrupt one another so blunty. Or...no. That isn't the sound of traffic, but of machinery; somewhere in the woods, or perhaps beyond them, there is the sound of voices, of loud diesel engines.

    Atrun-Rai brushes at his clothes as he exits through the spatial gate that Zatanna draws, looking toward the tangle. "Well," he says. "I imagine you can all hear that too, yes?"

Eric Brooks has posed:
Blade doesn't mind a bit. Subtlety is overrated. He's spent plenty of time in the shadows, but he's always done more good kicking down doors. The way of the world as it is now, people shouldn't even be surprised to see magick shit just out in the open. That said, Blade isn't interested in being recognized or being some sort of superhero either.

He cocks his head as he hears the sound and reaches into his jacket to undo an Uzi, holding it loosely in one hand with his finger away from the trigger, "Sounds like somebody in this neighborhood is into industrial."

Kaldur'ahm has posed:
Before passing through the portal, Kal picks up the odd metal backpack from the floor and put it on, tightening the straps. He comes from Atlantis and graduated from an elite Conservatory of Sorcery. Magical portals are much less strange to him than bread. Bread is fucking weird.

He nods once to blade. "Agreed. It sounds like air breather machines. Perhaps there is nothing supernatural to this at all, just some regular humans and their machines up to no good?"

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
Settling her coat and pulling out a pair of gloves which she dons, Zatanna circles in place listening to the sound of heavy machinery under the romantic moon.

Addressing the group, not trying to keep her voice low, Zatanna surmises, "Mages with bulldozers? Feel that magic? I wonder if they know what they are stirring up?"

Nettie Crowe has posed:
    What in the world is wrong with Bread? It's related to Beer, and is proof that someone loved humanity, once upon a time.

    Not Nettie, though. She's really more of a Gin gal.

    The gray-clad woman holds out her hand, and a besom -- old fashioned broom -- appears in her hands, which she sits side-saddle on.

    "No, feels odd. Atrun-Rai," she bats her aquamarine eyes, which glow in the dark like a cat's "Care to fly~?" she inquires the broom lifting a good four feet off the ground. "Could wire back to Zee if anything we find wicked be~."

Atrun Rai has posed:
    "No," Atrun-Rai replies with a shake of his head. "Better you take young Kaldur'ahm with you, Nettie. We shall go through the wood, if there are no complaints." He gestures for the young Atlantean to join the witch with the floating broom, assuming she doesn't dump him off like a grumpy Kiki. Once she's off, passenger or no, Atrun-Rai heaves a sigh. "Right, then," he says. "Zatanna? Will you lead us?"

Kaldur'ahm has posed:
The purpose of the metal backpack becomes immediately clear when it comes time to travel. The stylized eel tattoos on Kaldur'ahm's arms begin to glow and he channels pressurized water out of the backpack, which he can channel into a sort of waterspout that carries him. His Atlantean sorcery allows him to continue reusing the same water, which means unless something depletes his supply against his control, he can fly indefinitely. "I am good," he says to Atrun-Rai. Then he falls in behind Nettie as instructed.

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
Zatanna points to herself with a questioning look directed at the Master Mage and shrugs.

"Don't scare them Nettie!" she quips. Then, head cocked in curiosity at the young Atlantean's mode of travel, she points straight ahead.

The city-slicker sets out through the woods, stopping occasionally to listen and scent the magical currents that flow like a thick fog through the wood. As they draw nearer, the cloying smell of diesel overwhelms the aroma of the trees.

Nettie Crowe has posed:
    "Aaah, clever lad!" Nettie replies, and she draws herself upwards on her broom, pulling a pair of goggles from her pocket as she goes overhead, giving a soft hum of some song or another as she goes.

    "Up and away we go, lady, up and away we go, we're on a hunt~" she sing-songs gleefully as they go overhead

Atrun Rai has posed:
    And with that, the party divides into airborne and land segments. Somewhere, a Dungeon Master is gnashing their teeth at the idea of such division, but it is hardly bad advice: the last rays of the sun fade with its death behind the horizon, and the hills swallow it as if gulping down long starved-for water. As the light fades, things begin to change. Energies shift. Darken. The shadows among the trees grow thicker as Zatanna, Atrun-Rai and Blade proceed among them, skeletal matchsticks through whose fallen branches and leaves they trudge. The cold is enough to thick one's blood - but it is, perhaps, a mercy that they move slowly, for above the flying members of the group get a clear view of what awaits them.

    Beyond the wood, an enormous hill lies not far from the treeline: waiting there with shoplights and generators set up aroung the conical earthwork, a number of men and women stand around waiting with firearms as another is busy trying to demolish the side of the mound with what appears to be a rented excavator. Being small, it takes time to do that sort of work, but they've had plenty of time to do it. They're already actively digging out the side of the hill, and whatver lies within has begun to wake. A wave of magical energy begins to build from within, its nature crackling with rage and something...else. Something utterly, completely inhuman. Something not of this reality, nevermind the world.

    Someone looks up about that time. There's a cry; a wave of fire from barely legal AR-15s and other rifles fill the air as they open up on the shadows they see above. Seeking to bring them down.

    

Kaldur'ahm has posed:
Kal slides two handles off his backpack -- his water-bearers, tools that help him focus his water powers. Twin swords extend out from the water bearers. Although the blades are technically made of water, they are harder than steel. The young Atlantean is clearly out of his league. He moves to stay near Atrun-Rai, who is a kind of mentor to him on this mission. He will wait a beat and take his cue from the powerful Atlantean Elder. One this is clear, his battle stance is pure military. This did didn't learn to fight in a YMCA karate class.

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
Hoping that Nettie will protect both herself and the airborn Atlantean. Zatanna scowls at the automatic armed response. Wishing them the worst of evenings, she flourishes a hand at two of the closet, carrying guns, muttering a transformation spell aimed at the AR-15s, !sekanS (Snakes) Here, take that.

Nettie Crowe has posed:
    The bullets may bounce off the lad from the sea, but not so lucky is the Graywitch!

    A couple manage to strike the broom, making the handle splinter as she pulls back. She brings out her wand, and giving a low gutteral sound she gases a few fireballs in the direction of the shooters before suddenly they're handling Snakes!

    "Oooh. I didn't know it was *that* sort of a gathering!" she cheerily calls out "Fine work Zee!"

Atrun Rai has posed:
    They aren't hideous monsters, those people by the mound - they're everyday folks, albeit those wearing surplus body armor and carrying assault rifles. They open up in earnest as the two wizards withdraw over the woods, and then turn their guns upon the treeline as they see shadows emerge from them onto the field. Atrun-Rai launches himself forward with startling speed, stepping into the line of fire so that Zatanna, whom he apparently assumes isn't defended against .308 rounds, can get whatever spell she's to cast unmolested; the bullets hit him instead, thudding into his body and piercing cloth with the same sickening thud they make in flesh /not/ of the Void. But there is no blood; he doesn't seem remotely slowed, though a dark sound emits from his throat that speaks of the forces that decanted him. As Zatanna's single word transmutes their weapons into hissing snakes that fall from their shocked hands, he moves forward. From his body, shadowy lashes of matter extrude, black and translucent - they smash into two of the now-disarmed shooters with the force of a freight train, sending them spinning away across the ground. At the /very/ least, unconscious.

    << CEASE YOUR ACTIONS, >> he bellows, the words English, but reverberating with a horrible force that makes the air around them all vibrate as if they stood surrounded by a ring of enormous stage amps. Not just sound, but presence.

    They don't, of course. Pistols come out, and more rifle fire rings out from atop and from the other side of the mound. The guy in the excavator is moving overtime, desperately working the bucket to tear earth from the hill while Blade and Kal provide excellent, dangerously distractive targets with automatic fire and the young prince landing to begin engaging the defenders with his mighty strength and hand-to-hand prowess.

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
Transforming material at hand, Zatanna magics a puddle reflecting the newly risen moon into a shield protecting the Grey Witch and herself. The dull thuds of bullets being swallowed by void flesh make her stomach flip. With a grimace, she advances behind her shield glinting in the moonlight toward the earthmover. !nwodkaerB She commands.

Nettie Crowe has posed:
    Nettie doesn't have strength, hand-to-hand or prowess with things physical -- most of the time. What she does have are a number of skills built up over years of war.

    So she reaches out with both hands, perched precariously on the ash-handled broom in the air, and as Zee gives the command backwards, she tries a different tactic -- the mechanics of the digger!

    She raises her wand, and with force tries to utterly remove and wreck the joints, pulling at the hydrolics and the pneumatic lines and rip the joint and power apart.

Atrun Rai has posed:
    There is no magic cast by Atrun-Rai; as Kal executes exciting feats of martial arts, and Blade is generally a spinning blender amid the country jerks, the Atlantean's back bursts forth with more of the abhorrent tendrils, hurling more shooters across the ground or snapping their rifles and pistols in half upon snatching them out of their hands. << THE VOID CALLS NOT FOR YOUR SERVICE, >> he bellows in that terrible thunderclap boom, every molecule of the natural world around him quailing as if in terror. In this moment, he is the enemy of creation, the manifestation of those eldritch protrusions somehow making him toxic to reality around him. The grass dies beneath his feet as he charges on...

    Between the mutual assault from Zatanna's power cosmic and Nettie's wand, the excavator - which is now trying to get as close as possible - shudders and dies but a few feet from the excavated hollow in the side of the mound. There is a moment of silence betwen all offered blows, the cycling of firerms mechanisms. Silence that bears witness to the driver of the excavator grab a hand detonator meant for mines elsewhere in the state, flip the switch atop it, and squeeze its activator plate. In that second, the excavator - and the entire side of the mound - is erased in a cascade of flame and force and shrapnel. Bodies are flung, even the superpowered figure, across the ground from the force of all those demo charges bound together and forced to go off. Ears ringing, sprawled across the grass, anyone who still has senses can feel a wave of darkness flex and stretch within the now-breached earthworks. Something awakens. A psychic smile, evil and cold in the heart it touches, flashes in the minds of those who can sense it.

    And then, over the ringing of ears, the massed screeching of starlings can be heard descending from the night sky upon the field.

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
Flung to the ground by the force of the blast, Zatanna groggily wipes mud from her face. Wet dirt and other substances splashed across her chic 'country' clothes forgotten, she shudders at the evil flowing out of the mound. The dark murmuration of starlings against the moon's bright disc, a physical manifestation of the darkness she felt.

"Stop it, Atrun. Send it to the Void!" In her panic, she orders the ancient mage to wipe the dark force from the face of the earth.

Nettie Crowe has posed:
    "... ooooh. That's quite a thing, innit." Nettie states from atop her broom, her head canting to one side as she narrows her eyes. She gives a soft huff of breath, and removes two crystal globes from a vest pocket.

    "Fullan min spellung heald leoht to oferfledan doth nipful--" <By my will cause light to flood the dark> The Old Witch commands, and she cracks the pair of crystal orbs against each other, blows accross them, and then throws them into the void, into the darkness, listening to the screeching of starlights as the old necromancer hisses a soft promise to escape from this, too, alive.

Atrun Rai has posed:
    Boiling out of the darkness, something living, striving, /hungry/ emerges from within the mound; the screeches of birds echoes from inside the mound, too, building the cacaphony that the swarm of birds descending from the woods behind offers to assault the senses. In the light of the moon, there must be /thousands/ of them, swarming down in a titanic spiral that, even as Nettie casts her crystals into the darkness, is made only more vivid against the nighttime landscape with the light that they produce. Sharp eyes will catch exposed ribs, broken feathers, patches of rot among the birds that flow into the hollowed mound as the coils all gather together - dead birds, horrible magic. Something truly wrathful prepares to burst out and revenge itself upon the land. Except...

    ...the light /does/ flash, and there is a new and hideous cacaphony as the birds, as one howl in pain at the flash of concentated light within their collective corpus. Shuddering, they boil outward again into the night sky, flying straight upward - and there, Nettie's light is matched by a hideous gray flame that is literally /spat/ from Atrun-Rai's open mouth, a tongue of greasy, monochrome fire that is neither fire nor even physical but the zero-kelvin flame of raw and cleansing entropy. This tongue of annihilaton strikes the cloud of undead birds as well, erasing from existence whole swathes of them, but they coil upward too fast into the night as the mages conduct their combined assault upon it. His eyes boiling with the same gray light, the Atlantean could not in that moment be /remotely/ mistaken for human.

    "The master flees," a man yells over the darkness, his accent strange in forming such words. "The master flees! Get the fuck out of here!" And those that can now do run from the supernatural display, trying to get into pickups and other vehicles parked at the edge of their worksite and escape into the night. But above them, all, the coiling hurricane of feathered beings, whatever they amount to, is making an escape despite the horrible wounds incurred.

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
It shocks Zatanna to her core when the void doesn't efface the fleeing form. Hands clenched, she stares upwards at the moon. The effect of Nettie's magic on the birds sparks an idea in the homo magi. The full moon at its brightest is blinding.

Concentrating the ambient light, "!noom eht fo thgil eht yB" she focuses it on the fleeing form, still unsure of what they face.

Nettie Crowe has posed:
    "Hoooooly heartburn of Hecatate!" Nettie swears above above "Fly!" she calls out, flying highler and out of the way of the gout of flame that consumes and extinguishes those undead birds about her. She climbs as high and as fast as her besom will take her, feeling her breath push out and freeze before she turns, wheeling about the sky and darkening stars in her wake before Zatanna casts.

    The full moon is at its brightest, and blessing magic is at its height.

    So, the witch does something that ordinarily she wouldn't. She plays second fiddle, and she grasps her broom with her knees, holding her hands out !cigam reh troppus sruoy htiw denibmoc lliw ym yB and she tries to power up Zatanna's spell over distance, the old witche's eyes glowing a menicingly sicky pink-violet.

Atrun Rai has posed:
    The moon is made, by those blazing maids of sorcery, into a torch - a silver column of cleansing fire, it's focused down from the distant orb; it cuts through the storm of birds, silver flames immolating everything it touches. A rain of burning corpses results, and falling from the sky every one is a heatless torch-spark landing among the half-collapsed mound. Yet where they touch, ever more of the blightest mound is burned away, and until it begins to sink in earnest back into the ground. All this takes place as the zealots that brought it about escape in their vehicles, and the silver flames that falls from on high make it hard to see how much of the...whatver it was...was destroyed and how much of it dispersed. Sufficient enough that what migh remain is greatly reduced, if not almost destroyed. Perhas time again will tell.

    Staring upward at the still rainind ash and silver fire, Atrun-Rai frowns and loos to the rest of his comrades as the sound of distant sirens can be heard. "Time to leave," he tells Zatanna. "If you will provide us exit, sister?"

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
Zatanna stands rooted as the trees, reliving the blaze that Nettie made of her spell. The unnamed evil no longer echos through the darkness, its zealots fleeing back to their small lives.

"Nettie, you old witch. Thank you! Do you want to come?"

The homo magi waits for her answer then opens the portal, stepping back to let the Atlantean mage can go first. "I'll leave it up for you if you want." Brushing mud from her coat sleeve she enters the portal.

Atrun Rai has posed:
    With a number of bullets bloodlessly stuck in his flesh, Atrun-Rai, scowling, charges through the open portal into the space beyond. At their back, the cascade of silver fire flickers and begins to fade behind them - is the thing, whatever it was, gone? Can something of its nature truly able to be destroyed? Such things exist, persisting into memory...but if it has not been killed this night, it /will/ have to be tended to again. Sorcery is no absolute art, nor are its results.

    But if it /does/ live, it lives but barely.