There he stood, staring out into Ursa, black cloak whipping around him--and even Vargas, lingering nearby, was made visibly uneasy by his presence.

"I have already created a contingency plan," he insisted, voice raised against the howl of the wind. "Let the Gembounds deal with this."

The Masked Merchant was silent. In his hands was clasped a large, frosted-over black gemstone, one pulsing with malignant energy. It was no oilstone, with its dancing sheen of rainbow hues: this gemstone was pure, void black, and wisps of frosty air drifted down from the glass dome that held it covered. He adjusted his grip around this, staring out into Ursa, as if he could actually see past the blizzard of whirling white flakes.

Ursa's 'skies' were colored a sickly, ominous dark yellow: the color of storms, the color of malice. The wind was as high as it ever got, here: a sometimes-whistling, sometimes-shrieking gale that was strong enough to often knock smaller creatures off their feet, or stagger larger. The snowfall was blinding, a torrent of white. At least the fog was not too thick, if only because the wind kept blowing it away in tumbling whorls; at least the cold was not too bitter, its bite strong only when the wind cascaded past, cutting through fur or feather.

It was not a good day to march out to meet an enemy. But it was not a good day for a defender, either, particularly when the defender would not easily see them coming--and if they found their enemy deeply-sheltered, well, then they'd be on even footing. That said, Vargas would have chosen to delay it. Yes, the Gembounds had been alerted that the assault would happen soon, but today-? In this storm?

But the Masked Merchant would not be swayed. "You may make... your attempt now. I will let... your Gembounds try. If you fail... I will unleash... my contingency plan." That was all that he said, turning to stare then at Vargas, and Vargas regarded him--his expressionless mask--with dismay. "It will get free! It will destroy this nest, Hag-rteho. You cannot," he stated, as if it were fact. "Your authority does... not extend this... far, Master Vargas," the Merchant replied, and his utter tonelessness as he turned away indicated just how little he cared for the Leviathan's new title. Vargas stared at his back, for a moment. "Raheerah's shits," he spat quietly at last, as if this were the most foul swear he knew. Then he turned toward the rest, those who were gathered, perhaps uneasily; those who huddled against the storm, or waited patiently along the tunnel mouth.

"TAHI-SHEI DEIMOS," Vargas bellowed, trudging back to them through the snow. His figure was a looming, violet apparition, his acid eyes squinted against the wind. "WE ATTACK NOW. GATHER YOUR GEMBOUNDS. DRACONUA, TO ME," he added, calling this loudly. "THOSE OF YOU VENTURING INTO URSA: KNOW THAT THERE IS MUCH AT STAKE." He was shouting--he had to, to be heard against the roar of the wind. "IF YOU FAIL--IF YOU FALL TO DONTACAEL--THIS NEST MAY BE DESTROYED. IF YOU FIND YOURSELF AT RISK, TURN BACK. THE REST OF YOU, OBEY TAHI-SHEI, FOLLOW HIS LEAD, AND DO NOT FAIL. I WILL GUARD THIS TUNNEL: DRACONUA ACCOMPANIES YOU IN MY STEAD."

Contingency plans.

Would the Merchant do it-? Would he really, actually do it? Vargas did not know, but this had introduced a whole, and horrific, new level of consequence for failure.

_____________________________________

The Gembound are being called upon to gather up for the attempt to find, and destroy, Dontacael's nest of fungus--called "Mother" by many--in Ursa.

The current weather in Ursa consists of a strong blizzard, with high winds, high levels of snow, and medium-strength fog. However, the cold--though below freezing--is not as bad as it often gets in Ursa, and will be fairly tolerable to most. Current defenses for the staging ground include ice barriers and trenches in a V-shape defending the mouth of Tunnel E.

Gembound are encouraged to make any necessary preparations this round, as well as to roll for perception if they wish to try and detect any enemy presence in Ursa. Double posts are allowed to roll attempts for both a preparation action and perception check, if so desired.

The next GM post will occur in one week's time.

_____________________________________

This event will be greatly shaped by Gembound actions and choices. There is a potential in this thread for character capture, conversion by Mother, or true death, depending on group and individual choice--please do not enter this thread unless you accept these risks to your involved characters.

Any character, previously-involved or not, may join this thread in this posting round.

@Tahi-shei (Sora) @James (Arwen, Carja) @Attikias @Madhukar @Twisted (Sharp) @Comet (Marshmallow) @Nemo @Reign @Attikias (Pallas) @Pride (Giggle, Nidhogg) @Draconua

Tagged characters who do not join the assault will not be tagged again, so please don't worry about future spam if your characters won't be joining. The tags are provided in case of interest, to those characters who have taken part in the prior two Ursa-related threads. Future tags will be only those characters posted in this thread.

The worst part of all of this was, Sora did not actually know why she was here for fighting. She did not hate Mother, no more than she hated the Masters. They were both threatening and tall and foreign, and they were absolutely outside her sphere of influence. She had been born on borrowed time, and yet here she was, so willing to throw it away again.

Perhaps it was fate, then, that when she looked out into the snowy abyss, she saw the tall creature who haunted her nightmares, holding carefully in his hands the very shadows that had killed her brothers (and Kini). Nausea roiled through her. She could not quite hear what they said, not even with her new ears -- the snow absorbed everything, and the wind was howling -- but she saw the fear in Vargas's eyes.

The consequences of failure.

Would it be them? Would it be the fungus? At a certain point, would this creature even care? It had taken, and tended, and tortured. If Sora had known that it would be a factor, looming over her head, making her heart pick up in terror, she never would have come in the first place. She would have hid in Pisces, curled up in her den and shutting out the world as best she was able.

But she was here now, and she wasn't going to just run away. That wasn't the type of Gembound she was. She swallowed her fear and let it pool in her belly. It could become anger, then. Let it become white-hot and furious. She looked at the Merchant -- she could not hate him, not anymore.

But she could hate the monster he clutched so carefully in his hands.

Do you recognize me? she thought, trying to meet his eye, though one could never be sure with that mask of his. Do you know who I am? Do you know what you did to me, to my sister?

She looked to the frosted-over glass and the roiling, black storm within it. Do you?

This was it. Tahi-shei had gathered them in the previous days, visiting them in dreams or in person -- had gone to everyone he could find and told them. It was time.

The storm was furious -- he could hear it, and feel the wind whipping against his skin. It stung at his eyes and nose, and he did not feel guilty about closing them. In some ways, though, he was pleased with the storm -- it neutralized his disability and instead gave him an advantage. In this white-out, nobody could see properly; white creatures who served the Hive would blend in neatly to the snow, and this whole storm was to the advantage of those who were accustomed to its chill. But Tahi-shei, he could see the fungus that was sewn into their skin, knitting itself together into tufts of white.

It looked mostly the same as any other fungus, of course, but it was always best to be safe rather than sorry.

He flicked his ear at Vargas's words. The price of failure was a steep one -- so steep, in fact, that to fail was not an option at all. This has gotten so much bigger than me. Distantly, he considered praying, only to realize that there was nothing to pray to. Tahi-shei had long since lost his belief in fate; there was Order and there was Chaos and there was chance. But there was no Fate.

Neither the Creator nor the Spire cared for whether he lived or died. It was not as though a roll of the dice could be persuaded to love you. This was down to Tahi-shei Deimos, his army, and the chaotic nature of magic. His blood was running hot despite the chill.

He straightened himself out and hammered his heart into shape. This was not the time or place for Tahi, lover, father, friend. This was the time for the Fungal Prince. "PREPARE YOURSELVES!" Tahi-shei called once the Master was finished. "DO WHAT YOU MUST. LOOK OUT AND SEE. WE HAVE TO FIND THE TUNNELS; EXPECT RESISTANCE." He drew in a breath. "One of you will have to guide me, but I will watch for the fungus. I pray that there will be some in the tunnels."

In the meantime, he looked out and narrowed his focus. He was paying attention to the workings of the Fungal Crown, of course -- looking for whatever it could show him, searching for spies in the endless storm. But he knew that Mother was magic; perhaps there would be other things that mere fungus could not reveal.

Marshmallow was going to make Arwen proud. Marshmallow was going to help these gembounds fight! She was warmed by the thought of the praise she would get from the Queen after this was over and she had done her duty. But in this large storm, the small bat was but the smallest white blob being blown about by the wind.

She tried to beat her wings as hard as she could to stay in place, but the strong winds whipped her about. One moment she was up high, and the next she was spiraling in circles towards the ground, yet she never stopped. Marshmallow could be an inch from the ground when the wind would push her up towards the sky. It was like being trapped in an endless cycle.

Unfortunately, her small wings weren't enough to allow her to land, and she was just being swirled about by the wind. "EEEEE!" Hopefully someone would notice.

Pride stepped forward, white coat near-invisible in the driving snow, diamonds glittering in the dim, ugly yellow. He looked from Vargas--and the Merchant beyond (and oh, they'd met, and distrust tumbled up through him), to Tahi-shei.

The younger deer was trying to organize them, and Pride dipped his head in acknowledgment. "I'll be staying near the rear," he called out, shouting to be heard over the wind. "You can stick near me if you wish! But that won't be leading," he added.

From around him he coiled forth magic: a pulsing shield that sucked in kinetic energy, perhaps strengthened by the buffeting wind, and formed it into a static, waiting barrier. It was close around him, a comfortable shroud of energy: a shield that, if struck, would send an enemy flying.

It was only after he'd formed this that he noticed Marshmallow taken to and fro by the wind--as white as he, and much smaller, and more difficult to notice. "Can someone--save the little one?!" he called; it'd be a moment before he could try again with his magic, to snag her down to safety.

- THE LEVIATHAN -

Vargas looked them over with some concern, and after a moment he resigned himself to this. Whatever happened, happened. He had to be ready to try and deal with the consequences of Hag'rteho's potential actions. His mind was already wondering if Nemean were the answer; light would be useful, in the event.

For now, he shot up a massive forelimb--almost idly--to try and snatch the whirling bat from the violent winds. If she allowed herself to be snagged, his intent--with hardly a glance at her--was to simply place her on Tahi-shei's back. "THIS LITTLE ONE IS TOO SMALL. BE CAREFUL WITH IT," he boomed. "BUT PERHAPS SHE CAN BE YOUR EYES." Or... ears, judging by the looks of things.

With a grunt, Vargas moved back to the tunnel mouth. "I WILL BE WATCHING THESE BARRICADES. GOOD LUCK."

@Marshmallow (for visibility)

She was hanging back, warily.

This snow was hard to see through, and her dark eyes were locked in an uneasy squint. She'd agreed to remain at the rear of the group--Aure had been uneasy about even allowing any Bonebound to come here, today. To risk themselves for this Master, and the others-... And for what? They cared nothing for them. Vargas wanted to control them, and little more. But Giggle had pointed out what to her had seemed obvious enough; that if they let this fungus run rampant, if they let it destroy Vargas and his ilk, then where did that leave them-? Never mind that she was possibly one of the strongest fungus-users in the cave--was it fair to withhold that from them?

She still wasn't fully convinced that Mother wasn't somehow the better option, but then she'd consulted the bones. The bones had spoken of renewal, rebirth, beginning here today. Their promise that the assault would have a joyful conclusion had been an unambiguous one, with clear signs of positive outcomes. There were signs of fresh clarity, of victory over darkness and evil. And, eventually, a cycle completed--likely somewhere down the line, the rebirth that they would begin coming to a fruitful reward.

Still, his anxiety had been intense, and she'd agreed to at least remain on the back lines, and out of harm's way--and had promised to urge the other Bonebound toward the same. Those of her children who might today show up had been asked to remain close by.

The cold was unsettling. Canis could get a chill, some mornings--but this was something else, a bitterness Giggle hadn't ever experienced, before. The wind seemed to cut through her sparse coat, nipping at her skin. The wind sent her staggering now and then, though she was better off with her heavy, stocky, low-slung body than some.

She cast an eye to the others. Omen had been asked to stay behind, and that was unsettling: Omen was her lifeline, sometimes quite literally. Vargas seemed worried. The Merchant peddled darkness--she didn't know him, but she knew of him and she hated it. The deer, they seemed confident enough--the bat not so much but Vargas grabbed it before she could try.

Hm.

That left a check for danger, and she cast out her senses, looking for any sign of fungus nearby.

rain stock: D Sharon Pruitt wiki commons; hyena Benjamin Hollis on flickr

The sulfurous skies bled cold, familiar like a distant memory amid thousands—no, millions of others. A howling blizzard did its level best to hide it from sight, but the Sleepless Chaos could see it; sanguine faceplate tilted up to the ceiling, she grinned broadly. Twelve nostrils flared, greedily choking down the chilly air, filling her smoldering lungs with it. Every breath came with plumes of vantablack vapor—a cocktail of condensed humidity and the corruption burning her from the inside out. Crosswinds always came to steal her breath away, casting it into nothing.

When the war horns set to blow, Draconua set to her preparations.

For days, now, she had been coiled in on herself, tucked away beneath the roiling and writhing Spire. Whatever Oil, whatever decay had leeched from her body, she lapped up. She didn't seek cathartic release. No, no, the hound'd thought, prone beneath the embodiment of His influence, I must save it. Gather it. Five thousand years' reservoir was not enough.

Creator willing, she would burn all that putrid Order to nothing.

Now: Enter Draconua, a walking, festering wound of Chaos. The earth shook in her frantic, barely restrained wake; in her wake, jagged black stones lay stark against the blinding white. Her hide and hair blew off into the blizzard, in the shape of charred-black motes. Crushing, deafening noise clamored about in her eardrums. Muscles twitched and seized. Her tail lashed a wild rhythm.

She was a loaded gun; and, it took great restraint for her to stand at Vargas's—then Tahi-Shei's—side without pulling the trigger then and there.

Nidhogg followed in Draconua's wake, a sleek serpentine idiot bounding from craggy outcrop to upthrust rock. He seemed content, even, to take this path, to follow the fresh-charred stone instead of sinking into biting snow.

His attention was all over the place. This was a lot of stimulation, for a near-child who'd spent almost his entire life in Draco, among the same eight or so creatures. Suddenly there were others here, and his thoughts and perceptions were running rampant.

The snow was cold.
Tahi-shei was edible? Or was he not?
There was a small white thing, fluttering--Vargas had grabbed it.
Was Pride edible-?
The sky was yellow, and ugly. The falling flakes bit at oily skin. He trembled down, and hissed at the sky.
A jagged edge shifted underfoot. He grabbed at it, and leapt up.
The Masked Merchant was over there. He didn't know much of it but he wondered why it wore such loose black skin.
Voice, voices; a red dog, and a pig.

It was all rather overwhelming, and Nidhogg trembled between two disparate instincts: to run and cower, or to shout and screech and make himself heard above the confusing din. Surely if he were the most important thing, then he didn't have to worry about the rest-?

But--ahh, Draconua was here. And tragic as it was, the serpent had--for whatever reason--decided that she were something of a mother to it. They'd sparred, once. Once, and that was all. But she hadn't badly hurt him, and he knew her--and the fact she wasn't dangerous to him (in his mind) and was large and reassuring were both very big ticks in her favor.

So Nidhogg scurried up as close as Draconua would allow--even pressing his long, sinous form against a hind leg and flank, if she allowed (as unlikely as that was)--and looked around warily.

He hissed again at the snow, and shivered. And then he looked around, wary, for any signs of predators--or prey.

Nemo

The lammergeier had groomed himself white long ago, no trace of color on his body other than his bright red eyes and the faintly glowing blue bauble now wrapped tightly to his chest. He'd put on the necklace almost sideways, like a over the shoulder purse instead of the dangling necklace it usually was. Dried leaves had been wrapped haphazardly around it, snuffing out most of the glow.

He'd been unable to leave it behind, feeling bare already without his color, and feeling uncomfortably more so without the gem.

Besides, he might be able to justify the trinket if need be.

The blinding snow, slung like glass in the howling winds, had him internally grateful that he'd kept it with him. If he crashes like he's wont to do, the glow light help them find his... him.

Hanging back near Giggle, he side eyes the titans who stood in toxic contrast to the white wrath before them, and he frowns at the lack of their little... army. Barely anyone had shown back up, possibly hanging back out of fear and self preservation, but Nemo had beaten back that fear with a wing like he had with everything else in his mind. If they were desperate enough to ask creatures with feathers and fur instead of anyone else, they must be serious with how badly this could go.

Right?

With that thought, he offers Giggle his typical reassuring beaky smile, and a brush of a wing to clear off the snow on her back, and he steps forward, deciding to prepare like the rest. Funneling his magic into a twisting cyclone like from his memories, but... sideways, he aims to turn the directions of the gusts before him into a sort of highway for his wings along the the ground and towards the mountain.