((this is an impromptu thing, not a full end-of-year prog, so don’t expect epic crp lines from it. Events in this Progression Are only known to the 39 people who signed up.)) The 40 or so people who had agreed to help the Imperial Prince on his wacky venture to attack the Power Arken had gathered in the Alms Ministry’s Alms Headquarters, gathered in the symposium hall. The various Alms Ministry people had prepared the benches to allow for each participant to lay down, as indeed the Prince would explain (as he had promised) that the actions leading up to their inevitable victory seemed silly. There was some internalized disagreement with the requests made of them, however none protested, perhaps out of sense of service to the Imperial Family, or just curiosity to what the Prince had planned since strange things always seemed to happen around them. Before long, all participants save for the Prince and Novellia Tsai had been laid down on the benches, friends close to one another and some even holding hands from across the benches. The Prince explained that he would call upon the Imperial Dragon’s being to ensure safety to those willing to put themselves on the line, and would use the means of the Imperial Dragon to bring them to a place and time where they could make a difference, remaining forever cryptic. He then called upon Novellia Tsai to call upon the prayers and blessings of Saaima, guiding his own Draconic energies to her to bring about a dreaming slumber for all those present. And sure enough, she performed a prayer for each person on the benches, passing them by as they fell into a deep sleep, one by one. As blackness fell onto their consciousness, a sensation of ever falling was felt, though none of their eyes would reveal where they were falling to, and they could not perceive or even hear one another if they screamed. Utter darkness surrounded them with no sound save for the pounding of their own hearts until very suddenly they were thrust into nothingness. Nothingness was then instantly replaced with consciousness reforming back around them, the whole 38 of them standing in a side-alley confused as to what had just taken place. Within mere moments, a librarian-esque man quickly paced into the alley-way. He was spindly, frail-looking and tall, yet immensely unintimidating. He had long straight jet-black hair to his shoulders, and piercing sky-blue eyes, he stood slightly hunched over and with his hands folded behind him. He was anywhere between 17 and 21 years old, given that his facial hair had only barely just started sprouting from his chin and upper lip. Before anyone could say a word, he unfolded his hands, raising them up, casting light on the Arch-Chancellor’s raiments he wore, and the Imperial Seal on his wrist. His eyes lit up in purple as some kind of spell took hold of those who had gathered. While the purple mists formed into plate-mail armor of draconic scales and weapons around them (save for Sivrid Sorenvik), the man spoke, with an intense stern and forceful tone: “I had hoped there would be less of you than this, but I do not deign to question him on the other side. I am sure you know why you are here, but I will inform you first and foremost what not to do.” He waved his hands once more, and Unionist chains appeared around the necks of all, visible outside of their armor. “You will not speak, you will not touch, and you will not raise your visors, or take off your helmets, or indeed your Unionist neck chain. You will not draw the eyes of the locals, or try to find any way to interact with those around you.” When his spell was done, he waved his hand once more, causing a lantern made of obsidian and jet stones to appear in his hand with a bright white flame inside, which he extended to Sivrid. “You will guide them down to the Crown Boulevard as if you walk to the Imperial Palace, however instead of taking the second right, you will take the third right, and the second left then. The streets will look unfamiliar. You will hold this flame up to guide the way, and you will ensure that all 37 who follow you remain with your group and do not wander. Do /not/ interact with the locals, and veer away from them if they approach you. You are simply actors in a stage-play that already has an ending, and you will fulfill your roles, or die not to live the tale.” Before the group marched on, Howland von Schwarzkrau, Paris Spathous, and Alfred Wulfmacht’s attention was drawn to the other end of the alleyway. They turned their gaze, only just to be met with a glimpse of the thundering hooves of a set of five Viridian Knights in old ceremonial armor, racing past with immense speed. Quickly however, their attention was drawn back to the man who had been speaking to them, beckoning them all to move ahead and make their way, as time was precious. Sivrid Sorenvik took the front of the crowd with her lantern held high. The group moved with a brisk pace to follow the directions that had been given, but they found it hard to let their eyes and minds wander to everything they saw around them. The city looked familiar, but different. The streets were filled with people, but they all looked strange, and spoke with a strange dialect that seemed familiar to Thalic, but even older. It was curious that some of what they saw was familiar, a squad of Solvaan Mist guards walking by, but also saw things that were unfamiliar. The houses were shorter, and dirtier, and the streets were filled with Ailor, but no Qadir, Songaskian or Asha was anywhere in sight. The Regalian Guards who walked by wore armor only familiar to some as ceremonial rusty sets of armor that were discarded into a corner of the Regalian Prison as outdated uniforms meant to honor the Guards of generations before, yet in shining condition worn by these guards who paid them no heed. Sivrid wove through the crowds in the street with her lantern held high, and perhaps as she passed face to face along the other people in the streets, she realized why. As each person passed by, and came close to the lantern, the white light of the flame burned brighter, and the glow of the light cast onto the people they passed acted as if a see-through light had been shed on their skin. For a moment, they appeared alive and normal, but as soon as they were lit with the flame, their faces turned into ghostly skeletal remains that seemed as if they had been decaying for centuries, only to return to normal once they had passed beyond the glow of the lantern. Most people in the street seemed to not even be aware of the crowd moving towards the Imperial Palace, bending out of the way as this stream moved 3-wide though the street. Some however turned their heads as if they caught a glimpse of something in the wind, a shadow moving in the periphery of their eyes, though Sivrid quickly shone her lantern on them, only for them to turn away again, dismissing it as if it had simply been a play of the dusk-light. Night had started approaching just as the group had passed beyond the Imperial Bridge, the wide single-structure passage-way to the Imperial Palace through which all traffic to the Emperor was bound. The bridge was quiet and abandoned, in fact this whole part of town seemed abandoned and while the streets had earlier been filled with lots of people, here there was no-one. They finally reached their location, and stood waiting for nothing to happen. Minutes passed by and frustration started mounting, until some drew attention to the rapid thudding of horse hooves. The five horsemen that were witnessed before raced onto the Imperial Bridge, as the group could see them approach from the Painter’s dock. The Painter’s Dock had been a very old stone structure upon which many painters took stock of the Imperial Palace over the years, painting it in all its magnificent elegance and massive-ness. Duke Nefer Morathes however remarked, that while the Painter’s dock was excellent for overlooking the Imperial Bridge and the Palace beyond, the Painter’s dock had collapsed years ago during the Songaskian occupation when the district around them burned down. This realization puzzled some of those present, but they had little time to think, for action was about to be forced on them. Those watching the Imperial Bridge could see the five horsemen approaching the middle point, only to be met with a hail of arrows, cutting their horses out from underneath them and cornering them as Viridian Knights scaled the bridge and prepared to ambush five other Viridian Knights, who quickly drew their swords. Then, suddenly, the clouds above the bridge burst open, and a single being with large white wings sped down to the bridge, crashing into the ambushers, where a fierce melee commenced. Before the group could even consider to assist, behind them, a group of Viridian Knights had approached. Sivrid instinctively turned to aim her lantern at them, but was horrified when the light of the lantern did not reflect skeletal faces, but rather the twisted and mutated faces of the demonically possessed, blood-tearing ink-black eyes and crackled skin with red light from underneath. At the head of them stood one Knight-Commander who was so badly mutated that all manners of flesh and spikes had shot from his armor and warped the metal around it, it just huffed and added: “You are not supposed to be here”, in a raspy ragged voice. Without any further dialogue, the Duchess Sorenvik’s allies dragged her to the back of the group, and the melee started. Howland von Schwarzkrau’s hand was shaking as he raised his sword, shocked almost at expecting to see his familiar Viridian Armor on his own arm, but being met with the sharp dragon-scaled armor with its dull gray-blue sheen. Steeled with assurances made before, and together with the others, they jumped into a melee, supported from the sidelines by those who were capable of ranged attacks. Viggo charged with Isobel, Eerikur and Taeron to face some Viridians on the right, while Howland, Paris, Tim and Froya charged on the left. Hannah Lexen meanwhile decided that this fight wasn’t exactly something she was entirely supposed to do, so after relieving one of the Viridians of their heads in a single strike of her sword, she was repositioned by Duchess Sorenvik along with Humaira and Leotta to guard the rear, figuring Cedromar’s implicit request was for Duchess Sorenvik not to die. Harlow and Ashvarya were doing their best to both fight and keep Abigail Tucker from going feral Trucker on the Commander that she had correctly surmised was actually the Power Arken. Maelstrom was about to cast fire-Magic along with Vallavaan, until he witnessed the Viridian Commander move with extreme speed in their direction, muttering “fuck, not again”. The Commander raised his meaty sword-arm, bringing down its weapon onto Maelstrom who tried to brace and get away at the same time, only to have the weapon bounce from the Draconic armor Maelstrom was wearing, with a loud high-pitch ringing sound like a tuning rod for a piano, the Commander screaming in anger mere moments later as it realized that its weapons could not break the Draconic armor. Emboldened, Maelstrom and Vallavaan were joined by Sone, Harlow, Ashenvarya, and Kael in pelting the Arken with magic spell after spell to drive him back while the others fought the Viridian Knights. Huo, Cro-Ingramnovire, Laeroth and Thaddeus were quick to turn to the other side of the Painter’s Dock where Viridians jumped out of the water, mutated with aquatic mutations and charged at the group from behind, calling in the aid of Titos, Ezekiel and Cadwyn to assist the ranged and mages closer to the center and form a defensive ring around those who could not fight on the frontlines. Hugo kept taking shots from behind friendly lines, while Srak and Samuel patched up anyone who had taken serious wounds and had to be dragged back from the front. While the Commander’s attacks were denied by the Draconic Armor, the Viridians wielded normal non-Magical weapons that were capable of piercing armor. Occasionally a Viridian would break through, only to be met with a firm punch from Kar-Chok-Vor, or a Warhammer from Reynard, with Alesandra’s yelling heard over the sounds of battle while she alerted others of the positions and pushes made by the Viridians. Finally, when all the Viridians were dispatched and writing on the floor, Laurel flung a javelin through an opening made by the Mages and Sorcerers into the Commander’s chest, causing it to fall over backwards, while Arnauld braced a spear against the nape of its neck, impaling it on the way down. What immediately followed was a mildly comical Ceasar-esque stabbing where all willing in the crowd stepped forward and started stabbing the ever living daylight out of the Power Arken which was still alive. Even Duchess Sorenvik had steeled herself by seizing a dagger form someone’s belt and stabbing at the Arken in grief and frustration at the situation as its flesh lay there undulating and trying to escape from the metallic prison of Viridian Armor it was wrapped in. The fading light of Sivrid’s lantern showed that the possession had seemingly left the fleshy body, its essence dissipating in the air around it, and at the very least confirming that they had defeated the physical form of the Arken. Nefer turned around at that, just in time to witness (with some others) the fight on the bridge having reached its conclusion, the winged-knight having defeated the Viridians on the bridge, Cadwyn jogging up to the wide of the Painters Dock, and his eyes squinting in recognition of those wings. The five Viridian Knights kneeled before the winged individual, only to be told to depart, as they continued running to the Imperial Palace beyond, their blood-soaked red Viridian capes waving in the wind, which was still carrying the sounds of festivities and the warm lights from the palace to the city below. In that moment, the tall lanky stranger from earlier arrived again, adding “Well done. Sloppy. But well done.” He clapped his hands just once, the sound of the clap reverberated through the minds of all those present, even Abigail Tucker who was still stabbing and yelling and slamming the lifeless flesh of the Viridian Commander into the ground screaming something about getting her father back. All those present felt their consciousness turn back to the black nothingness, only to awaken mere seconds later back in the Alms Ministry’s Symposium hall. They all felt sore all over their body, and time had certainly passed, as morning had broken in Regalia after the night in which they were all put into a slumber. Some embraced after the battle, and some like Sivrid awoke to faces of their familiars like Novellia Tsai bent over them. The Imperial Prince was nowhere to be seen, Novellia telling those that awoke that as soon as they all went to sleep, the Prince muttered that “It had been done” and simply left before any of them even awoke, leaving Novellia Tsai alone in the room with 38 sleeping people. The situation seemed almost anticlimactic, as nobody felt any different, and the Alms Ministry building looked familiarly the same, and Novellia also said nothing happened on their end. All they had was the faith that they did something useful. And strangely enough, those who had taken physical wounds during the fight, also found that their wounds translated to their body when they woke up, a physical reminder that perhaps it all wasn’t quite a dream.
