2010 Halloween Dragon Song
GM: Vulcan and players doing their own thing.
Players: Dalton, Watson, Selerik, Kassandra, Georgia, Ivy, Mr.Terrific, Ycevolod, Smoke, Nightshade, Adam, Succubus
Synopsis: A synopsis of what happened here.
Date: DATE HERE, remember to add 60 years to the year to get the timing right :)

Cherry Creek Lake National Park

Cherry Creek Lake National Reserve has often been called Denver's Big Back Yard and for good reason. With twelve miles of trails and 3900 acres of park which includes nearly 1000 acres of lake, Cherry Creek is never empty. Fishing, camping, horseback riding and more take place at the open grassland, replete with facilities for almost any outdoors activity.

Considered the birthplace of the Great Dragon Dunkelzhan, his worshipers and those interested in magic add to the millions of visitors the Reserve sees every year. Summer months see outdoors shows and concerts, while fairs, cook outs, and contests keep the park busy even in the coldest months. The park is considered important to the city for reasons beyond the former President, however. The vast grassland within the city limits gives residents and visitors alike a chance to unwind and connect to nature even as the modern city bustles around them.

«NOTE: The Cherry Creek Park Rangers patrol the lake and surrounding area, Horseback, electric vehicle, and boats comprise just part of the patrols in the park, as well as a fully licensed magical support staff, boasted as being one of the largest in the state.»

Security: Cherry Creek Rangers
Sec-Rating: A

Astral Rift(#759)

This rift is a self contained microcosm of the Astral World. It envelops the entire National Park. At this time, there is no hostile presence in the Astral and free spirits are flocking to the area. Magic is easy to cast, with -2 to all magical Target numbers and a lowering all drain by one.

Ancestor spirits can be talked to, but wither or not they are ACTUALLY your dead relatives is not entirely certain. The spirits of dead friends and fallen runners may be here. If a fight breaks out, or if a negitive influence comes, spirits will casually end the problem by ejecting all parties from the zone.

THIS IS FOR THEMATICS ONLY AND IS NOT THE TIME TO SUBMIT QUES OR ANYTHING ELSE REQUIRING A GM. You can get pretty wild with what happens so long as it stays relatively positive on the emotional scale.

Dalton is sitting at the edge of the park, watching quietly. He seems to be enjoying the peace and tranquility of the scene, but still has a tense nervousness, always wary that things might go bad.

Dalton is casually hanging about, watching spirits, watching people, and waiting for all hell to break lose.

Ivy winds her way thorugh the crowds, careful not to step on anyones feet with her cloven hooves. She finds a spot and stops to take a look at the rift, only to have her view broken by someone taller, and forced to move on.

When things get strange, people tend to either stop and look or leave. Some few actively embrace it, some become hostile and try to get rid of it, and some few smell an opportunity.
In this case, an opportunity to get rid of a whole lot of waffles made out of questionable products. What is unmistakably a hot dog vendor's stand with SPIRIT WAFFLES painted inexpertly on the side comes rolling down towards the astral rift location, with Potluck at the wheel. He has a cook's apron on that said 'Kiss the Cook' but has been given the same white paint treatment to say 'Tip the Cook' instead.

Dalton sits casually, trying to enjoy the sense of peace, and the emotional state of most of the crowd who is here to observe the rift. He cannot lose his waryness though, constantly apprehensive that 'bad things' are going to happen. The life of a pessamist.

Ivy flashes a quick smile to a nude and incredibly hairy satyr as he passes by her. He stops and takes her in a tight hug, lifting her off the ground and spinning her around before setting her back down. "It's so good to see you," she tells the man, "Is big-daddy coming?"

"I haven't heard. I hope so," he replies with a laugh and looks down at himself, "I'm ready if he does."

Ivy smiles and kisses him on the cheek. "I'm not quite that drunk yet, but I'm sure I'll get there. Walk with me?"
"I'm meeting Art over at the entrance to the park. But go look around. We'll meet you over by those picnic tables if anything exciting happens."

Selerik rolls the Spirit Waffles stand up to the gathering of 'peaceful happy folks', calmly sets up some greenish-tinted waffles on a few plates, and does what any good capitalist would do. He makes noise to get some attention. "SPEAR-IT WAFFLES! SPEAR-IT WAFFLES! GHOSTS ONLY THINK THEY DON'T EAT, UNTIL THEY TRY UNCLE SAL'S SPEAR-IT WAFFLES! BUY SOME FOR YOUR DEARLY DEPARTED TODAY!" Its a good thing everyone is so chilled, with a sales line like that.

Dalton sits on the grass, his back against a tree as he keeps watch. He reaches into a pocket and pulls out a pocsec, taking down some notes as he watches astral phenomon.

Ivy shakes her head as she passes the spirit-waffle vendor, giggling darkly at his pitch line. She curls up on a nearby picnic table, kneeling on the table itself, and prouduces a bottle wrapped in a brown paper bag from her jacket. She twists off the cap and takes a long drink from the bottle, wiping her mouth on the back of her jacket sleeve.

Even with the terrible sales pitch, the small Spirit Waffle stand manages to start selling to some of the people. Potluck must have a tongue of silver, explaining to people how the waffles are made of the mysterious Uncle Sal's special spirit chow blend, which all spirits love. His tongue isn't silver enough to get anything dropped into the small jar labeled tips that he sets out, at least yet. Who knows what effect those waffles will actually have?

Dalton remains as he has been for the last several poses, just watching and waiting, nothing unusual yet, and he still types notes into his pocsec.

Actually, there is a LOT going on here. Several thousand people are in the park - perhaps tens of thousands across its expanse. Little scenes are happening everywhere, ith more than a few mages providing improptu firework shows foe the crowds.

Selerik continues to distribute the oddly colored waffles with an occasional reminder that they are for spirits, not people. The one spirit that comes over to try to talk to him he wags his little-grabbing tongs at and shoos, telling them no freebies.

Dalton puts away his pocsec after a time, going back to watching the scene with his astral perceptions. He takes the opportunity to gauge the relative strength of the free roaming spirits, always keeping in practice on his aura reading talents.

Ivy takes her feet and spreads her arms out wide, holding the bottle in her left hand, her right hand locked in metal horns. She throws her head back and lets out an elated cry before stomping five times on the table. "Baccus," she calls out into the air, "The dead walk amongst us as friends and lovers. The devil's night has become a night of revelry and joy. Surely only you can bring about such a joyus state." She brings her right arm down and lifts her left to the sky. "I dedicate this vesel filled with your greatest gift to you. I drink in your name. I drink knowing you are always at my side. I drink knowing you share my joy. I drink for you my lord and my only true love."
Ivy hops off the table and takes another long pull from her bottle, this time letting the excess spill down her body and soak into her clothes. She lets out a happy yelp and dives back into the throng of revelers, screaming something in greek.

Dalton shakes his head as he watches what he apparently assumes is a shaman of baccus. "Crazy shamans." he murmers to himself, then just chills out and watches the pretty astral colors.

Dalton stands up from his spot in the grass and begins to wander through the crowds. He starts checking for hot women that appear to be attracted to magical activities.

Nightshade slips into the park, at least she does what, for a troll, could be considered slipping. Her overcoat blends fairly well into the grass and she walks in, taking a seat and looking about at the phenomina. Another troll comes to sit beside her and she begins to growl at him, then pauses, double takes and nods. They both then continue scanning about.

Dalton apparently gets a little bored, all the hot women are here to find dead boyfriends, and picking up on them is depressing. He wanders through the crowd, still a bit paranoid that things are going to go badly, but, whatever.

Nightshade stands, looks back down at the troll who remains sitting, and heads out of the park.

Dalton is wandering around the park, waiting to see if his phone text gets any response. He wanders pasts crowds of people and spirits, just meandering through the park.

Across the way, a trid phantasm is thrown up, an illusion of a swooping, graceful dragon.

The light on the front of Watson's little Dodge Scoot cuts bleakly through ther darkness of this Haloween night. She pours delicately over the roadways, making sure not to hit any of the people and creatures that may or may not be running around. She finally pulls her bike to a stop, looking around the wilderness with her keen, elven eyes casting through the darkness, bolstered by natural low-light vision.

At some point between dancing with a forrest nymph and looking for more booze Ivy discovers a drum circle of neo-primitivists surrounding a small campfire. With a cackle of glee she dives in and dances manically to the (frankly) off beat rhythms of dreadlocked middle-class college students.

Dalton summons up a small watcher spirit, then sends it to look for Watson. He waits by a tree while the spirit goes out to find her, and lead her back to him.

When the watcher spirit finally finds her, Watson jumps off her bike as though she's ready to fight it. It probably looks like a ghost or something to her. When she realizes what it is and who probably sent it, she spits on the ground and runs her fingers through her long black hair in order to calm herself. "He knows… I fuh-fuh-fucking hate spirits." She sniffs, but then follows the watcher all the way back to Dalton, who is not far from her.

Dalton waits paitently until he spots Watson on her way towards him, then dismisses the spirit and moves to meet her. "Hey, thought this might be something you want to see. Ancestor spirits are showing up, there is a good chance you might see a loved one."

Watson sniffs as she looks around the small area of the massive park she's standing in. She runs her trembling fingers through her hair as the light show of magic-gone-wild plays out all around her, fully unnerving her. "How wuh-wuh-will I find one? This place is fuh-fuh-fucking huge," she says. "And… well… I'm kind of scared."

Dalton smiles "Don't worry, I'm here. If someone related to you is here, more than likely they will find you. You just have to be patient. Its not really that bad, I've been waiting for something to go wrong, but so far, its all peaceful."

"Will it… really be them?" Watson asks in a whispery voice. She's shaking all over, more than usual; she doesn't respond well to magic. "I mean… maybe it'll be some kind of… impuh-puh-poster spirit or something, you know?"

Mercutio comes walking down the small beach, his backpack over his shoulder. He spies Watson and her group, a smile coming to his lips. He makes his way over.
Ivy comes to the realization that these drummers aren't going to give her the expertise she requires to really show off and bounds away, skipping back towards the waffle vendor and the picnic table she turned into a makeshift ritual site. She nearly trips over a pair of revelers sitting on the grass, but leaps out of the way in time, rolling over into a summersault before landing on her ass.
Ivy flashes a smile at Dalton and Watson and spins to face them, her legs folded under her body. "Sorry. Didn't mean to scare you. I'm a little excited."

Dalton nods "Well, thats possible, but an imposter would not know anything about you or your loved one." he turns quickly as the body is suddenly hurled into his midsts and he actually streatches a hand out to cover Watson, ahh, how charming. He frowns as he realizes its just the drunk satyr, and nods to her, but says nothing.

Watson lets out a frightened yelp when Ivy comes tumbling towards her. She instinctively backs away, giving Dalton a chance to heroically come to her rescue. She sniffs, lets out a quivering breath and closes her eyes for a moment to try and get a grip on her nerves. She steps up behind Dalton and looks over his shoulder, down at Ivy. "You drunk or suh-suh-something, girl?"

Ivy laughs and rolls onto her back, her arms spread out to her sides. "Yeah, yeah I am," she admits and lifts her legs over her head, rolling over to stand. "I need to settle down, I didn't mean to disturb you. You're really shaking," she tells Watson. "Enjoy yourselves guys, this doesn't happen very often." With that she bounds off towards the tables, waving to a pair of nude Satyrs.

"I duh-duh-don't know what cuh-cuh-creeps me out more," Watson says as she puts her hands on Dalton's shoulders from behind. "Ghosts or people." She sniffs and then slowly walks towards an unoccupied picnic table and sits down, still shivering noticeably. "I guh-guh-guess I'll just wait here until someone.. shows?"

Mercutio laughs as he steps closer to Watson… "Ghosts are not creepy. People, Now, Mercutio knows people who are creepy. Sad people. Angry people. But Ghosts.. spirits… not creepy."

Dalton arches a brow at the new arrival, but moves over to sit next to Watson. "That was an example of a shaman that gives other shaman bad names."

Mr.Terrific treads along in, looking calm enough. Though his eyes are a little whacked out of his head, and he's actually wearing his honest-to-goodness Stetson that he likely spent quite a bit of wages on.

Watson lifts her eyes to regard Mercutio. She recognizes him immediately and stiffens up. Though she might remember him, she gets her Shakespeare references wrong and ends up saying, "Othello? Is thuh-thuh-that you? You're the guy who gave me that… guh-guh-glass unicorn at McGuinty's that night."

Mercutio bows his head to Watson, offering her a smile. "WAtson is correct."

Though not really one to party all that much, Ycevolod felt compelled enough to at least step out for an autumn stroll. So there he'd be, one hand thrust in a coat pocket, the other holding a cigarette to his lips as he passed down one of the park's many winding foot trails, this one close to the water's edge.

Georgia abandons her bike near the entrance of the park in favor of fighting the crowds on foot. Her face is grim, even once she enters the rift, and she stalks about through the mass of people, her eyes watchful for anything unseemly.

Dalton glances between Watson and Mercrutio, but says nothing, letting the two discuss whatever they wish to discuss. He simply listens to them speak.

"And you ruh-ruh-remember my name," Watson says with a warm smile spreading across her face. "You're like the spokesman for… all thuh-thuh-that -is- creepy." She sniffs. "Whatcha' doing out here… with the rift? Come to see if any… duh-duh-dead relatives come for a visit?"

Mercutio laughs then, waving that off. "Mercutio has no relatives like Watson does." He says, moving to look out over the lake. "Mercutio came to see Darktooth's gift."

Watson cocks her head to the side, putting her arm warmly around Dalton now, like she might need some warmth. She's shivering awfully bad. ""Who's Darktooth? Thuh-thuh-that's even creepier."

Dalton doesn't seem to mind Watson leaning up against him, in fact it causes a small smile to appear on his face. He still remains quiet though, letting Watson speak with her old aquaintance. Out of sheer paranoia, he does keep his mask up to look astrally at the fellow, and try to penetrate masking, cause, well, dude is a little strange.

Mr.Terrific , because he is that kind of pedant, is physically required to speak up and say, "'Darktooth' is english for 'Dunkelzahn' which is bad german."
Mr.Terrific says "It could also be 'dark mountain'."

Georgia finds a relativly deserted path near the water and roams along it's edge, deftly avoiding other revelers. She finds a large rock and plops down on it before lighting a cigarette and skipping a stone across the surface.

Mr.Terrific says "He's kind of both."

Watson nods as she looks over her shoulder at Mr. Terrific. "So it's a guh-guh-gift from the old… commander-in-chief." She wipes a trembling hand through her hair again and looks back at Mercutio. "I've always wondered… wuh-wuh-why you gave me that… unicorn."

Ycevolod stops along an embankment, flicking, puffing, and then finally discarding his cigarette into the cool waters below. So much for environmentalism. Taking a moment, he peers out over the surface, glossy eyes rolling to the left and right, lingering first on the orc some ways down from his position, and then on the collection of younger types. Turning his face back to the water, the indigo glow of a pocsec briefly illuminates his profile.

Mercutio looks to Watson then, turning to sit back down on the grass. "Because it was pretty. And Fragile-seeming, but deadly. Watson could put out a mans eye with that thing."

Dalton remains quiet, but does turn to look at Mr.T for a moment, before going back to watching Watson and Mercutio talk.

Watson cuchkles and nods slowly, lowering her eyes. "I cuh-cuh-could put my own eye out with it just as easily."

Mr.Terrific mutters, "Or it could be a classical reference to The Glass Menagerie.'

There's suddenly a ghost next to Dalton, sitting on the park bench. It's the ghost of a very handsom young elven man with long black hair and stylish, bad-boy biker leathers. He has an arrogant smile and a languid body language of complete and total confidence. He's smoking a ghostly cigarette and as soon as he appears, her speaks up, right into Dalton's ear, pointing that cigarette at Watson. "If you ever get the chance to get this one in bed, I'd suggest getting something to hold on to; it's one hell of a ride."

Dalton luckly has his magical improved relfexes tattoo turned off at the moment, otherwise he might have lept out of his skin at the visitation. As it is his eyes widen a bit, and his body tenses, but he merly turns his head to regard the apparition after a moment to compose himself.

When things get strange, people tend to either stop and look or leave. Some few actively embrace it, some become hostile and try to get rid of it, and some few smell an opportunity.

In this case, an opportunity to get rid of a whole lot of waffles made out of questionable products. What is unmistakably a hot dog vendor's stand with SPIRIT WAFFLES painted inexpertly on the side is somewhere in the mix of people here for the rift, with Potluck(Selerik) at the wheel. He has a cook's apron on that said 'Kiss the Cook' but has been given the same white paint treatment to say 'Tip the Cook' instead.
"SPEAR-IT WAFFLES! SPEAR-IT WAFFLES! GHOSTS ONLY THINK THEY DON'T EAT, UNTIL THEY TRY UNCLE SAL'S SPEAR-IT WAFFLES! BUY SOME FOR YOUR DEARLY DEPARTED TODAY!" Remarkably, some people are actually buying the things.

The moment she hears the voice, Watson springs up from the park bench in complete surprise. She turns to see the ghost sitting there and puts her hand over her mouth as though to surpress a scream. When she moves it away, she says in a very weak voice, "Dallas? Jesus… duh-duh-Dallas? Is that you?"

The ghost smiles at her, still puffing away on that cigarette and says, "The one and only, baby. You look like shit."
The ghost casually says to Dalton, "Me and her used to be an item back about fifteen years ago in Seattle. We were with The Ancients. Back then, of course, she wouldn't be caught dead with a round-ear like you."

Georgia glances over her shoulder at the thin human behind her and blinks a few times. "Izzat Slim," she asks and glowers a bit as her eyes adjust. "Ah, sorry, chummer. Thought you were someone else." She turns a bit and faces the water, leaning back with her hands supporting her weight behind her. "Messed up dreck, omae. Aren't we supposed to be dressing up so the dead don't know we're living?"

Dalton smiles a bit at the spirit "Well, I guess age brings wisdom. She obviously is trading up."

Mr.Terrific comments, "If this were Japan, we'd throw hard candies and nuts at the ghosts to appease them. If this were the Caribbean, we'd make bread from flour and rum and sugar to give them.

And this being Denver, someone is selling questionably greenish waffles to people. Potluck whistles too himself as he serves off another dish of the worrying things.

Ycevolod's eyebrows tighten a little. That'd been a name he'd not heard in some time. Since.. Well.. Before the Balkaner standing there at the water had gone away for some 'vacation time'. For a moment, Ycevolod's eyes hang on the orc. "I wouldn't be too terribly concerned with that," he replies without invitation with what could best be described as an entirely accentless, by North American standards, voice.

Watson loks completely aghast and surprised to see the ghost sitting there, no matter how long she looks at it. "You're dead?"

The ghost nods and says, "Yeah. All the fucking trouble you and I got into and wouldn't you know I took myself out by falling asleep with a lit cigarette? The fire killed three orks though, so I'll call it a win."

The ghost stands up and looks at Dalton, responding to his earlier comment. "We'll see about that, breeder. Maybe one day you should ask her about the little collection she had started when her and I used to fuck."

Dalton shrugs "We all do things we regret." and weither he is talking about the collection, or sleeping with the ghost, its not entirely clear.

It is to be noted that Adam is also amongst the crowd. He is not being particularly social at the moment— nor engaging in any spirit discussions. Instead he is walking about the area with a tome in his hand. This digital book is often attached to his belt, but it is being actively used now to record findings.

Kassandra/Silk slips into the park, a hooded figure in a flowing cloak. The small woman pauses near a picnic table as a stream of ghosts and/or spirits flow past her, all involved in their own conversation and a chance to mingle with the norms. She hms to herself and continues on, seeming in no hurry, but rather taking all this in.

"Why? Whuh-whuh-why did you come back to see me? Why here and why tonight?" Watson says as she stares in awe at the spirit of her lost lover.

The ghost starts to fade. "Just some advise. Sooner or later Mr. Know-It-All here-" That being Dalton, "- is going to find out what you are and what you did. Then what's going to happen? Anyways, cutie, my time's up. Oh and by the way…" The ghost disappears, and only his voice remains for a moment long, "… there really is a hell."

Mercutio smiles as the spirit fades back to its genesis. "Hell. It is being trapped in own failings. Or. New Jersey."

Dalton turns after the ghost has vanished, and looks to Watson, he smiles at her, a comforting smile.

Watson looks anything but comforted. Even Mercutio's remark can't wipe the disturbed look from her face. She's shaking all over and turns away from Dalton, walks a few steps before she turns back. "I duh-duh-don't know… what to suh-suh-say about that."

Dalton shakes his head "You say nothing. He envies you, your life, that you moved past your past. He came here out of spite to torment you."

Georgia laughs faintly and shakes her head, "Suppose not, hey?" She glowers a bit, watching the errie astral moon reflect off the water and shivers. "Don't know why I came to this stu.." she starts but is cut off by a large group of figures materializing behind her.

"There ya are ya crazy slitch," one of the figures says and takes Georgia in a gigantic hug from behind. As they materialize they become a group of young human and ork women, all dressed in rough and tumble warrens wear and all wearing matching leather jackets with the words "Widows M.C. Detroit" screened on the back.

A glance takes in a pair of recently deceased street samurai, their bodies translucent in the moonlight, bickering as they walk along the edge of the water about who was to blame. Elsewhere, a man cries quietly, hugging himself as a girlfriend berates his lovemaking skills and lack of committment.

Silk frowns, looking from one set of apparitions to another as they find friends and loved ones, enemies and those seeking some sort of closure. The woman continues to move along, keeping to herself for the time being.

"Your muh-muh-mind is always in a happy place, Dalton," Watson says with a nervous frown on her face. "He wuh-wuh-wouldn't have come down here just to tuh-tuh-torment me. He was trying to warn me. About you."

The blue-white haired mage kneels over a particular tree. His natural hand runs over the bark— pulling it back and observing. Adam stops and makes notes in his book.
Ycevolod produces another bit of packaged cancer for his evening's pleasure. He places it to his lips, then lights it in a fluid sort of motion before pocketing the matchbook he'd used. He just sort of stares blankly out on the epicenter the spirits seem to be filing out from. He knew well who might possibly show up for him tonight, but somehow doubted the probability.

Dalton arches a brow "Maybe I'm a little optimistic at times, but I've already told you what I think. I will not judge your past, only your future. I told you what I would do."

Watson sighs and closes her eyes as though she's struggling to figure out what's right and what's wrong, the message from the dead, or the message from a friend. "You give me… wu-wuh-wway too much credit, Dalton." She crosses her arms over her chest where they continue to shake. "Damn, this place cuh-cuh-creeps me out."

Dalton smiles "I have hope for you, even when you lack hope for yourself. If you'd like to leave, I can make sure your not disturbed on your way out."

"How come… nuh-nuh-no one's come for you, Dalton?" Watson asks suddenly. "Surely you must have lost… suh-suh-someone who wants to pop in to say hi… or fuh-fuh-fuck you… or whatever it is dead people want to suh-suh-say to you."

Georgia breaks down crying, her large body shaking as each ghost takes a turn wrapped in her arms. "Oh girls, oh girls" she repeats through a craking voice.

Oh don't get all emo on us, Des, sheesh," a larger spirit with a massive scar down her right cheek scolds as she punches Georgia on the arm. "I know Heart ain't gonna make it, but where's the midget? I miss her keeb hoop."

Dalton chuckles "Perhaps because I'm not concerned with the dead. I never knew my parents, so what difference would it make if they showed up to talk to me. They are dead, thier spirits cannot comfort me. There are people I have sent to the other side, but I am not personally haunted by them in my own mind. Perhaps that protects me, I do not know."

Mr.Terrific too is visited, by a tall, spare man in an archaic gray suit; head just as shaven as his own. They have a familial resemblance, but when they try to speak to one another, nothing gets through. Mister Terrific tries a variety of languages, but whatever slavic tongue the ghost is speaking is not on his list.

Watson looks kind of sympathically at Dalton now. "Thuh-thuh-that's kind of sad, really. It'd make me feel like… I duh-duh-didn't really matter. Dallas may have turned into a cold, dead jerk, but at luh-luh-least he showed."

The man selling 'Spirit Waffles' also seems to be avoiding encounters with the spirit realm on his own time. Whatever the reason, he just stands there and sells the green-tinted things without concern.

Dalton smiles "I'm not going to pretend to be normal or even really sane, no one in my line of work is. We all look at the world differently, I simply belive whole heartedly in my calling. I know people living care about me, and thats good enough for me." He grins "I like to think you care Sarah."

Silk finds a likely park bench that isn't occupied by the ghostly or solid beings roaming here under the light of the moon and the rift that is leaking goodness knows what into the atmosphere. The woman absently brushes the bench off before sitting, her cloak wrapped around her as she settles in.

"Of course I care, Dalton." Watson says casually. "Wuh-wuh-with me, though, thuh-thuh-that's sometimes a double-edged sword." She sniffs and looks around with a sigh. "Thuh-thuh-this place really does… cuh-cuh-creep me out. I'm gunna go."

Dalton stands up from the picnic table and nods "Can I walk you out?" he asks of Watson.

Ycevolod's turn with a spirit finally comes. To both his surprise and dismay, a haggard and leathery-skinned male pulls itself up out of the water to be seated on the embankment to the right of him. Shirtless and wearing a pair of blue, mass-produced scrub-type pants, the spirit beside him also sports a number of elaborate tattoos that end up occupying most of his skin's real-estate. Without waiting for a hello, the spirit pipes up, "* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***"

"* * * * * * * * * * *" Ycevolod replies. "* * * * * * *"

"* * ***" the ghostly prisoner snaps back. (Russian)

"Sure," Watson repiles in a soft voice. "I puh-puh-probably would get lost if you duh-duh-didn't. And next time, don't send a watcher-spirit for me. They cuh-cuh-creep me out too. Come guh-guh-get me yourself." She starts to walk towards where she thinks her bike is parked.

Dalton moves a bit to catch up to Watson, then walks next to her and smiles "Alright, from now on, phone calls only."

Still unharassed by the dead, Adam moves from the tree to a few of the astral rifts. He keeps the book held open with one hand— making notes with another.

A smaller woman with unnaturally bent legs presses herself between Georgia and the scarred ghost. "Knock it off, she misses us, she's allowed to cry," the smaller ghost chides, only to be laughed off by the rest of the spirits.

Georgia smiles, a large genuine grin for the first time and wraps an arm over the sholder of the smaller spirit. "Nah, Drama is right, hey? I get to see my girls again. I don't need to be blubberin like a damn fool."

"That's right," Drama replies as she cracks her knuckles. "I know I saw some trash in Ancient's colors around here. Who else thinks we should show 'em the Widows are the hardest slitches there is. Dead or alive."

"Some things are… juh-juh-just eaiser," Watson says breathlessly as she walks hurriedly along a path through the trees. Because the dead seem to be following around the living, she takes a lane that seems to be fairly well deserted. That's how she comes across Kassandra's bench and spots the woman sitting there. She stops for a moment and looks down on her oddly.

Silk seems relatively unbothered by the spirits. Some look at her a moment and then walk away, perhaps not finding her the being they were looking for. The small woman lets her feet dangle, staring off towards the rift with a look of concentration, only broken by the occation look at an interesting free spirit that streaks by.

Dalton follows Watson along, doing his best to intimidate any spirits that venture too near her, a small display of mana energy is usually enough. He stops when Watson stops, and waits to see what she is going to do.

Watson stares wordlessly down at Kassandra for a moment, then she slowly reaches out her hand and touches Kass gently on the shoulder, just prodding her a little bit to make sure her hand doesn't slip through a ghostly form. When she is satisfied that Kassandra is real and still alive, she announces, "Juh-juh-just checking."

Tilting her head, Silk glances at Watson's hand and then to the woman herself. The tip of her head shifted the hood of her cloak, her features more readily viewable. She chuckles quietly and remarks, "I'm here, more or less."

Dalton smiles a bit as Watson actually tests to see if something is real or not. He maintains his vigil though, keeping an eye out for any more spirits that might head towards Watson.

Nearby to Watson and Silk, Adam chuckles lightly. "I would certainly hope so," he says— looking back to his writings and flipping through a few pages. "The readings this year are impressive."

After a moment or two of silence the prisoner goes on about his astral business and leaves Ycevolod be. Not the most ideal visitor, but he seems somewhat less than bothered by it. For now he'll linger on for a bit, working down the cigarette, one puff at a time.

Watson smiles when she see's she's just poked Kassandra in the shoulder. "It's buh-buh-been a wierd night," she says softly. "Take care… this place is kind of wierd." With that, she starts to walk away, trying to find her bike in the sea of cars and trucks and other vehicles that are parked along the lanes.

Succubus arrives somewhere on the park's many trails, perhaps having decided to take a moment's respite from her day-to-day trials. However, it's not long before she begins to notice something isn't quite right. A little bit further along, and the astral hijinx become apparent to her. She turns her cigarette from between her painted lips, thinks for a moment, and then turns around to saunter along her way. Apparently, she wants nothing to do with all that business.

Nodding to Watson's words, Silk will raise a hand to wave to the woman before addressing Adam's comment, "I'd expect so. Myself, I'm waiting for the other shoe to drop. We've people here meeting their dead friends and whatnot .. what happens when things aren't quite as pleasant?"

Dalton chuckles a bit "I've been waiting for it to go to hell all day. Maybe we will get lucky, and nothing, but, I honestly don't expect it."

Watson finally finds her bike among, hidden behind a hippy bus that smells like someone's growing a pound of weed in it and a truck that, for some reason, still has a confederate flag on it. "Dalton." she says suddenly, as though just remembering something. "If you guh-guh-go back… cuh-cuh-can you find Mercutio and tuh-tuh-tell him I suh-suh-said by? He's… a guh-guh-good guy… kind of wierd. I… wuh-wuh-was so disturbed by Dallas… thuh-thuh-that I forgot about him for a moment."

"Emotion. Drama. Gunfire. Magical feedback," Adam goes off of the short list this evening. He motions a hand— the well crafted cybernetic one— over towards the physically invisible rifts, "Of which I suspect having a 'time out' in the dead planes would calm them down." A thought later he goes to writing on a new page, "Or is this a mine of information this eve?"

Smoke comes from the parking area and after wandering about for a while sees a knot of people, some that he recognizes. His eyes shift back and forth from the mundane to the astral to see what is going on.

Dalton nods to Watson "I plan to stay out here until its over, so if I see him, I'll give him your regards. I'm sorry I asked you to come out here, I was hoping for something a bit nicer."

Shifting on the bench, Silk smooths out her cloak and considers. "It is certainly something, and an event that should not be missed no matter what ends up happening. The real question is .. why? Why here, why now, why this day? He never did anything without a purpose."

Ycevolod decides against waiting out the evening. Besides, the last ghost had had it pretty right. So, after sending the second cigarette tumbling down into the water, he turns and moves back along the path he'd arrived on, soon breaking away from the water's edge.

Georgia laughs and shakes her head. "No fighting tonight, come on. When was the last time we were all together in some actual nature? That time we got dunked in Lake Michigan?" She wraps her other arm around Drama's waist and pulls both of her friends close. "Ya gotta tell me what heaven is like. I allways pictured La-Z-Boys and lots of beer and Ancients being tortured in hell on the TV."

The other women laugh and form in together, all walking down the path. "Nah, mostly we laugh at how pathetic your sex life is," Drama jokes and shakes her head. "Don't you be worrying about heaven. You'll find out when you find out. I don't want you to be in a hurry to see us again."

Georia frowns a bit and turns to look at her comrades. "You did all make it to Heaven, right? I mean, we did some ugly dreck when y'all were alive."

The spirits laugh and pat Goergia on the back, a few joking about "Momma Despair" watching over them even after death. "It's not quite what you think," Drama explains to Georgia, "And we're not really allowed to answer stuff like that. You'll find out eventually. Everyone does."

Watson puts a hand on Daltons shoulder, one that shows she's calmed some since returning from the center of ghost-town. "Nuh-nuh-nothing ever goes 'nice' when -I'm- involved," she says in a low voice. "It's wuh-wuh-why I don't date." She leans in and kisses Dalton quickly on the cheek. "Stay suh-suh-safe out here. Even without all the spokes, there's suh-suh-some fucked-up people out here tuh-tuh-tonight."

A sudden strong earthquake jolts the area for some 15 seconds, setting ducks and birds into the sky, and fish to jumping through the water.

Dalton smiles "I'll be careful, I'm always careful. And as far as nothing going nice, I think its nice everytime I meet you." He blinks as the earth trembles, and he dances back and forth trying to keep his footing. He looks to Watson "Get going, now."

Selerik reaches out to steady his waffle cart, nodding a little bit to himself. "Typical, someone always throws a tantrum at a reunion.." Despite the response, its clear the shake got his attention.

Watson grabs onto Dalton very tightly and her eyes go wide. Apparently a kiss from her can make the earth move. She's shaking hard again and then says, "What the fuh-fuh-fuck was that?"

The air near Silk flares royal blue for a split-second, her eyes snapping towards the lake and the rift, her right hand moving to grip the arm of the bench for support. She frowns and waits the quake out, looking prepared for the worst.

Smoke wanders down by the edge of the water, watching spirits and the like. He finds a spot close to the people that he knows and spreads out a blanket on the ground, just getting seated as the ground begins to shake. He plants his ass and his palms flat on the ground and tries to not panic.

Mr.Terrific yows, gripping onto his park bench and looking around furiously. For about ten seconds, he thought someone actually snuck up and grabbed his bench to shake it - then he thought that ghosts did it - then he thought, "Oh, it's an earthquake." OR IS IT!? After all these thoughts rush through his head and paint amusing pictures on his face, he conjures up an 'I meant to do that,' expression.

Dalton frowns, and slips his gaze to the astral plane to examine the area. "Sarah." he says, holding onto her "You need to get out of here now, before anything else happens."

Before responding, Adam has to steady himself for a moment as the tremor hits. He manages not to drop his book— which is a nice balancing act. Looking out into the area he coughs, "Mmm, always 'fun'."

ASide from that Temblor, all seems… normal. Car alarms die off, the fish return to normal activity… and ducks come back to the water… the mood spiked, but slowly comes back to its calm, somewhat peaceful roar.

Watson leans her head in to hear Dalton past the sudden cacaophony of car alarms. She must hear enough of it to make the urgency clear because she quickly straddles the small electric scooter she rode in on. "Shit, Duh-duh-Dalton…. this don't feel right." She kicks on the electric motor and it whirrs smoothly to life. "Were there always this many people here?"

Shields flicker fitfully around Silk as she looks this way and that, drinking in situation and in partiular watching the reaction of the spirits in the area. If and when nothing seems amiss she'll relax a bit, letting go of her grip on the bench and hmming quietly.

Dalton nods "Things might get worse, get going, I'll be in touch." he smiles at Watson.

"Guh-guh-give me a key to your apartment," Watson says in a tight voice. "I duh-duh-don't want to be alone tonight. I'm… tuh-tuh-too nervous."

Dalton reaches into a pocket and grabs some keys, handing them to Watson, still looking around the area warily. "Alright, I'll be along when I know things are safe here."

«OOC» Mercutio says, "Perception checks, everyone."
«OOC» Mercutio says, "TN is 8"
«Auto-Judge[]» Dalton (#8435) rolls Intelligence vs TN 8 for "What do I see?":
1 1 1 3 10 14 = 2 Successes
«Auto-Judge[]» Kassandra (#9777) rolls Intelligence vs TN 8 for "Perception Test":
2 2 2 3 3 4 4 4 4 9 11 = 2 Successes
«Auto-Judge[]» Smoke (#1419) rolls Intelligence vs TN 8 for "Awareness":
2 2 2 3 8 11 = 2 Successes
«OOC» Mercutio says, "Anyone else?"
«OOC» Vulcan says, "Anyone else?"
«OOC» Selerik says, "Trying.."
«Auto-Judge[]» Selerik (#3004) rolls Intelligence vs TN 8 for "Knew I should've invested in twenty more IQ dice":
2 2 2 5 5 11 = 1 Success
«Auto-Judge[]» Adam (#1093) rolls Intelligence vs TN 8:
1 2 3 3 4 5 10 = 1 Success
«OOC» Selerik says, "There we go, found the command."
«Auto-Judge[]» Meat (#6865) rolls Intelligence vs TN 8:
5 5 = 0 Successes
«OOC» Vulcan says, "Does anyone wish to karma?"
«OOC» Selerik says, "Sure!"
«Auto-Judge[]» Selerik (#3004) rolls Intelligence - 1 (successes) vs TN 8 for "Karma, the other white meat":
1 3 3 5 9 = 1 Success
«OOC» Selerik Will stand.
«OOC» Dalton says, "What the heck"
«Auto-Judge[]» Dalton (#8435) rolls Intelligence - 2 vs TN 8 for "KP:1, why not":
1 2 2 5 = 0 Successes
«OOC» Adam will stand on 1.
«OOC» Watson will stand on 1.
«OOC» Kassandra will save karma to live.
«OOC» Selerik says, "Sissy."
«Auto-Judge[]» Mr.Terrific (#7242) rolls Intelligence vs TN 8:
1 3 3 4 5 8 = 1 Success
«OOC» Kassandra says, "Pipe down foodboy"
«OOC» Dalton throws Kass in front of the big giant monster, since she saved the KP for it

1 Success: You notice the ducks take back off, as though something were wrong with the lake.

2 Successes: As per 1, but also, the lake just dropped a foot or so.

3: None of you got 3.

Watson kicks the bike off its stand and starts to wheel it around to head out. She calls back over her shoulder and shouts, "Be careful, Dalton. Something's wrong!" With that, she drives out as fast as her pathetic little bike can drive her.

A beat passes, then another. Silk is already on her feet by the third beat as ducks fly off the lake like some sort of modern day John Woo movie. The hooded and cloaked elf is staring at the lake, hands unconsciously balling into fists as she waits for the rise of something horrible from the lake, the wind sending her cloak fluttering around her. She speaks softly, her voice likely not carrying far, "We should have people move back, this is just beginning."

Selerik blinks a few times, processes the situation, and picks up his tip jar to empty the contents. In the same loud voice he was using to sell spirit waffles, he'll begin again, rolling his cart over towards the falling waters of the lake. "FOLKS, MOVE AWAY FROM THE LAKE! THERE IS ABOUT TO BE A SPECIAL DISPLAY, YOU MAY GET HURT! SPEAK WITH YOUR LOVED ONES AWAY FROM THE LAKE!" So on so forth I'll spare you more capslock.

Dalton looks around, then starts towards Adam, since that is the only person he really knows here at the moment. He makes his way towards the mage "Well, here comes the drek." he says to the mage.

Adam looks around for a moment— eyes following the avians a moment before tracing the origin. Academic curiousity abound, he stares at the lake and its surroundings for a second. "Indeed." Closing his azure eyes, he projects a Shielding around the living beings close enough to sustain it.

Smoke takes out a bowl shaped shell and breaks a smudge stick of sage into it. The native rises to his feet with a stiff legged grunt, still standing on his blanket. His eyes peer at the water and he lights the herb and blows on it gently to get it to take. He allocates shielding to himself and the four people closest to him and waits. He slips his hand into his coat and clasps hold of a crystaline rod.

Georgia glances around at the gathered spirits and grimaces. "Damn, too good to be true, I knew it," she mutters. Drama interjects "Away from the lake" and starts to push Georgia back towards the entrance of the park. Georgia complies and the whole group starts moving.

The water jolts. Like a sonar ping running through it, a concussive blast that wells up from deep underwater. No gyser, no overt sign… just the feeling that brings everyone to their feet, watching. Overhead… dark forms circle. And yet, the mood has not yet shifted.

Selerik continues, doing a slow lap around the lake as he calls out to more and more people to 'omg move' in a polite and organized manner. He'll of course glance up, down, around, and so forth.

«OOC» Vulcan says, "Perception checks from those who look to the sky."
«Auto-Judge[]» Kassandra (#9777) rolls Intelligence for "Sky!":
1 2 2 3 4 4 4 4 5 10 13
«Auto-Judge[]» Georgia (#1555) rolls Intelligence:
2 3 5 5
«Auto-Judge[]» Dalton (#8435) rolls Intelligence for "Whats up in the air!":
1 2 5 5 5 9
«Auto-Judge[]» Smoke (#1419) rolls Intelligence for "Watching":
1 1 2 4 4 5
«Auto-Judge[]» Selerik (#3004) rolls Intelligence for "Its a bird, its a plane, its..":
1 3 3 3 5 5
«Auto-Judge[]» Adam (#1093) rolls Intelligence for "Look, in the Sky. Its a bird, its a dragon. No, its Frosty the Snowman!":
2 3 4 4 5 5 7
«OOC» Adam stands on 7, afks for food before anything gets crazy.
«OOC» Smoke says, "Would like to kp if that is possible."
«OOC» Vulcan says, "Go for it."
«Auto-Judge[]» Smoke (#1419) rolls Intelligence for "Watching kp1":
1 3 4 4 7 10
«OOC» Smoke says, "Stands"
4+: OMG THERES SHIT UP THERE!

6+: The shapes above appear to be bird-like, and massive.

8+: The shapes are vaguely draconic.

10+: The shapes are draconic, but different. One is eastern… several are western, one appears to be a feathered serpent. All are massive, easily the size of a jetliner.

20+: You know Lofwyr's religion.
«OOC» Vulcan says, "Scientologist. Who knew?"

Dalton frowns, looking up at the sky, then speaks quietly to Adam "Ok, at this point, I think we should hope for the best, cause that doesn't look good."

Georgia and her friends accellerate to a full run, moving their hoops away from the lake and back towards the entrance. "What the hell is going on," she demands from Drama.

Oh. Dear. Silk looks up and then does a double-take, her exceptional eyesight taking in the moon and star-lit sky. She takes a step back and says quietly, her voice soft in the cool air, "We have company coming from on high." With that she'll take a few more steps back, moving to put the bench between her and the lake.

Smoke has the sage burning pretty well now and sets the shell at his feet. The sight above him is one of wonder, he's seen dragons twice before. But this..all of them together is just amazing. He blinks a few times and then thinks twice about going for his blade. His jaw drops, and instead of the blade he takes out his tobacco. The cigarette gets lit by pure instinct alone. He does take a moment to glance around at the reactions of others then exhales. "Dragons."

The spirits of Georgia's comrades slow their pace, a few of them laughing. "What, what the hell is going on," Georgia demands, still paniced as her freinds pat her on the back. "Scardy cat George," a few tease.

Although not an 'exciting' action, Adam takes notes to chronical the evening events.

Selerik continues, with his little cart, to try to urge people further from the lake. If a few listen, its something, as far as he is concerned.

«OOC» Vulcan says, "I would like to clarify: The peaceful mood of the lake has not changed."
«OOC» Dalton suddenly has an urge to make a joke about shooting one of them…..
«OOC» Vulcan will take another round of perception checks.
«Auto-Judge[]» Dalton (#8435) rolls Intelligence for "Percieve!!":
2 3 5 5 5 11
«Auto-Judge[]» Adam (#1093) rolls Intelligence:
1 1 3 5 9 9 10
«Auto-Judge[]» Kassandra (#9777) rolls Intelligence for "Huh?":
1 1 1 1 2 2 3 3 3 4 5
«Auto-Judge[]» Smoke (#1419) rolls Intelligence for "Looking":
1 3 4 4 8 11
«Auto-Judge[]» Kassandra (#9777) rolls Intelligence for "Huh? Karma reroll 1/?":
1 1 1 2 2 2 3 3 4 4 7
«OOC» Kassandra will stick on that
«Auto-Judge[]» Mr.Terrific (#7242) rolls Intelligence:
3 4 5 7 8 11
«Auto-Judge[]» Meat (#6865) rolls Intelligence:
2 2
«Auto-Judge[]» Georgia (#1555) rolls Intelligence for "Georgia can't find her remote most of the time…":
2 4 4 5
«Auto-Judge[]» Selerik (#3004) rolls Intelligence for "Percepshun":
1 1 1 2 3 4

6+: Yep. Dragons.

8+: Two western Great Dragons, looks like…

10+: 2 western greats, a feathered great serpent and an Eastern Great and looks like… several adult dragons of various incarnations.

From the sky, several shapes 'splash down' in to the water. Steam rises up from the water where they land, obscuring them from most eyes. Waves ripple out from them, but nothing dangerous by the time it hits shore, several of them entirely canceled out by other waves.

The mood is still rather calm out here, peaceful even. Still, with dragons possibly wanting to land nearby, Silk will continue to stay her ground with the bench between her and the lake. Fear? No, rather a mixture of respect and the knowledge that something that large needs a lot of room.

Dalton looks now at the lake, and the massive shapes there, of course he is paranoid, and tense, but the calmness of the scene is a bit relieving. He looks to Adam "So, I'm guessing these are dead dragon spirits, or maybe just a nice show for the city, cause if its anything else, I doubt we can do anything about it."

Smoke figures that fate and chance brought him here. The event is beyond what he expected and he says aloud. "Wakan Tanka make this an event of peace, they must be come for a reason of great importance." He turns to the four directions and then faces the lake again.

Mr.Terrific eventually sagely says, "It's Dragon Day here on Tiny Toons." But eventually he does take out a nice-looking camera and holds it very steady for to snap some low-light shots.

Silk remarks from where she watches the lake, directing the comment towards Dalton, "That is the honest truth." She quiets after that, chewing on her bottom lip and waiting for what will undoubtably come.

«OOC» Vulcan says, "Anyone got a dragon related knowskill?"
«OOC» Kassandra says, "Magical Threats?"
«OOC» Vulcan says, "I'll take that."
«Auto-Judge[]» Kassandra (#9777) rolls Magical Threats for "Well, they threaten SOMEONE!":
1 4
«Auto-Judge[]» Dalton (#8435) rolls Magical Threats:
2 8
«OOC» Smoke says, "Paranormal Animals, Named Spirits"
«OOC» Vulcan says, "You have all the data PA could give you, and they are nto spirits."
«Auto-Judge[]» Smoke (#1419) rolls Magical Threats:
3

Magical Threats:

4+: Uh. Yeah. It's great dragons.

6+: That one with the orange glow that suffuses her body?. That's Hestaby.

8+: THat one with the red magma-like scales and the eastern look? That's Ryumyo.

Drama pats Georgia on the back again and smiles broadly, showing rows of pointy teeth. "Not everything is a nightmare waiting to happen, George." She turns and looks the still confused woman in the eyes. "Sometimes you just have to trust things will be okay." She smiles again and the group fades away. "Don't visit any time soon, Despair."

Dalton whistles "Well, they appear real, and I think I can identify two of them. I'm tempted to go up and say hello, but I get the feeling just sitting back and watching with awe is probably a safer response."

Mr.Terrific would really love to go ask one of them for an autograph, but somehow, he thinks that that is not what they are there for, and so he is happy to watch and experience.

Shaking her head, Silk leans a hip against the bench and waits, her cloak fluttering as she considers what is going on here, what all this is really about. She keeps her own council for the moment, watching the scene that the city has been blessed wtih.

Smoke tilts his head and stands there with his lit cigarette hanging from the fingers of his left hand. He doesn't know which dragons these are but the feeling of being this near to them is awe inspiring. He glances over at Dalton, then picks up the shell with the burning sage again, letting its smoke clear his thoughts. He takes a few steps forward on his blanket in the direction of the shoreline.

The Four greats stand in the lake, only covered to the hip by its deepest portion. There are calls, ancient and draconian calls that echo in the night sky as spirits and adult dragons swirl around them. Different, distinct voices. A deep, rumbling bassoon that is the golden scaled western great, visible now that the steam has receded. A light, almost airy fluting tone that comes from the Orange great. A deep song like a cello plucked, from the red eastern, and a deep thumming like drums from the feathered serpent. They take a few perfunctory snaps at each other, before stepping back and away, creating a space between them.

Selerik is still trying to get folks away from the edge of the lake. Sure, its peaceful, and he is being nice about it, but that isn't reason enough for him to stop urging people back. Even if there are thousands of them, and one of him.

Watching the draconic forms carefully, Silk pays the utmost attention to what is going on, how the beings move, what they do and who does what to whom. It is like watching a movie in a foriegn language, you have to pay attention and piece together the story in your head. The entertaining part is how close you can get to the truth.

Dalton remains where he is, just watching the spectacle in the lake. Strangely, he is not afraid, well, a lity wary of course, but, like if they really wanted to destroy everyone, its not going to be something you can stop, so why worry? He simply watches closely, trying to glean anything he can from the encounter.

Mr.Terrific ahas. Well then; clearly they are using this time to summon the dark mountain himself. Perhaps he will bless us with some words of wisdom.

The calls of the greats do not taper, but they do grow.. pointed, perhaps. Calling to something - to someone. They are not, perhaps, addressing each other, but reaching beyond themselves. The lake vibrates with the joint power of these four Great Dragons, gods come flesh and scale of the 6th world. The lake jolts again, another deep rumble that makes the water dance. Thousands of people watch on, as the Greats shift again, moving in to a different, but similar box formation. The gold shifts that way, the feathered this way. The Great Red turns right and left, then back to center.

Smoke prays to his ancestors that all will be well. His eyes flit from detail to detail, trying to memorize each nuance of the interactions. He takes a drag on the grounding tobacco and blows the smoke up over his head. The feeling that something is happening is apparent and he tries not to blink, not wanting to miss anything.

Dalton smiles faintly "One has to take note that even as it appears several of them are cooperating, we are missing a few members, notably one thats probably in a board meeting."

Selerik sighs, finally seeming to give up on convincing people to step back. He turns towards the water, crossing his arms and leaning on the cart. "C'mon you great big ghost. They're all here to see you, so wake up and try not to eat any non-waffles sentients."

There is little she can do but watch. Silk tries to puzzle out just what they are doing, staying near the bench as if it were going to be useful in some way. Other than that, this is a movie for all intents, a sim in which the characters do things and you wait to see what it is. It isn't like she can walk on water and chat them up, now could she? That thought is immediately drug out back and shot before it gets her into trouble.

Smoke steps forward even more, still not vocalizing anything, but wanting to lend support somehow if just with mood. The feeling in the air still a good one. Maybe this is the dawn of some new age. He looks at the other experienced folk in the area that he knows and sees them hanging back as well. This is keeping him somewhat cautious.

The lake recedes another foot, a great, massive cracking sound heard on some subhuman level… The dragons raise their heads to the sky, calling in unison, joined for the first time in the same song - complimenting each other in a ritual, a communion rather than competing. It's a glorious sound, the way they harmonize with each other. A moving, stirring sound that invades the soul. It's very easy to see, in this moment, how dragons can rule the worlds past, and possibly rule the worlds future.

Selerik remains calm with his little waffle stand, watching the dragons and listening to their song. For every dragon, there is a waffle vendor somewhere, waiting to mete out justice and protect the waffle-eating masses. Or something.

Dalton remains quiet now, simply watching and waiting. No more clever little comments or quirky remarks, just anticipation. Its a little humbling really, you think you can earn some power in this world, but, when your metahuman, your still just a bug.

Quietly Silk watches the dragons call … but who? The elven woman waits, pulling her cloak around her as the breeze picks up, a chill wind that counterpoints the hopefullness of the event.

And then a new voice joins the symphony - a French horn, its blats and bleats lacking in the sophistication and skill of the others. Then another - a xylaphone, trilling in untrained energy. Another, a bugle sound that rambles endlessly, while a close mate to it, the Trumpet, forces its way to the surface.

Smoke tilts his head again, almost taking a chance at something and then deciding not to. He slowly sits back down on his blanket and just watches, cradling the shell with the burning sage in his lap. He blinks as new voices are added to the choir. His eyes shift trying to pick out auras.

Dalton just stands and watches, cause, something impressive is going to happen soon, I mean, if it didnt, man, would that be a letdown.

The new voices draw a look from Silk as she attempts to see who is making these new sounds, who the new visitors are. The elf raises a bit on tiptoes, as if that will help.

The Greats redouble their call, their song of beckoning, answered by the four new singers. The Golden Western Great takes to the air, flapping once and lifting with impossible ease. His bassoon tones call downward, neck stretched to the sky. From the water there comes a bubbling, then a gyser. From the gyser bursts forth a draco form, all wings and head. It calls, mouth opening, the trumpet sounding. It answers the Gold Dragons call, beating its way skyward.

Selerik glances around a bit at the sound of other instruments. Well damn. He frowns, looks around at the crowd for a few moments, and wheels his cart up to the water's edge. He pats through his pockets twice before finding the old mouthharp he was looking for, a dented up harmonica. He listens, does a few experimental toots to find the right pitch, and then adds his own (much quieter) note to the mix. If you can't beat them, or feed them a waffle, well..

Dalton turns, looking down at the guy with the harmonica, and suddenly has an urge to throw a stunbolt at him. He momentarily dismisses the thought and goes back to watching the dragons.

The noise from the harmonica draws a look from Silk, her nose wrinkling as if smelling something foul. Her gaze lingers on him a long moment before her attention is brought back to the lake, along with thousands of others. The four new singers take up the entirety of her attention then.

Sirrug, the Destroyer, lifts in to the air, his drum song pounding harder still, reverberating in the bones as he soars. He roars, his call discordant but matching his tempo and tenor - disruptive without out of synch with the song. From the depths, an answering call. The French horn bursts from the water, it's cerulean blue scales glinting in the astral light. It, like the other, has massive wings for its body, as it makes itsway skyward.

Dalton remains quiet and observant.

Smoke blinks at first the new dragon called by the golden one. Then his eyes are fixed on the blue. He tries very hard to remember all the different shapes and forms of them. He marvels at their song. He also tries to remember astral signatures of them if it is possible as well.

The roar draws a breath out of Silk as she watches, eyes widening at the new shapes. She waits, almost holding her breath with anticipation.

The Red Eastern, Ryumyo, takes to the air, his cello like song rising in tone and timbre. Where Sirrug was a song of discordance, his own is orderly and comported, fitting within the greater whole. He circles once, then twice, red scales glinting in the moonlight.

From below, an indigo blue dracoform launches from the water. It struggles trying to gain the air, almost dipping back in to the water before finding its wings. It rises slowly, unsteadily in to the air, to join Ryumyo… and then both rise out of sight, like the others before.

Only one, the great orange western, remains in the water. Her flute still plays on, calling to the water.

Dalton arches a brow at the scene, but remains quiet and observant, really, I mean, what else is there to do but watch, in confusion, cause no idea whats happening

Janie watches raptly at the aerial ballet of Great Dragons.

Mr.Terrific has some ideas, but it doesn't really seem as if the dragons require his personal assistance, no matter how terrific it might be. So he need only take pictures to show his hypothetical children for later.

Selerik arches one brow at the war, still leaning on the little spirit waffle cart and trying to follow the remaining dragon's flute-like melody with his harmonica. Its so peaceful, hard to imagine how anyone could mind his playing. Loftwyr is probably way worse.

The Orange Queen's flute goes unanswered still, but she continues on, calling undaunted. The water smooths, going somewhat glassy in the stillness.

Silk watches the interaction with the dragons, their calls and flights. Other noises and interuptions are things that happen to other people, something she doesn't pay attention to. Rather, she waits to see who answers the Orange Queen's call, holding her breath.

Dalton centers himself to ignore the harmonica and watch the dragons.

The Flute calls again, but is met only with silence. Again she calls. And again… only silence.

Selerik lowers his harmonica for a few moments, frowning thoughtfully. He looks up at the dragons in the sky, then around at the people watching. "Figures. Other dragons didn't care once they get what they wanted.. And no one here feels up to helping a dragon-lady out." He looks over at the dragon, squinting a bit. Maybe a dragon lady. He shrugs, lifts his harmonica, and once again adds his small sound to the dragon's song. At least he doesn't carry around a recorder flute.

Dalton watches, not really sure what to expect next, and wondering idly how long this dragon is going to call out alone.

Adam continues his scribbling in his book. By now he has settled onto a bench to tidy up the chronicaling. He checks the time quickly before adding it into the log.

Janie winces inwardly as the song goes unanswered, a sense of loss going through her. It's not /right/ for that song to remain unanswered, someone should… Her thoughts are interrupted as the harmonica begins to play.

Not much longer, it seems, as the Orange Queen rises in to the sky, water sheeting off her legs. The great dragon lofts skyward, calling out a final time, her notes trilling upwardly… then falling in to the lowest, deepest ranges she might possess.

Letting out her held breath, Silk's face falls as the Orange Queen lifts off, her voice changing. The elven woman's face displays her unhappiness for a moment before blanking to her normal, public neutral expression. Still, her eyes are haunted as she watches the lone dragon's flight.

She circles once… twice… then spirals upward and out of sight.

Selerik lowers his harmonica as the dragon takes off, leaving the waters behind. He looks down to them thoughtfully as he tucks the harmonica away again, quietly pulling the hot dog cart turned spirit waffle stand away from the water. He looks back up to the orange dragon in the sky thoughtfully as he does so, giving a small shake of his head as she disappears out of sight.

Dalton shakes his head a bit as the scene finally ends. He sighs, at least no one got killed, thats always a plus in Denver.

Silk sighs as the Orange Queen flies out of sight, gazing back at the lake for several long seconds. She looks around, then to the sky as if hopeful that something has changed, someone has answered the call. After several more seconds she'll slowly step back around the bench and sit down.

The final note is scribbled into Adam's tome. He closes it slowly— resting both hands on the leather binding.

Janie watches the Orange Queen fly away, her calls unanswered. Like most mortals present she has little to no idea of what truly happened here - but she feels a sense of loss nonetheless.

Dalton settles down on a picnic bench, watching the lake, and then the crowds, looking to see if the rift is still in operation, cause, well, bad stuff can still happen.

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