Topic: Axis Mundi

A L Bertand · Date: 2013-03-10 16:31 EST

Yggdrasil, the Bodhi tree, Jack?s beanstalk, Irminsul, the Maypole, the Cross, the Tree of Life and the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil ? bridges in our world between death and eternity. All of the literature points to these things in common, and they?re mirrored a thousand times over in ritual and edifice. Steeples, towers, minarets, altars, pyramids ? imperfect ways of getting at the same thing: men striving from this middle world of ours to reach beyond the boundaries of our natural existence. But all the stories point out some pretty plain and universal truths, the chief of which is, it?s a bad idea to go looking for shortcuts to Heaven. - Excerpted from the private research notes of Dr. A.H. Bertand, Teobern, S.A., Ann?e Standard 2013

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"Song of Wolberth, Volumes IV and V... The Halban Usurpation and Other Heresies... A Contemporary Record of Colonial Myths..." Alain slid the heavy old books into his arms and wound his way across their house in the Barony, winding his way back to the library. It was large but comfortable, tall shelves with wooden ladders for the books tucked away at the top, and a cozy sitting area near the maps and a fireplace. Sometimes he thought of it as a gift to Sophie, but truth be told he spent almost as much time in there himself. He juggled his books into one arm and pushed his hair back from his brow to rub at his eyes. 2013 was already well on its way to wearing him out.

Sophie already had another ancient book before her. When combined the documents started to paint the picture of the threat before them. Her eyes lifted to her husband as he stepped back into the room before falling back to the book before her once again. Centuries before, the parchment had been folded and sewn with ligaments attached to wooden boards and covered in stamped leather. One would expect the world's great secrets to be bound with treasure bindings but often they were left in relatively simple covers.

Her eyes slipped over to Harper's form against the backdrop of the fire, gently pushing the book marked The Codex Aureus of Karneus towards her. "This is the book that Alain and I stole from the Icecrestian Palace after the Emperor's fall. We'll give you as much as we can today but you're going to need to read them all to help us get an idea about what is to come."

Annie-Love took the book, sliding a fingertip over the printing on the cover. Codex Aureus. Her nose twitched and she reached up to slide her glasses back up where they belonged. She almost hated to turn away from the warmth of that blaze to take the volume to the table where she could inspect it. You should be relaxing in your pajamas, reading. Someone was about to get his wish.

"Who was Karneus?"

?The first de facto Emperor of Icecrest, and founder of the dynasty that preceded their union with the Halban Empire... supposedly the same as the dynasty that resumed rule after the two Empires split again." Alain slumped into a chair and pushed Wolberth's accounts across the table as well. "Wolberth visited Icecrest during the reign of Karneus III, he references several books that have been lost, that speak to their interest in Ikh-Drazul-Vit ? the Tree of Life."

"The last Emperor invited me to his Palace two summers before his fall to do some research on the Tree of Life which is referenced in the Song of Wolberth," Sophie began hesitantly. Her eyes swept to Alain and his exhaustion spurred the story forward. As much as she never liked to spill knowledge earned, they needed help. "Wolberth cited ancient Icecrestian and Halban myths which suggested that the Tree of Life could be used to create 'Heaven on Earth'. It referenced to Codex Aureus and I asked the Emperor for access but he would not allow it. He said the Codex was too dangerous. We now know why he was so concerned."

Once again, Annie-Love?s admiration for Sofia DeMuer rose a notch or two. Another example of books whose covers were deceptive. She took the Wolberth and voiced the obvious question, but quietly, as if it were unpleasant or dangerous. Her grey eyes, bright and alert behind the safety of the lenses, ticked between them two of them. "Lost things...aren't always lost. Do we know what Ad Lucem has had their hands on? Where they're getting their information?"

"I hope to learn that once I'm confirmed as Director, but I have to be careful to justify my need to know without raising any suspicion that I oppose their plans. For now, we have nothing from them, and if they do have the lost books, I imagine I'll have to earn their trust before I gain direct access." Sinning for the greater good: the thought darkened his expression, but it was not the first time he had been moved to this course of action, and he suspected it would not be the last, either.

"We do have a starting point,? he continued, ?and hopefully it will give us time to start our own search for all the puzzle pieces before Ad Lucem gets too far in theirs. Before Halbus the First invaded Icecrest, the original line of Emperors were known as the Speakers of God, revered as messengers and protectors of sacred knowledge. Wolberth refers to a medallion worn by Karneus III, said to have been given to him by his grandfather. A portrait of one of their lesser-known successors, Carolus II, shows the same medallion around his neck.

"The Medallion of Karneus was protected by the Marahan monks who lived within the Palace. But when the Palace and the Icecrestian knights fell so did the monks and the Medallion was lost," Sophie added in.

Alain nodded, and continued, "The Halban Usurpation and Other Heresies refers to three items - the Tree, the Medallion, and the Book - and the myth that from the mouth of God Himself Karneus learned all the secrets of Heaven on Earth. It was published after the Empires split again, but the author was exiled and his benefactor, a very prominent and popular cardinal, was poisoned that same year. The Emperors of Icecrest seem to have undertaken a deliberate campaign during and after the Halban Union to destroy all reference to these myths. For these reasons it seems obvious that this Medallion of Karneus is the same that was protected by the Marahan monks, and is tied somehow to the Tree of Life. Unfortunately it's unclear how, or what this Book even is..." He frowned, rubbing at his brow with one hand.

"Your Directors need to read Genesis," Annie-Love muttered, opening the Wolberth, and flipping through a few of the aged pages carefully.

Sophie lifted a shoulder in a shrug to acknowledge Harper's point before continuing. "What we do know is that all three elements are needed. The Book describes the process and the Medallion is used somehow to pull the ambrosia from the Tree. We know where the Tree of Life is. The Medallion is missing and we don't even know what the Book is."

"The ambrosia..." Alain grimaced. "Hell of a thing for them to call it." He opened the Colonial Myths to a ribbon-marked page and read, "...and once all hearts on Earth have sipped ambrosia from the Tree of Life, then Heaven on Earth shall be restored, the innocence of Adam and Eve regained, as all hearts commune with the chosen guardians of the Tree of Life, who have guided Man towards the light into an era without war or suffering; and all wicked hearts, not descended from God's chosen line of Adam and Eve, shall be burned from the Earth in a cleansing fire."

"I suspect," Alain added slowly, "that the Directors of Ad Lucem see themselves as the 'chosen guardians.' But I'll learn that firsthand soon enough, God willing."

That there were logical difficulties in that passage was a minor understatement. Which Earth? How was the ambrosia shared? How many races would perish in 'cleansing fire' and what made them think that was a good thing? All of these thoughts swirled behind Harper?s eyes until she was scowling blindly at the open page of the book below her fingertips. "I suspect you're right." She looked up, blinking rapidly as she refocused.

Sofia drew in a deep breath before releasing it slowly, trying to keep the fear that wiggled its way up her spine at bay. Even here. Even inside the library of their well-protected Teobern home, she felt they were watching. Despite the heat of the fire, a hand reached up to rub absently at the goose flesh crawling down her arms. "We simply have to understand first. We have to beat them to the information."

"Exactly. All of this covers what we know. Whatever we don't know we'll either be learning from Ad Lucem or finding before they do, and every piece our agents find," his eyes slid between them, "needs to be shown to one of us at this table before we decide what to pass on to Director Rae. Which brings us to our second task. What do we know about this woman? She's the knife Ad Lucem has placed at our throats in case anything goes wrong. Queries sent by the Directors to SPI lead me to believe she'll be placed there for the duration of this mission, to watch all of us. I know she comes from an old Earth family, with a long political history. What about her friends? Who are her closest relatives? Who are her lovers?"

Alain lowered his hands from his brow to fold them on the edge of the table. "Ad Lucem has demonstrated they aren't willing to leave any options off the table. I don't intend to either."

(Adapted from live play)

A L Bertand · Date: 2013-03-12 23:59 EST

Yggdrasill ? Odin?s Horse. In Old Norse, ?drasill? means "horse" and ?Yggr? is one of Odin's many names. In some of the stories, Odin sacrificed himself by hanging from a tree, called in the various stories alternately ?Yggdrasill? or ?Odin?s Gallows,? or the ?horse of the hanged.?

The tree is described to have three roots, stretching into three pools of water. The first went down to Hvergelmir, the ?bubbling boiling spring? in the abode of Hel, land of cold and ignominy. The second reached into the M?misbrunnr, the pool of wisdom and knowledge. The third stretched to the heavens, to the well of Uror, or Fate. At this pool, the Gods held their councils. - Excerpted from the private research notes of Dr. A.H. Bertand, Teobern, S.A., Ann?e Standard 2013

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The Tower was busier than it had been in months: the Division was already fully restaffed, having been merged into what remained of SPI proper, and in the process of adding new faces. In the wake of the Architect's defeat they had virtually nothing to work on, passively monitoring political instability in areas of interest and keeping an eye on the slave trade; now they were the eyes and ears of Ad Lucem. What the Directors required, SPI now acquired and disseminated to their agents.

Alain observed the activity on the bottom floor of the inward-looking Tower, from the broad window of a conference room on the top level. He could almost feel the meat in his shoulders tying into knots as he watched his people marching to the beat of an alien drum. "I don't like it," he confessed quietly to Annie-Love as they waited for the Director to arrive. It was an obvious thing to say, but it felt good to say it all the same.

Director Maureen Rae's heels clipped a short staccato beat in time with that drum. It was her drum, after all. It led to the conference room where it came to a halt so that she could tuck her file folders under her arm and open the door. A sunny smile sparked to life at the sight of Baron DeMuer and Harper already gathered. "Good morning!"

"Morning." He managed a fraction of a smile, appearing as cool as he usually was in this setting and no colder.

Annie-Love left off her study of the framed print on the wall over the credenza, a print she'd admired at least a thousand times since Ad Lucem took a firmer presence in the Tower, and turned back to face the other two. Her small smile grew by degrees too warm for a greeting of the Director. "Good morning."

Alain's coolness never seemed to dim her smile. It was always full of sunshine. The same smile was then turned on Harper. "You are looking exhausted, dear. You should get more rest," she chided in a low tone as she took a seat, setting her files down on the table before her.

"I have a touch of something, I think. I'll be fine once it passes," Annie-Love assured her pleasantly as she moved to take a seat nearer Maureen than Alain. There was no concealing the talk of their training match - it had spread through the Order and the Division alike. So she let the appearance of animosity between them linger here.

"I'm afraid a full night's rest is a violation of company policy." Alain made his way to his seat. "Ja'ir turned out as we anticipated. Morana's people covered their tracks well, but we believe they discovered what we did: that the Upland has nothing of value to offer us. The Tree is dead or dying, which fits well with the age we were able to approximate: nearly 4,400 years."

"A shame," Maureen murmured under her breath as she watched Annie-Love?s eyes flicker upward briefly. It was just short of anything so disrespectful as an eye roll for the Baron. Interesting. Maureen unzipped her black folder to pull the pen free from its holder so that notes can be taken. "The Ad Lucem Directors had high hopes that we may be able to learn more from her research."

"They scattered like roaches when the lights came on," a touch of bitterness bled into Annie-Love?s voice. "If we knew where they'd gone to ground afterwards, we might know more."

Maureen?s eyes bounced to Alain as he began to speak. "And you've seen how much luck we've had tracking them since. Benandanti himself may still hold the research, but I murdered his wife. I doubt he'll be doing me any favors."

"More likely you than me," she shot back like this had been something they'd been over before. She was not cozying up to her ex for love nor money.

Alain gave a Gallic shrug in reply to her temper. "Which limits us to following bread crumbs."

"Your own fault," Harper muttered and clicked her pen to take notes.

Maureen green eyes noted one bitter exchange after the next. She broke into this one, cutting it short. "He is an untrustworthy source of advice on how to proceed anyway. I would much rather trust our own research. Some within Ad Lucem feel that Icecrest may have more information to offer. However, I fear that the Revolutionary forces are not particularly fond of Ad Lucem. Their feelings on established religions has left our organization and personnel rather unwelcome in their midst."

"There are always agents from the colonial resistance. They operated with impunity during the war and continue to assist with..." Eyes lifted to the ceiling as Alain searched his mind for the term, one familiar enough from his own country's civil war, "...ideological assimilation. Given enough research and preparation, we could have one of SPI's people, or Ad Lucem's, posing as a resistance agent."

"Resistance agents aren't going to gain access to the former Palace ... or the ?Glorious Hall of the People's Victory? as they seem to be calling it now." Maureen?s pen was set down and her arms crossed over her paperwork on the table. The pitch of her voice was set to offer her own knowledge up readily, but while she framed it as a secret spilled, it was hardly information that they didn't already have access to themselves. "When Sofia and I summered in Frigj?ringen to assist the Emperor with the translation from ancient Icecrestian and Latin, we were only allowed access to a small piece of the archives in the maze beneath the Palace. Ad Lucem and I believe that some of his documents were far older and far more valuable."

Annie-Love shifted on her seat, leaning away from Alain and settling in a little more attentively to hear Maureen out. "Would they have moved the Archives, do you think?"

"We would have seen that, of course." He almost laughed. "The Archives are still where they've always been... and according to the latest intelligence, the revolutionary government still isn't aware of the back door. I've been in there before, and I can get a team in now, completely unseen. No need for a cover story if they don't know we're there to begin with."

"You want to go yourself." Harper stated in a flatly disbelieving tone.

"I was living in a war zone while you were at your prom," he countered with a wry twist, and turned his eyes to Maureen and pressed, "My leadership roles are irrelevant here. It's my experience that counts. I'm the man for this job."

"Jeg kommer til a kaste opp," Harper muttered in her husband?s native Icecrestian. I?m going to throw up. It was a slight variation of her recent mantra and it fit her sentiments exquisitely. "I wonder if the council would agree with you. You should confer with Kroeger on that one, and see what he says."

"The Speaker is only cleared for access to Level 10 intelligence at the Baron's own discretion." This time he did make direct eye contact, all the better to give her a s***-eating grin.

"Hm," Maureen mused absently, amusement filling her eyes as she listened to the pair bicker. Should a Baron-led team be caught in Icecrest, the operation could easily be written off as solely the work of St. Aldwin and having nothing to do with Ad Lucem. A faint smile crossed her lips. "Experience is what will be important in this mission. I agree that the Baron leading a team is the best option."

"Then it's decided.? Alain replied. ?I assume my team will be Ad Lucem agents. Your knowledge of Icecrestian lore goes deeper than SPI's."

Maureen let her lips sink into a casual smile. A handful of agents would be easy to distance themselves from. An entire team? "I think a nice mix might be best. We will provide two Ad Lucem agents well-researched on these matters and use two SPI agents. Josefina Anadottir will be one. If we have a native speaker within SPI's ranks, we should use her. And perhaps Colton Daniels since he just returned from Icecrest.?

"The bloodhound?" He relented with a soft sigh. "Someone had better pack a leash. But we can work with it. He knows the area."

"Perfect." The word rang out with singsong glee as Maureen slid her pen back in place, watching as Harper?s mouth clamped shut, her jaw ticking at the dig against Colt. "Was there anything else?"

"Any word on releasing the eighty million marks in aid? Or is that still being processed?" Alain's cooperation with Ad Lucem was no reason to pretend he was not annoyed about the delayed promise of humanitarian assistance.

"I spoke with them only yesterday about it. So much red tape, I'm sure you understand. But the process is getting close. I feel the end of the road is coming up soon.? Alain's questions did not stop Maureen from flipping the folder shut as if they were not important enough to warrant a full conversation.

He eyed her a moment before dipping his chin. "I'll be sure to pass that along to the shelters. I wouldn't want you to go to the trouble.?

(Adapted from live play)

Sofia DeMuer · Date: 2013-03-14 07:58 EST

I find the Maraharan monks absolutely fascinating. Their faith seems composed of a hodgepodge of Buddhist, Hindu, even Christian teachings. It?s difficulty to even say if they are mono or polytheistic. They are secretive and while the religion is much more popular in the southern reaches of this world, the monk-warriors (and their even more enigmatic priestess counterparts) are highly respected as teachers, philosophers, researchers, counselors, and healers. They have, thus far, politely declined my requests to study in their library while I am here assisting in translating some of the ancient artifacts within the Emperor?s collection. I am not willing to give up easily, though. - Excerpted from the private journal of Sofia Rhovnik -- Frigj?ringen, Icecrest -- July 2008

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The nice thing about the Baron and Baroness having their RhyDin residence in New Haven was that they were close to so many things. Shops, restaurants, the business center of town, the Lodge. That was fortunate for Annie-Love's pocketbook, because she was reluctant to drive directly from the Tower to visit with Sofia these days. The sense of being watched was increasingly strong recently. If they were tracking her, for some reason, they would see her vehicle traveled from the office to the Lodge, where she was staying while her house was being painted and fumigated. Her short cab ride from the church lot near the Lodge and the cafe near the Baron's townhome would hopefully be unremarkable. She walked the rest of the way.

It was interesting how differently their meetings were seen in RhyDin and in St. Aldwin. Spending time together in RhyDin, even if it were purely for friendship with no ulterior motives, was something that had to be snuck in and was viewed by some within the Ad Lucem-infused SPI as dangerous. In St. Aldwin, their frequent lunches, teas, and shopping trips barely raised an eyebrow. It was only natural, it seemed, that the wife of the Baron and the wife of the Knight-Commander be close friends.

The knight on duty at the gate greeted Annie-Love warmly. The Baroness was in the back of the house, in the sunroom, she was told. Annie-Love was grateful for the friendly face, and for the quiet companionship and support of the knights. Their relationship with her had grown from shaky mistrust and confusion (who was she and why was she here, again?) to a camaraderie based partly on her sheer tenaciousness, but she really felt part of them now. In a real way, staying at the Lodge when she couldn't be home with Luca was comforting. She hadn't thought of it that way at first, but days like this reminded her of that.

She thanked him and stepped inside, peeling out of her outerwear on her way through the house to the comfortable room.

With its floor to ceiling windows and tile floor covered by a natural hand-woven rug, the space was an ode to her old Southern home. Sophie was curled up in the corner of a loveseat with an old book in hand. Gone was her carefully put together look from the church. She'd already changed into jeans and a long sleeve Duke t-shirt. Pale blue eyes lifted from the book as Annie-Love entered the room. A smile followed. "Hey, you."

"Hey," she said, feeling as tired suddenly as Maureen had accused her of looking. "Sorry to just drop by like this."

"Harper," Sophie chastised softly, motioning towards a chair, gently closing the book rather than snapping it shut due to its age. "You're welcome anytime. You want me to put some tea on?"

?No, no. I'm fine for now. Don't get up." She draped her coat over the back of the chair and sank into it gratefully. Long day. "Have you talked to Alain yet?"

Sophie?s laugh was bright and airy. "Oh, Maureen. She had such a crush on one of the Emperor's knights that summer we spent in Icecrest. You know... come to think of it, I believe it was Luca's cousin."

"She mentioned she was there with you. Was she this much of a pain in the ass then?" Harper?s mouth crooked up wryly.

"She likes to shine." That was the entirety of the diplomatic reply from the Baroness. Her lips briefly thinning at some distant memory of that summer. "But my husband believes he is going to lead a team into Icecrest. What he forgets is that he is not the only person who knows where that back door is located."

Harper nodded, laying her head against the cushioned chair back. "I don't think they'll be ready to go for at least two weeks. They're being careful with the arrangements and of course, they need their immersion packet from my group." She let that hang there, inviting Sophie's throughs without expressly asking.

"At least. Maybe longer. Maureen's team is also going to have to put together a way of figuring out what to take and how to keep it safe during transport." One leg was tucked under her, the other foot planted before her on the couch, leaving the peak of her knee as a perfect resting spot for her chin for a brief moment. When she spoke, her chin was lifted. "We can use all of their plans. We just go in two days before them."

That was what precisely she wanted to know. They were thinking along the same lines, then. She had a lot to think about, but until they had more data analyzed and compiled, there was no point spinning down that rabbit hole. So she turned a completely different direction. "Luca's cousin, hm? What was he like?"

"I met him five or six years ago this summer. His name was Sir Jacob Bertand. Tall, blonde, chiseled good looks. He and Luca were quite close. Two sides of the same coin."

"What was he like? What were they like, I suppose..." She'd gathered they were close. This fit with the little she knew.

"Hilarious. Very charming. I could certainly understand why Maureen was taken with him." Sophie?s elbow rested on the arm of the chair, the side of her cheek settling into her hand. "Luca was quieter. His straight man. They didn't have a shortage of admirers. Handsome Bertand knights. It was all about what you wanted. Blonde, charming, and easy-going or tall, dark, and mysterious."

She could imagine, a bit. She had often let her mind wander that direction, peeling years and cares off of the man she knew and trying to piece together the sort of man he'd been before life had proven its potential for cruelty. She didn't imagine she'd be tempted elsewhere, though. Not knowing him as she did now.

"What happened to him? Do you know?"

"You know how things are when a government falls, particularly in such a chaotic, bloody fashion. The Maraharan monks and the Emperor's knights fell the night the Palace was taken. Rumor has it that some of the knights escaped, some were imprisoned. Most were killed in the fighting. Sir Jacob was assumed to be among the dead. Luca...." Sophie?s head tilted to the side slightly as she attempted to remember the details. "He wasn't present. He was not in town when the Emperor fell which is unusual since the knights had returned to the capital to protect to the Emperor when things started to get out of hand. Nobody has ever given me a definitive answer as to where Luca was the two days leading up to the fall until the point that he joined the Fifth Street Militia where Seamus was under cover. I've asked but he said it wasn't something he could discuss."

Harper had no light to shed there, but when she coupled this detail in her head with the depth of his emotional reaction at not being with the knights who fell in the latest battle, her contextual understanding of her child's father grew. She sighed, wrapping her arms tighter around herself. "I suppose there's no chance of finding out for sure, when we're there?"

It was clear by the look on Sophie's face -- a face used to schooling emotion -- that she thought any hope was false. Sir Jacob was dead in her mind. Her smile was sympathetic, though, and she lifted a shoulder in a shrug. "We can keep our eyes open, certainly."

A L Bertand · Date: 2013-03-14 21:14 EST

In the beginning, the three great brother-Gods were Odin, Vili and Ve. Together, the brothers created Midgard, the middle-world of men, from the body of the slain giant, Ymir. Flesh and bones and teeth comprised the soil, mountains and stones, which they watered with rivers of blood. They fashioned the great dome of the sky from Ymir's skull and that barrier that enclosed the middle-world was reinforced with the giant?s eyebrows, preventing the inhabitants of this hollow world from reaching beyond their realm to the land of giants outside. Only when this barrier was in place did they take an oak log and an ash log and breathe life into them. These were sentient trees, gifted with cognition, emotion and sensation: the first men, Ask and his wife, Embla. Adam and Eve. - Excerpted from the private research notes of Dr. A.H. Bertand, Teobern, S.A., Ann?e Standard 2013

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They talked about it first over soup and sonograms, hidden in the corner of a quirky cafe that Ten had found. So, I think I need a pilot, was the overture. And Tenacity had agreed after a brief discussion about risk tolerance and how much their husbands needed to know. It was settled. All that remained to be hashed out were the details.

They took care of that in the middle of a blizzard.

"More apple cider? I can warm it up for you. Are you cold? I'll get more wood." Ten fussed over Annie-Love to mask her worry over Colt, who?d been gone for hours hunting Summer in the snowstorm. The two women were alone; there wouldn?t be a better time.

"Actually...." Annie-Love pushed herself up out of the chair she?d been curled in and stretched. "Cider sounds good... but I just thought of something I wanted to show you. Let me grab my bag." There was a tension, and edgy tightness around her eyes and mouth: Colt bleeding through the bond. Nevertheless, she smiled and patted Ten?s arm as she passed her. "I'll bet it's better spiked, if you want some, too."

Ten returned from the kitchen with two glasses just in time to see Harper setting up a strange little device about the size of a telephone handset with a cluster of stubby antennae on the coffee table. She wasted no time lifting both brows, shooting the other woman a glance, and sighing into her first sip of apple cider and a pinch of Everclear to taste. Spies.

"This is a signal jammer. If Colt's brought home any unwanted friends, they won't hear us talking. Unfortunately, nothing will come through on our cell phones while this is on either, so we'll try to make this quick. And don't sigh. I'm being tracked. We found a dot on my truck twice now. I have every reason to suspect my known cell is also being monitored, which is why I gave Colt the other phone he keeps laughing at me about."

Somewhere between the words 'unwanted friends' and 'being tracked', Ten?s eyes turned a pale green and her attention shifted over her shoulder. She felt her skin start to crawl over the idea of it. With her jaw clenched, she returned her gaze to Harper and extended the hand holding the non-alcoholic drink. Talk.

"Icecrest." She reached out for the mug and set it aside, so she could pull the next thing out of her bag: a sheaf of papers, including maps that she shouldn't have. "You still in this one?"

"You still pregnant and going on a risky mission?" There may have been a brief twitch of a smile.

?Oh, this'll be a piece of cake. Easy in and out. No one'll even know we're missing." She hoped. "Besides... it'll be nice for my baby to see her father's fatherland."

"Uh huh." Ten chuffed that time, and took another heavy swallow of her drink as she circled the table to get in a look at the maps. "And this doesn't tie in to you being tailed, does it?"

Annie-Love met her gaze directly, a shoulder rising. "You know, sometimes, there's a reason you hate your boss. I should, in the interest of honestly, tell you that we're going to be preempting a mission she was planning for your husband, Alain, and a few of her men. I think our odds of success are better. Smaller detail. Won't be as obvious. Sophie's fluent. She spent extended time there and knows the city and the people. I've picked up enough to get by with our cover."

"Huh. Hence why we're not telling Colt." The brunette reached down to flip a few page corners back, her irises going from yellow to black as she gobbled up a few quick lines with her gaze. "Okay. So. Ideally, what are we looking at? Time-wise, whatever-wise?"

"A week from now at the latest. In and out in 24 if everything goes the way we hope. Our cover is we're representatives of a merchant guild, there to acquire a shipment of fish, and to try to work out a trade channel for goods coming back. From what we?ve learned of things there after the last reconn, they?re very regimented. We're going to need you to help keep our cover intact by negotiating a contract between our company and their customs agent at the landing field. They won't expect you to speak Icecrestian. You're going to be the emissary for our group. Sophie and I will be working for you. You'll send us to go pick up the fish, and while we're out, we'll make contact with her friend and see what we can get."

She ticked a look back up to Annie-Love. "I'm your boss, huh? Wait. I'm her boss? I knew my charm would pay off someday. I'm assuming that's why you need me." The humor bubbled under her words, but died again before a laugh could take hold. "And we aren't going as ourselves?" Something in the tone suggested she meant something a little deeper than simple names.

"No?physical disguises. She's already working on travel papers, false identities, visas, etcetera to match our cover story. I don't know our names yet. Your plane's registration records will even show up for them under your alias when they pull the records."

"Thank you for that clarification," she drawled harmlessly. "Glad she's working on the registration -- that was my next question. I have a person, but I'd rather not tap him if I don't have to." Her lips pursed as she tilted another page to look at it. "And we're sure Sophie isn't recognizable over there?"

"I'm not completely convinced. But they have a certain image of her. She won't be that person. The assistant procurer for a fish merchant? Not it. And given the political climate and the calls for her coronation in St. Aldwin? They would never expect her to return to Icecrest in a million years."

Tenacity narrowed her eyes speculatively, but she nodded and tapped her lower lip with her thumb. "Right, right." She chuffed, again. "It is sort of brilliant to have her be a procurer. Going to be fun to see her tone down the, you know, regality."

Annie-Love?s grin crooked up, and there was a shared amusement there. "Don't underestimate Soph. She's something else. In fact, I wouldn't risk this with anyone but the two of you."

The pilot?s response was to do the only thing that felt right: she pulled a face and drowned her smile in a drink.

(Adapted from live play)

Sofia DeMuer · Date: 2013-03-17 15:09 EST

This new ?Movement of the People? makes me a little uneasy. It consists of a very strong push against the Emperor but the elements are very communist but more post WWI Russia than a Utopian Walden shove. Being the hub of so many nexus portals has left Icecrest much like Russia in that it is difficult to invade but so often tried. I feel that the Emperor truly would consider some more democratic measures if some sort of grassroots movements started but the brash, bold stance of this Movement of the People has only left him defensive and irate which, of course, is just the sort of reaction that gives fuel to such a flame. The people want the security of a strong central government. The idea of a congress debating matters endlessly makes them uneasy. I fear, though, if this Movement takes off, they will have handed over any freedom they have to a much harder master. - Excerpted from the private notes of Sofia Rhovnik -- Frigj?ringen, Icecrest -- July 2008

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Surplus military planes were a dime a dozen. It hadn't been difficult at all for someone with the resources of Sofia DeMuer to get her hands on an old but mechanically sound cargo airplane with short takeoff and landing capability. Some Aldrian missionaries now had a new sleek surplus bush plane and the unscheduled and unauthorized mini-Icecrestian expedition had a plane that could not be traced back to the Barony of Saint Aldwin.

Older often meant quirkier, though. While the plane was reliable, the cargo ramp was testy. By the time Sophie figured out in which order the buttons needed to be pushed to lower the ramp, a trio of Tollerne -- Icecrestian customs agents -- were standing at the bottom sporting impatient expressions.

Annie-Love tugged the band in her hair tighter, dressed in a working jumpsuit that matched Sophie's. They were, after all, the grunts on this expedition, here to pick up a load of the little Icecrestian mackeral that were a regional delicacy and difficult to find of that quality anyplace else. It was a plausible story. She ducked in a breath and shot Ten a reassuring smile.

At the other end of that gangplank, the Tollernes of the Frigj?ringen central port, were not smiling. They'd drawn the incoming plane for a random search, but the delay in letting them board was raising flags among the four men waiting.

"You're the pilot of this outfit. It has to look like you're in charge. You speak and I'll translate," Sophie whispered under her breath to the other brunette

On the tarmac, the uniformed quartet shifted, and one of them turned to the other three, gesturing toward the plane as the ramp's mechanicals whined before the metal plank hit the ground.

She barely trembled a nod over to Sophie as she turned to face the men. She had all their forged documents at the ready in her left hand while her right gently adjusted the suit of the blazer. The relaxed 'suit' had her looking the part of a decent enough business type, just above middle-of-the-road. Too flashy wouldn't have fit the look of the plane.

Four sets of boots clomped up the ramp for the door of the plane. "Papirene, takk." The first man said as he boarded, a hand out toward the apparent leader of the group. Papers.

"He's asking for the papers," Sophie murmured under her breath.

Which she had assumed, but the confirmation made the motion of her arm more certain. The file she gave over was split into three parts by dividers: her "workers'" documents, her own papers, and the plane's at the back. She didn't smile, but the corners of her mouth angled up just barely.

He remained there, flipping through them and studying each document carefully. The men with him? Moved past him and the women and started inspecting the cabin.

Sophie casually crossed her arms over her jumpsuit. Brown hair was held back in a low bun, half lost so that she appeared interrupted in the middle of a difficult day of work. Her eyes followed the men's rounds briefly before settling back on the one in charge. "Dette er v?r pilot, Anna Cassel. Jeg vil oversette for henne." This is our pilot, Anna Cassel. I will translate for her.

He glanced up, blue eyes touching on her face briefly and then back down to the papers, flipping through page by page, crisply.Behind them, the three men were talking as they went through everything, flipping seat cushions up, tapping at where they were bolted to the floor, examining the empty cargo hold.

Ten didn't turn once, not even when she heard the rifling really begin. She'd been through an inspection or four before and could identify some of the sounds. She kept her gaze steady on the man studying their official papers. "Excuse me, sir, but do you have an idea on how long we'll be held up? I was hoping to get to the market rather soon. Fresh catches go quick." Polite, but precise.

The agent's sharp blue eyes turned up at Tenacity's question. As Sophie began to translate the statement, he held up a hand to stop her. The pilot was studied for a moment before a smirk flickered across his lips and then died. His English was heavy with a Germanic accent but clear enough. "As long as it takes us."

If he'd been looking for a hint of nervousness, he was instead met with a brief smile that clearly didn't sink much deeper than her lips. He'd faced impatient people before in this line of work, no doubt -- but he'd also faced the people who were smart enough not to draw out the process by being rude. "My apologies. Of course."

"Hva?" one of the men in the back murmured.

?Se p? dette?" the same man asked, pulling the bundles of their street clothes from Teobern out of a bag. The other men came to peer into it. "Gjorde de endre sine kl?r?" Another responded to the 'what is this' with 'did they change their clothing?'

"Okay. This is not good," Sophie whispered in a low tone to the pair of women as the head agent swept past them towards the other three.She pivoted slowly to let her eyes follow to the commotion. One of the agents was holding up one of her designer boots as two others debated the cost of such footwear. While they disagreed if it could buy the plane they were standing in or not, they did seem to agree that the boots were expensive. "Definitely not good."

Ten turned as well, but she didn't let Sophie's murmur shake her expression. She stayed placid on the surface even as the atmosphere of the cabin shifted. "I always bring changes of clothes. Fish leave a terrible stink. I don't like to make the ladies suffer through a trip wtih a stench." Maybe that explained some of it. Maybe.

Three separate plastic bags were pulled out. Diamonds rings in two of them, a sapphire ring in the third and all paired with wedding bands. The conversation as to whether or not the clothes found cost more than the plane was settled with the discovery. The head agent's steely blue eyes lifted to the women. "You three are going to have to come with us."

"Oh, come on," Harper finally spoke, turning a beguiling smile on the men and taking a few steps toward them. "Surely it's not illegal to be married here?"

When she moved their way, the leader of the group reached for his holstered radio. Before he could reach it, she'd pulled a small semi-automatic pistol out of her flight suit pocket and leveled it on them. "Stopp." It sounded the same in both languages.

Two of the four heeded the order. The head agent with his clipboard full of paperwork was rooted to the fuselage while the one holding the bags only widened his eyes when the gun came out. Unfortunately, the youngest looking -- a lanky ginger-haired man who was more boy than agent -- immediately reached out roughly for Soph's arm to pull her in as a shield and the stout pitbull of the pack pulled the gun from its side holster to shove it in towards Tenacity's ribs.

"You're hurting me," she told the muscle in a nearly convincing tone. It was a long enough distraction for her to switch from looking like she'd surrender easily to ducking back. The next actions were quick enough to be over in a blink: she got one hand on his wrist and the other on the top of the gun, and while keeping her torso out of the line of fire, she cranked her arm around to pivot the muzzle towards his body and pulled his wrist enough to wrench the gun free. The only hint of a scramble was when she awkwardly repositioned the gun in her hands to aim it at him.

Sophie timed her attack with Ten's so that the distraction of the struggle would be a disorienting advantage. Her elbow struck out backwards towards the young man's ribs. It connected with his solar plexus, driving the air from his lungs. A quick pivot on the balls of her feet turned her to face him. Her leg was brought up and then back down in an axe kick. The back of her heel connected with the back of his head as he doubled over in pain and it fell as he fell.

Harper gave the two who hadn't fought a tilt of her head and a small smile. "See how much sweeter I am?"

"You're a gem," Soph stated in reply to Harper on behalf of the men as she turned from the unconscious man at her feet to dig through a crate. Zip ties. They were so handy. She tossed a set to Ten before outstretching two more to Harper. "Can you please make him put down those bags? It's bad enough that I'm here without my husband's knowledge. I don't want to have to go back and tell him an inspection agent made off with my engagement ring on top of it.? With a fourth set, Sophie dipped to a crouch to yank the arms of the man lying on the fuselage behind his back

"What's 'down'? Ned or oh, never mind, It's not opp." She gestured with her gun at the man holding their things. "Ned."

"I'm fairly certain mine would murder me if that happened," Ten chimed in, making a motion to get on the floor with the gun. She apparently didn't need a translation for that. The attack dog of a man spat a few words out under his breath as he lowered down onto his belly. She waited until she was sure she had him secure to work on zip-tying him. It took her a little longer, seeing as she had little practice with them.

"It would be just my luck," Annie-Love murmured under her breath to Sophie, the gun leveled on the agents, "to lose the Bertand family jewels." The man dropped the bag, their rings inside it, and she made them lie down, too, as soon as Sophie or Ten was free enough to cover one while she zip-tied the first.

The gun in the holster of the unconscious man was collected and stretched out to Ten. A smile briefly crossed her lips at Harper's statement. Had their plans not just been greatly altered she would have stolen a moment to laugh. But now...they had a limited number of minutes.

"We have four or five hours tops," she stated as she rose to her feet. "Someone will notice them missing at shift change. It means the library is out. We'll get to the lighthouse to meet up with the professor and see what he has to offer."

Sophie's pale blue eyes swept over to Ten. "We'll need the plane ready to go at a moment's notice. Are you okay on your own with these four?"

She pursed her lips and scanned the group of men as she gently put one gun down and kept the other on the man still on his belly below her. "Yeah. Let's make this easier, though? Blondie, I know you like touching strange men -- mind doing a few pat downs? Radios off and weapons off, we'll put them in a group where I can reach them and they can't. We'll move the lot of them over there?" She gestured with her chin towards a clear spot of wall behind one of the seats, away from the crates. She wanted as much visibility as possible. She tipped her head back to Sophie. "Mind covering her? I'm going to get the duct tape. Not that I think they'll be particularly chatty..."

The thoroughness of Ten's orders caused a smile to spread across Sophie's face. The smile was turned on Harper, eyes sparkling with amusement. For a moment, Sophie allowed her mother's southern drawl to slip through, coloring her words. "Aw. I think your girl has gone and grown into a spy."

((Adapted from live play.))

A L Bertand · Date: 2013-03-23 15:06 EST

?The ideas of the ruling class are in every epoch the ruling ideas, i.e. the class which is the ruling material force of society, is at the same time its ruling intellectual force. The class which has the means of material production at its disposal, has control at the same time over the means of mental production, so that thereby, generally speaking, the ideas of those who lack the means of mental production are subject to it. The ruling ideas are nothing more than the ideal expression of the dominant material relationships, the dominant material relationships grasped as ideas.? Karl Marx, The German Ideology, 1932

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Through the old heart of the city wound cobblestone streets of a pale rock in a sad state of disrepair. The new regime seemed to have little money to waste on it. By the number of armed guards on every street corner, it would seem most of Icecrest's exorbitant taxes went to security. The vehicle that had been stolen near the airport was abandoned as the streets grew narrower and foot traffic heavier. Annie-Love and Sofia kept their heads down as they passed the guards. They walked with purpose because rarely was one's destination and intentions questioned if one walked with confidence in their direction.

The Borgund Foundation for Learning was housed within the former Borgund stave church, standing a mere several hundred yards from the Maraharan monks' temple and what had once been the Imperial Palace but now served as administrative offices for the cumbersome and overpaid bureaucracy. Vertical wooden boards fitting together like a puzzle made up the walls and the church's roof rose in six grand tiers with four carved eagles in mid-flight soaring from the crests of the roof ridges. Yet, there wasn't a holy man or woman in sight of the grand church or its well-manicured grounds.

"There is no place in the new Empire for religion," Sophie explained under her breath, her eyes lifting just slightly. "Not much of one for higher education and discovery either. Colleges, after all, always seem to be where civil unrest starts. Therefore, the new guard shut down all of the universities. Professors are all now employed by the state. They work here now. I suppose the administration feels it best to keep them close."

She sighed inwardly as they approached the former church building. It was at least twice as large as the little stave church in Sainte-Ouen where she and Luca had been married, and she could see now the love and longing for home that had gone into the building of it by the refugee community there who had tried to recreate, in some small degree, some of what they had lost.

"It sounds like Marxist Russia," she whispered. "And your contact is still here? What do they teach now?"

"Nothing. The chapel is the only lecture hall but it rarely is used except for occasional poetry readings exalting the regime. He writes papers and studies Icecrestian historical documents and artifacts. But his papers are never published. They're buried. The new regime is about progress. There is also no room for history."

A well-dressed older gentleman walked up to the grand double doors which were pulled open for him by one of the guards positioned on either side. Without pause and with barely a nod to the guard, the man entered. However, Sophie and Annie-Love did not follow him. Not dressed in work clothes with their hair twisted in up in messy up-dos. In their coveralls from the plane and the shabby jackets they'd brought for the trip, they looked like nothing more than a pair of factory or warehouse workers. Their cover would hold here. Nobody watches the help.

Instead of entering through the grand double doors, Soph up-nodded towards a delivery truck parked near a side door. A man in coveralls similar to theirs was rolling a cart down the ramp. With a flash of a bright smile, Soph hurried forward towards the door, reaching to pull it open for him. "La meg f? d?ren for deg." Let me get the door for you.

Harper was glad she'd left all her jewelry in the bag and not just her rings. She kept pace with Sophie, just another servant reporting for work, a comrade among comrades as the delivery driver pushed his trolley up the ramp and inside the door Sophie held open for him. Hands in her pockets, Harper said nothing. Once he was through, Sophie's eyes found Annie-Love's face and she tilted her head into the building with a sly smile. After you, it seemed to say.

She wasted no time in following Sofia's urging, stepping into the (relatively) warm building. They'd studied the plans for the place that SPI had on file, gathered around the time the Emperor had fallen, knowing that the layout could well have changed but counting on the fact that most of the offices and storerooms they would want would be below street level. The bulk of the church building above ground was the main hall with its open, soaring ceiling.If things were still where they expected... as the man with the trolley kept going toward the public office behind the sanctuary, she counted doors and turned a knob - bingo. The staircase, and it was lit.

"Despite the encounter on the plane, we're right on time," Sophie murmured after a glance at her watch as she closed the door behind them. The wrist was dropped and she jogged to catch up with Harper. "You doing okay?"

"I'm just dandy," Annie-Love confirmed with a cant of her head toward the stairs and a wry grin. Her cheeks were a little flushed from the brisk walk outside, but she seemed energized by the activity.

For now, that was enough to reassure Sofia. "Good, good. Take a right after we go through this door and his office is the second on the left."

"A right, and left on two," she repeated back, taking another breath and stepping through the door ahead of Sophie. wrapping herself in the facade of a worker bee in the communist hive. She walked down the hall like she was supposed to be there, trusting that Sophie was right behind her.

They weren?t alone.

They hung close to the wall to stay out of the way as they were passed by a pair of rumpled professors discussing the current state of fish exports in low hushed voice. Soph slipped past Harper once the pair of men passed so that her hand fell on the knob of the door first. In was an unspoken demand to be allowed to enter first. If things went terribly wrong, they would go wrong to Sophie first. She twisted the knob and pushed open the door of the office.

Sometimes it was like their roles were reversed. Harper had gone into the hallway first for the same reason, to shield Sofia in the event that someone was waiting for them. Nothing that they'd seen in the capitol so far had made her feel easy, despite anything she said. She would have objected now, if she wasn't afraid it would draw attention.

Annie-Love closed the door behind them, hanging back against the door and ping-ponging her gaze around the room. Threats, escapes, personnel, anomalies. In that order.The office was small and cozy with its high shelves of precariously balanced books. Icecrest's history spilled over off the shelves onto the floor, the desk, the extra chair. Wherever there was space, there were books, art, and artifacts. Most of the books were fanciful leather bindings, worn well with age, and pieces of art in their own right.

A short man with a head and beard full of snow white hair looked up from the letter he was writing as they entered and then immediately stood. He pushed his bifocals up the rim of his nose, gave a relieved laugh, and reached his arms out to draw the brunette into a hug. "Du gjorde det, du gjorde det," he greeted happily. You made it, you made it. The corner of Annie-Love?s mouth twitched up at his enthusiastic greeting for Sofia as she tried to take everything in.

"Hallo, Professor Galtung," Sophie stated affectionately as she squeezed the man tightly, closing her eyes through the embrace. It was good to see him alive. His luck, so far, had been better than many she had met that summer.

As they broke apart, the cool blue eyes of the Icecrestian professor fell on Annie-Love. "And this must be the new Madame Ber-- Well, it's best we don't even say that name, ja? The walls have ears." He outstretched a hand to Annie-Love.

Annie-Love had been brought up by a Southern beauty queen. Social situations, hobnobbing, meet and greets with various military brass, the convergence of her mother's and father's worlds. Her first reaction was the smile that flashed across her moon-pale face, and the stretch of a hand towards him. It was followed when their hands touched by "Wait -- how did you..?"

Sophie gave a laugh, waving the stunned expression off. "Professor Galtung and I are...pen pals, if you would. Coded letters mostly. I have been trying to convince him to let me sneak him out of here for years."

And who, my dear, would feed you your information," he replied kindly as he reached up to pat the cheek of the Baroness.

A knock on the door interrupted them and a younger face popped in the opening. "Professor. They're here." And just as quickly, the door was pulled shut and quick footsteps sounded down the hall.

Suddenly there was heavy defeat in the Professor's shoulders, he turned from the women, drawing a key out of a pocket to unlock a drawer to his desk. "I had hoped we would have more time so that I could discuss this Tree of Life with you. But, unfortunately, my last letter was intercepted. The Guard knows that you are here."

"We have to get the Baroness out of here." Her smile disappeared as quickly as it had flared to life, her mother's vivaciousness melting into her father's sense of duty. "What's the best way?"

"Oh, Annie-Love, this is fun. My plans always go wrong." The Baroness was unconcerned.

Luckily for Harper's sanity, the Professor seemed to take the threat more seriously. He didn't turn towards the women as he slid the drawer back out. The piece of wood hiding the false bottom was pulled free. "There's access to the roof at the end of this hall."

It was lunacy and perhaps that's why it had Sophie grinning. There would only be a short ledge until the deep downward slope of the first tier roof of the stave church. No grip, nothing to hold onto. "I wonder if that truck is still parked right beside the building," Soph mused to Harper.

The professor broke into their escape plans, holding out the box for their inspection. "I need you to take something with you."

"You have to come with us." Harper interjected, comprehending the seriousness of the situation from his demeanor, not Sophie's. It wasn't safe for him to stay if he was compromised. And he knew too much for them to let him fall into the government's hands.

The box in his hands was a small wooden affair - maybe three inches by three inches, and two deep, hinged but without any visible clasp. The wood was pale and striated. Elder or birch, and inlaid with a startlingly familiar pattern of three overlapping drinking horns on the lid. They were stylized, and wound with vines or branches and strange animals. She recognized it nonetheless. "Odin..."

Sophie nodded her agreement with Harper's assessment, eyes narrowing in on the entwined loops. There was something so hauntingly familiar about the box, about that symbol. She felt as if she should know the answer. "It's a puzzle box."

"It is," the older man replied hurriedly as he pushed the box into Annie-Love's hands. "I have not been able to figure out how to open it. I believe...I can't be certain but I believe that what is inside is incredibly important to my people. It needs to go somewhere safe. If it is what I suspect it is, your husband, Madame, will know the place."

"Now you both must go," he stated firmly.

"You are coming with us, of course," Sophie replied firmly.

A sad smile fluttered across his wizened face and he shook his head firmly. "No. This is my country. I will not leave it. And you will be lucky enough to escape without my old legs slowing you both down."

Annie-Love tucked the box into one of the deep pockets inside the jumpsuit, zipping it shut. There would be time to figure out what it meant, later. "There isn't much time. You have to come."

Soph's demands fell aside as she studied his face. Galtung was right. An escape with him would be far more difficult. But more than that, his expression was decided. Professor Galtung was ready to die a martyr. Her exhale was heavy and somber as an arm reached out to squeeze the man's neck once again, whispering in his ear. "Your daughter is thriving in Sainte-Ouen. I will make sure your grandson knows what a brave, patriot his grandfather is."

"S?rg for at han vet at han er elsket." Make sure he knows he is loved. The old man gathered himself, pulling away from Sophie and motioning the pair of women towards the door. "Now go. Both of you. I will stall them as long as I can.

"I cannot face your grandson knowing that I left you behind to a certain death. He has already suffered enough loss. He doesn't need another. You are coming and you can consider that an order from the Baroness of Saint Aldwin."

Tugging on Professor Galtung's love for his four year old grandson was a low blow but they had little time to debate the merits of him staying versus the certitude of torture and then death. After a moment of hesitation, the Professor gave a nod. Sophie motioned to the door. "Good. Then we will go. I'll bring up the rear."

There wasn't time to argue. Harper caught at the man's arm and opened the door, starting down the hall away from the staircase they'd come down. She didn't bother donning a persona. This was all Agent Bertand. Running. Dragging the professor and counting on Sophie to be right behind. From the service entrance they?d come in, the sound of voices and feet spurred them on.

"Jeg er takknemlig vite at du," she mustered up a pant of broken Icecrestian as they started climbing stairs. I are grateful know you.

"We're working on her Icecrestian," Sophie murmured to confirm that she was behind them. The professor was gasping too hard to answer, but he was keeping up.

"The maintenance access to the roof is just around the bend...there!" It was an unassuming small square door. After a little bit of tugging, it gave way and she set it down against the wall. An icy draft immediately hit as the relative warmth of the building was infiltrated.

(Adapted from live play)

Tenacity Casely · Date: 2013-04-02 01:41 EST

?Over three thousand rich years of our national history has largely been obliterated in the past ten with the rise of the People?s Glorious Revolution. Everything prior to the death of the Emperor is now suspect, and has either been rewritten or declared altogether to be fictional, ignoring the new great lie: there is nothing of this revolution that has been either glorious or of the people. We have simply replaced one yoke with another, and a harsher one at that. ? ? Personal diary of Professor Erich S. Galtung, Icecrest, August 21, 2011

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The door closing had a very final, echoing sound to it as everything shut up tight and the pilot had been left alone with her four charges. From one of the portholes, Sophie and Harper walked very purposefully, but casually toward the station and the street beyond it. They were fortunate - though they could not possibly know this - in that the customs office in the station was presently empty. The leader of the quartet was the chief officer on duty today, breaking protocol to join his men for the search, out of boredom.

Sometimes, they were just lucky.

It didn't take long before the leader was fighting the zip ties binding his wrists, and trying to vocalize something insistently to the woman. His brows were low and he looked ferociously angry. Tenacity wasn't even playing at being blase about the whole situation. She refused to sit, refused to let her guard down, and being smug was the quickest way to let that happen. She picked up a gun and squinted as she looked to the leader. "Are you insulting me? Or trying to?" She watched the movement of his brows. "Yes? Good. As long as you aren't dying."

He grew more agitated, more aggressive in his efforts to communicate. The radios spat static and the occasional word or two in Icecrestian.

More static burst from the receiver, and then a recitation between the tower and a woman's droning voice...

"Transporten flytur avgang i femten minutter...."

"Passasjerer klarert for avgang ..."

"Mathieu Randel..." The woman sounded positively bored as she continued.

In the cargo bay, the men took it in turns to glare at her, the leader the reddest in the face of them all. He began arguing with her again through the tape, his grunts obscuring parts of what was being said.

"Dav Wenger..."

"Jacob Bertand..."

?Heinrich Von Traub..."

"Josef Weingarten..."

?Sjekk alle papirer f?r ombordstigning...." On and on she went.

The tin can was becoming claustrophobic with their increasing ire. Ten?s pulse shot up and her head got a dull ache, but she just squinted that much harder as she tried to make sense of them and the radio chatter. Certain words sounded familiar. The longer it droned on, though, the more frustrated she got. She stormed over to the leader and ripped off the strip of silver tape while holding the gun up. "What? What? I know you speak common. Translate or make yourself useful in some goddamn way."

A grunt of pain was given as the tape was ripped away. Steel blue eyes were narrowed at Tenacity. "Nei." No.

The voice over the radio repeated the instructions and the list of names. She sounded just as bored now as before.

She c-cked the hammer and held the gun up to his temple. For a moment, just for a moment, she let him watch her irises bleed into a deep, obvious shade of red. "Translate."

"It was just a passenger boarding list, dum jente," he sputtered back at her. By emphasis alone it was clear those final two words were an insult.

"Oh?" She pressed the muzzle harder against his skin. "No important notes?" She waited, then lifted her brows. "Or anything else to say? You couldn't shut up a second ago."

The color drained from his face and his words stumbled past his thick tongue. He wasn't going to die over such an innocuous transmission. The truth flowed freely. "Nothing at all. Just boarding information."

"Huh." The hardness of her stare dulled a little. He wasn't full of it. She took a step back and let the gun drop. "Watch what you say to a woman. Especially one holding a weapon."

The instructions were repeated one last time. The clock had gone from fifteen minutes down to five, the list of passengers - notably called by name - repeated a final time with admonitions for the flight crews to check papers before admitting them.

A L Bertand · Date: 2013-04-03 18:40 EST

In myths, the hero is often sent on an impossible quest, a search for some valuable or magical lost object, or a truth that has been hidden from him. It is not unusual for the hero?s travels to lead him through a tangled or dark forest. Trees represent many things: uncertainty, risk, error, death, life...choices. And even if they surmount their trials to find the object of their quest, their journey still has not ended. To succeed, the hero must still somehow take the object of their search back to the place where they began. The circle must be completed. - Excerpted from the private research notes of Dr. A.H. Bertand, Teobern, S.A., Ann?e Standard 2013

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Sophie stepped out of the maintenance access and onto the edge of the roof first. The chill was instantaneous. Even despite the number of layers she was wearing under her coat and coveralls, it chomped at her bones and bit at her fingers within the confines of her gloves. The ledge before the steep slope of the stave church was barely wide enough for the expanse of her size 8 1/2 boots.

A slow, calming exhale was released as she sidestepped her way into along the ledge of the first roof slope, letting her fingers curl around the next roof hanging just at the right height. "Come on, Professor. It's lovely out here," she chirped musically with a confidence she didn't feel.

He climbed out slowly. One boot followed by the next, pulling his weight out the window because it was step out in faith or die. His fingers clamped onto the next stave roof up for dear life.

Annie-Love was next out While she stood watching them climb out, she'd set her hand on the edge of the door, finding that there was a key, still in the lock on the knob. She glanced back the way they'd come. The sounds of their pursuers going through the offices below rose clearly on the cold Icecrestian air. Step out in faith or die.

She turned the lock to engage it, and pocketed the key. There would be no turning back. She climbed out after them, and pulled the door shut. It might buy them a little time.

The delivery truck they had passed when entering had parked right up against the side of the building and its height would caused only a short drop. If the driver had not already completed his delivery and departed. If they could make it around the edge from the north facing side of the building to the eastern side of the building.

Sophie began to creep forward but the Professor's hand lifted from the roof to stop her. Her pale blue eyes dropped first to the hand on her shoulder before moving up to the Professor's face. "Careful, dear. It's icy."

Her eyes fell to the ledge and the patch of ice was suddenly crystal clear. A breath was taken in and then slowly released before she nodded. Carefully, they began creeping around towards the corner. It wasn't far. But it felt impassable.

Behind them, Harper's lips moved soundlessly, little white puffs of air to mark passage of the prayer to heaven. It was neither loud nor long, but it was possibly the first offered in this place in some time. She inched forward, shuffling steps that followed the path of the professor.

The view of the city from there was remarkable. It stretched out in a patchwork of stone, wood, trees and grass. Beyond the Palace, the gray-blue expanse of the ocean met the sky. It was beautiful.

The beauty was broken by the muffled sound of bullets. In the frustration of the officers attempting to reach them, they were trying to shoot at the locked door. "Keep moving, keep moving," Sophie encouraged.

Around the corner she swung carefully. The delivery truck was still in place. It was Sophie's chance to say a prayer -- one of thanksgiving for whatever young woman had held the handsome delivery man up with flirtatious conversation, unknowingly helping in their escape.

"I'm going to jump first," Soph stated. A pair of policemen on the opposite corner had not yet noticed them but she could hear the crackle of their radios coming to life and rushed indistinct words being shouted through them. They had seconds, not minutes. Soph let go of the safety of the ledge and dropped down onto the roof of the trailer. Her feet gave way and knees hit hard against the sheet metal.

"You next, professor," she whispered, "as soon as they're inside." The policemen started at a jog for the church doors, spurred on by the crackle of orders sputtering out of the radios.

Another round of gunfire chattered at the locked door. Harper glanced back, praying for it to hold a little longer. The professor jumped, his landing a thunking, metallic sound timed with the shots. As she did, her foot hit a little skim of ice on the ledge and shot out from under her. It went in slow motion. The slide, the flail. Her arms went back and and as they came forward, she managed to catch one of the Imperial eagles around the neck. She swung out over the street in an arc that brought her back around to the other side of the carving. She just got her feet on the ledge.

Dread ripped through Sophie's stomach the minute that Harper's feet no long had the safety of the roof beneath them. To keep from cursing, her hand reached out to grip the professor's coat. The maintenance door broke open and the professor's lips thinned into a frown as he spoke in a low, calm voice.

"Madame Bertand. Deep breath and let go."

"God, help us." It was all she had time for. A shout behind them was her answer. She let go and stepped off the edge of the roof, dropping out of sight before anyone stepped onto the roof.

Both Sophie and the Professor's hands were waiting to help cushion the pregnant woman's fall. Harper was yanked to her feet and in the bat of an eye Sophie was climbing down from the edge of the roof to the roll up rear door. A boot hit a handle and she released her hold so that her other foot could reach for the rear bumper. "Let's go, let's go," she urged as the first of the guards emerged out onto the roof.

Surprisingly nimble considering his form and with help from Soph waiting on the bumper, the Professor was quickly down. She couldn't fully tear her eyes off of the men on the roof, trying to gain their balance before looking for the escapees.

She was the other end of a chain guiding the professor down and then she was scrambling after him. After the jump from the roof, the delivery truck was a piece of cake. The blonde was over the side after him in a heartbeat. "Run!" she hissed.

The order didn't come a moment too soon. They ran as bullets began flying from the high reaches of the roof.

The hail of gunfire was echoed by screams from the pedestrian foot traffic. The delivery man just emerging from the side door ducked back into the church to escape the shower of bullet raining down on the crowd below. The quiet afternoon was suddenly plunged into chaotic madness and the trio ran from it.

The physical exertion in the bitter cold made Sophie's lungs complain but she pressed on. A sudden right down a less busy side street was taken. Her eyes examined every vehicle in passing until she skidded to a halt beside an old beat-up gray sedan. She didn't even have to bother breaking a window. Someone had left the door unlocked. She yanked it open, falling into the driver's seat. "Get in, get in."

The soldiers who had come for them had just reached the crest of the stave roof. They stood in dark relief against the overcast sky, like new carvings erected for the glory of the State.

"Stanse! Stanse!" One shouted after them. Halt!

Annie-Love wrenched open the back passenger door for the professor and reached for the front handle. Just as she pulled it open, the first shots rang out. A woman on the street screamed. Others shouted. His body hit the open door, pushed into it with the force of the bullets. His pale blue eyes were wide and alarmed as Annie-Love turned toward him again, his fingers gripping the upper edge of the window frame.

"Was he hit? Are you hit?" Sophie's voice was frantic as she ripped the cover off the bottom of the steering wheel using the blade of a pocket knife from her coveralls as a wedge. The wiring harness inside was yanked out. The red wire was stripped and wrapped together. The electricity in the car was brought to life.

"Oh, God," Annie-Love panted, slamming her door shut and risking exposure by rounding the passenger door and pushing him inside, diving in after. "Go! Go!"

More shots rang out, some hitting the open door, some striking the pavement around the car. The glass of the door Annie-Love had shut only moments earlier exploded as a bullet struck. Glass shattered across the seat she had just occupied and the bullet embedded itself in the dash. Sophie was crouched down, stripping the final wire. The brown one was touched to the connected red wires and the engine fired to life. Glass fell from her hair as she lifted her head, gunning the engine to put distance between them and the bullets.

"Oh, God. Oh, God. Oh, God." Annie-Love chanted from the back seat, frantically hovering over the prone man, trying to peel away his jacket, shirt and undershirt to see where he'd been hit. The scent of his blood was already filling the air of the enclosed car and his breathing was a labored thing.

There was a moment of utter silence from the blonde when she finally confronted the exit wound in his chest.

The layout of the city streets were a grid in Sophie's mind. They had discussed exit strategies so many times that she knew the perfect streets to choose in her route back to the plan, allowing her to avoid the bulk of the city's traffic and much of its security force. She went as fast as she dared and let their plan take over because the labored breathing and Annie-Love's chant began to edge out everything else.

"Talk to me, Harper. Where is he hit?"

It was followed by another burst of motion as she pressed both palms over the wound in an instinctive effort to staunch the bleeding. "Left center," she clipped, falling back into her forensics training. "Perforating. Arterial flow. Possibly a collapsed lung."

No, no, no. The single word filled Sophie's internal monologue as the car took them further and further from the heart of the city. Her mind ran through their options but there were none that made the situation hold anymore hope. Each one ended in the Professor's death one way or another. There were only the sounds of the engine and the Professor's struggled breaths to fill her ears.

Breathing that was getting more labored, more irregular. His eyes were already growing distant; he'd stopped trying to talk. "I'll make sure my husband gets the box, professor. I promise." The blood was pulsing beneath her fingers, and the spurting beat was slowing. Annie-Love knew what it meant. "Your daughter and grandson are already so proud of you. We'll tell them what you did today...You?re a hero and a patriot."

(Adapted from live play)

Sofia DeMuer · Date: 2013-04-20 07:50 EST

We flew out of Frigj?ringen, Icecrest this morning (or at least what was morning to them as even though we left nine hours ago when we arrived in Mentor the local time was 0700 hrs). Every time I fly out of Icecrest I am stunned by its ethereal beauty. Far below me, hard-working people fill the quaint villages with thatched roof houses by the picturesque bays surrounded in the protective embrace of mountains. This time of year it?s almost easy to forget how harsh and deadly these areas will be in a few short months. The picturesque bays will be frigid, icy baths that will claim more than one fisherman this winter as they always do. The mountains will be thick with snow and the threat of avalanche. No matter how beautiful it is one can never forget the lives that beauty has claimed. Our plane climbs higher over the cloud cover. Only the tops of the mountains poke through, masking the villages that lay beneath. I said a silent prayer as I lost sight of those villages. I prayed for God to protect the Icecrestians through the trying days that lay ahead. I fear the winter that is to come for them. - Excerpted from the private journal of Sofia Rhovnik-- Mentor, OH, USA -- July 2008

--------------------

Nearly three hours had passed. The chatter on the radios continued, but so far, no alarms had been raised. The day waned toward late afternoon. The portion of the terminal where they waited was slow. That plane three hours before departed for Haugesund. One other outbound flight was called and took off. Only one other plane landed and went unmolested by customs agents this day

Ten checked the time and made sure for the millionth time that she hadn't missed some communication. "Don't worry, guys. You'll be away from me soon enough." She sort of said it to them. The leader of the pack still had his mouth uncovered.

The words were barely out of Ten's mouth when the communicator in her hand sparked to life. It was almost as if it had been waiting for just that cue. The voice on the other end was breathless, urgent, and instantly recognizable of the Baroness. "Might want to fire up our ride out of here and have our company ready to disembark...okay?"

There might have been a chuff around the 'yeah' she offered back. She looked to her captives, picked up a second gun, and headed towards the pilot's chair. Within moments, she had the weapons down near her hands and was bringing the plane back to life.

They left the car a block from the station, covering the professor?s body as best they could with their jumpsuits, and ran until they were close enough that someone might take note. It was cold, without the additional layers, but both women were too shock-numb and frightened to feel it. They dropped it to a brisk we're-late-for-our-flight walk, through the terminal, through the checkpoint where their papers were inspected before they were waved along.

The box felt heavy in Annie-Love?s pocket, transferred there from the coveralls before they?d abandoned their cover, and she held her breath until she was through the gate with it. When they were out of earshot of the agent at the turnstile, she whispered a very naughty word in the lingua franca that she picked up from her husband.

Back on the plane, Ten rose and faced the leader. "Tell them you're about to leave. I want you all to get up and I'm going to undo some of your ankle binds. And if one of you does anything foolish, the whole lot of you are going to regret it, Okay? No one needs to play a hero. This whole damn thing is almost over." She spoke with a sharpness, but not with viciousness. It almost sounded like she might have been trying to reassure them. Or maybe herself.

"Vi kommer til ? bli utgitt. St? opp. Sakte," the chief inspector spoke in a low tone to the group, demonstrating to his team how to proceed by slowly rising to his feet. Awkwardly due to the leg restraints, the others followed suit.

Sophie would tease Harper for her foul language in other circumstances, if she had her friend safely back on the plane. Alain and Luca would kill her if something... No, they were almost home free. Her innocent looking watch was pulled up to her face. A button on the side was mashed as she spoke into it. "Open the cargo door. Please."

Harper glanced backward. They were almost there, but that ramp was so slow going down the first time. The officer manning the station by the turnstile was watching them. Probably because the terminal was so slow this evening. Probably. She forced herself to laugh, feigning nonchalance. "We have eyes," she muttered to the Baroness. She could feel the watchful stares on them like crawling ants.

?We?re almost there,? Soph whispered reassurances.

"Only because she said please," Ten murmured as she pressed the button that started up the mechanical growl of gears to let the door down. It was as slow as the first time and maybe felt worse this time, considering the rush. She turned back towards the men. Two of them had their legs free but all still had their hands bound. She'd also gently removed the tape from another man's mouth -- the chosen man just happened to be the second man who could possibly be visible from the outside.

As soon as it hit the ground three things happened. The two women started up the ramp in long, quick steps. The four men who'd been held inside practically spilled from the cabin, pushing past them down the gangway, hands still bound. And as soon as they were free? The leader started shouting at the terminal, his hands up in the air - still plainly bound. "Stopp dem! Spionene! Stopp dem! Vakter!"

In turn, Annie-Love started snapping orders to Ten. "Get the ramp up! Wait - never mind - just start! We'll do it!" Somewhere behind them, a whistle shrilled and then the sirens started.

"Son of a bi---" The pilot didn't need a book to tell her what that meant. She kicked the radios off and ran for the c*ckpit again.

Sophie's fingers jammed buttons until the right combination was struck and the cargo door began closing. A shot rang out, pinging off the inside of the fuselage before embedding in a crate, thankfully striking neither the blonde nor the brunette who were still within the belly of the plane. "I'd make it fast, Ten. They don't seem to want us here any longer.?

((Adapted from live play.))

Topic: Axis Mundi

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