RKMBs Forums .::Important::. Writer's Block The Legends of Prester John - 1. Annunciation

The whirl of the turbines crackled in the air of the high atmosphere as the warship cruised northward over the Sahara. Its systems hummed to life as it sailed on its course, skysails riding the eddys far above the earth. On the ship's bow, a threatened display of armament glistened.

"We're within two hours of position, sir!", one of the pilots shouted over the din of the rotors.

"Excellant", the man in the conn remarked, a a gleam in his eye, "Rome won't know what hit it..."

"Or what didn't, you mean."

The crew turned to see a solitary man standing on the gangway. His red hair wa tied back in a ponytail, and a closely-cropped beard framed his face. He was not dressed for battle, wearing rather the main parts of a rumpled tuxedo. But in his hand he held a strange device -- a sword not of earthly design, far larger than any one-handed weapon should be.

"Prester! Get him men!", the captain screamed, reaching for his piece.

----------

The sunset lit the simple building in a flare of red, as John Prester sat to his afternoon tea. Behind him, the door opened, emblazoned with the sigil of the Draco group.

"Guy," John remarked without looking up, "what's the latest?"

The other man, almost seven feet tall and covered in the tattooed markings of the Yakuza, seemed hesitant.

"Sir, the Technobal are making a run at Rome. Sources say they plan on teleporting out the treasury of the Vatican and then lay waste to the city to cover the crime."

"When?"

"Tonight."

"Alright," John pondered as he stood up, placing his cup down, "I have a benefit to attend in Athens this evening, then I'll rendevous with their skyship. Tell the boys in the lab to synch the 11D gate for my trip and get me a one-way jetpack...

----------

The crew lay in pieces around the bridge as John Prester sheathed his sword and glanced at the control grid.

"You think the Hoods would have pulled the plug on their side projects before imploding, but no, its never that easy."

With apparent ease, John fiddled with the radio controls as he dialed in a new course.

"TIAMAT base 00071, this is Germain. I need a pick up at the coordinates I'm dialing in now. And set your 11D to the Dojo. Mind the explosion as well."

With a fluid action, Prester pulled his sword forth again and cut into the floor beneath him. As he fell through the bowels of the ship, the blade began to hum to life, as a flash of light from its hilt severed the coils around him like a laser. Finally, he reached the lower hull and cut right through, falling downwards through the Egyptian sky to the ground -- 60,000 feet below.

As he plummeted, the skyship suddenly exploded, cruising downwards into the Mediterranean Sea and cresting the waters as a fireball of metal. Below him, a landing zone appeared, an X marking the center of a ring of people. Untucking into a diving stance, Prester began to concentrate as the ground neared.

As the X rolled up, he stopped -- less than a inch from the ground, unharmed.

"I want that ship recovered and sent to the lab, and I want transfer as soon as possible. This isn't the last of the Remnants we'll be dealing with -- the information I gleaned from the Technobal's mainframe guarentees that...

RAUZA BAL, KASHMIR -- AD 1141

The tower of the Dracon was in flames. Around it, a confederacy of knights and warriors of three faiths stood guard, but it was proving fleeting.

Inside the tower, a war council was being held. Men of many nations gathered in one cause, their fealty to one man. That man stood at the head of the table, wrapped in finery, his red hair cropped closely around his beard face.

"We need a plan," the leader said, "the Ku-Khan has promised support, but Sanjar's forces are very close to taking the archives."

"Milord," a ebon-hued noble responded, "we can take the archives to Abyssinia this very evening if we break through the lines."

"But that requires breaking through the lines then," a Frankish gentlemen protested, "and the Seljuk forces are using as much sorcery as force of arms. Whatever the demons are teaching them is murdering us. If only we..."

"Silence," the leader gravely spoke, "we are men, not demons. The Dracon will not resort to the methods of our enemies. Prepare the archives for movement. I will provide the break in the lines."

"Yes, Prince John."

"I am no prince. Call me Presbyter."

The room cleared and the leader was left alone. On his back, he wore a great sheath, with a bizarre sword unlike any ever seen. As he drew it, a strange glow emanated.

<YES, PRESBYTER?>

"Really, Shemjaza, think they'd call me a hypcrite if they ever met you?"

<IT IS MY TASK TO DESTROY THE ANNUNAKI. I CAME TO YOUR WORLD FOR IT, AND I DIED FOR IT. I CARE NOT WHAT MEN THINK.>

"That is where we differ, I think. I care foremost what men think. I have fought my whole life for such freedom of thought, away from the influnence of the offworlders' cabals. But I need your help, old friend. I need to break the enemy line if the archives are to be moved."

<I WILL FOLLOW, PRESBYTER.>

As the night progressed, things grew darker. The Seljuk forces moved closer, until an odd thing happened. One man, clad in full armor emblazoned with the circling serpent walked out of the tower.

"I am who you seek. Cease your battle."

"I think not," a Seljuk with strange eyes spoke, "Sanjar is trying to prove himself to his masters, and bringing you him will be the best proof of all of his worthiness."

"Well then, I suppose its time for all of you to die..."

The battle was long, and dawn hesitant to come. Yet, when it arrived, the archives were gone, the fires were out, and only one man stood ont he field of battle, the emblazoned serpent dripping with the blood of his enemy...