Rise of the False Dawn

The Defense of Falcon's Tower

BBQ delivery is not what you'd expect.


Tughill floated away upon another tempest. Snow, already clumped together as if falling in formation, went from horizontal to diagonal to vertical to neither. It was a small wonder as a blanket of protection shielded Falcon Tower from the blizzard, winds still whipping, clearing the tower’s sensors. Like looking out from inside an inverse snowglobe. Seconds later, the sparrows were falling.

Drone is an appropriate term. They swarmed in from all angles, but at the direction and intelligence of something much higher up the chain of command, giving their lives willingly in the assault of our nest. Foul and twisted abominations fell from the skies, but thanks to Kevin so too did the drones.


The first of them came, tusk dripping with ichor, bones chipped and sharpened. Moulded. Designed. I underestimated the enemy I think, and then, red. Neither the pigs nor the planes had blood to offer for sacrifice but I hungered to spill it all the same. Red. The crunch of a broken ribcage. Beams of light piercing the darkness, the acrid scent of wet smoke. Red. The winds of speed rippling what few hairs I have upon my tail. The taste of wyrm, spoiled peat, synthetic oil, anise and tar. Howls like church bells pealing. Red. The apex of the leap where gravity seems imaginary. The pale scrape of claws upon stone. Red. Gravity again. Loss of breath. Fire in the shoulder. Cold air in a dry mouth. Snow falling elsewhere, insisting but silent. Steve from Accounting the only sound left upon the night, moonless, still.


In the end, the incusion caused no permanent damage within or outside the sept. We successfully recovered enough drone hardware to make a worthy gift to the Warden. Perhaps this will make up for our earlier lapses in stealing MagiTech weaponry, though I did see Kevin pocketing a few of the larger parts before the handoff. Perhaps his magic phone will make them spill their little secrets. If I knew how to operate this thing properly I’d find out myself.

I’m sure this assault was in response to taking the younger McManus, though it’s not clear to me what they hoped to accomplish with the pig drop. Surely not a rescue. Testing our defenses? Testing their offenses? Either way, I don’t plan to give them very long to analyze the results.

Ken manages to, in addition to posting an update to his private Xanga, somehow correctly order seventeen pizzas delivered to Falcon Tower. They all come in standard delivery boxes printed in inks the color of the Italian flag.



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