Finally, the trio reach the top of the ascent.The cliff ledge is a
slightly jagged ridge that offers little space between the chasm below and
the rounded brick edifice of the Schloss spire. A trio of narrow windows
rise up along this side of the four-story pinnacle, shining from within
with electrical light. The wind howls fiercely as it cuts across the
angled wall that joins with the tower. The sounds of a German voice can be
heard over the gales, however, speaking over a crackling intercom.

John Constantine hurls himself over the top of the climb, resting his body
against the ground like a nun before God. "Christ," he manages between
breaths, evntually lifting his head to gaze upon the sinister structure.
"We better not be climbing this one, too." That John; always a kidder,
even in the shadow of armageddon.

Chris Chance kneels on the ledge, resting a hand on a sharp rock to steady
himself. Narrowing his eyes in the wind and swirling dance of snow that
accompanies it, he blows warmth onto his free gloved hand, then rubs his
nose. "Maybe, Constantine. Over the wall, in through the tower, either way
its going to be tricky."  He listens to the German chatter, glancing with
a half-moon smile at the others. "Sounds like they're getting something
ready. We better hustle."

John Constantine coughs as he picks himself up, the hacking, gunning sound
of a smoker. "Why don't -you- bloody climb over, then come back down and
open the door. I'll be outside with a fag and a good book."

Chris Chance nods succinctly to John's suggestion. "Deal." He starts to
move for the wall...not that its far from the current position. He begins
to feel for handholds in the ancient stone masonry, and seems to find some
pretty easily.

Listening carefully to the voices - whatever he can pick up - Sandy's been
eyeing the windows. He glances at John. "Sorry - unless you've been
hittin' up the Gingold and can stretch yourself through those," he points
upward, "it's the wall. You might be waiting here a while." A beat. "Or
you can use the line."

Chris Chance pages: You can hear: Please prepare evacuation crews for the
hangar. Please prepare hangar evacuation crews.

John Constantine straightens his back, an audible crack heard as he twists
around. Pulling his coat closer around his body, he instinctively pats his
pockets for a cigarette.

Sand's brow furrows. "Line, wall, or wait, Constantine? They're about to
fly the coop."

Chris Chance is about to begin a hand-foot ascent, but halts at Sandy's
words. He tilts his head, listening.  "Huh. Well, that's good. They'll be
distracted." He jerks his head towards the wall. "Let me check for
sentries up here first, though. I can send you down the line." He holds
out a hand.

John Constantine places a cigarette in between his lips, unlit and
drooping. "You head up," he says, walking around Sandy, "I'll probably
find another way in."

Sandy Hawkins tosses Chris the wirepoon. "Fire that at me and you're a
dead man, Chance."

Chris Chance snorts. "Never get tired of people telling me that..." He
begins to climb up, moving carefully like a human fly. Eventually, he
reaches the top and disappears for a few moments.

John Constantine slips around the side of the building casually, shoulders
hunched over and head down, as if looking for dropped change.

Frowning slightly, Sand suppresses a sigh. . o O (Watch him walk through
the goddamned wall.) He looks up, eyes trained on the spot at which Chris
disappeared; motionless, he doesn't even shiver.

Five minutes pass. Then, the wirepoon's line spools down over the wall to
Sandy's position. Chris's shadow against the black and white sky can be
seen waving an 'Okay' to the Golden Ager. He lies on the wall ledge,
gripping the line, occaisonally checking to his left and right as he
waits.

Hoping Chris's anchored the line to something, Sand pulls his gloves back
on and wraps a length of it around one hand, then lets it go once he's on
his way. Climbing the rope as if gravity didn't apply to him - quickly and
silently, in other words - he makes it to the top and vaults over the
ledge. Sotto voce, "He here yet?"

Chris Chance glances around. Sandy notes that he carries a carbine assault
rifle. "No. And I don't plan on waiting for him." He jerks his head
towards a hatch set into the floor of the wall-walkway in the cliffside
tower. An unconcious form can be seen lying next to it - a man in a white
parka and goggles. Presumably the source of the gun Chance has now. "Lets
go." He slings the gun by its strap across his back and kneels to pull the
hatch open.

Below, the castle grounds can be made out - the keep proper, where Sandy
and Chris are headed into, a courtyard with a fountain, a motor pool, a
one story building positioned by a wall, and a large, round roofed hangar.
There's much hubub and activity in the hangar - arc lights, motors
running, voices chattering over the intercom. The keep and the other
building, however, seem silent, save for the echo of their own intercom
relays.

Raising an eyebrow with a look to Parka Guy, Sand mutters, "Riiiight." He
automatically checks to see if his gasgun's loaded, then crouches to
listen - anyone immediately underneath? Apparently not - he swings his
legs in, then drops to the floor below.

Sanderson finds himself in an exsquisitely decorated, wood-paneled
hallway. The soft red carpet muffles his boots as he lands and the
corridor is apparently empty. A row of doors run along the hall, but, more
interesting, there's an open set of double doors to Sandy's left.

Chris Chance lands next to Sandy, moving to flatten himself against the
wall next to the open double doors.  He leans to peek inside. "Huh."

Against a wall, six or seven feet away, a flicking light can be seen, a
momentary flare of red. Constantine steps forth from the small sport of
shadow, wearing a straight face. Indeed, as he steps towards Sanderson, he
says nothing at all, choosing to follow the hero's lead.

Chris Chance looks back to say something to Sandy. "Looks like an
observatory or..." He does a short doubletake at Constantine. How'd he do
that? Grimacing, he continues "...observatory or lab. Nobody in there."

Sandy Hawkins eyes John wordlessly, then returns his attention to the
double doors. Drawing the gasgun finally, he steps up to Chris - and nods
at his words. "It'll be with VonZell, wherever he is. So unless you can
think of anything immediately that we might need from there, let's head
for the hangar."

John Constantine, with lips curled and one eye squinted, takes a step past
Sandy. "I might," he says, and places a free hand against the door frame.
Another step inside, this one a bit more cautious. His eyes roam the room,
darting from object to object. He softly hums.

Chris Chance shrugs a little at Sandy, turning to follow Constantine in.
He glances up and around, turning on his heel as he carefully regards the
domed room's interior.

Biting back a comment that'd only raise someone's ire, Sandy follows a
little, then stops inside the doorframe. One foot in the room, one foot
out, he watches the hallway.

The observatory is strange indeed. The walls have hanging red velvet
banners emblazoned with all sorts of arcane symbols that are clearly not
of mundane script. A finely polished brass telescope with curious lens
attachments points upwards to a wooden panel in the rounded ceiling. All
around this centerpiece, there's cabinets, drawers, tables, and alchemy
sets. Starcharts and astrological diagrams hang near a central white board
that's been drawn on in black removable ink markers - the scrawls indicate
astronomical formulae and quotations in Latin and notations in German.

John Constantine walks slowly past a table, on which rests numerous
near-crumbling tomes. He traces his index finger over the outline of one
such book, leaning over the table to decipher its content. He pauses, then
makes an obvious realization and spins the book around. "Fucking Germans,"
he mutters, then looks at an intricate inscription. "Fucking Latins."

Sandy Hawkins inclines his head at John. "See anything useful? Can you
read those?"

Chris Chance watches Constantine, trusting him to not do anything stupid
with the mystic crap around the room. He walks over to the white board. "I
can translate some of this, but it doesn't mean much to me. A lot of
'rising Orion' and 'ascendant powers'." He smirks a little, then looks to
the doorway where Sandy is.  "Let's get down to the hangar."

John Constantine lifts one hand to his face, rubbing his forehead and
tired eyes. His fingers brush across the surface of the aged book pages.
He flips the page, and scans it for a moment before flipping again. And
again. After a moment, he pushes this book aside and grabs another one,
skimming it. At Sandy's voice, he stops and looks up, cigarette ash
flitting down onto the pages. "Nazis and demons," he says, and moves onto
another book. "And .. the Weather Channel?"

"There's a difference?" quips the former Golden Boy. "We'll be where the
explosions are. Meet us when you're fin..ish..ed..." He frowns, getting
the feeling he's being watched. Or that something's behind him. Casting
his eyes to the side, Sandy turns slowly.

As Sandy turns, he sees a group of five men in black paramilitary garb
striding up the hallway purposefully.  They are not, however, nordic in
appearance - they have dusky skin and thick black hair that matches the
black depths of their piercing eyes. One of them halts, raising a fist in
a soldierly signal for the others to stop. "Kali has sent us other
infidels to cleanse, brothers." Then, they raise their weapons...

[OOC] Chris Chance says, "To Be Continued!"