Luke bowed.  Slightly.  A politeness, rather than an admission of inferiority.  "They come everywhere, Councilman.  Sooner or later, they come.  Here."

With an arc of his arm, he created a span of stars in the air, amidst a void of blackness - the familiar scene.  So easily and swiftly was it done, that there was no hint of threat.  "These are the Worlds, of which Charyk is one."  Now an infestation of crimson began to bleed into the stars, flowing out and staining the Worlds.  "These are the Seraphim.  They seek conquest, that they may tear down the walls of reality, make of this universe their plaything.  Their home."  His dark eyes fix on each Councillor in trun.  "They do this because they can, and because it amuses them."

"In Charyk you have a legend of two gods warring.  We came here in search of a weapon that might be used against these Seraphim - our studies drew us in this direction...only to find out that the eye of the Seraphim has turned this way as well."  It was tricky, balancing 'enough of the truth' with 'need to know', but after all, this sort of thing was his speciality.

Long ago.

"Now they come for twofold reasons - one is to prevent this weapon from falling into the hands of those who would oppose them.  For this, they would come sooner or later.  And without warning.  The second reason is to destroy any pockets of resistance who might grow to become a threat in the future.  We, myself and my travellers, are one such pocket."

He leaned forward.  "You are another."

"Your caravans traverse the Myriad Worlds.  You are aware of these roads.  In time, you may grow, learn better control over such methods of travel.  Forge alliances.  Forge an empire, even.  And thus become a threat to their plans.  A rival.  There aren't many like yourselves, and the Seraphim make a habit of stamping out potential resistance before it becomes a true danger to their plan."

"We seek a weapon, as I said.  A blade - you are familiar with these legends?  Well, it would seem the Seraphim think of them as well."

 

Listening to those speaking, first the men and then the little dragon - a strange absence of reaction to it - Banglen-Yp spoke once it was quiet again.

•• Is • not • all • some•ones • daugh•ter • son • or • off•spring ••

It was a cautious question, but not because of fear of hurting someone, but rather a general probing, questioning, pondering.

•• Are • the • rest • of • the • ar•my • of • free • will ••

She looked at the little dragon, with a sad smile.

•• Is • it • not • dark•ness • to • slay • them • too • if • they • are • not • free ••

Then, a strange change, if only in attitude.  She smiled, more cheerfully, and waved at the dragon as she spoke two more syllables.

•• Hel•lo ••

 

Berd raises his head, and stares directly back at the woman.  The voice again rings out in the room.

And thus, I choose the hard path.  I will save both the sons and daughters here, and my own daughter.

Or die trying.

 

After a brief, happy look when the little dragon returned her hello, a brooding look settled on her visage for a moment, and then came another question.

•• Which • ones • are • not • there • by • free • will ••

A smile again, a hopeful one.

•• Those • should • be • spared • with • your • daugh•ter ••

 

Roman looks surprised, not expecting wisdom from one who seems so naive.

Speaking to the group in general he adds.  "She's right.  But pacifism has never worked in the face of a determined foe, not unless backed by such power that the enemy poses no threat.  I do not know a way to avoid casualties, only to minimise them.  These Archons are the true foe.  And the greatest threat.  Drive off or kill the Archons and it is likely that the rest of the army will retreat.  Without their power, Charyk is too costly a prize."

Ferenc laughs, and several of the other Lords of Charyk join him, though their own laughter sounds a little nervous.  Ferenc's laughter finally dies, and his face grows more serious.

"You came for the Sword?  Even if we had it, we likely would not give it to you, since it was a great focus of faith for the people of this city.  In any case, I'm afraid you are about a century too late to take it."

"A man came for the blade, long ago.  Or, rather, he came to view it.  He gave us his name, and asked to see the Sword of Legend, and then he simply... took it, leaving the chamber where it was guarded, this very chamber, in fact... without any of the guards seeing him go."

Ferenc breaks into a smile, though there is little humour in it, "In any case, he was a fool.  The Sword did not shatter the Staff.  The Staff shattered itself, and destroyed its Master, when it was used to strike the Sword."

"Regrettable," Luke said, frowning.  "The sword could have proven useful in the defense of Charyk.  I suppose we will have to make do on our own."  He glanced up at the Lords of Charyk.  "Unfortunately, sword or not, the Seraphim are coming."

The starfield dissolved.  "And with them, there can be no bargaining.  Either one abases oneself before them, or one is destroyed.  Or, of course, one can fight."  He bowed.  "Myself and my associates will stand, here, with your men.  Knowledge that the sword is gone does not preclude our involvement."

"If you don't mind, does anyone have any further information on this sword and staff?  Why did the staff break?  And...most importantly, who was this man?  Was there a description?"

Morgan coughed, looking away at the emotional words.

"My weapons are all meant for killing. Capture or clouting... they are not useful.  Your friend I can avoid, but tell me plainly which of you who mean to capture her at risk of yourselves. I'll not order my friends to help with that. Not when she is the better fighter to begin with."

"And why should - "

"Jounach, if you can't learn to curb your tongue, I will arrange to have it taken off you."

"I was only say - "

"Only saying too much, as usual.  Younger members of this Council, like the children they are, should be seen and not heard.  Unless they want to end their days bricked up inside a wall, where they'll be neither heard, nor seen."

Jounach subsides into sullen silence, and Ferenc returns his attention to Luke, ignoring the startled glances from some of the other Lords at the mention of people being sealed inside walls.  "There was a peculiar curse place upon both Sword and Staff.  They were made at the same time, as weapons for the two Brothers.  If one tried to attack the other, using one of the matched weapons, the attacker would be struck down."

"This was only discovered after the fact, though.  The Brothers didn't know about it.  The man who forged the weapons was persuaded to reveal what he had done."

Pausing for breath, Ferenc seems to become lost in thought for a little while, before continuing, "I saw the man who took the Sword, as a matter of fact, when the Council ordered me to show it to him.  I didn't altogether trust him, though, and did not tell him the true history of the weapons."

"Large, he was, powerful in build, with dark grey hair and beard, shot through with red.  Grey eyes too, with flecks of silver.  I was almost tempted to take one of those for myself... but no matter.  If I live to see him again, I'll not hesitate next time."

"His name he gave as Carl Corey."

Tahirah sits very still.
This message was last edited by the player at 00:37, Sun 03 Dec 2006.

"Interesting.  Both in regards to the thief, and the smith."  Luke tapped his finger on his chin.  "You wouldn't happen to know the smith's name, would you?"

"Carl...Corey.  I'm not familiar.  But," he continued, not the least bit discomfited by the man's threats to his junior, "I suspect I can find someone who does.  In any case, it helps us little, now."  His smile was bleak.

"Right now we have to determine how to defeat what comes."

"Myself and the people with whom I travel will battle as we know best.  But it might be better to coordinate our own efforts with those of your troups.  We are few, but potent.  Suggestions are welcome - I shan't ask you for 'weak spots' which my people may shore up.  We are new here, after all, and I doubt beyond suspicion."

Aaron exhaled, opening his eyes slightly.

 

Looking over at Roman, appearing both curious and slightly confused once more, Bandlen-Yp nodded.

•• Then • I • will • face • them ••

She resumed her brooding look, complete with a finger to the lips and the eyes lost in the distance.

•• Not • stone •• They • cut • it ••


                                        <sub>Options.

                                                                                                                        Choices.

                                                                                Good.

                                                                                          Bad.

                                                                                                                        Unknown.

                                                                                Improvise.

                                        Options.</sub>

 

Roman tries to advise Banglen-Yp.  "Forms that can't be cut lack mobility.  If you can manage a form that doesn't mind being cut, one that is fluid and simply reforms after the blade passes - that's what you want."

Ferenc considers briefly, before answering Luke, "The smith is surely long dead by now.  I don't see what bearing it can have at this late stage, but his name was, I believe, Ganelon."

"We will gladly accept any help your people can offer.  After all, we would all be as simple as Jounach, there, if we turned down the aid of those who are experienced with this new enemy."

He fixes the woman with his single functional eye, "Needless to say, Tahirah, you will not repeat what you have heard here."  Glancing quickly around the others in the room, he turns back to her, "In fact we will attach you to this group, as a liason between them and ourselves."

Tahirah rises quietly, glad again of the practice she put in standing and sitting without that horrific scraping of the chair on a stone floor.  She turns towards Luke, and regards him briefly, for the first time, through dark eyes set in fair skin.  Her expression is difficult to read - curiosity, though perhaps it's closer to `polite interest'.  She seems entirely unsurprised by Ferenc's decision.

After only a moment, she reaches back with her hands, and pulls the hood of her robe up, allowing it to fall forward, her head and face quickly enveloped in its folds.  Then she steps to his side, and turns to give another small bow to the Council.  The small box that had sat before her on the table is nowhere to be seen.

James shifts uncomfortably.  He understands Berds position after a fashion, but still disagrees with the finer points of the argument.

As James shifts uncomfortably, Dorian stirs once again from his reverie. His head comes up and he gazes seemingly at James, but more like through James to some distant point. His brow furrows for a moment in thought. Then his gaze seems to come back into focus.

"Unless there is anything else then, please feel free to go and make your preparations." Ferenc gestures towards the other Lords, seated around the table, We have decisions of our own to make, regarding the defence of our city."

"Tahirah will, as stated, go with you, to act as a liason.  If there is anything you need, speak to her."

Luke bowed again, that carefully measured out politeness.  "Well spoken.  You have our thanks, Lords of Charyk, as you have our assistance."  He glanced at Tahirah, raised one eyebrow.  "Take the long road down, then," he muttered, oddly enough, and waved a hand toward the door.  "Very well.  We will continue to appraise you of our own preparations and knowledge.  If you would, my Lady - best that you meet my associates quickly.  We may not have much time."

 

•• Not • all ••

Roman got a mysterious answer as Banglen-Yp continued to ponder.

•• Com•pro•mise ••

Questions was who or what she was trying to compromise in what manner.  Roman's cheek perhaps, with anoher slap?

Or perhaps the more obvious and far more boring alternative of what shape to assume.

•• Will • heal ••

 

Berd nods, slowly.  Apparantly 'speaking' as he did has tired him.

Tahirah gives a final small bow, and says simply, "Of course." 

She steps out the doorway, and then slows to let Luke take the lead.

The conversation at the breakfast table continues, as strategies are discussed or discarded.

Then Luke walks back into the Sanctuary (though most would be hard-pressed to say just when he left, or even that he had left at all).  It is not his reappearance, though, that draws the majority of the attention in the room.  Rather, it is his companion.

That companion wears a robe, cowled, and seemingly oversized for the person within.  The robe, with its deep hood and long sleeves, appears white in some light, but not in others, and conceals all features of the wearer.

Still, all conversations fall to a whisper as the two cross to the tables where Luke's companions sit.  One word is repeated often in that whisper: "Tahirah".

People move away from the two as they cross the room, and while many refuse to look at the cowled figure until it has passed, the looks which follow in its wake show more respect than fear...

The two reach the group at the tables.

Luke had remained relatively silent through the (short) trip back down to the inn.  Just outside the door, though, he paused.  "Try to forgive them," he said, somewhat cryptically.  "They can be a difficult group, but not so bad in the end.  Where it counts."  He laid his hand on the door, pushed it open.  "Sometimes they remind me of old friends, I suppose."  And he walked into the room as if he owned the place.  As always.

Reaching the table, he stopped before James.  "Mission accomplished, commandante," the man quipped.  "Relations with the Lords of Charyk are only mildly strained, and cooperative bridges constructed.  I must try harder next time."  He waved a hand behind him at Tahirah, then turned to half-face her.  "Tahirah.  Everyone, this is Tahirah, our liason.  Let's see...the little group there is Roman and Banglen-Yp.  The man Seated With Panthers is Morgan - I'm sorry, I missed your friends' names, Morgan.  Dour Dorian sits there, ardant Aaron there, here is clever Chance, bombastic Berd, and just James."  He glanced around.  "We have a serious shadow somewhere, but he doesn't appear to be in evidence at the moment...."
This message was last edited by the player at 19:07, Tue 05 Dec 2006.