The door of the inn bangs open, admitting wind and rain, and figure stands there, on the threshold.  He wears a long, hooded cloak, wrapped tightly around him, which reaches down to the ground.

His eyes seem to burn in the shadows of the hood, as he scans the room, and the group of sailors who have been there all along, avert their eyes from him, and make odd hand gestures.  The stranger sees what, or who, he is looking for.  He steps inside and walks towards the pair of Chanactarsa blood drinkers, who stand to greet him.  The door still stands open.

As he walks into the inn, whisps of steam rise from his cloak.  Donovan calls out to him, "Hey!  The door!" but without even looking at the innkeeper, the newcomer simply replies, "Mead."

Loosening his cloak, he reveals a suit of mail beneath it, and a broadsword hanging at his belt, the blade of which looks to have been blackened by fire.  Casting back his hood, he bows to the two women, and the light glints upon the two short, polished horns which project from just above his hairline.

At Morgan's request, Catherine slinks over to nudge the door closed again, getting herself a whiff of the demon's scent.

Roman takes a long, curious, look at the new arrival, trying to figure out if it's anyone he knows from home.
This message was last edited by the player at 08:43, Wed 20 June 2007.

"Going to stay mysterious, are you?"  Luke shrugged.  "Your call..."  He gave Morgan a quick nod in return to the man's comment, and went back to relaxing.  It would not last long, of that he was certain.  Sooner or later, something would happen.  Then the door opened.

With a sigh, Luke put his feet down and gave the newcomer a quick once-over.  The horns purchased a raise of an eyebrow, but physical phenomena weren't what Luke was interested in.  He swept the man with his mind's eye, hunting for traces of Power.

The door barely closes before it's forced open again by a new hand. A left hand, it seemed, soaked nearly to the bone by the whipping wind and rain outside.

"Sorry, Cat," Aaron mumbled wetly to the massive feline behind the door, carrying himself as he was into the Inn. Immediately his eyes sought a familiar face, finding one in Luke. The people he wanted to be there, Cyan and Dorian, weren't, and that agitated him just a tiny bit.

Still, he greeted Luke with a "Ho," and the slightly more recent additions to his ragtag group with a nod of acknowledgement. He swung the door a bit wider to admit the individuals he'd met upon the docks, before sliding it firmly shut.

Now he would inquire of recent events, and see if his new friends would cook up some news now that he'd brought them to a more familiar and comfortable environment.

Approaching the innkeep, Aaron gestured to his new friends.

"Anything they order, as much as they want, can be placed on my tab, which will be paid in full before my departure." He glanced behind him, at Pey't and his friends, nodding in affirmation. "Anything."

Then he strode away from the bar and moved to Luke, gesturing mostly with his eyes for a desire to convene. His voice was low, but loud enough for even Roman and Morgan to hear. "Sorry for my tardiness. Any news?"

Luke flicked off an absent salute to Aaron as he entered the bar - interesting how the man had new company - and went back to studying Chance.  The man seemed more subdued than his wont, though that could be Chance thinking - something he did fairly often.  It was one reason Luke enjoyed his presence.

Then Aaron stepped over for a chat.  Luke glanced at his new friends, then down at himself.  "I've managed to put myself back together for the moment, Aaron.  I see you're in one piece as well - remarkable."  His voice dropped to almost a whisper, and echoed strangely around Aaron.  It reached no further than their table.  "Let's see...the old man informs me that Cyan, Dorian, Devlin - I hadn't realized he returned - and someone named Trista have broken Beldrin out of prison and are currently tending to his plague.  Pleasant; suddenly I'm glad to be here.  Plague is noxious."

The horned newcomer approaches the two women in their odd patchwork learher armour.  He bows to them, not a deep bow, but a bow all the same.  "Foul weadher, bud id keeps dhe streets clear, yes?"

Removing the cloak, he reveals mail of red and black links, arranged in a cnequerboard pattern across his powerful torso.  His arms are bare, and heavily muscled, with scars over much of their surface.  Those scars look more like ritual markings than combat injuries.

Seating himself on a chair which creaks dangerously beneath his weight, he accepts his mead from Donovan, with little more than a grunt of thanks.  The two women sit, and the stranger speaks, "You speak Teriki or Baarakunchan?"

At the shaking of their heads, and muttered denials, he sighs, and looks about the room.  "Dhen id can nod be helped, I suppose.  Led us make dhis quick.  Name id nod, bud have you found dhe item?"

The two women look at each other, then the older seeming one replies, "Do you have the payment?  Our clan has spent considerable time searching for this thing.  We were promised payment in exchange for an honest attempt to find it."

"Yes... dhat is so.  And I have dhe agreed fee.  Do you have dhe item?"

Morgan's eyes widen at this news. Though he doesn't know the name, the rest of the sentence is enough to cause trouble.

He adds his own tidbit, "And tales of the Archons have come through here as well, though the one who passed on the information thought them fanciful. I collect the full transcription tomorrow."

 

As interested in people's reaction to the horned newcomer as she was in him, Banglen-Yp stared in fascination at others more than she did at him.

The kitten seemed to care little about it and played with her hair where he sat, making her giggle a little and ruffle the fur on top of his head.  To this the kitten sat down to try to wash himself and make himself presentable once more, having been so roughly handled that it almost was visible on his fur, which always seemed to be in a state of disarray.

She did turn to study the one who did not know how to close doors as he spoke, appearing almost stare at him.

 

"Prison break," Chance nods. "Glad they got him out. Any idea who this Beldrin fellow is? I caught on that he was important, but not really any context. I couldn't remember if you mentioned him, Luke--such a long tale to keep track of all the details."

He checked the two woman and the horned man from the corner of his eye. No problems yet, but he wondered if the situation there might get tense. It seemed the big guy wanted an item. From the women's response, he didn't think they had it.

From the way Chance saw it, Horns probably had a temper. Unless he had really paid for an attempt, he was likely to take his frustration out on either the women or the inn. Either one would be a problem.

He smiles as he turned his attention back to the table. One hand pulled his guitar a little closer, just in case. The other hand lifts the glass to his lips, again.

"Yes.  We have the item." the woman replies, "Not here though.  This is not the safest of places to make the trade.  If you insist, we will have it brought here, within the hour.  Otherwise we would propose another location."

The horned man considers her words, and glances around the room, "Very good.  Dhis place has become more... busy... since I make suggesdion dhat we use id as a meeding place."

"And others have used half truths to make us unwelcome here."

She pulls a scrap of paper from her belt, pressing it out flat, and sliding it across to the man.  "This is where we would meet, in one hour."

He leans closer, and peers at it.  "Dhat is agreeable."  Downing the rest of his mead, he stands, "One hour, dhen."  Then he walks towards the door, leaving the two women to pay for his drink.

Tahirah flips over another card, setting it precisely alongside the others, studying the results.

"Tales of Archons...now they reach Amber itself.  How long will it be before the skies of that great city burn with the light of the Seraphim?"  Luke shook his head. "Good work, Morgan - those stories may prove precious.  Information is critical."

Then Luke straightened slightly in his seat, and suddenly he opened a bridging of his own to those in the room of their quest who accepted.  Banglen-Yp was too far away for a whisper - one of the others would inform her, no doubt.

Listen to them speak, that group.  They have an item, for which they have searched.  This area has been the subject of Archon attention in the past, and it is a gateway to Amber itself.

I don't believe in coincidence.

Someone should follow them.  I would send my awareness after them, but the horned man holds a power within him that I cannot quantify - it may be he would detect me.  Thus, it might fall upon more mundane methods of surveillance.  Are any here skilled at the art of shadowing?  Those women are...dangerous, and highly perceptive.  It would be difficult, to say the least.

Aloud, he continued - quietly.  "Beldrin...keep the name quiet, of course.  But he was an agent of Prince Caine, as I was told, and slew a spy of the Archons, stealing her transportation device - a tesserect of Trump energies."  His smile grew sardonic.  "I had to tell Aaron and co. that it was a beacon to the Enemy about ten times before they finally chucked it."
This message was last edited by the player at 12:18, Mon 25 June 2007.

"Thanks. I was lucky, seeing them drawn on a map." Morgan demurs.

As the bridge forms, Catherine looks up.  He doesn't smell like demon/Roman. She remarks, tail twitching. Anne-Marie and Ahmad have been bored. They can follow him. is Leareth's input.  At a gestured agreement from Morgan, Catherine heads outside to bestow the duty. In a night sodden with rain, the panthers can likely pass unseen amongst the rooftops. Indeed, she expects to find them lounging there.

And so it is that anybody mad enough to be out, and looking skywards on this dismal noght might see the bizarre sight of horse-sized shadows, dark as the space between the stars, moving silently across the rain-slicked rooftops of Cadiniagart...

Inside the Blue Rose, Tahirah continues to play her game of Solitaire, though the rules seem to have shifted subtly, and the layout is more intricate.


The blonde Chanactarsa woman, her employer having left, allows her gaze to wander from the door, until it comes to rest on Tahirah.  After a few moments, she mutters something to her companion, then gets up and makes her way to the table where the white robed woman sits, dealing out increasingly complex arrays of cards.

"Have you the gift to see what will be?  Would you tell me what my tomorrows hold?"

Donovan calls across from the counter, "Don't yer be botherin' my other guests, now!"

Aaron rubbed his face in honest embarrasment. "The Cube. Yes. Don't remind me."

A heavy sigh followed him, and he attempted to show as little interest in the rest of the room as humanly possible.

"You're right, Luke. I'm curious as to what they seek, and have apparently found." he spoke across the bridging. His gaze followed one of the women as she moved towards the seer, Tahirah. "One of them apparently wishes a glimpse of her future. Let's hope both of them exhibit such a lack of wisdom."

He found a seat and dropped himself in it, resting Ilse in her sheath beside his chair. Aaron feigned relaxtion, more intent on his surroundings and his comrades than on any sort of casual rest.

 

The kitten had run out of energy and fallen asleep in the middle of a wash, the tongue sticking out and the head resting against the arm of the strange blonde.

She, in turn, turned to look around the room at the people talking, whispering and seeming to share things she knew little or nothing about, whether it was those she had come here with or the others.


                Outside.

                                                Different.

                                Alone.


She sighed, quietly, and turned to look at the nearly snoring kitten - and smiled gently.



                ...but not completely alone.

 

Tahirah goes still for a moment, and then gathers her cards in a single sweep, squaring them quickly and integrating them back into her main deck.  Silently, she indicates the opposite chair, and then sets the full deck down just to her left.

"Do you have a Question?" she asks the woman.

"A question?" the woman looks a little puzzled, for a moment, but then her face clears, "Ah... as with the Fadenja, your spirits need to hear my voice, so that they might know me, and find the right tomorrows... I understand.  Thanks be that you don't ask for a song, the way the Fadenja witchman did."

She falls silent for a few heartbeats, and her eyes close.  Then they snap open, and she asks, "How soon shall I see my son, Graif, again?"

Tahirah considers correcting the reasons, but...the woman asked for a glimpse into her future.  Not a dissertation on how glimpses into the future function.

So instead, she turns her own focus to the question at hand, and turns over a triad of cards...

Donovan, satisfied that the blood-drinker's presence is not disturbing Tahirah overmuch, returns to his attention to his work behind the counter.  Most of it, at least... he still keeps a wary eye on the two leather-clad, knife-laden women.

A little way from Tahirah's table, the group of sailors notice what is going on.  Their drinking game fades into silence, and they watch with interest as Tahirah lays out the cards.  One of them makes what looks to be a warding gesture, and starts to speak, but the one who is, apparently their leader, punches him on the shoulder and hushes him.

Aaron's former gambling companions also watch, though from a greater distance.  Two of them are deep in conversation as they observe, but the third never speaks.

The Chanactarsa leans forward, peering at the cards, as if she had some skill in interpreting them.  Her companion, the older woman, leans back, drawing on her pipe.  Her gaze finds Aaron, Luke, and the other Questors, and she shakes her head.  Removing the pipe from her mouth for a moment, she says, quietly, "Always she seeks tomorrow, never thinking that, if she just waits a little while, tomorrow will find her.  Without fail."

 

Looking over at the woman speaking, Banglen-Yp smiled and spoke with a gentle voice, possibly so not to disturb either the kitten or the fortune telling.

•• Tomorrow never yet • on any human being • rose or set ••

Then she looked down at the kitten, pausing for a moment, before she spoke anew.

•• Tomorrow is the day so many wait for • long for • wishing for changes • and yet • it will never arrive • for comes morrow • it is already today ••

Hugging the kitten gently to her body she nuzzled it before speaking yet one more time, this time a question, perhaps not aimed at anyone in particular.

•• If we knew tomorrow • would we really want to be there ••

 

Tahirah nods quietly, and lays out the first triangle of cards.  "Voice in the Wind," she names it, and after a short pause, clarifies.  "You have asked the wrong Question."

She doesn't stop, however, instead quickly laying out two more triangles, off the lower corners of the first, making a triangle of triangles.  These she studies in silence for a moment - part of the moment, actually, spent smiling her secret agreement with Banglen-Yp's overheard statements.  Hm.  A Wall In Time.  That was rarely good...in Tahirah's experience, it usually meant the person was going to die.  She lays another card atop the Time Rune itself, and looks at the corner.

The person is going to die soon, she amends mentally.  Evidently, tomorrow might well fail to find her afterall.  A Question for herself, then, and another triangle, this one quickly swept up and returned to the deck.  Yes - the person with whom she is sitting.  She looks to the right-hand corner set, and frowns slightly.  The Seeker Within?  An odd combination to find here...she crosses, and finds Source.

Another Query, another triangle.  Oh, well, there's a bit of good news, anyway.  "Your son is well," she begins.  "But you are unlikely to see him.  You are fated to die.  Tonight."  She used to try to work her way around to things like that, but it never helped in the long run.  "No such fate is absolute, but yours is strong; it will draw you in, if it can.  The source, if not the cause, of your death, may already be upon you, though ridding yourself of what you carry will not so easily suffice to escape it."

She gathers the cards, and begins laying down anew.  "If I may inquire upon your behalf...?" she asks, and it seems to be a real question, ready to stop if the woman asks, or has another question of her own.

The door swings open once more and James enters, dripping wet, again, or perhaps still.

"I've got to stop tramping off through the rain like this.  I'll freeze."  James announces to no-one in particular.  "Something hot please Donovan."

James scans the room and spys Morgan, Aaron, Luke and Chance together.  He moves to join them.  "Any word from the liberators?"

James enters the inn at that moment, and orders something to warm himself up.  With a wave of acknowledgement, Donovan sets to providing something which will fit the bill.

"I will die?" the woman's voice is quiet, shocked.

The other one is about to answer Banglen-Yp, but her head snaps around to regard her companion, "You and your foolish determination to see your tomorrow!  Did I not warn you that it would bring no good?"  She stands quickly, her chair falling with a loud clatter which causes the group of sailors, and Aarons former gambling companions to start nervously, and draws Donovan's attention, "What's happenin' there?"  "Do not worry yourself, shotani.  We are leaving.  What do we owe?"

"Leave if you will.  I await further words." the blonde snaps back at her companion, "Proceed, if you please."  This last directed at Tahirah.