Right and the army, small by the standards of many armies in this war, but dangerous all the same, veer away.  Soon they are lost from sight amid turbulent eddies of their own making, vanishing into the cold darkness of the Underflow... and a faint sound drifts back to Cyan, James and the Banglen-Yps.  It sounds like... a song, of sorts.  The rapidly fading voices of the Archons, raucous and atonal though they are, all crying out in unison.  There is no harmony to the sound, but there is distorted, jarring rhythm to it, and then it is gone...

Berd navigates the currents of the Underflow, like the captain of a ship in unknown waters - a blank space on the chart, labelled only with the words, "Here be Monsters."  And, as with the chart, there are monsters here too - vast, dark shapes, swimming fish-like through the gloom and stirring up shattered fragments of dead worlds in their wakes.

And finally, after a time which might be hours or days, the exhausted drake swims up through the Underflow and falls into a world.  A lush place where three  pale orange suns shine down from a sky filled with green-tinted clouds above a forest with dark, glossy blue leaves.  On a hill beyond the forest stands a city, all towers, domes and cupolas of ancient bronze stained with verdigris.

Booted feet step down onto the grass, and Cyan shakes out her arms - much to Berd's displeasure.  Humming quietly (a disjointed, atonal song, that of Right's army), she slowly turns in a circle.  "Beautiful," she whispers, squinting as one of the sun's rays shine along the stained domes.

Her glassy, topaz eyes clear.  "Unlike copper, bronze does not change so swiftly.  Those domes might have stood without inhabitants for some time."  She grimaces.  "Or the inhabitants might not be interested in cleaning them every decade...the city might well have people living within it."  A smile twitches up the corners of her mouth.  "They have chosen well."

"Harm nothing in this world," she suggests to the Archons, "save that which attacks without reason.  Keep hidden, as best you can, if you would.  And watch.  Merely observe its changes."

A memory of the mammoth creatures of the underflow stirs in her, and Cyan shivers, remembering the Gatherer.

"Best we find food and rest."  Berd could use some, and the act of searching out food would be lacking in efficiency.  "Perhaps the city might offer something we could use."

"What do you think, James?"  Shielding her eyes, she squints doubtfully toward the stained domes.  "Shall we make the walk?"

"Now that's a sight for sore eyes." James agrees.  "Literally.  Though, I'm not sure I'll ever get used to the different colours."

"I was going to suggest that the Archons take us to the city, since it would be faster.  But you're probably right, best to keep a low profile.  It's a lovely day for a walk and Berd can have a snooze as we go.  Or I can try to rustle up one of the local forms of transport."

James calls the Pattern to mind and absently starts to reach out, though he doesn't go as far as to try and work any changes yet.

"Always I am amazed by not only your vast abilities, James, but with your simple fortitude.  You rival Cúthalion himself."  Cyan shakes her head, a smile growing on her face as Berd settles in for a nap.  As he does, the General's armor slowly warps and twists around the bard, shifting into a cotton blouse, a leather vest, and her old slacks and boots, gurthang now affixed upon her back by a ringed strap.  "Ah, much better.  Thank you."

As she walks, she ponders James' words within the Underflow.  "I hope Tahirah discovers the traitor before he - or she - acts again."  Cyan sighs.  "I fear such things are likely beyond us both.  Heaven knows I have no skill with such things.  Meredith...I knew of her, but never truly knew her.  Berd has...shown me things, of course, of what I missed."

She glances sidelong at James, ruby eyes catching the light of three suns.  "But I have had only his point of view.  I would hear the story, when you have the time.  And if you are so inclined," Cyan amends.

"It sounds like a sad tale."

She takes another grip on his elbow as they walk; a small squeeze, nothing more before releasing his arm.  "Lords of the West, we have been at this a while, haven't we?  I recall that discussion, James.  A curious one, to be sure, but I stand by my thoughts."  Her lips thin and she fingers her hair - once brilliant copper, now almost auburn and threaded with thin strands of grey.  "Though...I fear my fire grows short of fuel."

Her smile still shines, but it is bittersweet.  "You have been the ground upon which we all stood for a very long time, I think.  As I said, Berd has shown me things...not everything, but still.  You helped hold him together when I was lost."

Another sidelong look, this time appraising.  "And as always, your words have cut to that heart of the matter you mention.  I have ideas.  They may work, they may not.  But without your support...I will fail."  There is no question in Cyan's voice.  "My plan is only the final cast.  Everyone has brought us to this moment.  At any point along the way the Quest might have failed, and all those who...who..."

She walks in silence for a bit, one hand rising to wipe her eyes.

"But you remain, the longest here and the sturdiest in body and spirit.  Without the support, the guidance, the strength you have lent, James, I would not be here to make this throw," Cyan finally murmurs.  "'Stand upon'?  By heaven, yes, and an understatement.  Stand upon and be borne up by, I think."  Tiny Archons buzz in the air around them, there and gone, always watchful, and Cyan studies them for a moment.  "With you to hold us up, Berd and I have a chance."

Her smile quirks.  "And we will make that change," she breathes.  "We will make them see."

OOC - Makes total sense to me, James.  :) 

The Archons dwindle in size, becoming no larger than dinner plates, then coins, and finally flies...  Yet still they keep up their endless protective pattern, three flying clockwise and three widdershins around the group of walkers, small enough that they are visible only to those who know to look for them.

The sunlight, weak though the three suns are individually, soon proves to be pleasantly warm when one is walking.  Most of the Banglen-Yps seem to decide, simultaneously and independently, to shift form, becoming birds, bees, or dragonflies, and incidentally leaving clouds of coloured dust or vapour drifting behind them.  Only one of the strange blondes remains, acting as an interpreter for the others, telling Cyan and James everything that her sisters see - animals for the most part, though a few seem more interested in flowers or coloured pebbles.

They move in under eaves of the forest, and the air cools noticeably in the gloom beneath the trees.  The Archons shift their patrol pattern constantly now, to allow for obstructing trees.  Still they are trying to do no harm.

After about a half hour walking in the shade, Banglen-Yp stops, •• We are not alone ••

•• Not that we ever are • these days ••

Her smile does not falter though, even when a woman steps out from behind a tree a few moments later, with skin a dark, mossy green and hair the colour of a raven's wing.  She's dressed in a vest and skirt of orange silk, and leather sandals, and does not appear to be armed.  She smiles, and gives a shallow bow, "Hello, travellers."

Cyan is more than impressed by the Archons' capacity to avoid wanton destruction.  Right has indeed chosen his best.  She wishes, briefly, that they would show greater interest in the world itself, but concludes that the half-dozen, glittering rings are 'on the job', so to speak.  Whether they would normally lack interest in the world or not is open to conjecture, but at the moment they have a purpose.

Best she leaves them to it.

Instead, she listens to Banglen-Yp speak and talks quietly about her discoveries.  She drinks in the forests beauty.  And she enjoys the long, quiet walk.

And then, a guest.  Or, more appropriately, a host.

Forwarned by Banglen-Yp, Cyan bows, slightly lower than the woman.  "Good day," she replies, smiling in turn, her eyes a deep emerald.  "One hopes we do not trespass."

James watches with interest as Cyan's armour is transformed, or perhaps substituted.  Cyan's mention of his "vast powers" strikes James as odd.  He has always considered himself to be one of the more limited members of the party.  Even now, desperately hungry and almost exhausted, Berd could simply change things; alter reality in ways that were totally alien to James.  Compared to Berd, Dorian or any of a full handful of the other questors, James had always questioned his own adequacy for the magnitude of the task before them.

Abruptly, it occurs to James that that must be how Cyan saw him, or something like it.  She was not of the blood of Amber or the Courts, no powerful sorceror, "just" a mortal at the heart of a war that stretched the length and breadth of the known universe.  The war had consumed a significant proportion of her life, moreso, since part of the life she "knew" was a construct of Berd's creation.  If anything, the thought increased his respect for her.

"Yes, it suits you well.  For myself, I find my old armour rather too comfortable." James raps one gauntleted knuckle on the composite plating of his armour by way of emphasis.  "I worry about what I will become if the fighting must continue.  And I worry that it does not worry me enough."

James is grateful to follow Cyan's change of subject.  "Meredith was a young lady of extraordinary ability.  If she touched you, skin-to-skin, she could read your mind.  All of your thoughts and memories laid bare, should she choose.  Dorian could tell you.  It's hard to tell from second-hand but from what I saw, and from his reaction, she went through his psyche like a hot knife through butter.  That should give you some idea."

"A dangerous gift, to be sure, and one that had been shamefully abused.  Her former...associates, owners, I'm not sure, manipulated her.  She was a convenient tool for their spies, nothing more.  But she could be much more than that, I'm sure.  She needed some time to decide for herself who she was, a place where she felt safe enough to be herself."

"I tried to provide that, as best I could.  I think maybe it helped a little, but then she was gone, so suddenly.  I keep wondering whether I was trying too hard to fix her problem.  A very 'male' reaction, that."

The thought of Meredith and her decision to leave, brings James back to Cyan and her intimations of her "waning fire".  The prospect of losing Cyan, the foreshadowed grief, cuts James deeply.  He knew that she had been "lost" before, but somehow he had always expected that she would return, it was part of what had kept him going.  But he knows that eventually time must tell.  If things proceed to their natural end, Cyan will die before James is perceptibly older.  James wonders whether the Pattern would take him to a world where medical science was sufficiently advanced to rejuvenate Cyan, and what she would say if he offered it.

"It's weird.  I didn't know her long, but I still miss her."

"Back home, before I began all this, I moved around often enough that I never really made strong ties with people.  I kept in contact with my family, at least until my parents died, but we drifted apart over the years.  I don't think they understood my choice of work and a lot of the stuff I was doing I couldn't tell them about even if I wanted to.  Towards the end I had to make things up as my age became less "consistent"."

"I guess what I'm saying...I never really got used to the sense of losing someone, of saying goodbye.  Even with my natural advantages, with the stuff I was doing it always seemed more likely that I would die before my friends.  I'm not sure how I'll cope if I have to watch everybody I know get old.  I'm not sure I want to."

James morbid chain of thought is interrupted by Banglen-Yp's warning.  He has enough time to gather himself before the green lady appears and manages a respectable bow in response to her greeting.

"Peaceful visitors are always welcome here." the woman replies, as her eyes travel from Cyan, to Berd, to Banglen-Yp, and finally to James, "Though I confess that I have never seen any so... unusual as yourselves.  Ah... but where are my manners?  Forgive me, please.  I am called Shaendra, and this wood is under my protection."

She suddenly finds herself surrounded by a swarm of  what are, presumably Banglen-Yps - a mixed collection of small birds and flying insects, and something that looks vaguely like Berd, but coloured in tones which change constantly from moment to moment.

"Do you go to the Caerse." she gestures in the general direction of the city, invisible now beyond the trees, If so, I should warn you that today is a holy day there, and they might not be so welcoming.  Not hostile, as such, but many shops will be closed, and inns will likely be full to capacity."

Sadly, the woman's arrival gives Cyan no time to do anything but ponder James' words.  That he fears what he might become...she knows he has seen wars in the past.  Dreadful, terrible conflicts.  Certainly he has watched as they twisted people from good, kind, and generous men and women into vicious or ruthless killers.  Fear did that to people, fear and loss.

She thinks he still stands a long way from losing that all-important part of himself, but given what she has seen and heard of the elders of Amber, it will be a struggle for him as the centuries grow cold at his back.  But if anyone can hold onto their heart, she would back quiet, steadfast James.  Granite he might be, but his heart is living stone - warm and unbreachable.  The heart of the world itself, perhaps - all fire and precious minerals.

Meredith...certainly she would hear more of the girl from James.  What she has from Berd are impressions and images, nothing more.  Sorrow.  Pity.  Pain.  Anger at times, once with Meredith, more often with others for their treatment of her.

There's some amusement at James' assessement of his own possible stumble.  A 'male' problem indeed.  Men always want to charge ahead and slay the dragon of the problem, Cyan knows.  It's an admirable trait, no question.  But sometimes they need to learn to simply listen.  But James has always found a good balance, and she suspects he is too hard upon himself here.

But who can say?  She wasn't there, and certainly isn't Meredith, whose problems seem colossal from what the weary soldier describes.  Still yearning to hear the full story, Cyan hopes the woman finally found some peace.

She wonders if one reason James misses her so is because everything in his life has been impermanent.  The aging issue...him having to constantly move, and not get close to anyone...this journey has been an opportunity to meet people similar to himself, people with whom he might forge lasting relationships.  But events have swept them all away, leaving him once again with nothing.

And the pain in his voice at the thought of watching those about him grow old...

A pang of guilt runs through her.  At least, Cyan considers, he will not see that with me.  But's a numbly ironic thought, given that 'goodbye' will still happen.  Just a lot sooner than expected.  So unfair.  Finally meeting people with whom he might have common ground, James still loses them, one by one.

Berd...

A fragment of Berd, still conscious (always there is 'one'), sees/understands/agrees.

Despite his shadowed mood, James still manages a courtly bow for 'Shaendra', to Cyan's gentle amusement.  A well-used blade he is, but with polished edges.  "It is our honor to meet you, Shaendra."  Cyan smiles.  "We bring no harm to your woods, only curiousity and purpose to pass through.  Here we have Banglen-Yp -" a vague gesture encompasses not only the woman, but the curious seekers swarming about Shaendra "- in all her glory.  Archons ward our steps:  brave Nariel, Staosha and Suriel of the danioti, clever Rabacyel of the eshurianti, potent Barkiel of the herenethi, and bright Shalgiel of the sencathi.  They come in peace.  Here is James, a knight of honor, and I am Cyan, of No Place In Particular."

On her shoulder, the little drake snores, a waft of smoke rising from his nostrils.  Cyan grimaces.  "And this is Berd," she amends.

She sees no point in hiding the presence of the Archons - likely Shaendra has detected them, and in any case, to not introduce them would be rude.  "Understood," she murmurs to the Archon who spoke.  "There are mysteries in the Myriad Worlds even to Archons, and I do not think she intends harm."
This message was last edited by the player at 12:15, Thu 03 Nov 2011.

The woman inclines her head to each person as they are named, and peers curiously at the Archons.  "I have heard of such as these.  My cousin travelled to another land, and came back with a tale of such a creature.  He said it spoke little, but when it did its words were filled with wisdom.  You are all most welcome here."

"Please, do not be alarmed.  I am about to call my friends out of hiding."

She raises her hands and claps twice.  There is movement in the forest, parts of some of the trees seem to break away, changing shape and colour as they do so.  Bark becomes green skin and hair and clothes of silk and leather.  Like Shaendra, they seem unarmed, though some carry what appear to be some sort of musical instruments.

"We are the protectors of this forest.  Its gardeners, if you will.  If you wish our assistance, we can lead you to where you need to go."

 

Hands clapped in delight at the appearance of the Tree People as they collectively was dubbed the moment is was evident where they at least was hiding.  A sense of kinship, if distant, made the part of Banglen-Yp that could smile do just that while the rest chirped or made other noises of approval and greeting.

• We are honoured to walk in your world •

A bow from what probably was the Banglen-Yp that they others first encountered, although it was impossible to tell by looks alone.  She was, however, still keeping apart ever so little in the mental realm, perhaps on purpose, perhaps merely through being the "eldest".

The thought of what home will look like once she returned made her smile; endless variation born from experience and fuelled by imagination awaken.  The thought of going home made her smile waver a little and she turned to look at those travelling with her, still new emotions stirring inside.

Everything ends, but is not that what made it valuable, she wondered.

 

Got my tenses mixed up, hopefully fixed now, no other change made.
This message was last edited by the player at 16:22, Wed 09 Nov 2011.

Pleased, Cyan shoots a glance at the Archons, one eyebrow lifted.  Perhaps her cousin stumbled across one of the nephillim.  Perhaps the Archon was of a singular bent, not a part or party to any faction.  Either way, it's proof they have made their mark upon the Myriad Worlds in a manner not only negative.

They have done good, as well.  The quest has proven that, time and time again.

Her smile broadens when Banglen-Yp replies - from the more steady intonation of her voice and the care she takes in her movement, Cyan suspects this one is 'their' Banglen-Yp, the one who has spent the most time with people.  It pleases her to see the woman so comfortable in this strange universe, so comfortable with her companions.

And, being what she is, Cyan doesn't miss the shadow that passes across the beings face.

But when the other people move from beyond and even within the trees, her smile falls away and Cyan's topaz eyes widen.  "You..."  One hand scrabbles in her pouch, a pouch she kept even when armored in Ares' jet and gold.  Her pouch of treasures, to never be forgotten.  "I know you."

Cracked, broken memories murmur in her ear.

"A fourth room, if you please, Donavon."  Spoke the short green-skinned man behind them.  He'd been silently observing his surroundings, with a good-natured smile about the entire thing.

"I met a man on my travels.  At the beginning of this journey, in fact," Cyan whispers.  "A man like you."

He looks down at the two shafts jutting from his chest, opens his mouth to speak, and falls to the ground.

"He...was the first to fall."  And she holds out her hand.  A small collection of beads lie upon her palm beside a few coloured stones, all shining in the sunlight.  Shining like her eyes.  I never thought I would...

"His name was Otandal."

James watches curiously as Shaendra calls her people from hiding.  It didn't concern James that there were people close by capable of concealing themselves from sight.  He couldn't help but be a little surprised, though, when they step from the trees.  The more logical part of his mind immediately begins to consider the possibilities Some kind of illusion or a true melding?  The more illogical and often more sensible part of his mind thinks Dryads! (and is all the happier for it).

James had been about to accept Shaendra's offer of help when he notices Cyan's reaction.  He watches with sympathy as Cyan pulls out what appears to be a keepsake of this Otandal.  James didn't remember the man at all, so Cyan must have known him some time ago.

The green-skinned forest dwellers return Banglen-Yp's bow, and Shaendra replies to the blonde shapeshifter, "You honour our land with your presence."

To Cyan, she explains, "Otandal is a common name in these parts.  In the Old Speech it means, 'shapes metal'."  Shaendra studies the items in Cyan's hand, "Tathlokti beads, and stones from Lake Var.  This Otandal must have been well travelled, Var lays many leagues from here.  Was he gifted with the drevhan?"  Sensing some puzzlement, she demonstrates what she means...

One hand is raised before he face, and the fingers elongate, changing form to become, in rapid succession, leafy branches, writhing serpentine streams of water, and spikes of stone.  "The drevhan is what permits us to conceal ourselves in the forest.  We adopt forms which can not be easily seen when leaning against a tree."

"Well-travelled indeed," Cyan replies, without a trace of irony.  "He was indeed gifted with your drevhan - I saw him several times alter his body to suit what he needed."  She grimaces at the woman's explanation of the name.  "I see.  Tander.  Tander Otandal, I believe, assuming Tander was not a diminutive of Otandal."  Slain just out of Arden, in a burst of arrows from the woods.  Brigands, nothing more, and yet Tander became the first to fall away from the quest.

But not the last.

How to explain this to Shaendra?  Does she understand the Myriad Worlds?  Does she even know of them?  Best not to confuse the issue...yet.  "I met him in a city far distant from here.  We journeyed together for a time, with others.  But men desperate for money ambushed us on the road, and Otandal fell.  We buried him, but I resolved to bring his name and his keepsakes to his people."

She bites her lip and bows her head.  "Glad am I to have found you."

Berd's eyes crack open and he studies the beings before them; but the drake falls back into a deep sleep, struggling to replenish his drained reserves of strength.
This message was last edited by the player at 16:31, Tue 15 Nov 2011.

 

There seemed to be a few more trees around, with many birds and other creatures landing in them, although to anyone with keen enough senses the trees appeared to be just that; trees.

A kitten crawled out on the shoulder of the Banglen-Yp that had bowed and let out a cheerful mew, looking with curiosity at the leaves dancing teasingly nearby.  Banglen-Yp lifted a hand to both stroke the kitten and hold it back.  Pouncing their host would not be a good idea, even for a little kitten.

Once the ravaging beast is secured with a chin rub Banglen-Yp's gaze went to her own hand, held discreetly low, as it mimicked the transformation just seen.  She smiled gently and returned her gaze to Shaendra.

 

"You gifted his remains to the land.  There can be no more fitting tribute to one of our people.  Life springs from death, and returns to it in the end, nourishing further life.  It is the nature of the world."

Shaendra studies the kitten for a moment before turning in a complete circle to watch the numerous birds and flying insects which surround them.  If she finds anything odd in the appearance of many of the birds, she does not comment on it.  Instead she asks, "Will you take food with us before you travel further?  We have sufficient for all, and more.  The forest provides."

At which point Shaendra and all of her people speak in unison, "Blessed is the forest."

Cyan is certain that Shaedra has noted something odd about the birds and insects about Banglen-Yp, beyond their simple presence.  But the woman doesn't comment, nor take offense; instead, she offers hospitality.  The bard bows in reply.  "We would, I think, be pleased to accept your generous offer."

On her shoulder, Berd's eyes crack open again, and this time he huffs a puff of smoke.  Offer?  Food?

"I do not know what your people would do with these," Cyan continues, holding out the stones and beads.  "I know not what Tander would wish with them as well.  But it seems to me they better belong with you than I."

Banglen-Yp's cat appears to have made another appearance, fortunately not in the form of a saber-toothed tiger...though Cyan doubts such a beast would actually frighten Shaendra and her people.

James contributes little as Cyan and Shaendra converse but he listens with interest even as he watches Banglen-Yp and Shaendra's people.  He has met other shape-shifters during the quest but it is his first experience of drevhan.  It makes an interesting counter-point to Banglen-Yp's transformative abilities.

Distracted, James is about to reach out and pat the kitten when he belatedly remembers that it is almost certainly part of Banglen-Yp and she can eat Archons.  He's not at all certain what would happen if it had a real go at biting him and he's not sure he wants to find out.

Shaendra's question recalls James' attention.  He gives another bow, since it seems a safe response to both her question and her people's reverence.  "We would be delighted to eat with you.  We have travelled far and some of us, I know, are both tired and hungry."

The journey through the forest is, mercifully, a short one.  No more than half an hour after being invited to take food with Shaendra's people the group arrive at a camp of sorts.  A forest glade contains simple wooden tables and benches arranged beneath canopies before a low platform decked with pennants and banners of snow white and emerald green.  Behind the platform stands a tree, its limbs gnarled and twisted, with a trunk which is almost forty feet in diameter near the base.  Lanterns hang from the lower branches, perhaps two hundred feet above the ground, and a constant rain of leaves and flower petals seems to fall as the extremities of the boughs are stirred by the breeze.

As the travellers arrive, there are perhaps a thousand people already here, crowded at the tables and already eating.

Shaendra leads the way, past most of the tables, and finally stops at the one closest to the platform.  This near, it is apparent that there is an altar of some kind on the platform, draped with white cloth and supporting several large wooden jars.  Shaendra gestures to the benches, "Please, be seated."

Food is brought to the table - large bowls, each containing some sort of grain mixed with small pieces of diced meat or vegetable.  There is fresh bread too, and a drink which turns out to be a type of mead.

Shaendra hands Tander's possessions to one of the servers, who carries them to the altar.

When everybody is settled and eating, Shaendra speaks again, "I am curious.  You are strangers, and some of you are unlike any we have seen before.  Why have you come here?  As I explained, today is a holy day in Caerse.  Are you planning to attend the Rites there?"

Cyan sighs at the sight of the great tree and halts for a long moment, staring up at it.  "There were trees such as this in the land of Doriath," she murmurs, "before the Naugrim came in force.  The Heavy-Handed fell before the gates of the Thousand Caves, and his foes paid a bitter price for their passage.  There are times I wish I had stood by him."  Berd stirs, and Cyan shakes her head.  "But we were not there, and returned too late."

She takes in a deep breath, and her topaz eyes shine in the dappled light of the glade.  "This is beautiful, Shaendra.  And so many people."  Petals catch in her dulled hair, alongside a forlorn leaf, dried and cracked.  Bending, she sweeps up a handful and lets them trickle between her fingers as she follows Shaendra into the crowd.

"So many people," Cyan whispers to James.  "Would you have guessed?  I expected far fewer."

Lords of the West, but this is why she began her travels through the Myriad Worlds.

The altar catches her gleaming eyes, but she dutifully sits where Shaendra indicates, not wishing to offend.  Bowing her head, she utters a brief thanks for her meal and well-wishes for their hosts, then accepts the bread and vegetables.

And the mead, of course.  "I have not had the like in ages," she notes with great appreciation.

But she pauses when Tander's possessions are brought to the altar, and for a long moment she watches them go.  Another weight off, and with its vanishing a sense of loss.  The things holding her down grow fewer and fewer still.

And yet...so comforting to see them in their proper place.

The bard perks up at Shaendra's question.  She shoots a quick glance to James, then Banglen-Yp, and finally shrugs.  "I had no plans to attend the rites; indeed, I am unfamiliar with them.  We merely pass through on a journey of import."  Her smile quirks.  "We come from far away - another world, in truth - and pace upon yours on our way to the next.  Exhausted, we sought shelter, food and rest, but never thought to come across such gifts as you offer."

Beside her, Berd has fallen asleep with his face in a bowl, quite overcome by a the journey, a full belly, and half a flagon of mead.  Despite his slumber, his teeth work at the meal in fits and starts.

"Yes, beautiful."

"I do hope I'll get to travel to your home some day Cyan.  Every time you speak of it I get a sense of great and melancholy beauty.  There was a war there, too, yes?  Some great struggle."

As they walk through the clearing most of the leaves and petals slide off James' armour, though a few catch in his hair.

"Not so many, no.  I thought there would be no more than half this number.  The people are resourceful or the forest bountiful, or both, to feed so many."

James sits at the place chosen for him and observes the same pleasantries as Cyan but it is clear he is not entirely comfortable.  Abruptly, he stands, "Excuse me, it doesn't feel right sitting here in my armour.  I'll be with you in a moment."

James moves a short distance away and lays down his helm and gun and with them Fangmir.  Then he works at removing his armour.  Some thought has clearly gone into its design and it doesn't have the clasps, buckles and straps of plate armour but it still takes a couple of minutes.  By the time he returns Berd has already passed out.

"There's a sight.  I was worried for a moment that he'd smother, but look, sleep-eating."

"The Rites are of great importance to most of the people of Caerse, 'tis true...  But we follow a different, older path.  While the Rites have some significance to us, they are less important than to the Followers of the Flame.  The extra people that come flooding into the city for the festivities make things uncomfortably crowded." Shaendra explains.

"At most times, fully three fourths of the people you see here would dwell in Caerse, conducting their trade there.  Only the remaining fourth live, like myself, in the forest.  But for our own holy days and festivals, and to avoid the bustle and crowds of the Rites, the rest come here for brief spells - a four-day at the most - before returning home."

The woman listens to Cyan's explanation of the travellers' origins, and nods, "I have heard of such things, and some of our people learn the art of Walking, as we call it.  I did wonder how far you might have travelled, due to the obvious differences between us."  She places her hand alongside Cyan's, comparing the colour of their skin.

As James returns, stripped of his armour, Shaendra smiles at him, "Aaah.  That does present a more... friendly aspect."

"Tell me, you have the gift of Walking.  Do you, then, originate in one place, or do you originate in many, and have simply come together during your journey?"

"Yes.  I do hope I haven't offended you.  The places we have just come from were...dangerous and I had no opportunity to change before we met.  It wasn't intended as any reflection on your hospitality."

James considers Shaendra's question before speaking further.  He could explain that Cyan and Berd came from the same place, but any attempt to explain their history was likely to be awkward.  And James had no idea where the six Archons came from, having only just met them.

"We come from many different places.  We have journeyed together, some for longer than others, because we have a common destination."

During the walk, Cyan smiles, throwing a burst of petals into the air.  There's a wistful hint to the act and her expression.  "A war, yes, against the Lord of Fetters.  I saw only flashes of it in my comings and goings - it was where I grew up, but not where I was 'birthed'.  Berd and I wandered."  She glances his way, her eyes dark amythests.  "I would take you there to see it, but...the War of Wrath shattered the land.  It is gone now, sunk beneath the waves, and the land to the south and east of it I know not."

Once seated, she watches James go, understanding his need, and listens to Shaendra's explanations.  "Followers of the Flame?  Might I ask what flame it is?"  She stares at Shaendra's slender arm next to her own, the forest green and the paler skin so different, yet the arms themselves so similar.  "Have you seen any of my hue before Shaendra?"  She smiles at the woman.  "For one accustomed to those of verdant skin, you reacted not at all to ours."

The bard relaxes further as James returns, smiling at his choice of descriptions for Berd.  "Sleep-eating indeed...he could no doubt find a way if dead.  I would express concern the same might happen to you, James, but I suspect I would go that route long before yourself!"

Thinning her lips, she considers a moment, then speaks.  "Those Archons with me, you may of course join us.  Merely respect our hosts and their home, and remain small."

James fields the question regarding Walking the Worlds and their places within them, which is a fine start.  Cyan absently picks up Berd's head by the neck, ensures herself he still breathes, and releases him back to his slumber and feeding.  "Have other Walkers of the Worlds passed through your lands recently, Shaendra?"

Shaendra nods thoughtfully at Jame's explanations.  The news that there are places where his armour might be necessary brings a simple, "I understand." while his description of the varied origins of the visitors produces, "Yes, I see.  There is a saying here - the longer the road, the more welcome the companionship."

At Cyan's word, the Archons move in closer, hovering around the table in precisely measured positions somewhat above head height, small as bees.  A number of the Banglen-Yps move in close, alighting on benches, the ground, or even the table itself, some remaining in their guises of birds and insects, while others revert to their human forms.  Whether because of Cyan's instruction to the Archons or for some reason of their own, the ones which shift form retain their diminutive size.

"Ah... I see that some of you, at least, are familiar with the drevhan."  Shaendra gestures to two of the minute Banglen-Yps currently standing near her on the table.

"The Followers of the Flame revere the prophet Garnander, who spoke to our ancestors about three thousand years ago.  He told them of the Flame of Truth, which lights the Road of Life and burns away deception.  He also taught them that the Rites are the core of all belief.  While the Followers still worship the Primal, as do we, they do so in a way which differs from our own tenets.  Each group respects the beliefs of the other, by and large, though this was not always the case, and the differences between us have occasionally resulted in violence."

Cyan's question about the colour of her skin brings a laugh, "I have never seen any with skin or eyes such as yours.  But there was a man who came to Caerse in my grandfather's time, a trader from a foreign land who, it is said, had skin as white as snow.  He stayed for a year, then returned home, having become a Follower of the Flame.  It was because of his time here that I suspected you were foreigners who had journeyed far, though I never realised how far."

Cyan ponders on Shaendra's words, considering her descriptions of the Followers of the Flame.  Violence between the followers of religions happens; it's a sad thing, but past acrimony does not speak ill of the current followers of each religion.

"Banglen-Yp is...rather familiar with the drevhan, or something similar," she notes.  In truth, the woman's shapeshifting is a matter of what she is rather than a learned or developed skill.

"This foreigner - would you happen to remember his name?" she inquires.

OOC - Sorry for the brevity, but I'm utterly wiped out right now.  :(

"His name?" Shaendra replies, brow furrowed, "No... I think not.  It has been almost thirty years since I heard the tale last, and I was but a small child then.  His fantastical appearance remains lodged in my memories, but his name has long since moved on."

And then she smiles, "But what of you?  Where are you bound, if not to Caerse?"

A pity she doesn't recall the name.  Cyan enjoys such tidbits, and there's always a chance - infinitessimal, within the Myriad Worlds - that it is someone she knows.  A quaint delusion, she is aware, but always there is that anticipation...

"Us?"  The bard smiles, a soft expression to match the faraway look in her emerald eyes.  "We travel through this world to another on a matter of some urgency.  We sought rest here, to better face what will come.  And we have found it."  She glances around at the towering trees, the falling petals, the crowds of pleasant people.

"A sight for sore eyes, I must say."  Brushing back her hair, she returns her gaze to their host.  "You have given us more than you might guess, Shaendra.  James, here, holds the strength to no doubt march on forever, but I think I needed a place to sit."  Again, her eyes wander.  "To watch the world turn."

Berd finally drags his head from his bowl and crawls labouriously into Cyan's lap.  She absently brushes off his snout as he settles in, turning to and fro before simply falling over and into a deep slumber.  "And this one could travel no further," she murmurs.  "He has pushed himself for too long a time."

Sleep, father.  I will wake you when it is time to leave.

James listens with interest to the conversation between Cyan and Shaendra.  Now that he has shed his armour, he is content to concentrate on eating and seems determined to catch up with Berd.

"Not forever, but long enough I hope." He says between mouthfuls.

"You must forgive us for not saying more of our destination.  Of many dangerous places we have been, this will be, perhaps, the most hazardous.  I know this must sound a little over-wrought, but it may be safer that you don't know its name."

Shaendra shakes her head, "No, forgive me for prying, it was no more than idle curiosity on my part.  Your destination is your own business, and as guests in my home, and guests who have shown respect, both to myself, and to one of our people who has died in a distant place, I should respect your privacy."

"But, while I will ask no more of your destination, I will ask of your journey.  Do you need aught?  Provisions?  Water?  Blankets?  You appear to travel light, and if your road is long and journey's end will not welcome you, as you seem to imply, then you will need more than you have with you."

She smiles, and bows her head to Cyan, to Banglen-Yp, and to James, "Think of it as thanks for bearing home some remembrance of Otandal."

Cyan cannot help but chuckle as James shovels in the fuel.  His capacity is truly prodigious.  "Now I know from whence your strength comes," she laughs.  But the bard grows more serious at his explanation, or lack thereof.  He's absolutely correct - this isn't the sort of thing they should be bandying around, or at least not the specifics.

"No forgiveness is necessary, Shaendra."  Cyan offers a sad smile.  "We are guests, and normally I would be glad to give you the whys and wherefors for our passage through your lands.  It is only politeness, from your guests.  But James is correct - this time, we cannot.  If any should apologize, it is us."

She glances at James first, then Banglen-Yp for a moment, considering how much they might carry (and how many of the Banglen-Yp's might do so without consuming the provisions immediately), then remembers their escorts.  No...better not to ask the Archons to be pack animals.  Look how long it took Right to become accustomed to carrying gurthang.  At the thought, she thinks on the blade on her back.

I think I have had enough of you.

"Water and food would be a fine thing, Shaendra," she agrees.  "And perhaps a blanket or two for rest.  We are in a hurry, in truth - not a rush, but as you say, we travel lightly.  For good reason."  Not long now.  "But I would be most grateful."

Her sapphire eyes close and Cyan offers a deeper bow, seated but from the waist.  "It has been a long journey, and we have been lucky enough to stumble across kind assistance from time to time.  Yours...I am gratified the universe set our path through your lands."

For many reasons, not the least of which is Otandal.

"Then I shall make the necessary arrangements." Shaendra says, standing, "In the meantime, please rest and enjoy your meal.  I shall return shortly."  With a bow, she turns to leave...

Cyan bows in place as Shaendra leaves, then turns her face up to stare into the falling petals.  "I am always amazed at our luck.  But then, I suppose the Myriad Worlds cannot be all violence and terror, no matter how it might seem at times."  A small grin proves the comment a quip rather than a serious observation.

She sighs, relaxing as the food and drink begin to work their magic.  "You spoke of Meredith before, James.  I truly wish I could have met her...under better circumstance.  It sounds as if she had a terrible life, and could have used some true friends."  She turns to stare at him directly, her amber eyes frank.  "Glad I am that she found one in you before leaving.  Small wonder you miss her.  You are that kind of person, James - a good man.  And..."

Turning back to the snowfall of petals, she raises her hand and lets a few fall between her fingers.  "This journey, this quest.  It tempers us in its fires, but it also forges bonds between us.  In a short time, we face all manner of horrors and wonders beside someone; is it such a surprise that we feel their loss so poignantly when they fall away?  You and I, we have seen many come and go.  All of them brought something to this quest, something to us.  And so...I understand."

She cocks her head.  "Perhaps.  If that is not too arrogant of me to say I know something of your mind."

The bard pokes James' arm with a finger.  "Of course you tried to fix her problems!  As you say, you are a man.  It is what you do.  But sometimes, James, you are very good at listening as well, so let us not sell you short."  This with an amused grin.

Her smile fades, though, as she pours through the memory of his words.  "You fear what you might become, James, should you continue on this path too long and cease to care.  And you look forward to a life where you watch those around you grow old and pass on.  James...I cannot begin to imagine what that might be like."

Berd, in her lap, cracks open an eye and stares at the scion of Amber.

"I am the lucky one, I suppose."  Cyan chuckles, shaking her head.  "I have the honor and pleasure of knowing you.  James...could you not carry the memories with you?  The memories of us, of the people you have known?  Ah, but that seems so sad."  Her eyes shine with unshed tears.  "Your long life seem like a gift at first glance, but at times to you it must feel like a curse.  If only..."

The bard shakes her head, brushing her eyes.  "If only - such horrible words.  James, I wish you naught but the best life might offer, but it seems that best - forever - is a heavy weight.  You make friends wherever you go.  Some might be of similar stock as yourself, but many will not be."  She lays a hand on his arm.  "I only hope you find enough joy with them that their memories bring pleasure as well as pain."

"Here, now - let me be a man for a moment and offer you a fix for your problem, James."  Scooping up the drake, she holds the confused, half-asleep Berd before his eyes.  "This one will always need someone to help him, to feed him.  Hopeless, he is."

Berd blinks muzzily, his huge eyes wide and confused with sleep.

(Cyanfriend/daughter) {speak/jabber} of (what/subject), (Heavyhand/Scarspirit)?

"Then again, you have enough weight on your spirit," she mutters, dumping him back down.  The drake immediately passes out.  "Apologies, James.  A small witticism.  Very small indeed."  More serious again, she shakes her head.  "Would that I had a true solution, but all I can offer is my own understanding.  A poor salve indeed."

James returns Shaendra's bow, though it is of the head only; being seated makes the gesture a little awkward.  James watches the woman for a moment before turning his attention back to Cyan.

"Not all luck.  As I understand it, Berd was searching for a place for us to rest and recuperate.  But yes, for it to be Otandal's world," Or as near to it as makes no difference. "...Sometimes I think the universe has a strange sense of humour." James gives one of his characteristic shrugs.  That such things were beyond his understanding did not greatly trouble James.

"It's not arrogant." James answers quickly, then pauses before continuing "It's always risky to speak of understanding another person.  How is one to truly know?  But we've known each other quite a while, fought together, and against each other.  You understand me as well as anyone, or better.  At any rate, you've hit the mark squarely."

"Meredith had other friends.  She spoke of a man named Lorne, though I never really understood their relationship.  It might be interesting to search him out, if he still lives."  James ponders the prospect for a moment, indulging his curiosity, and accepts Cyan's pokes, verbal and physical, in good humour.

James smiles and gives a quiet chuckle, gently for he shares some of Cyan's melancholy, "Do not pity me too much.  I'm not blind to the opportunities of my particular...situation.  In kinder times I could spend years watching sunsets, each more beautiful than the last.  Or I could quest for the greatest song in the universe, that with each syllable creates a new world."

"But memories.  You have, unsurprisingly, found the heart of it.  I will remember this, you, as long as I can.  But what are my limits?  When must I stop?  At what point will each new memory mean another forgotten?"

"I could find a world where medical science is advanced enough to give you immortality.  But if you were to accept, I suspect I would have killed you,"
The you I love "as surely as if I had run you through."

"Enough." James straightens.  "Or we shall have to find another world to drown our sorrows.  Don't trouble yourself, Berd, we speak only of truths and other follies."

"Your fix, though, briefly, is flawed as a man's.  Berd is my friend, as you are, and is welcome to rest on my shoulder and dine at my table for as long as I have either to offer, or at least until he bites my ear too hard.  But that is not my burden to pick up, it is our choice, together.  Also, it seems to me that Berd has grown a lot, if you know what I mean, in the time I've known him.  If it continues, it seems to me he may transcend anything that I can comprehend.  It's hard to have a satisfying relationship with the Ultimate, God knows I've tried."

"And again, enough, listen to me."

"I've been meaning to ask.  What is it exactly you plan to do when the time comes to face Harbonah?  Hosk may be the place for that, or not, I'm not sure, but I've only a very limited idea of what you mean to do.  As I understand it you mean to broadcast an appeal to the assembled Archons, to persuade them to turn from destruction.  Admirable, which is good, and I think achievable, which is better, but how?"

 

Turning cartwheels 'cross the floor, and various other items and such that some of the Banglen-Yp's changed into, the Banglen-Yps chased after some of the kittens among the others.  One of each separated from the rest and made their way to the two people speaking.

"So perhaps Ford was right, about humans and their lips?" mused the Banglen-Yp to the kitten perched on her shoulder.
    "Meeorrwwl," replied the kitten with authority.
    "Indeed.  At least we always remember the towel."
    "Mrrrf."

The Banglen-Yp nodded sagely and ruffled the fur on the kittens head before she turned to regard the two talkers.

"The past, given its nature, usually remains there, but how about the future?  When we arrive at where we shall be when we get there, what is the general plan of action?" she inquired smilingly.  "Or, put into other words, she added and poked James gently on the nose, "what he said."

"Oh, and also, if need be, I, ah, we, hmm, you know, can carry most anything.  Like the True Master of the Multiverses here!"  She patted the kitten on the head as he stretched up, daring anyone to dispute that claim.

 

"The universe is an odd place," Cyan quietly agrees, glancing at the dancing Banglen-Yp with a smile.  "It having a sense of humor?  Absolutely."  It is, she thinks, a pity most people don't see that.  Perhaps if they did, there would be less of...well, the current situation.

She ducks her head at James' kindness in dispelling her concerns.  "Indeed we have.  A great deal of time - since Cadinigart, yes?"  She struggles with the memory for a moment, then smiles.  "'Friend' was the first word I heard from your lips, James of Amber, and how very true it proved."  For a long moment, her amythest eyes are far away.  Then she blinks, and they clear.  "Certs we have spent a great deal of time, both miserable and rewarding, in one another's companies."  Her hand finds his shoulder and squeezes for a moment.  "My memories are...fractured, but not lost, and I look upon our times together with great fondness."

Her head cocks to the side and the bard grows solemn.  "Perhaps you should search out Meredith as well as Lorne," she quietly offers, glancing down at Berd for a moment.  "It might do you good, James."

Her smile returns at James' bittersweet chuckle, but softer now.  "Indeed, there is much to be thankful for if one has endless years.  But...I will not let slip my sorrow at what it will cost you."  She sighs, staring again up at the falling petals.  "So hard for you, James.  Having seen the elders of Amber, I suspect your memories will hold for a long, long time.  I...remember Gil.  But his 'immortality' was unnatural, whereas yours, I think, is a function of who you are.  Perhaps you will not forget."

Her smile fades.  "And perhaps," she sadly states, "that is not as much a blessing as one might think.  I pray you never grow cold, James.  Your heart is strong, but the whetstone of years is hard and enduring, and may sharpen the softest touch to an edge."  She touches his breastbone.  "Keep it safe.  I would have you enjoy those sunsets and hear that song.  And someday, perhaps, sing it."

And remember me.

She ducks her head, a lopsided smile appearing and vanishing on her lips.  "Perhaps I would take your offer for a...medical immortality, James.  I do not know what it would bring. I-"  Her smile falters, then Cyan shakes her head, her once-copper-now-russet hair dancing, threads of grey showing through.  Berd made her strong.  Fast.  Potent.  Too much so.  His power is not infinite and for everything there comes a price.  Cyan's candle has burned brightly, perhaps too much so.

"You are a good man, James," she whispers, then laughs through nascent tears, dashing them away.  "Indeed!  Berd would be a difficult enough companion.  No doubt he will find you at some point or another, and impinge upon your hospitality."  She jabs the drake, who grunts once without waking.  "This one?  Ulitmate?"  The bard snorts in a most unlady-like manner.  "At best, he gains further strength to enjoy his vices."

Another grunt from Berd, this one disgusted.  Apparently he isn't fully asleep.

At James' request to attend, she grows more serious and quiet, focusing on him.  Banglen-Yp - their Banglen-Yp, and her kitten - echo his questions in her own way.  "You both have the right of it," Cyan nods, her eyebrows (and smile) rising at the poke on the nose and the grandiose claim for the kitten.  "Berd is the Ultimate and the Kitten the True Master," she murmurs.  "As always, I find myself in the presence of royalty..."

Her voice trails off and she sits in silence for several heartbeats.

"And I dance around the point," Cyan confesses.  "So.  We must all know the plan.  Here now, listen to my words.  In my time, I have seen much of the Archons - of the Seraphim, of the Nephillim, and of those caught between.  I have viewed Berd's memories of Raziel, a herenethi dedicated to the Seraphim who grew to appreciate art and the beauty of creation, and for that opted to shift his position away from violence and destruction.  I have seen the scholars of the Nephillim, devoted to the study of the Myriad Worlds.  I have watched Right and Left grow from simple soldiers into strong leaders and quiet students of life, respectively."

She takes a deep breath.  "But such things do not come easily to the Archons.  You Archons with me, speak if you wish to give your own thoughts, for I would hear them as well."

"Right changed over the course of my search for Broken God.  Finally, when he absorbed the memories and pain of millions of dying people, granted to him by accident through Dorian's power -" something meant for Cyan, in truth "- it solidified his feelings on certain matters.  Left changed more gradually, through study of emotion and interaction.  In both cases, it required them to become aware of things beyond their own desires.  The same with Raziel, though he himself seemed to realize there must be more than simple mastery to the universe."

Her lips thin.  "Archons - like any creature, to be truthful - need to be shown."

Cyan rubs her fingers along Berd's neck-ridge.  "I had hoped Dorian would be here as well, to assist with this plan, but...we will make do.  I will confront the massed Host of the Seraphim - as many as we can lure to one place.  They know me - Harbonah's 'General', privy to many of his secrets before my treason.  And to all of them, before Harbonah can have them destroy me, I will offer that which Harbonah keeps from them."

Her lips twitch into a bleak smile.  "It is the one thing a Seraphim cannot resist - power over others.  Those with Harbonah's secrets will have the opportunity to use them against others, even Harbonah himself.  Those who refuse will find themselves at a disadvantage against their rivals.  I believe the temptation will prove too much for them."

The bard's jaw muscles knot for a moment and her eyes, clear topaz a bare two shades from diamond, stare into the distance.  "I will open my mind to them.  All of them.  With Berd's help and his support, I will give them far more than simple information.  My memories of the Myriad Worlds I have travelled.  The things of beauty and terror I have seen.  The lives we have touched, the people we have met as people, not alien creatures to be destroyed.  My own feelings.  My experiences.  Every last bit."

In her lap, Berd lets out a small cry in his sleep.

James sways back slightly in surprise as Banglen-Yp pokes him in the nose "I seem to be very poke-able today."

James doesn't seem to be offended, though, and he offers Banglen-Yp an apologetic smile, "I'm sorry if I've been neglecting you, Banglen-Yp.  Or you, little Master.  It's hard for me to get my head around your multitude of..." James waves an arm vaguely in an attempt to encompass the variety of Banglen-Yp.  "I suspect I'm hard-wired to think of one person in one body.  I'm not sure which of you I should be addressing."

"I would like to hear, though, what Ford said of humans and their lips.  I'm also glad you mentioned carrying things.  Do you mean 'carry' as we might, or 'carry' as in absorb and then reproduce?  It may be important to an idea I'm working on."

Turning to Cyan, James says, "I remember Gil, too, though I doubt he still remembers us."

"I may seek out Meredith, but I think she needed some space, to work out who she is and who she wants to be.  It may be kinder to give her more time."

As he speaks, James looks intently at Cyan.  He had noticed the occasional grey hair recently, but had put it down to stress.  It had not occurred to him that she might be aging unnaturally quickly (if such a concept had any validity in the diversity of the myriad worlds).  Her words, and Berd's reaction, only confirm James' other suspicions, though.  A sour, resigned expression spreads on his face.

"You don't mean to come back from this, do you?  Or at least you don't expect to.  Some of the Archons you let in will be gentle, respectful.  Others less so.  They will suspect you of holding back and will trample roughshod through your brain in search of any traps or strongholds you may have secreted away." To Cyan, especially, who has always insisted on the right to self-determination, the prospect of such mental pillaging must be horrific.

"I needn't tell you that I dislike your plan.  Or that it is any less hateful for being a good idea.  They must be shown."

"I am tempted to give you some of my memories of war, but I suspect your testimony will be more powerful for being yours and yours alone."

James gives a short, bitter laugh, "You realise what you're asking of us, don't you?  We must help you do this, and, so, let them do this to you.  And we cannot, must not avenge you."

James manner becomes more subdued and his voice drops a little.  "I have a little demonstration of my own that I have been considering.  We agree, don't we, that some of the Archons will not turn?  There will be a battle, of sorts, yes?"

"So I have decided to challenge Harbonah." James smiles, a refreshing change to his previous demeanour.  "Don't worry, I know how crazy that sounds.  I don't mean to fight him.  I intend to show him that cooperation and creation is more powerful than dominance and destruction.  And, conveniently, we have assembled here the perfect people for the job."

"I have been experimenting with a form of Pattern-based healing.  Treating a person's healthy state as a personal Pattern and mapping injuries and disease as "breaks" that can be repaired as I "walk" the proper Pattern.  I have used the technique successfully on myself...and on the Unicorn of Amber.  I know it works.  Now I mean to extend the concept to a planet, to Hosk itself.  More, I hope to 'improve' a little on Hosk if I can."

"Such a task is beyond me.  In my own strength it would be as futile and fatal as duelling Harbonah.  But I hope others will join me, starting with the Archons here, Right's strongest six, but including any who are willing to join their strength to mine.  Berd is the perfect focus.  He is adept with the bridging and with multi-tasking, I am hoping he will be able to link me to the strength of a host of angels."

"And I have, I think, the perfect medium.  Banglen-Yp can eat anything, but I have also seen her release mass.  That is, I think, I hope, that she, you, can create things, complicated substances and objects that are not sentient.  You are the perfect catalyst."

"So far, so good, but I doubt it will be that simple.  First, Harbonah.  I am hoping he will not immediately understand my true intent.  That he will waste time and energy defending himself and striking at me, rather than trying to destroy what we will be creating.  And I doubt he will be able to muster anything like the concert of minds that Berd can coordinate.  But his strength will be very great and it is much easier, and quicker, to burn something down than to grow it."

"There is likely to be an element of direct competition, but I also hope to subvert his strength.  Use a bit of mental aikido.  Energy is needed in creation, too, and if we can re-direct some of Harbonah's power to serve our purpose we have a better chance of winning.  Left may be very important here.  He was the subtle one, as I recall, and will know more of Hosk than we do, if he is still there."

"There are other variables, too, which are more difficult.  The orbs, as I understand them, are used to channel energy away from a world.  The stricken world becomes part of the Seraphim's cracks amongst the worlds but the diverted power is also significant and if Harbonah can effectively tap it, we may be lost before we start."

"The cubes have so far been used mostly as transport but the ones that Right is currently combatting seem intended for use as nexus points.  By linking many worlds they can quickly disseminate local effects.  I suspect Harbonah intended the, six?, cubes to be his chisel to open the major breaks.  Imagine what Dorian did to Hosk.  Now imagine one of those cubes on Hosk, simultaneously open to each of the worlds represented on the cube.  Still, Hosk is already a nexus of sorts, I doubt the cubes will be a major factor."

"The variable that troubles me most is the Broken God.  One piece of that...thing and the mental link is gone.  You may not be able to link to the assembled Archons and any hope of re-creating Hosk goes out the window.  I have never understood the Broken God's role in all this.  You say you were searching for it, Cyan?  What did you find?"

"What do you think?  Have I any chance?  I can't help but think of the saying concerning plans and contact with the enemy."

"There are times when it is difficult to tell the Banglen-Yp group apart," Cyan agrees with a small laugh.  "If, indeed, they are separate entities and not merely aspects of the same, now grown somewhat changed by their different experiences..."  She shakes her head.  It is a difficult idea to get her mind around.

"I would also like to know what Ford said about the lips of humans."

She nods to James supposition on Gil - the memory creature might have aided him, but who can say?  Such things are finite - and her eyes grow downcast when he considers letting Meredith be.  James should have someone with him, Cyan thinks.  But then, the bard notes to herself, who is she to decide who might be right for him?

I have no hold on him, myself.

From the look on his face - a rare one for James - he doesn't seem to like her idea.  Cyan doesn't blame him; she has already argued this out with Berd in a discussion that spanned an entire night, ending with her reminding him of his promise.  That had hurt both of them.  And now she inflicts the same upon James.

"I...believe me, James, I have struggled with this, tried to find another, better option.  I have found nothing.  I do not plan my own death - I hope to survive this - but."  But.  'Hateful' stabs her to the core, and his bitter laughter forces her eyes closed.  "I am sorry," she whispers.  Her hand twitches toward him, then away.  "What I ask of you is nothing I should of those for whom I care -" so very much "- and yet I must.  It is a poor abuse of your friendship."

But James is not finished.

She sits in silence and growing fear as he outlines his plan.  To battle Harbonah?  Himself?  But not directly, thank the Lords of the West.  His strategy unfolds, and Cyan finds herself blinking in wonder, her topaz eyes brilliant as she studies it.  She has known of James' experiments - he mentioned healing the Unicorn of Amber, a shocking feat - and now better understands how that was accomplished.  To level his power against the ruin of the world, to attempt the salvation of Hosk?  To bring together everyone as a show of strength to Harbonah himself?

"Lords of the West, James - a daunting prospect, but a worthy one!"  And so very much 'James'.  Astounded by his vision, by his compassion, by his sheer, raw defiance of this war, she sits stunned for a long moment.  "You have thought this strategy out in detail, I see!  Yes, Berd could be of use with that, and Left as well - she always was the subtler of the two."  He might just accomplish this.

That it is James who makes this long cast...what he sets his mind to do, he cursed well does, Cyan knows.

"Yes...enemies are the rocks upon which planning's tides break.  But we can hope to wash over and bury those rocks."  Of course there are reservations, and grave dangers to James himself.  Amber's scion names a few, Cyan nodding along with him, sick at the thought.  The cubes might be a threat, assuming there are any on Hosk to be used against James.  And Broken God.

"I found pieces of the Broken God, James, and brought them to Harbonah.  It is one of those pieces..."  She shifts uncomfortably with the memory.  "...one of those pieces I used against you.  Yes, they could break the battle against us, render it down to naught more than the physical.  We would have to watch for their use, ward ourselves against them.  But I do not know how."

The bard bites her lip in consideration.  "We know Broken God's name," she finally states.  "But it told us nothing.  We know what Broken God's fragments can do, but not how.  And we have no real means of combatting them beyond removing them from the battlefield.  Any Archon on our side might do this, but they would be guarded."  She snorts.  "Of course, it is my hope that the guards will be...wait."

She regards Banglen-Yp, and a slow smile grows on her face.  "I believe we may have our own counter to Broken God.  Banglen-Yp...is it possible you could consume Broken God itself?  Would that harm you?  If you need an explanation to what it is, I can provide one - sadly, a less-than comprehensive one."

"And there is one more threat to your plan."  Cyan makes a face.  "Well, more than one, your pardon.  But on grave threat.  Harbonah himself.  He will strike at you, James.  Directly - not simply through power, but at your body."  Cyan's voice grows low, urgent, and real fear shines in her eyes.  "He will seek to destroy you."

Her lips press together, and Cyan's eyes pale.  "You place yourself in the center, James.  Harbonah will strike at the obvious threat - you - knowing that I do not truly contain information that can harm him...or believing so.  He is somewhat...blunt.  And so you will face him directly."  The pale eyes turn his way, and her heart skips a beat.  "I cannot abide the thought of you in his grasp," she whispers.

Abruptly the bard stands, her voice sharpening, clear and bright like a messenger's horn.  "I have a gift for you, James, if you will take it.  Something to hold and carry in this battle, and after to throw away; not evil, yet quite dangerous to bear."  She reaches down to where her pack lies, her fingers curling around cold metal, and Cyan takes up the bastard sword in both hands.  "No spell, no blast, no ward, shield or armor can withstand its edge for long.  Even the strands of Chaos' Sigil, the Logrus, fall before it."

The alien hilt seems to glow, its looping twists of gold and silver softly shining in the sunlight as Cyan kneels and extends the sheathed sword on both palms.

"Gurthang, the Iron of Death."
This message was last edited by the player at 13:01, Sat 24 Dec 2011.

 

"Oh, he wondered if humans need to exercise their lips so that their mouths would not seize up, but later decided that, if they do not keep on exercising those lips, their brains might actually start working."

She looked at the pair and the giggled, "I was, of course, merely jesting.  I have yet to grow cynical."

Then she pondered James' proposal, such as it was, and replied, "Yes, I could put together simple components, but not what you would call machines.  One part at a time, yes, not, say, a catapult.  Not yet.  In time I feel I can even create sentient life, in such that is will still be part of me, but not me, if that makes any sense?  Once I return home, if I do, I know I can create all I have seen here, and more, alive or dead.  Call it 'the big bang' if you will."  A gentle smile and then a brooding expression as she listened to Cyan.

"Please do provide any information you have on this... broken god... and I should be able to answer your question, at least more accurately."

Then, another smile, as she turned to look from James to Cyan and back again.  "I can help protect James.  In more than one way, I believe.  Both a form of, ah, force field, as when the cube was, hmm, integrated with us, if you will, and also this..."  She motioned behind Cyan and James, where now stood a multitude of James'.  "...and, I believe, completely shield your mind as I do mine and no one can tell who is the real James, as long as I stay near you, touching you.  And I being, well, me, we, us, for we are one and I am legion."

 

*OOC - Going to slip this one in as something before Cyan offers the sword to James, otherwise this gets REALLY confusing.*

Sadly, Banglen-Yp seems correct at least in part about people.  Though they more often have their good points, there have been times in the past Cyan has viewed exactly what the curious creature describes.

She herself has been guilty of it from time to time.

"Glad I am you can assist James," she murmurs, amazed by the 'woman's' demonstrations and wracking her thoughts for information.  Luke...had said something along those lines once, had he not?  I am legion.

Curious.

"The Broken God..." she whispers.

"According to Berd, Metatron found the Broken God and Berd both, simultaneously.  Some terrible battle had transpired, and the Broken God had been torn apart, his remains cast wide across the Myriad World.  Berd had...consumed...some of him, and briefly scuffled with Metatron himself.  From time to time in our travels, we found bits of the Broken God - an arm, spots of blood.  That sort of thing.  They weakened the use of powers in their vicinity, kept peoples minds within their heads, nulled magic.  This they did when 'excited' - awakened, in a curious way."

She ponders the stories she had unearthed.  "I made some incorrect assumptions about the arm we found, but then we found the Broken God's face, kept alive in a terrible fashion by Harbonah.  It spoke to us, of ten thousand years of torment, and begged for death."  She stares down at her hands.  "I slew it upon Harbonah's altar."

"His name was Tiphereth."

OOC:  Going to, through BBR, have Banglen-Yp receive additional information regarding the actual physical structure of the Broken God.  :)

 

A finger lifted as Banglen-Yp spoke again.  "Ah, one correction regarding my assistance to James...  As I grow stronger I also learn and you would not be able to tell who was the true James even without my mental 'block', although the latter do of course offer additional security, but it also cuts of the link between everyone, well, except 'all of me' of course."

Then she nodded at Cyan's words and briefly exchanged information over the link with Berd.  Taking on a brooding expression she spoke with thoughtful concern.

"There are two possibilities, as I understand.  The first is no doubt undesirable and might even become uncontrollable, the second is less likely to succeed -- still likely, but a bit less..."

"The first is a black hole.  I can easily become one, but I cannot guarantee that I can stop, plus it will devour anything within quite some distance, an ever increasing distance as well.  I might even consume this entire universe in the end.  Not the best solution, perhaps, but guaranteed to work."

"The second, if I understand the nature of the Broken God correctly, is to take on my... well, let us call it my 'cloud form', and in that state consume this piece of the Broken God.  It would most likely require all of me, meaning I cannot cover James, and it might take some time to safely digest it, during which time I would have no control over myself, consuming anything touching me, friend or foe, inanimate or not.  I cannot say how long it would take either.  Hours, days, weeks, years?  To me time is mostly irrelevant, perhaps soon completely so, but it is a factor for this enterprise, no?  However, in the end I would indeed digest it, and grow stronger, as I did with the cube."

She clapped her hands together and smile gently at those around, awaiting their reaction and input.

 

The discussion continues, the sun traverses the sky (at least the movement of shadows and changes in the angle of beams of light which break through the trees) suggest that it does...

And the air grows cooler as the light fades.  Crystal orbs, each about the size of an apple are placed on tables or simply suspended from branches.  A gentle tap, and each starts to emit a soft light of its own, matching the colour of the sunlight.

Somewhere musicians start to play - instruments which sound like, and yet not quite like, those known on countless other worlds...

*slightly out of chronological order*

James listens carefully to Cyan's comments about his plan.  He knows that her knowledge of warfare easily surpasses his own.  Moreover, the battle ahead is likely to involve large numbers of Archons, with whom Cyan has far more experience.  James would value his companions' opinions anyway and, given the collaborative nature of his plan, their input is particularly important.

It may be surprising, then, that James laughs at Cyan's concerns about Harbonah.  "I certainly hope so.  Our success may depend upon it."

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't make light of my own safety and I appreciate your concern.  But consider, Cyan, how much easier it is to defend me than it would be to defend what I am hoping we can create."

To Banglen-Yp's explanation, and demonstration, James answers, "Impressive.  Though, it seems I could use a shower and a shave.  If you can make copies of me that are not easily distinguishable without using your mental block that would be best.  Otherwise, it might interfere with Berd's bridging."

"It seems we have three potential roles for you, Banglen-Yp.  As a catalyst for the regeneration of Hosk, in defence and as a counter to Broken God.  You certainly are...adaptable.  We may be better not to try and fix a role for you just yet.  We will see where you are needed most when the time comes.  I would ask, though, that you offer Cyan your protection when we arrive.  Her plan must succeed first if mine is to have any chance."

"Oh, and no black holes, please."

The latter prospect is enough to cause James to consider Banglen-Yp's potential afresh.  James has, at times, found Banglen-Yp's alien nature unsettling and too often he has placed her in his "too hard basket".  James finds himself regretting that now.

The recent growth of Banglen-Yp's abilities has been remarkable and leads James to wonder how else she may have grown.

"You know, I think that's the first time you've mentioned home as if you had some definite idea of where it was.  For that matter, I can't remember you mentioning any plan for the future beyond discovering more about yourself."

"You've grown, Banglen-Yp, in more than just stature and number.  But I'm glad you have yet to grow cynical.  Avoid it, if you can."

Then Cyan makes her offer, from bended knee.  James grimaces.  "Stand up, please, Cyan.  I will take Gurthang, but not like this."

James waits for Cyan to stand before continuing.  "I knelt to Aaron once, as you did just now.  I did it because I thought it necessary, but we're well past that."

"Gurthang itself deserves no such ceremony.  I accept it because I know its value as a tool, but that's all it is.  It is an implement for separating one thing from another.  Neither its name, its power or its bloodthirsty history make it anything else."

James gestures at his small pile or arms and armour, "You should have Fangmir, in return.  You may find the balance awkward at first but I am sure you can manage it.  I would not like to leave you without a sword."

"If that's all we need to discuss, we should try to enjoy the evening.  I hear musicians, Cyan, will you play?  Or perhaps you'd like to dance?" James offers the latter with a mischievious grin.

Cyan sits back to consider Banglen-Yp's thoughts on the matter and James' responses.  She isn't at all certain what a 'black hole' would be, though it sounds most distressing; James' reaction bears that up.  As for the devouring itself?  If the Broken God is deployed against them, they must deal with it.  If that means exposing James....

"Something we might have to risk," she murmurs, not at all pleased with the thought.

She has to admit that James has a point about defending him, though she disagrees with his assessment about his scruffiness.  And the flexibility issue, as well.  "Better to remain flexible with your disposition, Banglen-Yp.  You offer us many options, many possibilities, and we would be foolish to pigeonhole you into a single one.  So long as we are aware of your capacities, and you are aware of the plans, all of us can shift to adapt to the situation, something very necessary once we enter into the conflict."  She grimaces.  "'No plan survives contact with the enemy'."

The bard isn't quite certain from where the quote comes, but knows it to be truthful.

Her smile returns as James ponders on their enigmatic companion's nature.  "I would be pleased, myself, if you could find your way home, Banglen-Yp...and be able to travel between here and there."  The universe seems to be a fascinating place for the 'woman' and her 'sisters', encouraging the growth of which James speaks.  "I think we have all grown, in one way or another.  And glad I am of it."

Then the offer and James' remonstration.  Still on bended knee, Cyan cocks an eyebrow.  "James...I am a bard.  There are formalities to be observed with this sort of thing, and I fear you will have to put up with the occasional drift into drama."  Then she laughs, rising.  "But I would not put you on the spot!"  She passes the heavy blade over to him, growing more solemn as he explains his feelings on the matter.

"Ah, I understand.  No fealty was meant, James; my apologies."  She traces the alien hilt of the weapon for a moment, lost in thought.  "A tool, yes, but it carries a curse upon it, James.  Believe in such things; they carry weight."  She glances at his pile of equipment.  "I would be honoured to carry Fangmir, James.  I have oft wondered how it might fit my hand, and never had the chance to make the attempt..."  It's a heavy weapon, she knows, built for James' strength, but her own is not incosiderable.

Some practice will certainly be necessary.

Strains of music waft to her and Cyan's gaze falls upon her harp at James' first question.  Then comes his second, and she pauses.  "I have not danced...oh, it has been years."  In truth, she cannot recall the last time.  Was it in the Thousand Caves, oh so long ago, when as a blushing youngster she traded between the friendly Heavy-Handed and the cheerful Cúthalion?

Surely not so long!

And there it comes again, in response to James' wicked smile, a slow-blooming flush rising up into her cheeks.  Topaz eyes bright, Cyan laughs, a quiet exhalation of wonderment.  "Would it be a terrible thing to accept your offer, James of Amber?  If tonight, I wished to dance?"  Her laughter dies; she glances at their companions, then back to the man.  "If Banglen-Yp can forgive us, if our Archon friends have patience...I would."

Please, let it not be in jest.

"Oh, never fear, I believe in curses.  Bleys drummed into me the significance of an Amberite's dying curse.  I didn't believe him at first, but Bleys took Corwin's side, some of the time, in the Patternfall War.  Everyone I've ever asked at the palace takes it as fact."*

As he talks, James walks to where he left his gear.  He retrieves Fangmir and brings it back to Cyan.  He offers the sword to her hilt-first without further ceremony.  "You'll note it has the size and weight of a longsword but the pommel and balance of a rapier.  It has a strong edge, though, so don't be put off by the balance, it can be used for more than just thrusting attacks."

James sets Gurthang down, gingerly (he has been moving with exaggerated care since taking the blade, for all that it is sheathed).

"I also believe in drama..."  James winks, then gives his best impression of a courtly bow, which is, admittedly, a little rusty.  "Cyan, may I have the honour of this dance?"

James ruins the effect somewhat by raising his head to look at Cyan and saying in a loud "whisper" (and with another grin) "I should warn you, I'm not a great dancer."

*Yes, I know this doesn't make much sense unless you've read the books.  James isn't clearly thinking through what people may or may not know of Amber history.

 

"Naturally, James.  That is easily achieved," Banglen-Yp replied to not using the mental block.  "I believe we, I, can easily clone that as well, if not in the sense of actually becoming you, of course.  That would not do, after all.  As we are one, so are you."  She smiled warmly at him.

She crossed her heart with a finger, or at least where the heart usually is found in a human body.  "No black holes.  Cross my heart and hope to die, although I cannot guarantee that I actually can die."

"Ah, it is the nature of all things to change, is it not?  Even the unchangeable changes, if in an not so obvious fashion.  And change means growth, even if you end up smaller you still grow."

She smiled softly and looked towards the other of her selves before turning to Cyan.  "Then we best make certain that no enemy survives our plan either, even if it means turning them into allies in the end, yes?"

She laughed, a genuine laughter, yet serious at the same time.

"Fear not, young Cyan, if there is no way there will be," she spoke, suddenly serious, and leaving it unclear whether she meant a way home and back here or the success or failure of any plans.

"The cat told me so, and who would argue with a cat?"  She giggled and scratched the chin of her little friend, Nine Lives, even though he by now may possess a far greater number of both lives and existences.

At the mention of the dance all of the Banglen-Yps seemed to slowly stop what they were doing and turn to regard the two would-be dancers.  The one with the kitten on her shoulder tilted her head and peered at the couple with a smile teasing her lips.

 
This message was last edited by the player at 16:10, Sat 14 Jan 2012.

Cyan takes Fangmir without hesitation, the heavy dueling blade curiously light-feeling in her hand even with the scabbard.  What the pommel must be made of, she has no idea - drilled out and completely filled with gold, perhaps - but the point of balance seems to be only an inch from the hilt, much as in lost kirilindë.  And yet, there is substance to the weapon far beyond that of a rapier or gim.  "Fangmir might be used similarly to my old sword, James."  She salutes him with the sword, sheathed as it is.  "My thanks!  I have always wanted to examine your weapon."

A small, rueful smile flickers on her face for an instant, and she rubs the side of her head.  "I did, once.  Perhaps a touch too closely."

Banglen-Yp sets aside the threat of 'black holes' - an ugly picture of them has appeared in Cyan's mind, of an all-devouring gap - and cleverly turns Cyan's quote around to get to the meat of it.  The bard laugh, shaking her head in bemeusement.  "So very truthful, Banglen-Yp."  Her eyebrows draw closer for a moment as she struggles to parse the woman's reassurance and determine its point.  Finally she gives up with a smile - Banglen-Yp is a cat, herself: enigmatic, clever, and not one with whom to argue.

Then James sweeps into his bow and the attention of the crowd of Banglen-Yp's shift towards the two of them.  Cyan's flush creeps higher, for this is not public speaking or singing; it is something far more personal, and she cannot hide behind her bard's mask.  Flustered, she glances about, hangs Fangmir on the back of her chair, turns back to James, whips away to brusquely deposit an aggrieved drake on the seat of said chair, then returns her attention to her fellow traveller, brushing back an errant lock of hair with a nervous laugh.

Without skirts, she cannot answer James' bow as it deserves, so Cyan settles for a bow of her own, feminine in its own way.  His small quip settles much of her nervousness - though hints of crimson remain in her cheeks - and she extends a hand toward the wandering soldier.  "The honour runs in both directions, James; it would be my pleasure."  An impish grin sharpens her features for a moment.  "You have a habit of underselling yourself, James, and I am no award-winner myself."

Taking his hand, she seeks an open place amidst the falling petals, wondering what form the dance will take.

In front of an apparently appreciative audience of Banglen-Yps, James and Cyan find some space to dance.  Maybe it's the Banglen-Yps' rapt attention, or maybe it's something else, but others are watching too.

Many of Shaendra's people are watching the two visitors, and the Archons too seem interested, they maintain their unceasing patrols, but their orbits shift so that at at least one point on their paths they each sweep past within sword's reach of the dancers, the whine of their passage just barely audible to James and Cyan above the music...

James takes Cyan's hand as he straightens from his bow.  Having acted almost entirely on impulse, he has no real plan and little idea of what to do next.  He seems momentarily confused as he looks about for a suitable place to dance.

Fortunately, the clearing around the banquet tables offers plenty of room.  The ground is even enough and well-lit, so there is little chance of a mis-step, at least not one that can be blamed on the terrain.  James motions for Cyan to walk with him to the dance-floor.

For all that James seems to be enjoying himself, he seems distracted.  The reason shortly becomes clear when he starts humming to the music and remarks, "One, two, three, two, two, three.  Yes, I think it is three four.  That's a mercy.  We can waltz.  Do you know it?  I will try and lead, but, well, if I keep repeating my little disclaimer it'll get boring."

"If it helps just think, long, short, short." James gives another grin, "That's what I'll be doing."

Moving closer to Cyan until they are face to face and only a few inches apart, James extends the hand which holds Cyan's up to just short of shoulder height and slightly away from their bodies.  He reaches around Cyan with his other arm, placing his hand gently between her shoulder blades.

"Ready?"

Once James and Cyan are both ready, James moves off with the rhythm of the movement.  It is a simple dance, the steps easy to learn and endlessly repetitive, but there is a certain grace in the asymmetric beat and the gliding movement across the grass.  As dance partners, James and Cyan are well-matched for height and they probably make a handsome couple to those watching.

James is all but oblivious to such considerations.  He's having to concentrate a little too hard on the beat and on leading the steps.  Any spare focus is on Cyan; James is desperately hoping that she's enjoying herself, and that he won't step on her feet.

"Tragic isn't it?  Were this a duel, we would both know the steps and the rhythm without batting an eyelid.

James and Cyan dance, moving across the grass in small circles around each other.  The Archons, gleaming, either by way of the reflected torchlight or by their own fires, take it in turns to sweep in close before whirling back out to their assigned patrol routes.

And the Banglen-Yp's watch... at least until one of them recognises a familiar pattern to the movement, at which point they all do.  They start to change, growing smaller and shedding clouds of dust and water vapour as they shift into spherical shapes of various sizes and colours.  Then they launch into the air and join the dance, some revolving around the couple at varying distances and speeds, with other, smaller spheres, orbiting around them.

And the dance continues, James and Cyan at the core, surrounded by spheres of green, brown, blue and grey moving in long slow circles, and the Archons hurtling through the pattern at intervals, whenever a gap presents itself.

In the clearing all activity stops, as everybody except the musicians pauses to watch the dance...

A smile continues to play about Cyan's lips as James focuses on the song, working out the tempo, and she gladly follows him to the dance 'floor', a trifle flushed from the attention they're receiving.  Her free hand comes up and touches her hair uncertainly; they've been travelling all day, and she's no-doubt dusty.  Plus liberally touched by fallen flower petals.

Behind her, Berd's left eye cracks open, and a gleam shines from beneath its lid.

James first hums, then launches into his explanation, and the bard purses her lips thoughtfully.  "'Waltz'...I am familiar with words similar to that one that fit this music, James."  The smile quirks.  "Though I have not danced one since my days in the College of Cattashford; normally I sit on the sidelines and play for others."  A russent eyebrow cocks, its partner dropping.  "Glad am I you repeat not your waiver; a woman might begin to think you reluctant."  But she laughs, the comically suspicious expression vanishing.  "Long-short-short...a better concise explanation I have not heard."

Stepping close, James frames up, and Cyan meets her eyes, freezing momentarily as his hand slips around her back.  Her fingers slowlly fall into his and she runs her other hand up his arm to rest it gently upon his shoulder, her spine straight and relxed.  A breeze touches the pair then, a breath of air that sweeps away a touch of travel's dust and wear, nothing more.

"Yes," she whispers in reply.

Eye to eye, she lets herself be swept off into the simple, intimate motion of the dance.

She can see he's focusing, conciously competent but needing that concentration.  It's a touch easier for her, able to read his intent through their contact.  The muscle of his shoulder rolls slightly beneath her fingers, like steel cords beneath velvet, and as always, Cyan marvels at both James' strength and control.  She has never met someone gifted with his might who simultaneously keeps it so well leashed, and holds to a quiet, caring nature.

"Tragic isn't it?  Were this a duel, we would both know the steps and the rhythm without batting an eyelid.
</quote>

Her smile widens.  "Sorrowful words, James, yet so very true."  Closing her eyes, she puts her trust in the connection between them and James' focus.  "But this is so much better, is it not?"  She has little doubt he will keep her safe, and will swiftly adapt; her companion is a man of tremendous skill.

Whatever his concern, she feels secure he will not scuff her travelling boots.

Air moves as Archons shift past them, joining the dance in their own way.  And as Cyan's eyes open, the Banglen-Yp's also begin their own, bizarrely beautiful interpreation, shifting form to better match the archons.  A wind picks up again for an instant, swirling the petals around them.  "Look, James," Cyan whispers, her topaz eyes shining with unshed tears.  "So wonderful...and the Archons.  You see?"

If they can be curious of a dance...if they can shift through it, to study or to perhaps experiment...

"Yes," she breathes, then her gaze returns her partner.

Her back holds straight but her fingers relax, and while they shine, Cyan's jewel eyes do not overflow.  "And you feared for your dancing talent," she chides with a small laugh.  But her smile softens, the amusement fading.  For a moment her hand trembles in his, and her flush deepens, but she does not take refuge in staring at his neck.  Instead, she meets his eyes and somehow manages to hold them; it is, in its own way, harder than facing any of the dangers they have overcome.

"Thank you, James," Cyan whispers as his steps carry her through the waltz, his precious gift, and the world whirls about them.

James loses his focus momentarily as the Archons join the dance, sweeping past in arcs and circles.  As one particularly audacious Archon swoops not merely close to the dancers but between them, it takes an effort of will to push past the hesitation.  In James' experience, when pieces of metal and pulses of energy come past like that, somebody's shooting at you.  Still, he manages to avoid a misstep.

As Banglen-Yp joins in, James begins to relax again.  Rather than being fearful, James begins to marvel at the skill and precise control that the Archons and Banglen-Yp share; their mastery of form and function.

"I see."  And, indeed, James spares a glance to watch the myriad orbits of their companions.  His focus on the music, its rhythms, and his footwork will not allow him much more then that.

As Cyan briefly continues to watch, James remarks, "Somebody told me once that it is a dancer's job to make his partner look good.  If that's so, our friends are very good dancers."

When Cyan turns back to James, he replies simply, "Much better."  At Cyan's flush, it is James who looks aside.  Perhaps to spare Cyan any embarrassment but, more likely, to clear his own suspiciously bright eyes.  If that was the case, it doesn't seem to have worked; when James looks back his eyes are still on the verge of welling up.  James gives Cyan's hand a light squeeze as if to say Please don't cry, or I'll start, too.

For all that, James doesn't seem to be embarrassed by his emotions.  He meets Cyan's eyes and holds her gaze, as she does his.

"You are very welcome, my Lady of Rainbows."

Finally the music falls silent, save for a single flute playing a seemingly random and irregular series of notes, which hangs in the air like the haphazard flight of an insect before fading away completely...

And Shaendra approaches, applauding politely, "A most wonderful dance.  I have had packs prepared for you, with provisions gifted by the forest, and with blankets.  You are, of course, welcome to rest here for as long as you like, or you may move on when you are ready.  The choice is entirely yours."

She pauses then, seeming hesitant, before adding, "There is a thing I would have you see, if you would, before you leave.  It is... a puzzle.  My people found it, and it lays not far from here, but beyond that we know nothing of it.  I hoped that eyes, and minds, with knowledge of other places might understand it."

It's a glorious interlude indeed; a respite from the pressures and fears of the Quest.  Safe in James' grasp, Cyan cannot help but smile.  "Indeed they are, James - fine dancers.  And you, as my partner here, have matched them well."  It's a bittersweet moment, made moreso by the shine in James' eyes.  Her own amethyst eyes alit with wonderment at the sight, Cyan parts her lips for a question, then closes them when he squeezes her hand.

Sometimes it's enough just to feel, to experience the dance in the arms of a particular man.  And to let him do the same.

"...my Lady of Rainbows."

And sometimes it's so hard to keep the tears - born of joy and pain both - at bay.

"James," she whispers, sweeping through the steps, simple footwork that carries them through the falling petals, his frame about her holding her up and leading her, his pulse in her grip, his palm warm on her back.  A mountain of support, he has been, but this is a man, not a stony escarpment: strong of body and heart, swift of foot and mind, open of mien and spirit.

...I know who I am now, finally...and I believe I know you...and I...

And the dance flows to an end, finishing in a scintillating spray of notes.

Cyan stands a long moment, holding James' fingers in her own and being held in turn.  Finally she releases, stepping back to bow.  A curtsy wouldn't be appropriate given her clothing.  When she straightens, her smile shines.  "I had thought no gift could equal the vision you once shared with me, James.  I was wrong."

The bard twitches in surprise as Shaendra approaches, the applause breaking her out of the spell of dance and partner.  She turns a rueful smile on James for an instant before bowing again, this time to their hostess.  But her smile grows quizzical as Shaendra mentions a curiousity she wishes them to see.  Stepping shoulder to shoulder with James, she slowly nods her head.   "I will assist if I can, Shaendra."  What could it be?

A frisson of fear pulses through her for an instant, there and gone.

"Some of my people were out gathering food," Shaendra explains, "when they came across a creature, the likes of which they had never before seem.  It appears to be injured and was in a deep sleep.  So deep that they could not wake it.  They brought it back here for me to see."

"I must admit that I have no knowledge of its kind.  But you have travelled, perhaps you know what it is?  This way please... "

She gestures, indicating the direction, "Do you, perhaps, have other companions who have become separated from you recently?  It seems to push the bounds of coincidence that another creature, and one so strange, should arrive here on the same day as yourselves."

Cyan's whispered "James" is all the affirmation he needs.  For a time thereafter that seems to both last for an age and be over in a heartbeat, for such a fleeting eternity, there is only the dance and Cyan.

James relaxes into the simple, primal pleasure of music and movement.  As he does so he is acutely conscious of the points of contact at his hands and his shoulder, of the touch of skin and slight shifts of muscle as they flow through the dance together.

If James' physical control is sure and confident, he has poorer control of his emotions.  His eyes are fixed on Cyan's, now amethyst, with an intensity of which he is only semi-conscious and which he is powerless to restrain.  He becomes aware that the music has finished only when the stillness impresses itself upon his mind.

James takes a half-step back and matches Cyan's bow, though he holds contact with his leading hand, releasing Cyan's hand as both straighten.

"I remember." James answers quietly.  "And I will remember."

James acknowledges Shaendra's approach, and applause, with an embarrassed nod.  "You're very kind.  We're grateful for your hospitality."

"I'd be happy to help."

James glances back to the banquet table. "Cyan, would it be safe to wake Berd?  If this new creature is injured, I may be able to heal it.  It might help if Berd and the Archons can join me while I work, so they know what to expect later."

He will remember.

Cyan doesn't know what the next few days will bring.  She has fears.  She has hopes.  But whatever may come, James will remember.  One of the wires wrapped around her heart loosens and again her eyes shine as she smiles, her gaze still locked on his own.

...remember that I am an emotional fool, perhaps.

But from the look in his eyes, perhaps not.

Interruption comes, sadly enough.  Shaendra's words keep her straight and focused, and Cyan narrows her topaz eyes.  Sleeping creature?  Not person, but creature.  Curious.  And...worrisome.  The bard slowly nods to James' question.  "He should be sufficiently rested to awaken.  He has eaten, so that will not be an issue.  And...it would be good that he and our escort sees what you."

She closes her eyes for a moment.  "I myself would know the same."  Turning, she waves to the hovering archons.  "Join us, my friends."

The Archons start circling Cyan again, moving in fact orbits just beyond sword reach.  Berd flaps his way lazily to the bard's shoulder, and perches there imperiously as Shaendra leads the way.

Only one of the Banglen-Yps follows, and that one is carrying a small kitten.  The rest, still linked to the first, and to each other, by their peculiar means of communication, spread out to explore the camp.

Shaendra crosses to the far side of the clearing, and into the forest.  There are two glyph-carved obelisks flanking the path, and beyond them a smaller clearing with a single large tent.  They enter, and inside are four cots, only one of which is presently occupied.  One of Shaendra's people tends to the creature which lays there, a nightmare of black and grey scale, horn, claw and barb.  It apparently has only one eye, the right socket being covered by a filthy bandage, and that eye is open - yellow, with a cruciform pupil.  The torso and limbs are covered with old scars and fresh wounds, and it clutches a sheathed sword in its left hand as it draws in a series of short breaths through it's open, fang-lined mouth.

The woman taking care of it speaks as the group enter, "It is awake now.  But it still has not said... "

"Cyan!  James!" the creature interrupts her, hissing, "Jonnee Kay sends greeting, and regrets that he could not seek you himself, but he is otherwise engaged.  I am Crrurr'nokp, formerly of the 7086th Legion, now of Jonnee Kay's Posse, and I bring a message."

The brintizzi forces itself into a sitting position, over the objections of its nurse, and continues to speak, "Jonnee Kay says that he will reach Amber soon, with almost two thirds of the army still following him and able to fight."

"Before I left, I was told that he would reach Amber in ten days or so.  I have travelled alone for seven days, seeking you, or perhaps eight - time has been difficult to judge on occasion."

"Lords of the West!"

A Brintizzi?  Here?  How had the soldier found them?  "Rest easy, soldier!" she snaps out instinctively, pressing a palm toward the struggling warrior.  "You have travelled long and -" from the look of it "- through peril to deliver your message."  Her voice softens as her eyes lighten from black pearl through hematite, finally shading into a deep ruby.

"And deliver it you have - well done, well done indeed.  But we now require details."  She shoots a worried look at James.  "Two thirds of the army?  Two days out from Amber?  The whole story, soldier, but guard your strength - you do us no good dead, no good at all."

On her shoulders, Berd fires a fulminating glance of his own at James, then studies the Brintizzi intently.

"Crrurr'nokp isn't going to die.  Are you?  Brintizzi are tough as boot-nails and Jonnee Kay would've chosen his messenger carefully."  James intentions are much the same as Cyan's, to reassure the injured Brintizzi, but he goes about it quite differently.  "We'll have you patched up in a tic, don't worry.  But Cyan's right, we'll need a full report."

James then pauses to make introductions, "Shaendra, this, as you've heard, is Crrurr'nokp of the Brintizzi.  His people are friends of ours. Crrurr'nokp, this is Shaendra, she's a leader of the people here."

"I can help with your injuries, Crrurr'nokp, but you have to trust me to make contact with your mind.  Is that okay?"

Crrurr'nokp makes a facial expression which approximates a smile.  "I know that I am not going to die.  These wounds will impair my abilities for some time, but my body is capable of healing them.  But if you can speed the process, James, I will recover my full strength that much sooner.  Do what you will to help."

Then he smiles at Shaendra, who seems a little discomfited by the display of razor-sharp teeth.  "I have learned from my friend, Jonnee Kay, that many people fear my race because of our warlike appearance.  I swear on my blade that I will not harm your people, and will leave as soon as I am able.  For now, I greet you, and thank you for the assistance rendered by your people."

The yellow eye fixes on Cyan, "It has been a long journey.  Jonnee Kay gave me a device that he discovered so that I might serve him as a messenger."  The brintizzi turns over his hand to display the back of it, where a pale blue disk of metal and crystal, perhaps an inch across, is embedded among the scales.  "Its function is to lead the bearer to his goal."

"He asked me to bring his message to you because he believed it would give you hope, and I have brought it.  I have travelled through strange places to come here, but no more strange than I have seen since leaving my home.  Brintizzi could not live in some of the places the device led me to, so I was forced to double back from time to time and find a new course."

The brintizzi starts to relate his tale as James starts healing him...
This message was last updated by the GM at 15:16, Tue 06 Mar 2012.

(Agreement/acceptance), (Heavyhand/DESIGNATE SHIFT: healspirit).

Berd grins sleepily at James, and silently opens up a bridging between himself, his daughter, his friend, and the Archons accompanying them.  He leaves the 'offer' at their mental doorsteps, so as not to presume.

I greet you, Archons of the Nephillim and the sencathi.  Join me in observing James in his work.

"Well said, James, well said," Cyan murmurs, settling herself down beside the brintizzi.  "Shaendra, the brintizzi are amongst the most honorable creatures I have encountered in my long travels through the worlds.  Crrurr'nokp is a fearsome warrior, but he would never harm peaceful people like yourselves."

She studies the disk with interest, brows drawing together.  "So many ways to travel the Myriad Worlds," the bard murmurs, having seen many of them herself.  "That one looks similar to Dorian's compass."

I am tracing the messenger's path through the Myriad Worlds, based on the layered...signatures?  'Dust'? of realities that has accumulated upon him and within him.  The path is a meandering one, but I will find its origin.

"Rather like how we used to walk the worlds, Berd?" Cyan murmurs, her amber eyes amused.

With the preliminaries out of the way, James bends to his task.  He places a hand on Crrurr'nokp (carefully, there's barely a square inch of Crrurr'nokp's skin that isn't blade-edged or serrated) and opens mental contact.

The image that forms in the minds of Berd and the Archons is of an open space.  It has the feel of a bare room, though the walls are felt rather than seen, as though some trick of distance or colour makes them indistinct.

On the floor is a sprawling and intricate design, scribed in lines of light and power.  The pattern is full of sharp turns and jagged angles.  In places, gaps can be seen as darker patches within the overall design.  James is standing at what appears to be the only open "end" on the outside of the design.

As the Pattern of Amber is a symbol of the order of the Myriad Worlds, so this pattern is a symbol of Crrurr'nokp as perceived by my psyche, which itself is possible through my connection to the greater Pattern.  The lines of light represent Crrurr'nokp in full health.  As he ought to be.  The gaps represent different illnesses and injuries.  A straight gap is most likely an open wound, two loose ends out of alignment may be a fracture or a break in Crrurr'nokp's circulatory or nervous systems.  A broader, dull area may represent an illness like a virus.

I attempt to put these right by walking Crrurr'nokp's pattern while holding the Pattern in my mind.  As I come to a break or the like I re-write the proper line, largely by force of will.

Normally, my patient is unaware of the process.  But since Crrurr'nokp is strong enough to use Jonnee Kay's device he may be aware of us.

James turns his head slightly, as if to address the empty room.  Crrurr'nokp, if you can hear me, know that those with me are Berd and the Archons who are with us.  I trust them to be in contact with my mind.  Just relax as much as possible.  If you try and work against me, you endanger us both.

James turns to the start of the line, squares his shoulders and takes a deep breath.  What bothers him, though he has not spoken of it, is that somewhere in Crrurr'nokp's pattern is a gap associated with Crrurr'nokp's missing eye, which may be beyond James' ability to bridge.  Unspoken, James' misgivings come across the bridging as a faint feeling of uneasiness.

James works, for barely more than a few heartbeats, while outside the tent the three suns wheel across the sky and set in a complex array of shifting colours.  Stars wink into existence even as the brintizzi warrior's injuries fade, and begin their near eternal traverse across the dark vault of the sky.  A single moon, no more than a thin yellow crescent, breaches the eastern horizon and climbs towards its zenith...

Berd continues his work, piecing together the path the brintizzi has taken to get here - a meandering trail, a drunkard's walk across the Myriad World's.  It appears that the device Crrurr'nokp has been using is either very unpredictable or difficult to control.  Or both.

Jonnee kay had once described his own ability to travel between worlds - if he has been to a place before, he can always find his way back to it by the most direct route possible.  But he can not find his way, unaided, to new places.

That ability seems to be almost the diametric opposite of the power employed by the artefact, which can apparently find its way to any desired location, person or object, but only by a most indirect route.

Through it all, the healing and the mapping, the Archon's and Banglen-Yp keep watch, as does Shaendra, studying the strange creatures which have found their way to her world.  Banglen-Yp laughs occasionally, for no readily discernible reason.

Finally, at about midnight, James pronounces that he has done all he can.  Most of the wounds are healed now, leaving only seemingly old scars.  The most serious injury, the missing eye has only healed insofar as the empty socket is now lined with scar tissue - the brintizzi will still have just one yellow eye, but at least the empty socket is no longer an angry, gaping wound.

James sags back, wearily.  "That's all I can do, I'm afraid.  You have a natural resistance to my technique, Crrurr'nokp, and some of your injuries were beyond me.  Still, I think you'll do okay."

"I'm glad I had the chance to dance before I tried to do that.  I'm wiped.  Shaendra, is there somewhere close by I can sleep?  Cyan, you might need to take Crrurr'nokp's report without me.  You can fill me in in the morning."

"Of course.  This way."  Shaendra leads James out of the tent, pausing only to assure Cyan and Banglen-Yp, "I shall return shortly."

Crrurr'nokp thanks James as the man leaves, then returns his attention to reporting on his journey here, "There is something further you should know, Cyan.  The enemy are more numerous than Jonnee Kay had thought.  The army has encountered them in smaller numbers than he predicted, but far more often.  It appears that they are in far more places than we expected.  Jonnee Kay says to tell you that the enemy have spread themselves too thin.  He believes it is because they are searching for something, or somebody.  Most likely you."

The brintizzi takes a deep breath before continuing, "He says that there is hope though.  The new crystal weapons have proven very effective, and we have made new allies who fight the enemy now in their own worlds.  Many of them die, of course, but in doing so they also slow the enemy."

"Jonnee Kay believes that no world will remain entirely untouched in this war."
This message was last edited by the player at 19:40, Tue 13 Mar 2012.

One of the hydra-mind offers up the brintizzi's route to the bridging, displaying the Myriad Worlds and the shimmering thread running through them to where the group now rests.  Another continues to survey their surroundings, searching for threats.  A third peers directly into the Underflow, keeping watch as well.  The remainder focus on James, rapt and fascinated.

And Cyan watches, her eyes wheeling through their colours as the stars turn above.

Reaching out, she catches James' shoulders as he sags.  "Well done, James, well done, indeed.  I have never seen the like."  Healing magics and powers are a rare thing in the Myriad Worlds.  Long ago, before his mind had begun to heal, Berd had once tried to explain to her the concept of Entropy, and despite his near-incoherence after a short time Cyan got the gist.  Things break.

That James can go against this flow is astounding.  That he has taken his control over Amber's Grand Pattern and made it into a poultice for an injured body is nothing short of miraculous.

She laughs quietly at his quip regarding the dance, and surrenders him to Shaendra's care.  "Of course, James.  I will check in on you later.  Berd?"  The drake chirps an affirmative, and one of his minds peels off to keep an eye on the scion of Amber.  The others begin assimulating the process James used, seeking methods for assistance.  A discussion springs up - with effort, Berd could separate himself from his preconceptions sufficiently to create an 'argument', but there is no point now - regarding the use of unaspected energy from the Underflow, and its potential to bolster James and his attempts.

Certainly worth looking into.

Cyan turns grim as Crrurr'nokp continues, nodding her head, her emerald eyes downcast.  "I thought Jonnee understood the extent of the Seraphim's power.  I should have spelled it out.  I should have..."  Many things.  She shakes off the grim feelings.  "War is everywhere.  New allies, though?  Has he spoken with the crystal spiders?"

She considers.  "Spreading too thin is one of the most critical errors a General can make.  No communcation.  No focus.  Fragmentation.  The capacity to be defeated in detail.  For all their intelligence, the Seraphim have never displayed a strong grasp of strategy."

Her lips quirk in a bitter smile.  "They have never needed it.  Their power, when brought to bear, is nigh-absolute."

"But the crystal weapons...good.  And if such exist, I am certain that more devices will be found or unearthed during this war.  I only hope I can end it soon.  Jonnee Kay may soon see a large change in the Seraphim's movements.  I need to get word back to him."

She ponders her palanqueti.  "Not through you, Crrurr'nokp.  You have done enough with this.  I can contact him swiftly if need be, but he has no means to do the same for myself.  You have done splendidly, splendidly.  And now...now I must warn Shaendra."

Closing her eyes, Cyan makes fists with her fingers.  "Lord of the West curse it, we may have brought this war to her world."

"Yes, Jonnee Kay was aware of the strength of the enemy.  But now they have divided that strength.  He believes it is because they want to search and conquer as many worlds as possible, as quickly as possible."

Crrurr'nokp hisses suddenly, "Victory!  We shall defeat them because of this.  They send smaller forces to many more worlds, but because these forces are weaker than those they used before they adopted this stratagy, the people who live in those worlds now have a better chance of defeating them."

He stretches out a hand in a gesture which encompasses Cyan, Berd and Banglen-Yp, "Your existence forces them to hurry, and they make hatchling mistakes.  When my people hunt the thunder beasts, we do not attack the whole herd at once.  We try to single out one beast, divide it from the others, and attack it in force.  Then we single out another.  And another."

"These Archons, they attack the whole herd, and risk being trampled.  We have seen worlds where their smaller armies fell to defenders who know their own worlds, and who now have the advantage of numbers.  Even an Archon cannot survive when outnumbered dozens to one by people who gain strength from desparation."

James follows Shaendra out of the tent.  He's looking forward to a good sleep (long would also be nice, but seems less likely).  He's tired enough not to be too picky about his bed but he has confidence in Shaendra's hospitality.

Fragmentation versus concentration - elementary strategy, but one oft-used and terribly effective.  Jonnee Kay cannot win the war this way, for they must discover and end the Archons' true plan; Cyan knows it cannot simply be to conquer, for Harbonah has evinced a desire to return everything to nothing.  But Jonnee can certainly stymie and defeat the Archon forces like this.

For a moment, she wonders if that is Harbonah's strategy: keep them running and fighting, while the real threat is put in place.

Hopefully not.  Were it so, he would need multiple plans in operation, even now.  How many of his endgames would they have to defeat to find the true one?  Better to stick to her idea.

She glances away, after James, and lets out a sigh.

Back to Crrurr'nokp.  "Fine news indeed.  We can continue to harass the Seraphim, crushing their smaller forces or leaving them to be destroyed by the inhabitants they foolishly awaken to war."  She grimaces.  "It amazes me the Seraphim can mount this kind of offensive accross such a vast theatre...but we know their power and their number."

"Still, a critical mistake."

"There is hope, Crrurr'nokp, as you say.  Hope of victory."  With a smile, she pats him on his armored shoulder.  "How long will it take before you are ready to travel?  Safely?" she clarifies, knowing full-well how the brintizzi think.

"There are many of them, and they can move very quickly.  Faster than us, even."

The brintizzi grins, displaying a mouthful of vicious teeth.  His kind seldom have to admit that anybody can move faster than they can.  "That is how they can spread so rapidly.  Even so, Jonnee Kay says that there are so many worlds that if the Archons sent only one of their kind to each, they would still only occupy a fraction of them.  They must keep moving from world to world if they want to spread their control.  Every world that resists slows that movement."

Crrurr'nokp pushes himself up off the bed and stands, unsteady only for a moment, "There is a saying among we brintizzi - 'run as fast as you will, and still you can be in only one place.'  A thousand Archons forced to fight for a ten-day on one world means a thousand less to trouble other worlds for that time."

He blurs then, and is suddenly standing behind Cyan.  "With food and time for churrestcha-kee... you would say meditation, which is near enough, I will be ready tomorrow.  James has healed me well."

It's always shocking to her how quickly the brintizzi move.  Her reflexes can cope...somewhat.  But she can't physically keep up.  Cyan shakes her head, bemused.  "If this is 'almost' healed, Crrurr'nokp...as always, your people are most impressive indeed."

She taps a finger against her lips.  "Wise words, wise words indeed."  The bard slowly nods.  "Bogged down here and there, and their blitz across the Myriad Worlds begins to stagnate.  If they are held down on five worlds, then that is four groups that cannot come to the aid of another to help pacify a world.  And if they choose to disengage, the worlds they have attack will have time to rearm and prepare strategies against them."

Her lips thin.  "Were this a war of conquest, they would be doomed to fail.  But it is not.  We still must discern their plans and counter them."  Now her mouth twitches into a smile beneath her hard, emerald eyes.  "But still they make critical mistakes, open their throats to their enemies, fail at elementary strategy.  Overwhelming power is sufficient when battling one foe; it has made them complacent, I suspect.  And it will not suffice against the infinite."

She cocks an eyebrow.  "Churrestcha-kee?  Pray tell, what is different between it and meditation?"  Curiousity will ever be a part of Cyan, even now.

I must request Fangmir from James, she considers.  Practice with the unfamiliar sword will be necessary.  Perhaps she can egg its owner into a spar.

A spar to replace the one they twice missed; once aboard a ship and once in a rainstorm, when blades crossed for real.

The brintizzi returns to the bed and sits down.  For a moment his attention seems distracted by a hole in the blanket, a neat, straight-edged cut.  Then he produces an odd croaking sound before laying a hand over the hole, hiding it.  "As Johnee Kay explained it to me, meditation is calming the mind and body to calm the spirit.  My people have a similar concept, but the means of achieving it are different."  Crrurr'nokp closes his eye and breathes out, long and slow...

There is a movement.  A small cluster of razor-edged scales on his chest lifts.  The area of raised scales spreads, while those in the centre lay flat again.  A ripple moves outwards, across his torso and onto his head, arms and legs.  In some places, especially around joints, the scales lift and vicious barbs and spines are revealed, emerging just for a moment before returning to their hiding places.  The ripple reaches all the extremities of his body at once and begins to move back to the centre...

Crrurr'nokp opens his eye and smiles, "That is churrestcha-kee.  Or a part of it.  Normally it would continue for much longer."

James finds himself in a large tent, where numerous makeshift beds laid out.    They are no more than straw-filled mattresses laid on simple wooded vrames and covered by blankets.  Even though there are a lot of beds, there are few people sleeping in them at the moment.  In the moments before he drifts away to sleep, James notices that there seems to be a slow, steady trickle of people in and out of the tent.  All of them are being very quiet as they move about...

The duck suddenly looks at him, removes the pipe from its beak and exhales a cloud of smoke.  "Before you ask, yes you are dreaming now."

Interesting.  A form of body-control exercises, along with a mental component, no doubt.  Cyan then smiles at her own foolishness.  Of course those would be aspects to it, but it's quite likely a great deal more, including things her own mind cannot comprehend.

So very like her kind to reduce everything to simplistic terms they can understand.

"Impressive," she admits, "the little of which I can see.  Certainly there would be much more to it."  The bard slowly nods, her ruby eyes shining in the dimmer light.  "Was there more, Crrurr'nokp?  If not, I shall leave you to your healing, and consider what you have told me."  Reaching down, she grips his forearm - carefully, to avoid any startlement or insult.  "You have done us a great service; a brave one, as well."

James sits up in bed.  In place of a straw-filled mattress, James is on a small, single bed.  The doona, tossed back, shows a black stallion rampant on a gold shield and a crimson field.  The tent has become a small bedroom, with stencilled shapes of suns, moons and clouds on the walls and the the suggestion of soft toys silhouetted in the dim half-light.

"Professor Duckulus?!  I must have really overdone it.  I haven't dreamed you in, what, over forty years?" James hunches closer and continues in a conspiratorial whisper, "Has the Frantabulous Beast returned?"

Crrurr'nokp sits silently for a moment.  Then, "No.  I have told you all I can remember.  If I recall anything more, I will seek you out.  While I have this," he holds up his hand, displaying the crystal, "you will be easy to find."

"For now, I need only rest and food."

The duck moves closer to James, and it starts to change.  Its head starts to distort, as a spot between its eyes starts to extend, becoming a single, projecting spiral of horn.  Its legs stretch, while its wings fold downwards, becoming two more legs, tipped with delicate hooves.  Still duck-sized,  feathered, and with a distinctly Anatidaen look to its face, the creature asks, "Do you recognise me now, James?"

"Good, then."  Cyan nods her head, a smile brightening her face.  "I think we can be assured our hosts will overfeed you...rest, then, would be best."  She pushes herself to her feet, wincing slightly.  In the last year, her knees have begun to ache after lengthly travelling, a new thing.

"We will speak again before you or I leave, Crrurr'nokp."

Taking her leave of the brintizzi, Cyan exits and views the gathering place again.  Closing her topaz eyes, she takes a deep breath; when she opens them again, they have shifted to amethyst.  "Well and good," she murmurs.  Berd stirs on her shoulder, grumbling quietly, and she pats his head.  "Sleep now, father.  I will require your assistance, ere long."

An inquiry or two places James, and Cyan paces toward the tent, calling the Archons to her as she walks.  "I would have your impressions, Archons of the nephillim and sencathi, of this world and its peoples."  Her smile, while real, has a melancholy turn to it.  "I would know more of your thoughts and emotions, if it is not an imposition."

The smile brightens for a moment.  "And your impressions of our fellow traveller, Banglen-Yp.  A curious creature she is, no?"

The bard seats herself beside James' tent, glancing around for evidence of Banglen-Yp's presence.  One never knows, and it's often amusing to try to discern what form she or her other selves have taken now.  It's a touch easier for Cyan to comprehend the idea of one creature being a multitude, due to Berd's curiously split consciousness.  She can't grasp how it must be, but certainly her understanding of the generalities has grown.

Reaching into her pack - provided by Berd - she draws out her sketchbook, fountain pens, and inks.  And there, bright sunlight gleaming in Cyan's rusty hair as she listens to her companions, the bard's hands begin their work.

There is only one Banglen-Yp present, as far as Cyan can tell, and she currently kneels close to the bard, holding the kitten she has adopted in one hand.  The animal struggles, wanting to be put down, so the woman places it on the ground.  She plucks a hair from her head, and watches as it becomes a little shorter and thicker, one end swelling and spreading to become a feather-like structure.

String and feather, the natural prey of felines everywhere.

With the kitten thus distracted, the odd shapeshifter tilts her head towards Cyan, and is about to answer, but one of the danioti speaks first, + THEY ARE ILL-PREPARED, SHOULD WAR COME HERE... + only to be interrupted by the herenthi, Barkiel, + BUT THEY ARE FOREWARNED NOW, AND WILL, DOUBTLESS BE BETTER PREPARED. +  Another Archon, Shalgiel the sencathi, rebukes them, + THAT WAS NOT THE QUESTION.  THE QUESTION WAS REGARDING OUR IMPRESSIONS OF THE PEOPLE THEMSELVES, NOT THE STATE OF THEIR ARMIES.  OUR IMPRESSION IS THAT THEY LEAD SIMPLE LIVES, AND HAVE SEEN LITTLE OF HORROR AND WAR.  WITNESS HOW THEY TREAT STRANGERS, EVEN THOSE WHO ARE DIFFERENT FROM THEMSELVES.  THEY HAVE NOT LEARNED TO FEAR THAT WHICH IS ALIEN. +

The transformation does not complete, seemingly frozen midway between duck and unicorn, but still the oddly chimerical creature speaks to James.  "I am grateful to you, James.  Your healing made me stronger, more able to resist those who have invaded my realm.  Further, it enabled me to reach out to you, even across the distances that separate us.  To send you a warning.  Beware James, for you travel with one who would betray all that you hold dear."

Cyan smiles as the various Archons make their points.  "Such different thoughts," she murmurs, pen dancing over the paper.  "And yet, you are all correct from your own perspective."  Her smile broadens, and she looks up at her companions.  "A danioti sees in terms of defense; is this not so, Nariel, Staosha and Suriel?  And yet, perhaps each of you might have found something different to note.  Barkiel finds an opposite point.  Shalgiel turns the question to another point of view.  No doubt Rabacyel would have their own thoughts on the matter as well."

She nods her head.  "All different, and yet...you battle not over these differences.  They give what?  Enjoyment to discuss?  A potential glimpse into other perspectives?  The capacity to understand others, which comes with a wealth of opportunity..."  A sigh follows, and she puts down her drawing for a moment.  "Your brethren, the Seraphim...they have not grasped this."  Cyan rolls her eyes.  "This is not a flaw of the Archons.  Many people of all races do not. That you can deal with this differently than the Seraphim gives me a great hope that they, too, will gain the wisdom and forebearance you have grasped."

Her amber eyes return to the drawing for a moment, and she studies it - a man and woman, dancing within a rain of floating petals.  More detail must be added.  And colours.

"Perhaps I speak of that which I do not understand, of course," she finally continues.  "Foolish of me to reduce the complexities of others to such simple terms...my apologies if I have given offense, noble nephillim and sencathi."

Now her eyes flick to Banglen-Yp, still playing with her 'kitten'.  "But what of another perspective?  Banglen-Yp, your feelings on the matter of these people; would you share them?"

James straightens abruptly.  "Yes, I recognise you.  You look a little odd but the horn's a dead giveaway."  James grins, although his mood is serious, "I'm sorry, I'm sure you've a better reason for...this, than my poor jokes."

James listens, then sighs heavily.  "Yep, that qualifies.  You'll forgive me if I wish you were Professor Duckulus, or brought better news.  Can you tell me anything about this soon-to-be traitor?"

OOC: I take it James has some sense, through the connection, that confirms this is the Unicorn??

"My thoughts are like those of this one."  Banglen-Yp indicates the Archon, Shalgiel, and her voice takes on an unusual (for her) gravity, "With the addition that these people knew little about the war before we arrived.  They know a little more now.  The lizard-man with the strange name can teach them even more before he leaves.  Their sudden appearance surprised our Wheels.  If more Wheels come, they can surprise them too."

"They live their lives in peace, but that does not mean that they lack the will, and the ability, to defend themselves."

The Uniduck, or possibly Duckicorn, depending on your perspective, shakes its head, "I can tell you little.  As you healed me, I saw  visions of your future.  They were confused and jumbled, and it took me a time to unravel them.  I saw you atop a mountain, surrounded by wheels of fire, which jeered and taunted you.  A woman with hair the colour of flame stood at your left hand, and a sword was in her hand, and its edges burned.  You spoke to her, and your words were of the betrayal and treachery of a travelling companion."

Cyan stills her pen as Banglen-Yp speaks, listening to her carefully.  And she nods.  "Yes.  There are times when a peaceful people remain a people capable of defending themselves."  The pen begins to move again.  "Sometimes those who have everything are cognizent of having everything to lose.  Sometimes a people is peaceful because they understand war, and have risen past the need for it...yet it remains a part of their capacities.  These people are strong.  They have power."

She stares through the papers.  "If the Seraphim come," Cyan whispers, "I think they will fight."

Her amethyst eyes focus on the page before her, and the pen picks up its pace.  "One hopes they will not find it necessary," she admits.  "If any of your wish to speak," Cyan continues, addressing the Archons around her, "I find myself curious as to why you joined the nephillim.  I would know you, know your reasons."

For a moment, she closes her eyes, breathing in deeply.  "They give me hope."

Shalgiel sweeps close by, small and glittering like a snowflake, + WE EXISTED BEFORE THE SERAPHIM, AND THE NEPHELIM, AND ALL THE OTHER FACTIONS.  HARBONAH IS WRONG - OUR KIND WERE DESTROYED OR EXILED, AND EXPUNGED FROM HISTORY FOR SAYING THIS, BUT IT IS STILL TRUE.  HARBONAH.  IS.  WRONG.  ONLY THE NEPHELIM COME CLOSE TO MATCHING HARBONAH'S STRENGTH, SO WE STAND WITH THEM. +

Other Archons add their voices, agreeing that Harbonah's plan is wrong.  Several explain how associating with humans, and other creatures of the myriad worlds, has taught them things that other Archons have not learned - about art, and music, and the pleasure to be found in simply moving  in rhythmic patterns in concert with others.

These Archons have learned why humans do certain things.  Rabacyel, the eshurianti, reveals that only recently did it become aware of the human need for food - until then it had not understood the removal of one form of grass from an area, only to replace it with another.  That realisation had brought a growing understanding of a lot of seemingly inexplicable activities.

The three danioti are the most vocal in their scorn for Harbonah, sure that when he falls, he will be alone, all of his allies having moved on to follow their own paths.  They, meanwhile, have learned from humans the worth of allies who can be trusted.  Allies whose goals do not shift constantly to suit themselves.  This has long been the way of the Archons - to join forces one day, and then to turn against each other when you no longer have a common objective.  For these three danioti, though, the lack of a word for friend in their own language has become a nagging reminder of the hateful spirits of many of the race.

And a thing which might be troubling, or it might be good news - not all of the Seraphim follow Harbonah.  There are other, smaller groups who still call themselves Seraphim, but whose overall schemes touch only tangentially on Harbonah's own.  While they want to eradicate all non-Archon life, they will do so for their own reasons, not for Harbonah's grand plan.

The woman is probably Cyan, the sword Gurthang.  Which is odd, because she just gave it to me.  Still, who can say what might happen?  Thank you for the warning, I will speak to those I trust and see what can be done.

A pause.

You saw visions of my future? A shared memory  No.  Never mind,  Some things it is better not to know.

Cyan puts down her quill as the Archons speak, choosing instead to study them, to put their words to their beings and strive to better understand these new friends.  Shalgiel's reasoning goes beyond logic, as befits its wise age - it knows right and wrong, and is willing to defend the right.  The other Archons feel similarly, but aslo speak of moments of illumination that led them to the decision.  Art, music, creation - all have struck sparks within their hearts.  Knowledge, too, has granted understanding, and with that has come empathy.

And the danioti...theirs is the saddest story, that they labored so long alone, and only with the study of others found relief from that void.  They learned to trust.  And in trusting, found other, like-minded Archons.

Cyan wipes her opalescent eyes, nodding her head.  "I would name you all friends to me, if you would agree.  I have learned so much from you - all of you - and am gratified, yes, gratified by your companionship."  She cannot help but smile.  "I count myself fortunate."

I have been blessed on this quest with many friends.  And now, these.  Such luck, I never would have considered.

Her eyes fall upon Berd, and she slowly nods her head.  "Berd found much the same with an Archon of the herenethi," she notes.  "In understanding art, it grew...and began to crave what it now began to feel.  To care for such things.  And through them, begin to understand the care of others.  It turned against Harbonah, much as you have."

She shakes her head.  "Lords of the West!  I have no right to feel so, but I am proud of you people.  Such strength and perception, to break free from a mode of thinking that has existed for eons.  To turn against it.  I am humbled by your strength, your wisdom, your perception."

Easy for her to battle Harbonah, being of those who would die.  Much harder for these, throwing in their lot against the odds and against their own society's pressures and beliefs.

Settling back, the bard takes up her quill again, changing inks.  "So there are factions, even, among the Seraphim.  Splinter groups, as it were.  Hardly surprising," she murmurs.  "How we will deal with them...perhaps their spies among Harbonah's people -" for their will be spies, she knows it "- will alert them to our plan and they, too, will come.  Else we will have to deal with them afterward.  Harbonah and his people are the priority.  They are too close to success."

Someone, in any case, will have to deal with them afterward.  Cyan feels it likely it will be beyond her capacity.

"The images were confused James.  I was not entirely myself." the creature says, looking down at its hooves, webbed feet and feathers, then skaking its head, "Though not quite in the same way that I am not currently myself.  What I have told you is what I have managed to piece together.  If further realisations and revelations occur, I shall attempt to contact you again.  At least I shall if they pertain to what I have already told you.  Your reluctance to know more is unlike others I have dealt with."

The air above the Unicorn's avatar grows dark, as if some ominous shape were looming there, just beyond James' perception.  "Ah...  I believe it might almost be time for me to leave... "

+ HAVE YOU NOT HEARD?  AMONG THE ARCHONS THERE ARE AS MANY FACTIONS AS THERE ARE ARCHONS, PLUS ONE. + one of the danioti says, humming quietly, + WE THOUGHT ALL KNEW THIS. +

Barkiel adds, perhaps a little more constructively, + DEALING WITH THE FACTIONS IS EASY ENOUGH.  FOR MOST SERAPHIM, THEIR GOALS CURRENTLY ALIGN CLOSELY ENOUGH WITH HARBONNAH'S OWN THAT THEY CAN BE CONSIDERED LOYAL TO HIM. +

+ THE PROBLEMS MAY START AFTER HARBONNAH FALLS.  UNLESS YOU CAN PROVIDE THEM WITH A NEW UNIFYING MOTIVE, THEY ARE LIKELY TO GO THEIR OWN WAYS.  I WOULD SUGGEST POWER.  OFFER THEM DOMINION OVER OTHERS, BUT TELL THEM THEY WILL NEED TO RETAIN IT THEMSELVES.  THAT MAY ENCOURAGE GROUPS TO WORK TOGETHER, REDUCING THE NUMBER OF INDIVIDUALS THAT YOU NEED TO DEAL WITH. +

Cyan chuckles quietly at the danioti's comment.  "Well put, well put."  It's a problem, but not an unsurmountable one, and something her plan will hopefully deal with...in part.  Assuming she can make it work.  Obviously there will be hold-outs, but Archons are territorial creatures with little sympathy for those who cross their lines.

If the majority believe the universe worth keeping, the odds of those wishing its destruction succeeding drop dramatically.

"Your suggestion is wise, Barkiel," she considers.  Her pen comes up and thoughtfully taps against her chin, the quill leaving small green marks on her tanned skin.  "If there are those who will not listen, if there are those who insist on continuing the battle, their disorganization and competition will prove an effective stopgap measure for the short term.  Long-term?  Indeed, encouraging them to cooperate will be the best possible solution."

Her lips twitch in a grim smile.  "Competition, jockeying for power, and backstabbing will reduce their efficiency severely."

The quill-tip goes back to the paper, scratching and scraping out an image.  Berd opens a bleary eye, studies it, huffs a small cloud of rainbow smoke, then falls back asleep.  Cyan absently waves away the fumes.  "I hope that sufficient numbers of Seraphim will...how to put this?  Grow?  Understand?  Change?  I hope to provide a catalyst for this growth, enable a spurt of what might have otherwise taken milennia to achieve."  She taps her forehead, then realizes such a motion would have no bearing on the Archons.  "A growth within, mind.  In thought, and outlook."

She sighs, leaning her head back against the rough bark of the tree.  "A slim hope that all would change - so slim one cannot see it if it turns sideways.  And yet, a straight battle aganist the Seraphim is nigh-impossible.  But if we can convince even a third of them to see the worth of the universe, that force added to our own might very well carry the victory."

Her pen goes back to the paper.  "I hope to do better than a third.  The more who change, the better our chances...and the more of your people who will survive this clash."
This message was last edited by the player at 13:45, Mon 30 Apr 2012.

"It's time for me to go, James." the strange hybrid form adopted by the Unicorn starts to change, to unravel.  Strands of light are pulled from it, twisting and turning and extending outward until James realises that he's standing on familiar territory.  Around him the Pattern reaches out into darkness, burning with all the colours of the rainbow.  "Take care, James.  The fate of much that you know and love is tied to your own."

As Cyan, accompanied by a Banglen-Yp, Berd and the Archons sits discussing plans and prospects, there is a quiet cough.  Shaendra has returned from whatever errand drew her away.  "The hour is growing late."  She gestures towards the dark, star-filled sky, visible only in patches through gaps in the canopy, "I would suggest that you rest.  It seems that you have an arduous journey ahead of you, culminating in a task which is no less so.  You may use this tent, which serves as a communal barracks of sorts."

"You are safe here, in this camp.  My people will guard you."

James notes the shadow with concern.  The Unicorn is a creature of power but it may still be weakened from its injuries or vulnerable in this dreamscape.  It's importance as a talsiman of Amber is hard to overstate and James would not have it take unnecessary risks.

"Goodbye, then.  Thanks for the warning.  I'll be careful.  You take care, too.  Amber isn't out of the woods yet."

James watches as the Uniduck unravels in a pattern of light, into the Pattern.  It's disorienting for a moment.  To be in the centre of the Pattern, while asleep?  The possibilities were intriguing - and highly dangerous.  It is tempting to experiment but who knows where one's mind might end up.

Out of an abundance of caution, James makes a point of willing himself back to his camp bed on Shaendra's world, before allowing sleep to overtake him once more.

"Ah, my thanks Shaendra!"  Setting aside the artwork, Cyan rises and bows, dusting herself off.  She grimaces.  "I oft forget to sleep these days, and it leaves me cranky.  I would not wish that upon my travelling companions...not at all.  They will thank you as well."  That said with a quick smile, the starlight catching in her amethyst eyes.

She bows.  "I will take your kind offer - not the first, indeed! - and go to my rest."

She trusts the woman and her people.  But even so, they are not familiar with what may come, and before turning in, Cyan will assure the Archons that it will be necessary to continue the watch.

Berd remains asleep, garnering whatever rest he can find.  His depleted energies have begun to return, and soon he will be prepared for whatever might come.

For her part, Cyan crawls quietly into the tent, settling the small dragon into a place on her bedroll.  She stares through the darkness around herself, observing the still, silent forms, anonymous in the gloom.  A wry smile twists her lips and she shakes her head once before hunkering down next to the drake and closing her eyes.
This message was last edited by the player at 11:05, Mon 07 May 2012.