Morning.

Mist flows out of the forest, moving between the trees like a wide, slow river.  Pale and cold as Death in the early light.  In the mews, high on the tower of Charyk, the ormvråkar are quiet this morning, sullen, nervous and angry.  More than one of the grooms comes close to losing an arm to the snapping beak of one of their charges.

Greil turns from one of the great birds as Watch Lieutenant Heyden enters the room, with its outer doorways which always stand open, on to a vertical drop of over two thousand feet.  "Summat's get 'em edgy terday, Sire.  Been like it sin' afore dawn, they 'as."

He squints towards the forest, outside, beyond the Killing Field, the trees rising, stark, from the flowing, boiling whiteness.  "The beasts was playin' up earlier too.  Sun came up, an' they all started a-screechin' an' a roarin'.  It's like they all knows that summat's wrong, though I'll be damned if'n I knows what it is."


Twenty-five hundred feet below, at the root of the tower, people are waking in the Sanctuary Inn, as the smells of cooking waft through the hostelry.  Breakfast will be served soon.  Still, there is an odd tension in the air.  Word has already filtered up from the stables deep below Charyk.  The animals are all behaving very oddly this morning.

Reluctantly, Morgan donned his leather armor. It had only needed some of the straps replaced to be workable again, but the leather-worker had laughed at him when he asked about bleaching out the stains.

Still, when everyone but he felt danger in the air, it was best to put defense over fashion, so the  stained leather gear went on over his silk shirt, the thick reinforcements went about his calves, and his swords went at his belt and back.  All of which meant surprisingly little, he mused, as anything that could hurt his bodyguards could cut through it, and anything that couldn't wasn't really a threat.

Saranti was settling which people would watch each of the walls, so he and Leareth were free to head toward the Sanctuary Inn, for a somewhat better breakfast than the cold roasts in the kitchen. Amalie, Anita, and Brandon followed grumpily, on bodyguard duty, they had to settle for the roasts. (the rotation was apparantly alphabetical this week)

He rose, dressing, belting sword and armor and clothing in fluid, practiced motion. Today was not going to be a good day. Arianne felt it, he felt it... the beasts and people of this world felt it.

Aaron figured that he'd go 'home' one hand short today.

Sighing, Aaron stepped out of his room and made for the Common room.

Berd had settled himself upon the top of one of the towers for the night.  Some of him slept.  Other parts continued their work - searching the World.  Shadowing the questors.  Watching the Underflow for signs of tracking, of pursuit.  The Enemy knew them, now.  Knew their names, their face, their personalities, even.  It was only a matter of time.

And, as the sun's glow grew upon the horizon, the little dragon knew that time had grown short.

Despite his strange 'dream', he finds himself unable to achieve any kind of contact with Meredith.  Another disturbing fact.  Given the nature of her message, he does not feel she is in immediate danger.  With a sigh (that puffs out a small cloud of gold mist), he launches into the air and glides down to the Inn.  A twist of a wing, and Berd corners into the common room through a window like a swallow, before backwinging furiously to land atop on of the rafters.  His lambent eyes peer down, twin, glittering spheres within a shadowy form.

After a night with some not-entirely-comfortable dreams, Roman rises.  WIth some minor shapeshifting he tidies himself up, retracting the bristles that have grown on his cheeks overnight.  Much better than shaving.  Then he dresses in clean clothign and starts to think of breakfast.

Leaving his room he hesitates a little.  Then he turns, walking to Banglen-Yp's room.  He knocks, firmly, on the door.

Dorian spent the night in his chair. He'd known that eventually a way was coming his way, and he had prepared for it- among other things. He drifted off several times, as needed, but never slept more than twenty minutes or so. Just enough to keep him rested. He had always been able to go days this way, if needed.

His spells were ready, as were a few surprises.

As the sun rose, so did he. He stretched, letting his spine respond with a staccato burst of muffled pops. He set his clothing aside, and, as was his habit conjured up new clothes. Only the cloak remained.

He would be sure to eat well and pack some hearty food for later, perhaps even a piece of meat.

He paused a moment at Berd's contact. It was sooner than he thought. Good-- get if over with. Settle it and be done.

But not good- he could not face her. Not on the battlefield. His heart skipped a beat. No matter the carnage he faced, he did not believe himself capable of raising a single offensive spell against her. Against any of the others, maybe, with good reason, but not against Cyan.

Still, the answer was not in offense, but in rescue. She would hate him for it, but the original Cyan, the real Cyan, would understand. She would forgive him, even if this one didn't. The real one might be saved.

He liked this place. Though much more impressive, it reminded him of Kokkinos, the Red City of Samhain. He'd fought many battles from that city. His battles there earned it the nickname of Red City. It was there that his conquest of half of Samhain drew near to a close.
This message was last edited by the player at 05:37, Mon 20 Nov 2006.

Chance woke sprawled on the bed wondering why he was alone. Had she left early? No, there was no her. That had been a dream. She was always a dream. He sat on the edge of the bed and busied himself sorting out where he was and why he was here.

"Right," he said aloud as the details came back to him. "Charyk."

He stood to look for a bowl of hot water to wash up. As he did so, his flannel pajamas rippled and became his usual clothes, jeans, jacket and a t-shirt. Battle or no battle, he planned to enjoy breakfast.

 

Waking up, Banglen-Yp rolled out of the bed and then rolled in under the same in one fluid motion.


                                                            <sub>Danger, Will Robinson

                    My spider sense is tingling.

                                                                                Crikey!

                                        They're here.</sub>


There was a knock on the door.

Quickly scrambling out from under the bed, looking about to make certain nothing was lurking about, Banglen-Yp made it to the door in no time.

Reaching out, the door was opened.

Banglen-Yp was sitting in the ceiling.

Slobbering.

 

Roman sees the door open.  He looks in, around, up.... "Errr I just wanted to see if you were ready to come down for breakfast.  You do know that you're not meant to eat the staff ?" or me

 

The head tilts as Banglen-Yp listened to Roman where he stood beneath her.

It dropped to the ground, turning around as it fall to land nearly without a sound  on the floor before him, the head slowly tilting down as if the beast was falling asleep.

It began to sort of blur, shift, change.

                              Or perhaps it was a trick of the light.

Standing on one knee before him, head bent, was the blonde.  The head lifted up and she looked straight at him.  The gaze was almost like a predators.

                    Or perhaps it was a trick of the light.

With the thick mane of hair falling over her shoulders and back it was not clear whether she was actually dressed or not, but then, yes, there was a boot on the foot that was visible.  Had it been there a moment before?

          Or perhaps it was a trick of the light.

As she rose to her feet, to stretch up in her full length, she smiled at him, fully clothed.  Gone was anything that would suggest a predator, all that was left was the happy, smiling blonde.  She winked at him.

Or perhaps it was a trick of the light.

•• Bad • dreams ••

A simple and strangely cheerful statement, followed by another.

•• Break•fast ••

 
_{Edited to make certain it is clear she is dressed...}
This message was last edited by the player at 08:42, Mon 20 Nov 2006.

"Upsy pupsy, Chance."  Luke perched on the edge of a chair like some great, dark raven, a simile enhanced by his long black coat.  "Berd was going to let you know, but I figured why not let old Chance sleep a little longer?"

He hopped off the chair and stretched.  "Company is coming," the man observed quietly.  "Our lost friend.  Seems like Meredith didn't manage to stop her, and she knows where we are."

Chance groans. No girl in his bed this morning, and now this? "All I can say to that is this place better know what Vodka is, or I'll make it myself." He pats the guitar.

"So, what's the plan?"

"No fear."  Luke swung a bottle out from under his coat, proffering it.  "There you are."

"Plan?  What plan?"  He gestured.  "Most of you are just getting up.  Dorian's on the wire, and discussing the possibility of trying to make a stand, here.  Seems he has an idea for how to grab Cyan from the middle of our enemies."

He shrugged.  "I don't think he has properly considered the ramifications of trying to capture Cyan at the same time as we deal with whatever force she brings against us.  The woman is supposed to be some kind of strategic and tactical genius, correct?  I doubt very much this will be a case of her and enough Archons to make this a 'fair' fight.  Then again, you can hardly blame the man."

"Here, I'll bring you in, now."  And with that, Luke drew Chance into Berd's bridging.
This message was last edited by the player at 13:38, Mon 20 Nov 2006.

Roman wraps an arm around Banglen-Yp, in an almost-hug.  "Not too bad, I hope..." he says as he brings his face close, not sure if to go for a good-morning kiss and hoping that Banglen-Yp will solve the problem by kissing him first.

"Breakfast, and over breakfast we can decide what we do today..."

 

Watching as the arm rounds her, Banglen-Yp's face are for a moment turned away from Roman's.

•• Not • as • bad • as • the • day • will • be•come ••

A simple statement, casual, without gloom and doom other than the meaning of the words themselves.  But they carried enough.

She turned back to look at him, smiled brightly and kissed him...

                    ...on the cheek.

Starting to move away she appeared content with that.

•• Break•fast ••

 

Roman follows, "What do you mean ?  How bad is today going to be ?  What's going to happen ?  I can get us away from here, you know.  We don't have to stay and face whatever you're expecting."

 

A shrug and, yes, a smile before a carefree statement.

•• Re•al•i•ty • is • al•ways • worse • than • bad • dreams ••

A finger pointed at her own self.

•• I • do • not • know • the • fu•tu•re • only • the • pre•sent ••

A giggle and another shrug.

•• Dan•ger • finds • you • an•y•where ••

An oddly upbeat statement.

 

Roman sighs.  "I hope that you mean that a bad reality is worse than a bad dream.  But if you want to stay here, I suppose I had better stay, too.  We can try to protect each other again."  He moves to take her arm, as he did the previous evening.  "Anyway, breakfast first"

 

•• No •• Re•al•i•ty • is • al•ways • bad • some•where • and • bad • dreams • go • a•way ••

Unusually talkative.  Perhaps all the blonde needed had been a good (?) nights rest.

          Or maybe not.

She nodded.

•• Break•fast ••

 

"Thanks," Chance accepts the bottle with a smile. It would burn with an empty stomach and nothing to follow it, but he figured it might help with whatever was coming. He'd get some food in there soon enough, even if he had to fight and eat at the same time.

Chance's mind enters the bridging, but remains quiet, curious and a little nervous. Such mental exploits were still alien to him.

As they walk down the stairs Roman attempts to take a more positive view "It's true that reality is always bad somewhere - but it's always good somewhere else.  It's a matter of being with the right place - or with the right person"

 

•• Yes • but • bad • dreams • are • not • some•where • else •• They • are • gone • when • you • wake • up ••

A smile along with the more elaborate answer.

•• Re•al•i•ty • is • hard•er • to • es•cape ••

Then she seemed to listen to someone unheard voice or sound.

•• Most • of • the • time ••

A cryptic statement while the smile changed into a cryptic one.

          Or perhaps it was a trick of the light.

 

As they enter the common room Roman answers her.  "This sort of 'reality'" - he gestures to encompass the room - "is easy for me to escape.  I can just walk to a different one that suits me better.  And I can take you with me."

"Dreams are harder to escape,  you have to wait to wake up."

 

Shaking her head and putting on a near sad face, Banglen-Yp considered how to explain.

•• No •• You • are • still • in • re•al•i•ty ••

Then she shook her head again and smiled.

•• No •• Bad • dreams • wake • you ••

Her attention then went to the room.  Perhaps something else curious was about today.

          Other than her.

 

James rose, bleary-eyed.  His sleep had been troubled and for the moment he felt wearier for having slept.  He took a moment to clear his thoughts and prepare himself before descending to the common room.

Roman selects a table and sits down.

"Reality is a very complicated subject.  But alright.   When dealing with things that are real in the sense that this place is real I can always choose to be somewhere else, where nothing bad is happening.  It might take a bit of effort to get to where I really want to be, but I can do it."

Greil scowls, then carefully makes sure he has to be elsewhere when Heyden returns, this time with Jounach, one of the Lords of Charyk.  The youngest, as it happens, if somebody almost eighty years of age can really be called "youngest".  In Greil's view, he's also the meanest, but in a group who consider torturing kittens a pleasant after-dinner pastime, such distinctions are mostly meaningless.

Jounach studies the restless ormvråkar for a few seconds, then speaks to Heyden, "So... if I have this straight, you called me all the way up here, and away from my breakfast, because the ormvråkar are a little ... edgy... today?  Mmmm?  Is that it?"  He glances at the row of open doors, and the empty air beyond, and takes half a pace away from them.

"My Lord, they are more than a little ed... "

"Do not contradict me, Lieutenant.  So... has it escaped your notice that these... " he waves one gnarled hand towards the great birds, " ... are ormvråkar?  Mmmm?  They are, by their very nature, surly, awkward, mean-tempered, irritable, and downright bloody vicious.  To such an extent, in fact, that we use the term bird-brained to describe the most dangerous of criminals, do we not?  Mmmm?"

"Yes, My Lord, but... " Heyden pauses, as Jounach glares at him.  Dangerous ground now... courage is required, and the watch Lieutenant manages to summon it up, "But they don't normally start this early, and today, they seem... well... scared of something as well."

"Scared?  Mmmm?  Well why didn't you bloody well say so?  Scared is not normal.  Not in the least.  Tell me, Lieutenant, has anything unusual happened lately?  Mmmm?"


In the Sanctuary Inn, the guests gather for breakfast, the same group as yesterday (albeit Morgan knows the panters are different, settling once more at the corner table.

Garvin himself is serving this morning, seemingly no more cheerful than the previous evening.  "Mornin'.  I trusts yers all slep' well.  Breakfast terday, yer c'n 'ave porridge, or yer c'n 'ave eggs, or bacon an' eggs.  What'll it be?"

 

•• No •• Re•al•i•ty • is • re•al•i•ty ••

Another attempt to explain what could not be explained.

•• Eve•ry•one • can ••

A statement.

•• It • is • ne•ver • ea•sy ••

Another one.

Then her attention went to the grumpy man from last night.

•• Poor • Ridge •• she told him.

 

Aaron sat, one leg idly crossed over the other. If one thing could be said about him (and many, many things could), it was that he was not a morning person. He remained silent, having harnessed a radiance of 'leave me alone' that could not be denied.

However, that time passed eventually as he gauged what they were up against. At the mention of Cyan, Aaron frowned and closed his eyes.

"It would be advantageous of us to capture Cyan, if capturing her was at all possible - however, she thinks things twelve steps ahead of where you're already standing. I have never fought Cyan, and for very, very good reason."

Was he scared of her? No. That much was sure. Did he want to kill her, still? The possibility remained that such might be the case... but that other part of him remained, stolid and stubborn that such a thing was pointless.

"No matter the case, we must see her alive and in our company once more. Our primary goals should be the defense of this world and the containment of Cyan by any means necessarry. If that is even possible."

"She will have an army such as has never been seen. They will be exhibiting powers and abilities that are far beyond the typical, and these powers stretch through the Myriad Worlds. Our time is up. Running is no longer an option."

Reaching into his pocket, he found a cigarette. Aaron lit it and took a long, comforting drag.

"Whatever happens," he exhaled. "We're going to kill the enemy today."

Aaron's words are conveyed through the bridging immediately.  Berd, from up in the rafters, stares down with solemn, burning eyes.  He raises them, staring out into the distance, through the walls, to some point far away.  Perhaps through time.


Aaron's words hold merit, as did Dorian's a scant time before...how can they abandon this place?  As Dorian says, if they leave, it will still fall.  People will be slain.  Berd cannot, will not walk away knowing their presence here has brought ruin.

But how can he fight his daughter?

Despite his empty stomach, the drake's appetite has deserted him.  For once.

From up in his room, Dorian pauses at the door as he listens to Aaron and then Berd.

He didn't relish either option, fleeing or fighting. Yet, they all seemed to sense inside that the time to make a stand was now. There is a subtle shift in his psyche as more recent parts are shoved aside, and the old general steps forward.

"Bacon and eggs for me"  Roman tells the grumpy inkeeper

Turning back to Banglen-Yp he goes on "No, most people can only move within a single world.  Most don't know that there are other worlds.  But a few people - few compared to the millions that even one world might hold - can freely move between the worlds.  I can do that.  Something bad might happen to this world, but we could go elsewhere - to any world you might want."

 

Appearing to think about what Roman said for a while, Banglen-Yp evetually shrugged her shoulders with a smile.

•• It • is • still • re•al•i•ty ••

Then it came, a question that no doubt would make the man sweat.

•• Please • tell • me • how • you • move • to • an•oth•er • world ••

 

Roma nods seriously.  "This is not really a secret, but we try not to spread it around.   I would call on the power of the Logrus, the Sign of Chaos.  I would fix my mind on the desired destination and I would walk or ride.  As I travelled I would use the power of the Logrus to pull myself - and any I cared to take with me through Shadow."

"Likewise if I want something I can use the Logrus to get it.  If I want money or fresh clothes or anything that might be found in a nearby world I can call on the Logrus to bring it to me."

"Bacon and eggs for me," Morgan answered Garvis, setting the appropriate payment in his hand.

"So...judging by everyone's faces, the danger's striking today?" The statement was meant as a joke, but fell flat before it left his tongue. It truly was likely something would happen before the sun set.
This message was last edited by the player at 20:23, Tue 21 Nov 2006.

 

Nodding, Banglen-Yp persisted.

•• How • do • you • acc•ess • this • Lo•grus •• Can • you • teach • me ••

It sounded nifty, the travelling part.

She frowned lightly.

•• You • steal ••

A query rather than a statement.

 

Roman shakes his head "No, I can't teach you.  It can't be taught.  And it has dangers even for a Chaos Lord, and far worse for anyone else.  I wouldn't risk you like that.  And it isn't really stealing.  All sorts of things get lost..."

Noticing Morgan, Roman sees an opportunity to change the subject  "Hey, you ! Morgan!  Come over here, there has been a...miscommunication that I would like you to correct..." there is a definite note of annoyance in your voice.
This message was last edited by the player at 20:34, Tue 21 Nov 2006.

Waving agreement, Morgan brought his chair over to Roman and Banglen-Yp.  "A miscommunication?"

"Yes" Roman says rubbing the place he was hit, which still faintly aches as he waits for Morgan to be seated.

He goes on "When a man kisses a woman and the woman hits him it is a strong sign that she does not wish to be kissed by him, is it not ?"

"It does not mean that she is such happy person that it is difficult for her to be any happier.  And that even if she liked the kiss it did not make her much happier, because she is so happy to start with.  Does it ?"

 

•• The • screen • says • it • is • steal•ing • to • take • what • is • not • yours ••

An interjection to Roman before Morgan could speak and then she smiled at the latter.

•• You • told • me • to • slap • if • it • did • not • make • me • hap•pi•er ••

This was aimed at Morgan.

 

Morgan grinned, then looked innocently at the ceiling.  "I suppose if she can't feel happier, she might make an exception to the rule, but that's up to her, really. It is a sign of displeasure, so if a kiss made her a little happier, then a slap might not be appropriate. Risky business, being a guy."

"I'll meet you downstairs, Chance.  There are a few people with whom I have to speak."

Without transition, Luke settled himself into a chair near the trio of Roman, Banglen-Yp and Morgan.  Just in time to catch the last half of the conversation.  He shook his head with a smile, but refrained from agreeing with the woman.  Stealing might be stealing, but insulting people was a poor way to get help.  And right now, they needed it.

"If you don't intend to assist," he said, leaning forward to keep things quiet, "best if you leave.  Now.  Don't eat breakfast.  Don't wait.  Just go."  Oddly, his voice failed to carry.

Then the man leaned back.  "If you are planning on assisting, now would be a good time for you to tell us your capabilities."  He held up one hand.  "Please, we're a trifle pressed for time.  Bad things, as you may have felt, are coming...."

Morgan's eyes widened at the sudden appearance, but he nodded at the words.

"We'll help. For our skills... We fought through the jungle outside, with some losses, and no road. Free of the jungle, it took us perhaps thrice a hundred heartbeats to reach the gates, slowed by those still too wounded to run. Most are willing to pair with a human, provided he understands they are allies, and not servants, and that if wounds don't kill them immediately, they aren't to be abandoned for dead. Beyond that, I'd really need something to compare with."
This message was last edited by the player at 06:04, Wed 22 Nov 2006.

Roman scowls a little at Morgan who is being less than helpful.

But Luke's words take priority.  "I'll stay if Banglen-Yp stays.  Or take her to safety if that's what she wants.   I'm a Logrus-Master and a Shapeshifter and I bear an enchanted blade.  Banglen-Yp has a quite impressive demon-form.  I don't have many worries about her ability to fight in personal combat.  But a battle is different and I'm afraid that she might not fare so well.  She may have more surprises for us, I've never met a being like her."

"But perhaps it is best if you tell us about the foe ?  Those of us with other shapes need to know what form would best suit.  And whether they will use this 'Broken God'.  I'd hate to be caught in merely human form, without use of the Logrus."

 

Nodding to Morgan in what seemed to be agreemant, Banglen-Yp spoke.

•• Yes ••

Then, smiling at Luke as he appeared and spoke, seemingly not too concerned with how he appeared, the odd blonde waved to him.

•• Hel•lo ••

Then she shook her head and giggled, her gaze seeking out Roman.

•• Not • de•mon •• Xe•no•morph ••

The next moment, expressions of thought conquered her visage.

Her eyes now lost at an undefiend point on the floor, she spoke once more.

•• One • of • ma•ny • but • I • am • on•ly • one ••

It sounded like an attempt to explain...

                                        ...something.

•• I • try ••

          She certainly did, but the questions was what.

 

Chance comes wandering towards the main hall looking for Luke. He takes a slow drink from the bottle of Vodka. He gives the others an easy smile. "Tonight, we dine in hell, eh? Anyone care for some Potion of Giant Strength?" He offers the bottle to the general group.

Dorian's march is swift and silent as he approaches the tables. He ignores others and takes a corner seat. "No food," he says dismissively to no one. He begins staring into the fire.

James looks out-of-sorts as he approaches.  He fiddles with his sword-belt and his hands are constantly moving.  "Do you have fresh bread?"

Aaron closed his eyes, and spoke in silence for a time.

Roman turns down the potion "Dine in hell ?  I hope not, I hear the food's lousy."

Turning back to Banglen-Yp he advises her "When you're in your de, err, zenomorph form it would be a good idea not to eat your kills until you're sure that no other enemies are coming.  Do you think that you can try to do that ?  I'd rather not see you hurt."

The little dragon stares down from on high, then swoops down to land on James' shoulder as he enters the room.

 

•• Jai • ant ••

Banglen-Yp thought about this for a moment, then shook her head.  She did not need the strength of an ant, no matter what kind it might be.

•• Hel•lo •• she then said to men she had not greeted before today, and waved to them.

Then Roman got her attention and she giggled.

•• I • do • not • eat • when • I • fight •• Nei•ther • do • I • fight • when • I • eat ••

She offered her explanation to him and then got an exhorting look on her pretty face.

•• You • do • not • eat • ei•ther • or • get • hurt • Oh • Kay ••

Is was kind of demanding an answer, that one.

Then she smiled and waved to the little dragon, but did nothing else towards it.

 

Chance set the bottle aside within easy reach of the others and took a seat.

Luke twiddled his thumbs for a moment.  He absolutely hated being the talent scout, but it seemed as though he had been elected.  Or volunteered.  Or something.

"All right," he finally said.  "It's up to the three of you - you all sound capable enough.  Make your decisions quickly."

"As for the capabilities, we're not certain exactly what we'll be facing.  If it is Archons, we know the bladed archons, the danioti, are very quick and very dangerous in combat.  They can alter their size at a whim, and it's like fighting a giant, spinning sawblade.  The flame archons, the eshuranti can do the same.  They seem semisolid.  They can project fire, and have potent psychic abilities.  We don't know the abilities of any other kinds, though we know there is at least one more."

His frown deepened.  "They may or may not be accompanied by humanoid soldiers.  They WILL be led by the Warrior in Jet and Gold.  We know her as Cyan.  She was taken by them, and turned against us.  The woman is a military genius and, between her and that cursed sword she carries, will cut you to ribbons if you get anywhere near arm's reach.  And with that sword and certain specialized knowledge she has, she might even be capable of nullifying sorcerous attacks."

His face broke into a broad smile.  "Sound good so far?"

Roman reaches out and pats Banglen-Yp's hand, smiling.  "Alright.  I promise not to mix eating and fighting.  You try and do the same - no eating until it's safe."

Turning back to Luke.  "The defences here seem to be strong.  They have sorcerous ranged weapons of some sort, thick walls, and flyers.  And the monsters outside are likely to go for the attackers.  These archons sound pretty dangerous but can they deal with flyers carrying ranged weapons ?"

"I'd worry about infiltrators too.  The smart way to take this place would be stealth - capture and replace a caravan and seize a gate from the inside.  Maybe send some people in in advance, travelling with other caravans.  It'd still be incredibly expensive in lives, but it would be a lot better than a frontal assault.  The people here have to be warned about that possibility"

 

More thinking.

•• Are • they • sharp •• Do • they • cut • through • eve•ry•thing ••

A question, directly aimed at the talkative fellow [Luke].

•• Stay • a•way • from • Psi • Anne •• Got • it ••

How she could get words like xenomorph right but not simpler words was an enigma for someone to ponder, no doubt.

When Roman pats her hand she does the same, smiling as well.

•• I • pro•mise ••

Then more pondering.

•• I • can • hide • well • if • need•ed ••

It sounded like a suggestion, but to what end?

 

"The question regards what will hit this place.  Walls mean nothing to the Archons without a ceiling - they all levitate, and can move at tremendous speed.  Tactically...."  He considered.

"Were I them, I would begin by bombardment.  They have shown themselves capable of such in the past.  A group of them could rise up, above the clouds, and begin a long range burning of the castle.  Once the bombardment was underway, others could destroy any of this keep's air defenses when they rose to attack the 'artillery'."

"The key here is that this is not a seige.  A seige assumes one has walls that can keep the enemy out.  These walls are nothing more than cover - they will not hinder the Archons from closing the gap.  Hence, the strategies will more likely resemble those of open-plain warfare.  Take an area your enemy requires, and force him to come to you.  Feign weakness in one area to draw him out, and strength in another to keep him back.  Focus on one point.  Avoid fragmentation."

His lips thinned.  "And these creatures care little for lives.  Some of them have several bodies.  Others are so convinced of their own superiority that they will never back down."

Luke knew that with every word, he painted a grimmer and grimmer picture.  It was time for some good news.

"But.  We have beaten them before.  The dragon is a match for a dozen or more.  Many of our people could defeat them in combat, with the weapons they bear.  Sorcery will affect them, and we have that as well.  We have never seen them in groups greater than a dozen or two - it seems they have issues with cooperation, though in battle that rarely comes to a head, and would be difficult to exploit."

He turned to Banglen-Yp.  "We have seen them cut stone.  Beyond that...who can say?"  He drummed his fingers for a moment.

As Banglen-Yp pats his hand Roman absently turns it palm up and tries to catch her hand, loosely wrapping his fingers around hers.

But his attention is on Luke.  "I can see a way I might be of use, but it will take preparation and ideally an element of surprise.  I'd best discuss it privately with whoever is coordinating the battle.  Unless..."

He turns his head to look at Banglen-Yp.  "I can still take you away from here.  This may be the last opportunity...if you want to leave, just give the word."

Heyden finished describing the unusual event...

"Very interesting, Lieutenant.  And you witnessed this yourself?  Mmmm?" Jounach asks, stepping a little further away from the door, towards the nearest ormvråck.  The bird hisses, and makes as if to peck at him, its eyes blazing with the furious madness of its kind.  Jounach's own gaze meets that of the bird, and it decides not to carry the attack any further.

"Yes, my Lord.  With my own eyes.  I was only thirty or forty feet above the incident."

"Fascinating.  Very well.  I have a task for you, Lieutenant Heyden.  Find some runners, and summon my cousins to the Moothall.  The witch, Tahirah, as well.  Impress upon them that it is most urgent, and ensure that they will pass that urgency on to the recipients of my summons."

With a final glower at the birds, Jounach turns to leave.

 

Looking at Roman's hand in wonder as it closed around hers, Banglen-Yp considered if this was something similar to the kiss or not.

Should she slap him again?

Then the fellowed answered her and she looked up at him.

•• Thank • you •• What • ar•e•a • do • you • think • they • will • re•qui•re ••

It could be good to know, if possible.

Then Roman spoke to her again and her attention went to him once more - and the hand.

•• I • will • stay •• If • you • want • to • go • you • can ••

She needed to stay here for a while, but perhaps he would rather not.  She did not know.

 

Roman looks at Banglen-Yp, realises what his hand is doing, freezes for a second and then decides to leave things as they are.

"Then I stay."

Somewhat stunned from the recital of their enemies strengths, Morgan rallies while Roman and Banglen-Yp discuss remaining.

"I can only help a battle in the skies in dodging what rains down, I'm afraid, but the ground reinforcements probably won't enjoy the mauling we can give them. I believe I heard horses when you came. Do you all know how to fight mounted? It takes some practice, much like pair-fighting, but..."

"We've had considerable experience in such things," Aaron spoke from his seat, leaning back and nursing his second cigarette, not to mention a bottle of some unnamed alcohol. "I seem to specifically remember an ambush not very long ago..." he trailed off then, shaking his head.

"Mounted combat may be feasable. I'd join you in that, I think."

Ilse's reach on foot was significant, mostly for the distraction and surprise it was capable of. On armored horseback, at speed, it was maddening, whipping this way and that, cleaving everything asunder. Of course, the enemies he would be fighting were far more potent than any previous.

But they had experience with combatting the Archons. They were not walking into this fight in the dark. Now was the time to stand, now was the time to deny them to their faces.

"Feinting attacks? Hit and run? The Archons move with speed and inhuman precision, not to mention unpredictability. Danioti and ashuranti alike are horrifying foes. I am concerned not so much for our strategy as for the morale of our fellow defenders." He exhaled a puff of smoke. "We must strike with assurance, to strengthen that morale. If our defenders believe we can win, then we just might gain an edge that Cyan's army could possibly lack."

He frowned, tapping out his cigarette. "Somehow, I don't believe that her entire army supports her. I wonder."

 

Smiling, suprisingly enough, Banglen-Yp patted Roman's hand with her other, still free hand, but made sure to pull it away so that he would no catch that one too.

She still had not decided whether or not she ought to slap him.

All in due time.

•• If • they • are • fast • is • fly•ing • a • good • or • bad • idea ••

A question, for certain, aimed at anyone willing to answer it.

•• Or • is • stea•dy • on • the • ground • bet•ter ••

Another one, also aimed at any volunteer respondent.

Then she looked over at the smoking man, and wrinkled her pretty little nose.

•• Poi•son • sticks • kill • slow•ly •• Bad • war•fare ••

 

Banglen-Yp's other hand makes its escape unimpeded.

Roman muses on strategy "Flying would put you on the front lines.  If you can be effective against such creatures in the air it might be good for the defenders, if less good for your personal safety.  If you cannot fight them in the air it would be very bad for you to fly.  Unless they intend to simply bombard this place to rubble, it might be safest to be on the lower levels, in a place with very strong ceilings.  If there is something they want to obtain here it might be good to be close to that.  At least they might avoid too heavy a bombardment that might damage their objective.  And whenthey send in the ground troops you can fight them."

James joins the discussion, "From what I've seen of the tower's defenders, the Archons outmatch them for manueverability, but not necessarily for speed.  And our flyers would outnumber them.  It would be best to launch everything here with orders to avoid the Archons but maul any targets of opportunity on the ground.  Actually, the same goes for your cavalry Morgan."

"The fighters in this army are good and dangerous on their own terms, but they're used to overwhelming superiority, that makes people lazy.  Harass them, keep them off balance, stop them from engaging on their terms and we have a chance."

Dorian glances over at James for a moment, then away.

Berd's tail lashes.

 

Sinking into thoughts, the odd blonde fell silent for a while.


                                        <sub>Flight.

                                                                                                                                            Ground.

                                                                                Frontline.

                                                                                                                        Defence.

                                        Disadvantage.

                    Advantage.</sub>


Eventually she spoke again.

•• I • can • do • both ••


          Then, a pause.


                                                            <sub>The screen.

                                                                                                                        Inspiration.

                                        Options.</sub>


•• Need • to • find • right • face ••

 

Jounach takes his place in the Moothall, three levels below the Mews.  His personal guards are there too, armed with fire staves.  The other lords filter in, also guarded.

Soon everybody is present, and only one of them is not attended by a small army.  That one is also the only female in the room.  The eight Lords of Charyk are positioned arund a horseshoe shaped table, leaving two of the places empty.  In the open mouth of the horseshoe is a second table, small and rectangular, and a simple, plain chair, very different from the ornate thrones occupied by the Lords.

Tahirah waits at the small table, not sitting until directed to do so.  The fingertips of her left hand rest, lightly, on top of a small wooden box.

The oldest of the Lords, Ferenc, regards her with his single good eye.  The other milk-white orb sees nothing.  His voice, rattling up from his throat like dried leaves, says, "Be seated, Tahirah.  Jounach is going to explain why he called us here.  It may take some time, if we have questions."


In the Sanctuary, breakfast is served, and conversation, for the most part concerns the strange behaviour of the animals in the underground stables.  But in one corner, the talk is of tactics for dealing with an enemy beyond all reason.

Tahirah stands shrouded in her official white robes, her face hidden in the oversized hood, fingers barely peeking out from voluminous sleeves.  She gives a small bow, and then seats herself quietly.  Her hidden faces winces, slightly, as always, at the inevitable scrape as she settles the chair at her table.  Then she folds her hands within each others' sleeves, and prepares to listen as unobtrusively as possible until called upon.

Roman gently squeezes Banglen-Yp's hand, but addresses James.  "I think that we can help.  Is there anything else we should know ?  Do these Archons have any other weaknesses ?  Any idea of how much ime we have  to prepare ?"

Dorian does nothing.

James leans forward a little as he warms to his subject.  "The Archons weakenesses match their form closely.  The blade Archons are affected by strong magnetic fields.  They are constantly spinning, being stopped causes pain.  The flame Archons are vulnerable to water, but you'd need a lot of it; think drowning rather than soaking.  As for time, I'm not sure, but I'd put it somewhere between not long and not long enough."

"Somebody should tell the city lords what they're up against.  Unfortunately, that's probably me.  Unless you want to do it, Luke?  Berd, could you contact Jonnee?  Ask him to force march a division of brintizzi against the rear of the siege?  Aaron, you, me or Roman should bend our abilities towards finding that sword or whatever else it is that drew us here.  There must be more than walls and ray guns.  Morgan, if you've got troops under you, then you should see to their deployment sooner rather than later.  And I should shut up and stop ordering around people I've just met."  James grimaces.

"Why?" Luke inquired.  "You're very good at it.  Sensible, too, and these people need some guidance.  Focus.  Direction."  This time the grin was an easy one.  "I'll get right on that, James.  I sense you'd rather not be dealing with the locals."

Luke glanced around at the others.  "I'd listen to him, were I you.  He has an excellent grasp of the essentials - always has."  Then he left.  Not through the door.  And he didn't 'pop away'.  No, Luke merely 'left', and those in the room would be hard pressed to describe how.

In fact, all those not involved in the conversation failed to notice his leaving entirely.
This message was last edited by the player at 12:26, Mon 27 Nov 2006.

Roman shakes his head.  "I think I know where I can do most good, but a final assessment relies on letting me in on your strategy.  If the enemy general is as good as you say she'll be ready for the locals and your dragon.  You need something she can't reasonably anticipate.  I just might be what you need."

"So we hope someone can summon up an epic storm for more than one reason." Morgan grimaced, then tapped Anita's shoulder.


"Tell Saranti: three to guard the rooms, and leave 2 scouts to each wall, but everyone else gather near here with saddles. I think we've found some messmates."

With a flick of her tail, Anita agreed, and headed for the door at a jog, breaking into full speed once she hit the street, jumping from roof to stair to avoid the (much) slower moving traffic.

"Call it ten minutes, and we can introduce you. Now these blades, how fast do they spin? Can what connects their blades be cut, or is it more like mist? Can they reverse their spin, and are the blades double edged? As fast as we travel, what looks like a blur to others may be readable to my unit."

Berd flicks his tail again, and promptly diverts one of his minds to James' request.

The Lords of Charyk shift uncomfortably in their seats, as Jounach finally winds down towards the end of his explanation.

" ... so, as I'm sure you will agree, I was fully justified in calling this meeting.  Mmm?"  Jounach looks at the faces around the table, smiling triumphantly.  "Was I not?  Mmmm?"

Ferenc glowers at him, his good eye blazing, "Stop simpering you buffoon.  Cousins, I move that whichever of us decided to... deal with Hardesch and Fariomi missed a third potential target."

"When I choose a target, Ferenc. I won't miss!"

Ignoring Jounach, for the moment, Ferenc continues, "Still, it seems that Jounach's knowledge of the ormvråkar may have served good purpose in this case."  Now he glances at the youngest Lord, "I can only assume that his expert knowledge is a result of his mother bedding as many of the grooms as she could, but... whatever the source of his knowledge, it may prove useful."

"Ferenc!  I challenge you!  Do you accept?  Mmm?"  Jounach's face is crimson as he stands, leaning over the table towards Ferenc, who sighs, theatrically, "Jounach... you know challenges aren't allowed here, in the Moothall.  You will, of course, be fined for this outburst, in front of so many witnesses."

"Tahirah, we need you to read for us.  See if you can't find some clue to these events."
This message was last edited by the GM at 21:11, Mon 27 Nov 2006.

"I agree, James. I'll see what I can do about that sword." Aaron rose from his chair and raised his head slightly. "Two heads are better than one, however. Any help would be appreciated."

Seeking things with the Pattern on a wide basis was almost a foregone conclusion. However, he hadn't honestly tried it on a specifically local level. He figured now was as good a time as any, and he relished the chance to get some practice in.

Grumbling slightly, Luke waited outside of the door that led up to the meeting chamber.  Too many men.  Too many potent defenses.  Too many possibilities.  It could be dangerous to simply walk in.  Better to wait for an opportunity.

It galled.  He detested waiting.  "Ten minutes," he muttered, uncaring of the listening guards.  "Then I go in, if I have to whip up a bear to chase me."

 

<sub>Pondering.

                                        Thoughts.

                    War.

                                                                                                    Battles.

                                                            Tactics.

                                        Defeat.

                                                                                Victory.

                    Pondering.

Thoughts.</sub>


Banglen-Yp sat there silently, brooding and appearing to count her fingers or something equally silly, her tongue sticking out the corner of her mouth.  She shook her head, nodded, poke the tip of her nose while looking at the finger, pulled her ear and generally acted in peculiar ways.

 

Tahirah gives a nod, just deep enough to carry through the shrouding of her hood.  Then, moving only one hand, she reaches over and slides the top off of the box on the table.  Dipping in briefly, she removes a set of ornate cards.  Her other arm lifts, and for a moment, the cards seem to flick back and forth between sleeves, as she mixes them up, pondering the questions at hand.

After a moment, three cards flick out onto the table, in a rough triangle.  "The Watchtower."  Her voice is soft, but she speaks clearly, and loudly enough that even the Lords who don't care to admit to hearing difficulties can hear her.  She knew the possible symbolisms of the Watchtower; Foresight, Fortification.  Crossed right, it could even suggest borderlands.  She didn't bother - it would mean what it always meant.  "Charyk," she clarifies, aloud.

Three more cards laid out to the right, bottom left corner touching the right angle of the first triangle.  "Looming Storm," she reads.  This, too, was pretty standard stuff - readings around Charyk almost always included Looming Storm.  It was something about having cleared out an eye in their own monstrous hurricane.  Nevertheless, it often helped to clarify that one - more detail about what the next attack was going to be was usually what the Lords needed most.  flick, flick  She frowns, the expression hidden, but perhaps hinted at by the pause in her movements.  Force and Power, corners overlapped?  flick

She leans forward, and studies the cards for a moment.  "A very powerful Storm.  Moreso than I have ever seen.  Moreso," she looks up suddenly, allowing her hood to fall back, so that she can look at the Lords directly, "Than Charyk has ever seen."  For some of the newer Lords, it's the first time they've seen more than her fingertips.  She hesitates slightly - what she's about to say is slightly heretical, but they need to understand.  And the Lords of Charyk aren't the most pious lot.  "The Brothers themselves," she says firmly, "Might have fallen before the coming Storm."

To forestall their reaction to this, she quickly flips another triad, this one underneath the first, touching at its apex.  "The Seeker Within, but..."  She tilts her head slightly.  The cards fell somewhat askew.  "Oddly cast."  The peak, at least, was Sanctuary - that helped confirm her earlier assumption that the Watchtower was still being literal.  With the strangeness surrounding these other two, she had to admit, she'd begun to wish she'd checked afterall.  flick, flick  She flips another, and then another, clarifying at the bottom corners.  "We hold the answer, yet are encompassed by it.  It is in Charyk, but not of Charyk."

flickflickflick  The final triad, touching to the last side of the first, is laid out quickly.  "The Migrating Flock.  The answer we seek, the key to our survival, is indeed not native to us, but merely passing through."  flick  "Alliance will be necessary with these strangers; Charyk's survival will then be...possible."

She begins to gather the cards.  `Assured' would have been a nicer word to finish with, but it would also have been a lie.

Berd rises slowly on James' shoulder, and stares for several long seconds at first Morgan, then his panthers, then Roman.  Finally he studies Banglen-Yp for a few seconds, before turning around and lying down again.
This message was last edited by the player at 19:29, Tue 28 Nov 2006.

 

When the little dragon turn its attention to her, Banglen-Yp returned the favour and studied him.

With a smile, naturally.

When he turned away, her gaze lingered for a moment longer, and then went back to the odd brooding.

 

Ferenc nods to Tahirah, and somewhere behind the woman, in the gloomier reaches of the Moothall, a door opens.  Ferenc smiles, but the smile does not reach even his good eye.  He had asked a servant to fetch him food, in lieu of his interrupted breakfast, it must be just arriving.  He makes a mental note to compliment the man on his timely delivery, before whipping him for not achieving similar speed on other occasions.

"Thank you, Tahirah.  That seems to coincide nicely with Jounach's report of problems among the birds, and the presence of strangers who can be of help in this matter is good news indeed."

"I will arrange for the Captain of my personal guard to search for them, just as soon as... " and his voice trails off, as his eye narrows, his gaze fixed on the stranger who has entered the Moothall, accompanied by the Doorkeeper.  All eyes in the chamber, with the exception of Tahirah, who has her back turned, are fixed on the man.

"Who the Hell are you?"

Tahirah stops, cards gathered back into her hand.  Quietly, not turning to look, she flips three more cards.

Luke's lips quirked in amusement, as if at a private joke.  He swiftly grew serious, though.  "Myself?  Lords of Charyk, I am a wanderer.  I come to you with grave news, of an army that crosses the worlds to stand upon your doorstep."  He drew both hands behind his back, and moved forward to stand before the council.  "An army of strength beyond what you have encountered outside of those walls, against which the beasts are nothing more than a tiny nest of ants.  Not the biting sort, either.

He bowed, then, knowing the value of making a good first impression.  "I am Luke.  My companions await me below, prepared to assist you in your battle.  We...make it a habit to fight these creatures, where and when we can."  No sense in telling them the reason said creatures were here.

One eyebrow quirked.  "Would you hear more?"

Aaron stretched, spun his chair around and sat hard, closing his eyes as he did so. Immediately, he focused himself, seeking something he knew quite well - the edge of a blade.

However, his search was specific at first. After all, a 'sword' can mean many things depending on where you're from and what you've seen. Still, they were looking for a sword in truth, so he started there first. Sword, magical, historic, insanely powerful.

If anyone wished to assist him with his search, he left a mental hook open, easilly available. Arianne hovered just beyond his conscious focus.

"Roman, Morgan, you both make good points.  And since it seems we are to be allies I will attempt to answer your questions."

James addresses Morgan first, "The blade Archons spin very quickly, but if you are fast enough there may be opportunities.  I haven't seen your friends fight, though...The substance between the blades seems to be metal and can be broken, but it is very tough.  They can spin any which way and practically everything has an edge."

Then Roman, "To know our strategy you must first know more about us.  Aaron and I are children of Amber.  We have walked the Pattern and can use its power.  Dorian is a sorceror and very powerful.  Berd, too, is capable of great power.  In a direct confrontation with Archons they, Berd and Dorian, are our best chance.  Devlin, the wolf you met, is a shifter.  You probably have some idea of his capabilities, Roman, though I don't know whether he shares your background.  Luke is...Luke.  I've travelled with him for a while now and I'm still not sure exactly what he's capable of.  He's a good fighter.  He doesn't have the sheer grunt of Berd and Dorian but there are some tricks he can do that nobody else can work out."

"As Luke told you, we are struggling against these creatures known as Archons.  They have amassed an army led by our friend and one-time companion Cyan.  I have seen the army.  It is not that large and it is composed of many different races, groups and species.  But its warriors are very capable and extraordinarily disciplined.  They also have sorcerors, flying troops...you get the idea."

"At the moment our strategy against the army is to use Dorian's sorcery to snatch Cyan and some her headquarters staff into one of the internal killing zones of the tower.  Depending on who or what is taken we will attempt to kill her escort and capture Cyan.  The tower defences should withstand the army's initial assault while that happens.  Assuming we are successful, Berd and Dorian will probably engage the Archons.  The rest of us will probably act as psychic battery for one of those.  Berd has the ability to link minds together, a form of telepathy which also allows participants to lend their will in support of each other.  Alternatively, we will counter-punch against the Archons mundane forces.  Hopefully Berd will be successful in contacting a friend of ours who is currently training up an army of our allies.  I am hoping they can travel here in time to trap the enemy against the walls, hammer and anvil.  Hopelessly unoriginal, but quite effective if well executed."

James pauses.  "That's it.  The plan is fast and loose.  There are far too many variables we have no control over.  We could be delivering the tower to the enemy by bringing Cyan inside, but, left outside with her troops, we would lose.  That's why I've asked Aaron to look for the sword.  You may have heard the legends of this place speaking of the twins who defended Charyk with sword and staff.   Until they had a falling out, when one slew the other and sundered the staff.  Its remnants form the green beam weapons.  If we can locate the sword it might give us an edge.  Not least because Cyan wears armour at least a match for Julian's and wields her own sword of horrific power."

"My recommendation is still this: Regardless of our success against Cyan, the army still needs to be fought.  The Archons with them are fast, tough and powerful but there won't be many of them and they can't be everywhere.  I say avoid them.  Kill the foot-soldiers, disperse the army.  If things go badly for them the Archons may start to fight amongst themselves.  Do our job for us."

Roman nods, "Very well.  I believe that I will be most effective against the bladed Archons.  Perhaps in the air battle, although that no longer seems as crucial as I had thought.  In that form I can fly and I am very difficult to hurt by ordinary means.  I could also use the Logrus to hold one in place, perhaps immobilising it.  I do not know how I would fare against the other Archon forms, but they are likely to have a similar degree of uncertainty."

 

•• Too • bad • the • screen • have • not • shown • them ••

A comment out of the blue, more or less.

•• I • would • need • to • stu•dy • them ••

Another one, possibly not making much sense to most able to hear her.

She then waved to James, knowing she was not the best when it came to people, and gave him a smile as well.

•• I • have • but • a • few • choi•ces ••

 

"And why should we believe you?  Mmm?" Jounach demands, having seemingly regained a measure of confidence, "You walk in here, a stranger, and make wild claims.  But do you have any proof?  Mmm?"

Ferenc sighs, Jounach is young, and has not really learned his place in this Council yet.  He will come to understand, but the timing may be a difficult thing - in Ferenc's opinion, barring miracles, Jounach is unlikely to learn much of anything, this side of death.

The older man looks around the faces of the Council.  Five others look just as annoyed as he is, leaving Jounach outnumbered six to two.  However... Tarnich and Benolt are devious and deceptive, traits of which Ferenc heartily approves, but it can make them difficult to judge.  It's entirely possible that any decision here might be stalemated.

Luke grinned - not his pleasant one - and addressed Jounach.  "And what would convince you, hm?  Perhaps a portal opening to the land of these creatures, so that you might view one close-up?  A demonstration of my own abilities - but then what would that serve?  Calling your attention to the situation outside your fortress, the disturbance in the creatures of the world, the sense of malaise that hangs over this castle like the stench of rotten meat?"

He shrugged, stepped further into the chamber, casting a quick, interested glance at the woman with her back to him.  "I can tell you the story, of course.  I'm no bard or deathsinger, but I spin a good yarn from time to time.  Comes with the territory.  How will this help?  Not at all, and we have not the time."  Another step.  "You must choose to listen with an open mind and an open heart - close up your ears, stopper your heart, and no amount of imagery or words will convince.  And you will sit there, content in your righteousness, until the Seraphim come knocking at your door."

Ignoring the guards, he draws twin circles in the air; one of them begins to spin, and blades sprout, flashing in the dim light of the chamber.  After an instant, the second circle bursts into flame, growing into a burning ring.

"These are your enemies," Luke states.  "These Archons come, along with the Army at the End of Time, led by their general, the Warrior in Jet and Gold."  His eyebrows rose a hairsbreadth.  "Forgive me - entirely too many capitals in that sentence."

Berd's head comes up, and interest glitters in his eyes.

Tahirah considers speaking up, but speaking out of turn is likely to cause more trouble than it might mend, here in the Lords' own Council.  As she hoped this Luke was realizing.  Instead, she looked up to Ferenc, and waited.  When his gaze passed over her, she gave a simple, small nod.

Dorian tears himself from his reflections in the fire. Looking towards the others, he adds, "No matter what else, Cyan is not to be killed. Even if it means our deaths, she lives." He turns back to the fire.

"I agree," Aaron whispered towards Dorian, his eyes moving behind the lids. "So many," he said cryptically, and a slight smile was seen.

And still he sought, spreading out from this world, out and out and out through the Myriad itself. His legs tingled, wanting to move, to physically seek what he sought. An effect that the Pattern held on him, for most seeking was done with movement; yet Aaron moved just as much with his mind as with his feet, for he was far from bound by the confines of such things as static reality.

No, he was far from bound. He was quite mad, really, for when one no longer had any grasp of what 'reality' truly was, the definition of madness became your life. It was here that he went, throwing his experience with the Pattern (stagnant as it was) into his wildly focused, intent mind - but it was only upon that singular sword that he focused, no longer concerning himself with any other. Even Arianne vanished from his conscious senses, as she was a segment of yet another blade that he didn't need to focus on.

"A blade, a blade. I seek a blade. Be it blue? Or green? Or red with blood? I seek the blade that can slay a world! I seek, and I will find," his thoughts rolled and he focused all the harder, his intent blossoming as beads of sweat upon his forehead.
This message was last edited by the player at 01:53, Thu 30 Nov 2006.

Berd studies the other three again, the new people.  His eyes begin to burn, more and more brightly.

Roman's reaction to Dorian's declaration goes unspoken.  Even if it means your death.

He tugs gently on Banglen-Yp's hand.  "So, what part do you think you should play in this battle ?"

 

Looking at Dorian, Banglen-Yp asked.

•• Why ••

Then Roman tugged at her hand and she tugged back, perhaps a bit too hard. 

•• Fight•ing ••

 

Roman suddenly lurches sideways in the direction of Banglen-Yp.  He straightens himself out moves his chair a few inches closer and lays his arm alongside and just touching hers.  If she wants me to come closer, why not ?

"FIghting where ?  In the air ?  On the ground outside ?  Or in the tower ?"

 

Looking at Roman as he moved closer, Banglen-Yp studied his arm as he put it alongside hers.

Still looking at it she replied.

•• Here •• Yes •• Yes •• Yes ••

          Perhaps he wanted to arm wrestle.

The screen had shown that.

                      Should she do it or ask first?

 

In the Sanctuary Inn, food begins to appear, at last, on the table, fresh and piping hot, served by youth whose cheery grin shows a slightly excessive number of sharp teeth.  "Sorry for the delay, friends.  We's 'ad some troubles with the deliv'ries terday.  Seems as some o' the animals don't feel much like pullin' carts, or summat."



Ferenc raises his right hand, "Shut up, Jounach.  Perhaps if you close your mouth, and open your eyes, you will see that Tahirah vouches for this man.  And while I realise the contempt in which you hold others, I can see the worth of her talents, even with only a single eye."

"Tell us more of this threat, Luke.  Why do they come here?  What does Charyk have that they want?"

Despite the surprisingly normal appearance of the serving lad Roman decides that it is better to use both hands for eating, rather than growing some extra tentacles.  He releases Banglen-Yp's hand, lightly running his finger-tips down her palm, before picking up the cutlery and digging in.

 

Further confused by the fingertips over her palm, Banglen-Yp decides to leave it for now and armwrestle after the food has been eaten.

But first, something she failed to understand.  She looked at the man who had said that this one enemy is to be spared.

•• Why • do • Psi • Ann • get • to • live • while • all • oth•er • get • to • die ••

 

James looks uncomfortable for a moment.  The fact is, he disagrees, but he doesn't really want to say it.  After a moment's consideration, though, he recalls his little speech about deception.  Best to be all square.

"I disagree.  If Cyan's life means you die, Aaron, Dorian, even you Berd, then so be it.  That's your call.  But if it's a choice between my life or Cyan's then she dies.  Same goes if Cyan's life makes the difference between defeating her army and the slaughter of Charyk's defenders.  She's my friend too and I hope it doesn't come to that, but if I have to kill her, I will."

"Any one of you is capable of stopping me.  But before you do, consider: You don't have the right to choose death for all the people here.  Think too what Cyan would say if she were in her right mind.  You know she'd say the same thing."

Roman nods at James' words  "If what we have been told is true, this army is a threat to everything, even Chaos itself.   This woman is a powerful weapon in the hands of enemies who would destroy all, and if you cannot save her she will still be that weapon  You have said that this group is the best hope of defeating this enemy.  The only rational view is that she must be stopped, even if it means killing her, and that the defenders of the worlds should preserve themselves, for the battles ahead, before one who is - even unwillingly - an enemy"

He looks around, including all of the group.
"What would make a man prefer to see everything, all the worlds of Infinite Shadow, the poles of reality themselves - all of it destroyed, just to preserve the life of one woman ?"

He looks at Banglen-Yp, shaking his head sadly
"I suppose it must be love, nothing else compels a man to such obvious folly."

Morgan dug ito his food, staying out of the discussion on Cyan's expendability. There was little enough for him to say, after all.  Instead, he focused on thinking about the problems, and their possible solutions.

Somewhere in the midst of that, a small snort escaped him. _{"Darkclaw, huh? I like that."}

"Folly, is it?" Dorian sneers. "It is neither love nor folly, though she is ally who has information about the enemy that we can use, aside from her proven value as their enemy. She is more valuable to us alive than dead, even if some of us be sacrificed in the process. Anyone who doesn't understand such a simple concept should go hide with the women and children rather than try to fight. Folly would be to think I speak of the death of everyone here in trade for her life. If we cannot restrain her, than neither will we be able to kill her. So, if anyone tries to kill her and it is unwarranted- and it will not be warranted- I will leave them drooling at her feet. Cyan lives; she is not the enemy. She is a friend in need."
This message was last edited by the player at 11:57, Fri 01 Dec 2006.

Roman just shakes his head again.  Indeed it would be folly to speak of the death of everyone here for the sake of one life.  But the sorcerer had not said that she was valuable and that they should try to take her alive.   He had said she must live " No matter what else",  not "even if it means that some of us die" but "even if means our deaths"  Even now he would kill to protect her, even if she remains an enemy.

The air battle may be safest, after all.  To take part in the battle to subdue this woman could mean danger from both sides.

Berd is silent for a long moment.  He considers speaking over the bridging, but this...too many have asked questions.  Presented their views.  And one of them cannot understand.

He rises on James' shoulder.  His eyes burn.  The air rings like struck glass, and when the vibration passes, there comes a voice, deep and weary.

Threats boot nothing, Dorian.  Though I comprehend your feeling.  So, too, do I comprehend the feelings of those here.  But...

...she is my daughter.

What would Cyan say, you ask?  A fine question, James.  Cyan, regarding herself, would not hesitate to tell us to slay her.

But I think you know her thoughts would be very different would it be anyone else.

What would Cyan say?  Suddenly the words come to him, and Berd continues, haltingly at first but slowly gaining strength and conviction.

Cyan would say....

Sometimes we are presented with choices that may seem impossible - one and many.  The battle and the war.  Slay or die.

But the easy way is not always the right way.

Do we not fight for a better world?  Do we not fight for all of those things that are cherished, that brighten lives?  For these things, we stand against the darkness.

Would it be so much more difficult to capture, rather than slay?  Yes, beyond doubt.  But given the choice, is it not better to make the attempt?  If I fail, I fail - I die trying to do exactly what I have always done.  Hold the line against the darkness.  Be that in the war as a whole, be that in a single battle, be that in one, small second amidst that conflict - they are one and the same.

I fight the Archons because it is right, because I would rather light a candle than curse the dark.

I would seek to capture for that same reason - because it is better to battle with faint hope for what is right, than ally myself with the dark.  And certain choices, they would push me step by step toward that alliance, all-unknowingly.

To count numbers, to speak of one against many, those things are ephemeral.  They may come to pass.  They may not.  Other people may intervene.  The situation changes - the future is fluid.

I can only stand as straight as I may upon this point, this moment, this choice.  Come the future, I will accept my past failures, my poor choices, and strive to do better at that moment.

But I will not commit an act of darkness for the greater good.

To slay such a person, broken to the Archon's will, is to take another step toward where they stand.  Better I die, than the universe depend on such feeling, for if I become as they, then the universe is nothing more than a battle ground between two equal evils.

Better I fall, than be only another selfish creature who fights because I believe I must.

And if the universe itself falls, better it do so than be saved by such actions.  Something bright will someday rise up to cast aside the darkness, even if I am not here to see it, for darkness is never forever.  But foundations cannot be built on rot and mire.

They must be strong, that we may build something worthy of the glory of this place into which we are born.

Berd falls silent, exhausted.  Then he speaks again, in tones of quiet pride.

That is what my daughter would say.

I have dishonored her enough in the past.  I vowed I would not do so again, and I will not.

Some of you, all of you, may not agree with these sentiments.  As James says, I do not have the right to choose for all people here.  But by the same token, my actions and choices are my own.

I shall follow Cyan's belief to my grave, if need be.
This message was last edited by the player at 12:43, Fri 01 Dec 2006.

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

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

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

Long ago.

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

He leaned forward.  "You are another."

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

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

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

•• Hel•lo ••

 

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

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

Or die trying.

 

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

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

A smile again, a hopeful one.

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

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Morgan coughed, looking away at the emotional words.

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

"And why should - "

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

"I was only say - "

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

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

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

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

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

"His name he gave as Carl Corey."

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

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

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

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

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

Aaron exhaled, opening his eyes slightly.

 

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

•• Then • I • will • face • them ••

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

•• Not • stone •• They • cut • it ••


                                        <sub>Options.

                                                                                                                        Choices.

                                                                                Good.

                                                                                          Bad.

                                                                                                                        Unknown.

                                                                                Improvise.

                                        Options.</sub>

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

•• Not • all ••

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

•• Com•pro•mise ••

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

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

•• Will • heal ••

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The two reach the group at the tables.

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

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

Roman nods a greeting.  "Welcome Tahirah.  I will need little enough for the part I intend to play in the defence of this place.  Access to the open air is all I need - an open window will be adequate.  I believe that Banglen-Yp intends to play a similar role.  If it suits I will leave the tower with her, to meet the foe.  I doubt that the Lords of Charyk will have any problem with that."

Morgan nodded to the robed woman, and with a finger filled in for Luke, "Amalie, Brandon, and Leareth. You probably saw most of my other friends outside."

"A pleasure to meet you, Tahirah." His smile grew warmer as he greeted her. "They were just filling us newcomers in on the enemy, and what's worked and failed before. "

 

Her interest perking up as the man introduces the latest female to the others, Banglen-Yp took note of the names.

Before she could stop herself she spoke.

•• Hel•lo • thor•i•a• Ta•hi•rah •• I • am • bux•om • Bang•len••Yp • and • this • is • ran•dy • Ro•man ••

She pointed to herself and then Roman in turn to make certain it was clear who was who, and what.

Then she waved to the woman called Tahirah and looked over at Luke.

•• Luck•y • Luke ••

She smiled happily.  She had learnt something new.

Her gaze turned towards the cats and Morgan.  Was she about to name them as well or...?

 

"Hello Tahirah."  James tries to muster some enthusiasm.  It is important that they work together with the local forces, after all, and Tahirah is their appointed liaison.

Dorian glances at Luke.

"Not a damned thing," Luke repeated aloud.  He gestures to the others.  "We were just discussing a few things I've learned up in the council chambers.  Best have that out in the open.  Turns out the Sword isn't here.  In brief, it didn't break the Staff - the Staff broke itself on the Sword.  Their maker, a chap by the name of Ganelon, enchanted them so that they could never be used against each other.  Sneaky - I like that.  The users, so typically, didn't know of this, and when it came to blows I expect the Staff-user struck first, and that finished him."

He cocked one eyebrow, grinned.  "Recently, at least in living memory, a man came here - a certain Carl Corey.  Dark grey hair and beard, flecks of red, grey and silver-flecked eyes.  He ran off with the Sword."

The smile sharpened, were that possible.  "And no, I don't know a damned thing about either of them."

He paused to give a short glance at Banglen-Yp.  "Loquatious, please.  After my 'Death Star' incident with Dorian, I'd hardly call myself 'lucky'."
This message was last edited by the player at 12:45, Wed 06 Dec 2006.

 

She pondered.

She got an idea.

•• May•be • bad • luck • is • all • used ••

She showed him a smile.

 

Roman shakes his head.  "I wouldn't worry.  Her choice of epithets seems more based on alliteration than accuracy - as she should know."

"Hardly."  Luke shot a look at Berd.  "I've built up enough Karma to give me centuries of bad luck."  He glanced over at Roman.  "Oh, I'd say she nailed down at least one of them accurately."

Luke moved to stand beside the fire and held out his hands to it; the flame's light played on his sardonic features.  "So.  Now we know - there is no succor to be found with the Sword."
This message was last edited by the player at 13:57, Wed 06 Dec 2006.

 

Shaking her head, Banglen-Yp looked as if she considered whether another slap for Roman was in order or not.

          In the end...

...none came.


Instead came a finger pointing to people in turn.

•• Am•ple • Aaron ••

•• A•gile • Am•a•lie ••

•• Bell • Berd ••

•• Braw•ny • Bran•don ••

•• Cheer•ful • Chance ••

•• Dar•lin • Dor•i•an ••

•• Jol•ly • James ••

•• Litt•le • Le•ar•eth ••

•• Long • Luke ••

•• Mord•ant • Mor•gan ••

•• Think•ing • Ta•hir•ah ••

Then, a bright smile as she looked around to see if she had missed someone.

•• Can•not • see • Duck•ing •D••Om•bra ••

She either has lost it completely or was practising her newfound concept rather than focusing on any overgrown knife that was not here anyway.

 
This message was last edited by the player at 15:05, Wed 06 Dec 2006.

Of the four, Brandon and Amalie seemed to enjoy these descriptions best, Leareth and Morgan being somewhat appalled by their apellations. Morgan, of course, lost his chagrin almost immediately in the challenge,  "This tradition toils toward tales to terrible to tell. 'Tis time to trim 't?"

Tahirah stands quietly, inscrutable within the robes.  She waits for a moment of quiet to fall, and then says simply, "It is an honor to meet all of you."  Then she adds, tone sounding amused, "I believe I have everyone's names."

Aaron raised his eyebrows when Banglen called him "Ample", and couldn't help but laugh out loud.

Sighing, he shook his head. "Sorry, sorry. Been a long time since I've considered myself 'ample' in any regard. 'Wasted' is usually the coined phrase." He leaned back in his chair and gestured far and wide with one hand (his left, actually).

"The sword isn't just 'not here.' It's nowhere near us. Mind you, my search wasn't done 'in motion' so the results are sketchy at best, but I'm sure the individuals in our group who are more talented at such things would tell you the same thing, in a bit more detail. Whoever has the Sword isn't anywhere near us within a world's-span of distance." He exhaled, and lit a cigarette (his third). "We'll definetly have to take up those leads when we're finished here, if we can't attempt it before then."

"If this Carl Corey is of Amber, we can be assured the sword is not so easily found. I think finding the sword will be a more arduous process, but it may be of worth. For now, do we know exactly what advantage the sword would yield us? We know it to be powerful weapons that could destroy any lesser creature that touched it, according to legend. Perhaps it would be advantageous, later, to find out more of these legends."

He ignores Banglen's attempt to rile him, as he saw it, with his monicker. If that was her intent, she didn't know him well enough. Perhaps she was merely testing him. She had to be up to something, shielded as she was. He would watch her closely.

"I concur that pattern may be the best tool for such a search, in this case."

Berd has, obviously, remained silent.  It took all of his effort to simply manifest a voice.  Participating in a conversation, aloud, is beyond him.  He nods his tiny head to Tahirah, though, at her greeting.

"Long?"  Luke raised an eyebrow, then shrugged.  "I have been named worse.  In any case, all I know of the sword is that it is a legendary weapon of great might, that may or may not have been what brought us to Charyk in the first place."

He frowned.  "Of course, since it has been missing, lo these many years, I question that.  If it does not lie here, why were we drawn to this land?"

 

Shoving her hands between her knees, Banglen-Yp smiled coyly and let out two syllables, sounding a lot like a dove cooing.

•• O•kee ••

Whatever that was for.

With a stupidly happy smile she observed everyone in a cheerful silence, for the moment, eyes wide and smiling as well.

Finally, after listening to Long Luke she pursed her lips and got a dainty little scowl on her forehead.

•• Des•ti•ny ••

Whether that was rhetorical or not was nigh impossible to say, but there was a strange glimpse in her eyes.

Then again, it might just have been a trick of the light.

 

Luke smiled, eyes dark and teeth bright.  Sharp did not begin to describe his expression.  "Destiny?" he said, quietly.

"I make my own."

 

Banglen-Yp nodded slowly, smiling mysteriously.

•• Ex•act•ly ••

 

Roman chips in.  "If you were drawn here it is because there is something of use to be discovered.  Why should it be a weapon, however powerful ?  Is that really what you need in this struggle"

"We've acknowledged from the beginning that it might not be a weapon. We consider a weapon as a possibility because a weapon was mentioned in the message that sent us here, broken as that message may have been. It is impossible to tell if the weapons was meant to be the reason or an indication of something else, so we keep our options open. When we arrived and a weapon was mentioned, so it was worth investigating."

Speaking carefully, Tahirah says, "It is not my place to inquire into your privacy, any more than you have asked into ours.  If I am crossing this line, I apologize...but might I hear this message that sent you here?  Perhaps it will mean more to me."

Before any can answer, a ripple of quiet spreads through the room.  Conversations die, and heads turn towards doors and windows, expectation in their eyes.

In the quiet, a fading note can be heard.  A horn of some description, dying now.  Then a second note sounds.  And a third.  Then silence.

Around the room, people are making small gestures now... touching fingertips to brows or hearts, moving hands through simple patterns.  Some wear small items of jewellery on chains and cords around their necks.  Many take those items and hold them for a moment, or kiss them.

Sound returns, in the form of whispered prayers in a hundred languages.

Then somebody laughs nervously, and in moments everything is back to normal...

"What the hell," Aaron mumbled, "was that?"

His chair hit the floor with a somewhat jarring 'crack' as he leaned forwards, crossing his arms before him upon the table and leaning over to whisper with his fellows.

"Caravan coming." Morgan answered, nodding toward the exit. "Anyone else want to see the fight?"  Rising, he gestured, and Amalie, Brandon, and Leareth shook themselves, padding out.

Dorian pauses during the silence to scan the room a moment. Satisfied that it must be some kind of religious observation- until Morgan clarifies- he dismisses it.

"The message was delivered be a member of the enemy's kind, but one that worked against them. The message was its dying breath after an epic battle. It would be best perhaps if you allowed me to share the scene from memory, if you'll allow a brief mental contact.

To anyone who is willing to receive the image, Dorian sends Metatron's dying words, one at a time since he can't open a bridge the way Berd can.

+ CloSe noW.  cLose.  bErd, liSTen to uS.  this is impoRtant.  there is oNe of us who has become a leaDer for the seraphiM.  harbonah it iS Called, and harbonah has a trAcker hunting for this grouP.  a human known to us only as the general.  this general is dangerous.  a human so competent that archons will serve it.  you must... find charyk.  there is a thing you can use.  before... broken god was broken... there was... hgreeeeee... the thing which sundered broken god... find charyk... hgreeeeeeeeeeegh... find the snswer.......... +

He then does his best to repeat the words for Banglen-Yp (unless she somehow accepts contact, too), though much of the feeling is lost in his mere words.

"Thus, you see, it was specifically said there is a thing we can use, a thing which sundered broken god. A weapon might seem logical, but it is not specifically named as a weapon. For all we know, it could be a person or Charyk itself, though I'm not inclined to think so myself."

He sighs. "The general he mentions, we later learned to be our friend that we thought dead, Cyan. She is not herself. I spoke with her at length and they've done something to her. Yet, I saw some of her original self come out in that meeting, and we believe she can be 'rescued' from that madness, as it were. As I said, she is a great asset in this battle."
This message was last edited by the player at 02:18, Fri 08 Dec 2006.

 

Busy with something of her own device, Banglen-Yp looked up with peaked interest at the sound of the horn.

She barely had time to wait for Dorian to explain to her, in words, what the message was, a message that she was not certain what it really said in the end.

Either she could not or would not allow mental contact.  It was anyones guess, as no one could contact her and find out.

However, something he said than sounded hautingly familiar.

•• Psi • Ann • is • still • Psi • Ann • ev•en • when • not ••

Said with a smile, naturally.

Then she bounced up from her seat and after Morgan.  She spoke to sullables to him, smiling of course.

•• Prac•tice ••

 

Roman shoves his mostly-empty plate aside.  "May as well" as he follows Banglen-Yp and Morgan he has one comment for Dorian and the rest.  "I'd look more to the nature of Charyk himself.  Nexus points where Shadows meet are unusual."
This message was last edited by the player at 18:41, Fri 08 Dec 2006.

Dorian turns his gaze back to the fire. "We did that when we arrived."

His gaze becomes distant, once again. Cyan was coming, it was enough. He would see her again. He might die, but he would see her again.

Berd's head comes up at the sound of the horn, and he stares toward the wall...apparantly at nothing.  His gaze falls upon the people as they pray, and his eyes kindle.  Then the little dragon rises, to give himself a shake.


Kicking off, he glides toward one of the shuttered windows; it silently opens at his approach, and the drake swoops through.  Quick beats of his gossamer wings take him toward the wall, and he catches an updraft to rocket high up and survey the path with mind and eye.

Outside, with the dozens of panthers, curled into a dangerous pile nearby, Morgan called a pair over.  "Hey, Rand, Catherine, could you give these two a ride to the walls?"

Turning to the pair who had followed him, he smiled. "There's some great views available. Just hold onto the saddle tightly. We move pretty fast."  He was proud of his friends, and didn't have qualms about showing it.

Roman approaches the huge predator, not entirely without trepidation.  At least nobody's likely to get in our way  He lets Morgan demonstrate how to mount the creature.

Obligingly, Morgan reached up, grasping one of the straps to pull himself high enough to slip a foot into the stirrup, then swung into place on Leareth.

When Roman moved, Rand stopped, and turned his head to watch Roman approach, whiskers twitching idly, while Catherine crouched down for Banglen-Yp.

Rand wasn't entirely without mercy. When he yawned, baring teeth designed to puncture skulls, he didn't lick his fangs and stare at Roman. He simply crunched the bone he'd been playing with, and looked inquisitively at the slim man.

Roman looks the panther in the eye.  "Don't judge by appearances.  I can be scarier and more dangerous than you"  I could probably take him, even in this form if I had Wormwood out.  But he's got a lot of friend

"If you don't mind, I'll stay here," Luke noted.  "Keep an eye out for approaching forces, as it were.  This isn't the first 'nexus' we've visited."

The three others left, on their way out to the walls, and he raised an eyebrow at Tahirah.  "Those three we just met today, as well.  So.  Questions for myself or any of the others?"  He looked after Berd.  "The Old Man isn't going merely to watch - he'll be giving assistance to whatever travellers are having trouble."  Luke shrugged.  "It's his way."
This message was last updated by the player at 18:50, Fri 08 Dec 2006.

There is a brief hesitation before delicate fingers extend towards Dorian, allowing the mental contact through touch rather than eye contact.

When it is done, Tahirah is quiet.  After a moment, she draws the small box out through a sleeve, sets it on the table, and slides the top off.  Then she takes out the cards, and they vanish briefly into her sleeves before she begins dropping sets of three onto the table.

Rand kept standing, tail swishing, as he waited for Roman to board.

Roman carefully gets into the saddle, using some minor shapeshifting to ensue a comfortable - and firm seating.
This message was lightly edited by the player at 19:16, Fri 08 Dec 2006.

Aaron slowly rose and left the building, keeping his thoughts and desires to himself. There was no ritual, no chant or prayer that prepared him for what was certain to occur in the near future.

"Let it be so."

"Indeed, dear heart. Let it be."

So he walked higher, and found himself upon the wall, looking out over a landscape he hadn't seen since Serena's vision. Aaron closed his eyes and breathed in the unfamiliar air, seeking peace, seeking solace and calm.

He sought calm, for the storm which was soon to come.

As the horn sounds, James can be heard to mutter "Battle Stations" under his breath.

"If I'm not wrong, that horn is a call to arms as much as the announcement of a caravan.  Let's hope its not the lead elements of the army already.

"Anyway, I think it's just as well that Jonnee's on the move with reinforcements."

James turns to Luke, "I've been thinking.  I think Ganelon may have been one of the identities used by Oberon during his absence from Amber.  It fits with Corwin, or somebody pretending to be Corwin, taking the sword."

James also takes the opportunity provided by Dorian to replay Metatron's last words.  "Thanks, Dorian, I had forgotten many of the details of that.  Something that he said, before there was Broken God, there was the thing that sundered Broken God.  What if the backlash from the staff broke its wielder when it broke itself?  Broken God could be the fragments of one of the twins.  The answer may be the staff rather than the sword.  On the other hand, if Broken God is one of the twins, where is the other?"

 

Having considered doing like Berd, Banglen-Yp knew she could not pass the chance to ride on one of these cats.  It was a new experience, simply.

•• Hel•lo • kind • Cat•her•ine ••

She waved to the big cat - and smiled, naturally, while watching how Morgan get up on the one having agreed to carry him.

Instinct took over again and a hand reached out to stroke the fur as she moved up alongside Catherine.

•• Bea•ut•i•ful ••

A big, happy smile.

•• Al•so • big•ger • in • real • life ••

Said with a firm nod - and a smile, shockingly enough - as she looked the cat in the eye, or nearly.  Something told her never to look a cat straight in the eye, it was a challenge.  So she looked between the two eyes instead.  Smiling.

 

"It's an interesting thought, James, but I think it is deeper than that. I remember the words of Metatron, when we first met him... We don't know how much of that story is fable and how much is real. Perhaps they were not weapons at all, but beings. The staff was broken, as was Broken God. The sword then, in that context, could be That Which Sundered-- except that would make Berd a remnant of that Sword, listen..."

Again, over the mental link...

This creature, which you have welcomed into your dwelling, Tamiel, despite its appearance, is a remnant of the thing which shattered the Broken God.

"He was speaking of Berd, of course. And this from the same creature that indicated we should come here to Charyk. There is a thing which sundered Broken God, and Berd himself is a remnant. I don't think the staff or staff-wielder is Broken God, for that reason. The sword was stolen only a hundred years ago by this Uncle of ours- it makes it less likely that Berd was a piece of that sword, then... not to say that weirder things have happened to us on our quest, though.... the possibilities are endless.

"For all we know, of this mystery, Broken God sundered itself, and Berd is the heart that Metatron spoke of- it's one of thousands of possibilities. We do know that Berd foght the Archons the last time they came here, and I always assumed he knew Broken God at one point, though he may not remember. Perhaps the question we should ask ourselves, is what could sunder Broken God? Was Broken God broken before this sundering, or is the broken part refering to something else? I've always assumed the sunder was the broken part, myself.

Yet, as you say, it may be the staff itself. Berd and I both searched the vicinity for the sword, too. I also searched for anything of unusual power or appearnce, and the staff is the only thing that appeared. The staff uses a kind of portal magic, very similar to the portals I employ. The simply open up a portal to a place of great energy- a trick I plan to learn very soon."

Morgan smiled, watching the beautiful girl make friends with Catherine. It was odd, here. Only the women seemed to enjoy the panthers' presence, and only a few of those. Seeing Roman already in place, he settled his seat a bit more firmly, eyeing the door to see if any others decided to come out while Banglen mounted.

Rand yawned again, shaking lightly, and walked over beside Leareth.

< Mine says he's dangerous. How'd he do? >
< He wasn't the crazy one, grew some armor and killed a few around the last wagon. >
< Fair enough. Catherine's still got the better deal though. >
< eh. >

The convrsation of snarls,coughs, and purrs concluded, they watched Catherine blink slowly at the girl, and bump her cheek against Banglen's shoulder in a furry welcome.

 

When the big cat bumped her, Banglen-Yp giggled and bumped back happily.

With a grin big enough to make the Cheshire cat vanish into thin air out of envy she moved to the side and did her best to emulate Morgan's moves when he had gotten up on the cat.

It went surprisingly well and there she sat, the strange girl on the huge cat.  She leant forward, nearly laying down, and spoke.

•• Thank • you • Cat•her•ine • for • let•ting • me • ride • you ••

She let a hand trail over the fur to smooth it out as she sat back up straight and held on as Morgan had suggested.

 

With that, the six were off, the cats sprinting incredbly swiftly through the streets and stairs of the city, toward their favorite vantage point. It seemed nothing to them to jump a level to avoid a pedestrian, and the only real thing slowing them was the wind of their own speed. The ride wasn't particularly jerky, save when they jumped, but the saddles proved their worth.

Laughing, Morgan waved at Roman and Banglen. "Nothing like it, is there?" He called back to them, his face split in a grin.

"Ever flown ?"  Roman, replies.

His mind is not really on this experience, instead thinking of what is to come.  It is a matter of finding the right mindset, the joy and the fury.  Today, there will be a killing storm over Charyk.

 

Too busy gasping and, from time to time, screaming girlishly Banglen-Yp failed to answer either Morgan or Roman.  However, she did appeared to enjoy the ride to a near disgraceful level; her eyes and mouth were wide in awe and excitement and her cheeks flushed red while her hair danced joyfully behind her head in the swift wind created as the powerful cat underneath her moved onwards.

This was a new experience, on more than one level for her, and she revelled without shame in it.  There would be time enough for concern and worries soon enough.

•• OoooOOoOOOoOooooOoooo ••

The longest syllable ever to pass her lips, so far.

 

Still laughing, Morgan shook his head in answer to Roman, hair whipping his face. "'less falling counts!" He was tempted to forget the caravan, this was fun, but he'd probably get thrown out of the city if they did this too much.

Berd hangs above the fortress, looking down.

Dorian leans forward and rests his head on his arms, on the table. "We struggle against mountains and oceans, the sun, moon and stars. I fear Cyan may have been more right than I this time. The struggle is in vain."

"This time."