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?"