Dorian nodded to James, confirming everything he had learned. He guessed she had been talking to James, as well. That was good. He could let James concern himself with Meredith and return to matters closer at hand.

He kept himself from glancing in Cyan's direction, again, acting on his earlier assumption that space and time to think would be important to her. There would be plenty of time later to talk, though concern for her gnawed at him constantly. He had to accept what he'd done thus far as the best that could be done.

The dark-haired woman, Trista, sat across from Cyan. He noted a certain melancholy draped about her like a funeral veil. She had a certain quality about her. Perhaps it reminded him or himself when he had first joined the group, back on that world. He had been headed to Amber, back then, hoping to learn more of his heritage. He had never arrived.

Though he had joined them, at Fiona's request, it had been difficult. The scope of the quest had been overwhelming, the enemy unknown and unknowable; the plan... the plan was mostly an effort of keeping up with the enemy.

He sighed at the memory. He had never been the talkative one, but he didn't like the thought of someone feeling left out. He mused at his this newfound sense of empathy for a moment. Since when had he given so much concern to others feelings?

James always did so well at introductions. Luke always did the explanation of the quest. He wasn't sure if Trista was to be counted as one of them or not, but her attachment to Berd could be a strong indication.

"Trista," He begins. It was a lovely name. "I assume your not from Charyk, so this battle must have taken you by surprise. Has any explained what is going on, yet? It's a lengthy, but interesting, story."

"Whatever else happens, I'll be going back with James." Jonnee announces, giving the buffet a last, longing look.  "The sooner I can train the brints to use those boom-sticks, the sooner we can make the Archons start suffering."


"I'm going to say goodbye to Cyan, before I leave though."

He makes his way across to the red-haired woman, and sits down next to her, smiling, "How're you doing, Babe?"

The medic returns through the ring of soldiers that somehow manage to look both bored and attentive at the same time. He fires off a series of questions at Meredith and she answers them distractedly. She was slapped, open handed. He wore a metal ring. She would wear his handiwork with honor and did mind if there would be a scar. And the last question... well that was none of his business.

The medic chuckled as he bent to begin stitching her up. Only a few quick motions and Meredith was sporting four neat stitches that traced the line of her right cheekbone.

Dorian takes a quick, small bite while he converses with the others....
This message was last edited by the player at 11:48, Tue 30 Jan 2007.

Meredith was coming back. Things were getting interesting. Chance wasn't shy about loading up on the food and finding a seat himself. It wasn't by accident that he positioned himself close to Trista, but he didn't strike up a conversation immediately. Of them all, she seemed the easiest to talk to so far, even if their communication- via Berd's relay- had been brief.

Cyan sits quietly, watching the new people as she struggles to discern their temperments, their relationships...and what is that thing Banglen-Yp carries, that Roman finds so distracting?  They make an unlike family, that trio, man, woman, and child (?) in a blanket.


Trista finds it within herself to join Cyan, sitting down across from her, but her first words are to Berd.  Cyan's ruby eyes widen at the woman's terrible mistake; too late.  Berd begins to crawl down her arm, his eyes locked on the food.  Cyan hisses a warning, waves a hand at him; Berd utters a disgusted snort, then pushes himself into the air, flapping off to land near the refreshment table.

The bard bobs her head in apologies.  "My apologies for stepping in," she begins.  "But it seemed appropriate.  Berd, if allowed, would eat your entire plate.  Best sometimes to let him fend for himself."  Indeed, at the bar Berd is supervising two tiny faeries, as they laboriously load food onto his plate.

Trista offers, and Cyan replies in kind, returning a small smile.  "Thank you, but...should I begin to eat now, I shall put Berd to shame and never reach the baths.  I need that more than I require food."  She isn't quite faint from hunger, and her skin itches; the armor needs to come off, now!  Her eyes note Dorian's arrival, with a question for Trista; then Jonnee Kay plops himself down beside her with a grin.

This eases something within her heart; despite his greeting, she had wondered if things would change, if she had lost something.  Now Cyan sees she has not.

"Jonnee Kay," she greets him, squeezing his forearm.  "Well enough, and better still at the sight of your smile."  She throws one arm around his shoulders and gives him a quick hug.  "I have missed your brilliant humor so."  Leaning back, she studies him for a long moment.  Same face.  Same grin.  Same Jonnee Kay.

It's good that some things never change.

"Did I hear correctly?" she asks quietly.  "You are no longer with the quest, but with the brintizzi?"

Cyan’s hissing and Berd’s departing startles Trista, but Cyan’s explanation almost curves the woman’s lips into an amused smile. Not only is Berd humorously denied Trista’s food, but Cyan turns her down as well. “I would much rather bathe first, also. The thought of grime and food don’t mix well for me. But,” she looks about at the food before her and the people around her and changes directions, “At least, I was able to wash my hands.”

The regal one who is never more than a half step away from Cyan takes note of Trista; Dorian who earlier had suspicions dancing in his eyes. But this time, those eyes do not accuse. Instead they offer empathy.

He asks his question and Trista’s eyes immediately glance to the former General who’s attention is being taken by Jonnee. Then back to Dorian, “I know only the fragmented glimpses I’ve received from Berd.” Carefully, she avoids naming Cyan as whom she knows very little about. “I know nothing of why the Archons were in battle with you. Or why Berd calls your group, ‘questers.’ I would appreciate learning more, thank you.”
This message was last edited by the player at 18:19, Tue 30 Jan 2007.

Jonnee grins, "Well, I'm sorta still with the quest, y'know.  The brintizzi offered us this army, but they needed a heads-up on the enemy - " he pauses suddenly, and frowns, an expression which doesn't really seem to fit his face.

"Uh... no offence.  I meant the Archons, not you.  Anyways, I wasn't doing much else, and I always liked the brints, from way back.  They'd heard of me, and they think I'm some sort of major league hero.  So it made sense."

He looks down at his feet, then to Cyan's, "So I got a secret base, and I'm teaching my boys to fight.  They're doing okay, and I've got legions of them."

He looks up then, the pupils of his yellow eyes opening up, almost circular now as he gazes into Cyan's eyes.

"Can I ask you a question.  About your two friends?"


Just then, one of the servants calls out, from the head of a short flight of steps at the far end of the room, "Your attention please, honoured guests.  For those of you who wanted to bathe, we are now ready for you."

Having eaten sufficient, under the circumstances, Roman grabs an apple.  Munching on it, he heads over towards the steps.

 

Having been unable to find the baths, and been chased out of the kitchen for trying to climb into the big soup kettle, Banglen-Yp beamed like the sun as they announced the baths.

Still cradling her little bundle she talked quietly to it and then moved towards where the baths where supposed to be found, at long last.  Climbing the stairs she looked around in confusion as a servant - she believed, having spent some time around here - told her "ladies this way, gentlemen that way".

After a while she appeared to decided that the little bundle was no gentleman, or perhaps it was another reason altogether, as she stepped through the door to the ladies section.

Once inside there she wasted little time before stepping into the nearest filled tub, fully dressed and all, althought she took care to hold the little bundle in her hands, above the surface, talking to it quietly and giggling.

 

Cyan stares longingly at Trista's food for a moment, almost looking like Berd, then looks up to face the other woman directly.  "The problem is," she whispers, "that once I begin, I might not stop."  Her laugh is a trifle nervous, but truthful.

Berd, of course, is on his way back.  Behind him the two faeries labour under the weight of the plate - it tips and wobbles alarmingly in the air, but holds steady until Berd alights upon Trista's shoulders.  The little dragon turns away to eat, the reason becoming abundently clear moment's later - he's quite messy about it.

Cyan winces.

Then Dorian fully engages Trista in conversation, and Jonnee has Cyan's attention.  She nods along with him as he speaks, beginning to understand.  "So...you have stepped aside from the path to create an army to use against the Archons.  Wise."  She slowly nods.  "You are no doubt doing a spectacular job.  I always thought you would make a fine general, in a full, fancy uniform."  She pokes his shoulder, then grows more serious.  "I should provide you with a palanquet of our other allies - Prime, for example.  She might be moved to send reinforcements, though how well they would mesh with your troops is open to debate."

She sighs, then, deeply saddened.  "I suppose this means I will be seeing little of you in the future?  For a time," she amends, with a quick smile.  "And Jonnee?"  She takes both of his hands this time and squeezes them.  "There is never offence.  Not from you, or any of my friends, unless I see it is meant."  The smile remains.

It dims a trifle when Jonnee mentions Left and Right, though.  She glances down at her heels, where they spin complacently...and somehow giving every indication that they are listening in on everything.  "Of course...and you may ask of them, as well," she says, somewhat uncertainly.  The call for bathing breaks over the area, distracting her further, but...Jonnee will be leaving, soon.  She may not see him again for some time.  Banglen-Yp wanders up the stairs, her charge in hand, and Cyan feels envy.  But right now, Jonnee wishes to talk, and she can wait.

A little while longer.

"I was just wondering... " Jonnee begins, uncharacteristically nervous, "Look into my eyes, and tell me this...  How much do you think they can be trusted?"

A high-pitched whine, like the howl of an angry mosquito, sounds near his ear.

_{+ DO YOU IMPLY THAT WE ARE UNTRUSTWORTHY? +}

"No, I'm saying that you are trustworthy.  I'm just trying to find out how much.  For my own peace of mind."

Ahmad conisdered for a moment, then dashed off, intending to return shortly with his tack.

Dorian gives Berd a long, thoughtful look after Trista's reply, as if reassuring himself that since Berd trusts her, he should trust her. Berd generally had good judgment about people.

Well, no, Berd had trusted Drusilla.

He hesitates, busying himself with another bite, while remaining thoughtful. Berd could in fact be a little too trusting, too noble. Staying alive, to Dorian, was the better part of noble.

Nevertheless, Dorian had made the offer, and knowing the about the enemy would hardly reveal too much. In the worst case, it might let the enemy how little they knew, but he had a feeling that was a topic of much amusement on the enemy's side, anyway.

Between Trista and Meredith, he was doing a worrisome amount of trusting, lately. It was giving him indigestion.

It did not escape him that two Archons hovered nearby. He let his fork come to rest near his plate, eyes meeting Trista's for a long, quiet moment.
This message was last edited by the player at 16:34, Wed 31 Jan 2007.

Cyan stops to consider Jonnee's question.  She faces him directly, then brushes absently at Right with her bare hand.  It's a habitual gesture, and Right vanishes, moving from her hand's path.  "Right.  Jonnee can ask.  It is a fair question - they do not know you."

Then she stares intently at Jonnee with her sapphire eyes, and grips his fingers tightly.  "And I tell you this, Jonnee Kay - I do trust them.  With my life.  There remains only one question for them, one that must be asked, and I thank you for pressing the issue."

She looks down at Right and Left.  "Forgive me, both of you.  But I must ask - were Harbonah himself to come before us and tell you to stand with him, against myself and my friends, where would your place lie?  I ask, for it may come to that."

The man takes a few moments, seemingly appraising what information he’s about to embark. Trista silently waits, leaving her food for the nonce. Opposite her, Cyan and Jonnee engage the miniature Archons in conversation. There’s irony somewhere wrapped up in the two concurrent dialogues.

When Dorian decides he’s ready, he already has Trista’s full attention.

While Ahmad fetches the tack, James finally slows down long enough to eat, stuffing down food with the speed of a veteran campaigner.  He is keen to be away and  dispenses with the food as soon as the panther returns.

James would be the first to admit that he's not entirely comfortable saddling Ahmad, but with the occasional suggestion from Morgan and the odd growl from Ahmad all is ready.

It was fortunate Dorian did not find himself too hungry. He had found himself caught up in two detailed mental conversations at once, which left room for little else. He took a few sparse bites as his attention allowed, his brow knitted with concentration.

Berd’s messy eating habits go unheeded under the concentration of Dorian’s information. Information with a hint of a lecture. Trista does not take offense at things the man might assume of her; after all, he does not know her viewpoints on Shadow or the Myriad Worlds and the people within.

Her eyes only stray once to watch Cyan depart for the baths. The shedding of armor. The renewing of self. Good.


A hand lifts to clutch the pendant hidden beneath her grey t-shirt, the silver chain of which can be seen glinting around Trista’s neck. Glancing at the dragon perched on her shoulder, bits of food spilling to the ground, a hint of a smile touches the woman’s lips and her hand drops as she refocuses on Dorian.

Never far from his mind, Dorian notes Cyan's movement upstairs. He knew how badly she had craved a bath and release from the armor. He turns his attention back to Trista when Cyan is out of sight. Now, he speaks out loud, "I suppose it's something like the story of the warrior and the bird," he says, the monologue breaking into the silence unexpectedly, as if there had been a previous conversation happening, but unheard. They no longer discussed the enemy's plots, and the Archons had left with Cyan- though who knew how acute their hearing might be. "The warrior had lost a major battle and had been dismissed by his master. He wandered in a state of despair because his reputation had been ruined. He had nearly decided to simply fall upon his sword, having nothing left to live for- as he saw it.

"As he wandered he came to a small bird, which lie flat on its back, with its legs in the air. Being noble-born, the warrior demanded the bird move from his path. The bird refused, saying it could not do so. 'The sky is falling,' the bird claimed. 'And I have to catch it.'

"The warrior said this was nonsense and demanded the bird move again, and again the bird refused. The warrior was perplexed because the sky showed no sign of falling. 'Even if the sky were falling,' the warrior said. 'A tiny bird like you could never catch it. The task is too great for you.'

"And the bird replied, 'Perhaps not, but I'm going to do what I can.'

"That is the attitude of we questers. We all have different strengths and abilities, but we're not asking you to save the Worlds. We're offering you the chance to do what you can."

The silence shatters as masculine tones shift the conversation to the Walking World. It’s startling, but Trista’s concentration smoothly shifts with it. A story unfolds of a determined little bird; an apt analogy for the situation.

A determined little Berd.


Guesses as to what lies underneath the Archons aside, Trista knows she has found a direction for her wanderings. “I’ll take that chance and do what I can. I’ll catch the sky with you.”

Trista gathers in a deep breath, holds it, and slowly lets it out again; an acknowledgement that she has chosen a path which will change her life. Finally, she allows herself to pick up a chuck of fruit, knowing this is a better path than the one she had been chasing.

The two Archons hover silently for a long, drawn-out moment.  They are silent, save for the hiss of air, cut by their blades... and yet, somehow, they give the impression that an intense debate is taking place between them.

Finally, an answer is given, + WE ARE IN AGREEMENT ON THIS MATTER.  HARBONAH COMMANDED US TO OBEY YOUR COMMANDS IN ALL MATTERS.  HOWEVER, WE ARE REQUIRED TO OBEY HARBONAH'S COMMANDS TOO.  IF YOUR COMMANDS CONTRADICT THOSE OF HARBONAH, THEN WE MUST CHOOSE, AND, SIMPLY PUT, HE OUTRANKS YOU. +

+ YET, IN THE TIME THAT WE HAVE BEEN WITH YOU, WE HAVE SEEN YOU TO BE A COMPETENT COMMANDER.  IT IS OUR BELIEF THAT STAYING WITH YOU, FOR AS LONG AS POSSIBLE, BETTER FITS WITH OUR OWN AGENDAS.  WE HAVE LEARNED MUCH, IN YOUR SERVICE. +

+ BESIDE WHICH, WE EXPECT THAT HARBONAH WOULD HAVE US KILLED ANYWAY, JUST TO ENSURE THAT HE HAD FINISHED YOU, AND ALL THOSE HE SUSPECTS OF COLLABORATING IN YOUR DEFECTION.  OTHER ARCHONS HAVE, AFTER ALL, SEEN US FIGHT ALONGSIDE YOU, AGAINST ARCHONS. +

+ FRANKLY, GENERAL CYAN, WE HAVE NOWHERE ELSE TO GO.  AND SINCE YOU, AND YOUR ALLIES, HAVE PROVEN ADEPT AT SLAYING ARCHONS, STAYING CLOSE TO YOU PROVIDES US WITH ADDED PROTECTION FROM ANY HUNTERS SENT TO FIND US. +
This message was last edited by the GM at 22:42, Fri 02 Feb 2007.

A small smile crept onto Dorian's normally dour countenance at Trista's acceptance, and at her wording of the acceptance. He nodded. While he knew little of her or her abilities, it made him glad to have another along with them. Perhaps it was not so much Trista's acceptance, as his own efforts to assist in Berd's recruiting efforts. He should have been suspicious, and he knew that. While the others tended to embrace newcomers, or at least give them warm acceptance, Dorian always kept a wary eye out. He always let them know he was not so easily won over. This time, he was the one extending trust.

He felt like a liar.

He was trying, really trying, to be as he knew the others felt he should, but not for the others. One part of him, he knew, did it for Cyan. Another recognized that this change had begun when the two Dorian's merged their minds. Yet, Berd had a profound point. Dorian had not initiated, nor acceded, to that melding. At the end of the day, the clone had attacked, overcome and forced the melding. The clone had guided the processes with a careful, surgical hand. He was more the clone than the original Dorian, which meant he had the clone's flaw- compassion. Still, the old Dorian lurked behind the compassion like a sniper in the bushes just waiting for the perfect shot.

How long would it be? How long until the old Dorian reared, leaving Trista confused by his sudden venom? How long would it be until Meredith realized that this niceness was little more than a thin act; an experiment at being something he, fundamentally, was not?

"Good," he says to Trista, but the smile has faded now. Should he warn her, somehow? Should he tell her he might be a complete ass to her tomorrow, simply because that's who he was, no matter how much he loathed it?

"We are a complex group," he adds, with a weary expression. "We have each had our own trials, but we have each been through hell in some fashion or another. At times, you will likely think our spirits have been broken. And do not doubt that you will have your turn, as well. For now, rest is in order. It has been a tiring day physically, mentally and spiritually, for me."

He hated to leave, when he thought about it. The gathering was thinning, but James and Meredith would be back, soon. Trista would not be along. James would talk to her. They seemed to know each other.

"Before I retire, I'll ask if you require anything; I have it in my power to provide nearly anything mundane you may need for the evening."

Perhaps he was trying a little too hard at the politeness thing. What could he say; he was new to it?

No, not entirely new, just new to this kind of courtesy. Samhain had been filled to overflowing with etiquette that revolved around personal space and courtesy. With the race developing on small, mountainous landmasses in tightly packed living areas, it was natural, but that was not politeness, it was merely etiquette. Different.
This message was last edited by the player at 09:13, Sat 03 Feb 2007.

They’ve all walked through Hell; the news doesn’t surprise Trista. Berd had named James as Scarspirit for a reason. As far as Trista knows, life is pain. A dour attitude proved by both past and current events. There was a time when light filled her countenance and she believed life was beautiful with challenges to bolster the beauty.

When love cradles life, hope springs forth. When life severs love, futility settles in.

Dorian’s offer interrupts her bleak thoughts with a new look at the powerful man. She feels she have something he could produce for her; in her experience those who offer feel better when their offer is accepted. But the woman lives simply with all she needs in her pack. She’s had to learn self-sufficiency.

“Thank you, I’m fine. Please get some much needed rest. I’ll be doing so myself, shortly,” a slight smile accompanies her pensive eyes, “and, Dorian, thank you for taking the time to talk with me.” With all that has happened over these past months, and especially this day, she certainly received more attention than she would have expected. It is, indeed, time to rest. For all.

Berd pauses in his...feeding is a far too polite word.  Consumption?  Gluttony?  He slowly turns his head to regard Dorian...then turns it away, quickly.  A musical belch echoes through the room, then Berd shifts around, away from the (scarred and scratched) plate to settle himself on Trista's shoulder.  After an instant, plate, food, and faeires all fade away, dissolving into a mist that disperses into the air.

He casually slips a claw down, runs it along the chain beneath her shirt at her collarbone, then releases it, moving slightly to place it out of reach.  Curiousity crawls away, battered down by politeness for a change.