Grinning tiredly, Morgan chuckled, and called back  "Watch yourself, Aaron, there's cats around with sharp claws!"  Several of the panthers mock-growled, but there seemed no heat in it.

They landed at the gates. He made sure the other riders were grounded- despite whatever instructions they had tried to give the drakes- and let them walk into the ruins of Charyk, claws ticking on stone. Heads swung left and right with disgruntled hisses. They didn't like closed quarters. He'd see them to the next world, and then let them free. There was little for them here.

He nodded towards hunter. Immediately, his eyes sought Cyan. Even Aaron was focused elsewhere. Who could blame him? They were all exhausted. He approached her slowly, keeping at a safe distance- available, but not smothering, not too close. He guessed she might need help down. Either that or she might try to dismount alone and not do so well. He was ready for either event.

She looked cold. He looked around, but Charyk was in ruins. With its hulking stone, he doubted it would be any warmer than outside, though the lack of rushing breeze would help.

He had a cloak, though, and he'd always been more accustomed to the cold than to heat. It was more than that, though. He hesitated a brief moment.

"You look cold," he said, pulling the cloak off. "Take this, for now."

The rubble they pick their way through testifies of a once great city. Ironically, just earlier today. The devastation is nothing new, but the speed at which Cyan’s army destroyed the Shadow Crossroads sends chills down Trista’s spine. Yes, the leaders will want an accounting, if not Cyan’s head on a platter. The woman nods gravely at James’ somber words. However, it’s clear to Trista that there is great love between these people (and dragon) and they will hardly allow Cyan to be further harmed.

Love. Warmth. Frienship.

Something darkens Trista’s eyes for a moment or two, but evaporates under the unexpected offer to ‘chat.’ Here eyes shift to her little passenger, and a small smile lightly tugs at the corners of her mouth, “Since Berd first plummeted to the floor at my feet, I’ve gotten the idea he can see things in people that others cannot.” She shifts her gaze back to the vigilant man, “Perhaps he’s right about us. I’ll have that drink with you if we get the chance.”

They’re at the East Gate and the promised portal to safety. Besides the beleaguered masses, a woman in white robes stands apart, unsullied by the recent violence. Trista doesn’t have to look down at herself to know that she’s a mess. Curiosity piques her interest at how the woman has kept her robes pristine in this environment.

The sky is devoid of Archons, a welcomed site. Drakes with riders fill the sky, and panthers dot the land. A curious lot.

Recognition lights her eyes when she sees the wolf, and she wonders at the whereabouts of his red-headed companion. Trista’s eyes move to find Berd’s daughter, though she has no idea what the woman looks like.

She had been uncertain, staring at the drakes, wondering if she dared.  At that moment, her stomach empty and sick, her body still weak and tired, Cyan had considered the effect of sudden flight upon her balance.

She wondered briefly if it might make things easier.

Ridiculous thought, and one she could not seriously entertain.  Regardless of her fear, regardless of her misery, she would never surrender.  And she would never let down those who still held friendship for her.  She had squeezed Jonny Kay and turned to search for other transport.  There was some coming, Dorian had indicated it....

But distance had not properly prepared her for the scale.

The panthers, as they roamed by in a massive pack, were huge.  Cyan had memories of creatures in 'her army' this size, but they were vague, disjointed.  These monstrous shadows were here, now, and she stared at them, nervousness at war with wonder.  But the wild rider at the lead of this flood of darkness waved a hand at her in passing, and to one of the great beasts that stopped before her.

One hand stayed on Jonnee's shoulder.  "Jonnee Kay...may I ask your assistance one more time?"  She had offered him a smile, a weak one.  "You have been more than generous already, but..."  Cyan had swallowed, then hugged the lean man once more.  "I nearly attack you.  And you...I hardly think I deserve friends like you."

What would James say now, she wondered?  And...Berd?

And so, with Jonnee's help, she had risen 'aboard'.

Now the ground passes beneath her with terrible speed, and she hangs on with her hand, careful not to squeeze the armor into the beast's shoulders.  Muscles bunch and lengthen beneath her under the loping, predatory strike.  Ares' gauntlets are stuffed in her belt.  Left and Right hang behind her heels, two spinning spurs that never touch the panther's side.  She throws back her head, and the wind of her passage whips out her ponytail, gathered up to keep it clear during battle.  Dried blood cracks on her face, and lacerations burn, but Cyan doesn't care.

It's like the car, all over again, and there she had Jonnee's help, too.  It helps her go away, this wind, and she cannot but wonder what it would have been like to sit astride the drake, to fly.

This is close enough, and she envies the 'master' of this pride.

All-too-soon it comes to an end.  There, ahead, are the ruined gates she vaguely recalls from the battle.  There is a group of men and women, and dark, leathery drakes.  The panther slides to a clean, easy stop, and Cyan leans forward.  "Thank you," she whispers, before sliding from the panther to land on her feet.  Her knees wobble, and she takes three steps, considering sitting down.  The breeze chills her, and her eyes instinctively snap to Aaron as he speaks, the Leader.  She meets his gaze, gives him a quick nod...to say what?  Cyan doesn't know.  She is uncertain how to speak to him, all of a sudden.  Words have been spoken, and she finds herself suddenly timid.

Instead, she turns to the master of the panthers, and bows to him, atop the inky shadow of his mount.  "My thanks, my lord.  I stand in your debt only because of your offer - had I walked, I would have fallen halfway."  It is the best she can do, weary as she is.  Cyan manages a bow, and the words come to her mind, horribly apt, now.  "I am Cyan of...No Place In Particular."  Her smile, faint as it is, holds no bitterness.  Only rue.

And then Dorian, another black shadow.  This one sweeps off its cloak and proffers it.  It might sound like an order to any other, but Cyan hears the hesitation in his tone and knows it for an offer.

She accepts.  And the same issue arises with Dorian; despite her heavy armor, she remains unexpectedly demure.  Hesitantly, Cyan reaches out and takes the heavy cloak, drawing it around herself.  A travelling cloak, it encompasses much of the armor, cutting off the wind that blows through the cracks.  A grateful look is her reply, then Cyan ducks her head under the hood.

And  coming across the grounds toward the gate is a familiar form: James, with his casual, unyeilding stride.  And beside him a woman, an unfamiliar woman who walked with weary strength and bore upon her shoulder a cat-sized drake, wings furled.  She recalls a name, rising through the misty swamp of her the memories of her last year.

Was this Meredith?

"Dorian," she whispers with a glance to Aaron.  He speaks to the group, as he should.  Cyan hunts for Jonnee, but he is with the brintizzi.  "I-"

Hard to say that she is afraid.  She squares her shoulders under the armor and waits.

Tahirah watches from her vantage point atop the great piece of tumbled masonry, as the last of those who are leaving leave, and the others arrive.  James, the dragon, and another, from within the city.  And the rest, returning from without.

Drakes.  Panthers.  Ormvrakar, released from their bondage.  And the reptilian creatures...

In all fairness and objectivity, she must admit there are few of them actually within the walls now.  But in the absence of people to counter the numbers, it seems Charyk has at long last been overrun by the monsters.  Monsters to whom the survivors of Charyk owe their lives.

She throws back her white hood, at last.  The face within is surprisingly young, surprisingly soft.  Deep black hair and dark eyes seem all the darker against
the fair skin of one who knows the sun mostly by reputation.

She bows deeply.  "Welcome to the majesty that is Charyk," she says to those entering, her voice solemn and serious.  Only a slight tremor to her breath after, a faint glimmering at the cusp of her eye, suggest anything amiss with the statement.

His grin fading in the presence of such solemnity, Morgan bent himself to bow in sober response. "Morgan, of Paralicos. Catherine, beside you. No debt's are owed by wounded heros. Not for travel, anyway."  He stopped, awkwardly, then bowed again. He didn't quite know how to take the strange woman before him. Already he caught glimpses of why they were so willing to risk their lives to restore her.

Yet he had not the bonds with her they did. And she was both wounded and, seemingly, fragile where those bonds needed mending.  So with that second, awkward bow, he slid to the ground, on the side away from her companions, and waited. Not gone...but not where attention was due.

Aaron was off his mount as fast as he could bear, and beside Cyan. She spoke Dorian's name, and he knew why. She was hesitant, and, dare he say it? Afraid.

And Aaron didn't doubt it. His own words rang in his ears, then.

"Hate, Judgement, Pain, Guilt... these are some of the fruits of your new existence..."

Yes. Perhaps she hadn't known what he'd meant, then, in that fog of remebered realization. But Cyan, unfortunately, would soon understand when the city she had beseiged knew her for truth, no matter who had controlled her at the time.

They wouldn't care. They hadn't seen Harbonah. To them, it wasn't Harbonah's army. It was The General's Army. Cyan's Army. They would seek blood.

So Aaron raised his hand, placing it on her arm and once more steadying his friend. He would stand beside her, with her.

"Do not give in," he whispered. "We are here."

He squeezed her arm, then lowered his hand and prepared to meet his comrades once more.

Finally, upon a field of victory.

She says his name. He remains close, despite Aaron's added presence. He's worried; now Aaron is hovering close again. He doesn't want her smothered. He didn't mind Aaron being near, but had Aaron been there, he would have let the man attend her. With two of them close at once, it could be too much. Yet, in her state, withdrawing from her might look like abandonment, so he remained close enough. She would ask for space if she needed it.

He looks at her, studying her expression. She tries to say something, but it's caught in her throat. Yet, he sees the expression. He notes the hood. Many explanations existed, but they all summed up the same. "I understand," he says. "You will have rest, soon. You don't have to talk to anyone until then. Stay close to us. I will be near, but I must get us away from here."

He gestures for James and the other woman to approach. His eyes fall in Berd for a moment. He looks terrible. Perhaps that is good, he thinks, but not in a cruel way. With both father and daughter exhausted, the inevitable meeting might be delayed until a better time.

"We need to get out of here and find safety," he says to everyone, finally reunited. The group had grown considerably recently. While he didn't like that fact, he wasn't at a point of arguing, now. The battle had been the best chance for betrayal, and they were not betrayed. "Where's Chance? Are there any others that are coming with us? And... is anyone still capable of leading us across worlds? I can, but it would not be a safe or pleasant ride. Aaron? James?"

Chance is lousy at hiding. If he is not close by, they'll have to find the man later. Luke will find them easily enough. He always does. He only hopes Luke survived. Normally, he'd trust such a question to Berd without even thinking twice on it, but not this time.

There is much to be done: locate Chance, locate Luke, find a safe world away from here, and ... one other thing.

Roman circles the area.  The wind must blow - staying still takes more effort than motion, in this form.

Dorian's question can be answered, though "Logrus". a pause and then the caveat "Tired".

Berd chirrups quietly as the trio walk through the rubble, trailing behind the great exodus of citizens.  He tugs at Trista's hair with his front claws, but gently.  He listens to the two speak, following the conversation with his bobbing head.

He remains exhausted, but sitting down rather than flying is going a vast distance toward regaining his strength.


The drake falls silent when James speaks of Cyan, and for an instant, a palpable coldness radiates from his body.  He stares ahead, searching, but knows that Dorian would have already informed him were there trouble.

The drake is uncertain as to what might transpire regarding Cyan, but exhausted or not, he will allow nothing to be done to her.

But warmth seeps back, and Berd preens for a moment under James' and Trista's praise, cleaning the dust from his iridescent scales with his snout.


He stiffens slightly as they approach the gate, and shifts nervously on Trista's shoulder.


And he points her out to Trista, mentally - the tall woman, a dark cloak covering massive armor emblazoned with a gorgon's head.  But for all of that protection, the red-haired woman at the gate looks as uncertain as Berd, himself, feels.

As soon as James lays eyes on Cyan his pace accelerates.  The heavy, dark cloak conceals her form but in this context it can only be her.  Soon he is striding out covering the distance between with deceptive speed.  He should wait for Trista and Berd but he doesn't.

James wants to sweep her up in a hug.  He wants to raise her face and check her eyes.  He wants lots of things, but the brooding, attentive presence of Dorian and Aaron bring him back to himself.

"Hi Dorian.  Chance is through that gate if I guess rightly.  He should be here soon.  And I can lead us between worlds easily enough, if we need to go."  James voice is friendly enough if a little tense, there are other things on his mind.

"Hello Cyan, it's good to see you."  James speaks quietly.  He can barely keep himself from leaping around and shouting, but he restrains his voice as he restrains his strength, by deliberately choosing 'weakness'.  Still, his voice is warm and sincere.  "How are you?"

This message was deleted by the player at 13:19, Tue 23 Jan 2007.

The beautiful, pale woman welcomes them to Charyk.  Her words echo with pathos - no irony, no sarcasm.  For the majesty still hangs about Charyk like a light half-unseen, broken and ruined as the city now is.  The feeling is echoed by the pride in the woman's voice, counterweighted by the tear in her eye, the knowledge of something precious that falls to dust.  To endure in her memories, no doubt, as long as they last.

But never again, not here.  Like Menengroth.  Cyan well understands.

She bows to the woman, deep and low.  Apologies well up, but what can she say?  She can only take in the dusty grandure, even in its destruction.  This desecration is her fault, her doing.  And through her, Harbonah.  Anger again ignites, deep and low, hot coals stirred by the sorrow of this vision, of this woman.

There will be a reckoning for this.  From Harbonah and, I think, from myself.

To the master of the pride, another small bow.  "Sir Morgan," she replies, and looks up at the imposing vision of the panther.  "Catherine."  Trained eyes take note of shape, colouring, small individualities.  She will not forget.  "But my thanks you have.  Debt or not."

She eyes the other woman, the pale one who had spoken just before the panthers and drakes had swept them all away.  'Cyan, daughter of Berd.  He will be pleased to see you.'  All in that curious fashion.  But would he be pleased?  There lay the question.  She gives the curiously dressed woman a nod of the head, a nervous one - Berd, James, and maybe-Meredith approach, and time grows short.  "My apologies for my lack of manners..."  A quick glance to the trio.  Aaron hops from his mount and hurries to take her wrist.  "I am Cyan, yes...I would have your name, if I might?  In a moment?"

Words of comfort from Aaron - they are here.  And they are, both of them bracketing her.  Dorian shifts away slightly, giving her a touch more room but still there.  But despite what Aaron says, Cyan is fully prepared to give in.  Judgement from her friends...that, she will accept.  In whatever form it comes.

She struck James.  With the Deathiron.

Dorian is correct, of course - they need to go.  The Seraphim still war with the Nephilim, but as time progresses...there may come a counterstrike.  Not yet, but perhaps soon.  And yet, amidst his logic, amidst his 'preparations', he still finds time to reassure her, and her mind falls back to the lights and music of the bar.

How much he seems to have changed.  How much they ALL have changed, perhaps - Aaron, too.

And yet, now comes one who never changes, much like the oak - he merely grows more deeply into his roots with every passing day.

"Rest, yes."  Her smile is a ghost of its former brilliance, but it is true.  And a fraction more bright than the last.

Cyan pushes her hood back as James approaches, and watches him with dark, amythest eyes.  She carefully detaches her arm from Aaron with a grateful look and shifts nervously, but holds back from saying anything, wanting to let him set the tone.  If he chooses recrimination, so be it.

He does not.

He speaks first to Dorian, almost distractedly.  His body language betrays tension - James has always been a straightforward man, and Cyan is unconciously skilled at reading such things, both from her bard training and her natural ability.  She waits, one fist tight, tension gnawing at her stomach.

Then he speaks to her, and everything is all right again.

Cyan steps forward, a stuttered movement, and reaches out to grip James' hand.  His weapon hand.  She raises it up, her eyes shimmering, and slowly shakes her head.  Every time she meets another of her friends, it's different.  With Aaron, with Dorian, with Jonnee.  Perhaps due to different feelings, each and every time.  Perhaps due to the fact that with each meeting she falls more deeply into herself.  Now another tear drags a track down her cheek.  "I am...more well than I have been in a year or more, James," she whispers, glancing back at the others for a moment.  A squeeze of his hand, a motion with it.  "And I am so very, very sorry."

For his arm, for many, many other things.

Stifling a sob, she throws her arms around him, mindful of the armor.  At that moment she hates it, hates it more than she has hated anything in her life.  This cursed armor - with it on, she cannot feel Jonnee, cannot feel James.  Thank the spirits she took the gauntlets off, and has the memory of Aaron's hand, of Dorian's grip, to which to hold.

Aaron didn't dare stop her. Better to try stopping a raging elephant than keep Cyan back from a goal such as this, her own quiet desire for redemption, for forgiveness.

He would be there, but he would not baby her. He would stand with her, but she alone would suffer her punishment. Aaron had felt it before, and he knew the truth. Judgement would come for her, and only Cyan alone would be able to stand against it, to stand with it.

For he too, suffered judgement. Even still. In its own time...

Aaron shook his head when inquired by Dorian as to his ability to travel.

"I need rest," he answered. "Travel anywhere is out of the question. I could probably start a slow ride with a few hours rest, to be honest, but if you want to get any place fast or far away, it'd have to be a few days rest."

Before Berd marks his daughter, Trista sees her. For only one in the beleaguered group could be the general of the Archons. A black cloak shrouds imposing black metal. But within that metallic cage, a woman with pale skin and claret hair stands surrounded by friends. Vulerable, insecure, and very human.

First Impressions.

Though it is difficult to drag her eyes from the Prodigal Daughter, Trista shifts her gaze to take in all who stand with this woman. Two men flank Cyan: a regal man in dark robes who beckons them and a shorter man with spirit burning in his eyes. Nearby, a blonde woman with the body of every man’s fantasy happily attends the group along with a man with war-tossed locks falling to his shoulders. Panthers surround the two. Jonnee of the Kingdom of Los Angeles with his strange lizard men provide a comforting point of recognition. The wolf with intelligent eyes remains. In the skies, drakes, ormvråkar, and a strange storm cloud circle the meeting. And like a guardian angel, the woman in pristine white greets them all with the majesty of her broken city.

James strides forward with Trista hanging back. She brings them closer, but does not heed the beckoning. She will wait for Berd’s wish on the matter, and for now, he wishes to remain apart so that James can be the first to greet Cyan Friend.

Whatever tension they both may have been feeling, from Trista’s vantage, it seems as if they fall back into their friendship as Cyan embraces James.


Despite words of quickly leaving for safety, there is another reunion to be done. Trista remains at Berd's service, quiet and somber.
This message was last edited by the player at 16:39, Tue 23 Jan 2007.

Jonnee raises his right hand, then brings it down to pat the sleeve of his leather jacket, where it covers his left bicep, "You forgot that I have a road-map to everywhere, Dorian.  If you can describe where you want to be, or even tell me what it's called, I can get you there, quicker than you can flag down a cab."

He sees James, and his companions then, and gives the man a friendly wave, grinning cheerfully, "James, good to see you, man.  Berd too.  Nice job, Big Guy, though I'm not sure I deserved that many fireworks."

His grin widens as he recognises the woman who accompanies the man and the drake, "We meet again.  Cool.  Good to see that you made it through okay."

And then the grin fades, but only for a second, and he raises his voice, "Has anybody here got anything I can eat?  I've been, like, running all day, and I'm hungry enough to eat one of the brints, with a wolf for a topping."

He turns back to James, Trista, and Berd.  "You three look like you've been through the mill.  Like, twice."
This message was last edited by the player at 16:37, Tue 23 Jan 2007.

"Excuse me, Jonnee."  Luke placed his hand on Jonnee's shoulder.  He seemed only partly manifested, somehow oddly dispersed.  One couldn't quite see the walls through his body, but he gave the impression that if one tried hard enough, it would be possible.

"The Seraphim will be coming.  Soon.  VERY soon.  Might I pressure you all to step through the gateway to the second Charyk, before -"

He winked out like a blown out candle.

On hearing Luke's statement Roman swirls to the back of the group, the side furthest from the gateway.
His thunders talk in their booming voice "Go" "Now" "I" "Guard"

James wraps his arms around Cyan, returning her hug.  Where she is mindful of the ridges and edges of her armour, he is not, and soon he will have a new collection of bruises to add to the others already acquired.  He bends down slightly to whisper in Cyan's ear.


James can only have spoken a sentence or two, for a moment later he gives Cyan a final squeeze and lets her go, turning his attention back to those with her.

"Thank you Aaron.  Thank you Dorian.  I've no idea how you did it, but thank you."  James expresses his gratitude and then, in an unusual gesture for him, bows deeply to each in turn.

"Oh, by the way Dorian," James manner becomes more light-hearted, "I saw you dead at the gate.  Have you been creating more clones?"

"Hello Jonnee, nice to see you too.  I can't speak for the others, but I think I missed the worst of the fighting.  It's just a little dirty back there."

"Everyone, allow me to introduce Trista.  Trista, this is Aaron, Dorian, Cyan, Morgan, Banglen-Yp, the ghost was Luke, the storm I am guessing is Roman and...have you already met Jonnee?  At the crucial moment Trista fought the Archon Israfil alone."  James lets that sink in for a moment, "That and Berd's judgement place her firmly on the list of friends."

With that James finishes, allowing space for Cyan and Berd to meet if now was the time for that reunion.  Otherwise he would happily join in passing through to Charyk #2.

As Cyan bows to the woman in white, Dorian's eyes move to her as well. He remembers her from earlier. She had cards, though she kept her hood up then, if he recalled correctly. Tahirah was her name. He thought it admirable that she should be here, still, given the destruction of her city, her world. She displayed a hint of pride and respect for her home, still. She held fast in her duty to welcome them to the city, even when no city remained. As with all the newcomers, she might be a traitor; but this was exactly the kind of traitor he'd like to see join them.

He follows Cyan's bow towards Tahirah with a gentle nod of his own, full of respect as well acknowledgement.

His eyes return to Cyan, and she thanks Morgan. Again, he notes the respect, which he once both scorned and mocked in a single monologue. What a fool.

Then, he notes, he never really stood there and said those words. He merely remembers doing it. To him, it was the same. He accepted Dorian's actions as his own. He accepted the responsibility, because he was born as a copy of the man. He was Dorian, in mind and body. He had said those words to Cyan, as surely as he had ignited a world with nuclear fire, and as sure as he stood here now regretting both actions with all his heart.

A smile plays across his face, small but honest, as she goes to James and they embrace. Thank you, James. She needed that. She needed the man's unadulterated and unwavering strength of purpose. Unlike both Dorian and Aaron, James was true as the north wind. His acceptance would mean a great deal to her. It was a series of critical moments as she encountered her old friends one by one. Encountering Berd would be the most difficult, she knew. Their last words moments had been filled with strife. Yet, it occurred to him that she might see the truth. Berd had been clear that the strings remains within her, an inseparable part of her, and could not be removed. He could have used them at any time during her absence, but he did not. This was not a new revelation to Dorian. Berd had pointed as much out. However, with her returning, it would mean a great deal to Cyan. It meant a great deal to Dorian, too. He wasn't sure he would have been so strong.

"Oh, by the way Dorian, I saw you dead at the gate.  Have you been creating more clones?"

His smile grew; but he realized it had probably been the most he'd smiled since he'd met any of them. With that, he tried to force his face to return to its usual form. "Merely a decoy, James," he said. "It wasn't even a clone, really. I hope I did not cause you too much grief." He smirked playfully.

He doubted James would really grieve his demise. He doubted anyone would. It actually surprised him to a point that James didn't scold him over the misdirection. He had made a mistake. His paranoia had gotten to him, once again. Fearing any treachery or treason, he'd neglected to tell anyone he had teleported to another world and left a clone in his place, even the ones he trusted the most.

James was like a brother to him in the most ironic of ways. They were ways no one else would guess, and it was not in terms of camaraderie, so much. They were indeed polar opposites. That, and recent revelations, made the man's opinion valuable. He found himself craving James' respect.

He looks at Aaron and nods. The man looked tired. He was probably pushing himself beyond his limits just to attend to Cyan. Aaron, as the man was quick to declare, followed his own path. He only hoped that from now on that path would involve less zigzags. He was hard to predict, but this action spoke volumes about what was important to him.

Another woman bore Berd towards them. He doesn't know her. His features harden as he studies her, searching for hints of the enemy about her.

Jonnee speaks. He can lead them anywhere. No, Dorian had not forgotten; he just wasn't used to having Jonnee around these days. The Brintizzi had indeed been a welcome addition to the battle, but in the excitement he had barley paused to consider such a refreshing sight. If James were the North Wind, then Jonnee was the South wind.

James introduces Trista. Apparently, Berd trusts her. His skepticism had been misplaced, perhaps. Then again, Berd could be too trusting.

Then, Luke appears, much to Dorian's relief. The being doesn't look well, at all.

"A second Charyk?" Dorian's eyes fall on the portal, now. It was not a surprise that other Charyks existed (there were probably as many Charyks as there were clones of Dorian in the universe), but that they had one so close, through a portal even. His senses extend like whips, probing, studying. The portal was safe. The other Charyk was safe. This was good news. He had planned to move them from Charyk, assuming that they would be alone in a small group. Harbonah could retaliate against a small group, and Cyan's turning would be a great blow to him. However, Harbonah could not retaliate against such a stronghold the other Charyk would present. This was a godsend, to his thinking. It was close. They could rest. "This is good news," he says. For him, it was the first he'd heard of this other Charyk and the portal. He'd noted the portal, but not known to where it led. "Let us go to this second Charyk."

James, Cyan separate, and he steps beside her, hoping to draw her attention for just a moment.
This message was last edited by the player at 15:22, Wed 24 Jan 2007.

 

Having laughed in the air as she rode the drake, Banglen-Yp patted the dragon and thanked it for allowing her to ride it.  She studied it carefully while the others went about their business, reuniting and all.

                              <sub>Flying.

                                                                                Free.

                                        Powerful.</sub>

Then the daughter of Berd woke her from her oblivion and Banglen-Yp turned to face her with a big smile.

•• Man•ner ••

It sounded almost like an amused question.  But then she smiled and shook her head.

•• You • should • rest ••

A firm nod to underline this.  Manner - to be polite - could wait.

•• I • am • Bang•len••Yp ••

She repeated her name, although it was more than her name.  It was what she was, who she was, where she was, when she was.  Banglen-Yp.

Holding back the urge to move in and help the woman, seeing as she had two helpers already, she merely spoke anew, sounding sad.

•• Ci•ty • dead •• Can•not • find • ot•her • now ••

Then, as the man who did not mention himself when introducing everyone, she smiled happily again and gestured at James.

•• Hel•lo •E•ve•ry•one • this • is • James ••

Then she was off, not seeing a point in sticking around for more of those rude wheelies to turn up, to make sure that everyone, including James, indeed got out of the dying city.

At one point she stopped to bend over at the corner of a ruin and huddled something to her chest, seeming to stroke and pat whatever was in her arms, even talking as well.  She began to make her way back towards the others, preoccupied with her find.

 

Chance stood near, watching people march through the portal singly and in pairs. Two by two, he thought. Perhaps thousands of years from now, this story would involve an ark and a flood. No music was appropriate for those who left their entire world behind in devastation. The thought of music didn't even cross his mind.

He drew near to Parcifal and laid a hand on the man's shoulder. "I don't know what happened over there, though I suspect I'll get more than a fair share of it someday." He grins, looking into the portal. "But... thank you, on behalf of all my mates. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go see who survived."

Making quiet apologies, he makes his way through the throng and crosses back into the devastation formerly known as Charyk, seeking his companions.

It wasn't fair that he'd been sitting idly sharing stories during the battle while they fought for their lives and much more. He knew that. He could only hope they would understand the need to stay.

He passes through the portal and stop. Charyk was a ruin. He glimpsed some of it through the portal, but the ful view was an epic tale of loss and mourning. His hands fell to his side. For Chance, the world was nothing but stories, and everywhere he looked he saw stories of loss, lives changed, death. He was glad he had not witnessed it.

Berd sits upon Trista's shoulder and watches.  Far from diffident, he remains tense while Cyan greets James.  His tiny claws tighten, then loosen, then tighten again.  Despite the pleasure he feels at the sight of that meeting, at the sight of her, his child once again, still he fears what will come when she 'greets' him.

His eyes study her, narrow at the thinness of her features, the bloody lines carved on her cheeks.  They fix on her pale hands.  What did they do to her, these archons?  Despite his fears, despite his exhaustion, Berd finds that yes, he yet holds the capacity for anger.  The capacity for fury.  The air above his body warps and twists as if caught in a heat wave as he considers the Enemy.

With an effort, the drake calms himself.  Waits.  Information is shared between his minds, allowing him to observe the others simultaneously.

He believes he is ready to greet Cyan.

But Luke puts that upon the backburner, regrettably.  His appearance sparks the sudden realization that they stand within a dying world, a world where the Seraphim may return with revenge upon their minds.  A world that could be consumed in an instant by the ravaging power of a star, cindered and torn asunder by forces beyond its comprehension.  They must leave, or Berd's meeting with his daughter might be the last thing they do.

His eyes flick to Chance, as that worthy steps through the portal.  He suspects Luke will be pleased - he, himself, is as well.  This is the one friend of his son's of which he approves.



Berd sits up on Trista's shoulder, casts a longing glance at Cyan, and then faces toward the Portal, where Chance awaits.

Time enough for new beginnings on the other side of the stars.

She can almost feel James through the armor.  It brings a smile to her face, in spite of herself.  Some things change, but James simply continues to grow stronger and stronger, in many ways.  This greeting is merely proof of that...again, in many ways.

She bows her head in thanks at his words, closes her eyes in relief.  Is it selfish to wish for forgiveness for her actions?  She thinks not.  Is it wrong to be glad when one achieves that forgiveness, when one's friends stand with a person rather than rightfully castigating them?  She thinks not.

Not expected, but oh, how she has desired to hear these words from them.

Cyan returns James' final sqeeze with an effort of her own (easily eclipsed by his power), and shifts slightly - he needs to greet the others.  Witticisms with Dorian regarding a lost 'clone'; she stiffens at that, then divines the true meaning.  Far from creating more of himself, Dorian has simply used an elementary strategem to great effect, it would seem.

The strange woman speaks to her - Banglen-Yp, yes.  A curious name, to match her manner, but Cyan has seen many, many curious things since her journey began across the myriad worlds.  She sighs, nods in agreement.  "Rest, yes.  For all of us."  Had she seen a...hole in the woman's belly before, in passing, out upon the field?  Was that possible?

But her eyes are drawn to Berd.

She studies him, seated on the shoulder of this strange, sad-eyed woman.  He looks tired.  Older?  No - that is an illusion.  But certainly he is weakened, exhausted from his labours.  Labours of fighting her.  A rush of shame hits, and Cyan struggles with it for a moment, recalling her attempts on his life.  She would have killed him, and part of her would have rejoiced.

That part is gone.  Fed by Harbonah, twisted to achieve free reign over her spirit, it has been defeated.  Now she looks with older eyes at the one responsible for so many things in her life, and Cyan understands better.  She hopes that he feels the same.

Perhaps forgiveness can exist even between them.

The woman...sad-eyes in a beautiful face.  Clothing remeniscent of things Cyan has worn in the last year, in her travels.  Of Jonnee Kay's World.  A short, heavy blade, and the balance of a woman who knows how to use it.  And, despite her tired eyes, a spine of steel from the look of it, coupled with James' endorsement.  Trista.  Not Meredith.

Who was she?  So many new people.  Even an Archon, from the look of it, of a kind she has not seen before.  Was that possible?

And then Dorian's presence at her shoulder.  She could feel him there.  And his silent words put another crack in her self-control.  Unable to trust herself to speak aloud, she nods mutely and responds in kind, her eyes upon Berd.


She takes a step toward Berd.  Then Luke (and animosity sparkles in Cyan for an instant) appears, his words of warning echoing around the group.  Berd's head droops, but then rises.  He looks toward her, toward the gate...and for an instant, she feels him again.  A message passes between them, in that blurred manner of communication only she and he have ever shared, and Cyan's sapphire eyes widen.

She looks toward the gate as the strange Archon-creature booms out its offer to take the rear.  She opens her mouth, looks back at the gathering of people, so many of them.  Some familiar.  Some not.  "Come, then," Cyan says clearly, her voice a rusted parody of its old tones.  She swallows once, thickly, and speaks more clearly.  With each word, her voice grows stronger.  Her bard's voice, again.  Not recovered, but returning.  "Come.  Let us leave this place to dust and memories.  Leave it, but never forget."

"The Myriad Worlds, poised upon a needle's tip, had begun to fall, the weight of madness dragging them down into the dark."  She looks to Tahirah, who now leaves her true-land forever.  She looks to the curious woman Banglen-Yp, to Morgan with Catherine and the others of her family, to the spinning storm she will come to know as Roman of Chaincut.  She looks to Jonnee, and his britizzi, a tide that surged across the Worlds to come to Charyk's aid.  She looks to James, who stands with Dorian and Aaron, three men all different, all shining in their own way - Earth, Metal, and Wood.  And she looks to her father, Berd and this mysterious Trista, who wait near where the well-named Chance stands, their guardian at the portal.

"In Charyk, never to be forgotten, that changed."

She holds out her hands to them, and, with Archons as spurs upon her boots, the light of a new world in her eyes, Cyan begins to walk.

Moving towards the portal, even though he knows he won't be able to stay in that place of safety for long, Jonnee takes a detour to the pile of discarded weapons.  He picks one up, and studies it for a few moments.  Then he points the end of it out through the broken gate, towards the forest, and depresses the stud that, he assumes, triggers it.

"Woah!  Excellent!"

He glances about, and calls one of his brintizzi commanders across, "Ech'hisst!  Listen, I'm going to try and score us some of these cool Buck Rojjer's Death Ray things.  Would it be too dishonourable to shoot Archons from a distance?  I don't want to waste time training you guys, then have you refuse to use the things."

"No, JonneeKay.  We understand that against a dishonourable enemy, sometimes one must use unconventional tactics."

"That's good to hear.  Keep thinking that way, and one day you'll be as smart as me."  He slaps the brintizzi on the shoulder, cutting his hand in the process, "Get the boys together, I'll be back in a minute."

The woman in the white robe had greeted them as they entered, so she must be the Queen of this place, or something.  An official, of some sort, in any case.  He makes his way towards her, "Excuse me, Ba... uh... Miss.  I'm Jonnee Kay.  Listen, I have an army that could use some of those ray gun things of yours, so they don't have to wait for Archons to come down to the ground before killing them.  I was wondering, if nobody's using those ones, over there, would it be okay if we snagged a few, on our way out?"

He smiles, hoping she'll see that he's reliable, honest, and friendly.  "If you need me to sign some forms for them, or something, I can do that.  Or if you want them paying for, I can get a handful of decent-sized diamonds in a couple of hours."