Meredith, James, and Banglen-Yp make their way back into the castle, escorted by Ahmad.  Upon entering the Great Hall, they find a meeting, of sorts, in progress.  There are faces which Meredith recognises, and others that she is less familiar with.  And there are some more of the panthers, just a handful of them, sprawled on the floor to one side, surrounded by scattered scraps of orange peel.


"We have heard of this Amber, I believe.  The man who created the our weapons spoke of it, upon several occasions, though he referred to it, most often, as Ember." Parcifal says, and a moment later his brother adds, "He also said, quite often, that razing Ember to the ground would be doing the Universe no small favour."

"Yes, that did seem to be something of an obsession for him."  Parcifal shrugs, then, "Eventually his constant insistence that we declare war on Ember, using the weapons he forged for us, and an army gathered from as many worlds as we could reach, began to grate on our nerves, and we decided he had outstayed his welcome."

"Hah!  Not to mention his unending complaints about how, since he had made the Sword and Staff for us, we should show some gratitude, and fight his war for him.  We sent him on his way, in the end." says Gawain, shaking his head, his expression one of disgust, "He came back only once, after that, but we had warned the guards not to admit him to the fortress."

Aaron's eyes opened. Something was on his mind as soon as he rose, and he wished to speak it aloud. However, the first word he spoke as he rose was a name.

"Christine."

Or to most, even Aaron, Chrissie. But from his dreams came her visage and that name, Christine. Was there such a big deal when it came to names? Perhaps not, in some places. A great deal, in others.

What did it mean? Had his grand-daughter stepped upon the Pattern? If so, Aaron had already anticipated it. He would not let the girl grow up ignorant of the worlds around her, nor of the tremendous responsiblity placed upon her by their simple connection of relation.

The Pattern. The shapeshifting Anynian weaponry Aaron himself wielded. The Truth. Aaron's daughter. All of these things and more were a part of Chrissie's history, just as much as they were of Aaron's.

He would educate her, if not in the Pattern (for surely Fiona had tested her, must be testing her), then he would extend his own wisdom and knowlege. He would show her blade and spear, stave and axe, and primarilly ranged and flexible weaponry.

Every Sjardring blade was flexible, and Aaron had one specifically in mind for his grand-daughter - if he could help her find it.

But that was for another time, another place than here and now. For at this moment he only wanted a single thing.

Focusing his mind and will, Aaron opened his senses and cast a single desire, seeking and finding.

"Cyan. I wish to see Cyan."

Roman would doubtless find the discussions in the Great Hall of interest.  But now , sleep beckons and he drifts into slumber.  The news can wait until the morning.

"I believe it is where you rest at the end of the day that is important, Chance."  Her voice is serious, her eyes grave.  Whatever his decisions earlier, whether he faltered or not, Chance is here, now.  And that is the important thing.  "Good night, Chance.  I wish you the best of dreams.  And thank you."

Silence, as Chance ascends the staircase.  Then, + GOOD.  I LIKED HIM +

+ I SUPPOSE THAT MEANS WE DON'T KILL HIM FOR HIS TREACHERY +

Cyan is silent upon her seat, the drake sleeping in her arms, as Tahirah explains her 'gift'.  Her analysis of the situation makes a certain sense; Harbonah is nothing if not single-minded, and she remembers the line of breaks, stretching from one end of the Myriad Worlds to the other.

Sooner or later, they would be trying the defenses of the fabled Amber.  They would wish to plant a sphere, perhaps more, upon the Great Pattern itself, to shatter reality into a more...malleable form, one assumes.

Parcifal and Gawain bring information to light, regarding their mysterious 'benefactor' and his connection to Amber, or Ember.  As the figure of Trista appears in the doorway, Cyan plies the two men with a question.  "And what was his name, this creator of your weapons?" she asks.  Perhaps they might glean something from that response, when James returns - he, of all of them, has the greatest experience with those of Amber, and she knows there lies a traitor within their ranks.

"Trista."  She raises one hand to the woman, now cleansed of the grit and sweat of heat and battle.  In the strange clothing, so similar to that of a World Cyan left - a year ago, perhaps? - Trista presents a striking appearance, a gestalt of modern wear and traditional steel.  Berd stir, makes a bleek in his sleep, and Cyan, a small smile on her lips, beckons her over.

Then more figures enter the hall - Cyan's smile grows at the sight of the returning James, bringing with him the alien woman Banglen-Yp.  The smile fades at the sight of the second woman, a tiny figure in patchwork clothing and antique jewelry.  Another traveller, new to their quest?  Or not?  She has been gone for nearly two years, herself, though Berd assures her it has been much shorter for them.

Cradling the somnolent Berd, she stands to offer a small bow to the trio.

Parcifal regards Cyan with a steady gaze, one hand resting lightly on the hilt of his Sword.  "Ganelon was the name he gave us."

Gawain nods his agreement, "Aye, Ganelon, he called himself.  Though for my part, I came to think of him as False-Friend."

Having more formally introduced Meredith and Banglen-Yp when the opportunity arose, James leads the way into the Hall, where he finds Cyan (with Berd), Trista, Tahirah, Parciful and Gawaine deep in conversation.  He would dearly like some more food, a bath and maybe some sleep - preferably in that order.  It would also be wise to introduce Meredith and Cyan.

But James recognises the seriousness of the conversation, so he stops and stands waiting, trying to get a feel for the topic of conversation.

Aaron dressed. He wasn't quick about it, though he had a number of things on his mind, he needed to be patient, to air things out. He needed to breathe.

He was thinking about many things. Travelling to Amber. Seeing Chrssie
Christine
again. Reuniting with all of his comrades. Eating, for god's sakes.

And it was there. Always, now, in the back of his mind as it once had before, poking, prodding, never at rest. He wished, so he wished, to let it out, but he had neither the knowledge nor the power to do so. All he had was an idea; an inkling. One he needed to share with others, desperately.

Dorian. Berd.

Cyan.

And so he dressed, leaving his fabled blade and armor within his room. As he exited, not so much clean as rested and starving, he told the guards (Guards! At his door!) to not let anyone into his room until he returned. After that, he requested directions to the Hall and made his way there.

The woman makes her way down to the Great Hall, neither particularly tired nor desiring for solitude. Surprising.

The guitar player has vacated the room, but Trista still hears the strains of poignant sadness he had played.

Cyan still cradles Berd, talking with Tahira and the Brothers of Charyk. Trista halts in the doorway, not a pause of shyness but one of courtesy; she does not wish to interrupt. But the jeweled-eyed woman waves her over and Trista’s mouth curves in a quiet smile. She feels better. Clean. Refreshed. The edge of melancholy has lifted slightly.

She steps forward as the group continues their conversation, giving the sleeping dragon a soft look. Her stride bespeaks of a quiet self-confidence, one which does not require attention. Trista’s eyes flick to the other doorway where the familiar James and Banglen-Yp enter with a new face, James’ Merideth, she surmises. She can see why James was so eager to find the woman; she radiates warmth.

Her attention draws back to the men who respond with a name which Trista does not recognize, but he created weapons which evidently have some significance. She’ll have to learn of these things later, perhaps at Dorian’s or Berd’s leisure.

Or perhaps simply by listening and reading between the lines.
This message was last edited by the player at 02:05, Tue 20 Feb 2007.

 

•• Ple•sure ••

Banglen-Yp echoed the woman's greeting and then grinned at Ahmad and held up the bundle towards him.

•• Same • but • not ••

The head of a small ginger kitten peeked up and smelt the nose of the big cat before putting a paw against it, no claws, and letting out a tiny little mewl in greeting.

Then they all began to walk back in and the kitten seemed to wake up a bit more, climbing up on Banglen-Yp's shoulder.  Draping the bundle over her arm she giggled at the small cat and leant in to whisper to it, getting a head-bump in reply from the little one.

Then a loud vibrating sound started and it might not be obvious to all that it was the tiny little kitten that was making it - too big a sound for such a little creature, one might think.

 

"Ganelon."  Cyan rubs her forehead wearily, struggling to place the name.  Legends, perhaps, from dozens of worlds, each with a different story.  Ganelon, the traitor knight.  "This man would seem to be one of the keys to a many-slotted lock," she murmurs.  An angry lord of Amber, who then turned to the Archons for further assistance, having learned of them from his time here?  Who might say?

She looks toward one door, where James has stopped with his charges, Banglen-Yp and her kitten, and the other, ethereal woman.  Her words however, are still directed at the brothers.  "I know nothing of this Ganelon, save his part in stories which may or may not refer to the actual man.  I understand," she says, carefully (for this is a sore point with her), "that there are some who create echoes through the Myriad Worlds."  A turn of her head brings Trista into her vision.  "Perhaps the stories are such?"

Berd sturs again, shifts in her arms, close to waking.  He grumbles quietly, then falls deeper into slumber.  Cyan arches an eyebrow over a brilliant, topaz eye, and considers tossing the dragon in the air to the other woman.  But he has an excuse for remaining asleep, even at a time like this - she knows he has burned away much of his own strength.  As have I.

A figure moves closer behind Trista, and she recognizes the stride even with the woman blocking her vision.  Aaron.  He lacks his armor and weapons, she realizes, and wonders how.  A moment later it comes to her - his stride, though it is certainly his, is subtly different.  She knows him well, Cyan realizes, from months of travel together, and yet she knows him not at all, not even why the autumn leaves fall within his eyes.

Tahirah nods at the name.  "If it is the same Ganelon that crafted the weapons we knew in," only a slight pause, "our Charyk, you should know, if you do not, that he may have left them with a curse.  Though if it was the same known to us, I am hard pressed to find malevolent intent within it, saving the secrecy."

As others gather, she smiles quietly within her robes.  The news delivered to the leader, and the others...gather, in ones and twos, from her and there.  As if by chance.  The right time, indeed.

"Yes, a curse which, it seems, is designed to prevent them being used against each other."

"Which begs the question, did Ganelon suspect that we will turn on each other, or was he just being careful?  More interestingly, perhaps, why was it so important to him that the weapons could not be used in fraternal combat?" Parcifal glances at his brother.

"Yes, that is odd.  If his aim was simply to prevent the weapons being used against each other, then why construct them so that one would destroy itself, and its holder?  Clearly the survival of the weapons, and ourselves, were not his primary concern."

"Interesting, too, that they are able to distinguish sparring, such as we have engaged in upon numerous occasions, and actual combat, with the intent to harm each other."  Gawain's eyes turn to the floor, gazing at the stone slabs, as his expressin grows thoughtful.  His left hand grasps the Staff, while his right rubs at his chin.

"I never really trusted him.  There was something about his appearance that I didn't like."

A curse?  Cyan slowly begins to understand more as the two men speak to each other.  At her feet, Left and Right hum slightly, communicating, as they, too, absorb the knowledge.  "Some treachery planned," she murmurs.  "Perhaps...is it possible that he could have seen something in the other two men, not present in yourselves?"

Convoluted plots.  She hates them - they make her head hurt.  Cyan has always been a straight thinker, and unless she can marry reality with a story she knows, finds it difficult to consider in curves.

And Tahirah confirms that there is at least a superficial resemblance between the crafters of both blades.  A name, and not a common one.  Perhaps it is indeed the same man.  "My lords," she inquires, "what of his appearance disturbed you?  Was it something in particular?  Physical?  Or a feeling?"

The bundle reveals itself to be a small kitten which sits on Banglen-Yp’s shoulder. There’s sweetness in the way the woman dotes on the tiny creature, and its purr would indicate its own happiness to be with her. Trista reflects on the perfect blonde, all smiles and giggles. She doesn’t seem to have any interest in the conversation at hand. Seems. Perhaps behind those inattentive eyes, a sharp mind takes in all that is said and done around her. Only time will tell.

When gravity lightens, Trista will ask the woman about her foundling, but for now, weightier issues demand attention.

“…echoes through the Myriad Worlds.” Trista has heard of such things from her father, but has no experience herself. Stories abound of this person in that place. Certainly, some are simply different shades of similar worlds, but perhaps a person of power could leave their own shades where they please. Hauntingly disturbing.

Trista feels a presence behind her, but there’s no warning look on Cyan’s face and so she let’s whomever it is join the circle at their leisure.

Talk of curses ensues. Trista wonders what this has to do with the Archons, but hopes that will be revealed. In time. All things in time.

Patience.

Trista adds her own question, a basic one which the others may all realize already. Though she understands she may be as a girl in primary school compared to these of the university, she asks without hesitation or embarrassment, “How do you know of this curse? I gather it isn’t from experimentation,” for obvious reasons, “Lore, perhaps?”

"Well... it was nothing I could lay my hand on.  It was more to do with his air, than his physical appearance, I suppose." replies Parcifal, looking to his brother for support, and receiving it.

He was always so secretive."

"Yes, secretive.  He would avoid other visitors, sometimes staying out of sight for days." the man shrugs, "It's not as if he was hideously ugly.  In fact his looks were somewhat striking.  Particularly his eyes, with their silver flecks."

"He was strong, and healthy too.  So he was not hiding away because of some infirmity."


In various parts of the fortress, many of the servants and guests, alike, find themselves the centre of some odd attention.  As they go about their business, at various times they find that they have acquired a large, black shadow, which invariably attempts to be looking at something else if they turn to study it.

Giant panthers, it seems, do not make the best covert agents.


Ahmad studies the kitten, closely.  Yes, it bears some slight resemblance to him.  But it is small, and helpless, so not exactly like him...

Meredith enters the hall, falling into place 3 paces behind James, to his right. It is unconscious, almost natural for her to place herself as a servant. Unobtrusive, but available at a moment's notice. She stands silently, taking in the scene before her while the serious conversation flows around her. There are many new faces, but some she recognizes. Berd. Cyan. Meredith has never met the woman, but has seen her many times in the hearts and souls of others.

Meredith steps forward silently and clears her throat delicately.

"Please excuse the interruption my lords and ladies" she says in a soft, but audible voice "There are many new faces present. It is good to see that our numbers have grown in my absence" she smiles radiantly before executing a smooth curtsy "My name is Meredith... please forgive my ignorance, but do we have one of the weapons here? I may be able to discern much about the intent and any possible curses by touching one of them" she offers openly, her clear gaze moving from person to person equally, as she is unsure of who to direct her offer to.

Ahmad decides, after his inspection, the woman is right, but I'd best pay more attention to the conversation. >   As the talk goes on, his enthusiasm wanes.

Or get someone to wake up Lord lazybones. . His furry tail twitches around the kit as his amused thought continued.

"Human women complain about the falling asleep right after, but he's gone off before they even meet!" Have to save that one for sometime he's drinking.

Catherine, nudged from her curled position by the remnants of the oranges, nods heavily to Ahmad, and pads upstairs to call them awake, while Ahmad decides to follow the woman with the kit for a while. Meredith, it seemed, would be busy for a while.
This message was last edited by the player at 13:57, Fri 23 Feb 2007.

An interesting question Trista poses, regarding the curse.  Cyan doesn't know the story behind the other Charyk, and as such, she is just as curious as to the response.  Regrettably, the question goes without answer, the brothers choosing to instead discuss the man, Ganelon.  Useful information, this description.

And then the strange, slim woman beside James speaks.  And the name rings a number of bells for Cyan, several of them latched directly onto memories of a week or two before (for her).  Meredith.  The one she thought might be Berd's creation.

Another question, this one begging one of her own.  Why does she wish to examine the weapon?  Simple curiousity?  Doubtful.  There must be a reason...but Cyan cannot see it.  Instead, she glances to Trista and offers a shrug, unsure as to whether or not her question will be answered.

OOC - Sorry, folks.  A little bit dopy from throat medicine.  Can't think of anything else to post.  :(

As Aaron approached, he caught Cyan's eye, raising his head slightly to gather her attention. He approached her, placed a hand upon her shoulder and whispered into her ear (and Berd's as well.)


After that, he stepped back and merely considered their current conversation, absorbing it as best he could.

 

Sensing that the kitten wanted to get down, Banglen-Yp crouched down so that the mighty hunter could make the impressive leap onto the huge, hairy snake that was wriggling about.  Like a sabretooth attacking a mammoth it grabbed onto the tail - and then it begun to make little cute growling noises as it tried to get a grip on its prey.

Banglen-Yp found it quite interesting and watched the whole ordeal, splitting her attention between it and the woman named Meredith, listening to her and the other speaking.

 
This message was last edited by the player at 20:00, Sat 24 Feb 2007.

The brothers give answer to Cyan’s query, and add nuances not thought of. The creator had hidden away for no explicable reason. Her own question remains unanswered; no doubt considered unimportant. Irked, Trista doesn’t bother to put it forth again; she’ll glean what she can from the rest of the conversation.

Merideth steps forward with elegant politeness reminding Trista of an English lady from old movies. Though she does not look the type to have expertise in weaponry, she requests to see one of the fabled weapons. Looking for magic, perhaps? A power of discernment? If so, she has a great gift indeed. When Merideth’s gaze passes her own, she nods a greeting, but does not interrupt the flow of information with speech.

To Cyan’s shrug, she responds with tilt of the head, indicating both defeat and gratitude for the acknowledgement. Her eyes drift to take in the kitten playing stalker and the perfect blonde giggling over the display.

The presence behind her turns out to be the one named Aaron who steps to Cyan’s side. So many who love her. A fortunate woman, indeed. No envy taints her thoughts, merely a sort of awe.

Finally, her attention draws back to the brothers with anticipation over Merideth’s request.

Parcifal staeps forward, his hand outstretched towards Meredith, and clasped in it, a sheathed sword.  "This is the crystaline blade which Ganelon forged, sibling to the Staff, held by my brother, Gawain."

He glances towards Trista, "We do not know that these weapons are cursed, or enchanted, depending upon your point of view...  But Ganelon forged identical weapons for use in the other Charyk, by the versions of ourselves who dwelled there."

"When that other Gawain attacked his brother, his Staff was destroyed, and him with it.  This we have been told by some of your companions."

"It seemed safest to assume that a similar spell is laid on these weapons too, since the same person created them."


The panther, Catherine, moves up the stairs, surprisingly slowly, considering how quickly she can move.  She reaches the bathroom, and finds Morgan, snoring in the tub.  He is talking in his sleep, though the words are indistinct.

Meredith reaches out her hand, laying it upon the hilt of the sheathed weapon, and closes her eyes, her face a mask of serenity...

Tahirah has taken a step back.  Her information had been given, and was being passed among the right people.  She watched Meredith from beneath her robes with professional curiosity.

She had learned among the Lords, though, that one learned more by watching those who watched, than joining in the common focus.  So her attention lies on the newcomer only briefly, before sliding over the others.  Parcifal looks confidant; curious.  Trista appears to have picked up on that, as if...it is his sword, and therefor his choice how it should be taken.  James...the pride one can take when someone they are close to is shining.  While Cyan has a... thoughtful look, only a hairsbreadth shy of suspicion.

A curious direction for such feelings to be going.  Promising.

Quietly, Tahirah sidesteps to stand by a table, and sets her box down gently.  Sliding off the top, she draws out her cards, holding it in one hand.  Almost lazily, her delicate fingers separate three cards, one from the top, and two from further down, to lay beside her on the table.

Caught up in trying to decipher the conversation and perhaps guess at what had been said prior to his arrival, James fail to notice that Meredith has stopped behind rather than beside him.

Trista's question is a good one.  Because we told them so..  He is about to speak when the brothers belatedly give the answer.

James finds himself surprised when Meredith steps past him, not that she should volunteer her services for that was very much like her, but that she should have taken up the position of servant again.

She seemed so much more confident.  Why did she stop there?<i>  James at once questions and scolds himself.  <i>Relax, it's only been a week, remember.  An answer of sorts.  Best not to have exaggerated expectations based on the changes he had already seen in Meredith.

James has every confidence in Meredith's abilities.  And so, while she examines the sword, he racks his mind for stories of Ganelon and some of his more distant relatives in Amber.

"I believe Ganelon is a name that my grandfather Oberon once used.  But inciting an attack on Amber?  That would be unlike him.  Any one of my aunts or uncles would be more likely.  Or even my great-grandfather, Dworkin."

Maybe Meredith will be able to tell them more.