Meredith's hand rests lightly on the hilt of the great crystal Sword.  Her eyes are closed, and she is calm...


With a gasp, Meredith releases the hilt.

"I have seen the history of the blade.  Ganelon placed a curse upon it, yes.  But its only purpose, as best I can see, was to prevent the two weapons being used against each other."

"I also saw Ganelon requesting these two knights to help him launch an attack on Amber.  They refused and drove him out."

Turning to James, she addresses him.  "As I said, I saw Ganelon.  A strong man, with eyes of gray and silver, and dark hair shot through with red.  Is that your grandfather, or great grandfather?"

Parcifal holds the sheathed blade, and his gaze flicks back and forth, between Meredith and the weapon.  "Aye, that's Ganelon right enough.  An impressive gift, that one."
This message was last edited by the GM at 19:22, Mon 26 Feb 2007.

Catherine eyed the door, but decided not to try it, calling to Leareth inside instead. "< They're talking about important things in the hall. Ahmad's keeping track, but Morgan should be there. >"

Leareth's shortly growled response "< I'll fetch him down. >" reassured her, and she decided to go exploring, while a solid black tail woke the prince.



Ahmad, meanwhile, purred indulgently, an twitched his tail for the kitten, letting it pounce and play.
This message was last edited by the player at 08:54, Tue 27 Feb 2007.

"But why keep the weapons seperate? Why divide them so that they could not be used against the other?" This was food for thought as far as Aaron was concerned, and he smiled slightly as a possiblity came to him.

"I'm sure a few of us are familiar with familial in-fighting, yes?" Aaron rubbed at his nose slightly, unable to resist. "If I had a lot of stock in an extended generation of offspring, I certainly wouldn't want them killing eachother off with my own weaponry."

Then another thought came to him, and he sighed, shaking his head. "Can't say it hasn't happened to me before, though, unfortunately."

Her question receives a reply and Trista reminds herself to keep assumptions at bay next time. The answer is simple, but Trista being completely new to this group did not know of the other weapons in the First Charyk. Bits and pieces of the puzzle begin to fall into place, looking less hollow and more like the one the others already know. She nods her understanding to Parcifal before turning her attention to Merideth as she communes with the sword.

Out of the corner of her eye, she sees cards turning out onto a table by the hands of Tahirah. A seer?

Between Merideth and Tahira, both seemingly of great power, Trista struggles to include a third in her examinations as she listens to James’ remarks about his family. Oberon is a name known to the woman. Tales spun by her father in more doting days. Dworkin, too, though she had always believed him to be of myth and legend.

Her eyes leave the women to focus on James. The grandson of Oberon? The Oberon? And Dworkin, too? He has memories of these men. So my father wove truths into his fairy tales. The World is a confusing place. And Myriad Words are that much more obscure even though she’s known them all her life.

Soon Merideth corroborates the curse and wonder if Ganelon is the same as Oberon; a question for James.

The one called Aaron adds his own insights, questions, and… memories? Trista’s intrigued, but has learned she does not know enough to comment. So again, she remains quiet, absorbing and processing all she hears.
This message was last edited by the player at 02:43, Wed 28 Feb 2007.

James considers Meredith's question, "Both Oberon and Dworkin were capable of shifting form, much like Roman or Devlin, so I can't tell from Ganelon's appearance.  The eyes are probably a give away but I can't remember any of that.  If Bleys ever told me, that is."

Tahirah regathered her cards in a quiet movement, watching James.  Aunts and Uncles?  Connections...lines from which to form patterns, perhaps.

Listening to his words, though, he sounded...tenuous.  But Blood is a powerful force, and has tides of its own.  Then she stiffens slightly, robes rustling faintly.  "The eyes?  Grey, and flecked of silver," she muses.  "Powerful of build.  He named himself Carl Corey, when he returned to our Charyk, and vanished from a closed room with the Sword."  She lapses quiet for a moment, and then says, "Then he came here, and was turned away...or before.  Meredith, if it is the same weapons, forged by the same man to the same purpose...might they sing to each other?  Can you feel how many were made?  How many reclaimed?"

Aaron moves around the room, catches her attention, places a hand on her shoulder.  Cyan offers him a quick smile, one that fades as his message reaches her.  She nods, slowly, her amethyst eyes fixed on his burnished bronze orbs, and sends her own reply.  In her arms, the sleeping Berd grunts, belches, and then slowly begins to blink his way back to wakefulness.

So many questions, but Cyan keeps her mouth firmly shut.  They're pursuing a line, here, and doing quite well.  They don't need her throwing in two cents, and perhaps tripping her up on a non-sequiter.  Aaron speaks, and James, and Tahirah, and the one called Meredith, weaving a tapestry around the single knot of the weapons.  Possiblities, probabilities, and facts ricochet and collide, and a picture begins to form.

She doesn't know enough, herself.  Better to listen, to learn, with her mouth closed.

This Meredith - how did she do that?  What power allows her to see through the veils of the past, to know the minds of those who created and held the blade?  Such unearthly power in those around the room, as always - titans in the Myriad Worlds, these are.  Witness even the horse-sized cat, lounging in the corner of the room, one of many who seem sworn to the one named Morgan.  She wonders what potent abilities Trista carries beneath her mournful countenance.

Berd groggily staggers up her arm, onto her shoulder.  Beyond the ability to charm Berd, that is.

Charm is the wrong word, of course.  But it's more amusing that way.

Ganelon.  Carl Corey.  Forging of the weapons.  Vanishing from a locked room.  Grey eyes, flecked with silver.  More.

And as always, Amber at the center of the web.  We must travel there, it appears.  And soon.  The place she has wished to see for ages, since before this journey began.  The ultimate homeland for so many of those she knows - James, certain, Aaron and Dorian in part.  Jonnee had been changed by one of that place.

Berd gives a small chime, and commences to clean himself.  His eyes glitter in the dim light, faceted jewels lit from within.
This message was last edited by the player at 17:32, Tue 27 Feb 2007.

Roman awakes from a strange dream.  Maybe it would be as well to warn someone...I won't get back to sleep with this nagging at me.  Going back to his posessions he collects a small case, kindling a light before getting back into the bed.

From the case he draws a card, and stares intently at it...

Shape shifters. Silly, perhaps, this aversion she has to the concept. One of the group’s own, Roman, is one and none seem to have a problem with it. A new name, Devlin, apparently has the gift, too. Trista wishes she had paid more attention to the tales of her traveling father. Perhaps she’d understand more of this Oberon and shape shifters.

More revelations. Carl Corey vanishing from a locked room. She listens attentively as the seer questions the diviner. The waking Berd gathers her gaze with his sparkling eyes and cat-like ways.

"Vanished from a locked room?" Now Aaron smiled. "Palanquet - that is to say, Trump, or walking in a circle with the Pattern... hell, any multitude of ways to traverse the Myriad could have pulled this 'Carl Corey' out of that locked room."

"Curiouser and curioser, friends." He shifted his weight, considering all that had been said.

Berd yawns, stretches.  His mouth gapes wide, and he unfurls his wings, tail stiff and straight behind him.  Then the rigidity goes out of him, and he pools on Cyan's shoulder again.

"We know little of Ganelon's schemes." Parcifal states, his gaze travelling from face to face about the room.

"And now it would seem that Ganelon was not even his true name."

"He came here long ago...  It must be, what?  Ten centuries, Brother?"

"Aye, at least, though we've travelled about from time to time, so it's hard to be sure."

"That feels about right, though...  He spoke to us of hundreds of worlds, and a dream he had of forming an army to protect and police those worlds.  We already knew of a dozen other Charyks at that time, so none of his talk was that surprising to us.  He persuaded us that we were the best men to recruit and lead this army, and he started forging the weapons for us."

"He would disappear from time to time, and as it seems now, he may have been forging similar weapons for others during those times.  Then one day, he told us of this Ember, or Amber, as you call it.  He said it was a powerful threat to all we knew and loved, and needed to be thrown down, yet he could not prove it, at least not to our satisfaction."

"And so we refused to join his cause.  He tried to demand the weapons, after that, but we would not give them up... "

"And he got somewhat angry about that." Gawain interrupts, "Declared that he didn't need us, or them, anyway.  Perhaps because he knew he could steal others elsewhere?"

"Yes, and he had the nerve to threaten us... " chuckles Parcifal.  "Though so far his threats have come to naught."

Roman's lips move as he quietly speaks

Leareth's swat serves to wake Morgan, leaving a stunned expression on his face as he examines arms that had not been bruised when he entered the baths.

"Corwin's horns, what was that?" Morgan stands, fumbling himself into a set of loose trews and shirt. Every few seconds, he stares again at his arms, as if he can see the hand-prints through the sleeves.

He only half-hears Leareth's explanation, but slips into the hall, with no fanfare, but a small wave for those he recognizes.



Ahmad, meanwhile, is having a more enjoyable time. Pausing to let the tiny kit get firmly attached, he curls his tail just over Banglen-Yp's head, watching the results with amusement.

 

Strange names.

Strange places.

Strange happenings.

Not quite grasping the things that are going on, Banglen-Yp still listened to what was being said.  The Archon before has called them Defender of Worlds.  Now this.

She had set out to find other but found this instead.  The screen, however, had taught her that this was more important.  The need of many outweighs the need of one.

Keeping an eye on her latest friend, the ginger kitten, she laughed - quietly - as it clung to the tail that were lifted above her head.

For a moment she feels the itch to join the little one in its game, but decided that perhaps Ahmad would not quite appreciate if she bite his tail like the kitten did.

Instead she reached up to tickle the kitten where he was hanging, getting a mock angry growling mewl in response and a quick but dirty little glance, as if he asked what she was doing when he was about to defeat the big evil Fur Wyrm of the Big Hall.

 

Alone in his chamber, a blue light fades from before him. His eyes open. He reclines in a chair, disrupted by a messenger from the room below. The message, no more than he already knew. It was his habit to keep an eye on his surroundings while preparing his spells. Too many important things were likely to happen in his absence, that downstairs meeting being one of them.

Yet, he could not contribute his ideas to the discussion without attending. He gathered his cloak about him and stood. He would need to forgo even more sleep, but when called he would answer.

He emerged from the dark stairwell. His eyes sought Cyan first. He was glad. She looked like Cyan. That brought a small smile to his face. She still looked exhausted, though. He kept his distance, though, not for aversion, but respect. She had enough bodies about her right now.

"Ten centuries?" Dorian asks. It was roughly that long since he had left Samhain. "Those of Amber and the Courts live such long lives, and their offspring. One must wonder if you were not seeded on Charyk to form the head of such an army, then. Yet, the existence other brothers, each to their own Charyk, sound like regular denizens of the Myriad Worlds, reflecting each other. Perhaps this dream of policing the Myriad Worlds was merely a plot to get you to attack Amber, a righteous cause rather than a power-hungry coup is easier to swallow."

Amber would be the center of things, had it a choice. There are those who would claim it to be the most powerful place in the cosmos, but if Dorian had learned one thing in his journeys, there was always a bigger fish in the pond. If not, there was always another pond with bigger fish. The Archons were from another pond.

"It would seem to be a fine plan, to have powerful generals armed with powerful weapons to lead armies against Amber. I wonder if the Charyks form a road to Amber, or circle Amber in some way. Perhaps this Ganelon didn't merely find these places. That is just speculation, but it would seem odd to arm the generals before securing their loyalty. I suspect he had another plan. Perhaps he really meant to have protectors around these worlds, which would be oddly benevolent for an Amberite. As for the curse, it is reasonable that Ganelon would make his own weapon, too. Perhaps he merely wanted to be sure that his creations were not turned against him. That sounds like an Amberite, to me. Against the Archons, did they seem more effective in any way?"

There was a mystery to these weapons. What did Ganelon intend for them to be used for. The last question was a long shot, but they knew a traitor lie in Amber. Who know if this Ganelon was the traitor, too? The answer, he suspected, lie in the original purpose of the weapons. All they could assume of that purpose is that it was either to protect these worlds or to attack Amber.

"I trust Lady Tahirah. Amber is the next target. As for Amber, personally, I'd like to join the Archons in their seige. Yet, there are those who would say Amber contributes to the stability of the Myriad Worlds. Perhaps that is true. Perhaps not. I am more interested in what the Archons seek there. There is much easier territory to gain than Amber. Is it logical to attack that city now; or do they seek something else in that place? Either way, I think it is time we finally set path towards Amber and sought some answers."

He did not relish seeing Amber, or Fiona, again. It was a tough decision. He would follow the plan of the Questers, in this. He had only voiced what others had thought or voiced. He would put thoughts of his mother aside. He would have to do so.

He'd rather face Harbonah himself than go to Amber.

His eyes turned to Tahirah, now. This one had an amazing gift, and like so many others, she had been displaced from her home. What would she do now? He gave a polite nod of acknowledgement in the woman's direction. She seemed to be holding up well, considering such great loss.

As the other late-comer speaks, Morgan finds a grin twisting his lips. A rather good introduction to his own question.

 He stops, and leans against the wall to ask those gathered,  "Are those of Amber able to visit dreams? My ancestor Julian was gave me orders in mine, and the evidence on my body when I awoke shows it more real than I thought. For that, and other reasons, I would follow if any led there."

Morgan's sickly smile, and the hand prints on his now exposed arms express his ambivalent feelings about the dream. Or message.
This message was last edited by the player at 00:52, Fri 02 Mar 2007.

Aaron is right, of course. There are many ways for the powerful to disappear. That doesn’t make the reasons for the disappearance any less intriguing.


The brothers continue, Parcifal taking on the greater burden of explanations and histories. Morgan re-joins the group, the cats still play hunter and hunted, and soon Dorian appears within their circle. The man speaks with authority and an understanding that bespeaks of his formidable knowledge. His presence is strangely reassuring.

Trista’s brows frown at the marks now apparent on Morgan’s body. If she had woken from strange dreams marked by the hands of a dead ancestor, she would be more alarmed than this man seems to be. “What were the exact orders Julian gave you?”

All roads lead to Amber… no doubt.

Morgan's bow is sketchy. More an impression than an action.  "Find the traitor. Stop him before he kills everyone. I'm afraid he was a bit sparse about the details."

Looking again at Aaron, Morgan firms himself, and repeats his support. "So I'm with Aaron on going to Amber. Hopefully soon. He did not look well, and you fellows said he guards the land routes. "


Still dangling the kitten over Banglen, Ahmad looked interested at the discussion, as did Leareth, trailing Morgan.

"We have always been here." Gawain says, taking over from his brother, "And such lifespans as ours are certainly not usual among our people.  The oldest of them reach an age of, perhaps, a hundred years.  Most die much younger."

"We, on the other hand, aged normally until we were in our twenties, and far more slowly since then.  As far as we can tell, our parents lived perfectly normal lives, and were both dead of old age before we were even reached our first century.  Once we built this fortress, we moved their remains from the old graveyard, perhaps three miles from here, into the crypts beneath us."

"It would seem that we are subject to a very strange blessing.  Or curse."  This time it is Parcifal's turn to interrupt.

"Cedric, a historian, speculated some years ago that the weapons might have prolonged our lives... but even if that were the case, we were already much older than anybody else when Ganelon first came to us."

Tahirah listens quietly.  Morgans words are interesting - ancestors, when James refers to aunts and uncles.  With such lifespans, it makes sense to be one and the same.  How old, she wonders, is James?  It doesn't even occur to her to question the reality behind the dream.

Dorians words are more interesting...to join a conversation with replies to what has gone before.  She smiles a bit to herself.  He has more than sharp ears, she's sure.  Another thing he shares with her previous Lords, but he does not seem to possess their selfishness, or their almost incidental cruelties...

"He looked unwell?" she asks, of Morgan.  "The poison set to the heart of Amber bears entropy; dissolution through disorder.  If it has already begun, their time may indeed be short."

Roman frowns

"If Julian is already hard-pressed in Arden, you may be sure of it.  Entropy and disorder makes it sound like the Courts are attacking, no offence Roman.  But if it is the Archons then I would worry less for Julian and more for Gerard."

"The forest of Arden will limit the Archons effectiveness from the air, but Amber's navy would struggle to make an impact on an enemy that doesn't need ships."

James is troubled.  For some time now he had been urging a return to Amber.  But if they are under attack any warning is irrelevant and, even after the current conversation, James feels no closer to identifying the traitor.
"Sod it.  I wish I could help more.  But Bleys only described my family members, if indeed it is one of the family who's a traitor.  And much of that escapes me.  I was kind of overwhelmed by all that was happening.  He even made a point of avoiding meeting people at the time."

Forging armies.  Policing worlds.  It would seem this Ganelon's wishes reached very far afield.  Cyan considers the idea, and wonders if it was not simply a good idea taken to a foolish extreme.

But no - interfering in the business of other worlds?

And now Dorian enters.  She hears him before he does, and fingers the cloak she still wears.  He slips through the door, a dark shadow, and offers her a quick, rare smile.  She returns it, but he hangs back, leaving her with Aaron and Berd.  Curious.

His words make sense.  'Establish a moral cause'.  The words of the Sage on warfare.  But he brings more questions, and Cyan believes she may, MAY have the answer to one.

Not yet, though.  Others speak.  She tries to capture Dorian's eye with her own, amber orbs, and motions with her head, removing the cloak.  Berd protests, crawls about her shoulders to get comfortable again, then settles down.

More discussion.  The Catlord, Morgan, comes forth with a dream, possibly sent to him by Julian, one of the few royalty of Amber Cyan has met.  Trista inquires of the exact orders - a wise precaution.  Find the traitor and slay him or her.  Easier said than done, but necessary.

Aaron is right, of course. There are many ways for the powerful to disappear. That doesn’t make the reasons for the disappearance any less intriguing.

Tahirah speaks of a sickness at Amber's heart, a sickness of Entropy.  Finally, Cyan sees an opportunity to speak.

"I have some thoughts," she begins, hesitant at first.  "Both are old ones, but worth repeating.  One is information, the other conjecture.  First, regarding this sickness - the palanquet of Amber, that which many name Trump, have been infected with something Fiona termed a 'virus'.  Indeed, we have watched one combust.  They breakdown, they no longer function, they burn.  This means that a connection to something vital is being disrupted in Amber."

She does not speak of the Underflow - not yet.  Later.

"The second is the purpose of the Archons.  We have...made attempts in the past to discern what it might be.  Here, I offer a single guess.  Berd?"

The little drake complains, then slowly stands.  His mouth opens and he breathes out a glittering cloud...a cloud that expands from glittering particles to a slowly, rotating elipse of tiny lights, hanging within the dimly lit room.  Cyan steps forward, under it, and points.

"These are the Myriad Worlds."  Her finger moves to one end of the ellipse.  "This is the pole of Chaos."  That end brightens, red and baleful.  Her finger shifts to point up at the other pole.  "This is the pole of Order.  Berd?  The Worlds."  Tiny, ugly green lights begin to appear upon the 'starfield'.  They begin in the middle, and slowly begin to work their ways toward the poles, almost in a direct line.  "In most of the Worlds conquered by the Archons, an 'Orb' is emplaced.  Sometimes it is placed directly upon that World's Broken Pattern.  Sometimes not, presumably when the Broken Pattern cannot be easily located.  These Orbs drain the life from the world itself, and pass it on to...an unknown place.  They intensify the Breaks within the Broken Patterns."  She turns back to face Aaron.  "Aaron understands more of this than I.  But I shall continue."

She waves a hand at the image, and it shifts, closing in upon a single world.  "When enough energy is drawn from a world, when the Breaks are large enough, it grows thin.  Decay begins to settle in.  The world's laws crumble.  It grows mutable, and eventually falls to pieces."  The golden globe darkens, then shatters.

Cyan slowly turns in place, to stare at the others.  "We have seen the lands in which the Archons are most comfortable.  Places of no physical laws - this is where the Nephillim dwell, beyond a gateway in a church we discovered.  Could it be that the Archons wish to revert the myraid worlds to a broken mixture, with no barriers between the Worlds, no laws to restrict them?"

She points to the line, strung nearly from one end of the Myriad Worlds to another.  "This represents worlds upon which Berd has sensed the presense of Archons and their works.  You see there are some outliers, but for the main, they form a near-complete bridge between Order and Chaos.  I have heard tell of 'short-circuits' from others I have known, Jonnee Kay being one.  What might happen should this connection of Breaks, from Broken Pattern to Broken Pattern, leading from Logrus to Grand Pattern, be achieved?"

She points to Amber again.  "And energy is drawn from the Orbs.  What might occur to the Myriad Worlds, all of them, should an Orb be emplaced upon the Grand Pattern of Amber itself?  What sort of power might be acquired in the thieving of its strength?"

Finished, now, Cyan steps back to see the result of her words.
This message was last edited by the player at 03:28, Sat 03 Mar 2007.