"Good morning, Chance.  One can always hope."  Cyan is a little nervous around the man - he had formed an opinion of her as she was before, not as she is now.  It worries her, what he must think, but regardless, she can only do her best.

Tahirah's answer makes sense, and she comes back with a question of her own.  Cyan's mouth quirks, and she slowly stands to answer.  The bard rubs her forehead, nods, then begins.

"From what I comprehend of the Broken God, it was once a power creature discovered by the Archons, uncountable years ago.  Subjectively speaking."  In some places in the Myriad Worlds, no doubt that had been yesterday.  The thought makes her head hurt.  "When they discovered it, it had already been shattered, presumably in some kind of titanic conflict.  Pieces of the Broken God were cast through the Myriad Worlds, to fall hither and yon.  Many more parts of the body were left at the scene of the...battle?  And yes, a being, weakened and crippled from its own conflicts, conflicts long over, had discovered the Broken God, and began to feed upon it."

She turns and looks directly at Trista's chair, where Berd begs to be held.  The little dragon ceases his games and hops up to the back of the chair, where he stairs at the group with glittering eyes.  Distended stomach aside, his bearing is no longer comical, nor that of an animal or pet.  He shifts to get more comfortable, bobs his head like a snake toward Cyan.  She gives a slight bow back, then continues.

"The fragments of the Broken God seem to have the capacity to press aside the use of power.  It feels like a weight, coming down upon all of those who hold the Greater and lesser forces within themselves, then the ability to call upon such forces is extinguished.  This seems to be a natural effect, but with a brief ritual, the piece can be...excited further, and its reach grows greater.  The larger the piece, the further its touch.  What was done so recently in the Other Charyk, was done with a single drop of blood, still wet after untold aeons."

Cyan lets that sink in before continuing.  "The quest encounted in the past a face, perhaps the face of the Broken God.  It and it alone held the spirit of the creature - or so I assume.  A leather mask made of its skin -"  Cyan swallows at the memory "- it spoke of aeons of torment in this terrible form.  Its name was Tiphereth.  We released it from its agony."  She pauses.  "And...there was an arm.  An arm covered in a pattern similar, I am told, to the Grand Pattern of Amber.  That," she says, shame entering her tone, "is in the hands of the Enemy now, I fear."

Tahirah offers further advice regarding dealing with the nobility of Amber.  It seems sound enough, though Cyan will leave such things to others.  She has no skill or patience with politricks, as she likes to name them.  It often frustrates Berd...or it did, before (how easy it is to forget!), but Cyan has never been as subtle as the drake.

"I would be more than pleased to convey a message to Caine from you, Jonnee."  Cyan bows.  "And for the two of you, as well, my lords.  Indeed, if you can describe your Ganelon in great detail to me, I can sketch a design of him, one that may match quite well the sight.  Perhaps it is a guise used before by someone the Royalty knows."  Her lips quirk, slightly.  "Perhaps I might also sketch yourselves, that I may forge a palanquet of each of you in the future...though I suspect I will be kept very busy with the Questors, for a time."

Roman brings up some interesting points about his heritage, and the poor feelings that might occur in Amber...and back at his home.  Cyan nods.  "I do not think any would like to see you injured, Sir Roman.  Perhaps we can agree to keep your identity a secret, though that might prove difficult.  I have met Princess Fiona, for example - she has means of ferreting out the truth.  But we should certainly do our best.  Nobody here, I am certain, would wish to see harm come to you and yours - it would be a cruel thing for you to be punished for assisting in this matter!"

At the mention of the Broken God, two sets of eyes fix on Cyan, before the Brothers go into a brief, quiet discussion.

She finishes speaking, then, "The name you mentioned is... interesting, to say the least." Parcifal finally states, his voice flat, calm.  "Broken God is certainly one of our counterparts from that other Charyk, it would seem.  Tiphereth was, or rather is, our family name, though it is long since any have used it, including us."

Tahirah considers Roman's words briefly.  This Amber place seems to have had trouble with traitors before.  She wonders if they handled the last one with the same kind of brutal hush he suggested this one might be, and if so, how he knew about it.

She listens more intently to Cyan, and then leans back slightly in her seat as Parcifal speaks.  She was good at projecting an, I thought as much, kind of attitude, but it was satisfying to have actually thought as much.

"The Brother of the Staff," she confirms.  "That is why you were led to the Staff; it is not intended as a weapon against the Seraphim.  It remains to complete its curse."  Turning towards Jonnee, she says, "It was needed to bring the pieces together, during the attack, before it fulfilled its purpose.  Despite the advantages inherent in the many rods, it may be imperative they be kept close."

It felt a little bit sacreligious, offering advice on finishing out the destruction of one of the Brothers from her own Charyk's history...but from what Cyan said, it seemed it would be giving release, to both him and, perhaps, the Staff.  To say nothing of saving other worlds from a destruction more complete than that met by her Charyk...

To think, that was what counted for a victory.

Nearly an hour later, Dorian's return is announced by soft footsteps. He emerges with his black cloak trailing him down the stairs. His hood is down. Physically, he looks unchanged, but his demeanor is stonier than it had been an hour ago.

He surveyed the Questors, pondering the information laid before him. Of course, he had kept an eye on the conversation while he excused himself physically from the conversation, and he doubted any of those who knew him would expect less.

He turns to the Lords of Charyk and says, "If the lords will allow me to speculate on the matter, it would seem Charyk could perhaps have been as great a pole in reality as Amber and the Courts of Chaos, if only in the past. That, of course, does not fade easily and Charyk would still play an important role in the cosmos. Just as Amber has its golden circle of similar Amber-like worlds, one would speculate that the True Charyk casts reflections like ripples in a pond, as well. The exhibited power and resilience of this Broken God and the weapons all contribute to that, as well as the strange nature of reality found in the worlds around Charyk. If this is the case, and it is merely my speculation, one must wonder at the source of Charyk's strength. Amber has its Great Pattern, the Courts have the thing called Logrus--footprints of the cosmos, as it were. It seems odd that such a place appeared unnoticed among both Amber and the Courts for so long, yet I would think it more likely many in both places knew of it and kept it secret for their own purposes, waiting for a chance to wield it as a weapon--or as a shield. Carl Corey visited, and James believes this may have been an Uncle. Such is evidence that at least some knew of Charyk. We, of course, have no way to be sure if the Charyk we defended was the True Charyk or if it is another or this one."

The last sentence was added for the benefit of the brothers. While he believed all things were as real as all other things, even if some showed more power than others did, he didn't want to offend the Lords by implying their Charyk was less important than another was. He believed, however, that the Charyk the defended would be the True Charyk.

"It is speculation, of course. It could merely be that that the Charyks are simply stronger than other worlds around them, and that they have unusual properties, folding other worlds into them and making reality malleable. Yet, my experience is that when something is strengthened in power, something must have strengthened it."

There were many answers. That made him wary. So far, on this quest, answers had usually meant they were being mislead, or misleading themselves. However, things did seem to be coming together more than before.

Metatron had lead them to Charyk, and it had been profitable in many ways. How much of this did Metatron foresee? Was there more to discover in Charyk? He had searched it well before the battle, finding no evidence of things of power beyond the weapons.

"Jonnee--I wonder if you would permit me to have one of the weapon fragments you secured, for study?"


He did not sit with the others again. Instead, he stood off to a side, imperious like an eagle perched on a tree that watched from a distance. His eyes turned to Cyan and lingered for a moment longer than normal.
This message was last edited by the player at 12:19, Wed 28 Mar 2007.

"One can always hope," Chance agrees and turns away from Cyan, back to his food.

That was a step up from, there's no saving the universe going on here, he thought. One can always hope we don't harbor the enemy's general within our midst, too. He exhaled deeply, almost a sigh, and then went back to eating. The advice that one should just keep one's mouth shut always came too late to Chance's mind, and he often regretted it. Perhaps he was lucky this time. So what if Cyan were still the General? He could only earn the animosity of Berd and the others if he voiced that. It was best merely to be cautious, since he did not lead the group and was still a newcomer among them.

"I haven't seen Luke. Does anyone know what happened to him... did he...?"
This message was last edited by the player at 06:22, Wed 28 Mar 2007.

Tiphereth - their family name.  Two brothers, one of whom raised a weapon against the other, a weapon that was shattered into thousands of pieces in an eruption that slew the brother.  A weapon that struck out against the Broken God without instruction, struck out against the one who had violated its geas, caused the destruction of both weapon and wielder.

Tahirah's World was the birthplace of the Broken God.

She slowly sits.  After what seemed to be years upon this trail, finally pieces began to fall into place.  Two brothers fight.  One of them breaches a curse and is shattered, along with his weapon.  Berd discovers the fragments, the Archons shortly thereafter.

But the power....

"Yes," she says quietly, after Tahirah's words.  "The pieces must be kept together for the moment.  They may need to oppose their former owner - the Broken God."  She stares at Gawain and Parcifel, and wonders if they hold the same potency as the Broken God.  Or are they the reflections?

Dorian, now, with his own outlook upon the situation.  Of course he listened - had there been any doubt?  And, as usual, his rapier-keen mind sees a path through the confusion of politics and plotting.  It makes sense.  It fits.  It may not be correct, and that is a danger (to build upon fallacy is to create a waiting disaster), but she trusts his acumen.  The analysis seems sound.

Berd, pawing cautiously at Trista's shoulder, glances up at the mention of Luke.

"No problemo on keeping the parts of the Staff together... I was planning on giving the weapons to one regiment of brints.  An elite force, see?  Keep them as a single team, all trained together.  Figured I'd... I'd... what's the word?" he thinks for a moment, but doesn't stop eating.

"Deploy!  Yes...  Figured I'd deploy them as a long-range weapons unit, and put them where they can have a clear shot right across a battlefield.  Ah... just realised something.  Ech'hisst!"

The brintizzi officer moves closer, gleaming scales catching the morning light filtering in through the high windows, and Jonnee enters into a brief, whispered conversation with the creature.  Finally he says, "That'd be okay?"  Ech'hisst dips his head, and Jonnee grins, "Excellent!" and just barely keeps himself from slapping the brintizzi on the back.

He turns back to the others present, "Okay, seems I can keep the weapons as a single batch, but I'll have to train two regiments to use them.  Then they take it in turns, so the same regiment isn't always stuck on the sidelines, using the Death Rays, while all their buddies are involved in honorable hand-to-hand fighting."

"So, yeah, they'll be kept together."

Trista reaches for Berd with whispered words, “You don’t need my permission, Little Wing.” She helps him to a comfortable spot on her shoulder, grimacing at his still-extended belly.

Information swirls about the group, connections meld, and a better picture emerges. It’s still blurry in places, but what the others have been contributing to the conversation begins to make sense to Trista. The man with the guitar shows up with his easy gait and amiable banter and soon Dorian appears again, focusing the picture even better.

As far as Trista knows, all of the Questers are sitting in this room save for James’ Merideth. The woman’s gifts would certainly add further clarity to the situation.

Dorian moves across the room, as he listens to the others. He finds a seat closer to Cyan and the others. .

Chance expression grows more solemn. He returns to eating.

Roman  muses on the revelations.  Is the Staff-weapon's power against the Broken God in part or whole a product of the curse on the weapon ?  If so, the weapon might not be usefully duplicated.

Dorian's speculations are interesting, but probably untrue.  And that may be fortunate for the sorceror.  If Charyk were a centre of Power it has been kept very secret.  The guardians of that secret would not like the prying sorcerors investigating it.

He stands to speak.  "The man who created Sword and Staff is still a mystery.  It appears that he was an Adept of great power, but his motivations and purposes are still hidden.  He may even be the traitor in Amber.  The Nephilim might know more - if he had Archons working with him, some of these matters may be known to them.  Perhaps even information that would let us uncover his true identity.  If any of us has a means of contacting the Nephilim, I propose that they do so"

With that, he moves towards the fireplace and Banglen-Yp.  Smiling, he tells her.  "A human needs more sustenance than a kitten does.  Why don't you come and eat some more ?"  He moves to put an arm around her and guide her over to the table, if she will allow it.

 

Looking up at Roman as he spoke to her, Banglen-Yp smiled and put a finger to her lips and then pointed to the sleeping kitten.

She nodded and allowed him to guide her to a table, although for a moment it looked as if she was considering this to be comparable to a kiss or not.  However, no slap or anything else but the smile was seen as she gently places the kitten in a little pocket inside the leather jacket.

The pocket appeared to fit the kitten perfectly, as if made for it.

•• Yes • I • sup•pose • I • can • eat • a • lit•tle • more ••

A simple and straightforward statement, with the voice kept low as to not disturb her little sleeping feline friend.

•• How • are • you • to•day • fri•end • Ro•man ••

Certainly a question and aimed at the man whose name she mentioned.

 

Roman sits down beside Banglen-Yp and suggests a few dishes, speaking quietly.  "I'm well enough.  You and your little friend seem to be in fine form.  Do you intend to take him with you, or find a safe home for him here ?"

 

•• Yes • we • are • fine • thank • you •• He • is • ti•red • now • though ••

A straightforward statement and she lightly stroke the outside of her leather jacket where there was a little lump, caused by the sleeping kitten on the other side of the clothing that had came out of nowhere to cover her before anyone actually had seen anything exhorbitant.

•• He • wish•es • to • ac•com•pan•y • me ••

A plain explanation without hesitation, coupled with a smile that seemed happy in a different way from before, perhaps emotionally deeper.

•• He • is • still • vul•ner•ab•le • ev•en • though • he • is • the • old•er • one ••

A cryptic statement and the a soft, quiet laughter before she began to eat the suggested dishes.

•• How • old • are • you ••

A question came in-between feeding and she looked at Roman curiously.

 

Roman answers, still quietly "I'm sure he does.  But it may be best not to give him what he wants. It will be very dangerous for him. He would be far safer here."

And to her second query "Oh, I'm still very young for a Chaos Lord.  A few years past 60, as we measure time."

 

•• So • would • you • be • Chaos • Lord •• Will • you • stay ••

Banglen-Yp seemed almost amused when she asked this, but then she shook her head.

•• We • have • bond•ed • now ••

A mysterious statement and a mysterious smile to match it.

•• You • are • ol•der • than • us • but • youn•ger • than • I ••

A rather cryptic statement and then she resumed eating, seemingly nearly unsatiable.

•• I • like • to • chew • on • crunch•y • stuff ••

A pause in the eating to make yet another curious statement.

 

"I am a Chaos Lord, and I will be going with the others.  For all the problems it might cause me.  This is crunchy"  He passes some celery stalks over, wondering if her relationship with the kitten means that she is no longer vegetarian.

 

Looking at the offered piece of food, Banglen-Yp took it and bit off a piece.

Then she grinned.

•• Not • like • rock • but • Oh • Kay ••

A rather happy statement.

Tilting her head to the side she studied Roman for a moment while eating the celery.

•• What • is • a • Chaos • Lord • then ••

A question, indubitably.

 

With a sinking feeling Roman tries to explain "The Chaos Lords - and Ladies - are the members of the ruling houses of the Courts of Chaos, the nobility.  We are all shapeshifters, as are many other creatures of Chaos, demons and the like.  But we have a special connection ot the thing named the Logrus, which is the power underlying our Pole of reality.  Before the creation of Amber, all the worlds took their shape from us.  By the power of the Logrus I travel the worlds, although it has other uses, too"

 

Banglen-Yp nodded and listened, smiling mysteriously.  Then she spoke a question.

•• De•mons • are • from • Cha•os • so • are • you • like • a • de•vil • or • De•mon • Lord ••

She seemed perfectly serious and continued to look at Roman with the same smile.

 

Roman looks around.  "I don't even know what a devil is.  Gabe said something about deevils but I don't know what they are either.  Are they the same thing as devils ?"
"Demons are just the err, lower orders around the Courts.  Creatures of chaos, but generally not at all human and with no link to the Logrus.  Some of them make good servants or pets - they aren't all, what you'd call intelligent."

 

With a sinking feeling Banglen-Yp tried to explain.

•• De•vils • com•mand • De•mons •• De•mons • are • where • I • came • from • ev•il • be•ings • that • live • in • Hell • and • loves • cha•os •• Bad • mean • and • likes • to • tor•ture • and • kill ••

She was not certain what this Chaos was but it sounded like part of what she had learnt from The Screen about Hell and Demons and Devils.

 

Roman shakes his head.  "No, I don't know this 'Hell' and most of our demons aren't that bad.  A lot of them look scary but that's all.  You must be thinking of somewhere else - somewhere in the world you came from or nearby."

 

With a happy smile Banglen-Yp made a simple statement.

•• Oh • Kay ••

Then she peeked inside the jacket and pointed to the little kitten.

•• I • will • feed • him • and • make • him • big • be•fore • mak•ing • him • part • of • me •• But • first • I • want • some • more • cel•er•y ••

A definitive statement, if odd, while her lips were being licked and a strange smile sat on her pretty face.

 

Roman just shakes his head and passes some more celery A part of...?  Maybe she is a demon after all.  Or a devil.  She said she was vegetarian so I don't think that she means eating....No nothing so...simple