Morning, and the sun is well up by the time the Questors, newly named "The Defenders of Worlds" stir from their beds.  Well fed, bathed, and rested, they rise later than would be usual, after a night disturbed only by the occasional odd dream.

Parcifal and Gawain are nowhere to be seen, though the servants are happy to supply the information (without being asked, in some cases) that their Lords are currently out in the forest, seeing to the welfare of the refugees.  Beyond the walls of the fortress, it seems, areas of the forest are being set aside for building, and to provide lumber for new houses.

The troops from the other Charyk, remembering that their primary duty, the one which most of them signed up for, is the protection of the populace from any harm, are keen to help out in any way they can.  Some remain in the makeshift camp, organising work details, maintaining order, and tending to the sick and injured.  Others help with the cutting and movement of timber.  A few profess to construction skills, and set to work on the building of houses.

The heroes of Charyk find themselves gathered in the great hall once more, where breakfast is prepared for them.

Trista, for her part, had risen early. She’s accustomed to long days and short nights. She filled her morning with a need to begin her training again: a long run and a series of exercises to keep her muscles strong. Her morning run brought her outside the fortress, and she saw the areas for expansion. The areas set aside for life anew. A rebuilding.

Good. Their spirits are strong.

She’s glad to see the new denizens of New Charyk were not going to wallow in their losses, but were rising to the occasion and tackling life head on. The older populace of this new home work along side them, happily admitting them to their numbers.

After her sunrise exercise, Trista bathes off the sweat and climbs into her standard fair of low jeans and a short tee shirt. The usual pack resides on her back and the blade straps to her thigh. She may be the first in the Great Hall, but she waits on picking at the food until more come.

Instead, she takes out her small leather-bound book, and pens some thoughts.

Cyan has her own, personal alarm clock, of course.  As usual, she is rousted from her sleep by Berd, who simply crawls over and lays down in the warm spot left by her shift to a seated posture.  She pauses a moment to stare at the little drake, and the gleaming sliver of one eye, partly open, as it regards her.

It all seems...unreal.  Everything.  Her past time with the Seraphim still burns at the forefront of her mind, and to wake her, rather than there, covered in sweat and gasping....

She rubs her face, breathes out a shuddering breath.  Then, as the sun begins to rise outside, Cyan finds herself an empty tower-top, far from others, and greets an old acquaintance.  An hour of practice with the heavy, brutal blade, and she knows one thing has not changed since long, long ago.  She despises it.  Into its sheath it goes, locked home near the hilt, where the blade is no longer sharp.

"Left.  Right."  Ever obedient, the two Archons rise before her.

+ YES, GENERAL? +

Left is silent.  She has picked up something, perhaps from Cyan's mood, perhaps from the long discussion last night.

"I require a favour of you," Cyan states, knowing full well they will regard this as an order.  So be it.  "I need you to find the Nephillim.  Speak with them.  Present yourselves, inform them - very quickly! - of your alligience to me.  Then I order you to work with them, in whatever capacity they require."

More silence.  Right hovers, his multicoloured 'body' catching the light a thousand ways.  Left blends with the morning sun.  + HAVE WE DISPLEASED, GENERAL? +

+ NO.  THE GENERAL WISHES US TO LEARN SOMETHING.  IS THAT NOT CORRECT, GENERAL? +

Cyan sighs.  "To that I say both yea and nay, Left.  I need to have people with the nephillim, with whom I hold contact.  Whom I trust.  Do you understand?  I need this."  The Archons waver in the air, considering, and expand slightly.  "Yes, I hope you learn from them.  But more importantly, this is necessary for my war."

+ TACTICALLY, IT MAKES PERFECT SENSE +

+ IT ALSO REMOVES A PAIR OF DIFFICULT ALLIES? +

Cyan's sapphire eyes flare.  "Never.  I would never toss friends aside for the opinions of others.  I trust you.  I care for you."  She chooses words Archons would understand, as always tailoring her speech for the listener.  "You are mine, and I will never give you up!  Ever!"

Right swells further.  Left dances for a moment.  + YOU HAVE MY LOYALTY, GENERAL.  FOR YOU, I WILL DO THIS. +

+ AND I.  THOUGH I WOULD RATHER HAVE STAYED TO OBSERVE THE CHANCE.  AND THE OTHERS +

Cyan closes her eyes.  She had not considered it would be so easy...or so hard, simultaneously.  "Stay, then, until we go.  Stay with me, for a little while longer.  I will make of you both palanquet, that I may bespeak you, and this is not forever."  She moves to the battlements, stares down at the work already commencing far below.  It never ceases to amaze her, the resiliance of people everywhere.  She sees a woman, far below, on a run around the walls - the clothing is quite different from the norm, here.  Trista.  "I have lost much and gained much upon this quest," Cyan whispers.  "I have no wish to lose more."

The sun slowly rises before them.  Cyan watches it as it crawls up the sky, a ball of fire.  A ring of flame.  She shivers.  "...beautiful."  Perhaps the beauty is lost upon Left and Right.  Perhaps, after a fashion, it is not.  Whatever the case, they remain silent.

Downstairs, Berd finally crawls from the bed, and slowly flaps out of the room in search of breakfast.  He finds the great hall and, to his delight, both food and a friend, both.  Chirping pleasantly, he flutters over to land on the back of Trista's chair, glances at her writing then, realizing it is private, looks to the food with a low, hungry growl.

Dorian is downstairs early, though fatigue shows on his features more than rest, still. He pushes the fatigue aside, as is his habit. The spells he has prepared matter more than the rest, and now he is well prepared. He sits and pulls his cloak about him, not eating just yet. He eats light, when he does eat. Berd is here, already looking for food. That means Cyan is okay. Good.

"Save some for the others," he says to Berd, with only a hint of playfulness. For Dorian, a hint is all there ever is, but is enough for those who know him.

He found himself anxious to be on the road again. It would be refreshing.

He looked at the food again. Somehow, it didn't interest him.

Glancing at Trista, his eyes linger on the writing for a moment, not reading but thinking. "Journal?" he asks. He had known others who kept journals.

Roman allows himself the luxury of sleeping in a little.  With the power of the Logrus he obtains fresh garments.   Then breakfast.  The battle used a lot of energy.  Time to refuel.

Arriving in the great hall, he wastes no time in setting to the meal.

Tahirah declines a room in the tower, instead rejoining the refugees of Charyk outside.  Before she finds sleep, she has a few quiet words with a few selected people from the populace.  When she does find sleep, it is in one of the tents, owned by a young couple who insist she accept the privacy of it for the night.

When she awakens, she spends some time with her cards before exiting.  Not casting readings, but placing them into different arrangements, contemplating the runes...

Within their tent, as she works, she rummages just a bit, and finds some food.  It's nothing particularly tasty; dried staples.  The sorts of things a couple might grab quickly while fleeing a falling tower into the unknown...but nutritious enough, quickly and lastingly filling.  She claims a portion for herself, leaving another small coin in its place.

Eventually, she draws her hood back up, and climbs gracefully outside.  Giving brief thanks for the use of the tent, she makes her way back towards the small tower, to find and rejoin these Questors...

The Hall, of course, is the logical place to start, and so only one who didn't take time to think would be surprised that she seems to walk straight to them.  On her arrival, she gives a small bow at the doorway.  Then she glides up to the table and draws out a chair quietly, sitting down in silence, her sleeves folded within each other in her lap.

Morgan is up early, more mundane nightmares wearing his uncle's face made for an unpleasant night.  His friends had eventually gotten bored at playing spy, one by one, and most are in the forest, together hunting a slightly different breakfast than the humans would be having.

Finding the company pleasant seeming, he comes to a halt some feet behind Tahirah, dropping a bow from out of her sight. It was more for fun than  flourish, and put  mild cheer into his voice as he greeted the others. "Good morn. "

With a scuffing of walking boots on the stony stairs, Cyan hurries down through the archway into the room, hair disheveled over her amber eyes.  People have already arrived; Trista, Dorian, Roman, Tahirah, Morgan...some she knows, some she knows well, some she knows little of at all.  Offering a quick smile to Dorian, she gives each of the others a short bow.  "Good morning."  Her voice is clearer this morning, with less bite from a scoured throat.

Trista is writing in a book, which reminds her...she has palanquet to make.  Berd may be able to assist with that, or perhaps not.  All she can see of the little beast is his tail, sticking out from under Trista's chair.  No doubt he has dragged a plate in after him.

She uncertainly moves to the food, and picks over what she can find.  Some bread, fruits, vegetables.  Sufficient, for the nonce; loading them on a plate, she picks out a chair near Trista and Dorian, flashes a quick smile to the rest of the room and begins to eat.

"It is indeed," Dorian says to her Good Morning. He never handled spoken greetings well. The words often seemed like excess stones one had to carry around in one's pockets, kept polished to show to others. Of course, he understood them, it was the use of them and responding to them that often slipped past him. He returns her smile, but it is brief and mechanical--unquestionably sincere, but forged in conscious effort rather habit and instinct.

He nods in greeting to Tahira, adding a slight forward bow to the gesture. Others were at the table now, so he proceeded to eat. They were traveling, and he preferred to start a journey with a light meal. He avoided fruit, as usual for an early meal. Early meals, or breakfast, were uncommon on Samhain, so he had never found them appealing.

 

As Roman sits down at the table he felt two savages predators assault his little piggies under the table just before they crawled up the legs of his pants with the aid of their sharp little claws.

There they stood, one on each leg, looking up at him and letting out a pitiful mewl that suggested that he better feed them or else he would have no piggies left by the time he finished breakfast.

One of the kittens, the one on the left, looks particularly amused and full of mischief as it studies him.

 

A little while after the majority of the group have settled to breakfast, a man in dressed in the crimson and black uniform of the castle's senior servants enters the hall.  He wears a cloak, indicating that he has been outside this morning.

Pausing, he assesses those present, and then, unsure exactly which of them is in charge, he addresses the room in general.

"Noble guests, I have been asked to impress upon you with, utmost clarity, that there is, in point of fact, absolutely no urgency in the following request... "

"The Lords Parcifal and Gawain have asked that when, and only when, you have eaten your fill, and are ready to depart, they should like to speak to all of you, before you leave."  He bows, deep, and backs away, to a respectable distance, where he waits to lead the guests to their hosts.  In their own time, of course.

With a nod, Morgan accepts the servant's message, and takes a seat by Roman. The sound of mewling kitten had attracted his curiosity.  "Recruiting your own company , Roman?"  He asks, winking at the three of them.

Roman simply nods in response to Cyan's greeting, still not certasain of the woman.Could it really be so easy ?  Even if the Seraphim expected victory they still might have taken precautions, laid traps in her mind.

When the kittens pounce Roman looks down. He soon recognises the first kitten, but where did the second come from ?  Realising he sighs, and starts to drop suitable food down to the two little cats.

James belatedly arrives.  Seeing most of the group already assembled, he looks a little sheepish.  "First to want to leave, last down for breakfast.  Typical, isn't it?"  He hurriedly fills a plate and sets to with a will, as though he is determined to catch up.

OOC: Sorry, have to head off to work.  I'll hopefully post something more substantial this evening.

Trista’s eyes brighten at Berd’s approach. “Good morning, Little Wing,” the sobriquet spoken aloud only because the rest of the group is not to be found, yet. Her pen halts midair as she watches him land on her chair, glad of his company.


Dorian makes his way into the Great Hall moments after Berd’s attentions draw to the food at hand. Her eyes draw up to him after his wry comment to Berd, “Have I made the mistake of telling him he should eat his fill?” There’s humor lacing her voice; it is a good morning for the normally sullen woman.

She notices the man’s eyes in the direction of her writing, but does not move to immediately cover it up. She nods to his inquiry, “Yes, of a sorts. Ideas, thoughts, questions. With a few bad drawings and,” a vexed look tugs at her eyes, “very bad poetry.” At least she knows she’s not a poet.

As others gather, Trista closes the book and slips it and the pen into her pack. She takes a plate and gathers bits and pieces of food, her choices based on nutrition and need. She nods greetings to each as they pull up to the table.

As they eat and kittens play, Trista turns to Cyan with open and clear eyes, “I hope you slept well,” sincerity and concern for Berd’s daughter.

She listens to the man announcing the Brothers’ wishes and wonders if that is a nudge to get them moving even through his politeness. The woman is ready to depart when the others are since all her possessions reside on her back.

Their group is almost complete when James enters. “Not to worry, you’re not quite last.” Her good humor still taints her voice.

 

At Morgan's comment the "new" kitten looks up at him and appeared to laugh, somehow, but then, as Roman started to feed them, it vanished down on the floor with the other kitten and began to feed.

Soon they seemed to have had their fill and ran of under the tables, playing catch around the legs of both furniture and people and generally having a good time by the looks of it.

Despite this, the newest kitten appeared to also pay attention to the others as well as the man who had came with the announcement.

 

Dorian pauses a moment, his eyes full of thought. Games of humor and teasing were also new to him, but he decided it was worth a try, like testing the waters with a single toe before deciding if one should enter. His voice was its usual tight rasp. "If you tell him that, I fear he will be a bigger threat than the Archons; he'll soon eat his way from the Courts of Chaos to Amber." Should he really struggle for such things? He should merely be himself. No one would ask more. This, was not so much striving for change, as experimenting with something he had long observed, but rarely tried.

He nods appreciatively at her comment about her writings, thoughts and drawings. "Bad poetry--I had my fill of it where I came from, actually. It is something of an art."

However, when she speaks to Cyan, he acquires a pensive look. I hope you slept well. So that was how it was done. A statement. A hope. But really, a question. It was exactly what he had struggled to say to Cyan, but failed, at a loss for the correct phrasing beyond the raw question. Something in the question had felt wrong to him, and he had let it drop. Trista, however, managed to do it perfectly. It was too simple a question to struggle with so fiercely.

He glances at Cyan, now, eyes curious and hopeful. Then, he realizes that perhaps too many will be looking at her, and he looks back to his plate, though still listening.
This message was last edited by the player at 11:16, Mon 12 Mar 2007.

Roman lets the kittens go off to play, wondering where the rest of her body mass went, and how she intends to replace it when she shfts to a larger form.  Maybe whatever-she-is'es don't have to worry about that.  Time enough to eat his fill even if the lords of this place want the group to move on.  But where to, now ?

Meanwhile, out in the forest...

One of the castle troop sergeants, supervising a logging team some little way out in the forest, sees them first.  Strange creatures, flitting through the trees.  Not clearly visible in the leaf-filtered morning light, but certainly man-sized, or slightly larger.  They move quickly and silently, and for a while, the sergeant is sure they are ghosts... there are, after all, those stories told around the barracks...

Then one stops, right in front of him, a nightmare vision of claws and teeth and horns and scales.  A slim man, with spiked, red-brown hair, and glassy black lenses over his eyes, steps out from behind the horrific creature, smiling.  He has a leather jacket draped over his right shoulder, and his left arm, from shoulder to elbow, bears a geometric tattoo, in red, black and green.  There are eight silver rings in his left ear.

"Take me to your leader."  The smile broadens, "I always wanted to say that."

The response to her greeting is Classic Dorian - he is uncomfortable, she sees.  It almost seems an adjustment period is needed after each of his rests, where he must again grow at ease around others, and Cyan ponders this with a small smile on her face.  "Yes," she whispers quietly.  "I know."

Berd, under a chair, goes back to his consumption.

The one named Roman nods back to her, but continues his eating.  Kittens romp under his chair.  She knows little of him, save that he is a shapechanger and hails from the Courts.  Curious, and interesting - they have not dealt with one from the Courts since Lexy.  Perhaps the situation has changed, there?  She gives the messenger a small bow, then openly grins as James wanders in late.  "Urgency oft begets a sleepless night and a late morning, James.  Or so Berd taught me," she amends, "though I suspect he had ulterior motives.  But you are here before Aaron, and that should be sufficient to put your mind at ease."

A sharp hiss answers her from under the chair.

Undeterred, she shifts her chair a touch closer to both Trista and Dorian, curiousity growing at the other woman's work.  "Well enough," Cyan replies, her amethyst eyes less weary this morning, "though I could stand a few more hours.  But there is work to be done..."  Her voice trails off and darkness shades her features for a moment.  Work to be done.  She has done a great deal of 'work' in the last year, and making up for it will require...well, perhaps forever. How many worlds conquered?  How many people slain?  All in the name of her 'truth', such as it was.

But Cyan shakes off the gloom, rather than live under its weight.  "I must put pen to paper myself, today.  A journal you write?  I have often thought of doing the same, what with the many worlds through which I travel.  I saw a woman running this morning - I guessed it was you."  Even high up on the battlements, Cyan could see visual cues, subtlties of body language.  "A fine thing, exercise in the early morning, is it not?"

A glance from Dorian catches her eye, and she raises an eyebrow in his direction.  "Good morning, Dorian," she states solemnly as he ponders the food upon his plate.  "Berd informs me you have been pricking at him, and as such I must conclude this morning finds you well."

"Pricking? " he asks, testing the word.  He was comfortable enough with direct conversation, but other kinds of conversation caused him to founder. "I suppose so, and I hope he forgives me. It was an experiment.." As soon as he had spoken the words, a small fear tickled him that perhaps Berd might take it too seriously, despite the obvious exaggeration. After all, when was the last time any of them had heard Dorian attempt humor? "The morning does find me well, all things considered. Better than any other morning in a long time, even, but the dark cloud of the enemy yet hangs over us." He stopped there, realizing he was venturing back into territory marked by cynicism and darkness. Trying to recover, he adds, "Yet, I suppose some dark cloud will always threaten the horizon, at least from time to time."

His eyes dropped to his plate again. This was getting worse. Each word felt like concrete to his ears. He was indeed like a schoolchild. He fought against himself, old Dorian against new Dorian. His teeth clenched, the small knot of muscle behind his jaw bulged. The problem was that he tried too hard. He expected too much of himself. It was not hard; he had done it before. This was just talk--with less important subjects, and with more sincerity.

He lifted his eyes to Cyan again. Honesty. Acceptance--of himself and her. These were the missing keys. His features softened. Was it a good morning? "Yes," he said. "It is a good morning. We're alive, all of us. We've been through storms, but we Questers yet live. What more could we ask for? Good morning, indeed."

He glanced at Roman for a moment. It sounded a lot like what the shapeshifter had said last night, and he had missed the point entirely.

Hearing Dorian's words Roman nods and answers.  "Aye, we survived, and better than that we bloodied this Harbonah's nose.  But that was yesterday.  We won a battle, and we should be glad of that, but the war goes on."

He wipes his mouth with a cloth and goes on.  "I do not know this Harbonah, but a human leader might seek to win a great victory, to wipe out the shame of defeat and to reassure waverers among his own followers.  What would Harbonah do, in the wake of defeat ?"  The question is addressed to nobody in particular, but Roman's eyes veer towards Cyan as he asks it.

Tahirah has remained sitting, silent and almost unmoving, since she came in.  At Roman's comment, however, she rustles slightly, and then says suddenly, "Harbonah has not been defeated.  The one called the General was meant to fail; meant to die.  Had she won, it would have been a victory, but it was not the intent in sending her here.  Her survival, recovery of herself, perhaps that is a loss to Harbonah; surely, it must have hoped more of you would fall with her.  But the battle was not lost.  It did what was intended of it."

"Your orders?"

"We continue on."

"And your feelings?"

She felt his mirth, that undying optimism, even in the face of possible failure - even in the face of death. Even a slight amusment, like sunlight filtered through falling leaves.

"We're not dead. The desire still remains. We must seek it, for your reasons and mine, and for so many others."

"...their comments are on your mind."

Now she felt true amusement, and heard him laugh. The sunlight gained strength.

"We must continue. Amber awaits. The Pattern awaits. Not only that, but I eventually intend to take Cyan up on something that's been waiting for a long, long time."

Arianne was confused on that part for a moment as he readied himself, but the answer came soon enough.

"But Aaron... Ilse's blade?"

"...will not be needed. Now is not the time, anyway. Perhaps, if I'm lucky, after we reach Amber and we're relatively ensconsed, there may be time. We shall see."

And then he was silent.

Jonnee stands before Parcifal and Gawain, flanked by two of the brintizzi.  To Parcifal, the reptile warriors are nothing new, to Gawain and the nearby troops though, they are... unsettling.

"First off, don't worry, I left the ones with all the ray guns a little ways off, so we aren't going to see any reaction from the crystals." Jonnee explains, still smiling.

"But... I do have around four thousand of my boys, about a mile over... that way, with stuff from the other Charyk.  I've got grain, canvas, barrels of salted meat, ingots of copper and steel, tools... all kinds of things, and you can have it all.  I sorta figured you might need some help with some of that stuff.  I reckon that what we brought might give you about two weeks, maybe three, to adjust and get the new guys settled in, without having to stress over food.  That should give you a start on sorting out your own supplies."

"So... where do you need it putting?"

Roman looks at Tahirah And how would you know that ?  "Perhaps.  It might explain why I did not see this 'Broken God' weapon deployed.  But politics and military matters are not so simple.  Can this Harbonah explain to its followers among the Archons that their hurts and the deaths of their comrades and their ignominous retreat were acceptable in the light of its success in treacherously ridding itself of a subordinate ?"

"I think not.  If Harbonah simply wished to have rid itself of its general it could have had it done easily enough.  To lose a general in battle is a political trick intended to hide responsibility.  And even if the outcome is acceptable to Harbonah - and I doubt it" I would not like an enemy to possess that blade. "it still appears to be a defeat."
This message was last edited by the player at 11:48, Thu 15 Mar 2007.

Dorian lowers his utensil back to his plate. His head shook just slightly, not even enough to make the hair hanging about his face bend. This wasn't right. His features fell, looking defeated. "Forgive me," he says. "I made an error."

He stands. The imperial manner returned, sloughing off the smidgeon of casual posture he had adopted. His features hardened. The old Dorian had returned. Without looking at anyone in particular, he adds, "Have a servant fetch me when it is time."

He pulls the cloak about him, tight, a shield against such foolish closeness, and stalks off towards his room. He leaves his plate, barely touched.
This message was last edited by the player at 11:24, Thu 15 Mar 2007.

Cyan's answering smile to Dorian's words - 'Good morning, indeed' - freezes slightly as she catches Roman's slanted look in her direction.  She doesn't understand the point, not entirely; Cyan has always been poor at following the subtlties of misdirective language.  She raises an eyebrow.  Was he asking her something, what Harbonah would do?  Or speaking to others, regarding her?

Tahirah jumps in just then with a theory about Harbonah, and it strikes Cyan deeply.  How can the woman be certain Cyan was meant to fail?  Had she been meant to fail?  If so, why?  Almost, she asks Left and Right, but those two would not know.  Harbonah would not have told them.

And the woman ends where it would have been best to begin.

"What, then, was Harbonah's desire?" she asks Tahirah.  "What did he wish from this?"  She turns to Roman.  "Sir Roman, the Broken God was deployed.  The Broken God was the reason people lost the use of their power for a portion of the battle.  Perhaps you fought upon the periphery, and were not affected.  But the Broken God, I am informed, was destroyed by the concentrated force of the weapons of Charyk."

That stops her.  The weapons of Charyk destroyed the Broken God - Berd showed her that.  Why?  How?  She glances to Parcifal and Gawain, and her face lights up.  There stands Jonnee Kay, but the trio are deep in concentration.  She will not interrupt.

Cyan returns to the conversation, her emerald eyes concerned.  "Roman is correct.  I would hear what you believe Harbonah's gain was to be by eliminating the...General in such a fashion, Tahirah."

But then Dorian chooses that moment to close off.  To leave.  Baffled, Cyan stares after the dark man as he sweeps from the room like a shadow escaping the sun.  "Berd?" she inquires, but the little drake, his head stuck out from under Trista's chair, offers no answer to her question.

Morgan stares, confused, at Tahirah.  "Please do enlighten us, fair lady, with your views of their plans."  Given the setting and Tahirah's reputation, the lilting phrases of court speech seemed apropos. "Their objective, I had thought, was to conquer your city, and use its weapons, but I would not call myself well-informed."

Following the two warriors back to the castle, while giving them a rundown of the supplies, Jonnee and his attendant pair of brintizzi find themselves in a corridor running past the entrance to the Great Hall.  Inside, he can see his friends, but he has no chance to speak to them just yet.

A third man is summoned to speak to him, and introduced as Caesius, the Castelain of this Charyk.  Again, Jonnee runs through the list, while Caesius takes notes and asks questions, many of which Jonnee is unable to answer.  He knows he has meat, for instance, packed in casks of salt, but he has no idea what manner of animal it came from.  Likewise, he has no real idea what many of the more... exotic tools are called.  "Sorry, man, if it isn't a hammer, a screwdriver, or a saw, then I'm way out of my depth."

Another glance into the hall, where they have food.  The Castelain, while more than grateful for the supplies, but seems a little annoyed that Jonnee never kept a more detailed list.

"No, I don't know what sort of fruit they are.  They're dark blue, and about... this big, with a skin like leather."

Slowly the list is compiled, and locations carefully noted alongside each item.  A somewhat sour thought bubbles to the surface of his mind, If Caine'd told me I'd be dealing with accountants, I'd have told him where he could shove his mission, and gone back to catching waves at Cabra.

He shoots a quick glance at Cyan.  Was she just looking at him?  Well, she isn't now... but she looks better, for some sleep.  More like her old self.

Tahirah is quiet for a moment.  Safe within the shrouded depths of her hood, she's biting her lip anxiously.  She wasn't given to explaining her pronouncements.  Noone asked.  She said what she knew, and people worked with that.  She was Tahirah.  Her name, of course, but it had grown to be something of a title, as well...

She had said what she had said because she knew.  Because it felt right.  To be asked to explain how she knew...where it came from, what it meant... How was she supposed to know that?  There were any number of good - even accurate - fallback answers that explained little, but she had the feeling that in this case, with these people, those would only result in her advice being discarded.

If she had anything, truly, to offer these people...it wasn't her ability to read the cards.  Not alone.  It was her ability to read the world that shaped them.  To take too little information, and find a pattern within it.  To, as Ferenc once put it, be given X+2, and know it equalled five.  Much as she was confidant that though he left the table, Dorian would still hear everything that was said there...

So she sat quietly for a moment as she was questioned, and let more attention than she liked gather around her.  She could feel it, almost like static.  How did she know?  What, in fact, did she know?

"Their outer purpose in seeking Charyk - our Charyk - was given to you by the message," she replies, remembering.  "`Harbonah has a tracker', hunting for you.  Whatever the General was told, her purpose there was you.  Had the weapons been the target, they'd have come here.  Or to any other Charyk, apparently, where the Sword and the Staff remained.  Not ours, where one was missing, the other shattered.  To conquer, or to quell?  Again, they'd have begun elsewhere.  Our Charyk looked inward, not out.  To defense, not conquest.  There was time, yet.  It could not have been a more important target than, perhaps, here - a Charyk with the potential, and now the inclination, to become a powerful ally against them.  Indeed, this, and many other Charyk's, must be a better strategic target, in all ways save one."  She pauses a moment, and closes her eyes as she watches the threads tie themselves together.  She speaks almost without hearing herself.  "You, and the Army, were drawn to our Charyk by threads of fate long since woven, cinched tight in the passing of time.  Your Berd, the General's Broken God, our Staff shattered and reforged into many Rods.  Your Company - the Defenders of Worlds - one of your own stolen and turned...to be the General of your enemy.  All of these were once one.  All remained one.  It could not have happened in any other way."

"The battle at Charyk had to happen.  This is a truer purpose than that held by Harbonah.  Of his, I can only guess.  I would suppose that to have been distraction and delay; perhaps a hope for your downfall.  As a distraction from his hidden plan, his strike to this Amber, it could little fail.  Had she won, you would have been greatly weakened, perhaps scattered or destroyed.  Had she lost, you would have been left victorious, and victors wish to celebrate.  That she was recovered...I do not think can have been Harbonah's intention, but would have been even better distraction, if not for the chance falling of the news of the hidden plan.  I think there was no other choice; but in Harbonah's mind, I suspect it was nothing more than a feint."

"Harbonah's gain in the death of the General..."  The hooded figure turns slightly, to face towards Cyan.  "He could not trust her.  And how could he, when you lurked within?"

<backpost>
James spares a smile in return for Trista's gentle backhanded reassurance.  He is happy to see her in good humour.  Their meeting the day before had not been under terribly auspicious circumstances and James still hoped for the chance to talk to Trista at greater length.

"It would take more than a little bit of worrying to keep me awake, Cyan.  One of the more helpful legacies of my old work.  I could sleep standing up at a fireworks display if I needed to.  So no excuses.  But I'll be ready when we need to leave."
</backpost>

James looks up from his breakfast as the discussion turns to Harbonah's purposes in attacking Charyk.  "I agree with Tahirah.  We came to Charyk because Metatron told us to.  The General and the Army came because we were here.  There, whatever.  I still don't see how the place and the battle was all that Metatron wanted us to find here, but...  James shrugs, a characteristic gesture.

"As for Harbonah's goals.  Well, knowing what we do about Archon infighting, I find it quite plausible that Harbonah would throw away a thousand or more Archons if he thought it would achieve his purpose.  Get rid of Cyan, kill us, dispose of a few hundred factional rivals.  His allies, even his enemies, are probably applauding his cunning.  Of course, it didn't quite work out like that, but I doubt that worries him much.  The worst thing for Harbonah is that we know of the attack on Amber."

James stops.  He looks thoughtful, weighing up the implications of his conclusions even as he speaks.  So what?  If there are as many Archons as we think our presence at Amber will be like pissing in the sea.  What is there about Charyk that's different, that we need?  Wait a minute!  The smith, the one who made the weapons.  There are different accounts in each Charyk.  It must be a clue to the traitor.

James turns his attention to Tahirah, he looks strangely intense.  "Tahirah, could you repeat what you know about the man who made the twins' weapons, and stole the Sword, from your Charyk?"

Earlier, for Dorian, “For some reason there must be bad poetry floating around the Worlds to let us appreciate beautiful poetry that much more. I’m simply adding to that cycle.”

To Cyan, Trista responds with a surprised look, “Yes, I was out running. I try to get out every morning; it seems to be a good way to start the day. I have a thing about staying fit, for no other reason than to…” she halts, blinks, and shifts her train of thought, “to keep the doctors at bay.” There’s a slight awkwardness as she turns from those lavender eyes, but she recovers well, turning back to the food on her plate and listening to the conversation about her.


The conversation centers around Harbonah and Tahirah’s pronouncements. Dorian makes an abrupt departure and Jonnee appears in a doorway. Intrigued, Trista looks on with anticipation as the woman in white explains her theories. Food is forgotten as the woman absorbs and wonders at James’ last request, keeping her own incomplete thoughts to herself.

Tahirah nods towards James.  "Those of our Charyk were crafted by a man named Ganelon.  I've not heard him described physically, but he stayed there for some time.  He placed the curse upon the weapons, that they could not be used against each other, and told no one until he was convinced to do so after the Brothers fought."  She pauses briefly.

"The Sword was taken by a man called Carl Corey, a century ago.  He asked to see it, and was shown to it, and left alone in the room, from which he vanished."

"The Sword and Staff of this Charyk, of Parcifal and Gawain, we have been told were forged also by a man named Ganelon; he returned here, a century ago, and attempted to reclaim them, or to launch an attack upon Amber, but was driven away.  The vision Meredith saw of him and the description Ferenc gave to your friend Luke of Carl Corey match, but you have said that appearance means little."

"What is it that you seek in this?" she asks, curiously.

"The traitor." James answers.

"Some of us can do amazing things, but if Harbonah is serious about Amber we won't make much difference to the balance of forces in open battle.  I think our role there must be to find the traitor, which we've been asked to do anyway."

"And I think that Ganelon or Carl Corey or both, since they may be different people, is a clue to the traitor's identity.  The Sword and Staff may still be significant too, I haven't worked it out.  Just speculation, I'm afraid."

To James' mind, most of the jigsaw pieces were on the table now.  If he could just fit another edge together things might start falling into place.

"We shall try to avoid that eventuality, James.  While I do not doubt you, I daresay it would be more comfortable to sleep lying down, in a comfortable bed."  Cyan, still on edge from Dorian's abrupt departure, shoots James another quick grin, then, spotting Jonnee's movement from the corner of her eye, offers that one a quick wave.

Her eyes study Trista for a moment, and she nods uncertainly.  Something disturbs the woman - whether it is her question, or some memory, Cyan is uncertain.  "Keeping the Doctors at bay is a laudable effort," she notes, a hint of curiousity in her tone.  She looks Trista up and down.  "Your attempt seems to have succeeded splendidly."  The woman is certainly a paragon of health, at least to Cyan's unprofessional eye.  A fine fighter, too, from the look of her.

She grows more serious at Tahirah's words.  A grateful look to the Panther-knight, Morgan, for his question, twin to her own.  Then she replies.  "Oh, certs, my purpose was to find those gathered here and either turn them or destroy them.  Harbonah is...ill-pleased with this group."  Cyan considers, her topaz eyes faraway.  "It is possible he meant for me to destroy you," she murmurs, "then to have his people slay me once my purpose was complete.  I was certainly his best chance for locating and destroying you."  Then she snaps out of her consideration, a flush spreading across her cheeks.  "I...that is, I would have known best how to find you, and your strategies."

Berd shifts under Trista's chair, and his pokes out again; the drake is obviously concerned.

"Ganelon and Carl Corey.  One and the same, perhaps?  Or not?"  Cyan watches James, hoping for some kind of revelation.  Barring one of the people she does not know being from Amber (which seems more unlikely with every passing second), James is their best shot at enlightenment.  But...nothing.  At least, no sudden realization as to the identity.

"Yes, the traitor," she whispers.  "At this point, James, speculation may be both good and bad to share."  Good, because it might fire thoughts on the correct path.  Bad, because it might put peoples minds on the wrong road.

"So.  Amber it will be."

 

Playing catch with one another, the newest of the kittens stopped over towards one wall, near the edge of a large carpet while the one once rescued by Banglen-Yp hunted for pretend prey under the very edge of the rug, half disappearing under it.

Then something was different about the kitten on top of the rug, but what was impossible to tell.


                              _{Perhaps it was a trick of the light.}


A moment later the kitten was more different still.  Larger?  Shorter fur?

The other kitten continued to play, now with only the tail visible, trashing left and right as it chased its own imagination.


                                                                      _{Was the rug smaller?}


Meanwhile the kitten on the rug was a kitten no more.  It was something else, standing on all four, with the head bent downwards.

The kitten under the rug kept moving forward, chasing the very edge of the rug as it appeared to withdraw away from it.


                                                  _{The rug appeared to be... moving inwards... towards the one on top of it.}


A blink of an eye later and then there she was, Banglen-Yp, naked, one knee on the floor, both hands on the rug and with thick waves of hair falling around her face and over her back, offering part protection from any eyes aimed towards her bare form.


                              _{The rug was all but gone and the kitten chased the last remains.}


The head lifted and she glanced back towards the others and smiled as clothing kind of...

          ...fell out of her form...
                                                                                          _{The rug was no more.}
                                        ...to cover her as she rose...


...much to some spectator's disappointment.


Black leather jacket and blue jeans.  Not quite the fashion here, perhaps.

          But at least she was learning that people changed clothing, it seemed.


She approached the others, smiling and walking with a light and sensually feline gait, seemingly unaware of it.

Stopping nearby she tilted her head to one side and spoke.

•• I • know • lit•tle • of • this • ent•er•prise ••

A simple statement, still smiling.

•• I • may • be • wrong •• I • am • still • ve•ry • young ••

Another one.

•• The • Old • Char•yk's • wea•pons • de•fied • this • Bro•ken • God •• Per•haps • the • Ar•chon • Me•ta•tron • knew • this •• Might • not • that • be • use•ful • to • us ••

A mixture of a proposal and a question, followed by another smile before she turned to pick up the kitten that sat at her feet, looking for that elusive rug with a befuddled expression and mewled pitifully.

•• You • are • old•er ••

A strange statement to the little kitten who brightened up and put a paw at her lips as she lightly blew at his face.

 

And so, Aaron stood in the back of the group, listening to all of the considerations and plans. He would most likely assist with getting the group to Amber, splitting the duties of traversing the Myriad with James.

It was all in perspective for him, now. Once, it had been everything to him... but now? Now it was merely another cog turning the wheels of his existence, like the Pattern, his extended family, the many worlds he'd visted; like Arianne and his comrades here.

Yes. Perpsective. It was all in how you saw things for yourself.

Tahirah nods thoughtfully at James's response.  "The cards tell me that the one we know as Ganelon is not, himself, the traitor Harbonah houses in Amber," she notes, simply, that James might have the information to work with.

Roman waits an opportunity to reply, but then is distracted by Banglen-Yp's transformation, although he is not one of those greatly disappointed when she acquires clothing.

A traitor in Amber ?  No surprise there

"The defeat of this Broken God weapon is another blow to Harbonah.  And if 'Broken God' affects the powers of Amberites a counter-weapon might be needed there.  It is likely that any traitor working with the Seraphim planned to betray his - or her - allies.  But they may not have anticipated the 'Broken God'.  Even Amberites have their limits."

"I would advise against any involvement with Amberite politics.  While I would find it epecially awkward - and not just with the Amberites - it would be incredibly dangerous.  If you do expose the traitor - even if you have proof - you may find that the other royals find it more expedient to cover up the business and...eliminate...any loose ends."

The Brothers, seeing Jonnee is busy, and that most of their guests are present, excuse themselves and move into the hall.

"Look... " Jonnee raises his hands to quiet the Castelain, then indicates the brintizzi standing watch nearby, "My boys there know more about this stuff than I do.  Talk to them, they'll help you.  You'll need to do it quick though, 'cos they haven't eaten for hours, and it'd be good if I could get them out of here before they remember they're man-eaters."

The Castelain starts to speak, then shuts his mouth, and starts again, "It'll be a little more trouble, but I suppose you could just dump everything in the courtyard, and I could arrange to catalogue it all then, and have it stored away some... "

"Great.  Catchya later." not giving the man a chance to get into full flow again, Jonnee follows Parcifal and Gawain.  As he moves, he glances at the brints, "Fellah's... "

The two reptile warriors move into step behind him, sparing the Castelain a razor-toothed smile.


Gawain and Parcifal stop at the table, while Jonnee makes a beeline for the buffet.  "We trust that you all slept well?" Gawain asks, before adding, "You will be pleased to hear, no doubt, that work on the rehousing of the refugees from the other Charyk proceeds well.  There were no significant problems during the night, except for one man, who was bitten by a viper.  I'm assured that he is strong, and will live... which is more than can be said for the unfortunate serpent, which he killed."

"And your friend, there... " Jonnee waves with the hand which isn't holding a platter of food, grinning, as Parcifal indicates him, "... has arrived this morning with a delivery of supplies to help get people through this difficult period."

To Trista’s way of thinking, James makes sense. Amber is brimming with power, and certainly those in this group would add to its defenses in battle, but not to the degree as for Charyk. The traitor seems the right place to start. Cyan seems to agree and for some reason, that further strengthens Trista’s assessment.

In her peripheral vision, a kitten disappears to reveal a naked Banglen-Yp. Trista’s gaze turns to the woman who seems unabashed at her nudity. Then clothes appear, similar in time to what Trista wears. The woman sighs and turns back to the group as others, including Banglen-Yp, further contribute to the discussion.

After Roman’s concerns, Trista simply offers, “I agree the traitor should be discovered. What, precisely, we do with that information can be decided later as we get a feel for how things are in Amber.” A slight shudder racks her body; the thought of Amber still both entices and repels the woman.

Gawain stops to inform of the new settlers and Jonnee’s arrival. Trista smiles at the man who seems to have walked off some Hollywood horror-fantasy show. Turning back to Gawain, “That is good news; I’m sure you will take good care of the refugees and they will find themselves part of this Charyk’s life soon enough.”

Hope. For others, there is always hope. Perhaps even for herself.

Still disturbed by Dorian's sudden exit, Cyan notes Aaron's placement - just outside the group, watching.  Analyzing.  She recalls their discussion last night, and frowns.  For Aaron, she has concerns, deep ones.

Motion in the corner of her eye; Cyan glances toward Banglen-Yp, then looks away.  Shapeshifting has always been profoundly fascinating and profoundly disturbing to the young woman; she suspects she knows why, now.  Once the odd traveller is finished her alteration, she speaks, and Cyan considers her words.

"We know that in the Other Charyk, there was a connection between the Archons and the Brothers," she states with a significant glance at Gawain and Parsifal.  "They had...servants, who were depicted as rings of fire, before their falling-out.  Perhaps one of these Archons was Metatron himself, and that was how he knew of their weapons?"  Speculation, of course.  And yet, they knew Metatron was old.

"Connections," the bard muses, though how this may help them she does not yet see.  Perhaps another will.  "Tahirah - do you know anything of this, in the Other Charyk's history?"

Words of warning from Roman of Chaincut.  "I tend to agree." Cyan nods, leans forward to rest her elbows on her knees, her hands clasped before her face.  "Politics are a morass in which I swim poorly and sink well.  But I see little other alternative - we must go to Amber to locate this traitor, we must be among the Court of Amber to hunt.  How to avoid politics?"  The word is filthy in her mouth.  Trista sums it up succinctly, and Cyan gives her a quick grin before going back to her pondering.

Jonnee Kay opts to join them, with his brintizzi guard, bringing with him good news from Gawain and Parsifal.  "Well, then.  Salvation once again at the hands of Jonnee Kay and the brintizzi.  I shall never be displeased to see you, Jonnee Kay, nor will Berd, should you continue to bring food."  Her amethyst eyes light up with her smile, and Cyan stands to bow to the brintizzi as they approach the group.

Berd hiccups from under Trista's chair then crawls out, his stomach massively distended.  He lets out a mournful warble, and gives Trista's leg a pathetic tug.

The irregular cadence of booted feet down the stairs announced Chance's belated arrival. Through bleary eyes, he looks at those gathered, but his eyes fall on the breakfast with resolve. Food is a good start on curing the headache throbbing away at the back of his skull. Uncharacteristically quiet, he moved to the end of the benches, sat and began to eat. Once he had a few bites in his belly, he seemed more amiable. "I guess it's off to save the universe again, today?"

Tahirah stirs slightly, turning towards Cyan, but is drawn away by the Brothers' approach.  She rises from her seat to listen to them, and bows deeply when they are done.  "You have our eternal thanks.  I trust that our people will soon become productive members of your society, and repay the difficulties that rescuing us has brought you now."  Turning towards Jonnee, she can't help but grin, and is glad the impulsive expression is well hidden.  "And my thanks to you, also," she continues, her tone smooth, giving no hint of the amusement she feels.

Her attention is drawn back to the table by Cyan's question, and she thinks quietly for a moment.  "There are...not records, but remembrances, of servants, called Demons and Fiends.  They are given a small role in the tales that contain them at all - portals through which the Brothers could obtain what tools they required, in the earliest years.  The histories mention them very little, and only in the very earliest."  She's quiet for another moment, and then adds, "Though they are not recorded to have been present when the Brothers fought, they are - or rather, were - depicted there in artworks.  If I may ask in return, what do you know of the Broken God?  Where did you obtain this, and was it destroyed?"

She makes a gentle gesture with one hand.  "I have worked long with the Lords of Charyk.  I have some small practice at politics.  If I might suggest, based solely upon the warnings here; Consult with those who care to be consulted upon the matter, and proceed upon paths they offer.  Allow the honor of the discovery to fall upon one, or perhaps more, of them.  Even a large part played can be made to seem small, if all of the players are agreed it should be so."

Gawain and Parcifal exchange a look.  "Ganelon offered to provide us with servants, when he first began working on the Sword and Staff.  We explained to him that the ones we already had were more than adequate.  It never occurred to us to question the nature of those servants."

Jonnee looks up from the dangerously overloaded plate, "Caine mentioned a Ganelon to me once.  It didn't sound like he was that much of a danger to Amber."

"And speaking of Caine... if you're headed for Amber, I need you to take him a message for me.  It might even be doing you a good turn, since it'll give you an excuse to talk to him.  Act as an introduction too.  That'll give you another angle on the stuff that's going on up there, 'cos, quite frankly, Julian spends too much time out in the woods to keep a close eye on things, and I never really trusted Fiona... she always acts like she's up to something really bogus."


"We too would ask that you carry a letter to Amber.  That was what we wanted to discuss with you before you left." adds Gawain, as soon as Jonnee resumes the important business of eating a breakfast equivalent in weight to all the food he has just delivered.

 

Cuddling the little kitten, Banglen-Yp walked over to the fireplace and looked into the flames.  It was impossible to tell that she still listened to what was being said as she continued to play with the little kitten who seemed to enjoy it still although it was also getting tired.

A few moments later is was laying still in her arms and a moment after that is was fast asleep, its round and pink little belly displayed upwards for all to see.  Banglen-Yp smiled down at it and gently blow at the tummy, making the kittens paw flip a little as it no doubt chased some fat prey in its dreams.

 

Roman looks around, just a little nervously.  "I suppose it is only fair to warn you that I will want to keep a low profile.  For those who are not aware there are those at my end of reality who still resent the creation of Amber, even now, and would be happy to see it destroyed.  Some time ago an Amberite traitor approached them and made a deal to weaken Amber in return for support for his own schemes.  Of course he planned to betray his new allies as well.... "

He sighs "There was a war and Amber won.  Thus I do not expect my presence to be welcome in Amber.  Worse, if it becomes known back home I have played any significant role in helping or harming Amber I would acquire new enemies.  Those who wish Amber to be weakened or destroyed would not take kindly to anyone who helped Amber.  Those who wish to avoid another war would not be pleased if tensions were created between Amber and the Courts.  I like neither prospect."

"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