Approaching the gate, Dorian watches Trista as she rides. To catch the sky. Such a simple parable apparently had taken some meaning with the woman. He had not expected that, but he was glad of it. The woman seemed to have heart and passion, and he respected that. He wondered at what events had led her to this ragged group. A purpose was indeed a thing to have. He knew what it was like to have none. For him, a destructive purpose had risen in the absence of one, and many humans had suffered under his hand for it. That was long ago.

Dorian does not respond to the guard immediately. He knows others in the camp will respond. They are more attuned to this sort of thing than he is.

Morgan is tempted to pass them off as messengers and save the effort, but keeps his mouth closed. If they are passing through a city, odds favor there being a reason. Best wait.

Tahirah once again draws herself out of her huddle as they approach civilization. Sitting straight on her panther, she projects serenity, but also chooses to remain silent; this is not her place to speak.

The gate officer studies the group before him, for a long moment, until realisation seems to dawn upon his face...

Clearing his throat, he says in a loud voice, "Valkar bar Cadiniagart.  Œraz terbjul œril må Cadiniagart anßor sed dagen?"

Glancing from one side of him to the other, Aaron sighed, shaking his head. What the hell was going on?

"Sorry," he said to the Guard. "Look, we've been travelling pretty hard, riding this storm a good majority of the way from our point of origin. A few of my comrades are familiar with Cadiniagart from prior visits here, and really we're just looking for a place to hole up for a short while before we continue on."

Looking from one worn building to another, and then to the storm overhead, he frowned.

"Been a rough few days, has it?"

<backpost>
In answer to Morgan's question, James replies hastily.  "No, the black stuff took the form of a road, at least in the worlds close to Amber.  It may have looked a bit like bitumen, that's all.  From what Bleys told me, no sane person would try to make anything of that stuff."
</backpost>

Cadiniagart.  They're close then to Amber. For James this is where the quest began.  How long ago?  It's hard to tell.  One of the more difficult realisations of his travels has been that the passage of time is not constant from place to place.  One more preconception discarded by the side of the road.

However long it has been the city has not fared well.  At least it still stands.  It's conceivable that the guards now represent the ruling authority of Archons, but unlikely.  More likely that the damage below represents either the periphery to or a reflection of the trouble in Amber, depending upon your philosophy.

The remnants of bunting and flags strike James as peculiar.  It looks as though whatever happened here interrupted a holiday or festival.  James is curious, but there are too many unknowns still.  He waits to hear the guard's response to Aaron's question.

"Ah... my apologies.  I thought perhaps you hadn't understood me.  Thought I'd try a little Ghizhti, since we sometimes get visitors from the Eastern Kingdoms in... "  He seems to wind down, as he looks from face to face.

"Sorry, I'm rambling."

"You could say it's been a rough six months.  We had some trouble with assassins, during the celebrations of our new trade alliance with Amber.  Almost started a war, and some of our... less bright... citizens burned down some buildings, and scuppered some of the merchant vessels in the harbour, though I'm not sure how they thought they were helping the situation." he continues, his expression more than a little sorrowful.

"It looked bad for a while.  Then Amber sent one of its princesses over, Princess Fina, or Fiona, or somesuch.  She pushed the treaty through, and things calmed down.  Much better now, and last week we found the real assassin.  He'd been hiding under our noses the whole time.  Spying too."

"Perhaps things will get back to normal now, and we can start rebuilding.  Particularly as we have more money coming in from the Golden Circle trade."

He turns, then, and waves his men aside, before facing the Questor's once more, "If you've no particular business here, I'd recommend heading straight through to the Waterfront District.  People down there are a little more used to the sight of foreigners, and less likely to react badly.  Plus there are some fine inns down there which, given the that trade dropped off for a while, and is just now recovering, should be pleased to recieve customers."

"Just keep going downhill from the Gate, and you'll find the waterfront, easily enough."

"Beautiful, Aaron."  Cyan stares curiously at their sometime leader.  "Is that a quote, or did you extemporize?"

She falls silent as they approach the gate, and studies the city with dark, sapphire eyes.  The smell of char has departed the air and, in time, its evidence will retreat from the city entirely.  But that could take years.  In the meantime, she considers the guard's words.  Six months.

Six.  Months.

Over two years have passed for her since she first set foot in this city, and yet half of one for them.  The Myriad Worlds sometimes tax the spirit.

"Thanks kindly," he responded to the Guard and his comrades, before continuing to lead the group on their way to the dockside. Once out of earshot, he responded to Cyan's inquiry.

"Extemporization," Aaron said. "Sometimes the Worlds we walk hit me in such a way, that my spirit can do nothing more than vocalize accordingly. It helps me to deal with all that we go through." He slowed and reached out, placing a hand on her shoulder. "Time... it's a fluid and fickle thing. One day I leave my lands alone, the next I return, and I've got twelve great-grandchildren all trying to kill me!"

He laughed, though there was a bit of sadness to it. "Considering Time, I thought I'd lost the latent talent for poetry. It's comforting, not to mention stabilizing, to know I can still empathize with the Worlds around me. No matter how long I walk them."

Done with that for the moment, he glanced at James and Dorian.

"Just because this place was torched only six months ago according to the local calendar, doesn't mean we shouldn't be on our guard. This place is way too close to Amber to not act as some sort of reflective representation for it. I say we find a ship and use it to infiltrate Amber the rest of the way." Turning his gaze to the rest of his gang, he raised an eyebrow.

"Anyone else have any ideas?"

Roman looks around warily.  "Professional assassins don't generally stay around to get caught.  It's entirely possible that whoever they've got for that is just a scapegoat.  I suggest that we all keep our noses claen and do nothing to attract supicion."

As Trista travels near Banglen-Yp, Berd weaves his magic and the raid dissipates from all, not just their little trio.

The blonde woman’s words come cryptically to Trista’s ears. More and more, Trista wonders at this woman. “No name? Will you name yourself at some point or wait for another to name you?” Banglen-Yp perhaps is her nationality or… her flick to Cyan and down to Berd. The possibilities are numerous, and Trista isn’t ready to speculate.

Then the woman continues and Trista does her best to assimilate her response, but the meaning behind the words is lost. There’s sadness within the woman, something Trista had not thought to see. She had been all giggles and smiles in the past.

Alone. A universal concept, not easily bridged. Trista frowns as she considers her own aloneness, mostly likely quite different from Banglen-Yp’s. The woman seems to be newly born… or created. The kitten is older, but Banglen-Yp is older still. Her race? Very confusing. She turns to back to the blonde in a last effort to understand, “Have there been other Bangel-Yp’s out there, somewhere?” Most likely, her question doesn’t make sense, but she doesn’t know where else to go with these concepts.

Soon a city comes into view, one foreign to Trista, but not to others. Cyan asks for the naming of worlds, to which Trista responds, “Earth, though there are many Earths I have visited. We have a Los Angeles, too, but it’s nothing like that of Jonnee’s. Ours is a wasteland.”

Her eyes roam over the war-torn city before them and before the guards stop them, she comments, “Cyan, this reminds me of my home, war marring every building.”

The guard approach and question the group in two languages before Aaron responds. The guards continue with explanations and Trista knows her own home is far removed from this Amber-touched place.

She’s unsure if taking a ship means the Hell Ride is over, or if shifting would still be done. Their travels are quite foreign to her. She simply waits for those leading this procession to respond to Aaron as she nods in agreement with Roman.

Roman. A thought strikes her and she turns again to Banglen-Yp, “It seems you and Roman are very close, does traveling with him keep you from feeling lonely?” There is, of course, a difference between being lonely and being alone, but perhaps the woman will provide insight to her relationship with the Chaosist.

 

•• No • name ••

Banglen-Yp echoed the words and shook her head, the golden locks flying heavily around the kitten, still damp from the rain.

•• Not • sure • what • is • in • a • name •• What • is • a • name ••

A statement and a question, close together.

•• On•ly • Bang•len••Yp •• A•lone ••

Another sad statement, along with a sad smile.

•• Bang•len••Yp • search•es • for • other ••

Words heavier than ever before and the gaze are cast down towards the ground.  A single tear fell and a confused look partly replaced the sad as a hand lifted up to dry the cheek.

•• I • rain • in•side ••

A puzzled statement aimed at no one and the kitten nudged her again, gently purring where it snuggled up against her neck.

---

Staying a little to the side as they approached the city, the strange blonde watched and listened but said nothing.  She had nothing to offer and the internal rain had dampened her otherwise cheerful spirit it seemed.

 

Beyond the gate, the road leads down wards across an open space, with fences of wrought iron enclosing the short grass to each side.  One might suspect it to be an ornamental park of some description, but its position against the base of the city walls, coupled with the very sharp, though highly decorative, tips on the vertical bars of the fence, make it seem more likely that it is intended to serve a defensive role.

Then they ride between the first of the houses.  There are people here, made miserable by the weather.  All are busy, going about their daily business, though there always seems to be a clear path for the panthers through the crowded street.  The wind, blowing in from the sea, stirs the remnants of the flags, streamers, and pennants which still adorn the tall stone buildings.  Closer, more details are seen - the predominant colours of the decorations are green and white (often depicting a white unicorn on a green field), or blue and white (three white ships on a blue background is a common motif here), though other colours and designs are also present.

Moving through the streets, many of the buildings show signs of damage.  In the more extreme cases, this appears to be quite severe.  Some of them are boarded up, their doors sealed, or stare out at the travellers through broken, vacant windows.

A market square, with far fewer stalls than it could accomodate, though those that are present seem to be well-stocked, and doing brisk trade.  The crowds are here too, buying from the market, or from the shops which surround the edges of the square.  A few are standing about, gossiping idly, in one corner of the marketplace, while watching a dozen workmen constructing a gibbet on an elevated platform.

Dorian kept words to himself as they rode into the city. Once bright, the city no longer seems as prosperous as it once did. Perhaps it is merely the rain coupled with the rebuilding efforts. It was a tragic thing to have a home destroyed.

Across the marketplace, and downhill, on the way towards the harbour.  The houses down here are mostly in better shape, with fewer signs of the troubles which have afflicted the city.  There also seem to be even more people about.

Onward and downward... the street follows a gentle curve to the left, then straightens out, and a narrow slice of harbour and ocean can be seen at the far end.  And a ship.  Though difficult to see details at this range, the pennant at the masthead appears to be greeen and white.

Just as they pass a narrower side street, Cyan stops, and looks past the people flowing in and out of the smaller thoroughfare...
This message was last edited by the GM at 07:34, Wed 18 Apr 2007.

Cyan nods to Roman's assessment of the situation vis a vis the assassin.  "Indeed.  It seems unlikely..."  Her voice trails off as she stares around the city, hearing words echoing from the distance of the past.

"...It seems the rumours about Cadiniagart might be true, certainly the citizens look to be celebrating something...."

She blinks, turns a serious face to Banglen-Yp.  "Nothing, save identification.  A name is but a marker, to hold place for others to find."  It is difficult to follow what the woman might mean, and memories rush in on the bard, distracting her.  She flinches away from the gibbet, turning her face from its ugly, twisted shape.  She searches for another.  Like her?

"Earth."  She nods.  "I have heard of this world, perhaps more than one of them.  Perhaps Jonnee's was named so...."  She looks at the war-torn world around her.  "Trista, it seems the reflections of your worlds are not so different.  Jonnee's world is a world of sudden violence, and James'...well, there have been wars."  An understatement, as any looking in James' eyes for long enough would know.  She looks at the other woman directly.  Small wonder she seeks to defend those who cannot save themselves - perhaps she has seen enough of that in the past?

Then something catches her eye.  And the voices rush in like water through a cracked dam.

"Look at this place, Berd.  Isn't it beautiful?"

"Hello! Iss anybody dhere?"

"Ah... fergive me please.  Donavon's the name.  I'm the owner of this establishment."

"Since I want not to burden you with asking me yourself and to save you the work of going through this twice, I will take the same as the young lady with the unusual draconic companion."

"Greeting, innkeeper. Room, bath and a plater of whatever it is that smells so good."

She sways in the saddle, face as pale as one who has been stabbed, and stares blindly at the grey stone, blue tiled inn before the group.  Somehow it has escaped damage, and looks much the same as it had...six months ago, over two years ago, depending on which path one too to arrive here.  The straight, or the winding.

"Blue Rose," Cyan whispers, looking at the name of the establishment.  She swallows thickly, and suddenly Berd bursts off Lexy's shoulder to dart through the air onto Cyan's.  He croons quietly, his tail wrapping her neck, one wing unfolding to shroud her head.  Cyan reaches up to touch the drake, her fingers trembling.

"Should we require an inn," she says quietly, somehow pitching her voice to cut through the hustle and bustle of the square, "you will not find a finer one than this.  And the innkeeper, a good man, may be able to answer some questions."

Here, she bumped into Duncan and Morgan.  Here she met Otandal, the poor, doomed shapeshifter.  Here Derek toasted Amber, and she, herself, traded songs with Lexy.  Here it all began, she thinks, staring at the building.  And now they return, bearing new knowledge, new strengths, new sorrows.  A cold wind blows down her spine.

Here begins the end.

Roman shakes his head at the conversation between Trista and Banglen-Yp.  Trying to get Banglen-Yp to explain herself in a comprehensible fashion is a difficult task, requiring much patience.

On hearing Cyan's comments on the inn he remarks.  "Do we travel by sea or land ?  If by sea it would be well to book passage, before seeking accomodations.  The ship in the harbour bears a flag in Amber's colours"
This message was last edited by the player at 11:04, Fri 20 Apr 2007.

"By sea.  That is the traditional way to Amber from Cadiniagart.  'Though I will feel a little exposed out at sea."  James answers Roman.  After all that's how he arrived here.  Six months ago.

"Cyan's right, there have been wars.  But that's not the whole story.  My world, like any other I suppose, is a big place.  It has its share of wonders as well as tragedies.  When I was younger, I sought out conflicts to test myself.  It took me a long time to wake up to the harm all the fighting was doing to me.  I guess what I'm saying is my experience isn't typical of my world."

Uncertain how to comfort Banglen-Yp, or answer her questions, Trista fell silent in their travels. Cyan provides an answer for the strange woman, but whether the blonde would understand or not remained to be seen.

Cyan’s words about violence and wars prompts a nod from Trista, “Violence seems to be a common theme in man, whether between battling countries or erupting in personal disagreements.” Sorrow again rests in her eyes.

James expresses some of what his history holds, and Trista again wonders at Berd’s conclusion that James and she share a commonality. It’s there, she can see, but to what extent will have to be discovered as they come to know one another.

“This is a large group, certainly half could see about a ship and the other check for information within the Inn. If by sea, perhaps we will not have the luxury of staying the night if a ship is to be had immediately.”

Under the present circumstances Roman considers the local authorities to be less of a threat to him than any agents of Amber who might be around the ship.

"If we're splitting, I prefer to remain here",

Dorian pauses with the others. He looks to the inn, then Cyan. There were more memories here for her than for the others. To the company, he says, "I will go to see about transportation, then. We have no business here. If we can pass on to Amber quickly, so much the better. If not, we should endeavor to spend our time here well. Anyone who wishes may join me."

It wouldn't take more than one, but the talk of splitting up caused him to leave the invitation open. He especially wanted it open for Cyan. He wasn't sure, but he suspected she might wish to be distant from this part of the city for a time. She could just as easily wish to remain here with her nostalgia, so he didn't address any invitation directly to her.

Tahirah gently guides her panther a little closer to Dorian.  She was, by necessity, starting to get the hang of riding, but it still helped that it was a perceptive and highly cooperative mount.  She swallows, first; she really hasn't spoken since leaving Parcifal's Charyk, and she always takes care to speak clearly.

"I would go to see the ships," she says.  Not a grand pronouncement, perhaps, but they don't all have to be.

"I'll go with you, Dorian," Aaron responded. "Been a while since I've been aboard ship. I'd also like to get a good measure of how long we'll be out to sea."

Aaron had other reasons, of course, but those were just the initial ones. He wanted to get moving on to Amber as soon as possible.

"By sea, it would seem," Cyan notes quietly, when Roman's questions are answered by others.  She listens to James' explanation, turning to stare at him in ruby-eyed surprise as he confesses to having found wars to 'test' himself.  A shock, that; he must have changed a great deal since then.  Wars tend to do that, she reminds herself, with a glance down at her hand.  The bard reaches up, scratches Berd's chin for an instant, then glances back at the Inn.

Trista's comment sparks a slow nod from Cyan, her weariness of the spirit, rather than the body.  "Truth, regrettably.  On this journey we have seen enough of people's faults, their quick turn toward violence.  Not all, of course."  A tired smile back to Trista.  "Only...enough."

She expects both James and Trista, along with the other World Walkers, have seen much of that themselves even before joining.  The sorrow in Trista's eyes seems to bear that out.

And now Trista puts forth a good plan - one that will allow them to scour the city both for transportation, and for information.  Cyan nods, understanding - fragmentation is poor when in battle, but this is a different situation.  Now, it seems, three have declared for the ships, and one for the Inn.  Cyan nods, slowly.  "I would speak with Donovan, the innkeeper.  He may recall me, and be able to fill my cup of knowledge, so to speak."

Berd bobs his head, and Cyan sighs.  "And perhaps find dinner, yes."

And so the group splits up.  Some head for the harbour (Part 59b), while others opt for the inn (Part 59a).