High upon the hillside above the city, night falls.  In the storm though, night or day makes little difference.  The sky is black, split by jagged streaks of lightning, and the wind still roars, unabated.  Water flows down the slope, sweaping away debris... a torrent of mud and water so broad that it seems as if the whole hillside is moving.

Beldrin rests quietly in the simple hut.  It's not comfortable, exactly, but certainly more comfortable than his recent accomodations.

Dorian's own accomodation is definitely more comfortable, but visitors may not be quite as welcome as the rain-soaked doormat would imply.

Cyan continues to sit silently, staring at the card.  Occasionally, her lips move, and she nods once, fractionally.  A small smile steals onto her features, followed by a look of mild irritation.

Berd curls up on Trista's shoulder and watches Devlin's glove warily.

Devlin notices the drake eying Nightbrand. The thing was something he'd always kept a secret, mostly because no one had asked. But now he'd let the creature speak aloud, that might have come as a surprise to some.

The connection, bridging as Berd called, was always there and Devlin could feel it at the corner of his mind, he could hear the others, but had chosen not to listen.

Trista and Cyan are busy and Devlin needed to do something besides sit and wait.

"I have an idea... " Beldrin says, suddenly, and then starts coughing as he tries to sit up.

Eventually the coughing subsides, and he manages to speak again, directing his attention to Devlin, "You need to find out this name, yes?"

"I want to get back to Amber, and you want to get there too.  Good, that's good.  My problem is that I'm not really in any condition to travel far.  If you will act as an escort, accompany me on the road, then I'll personally use every resource I have there to help you find out what you want."

He leans back again, "Do we have a deal?"

"A cube!"  Cyan suddenly sits up straighter, and focuses more attention on the card.  Her lips move, but her voice drops down to nothing again.  Still, ruby eyes sparkle with animation, and her brows knot together as she furiously considers their options.

Berd swings his head toward Beldrin as the man speaks, then Devlin.

"At the very least, for example, I should be able introduce you to several people with some influence at Court, with a number of different members of the Family.  That should improve your chances of getting the information you seek, as you would be able to approach the matter from a variety of different angles."  Beldrin states, and then slumps down, seemingly exhausted by his efforts.

Outside lightning bazes, sending a glaring light into the hut, and thunder crashes across the heavens.

"Is the storm getting worse?"

Trista sits cross-legged by Cyan's side with her hand softly resting on the other woman's shoulder. Her features change little as she takes in information. She absently lifts a finger to stroke Berd's velvety throat. She quietly speaks only once.

The flash of light earns a quick glance toward the door and a longer gaze on Beldrin, “Sounds like it, but it's hard to tell from in here.” Then she's back to staring at nothing with the coppery Bard.

Devlin contemplates the offer made by Beldrin. He'd told Cyan that he would stick around, now could he simply go off with this man he does not know.

He looks to Cyan and Trista, they are still having their silent conversation with James, or is it Aaron? It didn't matter.

"I will have to see what the plans of the others are. If I am not mistaken, Amber is their current destination. If that is the case you will have several escorts. If it turns out that they are not headed for Amber then I will take you there myself."

*OOC - Assuming James has nothing more to request - he was getting ready to sign off.*

Cyan finally turns the card over, a thoughtful expression upon her sharp features.  She glances to Trista, offers a smile.  "If you like, I can forge a palanquet of yourself."  She shrugs.  "Some do not wish for one - granted, it does have its perils should the card fall into the wrong hands.  I will not be offended should you say no...and should you agree, it might take some time."

She looks out of the hut, and her thin eyebrows knit together for an instant.  "Perhaps the storm does increase...Berd?"  On Trista's shoulder the little dragon raises his head from the woman's finger with some irritation at the interruption.  He sighs, rainbow steam rising from the edges of his mouth, and turns his glittering gaze out into darkness of the rain.

"The others have discovered another cube, Devlin," Cyan states quietly.  "Another of the Archon's travelling devices, given to their agents and possibly used to mark Worlds.  Beldrin knows of such things, do you not, Beldrin?"  She considers the dark man's reply to Caine's agent.  He considers leaving them already?  "I had hoped you would remain to lend assistance, Devlin.  You know you would be welcome, and I would give you whatever assistance I could in answering your questions."

They needed him.  They needed everyone they could find.

The clear vision of James suddenly vanishes, pushing Trista's head back slightly in the abruptness of it all. “Amazing ability, and to think it looks like an ordinary tarot.”

She sits back, letting her arm fall away from Cyan's shoulder. She pushes herself back against a wall with her feet out before her. Her attention returns to Cyan as she speaks of creating one of these of her. Stormy eyes lighten just a touch in surprise at the offer. Would it be a part of Cyan's deck? Of course, there'd be no reason for Trista to have one of herself. Does she warrant such attention? Not really.

Trista takes just a moment before she thoughtfully speaks, “If it would prove useful, I have no objections. I certainly don't want it to be a burden for you and I may not be one you would wish to contact, but really, I would be curious to see one.”

Her finger drops to her lap as Berd's attentions are drawn outdoors and she listens as Cyan relates their conversation to Devlin and Beldrin. She, too, hopes Devlin will remain. For several reasons... Though it is not her place to cajole, she has already expressed her hopes to the man.
This message was last edited by the player at 01:08, Wed 25 July 2007.

"Another cube, in the city?" Beldrin's gaze shifts to Cyan, "I'm starting to suspect that the damned things are alive.  There must be a world out there where they breed faster than rabbits."

He thinks for a moment, frowning, "I wonder if there is a purpose to their being brought here, specifically.  My own sources have not heard of any in the nearby lands, and yet they keep turning up in Cadiniagart itself.  Surely if the only reason were to get one into Amber, it would make more sense to transport them by different routes, and reduce the chances of them being spotted by somebody who knows what they are."

"Do you, by chance, know what would happen if the two, currently in the city, were brought together?"

The door to the hut crashes open, carried by the wind harder than the opener intended. A flash of lightning outlines a scarecrow silhouette, cloak twisting and flapping in the wind.

"Storms getting worse," Dorian barks over the wind. "I can't detect a source, but I swear this cannot be natural. Everyone stay inside. I don't know how much worse this might get, so I'm going to reinforce the structure for safety. Then we can plan from there."

He drops something flat and rectangular on the muddy ground outside this hut. A distant flash outlines the word, Welcome. Then he pulls the door shut, struggling against the buffeting winds and disappears into the night again.

Cyan ducks her head in embarassment at Trista's assessment of the palanquet.  "Truly, very small in comparison the power of the Grand Pattern, but I find it useful."  A helpless shrug.  "And that power is out of my reach, in any case."  She blinks at Trista's self-deprecatory words, and offers a hesitant smile.  "You are with us, Trista.  And Berd enjoys your company.  These are two very good reasons for me to forge a palanquet."

But her visage grows more serious at Beldrin's words.  "The cubes are forged by the Archons, of course.  How, I am uncertain.  As to why they continue to turn up in Cadignart, I have no clue...at present.  Perhaps there is more to this land than we suspect - we have seen some strange and wonderous things in our travels across the Myriad Worlds."  Ruby eyes thoughtful, Cyan rubs her chin in consideration.  "If the cubes communicate as well...if we brought them together, they might absorb one another's facets.  They might also merge.  Or open a gate.  I do not think it is something with which we should experiment here."

The door crashes open.

Gurthang is half-free of its scabbard, ethereal flames of molecular decomposition flickering along its fiery edge, when Cyan recognizes Dorian in the doorway.  She hastily slams the blade back down into its sanctuary, and opens her mouth...but Dorian merely barks out an explanation before vanishing back into the night, the darkness welcoming him like a son.  "Berd!" the bard snaps without hesitation, and moves to the door of the hut, waiting, listening for movement over the crash of the storm.

Berd's eyes begin to burn.

She had been told of the Cube, in only the barest of terms. A six-sided cube which actually contains many sides? It boggles the mind and so Trista had chosen not to dwell on it until she is able to actually see one. And now Beldrin and Cyan speak of metaphysical properties, things Trista does not understand. She keeps her silence, sitting against the wall.

In a flash, she is on her feet at the first crashing sound. The door explodes inward with Dorian stepping through like some anti-hero from movies of gone-by days. Rain and lightning crashes around him, wind whips his hair, and his voice brooks no conversation as he dictates commands. Though the woman had flew to her feet in preparation for trouble, no blade half drew from it's scabbard as Cyan's did.

With the orders give, the man drops a Welcome mat outside the door and disappears into the storm. A single eyebrow arches, “A welcome mat, interesting.”

Cyan takes up residence at the door and Berd begins... something. Trista feels Berd's shared strength all around her and is grateful. For her part, Trista keeps her position against the wall across from the door, on her feet, but in a relaxed stance.

The time for talk seems to be gone for the moment.

"I agree, experimentation can wa- " Beldrin's words are cut off by a peal of thunder, so loud that it seems to be inside the shelter with them.

When the ringing in his ears subsides, he shakes is head.  "This is the one thing I always hated about Cadiniagart... Storm Season.  Every year they get a handful of hurricanes, and every year there's at least one of them like this one.  It's why they build so solidly in the city."

Devlin is thoughtful for a bit, thinking on choices and other things.

He does not jump, at least not physically, when Dorian slams into the hut, and then he is gone again.

When the noise subsides with the closing of the door he says, "Beldrin said he had a cube, I gather it was taken from him. Perhaps this is the same cube that the others have found out about. There's no reason to think that there are now two of the things here."

Then he looks at Beldrin, It seems that I should remain with my friends for a while longer. Each time I try to approach Amber something manages to draw me further away again." He would need to believe in random chance for this to happen every time, and he does not.

"But I doubt we'll be doing anything much until this storm has passed, if it ever passes...

Trista is quick off the mark, no doubt about that.  It isn't hard to see.  She also seems to have better control over her reflexes, or perhaps Cyan has picked up certain bad habits over her last year or two 'away'.  She gives the other woman a weak smile, slightly embarassed at her almost-draw.  "Dorian has a peculiar sense of humor," she says by way of explanation.  "That might be a magical mat.  It might be a trap for enemies.  It might be a gateway to use for escapes."

"It might be a welcome mat.  I have no idea."  Cyan gingerly prods the mat with a finger.


Cyan glances at Trista again and nods fractionally.  "The storm...Berd says it is not controlled, or summoned here by magics," she states aloud for the benefit of the others in the hut.  "It might be the norm, it might not.  With the upheavals in the Myriad Worlds, there may be storms rushing through time and space."  Her lips twist into a bitter frown for an instant.  "'Shadow' storms, or so they are called."

She nods to Devlin's supposition.  It's possible the cube the others have discovered is one and the same.  But it is worth investigating.  "Beldrin, who took the cube from you?" she inquires.

Relief swamps her as Devlin announces his plans to remain with them, at least for the moment.  Good.  Too many people have left this quest already.  They need everyone they can find.  She needs everyone she can find.  Her own reaction surprises her, and Cyan considers her heart.

She is worn.  Pressure erodes the strongest will after a time.

She moves to crouch next to Trista, puts her head back against the wall, and rolls her eyes up to the other woman.  But her voice is pitched to include Devlin, as well.  "Quests to save the universe are not exactly what the songs make them out to be, are they not?"

He had work to do. A storm like this wasn't unusual back on Samhain. In fact, it made him a little nostalgic, stomping in a wide circle around the hut while the wind battered him. Just a few moments, he thought. That's all I need, and then we'll have shelter enough to weather the worst of hurricanes. Unless the entire hill washed away, of course. He couldn't do much about that, save keep his teleport spell fresh. He pondered preparing a new one tailored to carry multiple beings and preset for the city. Just a little longer...
This message was last edited by the player at 16:58, Sat 28 July 2007.

"It was taken from me when I was arrested, by the guard officer in charge." Beldrin replies, "It reappeared, briefly, for my equally brief trial, where it served as evidence of my treachery."

"After that, I never saw it again, but I was questioned about it by a man called Gerrod, who styles himself the Royal Alchemist.  From what he said, he recognised it as an object of some power, but had not been able to use it for anything."

Beldrin smiles, "That didn't surprise me.  From my knowledge of the man, he doesn't have the strength of will to command a lady's lapdog, let alone a Trump artifact.  I suspect that the cube, itself, is now somewhere in the castle, either still being studied, or locked away securely."
This message was last edited by the player at 17:02, Sun 29 July 2007.

Not seeing an immediate problem, Trista goes back to gently scratching Berd under his chin and jaw with a smile on her face.

Talk turns to storms and cubes with Trista listening intently. Though Beldrin's assessment of the Royal Alchemist sprinkles humor, she adds a warning, “It's been my experience that those who believe they are powerful can cause the most havoc, let's hope he doesn't do anything averse.”

"Trista speaks true."  Still leaning against the hut's wall, Cyan closes her eyes.  "Oftentimes it is a child playing about who breaks the crystal."  Her eyes open, ruby now.  "A frustrated man might actually find someone capable of using the accursed thing, or subject it to experiments of a dangerous nature."

"We need to retake that cube as well."

Her fingertips itch - she wants to move, to get going - this port has become yet another stalling point for the Questors, where they run hither and yon, attempting to solve another problem fallen into their path.  Yet what else can they do?

Berd stretches out his neck, eyes burning faintly in the dim light of the hut.  He lets out a small, musical hum as Trista scratches his throat.
 Cyan sighs, then nods once.  "Berd seems quite taken with the attention you give, Trista," she notes, a hint of amusement in her tone.  "You are a wanderer in the worlds," she continues.  "How far?  How long?"
This message was last edited by the player at 11:31, Mon 30 July 2007.

Dorian pauses in his ministrations outside, still buffeted by the wind, to study the horizon. His eyes tell him little, but he extends his senses.

Trista sagely nods with Cyan's words, the woman has a talent for capturing what Trista wants to say, but cannot. She's reminded of an old tale of a mighty writer who had no gift for speaking and so had a spokesman. Perhaps, a common story.

In regards to the cube, Trista asks, “Then what do we do with it? Certainly, we cannot bring it into Amber with us. Do you have a method of to either destroy it or hide it?”

The woman's lips slightly curve at the comment concerning Berd, “My guess? He's easily won over with a soft touch. Though, aren't we all?” Ironic thought, at the end.

She thinks a moment before answering further, “To be honest, I don't completely understand how world walking works so it is hard for me to discern a distance. Considering the worlds shift and change with each step, bringing me into someplace new, I can't even guess. I come from somewhere between Amber and the Courts, though I believe closer to Amber. It's not a strange world, as you pointed out, much like the worlds of some of the others. But I have traveled near the Courts, running errands for people, but I haven't actually been there. Nor have I been this close to Amber before.

“As for how long?” She blinks, her mind filtering back through her years. “Perhaps 80 years? Time travels differently wherever I go, so again, I don't really know how old I am.”

She gives the woman an apologetic look, “Not very interesting, I'm afraid.”

Sighing, Beldrin rubs at the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes tightly.  When he opens tham again, he says nothing, staring at the ceiling of the shelter for some time.

Finally he speaks, "I believe I can draw a map of where to find the cube, though I don't think I'm strong enough, yet, to come with you to find it.  The main problem I can see would be if Gerrod no longer has the thing.  While I can show you the location of Gerrod's laboratory, if the cube has been taken from him, I have know way of knowing where else it might be."

Outside the hut, the noise of the storm becomes muffled, distant. Lightning no longer flashes through the cracks, and the hut no longer trembles under the buffeting winds.

Then comes the clanging of a heavy bar, steel hinges grinding, from mere inches beyond the hut door--as if the entire hut had been moved into some dank dungeon.

The hut door opens to reveal Dorian, again. This time no light is visible beyond, but a heavy steel door, reinforced with a heavy steel bar can be seen instead. The tall hinges are bolted into gray stone, smooth and seamless.

"The structure will hold as long as the hill itself does," Dorian says. "The braces run deep into the hillside. But it no longer looks like a hut."

He enters, stepping over the welcome mat. His eyes sweep the room, linger just a bit longer on Cyan than on the others. Only the tiniest of half-smiles plays on his lips for a moment. His eyes spark with the light of something unspoken, but then they move on.

"You're feeling better, Beldrin. Do you require anything?"
This message was last edited by the player at 19:40, Tue 31 July 2007.

"There is a place where Berd threw the first cube," Cyan explains with a grimace.  "Orodruin will mindlessly consume any others we choose to gift it."  She shoots a look at the lethargic drake.  "If he can be persuaded to rouse himself," the bard mutters.  Berd sniffs in her direction, then goes back to his musical hum.  "In truth, he does fall quickly to a kind word or kinder hand, but the trick is touching him to begin with.  He stands aloof most oft, opting only to light upon those he has known for some time.  For him to have chosen to 'gift' you with his presence," and there her tone is lightly ironic, "you must have caught his attention."  Her voice softens.  "Deservedly so - Berd is a far better judge of character than myself."

And isn't that a painful truth.

She sucks in a breath as Trista describes her methodology of Walking.  Impressive.  "From the sound of it, you Walk the Worlds much as James or Aaron might, forging their way with the power of the Great Pattern.  And now you have nearly been the length of the Myriad Worlds themselves.  And you 'run errands'?  You are employed doing this?"  A hint of awe touches her amber eyes.  Imagine!  A World-Walking messenger, free of spirit, owing fealty to no greater power.

And eighty.  Years.  She stares at Trista for a long moment, at the woman's youthful features.  She looks to be the same age as Cyan, herself.  And it seems a safe bet that in ten years she will still appear the same, while Cyan will wear those years.  She might wear them well, but still.  "Not very interesting?" she replies, an incredulous smile on her sharp features.  "Thus speaks the one who lives within the storm, not understanding how it might appear to those unused to it."

Her attention slides to Beldrin for a moment.  "You have my thanks, Beldrin, and rest assured, we will do everything in our power to gain you passage to Amber.  But the Cube must be destroyed - this is critical.  We-"

She pauses.  The wind has died.  The storm is nearly silent.  Then follows a crashing of metal, and Cyan jumps, startled.  The hut has grown much darker within, she realizes, as Berd puffs out a small, incandescent cloud.  It floats to the ceiling and hangs there, bathing the hut in warmth and light.

The door opens again, this time quietly.  Cyan's disbelieving gaze falls upon the fortress door behind Dorian, and she raises a single eyebrow, both her eyes wide as saucers.  The power...the forces wielded by the Questors.  From Berd, she is used to this.  One would think she would be complacent with such demonstrations from the others, from Dorian, but no.  She greets the man and his small smile with a look of stunned amazement.  "Spirits above, Dorian - what have you wrought?"

Standing, Cyan slips out of the hut to examine its new 'shell'.  Berd snorts.

Dorian's feels his heart skip a gentle beat at the sight of Cyan's small smile. The look of amusement delights him, somehow.

As she slips outside to examine the fortress around the hut, he lowers his head looking around. "Shelter," he says. "A bit much, perhaps, but my hut was falling down around me and I wanted to be sure we had a safe place from the elements. I could, perhaps, disguise it better... ."

It was practical. He remembered hurricanes like this on Samhain. Structures had to be built to withstand the worst that cruel nature could bring forth. He had done so here, as well.

That, and he wanted to be sure his rest would be undisturbed. They had traveled long, and ridden through a storm. Then he had worked hard hours restoring Beldrin, followed by the conjurings of hut first, then fortress-shell. He stood erect, ready to wield his powers further, but the paleness of his face and grayness under his eyes told a tale of weariness and strain.
This message was last edited by the player at 01:14, Thu 02 Aug 2007.

Devlin listens quietly from his place against the wall. 80 years he catches that. He wonders if it has been that long since the vision Nightbrand stole from her mind.

At any rate, it seems that they should move rather than sit still, but the storm and Beldrin requiring care seem to be obstacles to moving quickly.

Other thoughts are similar to someone else. This group, never able to go in a straight line, always pulled in directions they would rather not go do to what seems to be chance, though he doubts it is.

"If there are indeed two cubes here then we should try to take them both. Cyan, you say that some of the others pursue one, would it not be wise for us, and maybe some of the others to go after the second? The second may be gone by the time the first is retrieved if we case after one at a time."

Devlin looks to Dorian, "I may be a good idea leave Beldrin with a supply of food. I don't think we can linger here until he is well enough to travel on his own. Beldrin could recuperate while we chase these cubes and we can return here when that is finished to retrieve him.

"I can leave one of my pets behind so that we will know if anything changes... "

Then Berd relays a message from Chance through across the bridging. While he was barely paying attention to it he was still there, but he could not have missed what it said even if he'd tried... Serena was there...

A chill runs up Devlin's back and the little hairs on the his neck stand on end. He pulls abruptly away from the bridging at that point. He closes his eyes and looks up. A lifetime passes through his mind in that moment that his eyes are closed. His feelings tug against each other torn between running away and running toward where she is.

The man pushes his feelings aside with a little difficulty and returns his attention to those around him, but he does not return to Berd's bridging even though he can feel it reaching out to him.

Devlin looks at Cyan and Trista, "I think we should pursue the second cube. What do the rest of you think?" He asks as if nothing out of the ordinary had just happened.
This message was last edited by the player at 02:44, Thu 02 Aug 2007.

"That might be the best idea.  I am feeling better now, and should be able to survive a few hours alone." Beldrin comments.  "If somebody can provide me with the means to create a simple map, then I will do so."

Berd's eyes glitter.

She's not completely comfortable with compliments, even soft ones, so Trista simply smiles to Cyan. Although it would seem she's given the other woman the wrong impression. “I think I misspoke; I don't actually forge a path through shadow. I basically hang on and am taken to where I want to go, not a path of my own choosing. I am certainly not powerful as the Amberites are. But yes, I do errands that others do not, though sometimes I wonder why they don't - some of those who have employed me have had the means...”

The woman mirrors her silent dialog with the analogy of the storm and Trista smiles, “I seem to have an affinity for storms.” A wink and laughter should accompany the statement, but the warmth on her features will have to do for now.

The room grows dimmer in the fire-lit hut just before Dorian bursts back inside. Trista glimpses steel and stone behind him. He doesn't exactly explain, but his words tell the story of a structure now in place around their little abode. Something to protect them. She gives Berd a little almost grin.

To Devlin's suggestion, Trista nods intently, “I'll help retrieve this Cube.” Through years of discipline, she will do what must be done, but she prefers action to inaction and sitting in this hut these many hours have proven weary to her spirit.

Although leaving Beldrin might not be a good idea, what with Dorian's orders on the medications.

"Shelter?"  Cyan arches one eyebrow, and taps her knuckles against the iron door.  It lets out a musical bong.  "Or a fortress?"  She glances about their outer shell, dark as it is, and shakes her head.  "Oh, I cannot imagine why you would need to disguise this, Dorian.  A giant eruption upon a nearby hill, an iron door buried in its side...for Cadinigart, I suspect it is merely a warm beer at the bar."  She pads by him back into the hut, pausing for a disbelieving smile.

"Fear not - no mere storm will shatter our walls now, whether it is you who attract them, Trista, or ourselves."  She lowers her voice, conspiratorially.  "They seem to crop up with disquieting frequency about the Quest, as well."  It's the truth - Cyan can think of several off the top of her head.

...then again, she considers, perhaps it is not cause for humor.  Perhaps it is more than coincidence.


A thought occurs to Cyan as she stares at those about her.  Devlin, who knew how old.  Dorian, a milennia or more.  And Trista - there is the thought, and it concerns her words of before.  Eighty years...running errands.  How many more before that?

Amazing.

A moment to ponder upon Devlin's thoughts and Trista's agreement, no more.  Then Cyan nods.  "I agree."  She looks to Dorian.  "What say you, Dorian?  Join we three in retrieving this Cube?  Spirits know your assistance will be most appreciated."  That said with a quick, nervous smile.  Her hands are already busy in her pack, removing her book and one of her quill pens.  A page torn from the former goes with the latter to Beldrin.  "A bar upon the door, and Beldrin should be safe - I can provide him with a palanquet of myself, as well."  Her lips twist.  "There seem to be a surfit of them in my deck."

Berd has apparantly gathered all of hers from throughout the Myriad Worlds...including the one given to Jack.

Dorian for mighty sorcery, Berd for coverage, Devlin for his shifting abilities, and Trista and her...apparantly the distaff side of the team will deal with any physical threats.  Amusing.


Cyan passes a palanquet of herself to Beldrin.  "For emergencies," she notes quietly.  "If at all possible, I would rather my deck not be infected with this odd disease."

Beldrin accepts the pen and paper and starts to sketch, making occasional comments as he works.  Gradually a map starts to take shape, a series of rooms, all leading off from a central corridor with a flight of stairs at each end, both of them guarded.  A side corridor, branching off, dividing the rooms into two uneven suites.  A door at the end of the corridor opens onto a courtyard of sorts, with crenelated battlements along two sides, and a long drop to the grpund below.

Gerrod is something of a traditionalist.  He persuaded the king that the magical arts require altitude.  To this end, his apartment is upon the top floor of the keep.  Here is his library." Beldrin marks the room on the map, "I've visited him once or twice, before I was declared an enemy of the state.  This is his laboratory.  Here his sleeping chamber and bathroom.  This one is his study.  The door at the end of the laboratory leads to a high turret, where he maintains an observatory."

"If the cube isn't in his laboratory, it will be in the study, or in the observatory.  There is a hidden panel alongside the fireplace in the study... he may have hidden the cube there."

Devlin pays attention to what Beldrin says as he sketches a map of part of the keep. Back to the keep, he doubts that Major Bers can arrive again so soon after he already arrived, and without leaving, if he hasn't already arrived for the second time. The real Major Bers may already be back at the keep. They would need another way in this time.


Devlin looks more closely at the map, He already has a lot of the keeps layout in his head form Rel, the man working on the gallows. He could probably get into the keep and out again without being noticed... if he went alone. His first instinct is to do just that, to set off on his own... again, but instead he asks "Any idea on how we will re-enter the keep?"

So much for a time of rest. He had hoped, somehow, to get real rest this time. Sadly, duty calls. Dorian says little, merely stands and waits for the plan to be laid. Once or twice, his eyes stray to Cyan. So much had changed, yet so much was the same. Remarkable.

Cyan ponders for a moment, then snaps her fingers.  "There may be a way we can do this without needing to go in and out.  Here we are, surrounded by people with Power, and we always choose the most difficult route."  She studies the map, then turns to Dorian.

She isn't blind, and could hardly miss the disappointment and weariness upon his features, moments ago.  Dorian is a rock - a glassy, obsidian pillar.  For him to show what he did speaks volumes.  Her lips twist in a grimace for an instant; asking this of him when he is tired is a little much, but it might prevent even more wasted effort.  "Dorian," Cyan begins hesitantly, "you can send threads out to study distant places, can you not?  Would it be possible to send one into this...alchemist's sanctum?"  Her ruby eyes assess his state.  "And if I am linked with you, can I peer through your thread?  If this is possible, I can sense the cube's presence.  I have done so before - it is palanquet, though of an alien source, and I am attuned to such things."

Cyan draws in a deep breath.  Here is the hard part.  "And if I do, would it be possible for you to transport it here with Sorcery?"

Simple.  Quick.  Accurate.  And leaving them time for rest afterward.  The only problem is if Dorian is capable at the moment.

"If not, we can simply locate the cube and give Devlin exact directions."  Devlin, of course, seems more than capable of getting in and out on his own.

Dragging the entire group, herself included...it makes no sense.  Poor tactics, poor strategy, poor use of their resources.  Efficiency - none.

But Dorian - she worries.  There is a bone-deep exhaustion in the dark man, and a clinging sense of weary despair.  She reaches out with both hands, takes one of his, squeezes it.  "If neither plan will function, worry not.  We will find another way."

Though everyone agrees and plans for Beldrin's safety set in place, Cyan eventually erases it all with the simple notion that Dorian can simply bring the Cube to the group. Trista's face remains passive, but her mind reels again at the power.

Besides a strong spirit and a willing heart, Trista offers little but support. Somehow she has fallen in with those of great power and why? Because she helped – and very little help it was – James on a fight he could have easily handled himself? Because she showed kindness to a small dragon?

Trista's head barely shakes and the notion. Still, gratitude for Berd's fast friendship and the good graces of the others fills her weary soul. There are so many involved in this quest, she wonders if it would not be a tad easier if only the most powerful of them worked together.

Trista's eyes flitted back and forth over the tactical map written in chalk on a pock-marked floor. She saw it all before her: the possibilities to actually get to Corleon himself. If they could pull off this mission, the regime would be severely crippled. And, with any luck, Corleon would be dead.

However...

They were crippled in their own right. Zane and Chris had brought in so many people into the planning stages, it was like a giant committee. Too many cooks in this fire. Although they each had their strengths, not the least was their eager willing to get their hands dirty, several of them offered nothing other than their good will. Two, in particular, regularly tripped wires, ran into and toppling things: they were simply clumsy. Another one quaked at the site of blood. A fourth, to be blunt, had to pee every hour or so. That proved inconvenient.

To Trista's trained eyes, they simply had to cut the weaker links from this extremely important mission. Zane, of course, would balk. He wanted to bring every friend, aunt, and babysitter along for the ride. But here, could they afford such benevolence?

It was up to Trista to do let them loose, but she would give them another mission to lessen the blow. Something they were fully qualified to perform, but did not rely on being stealthy, having a strong stomach, or a strong bladder.

Of course, this time it is Trista who is the weak link. There's something ironic about cycles of life in there, somewhere.

Dorian nods, simultaneously steeling himself against the fatigue of many days travel and the hard battle less than a week past. If the time was not for resting, then he would push on as he always did.

"It's a sound idea," he says, though his voice carries a fringe of extra gentleness. "Let us make the attempt. If I cannot bring it here, then at least we will know where it is."

His other hand in the clasp. His eyes meet hers and he begins to forge the connection they will need to search for the cube.
This message was last edited by the player at 15:40, Mon 06 Aug 2007.

Dorian starts to work, reaching out into the chaotic darkness.  An invisible thread, thinner than a hair, and stronger than adamantine steel, stretching out across the wild air...

Snaking towards the castle, unaffected by the turbulence of the sky, but twisted by far more esoteric currents which frame this world, it slithers closer.  It reaches the fortress, and passes through the wall of thekeep, as if the stone were nothing but mist, evaporating in the morning sun...

Cyan sees through Dorian's mind.  There is a thing which seems more solid than the entire world, and to her own senses, it burns brighter than a sun.  She directs Dorian, and the filament changes course, passing through a locked door.

There is a room, a bench, littered with glassware, and ceramic items.  The sun-bright cube, an inch on each side, sits on the bench, beneath a heavy dome of glass.  Nearby, a middle-aged man sits, reading from a heavy yome, which rests upon several others.  Every so often he glances at the cube, then back to the book.  From time to time, he makes notes on a sheet of paper, which seems to be covered with tiny, closely-spaced writing.

The tendril passes through the glass, and caresses the cube... and in that instant there is a rapid, flickering montage of places, people, events.  Somebody is screaming.  It might be Cyan, or Dorian, or both.  It might be the cube itself.


A spell to summon a thing is simple, a matter of opening a portal and letting the thing through.  Dorian has such a spell prepared.  He brings the portal into existence, and threads it onto the end of the tendril, and sets it sliding across the distance to the cube.

When it reaches the far end, a simple tug on the filament, and the cube is laying in Dorian's palm.

In the laboratory, there is a crash, as Gerrod leaps to his feet and sends his chair falling backwards.  The artifact is gone!

Dorian withdraws his tendril. In the back of his mind, he's already working to psychically cloud the area from investigation. There will be investigations, though he doesn't feel any great concern. The clouding is merely precaution.

He finds himself still looking at Cyan. "Berd." His eyes don't stray. "Gerrod saw the cube vanish, I believe. There may be an investigation, though I doubt anyone will be able to follow my trail here. They'd get rather lost. However, it might be a good idea to cloak the cube itself or destroy it quickly."

His eyes never left hers, but now he speaks to her. "I guess we make a good team. Are you okay?"

While Dorian and Cyan try their luck at retrieving the cube without actually going into the keep...

He was actually glad that Cyan had come up with another idea, but he was a little worried if Dorian was able. The man seemed tired. Devlin could not remember the man ever looking tired, so he must be exhausted.

...Devlin quietly asks of Trista, "Do you know how long it's been since the battle at Charyk?"

Pain.  There and gone, as the cube, a blazing light in Cyan's vision, vanishes and reappears in Dorian's hand.

She closes her eyes for an instant, reorienting after spooling back into her body, then opens them to look up at the dark man before her.  "Indeed we do," she replies with a wry smile, "and well enough, to answer both."  One eyebrow quirks over a sapphire eye.  "Your brains and my brawn, I suppose?  Or is that too prosaic, Dorian?"

But at the sight of the cube, there in his hand, her face grows more serious.  It is larger than her old cube, carrying more with it - small wonder it burned so to her mind's eye.  "Put it away," she whispers.  "Vile thing.  It has been dragged through the dredges of a dozen foul worlds, Dorian."  The sight of it squatting there in his palm fills her with deep disgust.  "Touch it not.  Please, Dorian."

Berd rises upon Trista's shoulder, and casts wide an invisible net of power.  It settles upon cube, unseen, unheard, cutting it off from the Underflow itself.  The little drake's eyes blaze with the raw power he contains within!!!^*

Then he belches melodically, and absently chews on Trista's ear for a moment.

^*_{...with three exclamation marks for added emphasis!}

The sorcerer and the bard set to work, a team spiritually linked in Trista's eyes. There's not much to do but wait. Devlin's voice softly breaks the silence, easing some of the tension from Trista's tight shoulders. She looks at the man with a slight frown of calculating then with a smooth face, she answers, “Three days for those of us who were there. Time being what it is, I'm unsure how much time that would have been for you.”

She remembers Dorian's need for rest; three days is probably a long time for someone who expends so much energy.

Then the cube suddenly appears on Dorian's hand and Trista squints at it, drawing one step closer, but staying out of the tall man's way. Her eyes roam the six-sided, but not six-sided wonder. She would have spoken thoughts of wonder or even asked to see it more closely, but Cyan's abrupt words brook nothing of the sort. Trista steps back to where she had stood near Devlin.

To Devlin, she whispers, “It may be vile, but it has its beauty.”

A soft tingling surrounds her ear, fortunately Berd doesn't bite down hard.

Devlin's mind suddenly reels, "It has only been a 3 days for them!" The thought practically yells in his head.

Then Cyan and Dorian have the cube and there is some discussion. Devlin has no interest in the thing, other than to say, "These should be taken as far from Amber as possible. I remember Berd taking the last one off to dispose of it. Can you do the same with these two? That's if the others are successful in acquiring theirs."

He looks around a bit, "Then I really think that you should rest if it has really only been three days since Charyk, as Trista has just informed me. Cyan and Dorian can rest here with Beldrin and I can keep watch. I have had a lot longer to recuperate than either of you."

A crestfallen Cyan, embarassed at her outburst, turns to Trista with a weak smile.  "My apologies, Trista.  It is only that it feels...wrong.  When we first took it, I felt the places it has been - they are dangerous, sickened, and...."

Her voice trails off.  When she begins again, it has grown thoughtful, and the embarassment fades from her pale emerald eyes.  "Perhaps its carrier was a master of the Broken Pattern.  That would explain the Worlds it has imprinted, would you not say, Dorian?"  She glances up at Trista, her smile stronger, but kinked with irony.  "Of course it could be examined.  I merely reacted to what I felt.  I recall I thought much the same when I first laid eyes upon a Cube."  She does remember, but it is fragmented.  So much is still cracked and broken in her thoughts, slowly settling into place with jagged edges upon which to cut oneself, and bleed out emotion as Cyan has done here.

Berd glances up, nods slowly.


"Resting may be a find idea," Cyan notes, glancing to Dorian.  She has felt his weariness, through their link.

"Yes," Dorian agrees. "A bit of rest would be fine, if only while the storm passes and no other emergencies press upon us. Yes, the worlds could have been the result of a path chosen by the broken pattern, especially a path chosen in haste. Perhaps this gives us a clue about the bearer and their mission.

But if we must press on, I can do without rest. I have done so many times in the past."

He won't be the one to hold up their quest.

Beldrin glabces at the cube, briefly, when it first appears.  "That appears like the one I had for a while.  I seem to recall that they grow, slowly, as they gain more faces.  Well... that one looks to be the right size."

He grins at Cyan, "And though I'm losing another one of the things to you, I'm glad that, if it needs to be destroyed, you have a way of doing it, because, quite frankly, I have no idea how it should be done."

The woman seems... disappointed, but with herself. Unsure of how she brought about this state in Cyan, Trista keeps her face calms as the woman talks. Perhaps something will become clear. It doesn't.

Whatever it was seems to fade as her voice grows thoughtful and then strong. Trista has never heard of the Broken Pattern and is mildly disappointed when Dorian doesn't respond to that line of thinking from Cyan. Or perhaps he does but silently. Thus is the life of hidden communications.

Berd will, no doubt, do as Devlin requests and destroy it once the other is in his possession. Now rest seems to be the order of the day, though Trista wonders if she is suppose to go someplace with Devlin assigning places or tasks to each of them but her and Berd. The little dragon, no doubt, needs rest after his exertions in Charyk.

“Dorian, I'm sure Berd will let us know when the others are ready to move on. Please, feel free to rest. Perhaps I will go without the bounds of this fortress you constructed,” amusement colors her lips as she glances toward Berd, “for a bit. I have done nothing to tire me except sitting in this hut for hours; I'm eager to stretch my legs.

“Berd will let me know if you need me here, I'm sure.”

Her eyes touch each in the room with a slight smile and a nod before she heads out the door.

"Rest then," Cyan agrees with Devlin.  "Dorian, Trista, I think you are correct; we must spare the time, while it is here.  It boots nothing to press onward while exhausted."  She glances at Trista - the other woman is a fount of stamina.  "With Trista on guard, I feel no concerns with sleep."

The bard unrolls her bedroll, pushing it to and fro until it seems comfortable enough.  I should begin work on my palanqueti...I could at least sketch them.  "I will stay up for half a bell, I think.  I have some work to do," she notes.  Her hand comes up in a wave to Trista as the woman slips out the door of the shelter, into the 'outer fortress'.  "Not to worry, Beldrin.  Berd will dispose of the cube immediately.  According to Luke, such things are beacons to the Enemy.  We must see it broken."

She settles her pack at her back, and picks up her pens and book, fiddling with them for a long moment.  How long has it been, I wonder, for Devlin?  From the look of amazement, a long time.  Years?  She recalls Jack leaving them for an hour, and returning after a very long time for himself.  The same with Aaron - several days stretched to over a hundred years.

Cyan realizes how careful she needs to be in her own World Walking - should she do the same, split from the group in the same way as they, she could be obliterated by Time's Hand before any of them knew she was gone.

"Will you rest, Dorian?"  She glances to the dark man, essays a smile.

Berd, looking abandoned, circles around for a moment on the ground then pads over to the cube.  He settles himself upon it, lets out a musical 'cheep', and slowly fades...taking the cube with him.

"I'll go with you." Devlin says to Trista, "We can keep guard while the tired rest."

Devlin nods at Cyan and then Dorian and then follows Trista out into the weather. "Perhaps we can talk a bit, if you would like, or if not... well."

Her eyebrows do a slight jog at Cyan's guard comment, then Trista smiles and nods before she makes it to the door. With Devlin following, Trista leaves the fortress, too. They enter the rains which still soak the ground.

For a moment, Trista stands very still. Her eyes close and she lifts her head slightly and inhales the clean scent of freshly washed earth. While her hair once again plasters down around her head, she opens her eyes with a sigh. “I've always loved the wind and the rain. Storms, in general.” She turns to Devlin with a shrugging smile, “Silly perhaps, but they feel fresh and untamed.”

Her eyes search around them, through the rains, “Let's walk.” If he acquiesces, she begins a circle around the fortress.

“I suppose I'm not the most gregarious person, I apologize for not talking within the hut. Some matters seem private.” Her eyes seek his again and then slide down to his wrist, “like what happened.”

Devlin follows Trista when she says "Let's Walk"

Then she speaks about things she would not earlier; his eyes follow her's as move down to his wrist. He looks at the thing there and replies, "Even after all this time I still do now know what it is capable of. I did not know until it took your thoughts that it could communicate that way with anyone but myself."

The man then looks up at Trista, "I feel like I've invaded your privacy. I know that I did the same with Ren, back in the square, but what I took from him wasn't personal. I'm sorry. It should not happen again. I've instructed Nightbrand to stay out of the thoughts of others..." The last sentence has a tone to it that says Devlin is not sure if Nightbrand will follow his instructions or not.

Even Devlin doesn't know what his – whatever it is – can do. Intrigued, Trista's eyes rise to his face and then turn forward when he apologizes. She's unsure how she feels about the intrusion. Anger doesn't quite fit, yet acceptance doesn't either.

For now, she'll live with 'conflicted.' But she owes him the complete truth. Keeping her eyes forward, she tips her mouth up to catch rain a moment and then explains, “There is more you might not know. I saw something, too. Of you and your past.” Her eyes turn again to Devlin, “Of your pain.” She pauses a moment for him to take it in before continuing, “It was not my choice; I believe what you carry around your wrist showed me, though until in the hut, I was unsure just how I shared your memory. I, too, am sorry.”

Devlin looks at his wrist again, he does not ask Trista what she was shown, instead he silently asks Nightbrand.

It does not take long before he looks back at the girl.

"That was, a bad time in my life. I had thought, well, it seems that I was mistaken. I jumped to a conclusion and allowed my anxiety to drive me a bit mad. It seems that Serena also was looking for me, if one of us had stayed in one place perhaps we would have found each other instead of me franticly searching. I am also speaking to her now, but, for me, it has been a very long time since I've seen her. I need to tell her just how long."

As they continue to walk Devlin looks up into the storm. "I'm not at all sure of my own feelings, now. I stood on that hill... a very long time."

Then he stops and Looks into Trista's eyes, "I don't mind someone knowing, and I would rather have it be someone that doesn't know me as well as some of the others. If Nightbrand had revealed this to one of them I may... I would not have been able to stay. Well, maybe not if it was Cyan. I think she would understand."

Listening intently to Devlin's words, and gleaming a bit of the feelings behind the words, Trista feels for the man. Whoever this Serena is, Devlin had loved her. Probably still does. Nobody allows ages to pass while standing on a hill for anything less. Still, she can see how hard this must be. She can feel it.

The woman also must carry the power of Berd to be able to communicate with Devlin from a distance, or perhaps it is Devlin himself though Trista doesn't believe so from what she's seen of the man's abilities thus far.

They've stopped around the corner of the fortress, providing a bit of relief from the winds. She stands close to Devlin so that they might hear each other above the storm without resorting to shouts. Trista smiles through the rain at her companion, “Sometimes it is easier to be open with those we don't know than with our closest friends or family. I don't know why, perhaps the fear of judgment just isn't there. I'm glad you don't mind, Devlin. I don't either.

“Serena... is a beautiful name.” Trista pauses, letting those words drift through the slicing rain.

Her eyes leave the man's, looking past him into the dark grey. “It seems we share a thing or two. You stood with your grief on a hill for lifetimes. I wandered Shadow,” the more familiar term naturally takes the place of the newer, more politically correct term she's recently learned, “carrying my grief with me. Both of us were alone. Both empty.”

The woman inhales deeply before turning her stormy eyes back to Devlin, “I know what it is to lose someone... important. Someone I love. But I don't know what it is to find that person again. And I never will. Devlin, it sounds as if you've been given a gift. But, of course, that is not for me to decide.”

Her eyes stay with him, her arms crossed over her chest. She obviously wishes to speak longer, learn more, connect with someone who has been through this.

"My loss was not the same as your own. I knew, or was pretty sure, that Serena was alive, just misplaced somehow."

Devlin is thoughtful for a moment, he can see that Trista is reaching out to him, looking for something, he's just not sure if he has any answers for her.

"I was young and Serena was the first time I had feelings like that. It has been a long time, at least it has for me and I've changed since then. What was devastating to me at the time now seems... not."

"Your situation is different, Christopher... his name was Christopher? He's not simply lost or misplace. How long has it been?... since that night in the rain when you lost him?"

If Trista were a more verbose woman, she would have immediately interrupted to argue that a lost or misplaced love could be much harder to deal with than when the fate is known. However, she doesn't get to it fast enough, and instead gives him a wide berth for his own thoughts.

The naming of Christopher startles the woman, confusion playing across a normally controlled face. All becomes when Devlin furthers his questioning. Trista hadn't expected to speak directly of Zane, but the mix-up needs to be corrected. Though subtle, she's visually shaken as she fights to keep her face calm. A lost cause, of course. Emotion hangs there for any discerning eye to see.

A few moments later, she makes eye contact again, “Christopher – was a good friend. We fought side by side. It was hard when he died, very hard.”

Another lengthy pause as Trista's eyes close and her jaws work. Finally, she again looks into Devlin's eyes, “But he is not the one. I -” She considers simply touching the thing wrapped about his wrist and showing Devlin, but even now, she considers his privacy. She simply must say it.

“His name was Zane. He died a short time after Christopher – beaten and hung alongside two others. We were resistance fighters of a sort, and...

“I'm sorry; I have never spoken of this. Not like this.” She had shared some with Berd, but in thoughts and not words. Words seem harder.

The woman's normally perfect posture sags slightly under the weight of memory and storm. She swallows the pain and answers his question, “About 80 years. But I knew his fate; I did not spend years wondering. I imagine that would be more difficult.”

Devlin had the wrong person, the vision he'd seen from Trista's thoughts was of Christopher's death. Zane had been one of the others there with her, the one that insisted they pray for the dead Christopher.

He sees how difficult it is for her and he knows the feeling. He'd seen the effects such a think can have on a person; first when Dorain had thought Cyan had been lost and then again when he... Devlin himself would rather not think about that time. Though he realizes now, with years of maturing, that what he felt then was... like when a small boy realizes that his first crush does not return his feelings. When it came to such matters, he was a small boy then. He'd lived his entire life to that point sheltered on the estate one or both of his parents had provided for him.

But there was another loss, one he has not spoken of. He remembers the small girl. He remembers watching her grow. He'd tried not to let himself get emotionally attached to her. Devlin knew that she would age and die. He saw it coming and there was nothing he could do about it... Perhaps he did understand in some small way. He avoids thinking about it because the wound is still fresh. The man compares the pain of the second loss with that of the one that drove him nearly mad...

"I'm sorry, I'd thought, it was your memory of Christopher that...

Devlin looks at Trista, for a moment he thinks about holding her to try and comfort her in some little way, dismisses the idea, thinks about it again. Stepping closer to her he wraps his arms about the girl's shoulders. "I've heard it said that time heals such wounds; it is a lie."

He tells her the truth as he sees it. Why tell someone something you know to be untrue. "All we can do is learn to live with the memory, and with the pain. Sometimes it just takes a long time to figure out how."

Devlin himself had never really thought about it is this way and is realizing it himself for the first time as he says the words. Then he thinks further, to the future. The next words are more of a revelation to himself than trying to comfort the girl that he is embracing. Very quietly he says, "We are different. All residents of shadow, any we care about, will eventually grow old and die while we continue on." Maybe he already realized it, maybe that was why he would rather be alone; no involvement; no danger of the loss if you never let them get close.

It's doubtful Devlin realizes the multitude of chords he touches when he wraps his arms around Trista. Aware the man means to embrace her, she stiffens for the alien touch; it has been many years since she's hugged someone other than a child giving thanks for a service rendered.

His evident strength proves gentle and the man careful. After the initial shock, Trista relaxes into him, her chin resting against his shoulder. A solitary tear finds its way down her cheek, obliterated by the rain. Time has not healed her wounds; certainly many would question her sanity for allowing grief to control her life for so long.

Strength of body, spirit, and mind have always been Trista's mundane abilities. She prides herself on being strong, or as close to pride as she gets. But when Devlin's voice lowers to just under the sound of the thunder to utter truth, that's when she breaks down. Perhaps not the type of break down others experience, but nevertheless, her face buries into the man's shoulder and her hands reach up to white knuckle the front of his coat.

On a rare break from the life of explosions and screams, Trista walked out of a friend's adobe home and past a filled -and clean!- pool to be pulled down to share Zane's pool chair with him. Her toned body merely hinted at the considerable strength found within her body; a strength she kept hidden from the world.

Laughing and kissing, Zane paused and looked at Trista with wonder rounding his eyes, “God, you're beautiful.” He drew his hand up to finger through her hair, “You know, you still look like you did when I first met you.”

Trista nervously laughed, “No, I don't! 19? I don't think so.”

“No, you do. Not a single grey hair. Not a sign of crow's feet or any wrinkles anywhere. Still a perfect body and round in all the right places. No sagging...” a playful eyebrow wriggled on his forehead.

“Hey, I'm 35, not 60! I guess my birth parents just gave me good genes. Why, are you jealous?”

“No way, I'm proud of my wrinkles!” He squinched his face to display all the crow's feet in full glory, pulling laughter from both of them.

“Yeah but don't forget, you've got a good 8 years on me. You're an old man, Zane.”

“Maybe, but I still got you, don't I?”

“And you always will have me.”

Her real father had neglected to tell Trista she wouldn't age. She learned that the hard way, watching Zane grow older while she stayed young, though he died well before suspicions grew too thick. Now tears stream into Devlin's wet coat not only for Zane, but for her foster parents and her brothers and sisters; all long dead.

“It's a curse,” strangled words barely heard over the rain.
This message was last edited by the player at 14:59, Mon 20 Aug 2007.

Berd rises through a void, bounded by an infinite galaxy above and an unearthly river below.  But as always, his mind is elsewhere.

Many elsewheres.

Devlin can feel the girl break down and is sure this is the first time she's let the grief to the surface. He's not at all sure what to do or say so he just continues to hold her and let her weep.

Then her very quiet words about it being a curse. That it could be, and he again recalls the small girl, Ishy. He'd seen her grow, then grow old. He could tell Trista that it is better not to get involved, to not let any of them get close, but if not for Ishy he'd likely still be standing there on the hill, waiting for the Archons to cause the end of everything.

Instead he says, "It's a curse we must learn to live with."

What's the phrase? It's better to have lost in love than never to have loved at all? With Zane, that proved true. Trista wouldn't trade those years with him for anything, even for an easy life with someone who would age with her. Life had been hard, but also very rewarding. And with the Zane at her side, everything seemed possible.

Had Devlin experienced those same feelings with his Serena? Was she ageless or mortal? The fact that she had spent a long time searching for Devlin would lend to her being ageless, too, but that is purely supposition on Trista's part. All the more bittersweet if they cannot recapture what they once felt.

Trista stays within Devlin's embrace, taking odd comfort in his touch. She had thought she would heal through withdrawal and anger, but human touch proves much more soothing to her soul. She feels no need to speak, not yet. If the man could stand for eons on a hill, he probably wouldn't mind a few minutes in the rain.

The woman's body relaxes, the grip on Devlin's coat loosens, and single tears run down her cheek instead of the harsh flood of a few minutes ago. Her thoughts skip around from memory to memory, all centered around Zane. She had been happy through those years. Wouldn't he want her to remember that instead of focusing on his death? It's a hard bridge to cross, but she finds she wants to take that walk across the dark river to the light on the other side. Slowly, perhaps, but still the first step resides in her heart: she finally wants to heal.

After quite some time – fifteen minutes? thirty? an hour? - Trista lifts her head from Devlin's shoulder and lifts only rain-wet eyes to the man. She searches those kind eyes and finally says, “I always thought I was strong,” she breaks into a wry smile, “and here I weep like a baby against your strength. I like this fate of yours.” A reference to Devlin's earlier statements of not believing in coincidence. “Thank you.”

The man continues to stand still and allows the girl to cry herself out. Devlin wonders if she had ever allowed these feelings to surface before or if she'd spent 80 years keeping them buried, not allowing them out. Likely so, and that is something that makes them the similar, he still keeps his feeling buried, but there was a time that he did the same as she was doing now, though he did not have a shoulder to do it on...

...Is was raining and Devlin watched from his place on the hill as the towns people lowered her into a grave at the foot of that hill.

The people paid no attention to the watcher, the tree at the top of the hill with the iron-like bark, but the tree watched and weeped. The tree weeped for more than the loss of the one that was laid to rest; it also weeped for the loss of the girls mother, for her grandmother, for her great-grandmother, and for another. The tree shook violently with the weeping, though none noticed, the rain and the wind masked it even if someone had looked.

It had taken a long time, but the tree that was really a man was finally letting it all go; the anger, the sorrow, all the feelings he had kept buried for so very long bled out of him...

In the morning the storm was gone, and so was the tree. It was time to move on...

...They stood there, Trista and Devlin, for a long time in the storm. The storm around them seemed to subside a bit and so did the woman's weeping. Her body no longer shook so hard with her sobs, only a little quake now and then as she breathed deeply. Even that passes with time.

Then she looks up at him and into his eyes, apparently looking for something; Devlin wonders if she found what she was looking for.

The comment about fate throws him a bit. He did not really believe in fate...

He finally releases her. The storm was passing and here on the leeward side of Dorian's fortress the rain barely touches them now. The man puts his back against the wall. He never did mind the rain, he was used to being outside most of the time. Only seeking shelter with others when he must.

Thinking they should not dwell on old wounds any further right now he decides to explain part of his beliefs. Devlin looks up into the storm and begins to speak...

"I may not believe in coincidence, but I do not necessarily believe in fate either; believing in fate would mean that I believe we have no choice, that no matter what we do the result will always be the same.

"I believe that there is a natural flow in the universe and that one can either let that flow carry them along or fight against it.

"Those that make no choices and allow the flow to carry them as it will, for them it is like fate, they will end up wherever the flow takes them having made no choices along the way.

"Then there are those that steadfastly refuse to allow the flow to take them, they always make the choice to go in the opposite direction; to battle against it.

"Those that fight the flow also cause the flow to change in order to flow around them. Those that fight change not only there own destiny, but the destiny of the entire universe. The destiny of every world."

Devlin pauses here to look at Trista, "In between the extremes there is an infinite number of variations. I allow the flow to take me where I should be and fight against it when I believe I must.

"The flow brought me here where I was able to help save the man inside and in the process we likely saved Cyan. She may have entered that keep on her own; tried to take him out with force rather than stealth. Many, including Cyan, might have been injured or worse in the process. Instead we were able to complete the task with no blood shed."

For a moment it appears as if Devlin is going to say something else, but then he doesn't. Instead he looks at Trista with his head cocked to one side.
This message was last edited by the player at 02:50, Fri 24 Aug 2007.

When Zane died, the tears flowed. Tears of rage. Tears of frustration. Tears of futility. Then came the years of dry eyes. Never did Trista allow herself to feel the loss completely and fully. Until now.

When Devlin withdraws to lean against the solid structure behind them, Trista feels the cold. She's a woman who's seldom bothered by weather or shifts in temperature but the emotional drain has sapped her energies and without Devlin's body warmth, she suddenly feels the need for her jacket. After all, a simple t-shirt doesn't protect much against anything.

As he speaks, she draws the jacket out of the pack on her back and slips it on. She stands facing Devlin with arms crossed. She listens intently with her eyes watching his face at times, the dark wall behind him at other times. He has an interesting way of looking at the universe. Trista has never believed in fate either, choosing to create her own path instead. Though at times, others have chosen it for her...

When he looks at her, she meets his eyes, intrigued by his viewpoints on what brought him to Cardigart. The flow, as Devlin calls it, could have brought him here for so many reasons. Beldrin, Cyan, Trista, Serena... to finish the healing begun on that hill.

Words suddenly cease, before saying something he chooses to put off. The way he looks at her, head tilted to one side, he seems to be studying her or waiting for her. Trista takes a deep breath and tucks a lock of hair behind an ear before crossing her arms once again.

“I've never been much of a philosopher. I've tried, but never got anywhere with it. There are a few things I'm sure of, but very, very few. I always rejected fate, knowing that I control my own destiny even when others have a hand in it. I think I've believed in coincidences, but I can see the other side, too. Perhaps that's my problem – each argument seems to have merit.

“But whatever it is, coincidence, fate, serendipity, the flow, I do feel that I belong here with this group, performing these tasks. I don't know, maybe it's just my own subconscious nudging me in a direction, any direction. A path which allows me to fight for something worthwhile again.”

Trista shrugs with a half chuckle, “Or maybe I was brought here to find Berd so he has somebody else to feed him.”

She wants to ask him of Serena, but senses that it is not her place to broach the subject. That would be up to him. Instead she smiles warmly, and her arms uncross to slip in her back pockets, “Whatever the underlying reasons, I'm glad. I feel better than I have in a long time. ” Her eyes shine with what remains unsaid, much of that is due to you.

“Tell me something of yourself, perhaps of your childhood or a favorite place. Or more on your views.” Though the storm has let up, Trista judges there's still time before the sun rises.

Devlin chuckles a bit when Trista mentions being drawn to the group to feed Berd, he knows that isn’t the case. There is always some reason...

"That's just it, isn't it. We are drawn to this, we find it gives us some meaning, to make some difference. I'm glad that you’re feeling better."

It would seem strange to most to see two people standing in the, talking, as if the sun was shining. They could go inside, but for some reason he'd rather stay where he was. Devlin was finding it good to talk, he hadn't really done so in this way with anyone for some time.

Tell her about himself... This girl may actually be the first to ever ask Devlin that, to be interested in his past.

"Did you know your parents?" but he doesn't wait for a reply, "I've never known mine, don't even know who they are. I'm told that my father is a prince of Amber. I've guessed that my mother is from Chaos, or very close to there. I learned that it is those from Chaos that are able to do the things that I do.

"I was left to be raised on an estate that was provided for by one or both of my parents. I suppose it's entirely possible that my father doesn't even know I exist. But other than servants and my teachers there was no one else.

"This is the second time I've been drawn to this group of people when I wasn't looking for them, though that isn't entirely true. When I left the estate where I was raised I had it in my mind to find this Amber and discover the truth of things. I'd never been there and could not find it. Eventually I discovered that when I was in my traveling form I could smell the path I left when I moved from world to world. I knew that those from Amber could travel in a similar way so I set out to find that lingering sent, to follow it in hopes it would guide me to this Amber. That is how I found her... Serena. Maybe I was drawn to her because we were alike, I don't know." He shrugs.

"I was again headed for Amber, and I've come close this time, but in truth I was only headed there because I didn't know what else to do. That's when I saw Berd on your shoulder in the square. I could have continued on my way but, like I explained, there must have been some reason, perhaps more than one reason, why I came to be in that square at just the right moment."

The man smiles at her, a toothy smile that might remind some of the grin of a wolf. It is the first time that Trista has seen a genuine smile on Devlin's face. "Funny the way things work out."

"And you?" he asks. "How did you discover you could travel through shadow. I'd be interested to know how you do so and I can show you how I manage it, if you’d like. Though I can only travel that way myself, I cannot draw others through shadow the way some of the others can, or at least I haven't discovered how yet."
This message was last edited by the player at 22:37, Wed 22 Aug 2007.

“...To make some difference...”

Devlin has it exactly right. Trista knows her years of selfish folly and thoughts of revenge are over. At least, she hopes. These sort of changes do not complete themselves in a single night.

He begins his reflections with a question, but does not expect an answer. Trista stands still in the rain and gives Devlin her full attention. Parts of their pasts ring similarly, others vastly different. He mentions 'traveling form', prompting a quizzical look from the woman, though she does not interrupt him. Of course, she's seen the man shift into the guise of another, or rather, she's seen the effects of the shifting. Perhaps this is to what he eludes.

Then Serena. He was, literally, led by his nose. They are alike, she must also be a shape shifter. This group seems filled with them. Trista's prejudiced notions against them will be sorely tested. In fact, they've already shifted themselves. Devlin is certainly nothing like her scheming mother.

A soft smile touches her lips at the mention of Berd in the town square. She remembers seeing the dark man across the way and the welcoming disposition of the little dragon. She also remembers calling him 'handsome' and Berd acquiescing they were all handsome and beautiful. Truth, there. James and Devlin both handsome in different ways. Chance, sensual is the better word for him. Dorian can not exactly be called handsome, but he is formidable and regal. Aaron, Roman, and Morgan all good looking though Trista doesn't have quite a feel for them yet.

The women, too, are all beautiful with the sensual Banglen-Yp at the forefront. In reflection, it seems to Trista that the blonde's naivety is simply an act; that she must know exactly what she's doing when she calls attention to her curved form. But it makes little difference to Trista.

Devlin smiles, a genuine grin which tugs an equally large smile from Trista. “Yes, 'funny' is one way to put it.”

Though unused to normal conversation, the woman doesn't hesitate in answering Devlin's questions, “Actually, I don't move across Shadow. At least, not of my own volition.” Her hand lifts and slightly parts her zippered jacket to grip the silver chain lying beneath her shirt. “My father – my birth father – gave me this when I was young. It leads me through Shadow to whatever I wish, but I have no control over the path. I've never attempted to take another with me. My father didn't mention whether I could or not, and I never thought to ask.” She then slips a single finger under the slender chain and slides the necklace out from under her shirt to reveal a simple river pearl.

Trista smiles wryly, “He taught me how to use it when I was a teenager, but I never had the need to use it on my own until – well, until I was alone after Zane.” She allows the pearl to drop to her chest and lowers her hand back to her hip.

“I knew my real parents, though sometimes I've wished I didn't. I was fostered in Shadow by a wonderful family who simply thought I had been abandoned. My real father visited me from time to time, at least once a year. I idolized him and his gifts and his power. My mother pretty much ignored me until Zane died and then she suddenly played the doting parent. I – I don't know where either of them are, now.” Trista's eyes grow dark, there's more to say, but she's not going to swamp Devlin in more pain on this night.

Not allowing herself to drift into dark memories, Trista smiles again, “I would very much like to see how you travel; I am quite curious.”
This message was last edited by the player at 05:04, Thu 23 Aug 2007.

Devlin is suddenly caught by something that Trista said, "Did you say your father taught you to use that device? Can I assume that it is your father that's from amber?"

Then he really does study her, his head tilts to the other side. "Can you tell me who he is?"

...Devlin studies the woman's face and her dark hair; dark hair like his own. More than a little resemblance. He wonders but does not say anything. One thing about not knowing who your parents are is that anyone that is descended from Amber might be more closely related than you'd expect...

Far from getting a demonstration, Devlin changes course, picking up on some idea of a thread. Trista's eyes squint down in curiosity as she answers, “His name is Duard. He has told me he's from Amber, though I can't really confirm it. I don't really have reason to doubt him. He has power which I believe stems from that city. Well, I think perhaps from the Pattern within the city. But... I don't know for sure. He always kept those kinds of details to himself, telling me trivial stories, but not stories about himself.”

Irritation at Duard, certainly not at Devlin, flares in her eyes for a mere moment then it's gone. “Why do you ask?”

Duard... not even similar to any of the names Devlin had drummed into his head by his teacher.

"Oh, no reason in particular. As I said, my father is supposed to be from there. I was just curious if I've heard the name before, but I haven't."

He doesn't say any more on the subject. Instead he grins and says, "Do not be alarmed. My change will be a bit more drastic than it was with Major Bers."

He actually begins to change as he speaks. He seems to blur and distort. The band about the man's wrist also changs, the metal seems to turn to liquid and flow up Devlins arm, then shadows fan out around him.

When the shadows subside, instead of a man there is now a very large black wolf. About the wolfs neck is is a band of black metal. Nightbrand's form when Devlin is in this state.

Changing to a form he knows well is not nearly as difficult or time consuming, especially when it is one of his natural forms.

The wolf brushes its fur against Trista's leg... As they touch the wolf tries to send a message through the contact to the girl, he does not realize that communication in such a fashion is being blocked ...and then steps away. As the animal does so it fades into the darkness as if it had only been a shadow and is gone leaving Trista apparently standing by herself.

Understanding nods her head, though in truth, Trista's slightly disappointed; she had hoped something more would have come from her father's name. Though that proves a double-edged sword for the woman. Perhaps, it's just as well.

Devlin begins his transformation, and Trista takes a single step back. She hasn't actually watched this type of power before, it always taking place beyond her line of vision. Under the misty rains, a quiet mysticism envelopes Trista as Devlin's form loses weight, shifts, blurs, and acquires the aspect of an intimidatingly large black wolf.

She might have taken another step back if she did not remember his words, this is after all, Devlin. When the wolf comes close, she holds steady and reaches a hand out to touch his sleek fur, but pulls back at the last minute. Is this more Devlin or more wolf? Does he know her? Yes, or certainly he would not act this docile toward a strange woman.

Then he's off a few steps, vanishing into nothingness. Trista lifts her head, looking around, then lets out the breath she had been holding. “Beautiful,” she whispers into the rain.

As she waits for his eventual, she hopes, return, something of their recent conversation catches at her thoughts. Her father hails from Amber, and so does his. Trista does not know all the intricacies of the Family, but she knows enough. If the fathers both are true Amberites, she and Devlin are related, though to what degree, she can not guess.

A warm smile curves her lips, and she waits.

He does not actually go far and he stands watching the girl for a moment from his present location. He stands between worlds, not quite in the world he'd left and not quite in the next world.

He'd thought about this before, especially after the first time Berd had pulled him through what the drake called The Underflow. Where Devlin was, was similar to that in some ways, yet on a smaller scale. The Underflow, that vast expanse of blackness with the worlds; spots, points, stars in that expanse. The darkness between all the worlds.

He was in the darkness between two worlds, but if he tried hard enough he could make out more that the two he seemed to be between. He wondered to himself, and not for the first time, if he somehow was managing to use the Underflow the way he traveled. He would need to speak to Berd about this, when there was time. Devlin had never taken the time to explain how it was he got around to anyone that might help him understand it... but if this was some small part of that expanse...

He thinks for a moment about trying once again to lead someone through shadow this way. For a moment he thinks about trying to reach out and pull Trista into the place that he now is, then dismisses it. What would happen if he succeeded? He hadn't warned her he might try such a thing. There was no telling how she'd react to suddenly being pulled into... into what.

There was a time he'd tried to lead another through shadow that way, and it had not worked. He'd transformed Serena into a wolf like himself...

His thoughts strayed to Serena. She had returned, but suddenly he was not feeling as he had before. Before the conversation with Trista. Somehow he was feeling better. He had no idea what would happen in the future with her, but he no longer feared it.

... He'd transformed Serena into a wolf like himself and tried to give her his ability to travel... without even thinking he might have to teach her how it worked. He'd never actually thought to try to pull someone along with him...

He puts his stray thoughts aside. He'd told trista he would not be gone long and so he could not just keep standing there making her wait.

The wolf steps, it was simple, he just stepped into the world that he had stepped out or a few moments before.

The wolf sits and looks up at the girl.

Standing in the gentler rain, Trista attempts to keep her head clear of memories or worries. It proves a difficult task, to live completely in the moment. Here and now with no thoughts of the future or the past. She's alive, and for the first time in quite some time, it seems a good thing.

She does wonder where Devlin, the wolf, currently strays. Does he circle her even now in some other shadow looking at a different version of Trista? The thought of dopplegangers sends a shiver down her spine.

He appears in all his majesty. Her heart leaps at the sight of the large black wolf, spiking just a touch of fear through her fingertips. Relaxing as he steps forward, Trista smiles down at Wolf Devlin. Quizzical eyes study the creature with the metallic collar.

Crouching down, and therefore having to look up into his eyes, she says, “An amazing ability, Devlin. Can you – can you understand me as you are now? Are you completely Devlin or do you have aspects of the feral wolf?”

She knows he cannot answer her – or can he? She's simply full of questions, but even a she contemplates him, the sleek, wet fur tempts her. She slowly reaches her hand forward, “Will you let me touch you?” Slowly, carefully, her fingers reach for the back of his jaw to smooth down his neck.

The wolf's head leans into Trista's hand as she begins to stroke his fir, much like one might expect from the family dog. Several moments pass and then the animal turns it's head to study the girls face; It looks perplexed.

Suddenly the wolf's shape begins to distort and blur as it starts to lift itself to it's hind legs; It's form shifting once again.

Her fingers flow through the wet fur, and she smiled at the way he nuzzled her hand. Animals had always held a special place in Trista's heart; guileless as compared to humans. Of course, this particular animal was no ordinary beast.

She chuckled curiously, “You look as if you're studying me; I wish I knew what you were thinking.”

He began to change. Trista sharply withdrew her hand, not knowing if it would impede his progress. Pushing herself to her feet, she took a step back and watched as the wolf fluidly turned into the man. “That's... that was amazing to watch. Your clothes and everything... just changed."
This message was last edited by the player at 03:12, Tue 28 Aug 2007.

"It took me a while to master that." Devlin says in response to Trista's last comment about his cloths. "My... Cloths in this form are not really cloths. I must alter parts of myself to form them. It took me a while to change directly to a clothed form. At first I would always be, well, naked for several moments. Always needed to find a place where people wouldn't see me."

The he looks at her with that same puzzled look that the wolf had and says, "I tried to speak to you, you know..." tapping his forehead with a finger, "Didn't you hear me?" He shrugs.

"I can understand you perfectly in any form. No matter what I look like I'm still the same person inside," Devlin says. "usually. I can also change my mind, but I avoid changing it to the point where..." He stops there. He's never gone that far. Devlin could actually become some other person, but there were dangers on that road that Devlin would rather not temp.

"I would ask one favor though. If ever I am in that form and we're are around others call the wolf D'Ombra. Actually better to always call it by that name. It helps to keep the secret. There are times when best others don't realize that the animal and the man are one and the same."

Surprise lifts Trista's brows, a rare feat. Even his clothes are him? The idea bewilders the woman. Amusement curves her lips thinking of the poor man trying to shift naked, “A real life Clark Kent.”

To his question, her brows slightly furrow until she realizes what happened, “No, I didn't. I'm sorry. I have Berd's protection so that mental communication must be initiated by me. I was wondering when it seemed you were studying me.” Her smile returns, “Very human like.”

The revelation Devlin can change his mind to, seemingly, be another slaps the look of surprise back on her face. Though she wonders if he would be able to get back to Devlin. Perhaps that is why he neither attempts nor speaks of it further. He drops it and she does not pursue.

“Certainly. D'Ombra? What does the name mean?”

"Clark who? Never heard of him. Is he another shifter?" Devlin asks and then shrugs. Strange all the shape shifters there seem to be. He'd thought they were more rare this far from Chaos.

The man shrugs again, "The name, D'Ombra? It just means Of Shadow in some language or another, I think it was called Itilian or something like that.

"As far as Berd's protection... I don't blame you. He looks down at his wrist. "Maybe someday I'll figure out what Nightbrand is able to do before it surprises me. But, just don't touch it and you should be safe. It assures me that it must be in contact with someone to communicate that way. Though that's not always a guaranty, this time I believe it."

Devlin looks up again at her. He can't remember the last time he'd spoken at such length about himself or what he can do... Then he does; it was with his teacher, Morden. That was a very long time ago now it seems. Then he wonders about Trista. He doesn't think that she can shift, she seems to surprised by things he can do. But there is always something special about members of The Family from what he's seen. Like James' and his strength or Jonnee's speed. He'd seen the girl break the bars in the dungeon, making much lighter work of it than Devlin himself could have done, he's not even sure he would have been able to do so; not that he even thought about doing so. He was about to simply shift through the bars when she pulled them free of their moorings. So there was strength. Cyan or Berd mentioned something about combat ability, something about defending Berd? or was that Cyan? Whichever, he's sure that the woman could likely take him in any type of fight, that's not where his strengths lay. He wonder's for a moment about her mind as well and wonder's if she really needs Berd to protect her mind. Maybe that is her weekness... He shouldn't pry.
This message was last edited by the player at 00:40, Thu 30 Aug 2007.

Laughter spills from Trista; not hesitant or awkward laughter, but genuine mirth. “A shifter? Yes, you could say that, of a sort. Actually, he was a comic book character where I grew up.” Realizing that will also likely be an alien term to the man, she elaborates, “A fictional character of great strength and speed. By day, he worked at a newspaper, but when trouble brewed, he'd hide himself away for a few seconds and pop out as Superman with all these amazing abilities. He was trying to keep his powerful identity a secret.” It proves more difficult than she thought to explain the comics.

“Ah Italian. I don't know much, but it's similar to Spanish which I know quite a bit. I should have recognized it! I was just not thinking back to those languages.”

Her eyes flick around the area and it seems they still have some time before the sun will rise. She's glad to be standing in the light rain talking with Devlin. She nods about Nightbrand and probes, “How did Nightbrand come to be your companion?”

Devlin smiles at Trista's laughter. It is good to see her laugh. She'd obviously feeling in better spirits than he's seen her in since meeting her. Was it really less than a day. He listens to her explain about this Clark fellow. He finds it interesting. He's read fiction, but never anything with such fanciful characters.

"Nightbrand was given to me by Morden, my teacher, when I discovered that I was a shape shifter. He told me that it was a gift from one of my parents. Sometimes I wonder if it..."

He pauses and changes tracks, "It is more than a companion. It is also a protector of sorts. But there are times when I wonder if it follows my agenda or that of the person that gave it to me, whichever parent that was."

Devlin looks up into the night sky, the storm is definitely passing.

He believes the person that left him Nightbrand was also his mother because of Nightbrand's ability to change form and adapt to Devlin's. He's starting to think more an more that his father may not even know he exists. Perhaps he'd been headed in the wrong direction all along. Maybe the person he should be seeking out was at the other end of the universe. Maybe he should have been headed for Chaos rather than in the other direction.

When he looks back down at Trista he says, "Tell me more about Trista. How did you come to meet Berd? I think he said something about you defending him?"

...It had to do with Charyk. He was there, but he doesn't remember Trista. He was concerned with other things. He only stayed long enough to make sure his friends were well and then he'd left.

So Devlin, too, received gifts from one of his parents. The similarities between them prove an interesting path to explore, though their differences are also vast. Trista's father had been involved in her life, which was great in the beginning. But then...

A jaw clenches and she leaves that train of thought behind. “It is good to have something which protects you. But if you are concerned over its agenda – have you had Berd look into Nightbrand? I don't know, but he seems to have those types of analyzing abilities. Maybe he could ferret out the truth, or part of it.”

Turning the conversation to Trista would normally stiffen her stance and put her on edge, but nothing of the sort happens now. She leans back against Dorian's stone fortress with a thoughtful look on her face.

“I was traveling to Charyk because I had heard it was a crossroads where all sorts of information might be obtained. The war against the Archons was going strong when the caravan arrived. I helped to get people to a church inside for protection.

“Berd crashed down through a hole blasted through the ceilings. His little body looked pretty beat up and I picked him up to see if I could help. I had never seen a dragon before, of any size. He's a beautiful creature,” her voice turns wistful, “in many ways.”

In her normal tones, she continues, “He allowed me to help him and we came across James. Then a large creature of the Archons which James dispatched with some support from both Berd and myself.”

A bemused smile sits on her face, “Through my conversations with Berd, I fell in with the group. I guess it was good to have a purpose which had some meaning. I haven't even spoken to half the members of the group. Odd, that. Even odder, it's been a mere three days.”

Tilting her head, she focuses on Devlin again, “On our way from that other Charyk to Cardiagart, Merideth returned to the group. James, well, he was happy. And two days later, you returned. As you say, the Flow seems to be tugging. Perhaps the time is drawing near to actually put an end to all of this.” She's not speaking from naivety, but from hope.

"Some of those in the group are not very easy to speak to, you've not missed much. The only problem is that they have a hard time deciding to do anything. They've not always taken kindly to my habit of making decisions quickly and acting on them without consulting the committee first."

Devlin chuckles remembering that.

"An old woman I met thought that the time was growing near when I'd be needed, of course she said that nearly 100 years ago, for me that is. For you it might have been the day afore yesterday; time can be a strange thing in Shadow.

"So maybe you're right, maybe the time does draw near.

"I'm really in no hurry to get to Amber, to tell the truth. I was just headed there because I didn't know where to begin looking for Cyan. Figured if I was really needed that we would eventually cross paths."

Devlin lets himself slide down the wall to sit on the wet ground. "It should be interesting to see what happens in the morning."

Taking her cue from Devlin, Trista sits on the ground, leaning against the wall next to the man though on the side away from Nightbrand. Her arms rest on her bent knees. She turns to face the man, studying his strong profile. She seems to be deciding something and finally nods almost imperceptibly at what ever she concludes of the man.

“Interesting? I agree. I have to admit, this whole excursion has been interesting even if we've had to sit in a hut for hours on end.

“I understand about committees. Zane,” she's able to say the name without pain biting through her voice, “tried to have a committee of sorts, but it didn't work out. In the end, it came down to Zane and Christopher. I was there and included, but I firmly put myself behind them in the decision-making process.”

Her eyes grow wistful and far away for a few moments before the jump back to the present and she smiles warmly at the man in the cold rain. “You've been needed, in more ways than one.” A person comment, there, one easily discernable by Devlin if he has a mind: he's been invaluable to Trista this night.

“So while the others sleep away this beautiful night,” no irony stings her words as she tilts her head up to feel the rain on her face, “tell me something more. Tell me how you came to join this group. I get the feeling you were not there in the very beginning.”

"It was Luke actually." Devlin replies. "When I'd finally sniffed out another that traveled across shadow..." He suddenly pauses there and looks at Trista.

"Cyan and the others call it the myriad worlds I think. I've found it difficult to call it that, even after seeing them for myself; all of them stretched out before me in the underflow. It has to do with the way I shift from world to world. In wolven form I shift into the darkness, the space between one world an another. It is not a smooth transition like it seems to be for the others. I can move from darkness to darkness without actually leaving that... void." He doesn’t really know what to call it. Again he thinks that he should talk to Berd.

Then he goes on with his original story, "Anyway, the one I found was headed for Amber and then things changed. Luke showed up, seemingly at random, now I know better. Serena..." the name stings less and less the more he uses it "...decided to join the rest of the group and I followed. After all she was the only link I had to the place I was looking for."

"We arrived just as they were headed into a gate that lead to the archon's world, or an archon world.

"At the time I thought I'd joined the group by chance, but I also believed in chance back then. Now I would say I was recruited, by Luke."

He looks up at the night as well. "All nights are beautiful, in their own way." He says, the word nights stressed in an odd way that says he's talking about more than it seems. "I've spent a lot of time outside, and I prefer it out here."

Devlin turns back to the girl. "At any rate, it may have only been a month ago as time went for most of the group, perhaps a little longer for Cyan, I'm not sure. No, I was not there at the beginning and there are still a few holes in my knowledge about what's really going on."

In response to Devlin's comments on Shadow versus the Myriad Worlds, Trista nods, “I am much the same, though our reasons are different. While you travel through the shadow, I simply have called the Worlds, 'Shadow,' since I learned of them. My father's doing, of course. Both Dorian and Berd have given me lessons on the proper terminology.” No disdain colors the emphasis, simply a certain self-mocking humor.

“I have attempted to change my vocabulary, though 'Myriad Worlds' is a bit too poetic for me. Ironically, I've never thought of 'Shadow' as being derogatory, or to mean those people are less real. The idea is ludicrous. To me, 'Shadow' was always simply a name for the Worlds, one that holds a beautiful mysticism. But I do not wish to hurt anyone's feelings, and so I gladly submit to calling them the Worlds.”

The man continues and Trista listens with rapt attention. Although Devlin does not illuminate the details, she comes to understand he followed others to the group though in a round-about way.

Then Devlin speaks that soft, beautiful name again: Serena. Knowing he carries on a telepathic conversation with the woman right now, Trista wonders where Serena is. She must be close unless she carries the power of Berd within her soul. That's not impossible considering the people Trista has met lately.

Perhaps she should relinquish Devlin so that he might concentrate on his talk with Serena. At the thought, an unexpected loneliness dampens the woman for no logical reason. No, if he found Trista too distracting, he would take his leave. Wouldn't he?

Decidedly staying put, a weight lifts and thoughts of solitude vanish.

Recruited by Luke, a man Trista has not even met though she caught glimpses of him from Berd. She thinks back to their journey from Charyk and does not remember him there. Further back, she remembers James mentioning the name of 'Luke' to refer to some apparition which did not linger. Someone who comes and goes, perhaps?

Both looking into the dark night, seeing rain drops materialize out of blackness to fall on their faces, Trista nods at Devlin's sentiments, “I think you're right.” She hears something more in his voice, understanding he alludes to more than the cycle of darkness. However, she can't discern what it may be and although curiosity tugs at her, she will not pry.

She meets his gaze when he turns back to her. “Hm, time again. It shifts and swerves and makes me dizzy. I can only judge time based on my own viewpoint which can be drastically different from those of others.

“I certainly don't pretend to understand what's going on. But I listen and slowly gather more pieces to fit complete the puzzle. Hopefully, I'll get there one day. Though I don't want to linger on complicated plots which make the brain fizzle right now. I'd rather just enjoy this.” She offers an uninhibited smile.

“I am curious about – Nightbrand. I've never come across an item that speaks before. Not only speaks, but makes decisions for himself. Sentient. I know you've said you don't know everything about him, but is it common in the realms you walk and the circles of your friends to have sentient items of such power?”

This message was deleted by the player at 12:36, Sun 09 Sept 2007.

"I've only seen one other... sentient item, though I doubt it is like Nightbrand." Devlin relies to the question. "And then I didn't know it until it spoke. Aaron's sword is more than a sword, but more than that I don't know. It may be common that those that hold such items keep their secrets well."

Devlin looks down at his arm, "What do you know of it?" He asks the thing wrapped about his forearm.

There are several moments of silence.

Then Devlin shrugs and looks back at Trista, "Or it may be that the items themselves keep their own secrets well."
This message was last edited by the player at 18:43, Sun 09 Sept 2007.

Attempting to picture Aaron's sword, Trista can only remember having a glimpse of it on his back; she didn't see the man wield the weapon. An eyebrow rises as Devlin questions Nightbrand and a trickle of chuckles trails as the bracer keeps quiet. “I suppose he has his own mind then.”

The gradually lightening sky catches the woman's attention. Trista tilts her head back against the wall and a soft sigh puffs a bit of steam into the air. “Morning is coming. If I'm going to get my run in, I better get going.”

Yet, she lingers, sitting there with the (now) gentle rain splashing against her face. Finally, she turns to Devlin, searching for eye contact. Once she has it, she smiles, “I apologize for keeping you up all night, but I must admit to being selfish – I'm glad you were here with me.” There's an instinctual wanting to reach out and give the man a hug, but Trista refrains, settling for lightly squeezing his hand.

Pushing herself to her feet, she smiles down to the man again, “I won't go far, just around the perimeter.”

"I thank you as well," Devlin says as he too pushes himself up off the ground. "Our talk has helped me to see some things differently."


"But if I may ask one more question before you go running off."

He smiles only because she does plan on running off. "You told me the name that you know your father by, but can you tell me what he looked like?"

Devlin's play on words earns a chuckle and then Trista nods as she responds, “Of course. Duard had dark hair though not as dark as mine. A little warmer shade, too, with touches of red, I suppose. Not strong, but there. Clear blue eyes and pale skin. He was maybe four or five inches taller than I am with narrow shoulders and a slim build.

“He traveled as a merchant, or at least that's what he told me. He seemed to like expensive and exotic things. I-” The words abruptly stopped as Trista realizes she was about to tell Devlin things he would not want to know. Things about her suspicions surrounding her father. Maybe one day he will ask again.

“Well, that's about it concerning what he looked like. Still trying to figure out if you might have heard of him?”

When Trista said that Duard had dark hair with touches of red, Devlin's heart almost skipped a beat, but he did not let it show outwardly. But then she said the man was slim. But the dark hair with touches of red still sparked his curiosity.

"Actually, yes." he says in replay to her question, and now he is even more curious. But he tries not to let it show as he asks in an offhand way, "Did your father ever mention his parents?"

He expects the answer to be no, but it could never hurt.

Stormy eyes look off in the impenetrable distance as Trista thinks back before she offers what answers she has. “Not directly. I saw him so seldom, and he never stayed long, so we mostly talked about me. However, he did tell me tales of Amber and the Great Pattern. Of Random, Corwin, Fiona, Benedict, and I think maybe a Julian was mentioned. And Oberon.

“Well, I can't be sure, but I believed he was related to them all somehow. This will sound silly, but when I was little, I fancied him some kind of half brother to King Random. A silly girl's dreaming of royalty, I'm sure.”

And yet, her manner indicates she still believes it.

“He didn't really talk of too many other people, so I guess I just thought perhaps...” Trailing off, she ends with a helpless shrug. Futile, certainly. She cannot know who her extended family really is.

Unless she takes Berd up on his offer.

Devlin nods as Trista speaks and gives him just about the answer he expected.

"Go for your run, I’ll be right about here, somewhere. I need to think."

Duard was the first... make that second Amberite that he'd heard of that had dark hair with red highlights. He wondered, for only a moment, if it was simply coincidence and dismissed the notion entirely; there was no such thing. But just because two people had similar hair did not mean they were related. There was still that small chance that they were closely related and Devlin would not dismiss the notion completely until he was sure.

But who was this Carl Corey. He'd been drilled on all of the Ambers; all of the elders at least. None, at least that he could recall, matched the description of the man. There were at least two though that he did not have descriptions for. All he knew of them was a story about angering Oberon and being sent off to fight in a war from which they never returned. Some presumed them dead, but there was no guarantee or that. He wondered how he might get their descriptions. Perhaps their brother, but how to get that one to even talk of them, or to talk to Devlin for that matter, that was the question. It seemed they indeed needed information from Amber, but Devlin was loath to enter that place until he was sure he knew who the traitor was. He secretly hoped that this Carl Corey knew nothing of him, or the powers he possessed.

Devlin had walked as he thought and now found himself at the entrance to Dorian's outer shelter. He leaned against the wall next to the door and continued thinking as Trista ran circles around the building.

He wondered if Benedict knew of his brothers and if they were somehow involved if he knew of that as well. But he did not believe that. From the history Devlin had been told, Benedict was always the one that was first in defense of Amber. He almost dismisses the entire notion right there... but still, they needed to find this mysterious Amberite with the black and red hair, the gray and silver eyes.

The sun was coming up and soon Devlin should go inside. Put forth some notions of what He thought they should do next, though some of those notions he did not necessarily believe in. It was time to get devious, to mislead those that might be watching them; throw them a few red herrings for a change.

While part of her feels reluctant to leave Devlin's side, another part anxiously puts her feet in motion to find release in the rain. Trista removes her boots and socks, tucking them inside the fortress, but not within the original hut before getting out into the rain once again. Trista angles away from the fortress at a slow pace, warming up. When she judges her distance from the structure will give her a quarter mile run, she increases her speed and starts a round path around the perimeter.

The sound of bare feet rhythmically pounding against uneven ground mixes with the subsiding rain to give Trista's mind a hypnotic beat. The night had been eventful culminating in a ray of pristine light beaming across the dusty cobwebs of her soul. Devlin, Berd, Nightbrand, fathers, and lovers all make an appearance in the misty rain.

The situation at hand could seem hopeless, but the newly born Trista finds hope very much alive. The sensation almost overwhelms her. Yet, as she runs her circles, catching glimpses of Devlin as he walks, she finds her lips turning up more and more of their own accord. The man has given her much to think on, not the least of which stands her (and his) parentage.

Eventually, the sun bursts over the horizon and Trista heads back to the hut, sneaking inside to gather clothing out of her pack and changing outside between the buildings. The sun brings a new day with new rays of hope, and Trista will strive to catch each crystalline one.