"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.