Some time during the night, the storm died down to something a little more reasonable.

The wind, while still fairly strong, no longer threatens to tear apart the stone city of Cadiniagart, the lightning has stopped, and the rain is not quite so torrential.

In the early light, people are moving about the city, cleaning up the scattered wreckage of their homes and businesses.  For some, though, there is a little disappointment this morning.  The gallows was, it seems, destroyed by a particularly fierce gust, shortly before midnight.  The much-anticipated hanging of the murderous Amberite spy has been delayed.

At the Blue Rose, Donovan works at his morning routine with his usual zeal.  Most of his guests had returned safely the night before and, by way of celebration, the innkeeper had given them a good supper, complete with hot, mulled cider, all free of charge.  To make matters even better, the improved weather means that most of the servants have appeared for work this morning.

The innkeeper is actually singing as he prepares for breakfast.

Of course, he might not be singing so cheerfully, if he were somehow made aware of the bundle which was smuggled into Luke's room last night...

Luke sat silently downstairs by the fire.  His cloak was drawn about him, his eyes half-closed in thought.  The events of the night before had gone as planned.  Of course, 'as planned' did not mean 'satisfactory', not when it came to what he discovered when finally given the cube for destruction.

With that neatly accomplished, passing the Old Man on the way to the furnace, it left only discussion and consideration.  He and the Old Man had spent the night attempting to catalogue the possible paths taken by each cube.  It wasn't easy, especially not for the one he had ashed.

That was the disturbing part.

Now he tapped his foot on the ground, and glanced to the stairs.  High time the others were up.  High time....

Chance pads down the stairs, yawning. His clothes still in the process of changing from patterned pajamas to his usual t-shirt and battered blue jeans. His guitar is tucked under his arm a bit carelessly--more like how a child might carry one around.

He blinks at the lamplight, his eyes shot through with red and underscored in gray. He forces a smile. "What, am I the only one up so far? That can't be right."

"Have to admit, it's a little odd seeing you up with the dawn," Luke noted, his fingers steepled together in front of his hawkish nose.  "Nice PJ's, Chance.  Breakfast is on, for those who wish it."

Now he drummed those fingers on the table for a moment, before sparing the other man a quick grin.  A quick, strained grin.  "Morning.  I would say good, but it isn't, is it?"

"...farther behind," he muttered.
This message was last edited by the player at 16:25, Thu 16 Aug 2007.

Chance shrugs. "Not the best sleep," he admits. "Bit too much on my mind, I guess. You know, end of the worlds, flaming death, screams of terror, burning faces, spinning blades of screeching metal ... the usual. I could have slept longer, but I expected everyone else to be down here waiting for me, to be honest."

"Pity that, yet certainly to be expected.  'To sleep, perchance to dream...aye, there's the rub.'"  Luke shrugged.  "I never liked Hamlet.  Ineffectual idiot.  But right now I'm feeling caught up in that play.  Waiting, waiting, looking for the perfect situation, always being sidetracked..."

His dark eyes sharpened.  "What would happen, I wonder, if we switched protagonists?  A writer^* once postulated this.  Each of Shakespeare's tragic protagonists has a fatal flaw, of course.  Remove them from their particular situation, and they function admirably.  Switch Hamlet and Macbeth, for example."

His hands made a little 'exchanging' gesture.  "Macbeth would have had little trouble with Hamlet's problems - he would simply have killed his uncle the moment he realized the man had slain his father.  It would have avoided so much unpleasantness.  As for Hamlet, he certainly would never have succumbed to Lady Macbeth's urging to murder Duncan."

Now he leaned forward.  "We're Hamlet in a situation where we need Macbeth."

^* Roger Zelazny, Today We Choose Faces

Chance smirked with a little chuckle. "Shakespeare," he says. "I think we are not even so good as Hamlet and Macbeth. They, at least, tried to suss out their problems. All we are is dust on the proverbial wind. We react, but we rarely act. I say ... we act. How many of us need to go to Amber, anyway? What else might we be doing, instead?"

 

•• I'm dancing • and singing • in the rain ••

The front door opened and Banglen-Yp came dancing in, as well as singing, with a really wide and happy smile on her face.  Evidently she was having a good morning, back in the first form that she had when meeting everyone.

Soaking wet, by the looks of it, she plucked out a nearly as wet kitten from under what clothing she is wearing - it looks like a men's shirt, buttoned incorrectly and almost, but not quite, made transparent in the rain that was still falling.  It would seem as if she is not that bothered with the wet and cold.

Tossing the kitten up in the air she laughed and then caught it as it sailed down, obviously not bothered by such a thing, and then she wandered over towards the fireplace, happily singing quietly on some tune.

•• It is raining • it is raining • on my head • on my head •
• pitter patter raindrops • pitter, patter raindrops •
• I'm all wet • I'm all wet ••

 

"Few indeed need to travel to the golden city, I would say."  Luke brushed an imaginary ball of lint from his shoulder - as if lint would dare to settle, there - and spared a glance for Banglen Yp's entrance.  Curious.  He returned his attention to Chance.  "I, myself, will not be going.  I find the Amberites disagreeable, and no doubt they would think the same of myself.  Certainly my presence would sabotage any diplomatic endeavours."

He considers, tapping one finger upon the table.  "I would choose some people whom the Amberites would respect.  Those choices, of course, are up to yourselves.  The rest could continue to do whatever it is you plan."

His jaw muscles tighten.  "I have ill news, but it should await the others.  Nothing critical, but...a sign of the times, as it were."

Tahirah wakes in her own room, but doesn't immediately come downstairs.  An observer might rather think that she had decided to return to her solitaire game of the evening before.

James appears on the stairs, his appearance marked by a loud sneeze.  He pauses long enough to fish a handkerchief from a pocket, turn discreetly away and blow his nose.  Somewhat restored he finishes descending the stairs and stops to look around the common room.

An eyebrow raises slightly at the sight of Banglen-Yp.  He is glad that, for the moment, she is turned away towards the fireplace.  The shirt on her back is very nearly translucent.  James is more than a little ambivalent about Banglen-Yp's overt sexuality, especially in one who otherwise seems quite naive.  It's still too early and James feels too sick to decide anything now so he walks quickly over to join Chance and Luke.

"I caught a cold.  Too long out in the rain last night I'm afraid.  My healing techniques are far too crude to deal with cold and flu, so you'll have to excuse my sniffles, at least until Serena arrives."  James offers, by way of introduction and explanation.

"Vodka James," Chance notes to James absently, still focused on the conversation with Luke. "Cures anything."

He leans back in the chair and regards Luke for a while, tapping fingers on the table. He still hasn't eaten, but since he's among the first up, he has time.

The tapping stops for a moment when Banglen-Yp enters the room. His mouth opens for just a moment, before he catches himself and forces his gaze back to Luke. One word echoes in his mind, from an earlier assessment: delicate. Too delicate.

"I agree, so what other things might we do? I'd love to find some kind of headquarters for these guys, get someone inside. Doesn't sound possible, though."
This message was last edited by the player at 02:05, Sat 18 Aug 2007.

Donovan bustles around, seeing to his guests.  He is even able to offer the lady with the kitten something for the animal to eat... a little warm milk, and a piece of raw fish.

The presence of a panther in the Common Room does not phase him this morning.  The animal is resting quietly against a wall, and doesn't seem particularly alert.  Beside, it is with the red-haired bard, and that one has often associated with strange folk, to his knowledg.  Like the young man with the green skin... he had seemed pleasant enough.  Donovan wonders briefly where that one is these days, then goes back to work, taking orders, instructing the servants, looking to the comfort of his patrons.

Morgan awakens, crawling out of the spill of fur-covered muscle that fills his room. Corwin's horns, but what a night it had been. Perforce, he boots Leareth's side. Intense partnership compressed a long message into the blow.  Something like  a cheerful It's morning, and I need to use the latrines, so move your furry arse away from the door! The pointed yawn from his troop's leader, accompanied by a swat to two other furry behinds, passes another message, and the door is unblocked.


Some minutes later, Morgan finds his way into the common room. His favorite leather-and-silk outfit damp, but clean. He waves at the men, but the teenager joins the singing Banglen-Yp at the fireplace. He listens quietly, smiling. It is the first time in his life he's heard a cheerful song about rain, and there's a beautiful woman singing it.

 

Thanking for the dinner for her little friend, Banglen-Yp sat the little kitten down close to the fireplace where she stood, watching the flames dance closer than most would want to be, except for cats possibly.

By the time she was joined with Morgan her shirt was dry, but she still kept singing about the rain.

Soon the song is over and she turned to look at him, smiling.

•• Good morning • Man of the Large Cats ••

Her hand absently pets the kitten who is happily eating his fish, sporting a nice little moustache made out of fat, tasty milk.

•• I hope I acted appropriately yesterday • at the encounter where the women met the man-demon ••

She shrugged and then laughed a short but hearty laughter.

•• I had no idea what you wanted me to do • or if you even spoke about me • but he certainly believed it to be me •• A good use of the scary face • do you not think ••

Her gaze turned into his, a gentle smile lingering on her face.

 

Roman slowly steps down the stairs, only slightly annoyed by the fact that he does not dare use the Logrus to fetch fresh garb.

He surveys the gathered group, noting Morgan standing close to Banglen-Yp.  Have to keep an eye on that one

Morgan grins for Banglen. "A welcome song makes it a good morning indeed Banglen-Yp. You were perfect. A very good use of your scary face."

He almost laughs, then gestures at himself.  "I didn't do as well, but I think everything turned out fine."

"James."  Luke eyed him for a long moment, then nodded to Chance's sally.  "As an experienced campaigner, I'm rather certain you know the wonderful curative powers of strong liquor...well, it might very well burn out some of the bacteria, and so forth.  Assuming, of course, it isn't a virus."  Ever the voice of cheer.

Morgan's entry stirred the dark man to raise his own arm in greeting.

"Chance and I were just discussing getting the lead out, so to speak," Luke continued.  "Y chto mummu yebyosh, as they might say in Russia.  Bad news - the cube you lot gathered was large.  Very large.  Over a thousand faces."  He paused to let that sink in.  "We already knew they were ahead of us, of course.  By a great margin."

The number, however, was a quantifiable spur.

Roman stops on the stairs.  "Is that bad news ?  One thousand faces - yet so far as we can tell it helped the enemy not at all.  We knew that they had had much time to prepare.  If anything that number offers a small hope - it seems difficult for them to bring this aspect of their plan to fruition.  Not if a thousand worlds are not enough. The number we should be concerned with is the number of these cubes out there.  A thousand faces on one cube is of little concern.  A thousand cubes that need to be found and destroyed 'fore they bring disaster - that is a prospect which daunts."

"Not precisely my point, Roman, though you certainly have hit upon aspects."  Luke sat at ease, avoiding lecture mode.  This was information that could be new to those who have joined the quest, and easily forgotten.  "The cube, in and of itself, is nothing.  As you say - it garnered them little.  We hope."

He leaned forward.  "We already know the Archons occupy much, much more than a thousand worlds.  They stretch a dotted line from Chaos to Amber, and those dots fill in day by day.  A thousand worlds?  They have more.  But the cube is a reminder of this, a potent reminder.  And we do not have the time to seek the other cubes out."

He pushed his chair back, moved to the window.  "They don't need that cube anymore.  Big as it was, as many worlds as it had seen...we're still considering fouling up their Step II, while they're putting the finishing touches on VII.  We're behind, and it's time we stopped gadding about."

He swung back.  "Charyk was useful.  Charyk told us something.  We need more Charyks.  That was luck, though, luck and an assist from a man not known for reliability.  No more will come from that direction.  Now we need to make our own Charyks.  We know some places.  We know some names.  Why are we not using that information?"

"Amber.  That is one place.  We have people here with ties to Amber - why are we not going there?  To the Abyss with what the royals say!  For all we know, they bicker and betray, while accomplishing nothing?  And Cyan knows another place, I am sure."  His smile broadened.  "She saw Harbonah.  She spoke to him.  She knows some of their lands.  And she is a palanquet-artist."

"No more wandering the Worlds, searching for clues.  It is time to strike.  To take a chance.  Otherwise the universe will fall while we vainly attempt a game of 'catch-up'."

The inn door swings open, albeit less dramatically than it had the night before, when it had been assisted by the storm.  Apart from that detail, though, all is familiar.

The Rokt steps into the Common Room, prompting a worried expression to appear on Donovan's face.  The horned man looks about, spotting Chance, and the others, sitting near the fire.  The heavy-set man crosses to talk to the death-singer and his companions, raising a hand in greeting.

"My very good friends.  How are all of you, dhis fine morming?"  Without giving anybody an opportunity to speak, he continues, "I am well.  All dhe better, of course for being saved from a sinister plot."

"So... I have considered what my friend, Chance, asked when he visited my ship, and have taken steps to repay dhe debt I owe you all.  My own ship may not be seawordhy, but dhis very morning, I have spoken to dhe owner of anodher ship in dhe harbour.  It is his intent to sail for Amber dhis morning.  Normally he would not take passengers, but he has an obligation to me, and I have offered to cancel that debt, if he will carry my good friends to dhe city of Amber."

Smiling, he adds, "If dhat is still your destination?"

 

A glance over at Roman as he came down the stairs, and a wave accompanied by a smile, then she turned back to Morgan.

•• Oh • I was just outside enjoying the rain ••

An explanation of sorts, as she gestured towards the door.

•• But you are welcome • and thank you as well •• However • I had to improvise and hope I did the right thing •• I had after all no way of knowing what you were thinking ••

She laughed at the end of her small speech and then asked a question.

•• Do you find my singing enjoyable then ••

At that moment the man-demon entered, and she smiled at the memory of how effectively she indeed had applied her scary face.  Naturally, he would probably not realise that the young, sensuous blonde human female was one and the same as the creature he stood face to face with the previous night.

After all, he probably could not read minds either.

 
This message was last edited by the player at 18:27, Tue 21 Aug 2007.

Chance smiles. "Now I feel it is we who owe you a debt, my friend. But you are correct, Amber is still our destination--at least some of us. We're discussing our next steps even now. Do you know when this morning the other captain plans to leave? And have you eaten yet? You're welcome to join our table."

At the same time, he offers Donovan a gentle, don't-worry smile.

"It's no cure, Chance, it just helps you ignore the symptoms."  Perhaps surprisingly, James is serious.  He doesn't mind a drink or three if the time is right, but he avoids it when sick or injured.  Wishful thinking doesn't stop alcohol being poisonous in sufficient quantities.

He nods acknowledgement of Luke's words.  James had anticipated the 'size' of the cube.  If it was collected from the edge of the Abyss then it must have crossed a great many worlds.  Neither is Luke's talk of action a surprise, it's an argument that the group has revisited time and again; how to finally get ahead of the game.

Any attempt at a response, though, is cut off by the Rokt's arrival.  It's not a matter James wishes to discuss before strangers.

"I'll be for Amber at any rate, so thank you."

The Rokt bows, "Dhis is dhe least I could do for dhose who have saved me from such a dire mistake.  I will gladly join you for breakfast."

He sits, and the chair creaks slightly beneath his heavy frame, "Dhe ship will sail on dhe high tide.  An hour from noon.  You have much time to reach it.  I will guide you.  A small return for your warning, and your assistance, unlooked for, dhough it was."

"When I consider dhe grave error I almost made, one million curses are not enough for dhe man who told me of dhat foul object.  When I return to my home, I shall use what money I have left.  I will employ six hundred and sixty six diseased beggars to curse his name, all of their waking hours, for days upon end."

Six hundred and sixty-six diseased beggars? Chance hoped beggars were cheap where the Rokt came from--but they were beggars after all, how much could they charge?

"Not many have seen cubes like that," Chance says. "Who was this man who told you of the cube?"

"A good question," Aaron thought on Chance's inquiry. He had mulled over their next few steps from his new seated position on the stairs which led up to their rooms at the Inn.

He was smoking, contemplative. They needed to move, and fast, but he wanted word from the rest of his comrades, most especially Cyan, before he'd be ready to go anywhere.

So he waited to make his own commentary, the cigarette hanging limply between his fingers.

"Its unique." Morgan shrugs as he smiles.  "For all the rain we get, I've never heard a happy song about it. And then, you sing it well."

He pauses, then continues, "It wouldn't be popular where I come from, but I enjoyed it."

 

•• But rain is good • it is part of life •• Water is needed for most living things ••

Banglen-Yp seemed a bit confused, but only briefly, and then she smiled again.

•• Without rain there would be no life in most places • so it is something to be grateful for • and not scorned ••

•• But I am glad you enjoyed it ••

Reaching out she ruffled the hair on the head of her little kitten friend who did not seem to mind it at all, perhaps busy devouring the last of the meal that had been set before him.

•• Do you know where you come from then ••

A question, seemingly honest and curious, if perhaps a bit strange.

 

Morgan shrugs, the smile slipping. "Too much rain can be a bad thing. We've had too much rain for years."


 "I do know where I come from, yes."  He nods, the grin flashing back into place. "I might even be able to find my way back some day. Do you not?"

The Rokt considers for a moment, one finger, with its curved black nail, resing against his lower lip.  Then he answers, "Ah, I owe you much, so I give dhis information for free.  His name, or so he told me, was Carl Corey.  We were discussing trade, and I told how my competitors often arrived at markets before my own people."

"He, in turn, told me of dhe device, and how it would allow me to get to dhose places, much faster."

 

Putting a hand on Morgan's shoulder, Banglen-Yp smiled gently at him, perhaps trying to comfort him.

•• Too much of anything is bad ••

Then her smile slipped and the hand fell as she shook her head, looking into the fire as if searching for answers there.

•• No • I cannot remember ••

There was a great sadness in those few words and she blinked slowly, the gaze lost far beyond the flames.

•• I do not even remember me ••

She looked over at the Rokt briefly, but it was not clear if she at all listened to him, and then the fire drew her gaze anew.

 

Morgan falters, taking her hand back for a gentle squeeze. "Did something happen? To make you forget, Banglen-Yp?"  His voice is soft, sympathetic.

"Good ol' Carl, eh?" Chance grimaces. "He's a busy fellow. We've never met, but his name has come up once or twice. Charming fellow, but we're starting to see that he is a bit rotten on the inside, perhaps."

He pats the big, horned man on the shoulder with a grin. "There's no end to my gratitude, my friend. So, all this trading must take you away from home. Have family waiting for you anywhere? Any little Rokt's running around tearing up the carpet?"

He lets the conversation slip into more casual territory, doubting there is more to learn from this trader. The thought does cross his mind that the man's kind might make excellent warriors and perhaps he should investigate that, should they ever need to raise an army again.

Menawhile Roman is still musing on Luke's comments.  Although the presence of an outsider means that speech must be more circumspect.  "I don't know if I'll be much use in Amber.  If I can do more elsewhere, I'm ready to go."

"What I would like to do is find Mr. Corey and explain a few facts to him.  A pointed argument or two, some applications of cutting wit, that sort of thing," Luke mused quietly.  He tapped his jaw thoughtfully.  "Or trap him in a gravity shear, let it tear him asunder."  His eyes brightened.  "One or the other.  In any case, someone to find."

With that, Luke reopened the bridging for discussion - any and all at the inn could, should the desire, re-enter.

Roman, tough question.  It looks like one small group is considering a recon.  Another group should be ferreting out the traitor.  That's the one who is doing a great deal of damage to us.  He or she would also be a font of information.  I can understand your reluctance to enter Amber, given your own situation, but...

His fingers clenched, and their tips steamed in the dim light.  "We need that traitor.  Someone needs to seek them out.

Or maybe force him to listen to really bad music for a long time," Chance adds.

He slips into the bridging with a little more comfort than before. He's getting used to this thing, now. I suppose nothing says we couldn't fragment the group even further: two groups to Amber, one diplomatic, one covert and investigative. But that's a whole lot of fragmenting going on, if you ask me.

I do agree that finding the traitor is a priority. My instinct says the best way to do it is to set a trap, but I'm not sure how to do that. Any ideas?

I mean, if one were suicidal, they could walk into Amber and announce they have information on a traitor that they plan to share, very soon. Problem is Amber has so many traitors, you'd have to be very specific or you'd have thirty or so siblings aiming for you.

 

Looking down at her hand as he squeezed it, Banglen-Yp smiled faintly and a minuscule shrug moved her shoulders.

•• I do not remember ••

It was a simple statement, sounding a bit sad but also therein was a hint of amusement.

•• But I remember a little more than when I first became • so perhaps more will return •• But • I feel alone even here •• Am I the only one ••

The first statement sounded almost hopeful, where as the last, the rhetorical question, sounded sad, almost scared.

 

James adopts a friendly, but cautious, silence in the presence of the Rokt.  He is present in the bridging, however, and chooses to speak.

That's pretty much exactly the plan I had in mind, Chance.  That's why I went and announced myself to Corwin and Benedict.  I plan to act as bait.  I am known there, though not well, and my presence will be noted anyway.  Someone who is not so well known, such as yourself, Roman or Meredith would better suit the covert role.

Corwin didn't like the plan.  He thought it better that we all stay concealed.  But as we keep coming back to, time is against us, so I'm happy to stick my neck out.  Cyan agrees, I think.

Breakfasts start to appear on the table, almost as if by magic.  The Rokt takes two of them, and starts shovelling scrambled eggs, sausage, and bacon into his mouth with great gusto.  From the speed with which he eats, one might almost suspect that hadn't had any food in a month or more.

He doesn't seem to chew, before swallowing.

Speaking only between large mouthfuls of food, he says, "Do you know dhis Carl Corey, dhen?  Personally, or just his reputation?  I found him most impressive.  Big, even by dhe standards of dhe Rokt.  I liked him, well enough, dhough at dhat time I knew nodhing of his trickery."

Roman joins the bridging, with a sigh as he moves to sit down.  It's not just for my benefit.  My presence could complicate things for the rest of the group.  Especially if I were discovered spying.  Unless you need a shapeshifter, in Amber, I'm probably better deployed elsewhere. "

"We also ought to discuss suspects.  I know a little of the royal family of Amber.  Hopefully others here know more."

Still up in her room, Tahirah nevertheless feels the subtle invitation to the bridging at the edge of her consciousness.  Tentatively, she lets it in, letting herself listen to the ensuing conversation.

Forgive me if I misunderstand, she says, tentatively.  Your people are, or have been, enemies of this Amber?  Is it not possible, if that is true, that the traitor might choose to contact you, above any other?

Aaron took a final drag on his cigarette, putting it out on the toe of his boot. He hadn't exactly been blocking the contact, but he gathered his thoughts in order before letting it through.

 As he exhaled, he spoke a tired, but anticipatory greeting:

"Yes, Cyan?"

Morgan shakes his head. "I don't, but with dozens of friends along, I wouldn't. It sounds like you had an injury, and the damage is healing. More like one of the cats than one of my kind, I guess."  Pulling his flask out, he offers her a drink, before taking his own swig.  The burning liquid focuses his attention a bit more in the now, discarding memories of some of his gloomier poems.

Helping himself to breakfast, Roman replies "Maybe, or maybe he or she would be less inclined to approach me.  The traitor has an agenda - you may count on that - and one that doubtless extends beyond betraying Amber to the Seraphim.  At this point they may even wish to defend Amber, but without revealing their role in creating the peril."

"Guessing on such little information as we have will get us nowhere.  But we do need a plan, and one that no suspects - not even the Princes here - knows of."

I will have to leave the planning to you, Luke stated over the bridging.  Frankly put, it would be far, far too dangerous for me to be with you when you go to Amber.  I would capture too much attention, and might even be considered a threat.  Chaoslords they know of old, and may be arrogant in their feelings of superiority.  I am something 'new', something they have not seen before.  His mouth twitched in a smile.  I will not claim more potence than any here, but people tend to fear and distrust that which is unknown.

A familiar 'enemy', though...you might open doors, Roman.  Especially if you claim to be an envoy.  Without their Trumps, they have no way of verifying your credentials...and besides, you may simply be acting on behalf of your House rather than the Chaos Crown, which renders your claim truthful.

"Don't know him personally," Chance replies. "Just reputation. I suppose you could recognize him if you saw him again? I'm sure we'll run into him sooner or later, and any information helps."

Good then, James. I didn't want to mention anyone by name, politeness still being worth something in the Worlds. So, we have our highly visible bait, then. We should have someone, someones, stick close to him for back.

If the other group is to be more covert, perhaps they should enter Amber a different way?

Aaron, how are the others?

The Rokt nods to Chance, barely pausing in his eating.  "I would know him, yes, even after all dhese years.  A big human.  Strong as a bull.  Eyes of grey.  Hair was mix of red and black, and a little grey in it.  Same as dhe beard.  A stern man, he was.  Most serious.  Never heard him laugh in dhe four days he was at my home."

The Rokt finally pushes the plate aside, empty, and clean.

"We talked about business and trade.  He told me of dhe cube, and I decided dhat I must have it.  I hire dhe Chanactarsa to find it...  Dhe best trackers I knew of, and you know dhe rest.  Dhey take years to find it, and dhen I find dhat dhe zgorichnadt device would be curse, not blessing."

"They fare well, Chance..." he answered that question through both the contact with Cyan, as well as the bridging. Moments later, he severed himself from the bridging, focusing on Cyan alone.

"Things proceed apace, Cyan. Another Cube has been found," he began, and described to her their most recent discoveries and occurences. He couldn't help it, and he knew he shouldn't have been surprised by it, but the sheer size of that cube had staggered him.

Then he absorbed her statement. Harbonah's stronghold. Sneaking within its boudaries. There was momentary alarm at this fact, one he deliberately channeled through his contact with Cyan.

"I humbly request a haiatus on that particular journey, my dear." Aaron sounded both concerned and agitated. It was his mind's way of processing everything about such an action, possiblities, plans, focusing each and everything he could about that inevitable undertaking into a dense core of action. "Amber has been the destination for a few of us, and I would definetly prefer to be at your side when you infiltrate Harbonah's demense."

His jaw was set, as he rolled Amber over, revealing Harbonah's hell in his mind's eye as its opposite.

"I need to take care of one final, personal thing. An ending. It will not take me long, but I must reach Amber to do it."

"One way or another, Cyan, I will be with you when you enter his sanctuary."

He said that last aloud, then reconstituted himself into the bridging, along wtih his Trump, sharing Cyan's eventual plans with the rest of the group.

"Those of us who wish to, should proceed to Amber," he said within the bridging and through his contact with Cyan. "Our destination after that, has apparently been set. I agree with it. It is action when we need action, and we need to act as soon as possible."

Roman sighs, and takes another forkful of breakfast before continuing.  "Maybe.  But I'd need a good story.  Even then if word got back to Chaos it could cause trouble.  Perhaps I should say I represent a faction.  Or maybe just go as a tourist, wanting to see the place before the Archons destroy it....I'll think on it.

 

Slowly shaking her head, both at the offer of the flask and the question, the strange blonde shrugged and smiled feebly at Morgan.

•• I believe I was • what is the word ••

She paused for a moment, brooding.

•• Dusted ••

She watched him as if waiting for a confirmation and only briefly glanced over at the one she believed was named Aaron as he spoke to the woman Cyan, who did not seem to be present.

•• Why does he talk to someone not here •• Has he got a cell ••

Two rather confused-sounding questions.

 

Caution is admirable, Luke noted.  While Trump may be ineffective, spells could prove efficacious to communication between Chaos and Amber...and there are other methods aside.

I mention you, Roman, because with your background in Chaos you are one of the few people in this group who is actually acquainted with high-level courtly intrigue.  And low-level as well, of course.  There came that sharp smile again.  Who else here has had such time in air as rarified as that of the Court of Amber?  Some, certainly.  But again, certainly not all.

Chance smiles. "A more detailed description than we've had, perhaps. Well, if you happen to see him while we're together, point him out to us, would you? We should be about read, we have a few more people outside the city getting ready, too."

"I don't know the term."  Morgan half-apologizes. "I think one of them has a mental link up again. Not sure I understand their magic, but it seems convenient."

He tries to think of a topic change, and one comes to him.  "Do you want to see what the map-maker  has for us?"

 

Banglen-Yp shrugged and smiled a bit askew.

•• It may not be the correct term • and I am uncertain how to describe it •• Beside • I still cannot say for certain what did happen ••

An explanation, and then her face lights up with curiosity.

•• Mental link •• Again •• Like telepathy or something sci-fi like that ••

Three rapid questions, making her little furry friend look up at her to see if she is all right.

 

James pays particular note to the description of Carl Corey.  Once again there is an elusive quality.  Hints of the family features but not in any combination that matches the Aunts and Uncles he knows.

"It's a better description than the one we had.  Thank you."

Suspects, Roman?  I don't think any of us have spent enough time in Amber to know the prospects all that well.  Everything I've heard tells me it's family, but it doesn't match anyone in particular.  Carl Corey is an alias used by Corwin who is a big, strong man with grey eyes, but there's no red in his hair.  And plenty of people know of that alias, it could easily be a red herring.

My thoughts run in a different direction.  At least two Amberites could change shape courtesy of their ties to the Courts.  I think we can safely rule out Oberon, but when I reach Amber I'll be trying for a word with Dworkin.  As I understand it, my great-grandfather is largely responsible for the universe as we know it.  I wonder how he feels about that responsibility?  Anyway, it should prove illuminating.

Roman's response to James is forceful, almost vehement.  "All of the royal family of Amber must be considered suspects.  Not a one of them can be trusted.  And Dworkin could well be the traitor.  He betrayed Chaos for the sake of power.  He is one of the few likely to have the knowledge to find and contact thae Archons.  Would he treat the land of his creation better than the land of his birth ?  I do not know.  Be very careful in dealing with him.  I cannot even guess the limits of his power."

To Cyan, he said:

"I understand. Once I am finished in Amber, time will no longer be as much of an issue for me, though I will certainly move as fast as I am able. I also agree with you, in that we need particular individuals to investigate Amber. I'm just not one of those types, I suppose."

Then, into the bridging he continued:

"I don't mean to interrupt the current train of converstaion, but Cyan and I need to be sure of who is going to be investigating in Amber, and who is moving with her to Harbonah's refuge. I will travel to Amber for nothing but a short while before I join her, so I need a 'show of hands' so to speak before we get finalized."
This message was last edited by the player at 16:06, Sun 02 Sept 2007.

The Rokt looks from Chance to James, and back again.

"If I see him, I will tell you, just before I turn his face into one large bruise.  But I doubt dhat I will get dhat chance.  When I met him, I was far from here.  Dhis city is just a convenient place to meet dhe Chanactarsa women.  My home is a great many weeks of travel from here.  Dhat is where I met Carl Corey, and it was years ago."

"Ah... I wish dhat I had had one of dhose tzeckhut iconomatics when I met him.  I might have had a picture of him to show you today.  But I had not, so my poor description must do for now."

He shakes his head, ruefully, and  sighs, "I suppose it can't be helped."

Then he seems to pick up again, "So, you will travel to Amber, dhen, my friends?  I envy you.  I have often wondered if dhere would be a good market dhere for my stock, but somehow dhere is always some pressing reason not to go...  Dhe harvest is inferior, and dhe roots would give bad impression to customers.  Or dhere is a war, and dhe routes are not safe.  Or my ship is in need of repairs after big storm.  Always somedhing."

"Maybe one day, I will go dhere to find out what it is like."</b>

His face grows thoughtful then and, hesitantly, he asks, "If I gave you letter, introducing me, could you deliver it to possible customer in Amber?  Is possible dhat you do dhis?"

As usual, I have business of my own to which to attend - information, etc, etc.  I will care for that, as well as continue to replenish my own energies.  Luke, irked at his weakness, stood and began to pace.  He did not concern himself with garnering attention - of all the people in the room, the only ones who would 'see' him were the questors.  In both Amber and Harbonah's palace I would be a liability.  I will leave them to you, and continue to gather information.

Confused, but amiable, Morgan nods to Banglen-Yp.  "One of them does it, lets everyone mind talk. The words sound right.  Don't you get let in the link too? I thought you were just quiet."

Tahirah doesn't need long to consider the possibilities laid out before her.

There are only two, afterall; far fewer futures than one is often presented with.

If I offer a strength to you, it is in the seeking of patterns, and learning that which cannot be found.  The Lords of Charyk were also not unfamiliar with a certain amount of intriguing, she smiles ruefully to herself, and so I have some familiarity there as well.  Hiding is not something I have ever had cause to practice.  I will go with those to Amber, and hope that I can help there.

"Suit yourself, Luke. Apparently, Trista and I are going to talk to this Sephiroth--not entirely sure who that is still--so you're always welcome to tag along, with anyone else who doesn't feel either other choice is their cup o' vodka. I remember you mentioning the name, but the tale is so long some details escape me."

"I would be happy to deliver the letter for you."

And I am happy to have you along Tahirah.  I hope that Meredith will join us as well.  James stops.  He would like to continue, but he's not sure whether Meredith is part of the bridging or not.

"I can be ready to leave in five minutes."

Let me try to get this straight.  I'm to Amber as the bait.  Chance and Trista are going to find Sephiroth?  Luke's doing his own thing for a bit.  Cyan, Berd, Dorian and Devlin (?) are doing something else.  Boy, it's hard to keep track.

The Rokt gives James a nod of thanks, "Dhen I will pen dhis letter widh all haste."  He stands and makes his way to the counter, "Innkeep.  Do you have paper, and somedhing I can write widh?  I need to write a letter."

Donovan scratches his cheek, then indicates that the Rokt should wait for a moment.  "Aye... I've just the thing."  He steps through to the back room, and returns a short while later with the requisite materials.

The Rokt moves to a table, away from the Questors.  Gripping the pen as if it were a dagger, he starts to write, pausing from time to time, staring into space.  Twice he stops, screws up the paper, and puts it to one side, muttering under his breath.

The third effort goes much better...

Serena descended the stairs again from her room and looking and sounding chagrined,"I am glad things went well for all of you and I apologize for my lack of assistance."

Serena then turned to Chance and said,"May I speak with you briefly in private Chance? oddly enough she still seemed split as though part of her was not quite there.

Chance looks up at Serena, surprised by the request. It had been so long since he had seen her. "Sure, go ahead," he smiles and then waits. Then, he waits more. "Oh, you mean with actual words. Right, very refreshing actually. Lead on, Serena."

He bounds out of his chair and follows here to where ever she will feel is private enough.

Serena leads Chance just far enough away that they cannot be overheard by conventional means."Chance, I remember that you have the ability to draw trumps pr palanquets as Cyan calls them. Do you think you remember Devlin well enough to draw me a trump of him? It is rather urgent or i would not ask."

He smiled slightly, getting a feeling for the attitude of his long-time comrade. Aaron wished he could see Cyan smile in the flesh, but trying times called for trying actions. "For you, Cyan, I'll speed my time. It will be as if I never left." Ever, he added to himself.

"Right, then," Aaron said through both the bridging and his Trump with Cyan. "I'm ready to send anyone who wants to join Cyan's group through the Trump immediately, as well as recieve anyone who wishes to move on to Amber with the rest of us. Times wasting!" Though he said the last with a bit of a smile, he could not excise the truth of it.

 

Banglen-Yp tilted her head to one side, then the other, looking at Morgan.

•• Let in ••

It was a question, doubtlessly, and a rather confused one at that.

•• How do I do that ••

Another question, followed by a glance towards the group that no doubt were mind talking all along.

What did they say?

•• It is a bit like whispering • but less obvious ••

A statement, although the questions was what it actually meant.

 

I don't know about finding Sephiroth.  Luke steepled his fingers, considering.  You could try.  If you did, he might be amenable to discussion, considering his potential situation.

You see, Sephiroth was a servant of Harbonah.  He was, for example, the overseer of the work on Cargach's world, which certainly didn't go well for them.  Gazamiel offered you people a list of his plans, in return for ruining Sephiroth and paving Gazamiel's way up the chain.  You didn't take his offer - probably a good thing.

Harbonah, now, doesn't seem to be the sort to reward failure with anything but death.  Luke's smile grew wistful.  I always felt punishments should fit the crime...it encouraged efficiency, rather than fear, in the lower ranks.  But I digress.  Sephiroth may very well be dead right now.

I would search Cargach's world for signs, and should Sephiroth be impossible to locate, search for Gazamiel.  He shows...ambition.  Ambition can be used.

James, if it is only you and Tahirah going to Amber, I should accompany you.  If others are joining you, well and good, but...while this bait can fight back, it still needs a hook.  I can stand in your shadow - literally - and hopefully evade detection.

If I am unnecessary in Amber, I will see to my own business, then seek out Chance's group.

I will wait to see if others plan to accompany.  Roman, for example.  Or perhaps Morgan.

"Thank you chance but I think I just heard the magic words."with a quick hug Serena added,"Be safe when I am gone."

"AAron I wish to go to Cyan's group now if you are willing to send me."Serena stated as she walked over to stand beside AAron."It was good to see you all again and stay strong and be safe and if you need a healer just call."Serena looked at the others each at a time and especially at Luke.

Finally the Rokt returns the pen and unused paper to Donovan, then brings his letter, neatly folded, to James, and lays it on the table in front of the man.  "It is just an introduction letter.  If you find a merchant in Amber who seems honest, dhis will tell him how he can contact me, if he wants to make trade widh me."

He clenches his fists, holding them, together, in front of his face, and executes a deep bow.

"Once more, I am in debt to dhis company."

Sounds charming, Chance broadcasts. I can't say as I know why we're going to talk to him, but maybe something else will come up along the way. And any lead could prove fruitful. I mean, it's better than being tossed about by the storm, right?

"Sorry, Serena, but I--Oh, okay. Yes, well nice talking to you again. Take care."

He had been about to tell her he had exclusive rights to his songs, so to speak--which were in fact songs and not artwork like Cyans--but she seemed to have found her own solution. Good, he thought. I didn't need to give her the bad news that I couldn't help her.

"It is our pleasure.  Your wisdom in seeing the Cube for what it is may have saved much needless bloodshed, the Chanactarsa do not seem the type to back down."

"If you will excuse me for a moment."

James rises from the table and makes his way to Morgan and Banglen-Yp.  He speaks quietly to them for a moment.
"It looks like we're going to split up shortly.  I could really use some help in Amber.  Tahirah and I and perhaps Meredith will go to try to lure out this traitor.  They have the talent; I can make the introductions.  But if things turn nasty we'd be hopelessly outclassed."

 

Looking over at James as he came over to speak to them, Banglen-Yp smiled.

Finally someone talking so that she could hear and even telling some off the plans.  Perhaps she was slowly becoming part of their troop.

Then again, he might be talking more to Morgan, who had the panthers and also a lot more to contribute to the cause - whatever that was, beyond saving the multiverse, just as in all those adventures that The Screen had shown her.

•• If you believe I can be of assistance • I will gladly help • James ••

She bowed slightly to him, the shirt luckily long enough to not cause any potentially embarrassing situations - to those it might embarrass, as the odd blonde herself so far had no concept of such things.

 

Once Aaron takes her hand, Trista steps forward into the Inn. A vague hint of vertigo accompanies the shift as her surroundings completely change. She takes a moment to acclimate then looks to Aaron with the criss-crossing scars, “Thank you – Aaron. I haven't had the chance to actually meet you before now. I'm Trista and here to travel with Chance and possibly others. We don't have time for a proper greeting, but I felt you should probably at least know who I am.”

She glances about at the others, recognizing all except an auburn haired lady who seems to be on her way out and a blond man. No wait, that's Luke whom she recognizes from Berd's visions.

Trista steps to Chance and Luke. The heavy shroud of misery no longer hangs about the woman, though it's unlikely Luke has seen Trista before except possibly through Berd. She offers a smile to the two men. To Luke, she introduces herself, “I'm Trista and you are – Luke? I've come to travel with Chance and whomever chooses this path.”

<backpost>
Serena goes her own way; Chance is merely happy she found what she needed. He smiled warmly at Trista when she approached, noting something seemed different about her. She seemed, well, lighter than before. Perhaps she had sloughed off some baggage, somewhere? Interesting--pleasantly so, he thought.

"Trista," he greets. "Good to see you again. Sorry to say I don't know more about our mission, but I'm looking forward to getting out and doing something. I'm pretty low-maintenance, so I woke up ready to go."

"Trista."  Luke stared back blandly, looking Trista up and down.  His lips purse for a moment.  "Well, if Chance is willing to have you along, greetings.  I'll be travelling with him, and yourself it would seem.  Don't expect me to be around all the time."

He shot a look at Chance.  "When you're ready...I appear packed and prepared."

Morgan's agreement follows shortly after.  "Of course, James. Where are the others headed?"  He isn't alarmed, precisely, but the change of plan seems sudden.

One man radiates warmth, the other chills the air. Trista doesn't blame Luke for receiving her with some apprehension; she is an unknown. She simply waits with just the barest touch of an arched brow as the man looks her over and draws whatever conclusions seem to fit.

Nodding, she says, “Might not stick around much: noted." Then she agrees with the others, "I'm ready, too. Sitting in a hut for hours on end has left me anxious to be on our way, as well.” Though the woman squeezed in a short run in the rain just before dawn, moving will feel good. Fortunately, she also changed her clothes, though she looks much the same: faded jeans, well-worn hiking boots, and a small silver chain tucked inside a fitted, sleeveless tee. Only the shirt has changed from yesterday's blue to white. With her pack sitting squarely on her back and a machete strapped to her thigh, the woman stands ready.

An ironic smile overtakes her, “I suppose we'll figure out the mission on the path.”
This message was last edited by the player at 04:59, Mon 10 Sept 2007.

"To be honest, I'm not entirely sure, Morgan.  Aaron mentioned that Cyan's group was heading for Harbonah's refuge.  I hope that means spying.  Even then, it's still incredibly dangerous.  I think Chance and Trista must be planning something else or Trista wouldn't have stepped through here, but I'm not sure."

James gives another of his characteristic shrugs.  He knew what he was doing, the others were clever enough to sort themselves out.  He hoped.

Faded jeans, boots and white shirts, Chance notes. They couldn't match more. Except one has a guitar and the other has a machete, and he wasn't sure which was better.

"Great," he says with a clap of his hands, as he pretends he didn't notice how well she filled the jeans and shirt. Not at all. "I guess we're set, then. Let me say goodbye to my Horned Friend and we'll be off."

He excuses himself for a moment to bid farewell and godspeed to the Rokt before they go to the ship.

"Harbonah is one of the Archon leaders?"  Morgan grasps for confirmation.  "I should be getting some stories that have reached here soon, if they'll wait. Amazing how many people talk to that mapmaker."  He grins, "And I could identify the illustration at twenty paces, as I said, so I doubt the tale's as distorted as some get."

"So is your re-found friend going with us?"