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.