Devlin thinks Trista's idea is a good one and he says so, "That might be a good idea. While the others go to Amber to discover what they can there we can do something else. It’s true that I was headed for Amber myself." He pauses long enough to look at Cyan and then at Trista, his gaze lingers just an instant longer on Trista. "But my own needs can wait."

The man crouches down and begins to doodle in the dirt floor of the hut, "We could seek out the hiding place of Harbonah, or we might seek out Sephiroth, the one Tamiel told us of, that is if this Sephiroth yet exi..."

He stops suddenly and turns to Berd, "Berd, did you discover the thing that Metaron told us we should look for at Charyk? The thing that sundered broken god?"

"You seem to already be decided against going to Amber yourself, Devlin," Dorian says. "I can't imagine you'd be unwelcome by the others, if you wished to go there. As for myself, I am undecided. It's not a secret that I am supposed to have family there--though I'm told my mother has passed long ago. I would like to see it again, yet I think I am more comfortable--even useful--going elsewhere."

Cyan sobers with Dorian's serious poise. She inclines her head a touch as he takes the comb, and steps back to give him room.  The Day Dorian begins to emerge, with the change of clothing and the attack upon his snarls.  She looks down at her own clothing with some distaste.  "I miss my travelling clothes," the bard murmurs.  "Berd?"

The drake sighs, and for an instant a thin ring of light passes down over Cyan, head to toe.  Cleansed of the rigours of travel, she pats her shirtsleeves and grimaces.  "Not a bath, but it will suffice."  Berd lets out an indignant squawk, and she knuckles his eyeridges, to his obvious pleasure, before bending to shake out her hair.

The moment Trista offers, Berd galumphs across the floor between Cyan's bedroll and her pack, whining piteously as she searches.  A portion of jerky is seized, delicately so, and the dragon settles down to gnaw with needle-teeth, humming with pleasure.

Cyan, for her part, shakes her head at the litany of names, but chooses to listen to Devlin and Trista discuss.  Trista's question comes, and Cyan holds up a finger, considering, as Devlin speaks of his own ideas.  There is Sephiroth, of course.  She supposes they could find a way to speak to the nephillim, to question them.  But her eyes fall upon her sketchbook, lying open on her bedroll.  There, on the page next to the beginning sketch of Trista, is a drawing.

Her heart pounds, and she slowly picks the book up.  An onyx chair sits before a bank of shimmering lights in the air.  The walls are dark.  The floor is black, but rippling with reflections of the floating colours.  Cyan swallows thickly.

She remembers this.

Berd, rolling on the ground in his attempts to tear apart the beef jerky, glances up at Devlin's question.  Still lying on his back, his feet in the air, talons locked in mortal combat with the tough slab of meat, he chimes an affirmative.


"I may have something," Cyan begins, slowly.  She stares down at the book, lips thin, eyes like dark rubies.  "I remember...certain things.  It is possible...possible, mind, that I could create a palanquet to within Harbonah's fortress."  She looks up.  "It may not be easy," she hastens to explain, "and a palanquet may not function properly - the Archons hold power over the Underflow as well.  And even if we do enter, the risk is terrible."  A shadow passes over her face, and she shudders.  "Harbonah's personal power is...appalling."

But then her jaw sets.  "And yet, we might be able to find out something critical should we journey there.  What do you think of this?"  Fear gnaws at her belly, but what other choice do they have?

"I will go where Trista... and Cyan decide to go." Devlin replies to Dorian. "I was never in any real hurry to get there anyway."

While he speaks Berd answers his question, "So we have many paths we could follow, including to Amber if that's what's decided."

Then the man turns back to berd, he's about to ask something but stops, mouth open of the verge of speaking, his head turns to the side as he studies the drake. Devlin would love to study the creature, to see what makes Berd, Berd...  Devlin has his own suspicions, but he keeps them to himself, for now.

He turns back to Cyan. "You know, if we can get to Harbonah's fortress it would not be necessary for one of us to go there. I could send one of my creatures, especially if there is some small animal you recollect, something that might not be noticed moving about within this fortress. One of us may need to go there only long enough to deposit it."
This message was last edited by the player at 03:14, Thu 23 Aug 2007.

Beldrin listens to the conversation around him, bemused bt the strange names, and stranger locations which are mentioned by those who have rescued him from the gallows.  He speaks, at last, "It seems that you have all been somewhat busy, in the service of Amber.  If you have need to go somewhere else, to continue your work, then there is no need for you to personally escort me all the way to Amber.  I am capable of finding my way back there, which would free you to make your own choices regarding your destination."

Finished, Dorian returned the comb to Cyan with a note of thanks. He let his eyes linger on her a moment. "Fascinating--and good idea, too. We need that kind of information."

Dorian only nods at Devlin's declaration. Interesting.

"I suppose if all we're doing is spying, Devlin's creatures might be ideal. Minimal risk, it seems. I think at least one or two of those who were sent out by Fiona should return to Amber. That would be who? Myself, James, Cyan, and Aaron? James and Aaron seem to be the acknowledged scions of Amber. I think that may be worth something. If only a little."

"I should bespeak Aaron, inform him of what transpires," Cyan states, shuffling her cards.  Out pops the image of a weary, armored man, a shade guarding his back..  Cyan found this one by feel - the spirit echoed within the card is very familiar to her.

"A great deal of work on behalf of Amber, Beldrin.  Many have fallen, lost and never to be known by those who benefit."  Topaz eyes stare through the walls, into the distance.  I will sing their songs, should I live through this myself.  "But I suspect others of our group will head to Amber.  We should send some of the new people, as well - they need to be recognized as Questors, that their reports hold weight should..."

...should none of those known now remain to speak, in the future.

"As for sending a spy, I do not believe that would be wise."  Her smile twists into a grimace.  "There are no natural vermin within the fortress.  Nothing lives but the archons and their servants - their slaves, their spies, the Iron Warriors, and so forth.  Your small animals, Devlin - they contain echoes of power, with no strength to hide the light of their spirits.  They will be seen and, if you are lucky, destroyed.  You do not wish a piece of yourself falling into the hands of the Seraphim, Devlin."  She slowly shakes her head, a dark memory in her eyes.

"No, any that enter must have protection for their spirits and minds.  Berd's cloaking.  Dorian's subtle sorcery and invisible might."  Her smile returns, it wobbles, then firms.  "If we go, it must be as a small group.  Only with the gestalt of talents might we enter secretly, search, hide, and crush any who discover us before the alarm is raised."

One slender, calloused fingertip taps the card; it rings like a bell, once, a shimmering vibration in the air echoed in the Underflow itself.

"Aaron of Ald Thiriel," Cyan whispers.  "Hearken."

"I should go to the Harbonah's fortress, then," he says. He wonders a moment at what he's just said. "And I think it reasonable that Cyan and Devlin join us. I suspect Aaron will wish to join us, perhaps, but who can predict that one's mind? And Berd of course, as Cyan already suggested."

He glances at Cyan, now deep in conversation with Aaron.

"Do you think you could assume the form of an Archon, Devlin? I know there is risk of the mind you assume taking over, but perhaps I could assist in preventing that, if you wish it.

On Charyk, I found a way to hide myself from the Archon's sight. They see with their minds, not with any physical means. At that time, I could only blank out a portion of the world. To them, it was like a hole in their vision. I could experiment with more subtle forms of cloaking--though I believe it will take much more concentration to maintain such. Normally, the psyche itself would leave echoes they could see, but I've learned a few tricks about hiding mine. It makes a difference."

*ooc: at least, that's my understanding of it *shrug*

Amber, mostly to report from what Trista gathers. The lair of Harbonah, a being of power requiring power of the group. Something named Sephiroth which seems dropped by the others after Devlin makes the suggestion. Two strong possibilities and a third of which Trista knows nothing.

The woman's eyes flick to Devlin at his wish to travel with her, along with a small smile. She, too, feels a connection with the man after their night in the rain. Through the ensuing discussion, it becomes clear that only those with formidable power will seek Harbonah. This means Devlin and not Trista. Though she feels a taint of regret at losing both Delvin and Berd, Trista's training knows personal desires must be set aside for the goal. She also agrees; it would be foolish for her to attempt the Harbonah group. A different objective would be more suitable for the stormy-eyed woman.

Those in this small hut are whom she's gotten to know, some to a much smaller degree than others. Brief words were shared with both James and Banglen-Yp, but of the others, she only knows their names and faces. That, apparently, is about to change.

As Cyan pulls out a Trump, and Dorian plans with Devlin, Trista stands by. She would not interrupt and certainly, they have much to discuss. Hopefully, Cyan will sort out who will go where, and make sure someone who understands the entire story travels to Amber. Perhaps they will also reconsider the Sephiroth idea, whatever that is, and utilize the still large number of people needlessly traveling to Amber.
This message was last edited by the player at 17:21, Sat 25 Aug 2007.

"Talking to Sephiroth is a good idea, too. Perhaps we could send someone who is good with people... Chance maybe?"

He leans back and looks up at the ceiling for a moment, tapping his fingers on his leg.

"I think that would make sense, if he would go for it. I don't want to force anyone into anything, of course. Though ... it might be a good idea to send one of the fighters with him, in case something happens."

His eyes flick to Trista, study her for a moment. They speak a suggestion--or a question--that he doesn't verbalize.

"The cosmos is a dangerous place, these days."
This message was last edited by the player at 21:12, Sat 25 Aug 2007.

In response to Cyan's saying something about sending new people to Amber so that they know who they are Devlin says, "I've given this some thought and I think we should keep some secrets from Amber. They should not know everyone that works with this group. Tell Aaron that the group should not mention my name. We may want to extend that secrecy to others they know nothing of. I do recall correctly that there is someone in Amber that works against us, do I not? It would be best if that person does not find out everything we know. Perhaps it would even be best if they don't know exactly what it is we're doing. Call me paranoid, but I was taught well about this family that I belong to. From certain members of this group, that I trust, I may have no secrets, but for those I can not be sure of... it would be best to keep them in the dark."

Cyan begins to communicate with Aaron Dorian has his own ideas. It seems that Dorian thinks Trista can accompany Chance to speak with Sephiroth. Perhaps a good idea, cover several tasks at the same time. He too looks at Trista, he'll not ask her not to take on the task, but just like Dorian he will not ask her to take it on either. For some reason the wishes to remain with Trista, or her with him, he does not know why. Devlin still questions why he wants to watch out for her, but he will do so just the same. He can actually accomplish what Dorian suggests and also remain with Trista, one of the gifts of his abilities, he decides to worry about that when plans are more firmly in place.

"I have actually thought about taking the form of an Archon." He finally replies to one of Dorian's questions. "I can take their form without assuming there persona. I could even make us all appear to be Archons, it would take some time and plenty of food and rest in between, but it would be possible. The trouble is size, all of them I have seen are very large, or they are able to make themselves very large. I have not found it possible to make myself bigger than I really am except through trickery of a sort."

Devlin looks at Cyan, perhaps she will know more about how much size matters when she finishes her other conversation.

He turns his attention back to Dorian. "I can also disguise our psyches without actually changing them, that is if I know what an Archon's psyche looks like..."

Devlin suddenly remembers Beldrin, laying in the room and listening to the entire conversation. How could he forget the man was there, a spy, working for Amber, and him blathering on about plans he does not want Amber to know exist. He looks at the man, still not in perfect condition. He tries to sound as if he is not making a threat as he says "I hope you can keep what you've heard here to yourself. There are those in Amber that should not know what we are about. The problem is that none knows who it is that is working against us. Anyone that finds out about our plans may inadvertently pass that information on to the enemy." Devlin does not say more, but he knows that if the enemy finds out about their plans that he will know where the leak came from. Hopefully Beldrin understands what will happen if their plans are leaked.

Beldrin smiles at Devlin, though there is a certain degree of bitterness about the expression, "I have a career in the service of Amber, and I spend half my time making sure particular items of information do not reach the ears of specific persons there.  Some of those persons are at the palace."

"I well understand the necessity of keeping some things secret from those you may bear the responsibility of protecting."

"Of course, I can tell you that, but you will, naturally, realise that I may be lying to you.  Unfortunately, there is no way that you can guarantee my silence, short of killing me.  And even that is not a certainty.  Likewise, you could say that I am free to return home in safety, only to arrange for an unfortunate incident upon the road."

"Best, I think, to politely accept that both parties speak the truth, and to part on friendly terms."

"Berd can, of course, assist with the Cloak over whomever comes with us to the fortress," Cyan states, somewhat distracted, still reaching for Aaron with the palanquet.  "I leave that open to volunteers who believe they can be of assistance...though I believe some are better suited to certain tasks than others."

Her smile is uncertain from her broken concentration.  "I am ill-suited to navigating the river of politics in Amber, you see."

"As for Chance, again, that would be up to whomever chooses.  No doubt Luke will tag along at least part of the time."  Her mouth turns down in unconcious disapproval.  "As for your request, Devlin, I will pass it along to Aaron.  It is your right, of course.  It seems logical, though I deplore of the necessity."  Lying to allies, she considers with a shudder.  Is this how far we fall, due to the necessity?  Where will we draw the line?

Lying, in and of itself, is no terrible sin.  But it shifts the line that much closer.  Little you can do for the nonce, Cyan, save grin and bear it....

"But if you cannot yet accomplish shifting your size, Devlin, I do not believe it will matter.  So long as you can function in a small range of sizes..."  She trails off.  "I would rather have Berd cloak me than be an Archon," Cyan finishes.  "I do not think I would be useful in that form.  Not at all."

She listens to the back and forth between Beldrin and Devlin with some distaste.  There is, again, little they might do about Beldrin, save rape his mind or slay him.  She will allow neither, herself - it is a moot point.  Cyan considers where people stands, notes that Trista has not yet weighed in with her own feelings.

"Trista - I imagine all 'groups', and some not yet formed, are open for volunteers.  Including this one."  Said with a quick, absent smile, some of her attention still on the card.

"Aaron of Auld Thiriel."

A memory comes of Chance in the Inn, entertaining the women around him. Trista has no guess as to the man's abilities, though she does remember seeing his clothing changes to cloud-covered pajamas. Perhaps he can make some for Dorian... Trista suppresses a laugh though a smile sneaks its way to her lips.

She nods her understanding of Dorian's unspoken question, though she waits to respond on Cyan's decisions. She gives Devlin a quick smile as their eyes meet and then conversation turns to both shape-shifting and the merits of trust with Beldrin. A frown settles about Trista's eyes; she's slipped from her days of furtive planning. She had assumed Beldrin was safe, since he was a friend of Cyan. Poor assumption on her part.

Remembering the jar of jerky, now a bit lighter after Berd's bite, Trista sets about putting it away. Then Cyan speaks of volunteerism. Trista rises, attempting to keep the surprise from her face. She had thought those in charge would simply assign tasks based on known strengths.

A glance at each of the others and back to Cyan who attends her trump contact once again. “Honestly, I do not know where I would be most useful. Certainly, I can play the roll of bodyguard, but I am no diplomat. It sounds as if Chance would have that covered. As for Amber, again I'm no diplomat. Harbonah? It sounds like a being of great power. I will consider.”

Devlin smiles, chuckles a bit, and nods at Beldrin's response to what he said. "I did not pull you out of that dungeon just to do what those who made you a prisoner had planned. Cyan trusts you, if you say that you'll not give the information to anyone then that's good enough for me." And he dismisses any further thoughts on the matter, turning his thoughts to other things.
This message was last edited by the player at 01:10, Thu 30 Aug 2007.

Finished dressing and grooming now, Dorian says, "If I might suggest, it would seem we're nearing a point where we should include the others in our planning and discussing for efficiency reasons. Any luck with Aaron?"
This message was last edited by the player at 16:15, Mon 27 Aug 2007.

It seems they must wait for Cyan to make contact with Aaron and for input from the committee. So they wait...

...Devlin did not stop thinking about changing his size after mentioning it. It had been a while, quite a while, since he'd actually tried to increase his size and not just by artificial means like adding empty space to his innards. He sits studying his hand while he waits. As he does so he reaches out into his surroundings and tries to pull matter from outside of him, the very matter that makes up this world, into that hand... Mordan had told him that some shifters could actually change their physical size, but it was rare. He did not have the gift so could not tell Devlin how it might be done. ...Devlin continues to concentrate.

"Nothing yet," Cyan whispers.  Still waiting.  The others deserve to know her plans.  Perhaps they will have ideas, perhaps not, but Cyan will carry this through.  No more games.  No more haring about through the Myriad Worlds in search of the mysteries of creation.

Berd chomps on his chunk of beef jerky, and shakes it like a terrier with a rat.  Frustrated, he begins to gnaw.

With a nod, and a smile, Beldrin accepts Devlin's assurances, and lapses back into thought, considering options.


After a moment or two, the agent of Amber rushes into the outer portion of the shelter, where he can be heard being violently ill...

Trista considers her options as the others talk, taking into consideration advice from more than one source. Perhaps she has been short sighted in what she has to offer, yet there is one path which she feels might be best, regardless of her personal feelings.

A hand lifts to her stomach, and a frown creases her brow as she appears slightly agitated and confused.



Attempting to shrug off these bizarre, and uncomfortable, sensations, Trista quirks an eyebrow at Aaron's lack of a response. Perhaps something has happened. In a silence, Trista glances to Cyan, not wanting to disturb her. “I feel I might be best utilized assisting Chance, though it would have to be up to him. If he doesn't like the idea, then I will come with you, again with approval.” Her brow lifts toward Dorian, knowing he or Aaron would be the only ones who might object. Then again, perhaps Chance will accept her to speak with this Sephiroth.

Suddenly, Trista winces. Her eyes look back and forth along the floor line. A hand reaches out to grab Devlin's arm, well above Nightbrand. Hardly able to keep her feet, her other arm wraps around her stomach and she closes her eyes hard. “I – something's wrong.”

The woman has never been ill before and really doesn't recognize the nauseas overtaking her belly or the headache trouncing her mind. When Beldrin suddenly runs out and vomits, she understands. She's seen illness many times, she's just never experienced it. Trista let's go of Devlin and slides down a wall, holding her head in her hands.

Berd pulls his head back, staring at the beef jerky.  He hisses in disgust and pushes it aside, then hops away like a startled cat, his back arched.


The little drake leaps into the air, flitting like a bumblebee to where Trista stands doubled over.  His senses reach out, hunting through the layers of reality surrounding them, seeking the cause of the meat's spoilage.

"I have Aaron," Cyan whispers.  "Aaron."  He looks exhausted, as always.  Ever shouldering his past.  "We have news, and thoughts on where to...something transpires here."  Her sapphire eyes dart away from the card for an instant as she becomes aware, then return.  Reluctantly, Cyan stands but holds her ground.  "Berd will inform me if it is an attack - are you all well?  We have Beldrin - he is ill, and something is causing illness in Trista, as well as spoiling the food, here."

She takes a deep breath, and her voice firms.  The others can handle this, unless it grows too advanced - there is nothing she can do, and Cyan has Aaron 'on the line', as it were.  She must trust them, and deliver the word to Aaron.  Now.  "I plan to create a palanquet of Harbonah's stronghold, then take a small group to infiltrate and discover what we can."

Devlin does not miss the things that happen around him as he concentrates. He quickly puts one and two together and comes up with three...

He immediately stops what he's doing and rushes to Trista's side. "It's no attack." He says as he does so. Berd is already with her.

The man seems anxious and worried as he continues, "Sorry about your breakfast, old man. Check Trista, make sure there's no permanent damage; Cyan and Dorian too... Quickly now!"

He doesn't wait to see if Berd will comply with his order to hurry the inspection of his friends. What the hell was he thinking... He should have been more cautious...

Devlin rushes out the door of the hut into the buildings new antechamber and places a hand on Beldrin's shoulder. He hopes he did no serious damage. "Feeling better?" he asks as he reaches into the man's body with his senses, trying to quickly check vital organs.
This message was last edited by the player at 01:19, Thu 30 Aug 2007.

On the floor, Trista's head reels. Out on the periphery of her senses, she's mildly aware that Cyan, Devlin, and Berd (in his own way) speak. For the moment though, the uncomfortable, irritating, and alien sensations take up all her concentration.

A few moments crawl by before the crippling nauseas begins to dissipate.


Lifting her head, Trista's belly settles and her headache swiftly leaves. Strength once again returns to her limbs. “That was – odd.” Devlin seems to be outside the hut with Beldrin. Trista remains seated, somewhat confused as to what just happened. Then she looks at Berd, “Do you know what that was all about?”

At first, Dorian grows still. His eyes narrow and seem to search the empty space between things. Then he notes the reactions of Beldrin and Trista, and the furrows of his brow deepen.

The last thing they need is another setback.

"What do you mean its no attack; what is it?"

Beldrin straightens up, his face ashen, and looks, bleary-eyed, at Devlin.  "I thought I was feeling better.  It seems I was wrong.  I suppose that prison took more out of me than I suspected."

Using the inner wall for support, he starts back towards the interior of the shelter.

"I'll be fine, I believe.  It feels no worse than some hangovers I've experienced."

He pauses in the inner door, and sniffs...  "What is that stench?  It smells as though some animal died in here."  The agent looks about, locating Berd, to reassure himself that the drake is not the animal in question.

On the floor, a partly gnawed, and now ignored, piece of beef jerky decomposes...