Chance halts, cocking his head to the side to look at the bird.

When Trista explains, he says, "So not an omen of doom, then." He smiles, and tries waving at the bird to see how it reacts.

So this was it. They were off on their own. He felt like they were a couple of children finally deemed old enough to leave the house on their own, but it felt good to have something to do. It felt good not to be in the Shadow of those who could sunder cites in half and pull small worlds out of their pockets.

He stole a glance at Trista. She didn't look like she could split anything bigger than a thick log, and that was just fine with him. The big guns among the Questors--Berd, Luke, Aaron, James and so forth--tended to make him nervous, anyway.

"So, what do you know about this mission, Trista? I've only got pieces, myself. All I know is Sephiroth was some kind of leader among the Archons, and that a henchman of his--Gazamiel?--might be ambitious enough to do us some good. I was thinking we should try to start with Gazamiel, maybe. What do you think?"
This message was last edited by the player at 02:39, Mon 10 Sept 2007.

The bird tilts its head to the other side in response to Chance's wave and then flutters up to Trista's shoulder where is tweets and whistles in Trista's ear.


Then the bird begins inspecting the girls hair and scalp with its beak.

(OOC: Not sure who all is here so I'll wait after this to find out)

Trista half-chuckles, “I should hope not, though I don't put much stock in omens either way. Still, they can be entertaining by the right little old lady with wispy white hair and a cigar hanging out of her mouth. A crystal ball never hurts.” A perplexed expression crosses the woman's face, she can't remember the last time she shared a trivial anecdote.

Shaking her head once to clear the thoughts, she rises to her feet and watches the bird seemingly understand Chance's greeting and lift himself up to perch on her shoulder. “Ah, his name is Ämi. Ämi, this is Chance.” Her head jerks back slightly as a beak gently taps against her scalp, then she relaxes when he's obviously not pecking a hole through her head.

The revelation, both now and earlier in the Inn, that Chance doesn't know much about their current mission produces a slight frown. “I was hoping you would know. In the three days I've known of Archons, I've heard some of the history, but certainly not all. In other words, I have no idea who Sephiroth is.

“Those in the hut seemed to think it a good idea to speak with him, but if he's a leader – wouldn't that mean he's not exactly open to diplomatic conversations? Perhaps this Gazamiel would be a better place to start.”

A wry smile for Chance and she adds, “I think I'm mostly here to assist if things should – go South. But I'll certainly aid in any way I can. I'm afraid I'm better at being silent than diplomatic.”

Trista concentrates a moment and adds, “The bird seems to think there are other ways to garner information, though he hasn't dropped hints as to what they might be, yet. What do you think, Ämi, anything specific?”

ooc: I edited out Luke...
This message was last edited by the player at 16:10, Mon 10 Sept 2007.

Chance beams, laughing at her crone description. Instantly, his clothes flutter as if struck by a stiff wind, and they change. Now, Chance is wearing a black robe, old and frayed. The guitar case becomes a dirt-smeared crystal ball. He hunches and points a shaking finger at Trista. "Doom! Doom on you, I say. Doom on your little bird, too!"

The clothes flutter and the crystal ball warps, and he is back in his faded jeans, guitar case in hand. Only the smile remains.

"Recon, I would guess," he says to the last part. "And it's a good idea. Don't worry about information, Luke is great at filling in the blanks. We'll be okay."

He pats her on the shoulder (the one without a bird) and offers his best smile, the one that says nothing in the world can go wrong.

"I hope you don't mind, but the only way I can travel is by song. The guitar is what changes the worlds around us, and I have to play it."

The guitar case is now a six-string guitar. Made from the darkest wood, it glistens brightly with fresh polish. A simple design of a blue rose glides along the outer edge of the lower bout. Arcane symbols jute from the edge of the rosette, twisted angry things, yet tiny and discrete like jealousy masked by politeness.

The bird whistles some more, then suddenly flies off, landing on the ground to snatch a fat beetle from were it crawls along in the dirt.

the blackbird then returns and continues to sing its story to Trista and Chance.
This message was last edited by the player at 02:07, Tue 11 Sept 2007.

Berd elicited her first chuckle in many dreary years. Devlin witnessed her first laughter out in the rain. And now Chance receives a full body laugh, complete with flaring eyes in fake fear for Doom's harbinger. “I feel like Dorothy. Stay away from my little bird!”

She had watched Chance change into pajamas at the inn, but it's still a sight to behold with an unfelt breeze tugging at his clothing and the guitar coming and going. Another shape-shifter? Is there no end to them in this group? Trista might be a touch confused as to where Chance derives his power, not that it matters much to her. Power is power.

Suddenly he's there again, dressed much as Trista is dressed. The protected guitar in hand reminds her of another from long ago. To her surprise, she can remember without the old familiar pain shrouding her heart.

Thank you, Berd and Devlin. A silent thought for herself only.

At the mention of Luke, Trista's eyes glance around as if the man might have appeared, but she sees nobody. Her eyes pull back to Chance at his touch. She does not flinch, but feels the touch intensely, not having had much human contact except for Devlin in quite some time. His disarming smile puts her at ease, “Why do I get the feeling you can charm your way through any situation, Chance?”

Her eyes take in the guitar which she knows wasn't there a moment ago. Wasn't it in a case? Shifting slightly to better see the dark guitar, Trista's eyes slowly wander over the soft curves and glinting strings, warm memories flooding her senses. Her fingers reach out for the blue rose with intricate markings but stop before she intrudes on Chance's space.

Dropping her hand again, she looks up with a small smile curving her lips, “It's beautiful. I like guitar music, so I look forward to it.”

A sweet, vibrant sound carries on the breeze and Trista watches as the little bird sings and hunts for a beetle, bringing it to eat on her shoulder. Though mildly disturbed, she leaves the bird to do as he will, taking in his lengthy tale sent by Devlin.

Looking at Chance, she can see the man understands the bird, too. Good, that will simplify things.

Concentrating, she nods when Ämi finishes. “Chance will likely be able to tell you more, for I'm not sure I got everything considering how new this threat was to me then. But there was a sword...” Trista speaks of the sword, the brothers, and Merideth communing with the weapon though Trista is unsure if the woman gleaned anything from her magics.

Serious eyes fall on Chance, “What do you think?”
This message was last edited by the player at 03:48, Tue 11 Sept 2007.

Chance smiles, but this time it's a reaction. Not at her antics, perfectly matched to his larking, but at her. When he first met her, she had been in the room with Cyan and Banglen-Yp. Moody, distant and forbidding: that had been his assessment. Now? Where had that gone? Where was the glum brunette who looked like she might chop him off at the knees if he dared crack a joke?

And ... who cares? He likes this Trista a lot better.

"Charm my way through any situation?" he asks. "Well, I don't know about that, but Luke used to say I could charm the pants off a--" he coughs mid-sentence and then recovers, offering an apologetic smile. "I forget the exact word he used."

He notes her hesitant reach for his guitar, but she pulls away. "Here," he says and unslings the instrument. "You can touch it. I just don't like to let people play it. Whatever I think about when I play usually comes true, you know, so it can be a bit dangerous that way. I have to be careful not to let my mind wander when I play in bars. Do you play?"

He turns to the bird as it starts to "speak," and he listens. So ... no Sephiroth? Was that wise?

"I don't mind changing plans, so long as whatever we do is useful. I remember Luke pondered where the other brother went back on Charyk, too. I don't know if anyone ever searched for him in particular, but I know Dorian--and maybe Berd too-- searched the surrounding areas for the missing sword without any luck. I'm not sure what all more we can hope to find, but I can usually find what I want by playing my guitar and thinking about it--not with the skill the Lords of Pattern do, mind you.

"I also remember they mentioned one Hashmal back on Charyk. The little match girl did. He was a servant or friend of the brothers who was there. I didn't quite catch if he was Archon or human, but he could produce fire at will and helped them fight the enemies of Charyk. If he's still around, he might have some answers.

"I disagree that we didn't find anything of use on Charyk. We found the crystals and we armed the deadliest fighters I've ever heard about with them--the Birintizi. A weapon that can annihilate an Archon in the hands of one of those boys is something impressive. Ten thousand of them? That's big.

"Now, Dorian had this theory when we were on the other Charyk, that the place might be another pole of reality. We know there can be more than one, right? Luke told me Corwin made one, once. So, Dorian's theory was that just like Amber, the True Charyk--that's what he called it--might have a Golden Circle around it. The Charyk we saw wiped out might have been the True one, or it might have been a part of the Circle. I don't think we'll find the sword or the brother on that Charyk, but we might find the True Charyk from there--and then we might find the sword or the brother."

Chance smiles and shrugs, glad that someone had finally asked his opinion on something.

"As the scrooge-of-the-year candidate said, it's all speculation--but it's worth a look. Who knows."

ämi takes flight from Trista's shoulder only to alight on her other, closer to Chance, a moment later.

It watches the Chance as it sings, head twitching and tilting, left and right, continuously as it does. ämi remembers the Chance, even though it had never met it, just as ämi remembered the Trista.

The bird listened, knowing that the Man was listening too. ämi knew of the Man's other plans too, but knew it was not to tell that; only what the Man told the ämi to tell.

When the Chance was done singing ämi looked for bugs and worms on the ground and in the air while it waited for the Man to tell it what to tell next.

ämi was still learning, watch and learn and listen, ämi knew what to do.

An eyebrow arches over a wry smile at Chance's sudden angling off from what he had been about to say. “Memory can be funny that way.” Trista had lived years in a 'Boys' Club' atmosphere; almost the only female in crowded huts with men under fire of war. It's doubtful Chance could actually offend the woman. But instead of offering that tidbit of information, Trista silently enjoys the consideration shown her.

Perhaps she'll let him off the hook next time.

Perhaps not.

When the man holds the guitar out for her inspection, she looks up at him with questioning eyes. He seems genuine and so her hand reaches again and the tip of her index finger barely glides along the guitar's velvety surface as she answers, “Play? Not really. Oh, I had a cheap guitar once. I learned to read sheet music and I could pluck out a melody. Also the 'three chords and the truth'* and all that. But I have no skill, just the desire.”

Gently she traces the rose before dropping her hand once again. Looking up, she continues, “I knew someone who played beautifully. But his guitar didn't grant wishes.” Eyes mischievously sparkle as an eyebrow lifts again, “Especially not in bars.”

Then they're on to the bird's tale and Chance's thoughts on the matter. Trista is utterly still as she absorbs the information given by them both. The bird seems rapt by Chance's voice and then hops about collecting more snacks.

Trista takes a deep breath, and nods once before adding her own thoughts. “I remember those creatures, warriors. I didn't really know what they were about, but I met Jonnee who seemed to be with them. They unstuck one of the wagons in the caravan. I appreciated that.”

That, of course, is beside the point and the woman gets back on track. “Sephiroth and even Gazamiel could be put on hold. The risks seem to outstrip the rewards. Perhaps Old Charyk is the place to start. We are a small enough group, you, Luke, ämi, and myself that we can move fairly silently and withou -” she halts her train of thought and focuses in on Chance again, “Where is Luke?” The man had warned he would not always be with the group, but Trista hadn't expected his absence at the very beginning.

Although she expects an answer, she forges ahead for now, “So we can move quickly and without drawing much attention. That has to be on our side. Of course, I am here to aid you, Chance, and I will do what you decide.” Trista easily falls back into her long time role of supporting the boss.

*Bono Vox (Chance's alter ego? ;)
This message was last edited by the player at 05:07, Wed 12 Sept 2007.

The road continues up the slope away from the city, leading towards a deep, steep-sided notch between two peaks.  Above the road itself, atop the cliffs which bound the notch, two squat watchtowers stand guard.  There are men on duty up there, but their attention is directed away from the city itself.

If they notice the wayfarers on the road, passing beneath their vantage points, they give no sign of it...

The bird flies around the two as they walk and several minutes later alights once again on Trista's shoulder and begins to sing.


The Man said ämi was free to do as it wished. The link would only remain if the ämi wished it.

But ämi did know all that the Man knew and ämi knew this was important. ämi would stay he told the Man through the link. ämi would help find what was missing, but only if the Trista and the Chance wanted to look.

"Three chords and the truth? I like that. It has a nice ring to it. Who said it?" Chance asks while they wait for ämi to produce more information.

"The funny thing about bars is that the wish is usually to go somewhere else. Anyway, Luke is still recovering. This level of reality isn't really his natural home, as I understand it. Anyone mention the underflow to you? That's where he hangs out, I guess."

He listens to the bird's thoughts, again.

"The impression I got from the brothers we did meet was they didn't know anything about the weapons. I'm skeptical about what we might find. Old Charyk seems fine, but I think we should step lightly. There's no telling what the place is like, now. ämi, can you search ahead of us in Shadow? Give us an idea of what to expect before we get there--without risking yourself too greatly?"

The road leads through the highest part of the mountains, then starts to descend, until it forks.  One way leads down a steep valley wall, but the group take the other road, which follows the clifftop.  A short while later, they look down, into the valley depths, to see the unmistakeable sight of a pack of giant panthers hurrying along the other road.  The animals are, though, soon lost from sight, as forest closes in around the lower road.

The group on the upper road continue on their way for some time, and the road eventually starts to descend, until it runs along the shore of a broad lake.

After some little time, the road simply ends, at a wooden pier, where a ferry sits, moored.  A young lad sits on the rail of the boat, his feet dangling just above the water of the lake.  He is carving a small piece of wood, using a knife which seems far too big for the task, but which he wields with great skill, judging by the line of small wooden animals which sits beside him on the rail.

As the group approaches, he yells over his shoulder, "Daaaad!  Customers!"  Then he regards the strangers, "Y'all are customers, ain't ya?  Wantin' ter cross the water?"

“Ah, who did say it? I once heard a band called U2. Sort of fell in love with them, I suppose. I spent longer in that World there than anywhere else. The physical world was so familiar, but they had great baubles and gadgets and, well, bars. And music, of course.” Trista responds with laughter wrapping about the woman, feeling more natural with each use.

To the next, she replies, “I visited this Underflow when Berd removed us from the prison. Luke lives there?” Bewilderment clouds her eyes, “Space, stars, random objects like some surrealistic painting – it didn't seem like a place to live. Well, I guess we'll see him when we see him, then.” She doesn't sound particularly sad at the notion of the cold man not being around quite yet; it's a chance for Trista to get to know the musician she walks with. The idea appeals to her.

On with the business at hand. Trista listens attentively to Devlin's bird. A slight frown mars her brow when he seems to indicate he wishes to disassociate from them by setting ämi free. Yet, she cannot blame him for the bird certainly deserves to follow his own path.


After Chance speaks his mind, Trista nods, “We have to start somewhere. There is no easy choice, but I think Old Charyk sounds like as good a place as any. We can move on as we need from there.” Then she waits silently for ämi's response to Chance.

Something catches at Trista's vision, tugging her gaze down the hillside to see a few panthers and just a glimpse of a man before trees swallow up the vision. “It seems Morgan travels with his panthers; I suppose to Amber in his own fashion.”

They eventually arrive at the end of the road and the beginning of water. A smile quirks Trista's lips as she scans the little wooden figurines. She steps forward, crouches down, and openly admires them as she answers, “I will leave that to my friend to decide what path we take. You do fine work. I especially like the horse. May I?” She asks as she indicates she'd like to pick up the little horse.
This message was last edited by the player at 20:50, Sun 16 Sept 2007.

ämi whistles, and this time it is just a happy tune, with no meaning at all. He did not realize the man would want to free him so soon. But it was more than a bird, and it knew that, but ämi knew that it was important that he appeared to be just a bird.

The chance had asked a question and ämi thought about it for a moment. Could it scout ahead? The bird remembers what the man had given him and then sings "ämi can scout. Where should ämi look? Should ämi look at Charyk?"

Then they arrive at the boat, and curious the bird lands on the edge of the boat to get a closer look at the little wooden animals, especially at the little bird there. While it does so it whistles a little more.


[OOC: No point putting ämi's comments in a PL every time, unless it truly needs to be private.]

Recognizing that Chance is the leader of this tiny group, Trista does not want to step on toes and so she merely offers her opinion to ämi. “That would be my advice, to Old Charyk. Only if you'll keep yourself safe from the creatures who may wander its streets now that there's no one to keep them at bay.”

At the boat, she watches with some amusement as the little bird flits about the wooden creatures, throwing a wink back at Chance.
This message was last edited by the player at 02:48, Wed 19 Sept 2007.

"You Too? Funny name for a band. Probably some kind of social statement, eh?"

He shrugs then. "That's the impression I got from things, though I don't think the Underflow is his original home. Just where he hangs out now. I keep hearing that all roads lead to Amber, odd that we'd spy him as he passed, but I'm on expert on how these things work."

He sure wasn't used to being the decision maker. Often times, he was lucky just to speak his mind with everyone around. It was refreshing to have a moment of peace and quiet, though. He glanced at Trista. And the scenery isn't bad either, he thought.

"Yeah," he says to the boy. "I suppose we'd like to cross the water. How much does it cost?"

Old Charyk, for sure, he think to the bird. It'd be good to know what waits there for us. Don't put yourself in any danger.

He catches Trista's wink and grins.
This message was last edited by the player at 01:46, Wed 19 Sept 2007.

"It'd be sixpence each ter cross the water, what gets ya 'cross in two hours.  Or y'all can walk around, in about two days.  It's not so wide, see, but very long from end ter end." the boy answers, then turns to look over his shoulder, "Daaaaad!"

Then, seeing Trista's interest, he scoops up the small horse and holds it out to her.  "They cost tuppence each, Lady.  Throw one in the lake, when we're in the middle, ter guarantee good fortune, see?  The Queen of Waters likes animals more than people, and she blesses those as gives her gifts."

A sigh, and then he yells again, louder now, "DAAAA - "  "Yes.  All right.  I'm awake, lad.  Ah... customers, is it?"  The man is perhaps forty years old, and built like an ox.  His left eye (or, possibly, the absence of a left eye) is hidden by an eyepatch.  He wears a pair of loose-fitting trousers, of green wool, and a vest of leather.  A wide-brimmed straw hat completes his outfit.

"Well, the fare's sixpence a head, ter cross."

Not really knowing what U2 is suppose to mean, Trista just laughs, “I don't know, maybe.”

But the talk of Luke further intrigues her and she can't let it slip away, “Passing each other on the road, so-to-speak? I guess if he's showing up when you need him, it's all good.” She remembers the sour look on Cyan's face at the mention of Luke. But she also remembers the vision of him destroying a cube with Berd. Why the dichotomy? There was more, from Berd. Darker visions, darker pasts. None of my business. And it's dropped, just like that.

For now.

Her eyes linger on the man in the sunglasses a few moments, studying that grin and those merry eyes. He's different from the others, as if he hasn't let the weight of the world dampen his spirits. Remembering his playing and singing for Cyan and Banglen-Yp, he hadn't seemed quite so light. Yet, Charyk had just happened; perhaps he had been burdened by whatever his role had been in that battle.

She considers the man, the jeans, the guitar, and the grin. If Devlin and Berd freed Trista from her past, perhaps she could stay free with Chance. Even if just for a little while. Realizing she's been looking at the man for far too long, she suddenly turns back around to see the boy holding out the small horse to her.

The little sculpture finds its way into her hands and she handles it respectfully, admiring the chiseled form. “You don't say? I certainly could use all the good fortune any Queen wants to give me.” Gently setting the horse back in the boy's hands, Trista pushes up to her feet, “Unfortunately, I don't carry money with me, but I hope others will come along and scoop up all your treasures.”

Money. It could be a problem. In Trista's wanderings, she generally went without or traded work for what she needed. Keeping coins around which weren't used from one World to the next did her little good, and she couldn't exactly make coins appear like the Pattern Walkers. Or at least, not right where she wanted them. Stepping back and twisting toward Chance, she whispers, “I guess I should've warned you about that. I never have money.”

The dad appears and Trista offers a smile, “I was just admiring your son's carvings.”
This message was last edited by the player at 05:03, Thu 20 Sept 2007.

The man smiles, and walks across to lay a hand on the boy's shoulder, "He's got some skill in his hands, he has.  The Queen touched him. I reckons, or maybe touched his mum, rest her soul.  He takes after her more'n me, when it comes ter makin' somethin' from nothin'."

He looks around the group on the jetty, then to the sky, and back again, his single eye a brilliant piecing green, which matches the boy's eyes perfectly, "If y'all're wantin' passage, ya'd best ter get on.  We can start off right away, but I'd soonest not be out on the water once the sun goes down."

"Yeah... " the boy adds, "Sail thou not the waters, save only beneath the sun, for Leviathan, and the sons of Leviathan, doth venture forth in the darkness."  His words have an odd, sing-song intonation to them now, as if he is reciting something he knows well.

"Hush now, Sam!" his father warns, "If we leave now, we're sure to be back 'fore night."

An eyebrow arches as Trista considers the boy – the Queen-touched boy. Myths mean little to the woman, but she does not deny their importance to others. A warm smile curves her lips as she speaks to the Artist, “You have a gift, indeed. And one passed on from your mother? Cherish it.” Her eyes flit to the black bird as he studies the little wooden bird, “Look, even ämi enjoys your creations.”

As to whether they board or not, that will be up to Chance. Trista is prepared to walk if the man does not buy them passage.

The talk of Leviathon further intrigues her. Local legend or true creatures? To her way of thinking, certainly more mythology at work. Then again, who would have thought wheels of fire and knives baring the names of angels would be real.

ämi sings for his companions as he watches Trista and Chance and listens to them sing with the boy that makes the animals and the man with one eye.


"Will the Trista and the Chance take the water way or the walk way?" ämi asks. "ämi will try to look the old Charyk. The Devlin showed me where it was. ämi will be very careful."

The bird then flits back to Trista's shoulder and touches her cheek lightly with his beak.

The one-eyed man shakes his head, and chuckles, "Pay no mind ter Sam.  He likes ter listen ter the godspeakers, and their tales.  Likes ter recite 'em, too, don't ya son?"

The boy nods, and replies, "Just 'cause they're tales, don't mean they ain't true."

"But don't y'all worry.  Ter my knowledge, neither Leviathan, nor any of his sons, have lived in this lake." the boy's father assures his customers.

Chance presses one hand to his guitar, which had been a guitar since they drew near the place. While he listens, he absently plucks a couple soft notes on the instrument.

"Money's no problem." Chance smiles. "a sixpence each, you say?"

He reaches into the pocket of his jeans and pulls out the required money.

"Nothing wrong with a good tale. Stories, fables, myths, legends ... the distilled blood of a people. Without them, what have you got?" He gestures to the placid lake. "Just water, I guess."

He looks at the coins in his hand. He's never seen the type before, so he doesn't bother counting. "What do you know--looks like I happen to have exactly enough for the two of us to cross the river, and an animal carving for each of us, too. Don't suppose you have another horse figurine for sale?"

Ämi's peck brings a surprised smile to Trista which remains as Chance brings out the exact change. And enough for two of the carvings, to boot. An amused appreciation lightens her dark blue eyes.

Distilled blood of a people? A poet, too. Zane played and sang, but he never wrote. All his songs were lifted from others, which was fine with Trista. She wonders just how far Chance's musical abilities stretch – most likely into eternity.

Trista turns a grin to the little bird again and mind speaks so as not to call attention to the insanity of conversing with a bird, “It appears we get to cross by water, ämi.”

Turning her eyes back to the father and son, she says, “I'm not worried. As long as you're willing, it looks like we're coming aboard.” Her eyes tip down to the boy, “And it looks like, due to the generosity of my friend, we'll be carrying your good luck charms with us.” Her eyes float across the little carvings, looking for a second horse.
This message was last edited by the player at 23:39, Mon 24 Sept 2007.