Indeed. Aaron thought to himself, agreeing with Dorian's statement.

Reaching out, he took hold of Cyan's shoulder, feeling all the better to soon be well away from a place such as this.

There is sound, sensed in the diaphragm rather than the ear, followed by a silence so intense that it registers as pain for the brief moment it endures... and then the air is filled with the laughter of released spirits, and the splintering of crystal.

The pillar with the view of Hosk starts to topple, and the image itself scatters into a million shards, bleeding out onto what passes for a floor in this place.  A second pillar starts to tilt, and now the ghosts can be seen, gathered around it, pushing at it with insubstantial limbs, which somehow manage to cast it down.

A third pillar starts to lean.

The intruders start to fade out as Harbonah's fortress is attacked by those who had once been bound into the very walls.  In the last instant before they drop into the Underflow, a shape comes into the chamber of the pillars... a thousand multi-jointed legs of metal, bone, and chiten, supporting a bloated, distorted body.  A head which sweeps back and forth, seeming to blindly search for its quarry, seeking a scent.  Burning ichor oozes from flesh which constantly decays and regenerates.

The creature seems to detect its prey, and emits a sound... a sound which drives needles of pain into the minds of those who hear it.

It is perhaps fortunate that the Underflow swallows the questors and carries them away from the fortress.  As they drop into the deep places between universes, they spawn a hundred echoes, ripples and reflections which scatter in every possible direction (and a few which are not altogether possible).

"Holy God..." Aaron thought. "If he didn't know he had visitors, Harry'll certainly get the inkling by now."

It was a statement made out of tension. Aaron felt that, even in the Underflow, they were not safe. He felt considerably open, even this deep in the stuff of the universe.

Indeed, comes Cyan's reply to Aaron's thought - here, the voices of the mind ring loudly, and they all hold contact.  Her own mind brims with amazed horror at the release 'behind' them.  We know that shape, do we not?  The Archons fought a war countless eons ago...and won, only barely.  And they bound the spirits of their fallen foes.

The Vhuul.

What have they released?  And with its vengeance complete, will it go quietly?

The questors spiral through the blinding light of the Underflow, through the eddies and currents of power, ignored by distant, brobdingnagian shapes.  Ripples of Berd spin off from them, forming decoys to confound any pursuit.

A new trick, Cyan notes.

The drake grins, needle-teeth bright.

To where do we flee?  Seek out the other questors?  If so, which group?  I suspect dropping into Amber through the Underflow might prove difficult...and dangerous.

Berd's smile vanishes.

...and Berd will not risk such a journey.  The enemy may be clustered about the poles and his decoys only function if they do not know our destination.  Additionally, he remains wary of Amber's nobility.

Galatea's small brow is furrowed. "It is not safe," she says, glancing at her father. "Not yet. I think we are still pursued ... by something else. We should use caution." It is perhaps, the most she has yet said to anyone but her father since manifesting.

Her eyes flick to Berd and then Cyan. "As a suggestion."

They are away, and Devlin is glad to be away from that place; even with what he could do and what he had learned to do, he was useless in that place.

He notices, but does not comment on the creatures unleashed. It was not long ago the he himself was condemned by these very people... No, that does not matter.

Cyan asks where they should go. He'd like to see one of the others again, but where they should go should not be chosen by his personal feelings. To seek out some of the others, from what he knew some were on there way toward Amber and others were seeking out a path that he'd set. He had not communicated with ämi since they had started for the place thy only just left. He would not again until he knew they were away. Devlin did not know if such communication could be sensed, but he didn't want to take the chance. The man decides that he'll leave this decision up to the others. Right now he is tired and just wants to rest. In this place, between worlds, he gets whatever rest he can get.

Aaron shook his head.

"No, not Amber." The flaming image of that reality still blazed like a sun in his mind's eye. "They would expect that, perhaps have already set a myriad of traps for us, if the City itself is under seige. I surely hope it's not, for the sake of our comrades."

He sped along with them amidst the Underflow, focusing mostly on the next task at hand. He had only been to Amber for a very short while, and hadn't noticed anything overtly negative - though certainly, there had been an air of tension. Something not often felt in that place.

"I have no destination in mind, though I can think of hundreds, and take us by means other than the Underflow, if you wish, Berd."

Aaron was actually hoping Berd would let him continue their journey. Since his own, swift trip to Amber and its Pattern had instilled in him a desire for practice in its esoteric power. The Pattern, for Aaron, was not a thing oft-used, and he tended to apply it more out of a sense of feeling rather than thought-out manipulation. He figured he'd remedy that, at some point.

"Any ideas?"

"It doesn't matter where we go," Dorian says, "but I agree it should not be Amber or Cadiginart. Perhaps someplace new where we can see if we're followed for a time, before we move on."

Berd's...ah, decoys should confound pursuit.  But it would be best to remove ourselves from the Underflow.  After answering Galatea's little ghost-form, Cyan glances toward Aaron.  Not Amber, indeed.  Perhaps it would be best if you were to lead us through the Myriad Worlds, Aaron?  Ilsefravnir's bearer holds within him a mighty key to the doors between worlds, and Aaron's ability to use said key seems to have increased over the two years Cyan had been away.

Many changes have transpired over that time.

She casts a worried glance at Devlin, silent and tired after his exertion in Harbonah's sanctuary.  She considers their destiation.  Dorian appears to have no ideas at present, and so...

Perhaps it would be best to rendezvous with Chance and Trista.  We could attempt communication with James and the others, to discover any news, discern if they require assistance?  It might even be quicker for Aaron to find Trista and Chance, given that they might well be warded from Berd's 'vision'.

And if Amber indeed be under seige, they would be better off preparing at a 'staging area'.

We follow your suggestion, Dorian.  Ruby eyes glitter in the light of the Underflow, and Berd raises his head.  A new place - untouched, as yet, by the Archons.  Out of the blinding light they rise, toward the glittering galaxy of worlds above, toward a small cluster of lights, then one in particular....

"I'm at your service, friends," Aaron simply intoned. He placed himself in a state of preparation, something he had begun considering since his last progression through the Pattern. He felt it had become... necessary, for his particular talent.

Yet his preparations were twofold. Mentally, he was bringing the Pattern into consideration, but not actual contact - doing so amidst the Underflow might cause others to recognize its specfici signature, and bring wrath down upon them. Physically, he loosened Ilse's blade from the scabbard at his back, but kept the weapon sheathed.

"I agree that we should reconnect with Chance and Trista. Though it was good of us to seperate, so as to cover many fronts, I can't help but feel open to attack from so many different areas." He snorted. "Maybe I'm just paranoid. Again."

There is a rippling in the Underflow, and vast shapes move aside, as something immeasurably more vast swims among them, and then it turns aside, not even seing the group of travellers, who are far beneath its notice...

The travellers themselves fall, and swarms of stars dance about and among them, transforming into sparks which fly upwards from the campfire.

Overhead the stars are stationary now, brilliant and steady in the cold, clear air.  Beneath their feet, sand crunches.

All around them, the desert night is silent.

Paranoia is only so if there is noone hunting you, Aaron," Cyan replies, slowly turning in place to stare into the darkness.  She reaches up a hand, absently scratching Berd's eye ridges.  The drake slowly sags into a ragdoll shape on her shoulder.

Turning to face the others, Cyan hits them with a smile - a wide grin for Devlin and Galatea, a somewhat uncertain smile for both Aaron and Dorian.  She drops her eyes and slowly sits, shrugging out of her pack and swinging it around before her.  "As always, I would be more than pleased to work on something to eat.  Devlin, you appear exhausted by your efforts."  She grimaces.  "The Archons' world is no place for the use of Powers...for any of us."  Dorian's magic would have invited attention, as would Aaron's Pattern.  Her own palanquet proved utterly useless where Archons gather, and Devlin's shifting could not cope with the environment.  Berd had even exhausted himself - it had proved all he could manage to free the spirits and guard the group from discovery.

"A dangerous trap, that world," she muses, amber eyes flashing golden in the firelight as she brings out her food.  "I agree again, Aaron.  Separation has its purposes, but only when concentrated can we bring our strength to bear.  Besides," she finishes, an edge of concern in her tone, "I fear for our friends."

Worry still marks Galatea's face as she looks about, seeming to search the desert for signs of life.

Dorian gather his cloak around him and sits crosslegged before the fire. "Food would be welcome," he says. "May I offer any help? After such an adventure, working with my hands would be welcome."

He glances sidelong at Galatea. A flicker of sternness passes over his features for a moment.

Galatea, though not looking at him, suddenly turns to face her father. She nods and quickly kneels beside him--floating inches above the coarse sand that was painted yellow by the campfire light.

Looking back to the others, Dorian announces, "It is improbable that we are still followed. I'm sure Berd has done an excellent job of masking our withdrawal."

Devlin drops to a seat on the sand, still weary the man looks around at the desert sands. "Food would be welcome, and help me regain my strength. But I fear I would find little game in this place."

The shifter's eyes, and concentration also seem as if they see something further away than the desert.


Then his attention returns to the others, and he appears to be regaining his strength as he sits there. Perhaps it is being away from that place where his newfound gift was so useless. The man looks around the desert again, "On second thought, if more meat is required I'm sure that D'Ombra could locate something. That is if you are not picky about the type of meat." He knows that even in a place like this, there is life. Small rodents live in the desert.
This message was last edited by the player at 03:23, Mon 25 Feb 2008.

As if to prove Devlin a liar, there is a sudden sound carried on the night air, the call of an owl, by the sound of it, though where it lives in such a barren land is hard to imagine.  Still, if there is life nearby, there must be food and water to support it.

"If you wish," Cyan states diffidently, her tone belied by the sidelong grin she tosses at Dorian.  "Here."  She passes him a 'cloth' bowl, already part-full with something that looks like flour.  "Put water in and mix it until it gets sticky."  She absently wonders if Dorian has ever had to cook for himself.  Likely he summons meals, Cyan considers with some amusement.  Aaron, most certainly has, given his time wandering dusty roads.  And Devlin?  Probably never - his eating habits don't require such trivial tasks as 'cooking'.

Her sapphire eyes dart curiously toward Galatea for an instant.  A problem, there?  Had she questioned Berd's protections?  Not a problem, really - the little dragon, half-concious on her should, has been wrong before.

Her face darkens for an instant before she sighs, letting out a long breath and returning to her pack, which produces an astounding amount of spices, oatmeal, dried fruit, some wilting vegetables, and nuts.  Vexed, Cyan taps the drake on his snout; Berd jerks awake, snorting a puff of indigo smoke.  "Small wonder it felt so heavy," she notes before turning to Devlin.

No doubt he can find game - there are creatures here, and the dark man has proven himself more than capable.  "Should you wish, I have the makings of a stew. Best to use these before they go bad."  A wave to the vegetables."  A twisted smile flickers on her face.  "I will...stick to the porrige, I fear.  My taste for such things vanished some time past."  She swallows, looks away.

It's hard to bring cooked meat to the mouth when one has spent time in darkness with the scent of one's own seared flesh in the air.

"Aaron, should you so desire you may rest...or mix the porrige," Cyan continues, already grinding spices in a small, agate mortar.  She pauses to shake her canteen - not much water left.  "Or seek water," the bard finishes ruefully.

Dorian nods his understanding of the instructions and accepts the bowl from Cyan. His careful regard of the bowl is less confident as he ponders how much water he should add and exactly how it should be mixed without getting all over his hands.

Yes, he could simply conjure up some food. He's done so for them several times already, but when he offered to help, he intended to do it her way, and remains dedicated to that intent.

It's just a matter of understanding how.

Devlin leans back n his elbows in the sand, his legs stretched out and crossed. He feels quite relaxed, watching the comedy before him as Cyan hands the bowl to Dorian and th man, plainly unused to labor of the sort, tries to figure out what to do with it.

He smiles, "If you think the food must be eaten, Cyan, then I can forgo meat for a meal to help finish it up."

Then the man lays back on the sand with his hands behind his head and closes his eyes. He doesn't sleep, instead he thinks, and plans. He wants to know who... that still has not left his mind... but he lets it go for the moment, ämi was almost to Charyk, then he would know what was there. If he knew what Trista and Chance had encountered, he would have recalled his little friend. But he didn't... He needed to know, just as he needed to know who the man with the gray and red hair was.

Devlin's thoughts raced through his head as he rested and waited.

Cyan purses her lips with amusement as Dorian puzzles his way through the work.  She says nothing, though, knowing how prickly the man can be while working on something unfamiliar.  Afterward - now there's the time for needling.  "Better we eat it, Devlin.  It comes from somewhere, if that where is only Berd's imagination, and it would be a waste of effort to throw it away."  She laughs quietly as a memory stirs, a buried, shattered fragment slowly fitting itself back into its proper place, cracks and all.  "I should tell you of the first time he attempted to summon foodstuffs.  Filled my pack, and no matter how much I removed, there still remained more, with no room for my gear!"

Berd snorts once, his head rising.  "No, no," Cyan whispers, brushing at his eye-ridges.  "Rest, you - I only jest.  The bread was quite tasty that day, and you gorged yourself on bass."  Her smile softens.  "I remember that."

Ruby eyes harden.  "But.  We still require a course of action.  I believe that contacting the other should be at the top of the list.  Do we have other thoughts?"

Devlin takes Cyan's question as an opportunity to go over some things that he has been thinking about. As he speaks he looks up at the sky as if studying the stars.

"I have been giving that some thought. I am very interested in a few things. One of these is the missing brother. When we were in Charyk, before the trouble started, we learned that the Archon may have been servants of the brothers. Maybe this is not true, but I think it warrants further investigation. Trista told me of what happened in New Charyk after I left. It seems that no one knows what happened to the other brother, the one with the sword. I would like to know what happened to him, if he yet exists? It seems that if he is out there... somewhere... that he would have some very useful information. ämi currently seeks out old Charyk to discover what became of the place..."

This is the first time he has spoken of his friend openly, a bird that is in reality so much more than a mere bird and quite unlike any creature that Devlin has ever created.

The man says nothing further on that an seems to change subjects as quickly as one might change thoughts.

"And then there is the sword, the one taken by a man that called himself Carl Corey, a name even my teacher knew. The huge man with the gray hair with red highlights and gray eyes. The same description was given of the man that gave the sword and staff to the brothers to begin with. That one called himself Ganelon, another well known name. I find it all very interesting, a sword and a staff given, both of which the giver knew would destroy the wielder if used against the other... and then, as if planned, the staff wielding brother was provoked into attacking the sword bearer... Quite possibly setting into motion the events that brought us to this place."

Devlin's thoughts spill out of his mouth as he thinks them, in a rambling sort of way.

"... I would very much like to find this man with the gray and red hair. I find it an odd coincidence..."

And yet another thought entirely...

"Berd, I have been meaning to ask you something, and it has to do with the way I move from place to place. If you would, I will send you an image, an impression."

As suddenly as he had started, the man stops speaking and continues to stare up at the stars. The stars remind him of the trips Berd has taken him on in that great void he called The Underflow.
This message was last edited by the player at 13:28, Sat 15 Mar 2008.

"These are just a few of the questions we've left in our wake," Dorian said. "And not without effort answer them, I should add. I know several of us made attempts to locate the sword, Carl Corey/Ganelon, and even the other brother at the various times, all with no success. Yet, I cannot but help this man is at the heart of things and could give us many answers. I do not believe it is any coincidence. I don't think any of us do."

His eyes flick to Galatea and then back to the fire. The daughter turns away from his glance and doesn't acknowledge him.

"There is one resource that I didn't employ, though I am loathe to do so. Galatea's mother may now have the ability to search deeper into the infinite worlds than any of us. Perhaps I should ask. Ancient wars and bloodshed, while very serious, should not be the downfall of the worlds. Have we any other course to seek them out? I know we believed Amber might hold some answers, and that might still hold true." His voice holds little commitment to the last sentence.

"Amber, indeed, that place might well hold some answers..." Devlin continues to think out loud. He'd thought, at one time to keep this all to himself. for short moment he still considers it."... though I would rather not go there just yet. At one time I thought that was where I wanted to go, but now... I'd rather no one there new of me just yet."

The dark man is quite for several moments, A shooting star streaks across the sky.

"I've given some thought to who this man, Carl Corey, or Beldrin, or whatever his true name is, might be. It seems that he would be an Amberite, as this group has said before. One with some great hatred of that place. Yet I do not know of one with the description we have been given. He would either need to be completely unknown or perhaps thought to no longer be significant"

For the first time since the conversation started Devlin looks away from the stars and the night sky. He glances quickly around at the other four. Then his attention returns to the heavens as he continues. "There are two Amberites, that I know little of, not even a description could my teacher give me. Other than their names and some little history about how they were banished from their home, and how they were said to have been killed in some war. Who could hate that place more.

"Maybe they are dead, but perhaps one of their descendent's... Or maybe one of them is still out there and the rumors of his death exaggerated for some reason. It would be nice to get a description of them, if nothing else it would remove them from the list of suspects if the description does not match; Benedict would be the one to ask."

Devlin closes his eys, there is a quirk at the corner of his mouth, "Many questions indeed. Many questions and few answers. It seems that we need to get some of them answered. Make a listing of all of our questions and then figure out which might be answerable and then seek out those answers."
This message was last edited by the player at 22:04, Mon 17 Mar 2008.

Cyan listens in silence for a long moment.  Then she slowly nods.  "I am in agreement.  The Archons are the foe we see.  But we can do little to them, in reality.  We need to find the one who hides - the orchestrator.  The one who has pulled the strings for milennia, it would seem."

She examines the food.  It seems close to ready.  Taking the dough from Dorian (and noting the gulf between himself and his daughter), she forms biscuits, prepares them by the fire as she speaks.

"We must find this Carl Corey, this...Ganelon."

Her sapphire eyes thoughtful, she glances first to Dorian then to Devlin.  "Amber, we have people there.  We must trust James and the others to find all they can.  It would seem neither of you have any great faith in Amber, as well."  A small smile touches her lips for a moment.  "Perhaps Devlin is correct, and this Ganelon is one of the 'lost' Princes of Amber?"

She turns the biscuits on their hot rocks.

"In any case, Ganelon is the first place we should search.  Perhaps..."  Her lips thin, and she glances to Dorian.  "Perhaps we need to seek all the help we can find, Dorian.  Though I would not wish to press you in this."  A look to the silent Aaron.  "Might the Pattern itself hold the key to finding Ganelon?"

Cyan sighs.  "Questions.  Too many.  But yes, I believe we need to concentrate upon Ganelon.  Find Trista and Chance.  See what they have discovered.  Then move together to seek this Carl Corey.  Swiftly."

Berd lies silent, considering.  Cyan's words echo in his thoughts.  His skills are too specific to seek out this Ganelon.  He cannot cast himself, willy-nilly, into the Myriad Worlds with the command to 'find Carl Corey'.  In this circumstance, he has no use.