Galatea watches the salute and Berd flight to Cyan's shoulder with a twinkling smile that dances somewhere between amusement and fascination. Watching her, it would seem nearly everything fascinates her. The world is new, brilliant and beautiful. For the first time in a millennium, she has eyes, eyes and her own emotions with which to explore her environment. She gulps it in like a desert suddenly flooded by glacial waters.

Dorian's stance stills and straightens a bit as Aaron arrives. His dark eyes sweep over the man, looking for--and noting--changes. He pulls his cloak around him in a tight circle that outlines his sparse frame.

His eyes move between Cyan and Aaron as she poses her questions with the delicate care of an artist. He says nothing, knowing she has asked what presses upon his mind as well.

Aaron snorted, then laughed out loud. A hand rose to his forehead, and he couldn't help but shake it in the negative at Cyan's commentary to his sanity.

"It's the little things that nag at you, Cyan. The memories. A spray of blood from a beloved friend; the cold ring of steel as a comrade draws his sword against you; the woe and pain of subtle betrayal by one you loved so dearly; or that last, lingering image of a circle upon the floor, made up only of your own slain bretheren."

He stuck his hands in his pockets, eyes growing both fond and distant. A slight, sad smile hinted itself at the corners of his mouth, but his eyes chose not to show it. They merely shifted, here and there.

"Which one of these things prodded at my conscience? Was it all of them? Can I even answer that? Either way, I chose to forget. I denied every sin I ever committed, and the Pattern let me do it." He shrugged. "During our travels, it was most likely guilt that plagued me and brought about my rage. Nothing so lame or convoluted as any of my other excuses."

Aaron sighed at the memory. Being dragged across the floor by Jack, now that was embarrasment. He continued.

"Ironically, it was Arianne's defense that bolstered my denial. It was only after I had abandoned your Quest and slain my own daughter and her innumerable children that reality, and the grasp of San Anyn, began to bring about the truth of my so-called 'madness.'"

Aaron removed a cigarette from behind his right ear and lit it with a match produced from the sleeve of his trenchcoat. Its glow lit his face for a moment, and he put it out between his fingers. Inhale. Exhale. Self-analyze.

"These eyes," he said, and now the smile was there. "These eyes mark my eventual demise. When I die, San Anyn will reclaim me for my crimes, no matter where my body lays its last. There is a seed - a parasite - within me. Within Arianne, as well. You should see her eyes!" He laughed a sad, sharp thing. "The tree will grow from me, through me, fed by what's left of this body. Is it payment enough? No, not really." He exhaled again.

"No, not at all. I can never do enough to be taken away from the actions I performed as a naive youth, who was once in love with a world and its inhabitants, and who was scorned so savagely by them all." Inhale. Exhale. "It matters little. Old history."

Aaron gazed at Ilse, for he had removed the blade to add flavor to his explanation. Now he resheathed it and chuckled.

"My Maiden and I once spoke to you of Truth, Dorian, Cyan. Truth? What is truth? Self-understanding? Realization of the world around you?" He laughed. "Bullshit. I am a sword. I kill. That is my truth." He laughed again, and snorted.

"Arianne den Ilsefranvir rests in San Anyn and plans our defense, if need be. Who she is is who she has always been, and much, much more. Is she as mad as I am?" Aaron shrugged again. "Perhaps. She lied for me. Mayhap she loves me, also, but her love is the love of San Anyn, and that is a thing I respect but keep distant. Does she know what rests at stake for the lot of us?" Aaron nodded firmly. "Oh yes. Would she betray us? I think not. She knows pain. But pain has a way of aggravating the soul. That is why I freed her, to let her pain ease. She stands strong, and has my trust, as far as that stretches."

Again, a nod.

"For her, let that be enough. As for me being sane? Insane? Who defines it? I am myself, and I'll be satisfied if I die beside you both. Let that be enough."

Then he turned and faced Cyan. The cigarette bobbed, and he smiled.

"You?"
This message was last edited by the player at 02:10, Fri 12 Oct 2007.

Aaron arrives... The archon Cyan calls Right leaves... Devlin waits quietly.

Cyan and Aaron speak of the man's sanity. Devlin listens, but does not interrupt. The man speaks of dying beside Cyan and Dorian... Devlin does not expect to be included there. Indeed, he was once the object of Aaron's wrath, not doubt the man would have tried to kill Devlin... if he could have found him... (Not that he could have succeeded.) He's unsure if Aaron will ever likely get over that... really.

Devlin has his own thoughts he'd like to share, about other matters, but he waits and does not interrupt. His thoughts will wait.

Cyan closes her eyes at Aaron's words, a deep pain in her for the wounded man.  Wounded, and slowly bleeding to death, it would seem.  She nods, her lips thin, face pale.  "I never doubted Arianne's devotion to your cause, Aaron.  And I pray your life to be long, and give you many opportunities to seek amends."  Strange, how out of all of the immortals she knows well it is only Aaron who, to her, seems truly fated to pass onward.  Dorian has lived a thousand years, and will remain forever.  James is granite inured to erosion.  Berd...has always been, and always will be.

But Aaron seems to fall through his life like the leaves in his eyes.  And to every fall, there is an end.  Someday, possibly in a year, possibly ten, but more likely several hundred (for the man will not die easily), he will perish.

Then it will rest to James, Berd, and Dorian to hold up the four corners of the universe, she considers wryly.  Perhaps Devlin as well, and Trista.  She does not know if the others are made to stand the test of years.

"I know well of guilt," she murmurs, opening her amber eyes.  "If you can face it now, it speaks well of you.  But if this tree grows through you, will it carry a part of yourself, as well?  And as for truth...perhaps the only truth one needs is that which one carries within.  If you are a sword, so be it."  Her smile quirks.  "The universe has need of swords."

Bending, she recaptures her near-finished palanquet.  "As for sanity, I am a poor judge..."  Berd winces, but Cyan continues.  "You seem controlled to me, and that is enough.  I do say, though, I would not be pleased if you, or any of us, died upon this quest...hardly satisfiying."  One eyebrow rises.  "Shall we try to avoid that?"

Then she pauses.  "Or were you asking in regards to my own sanity?"  A wave of her hand encompasses the others.  Devlin, silent and dark, his mind as fluid as his form.  Berd, a drake-once-else, with a unique split personality disorder and fragmented memories.  Dorian and Galatea, yin and yang, the sum greater than the whole and the daughter perhaps a remainder from the father's first attempt at long division.

"Does it matter, so long as I function as might be predicted?"

Now a final laugh, sharp and biting, emerged from Aaron's throat.

"We understand eachother, then. What price sanity, eh?"

Now his attentions turned to the task at hand, a steadiness in his eye, his bearing.

"Explain the depth of our plans, Cyan. I wish to know how we're to make... Harry, was it? Yes. I wish to know how we're going to make this the worst day of Harry's life."

"There have been times," Cyan says quietly, "that I confess I have held little understand for some of the people here."  She crouches, fixing her gaze on her work, ignoring the slight heat in her cheeks and decidedly not looking at either Aaron or Dorian.  "But in this, yes."

"And as for this being the worst day of Harbonah's life...."  A final flick of the ink pen, and Cyan retrieves a small scalpel-blade, perhaps originally from her first aid kit but now ensconced amidst her inks.  The blade carefully slits the heavy paper.  Again silent, Cyan places the book upon the ground, the page lying atop it.  Berd crawls partway down her arm; reaching out his head, he breaths a small cloud of rainbow light onto the page.

The cloud swirls and twists about itself, obscuring the paper.  Then it flows into the page, as if poured rather than drawn, and as it does the page begins to fold.  Top, bottom, left and right - all fold inward, creating knife-edged borders to the picture.  Then the corners, just a touch to round them.  As they do, a bell-like tone rings in the air.  Once.

Cyan snaps up the palanquet between two fingers and holds it up.  "A plan.  Yes, a plan would be a fine idea.  Unfortunately, I can think of nothing better than creeping into Harry's fortress and poking about in search of something of use."  Her smile wobbles for a moment.  "Perhaps it will turn out to be the best day of Harbonah's life, but I cannot sit upon this any longer."

Now that Devlin sees Cyan's is through creating the picture she was working on, he speaks.

"Before we go running off to Harbanoh's keep, I would like to discuss something, or give you my... opinion..." He pauses fro a moment, shakes hes head, "... not sure that's right, but part of what I want to say is about these."

Here Devlin stops and holds up the burned out card that Cyan tossed at him earlier that day. He's seen cards like it, though he had no clue what they were capable of at the time, but there was no way to tell who's image was once on this one.

"From what you've told me," Devlin continues, looking right at Cyan, "These Trump, if they are not depictions of one of the members of this group, if they are instead depictions of the sons and daughters of Oberon. Those that might be able to provide us with information or assistance, they are unusable."

Devlin looks at the card and then tosses it on the floor; a gesture to indicate the trump's worth.

"But your depictions still work. Even those you created before this thing happened to the cards of Amber.

"Do you not find that... odd? ... suspicious? ... Why would the thing that is effecting all these depictions, trump... palanquet ... not also effect those we hold?"

Devlin stops speaking here; looks around the room at those of this group in order to give them a moment to think about his question. Before anyone can speak though, he answers his own question.

"Because someone needs ours to work? Because someone uses them against us, and that same someone does not want us contacting those outside our group. My belief is that each time you use those things to speak with each other that you tell one of our enemies exactly what we're doing."

Devlin's head cocks to the side and smiles an evil looking smile. "Which is why some of our number no longer move in the expected direction. If I am right, then the enemy believes they move in one direction, a direction that I believe to be useless and not worth his attention, while instead they move in a direction that I am hoping will lead us closer to discovering... " The man bunches up his forehead and crooks his mouth, "... Well, I'm not sure what they'll discover."

The dark man smiles again here as he tilts his head back and forth, looking at each member of this group. He's said all on the subject he plans to say.

After just a short moment he moves on to another subject, "As for going to Harbanoh's fortress, I'm not sure that is wise either. It might be an immediate enemy, but perhaps not the true enemy, the one that started all of this in the first place and wants to see the universe be destroyed. But I can see you're all determined to take that path."

Devlin here speaks as if talking to the whole group, but is looking at only Cyan. "Iii... No... When we return from this little jaunt, perhaps you'll listen to some ideas I have about who the true enemy is. I've had a great long time to think about these things, to let them sit and smolder in the back of my mind. When I left this group last, for you it has only been four days, for myself it has been more than 100 years. The information we gathered in Charyk, added to additional information I've recently gained..."

Another shrug...

"At any rate, I've said what I wanted to say, you can each think about what I've said or ignore it, your choice. Now, shall we see what we can discover in the lair of the enemy?"

"My understanding," Dorian says, "From what I've been told, is that the Trump-Palanquet virus worked through contact, which is why it was termed a virus in the first place. Cyan's Palanquet have had no contact with the affected ones, thus they still work for now. Berd and Cyan have long been aware of this. Perhaps my understanding is wrong, but I trust them--I trust her--to use them wisely, for she and Berd no a great deal more about them than we do.

"The one who knows more about them, the one who could do something about the virus, is not available. He made them. He could create this virus within them. I've looked for him, but he will only be found if he wants to be found. The only other source is within the Underflow, and Berd knows more about that than I do.

"And you seriously think care hasn't been taken with the Palanquet? We've taken great pains to not discuss plans while using them, for precisely the same reason you say.

"As for anything else, if you have something to say, then say it. We have no times for games, and to say you have information or ideas but wish to withhold them reeks of manipulation. There is no commitment to this plan, other than it is the best one presented so far. If a better one is available, what good is it to withhold it? Or are you simply hoping for a chance to say you told us so?

"So first, you've failed to tell us anything new. Then, you've told us you've worked behind our backs, redirecting our members without telling us. We've already seen what happens when the group doesn't cooperate.

"How long you've been gone is irrelevant. Ideas are either correct or incorrect, regardless of how much time you've had to go over them. In fact, too much time can cause thoughts to stagnate. And while you've been doing all this thinking, why weren't you actually trying to help out?

"So, at this point, you're not working with us, you're working against us. And further, we have no proof that you're even the Devlin we think you are.

"I'm willing to listen so long as you prove yourself to be trustworthy, but manipulating our members behind our backs gives me no reason to trust you."
This message was last edited by the player at 16:29, Sat 13 Oct 2007.

"Were we careful? Did not Cyan speak at length this morning with Aaron through his likeness? Did she not speak of our plans to seek Harbanoh? Sephiroth? Amber?" Devlin answers, but most of his attention stays on Cyan.

Devlin shrugs, "Trust me or not, it makes little difference to me either way. Is there anyone in this room that hasn't done something to indicates they shouldn't be trusted? I trust each you to do as you believe is right. I do no less and I will not explain my actions to you any more than you would, or have explained yours to me.

"We go to seek Harbanoh because it seems something Cyan must do. Can you not see that in her actions, feel it in her tone? I doubt we could deter her from this path even if we wished it; even if the rest of us do not go with her. It makes little sense to debate what other paths might be taken until this path is followed to its end. The debate will only waste time we don't have and I'm tired of such debates.

"I will go or stay, as Cyan wishes, and no other."

And now he asks the woman directly, "So, Cyan, Shall I stay or shall I go? I believe you'll need me where you're going, but I won't force my presence if you do not wish it."

"Let Cyan make her own decisions. I have faith in her. I trust her. She will do what is right.

"But don't play these games, Devlin. What do you hope to gain by saying you know we'll fail and then--only then--will you share your plan with us? To prove that we should follow you, perhaps? To make yourself look better? Is that it? It's foolishness. If you have information or ideas, share them. But don't play at this game of posturing and secrets. This group has had enough of them. Speak openly, with trust, and we will listen.

And as for trust, everyone else in this group has earned trust despite errors they've made. Their motivations are known. To say others have made mistakes in the past is no excuse for what you do right now."

Then he steps closer and lowers his voice. "My actions? Or the original Dorian's actions? Do you even know to whom you're talking? You haven't asked, so don't use my lack of explanation as leverage. You want to know--then ask. But stop playing games and grasping for leverage that isn't there. It's another game, another weak defense.

And if you're tried of such debates, why are you bringing it up, stalling us further? It does nothing for us. It's only an attempt to make yourself look better. That is why I say, speak openly and plainly--no games--or let us get on with it.

"So ... what is this plan of yours? What is this idea? What changes have you made to the group's plans?"

Cyan watches in dismay, opening her mouth as the argument begins.  She shuts it a moment later, slumping back against her pack.  She closes amethyst eyes while the two men pose point and counter-point, bickering over the situation, over issues of trust, over semantics, even.

Finally it appears as if Devlin leaves a pause, and she opens her eyes.  "Are we done, then?"  One hand comes up to rub at her forehead.  "No, thank you Berd.  Shall I attempt to deal with this in order, gentlemen?"

First she turns to Devlin, her bard's memory having catalogued the discussion, on-the-fly mnemonics dancing in her head to keep things straight.  "It is quite possible that something is listening in to us, Devlin.  I cannot discount that supposition completely.  Berd can, of course, attempt to detect such things, but even he could be defeated, as an eavesdropper needs only the proper receptor to pick up the..."  She turns to Berd.  "What did you call it?  Resonating waves through the Underflow."  A shrug.  "Whatever the case.  You make a good point, but cannot see how that will change things.  If it is the case, we would be dead before now.  If you wish for us to cease to use them, though, I will not argue against - we need only an appropriate alternative."

"Additionally, Dorian is correct - we were informed of the 'Trump' situation by someone far, far more gifted than myself or Berd when it comes to such things.  I am inclined to trust their word on the matter."  She taps her lips.  "Even so, it might be wiser to avoid their use for the moment."

Her eyes harden.  "I am curious, however, to know exactly how you convinced the other group to move in another, 'particular' direction.  Regrettably, we do not have time to discuss what you hope for them to discover, and I can see by your face you do not wish to give that away."

"Regarding Harbonah's fortress - yes, I will be going there.  It is your choice if you wish to follow.  Obviously there is more going on that we know of, but right now, at this moment, our enemy is Harbonah.  This other's schemes mean nothing if Harbonah is successful - his own plans must be stopped, and stopped now, and rest assured, whatever this possible other mastermind plans, Harbonah will not stop his own plans if the figure behind him is defeated."

She relaxes a touch.  "But I would be more than happy to discuss your theories when we return from this."

The bard moodily stares at her feet.  Is Devlin correct?  Does the reason she does this spring solely from her feelings on the matter?  No.  Dorian is correct.  He trusts her.  She must trust herself.

"I may not do what is right," she amends with a sigh.  "But I am certainly trying.  Dorian, Devlin has not said he believes we will fail...or, rather, I am certain he believes we will return, or I do not believe he would accompany us."  She eyes the shapeshifter thoughtfully.  "And he would be an invaluable assistance upon this little jaunt," she admits.  "Of course I would rather have you come, Devlin, assuming your manipulation of the other group was not precisely manipulation, but rather a discussion followed by a conclusion and then a change of plans.  Or something along those lines."

The bard waves her hand, a gloomy motion lacking life.  "Dorian wishes to know of your plans now.  And in what direction you have run the other group.  Unless it will take five minutes to explain or less, I would rather wait.  If it can be said succinctly, please do.  You can elucidate later."  She puts her face in her hands.  "But this fighting.  This arguing between the people in the group.  The attacks, the manipulations, the skillful turning of words back upon the other...it stops.  Dorian and Devlin, it stops or I leave, along with Berd.  Simple as that."

"I care nothing for who started it.  I care nothing for its perpetuation.  I only care for its ending."  She looks up, holds the palanquet between two fingers.  "I suffered through this with two different groups of Questors.  I am done with such things.  You both have spoken of support for me, and it warms my heart that you feel as you do.  But this?  This is not support.  I am sorry, but it is not."

She closes her eyes.  The storm will blow, the storm will blow over, or the storm will begin to snow.  She isn't certain which, but whichever way it goes, it is certain to be painful.  Heart-wrenching, perhaps.

On her shoulder, Berd lies quiet and still.  Probably fooling nobody.

Devlin nods his head at Cyan's admonishment, he had not meant to start an argument, only to state his view.

Because Cyan asks it, Devlin explains his actions as quickly as he can.

"It was not manipulation, not of anyone in this or that group. I would hope that it was a manipulation of those that listen in where they are not welcome, that is if they listen at all; to make them believe we head in one direction when we go in another.

"As far as those that head in a new direction, I simply made a suggestion. It was their choice to accept or reject the suggestion and I would have accepted whatever decision they made.

"There is not time now to go into the details of my suggestion, or their new path, or what I hope they might find. I fear it would..." Devlin looks at Dorian and back to Cyan, "...lead to a lengthy discussion.

"Lets do what we are going to do, perhaps we might bring an end to Harbanoh and his threat while we're about it. I'll explain further when there is sufficient time to do so."

Dorian raises an eyebrow at Cyan. He had to bridle his confusion, lest it had been evident on his face. Fighting? Arguing? Attacks? He nods, slowly. Apparently, she was still stressed and confused, if that is what this seemed to her.

He pauses a moment to study her features.

"If you are up to this, I am ready when you are." Her statements concerned him, sparking uncertainty.

He doesn't expect her to take his words well, and he'll never understand why the others become so emotional over what is otherwise--to him--just conversation. Still, it troubled him. What else can he offer her?

He glances at Galatea, who drifts lazily nearby, focusing her attention elsewhere, but a slight sadness marks her gaze.
This message was last edited by the player at 06:04, Sun 14 Oct 2007.

"Very well," Cyan murmurs into her hands.  She digests Devlin's words and Dorian's reply.  "I would hear your theories when we return, Devlin."  The edge is gone from her voice, completely.  Berd stirs uneasily on her shoulder.  "No, I-"  She goes silent and a moment later Berd subsides, smoke rising from his nostrils.  "Very well," the bard repeats, but very little is well.

Has she jumped to conclusions here?  How much of what she assumed arose from the truth of the matter, and how much from the fragmented memories, dancing and sparkling in her head like so many crystal shards?  Perhaps she should have taken Berd's offer, but...she will see this through.  A glance to Dorian, and she closes her emerald eyes again.

Opens them, staring upon the card.

"Here is the key," Cyan states, her voice quiet.  "Those who would travel, gather close."  And she lays her will upon the card, first to observe, then - when all of those who will follow to Harbonah's fortress, to travel.

Rainbow light fans out from the card, spreading around the bard.  Those who are to travel with her step close, gripping her arms as the world floods with colours (a number of which exist nowhere else but the fevered imagination of insane artists).

The card grows cold in her hand, and then...

... discontinuity...

... waves of heat wash over the group, as they appear at their destination, as if they are standing before the open grate of a furnace.  Rivulets of flame flow across every surface and, between the fires, ice rimes the stone, hissing into steam along the edges where fire and ice meet.

The chamber is not as Cyan recalls it.  With no valued human "guest" in residence, there is no need to keep parts of the fortress in a state which is comfortable (or even bearable) for that species.  Harbonah is not one of the Nephelim, and has no concern for any human who might unexpectedly enter his home.

There is, for example, the matter of the door.  Archons can pass through solid matter as easily as through air or Underflow, and have no need of doors.  The only thing which might serve as exits from this room are three circular openings, thirty feet above the floor.

Beyond them can be seen a sky, where the clouds burn...

"Great," Aaron intoned as they arrived. "If his taste in domicile mimics his personality, I'm pretty sure I already hate Harry."

Aaron scratched the back of his head, taking in the entirety of their new, quite inhospitable surroundings. He immediately began to sweat, but he dealt with it, a slight smile on his face.

"Any ideas?"

Cyan hunches slightly as she steps into the room, preparatory to a booming, mental voice.  None comes, and she relaxes.  Slightly.  Staring around with haunted eyes, she grimaces at Aaron's sally.  "Harry is most certainly worthy of your feeling, Aaron," she murmurs, struggling to get her bearings.

"There used to be doors.  Passageways.  Of course there is no requirement for them now - the General is gone."  Her smile lacks humor.  "And yet, what has he done with the Iron Warriors?" she wonders quietly.  Time for that later.  "From here I can tell the...direction for the War Room.  I think," she amends.  "Dimensional space is skewed," Cyan continues, the words odd with her accent and archaic style of speech.  "Berd informs me that things no longer rest properly in three dimensions.  Whatever that means."  She slowly turns about in place.  "Even this room has changed, drastically, yet the palanquet recognized it aura.  Yet what Berd shows me indicates my memories might yet be of use."

She points toward a wall, jade eyes unfocused.  "That way lie the chambers of torment."  Another wall.  "An audience chamber...I believe that would be foolish.  There, the War Room."  She glances toward Dorian.  "Archons carry their data in far different ways than scrolls, books, and keys of memory - it is possible you and Berd may be able to decipher it."

Her hand slowly indicates the floor.  "Harbonah's suite lies in that direction, I think."

Devlin had seen the likes of this place before, not personally, but through the eyes of one of his small friends. He looks up but does not need to be outside to know what is there... Burning clouds filled with the eshurianti... molten rock flowing as rivers around islands of ice...

He looks around the chamber again.

...And a fortress standing at the worlds heart...

The man uses some of the knowledge he gained from that friend of his and his body adjusts from the memory of it. His blood begins to cool to defend against the heat.

"We don't want to go that way, at any rate, I think. We'd be immediately seen by many of the fire wheels. That is if this place is anything like the birthing world. The sky will be full of 'em."

He looks to Cyan with his head tilted. "If we are here for information then we'd go that way" He points in the direction Cyan indicated was the War Room. The fact that he points at what seems a solid wall does not seem to matter.

Then Devlin looks down at the floor "If there is a chance of..." He cuts off that thought. He has an idea of how it might be done but is unsure if he's ready to try it. In this place he's likely be destroyed, no matter the outcome, before he could flee this world. And yet he considers it.

Looking back to Cyan, "But the choice is not mine."

Tiny beads of sweat glistens on Dorian's brow. He's used to the cool climes of Samhain and other such worlds. He's never been comfortable in the heat. He dabs at his face with a small handkerchief.

He glances at Cyan, trying to steal whatever information he can from her features. This place is a reflection of a part of her, somehow. That small, iron part of her was forged between these walls. The part that he has found he secretly fears.

"Bear in mind that he may have rearranged things more than you realize," he says. "In fact, he may have anticipated this. He knows your abilities well, I assume. The war room seems reasonable to me. Information is a weapon, and one we sorely lack. Let us move with haste. The longer we wait, the greater our chances of an encounter."
This message was last edited by the player at 16:51, Sat 27 Oct 2007.

The child appears moments after the others. Her vessel of travel being her father's mind, not the palanquet. Leaving her behind was not an option for Dorian; no more than leaving his own mind behind.

She lifts further from the ground a few inches and rotates, studying the walls in detail. If she sees any details there, she offers no clue to it. The shimmering heat passes through her and she appears cool and untouched as ever.

She turns her eyes to Dorian and then nods to some unspoken directive.

"I agree," Aaron spoke up after considering Dorian's statement. He then looked to Devlin, raising a curious eyebrow.

"If you have an idea, I'd like to hear it."

Aaron crouched, placing his right hand upon the floor's surface. He closed his eyes, getting a sense of this place, its environment. Sure, it was hot, but heat was a byproduct of production, whether simply elemental in nature or otherwise. The eshuranti were the living embodiment of that, one he took into account with a particular amount of respect.

He took a breath of hot air, tasting it. Yes. This was certainly a hellworld. A harsh, unforgiving landscape, perfect for cauterizing life and soul both. In a place such as this, even the strongest of wills could be bent or broken.

"This place leaves a bad taste in my mouth," Aaron said quietly. "We should get this over with."

Cyan spares Devlin a haunted glance.  "Yes...I would agree with you, save that Harbonah is rarely alone, and even all of us, prepared, would find ourselves hard pressed to defeat him swiftly, him unprepared.  And he is never unprepared."  Her smile is grim.  "With his people, he must be ever wary of treachery."

She can only imagine Harbonah's power levelled against them the instant they entered.  Had they a chance, she might consider it, but...no.

She hears both Devlin's thoughts and Dorian's, nodding along with the hawk-faced man's cautions.  "Indeed.  There may be traps.  Guards.  I trust everyone has their own, special talents to use to detect these things ahead of time?  Sing out if you see anything of danger."  Her smile is wry, now, her ruby eyes ironic.  "Carrying a tune will not be necessary," she amends, having heard Dorian's protests about his own singing voice before.

Aaron and Dorian counsel haste - she knows them well enough to understand they do not mean 'rushing', but careful, measured speed.  Cyan nods.  "Very well.  Extend your senses around us, what you have, and your protections as well.  Shadowy veils are of greater import here than adamantine shields, for our greatest defense lies in stealth.  Any singular Archons must have their minds seized immediately."

With that, Berd lays a cloak over them, fortifying it as best he can to protect them from psychic sight.  When the others are prepared, Cyan gestures them to move closer.  "Berd will move us as they move, through the Underflow.  But swiftly - hopefully we will be nothing more than a passing darkness to any within that river."

The drake gathers his power, and projects them into the War Room, aiming for something out of visual sight...though that will only be of use if a creature with EYES stands within the room.
This message was last edited by the player at 12:52, Mon 29 Oct 2007.

Devlin smiles, and actually chuckles at Cyan's words, and then turns to the others to answer Aaron's question, "Cyan, it seems, knows exactly what I was thinking, but it would not be wise to try it, not here, not yet. We should gather what information we can, if we can, and be gone."

And then Cyan bids them all to draw closer, and Devlin does so, as prepared as he can possibly be... for whatever might happen next. He'd made sure of that before the palanquet had been drawn.

Then, just before Berd moves them he adds quietly, "If you must run, do not hesitate to leave me." The tone is dry, emotionless, and not a request.

Dorian nods acknowledgment to her words. The underflow could be trapped, or conceal an ambush, but he wasn't aware of any better way to get around in here. He wondered at exactly how the information might be stored. Cyan had only said it wasn't like other places. Given that he had already discovered how they sensed the world (not a surprising discovery), he had a guess. If he was correct, it would be fascinating.