Cyan turns an unhappy gaze toward Devlin for a moment.  "Can you take on the form of an Archon?" she whispers, though the idea disgusts her.  "It might give us a moment of time, an instant of uncertainty should we find ourselves face to face with the Enemy."  She cannot bring herself to raise her voice, not with Harbonah so 'close'.

"This place," she begins, in explanation to Aaron, "is a room of vision.  These pillars radiate the energies of palanqueti - hardly surprising, given the source of the Archons' power.  I believe it sees only That Which Is, rather than That Which May Be."  Her lips thin in a frustrated grimace.  "Though I cannot say for certain."

She shoots a worried glance at Aaron when he states his own thoughts on Harbonah's possible strategies - the grudging respect for the monster's tactics.  Dorian has considered the same, putting himself in Harbonah's 'shoes', so to speak.  Have not others sought to analyze his strategies similarly?  Have not others suggested terrible acts to attempt to stem the tide?  This war makes monsters of us all, she thinks with despair.

What good a universe saved, if those who populate it are nothing more than reflections of the enemy?  James understood this.  They all did, in truth - Aaron's abrupt halt proved he caught himself - but James, from what she understood, had gone through it.

I expect the others have, as well.  Aaron has spoke and hinted of terrible deeds in his time away.  Dorian...it goes without saying, given what he has absorbed from his twin.  And Devlin?  Suspicions, only.  And then there is herself.  And Berd.

We become the Enemy.

"It must be stopped, Aaron.  Before all of us-"  Harbonah's booming voice cuts her off, and Cyan hunches for an instant, waiting for the axe to fall.  But it is only another report, and she straightens to listen.  A chill washes over her at the sight of the city and she leans forward, an oath on her lips.  Berd shoots a quick glance her way, and Cyan subsides with a nod, her eyes like burning rubies.  Trackers - it is as Right said.  They are the hunted.  This Salamiel has inner fortitude.  Despite its fear, the Archon persists in arguing what it believes to be the best course of action.  Dangerous - very much so.

Or does it play its own game?

"Indeed," Cyan breathes in response to Aaron's epithet.  "Dorian - have you found aught of note?"

Berd, on her shoulder, remains hunched and readied.

Harbonah observes the rapid flow of images.  Occasionally the stream slows, allowing a more detailed study of a particular situation, but it soon resumes its rapid pace.

World after world, war after war.  An unendending torrent of death and destruction...

Speaking quietly back, Devlin answers Cyan, "I could take the form of a bladed one, perhaps." As he speaks he touches Nightbrand and it detaches itself, beginning to form back around the mans wrist. "If I can, I shall do so."

Dorian's gaze is distant, looking upward as much as outward. "There are many possibilities," he says, his voice slow and soft. "I have learned some things, but not enough. There is little I can be certain of with such short time."

His gaze drops and he blinks. Looking at Cyan from the corner of his eyes, he adds, "We should not destroy this place. There would be echoes in many places, and I believe this is only one of many such rooms. I also considered eavesdropping, but that is a dangerous road--as are all roads this close to Harbonah. Still we came here because we decided it was time for risks to be taken. Given their Palanquet-like nature, I'll defer to your expertise in such matters, though."

He didn't comment on the shape changing. He doubted that any Archon able to see them through his cloak would be fooled such a change for even a moment. He had seen through an Archon's eyes, they didn't see the same way other beings did.

"Time is short, Amber will need us soon. If we are to do anything but research here, we should do it quickly."
This message was last edited by the player at 00:32, Thu 27 Dec 2007.

Harbonah continues to watch the scenes playing out before him, seemingly oblivious to the fact that those he has set his hounds to hunt across all the Myriad Worlds are currently lurking inside his own home, concealed within the shadows of his throne.

A fine irony, perhaps, but one that Harbonah might not be capable of appreciating.

A twitch, and Dorian scowls. He lifts on finger to the others. "Wait."

His next movement is subtle, but recognizable to those who know him best. He head tilts just slightly, causing a lock of black hair to fall forward. His brow creases just a bit, eyes narrowing.

Concentration.

After a moment, he says, "There are ... things ... within the very 'walls', the structure, of the fortress. Beings, I should say, but lacking a corporeal form, hundreds of them. Cyan, do know anything of them?"

His features slacken and pale a bit, and he adds, "They bear a strikingly similar nature to--"

"Me." Galatea's form seems to solidify slightly more, and she turns in place, hovering as she revolves in a full circle. Her eyes sparkle with opal brilliance as she peers around her, searching.

"What are they?" she whispers. Her searching eyes land on her father.

Fascinated, Cyan watches as Nightbrand slips from her arm to Devlin's.  A curious weapon, that...and much more, perhaps as much as Ilsefravnier had been.  And it keeps her eyes from what Harbonah observes - the creature's clinical study of destruction sickens her.  "If you can mimic them completely," she whispers, "all the way to their spirit's aura, then do so."

A sidelong, ruby glance to Dorian, then, and she nods.  "Yes.  Risks must be taken.  I would leave an insect - a bug, if we could forge one that would stand the test of stealth against their senses."  Berd, upon her shoulder, rises up slightly, and Cyan frowns, but then the drake freezes where he sits, eyes aglitter.  Waiting.

Dorian's explanation comes.  Cyan's wide eyes flick to the walls, and she weighs his revelation and Galatea's clarification, seeking, probing with her own senses, not truly expecting to discover anything.  "Like Galatea," the bard whispers.  She is too weak in this way.  Berd, on the other hand, rises higher upon her shoulder, his head snaking around.

The tiny, gem-like eyes begin to burn as he turns them upon the walls.

Finally, it seems, Harbonah tires of the observation of his schemes.  As suddenly as he arrived, he simply disappears... fading and expanding with no more commotion than a smoke ring.

"Be on your guard," Cyan whispers.  "Harbonah may have noticed something.  He may have left in order to summon reinforcements."  It's not impossible - the Archon is a cunning, dangerous foe, rather than an unthinking brute, perfectly capable of setting a baresark rage aside to better reach his goals.

Especially if those goals involve his enemies.

Berd's eyes burn as he observes the walls.  The little drake crouches low on Cyan's shoulder, and a vicious hiss splits the air.  Cyan's face pales at the sound, accentuating her sapphire eyes, and she stares at the drake in shock for a moment.  "You are certain?" she whispers.  Then she nods.  "There are spirits within the walls.  The spirts of the dead, perhaps.  The fortress holds them, and their imprisonment is torture."  She swallows.  "For what reason might Harbonah hold such spirits?  Is it even his doing?"

"And how might we free them?"

"Very carefully," Dorian says. If any humor was meant, it is evicted from his expression and tone. "If the walls bind them, then anything that affects the walls will likey affect them, too. We may not have the time for such experimentation, and yet ... I do not wish to leave them in such a state."

With Harbonah departed, there should be less to worry about.  But still, the group are interlopers in a fortress of alien design, where the physical laws they know of no longer apply in the same manner they are accustmed to...  Further, the fortress is home to a race of beings, and one of that race, in particular, which has declared them enemies...

Somehow, nobody seems to feel like relaxing.

Cyan again pauses, waiting.  Not long - the tranfer of information between her and Berd occurs in a unique way, on a different channel than regular psychic communication, and many times quicker.  She nods once, with a ruby glance to Dorian.  "We will not.  Berd has puzzled out a methodology to unravel the reality of the walls, at potential weak points where the spirits cluster.  Unbinding them, as it were."  She raises an eyebrow at the little drake.  "We shall have to begin calling you Kalkin."

Berd snorts.

"That was one of your...?  Never mind."  A helpless shrug, and Cyan returns her attention to their small group.  "I am uncertain how much time remains.  Dorian believes our window closes.  I am of a like mind.  But perhaps there is more we might accomplish here, in that small time.  Are there any ideas?"  Her lips thin.  "I have considered seeking out other prisoners - beyond the mercy of release from Harbonah's clutches, they might hold information of value."

She blinks once, and her face hardens.  Then a rueful smile twists her lips.  "Yes," the bard whispers to Berd, reaching up a hand to scratch his head.  Berd, for his part, looks not at all comfortable with the attention, closing his brilliant eyes.

Dorian glances at Berd. "How long will it take? And will it alert the Archons to our presence?"

He decides it best to make certain preparations for the worst on his own.

Devlin had been quietly concentrating, his form seemed to blur once or twice as he tried to do what Cyan had asked of him. He was managing to hide his fatigue, but not well. The attempts to change were not going well, but he did not let the others see any of the pain it caused. Finally he gave up, it seemed he was of no use in this place and could only hope they were not discovered.

He remained quiet and listened as the others planned.

Aaron couldn't help but snort, for Dorian stated his own question exactly.

"Sorry, Cyan, but Dorian's got the gist of it. If we're running out of time, then we need to make our secondary actions quick and decisive."

He looked to the walls, leaving his blade unsheathed for the moment, though he through of replacing Ilse behind him.

"I can't imagine what it's like, being chained to a place like this."

"A rather short time," Cyan replies to Dorian's question, apparantly listening to Berd.  "And yes, I suspect it will draw Harbonah like a flame to a moth, so to speak."  She pauses, her amber eyes glazed as the information flow continues.  "No other prisoners that Berd can detect."  Her lips thin, her eyes harden.  "Apparantly I was an only child," the General concludes.

A glance to Devlin - the man holds his confidence for the moment, but looks prepared to act should something untoward occur.  She nods grimly at Aaron's words.  "Indeed...and you both have the right of it.  How much more shall we search, here?  Have we found something of sufficient interest?  Have you made sense of any of this?"  Her arm arcs to indicate the chamber.  "We must remember Harbonah's words, what we have seen here, today.  And the others...they must be warned."

The hounds are close.

Aaron's final words ring within her, and she stares at the wall.  Through it, to a nearby place as worlds go, a room within this structure and her memory.  "I can," she whispers.

Then her onyx eyes blink and the Warrior rouses herself.  "Do we have other business, here?"

The shifting light of the fortress sends shadows sliding about the chamber.  Many times those shadows have no visible source.

Berd raises his head, looking about him.

Galatea moves a little closer to Dorian.

With a voice mingling fear and interest, Galatea says, "Something is coming, and it moves quickly. We've been discovered."

"Our time has expired," Dorian says. "Finish now, and retreat. And be wary of trackers."

He bends his own mind to finishing up his own work here, subtle work none will discover until it is too late.

"Gather around, everyone - decide to where we must flee."  Cyan's eyes brighten, now a misty topaz, catching the light with odd, rainbow glitters.  Her body tenses, and a small smile twitches at the corner of her mouth.  Berd, on her shoulder, nods once to Dorian and Galatea and turns his attention upon the walls.

"If you have any ideas, now would be the time.  Else Berd shall free the prisoners, and we will make our escape."  Her smile vanishes for a moment, and Cyan shakes her head, vexed.  "No information, in truth.  Only more questions.  But at least we can do something for tormented spirits."

Dorian stands near Cyan. "This was not in vain," he says. "Prisoners will be freed. And further good may come of this mission, even yet. Our escape must be good, though. Harbonah will not take this lightly. And ... other good will come of this in the future."

He nods to Berd, a tiny smile playing across his lips. Deep inside, he wished Harbonah himself would show up. Oh, to have it all over with in one final confrontation. No, he didn't imagine they would win so easily. It was the release from this cursed mission that he savored.

"I am ready to leave. My works here are complete, as well."

Berd reaches out with his will, his eyes burning bright and hot as twin suns, and shards of darkness scatter around him, umbral butterflies fluttering along erratic courses...  Random-seeming paths which, nevertheless, appear to mesh into orderly patterns...

"Some good," Cyan whispers.  A small light in the darkness, and is there any other way to win this war?  "Yes."  Sapphire eyes brighten, and she holds out her hands.  "Take hold, everyone.  Something comes with purpose, now."  Her small smile twists into a grin.  "I suspect our escape will attract further attention."

Berd takes a moment to reflect upon the light within his own eyes.  Ironic, as usual.  Then he reaches out his spirit, and his voice echoes in the latticework of this place.  It will echo far after they leave, another gauntlet thrown at Harbonah's feet.  The gates shatter, the walls crumble.  Take your freedom, prisoners, and pass through.

As they prepare to leave, a small smirk crosses Dorian's face. Done. The visit here, while risky, may prove to have further gains in the future, still.