The man named as Benich accepts the knife, observed closely by the one who claims he will inherit the blade, should anything happen to Benich.  He juggles the knife end over end, testing the balance and the weight.  He squints along the blade, and presses a thumb against the tip.  Finally he flips it over, to hold it by the blade, and hurls it towards a nearby hut, where it neatly impales a four inch centipede and pins it to the door frame.

"Bloody lucky throw."

"No Korfin, I's that good.  You knows it."  He looks from Cyan, to Dorian, to Devlin, and back again.  "Two knifes of steel and we can goes now."

The second knife follows, end over end into the wood, impaling the head of the writhing bug and instantly removing it from its misery.  The hilts of the knives are so close together they might well be touching.  "Your second," Cyan notes, a sad smile on her face as she studies the limp creature with jade eyes.  She slowly turns back to Benich and nods.  "Now would be best, yes."

Berd, on her shoulder, croons something soothing and chews on her hair.  Cyan absently caresses his eye-ridges.  Her stomach turns, nausea threatening.  Even a bug, now.  All life is precious, she thinks, waiting for the man to collect his blades.  Not to be tormented or snuffed out at whim.

Not so long ago she wanted to do the same to the universe as she did to the bug.  Tear it from its misery.  But the situations are different  There was no saving the centipede from a short, miserable, pain-filled end, not after a massive blade clove its insides.  The universe?  Still able to be saved.  Still worth being saved so long as a single man or woman walks a lonely world.

"Are we ready?" she inquires of her travelling companions, still staring at her boots.

Devlin was in the process of opening his mouth to say something when the blade flew from Cyan's hand to finish the insect. Perhaps something about finding another way across, since he did not trust the men they were looking at. Why did he find it so hard to trust any now.

Instead he shrugged at Cyan's question, "The longer we stand here the longer it will take us to reach our destination." The man says in answer to the woman's question about being ready.

Benich nods, and gestures to one of the boats, "Gi's a hand, and off we goes."

It doesn't take long to wrestle the heavy boat into the murky water, and within ten minutes they are leaving the decrepit township behind.  The boat, more of a canoe, really, is narrow, with a shallow draft, and with the weight of Benich and his passengers, only has a couple of inches showing above the water.  Still, it seems sturdy enough, and makes good progress.

Before long, they are deep in the midst of a maze of waterways, sandbanks, small islands, and dead logs with an interesting tendency to blink golden eyes at the boat as it passes.  The tall reeds conceal any view beyond the small area of, mostly, clear water around the boat.  The only landmarks are the scattered trees, many of which seem to be dying, festooned with moss, and burdened with large, untidy nests.

The passengers are seated in the bottom of the craft, while Benich stands in the stern and drives them through the mosquito-infested marsh using a sort of long spear, with a curved blade, as a pole.  The reason for his choice of implement becomes apparent about thirty minutes into the journey, when a highly accurate swing of the weapon removes the head from a serpent which had reared up to threaten the boat.  The bloodied water around the dead snake seems to boil, and there are brief glimpses of silver-scaled bodies breaking the surface, as the reptile is torn to shreds.  The boatman resumes poling, and remarks, "By the by, don't be dangling nothing o'er the side.  Least not if you wants to keep it."

The heat grows as they travel further into the swamp, as does the stench, and the population of biting insects.  Benich pulls a stoppered metal flask from inside his vest, where it had been hanging on a cord around his neck, and upends it above his head, briefly.  Then he tosses it to Cyan.

"Put two drops on your head then wait a bit.  It'll hold the flies away, once it's got a chance to mix with some sweat."

Sure enough, after a little while, the dense clouds of insects around them thin out considerably.  Once again it becomes possible to breathe without the danger of inhaling some bloodsucking fly, or bloated wasp looking for somewhere to deposit its eggs.

On they travel, for long hours, until a new landmark comes into view.  A spindle of rock, looming above the marsh, and marking the presence of a small, though solid, island.  "Half way.  We stops for rest now.  Eats too, if you's hungry enough, I means."

The marsh journey proves to be fraught with danger, hellishly uncomfortable...and beautiful.  Despite her struggles with the endless attacks of stinging and biting insects (which thankfully trail off after the application of Benich's liquid), Cyan stares about her with wide eyes, taking in the sights.

At the rest stop, she hops out (after careful examination of the rock, and Berd's 'a-ok') and spins to assist the others from the craft.  "The colours," she breathes, staring out over the vast expanse of greens, broken by the occasional water-lilly.  "See there - the vines on that tree, and the moss from which they slake their thirst.  Slight variations of shade..."  With an amber, artist's eye Cyan surveys the land about them, finally moving to crouch before a small, creeping orchid.  She does not touch, though.

A memory of a book, a small, pale blue flower trapped between its pages, a field of such flowers...and a tall piller of stone.  Gone, now.  Destroyed.

The bard bites her lip.  "Kalika would have loved this," she whispers, before standing.  "How much further, Benich?"

"'bout the same again," the boatman replies, as he secures his craft.  He removes the polearm before he steps away from the vessel though, resting it over one shoulder, "I'd not be touch that, were I youse.  Times there's a little green beetle hides in 'em... pretty as anything they is."

"One of they stings you, and it burns like picking up a lit torch at the wrong end.  A week, 'bout, after that, the real pain starts.  Lasts 'bout a moon, if you don't die from it first.  Course, you dies in the end anyhow, with thousands of pretty green beetles chewing their way out through your skin."

He steps carefully past the plant, and points towards the black, basaltic spire,
"There's a little cave there, at the bottom, with fresh water.  Or, if you feels like it, the top gives a good look at the lay of the land.  Not that there'd be much to see.  All looks the same."
This message was last edited by the GM at 15:54, Thu 05 June 2008.

Cyan grins back at Benich, her hands nowhere near the lily.  "Oh, yes.  The first rule - no touching."  She returns her gaze to the lilly, her amber eyes growing faraway.  "I remember the Upper and Lower hells," she whispers, "and Midworld with its own, deadly traps.  The acadi, the silversith...and the dust-motes, so very much like this beetle."  Her eyes darken.  "Or was that where Jack..."  She frowns, struggling to remember.

Berd chimes, and Cyan's face clears.  "Both.  Yes."  She smiles softly to the little dragon, then slowly stands, careful not to brush anything as she does, watching where she places her feet.  Old habits return.  "Better to not stand open on high ground," she muses, recalling the Upper Hell and its denizens.  "I shall wait out our rest.  Food comes later, in safer climes."

As the boat, if it could be called a boat, made its way through the maze, Devlin quietly contemplated. What to do, where to search next, he did not know. But there was no point leaving his friend in the burned out wreckage of the city.


"So many things that kill, it seems that is the way of nature." The man suddenly says aloud, obviously speaking to Cyan as she remembers such things from her past. "It is the way of life. Each creature doing what it must to continue to exist. But at least such creatures as you speak of do not consciously kill when there is no need. They only do so out of instinct. The same can not be said for creatures that are able to reason."
This message was last edited by the player at 10:59, Wed 11 June 2008.

Benich heads for the cave, and its freshwater spring.  The opening itself is difficult to see from any distance, being partly hidden behind a screen of moss-choked bushes.

Inside, the dim light has a greenish cast, filtered, as it is, by the vegetation.  The air is much cooler here, and a rivulet of water trickles from a fissure in the wall, flowing down, to soak into the floor.  The floor itself is of fine black sand, and there is what looks to be the makings of a campfire in there, though the wood, neatly stacked, seems a little rotten.

"Damp wood be best.  Smokes more, and holds back the skeeters and the tick flies." Benich says, as he starts work on setting the fire.

As the flames start to take hold, they cast a little more light around the small cave, revealing more details.  The chamber is no larger than ten feet across, in its longest dimension, with a low ceiling which slopes down a little towards the rear of the cave.

The ceiling, it turns out, probably the most is interesting thing in there.

There are ancient pictures there, primitive in design, faded by time and obscured by soot, but still visible, if you look closely.  Men are shown hunting various animals; horses, some sort of wild cattle, birds.  There are hand prints, and abstract designs of circles and dots.

And an unmistakeable burning hoop...

Cyan turns a steady gaze to Devlin for a long moment, slowly nodding to the wisdom in the man's words.  Berd, on her shoulder, regards the traveller with sleepy eyes.  "So very true, Devlin.  The beetle within yon flowers, the acadi, the burrowing wyrms of Ceceistus IV...all seem to be horrors, but are in truth nothing more than creatures of their nature.  Vicious?  Indeed."  She returns her stare to the flowers.  "So made by the pressures of life in their world."

"Evil?"  She shakes her head.  "No."

Standing, she moves back to the group, offers Devlin a raised eyebrow.  "So very true are your words.  Only when we rise above does the possibility of evil begin."

Which, of course, begs the question.  Is it possible to appeal to the Archons?  Strike a deal?  While their nature is vicious, they choose their path.  Some have not become monstrous in deed.  Some have chosen a route of study and intellectual pursuits.

Might it be possible to halt this without genocide, upon either side of the equation?

Cyan muses upon these thoughts, following their guide into the cave.  There, another surprise awaits them...though it should not be so.  It is not the first time, Cyan considers, staring at the crude paintings, they have met with evidence of Archons in the Myriad Worlds.

"Benich."  She raises a finger to point at the burning hoop, even as Berd exhales a puff of scintillating smoke to further light the cave.  "Can you tell us aught of this picture?"

Dorian might have agreed with most of Devlin’s words, but he was quickly lost in his own thoughts as he gazed up at the crude drawings.

This is where it all started, for him. Centuries ago, he stood in a gaze cut into a craggy Samhainian mountain and studied cave drawings. As he studied, the reality dawned on him. The artists were much more advanced than he could have imagined. From studying those drawings, he had unburied the first inkling of the terrible machine that stole his daughter’s life and drove the final wedge between him and his home world.

The Progon people, possibly the progenitors of Dorian’s people, had been a people of peace, but their knowledge had lead to destructive consequences. How ironic that in the end, both he and Drusilla had found little satisfaction in conquering, yet they could not find peace between themselves.

Sometimes, he mused, one can travel far only to find it’s all been a big circle.

Cyan voices the question on his lips, so he remains silent and waits for the answer. He moves a little close, still looking up at the ceiling. Her presence reminds him how far they’ve all come in their journeys. His gaze now lurks on the burning circle.

It’s no surprise; they’ve all seen evidence of Archon’s on many worlds. He himself had even found a unique side effect of their presence at the site where he and consolidate his split existence. It was through that side effect that he had hid the other body, for whenever he might need a backup.

Cave drawings were stories, first attempts to take oral knowledge to a more permanent level. How did the Archon fit in with the designs and pictures of hunters? Perhaps there was a story here.

Galatea's big eyes gazed up at the ceiling, also aware of parallels to the Progon cave language, but not nearly as distracted by them. Her interest were in things far more present. Furtively, she gives her father and Cyan quick glances when he moves closer.

"We'll never be rid of them," she whispers. "They didn't come from our side, but they are everywhere, just like our kind. They are ... ubiquitous ... like the mosquitoes." She glances at their guide. "You don't get rid of them, you just learn how to deal with them."

Did it matter if these insects spread a different kind of plague? For more deadly, and cunning too, but not much different than mosquitoes.

Benich moves closer, peering at the image indicated by Cyan.  A shake of his head, and then, "Nah, not much.  These be old.  Older than Dionagh, what be an old city, where the Old King lives.  The folk what made these were gone long afore men comed to Myras."

"They left story pictures in lots places round here.  Three winters since, a man comed from Dionagh for to see some pictures.  We showed him, and he wrote in a book what he seed here.  He telled me and Korfin 'bout these old people, I forgets what he named 'em, but he telled us as how they followed strange gods what changed the shape of the world.  Changed it from a good place, to what you sees now."

"All dreg, like most old stories."

"Anyhow, two days later, he got himself bit by a tick fly.  After the sickness took, it were a kindness when we killed him."

He turns away, moving off to throw more damp wood on the fire.  "Got to watch them tick flies."

And the story leads to the obvious question. If the man with the book was dead... "Do you know what became..." Devlin's head nods up at the man as he changes the wording he was about to use. "... what happened to the book the man from Dionagh wrote in?"

Cyan nods her head to Galatea's whispers, dropping into a loose-limbed crouch beside the spirit-girl.  "Hmm...yes," she mumurs.  "Save that these mosquitos can talk.  Reason."  She shoots Dorian's daughter a lop-sided smile.  "And perhaps that might be the key to their 'defeat'.  I no longer believe the answer lies in destruction," she muses, "but in discussion."

"The trick, of course, is beginning the conversation."

Devlin fires off the important question, and Cyan attends Benich's answer with great interest.  Berd, on her shoulder, closes his eyes, but a thin ray of light spears from under one of them.

"The book?" Benich frowns, scratching at his head, and then continues, "I think as Korfin had it.  Don't know as he's till having it though.  It were three winters since, like I sayed, an' it be hard to find aught that be dry in Myras, even in the summer.  Winter time, aught that'll burn easy be worth more'n it's weight in iron."

"Korfin likely used it for tinder, long since."

And then an idea seems to strike him, and he smiles in his friendliest manner, which is to say, showing as few teeth as possible, "If you wants to see it, we can be going back an asking him."

Devlin looks at the strange man with the pointy teeth and then at Cyan.

He shrugs.

The man does not really want to turn back and wants to get to where they are going, but he will not say so, at least not directly. "Is there any point if it was likely burned to keep this Korfin warm?" Devlin says to her.

Then Devlin turns back to Benech, "Unless someone read the book before it was used as firewood? I might be able to pull the information from their minds... if you feel the information is important enough to warrant the return."

Cyan rubs her head.  Balked at every turn.  "Berd?" she murmurs.  The little dragon sighs, and immediately closes his eyes...but not before they begin to dance with light.

She looses a lopsided grin to Devlin.  "No, Devlin.  We shan't be going back for the book - this journey has taken too many twists to date, and all probability states that the book is burned.  Berd may be able to do something, but..."  She shrugs.  "Thank you, Benech, but no - you have been most helpful, but we shall continue."
This message was last edited by the player at 11:23, Wed 02 July 2008.

"Then I'll be taking me some grub then." Benich replies, with a shrug, "Poling Myras is making for hard work.  You's welcome to sharing.  Steamed fish, I gots, and bread."

Dorian moves away and finds a seat by the water. He sits cross-legged and traces idly in the black sand, as if lost in thought. The book, it may have answers. It didn't seem worth the time to track it down if it might be ashes now. It seemed very likely that it would be ashes, too.

"Thank you, Benich," Cyan replies.  "I'm afraid my diet is a trifle particular, though - there are many things I cannot eat.  I shall stick with my own - no offense taken, one hopes!"

Berd lets out a small huff of rainbow mist; it dissipates almost instantly into the air, vanishing with startling alacrity.  He opens one eye for a moment, and it glitters like a distant star.  Then it closes again.  Cyan smiles faintly, opening her pack ostentiably to check for food.

And there, on top, lies the book in question.

"Well done," she whispers.  It may not be exact, but this reflection should be close enough.  Besides which...the Archons move from World to World.  They likely visited the nearby reflection of this one as well.

Benich grins, his filed teeth displayed once more, and shakes his head, "No offences.  You eats own, means more for rest.  Mind, you's not looking like you's eating more'n a bird would."

He eyes the book curiously, then shrugs, and goes back to preparing his snack.  It seems that his passengers won't be needing to go back and talk to Korfin, to see if  he still has the book.  A lost chance for a little extra profit, but no matter...

He mashes a piece of fish on to a slab of dry bread, then picks out a long bone which is exposed by doing so.  Another piece of bread tops it off, and the whole thing is pinned together with the recently extracted bone, before being placed on the sand close to the fire.

Leaning back, Benich looks at the images on the ceiling, before bringing his gaze back down to Cyan, "Where you's getting book?"

Cyan sniffs, amused at Benich's disdain for her food.  She shakes her head, grinning ruefully.  "I've lost weight," the bard mumurs, knowing she certainly has in the last few years.  Pounds she cannot afford to lose.  But eating had become secondary to her purpose, and now she finds certain foods turn her stomach.  I need to determine how to eat properly, she considers.  There must be a way....

The bard cocks her eyebrow at his question, and pats the bag.  "Magic," she replies, the simplest explanation.  "Not the book, in truth, but a reflection.  A twin to it.  Once I knew it was, I could make another that is."  Close enough, with a few obfuscations of the truth.  It irks her, but better that than having Benich think her 'pet' is capable of such feats, and considering absconding with Berd.  Bad for all involved.

Her sapphire eyes rise to study the ceiling, tracking across what is painted there, trying to make some sense of the images.

Dorian had given up. Outwardly, though, his fingers hovered over the dirt, distracted from their absent doodling. His head turned slightly the side. His moment of distraction was stolen by a reflection. No matter, it was merely an experiment, an academic exercise.

After Cyan speak, he tilts his head slightly, looking back at her. He wonders if he really detected a subtle hint of something there. It's always a careful balance in this group, offering to help contrasting with showing off, stepping on the toes of some other power. So many paths could lead to one goal in this group. It was for this reason he had broken off his experiment.

Yet the all knew that a reflection meant possible differences, and those differences could be big or insignificant.

Was it because of a need to show off? Or was it the curiosity of the experiment? Or was it a genuine desire to uncover the truth? He wasn't sure, so he held his tongue. Better, he thought, to test the water, see if major differences exist first.

Besides, it was such a longshot. Why speak up only to see the experiment fail.

"Magic, is it." Benich murmurs, tilting his head to one side, and regarding Cyan with some interest.

His gaze finally follows hers to the ceiling, "Things what they hunted, and things what hunted they.  They can show they's kids and say, 'they's good for eating', or, 'they thinks you's good for eating'.  That thing there, the ring... they doesn't live here, so must be something else.  Not eater or eaten."

He drops his eyes back to Cyan, while by the fire, his meal, forgotten, starts to smoulder, "You's a witch?"