Somewhere out beyond the light of the fire, an animal calls, its voice eerie and unidentifiable in the desert night.  Miles away, another answers, the same strange cry, an odd wailing sound, vaguely reminiscent of a crying child.

The two continue their long distance conversation for several minutes, and, somehow, the air itself feels colder still as they discuss vital matters of territory, or companionship, or hunting.

Then they fall silent, as a shooting star burns a brief, fiery line across the sky.

And so the conversation at the fire, more human (though some of the participants are, themselves, no more human than the desert creatures), continues...
This message was last edited by the GM at 14:25, Fri 21 Mar 2008.

Devlin feels better now, refueled by the food and rested.

The man's head turns to the side and he appears t be studying something, though his eyes are slightly glazed as if what he is studying is far away. He still appears to be studying whatever he sees when he says, "We are at Charyk..." his speech broken, as if it is only part of a conversation.

"...It burns yet, nothing lives save rats and vermin feeding on remains of the dead..."

"...Ormvråkar have returned the their nests..."

"...There are none to tend them..."

"...The towers smoke..."

"...nothing, there is nothing..."

There is remorse in his voice when he says the last.


Devlin's gaze returns to the fire. "I had thought to begin my search for the missing brother at Charyk. Maybe I was wrong, it could be millennia since he was there, but it is the only place where I am certain he was, once. If any has a suggestion on how to proceed. But I will not abandon that search yet."

Devlin looks up from the fire at Cyan, she'd said she wanted to find Trista and Chance, and then search for this person that called himself so many names. He agreed and he said so, "I agree with Cyan..." or was she agreeing with Devlin since he had started this search before he'd said anything about it? Did it matter? "...I would like to find this Carl Corey or Ganelon or whoever he really is, and perhaps we could use the help of Trista and Chance or some of the others. I have a good idea of where Trista is, or at least where ämi left her. They should not be far from that place. There was a large lake and talk of a town on the far side."

As Devlin describes the place he also sends an impression it to Berd to be passed on as needed. "I think I could get there quickly enough, but no one can follow the way I go. Perhaps it would be better for another to lead."
This message was last edited by the player at 03:08, Tue 25 Mar 2008.

Cyan glances up from the remains of her meal.  "I concur with Devlin," she says, her tone thoughtful.  "We need to band together, find what Chance and Trista know.  Then I will use James' palanquet to determine their progress.  Once we are fully appraised of the situation, it will be time to seek out this Ganelon."

Her lips tighten and her eyes catch the fire like rubies.  "Time enough for answers.  His answers, of which he should have many."

Berd cocks his head, receiving the information from Devlin.  Cyan sighs, relieved - they have a starting point.  "Does anyone have a swift means to take us there, without resorting to the Underflow?  If possible, Berd wishes to avoid its use - the dangers are great, with so many Archons on the move, and the other assassins - whatever they may be - tracking us."

Dorian gathers his cloak and stands, leaving his mostly-finished meal. Galatea cocks her head his direction, as if listening. "Swiftly," he says, "perhaps, but not as swift as the Underflow, but I can get us there swiftly. It won't be pleasant."

That won't be a surprise to them, he thought.

From within the folds of his cloak, he withdraws the brass compass. It gleams in the firelight. How many years had he carried this thing, never knowing its origin or its true use. Somewhere among the folds of time, it carried a link to his family. When he asked it to take him home, it took him to Amber.

It took him to Amber; how was Amber his home? He had no home now, not Samhain, not Amber. Amber was in his blood, but it was not his home.

He turned his dark eyes on Galatea, who now regarded him with wide, but equally dark, eyes, brimming with curiosity and trust.

Dorian had seen the cost of Amberite blood in his veins. Blood meant nothing, and the compass was a traitor. Amber was not his home. He had carried the compass for a thousand years. It represented hope and answers, but it had never given him anything but questions.

So be it then, he thought. I must leave behind all ties. Let the enemy have no leverage over me, or I cannot win.

The dark eyes then sought out Cyan. All ties? Perhaps. Perhaps not.

The eyes go back to the compass now. The thing had magic. It had his psyche imprinted on it after so many years of use.

He said to the others, "A moment...."

He began to scour it, scrubbing all impression of his aura from the device. His eyes swept over every detail. Then, he left something else in its place. When done, he took a white handkerchief and rubbed it down with great care.

Then he tossed the compass aside, leaving it to lie in the dirt. Amber was not his home. Why have links to it?

"Stay close," he says. "We shall go quickly, but I will try to mask our passage."

This message was last edited by the player at 23:19, Thu 27 Mar 2008.

Staring into the flames, Aaron seems to almost be hypnotised by them, not even reacting to the conversation going on around him.

In reality, though, he is lost in thought.  An idea has been taking shape in his mind.  An idea with interesting implications, for himself and for his companions.  He considers his possible courses of action, in detail.  Every detail.  The conclusion is obvious to him.  So obvious that it is almost amusing that he hadn't seen it before.

Stretching, finally, he reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out his cigarettes.  Lighting one up, he looks around at his friends, as they discuss their next move.  There's no time like the present, I suppose.  A pull on the cigarette, while he chooses his words, and then a shake of his head as he decides that the best way to handle it is the most direct.

"I'm afraid that I won't be coming with you.  There's something I need to do.  Once it's done, I'll rejoin you."

There.  It's been said.

Cyan's eyes sharpen at the sight of the compass, then widen as Dorian finally casts it aside.  Her hand reaches out, a motion aborted by Berd's warning chirp.  She leaves it hanging for a moment, staring after the abandoned tool, then slowly nods with a long, emerald stare at Dorian.

Is this how it will be for all of them?  Casting pieces of themselves aside, losing who they are, bit by bit, until nothing remains but raw purpose?  How can such tools as they will become earn victory?  Where is the worth?

Will they still recognize each other when this is all finished, she wonders, studying Dorian's hatchet-face, his shadowed eyes.  But at his command she nods, turning to gather her gear.

Unfortunately, Aaron's next words freeze her in her tracks.

Berd covers his snout with a wing as Cyan's blunt nails bite into her palms.  She grits her teeth for a long, long moment, before slowly rising to face the scion of Auld Thiriel.  Her eyes glitter in the dim light, like pale, pale topaz.  "You leave us."  Bands of pain tighten around her chest as she breathes in, her smile strained.  "You...Aaron..."  Her eyes flick to Dorian for a heartbeat, then back to Aaron.  "Always you leave us.  You...you say things, important things, then leave us."

Berd rises upon her shoulder, fanning the air with his wings, but Cyan ignores him.


"Thus far you have returned."  A whisper, and for an instant a smile twitches the corners of Cyan's lips.  There and gone, and suddenly the tension fades.  Colour floods back into her eyes, and she turns away.  "Please," the bard whispers, fingers fumbling with her pack, "do so again."

Standing, she turns with the deathiron held, sheathed, in one hand.  Ruby eyes shimmer as she glances from Dorian to Aaron, then into the sky.  "I have walked this path from the beginning.  I have asked for little for myself, in truth.  But we have lost so very, very much.  Now I ask."  She closes her eyes.  "Please return, Aaron."

Devlin begins to move when Dorian says to get ready. He does what little he can to help Cyan gather up and he starts to scrape dirt over the fire.

He doesn't look at Aaron when he makes his announcement, but it does raise an eyebrow. He doesn't look at Cyan either, the tone of her voice tells him what she thinks of it.

Devlin is not about to stop anyone from leaving, if Cyan and Dorian did not want to go with him it would be him that was now heading off on his own now. He'd like to know what Aaron thought was so important, if it had anything to do with anything. But he does not ask.

Instead Devlin keeps scraping dirt into the fire and then continues to help Cyan prepare to leave.
This message was last edited by the player at 20:18, Tue 01 Apr 2008.

"Believe me, my friends, I do have every intention of returning." Aaron replies, grinning.

"There is a thing which has been preying on my mind since I first joined this quest.  Recently, thanks to Berd, I was shown the Underflow.  I was distracted by that for a while, but my thoughts have now gone full circle.  Armed with the knowledge I have found since becoming part of this group, I believe I have the answer I sought."

He laughs quietly then, and looks up at the stars.  "As with far too many things, I was looking for it in the wrong place.  I now believe that I know where I should look, and it isn't in Amber, as I had thought for so long."

His voice drops to a whisper, "Second star on the right, and straight on till morning."

His eyes drop, to lock with Cyan's, "If I have it right, then I believe that when I return I can become more of a thorn in the Archons' side.  Should you need to find me... well, I'll be right behind you."

"We need you, Aaron.  With whatever you bring, even if it only yourself."  A weak smile twitches her lips for a moment, and she closes topaz eyes.  What she feels for him, what she feels for Dorian, Cyan isn't certain - things have progressed altogether too quickly for someone gone so long, her mind still struggling to make sense of the wreckage left by Harbonah's work.  But she knows this: she needs him here.

Abruptly Cyan lurches forward, her customary grace deserting her, and throws her arms around Aaron in a strong hug.  "I hold you to this."  Closing her own eyes, she draws in a long, shuddering breath.  "Trust that I shall call, ere the end, and I will expect you where you say - stepping forward from behind us all."  A final squeeze, and she releases him, leaning back to look him in the eye, brushing her ragged hair from her face.  "So many others have gone, Aaron.  Fallen away, or fallen entirely."

Otandal.  Duncan.  Morgan.  Kendall.  Lexy.  Lazarus.  Ares.  Kalika.  Kia.  Andrej.  Leonardo.  Kaelyn.  Jack.  Serena.

So many lost.

Her fingers fist in the collar of his cloak, and she gives him a mock-shake.  "Disappear, and I shall hunt you down."  Her grin wobbles, but is true.  Then Cyan slowly unclenches her fist, releasing Aaron.

Letting him go.

Aaron nods, "I think that Arianne wouldn't allow me to not come back."

He turns then, seeming to select a section of the horizon, almost at random.

"That direction looks as good as any.  I'll go that way.  What about the rest of you?"

Somehow, even when he has a plan, leaving this group again never seems to get any easier.

"We go to seek Chance and Trista," Cyan replies, stepping back.  "Soon, by means of Dorian's sorcery."  Her lips quirk again.  "Go safely, Aaron of San Anyn, Aaron of Auld Thiriel.  Know that we attend your return."

Lords of the West, let him not become another name upon her list.

"Take care, my friends." Aaron says, and turns to collect his gear.  He frowns as he realises that he doesn't, in fact, currently have much in the way of belongings.  It appears that he'll be travelling light, though he has a feeling that he'll find whatever he needs just beyond that nearest hill.  Or perhaps the next one.

Aaron starts to walk, and doesn't look back until he's gone at least a hundred yards.  That look shows him his friends preparing to make their own departure.

He starts up that first hill, thinking, A horse would be nice.  And some supplies.


Back at the now-extinguished campfire, all are ready to go...

Dorian remains expressionless as Aaron's form shrinks into the distance and then disappears over the hill. He had no doubts that Aaron would return to them when the time was right. That was Aaron's way.

When the man is out of sight, Dorian takes a deep breath and looks around to each of those remaining. They looked ready. With a nod he turned himself to face a direction opposite the one Aaron had taken. It seemed fitting, somehow.

Chance and Trista, that was their destination. He fixed that goal in his mind. His fingers flexed, aching for the cold, hard comfort of the compass, but he reminded himself why it was not in his hand, and why. It was the right thing to do.

He says, "Follow." And begins to walk. He doesn't look back to make sure they all follow. Either they will, or they will not.