Trista nods and slips her fingers around the small painting, lifting it from the wall. She holds it out away from them so both she and Chance can still see Lexy. “I'll slip the painting into my pack once we're done. If Cyan has the time, no doubt, she will copy it. Chance and I will return it to your people. You have my word.”

Remembering the Godspeaker, “We could find your servant on our way out so you can speak with him.”

Glancing at Chance, she waits for both of their approval or for further discussion.

Chance nod and then glances back to the woman in the paining to see if that is acceptable to her.

"We can certainly try that.  If one Cyan can produce a painting, then another might be able to reproduce it.  If it works, then you can return the painting to me... if not, you can still return it, though a little later, I expect."  She seems thoughtful now, speaking as if a little distracted.

"Of course, if the enemy send one of those... what was it called again?  Ah!  A Gatherer.  If they send a Gatherer, all of our plans will be in vain.  But I've only seen about five or six of those, so I suspect they don't use them very often.  Berd once speculated that there might be several groups or clans among the Archons, and they each have their own preferred methods.  One group uses Gatherers and orbs, another prefers the Unfolding Ritual, while still another simply erases time...  The end result is the same."

She shrugs, and shakes her head, "We don't know enough about these things.  They may have a logical reason for choosing different methods, but it is beyond our knowledge."

...simply erases time...

Trista's stomach turns. Are they so powerful? Then again, is Berd that powerful? Dorian? The possibilities mystify Trista. She's playing with the Gods, now. Despite her own version of immortality, it's a daunting situation.

“Our knowledge will expand. It has to.” There's no other option. Did they learn anything useful on this particular venture? Perhaps, but Trista doesn't see it. Not yet.

Leaving the room to seek out the Godspeaker, Trista's glance seeks out Chance's shaded eyes. Had he gleaned something here? Other than a possible ally. Perhaps that is enough. The glance pauses a bit too long, and Trista raises the corners of her mouth in a quick smile before dragging her eyes away toward the hallway they enter.

Trista does not have to go far to find the godspeaker.  He is in the corridor, and starts nervously as the woman opens the door.  He is not close enough that he could have been eavesdropping, and could not have moved away that far away so quickly if he had been, but he does seem a little guilty.

"Ah... hello... I was just... checking for dust.  Yes.  Dust.  Sometimes the dust seems to gather a lot, just around here."


Back in the room, Lexy, says, "There may be allies you can look to, if you can find them, and if they are to be trusted."

"Long ago, we found a record on a dead world which spoke of a war between the Archons and another people, the Vhuulad.  If you could contact these Vhuulad, then they might help.  We tried, and found nothing but ancient tales.  Still, I don't believe they are all gone."

Chance nods. "Ah, yes, the Vhuulad. We encountered one, they're quite an interesting lot. I'm afraid we don't know much about them. Can you tell me anything? We'd be greatly interested in knowing how to locate them, specifically."

"I know that they are older than the stars, and that they hate the Archons.  Beyond that... " Lexy shakes her head, "Well, if you've met one of them, that's one more than I have."

"The original text we found indicated that they were powerful... the most powerful creatures in the Universe.  Long ago, they fought the Archons to a standstill, and then made some sort of pact with them to keep out of each other's way in future."

She pauses, collecting her thoughts, "We looked for them, but all we ever found were very old stories.  Most of them were... well... less than encouraging.  The Vhuulad, according to many of the tales, had all vanished, or died, or gone insane.  Usually the stories told of a creature appearing one day, making crazy demands or statements, and then just leaving again.  There are two accounts where they arrived, built vast structures overnight, and then simply demolished them the next morning."

"I've seen one world where there were no oceans, just a perfect geometric pattern of saltwater canals covering the whole world.  There were stone tablets there, so old that they were barely legible, which told of how there used to be seas, and great port cities, and trade, until one of the Vhuulad changed the shape of the world in a matter of hours."

"They might still be around, but you'd have to be careful about asking them for help."

Laughing, she adds, "I think the Vhuulad might be dangerously unpredictable, and I'm from the Courts of Chaos."

"So we're not just looking for a needle in a haystack, but perhaps a sane needle in a haystack full of insane needles."

Chance sighed deeply, his mind wandering. He considered how if they could find that one sane Vhuulad, many problems would be solved. At least, it seemed that way. Finding them was one big problem. Deciding if any one they found were sane was another problem. Waking one up without it swatting them sleepily into oblivion was a third big problem. After that, well the big problems just seemed to start multiplying like bunnies.

"Thank you for the information, though I'm at a loss as to how we might proceed with it. Lexy, thank you for your time and the painting. We'll be contacting the others now and finding if they have any news.

"This is a wonderful little community. My means are meager, but I can manipulate the myriad worlds--shadow, if you will. Is there anything I could do for them, to help enrich their lives, somehow? Or should I ask the godspeaker?"

He turns to Trista and gives a beckoning gesture, indicating she should bring the godspeaker in now, too. Lexy would need to explain why the painting was leaving.

He wondered briefly if teaching them all his hymn would mean anything. One alone might not be able to use it, but perhaps if an entire congregation played and hummed it....

 It doesn't really matter to Trista if the Godspeaker was trying to eavesdrop or not, but the child-like guilt on the holy man's visage does raise an eyebrow. Holding back an amused smile, Trista responds, “You keep a very clean place; I'm sure it isn't easy.”

In the background, she hears Lexy talking of the Vhuulad with Chance. With the painting still in her hand, Trista takes another step toward the man, “Your - Goddess - has been helpful. She loves your people, here.” Just in case he was wondering.

She catches Chance's gesture, nods, and requests of the Godspeaker, “Would you come back into the other room? She would like to speak with you.”

"Yes, she does." is all the old man says, before following Trista back into the room.

"You would improve their lives immeasurably if you play even a small part in keeping the Archons away from here.  I doubt, though, that anything can do that.  Prophecy, I find, has a way of ensuring that it is fulfilled."

At that moment, Trista reenters the room with the godspeaker.  The man lowers his eyes immediately.

"These people are going to do something very important, my old friend.  It is something that I need them to at least attempt.  But to do it, they will have to borrow the painting.  I can speak to you at any time you are near the water, but they will travel far on this quest, and cannot guarantee that they will always be able to get to the lake, or any of the waters which connect to it.  They will return the picture when their task is completed."

"I understand, My Lady." the man says quietly, clearly unhappy with her words.

"I do this, not because I am angry at the people of this land, but because there are things at work, out in the world, which require my attention.  These people will act as my eyes and hands, even when they are far from here.  Would you have me cut off my hands?  Or put out my eyes?"

"No, My Lady." the godspeaker replies.

"Then you understand that this will benefit all in this village, and the other towns and villages along the shore?  Good."

"Chance has kindly offered to perform some small task to help the people before he leaves, even though his time is valuable.  I could have asked for something myself, but I decided to let you choose what would be most appreciated.  I trust your judgement."


The godspeaker seems to swell with pride.  The Queen trusts his judgement.  "I will do my best to choose wisely, My Lady."  He turns towards Chance, "One thing which springs immediately to mind, Sorcerer...  The road to Narracott was blocked by a landslide last week, and clearing it is proving difficult.  Do you have some means to speed the work?"

Trista takes a place across from Chance, a little apart from the others so that she can see all three of them without turning her head. A thumb twists the alien-feeling wedding band around her finger.

The goddess of this people – an immortal similar to Trista herself – holds the woman's attention. She listens to the communique with the godspeaker, but it is the irony of the situation which plays through her mind.

Fostered by shadow, Trista had grown wearing a cross around her neck. But when she discovered the truth behind her – uniqueness – she gave up the plastic icon and put the myths of Gods behind her.

This world's god is a woman once on this quest. Berd is probably more powerful. Perhaps even Chance. Trista's eyes blink over to the man with the guitar. A Prince? She's glad that's she met him as he is and not the creature he once was - though it shaped him into who he is today.

Gah, stop with the philosophy and pay attention. Inner thoughts can be so annoying.

A touch of a smile for the man before her blue-grey eyes turn to the godspeaker as he decides what boon he would have of them. Chance's offer of service was unexpected, but she's pleased to be of help. The godspeaker's request of earth clearing might prove to be a simple task for a man of power such as Chance, but if not, Trista is ready to get a shovel and start digging; she's never shied away from hard labor. Particularly, when she's the strongest one in town.

Still keeping her silence, approving eyes turn to Chance to see what magic he can offer these people and the work that needs to be done. Behind all the other thoughts, Trista wonders if they will finish before the little bird returns to them. Finish and have a drink.

"The road Narracott," Chance says, rubbing his chin and looking downward. "I may be able to come up with a few ways to help clear the way. If not, a couple of extra hands should speed the way." His half-smile and arched eyebrow said that he doubted any physical labor would be involved. This was Chance, after all. He took to physical labor like a cow takes to a congo line.

"Lead the way?"

"I can't take you there." the godspeaker replies, "It's a good five or six miles, a fair bit of it uphill, and my legs aren't as young as they once were, you understand.  But I can show you the way to go.  Once you're on the Narracott road, and out of town, there's no way to get lost as long as you stick to the road itself."

His voice takes on a note of warning, as he adds, "Don't step off the road though, 'specially if you're in a dip.  There are bogs and sinking sand in a few places.  The road is well kept, and marked, clear as day, so you'll be alright if you stick to it."

Nearby, Lexy observes the conversation with some interest.  The future of her realm could, after all, be profoundly affected by it.


"If you wish, I can see if somebody will lend you a wagon."

Trista slips the painting into her pack as the godspeaker tells them to be wary. It's oddly similar to, 'don't color outside the lines,' and Trista immediately wants to step off the road in the bog just to test it out.

Fire Engine Red always looked good crossing the line.

Amused eyes swing toward Chance, “The wagon is up to you. 6 miles isn't too far to walk, but the wagon would be fine.”

One last glance toward Lexy and Trista heads out of the room once again to get the two of them on their way.

A slightly wistful smile etches Chance's face at the thought of a wagon ride, lazily gazing up at clouds or at the surrounding ... bog?

Well, it was better than walking, even if it lacked the luster of his daydream.

"A wagon would be fine if it's not a bother, but I don't mind a walk up the road if needed. We don't want to bother the wagon's owner if he has another use for it."
This message was last edited by the player at 08:25, Fri 09 May 2008.

"We shall see... " the godspeaker replies, "There are two or three people I can ask, and one of them will be travelling out to the workers, with fresh water."

Lexy smiles, "It's true, the work is hard, and many of the men are camping on the site, so that they don't have to travel there and back each day.  We have to send supplies to them."

And suddenly, she seems distracted, for a moment, before her attention snaps back to the here and now, "I must go... somebody, a child, is in danger, at the north end of the lake."

Trista halts just outside the door and turns toward Lexy as something obviously troubles her. She waits out the pause before the woman makes her announcement of leaving. Eyes search for Chance, “As long as the godspeaker seeks a wagon for us, we – or I – can go with Lexy to see if she needs any help. Or perhaps use the painting if she goes more directly.” Her eyes question his, acknowledging he is the leader of their small band.

"I can travel much faster alone." Lexy replies, "Unless you can do this... "  She raies her left hand, and the skin shimmers and ripples, and the extremity becomes as insubstantial as smoke for a moment, before coalescing into an identical hand, formed entirely of flowing water.

The godspeaker gasps, "My Lady!" and slowly sinks to his knees, his elderly eyes almost seeming to glow, so enraptured is he by this new miracle.

"I am a part of the lake, where the water is, I can be there in the blink of an eye."


"The portrait would be the best choice now, I believe, though you may have to find your own way back."

An impressed eyebrow lifts. Magic. Again. It flows everywhere she turns.

With Lexy gone, and the Godspeaker on his knees, Trista lifts a questioning eye toward Chance. “It will take him time to figure out the wagon, I'd like to see if Lexy needs help. If you don't have objections, that is.” As she speaks, she tugs the painting out of her pack. The woman hadn't exactly said she needed help, but neither did she say she didn't... something is better than nothing.

"Go ahead," Chance tells Trista with an easy smile. "We'll meet up later, don't worry." He's rather certain they will, since he intends to spend as little time apart as he can manage. Of course, he doesn't want to appear to desperate to be near her, or he'd have insisted on going along too. That's the last thing he'd want her to see.

He turns back to the godspeaker. "Alright, let's go see about that wagon."

Chance's easy manner garners a smile, “I'll come find you when I'm done.” After all, it can't be that tricky to walk back from the North side of the lake to this little town and then down the path toward the excavation needed... can it?

Trista peers into the painting.

A halo of rainbow light unfolds from nothing in front of Trista, and a hand reaches out from it, taking hold of the young woman's own.  Then, in the blink of an eye, the light, the hand, and the woman are all gone...

For a moment, the godspeaker looks as though he is about to collapse, so many miracles this day.  He leans on the table to steady himself, before turning his gaze upon Chance, "It is the Time of Signs.  The End is truly coming, is it not?"  He shakes his head, "No.  Don't tell me.  I do not want to know how long we have.  For now, it is enough to help the people with the simpler things, and prepare them for the Next World.  There will be time enough for worrying about the end of this one."

"Come with me, please."

Taking his cane, he leads Chance out through the chapel and straight across to a wooden building which builds the legend, "Horses.  Wagons.  Haulage."  At the side of the structure is an alley which leads to a fenced area at the back, with stables and a large shed at one end.  Two men are loading kegs and sacks on to a small wagon.

The godspeaker hails one of them, "Eben.  Would you mind taking this man out to the landslide, when you go?  He wants to help them clear it."

Eben is a large, thick-set man of middle years, with a heavy black beard, streaked with grey, and a shaven scalp.  His muscular arms are bare, and covered with a complex pattern of scars, obviously deliberate.  There is a large gold ring in each ear, and another through his nose.  He wears a leather vest, trousers of darkgreen wool, and a pair of sturdy boots.  two daggers, and a brace of what Chance recognises as flintlock pistols are shoved through his belt.

He studies Chance with eyes whose colours don't match, one blue, the other brown, and when he speaks, his voice is a deep, rumbling growl. "Aye, I'll be takin' he with I.  It'd be good to have company on the road."

"What be your'n name, lad?"


Discontinuity...

Trista is on a shingle beach beneath a cliff face.  The clifftop itself is only about fifteen feet above her head.  Close by, a child, a dark-haired girl of about five or six years, sits at the water's edge, her feet resting in the lake.  Her dark blue dress is dirty and torn, and her bare arms and legs are covered with cuts and bruises.  She uses the left arm to carefully cradle the right across her chest.  A thin trail of blood leads from her hairline, down her left cheek, to her jawline, where it drips on to her dress...

Although it was the woman (or the painting itself? Trista still doesn't know how all of this works) who brought Trista through to a cliffside beach, Lexy is nowhere to be seen. Instead the woman's eyes land on a child who bears the signs of having recently fallen from the cliff.

Trista's body language immediately softens as she steps toward the little girl. She smiles warmly, “Hello there, you seem to have been in a bit of a scrape.” Slowly, the woman's pack swings off her back. She tucks the painting back inside and fishes out a small med kit.

“I'm Trista, what's your name?” The woman kneels down by the girl's side, hopefully, without scaring the girl.

The introductions are made, and before long, Chance and his new companion, Eben, are on the road, heading out of town towards the site of the blockage on the Narracott road.

Eben, for all his rough manner, turns out to be a pleasant enough travelling companion, possessing considerable knowledge of the local geography and gossip, a repertoire of jokes and amusing anecdotes (of varying degrees of ribaldry) and the ability to sing in a passable baritone.  He also seems to be quite happy to exercise all of those qualities, as required."


The child turns her head as Trista speaks to her, and smiles back.  "Hello, Miss.  My name's Katie.  I falled off of the mountain."  She points to indicate the cliff at the back of the shoreline.  "I seed a monster, like a bogeyman, and I runned away, like Mam al'ays told me to.  But then I falled off of the mountain, and then I couldn't climb up."

"Are you a stranger?  Cause Mam says I mustn't talk with strangers."  Her gaze, clear hazel eyes, red rimmed, doubtless from tears, locks with Trista's.  It is as if she is trying to see Trista's soul.

Behind the child, now distracted, the water of the lake flows, quickly, and without any fuss, into a vertical column, which shimmers and assumes the familiar form of Lexy, complete with circling halo of live minnows.  The woman's blue gown is entirely dry as she steps onto the shingle.  "Trista is no stranger, Katie.  She is my friend.  Do you know who I am?"

Katie's head swivels around to face Lexy, "The wood lady in the Chapel.  Mam says as if I'm losted or hurts, I got to go to the water, and then you'll find me.  I falled off of the mountain, and I went to the water, just like Mam says."

Monsters and bogeymen...


A grinning moon lit up the clear night sky. Below the dancing stars, laughter washed over the dusty landscape. Adults and children played tag, sang songs, danced with sweethearts, and enjoyed the cool desert air around a roaring campfire.

Trista's eyes sparkled as she darted between the cacti out beyond the campsite, dodging the older boys and girls and finding good hiding spots for the little ones. They wound their way further and further from the tents toward the dry riverbed, heedless of the night.

After depositing little Kristie behind a bolder and reminding her to be very quiet, Trista gave her a wink and sped away, drawing the the gawky Darren's long strides away from her small cousin. Kristie wouldn't be 'it' again if Trista could help it!

With an excited yelp and giggle, Trista slid across the pebbles down onto her knees, just barely out of Darren's reach. Scrambling to get up and run again, Trista suddenly halted in her path, her body tensing and her eyes piercing the dark beyond the riverbed.

“Aha! Gotcha, Tris! Finally.” Darren's hand pushed into Trista's shoulder blade, but the girl didn't flinch under the older boy's strength. Instead her hand cut the air and covered his mouth while her other hand raised a warning finger to her lips. The boy's eyes grew to saucers as he, too, peered into the darkness. He had learned to trust Trista; the younger girl had instincts beyond any of them.

Something lurked out there – the desert's version of monsters. There it was again, a shuffling of a distant stone. Trista pulled Darren back with her, picked up Kristie, and whispered into the game of children, “It's time to go. Now.” Laughter lingered, but slowly died out as one child and then another passed along Trista's message.

The thing drew closer, “NOW! RUN!” Trista lead the pack, her bare feet numb to the sticks and stones they stomped. She didn't look back, not once. Instead, she ran straight to her father and roughly shoved the whimpering Kristie into his arms, tearing him apart from her mother.

“The Mocking Ones are coming. I gotta go back. Get inside the tents.” Trista didn't wait for an answer but spun around to run back into the darkness.

“Wait!” She reluctantly halted, and darted her eyes back. A small utility knife flew through the air and she caught it – a tool from her father. She snapped it open, smiled, and gave him a thumb's up. As she tore back out of the camp, the rest of the children made their way into the camp and poured into tents amidst fearful voices and sharp tears.

11 year old Trista ran in and out and caught Their attention. They circled around and followed her away from the camp and down the riverbed. She drew them away so that only her scent flared their nostrils and only her flesh tempted their fangs.

She chose her spot, brandished the small knife, and faced two of the agile creatures under that grinning moon.


Trista's eyes travel up the cliff when the girl points to it, wondering what is really up there. Her gaze is back with the girl by the time she's boring into her. Amusement tickles the back of Trista's thoughts. She won't get too far if she's trying to get into the woman's mind, but if she wants to read her character, Trista is an open book. Somewhat.

Before she answers about strangers, Lexy appears in a cloud of vaporous beauty. The 'wood lady'? After nodding to the other woman, Trista turns back to Katie, “I'm going to make your cuts feel better, okay?” The cuts first, then she'll turn her attention to the arm. And to getting the girl home.

As she cleans with antiseptic and presses Band-Aids onto the small cuts, she talks soothingly to the girl, “Sounds like your mam would be proud of you, you did just what you were told. That means you're smart as well as resourceful. What did the monster look like?” The last was asked in an almost casual tone, as if it was simply for Trista's curiosity.