Trgaiob's voice whispers through the pocket where Chance and Trista ride, + WE WILL BE THERE SHORTLY. +

+ WE MAY HAVE A NEW CONCERN THOUGH. +


Berd, Cyan, Devlin and Dorian fall through the Underflow, surrounded by monstrous shapes, seen only indistinctly, like fish dwelling in the depths of a cold, dark lake (if such fish grew big enough to swallow worlds).

And then, after only a short time, they find themselves on the shore of a lake, hopefully one without monstrously immense fish.  The sky is filled with storm clouds, and a waterspout stands in the lake, hurling water, flotsam, and even pieces of the lake bed itself at the roiling mass of darkness high above their heads... where a trio of Archons seem to be engaged in some sort of dance with... something else.

Something else that looks like an Archon composed of water.


+ THERE ARE FIVE MORE CREATURES WHO DO NOT BELONG IN THIS WORLD.  NOT ARCHONS.  TWO HUMANS, TWO ALMOST HUMANS, AND ONE THAT WE CAN NOT IDENTIFY. +

The view in the window veers suddenly, as if their Archon mount is carrying them towards the far shore of the lake.


With the wind gusting around them and almost dragging them onto the muddy exposed areas of the lake bed, and hurling leaves and other debris about, it is, perhaps, unsurprising that Berd and the others fail to notice the new arrival in their midst... at least until Devlin feels a sharp stinging at his cheek, and finds a small bird clinging desperately to his shoulder.

Of course, their failure to notice immediately may have something to do with the sight of another Archon, hurtling towards them across the lake...

Cyan's breath comes rapidly at the sight of the battling archons, but they are danioti, not eshurianti.  Nor herenethi, but those, while potent, do not carry the same impact upon her as do the wheels of fire.  Her eyes cradle a last dash of colour as they take the scene before her.  The trio of danioti.  Their approaching cousin.  And, curious, a sort of archon she has never seen before.

Gurthang leaves its scabbard, the heat-death of molecules lighting its edges with ghostly, flickering flame.  Near-crystal eyes focus upon the approaching danioti - neither Right, nor Left - and Cyan strides forward, lips curling into a broad smile.  But she pauses, cocking her head.  "...not attacking yet?" she murmurs, studying the language of the creature's 'body' at Berd's prompting.

"This one may not be seraphim," she shoots over her shoulder, clinging to her control by her fingernails.  The tip of the sword grounds, though the bard remains ready.  Berd vaults from her shoulder to hover above the group, a space of dead air surrounding him, protecting him from the winds.

The scene outside, with the wheel of water that must be Lexy, rivets Trista's attention. She's still alive, but against two more of the bladed wheels. Power. So Much Power.

Trgiaob's concern sharpens Trista's senses as she listen. Two humans. Two almost? humans and another. At least, they're not more of the archon monstrosities. “Humans, I can deal with.” The simple machete breaks free of bindings and Trista prepares.

Then a thought hits her.

Cocking an eyebrow, she turns to Chance, “Perhaps they aren't enemies. Maybe that's Devlin's group.” That might account for the human/non-human portion. Though were their four? Berd might be unidentified. It doesn't matter, of course. In a few seconds, they'll come face to face with whomever they are.

Then three tiny figures come into view. She squints hard. That could be Devlin. One moves. A glint of light?

It's no good, she can't make out details. Not yet. “We'll find out soon enough.”

"...and I feel fine," Chance says, finishing a previously unspoken thought.

His armored arm remains wrapped around his guitar as he looks out over the lake and takes the scene in. Inside his helmet, the HUD does its best to point out potential problems. Of course, it also floods his vision with a mountain of trivial data, like temperature, atmospheric composition, pressure, and other things. He doesn't know what most of them mean, but he suspects they aren't important.

"Humans ... if they aren't friends, then they're likely important to the enemy's plans. Definately better than dealing with Archons ... let's go see."
This message was last edited by the player at 18:21, Wed 22 Oct 2008.

Galatea's hair floats at an angle contrary to the wind, as if in a soft breeze only she experiences. She rises a few inches and looks out over the lake, tilting her head curiously.

"We attack?"

Her father doesn't speak, but she glances at him and nods, as if acknowledging some unspoken word.

She faces the lake, her thin brow knit in concentration and pointed curiosity.
This message was last edited by the player at 17:59, Thu 16 Oct 2008.

Dorian's cloak flaps in the wind, like a black, imperial flag that promises oppression and cruelty. His back is straight as a board, hands folded before him, head bowed forward. He makes no gesture or word, even when his daughter inquires about their next move.

As they arrive at there destination, Devlin spins, looking in every direction. There are three of the bladed ones fighting what appears to be a water archon in the air.

But no sign of the girl...

Hurtling toward them is yet another of the bladed ones.

No sign of the girl...

Devlin is not prepared for the bladed ones, and there was simply not time to alter his form before the creature speeding toward them would arrive.

There is a peck at his cheek and Devlin finally notices the small bird. "Yes, friend. Do you know where she is? he asks the bird, his attention returning to the spinning blades that are hurtling in his direction.

Cyan says something, but he does not understand the meaning of what she says as his mind searches, frantically. Then man's eyes open wide as if trying to burn into the thing coming toward them and he changes. The change is the fasted, but one those with him have seen before. Now, instead of a man there is a large demonic looking creature with a scaly black hide, bony plates, claws, fangs, horns, and a lot of sharp edges. ämi flaps its wings, but does not become dislodged by the sudden transformation. A heavy blade sprouts from its right hand and it barks out a deep, guttural growl.

The Archon howls in across the lake, fast, and so low now that it churns up a fountain of spray.  It reaches the shore, and a ditch appears, filling with water from the lake as the Archon continues towards the group standing there...

High above, the battle rages on, as torrents of water slam into the Archons, bludgeoning them mercilessly, sending individual pieces of jagged metal whirling away across the sky.

The sky is split assunder by bolts of lightning, and water falls in a constant roaring cataract, the increasing volume of which drowns the sound of the thunder, and forces those on the shore to shout to each other now.

The Archon, moving across the shore, starts to slow, and a long arc of lighting strikes it, fusing the sand and gravel around it into flawed glass.  The creature appears to shake itself, but otherwise shows no sign of injury...

The air begins to shimmer as Berd prepares shielding against the incoming archon - he has no doubt the others have erected their own defenses against the creature.  But still, he detects little danger from it.  The drake turns a fraction of his attention to the power invigorating the fluid 'archon', studying it.  It might be similar to the one Jack found, so long ago, the one that Kia fed into Berd, raising him to a higher level, closer to what he had once been...and releasing his memory and a greater portion of his older self.

For an instant, Cyan shifts defensively as Devlin transforms, but recognition flickers in her near-crystal eyes.  Braced against the storm's furious roar, she angles the flickering tip of gurthang toward the approaching archon, blinking once at the stab of lightning.  "If you do not be an enemy," she shouts, "hold fast!"

An out-of-the-blue phrase pulls questioning eyes up to Chance. Or rather to his hi-tech helm. Was that a hint she should have asked how he was feeling? She doubts it; he doesn't seem the type to need that. Not that she would know; she'd only just begun to know him when they came upon the town and separated. Gotta have that drink with him after this. Hopefully, there will be an 'after this.'

Her eyes slip to the armored hand cradling the seemingly fragile guitar. She juts her chin toward the instrument, “Keep that safe.” Chance wouldn't be Chance without it.

Back out the window, they come quickly toward the group and now she can clearly see the group. A relieved smile curves her lips as she first makes out Devlin and Berd, then Cyan, Dorian and ämi flapping his little wings though she's unsure why. Her eyes land on the last figure...

A frown bends her brows, “Do you see that? That – ghost? Looks like a child.”

"Other way around, babe. She keeps me safe." Chance says. "Always has." The subvocal tension in his voice flows through the electronic speakers like hissing air. Despite his worry, he manages to smile. Trista may not be able to see the genuflection, but the helmets sensors pick it up and helpfully display a neon-blue smiley face across the faceplate for her. It flashes three times and then fades.

"Yeah," he says, looking at the kid. "I don't know who that is."
This message was last edited by the player at 03:41, Fri 24 Oct 2008.

All around them, defenses are raised. Oddly, Dorian's does nothing. No shields or even especial psychic defenses snap into place. He glances at Galatea and nods. Then, he steps forward, to the front of the shielded and defensive ones with him. He stands unprotected.

Gaze still fixed on the approaching archon, he lifts a hand and says, "Peace be unto you."

Galatea stands beside him, eyes brimming with curiosity.

The Archon halts, showering Dorian with sand, gravel, and fragments of stone.  It holds its position, neither attacking nor speaking, and it seems as though it is studying the group intently...

A gust of wind plucks at Dorian's robe, and a corner passes through the circle of wildly spinning blades, but the blades themselves seem to twist in the air, and the fabric falls back, entirely undamaged.


+ WE ARE TRGIAOB.  YOU ARE NOT PART OF THIS WORLD.  WY ARE YOU HERE? +  The clashing metallic voice of the Archon booms out, easily heard above the sound of the storm.

Devlin was about to attack, even though he knew he stood little chance against the Archon, even in his current form.

But then Cyan speaks as if the thing may not be an enemy and Dorian steps forward to greet it as a friend. Puzzled then creature that is Devlin pauses, but he does not lower his guard and he waits intently to see what will happen next.

With the extra time the demon concentrates on increasing what little defense he possesses, strengthening his armor, making it thinker, so that it is more like steel than thick hide.

Trista blinks, momentarily stunned before a crack of a smile hides laughter. Not exactly appropriate before facing death. Or perhaps, entirely appropriate. In any event, the blue smiley face took her completely by surprise.

Though no cessation of movement accompanies the archon's sudden stop to the two within this odd traveling place, Trista notes the lack of movement through the window. The ghostly figure seems to be with the group, so her attention goes to Trgiaob, whom she answers aloud.

“You're right, Trgiaob, but she no longer serves that master. These are our friends and can be trusted, even the General. You can let us out and we'll see what can be done about the invaders.”

Dorian takes the lead to speak to the Archon.  A small part of Cyan's mind, struggling for control, notes this to be a good idea - better him than her, on the edge of fury.  The bard takes a faltering step back, allowing the sorcerer free reign to speak with the danioti, and turns to regard the battling hoop of water.  "Lexy?" she whispers, glancing to Berd.  Then she nods.  "Yes."

Still wary of the danioti, Berd turns burning eyes upon the distant water-being.

Dorian squints only slightly in the spray of sand and gravel, unwilling to react to the display. Beside him, Galatea grins. Danioti do not slow down when they attack; and his daughter had sense no harmful intent. It had been a risky action to leave his defenses down, but he doubted they would have mattered. In the moments before it stopped, he would have either destroyed or been destroyed. He would have destroyed, had he not been confident of a peaceful approach.

He lowers his hands. "No," he says, "we are not of this world, but we have come to protect this world. We seek friends who made their way to this world, and we seek to defend this world against any who would harm it or its inhabitants. Who are you and why are you here?"

"Yeah," Chance says. "She's not the same person, not really. She's not the general. When she led his army, she was under duress. Her mind was shaped by ... horrible influence. You can trust her now."

Trgiaob continues to spin for a moment, and then moves back a little before flipping over until it is rotating in a horizontal plane.  It descends, until it is laying on the ground, and then rises, suddenly, to a height of ten feet or so.

Trista and Chance are standing where the Archon had been, surrounded by a ring of disturbed mud, sand, and shingle.

From high overhead, there is a sound like a great bell cracking, and hundreds of metal shards rain down from the sky, plunging into the lake and sending gouts of water skywards.  What's left of the broken Archon falls, encased in a sheath of ice, and lands close to the shore...

One down, two to go.

ämi takes flight as Trista appears and wings to the woman's shoulder. Landing there the little bird begins a barrage of whistles and squawks and pecking at Trista's cheek.

The demonic creature's head tilts to one side and Devlin can definitely be seen in that expression and in the eyes. It looks over Trista, and appearing satisfied, turns its attention back to the battle over the lake.

That is when one of the metallic, bladed archon comes crashing to the ground in pieces. In a deep, guttural voice he says, "Whatever that is does not seem to need our help"

Berd puts on his thousand-dagger grin as one of the Archons falls, and his eyes continue to burn, slowly growing more and more bright.

When it becomes apparant Trgiaob presents no danger - at present - Cyan sheaths her blade, eyes continuing to darken toward ruby.  When Trgiaob begins 'offloading', the twisted smile on her face lightens, relaxes, and she nods; many a time has she availed of identical transportation with either Left or Right.  Indeed, Right used to carry her sword in such a fashion, much more safe than a sheath.  As Trista and Chance materialize, she mutters a reply to Devlin.  "That fight is finished."  But a small laugh escapes her at sight of ämi's almost offended reaction, his scolding greeting of the wandering woman.

"And you?" she inquires, with a quick glance to Berd.  The drake turns from the battle to give the bird a disdainful glance - liberally spiced with a touch of jealousy - and settles down to wait to greet his friend.  Another laugh from Cyan, and she scratches his head.  "Egotist."
This message was last edited by the player at 12:01, Thu 30 Oct 2008.

Chance's faceplate snaps up with a click. The helmet then folds into itself several times, with tiny interlocking pieces snapping free and sliding under and around other pieces, until the helmet is gone. "Somehow," he says. "I think I know how the rabbit feels now."

He grins wide at the others, seeing that he is once again among friends, and at least one battle seems resolved.

Dorian holds his gaze steady as Trista and Chance appear, confident that no attack will come, but wary in case one does: a familiar state for him.

He tiny smirk plays across his lips as he looks from Trista to ämi, and then back again. "It seems," he says. "That the little bird is more capable than the warrior guessed. It is good to see you again."

The ghostly girl tilts her head, knitting her brow together in a confused frown. "Rabbit?"

Several sensations strike Trista as the world replaces their cocoon of safe nothingness. The configuration of their friends' proves the most alarming. A little girl replaces the ghostly figure and where Devlin once stood, now resides a dark creature of sharp angles and hard surfaces. Trista grips her knife harder, ready to spring it up to life, but she's not impulsive and logic prevails: the group seems to accept this creature who has swallowed up Devlin.

The creature looks her over, his head tilted in a familiar fashion. Their eyes meet and Trista frowns dubiously. Devlin?

The little bird lands on her shoulder and after a moment, she grins, loosening her grip on the weapon. She's satisfied the creature is Devlin. Her eyes slip to the little bird sideways, “Hello.”


Finally, her eyes to Cyan and she quirks a smile and a nod a the woman before she gives her attention to the dragon sitting on her shoulder. Warmth suffuses her eyes, “It's good to see all of you.” Her eyes take in the sorcerer and the little girl, including them in the greeting.


Armor pivots and slides away to reveal Chance's grinning visage again and Trista arches a brow. “You've got a story to tell the little girl about rabbits, I think. When we're not standing in front of archons, perhaps.”

“This,” she indicates the archon above them, “is Trgiaob,” she didn't hear their exchange earlier or she'd know it already introduced itself, “he helped us get a little girl to safety.” Turning to the gentle archon, she nods her head, “Thank you.”

The new Devlin pulls her attention to the newly fallen creature, but there are two more. Perhaps more on the way. The water archon looks to be in control, but for how long? “That is Lexy or at least a version of her,” she glances at the bard, “her version of Cyan was male.” Her eyes go back out to the furthering battle, assessing the situation. “The archons have targeted this world. Or this area... the worlds bleed into one another here.

She turns her entire body toward the water creature, her eyes focused. Standing by while someone else fights doesn't sit well with the woman.

Trgiaob, starts to rise, spinning faster now.  + WE GO TO ASSIST IN THE PROTECTION OF THIS PLACE.  WE CAN NOT PERMIT ANY OF THE SERAPHIM TO ESCAPE.  IF THEY WERE TO REPORT OUR PRESENCE HERE, WE WOULD BE HUNTED AND DESTROYED. +

And then it is gone, flashing skyward.

Up to were the battle rages on among the lower clouds.  The Archon slams into one of the Seraphim, and the sound of clashing blades from that collision is louder than the thunder, while the sparks from the impact of metal upon metal are like lightning...

The other Seraphim meanwhile, has its metaphorical hands full fighting against the wheel of water, which seems to have very precise control over the elements here.

And something else too.

A tentacle rises from the lake, followed by another two, anbd then still more, until over a dozen are reaching towards the ongoing battle.  At the base of the tentacles, a massive body starts to push up from the lake, as torrents of water flow from its black scaled hide.

Dorian's smile fades just slightly as the tentacles erupt from the water. His eyes narrow. He has seen massive creatures before. After all, the original Dorian is buried under the eyelid of a creature with eyes the size of planets. This is an insect in comparison. The tentacles look organic enough, which means there must be a mind under all the mass, directing them. He launches a mental tendril out, looking for the mind, seeking its intentions. He needs to be sure of which side it is on.

"Sure," Chance says, smiling and looking down at the girl. He wants to ask who she is and why she's with these beings that smash planets like some people crack the shells of nuts, but this isn't the time. A battle rages around them.

He turns to watch it unfold, wondering what he can to help. He's not sure he can help, though.

Small beside Devlin's towering demonform, Cyan replies to Trista with a small bow, unsettling the drake (who squawks indignantly at this further insult).  She feels a stab of relief at the sight of Chance's armor's transformation, revealing the Deathsinger - a faint memory of a different transformation bubbles up, but the bard pushes it aside.  Her sapphire eyes draw back to the conflict playing out, and now both eyebrows rise at the sight of the tentacles.  "Vhuul?"  A glance to Berd.  "Not yours?  Dorian?"  But no, the sorcerer seems focused upon the creature, and his body language indicates neither mental control nor alliance.  A glance at Devlin, a double-take, then Cyan nods, raises her voice.  "Well met, Trista, Chance.  Apologies - this is Devlin."  Given the bird's presence, likely they have guessed, but it's always a good idea to clarify these things.

This sort of battle is outside of her expertise; Cyan takes several hesitant steps forward, keeping her gaze upon the wild war, until she stands close to Trista and Chance.  She bites her lip at the woman's description.  Trgiaob, a Nephillim?  Or unaligned?  And this is not the Lexy she knew, it seems.  "A reflection of me, as well?"  Berd warbles from her shoulder.  "I know, but..."  The bard shakes her head.  Male?


Cat-like, Berd delicately paces off Cyan's shoulder, stretching to step to Trista's, utterly ignoring the presence of ämi.
This message was last edited by the player at 15:45, Tue 04 Nov 2008.

Again the deep resonant voice sounds from the demon form of Devlin, "I do not like being just a spectator."

As the tentacles rise from the water they draw the creature's attention, he has seen the like of them before, deep in the earth. The tentacles of creature's he had once thought to seek out for assistance. If this one was controlled and assisting this Lexy water thing, creature, then maybe the old woman had been wrong. Maybe all the Vhuul were not completely insane... Perhaps that plan should be rethought?

The beast does not comment on Cyan's words, explaining who he is, he simply continues to watch somewhat frustrated at the fact the he has no idea what he might do to help in the battle raging above.
This message was last edited by the player at 15:13, Tue 04 Nov 2008.

ämi is unsettled by the small dragon as it climbs onto Trista's shoulder. He squawks once taking flight and flaps around the drake for a moment. The little bird's head tips back and forth as it hovers in place.

In the bird's mind there is recognition. Though it has never actually met this creature, the memory of it is there, of one of the beings that the man trusts. With another cock of the head the bird wings easily around the woman's head and lands on her other shoulder. Seeming not to be perturbed in the least by the actions of the other, ämi chirps a little song.

Then the little bird's form begins to change. ämi has never actually done this before so the process is a little slower than Devlin's. It becomes indistinct and hard to tell exactly what it is, more of a formless, smokey blob than anything in particular...
This message was last edited by the player at 18:12, Tue 04 Nov 2008.

With Trgiaob's sudden departure comes cacophony and sparks – archon against archon. It's a terrible thing to behold, this battle of metal and water above. It's outcome will decide the fate of this world. And yet, Trista feels very removed as she stands in her fragile (comparatively) skin with no advantage but her own strength and blade. Little good that will do against these creatures. What am I doing in this way?

She knows the answer: she has to do what she can, even if her abilities are child's play next to the others.

Enter a new creature into the play, one who's sheer size will take center stage. Trista's head lowers slightly, her eyes squinting in concentration. Cyan attempts to name it. Vhuul? But it means nothing to Trista. Instead the woman would label it a more familiar term: Leviathan.

A weight, small as it is, gently takes root on Trista's shoulder and the woman lifts her hand toward Berd, but halts as ämi take flight, flapping around the little dragon. Trista's eyes leave the mythical creature of the sea to watch as the black bird takes flight around Berd, flapping and chirping: studying. She grins as he lands on her other shoulder. “You  are both welcome, kinda makes me feel like home.”

Her hand continues toward Berd, a finger gently stroking below his chin as her eyes follow ämi to her other shoulder.

Her attention goes back to the magnificent creatures crowding this world. “Lexy seems to think we should leave in case she doesn't... win. I'm not really much for running.”



Startled by a shifting in her peripheral vision, Trista turns her head to take in the formless smoke sitting where ämi once perched. Do they all change? Every last one of them?

With a howl, one of the two duelling Archons falls, its blades scattering in all directions, some of them hammering into the shingle of the beach, sending pebbles spraying.  Not two feet from Devlin, a piece of driftwood suddenly seems to sprout a gleaming metal protrusion, which continues to vibrate for several seconds, like a sort of lethal tuning fork.

The majority of the creature falls in the lake, though, and the great beast out there becomes enraged as its body and tentacles are slashed by wildly spinning blades.

Suddenly the wheel of water seems to explode into a fine mist, which starts to drift downwards, falling faster as it coalesces into larger droplets, fragments of flesh, whole limbs... until, with a loud thump, A young blonde woman, naked and covered with blood, crashes into the shallow water at the lake's edge!  She curls into a ball then, hands covering her head, and screams.  One of the fallen Archon's blades juts up from her thigh...

Beyond her, the towering mass of water is collapsing, and the level in the lake starts to rise, as a great wave moves towards the shore.

Above, only two Archons remain, and they are engaged in a battle to the death.  One of them must be Trgiaob, still intent on keeping its own part in this affair hidden from Harbonah...

"None of us do," Cyan replies to Devlin, unconcerned by his demonic appearence.  Impressive, yes. Frightening for a moment.  But she has never cared so much for the exterior, and befriended more hideous apparitions.  This demon-creature is only a seeming.  "To stand and watch..."  She bites her lip, shakes her head.  "The creature is not vhuul.  The...ah...'signature' is incorrect, Berd informs me.  More of a beast, I think."

Berd, on Trista's shoulder, turns his head sharply to study ämi as the black bird circles him, hissing once in warning.  But when the bird lands and begins to sing, the drake bobs his head several times before warbling interrogatively.  But then ämi vapourizes, transforming into...what?


"Lexy!" Cyan screams, instantly breaking into a run for the fallen woman, her eyes shading toward pale topaz.  Her Lexy, not her Lexy, it matters little.

On Trista's shoulder, Berd rises up with a startlingly deep roar of fury, the air warping and shimmering above him like heat-haze.  He breathes, and a glittering mist erupts from his mouth, passing over the fallen woman and into the onrushing wave.
This message was last edited by the player at 13:30, Mon 10 Nov 2008.

Perhaps the shore isn't such a safe place as blades land around them. Only one left battling Trgiaob. Adding to Cyan's comments, Trista remarks, “Lexy calls it Leviathan. She woke it to be a distraction, but I don't think -”

Trista's words sharply end as she watches the water wheel lose shape, gain form, and drop to the ground in a bloody heap. Trista says nothing, but puts her feet in motion simultaneously with Cyan toward the woman. Her eyes scan the body, eying the protruding blade in particular. Once by her side, Trista doesn't hesitate to crouch and gather Lexy up much like a child. She's careful to keep the most pronounced wound away from her body so as not to make it worse. With the oncoming wave, priority must be given to getting Lexy out of there.

And so the woman quickly spins and heads to higher ground.

The enormous beast, far from the shore, and yet still seeming to loom over those on the land, makes a sound.  It could be, loosely, described as a roar.  Very loosely.  It seems as though the very sky itself is shattering, as waves of sound slam across the group, forcing them to struggle to stay on their feet.

Tentacles extend upwards, reaching for the fighting Archons, and pulses of sickly greenish light flow over the thing's skin.

Trista picks up Lexy, being careful to ensure that the jagged shard of metal remains in place, and is not jostled excessively by the move.  Then she turns and starts running up the slope, seeking to reach higher ground.

Behind her the wave continues to build, fed by the torrent of water and debris still falling from the sky...

A small sun blazes on her shoulder, Berd marshalling energies which extend outwards, bent by his will to perform his bidding.  One of the Archons begins to glow, its blades becoming white-hot, and its motions erratic.

The wave continues to advance, but its shape is changing, as if something is striving to push it down, and back...

"Archons aren't the tastiest things in the universe," he mumbles, still focused on the enormous beast. "We'll see if we can find you something better to eat when this is done."

Turning his attention to the archons now, he begins to speak, unlocking lynchpins.

The wind is too much for the small creature as it attempts to blow the bits of it away, so it's try fails and it quickly resumes the familiar form of a small blac bird.

Then Trista moves, picks up the injured woman and then heads away from the water. ämi quickly flies after her.

Not finding much of a way to help here, Chance decides the best he can do is turn and follow Trista. He doesn't think he can offer much in the way of medical help, but at least he can be present if something does come up.

Berd lets out a startled squawk as Trista runs for higher ground, turning to face the archons and steadying himself on her shoulder through the simple expedience of grabbing her hair.


Behind the wandering woman, Cyan hurries after her, face pale and eyes nearly clear with fear for her friend.  She cannot reach the Archons.  She cannot assist Lexy.  "Trista!  Does she live?"

There is a loud popping sound, and the white hot Archon, sluggish and erratic in its movements, is suddenly siezed by a reaching tentacle.  The Leviathan recoils from the heat, and sinks quickly below the water, its tentacle burning, and still it doesn't release its grip.

The second Archon darts higher, and shrinks rapidly, as its enemy, hot as the heart of a sun, slams into the water.  There is an explosion, and a vast bank of steam spreads out across the lake, laced with flying shards of rapidly cooling metal.

Trista places Lexy on the ground, at the highest point she can find within a reasonable distance of the lake, and the unconcious woman, still with the sword-like fragment impaling her thigh, moans fitfully, as the weight of her leg presses against the metal.

With the battle, at least in the air, seemingly over, the storm continues, though its violence has abated somewhat.  The wave caused by the collapsing waterspout, smaller now, and shrouded by steam and vapour, washes up onto the shore, and starts to withdraw again...

Chance arrives behind Trista as she lays Lexy on the ground. He kneels beside the woman, looking at the jagged metal.

"Well," he says. "I don't think we should try to remove the metal, but I don't know what we can do. We need to get her to a doctor, somehow."

He looks back at the group standing by the water.

"Unless one of them...."

Seeing the last hostile archon sink beneath the waves with a dramatic burst upward, Dorian turns on his heel and follows the others towards Lexy. He could probably keep her alive for a time, but he suspects Berd or Devlin would be better at that task. They knew well that Dorian's specialty was the mind, and that is the area he works on. He reaches out towards Lexy, seeking to soothe her emotions and prevent her from going into shock. He hoped it would prevent the situation from worsening.

Trista studies the razor sharp metal ('razor' seems inadequate as it glistens much sharper), the wound it created, the entry point, the blood's path. As Chance speaks, she opens her pack, “Actually, this sort of thing I can deal with. Done it before. My stitching always leaves scars, but I'm guessing just wrapping the wound after extracting the blade will be enough for her if she heals as quickly as I think she will.”

A fairly large first aid kit comes out along with some antiseptic and dressing, all laid on the pack to keep out the sand. The woman carefully places her hands around the piece, avoiding the dangerous edges. In the past, she'd count down for her 'patient' and make sure they've got somebody holding them down, but since Lexy is unconscious...

Trista carefully, but quickly, pulls the piece out the way it came in, being as careful as she can to not create other wounds on the way. Blood pours from the wound and she quickly presses against it, heedless of the blood. As she said, she's done this before. Sadly.

She works to clean and dress the wound, keeping pressure on it.
This message was last edited by the player at 15:02, Wed 26 Nov 2008.

With no ability to simply 'affect' either the Archon's blade or Lexy, Berd simply peers nervously from Trista's shoulder.  Cyan crouches across the prone woman from Chance and Trista, her own concern mirroring that of the little dragon.

As the storm continues to rumble overhead, though, the drake takes a moment to peer up at the clouds, a rainbow mist escaping from between his needle-teeth to drift upward.

"Your skills in this area..."  Cyan shakes her head.  "Glad I am that you are here, Trista - not only for your training, mind, but certainly that is part of it!"

Devlin arrives with the others, not longer a demon, but once again a man, and lowers himself to one knee beside Trista. This was most definitely not the way that he'd wanted to greet here.

"I may be able to help, if you don't object, I'll see if there is anything that I can do about repairing internal damage." Also ignoring the blood, the man places his hand lightly on the one that is called Lexy. He's not sure he can do anything at all, but he can try.

There is a bubble of calm air where no rain falls, and Trista and the unconscious Lexy are at its heart. 

Trista works as quickly as she can, consistent with being careful.  As she mentioned, she has experience of this sort of thing.  The cleaning and dressing of the wound go smoothly enough, it seems, until Lexy starts shivering...



There is a whirring sound, and a sudden, brief spray of water, and suddenly there is a small hoop of gleaming metal shards, no more than a foot in diameter, spinning rapidly in the air above Trista's head.  + WE ARE SAFE FOR THE MOMENT.  THERE ARE NO MORE ARCHONS WITHIN THE BOUNDARIES OF THIS WORLD, AND WE CAN BE RELATIVELY CERTAIN THAT NONE ESCAPED. +

Trgiaob sounds oddly cheerful, or as cheerful as a creature with a voice like the sharpening of knives can sound, + THERE IS NOBODY TO REPORT THAT WE WERE ASSISTING ANY OF YOU.  IN FACT, NOBODY KNOWS THAT WE, OR YOU, WERE EVER HERE.  IT IS UNLIKELY THAT THE SERAPHIM WILL SEEK RETRIBUTION AGAINST OURSELVES, FOR THIS DAYS WORK, AT LEAST. +

Chance leans back on his knees, looking up at Trgiaob. "Then I guess we won," he says. Then he looks back down to Lexy and adds, "Kinda."

He watches Trista work for a moment. He notes Devlin's offer, but all he can do is hope.

“Glad to be of some service,” Trista peers up at Cyan, “There's not much I can do against enemies such as these.” Looking back at her work, she continues, “No doctor, of course. More like a field medic, but past experiences feed future needs, right?”


Trista nods to Devlin, a look of subtle surprise at his human form again. “Glad to have you back, glad to – see you again. Any help you can provide for her is welcome.” She looks to the little bird on her shoulder, still marveling over the complicated connections between Devlin and ämi. And frankly, between Devlin and herself. It seems to go beyond a friendly face or a shoulder she cried on. Something deeper, but unfathomable to her.


Once the dressing is in place, Trista frowns as she looks over the woman. She mutters, “I should have done this first,” as she pulls out a thin blanket from her pack and lays it over the Lexy's naked body. “My fault if she goes into shock.” She tucks the blanket around the woman, attempting to place a layer of it between her and the sand.

Then Trgiaob comes with news of the forgotten battle. Trista looks up at the little whirling circle. “I'm glad you'll be fine, and thank you for your help defending this world.” Her voice turns rueful, “I'm sorry you lost your collection.”

Storm blue eyes turn to Chance, “You gonna stay in that fancy armor of yours?” Reluctant humor sparks in her eyes, but she believes between the lot of them, Lexy will come out all right.
This message was last edited by the player at 13:38, Fri 28 Nov 2008.

Devlin finishes his study of the "Woman", his head tilting slowly to one side as he examines her body with his senses.

Turning a smile toward Trista, "It appears that your attention will be sufficient. Nothing vital has been damaged. She is sleeping. Some shelter from the elements might help." For just a second he appears ready to say something else, but then the second is gone and he says nothing.

While Trista continues to nurse the other woman, Devlin wraps one arm about her shoulders and gives her a sideways hug, pressing one cheek against her own as he does so. "It's good to see you, in one piece." he says, with an almost scolding tone.

ämi whistles lightly as the small creature flitters from Trista's shoulder to Devlin's and back again.

A small smile plays across Chance's face at Trista's question. A dozen quips, all concerning the removal of clothes, collide in his mind. Instead, the armor begins to melt and soften back into jeans and a t-shirt. "Guess I'm just paranoid."

OOC - this accursed site ate my post!  :(

IC -

Berd studies Lexy with worried eyes, hopping from foot to foot upon Trista's shoulder, his eyes glittering.  Forces rush out from him, wiping away bacteria and virus both, sterilizing the area, the tools, and keeping local particulate from entering the wound.  Across from Trista, Cyan glances up in concern, then back to the injured woman.  "Out of reach is out of my own hands, as well - I am of little use in this sort of battle.  As for Lexy, better you than myself!"  Her own experience with this sort of thing is primitive compared to Trista's - she barely knows the use of half the items in her own first aid kit.  "Would that she were Eldar," the bard whispers, "but a 'field medic' will more than suffice, I think."  Her smile is as weak as the colour of her eyes, and a grateful nod to Devlin follows.

She knows not what he might do, but any assistance is invaluable when saving a life.

She glances up at Trgiaob when he speaks, though - familiar with the danioti, Cyan makes out the satisfaction in his words.  "Fine for you that they will not report," she states tartly, standing.  "But not so fine for Lexy.  Nor this world!  When those do not report, it will be noticed - others may come, to the detriment of all.  You may have the opportunity to leave, but what of the people of this land?"

Berd lets out a small, chiming cry as Trista remonstrates herself, and tugs irritably at her hair with his claws.  He glances across at Devlin with glittering orbs, bobbing his head, then to Chance as the man's armor dissolves.  Cyan glances to the Deathsinger then, one eyebrow rising.  "Ah, yes.  I remember that."  Her brows knit together now.  "After a fashion."

Lexy's wound is finally covered, as is she.  But what to do next?  The people of this place rely on her to such an extent, and she fits into the fabric of this reality so perfectly, that it's hard to tell whether she came to the world, or the world came into being around her.

+ WE WOULD BE PREPARED TO REMAIN, TO ASSIST IN DEFENCE, FOR A TIME AT LEAST.  BUT IF HARBONAH CHOOSES TO SEND A THOUSAND, OR TEN THOUSAND, ARCHONS TO CONQUER THIS WORLD's DEFENCES, THERE WOULD BE NOTHING WE, OR EVEN THIS WOMAN, COULD DO TO PREVENT IT. + Trgiaob replies to Cyan, and its tone seems, somehow... hurt... disappointed that this human would think it prepared to flee.

+ SHE SHOULD BE TAKEN TO A PLACE WHERE SHE CAN RESTORE HERSELF, IN PREPARATION FOR SUCH AN ASSAULT, THOUGH THERE MAY BE DANGER INVOLVED IN MOVING HER - SHE IS TIGHTLY BOUND TO THIS WORLD. +  Trgiaob edges closer, tilting, as if examining Lexy through the hollow at the heart of the blades, + WE COULD CARRY HER TO A PLACE OF YOUR CHOOSING.  ALTHOUGH WHILE SHE IS WITHIN US, HER CONNECTION TO THE WORLD WOULD BE ATTENUATED.  WE COULD REDUCE THE DEGREE OF SUCH ATTENUATION, AS LONG AS WE REMAIN WITHIN THE WORLD'S BOUNDARIES. +

The Archon dodges aside rapidly as people move around Lexy, then rises until it is a good ten feet in the air.

+ ONCE SHE HAS BEEN MOVED, WE WILL SCAVENGE THE REMNANTS OF THE SERAPHIM.  STRENGTHEN OURSELVES. +

Standing off to the side, watching the others attend to the woman, Dorian says, "I believe I can provide anything she needs where we are, without leaving this world. It may be safest to keep her here until she is stronger. If we do need to move her, I could do so more or less instantly, but I keeping her might be safest. I think Trista represents the sum of our medical knowledge, so perhaps we should let her decide on that point."
This message was last edited by the player at 17:59, Fri 05 Dec 2008.

The hug from Devlin takes Trista by surprise, but is welcome nonetheless – like an old friend. Even the tone of his voice rings familiar though she's not heard it before. Her gaze flicks back to Chance as his armor melts away to the jeans and t-shirt reflecting her own attire. Her eyes take in the well-worn fabrics and she nods appreciatively.

It is Cyan that snaps her gaze back to the troubles they face, surprised at her outburst against one that provided help. The woman has been through much, of course, and Trista can't begin to comprehend the complex emotions that must bubble beneath her skin. All her words ring true. Still, Trgiaob has proven a friend to Trista's way of thinking.

After Dorian's input, Trista gazes over the waters, considering their options. Finally, she rises and turns to the man, “This Lexy,” an emphasis that she is not identical to the one some of them have known before, “is well loved by her people and she loves them. I believe she would be well cared for in the godspeaker's home which is a part of the church. Above all else, she would want us to find a way to stop Harbonah. To find a way to end this thing. I think Chance and I should return her to the village.” She turns her gaze to Chance with a self-deprecating smile, “You have a better way with words and can explain to them what's going on. If you don't mind.”

Back to Dorian, “I don't know how you move people, Dorian. Trgiaob can move all three of us in a very comfortable and stress-free environment. And the people have already seen him, so should be okay with him entering the village again. We could meet back here very soon. Compare notes, so to speak, and figure out our next step.”

At Trgiaob's words, Cyan relaxes, bowing her head to the archon.  "My apologies, Trgiaob," she says quietly.  "I heard something in your words that did not truly exist."  Her troubled eyes sweep the skies.  "And yet, our problem remains.  The seraphim have come - more will follow.  Harbonah is ever dissatisfied with failure, and his followers seek to recoup any losses.  Swiftly."  Grimacing, she bows herself out of the discussion regarding Lexy's disposition, choosing instead to drop to one knee beside the unconcious chaosite; it is beyond her, though she understands they plan to move the shapeshifter into town.  One hand trails fingers along Lexy's cheek.  "Goodbye, again, it would seem."

A chance meeting with this woman began this quest for Cyan, years ago and worlds away.

"Of course, Trista, whatever you believe necessary."  She stares around the lakeshore with bleak, jade eyes.  "As you wish.  We can most certainly await your return."

Berd reluctantly leaps from his perch - if the company might cause a stir within the town, better he remain here, with his daughter.

"Fine," Dorian says. "If you feel she will survive this attenuation the Archon speaks of. It matters not to me, so long as she survives." This Lexy was an ally, and he doesn't want to see any more allies die. The Archon said he could reduce the attenuation, but not eliminate it. He believed teleportation with sorcery would bypass that problem, but there was no way to be sure in either case.

"Yeah," Chance says. His eyes still linger on Lexy. "She'll be well cared for by her people. They think of her as a goddess. Seeing her wounded might be a shock to them, but she will be cared for like no one else." He only wished these people had more advanced medical care, but he figured is such was needed they could always go kidnap a doctor from somewhere else and bring her back.
This message was last edited by the player at 18:13, Fri 05 Dec 2008.

The Archon moves a little closer, tilting at a slight angle, + WE ARE CERTAIN THAT THE ATTENUATION WOULD DO HER NO HARM.  IT IS MERELY A TEMPORARY SEPARATION FROM THE FABRIC OF THIS PARTICULAR REALITY, WHICH SHOULD BE NO MORE HARMFUL THAN TRAVELLING TO ANOTHER WORLD, OR THROUGH THE UNDERFLOW. +

Trgiaob reduces in size, becoming no larger than a coin for a moment, before expanding again.  + HOWEVER, IF YOU HAVE CONCERNS REGARDING IT, THERE IS A WAY THAT WE COULD CARRY HER WITH NO ATTENUATION, BUT SHE WOULD BE EXPOSED TO THE ELEMENTS.  UNLESS ONE OF YOU CAN PROVIDE PROTECTION? +

Watching Cyan say goodbye to Lexy, Trista gives a nod to Dorian and turns appreciative eyes toward Chance. Just when it looks as if the problem of moving Lexy is solved, Trgiaob brings up other options, no doubt prompted by Dorian's further concerns. The situation frustrates the woman, more because she doesn't really have any answers.

“I don't know anything about attenuation or special moving techniques or whatnot,” impatiently, she adds, “Hell, I can just pick her up and carry her and find you all later.” It wouldn't be the fastest way, but certainly viable and Trista has a way to find the others on her own. After a sad eye watches Berd hop away, the woman prepares to do just that – carry Lexy unless one of the others decides differently. Backpack on, she begins to smooth the blanket around the woman.

"As long as she survives," Dorian repeats. To him, he would just as soon blast the Archon into fragments than let it do anything to a human, but they didn't have the luxury of choosing their allies in this war.

He glances at Trista. "But I would suggest haste, Archon. Do as you will."

+ HASTE WOULD BE THE WISEST COURSE. + Trgiaob's harsh metallic voice asserts, and the Archon drops, close to Lexy's feet, adjusting its size until it is some six feet across.  It sinks into the earth, to a depth of about one third of its diameter.

Then it starts to move forward, towards the unconscious woman.

With alarming speed, Lexy's feet pass into the space at the core of the Archon, and vanish, followed by her shins, knees, thighs...  As she vanishes, so does the ground she lays upon, leaving a shallow, smooth-sided trench.

Within a few moments, Lexy's head vanishes into the void, and the Archon lifts from the ground.

Only the trench remains, already starting to fill with rainwater.

Trgiaob hovers, and asks, + WHO ELSE WILL TRAVEL WITH US? +

Cyan shrugs.  "It is a perfectly safe method of travel.  Trista and Chance have availed themselves of it recently."  One corner of her mouth quirks in a pained smile.  "I, myself, have been known to do so.  From time to time."

After a moment's pause, she continues.  "I will travel with Berd," Cyan carefully states, with an apologetic amythest glance for Dorian, followed by a measuring one at Trista and Chance and a quick smile for Devlin.  "We have something to discuss, and require time to speak plainly.  If he takes me to where we wish to go, I can have a significant period to...well, argue, not to put too fine a point on it, and still arrive at the proper time."

Berd shoots a quick look at Trista, his eyes greying.

Dorian straightens, eyes narrowed. It would be a warm and sunny day on Samhain before he subjected himself to such a means of travel, without great reason anyway.

Dark eyes glance to Cyan and Berd for a moment. Personal business, he thinks. Distasteful. Hopefully it wouldn't burden the duo too much during the quest.

His eyes find his daughter, vaporous apparition floating quietly. Wide, brilliant eyes watch the others, seeking meaning and understanding. Right now, they're fixed on Berd.

"We will make our own path."

Chance glances at Trista, and then back to the Archon. "I'll go with you," he says. He noted to himself he really should find better means of travel other than the guitar.

As the archon seems willing to get things moving, Trista forsakes carrying Lexy and steps back as the metallic creature prepares to lift her into his odd mode of transporation. She's slightly confused as Cyan announces she will be traveling with Berd. Confused and concerned. The former due to her misunderstanding they would be waiting here and the latter for the conversation she and the little dragon will apparently be having.

Trista's brows furrow as she meets Berd's gaze.


But the furrow smooths as she wearily nods her head and gives Cyan a considering look. “Be safe. And... good luck.”

Trista steps next to Chance and one hand clasps his, a simple hand hold if he consents. “Chance and I are ready, Trgiaob - she's never going to pronounce that correctly -” then she glances at Devlin, “What about you, Devlin?”

Devlin, quite for a few moments says simply, "I'll be staying with Cyan, for now." This thing she wishes to discuss may be of interest to him.

ämi on the other hand remains with Trista, perched on her shoulder.

Dorian glances from Devlin to Cyan and back. With a note of hesitation, he says, "Unless I misunderstood her statement, I believe Cyan and Berd would like some privacy for their discussion. You're welcome to travel with me if you'd like."

Berd shoots a burning-eyed glance toward Dorian's watchful child, a small, non-toothed smile on his comparatively wide jaws.  Troubled, Cyan picks up her gear, offer's Dorian a small smile, then nods to Chance.  "It will be soon that I return - seconds even, though it may very well be hours for me," she explains to Trista, an edge to her tone as she shoots a look at Berd from the corner of her sapphire eyes.  "My thanks, mind," she concludes, eyeing the other woman with some concern.

Berd, for his part, snorts once, finally abandoning his consideration of Dorian's wraithlike daughter to settle on her shoulder.


"Apologies, Devlin," Cyan begins, her voice sorrowful.  "But this lies between Berd and myself.  He is...quite explicit on that matter.  He-"  She cuts off with another sharp look at the drake, then nods.  "Well.  You know, now."


With that, Cyan raises one hand - ridiculous to say or do more, as she will only be gone for the space of the journey, by their reckoning - and the two fade from view, vanishing out of the world.

The Archon expands, until the opening at its core is large enough for a tall man to walk through, with ease.  It descends again, until the lowest portion sinks into the ground, tearing the earth into finer and finer dust.

+ STEP IN, IF YOU WISH. +

Those who step through the Archon vanish from sight, at least from the viewpoint of those left behind.  From their point of view, they are in a space which is neither hot nor cold.  The limits of that space can not be seen, fading as they do into an endless pale distance, in all directions.  There is, it seems, a floor, but it is not visible.

Lexy lays on a slab of stone just in front of them, apparently unharmed.  A window opens above her, showing the view outside, where their companions still stand.


Trgiaob rises from the ground, and dwindles to the size of a coin, and then it hurtles away, and a sound like thunder rolls back across the lake.  Dorian turns to comment on the performance, and finds that Cyan and Berd are no longer present.


Inside the Archon, the window displays the landscape streaming past at incredible speed, little more than a blur of greens and greys.  Still, it is the only thing which gives any impression of movement.

And then, the blurred movement stops.  There is a town, and people scattering as the Archon descends into the square.  Slower movement now, past the chapel, and around to the godspeaker's house.

The godspeaker himself is in the garden, peering at the sky, where the recent,unexpected storm seems to have passed.  His eyes drop sharply, as a wheel of spinning metal comes around the edge of the chapel and comes to a halt directly in front of him.

After a brief dialog with its passengers, Trgiaob allows them to step out into the garden, where it is still raining somewhat.

The godspeaker blinks at Chance and Trista, "You again?  And you have a tame demon?"


A moment later, he is startled as more strangers appear, seeming to step out of thin air a little to one side.  Dorian and Devlin have arrived.

Storm blue eyes watch as Cyan and Berd fade. Trista gives a nod of resignation once they're gone and turns to the Archon, stepping in for the journey. Though Chance is with her and Lexy, he's grown quiet and so Trista spends the short trip keeping one eye on the  prone woman and one eye out the window at their passing scenery.

At the godspeaker's words, Trista humorously chuckles, “Something like that. He'll explain,” nodding toward Chance. He, after all, has the better way with explanations. For her part, Trista carefully lifts Lexy and steps toward the building once Chance has made it clear they're bringing her to be looked after. She'll be all right, given time.

Not exactly the best way to have returned.

The godspeaker nods his understanding of the situation.  "She can have my bedroom, it's a little warmer, and I'll take the guest room until she heals."

"This way."

He leads Trista into the house, and along a short passage way, to a bedroom on the ground floor, which is, according to his explanation, in the warmest part of the house, close to the kitchen and the parlour.

Once Lexy is in the bed (a process which involved the old man stepping outside for a few moments) he confronts Trista, "Be truthful with me.  The end is coming, isn't it?"

"Well, everything has an end," Chance says. "And that end is always drawing closer until it arrives."

He places a hand on the old man's shoulder and follows Trista into the room.
"But this ... this isn't the end, but another struggle in the story. Care for this one. She is special."

One by one, they disappear. Each, in their own way, follow after Trista and Chance, and the ride Dorian would have no part in.

Alone, he remains behind. Just a few minutes, to sit by a piece of driftwood and look out over the water, hearing only the sounds of nature. For now, tendrils are withdrawn, silencing even the droning in the back of his mind.

The vaporous apparition beside him quietly, obediently, fades away to give him a moment of solemn quiet, a space of time without planning, watching, and preparing for the next strike.

Just Dorian, the water, an old piece of driftwood, and the natural silence of the world.

It feels good.

OOC - Not sure which method Devlin chose, but I am assuming he was able to make the journey by himself. Dorian will join the main group shortly.

Carefully, Trista makes Lexy comfortable (and covered) on the bed. Turning to leave, the godspeaker finds his voice and asks a disconcerting question. It's Chance who answers, with riddles no less. At first. Trista raises a brow until he concludes with something a bit more stable and comforting.

She looks to the man, “And we're doing everything we can. Help your goddess to heal; that will go a long way for the struggle.”

Stepping near the door, Trista adds, “We can't stay; there is much to be done. But I'm going to keep the little painting if it's all right with you. So I can check in on all of you.”

Between instants, Cyan appears - no flash, no bang, no sparkling lights of palanquet.  The space where she stands goes from empty to suddenly filled with bard, sword, and pack.  Slowly, the woman gazes about with tired, jade eyes, searching for a familiar face.  A house.  A shape at the door.  Her instincts tell her 'Trista', but it might be rude to interrupt.

Instead, she slowly sits down on her pack, laying the death-iron across her knees, and waits.

Berd is gone - vanished, now, off on his errand.  An important one, to be sure, but wrenching open the hole in her heart forgiveness (running both ways) had finally begun to heal.  Closing her eyes, she seeks distraction and finds herself once again upon the list.  Fragmented within her broken memories, but still existing, it dances in her mind as she carefully, gently, slots each name into its proper place.

Otandal.  Killed by bandits.  I carry the contents of his purse, for his family...should I be able to find them, when this is done.

Morgan.  Disappeared early on.

Duncan.  Seized by the portal where we found Lazarus, and flung across the Myriad Worlds.  I swore to find him.

Kendall.  Vanished upon the journey.

Lazarus.  Crippled, left for Chaos, his fate unknown.

From here, the pain grows deeper still.

Ares.  She closes her eyes, bites her lip.  They hurt, all of the losses, but this one Buried in a tomb I violated.  I must return his armor, and his rest.

Lexy.  Gone to chaos, seeking aid.

Kalika.  Dead, long past, in her own world.  As I will be, someday.

Kia, her daughter.  Returned to the Chunchee.

Andrej.  Fell away from the quest.

Kaelyn.  Left to pursue her own purposes.

Jack.  Lost to madness.

Leonardo.  Slain by my own hand.

Bending forward, she puts her forehead against her thumbs, resting her elbows upon the sheath of the sword.

Meredith.  Seemingly gone, perhaps forever?

Serena.  Who know where she now lies?

Are there more?  Perhaps.  She did leave for a time.  Likely the list has grown.
So many fallen away from the quest - so many dead.

Let it not include her father.

"And so."  Raising her head, she rests her chin upon her palms.  "Stand up, Heavyhand would say.  On your feet, Cúthalion would order."  A smile touches her lips at the thought of the pair, now long dead, long gone to a place of light.  "Like the Lord of the Golden Lilly," Cyan murmurs, "make of your passing something bright, to give answer to those fallen before you."

And so she stands, there beside her pack, and waits for the others to exit.
This message was last edited by the player at 19:56, Mon 12 Jan 2009.

The others had gone by way of the archon, and Dorian did not seem in a hurry to follow; in fact, he seemed to want some time alone.

Devlin had simply changed and started off, alone again for the moment. He simply changed and set out. She was not far away and ämi was with her which made finding either of them a bit easier.

So, he arrived not long before the woman that was sitting on her pack. She seemed to wish to be alone after arriving as well, so he did not interrupt. He'd arrived just in time to see the others enter the building and was waiting.

Then the woman mumbled something and stood up, but watched the building and waited.

The wolf moves from his watching place just to the right of there and changes back to the man.

Quietly the man moves up beside her. He looks at her from behind, wondering if he should interrupt. Decides he should and says quietly. "I am not optimistic about the future. Sometimes I wonder why I should care what happens. Sometimes I wonder how I can be of any use. There always seems to be little that I can do. The flow of life carries us; do we let the tide take us or do we fight against it?"

Her ears, sharp as they are, catch motion.  A wolf becomes a man becomes Devlin, their dark wanderer.  Cyan offers him a small nod as he approaches, cocking her head to the side as the man speaks.  She has grown to appreciate his honesty, his candor, and the fact that when everything points to another direction, he will hold true to a course in which he believes.

Worthy points, those.

"Small we seem, do we not?"  She stares up at the sky.  "Without Berd, I fear I am of little use.  With Gurthang, I might slay what archons come within reach, but nothing more.  I cannot even travel the Myriad Worlds, save through palanqueti, and they have grown dangerous of late."  Pursing her lips, she studies the wanderer from the corners of her amber eyes.  "But every person I save, that is a reason to continue.  If I can speak a single word to bring one other person to stand against the Enemy, that is a reason to continue."

The sword, she swings to lay across her back.  "I swore an oath - I remember that, now - but it is more than that.  To save lives, yes, I would battle the tide with naught but a spoon."  Turning, she faces him directly.  "Perhaps it is my stubborn nature - Berd would agree with that, I suspect.  Perhaps it is that chained to a single form, I cannot conceive of flowing with the tide.  Perhaps it is mortality that makes me believe so - I have not watched all those for whom I care wither beneath the universe' uncaring hand.  I never will."  A small laugh follows.  "Certainly not if I continue along this quest!"  One eyebrow quirks.

"But I will never, never lay it aside."
This message was last edited by the player at 23:29, Mon 12 Jan 2009.

Still in a quiet voice, Devlin continues, "I believe the answer to the future lies in the past. If we discover the truth behind how it started, then we will know how it should be ended."

A shrug and he looks back at the building, "I plan to look for that history. I believe the one that knows the truth is the man that calls himself Carl Corey and Ganelon and the other names we've heard. I do not know where to begin the search, nor do I know if we have the time to spare, but that is the path I would set myself on even if the tide seems determined to keep me from it; perhaps even because the tide wishes to keep me from it."

Devlin does not look back at Cyan and simply continues to talk a little longer. "I would have companions on that path if they will join me; you among them. I may accomplish nothing, but it seems a task that is within my abilities to undertake."

"We need to know."  Cyan moodily kicks a rock, watches it skitter and bounce aimlessly down the street.  "We need to know what set these events in motion - you are absolutely correct."  Swinging around, she faces him again.  "But equally we need to know what the others have discovered.  It may be that they have already discerned the identity of Carl Corey, or hold a clue we do not."

Pondering, she wanders in a short square of ground, perhaps five paces by five paces.  Left and Right would know the significance, though Cyan does not recall.  "I would see my missing friends again, Devlin - I admit, my decision to find them first does not rest solely upon logic and efficiency."  She glances up, meeting his gaze with emerald eyes.  "But logic and efficiency agree with my heart."

Returning to the pack, she sits upon it, back straight now, and gazes up at him.  "And yourself?  I know you have lost much upon this quest.  How goes the world for Devlin?"

Devlin sits on the ground next to Cyan. There is an air of melancholy about him. "Clues would be good." he says with a sigh. "How does one start looking for a single point in the vastness of infinity?"

It seems that the man missed Cyan's question because he does not answer. Instead he becomes very thoughtful, brow pinching.

His countenance does not change as he comments on something she said a moment ago, almost absently "You cannot travel shadow without assistance and it seems I am doomed to travel it alone." Normally, he would not have used the term "Shadow" in Cyan's presence but his mind was not completely on the conversation and it was easy to slip into old habits.

Inside the building, still perched on Trista's shoulder, ämi whistles and the sound is almost mournful.

"The world for Devlin," Cyan murmurs thoughtfully as the man thinks, "apparantly goes with frustration at the moment."  She waits for his next thought - it jumps from his previous point, forcing her to regroup her own line of thinking.

"Yes.  Which brings me to your previous problem, Devlin."  She lets the 'shadow' pass for now - obviously the man is distracted, perhaps even distraught.  It's hard to tell with the wanderer - like Dorian, he keeps his thoughts and emotions hidden behind a mask.  In Dorian's case, one of icy granite; in Devlin's, one of inscrutibility.  "We - myself, you, Dorian, Trista - none of us are scions of Amber.  To search for a needle within the haystack of infinity, one requires a master of Amber's Grand Pattern."  She blows out a sigh.  "Another reason to seek our compatriots.  How else can we find Carl Corey, or Ganelon, within the inifity of the Myriad Worlds?"

She closes her topaz eyes, raising her face toward the sky.  "If I only had a sense of his resonance, I might fashion a palanquet.  But until that time, my own skills are useless for discovering this single man."

The godspeaker considers the words of his visitors, and glances back towards his... no... Her bedroom.  "You have entrusted me with the care of, literally, the most important person in the world.  If I fail in my duty, then all might end for us.  If I perform the duty well, then all might still end, but at least we will not fall so easily."

"I will not say that I will succeed in the task you have set me, but I will perform my duty to the best of my ability.  That, together with a little luck, and the love of her people, might be enough."

Somehow, he manages to summon up a smile, which breaks through the concern on his features, "Whatever happens, I hope that we will meet again in happier circumstances."

The trio steps out into the garden, where the others are deep in discussion, and where Trgiaob has reduced itself until it is no bigger than a bee, flitting about to examine the plants, the insects, a small bird.  Occasionally, it expands slightly, just for an instant, and a flower head disappears, or a butterfly...

The godspeaker asks the two familiar friends, "Where will you go now?  Will you ride your tame demon to some other place where you are needed?"

Devlin gives a short laugh, more of a snort of air out though his nose, but still. Then he smiles at Cyan. "I've already tried the needle in a haystack search, and failed once. By the time she found me I had found I no longer needed..."

The man looks up as the door opens. "You've convinced me, for now. We will discover what the others know, but then, additional information or not, I will begin searching for this man. Time is not on our side."

Suddenly Devlin is his old self, confident, ready to begin. He stands to await the others as they finish their discussion with the man from this village.

Standing in the garden, Chance rubs his chin and considers the old man.

"Listen," he says, crouching down and clearing a patch of dirt. "I think you already understand this, but I also think you're starting to grasp that the world is much bigger than you've realized in the past--or perhaps that idea is simply becoming more real for you."

He draws a circle in the dirt. In the middle is a dot.

He taps the dot. "This is you."

Then he runs his finger around the circle. "Inside the circle are the things you can influence and change. Outside the circle is everything else. Now, things like the end of the world can dominate our minds and drive us mad after a time. Those things are outside the circle. That's why they can drive us mad. It's a waste of time and energy to wrap yourself up in worry over them. Focus on what is inside the circle. Do what you can for those you love and know."

He stands and looks at the godspeaker. "The best we can do is try to make human life better. If the world ends tomorrow, let it end with us knowing we did our best to improve the human condition. If everyone in the world does that, well the world would be pretty damn nice place to be."

He gazes off over the lake. "Laughter, love, friendship, a warm fire, slow walks, rain ... iced cream. Those things are far more important than saving the universe."

Then he looks back at the godspeaker again with a far-away smile. "As far as where we're going.... "

He looks down at the circle, and his eyes find a spot outside the circle ... far outside. "Yeah, I guess we'll go where we're needed."

He looks up at Trista. As long as she were there, he would go, futile as it all felt. He would go simply to be there. He smiles.

Though the godspeaker did not give his permission to her question, he did not deny her request either and so Trista keeps the small painting tucked in her pack. A way to speak to Lexy once she regains consciousness.

As they leave the building, the little bird becomes very animated, bringing Trista's gaze to him. She lifts a finger to softly stroke the soft black feathers of his chest.


The moment they step from the building, Trista's eyes search and find rest on Devlin. She catches the tail end of his words about searching for 'this man' after they find some more information. She knows of whom he speaks for Devlin set Trista and Chance on their path to Old Charyk in a round about journey in search of the man. Through Sephiroth. They hadn't made it that far. Which reminds her...


Chance's voice pulls Trista from her thoughts, her eyes flitting past the tiny archon in happy pursuit of his renewing his collection and to the man with the guitar. Her dark blue eyes stay with the man, considering his words. Really, the only way description which comes to her mind is elegant. If he doesn't set the godspeaker at least partially at ease, she doesn't know what will.

She doesn't believe the circle of influence means they shouldn't try, but he's right in so many ways. That circle can be stretched, can it not?

But as for the godspeaker and slow walks in the rain, Trista meets the man's gaze with new approval in her warm smile.

Turning back to the godspeaker, she simply affirms, “You should listen to him, he speaks the truth.” Her hand comes out to grasp around the older man's wrist with a delicate squeeze (she's certainly aware of her own possible strength.) Then she takes a step toward Cyan and Devlin, “We've finished what we needed to do here. Lexy is safely resting inside; she will be well cared for. I have a way to check in on her later. And what plans have you two been forming?”

A shadow passes across Cyan's features at Devlin's remembrance.  "Serena," she whispers quietly.  Another name upon the list, and one meaning a great deal to Devlin.  Standing, she turns toward him, but pauses, letting her arm drop as the door to the house opens.  "Sometimes one's best efforts are not enough without the proper tools," she says - something small before the conversation shifts.  It's all she has to give right now.

Turning, she faces Trista as the woman approaches, giving her a lopsided smile.  "Good.  I wish..."  A shrug.  This Lexy fills Cyan with discomfort - the woman is not her Lexy, and the concept of reflections disturbs her on a deep level.  Certain the woman is real.  But to meet someone so close, where only small differences separate...perhaps others have considered this before.  For herself, Cyan will wait to see her own Lexy again, someday.  "Well done then, Trista."  She bows to the woman.  "It is a fine thing you have done here today.  As for plans?"  A cock of an eyebrow over a pale emerald eye.  "None so far, save that we should probably seek the counsel of the others, then ferret out our old 'friend' Ganelon."

Turning her head, she studies the horizon, then faces Trista once again, suddenly direct.  "Berd is gone, gone to attempt discussion with Harbonah - but you know this, do you not?"  The crooked smile returns.  "He trusted you implicitly."

Devlin also answers Trista's question, but a bit differently, "As Cyan has said, first the council of the others. Then," There is a significant pause here as he looks at Cyan and back again, "Then, whatever happens there, to find the man that apparently started everything in motion." and the last is said with some determination and in a way that says "I will not be turned from that path."

Chance stands and adjusts his guitar, comfortable again in his jeans and t-shirt. He leaves the godspeaker in the garden, undoubtedly wishing people would stop trying to impart their bar stool wisdom on him.

He slips in with the rest of the group, easing in next to Trista. For a moment, one hand touches the small of her back and he offers her a quick, easy smile. "Did I miss anything?" he asks.

There is a flicker of shadow, like a distant cloud passing over the world, and Dorian stands there. Frosts dusts his cloak for a moment, quickly evaporating into nothingness like his lingering emotions on the beach. His hood is up again, revealing only glimpses of a hawkish nose and greasy strands of long, black hair that needed to be trimmed months ago.

He says nothing.

His strange daughter floats beside him, eyes gleaming with hidden sunshine and inquisitiveness. "We are ready," she announces.

ämi stretches his head up as Trista rubs his chest.

The shift from whatever lies uneasily with Cyan does not go unnoticed. Something to do with Lexy, perhaps. But Trista does not probe but allows Cyan to take another path and simply smiles in response to the woman's bow.

Talk of plans, or the lack thereof, sparks curiosity to Trista's eyes. “You've met this Ganelon? As for what we've accomplished... we did not make it to Old Charyk but ämi did and found nothing but abandoned ruins still smoldering.”

Regretful eyes turn to Devlin, “There's nothing to be found there.”

Then Cyan's direct questions, clear and to the point. Trista gives the woman her full attention. Shadows darken the woman's eyes and with a rueful tone, she responds, “Yes, I knew his plans and attempted to accompany him. However, I understand why he did not want me with him – I would have been a liability. Tactically, a good choice though I don't like it.” She quirks a small smile, “I guess you allowed him his way, too.”

Her eyes lower and the smile strengthens at the words of trust. Quietly, she asserts, “As I do him.” Dark blue eyes return to Cyan, “I am glad to travel with you in his stead. Though I doubt you'd find my shoulder very comfortable.” Deadpan. With just a twitch of her grin at the end.

Trista's immediately aware of Chance's presence next to her. And extremely aware of the light touch on the small of her back. Her eyes pull to him with an answering smile, “Oh just a bit.” She takes a deep breath, “Berd has gone seeking audience with Harbonah. Alone. His choice. And Cyan suggests speaking with James and the others before setting on a new path.”

The sudden appearance of the formidable Dorian and the wraithlike child demand her attention, “Welcome back.”

Turning back to the bard, she inquires, “Do you mean to travel to Amber? Are your paintings working?”

Devlin's mind seems made up - as usual.  Knowing the wanderer as she does, Cyan expects that should the group, for some bizarre reason, decide that Ganelon is not the priority, the shapeshifter will seek him out alone.

It is his way.

She starts slightly as Dorian materializes, then relaxes with a small smile.  One eyebrow cocks slightly at the sight of the escaping hair - she should do something about that.  Would Dorian permit?  Possibly.  It must be uncomfortable.  But his daughter seems eager to leave, and Cyan finds herself so, as well. So, "Indeed," she solemnly replies.  "As are we all, I suspect."

"I fear, Trista, I have not."  A crooked smile breaks her serious mask.  "A figure of speech, only.  Were it not so."  She sighs, considering the destruction wrought upon Old Charyk - her destruction, in fact.  But Trista's melancholy demands reply, and Cyan steps forward to lay her fingers upon the wandering woman's arm.

"He said much the same to me," she commiserates.  "I fear he required complete solitude - were any to travel with him, his own heart might betray him were they threatened."  Then merriment sparkles in her ruby at Trista's dry witticism.  "In truth, I may take you up on that offer - I could certainly use a rest from walking?"

If her strength matches her resolve, her tenacity, then I suspect she could bear me for leagues.

Stepping away when Chance moves in, Cyan moves to her pack, checking its contents.  Everything here...well, almost everything.  Considering her clothing, she finds she misses Berd's creations most of all.  They may yet return with him, she considers, then glances toward Dorian and Galatea, wondering how they might take to Amber...and how Amber might take to them.

At Trista's question, she flourishes a small leather case, then hangs it from her belt.  "Indeed - my palanqueti are as prepared as myself.  I do plan to travel to Amber, but at present..."  Opening the case, she shuffles through the cards.  "While I have many sketches, all of them have lost their resonance.  The only card I have which might offer passage, depending on the success of the others, is that of James."

She snaps it out between two fingers, flipping it around - on the card the warrior lies in a glade, half-out of sunlight, lying with his back and shoulders upon his pack, propped up to stare with faraway eyes.

The veteran soldier, awaiting the horn's call.

"Should this fail," she notes, "we must depend upon other Powers.  I cannot Walk the Worlds myself."

The godspeaker seems satisfied with Chance's explanation of the true situation, "Yes, I think I see.  I should fix my thoughts on the things I can change, and let others worry about the things I can't change.  Is that it?"

He smiles at Trista, "I will go and attend to Her comfort.  Good luck to you, my friends.  I hope to see you again, some day."


Trgiaob stops its collecting of samples, and moves in closer to Cyan, + SHOULD YOU REQUIRE OUR ASSISTANCE, YOU NEED ONLY ASK.  WE WOULD, HOWEVER, ASK A QUESTION OF OUR OWN, WITH YOUR PERMISSION? +

Unphased by Trgiaob's proximity (having grown used to danioti far closer than this), Cyan cocks an eyebrow.  Her voice takes on a certain odd timbre, its pitch dropping slightly as she replies.  "By all means - let's have your question, then, there's no need for...permission."  Pausing, she blinks her dark sapphire eyes once, shakes her head, and passes a hand across her brow.

Her fingers tighten about James' palanquet, whitening for several heartbeats before finally relaxing.

"Please," she finishes, with a small nod of the head.

<backpost>
After standing and hearing the godspeaker's summary, Chance flashes a prize-winning smile and claps the man on the shoulder, gently. "Yeah," he says. "That pretty much sums it up. And keep your eyes open for new opportunities to make things better, expand your circle in a sense. Though, I know, you've got a mighty big circle already. You'll be okay. Don't worry."
</backpost>

"Berd and Harbonah chatting it up, huh?" He gives Cyan an appraising glance. This can't be easy for her. "I'm sure there are some fitting lyrics somewhere, but I can't think of them right now."

He looks down at the ground, nudging a small stone from its place. Then he looks back up Cyan. "I'm sure he'll let us know if he's in trouble. You okay?"

One corner of Cyan's mouth droops in a grimace for an instant, there and gone.  "I am uncertain he will be capable," she says, choosing to answer Chance's statement before his question.  "In their territory, surrounded by their power...perhaps it will prove impossible for him to call out."  But finally she shakes her head.  "No, Chance.  I am not.  I am very concerned.  But -"  Both hands rise, palms up, a helpless gesture.

"If I recall correctly, it was myself who many times said we need to take risks - that we are too far behind for plodding, careful plans."  The bard fans herself with James' palanquet for a moment.  "I have played the hypocrite too often to enjoy it.  Thus, I am not okay with this, but see little other choice."

"And in the end, it is Berd's decision."

Surprisingly, Cyan's ruby eyes sparkle with the challenge of being carried on Trista's shoulders, “Be careful, you might find yourself hoisted up.” It feels good to banter, even in the midst of a dark situation. A remnant of the father in the daughter.

She listens to the exchange between Chance and Cyan, understanding a small remnant of what Cyan speaks. Very small. Her eyes indicate her own feelings, but she keeps her silence as the others speak.

Then a distraction as the archon requests a question. And the corresponding change of voice in the bard. The General. This is Cyan's forum, and Trista remains an observer, though she does steal an appraising glance at the man by her side, approval in her consideration of him.

For the bird flitting about and back to her shoulder again and again, a finger rises to briefly stroke soft feathers.

Trgiaob says nothing at first.  An uncharacteristic, for an Archon, moment of hesitation.  Then, + ARE WE CORRECT IN SAYING THAT YOU WERE, UNTIL RECENTLY, IN COMMAND OF HARBONAH'S ARMIES? +

+ UNDERSTAND THAT WE ATTACH NEITHER BLAME NOR COMPLAINT TO THIS QUESTION.  WE SIMPLY WISH TO CONFIRM THAT WE ARE NOT MISTAKEN.  WE SAW HARBONAH'S GENERAL ONCE, BEFORE WE DECIDED THAT WE COULD NO LONGER SERVE THE SERAPHIM CAUSE, AND YOU CLOSELY RESEMBLE THAT INDIVIDUAL. +

The Archon falls silent, and then hastily adds, + IF YOU DO NOT WISH TO ANSWER, THEN WE WILL CURB OUR CURIOSITY. +

Cyan grins, a sudden flash like the sun coming from behind the clouds, and her topaz eyes sparkle.  "Of course, Trista - I am ever vigilant."  "I learned from James," Cyan muses, "to keep distant from those..."  She trails off, the smile dimming, but then it grows again as she shakes off the worse part of that memory.  "...from those stronger than myself."

"Hello, James.  We never did get that spar in, did we?"

Spirits, if he had only known how much she laughed - within and deep within, the General and Cyan both! - in admiring amazement at his sudden appearance in the camp, his daring.  The other questors always startle her, contiuously, even when buried beneath Harbonah's programming.

And now this sad, determined traveller.  Trista.  A curiously apt name, as so many are.

"I expect you have the edge on me there," she mock-whispers, leaning close for a moment.

Then comes Trgiaob's question, and the Archon makes a fumbling attempt at tact.  Surprising in an Archon, doubly so in one of the danioti.  Proof of what Left and Right demonstrated - even the focused bladewheels can learn new things, can grow.  Children, Cyan ponders.  The Nephillim are, as we have said before, children in so many ways.  Stepping forward, she nods.  "Yes.  You have the right of it.  I was the General."  Cyan's jaw sets, though her face flushes with the shame of the answer, and she awaits the danioti's point.  For surely he has one.

They always do, she considers ruefully.

With the archon asking his question, Chance doesn't reply to Cyan's admission. Her ability to assess her condition and acknowledge it spoke volumes of her ability to overcome the personal crisis. Besides with their history, he hardly wanted to pry any more than she had. Perhaps there would be a moment later when he could talk to her a bit more. If not, she seemed to have ample support left.

+ THEN WE HAVE SOMETHING IN COMMON. + the Archon replies, + WE HAVE BOTH SEEN HARBONAH'S SCHEMES FROM THE VANTAGE OF AN ALLY, AND WE BOTH NOW REJECT THOSE SCHEMES.  THIS IS THE BEST NEWS WE HAVE HEARD IN SOME TIME. +

+ AN ARMY WHICH HAS NO DESERTERS IS POSSIBLE.  A SINGLE DESERTER IS FEASIBLE.  HOWEVER, TWO DESERTERS OPENS UP THE POSSIBILITY THAT THERE MAY BE MORE.  MANY MORE.  AFTER ALL, A SINGLE DESERTER COULD SIMPLY BE AN INDIVIDUAL WITH A UNIQUE, AND POSSIBLY ABERRANT, MIND SET.  ONCE YOU ADMIT THAT THE MIND SET IS NOT UNIQUE, BECAUSE YOU HAVE MORE THAN ONE EXAMPLE, THEN YOU HAVE TO ACCEPT THAT THERE MAY BE ANY NUMBER OF DESERTERS. +

Trgiaob laughs, and two of the windows in the godspeaker's house crack, + WE SEE THIS AS GOOD NEWS BECAUSE, WHILE THE NEPHELIM NOW OPENLY OPPOSE HARBONAH, SERAPHIM REBELS AND DESERTERS MAY BE PRIVY TO CRUCIAL SECRETS.  KNOWING HARBONAH'S PLANS IS THE KEY TO VICTORY.  WE HAVE INFORMED THE NEPHELIM OF ALL WORLDS THAT WE KNEW HARBONAH INTENDED TO ATTACK, AND THEY HAVE MOVED TO PREVENT THOSE ATTACKS, SUCCESSFULLY IN SEVERAL CASES. +

“You have little need to get close to those who might best you in strength,” Trista's eyes go to the impressively dangerous sword hanging off Cyan's back. Perhaps not the best choice of words if the woman is trying to forget...

Then comes the archon's point. An alliance of rebels? The woman's eyes flick to the newly cracked windows and back to Trgiaob. Trista knows little of these creatures – the seraphim, the nephalim, she can't keep them all straight. But she hears familiarity in the words.

“Are you willing to go further on a limb and seek out these... rebels?”

Blunt and to the point. Hopefully, the former General won't mind.

Cyan doesn't miss the glance at her sword - she rarely misses such things - and she offers a crooked smile in reply as Trgiaob bursts into a lengthly soliloquy.  The sad wanderer makes a valid point...but sometimes it is impossible to fight to her strengths, for the opposition seeks to make her enemies fight to their own.  Enclosed spaces, close-range ambushes, battle amidst innocents - all times where the Deathiron proves more detriment than advantage.

It functions best when she chooses the battleground, herself.  At other times, greater strength might very well prove the deciding factor.

A weapon for the uncaring, she considers moodily, her ruby eyes darkening.  Something to consider.

"Knowledge of the enemy is critical to victory - something I have harped upon all along," Cyan ruefully agrees.  "The sage says that with full knowledge of oneself and one's enemy, victory is assured.  With knowledge of only oneself, at best the odds are even.  At best.  With knowledge of neither..."  She shrugs, leaving the obvious answer be.

She considers his startling revelation.  "So you let Harbonah's plans slip to the Nephillim."  A grimace comes, then, and Cyan clasps her hands behind her back, pacing in a circle.  "I certainly remember one such occurance.  If the Nephillim hadn't...."  Her steps stutter for an instant.  "You speak as if you are unaware of other deserters," she hazards.  "As Trista asks, would you be willing to find them?  I know of two, but they have thrown in with the Nephillim...for the moment.  And we require those who might know something the Nephillim do not."

Her lips thin.  "Why did you desert, Trgiaob?  Difference of opinion?  Or a change in philosophy?"

+ TWO MORE?  IT SEEMS THAT THE NUMBER OF DESERTERS IS INCREASING EXPONENTIALLY.  AT THIS RATE, HARBONAH WILL BE ALONE WITHIN A MONTH. +  Few Archons joke, and all the ones Cyan have heard doing so have been danioti.  All are now deserters too.  + NOW THAT WE KNOW FOR CERTAIN THAT OTHERS HAVE DESERTED, WE WOULD BE MORE THAN WILLING TO SEEK THEM OUT.  BEFORE TODAY, WE THOUGHT WE WERE ALONE IN HAVING ABANDONED HARBONAH'S CAUSE, AND SO THERE WAS NO INCENTIVE TO SEARCH FOR OTHERS.  RATHER, WE CONCENTRATED ON AVOIDING ATTENTION. +

The Archon shrinks rapidly, briefly becoming no more than a tiny point of reflected sunlight, then expands again, until it is about the size of a human head.  Still spinning as usual, it also starts to rotate slowly around its vertical axis.  When the creature speaks again, its harsh, metallic voice is quieter...

+ WE... WERE... WE WERE ONCE ONE OF HARBONAH'S COMMANDERS, BUT WE GREW CURIOUS ABOUT THE WORLDS WE WERE BEING ORDERED TO LEAD ATTACKS AGAINST.  WE STARTED TO STUDY THEM, IN ADVANCE OF THE INVASIONS, UNDER THE PRETENSE OF GATHERING INTELLIGENCE.  GRADUALLY OUR INTEREST SPREAD TO ENCOMPASS THINGS THAT LAY BEYOND THE GOALS OF OUR ORDERS. +

+ WE DISCOVERED THAT THESE WORLDS WERE SWARMING WITH LIFE, IN FORMS TOO DIVERSE TO COMPREHEND, SO WE TOOK TO COLLECTING SAMPLES OF THE MORE INTERESTING ONES. +

+ THEN, ON ONE WORLD WE SPOKE TO A HUMAN CHILD, WHO WAS NOT AFRAID OF US.  THE CONVERSATION WAS... CONFUSING, BUT INTERESTING.  WE DID NOT DESTROY THAT WORLD, AS ORDERED.  INSTEAD WE TURNED AGAINST ANOTHER, WHERE HUMANS DID NOT LIVE.  WE DID NOT DESTROY THE NEXT WORLD EITHER.  NOR THE ONE AFTER THAT.  IN EACH CASE, WE ATTACKED A DIFFERENT WORLD. +

+ HARBONAH DID NOT NOTICE.  WE WERE ASSUMED TO HAVE PERFORMED OUR DUTY PROPERLY.  WHEN WE REALISED THAT IT DIDN'T MATTER WHICH WORLDS WE DESTROYED, AS LONG AS WE REPORTED THE DESTRUCTION OF SOME WORLD, WE DECIDED WE WOULD NOT SERVE HARBONAH ANY LONGER. +

Seeing a change in an Archon is a bright thing.  Like children, they suddenly open their eyes to the worlds around them and realize that not only do they have a place in those worlds, but so do others.

Sometimes, Cyan suspects, the resulting thoughts will not be as pleasant as those of Trgiaob.  But then, such is the case with all manner of beings.

Her smile wavers and tears well in her eyes at the danioti's confession.  "Well done," she whispers.  "Well done."  Choices made, the Seraphim turned from its fellows, proof that even the killing soldiers of the archons can grow beyond their Purpose to something brighter, something more personal to each and every one of them.  Curiousity seems to be a driving factor - she observed this in Left.  In Right...not so much.  Instead. Right seemed to learn from Left in a bizarre fashion, even as Left learned from Right.

And then there was Dorian's message.  She wipes her sapphire eyes at the memory, taking a moment for a glance at the austere sorcerer.

"For whatever it means, Trgiaob, you have my respect."

Biting her lip, Cyan considers what the Archon's story has also revealed.  "Harbonah does not care which worlds are destroyed," she murmurs.  "Only that they are.  Why?  To keep his people busy?"  She paces in a circle absently, the same, short area covered with each revolution.  One hand reaches out, brushing the air near the archon, a habitual gesture of trust used with Left and Right.  "Or because it doesn't matter, so long as worlds fail?  Curse it, Harry - what's your plan?"

Her gaze sweeps back to the danioti.  "What rhetoric did Harbonah spew in the beginning to attract his followers?"

+ WE BELIEVE THAT YOU HAVE MISUNDERSTOOD.  WE WOULD REPORT THE DESTRUCTION OF WORLDS, AND DISPLAY OUR MEMORIES OF THAT DESTRUCTION... BUT WE WOULD GIVE FALSE INFORMATION REGARDING WHICH WORLDS THEY WERE.  HARBONAH ASSUMED THAT THE CORRECT WORLDS HAD BEEN DESTROYED, AND NEVER TOOK THE TROUBLE TO CONFIRM IT. + the Archon explains.  Trgiaob's voice is louder again, and a crowd of townsfolk is gathering, wanting to see what the noise is, but staying  at a respectful distance.

+ RHETORIC WAS IRRELEVANT, AND UNNECESSARY.  THE FACTIONS HAVE ALWAYS EXISTED.  ARCHONS HAVE ALWAYS FOUGHT.  WHEN WE DISCOVERED OTHER BEINGS, SOME SOUGHT TO DESTROY THEM, OTHERS SOUGHT TO STUDY THEM, OR AID THEM. +

+ THE STRONG DOMINATED THE WEAK IN EACH FACTION.  HARBONAH IS STRONG, AND HAD NO NEED TO PERSUADE OTHERS TO SERVE ANY CAUSE.  IT WAS SIMPLY A MATTER OF TAKING CONTROL OF THAT EXISTING FACTION, AND DESTROYING ALL WHO DID NOT COOPERATE. +

+ TO ONE SUCH AS HARBONAH, RHETORIC AND THREATS ARE INTERCHANGEABLE TERMS FOR THE SAME CONCEPT. +

"Hm."  Cyan paces again, pondering.  "Harry was stupidly lax.  Or supremely arrogant.  Not even double-checking?"  She shakes her head in disbelief.

Finally she ceases her circling, looking up at Trgiaob's spinning, lethal form.  "I observed a certain lack of élan in Harbonah's followers.  Always seeking a higher position, always searching for a way to bring down the ones above, to supplant them.  Harbonah himself seemed to have rivals - none that could oppose him openly, but some waiting for a chance.  Evidently a commonplace occurance."

Dropping to a crouch, she stares up into the sky, deep in thought.  "We do not face a united front," Cyan murmurs, her emerald eyes kindling in the sunlight.  "'tis a flawed crystal, not a diamond.  And yet, its shattering might spill devastation into thousands of worlds."

Standing, she faces Trgiaob once again.  "It has been my thought that the only way to truly end this threat is if your people change as you have.  But a sweeping change cannot simply happen over an entire race...or can it?  You changed when you experienced the Myriad Worlds.  I have seen others do the same.  Are the seeds already planted, awaiting the proper rainfall?"

+ WE CAN NOT ANSWER FOR ALL OF OUR KIND. + Trgiaob responds, after only the briefest of consideration.  + YET, IF IT IS AS YOU SAY, AND OTHERS ARE ABANDONING HARBONAH'S CAUSE, THEN THAT CAUSE IS WEAKENED, EVEN IF TO ONLY AN INFINITESIMAL DEGREE. +

+ CONSIDER THAT OTHERS HAVE ALWAYS OPPOSED HARBONAH, AND THAT THE SERAPHIM ARE BEING WEAKENED BY DESERTION.  HARBONAH WILL, IN OUR OPINION, FALL EVENTUALLY.  WHEN THAT HAPPENS, THE SERAPHIM WILL STILL EXIST, BUT WITHOUT A LEADER, THEY WILL FRAGMENT INTO A MULTITUDE OF FACTIONS, OFTEN WORKING AT CROSS-PURPOSES. +

+ WORLDS WILL STILL FALL, JUST AS THEY ALWAYS HAVE, BUT WITH ARCHONS CHALLENGING EACH OTHER FOR CONTROL OVER THEM, THEIR DESTRUCTION WILL BE DELAYED WHILE THE SERAPHIM FIGHT AMONG THEMSELVES. +

The Archon pauses, blades producing a whispered ululation as they cut through the air, + THAT IS WHERE HOPE LIES FOR YOUR KIND.  THE END OF ALL IS INEVITABLE, WHETHER UNDER AN ARCHON ASSAULT, BEFORE SOME OTHER ENEMY, OR THROUGH THE SIMPLE WORKING OF ENTROPY. +

+ WITH LUCK, THOUGH, THE INEVITABLE CAN BE DELAYED.  PERSUADED TO FINALLY COME TO PASS IN THE MOST REMOTE OF MANNERS. +

Trista stands silently. The territory of all out war belongs to Cyan, the former General. But Trista recognizes 'the sage' as Cyan puts it. It seems truth finds its way through all worlds in one form or another. Knowledge first, true.

If they can unify the rebels under one purpose, that would greatly enhance their position. And now with Trgiaob volunteering...

Shifting circumstances require new tactics. Archon against archon. Apparently, it's nothing new, but brought together with this group? Maybe they have a chance.

The creature's history proves interesting and takes all of Trista's focus. Harbonah didn't really care which worlds were destroyed, just that something was blown to smithereens. Why?

Her question finds voice in Cyan's voice and Trista listens again with interest. They both misunderstood to a degree, but the archon clears up any misunderstandings. They lied to their leader, prompting a wisp of a smile.

But to get rid of Harbonah will only delay the destructions of worlds? Fatalist words. And though Trist is not the most optimistic person, she doesn't believe the human race's fate is sealed. Not by a long shot.

“Let's not get side-tracked into conversations of catastrophic fate. You won't find humans so easily persuaded of their own inevitable demise. Let's focus on the subject at hand.” She turns to Cyan, “He states destroying Harbonah will not end the conflict, but will delay destruction of the Worlds. I'll take the delay as hope in the face of few other alternatives. That is, until we come across new information.

“As you say, information is key. So is unity. With Trgiaob's help, we might gain that unity.”

+ WE WILL ASSIST IN ANY WAY THAT WE ARE ABLE. + the Archon states, + IF YOU WISH, FOR EXAMPLE, WE COULD CARRY ALL OF YOU WITH EASE, ALLOWING YOU TO MOVE QUICKLY, AND SECRETLY.  OR WE COULD SEEK OTHERS WHO WILL AID YOU IN YOUR CAUSE. +

Then it moves quickly to hover near the door of the godspeaker's house, + OR WE COULD, IF YOU SO DESIRE, STAY HERE AND PROTECT THE ONE WHO DEFENDS THIS WORLD.  WATCH OVER THEM. +

+ HOW CAN WE BEST AID YOU? +

Trista's interruption comes at a perfect moment, preventing Cyan from shooting back the first angry reply that springs to mind.  She should know better, having dealt with Archons in the past.  But her temper, always her weak spot, nearly gets the better of her.  With a wan but grateful smile to the other woman, she releases the reins of the discussion, content to follow along for the nonce.

The sad wanderer certainly makes good points, and she listens to the Archon's answers.  Then, "Delay certainly stands head and shoulders above the alternative.  Perhaps we might eventually come to some kind of peace.  But time is required."  Nodding, she considers Trgiaob's suggestions.  Mobility is an issue, but should things become that serious, Cyan can recall Left and Right.  The world itself is likely safe for the moment, until information returns to Harbonah that his scouts have vanished.  At that point, she knows, no single archon will be capable of stemming the tide.

"The best way to protect this world is to give Harbonah something more dangerous to consider than merely vanished scouts," she muses.  "More archons appearing in opposition to him - that might assist.  Already he must feel the bite of the Nephillim's existence.  And it may be that others have information that might prove useful."

Her ruby gaze flicks about the group, from Trista, to Dorian and his daughter, to Devlin...  "What say you?"

A foot shifts the sand back and forth as Trista thinks of this village and the children therein. If she could, she would defend them herself, but to stand post by each individual world? Country? Village? A deep furrow mars her brow. Impossible.

Trista stills herself and smooths her face as she adds two more cents to the conversation, “We cannot possibly hope to defend each world individually. I agree with Cyan, Trgiaob might better serve to gather others sympathetic to the cause. But,” she looks directly at the archon, “you need to take some ownership. This isn't just our cause, it belongs to all of us. All who would hope for a better future. And that includes you.”

She glances at Chance whose eyes hide behind shades, “I would hear more opinions on this, too. But if we decide to send Trgiaob off, perhaps you could do a drawing of him, Cyan? Would that take too long? After you speak to James, that is.” Her head juts toward the card still in the woman's hand.

Her father's face remains cowled, obscured by cloth and shadows. He offers no movement or acknowledgment at Cyan's glance.

"My father agrees with Trista. Trgiaob, we admire your willingness to help and follow our lead, but this conflict is too big. We need you to do as you think best, not as we say."

Her dark eyes shift from the Archon to Cyan, and she offers a small, hopeful smile.

Dorian does not move.

"Our concern lies within the nature of the Archons, though. Please, take no offense at this Trgiaob, but if Archons naturally ally themselves under the strongest leaders, they will continue to act as a single entity--roughly speaking. Within most other intelligent species, there is a check and balance offered by interpersonal conflict and differences. A human will often rise up against a stronger oppressor, even when there is no hope, simply because they believe in a cause or would rather die than remain a slave. On every world where humans are found, these stories are found. Unless the Archons learn to do the same, they will remain a fierce enemy. The powerful will seek more power, and the weak will follow them rather than oppose. The cycle will continue even after Harbonah fails."

She drifts forward, carried by invisible winds that only she acknowledges. Her unfearing face draws within inches from the whirling blades that cut air, but cannot cut her--for she doesn't entirely exist.

"It must begin somewhere. The message of individualism and independence ... let it start with you, if it can. But it must start somewhere."

Chance smiles casually and scratches at the stubble on his face. It's been a while since he could shave. "I never thought," he says. "After all this talk of battle and war, that it all might be won by a change of heart instead of devastating weapons."

"I feel like I should have been thinking that way all along."

Devlin looks around at the group as each speaks, or does not speak. On this topic though, he also has little to say. He's already made his plans clear. Nothing he has heard has changed that yet. It will take more than this little hope to divert him.

What he says is, "No, we cannot protect them all. We cannot really protect any of them. Diverting Harbonah seems the best choice. It would gain us time to find the tide that leads to an ending we can live with."
This message was last edited by the player at 14:01, Sat 21 Mar 2009.

Cyan rubs her forehead while the others talk, but takes a break from that to shoot a somewhat strained smile to Galatea in response.  When the flow of opinions ends with Devlin's grim assessment, as it often does, she straightens.  "It is good to see us thinking along similar lines."  Turning to the great wheel of blades, the child's spectre before it, she considers the danioti for a moment, then nods.  "As Trista suggests, I can most certainly forge a palanquet of Trgiaob - it will be more difficult without Berd's assistance, but not impossible."

One eyebrow cocks over a ruby eye.  "What say you to this, Trgiaob of the danioti?"

The discussion of plans seems to interest Trgiaob not at all, as it darts away to study a snail, but after a few moments, it starts asking questions and offering comments which make it clear that at least one part of it has been paying careful attention.

+ WE WOULD GLADLY SEEK OTHERS WHO HAVE TURNED AGAINST HARBONAH, AND PERSUADE THEM TO THIS CAUSE.  WE KNOW OF A PLACE WHERE WE MIGHT GAIN INFORMATION CONCERNING SUCH REBELS AND TRAITORS.  WE WOULD TAKE YOU THERE, BUT CONDITIONS THERE ARE HAZARDOUS, EVEN FOR ARCHONS.  BEFORE, IT WAS NOT WORTH GOING THERE, SINCE WE BELIEVED THERE WERE NO OTHER DESERTERS.  NOW THAT WE KNOW THAT THERE ARE OTHERS, THE RISK IS... ACCEPTABLE. +


Then there is a question, a brief explanations, a couple more questions, and subsequent answers, and finally the Archon understands exactly what is meant by a palanquet.  + IT SEEMS NOT UNLIKE THE WAY WE COMMUNICATE AMONG OUR OWN KIND SOMETIMES.  IT WOULD BE ACCEPTABLE TO US TO BE CONTACTED IN THIS MANNER. +

The Archon considers further, + I CAN ADOPT WHICHEVER FORM WOULD BE EASIER FOR YOU TO REPRODUCE IN TWO DIMENSIONS. +

Out of instinct, Chance finds himself humming a tune, a meandering process of seeking out the right notes to fit whatever image fills his mind. Soon, as he steps back from the others a bit, his fingers do the same on his well-used guitar.

Cyan smiles, a quirky, lopsided affair.  "Your present form is sufficient, Trgiaob.  More than handsome enough."  After more than two years surrounded by Archons, she can more easily distinguish between them than might be expected.  For the danioti, there is blade shape, comfortable speed, style of motion, and more, all wrapped up in a single, lethal package.

And color, of course, in some cases.

"If I may touch your spirit, Trgiaob?  I require a greater sense of your self in order to create a palanquet."

Perhaps, she hopes, at some point she might be able to use the palanquet still dangling from her fingers.

The little girl who had been a ghostly thing seen through the belly of the archon intrigues Trista as she speaks for Dorian. Something to learn, there.

As Cyan and Trgiaob discuss trump-making and Chance drifts away, strumming his guitar, Trista steps a few feet away. She's nothing to do here, not having gifts such as her companions. The pack on her back slips off and she makes a seat of it on the ground.

Trgiaob moves a little, finding a good spot in the garden, and then, simply, freezes... in so far as an Archon can ever be truly said to stop moving.  The constant rotation continues, of course, but the restless moving about to study insects and other small creatures ceases entirely...

Encouraged by the fact that the "demon" is now stationary, the crowd, still swelling in numbers, edges a little closer.  A murmur rises from them, as the godspeaker appears in the doorway of his house, looks about briefly, and crosses to Trista.  He gives her a shallow bow, and says, quietly, "The Lady is awake, and would speak with you.  I must caution you, though, that she is still weary."

Trista had almost forgotten the 'crowd' though it seems impossible to do so. These poor people. Well, they'll have stories to tell for years to come. If they have years to come.

The Godspeaker's motions capture her interest and she rises before he gets to her. “Yes, of course,” in response. With Cyan and Chance otherwise occupied, Dorian aloof, the little girl strangely odd, Trista stops next to Devlin, “I'll be back in a few minutes.” Hitching her pack over her shoulder, she follows the leader of this town into the church where this Lexy lies.

As Trista heads inside, the godspeaker looks about, a little puzzled.  It's his garden, and yet it is suddenly full of strangers, and monsters.  Many of them seem to be busy with various tasks which he has no understanding of, and the demon ssems to be under control for the moment.

The man is at a loss for what to do with himself.  Then, an idea strikes him.  He approaches one of the strangers, it happens to be Devlin, though the godspeaker doesn't know that himself.  "Would you like something to eat, young man?  Or some tea?"

Chance, meanwhile, has become the centre of a small crowd of children, who appear to have grown tired of the fact that the Archon isn't doing anything particularly exciting.  They have, instead taken an interest in the music.  Two or three are attempting to dance to the incomplete, and not entirely suitable piece which Chance is composing.  Finally, one of them, a red-haired boy of about seven or eight years old, asks, "Here Mister, can you play The Farmer an' His Horse?  Or The Goat Who Went To Chapel?"

Trista makes her way inside, and to the room were Lexy is currently resting.  The goddess of this world looks ill and tired, her face deathly pale.  Still, she manages a weak smile as Trista enters.  She beckons the woman closer, and starts to speak quietly, "I take it that the battle is over?  I assume we won.  Is anybody else hurt?"

delays... delays... Devlin was thinking to himself when Trista went off inside. Cyan was busy, Dorian and Chance in there own worlds. When the old man asked him if he's like something to eat, at first Devlin looked at him with his eyebrows pinched, but then a smile spread across his face.

"I'm sure some food and drink would be good for all of them, that is if you and your townspeople can spare it."

Chance halted his seemingly random strumming as the children surrounded him. With a wan glance back towards Cyan, he decided his own portrait of the Archon would have to wait ... or be forgotten.

He looks out over the lake for a moment. He and his group were going to head out soon, he knew. These kids would have to stay. Here. In this world. And just maybe, deal with a sky full of buzzing Archons, like insects ... terrifying, flesh and bone rending insects.

The Archon's song seemed less important now.

"No," he says. "I don't know those tunes, but they sure sound fun. I bet if you sing a few notes I can figure it out though."

He wanders off through the town, children in tow, as if he were some kind of piper that could cast a spell over them. Truth be told, he could. And considering the horrifying future these children might face, the Death Singer was a little less cautious than he might have been ... because, soon, there really was a goat in the chapel, and a farmer and his horse, and all sorts of other fantastic things ... he could only hope the children would be around to tell their grandkids someday down the road. If not, well, he could ease their burdens before their world ended in flames and screams.

Entering where Lexy lies awake, Trista cautiously makes her way to the obviously weak woman. She may be a goddess to these people, and definitely a hero, but here and now, she looks as weak and frail as any mere mortal. Appearances can be so deceiving.

Trista puts on a wan smile, “It's good to see you have regained some strength.” Very quickly. One of the immortals, to be sure.

The smile slips away as Trista sits on the edge of the woman's bed. “We will leave you to your people; I believe they'll care for you better than any other, even if the methods are archaic.” With the last, an eyebrow rises and an amused smile tugs her lips.

“Yes, we won. Thanks to you. You with the aid of the friendly archon. I have little skill against these creatures, but you handled them brilliantly and nobody else was injured.”

Her eyes leave the woman to wander around the room, resting on some spot not physically here. “The battle is over, but the war has not yet begun, I fear. Your people are safe. For now.” Those dark eyes regain their focus and find Lexy once again, “We'll do everything we can to keep it that way.”

Concern infuses Trista's eyes, “Is there anything I can do for you before we depart? We're going to meet up with others in our group and try to get this war well underway. If it's all right with you, I'll keep the little painting of you and check in from time to time. But I do have a few minutes to spare if you need something...”

Lexy manages a smile of her own.  "It's good that nobody was hurt.  And that the Archon proved to be a friend.  The aid it gave likely turned the whole battle."

"Physically, I have a little strength, yes.  Spiritually though... I can not feel the world at the moment.  Or the people.  That will return too, I believe, but for now it is a lonely feeling.  Aaron... Aaron once said that it was only the voices in his head that kept him sane.  I'm sure he was joking, but today, I think I'd have to agree with him."


Outside, Cyan still sketches, while a small knot of children gather around Chance, two or three of them attempting to hum, whistle and sing the songs they had requested of the man.

The godspeaker nods to Devlin, "I believe we can spare it, yes.  I'll ask my flock to provide a little something each, to spread the contributions as much as possible."  Then, with a smile, "And if they all have to go and prepare a meal for you, it stops them standing about staring."

A short time later, Chance returns, ambling towards Cyan. He brushes the hair at his temple back as he does so. "So, this is a question I'd normally ask Berd or maybe Luke, but I just noticed a peculiarity." He juts his chin towards the children.

 "One of the songs the children know, the words are new, but the melody ... Well, I wrote it a few years ago. It's nothing much, just a little ditty, but I know I've never been to this world and it's a perfect match--note for note. How does that happen?"

"Ah!  Rauko!"  Raising her hand, Cyan squints at a small line of red, then carefully licks the wound once, clearing away the blood.  A curious place for a paper-cut, to be sure...she eyes the nearly completed sketch with some amusement, then nods to Trgiaob.  "Thank you, Trgiaob.  That should be sufficient."  It can be frustrating for a danioti to hold itself in one place for a time.

The wound certainly stings like a papercut, but Cyan knows it to be far, far more precise and thin.

Unimportant - the blood already ceases to flow, her strong metabolism sealing the wound as Chance moves into her field of vision.  Glancing up, Cyan brushes back a lock of hair and raises an eyebrow, a shadow crossing her face at the mention of Luke's name.  It clears, though, when Chance continues, and she nods along with his question, giving it serious consideration.

When he finishes, she fishes in her pouch.  "I have often wondered similarly, Chance.  As is often the case in life, I feel there are many answers.  Some of mine have come from Berd, others from observation.  I'm certain you have your own, as well."  A small smile, and she brandishes her MP4 player.  "This device holds hundreds of songs.  More.  I have listened to many, all from the same world.  Most of them are completely unfamiliar to myself, and yet...some contain the echoes of other songs, too strongly to be coincidental."

Rubbing her jawline, she stares at the device with narrowed, emerald eyes.  "Echoes.  A new theory I have considered involves the Underflow.  Connected to all things, it responds to thoughts, to intent.  It is possible that songs, like thoughts, can echo through its vastness."  A small smile.  "But this, it seems to me, is too complex a thought.  There are more likely possibilities."

She looks up into the Deathsinger's eyes.  "Worldwalkers carry their music.  Mirroring occurs between close worlds, and sometimes odd aspects of one world can carry through thousands.  Gates open between worlds, and if things fall through, so might concepts.  Coincidence plays a factor - postulate infinity, and all things are possible, including a song spontaneously arising on two worlds.  Or a melody.  All of these things may have some truth to them, depending upon the situation.  And more."

The smile fades, and she stares up into the sky, at the vastness above this universe - a bubble of infinity, only one in an immesurable sea.  "And then there are truths.  Some are universal.  Some may cross boundaries with neither rhyme, nor reason.  They simply do."  Her gaze focuses again.  "Wherever I have found myself, there has always been music."

Then her face lights up in a full-fledged grin.  "Perhaps your song was one of those truths, Chance?  Or passed from you to another, who came here.  Perhaps another Chance wandered through this land, in bygone times.  Who can say?"

Out of her element – listening to Lexy speak of what she considers 'spiritual' things. Trista has had little do with that particular realm. She's curious about Aaron's voices. Is it the same with the Aaron who fought at Charyk? Voices?

She shakes the thoughts from her mind and lays a hand on top of Lexy's, “I don't know how long it will take, but I have hope all things will be restored to you.” Whatever those things may be. “These people need you as much as you need them. Maybe you'll connect with them on a whole new level.” Something to consider.

Glancing back to the entrance, Trista sighs, “I should go. They may be ready and we shouldn't delay any longer than necessary.” The stormy-eyed woman turns back to Lexy, “I'll check in on you, hopefully with good news. But I don't know how time passes here, so it may be awhile. A long while.”

Chance looks away, avoiding her eyes. "Yeah," he says. "I suppose it could be just that."

His hand falls to his guitar, and his fingers lightly run over them. After a few moments, he tugs gently at one causing a random note to break the silence.

"I'll be back soon."

He turns and his heel and wanders away from the group, away from the town.

Chance wanders off, and the children follow him for a short distance before turning back.  Their distraction gone, they return to their more normal childish pastimes: odd games involving small pebbles, and simple rhymes, or fast-moving contests of pursuit and evasion, with rules which seem to change with every moment.

Trgiaob, no longer required to function as an artist's model, goes back to following small examples of local fauna about, and occasionally abducting them if they seem particularly interesting.

After a brief discussion with the godspeaker, most of the crowd disperse to fetch food and drink for the visitors, leaving the area much quieter.
"I understand.  I've seen my share of time differences over the years.  Thank you for your help, Trista." Lexy smiles, and for a brief instant, the room brightens, as a shaft of sunlight suddenly pierces the clouds beyond the window.  "My thanks to all of you, in fact."

"Be careful where you walk.  Monsters are not always the worst enemies."

"Chance?"  Frowning, Cyan glances up from her work, so nearly-completed, but the Death-singer has already moved away.  Perplexed, she gazes after him, wondering which words had not been to his liking.  Certainly something has concerned the uncharacteristically somber musician.

But what?

"For what you are," she mutters with some irritation, "you have a blessedly poor ability to read people, Cyan."

'I suppose it could be just that.'  Curious choice of words.  Perhaps he had searched for a specific answer.  One that lay heavily upon his own mind.  Unable to guess what that might be, or even if it is the case, Cyan begins packing away her equipment, keeping an eye on the palanquet of the tired soldier, still held separate from the others.

Trista comes back out of the house after only a few minutes, and notices that Chance is missing.

A short while later, some of the villagers return with food - bread, fruits and vegetables mostly, and pitchers of water, which they set down on the grass just inside the garden gate.  With a quick glance at Trgiaob, currently taking one leaf from each type of plant in the garden, one of the men explains, "'fraid it's not bein' much, but dinner won't be ready for a while, an' lunch is long finished.  Also, we don't rightly know what your demon eats."

He starts backing towards the gate, bowing awkwardly every couple of steps.

Cyan isn't 100% certain people are prepared.  Chance has wandered off.  Dorian and his daughter remain silent, waiting (or so she assumes).  Trista has returned, and Devlin is a mirror to Dorian.

But there's no sense in dallying.

"Thank you, sir," she replies to the villager, rising to bow.  How long has it been since she simply sat down and talked with one of the people of the worlds through which she passes?  Two years.  Perhaps more.  Another life, that seems, one without uncertain memories and the panicked press of necessity at their backs.  "I am certain he is well enough."

A nod to Trista as the woman approaches.  "I believe I will bespeak James - even if we do not leave immediately, it would be wise to open discourse."

The card, caught between two fingers, snaps around to face her, and she studies the weary soldier emblazoned upon it.

With Lexy's sage advice echoing in her mind, Trista makes her way back out to the group. Minus one, she notices immediately. Squinting eyes look about, but she doesn't see Chance. Concern sets her brow.

Otherwise, things seem ready. Cyan has put away her artwork, the archon once again collects. But snag keeps them from heading forward – the townsfolk have brought them food. Do they expect them to stay? Not good timing.

As Cyan approaches, Trista soothes the worried irritation from her visage, and focuses on the readhead. “Good. It feels high time we get in touch with him and the others.”

An eyebrow lifts as the man who brought the food backs away. They've left an impression, it would seem. Or at least Trgioab has. Sighing, she picks out an apple and shines it against her t-shirt, “Get what you can, we should be going soon. Hopefully, Chance will get back here.”

Her attention now splits between the apple and Cyan with her card of power.

Devlin, having been waiting, now sees that Cyan has completed her work. Trista has also returned from inside. "So," he says, Is... Lexy, okay?"

He takes some of the food. It doesn't matter what it is, nor does he really pay attention other than to chew and swallow. "Where did Chance run off to? We should get moving" But Cyan is contemplating the image of James and not likely to hear him.

Turning to Trista, "Have you noticed that we tend to get side tracked easily? Never really gaining anything useful. If we stop to help every world, in the end we'll save none of them."

“She's going to be fine. Weak, physically and spiritually, but I think she'll grow strong quickly. She's a strong heart.” Devlin's conversation took her by surprise and she's surprised how much she's missed it. He was her rock one night in the rain when she felt very much on shifting sands.

She watches Devlin mutter and eat and finally voice his inner agitation. The woman smiles, “ami was scouting and these people needed our help. At least we know Charyk is an empty road. I think the thing with James is they might have discovered something on their journey. Just exchanging information.” Her eyes darken, “But I admit, I can't see the path we need to be on. I know some have ideas, but, I wish I could see.

“As for Chance,” her eyes leave Devlin's to look down the roads of this small hamlet, “I don't know what he's up to. I would have thought he would let one of you know.” Concern still clouds those blue eyes as she turns back to Devlin, “I agree; we need to go. James, first. Chance should return by the time Cyan finishes (she hopes) and then we can go – though where is still up in the air.”

"I believe that the only course that will be of any use is to find this man that calls himself Carl Corey, Or Ganelon, or any number of other things. The man that originally gave the rod and sword to the brothers at Charyk. The man with the dark grey hair and beard, shot through with red; the man with the grey eyes with flecks of silver."

Devlin looks down at Cyan. "The others were on there way to Amber, maybe someone there knows one of that description. Are they in Amber? If so, then that may be a place to get the answer to who this Amberite may be."

Turning back to Trista, "At any rate, this man was there at the beginning. That's where the river starts, and it is always good to return to a rivers birth waters to discover why it was formed."

Nearby, Trgiaob stops following a bee, and turns towards Trista and Devlin, + EXCUSE US, PLEASE.  IF THIS MAN YOU SPEAK OF WAS THERE AT THE BEGINNING OF THIS SITUATION, HE WOULD BE EXTREMELY OLD NOW.  THIS SITUATION HAS BEEN GOING ON FOR A CONSIDERABLE LENGTH OF TIME.  IN HUMAN TERMS, SUCH A MAN MIGHT BE CONSIDERED IMMORTAL. +

The Archon pauses, expanding and contracting twice, in the blink of an eye.

+ BUT NOW THAT WE THINK OF IT, THERE WAS A MAN AT THE START OF IT.  SO LONG AGO THAT MOST ARCHONS HAVE FORGOTTEN HIM, IF THEY KNEW OF HIM AT ALL.  HE MUST BE LONG DEAD BY NOW...  WE ONLY KNOW OF HIM FROM RUMOUR AND HEARSAY. +

At some point, Chance is seen again, as if he never left, playing and singing with the children until someone indicates it is time to move on once more.

Satisfied, Cyan turns over James' card, breaking the connection.  "The others have indeed arrived in Amber," she notes, simultaneously answering Devlin's question, "and are prepared to take us there."

Glancing around, she sees the group of men, woman, and child all within speaking range.  "Gather around," Cyan calls, with a curious stare at Chance.  Had he not wandered off moments ago?  Well, she has been busy with the palanquet, he certainly could have returned.  Excitement grows within her, and her emerald eyes sparkle in the sunshine.  Finally, she will gaze upon the fabled city.  Finally, she-

Trgiaob speaks, and it's all Cyan can do not to slap her forehead.

But too much is at stake here; she turns to the archon immediately, her tone taut with tension.  "A man at the beginning?  If it pleases you, Trgiaob, speak to us of him - all you have heard, rumours and heresay included!"

Trista rubs her eyes, processing Devlin's words. He had mentioned this Carl Corey to her before and had forgotten all about him. Proof her memory is far from perfect. She nods at his logic, “I agree. Though I doubt the entire group should go in search of him. We're a big lot,” referring to James' group, too.

The site of Chance distracts her, just off a bit, playing music for the children. A smile plays on her lips. Small things make all the difference.

For the adults, too.

She guesses also for the task at hand.

Then Cyan begins talking to them. Trista had been somewhat surprised that she didn't hear Cyan's half the conversation, but no doubt, the woman had reason to keep it private. So to Amber, it is.

Or not.

Trista sighs, louder than she had meant. Trgiaob certainly needs to be heard: information is power. But the timing... always when they're just about ready to leave, something prevents them. What must be done, must be done. And so Trista turns her attention to the archon, but her eyes stay on the laughing children.

Small things.

Devlin turns toward the Archon shocked, and is about to speak when Cyan speaks his mind for him, as if she had read what he was going to say.

A shake of his head and he adds "Yes, please. Any story of this man." and his attention is now fully on the Archon as he awaits its response.

Trgiaob shifts size, growing larger, and slowing its rotation a little, before returning to its original size and speed, + IT IS A VERY OLD TALE, DATING BACK TO FAR BEFORE OUR OWN BEGINNINGS, AND MOST HAVE FORGOTTEN IT.  THOSE WHO DO REMEMBER USUALLY REGARD IT AS A LEGEND, OR SIMPLY A WAY TO JUSTIFY CONQUEST.  WE WILL ENDEAVOR TO RECALL THE DETAILS... +

The Archon starts to move oddly, revolving slowly around its vertical axis as it speaks, and its voice takes on a tone like the tolling of a bell, + THE FIRST PLACE IS WHERE THE ARCHONS LIVED FOR MOST OF THEIR HISTORY, BUT IT WAS BECOMING CROWDED.  NO MORE THAN A SMALL BUBBLE IN THE UNDERFLOW, IT WAS LIKE A PRISON, AND THE ARCHONS COULD NOT ESCAPE.  NOR COULD THEY KEEP FROM PRODUCING MORE ARCHONS, BECAUSE THERE WAS A CONSTANT NEED IN OUR PEOPLE TO CREATE AND COMMAND VAST ARMIES AND DOMINATE AS MUCH TERRITORY AS POSSIBLE. +

+ HATREDS FLARED, AND WARS WERE FOUGHT, AND STILL THERE WERE TOO MANY ARCHONS IN TOO LITTLE SPACE.  THEIR KHEDS, THEIR LIMITS, CLASHED CONSTANTLY... IMAGINE A HUMAN WORLD SO CROWDED THAT NO HUMAN COULD MOVE, EVEN A LITTLE, WITHOUT THEIR EXTREMITIES STRIKING ANOTHER HUMAN.  THAT WAS HOW ARCHONS LIVED, FOR MOST OF ETERNITY. +

Shrinking to about a foot in diameter, Trgiaob starts to weave a circuitous path, between and around its audience, + UNTIL... WELL... ONE DAY WOULD BE THE CLOSEST HUMAN TERM FOR IT, A STRANGE CREATURE APPEARED AMONG THE ARCHONS, UNLIKE ANYTHING THEY HAD ENCOUNTERED BEFORE.  HE SAID HE WAS A HUMAN, AND THAT HE COULD SHOW THE ARCHONS A WAY OUT OF THEIR PRISON.  BUT HE WOULD NEED THEIR ASSISTANCE. +

+ SO DESPERATE WHERE THE ARCHONS THAT THEY READILY AGREED TO HIS TERMS.  IN ALL TRUTH, THERE WAS LITTLE HARDSHIP INVOLVED.  ARCHONS HAD LONG SOUGHT TO DOMINATE TERRITORY - ONE REASON THE FIRST PLACE BECAME SO CROWDED WAS THAT THOSE WHO LIVED THERE CONSTANTLY EXPANDED THEIR FORCES IN AN ATTEMPT TO SIEZE THAT WHICH BELONGED TO OTHERS.  IT IS THE NATURE OF OUR KIND. +

+ THE HUMAN, WHO NAMED HIMSELF FINDER, OFFERED THE OPPORTUNITY TO SPREAD OUT INTO NEW TERRITORIES.  TO FIND MORE SPACE THAN ANY ARCHON HAD EVER DREAMED OF.  AND HIS ONLY CONDITION WAS THAT THEIR FIRST TARGET WOULD BE A PLACE THAT HE SPECIFIED, BEFORE WE MOVED ON TO OTHERS.  THEN, ONCE HE WAS CERTAIN THAT THE ARCHONS UNDERSTOOD THAT THEY WERE TO CONQUER THIS PARTICULAR GROUPING OF WORLDS BEFORE ANY OTHER, HE SHOWED THEM A WAY TO GO FROM THE FIRST PLACE TO YOUR UNDERFLOW. +

Dorian blinks. His head tilts slightly.

"Fundamentally flawed," Galatea says. "They will only end up in the same state here, overcrowded. Then they will move on to other nodes, overcrowded. Ignore the root cause. Bandage the symptom; no cure."

She glances at her father, and then back to the others. "We cannot make them unlearn the technique that brought them here. We know of no way to close the leak. This man taught them the technique; perhaps he knows how to prevent it. More importantly, why did he seek to teach them this thing? Surely it was not concern for their--" she glances at Dorian again. "--overcrowding problem."

Dorian turns and wanders off a few paces to find a place to sit, back hunched and doweled head bent.

"My father's concentration is elsewhere."

Chance excuses himself from the children to join the conversation, gently tearing himself from tiny, grasping hands and pleas for more song.

"Well, if he knows how to pass between groups of worlds--nodes--then we may never find him, if he isn't here."

"Trgiaob," he says. "Do you know anyone still living who might have spoken to this individual, or even seen him? We will likely need a better way to track him."

Cyan listens in silence to the Archon's tale, her lips pressed together.  Another hint.  Another clue.  All forming part of a vast net, a webwork.  Only they cannot find the proper places for the threads, and it has become a hopeless tangle.

Something solid.  She wracks her brain as Galatea points out the band-aid nature of the solution, and Chance asks one vital question.  The combination of the spirit-girl's analysis and his request, however, reminds her of her of what she learned of tactics at the feet of Cúthalion and the Heavy-Handed, years before.

His goals.

One finger rises.  "Another question, Trgaiob, one for which I pray you can give us clear answer."  Emerald eyes close for an instant and Cyan turns her face up to the sun.  "Lords of the West, let it be so," she whispers.  The eyes snap open, ruby now, and hard as the stone.

"Which worlds?"  The bard rocks on her feet, almost as if readying herself.  Her stomach in knots, Cyan clarifies.  "Which worlds did he demand you conquer first?"

Trgiaob remains silent for a while, or as close to silent as one of the danioti can be.  Steel whispers against steel, for long moments, until the Archon finally speaks again, + THERE IS ONLY ONE WHOSE IDENTITY WE KNOW, WHO WAS ALIVE THEN, AND WE DO NOT BELIEVE THAT YOU WOULD WANT TO CONTACT THAT ONE.  OTHERS MAY HAVE SPOKEN TO THE HUMAN, OR WITNESSED HIS ARRIVAL, BUT MANY WERE KILLED BY HARBONAH IN THE POWER STRUGGLES WHICH FOLLOWED. +

+ IF ANY OF THOSE WITNESSES STILL LIVE, WE ARE UNAWARE OF THEM.  WE WERE NOT ALIVE AT THAT TIME. +

Galatea's statement brings a harsh, metallic laugh, + A CLEVER THOUGHT.  HOWEVER, THE FIRST PLACE WAS INFINITE, YET BOUNDED.  THIS PLACE IS ALSO INFINITE, BUT IT EXTENDS TO ACCOMODATE WHATEVER EXISTS WITHIN IT.  ITS BOUNDARIES ARE ELASTIC, AND WE CAN NEVER FILL IT.  BUT EVEN WERE THAT NOT THE CASE, WE DO NOT BELIEVE THAT WOULD CONCERN HARBONAH. +

Then comes Cyan's question, + WE DO NOT KNOW WHY MOST OF HIS CHOSEN WORLDS WERE SELECTED.  WE WERE ONLY TOLD THAT ONCE WE HAD DESTROYED THE FINAL WORLD IN THE SEQUENCE, OUR OBLIGATION WOULD BE COMPLETED.  HE ALSO TOLD THOSE WHO SPOKE WITH HIM THAT HIS OWN GOAL WAS VENGEANCE.  IT IS OUR BELIEF THAT MOST OF THE WORLDS WERE CHOSEN TO PROPAGATE FEAR IN HIS TRUE TARGETS. +

+ THE FINAL SPECIFIED WORLD, HIS TRUE GOAL, WAS THE ONE FURTHEST FROM WHERE WE FIRST ENTERED THIS SPACE'S UNDERFLOW, AND THERE IS A GREAT POWER THERE, WHICH LONG HELD US BACK, SO FULFILLING THE OBLIGATION TO DESTROY THAT PLACE HAS TAKEN A LONG TIME.  BUT THAT FINAL WORLD, AMBER HE NAMED IT, WILL FALL.  AND ONCE IT IS GONE, THE REST WILL, SADLY, CRUMBLE EASILY. +

Chance nods. "No surprise there. Revenge on Amber, I hear it's a popular theme throughout history. I guess we could conclude that someone, or something, in Amber might know the rest of the story then. As chance would have it--no pun intended--we already have some people in Amber who can look into that. Did he give any other name or title that we might use to find him?"

"And ... I don't know if this is right, but if the Archon's came through the chaos side of things, wouldn't that mean to reach them, our guy had to be a shapeshifter, or somehow powerful enough to survive there."

+ WE ARE NOT OF CHAOS, NOR OF ANY OTHER PART OF THIS PLACE.  THE FIRST PLACE WAS... ELSEWHERE, + Trgiaob interrupts Chance's thoughts, + THOUGH WE SUPPOSE THAT WOULD NOT PRECLUDE THE FINDER'S BEING A SHAPESHIFTER, WHICH WOULD CERTAINLY HAVE ASSISTED HIS SURVIVAL IN THE FIRST PLACE. +

"No, that wasn't what I meant," Chance says. "Not from Chaos. But they came through at some point, and you said furthest point from Amber, and my knowledge of the worlds is rather limited. So if that ain't Chaos, where is it?"

+ NOT OF CHAOS.  WE SAID THAT AMBER WAS THE FURTHEST POINT FROM WHERE MY PEOPLE ENTERED, NOT THAT THEY ENTERED AT THE FURTHEST POINT FROM AMBER. +

The Archon dips, and leaves a groove in the ground.  A second, shorter groove is added, perpendicular to the first, about a third of the way along it.

   ---+-------


+ ONE END OF THE LONGER LINE IS CLEARLY FURTHER FROM THE SHORTER LINE, BUT THE OTHER END IS NOT PARTICULARLY CLOSE TO IT EITHER. +

Cyan sags, her eyes darkening to obsidian, and she rubs her forehead wearily.  "Too much to hope for," the bard mutters, her cadance less formal than her norm.  So close - almost something they could use.  But 'wants to destroy Amber'.  "Not like we can just look him up in their god-rotted history and legends."  Her right hand twitches once toward Gurthang's hilt, then knots into a fist.  Knuckles whiten.

Jaw aching, Cyan passes a trembling hand across her brow and slowly breathes out her frustration.  "Well.  Information we already suspected - that our 'man' was some kind of traitor, acting against Amber's best interests - but confirmation is always useful.  If there is aught else from the legends you recall, Trgiaob, I would be most grateful to hear of it."  And she bows to the Archon.  "Thank you."  Quiet, serious, and above all, sincere.  Even if the information did not prove as useful as she hoped, Trgiaob offered it freely.  And it might, in part, become of use at some point.  After all, they travel to Amber, do they not?  Surely the Princes and Princesses can make something of this?

Hope springs eternal.

"I will finish your palanquet, Trgiaob, the first chance I have, and bespeak you with whatever we discover."

Chance adopts an expression of mock displeasure and folds his arms across his chest. "I thought I was your First Chance!"

Bad timing? Probably.

He coughs and lets his arms fall by his side. "Actually, enemy of Amber might be cross-referenced with his appearance--which as seemed to show some consistancy in the few accounts we have--and perhaps with other details we gather along the way. Have we tried a direct approach, letting an Amberite lead us to him?"

One hand comes up and scratches at the side of his head, idly.

"Anyway, didn't we hear on Charyk that this fellow built the weapons to help destroy the Archons? My memory is dim, but it seemed to go down like that, didn't it? So not only must we ponder his motivation in attacking Amber, but also his motivation in ... trying to save it maybe?"

"I hope you will prove our best Chance," Cyan shoots back without pause, some of the tension evapourating from her.  "I believe we have attempted use of the Great Pattern to seek our traitor," she continues, more seriously, "to no avail.  But my memories are spotty," Cyan admits, sapphire eyes concerned.

"As for his creation of the weapons, it boots nothing to gain victory at the expense of all there is.  Like as not he plays both sides against the middle, sending the Archons against Amber while preparing a means to defeat them once they serve his purpose."  She paces in a circle again, pondering.  "Dangerous.  Foolishly so.  And yet, it seems likely he has other contingencies in place, possibly involving the vhuul, and other races."  The bard grimaces.  "Or he may be mad, and not think past his goal of...revenge?  Who can say?"

Still nothing.  Perhaps Trgiaob has something to add...if not, they should depart.

Dorian lifts his head. He makes an odd movement, as if trying to stretch his back while standing, but without making it overt. His hands slip upward and pull his cowl back from his head. His eyes blink in the brighter light now that they lack their former shielding.

He takes a step forward. "I have already tried to find the man, twice, but my methods of searching are flawed and not well suited for a search of such scope. We can only hope Amber knows more and prepare to find him by other means. It occurs to me that while we may not be able to locate him directly, we may locate a means of locating him. Within the infinite worlds, there must be objects of power that can search the myriad worlds for significant individuals ... or perhaps even see into the past, to reveal more of this story."

He glances towards Galatea, and then back to Cyan.

"And if all else fails, there is always my ex-wife." Loathing drips from his words like stale venom.

Galatea's eyes deepen and she looks away, her features conflicted.

The deathsinger grins at Cyan's quip, glad his humor hadn't been taken wrongly in such tense moments.

"Well, it seems like we know our goal, then. We've got to learn more about this dude one way or another. It's not much, but it's enough to get us started. I'm going to say goodbye to the kids before we go. Let me know when everyone is ready."

Before heading back to the children, he pauses a moment to seek out Trista. Just a heartbeat, a sense of grounding, and then moving onward.
This message was last edited by the player at 06:46, Tue 19 May 2009.

Devlin just listens quietly, absorbing the information, but saying little. When the discussion is over they know no more than they did before, or little more.

"Right then, so it's off to Amber. Perhaps one of them will recognize the man's description. The time seems right."

The man turns to Cyan, "Shall we then?"

The little bird flies in and lands on Trista's shoulder. Tweets a short song and tilts its little head to one side to look into the woman's eye with one of its own. In its beak ämi holds a large, hairy centipede.

Trgiaob hums quietly for a few seconds, and then speaks, + THAT IS ALL THAT WE RECALL OF THE TALE.  IT HAPPENED BEFORE OUR OWN CREATION.  AS NOTED, HARBONAH COULD TELL YOU MORE, BUT YOU ARE PROBABLY RELUCTANT TO INITIATE THAT CONVERSATION. +

+ WHAT IS HAPPENING? +

Around Cyan, a rainbow nimbus starts to form, hazy and indistinct at first, but growing more clearly defined with each passing heartbeat...

Cyan shoots a quick glance Dorian's way as he returns to them, but her jaw tightens at the mention of his former spouse.  She shakes her head.  "No, I think not.  Deals with the infernal come at too high a price."  Thrusting away the burgeoning dark mood, she gives Chance a quick bow and a smile.  "Of course, Sir Chance.  That should be soon."

Devlin, on the other hand, seems impatient to leave.  Cyan well understands his feelings - high time they begin moving.  "Indeed, since Trgiaob -" another bow, this time to the archon, "- has no more to say on the matter at present..."  She shudders.  "No, I do not relish the thought of such a discussion."  A bitter smile flickers on her features.  "Hard feelings from an unexpected termination of employment," the Warrior mutters.

There is a pause as she once again raises James' card, but then..."Palanquet!"  Cyan shifts in preparation for defense, but the contact is familar - very familiar.  Apparantly some vestige of it remains, for a grip like steel latches onto her arm, and -

"Gather around, everyone!  We travel!"

It's hard to resist the strength of the pull, even for an instant.  Given the puller, one would have better luck with an avalanche.