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.