James reaches into the air in front of him, colours flowing and surging around his hand.  Then he pulls back, and another hand appears, gripping his own, followed by a forearm, an elbow, a shoulder...

The room is filled with sudden birdsong, and the scent of flowers and wet grass...

Cyan steps out of the rainbow, accompanied by Chance, Dorian, Trista and Devlin.  All of them are resting a hand on her shoulder, or gripping an arm, or simply holding her sleeve.

Devlin has a small bird perched on his free hand, the source of the music, though not of the garden aroma which heralded their arrival.  There is a ghostly figure, hard to see in the shifting light, holding onto Dorian's hand.

The room is suddenly much more crowded.

"Welcome to Amber, friends.  I am Random, ruler here, and I am pleased to, at last, meet those who have been making such great efforts on behalf of my kingdom."

"James!"  The bard exuberantly throws her arms around the man holding her hand, his clasp like that of a very precise and careful vicegrip.  Topaz eyes glitter as she leans back to study him critically.  "You look well," she whispers.  "If tired."

Turning from him, she studies the group one after another in turn.  Tahirah of Charyk and Roman of Chaos - she offers them solemn bows, though her eyes dance with pleasure.  But...no Morgan?  And where is the curious shapeshifter, Banglen-Yp?  Her gaze jumps to the odd archon, with its out-of-place movements and jaunty presence - certainly not the norm in her experience, and not under guard.  Something in the 'body language' of the Archon reminds her...and is that Aaron, standing at the back with his descendant of all people?

She shifts to face the others.  Fiona, of course, the one who dispatched her upon this mission.  Others, including a sharp-eyed man whose ruined palanquet she carries, given to her by Beldrin - Caine.  But it is the smaller man who commands the room, seizes her attention, first with his greeting.

Amber.  Years of Berd's obfuscations kept her from this land.  More time spent upon the Quest, then...two years best forgotten, though that is impossible.  After so much time, is it possible she stands within its halls?  Given those standing near Fiona as peers, some of whom she recognizes, it would seem so.  But one rises above them, for all his corporeal height.  This man, Random, is the king of a mighty empire and ordained guardian of one of the two poles of reality - her oaths pass through Fiona and Julian to him.

Years spent in Menengroth have forged and honed certain social reflexes, and without hesitation Cyan pulls away from James and steps forward.  She drops to one knee, bowing her head.  "Your majesty."
This message was last edited by the player at 12:34, Thu 21 May 2009.

 

♦♦ Hello again ♦♦

The voice was more metallic but no doubt the more perceptive will still pick out Banglen-Yp in there, at least in the voice, that first statement aimed at all the new arrivals.

♦♦ Your assistance is desired to perfect this form ♦ please ♦♦

That one was seemingly aimed at Cyan as the hovering wheel of metal appeared to "look" at her.

 

Tahirah begins moving towards the edge of the room as the rainbow intensifies.  She takes a few carefully measured steps back, stopping just before bumping into the wall, and then goes into her `silent waiting' stance.  It's a small shock to see Cyan again, and her arms fold into their opposite sleeves as she draws back just another inch, the hood of her cowl seeming deeper than a moment ago.  She returns a small bow when greeted, but stays silent.

The bird takes flight from Devlin's hand as soon as the group is all arrived into the new location. It circles once around the room, chirping noisily, then lands on the sill of a window. [OOC: if there is a high window, that is the place the bird would choose.]

Devlin nods slightly at the greeting from Random; his face familiar, not perfectly that of the images he studied as a boy, but still recognizable. Obviously the man is not concerned about the spinning blades in the room, so neither is Devlin concerned. He's beginning to become accustomed to the things hanging about.

Then he looks around the room at each of the other faces, pausing a moment on each. His head cocks to one side. No sense in waiting, and true to form, Devlin gets right to the point. "The one we should speak to is not here. Where might we find Benedict?"

The sorcerer's head tilts as the presence of the Archon snaps into focus. An enemy? Here? It mattered little that he had just come from the presence of a friendly Archon, or that he had walked among the rebels of their kind; they were all enemies. Possibilities flip through Dorian's mind like a Rolodex. A hidden alliance between Amber and Harbonah, at last revealed? Mind Control, manipulating the princes of Amber like puppets? Blackmail?

His body is still, but coal black eyes flit across the room seeking the hidden dangers, the connections, the twists. Where will the attack come from? Behind? The window? The doors? He finds nothing.

Just because it hasn't been sprung, does not mean it does not exist.

Though, he is certain, the biggest threats are before him, the men and women of Amber. He recognizes only Fiona.

Then the Archon speaks. It seeks help perfecting its form. A shapeshifter? The shapeshifter known as Banglen-Yp--possibly. Or is that what they want him to think while that one really rots in a dungeon somewhere? He appreciated the subtlety of such a ruse then.

"You cannot learn perfection from imperfect perceptions; seek a real specimen if that is your goal."

Galatea tilts her head in a fashion similar to her father. Curious eyes watch Cyan kneel. After a quick glance at her father, she steps forward and curtsies with child-like grace--though her feet remain inches from the ground.

She does not kneel; not in her father's presence. To her, he is still the Emporer of Samhain, and she his daughter. He is the only one before whom she would kneel.

She stands again. Her eyes glitter with pleasure. She is home again, not in Amber, but among dignitaries. She is once again the perfectly honed princess Galatea.