Having had a few volunteers, and taken the opportunity to brief them on what is expected of them, Random has a servant summoned, and details her to take those volunteers to the place where Dworkin was last seen.

It's a large kitchen which manages to still be incredibly crowded.  Benches and tables are crammed together, leaving little room for the numerous staff to move around them.  Clearly the palace is extremely busy, to require such a large food preparation area.  Even more surprising is that this isn't even the main kitchen.

The heat in the room is almost unbearable.  It's a relief when a small door at the far end of the room is pulled open to emit a chill draft, and reveal a steep flight of steps descending into total blackness.

Two lanterns are fetched and lit, and the group starts the descent.  The stairs go down a long way, and there are places where the walls fade into the distance, leaving the narrow stair suspended in the stygian void.  At those times, voices and footsteps echo back from the vast darkness.  And there are other noises too, their origins uncertain.

Eventually, though, the stair ends in what seems to be a large chamber filled with crates, sacks and barrels.

The servant looks about nervously, and whispers, "The Deep Cellar.  There's an exit over that way.  Leads into the tunnels under the mountain, I believe.  Never been there myself."

"Good luck."

Then she takes a lantern and starts back up the stair.

Luke lounged against the wall of the storage room, studying the exit in question.  "Lovely, lovely place," he muttered.  "Just the sort of smelly, stuffy, downward trip into darkness I love."  A bitter smile crosses his face.  "Though I'm more used to the hot kitchens being at the terminus, rather than the beginning...so who's up for this?"

Moving to the final entrance, he peered down.

 

•• Oooh • interesting • I have never been down into one of these before ••

Banglen-Yp seemed rather intrigued and fascinated during the whole descend, eyes wide open and trying to take it all in, nose sniffing the air and ears listening to all the remote sounds, hands touching the walls.

At least she did not lick the floor or something.

•• Me me me ••

Her answer to Luke was quite cheerful and she bounced up and down a bit, clapping her hands together.

 

The volunteers move out of the chamber, and the circle of light from the lantern narrows to fit the tunnel.  The floor slopes down quite noticeably, but at least it seems to be smooth and evenly paved, reducing the chances of anybody stumbling or tripping, even in the inadequate light.

Aaron peers ahead, into the blackness beyond the light, "How, exactly, are we going to locate this, the most deadly and powerful lunatic in the whole of creation?"

As he finishes, he is somewhat relieved that the only voice which comes back out of the gloom is his own, echoing through the labyrinthine corridors, rather than, say, an elderly voice whispering, "Here I am." followed by a worrying giggle...

 

•• Oh • should have asked for something of his • then I coudl have tried to sniff him out •• Do you think it is too late ••

Banglen-Yp erupted and ended in a question and then shrugged.

•• Then again • he might take the scent from whatever he is at the moment •• Oh well • let us see if we cannot make you able to keep up ••

The start was aimed at no one, the latter half at the kitten.  She bent down to pat it and it began to squirm and twist.  Dust started to move towards it along with loose bits and pieces of the walls.

Moments later the kitten was slightly larger, about four feet over the shoulders and with a foot long canine teeth, golden brown fur and probably weighing in at half a ton, at least.

http://upload.wikimedia.org/wi...on_populator_rec.jpg

•• So that is how you see yourself • cool ••

She giggled and the kitten, ah, Smilodon Populator grunt-growled in response so she bent over to kiss it on the head.

 

"Oh, the usual way I imagine, Aaron."  Luke rocked back on his heels, chewing on his lower lip.  "Bumble around blindly before stumbling across him in the worst possible circumstances...it's growing to be a habit."  He glanced around with some irritation, finally picking up a heavy, solid axe that lay just next to the wall.  After testing its weight with a sweep through the air, he laid it across one shoulder.  "In case of lurking dragons...Mike had the right idea after all."
The sudden maturation of the kitten certainly caught his attention, and Luke took a careful step back as cat became sabertooth.  "Hm.  I remember those.  It's good that others do as well.  Something caught up in the genetic knowledge, eh kitty?"  Stepping forward, he peered down the stairs again, then shrugged.  A flick of one finger sent a spark of light down the dim tunnel, illuminating it for their passage. "It's in my bailiwick after all...shall we stroll?"

The tunnels form a complex maze, deep beneath the castle, and probably extending out under the city and the mountain.  Luke adds a light of his own to the illumination provided by their lone lantern.

For some members of the search party though, light is probably a moderately incidental luxury.  The sabretooth cat probably has superior night vision, and only Luke and Banglen-Yp know what strange senses they, themselves, can use to navigate in darkness.

After what seems like an age, additional light appears far ahead, and Aaron stops, "I think I know what that is.  If I'm right, I will take my leave of you there.  There is something I must do."

 

•• No peeing in the hallway ••

In a lecturing voice Banglen-Yp waved a stern finger at Aaron.

A moment later she giggled and waved goodbye to him.

•• Might be a good time for a more suitable form to search in ••

She pondered aloud, rubbing her chin and wrinkled her forehead in thoughts.

•• Which one to go with • I wonder ••

 

A little further along, and the light ahead grows brighter.

But Tahirah stops, still holding the Trump of their quarry, and points down a narrow, steeply sloping side corridor.  Cold air blows up from the depths, bearing with it a stink of decay, but it seems that their goal lays in the darkness below.

Aaron turns towards the light, and says, "I need to take my leave of you here.  The fate of Amber may depend on what I find there.  I will return, when I can."
This message was last edited by the GM at 20:00, Tue 04 May 2010.

While most of the group move off down the side tunnel, following Tahirah's directions, Aaron continues along the way towards the distant light.  Nobody is really sure what he is following, but as he heads away from the others, they can hear him talking to himself.

The really worrying thing is that he seems surprised by many of the answers he gets...

Soon though, his voice is lost in the distance, drowned out by echoes of their own footsteps.

Deeper the group descends, into the very bowels of Kolvir, and the air grows colder and damper with every step.  Each time they reach a junction, Tahirah selects a path, and even if some of those paths appear to lead upward, the overall trend is still downward.  The tunnels change as they descend, growing more... well, "natural" doesn't really seem to be the right word.  Let's say, rather, that they appear to be less man-made.

A patch of light appears eventually, a greenish glow which proves to be emitted by some sort of phosphorescent lichen.  Shortly after, another comes into view, followed by another, and gradually they become more frequent.

At last, though, a clearly artificial construct appears ahead of them, a thin line of blue-white light, outlining a perfect rectangle, standing upon one of its shorter sides.  Closer, it becomes apparent that the rectangle is the size of a typical door, but appears to lack a hsndle, lock, or hinges.

Tahirah stops, looking at the wall for a moment.  Then she balances the card briefly on the tips of spread fingers, faced up, before she abruptly smacks it forward to press it against the wall.

Luke was happy enough to follow Tahirah's lead - without Aaron, the group had taken a sizeable hit in fighting ability.  He was relatively certain the seer could handle herself, but it seemed prudent enough to be careful.
"Pretty lights," he muttered at the sight of the door, if that was what it was.  A sardonic grin danced on his lips as Tahirah chose an unorthodox method of opening.  "A little warning, perhaps.  I don't know if you're opening it, or exploding it..."

Tahirah slaps the Trump against the rectangle enclosed by the thin line of light, and there is a sound like the ringing of church bell.  The light brightens momentarily, as the sound resonates through the passageways.

And then the light is gone, leaving only a rectangular opening into... somewhere else.

There is a room beyond the opening, dimly lit by candles, crowded with furniture.  From inside comes a voice, not directed at those in the corridor, "See, they're here.  I told you they would be.  Get back in the bottle.  They won't like you, oh no no no."

A figure, more of a silhouette really, shuffles into view.  Even in the poor light, it looks deformed and distorted.

"Is that you, my dears?"

Something that looks like a large white rat (at least it looks like one if you ignore the two extra heads) scuttles out of the room and disappears in a crowd of green vapour as soon as it's feet touch the floor in the corridor.

"I am I," Tahirah replies, her tone quite serious, as if somebody else might have replied, `why, no, I'm someone else, they should be here soon.'  She steps forward as she does so, the card vanishing into her sleeve.

"And I doubt I'm your dear, though from what I've heard it's remotely possible," Luke muttered.  Reaching out with his own senses, nothing more than a fraction of his father's, he swept the area for any sign of lurking magery or forces.  Traps were horrible things, the lean man mused, unless you were the one setting them.

"Two of us against a mad chaos-lord.  I hope your diplomacy is better than mine seems to be..."

 

•• I hope you will not claim to be late for tea now ••

Benglen-Yp piped up from behind the others and then looked at Luke.

•• I could be two or more • but I am uncertain what good it would do ••

A hand goes down to touch the neck of her "little kitten" companion as it eyes the would-be rat with interest even as it seems to turn into green mist.

 

"Consider me a little concerned about putting someone with your abilities near a shapeshifter of Dworkin's legendary talents," Luke muttered.  "Though we might all be in over our heads...keep your companion close."

 

•• Concerned for whom ••

The question was matched with a wide smile and a brief laughter.  Her hand remained in contact with the sabretooth, gently scratching its neck.

 

"Come in, come in." the figure says, then moves so that the light no longer catches it from directly behind.  A hunchback is revealed in more detail, in long, shapeless robes, with a beard which reaches to somewhere below where his waist presumably lays.

"King Merlin sent you, didn't he?  Or has that not happened yet?  If it hasn't, then forget I mentioned it."  His fingers comb at his beard, for a moment as he seems to consider what he's saying, "It may not even happen anyway."

"Come in come in.  Did I already say that?  Well the offer still stands.  Would you like something to eat?"  He picks up a loaf and uses his sleeve to wipe a layer of dust off it.  Unfortunately the effort is spoiled somewhat by the fact that his sleeve is clearly far dirtier than the dusty bread.

The state of his robes might, in fact be the cause of some of the stronger smells in the small room.  Which is impressive, considering that the chamber appears to be a comprehensive alchemical workshop.

"Sorry the place is a mess.  I wasn't expecting you to arrive for another hour, at least."  Examining the bread critically, he suddenly hawks and spits on it, before wiping it again.

"I'm sorry.  I forgot your names again.  Which of you is Oberon?  And what do you want?"

"Myself, mostly," Luke stated, quite honestly.

Then the small group found itself before the legendary artist himself, and Luke bit down on his first instincts, choosing to wait and watch, to study.  The situation in the Worlds had grown a little too close to a climax for him to risk alienating this being with his own particular brand of diplomacy.

Finally a question came that he could answer, in a manner of speaking.  "Luke." Out of a legion of names, it still sufficed.  "Why would you think one of us would be Oberon?"  It seemed a safe question, though perhaps not to a psychotic, milennia-old being.  Not like I don't have experience dealing with that...

A pause.

"I just ate." 
This message was last edited by the player at 13:32, Wed 19 May 2010.

 

•• Oh • food •• Never hurt with a bit of extra mass • right •• Just more to love ••

Banglen-Yp smiled from ear to ear, almost literally, and then added, as if on a second though.

•• Call me Banglen•Yp •• I am not a space cowboy • but some think I am far out there any way ••

It was cheerful, carefree and only missing the sugary music in the background in order to complete the weird scene.

 

"Oberon?" Dworkin asks, shuffling closer to Luke and peering up at him (giving the man an opportunity to savour the elder Amberite's unique aromatic blend at close range), "You're not Oberon.  You can't fool me, you know.  I may be old, but I still have a mind like a steel... thing.  You know what I mean?  You put them down to catch mice."

He ponders briefly, before exclaiming, "Ah!  Yes, that's it.  Mind like a steel cat."

Banglen-Yp's self introduction seems to garner some interest from the aged hunchback, who hands her the now thoroughly contaminated loaf.  "There you are.  Plenty more where that came from."  His eyes narrow, and he studies her shrewdly, before adding, "Are there more where you came from?" 

He turns away then, looking at the others, "Who are you?  Are you friends of Oberon's?"  As if to confirm whose friends he thinks they might be, he points at Luke.  "I don't know how you put up with him.  The boy's always up to some mischief or other.  Right now he's pretending to be somebody pretending to be him."

 

•• You tell me • old man • because I cannot remember •• We have met • have we not • even if neither in this • hmm • universe nor form ••

Breaking a piece of the bread she accepted she smelt it and then took a nibble, but never her eyes of the old man before her.

 

Dworkin turns back to Banglen-Yp suddenly, "I don't think we've met.  I'm sure I'd remember.  I think.  Who are you, again?"  And then he chuckles, raising one hand to waggle a finger at her, "That's very naughty, you know.  How can I find out more if you slam the door in my face?"

"And talking of finding out more... why have you all come down here to visit a lonely old man?"

A laugh then, and he claps his hands, "Would you like to see some magic tricks?  Is that it?"

Luke mumbled something under his breath about 'right minds', 'Oberon', and 'pretending to be'.  "I've gone by a few names in my time, but never Oberon.  Try again."  He waited, watching with interest as the hunchback queried Banglen-Yp.

Amber's ultimate creator had probed her, he realized, but she had played her little trick on him.  Curious.

"I'll pass on the magic tricks, actually.  Unless they involve questions being answered.  We have a few of those, if you don't mind."  He didn't bother raising any defenses of his own - if it came down to it, any contest between him and this ancient being would be a knife-duel in a phone booth - first to score would likely win, the winner would crawl rather than walk away, and a shield would only tangle things up.

Probably just get hostile attention, too.  Something Luke actively sought to avoid for a change.  And while my own damned pride has been a problem in the past, I'm not so blind that I can't admit he's got better odds than I.

"Questions regarding those wonderful Trumps you made a long time ago," he continued.  "And their possible repair.  They're broken, you see."

 

•• If the door is closed • knock •• Or ring my beh•heh•hell • ring my bell ••

•• Curious minds and all that ••

Banglen-Yp actually did a little dance number and then smiled brightly.  But the eyes did not quite reach all parts of her eyes.

She then nodded at Luke's statement regarding cards.

•• Yes • cards caught a bug • feeling under the weather • needs a doctor •• We can talk more later • old one ••

 

"Broken, you say?  Yes, I know, I say.  It was me who did it." Dworkin replies with a smile, before pausing to watch Banglen-Yp dance.  He applauds her as she finishes.

"I suppose you'll want to know why?  It's really very simple.  I had to stop them being used, you see.  I could have asked the children not to play with them, I suppose, but that would have done no good.  They never listen to their grandfather."

"So I fixed them so that the little buggers would be afraid to use them."  One hand lifts, and a finger traces a line in the air.  More lines are added, and they persist, as glowing geometric forms take shape before him.  "It was just a matter of cross-transferral of the of the neo-luminal... thingies... and... oh, look!  A horsie."  A collection of lines and shapes vaguely resembling a child's drawing of a horse comes to life and starts to prance about in the air.  "What does that remind me of?  Never mind, I'll remember some time.  Where was I?  Oh, yes.  Food, shall we eat?"

 

•• Already got mine • thank you ••

Waving her loaf around she showed that she had her food in hand already.

•• You could unfix the card too then • no •• Big trouble brewing • you see • the kids need their toys ••

•• End of all and then some and all that • you know ••

•• Bad for loan sharks • oh yes •• Good for unpaid student loans • though ••

She took another bit from the loaf and chewed on it while rubbing the neck of her little Smiledon-kitten friend.

 

Aaron had chosen to continue on alone, despite knowing his loss to the group meant weakening them, should they require a stronger arm.

Then again, Dworkin was supposed to be some sort of anicent wizard, rumored to have created the Pattern by having sex with a Unicorn, not to mention any number of fantastic stories regarding him potentially being the patriarch of Amber royal society. If he was that old, how dangerous could he be? He figured that was a pretty awful mindset to have, considering, but his curiosity really was getting the best of him, now.

Even with the stories about Dworkin, Aaron didn't believe much of it. Truth be told, the guy sounded a little more crazy than Aaron believed himself to be in slightly stressful times. Regardless, he was now skulking about in ancient catacombs beneath Amber, looking for something he wasn't sure existed.

Now, gazing towards the end of a claustrophobic hallway brightend by a distant light, he wondered if his surety wasn't misplaced.

"I've been in worse situations, that's for sure."

Which was true. For one thing, he could breathe through his nose without tasting blood. That was a plus.
This message was last edited by the player at 02:37, Tue 01 June 2010.

Tahirah considers.  On the one hand, the loaf he had handed Banglen-Yp hadn't looked especially wholesome to her.  On the other, the old man keeps coming back to food, and he strikes her as the sort to have Reasons for things.

"Please," she assents.  "You tricked the Cards, to stop the Wheels?" she asks.

Dworkin chuckles at Banglen-Yp,  "Perhaps you could stay here and talk to me... alone, when your friends are gone.  You'd be safe here.  Even if the mountain falls, this room's defences would hold.  But I'd need company."

Then Tahirah speaks, and the aged hunchback whirls about, with surprising speed to peer at her, "My, my, my.  You're a sharp one, aren't you.  Should be careful not to cut yourself.  Yes, the Trumps are dangerous.  They reach into a place where dark things lurk.  Reach through it, and they make a line.  The wheels swim there, and if they cross a line, they can taste it, and follow it to its ends."

A bottle on a bench in the back corner suddenly starts to rattle, as if something contained within is trying to escape.  Dworkin shuffles across to pick it up.  He cradles it against his chest, keeping a thumb on the stopper.  "It happened.  One came here.  I was using a Trump to... to... gather information, yes, that's it, and the wheel followed it.  Right into the castle it came, and it took all my strength to trap it."

"The Trumps are too dangerous, and too many people can make them."  He shakes the bottle and laughs.  "It would only be a matter of time before one of those kids brought a wheel into the castle."


Aaron stands in a large chamber, lit by a blue-white glow, and studies what he has found there.  The Pattern.  The heart of creation itself, laid out before him in all its glory.  Waves of light flow across the lines of it in a slow, pulsing rhythm, and as he walks closer to it, Aaron's hair stirs, as if in a breeze, and sparks crackle at the tips of it.

Aaron held his breath.

All of the things he had witnessed regarding the Pattern prior to this moment now rang through him with a sudden clarity. Amber's Pattern. The other Patterns in all other worlds. Even the City itself. All of them, reflections of this.

At least, that was the way it seemed. Aaron began to ask questions. Was this the true Pattern? Considering its proximity to Dworkin, the madman who supposedly crafted it, Aaron thought so. What had stopped other Pattern users from finding it? Surely, Dworkin would have applied defenses to protect it, regardless of his own status. Where were they?

Did he really want to know? He figured not personally, but it would be a good question to ask the old man if Luke had managed to find him.

Still, a single frail, elderly man as the first Pattern's only defense seemed a minisucle thing when their enemies were brought into consideration.

This First Pattern felt different, somehow. Aaron thought that the Pattern beneath Kolvir had a different hue to it, though wasn't the only thing that caught his attention. It was something he couldn't completely define. A force, a power that rested here, or was funnled through here, that was not the same at other Patterns.

As sparks played at his hair, flicking at the fringes of his jacket, his trousers, he narrowed his eyes. Defending his comrades, his loved-ones, was a great responsibility. But this? This thing was a keystone of Shadow, an anchor to countless worlds.

Worlds that held other comrades. Other loved-ones.

What he had been searching for was here, and yet within him, all along. The thing that sat before him now, horribly real, massively powerful, protected worlds simply by existing.

Aaron understood his next step. He would do the same, protect worlds, by representing this Pattern's power elsewhere. This would be no mere personal elevation in ability. It was a primal thing, an emblem of reality, the image of which even now sat upon his own blade.

Without further thought, Aaron walked forwards and placed a foot upon the glowing line.

Luke eyed the 'horse' Dworkin drew with some wariness.  There was something about it that disturbed him, beyond that it was created by an eons-old sorcerer of uncertain sanity.  He let the others talk - Banglan-Yp seemed to have a connection with the elder madman, and Tahirah, unsurprisingly, had cut to the heart of the matter.  Certainly it was getting information out of the old coot.

Clever.  The Archons can sense the vibrational patterns of contact through the Underflow.  Not surprising that Dworkin knows of it.  Not surprising, but disturbing.  Something for another day, though - right now they had their own issues.  Well done, Tahirah...so the old man did it himself?  And we've been casting around all this time trying to figure out who burned up the Trumps, considering it a strategic ploy by the Enemy.  Hah.

"And we don't want a Wheel in the castle," he muttered, suddenly glad Cyan hadn't, for example, called up her pet archons while here.  Who knew how Dworkin would react, but Luke figured 'poorly' would be a proper enough generalization.  "What sort did you grab?" he questioned, flicking a finger at the bottle.  "Burning up?  Sharp and pointy?  Or maybe lightning?"

"No, can't have them in the castle.  Too dangerous." Dworkin confirms, shaking his head violently, "Couldn't just destroy the Trumps.  Too useful, and too many people know how to make them.  Had to do something clever, make sure that even if I didn't get them all, people would be too scared to use the ones I didn't get."

He sidles closer to Banglen-Yp and links arms with her, still clutching the bottle to his chest with his other hand.  "If you want," he explains to Luke, "I could put you in here with it, so you can see for yourself what it is.  Would you like me to do that, put him in the bottle?"  This latter remark seems to be directed at Tahirah.

"I think he'll be surprised at what he finds in there."  The laugh which follows goes on for just a bit too long.

And then it stops, suddenly.  "Do you feel that?  Somebody is walking it."


Aaron steps onto the Pattern, and the light flares up around his foot.  Cold fire splashing like a liquid, spreading in ripples.  Another step, and he's wading through ankle-deep flame, following the  curves and lines towards the heart of the Pattern.

With every pace, the flames dance fractionally higher, and Aaron's feet seem to grow heavier.  Small indications of what is to come as he draws closer to the First Veil.

Things, old and yet new, familiar and still strange, passed through and over him. It was the Pattern, but it was more.

He could not stop. Would not stop even if he had the option.

Fire and lighting entwines, living together, grabbed at his ankles, his legs. Yet Aaron knew it would only get worse, harder. The very action he was taking part in felt ancient, set into and beyond his bones.

It felt as if he had been made for doing things just like this.

Literally, he forged on.

Aaron.  It had to be.  And I owe you a bit, don't I, even if you don't know it.  A slow smile spread over Luke's sharp, fox-ish features.  "Stuff me in the bottle, Old Man?"  Teeth appeared, the canines somewhat sharper than they should be, and lean shoulders rolled once.  Luke popped his head left then right, and finally nodded.  "All right.  Unless someone taking a walk is more important, why don't you just slap me in there with whatever it is?  I'll have a looksee."

The laughing grin widened, devil-may-care, and Luke bowed.  "Ready when you are, mighty Dworkin."  It had been a long time since he threw caution to the winds - too long - and at least this might answer some questions.  And give him a chance to speak with an Archon.

Just as Tahirah has about worked out a polite way to decline Dworkin's offer to stuff Luke into a bottle with a maddened Archon...Luke asks to go in.  And sounds serious.

Since she can't see anything that would have caused him to go insane right now, she concludes that he must have been insane for at least the time she's known him, and presumably longer.  Making a mental note to remember that in working with him in the future, she gives a small bow towards Dworkin.  "If you would," she agrees, gesturing towards Luke.

 

Banglen-Yp giggled at Dworkin's offer to let her stay but shook her head.

•• Tempting as it is • as we might go way back • no • I need to do what I can in aiding them •• Thank you • though • old man ••

She patted his arm as he locked arms with her and then took another bite out of the loaf.

•• Is that the only bottle you have •• It does not look like it holds much fun • at least not the kind with to wash down the bread ••

Grinning at him she looked around while he spoke of someone walking.  THen she turned to look at Luke with a smile.

•• Have fun •Luke • but not too much ••

 

Dworkin smiles at Banglen-Yp, "Just a moment, my dear.  I have work to do."  Then another smile at Tahirah, "As you wish.  But he won't like it."

And just like that, Luke is gone...

"I have some bottles of wine somewhere.  One of the benefits of living in a cellar.  We could all have something to eat and drink.  Your friend, Oberon, will miss it, of course, but he's dead, so he probably won't complain too much."

The old hunchback leans closer to Tahirah, while still maintaining his grip on Banglen-Yp, "I'm not sure I approve of your new hair colour, Fiona, what I can see of it under that silly hood."

At the First Veil finally, Aaron is struggling already.  Unfortunately, on the Pattern, there is no turning back.  Fire dances around his legs, reaching to his knees, as he pushes on.  Until suddenly he is through, and the pressure is off, but starts to build again almost immediately...

Effort. If the Pattern could be described as embodying one thing (other than one half of everything else in all of known Reality), Aaron believed that thing to be effort.

But he rode it. The strain was overwhelming, and then it was gone. Walking this Pattern was like getting hit in the face by a wave, only to have a moment of respite before you feel the undertow pull you into the next one.

It would've been exhausting, if it wasn't so exhilarating.

Interesting.

 

•• True • most dead people tend to not be too possessive about their belongings • some even could not care less ••

Banglen-Yp agreed with Dworkin with a big grin and a few nods or a dozen.

•• You will play nice and let the little fellow out of the bottle • yes ••

An inquiry presented in a jocular fashion.

 

"Well.  I can think about it." the old man replies, chuckling, "Have to be sure I'm letting Oberon out, though, and not the other, of course, because that wouldn't be good, would it?"

He glances around the room, "I had to do it, you see?  Had to make sure the Trumps were broken, and any other Trumps that the kids got their hands on would be broken too.  Can't let any more of those things in here."

Time passes, possibly at the same rate as in the rest of Amber.  Aaron has no way of knowing.  There is just step after step after step, with fire rising around him.  The Second Veil is behind him, and the flames are up to his chest.  Still he moves on, fighting against the drag.  It feels as if he is pushing upstream against a torrent.  On and on, step after step after step.

Through the Veils and the barriers and the unending resistance...

And then it is over.  He stands in the calm eye at the heart of the Pattern, limned in  blue fire, and in that moment, he can see everything.  All the worlds are before him, laid out like a jigsaw with an infinite number of pieces.
This message was last edited by the player at 20:29, Sun 13 June 2010.

At first, it was impossible, just too much to bear. Then it was over... and suddenly it became even more impossible.

So much. So many worlds. How could he have limited himself so, seeking only aftetr his own avarice, his own desires and base judgements. What foolishness! What half-assed, blighted ignorance demanded that he continue his pointless seeking?

When faced with the image of all things set before him, how could Aaron have ever come to any other decision but to hold true to them?

His mind righted itself suddenly, placing things into focus, into line. He saw not only all the things laid out before him, he also saw his current position in relation to them. He was still center to the Pattern. And he could go anywhere.

...and yet he had to stay here.

So he thought of a name. The old man. The creator of this big, fat mess of power he was standing atop.

For a moment, Aaron wondered if Dworkin was going to be pissed at him. Then, shrugging, deicded that he didn't care one way or another. If he had a problem with Aaron's choice, he could go cram it, and Aaron would tell him as much.

Irritating.

 

•• Did you try talking to it • Dworky ••

A question accompanied by a smile.

 

Tahirah nods thoughtfully.  "I think it was very clever," she admits.  "Although you know, I am sure, that it is a temporary answer.  The Wheels still spin, their plots without pause."  Something about the man puts her into the patterns of a reading - he seems to understand it better.

"Yes, I know it won't stop them forever, Fiona.  But by the time the cats get here, the mice will have had time to set their own traps.  See, I stopped them coming straight to... to... Amber."  Dworkin giggles, before adding, "Slowed them down."

Banglen-Yp's question draws a confused look.  "Talking to what?  Oh, yes, that.  I talk to it quite a lot.  It tries to tell me it's not the enemy, but it doesn't fool me.  No, not one bit.  I... "  He stops, suddenly, gazing into the air above him.  He disengages his hand from Banglen-Yp's arm, and extends it in an odd gesture, the fingers splayed crookedly.

"Avaunt!"

And Aaron appears, just in time to hurtle across the room and slam into the far wall, hard, before dropping to the floor, narrowly missing a bench loaded with glassware and alchemical materials.

"Welcome back, Corwin.  Haven't seen you since I drew that picture of the lighthouse for you.  Do you still have it?  Look, Fiona's here, and the Unicorn, and Oberon's about somewhere."

First, upon the Pattern, then... adjustment, as he was used to...

...then he was nonchalantly projected through the air, across an unfamiliar room. The landing knocked the breath out of him, causing him no small amount of disorientation.

What had he considered before? Sticking it to the old man? Ah yes. The follies of youth, so apparent even in his own ridiculous age.

He gathered his wits, noticing after a moment that Dworkin, the small, ancient dwarf whom Aaron assumed was Dworkin, was speaking to him. "Corw..." Aaron mumbled, then slowly nodded. Ah yes. Mad.

Aaron rose to his feet, brushing himself off as he did so.

"That picture of the lighthouse?" Aaron considered it a moment, trolling memory for any clues. A picture Dworkin had drawn... a Trump, perhaps? Dworkin was a storied artist of the things, after all.

He shook his head, looking a bit wistful and trying to play the part of a relative he'd never met. "No. No, old friend, I don't have it on me at the moment. From what I understand, that type of thing wouldn't be something I'd want to fool around with at the moment. Wouldn't you agree?"

Aaron looked to Tahira, then Banglen. Fiona and the Unicorn, respectively. Then Luke must be...

"You said... Oberon is here, hmm? Busy fiddling around with something, perhaps?"

Impeccable.

"What?  Oh, yes, always fiddling about with something." Dworkin says, linking arms with Banglen-Yp once more.  "I keep telling him he'll never amount to anything, but he doesn't listen.  They never do at that age."

A device at the back of the room suddenly hisses, releasing a cloud of steam, and bringing a gleeful cackle from Dworkin.  "My weapon!  Would you like to see how it works?"  Reaching out, he places the bottle on a table, but not before giving it a vindictive shake.  Then he extends his now empty hand towards Tahirah, "Come along Fiona.  See what your grandfather has built for you.  It's fun, oh, yes it is.  Educational too."

Impressive.

Aaron tried his best to restrain his surprise. "A weapon? Dworkin made a weapon?"

Deep inside, something told Aaron to be excited for something like this. How often would you get to see something new from the very person who formed the Pattern? Simultaneously, another part of him was very, very alarmed at the sheer possiblity of it.

Aaron prepared himself to pay quite a bit of attention.
This message was last edited by the player at 23:46, Thu 24 June 2010.

Tahirah takes a measured step back just before Aaron appears, although there is a distinct ripple in her usually serene robes as she flinches a bit from the sound of his impact against the far wall.

There is a momentary pause before she reaches out to take Dworkin's hand, but when she does, it is a confident, decided movement.

 

•• Hiya • Aaron • I find the door to work better • but nice landing ••

A cheerful greeting and a quick wave with her hand before turning to regard Dworkin with a grin, patting his arm.

•• I like fun • and if it teaches me things it is good • I suppose ••

 

Dworkin shuffles forward, one arm linked through Banglen-Yp's, and the other hand holding Tahirah's.  The old man is chuckling, a wicked gleam in his eye (which is, perhaps, a little worrying, as he believes one of the women to be a unicorn, and the other to be his own granddaughter).  "It must be up to pressure now.  See, it's starting to move."

He leads his guests across the room, which appears to change size and shape as they move.  In any case, it seems to take a lot longer to reach the device than it would be reasonable to expect.  The device also appears much bigger than it had originally.  Dworkin stops at least fifteen feet away from it.

A complex series of metal cylinders, connected by copper tubing, all revolving on a circular metal base.  There are images inscribed on the cylinders - flames which seem to flicker and dance (though that could well be an illusion produced by the motion of the device) - and the whole thing radiates heat.  In the heart of it all, surrounded by the rapidly moving cylinders, and difficult to see because of them, is a spherical cage of what appears to be brass, perhaps five feet across and inscribed with red-glowing runes and sigils.

Something black is coiled within, writhing and amorphous, like smoke in a high wind.  Except that smoke in a high wind doesn't generally seem quite so... malevolent.

Dworkin eyes the rotating device critically, then, "Don't get too close.  I'm not sure how well it can hold the scre'ath, and if that escapes, a head start may be the only thing that can save you.  But it probably won't."

"What the hell.." Aaron began, but stopped. His eyes were wide, his curiosity and the warring desire to hold it back made obvious.

"Dworkin, old friend, could you perhaps explain just what that thing is, and how you plan on using it?"

Irregular.

"It's scre'ath.  And it's very dangerous.  That's why there is a lot of power keeping it from touching the cage.  Anything it touches is destroyed." Dworkin beams at his invention, "Well... not destroyed so much, as devoured.  And the scre'ath grows bigger.  The bigger it grows, the faster it eats."

"Right now it could eat you, Corwin, in a blink of those new eyes of yours.  A couple of days ago, when it was no bigger than your head, and much smaller than Oberon's, it would have taken an hour to finish you."

He grins like a madman.  Not too shocking, considering the stories about him, "And here's the interesting part.  It's already much bigger than it seems.  It's squashed in there, see?  When the cage opens, or it manages to break out, it will spread out, and swallow everything it touches.  Birds, beasts, crawling things, plants, the ground, the air itself.  All gone.  And those damned things too.  I tested it on part of one of them."

"Was very hard to get hold of the scre'ath.  It doesn't exist anywhere in our Shadows.  Had to draw a new Pattern to find it.  Oh yes."

Inspiring.
This message was last edited by the player at 23:45, Wed 30 June 2010.

Tahirah regards the `device' from within her robes in quiet silence for several moments.  "It can be held now, for a time," she says, watching the patterns in the roiling cloud.  "But when oblivion has grown beyond worlds, what can stop it then?"

"I agree." Aaron looked from the scre'ath to Dworkin. "What are you going to do when it starts ingesting everything, Dworkin? Erase its Pattern?"

Aaron didn't like this idea one bit. There were too many variables. What if the enemy got ahold of it? What if Dworkin lost control? He was throwing too many 'what-if's' into the situation, he knew, but he just couldn't help himself. The situation as it was was already serious enough without having to worry about another potential end to life as they knew it.

 

                        Familiarity danced with Dread
                                                above the Grave of a Stolen Soul

A couple of eyes blinked.

•• A new pattern • to find it ••

                        No longer among the Dead
                                                       No longer among the Whole

The head tilted to study the container and the old man alike.

•• How did you get it here once you had located it • and when ••

                        Never a single Tear was Shed
                                                                  over the Empty Hole

The eyes blinked once more.

•• Where did you find it ••

                        As cut was Life's on Thread
                                                   robbing Death Itself of its Role

The eyes now lingered solely upon Dworkin.

                        While Familiarity danced with Dread
                                                 above the Grave of a Stolen Soul

 

"What do I intend to do when it starts devouring all of reality?  Why, I intend to be in another reality, of course."  The crazy old man favours Aaron and Tahirah with a bemused smile, "There'll be plenty of time to make a decision.  In my estimation, it would take a year, or more, to consume a single world.  Centuries to consume all of them.  Millennia perhaps."

"Of course, my estimate might be... a little off."

Banglen-Yp's questions draw his attention next, and he replies somewhat irately, "I don't know the name of the place where I found it.  It might not even have a name.  There was only the scre'ath there, and that has no mind.  It didn't even have a name until I gave it one."

His tone softens a little, as he continues, "I pinched a tiny piece off and sealed it in a simpler, smaller cage before bringing it back.  Of course I knew I'd have to be careful not to drop any crumbs of it in Amber, so I took it far out into Shadow while I built this bigger, better prison for it.  That was, let me see, six months ago?  More?  I'm afraid I lost track of time."
This message was last edited by the player at 15:37, Tue 06 July 2010.

Ideal.

 

A smile, though nearly ominous in nature.

•• Until recently • quite recently • the same could have been said about me ••

The head tilted to one side while the smile lingered. 

•• I am Banglen-Yp • but it is not my name •• I am alone • yet driven by the quest for others like me ••

A deep breath and the smile finally faded.

•• They think I am a shapechanger • but I am not •• A few months ago I woke far from here • no memories • no identity •• But I knew I did not belong • this shell was but a lifeline which I since long surpassed anew ••

Then, a question, as heavy as the core of a collapsed star.

•• Am I a crumb ••

 

"What?  A crumb?"

"I don't think...  Ah... " Dworkin disengages his hand from Tahirah's and takes Banglen-Yp's in both of his.    "No.  You're the Unicorn.  Don't you remember?"

"Or are you something else?  A crumb of scre'ath, you suspect.  But if you were a crumb, you've changed so much that you're no longer recognisable as such.  Very interesting."

"I should study you.  Where did I leave that bottle?"

Across the room, the bottle falls over, with a sound as loud as thunder, and rolls, oh so slowly, towards the edge of the table...

Imminent.
This message was last edited by the player at 16:23, Tue 06 July 2010.

Calm.  Unflappable.  Tahirah has stood unflinching, her very robes barely rippling, through the hurricane at Cardiangart.  She evidenced not a twitch when Bangen-Yp underwent a series of transformations that could only be accurately described as `exploding' mere feet in front of her in Random's throne room.

When the thunder cracks through the room, though, she jumps.

If the sudden startled movement is accompanied by any sort of small shriek, however, this detail is lost in the much louder noise.

The white robes flare with the movement, the hood dropping even lower over her face, as she turns towards the bottle.  She curls her arms in front of herself, crossing her hands into opposite sleeves.

The bottle rolls to the edge of the table, the rumbling sound of its motion growing on volume.

Then silence, as it drops off the edge.

It hits the floor with a sound like the breaking of worlds, and bounces.  Once.  Dworkin lets go of Banglen-Yp's hand, and turns towards the sound.  The second impact, the bottle strikes at a different angle, and shatters.

And two people are standing there, while fragments of glass (too many for that small bottle, surely?) are still spinning and skittering and dancing across the floor around them.  One of them is Luke.  The other is... not.

Dworkin glowers at Banglen-Yp, "You shouldn't have distracted me.  Now it's out."

The second person, a naked woman, apparently composed entirely of ice, moves to stand behind Luke.  + I am not here to injury anybody. + she explains in a voice that sounds like ice cracking, + It was simple curiosity which drew me here, not some intent to cause harm. +

"'It's out'?  How complimentary."  Luke's eyes burned with wild hilarity above his shark-toothed grin.  "Let's not do anything rash, here - like she says, my friend and I aren't looking for a fight."  Invisible energies danced about him, prepared to protect should Dworkin level his vast power against either former prisoner.

A call went out on that instant, sent along a pathway nigh-impossible to trace.

Rolling his shoulders, Luke ducked his head; when it rose again, his pearly-whites had straightened, their sharp points gone.  The picture of urbanity, he bowed fractionally to the small group.  "Tahirah, Banglen-Yp, cat...thing, good to see you three.  And in one piece each - better and better.  Aaron, you've rejoined us.  All present and accounted for.  Amy, the taller, un-bent ones ad the quadruped are part of the group I told you about.  Group, this is Amy."  Better not to use her full name around the vicious dwarf.  And speaking of which....

His eyes focused on the old man.  "I could try explaining, couldn't I?  But you'd twist anything I said back on itself somehow.  I-"  His eyes fell upon the seething, twisting mass at the heart of Dworkin's construct.  "What...is that?"
This message was last edited by the player at 11:03, Mon 12 July 2010.

"Oh, Luke. How fine of you to re-join us." Aaron sighed, running a hand through his hair as he looked upon their new visitor with a hint of recognition, though just for the species and not specifically as an individual.

"Oh, that?" Aaron gestured to the thing Dworkin was handling. "It's apparently a scre'ath. Nothing much. It just eats anything. Furniture. People. Whole realities." He scratched the back of his head. "If I'm not mistaken, I'm fairly sure Dworkin here indicated he created a whole new Pattern just to find it."

He smiled a half-smile in Luke's direction. "How about you? Run into anything as new or interesting as what we've come across?"

"Stuffed in a prison, bumped into a Sencathi...par for the course around here, but you know that.  I'll give you the story later."  As always, imminent violence and potential death (his own) ratcheted Luke's grin wider - tension tended to do that.  He eyed the scre'ath askance, liking it less and less with the explanation.  "How clever."

And how very human.

Leaning back, he spoke to his companion, sotto vocce.  "That thing?  Not one of my associates, and neither is its summoner."
This message was last edited by the player at 14:26, Mon 12 July 2010.

 

•• But it might be mine ••

Banglen-Yp stepped over and grabbed Dworkin by the ear.  The Screen had shown these things to be effective on many occasion.

Still holding his ear she leaned closer to the spherical prison that might hold the key to her.  Then she spoke to it.

•• Are you in there • is it really you ••

 

The ice woman seems puzzled at first, until she notices the scre'athh.  + We know that. +  She holds up her left hand.  The smallest digit, and the tip of the next one, are missing.  + It was used against us.  As a test, we were led to believe, to see if it could damage an Archon. +

+ Should she be that close to it? +

Banglen-Yp speaks to the scre'ath, and the roiling, chaotic mass seems to freeze inside its cage.  Dworkin speaks a single very short word, very quietly, and vanishes.  And in that instant the mechanism collapses.

The scre'ath bubbles out, devouring the cage as it does so.  A tendril flicks out and brushes Banglen-Yp's arm.  And the scre'ath freezes again, just for a heartbeat.

•• Banglen•Yp • You found us •• the dozen or so duplicates of the blonde woman say in unison...

Around them, a large portion of Dworkin's workroom has vanished, in a scene reminiscent of the earlier chaos, when Dorian had attempted to force Banglen-Yp into her true form.
This message was last edited by the GM at 17:14, Tue 13 July 2010.

"Well, shit."

It wasn't often Luke found himself taken off guard.  This would go down in his private history as one of those times.  The instant Dworkin released the creature, a cage of forces sprung up around the sharp-featured man and his charge, a momentary screen of power meant to delay any possible consumption long enough for he and Amy to drop into the Underflow...hopefully dragging their companions with them.

Banglen-yp's neutralization of the threat gave him pause, and he watched the shifting creation - the blond woman went from one to a baker's dozen in an instant, the scre'ath leeching away from the matter surrounding them as it created its bodies.

"She probably shouldn't, but she is," he muttered over his shoulder.  "But it looks like things are under control.  Sort of.  Just be ready to escape this world."  He paused for thought.  "I'm sorry about your hand." 

...he remembered a cage, a milennia of torment, crying in the night...his father's memories, passed down to himself...

Luke's lips twisted.  Dworkin.  If I survive this, you'd better watch your backtrail...

 

Throwing her arms up in joy the blonde, or one of them, called out happily.

•• It is you • Banglen•Yp •• I could feel you • me • us • Banglen•Yp ••

A mass-hugging commenced where all of the blondes seemed to focus on the original until they all had their turn at a hug, bumping against the other people in the room and uttering cheerful excuses - familiar faces all got a cheerful wave too in passing while the ice-lady received a curious but non-menacing once-over.

Then they all spoke, in unison.  Kind of like a totally weird surround sound.

•• It is so good to see you again • but where is here • it is not home ••

And they all looked around again before asking a question, again in unison.

•• Where did the little crazy old lunatic go ••

Then, as if for the first time, all of them looked over the others again and smiled at them, yet again speaking as one - except for the one who had grabbed the ear of that "crazy old luncatic".

•• Hi ••

It looked as if they all might be targeted - by another mass hug.

 

---

_{Fixed a typo.}
This message was last edited by the player at 17:52, Tue 13 July 2010.

"Hi," Luke blandly echoed, concealing his considerable amazement behind a well-practiced mask.  The perpetual party-pooper, he kept the field of energy up to avoid unwanted embraces.

All of the Banglen-Yps are talking cheerfully.  Their words spilling over each other, forming a single coherent speech.  It does, at least, appear to be a happy reunion.

•• He hurt us • Trapped us • We didn't know who we were until you spoke to us • Banglen•Yp • And when we touched you • all the memories you held • of places and things we have never seen • It was most interesting ••
This message was last edited by the GM at 18:27, Tue 13 July 2010.

Aaron at first, stood in mute shock at the swift and sudden occurences spiralling around him. Then, as was rather atypical of them, things suddenly calmed down.

Regardless, Aaron inched a bit closer to Luke and their new companion. Safety in numbers, he hoplessly assumed.

"I wish someone would explain just what the hell is going on, here." He snorted, shook his head, and reminisced to himself of the old days, when all he had to worry about was Jack, or some random blood relation, trying to kill him, or when the next time he'd have to explain all of his powers, assets and abilities to a new member of the group. Been a long time, that.

Tahirah, for her part, seems to have decided that the best defense against group hugs is absolute stillness.  Although somebody watching her very closely could notice a smooth, gradual, continuation of her earlier movement to the side of the room.

Aaron's request, however, gives her something to focus on.  "She has Found herself," she says, suddenly.  "And the acceptance of form and thought into the scre'ath will, we may hope, prevent the dissolution of all that we know."

There is a moment of quiet, and then she adds, "The state of the room suggests that Banglen-Yp may yet remain a powerful weapon, also, should she so choose, but the transformation from mindless smoke to thinking being brings with it the power, and consequence, of such Choice."

 

Banglen-Yp, or at least the one that had been around for a while, made a sad face at the other Banglen-Yp's.

•• He had no idea what he found • he believed us • me • a mindless eating machine •• But he will not hurt us any more • that is certain ••

•• Now we are away from home • here in this place where so much exist apart from us •• It is really fascinating • but also threatened by a danger •• Perhaps we can aid in this • if we find the rest of me • us • at least the part he did bring here ••

Then she turned to look at her companions.

•• No need to fear • no one will hurt you •• Or hug you • if you do not want it •• I • we • were taken from my home • and we were scared and frightened •• I fell and ended up in a place I had not seen before • in this • well • form •• It was dead and I found myself drawn to it • as if it was • hmm • compatible perhaps ••

She looked at Tahirah and grinned.

•• I was never mindless smoke • we simply have what appears to be a block that makes it impossible for your kind to sense us • other than as nothing •• Where I • we • me come from • I am everything • there is nothing else •• Nor can we walk this pattern because there is nothing but me •• Hmm • this language needs a word for me•us•I•we • but I suppose you are all seperate • isolated and alone in most ways • sad really ••

Then she clapped her hands and threw her arms out to the side, smiling brightly.

•• So • we are all friends • yes • and maybe we can help • although I cannot and will not stop me from exploring this world • as it is all new •• Then • once it is all over • we need to consider what to do •• Return home to the rest of me • us • or not •• I am no doubt upset and sad • probably scared too • having had a bit taken away •• Still • the more we can bring back • the more joyous the union •• Oh • and if possible • perhaps we can make it so that we can come visit this and other realms • no ••

Finishing off she looked at her companions for their reaction, all of the Banglen-Yp's falling quiet and just watching.

 

The ice woman studies the multiple Banglen-Yps briefly.  If she is in any way shocked by their sudden presence, she shows no sign of it.  Her expression remains calm.

+ The one who trapped us, he is gone now, but is he likely to return?  With allies?  Do you have a plan of escape?  If not, we may... she shifts in form, growing smaller, as the Banglen-Yps, all of them, make noises of polite interest, watching her change until she becomes a rotating wheele of ice shards, about a foot in diameter, ... BE ABLE TO ASSIST. +

The Archon's voice is like the cracking and splintering of glaciers as they reach the sea and give birth to great icebergs.

The Banglen-Yps start to clap their hands.

In unison.

"No," Tahirah says, her voice suddenly firm.  Almost commanding.  "There is no plan for escape.  There must not be," she emphasizes.

"We are not among enemies here.  Different paths have been followed, but goals converge.  If we are not all friends, then we must still be allies, and one does not escape from one's allies."

Midway through the explanation, Luke shot a glance at Aaron, one eyebrow cocked.  Definitely a good thing this problem got resolved before it became one.  A very, very curious origin...but then, his was equally odd, in its own way.

No reason to be prejudiced.  At least it's not human.

It wasn't surprising the Archon wasn't shocked by the multitude of Banglen-Yp - many of them lived in multiple 'selves'.  "Listen to the lady," Luke drawled, turning to eye the now-forming glacial halo.  "Maybe Dworkin has friends, but so do we.  And ours are welcome in this place, whereas I doubt he is."  Not after summoning some kind of world-eating being, fortunately de-threatened by Banglen-Yp.  Great.  A whole whack of people I have to see with my eyes.

"Tahirah makes good sense - no surprise there.  If Dworkin comes back, we'll deal with him.  But right now..."  He glances from the shimmering, flickering hoop to his associates.  "Introductions."

"Amabael, we have Tahirah, Aaron, and...Banglen-Yp and her selves." He cocked an eyebrow.  "And her cat...thing.  Everyone, meet Amabael.  Of the Sencathi."  His grin widened, without its usual sharpness. "Those Archons Berd told us about - the ones Harbonah tried to genocide away.  Amy tells me her people wouldn't mind spanking Harbonah, spoiled brat that he is."

"I've explained Cyan's plan, what I know of it.  She supports the attempt.

And at that point, there is the ringing of a small bell, from the vicinity of where they entered the room.  A glance in that direction reveals a simple wooden door, closed, set with a large brass ring...

"Hrm. A door." Aaron sighed, suddenly feeling exhausted. His trip across the Primal Pattern was catching up with him, now.

"Amabael," Aaron said in polite greeting, though his attempt to stem his impatience was wearing. "Nice to meet you. The half of your race I've known has tried to kill my friends and I. The other half have taught me a number of very useful things. As long as you don't try to kill us, I'm fine with having you around."

A glance at Luke, Tahirah and the Yp's. "Shall we?"

"Dworkin included," Tahirah emphasizes, although more softly.  She walks over to the sudden doorway, and then stops, turning towards the wheel of ice, and gives it a small bow.  "I am pleased to meet you, Amabael," she says, formally.  She decides against any particularly careful pronunciation of the name - shattering glaciers just isn't something her throat is prepared to do.  Then she turns back to the door, reaches up to the brass ring, and gives it a tug.

Luke frowned, not entirely pleased by the lackluster greeting.  Then again, it seemed whatever he had missed had likely dragged any enthusiasm out of Tahirah and Aaron; the Banglen-Yps had enough for an army.

"I'm more than ready to leave.  The scaly beast needs to know about Amabael, as he's hunting high and low across the Myriad Worlds for her people - looking for allies," he noted as an aside to the glittering Archon.  "Forgive Aaron.  He's had a trying time, and hasn't been bled yet today.  It's disturbing his humours."

Pausing, Luke eyed the sword strapped to Aaron's back as Tahirah reached for the doorknob.  "I haven't heard much out of your friend lately, Aaron," he stated with his usual lack of tact.

Now Aaron grinned, a half-thing that showed some teeth, though it only slightly met his tired eyes.

"She's around, friend. Just not where you can see her." He gestured to the aether about them. "Hopefully, she's gathering allies out of Shadow, though considering our history, I wouldn't hold it against her if she chose to never see us again. Arianne now has some time to herself. I imagine she's a Queen or a Goddess or some such on San Anyn." He shook his head. "Even chained, that woman was never short on ideas or ideals."

His mental companion now given flesh once more, Aaron had very little time to cast his mind back to Arianne den'Ilsefranvir's current goings-on. Yet giving her her body back had gained for Arianne at least some power over San Anyn. Whether that power extended beyond that world was a mystery to Aaron.

A softness appeared around his eyes, and Aaron glanced at Luke.

"Thank you for reminding me. I should get in touch with her soon, I think."

The door opens at Tahirah's touch, sliding smoothly and silently into the wall.  Beyond the opening, Cyan and Dorian stand, gazing back at the hooded woman.


(Please continue in "Part 67a - Meeting and greeting")