"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.