•• 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 ••