Roman of Chanicut's departure from Amber was distinctly low key.

While he could have used the Logrus for any number of relatively simple tasks, attempting anything as major as travelling with it, so close to the Pattern, would have been inviting all manner of trouble.

So he had borrowed a horse from the stables, with no clear idea when, or even if, he would be able to return the animal.  His intent being to ride until the risk of the Pattern interfering with his use of the Logrus seemed minimal.

At least, that had been the plan.

Now, out in the city, he realises that things may not be so simple.  With only a brief look at Tahirah's map to go on, he needs to decide on the best route.  Out through Arden would probably be the shortest, but Arden is full of troops, many of whom would probably not let him pass.  The coastal plain provides two more choices, travelling parallel to the ocean in either direction.

The fourth option isn't a good one.  The docks are likely to be crowded with people trying to get away from the fighting.  The chances of him getting aboard a ship are probably slim to nil.

When the object is to travel Shadow any and all directions may lead to the goal.  THe choice of direction, then , is simpky one of convenience.  What is convenient to Roman, is the smoothest and most direct path away from Kolvir - and the Pattern at its root.  The docks are blocked by people.  The road through Arden by troops - and not only Amberite troops.  The beach seems easiest, but which way ?  Roman tosses a coin to decide, a route dictated by chance seems the surest escape from Order.

Roman follows a road which leads a little west of south from the city, close to the shoreline.  Kolvir is at his back, with two parallel ranges of lower peaks on his right hand as he rides, and the ocean on his left, bounded by a shore of pink and sable sand.

Shortly after leaving the city, the constant drizzling rain eases to nothing, and the clouds start to break up, allowing him to feel the warmth of the afternoon sun on his cheek.  He pushes the horse onward - speed is his most important goal.  Some twenty miles from Kolvir, he hears the tolling of a great bell which seems to come up from the watery depths.

Or, possibly, from the distant lighthouse, dimly visible far out to sea, though the latter does seem much too distant for the sound of a bell to carry this far.

The sun slides down the now-clearing sky as Roman rides, and the air grows cooler as its disc finally drops behind the mountains in a blaze of brilliant crimson, and casts the land into shade.  Overhead the stars wink into existence.

The road, little more than a track at this point, crosses a river at a ford, and Roman pauses to refill his waterskin and let his mount drink a little.  The water is cold, coming down from the mountains which still lay to his west.

The voice which suddenly comes out of the gloom beneath a copse of trees seems friendly enough, "Ho friend!  Will ye have a little companionship?"

"I've a long road to travel, and little time to rest!" Roman calls back.  Rest can wait until a fast-time Shadow is reached, so little time as it is measured elsewhere may be lost.

"But if you can keep up, and our paths coincide for a time, I'll not refuse the company!" he continues.  No need to be rude...

The man steps out of the darkness, dressed all in reds and browns which are barely recognisable as such in the rapidly failing light, with a bow slung across his back and a quiver of arrows at his right hip.  A curved sword is on his left hip.  A strip of leather is bound around his head, angled so that it covers his left eye.  A horse follows him, a grey.

"My name is Baerin." he says, as he mounts, "'tis not safe to be on the roads lately.  There are strange creatures about.  'tis my belief that three eyes are better than one, or even two, in such times, as I'm sure ye'll agree."

Roman looks at the man, curious to know where his other two eyes are.  Most people find balancing the sensory input from more than two rather difficult so three eyes would be definitely unusual.  But he can only see the one, and the one covered over.

"Many strange things are seen in these times," Roman agrees.  "Whither do you travel ?"

"A fair question," Baerin replies with a smile, "and one I can't rightly answer for ye."

He turns his face up to the stars and pauses a moment before continuing, "Let's just say that, this evening at least, where I'm bound is a sight less important to me than where I'm not bound.  My destination is simply somewhere else."

He reins in his mount, "'tis my firm conviction that the city of Amber is, like as not, about to fall.  'tis likewise my conviction that I owe nothing to its lords and ladies, so I intend to be elsewhere when the enemy overruns their domain and puts them to the sword.  If ye see this as something which might be a bone of contention 'twixt us, then I'll say no more, save to bid ye farewell."

"If, however, ye don't give a cross-eyed tinker's damn about my convictions, then I'll gladly ride with ye until I feel I've put a safe distance 'twixt myself and the city, and not an inch further."

The man's fears seem reasonable on their face, but it is not so easy to escape from what comes, nor would it be even if the intended destruction were merely mundane, leaving the Pattern untouched.  If the Seraphim win in Amber - even if they are stopped before they can do greater damage - the man will likely cease to exist no matter where he is." Roman considers a moment.

"The suvival of Amber means little to me" he states "and your choice seems prudent.  If you wish to travel with me, until we come to land more to your liking then you may do so.  But there will come a time when following my road will lead you into greater danger then departing it.  Do not wait too long before going your own way !"

"Then 'twould seem that we have an accord, my friend." Baerin says with a laugh, "Shall we away, afore the forces of Hell fall upon us?"

The two men, one with a destination in mind, the other more concerned with his point of departure, ride on through the deepening gloom.  For the most part, their journey is accompanied mainly by the sound of hoof-beats, the jingling of harnesses, and the sound of distant surf.

Moon rise silvers the ocean and casts a little more light on their way, and it quickly becomes apparent that they have strayed off the track in the darkness, or perhaps it has simply ended somewhere in the long miles since their meeting.  Now they ride across open moorland, dotted with stunted trees, and otherwise featureless apart from low rolling hills.  Looking back reveals Kolvir and its brothers as nothing more than a shadow against the starlit sky, low on the horizon in the north-east.

On they ride, eventually reaching a path which runs across their path.  To the left it leads to the sea, where dark shapes can be seen on a hill overlooking the shore, and faint lights.  "Fishing village, maybe." speculates Baerin.

To the right, the path crosses the moor, eventually disappearing from sight.  A strip of dark shadow suggests woodland in the distance in that direction.

Directly ahead, beyond the path, the land drops sharply, and becomes cut by countless gleaming silvery channels.  A marsh, and an extensive one, by the look of it.

"Which way?"

"It is not time for me to stop, nor do I wish to trade my horse for a boat.  Yet if you have travelled far enough you may go there." Roman answers, dismissing the fishing village - if such it is.  "A marsh has natural perils enough, why seek a danger we need not face ?" with that, Roman turns his steed to the right, wondering if he is far enough from Amber and it's Pattern to use the Logrus. Perhaps a small change, speeding the dawn, to ride in light that much sooner....

Baerin turns right too.  "If I stop here, and ye continue on yer way, I'll be back in the same boat I was in when first we met.  I'll be looking for a travelling companion once more."

The man seems quite content to ride in almost complete silence, speaking only when addressed, or when some change in the road requires it.

By the time they reach the edge of the forest, the sky to the east is lightening considerably.  The space beneath the trees is still filled with darkness, and with something else.  Or, rather, several somethings which move not entirely like men.

One of them dashes out from among the trees, human in shape, but considerably hairier, and naked, save for patches of woad and various pieces of jewellery composed mainly of beads and feathers.  It leaps, catlike agility carrying it in a long arc directed at Baerin.  The weapon it swings is dark in the moonlight, falling somewhere between axe and sword in form.

Baerin draws his own blade to defend himself, even as more of the near-men rush out of the forest to attack the two travellers...

Minions of the Seraphim ? Roman wonders as he draws Wormwood as he starts to shift to his demonic form.  Between his shifting appearance and the gruesome effects of Wormwood's chaotic power he hopes to scare their attackers into retreat.  The less blood shed - especially his - the better.  The less time wasted in this pointless combat, the better, too.

Baerin parries the attack with comparative ease, and his riposte causes his assailant to scramble backwards in an attempt to avoid the blade.  Off balance, the creature falls, landing heavily on its rump.

Roman draws his own weapon, and begins to shift form.  The change is quick and smooth, even though he has to divert some of his attention to controlling his panicking mount.  Hopefully the horse will grow used to such occurences before it gets itself and its rider killed.

A voice from the forest calls out something, and the beastmen immediately fall to their knees, foreheads bowed to touch the ground.

Another figure steps out from among the trees, this one robed, and wearing a hooded cloak.  "Chanicut?  That is you.  What the Pattern are you doing out here?"

The figure reaches up to drop the hood, revealing a not-quite-human visage with glowing red eyes and white hair bound into braids which writhe and wriggle like snakes.  Qiexz.  The Courts' ambassador to Amber!

"I have...business elsewhere" Roman, now transformed answers.  He would raise an eyebrw, querying the ambassador's presence if he had any eyebrows.  In lieu of eyebrows the tips of thin green tendrils protrude slightly from the helm's visor.

"Why do your...men attack those who come here ?" he asks.  The ambassador's presence so far from Amber is interesting, but less likely to be honestly explained.

"We do not attack those who come here." Qiexz replies, somewhat testily, "This was a simple case of mistaken identity."

He takes a deep breath, and seems to calm slightly, "I had reason to believe that a person I would very much like to speak with would be coming this way.  In the gloom, I didn't recognise you, until you shifted form, which narrowed down the list of people you could be."

"It appears that I may have missed my quarry.  Or arrived too early."

"Attack seems a poor way of having speech" Roman comments, suspicious of both Qixz and Baerin at this point.  "Might I ask who it is you wish to speak to ?"

Qiexz nods, "Normally I'd agree with you, after all I am a diplomat, but I had reason to believe that the person I hoped to intercept would be unlikely to want to engage in conversation unless he were held down."

"He is a Shadow-Dweller called Vered, a sorcerer by trade.  I discovered recently that my assistant had sold some information to him.  Documents that I hoped to recover from him."

"Documents pertaining to... " he glances at Baerin, then lowers his voice to ask Roman, "Is your travelling companion trustworthy?"

Roman shrugs armoured shoulders.  "I do not know.  Chance-met on the road, he wished to travel with company - for safety he said.  He may even be the one you seek."  And if he is, he made a big mistake.

"I see."

The ambassador's tone is laced with disapproval, "You really should be more careful Chanicut.  These are dangerous times."

Qiexz raises his voice, "Very well." He turns to Baerin, "You there, what is your name?" 

The man's reply is surly, to say the least, "Baerin.  Not that I think it's any of yer bloody business.  Who asks?"

"My name is Finndo, my good man.  Please forgive my rudeness."  And then his attention comes back to Roman, "The documents were my own notes on the situation in Amber, and on the nature of the enemy in this blasted war."

Baerin turns his head to look back in the direction he and Roman had come from, "That might be the man ye seek, yonder.  At least he looks to be headed this way."

Roman shrugs armoured shoulders.  "It seemed best.  There was no great risk."  How could he know that Qiezx would carelessly lose important papers ?  With that he moves to oen side, arranging his position so eh can see both Baerin and whoever might be coming.

The newcomer approaches quickly, mounted, and with a second horse as a spare.  He reins in a good thirty feet away, studying Roman and Baerin, Qiexz, and the primitive tribesmen, and then back to Qiexz.

Finally he speaks, his words directed at the Chaosite ambassador, "Stand aside, Qiexz, you and your dogs, and you'll all live to see another day.  Or don't, if you prefer.  It makes no real difference to me."

Qiexz, for his part, merely nods, "You're welcome to pass, Vered, after you return my property."

roman does not expect the sorcerer to give up his ill-gotten gains without a fight.  Hoping that the Shadow-dweller has not reckoned on facing two Chaos Lords he silently begins to call up the Logrus.

Vered nods and sighs theatrically, "I can wait, Qiexz, I am in no real hurry, and you can't guard this road every minute of every day.  Or maybe I'll simply find another way."

He tugs at the reins and turns his horse back the way he came, and it continues to turn, until the man is once more facing towards those who block the path.  He raises one hand, and calls out, "Heyezrick nartha chirubo kzael'lem t'cha!"

The air around him starts to ripple, like heat haze on a midsummer day...

Sorcery! Roman spins the tendrils of the Logrus into a shield.  This is Qiezx' show - his papers and his enemy.  Without knowing Vered's capabilities it is hard to say which is the bluff - his threat or his apparent retreat, or if the Sorcery is an attack or a defence.  Turning his head but slightly towards Qiexz he asks "Do we take him ?"

Qiexz opens his mouth to answer Roman, and collapses before he can utter so much as a syllable.  Around him, the primitive-seeming tribesman he had brought with him as a show of strength also fall. 

Alongside Roman, Baerin leaps clear as his horse topples.  On his right hand, blue light flares from a ring worn on the littlest finger.  He reaches for the curved sword on his left hip, and moves to stand close to Roman, and glares at Vered with his one good eye, "That horse cost me a pretty penny.  If ye've slain it, I'll have one of yer own horses.  If ye want to argue, I'll have both yer horses, and ye'll lose whatever else ye have twixt yer legs, into the bargain."

Vered chuckles, "Not dead, merely sleeping.  Now, I'll be on my way, with my horses, and everything else that belongs to me.  If either of you think you can stop me, you are welcome to attempt it."

He urges his mount forward, past Roman and Baerin and the sleeping Qiexz.

Once the pressure on his Logrus-shield eases, Roman spins out tendrils of force, seeking the sorcerer's throat.  To silence, him, hold him, spill him from his steed.  No words, simply a chittering from the tendrils inside the armouring exoskeleton.  This requires concentration, a readiness to parry the next blow..

Vered suddenly lands on his rump on the ground, his eyes bulging and his face growing dark as he seems to struggle breathing.  His hands rise to his throat, pulling at his collar.

Baerin steps forward and crouches in front of the sorcerer, staring into his eyes, "Ye're looking a lot less sure of yerself."  He draws his sword, holding the tip against the man's throat, and turns his head to look at Roman, "If ye're thinking of asking him any questions, now might be a good time to let him breathe.  If he tries aught, I can have his throat slit 'fore he succeeds."

Qiexz should have prepared himself better Roman thinks.  He lets the sorceror choke a little longer while he tries to think of a better plan.  He doesn't.  "Do not let him speak" he advises, as he moves slowly to the fallen ambassador, trying to hold on to the Logrus.  If Qiexz can be awakened perhaps he will have better questions.  Starting with a simple shake, if necessary moving to Logrus-probes Roman seeks to return Qiexz to consciousnesss.

Baerin nods his assent, and the action causes the tip of his blade to waver, producing a trickle of blood and a gasp of pain.  "Hush now." Baerin growls, "I'm sure ye've nicked yerself worse than that shavin'.  If'n ye don't stay quiet, I'll make sure ye've got a scar ye can brag to the ladies about, but ye'll likely have ter do it in writin'."

Qiexz groans as Roman shakes him, then opens his eyes as the shaking becomes more vigorous.  Then the eyes close again immediately, and both hands go to his head, "Damn!  My head feels like I drank four bottles of cheap brandy.  Did Vered escape?  You must give chase, Chanicut."

If there were a human mouth within the exoskeletal "helm" it would be smiling at that.  But there wasn't anything capable of such expression encased in that strange armour.

Speech, fortunately was another matter,  "I brought him down", Roman states.  "Baerin guards him.  His power needs words". Qiexz should at least be pleased at the outcome, even if his own performance might be considered embarrassing.

"Ahah!" Qiexz exclaims, his hangover seeming to fade rapidly in the face of Roman's good news, "Most excellent, Chanicut."  The ambassador clambers unsteadily to his feet, and stands, swaying, while he gets his bearings.

Finally he staggers towards Vered, who is still held at sword's point.  "You there!  Where is my property?  Tell me immediately, or I'll kill you and tear the information from your mind as you die."

"Damn you, Qiexz, I'll give you nothing."

"Kill him." Qiexz instructs Baerin, who gives Roman a questioning look.

Roman hesitates a moment.  Yes, Qiexz could do what he says - if the sorcerer is not protected, or possessed of an unusually strong will.  And the man is dangerous.  But there would be no honour in the killing, and if Qiexz failed, the notes might be lost.  and maybe there is more to it...

"Wait" he tells Baerin.  Looking down at Vered he asks the question.  "Why are his notes worth more than your life ?"

Vered squints at Roman, tilting his head as far as he dares with Baerin's sword at his throat.  Baerin, for his part, seems more inclined to listen to the words of Roman, his companion on the road, over those of the stranger, Qiexz.

"The pages themselves are worthless to me." Vered replies after brief thought, "It is what they mean to him that is important.  Qiexz is a murderer, and by taking his carefully compiled notes, I had hoped to get some measure of vengeance against him.  Now, it appears, I am to die."

He sighs, "The papers have been destroyed, at least, and Qiexz will get no benefit from them now."

Roman would sigh, if his form were human.  Why couldn't the man just challenge Qiexz to a duel or hire a decent assassin or two?  And it could take a long time to rightly judge the truth of his accusation, especially as it is a mitigating factor at most.

"Your revenge is  ill-timed and ill-chosen.  Many may die from what you have done.  Is there any reason we should let you live?"

Qiexz appears about to say something, but holds his tongue as Roman questions the prisoner.

Roman might not be able to sigh, but Vered can, and does, "If I am to die, then so be it.  At least I die knowing that Qiexz gains no benefit from the secrets he stole from my bride, before he murdered her."

"Where you surprised Qiexz?  Did you believe that I, too, had been killed by your demon?"  A sad smile, and the man shakes his head, "No Qiexz, I defeated it, but only after my gentle Saara was torn apart by the thing.  And she had already told me of your theft."

"I have burned your notes, and the documents themselves.  All that remains is whatever scraps you can remember.  I hope your masters are wont to forgive, Qiexz, or things might go badly for you."

The Chaosite ambassador blanches, and speaks at last, "As Chanicut says, you have doomed many with you petty vengeance... "

"No more than you have doomed with your own scheme!"

So.  Vered claims that the notes were based on documents stolen from his wife and that Qiexz sent a demon to kill her.  Qiexz denies none of it.  And the information, it seems, is lost.  What a mess.  Could Qiexz not have got the information by other means ?

Roman looks to Qiexz. "Have you aught to say in your defence ?  Any reason why I should not leave the both of you to your quarrel?"

"Bah!" Qiexz snaps, "If you do not defend me against this man, Chanicut, then you are a traitor to the Courts.  His wife had accumulated hundreds of lines of notes, and theories, and suggestions concerning how to deal with these... these damnable Archons!"

"Then she refused to let me have the documents.  Threatened to give them to the Amberites... "

Vered sighs, and speaks in a calm, quiet tone, "Saara believed that everybody had an equal right to her notes on a force which threatens all.  She would have given them to you, and happily, but you insisted that you, and you alone, should have them."

"When she disputed this idea, you had her killed."

" I think that my own plans will be of more benefit to the Courts, than defending you from your own mistakes" Roman informs Qiexz.  "And why should I choose to involve myself further in your failure?"

"I say again.  Have either of you any reason why I should not leave the both of you to your quarrel?"

Vered smiles, "I have no objection whatsoever to your going about your business.  I will bid you a good day, and good luck."

Qiexz seems somewhat less sanguine about the whole idea though, "I say again, Chanicut, as a citizen of the Courts, it is your duty to defend those on official business who are waylaid by ruffians such as Vered."

"Your own house benefits from such action, and... "

"How, Qiexz?  How do they benefit?" sneers Vered, "The papers are gone.  Destroyed.  Nobody will benefit from them.  All he will achieve by killing me is that he will protect a murderer from the rightful vengeance of the victim's spouse."

"You failed.  You did not send the notes to the Courts or preserve a copy.  I am not required to protect you from the consequences of you failure" Roman answers, strongly suspecting that Qiexz sought personal advantage by keeping the notes to himself.  The failure of that gambit will not go down well at home, and Qiexz should be expected to be capable of handling a mere Shadow sorcerer.  "My business at least has some chance of benefitting the Courts.  If you have nothing better to offer, prepare yourself or run.  I give you that much."

"Bah!  This matter will not improve your standing at the Courts, Chanicut.  I will ensure that the Great Houses are informed of your behaviour here today."

Qiexz looks around, noting that most of his force are still unconscious, and will likely be of little help to him.  He starts to move off at a sedate stroll.  It is, however, noticeable that he gains speed as he also accumulates distance.  By the time he is among the nearest trees he is almost running...

Baerin offers Vered his hand and helps the sorcerer to his feet.  Vered, for his part, bows to Roman, "My thanks to you, Sir.  If I have my way, Qiexz will not live to make his report."

"And one more thing... "

He walks to his horse and removes a package from his saddlebag.  "Saara's papers.  Take them, and give them to whoever you will.  They are of no use to me.  My only concern was that Qiexz would not profit from Saara's death."

"Qiexz is a fool and a coward - lucky for you.  If he is delayed in his report it will serve me well enough. "  Roman answers.  Qiexz did not even think to ask how Vered had been overcome, although he could easily have done the same.

Roman accepts the offered notes. "I thank you.  I will try to make good use of them."

And now for Baerin.  "I am for a place where time flows faster and these may be copied quickly and accurately.   You may journey with me a while, or perhaps more.  If you come all the way, you may have a copy of these notes, if you wish.  Although, I would like to know who you are since you are clearly more than you appear, and not one likely to be much bothered by common bandits."

"'tis true enough, I am more than I seem." Baerin admits, "Though the same could be said of many of the folk I have met on my travels."

"I've travelled far in my life, and farther still.  Faded memories I have of other lives.  Or that, at least, is how it feels.  Often I'll remember the name of a place, or of a person, but the recollection is slippery as a fish, and I find that I can't remember the why of knowing it."

"I don't remember how old I am, but I do remember fighting in wars that nobody I've spoken to has ever heard of.  My name is not my own, but it was given me by a woman, a century or more past.  I woke up one day, and found that I didn't remember my name, and the woman said I'd not given her it 'fore I slept, so she named me Baerin and sent me on my way."

The man shrugs, "It feels as fitting as any other."

He pulls a flask from his saddlebag and takes a long drink from it, "I'll come with you on your road.  'tis but a new journey, after all, and I've enough of them behind me.  If I come to a place I've never seen afore, then I'll have learned something new, and if I have seen it afore, then perhaps I'll have learned a new way to get there."

"A strange life" Roman comments, wondering as to the origins of the man.  Chaos ?  Amber ?  Somewhere unknown ?

"But let us not tarry."  Roman begins to visualise the world of his desire.  A place where time runs fast,  where the inhabtants compulsively copy symbols placed before them.   Those of Amber might consider the creatures strange, the octopoidal body mounted on the quadruped body like something out of a centaur's bad dream.  But to those of Chaos, bodyform is more a matter of convenience and personality...

Locating the place is easy.  Roman knows exactly where he wants to go, and even though it is far away, most of the distance towards the Courts in fact, it takes less than an hour to find the right place.  Roman attaches tendrils to the mounts, and to Baerin, even as he slides additional tendrils across Shadow to his destination, where they take hold of the world.

And then he simply... pulls.

Using the Logrus to travel is not always the best way.  Yes, it is fast, but it does tend to sacrifice comfort for speed.

The journey is long, and by the time they arrive Baerin is pale and sweating, having vomited up most of his most recent meal.

The world is dark, lit mainly by an almost continual barrage of reddish lightning.  Torrential rain hammers down almost constantly, turning the city streets into shallow, fast-flowing rivers.  Baerin comments that the architecture, what he can see of it in the gloom is making his head hurt - tall, twisted minarets, built of a material which seems to blur and shift and spurn the eye.

The two men are close to one of the buildings, and a crowd begins to gather around them, massive creatures, a four-legged frame topped by a torso and head which resemble nothing so much as an octopus, complete with tentacles.  The whole is covered in a thick, leathery hide, and adorned with jewellery in twisted shapes.  The creature's eyes are, almost universally, a startling blue.

One of the creatures speaks to Roman in a high pitched fluting voice.  "Greetings, friend.  Do I have the privilege of addressing a member of one of the great houses of the Courts?"

Roman is a little apologetic about the roughness of the ride, but he WAS in a hurry.  And this is certainly an unusual place to anyone more accustomed to the conditions around Amber's Pole of Reality.  And experience for Baerin !  An opinion that he is quick to share.

Roman replies to the friendly creature with a very small bow.  "Indeed you do.  I am of House Chanicut,   And most pleased to be here.  I have brought new symbols."  The creatures seem to take pleasure in the process of copying.  If they are exploited it is at least in harmless way, and they consider the rewards adequate.

"House Chanicut?  Too long has it been since we have seen a scion of Chanicut here." the creature replies, performing a complex bending of limbs which could best be thought of as a bow.  "I am Entarathtynsarna, scion of Athyraghlythante, Third Junior Assistant Chancellor here at Molathelasz.  If you will follow me, please, the scholars are always glad to study new symbols."

The high pitched voice rises slightly, and takes on a sing-song tone, "All symbols, whatever their intent, reveal something of the Universe in which they were formed.  Thus is it written."

Entarathtynsarna turns away, surprisingly graceful for such a bulky and ponderous looking creature.

Baerin gives Roman a puzzled look, and chuckles as he comments, "Clearly you have some strange friends.  Which worries me a little.  Am I strange enough to keep them company?"

The two men follow the alien creature into one of the twisted structures, and Baerin almost stumbles as the floor seems to shudder beneath his feet.

The interior of the building does not fit the geometry of the exterior - rather than a tall, narrow spire, they are standing inside a long narrow corridor.  Along one side are set hundred of lecterns, and at each one stands one of the creatures, carefully scribing symbols onto a sheet of fine parchment.

Stopping close to one of the lecterns, Entarathtynsarna speaks again, as the occupant of that lectern stops writing.  "Master Chanicut, if you would be so kind to present the symbols to Scholar Hederochythisaen."

"Their philosophy is unusual, certainly." Roman replies to Baerin.  "And if not for visitors from the Courts, they might consider you strange indeed, with so few limbs."  Or they might think him a cripple, though Roman does not voice that thought.

The spatial dislocation encountered at the entrance reminds Roman of the Courts, a pleasant change after the rigid geometries of Amber's space.

Roman presents the documents to the creature at the lectern.  "Learned Scholar, there are many who desire to see these symbols.  I, myself, have not had the time to examine them yet.  I hope that they are of equal interest to you."  It would be crude to bring up the usual arrangement...

The scholar turns its attention to the notebook and, as it does so, its eyes seem to light up.  Then, as it studies the pages, it stops suddenly, "Third Junior Assistant Chancellor Entarathtynsarna, many of the symbols here are unknown to me.  But this one is familiar."  One tentacle taps at a diagram on the page, a precisely rendered sketch of a bladed Archon.  "It has appeared in a number of collections of symbols that I have transcribed in the last seventeen revolutions."

Pushing aside the document s it had been working on prior to Roman's arrival, Scholar Hederochythisaen proceeds to copy the new collection.  As it works, it produces a faint keening sound, rapidly rising and falling in pitch.  In less than a minute, the first page is complete, and the second is started.

Entarathtynsarna bows to Roman again, "Master Chanicut, it would be for the better if we were to leave Scholar Hederochythisaen to his task.  May the halls of Molathelasz extend to you the use of a use of a chamber where you may exercise  patience in comfort?  Do you desire refreshments?  Perhaps fresh krill and a fine fish oil tea?"

" Indeed, indeed" Roman responds.  Although the recognition of the Archon depiction is of some small interest.  "My companion's digestion is a little delicate today, so he may feel unable to partake of the delicacies on offer.". Roman follows the creature to the offered chamber, only a little anxious at letting the documents out of his sight.  The locals are trustworthy, and it is unlikely that anyone from Amber even knows if this place.

The chamber is spacious and airy, with a window in every wall (including one which, by the laws of geometry in saner worlds, should show nothing but the interior of the structure).  The furnishings are of fine quality, though many of them are a little uncomfortable for the human form - perhaps too low in parts, or too high in others, or not quite the right shape.  Still, with careful selection, Baerin is able to find a seat which gives only minimal discomfort.

Roman simply adjusts the proportions of his body to suit, and is entirely comfortable in his own seat.

Refreshments are provided, and Baerin tries them.  The krill he pronounces palatable, though he chooses to taste neither the sea urchin nor the still living deep sea worms.  The fish oil tea causes him to grow pale at the first sip, and he sets his cup aside.

With nothing better to do for the moment, the man eventually asks Roman, "I have told you a little about myself.  What of you?  How came you to be in your current position, and how do you know of this world?"

"To be brief" Roman answers, "In my travels, the place I was staying was attacked by the enemy.  Joining with others, already opposed to those forces, I learned that the threat was far greater than I could have imagined, affecting the entire structure of reality."

"I intended to find a device that had played a role in creating the present situation, and disable it.  However, these documents must come first, lest they contain information of greater import"  Roman doesn't mention that he had also hoped to obtain a weapon of considerable power in disabling the device...

"This world is known to a number of my peers.  Like the Lords of Amber we can seek out worlds where we may obtain many things we desire.  A truly honest copyist and archivist is of value to many of us.   Treaties between the Houses have been copied here and may be found in their archives."

Some little time passes, which Roman and Baerin spend relaxing in comfort (Roman slightly more so than his companion) and discussing how they found themselves to be in their current circumstances.  Baerin's tale is interspersed with odd gaps, which the man says he is quite unable to fill, save with informed speculation.  Even after he "awoke" and was given his current name, there are spans ranging from a few hours to a number of years which he has no memory of.

Or, rather, he sometimes has memories of those times, but they are nebulous and prone to shift and change.  "I tried keepin' a journal for a time," he explains, "but it were no good.  I'd write somethin', and a day or two later my memories'd be gone.  Or changed so that what I'd wrote didn't match what was in my head."

"In the end, I gave up."

There is a polite cough, and Entarathtynsarna stands in the doorway, "Master Chanicut, Scholar Hederochythisaen has continued with the assigned task, and has almost completed the copy.  Do you wish further copies?"

Roman considers that Baerin may be under a curse of some sort.  But it may not be a kindness to mention that fact - perhaps he had earned a curse.  If he recovered his memory, he might tun out to be a different person.  It's not something to rush into.  He remains silent on that point, for now.

When the Junior Assistant Chancellor enters the room, Roman rises to greet him.  "Further copies ?  Oh, indeed.  Four, I think.  My thanks to the Scholar."

Entarathtynsarna shuffles both pairs of feet nervously, "Forgive me, Master Chanicut, and Scholar Hederochythisaen too, but he says he has discovered something of interest while copying the documents.  Scholars are, of course, forbidden to absorb the information they are copying, focussing only on the symbols and not their meanings, but in this case Hederochythisaen was interested enough by some of the symbols to actually peruse the document while duplicating them."

"He says that he has discovered that there is a war going on, and he believes that one of the creatures involved in this war is here, in the city.  Are we about to be drawn into this war, Master Chanicut?"

Roman strokes his "chin", considering his words.  "I cannot say" he answers.  "The wheels fight each other.  One side wishes to remake all worlds to their own purposes, the other to preserve Reality.  If one is here, it may mean no harm... If I knew more, I might have more to say.  Startbwith telling me of it's substance..."

The Third Junior Assistant Chancellor appears baffled by the use of the word "substance", but a brief explanation clarifies the point, and Entarathtynsarna seems pleased to give more information.

"It is a thing of metal, and it speaks in a voice like the sound of a thousand forges." a brief hesitation, and then, "That is to say, I have never spoken to it, nor even seen it, Master Chanicut, but I have heard reports of those who have, though relayed through other parties.  They say that it speaks of those who would come here and teach us of worlds beyond our own.  It has not, to the best of my understanding, spoken so much as a single syllable on the topic of war and conquest.  Nor has it ever, so far as I am aware, shown any interest in symbols of any description."

Hardly surprising.  "I still need more." Roman responds "It might be well to hear more of what it says,  but tell it nothing, of the Courts or the symbols I brought.  If it is a foe, it could bring an army upon you with no warning."  Leaving here safely might be difficult.  But perhaps safer for the inhabitants if the Archon is drawn away.

"I shall instruct Scholar Hederochythisaen to produce further copies of the document.  I shall also endeavour to discover more concerning this creature which has come to our world."  Entarathtynsarna starts to back out of the chamber, then halts for a moment, "Forgive one more question, Master Chanicut.  Am I to assume that this rotation's services will be charged against House Chanicut's account?"

When the Third Junior Assistant Chancellor finally leaves, Baerin gives Roman a grin, "They're strange folk, that's for certain, but friendly enough."

Roman waves the Third Junior Assistant Chancellor off "The usual arrangement"

"Friendly, aye.  I would not wish to bring war upon them." he answers Baerin

More time waiting, and talking, while Roman eats and Baerin manages to find a few items on the menu which his palate finds tolerable, if a little salty.

And when the Third Junior Assistant Chancellor returns he is followed by two more of his kind, both slightly smaller than he.  "Master Chanicut, it is exactly as you have told me.  These are two of the Sub-Apprentices.  They have personally witnessed this creature speaking."

The two newcomers perform the usual odd bow, adjusted to take account of their lowly status, and one of them starts to explain, "Noble Visitor.  We were in the public gallery of the Guildhall, and heard it speak to the Council of Sages.  It gave its name as Hadraniel and told those who were present to hear its words of a war which is coming, which will unleash destruction upon our world.  It said that the only way to avoid this is if the people agree to serve it and offer it tribute, and help to overthrow its enemies, the Seraphim and the Nephelim."

Roman shakes his head.  "Likely it is alone, with no friends.  To aid such a one would risk bringing armies of the creatures upon you.  I can see no way in which you might threaten hordes of the blade wheels, let alone those of fire or lightning.". How could this lone archon hope to win a war against both the major factions ?  Even if they were to largely destroy themselves in conflict, the winning side should still be greater...  Maybe this should be investigated, but first - the documents.

The Third Junior Assistant Chancellor leads Roman and Baerin back towards the hall where the scholars work.  The nameless Sub-Apprentices - and Roman knows this to be literally true - in this place they will not earn names until their apprenticeships end - depart to continue with whatever menial tasks they have been assigned for today.  Entarathtynsarna walks in silence, his gaze fixed directly ahead.

Baerin moves closer to Roman and murmurs, "This Hadraniel?  Could he... it be part of some new faction of Archons, one which is opposed to the others?  I've heard a little about these creatures... that they are as happy to fight among themselves as to declare war on other peoples.  This might be just such an occasion."

"If 'tis so, then we can mayhap use it to our advantage."

Roman shrus with a clatter or armour plating.  "Maybe so.  If the Seraphim are falling apart.  But, we'd have to. Know what any new faction wants, and how strong they are.  If they just want to take over the Seraphim we would need to be very careful..."

"'tis a good point." Baerin concedes, with a sigh, "Wouldn't want to trade one enemy for a worse one, would we?  If this Archon is due to make another speech, we should try to place ourselves, or one of us at least, where we can overhear it.  Learn more of its goals, try to fathom out the best course of action."

He rubs at his eyes, and sighs again, "You know, on occasion I wish for the times when my biggest concern was remembering my own name from one day to the next."

The trio arrive  at the place where Scholar Hederochythisaen continues to work on the copies.  The creature's tentacles are a fast moving blur as it transcribes the pages to sheets of fresh paper, or something which is a close approximation.  As they approach, the Scholar sets aside his styli, laying them carefully in a silvery metal box.  "Third Junior Assistant Chancellor Entarathtynsarna.  Honoured visitors.  I have completed the requisite number of copies, and would submit them for inspection and approval."

One limb gestures towards several neatly aligned stacks of pages which lay on the desk before him.

"You did not have to come with me" Roman points out to Baerin, amused.  "If it gets too much, I will get you somewhere more to your liking, as soon as I can afford the time."

On their arrival in the scriptoriium Roman thanks the honoured Scholar.  The copies must be inspected, before they do more.


OOC: I intend to assume that Roman has been warned about Trump use...I can't remember whether he heard it from Dworkin in-game or not.  Correct me if I'm wrong !

Baerin simply grins at Roman, then waits while his companion inspects the copies.  The Scholar steps back, waiting patiently, while Entarathtynsarna demonstrates what may be a certain amount of anxiety as he awaits Roman's verdict.

As it turn's out, the duplicate pages are, at least as far as Roman can tell, identical to the originals.

Since the Danioti might be sensitive to Trump use, Roman decides that it may be best to listen to it's demands first.  " If things should go awry, these documents must be sent to people who might understand them" he informs the others.  "To House Chanicut, I hope, but to others - e'en the princes of Amber, if it might help."

"I am certain that we would be able to deliver them to your house, Master Chanicut.  We have, after all, had extensive dealings with them before." the Third Junior Assistant Chancellor assures Roman, "As far as the lords of Amber are concerned, while I am familiar with that name, I am not aware of the actual location of this place.  It may be possible to ascertain such information, but a delivery to them may be beyond our capability."

He makes a gesture which members of House Chanicut have always assumed indicates an abject apology.  "Is there any other service you require from us, Master Chanicut?"

"No, not at this time, thank you." Roman answers.  It was simply a precaution to take before chancing an encounter with the archon, be it renegade or a representative of a new faction.  If only the damnable creatures were not so difficult to kill!  Spare bodies seem like cheating somehow.  Best then to listen, hopefully unperceived by the creature (what senses does it have?) and hear what it says before making a judgement.

Roman and Baerin return to the parlour where they had waited previously and are soon informed that the Archon Hadraniel (though the word Archon is not mentioned) intends to address the Council of Sages in the Guildhall again, that very rotation.

At the appointed time they are shown to the public gallery in the Guildhall, high above the floor of the main chamber and find themselves a place in the shadow of a buttress to listen from.  A short while later, Hadraniel appears, seeming to pass through the roof with ease, and drops towards the floor.  The sound of its blades cutting the air as it passes is terrible, like the roaring of a great storm.

As it reaches its desired position, it does not wait for permission to speak to the Council, instead launching into its address without preamble...

+ WE ARE THE SAVIOUR OF YOUR PEOPLE.  ENEMIES COME, AND THEY WILL DESTROY YOU WITHOUT OUR PROTECTION.  THESE SERAPHIM AND NEPHELIM LAY WASTE TO WORLDS AND ENSLAVE THEIR PEOPLES.  YOU WILL BE TAKEN FROM HERE AND WORKED UNTIL YOU DIE. +

+ WE ARE YOUR ONLY HOPE.  WE LEAD AN ARMY THAT OUTNUMBERS THOSE OF THESE UPSTART FACTIONS.  YOUR WORLD WILL BE PROTECTED BY OUR GENERAL, AND THE SORCERER BERD.  THE NEPHELIM AND SERAPHIM WILL NOT TAKE YOUR WORTHY CITIZENS AND LEAVE YOUR LANDS RUINED AND EMPTY. +

+ THIS PROTECTION, THOUGH, DOES NOT COME WITHOUT A PRICE.  OUR SOLDIERS REQUIRE PAYMENT, MUCH AS YOUR SCHOLARS DO.  AND WE REQUIRE ADDITIONAL TROOPS TO ASSIST  IN THE DEFENCE OF YOUR WORLD.  YOU MUST PAY TRIBUTE IN GEMS, PRECIOUS METALS AND WARRIORS.  IN ADDITION TO DEFENCE, WHEN THE WAR ENDS AND YOUR WORLD IS SAVED, WE WILL SEND TEACHERS HERE, SO THAT YOU MAY LEARN THE GREAT SECRETS WHICH WE HAVE AT OUR DISPOSAL. +

The Archon pauses, circling slowly around the floor of the chamber, then, + WE ARE HADRANIEL.  WE HAVE SPOKEN, AND WE AWAIT YOUR RESPONSE, AND THE FIRST PAYMENT, SO THAT WE CAN COMMENCE THE DEFENCE OF YOUR WORLD. +

Is it even a real Archon ?  Asking for treasure ?  It seems real enough, but the demands are..petty

Roman begins the trnasformation into his Elemental form. If he decides to confront the thing - whatever it might be - better to do so in a form which takes no hurt from blades, no matter how sharp and strong they might be.

Baerin chuckles as Hadraniel speaks, "I forget the name of the place, but a year ago, or thereabouts, I came to a village where the people were distinctly unwelcoming towards strangers.  Turned out they'd been visited about a week afore I got there, by a man who sold them potions to cure everything from boils to baldness, only none of them worked, it seems."

"This one" he gestures towards the Archon, "makes me think of that man."

Hadraniel is talking again, the harsh metallic voice echoing through the chamber, + WITH OUR ARMIES TO DEFEND YOUR WORLD, YOUR CITIES WILL BE SAFE, AND YOUR SHOLARS WILL BE FREE.  FREE TO PRACTICE THEIR TRADE.  FREE FROM THE THREAT OF SLAVERY BENEATH THE NEPHELIM AND SERAPHIM.  FREE TO LEARN THE SECRETS OF ALL WORLDS, TUTORED BY WISE AND NOBLE ARCHONS! +

+ IS IT TOO MUCH THAT WE WOULD EXPECT YOU TO PARTLY FUND THE ARMY WHICH WILL DEFEND AND TEACH YOUR PEOPLE? +

+ CHOOSE QUICKLY IF YOU WILL ACCEPT OUR OFFER.  WE WILL NOT COME HERE AGAIN.  THE CHOICE IS SIMPLE: DEATH AND SLAVERY VERSUS SAFETY AND LEARNING. +

And in the gallery, Roman transforms into his elemental form, watched by a grinning Baerin.  "That should give the bugger something to think about."

"Aye, I think you have the right of it." Roman comments, before the transformation changes his vocal apparatus too thoroughly.  He continues to watch. If the thing honestly means to leave if it's offer is refused, there may be no need for confrontation.  The ill-advised fraud may be dealt with later.

+ THE ARMIES OF THE NEPHELIM AND SERAPHIM ARE CLOSE BY.  THE FIEND HARBONAH LEADS THEM.  THOSE WHO ARE NOT ENSLAVED AND TAKEN TO OTHER WORLDS WILL BE DEVOURED.  THIS WORLD WILL BE TORN ASSUNDER AND CONSUMED IN THE FORGING OF WEAPONS.  YOUR TIME GROWS SHORT.  YOU MUST MAKE YOUR DECISION TODAY.  DO YOU DESIRE THE PROTECTION OF OUR GENERAL, AND OF BERD, WHO STANDS AS TALL AS THIS HALL, WITH EYES THAT BURN LIKE SUNS?  OR WILL YOU STAND ALONE? +

One of the Council members steps forward, "If what you say is true, then it would be foolish of us not to pay your price, Noble Visitor.  Observe... "

A door opens at the far end of the hall, and a procession of the bizarre creatures shuffle in.  Most are carrying items which, from the shapes of them, Roman would guess to be weapons, but some, in teams of four, are bearing large cases... six of them.

"This is, naturally, merely the first fraction of the payment you will receive.  We would hope that it makes our wishes in this matter clear to you."

The Archon Hadraniel moves forward, spinning faster now, and even from where he stands in the gallery, Roman can hear the hum of blades cutting the air.

This has gone far enough.  Rising into the air, a sickly green lightning flickering ahead of him, Roman addresses the assembly with his thunders.  "THE CREATURE, HADRANIEL LIES! "

As Roman soars out above the lower floor, one of the large cases is pried open by a guard.  The lid crashes to the floor, revealing the case to be empty.

The Archon, its attention momentarily diverted by the lack of contents in the large box, seems confused, shifting backwards and forwards between the empty case and the next one in line, as yet unopened.

Then, with a roar pulled straight from some primordial forest, it rushes towards the Chaosite who now stands revealed in all his terrible might.

+ WHO ARE YOU, CREATURE, TO INTERFERE IN OUR PLAN TO ASSIST THESE PEOPLE?  BECAUSE OF YOU, THEY HAVE REFUSED THAT AID, AND THEY WILL ALL DIE UNDER THE ASSAULT OF THE SERAPHIM AND NEPHELIM!  SPEAK!  WE WOULD KNOW THE NAME OF THE ONE WE ARE ABOUT TO SLAY, THAT IT MIGHT BECOME A BYWORD FOR FOOLISHNESS! +

The second crate is opened, and shown to contain just as much wealth as the first...

It seems that intervention was unnecessary.  Or maybe not - the creature might have vented rage upon the inhabitants.  Better it vents rage on one who can withstand it's blades.

The thunder makes reply "Ask The General.  Ask The Nephilim.  Ask Those I Slew at Charyk."

Roman prepares a slash with Wormwood to destroy the thing as it attacks him.  The weapon has proved potent against danioti, but is this an Archon at all ?

The Archon starts towards Roman, blades howling as they cut the air, and then Roman's words reach whatever passes for ears on the danioti, and it hesitates, just for a moment...

+ CHARYK? + its voice falters, and it veers away.  Then it hesitates again, before sweeping back around in a long curve towards the Chaosite.  + WE KNOW YOU NOW.  AT CHARYK YOU WERE VICTORIOUS ONLY BECAUSE OUR FORCES WERE NOT PREPARED.  THIS TIME YOU ARE KNOWN TO US! +

It rushes in towards Roman, who retaliates with a slash of the bolt of lightning he wields, but the creature dodges aside and comes at him from another angle.

On the floor, far below, the natives are scattering, fleeing in terror...

"Seraphim" rolls the thunder.  Is this Harbonah's plan?  It still seems...petty.  Perhaps the creature merely speaks of its former allegiance.

So long as it chooses to attack, Roman cannot afford the time to bring his other tactic - the use of Logrus tendrils to catch and ensnare - into play.  Instead he attempts to predict the creature's path, through his insight into the patterns of chance.  If the creature has sense it will strive to evade predictability by randomising its attacks - and against any but a Lord of Chaos, it would likely succeed.

The Archo does not attempt to avoid conflict...

It hurtles directly towards Roman, who simply moves aside and strikes at it as it passes.  Sickly green lightning flares, dancing from blade to blade around the danioti's form.  It shrieks, droplets of molten metal scattering from it to scorch the floor far below, and darts away, only to circle back and come at Roman again, this time in a drunkard's walk which attempts to avoid the Chaos-forged weapon.

+ SERAPHIM NO LONGER!  HARBONAH IS A FOOL! +  Trying to match randomness against one who grew up in the Courts proves to be a losing tactic, and Roman beats the creature back, showering more molten metal into the lower levels of the hall.  + WE CHOOSE OUR OWN DESTINY NOW! +

It holds its distance now, circling Roman and snarling like a wild beast.

Far below the duelling pair, some of the hot liquid metal has struck a tapestry.  The fabric starts to burn, the flames dancing rapidly across the dry cloth...

Talking of fools, the Archon's choice of destinies seems to be less than wise.  Roman moves to attack.  True the danioti can run away, but it seems reluctant to do so.  Problems below will have to be dealt with by those there.  Roman hardly notices them, and in the mindset his current form would not care if he did.

Roman moves forward, and the Archon charges to intercept him.  Metal bites into the Chaosite, tearing at his substance, even as Wormwood strikes.  The two combatants are locked in battle, even as flames dance across the walls below.

The locals hurry towards the exits, crying out in terror as the flames spread.

Slightly above Roman, and a little to one side, Baerin  clambers out of the gallery and starts to slide down an arras, one which is not yet burning, though it is uncertain for how long it will remain untouched by the flames...

Roman slashes at Hadraniel, and for a moment the taint of smoke in the air around them is replaced by the crisp smell of ozone as lightning tears a score of blades from the Archon.

Hadraniel screams and tries to break clear...

Baerin realises that the bottom of his escape route is burning.  At the next opportunity he clambers into one of the lower galleries coughing in the smoke-laden air.

Wind and rain cannot be harmed by knives, however sharp.  The momentary disruption caused by their passage manifests as pain, but does no lasting hurt.  Sensing victory, Roman presses his attack, to slay his foe before it might depart.

Roman's blade hisses and crackles as it sweeps in endless patterns of destruction, and booms like thunder whenever it touches anything.  It cleaves the Archon's form as easily as it does the smoke-filled air, and Hadraniel's howling rage becomes a shriek of pain.  It drops towards the floor, metal shimmering in the light of the flames, and Roman follows.

Another blow, another peal of thunder, and the danioti screams, + WE YIELD! +  It's voice is slurred, and its blades, glowing almost cherry-red as they cut the hot air, seem to waver in their eternal orbits.

+ WE YIELD! +

The Archon begs for mercy.  The storm replies - and the storm always answers "No"

The bar of lightning reaches out, touching the rim of the wheel.  Metal shrieks, and molten shards scatter across the floor of the room, leaving white hot grooves in the stonework.  Any further words from the Archon are drowned out as wooden beams, weakened by fire, break, and a large section of the ceiling drops to the floor of the hall, further fanning the flames.

Hadraniel is pinned now, blades trapped by fallen masonry and starting to soften in the heat.  The Archon is unable to revolve, and rotation is the very heartbeat of an Archon...

...and Roman does not stop.  Striking blow after blow until the Archon is finished.


OOC: I hope that someone noticed my little homage in the last post ?

With Hadraniel's lifeless form laying among the flames and starting to buckle and melt under the heat, Roman moves away, suffering only the mildest discomfort from the fire, and most of that due mainly to the fact that the flames and smoke obscure his vision.  There is a roar, and another large section of the building falls, sending smoke and embers billowing upward into the sky...

Roma whirls out of the building, to find a safe place to land and solidify into his armoured form.  Having assumed a form with different  patterns of thought, he considers te destruction.  More than expected, but less than seemed likely if the Archon had chosen to take offence to the refusal of its offer.

The structure continues to burn.  Massive stone blocks crack in the heat and topple into the ruin, wooden roof beams collapse, sending showers of sparks soaring into the sky, nearby buildings catch light and add their own glare and heat to the inferno.  The noise is terrific as the flames roar and large sections of buildings crash down, and all around Roman the natives scream and wail as they try to extinguish the flames on the buildings which are suffering the least with buckets of water.

The larger fires they leave alone... attempting to control those is clearly futile.

A voice comes from behind Roman, one which isn't screaming, "Damn! That could've gone better, wouldn't ye say?"  Baerin's clothes are scorched, and he has some missing hair and an unpleasant looking burn on his face.  His left hand is cradled inside his ragged, soot stained shirt, and his bow, minus the string, is held in his blistered right

"Aye" Roman mutters, being more used to fighting Archons outside, he hadn't expected quite that degree of property damage.   "It might also have gone worse for them..."  An extortion racket is usually backed up by violence - and the Archon hadn't seemed inclined to peaceful solutions.

"No, that's what I'd heard of them - that they've a tendency to be a little more... on the direct side." 

Baerin gazes up at the building, wincing slightly as most of the remainder of one wall topples into the inferno, producing another explosion of embers which drift out over the city.  The sight of a nearby roof starting to burn brings an expression of concern.  "We should move away from here.  Somewhere less warm." and he starts to move away from the fire.

Something else concerns the man though, and he stops after a couple of paces, "D'ye think others will come looking for the bastard?"

Roman starts walking with Baerin.  "It may not be dead.  I hear that they have more than one body.  If one body dies, it may still use the others."  He considers options,  the documents still have to be read - and ideally disseminated to multiple people, for differing perspectives.

When the pair make it back to the halls where the scholars normally work to copy any documuments which are placed before them, it becomes clear that something is very wrong...

There seems to be a palpable air of terror about the place.  The normally quiet scholars are in a state of panic, dashing about to gather up whatever items they can carry.  Stopping one and asking garners the explanation that they have been instructed to evacuate the building, "The city is ablaze.  A conflagration, which started at the Guildhall, has been transmitted to other structures, carried by the wind.  Nobody here has the ability to prevent it destroying the entire city."  The creature turns back, briefly, as it moves away, "Flee!"

Roman shakes his head.  You;d think that they had precautions against fire...  But maybe he can help, a little.  ""Keep the documents safe,please." he tells Baerin before taking to the skies again.  Calling on the Logrus he seeks the heaviest rainstorm in nearby Shadow.  If it can be diverted to arrive at this place, maybe it will slow the spread of the fire, at least.

For several minutes Roman appears to do nothing, leaving Baerin puzzled...

And then the air around him seems to darken, as if something is casting a shadow over him.  The rain starts, light drizzle at first, but gradually growing heavier as clouds gather around Roman, forming into a vortex which gradually spreads across the heavens.

And suddenly the lightning comes, ripping open the sky, and the clouds surge outwards, stretching from horizon to horizon while the lightning blazes in a ceaseless coruscation.  Thunder echoes across the rooftops of the city, so constant that each peal almost drowns out the previous one.

On the ground Baerin runs for shelter as the rain becomes so heavy that it is as if an entire ocean is falling.

All across the city, the glow of the fires, already almost invisible in the actinic glare of the lightning, starts to fade as even the moisture laden air dampens down the flames...

Roman lands, and starts to look for Baerin feeling rather tired.  Nearer to Amber that might not have gone so well.  Time to move on, probably, and hope that the locals learn to take precautions to deal with an outbreak of fire.

Two hours later, and the inhabitants of the city, encouraged by the torrential downpour's dampening effects on the fires, have started to rally a little.  Teams have formed to fight the fires, and it seems that much of the city might actually survive relatively intact.

Roman and Baerin have moved on by this time.

They find themselves riding along a road which, by all appearances, has not seen any rain in some time, let alone a downpour such as the one which had been drawn to the city.  The road surface is dry and dusty in the mid-morning sun, and the land to each side is an endless expanse of dry, brown grass dotted with odd spires of stone.  These are obviously not natural formations, being far too regular in shape.  However they are not large enough to be dwellings for, while easily thirty or forty feet tall, they are only about two or three feet wide at the base, tapering rapidly to a needle-sharp apex.

As they top a low rise, Baerin points along the road before them, "Village ahead."  Roman, looking where the man points, sees a handful of thin plumes of smoke rising from beyond the next ridge.

Roman has rather soured on involvement in local affairs after recent events.  "I think we'll bypass it" he says, setting up the necessary Shadow-shifts to make sure of it.  He is eager to get back home, and start the process of reviewing the documents.

Roman has rather soured on involvement in local affairs after recent events.  "I think we'll bypass it" he says, setting up the necessary Shadow-shifts to make sure of it.  He is eager to get back home, and start the process of reviewing the documents.

The road forks before reaching the next rise, and the route that Roman chooses takes them off to the left.  When Baerin looks back a short while later, there is no sign of the smoke...

And so the journey continues for some days.  The road remains constant, though its nature changes constantly, but the landscape around it varies.  The only common factor is that, as much as possible, Roman skirts around settlements when he can.  Sometimes, of course, these settlements are unavoidable, and on such occasions they sometimes hear news of a great war which is raging, often drawing whole worlds into conflict.

Sometimes they are fought by monstrous creatures which bear death and destruction to everything in their path.  But more often it is the people of these worlds who fight, using weapons which they barely control and which slaughter even those who do not go to war.  Cities burn, oceans boil, the air is poisoned, and the earth itself sickens.

They hear, too, familiar names: Archons, Harbonah, The General, Jonnee Kay, Aaron of San Anyn...  Never have the people uttering these names met the people they speak of, but always they are somebody that the speaker has heard rumours of...

But the stories become fewer, the further south Roman and Baerin travel.  The lands are still ravaged by war, but the communities are smaller, more isolated, less interested in anything beyond their own local woes.

And then, one day, they come to a place that Roman knows of.

A slope leads down into a fog-shrouded bowl-shaped valley, beneath a sky streaked with red and green clouds - a sky which reminds Roman of that above his home.  On the slope, just before the path descends into the fog, stands a tree, or rather the fire-blackened remains of a tree.  The leaves are long gone, as are most of the smaller branches.  The bark has been cracked by heat, and the wood beneath charred.

Ash lays ankle-deep around the burned tree.

The destruction seems pointless.    The tree had some power, but enough to be worth destroying ?  Feeling a little sick, Roman approaches the tree to see if it might somehow retain some small remnant of life, have some message to pass on.  As he moves in he explains some of this to Baerin. "This is the place that marks the border between Amber and Chaos. The tree was planted by the Lords of Amber, and it was not without power.  I've never heard of anyone wishing to destroy it, though."

"Archons." Baerin asserts, "They do as they will, and what they will is usually destructive."

He watches as Roman investigates the burned and broken tree.  After a while he opens his mouth to ask a question, then closes it again as Roman leans closer to the blackened and twisted form.  A different question then, "Found something?"

Roman stands up, straight.  He answers Baerin with two words.  "Yes.  Hope"  Gathering the Logrus to himself again, he continues "Time to be moving on."  Maybe, if left alone the power here will heal, restore itself...  But not if the Archons learn of it and return.

The two men continue down the slope, into the fog-shrouded valley below.  The sound of the horses' hoofbeats changes - there is a hard-packed, rutted dirt road beneath them now, and Roman judges they are far enough from any remaining power in the area.  The Logrus reaches out, finds what it seeks, and there is a sickening lurch...

The fog is still there, but now filled with the sound of running water.  The road remains, but it has become smooth and black, leading away into the swirling gloom.  At Roman's urging, his horse starts forward, and it seems to the Chaosite that it moves faster than its pace should allow, as if the road itself carries it along.  It's hard to be sure in the fog though.

The vegetation by the roadside is familiar - types that Roman has seen close to the Courts.  That, even in the absence of the other signs, would be enough to tell Roman that he's in the right place.

The Black Road.  Or at least a fragment of it.

They follow the road south, through the fog and darkness.  The flowing water drops behind them, and the fog bears the smell of marshland.  But the road is firm and they make good speed through the unchanging but ever-shifting fog.  Sometimes the cry of some animal reaches their ears, but the beasts do not approach the road itself...

And after a couple of hours, there is a change.  The fog continues to swirl around them, but the road is no longer empty.  There are shards of metal scattered across it, some of them embedded in the surface.  The surface of the road bears deep gouges in places, and there are a few bodies scattered about - not human.

Roman examines the battlefield, to find out what befell here.  The metal shards - fragments of danioti Archons ?  The defenders, what sort of creatures ?  Have the forces of Chaos met the Archons at last ?  If so, who won, and at what cost ?

The bodies are almost human, though their skins is a pale blue and lightly scaled, and the blood that stains the ground around them, as well as the corpses themselves, is a darker shade of the same colour.  They appear to be wearing uniforms of some sort, or their entire race has little imagination when it comes to their mode of dress.

The weapons they carried are identical too, spears and curved swors with holes cut through the blades near the hilt, probably to lighten the weapon while still allowing the tip considerable inertia.

Dismounting, Roman crouches close to one of the metal shards embedded in the road.  It certainly looks like it might have come from one of the danioti.  He touches it, careful to only lay a finger against the flat side, not the edges.

It's vibrating.

Then he hears a voice.  It sounds weak, speaking a language he does not recognise, somewhere close to the road, but hidden in the fog...

"Ainuro tathot chikem t'nosh... hiven... tathlotchi... chaer.  Ainuro tathot... chikem t'nosh hiven... tathlotchi chaer." it keeps repeating.

Wondering what weapon might have helped these people fight successfully against Archons - their standard gear seems hopelessly inadequate for even fighting danioti  Roman follows the sound of the voice.  Cautiously.  It wouldn't be good to catch his leg on one of the sharp fragments of metal embedded in the ground - nor does he know who is talking.  The Archons are known to employ members of other species - and it may be that even the dead are servants of the Archons, not their enemies.  The victors may be someone else, entirely.

The ground to the side of the road is soft, marshy, but not dangerously so and scattered with pools of dark, greenish water.  The person who had called out is laying half immersed in one of the pools.  The main difference between this pool and the others nearby is that this one is tainted by considerable quantities of the blue blood of its occupant.  She looks similar to the bodies on the road, the same blue scaled skin.  In place of the uniforms worn by the others though, she wears a dress of green and silver brocade.  Her shoulder length hair is white, and her eyes are violet, and her right hand lays on the ground a short distance away, having been severed just below the elbow.

A strip of the brocade fabric appears to have been clumsily tied around her right bicep.

She watches warily as Roman approaches, and finally speaks again, this time apparently addressing him directly, "Ain... ainuro tathot chikem... t'nosh hiven tathlotchi... chaer."

Roman kneels, to see if he can help.  Speaking quietly, gently, he states "I am sorry, your tongue is strange to me...Do you speak Thari?"   As he speaks he evaluates the woman - she is clearly not a warrior, but competent enough to bind her arm, to stem the blood loss.  A sorceress ?  Such might be more likely to have some understanding of Thari...

She studies Roman for a few heartbeats, opens her mouth as if to speak, then closes it again.  Finally she utters a single word, "Yes.", before closing her eyes and slumping back to the ground.

Baerin comes up behind Roman, "I looked around.  Far as I can see, they're all dead 'ceptin' her.  If ye're wantin' ter find out what happened here, ye'd best hope she wakes again."

The woman's eyes flick open again, and she half-whispers, "Not... sleep."  Her one hand grabs at Roman's arm.  "Help"

Roman grasps her arm.  "I will help, if I can." he answers.  He looks to Baerin.  "If you have any healing, now might be good.  I believe the term for the immediate problem is 'shock'. "

Baerin shakes his head, "I know little of healin' me, an' naught of healin' blue lizard women, but I'd say she's tried ter stop the bleedin', so that'd likely be a good thing."  He moves closer to assist Roman, "Let's get her up out of the water, where we can take a proper look at her, an' maybe start a fire ter warm her up a bit."

The woman shakes her head violently, "No.  Stay... in water.  Water heals.  Need food... too... for strength.  Fruit... tubers... roots.  Good."

Baerin backs away again, "Right.  I can do that.  I'll see if I can find somethin' ter eat round here."

As he turns to leave, the woman gasps, "My thanks."  Then to Roman, "My... name... is Adine Valdea... Moch... Moch'aldar Deneas Ste Nothok Ste Chuvacto... Argedda Hossako... Hossakotadea VosAeadren."

"Thank you, Baerin" Roman says to the departing man.  Staying and talking, helping the woman to keep awake seems the best course.  "Is that all your name ?  May I call you something shorter ?"

She draws a deep breath, and beckons Roman a little closer.  When she answers, it is in a faint whisper.  "Adine Valdea Moch'aldar Deneas Ste Nothok Ste Chuvacto Argedda Hossakotadea VosAeadren is my name, yes.  If it is too much for you, Vos is acceptable."  She manages a weak smile.

"I... I was travelling with my retainers and guards, and my friend, Pammon.  We were attacked on the road.  Pammon said it was the... the army of the Great Enemy.  They were too strong for us."

"My people... did you find any still living?  What of Pammon?"

"I am sorry..." Roman replies "...we found none other alive.  Your people did well to bring down the enemy before you were slain.  I believe I know them, and they are fearsome foes.  They seek to destroy all, and may have the power to do so."

Vos closes her eyes, and begins to emit a low pitched hum, a single, drawn out, monotonous note.  It continues for some time, and after a little while, Roman notices that tears have started flowing down her cheeks,

Baerin returns, but says nothing.  Instead he just gives the woman a curious look and places a round shield face down on the ground close to her.  There is quite a bit of vegetation on the shield - roots, leaves, stems, various berries, some fungii.  He also has a pack, presumably belonging to one of the dead.  He opens it to show the contents to Roman - one of the uniforms, a whetstone, a sewing kit, and a box, made of thick, stiff paper, containing a number of bandages and some small ampoules.

The humming stops and Vos opens her eyes, wiping away the tears with her remaining hand.

"The enemy?" she says to Roman, almost as if there had been no break in the conversation, "How do you know them?"
This message was last edited by the player at 18:29, Wed 04 Apr 2012.

"Thank you" Roman tells Baerin.  Looking to Vos he asks "Is this adequate to your needs ?"

While he waits for her to inspect the items, he answers her other question.  "I first encountered them at a place named Charyk....A host of them came against that place  There was much destruction, but we beat them there.  The true enemy is just one faction of the creatures.  Others fight with us, against the Enemy, who name themselves Seraphim.  Others have turned renegade, working only for themselves....We can win battles against the Seraphim, the renegades, but the war still hangs in the balance."

"The food is more than adequate, thank you."

Vos starts to eat, selecting some of the roots and leaves, but setting aside the fungii and, after a squeezing one between her fingers and sniffing at the juice, the berries.

"I do not know this name... what did you call them Say-ra-phim?  Pammon says that the Great Enemy is not one of his people, though his army is."  She stops eating, and her expression grows sombre, "Or, rather, he said I suppose, if wise Pammon is dead."

"The army, or a small part of it, attacked.  Pammon attempted to fight them off, and my own retainers tried to aid him, but we were overwhelmed.  Pammon instructed me to flee, but I only reached this place before I was struck down and left for dead."

Roman strokes his beard, considering the implications.  "Pammon was an Archon?  One of the bladed wheels?  If so, he may yet live.  We saw pieces of one such - but no way to identify which of them it might have been, or if it was a mortal wound.  Pammon might have fled, to draw the enemy away from you, or even if his form were destroyed, he might live on in another body".  Roman does not mention the fact that an enemy Archon might well have cannibalised the remains, had it won - and that had not happened.

"Pammon was a bladed wheel, yes.  My people called him Dehar'andellurand Myachortandoth, which means, approximately, 'The Sword Which Knows Truth'."

Vos raises her severed arm and studies it, with its makeshift dressing and tourniquet.  "The bleeding has stopped, I think.  I will stand now.  Will you take me to see this one you found?  It might be that I could recognise it as Pammon."

She attempts to rise, but the missing hand throws off her balance, and she slumps back into the water again...

"Pieces only" Roman answers, impressing on her that these are remains only.  "Here, let me help you up", he continues, offering an arm.  "Take care - the fragments are still sharp"

Vos assisted by Roman, makes her way slowly back to the road.  Baerin starts gathering up the food, discarding the items that the woman had not touched,  He still has the pack, with its clothing and first aid supplies.  Then he follows after Roman and Vos.

On the road, Vos stops as she catches sight of the first uniformed body, and gasps.  "I'm sorry.  I hadn't considered this.  I thought of the brave guards and retainers fighting to the death.  I had not considered that their deaths would be so gruesome."

She starts forward again, humming quietly once more.  The shattered remains of the Archon are still now, the vibration has ceased.  The creature is just so much scrap metal, laying on the road surface or embedded in it.

Vos studies the remains for a while, moving around them to study them from different angles.  Finally she announces, "It is Pammon.  This part... " she reaches down to tap one of the pieces with a fingernail, "I gave it to him as a gift.  A symbol of friendship.  It is engraved, as you can see, with the image of an eagle and three stars, the emblem of Clan Adine Valdea Moch'aldar."

Still staring at the dead Archon she asks, "Is your destination near?  I would go there, if you will take me.  I can not stay, unattended, on this road."

When a wheel of fast-spiinng blades meet flesh, what else could occur Roman thinks, but does not voice the thought.  It would be unkind, and unworthy.  ""We travel a long way on a journey that cannot be measured in miles" Roman answers.  "I do not know if there is anything for you at the far end.  If you have the power then maybe, maybe a chance for vengeance.  I can promise no more.  Maybe it would be better if we took you to your own people, if it is not too far."

"My own people are several days' journey from here, in that direction."  Vos gestures along the road, in the direction that Roman and Baerin were heading when they found her.  She stops speaking, frozen, and stares.  She had, unwittingly, pointed with the stump of her arm.

The arm, what's left of it, snaps down against her side, and she starts muttering in her own tongue, "Dtjur ach nabd desod nichat jaduckatt!"  While the words don't mean much to Roman, the tone seems angry.

She starts to walk, then, in the direction she had indicated...

Neither leaving her to make her own way, nor taking her to the Courts seem desirable options.  Roman sighs.  "Maybe we can speed your travel.."  Using the Logrus to short-cut across Shadow,  moving to Shadows where the distances between corresponding points are shorter should make the duration of the journey acceptable...

"I would be grateful for that." Vos turns, swaying noticably as she does so, "Pammon's death must be reported.  A message must be sent to his king, that he might send out agents to hunt down and slay noble Pammon's killers."

"Clearly, the sooner the message can be sent, the more likely it is that the murderers of Pammon, and of my retainers, will be found.  Vengeance will smite them."  Her face twists into a mask of fury, "King Harbonnah will not permit cowardly enemies to strike down loyal and trusted followers and escape unpunished."

Clearly there is more to be learned here.  "Well let us start.' Roman replies, preparing to use the Logrus.  "As we travel, perhaps you can tell us of Pammon.  It is rare for one of his kind to consort with other beings."

It seems odd to him that Harbonnah's enemies would target a single Archon for assassination.  Pammon's death might be a dispute within the Seraphim, and Harbonnah could well take the other side.

As Roman starts to summon the Logrus, teasing out a strand to provide them with transport, Vos leans against a boulder at the roadside.  She watches Roman for a moment, not sure exactly what he's doing, and eventually manages to regain her breath, and gather her thoughts, enough to speak.  "Pammon's king need allies for the war.  So he sent Pammon to us as one of three ambassadors.  Each of them was given a group of cities where they were to work with the local leaders to gather an army."

A brief pause as she draws a shuddering breath, "I asked Pammon, once, why the king needed our help.  The explanation was that the enemy are numerous, and allies could challenge the enemy's allies, allowing the king's forces to concentrate on fighting the enemy themselves.  Additionally, we are less discomfited by weather than some of the Archons are.  Pammon told me once that some of them do not do well when it rains or snows."

Roman sends a tendril of the Logrus out, reaching through Shadow, searching for Vos' world, while a second tendril waits, poised to coils around the trio and carry them there...

The connection is made.  The tendril ensnares Roman, Baerin, Vos, even the mounts...  There is a tug, and a brief sensation of being thrown through the air, brief yet somehow lasting an eternity.  Flashes of light, in every colour (imaginable or otherwise) streak past them, and there is a sound like every creature in the world crying out in pain and rage.

Roman is standing on a broad expanse of tesselated stone slabs.  In the distance he can see buildings, and smoke rising from a thousand chimneys.  The air smells faintly of sulphur and thunderstorms.

Behind him, blended with the sound of the nervous horses, he can hear Vos vomiting.  Baerin takes a single pace forward, and stops thirty yards away, looking around at Roman, he calls out "This is... interesting!"  Another pace, this one back towards his starting point, and he almost collides with Roman.  "Alarming, but interesting."

Roman looks around for people like Vos.  Then he looks down at the woman.  "Take your time.  Recover.  But there are things you need to know before you tell your story."

Vos continueses voiding her stomach.  In the end she is retching, even though she has nothing further to bring up.  In between, she is muttering to herself angrily as tears stream down her face, "Stultak! Stultak! Stultak!  Djomadon...  djomadon kiel dinfanot, kiu mangist tro dav kepahalia tigo en... tigo en sia tago de naskigond.  Alportukt... alportukt memkune, Vos.  Dokuso sur raciot, nek anstonktid.  Horto dek dolokestos ariumfot."

Finally she stands upright, though a little shakily, and smiles weakly.  When she speaks, her voice is hoarse.  "This place.  It is near my home.  A deserted sedacnot - I do not know if there is a word for that in your tongue - from long ago."

"I believe I am recovered."  She lifts her remaining hand and uses he sleeve to wipe at her face.  "Forgive me.  I found that mode of travel somewhat... disturbing."
This message was last edited by the player at 07:25, Sat 02 June 2012.

Roman shrugs.  "it can be uncomfortable.  But fast.  But there are things to talk about before we go further.  The first thing you need to know is that Harbonah leads the destroyers.  His victory would doom your people, your entire world."

Vos' expression twists into a sneer of outrage.  "You... you are a follower of the Despised One and his pet Traitor?"

"You lie!  It was not Pammon  who attacked and killed my people.  It was not Pammon who took my hand and left me for dead at the roadside.  It was not Pammon who levelled the City of White Blossoms.  It was the army of the Despised One, a horde of demons using weapons of power, led by Archons who have betrayed their king!  They attacked, and they cried out the name of the Traitor as a rallying call!"

Stepping back, Vos is suddenly a hundred feet away.  But not before Roman sees the growing look of dismay on her face, and the tears beginning anew.  She turns her back and stands with her head bowed.

Roman is not pleased by this display of ingratitude.  "I am a Lord of Chaos, and no mere follower!  Did I not seek to help you, return you to your home?  I speak no ill of Pammon, for I did not know him.  But I know of Harbonah.  There is war throughout the infinite worlds of Shadow.  And if you side with Harbonah, you will lose no matter the outcome of your battles!  Do you think that the people of Charyk regarded their hoe with any less affection than you hold for yours?  It was Harbonah's legions attacked that place, though the people there offered him no violence!"

"I know nothing of this Charyk!  I know only what happened here - the army of King Harbonah's enemies attacked the City of White Blossoms." Vos' eyes blaze with anger as she describes the event, "There was no provocation, and no previous knowledge of the army.  They simply appeared near the city one day and struck.  They burned the trees which gave the city its name, tore down the buildings, and put everybody to the sword.  Everybody - man, woman and child.  They left only one survivor, an old woman who was permitted to live so that she could carry word of this atrocity as a warning to others."

"When Pammon and the others came, we were told of your war.  We were told of the hatred for Harbonah among those who would see him fall.  We were told of his enemies, and their trail of pillage and destruction."  Tears are streaming down the woman's face now.

"The City of White Blossoms was our oldest city.  The first place our people lived.  It was sacred to us.  And it fell before a horde of savages who used the name of the Traitor as a battlecry!  A thousand curses and one are not enough for any who fights in her name!"

"Not so long ago I encountered an Archon who claimed to be working for The General, demanding treasures for 'protection'.  It lied.  I wondered why it would ask for things it would have little use for, but now i can guess. " Roman muses.  "How do you know that Harbonah did not send the army that attacked your city himself?  Part of a determined effort to smear those who would defend this reality from him, and his destroyers."

"How do I know you are not lying now?" Vos responds.  She throws her head back to look at the sky for a long moment, before lowering her gaze to meet Roman's.  "You found me on the road, and helped me.  An act of apparent kindness.  Pammon came here and offered my people aid.  More Archons came after, and gave more help.  More acts of seeming charity."

Her shoulders slump, "How am I to know the difference?  Pammon said that your people are the destroyers, now you say that King Harbonnah will kill us all.  You have probably saved my life, but Pammon was my friend long before I met you."

"I lack the knowledge upon which to base a decision"

"If the word of a Chaos Lord is insufficient, I doubt that I can offer any greater proof." Roman answers with a shrug.  "But you might find your own evidence.  Ask yourself which side has benefited from the events.  Look at the tasks that Harbonah requires of your people.  And consider whether you should be committing your people to a war that you know so little about."

Vos turns her back, facing towards the distant buildings in silence.

Eventually she speaks again, and her voice is steadier now, and colder in tone, "You... may be right, granted.  Pammon's king asked little in return for the aid which was given.  We had merely to lend an army for his war - a force to occupy conquered territory while his own army moved on.  Pammon and his companions seemed better able to defend us in any event, so our armies marched away to take part in what we were told was a just war."

"My brothers marched with them."

She turns to face Roman, "I do not know enough to decide who speaks the truth.  I would see other places.  Speak to other people.  Hear what they have to say about this war.  Take me with you, that I may learn the truth."

"I travel to Chaos, and I do not seek encounters along the way - they are delays that I would rather avoid.  The journey is likely to be hard, and even if you survive it, I cannot promise that I will be able to return you to your home.  Think carefully about what you risk."  Roman answers harshly.  The woman is being more than a little presumptious.

The woman's face falls, "I have but two choices.  I can remain here, and forever wonder about the truth... though from what you say, forever, may not be that long a time.  Or I can attempt to find the truth for myself.  If the journey kills me, so be it."  Vos straightens up, and though she still frowns, she raises her chin, "But if what you say is true, then I will die soon enough, even if I stay at home.  At least if I die seeking the truth I will not be wasting my remaining time dreading more attacks, whoever is responsible for them."

"You say you will not stop along the way.  If that is so then I must find my own means of travel.  A good horse and a broad road will take me far enough."

"I am grateful for the aid you have lent me, and you have my thanks, but I will detain you no longer."

Roman takes the parting with good cheer.  It is better for her that she remain in her own world, rather than be dragged into increasingly strange lands.  "Fare well, Vos.  May you find the answers you seek.  I hope that you and your people shall not die.  There are those to fight to preserve what is, against the destroyers.  The outcome of the war is yet to be decided."  And then he turns and begins to shift through Shadow, seeking Chaos...