The discussion continues, the sun traverses the sky (at least the movement of shadows and changes in the angle of beams of light which break through the trees) suggest that it does...

And the air grows cooler as the light fades.  Crystal orbs, each about the size of an apple are placed on tables or simply suspended from branches.  A gentle tap, and each starts to emit a soft light of its own, matching the colour of the sunlight.

Somewhere musicians start to play - instruments which sound like, and yet not quite like, those known on countless other worlds...

*slightly out of chronological order*

James listens carefully to Cyan's comments about his plan.  He knows that her knowledge of warfare easily surpasses his own.  Moreover, the battle ahead is likely to involve large numbers of Archons, with whom Cyan has far more experience.  James would value his companions' opinions anyway and, given the collaborative nature of his plan, their input is particularly important.

It may be surprising, then, that James laughs at Cyan's concerns about Harbonah.  "I certainly hope so.  Our success may depend upon it."

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't make light of my own safety and I appreciate your concern.  But consider, Cyan, how much easier it is to defend me than it would be to defend what I am hoping we can create."

To Banglen-Yp's explanation, and demonstration, James answers, "Impressive.  Though, it seems I could use a shower and a shave.  If you can make copies of me that are not easily distinguishable without using your mental block that would be best.  Otherwise, it might interfere with Berd's bridging."

"It seems we have three potential roles for you, Banglen-Yp.  As a catalyst for the regeneration of Hosk, in defence and as a counter to Broken God.  You certainly are...adaptable.  We may be better not to try and fix a role for you just yet.  We will see where you are needed most when the time comes.  I would ask, though, that you offer Cyan your protection when we arrive.  Her plan must succeed first if mine is to have any chance."

"Oh, and no black holes, please."

The latter prospect is enough to cause James to consider Banglen-Yp's potential afresh.  James has, at times, found Banglen-Yp's alien nature unsettling and too often he has placed her in his "too hard basket".  James finds himself regretting that now.

The recent growth of Banglen-Yp's abilities has been remarkable and leads James to wonder how else she may have grown.

"You know, I think that's the first time you've mentioned home as if you had some definite idea of where it was.  For that matter, I can't remember you mentioning any plan for the future beyond discovering more about yourself."

"You've grown, Banglen-Yp, in more than just stature and number.  But I'm glad you have yet to grow cynical.  Avoid it, if you can."

Then Cyan makes her offer, from bended knee.  James grimaces.  "Stand up, please, Cyan.  I will take Gurthang, but not like this."

James waits for Cyan to stand before continuing.  "I knelt to Aaron once, as you did just now.  I did it because I thought it necessary, but we're well past that."

"Gurthang itself deserves no such ceremony.  I accept it because I know its value as a tool, but that's all it is.  It is an implement for separating one thing from another.  Neither its name, its power or its bloodthirsty history make it anything else."

James gestures at his small pile or arms and armour, "You should have Fangmir, in return.  You may find the balance awkward at first but I am sure you can manage it.  I would not like to leave you without a sword."

"If that's all we need to discuss, we should try to enjoy the evening.  I hear musicians, Cyan, will you play?  Or perhaps you'd like to dance?" James offers the latter with a mischievious grin.

Cyan sits back to consider Banglen-Yp's thoughts on the matter and James' responses.  She isn't at all certain what a 'black hole' would be, though it sounds most distressing; James' reaction bears that up.  As for the devouring itself?  If the Broken God is deployed against them, they must deal with it.  If that means exposing James....

"Something we might have to risk," she murmurs, not at all pleased with the thought.

She has to admit that James has a point about defending him, though she disagrees with his assessment about his scruffiness.  And the flexibility issue, as well.  "Better to remain flexible with your disposition, Banglen-Yp.  You offer us many options, many possibilities, and we would be foolish to pigeonhole you into a single one.  So long as we are aware of your capacities, and you are aware of the plans, all of us can shift to adapt to the situation, something very necessary once we enter into the conflict."  She grimaces.  "'No plan survives contact with the enemy'."

The bard isn't quite certain from where the quote comes, but knows it to be truthful.

Her smile returns as James ponders on their enigmatic companion's nature.  "I would be pleased, myself, if you could find your way home, Banglen-Yp...and be able to travel between here and there."  The universe seems to be a fascinating place for the 'woman' and her 'sisters', encouraging the growth of which James speaks.  "I think we have all grown, in one way or another.  And glad I am of it."

Then the offer and James' remonstration.  Still on bended knee, Cyan cocks an eyebrow.  "James...I am a bard.  There are formalities to be observed with this sort of thing, and I fear you will have to put up with the occasional drift into drama."  Then she laughs, rising.  "But I would not put you on the spot!"  She passes the heavy blade over to him, growing more solemn as he explains his feelings on the matter.

"Ah, I understand.  No fealty was meant, James; my apologies."  She traces the alien hilt of the weapon for a moment, lost in thought.  "A tool, yes, but it carries a curse upon it, James.  Believe in such things; they carry weight."  She glances at his pile of equipment.  "I would be honoured to carry Fangmir, James.  I have oft wondered how it might fit my hand, and never had the chance to make the attempt..."  It's a heavy weapon, she knows, built for James' strength, but her own is not incosiderable.

Some practice will certainly be necessary.

Strains of music waft to her and Cyan's gaze falls upon her harp at James' first question.  Then comes his second, and she pauses.  "I have not danced...oh, it has been years."  In truth, she cannot recall the last time.  Was it in the Thousand Caves, oh so long ago, when as a blushing youngster she traded between the friendly Heavy-Handed and the cheerful Cúthalion?

Surely not so long!

And there it comes again, in response to James' wicked smile, a slow-blooming flush rising up into her cheeks.  Topaz eyes bright, Cyan laughs, a quiet exhalation of wonderment.  "Would it be a terrible thing to accept your offer, James of Amber?  If tonight, I wished to dance?"  Her laughter dies; she glances at their companions, then back to the man.  "If Banglen-Yp can forgive us, if our Archon friends have patience...I would."

Please, let it not be in jest.

"Oh, never fear, I believe in curses.  Bleys drummed into me the significance of an Amberite's dying curse.  I didn't believe him at first, but Bleys took Corwin's side, some of the time, in the Patternfall War.  Everyone I've ever asked at the palace takes it as fact."*

As he talks, James walks to where he left his gear.  He retrieves Fangmir and brings it back to Cyan.  He offers the sword to her hilt-first without further ceremony.  "You'll note it has the size and weight of a longsword but the pommel and balance of a rapier.  It has a strong edge, though, so don't be put off by the balance, it can be used for more than just thrusting attacks."

James sets Gurthang down, gingerly (he has been moving with exaggerated care since taking the blade, for all that it is sheathed).

"I also believe in drama..."  James winks, then gives his best impression of a courtly bow, which is, admittedly, a little rusty.  "Cyan, may I have the honour of this dance?"

James ruins the effect somewhat by raising his head to look at Cyan and saying in a loud "whisper" (and with another grin) "I should warn you, I'm not a great dancer."

*Yes, I know this doesn't make much sense unless you've read the books.  James isn't clearly thinking through what people may or may not know of Amber history.

 

"Naturally, James.  That is easily achieved," Banglen-Yp replied to not using the mental block.  "I believe we, I, can easily clone that as well, if not in the sense of actually becoming you, of course.  That would not do, after all.  As we are one, so are you."  She smiled warmly at him.

She crossed her heart with a finger, or at least where the heart usually is found in a human body.  "No black holes.  Cross my heart and hope to die, although I cannot guarantee that I actually can die."

"Ah, it is the nature of all things to change, is it not?  Even the unchangeable changes, if in an not so obvious fashion.  And change means growth, even if you end up smaller you still grow."

She smiled softly and looked towards the other of her selves before turning to Cyan.  "Then we best make certain that no enemy survives our plan either, even if it means turning them into allies in the end, yes?"

She laughed, a genuine laughter, yet serious at the same time.

"Fear not, young Cyan, if there is no way there will be," she spoke, suddenly serious, and leaving it unclear whether she meant a way home and back here or the success or failure of any plans.

"The cat told me so, and who would argue with a cat?"  She giggled and scratched the chin of her little friend, Nine Lives, even though he by now may possess a far greater number of both lives and existences.

At the mention of the dance all of the Banglen-Yps seemed to slowly stop what they were doing and turn to regard the two would-be dancers.  The one with the kitten on her shoulder tilted her head and peered at the couple with a smile teasing her lips.

 
This message was last edited by the player at 16:10, Sat 14 Jan 2012.

Cyan takes Fangmir without hesitation, the heavy dueling blade curiously light-feeling in her hand even with the scabbard.  What the pommel must be made of, she has no idea - drilled out and completely filled with gold, perhaps - but the point of balance seems to be only an inch from the hilt, much as in lost kirilindë.  And yet, there is substance to the weapon far beyond that of a rapier or gim.  "Fangmir might be used similarly to my old sword, James."  She salutes him with the sword, sheathed as it is.  "My thanks!  I have always wanted to examine your weapon."

A small, rueful smile flickers on her face for an instant, and she rubs the side of her head.  "I did, once.  Perhaps a touch too closely."

Banglen-Yp sets aside the threat of 'black holes' - an ugly picture of them has appeared in Cyan's mind, of an all-devouring gap - and cleverly turns Cyan's quote around to get to the meat of it.  The bard laugh, shaking her head in bemeusement.  "So very truthful, Banglen-Yp."  Her eyebrows draw closer for a moment as she struggles to parse the woman's reassurance and determine its point.  Finally she gives up with a smile - Banglen-Yp is a cat, herself: enigmatic, clever, and not one with whom to argue.

Then James sweeps into his bow and the attention of the crowd of Banglen-Yp's shift towards the two of them.  Cyan's flush creeps higher, for this is not public speaking or singing; it is something far more personal, and she cannot hide behind her bard's mask.  Flustered, she glances about, hangs Fangmir on the back of her chair, turns back to James, whips away to brusquely deposit an aggrieved drake on the seat of said chair, then returns her attention to her fellow traveller, brushing back an errant lock of hair with a nervous laugh.

Without skirts, she cannot answer James' bow as it deserves, so Cyan settles for a bow of her own, feminine in its own way.  His small quip settles much of her nervousness - though hints of crimson remain in her cheeks - and she extends a hand toward the wandering soldier.  "The honour runs in both directions, James; it would be my pleasure."  An impish grin sharpens her features for a moment.  "You have a habit of underselling yourself, James, and I am no award-winner myself."

Taking his hand, she seeks an open place amidst the falling petals, wondering what form the dance will take.

In front of an apparently appreciative audience of Banglen-Yps, James and Cyan find some space to dance.  Maybe it's the Banglen-Yps' rapt attention, or maybe it's something else, but others are watching too.

Many of Shaendra's people are watching the two visitors, and the Archons too seem interested, they maintain their unceasing patrols, but their orbits shift so that at at least one point on their paths they each sweep past within sword's reach of the dancers, the whine of their passage just barely audible to James and Cyan above the music...

James takes Cyan's hand as he straightens from his bow.  Having acted almost entirely on impulse, he has no real plan and little idea of what to do next.  He seems momentarily confused as he looks about for a suitable place to dance.

Fortunately, the clearing around the banquet tables offers plenty of room.  The ground is even enough and well-lit, so there is little chance of a mis-step, at least not one that can be blamed on the terrain.  James motions for Cyan to walk with him to the dance-floor.

For all that James seems to be enjoying himself, he seems distracted.  The reason shortly becomes clear when he starts humming to the music and remarks, "One, two, three, two, two, three.  Yes, I think it is three four.  That's a mercy.  We can waltz.  Do you know it?  I will try and lead, but, well, if I keep repeating my little disclaimer it'll get boring."

"If it helps just think, long, short, short." James gives another grin, "That's what I'll be doing."

Moving closer to Cyan until they are face to face and only a few inches apart, James extends the hand which holds Cyan's up to just short of shoulder height and slightly away from their bodies.  He reaches around Cyan with his other arm, placing his hand gently between her shoulder blades.

"Ready?"

Once James and Cyan are both ready, James moves off with the rhythm of the movement.  It is a simple dance, the steps easy to learn and endlessly repetitive, but there is a certain grace in the asymmetric beat and the gliding movement across the grass.  As dance partners, James and Cyan are well-matched for height and they probably make a handsome couple to those watching.

James is all but oblivious to such considerations.  He's having to concentrate a little too hard on the beat and on leading the steps.  Any spare focus is on Cyan; James is desperately hoping that she's enjoying herself, and that he won't step on her feet.

"Tragic isn't it?  Were this a duel, we would both know the steps and the rhythm without batting an eyelid.

James and Cyan dance, moving across the grass in small circles around each other.  The Archons, gleaming, either by way of the reflected torchlight or by their own fires, take it in turns to sweep in close before whirling back out to their assigned patrol routes.

And the Banglen-Yp's watch... at least until one of them recognises a familiar pattern to the movement, at which point they all do.  They start to change, growing smaller and shedding clouds of dust and water vapour as they shift into spherical shapes of various sizes and colours.  Then they launch into the air and join the dance, some revolving around the couple at varying distances and speeds, with other, smaller spheres, orbiting around them.

And the dance continues, James and Cyan at the core, surrounded by spheres of green, brown, blue and grey moving in long slow circles, and the Archons hurtling through the pattern at intervals, whenever a gap presents itself.

In the clearing all activity stops, as everybody except the musicians pauses to watch the dance...

A smile continues to play about Cyan's lips as James focuses on the song, working out the tempo, and she gladly follows him to the dance 'floor', a trifle flushed from the attention they're receiving.  Her free hand comes up and touches her hair uncertainly; they've been travelling all day, and she's no-doubt dusty.  Plus liberally touched by fallen flower petals.

Behind her, Berd's left eye cracks open, and a gleam shines from beneath its lid.

James first hums, then launches into his explanation, and the bard purses her lips thoughtfully.  "'Waltz'...I am familiar with words similar to that one that fit this music, James."  The smile quirks.  "Though I have not danced one since my days in the College of Cattashford; normally I sit on the sidelines and play for others."  A russent eyebrow cocks, its partner dropping.  "Glad am I you repeat not your waiver; a woman might begin to think you reluctant."  But she laughs, the comically suspicious expression vanishing.  "Long-short-short...a better concise explanation I have not heard."

Stepping close, James frames up, and Cyan meets her eyes, freezing momentarily as his hand slips around her back.  Her fingers slowlly fall into his and she runs her other hand up his arm to rest it gently upon his shoulder, her spine straight and relxed.  A breeze touches the pair then, a breath of air that sweeps away a touch of travel's dust and wear, nothing more.

"Yes," she whispers in reply.

Eye to eye, she lets herself be swept off into the simple, intimate motion of the dance.

She can see he's focusing, conciously competent but needing that concentration.  It's a touch easier for her, able to read his intent through their contact.  The muscle of his shoulder rolls slightly beneath her fingers, like steel cords beneath velvet, and as always, Cyan marvels at both James' strength and control.  She has never met someone gifted with his might who simultaneously keeps it so well leashed, and holds to a quiet, caring nature.

"Tragic isn't it?  Were this a duel, we would both know the steps and the rhythm without batting an eyelid.
</quote>

Her smile widens.  "Sorrowful words, James, yet so very true."  Closing her eyes, she puts her trust in the connection between them and James' focus.  "But this is so much better, is it not?"  She has little doubt he will keep her safe, and will swiftly adapt; her companion is a man of tremendous skill.

Whatever his concern, she feels secure he will not scuff her travelling boots.

Air moves as Archons shift past them, joining the dance in their own way.  And as Cyan's eyes open, the Banglen-Yp's also begin their own, bizarrely beautiful interpreation, shifting form to better match the archons.  A wind picks up again for an instant, swirling the petals around them.  "Look, James," Cyan whispers, her topaz eyes shining with unshed tears.  "So wonderful...and the Archons.  You see?"

If they can be curious of a dance...if they can shift through it, to study or to perhaps experiment...

"Yes," she breathes, then her gaze returns her partner.

Her back holds straight but her fingers relax, and while they shine, Cyan's jewel eyes do not overflow.  "And you feared for your dancing talent," she chides with a small laugh.  But her smile softens, the amusement fading.  For a moment her hand trembles in his, and her flush deepens, but she does not take refuge in staring at his neck.  Instead, she meets his eyes and somehow manages to hold them; it is, in its own way, harder than facing any of the dangers they have overcome.

"Thank you, James," Cyan whispers as his steps carry her through the waltz, his precious gift, and the world whirls about them.

James loses his focus momentarily as the Archons join the dance, sweeping past in arcs and circles.  As one particularly audacious Archon swoops not merely close to the dancers but between them, it takes an effort of will to push past the hesitation.  In James' experience, when pieces of metal and pulses of energy come past like that, somebody's shooting at you.  Still, he manages to avoid a misstep.

As Banglen-Yp joins in, James begins to relax again.  Rather than being fearful, James begins to marvel at the skill and precise control that the Archons and Banglen-Yp share; their mastery of form and function.

"I see."  And, indeed, James spares a glance to watch the myriad orbits of their companions.  His focus on the music, its rhythms, and his footwork will not allow him much more then that.

As Cyan briefly continues to watch, James remarks, "Somebody told me once that it is a dancer's job to make his partner look good.  If that's so, our friends are very good dancers."

When Cyan turns back to James, he replies simply, "Much better."  At Cyan's flush, it is James who looks aside.  Perhaps to spare Cyan any embarrassment but, more likely, to clear his own suspiciously bright eyes.  If that was the case, it doesn't seem to have worked; when James looks back his eyes are still on the verge of welling up.  James gives Cyan's hand a light squeeze as if to say Please don't cry, or I'll start, too.

For all that, James doesn't seem to be embarrassed by his emotions.  He meets Cyan's eyes and holds her gaze, as she does his.

"You are very welcome, my Lady of Rainbows."

Finally the music falls silent, save for a single flute playing a seemingly random and irregular series of notes, which hangs in the air like the haphazard flight of an insect before fading away completely...

And Shaendra approaches, applauding politely, "A most wonderful dance.  I have had packs prepared for you, with provisions gifted by the forest, and with blankets.  You are, of course, welcome to rest here for as long as you like, or you may move on when you are ready.  The choice is entirely yours."

She pauses then, seeming hesitant, before adding, "There is a thing I would have you see, if you would, before you leave.  It is... a puzzle.  My people found it, and it lays not far from here, but beyond that we know nothing of it.  I hoped that eyes, and minds, with knowledge of other places might understand it."

It's a glorious interlude indeed; a respite from the pressures and fears of the Quest.  Safe in James' grasp, Cyan cannot help but smile.  "Indeed they are, James - fine dancers.  And you, as my partner here, have matched them well."  It's a bittersweet moment, made moreso by the shine in James' eyes.  Her own amethyst eyes alit with wonderment at the sight, Cyan parts her lips for a question, then closes them when he squeezes her hand.

Sometimes it's enough just to feel, to experience the dance in the arms of a particular man.  And to let him do the same.

"...my Lady of Rainbows."

And sometimes it's so hard to keep the tears - born of joy and pain both - at bay.

"James," she whispers, sweeping through the steps, simple footwork that carries them through the falling petals, his frame about her holding her up and leading her, his pulse in her grip, his palm warm on her back.  A mountain of support, he has been, but this is a man, not a stony escarpment: strong of body and heart, swift of foot and mind, open of mien and spirit.

...I know who I am now, finally...and I believe I know you...and I...

And the dance flows to an end, finishing in a scintillating spray of notes.

Cyan stands a long moment, holding James' fingers in her own and being held in turn.  Finally she releases, stepping back to bow.  A curtsy wouldn't be appropriate given her clothing.  When she straightens, her smile shines.  "I had thought no gift could equal the vision you once shared with me, James.  I was wrong."

The bard twitches in surprise as Shaendra approaches, the applause breaking her out of the spell of dance and partner.  She turns a rueful smile on James for an instant before bowing again, this time to their hostess.  But her smile grows quizzical as Shaendra mentions a curiousity she wishes them to see.  Stepping shoulder to shoulder with James, she slowly nods her head.   "I will assist if I can, Shaendra."  What could it be?

A frisson of fear pulses through her for an instant, there and gone.

"Some of my people were out gathering food," Shaendra explains, "when they came across a creature, the likes of which they had never before seem.  It appears to be injured and was in a deep sleep.  So deep that they could not wake it.  They brought it back here for me to see."

"I must admit that I have no knowledge of its kind.  But you have travelled, perhaps you know what it is?  This way please... "

She gestures, indicating the direction, "Do you, perhaps, have other companions who have become separated from you recently?  It seems to push the bounds of coincidence that another creature, and one so strange, should arrive here on the same day as yourselves."

Cyan's whispered "James" is all the affirmation he needs.  For a time thereafter that seems to both last for an age and be over in a heartbeat, for such a fleeting eternity, there is only the dance and Cyan.

James relaxes into the simple, primal pleasure of music and movement.  As he does so he is acutely conscious of the points of contact at his hands and his shoulder, of the touch of skin and slight shifts of muscle as they flow through the dance together.

If James' physical control is sure and confident, he has poorer control of his emotions.  His eyes are fixed on Cyan's, now amethyst, with an intensity of which he is only semi-conscious and which he is powerless to restrain.  He becomes aware that the music has finished only when the stillness impresses itself upon his mind.

James takes a half-step back and matches Cyan's bow, though he holds contact with his leading hand, releasing Cyan's hand as both straighten.

"I remember." James answers quietly.  "And I will remember."

James acknowledges Shaendra's approach, and applause, with an embarrassed nod.  "You're very kind.  We're grateful for your hospitality."

"I'd be happy to help."

James glances back to the banquet table. "Cyan, would it be safe to wake Berd?  If this new creature is injured, I may be able to heal it.  It might help if Berd and the Archons can join me while I work, so they know what to expect later."

He will remember.

Cyan doesn't know what the next few days will bring.  She has fears.  She has hopes.  But whatever may come, James will remember.  One of the wires wrapped around her heart loosens and again her eyes shine as she smiles, her gaze still locked on his own.

...remember that I am an emotional fool, perhaps.

But from the look in his eyes, perhaps not.

Interruption comes, sadly enough.  Shaendra's words keep her straight and focused, and Cyan narrows her topaz eyes.  Sleeping creature?  Not person, but creature.  Curious.  And...worrisome.  The bard slowly nods to James' question.  "He should be sufficiently rested to awaken.  He has eaten, so that will not be an issue.  And...it would be good that he and our escort sees what you."

She closes her eyes for a moment.  "I myself would know the same."  Turning, she waves to the hovering archons.  "Join us, my friends."

The Archons start circling Cyan again, moving in fact orbits just beyond sword reach.  Berd flaps his way lazily to the bard's shoulder, and perches there imperiously as Shaendra leads the way.

Only one of the Banglen-Yps follows, and that one is carrying a small kitten.  The rest, still linked to the first, and to each other, by their peculiar means of communication, spread out to explore the camp.

Shaendra crosses to the far side of the clearing, and into the forest.  There are two glyph-carved obelisks flanking the path, and beyond them a smaller clearing with a single large tent.  They enter, and inside are four cots, only one of which is presently occupied.  One of Shaendra's people tends to the creature which lays there, a nightmare of black and grey scale, horn, claw and barb.  It apparently has only one eye, the right socket being covered by a filthy bandage, and that eye is open - yellow, with a cruciform pupil.  The torso and limbs are covered with old scars and fresh wounds, and it clutches a sheathed sword in its left hand as it draws in a series of short breaths through it's open, fang-lined mouth.

The woman taking care of it speaks as the group enter, "It is awake now.  But it still has not said... "

"Cyan!  James!" the creature interrupts her, hissing, "Jonnee Kay sends greeting, and regrets that he could not seek you himself, but he is otherwise engaged.  I am Crrurr'nokp, formerly of the 7086th Legion, now of Jonnee Kay's Posse, and I bring a message."

The brintizzi forces itself into a sitting position, over the objections of its nurse, and continues to speak, "Jonnee Kay says that he will reach Amber soon, with almost two thirds of the army still following him and able to fight."

"Before I left, I was told that he would reach Amber in ten days or so.  I have travelled alone for seven days, seeking you, or perhaps eight - time has been difficult to judge on occasion."

"Lords of the West!"

A Brintizzi?  Here?  How had the soldier found them?  "Rest easy, soldier!" she snaps out instinctively, pressing a palm toward the struggling warrior.  "You have travelled long and -" from the look of it "- through peril to deliver your message."  Her voice softens as her eyes lighten from black pearl through hematite, finally shading into a deep ruby.

"And deliver it you have - well done, well done indeed.  But we now require details."  She shoots a worried look at James.  "Two thirds of the army?  Two days out from Amber?  The whole story, soldier, but guard your strength - you do us no good dead, no good at all."

On her shoulders, Berd fires a fulminating glance of his own at James, then studies the Brintizzi intently.

"Crrurr'nokp isn't going to die.  Are you?  Brintizzi are tough as boot-nails and Jonnee Kay would've chosen his messenger carefully."  James intentions are much the same as Cyan's, to reassure the injured Brintizzi, but he goes about it quite differently.  "We'll have you patched up in a tic, don't worry.  But Cyan's right, we'll need a full report."

James then pauses to make introductions, "Shaendra, this, as you've heard, is Crrurr'nokp of the Brintizzi.  His people are friends of ours. Crrurr'nokp, this is Shaendra, she's a leader of the people here."

"I can help with your injuries, Crrurr'nokp, but you have to trust me to make contact with your mind.  Is that okay?"

Crrurr'nokp makes a facial expression which approximates a smile.  "I know that I am not going to die.  These wounds will impair my abilities for some time, but my body is capable of healing them.  But if you can speed the process, James, I will recover my full strength that much sooner.  Do what you will to help."

Then he smiles at Shaendra, who seems a little discomfited by the display of razor-sharp teeth.  "I have learned from my friend, Jonnee Kay, that many people fear my race because of our warlike appearance.  I swear on my blade that I will not harm your people, and will leave as soon as I am able.  For now, I greet you, and thank you for the assistance rendered by your people."

The yellow eye fixes on Cyan, "It has been a long journey.  Jonnee Kay gave me a device that he discovered so that I might serve him as a messenger."  The brintizzi turns over his hand to display the back of it, where a pale blue disk of metal and crystal, perhaps an inch across, is embedded among the scales.  "Its function is to lead the bearer to his goal."

"He asked me to bring his message to you because he believed it would give you hope, and I have brought it.  I have travelled through strange places to come here, but no more strange than I have seen since leaving my home.  Brintizzi could not live in some of the places the device led me to, so I was forced to double back from time to time and find a new course."

The brintizzi starts to relate his tale as James starts healing him...
This message was last updated by the GM at 15:16, Tue 06 Mar 2012.

(Agreement/acceptance), (Heavyhand/DESIGNATE SHIFT: healspirit).

Berd grins sleepily at James, and silently opens up a bridging between himself, his daughter, his friend, and the Archons accompanying them.  He leaves the 'offer' at their mental doorsteps, so as not to presume.

I greet you, Archons of the Nephillim and the sencathi.  Join me in observing James in his work.

"Well said, James, well said," Cyan murmurs, settling herself down beside the brintizzi.  "Shaendra, the brintizzi are amongst the most honorable creatures I have encountered in my long travels through the worlds.  Crrurr'nokp is a fearsome warrior, but he would never harm peaceful people like yourselves."

She studies the disk with interest, brows drawing together.  "So many ways to travel the Myriad Worlds," the bard murmurs, having seen many of them herself.  "That one looks similar to Dorian's compass."

I am tracing the messenger's path through the Myriad Worlds, based on the layered...signatures?  'Dust'? of realities that has accumulated upon him and within him.  The path is a meandering one, but I will find its origin.

"Rather like how we used to walk the worlds, Berd?" Cyan murmurs, her amber eyes amused.

With the preliminaries out of the way, James bends to his task.  He places a hand on Crrurr'nokp (carefully, there's barely a square inch of Crrurr'nokp's skin that isn't blade-edged or serrated) and opens mental contact.

The image that forms in the minds of Berd and the Archons is of an open space.  It has the feel of a bare room, though the walls are felt rather than seen, as though some trick of distance or colour makes them indistinct.

On the floor is a sprawling and intricate design, scribed in lines of light and power.  The pattern is full of sharp turns and jagged angles.  In places, gaps can be seen as darker patches within the overall design.  James is standing at what appears to be the only open "end" on the outside of the design.

As the Pattern of Amber is a symbol of the order of the Myriad Worlds, so this pattern is a symbol of Crrurr'nokp as perceived by my psyche, which itself is possible through my connection to the greater Pattern.  The lines of light represent Crrurr'nokp in full health.  As he ought to be.  The gaps represent different illnesses and injuries.  A straight gap is most likely an open wound, two loose ends out of alignment may be a fracture or a break in Crrurr'nokp's circulatory or nervous systems.  A broader, dull area may represent an illness like a virus.

I attempt to put these right by walking Crrurr'nokp's pattern while holding the Pattern in my mind.  As I come to a break or the like I re-write the proper line, largely by force of will.

Normally, my patient is unaware of the process.  But since Crrurr'nokp is strong enough to use Jonnee Kay's device he may be aware of us.

James turns his head slightly, as if to address the empty room.  Crrurr'nokp, if you can hear me, know that those with me are Berd and the Archons who are with us.  I trust them to be in contact with my mind.  Just relax as much as possible.  If you try and work against me, you endanger us both.

James turns to the start of the line, squares his shoulders and takes a deep breath.  What bothers him, though he has not spoken of it, is that somewhere in Crrurr'nokp's pattern is a gap associated with Crrurr'nokp's missing eye, which may be beyond James' ability to bridge.  Unspoken, James' misgivings come across the bridging as a faint feeling of uneasiness.

James works, for barely more than a few heartbeats, while outside the tent the three suns wheel across the sky and set in a complex array of shifting colours.  Stars wink into existence even as the brintizzi warrior's injuries fade, and begin their near eternal traverse across the dark vault of the sky.  A single moon, no more than a thin yellow crescent, breaches the eastern horizon and climbs towards its zenith...

Berd continues his work, piecing together the path the brintizzi has taken to get here - a meandering trail, a drunkard's walk across the Myriad World's.  It appears that the device Crrurr'nokp has been using is either very unpredictable or difficult to control.  Or both.

Jonnee kay had once described his own ability to travel between worlds - if he has been to a place before, he can always find his way back to it by the most direct route possible.  But he can not find his way, unaided, to new places.

That ability seems to be almost the diametric opposite of the power employed by the artefact, which can apparently find its way to any desired location, person or object, but only by a most indirect route.

Through it all, the healing and the mapping, the Archon's and Banglen-Yp keep watch, as does Shaendra, studying the strange creatures which have found their way to her world.  Banglen-Yp laughs occasionally, for no readily discernible reason.

Finally, at about midnight, James pronounces that he has done all he can.  Most of the wounds are healed now, leaving only seemingly old scars.  The most serious injury, the missing eye has only healed insofar as the empty socket is now lined with scar tissue - the brintizzi will still have just one yellow eye, but at least the empty socket is no longer an angry, gaping wound.

James sags back, wearily.  "That's all I can do, I'm afraid.  You have a natural resistance to my technique, Crrurr'nokp, and some of your injuries were beyond me.  Still, I think you'll do okay."

"I'm glad I had the chance to dance before I tried to do that.  I'm wiped.  Shaendra, is there somewhere close by I can sleep?  Cyan, you might need to take Crrurr'nokp's report without me.  You can fill me in in the morning."